Millionaire Under The Mistletoe. Janice Maynard

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      ‘Sure you do; you’re not that stupid.’

      Darcy’s eyes narrowed. ‘Let’s pretend for the sake of argument that I am,’ she suggested sweetly.

      ‘I think I can just about make that giant leap. They were highly reluctant to discharge me without assurances I have someone responsible to take care of me. Whilst I could have just walked out of here, it seemed less stressful all round if I was married.’ The longer he was here, the more likelihood there was of someone recognising him and then it was only a matter of time before the local Press showed up…in his experience these things snowballed pretty fast.

      ‘And you thought of me. Naturally I’m deeply flattered,’ she spat sarcastically. ‘Why on earth did I have to be a nurse…?’ she wailed.

      ‘I thought that was a nice touch,’ he agreed complacently. ‘If the doc had been on the ball he’d have realised you’re not old enough to be experienced.’

      ‘You’re mad…quite mad!’ she announced with conviction.

      ‘You’re not a nurse, then?’

      ‘Of course I’m not a nurse!’

      ‘Just when your father said you were a great little nurse I thought…’

      ‘I’ve got brothers—I can stick on a plaster. I’m not Florence Nightingale…!’

      ‘True. Nobody with an ounce of caring in their body could stand there watching me struggle like this.’ He stood there, one arm inserted in his shirt, wondering what to do next.

      ‘If that was a hint, you’re really pushing it!’ she growled. ‘What if someone asks me to do something…nursey?’ she worried hoarsely.

      ‘Is that likely?’ he drawled, managing to project the distinct impression he found her complaints slightly hysterical.

      It occurred to Darcy that they were drifting away from the real cause of her simmering anger. ‘Don’t try and change the subject,’ she growled.

      One slanted dark brow quirked. ‘Which was…?’

      ‘I’m not your wife!’

      ‘This is true,’ he conceded with an expression that suggested he was mightily relieved about this. ‘I didn’t think you’d mind—it’s not like I’m actually asking you to marry me or anything drastic.’

      ‘For your information, I’ve been proposed to several times!’ she felt goaded into unwisely boasting.

      ‘Congratulations,’ he drawled, looking amused.

      Darcy’s cheeks were burning with humiliation as she discovered a major flaw in his manipulations. ‘What were you going to do if I’d driven straight off?’

      ‘I knew you wouldn’t do that,’ he stated confidently.

      ‘How could you possibly…?’

      ‘You’d be eaten up by guilt if you did. You’re deeply into doing the right thing.’ He made it sound like a flaw in her character. ‘Be a sport, Darcy,’ he cajoled.

      ‘I’m not lying for you.’

      He sighed. ‘Just don’t say you’re not, that’s all I’m asking. It’s no skin off your nose. Walk out of here with me and then you’ll never have to see me again.’

      Darcy’s shoulders slumped in defeat. ‘I must be mad…’

      A wolfish grin split his lean, dark face. ‘Good girl,’ he approved.

      Further comments were made impossible by the arrival of the nurse who’d directed Darcy here originally.

      ‘I’ve come to suture your head wound,’ the young man explained.

      Darcy took the opportunity to excuse herself. ‘I’ll wait outside.’ Halfway through the curtain, she paused. ‘Are you going to give him a local anaesthetic?’ she asked the young nurse.

      He looked confused. ‘Well, yes,’ he admitted.

      ‘Pity!’ Darcy declared maliciously.

      The sound of husky laughter followed her down the corridor.

       CHAPTER THREE

      ‘GOODBYE, Mrs Erskine…Mr Erskine,’ the young receptionist gushed breathily as she left them with obvious reluctance at the swing-doors.

      Darcy gave a sigh of relief as the doors swung shut. The red carpet was about the only thing that had been missing and, given enough time, she had the impression the smitten young woman would have produced that too. At least she could drop the wifey act now.

      ‘What are we?’ Darcy grouched, intensely relieved to be out of the place and out of her role. ‘Visiting royalty? Do you always have this effect on people?’

      ‘What effect is that?’

      Darcy raised a sceptical brow. ‘Like you didn’t notice!’ she hooted. ‘The woman was deferential, bordering on obsequious.’

      Despite the enigmatic smile she received in reply, Darcy got the impression he was even less pleased than she was by the VIP treatment.

      The rain had stopped, but it had started to freeze, making the pavement underfoot lethally slippery. Darcy moved cautiously past the men who were gritting the entrance to the hospital, smiling in a distracted way at them as she passed. The gravel was crunchy underfoot as they passed the tall, twinkly Christmas tree, and a layer of sparkling frost added to the festive look in a way that expensive ornaments never could.

      She only just stopped herself mentioning how much she loved the smell of pine to the wet blanket beside her.

      ‘Where are we parked?’

      Even though she hadn’t forgotten the tall, commanding presence at her side—chance would be a fine thing—she started when he spoke. It made her realise how uptight and wound up the whole play-acting thing in the hospital had made her. Her fellow conspirator, on the other hand, had seemed almost to relish his role, or maybe it was her discomfort he enjoyed…? Considering the glimpses she’d had of his warped sense of humour, the latter seemed the most likely explanation.

      ‘We…?’ She lifted her eyes to his face, but not for long—for some reason she felt oddly reluctant to maintain contact.

      Like a silly, lust-struck teenager afraid to look the unattainable object of her fantasies in the eyes! Self-disgust curled in her belly. Grow up, Darcy!

      By the time she had sternly told herself to stop acting so wet, he had paused under the blue-white beam of an overhead light and was making a careful minor adjustment to the jacket draped over his broad shoulders. His head was bent forward at an angle; she couldn’t see his face, just the strong curve of his jaw and the sharp angle of his cheekbones, but even these sketchy details were enough to proclaim him as something СКАЧАТЬ