His friends were a little slow to catch on, but they finally turned when they nearly tripped over their unconscious leader. And then they saw Alec, standing over the unconscious punk, smiling. Well, showing them all his teeth, anyway. “Take somebody else’s bucket,” he said. Oh, wait, that was the wrong message entirely. “Don’t take anybody’s bucket,” he called after them, but it was too late. They were running away.

He looked at his watch again. It was noon!

Chapter 3

It’s Giselle,” she said to Hunka Hunka Burnin’ Love. “Giselle Smith. And you’re…?”

“Alec Kilcurt. You have a lovely name.”

“Yeah, thanks. About that. The never-ending compliments. What is your deal? Now that I’m out of costume, you can see I’m nothing special.”

He laughed at her.

She frowned but continued. “Too short, too heavy—”

He laughed harder.

“—but you keep complimenting me, and I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. You’re a census-taker, right? A salesman? You want to sell me a fridge. A timeshare. A kidney. Stop laughing!”

He finally sobered up, although the occasional snort escaped. He snapped his fingers, and the glorious redhead at the next table, who’d been studying him while pretending to powder her nose, gave him her full attention. Her eyelashes fluttered. She licked her red, glistening lips.

Alec held out his hand, and after a puzzled moment, the redhead placed her compact in his palm.

“Obliged,” he said carelessly. Then he snapped it open and showed it to Giselle. “This is what my people call a mirror,” he said in his ultra-cool Scottish brogue. “Y’ should spend more time looking in one.”

“I know what a mirror is, you goob,” she snapped. “Too damn well. Stop shaking that thing at me, or you won’t get anything nice for Christmas.” She nudged the bag at her foot that held her Santa costume. “I’ve got friends in high places.”

“Are you getting angry with me?” he asked, delighted. He handed the compact back to the redhead with barely a glance.

“Yes, a little. You don’t have to look so happy about it.”

“Sorry. It’s just…I’m a lot bigger than you are.”

“And almost as smart,” she said brightly.

“Most women find me a little intimidating.” He smiled at her. Giselle felt her stomach tighten and then roll over lazily. God, what a grin. “In my…family…we treasure women who speak their minds.”

“Then you’ve won the lottery today, pal. And you never answered my question. What are you up to?”

He reached out, and his big hand closed over her small, cold one. His thumb burrowed into her palm and stroked it. Her stomach did another slow roll, one she felt distinctly lower. “Why, I’m seducing you, of course,” he murmured.

Multiple internal alarms went off. “Who are you?” she said, almost gasped.

“No one special. Just a lord looking for his lady.”