Snowbound Seduction: A Night of No Return / To Claim His Heir by Christmas / I'll Be Yours for Christmas

Hands clasped in front of her, she stared at the floor. ‘I was stupid, wasn’t I, coming here in the first place.’

‘Not stupid, no.’ Because he could barely keep his hands off her, Lucas strolled over to the fire and kept his back to her. ‘You were dedicated. Professional. Which is no more than I would have expected from you. It’s just unfortunate that you chose tonight.’ He didn’t state the obvious. That if it hadn’t been for what this night did to his mind, he wouldn’t have forgotten the damn file in the first place.

‘Lucas—’

‘This is what we’re going to do.’ Taking control, he turned, interrupting her before she could ask the question he knew she was going to ask. The question about why exactly this night was so painful for him. ‘You are wet, cold and, presumably, very tired. I’m going down to the kitchen to make us some soup and while I do that you are going to have a hot bath or shower—whichever—and then help yourself to whatever clothes take your fancy from my dressing room. Nothing will fit, but you’re a practical enough person to improvise, I’m sure. We’ll hang yours up and they’ll be dry in the morning.’

‘Lucas, I can’t—’

‘I’m going to light a fire in one of the other bedrooms, then it will be warm once you’re ready to sleep.’ Without looking at her, he strode towards the staircase, keeping his hands to himself. ‘There are plenty of warm towels in the bathroom. Help yourself.’

* * *

She should have argued, but one glance through the pretty arched window convinced her that he was right. In the half hour she’d spent clearing up downstairs, killing time until she could check on him again, it seemed as if half a ton of fresh snow had fallen. It glistened in the moonlight, a sparkly, silvery deathtrap. The decision whether or not to stay was out of her hands. She wasn’t going to be going home any time soon. She was stuck here with a man who clearly didn’t want her around when all she wanted was to be home with Jamie.

What she should have done was leave when it had been possible to do so, instead of putting him in a position where he had no choice but to offer her accommodation. And if there were other feelings sloshing around inside her, then she chose to ignore them, just as she was trying to ignore the recurring images of that one dangerous glimpse of him naked.

It was a shame he wasn’t flabby, she thought gloomily. A seriously out of shape boss would have been so much easier to forget than a boss with rock-hard abs and—

Emma squeezed her eyes shut and reminded herself that a luscious body didn’t maketh a man.

And there was no point in going back over what she could have done or should have done because she was stuck here now so she just had to make it work.

Resigned to the inevitable, she started by calling Jamie to tell him she wouldn’t be home. It was a call she dreaded making and she breathed a sigh of relief when the phone went to voicemail.After she’d left a brief message explaining the facts and promising to call the next morning once she’d had a chance to check the weather and road conditions, she eased off her soaking-wet shoes and put them close to the fire to dry off.

Shivering now, she realised just how wet she was. Shrugging off her coat, she draped it over the back of the chair, checking it was far enough away from the fire to be safe from sparks. Then she walked towards the bathroom.

She was far too cold to argue with his suggestion that she have a hot bath. She needed to warm up and change into dry clothes.

Despite the age of the castle, the bathroom was the last word in luxury and Emma gave a moan of pleasure as she slid her freezing cold limbs into the warm, scented water. She never did this. She usually took a shower because it was faster. Everything in her life was dictated by speed and efficiency. Her life was such a crazy whirl that it was all about racing on to the next thing on her list, never about just enjoying a moment of self-indulgence. But she enjoyed it now, so tired after her week at work that she didn’t dare allow herself to lie back and close her eyes for long in case she slept.

She could have stayed there for ever, but in the end stayed just long enough to thaw her frozen limbs. Then she let her hair down and lathered it clean, feeling the hot water stinging her scalp as she rinsed away the evidence of her fall in the snow.

It felt blissful to be clean and warm. Only the knowledge that if she didn’t reappear he’d come looking for her was enough to eject her from the water. Grabbing two towels, Emma dried herself with one and then wrapped the other around her head. Then she popped her head round the door. Relieved that there was still no sign of him, she walked into his dressing room wondering what on earth she was likely to find to wear. A sweater would be fine, she thought. Or a shirt of some sort to sleep in. Anything, really, as long as it was decent.

Ignoring the rows of suits, she instead selected a white shirt. It would be much too big for her but she could just roll up the arms. Now all she needed was to find something to wear on her bottom half so that she didn’t freeze to death or expose herself. Didn’t the man own sweatpants or something? Pyjamas?

Deciding that everything on the rails was too formal, she instead focused on the drawers. Opening the top one, she found socks. Deciding that socks might be useful, she pulled out a pair and then opened the next drawer.

But Lucas Jackson didn’t appear to own either pyjamas or anything suitably casual and she was just about to give up on the final drawer when her fingers brushed against something hard. Shifting aside the neatly folded T-shirt, she saw a photograph in an antique silver frame.

Wondering why a photograph would be buried in the bottom of a drawer, she picked it up. As she stared at the faces in the picture, she held her breath.

This photograph hadn’t been buried by accident, she thought numbly. It hadn’t tumbled there or been stowed away in a moment of de-cluttering. It had been hidden there intentionally by someone who couldn’t bear to look at it, but equally couldn’t bear to part with it. For some reason she didn’t yet understand, that image represented pain.

‘Emma?’ Lucas’s voice came from outside the bedroom and she jumped guiltily. Whether or not she would have replaced the photograph she didn’t have a chance to find out because one minute she was alone with his secrets and the next he was standing in the doorway, witnessing her trespass into a private part of his life that he’d clearly labelled ‘no admittance’.

His eyes flickered to the frame in her hands and the change in him was instantaneous. The colour literally drained from his face, the sudden pallor emphasising the dark shadows that lurked in his eyes. And she knew immediately that what she held in her hands held the clue to the source of those shadows. Across that narrow distance she felt his agony and she wanted to offer comfort but how could she when she didn’t even know what she was offering comfort for? And how could she discuss something this personal with someone who didn’t encourage personal? The nature of their relationship would be for ever shifted.

But it already was, she thought. Even if she said nothing, she knew now that Lucas did have a personal life. That he was so much more than the man she’d thought she knew.

And this was worse, far worse, than seeing him naked, she realised. This was more intimate. More intrusive. And he obviously thought so too because there was no sign now of the indifference with which he’d treated her unexpected appearance in his bedroom. No trace of amusement in those cold blue eyes. His unsmiling gaze travelled from the towel tied around her head to the towel wrapped around her body and Emma lifted her hand instinctively to the knot, even though she knew it was tied firm.

‘I...I was just looking for something to wear. I didn’t mean to pry.’ Feeling the heat pour into her cheeks, she slid the photograph back where she’d found it. But it was too late, of course. The damage was done and it couldn’t be undone. ‘I’m sorry.’ The words left her in a stumbled rush. ‘I didn’t know it was there. You told me to help myself to clothes and that was what I did, and...maybe I shouldn’t have looked at it, but I didn’t know it was significant until I looked and—’ She broke off, waiting for him to speak, but he said nothing.

He was as cold and inhospitable as the snow and ice clinging to the trees outside, his emotions as frozen as the moat.

And Emma had no idea what she was supposed to do now. What to say. So in the end she just said the obvious thing. ‘You have a daughter.’ Her voice was barely audible. ‘And she looks exactly like you.’ And the moment she said it, she knew that the obvious thing had been the wrong thing.

The silence stretched for so long she was about to mumble an apology when he finally spoke.

‘I had a daughter.’ This time his tone wasn’t harsh or angry. In fact it was oddly flat, as if all the emotion had drained out of him. ‘She died, four years ago tonight, and it was my fault. She died because of me.’

CHAPTER FOUR (#u964a5c11-d789-58b2-8c75-f4cf7adc9bee)

SHE’D found the photograph. The photograph he couldn’t bear to look at.

Lucas stood by the window of the tower with his back to the room. His chest ached. He felt raw, as if his flesh had been ripped from his bones, every last layer of protection stripped from him.

He had no idea how to ease the pain.

He was a man who prided himself on his control and yet right now it was nowhere within his grasp. His hand curled into a fist and he pressed it against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to pull together the torn edges of his self-control.

From the dressing room he could hear a soft rustle as she dressed. He guessed she’d managed to find clothes but she was taking her time and it was all too easy to understand why. The expression on her face stayed with him, the impact of his raw confession a million times more shocking than the moment she’d seen him naked.

And in a way she had.

She’d seen a part of him he’d never shown to anyone else. A part of him he guarded fiercely. He had no issues with her having seen him without his clothes on. He had plenty with the fact she’d seen that photograph.

And he was willing to bet she was as appalled as he was.

It was ironic, he thought, that it had taken this to finally give him what he’d been hoping for. Solitude. Because he had no doubt that now she’d leave him alone. Given the choice of waiting out the weather in the warm bedroom downstairs or with him in his own private version of hell, he had no doubt which option she’d pick.

He was so sure that would be her choice that it was a shock to hear her soft tread on the wooden floor.

‘So is this what you do every year?’ Her soft voice brushed over his nerve endings. ‘Shut yourself away and drink? Does that help you get through the night?’

Because he wanted her to leave, he didn’t turn. ‘Nothing helps.’

‘No. I can imagine that it wouldn’t.’ He felt her sympathy and her compassion and rejected both because he knew he deserved neither.

‘I appreciate your dedication in bringing the file here tonight, but your job is done, Emma.’ He knew he sounded brutal but he didn’t even care. ‘Your responsibility doesn’t extend to any other part of my life. The bedroom downstairs is warm and comfortable. I’ve left a tray of food there. Eat and then get some rest.’

‘What about you? What will you do?’

What he always did. Put one foot in front of the other and keep on living even though others didn’t. ‘I’ll be fine. Eat the food while it’s hot.’

There was a brief pause. ‘Instead of getting through it on your own, you could try another way.’