The Millionaire's Christmas Wife

‘You’re sure? Ten minutes?’

‘Fifteen at the most.’ He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘I promise, OK?’ Sensing her compliance, he drew her to his car, opening the passenger door for her and helping her in before he walked round the bonnet.

As he slid into the driver’s seat Miriam looked at him, at the solid strength of him. His being here tonight meant he still loved and wanted her, didn’t it? And she loved and wanted him. When they were together the way they’d been in that hotel room nothing else mattered, not where they lived, their lifestyle, nothing. Almost in spite of herself, she said quietly, ‘Why didn’t you call me when you got back from the trip?’

He didn’t say anything at first, starting the engine and pulling out into the road before he replied. And then it wasn’t what she had expected—no ‘you told me not to’ or ‘I thought it was for the best’. Calmly, he said, ‘I’ve been busy.’

Busy? Her hands knotted into fists. Busy? ‘I see.’

‘I doubt it.’ He was driving fast, probably too fast, and he didn’t look at her when he said, ‘Why didn’t you call me, Miriam?’

OK, she deserved that one. Because she couldn’t answer him, she said, ‘Where are we going?’

‘Nicely deflected.’ The mockery was back but more overt now. ‘We’re going somewhere quiet, all right?’

He didn’t say any more and as the miles and minutes sped by the silence was charged with such raw electricity that Miriam couldn’t break it. Eventually, when they had been travelling for a good twenty minutes, she said evenly, ‘You said I would be back within fifteen minutes.’

‘I lied.’

Her eyes shot to meet his gaze but his profile was impassive as he stared ahead. ‘What do you mean, you lied?’

‘I lied. I’m not perfect.’

‘Jay, this isn’t funny.’

‘It isn’t meant to be.’

For the first time panic reared its head. ‘Stop this car; I want to get out.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ he said calmly. ‘And relax. You’re with me and I wouldn’t hurt a hair on your head. It’s just time you stopped running, that’s all.’

‘I order you to stop this car, Jay Carter.’

‘Wrong approach, my love.’

It was the ‘my love’ rather than anything else that stopped her voice, the constriction in her throat painful. It seemed a long time since he had called her that and his use of it now was unbearably poignant.

As the car travelled on in the frosty night, a feeling of unreality took over. Miriam was warm and snug, the icy white world outside the car picturesque and Christmas-card perfect, from the black velvet sky studded with a million twinkling stars to the welcoming lights shining in the windows of the houses they passed. She had ceased to wonder where they were going. She was with Jay. He would keep her safe. She knew that.

When they left the built-up confines of the city for more open territory the powerful car began eating up the miles. It must have been an hour or more from when they’d set off that Jay turned off the country road they had been following for a while. He drove the car between two massive wrought-iron gates which had been secured open, following a wide pebbled drive for a few moments before emerging into a semicircular paved area that led to the steps of a large red-bricked Georgian house.

A tall privet hedge enclosed the front garden, which had been landscaped mainly with dwarf bushes and low shrubbery, but two tall, majestic beech trees stood as sentinels either side of the house. Automatic lights lit up the house and drive, and further illumination came from concealed lighting within the bushes and shrubs.

As Jay came to a halt in front of the house Miriam found her voice. ‘Where are we and who lives here?’

Jay turned off the engine and moved to face her, his eyes glittering. ‘We’re halfway between London and Leamington Spa and a friend of Jayne’s lives here. She and her family are spending Christmas with her husband’s relations in America and Jayne said she’d keep an eye on the place. Jayne and Guy moved into the area a couple of weeks ago. It’s a good place to raise a family.’

Aware she’d asked the wrong questions, Miriam said tightly, ‘What I meant was, why are we here?’

‘I wanted to show you round.’

‘Show me round?’ She stared at him in bewilderment. ‘But this is someone’s house, Jay. You can’t just wander in.’

He extracted some keys from his pocket. ‘Actually I can,’ he said mildly. ‘And this front garden is deceptive—there’s an acre of ground at the back of the house, including a small orchard.’

She didn’t care if there was a full-scale forest, it was someone’s private property and regardless of whether Jay had the keys or not it wasn’t right to invade Jayne’s friend’s privacy. Primly, she said, ‘I wouldn’t dream of taking advantage of this friend’s trust in Jayne.’

Jay grinned. ‘I’ve got permission from the owner and her husband, promise.’