Christmas with the Maverick Millionaire

She reached out and touched his hand before she spoke. He flinched a little at her touch. ‘Mitchell, I’m going to help you with this. Everything will be fine. It’s still early days. We’ve got three weeks to try and help you get a handle on your condition.’

He groaned and shook his head. ‘I don’t have time for this right now. I’ve got a tour starting soon. I need to focus all my energy and attention on that.’

She squeezed his hand but he pulled it away again. He clearly didn’t like being touched—she’d have to remember that. It was plain he had a lot on his mind, but she had to bring him back to the immediate future. ‘No, Mitchell. You have to focus on this. If you don’t, there won’t be any tour, because you won’t be able to perform.’

‘I won’t?’ It was almost as if his stronghold tower was wobbling all around him and about to come crashing down. There was real confusion on his face and it was the first time she’d seen him look a bit vulnerable. Maybe Dave was right, maybe she shouldn’t believe what was in the press.

She flipped open the box and pulled out the blood-glucose meter. Although there were numerous kinds on the market, they were all very similar. She handed it to him. ‘Let’s start at the very beginning.’ She gave a little smile. ‘A very good place to start. I take it someone at the hospital showed you how to do this?’

He smiled, and opened his meter. ‘Yeah, Dragon Lady was very bossy.’ His head tilted to the side. ‘Shouldn’t you be doing this for me? Isn’t that why you’re here?’

The words were said more curiously than accusingly but it made her realise it was time to be very clear about what her role was.

‘This is your condition, Mitchell, not mine. You need to learn how to manage it.’ She held out her hands towards the still messy kitchen. ‘We can’t let things like this happen all the time. You need to learn how to control things. No one else can do it for you.’

She bit her lip. She was praying he wasn’t about to have a monster-style, rock-star temper tantrum on her and start ordering her around. It would be so easy to tell him what to eat, check his blood-sugar levels and tell him what insulin to take, but it wasn’t safe. He had to learn how to do all that by himself.

Children as young as five were taught how to manage their diabetes. And for all Mitchell was a millionaire rock star, he was still an adult with a condition that needed to be controlled.

She gave a little smile. She had the strangest feeling that Mitchell Brody wouldn’t take kindly to being told what to do anyway. She was probably going to have to tiptoe around him.

He zipped open the fabric case and pulled out the meter, slotting a testing strip into place. The meter turned on automatically and she watched as he hesitated just for a second before placing the automatic finger-pricking device over the pad of one of his fingers. Seconds later he put a tiny drop of blood on the testing strip and the machine started its ten-second countdown.

Samantha said nothing. She just watched. He’d obviously paid attention when Dragon Lady had shown him how to use this and he seemed to manage it with no problems. One less thing to worry about.

The machine beeped and she looked at the reading. Four point two. She pointed at the screen. ‘Do you know what a normal blood-sugar reading is?’

He nodded and sighed. ‘It’s supposed to be between four and seven, but mine was much higher than that in hospital.’ She wanted to smile. He could obviously remember what he’d been told. Things were beginning to look up.

‘It would have been. You’d just been diagnosed with diabetes. It takes a bit of time to regulate things.’

He leaned back in the chair. She could see the release of pent-up muscles, the fatigue that was common after a hypoglycaemic attack, practically hitting him like a wrecking ball. ‘So what now, genius?’ One eyebrow was raised.

It was too late to do anything but the basics right now and she had to prioritise because it was clear he needed to rest. She stood up and walked over to the kitchen, rummaging around to find some bread and pop it in the toaster that had probably cost more than her car.

‘Right now we’re going to give you something else to eat. Although your blood sugar is in the normal range, you’ve probably been running a bit higher than normal for the last few days. It makes you more prone to hypo attacks. The smoothie will have given you a burst of sugar—the last thing we want is for that to fall rapidly in the middle of the night. I’m making you something a bit more substantial to eat.’ She glanced in the fridge. ‘Cheese or ham on your toast?’

Both eyebrows went up this time. ‘You’re making me something to eat?’

She wagged her finger at him as the toast popped. ‘This is a one-off. My priority is to get you safely through the night. I take it you’ve still to take your long-acting insulin?’

He scrunched up his face. ‘Yeah.’

‘Then you can do it after this. We’ll talk in the morning about how best to handle things going forward.’ She leaned back into the fridge and came back out with cheese in one hand and ham in the other. ‘You didn’t say which you prefer.’

‘Ham, with a little mustard on the side.’ She nodded and quickly made up the sandwich. ‘We need to talk about food choices tomorrow,’ she said, as she sat the plate down in front of him.

He groaned. ‘Colour me happy.’

A smile broke across her face. ‘Wow. I haven’t heard that in years. My grandpa used to say that all the time.’

For a second something changed. The barrier that had been between them from the second she’d got there seemed to disappear. This time his smile reached right up into his weary eyes.

He wasn’t the sexy guy whose calendar had adorned the staffroom wall at work. He wasn’t the heartthrob who’d played sold-out venues around the world.

He was just Mitchell Brody, the guy she was alone with in a million-pound chalet in the snowy Alps. Right now she was living every girl’s dream. Honestly? What nurse did she know who wouldn’t kill for this job?

Which was why it made her feel so uncomfortable.

Up close and personal he had the kind of warm brown eyes that could just pull you in and keep you there. The kind that could make you forget everything else around you. And that was pretty much what was happening now.

The meter gave a little beep—reminding them to switch it off—and it jerked her from her daydreams. ‘Cup of tea?’

She started boiling the kettle and searched through the cupboards for cups. He was still watching her with those eyes and it was unnerving. His gaze seemed to linger on her behind as she bent down to look in a few cupboards before he finally said, ‘Top right for tea, bottom left for cups,’ and took another bite of his sandwich. ‘To be honest, though, I’d prefer a beer.’

Her brain switched straight into professional mode. ‘It’s too soon for a beer.’ The words came out automatically before she could stop them and she cringed. He was a rock star—of course he’d want a beer. She had to try and push her bossy instincts aside and be realistic and put the patient first.

It was no use telling people who were newly diagnosed what they couldn’t or shouldn’t do. For most people, it just gave them the urge to rebel or to think their life would never be the same. And that could be disastrous. She’d seen exactly how her sister had reacted to things like that.

No. She knew better. This was all about making this work for the patient. This was his life, not hers. She was beginning to question her suitability for this job. It would always be tricky to teach an adult about something they might consider a new way of life. But to teach someone like Mitchell Brody? It seemed like an almost impossible task.

She watched as he ran his fingers through his just-too-long, messy hair. The man didn’t know how damn sexy he was. Then again, with the press and media attention he got, he probably did. Working with this guy was going to be more than distracting. Living in the same house as him? She would have to bolt her door at night and only hope that she didn’t sleepwalk.

As there was no evidence of a teapot she poured the boiling water into the mugs, squeezing the tea bags out and adding milk. She put them on the table and took a deep breath, ‘Don’t worry. I’ll talk you through what to do with your insulin and testing if you want to have a few beers.’ She paused, choosing her words carefully. ‘When the time is right.’

His hand moved slowly, lifting the mug and taking a sip. He cringed. ‘I like two sugars in my tea.’

She smiled and grabbed her handbag, which had been abandoned on the table, rummaging around for a few seconds before pulling out a saccharin dispenser and clicking two into his cup.

He tried again. This time the grimace was even worse. ‘That’s disgusting!’

She shrugged. ‘You’ll adjust. In a few weeks you won’t even notice the difference.’

‘Is that a promise?’ He held his cup up towards her.

She nodded and clinked her cup on his. This was about to get interesting.

He was still trying to come to terms with the events of the last hour. If anyone had told him a few weeks ago that he’d be sitting in Innsbruck, drinking tea with a hot chick around midnight, he would have laughed in their face.

Drinking tea was not what Mitchell Brody was known for. But the truth was it was actually about all he could face right now.

For the last few weeks leading up to his diagnosis he’d known something had been very wrong. He’d never felt so tired, both physically and mentally. He’d been beginning to question if he was feeling stressed about the tour. Which was why he’d ended up here, his favourite haunt in the world—and the one place the press hadn’t figured out he owned yet.

His house in Mauritius was regularly buzzed by helicopters. The townhouse he owned in London practically had the press camped outside the front door, and as for the house in LA. Well, it was a stop on one of the ‘houses of the stars’ coach tours. Privacy was virtually impossible.

Which was why he loved Innsbruck so much. He’d bought the house ten years ago under his brother’s name. Tucked up in the snowy Alps, with direct access to some of the best ski slopes in the world. Who could want to stay anywhere else?

He loved the area. He loved the people. Most of all he loved the staff at the nearby children’s hospital. His family had stayed here for just over a year when he’d been six. His father had worked for one of the big pharmaceutical companies that had had business in Austria and the whole family had had to up sticks for a year.

It had been great for two young boys. They’d learned to ski within a few weeks and had never been off the slopes until his brother Shaun’s diagnosis. Then they’d spent the rest of the time in and out of St Jude’s Children’s Hospital.

From the balcony at the front of the chalet he could even see the roof of St Jude’s. It was part of the reason he’d jumped at the chance to build here. Although his house was chalet-style, the expansive size almost made a mockery of that description.

He loved it here. He really did. This was his hideaway. There were people here that knew him as Mitch, the boy whose brother had had leukaemia, and had known him for the last twenty or more years. Shaun’s recovery had been a long process, and even after they’d moved from Austria his family had continued to holiday here twice a year.

Here, he wasn’t Mitchell Brody, rock star. He wasn’t the guy with four homes around the world and a dozen fast cars. He wasn’t the guy who’d fallen out of one nightclub too many, or had needed to be bailed out of jail the next morning. He was just Mitch, who had to queue in the local bakery for his favourite pastry, like everyone else. And he liked it that way.

He liked somewhere to be normal. He liked to be around people who had no expectation of him—where he was just another guy. Somewhere along the line all that had been lost.

With girls too. He’d been the spotty teenager who’d just wanted his first kiss. The young guy who everyone had laughed at for locking himself in his room all the time to practise his guitar.

But practice made perfect. He was testament to that. His last album had achieved platinum status in a matter of hours, with women queuing round the block of the hotel he’d been staying in, hoping for a glimpse of him.

It was amazing what a few years of going to the gym, some filling out and a careless approach to haircuts could do.

But that didn’t help with the girl sitting across the table from him right now, looking at him with those amazing blue eyes. He’d been so desperate to be discharged from hospital he couldn’t have cared less what his nurse looked like. As long as she could get him through the next three weeks, that had been fine by him.

But he hadn’t banked on this. He hadn’t banked on her.

He squinted at her. ‘What did you say your name was?’

She gave her head a little shake and laughed. ‘Samantha. Samantha Lewis. I’m your nurse.’

He leaned back in his chair appreciatively. ‘Oh, yes, you are.’

Her eyebrows arched and she wagged her finger at him. ‘Don’t start with me, sunshine. Don’t you be giving me that kind of look. I’m here to do a job. That’s all. I’m only staying up with you and making you tea so we can check your blood sugar before you go to bed.’

He leaned forward, planting his chin on his hand. ‘Let’s talk about this job. What exactly will you be doing for me?’

He watched her cheeks flush at the way he’d emphasised the word and the way she squirmed in her chair. He liked it. Samantha Lewis was different from the last lot of women he’d been involved with.

Right now, it felt like this diabetes diagnosis was a weight around his neck. Samantha Lewis might lighten the load a little.

‘I’ll be doing exactly what I should be doing. I’ll be helping you monitor your blood-glucose levels, teaching you how to adjust your insulin and how to recognise the early signs of a hypoglycaemic attack. It’s important you have good blood-glucose control. It’ll help you stay independent and reduce the risk of any complications.’

He groaned. She might not look like Dragon Lady, but she was certainly beginning to sound like her.

‘Let’s talk about something else.’ He leaned across the table towards her. ‘Is there a Mr Lewis I should know about?’

Her body gave the slightest backward jerk, as if she was deciding how to answer the question. Then she took another sip of her tea and rolled her eyes at him. Her muscles relaxed a little, as if she was shaking off a little of her tension. ‘Not that it’s any of your business, but there’s no Mr Lewis at present. I’m still interviewing possible contenders.’

Oh. He liked that. But she wasn’t finished.

‘So, Mitchell Brody—and is that your real name?—should I expect to find the latest female movie star or model hiding in the one of the cupboards in here?’

He grinned. A sparring partner. Samantha Lewis might even be fun. ‘Yes, Mitchell Brody is my real name. And, no, there’s no females hiding in cupboards, but I reserve the right for that to change.’

Something flitted across her eyes and the soft smile vanished in an instant. ‘Are you expecting someone to join you soon?’

What was that? The tiniest spark of jealousy? He pushed the thought from his head in an instant. Ridiculous. She was his nurse. Nothing else. No matter how cute she looked.

‘No.’ He shook his head and held his hands out. ‘To be honest, this place is my sanctuary. I’ve never brought a female …’ he lifted his fingers in the air and made invisible quote marks ‘… friend back here. Dave’s the only person you’ll find sloping about. Oh, and the local maid service that comes in every day for a tidy up. That reminds me.’ He stood up and walked over to the other side of the table where his phone lay.

‘What are you doing?’

He scrolled through his messages. ‘I got a text earlier and with everything that’s happened I forgot to reply.’ He looked around the room. ‘What do you think? Red and gold? Blues and silver, or purples and pinks? No.’ He gave a shudder at that last one.

‘Red and gold for what?’ She wrinkled her nose up again, it really did define the cute factor in her.

‘The colour of the tree and Christmas decorations. The tree will come tomorrow, I just need to tell them what colours I want.’ He looked around the sitting room. It really was looking kind of sparse. The tree and other decorations would give it a little warmth to match the fireplace that he’d forgotten to turn on.

‘You get someone to bring you a tree and decorate it?’

He nodded. ‘Yeah, every year. I just need to tell them what colours I want. What do you think?’

She shifted in her chair. ‘Why are you asking me? It’s your house, not mine.’

She was being a little frosty with him. He’d liked the version from a few minutes earlier. A sparring partner with some twinkle in her eye.

‘Well, you’re going to be here over Christmas too. I’d hate to pick something that made you shudder every time you walked in the door. I usually do this at the beginning of December, but with being ill and all I just kind of forgot about it.’ He walked over to a big empty space next to the far wall. ‘This is where the tree normally goes. They usually put some décor around the fireplace too.’

Her eyes narrowed as she looked around. ‘It depends what you want. Red and gold would give some warmth to the place, but blue and silver would probably fit more with your white walls and pale floors.’

He sat down in the chair next to her and gave her a nudge in the ribs. ‘Yeah, but which one would you like?’

He was teasing her again. Trying to goad that spark back into her eyes.

She gave a little sigh and took the last gulp of her tea. ‘I think I’d probably like the red and gold best.’ She hesitated. ‘But you’re missing out. Putting up the Christmas decorations is one of the best parts of Christmas. Getting someone else to do it for you?’ She shook her head and glanced at her watch. ‘Right, it’s time to check your blood sugar again. If it’s okay, you can do your night-time injection and go to bed. We’ll have a chat about things in the morning.’

Something had just flickered past her eyes. A feeling of regret perhaps? It didn’t matter how much he was paying Sam Lewis, she was still missing Christmas with her family to do this job. Maybe he should give that a little more thought?

He raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re giving me permission to go to bed?’ He let out a little laugh. ‘Well, that’ll be a first.’

Her cheeks flushed again. She was easily embarrassed. It might even be fun having her around for a few weeks. She might make having diabetes seem not so much like a drag.

He sat down and took a minute to retest himself, turning the monitor around to show her the result of eight. She nodded. ‘It’ll probably go up a little more as you digest your food. That’s fine.’ She stood up and walked over to the door where her suitcase was. ‘Where will I be sleeping?’

Yikes. He hadn’t even told her where her room was. Hospitality wasn’t his forte. His mother would be furious with him. He moved quickly, grabbing the handle of her case and gesturing for her to follow him. ‘Sorry, Samantha. You’ll be down here.’ He swung open the door to the room. It was at the front of the house and had views all the way down the valley. He heard her intake of breath as she looked out over the snowy landscape and bright orange lights from the streets a mile beneath them.

It gave him a little surge of pleasure that she was obviously impressed. He loved this place and wanted others to love it too. She’d walked over to the large glass doors that led out onto the balcony and pressed her hands against the glass. ‘This is gorgeous.’ She spun around. ‘And the room is huge.’

He pointed to one side of her. ‘Your bathroom is in here, and the walk-in closet behind you.’

He pulled open the door to the closet and she automatically walked inside. After a second she threw out her hands and spun around, laughing. ‘Mitchell, this closet is bigger than my bedroom back home!’

The sparkle was definitely back in her eyes. And he liked it. ‘I’m glad you like it.’ He pointed to the wooden sleigh-style bed with the giant mattress. ‘Sleep well, because we’ll be up early in the morning.’

She looked a little surprised. Did she think he liked to lie in till midday? ‘Okay. What time do you want to have breakfast?’

‘Six.’

Her eyebrows shot up. ‘Six? Why so early?’

This was probably her first time here. He hadn’t even asked her if she’d been before. He winked at her. ‘Because six is the best time to ski.’

CHAPTER THREE

SHE’D JUST SPENT the best night in the most luxurious bed she’d ever slept in. She couldn’t even begin to imagine the thread count on these fabulous sheets but chances were she’d never experience them again. She was half-inclined to try and stuff them in her case as she was leaving.

But the best bit was the morning. She hadn’t closed the curtains last night and as the sun had gradually risen over the snow-covered Alps she’d had the most spectacular view. The bedroom balcony looked directly out over the hillside to a blanket of perfect white snow. There was something so nice about lying in bed, all cosseted and cosy, admiring the breathtaking, snow-covered scenery.

No wonder Mitchell loved this place. He’d called it his sanctuary. And as the press were usually clamouring around him for a story she could see why the surrounding peace and quiet was so precious to him. She could quite easily fall in love with it herself.

Everything about this job should be perfect. Everything about this job could be perfect—if only she hadn’t spent most of last night tossing and turning, fretting about Mitchell’s parting comment.

Skiing.

The words sent a horrible shiver down her spine. He’d been joking, right? He had to be. No one had stipulated she had to be able to ski, because that would have been a dealbreaker for her. She couldn’t even begin to pretend to be ski-slope-worthy. More importantly, she didn’t want to be.

But what about the bright blue ski jacket and matching salopettes? Maybe she should have asked questions as soon as she’d seen them. Maybe she should have asked Dave for more information last night. But there hadn’t really been a chance last night.

In the early morning light she peered at her watch. Nearly six. She felt wide-awake now, but she’d probably hit a wall by lunchtime today and need to lie down for an hour. Not ideal when she was supposed to be supervising Mitchell.

Mitchell Brody. She honestly couldn’t believe it. She squeezed her eyes shut and resisted the temptation to pinch herself. Her skin was tingling just at the thought of the fact that somewhere in this sprawling house Mitchell Brody could be as partially dressed as she was. Hmm. Or maybe he was in the shower, water streaming over those lean abs …

She wanted to grab her phone and start texting all her friends, but she’d signed that non-disclosure agreement, plus the fact that as a nurse she couldn’t talk about her patients.

Chances were she’d finish this job and never be able to tell anyone a thing about it. But no one could stop her imagination …

She’d never been in a situation like this before, itching to talk about something but having to stay quiet. It was weird.

There was a noise outside and her stomach gave a little flip-flop. There was only one other person in this house. He hadn’t been kidding. It was almost exactly six and Mitchell Brody was up and around.

‘Knock, knock.’ The low, sexy voice nearly made her jump a foot in the air. Without waiting for an answer, the door creaked open and Mitchell stuck his head inside. She bolted upright in bed and pulled the covers up underneath her chin. This must be what mild shock felt like; her tongue was currently stuck to the roof of her mouth.

He was smiling, obviously feeling better. He didn’t seem to notice her lack of response. ‘Hi, there. Gorgeous view, isn’t it?’ She nodded in agreement. She could hardly disagree. Mitchell was looking bright and sparky and from what she could see was dressed for the slopes. She, on the other hand, was wearing next to nothing.