His brow wrinkled. ‘Like a nursing home?’
Tears formed in her eyes. Why? She’d made her peace with this. She had. She’d spent weeks finding the best home for her mum and securing her a place there. But every now and then the overwhelming guilt that she hadn’t managed to do the job herself chipped away at her.
‘Is that why you’re doing this job?’ For reasons she couldn’t explain, she just couldn’t speak right now. So she nodded, and prayed that one of those tears wouldn’t sneak down her face.
He reached over and grabbed her hand, encapsulating it in his own and squeezing it tightly. ‘Being away at Christmas must be tough.’
She tried to paste a smile on her face as she blinked back those pesky tears. ‘It’s fine.’ She shrugged her shoulders. Darn it. Now her voice had gone all wobbly. ‘The holidays are always the best time of year to earn extra money. Lots of people don’t want to work them.’
He was looking at her again. The top few buttons on his white shirt were undone and a few hairs curling up towards her. Her gaze was fixed there, even though she was willing herself to pull it away. He was still holding her hand. Still sending a little buzz up her veins. It was nice. It was more than nice. It was making her heart drum against her chest and beat out of sync.
He didn’t let go.
‘Why do you need to earn extra money, Sam?’
She flinched. It was too personal. No matter what he’d revealed to her today. She bit her lip. ‘Doesn’t everyone need a little extra money now and then?’
It seemed an innocuous answer but something flitted across his face. A look of distaste? She was trying to forget about her threat to quit today. She’d meant it. She would have walked away if he hadn’t started to bend a little. But it would have caused her endless financial problems that she could really do without.
She pulled her mind back to the job. Back to monitoring Mitchell Brody for signs of his hypoglycaemic attack.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Fine.’ His answer was as quick as a flash, and he was wearing that sexy grin on his face again. ‘Want to do something a little bit different?’
‘What does that mean?’ Her heart was giving the strangest flutter.
He walked over to a cupboard and pulled out the biggest stack of cardboard boxes—all brand new. ‘You make a start on these, and I’ll go and get the main event.’ He walked over to the front door and pulled it open.
She glanced at the boxes and followed him to the door. What on earth was he doing? She watched as he opened the door to the nearby garages and started to wrestle the biggest tree she’d ever seen out through the garage doors. It was obviously much more awkward than he’d expected—the top part of the tree kept catching on the brickwork.
‘Careful,’ she shouted as she ran out to help, grabbing any part of the prickly branches she could get her hands on. It took careful manoeuvring. The heavy base had Mitch red in the face, with the veins nearly popping in his neck. Thankfully it was only a few steps back to the doorway. ‘How long has this been in the garage?’ she asked, as she tripped down the steps towards the lounge.
‘Four days,’ he muttered through gritted teeth. ‘There!’ With a huge grunt he wrestled the tree upright and into place next to the fireplace, before collapsing with laughter onto the rug below.
She sagged down on to the rug beside him. ‘I thought you were getting some company to decorate for you.’
‘So did I. But somebody told me I’d be missing out if I did that.’
She gave a little smile. Mitchell had actually listened to her. There was hope after all. She pushed herself upwards and slammed the front door to stop the icy blast coming into the house. She lifted the corner of one of the boxes and smiled, pulling out a ready-made red, green and gold garland for the fireplace. ‘Do we actually have any real decorating to do?’
He gave her his lazy smile. ‘I’m starting simple. Those ones we just hang up. But one of the boxes has the tree lights and the tree decorations. We have to do those ourselves.’
She couldn’t help but grin. There was something so nice about that. She lifted down the next cardboard box and opened it. It was full of Christmas lights, gold stars and red berries. She lifted them out and started to try and untangle them. Mitch stared at her. ‘What are you doing? Can’t we just put them on?’
She shook her head and handed him the plug. ‘No. You’ve got to be methodical about it. Haven’t you ever decorated a tree before? We need to check the lights are working first.’
He hesitated for a second. ‘We didn’t really do trees in our house. We spent most of the time at the hospital. There wasn’t much point putting a tree up in the house.’
Her heart gave a little squeeze. It was time to ask the question that had been floating around her head. ‘So, what’s the story with the children’s hospital? You said they looked after your brother?’ She hesitated as she realised she’d never asked about the outcome for his brother. Mitch hadn’t referred to him in the past tense, had he? Her insides started to cringe.
But Mitch just replied in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘Shaun was sick for a few years. He had chemotherapy and radiotherapy but eventually needed a bone-marrow transplant. He was cured after that, and he’s never had any relapses.’
He flicked the switch on the lights and they flickered on, a warm glow of gold twinkling stars and deep red berries. Sam gave a little gasp. ‘Oh, these are great. Just leave them on while we put them up.’ Should she ask the next question? This was the first time Mitch had really been open about his family. ‘Who was the donor for the bone-marrow transplant, your mum or dad?’
He shook his head. ‘Nope. It was me.’
She felt shocked. Of course she’d heard of sibling donations, but surely he’d been too young? She was starting to wind the lights around the branches. ‘Come and help, I need an extra set of arms.’ But instead of positioning himself at the other side of the tree, Mitch came around behind her, putting his arms around her back to catch the drooping coils of light. ‘What age were you?’ She tried to calculate in her head. ‘You wouldn’t even have been a teenager.’
He nodded, dropped the lights again and tugged at his jeans, pulling them down a little, revealing the upper part of his buttock and hip joint, ‘I don’t even have a scar,’ he announced. Then gave her a wink. ‘No war wounds to show the girls.’
He was trying to make light of it. But Samantha knew better than that. She knew exactly how painful it would have been for a young boy to donate bone marrow to his brother—he’d probably spent the best part of a week in bed.
Her professional head was spinning. This had been twenty years ago. She knew exactly how things operated now—how they endeavoured to protect children—but had they been the same then? ‘Did you understand what you were doing? Did you want to do it?’
He leaned towards her, picking up the coils of lights again and letting her inhale his woody aftershave. ‘Of course I did. Shaun is my brother. I would do anything for him.’ His eyes flickered with the recognition of what she meant. ‘No one coerced me. No one made me do it.’
‘And how is Shaun now?’ They were moving slowly around the tree together, stringing the lights as they went. She was curious. He’d said his brother was well, but it wasn’t Shaun that was here, visiting a children’s hospital full of sick kids every afternoon. It was Mitchell. Why did he feel such strong ties?
He reached up to place the last string of lights near the top of the tree, his chest brushing against her shoulders. It should be too close for comfort. But it wasn’t really feeling like that.
She stepped away, trying to keep her head in focus. She picked up the next box full of gorgeous red and gold baubles and blown-glass ornaments. ‘These are beautiful, Mitchell. I’ve never seen decorations like this before.’ They were mesmerising, and probably cost more than she ear
ned in a month. Her mother would love these.
‘It seems like you should have the honours of decorating your first official Christmas tree.’ She started to pass them up to him one at a time.
‘Don’t you want to do it?’ He looked confused. ‘I thought that’s what you wanted.’
‘So did I,’ she said quietly. ‘But it’s reminding me of how much I miss my mum.’
He paused, hanging the first few from the branches. She was lost for a second. Seeing the decorations like this was bringing a whole host of forgotten memories to mind. She could almost smell the cinnamon-scented candles her mum had used. He seemed to know to give her a little space, but she was conscious that the way he looked at her was changing. Her hands worked like clockwork, handing him one decoration after another, until the box was empty and the room was filled with lights glistening and reflecting on the glass ornaments.
The mood in the room had changed. He moved, coming closer like a prowling lion stalking its prey. He pulled her upwards from the rug and guided her over to the sofa, his hand plunking down on one side of her hip, the other reaching across her shoulders. Mitchell Brody was right next to her, the sides of their upper bodies and thighs touching. Way, way past invading her personal space.
‘My brother Shaun lives in the States. He’s married with two kids. Two unexpected bonuses.’
‘What do you mean?’ There were tiny little freckles just across the bridge of his nose.
‘He’d been warned that his radiotherapy and chemotherapy could affect his fertility later in life.’ He smiled. ‘It seems he lucked out.’
Something clicked in her brain as he licked his lips and looked at her appreciatively once again. No one could predict what someone’s hypo symptoms would be. Trembling, shaking hands were common. Some people became really quiet and withdrawn. Her sister had a slight aggressive streak. Mitch? It was beginning to look as if he had a flirtatious streak. Maybe low blood sugar meant that some of his normal defensive walls were slipping. This could be dangerous. She was trying not to read anything into this. She was trying to keep things normal.
‘So, shouldn’t it be Shaun who wants to pay it forward to the hospital, instead of you?’
He gave a lazy smile and shook his head slowly. ‘You should get it, Sam. You’re a nurse. St Jude’s changed everything for our family. If we’d lost Shaun...things would never have been the same. We would have been damaged. We would have been lost. They patched us up when we were falling apart. You don’t forget that. Not ever.’
The Christmas decorations sent a red and gold glow around the room, bathing them both in the warm light. His face was inches from hers. And a very handsome face it was too. His scraggy hair was falling towards her and she resisted the urge to reach up and touch it. Any minute now she’d talk him into checking his blood-sugar level.
Mitchell sighed and shook his head. ‘You’ve no idea, Sam. None at all. One minute everything’s fine in your world and the next...’ he lifted his fingers and blew on them ‘...everything is just scattered in the wind.’
She swallowed. It brought back a whole host of memories. Blowing dandelion seeds in the wind had been something she’d loved to do as a child with her mother. She could almost see them floating around as they stood there.
He wasn’t finished. It was as if the walls had come down on the normally guarded Mitchell Brody. ‘I didn’t know what to do. I heard words. I’ll never forget one of the doctors telling my parents to prepare for the worst and that Shaun could be terminal. They think kids don’t understand words like that. But when you’re six—in a place like that—you learn very quickly what those words can mean. I was so, so scared. I remember the rage. It was like a red mist descending all around me. Uncontrollable rage.’ He gave a little smile. ‘And I wasn’t that kind of kid at all. I ended up running out of the hospital and kicking a wall so hard I broke the bones in my foot. One of the nurses had to come and help me.’
‘Oh, Mitch.’ She reached over and touched his arm. ‘That’s awful.’
He couldn’t look at her. She could see the sheen in his eyes. ‘Back then Shaun was my world. We lived in each other’s pockets. I mean, he’s good now, he’s healthy. We’ve both grown up and he’s married with kids. I’ve got a totally different lifestyle from him. But the connection, and the memories from so long ago, they just never leave you. St Jude’s gave us the lifeline we needed as a family. It feels like my duty to do that for other families.’
He held out his arms. ‘I mean, look at me. The amount of money I get paid for playing guitar and singing? It’s ridiculous. I’m the first person to admit that. But that’s why it’s so important that I keep doing something good with the money. Shaun doesn’t earn anything like what I do. If the shoe were on the other foot, this is what he’d do with his money too.’
Sam was just listening, being as quiet as possible to let him speak. Her fingers were brushing the hairs on his arm. She whispered, ‘I do get it, Mitch. I do. I might not have a sick brother or sister but I get that feeling of helplessness. I get that feeling of being out of control. I mean—I’m a nurse. I’m supposed to take care of people. I’m supposed to make people better.
‘But I couldn’t do that for my mum. I wanted to—I really did. But—’ her voice cracked a little ‘—it’s so hard. It’s so different, taking care of your mum. I think I’m a good nurse, I do. But looking after someone else’s loved ones is so different from looking after your own. I felt so guilty I could barely function. Any time she was sore, any time she was hungry or thirsty, I felt as if I wasn’t doing a good enough job.’
He frowned. ‘I don’t believe that, Sam. You’d do a great job with your mum. But it’s impossible for anyone to be there twenty-four hours a day. How could you support her if you couldn’t work?’
She pressed her hand against her heart. ‘Maybe so, but it didn’t feel like that in here. I always felt as if I could do better.’ He pulled her closer and shifted a little. The weight of his body against hers made her slide a little down the sofa.
She was acutely aware of the heat of his body. It seemed to reach through the thin cotton of his shirt and wrap itself around her. She tried to adjust her position, but there was nowhere to go.
This didn’t feel wrong—even though it should. He’d just shared something with her, and she with him.
He dipped his head, brushing his nose against hers. She caught her breath in her throat.
‘So, Samantha. How did I manage this?’
Less than an inch. His lips were less than an inch from hers. She could feel his warm breath tickling her skin. It was delicious. It was playing with her mind. Making her lose focus.
‘How did you manage what?’ Her voice came out as a squeak. The lights on the tree started to flicker on their automatic timer. The natural light around them had been fading as they’d talked and the red and gold glow was practically the only light in the room. It made her think of old Christmas movies. And how did they all end?
The laughter lines reached up to his eyes, crinkling the skin around them in a warm, sexy manner. ‘Manage to get the hottest nurse on the planet.’
It was definitely time to move. It was definitely time to take steps. Were his eyes a little glazed over, a little unfocused?
She would love to think that Mitchell had her pinned to the sofa because he thought she was the sexiest woman in the world. She would love to think that she was a star in her own personal Christmas movie where the little shop girl got swept off her feet by the millionaire businessman who’d never noticed her before, to the sound of some Christmas carol.
But every nurse sense told her this was no movie. This was an interesting case of hypo symptoms. Trust her to get the one patient in the world to get horny when he hypoed. This could get him in all sorts of trouble in later life.
She licked her lips and he growled. ‘Oh, don’t do tha
t. It drives me crazy,’ he taunted her, brushing his left cheek against her right. ‘Have you any idea how good you look in these jeans?’ This time he changed direction, dipping his head to the other side to brush alternate cheeks together. Her heart was racing in her chest. But part of her brain was still functioning. Was this all pre-programmed in him? Were these the moves he normally used around women? Because, truthfully, they were good. They were working.
His hair tickled the side of her face as his mouth approached her ear. She couldn’t move. She just couldn’t. Now his shoulders were pinning hers to the sofa. But she didn’t feel scared, she didn’t feel threatened. Mitch wasn’t like that. He whispered in her ear, his voice a sultry growl, ‘Have you any idea how much I’ve wanted to get my hands on you in those jeans?’
She cleared her throat. It was time to break out of the fantasy. It was time to be a nurse. No matter what the flickering Christmas lights were telling her.
But Mitch had other ideas. His lips trailed around her ear, dancing slowly across her face until they reached her own lips. Her natural instinct was to lick them again, moisten them as his mouth closed over hers.
It was only for a few seconds. But that was all it took. All it took to tip her world upside down and kersplat on the floor like an upturned trifle. Because, hypo or not, Mitch Brody was the best kisser she’d ever encountered in her life.
He didn’t just kiss. He adored. He swept you away on a puffy pink cloud, kissing as if his life depended on it, and if he parted from you he would surely die.
She could almost hear the carol singers breaking into song around her and the movie credits starting to roll.
Enough.
She was losing her mind. All rationality, every sensible thought she’d ever had shot out the window as soon as his lips touched hers. His hair was tickling her face.
She pulled back, her head being about the only part of her body she could move.
Christmas with the Maverick Millionaire Page 9
