Sarah Morgan - Christmas Ever After

Crap. Forget ketchup—she was going to get blood on her new dress.

“The press are out there.” He growled the words, his eyes wild as his brain computed the potential PR nightmare. “They’re supposed to be reporting our engagement. Instead you give them this? Damn you, Skylar. You did this, you deal with it. Maybe a blow to the head will wake you up. When you come to your senses, call me. I’ll think about whether or not you’re really what I want.”

Without looking back he strode out of the side entrance and into the night, leaving Skylar lying in her own blood.

WHAT THE HELL were they doing in that room?

Alec prowled round the exhibition, ignoring the other guests. The crowd was thinning out, people melting away, some speculating on the romantic scene that was going on behind closed doors.

The public proposal had taken him by surprise.

Brittany had described him as the “rat boyfriend,” which hadn’t sounded to him like a relationship on the edge of happy-ever-after.

He’d found the proposal uncomfortable to witness, but judging from the oohs and ahhs from the women in the audience, he was alone with that feeling. That was probably why he was single. What did he know about romance? According to his ex-wife, nothing. She’d wanted sweeping gestures and frequent public demonstrations of his love.

Her insecurities and endless demands had made him feel as if he’d been given a life sentence for a crime he’d never committed.

Trying to delete toxic thoughts, he grabbed a glass of champagne and calculated how soon he could make his escape.

As soon as they reappeared, he’d offer his congratulations and leave.

He needed to remember to say what was expected of him— Congratulations, so pleased for you, I hope you’ll be happy —and not what he was instinctively driven to say: Are you both insane?

He paused, his eye caught by a display of jewelry, intricate silver artfully placed on silk the color of a Mediterranean sky. The design was eye-catching and original and the historian in him recognized the nod to shapes and styles used in Bronze Age Greece.

A woman approached and sent him a smile, her intention unmistakable.

Alec turned away without returning the smile.

He didn’t care if she thought him rude. Better to be rude now than have to extract himself later.

Another legacy of his marriage was his aversion to over-polished, high-maintenance women. His relationship with Selina had been six months of sex, followed by an elaborate wedding and two years of bitter arguments that had culminated in an acrimonious divorce.

At her insistence he’d attended two sessions of marriage guidance counseling, ostensibly to “learn about himself.” What he’d learned was that he didn’t like his wife any more than she liked him.

He’d also learned that he was better off alone.

He was too selfish to make a commitment to a woman.

He liked his life too much to sacrifice it for a relationship.

He glanced across the gallery again. The door remained closed, so he moved on. No doubt Skylar and her boyfriend were locked in a romantic moment, promising to love each other forever.

With time to kill, he prowled around the gallery. He knew Skylar worked in a variety of mediums, and it was only as he studied the pieces on exhibit that he reluctantly began to appreciate the range and extent of her talent.

He paused by a large painting, recognizing the rocky coastline of Puffin Island. He was no expert, but even he could see the composition was good. She’d captured the feel of the island perfectly, the sweep of a sandy bay, the movement of the sea and the threatening hint of a storm in the sky. Looking at it, he could feel the salty spray on his face and hear the plaintive call of the gulls.

He felt a pang of longing for his cottage on the wild north coast of Puffin Island. In a few days he’d be going back there and he’d be staying for a month. Long enough, he hoped, to finish a draft of his book. He was looking forward to the solitude.

The painting had a red sticker, which meant that someone had bought it.

Good choice, he thought, and then saw the tall, elegant pot in a dazzling shade of cerulean blue placed under a spotlight against a whitewashed wall.

Instantly he was transported to Greece. He could almost feel the heat, and smell the scent of wild thyme and jasmine.

Of all the pieces in the room, this was the one he would have chosen to take home. He could see at a glance that her inspiration had been a combination of Greek mythology and early Minoan ceramics. She’d artfully combined the old with the new and created a piece of startling beauty.

The crowd thinned a little more, but there was still no sign of Skylar.

A movement in the street caught his eye and he saw a tall, dark-haired man stepping into a waiting car.

Recognizing him, Alec frowned. Why would Richard Everson be leaving alone?

He waited for Skylar to come running after him, wearing that skintight silver dress and a megawatt smile, but the car pulled away with only one passenger.

Ignoring the voice inside him that reminded him it was none of his business, he moved silently across the gallery toward the door he’d seen her enter.

He tapped lightly, received no answer and opened it anyway.

The room was empty.

It was clearly a storeroom. There were paintings against the wall, a table stacked with boxes and—

A body.

Shit.

“Skylar?” In two strides he was by her side. “What the hell happened here? Speak to me. Are you—?”

He tilted her face and his hand came away sticky with her blood.

Her beautiful white-blond hair was streaked with it, her lips bloodless in a face drained of color.

His heart pounded. Whatever he’d expected to find, it hadn’t been this.

“Sky? Open your eyes.” He tried to scoop her up and then dodged as she swung her fist toward his face.

“Touch me and I swear the next thing you feel will be my stiletto in your balls.” She slurred her words and Alec swore under his breath and captured her wrist in his hand before she could do him serious damage.

“You might want to work on that pickup line, princess.”

Her eyes fixed on him and focused. Confusion changed to recognition. “What are you doing here? Did you come to gloat?”

“I saw Richard getting into a car and came to check on you. Good thing I did. I’m taking you to hospital.” Questions rose in his mind. What had happened? And why had Richard Everson walked out leaving her like this? He delved in his pocket for his phone. “I’m calling an ambulance. And the police. Did he do this?”

“No. I fell. And I don’t want you to call anyone.” She struggled to sit up, her efforts giving him a glimpse of long legs and silk underwear.

Her body is the biggest work of art in the place, he thought, and averted his eyes.

It irritated him that he found her attractive.

“You had a nasty blow to the head. You need to stay where you are.”

“People have to stop telling me what I need. I know what I need. Crap.”

He turned back to look at her and saw she’d closed her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you have a twin? I’m seeing two of you.”

“That’s not good.”

“You’re not kidding. One Alec Hunter is bad enough. Two is my worst nightmare.”

He took it as a good sign that she recognized him. “I’m relieved you’re still able to make a joke.”

“It’s not a joke.”

He gave a grim laugh. “I know I’m not your first choice of rescuer, but unfortunately I’m all there is.”

“Then it’s a good thing I don’t need rescuing.”

He wondered if she had any idea how badly she was hurt. “Let me take a look at your head before you stand up.” Leaning her back against the leg of the table, he gently moved her hair back so that he could take a closer look at her injury. He’d been on expeditions to some of the wildest parts of the world and his first-aid skills were more than competent. “You don’t need stitches, but you have one hell of a bruise and you might have a concussion. I’m taking you to hospital.”