Millionaire Under The Mistletoe: The Playboy's Mistress / Christmas in the Billionaire's Bed / The Boss's Mistletoe Manoeuvres. Linda Thomas-Sundstrom
anything to improve Reece’s frayed temper.
‘Should you be doing that?’ Darcy wondered fretfully, watching the tall figure get slowly to his feet.
The stranger ignored her query. ‘Listen, I think I might have hurt my shoulder.’
From where Darcy was standing there didn’t seem much ‘might’ about it. It was obvious he was in pain; it was also obvious he was more good-looking than any man had a right to be.
Her slightly awed gaze was tinged with vague resentment as she took in the impressive overall effect of the combination of square jaw, sharp high cheekbones, wide, firm mouth and straight, strong, patrician nose. Even if you took that rich, thick dark hair complete with auburn highlights and those stunning, thickly lashed green eyes out of the equation, he was knockout material; with them he became almost too handsome.
Those spectacular eyes were at that moment slightly dazed as he looked around, obviously trying to get his bearings.
‘I’ve got a phone in my pocket.’ Lifting his arm gingerly from his chest, Reece nodded towards the breast pocket of his leather jacket. ‘Could you fish it out for me…?’
The kid was looking at him as if he had two heads, which, given the cautionary tales that were drummed into the youth of today about strangers, was hardly surprising. He attempted a strained smile.
‘I’m quite harmless.’ He used the tone he normally reserved for frightened animals—perhaps it would work on kids too?
Darcy almost laughed at this preposterous claim—no man with a mouth like his could be classed as harmless! She withdrew her gaze from the said mouth with some difficulty—it was, after all, rude to stare.
She took a deep breath; she felt oddly reluctant to touch him, which was strange because she usually had to repress her naturally tactile nature—men especially could take a spontaneous hug the wrong way, as she’d learnt to her cost!
‘Inside pocket.’
Darcy swallowed and for some reason got a lot clumsier. Her nostrils twitched, and her tummy muscles went all quivery, her twitching nose detected a faint whiff of expensive masculine cologne, but most of all she got a noseful of freshly scrubbed male. He felt warm, and despite the sub-zero temperatures she suddenly felt uncomfortably hot; she averted her flushed face as her fingers skated lightly over the surface of a broad, solid chest.
The sad thing was this was the closest she’d been to a male since Michael—How sad is that? Perhaps I’ll be reduced to tripping up sexy strangers so I can grope them, she reflected with an angry self-derisive sniff.
It was a relief when she finally retrieved the phone and held it up for his inspection. They could both see straight away that the mangled mess was never going to work again.
The stranger swore; considering the circumstances, Darcy thought he was quite restrained. She had no inkling that he was restraining himself in deference to the presence of an impressionable youth.
‘You must have fallen on it,’ she said sympathetically.
He turned his head stiffly, his green eyes gazing directly down into her face. ‘Brilliant deduction,’ he observed nastily.
Darcy coloured angrily; so what if it hadn’t been the most intelligent thing in the world to say? She wasn’t the one who’d been stupid enough to climb up a rotten tree. Which reminded her. Why had he been climbing a tree…? His clothes, which she had noticed straight off were extremely expensive-looking, were not what she’d call accepted tree-climbing gear.
Some people never lost touch with the inner child, but somehow she didn’t think this man was one of them—in fact, it was hard to imagine that he’d ever been a child. He gave the impression of having emerged into this world complete with cynicism and raw sex appeal.
Reece bit back the blighting retort that hovered on the tip of his tongue and forced himself to smile placatingly at the boy.
‘Are there any grown-ups around, lad…? Your parents…?’
Lad! Darcy blinked incredulously. ‘What did you…?’
She’d be the first to admit that she was no raving beauty, but although she’d never brought traffic to a halt, or reduced a crowded room to awed appreciative silence like Clare, she had turned a head or two in her time. Lad…! Nobody had ever implied she was butch before!
True, she hadn’t put on any make-up this morning, and add to that the fact the yellow cagoule she wore was a cast-off from one of the twins and was thickly padded enough to disguise her unchildlike curves completely, then just maybe his mistake was understandable; especially if he’d fallen on his head.
Her lips pursed; for a moment she couldn’t actually decide whether or not she was insulted, then her ready sense of humour came to her rescue.
I’ve always said I don’t want concessions made for my sex, that I don’t want to be treated as a sex object—well, now’s my chance!
Having three brothers, she’d learnt at an early age it was better to laugh at herself before they had the chance.
‘My dad’s at home.’ She couldn’t resist the naughty impulse to raise her normal husky tone to her approximation of a reedy boyish treble.
She gestured towards the path half-hidden by a massive holly bush smothered with red berries. ‘It’s not far; can you manage?’ she wondered, her eyes travelling with an increasingly doubtful frown up and down his tall frame; underneath that naturally olive skin-tone he didn’t look a good colour.
‘You’ll be the first to know if I can’t,’ came the dry response.
‘But your head’s bleeding.’
‘It’s nothing.’
Darcy shrugged; if he wanted to play the macho hard man it was nothing to her.
‘Be careful of the…’ Darcy waited like a worried little mother hen as her unlikely charge avoided the motley collection of dirty boots, Wellingtons and trainers which always seemed to breed in the back porch. ‘Dad!’ she yelled lustily, preceding him into the rustic surroundings of the kitchen.
If he hadn’t been clutching his arm Reece would have clutched his head—the kid’s piercing tone had increased the throb in his head to the point where he found it difficult to focus.
Her three brothers were already in the kitchen, and her yell brought Jack in matter of seconds.
‘Good God, what’s happened…?’ her stepfather gasped, staring in horror at the blood smeared all over her jacket.
‘Don’t worry, it’s not mine,’ Darcy assured him.
The stranger swayed gently; it was a development that alarmed Darcy. ‘It’s his,’ she explained, placing a supportive hand beneath the tall man’s elbow. ‘Part of that oak tree next door fell through the roof of the summer-house.’ She gently led her white-faced charge properly inside.
Reece bided his time, waiting for the tidal waves of nausea to pass.
‘I’ve been telling the new owner’s agent since the summer that thing was dangerous!’ Jack exclaimed. ‘Are you sure you’re all right, Darcy?’ He scrutinised her healthy-looking, pink-cheeked face worriedly. ‘Hurt anywhere?’
‘I’m fine.’ Darcy unwrapped the looped scarf from around her throat.
‘And you, Mr…?’
The dazed-looking stranger with blood running down the side of his face closed his eyes and leaned heavily against the wall. An anxious Jack looked to Darcy to supply the information.
Her shoulders lifted. ‘Don’t ask me—I’ve no idea who he is.’
‘How come you were in the summer-house with a guy and you don’t know his name?’ Nick wondered, regarding the stranger with a suspicious light in his hostile