Christmas with the Maverick Millionaire

She’d never been in a situation like this before, itching to talk about something but having to stay quiet. It was weird.

There was a noise outside and her stomach gave a little flip-flop. There was only one other person in this house. He hadn’t been kidding. It was almost exactly six and Mitchell Brody was up and around.

‘Knock, knock.’ The low, sexy voice nearly made her jump a foot in the air. Without waiting for an answer, the door creaked open and Mitchell stuck his head inside. She bolted upright in bed and pulled the covers up underneath her chin. This must be what mild shock felt like; her tongue was currently stuck to the roof of her mouth.

He was smiling, obviously feeling better. He didn’t seem to notice her lack of response. ‘Hi, there. Gorgeous view, isn’t it?’ She nodded in agreement. She could hardly disagree. Mitchell was looking bright and sparky and from what she could see was dressed for the slopes. She, on the other hand, was wearing next to nothing.

She was trying not to panic. The easiest thing in the world was to drop back into nurse mode. ‘Have you checked your blood sugar this morning? What about breakfast?’

Nurse mode put her on autopilot and before she’d given herself a chance to think about it she threw back the thick duvet cover and bent forward to look for her slippers.

She heard a noise. His sharp intake of breath before she realised what she’d done. Her short red satin slip of a nightie had obviously just given him an eyeful. Her hand darted up to press against her cleavage, trying to keep the garment firmly in place. ‘Oh... I, I need to put something else on.’

But what? She’d collapsed on the bed last night with hardly a chance to open her suitcase. Thankfully, her nightie had been on top. But she couldn’t even see a glimpse of the underwear she desperately needed right now.

Mitchell had the good grace to look away. But she could see the smile plastered on his face. Yip. He’d definitely got an eyeful. ‘There’s a dressing gown in the en suite if that will help,’ he murmured. ‘But don’t feel obliged on my account.’

The heat rushed to her cheeks. Six o’clock in the morning and he was starting with his trademark cheek. He was going to have to learn that Samantha Lewis was not a morning person.

She walked quickly to the en suite and found the white fluffy robe hanging behind the door. She shrugged it on and tied the belt around her waist, trying not to think if someone else had worn it before her. There. Better. Being covered gave her the confidence boost she needed. Mitchell Brody was usually surrounded by a bunch of skeletal supermodels. She was surprised he hadn’t passed out at the sight of some more womanly curves. She was lucky, naturally slim with maybe a tiny trace of cellulite. But absolutely nowhere near a supermodel frame. He didn’t need to like it, though, because all that mattered was how she did her job.

She took thirty seconds to brush her teeth and didn’t even waste her time looking in the mirror. What was the point? He was still waiting at the doorway as she walked over and put her hands on her hips. ‘Now, where were we?’

He shot her a sexy smile. ‘You were trying to decide if you should get dressed around me.’ The drawl of his voice sent her saliva glands into overload. If her mouth hadn’t been firmly closed she would have drooled. She didn’t speak. Just gave him what she thought was a haughty stare and raised her eyebrows.

He blinked. ‘Blood sugar seven. I’ve had breakfast and taken my insulin. It’s time to hit the slopes before it starts to get busy.’ He waggled his finger at her. ‘You’ll have to get up earlier if you want breakfast here, Sam.’

Her stomach gave an automatic growl. She didn’t like to miss breakfast and it felt like she was being reprimanded on her first day on the job. Cheeky sod.

‘What did you eat for breakfast and how much insulin did you take?’

He frowned, his smile disappearing in an instant. ‘I told you. My blood sugar is fine.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’m hitting the slopes. You can come if you want to. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.’

She felt a wave of panic. There was no way she could hit the slopes next to him, but what if Mitch had a hypo while skiing? That could be disastrous.

‘No.’ It came out like a shout and she cringed inside. ‘You’re not ready to do anything like that. You need to wait a few more days until your blood-sugar levels are steadier. Then we’ll talk about exercise and the effect it has on blood-sugar control, and what you need to do. You were only diagnosed a few days ago. It’s far too soon.’ Her voice was sounding much more authoritative than she actually felt. Her insides were curling up.

The furrows across his brow deepened, accompanied with a spark of fury in his eyes. ‘Look, lady, I don’t care what you say. The slopes are perfect and I won’t be missing a second. If you want to watch me, come along. If you don’t...’ he pointed towards the still-warm bed ‘...feel free to go back to bed.’

He turned on his heel and left, leaving her to scuttle down the corridor after him in her bare feet. ‘Mitchell, wait. I wasn’t joking. Do you have food with you? Something to eat if you start to hypo on the slopes? Don’t you realise how dangerous that could be for the other people around you?’

She was trying desperately to appeal to his sense of justice. Trying to make him slow down for a second. Trying anything to stop him heading for the slopes with her having to follow.

But Mitchell was a man on a mission. There was the briefest hesitation—as if he was giving some consideration to her words—before he clenched his jaw. Everything about him changed, his whole stance tense. The words were controlled but the strain was apparent. ‘I’m done with this. See you on the slopes.’

He grabbed something from the countertop then threw open the door, bringing in an icy blast before he disappeared out into the swirls of freshly falling snow. She shouted after him, ‘I’ll meet you at the mid-station at seven!’

She took a few deep breaths as the skin prickled on her legs. The fluffy dressing gown was no match for the weather outside that currently circulated in chills around her pale skin. She slammed the door quickly, her brain frantic.

Should she throw on her clothes and try and follow him? Had he even heard her? Where on earth had he gone? She didn’t even know the way to the ski slopes, let alone anything else.

Her eyes caught sight of what was lying on the counter. A packet of chocolate wafers, with a few missing. She smiled. She breathed the slightest sigh of relief. It might not be ideal, but it was something. He’d grabbed some before he’d left.

She made up her mind. She had the clothes. There were no excuses. She might not be able to ski, but she could be in and around the slopes. There was no way she could sit around here. Right now, she’d no idea if Mitchell intended to ski for an hour or all day.

And his attitude irked her. Mitchell Brody had a lot of learning to do. She flicked the switch on the kettle. The coffee machine looked inviting but she’d no idea how to work it. She’d investigate it later.

The clock on the wall showed six-fifteen. She could shower, dress and have a quick cup of tea before she left. Wherever Mitchell Brody had gone, she could find him.

She was used to dealing with teenager tantrums. A rock star in a bad mood? He would have nothing on those.

Suddenly there was huge boom. The noise was deafening and the glasses in the cupboards around her rattled. What now?

* * *

The air was perfect, crisp, clear and icy cold. The snow around him untouched—just waiting for that first winding ski track to mar its complexion. The ski conditions were better than he could’ve expected. It paid to have people in the know.

For a little extra cash he’d managed to persuade the cable-car operator to start early and he’d been up and down the Hafelekar slope twice. The Nordkette off-piste could be dangerous, with risk of avalanche and warnings posted everywhere stating the falls could be fatal.

/> But Mitchell knew these slopes like the back of his hand. He enjoyed mornings like this. Most days at this time it was only the die-hard skiers on the slopes. The thunderous detonations that reverberated around the valley in the Nordpark area were the sign that there had been a fresh dump of snow. It was like music to his ears. An early-morning wake-up call that he loved.

Even the exposed walk along the mountain ridge to the Karrine was invigorating at this time of day. From here, the highest point of the mountain, he could ski to the Seegrube mid-station, one third of the way down the mountain, then on down one of the lengthy red runs through the trees back down to the Hungerburg area. It was his idea of heaven. And Samantha was trying to spoil it for him.

Skiing was the best part of the day. He enjoyed the solitude of the slopes. On the ski slopes he could forget about everything. As a child it had been a source of pure enjoyment. As an adult, it had brought back memories of happier times. The last few runs had been different. It had been like transporting himself into another world. One where his head wasn’t pickled with thoughts of injections, doses, sugar levels and a whole host of other things he really didn’t have the energy to think about right now. Swooshing down the clean white slopes could do that for him—lift the dark pressing cloud from his head and shoulders.

He had no idea where Samantha was. And he couldn’t help but feel irritated. He couldn’t shake the black mood that was circling around him. What did diabetes have to do with skiing? He hated anything interfering with his skiing. The fact that it was even on his mind as he was flying down the slopes grated. Nearly as much as last night’s memory of a pair of bright blue eyes and a curved behind in a pair of denims that hugged in all the right places. And if he even gave a thought to the flash of bare breasts this morning he’d be done for.