Millionaire Under The Mistletoe: The Playboy's Mistress / Christmas in the Billionaire's Bed / The Boss's Mistletoe Manoeuvres
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What had seemed a perfectly logical step to take at the time suddenly seemed extremely difficult to explain to her critical audience.
‘If you don’t speak I’ll just have to assume you couldn’t bear to be parted from me any longer…’ he warned.
The satiric taunt made the colour flare in Darcy’s pale cheeks. ‘In your dreams,’ she grunted, catching her lower lip between her teeth.
‘Talking of dreams, you owe me one—you rudely interrupted a particularly…’
‘I don’t want to know anything about your dreams,’ Darcy assured him, drawing herself up on her knees and dusting the seat of her trousers with a vigorous hand.
‘Even if you were involved…?’
He seemed to take a malicious delight in winding her up. ‘Especially if I was involved.’ Thank goodness she had a thick sweater and a windcheater over her pyjama top, because things were happening to her nipples that couldn’t be blamed on the temperature.
Reece laughed then and went to sit down on an upturned packing case. ‘I’d offer you a seat, only this is the only one.’ He fingered the rough surface. ‘It’s the only table too, for that matter.’
Darcy gathered the drifting threads of her wits—she hadn’t come here to talk furniture. ‘I only came to look at you,’ she gritted, wondering why she had ever cared if he expired in his sleep.
‘Not touch…?’ he muttered.
‘Will you stop interrupting me?’
‘Sorry,’ he responded meekly.
Meek, him…? That was the best joke she’d heard in ages.
‘I shouldn’t have let you spend the night alone just because you irritated me.’
Now that she had his complete attention, Darcy wasn’t sure that was what she wanted… She didn’t trust that innocent expression in those green eyes either.
He rapidly proved her distrust was well-placed!
‘So you decided to spend the night with me after all, Darcy. I don’t know what to say…’
Her jaw locked tight as she tried to act as if his wolfish grin didn’t do anything to her at all.
‘I’m sure you’ll manage to come up with something suitably smutty,’ she predicted acidly, rubbing her sweaty palms against her jeans.
His low chuckle was not only genuinely amused, it was also deeply, devastatingly sexy.
‘The doctor said you needed to be carefully observed. I just thought I’d pop round and see if you were all right.’
‘You thought you’d pop round at,’ he glanced down at the slim-banded wristwatch on his wrist, ‘three a.m.,’ he read incredulously.
‘I didn’t know if you could cope, with your ribs and the shoulder…’ She gave an exasperated sigh. ‘If you must know,’ she said, gathering up the flask and blanket and thrusting them out to him, ‘I was worried about you.’
Reece looked from her angry, flushed face to the offerings in her hand and back again. ‘I’m touched.’
‘There’s no need,’ she said with dignity, ‘to be sarcastic.’
‘I’m not.’
Darcy tapped a pearly fingertip nervously against a white tooth and eyed him with an exasperated frown. ‘It’s perfectly simple,’ she began to explain patiently. ‘I was lying there, listening to the wind, thinking about you…’
‘Snap.’
It took two seconds’ exposure to his wickedly explicit eyes to extinguish the innocent look of enquiry on her face. ‘I wasn’t doing that sort of thinking,’ she gasped, horrified.
‘What sort of thinking would that be, Darcy…?’
‘If you’d got ill in the night nobody would have known. I would have felt responsible.’
‘You’ve got a thing about responsibility, haven’t you, Darcy?’ he mused softly. ‘Don’t you ever get the urge to do something irresponsible?’ The humour faded abruptly from his eyes.
Darcy swallowed, and waited for the worst of the spasms in her belly to pass. It must be the candles, she reasoned desperately. ‘No, never.’ Her stern denial emerged as a hollow whisper.
Her fingers, still curled around the blanket and Thermos, trembled. It didn’t occur to her to release her grip on them as he pulled them—and her—slowly towards him. Finally he removed them from her weak grasp and placed them on the floor. His eyes never left hers all the time.
An image of the livid bruising she’d seen on his body came into her head, but her imagination didn’t limit itself to damage; it conjured up some impressive muscles, smooth olive-toned flesh and crisp body hair too. She ran the tip of her tongue over her dry lips to lubricate them and gave her head a tiny shake, but neither act totally dispelled the disturbing image.
‘Did I hurt you?’ she asked hoarsely. She knew she hadn’t been a submissive victim.
He touched the side of her face softly and sent an illicit little shiver through the tense body. Darcy couldn’t afford the time to worry if the tremor had been transmitted through his fingertips—it was taking all her energy convincing her knees they didn’t want to fold under her. To make matters infinitely worse, the debilitating weakness wasn’t just affecting her limbs…at best, her brain was functioning on a very basic, fuzzy level.
‘Do you want to?’ Finger on the angle of her jaw, he tilted her face up to his.
Darcy shook her head—she didn’t want to think about what she’d like to do to him; it wasn’t decent. His face was swimming in and out of focus as she stared back at him.
‘I don’t like hurting people. Do you…?’
Reece didn’t reply; he simply took her by the shoulders and drew her unresisting body towards him, parting his thighs to let her rest within their confining circle.
‘Are you quite sure that concern for my health was the only reason you came here, Darcy…?’
She had to do something to throw cold water on the escalating intimacy and danger of a situation that was fast getting out of hand.
‘What other reason could there be?’
Underneath the faint antiseptic hospital scent and a distinctive male fragrance she could smell him—not just his soap or cologne, but him! Panic was just a heartbeat away—or was it capitulation she could sense…?
‘This one…’ His intention was written clear on his dark, impassioned features.
Desperation and panic flared in her wide eyes just before they reflexly closed. The uncoordinated flailing movements of her hands brought them in contact with the iron-hard thighs pressed either side of her hips; she froze and her fingers spasmed, relaxed, then tentatively spread out over the hard-muscled expanse.
‘That’s good,’ he approved.
Darcy gave a sigh; it was. She felt his breath as it moved over her cheek, felt it tease the quivering line of her trembling lips in the moment before his lips purposefully parted hers. The sensual, silken, smooth stab of his tongue melted her last resistance.
Darcy gave a lost little cry and sank deeper into the seductive velvet blackness inside her head. The explosive force of his hunger was something she’d never encountered before. Almost more shocking was the equally unexpected raw response that uncoiled within her. She gave herself up totally to the seductive exploration, only stopping when she could no longer breathe.
They drew apart, but not very far. Her forehead was resting against his, her fingers were twisted in the glossy strands of his dark hair.
‘I forgive you totally for waking me up.’
And, given he kissed like an angel, she was prepared to forgive him for sounding so smug. He knew all the moves all right; even now Darcy didn’t want to admit even to herself that it wasn’t simple slick technique that had made her respond to him that way.
‘Ever undressed inside a sleeping bag?’
Darcy stiffened slightly but didn’t draw back. She only had herself to blame for this situation—if she hadn’t kissed him back like that…
‘Isn’t that a bit of a leap from a kiss?’
‘There are kisses and then again there are kisses.’
Again he was right. Until that particular moment Darcy hadn’t known how great the gap between the two was. She was pink all over already, and the shade deepened perceptively as she encountered the sensuous warmth of his eyes.
‘It’s a challenging proposition…’ she admitted, a responsive smile in her voice. Yesterday she would have laughed her socks off if someone had suggested she would be seriously considering sleeping with a man she barely knew.
‘I can hear a “but” coming on,’ Reece predicted gloomily.
Reluctantly Darcy released her hold on his hair and straightened up. She became aware for the first time that at some point during the embrace Reece had removed her windcheater. She stood there shivering, but not from cold.
‘I think it would be a safer bet all round if you invest in a heated blanket,’ she explained regretfully.
‘No electricity.’ His gesture caused the candles to flicker and dance in the draught he created. ‘And if you’re worried on a safety basis I’m a prepared sort of guy.’
‘I wasn’t.’
‘You ought to be; you don’t know me.’
She blinked. Is he lecturing me on safe sex…? ‘Which is one of the reasons I’m not about to sleep with you.’
‘The others being…?’
‘You have several broken bones.’
Reece impatiently disposed of this objection. ‘We can work around that.’
Just imagining what ‘working around’ might involve made her skin burn.
‘You know you want to.’
Darcy gasped. ‘That,’ she bit back with tremulous contempt, ‘is an incredibly arrogant thing to say.’
‘Maybe, but it’s true,’ he returned imperturbably.
‘What are you doing…?’ she squawked as he got to his feet.
‘I can’t make love to you if we’re on opposite sides of the room.’
This would have been even truer if I had stayed safely tucked up in my own bed—only I didn’t. Why didn’t I…? Did I want this to happen…? She shook her head in feverish denial but the idea clung stubbornly on.
‘I find you quite incredibly exciting.’
His honeyed drawl froze her to the spot, the dark reckless glow in his eyes liquefied her bones, and held her there. Eyes a little wild, she tilted her head to maintain eye contact as he came closer…and closer.
‘I think you must be thinking of someone else…’
‘You smell like summer.’
‘I do…? When you said we could work around it…are you sure…?’
Reece took her small face between his big hands. ‘I don’t say things I don’t mean.’
‘You’re quite sure…’ Darcy felt his low laughter against her ear, smelt the male muskiness of his arousal.
‘Shut up and kiss me, woman.’
CHAPTER FOUR
THE impetus of the kiss made them stagger backwards into the makeshift table. A small bottle of tablets fell onto the dusty floor; Darcy automatically tried to avoid stepping onto the contents.
‘Your painkillers…’ Fortunately the bottle of whisky set beside it on the table hadn’t fallen.
The arm around her waist didn’t slacken.
‘To hell with them,’ he slurred.
‘Good God!’ she gasped. ‘You’ve mixed tablets with booze, haven’t you?’ she accused hoarsely. ‘That explains it.’
‘Explains what?’ He didn’t sound terribly interested in her reply.
‘This!’ she indited shakily, stabbing a finger at her chest and discovering in the process that at some point during the kiss he’d managed to remove her sweater.
If undressing women ever became an Olympic event he would win gold with one hand tied behind his back—quite literally, she thought, her eyes sliding to his immobilised arm.
Flushing deeply, she gathered the lightly elasticated neckline of her pyjama top in one fist, which didn’t so much conceal what was going on underneath the thin, silky fabric as draw his hot-eyed attention to it.
‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, but hell, you taste good.’ He pushed a hank of her silky hair aside to press an open-mouthed kiss to the pulse point on her neck.
Darcy’s head fell back and she groaned, the sensual shock of his touch juddering through her responsive body. ‘You don’t understand.’ She valiantly struggled past the passion barrier to make him listen.
‘Reece, I think it’s probable you’re having a reaction to your medication.’ Depressing as it was, it did perfectly explain away the inexplicable—a man like him being so deeply in lust with an average type like herself.
‘So that’s what this is.’ He firmly unglued her fingers and peered down the open neckline; what he saw seemed to afford him considerable pleasure.
She got even hotter. ‘I don’t think you’re taking this seriously.’
‘Believe me,’ he grated hoarsely, ‘I’m taking this very seriously.’
‘You don’t really want me,’ she whimpered.
Reece’s jaw tightened. ‘Is that a fact…?’ He slid the silky fabric clear down her shoulders and with a muffled groan pressed his lips to the heaving contours he’d revealed. ‘Absolutely incredible…’
‘Sweet…sweet…mercy…’ Darcy tried to regroup but it was an uphill battle. His tongue had begun to travel very slowly over the slope of one breast. Did it really matter that he wasn’t in full possession of his senses…? ‘Listen!’ Fingers in his hair, she pulled his head back.
‘What the hell’s wrong now?’ There was a light sheen of sweat covering his taut, lean features, the dampness extending down the glistening column of his throat. His hot eyes kept sliding from her face in the general direction of her heaving breasts.
‘It’s the medication. I think you’ve had some sort of reaction to it. You can’t take alcohol with some sorts of analgesia. That’s why you’re acting like this.’ Miserably Darcy brushed a strand of hair from her damp face and found she couldn’t look him in the eyes—it was too humiliating… Her body was literally throbbing with arousal, aching for his touch.
‘You can’t think of any other reason…?’ The blood in her temples roared as his eyes slid in hot, sensual appraisal over her body. ‘A reason like I’m sexually attracted to you!’ She audibly caught her breath. ‘A reason like I’ve been lying here alone all night, wondering what it would be like to have you beside me, warm and soft, to be inside you. Then you’re here…’ His throat muscles worked. ‘And you want to stay.’ He smiled with grim satisfaction when she didn’t respond to the challenge.
Darcy couldn’t speak; the sound of his low, vibrantly masculine voice saying things no man had ever said to her was like a fist tightening inside her belly. She felt light-headed and dizzy and her blood seemed to hum hotly, pooling; the ache between her thighs was so intense she could hardly stand up, and, her breathing shallow and fast, she stared breathlessly up at him.
‘But the—’
‘Paracetamol. You can buy it anywhere over the counter.’ His sensuous lips curled contemptuously as her eyes widened. ‘The doc wanted to give me something stronger but I’ve never been keen on having my senses dulled.’
‘Then this is…’
Reece nodded. ‘The real thing. Unless you’re going to tell me you’re taking hallucinogenic drugs?’
The dazed look still in her eyes, she shook her head vigorously.
‘Does this feel real enough for you?’ he asked, pressing his lean, hard body tight against hers.
Darcy could feel him, thick and hard, pressing into the softness of her belly. ‘It…you feel incredible,’ she gasped.
‘Take my shirt off, Darcy?’
‘Because of your shoulder.’
‘Because I want you to.’
That seemed a good enough reason to Darcy.
Her hands were shaking as one by one she slid free the buttons and pushed the soft cord fabric aside to reveal his broad chest and flat belly. Expression rapt, she spread her fingers and felt the fine muscles just beneath the surface of his taut skin twitch and tighten.
Her hair looked silver by candlelight and all Reece could see of her as she leant closer was the top of her head and the exposed nape of her slender neck. It wasn’t an area he’d previously considered erotic—was it napes in general or this nape in particular…? That was a question for later—right now he needed to assuage the fire in his blood, the ache in his loins.
A deep line bisected her smooth brow as she examined the bruised area. ‘Tell me if I hurt you,’ she whispered, tracing a line across his belly with her fingernail.
‘I’m hurting,’ he told her thickly.
Alarmed, she raised her eyes questioningly to his. ‘Where…?’ she began. She saw the expression on his face and her voice faded away.
‘Here…’ he took her hand and showed her ‘…here and here,’ he elaborated thickly.
Darcy whimpered, the last remnants of her control evaporating.
‘I want to see you. Take your clothes off for me. All of them.’
Not doing as he requested—or was it a demand?—was never an option. Like someone in a dream she crossed her arms and began to lift the hem of her top up over her smooth stomach.
‘And, Darcy…?’
She paused.
‘Look at me.’
Darcy did. She could hear the harsh, uneven sound of his breathing, loud in the quiet room. Even in this light she could make out a definite flush of colour along his slashing cheekbones and the fire in his eyes— Did I really put it there…? How strange…how marvellous.
Their eyes locked, and her anxiety was instantly soothed; he looked just as needy as she felt. Despite the new confidence, her hands trembled uncontrollably as she did as he had bid. It was no slow, seductive striptease because even with a fire now blazing in the hearth it didn’t seem such a good idea to linger over disrobing.
‘You’re beautiful.’ She almost believed him.
He closed the small gap between them. Where he touched her Darcy’s skin tingled, and pretty soon she tingled all over. ‘And cold.’ He began to briskly massage her cold extremities. ‘Come on, get in here.’ Taking her by the hand, he led her towards the sleeping bag and blankets.
The cotton lining still retained the last remnants of his body heat. Darcy drew her knees up to her chin and waited for him to join her, anticipation pumping darkly though her. She watched as he shed his clothes, ripping the shirt as he tried to ease it too quickly over his injured arm; he was lean, lovely and very, very aroused.
He was actually so beautiful she wanted to cry—she was crying, hot tears sliding over her cheeks. He wiped away the dampness with his thumb when he finally came to join her but didn’t question their presence.
‘Come here,’ he whispered.
Darcy did; there wasn’t very far to go. They lay side by side, close but not touching, until with a hoarse groan he reached across with his good arm and drew her on top of him. His mouth reached hungrily for hers.
Darcy responded joyfully to the demands of his lips and thrusting tongue. It was intoxicating to have nothing to separate them any longer. Darcy wriggled to fully appreciate the sensation. His skin was warmer than hers; it was harder, and she discovered it had a deliciously smooth texture roughened by drifts of body hair that prickled against her breasts and thighs. Every detail delighted her and increased the pressure of excitement building inside her to detonation point.
‘For a one-handed man,’ she remarked a hundred or so gasps later, ‘you manage pretty well.’
A savage grin split Reece’s face as he looked into her flushed, aroused face. ‘If you think that was good, wait until you get a taste of no hands.’
A confused frown drew Darcy’s feathery brows together as she puzzled over his words, the meaning of which was brought crashing home to her seconds later.
Shock tensed her muscles for a split-second before she gave a languid sigh and relaxed. She moaned his name out loud and writhed restlessly as his tongue flickered lower over the soft curve of her abdomen. The excitement built to fever pitch as he continued his merciless ministrations.
The zip on the sleeping bag gave way as he brought her knees up and knelt between them, but Darcy didn’t register the blast of cold air. The pleasure was so intense it bordered on pain; she cried out in protest but she cried out even louder when he stopped.
He kissed her, stilling her inarticulate protests.
He tasted and smelt of her and sex; it was a mind-shattering combination.
‘I want you so badly!’ she moaned, leaning her face into his neck.
‘Then take me, sweetheart,’ he urged throatily. ‘Take me.’
Darcy lifted her head. ‘I can. Can I…?’ she gasped wonderingly. He whispered things in her ear that convinced her she could—she could do anything she wanted to.
Darcy stared down gloatingly at the magnificent man beneath her—his eyes were closed, his skin glistened with sweat. Her muscles tensed, she bore downwards. The cry of relief and triumph that was wrenched from her throat as she lowered herself upon him echoed around the room.
Reece’s eyes snapped open. ‘Oh, my God, sweetheart!’ he groaned. ‘You are…’ A red mist danced before his eyes; he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t think, he could just thrust and thrust…
She rubbed her gritty-feeling eyes. Someone had carefully tucked the sleeping bag around her while she slept. Someone nothing. Her eyes went to the only other person in the room.
‘Sleep well?’ The fully clad figure bent over a portable keyboard didn’t lift his dark head, but seemed to sense her wakefulness.
‘Yes, thank you.’ She tucked her nose below the covers. So this was that embarrassing morning-after feeling. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Sending a few e-mails.’
What sort of person sent e-mails at this time of the morning…? The sort of person you slept with last night—a stranger, her mental critic added, just in case she didn’t feel bad enough already, a beautiful stranger.
‘Right…’ She cleared her throat. ‘What time is it…?’ she asked, more out of a desire to fill the yawning gap in their conversation than a genuine desire to know.
‘Almost seven.’
‘Seven!’ she yelped, shooting upright. ‘Oh, God!’ she groaned, clasping her hands to her bare breasts.
Reece closed the lid of the laptop with a click and turned to face her. His gently ironic expression made her even more aware of the absurdity of displaying inhibitions the morning after the night before—especially when the night before was the one they’d shared!
‘Is that a problem?’
‘Dad and the boys will be up for breakfast,’ she agonised.
‘Can’t they do anything without you to take charge?’
‘Of course they can,’ she responded, exasperated. ‘And I don’t “take charge”.’ Did she really strike him as a bossy, organising female? ‘I just want things to be…’ A frown puckered the smooth skin across her broad, seamless brow.
‘The same?’ he put in gently, drawing her startled gaze.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Sure you do—you’re trying to step into your mother’s shoes. Has it ever occurred to you, Darcy, that maybe she wants her absence to be noticed…?’
A flicker of uncertainty made the soft corners of her mouth droop for a few tell-tale seconds before her expression hardened. ‘You know nothing about it,’ she blustered angrily. ‘Mum isn’t a frustrated housewife and she isn’t menopausal.’
‘Is that what the menfolk think…?’
Nick had put forward this theory but Darcy had soon put him right. ‘Anyway, you’re missing the point.’
He looked mildly perplexed. ‘I am…?’
‘They’ll wonder where I am.’
She watched his sensual lips twist. ‘And you don’t want to broadcast the fact you spent the night with me.’
The sad part was her reputation could probably survive intact. She’d learnt a long time ago that people didn’t think of her and steamy sex in the same thought. She was doomed to be the eternal Mary Poppins figure. Which was pretty ironic when you had an almost ruined marriage on your conscience.
‘Do you blame me?’ she asked him scornfully. He didn’t respond but a nerve along his jaw-line did some flexing. ‘Relax,’ she sighed disconsolately. ‘Even if I did want to tell, nobody would believe me.’
Reece got to his feet and strolled towards her. ‘Put this on—you look ridiculous.’ He handed her her pyjama top.
His scornful contempt of her maidenly modesty was even more infuriating because she shared his opinion; even so, she couldn’t bring herself to expose herself to the full glare of his scrutiny, which was, she reasoned gloomily, bound to be a whole lot more objective than it had been last night.