A Princess for Christmas - Jenny Holiday Page 0,100
that she shouldn’t be kissing Leo out in the open like this.
“Sorry,” he said. “I got carried away.”
“No, I’m sorry. I got carried away. I suddenly realized I can’t be seen kissing you like this.”
“Right.” He stooped to pick up his gloves, which had landed rather far from them. She smiled to think that this was the first time a man had been so wild to touch her that he had shed his items of clothing so decisively.
She stopped smiling to think that it would probably be the last. She and Max had agreed that they wouldn’t get in the way of each other’s “discreet social lives,” but the reality was it would be easier for him to carry on in that manner than it would her.
And she was certain she’d never meet anyone else like Leo.
He was all business as he stood and started brushing the snow off her coat with one hand and straightening her hat with the other. But, seeming to think better of it, he stopped abruptly and stepped back. “You probably can’t be seen like this, either.”
Leo was right. There had been an intimacy to the gesture, to the act of putting her to rights—putting her to rights after he’d mussed her up. He’d acted like both were his right, and she liked it way too much.
She took over the job of fixing herself and started walking toward the palace, overcome with a kind of inexplicable sadness. She told herself to snap out of it. It was Christmas Eve tomorrow. She and Leo and Gabby would attend Cocoa Fest. It was the happiest day of the year in Eldovia. “You’re sure I can’t convince you to attend the ball tomorrow?”
He sighed. He really didn’t want to go. Which she understood. She didn’t want to go, either. She backpedaled. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop haranguing you.”
“Is it really going to be that bad?”
She shrugged. How silly was it that she was dreading a ball? A beautiful, glamorous night filled with wonderful food and endless champagne. Most people would kill for an opportunity like that. “Can I come to your room after?”
He smiled. “You sure can.”
Chapter Eighteen
Leo kept his hands off Marie as they made their way back to the palace. It was harder than it should have been. He wanted to . . . Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he wanted to do everything to her, and not just the dirty stuff. He wanted to brush the snow off her coat and stroke her cheek and . . .
Goddammit.
So it was just as well that she’d put a stop to their post-snowball-fight make-out session.
That she’d put him in his place.
So, yeah, time to go inside, take a cold shower, and remember what this was. And what it wasn’t.
Remember who he was. And who she was. And the vast gulf between them.
As if the universe had decided to help him in this quest, they were met in the foyer by the king.
“Marie.” It was a single word, but it was shellacked with ice. “May I have a moment?”
“Of course.” She stiffened. It reminded Leo of the way she had done just that in his cab ten days ago—a lifetime ago. She turned the fake dimples on him. “I’ll see you at cocktails, Leo?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Ricci.” The king turned his head ever so slightly toward Leo, as if turning it the full amount so he could look Leo straight in the face was too much effort. “If you’re looking for your sister, I believe you will find her in the kitchens, tidying up after having dropped a tray of crystal mugs on the floor.”
Well, shit. In any other circumstance, he would have felt badly. Would have apologized and offered to pay for the damage. But since the king’s aim here was clearly to make him feel inferior, he wasn’t going to do that.
“Father!” Marie stage-whispered. “She’s helping with the preparations for tomorrow.”
“Helping?” the king echoed. “Is that what you call it?”
“Well,” Leo drawled, turning up his accent as much as he could. “I guess you can take the kid out of the Bronx but . . .” He performed an exaggerated shrug and turned on his heel.
“Leo!” Marie called after him. He turned. It wasn’t her fault her father was an ass. “I’ll see you at cocktails?” she asked again, like she was worried he wouldn’t show.
She looked miserable. He shot her a quick smile. “Wouldn’t miss it, Princess.”
Hopefully her father would think his use of the term “princess” was literal.