A Hamilton Family Christmas - Donna Kauffman Page 0,13

curtains covering one of the windows and nosed it aside. Not even a glimmer of moonlight trickled in. Once Emma’s racing heartbeat subsided a little, she realized she could hear the steady tapping of ice hitting the windowpanes. Great.

She heard the scrape of a match on flint, and minutes later the room was filled with a warm yellow glow as Trevor nursed a fire to life in the fireplace.

Emma slid her satchels to the floor and watched him as he alternately blew on the embers and added more wood. Was there anything sexier than a man building a fire?

He turned and looked at her right then, and smiled. The firelight captured his features in stark relief, making his smile brighter and his eyes glow with life. “Don’t worry. I’ll have you warmed up in no time.”

Oh, have no fear, she thought as she purposely turned her attention to the dogs. You’ve got me plenty warmed up.

4

Trevor could feel her gaze on him like a tracking beam. Oddly, it didn’t bother him overly much. He’d had more than his fill of being stared at in his thirty-one years, but he’d long since made peace with the DNA gods, and no longer denied the reality that being a relatively good-looking guy came with its fair share of perks. But that didn’t mean it didn’t occasionally bother him anyway.

In business, it was an admitted advantage. Unfair as it was, people were more willing to open doors, and their checkbooks, for attractive people. That fact that his last name was Hamilton hadn’t hurt, either. And yes, he’d taken advantage of both. For a cause.

But there were other times when it would have been a lot easier if he were a bit more invisible. Doors might open to him, but he hadn’t missed the other comments made. The thinly veiled compliments that were intended to make it clear that those less fortunate didn’t appreciate the “free ride” given to the “beautiful people.” Especially beautiful people named Hamilton.

If they only knew.

Which was precisely why he had stolen into his great uncle’s home in the middle of an ice storm. Because he had to know.

Had to know, once and for all, if he was really a Hamilton.

At the moment, however, he was only aware that Emma was watching him. And, for some unknown reason, that fact intrigued the hell out of him. Which made no sense. Because, while he’d come to terms with the reality that his smile and his name opened business doors on occasion, he was thoroughly done with either of those commodities getting him attention in any personal way. Sure, he’d met his fair share of women whose heads weren’t completely turned by a pretty face, but once they found out he was a Hamilton…well, things invariably changed. Even if they claimed otherwise.

He could have told them that he lived off whatever he made, not what he’d been born into, and, in the beginning, he’d tried to do just that. But he quickly learned it made little difference. The fact that he had a healthy seven figure trust fund out there, untouched or not, was far too intoxicating not to send even the most sensible and levelheaded woman off on at least a short-term trip to “what if” land. And once he saw that particular gleam in their eye, short-lived or not, it pretty much killed the attraction from his end.

But there was something about the way Emma was looking at him that didn’t shriek gold digger or player. She was clearly not the latter, having given her affections far more easily—totally, actually—to the two-and four-legged beasts in the house. She hadn’t even pretended to flirt with him. As for the first part, though, well, he couldn’t be sure. She was a pet sitter, and, though he had no clue about her personal circumstances, one would assume she wasn’t exactly rolling in it. She might be looking at him as a potential ride. Despite the fact that he hadn’t seen so much as a glimmer of that avaricious spark in her eyes when she’d found out he was a Hamilton.

Still, whenever he looked up and caught her staring at him, her expression wasn’t so much calculating as…hungry. Like she’d been deprived of her favorite dessert for a very long time and had just been handed the keys to Willy Wonka’s place. Only, for whatever reason, she was going to force herself to be content with keeping her nose pressed to the glass, staying outside