Her Knight Under The Mistletoe. Annie O'Neil

smallest flash of darkness crossed Amanda’s composed, almost aristocratic expression. Only someone looking for a chink in her china doll veneer would have noticed.

      “Yes. Something like that,” she acquiesced coolly.

      “Weren’t you still in the military then?” Dr. Menzies directed his question to Matthew, either completely unaware of or intentionally ignoring the growing tension in the room.

      “I’d recently hung up my boots.”

      It had actually been a year since he’d come back. His father’s liver failure had yanked him back to the life he’d been trying to forget. At least he’d been there as his father had ultimately lost his halfhearted battle to survive. More than he could say for his mother, who hadn’t even bothered to send a card.

      The sheer bleakness of it all had forced him to make a choice. Not that the empty mansion and multi-million-pound business his father had left behind had filled the emptiness in his heart. Not by a long shot. But seeing all that misspent energy had turned Matthew’s grief into a white-hot drive to have at least one good thing come from Charlie’s death.

      When he’d set out to create SoS he’d foolishly believed it would be the gesture he needed to pay his penance for not having been there for Charlie when he’d hung that damn rope over the beam in the attic.

      The night he’d met Amanda he’d been about to close the whole SoS rehab unit down. Nothing, it seemed, could fill the void his brother had left behind. But she’d exploded his vision of the world into smithereens and he’d been trying to put it back together ever since.

      Being with her had been the medicine he’d needed. It had given him hope. Proved he still had the ability to make a human connection. It had been a vital reminder that if it was possible for him to feel passion and loss and the sweet magic of meeting a kindred spirit, there was hope for the soldiers the new unit would help.

      Not that he’d tell her she’d been nothing less than an angel that night. Not in a million years.

      Turning to Dr. Menzies, Matthew went on to explain, “As you know, R&R didn’t suit me so well, and my father’s company needed a new direction. That’s when I decided to see if we could bring SoS to London. That whole night was a bit of a blur, actually. So many new faces...”

      He took his time raking the length of her again, with a look in his eye he knew wasn’t altogether innocent.

      High heels. Killer set of legs. Waist trim and belted, blossoming up into that inviting décolletage his fingers were itching to trace. She shifted under his gaze. Good. The ol’ Chase charm was still working, then.

      The glint in her hazel eyes was all but daring him to betray her confidence. What was it she’d said when he’d murmured into her ear that he had to know her name?

      Cinderella!

      That was what she’d told him her name was as she kicked off first one then her second kitten heel.

      “I disappear at midnight if the Prince isn’t charming.”

      Again, a smile teased at the corners of his lips, but holding her in suspense was far more fun than confessing that she’d all but branded herself into his mind’s eye and ruined casual flings for him forever.

      “So you two know each other from that event? Were you one of the donor angels, Amanda?” Dr. Menzies prompted.

      Amanda. So that was her name.

      She was angelic, all right... But he didn’t want her on top of a Christmas tree to be admired from afar... If she were his woman he’d keep her close and warm.

      “No. No...” Matthew shook his head, watching the fury build in her eyes. “I’m afraid I can’t quite place you.”

      He dragged his top teeth across his lower lip, pleased to see twin streaks of red bloom on her cheeks.

      Of course it was a total lie.

      The image came to him as vividly as if she’d been taking a luxurious postcoital stretch on the massive bed they’d shared only an hour ago. Peaches and cream skin. The softest he’d ever touched. Blond hair fanned out like a halo on the pillow.

      What they’d done that night hadn’t been anything close to angelic. Heavenly, perhaps. But no angel would have sanctioned the charged sexual atmosphere that had lasted until well after the party had ended down in the hotel ballroom.

      “Well, if it was an SoS event you definitely would have been there. And if Amanda says she was there too...”

      Matthew looked across at the perplexed Dr. Menzies, almost startled to see him there.

      Of course he’d been there. He wasn’t just the founder of SoS—he was its reluctant poster boy. If he didn’t turn up at the ten-grand-a-head soirées, pockets didn’t open. Tickets didn’t sell. And if stuffing himself into a penguin suit and making chitchat all night made sure soldiers got the help they needed—it was the least he could do.

      When a person was willing to give up their life for their country the payback needed to be genuine. Especially if they felt there wasn’t anything for them when they came back home.

      “I’m surprised you’re a contender for this job,” Amanda said.

      Matthew shrugged and offered her a half smile. “And why would you think that?”

      “Wouldn’t your energies be better placed on the new wing?”

      “On the contrary.” He heard his smooth tones, but knew that heat singed every word coming out of his mouth. “I think you’ll find there are medical professionals far better suited to that sort of work than myself. Like at the Sussex facility—we make sure we put in proper staff so that it ticks along quite happily without me.”

      Amanda’s lips parted as if she were about to say something else, then she clearly thought better of it. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t about SoS. It looked personal.

      “Well, goodness me. I didn’t realize you were attached to the cause, Amanda?”

      Dr. Menzies was beginning to look a bit desperate in his efforts to keep the conversation rolling as neither Amanda nor Matthew seemed willing participants.

      “I’m not. My parents were hosting the event. I’m afraid I didn’t add much to the evening’s luster.”

      Matthew suppressed a wicked smile. Of course she had.

      Twenty minutes in, one glass of champagne down, and all he’d had eyes for was the blond in the periwinkle-blue gown who looked as if a blowtorch wouldn’t melt her. She hadn’t just been cool, she’d been entirely uninterested. As if she’d handed her heart in at the coat check along with her handbag.

      No. That wasn’t it, exactly.

      She’d looked as if she was hoping against all hope to forget about something. A longing he’d all but put a patent on since Charlie had died. Nine years and about three days before, to be exact. Not that he’d been chalking up each day since then on the walls of a memory that refused to release its stranglehold on him.

      As Dr. Menzies began another halfhearted icebreaker about the weather Matthew allowed himself another slow head-to-toe scan of the Ice Queen’s petite form. Her curves were shown off to maximum effect in the body-hugging power suit, forcing him to relive that night once more.

      There was no forgetting the moment she’d slid the length of him, her body glowing with exertion, and ultimately thrown back her head to moan with pleasure as the two of them had joined together in a heated mutual climax. They had been a perfect match.

      And now she was the competition. Wasn’t life funny? And not in the ha-ha kind of way.

      “Oh, I love this time of year. I’m always waiting with bated breath for predictions of a white Christmas.”

      Amanda was replying enthusiastically to Dr. Menzies stumbling comment—something