Married Under The Mistletoe. Linda Goodnight

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      Her silence must have gone on a bit too long because he said, “May I come in?”

      Stephanie opened the door wider, determined to remain as composed as possible under the circumstance. “Of course. Please.”

      She couldn’t let him know how much his size and strength and sheer manliness unnerved her. She could handle him. Hadn’t she determined long ago that no man would ever get close enough to hurt her again? Hadn’t she rid herself of that fear by moving far, far away from Colorado?

      “I’m afraid you caught me by surprise.” A lie, of course. “The flat is…”

      He poked his rather unkempt, and altogether too attractive head inside and finished her sentence. “Fine.”

      Her flat, like her person, was always ultra-clean and tidy. Outward appearances were everything. And having things out of place distressed her.

      Stephanie turned and led the way to the living room. Her stomach jittered and her heart raced, but she was good at the pretense game.

      Trouble was, it had been a while since she’d had to pretend quite this much. Or for quite this long. There was that troubling question again. How long would he be here?

      Daniel’s bulk filled up the large living room as if it were elevator-small. He glanced around with an unconcerned expression. The luxury of a flat that most could only dream of was apparently lost on him.

      “Where should I stash my bedroll?” He swung the bag from his wide shoulder as if it contained nothing but packing peanuts. “Any place will do. A room, the floor, the couch. Makes no difference to me.”

      Well, it certainly made a difference to Stephanie.

      “I’ve put you in the back guest room.” She forced a smile. “I assure you, it’s more comfortable than the floor.”

      And as far away from her room as possible.

      She led the way down the short hall toward the back of the flat, pointing out the other rooms along the way.

      “This is the kitchen here. You’re welcome to make use of it anytime.” She felt like a Realtor.

      “I wouldn’t think you’d need much of a kitchen with the restaurant below.”

      “A person tires quickly of too much rich food.”

      “I can’t imagine.”

      She paused to look at him. Bad decision. “Are you making fun of me?”

      “Am I?” Blue eyes glittered back at her, insolent eyes that challenged. Stephanie glanced away.

      Perhaps her statement had been rude. The man had spent a lot of years in places where food such as that served in the Bella Lucia was unheard of.

      He was the boss’s son. She didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with him. “I apologize. I’m really not a snob. But you’ll have to understand, I’m accustomed to living on my own.” She pushed the door open to the last bedroom. “You have your own bathroom through here.”

      “Nice,” he said, though his tone indicated indifference as he gazed from the sage and toast décor to the queen-sized bed and then to the pristine bathroom beyond. He tossed the duffel bag into a corner next to a white occasional table. “I can see you aren’t nearly as happy to have me here as John thought you’d be.”

      Stephanie wasn’t certain what to say to that. She loved her job and couldn’t chance upsetting her generous employer.

      “I’m sure we’ll get on fine.” She hovered in the doorway, eager to have him settled, but equally eager to make her escape.

      “I don’t think you’re sure of that at all.”

      He moved across the room in her direction. Stephanie resisted the urge to shrink back into the hallway.

      “I don’t know what you mean.”

      “Sure you do.”

      Before she knew what he was about, he touched her forearm. The gesture was harmless, meaning only to convey reassurance. It had just the opposite effect.

      Try as she might to stand her ground, Stephanie flinched and pulled away, desperate to rub away the feel of his calloused fingers against her flesh.

      Hand in mid-air, Daniel studied her, clearly bewildered by her overreaction.

      “I meant no harm, Stephanie. You’re quite safe with me here.”

      Right. As safe as a rabbit in a fox’s den.

      Forcing a false little laugh, she tried to make light of her jitters. “I’m sure all serial murderers say the same thing.”

      “Cereal murderers?” He dropped his hand and slouched against the door facing, too close for comfort. “Can’t imagine harming an innocent box of cornflakes.”

      So, he had a sense of humor. She backed one step out into the hallway. “My oatmeal will be relieved to hear that.”

      “Ah, now, porridge. There’s nothing innocent about horse feed cooked to the gooey consistency of wallpaper paste. I might be tempted to do in a few boxes of those, after all.”

      This time Stephanie laughed. For a barbarian, he displayed a pleasant sense of the ridiculous.

      “There’s tea in the kitchen if you’d like a cup.” She started back down the hall.

      “Sounds great. If you’re having one too.”

      She hesitated in the living-room entry, not wanting to appear rude, but certainly not wanting to become friends. Her idea of a male friend was one that lived somewhere else. Preferably Mars.

      The gravelly purr moved up behind her, too close again. “We might as well get acquainted, Stephanie. We’re going to be living together.”

      She wasn’t overly fond of that term, but it wouldn’t do to offend the son of her employer. From the rumors astir in the restaurant, she knew Daniel and Dominic were John’s only sons, the result of a fling he’d had as a young man. Though he’d only recently discovered their existence, Mr Valentine was trying hard to make up for lost time.

      “All right, then. I have a few minutes.” She really should go, get away from him while she could still carry on a lucid conversation. Trouble was he’d be here when she came back.

      In the kitchen, she poured tea into two china cups and set them on the small breakfast bar.

      Daniel, instead of taking a seat, made himself at home by rummaging about for milk and sugar. In the narrow kitchen, they bumped once. Stephanie shifted away, rounding the bar to sit opposite him. If Daniel noticed her avoidance, he didn’t react.

      Instead, he slouched into the straight-backed white chair and splashed a generous amount of milk into the cup. Stephanie had never embraced the English penchant for milk in her tea. She did, however, favor sugar. In abundance.

      “Tsk. СКАЧАТЬ