Millionaire Under The Mistletoe

His scornful contempt of her maidenly modesty was even more infuriating because she shared his opinion; even so, she couldn’t bring herself to expose herself to the full glare of his scrutiny, which was, she reasoned gloomily, bound to be a whole lot more objective than it had been last night.

‘If you’re waiting for me to turn my back you’ll be waiting a long, long time,’ he drawled, taking up a grandstand seat on the packing case. He stretched out his long legs and casually crossed his booted feet at the ankle.

‘You’re no gentleman.’

He seemed to find her accusation amusing.

With an angry toss of her tousled hair she pulled the garment over her head.

It was a classic case of more haste, less speed. With her head halfway through the arm-hole she took a deep breath and told herself to calm down. So she didn’t have the best boobs in the world—they were more than adequate…some might even say ample…what did it matter if he didn’t grade them in the top ten per cent…? After all, they were only ships that had passed—and collided—in the night.

The rest of the manoeuvre was performed with a bit of belated dignity. She smoothed the fabric into place.

‘I’m perfectly at ease with my body,’ she declared defiantly. Why not just give him a list of your insecurities to peruse at his leisure and be done with it, you idiot!

‘Oh, it shows, sweetheart, it shows,’ came the bone-dry response.

Whilst his facial muscles didn’t budge an inch, the sardonic amusement in his eyes said it all. Then suddenly he wasn’t smiling any more and something was added to the atmosphere that hadn’t been there a second before—something that made her heart-rate pick up tempo.

‘Last night…’ he began heavily.

Here was the point where he explained it had been great but… She jumped in to beat him to the punchline; no way could she endure the big brush-off she sensed was heading her way!

‘Last night!’ For some reason she found herself grinning in a manic kind of way across at him. ‘Yes, mad wasn’t it…?’ She shrugged in a way that suggested that kind of madness came her way on a regular basis.

‘Mad, bad…’ his deep voice lovingly caressed each syllable and became diamond-hard as he continued ‘…mind-blowingly great sex…is that what you are trying to say?’

Darcy wasn’t trying to say anything; she was trying to remember how to breathe! Not only did he sound as if he meant it, he looked it too. In fact, that mean, hungry look on his rampantly male features made her shudder inside and blush hotly on the outside—she wished she could have reversed the scenario; it would have shown less.

Now, here was something she hadn’t bargained for. Was it a good or bad thing…?

With a rush she got to her feet and tugged the pyjama top down as far as it would go over her thighs.

‘I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.’ Of all the moronic… With a sigh of relief she located her clothes folded in a neat pile—Darcy retained a very definite memory of throwing them along with her inhibitions to the four winds the previous night. She found the thought of Reece retrieving and carefully folding her clothes somehow strangely unsettling.

‘Did you?’

‘You know I did,’ she choked.

‘I seem to recall your mentioning something to that effect,’ he agreed.

Darcy choked some more.

‘Why are you running away?’ His languid tone suggested casual curiosity rather than a driving desire to discover the reason.

Darcy zipped up her jeans, swearing softly as the zip snagged in the fabric of the pyjama trousers she had on underneath. ‘That’s rich coming from you!’ she said, going into attack mode.

There was a tense silence.

‘Meaning…?’ Darcy had never heard that dangerous note in his voice before but she didn’t doubt he used it often—and no doubt it had the desired effect of cowing the recipient. Well, not this time, mate…!

A mulish expression settled on her soft features as she planted her hands on her hips and laughed. ‘You’ve got to be kidding…? You’re holed up here; what’s that if it’s not running away?’

She watched the anger slowly fade from his eyes. ‘Christmas. I’m running away from Christmas…’

A startled laugh was drawn from her. ‘There’s a lot of it around.’ If all Mum was running away from was Christmas she’d be delighted—the complications arose if it was her life or, nasty thought, her family that had made her flee!

‘Pardon…?’

Darcy shook her head. ‘Nothing,’ she prevaricated, her eyes sliding from his.

‘Then why are you looking so shifty?’ he wondered, displaying an unforgivable and highly worrying degree of perception.

‘I’ve got that sort of face,’ she snapped back bad-temperedly.

‘You wouldn’t make a poker player,’ he agreed.

‘I was just thinking.’

‘Dare I ask what?’

‘If you must know, I was thinking you don’t strike me as the sort of man who runs away from anything. And even if you did, why on earth would you run away here…?’ Her eyes did a quick, highly critical circuit of the room.

He shook his head and clicked his tongue. ‘Don’t let the Yorkshire Tourist Board hear you say that,’ he chided.

‘I meant this house.’

‘Why not…?’ he drawled.

‘No electricity, I’m guessing poor plumbing…?’ She began to tick off the reasons on her fingers.

‘Diabolical,’ he conceded ruefully. ‘If you want the bathroom I’d wait until you get next door if I were you.’

‘Thanks for the advice.’ She refused to be sidetracked. ‘You still haven’t told me why.’

The imperious angle of his head made it seem as though he was looking down his masterful nose at her—Darcy didn’t relish the sensation.

‘Could that be because I don’t think it’s any of your business…?’

Darcy relished this sensation even less! She caught her breath angrily at the calculated rebuff.

‘Well, that put me in my place, didn’t it?’

A spasm of something close to regret flickered across Reece’s features.

‘Hold on.’ He moved to intercept her before she reached the door. ‘My friend’s builders have been a little less than truthful with their reports to him,’ he explained abruptly. ‘I’d say they’ve fallen behind schedule by a couple of months. I was expecting something less…basic.’

‘Then you’re not staying?’ Of course he’s not, dumbo.

‘I wasn’t…’

Sure she must have misheard his soft response, Darcy raised her startled eyes to his face. ‘What’s changed?’

He was watching her with that infuriatingly enigmatic smile that told her absolutely nothing. ‘I like the neighbours.’

Their eyes met and a great rush of sexual longing crowded out sensible coherent thought. She never figured out how long she stood there staring at him like a drooling idiot.

Does he think all he has to do is click his fingers and I’ll…? Why not, Darcy, girl, that’s all he had to do last night! Her face flushed with mortification.

‘Like the idea of sex on tap, you mean!’

His mouth tightened.

‘Well, let me tell you, if you think last night was anything other than a one-off, think again!’ she advised hotly.

‘Does the idea of a relationship based on sex frighten you, Darcy?’

‘No,’ she told him candidly, ‘it appalls me!’

‘And excites you,’ he interjected slyly.

‘No such thing!’ she blustered.

‘Liar…you want me and we both know it.’

Darcy gave a hoarse, incredulous laugh—talk about Neanderthal. ‘Why not just thump your chest and drag me off to your cave?’

Reece thought the general idea was sound, although he was thinking more along the lines of a nice hotel room with good plumbing and Room Service.

‘It may not be a particularly politically correct thing to say, but—’

‘May?’ she squeaked. ‘There’s no “may” about it!’

‘Tell me, do you regret last night happened? Do you regret we made love, Darcy?’

She lifted her chin, met his eyes scornfully, and opened her mouth. ‘You bet I…’ The blood drained dramatically from her face. ‘I…no,’ she admitted with the utmost reluctance—now would have been a good time to lie.

‘As I was saying, from the first moment I saw you…’

Perhaps the significance of her confession was wasted on him…? Then again, perhaps this was wishful thinking on her part.

‘The first moment you saw me you thought I was a boy. Is there something you’re not telling me…?’

He eyed her with signs of irritation. ‘So, not the first,’ he gritted. ‘We’re not talking about then, we’re talking about now.’

Darcy didn’t want to talk about now—actually, she didn’t want to talk about anything with this infuriating man who seemed to have the knack of making her say incriminating things.

‘And now,’ she announced coldly, ‘I’m going home—or I would be if you’d shift yourself.’ She looked pointedly past his shoulder at the door.

Reece immediately stepped to one side with a fluid grace that made her stomach muscles quiver; perversely she found herself reluctant to take the escape route offered.

Whilst she hovered indecisively he moved to her side. ‘I’ll walk you home.’

Darcy’s eyes widened. ‘You’re joking—right?’

‘Actually,’ he confessed, ‘I was hoping you’d let me have the use of your shower, or, better still, a long, hot bath.’

‘My God, but you’ve got a nerve!’ she gasped.

‘I’ve also got several broken ribs, extensive bruising and a bust shoulder, but don’t let that influence your decision.’

Despite herself, Darcy felt a smile forming. ‘We’re not a hotel!’ she told him severely.

‘Is that a no?’

Darcy’s eyes narrowed. ‘It should be.’ He didn’t look surprised by her capitulation, but then, why would he, when you’ve already proved you’re a push-over in every sense of the word? ‘If you say anything to my family about…you know what…’

‘So, Darce…?’

‘So what?’ Darcy waved her secateurs in her brother’s face. ‘If you’re going to get in my way you might as well carry this lot.’ She indicated the large pile of freshly cut holly at her feet.

‘Me!’

My God, but men were hopeless. ‘I suppose you’d just stand there and watch me shift the lot.’ They’d certainly stand by and watch her decorate the house with boughs of festive greenery, not to mention decorate the enormous tree that by family tradition they collected from the local garden centre owned by her godparents.

‘It’s sharp.’

‘It’s holly, Nick; of course it’s sharp.’

‘This sweater cost me a fortune,’ he grumbled, preceding her up the garden path. ‘Where do you want it?’ he asked when they eventually reached the house.

‘Leave it in the porch. Feel like a cup of coffee?’ she asked as her brother followed her into the house.

‘I feel like some answers.’

Darcy, her expression suspicious, watched as he plucked a couple of stray glossy leaves from the fine rib of his sweater.

‘About what?’ she asked, trying not to sound defensive.

‘About what you were doing with our neighbour. I thought you couldn’t stand him.’

‘I can’t,’ Darcy asserted stoutly. ‘The man had a serious accident. What was I supposed to do—say he couldn’t take a shower?’ She turned away, crashing the cups and saucers. ‘Did you say you wanted tea or coffee?’

‘Neither. It would be when you bumped into him while you were walking the dogs that he asked to use our facilities, would it, Darce…?’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ she agreed quickly, not turning around.

‘Since when, little sister, did you take the dogs for a walk wearing your pyjamas?’

Darcy started and spilt the milk over the work surface.

‘Language!’ her brother reproached.

She shot him a withering glance and wiped her clammy palms on the seat of her jeans before she picked up the cup; the faint tremor in her fingers was barely noticeable—though eagle-eyed Nick had probably spotted it.

‘Since when did you become Miss Marple?’ She laughed lightly as she planted herself on a chair and raised the scalding drink to her lips. Playing it down was the best way to go…

‘Since I looked into your room after I took the dogs for a walk around seven and found you weren’t there.’

All the colour bar a small pink circle over either cheek fled Darcy’s guilty face. ‘What were you doing in my room?’

‘Fetching you a cup of tea.’

It was typical of Nick to discover his considerate side at the worst possible moment. ‘Oh…’ What else could she say? She certainly wasn’t going to volunteer any more information if she could help it!

‘What is a guy like him with that sort of serious money doing hanging around someone like you?’ Nick wondered suspiciously. ‘No offence intended, Darce…’ he added casually.

Darcy wondered what he’d say if she told him she took offence—serious offence. She was about to quiz her tactless sibling on the ‘serious money’ statement when his next comment distracted her.

‘Has he followed you here, Darcy, is that it? I’m assuming you’d already met before yesterday.’

‘Why on earth would you think that?’ There was no way he could have picked anything up from her attitude when she’d brought Reece back earlier. She’d been very careful about that—so careful, in fact, that her behaviour had bordered on the catatonic, before she’d swiftly excused herself and nipped off to the church to do the flowers—it was Mum’s turn on the rota; Adam would probably have a fit when he saw her efforts.

‘I think that because I didn’t think you were the sort of girl who would spend the night with a complete stranger.’ If what he had said wasn’t bad enough, Nick had to go and make it even worse by adding, ‘Even if he is rich and powerful.’

For several moments Darcy didn’t do anything, but when she finally lifted her eyes from the rim of her coffee-cup they were sparkling with anger.

‘How dare you?’

Nick looked taken aback by the rancour in his sister’s shaking voice. ‘Come on, Darce, you must admit it was pretty sus…’

‘I don’t have to admit anything!’ she said in a low, intense voice that throbbed with emotion. Carefully pushing her seat back, she rose to her feet. ‘Not to you at least.’ She ran her tongue over the bloodless outline of her pale lips. ‘Just for the record, Nick, you’re the biggest hypocrite I know.’

His eyes filled with concern, Nick rose to his feet. ‘Darce, I didn’t mean—’

Darcy cut him off with a flash of her narrowed eyes. ‘Incidentally, I’ll sleep with who the hell I like!’ she yelled, sweeping from the room.

Her dramatic exit was ruined by the fact she narrowly avoided colliding with the solid bulk of Reece Erskine on her way out.

‘Whoa there.’ She’d have fallen rather than accept the arm he tried to offer her; it wasn’t easy, as he was carrying a large wicker hamper balanced on the crook of his functioning elbow, and his solicitous action almost sent it to the floor.

‘What are you doing here?’ The tense, scratchy thing didn’t sound like her voice at all. Making a superhuman effort, she pulled herself together and stepped back away from his chest—and the temptation to lay her head on it. Even holding her breath, she could still smell the fresh male fragrance that emanated from his warm skin, so she gave up on what was not really a practical long-term solution to her problem to begin with.

‘That’s no way to greet a guy carrying gifts, Darce.’

Darcy hadn’t even noticed the twins and Jack, who had entered the kitchen behind Reece—when he was around she didn’t tend to notice much else.

‘Cool!’ Harry cried, holding up a large box of Belgian chocolates and adding them to the pile of luxury items he and his twin were extracting from the hamper they’d set down on the table.

Darcy glanced at the growing pile—there was no way he’d got that little lot from the village shop.

‘This is mine,’ Charlie crowed, discovering a bottle of champagne.

Clicking his tongue tolerantly, his father removed the bottle from his crestfallen son’s hand. ‘This is really very generous of you, Reece…’

‘A small thank-you for everything you’ve done for me.’

‘It really wasn’t necessary,’ Jack insisted.

‘Dad, you’re not going to give it back, are you?’ Charlie asked in alarm.

‘How did we raise two such avaricious little monsters…?’ The twins exchanged rueful grins. ‘What the boys are trying to say, Reece, is the gift is much appreciated. Can we offer you a drink—it looks like there’s one on the go… Darcy…?’

‘In case nobody noticed, I’m busy,’ she responded shortly.

If her stepfather had looked annoyed by her unneighbourly response she could have coped, but no, he had to go and look hurt and guilty.

‘I suppose,’ he responded worriedly, ‘we have let a lot of things fall on your shoulders.’ He turned to Reece. ‘It’s just my wife usually…’

‘I enjoy it, Dad,’ Darcy interrupted hurriedly, hating the forlorn expression on her stepfather’s face and despising herself for putting it there. ‘Actually, I was just off to pick up the tree. Anyone like to come?’ she enquired. She was predictably underwhelmed by the response. ‘Right, I’ll be off, then.’

‘If you don’t mind, I wouldn’t mind coming along for the ride.’

Darcy spun around, horror etched on her pale features. ‘You!’

‘I’m getting a bit stir-crazy, unable to drive,’ Reece explained glibly to the room in general.

‘You’d be bored,’ she said several shades too emphatically.

‘I think it’s an excellent idea,’ Jack responded firmly, reproach in his eyes.

Nick spoke for the first time. ‘I’m sure Darcy will enjoy having company.’

Darcy shot her treacherous narrow-minded brother a seething look from under the sweep of her lashes. ‘There will be lashings of mud.’ Nobody paid her any heed.

‘Borrow some Wellingtons—the twins look about the same size as you.’

With a sigh Darcy subsided into a resentful silence whilst her eager family—with the notable exception of Nick—equipped their neighbour.

‘You look awfully pale, Darcy.’

Thanks, bro, she thought as Nick’s contribution to the conversation brought her a lot of highly undesirable attention.

‘Yes, she does, doesn’t she?’ her stepfather agreed. ‘Are you feeling all right?’

‘Absolutely fine.’

‘It’s probably sleep deprivation,’ Nick continued smoothly. ‘She’s not been sleeping too well.’ He wasn’t looking at his sister as he spoke but at the tall figure who stood beside her. The two men exchanged a long look.

‘Is that right? You didn’t say so, Darcy.’

‘Lot on my mind, Dad…’ she muttered. ‘Holidays are always the same—it takes me the first week to wind down.’

‘Darcy is a computer analyst,’ her proud stepfather explained to Reece. ‘She has a very responsible job.’

Darcy cringed. ‘Give the man a break, Dad,’ she laughed uncomfortably. ‘I’m sure Mr Erskine doesn’t want to know about my work.’

Nick, of course, couldn’t resist stirring the pot. ‘You mean, he doesn’t already?’

‘If you’ve got nothing better to do, Nick, you could take a look at the Christmas lights for me.’ She felt a surge of satisfaction as her brother looked suitably horrified at the prospect. ‘They don’t seem to be working.’

‘I think,’ Nick announced hopefully, ‘that it’s time we bought some new ones.’

‘You can’t do that, Nick!’ Charlie protested. ‘We’ve had them for ever…’

‘My point exactly,’ Nick muttered. ‘It’s the same every year—they never work.’

‘I remember the time the cat—that one that had no tail—’ Harry began.

‘Oscar,’ his twin supplied.

Nick decided to inject a little reality into this trip down memory lane. ‘I remember the time they fused the electrics while Mum was cooking Christmas dinner…’

There was a collective subdued gasp of dismay and all eyes turned to Jack.

‘Far be it from me to break with tradition,’ Nick put in quickly. ‘I’ll fix the damned things.’

‘You all seem pretty protective of your father,’ Reece observed as he trailed Darcy outside.

‘Stepfather, actually, but yes, I suppose we are.’

‘Stepfather; that makes the twins your…?’

Darcy gave a resigned sigh. ‘Jack adopted Nick and me when he married Mum—I was five. Not that it’s any of your business.’ She stood beside the Land Rover, jingling the keys. ‘You can’t want to come…’ Please…please, let him say he doesn’t. She always had been a hopeless optimist!

CHAPTER FIVE

‘DID you have to bring this thing?’ Reece scowled as the big dog, his paws planted on the back of the passenger seat, licked his face ecstatically.

‘I wanted him to come,’ Darcy, tight-lipped, pointedly replied. ‘Sit down, Wally!’ Reluctantly the big animal curled up on the back seat of her stepfather’s Land Rover, his eyes reproachful.

Reece wiped the excess canine saliva off his neck with a pained grimace. ‘A man could get to feel unwanted.’

‘Not by Wally.’ The dog’s ears pricked up at the sound of his name. ‘Or my family,’ she reflected with a frustrated little snort. ‘You’ve certainly weaseled your way into their affections,’ she hissed nastily. ‘It was a master stroke to appeal to the twins’ stomachs.’

Reece, who wasn’t really interested in the direct route to the twins’ hearts, responded with a slightly distracted smile.

‘I take it the way to your elder brother’s heart is not through his stomach…’

‘You noticed that, did you?’ Darcy had not yet forgiven Nick. How dared he lecture her on morality, she fumed—the man who had had, much to his parents’ dismay and her awe, an affair with a thirty-year-old divorcee when he was just seventeen?

‘Let’s just say I didn’t feel warm and welcome when he looked at me,’ Reece responded drily. His eyes narrowed. ‘Is he giving you a hard time?’ he wondered suspiciously.

‘I don’t give a damn what Nick thinks!’

‘Yeah, I heard that bit.’

A deep tide of colour washed over her fair skin as she worked out what he must have heard. ‘Don’t go reading anything into that. I was establishing a principle. Sex isn’t a high priority for me.’

Darcy knew she was wasting her breath; the man obviously had her down as some sort of sex junkie—I could always refer him to Michael, she thought. He would set the record straight. Not that Michael had ever come right out and complained about her sex drive, or lack of it, but that was probably because the man had still had a wife at home to keep happy. From his point of view, the fact she hadn’t made excessive demands had probably been a godsend!

‘You got many other prospects lined up?’

‘Has anyone ever told you you’ve got a very crude mouth, and a one-track mind?’ He wasn’t the only one, she thought, struggling hard to banish the image of his big, sexy body shifting beneath her…his skin glistening…the ripple of muscle… The heat travelled like a flash-flood up her neck and bathed her face. The empty feeling in the pit of her belly got emptier and achier.

Despite her determination to think of anything else but the man beside her, Darcy couldn’t have stopped her eyes from furtively fluttering to the mouth she’d criticised if her life had depended on it. Perfection didn’t seem too extravagant an adjective for that wide, mobile curve which intriguingly managed to combine both sensuality and control.

‘Actually,’ she mused, her voice husky, ‘the new vicar did ask me to the Christmas dance.’ She’d almost forgotten this unexpected event, which had occurred only this morning, but then she had other things on her mind. How her little sister would laugh if she ever discovered what a man-magnet the sister she despaired of had become.

‘New vicar…’ Reece didn’t look as though he was taking the opposition seriously. ‘I’m seeing tweed jackets, maybe a goatee—looks aren’t everything, of course…’

‘Actually, Adam played rugby for Oxford,’ she was pleased to announce.

‘In the Sixties…?’

‘I’d say he’s thirty…’

‘Broken nose…?’ Reece suggested hopefully.

Darcy’s lips twitched. ‘No, he was a back-row man. It was a toss-up between male modelling and the church,’ she lied outrageously. Her expression sobered. ‘Reece, are you?’ she began.