Under the Millionaire's Mistletoe

“Oh.”

“Don’t play the disappointed-in-me card, Meg. The man was blackmailing my mother. I owe it to her.”

“You’re right, and I’m not disappointed.”

“But?”

“I just wondered if that was your only option.”

“Unless you can suggest a better one, one that does justice to my mother?”

As Meg shook her head, he slid his phone from the pocket of his jeans, punched in a number. “Jason. You should have stuck around.” Did Jason hear the command in the quietly spoken sentence? Meg tuned out the short conversation as she walked away. Luke caught up with her in the kitchen as she was pouring two coffees. “He’ll be back later today.”

She passed him a mug. As she lifted hers to her nose to inhale the fragrance, the ring on her finger caught her eye. The dinner was over, there was no need for her to wear it any longer. Putting down her coffee, she twisted the simple gold band from her finger and held it out to him.

He looked at her hand but didn’t reach for the ring and a glimmer of a smile touched his lips. “You can’t give it back to me. I never gave it to you in the first place.”

Oh. Right. So much for that gesture. Feeling like a fool, she went to slip the ring into her pocket. He did reach for her then. He picked up her left hand and slid the ring back into place. “But leave it there for now. I didn’t want to make you a pawn, Meg. I wanted to give you something.”

“And to stop Jason getting anything.”

“Mainly that,” he agreed. “And you know what else?”

“What?”

“This isn’t how I planned on starting this morning.”

She didn’t want to think about what he might mean by that. There were a number of possibilities. All of the ones that sprang to her mind were unwise.

He tugged her closer, pressed a soft, beguiling kiss to her lips. Very unwise.

“Good morning,” he said with a smile once he’d pulled away, his gaze locking on to hers.

All of her tension had melted with just that one kiss. It was a masterful tactic, a potent secret weapon in his arsenal. “Good morning.” Kiss me again.

But he didn’t. “Have you had breakfast? Or is it lunchtime already again?”

“Breakfast, and no, I haven’t eaten. But Luke, I think I should go.”

She watched his face, his eyes, but couldn’t read his reaction. “Eat first,” he finally said. Not, No, don’t go, Meg, which she would have been foolish to expect. Sometimes, though, she was foolish. Last night being the most recent example. Making love to a man she had no future with. Letting herself love him, even just a little.

In the kitchen, he had her sit on a stool at the breakfast bar while he got out a pan and bacon and eggs. “How did you learn to cook?” No man had ever cooked for her.

He passed her a mug of coffee. “Mom got heavily into her charity work from an early age. She wasn’t always around a lot. And when I was a teenager I went through several years of being constantly hungry. Appetite’s a great motivator. It’s not like I can produce a gourmet meal or anything, but I can do the basics. You want a filling, sustaining meal after or before a day’s snow skiing or water skiing? I’m your man.”

I’m your man? The expression was depressingly appealing. As was the man himself.

Within a few minutes he’d carried two plates of eggs and crispy bacon to the small oak table in the breakfast nook. He sat at a right angle to her and they ate in a silence that would have been restful were it not for Meg’s regret and quiet despair about how soon this was ending.

Beyond the window, snow flakes began to drift and swirl.

She hadn’t heard a weather report in days, but Jason had spoken as though more snow was expected. “Thank you.” She stood from the table. “Now I should go.” She had to end it. The sooner the better. Drawn-out goodbyes were too hard, too painful.

“I thought your car was at the mechanic’s till tomorrow.”

That was her problem. “It is.” She caught her bottom lip in her teeth. “You could take me to Sally’s?”

Silver eyes assessed her. “Is that what you want?”

No, I want you to ask me to stay. To see where this thing we have leads. Unless this thing we have is all in my head. “Yes, it’s what I want.”

“Because from what I know of you, the things you’ve told me, the things I’ve seen, you don’t always consult your own needs.”

Meg said nothing. Was she that transparent? She did put other people’s needs ahead of her own. That was how she’d been brought up. That was what she was supposed to do, wasn’t it?

“You’ve called her?” he asked after a pause.

“Not yet.” But she would, and could only hope that Sally kept her questions to herself. For her months here she’d pretended she’d had a real marriage. Now, two days after her husband’s return, she was seeking sanctuary at her friend’s place. But fortunately, in those two months, Sally truly had become a friend.

“What does staying at Sally’s achieve?”

Couldn’t he just let it go? She sighed and tried to keep her voice neutral. “Distance. Perspective. It gives you your home and your life back.” But mainly, it would stop her doing dumb things like watching his hands as he held his fork or his cup and remembering the feel of those hands on her.

Luke looked toward the window but said nothing.

Meg paused at the doorway. “I’ll need an hour to gather up all my things from around the house and finish packing.”

He gave a single abrupt nod and she left the room. It was easy enough to pack up her clothes and belongings from the master bedroom, but she took her time, folding slowly, uncharacteristically uncertain about how best to pack her bags. In the wardrobe, she let herself touch Luke’s suits, his sweaters. Beside the bed, she straightened the fishing magazine and the book that she’d left all this time on the bedside table. She’d read the book-a thriller- her first month here. Imagining a connection with him as she did so. Her fingers turning the same pages his had.

She lingered in front of the wide window. Its view over the lake had always brought her a measure of serenity. It didn’t today. Today, the dark turbulent sky matched the oppression she felt.

She finished in the bedroom but needed to check the rest of the rooms. Over the months she’d lived here, she’d managed to spread herself and her bits and pieces throughout the house. She’d have to do a room-by-room search.

At the door to the library, she paused, not sure she wanted to face the scene of last night’s…encounter. She toyed with the idea of just buying a new book to replace the half read one she’d left in there, then decided she was being ridiculous. She was a grown woman, for goodness’ sake. She pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Luke sat on the couch, a sheaf of hand-written papers on his lap, his long denim-clad legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. He looked up as she entered and the memories came flooding back.

Memories of sights; shadows and contours, and scents; his shampoo, his sweat, the essence of Luke himself and sensation; frantic hands, warm lips on skin, desperate longing and utter completion filled her mind. Images of her own reckless abandon.

“I just,” she cleared her throat, “came to get my book.” She pointed at the book on the small table beside him. He watched her silently as she dashed forward to snatch it up and backed out of the room.

As she shut the door behind her again, she thought she heard him speak. A short phrase, too indistinct for her to make out. Show me. She was imagining things. Nothing to show. No stockings today, no red lace. White and a little lacy, with a small bow between her breasts. But mainly plain. That’s who she really was. But for a few forbidden seconds she imagined the things she could wear for him if- She cut off her own thoughts. No ifs. No maybes. They’d had an agreement. She’d lived up to her part of it. And now she was going. Last night was…a bonus. Such an inadequate word. A night’s insight into a world of possibilities, of pleasure and promise and wholeness.

Ten minutes later he found her on the stairway, strode up to meet her and took her case from her hand. He carried it down, set it by the Christmas tree in the entrance. “There’s more?”

“One.”