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Автор Fielding Liz
Lucy was drowning in raw sensation. Lying in the arms of a total stranger, drowning in the quicksilver heat of his eyes, his touch, parting her lips to gasp in air, struggling to breathe.
What was she thinking? What was she doing?
On some distant level she knew she had to move, run, but here, now, only the most primitive sensations were getting through…
She squirmed away from him in alarm, using her hands and feet to scrabble backwards.
“No!”
It was the cry of a man bereft.
“Stop!”
But the urgency of Nathaniel’s words spurred her on, dodging through moving shoppers, taking the stairs two at a time, fear driving her escape.
Nathaniel forced himself to move, pick up the shoe that had tumbled unnoticed from her bag.
He turned it in his hand.
It bore an expensive, high-end designer label at odds with the damp edge around the platform sole, splashes of pavement dirt on the slender and very high, very slender stiletto heel. This was not a shoe for walking in the rain. It had been made to ride in limousines, walk along red carpets, to be worn by the consorts of very rich men. The kind who employed bodyguards…
Mistletoe and the Lost Stiletto
BY
Liz Fielding
About the Author
Prologue
Wednesday, 1st December
