High Heels and Holidays by Kasey Michaels Page B

pressed the tip of his unsheathed sword cane to the man’s Adam’s apple. “Alex, don’t!”
    â€œI wouldn’t think of it, my dear. Unless the gentleman moves, that is. You aren’t going to sneeze, are you, my good fellow? That would probably be most unfortunate for you. Now, if you promise to remain very, very still, I will lower my weapon. Agreed?”
    The “gentleman” made some rather strangled sounds that must have indicated his agreement, for Alex lowered the sword cane, using it to indicate the two groaning shapes on the snow. “So very obedient. What an intelligent felon you are. However, if I might suggest that you assist your cronies to their feet and then take yourselves off before I lose this most astonishingly and laudable grip on my usual good humor?”
    Maggie recognized the fairly snazzy, sophisticated but sarcastic line, of course. She’d written it for the Viscount Saint Just about three books ago. The trio of hapless muggers took off at a run and Alex neatly slid the thin sword back inside the cane before assisting her to her feet. “Oh, Alex. You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
    â€œI suppose not,” he said, and then bent to retrieve his package. Naturally, the vase was still intact, as he’d aimed it at a pile of still soft, untouched snow—which was very different from where he’d aimed her . She was just about to point that out to him when she heard a noise behind her and tensed, only to relax when she heard Sterling’s voice.
    â€œSaint Just, there you are! Oh, and Maggie, too. I was so worried we might have lost her and you wouldn’t have liked that above half would you.” Sterling shut his mouth, grimacing, then looked imploringly at Saint Just. “I’m sorry. Spilled the broth there, didn’t I?”
    Maggie’s sympathy for her creation—along with a variety of rather intriguing feelings she would examine later—disappeared with Sterling’s words. “Yeah, Alex, you wouldn’t have liked that above half, would you? Gotta keep her in sight at all times, right? Why , Alex? Hmmm?”
    Alex tucked the vase under his arm once more, leaving both hands free to adjust Maggie’s collar. “The woman is nearly assaulted by low-life felons, and she dares ask such a question?”
    â€œI wasn’t in danger of being assaulted by low-life felons in my apartment all day,” she pointed out as the three of them picked their way back to the path, lights, and the crush of people stepping around Bernie, who stood blocking the middle of the path, a large something-or-other wrapped in brown paper propped against her, nearly toppling her. “But I’ll get back to you on that. What the hell is Bernie holding up? It’s bigger than she is.”
    â€œA portrait of her ancestors, actually,” Sterling told her, taking charge of the package that must be four feet wide and six feet high. “Isn’t it exciting that she found them? Right back there, in that tent.”
    â€œYeah, exciting,” Maggie said as José ran up to them, clearly summoned by cell phone, and assisted Sterling in carrying the portrait to the limousine, Alex parting the way for them, Bernie and Maggie following in their wake. “You were adopted, right, Bernie?”
    â€œYes, sweetie. And now I’ve adopted ancestors. They’ll look great over the fireplace, don’t you think? Well, you haven’t seen them yet, but believe me, they’ll be perfect. I think there’s even a dog. I’m going to name them all. Even the dog. Especially the dog.”
    â€œBernie, honey, you have to stop this,” Maggie said, broaching a subject she had been hoping to avoid. “You’re trading one addiction for another.”
    â€œI am not. What do you mean?”
    â€œI mean, you’ve become a buyaholic.”
    â€œShopaholic, Maggie. There’s no such