Christmas With a Palace Thief (Royal Scandals) by Burnham Nicole

Author:Burnham, Nicole [Burnham, Nicole]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Nicole Burnham
Published: 2015-10-27T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Sara’s breath threatened to explode from her lungs. The intensity of Umberto’s green eyes pinned her to the wall. She kept her hands planted on her hips, keys dangling from the fingertips of her right hand, so she wouldn’t make contact with Umberto. She was too scared to move.

Not scared of him. Scared of herself.

She had loved this man once. She’d even allowed herself to believe they had a future together. Then he’d shattered her heart into a thousand pieces. To salvage her sanity, she’d thrown herself headlong into Angeletti Gelato. The satisfaction of building her business and making new friends helped her become a new woman, one who’d reassembled the jagged shards of her broken heart to create a new, whole self. But trying to stop her reaction to Umberto now was as futile as trying to prevent fingerprints from accumulating on her display case on a hot summer day.

He wanted her. After all these years, after coming face to face with her in the darkness of the queen’s closet, he still did. It was in the rough growl of his voice, in the boldness with which he planted one large hand on the wall beside her, where all he had to do was move his thumb to touch her hair. The unconscious, carnal parting of his lips called to her. Even knowing the danger he posed to her heart, her soul heeded that call as instinctively as a bloom opened to the sunshine. She had only to shift her weight, and he’d—

“I risk my job by trusting you.”

His breath was warm against her face. She focused on keeping her own inhalations steady, but in doing so caught the faint sweetness of the gelato he’d eaten and something more. The rich, masculine scent she’d always associated with him. A memory swept through her: lying in Umberto’s apartment one Saturday morning, the sheets halfway down his hips as he sprawled beside her. The slow spin of his ceiling fan overhead. The rumble of a bus passing on the street below. And that scent, warm and wonderful, enveloping her. She’d closed her eyes that morning, scooted closer. Inhaled. Sighed. Been rewarded with a groan of satisfaction and the weight of Umberto’s bicep as he rolled to his side and curled his arm around her waist, drawing her against his chest.

That solid bicep was beside her head now, corralling her. If she budged, she’d touch him. If she touched him, she’d be lost.

“Umberto, I never intended to put you in the middle of—”

Her phone vibrated again. Damn. She’d been so distracted by Umberto’s nearness she’d forgotten to grab it from the counter. The fact that its persistent buzz just cut off her line of thought made her guilty conscience even more apparent.

“That’s your palace contact.” His tone was hard, unyielding. “I should go look at the screen. Or answer it.”

“You probably should.” She hated how the words came out. Whispered. Cracked. Eight years ago, she’d made a choice she knew would cost her job.

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