“And you seem to be standing there watching instead of helping.” She tugged and cursed under her breath. “Now there will be hair in your tree. I like working with natural materials but my hair wasn’t supposed to be part of the decorations.” She tugged again and then batted her eyes at him and spoke in her most breathy voice. “Save me, Prince Alec, save me.”
He folded his arms. “I would, but my horse is stuck in a snowdrift.” Shaking his head, he watched as she tried to unwind her hair from the tree, making it worse in the process.
“That’s it. I’m cutting my hair short.”
“Don’t do that.” He dropped to his haunches. “Stay still.”
She stilled and he gently, methodically untangled her hair from the branch.
“Sorry. It gets everywhere.”
It was true, her hair did have a habit of getting everywhere. Over his chest when they made love, sliding past his face, adding a layer of silk to his pillow after she’d fallen asleep.
He let it glide over his hand. “It’s beautiful.”
Her glance was suspicious. “You think it’s beautiful?”
“Any guy with a pulse is going to think your hair is beautiful, Sky. It’s fantasy hair.”
“Even when it’s blocking your shower?”
“Even then, especially if you’re in the shower with it.” He wound it round his hand and pulled her head toward him. Then he kissed her, his mouth lingering on hers before he released her and stood up. It was too comfortable being here with her. Too easy. “You’re free, princess.”
He reached out to remove a few pine needles that had tangled themselves in the soft strands. “You’ve been busy today. My cottage looks like a Christmas grotto.”
Her smile widened. “I had fun. I found pretty much everything I need in the forest.”
“Good.” He glanced round, transformed by her innate talent. Her creativity and ability to make use of what the outdoors had to offer never failed to astound him. But the biggest transformation was her. For the first time, she hadn’t apologized for doing the things she loved. “I don’t usually decorate. Now I’m wondering why. It looks spectacular. If I ever decide to sell, I’ll book you to show the cottage.”
“You’d never sell this place.” She eased away from him. “The bad news is I was so busy spraying your entire house with silver, I forgot to make us anything to eat. We could heat leftover soup?”
“I have a better idea. The Galleon has live music tonight. It’s the start of the island Christmas Festival. I’m taking you dancing.”
Her face brightened. “You dance?”
“No. I hate dancing,
but I’m sure you love it.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because you seem like the sort of person who likes to dance. And now you’re going to accuse me of stereotyping you again.”
She grinned. “No, I’m not. I am that person. I love to dance. And right now I’d grab any excuse to wear something other than thermals. Give me fifteen minutes to shine myself up and knock you dead.” She flew across the room and he watched, thinking that her energy would make a perfect renewable power source.
“Sky?”
She stopped as she reached the stairs. “What?”
“Leave your hair down.”
THE STAFF AT The Galleon had worked hard, having fun with Christmas and nautical themes. There were tiny lights twisted around lobster pots and wreathes decorated with seashells. The center of the restaurant had been turned into a dance floor, surrounded by tables that gleamed with silver and crystal.
On Puffin Island, businesses learned to be flexible and to cater to the needs of the local population, and Sallyanne Fisher, head chef of The Galleon, knew how to give her customers a good time while staying true to her goal—to deliver exceptional local food.
In honor of their third annual Christmas Festival, she’d prepared a feast.
During the summer the restaurant was booked months in advance by people visiting from all corners of the globe, but tonight’s celebration was for the locals. Any money raised would be used to purchase rescue equipment for the fire department.