Under the Millionaire's Mistletoe(20)

"Closer."

She leaned down.

He brushed the tear away with his thumb and then slid his hand round to  the back of her head, pulled her closer still and kissed her, slow and  sweet, and he forgot about the pain and thought maybe he'd died and  already gone to heaven.

She sat back up looking as shaken as he knew he'd feel if he wasn't so damn sick. Instead, he felt … a little better.

"Not bad for someone on death's doorstep." She tried to make light of what had just passed between them.

"Wait till I'm better." He winked. "I could make you forget all your sorrows."

"Is that a promise?"

"If you want it to be."

"Then get better. And I'll hold you to it."

"Now that's what I call an incentive."

It was the last time he'd been alone with her. The next day, she'd left  on the boat that was to bring back supplies to replenish those raided  from the island's medical facility.

But he wasn't sick now. He stopped walking and pulled her closer, let  her see his intent. He read trepidation mixed with a little curiosity, a  little anticipation in her gaze.

Beside them, Caesar growled deep and low. Meg stiffened and looked away. "Someone's here."

They rounded the side of the house to see a red Corvette driving away.  Luke watched till Jason's car disappeared from sight before dropping his  arm from Meg's shoulders and heading into the house. He hated what  Jason had done to his mother, and hated the thought of him anywhere near  Meg. He wanted the man out of his life for good.

The homemade wreath adorning his front door swung as he pulled the door  open. Controlling his breathing, he stepped inside and held the door for  Meg. She stood on the path at the base of the stairs watching him, her  expression unreadable, her nose and cheeks pink from the cold.

Finally, looking straight past him, she climbed the stairs. He shut the  door behind them and watched as she unwound her scarf. The peace and  connection he'd found in her presence only minutes ago had vanished.  She'd shut herself off from him.

He stood between her and the closet and took her scarf from her hands. "You don't understand."

"And I don't need to. Families are complicated. It's your business. It's nothing to do with me." She unzipped her jacket.

"You're my wife."

She stilled for a second, looking at her hands. "In name only."

"But still my wife." He didn't know why he was invoking the "wife"  clause; he should be the last one reinforcing it. But he wanted her to  understand.

"Don't tell me you aren't thinking about how soon you can divorce me, if you haven't started proceedings already."                       
       
           



       

"I haven't started proceedings."

"Yet. But you'll be at Mark's office first thing Monday morning?"

Luke said nothing. Meg looked up, met his gaze and nodded her understanding.

As she shrugged off her jacket, he moved to stand behind her, helped  ease it from her shoulders and down her arms. He caught the scent of  green apples but couldn't afford to be distracted by it. "You can't tell  me you don't want to get divorced, too?" She turned, they were so close  that he could encircle her with his arms. Hold her. Tell her  everything. His wife in name only. Or they could not talk at all. He  could taste her lips. Touch her skin. Feel her heat.

"Of course I want it, too."

Divorce, they were talking about divorcing.

"That's why I don't need to get involved in your personal life. Any more than I already am."

He hung up her jacket. "Any more than you are?"

She swallowed. "I'm living in your house. And I've made friends with  some of your friends and their partners. I couldn't help it. When they  learned about me, they wanted to meet me, to get to know me. They've  been kind. I like them."

He nodded, gave her time to go on.

"Julie finally left her husband. She stayed here for a week when she  first left. And Sally and Kurt are expecting their second child. She's  due in three months. I said I'd help with babysitting when she went into  hospital. And when she came out. You know how organized she is. Of  course that might not be so easy now." She was talking fast, not meeting  his gaze. "And I'm sorry. It just sort of happened." She looked up at  him, apology in her eyes.

Just like he used to when he'd been sick, he'd gotten distracted by the  soft cadence of her voice rather than focusing on the specifics of her  words. The details of her supposed crime had washed over him. And today  there had been the added distraction of his very real ability to do  something about it. He could reach out, trail a finger down the softness  of her cheek, touch it to those lips. Desire stirred.





Three




Meg stepped back from Luke, the husband she didn't know, away from the  warmth in his eyes. Warmth that had her thinking things she had no  business thinking. She blamed the window. She'd come back from her walk  with Caesar and looked up to see him standing at the wide picture  window, wearing only boxers, his torso lean and sculpted, and a purely  feminine thrill of appreciation had swept through her.

"I'm glad you found friends here, that you weren't alone," he said after  a pause so long that she'd thought he hadn't been going to answer.

His softly spoken words disconcerted her. She didn't want to like him.  At least not in the softening, melting way she could feel herself liking  him. That was far more dangerous than the physical pull of attraction  that she-and most likely the majority of the female population who came  within his sphere-felt for him. She'd agreed to marry him because he'd  believed-rightly-that his death was a real possibility and it had seemed  imperative to him that Jason not be able to inherit. She'd been  prepared to do anything to ease his agitation.

But he hadn't died.

He was very much alive.

And watching her.

"But hopefully they have the good sense to stay away now that I'm back. All I want is peace and quiet."

Meg remembered the dinner. He might want peace and quiet but he wasn't  going to get it. Not tonight, which was probably a good thing because  Meg wasn't so sure she wanted to be alone with him.

"Show me round the house."

"I haven't changed anything. You don't need me to show you round it."  Regardless of what he did or didn't need, she needed to put a little  space between them. And she would-as soon as she'd told him about the  dinner. Because the way they'd walked, with his arm around her, had felt  so natural, and when he'd looked at her, he'd thought about kissing her  and she'd wanted him to. It would feel so good, which would be all bad.

She was lonely. That was all. Her life had been on hold these last few  months, but she was picking up the pieces again. She didn't need to lean  on Luke.                       
       
           



       

Her work with the Maitland Foundation since she'd been back had been a welcome distraction.

"You've been having parties. That's a change."

"Do you mean last night? That was a final committee meeting."

"You put up Christmas decorations." He continued, not taking her opening  to ask what the committee meeting was for. "That's a change. A bigger  one than you know." He flicked one of the red bows tied to the stair  uprights. "I don't usually do Christmas."

It seemed a sad thing to say. She couldn't imagine not marking Christmas  in some way. "That's not changing as much as adding something  temporary." She was going to have to tell him about tonight.

The bow slipped and they both reached to catch it, hands tangling as  they trapped the red velvet against the smooth wood of the post, halting  its downward slide. For a second they stilled. His warm hand covered  hers, pinning it with the bow beneath it.

He was close again. And again his proximity, his warmth and scent had  her resolutions slipping. Meg slid her hand from beneath his, bringing  the broad ribbon with it, and took a step back. With nerveless fingers  she smoothed out the loops of the bow. From the kitchen she heard the  strains of "All I Want for Christmas is You."

"Do you remember our promise?"

She glanced up to see him watching her closely, desire kindling in the  depths of his eyes. He couldn't mean the promise her thoughts had leaped  to. He must have meant their vows. "To love and honor? And only those  vows because there was no time to write our own. 'In sickness and in  health and to disinherit your brother and give me somewhere to live when  I got back here.'"

A smile flickered and vanished. "That wasn't the promise I was talking about."

Oh. That promise. The one she'd secretly cherished in her darkest hours,  something full of the possibility of tenderness and passion and the  affirmation of life, and the one she'd now hoped he'd forgotten. "I  don't think anything we said or did back then applies to the here and  now."