Millionaire Under The Mistletoe. Janice Maynard

in his shirt, wondering what to do next.

      ‘If that was a hint, you’re really pushing it!’ she growled. ‘What if someone asks me to do something…nursey?’ she worried hoarsely.

      ‘Is that likely?’ he drawled, managing to project the distinct impression he found her complaints slightly hysterical.

      It occurred to Darcy that they were drifting away from the real cause of her simmering anger. ‘Don’t try and change the subject,’ she growled.

      One slanted dark brow quirked. ‘Which was…?’

      ‘I’m not your wife!’

      ‘This is true,’ he conceded with an expression that suggested he was mightily relieved about this. ‘I didn’t think you’d mind—it’s not like I’m actually asking you to marry me or anything drastic.’

      ‘For your information, I’ve been proposed to several times!’ she felt goaded into unwisely boasting.

      ‘Congratulations,’ he drawled, looking amused.

      Darcy’s cheeks were burning with humiliation as she discovered a major flaw in his manipulations. ‘What were you going to do if I’d driven straight off?’

      ‘I knew you wouldn’t do that,’ he stated confidently.

      ‘How could you possibly…?’

      ‘You’d be eaten up by guilt if you did. You’re deeply into doing the right thing.’ He made it sound like a flaw in her character. ‘Be a sport, Darcy,’ he cajoled.

      ‘I’m not lying for you.’

      He sighed. ‘Just don’t say you’re not, that’s all I’m asking. It’s no skin off your nose. Walk out of here with me and then you’ll never have to see me again.’

      Darcy’s shoulders slumped in defeat. ‘I must be mad…’

      A wolfish grin split his lean, dark face. ‘Good girl,’ he approved.

      Further comments were made impossible by the arrival of the nurse who’d directed Darcy here originally.

      ‘I’ve come to suture your head wound,’ the young man explained.

      Darcy took the opportunity to excuse herself. ‘I’ll wait outside.’ Halfway through the curtain, she paused. ‘Are you going to give him a local anaesthetic?’ she asked the young nurse.

      He looked confused. ‘Well, yes,’ he admitted.

      ‘Pity!’ Darcy declared maliciously.

      The sound of husky laughter followed her down the corridor.

       CHAPTER THREE

      ‘GOODBYE, Mrs Erskine…Mr Erskine,’ the young receptionist gushed breathily as she left them with obvious reluctance at the swing-doors.

      Darcy gave a sigh of relief as the doors swung shut. The red carpet was about the only thing that had been missing and, given enough time, she had the impression the smitten young woman would have produced that too. At least she could drop the wifey act now.

      ‘What are we?’ Darcy grouched, intensely relieved to be out of the place and out of her role. ‘Visiting royalty? Do you always have this effect on people?’

      ‘What effect is that?’

      Darcy raised a sceptical brow. ‘Like you didn’t notice!’ she hooted. ‘The woman was deferential, bordering on obsequious.’

      Despite the enigmatic smile she received in reply, Darcy got the impression he was even less pleased than she was by the VIP treatment.

      The rain had stopped, but it had started to freeze, making the pavement underfoot lethally slippery. Darcy moved cautiously past the men who were gritting the entrance to the hospital, smiling in a distracted way at them as she passed. The gravel was crunchy underfoot as they passed the tall, twinkly Christmas tree, and a layer of sparkling frost added to the festive look in a way that expensive ornaments never could.

      She only just stopped herself mentioning how much she loved the smell of pine to the wet blanket beside her.

      ‘Where are we parked?’

      Even though she hadn’t forgotten the tall, commanding presence at her side—chance would be a fine thing—she started when he spoke. It made her realise how uptight and wound up the whole play-acting thing in the hospital had made her. Her fellow conspirator, on the other hand, had seemed almost to relish his role, or maybe it was her discomfort he enjoyed…? Considering the glimpses she’d had of his warped sense of humour, the latter seemed the most likely explanation.

      ‘We…?’ She lifted her eyes to his face, but not for long—for some reason she felt oddly reluctant to maintain contact.

      Like a silly, lust-struck teenager afraid to look the unattainable object of her fantasies in the eyes! Self-disgust curled in her belly. Grow up, Darcy!

      By the time she had sternly told herself to stop acting so wet, he had paused under the blue-white beam of an overhead light and was making a careful minor adjustment to the jacket draped over his broad shoulders. His head was bent forward at an angle; she couldn’t see his face, just the strong curve of his jaw and the sharp angle of his cheekbones, but even these sketchy details were enough to proclaim him as something pretty special to look at indeed.

      ‘Are you going to abandon me…?’ He contemplated his abandonment with what seemed to her unnatural composure.

      ‘That was my plan, yes.’ She could see the flaw in this plan even before he came over all pathetic and helpless.

      ‘No wallet, no money or plastic. See for yourself.’ He opened his jacket, inviting her to disprove his claim.

      No way—she’d been there, done that and felt her hormones riot! She was not conscious of placing her tightly clenched hands firmly behind her back.

      ‘There’s no need to act like an endangered species; I believe you,’ she told him gruffly. Her sigh of defeat had a long-suffering sound to it. ‘Do I look like a soft touch?’ she wondered, wearily running a harassed hand through her dampish curls.

      Dark head on one side, he regarded her in a considering fashion. To add insult to injury, it took him bare moments to come to a decision.

      ‘Actually, yes, you do.’ She also looked extremely young, still full of youthful ideals, a soft target for unscrupulous operators—a student home for the holiday possibly…?

      His own innocence and youth seemed a long way off at that moment. It seemed an opportune time, given the direction of his wayward thoughts, to remind himself how far removed she was from the females who temporarily lent a bit of variety to his solitary existence— Reece wasn’t looking for anything other than temporary.

      His candour made Darcy’s face darken in annoyance.

      ‘And you’re the type to take advantage,’ she accused rattily.

      Taken advantage of by Reece Erskine—now, there was a thought! She was too busy being angry, flustered and ashamed of her thoughts to notice that a new expression had filtered into his eyes.

      Soft… His mind seemed determined to explore this avenue and there was no lack of appropriate material to feed his interest—soft lips, soft curves. The compulsive nature of his speculation had none of the objectivity Reece took for granted in sexual matters.

      Don’t go there, he urged himself, repressing the sudden strong inclination to lean closer to all that softness, smell the flowery scent that enveloped her small person.

      Darcy set off purposefully, reluctant to invite ridicule by admitting she’d forgotten where she’d left the car. She was too damned spooked at the prospect of being enclosed in a small space with him once more to think