Christmas with the Maverick Millionaire Page 12

  Mitchell was laughing, watching the steam rise from the fritter in his hand. ‘Sorry, I should have warned you.’

  It took a few seconds before she could speak, then she felt a drip of the still boiling jam slide down her chin. She took a deep breath and swallowed as quickly as she could, desperate to try and regain what was left of her dignity.

  But Mitchell stepped forward, pulling his hand from his glove and catching the sliding drop with his finger. He did it so gently, so delicately that for a moment she felt as if she were in some expensive beauty parlour. He was so close, blocking out some of the coloured lights around them, leaving him bathed in a beautiful glow. His eyes were darker than ever and his frosty breath mingled with hers. He held up his finger, which was coated in rich red jam. ‘Want to finish this?’ he whispered, as he lifted the edge of the paper napkin and wiped it down her chin.

  Her tongue darted out automatically, licking her lips and picking up the last delicious vestiges of jam. She shook her head.

  She was finding it difficult to say anything. The closeness wasn’t disturbing. It was tantalising. Just above his head was a string of white star lights. If this were a movie there would be electric sparks shooting off in the background.

  ‘Good,’ he said huskily as he put the finger in his mouth and sucked off the jam.

  Oh, no. She couldn’t start thinking thoughts like these. They were in the middle of a street, surrounded by hoards of other tourists and locals.

  Street entertainers were playing cow bells and accordions, other locals were yodelling and doing traditional dancing, causing anyone nearby to start tapping their feet automatically. They walked towards another square, bustling and full of people with an enormous Christmas tree at one end, but it was the glistening above it that took her breath away. Golden glittering tiles on the roof of a three-storey-high balcony overlooking the plaza.

  Samantha spun around. ‘You mentioned this, didn’t you? Wow, it’s spectacular. It’s not real gold, is it?’

  The lights around the roof made the reflections from the roof glitter wildly. More coloured lights that were strung across the plaza bobbed in the wind. It made the reflections even more magical, blue, red, pink and green.

  ‘They’re gold-plated copper tiles. There’s more than two thousand of them. It was built by some archduke in the fifteenth century.’ He glanced towards her, his smile reaching from ear to ear, and his arm settled around her back. ‘It’s always more spectacular to see it first at night. Especially with all the Christmas decorations around.’

  He was right. She could hardly draw her eyes away. All around them the flashes of cameras popped, sending even more reflections out into the night. She could stand here and watch this all night. Never mind the warm arm around her waist, resting on her hip bone and pulling her close enough to make her feel that she should actually be there.

  It was like being in the middle of a Christmas card. All around them were wonderful sights, sounds and smells. The Tyrolean folk seemed larger than life, friendly and welcoming with singers and musicians in all corners of the marketplace. Any minute now some fairy-tale king was going to appear on the balcony above. Out of the corner of her eye something flashed white. Was this one of the proverbial unicorns?

  No. It was beautiful white horses, being led around the square with young children on their backs, part of another parade.

  Mitch walked her backwards towards the façade of one the shops. She turned to peer through the window. It was full of candy canes and carved wooden objects, more traditional items that just made her smile even more. Up in the chalet in the mountains she’d had no idea about the world of Tyrolean traditions down here. She would have to persuade him to bring her back down here tomorrow so she could do some serious shopping.

  ‘Come on.’ He slipped his hand into hers. ‘The inn will be busy. If we hang around too long we’ll never get a table.’ He pulled her through a labyrinth of alleyways until they reached the door of a white and black painted inn.

  He pushed it open and she was immediately surrounded by warmth. She pulled the zipper on her blue ski jacket. The inn was crowded, but it didn’t seem to be full of tourists, from the language around her, this inn was full of locals.

  Lisa had chosen well. Her black sequined tunic over black leggings and boots was pretty, without being over the top. Sam was twinkling almost as much as the Christmas lights, and from the way Mitch was looking at her, he seemed to appreciate it.

  They took a table next to the flickering fire. She glanced at the menu in front of her and shrugged. ‘Well, I don’t have a clue. I’m sorry to say I can’t read a word of German.’

  Mitch pulled off his jacket and hat, leaving his hair mussed around his head. ‘Would you like me to order for you?’ He hadn’t even looked at the menu.

  She looked around. ‘Do you eat in here regularly?’

  He winked. ‘That would be telling too many secrets.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘I suggest some of the local cuisine. If I promise to bring you back another day to sample the cakes and desserts, will you trust me to order you dinner?’

  She put her elbow on the table and rested her head on her hand, letting her eyes drift into the corner of the room. ‘Will I trust you? Now, there’s an interesting question...’ She let her voice tail off.

  The waiter appeared at their table, filling their glasses with water and nodding at the requests made by Mitchell.

  She waited until he’d left then narrowed her gaze, ‘Go on, then. Surprise me. What have you ordered?’

  ‘All my favourites—fresh Bergkäse, Tyrolean gröstl and Plattin.’

  She rolled her eyes as her stomach rumbled. ‘Now, tell me what that is in a language my stomach understands.’

  He laughed. ‘Mountain cheese, roast meat and potato pancakes.’ He pointed to her rumbling stomach. ‘Believe me, you’ll love it.’

  There was a clink of glass as the waiter delivered a soda for Mitch and a glass of white wine for her. She raised her glass. ‘Are you sticking to the diet soda?’

  He nodded in response. ‘I’ve only drunk diet soda...’ he let out a sigh ‘...and I’m planning on giving alcohol a miss until I get this diabetes thing under control.’

  She smiled, a little surprised. It was so nice to hear him say that. It was the first time he’d actually made a comment that made her think he was willing to do some work himself.

  She took a sip of her wine. It was good, light and fresh, just what she liked. She sucked in a deep breath. Mitch had intrigued her today. There was more to him than met the eye—and she definitely wanted to dig a little deeper. Her head was trying to reason with her curiosity. If she knew him better, she could help him tailor his diabetes to suit his lifestyle. But that wasn’t really why she wanted to know more about Mitch...

  ‘So, Mitch. It’s just you and me. I watched you today at the hospital. I can tell how much you care about these kids. But wouldn’t you like to stay here a bit longer? Give yourself time to get more in control?’

  She was trying to tug at his heartstrings. The thing she knew was important to him. Maybe it was a bit manipulative. But if it worked...

  She kept going. ‘Why are you so focused on this tour? Wouldn’t it be simpler just to delay the whole thing until you were in better health?’

  He shook his head. ‘You make it sound so easy. It’s anything but.’

  She held up her hands. ‘But why? You’re Mitchell Brody. You’ve got the world at your feet. Don’t you just click your fingers and everyone comes running?’

  He let out a short burst of laughter. ‘I wish!’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘You certainly don’t.’ He let the words hang there as he ran his fingers through his hair and rested his elbows on the table. ‘This tour has taken two years to plan. Two years to iron out with my management and band members.’

  She was t
rying not to smile at his first comment, but she was still confused. ‘What did you have to iron out?’

  He hesitated. ‘Things are a bit different about this tour. It’s not as straightforward as it seems.’

  ‘Why?’ She wasn’t going to let it go. She wanted to understand if something about this was putting him under more pressure. It was an important factor in controlling his diabetes.

  He couldn’t seem to look her in the eye. ‘My share of the tour proceeds and a certain percentage of the profits are tied up somewhere else. I mean, the guys aren’t getting what they normally would on a tour.’

  ‘Why?’ She couldn’t stop asking the question. The guy was a billionaire, did he have some kind of crazy debts? An uncomfortable prickle went down her spine. How well did she know Mitchell Brody really?

  This time he did meet her gaze. Uncompromising. ‘Because I asked them to.’

  It was the way he said it. The sincerity behind his brown eyes. Every hair at the back of her neck stood on end as if a cool breeze had just blown past.

  She could tell he wasn’t going to say any more. His tone had more or less let her know the conversation was over. But it only succeeded in making her more curious than ever.

  ‘What do you need the money for?’ Her voice came out as a whisper, almost lost in the background noise and chat. There were deep furrows across his brow.

  He didn’t have time to answer before the plates were put down in front of them. It only took a few seconds for the wonderful aroma to engulf her. It wasn’t the only thing to engulf her. A wash of relief was sweeping over her too. She’d asked a question she wasn’t sure she wanted an answer to.

  The frown on his forehead made it clear he wasn’t happy with her comments. Mitch leaned forward and murmured what each dish contained. He picked up his knife and fork and started eating quietly. The silence was painful.

  Things had been so much fun earlier, so festive, so flirty. She certainly knew how to create an atmosphere.

  Panic started to flow through her veins. What if he decided to sack her? She needed the income for her mum.

  This job was playing havoc with her senses. One minute she was threatening to quit and walk away, the next she was feeling panicked about getting sacked.

  The truth was this should all be about the money—and her responsibility to care for her patient. But, slowly and surely, this complicated man was starting to get under her skin.

  The rational part of her brain started to kick in. She’d merely asked a few questions. Sure, she was curious about the personal stakes, but the initial questions had been based around his condition. That was fine. That wasn’t a sackable offence.

  She took a mouthful of food then sucked in a deep breath. It was time to take a different tack. ‘What about practising, I mean, rehearsals for your tour? Shouldn’t you be doing that now? Your tour starts in two weeks. Isn’t this the time to be running about like crazy, doing all those sound-check things?’

  The corners of his mouth turned up and his shoulders relaxed a little at her lack of showbiz knowledge. ‘We’ve done all the rehearsing. We did it in advance as we all wanted to take some holiday time over Christmas and New Year. It was during the rehearsals that I became unwell.’ He ran his fingers through his hair again. ‘I just thought I was working too hard—becoming too focused on what we had to do.’

  Pressure. Stress. Those were the words that jumped into her head. Always risk factors for diabetes. Was the tour putting him under undue stress? Because that could affect his diabetic control too.

  She was a little surprised. ‘But these are your songs. You know them back to front. I would have thought the rehearsals would have come easy to you.’

  He smiled. ‘Just because I can play the guitar and sing the song doesn’t make it easy. There are hundreds of things that can affect a performance. Every arena is different and because of the amplification and the way it can affect the sound, we have to take all of that into consideration. We’re constantly tweaking for every venue we’ll play at.’

  ‘But what about your health? Isn’t that important to you, Mitch?’

  The frown fell back into place. ‘My health is the least of my concerns right now. I just need to be able to stay on my feet and complete this tour.’

  The words made her feel uncomfortable. Her nursing instincts were firing shots across her brain. ‘You’re not making this easy. If I don’t think you’re fit I’ll have to say that. I’ve got to be confident that you can keep your blood sugar under control.’ She bit her lip, ‘The truth is, Mitchell, I’ve seen you skiing and we’ve worked out how much carbohydrate you burn while doing that. We can tailor what you eat and how much insulin you take for that activity. But a two-or three-hour concert? I wouldn’t even know where to start.’

  She reached across the table and touched his hand. The pads of her fingers tingled as soon as she came into contact with his warm flesh. ‘I’m worried, Mitch. The last thing I want is for you to have a hypo attack in front of thousands of fans. That would be a nightmare. Truth is, the timing of all this is really difficult. The first few weeks of diabetes should be about seeing how to work things around your normal routine. Once that is sorted, then we can look at how a performance affects your blood sugar and plan for that.’ She gave her head a little shake. ‘I hate to say it, but I really think the best thing you can do is cancel.’

  ‘What?’ His voice echoed around the room, and several heads turned in their direction. Sam felt herself sink into her chair.

  He realised immediately what he’d done and lowered his voice, leaning across the table towards her, eyes blazing. ‘I wasn’t kidding when I said this had taken two years to plan, Samantha. You think I can just cancel and set this up for a few months down the line? Not a chance. These venues, these arenas are booked out nearly eighteen months in advance. The timetabling for the band is done even further ahead than that. We have commitments to record a new album. Frank, the drummer, needs surgery—even that’s had to be fitted into our timetable. Cancelling this tour would be a disaster.’ He paused. ‘And not just for us.’

  He was deadly serious and her brain was scrambling to decide how to handle this. No matter what she’d seen at the hospital today, Mitchell Brody was used to getting his own way. Like it or not, she was going to have to try and work in a way that fitted around his demands.

  He was staring off into space again, lost in his own thoughts. She’d have to give this some consideration. She needed him to work with her, not against her.

  His eyes locked on hers. She could almost see the shutters falling into place. If she couldn’t turn this around it wasn’t only dinner that was going to be a bust.

  ‘We’ll need to do some rehearsals. I’ll need to see you perform for the whole length of the concert. And not just once. We need to do it a few days in a row to see if the overall build-up affects how much insulin you’ll need. This is complicated, Mitch, I can’t just make up these calculations in my head. We need to base it on real life.’ She was bending. She knew she was bending. But she was still allowing for her professional judgement to say no.

  His brown eyes fixed on hers. ‘Fine.’

  Just like that. No argument. No ranting. Each concession was taking a little less time. A little less effort.

  Then it happened. He gave a little shudder, as if he was shaking off the black cloud around his shoulders. She saw him inhale deeply and his gaze softened and he tried to smile.

  He leaned towards her. ‘So, Samantha. What about you? How do you feel about being away for Christmas?’

  Wow. What a turnaround. She felt a little uneasy. But it was probably best just to go with the flow.

  She looked around the room with its evergreen garlands and red bows, the shimmering tree in the corner of the room. There didn’t seem to be a single part of this city that didn’t scream Christmas at you.
The Austrians did Christmas like no others.

  It did give her little pangs. It took her back to years gone by when she and her sister hadn’t slept at night with excitement. Their mum had loved Christmas, their whole house full of brightly coloured tinsel. Nothing could beat that feeling of waking up on Christmas morning to see a stuffed-full Christmas stocking at the bottom of their beds. Even as an adult she missed that. No matter how silly it seemed.

  She took a deep breath. The words were hard to say. ‘My life has changed. This is how it’s got to be. I know that my mum is somewhere she’s being looked after. I have complete faith in them—and that’s a big thing for me. Trusting someone else with my mum’s care is hard. But I have to do this. Christmas is the most profitable time of year for agency nursing. The last few years I’ve been with a family, caring for a little boy with CF.’

  ‘Like Rudy at the hospital?’

  ‘Exactly. They were great. They made me feel like part of the family. His mum and dad really wanted to do everything for him, but they had two other kids to consider too. It made a huge difference for them to have an extra pair of hands they could count on. It meant the whole family could enjoy Christmas with no pressure. I enjoyed doing that for them.’

  It was true.

  ‘Yeah, but Christmas at a price.’ His voice dripped with cynicism.

  She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. ‘Don’t say that. I know what you mean. And, yes, his family could afford it. But the whole job, it just didn’t feel like a job. It felt like being part of the family. And at this time of year that’s important.’

  He took another forkful of the stew and lifted his eyebrows. ‘So what happened this year?’

  ‘The little boy—Daniel—he was sick. He’s in hospital.’ A cool chill washed over her skin. She hadn’t phoned Trish to see how he was and she should have. She’d been so wrapped up in Mitchell this last week that she just hadn’t got around to it. What was wrong with her? She never forgot things like that.