Yours for Christmas. Susan Mallery

thought wistfully.

      “Makes sense,” he told her. “I’m glad you’re getting this place. Let me know if you want a guy’s opinion on the furniture.”

      “You’d go with me?”

      “Sure. Sounds like fun.”

      He was being nice. Nice was much more dangerous than handsome, she thought. Nice was real. Nice could make her want more than a crush.

      Not possible, she told herself firmly. For all she knew, she was Kenny’s good deed for the season. She had to remember that she was a not the kind of woman a famous former jock, who was also wealthy and successful in his business life, would be interested in. He probably dated supermodels or actresses. Or both.

      “Should I warn you that seven-year-old girls generally adore all things princess?” she asked teasingly as they walked toward the front door.

      “I would expect no less.”