Married Under The Mistletoe. Линда Гуднайт

said, clattering the cup onto the saucer.

      “Tell me about Africa.” As she’d done countless times, Stephanie slipped into hostess mode, tucking away real feelings to skim the surface of civilized conversation. “Your father’s very proud of what you’ve done there.”

      His face, so full of pleasure moments before, closed up tight. “My father doesn’t know a thing about my work.”

      And from the stormy look of him, Stephanie figured John might never know. Her boss might want to mend fences with his sons, but this one had some hostility that might not be so easily overcome.

      Daniel’s anger reminded her of the kids she sometimes worked with in special art classes. There, where she volunteered her time teaching troubled children to paint, she had learned to listen as well as to share simple techniques of line and color.

      In the same quiet voice she used to encourage those kids, she said, “Would you tell me about it?”

      Forearms on the table edge, he linked his fingers and leaned forward. Too close again. The man had an unpleasant habit of invading her space. Stephanie tilted back a few inches.

      “The work is rewarding and equally frustrating,” he said.

      So he’d chosen to sidestep the issue of his father and move on to the safer ground of Africa. She didn’t know why she’d felt compelled to dig into his personal life in the first place. The less she knew about him, the better.

      “Is that why you quit?”

      “I didn’t quit. I’ll never quit,” he said vehemently. “But I’ve finally realized that I can make more of a difference here than I can there.”

      She frowned, not following. “How?”

      “To build sustainable, safe water systems takes money and expertise. I’m a civil engineer. I’ve spent my whole life dealing with the problem. I have the expertise. What I lack is that vulgar little commodity called money.”

      “So you’re back in England to raise money, then.”

      “In a manner of speaking. I’m starting my own business, contracting water projects throughout England. The demand is high, especially in the area of flood control. A man who has the right skills and contacts can make a fortune.”

      Maybe he was as giving as John had indicated. “And you’re planning to use that money to fund projects in Africa?”

      “It’s the best way I can think of.” He shoved a hand over dark, unruly hair. “That’s why I’m grateful to you for sharing this flat, and that’s also why I agreed to the arrangement in the first place. I dislike accepting favors, particularly from my father, but the less spent on living expenses, the more I can spare for Ethiopia.”

      Despite her determination not to get too close, Stephanie’s opinion of Daniel rose several notches. He had a caring heart, at least where the needy in Africa were concerned. This knowledge gave her hope that he would not be difficult to room with. If her luck held out, he would keep his distance until the business was started and he could afford his own place to live.

      And this brought her to the question that had burned on her mind since that first telephone call from Mr Valentine. Just exactly how long would all that take? How long would she have this disturbing, intriguing, terrifying man living in her flat?

      Because, for her own protection and peace of mind, the sooner he was gone, the better.

      CHAPTER TWO

      SURREPTITIOUSLY, Daniel watched the stunning red-haired woman from behind his teacup. The moment she’d opened the door he’d lost his breath, knocked out by the sheer beauty of her long legs, slim, shapely body, and the long, wavy just-got-out-of-bed hairstyle. Though her dress was mid-calf and modest, his first, very wayward thoughts had been of sex, a natural male reaction that he’d reined in right away. Mostly. He’d once had a penchant for redheads and, if his body’s reaction was an accurate indicator, he still did. But he was here on business. And business it would remain.

      A few minutes in her company, however, had told him what the old man hadn’t. That she wasn’t all that thrilled to have him here. But he was here and planned to stick around. And it didn’t hurt at all that his flatmate was gorgeous and smelled incredible as well. He could look, but that was the end of it.

      Long ago, he’d come to grips with his own shortcomings where women were concerned. He liked them, enjoyed their company, but he’d never been able to fall in love. After too many years, he’d finally faced reality. Thanks to his mother, he lacked the capacity to love anybody.

      “I need to get back down to the restaurant.” Stephanie’s teacup rattled against the saucer as she set it in place. “There’s more tea if you want it.”

      “Thanks, but no. No time like the present to get started on the telephone contacts.”

      She reached for his cup and he handed it over.

      “You should consider getting a mobile phone.”

      “Hmm. Possibly later.” Right now he was conserving funds.

      “I have a computer if you need one.” She motioned toward the hall. “Sometimes I work on orders and supplies at night.”

      “I’ll probably take you up on that.” He pushed up from the chair and came around the bar to stand beside her at the sink. “Let me help with this.”

      Wariness flickered across her pretty face. “I have it.”

      “Okay.” He backed off, wondering if his size intimidated her. She wouldn’t be the first, though she reached his shoulders. He propped his backside against the blue granite counter several feet away from her. The tension eased.

      With a grace that had him watching her hands, she washed the cups, dried them and placed them, handles aligned to the right, inside the cupboard. The orderliness of her flat was almost amusing. His idea of domestic order was keeping the mosquito net untangled around his face at night.

      She tidied up, putting everything away until the kitchen looked as if no one lived there. In fact, the entire flat had that look. As if it were a photograph, a perfect, sophisticated, contemporary ad of an apartment. Not a lived-in place.

      Folding a snowy tea-towel into a precise rectangle, she hung it neatly over a holder, straightening the edges while she spoke. “Is there anything else I can show you before I go? Anything you need?”

      “I’m not a guest, Stephanie. No need for you to fret over me. I can find my way around.” Hadn’t he fended for himself as long as he could remember?

      “Right. Of course.” Her hands fidgeted with the edge of the towel. “I’d better go, then. The evening crowd begins soon.”

      “I may go out this afternoon myself. Do you have an extra key to the flat?”

      She clasped the butterfly hands in front of her. “I’m sorry. I never thought of having another key made.”

      “Give me yours and I’ll go to the locksmith.”

      “I’ll get it.” She looked none too excited about the prospect of sharing her key with him, but she disappeared down the hall and was back in moments, key extended. “This also fits the doors leading out onto the balcony. In case you didn’t notice, there are two entrances to the flat. A staircase up the outside as well as the elevator in back of the restaurant.”

      “Good to know. Thanks.” He pocketed the key, keeping watch on her fidgety movements. She’d relaxed somewhat since his arrival, but Daniel had the strongest feeling her tension was more than the normal discomfort of acquiring an unfamiliar flatmate. Though good breeding or schooling gave her the right words to say, her real feelings lay hidden behind the serenely composed expression. And yet, her hands gave her away.

      With an inner shrug, he dismissed the idea. Stephanie’s problems were