Christmas Star (Contemporary, Romance) Read Online Free Page B

discriminating. She felt the urge to laugh. What would her thief say if she offered to pay him to take them off her hands? She’d never liked the muted pastels or their god-awful gilt frames. It was her mother who’d insisted they be hung.
    Actually Patrice Lederman had brought her decorator of the month over to do the job.
    Picturing the dramatic fit her mother would pitch when she swept through on one of her rare visits and found them missing did make Starr laugh.
    Her laughter drew the stranger’s angry gaze.
    By now, however, Starr was pretty confident that if he’d intended her bodily harm, he’d have already done it. Trying but failing to control her relief, she waved a hand airily. “Take the paintings. Please. I’ll give you a head start before I report them stolen.”
    “You think I’m a thief?” Clay’s jaw tightened. “I was simply calculating their worth—wondering how a...civil servant can indulge such expensive tastes. But then, we know how, don’t we?”
    The news that he’d poked into her personal life galled Starr. Trying to shake up his arrogance, she said, “Well, maybe I have a sugar daddy.”
    “Do tell.”
    He’d obviously missed the sarcasm. “Hey—that was a joke.” She gripped the back of the chair defensively. But the way his eyes raked her, she felt as though she’d been tried and convicted of something slimy. Moving back, Starr clutched her robe again. “I’m serious about the prints. Take them and get out. I’m not likely to give you a proof of purchase for the IRS.”
    “Cute. Very cute. And since you brought it up, how does your tax form read on these little—what do you call them?—perks.”
    Starr blanched. Was this about taxes? Oh, Lord. She had to wait until she was thirty—a year from now—to get her trust fund. Her grandfather had set it up for her through his bank, so she’d thought the fund’s administrators had paid the inheritance tax. Maybe they hadn’t....
    “Are you from the IRS?” she demanded, all levity gone. “I mean, am I being investigated?”
    “I’m not from the IRS, sweetheart, but I fully intend to have you investigated. You know, you amaze me. Don’t you feel a shred of guilt, knowing your ‘sugar daddy’ is a married man?”
    Starr closed her eyes. Good grief, the man was a full-blown fruitcake, after all. Wanting to appear casual, she edged toward the phone. If she could punch in a one-number code, Blevins would summon the police.
    “What’s your name? Do you have ID?” she asked, trying to buy time. Her smile felt wooden. But crazies responded to smiles and gentle voices, didn’t they?
    Suddenly her heart froze. What if SeLi came down into the middle of this? Terrified, Starr made a wild lunge for the phone.
    Clay read her intent and with ease fenced her against the wall.
    Their eyes locked. Starr was the first to look away.
    “All you need to know,” he said, his tone dangerously soft, “is that I’m someone who plans to throw a monkey wrench in the senator’s little game.”
    “Senator...McLeod?” Starr’s mind raced, though her voice squeaked. “Oh, my goodness!” Her gaze again tangled with the stranger’s ice blue glare. All at once things fell into place, and Starr felt less of a personal threat.
    “Who sent you?” she asked. “Wildlife advocates or environmentalists?”
    Clay fought her attempt to throw him off track. God, but she had that look of innocence down pat.
    “Don’t BS me, sugar.” Clay dug the check out of his jacket pocket and waved it under her nose. “I think this should clarify my position.”
    Starr had to cross her eyes to see what he was holding. It looked like a check. But he didn’t keep it still long enough for her to be sure.
    “I trust this is enough to get you out of the senator’s bed and out of town. A long, long way out of town,” he drawled.
    It was indeed a check, Starr saw now. A very big check if she’d seen all those zeroes correctly. And seeing her name on the