The Magic of Christmas Page 6

  ‘Really, it’s nothing.’

  What was nothing? What had they been talking about?

  ‘Half an hour or so on the tube, with only one change at Leicester Square and I’ll be home.’

  Ah, yes. She’d been telling him she should go home. There was no way he was letting her travel on the tube at this time of night. He could put her in a cab and send her home but he didn’t want to. ‘No. You’re staying here. No argument.’

  ‘It’s not really dangerous to travel at this time, Mr Mancini, and anyway, I’m wide awake now.’

  So was he. Wide awake and very aware he’d skipped dinner. If he focused on his need for food, maybe he could suppress his hunger for Grace.

  Who are you kidding?

  ‘In that case, we should eat.’

  The look she sent him left him in no doubt she thought he’d gone completely mad. ‘It’s three o’clock!’

  ‘Exactly. And, if I’m not mistaken, you skipped dinner too.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘I make a mean omelette.’ The least he could do was feed her when she’d missed dinner.

  ‘Sir—’

  ‘You called me Jack before.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I was half asleep.’

  ‘Stop apologising, Grace. Thanks to you, I’m feeling only a slight discomfort behind my eyes when normally it can take me a full day to recover.’ She’d worked miracles simply with her touch. ‘I’m hungry and I’m going to cook an omelette. You can either join me or settle yourself to sleep, but there’s no way I’m letting you travel home at this hour. And, from now on, I insist you call me by my given name.’ Keeping her here was the right thing to do, he assured himself.

  Her stomach chose the perfect moment to rumble and lend strength to his suggestion. ‘Oh dear.’ She placed a hand over her abdomen. ‘I guess there’s no denying your omelette sounds fabulous.’

  ‘As we’re both wide awake, how about we have a shower to freshen up before we eat?’ The second he made the suggestion and saw the widening of her eyes, he realised she’d got the wrong idea.

  Hell! If she gave him one hint of encouragement he would’ve succumbed to temptation and invited her to get naked, wet and soapy with him, but she was clearly shocked by the thought. ‘You know where all the other bathrooms are.’

  He turned away from her and started walking towards his walk-in-robe because damned if his blood wasn’t rushing south at the thought of Grace Robertson naked with him in his shower. When he’d come home and found her on her hands and knees, scrubbing the floor, all sorts of lurid scenarios had skipped through his mind’s eye and he’d felt like a depraved lecher.

  Grabbing up a cotton sweatshirt he often wore when he worked out in his gym, he turned back and offered it to her. ‘You’re welcome to wear a bathrobe from one of the spare bathrooms, but you might find this more comfortable to sleep in.’

  Not meeting his eyes, she thanked him and made a very hasty exit from his bedroom.

  Jack groaned inwardly and hoped she hadn’t noticed his burgeoning arousal. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel threatened by him—to think he was going to take advantage of her kindness and try to force advances on her.

  But man, the thought of her wearing his sweatshirt next to her skin made him feel proprietorial in a way he’d never experienced—in a way he didn’t want to experience.

  What the hell was he thinking?

  ***

  How had this happened?

  How do I come to be eating omelette at three-thirty in the morning with a man I’m halfway to falling in love with? Grace asked herself as she prepared to take another mouthful of the best tasting omelette she’d ever eaten.

  Okay, so it was probably a ridiculous thought and many would scoff at the notion she could be halfway to falling in love with a man she barely knew. Cynics would put it down to an unrealistic influence of all the romance novels she devoured, but the more time she spent with Jack, the more perfect he seemed.

  ‘You’re amazing.’ The words were out before she could recall them. Flustered, she rushed on to cover her outburst. ‘This is the best omelette I’ve ever had.’

  He smiled as he waved the compliment away. ‘It’s probably got something to do with the fact you’re starving and it’s after half past three in the morning.’

  ‘You’re also too modest.’ What the hell. She’d paid him one compliment, she may as well pay him another one. Even if he guessed she was totally smitten with him, it wasn’t as if it would lead to anything.

  Thank God he had no idea she’d momentarily misconstrued his comment about having a shower and had—for a split second—been tempted to start stripping off her clothes to join him under the water jets.

  Oh Lord! How embarrassing would that have been?

  Before the heat in her cheeks provided evidence of her line of thinking, she tried to think of a casual topic of conversation. ‘Mr Mancini—’

  ‘Jack,’ he corrected swiftly.

  ‘—are you going anywhere exotic again this Christmas?’

  The atmosphere in the room couldn’t have changed any more dramatically had she opened the door and let in a snowstorm. Only a blind person would’ve missed the way his gaze flew away from hers, the stiffening of his shoulders and the way his hand stilled mid-air when he was reaching for his empty coffee mug.

  ‘I’ll be in London this December.’

  There was no missing the vibe. He wasn’t happy he’d be here. She was astute enough not to question why he was breaking his habit of taking a vacation for the entire month of December. It was none of her business, but she sensed a deep undercurrent of unrest flowing through him at the mere mention of it.

  Had he planned to take a lover and the relationship had soured?

  No. If he’d had anything more than a one-night stand the press would’ve been onto it and it would definitely have been splashed across the tabloids.

  ‘You’ll be home for Christmas then.’

  ‘Yes.’ He stood abruptly and turned his back on her as he walked over to the bench and helped himself to another coffee.

  Way to go, Grace. Dig the hole deeper!

  She focused on finishing the last of her omelette and tried to think of something to say that might be a safer topic without being an obvious change of topic.

  In the end, Jack returned with his coffee and saved her. ‘Are you free on the fourteenth of December to play the piano at my company’s Christmas party?’

  ‘You’re asking me to play at your corporate party as well as your dad’s engagement party?’ Despite her desire to accept his offer, she had misgivings. This wasn’t some intimate gathering. This was a huge office Christmas party where there’d probably be hundreds of employees.

  ‘Yes.’

  Find the courage to say yes. His words replayed in her head.

  ‘I’d love to.’

  ‘Great. I’ll let them know.’

  ‘Will you be there on the fourteenth as well?’

  Grace saw his body stiffen. If she wasn’t mistaken, there was something bothering him about the party.

  ‘I’ll be there.’ His gaze remained fixed straight ahead of him.

  ‘I’ll have to brush up on my Christmas carols and—’

  ‘No.’ The word was like the crack of a whip—sharp and almost too loud as it reverberated around the kitchen. ‘No carols.’ When she looked at him questioningly he said, ‘Classical music.’

  ‘Oh.’ That was strange. ‘I thought—’

  ‘Our workforce is very culturally diverse and classical music is universal—more neutral and respectful of different traditions.’ He turned one hand palm up. ‘There’ll be plenty of seasonal music in the party room.’

  It sounded credible, yet she wasn’t convinced. There was something in his tone … Some hint of him willing her too hard to be convinced and warning her not to probe any deeper. It was odd, but she couldn’t shake the sense he was hiding something—some secret agenda.

  God, she must be
tired. As if anyone could have a secret agenda for music selection at an office Christmas party!

  ‘That’s a very sensitive policy.’ She feigned a yawn and got to her feet. ‘Well, I’ll just clean up and head off to bed.’

  ‘Grace.’

  The tortured note in his tone arrested her movement.

  ‘Yes, Jack?’

  He looked uncertain and she hovered expectantly, wondering what it was causing his dark brows to draw closer together. The silence stretched. She sensed his indecision and was unsure whether she should stay or go; whether to prompt him or remain silent.

  When he finally spoke, his deep voice didn’t carry its usual authority. ‘Christmas doesn’t hold good memories for me.’

  That explained why he travelled out of the country each year and why he never had a single Christmas decoration in the house in the lead-up to Christmas.

  ‘Oh.’ She didn’t know what to say. Grace hated seeing the turmoil etched into his features. It hollowed out his cheeks and clouded those steel-blue eyes.

  Resuming her seat opposite him, she said very gently, ‘If you want to talk about it, I’m a good listener.’

  Her invitation appeared to shock him out of whatever memories had held him prisoner and back to the reality of the moment. He let out an audible breath and his sculpted, sensual lips formed an embarrassed, half-apologetic smile.

  ‘I don’t know why I mentioned it. I don’t tell anyone.’

  ‘Maybe you should.’ She was deeply touched he’d chosen to unburden himself to her, even if he spoke now as if he regretted it. God but she wanted to reach out to him—to take his hands in hers and hold them tight.

  ‘It’s late and you’re tired,’ she said lightly. She tried to ease some of the awkwardness because he obviously wanted to bite the words back and not enter into a deep and meaningful discussion. ‘Midnight might be the witching hour, but I’ve always found it’s these early hours of the morning where grief can assail us hardest.’

  Shutters came down over his eyes, masking his emotions, but she knew instinctively it was grief that tormented him. Having experienced tragic loss herself, she recognised it in his voice. His struggle to present a normal faςade screamed to her that he’d lost someone he loved around this time of the year.

  Questions formed and begged answers. Who had he lost?

  Had it been a lover?

  Is that why he was single and went from one relationship to another?

  Hastily, she damped down her curiosity. She could see he was the one in need, and she might be in a position to help him, but she knew from painful experience that he had to be ready to talk.

  ‘I’ve known the grief of losing two parents.’ Hopefully, she wasn’t overstepping the boundaries of her position as his cleaner. ‘It took me a long time to come to terms with my loss. While I didn’t pull the trigger, you were right when you said I still feel guilt over their deaths.’

  ‘You think I’ve lost someone?’

  ‘I’d bet my last sixpence on it.’ She couldn’t stop herself any longer from reaching across the table and could only hope reaching out to him physically provided him with some comfort, because it helped her. She needed to take his hands in hers to try to assuage some of his pain.

  He might be a super-bright, wealthy CEO in a class way above her own, but right now he was a man in need of compassion.

  ‘You just told me something you don’t usually talk about. I found myself telling you about my parents in detail I don’t normally relay.’ She sent him what she hoped was an empathetic and encouraging smile. ‘It’s incredible how comfortable I feel with you on such short acquaintance. If you feel comfortable with me too, I’m very flattered.’

  Moving his hands so they now held hers, he gave them a squeeze. ‘You’re easy to feel comfortable around, Grace.’

  ‘Have you ever talked to anyone about whatever it is that haunts you?’

  The shutters were firmly in place as he rejected her offer of support. ‘It’s okay, Grace. I’m capable of slaying my own ghosts.’

  Her lips parted, an argument already formed and waiting to be voiced, but he kept talking, couching his rejection in kindness.

  ‘You’re a beautiful and very caring person, Grace.’ The notch at his larynx moved up then down as he swallowed and for a moment he seemed to struggle to pull himself together. ‘If ever I need to talk, I’ll come looking for you.’

  She was his cleaning lady, but somehow, in the past twelve hours her position in his life no longer mattered. Even if he hadn’t wanted to, he’d reached out to her and she was darned if she’d ever turn her back on anyone in need. He’d never want her as his lover, but maybe he needed her as his friend.

  ‘You do need to talk, Jack. When you acknowledge it, I hope you believe you can trust me to listen. I’ll be here for you.’ And she meant it. ‘Now, I’m going to clean up and say goodnight.’

  Chapter 10

  What on earth was that infernal banging?

  Drifting in and out of sleep, Grace snuggled further under the comfortable duvet, loving the feel of Jack’s sweatshirt against her skin. If she used her imagination she could make-believe he held her close.

  Bang!

  Darn it all! There it was again.

  Hang on. Jack’s sweatshirt.

  Even in her groggy state, she remembered Jack’s migraine.

  Oh damn! The last thing the poor man needed was to be awakened by this rude knocking when he was probably still in bed trying to sleep off the after effects of the migraine.

  Bang! Bang!

  ‘Stop that racket!’ she muttered crossly as she tore down the stairs.

  She didn’t know what time it was, but surely it was still way too early for someone to be calling?

  Checking the security camera before she opened the door, she saw the caller was a very smartly dressed woman with platinum blonde hair. The caller reeked of upper class impatience.

  Not a home invader, then.

  Possibly a neighbour?

  ‘Hello. Can I help you?’ she asked the woman.

  The woman’s eyes flicked contemptuously over Grace, making her suddenly aware that she hadn’t even stopped to throw on a bathrobe. Oh dear. Here she was at Jack’s place first thing in the morning and only covered to her thighs by his t-shirt. She was about to explain that Jack wasn’t well when the woman demanded, ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m—’

  ‘Imogene! What the hell are you doing here?’

  Grace jumped at the sound of Jack’s voice, close behind her.

  ‘Obviously I’m here to see you. I went to your office and was told you’d cancelled your meetings and weren’t going to be in until after lunch. Honestly, Jack!’ Her eyes shot barbed arrows of disgust as she looked back at Grace. ‘You canned your business meetings for her?’

  The woman was so searing in her contempt, Grace took a step back as though she’d been punched.

  She’d seen contempt like this before.

  Every day at school she’d been treated with the same scorn—as if she reeked like dead fish and had no right to inhabit the earth.

  Jack moved so he stood beside her. His arm shot out around her waist in a protective and somewhat possessive hold, half-shielding her from the woman called Imogene. His closeness saved Grace from the downward spiral of her humiliating memories and grounded her in the present.

  ‘I asked you what you’re doing here.’ Jack’s voice dripped such arctic ice, Grace shivered.

  ‘I need to discuss plans for the engagement party,’ Imogene told him petulantly.

  Grace was completely taken by surprise when Jack used the arm he’d hooked around her waist and turned her so she faced him. ‘Sorry you were so rudely awakened, sweetheart. Why don’t you go back to bed and I’ll bring you up a coffee shortly?’

  There was no way she could protest—no way she could force her vocal cords into action to utter even the barest sound from her rapidly drying throat, because she was too busy absorbing Jack
standing next to her wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.

  Oh, dear Lord!

  He had the most amazing athlete’s body which looked honed to perfection after all the years of rugby. She’d always known his shoulders and chest were broad, but the light sprinkle of dark, masculine hair over his well-developed pecs made her go weak at the knees. She’d had a teasing glimpse of his torso last Friday but now she had to stop herself from groaning out loud in longing as she took in the way every abdominal muscle was outlined and his body tapered down to a lean waist.

  His hair was still moist, and the divine-smelling masculine scent of his soap teased her nostrils, renewing the fantasies she’d had about soaping him in the shower.

  Completely absorbed in the blatant picture of masculine perfection before her, there was nothing she could do but stand in mute silence and ogle him!

  And, while she battled to tear her gaze away from the very tempting expanse of naked male torso, his words finally sank in, snapping her out of her stasis.

  He’d called her sweetheart!

  ‘Um …’ What was he implying? His words conveyed an intimate familiarity that could easily be misconstrued, and—even if he hadn’t used the small endearment—his tone had definitely been lover-like, and so was the way he was touching her.

  Looking up at him in confusion, she registered a silent plea in his eyes. They told her he knew exactly what he was saying and he was asking her to play along.

  This Imogene must be one of his former lovers and he must be trying to give her the flick!

  No. That couldn’t be the case. The engagement party had been mentioned—presumably the party she was scheduled to play at this Friday night. Maybe this woman was a former lover who happened to be an event organiser?

  But, if Jack thought for a second this well-groomed woman in her couture-looking clothes would regard Grace as a potential threat, he was fooling himself.

  ‘Excuse me, I’m still here!’ Imogene flung out on an impatient hiss.

  ‘Go back to bed, darling.’ Jack employed that same low, sensual voice. ‘I’ll be up soon.’