Linda Goodnight - Married Under The Mistletoe

“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. Tsk. Three sugars?” Daniel murmured when she’d doused her cup. “Bad girl.”

An unwanted female reaction skittered through her. The words were innocent enough, but his sexy tone gave them new meaning. Either that or she was losing touch with reality.

She inclined her head. “Now you know.”

A black eyebrow kicked upward. “Sweet tooth?”

“A decidedly evil one. Grabs me in the middle of the night sometimes.” Why was she telling him this?

“You don’t look the part.” His laser-blue gaze drifted over her slim body, hesitating a millisecond too long.

“I jog. I also have enormous self-control.” Like now, when I really want you out of my flat, but I can’t say so.

“Don’t tell me you never sneak down to the restaurant for cheesecake and chocolate sauce?”

She smiled in spite of herself. “How did you guess?”

Small crinkles appeared around his eyes. The African sun had been kind to him. “Because that’s what I’d do if I lived over a restaurant.”

“Which you now do.” Unfortunately.

“But you hold the keys to the Bella Lucia.”

She stirred the spoon round and round in her cup. “There is that.”

“Think I can persuade you to make your midnight runs with me in tow?”

Perhaps not, big boy.

Without comment, she lifted her cup and sipped.

Daniel did likewise, eyelids dropping in a soft sigh of appreciation. Stephanie had a hard time not staring. Though she was loath to admit it, Daniel Stephens was a stunningly attractive man.

“Can’t get tea like this where I’ve been,” he said, clattering the cup onto the saucer.

“Tell me about Africa.” As she’d done countless times, Stephanie slipped into hostess mode, tucking away real feelings to skim the surface of civilized conversation. “Your father’s very proud of what you’ve done there.”

His face, so full of pleasure moments before, closed up tight. “My father doesn’t know a thing about my work.”

And from the stormy look of him, Stephanie figured John might never know. Her boss might want to mend fences with his sons, but this one had some hostility that might not be so easily overcome.

Daniel’s anger reminded her of the kids she sometimes worked with in special art classes. There, where she volunteered her time teaching troubled children to paint, she had learned to listen as well as to share simple techniques of line and color.

In the same quiet voice she used to encourage those kids, she said, “Would you tell me about it?”

Forearms on the table edge, he linked his fingers and leaned forward. Too close again. The man had an unpleasant habit of invading her space. Stephanie tilted back a few inches.

“The work is rewarding and equally frustrating,” he said.

So he’d chosen to sidestep the issue of his father and move on to the safer ground of Africa. She didn’t know why she’d felt compelled to dig into his personal life in the first place. The less she knew about him, the better.

“Is that why you quit?”

“I didn’t quit. I’ll never quit,” he said vehemently. “But I’ve finally realized that I can make more of a difference here than I can there.”

She frowned, not following. “How?”

“To build sustainable, safe water systems takes money and expertise. I’m a civil engineer. I’ve spent my whole life dealing with the problem. I have the expertise. What I lack is that vulgar little commodity called money.”

“So you’re back in England to raise money, then.”

“In a manner of speaking. I’m starting my own business, contracting water projects throughout England. The demand is high, especially in the area of flood control. A man who has the right skills and contacts can make a fortune.”

Maybe he was as giving as John had indicated. “And you’re planning to use that money to fund projects in Africa?”

“It’s the best way I can think of.” He shoved a hand over dark, unruly hair. “That’s why I’m grateful to you for sharing this flat, and that’s also why I agreed to the arrangement in the first place. I dislike accepting favors, particularly from my father, but the less spent on living expenses, the more I can spare for Ethiopia.”

Despite her determination not to get too close, Stephanie’s opinion of Daniel rose several notches. He had a caring heart, at least where the needy in Africa were concerned. This knowledge gave her hope that he would not be difficult to room with. If her luck held out, he would keep his distance until the business was started and he could afford his own place to live.

And this brought her to the question that had burned on her mind since that first telephone call from Mr Valentine. Just exactly how long would all that take? How long would she have this disturbing, intriguing, terrifying man living in her flat?