Millionaire Under The Mistletoe: The Playboy's Mistress / Christmas in the Billionaire's Bed / The Boss's Mistletoe Manoeuvres. Linda Thomas-Sundstrom
‘I’m fine!’
Darcy’s dark brows shot quizzically towards her fair hairline; his taut tone had been several degrees to the right of brusque.
‘You’re obviously not.’ No doubt such stoicism was admirable but in this instance not really practical. ‘Have you hurt yourself some more…? Shall I stop the car…?’
And prolong the agony of sharing space with Miss Sweetness and Light? Anything, he decided, was better than that—even replying to her incessant questions for another five minutes.
She obviously wasn’t going to be satisfied until he owned up to something. ‘I jarred my shoulder. Why can’t I be staying at the Hall…?’ he asked before she could press the point any further.
‘Well, leaving aside your injuries…’
‘Yes, let’s do that…’
Repressing the angry retort that hovered on the tip of her tongue, Darcy jammed her foot on the brake as the lights ahead turned red. ‘And the fact that the place is uninhabitable…’
‘I found it quite cosy.’
‘It’s Christmas!’
‘Your point being…?’
‘Time of good cheer and loving your fellow man… Does that ring any bells…?’
The cynical light in his hooded, secretive eyes intensified. ‘And come the New Year I can go back to screwing the bastards…?’ he queried hopefully.
The sound of an impatient car horn brought her attention to the green light. ‘Are you always unpleasant just for the hell of it?’
‘It does give me a nice glow,’ he admitted glibly.
‘I don’t think you’ve got the hang of the Christmas-spirit thing, Mr Erskine.’
‘It’s Reece, and as far as I’m concerned, Darcy, Christmas is just like any other day of the year…’
‘But…’
‘…except, of course, for the exceptionally high hypocrisy factor.’
‘You mean you don’t celebrate at all?’ Darcy knew that it was none of her business how this man celebrated or didn’t during the festive season, but for some reason she just couldn’t let it go. ‘What about your family…?’
‘I don’t have a family.’ Reece hardly even felt a twinge of guilt as he brutally disposed of his numerous relatives.
‘Oh!’ Darcy, who was pretty blessed in that department, felt guilty at her abundance. ‘That’s sad, but even someone like you must have friends,’ she insisted earnestly. She heard his startled intake of breath. Oh, dear, that hadn’t come out quite as she’d intended.
‘Are you trying to wind me up?’
‘Why would I?’ Even if it was exhilarating in a dangerous sort of way.
‘Sins of a previous life catching up with me…?’
Darcy repressed a grin. Sarcastic pig…!
‘Maybe you don’t have any friends,’ she countered nastily.
‘I have friends,’ he confirmed tightly. ‘The sort who respect my privacy,’ he added pointedly.
‘Then it’s a religious thing…?’
Her swift change of subject made him blink. ‘What is…?’
‘Ignoring Christmas.’
‘It’s a personal-choice thing,’
‘There’s no need to yell,’ she remonstrated gently.
Reece’s nostrils flared. ‘Hard as this might be for you to comprehend, I don’t like the festive season.’
‘It must be pretty spartan inside,’ Darcy mused, thinking about the bleak aspect of the old Hall.
An image of walls stripped back to bare brick ran through his mind; the draught from the open window whistling down his neck wasn’t the only thing that made him shudder.
‘Depends on what you’re used to,’ he responded evasively.
He looked to her as if he was used to the best—of everything. In fact, Darcy thought, shooting another covert glance in his direction, she didn’t think she’d ever met a man who looked more accustomed to the good life and all its trimmings than him.
That wasn’t to say there was anything pampered or soft about him—in fact, the opposite was true. Even in his present battered and bruised condition it was obvious he was in peak physical condition, and he had the indefinable but definite air of a man who would be ruthless to achieve his own ends.
Of course looks weren’t everything, and for all she knew he might be afraid of the dark and give generously to charities. Either way, why would a man like him choose to spend any time, let alone Christmas, alone in a dump like…? It made no sense…unless he was hiding out, or running away…? Perhaps Nick’s suspicions weren’t so crazy after all!
Well, even if he is a sex maniac I should be safe; he doesn’t come over as the type who goes for women who can be mistaken for boys—lucky me!
Darcy gave herself a mental shake and shrugged off the self-pitying direction of her reflections. Whilst there wasn’t much point pretending that physically this man hadn’t seriously unnerved her, there was no point advertising the embarrassing fact—though no doubt he was used to women making fools of themselves over him. As the feeling was obviously one-sided, and they were going to stay strangers, there didn’t seem much point getting bogged down with uncomfortable self-analysis.
‘Well, obviously I don’t know what the Hall is like inside at the moment, but I would have—’
Reece was not used to explaining his actions, and he decided it was time to call a halt to her interminable speculation once and for all.
‘You do surprise me,’ his acid drawl interrupted. ‘I was under the impression the locals keep fairly up-to-date with all the developments around here. I imagined I’d discovered the net-curtain-twitching capital of Yorkshire.’
Two pink spots appeared on Darcy’s smooth cheeks; she sucked in an angry breath and crunched her gears. The faintly amused condescension in his voice made her see red. Why not just call us nosy yokels with nothing better to do than gossip and be done with it? She’d have liked to bop him one on his superior nose.
‘You’ll have to make allowances for me— I’m only home for the holiday, so I’m not completely up to speed yet.’
‘That accounts for it, then.’
Darcy’s eyes began to sparkle dangerously; the man had a very nasty mouth and there were limits to how much she was willing to make allowances for his delicate condition.
‘We’re nosy? That’s pretty rich coming from someone who was spying on me from up a tree!’ She hadn’t been going to mention it because of his injuries, but he was asking for it…
Reece, who hadn’t been in a situation that made him blush for years, felt his colour rise for the second time today.
‘I wasn’t spying.’
‘That’s what all the peeping Toms say,’ she cut back with a provoking little smile.
Reece gritted his even white teeth.
‘I’ve been demoted from sex maniac, then?’
‘You were eavesdropping!’ she exclaimed accusingly, a rush of colour flooding her cheeks. Her memory in playback mode, she tried to recall exactly how bad what they’d said had been.
‘It was hard not to, the way you were yelling.’
‘Yelling is better than spying,’ she countered with undeniable accuracy.