Her Husband's Christmas Bargain. Margaret Mayo

fire was in honour of Christmas. There was one already laid in the drawing room fireplace where the tree had been set up. Tomorrow she could imagine it roaring up the chimney, adding to the magic of Christmas for Charlotte.

      ‘Would you have gone to all this trouble if we hadn’t been here?’ asked Megan, preferring to steer the conversation back to safer grounds. ‘I mean the Christmas tree and the log fires.’

      ‘Truthfully?’

      ‘Truthfully.’

      ‘No,’ he answered. ‘What would have been the point? This is going to be the best Christmas ever for me—and for you too, I hope.’

      ‘I’m merely here to make Charlotte happy.’

      ‘You’re making me happy.’

      His voice went down an octave, seeming to vibrate through her bones, and Megan turned her head away, concentrating on her drink, taking large sips of the vodka and orange he had mixed for her. A big mistake; it went straight to her head. Much more of this and she wouldn’t be in charge of her senses. ‘I’ve never seen you as the slippers in front of the fire sort of guy.’

      ‘So how do you see me?’ he asked with a roguish growl, his eyes reflecting the glow of the embers.

      Megan felt them warming her—or was it the fire? Or even the drink? Whichever, she was growing hotter by the second. ‘As the tough businessman who’s feet never hit the ground. What made you buy Gerards? I thought you were in the IT industry.’

      ‘I still am, but I have my finger in lots of pies. I’ll tell you about them some day,’ he added dismissively, ‘but for the moment I want to talk about you. Why didn’t you tell me you were unhappy? Why did you walk out without saying a word?’

      ‘Because I knew you’d stop me,’ she retorted, her eyes condemning as she looked at him over the rim of her glass. Her almost empty glass, she realised. ‘You’d probably have sworn that you’d change, but I knew differently. And I was right, wasn’t I?’

      ‘No one will ever know,’ he answered sadly. ‘It’s hard to accept that I’ve missed the first three years of my daughter’s life—it’s something I shall never forgive you for,’ he finished harshly as he tossed the last of his drink down his throat. ‘Ever!’

      Megan finished her drink also and put her glass firmly down on the table. ‘I don’t want to talk about this. It’s late, I’m going to bed.’

      As she stood, he too got up, and before she could stop him his arms came around her. ‘But you’re still my wife, the mother of my daughter, and I’d like a goodnight kiss.’

      Megan struggled furiously but he refused to let her go. Instead his mouth came down on hers, one hand behind her head effectively cutting off her escape, the other against the small of her back. It was a long, punishing kiss and it sent resentment reeling through every inch of her body.

      There was no escape. The kiss deepened, his arms tightened, and all too soon she felt herself beginning to respond. It was like a replay of when she had met him. She could remember the day very clearly. This handsome, dark-haired, Latin-looking young man had stopped to pick up a bag she’d dropped. Ironically, it had been a few weeks before Christmas and her arms had been full of purchases. When she’d looked into his eyes to thank him she’d been so taken with his good looks that she’d dropped another of her parcels.

      ‘I think,’ he said, with a smile that turned her legs to jelly, ‘that I’d better help you to your car, or the bus, or wherever you’re going. Home, in fact. You’ve got an extraordinary amount of packages.’

      ‘Christmas presents,’ she admitted shyly. ‘And I’m catching the bus.’

      ‘I think not,’ he said with a laugh, ‘not unless you want to lose the lot as you’re jumping on or off. I’ll run you home; my car’s just around the corner.’

      ‘But I don’t know you. I—’

      ‘I assure you you’ll be perfectly safe. My name’s Luigi Costanzo, I live in Mickleover, near Derby.’ He flashed his business card in front of her and then tucked it into one of her bags. And Megan knew instinctively that she could trust him. He had an open, honest face, and he had almost to pass her house to get to his own. It would be silly to refuse.

      But still she hesitated.

      ‘I know how you must feel,’ he said. ‘A complete stranger and all that. The offer’s there if you want it, but I’ll still walk you to the bus stop if that’s what you’d prefer.’

      Megan was eighteen and he was much older than the boys she usually hung around with. Mid twenties, she imagined, maybe even older than that. She was enchanted by him. And she found herself agreeing to let him give her a lift.

      His car was smart, black and sleek. Whatever his business he was clearly doing well for himself. And he drove her straight to her door, even helping her with her parcels. Her parents’ eyes goggled when they saw her with a strange, handsome man, but they were clearly impressed.

      Before he left, Luigi asked whether he could see her again. Megan couldn’t refuse. By this time she was completely bowled over. Her insides felt as though they had turned to mush—as they were doing at this moment!