Ким Лоренс – Millionaire Under The Mistletoe: The Playboy's Mistress / Christmas in the Billionaire's Bed / The Boss's Mistletoe Manoeuvres (страница 21)
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 turn angrily on her sister. ‘What do you expect me to do, Clare?’ she snapped. ‘Mum’s a grown woman; we can’t bring her back against her will. We just have to wait.’ Patience never had been one of her younger sister’s most obvious qualities—when Clare wanted something she wanted it now, and more often than not she got it! ‘Sitting about whining isn’t going to help anyone!’
There was an almost comical look of shock on Clare’s face as she recoiled from her sister’s anger—Darcy was a bit surprised herself, as she rarely raised her voice to her sister. Instantly she regretted her outburst, not to mention her ungenerous thoughts. Clare could be thoughtless and selfish, but her kid sister could also be generous and loving, and not nearly as hard-bitten as she liked to make out.
There was a scraping sound as the younger girl rose gracefully to her feet. Darcy was happy being herself, but she wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t felt the occasional touch of wistful envy when she looked at her spectacularly beautiful sister. Occasionally on bad days, when her hair was particularly unruly and the bathroom scales told her things she’d rather not know, she couldn’t help but think that it would be nice if—just once—someone took notice of her when she walked into a room beside her gorgeous sister.
Seeing her sister stand there, tall, willowy and with a face and figure that would have stood out as exceptional on any catwalk, Darcy knew this was only going to happen in her wildest dreams.
Clare had no qualms about using her looks when it suited her, but she’d never had any intention of making her living out of them. Thanks to a big injection of capital from her parents, her dreams of becoming a fashion designer were well on the way to becoming a reality. She’d started her own business straight from art college and she had ambitious plans for her fashion label.
‘We’re all missing her, Clare,’ Darcy said quietly. From the corner of her eye, she saw Harry reach across and hug his dad and the emotional lump in her throat ached.
‘I know,’ Clare admitted huskily. ‘Sorry. Is the other thing true, or is Nick winding me up…?’
‘Is what true…?’ Darcy responded cagily. What had Nick the wind-up artiste been saying this time? she wondered, shooting her brother a suspicious glance. She didn’t have to wait long to find out.
‘Nick says that Reece Erskine…’ Clare murmured the name in a dreamy, reverential way that made Darcy stiffen in alarm ‘…is staying next door—which is very obviously impossible,’ she added quickly. ‘I suppose he is having me on…?’ Despite her conviction that this was a wind-up, there was a gleam of hope in her eyes as she appealed to her big sister.
‘Yes, he is staying next door,’ Darcy disclosed reluctantly. She watched her sister go pale with excitement.
‘Why would…?’ Clare began. ‘No, it doesn’t matter. Let me think… This is too marvellous…!’
Darcy thought so, but she had mixed feelings—no, actually, they weren’t mixed at all; she didn’t like the idea of Clare thinking Reece’s proximity was marvellous one little bit.
‘It is?’
‘Of course it is, silly!’ Clare exclaimed. ‘Did you invite him for dinner, Darce…?’ Her lovely face creased with annoyance. ‘Of course you didn’t,’ she predicted critically. Her exasperation increased as the jerky little movement of Darcy’s head confirmed her suspicions. ‘Honestly, Darcy! What were you thinking of?’
Reece’s tongue sliding smoothly skilful over her stomach…his burning eyes devouring her, the tiny quivering contractions that tightened her belly as she was overwhelmed by an almost paralysing desire to have him deep inside her.
‘Are you listening to me, Darcy?’
The shrill, indignant sound of her sister’s voice broke through the sensual thrall of her recollections. Darcy was appalled and slightly scared by her lack of self-control.
Sweat trickled damply down her stiff spine, and her cheeks felt as if they were on fire.
‘I haven’t got the time to have a dinner party, Clare,’ she told her sister gruffly.
Her words fell on selectively deaf ears.
‘Better still!’ Clare, the bit firmly between her pearly teeth, enthused excitedly, ‘We could invite him to stay. Yes, why not…? According to Dad, the Hall is not fit for human habitation.’ She clapped her hands, her eyes glowing with enthusiasm. ‘Yes, that would be perfect! Is anyone going to answer that?’ she exclaimed, irritated by the persistent ring of the phone in the hallway.