The Playboy's Mistress. KIM LAWRENCEЧитать онлайн книгу.
upper hallway, shedding her layers as she went—the First Aid kit was exactly where she’d said it would be. Why couldn’t men find something when it was right under their noses…?
‘Learnt helplessness,’ she snorted in knowledgeable disgust, and Mum let them get away with it, she thought disapprovingly as she rapidly retraced her steps. Her respect for what her mother accomplished on the home front had increased by leaps and bounds since she’d arrived home.
She ripped the scrunchy thing that had slid down to the slippery end of her shiny pony-tail free and shoved it in her pocket before she gave her head a little shake and lifted her fine hair free of the collar of her ribbed polo-necked sweater.
‘I’ll just clean up this head wound first.’ He endured her cleaning the small but deep head wound with stoicism. ‘I think it might be your collar-bone.’ Darcy bent over the chair, bringing her face almost on a level with his.
He didn’t know where she’d come from but he wasn’t complaining; she was a major improvement on all the brawn. He watched her narrow, slender hands as she set about her task. They were nice hands, and it was an even nicer face. A roundish face with a pointy little chin, a hint of sultriness about the full lower lip…? No more than a hint, he decided, revising his original estimate as she raised the big blue kitten eyes to his face and murmured… ‘Sorry. I broke mine once,’ she continued in a slightly husky, oddly familiar voice. ‘I know how much it hurts. I think it’ll be less painful if it’s supported, but if I hurt you too much, yell.’
‘I will.’
Darcy’s eyes lifted; under the scrutiny of those wide-spaced blue eyes, Reece got that strange feeling of familiarity again as she gave an unconvinced little smile.
‘A fine little nurse our Darcy is,’ the fatherly-looking figure remarked fondly.
Darcy; where had he heard that before…?
‘They’ll want to X-ray you in the hospital, I expect.’
She was halfway through tying the supportive sling gently around his neck before a stunned Reece saw what had been blindingly obvious all along.
The schoolboy and the slender, but very obviously feminine blonde were one and the same person!
‘You’re a girl!’ he blurted out unthinkingly.
The note of resentment in the shocked cry made Darcy’s lips twitch and her stepfather’s expression grow concerned.
‘Perhaps I ought to call that ambulance.’
Darcy put the final twitch to the knot around his neck and straightened up, brushing her hands down the gentle curve of her thighs.
‘I’m Darcy.’
‘Reece,’ he gulped, not meeting her eyes. Since discovering the gender of his rescuer Reece seemed unable to stop looking at her breasts; they were full, rounded and at that moment strained against the tight sweater she wore.
She bent a little closer. ‘34 C,’ she whispered.
His head came up with a jerk; predictably she was smiling.
In someone more fair-skinned the deepening of colour beneath that even olive tone of his skin would have been a full-scale blush.
‘Mr Erskine thought I was a boy,’ she explained solemnly to her family. Having been the victim of this mortifying case of mistaken identity, she didn’t feel inclined to spare her patient’s embarrassment.
After a startled pause, this announcement was greeted with predictable hilarity. The twins cracked up; even Jack looked amused.
‘Now, there’s a novelty.’ Nick lost his habitual sardonic sneer as he grinned in malicious delight at his sister.
Not wanting to come over as someone totally without humour, Reece smiled—it wasn’t the easiest thing he’d ever done.
Darcy wasn’t a vindictive girl—she’d made her point, and she had no wish to see him squirm excessively. She decided to take the spotlight off his mistake.
‘Wasn’t it you, Nick who gave up your seat on the train to the pregnant lady who wasn’t…?’
Nick winced. ‘Don’t remind me.’
Reece’s eyes did another unscheduled detour—this time in the direction of her flat midriff. There was no possibility that anyone would make that particular mistake in her case. Her jeans were cinched in around an impossibly narrow waist by a wide leather belt, and the blue denim clung to a nicely rounded bottom and slender thighs… The more details he took in, the more he felt inclined to think he really was concussed—nothing else could explain the fact he’d mistaken her for a boy!
‘I’ll take him to the hospital.’
‘That’s all right, Darce, I’ll do it,’ Nick offered.
Darcy reached up and ruffled his hair affectionately. ‘No, you’ve just had a long drive—I’ll do it. Always supposing you two filled up my car last night after you used it.’
The blond-haired seventeen-year-olds looked innocently hurt that she’d raised the possibility they might have found a better use for her twenty quid.
‘As if we would.’
The three older members of their family snorted.
‘It’s really not necessary…’ Reece began, getting to his feet. ‘I’ve no wish to impose.’
The pocket-sized blonde looked amused by his attempt to regain a bit of dignity. ‘You’ve already imposed, Mr Erskine,’ she responded bluntly. ‘So you might as well get your money’s worth.’
CHAPTER TWO
REECE levered himself into the cramped front seat of the Beetle. He rapidly discovered there was a soggy patch in the worn upholstery. A quick survey revealed the half-open window was the most likely culprit. He tried to close it, but it seemed as though the ventilation was permanent.
Reece, who liked his cars the same way he liked his women—sleek, racy and maintenance-free—gritted his teeth and settled back to make the best of it.
‘I’ll be with you in a minute,’ the diminutive blonde promised, bending down to peer with concern at him through the window.
Reece saw she’d discarded the yellow cagoule thing in favour of more feminine garb—a dark ankle-length trench coat that billowed as she ran off down the steep path towards the grim-faced big brother, who, it seemed to Reece, was the only one of the family with enough common sense to view him, a total stranger, with even a hint of suspicion.
A heated conversation ensued and, thanks to the broken window and prevailing icy wind, Reece could hear snatches of what they were saying.
‘Give me the keys, Darcy.’
‘Don’t be stupid, Nicky, you’re shattered.’
‘And you’re not?’
A blustery gust snatched away the next section of the conversation but it involved a considerable amount of gesticulation—it seemed to Reece that his colourful neighbours favoured extravagant body language.
‘What if he’s a homicidal psychopath…or a sex maniac? Or worse?’
Reece’s muzzy, throbbing head didn’t immediately make the connection between the sinister character they were discussing and himself until the brother continued in a suspicious growl, ‘…And I’m sure I’ve seen his face somewhere before. Erskine…Erskine…why does that sound familiar…? Don’t laugh, Darce, I’m serious. Your trouble is you’re too damned trusting.’
Under the circumstances, it seemed more than legitimate to eavesdrop. Reece leant casually towards the open window but unfortunately a large dog chose that particular moment to poke his nose through the gap and lick him affectionately on the forehead. He withdrew swiftly to