Millionaire Under The Mistletoe. Janice Maynard

didn’t seem to take offence in her anguished observation. ‘It’s pretty intense, isn’t it?’ he commiserated.

      Darcy’s brows drew into a suspicious line above her wide, startled eyes. ‘Are you saying that you…?’ She moved her head in a scornful negative gesture, rejecting the idea that Reece could be similarly affected by her proximity.

      ‘I can’t stop thinking about last night or wanting it to happen again.’ His tone might have been matter-of-fact bordering on rudely abrupt, but the lick of flames in his deep-set eyes was not!

      Darcy was shaking so hard she had to fold her arms tight across her middle to hide the tremors. In the process she unwittingly drew attention to her full, heaving bosom. ‘That was sex.’

      ‘That was exceptional sex,’ Reece contradicted firmly. ‘A relationship has to start somewhere.’

      Darcy looked at him blankly. ‘Relationship…? You don’t want a relationship.’

      ‘How do you know what I want?’ he demanded.

      ‘Well, do you?’

      ‘Maybe not. Well, actually, no, I don’t want a relationship. I don’t want to be celibate either.’

      He didn’t even have the guts to look her in the eye when he said it, she thought wrathfully. The perversity of the average male was simply breathtaking. But it had shut up the voice in her head, the one recklessly shrieking ‘Go for it! Go for it!’, and a good thing too, she decided glumly.

      ‘The only thing I know for sure I want is you.’

      She couldn’t legitimately complain about eye-contact now—an earthquake couldn’t have broken the grip his dark-lashed eyes had on her. The air escaped her lungs in one long, sibilant hiss; her eyes, huge in her pale face, were glued to his face. Her thoughts were in total chaos. You can’t let yourself be seduced by someone saying he wants you—even if that someone is Reece Erskine, she told herself angrily.

      ‘Naturally I’m flattered,’ she drawled, giving a scornful, unnatural little laugh that implied just the opposite.

      His jaw tightened. ‘I’m not trying to flatter you.’ Reece, who prided himself on self-control, discovered he couldn’t take his eyes from the lush curve of her lovely lips, even though the looking caused the distant buzzing in his head to increase significantly.

      ‘What are you trying to do, then?’ Other than drive me out of my mind, that is…? It just didn’t seem possible for a man to walk into her life and turn everything upside-down. ‘You may be in the mood for some sort of holiday romance, but I simply don’t have the time, energy or inclination.’ Well, the first two at least were true.

      ‘I thought you were on holiday too.’

      Some holiday! ‘My mum’s gone walkabout, my stepfather, who I happen to be crazy about, needs constant reassurance, several hundred members of the family are likely to descend on us at any second and I can’t even bake a mince pie, let alone feed and entertain them!’ Stupidly it was the last deficiency that made her eyes fill with tears.

      Reece moved towards her and she ached to throw herself into his arms. With a stiff little gesture that shrieked rejection she swayed backwards; it stopped Reece in his tracks.

      ‘Are you trying to tell me this isn’t a good time for us?’ There was no smile to match the flippancy of his tone.

      Darcy wanted to cry from sheer frustration, but she didn’t have the luxury. As right as it felt to have his arms close around her, she knew it was all an illusion created by her overactive hormones. If she had been after casual sex she wouldn’t have looked any further than this man: he fulfilled every criteria for the role.

      The problem was she couldn’t be that casual about sex, and when she got involved serious disaster usually followed—she was thinking about the rat Michael here, the one who had forgotten to mention his wife and children. His wife with kids in tow landing up on her doorstep pleading with Darcy not to take her husband away was one of her least favourite memories. Just recalling Michael’s defence made her blood boil— ‘I wanted to tell you, Darce, but I didn’t want to hurt you’.

      ‘There is no us!’

      ‘There could be if you let it happen.’

      And letting it happen would be so easy. Darcy sighed; his voice had a dangerously mesmeric quality…it was so hypnotic and attractive, in fact, that a person was inclined to forget just how outrageous the sentences formed by these perfect lips were.

      ‘You’re really worried about your mother, aren’t you…?’

      This observation brought her back to reality with a resounding thump.

      ‘Am I supposed to believe you care about what I’m worried about?’ she sneered, eyeing him with open contempt. ‘The only thing you care about as far as I can see is getting me back into your bed!’

      It was true, but that didn’t alter the fact her words made him mad as hell. The flare of something close to fear in her eyes made him realise that his feelings must have been reflected on his face, so he made a conscious effort to control his anger.

      ‘Listen, sweetheart,’ he said after he’d counted to ten a couple of times, ‘I’ve absolutely no idea if this thing is going to run its course in a matter of days, weeks or months but I think for both our sakes we should find out. If we don’t we’ll always wonder…’ He paused long enough for her to appreciate the truth of what he was saying. ‘I know you’ve some sort of guilt trip about sleeping with me last night, but it happened and I don’t see much point beating yourself up over it.’

      ‘Maybe I wouldn’t if you didn’t keep throwing it back in my face. Just for the record, I’m not…easy!’

      ‘Just for the record,’ he retorted drily, ‘I don’t think you’re easy…anything but, as a matter of fact,’ he added in a wry aside. ‘This isn’t the sort of attraction you can pretend isn’t there, Darcy.’

      That was true.

      ‘I may want to get you into bed,’ he continued with a candour that made her mouth grow dry and started up the distressing palpitations once more, ‘but it doesn’t mean we can’t communicate outside the bedroom.’ Darcy had no way of knowing how extraordinary this statement was coming from Reece Erskine, and Reece wasn’t about to tell her—the truth was, it made him uneasy to acknowledge it. ‘You’re obviously worried about your mother and I thought it might help to talk to someone not personally involved. I may be shallow but I’m not totally insensitive.’

      He sounded genuine. She searched his face—he looked genuine. ‘I was only talking to her the day before; she didn’t give a clue anything was wrong.’ Her fingers clenched tightly.

      ‘And you think you’ve done something?’

      ‘Not me personally maybe—but us, the family. Why else would she walk out like this just before Christmas? She’s made sure we can’t contact her…’ She gnawed away silently on her lower lip as she puzzled over the bizarre, bewildering behaviour of her parent.

      ‘It’s possible this is her problem.’

      Darcy regarded him with disdain. ‘Families are there to help you with your problems; you don’t shut them out when you most need them.’ An expression she didn’t understand flickered across his handsome face. ‘It’s not at all like her—she’s so responsible. Poor Jack is convinced it’s something he’s done.’

      ‘But you don’t think so.’

      Darcy shook her head jerkily; now she’d started to talk it was hard to stop. ‘Why couldn’t she talk to us…?’ she wondered unhappily.

      ‘I expect you’ll be able to ask her yourself when she comes home.’

      In front of Jack and even her brothers she had to act optimistic and upbeat, and it was a relief almost