about his marriage. He certainly didn’t want others thinking about it.
Aware that there was silence from the bedroom, Alec locked the door and walked back into the room.
Skylar had fallen asleep.
Her hair, clean again, lay in a pool around her shoulders, as if someone had knocked over a jar of pale creamy honey.
Alec stared down at her and felt a flicker of concern.
He found himself wishing she’d wake up and return to her chatty, energetic self. Being with Skylar was like being outdoors without sunglasses on a day when the sun was just a little too bright. Usually he wanted to turn down the wattage, but maybe that was because his own world had been dark and gray for the past few years.
Sleeping Beauty, he thought and gently pulled the cover over her.
There was no question of her going back to her own hotel, at least not tonight.
He dimmed the lights, wondering what to do about his family gathering.
His mother was working on Christmas Day and he’d be back on Puffin Island, so this date for their annual “early Christmas” had been in his calendar for months.
It was the one time of year everyone made an effort to be together.
There was no way he could cancel.
Which left him with the problem of what to do about Skylar.
Through the window he could see the snow falling layer upon layer, leaving an ever-deepening carpet of white on the streets below.
If it didn’t stop soon, his journey home the next day would be hazardous. Negotiating English country roads in the middle of a snowstorm was not for the fainthearted.
He opened his laptop, scanned the news and found a photograph of Richard Everson. The caption said that he’d been in London for the exhibition of his girlfriend, jewelry designer Skylar Tempest. There was nothing about the proposal.
Alec closed his laptop and strolled over to the bed to check on Skylar again.
She was still sleeping, her breathing even, the bruising on her head dark against the swathe of pale hair.
The bed was huge, plenty big enough for two people to spend the night and not come into contact, but he lifted the bags from the sofa and piled them on the floor. He’d slept in places where most people wouldn’t venture, so the prospect of a night on a sofa didn’t bother him.
What bothered him was the woman lying in the bed.
SKYLAR WOKE TO find her head still pounding. This time it felt as if someone was having a fireworks display inside her skull.
It was still dark in the room and it took her a moment to remember what had happened.
Her relationship with Richard was over.
Over, over, over.
She relived the evening in fast-forward, from the moment he’d taken the microphone to the moment she’d had to sprint to the bathroom.
She’d been ill, and in front of Alec Hunter of all people.
Why, oh why, couldn’t she have lost her memory?
She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow to muffle the groan, and then a horrible thought occurred to her and she lifted her head and checked the bed next to her.
It was empty.
Well, that was something to be grateful for. She might have crashed in the wrong bed, but at least she hadn’t slept with the enemy.
Feeling wobbly and thoroughly irritated with herself, she slid out of bed and saw Alec asleep on the sofa. He was too tall and broad for it and she suspected he’d had a very uncomfortable night. Strands of dark hair flopped over his handsome face, signposting a bone structure that made the artist in her want to reach for a pencil.
Sleep softened his hard features and made him seem more approachable.
And of course last night she’d seen a different side of him.
He’d been cool, competent and … kind.
Alec being kind was the last thing she would have expected.
Unlike the man she’d been dating, who had behaved like an unprincipled rat, Alec had refused to abandon her. He’d brought her back here, mopped up the blood and held her head while she’d been sick.
That, in her mind, had earned him enough points that he could pretty much do anything and she’d never be able to criticize him again.
Later, she knew that would irritate her, but for now she was grateful.
Grabbing her bag, she dragged herself to the bathroom and recoiled from her reflection.
No wonder he’d wanted to take her to hospital.
She could have starred in A Christmas Carol as one of the ghosts.
Lifting her hair, she studied her face. The corner of the table had caught her above the eye, lacerating the skin, but not badly enough for her to require stitches. Worse, was the bruising. She pulled her hair forward, experimenting as she tried to cover the damage.
Another wave of dizziness hit her and she closed her eyes.
When she opened them again she saw her silver dress rinsed and folded on a towel along with his white shirt.
Only one person could have done that.
Alec.
Rinsing would have ruined the dress, but it was ruined anyway and she was touched that he’d bothered.
Maybe she did have a serious head injury. She was getting soft thoughts about a man who thought she was a waste of space.
She’d go back to her hotel and lie down for a while. That should cure her.
Would Richard be there or had he already flown home?
She stared at herself in the mirror, the question she’d been ignoring looming in her mind.
If she hadn’t stepped back, would he have hit her?
The question went round and round in her mind as she splashed cold water on her face.
Then she tiptoed back into the bedroom intending to find her shoes. Instead, she walked straight into the solid wall of muscle that was Alec Hunter.
His hands gripped her arms and there was a fierce frown on his handsome face. “Where are you going?”
“Back to my hotel. Thank you for your hospitality.”
His
