Millionaire Under The Mistletoe: The Playboy's Mistress / Christmas in the Billionaire's Bed / The Boss's Mistletoe Manoeuvres. Linda Thomas-Sundstrom
up beside someone.’
‘You’re not trying to tell me you’re celibate?’
‘No, I’m not,’ he agreed tersely. ‘Sex is one form of recreation that I’ve made a point of including in my schedule,’ he explained casually.
There was an appalled silence.
‘That sounds pretty cold-blooded.’ If she’d any sense she’d get back into the Land Rover and drive away. Darcy knew she wouldn’t—she couldn’t.
‘It’s an accusation that has been levelled at me before.’
‘You want to kiss me.’ It was a statement, not a question—it was the sort of statement that a girl who didn’t want to be kissed didn’t make.
‘For starters,’ he growled.
‘Then for God’s sake,’ she pleaded in an agonised whisper, ‘Do it!’
My God, but the man could move fast with the right motivation. She barely had time to draw breath let alone change her mind before his mouth was hard on hers, and his tongue began to make some electrifying exploratory forays into the warm, moist interior.
The sheer pleasure of his touch as his fingers slid surely under the woollen jumper she wore made her whimper and sag, weak-kneed, against him. His hand worked its way smoothly up the slender curve of her back. Darcy grabbed for support and then remembered his injuries.
‘I forgot.’
Reece’s mouth came crashing back down on hers and stole away the rest of her words.
Eyes closed, she gave a long, blissful sigh when his head eventually lifted. ‘I’ve hurt you.’ She made an agitated effort to pull back, but he had other ideas.
‘If I can’t cope I’ll tell you,’ he breathed into her mouth.
‘I don’t think I can cope with much more of this!’ she breathed back, touching her tongue to the fleshy inner part of his upper lip. She shuddered—they both did.
‘Cope with what?’
Darcy laid her hand flat against his chest, feeling his heart beat through the layers of clothing. She’d known him for less than forty-eight hours and already he’d taken over her thoughts. If she had any sense she’d call it a day now before things got any worse.
‘Cope with…wanting.’ She put all the aching longing in the one word.
What was happening to her—where had this wilful recklessness come from? After Michael she’d been cautious—pathologically so, Jennifer had said. Would Jennifer approve of the new Darcy? The one who saw the flare of fierce possession in his eyes and felt the heat melt her bones and didn’t even once contemplate running for cover? Hell, what did it matter? She needed action not analysis, and she needed Reece.
‘Does that mean you’ve stopped trying to push me away?’
‘I don’t recall doing much pushing.’ Grabbing, that was another matter.
‘Why fight…?’
‘My thought exactly.’
‘It’ll burn itself out soon enough.’ Wasn’t that the way with hot things? ‘And I can get back to normal.’
Though his own thoughts had been running much along the same lines, Reece found that her sentiments filled him with a sense of discontent. He was perfectly aware that for a man who had a policy of never spending the entire night with a woman this was a pretty perverse response. Knowing it made no sense didn’t lessen the gut feeling.
‘And normal is…?’ He slid his thumb down the soft curve of her cheek.
There was danger and raw, unrefined charisma in his smile. Without waiting for her to reply, he dipped his head and parted her lips with masterful ease.
‘This normal…?’ His tongue stabbed and she moaned low in her throat and pressed herself tight against his hips. She wondered vaguely if he was permanently aroused—not that she had any major objections if this should be the case. ‘Or this…?’ He withdrew.
Darcy gave a whimper of protest as he lifted his head.
‘I preferred the first,’ she admitted huskily.
‘That being the case, perhaps we should…’ He dangled the Land Rover keys in front of her. ‘Can you drive…?’
Darcy nodded her head vigorously. So fierce was her need that if flying had been the only way to get into bed with him she’d have sprouted wings!
DURING the afternoon there had been several flurries of snow, and by the time Darcy got back home complete with the Christmas tree and a slightly guilty conscience a little of the powdery whiteness had begun to stick to the damp ground.
She stamped her feet to loosen the snow on her boots and lifted the old-fashioned iron latch on the kitchen door, hoping as she did so that there was nobody about; it wasn’t that she intended to be furtive, exactly. ‘Furtive’ implied she had something to hide or be ashamed of, and, whilst Darcy acknowledged she was deeply confused and wildly exhilarated by what had happened to her, shame didn’t feature at all. It was just that there were some things you couldn’t share with your family, no matter how close you were, and Darcy didn’t see much point in drawing unnecessary attention to her extended absence.
‘Where have you been?’
So much for subterfuge.
Her entire family minus only one important member were seated around the long farmhouse table, but that absence brought an aching lump to her throat—if there was ever a time she’d needed her mum it was now. Darcy swallowed; she didn’t need this, not when her mind was still full of the passionate coupling which had just taken place next door. She felt as if the evidence of her abandoned behaviour was written all over her face.
‘Clare, you’re home.’ If Clare noticed her half-sister’s greeting was lacking a certain warmth she didn’t show it.
‘Finally,’ Nick contributed drily. ‘Had trouble choosing the right tree, did you?’ he wondered guilelessly.
Unexpectedly it was Clare who came to her rescue. ‘Never mind about that, Nick.’
I’ll second that, Darcy thought, pulling off her mittens. ‘Good journey, Clare?’
‘In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s snowing.’ Clare’s expression suggested that Darcy was in some way to blame for this.
I didn’t notice because I’ve spent the afternoon making wild, passionate love to a gorgeous man. How, Darcy wondered, would that explanation go down…?
Clare shook back her rippling waist-length mane of hair and looked impatient. Like her half-sister, she was blonde and blue-eyed, but that was where the resemblance ended.
‘I arrive to find that my mother…’ she choked tearfully.
‘She’s ours too.’
‘Shut up, Harry! Why didn’t anyone tell me what was happening?’
‘We didn’t want to upset you, darling,’ Jack soothed.
Nobody, Darcy reflected, feeling a twitch of resentment, ever wanted to upset Clare.
‘Well, I’m upset now.’ Clare sniffed.
‘Did you remember to pick up the order from the farm, Nick?’ Darcy asked, shaking her hair free of a few stray snowflakes, which were rapidly melting in the warm room. She hung her damp coat on the peg behind the door.
‘How can you act as if nothing has happened?’ Clare tearfully accused Darcy.
The implication that she didn’t give a damn made Darcy