Читать книгу Millionaire Under The Mistletoe: The Playboy's Mistress / Christmas in the Billionaire's Bed / The Boss's Mistletoe Manoeuvres - Джанис Мейнард, Linda Thomas-Sundstrom - Страница 11

DURING the afternoon there had been several flurries of snow, and by the time Darcy got back home complete with the Christmas tree and a slightly guilty conscience a little of the powdery whiteness had begun to stick to the damp ground.

She stamped her feet to loosen the snow on her boots and lifted the old-fashioned iron latch on the kitchen door, hoping as she did so that there was nobody about; it wasn’t that she intended to be furtive, exactly. ‘Furtive’ implied she had something to hide or be ashamed of, and, whilst Darcy acknowledged she was deeply confused and wildly exhilarated by what had happened to her, shame didn’t feature at all. It was just that there were some things you couldn’t share with your family, no matter how close you were, and Darcy didn’t see much point in drawing unnecessary attention to her extended absence.

‘Where have you been?’

So much for subterfuge.

Her entire family minus only one important member were seated around the long farmhouse table, but that absence brought an aching lump to her throat—if there was ever a time she’d needed her mum it was now. Darcy swallowed; she didn’t need this, not when her mind was still full of the passionate coupling which had just taken place next door. She felt as if the evidence of her abandoned behaviour was written all over her face.

‘Clare, you’re home.’ If Clare noticed her half-sister’s greeting was lacking a certain warmth she didn’t show it.

‘Finally,’ Nick contributed drily. ‘Had trouble choosing the right tree, did you?’ he wondered guilelessly.

Unexpectedly it was Clare who came to her rescue. ‘Never mind about that, Nick.’

I’ll second that, Darcy thought, pulling off her mittens. ‘Good journey, Clare?’

‘In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s snowing.’ Clare’s expression suggested that Darcy was in some way to blame for this.

I didn’t notice because I’ve spent the afternoon making wild, passionate love to a gorgeous man. How, Darcy wondered, would that explanation go down…?

Clare shook back her rippling waist-length mane of hair and looked impatient. Like her half-sister, she was blonde and blue-eyed, but that was where the resemblance ended.

‘I arrive to find that my mother…’ she choked tearfully.

‘She’s ours too.’

‘Shut up, Harry! Why didn’t anyone tell me what was happening?’

‘We didn’t want to upset you, darling,’ Jack soothed.

Nobody, Darcy reflected, feeling a twitch of resentment, ever wanted to upset Clare.

‘Well, I’m upset now.’ Clare sniffed.

‘Did you remember to pick up the order from the farm, Nick?’ Darcy asked, shaking her hair free of a few stray snowflakes, which were rapidly melting in the warm room. She hung her damp coat on the peg behind the door.

‘How can you act as if nothing has happened?’ Clare tearfully accused Darcy.

The implication that she didn’t give a damn made Darcy turn angrily on her sister. ‘What do you expect me to do, Clare?’ she snapped. ‘Mum’s a grown woman; we can’t bring her back against her will. We just have to wait.’ Patience never had been one of her younger sister’s most obvious qualities—when Clare wanted something she wanted it now, and more often than not she got it! ‘Sitting about whining isn’t going to help anyone!’

There was an almost comical look of shock on Clare’s face as she recoiled from her sister’s anger—Darcy was a bit surprised herself, as she rarely raised her voice to her sister. Instantly she regretted her outburst, not to mention her ungenerous thoughts. Clare could be thoughtless and selfish, but her kid sister could also be generous and loving, and not nearly as hard-bitten as she liked to make out.

There was a scraping sound as the younger girl rose gracefully to her feet. Darcy was happy being herself, but she wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t felt the occasional touch of wistful envy when she looked at her spectacularly beautiful sister. Occasionally on bad days, when her hair was particularly unruly and the bathroom scales told her things she’d rather not know, she couldn’t help but think that it would be nice if—just once—someone took notice of her when she walked into a room beside her gorgeous sister.

Seeing her sister stand there, tall, willowy and with a face and figure that would have stood out as exceptional on any catwalk, Darcy knew this was only going to happen in her wildest dreams.

Clare had no qualms about using her looks when it suited her, but she’d never had any intention of making her living out of them. Thanks to a big injection of capital from her parents, her dreams of becoming a fashion designer were well on the way to becoming a reality. She’d started her own business straight from art college and she had ambitious plans for her fashion label.

‘We’re all missing her, Clare,’ Darcy said quietly. From the corner of her eye, she saw Harry reach across and hug his dad and the emotional lump in her throat ached.

‘I know,’ Clare admitted huskily. ‘Sorry. Is the other thing true, or is Nick winding me up…?’

‘Is what true…?’ Darcy responded cagily. What had Nick the wind-up artiste been saying this time? she wondered, shooting her brother a suspicious glance. She didn’t have to wait long to find out.

‘Nick says that Reece Erskine…’ Clare murmured the name in a dreamy, reverential way that made Darcy stiffen in alarm ‘…is staying next door—which is very obviously impossible,’ she added quickly. ‘I suppose he is having me on…?’ Despite her conviction that this was a wind-up, there was a gleam of hope in her eyes as she appealed to her big sister.

‘Yes, he is staying next door,’ Darcy disclosed reluctantly. She watched her sister go pale with excitement.

‘Why would…?’ Clare began. ‘No, it doesn’t matter. Let me think… This is too marvellous…!’

Darcy thought so, but she had mixed feelings—no, actually, they weren’t mixed at all; she didn’t like the idea of Clare thinking Reece’s proximity was marvellous one little bit.

‘It is?’

‘Of course it is, silly!’ Clare exclaimed. ‘Did you invite him for dinner, Darce…?’ Her lovely face creased with annoyance. ‘Of course you didn’t,’ she predicted critically. Her exasperation increased as the jerky little movement of Darcy’s head confirmed her suspicions. ‘Honestly, Darcy! What were you thinking of?’

Reece’s tongue sliding smoothly skilful over her stomach…his burning eyes devouring her, the tiny quivering contractions that tightened her belly as she was overwhelmed by an almost paralysing desire to have him deep inside her.

‘Are you listening to me, Darcy?’

The shrill, indignant sound of her sister’s voice broke through the sensual thrall of her recollections. Darcy was appalled and slightly scared by her lack of self-control.

Sweat trickled damply down her stiff spine, and her cheeks felt as if they were on fire.

‘I haven’t got the time to have a dinner party, Clare,’ she told her sister gruffly.

Her words fell on selectively deaf ears.

‘Better still!’ Clare, the bit firmly between her pearly teeth, enthused excitedly, ‘We could invite him to stay. Yes, why not…? According to Dad, the Hall is not fit for human habitation.’ She clapped her hands, her eyes glowing with enthusiasm. ‘Yes, that would be perfect! Is anyone going to answer that?’ she exclaimed, irritated by the persistent ring of the phone in the hallway.

Jack rose from his chair and put his hand on Darcy’s shoulder. ‘I’ll go.’

‘Perfect for what?’ asked Charlie, who was growing bored with the subject, when his father had left the room. ‘I don’t see what’s so great about the guy next door. You haven’t even met him.’

Clare turned to her young brother, her expression one of supreme scorn for his ignorance.

‘Don’t you know anything…? He’s one of the richest men in the country—he inherited a fortune from his grandfather and he’s doubled it, or trebled it, whatever.’ With a graceful flick of her wrist Clare dismissed the odd million or ten.

‘That would explain the Merc in the shed,’ Harry remarked thoughtfully to his brother.

‘Have you two been spying?’ Darcy exclaimed in a horrified tone.

‘No harm done, Darce,’ Harry soothed. ‘Nobody was around. We saw some guys delivering this bed, though—gigantic thing it was, so he must be thinking about staying.’

Darcy, who knew all about the bed, tried to blend in with the furniture. If anyone looked at her now they would know—they’d just know…!

‘Is he as good-looking as he looks in the photos I’ve seen of him?’

‘I thought it was his money you were interested in.’ Harry received an annoyed glare for his insensitive comment. ‘I suppose you think he’s going to take one look at you and propose you share his bed and bank account,’ he sniggered.

‘It has been known,’ Clare confirmed calmly.

The awful part was that her sister’s complacence was perfectly understandable—Darcy could see it all: Reece blinded by Clare’s beauty, wondering what he’d ever seen in the dowdy little sister with the funny nose. Why hadn’t she foreseen this? she wondered bitterly.

If the loud, realistic gagging noises Harry made as he headed for the door dragging his twin with him were anything to go by, her comment made him feel sick too.

Charlie seemed perfectly willing to follow his twin but he couldn’t resist a taunting parting shot. ‘What makes you think he’s not already got a girlfriend or a wife even…?’

‘Those boys get worse!’ Clare exclaimed angrily as the door slammed behind them. ‘He hasn’t, has he, Darce?’ she added worriedly.

‘How should I know?’ Helping her sister seduce her own lover was above and beyond the call of sisterly duty.

‘Well, you have seen more of him than everyone else.’

‘Something gone down the wrong way, Darce?’ Nick asked solicitously.

‘Do you want a drink of water?’ Clare asked

Darcy wiped the moisture from the corner of her eye. ‘I’m fine,’ she protested hoarsely. The image in her mind of Reece’s powerful body slick with sweat, his powerful thighs quivering with need and power, made it difficult for her to formulate a suitable reply. ‘He didn’t discuss his personal life with me, Clare.’

The indentation between her brows deepened as it struck her forcibly just how adept he’d been at distracting her when their conversation had begun to touch on personal areas, but then his methods of distraction were in a class of their own. Married men acted like that…what if he’d been lying all along…? Clammy perspiration broke out along her brow as her tummy tied itself in knots of apprehension.

Darcy took a deep breath and firmly pushed aside her fears; this was her own insecurity at work. Reece wasn’t the type to resort to subterfuge—let’s face it, she thought, he doesn’t need to! He’d been upfront enough—he wanted sex and nothing more.

‘I can’t believe you wasted all that time.’

‘I wouldn’t call it wasted exactly.’ The way she recalled it, there hadn’t been a second they hadn’t filled with touching or tasting or taking… Darcy was confused on any number of matters but one thing was clear to her—she was glad they’d been lovers. She would always treasure the memory and no matter what the outcome that much at least wouldn’t change.

‘Oh, you’re hopeless, Darcy!’

Hopelessly in love. Darcy felt as though a large fist had landed a direct hit on her solar plexus. Suddenly the missing pieces of the emotional jigsaw fell into place. Her mouth opened and closed several times as she gasped for air like a land-locked fish. If anyone had noticed her condition they would no doubt not have considered it attractive—but nobody did.

‘I have made some enquiries…’

Clare squealed and gave her older brother her immediate approving attention. ‘Why, you clever old thing, you. And…?’

‘He’s a widower.’

‘Excellent!’ Clare exclaimed gleefully; unlike Darcy, she didn’t detect any undercurrent in Nick’s words.

‘Clare!’ Darcy exclaimed, unable to hide her shocked disapproval.

‘There’s no more edifying sight,’ Nick drawled to nobody in particular, ‘than a woman in full pursuit.’

‘I thought hunting was your favourite pastime, Nick…? But, silly me, you’re a man, so that makes it all right, doesn’t it?’ Darcy heard herself perversely defending her sister.

Nick grinned. ‘Sexist down to my cotton socks,’ he conceded good-naturedly. ‘I can’t help myself any more than you can help yourself being scrupulously fair, Darce—even when it’s not in your best interests,’ he added in an amused but not unsympathetic undertone.

‘Thank you, Darce. There’s no need for either of you to look like that,’ Clare insisted with a moody little pout. ‘It’s just such an excellent opportunity for me. It’s not as if I’m going to marry him or anything.’ A naughty grin flickered across her face. ‘Unless, of course, the opportunity arises,’ she added with a husky laugh. She shrugged when neither of her siblings showed any appreciation of her joke. ‘Can you imagine how much free publicity I’d get being seen with Reece Erskine? It could really be the break I’ve been waiting for. It’s perfectly legitimate,’ she announced, a shade of defiance entering her voice.

Darcy couldn’t help but wonder if her sister actually believed that. ‘Dad would go spare if he could hear you.’

‘Well, he can’t, can he?’ Clare pointed out unrepentantly. ‘And what he doesn’t know won’t harm him—unless you tell him…’

‘I can see it would put the spotlight on a brilliant new designer who is just starting out if she was seen in all the right places with someone the media love to write about,’ Nick agreed.

‘Don’t encourage her!’ Darcy pleaded.

‘At last, someone who understands!’ Clare sighed in a long-suffering ‘nobody understands me’ sort of way.

‘But doesn’t it rather spoil your plan if the guy in question bends over backwards to avoid the spotlight?’ Nick wondered.

‘These things have a way of leaking out—you of all people should know that, Nick.’

Darcy, who knew how ambitious her sister was for her business, was shocked by this display of casual ruthlessness.

‘You mean you’d leak things to the Press…? Plant a story…?’

‘Don’t you worry your head about the details, Darce.’

The patronising comment brought an angry flush to Darcy’s cheeks. ‘I think you’re getting a little bit ahead of yourself, Clare,’ she bit back coldly. ‘You haven’t even met the man yet.’ If she had her way that situation was not about to change. ‘And there’s no question at all of his staying here. Once Beth and the children arrive, not to mention Gran, we’ll all be doubling up, if not trebling up!’

‘I’ve thought about that,’ Clare replied smoothly. ‘You could share with the children in the attic room, and I suppose under the circumstances I could share with Gran.’

‘That’s mighty big of you.’

‘There’s no need to be like that, Darcy. I think it’s the least you could do—’

‘Whatever gave you the impression that I want to help you? I think what you’re planning to do is callous and calculating…’

Clare looked blankly astonished by her placid sister’s fresh outburst. ‘But you said to Nick…’ She was starting to think Darcy might be sickening for something—it wasn’t like her to be so belligerent.

‘I pointed out that Nick is a sexist pig.’ She paused to glare at her unmoved brother. ‘Which he is. But that doesn’t mean I don’t basically agree with him. What you’re planning to do is cold-blooded and unethical.’

Clare’s lips tightened. ‘I think you’re being very selfish. Mum and Dad invested a lot of money in my business, and I owe it to them to make it a success. I’m not trying to trap the man, but if meeting him happens to oil a few wheels, where is the problem?’ Slow tears began to form in her lovely eyes; she sniffed and one slid artistically down her smooth cheek.

Even though she knew her sister could cry on cue, Darcy knew that it wouldn’t be long before she’d be saying soothing things to drive that tragic expression from her lovely face. The pattern of behaviour had been laid down early on in childhood and was nigh on impossible to break at this stage in their lives. Somehow Darcy always ended up stiffly apologising and in her turn Clare would accept it and emerge looking gracious and generous.

‘Maybe I don’t have your lofty principles, Darcy,’ she added huskily, ‘but I do have fun…and so will he.’

The thought of Clare having fun with Reece made Darcy lose all desire to pour oil on troubled waters.

‘What is it, Dad?’ It was Nick who had noticed Jack’s return.

‘It was your mother.’ Jack smiled a little dazedly at their expectant faces. ‘She’s coming home.’

Darcy closed her eyes. ‘Thank God,’ she breathed. Only just blinking back the emotional floods, she opened her eyes and saw Clare hugging their father while Nick, an imbecilic grin on his face, was pounding him on the back.

‘Did she say why she…?’ Darcy began huskily.

Jack shook his head. ‘No, she said she wanted to talk. That’s good, isn’t it…?’

‘Very good,’ Darcy said firmly, hoping with all her heart that she was telling the truth.

Jack nodded. ‘She’ll be here tomorrow morning.’

Darcy had reached the point when she couldn’t hold back the tears of relief any longer. ‘I’ll go get the tree in,’ she announced huskily.

She was struggling with the evergreen when Nick joined her.

‘Good news…?’ He stood, his back against the garage door, watching her efforts and making no reference to her puffy eyes.

‘The best,’ she agreed.

‘Personally I’m keeping all extremities crossed just in case.’

‘A wise precautionary measure,’ Darcy agreed with a tired smile.

‘About Clare…’

‘I don’t want to talk about Clare.’

‘You know she doesn’t mean half of what she says.’

‘The half she does mean is enough sometimes,’ Darcy responded drily.

‘Things aren’t going as well as she’d hoped with the firm. I don’t know the details, but I do know it’s not good.’

Darcy’s eyes widened in sympathy. ‘I didn’t know.’

‘Only knew myself because she was in a bit of a state when I dropped in the other week. It does explain the conniving-bitch act.’

‘You don’t think she’s desperate enough to…?’

‘Sleep her way out of trouble?’ Nick considered the idea. ‘Shouldn’t think so.’

Darcy was torn; she knew she ought to be more concerned about her sister’s welfare than the possibility that Clare might find the solution to her problems in the bed of her own lover. Jealousy was not a nice feeling.

‘Do you think you could give me a hand with this?’

Nick took the tree off her. ‘All you had to do was ask. There’s never a twin around when you want one,’ he added, hefting it into his arms.

‘And there’s always two around when you don’t want one,’ Darcy added with feeling.

They were halfway up the driveway when Nick planted the rootball on the ground. His expression as he turned to face her suggested he’d come to a decision about something.

‘I didn’t tell Clare all the things I learnt about Erskine.’

‘From a reliable source, no doubt.’

‘It’s all on file, Darce. Do you want to know?’

She shrugged her shoulders, affecting uninterest, while she was just bursting to shake the information out of him.

‘Well, in that case…’ he began, balancing the tree against his hip.

‘I’m interested!’ she snapped, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him back to her.

‘Apparently the guy married his childhood sweetheart. Five years ago this Christmas Day she was killed.’

Darcy closed her eyes. Now she had the answer to his distaste of all things Christmassy. How awful to have such a powerful reminder year after year of his personal tragedy. Her tender heart ached for him.

‘That’s not all. She was pregnant…’

Oh, God, there was more to come! She could hear it in Nick’s voice. Her eyes flickered open; she met her brother’s eyes—not only more but worse. Darcy didn’t see how that was possible but she waited tensely, her stomach tied in knots for him to deliver the clincher.

‘A motorbike mounted the pavement—it was crowded with people coming out of midnight mass. They were holding hands, but it didn’t touch him, just her.’

Darcy was seeing the horror of it; her chest felt so tight she could hardly breathe. ‘He saw her die.’ She blinked back the hot sting of tears; she ached with empathy. She turned away from her brother and fought to master her emotions. Losing a wife he loved and his unborn child—how did a person come back after a cruel blow like that?

‘She died instantly, but he tried to revive her. When the paramedics got there eye-witness reports said that it took five guys to eventually persuade him to let her go, and, Darcy…’ he touched her arm ‘…he made the biggest deal of his life on New Year’s Eve. Makes you think, doesn’t it…?’

‘What are you suggesting—?’ she began, hotly defensive.

‘I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just saying that a man like that needs handling with care…’

Darcy’s eyes slid from her brother’s. ‘Shouldn’t you be telling Clare that?’ she muttered evasively.

‘Clare thinks she’s a lot more irresistible than she is.’

‘You only think that because you’re her brother,’ Darcy retorted. Jealousy tightened its grip on her—Reece wasn’t Clare’s brother.

Darcy tucked her hair behind her ears and stood back to get the full effect of her decorative efforts. She heard the door open behind her.

‘Switch on the lights, will you?’ she called without turning around. She gave a satisfied sigh as the tree was illuminated. ‘It’s a bit lopsided.’

‘It’s got character,’ a very familiar deep voice replied.

Darcy gave a startled yelp and dropped the bauble in her hand as she swung around. ‘What are you doing here?’ Her body temperature seesawed wildly at the sight of the tall figure, as did her emotions.

‘Do you give all your lovers receptions this warm and welcoming?’

Lovers. A sensual shudder rippled down her spine. ‘Hush!’ she hissed, reaching up and pressing her hand to his lips. ‘Someone will hear.’

His disdainful expression was that of a man who didn’t care what other people thought. Darcy would have taken her hand away, but he caught hold of her wrist and held it there against his mouth. The giddiness that had begun to recede came rushing back with a vengeance as his lips moved along her flexed fingertips, then equally slowly returned to the starting point.

Reece couldn’t get over how incredibly fragile her bones were as he circled her wrist with his fingers. With the utmost reluctance he removed her hand from his lips, but not before he’d touched the tip of his tongue to the palm of her hand and felt her shiver with pleasure.

‘And that matters…?’ The shiver inclined him towards indulgence.

‘How did you get here?’

He got the impression from the way her eyes were darting wildly around the room that she wouldn’t have been surprised if he had announced he had materialised out of thin air. The truth was far more prosaic.

‘I knocked on the door and was kindly directed this way.’

‘Who by?’

‘A twin; which one, I wouldn’t like to say.’

‘Oh, I thought maybe Clare had brought you?’

‘I brought myself, and who might Clare be?’

‘She’s my sister.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Tall, blonde, persistent…?’

He’d missed out ‘beautiful’, which was tactful of him. ‘You’ve met.’ Of course they had—when Clare set her mind on something she didn’t hang around.

‘Not met precisely. I saw her through the window; she was knocking on the door.’

‘You don’t have a door.’

The bed to make love to her in, the door to keep out the world—he was a man who believed in prioritising.

‘I do now.’ A few phone calls had improved the conditions to bearable. ‘I also have electricity. If I’m staying around I see no reason to suffer unnecessarily.’

How big an ‘if’ are we talking about here, she wondered, and do I have any influence on it?

‘Why didn’t you answer the door?’ she puzzled abruptly. One sight of Clare would have most men tripping over themselves to let her in.

‘I came here to escape people.’

Darcy knew what he’d come to escape, and she also knew that memories were not so easy to shake as flesh and blood people. It wasn’t her place to share this with him—if he’d chosen to confide in her it might have been different, but he hadn’t.

‘I thought it was just Christmas,’ she reminded him as with a grin she draped a strand of tinsel around his neck.

‘Slip of the tongue.’

It could slip in her direction any time. ‘Freudian…?’

‘You tell me; you seem very well-versed.’ His expression didn’t suggest his opinion of psychoanalysis was high.

‘This is Christmas.’ Her gesture took in the room. ‘And I’m people,’ she reminded him.

He reached out and cupped her chin in his hand. ‘You’re a special person,’ he contradicted firmly.

The breath caught in her throat. It didn’t mean anything; there had only been one special person in Reece’s life and he had lost her.

Darcy had promised herself she wouldn’t allow herself to fall into this trap. When he wasn’t here it had been easy to tell herself she wasn’t going to see desire in his face and read love. Now he was here she had to keep reminding herself he was out for a good time and that was all; she had to accept that because the only alternative to not seeing him at all was even less acceptable—wasn’t it…?

‘Why are you here, Reece?’

An alertness flickered into his eyes. ‘Here as in this room? Or are we talking bed…life…?’ His voice hardened. ‘What’s happened, Darcy?’

‘Nothing.’ Nervously she withdrew the hand he held and nursed it against her chest.

‘Then why won’t you look at me?’ He took her chin in his hand and forced her face up to him. ‘Look at me, Darcy,’ he commanded. His eyes scoured her face, reading each line and curve. ‘Someone’s told you about Joanne.’

Joanne…so that had been her name. It struck her afresh that his perception was nothing short of spooky.

‘Nick,’ she admitted, half-relieved. ‘I’m so sorry, Reece.’

‘And now you want to comfort me, offer me solace and make me forget…’

It was hard not to recoil from the arid harshness in his voice.

‘You’ll never forget; why would you want to? I’m sure you have a lot of precious memories.’ She could almost see the barriers going up—she had to do something to stop him retreating behind them. ‘And actually,’ she improvised wildly, ‘I’m concerned about getting…involved with someone who has so much unresolved…’ Her underdeveloped lying skills deserted her.

‘Angst…? Baggage…?’ he suggested with a quirk of one dark brow.

Darcy had the distinct impression he was relieved by what she’d said.

‘I don’t mean to be callous.’ It horrified her that he found it so easy to believe she was that shallow.

‘Don’t apologise for being honest, Darcy.’

Ouch!

The lines bracketing his sensual mouth suddenly relaxed. ‘Sorry.’

Her eyes widened. ‘What for?’

‘I get defensive.’

And I’m not defensive enough, she thought, staring longingly up into his strong-boned face—she loved every inch of it.

‘I was afraid at first you might be the sort of girl on the look-out for marriage and children.’

It was coming over loud and clear that he didn’t want either—at least, not with her!

‘Me…?’ she gave a jaunty laugh and shook her head. ‘That’s not on my agenda for years and years yet!’

‘It’s hard to timetable these things. Sometimes it happens when you least expect it.’

‘Is that how it happened…with you and your wife?’ She seemed to have tapped into some hitherto unsuspected streak of masochism in her nature. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.’

His taut jawline tensed. ‘Jo and I were as good as brought up together; her parents and mine were… You know the sort of thing.’ Darcy nodded. ‘She proposed to me when we were seven.’ For a moment his expression softened and grew distant. ‘I did the proposing the next time. Keep your eyes wide open, sweetheart,’ he recommended gently. ‘It would be a shame to miss a once-in-a-lifetime experience because you were concentrating on your career.’

The irony was exquisitely painful. ‘You think it only happens once?’

‘I know it only happens once.’

Darcy’s thoughts drifted to her mother and Jack; they might not seem to be the world’s most perfect couple just now but she had total faith in their love for one another. And significantly both of them had had previous marriages. It was hard to bite back the retort that hovered on the tip of her tongue.

‘And if, like you, something happens to…?’ she probed clumsily.

‘Then that part of your life is over,’ he bit back abruptly. ‘There are other things…’ his restless eyes wandered hungrily over her trim figure ‘…like sex.’

He was condemning himself to a very bleak future—not to mention herself. Despite the rebellion which she sensed building up inside her, Darcy had no control over her physical response to the smoky, sensual invitation in his eyes.

‘And that’s enough for you?’ How sad—how horribly sad. Is that what she wanted to be? A distraction to temporarily fill the gaping hole in his life?

‘You sound like my mother.’

A person that Darcy was beginning to have a lot of sympathy for. How did you help someone who didn’t think he needed helping?

‘It’s not enough for me, Reece.’ Fundamentally you couldn’t change yourself, not even for love. It was a relief to recognise that she’d only be pretending to let him think otherwise, and, as tempted as she was to take what he had to offer, she knew that in the long run it would be more painful.

With a sinking heart she watched his expression shifting, growing harder and more remote.

‘I thought you enjoyed uncomplicated sex.’

His tone wasn’t quite a sneer but it was painfully close to it. Darcy flushed and lowered her eyes. Letting her mind drift back over her recent uninhibited behaviour, she wasn’t surprised he’d arrived at this conclusion.

‘At the time, but not later on.’

‘That morning-after-the-night-before feeling—you’re very frank.’

‘It’s no reflection on you, on your…’

His mobile lips curled as she floundered. ‘Technique?’ he suggested. ‘Don’t fret, Darcy, I’m not plagued with doubts in that direction.’

‘You might be a nicer person if you were!’

‘Would it make any difference to your decision if we were to put this arrangement on a more formal footing?’

‘Formal!’ she echoed, startled.

‘Formal as in exclusive.’ He hadn’t planned to say this and in fact had been almost as surprised to hear himself say it as she appeared to be. Now he had, he could see the practical advantages of the idea—the idea of her being with other men was one he’d been having major problems with.

‘As in, you don’t sleep with anyone else?’

‘As in, neither of us sleep with anyone else,’ he corrected blandly. Darcy’s eyes widened. Was that a hint of possessiveness she was hearing, and, if it was, what did that mean?

‘That would be a major sacrifice.’ Did the man think she cruised the single scene in a bid to add fresh scalps to her belt?

He seemed to find her sarcasm encouraging. ‘It makes sense; we both want the same things…you’re not at the stage where you want a commitment, and I’m past it.’

Darcy gazed up at him, speechless with incredulity. You dear, delicious, deluded man, she thought bleakly.

‘Are you still worried I’m a loose cannon, emotionally speaking?’

I’m the only emotional basket case around here. ‘You seem to have got your life on track very successfully,’ she choked. ‘Your work-life, anyhow.’

Reece’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. ‘Nick again…’

‘He mentioned you didn’t take any time off after the…accident.’

‘Very tactfully put,’ he congratulated her. ‘A certain section of the Press never forgave me for ruining a great tragic story by not falling apart in public. I’m not comfortable with the role of tragic hero,’ he explained, a spasm of fastidious disgust crossing his face. ‘After Joanne died the Press had a field-day. The public appetite for the personal tragedy of people who have a high public profile is almost limitless. They wheeled out the experts to pontificate on the grieving process, interviewed every person I’d ever said good morning to…’

Darcy could feel the pain behind his prosaic words. It must have been agony for a very private man to have his grief dissected and analysed.

‘And when you were working you weren’t thinking.’

Reece shot her a startled look. ‘That was the theory—it didn’t always work,’ he admitted wryly. ‘After Jo’s death the Press pack were their usual rabid selves, and my lack of co-operation only increased their appetite. Of course when I didn’t oblige them by drowning my sorrows in a gin bottle they were even less happy. Chequebook journalism being what it is, any ex of mine can look forward to making a tidy profit—several have.’

Darcy’s face froze. ‘Is that meant to be an incentive?’ she breathed wrathfully.

‘Hell, no, I didn’t mean you!’ he exclaimed—she seemed to be remarkably lacking in avarice.

Darcy’s hands went to her hips as she tossed back her hair. ‘You’d better not.’

‘I’ve made you mad, haven’t I?’

‘Whatever gave you that idea?’ she snapped sarcastically.

‘Let me take you to dinner; we can talk more.’

Darcy didn’t want to talk more—she’d already had more talk than she could cope with. ‘I c-can’t go to dinner with you,’ she stuttered.

‘Why not?’

‘Well, I’ve got a lot to do.’

‘You have to eat.’

‘And it’s Clare’s first night home.’

He looked palpably unimpressed by her clinching argument. ‘The table’s booked for eight-thirty.’ He consulted his watch. ‘That gives you twenty minutes to get ready.’

‘Do people always do what you say?’