Misbehaving Under the Mistletoe (Mills & Boon M&B): On the First Night of Christmas... / Secrets of the Rich & Famous / Truth-Or-Date.com (Mb)

by Heidi Rice

  Not only was he going to find it next to impossible to keep his hands off her for the forty minutes the receptionist had said it would take to clean her clothing.

  He was fast losing the will to even try.

  Which was annoying. Mindless, meaningless sex had lost its appeal a long time ago—and he didn’t seduce women he’d only just met any more.

  Only problem was, right now, he couldn’t for the life of him remember why.

  Cassie stood by the wall of panelled glass, spellbound as she gazed out over the wraparound roof terrace and the dark expanse of Hyde Park below, the fairground lights of the Winter Wonderland shimmering playfully in the distance. She sipped from the glass of Merlot she’d poured herself to ease her dry throat, then placed it on a smooth walnut coffee table. She must be careful not to drink it all. Not only was it still barely six o’clock, but she’d forgotten to ask her host how long her clothes would take—so she didn’t know how long she would be required to keep her wits about her. She’d always been a very cheap drunk. And on the evidence of her recent knicker meltdown, dulling her wits with alcohol could well lead to more candy man fantasies. Which was the last thing she needed if she didn’t want to make this more awkward than it already was. Better to stay sober and sensible.

  Swivelling round, she took in the full grandeur of Jace Ryan’s hotel suite. Then released a staggered breath. This was the penthouse suite—the lofty view of Hyde Park nothing short of spectacular. The lounge area alone was considerably larger than her entire flat. She set aside her apprehension about spending time in his company as curiosity about him burned. How had the angry youth from a ‘bad home’ who’d been summarily expelled from their bogstandard comprehensive fourteen short years ago ended up affording the best suite in one of London’s best hotels? Had he robbed a bank or something?

  ‘Right, we’re all set.’ The man in question strolled into the room and dumped his key card on the coffee table next to her glass of wine. Even in the tailored trousers and linen shirt, he could easily be a bank robber, Cassie thought. He certainly had that confident, dangerous edge that made him seem capable of anything.

  He delved into the bar and came up with a bottle of imported Italian beer. ‘Do you need a top-up?’ he asked, nodding towards her glass as he twisted off the bottle cap.

  He’d rolled up his shirt sleeves, revealing forearms roped with muscle as he took a long slug of the beer.

  ‘No, thanks,’ she said. A couple of sips would definitely have to be her limit. ‘Do you know how long the dry-cleaning will take?’

  He shrugged. ‘About forty minutes,’ he said, sinking into one of the leather sofas. ‘Take a seat.’ He signalled the cushions next to him with his bottle, then kicked off his loafers and propped his stockinged feet on the table. ‘You might as well get comfortable.’

  Not likely, given that the sight of him lounging on his sofa was making her pulse pound like a timpani drum. He looked like a male supermodel, for goodness’ sake, with those long, leanly muscled legs displayed in perfectly creased trousers, the rugged shadow of stubble on his chin, and his dark hair sexily mussed.

  Forget candy man … Jace Ryan was an entire sweetshop.

  She sat gingerly on the sofa opposite him, not about to risk getting too close to all that industrial-strength testosterone. Swooning would not be good.

  Her tunic rose up her thighs and she hastily shifted onto her bottom, tucking her legs up under her to hide any hint of plain white cotton from view. If he looked like a supermodel, she looked like a banner ad for dull and boring.

  She tore her eyes away from the intensity of his gaze, which seemed to have zeroed in on her face.

  ‘How did you do it?’ she asked, struggling to think of a safe topic for small talk.

  ‘Do what?’

  The puzzled reply had her realising the gaucheness of the question. ‘I just wondered how you …’ She trailed off, wishing she’d never asked. Was he embarrassed by his past? She doubted it. Sitting in the midst of the luxury he’d earned, he looked perfectly at home. Even so, she didn’t want to pry.

  ‘How did I manage to afford all this?’ he prompted.

  She debated trying to pretend she’d been asking something else, but had to give up on the idea. She couldn’t think of an alternative interpretation. And even if she could, the steady, knowing look in his eyes suggested he already knew exactly what she’d been referring to.

  She nodded, and took one more sip of wine, strictly for Dutch courage purposes.

  He tilted his head to one side, as if considering his answer. ‘I discovered I had a talent for design.’ He paused for less than a heartbeat, but she heard the hesitation. ‘Or rather my parole officer discovered I had a talent for design.’

  ‘Your parole officer?’ she asked, startled. He had robbed a bank.

  ‘Relax.’ He grinned, the light in his eyes twinkling again. ‘It’s all right. I’m not an ex-con.’

  ‘I didn’t think you were,’ she lied.

  ‘He was a young-offenders liaison officer. The school pressed charges. After they expelled me.’

  ‘But that’s ridiculous. The drawings were hilarious.’ She could still remember the reason he’d been expelled. And the pinpoint accuracy of the staff caricatures he’d graffiti’d all over the back wall of the new gym in DayGlo spray paint.

  ‘Gates never did have a sense of humour.’ Jace shrugged. ‘And it worked out fine for me.’ Again she heard the slight hesitation. ‘I got to move into a bedsit and onto an art foundation course—thanks to the officer assigned to my case, who actually believed I could be rehabilitated.’

  ‘But you didn’t need rehabilitating. You just needed someone to believe in you.’

  His lips quirked in an indulgent smile. ‘You really are Pollyanna, aren’t you?’

  ‘It’s not that, it’s just …’ What? ‘You didn’t deserve to be treated so harshly. It was only a bit of fun.’

  He placed his bottle on the table. ‘It was criminal damage. And it wasn’t the first time. So of course I deserved it.’ The smile stayed in place, as if it didn’t matter in the slightest. ‘But that’s more than enough about me.’ He took his feet off the table, leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. ‘Let’s talk about you. You’re much more interesting.’

  ‘Me?’ She pressed her hand to her chest. Was he kidding? ‘Believe me, I’m not as interesting as you.’

  ‘I’ll be the judge of that.’ He lifted his beer, held it poised at his mouth and studied her with an intensity that made her breath catch. ‘So is Cassie short for Cassandra?’ He took a swig and her eyes dipped involuntarily to the sensual line of his lips. He lowered the bottle. ‘Apollo’s paramour,’ he murmured. ‘Gifted with the power of prophecy but forever cursed not to be believed.’

  Cassie trembled, the rough cadence of his voice sending little shivers of excitement over her skin. She gave a breathless laugh, her gaze darting back to his face. ‘If only it were that exciting.’

  His lips edged into a seductive smile. ‘It’s not exciting. Cassandra’s story is tragic.’

  Not from where I’m sitting.

  Cassie smiled despite the tension that crackled in the air. Was he trying to melt her into a puddle of lust? Or was that just wishful thinking on her part? ‘Cassie’s short for Cassidy.’

  His eyebrow rose a fraction. ‘Cassidy?’

  ‘As in David Cassidy,’ Cassie added, her grin spreading as his eyebrow arched upwards. ‘The seventies teen idol. Unfortunately my mum was a huge fan. And I’ve been suffering ever since.’

  How fitting that her mum had given her a name as unsexy as her knickers.

  ‘Mind you, it could have been worse,’ she continued, amused by his obvious surprise. ‘Thank God she wasn’t a Donny Osmond fan or I would have been saddled with Ossie.’

  His laugh rumbled out, low and rough and setting off the little shivers again. ‘I like Cassidy. It’s unusual. Which suits you.’

  She tipped her glass up in
a toast. ‘Yup, that’s me, very unusual.’ If only. ‘Unlike you. Who’s so totally run of the mill,’ she added, unable to resist fluttering her eyelashes.

  Instead of looking appalled at her heavy-handed attempt at flirtation, he clinked his bottle against her glass. ‘You are unusual,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you believe me?’

  She took another hasty sip. The rich, heady wine flowed down her throat and wrapped around her chest like a winter quilt.

  She let her gaze wander over to the blue spruce expertly decorated with glass baubles and ribbon bows in the corner. Jace Ryan might be a lot more man than she felt capable of handling. But where was the harm in enjoying his company? At least for as long as it took to clean her coat.

  ‘How exactly am I unusual?’ she asked, knowing it wasn’t true, but happy to have him try to persuade her.

  He placed his beer bottle on the coffee table and stood up. Lifting her hand from her lap, he wrapped his long fingers around it and gave a soft tug to pull her off the sofa. ‘Stand up, so we can examine the evidence.’

  She did as she was told, the appreciative gleam as his gaze roamed over her shocking her into silence.

  ‘Your eyes are a really unusual colour. I noticed that as soon as you jumped into my car. Even though you were ruining the upholstery and calling me a jerk.’

  ‘I only called you a jerk because you were being a jerk,’ she pointed out in her defence.

  He placed his hands on her hips. ‘Stop ruining the mood.’

  ‘What mood?’ she asked, standing so close to him now, she could see the gold flecks in his irises.

  The buckle on his belt brushed against her tummy and the little shivers became shock waves, shuddering down to the place between her thighs.

  ‘The mood I’m trying to create’ he said, a lock of dark hair flopping over his brow. ‘So I can kiss you.’

  Her gaze dipped to his mouth, those sensual lips that had once devoured Jenny temptingly close. ‘You want to kiss me?’ she said on a ragged breath.

  He pressed his thumb to her bottom lip, the touch making it tingle. ‘I must be seriously losing my touch. Isn’t it obvious?’

  ‘But we’ve only just met,’ she whispered, not sure how to respond to his teasing. Did he seriously plan to kiss her? And why the heck was she arguing with him about it?

  He wrapped his hand round her waist, pulled her flush against him. ‘Not true,’ he remarked, his lips only centimetres from hers. ‘We’ve known each other since school.’

  ‘But you don’t remember me.’

  ‘Sure I do.’ His warm breath feathered against her cheek. ‘You’re the little voyeur on the stairwell.’

  She tensed and drew back. ‘You remember? But how?’

  ‘I told you, those eyes are very unusual.’ His lips curved, in that same offhand grin that had captivated her over a decade ago. And suddenly, she understood. This wasn’t a seduction. He was making fun of her.

  She placed her hands on his chest, stumbled back, the sweet, heady buzz of flirtation and arousal replaced by embarrassment. ‘I should go.’

  He caught her elbow as she stepped back. ‘Hey? What’s the rush all of a sudden?’

  ‘I just … I have to go,’ she mumbled, pulling her arm free.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous—your coat isn’t back yet.’

  She tugged down the hem of her tunic, feeling hideously exposed.

  ‘I’ll wait downstairs, in the lobby.’ It would be mortifying in her bare feet, but what could be more mortifying than simpering all over a guy who was secretly laughing at her?

  She crossed the living room, holding her head up.

  ‘Hang on a minute. You’re being absurd. What exactly are you so upset about?’

  The frustrated words stopped her dead. She swung round.

  He stood by his walnut coffee table, looking like a poster boy for original sin and the humiliation coalesced in her stomach into a hot ball of resentment.

  ‘I know I’m absurd,’ she said, and watched his brow crease in a puzzled frown. ‘I had a massive crush on you. Which was my own stupid fault. I admit it.’ She walked back and poked him in the chest. ‘But that doesn’t give you the right to make fun of me. Now or then.’

  He grasped her finger, the green of his irises darkening to a stormy emerald. ‘I’m not making fun of you. And I didn’t then.’

  ‘Yes, you did.’ She tugged her finger free, not liking the way his touch had set off those silly shivers again. ‘I heard you and Jenny Kelty laughing at me.’ Not that it mattered now, but it was the principle of the thing. She had gone over that encounter a thousand times in her mind in the months that followed. And felt more and more mortified every time. Why had she stood there like a lemon? Why had she smiled at him? But she could see now, she hadn’t been the only one at fault. They shouldn’t have laughed at her.

  ‘Who the hell is Jenny Kelty?’ he asked.

  ‘Unbelievable,’ she said, exasperated. ‘Don’t you remember any of the girls you slept with back then either?’

  ‘It was a long time ago.’ He shoved his fingers through his hair, the movement jerky and a lot less relaxed than before. ‘And whatever her name was, I didn’t sleep with her. You put a stop to that.’

  ‘Well, good,’ she said, righteous indignation framing each word. ‘I’m glad I saved Jenny from becoming yet another notch on your bedpost.’

  ‘You didn’t save Jenny. She saved herself. Once I found out what a cow she was, my interest in her cooled considerably.’

  Jenny had been a cow, and every girl foolish enough to cross her had known it, but Cassie was still startled by the vehemence in the statement.

  ‘So what changed your mind about Jenny?’ She threw the words back at him. ‘Did she refuse to snog you?’

  His eyebrows rose another notch at the sarcastic tone. And Cassie felt power surge through her veins as if she had been plugged into a nuclear reactor.

  Finally she, Cassie Fitzgerald, was standing up for herself. And not letting her rose-tinted glasses blind her to the truth. She wasn’t dumb little Cassie who had caught her fiancée on the couch with his lover and was too stupid to see it coming. Or naive little Cassie who felt pathetically grateful just because a sexy guy had said her eyes were an unusual colour and that he wanted to kiss her. She was bold, brash, powerful Cassie, prepared to fight for the respect and consideration she deserved.

  ‘She didn’t refuse to snog me,’ he said easily.

  ‘I refused to snog her. After she shouted at you and scared the hell out of you.’

  ‘I—’ The tirade she’d planned cut off. ‘After she what?’

  ‘I don’t like bullies and I told her so.’ He slung a hand into the pocket of his trousers. ‘She got the hump and stomped off. And I was glad to see the back of her.’

  ‘But you …’ That couldn’t be right. That wasn’t how she remembered the incident at all. ‘But you were laughing at me, too. I heard you.’ Hadn’t she?

  He shrugged. ‘I very much doubt that, as I didn’t find her behaviour remotely funny.’

  ‘But I thought …’ Cassie trailed off, the power surge deflating inside her like a popped party balloon. ‘I misunderstood.’

  He’d stood up for her. The knowledge should have pleased her. But it didn’t. It only made her feel more idiotic.

  How come she’d instantly assumed he hadn’t stood up for her? Why had her self-esteem been so low? Even then? And why on earth had she flown off the handle like that about a minor incident that had happened years ago? And meant absolutely nothing?

  He probably thought she was a complete nutjob.

  She risked a glance at him. But instead of looking concerned at the state of her mental health, he looked amused, that damn sexy grin bringing out the dimple in his cheek.

  ‘Now we’ve cleared that up,’ he said, ‘why don’t you sit back down and finish your wine?’

  Wine was probably the last thing she needed, but doing what he suggested seemed easier than getting into a
debate about what a complete twit she’d made of herself.

  She perched on the edge of the sofa and lifted the glass to her lips, another even more dismal thought occurring to her. He really had been planning to kiss her. But there was no chance he’d want to kiss her now.

  Nice one, Cass.

  He picked up his bottle and saluted her. ‘So let’s talk about that massive crush.’

  She sucked in a surprised breath at the bold statement, inhaled wine instead of air and choked.

  CHAPTER THREE

  JACE rose and stepped over the coffee table as his guest coughed and sputtered. Settling beside her, he gave her a hefty pat on the back. ‘Take a breath.’

  The coughing stopped as Cassie drew air into her lungs and cast a wary look over her shoulder. She shuddered as he ran his palm up her back, exploring the delicate bumps of her spine beneath the skimpy dress.

  Either she was the most fascinating woman he’d ever met or she was totally nuts, but either way she was proving to be one hell of a diversion. And her little temper tantrum had only intrigued him more.

  He’d never met anyone before whose every emotion was so plainly written on their face.

  He’d been accused of worse things in his time … most of which he had actually done, so, rather than feeling aggrieved at her accusations, he was oddly flattered that moment on the stairwell had mattered to her so much. And quietly astonished to discover at least one incident from his teenage years when he’d actually done the right thing. Given that his schooldays had sped past in a maelstrom of bad behaviour and even worse choices, that was no small feat.

  ‘The wine went down the wrong way,’ she said, straightening away from his touch.

  He plucked a tissue out of the dispenser on the coffee table, and handed it to her. ‘Now about that massive crush?’