Tall, Dark & Rich: His Christmas Virgin / Married by Christmas / A Yuletide Seduction. Carole Mortimer

sure your bike and helmet will be perfectly safe left down here,’ Jonas assured her.

      The implication being that it was Mac’s own safety, once she was alone with him in his apartment, that she ought to be worried about.

      CHAPTER SIX

      MAC turned to look at Jonas as he fell into step slightly behind her as she crossed the car park to the lift that would take them up to his apartment. Only to quickly turn away again, her cheeks flaring with heated colour, as she saw the way he was unashamedly watching the gentle swaying of her hips and bottom as she walked.

      He eyed her unapologetically as he stood beside her to punch in the security code that opened the lift doors and allowed the two of them to step inside. ‘You shouldn’t wear tight leathers if you don’t want men to look at you!’ He pressed the penthouse button.

      Mac looked up at him reprovingly as the lift began to ascend. ‘I wear them for extra safety if I should come off the bike, not for men to look at. And you know how hot you are on safety,’ she prodded.

      ‘Hot would seem to be the appropriate word,’ Jonas teased.

      Mac’s cheeks felt more heated than ever at the knowledge that Jonas thought she looked hot in her biking gear. ‘Perhaps we should just change the subject.’

      ‘Perhaps we should.’ He nodded, blue eyes openly laughing at her.

      Mac turned away to stare fixedly at the grey metal doors until they opened onto the penthouse floor. The lights came on automatically as they stepped straight into what was obviously the sitting-room—or perhaps one of them?—of Jonas’s huge apartment.

      It had exactly the sort of impersonal ultra-modern décor that Mac had expected, mainly in black and white with chrome, with touches of red to alleviate the austerity. The walls were painted a cool white, with black and chrome furniture, with cushions in several shades of red on the sofa and chairs, and several black and white rugs on the highly polished black-wood floor.

      Mac hated it on sight!

      ‘Very nice,’ she murmured unenthusiastically.

      Jonas had seen the wince on Mac’s face before she donned the mask of social politeness. ‘I allowed an interior designer free rein with the décor in here when I moved in six months ago,’ he admitted ruefully. ‘Awful, isn’t it?’ He grimaced as he strode further into the room.

      Mac followed slowly. ‘If you don’t like it, why haven’t you changed it?’

      He shrugged. ‘I couldn’t see the point when I shall be moving out again soon.’

      ‘Oh?’ She turned to look at him. ‘Is that why you haven’t bothered to put up any Christmas decorations, either?’

      Jonas never bothered to put up Christmas decorations. What was the point? Only he lived here, with the occasional visitor, so why bother with a lot of tacky decorations that only gathered dust, before they had to be taken down again? For Jonas, Christmas was, and always had been, just a time to be suffered through, while everyone else seemed to overeat and indulge in needless sentimentality. In fact, Jonas usually made a point of disappearing to the warmth of a Caribbean island for the whole of the holidays, and, although he hadn’t made any plans to do so yet, he doubted that this year would be any different from previous ones.

      ‘No,’ Jonas said shortly. Mac really did look good in those figure-hugging leathers, he acknowledged privately as once again he felt what was fast becoming a familiar hardening of his thighs. ‘Come through to the kitchen and I’ll open a bottle of wine,’ he invited briskly before leading the way through to the adjoining room.

      He had designed the kitchen himself, the cathedral-style ceiling oak-beamed using beams that had originally come from an eighteenth-century cottage, with matching oak kitchen cabinets, all the modern conveniences such as a fridge-freezer and a dishwasher hidden behind those cabinets, with a weathered oak table in the middle of the room surrounded by four chairs, and copper pots hanging conveniently beside the green Aga.

      It was a warm and comfortable room as opposed to the coolly impersonal sitting-room. The kitchen was where Jonas felt most at ease, and was where he usually sat and read the newspapers or did paperwork on the evenings he was at home.

      Although he wasn’t too sure any more about inviting Mac McGuire into his inner sanctum…

      ‘Much better,’ she murmured approvingly. ‘Did you design this yourself?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘I thought so.’

      Jonas raised dark brows. ‘Why?’

      She gave an awkward shrug. ‘It’s—warmer, than the other room.’

      He scowled. ‘Warmer?’

      ‘More lived-in,’ she amended.

      Jonas continued to look at her for several long seconds before giving an abrupt nod. ‘Make yourself comfortable,’ he invited and moved to take a bottle of Chablis Premier Cru from the cooler before deftly opening it and pouring some of the delicious fruity wine into two glasses.

      Mac still wasn’t sure about being in Jonas’s apartment at all, let alone making herself comfortable. And from the frown now on Jonas’s brow she thought maybe he was regretting having invited her, too.

      She sat down gingerly on one of the four chairs placed about the oak table. ‘I’ll just drink my half a glass of wine and then go.’

      Jonas placed the glass on the table in front of her. ‘What’s your hurry?’

      She nervously moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue as he stood far too close to her, only to immediately stop again as she saw the intensity with which Jonas was watching the movement. ‘I just think it would be better if I don’t overstay my welcome.’ Her hand was shaking slightly as she reached out to pick up the glass and take a sip of the cool wine.

      Jonas smiled slightly. ‘Better for whom?’

      She lifted one shoulder delicately. ‘Both of us, I would have thought.’

      ‘Maybe we’re both thinking too much,’ he murmured broodingly. ‘Have you eaten dinner yet?’

      Mac looked at him sharply. ‘Not yet, no.’ Surely he wasn’t about to repeat his earlier suggestion that the two of them go out to dinner together?

      ‘I only had a few prawns for lunch,’ he reminded her ruefully. ‘How about you?’

      ‘I had a piece of toast when I got home. But I’m hardly dressed for going out to dinner, Jonas.’

      ‘Who said anything about going out?’ He looked at her quizzically.

      Mac felt an uncomfortable surge—of what?—in her chest. Trepidation? Fear? Or anticipation? Or could it be a combination of all three of those things? Whichever it was, Mac didn’t think she should stay here alone with Jonas in his apartment any longer than she absolutely had to.

      ‘It’s very kind of you to offer—’

      ‘How polite you are all of a sudden, Mac,’ Jonas cut in. ‘If you don’t want to have dinner with me then just have the guts to come out and say so, damn it!’ His eyes glittered darkly.

      She gave a pained frown. ‘It isn’t a question of not wanting to have dinner with you, Jonas—’

      ‘Then what is it a question of?’ he demanded harshly.

      Mac swallowed hard. ‘I’m not sure I belong here…’

      Jonas scowled. ‘What the hell does that mean?’

      She gave an awkward shrug. ‘I—This apartment is way out of my stratosphere. That bottle of wine you just opened probably cost what some people earn in a week.’

      ‘And?’

      ‘I am what I am.