Christmas with the Maverick Millionaire

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?