His Christmas Virgin by Carole Mortimer Page B

ever doing that.’
    Jonas frowned. ‘Why the hell not?’
    â€˜It’s difficult to explain.’
    â€˜Try,’ he invited grimly.
    Mac frowned. ‘The warehouse belonged to my great-grandfather originally, then to my grandfather. Years ago my great-grandfather owned a small fleet of boats, for delivering cargos to other parts of England. Obviously long before we had the huge container trucks that clog up the roads nowadays.’ She chewed distractedly on her bottom lip.
    Jonas’s gaze was riveted on those tiny white teeth nibbling on the fullness of her bottom lip, that ache returning to his thighs as he easily imagined being the one doing the biting…
    For the moment Mac seemed unaware of the heated intensity of his gaze. ‘I spent a lot of time there with my grandfather when I was a child, and when he died he left it to me,’ she finished with a shrug.
    Jonas forced himself to drag his gaze from the sensual fullness of her lips. ‘So you’re saying you want to keep it because it has sentimental value?’
    â€˜Something like that, yes.’
    â€˜Your grandfather didn’t want to leave the property to your parents?’
    It really was difficult for Mac to explain the affinity that had existed between her grandfather and herself. How he had understood the love and affection she felt for the rambling warehouse beside the river. How living and working there now made Mac feel that she still had that connection to her grandfather. ‘My parents had already moved out of London to live in Devon when my grandfather died, and so didn’t want or need it.’
    â€˜No siblings for you to share with?’
    â€˜No. You?’ Mac asked with interest, deciding she had probably talked about herself enough for one evening.
    Jonas’s mouth thinned. ‘I believe my parents considered that one mistake was enough.’
    Mac gasped, not quite sure what to say in answer to a statement like that. ‘I’m sure they didn’t think of you as a mistake—’
    â€˜Then you would be wrong, Mac,’ he said dryly. ‘My parents were both only nineteen when they got married, and then it was only because my mother was expecting me. She would have been better off—we all would have—if she had either got rid of the baby or settled for being a single mother.’ He finished drinking the wine in his glass, offering to refill Mac’s glass before refilling his own when she shook her head in refusal.
    Mac had continued to eat while they talked, but she gave up all pretence of that after Jonas’s comment that his mother should have got rid of him rather than marry his father!
    Jonas looked bitter. ‘I have no doubts that your own childhood was one of love and indulgence with parents and a family who loved you?’
    â€˜Yes,’ she admitted with slight discomfort.
    Jonas gave a hard smile. ‘Don’t look so apologetic, Mac. It’s the way it should be, after all,’ he said bleakly. ‘Unfortunately, it so often isn’t. I believe it took a couple of years for the novelty to wear off and the cracks to start appearing in my own parents’ marriage, then ten years or more for them to realise they couldn’t stand the sight of each other. Or me,’ he added flatly.
    Mac gave a pained wince. ‘I’m sure you’re wrong about that, Jonas.’
    â€˜I’m sure your romantic little heart wants me to be wrong about that, Mac,’ he corrected.
    He meant his mockery of her to wound, and it did, but Mac’s ‘romantic little heart’ also told her that Jonas’s taunts hid the pain and disillusionment that had helped to mould him into the hard and resilient man he was today. That had made him into a man who rejected all the softer emotions, such as love, in favour of making a success of his life through his own hard work and sheer determination. That had made him into a man who