Wish Upon a Star (23 page)

‘Can you walk?’

‘Of course.’ She looked affronted and stamped her feet as if to prove that they were still working. ‘I’m just cold.’

‘It’s just that most people walking in trainers in this weather end up with a sprained ankle at the very least,’ he drawled, securing the top of his rucksack and swinging it back onto his back. ‘But if you’re intact, we’ll get going.’

‘How far is it?’

‘Don’t you know?’

She shook her head. ‘I didn’t really notice the time. I just walked…’

Something in her voice made him take a closer look at her.
Why
had she just walked? What had occupied her mind so totally that she hadn’t noticed the time or the change in the weather?

Telling himself that it was none of his business, Jake checked the rope one more time and then jerked his head in the direction of the path. ‘Come on. This way.’

She squinted forward. ‘It all looks the same to me. How do you know where the path is supposed to be?’

‘Because I know this walk well and I recognise the terrain.’

He walked steadily, matching his pace to hers and keeping a close eye on her.

She was cold, he could see that, but nowhere near as cold as she’d been when he’d found her. They weren’t far from the car park now so he wasn’t too worried.

He was more worried about the blank, slightly vacant
look in her huge dark eyes. Once they started to walk she sank into silence, her eyes straight ahead, stepping where he told her to step.

He sensed that something was very wrong.

Was it was just the pressures of Christmas Day? Was she avoiding everyone else’s happiness?

They reached the car park without mishap and he reached down and detached the rope from her waist.

‘We’re here.’ He glanced around him with a frown. At this level, the mist had lifted sufficiently to improve the visibility but he could only see one car. His. ‘Where did you park?’

‘Oh.’ She blinked and took a deep breath as if waking herself up. ‘Over there.’

His gaze followed the direction of her vague gesture but he saw nothing. ‘Your car’s been stolen.’

It happened, of course, in these isolated car parks.

‘No.’ She shook her head and gave him a wan smile as she handed back the harness. ‘I don’t have a car. I have a bike.’

A bike? He stared again and finally saw a rusty, ancient bicycle propped against a tree.

‘That’s yours?’

‘Yes.’ She pulled the hat from her head and he frowned.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Returning your clothes. Thank you so much.’

‘Stop. Wait…’ He put the hat back on her head, feeling her silky hair brush his fingers. ‘You can’t get on that bike and cycle—you’re frozen.’ And he didn’t want her to leave. He wanted to get to know her.
He wanted to—

‘I’ll warm up when I get back to my—’ She broke off and flinched slightly. ‘Home. I’ll be fine at home.’

Was he imagining things or had her voice changed when she’d said the word ‘home’? He was picking up all sorts of signals but so far he wasn’t sure what any of them meant.

But he intended to find out.

‘What are your plans now? Are you spending the rest of the day with friends?’

She stared at him for a long time and then shook her head slowly. ‘No,’ she said quietly, ‘I’m not. But I’ll be fine. I always am.’

Why was someone like her spending the day on her own?

Suddenly he had an urgent desire to know what was wrong—what had brought that haunted look to her face.
And he had an even more urgent desire to drag her into his arms and kiss her until her pale cheeks gained some colour.

Unable to remember a time when he’d had such a powerful reaction to a woman, Jake closed his hand over her wrist, unwilling to let her go.

‘Come on.’ Without questioning the impulse, he strode purposefully over to his car with her in tow. Still with one hand around her slender wrist, he opened his boot, slung his gear inside and then opened the passenger door. ‘Hop in. I’ll get your bike.’

‘What do you mean, hop in?’ She stared at the car and then at him and he gave a shrug and his most non-threatening smile.

‘It’s Christmas Day, Miranda, and you and I seem to be the only two people on the planet that don’t have someone to spend it with. So I suggest we spend it together. You can warm up at my place and we can sprawl on my sofas and watch endless movies.’

And get to know each other.

Her gaze became as cold as the weather and she tried to pull away from him. ‘No, thank you.’

‘It wasn’t an indecent proposal,’ he drawled softly, releasing her immediately. ‘Just a friendly one. No hidden agenda.’

Her slender body was tense. Poised. ‘Everyone has a hidden agenda.’

‘All right—you caught me.’ He leaned against his car and smiled. ‘I do have a hidden agenda and it’s entirely selfish. I don’t want to be on my own on Christmas Day. I get morose. That’s why I was in the mountains. I saved you so now you need to save me. Keep me company.’

Her eyes met his. And then she looked away and gave a tiny shake of her head, as if she was feeling something that she didn’t want to feel. ‘This is ridiculous. I don’t—’

Suddenly it seemed imperative that he persuade her.
He wasn’t going to let her go.
‘Do you have anywhere else you have to be?’

‘No.’ Her dark eyes clouded and she looked away from him, staring into the distance with a slightly blank expression on her beautiful face. ‘I don’t.’

‘So what’s the problem?’

Her eyes lifted to his again, her gaze solemn and considering. ‘All right. Just for a few hours.’

Wondering why her answer had lifted his spirits so much, Jake bundled her inside the car and retrieved her bike.

Suddenly he was looking forward to the rest of Christmas Day.

CHAPTER TWO

M
IRANDA
lay in the hot bath with her eyes closed, feeling the delicious warmth spread back through her frozen limbs.

On the chair at the far side of the huge bathroom lay the neat pile of clothes that the man had given her.

The man…

The knowledge that she hadn’t, so far, even asked his name brought a faint smile of derision to her face.

She should probably be worried, but she wasn’t.

Strangers didn’t frighten her. She knew from experience that hurt and pain most often came from those who were familiar and close to you, not from strangers. When there was a murder, didn’t the police start by questioning the family?

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.

His house was huge, she thought wistfully. Huge and gorgeous. Polished wood floors, soft rugs and huge windows, it succeeded in being stylish and welcoming at the same time.

He intercepted her glance. ‘My sister’s an interior designer. She can’t resist the temptation to manage my living space. It’s called interfering.’

‘Lucky you.’ What wouldn’t she have given to have a sibling to interfere in her life?

Pushing away the thought, she followed him into the large living room. More huge windows overlooked the garden and the lawn sloped down to the shore of the lake. The mist had lifted, the snow had stopped and in the distance the fells rose, snowy and breathtakingly beautiful.

A crackling log fire formed the focus of the room and Miranda found herself wanting to sink down onto the thick, opulent rug and purr like a cat.

It was hard to believe that people actually lived like this, she mused as she looked at the exquisite painting above the fire. It all seemed a million miles from her real life.

Then her eyes rested on a photograph on the mantelpiece. There was no mistaking the man in the photo. The same wicked blue eyes, the same cropped dark hair and dangerous smile. And he was rolling in the snow with two laughing children.

She picked it up, the warmth draining from her body, her mouth so dry she could hardly form the words. ‘Are they yours? Are you married?’ She almost laughed at herself. Of course he was married! Why would a man like him be single?

‘They’re my nephews—my sister’s children. I’m not married.’ His eyes narrowed and his gaze was suddenly intent. ‘Do you think I’d have invited you back here if I was married with children? Do I look as though I’m married?’

‘Appearances can be deceptive.’ Hoping that he didn’t notice that her hand was shaking, she put the photograph carefully back on the table.

This was ridiculous.

She ought to leave, she thought to herself, suddenly unsettled by the feelings she was having.

But then she thought of the small, freezing bedroom with the bare walls and peeling paintwork that awaited her. She was in no hurry to go home.

If he wasn’t married, what harm could it do to stay? She wasn’t hurting anyone.

Just for the rest of the day, she promised herself, and then she’d go back to the harsh reality of her life.

She sank down onto the sofa. It was deep and squashy and comfortable and suddenly she just wanted to curl up and sleep. ‘This is a lovely room.’

‘Thanks. What can I get you to drink?’ He stood by the fire, fingers hooked into the pockets of his jeans as he watched her. ‘Wine? Champagne?’

‘Oh.’ She brushed her damp hair away from her face. ‘Something non-alcoholic, please. Juice? Tonic?’

‘It’s Christmas. Don’t you fancy anything stronger?’

‘No, thanks. I have to cycle home later. I don’t want to be drunk in charge of a heap of rust.’

He smiled and handed her a glass. ‘So where’s home, Miranda? And why were you avoiding Christmas Day?’