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 9

THE impetus of the kiss made them stagger backwards into the makeshift table. A small bottle of tablets fell onto the dusty floor; Darcy automatically tried to avoid stepping onto the contents.

‘Your painkillers…’ Fortunately the bottle of whisky set beside it on the table hadn’t fallen.

The arm around her waist didn’t slacken.

‘To hell with them,’ he slurred.

‘Good God!’ she gasped. ‘You’ve mixed tablets with booze, haven’t you?’ she accused hoarsely. ‘That explains it.’

‘Explains what?’ He didn’t sound terribly interested in her reply.

‘This!’ she indited shakily, stabbing a finger at her chest and discovering in the process that at some point during the kiss he’d managed to remove her sweater.

If undressing women ever became an Olympic event he would win gold with one hand tied behind his back—quite literally, she thought, her eyes sliding to his immobilised arm.

Flushing deeply, she gathered the lightly elasticated neckline of her pyjama top in one fist, which didn’t so much conceal what was going on underneath the thin, silky fabric as draw his hot-eyed attention to it.

‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, but hell, you taste good.’ He pushed a hank of her silky hair aside to press an open-mouthed kiss to the pulse point on her neck.

Darcy’s head fell back and she groaned, the sensual shock of his touch juddering through her responsive body. ‘You don’t understand.’ She valiantly struggled past the passion barrier to make him listen.

‘Reece, I think it’s probable you’re having a reaction to your medication.’ Depressing as it was, it did perfectly explain away the inexplicable—a man like him being so deeply in lust with an average type like herself.

‘So that’s what this is.’ He firmly unglued her fingers and peered down the open neckline; what he saw seemed to afford him considerable pleasure.

She got even hotter. ‘I don’t think you’re taking this seriously.’

‘Believe me,’ he grated hoarsely, ‘I’m taking this very seriously.’

‘You don’t really want me,’ she whimpered.

Reece’s jaw tightened. ‘Is that a fact…?’ He slid the silky fabric clear down her shoulders and with a muffled groan pressed his lips to the heaving contours he’d revealed. ‘Absolutely incredible…’

‘Sweet…sweet…mercy…’ Darcy tried to regroup but it was an uphill battle. His tongue had begun to travel very slowly over the slope of one breast. Did it really matter that he wasn’t in full possession of his senses…? ‘Listen!’ Fingers in his hair, she pulled his head back.

‘What the hell’s wrong now?’ There was a light sheen of sweat covering his taut, lean features, the dampness extending down the glistening column of his throat. His hot eyes kept sliding from her face in the general direction of her heaving breasts.

‘It’s the medication. I think you’ve had some sort of reaction to it. You can’t take alcohol with some sorts of analgesia. That’s why you’re acting like this.’ Miserably Darcy brushed a strand of hair from her damp face and found she couldn’t look him in the eyes—it was too humiliating… Her body was literally throbbing with arousal, aching for his touch.

‘You can’t think of any other reason…?’ The blood in her temples roared as his eyes slid in hot, sensual appraisal over her body. ‘A reason like I’m sexually attracted to you!’ She audibly caught her breath. ‘A reason like I’ve been lying here alone all night, wondering what it would be like to have you beside me, warm and soft, to be inside you. Then you’re here…’ His throat muscles worked. ‘And you want to stay.’ He smiled with grim satisfaction when she didn’t respond to the challenge.

Darcy couldn’t speak; the sound of his low, vibrantly masculine voice saying things no man had ever said to her was like a fist tightening inside her belly. She felt light-headed and dizzy and her blood seemed to hum hotly, pooling; the ache between her thighs was so intense she could hardly stand up, and, her breathing shallow and fast, she stared breathlessly up at him.

‘But the—’

‘Paracetamol. You can buy it anywhere over the counter.’ His sensuous lips curled contemptuously as her eyes widened. ‘The doc wanted to give me something stronger but I’ve never been keen on having my senses dulled.’

‘Then this is…’

Reece nodded. ‘The real thing. Unless you’re going to tell me you’re taking hallucinogenic drugs?’

The dazed look still in her eyes, she shook her head vigorously.

‘Does this feel real enough for you?’ he asked, pressing his lean, hard body tight against hers.

Darcy could feel him, thick and hard, pressing into the softness of her belly. ‘It…you feel incredible,’ she gasped.

‘Take my shirt off, Darcy?’

‘Because of your shoulder.’

‘Because I want you to.’

That seemed a good enough reason to Darcy.

Her hands were shaking as one by one she slid free the buttons and pushed the soft cord fabric aside to reveal his broad chest and flat belly. Expression rapt, she spread her fingers and felt the fine muscles just beneath the surface of his taut skin twitch and tighten.

Her hair looked silver by candlelight and all Reece could see of her as she leant closer was the top of her head and the exposed nape of her slender neck. It wasn’t an area he’d previously considered erotic—was it napes in general or this nape in particular…? That was a question for later—right now he needed to assuage the fire in his blood, the ache in his loins.

A deep line bisected her smooth brow as she examined the bruised area. ‘Tell me if I hurt you,’ she whispered, tracing a line across his belly with her fingernail.

‘I’m hurting,’ he told her thickly.

Alarmed, she raised her eyes questioningly to his. ‘Where…?’ she began. She saw the expression on his face and her voice faded away.

‘Here…’ he took her hand and showed her ‘…here and here,’ he elaborated thickly.

Darcy whimpered, the last remnants of her control evaporating.

‘I want to see you. Take your clothes off for me. All of them.’

Not doing as he requested—or was it a demand?—was never an option. Like someone in a dream she crossed her arms and began to lift the hem of her top up over her smooth stomach.

‘And, Darcy…?’

She paused.

‘Look at me.’

Darcy did. She could hear the harsh, uneven sound of his breathing, loud in the quiet room. Even in this light she could make out a definite flush of colour along his slashing cheekbones and the fire in his eyes— Did I really put it there…? How strange…how marvellous.

Their eyes locked, and her anxiety was instantly soothed; he looked just as needy as she felt. Despite the new confidence, her hands trembled uncontrollably as she did as he had bid. It was no slow, seductive striptease because even with a fire now blazing in the hearth it didn’t seem such a good idea to linger over disrobing.

‘You’re beautiful.’ She almost believed him.

He closed the small gap between them. Where he touched her Darcy’s skin tingled, and pretty soon she tingled all over. ‘And cold.’ He began to briskly massage her cold extremities. ‘Come on, get in here.’ Taking her by the hand, he led her towards the sleeping bag and blankets.

The cotton lining still retained the last remnants of his body heat. Darcy drew her knees up to her chin and waited for him to join her, anticipation pumping darkly though her. She watched as he shed his clothes, ripping the shirt as he tried to ease it too quickly over his injured arm; he was lean, lovely and very, very aroused.

He was actually so beautiful she wanted to cry—she was crying, hot tears sliding over her cheeks. He wiped away the dampness with his thumb when he finally came to join her but didn’t question their presence.

‘Come here,’ he whispered.

Darcy did; there wasn’t very far to go. They lay side by side, close but not touching, until with a hoarse groan he reached across with his good arm and drew her on top of him. His mouth reached hungrily for hers.

Darcy responded joyfully to the demands of his lips and thrusting tongue. It was intoxicating to have nothing to separate them any longer. Darcy wriggled to fully appreciate the sensation. His skin was warmer than hers; it was harder, and she discovered it had a deliciously smooth texture roughened by drifts of body hair that prickled against her breasts and thighs. Every detail delighted her and increased the pressure of excitement building inside her to detonation point.

‘For a one-handed man,’ she remarked a hundred or so gasps later, ‘you manage pretty well.’

A savage grin split Reece’s face as he looked into her flushed, aroused face. ‘If you think that was good, wait until you get a taste of no hands.’

A confused frown drew Darcy’s feathery brows together as she puzzled over his words, the meaning of which was brought crashing home to her seconds later.

Shock tensed her muscles for a split-second before she gave a languid sigh and relaxed. She moaned his name out loud and writhed restlessly as his tongue flickered lower over the soft curve of her abdomen. The excitement built to fever pitch as he continued his merciless ministrations.

The zip on the sleeping bag gave way as he brought her knees up and knelt between them, but Darcy didn’t register the blast of cold air. The pleasure was so intense it bordered on pain; she cried out in protest but she cried out even louder when he stopped.

He kissed her, stilling her inarticulate protests.

He tasted and smelt of her and sex; it was a mind-shattering combination.

‘I want you so badly!’ she moaned, leaning her face into his neck.

‘Then take me, sweetheart,’ he urged throatily. ‘Take me.’

Darcy lifted her head. ‘I can. Can I…?’ she gasped wonderingly. He whispered things in her ear that convinced her she could—she could do anything she wanted to.

Darcy stared down gloatingly at the magnificent man beneath her—his eyes were closed, his skin glistened with sweat. Her muscles tensed, she bore downwards. The cry of relief and triumph that was wrenched from her throat as she lowered herself upon him echoed around the room.

Reece’s eyes snapped open. ‘Oh, my God, sweetheart!’ he groaned. ‘You are…’ A red mist danced before his eyes; he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t think, he could just thrust and thrust…

She rubbed her gritty-feeling eyes. Someone had carefully tucked the sleeping bag around her while she slept. Someone nothing. Her eyes went to the only other person in the room.

‘Sleep well?’ The fully clad figure bent over a portable keyboard didn’t lift his dark head, but seemed to sense her wakefulness.

‘Yes, thank you.’ She tucked her nose below the covers. So this was that embarrassing morning-after feeling. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Sending a few e-mails.’

What sort of person sent e-mails at this time of the morning…? The sort of person you slept with last night—a stranger, her mental critic added, just in case she didn’t feel bad enough already, a beautiful stranger.

‘Right…’ She cleared her throat. ‘What time is it…?’ she asked, more out of a desire to fill the yawning gap in their conversation than a genuine desire to know.

‘Almost seven.’

‘Seven!’ she yelped, shooting upright. ‘Oh, God!’ she groaned, clasping her hands to her bare breasts.

Reece closed the lid of the laptop with a click and turned to face her. His gently ironic expression made her even more aware of the absurdity of displaying inhibitions the morning after the night before—especially when the night before was the one they’d shared!

‘Is that a problem?’

‘Dad and the boys will be up for breakfast,’ she agonised.

‘Can’t they do anything without you to take charge?’

‘Of course they can,’ she responded, exasperated. ‘And I don’t “take charge”.’ Did she really strike him as a bossy, organising female? ‘I just want things to be…’ A frown puckered the smooth skin across her broad, seamless brow.

‘The same?’ he put in gently, drawing her startled gaze.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Sure you do—you’re trying to step into your mother’s shoes. Has it ever occurred to you, Darcy, that maybe she wants her absence to be noticed…?’

A flicker of uncertainty made the soft corners of her mouth droop for a few tell-tale seconds before her expression hardened. ‘You know nothing about it,’ she blustered angrily. ‘Mum isn’t a frustrated housewife and she isn’t menopausal.’

‘Is that what the menfolk think…?’

Nick had put forward this theory but Darcy had soon put him right. ‘Anyway, you’re missing the point.’

He looked mildly perplexed. ‘I am…?’

‘They’ll wonder where I am.’

She watched his sensual lips twist. ‘And you don’t want to broadcast the fact you spent the night with me.’

The sad part was her reputation could probably survive intact. She’d learnt a long time ago that people didn’t think of her and steamy sex in the same thought. She was doomed to be the eternal Mary Poppins figure. Which was pretty ironic when you had an almost ruined marriage on your conscience.

‘Do you blame me?’ she asked him scornfully. He didn’t respond but a nerve along his jaw-line did some flexing. ‘Relax,’ she sighed disconsolately. ‘Even if I did want to tell, nobody would believe me.’

Reece got to his feet and strolled towards her. ‘Put this on—you look ridiculous.’ He handed her her pyjama top.

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!