Free The Importance of Being Alice by Katie MacAlister Page B

doesn’t like it when anyone tells him what to do.”
    She stopped so suddenly that Elliott, who was glancing around them with a bit of concern, bumped into her back.
    â€œSorry,” she said at the same time he murmured an apology. She turned to face him, her lips held in a tight line. “Patrick is an ass, isn’t he?”
    Elliott frowned. What was this?
    She put her hand on his arm, and it was then that he noticed the lines of strain around her eyes. Worse, it looked as if she was about to cry. “I mean, he just dumped me, totally out of the blue. Everything was fine, and then one day, he just said he’d had enough, and that I needed to move out. Only an ass would do that, right?”
    â€œThat’s a very apt description of a man who would treat a woman in such a manner,” he agreed, wondering a bit wildly what he could do to keep her from crying. He had a weakness against tears, especially women’s tears, a weakness that horrified and repulsed him. As a result, he went to extraordinary lengths to avoid situations such as the one that was facing him now.
    â€œYou’d never treat someone that way, would you?” Alice asked with an audible sniff. Her eyes were definitely tearing up. Any moment now, one of the tearswould break free, and then he’d be a goner. He had to distract her, and fast.
    â€œA gull tried to eat my shoe earlier today. It was most amusing.”
    â€œI just know you wouldn’t. You’re too nice. Maybe it’s because you’re a lord, but I just know you wouldn’t kick out a girlfriend without due cause.”
    A big fat tear trembled on her eyelashes. He had to reroute her train of thought immediately. What she needed was a shock to her system. He thought for an instant, then asked, “So, seal clubbing. As bad as whaling, or worse? What are your thoughts on the subject?”
    â€œEspecially when you were planning on marrying that girlfriend in Budapest.”
    Dammit, all his tactics were failing him! He had to act fast, or all would be lost. Desperately, he thought of subjects of conversation that might defuse the situation (satanic sacrifices? Global warming? An inquiry into her political beliefs?), but in the end, the pathetic little hiccup she gave that warned of imminent weeping drove him into doing the last thing he expected—he kissed her. He simply grasped her arms, pulled her up against him, and planted his mouth on hers.
    Even while he was doing it, he was telling himself to keep it clinical, to stay at an emotional distance, and not to put any effort into the kiss. It was a distracting tactic, and nothing more.
    Until she melted against him. Then the heady scent of sun-warmed woman teased him, sinking into his blood and triggering an instant reaction in the groin region. Worse, she put her arms around him and kissed him back, her mouth opening under his and allowing him to taste the warmth within. Sometime recently, she’d been eatingcinnamon, leaving her mouth as spicy and sweet as a Christmas candy. He had to stop. He was going to stop. Stopping was the right thing to do.
    She moaned into his mouth, and he pulled her even closer, sliding his hands down her arms to hold her waist. He wanted to grab her delectable ass, but he was a gentleman through and through, and he’d be damned if he was the sort of man who ass-grabbed after only a day’s acquaintance.
    When they finally stopped, she pulled away from him and they both took a steadying breath. After a minute, she said, “Thank you,” quietly leaving him feeling bereft and frustrated and with a raging erection that was going to make walking extremely uncomfortable.
    He looked down at her face, slightly sunburned from her time at the windmills, the scattering of freckles across her nose and chin making a warm glow deep in his belly. “For what?”
    â€œThe pity kiss. Normally, I’m against them, because nothing is worse than