When Sutton gets dumped right before what was supposed to be a romantic Christmas weekend getaway in the mountains, she makes a Christmas vow: a man free Christmas. She's going to finish writing her Christmas novel in peace and have a nice time skii...
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The Diamond of Calcutta sparkled in the light of the falling snow.
After months of exploring the jungles of the Congo, fighting snow leopards in the Himalayas, sailing the Black Sea: after all the searching. She'd done it. She'd found it. It was real. The chill breeze ruffled the fur on her parka, as if it wanted to pull her over the side of the cliff with it.
"Put your hands in the air, and no one has to get hurt."
She spun. Roger Rogueman- handsome as he was horrible, her own personal villain- stood in the snow, gun in hand.
"I'll never give you the jewel! You will use it for personal gain, I will use it only to provide presents for every orphan!"
Sutton lifted her pen and paused. Orphans? Really? She scribbled out the last line.
"I'll never give you the jewel! You'll have to pry it from my cold, dead hands!"
"Not unless your hands are wrapped around me..."
Roger Rogueman stepped closer, his devilish, charming smile warming her to her core. His hands wrapped around her waist, he looked deep into her eyes, his lips coming dangerously closer to hers as he whispered-
"I love Paradise Lost."
Sutton jumped at the voice and knocked over her cup of coffee over everything she'd just written.
"Crap in a handbasket!" Sutton yelled, jumping up and grabbing papers from the lukewarm coffee now streaming over the table. "No no no!" she cried.
Another set of hands joined her as she tried to save papers from the flood of coffee now seeping over the rat's nest of abandoned homework, half-eaten scones, napkins, and crumpled paper. The diner was almost empty, an Elvis song played in the background, and the snow-covered Christmas village tinkled outside. She'd come here directly after her flight, hoping soaking in the food, coffee and the picture perfect view would inspire her.
Now everything was soaked in coffee.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," Sutton noticed distantly that the hands helping her were attached to a deep, lovely voice, with some accent she couldn't quite place. Maybe British? His long, graceful fingers were doing a much better job at rescuing paper than hers.
"Oh it's fine, the story was crap anyways," Sutton picked up her notebook of at least fifty different endings to The Christmas Jewel, and tossed it to the bench on the other side of the booth, away from the spread of coffee.
Finally, papers rescued, she turned to look at him. And then she completely forgot what she was going to say.
"I'm apologize again," he said, in that lovely accent. "At least Paradise Lost wasn't harmed."
