Linda Goodnight - Married Under The Mistletoe

Anyone who got too close might discover the truth. And she couldn’t even face that herself.

Since hiring her a year ago as manager of the exclusive Knightsbridge restaurant, the Valentine family had given her carte blanche in remodeling and running the Bella Lucia. They’d even indulged her penchant for contemporary art décor. Her boss seldom interfered. Which was exactly why she hadn’t been able to say no when he’d asked her to house the son who’d spent years doing charity work in Africa.

She chewed on that, allowing a seed of hope that Daniel Stephens was as noble as his work implied. From her boss’s enthusiastic description, Daniel was one minor step below sainthood.

She laughed, though the sound was as humorless as the hammering in her head.

“A saint. Sure, he is. Like all men.”

One other thing worried her. Actually, a lot of other things worried her. But in her flummoxed state, she’d failed to ask how long Daniel would be staying. With all her heart, she hoped not long. There was too much at stake to have him here indefinitely.

She swiveled around backwards, twisting her head to look at the slim, smooth line of her pale green dress. Everything was covered. Nothing showed. But she’d have to be extra careful with a flatmate lurking about. She hated that. Hated worrying that someone would discover the secret she kept hidden away beneath designer labels.

Someone tapped softly at the door.

Stephanie jumped, then gritted her teeth in frustration. She would not, could not, let anxiety take over. The willowy redhead staring back from the mirrored tub enclosure looked in complete control, unruffled, and well groomed. Good. As long as the outside appeared in control, let the inside rage.

She smoothed newly manicured hands down the soft, flowing skirt, realigned the toiletries on the counter for the third time, and went to greet her boss’s son.

One look at the big, dark, wild-looking man filling up her foyer and Stephanie’s heart slammed against her ribcage. The throbbing in her head intensified. Fight or flight kicked into high gear. Escape lay past him and down the elevator to the restaurant below. She had little choice but to stand and fight.

There had to be a mistake. This could not be Daniel. Mr Valentine had called him a boy, and, even though she had fully expected a grown man, she hadn’t expected this…this…barbarian!

“My boy,” John had said with an indulgent chuckle. “He’s a tad rough around the edges. Too much time abroad living without the amenities of the civilized world.”

A tad rough around the edges? A tad? That understatement was a record even for the British.

This was no boy. This was a motorcycle gang in battered jeans, bomber jacket and rough-out boots. A pirate with piercing blue eyes, stubble darkening his jaw and unruly black hair in need of a cut. She had expected him at the worst to resemble his twin brother, Dominic, who worked for her as a part-time accountant. But this man was nothing like harmless, middle-aged Dominic. There wasn’t a bald spot or an ounce of fat anywhere on this guy. And he was anything but harmless.

Surely there was a mistake.

Another equally disturbing concern struck. If this was Daniel, and she prayed he wasn’t, could John have sent him to spy on her, suspicious that she was responsible for the money missing from the restaurant accounts?

Fighting panic and forcing a bland expression she didn’t feel, Stephanie took a small step back. The stranger was too close, too threatening.

“Are you Daniel?”

One corner of his mouth quirked. “And if I say no?”

If he said no? What kind of introduction was that?

She blinked several times, then drew upon a glib tongue and a sharp mind to gloss over her real feelings. “Then I’ll assume you’re the plumber, at which rate you’re five days late and fired.”

He laughed, a quick flash of white teeth in a sun-burnished face. Oh, my.

“To save myself that indignity, I’ll confess. I’m Daniel Stephens, your new flatmate.”

She’d always enjoyed the British male voice with its soft burr in the back of the throat. But this man’s voice was half purr, half gravel and all male, a sound that shimmied down her spine to the toes of her new heels.

Heaven help her. What had she agreed to? This could never work. Not even if she wanted it to. And she most decidedly did not. He was too rugged to be handsome and too blatantly male not to be noticed. And Stephanie did not notice men. Not anymore.

She couldn’t meet his gaze but she couldn’t take her eyes off him either.

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.