Misbehaving Under the Mistletoe. Heidi Rice

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       CHAPTER TWO

      THAT would be a no, then, came the answer as Cassie peered out the windshield of Jace’s car. Evergreen garlands of holly and trailing ivy shimmered with a thousand tiny lights on the ornate stone and gold frontage of the luxury hotel.

      When Jace had mentioned The Chesterton she hadn’t pictured him having a suite at this art deco palace on Park Lane. The vision of her scurrying into its rarefied elegance in her soiled coat and muddy biker boots plunged her ridiculous candy man fantasy into cold hard reality.

      He had offered to get her coat cleaned. He had not offered to perk up her Christmas with prurient sexual favours. And he wasn’t likely to when she looked such a fright.

      Jace skirted the hood of the car and took the front steps two at a time. He tossed the car keys to a doorman, whose gold-braided green livery and matching top hat weren’t doing a thing for Cassie’s anxiety levels.

      What on earth had she been thinking when she’d accepted his invitation? She felt as if she were thirteen again, getting caught staring at something she shouldn’t on that stairwell.

      She slid down in the deep bucket seat as the doorman approached the car. Swinging the door open with a slight bow, he sent her a courteous smile.

      ‘It’s a pleasure to welcome you to The Chesterton, Ms Fitzgerald.’ He held out a hand. ‘Mr Ryan has requested we collect your dry-cleaning as soon as you are settled in his suite.’

      Cassie stepped out of the car, but studiously avoided letting her coat touch the poor man. Like he wanted mud all over his nice clean uniform. Jace waited at the hotel’s revolving doors, looking confident and relaxed and completely at ease in the exclusive surroundings.

      She wrapped her arms round her waist as she mounted the steps towards him.

      Candy man or not, Jace Ryan was way too much for her to handle. He’d probably known more about seduction when he was seventeen than she ever would. The thrum of awareness that had arched between them had been nothing more than the echo of an old crush. Which she’d grown out of years ago.

      She touched his arm before he could direct her through the revolving doors into the lobby.

      ‘Is there a back entrance?’ she asked, dropping her hand as her fingers connected with the solid strength beneath the blue silk of his suit.

      His lips twitched. ‘I wouldn’t know. Why?’

      ‘I’m all wet.’ Hadn’t he noticed she looked like something the cat had dragged through a puddle?

      His gaze wandered over her, and the back of her neck burned. ‘Your coat took the worst of it. Just take it off.’

      She slipped off the wet coat and bunched it in her hands, the blush climbing into her cheeks.

      A rueful smile curved his lips and she thought he whispered, ‘Pity.’

      ‘Sorry?’ Was it her imagination or was there a twinkle of mischief in his eyes?

      ‘Nothing,’ he murmured, but the twinkle didn’t dim one bit.

      The simple sapphire tunic skimmed the top of her thighs and was one of her favourites of Nessa’s designs, but the short sleeves and plunging neckline meant wearing it without a coat was a good way to get hypothermia in December. The fragile, bias-cut fabric moulded to her figure as the wind brushed against her skin and made her shiver. She clamped her teeth together to stop them chattering and jumped when his warm palm settled on the small of her back.

      ‘Here.’ He shrugged out of his jacket and draped the garment over her shoulders. ‘I’ll take that.’ He lifted her coat out of her arms.

      She gripped the lapels of his jacket, the tailored silk dwarfing her as he placed his hand on her hip and led her through the revolving doors into the marble lobby. The fragrance of the roses, freshly cut pine boughs and cinnamon sticks arranged in giant urns by the reception desk greeted them, but did nothing to mask the scent of soap and man that clung to his jacket.

      ‘Wait here.’

      Crossing to the desk, he handed over her coat to one of the uniformed receptionists, who took the wet garment without showing a hint of surprise, then sent Cassie an efficient smile. As if it were perfectly normal for half-dressed women to track mud over their foyer.

      Cassie tried to look invisible in Jace’s jacket as he led her through an ornately furnished lounge accented by deep-seated sofas in tartan upholstery, polished mahogany occasional tables and wrought-iron planters overflowing with winter flora. A scattering of perfectly dressed people sipped afternoon tea from delicate china cups and watched her pass.

      Fabulous. She felt like Cinderella arriving at the ball in her rags.

      When they stepped into the lift, she eased back against the panelling, still clinging to the jacket. ‘This place is seriously posh.’

      He huffed out a laugh. ‘Don’t let them intimidate you. They’re just rich, they’re not royalty. Or at least most of them aren’t.’

      ‘Fabulous,’ she said wryly.

      He chuckled again, shoving one hand into his pocket as he stabbed the top button on the display panel. She tried not to notice the way the movement made the linen of his shirt tighten across one broad shoulder.

      His gaze took a leisurely trip down to her biker boots and back again as the lift whisked through the floors. She clamped down on the sudden wish to have him like what he saw.

       Been there, done that, got the battered ego to prove it.

      But when his eyes lifted to her face at last, the beat of anticipation still throbbed in her ears.

      ‘Money doesn’t buy you class,’ he said. ‘I ought to know.’

      Sympathy welled and lodged in her throat, the blunt statement reminding her of the angry boy he’d once been. No one had ever found out that much about him at Hillsdown Road, his air of mystery only tantalising his army of admirers more. But one thing she did know was that he’d come from a ‘bad home’, because she’d overheard СКАЧАТЬ