Mills & Boon Christmas Delights Collection. Rebecca Winters

idea of being stuck miles away from medical assistance with an unconscious man had limited appeal for Darcy. No, the fastidious and reserved Mr Erskine was going to stay awake whether he liked it or not!

      Trying to keep her growing uneasiness from her voice, she asked, ‘What brings you to this part of the world?’ Only a comment on the weather, she decided, could be less innocuous—not that you’d think so by his tight-lipped, rude response.

      ‘Solitude.’ Surely she’d take the hint now.

      With anyone else Darcy would have felt inclined to put down this display of boorish bad manners to pain and discomfort—with anyone else…!

      He considered himself a tolerant, patient sort of bloke, but ten minutes and what felt like several hundred questions later Reece was having trouble controlling his temper.

      ‘You can’t possibly be spending Christmas at the Hall!’

      He hadn’t come right out and said so—actually the gorgeous but tight-lipped Mr Erskine hadn’t come right out and said anything without prompting, and then it had been as vague and uninformative as he could make it—but by a process of elimination Darcy was now pretty sure the injured hunk was actually staying at the semi-derelict Hall for the duration of the holiday.

      ‘Oh…?’ Reece wasn’t about to let on that he’d been thinking much the same thing himself. After all his furtive planning he was going to end up holed up in some tinsel-decked hotel again this year.

      Darcy felt encouraged to pursue her point—by his standards, this response had been positively garrulous.

      In the cramped conditions—the car hadn’t been constructed with his length of leg in mind—he lost all feeling in his right foot. Reece slowly shifted his right leg, rotating his ankle. His muscle-packed thigh nudged against the blonde’s leg.

      A startled, gusty breath snagged in Darcy’s throat. A sensation that was all fizzing sexual awareness and no common sense dramatically surged through her, coalescing in a squirmy mess low in her belly.

      Help, where had that come from?

      The momentary distraction almost had disastrous consequences.

      ‘Hell!’ She braked sharply to allow the bedraggled cat dazed by the headlights to cross from one side of the narrow lane to the other. The feral creature disappeared into the dark undergrowth. ‘Whew! Close call.’ Her heartbeat slowed down to a steady canter as they accelerated away.

      You could say that again! The abrupt halt had sent Reece’s head on a collision course with the windscreen—the seat restraint was the only thing that had stopped him making contact. The pressure against his damaged ribs was exquisitely painful. It was becoming obvious to Reece that his chauffeur was the type of bleeding heart who saw no conflict in risking life and limb to save a dumb animal—probably the less appealing the better.

      ‘Are you all right?’

      Now she asks! ‘I’m fine!’

      Darcy’s dark brows shot quizzically towards her fair hairline; his taut tone had been several degrees to the right of brusque.

      ‘You’re obviously not.’ No doubt such stoicism was admirable but in this instance not really practical. ‘Have you hurt yourself some more…? Shall I stop the car…?’

      And prolong the agony of sharing space with Miss Sweetness and Light? Anything, he decided, was better than that—even replying to her incessant questions for another five minutes.

      She obviously wasn’t going to be satisfied until he owned up to something. ‘I jarred my shoulder. Why can’t I be staying at the Hall…?’ he asked before she could press the point any further.

      ‘Well, leaving aside your injuries…’

      ‘Yes, let’s do that…’

      Repressing the angry retort that hovered on the tip of her tongue, Darcy jammed her foot on the brake as the lights ahead turned red. ‘And the fact that the place is uninhabitable…’

      ‘I found it quite cosy.’

      ‘It’s Christmas!’

      ‘Your point being…?’

      ‘Time of good cheer and loving your fellow man… Does that ring any bells…?’

      The cynical light in his hooded, secretive eyes intensified. ‘And come the New Year I can go back to screwing the bastards…?’ he queried hopefully.

      The sound of an impatient car horn brought her attention to the green light. ‘Are you always unpleasant just for the hell of it?’

      ‘It does give me a nice glow,’ he admitted glibly.

      ‘I don’t think you’ve got the hang of the Christmas-spirit thing, Mr Erskine.’

      ‘It’s Reece, and as far as I’m concerned, Darcy, Christmas is just like any other day of the year…’

      ‘But…’

      ‘…except, of course, for the exceptionally high hypocrisy factor.’

      ‘You mean you don’t celebrate at all?’ Darcy knew that it was none of her business how this man celebrated or didn’t during the festive season, but for some reason she just couldn’t let it go. ‘What about your family…?’

      ‘I don’t have a family.’ Reece hardly even felt a twinge of guilt as he brutally disposed of his numerous relatives.

      ‘Oh!’ Darcy, who was pretty blessed in that department, felt guilty at her abundance. ‘That’s sad, but even someone like you must have friends,’ she insisted earnestly. She heard his startled intake of breath. Oh, dear, that hadn’t come out quite as she’d intended.

      ‘Are you trying to wind me up?’

      ‘Why would I?’ Even if it was exhilarating in a dangerous sort of way.

      ‘Sins of a previous life catching up with me…?’

      Darcy repressed a grin. Sarcastic pig…!

      ‘Maybe you don’t have any friends,’ she countered nastily.

      ‘I have friends,’ he confirmed tightly. ‘The sort who respect my privacy,’ he added pointedly.

      ‘Then it’s a religious thing…?’

      Her swift change of subject made him blink. ‘What is…?’

      ‘Ignoring Christmas.’

      ‘It’s a personal-choice thing,’

      ‘There’s no need to yell,’ she remonstrated gently.

      Reece’s nostrils flared. ‘Hard as this might be for you to comprehend, I don’t like the festive season.’

      ‘It must be pretty spartan inside,’ Darcy mused, thinking about the bleak aspect of the old Hall.

      An image of walls stripped back to bare brick ran through his mind; the draught from the open window whistling down his neck wasn’t the only thing that made him shudder.

      ‘Depends on what you’re used to,’ he responded evasively.

      He looked to her as if he was used to the best—of everything. In fact, Darcy thought, shooting another covert glance in his direction, she didn’t think she’d ever met a man who looked more accustomed to the good life and all its trimmings than him.

      That wasn’t to say there was anything pampered or soft about him—in fact, the opposite was true. Even in his present battered and bruised condition it was obvious he was in peak physical condition, and he had the indefinable but definite air of a man who would be ruthless to achieve his own ends.

      Of course looks weren’t everything, and for all she knew he might be afraid of the dark and give generously to charities. Either way, why would a man like him