The Prince's Christmas Vow

“What?” She moved to stand on the other side of the desk in order to face him. “You’re not serious, are you? They’re too different. It would be a mess.”

He raked his fingers through his hair. “I never said that I was any good at decorating. That’s what I have you for.”

She crossed her arms and leveled a steady stare at him. “And you’re the one who insisted that we work on this together. You went on and on about how you had to approve everything.”

He got to his feet. “Fine. I pick the garden theme. Wait. No. The sea one.”

She waited as though sensing he would change his mind yet again. “You’re sure about the sea setting?”

He thought for a moment and then nodded. “I think it’s the most relaxing of all them. If the residents aren’t capable of making an outing to the seaside, then we can bring it to them.”

“Okay. Then we need to pick out a color scheme.” She pulled up a few color combinations. “I’d like to get some samples up on the walls as soon as possible to get a real feel for the shades before we commit to a color scheme.”

However, as she leaned over his shoulder to type something in the computer, one of her barrel-roll curls landed on his shoulder. A driving need grew in him to wrap her silky strands around his finger. If he were to turn ever so slightly—if he were to reach out to her and draw her closer—she’d land in his lap.

As though in a trance, he reached out. His fingers slid down over the soft, smooth strands. What would it hurt to taste her sweetness again? He started at the end of her curl. His finger and thumb worked together wrapping her hair inch by inch around his digit.

Her surprised gaze met his. His heart pounded in his chest. But there was something more in her gaze. Interest. Excitement. Desire.

The fact that he could still turn her on sent the blood roaring through his veins, drowning out his common sense. Long-denied desire drove him onward. One thing that couldn’t be denied was that they had chemistry. They should have a warning sign—combustible when mixed.

With each twist of her hair, her face moved closer. He would show her what she’d given up. He’d remind her that all of this could have been hers if only she’d believed in them—if only she’d loved him.

A noise in the hallway caused her to jump back. He reluctantly relinquished his hold on her hair, allowing her to straighten. He tried to tell himself that it was for the best, but a sense of regret churned in his gut.

He cleared his throat as he tried to remember where they’d left off. “What about this gray-blue color? I like it.”

There was an unmistakable pause before Zoe spoke. “That is a bit dark and you have to realize the darker the shade, the smaller the space will appear. Why don’t you see what you like on this page?” She adjusted the computer so that it displayed dozens of much lighter shades of blue. “Trust me. They’ll appear darker on the wall.”

This time instead of hovering, she stepped back, giving him space. Though he knew it was for the best, he missed that brief moment where they’d recaptured a bit of the past. He’d have to be more alert going forward. Things were already complicated enough between them.

For the next hour, they went over the various shades, mixing and matching. There was even a slick computer software program that let her slip the colors into the basic layout of the common rooms. It gave them a better idea of what it would look like in real life. But Zoe insisted there was nothing like seeing it in person with the natural light bouncing off the walls. He took her word for it. They agreed to wait until then to make the final decisions.

* * *

Two full days had passed. And she still had a job.

Zoe smiled.

This arrangement, though a bit bizarre working with her ex, just might work out in the end.

After a long day at the palace offices, Zoe had Demetrius’s car drop her off at the market so she could pick up some food for dinner—not that she had much appetite these days. It seemed her stomach was forever filled with the sensation of a swarm of fluttering butterflies. She hoped a salad might pique her appetite.

Armed with fresh fruit, vegetables and some still-warm-from-the-oven bread, she walked toward her apartment. Ever since she’d left the market, something hadn’t felt right. Zoe glanced over her shoulder.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

Still, the little hairs on Zoe’s arms remained lifted.

She picked up her pace. At an intersection, she paused and glanced back. Her gaze met a set of dark, menacing eyes. The creepy reporter. Her heart lurched.