Holy cow! Not knowing how to react, and not wanting to be caught up in what promised to be a lovers’ argument, Grace scooted away from the door and back up the stairs to the bedroom she’d slept in.
Jack’s harsh words carried to her as she went. ‘You weren’t invited here, Imogene, and if I haven’t already made it patently clear, I’m sure my assistant reinforced that I’m not available to you to organise our respective parent’s engagement or for any other reason.’
Ah. A piece of the puzzle fell into place. Imogene was going to be his stepsister. Even though she was extremely curious as to how Jack was going to get rid of the woman, Grace didn’t want to hear any more.
She couldn’t reconcile the cutting way Jack was speaking. He was so different from the man who’d offered her two fantastic performance opportunities and cooked her an omelette in the early hours of the morning.
God, but he sounded so cold she almost pitied Imogene. Then again, the woman had been rude and downright nasty to Grace. Jack was probably fighting fire with fire. If Grace really had been his lover, Imogene might’ve done all sorts of damage.
***
‘If you’re not turning around and walking away in two seconds, I’ll call your mother and tell her to come and get you.’ He meant every word. If Vanessa didn’t take her daughter in-hand and stop her contacting him and turning up on his doorstep, he’d get a blasted court injunction to keep her away from him.
‘But, Jack, you’ve gone ahead and organised a pianist for Friday night.’ She tried to step through the doorway as she spoke but Jack blocked her entrance. ‘You can’t tell me at one turn you’re unavailable to help and then have your assistant spring an entertainment booking on me. What if I’d already booked someone?’
It was an effort to unclench his jaw and keep some semblance of civility. ‘Then you’d need to cancel them.’
‘I need to sit down with you and discuss all the details.’
‘Send my assistant an email.’
‘But—’
‘Time’s up, Imogene.’
‘Damn it, Jack.’ She stamped her foot on his doorstep in pique. ‘What on earth do you see in that woman?’ She pointed beyond him to where Grace had disappeared into the house. ‘She’s totally ordinary. Your standards are really slipping.’
‘Goodbye, Imogene.’ Without any further preamble, he shut the door and barred her from his life, all the while railing against her insulting dismissal of Grace.
Grace was worth a million of Vanessa’s daughter which was exactly why he’d spent sleepless hours trying to focus on everything but his adorable housecleaner.
Unplanned, he’d blurted out his dislike of Christmas. It’d taken some effort not to open up to her and recount every last horror he’d known during the supposedly festive season. For some reason beyond comprehension, he’d wanted to explain to Grace why Christmas held the power to completely shatter him.
Grace Robertson was the real deal—a woman who deserved everything good in the world, but who’d already endured the tragedy of losing her parents.
Jack knew he wasn’t the man for her. It didn’t matter how sexy she was and how much she stirred his libido, he couldn’t claim her as his lover. For one, she didn’t seem interested in him in that way despite what he’d thought had been a mutual awareness when their hands had first touched. Secondly, she was worthy of far more than the only thing Jack was prepared to offer—a one-night stand.
He stifled a groan at the memory of Grace standing in his sweatshirt at the doorway. Strands of her sleep-tousled hair had escaped from the confines of her pony tail and fell about her shoulders. The long length of shapely, well-toned legs stretched from beneath the edge of his sweatshirt and one look at them had made him visualise how they’d feel wrapped around him. Her breasts …
He stifled a groan of need.
Her breasts—unfettered by a bra—were high and rounded under the fabric of his shirt, with the point of each nipple clearly outlined.
She was temptation personified and it’d been the most natural thing in the world to place an arm around her waist and act as though Imogene had interrupted a morning tryst.
You were playing with fire, letting Imogene believe Grace was your lover, his conscience berated, and now you need to go and explain your behaviour to Grace.
Shit. What must his gorgeous housekeeper, one-off nurse and soon-to-be professional pianist be thinking of his behaviour?
No doubt she’d be mortified he’d taken advantage of her sexy, obviously just-out-of-bed appearance. If it’d been any other woman, he wouldn’t have intimated there was anything more than there really was in case she seized the idea and ran with it, but he sensed he was safe with Grace. His gut told him she’d understand and not try to twist the situation to her own advantage. In fact, hadn’t he thought yesterday about asking her to pose as his lover?
Now Imogene had seen Grace at his home, sleep-tousled and wearing his sweatshirt, the idea seemed even more credible.
He made his way quickly to the kitchen to make the promised coffee, energised by the idea that Grace may provide the answer to his short-term problems. Now, all he had to do was get her to go along with the plan.
Chapter 11
‘You want me to pose as your girlfriend?’
Grace stared at Jack absolutely convinced he’d gone mad.
While she was putting fresh sheets on the bed she’d slept in, he’d brought her a coffee and sat on a chair in the bedroom. He’d explained why he’d called her ‘sweetheart’ and the reason he’d alluded to there being an intimacy between them. Then, he’d sprung this preposterous idea on her.
‘Just for the time it’ll take to have Imogene back off and leave me alone.’
She stopped in the process of pulling the pillowcase up over the pillow as suspicion struck. ‘Is that why you offered me the performance opportunity? Did you have this ulterior motive right from the outset and you wanted me to be in your debt?’
‘I needed an entertainer, Grace. You have the talent and that’s why I asked you.’
All her doubts coalesced into a huge ball of confusion. ‘Okay. I accept you wanted a pianist but I find it hard to credit you’d make this other suggestion.’
‘Why?’
‘Several reasons.’
‘Name them.’ He folded his arms across his chest, sat back and fixed her with a disarmingly expectant look.
Although she wished fervently she could shy away from this conversation, the silver-grey light in Jack’s eyes and the strong set of his jaw shrieked his determination. Grace was getting a glimpse of the boardroom boss who didn’t take no for an answer and she was well out of her depth.
Just be honest.
Drawing a long breath in and trying to relax as she let it out, she launched, ‘Okay. For starters, I’m sorry to be blunt, but you have something of a reputation with women.’
‘And?’
The pillow dropped to the bed when she gestured with her hands as she spoke. ‘If what I read about you in the press is true and you don’t spend more than one night with any woman, you must have oodles of practise in dissuading women from becoming attached. Why didn’t Imogene take the hint?’
‘Imogene isn’t most women. She’s my future stepmother’s daughter which means I’m going to be running into her constantly.’ He stood up and ran one hand through his hair. ‘Listen, Grace. She’s a schemer who deliberately engineered a meeting with me and didn’t tell me who she was. It wasn’t until she bowled up at a luncheon the following day with her mum and my father that I realised I’d been well and truly set up.’
‘You seem like a really nice guy, Jack, but—’
‘I’m not a really nice guy, but right now I have a plan and I need your help.’ He took a few paces around the bed towards her then paced away again, frustration emanating from him in waves. ‘I know I got myself into this mess, but it’s in danger of affecting more than just me. If I can’t dissuade Imogene by making out I’m in a serious r
elationship, there’s going to be a lot of tension.’ The plea in his eyes as he stopped his pacing and looked at her was an arrow shooting straight to her heart. ‘My father doesn’t deserve any complications when he’s taking a chance on a second relationship.’
‘Your dad means a lot to you, doesn’t he?’
‘He shaped me into the person I am.’ There was honest gratitude in each word. ‘I owe him everything.’
‘And you love him.’
‘Yes.’
How could she say no? His motivation was one she could readily identify with. She’d do anything to give Daniel every chance he deserved at happiness. ‘Would you let your father know the supposed relationship with me was just a charade?’
‘No.’
She arched one eyebrow at him. ‘He wouldn’t understand why you need to use me as a human shield against Imogene?’
‘Hardly a human shield.’
‘I wouldn’t be too sure.’ Unease skittered down her spine. ‘I’ve never felt such cold hatred from anyone as I felt from her in less than the minute I was with her.’
‘You’re right. She’s the last person I’d describe as being warm, but I doubt she’s dangerous. As for telling my father …’ Jack looked as though he considered her suggestion but then he shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t tell him because I don’t think it would be fair to involve him in any deception.’ He moved towards her, one hand turned palm up in a silent plea. ‘I don’t think it’d be fair to expect him to keep it from Vanessa, and if Vanessa knew, the whole plan might be exposed.’
There was an invisible string pulling her towards him and she had to resist it before it wrapped round her and bound her tightly to him. Intent on cutting the connection, she picked up the pillow, finished putting the case on it and drew up the duvet. ‘Well, your plan might work but you’d have to use someone other than me to play the part.’
‘Why? Imogene’s already seen you here and assumed we’re involved. Besides, from what you’ve said, you don’t have a current man in your life.’
‘I don’t, but, there’s no way I’d pass as your girlfriend.’ She grabbed a couple of the cushions up from the top of a chest of drawers and sat them atop the bed in their normal position. ‘People just wouldn’t believe it.’
‘Why not?’
He had to ask? ‘Jack, I’m your cleaning lady!’
‘So?’
She stifled a groan. Was he being deliberately obtuse? ‘We live in two very different worlds—have two very different lifestyles.’
He raised one hand and used the other to tick off his fingers as he made his points. ‘We both live in London. We both enjoy classical music. We both—’
‘You know very well what I’m talking about.’ If he wasn’t careful she’d pick a cushion up and throw it at him.
‘I’m not a snob, Grace. I don’t ever judge people by their occupation provided it’s an honest one.’
‘It’s not only about what I do for a living,’ she explained even though she partially resented needing to elaborate. ‘I’ve seen pictures of you in the social pages and all the women you date are stunning.’
His expression became incredulous. ‘Have you not looked into any of the mirrors you’ve been cleaning?’ When she frowned back at him he took the couple of steps to close the distance between them. His hands reached out to her upper arms and he turned her around bodily so she faced the mirror on the dresser. ‘Take a good look, Grace. You’re stunning.’
She swallowed hard. His touch had already put the flush of colour in her cheeks and she was so aware of him her eyes were wider and seemed brighter in her face. An overwhelming need to lean back against the hard, athletic frame of his body and breathe in the fresh, manly scent of his soap, swamped her. What if she turned now and stood with him chest to chest? Would he accept her invitation to kiss her if she raised one hand up and placed it on the back of his head to draw his lips closer to hers?
The trembling of her legs and flutter of her heart warned her to stop her daydreaming. The mantra she was getting used to hearing yelled at her again, Don’t blur fantasy and fact.
‘Hardly stunning.’ She’d tried to sound scornful but her voice emerged choked and husky.
His eyes met hers in the mirror and she could swear a bolt of electricity flashed between them.
Oh God, any second now he’d guess how attracted she was to him and her embarrassment would be complete.
She turned abruptly and his hands dropped away from her arms, allowing her to inch sideways to put some space between them. Striving to mask her reaction, and imitating his earlier gesture, she raised one hand and used the other to tick off points on her fingers in a business-like manner. ‘I’ve never been to a beautician in my life. I paint my own very chipped fingernails occasionally, and all my clothes are off-the-rack chain store garments.’
‘You don’t need to visit a beautician. I don’t care whether your fingernails are polished or chipped, and if you feel you require more expensive clothing when we’re seen together, that can be arranged with one easy phone call,’ he fired straight back. His resolve was in every taut line of his posture and in the determined light in his eyes.
The aura of command that wrapped around him like a cloak told her he’d be used to throwing out the challenge of a new proposal and unwilling to let up until his goals were achieved. No doubt he was used to getting the results he wanted simply by exerting his will and decreeing it would be so. He had more power in his little finger than most mortals possessed and it wasn’t woven into his bespoke suits. It was in every molecule of the double helix of his DNA. It was just who Jack Mancini was.
‘I …’ Tell him. There was no point in trying to hide it. She may as well put an end to this notion immediately. ‘I’d end up embarrassing you.’
‘How? I can’t imagine you becoming drunk and obnoxious when you’re out on a date; nor do I paint you as the sort of woman who’d go out with me and come on strong to every other guy in the room.’
‘No. Nothing like that.’ God, it was hard to admit her shortcomings to this man of absolute perfection. She studied the floral pattern on the carpet at her feet as she tried to pluck up the courage to continue. Meeting his eyes again she rushed out, ‘I’m not well-educated. I didn’t finish school.’
He looked at her for a moment as though she’d spoken in a language he didn’t understand. ‘Okay. You didn’t finish high school. Big deal!’ He shrugged those gorgeously broad shoulders nonchalantly. ‘You think a lack of a university degree would embarrass me?’ He shook his head and his mouth tightened before he continued. ‘I spent over a year living homeless on the streets and if my father—my adoptive father—hadn’t taken me under his wing and insisted I go back to school, I wouldn’t be well-educated either.’
‘Really?’ She found that hard to believe. Everything she’d read about Jack indicated he was an extremely bright man. When he nodded, she admitted, ‘It wasn’t that I didn’t go to school, Jack. I struggled through school.’
‘Maybe in some subjects,’ he accepted easily then challenged, ‘but I’m betting you would’ve topped your class in music.’
‘You’re wrong.’ By the expression on his face, he wasn’t wrong very often. ‘I topped the practical assessment but I failed music overall.’
‘Surely not? The teacher must’ve made some mistake. Didn’t you or your parents query it?’
‘I told you I didn’t have an aptitude for reading music. The truth is I didn’t have an aptitude for reading full stop.’ Heat burned through her chest and spread to every extremity.
‘You don’t read?’
‘I read now—slowly but voraciously. I couldn’t read any more than the most basic sight words when I left school.’ She went back to studying the pattern of the carpet as she continued. ‘I attended adult literacy classes at night. Even though it’s a challenge and there are still words I struggle over, I love to escape into books now.
‘That wasn’t the case when I was at school. I
struggled every second of every day and I hated both reading and school. I was an academic failure.’ There. She’d told him the shameful little secret that’d brought her so much angst.
His firm touch at her chin urged her to look up at him and, when she complied, his hand fell away. Far from seeing scorn—or worse, embarrassment on her behalf—in his expression; admiration lit his eyes.
‘You’re a remarkable woman, Grace. Going to adult literacy classes showed a lot of grit and determination. Having difficulty with any sort of learning should never be cause for embarrassment. Are you dyslexic?’
She sighed. ‘I’m just a slow learner.’ Even though he was very empathetic, she wished she hadn’t needed to embark on this subject. ‘I was born fourteen weeks premature, and every single developmental milestone was delayed. One doctor told my mother I was ‘dull-witted’ and my parents were told I’d never learn to read. It was the reason my grandmother kept her cleaning company going long after she should’ve retired—because cleaning was the one thing everyone decided I’d be able to do.’
The flattening of his lips before he spoke told her he was indignant on her behalf. ‘You have far more options available to you than your family gave you credit for. Did nobody ever consider a career in modelling?’
For a second she was hurt—fearful he was making light of her situation—mocking her. But his eyes were at their bluest, the colour she now associated with his seriousness.
He placed a hand on each shoulder. ‘You really have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?’
She wanted to lean into him—to raise her arms up and thread her fingers through his thick, dark hair then encourage him to move his head closer, to close the distance between them and claim her lips with his own.
If you think I’m so beautiful, kiss me, she almost begged.
‘How old are you, Grace?’
‘Twenty-four.’
‘It’s not too late. You could still make a career for yourself in either modelling or music. I could help get you the start you need in either field.’
The Magic of Christmas Page 7
