The Millionaire's Christmas Wife. HELEN BROOKS

      ‘That doesn’t do it.’

      Miriam frowned. ‘If you don’t believe me when I say it, how can I convince you?’ Immediately she’d said it she knew she had played straight into his hands.

      His firm, sexy mouth mocked her with its wryness. ‘Come back to the apartment and live with me again for the few weeks till Christmas,’ he said easily, as though he wasn’t asking the impossible. ‘See how you feel then.’

      Her absolute amazement changed to outrage. ‘I can’t believe you just said that.’

      ‘Not as man and wife if you don’t want to share my bed,’ he said calmly. ‘You can have the spare room if that makes you feel better.’

      ‘It wouldn’t.’ Dark eyebrows rose, and in answer to the glitter in his eyes she said quickly, ‘What I mean is, I’ve no intention of coming back to the apartment whether I could stay in the spare room or not. And I would stay in it, of course, if I was coming back.’

      ‘Which you’re not,’ he put in helpfully.

      ‘No, I’m not.’ Suddenly she realised she hated that apartment. It had always been Jay’s, never hers. She had never felt at home there, more like a visitor who was being tolerated by the masculine surroundings and ultra-modern gadgets. Other girlfriends had been there, of course, she knew that. She had never had the nerve to ask him if they had slept in his bed but they must have done.

      ‘What’s the matter? What are you thinking now?’

      She hadn’t been aware that her thoughts had mirrored themselves in the painful twist to her mouth and the darkening of her soft brown eyes, but as always Jay saw too much. Swiftly she wiped her face clear of expression. ‘Nothing.’

      ‘Nothing didn’t put that look on your face,’ Jay said grimly. ‘Tell me.’

      What the hell! He’d asked for it. ‘I never want to step foot in the apartment again, if you want to know,’ she said with a flatness that said far more than a raised voice could have done. ‘It was never a home to me and it was always yours, never mine. I was merely a guest there.’

      Now it was his turn to be amazed. ‘You never said.’

      Miriam shrugged. ‘It was your home and you loved it. The first time you showed me round I could see how much it meant to you. Besides which—’

      ‘What?’

      ‘I didn’t realise quite how much it would remain yours,’ she said, a trifle illogically.

      He seemed to understand, though. ‘And how much did it?’

      ‘A hundred per cent.’

      ‘I see.’

      ‘Oh, it’s stunning,’ she said quickly, wondering why she was trying to sweeten the pill after what he’d done. ‘Absolutely fabulous and I can understand why you love it, of course, but it’s not…me.’

      Jay’s jaw tightened. ‘But you didn’t think to tell me you hated it.’

      ‘I didn’t hate it—’ Miriam stopped abruptly. Why was she lying to make him feel better? ‘Actually I did,’ she said as much to herself as Jay. ‘Especially when we gave dinner parties and things like that. I always felt as though I was one of those hostesses who are hired for the evening.’