For today’s Sunday Snippet, here’s vintage shop owner Annie’s first glimpse of tech investor Michael, who arrived in Trappers Cove without a proper winter coat.
Get The Billionaire’s Christmas Castle for just 99¢She turned her attention to the man rifling through the coats, his movements sharp and brisk. “Can I help you find something in particular?”
He faced her, and her heart stuttered.
Elegant was the first word that leapt to mind. Yes, please, were the second and third.
Tall, fit, and near her age, judging by his laugh lines and the furrows bracketing his full lips. His chestnut hair was touched with silver at the temples, and a sexy salt-and-pepper scruff covered his sharply angled jaw. Heavy lids shaded bright eyes the color of cognac. The only flaw on his otherwise model-perfect face was a bump on his nose. Her fingers drifted to the slight protrusion on her own, the result of falling off a beach pony when she was ten.
Quelle coincidence.
His clothing didn’t reveal much—just a typical well-off Northwest male wearing a down vest over a flannel shirt, crisp twill pants, and hiking shoes that probably cost more than the new set of tires her van so desperately needed.
His lips quirked in a playful grin, and he inclined his head toward the door. “Don’t know what I expected to find in Auntie Annabelle’s Antique Attic, but it damn sure wasn’t that.”
Of course, he’d have a deep, smokey voice that prickled her skin with goosebumps. And of course he’d overheard every word of Nolan’s sleazy proposition. Annie’s face erupted in flames.
His brow furrowed as he stepped closer. “Are you okay? Should I call someone?”
She smoothed her damp palms over her skirt. “I’m, uh—” There was no graceful way to explain, so she might as well be honest. “Embarrassed, actually. My friend lacks a certain—”
“Respect for a beautiful woman?”
She spluttered, her throat suddenly too tight to emit words.
Mr. Handsome winced. “Sorry. Cheesy flirtation is probably the last thing you want to hear right now.” His sheepish smile reeled her in like a hooked salmon.
And then his oh-so-kissable lips formed words to break the spell.
“I’m surprised to see this many customers in a secondhand shop.”
So much for attraction. Just another wealthy snob.
Stiffening, she bit back a scathing retort.
He straightened and cleared his throat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound snooty. I don’t have much experience with this kind of place. Lots of…erm…”—his gaze darted from display to display—“interesting merchandise in here.”
At least he was trying. Though her tongue itched to give him a verbal smackdown, it was better to educate than obliterate.
With effort, she softened her tone. “Many people prefer to shop second hand because it’s a more sustainable choice. Some folks come here to construct the warm, homey past they never had. Others appreciate well-made merchandise that lasts. Nowadays, things are made to be disposable.” Stepping closer, she fingered his chic but flimsy vest. “Like this piece. It looks nice, but it won’t hold up to dry cleaning, much less a real winter storm.”
His startled gaze fell to her fingers.
Yikes! She dropped her hand and backed out of his personal space. What had gotten into her?
Even his self-conscious laugh reverberated with sexy vibes. “Well, as soon as I remove my foot from my mouth, perhaps you can help me find a coat. Didn’t expect it to be this cold in Trappers Cove. Of course, I’ve only ever been here in summer, and it’s been years, so…” He lifted the sleeve of a heavy motorcycle jacket.
This guy didn’t seem like the biker type. But what type was he?
Her shoulder brushed his as she rifled through the coats on the upper rack. “We haven’t had a cold snap like this since I was a little girl. Old folks used to call it an Alaska Clipper. I’ve seen photos of icicles on the cliffs at Ivan’s Hollow. Hard to imagine, eh?”
She snuck another glance at his sculpted profile and hoped the flush heating her cheeks wasn’t too visible. Wowza, this guy is gorgeous.
She cleared her throat. “So, what brings you here in winter? Family Christmas on the beach?”
He scoffed. “With family is the last place I want to be this Christmas.” He reached past her, and his sigh stirred her hair. “I’m taking a little time to breathe, get away from all the holiday bullshit.” His deep, rumbling chuckle sent delicious chills down her spine. “Sorry, I mean holiday nonsense.”
His breath smelled like a candy cane. A fleeting vision of that sweet, minty exhalation against her lips revved her pulse—until the obvious smacked her upside her lust-addled head.
This was the finance tycoon who’d come to Trappers Cove to stew in solitude.
Fabulous. The first guy to light me up in ages, and he turns out to be one of them.
Cheryl’s chiding words rang in her ear. Her bestie might have the tiniest sliver of a point. After all, the guy apologized for his snooty remark. Besides, no one should be alone at Christmas, not even grumpy billionaires. Helping this attractive stranger enjoy a cozy small-town Christmas was just the distraction she needed from her own holiday blues.
She squared her shoulders and flashed her best saleswoman smile. “Well, Trappers Cove is an excellent place to spend the holidays.”
He examined a 1940s trench coat. “When I spent summers here with my aunt and uncle as a kid, I used to wish I could live here year round.”
“Oh yeah? Who were they?”
“Great-aunt and uncle, really. Arnie and Ruby Garwood. He was a retired banker. She made quilts, and shortbread cookies, and the best blackberry jam I’ve ever tasted.” Happy memories lent his grin a boyish tinge.
“I remember Ruby. She and my Granny Grace were friends. I think I may have one of her quilts at home.”
“Really? I’d love to see it.” His shoulder rose in a sheepish half-shrug. “I mean, if you don’t mind a stranger in your home.”
She patted his arm. “Strangers don’t stay strangers for long here. Besides, my granny and your great-aunt were besties, so we’re practically related.” She stuck out her hand. “Annie Scott, of the Trappers Cove Scotts.”
His big, smooth palm enfolded hers, warm and dry and perfect. “Michael Garwood, of the Bellevue Garwoods.”
She tried hard to scrape the distaste from her tone. “I know the area well.”
Fresh out of college, she took a job as assistant to a private stylist in that swanky Seattle suburb. Their filthy rich customers displayed zero originality or creativity—a bunch of pampered sheep gobbling up the trend du jour. Her passion for pre-loved couture went over like a fart in church.
If Michael Garwood was used to that snobbish crowd, he was in for a surprise. Probably do him good to loosen up and meet some down-to-earth people.
“Well, you won’t find any holiday galas here, just friendly folk, a little extra glitter, and too much food. Plus blustery weather. And the sea, of course.”
“Sounds perfect.” He unhooked a retro raglan coat. “Wow. My grandfather had one exactly like this.”
Moving to Michael’s side, she sized up his trim body. “Let’s see, you’re a forty-two long?” Time to flex her skills. She flipped past a vintage trench coat, a puffy down parka, a fleece-lined corduroy car coat, an army field jacket…
“How about this one?” She unhooked a navy pea coat. “The cuffs show a little wear, but the lining’s intact, and it’s very warm and windproof.” Smiling wistfully, she stroked the heavy wool. “Think of the stories this jacket could tell.”
“Stories, huh?” Leaning closer, he gave it a discreet sniff.
Just when I thought you might have some redeeming qualities.
She curled her lip. “Don’t worry, you won’t get cooties. Every garment in the store has been professionally cleaned.”
A becoming shade of pink stained his cheekbones. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.” He slid out of his too-thin vest and handed it to Annie, who cuddled it to her chest, secretly enjoying the residual body heat while he pulled on the pea coat.
Placing her tingling hand on the small of his back, she directed him to the cheval mirror.
He shoved his hands into the pockets and turned from side to side. “Makes me look like a sea captain from the adventure books I read as a kid.”
A very hot sea captain. For a self-indulgent moment, she imagined the two of them cuddled up in a narrow berth, their bodies rocked by the waves while Michael rocked her world.
Whoa now, enough of that. She shook off the naughty fantasy.
A slow, dazzling smile stretched his lips. “I’ll take it. Thank you, Annie.”
Her heart’s reaction landed somewhere between pitter-pat and cowabunga. The doorway bell saved her from making a complete fool of her horny self as Cheryl hustled back into the shop, her expression tight. “Um, Annie, could I talk to you for a minute?”
Michael retrieved his vest, stepped back, and bobbed a courtly bow. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just browse for a bit.”
Annie scooted closer to her jittery friend and lowered her voice. “What’s up?”
“That’s him,” Cheryl hissed, “the tycoon.”
Yes! Gimme Michael and Annie’s story