Her Mistletoe Husband by Renee Roszel Page B

and now, people breaking into your room?”
    â€œNobody broke into my room!” she snapped. “Get off that!” Stalking away from him, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over her dresser and stumbled to a halt. She was actually prancing around in front of this man in nothing but an oversize green T-shirt.
    Tugging at the garment in a vain effort to magically make it longer, she watched her face color with embarrassment. Swiping nervous hands through her hair, she turned her back on him. “Look, don’t you think it’s possible I might be upset because of your attempt to pirate my property?” Improvising, she hurried on, “Maybe the break-in nightmare was about you and your attempt to steal my inn, did you ever think of that?” She whirled on him, a triumphant surge going through her. That should shut him up.
    His features were drawn in a provoked frown. “The property was stolen from me, Miss Crosby.” His jaws worked and Elissa had a feeling that, this time, he was counting to ten. Visibly perturbed, he looked away, mumbling, “I told you I’d reimburse you for any improvements you’ve made. You know I’m not legally bound to do so. What more do you expect of me?”
    His glance met hers again and she was struck by the eerie beauty of his silver eyes, his temper transforming them into a force of nature all their own. “The eighth wonder of the world” flitted through her mind, but she swept the thought away as quickly as it came.
    Incensed that she allowed herself to be drawn to him, she jabbed a finger toward her bedroom door. “Would you leave? I have to get dressed.”
    His expression grew puzzled. “Dressed?” He looked at his wristwatch. “It’s four o’clock in the morning. Even Bella doesn’t arrive for another hour and a half.”
    She moved to the door and pointedly held it wide. “I have to start the Christmas turkey. Dad always smoked it on the charcoaler, and I intend to carry on the tradition— if it’s any of your business.”
    Alex’s eyebrows rose in apparent surprise. “A Renaissance woman. Is there anything you can’t do?”
    She was taken aback by the compliment but refused to be affected. He’d probably been mocking her, anyway. “Apparently I can’t get men out of my bedroom,” she countered.
    His lips quirked for a split second before his expression turned serious. “I can see where that could become troubling.” With a nod that was almost courtly, he left her to her privacy.
    Once the door clicked shut she breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t made a more insulting joke out of her badly worded retort. Such as, “You’re lucky you can get any men in your bedroom,” or something equally cutting—since he’d made it clear that he thought of her as a love-starved old maid.
    Sinking to her bed, she put her hands over her face. She had more serious problems than Alex D’Amour’s opinion of her love life. Her mind churned. Had what she’d thought she’d heard really been a bad dream brought on by Alex’s threat to take away her inn, or had somebody actually tried to break in?
    She didn’t want to think about it. Of course, if it had been a break-in attempt, it might have been unrelated to the letters. After all, it was a well-known fact that thieves loved to break in at Christmas time to steal all the goodies from under the tree. If that were the case, then her scream and the slamming of the door had foiled the plan and it was all over.
    She decided to let it go, this time, and not bother the police. Ninety-nine chances out of a hundred, the sound she’d heard had been nothing even remotely ominous. After all, it was Christmas. Dawn was coming. Why make a fool of herself by crying wolf, again? This was a joyous holiday and shouldn’t be spoiled with irrational worries.
    Glancing at