His natural instincts were to deepen the kiss, to slide his hands underneath her short jumper and feel the softness of her skin. But even he knew that was for later—not here, and not now.
Instead, he pulled back gently, a smile reaching from ear to ear. ‘What do you say we deliver these presents as quickly as possible?’ His sleeve tinkled as he moved it. ‘My reindeer are getting impatient on the roof.’
She blinked, her pupils wide in the dim lights, and smiled back at him. ‘I think this could be a busy night for Santa, he’d better not waste any time.’
And he didn’t. He refilled his sack four times as he supplied presents to every room, pausing only to speak to a little girl, Anneline, who wanted to know if he could bring his reindeer into her room. She was more than happy when he suggested she open one of her presents instead, and wrapped her arms around a blonde-haired doll as she went back to sleep.
Mitchell’s legs were working nearly as quickly as his brain. No time for Santa-suit removal. He grabbed Samantha’s hand once he’d delivered the last present, tossed the Santa sack and beard back in the staffroom and grabbed their jackets. ‘Let’s go.’
The car was outside, waiting for them. Dave had already been sent home and Mitch let her take the lead. She jumped in, and he drove the car back up the mountain towards his house.
The air in the car was thick was tension. Instead of laughing and joking, neither one of them said a word, willing the miles to speed past on the dark road. It was late but he didn’t feel tired. It would probably be best to have something to eat when he reached the house, but if Sam had other priorities...how could he argue?
The car finally skidded to a halt outside the house and both them were out of the car in a matter of seconds. The only lights on in the house were the twinkling red and gold ones lighting up the Christmas tree and the sparkling gold stars strung along the walls. Could there be a more perfect setting?
He slammed the door behind him with one hand and reached for Sam with the other, pressing her against the wall. Her leg hitched against his hip and her arms wound around his neck. ‘Where were we?’ he murmured, as he unzipped her padded blue jacket and threw it to the floor.
Her lips touched his neck. ‘I think we were right about here,’ she whispered, as the brush of her skin against his sent his senses alight. He shrugged off his leather jacket, quickly followed by the top half of the Santa costume. Now was the time to get rid of layers—the quicker the better.
He moved her around, keeping her in his arms and walking her backwards towards the sofa. One arm twitched. Just a little, but enough to distract him from the overwhelming surge of hormones. He kept walking, pushing her gently onto the sofa and positioning himself above her.
There it was again. Just as he moved his hand to redistribute his weight, a little tremor. He paused above her neck. Her eyes were half-closed, her lips just begging him to touch them. His body was reacting just the way it should—and just the way it shouldn’t.
He tried to ignore it. Tried to ignore the nagging voices in his head. But it was the oddest feeling. Almost fight or flight. Survival instinct. He pulled back, changing his position from lying above her to sitting on the sofa by her feet.
‘Mitch? What’s wrong?’
He wanted to scream in frustration. He’d known earlier that his blood-sugar level had been on its way down. He should have found something to eat then.
She sat upright, tugging at her displaced jumper, obviously wondering what on earth she’d done wrong. He pushed himself to his feet, shifting his trousers to a more accommodating position and heading for the kitchen. ‘I’m sorry. Give me five minutes.’
Was this it? Was this how things were going to be for the rest of his life? Was his sex life going to be ruled by his blood-sugar levels? His fingers tightened into a fist, his nails burning into the palms of his hands.
He yanked open the nearest cupboard door, grabbed a couple of chocolate biscuits and ate quickly. He could feel sweat breaking out on his body and the tremble of his hands was getting worse. The rest of the biscuits were slammed off the nearest wall.
His monitor was in the back pocket of his jeans. With growing frustration he sat down at the table and started to go through the motions. He waited for the beep and, sure enough, his blood-sugar level was low. Lower than when he’d checked earlier, but not as low as when they’d deliberately made him hypo.
He ran his fingers through his hair. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest. How long would this take? How long until he started to feel the effects of the chocolate getting into his bloodstream?
There was a movement out of the corner of his eye. Sam. Standing in the doorway with her hands folded across her chest. He couldn’t read the expression on her face. Couldn’t read it at all.
Eventually she walked over and sat down next to him, spinning his monitor round and pressing the button to see the last result.
‘Why didn’t you tell me, Mitch?’ Her voice was quiet, but she was closer now, and it was clear from the look in her eyes that she felt hurt.
He felt a wave of panic. His mouth started to run away with him. ‘I should have eaten earlier—but I felt fine. I checked my level and meant to eat before we left the hospital. You told me I had to be able to recognise the signs of a hypo and act myself. Well, that’s what I did. Even though I wanted to be doing something else entirely.’ He couldn’t help the implication in his voice.
He could see her suck in a deep breath. ‘What have you eaten?’
‘Biscuits. I’ve had two biscuits. I’ll be fine in a minute. Just give me a minute. Don’t judge me on this. You can’t do anything that will affect the tour. I’ll be fine on tour. This was our first real practice. I’ll know now to eat when I come off stage, whether I want to or not.’
He started to shake his head. ‘This tour is far too important. Far too important to let this diabetes get in the way of. Don’t say anything about this, Sam. You won’t, will you? Because I recognised the signs. I did what I was supposed to do.’
She moved her hand across the table as if she were about to touch him, then pulled it back. ‘You’re too important, Mitch. Not the tour. I get that you recognised the signs. But I still think it’s too early. I still think there’s a danger you might be distracted by other things and not recognise the signs in time. Tonight it was only you and me. What happens when it’s twenty thousand fans shouting for an encore? What will you do then?’
He shrugged. ‘I’ll eat something and play it.’
‘It’s not that simple, Mitch. You know it isn’t.’ She stood up. ‘This is my fault. I’ve crossed a line with you that I shouldn’t have. I’m supposed to be your nurse. I’m supposed to be looking after you—not kissing you!’ She flung her arms up in frustration and started shaking her head.
‘I can’t do this any more, Mitch. This isn’t working. And I definitely have reservations about saying you’re fit for a tour that starts in ten days.’
‘What? You’ve got to be joking.’ Now the panic was truly setting in. ‘You’ve got to say I’m fit for this tour. Everything depends on it. Those kids depend on it. If I don’t do this tour, they don’t get their new hospital. I don’t care what happens to me, I care about what happens to them. No one else can fund the place the way I can. I need this money. I need this tour.’
He started to pace. Irrational thoughts were spinning around his head. What did she mean—she couldn’t do this any more? Surely she didn’t mean him and her? Because that was the one thing that was right in all this.
Her face was pale and her eyes wide. ‘What are you talking about? St Jude’s? The money is for the hospital? That’s why you’re so desperate to do this tour?’
She started shaking her head again. ‘Why on earth wouldn’t you tell me? Is that why you can’t rearrange the tour? You wouldn’t be able to give them money?’
She frowned. ‘How much money are we talking about here?’
But he wasn’t listening. He was focusing on her frown and shaking head. All he could think about was that she might actually say no. More importantly, he couldn’t stop his obvious hesitation.
‘I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know if I could trust you. I don’t tell anyone about the hospital. Anyone. The press would have a field day if they knew I was involved.’
Her eyes were wide with disbelief. ‘You’re paying to rebuild the whole hospital? Can’t they get money from somewhere else?’
He shook his head. ‘They’ve tried, time and time again. I can’t let this place disappear. This place was the difference between my brother living and dying. The difference between my family unravelling at the seams and staying strong and happy.’
‘So why didn’t you just say?’ She was shouting now, obviously exasperated by all this. ‘You don’t trust me? What have I ever done, or said, that made you think you couldn’t trust me? Why would I tell anyone about this?’
He ran his fingers through his hair. It was like a permanent fog had settled around his brain. ‘It isn’t you, Sam. But I’ve been down this road before. I’ve been sold out by a friend. I couldn’t take the risk. Not with St Jude’s. It’s just too important. Too special.’
‘And I’m not?’ The words hung in the air between them. He was so confused. All he could think about was trying to protect the hospital.
‘What will it take, Samantha? How much? Just tell me and I’ll give it to you. I know you need money for your mum’s nursing-home care—how much do you need?’
Her head shot up. ‘What?’ The frown deepened, accompanied by a look of fury as she stepped right up to him with her hands on her hips. ‘What?’
Where had those words come from? His brain was still in that slight hypo state. The one where there were no safeguards, no reservations on what he said. He felt as if he were a few seconds behind everything. What had she just said? And I’m not?
‘You’re trying to buy me off? You honestly think I would do something like that?’
She didn’t hesitate for a second, just spun on her heel and grabbed for her bag. As she walked past she swept her jacket from the floor.
‘Sam...’ He was still panicking. Now for a whole host of other reasons. She was special. More special than anyone he’d ever met. He just hadn’t had a chance to tell her yet. And as soon as this fog lifted from his head, he would.
She turned back and marched up to his face, putting her finger inches from his nose. ‘Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare say another word. I’ll send an email. I’ll let you do your damn tour. But I’ll recommend you have another diabetic nurse with you every step of the way. If they’re happy to take that risk, that’s up to them. But don’t you dare put this on me.’
She grabbed the car keys from the table and stamped across the room, leaving the door wide open and an icy blast circulating around him.
His focus was starting to return. The sugar burst was finally making him come to his senses. Oh, no. What had he done?
He stood up, his legs still a little shaky, and walked to the door.
But it was too late. Tyres squealed as she disappeared into the night.
* * *
She couldn’t think straight. She was so angry. It was her own fault—his too. But she’d been delusional to think there was ever a chance of anything happening between them when the guy obviously didn’t trust her.
The tears started rolling down her cheeks. What on earth was she going to do? It was after midnight on Christmas Eve. She was in Austria. She didn’t have any friends here. There wasn’t exactly anywhere else for her to go.
The road signs loomed before her. Airport. Yes. Where else could she go? There would still be flights, and the one thing she was sure of was that she had her passport in her bag.
She turned the wheel and put her foot on the accelerator. It was time to get away from here. It was time to get away from Mitchell Brody.
It was time to get on with her life.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘THIS HAD BETTER be good, Mitch, it’s three o’clock on Christmas morning.’ Mitch bristled at Dave’s words. He hated having to do this.
‘I need a lift. In fact, I just need the car.’
‘You’ve got a car.’
‘I don’t. Samantha took it when she left.’
‘She left? Where has she gone?’
‘I don’t know.’ He sagged against the wall and listened to the monster-size groan at the end of the phone.
‘You idiot. What have you done? She was the best thing that’s happened to you in years.’
He tried to swallow the huge lump in his throat. Dave was one of the only people on this planet who would speak to him like this. But it was exactly what he needed. ‘I know.’ He struggled to get the words out. A thought flickered into his brain. ‘She hasn’t appeared at your place, has she?’
‘Not yet she hasn’t. And I doubt she would. If you’ve upset her I’m probably the last person she wants to see.’
‘But where on earth could she be?’ He was sounding desperate and he knew it. ‘She liked the skating rink—maybe there? Or the Christmas tree in the square?’
‘Are you nuts? Have you any idea what the temperature is out there? This is the worst night of the year to try and find somewhere to go. Everywhere is closed for Christmas.’
He squeezed his eyes closed. ‘You’re right.’ Worry was beginning to wash over him. She was out there. Alone. And it was his fault.
‘Where would you go in a foreign country after a fight with a fool of a man?’ Dave clearly wasn’t going to forgive him for this. ‘Did she take anything with her?’
‘Just her bag.’
‘So she has the car and her handbag, which might contain her passport?’
His eyes opened. ‘Do you think she’s headed to the airport? But she doesn’t have her suitcase, she doesn’t have her clothes.’
Dave sighed. ‘I think we can safely assume she’s not caring about any of that right now. Give me ten minutes. I’ll pick you up. And, Mitch?’
‘Yeah?’
‘We’re not done talking about this.’ He hung up the phone.
Mitch almost smiled. Dave was going to blast him all the way to the airport and back. But he didn’t care. He just hoped she was there. He just hoped she was safe.
His eyes fell on the little blue-wrapped box next to the phone. The present he’d bought her. The one he’d spent nearly an hour deliberating over. He’d wanted to give it to her tonight once they were back from St Jude’s, but he’d forgotten all about it.
He turned the little box over in his hands.
Would she like it?
Would she talk to him again? Would she even agree to see him again?
He had no idea.
But one thing was crystal-clear.
He was willing to spend the rest of his life trying to find out.
* * *
The short-stay car park was the most expensive at the airport. But Samantha was determined not to think about it. Once she was back in the UK, she’d phone Dave and let him know where to pick up the car.
She hurried across the concourse in the airport, her footsteps echoing all around her. The place was virtually deserted with only minimal staff in place. There was a tired-faced woman behind the desk of the most popular UK airline. ‘Do you have any flights back to the UK?’
The woman nodded and smiled wearily. ‘There’s one taking off at six a.m.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘You can buy a ticket for the next fifteen minutes. After that, there isn’t another flight until five p.m.’
‘I’ll take it.’ She pulled her passport and credit card from her bag, trying not to recoil visibly as the woman said the price out loud.
It only took a few minutes to process the payment and print out her paperwork. Samantha smiled thankfully and turned to look across the airport.
It was almost as if all her energy suddenly started to leave her body. She’d been running on pure adrenaline, and there just wasn’t any left. Her shoulders sagged and her legs started to shake. She walked to the nearest seat and sat down for a few minutes, trying to pull herself together.
It was easier to lean forward, her head almost between her knees. But she couldn’t get comfortable, the thick, bright blue jacket limiting her movements. In a last spurt of frustration she tugged the jacket off. The airport was warm so there was no need for it in there, and even though she’d loved the jacket, it was another reminder of Mitch. She emptied the pockets and stuffed it in the trash can next to her.
It would be cold when she got back to the UK, but she’d worry about it then. For now she didn’t need anything else to remind her of how much she’d screwed up here.
She didn’t want to wear something that he’d bought her. The very fact that she’d allowed him to buy her anything now stung like a scorpion. If she could possibly have refused her salary for the last few weeks, she would have. But any day now she’d need to make another payment to her mother’s nursing home. This wasn’t just about her. Like Mitchell, she had responsibilities.
That thought made her breath catch in her throat. His financial responsibilities were every bit as important to him as hers were to her. She could understand that, she could. There was nothing she wouldn’t do in order to keep her mother in the best place possible.
‘You really don’t want the jacket?’
The bland words sent a shard through her heart. She couldn’t help but sit bolt upright. She was almost afraid to turn around, afraid of where the next steps would take her. Because the last few had been difficult enough.
But she didn’t need to. Mitchell walked around in front of her, kneeling down until their faces were on a level. He tugged at the sleeve of the jacket still sticking out of the trash can. ‘It’s a pity, you know, it really is your colour.’
Christmas with the Maverick Millionaire Page 17
