The Christmas Night Miracle. Carole Mortimer
in tauntingly, totally relaxed as he watched her from beneath hooded lids. ‘You’ve already asked enough questions for one evening. Or do you want me to repeat the question?’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ she snapped tautly.
‘I’m still waiting, Meg,’ he prompted softly seconds later at her tight-lipped silence.
She was as disturbed by his use of her first name as she was by his persistence. Although it would be slightly ridiculous, given the circumstances, for them to continue to stand on formality.
This time her sip of wine was more from necessity than for effect. ‘You would have to know my parents to understand.’
‘Oh, I can believe that,’ he drawled scathingly.
‘My father has been ill.’
‘How old is Scott?’ he prompted hardly.
‘Three and a half. But—’
‘Your father has been ill for three and a half years?’ he said disbelievingly.
‘Of course not,’ she snapped agitatedly. ‘I was just…Our parents are in their sixties.’
‘Our?’ Jed picked up frowningly. ‘You have siblings too?’
‘One. A sister,’ she supplied reluctantly, knowing that the sophisticated Sonia wouldn’t have found herself blushing and stumbling in conversation with this wildly attractive man, that her sister would have known exactly what to do and say.
‘Older or younger?’ he prompted softly.
‘Older. Just,’ she added with a sigh, knowing she had succeeded in disconcerting him by the way his eyes widened.
‘You have a twin sister?’
‘No need to sound so surprised.’ It was her turn to mock him now. ‘They say everyone has a lookalike somewhere in the world, my sister just happens to be mine.’
He frowned. ‘You’re identical?’
‘Yes,’ she confirmed brightly. ‘Or, at least, we were,’ she added slowly.
‘Either you are or you aren’t,’ Jed derided, obviously not one to be disconcerted for long.
‘We are,’ Meg confirmed abruptly. No need to mention that Sonia had had her teeth whitened and capped, the freckles on her nose minimized, and wore an all-year-round tan. ‘But Sonia wears her hair short, and is—well, she’s a lawyer. I’m the arty one.’ She sighed. ‘I’m an interior designer,’ she explained as he seemed to be looking at her hands for signs of paint.
‘Wow.’ He gave a derisive smile as he looked around the room. ‘You must be itching to change things in here.’
She wasn’t sure she would know where to start.
Well, no, that wasn’t strictly true, although the décor in here did run to worn and comfortable rather than elegant or eye-catching. She would take out all the heavy furniture for a start, replace it with—
‘Just joking, Meg,’ he drawled. ‘As I told you, I don’t own the place. As long as it has a chair for me to sit on and a bed for me to sleep in, I’m really not too interested.’ He sat forward in his armchair, cradling his glass of wine between long, sensitive hands. ‘I am beginning to see a pattern emerging, though,’ he told her softly.
Meg gave him a startled look. ‘You are?’
‘I am.’ He gave a mocking inclination of his head. ‘Twin girls, born to older parents, one twin practical and ambitious, the other more sensitive and artistic. The older twin goes on to make a successful career for herself as a lawyer, an advantageous marriage—she is married? I thought she might be,’ he drawled at Meg’s nod of confirmation. ‘No kids, either, I suspect; plenty of time for that later, if at all. The younger twin, on the other hand, turned out to have an artistic flare, opted for art college in London rather than university before finally getting spat out into the real world, only to end up getting pregnant—’
‘I think you have said quite enough, Mr Cole,’ Meg cut in abruptly, turning away slightly so that he wouldn’t see the sheen of tears in her eyes. ‘It isn’t polite to discuss people’s personal lives in this way.’
‘British reserve, you mean?’ he derided. ‘Yeah, I’ve heard of that. We have something like it in the States too. It’s called respecting other peoples’ privacy. But I seem to remember someone asking questions about my family before dinner.’
‘It’s hardly the same.’ She turned sharply to snap at him, having brought those tears firmly under control. She had cried enough tears over the years over her family, without breaking down in front of this man.
Jed Cole looked up at her consideringly. ‘Got a little too close to home, did I?’
Far too close. Although he hadn’t been right about everything. No, not everything.
‘Hey, don’t beat yourself up about it,’ Jed chided derisively. ‘I’m the duckling in my nest of swans too: Granddad was a farmer, Dad’s a farmer, my two brothers are farmers.’
‘And you, Mr Cole, what exactly are you?’ she challenged, still stung by their earlier conversation.
‘Well, I sure as hell ain’t a farmer,’ he assured mockingly.
She already knew that, those strong, slender hands didn’t grow crops or tend animals. In his youth maybe, but certainly not for the last twenty years or so.
He gave a confidently dismissive smile. ‘We weren’t discussing me.’
‘We aren’t discussing me, either.’ Meg drank down some more of her wine before placing the almost empty glass down on the table. ‘Offering Scott and I shelter for the night does not entitle you to comment on either myself or my family.’
‘No?’ he taunted huskily, putting his own glass down on the carpeted floor before getting slowly to his feet. ‘Then what does it entitle me to?’ he challenged, that vivid blue gaze moving over her slowly, from the tips of her toes to the top of her ebony head, before moving down slightly to rest speculatively on the fullness of her lips.
For some reason he was deliberately trying to unnerve her. And he was succeeding. The atmosphere between them was now charged with expectation, the intensity of his gaze almost tangible against her lips.
He was playing with her, Meg recognized frowningly. It was there in the mocking twist to his mouth, the hard gleam of laughter in his eyes.
She drew in an angry breath. ‘It entitles you to my heartfelt thanks,’ she bit out tautly.
He gave a brief inclination of his head. ‘Which you’ve already made. Several times,’ he drawled.
Her eyes sparkled with her anger. ‘Which I’ve already made several times,’ she agreed tightly. ‘Now if you will excuse me.’ She bent to pick her handbag up from the floor. ‘It’s been a long day, and I’m very tired.’
‘Oh, I’ll excuse you, Meg,’ he told her mockingly. ‘I’m sure that most men would excuse you anything.’
Her mouth tightened. ‘Goodnight, Mr Cole,’ she told him firmly before turning on her heel to leave.
‘’Night, Meg,’ he called after her tauntingly.
Her shoulders stiffened slightly but she didn’t halt her departure, only starting to breathe again once she was out in the hallway with the door firmly closed behind her.
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