The Midwife's Christmas Miracle (Lakeside Mountain Rescue 5)

No, she wasn’t afraid of strangers and she certainly wasn’t afraid of the man who had rescued her.

And now, right at this precise moment, she was glad of her impulsive decision to accept his invitation.

It was Christmas Day. And she hated Christmas Day. There was no reason at all why she had to hurry back to her miserable, lonely flat.

It was important that she looked after herself.

And it was just for one day.

After that, she’d vanish into the sunset and never see him again. And she had no reason to feel guilty about that because he had been the one who’d insisted that she spend the rest of the day with him because he hated Christmas, too.

She frowned and slid deeper under the water. Why would a man like him hate Christmas Day? She would have thought that women would have been lining up at his door, fighting over who was going to help him hang baubles on his tree.

But she knew better than anyone that life didn’t always send you what you deserved. Which was why it was important to make the most of the moment and that was exactly what she was doing right now.

Having justified her actions to herself, she allowed herself to just enjoy the delicious sensation of warmth and hummed softly, luxuriating in the hot, scented water until she felt her eyelids droop. With a determined effort she forced them open again.

Not very sensible to be rescued from a freezing mountain, only to drown in a steaming bath, she thought as she turned off the tap and lifted herself reluctantly from the water. It was the only way to ensure that she stayed awake.

Aware that her rescuer would probably come looking for her if she didn’t reappear soon, she reluctantly stood up and reached for the towel he’d left out for her. It was wonderful to feel warm after being so very, very cold. Vowing to buy some books on safety in the mountains before venturing out again, she dried herself and then examined the pile of clothes he’d given her.

She pulled on a pair of fleecy tracksuit bottoms and the jumper and then sat down on the chair and started to laugh. She looked completely ridiculous. If she’d needed a reminder of the differences between their physiques then she had it now. The trousers were at least a foot too long and the sleeves of the jumper hung several inches past the tips of her fingers.

The clothes acted as a wake-up call.

What on earth was she doing here?

She was behaving like Goldilocks, wandering lost in a forest and seeking shelter.

Why exactly had she decided to accept his invitation? She’d been all ready to refuse but there was something about him that had made it impossible to say no.

He’d rescued her when she’d been lost and, in a way, part of her was still lost.

Wiping the steam from the bathroom mirror, she stared at her reflection for a moment. She looked more like Snow White than Goldilocks, with her pale skin and the black rings under her eyes. She wasn’t sleeping well and she knew that she had to do something about it. She needed to rest. She needed to think about—

‘Miranda?’

The sound of a deep male voice from the other side of the door made her jump and she turned with a start. ‘Yes?’

‘Are you decent?’

‘Oh, yes, I—’

The door opened and he strolled into the room. Her heart missed a beat. He was a man who would always attract the attention of women, and not just because of the athletic power of his physique. He’d changed into a pair of snug-fitting black jeans and a blue jumper almost the exact colour of his eyes. His damp hair suggested that there was obviously another bathroom somewhere in his house.

His gaze lingered on hers for several long seconds and she felt warmth seep into her cheeks. Suddenly her heart pumped harder and a dangerous, liquid heat uncurled deep inside her. Something happened when she looked at him. Something that she’d never felt before.

Then he ran a hand over the back of his neck and his gaze turned from searching to amused. ‘Not exactly the same size, are we?’

Her heart still pumping, she pushed the sleeves of his jumper up her arms in an attempt to find her hands. ‘They’re great. Perfect.’

They covered everything, which was what she wanted.

She wasn’t in the mood to offer explanations.

‘Turn the legs up or you’ll break your neck on my stairs,’ he advised, reaching for a dry towel from the pile and handing it to her. ‘Come on. There’s a fire in the living room. It’s really cosy. You can dry your hair in there.’

She rolled up the legs of the trousers and followed him, unable to resist the temptation to peep as she walked along the landing and down the stairs.