Mills & Boon Christmas Delights Collection. Rebecca Winters

me. I shifted under his gaze, forcing myself not to scoot out of there as fast as I could. I just hoped that Rooney appreciated all the embarrassment I was currently going through for his cause. A thought suddenly crept into my brain.

      ‘It’s nothing…weird. You know, I’m not hitting on you or anything.’

      ‘I wouldn’t think for a moment that you were. I’ve a far too untidy character to fit into that tidy, compartmentalised way of living that you seem to favour.’

      I didn’t say anything. Basically because he was right – -that was the way I lived and it worked for me. It clearly wasn’t something that would work for him but, then again, he had his family around him. The circumstances were entirely different and I wasn’t about to defend myself against him.

      ‘You’re probably right.’ My hopes for Rooney were fading.

      ‘I do, however, get the feeling you’re up to something.’ He was looking at me, his head tilted a little, signs of intrigue showing on his face. I could work with that.

      I put my hand on my chest and widened my eyes in innocence, which at least brought a smile.

      ‘So where exactly did you have in mind for this lunch?’

      ‘There’s a great pub I know. It’s a little outside London, but they do the best Sunday roasts. I think you’ll love it.’

      ‘OK,’ he said, slowly, apparently still unconvinced that my motives were pure. Although they really were. Kind of.

      ‘So you’ll come?’ I couldn’t help smiling. ‘Great. We should get going then.’ I made to move towards the door.

      Leaning against the doorframe, Michael folded his arms, the action pulling the old T-shirt he wore tighter across his chest. My mind flew back to the other day when I’d seen exactly what was under that shirt. I swallowed and pushed the image away, moving towards the door. But Michael didn’t move. I raised my eyes to find him watching me.

      ‘What is it?’

      ‘I’ve got a couple of questions before you drag me out of my nice warm house into the snow.’

      ‘It’s actually stopped now and they said the roads are clear – ’ I glanced towards the window. Admittedly the sky didn’t look all that promising. ‘ – for the moment, anyway.’

      Michael didn’t reply.

      ‘OK, fine. What are the questions?’ I asked.

      ‘Are you getting tetchy?’

      Yes.

      ‘No. Is that one of the questions?’

       Think of Rooney. It’s all for a good cause. Even though this man drives you round the bend, you know he’d be a perfect match for that dog.

      ‘Liar. And no. It’s an extra one.’

      I took a deep breath.

      ‘What would you like to ask?’

      ‘Firstly, it’s Sunday morning.’

      ‘It is.’

      ‘So why aren’t you lounging in bed with Conor or Colin or whatever his name is, reading the papers and eating bacon sarnies?’

      ‘Isn’t that a little personal?’

      ‘I’m sorry? Didn’t you just ask me if I was doing the same thing when I opened the door?’

      ‘Not at all. I just wanted to make sure that I wasn’t disturbing you.’

      ‘Which you were.’

      I dropped my head, feeling that I was on a losing battle here. I ran my hand over my eyes, suddenly feeling like a complete idiot.

      ‘Look, I’m sorry, I – ’

      Michael’s hand caught mine.

      ‘That’s doesn’t mean to say all disturbances are unwelcome. I’m sorry. I’m not the most sociable these days and I’m a little out of practice.’

      ‘No, you’re totally right. I really should have called first.’

      ‘It’s fine, and you’re here now. Which is nice. Even though I’m still sure you’re up to something.’ He let go of my hand.

      ‘His name is Calum. And he’s out of the country at the moment, working. But to be honest, I’m not one for lounging in bed, reading the papers. They’re too depressing most of the time.’

      ‘So read something else then.’

      ‘There’s far too much to do to be lounging around.’

      ‘Rubbish. It’s what Sunday mornings were invented for. Just don’t tell my grandma. She’s under the impression we still all go to mass first thing.’

      ‘Really?’

      ‘Pretty sure.’

      ‘Wow.’

      He smiled. ‘What?’

      ‘I just wondered how she’s going to react when she finds out her grandson isn’t a cassock-wearing altar boy but a boxer-wearing lothario who lounges around in bed on Sunday mornings, eating bacon sandwiches.’

      ‘She’ll get over it. More to the point, how do you know my preference for underwear?’

      ‘I was guessing. You don’t look like a Y-fronts kind of guy. Thank goodness.’

      He grinned and I blushed.

      ‘I mean. Not that it makes any difference to me. Although they do say that it’s more healthy to wear boxers than other, more restrictive, styles of underwear.’

       What the hell was I saying? More to the point, why the hell was I saying it? And to Michael O’Farrell of all people?

      ‘Apparently,’ I added, casually.

      ‘I appreciate the information.’

      Oh God. If a random sinkhole appeared beneath my feet right now, I wouldn’t complain. I waited a moment but nothing happened. It looked like I was actually going to have to deal with the aftermath of my ramblings. Bugger.

      ‘So, if that answers the first question, what’s the second one?’ I aimed for a nonchalant air, as if I hadn’t just had a conversation with an incredibly gorgeous client about his underwear preferences.

      He let out a breath of air in amusement, and shook his head, but did, thankfully, let the subject drop.

      ‘This pub?’

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘It wouldn’t be anywhere near an animal rescue centre, would it?’

       Uh oh. Rumbled.

      ‘That’s what I thought,’ he replied, even though I’d not said a word.

      I looked up.

      ‘Your face said it all.’

      I let out a sigh. ‘How come you can do that? I’ve always been pretty good at hiding what I’m thinking and then you come along and keep…outing me!’

      He stared at me for a moment and then laughed a deep, rich rumble than spread up from his chest and filled the room.

      ‘Outing you?’

      ‘Yes! It’s really annoying.’

      ‘Why? Because you want to hide stuff from me?’

      ‘Sometimes!’

      ‘Too bad.’ He scooped an arm around my shoulders and squeezed. ‘Come on. Let’s go and find this pub.’

      ‘Really?’ My hopes for Rooney suddenly reignited.

      He looked down at me, his arm