Now that he was no longer gazing into her eyes, he felt much colder and realized his feet were wet. Faugh!

“I can’t have lunch now,” she said kindly, looking back at him. “I can’t leave my spot until noon.”

“Not even if you made lots of money before then?”

“Not even if the real Santa came along to relieve me.”

“Noon, then.”

“Well. All right.” She smiled up at him with timid liking. “You’ll be sorry. Wait until you see me out of this Santa outfit.” The spasm of lust nearly toppled him into the gutter. “I’m not at all cute,” she finished with charming idiocy.

“Noon,” he said again and then pulled his roll from his coat pocket. He plucked the money clip off the wad and dropped the eight thousand dollars or so into her bucket. “I’ll be back.”

“If that was Monopoly money,” she hollered after him, “lunch is off!”

Chapter 2

Giselle Smith watched the visitor from Planet Hunk stride away. When he’d rushed up to her, she had nearly dropped her bell. There she was, jangling for charity, and then Hunk Man was right there. She couldn’t believe the speed at which he’d moved.

His hair was a deep, true auburn. His eyes were a funny kind of brown, so light they were nearly gold. His nose was a blade, and his mouth—oooh, his mouth! A girl could stare at it and think…oh, all sorts of things. He was tall, too; she had to crane her neck to look at him. Over six feet, for sure. Shoulders like a swimmer. Knee-length black wool coat, probably worth a grand at least. Black gloves covering big hands; the guy looked like he could palm a basketball, no problem.

He had come charging across the street to, of all things, ask her to lunch. And to give her thousands—thousands!—of dollars.

Her, Giselle Smith. Boring brown hair, dirt-colored eyes. Too short and definitely too heavy. The most interesting thing about her was her name—which people always got wrong anyway.

Obviously a serial killer, she thought sadly. Well, we’ll have lunch in a public place where I can scream my head off if he starts sharpening his knives.

It was too bad. He was really something. What the hell could a guy like that want from a nobody like her?

Alec watched the woman (he was still angry at himself for not getting her name…or giving his, for that matter) from halfway down the block. His spot was excellent: he could see her perfectly and, better, he was downwind.

He thought about their conversation and cursed himself again. He’d babbled like a moron, ordered her to lunch, stared at her like she was Little Red Riding Hood. Yes, like Little Red…hmmmmm.