Millionaire Under The Mistletoe: The Playboy's Mistress / Christmas in the Billionaire's Bed / The Boss's Mistletoe Manoeuvres

Reece couldn’t get over how incredibly fragile her bones were as he circled her wrist with his fingers. With the utmost reluctance he removed her hand from his lips, but not before he’d touched the tip of his tongue to the palm of her hand and felt her shiver with pleasure.

‘And that matters…?’ The shiver inclined him towards indulgence.

‘How did you get here?’

He got the impression from the way her eyes were darting wildly around the room that she wouldn’t have been surprised if he had announced he had materialised out of thin air. The truth was far more prosaic.

‘I knocked on the door and was kindly directed this way.’

‘Who by?’

‘A twin; which one, I wouldn’t like to say.’

‘Oh, I thought maybe Clare had brought you?’

‘I brought myself, and who might Clare be?’

‘She’s my sister.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Tall, blonde, persistent…?’

He’d missed out ‘beautiful’, which was tactful of him. ‘You’ve met.’ Of course they had—when Clare set her mind on something she didn’t hang around.

‘Not met precisely. I saw her through the window; she was knocking on the door.’

‘You don’t have a door.’

The bed to make love to her in, the door to keep out the world—he was a man who believed in prioritising.

‘I do now.’ A few phone calls had improved the conditions to bearable. ‘I also have electricity. If I’m staying around I see no reason to suffer unnecessarily.’

How big an ‘if’ are we talking about here, she wondered, and do I have any influence on it?

‘Why didn’t you answer the door?’ she puzzled abruptly. One sight of Clare would have most men tripping over themselves to let her in.

‘I came here to escape people.’

Darcy knew what he’d come to escape, and she also knew that memories were not so easy to shake as flesh and blood people. It wasn’t her place to share this with him—if he’d chosen to confide in her it might have been different, but he hadn’t.

‘I thought it was just Christmas,’ she reminded him as with a grin she draped a strand of tinsel around his neck.

‘Slip of the tongue.’

It could slip in her direction any time. ‘Freudian…?’

‘You tell me; you seem very well-versed.’ His expression didn’t suggest his opinion of psychoanalysis was high.

‘This is Christmas.’ Her gesture took in the room. ‘And I’m people,’ she reminded him.

He reached out and cupped her chin in his hand. ‘You’re a special person,’ he contradicted firmly.

The breath caught in her throat. It didn’t mean anything; there had only been one special person in Reece’s life and he had lost her.

Darcy had promised herself she wouldn’t allow herself to fall into this trap. When he wasn’t here it had been easy to tell herself she wasn’t going to see desire in his face and read love. Now he was here she had to keep reminding herself he was out for a good time and that was all; she had to accept that because the only alternative to not seeing him at all was even less acceptable—wasn’t it…?

‘Why are you here, Reece?’

An alertness flickered into his eyes. ‘Here as in this room? Or are we talking bed…life…?’ His voice hardened. ‘What’s happened, Darcy?’

‘Nothing.’ Nervously she withdrew the hand he held and nursed it against her chest.

‘Then why won’t you look at me?’ He took her chin in his hand and forced her face up to him. ‘Look at me, Darcy,’ he commanded. His eyes scoured her face, reading each line and curve. ‘Someone’s told you about Joanne.’

Joanne…so that had been her name. It struck her afresh that his perception was nothing short of spooky.

‘Nick,’ she admitted, half-relieved. ‘I’m so sorry, Reece.’

‘And now you want to comfort me, offer me solace and make me forget…’

It was hard not to recoil from the arid harshness in his voice.

‘You’ll never forget; why would you want to? I’m sure you have a lot of precious memories.’ She could almost see the barriers going up—she had to do something to stop him retreating behind them. ‘And actually,’ she improvised wildly, ‘I’m concerned about getting…involved with someone who has so much unresolved…’ Her underdeveloped lying skills deserted her.

‘Angst…? Baggage…?’ he suggested with a quirk of one dark brow.

Darcy had the distinct impression he was relieved by what she’d said.

‘I don’t mean to be callous.’ It horrified her that he found it so easy to believe she was that shallow.

‘Don’t apologise for being honest, Darcy.’

Ouch!

The lines bracketing his sensual mouth suddenly relaxed. ‘Sorry.’

Her eyes widened. ‘What for?’

‘I get defensive.’

And I’m not defensive enough, she thought, staring longingly up into his strong-boned face—she loved every inch of it.

‘I was afraid at first you might be the sort of girl on the look-out for marriage and children.’

It was coming over loud and clear that he didn’t want either—at least, not with her!

‘Me…?’ she gave a jaunty laugh and shook her head. ‘That’s not on my agenda for years and years yet!’

‘It’s hard to timetable these things. Sometimes it happens when you least expect it.’