Kitabı oxu: «A Dream Christmas»
A Dream Christmas
Christmas with a Billionaire
Carole Mortimer/Maisey Yates/Joss Wood
Regency
Christmas
Vows
Nicola Cornick/Anne Herries
Christmas Baby
Judy Duarte/Joanna Sims/Linda Warren
www.millsandboon.co.uk
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Christmas with a Billionaire
Billionaire Under the Mistletoe
About the Author
Prologue
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
Snowed in with Her Boss
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
A Diamond for Christmas
Dedication
About the Author
Prologue
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
Regency Christmas Vows
The Blanchland Secret
About the Author
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
The Mistress of Hanover Square
About the Author
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Christmas Baby
A Baby Under the Tree
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
A Baby For Christmas
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Extract
Her Christmas Hero
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Copyright
Christmas with a Billionaire
Billionaire Under the Mistletoe
Carole Mortimer
Snowed in with Her Boss
Maisey Yates
A Diamond for Christmas
Joss Wood
Billionaire Under the Mistletoe
Carole Mortimer
USA TODAY bestselling author CAROLE MORTIMER was born in England and currently makes her home on the Isle of Man. Happily married to Peter, they have six grown-up sons, so Christmas was always a fun-filled but busy time of year, she reports. Carole has written nearly two hundred books for Mills & Boon and divides her time between the Mills & Boon® Modern™ and Mills & Boon® Historical lines. Carole loves spending time with her family, travelling and reading. Visit her website at www.carole-mortimer.com for news on upcoming books and more.
PROLOGUE
‘IT’S A SIMPLE enough request to make, surely, Sally? After all, you are my PA and—Why are you laughing?’
‘Wasn’t I meant to laugh?’
‘Hell, no!’
‘Then you were actually serious when you asked me to have Christmas delivered to your apartment by Friday morning?’
‘Does it look as if I’m joking, Sally?’
‘Oh.’
Sophie had arrived slightly early at Hamilton Tower for her lunch date with her cousin, Sally; she certainly hadn’t intended to find herself standing transfixed in the plush hallway outside her cousin’s office, inadvertently eavesdropping on Sally’s conversation with her boss, Max Hamilton, billionaire CEO of Hamilton Enterprises.
Although she understood Sally’s humour and disbelief: who on earth had Christmas delivered?
The super-rich Max Hamilton, apparently.
As far as Sophie was concerned, Christmas had always been a time of traditions, built up over years and years of family holidays spent together, with decorations kept and treasured by generation after generation.
Obviously, Max Hamilton had missed that particular memo …
Sophie knew from what Sally had told her that her cousin’s boss was something of a workaholic. Just as Sophie also knew, from reading about him in the tabloids, that the man appeared to play as hard as he worked, changing his women as often as he changed his no doubt designer label silk shirts—daily, if not twice a day.
Having seen photographs of him, Sophie wasn’t in the least surprised. Tall, dark and handsome didn’t even begin to describe the thirty-four-year-old owner and CEO of Hamilton Enterprises. With overlong and fashionably tousled dark hair, mesmerising green eyes, high cheekbones, sculptured lips above a strong jaw, he was sex on long, long legs.
He also had the most seductive voice Sophie had ever had the pleasure of listening to—a mixture of molasses and gravel, honey over satin, with just the right hint of husky.
Although the subject of his conversation still seemed slightly bizarre.
‘I thought you were going skiing this Christmas, as usual?’ Sally prompted uncertainly now, as she obviously realised her boss wasn’t joking, after all.
‘I was. Notice the past tense.’ Max Hamilton sighed, showing his irritation. ‘My sister and her husband are having marital problems, and she telephoned me last night to say she thinks it’s a good idea for her to join me in England for Christmas this year, along with my five-year-old niece, Amy.’
Ah, that explained part of his dilemma.
But not all of it.
Having Christmas delivered just seemed … Well, it was just wrong.
Admittedly, Sophie was spending her own Christmas alone this year, while her cousin, aunt and uncle went to Canada for two weeks so that they could all meet Sally’s in-laws-to-be. They had very kindly invited Sophie to accompany them, but she had preferred to stay in England and cat-sit for Henry, Sally’s spoilt but adorable pet.
There were very legitimate reasons why Sophie’s own Christmas was going to be so different this year, and it certainly wasn’t through choice. Max Hamilton just sounded as if he was too busy—or perhaps considered himself too important?—to trouble himself bothering to organise Christmas for his sister and niece.
Though, to his credit, he was changing his plans to suit his sister and his niece’s needs, and was no longer going skiing, as he apparently usually did, but he obviously had no idea how to go about providing the rest of Christmas for his small family.
‘Which reminds me, I’m also going to need more presents than the ones I already sent to them in the States,’ the man continued distractedly. ‘Lots of them. Under the tree, for Amy and my sister to unwrap on Christmas morning.’
Okay, now he had gone too far! I mean, really, couldn’t the man even be bothered to personally pick out the necessary presents for his niece, at least? A little girl who was no doubt already seriously emotionally distressed by her parents’ problems.
Obviously not.
‘And I’ll need a cook,’ Max Hamilton added.
‘A cook?’ Sally echoed slowly.
‘Well, I have no idea how to cook a Christmas lunch, and it doesn’t seem fair to ask Janice to cook for all of us when she’s so upset about the separation.’
‘You do remember that I’m flying to Canada the day after tomorrow?’ Sally reminded him softly.
‘I also know you’re the best damn PA in the world.’
Oh, yes, let’s try flattery when all else fails, Sophie noted disgustedly.
He might be ‘tall, dark and handsome’, and have a seductively sexy voice to go with it, but, from what Sophie had overheard, Max Hamilton was also manipulative. Clearly a man who believed, when all else failed, that he could charm his way out of a problem.
‘I know that and you know that,’ Sally answered him drily.
‘But …?’
‘But I have to admit, best PA in the world or not, that I have no idea how to even begin ordering Christmas to be delivered, let alone find someone to cook for you over Christmas at such short notice.’
‘Aren’t there party organisers, agencies, who provide this type of thing?’ Max Hamilton muttered irritably. ‘I don’t care what it costs, Sally, as long as it’s all in place by Christmas Eve, when Janice and Amy fly in to Heathrow.’
‘I’m not sure any amount of money can provide all of Christmas, and a cook, in just five days!’
Neither was Sophie. And it really was just all wrong, anyway.
Her own childhood Christmases had been a time of family and warmth, of those traditions so integral to the season. Her father had died in a car accident when she was nine, but that hadn’t stopped her mother from continuing with all the Christmas traditions that had been such a part of their lives prior to that; if anything, it had seemed even more important that she do so.
Even since her mother had become terminally ill four years ago the two of them had always made the best of the situation, putting up the decorations as usual and exchanging presents. Sophie had been the one to cook the traditional roast turkey dinner and Christmas pudding, alternate years with her aunt and uncle and Sally as their guests, and spending Christmas Day at their home with them on the intervening years.
Not so this year, as her mother had finally succumbed to her illness six months ago, which was why Sophie had been only too happy to distract herself this Christmas by house-sitting and taking care of Sally’s cat. But her aloneness was down to circumstances, rather than choice.
Max Hamilton obviously usually preferred to go skiing over the holidays, rather than spending time with his family. No doubt having his entertainment, food—and women!—provided for him, with as little inconvenience to himself as possible.
A modern-day Ebenezer Scrooge came to mind. The Scrooge who had yet to learn the true meaning of Christmas.
Did that mean that there might be some hope for Max Hamilton too—if he was also shown the true meaning of Christmas?
‘It’s been my experience that everything can be bought for the right price, Sally,’ he drawled cynically, almost as an answer to Sophie’s unvoiced question.
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘I knew I could rely on you!’
‘As no doubt I can rely on that huge bonus you’re going to put in my next pay cheque if I manage to pull this off,’ Sally came back drily.
‘What was that for?’ Sally sounded astonished now.
‘In honour of the season?’
‘Okay …’
Sophie waited until she heard a door close, no doubt the connecting door between her cousin’s office and Max Hamilton’s, before finally entering Sally’s office, easily noting the slightly dazed and flushed look on her cousin’s face as she sat behind her desk.
‘Did he just kiss you?’
‘I—Yes …’ Sally gave a rueful shake of her head as she touched her fingertips to her cheek.
Sophie instantly added liberty-taker to her list of Max Hamilton’s faults. Unless he thought, as Sally was engaged, it was safe to kiss her? The revolving door through which the women came, and as instantly went, in Max Hamilton’s life would seem to imply he had a problem with committing to one woman.
‘Did you hear any of that?’ Sally mused ruefully.
‘Only the highlights,’ Sophie answered drily. ‘And I don’t count that kiss as being amongst them!’ she added disapprovingly as she perched her denim-clad bottom on the edge of her cousin’s desk.
‘It was only on the cheek, so no big deal.’ Sally stood up to collect her coat and shoulder bag, ready for the two of them to head out to their lunch.
‘I’m not sure Josh would see it that way.’
Sally smiled affectionately at the mention of her fiancé and her thoughts turned to their planned wedding for next summer. ‘I’m more worried about how I’m supposed to have Christmas delivered to Max’s apartment by Friday, as well as a cook, than I am about Josh being in the least jealous of a grateful peck on the cheek from my boss.’
Sophie found herself thinking about her cousin’s dilemma, and five-year-old Amy’s Christmas too, as the two of them ate lunch together in the busy Italian bistro just down the road from Hamilton Tower. Max Hamilton obviously had absolutely no idea how to go about providing Christmas for his sister and the no doubt emotionally bewildered Amy.
‘I’ll do it,’ Sophie announced decisively as they waited for their bill to be delivered to the table.
Sally frowned as she looked up from searching for her purse in her handbag. ‘Do what?’
‘Organise and have Christmas delivered to your boss’s apartment.
‘And I’ll also cook for him and his family over the holidays.’
Her cousin stilled, her eyes wide. ‘Are you being serious?’
‘Why not?’ Sophie shrugged. ‘You obviously don’t really have the time to organise it, and I have nothing but time at the moment,’ she added gruffly. ‘Besides, it might be fun to organise a Christmas that apparently has an unlimited budget. You don’t look too sure about the idea?’ she prompted uncertainly as she saw her cousin’s frown.
‘Not because I don’t think you can do it, because I know you can,’ Sally assured her quickly. ‘It’s just—Did I ever tell you what a disaster it was a couple of years ago, when I allowed my friend Cathy, who had just been made redundant and needed the money, to stand in for me at the office while I went away on holiday?’
Sophie frowned in thought for a moment and then her brow cleared as she began to laugh. ‘As I recall, didn’t you tell me Cathy made a play for Max Hamilton that he took exception to?’
Sally rolled her eyes. ‘She didn’t just make a play for him—she very quickly decided that she wanted to be Mrs Max Hamilton. To the extent that she used to lie in wait for him when he arrived at the office every morning, her clothes becoming more and more daring in an effort to attract his attention! I almost got fired over it.’ She grimaced at the memory.
Sophie gave her cousin’s hand a reassuring pat. ‘Well, you can rest assured that I’m not in the least interested in attracting Max Hamilton’s attention, romantically or otherwise. With any luck, he will barely even know I’m there. Besides, there’s absolutely no reason why he needs to know the two of us are even related. We have different surnames, and he suggested you contact an agency, so why not let him just continue to think that’s what you did? That way, if anything should go wrong there won’t be any comeback on you.’
Sally chewed on her bottom lip, obviously tempted by the idea, but still feeling cautious after the disaster with her friend Cathy. ‘What about Henry?’
Sophie grinned at the mention of her cousin’s beloved cat. ‘I’ll be going back to your flat to sleep at night, and I can easily pop back during the day to feed him and whatever.’
‘You really are serious, aren’t you?’ Sally murmured wonderingly.
‘I really am.’ Sophie nodded.
The more she thought about it, the more Sophie found she liked the idea of ‘delivering’ Max Hamilton’s Christmas …
CHAPTER ONE
‘WHAT THE HELL—?’ Max came to an abrupt halt as he stepped inside the entrance hall of his apartment and noticed first the stepladder and then the young red-haired woman perched on top of it. She seemed to be attaching something to one of the paintings.
The young woman, who seemed just as startled to see him, turned sharply, letting out a panicked squeak as the ladder wobbled precariously beneath her, causing her to lose her balance completely.
The squeak became an all-out cry of distress as the ladder continued to wobble before tipping over, leaving her with her arms windmilling ineffectively, her expression one of shocked horror as she hurtled towards the marble floor.
Max acted instinctively, instantly dropping his briefcase before stepping forward to hold out his arms in the hope of arresting her unexpected fall. He let out a loud ‘oomph’ as she landed hard against his chest, before taking him down with her.
Sophie was too stunned to be able to so much as think for several long seconds. And when her head finally cleared she didn’t know whether to laugh in relief at her lucky escape from contact with the hard marble tiles or groan in embarrassment as she realised that she was currently sprawled inelegantly across her new employer.
So much for her reassurances to Sally that Max Hamilton would barely know she was there.
It didn’t help that Max Hamilton smelt absolutely divine: a hint of sandalwood and spices, with a tang of lemon. No doubt from his cologne or aftershave.
Or that his breathtakingly sexy voice was now so close to her ear that his breath stirred the curls there as he spoke. It affected her just as much as it had yesterday. So much so that she had fallen off the stepladder the minute she’d heard him speak …
‘Ouch,’ he muttered beneath her now. ‘I think I have a bruised backside at the very least.’
The wild red of Sophie’s curls currently covered most of her face, something she was exceedingly grateful for as she felt the blush that now warmed her cheeks. She felt flustered, sprawled across Max Hamilton’s chest, her thighs and legs also intimately entangled with his.
It didn’t help that an image of that perfectly taut backside also instantly flashed into her mind. She had once seen a photograph in one of the gossip magazines of Sally’s boss on a yacht somewhere in the Mediterranean, his only covering a pair of body-hugging black swimming trucks.
‘Who are you? And exactly what are you doing in my apartment?’ he now demanded irritably.
Obviously the bruising had done nothing to improve his temper.
Sophie struggled to disentangle herself, wrapping her arms about her drawn-up knees as she now sat on the tiled floor beside Max Hamilton. A Max Hamilton who was every bit as gorgeous as he had appeared in the photographs, despite the fact that he was eyeing her with narrow-eyed suspicion as he sat up beside her.
His overlong hair wasn’t just dark; it was ebony, taking on a blue-black sheen beneath the overhead lighting. And his handsome face was so much more appealing in the animated flesh—straight dark brows over long-lashed and luminous green eyes, sculptured cheekbones visible beneath the tautness of his tanned flesh, with perfectly chiselled and sensuously kissable lips above a square and determined jaw.
Sophie dragged her gaze away from his mouth, only to look up and find herself instead held mesmerised by those piercing emerald-green eyes.
Eyes that now looked at her accusingly.
Sophie drew in a long and steadying breath as she rose to her feet, unnecessarily brushing her jeans down as she did so; she knew from being here for most of the afternoon that Max Hamilton’s luxurious penthouse apartment was spotlessly clean. Courtesy of a cleaner, no doubt; Max Hamilton didn’t give the impression he was the sort of man who would willingly wield either a vacuum cleaner or a duster.
She had been stunned when she’d first entered his penthouse apartment, on the twentieth floor of this art deco building. The apartment’s decor was beyond opulent, with its pale silk-covered walls, original paintings and antique furnishings. Even the carpets were so luxurious she felt as if she were walking on air.
And walking was what she had done, for over half an hour, as she’d explored the whole of the apartment. Discovering there were half a dozen bedrooms, each with en suite bathrooms, two of them even having their own small sitting room—no doubt the master and mistress suite! There was also an indoor pool, huge gym, a sauna, a wooden panelled study, two huge sitting rooms and a dining room with a table that would easily seat a dozen people. As for the kitchen …! Sophie would get down on her knees and beg in order to possess a kitchen like the one in this apartment.
She hadn’t seen the sort of opulence this apartment possessed outside the pages of one of those glossy magazines that were always to be found in doctors’ or dentists’ waiting rooms.
Her chin rose now as she looked down at the owner of all that opulence. ‘My name is Sophie Carter.’
Max Hamilton rose lithely to his feet as he eyed her mockingly. ‘Not Annie?’
‘No, but I am an orphan,’ Sophie answered tightly, not missing the reference to her fiery red curls and lack of height against his own couple of inches over six feet.
His mouth tightened at the rebuke in her tone. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’
Sophie ignored the condolence. ‘I’ve been hired by your office to deliver your Christmas.’ She chose the word deliberately, still irritated that this man found the prospect of having his sister and niece to spend Christmas with him something of a chore rather than the enjoyable experience it should have been. He obviously had no idea how lucky he was to have close family.
‘You’re the person Sally told me she’d hired?’ Max had only been half listening to his PA earlier today, when Sally had informed him that she had hired someone to deal with all the arrangements for Christmas at his apartment with his sister and niece.
At the time he had been between several telephone calls from Cynthia Maitland, as she’d bemoaned the fact that he wouldn’t be joining her in Aspen for Christmas, after all.
If nothing else, he had learnt a lot from those telephone calls: namely that Cynthia was becoming far too possessive about what had been, after all, only a casual affair between them. Learning that Cynthia now obviously had expectations—of their relationship and of himself—had been enough to leave Max feeling relieved to have an excuse to avoid her.
Max realised now that he should have paid more attention earlier to Sally, and that he had absolutely no idea who, what or where this petite red-haired woman had come from.
‘Do you have a problem with that?’ Huge brown eyes now looked up at him challengingly.
Not per se, obviously; it was only three days till Janice and Amy flew in to Heathrow, after all. But the young woman standing in front of him, with her mop of wild shoulder-length red curls framing a heart-shaped face dominated by freckles and those huge brown eyes and dressed in a red cable-knit sweater and hip and thigh-hugging jeans over heavy brown boots, looked barely old enough to have left school, let alone be responsible for organising his Christmas.
She certainly wasn’t what Max had imagined when Sally had told him that someone would be going into his apartment today to start work immediately on his Christmas arrangements.
‘There was no one else at the agency available?’ he prompted uncertainly.
Sophie Carter smiled, instantly drawing Max’s attention to wide and generous lips over small, perfectly straight white teeth. Sensuously generous lips that surprisingly gave him totally inappropriate thoughts!
‘No,’ she answered him dismissively.
‘But …’
‘It’s quite simple really, Mr Hamilton—you either want me to organise Christmas for your family or you don’t. But, as I understood it, your PA has now gone away for the holidays?’ She lifted questioning auburn brows.
Max wasn’t altogether sure he liked Sophie Carter’s attitude. Or her, for that matter …
Likewise, he wasn’t sure if she liked him, if her challenging tone, and that slightly contemptuous curl to her top lip, was any indication. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and Sally had vouched for his newest employee when he had confirmed she could call security at his apartment so that the woman could come in and start work putting up the Christmas decorations.
And, looking about him, he could see that Sophie Carter had done exactly that. There was already a real six foot tall Christmas tree standing in the entrance hall, not decorated yet, but there was an overflowing box of brightly coloured ornaments beside it, obviously in readiness.
There were also sprigs of real berried holly tucked behind the picture frames. That seemed to be what Sophie Carter had been doing when he’d entered the apartment and startled her into falling off the stepladder.
‘It looks great so far,’ he complimented lightly. ‘I just—For some reason, I had expected you to be older.’
‘You should have stopped while you were ahead, Mr Hamilton!’
That derisive smile grew wider, caused dimples to appear in her freckled cheeks.
Max grimaced. ‘Was I ahead?’
‘Probably not,’ she came back drily.
He gave an irritated shake of his head. ‘Have we met before?’
Sophie Carter gave a snort of laughter. ‘That’s not very likely, is it?’
Max raised dark brows. ‘Why is that?’
She gave a dismissive wave of her hand that nevertheless managed to encompass the luxury of his penthouse apartment as well as his own appearance, as opposed to her own less than sartorial elegance in jeans, a jumper and heavy boots.
Max’s own attention stayed on that slender artistic hand, the fingers long and delicate, the nails kept practically short. One of his particular hates was long, red-painted talons that could scratch a man’s back to pieces when—
Now that really was an inappropriate thought when made in connection to the hired help!
‘Do you do this sort of thing all the time or is this just a holiday job for you?’ Max tried again.
She shrugged slender shoulders. ‘I’m on Christmas break from my college course.’
Which meant she must be at least eighteen, Max realised. ‘In?’
‘Catering and business management,’ she seemed to reveal reluctantly.
‘So this is just a temp job to earn some extra money during the holidays?’ he realised.
‘Yes,’ she confirmed tightly.
Max’s brows lowered as he frowned. ‘And have you done this organising Christmas thing before?’
‘Many times,’ she assured drily.
‘Do you—’
‘Perhaps you would prefer it if I stopped what I’m doing for now?’ She spoke briskly. ‘I can easily come back again in the morning. After you’ve left for work, of course.’
What Max would really like would be to know why it was that this woman seemed to have decided she disliked him before she had even met him. Because he was pretty sure that she had. After all, his first act had been to save her from what could have been a nasty, and painful, fall onto the marble-tiled floor of his entrance hall.
He shrugged. ‘There isn’t actually a lot of time left before Christmas.’
‘No,’ Sophie acknowledged evenly, more than a little disturbed at the realisation that she found Max Hamilton so immediate, as well as so fiercely, intrusively masculine.
She had known yesterday that just the sound of his voice sent shivers of awareness down her spine—that huskily sexy voice that made a woman think of silk sheets and naked, entwined bodies.
But the last thing Sophie had been expecting was to find the man himself so attractive that her knees felt weak and her hands trembled slightly. She could kind of see where Sally’s friend Cathy had been coming from with this guy. It was just as well she and Sally had agreed not to admit to the family connection …
‘It really is your choice, Mr Hamilton,’ she added dismissively. ‘After all, you’re the one paying the bill.’
He considered her with those deep green eyes for several seconds before speaking again. ‘Maybe the two of us should start again over a glass of wine. You are old enough to drink, I take it?’ he added hastily.
‘I’m twenty-four, Mr Hamilton. I’ve been allowed to drink for several years.’ Sophie eyed him irritably.
‘Twenty-four?’ He looked startled. ‘You don’t look it.’ He eyed her doubtfully.
‘Well, you don’t look like a man who is either too busy or too lazy to organise Christmas for his sister and niece, but obviously looks can be deceiving,’ Sophie came back tartly.
And instantly had cause to regret that tartness as those hard green eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.
CHAPTER TWO
‘WHO ARE YOU?’ Max Hamilton demanded again, his voice briskly authoritative now as he suddenly seemed to tower over her in the confines of the entrance hall of his apartment.
Sophie realised she had seriously overstepped the mark with her last comment. ‘I apologise, Mr Hamilton. That was very rude of me and … there is no excuse for it.’
Except her physical reaction to Max Hamilton, of course. Which, given the circumstances of her family connection to Sally, she had no intention of allowing this man to so much as guess at. There was far more at stake here than her irritation with these unexpected feelings towards Max Hamilton. Sally’s job, for one thing. And ensuring that his five-year-old niece, Amy, had an enjoyable Christmas for another.
‘I believe a glass of wine for each of us is definitely in order.’ Max Hamilton spoke determinedly, his tone brooking no argument as he stepped back with the obvious intention of having Sophie precede him into the kitchen just down the hallway.
She did so reluctantly, very self-conscious as she wondered if Max Hamilton was looking at her own unbruised backside as she walked in front of him down the hallway. Probably not, when he had thought she wasn’t even old enough to legally drink alcohol until a few minutes ago. She definitely bore no resemblance, in looks or sophistication, to those beautiful women he was always being photographed with in the papers.
And why did that even matter?
Just because Max Hamilton was the most sexily gorgeous man Sophie had ever set eyes on, with a voice to match, it didn’t mean she was about to join the legion of women who were rumoured to have fallen in love with him over the last ten years.
Because the man was also a too rich and equally spoilt playboy and, worst of all, one who preferred to go skiing with friends rather than celebrate Christmas with his family.
As far as Sophie was concerned, that last mark against him was the worst one …
She watched him now from beneath lowered lashes, hesitating near the doorway as he crossed the kitchen to the wine cooler next to the huge stainless steel American-style fridge.
‘You aren’t driving later, are you?’
Sophie gave a tight smile. ‘Public transport.’
He nodded. ‘White wine okay with you?’
‘Fine,’ she confirmed distractedly.
He moved with a light predatory grace that Sophie found as disturbing as the rest of him. His legs were long in tailored dark trousers, the matching jacket of his suit fitting perfectly over those wide and muscled shoulders, the darkness of his tousled hair almost touching his shoulders at the back and falling onto his brow at the front.
It was testament to how much this man dominated the space around him that Sophie found herself looking at him rather than admiring the amazing kitchen she had literally drooled over earlier today.
She wasn’t a great lover of modern kitchens, but she was willing to make an exception with this one; the kitchen units were high gloss black, topped with dark grey marble, as was the worktable standing in the middle of the spacious room. There was a matching breakfast bar, while all of the appliances were stainless steel, including a large range cooker that took up half of one wall. It was a chef’s dream kitchen.
Sophie’s dream kitchen …
And, if she hadn’t already succeeded in blowing it by goading her new boss, she was going to enjoy the privilege of being allowed to cook in here over the Christmas period.
‘Sophie?’
She looked up to find that Max Hamilton was looking across at her expectantly, having poured the two glasses of white wine and placed them on the breakfast bar, all while she was lusting after his kitchen!
‘Sorry.’ She stepped forward to sit up on one of the bar stools.
Not in the least elegantly, unfortunately; as Sophie knew from experience, there was no way any woman who was only five feet two inches tall could ever get up on a bar stool and look elegant or sexy whilst doing it!
Max Hamilton, meanwhile, looked both of those things as he moved to sit on one of the stools opposite and, as expected with his superior height, had absolutely no problem doing so.
He eyed her after taking a sip of his wine. ‘Aren’t you a little old to still be at college?’
The question was so unexpected that Sophie choked on the wine she had been sipping.
‘Careful!’ He moved with that smooth animal grace as he swiftly made his way round the breakfast bar before slapping her on the back.
Sophie glowered up at him as that slap caused her to spit out the rest of the wine. With her eyes streaming from choking and her nose leaking the excess wine, she must look oh-so-very elegant! ‘I’m not sure whether I should thank you for that or not …’ she croaked breathlessly.
‘Just trying to help.’ He grinned down at her unrepentantly as he pulled the white silk handkerchief from the breast pocket of his jacket and presented it to her with a flourish.
Sophie muttered under her breath as she took the handkerchief and mopped up the tears from her cheeks before giving her nose a noisy blow.
‘Sorry?’
She glared up at him. ‘I said I can probably do without help like that.’
‘Would you rather I had let you continue to choke?’ Max held back another smile as he moved to sit back on the bar stool opposite, his expression deliberately innocent as he looked across at her enquiringly.
‘I would rather—Oh, never mind,’ Sophie dismissed impatiently. ‘A minute ago you thought I was underage. I’ll return this to you once I’ve laundered it.’ She pocketed the used handkerchief. ‘And then you say I’m too old to still be at college. Maybe I’m doing an advanced course?’
‘Are you?’ Surprisingly, Max found he was enjoying himself; Sophie Carter certainly wasn’t boring!
As he so often found that he was bored when in the company of the beautiful women he habitually dated?
Well, yes, if Max was honest, he invariably found, no matter how beautiful or desirable and accomplished a woman was in bed, that when it came to actual conversation those women usually bored him almost to the point of falling asleep in their company.
Sophie Carter wasn’t classically beautiful, but her skin was creamy smooth and the tight red shoulder-length curls, which should have clashed garishly with her red jumper but somehow didn’t, were somehow endearing, and those brown eyes were huge enough for a man to drown in. Plus there were those lusciously sensual lips …
Oh, for goodness’ sake. She was only here in his apartment to ensure that Janice and Amy had a good Christmas. Well, as good as it could be, considering that his sister and brother-in-law were currently at loggerheads over something.
Max had no intention of getting caught in the middle of that argument, whatever it was; he knew from experience how volatile his younger sister could be. He had leapt to Janice’s defence too many times when they were both in their teens, only to find that he was the one left sporting a black eye or a split lip, while Janice had made up with whichever one of her boyfriends she had previously fallen out with.
‘I only started catering college in September,’ Sophie replied softly, long lashes lowered over those huge brown eyes.
‘What were you doing before that?’
She looked up at him, those deep brown eyes flashing her resentment at the question. ‘What does that have to do with what I’m doing now?’
Nothing at all. Except that Max knew that for some reason Sophie Carter didn’t want to tell him.
Maybe she had been married and was now divorced and branching out on her own? Or maybe she had needed to work for a few years in order to save up the money to put herself through college? Or—
‘Perhaps you could tell me a little about your sister and niece, so that I have some idea what presents to buy them when I go shopping tomorrow?’ Sophie’s eyes were still slightly red from when she had choked on the wine, her nose too, and her lips were slightly puffy.
Max found his gaze lingering a little too long on those puffy lips.
‘Mr Hamilton?’
‘Call me Max,’ he invited distractedly.
‘I would prefer to keep our relationship on a purely professional footing,’ she answered him primly.
And Max was rapidly coming to the realisation that he would much rather they didn’t, that he found Sophie Carter extremely intriguing!
A knee-jerk reaction to having realised Cynthia Maitland’s unwanted expectations of him?
Possibly.
Although he somehow doubted it.
As a self-made billionaire, Max had long ago become accustomed to, and irritated by, the pound signs that gleamed in a woman’s eyes whenever she looked at him.
The only thing gleaming in Sophie Carter’s expressive eyes when she looked at him was disapproval. For men in general? Or was it something specific about him, in particular, she didn’t like or approve of?
And why the hell should it matter to him, one way or the other, what Sophie Carter did or didn’t think of him?
It didn’t was the answer to that question.
He shrugged. ‘Janice likes silk scarves. And Amy is into horses rather than dolls. Or at least she was the last time I spoke to her.’
‘Your sister’s colouring?’
‘Janice is tall, with the same colouring as mine. Except she’s beautiful, of course,’ he added drily.
Sophie’s gaze dropped from meeting that probing green one as she inwardly acknowledged that Max Hamilton was extremely beautiful, in a purely alpha male and masculine way, of course. That overlong ebony hair was silky soft, his face all hard and masculine angles, his body appearing even more so beneath that perfectly tailored suit and white silk shirt.
Yes, Max Hamilton was most definitely a beautiful alpha male.
He was also way, way out of her league.
And, remembering the Cathy faux pas, that last realisation didn’t even merit so much as a second thought! Certainly not while Sophie was still in Max Hamilton’s disturbing company, at least.
‘I think it’s time I left now, and allowed you to get on with the rest of your evening.’
‘I’m not going anywhere.’
Sophie eyed him irritably. ‘Maybe I am?’
‘Are you?’
She frowned. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but I really don’t think that’s any of your business, Mr Hamilton.’ As she had considered it absolutely none of his business that she had given up her original catering course four years ago in order to care for her very ill mother.
It might be none of Max’s business, but he wanted to know anyway—wanted to know if Sophie Carter was involved with anyone right now.
‘I really do have to go now,’ she insisted as she stood up.
Max also rose to his feet, once again towering over her. ‘You haven’t finished your wine.’
She gave a self-derisive smile. ‘I may not be driving, but I think I’ll pass on the wine, after all, if you don’t mind.’
Max found that he did mind, that he had been enjoying himself talking to the unexpectedly outspoken and equally as intriguing Sophie Carter.
Most women, he had found, tended to be an open book. At least, as far as their interest in him was concerned. Cynthia had gone one step further by actually expecting commitment, of course, but otherwise he knew it was his bank balance that was a woman’s primary interest in him.
Not only did Ms Carter seem to disapprove of him—or his wealth?—but she also remained something of an enigma herself. It was a long time since Max had found himself this interested in learning more about a certain woman.
And that woman happened to be the same one with whom he would be spending the run up to Christmas. ‘Will you also be the one doing the cooking for us over Christmas?’
‘The food is already ordered and due to be delivered before your sister and niece arrive on Friday.’ Sophie nodded. ‘Unless you would prefer to find someone else to do the actual catering?’
‘Not at all,’ Max assured smoothly. ‘You don’t have family or friends you would rather be with?’
‘I already told you, I’m an orphan.’
That wasn’t exactly what Max had wanted to know.
But perhaps Christmas this year, with the presence of the feisty Sophie Carter, wouldn’t be just another day to him, as it had been for more years than Max cared to remember.
CHAPTER THREE
‘LET ME HELP YOU with those!’
Sophie almost dropped all the bags and parcels she was struggling to carry into Max Hamilton’s apartment at hearing the unexpected sound of his voice somewhere in front and above her. Having spent most of the afternoon shopping—on his credit card!—she hadn’t expected him to have returned home from his office just yet.
‘Did you buy the whole of the toyshop or just half of it?’ he drawled ruefully as he took the parcels out of her arms to reveal that he must have been home for some time to have changed into a casual black cashmere sweater and faded jeans, his overlong dark hair as sexily tousled as ever.
And, if that was even possible, he was looking even more deliciously gorgeous than he had yesterday in that perfectly tailored suit and silk shirt.
‘Just half of it.’ Sophie eyed him ruefully as she carried the shopping bags through to the elegant cream-and-brown sitting room, now dominated by an eight foot tall and fully decorated Christmas tree standing in the corner of the room beside the fireplace. ‘Perhaps you would like to help me wrap them all up?’ she added derisively.
He eyed her thoughtfully. ‘I would, as it happens.’
Sophie gave him a startled look; she hadn’t actually been serious in the suggestion—had considered it a threat rather than a genuine option. ‘You would?’
‘Why not?’ He placed the parcels down on the three-seater sofa. ‘You’ve obviously been busy already today.’
He gave the tree a pointed glance, coloured lights sparkling amongst the thick, green, sweet-smelling bowers and the red-and-gold decorations, with an elegant fairy adorning the top branch.
Sophie had also decorated the tree in the entrance hall today, but with a silver-and-red theme and a silver star twinkling on the top.
‘I have to say, Sophie, that I’m really impressed with all your hard work so far.’ Max Hamilton nodded his approval. ‘The least I can do is to help giftwrap the presents after you’ve been out and chosen all of them.’
Sophie really had been joking earlier; she had no real desire to share wrapping Christmas presents with Max Hamilton, of all people.
Years of wrapping presents with her mother, enjoying the laughter, the pleasure and later the odd glass of wine, told her it was far too intimate a pastime to share with a man who made her feel nervous at the best of times. And so far there had been very few of those between the two of them!
Max didn’t know whether to be amused or enchanted by Sophie’s appearance in a red coat, the hood of the coat edged with white fur. She wore fur-trimmed gloves on her elegant hands, and there was even fur topping the calf-high boots worn over her jeans. She looked like a very petite and cuddly Mrs Santa Claus!
Enchanted probably wasn’t a good thing when Max already found Sophie far too intriguing for their current situation as employer and temporary employee.
But she really had transformed his home in a short space of time, the smell of fresh pine having hit his nose the moment he’d entered the apartment an hour or so ago. The tree decorations were tasteful rather than garish, the coloured lights twinkling merrily when he’d switched them on, and there were yet more sprigs of fresh holly adorning the pictures in the sitting room.
There were even three beautifully embroidered stockings draped across the arm of one of the chairs, no doubt placed there ready to be hung up for Janice, Amy and himself on Christmas Eve.
And she had returned his handkerchief to him, ironed as well as laundered!
‘I’m being paid—very generously, I might add!—to buy and giftwrap the Christmas presents for your sister and niece,’ Sophie Carter reminded him tartly.
Max found himself irritated that she had deliberately reminded him of that fact. ‘Nothing for me?’ he drawled.
Those deep brown eyes widened. ‘You would hardly be giving yourself a present!’
He quirked a mocking brow. ‘Does that mean you didn’t buy me a present, either?’
‘Why on earth would I do th …? Very funny, Mr Hamilton.’ She placed the half a dozen or so bags down on the sofa next to the parcels, along with the wrapping paper and labels, before straightening.
Max found himself wondering what sort of present Sophie Carter might buy him.
He usually received an expensive shirt, or maybe a sweater or aftershave, if there happened to be a woman in his life at Christmastime, but Sophie was a student, and obviously didn’t have a lot of money, so what sort of gift would she choose? Something inexpensive but personal? Or maybe—
Damn it, Max had found himself thinking of his employee far too much today already!
Sally was well on her way to Canada by now and, without the help of his efficient PA, his own day had been even busier than usual. But still he had found time to sit and muse about the fiery-haired Sophie Carter …
He knew from their conversation the previous day that she was an orphan, aged twenty-four and at catering college.
What he still didn’t know was if she had a man in her life; the fact that Sophie was willing to spend Christmas cooking for his family would seem to imply that she didn’t.
Max had deliberately chosen to spend his Christmases skiing the last ten years, since Janice had married Tom and moved to the States, and he had been only too glad to do so. Very occasionally he had taken a woman with him, but more often than not he had preferred to go alone, well away from all the festivities and anyone who knew him.
Sophie Carter didn’t seem to have any choice but to spend Christmas alone, possibly without any presents to open up on Christmas morning either, except maybe something from friends?
It made Max feel guilty at the amount of expensive gifts she had gone out and chosen for Janice and Amy today. Totally illogically, he realised; it wasn’t up to him to provide a happy Christmas or presents for every waif and stray who crossed his path. Even if he wanted to.
Which he didn’t, he told himself firmly.
Max had been eighteen and Janice sixteen when their parents were killed in a car crash on Christmas Eve, hit by a drunk driver on their way home from doing some last-minute shopping for presents.
After that Max had only gone through the motions of Christmas for Janice’s sake, and had been perfectly happy not to have to once his sister was married and living in New York.
He certainly didn’t want to involve himself in the preparations for this Christmas any more than he needed to either.
‘Yes, very funny,’ he finally answered Sophie tersely. ‘As you said yesterday that you’re using public transport, you may as well get off home now; you can wrap the presents up tomorrow.’
Sophie had no idea what Max Hamilton had been thinking about for the past few minutes as he’d scowled darkly but, whatever it was, they weren’t pleasant thoughts. He also seemed to have rethought his offer to help her giftwrap his sister’s and niece’s Christmas presents.
‘Fine,’ she accepted just as abruptly. ‘Maybe you could just write out a dozen or so labels for Janice and Amy tonight, ready to go on the gifts tomorrow?’
‘Of course.’ He nodded, his expression arrogantly remote, now looking every inch the billionaire CEO he was.
‘I’ll just …’ Sophie broke off what she had been about to say as his mobile began to ring. ‘I’ll leave you to get that.’
Max took the mobile from the pocket of his jeans and answered the call.
Leaving Sophie in something of a quandary as to whether or not she should just leave him to it. It seemed a little rude to just leave without saying goodbye, and yet she also felt as if he had already dismissed her. And not very politely at that!
As he didn’t seem to be being polite to whoever had telephoned him either
‘We’ve already talked about this, Cynthia, and the answer is still no.’
Cynthia?
‘No, I do not want you to come over this evening so we can talk about it!’ he snapped decisively. ‘Why not? Because I already have someone here with me, that’s why!’
That ‘someone’ being Sophie?
Which was hardly fair, or completely truthful either, when Max seemed to be implying that she was here on a personal basis rather than a business one.
‘That sort of language is not in the least attractive, Cynthia. Goodbye to you too.’ Max closed the mobile’s cover with a decisive snap before putting it back in his jeans pocket. ‘Well?’ His brow was lowered and there was a scowl between his glittering green eyes as he turned to look challengingly across the room at Sophie, displeasure burning off him in waves.
Displeasure Sophie had no interest in having turned against her now that the hapless Cynthia had made an undignified exit!
‘Well what?’ She feigned an innocent expression.
An innocence that didn’t fool Max in the slightest, if the contemptuous curl of his top lip was any indication. ‘You seemed to have something to say on most subjects yesterday, so why not this one?’ he bit out scornfully.
The phrase ‘spoiling for a fight’ came to mind.
‘I don’t think it’s my place to have an opinion on the way in which you conduct your private life, Mr Hamilton.’ Sophie gave a dismissive shrug.
‘That didn’t seem to prevent you from doing exactly that yesterday,’ he drawled mockingly.
No, it hadn’t. And he had done very little so far in their acquaintance to dispel any of those preconceived ideas she’d had of him being a selfish and self-obsessed individual, after accidentally overhearing his conversation with Sally two days ago. This latest conversation with a woman called Cynthia hadn’t exactly endeared him to her either.
‘My opinions are my own, I hope, Mr Hamilton,’ she countered calmly.
His eyes narrowed to glittering green slits. ‘I asked you to call me Max.’
She nodded. ‘And I told you I would prefer to keep our association on professional terms.’
Max ran a frustrated hand through his hair, knowing his anger was directed towards Cynthia, and her inability to accept that things were over between the two of them, rather than at Sophie.
Hell, he and Cynthia had only been out together three or four times, and it had been pure coincidence that the two of them happened to be going to the same ski resort over the Christmas holidays. At least Max had thought it was, until Cynthia had revealed otherwise during their telephone conversations yesterday. He had certainly never given her, or any other woman, the idea that he was interested in settling down with them.
The slightly reproving expression now on Sophie Carter’s face told him that she thought otherwise. And Max certainly didn’t appreciate feeling as if he needed to defend himself, and his actions, to her.
‘Exactly how do you expect to be able to continue doing that when you’re going to be in my apartment over most of Christmas?’ he taunted challengingly.
Sophie had been asking herself the same question since their conversation the evening before. But only in as far as she was an outsider looking in. ‘Quite easily. I’ll be busy in the kitchen most of the time, and you and your family will be in the rest of your apartment.’
‘And what about your own meals?’
‘They will also be eaten in the kitchen, once I’ve finished serving you and your family.’
Max really wasn’t happy with the idea of Sophie waiting on them, let alone sitting in his kitchen eating her meals on her own. He doubted his sister would be too happy with that arrangement either, if she knew Sophie’s circumstances, which he had no doubt she would within a day of meeting Sophie. Janice’s years living in America had made her more open and friendly than her previous English reserve. Than Max’s own English reserve.
‘We’ll see,’ he answered non-committally now. He’d had more than enough arguments already this evening, this latest telephone conversation with Cynthia having left a nasty taste in his mouth.
As well as convincing Sophie that he was even more of a selfish bastard than she had already thought he was.
If that was even possible …
CHAPTER FOUR
‘WHAT THE HELL—?’
Sophie turned from where she had just taken a baking tray out of the oven at the sound of his harshly broken-off statement, only to instantly lower her gaze again as she saw that her boss was once again dressed in one of those perfectly tailored designer label suits, charcoal this time, his shirt a pale grey, as was the matching tie. His hair was tousled.
As if he had just got out of bed …
‘I made gingerbread angels and snowmen for when Amy arrives tomorrow,’ she supplied abruptly, thankful that her cheeks were already warm from baking, so that hopefully Max wouldn’t notice that she was also blushing from the turn her thoughts had just taken from merely looking at him.
The two of them hadn’t exactly parted well the previous evening, but even so Sophie had found herself thinking about Max—she now thought of him that way in her head, even if she refused to use that same familiarity to his face!—far too much once she had returned to Sally’s flat.
She had wondered, too, about the woman, Cynthia, who had telephoned him and been rebuffed so coldly. Had she misjudged him over that? Perhaps this woman Cynthia had deserved the coldness of Max’s brush-off? After all, Sophie knew nothing about his relationship with Cynthia; she could be a stalker for all she knew.
Sophie had half decided that she owed Max an apology today. And yet seeing him again, hearing his voice—and once again experiencing the shiver it gave down the length of her spine—she now thought better of it. She was far too aware of everything about Max Hamilton already and needed to keep him firmly at arm’s length, rather than try to become friends with him. If any woman could ever actually be friends with such a physically immediate man.
Sophie doubted she could.
Although she found his continued silence now more than a little puzzling.
She looked across at Max searchingly, noting the grimness of his expression. His face was pale and there were lines around his eyes and mouth; his jaw was tightly clenched.
‘Max?’ she queried uncertainly, not sure if he’d just had a bad day at work—after all, he was minus his PA now that Sally had arrived safely in Canada!—or if she had done something to upset him since he came home?
But considering he had only been in the apartment for a few minutes, she had no idea quite what that could have been.
Even if she did say so herself, the decorations had been tastefully finished, and the presents were all gaily wrapped and placed beneath the brightly lit tree in the sitting room.
But Max had known she was going to do that this morning, had left the written labels in the kitchen for his sister and niece as Sophie had asked him to do, so that she could put them on the parcels today.
Some of the food had been delivered today too, the things that weren’t perishable, but she had already put them away in the cupboards, so there was no clutter in here to annoy him either.
The only thing she could think of that might possibly have annoyed or irritated him was that she was once again still here when he returned from work. But, after today, she was going to be here most of the time over Christmas anyway.
Max gave himself a mental shake, aware that Sophie could have no idea why he had reacted in the way that he had to the smell of her cooking. ‘I … It’s just that I haven’t smelt baking like this since my mother …’ He broke off, mouth thinning into a tight line. ‘Well, in a long time,’ he completed abruptly.
Sophie eyed him quizzically for several seconds before prompting huskily, ‘How long?’
Since his parents had died that bleak Christmas sixteen years ago!
Since his own and Janice’s world had been shot to hell by some drunk driver who hadn’t bothered to stop at the red traffic light and had driven straight into his parents’ car, killing them both instantly.
He deliberately hadn’t thought about his mother’s baking for years; the way the house would be filled with the smell of it for days before Christmas. And she had always, always, even when he and Janice were both in their teens, made gingerbread angels and snowmen for them to eat in the week leading up to Christmas.
Entering his apartment and being instantly assailed by that same smell had brought back all the nostalgic memories of those happier Christmases, as well as the more painful ones since.
He had forgotten—chosen to forget?—the days of his mother baking cakes and puddings ready for Christmas. The joy of helping her wrap up the family’s Christmas gifts. The excitement of the whole family decorating the tree.
And in just a few short days Sophie Carter, with her Christmas preparations, had succeeded in bringing it all back to him with painful clarity.
It wasn’t her fault, of course, just a sequence of unfortunate circumstances, Janice and Tom’s marital difficulties having been the start of them.
Max drew in a deep breath before crossing the kitchen in two long strides. ‘These look delicious—Ouch!’ He let out a protest as Sophie smacked his hand away from taking one of the cooling gingerbread snowmen. ‘What was that for?’
‘They haven’t been decorated yet,’ she reproved. ‘And you haven’t answered my question,’ she added intuitively as she looked up at him questioningly.
Sophie looked extremely cute with her hair tied up with a black band, the freckles endearing across her cheeks and nose, with a light dusting of flour on the top of the latter, and wearing a red Santa pinafore to protect her red shirt and black jeans while she was baking.
Cute?
Max didn’t do cute!
He liked his women sophisticated, as well as tall and beautiful.
And Sophie Carter was none of those things.
Cute, but certainly not tall or sophisticated, and her face was intriguing—arresting?—rather than classically beautiful.
It had to be this family Christmas thing that was messing with his head, as well as the rest of his well-ordered life, because right now Max couldn’t think of anything he would enjoy more than kissing that dusting of flour off the tip of Sophie’s pert little nose, before laying siege to the sensuously pouting lips beneath. And to hell with the consequences!
Sophie wasn’t sure she was altogether comfortable standing this close to Max. So close she could feel the heat of his body through the thin material of her blouse, and smell that insidious lemon and sandalwood aftershave as it invaded her senses.
She certainly didn’t understand the emotion burning brightly in the glittering green eyes looking down at her so intently as Max reached up and released her hair from the confines of the black velvet band.
Or the way all the air suddenly seemed to have been sucked from the room.
Just as all the air left her lungs in a whooshing sigh as that dark head slowly began to lower towards hers.
As if having Max Hamilton kiss her had been inevitable.
As if she had wanted him to kiss her.
Which was …
There was no more time for thought. No more time for reasoned protest. No more time for anything but sensation, as Max’s arms moved about her waist while his lips now feathered lightly, caressingly, across the top of her nose, along the warmth of her cheek, before moving unerringly to claim her own slightly parted lips.
A questing, seeking, searing kiss, as Max’s lips sipped and tasted hers again and again, his arms tightening about her waist as he pulled her in against him to mould the softness of her curves against his much harder body.
Sophie was so stunned she didn’t know what to do with her own hands for several seconds as they lay flattened against the hardness of Max’s silk-covered chest. Feeling emboldened as she heard him give a low and throaty groan, she slowly moved her hands up onto his shoulders and then over and into the dark thickness of the overlong and silky hair at his nape.
Max deepened the kiss, feeling the capitulation of Sophie’s body as she leant into and against him, running the moist warmth of his tongue over her softly pouting lips as he tasted her before parting them and then venturing inside. He groaned softly as his tongue was instantly enveloped in the perfect heat of her mouth.
Much like his pulsing and rapidly lengthening erection would be welcomed into the moist and heated channel between her thighs?
Dear God!
Just thinking about making love to Sophie, of laying her naked on his bed, looking down at that glorious red hair, lit like a blaze of fire against the pillows behind her, her face flushed and aroused, before feasting on the creamy perfection of her body, was enough to cause his body to throb achingly.
Max deepened the kiss hungrily, his tongue thrusting rhythmically into her heat, even as the hardness of his thighs pressed against and into the softness of her abdomen, causing him to groan as he enjoyed the friction against his own sensitised and engorged arousal.
His arms tightened about her as he felt the tentative lick of Sophie’s tongue against his own, a shy duelling that lit an even deeper fire beneath his already raging desire.
He couldn’t remember ever being this physically aroused, this quickly, by any other woman. He had no thought for anything but Sophie, being closer to Sophie, making love to Sophie. His hands lowered to cup beneath her bottom and he lifted her up onto the uncluttered end of the table before unfastening the Santa pinafore and removing it completely, dropping it to the tiled floor, before he stepped in between her parted thighs.
Max groaned, his lips travelling across her cheek, down the length of her throat as he instantly felt her heat, drawing him in, the hardness of his erection pressing against and into that heat between her thighs, his body pulsing as he arched harder against the friction caused by her jeans.
‘Max?’ Sophie clung to Max’s shoulders, dazed by the depth of the passion that had sprung up so quickly between them.
She felt weak too, at the feel of the proof of that passion pressing so intimately against her between her parted thighs. She also felt achingly aroused by the warmth of Max’s hand caressing the naked flesh of her back beneath her blouse as his lips continued to explore and taste her throat, and then lower.
Quite when he had unfastened the front of her blouse Sophie had no idea, only becoming aware that he had done so as one of his hands moved beneath the smooth cup of her bra and she felt the warmth of his lips exploring the bared tops of her breasts.
Max raised his head to look down at her breasts with eyes of deep, dark green. ‘This is beautiful,’ he murmured admiringly as both his hands now cupped her beneath the red satin and lace of her bra. ‘Do your panties match?’ he enquired gruffly as the soft pads of his thumbs stroked unerringly across the pouting fullness of her aroused nipples, pressed noticeably against the satin material. ‘Sophie?’ he encouraged huskily as she made no reply.
Sophie moistened the dryness of her lips with the tip of her tongue before answering him. ‘Yes. I—But it’s a thong, not panties.’
His gaze flickered sharply up to meet hers. ‘A thong?’ he repeated in a strained voice.
Sophie nodded, knowing her cheeks were the same fiery shade of red. ‘My mother told me that a woman can wear whatever she wants on the outside and still feel feminine and desirable if she’s wearing sexy underwear underneath.’
Max raised dark brows. ‘Your mother told you this?’
She smiled slightly. ‘Yes.’
Max nodded. ‘She was right.’ He groaned, just imagining Sophie wearing only that red thong.
A tiny scrap of material that would barely cover the fiery red curls between Sophie’s thighs at the front, and separate the firm and naked globes of her bottom at the back. Buttocks that he wanted to cup as he pushed that skimpy satin aside and thrust inside her—
‘What the—?’ Max bit out an expletive as he now heard the door to his apartment opening and the sound of voices out in the hallway.
Only three people, besides himself, knew the security combination for entering his apartment. Sally would be safely in Canada by now. Sophie was half naked in his arms. Which only left—
Oh, hell!
CHAPTER FIVE
MAX PUT ALL thoughts of red satin thongs, and making love to Sophie, completely from his mind as he stepped back abruptly to pull the two sides of her blouse together, covering the fullness of her breasts. Hidden from temptation!
‘You might want to button up,’ he advised grimly as he turned away and strode towards the kitchen doorway, the sound of the voices in the hallway growing louder. As evidence that his unexpected visitors were on their way to the kitchen in search of him?
Something Max wanted to avoid, at least until Sophie had had the chance to refasten her blouse and straighten her appearance.
‘Who …?’
‘I suggest you do it now!’ Max grated forcefully as he stepped out of the kitchen without so much as a backwards glance.
Sophie was too bewildered to immediately do as Max instructed. Although the sudden burst of happy laughter in the hallway, and raised excited voices, finally spurred her into action. She hastily got down from the table and refastened her blouse with fingers that shook slightly.
There was nothing she could do about her flushed cheeks, over-bright eyes or her slightly swollen and sensitive lips, but she picked up the black velvet band from the floor before pulling the wildness of her loosened curls back up into the confines of a ponytail.
Only just in time too, as a woman appeared in the doorway. A tall and beautiful woman with silky dark hair, shoulder-length, and eyes that sparkled a deep, warm green. Her patrician features more than a little familiar.
A woman who could only be Max’s sister, Janice.
The woman and her daughter, who weren’t expected to arrive until tomorrow.
Janice gave a warm smile. ‘I’m sure my brother will introduce the two of us once he’s managed to extricate himself from my husband and overenthusiastic daughter,’ she drawled affectionately.
Sophie frowned at the mention of Janice’s husband.
Wasn’t it because his sister and her husband were having marital problems that Janice and Amy were joining Max in England for Christmas?
‘Is that …?’ Janice stepped further into the kitchen, very slender and elegant in a thick cream cable-knit sweater and black fitted jeans. ‘My goodness, it is gingerbread,’ she murmured wonderingly as she looked down at the biscuits on the cooling tray on top of the kitchen table.
‘Janice …’
‘Max, there are gingerbread angels and snowmen!’ She turned excitedly to her brother as he spoke to her from the kitchen doorway, a little girl held securely in his arms. A beautiful little girl, who bore such a likeness to her uncle she could only be Amy. ‘I’d forgotten just how evocative smells can be.’ Janice gave a shake of her head as tears now glistened in her eyes. ‘Max, do you remember—?’
‘Yes,’ he grated harshly.
Warningly, it seemed to Sophie.
Not that she had dared look at him again after that first glance, his expression grimly unapproachable, the green of his eyes as chilling as an Arctic wind.
‘I haven’t smelt gingerbread like this in years,’ Janice continued softly, completely undaunted—or simply unaware?—of her brother’s lack of warmth. ‘Not since the Christmas Mum and Dad died. Can you believe it’s been sixteen years, Max?’ she added sadly.
‘Yes,’ he rasped harshly.
Sophie looked sharply across the room at Max. She had thought the loss of her mother six months ago was bad enough, but his parents had both died at Christmas sixteen years ago? At the same time? Which surely must mean that their deaths couldn’t have been due to illness or natural causes?
Which also explained why Max had said he hadn’t smelt gingerbread baking ‘in a long time’? And the reason he had looked so grim when he’d arrived home earlier and smelt it in his apartment.
Could his parents’ deaths also be the reason that Max usually chose not to celebrate Christmas?
It would certainly explain his aversion to anything to do with the festive season.
As it explained why he chose to go skiing every year rather than join in any of the Christmas festivities.
And why he didn’t possess so much as a single Christmas decoration, let alone a tree.
And the fact that he’d had to ask Sally to have ‘Christmas delivered’ to his apartment.
Perhaps Max wasn’t such a bah humbug, after all, and it was more the case of the festive season holding such sad memories for him that he preferred to avoid everything to do with it?
Sophie felt slightly guilty now for judging him without knowing all the facts. If he had just explained—
But of course Max wouldn’t explain himself to her. Why should he? She had been employed by him, and was being paid by him, to ‘deliver Christmas’ to his apartment, and then only because of the expected arrival of his sister and niece. Of course Max wouldn’t feel a need to explain himself to someone whom he considered merely an employee.
Although quite where their earlier intimacies now put them in regard to maintaining that distance, Sophie had no idea!
She glanced across at Max from beneath lowered lashes, her heart giving a leap in her chest as she recalled the feel of his lips against hers, along the column of her throat and across the bared tops of her breasts. Breasts he had also cupped and held, caressed. Her nipples tingled now, tightening inside her red satin and lace bra, just thinking of the intimacy of those caresses.
She had also told him she was wearing a matching red satin thong, for goodness’ sake.
Her cheeks flushed just thinking about that part of their conversation …
In the circumstances, it really was just as well that she had persuaded Sally into not revealing that Sophie was her cousin!
Max gave her a hard and mocking grin, as if he were fully aware of some of her thoughts before he turned his attention back to his sister. ‘Perhaps we should just make the introductions, Janice?’
‘Oh. Of course.’ His sister dragged her gaze away from the gingerbread to turn and look at Sophie with curious eyes. ‘I’m Janice Hilton, Max’s sister.’ She smiled warmly at Sophie. ‘And that’s my daughter, Amy, in Max’s arms. And this—’ she turned to smile at the tall, blond-haired man who had just entered the kitchen and moved to stand beside her before draping his arm about her shoulders ‘—is my husband, Tom.’
‘I think Sophie has already guessed that much,’ Max drawled ruefully.
‘Sophie?’ Janice echoed lightly, Max knowing by the sharpness of the curiosity in his sister’s avid green gaze that she was more than a little interested in knowing who—or what—Sophie was to him.
Which was a question Max would also like an answer to.
Until tonight he would have said that Sophie was a temporary—intrusive!—and paid addition to his household. An irritating necessity if he was going to give Janice and Amy a family Christmas with all the trimmings.
Until tonight?
Be honest with yourself, at least, Hamilton, he inwardly berated himself; he had found Sophie intriguing from the beginning. Had found her conversation amusing as well as interesting. And although she bore absolutely no resemblance to those model-beautiful women he usually dated, Sophie undoubtedly had her own attractions.
Her eyes were such a deep and dark brown a man could drown in them, for one.
Those freckles across her nose and cheeks were a temptation to kiss them, for another.
Her lips were full and pouting, and extremely kissable.
As for the creaminess of her breasts …!
Max hadn’t been able to resist kissing them either. Or touching them. As for caressing them? Sophie’s breasts were extremely responsive, the nipples plump and full. As delicious and succulent, in fact, as two ripe berries, and Max had wanted to gorge himself on them.
The fact that Sophie’s lips were red and slightly puffy from the heat of their kisses, with a slight redness on her chin and down her neck, thanks to the five o’clock shadow on his own jaw, was evidence of how close he had come to doing exactly that.
Lord knew how far things would have gone between the two of them if Janice and family hadn’t arrived so unexpectedly.
Which raised the question—what was Tom doing here with his wife and daughter?
Not that Max wasn’t pleased to see his brother-in-law, or that Janice and Tom were so obviously back together, because he couldn’t have been happier on both those counts. He had always liked Tom, and it had to be better for all of them, but especially for Amy, if Janice and Tom had resolved their differences. Max just wished he had known about the reconciliation before the three of them had actually arrived.
Not that it made a lot of difference in the grand scheme of things, because Janice had already informed him out in the hallway that the three of them would now be spending Christmas with him rather than just two, and that they’d arrived a day early so that they could surprise him.
Any explanations about the reconciliation, if Janice and Tom cared to give any, could be made after Amy was safely in bed. And, if not, then Max considered it was none of his business.
‘Sophie Carter,’ Max answered his sister briskly now. ‘Employed by me, to answer my “organising Christmas for you” prayer,’ he added drily.
‘Oh.’
Max chuckled ruefully. ‘Try to look a little less disappointed by that explanation, sis,’ he drawled mockingly. ‘You’re embarrassing Sophie.’
Sophie was beyond mere embarrassment right now. Way beyond, after the intimacies she and Max had indulged in before the arrival of his sister and her family.
Max had also, in just a few brief words to his sister, placed Sophie firmly in the role of employee.
‘It’s time I cleared up in here and left you all to enjoy the rest of the evening together,’ she announced briskly as she moved round the table to start putting the now cooled gingerbread into a storage box ready for decorating tomorrow morning. ‘Unless you would like me to prepare something for dinner before I go?’ she offered with a politely enquiring glance in Max’s direction, letting him know that she had no delusions about what had happened between them earlier and could be just as coolly businesslike as him.
And, with the arrival of his sister and her family, that was exactly what Sophie intended to be in future, as far as Max Hamilton was concerned!
‘I seem to have done nothing but eat since we left New York,’ Janice refused lightly. ‘How about everyone else?’
‘I’d like to go and look at the big tree and then go to bed, Mummy,’ Amy answered tiredly.
‘I’m good too, thanks,’ Tom also refused.
Which left only Max …
Only Max?
Sophie gave an inward quiver as she realised that he—maintaining a distance from him—was going to be her biggest problem over Christmas.
CHAPTER SIX
SOPHIE LOOKED AT MAX enquiringly, even as she inwardly willed him to say no to her offer to stay and cook dinner for him. Because she dearly wanted to leave now; she needed to get out of Max’s apartment, away from Max, in order to go home and regroup.
If that was even possible after what had just happened between them.
But she had to at least try.
Max Hamilton was a billionaire and she was a struggling student. Max was sophisticated and she was far from being that. Max was a rich and handsome playboy with a legion of women in his past—and present?—and she hadn’t so much as had time to go out on a single date in over three years. Also, Max was an experienced lover and she was still a virgin!
‘Let’s go and look at the tree in the other room, hmm, Amy?’ Tom Hilton was the one to lightly break the silence. ‘I’m pretty sure I saw presents beneath it!’ he teased his young daughter.
Amy gave a squeal of excitement even as she struggled to be put down from her uncle’s arms, before grabbing hold of her father’s hand and dragging him out of the kitchen and down the hallway to the sitting room.
There was a continued and awkward silence in the kitchen once father and daughter had left, causing Janice Hilton to look between Sophie and Max curiously.
‘Er … Perhaps Amy would like to help me decorate the gingerbread in the morning?’ Sophie prompted when she couldn’t stand the silence any longer.
‘That’s really kind of you; I’m sure she would love it.’ Janice smiled warmly. ‘Remember, Max, how we always used to?’
‘Not now, Janice!’ her brother rasped harshly.
‘Perhaps not,’ she accepted with a wistful sigh. ‘I think perhaps I should go and join Tom and Amy in the sitting room now, and leave the two of you alone to talk,’ she added with a rueful glance at the stony-faced Max. ‘Nice to meet you, Sophie.’ Janice paused in the doorway. ‘Oh, and did you know you have white powder—possibly flour!—on the back of your jeans, Sophie?’
Sophie’s cheeks blazed with warmth as she looked over her shoulder and saw the flour on the backside of her jeans, glaring at Max as the other woman left the room to join her husband and daughter in the sitting room. Obviously, the flour had got there when Max had lifted her up onto the kitchen table.
‘Don’t blame me!’ He held up his hands defensively.
Sophie looked up from brushing the flour off the back of her jeans, certain that her face must look very hot—and even more bothered!
‘And who else should I blame, when you’re the one that lifted me onto the table in the first place?’
‘I don’t remember you protesting at the time,’ Max came back mildly, outwardly amused by Sophie’s embarrassment, but inwardly irritated too—because he very much doubted he had heard the last on the subject from his sister.
Brown eyes glared daggers at him. ‘And I don’t remember being given much opportunity to protest.’
Max returned that gaze quizzically. They both knew her statement wasn’t completely truthful, that Sophie could have demurred at any time—when he first kissed her lips, when his tongue and lips had searched out the delectable hollows of her throat, when he had clasped her bottom and carried her over to the table, when he had unfastened her blouse, cupped her breasts and caressed them—and Max would have stopped.
At least, he hoped that he would.
Sophie, with her blazing red hair and refreshingly unusual and freckle-faced beauty, had a way of turning his well-ordered world upside down. Of turning him upside down. So much so that things like caution and self-control seemed to fall by the wayside the moment he was with her.
As they did now.
His body was still hot and aching, telling Max all too clearly that he wanted to continue where the two of them had left off. Something that was impossible, and would be for some time, now that his sister, brother-in-law and niece had arrived to stay.
‘Never mind,’ Sophie dismissed abruptly before visibly forcing the tension from the slenderness of her shoulders. ‘Now that your brother-in-law is here, would you like me to go present shopping for him too, before I come back here in the morning?’
Well, at least she intended coming back in the morning; there had been every chance that she wouldn’t, after their earlier intimacies.
‘Fine.’ Max nodded. ‘I—You don’t have to go right away,’ he continued huskily. ‘You could always stay and have a drink with all of us? It will give you a chance to get to know Janice, Tom and Amy better.’ He instantly had cause to regret his impulsive offer, as Sophie now eyed him suspiciously.
‘I—No, thanks,’ she refused abruptly, her gaze now refusing to meet Max’s. ‘It’s late and I—Henry will be expecting me home any minute,’ she finished determinedly.
‘Henry?’ Max repeated sharply. ‘Who the hell is Henry?’ His voice had deepened accusingly as he continued, without waiting for her to answer, ‘Damn it, I asked you the other day if there was anyone you should be spending Christmas with.’
‘And I told you there wasn’t,’ she maintained stubbornly.
His eyes narrowed. ‘You don’t want to spend Christmas with the man you’re obviously living with?’ Max couldn’t remember ever feeling this angry in his life before.
Sophie lived with a man called Henry!
This innocent-looking little sprite, with her honest brown eyes, smart—and utterly delicious!—mouth, lived with a man called Henry.
Sophie realised she had made a mistake the moment she’d mentioned Henry’s name, but at the time she had been too flustered by thoughts of her and Max together just minutes ago, too desperate to leave Max’s apartment, to escape him, to think properly before speaking.
And now that she had spoken there was no way she could either retract the statement or admit that Henry was a cat; there was every chance that Max knew his PA had a cat called Henry, and that he would then add two and two together and come up with the correct answer of four. Namely, that Sally knew Sophie rather better than he had previously been informed. Which would not only be embarrassing for all of them but might endanger Sally’s job as Max’s PA.
‘Henry and I are currently sharing a flat, yes.’
‘And just how long has this arrangement with Henry existed?’ Max demanded to know harshly.
Sophie shrugged uncomfortably, not fooled for a moment by the softness of Max’s tone. The dangerous glitter in those green eyes told an altogether different story. ‘Just the past few days.’
‘The past few days?’ Max echoed incredulously. Disgustedly. ‘And you don’t want to spend Christmas with the man you’ve only just started living with?’
She shrugged uncomfortably. ‘I need the money you’re paying me more—’
‘Damn it, you almost allowed me to make love to you just now,’ Max rasped accusingly.
‘I don’t recall there being much “allowing” about it. You just took,’ Sophie came back defensively as she forced herself to meet Max’s gaze, uncomfortably aware of the contempt he now felt towards her as that emotion glittered uncensored in those dark green eyes.
Contempt as well as disgust.
And it would be wholly deserved contempt and disgust if Sophie really were living with a man called Henry and had earlier allowed, and responded to, Max’s kisses and caresses.
As it was, there was no way she could explain who Henry really was, not without also implicating her cousin in the deception they’d carried out.
‘Perhaps it is time that you left.’ Max spoke evenly.
‘Yes.’ Sophie could no longer meet those contemptuous green eyes.
Max’s mouth twisted mockingly. ‘After all, you really don’t want to keep Henry waiting any longer.’
She gave a pained frown. ‘Max—’
‘Yes?’
Sophie inwardly quaked at the unmistakable disgust Max managed to engender in just that one word. ‘Never mind.’ She gave an uncomfortable shake of her head. ‘As I said, I’ll be a little late in the morning, as I have to shop for those presents for your brother-in-law.’
He gave a dismissive shrug of those powerful shoulders. ‘I’ll be at work anyway.’
Her eyes widened. ‘But your family is here and it’s Christmas Eve!’
He nodded tersely. ‘And?’
And she had already known that Max Hamilton hadn’t become a billionaire without working as hard as he played. That taking Christmas Eve off work to spend the day with his family probably hadn’t even occurred to him, let alone been a real possibility.
‘And nothing,’ she accepted distantly. ‘I was only being polite by informing you why I might be a little late in the morning.’
His mouth twisted with hard derision. ‘I think the two of us have gone way past being “polite” to each other, don’t you?’
Yes, they probably had, Sophie accepted heavily.
There was no probably about it.
Max had seen her breasts earlier, covered only by that red satin and lace bra, for goodness’ sake. Had kissed and caressed them until they still ached with arousal. And he had so obviously fantasised about seeing her in the matching thong too, once she’d told him she was wearing one.
Yes, the two of them were way, way past being polite to each other.
CHAPTER SEVEN
IT WAS WITH great reluctance that Max let himself into his apartment the following evening, all too aware that, for the next two days at least, there would be no escaping Christmas.
Or Sophie …
A fact instantly brought home to him as he stepped into the marble entrance hall, the delicious smell of food cooking telling him she was probably in the kitchen right now.
He was still utterly furious with her for omitting to tell him that she already had someone in her life. A ‘someone’ called Henry.
At the same time as he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since they’d parted last night. Images of her, of kissing her, touching her, had disturbed his sleep last night, and totally wrecked his concentration at work today.
Damn it, a masochistic side of him wanted to spend time with Sophie. To enjoy looking at her. Talking with her. And to laugh too, as she gave him yet another one of her cheeky set-downs in response to something he had either said or done that she disapproved of.
How sad was that? That he was inwardly aching for even the disapproval of a woman he had met for the first time just three days ago?
Utterly pathetic was what it was.
Sophie was ten years younger than him. A student, for goodness’ sake. And she wasn’t tall and slim, or sophisticated—those fiery red curls were completely untameable!—or in the least classically beautiful.
Or, it seemed, available.
Max freely acknowledged, to himself, at least, that it was the latter which had annoyed him the most.
Because Sophie lived with another man. A man called Henry.
A man Max had been resisting the urge, all last night and today, to seek out and strangle with his bare hands.
How caveman was that?
It was unbelievable that Sophie had managed to get beneath his skin in such a short space of time and he had felt positively primitive just thinking of her sharing an apartment—a bed!—with another man.
‘Uncle Max!’ An excited Amy appeared in the entrance hall, looking cute as a button in a green velvet dress, with a matching ribbon in the darkness of her curls. ‘Uncle Max, come and see how beautiful the tree looks today!’ She grinned happily as she took his hand and pulled him into the sitting room.
Max came to a halt just inside the doorway, fingers tightening about the handle of his briefcase as he saw that Sophie wasn’t in the kitchen, after all, but down on her hands and knees next to the tree in the sitting room, adding yet more gaily wrapped presents to the dozens and dozens already piled high around the base of it.
His mouth went dry as he saw Sophie was wearing fitted brown trousers today, with a matching brown sweater. The former outlined the perfect curve of her bottom as she bent over, causing him to wonder if she was wearing another thong today. The latter clung to the soft swell of her breasts as she straightened to her knees to look across at him guardedly. Those fiery red curls cascaded, unchecked, down onto the slenderness of her shoulders and about her flushed face.
For a man who had always enjoyed coming home to the peace and solitude of his apartment, Max felt a warmth inside at seeing Sophie here with his family.
With very little effort on his part, he could get used to finding her waiting here for him every evening when he came home from work.
A realisation that sent a cold shiver of apprehension down the length of his spine.
He didn’t want or need any woman waiting for him when he came home from work, this evening or any other. He knew only too well how easy it was to lose the people you cared about. The people you loved. Which was why he had never fallen in love with any of the women he had dated.
Why he had deliberately chosen to go out with women he knew there was no chance of him ever falling in love with?
Perhaps.
No, not perhaps—that was exactly what he had done for the last sixteen years. Since losing his parents so suddenly, he had learnt in a single blow just how fragile life could be, and how painful it was to lose the people you loved.
He wouldn’t—couldn’t—allow a fiery-haired urchin like Sophie Carter to penetrate the hard shell he had kept over his emotions for so many years.
‘Are you planning to change before dinner, Max?’ Janice prompted pointedly.
Max gave himself a mental shake as he realised he had been staring at Sophie this whole time, and that his expression must have been as unpleasant as his thoughts, if the pallor of her cheeks was any indication.
His expression remained grim as he turned away to look at Janice. ‘How long do I have before we eat?’
It was impossible for Sophie to miss the fact that Max had chosen to ask his sister that question, rather than the person actually cooking the evening meal. As a means, no doubt, of letting her know exactly where she fit into the scheme of things.
Just as it had been impossible for her to have mistaken the look of displeasure on Max’s face, and the way his fingers took a white-knuckled grip of his briefcase, the moment he entered the sitting room and saw her sitting there with his family.
Well, if he thought for one moment that she had imagined she might be included in their family Christmas, he was mistaken. She knew her place, and it wasn’t here but in the kitchen. She was only here now because it was the first chance she’d had to slip the token presents beneath the tree that she had bought for the Hilton family.
Although, after his behaviour just now, she was starting to regret that she had felt guilt pressure her into buying a present for Max too.
And it had been far from easy to find something suitable for him; what did you buy a man who was a billionaire and already had everything, or had the means to buy anything and everything that he could ever want or need?
The choice of a pop-up book on horses had been easy for Amy. And she had found a pretty, but inexpensive, scarf ring made out of jade for Janice. Tom had been a little more difficult, but Sophie had finally settled on an autobiography she had thought might interest him. Which had just left her with Max to buy for.
Just!
Everything she had looked at had seemed either too personal, or too ordinary, or just too obviously inexpensive for a man as rich and overwhelmingly powerful as Max Hamilton.
Until she remembered the book she had bought for her uncle’s birthday a couple of months ago, a humorous book written by one of the more outspoken politicians. A book her uncle had greatly enjoyed, and recommended for any cynic. Which, Sophie had decided, described Max Hamilton to a T!
Not only was he cynical, but he was also sarcastic and arrogant and, at times, just plain hurtful.
‘Sophie?’ Janice queried softly.
Sophie had decorated the gingerbread snowmen and angels with Amy once she’d arrived this morning, and the Hiltons had been out for the rest of the day, doing last-minute shopping that morning and then taking Amy ice skating in the afternoon. But nevertheless Sophie had spent a little time alone in the kitchen with Janice earlier this evening. Enough to know that she liked the other woman very much.
Enough to know that the relaxed and friendly Janice was nothing like her arrogant and disdainful older brother!
‘Dinner will be served in an hour or so, Mr Hamilton,’ Sophie informed him stiltedly before stiffly crossing the room, her head held high as she moved past him to return to the kitchen.
It didn’t take a mastermind to realise that Sophie was annoyed with him again, Max acknowledged ruefully as he watched her leave. Even the red of her hair had seemed to crackle with angry disapproval.
No change there, then.
‘You weren’t very polite, Max,’ Janice admonished him softly.
‘No,’ he acknowledged without apology, in no mood to explain himself to either of the two women presently in his apartment. ‘I’ll just go and shower and change into something more casual before dinner.’ He didn’t wait for his sister’s response as he followed Sophie out of the room.
He had every intention of turning right, in the direction of his bedroom suite, walking down the carpeted hallway to his rooms, closing the door and taking a shower, preferably a cold one, after leaving the sitting room.
Instead, he found himself turning left and heading in the direction of the kitchen. And Sophie.
Max stood unobserved in the doorway, watching her as she concentrated on stirring something in a saucepan on top of the hob. She was listening to Christmas carols playing softly on the radio while she worked. The wildness of her fiery red hair was once again gathered up into a brown band at her crown, and the Santa pinafore was also secured about the slimness of her waist and looped over the back of her neck.
A neck that looked very slender and vulnerable as she bent over her task.
A vulnerability that Max was totally unable to resist as he crossed the kitchen on silent feet until he came to a halt, standing just inches behind her. He was instantly aware of the lightness of her perfume—a mixture of spring flowers and a headier spice. Just as he was also aware of the warmth of her body.
A combination that drew him in like a magnet.
The first Sophie knew of Max’s presence in the kitchen was when she gave a start of surprise and then stiffened as she felt his arms move about her waist and link together over her abdomen as he pulled her gently back to rest against his chest. ‘What …?’
‘I want to apologise for my boorish behaviour to you a few minutes ago, Sophie.’
‘What’s so different about a few minutes ago?’ she challenged as she attempted to separate his hands and release herself. ‘I had just assumed it was par for the course where you’re concerned,’ she added ruefully. The warm feel of Max’s breath against her ear indicated that his head was lowered to her level, as proof that he was standing far too close for comfort. If Sophie needed any further evidence of that, when the length of his chest and thighs was pressed so intimately against her back.
His chest rumbled against her spine as he gave a husky chuckle. ‘You really are very bad for my ego.’
‘It’s been my experience so far that your ego is already more than big enough for one man. Now would you kindly release me?’ Sophie added firmly. ‘Or do I have to hurt you?’
Max couldn’t stop his burst of laughter at her threat. Sophie was at least a foot shorter than him, and must weigh a good hundred pounds less too; the idea of her being able to physically ‘hurt’ him was ludicrous.
Besides which, holding her had filled his head with a calm he hadn’t felt in almost twenty-four hours.
‘Max?’ Sophie prompted warningly as he made no move to do as she asked and release her.
Max turned her round to face him; his lids were lowered to hide the expression in his eyes. ‘I like holding you.’
‘That wasn’t the impression you gave last night.’
‘You had just told me you’re living with another man,’ he reminded her sharply.
Sophie’s eyes widened. ‘Another man’ seemed to imply that Max somehow thought of himself as a man in her life. Which was laughable. Yes, he had kissed her, and those kisses had got a little … well, a lot … out of control, but once Christmas was over she was never going to see him again. Despite the fact that she could clearly feel the length of Max’s arousal pressing against the softness of her abdomen.
‘And that situation hasn’t changed since last night.’ She put both her hands against his chest and pushed. To absolutely no effect. ‘I should warn you, Max, I’m a first dan in ju-jitsu and I’m not afraid to use it.’ She tilted her back to look up at him challengingly.
‘That’s admirable.’ He smiled mockingly. ‘Unfortunately for you, I’m a fourth dan, so what do you think your chances are in a fight between the two of us?’
Not very high, Sophie acknowledged with an inner wince, knowing how wide the gulf was between a first and fourth dan; no wonder Max had such a fit and lithe body for a man who supposedly spent all of his time sitting behind a desk adding to his billions. He obviously didn’t spend all of his time doing that!
‘Maybe we could have a practise together in the gym here some time over the next couple of days?’ He quirked one dark brow.
Sophie had no intention of becoming hot and sweaty with Max, in the gym here or anywhere else, ever!
She gave him a sweetly insincere smile. ‘I’ll pass, if you don’t mind.’
He gave what she easily interpreted as a smug smile. ‘Thought you might.’
Maybe, if he hadn’t given that self-satisfied smile, she might just have repeated her request that he release her and then backed off.
Unfortunately, he did smile smugly. After that, Sophie had no intention of backing off.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘WHAT ARE YOU DO—?’ Max barely had time to gasp his surprise before the fingers on both of his hands were bent back painfully and he suddenly found himself flat on his back on the kitchen floor, with Sophie looming menacingly above him as she lay across his chest and twisted his wrists to hold his hands above his head. ‘Are you insane?’ He stared up at her incredulously.
‘Getting there, I think,’ she acknowledged as she spoke between gritted teeth, at the same time implying that he was the one driving her there.
Now that he was over the initial shock, this situation had tipped over into the realms of hilarious, if Max thought about it. And, at this precise moment, it seemed that he had all the time in the world to do exactly that.
Not that he couldn’t have released himself if he had wanted to, dislodging Sophie from on top of him. Because he certainly could have. As a fourth dan to Sophie’s first, he could have done that quite easily. He just chose not to do so for the moment.
There was something extremely arousing about having Sophie throw him to the floor before lying on top of him like this. In a position of dominance, her face only inches from his and flushed from her exertions, her eyes glittered down at him darkly in warning. So much so that the blood was pounding hotly through Max’s veins, making him uncomfortably aware of the increasing heat of his desire for the woman positioned above him.
A woman whom he sensed was becoming as aroused as he was, noting her nipples hardening against him and the heat deepening between her thighs, the fullness of her lips parting invitingly as she breathed heavily.
A woman who was already involved with, and had admitted living with, another man.
Max eyes narrowed. ‘Exactly what is Henry to you?’
Sophie was thrown by the unexpected question. ‘I don’t see what …’
‘Do you share a bed with him?’
She instantly thought of the way Henry had tried to sneak up onto her bed to sleep last night—something strictly forbidden by Sally, spoilt pet or otherwise. ‘No,’ she answered honestly.
‘Have sex with him?’
‘No!’ She gasped her answer this time, compelled to make the denial even though she knew it was really none of Max’s business, even if Henry had been the man he thought rather than her cousin’s cat.
‘But the two of you do live together?’ It was obvious from Max’s disgusted tone that if the two of them had been living together then they would definitely be sharing a bed and having sex.
‘Only because it’s convenient for a couple of weeks,’ she admitted reluctantly.
‘So the two of you aren’t romantically involved?’
‘I’m not—’
‘Would you say he’s a friend rather than a boyfriend?’ he persisted.
She eyed him warily now. ‘Max …’
‘Answer the damned question.’ His eyes glittered as hard as the emeralds they resembled as he glared up at her.
Sophie returned that gaze rebelliously, even though she now seriously doubted the wisdom, or sanity, of her actions. Not only could this be extremely awkward if any of the Hilton family should walk in on them, but she had just manhandled Max Hamilton, the powerful billionaire, to his own kitchen floor before throwing herself on top of him.
A move which, sanity aside, should have put her in a position of power. It should make her the one in control of this volatile situation between the two of them. And yet Sophie knew from the dangerous glitter in Max’s eyes that she wasn’t either of those things. That it was Max who held all the power. And the control.
Because her traitorous body was enjoying their close proximity far too much, her breasts full and aching, her nipples engorged. As for the increase in the aching heat between her thighs …
‘Yes,’ she finally answered Max challengingly.
That dangerous glitter intensified in his eyes for several seconds before it was dampened down, controlled. ‘So last night you deliberately chose to let me continue to think that the two of you were lovers?’
‘I really don’t see …’
‘Oh, you’re going to see, Sophie,’ Max promised her grimly. ‘In just a few minutes you’re going to see just how dangerous it is to play those sorts of games with me.’
She gasped. ‘I wasn’t playing games.’
‘It’s far too late for protests now, Sophie,’ he bit out harshly.
‘Only just, from where I’m standing,’ drawled an amused voice from across the room.
Sophie’s face was stricken as she turned sharply to look at the woman now standing in the kitchen doorway. At Max’s sister, Janice Hilton, as she stood in the kitchen doorway.
Sophie was mortified to be caught in such an uncompromising position with her boss.
‘I came to see if you needed any help, Sophie,’ Janice continued lightly, her green eyes alight with the humour she was obviously fighting a losing battle to keep contained. ‘But obviously you have the situation well under control.’ She arched pointedly amused brows at the fact that Sophie had her brother pinned to the kitchen floor.
Sophie closed her eyes as she inwardly prayed for the floor to open up and swallow her.
A prayer that wasn’t answered, of course, because Max was still lying on the kitchen floor beneath her when she opened her eyes again, and Janice was now grinning her enjoyment of this situation as she continued to look down at the two of them.
Sophie couldn’t even glance in Max’s direction now, to see his reaction to his sister’s arrival in the kitchen. She continued to look at Janice instead as she quickly released Max before scrambling inelegantly to her feet.
‘I—This isn’t what it looked like.’
Her cheeks were ablaze with embarrassment, no doubt clashing dreadfully with the red of her hair.
‘I was just—I just …’ She stopped talking, chewing on her bottom lip, at a complete loss to know exactly what explanation to give for what she and Max had been doing a few minutes ago.
‘I’d be as interested as Janice to hear what it was you were just doing, Sophie.’ Max rose lithely to his feet to stand beside her, his anger of a few minutes ago having completely evaporated, replaced by humour at Sophie’s obvious embarrassment.
Not that he didn’t think for one minute that he wasn’t going to come in for his own share of questions from his little sister once the two of them were alone together. Still, it was worth it just to see the way Sophie was now squirming with discomfort.
Sophie turned to glare at him with angry brown eyes. ‘I believe we can do without your warped sense of humour right now, thank you very much.’
‘Need I remind you that you were the one who dragged me down onto the kitchen floor?’ Max mocked drily.
‘And it’s a pity I didn’t decide to knock you on the head at the same time,’ she snapped back.
‘She’s absolutely priceless, Max.’ His sister chortled her obvious enjoyment of the situation.
‘That’s one way of describing her, yes,’ Max answered his sister drily.
He wondered if anyone had ever spoken to him in the completely uninhibited way that Sophie always seemed to. Not for many years, if at all, he acknowledged. And yet he found that he liked Sophie’s blunt honesty, the way she felt absolutely no fear or hesitation in saying exactly what she thought, both to him and about him.
‘I—We had just discovered that we both practise ju-jitsu,’ Sophie put in desperately, ‘and I was demonstrating one of the moves I’ve just learnt to Max.’
‘Lame, Sophie. Very lame,’ he repeated mockingly. ‘Now, if you wouldn’t mind disappearing, Janice? Sophie and I still have a few more moves we need to discuss before dinner.’ He arched a pointed brow at his sister.
‘I don’t mind at all. But I should keep those “moves” to a minimum for now, if I were you,’ Janice advised, her eyes still openly laughing at them. ‘I doubt Amy would understand if she were to walk in and find that the two of you had recommenced making those moves together on the kitchen floor.’
‘Go,’ he bit out tersely, waiting until Janice had left before turning back to Sophie, his eyes narrowed. ‘We don’t have time for this right now, Sophie, but rest assured, this isn’t over,’ he warned her softly.
‘Oh, it most certainly is over,’ Sophie told him heatedly, knowing it should never have begun. That she should never have allowed Max to annoy her to the point she had physically attacked him.
‘I don’t think so.’ Max eyed her contemplatively. ‘What I do think is that you should stay here tonight, Sophie,’ he added huskily.
She gave him a startled look. ‘What? Why?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s Christmas Eve, public transport is going to be awful and you’ll be coming back here early tomorrow morning anyway, to prepare lunch. And there are certainly plenty of bedrooms here for you to choose from,’ he added ruefully.
It was Christmas Eve, and as yet Sophie had no idea how she was going to get home tonight, let alone to come back here in the morning; none of the trains and buses were running, and she doubted there would be a deluge of taxis running on Christmas Day either. If any.
But stay here for the night?
In Max Hamilton’s apartment?
She didn’t think so.
Besides which, Sophie had a distinct feeling that Max had already decided which bedroom, given the option, he would choose for her to stay in.
And then there was Henry to think of.
She gave a shake of her head. ‘I can’t.’
‘Why the hell not?’
Her mouth firmed at the dismissal in his tone. ‘I have to go back to the flat tonight. Henry …’
‘Isn’t your lover. Or your boyfriend.’ Max’s eyes glittered darkly.
‘Neither are you,’ Sophie retorted heatedly.
And instantly wished that she hadn’t.
Max had held her a couple of times, had kissed and caressed her and she had wrestled him to the kitchen floor once, but that was the extent of their relationship. Max might give every impression of behaving like a jealous lover right now but, from those stories Sophie had read about him in the media over the years, he didn’t do the boyfriend thing. Ever. He did sometimes escort a lover, but never anything approaching the permanence of being called any woman’s boyfriend.
As the woman Cynthia had found out to her cost?
It was a distinct possibility.
Just as it was a distinct possibility—a certainty—that Sophie would never see Max again after Christmas.
‘I apologise for what happened just now.’ Sophie sighed wearily. ‘I’m just a little … Thank you for your offer of staying here for the night, but my answer has to be no. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I need to finish cooking dinner,’ she dismissed briskly, avoiding even looking at Max.
Max continued to look searchingly at Sophie as she turned to inspect the contents of the saucepan she had been stirring when he’d first entered the kitchen just a short time ago.
He easily noted the way her face had now paled. That weary droop to her shoulders. The slight trembling of her hand as she gave the contents of the saucepan a stir.
And knew that he should just leave this alone. Should just leave Sophie alone. That he was playing with fire. That desiring her, wanting to be with her, might just consume him. If it hadn’t already done so.
At the same time as he knew that he couldn’t leave this, that just the thought of Sophie returning to spend the rest of the evening with some other man, even one that she had acknowledged wasn’t her lover or her boyfriend, was going to keep him awake for most of the night again. Most? He knew from experience that it was going to be all night!
Which basically meant it wasn’t going to happen.
CHAPTER NINE
‘I’LL DRIVE YOU HOME later tonight and you can pick up some clothes for staying here for the rest of Christmas, at the same time as you explain the situation to Henry.’
Sophie eyed Max warily as she slowly turned to look across the kitchen at him. Instantly feeling a melting sensation deep inside her, a longing, an ache for him.
Did that mean she was falling in love with Max Hamilton?
That inner melting sensation could be lust, but the fact that her heart gave a jolt in her chest every time she so much as looked at him would seem to imply that she felt something more than that. Something Sophie was sure she had never felt for any of those boys she had dated casually before her mother became so ill.
Perhaps because they had been boys and Max was so obviously a man?
A decisive and determined man who had now decided, and was just as determined, that she was going to stay here in his apartment for the rest of the Christmas holiday.
In his bedroom?
It wasn’t such a huge leap to take when she considered the passion that seemed to flare up between the two of them so easily, along with his threat earlier that this wasn’t over. In truth, Sophie wasn’t sure she would have the strength to resist if that was what Max had also decided.
She straightened. ‘I’m not sure what situation you’re referring to.
‘Also,’ she continued firmly as he would have spoken, ‘as I’ve already said, thank you for the offer, but I really can’t stay here.’ There was no way she could possibly leave Henry on his own in Sally’s flat for the next two days and nights. Or allow Max to realise it was Sally’s apartment she was staying in …
‘Because of Henry,’ Max guessed.
Her chin rose. ‘Yes.’
His eyes were narrowed to glittering emerald slits. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’
Sophie gave a humourless laugh. ‘There are so many things I haven’t told you—and that you haven’t asked—that I wouldn’t even know where to begin.’
His mouth thinned. ‘I’ve asked about Henry.’
‘And I’ve told you all that you need to know about him.’
‘I beg to differ.’
‘You—’
‘I do know that you’re twenty-four years old,’ Max continued determinedly. ‘That both your parents are dead. That you’re currently taking a catering and business course at college. That you’re already an amazing cook, if those smells coming from the oven are any indication,’ he added appreciatively. ‘That you claim not to have a current boyfriend or lover.’ He scowled darkly before his brow cleared as he looked at her. ‘That you have an understated and yet totally mesmerising beauty. And the most amazingly soft and kissable lips.’ His voice had lowered huskily, seductively. ‘That your breasts are extremely sensitive to my touch …’
‘That’s enough,’ Sophie cut in uncomfortably, Max’s last two claims embarrassing her, as the previous ones had surprised her. Max thought she was beautiful? That aside, he did know a lot more about her than she had realised.
As she knew a lot about him?
She knew that he was thirty-four years old. That both his parents had died around Christmas sixteen years ago, probably in an accident of some kind. That he was a self-made billionaire who shied away from relationships, perhaps because of the early loss of his parents, resulting in a fear of emotional commitment?
That he was without doubt the most attractive man Sophie had ever met in her life. That he had the most amazingly soft and sensuous lips. That the hardness of his arousal—a direct response to her proximity?—had been pressed against her just minutes ago.
‘We have plenty of time to fill in the other details later, surely?’ Max urged huskily.
Such as the fact that Sophie was falling in love with him?
She somehow doubted that was something Max wished to hear. From any woman. ‘I’m sorry, but my answer is still no,’ she refused again stubbornly.
His jaw tightened. ‘I am driving you home, Sophie, and you are staying here for the rest of Christmas.’
‘You—’
‘It’s settled, Sophie,’ he added decisively, putting an end to the conversation by turning sharply on his heel and leaving the kitchen.
And a very flustered and equally frustrated Sophie.
SHE REMAINED FLUSTERED and frustrated for the rest of the evening, Max insisting she would sit down in the dining room with the family to eat dinner with them. An invitation that was echoed by the whole of the Hilton family, thus making it impossible for Sophie to refuse without making a scene.
She felt most uncomfortable removing her pinafore and sitting down at the table with all of them to enjoy the first course of homemade pâté, followed by the main course of salmon and assorted vegetables, and then a delicious chocolate concoction made from her own recipe, in deference to five-year-old Amy.
Even more disturbing was having Max sitting next to her, looking devastatingly attractive in an emerald-green cashmere sweater and black tailored trousers, and insisting on serving her food to her. As if she really were a guest rather than the hired help.
As if she were Max’s very personal guest.
Having Max behave so attentively towards her made Sophie a little uncomfortable, but if the Hiltons noticed it then they chose not to comment on it. They were a gregarious family, the conversation never flagging, and Max became equally relaxed in their easy-going company.
To add to the excitement of the evening, Janice made the announcement that she was expecting her second child as they lingered at the dinner table drinking coffee and eating the chocolates Sophie had made. Amy was ecstatic at the thought of having a baby brother or sister, but Sophie noticed that Tom and Max seemed less enthusiastic as they shared a concerned glance.
Causing Sophie to wonder, with the timing of the announcement and Tom and Max’s attitude to the news, if perhaps this second pregnancy had something to do with the couple’s earlier marital problems.
A question she put to Max when he drove her back to the flat later that evening.
Sophie had lost that part of the argument, at least.
As she had fully expected she might, after Max had been so insistent earlier this evening, and noticeably hadn’t drunk any wine with his meal. Because he’d had every intention of driving her home, no matter what her objections. The Hiltons had added to the pressure of her accepting Max’s offer of driving her home by assuring her they had every intention of clearing away after dinner.
In the end it was just easier for Sophie to accept Max’s offer rather than trying to find a firm who had an available taxi that would come out this late on Christmas Eve. Most of London’s taxis would be busy driving people home from parties and clubs this evening.
However, she had no intention of losing the argument regarding staying at Max’s apartment for the rest of Christmas.
She had cautiously given Max an address that was in the general area of Sally’s flat, rather than specific to it; there was absolutely no reason why Max should ever have bothered himself to learn where his PA lived, but Sophie thought it best not to take any chances.
‘Janice isn’t supposed to have any more children,’ Max answered Sophie now with a grimace as he drove his car through the busy London streets. Christmas lights were blazing everywhere and a light sprinkling of snow had started to fall to add to the magic of the evening.
‘What does that mean?’
He shrugged. ‘She had a difficult time with Amy’s birth and the doctors advised that she not have any more children. Tom offered to have a vasectomy at the time, but Janice wouldn’t allow it. Any more than she would agree to have this pregnancy terminated when it was confirmed last month, which is why she and Tom argued and Tom moved out for a couple of weeks, hoping to shock her into changing her mind. It didn’t, so Tom’s just given up. My sister can be extremely stubborn when she wants to be,’ he added with a frown. ‘And yes, it’s a family trait,’ he said drily as he saw the knowing rise of Sophie’s brows.
‘I would never have guessed,’ she drawled mockingly, before sobering. ‘Is Janice going to be all right?’
‘Tom and I will ensure that she is,’ Max confirmed grimly; he had no intention of losing his sister too. ‘Which street and building?’ he prompted as they entered the area of London where Sophie had said she was staying.
‘Anywhere around here will be fine—’
‘It’s snowing heavier than ever, Sophie, so which street and which building?’ Max repeated evenly.
‘There’s really no need for you to—’
‘Sophie.’
Just her name, even spoken in that flat, undemanding tone, and Sophie knew that Max expected her to answer him without further argument.
Unlike the argument she knew was going to ensue when she told him she wouldn’t be driving back with him.
But he was right about the snow; it was falling more heavily. The roads remained clear because of the amount of traffic on them, but the pathways were definitely being covered in a layer of light and fluffy, and no doubt slippery, snow.
Her mouth firmed as she made her decision. ‘Take the next left and the building is halfway along that street.’
‘Thank you,’ he accepted tightly before following her instructions.
Sophie’s trepidation grew as they neared Sally’s building. So far, Max didn’t seem to have made any connection between the name of the road and his PA, and Sophie could only hope that he never did.
She had absolutely no idea what his reaction would be if he were to realise, at this late date, that it was Sally’s flat she was staying in, and that Henry was in fact her cousin’s cat.
To be fair, Sophie could have had no idea a situation like tonight would ever happen when she had persuaded Sally into letting her be the one to ‘deliver Christmas’ to Max Hamilton’s apartment. She really had thought she would just do her job, get paid and never see Max Hamilton again.
Instead of which, Sophie was now caught up in a situation that could prove disastrous for Sally, and was more than a little dangerous to her.
CHAPTER TEN
‘I’M GETTING COVERED in more snow the longer you keep me standing out here, Sophie,’ Max drawled pointedly as she made no effort to get out of the car once he had parked next to the pavement and come round to open the passenger door for her.
She shot him an irritated glance. ‘There was absolutely no need for you to get out of the car in the first place.’
‘There’s every reason when you’re coming straight back with me. And sooner rather than later,’ he added with a grim look up at the heavily snow-laden sky.
‘I’m not …’
‘Get out of the damned car, Sophie,’ he bit out impatiently. ‘We can argue about this again once we’re inside out of the cold.’ Max was enjoying the snow, if he was honest; it snowed so rarely in London, but especially at Christmastime, that it was rather lovely to see.
Unless it was just that he was turning into a romantic sop as a result of this unexpected and inexplicable attraction he had felt towards Sophie from the beginning? An attraction that only seemed to deepen with each day that passed.
He could think of a few people, mainly female, who would definitely find the idea of him becoming a romantic sop highly amusing.
Sophie gave him a disgruntled glance as she finally climbed out of the car, pulling up the white fur-lined hood of her red duffel coat over her hair as she did so.
‘You look like Mrs Santa Claus.’ Max grinned appreciatively as he closed and locked the car door before taking a firm hold beneath her elbow and walking with her across the pavement to the front door of the four-storey building.
Sophie shot him another quelling glance as she paused after unlocking the door into the building. ‘As I said, there is absolutely no reason for you to come up with me because I’m not coming back with you.’
‘And I said we’d talk about that again once we’re inside,’ he reminded with deceptive lightness.
Sophie’s frustration grew as she watched how the falling snow was settling lightly on the darkness of Max’s hair and the shoulders of his dark brown sheepskin jacket. The stubborn expression on his face said he had every intention of accompanying her up to the flat. And going inside.
She quickly did an inventory of Sally’s flat inside her head. As far as she could remember, it had been clean and tidy when she’d left this morning, and Sally kept all of her photos of herself and Josh in her bedroom so there were no incriminating photos of her cousin around in the main room. Henry was a bit of a problem, but with any luck he would have settled himself somewhere for the night and be comfortably asleep.
‘I’m really not coming back with you, Max,’ she repeated firmly.
‘And I’m really not going to continue arguing with you about this in the middle of the street,’ he came back mildly as he pointedly pushed open the door to the building before standing back and waiting for her to enter.
Another argument Sophie knew she had lost as she strode inside the warmth of the building, frowning as they stepped into the lift together. She once again went through every room in Sally’s flat in her head, desperately trying to remember if there was anything in the main rooms to give away the identity of the owner.
Max studied Sophie between narrowed lids as he leant back against the opposite side of the lift, noting the flush to her cheeks and the way she was fidgeting with the keys in her hand. ‘Nervous about introducing me to Henry?’ he taunted.
‘No!’ Her eyes flashed darkly.
‘You’re definitely nervous about something.’
‘I’m annoyed, actually, because of the way you bullied me into this. I’m not a child, Max, and I don’t appreciate being treated like one, either,’ she added impatiently as he stepped out of the lift beside her into the hallway.
Max had no doubt that Sophie was spoiling for another argument. Just as he was convinced that her reaction to his insistence on driving her home and accompanying her up to the flat she was staying in was slightly … off. Out of proportion to the situation, because there was no way she would be able to get back to his apartment tomorrow if the snow kept falling as heavily as it was.
‘Nor do I have any intention of introducing you to Henry,’ she continued stubbornly as she came to a stop outside one of the doors.
Yes, definitely off, Max decided.
‘What’s the big deal, Sophie?’
She was behaving far too edgily for Max to be one hundred per cent convinced as to her claim of having only a platonic relationship with this guy Henry.
Not that he thought Sophie had ever lied to him—on the contrary, she could be too damned honest for comfort at times. It was just that the more she tried to fob him off, the more determined Max became to meet this Henry and judge the situation for himself.
He gave a shake of his head. ‘I really can’t see what your problem is about the two of us meeting.’
‘I don’t remember asking to be introduced to your friend Cynthia,’ Sophie came back heatedly.
‘Ah, I’d forgotten, you must have heard my side of that telephone conversation with her a couple of days ago,’ Max acknowledged ruefully. ‘Cynthia had ideas about our previous relationship that in no way coincided with my own,’ he dismissed grimly. ‘I’ve only been out with her a few times, and I haven’t so much as seen her for over a week.’
‘You don’t have to explain yourself to me,’ Sophie assured dismissively.
‘Any more than you need to explain yourself to me in regards to Henry?’
‘Exactly.’
Max’s eyes narrowed at her vehemence. ‘Is Cynthia the reason you’ve been so determined to keep your distance from me?’
Sophie gave an inelegant snort. ‘That doesn’t seem to have worked out too well for me so far, now does it?’
Max gave a satisfied grin at the truth of that statement; he didn’t seem to be able to keep his hands off Sophie for longer than a few minutes at a time, and she wasn’t exactly fighting him off either. ‘The difference being that I’m no longer even seeing Cynthia, whereas you’re actually sharing an apartment with Henry,’ he pointed out softly.
Sophie drew in a frustrated breath. ‘You really are the most persistently stubborn man I have ever …’
‘Ever what?’ Max prompted huskily as Sophie broke off the statement abruptly, her cheeks blushing a fiery red.
Ever known she was falling in love with, Sophie inwardly acknowledged, disgusted by her weakness.
The only man she had ever known she was falling in love with.
Max Hamilton, of all men.
She had to be a masochist to have ever allowed such a thing to happen.
Allowed it?
It had crept up on her these past few days without her even realising it was happening.
And now it was too late, she acknowledged with an inward groan.
Because, as Max steadily held her gaze with his as his head slowly began to lower towards hers, Sophie knew that she was already in love with him.
Her knees actually went weak at the first touch of Max’s lips against hers, and she might even have collapsed at his feet in their handmade Italian leather shoes if she hadn’t reached up to grasp onto the collar of his jacket.
It was certainly impossible for her to pull back from responding to that dizzying kiss. Or to resist when Max continued to kiss her as he took the keys to the flat out of her hand. Although she did manage to make a throaty murmur of protest as he unlocked the door and gently pushed her inside.
‘No Henry,’ Max murmured with satisfaction as the darkness and silence of the apartment told him that the two of them were alone.
Unless Henry had already gone to bed? Which, as far as Max was concerned, was just as good as the two of them being alone.
‘I’ve been wanting to do this again for hours,’ he acknowledged throatily before backing Sophie up against the wall, capturing both her hands in his and raising them above her head before taking hungry possession of her mouth.
The hardness of Max’s arousal pressing up against her caused a responding ache and dampness between Sophie’s own thighs as she returned the heat of his kisses, their lips tasting, tongues duelling, teeth biting, the two of them hungry for each other. For being closer still, as Max easily dispensed with both of their coats before pressing into her hotly.
Sophie was breathing hard by the time Max finally raised his head to look down at her with glittering eyes. ‘Bedroom?’ he prompted economically.
Definitely not the bedroom, Sophie had enough sense left to decide; not only were there recriminating photographs of Sally and Josh in there, but Henry’s noticeable absence gave her the feeling that he was currently curled up asleep on the bed. No doubt in feline protest at being left on his own for much of today!
‘Sitting room,’ she substituted breathlessly.
‘Take me there,’ he encouraged throatily as he took a firm hold of her hand.
Sophie found her way down the hallway in the darkness—darkness was good, less chance this way of Max seeing anything he shouldn’t.
Besides, it wasn’t completely dark in the sitting room, the layer of snow on the ground outside causing a reflection of light to glow eerily through the windows, giving everything a strange grey effect, including Max and Sophie.
‘Remember that ju-jitsu move you made on me earlier this evening?’ he prompted huskily.
Sophie looked up at Max as she replied uncertainly, ‘Yes.’ Max’s teeth gleamed down at her in a grin in the darkness even as Sophie felt her feet leave the floor, the breath knocked out of her lungs as she landed flat on her back on the sofa. ‘Max! ‘
‘Fair’s fair,’ he murmured with satisfaction, taking his weight on his elbows as he slowly lowered himself down on top of her, the two of them touching from chest to thighs as he claimed her lips once again.
Sophie felt surrounded by Max even as she gave herself up to the pleasure of that kiss. To his heat. His smell. The sheer immediacy of him.
She was completely lost to that pleasure as she felt the warmth of his hand cupping her breast beneath her sweater. The soft pad of his thumb was a light, and then harder, caress against her already roused nipple. His lips roamed the length of her throat, tasting, biting and murmuring his approval as she let out a low groan of pleasure as he pushed up her sweater. She had only the thin barrier of her bra between her flesh and his as Max suckled one of her nipples into the heat of his mouth.
‘White or cream?’ he murmured seconds later as his kissed his way across to its twin.
‘Cream.’ Sophie didn’t even pretend not to understand him.
‘Are you wearing a matching thong?’
‘Yes.’
‘I need to see that!’ Max groaned, heat having coursed through his body, his arousal hot and pulsing, just visualising Sophie in a thong.
His gaze held hers as he moved slowly down her body until he knelt between her parted thighs. He unfastened the button and zip of her trousers before folding the material back, his breath catching in his throat, mouth going dry, as he revealed the scrap of cream lace covering the neatly trimmed thatch of curls between her thighs.
‘You’re beautiful, Sophie,’ he murmured huskily as he sat back to slide her trousers down to her thighs, able to see the thong more clearly now—a small triangle of lace which barely covered those fiery red curls, with an inch-wide band of lace about her waist.
‘Turn over,’ he encouraged throatily even as he shifted sideways to allow the movement. ‘Please, Sophie,’ he urged gruffly as she hesitated.
Sophie’s cheeks were as fiery red as her curls as she allowed Max to remove her trousers completely before she rolled onto her front, looking back over her shoulder as she heard Max’s indrawn breath.
‘You have the most gorgeous bottom, Sophie,’ he complimented even as his hands moved to caress it.
‘Max …’ It was Sophie’s turn to gasp, her fingers clenching, nails biting into the cushion beneath her, as she now felt the cool touch of Max’s lips against the heat of her skin.
‘Beautiful,’ he murmured admiringly, his breath a hot caress against her flesh as he kissed the base of her spine. ‘Can I—? What the hell?’ He gave a sudden harsh cry.
Sophie was too lost in her pleasurable euphoria to realise what had happened at first, and then it took her a minute or so to realise that Henry had chosen that moment to show himself by launching himself onto Max’s back.
Claws out, no doubt!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SOPHIE WAS SITTING on the edge of the sofa, still struggling to pull her trousers back on and fasten them by the time Max had located and flicked on the light switch. He stood looking searchingly around the room for whatever it was that had attacked him, green eyes narrowing as he located the black cat sitting on the back of one of the armchairs. The cat’s back arched as he gave a disapproving hiss in the direction of their late-night visitor.
‘Bad cat, Henry,’ Sophie scolded, fully dressed again now as she moved to shoo him off the chair and he ran and hid beneath the coffee table.
‘Henry is a cat?’ Max exploded disbelievingly.
Sophie froze as she realised her mistake. A mistake that could cost her dearly. Could cost Sally dearly too, if Max made the connection between them at last.
‘Sophie?’ Max prompted harshly.
She gave a pained wince, feeling the colour drain from her cheeks as she slowly turned to face Max and instantly saw that the indulgent lover of a few minutes ago had been replaced with the cold and arrogant Max Hamilton, billionaire CEO and owner of Hamilton Enterprises.
‘I’m waiting for an answer, Sophie.’ The softness of his tone sounded even more dangerous than his previously harsh one.
She moistened her lips before speaking. ‘I’m … I’m cat-sitting for … for a friend while she’s away over Christmas.’
‘That wasn’t what I asked!’ There was no sign of so much as a crack in Max’s icy veneer.
Sophie swallowed before confirming heavily, ‘Yes, Henry is a cat.’
‘And you deliberately let me think—’
‘I never lied to you.’
‘You lied by omission! ‘
‘You assumed Henry was a man.’
‘And you allowed me to continue to assume it.’ ‘Yes.’ She sighed at the cold accusation in his tone.
‘Why?’
‘I just … I thought it best … It just seemed the wisest thing to do, in the circumstances!’
Those arctic green eyes narrowed to icy slits. ‘And what circumstances are those? Damn it; why couldn’t you have just told me that Henry was a cat and be done with—’ He broke off, becoming very still as he now eyed Sophie speculatively. ‘What’s your friend’s name?’ he prompted softly.
Yep, there was definitely going to be trouble, Sophie acknowledged with another wince, in all probability for both Sally and herself.
‘Answer me, Sophie!’ Max snapped harshly.
‘This is all my fault. Sally had absolutely nothing to do with it.’ She rushed into speech. ‘She—We—I thought it best if you didn’t know of the connection, then if anything went wrong, if I made a mess of things, there would be no comeback on Sally.’
Max continued to look at her coldly. ‘What connection would that be?’
Trust Max to have latched onto that part of her statement!
Just one glance at the cold implacability of Max’s expression and those icily glittering green eyes was enough to warn Sophie against even attempting to continue to deceive him about her family connection to Sally. Any further prevarication really wasn’t an option when he was already so angry. And it could result in her getting Sally fired from her job as Max’s PA. If that hadn’t happened already, as far as Max was concerned.
Her gaze lowered from meeting his piercing green one. ‘Sally is my cousin.’
‘Your cousin?’ he repeated softly.
‘She and my Aunt Rachel and Uncle William are the only relatives I have, yes,’ Sophie confirmed huskily.
‘In that case, why didn’t you go to Canada and spend Christmas with them?’
‘I wasn’t … I didn’t feel up to travelling all that way yet, let alone—I offered to look after Henry instead,’ she stated firmly.
Max continued to look at the top of Sophie’s bent head for several long seconds before he turned away abruptly. He moved to stand in front of one of the windows, his clenched fists thrust into the pockets of his trousers as he absorbed, and tried to make sense of, this conversation.
Sophie was the cousin of his PA, Sally.
She was cat-sitting her cousin’s pet while Sally and her parents were in Canada meeting her fiancé’s family.
Leaving Sophie to ‘deliver Christmas’ to Max’s apartment.
His shoulders tensed as he slowly turned. ‘You either overheard my conversation with Sally that day in her office, or Sally repeated it to you.’ It was a statement rather than a question.
‘Sally would never do that,’ she assured him heatedly. ‘I—I was meeting Sally for lunch that day and I overheard the two of you talking. I thought it best to wait outside in the hallway till you’d finished,’ she admitted gruffly.
‘And in the meantime you eavesdropped on a private conversation!’ Max’s top lip curled back contemptuously.
‘Not intentionally! I just—I had arrived at Sally’s office a little early for lunch and the two of you were talking and I didn’t want to interrupt. I couldn’t help overhearing what you were discussing and—’
‘I should take a breath, Sophie,’ he advised scathingly.
She gave an impatient shake of her head. ‘Sally had nothing to do with the decision not to tell you of our family connection; that really was all my idea. Sally was short of time and I had nothing else to do over Christmas except look after Henry, and so I offered to organise Christmas for you and your family.’
‘To “deliver Christmas” was how you described it that first day, if I remember correctly,’ Max rasped harshly. ‘A direct quote from part of my conversation in Sally’s office that day. Which is no doubt the reason you were so damned contemptuous towards me when we first met.’
‘I thought you were just a Bah Humbug. I had no idea then of the reason why you’ve avoided celebrating Christmas for so many years,’ she defended uncomfortably.
But she had realised the reason now, Max accepted, after Janice’s indiscreet comments about their parents both dying at Christmas sixteen years ago.
None of which changed their current situation in the slightest.
‘Perhaps in future that will teach you not to make snap judgements about peo—’ Max broke off his scathing comment to look at Sophie searchingly. ‘You said that Sally and her parents are your only relatives?’
She gave a puzzled frown. ‘Yes.’
Max remembered that Sally had taken a week’s compassionate leave during the summer so that she could spend some time with her cousin, whose mother had just died after a long and painful illness. And then there had been another day off following that week, so that Sally could attend her aunt’s funeral.
And Sophie’s unfinished comment just now regarding her desire not to travel yet.
Was it possible that her aunt had been Sophie’s mother?
‘When did your own parents die, Sophie?’ he prompted huskily.
She frowned. ‘I don’t see …’
‘Humour me,’ Max bit out abruptly.
‘My father died fifteen years ago, and my mother … my mother died six months ago,’ she acknowledged huskily, her gaze not meeting his even though her chin rose challengingly. ‘It’s because she was so ill for so long that I didn’t finish my original college course.’
Max was angry with Sophie for not telling him of her connection to Sally. And even more furious with her for allowing him to believe that Henry was a man.
At the same time he couldn’t help but feel compassion for her recent loss. Because it was recent; losing a beloved parent was an ache, a hollowness that could never be truly filled. And he, of all people, should know how it felt to lose your parents, and to spend that first Christmas without them. Especially so when it had been just Sophie and her mother for so many years.
There were also his own strange, as yet inexplicable desires, feelings even, for Sophie. Feelings he was just too angry at the moment to even try to comprehend. Feelings that made him even angrier about this situation, if anything.
One thing he did know, no matter how cross he might be with Sophie right now—he had no intention of leaving her here to spend Christmas alone with that hissing, spitting fur ball!
He drew in a deep breath. ‘Does Sally have a travel basket for Henry?’
Sophie looked startled. ‘Sorry?’
‘You may well have cause to be before this Christmas is over,’ Max warned grimly. ‘But all I’m interested in knowing for now is whether or not you have a basket we can put that monster into—’ he shot Henry a quelling glance as he saw the black cat had slunk out from beneath the coffee table and was now eyeing him balefully ‘—while we drive back to my apartment.’
Sophie wasn’t just startled now; she was dumbstruck. Was Max seriously suggesting that she should not only continue to spend the rest of Christmas with him and his family at his apartment, but that she should also bring along the belligerent Henry to join them, too?
Because he wanted her to spend Christmas with him?
Doubtful, after this recent conversation.
It was more likely to be because she had been hired to ‘deliver Christmas’ to him and his family and Max still expected her to do exactly that.
‘The snow is falling heavier than ever, Sophie,’ Max rasped at her continued silence. ‘Which means we have to leave soon if we’re going to get back at all.’
It was the latter, of course, Sophie accepted heavily. She really shouldn’t harbour any illusions of it being anything else, despite their earlier intimacy.
She might have fallen in love with Max in just a few short days, but he certainly didn’t feel anything approaching that emotion for her.
And he never would …
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘WHO WOULD HAVE thought that a five-year-old could make a lapdog—or, in this case, cat—out of the fur ball?’ Max mused as he entered the kitchen of his apartment. He’d just spent several minutes in the sitting room watching Amy carry Henry around in her arms as if he were a baby while the cat looked up at her adoringly. ‘He’s a disgrace to the feline race!’
Sophie couldn’t help but laugh as she turned, her face flushed, from taking warmed mince pies from the oven, ready for an afternoon snack.
The last twenty-four hours had gone more smoothly than she could ever have hoped for, following that awful scene between herself and Max at Sally’s flat yesterday evening.
Present opening this morning had been fun. How could it not be, in the company of a five-year-old who still believed in Father Christmas?
To Sophie’s surprise, she had received gifts not only from Janice and Tom, and a separate one from Amy, but there had also been a present under the tree for her from Max. A beautiful pashmina in shades of russet and brown, which she had been convinced Janice must have chosen for him until the other woman assured her that she hadn’t.
Sophie’s heart had given a leap at the thought of Max having gone out to buy a present for her. A pleasure that had been instantly dampened by the blandness of his expression when she had given him her heartfelt thanks for the gift, and he had distractedly thanked her for his own present of the book from her.
Sophie had kept herself busy in the kitchen all morning and Christmas lunch had been a great success. The turkey had been cooked to perfection, along with an assortment of roasted vegetables, with Christmas and chocolate pudding to follow—the latter was for Amy—accompanied by Sophie’s own special brandy cream and ice cream.
Sophie had still been a little uncomfortable as the family once again insisted that she had to sit down and join them for the meal. She was so very aware, still, of the gulf that now yawned between herself and Max.
But she needn’t have worried because Max had gone out of his way to be polite to her today.
Too polite, if Sophie was honest with herself. She much preferred the rude irascible Max to this polite stranger.
She eyed him warily now. ‘Can I get you anything?’
‘I think the two of us should talk, don’t you?’ He leant back against the kitchen table, arms folded in front of his powerful chest as he studied her from between narrowed lids. He looked very handsome in a black silk shirt and faded blue jeans, his dark hair as tousled as ever.
Sophie gave him a nervous glance as she placed the mince pies onto a plate. ‘If this is about me not telling you of my family connection to Sally …’
‘It isn’t. Although I’m interested to know why you made that decision.’ His eyes had narrowed questioningly.
Sophie chewed on her bottom lip. ‘Sally mentioned that you once had a problem with a friend of hers who took over as your PA while Sally was away on holiday.’
‘Cathy Lawrence,’ he muttered with feeling.
‘Yes.’ She winced at those obvious feelings of disgust. ‘I was the one who persuaded Sally into not revealing our own family connection. Just in case I messed up too,’ she added awkwardly.
His eyes darkened with amusement. ‘The difference being that I would have welcomed you throwing yourself at me every chance you got.’
‘Instead of which, I threw you.’ Her cheeks burned with remembered embarrassment. ‘Onto the kitchen floor,’ she reminded him with a wince.
Max shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘I deserved it.’
‘But …’
‘Stop worrying, Sophie; I assure you, there will be no repercussions on Sally for any of this. The opposite, in fact,’ he added huskily. ‘This Christmas has been more than I could ever have hoped for. It’s been magical,’ Max continued softly. ‘And that’s mainly due to you.’
‘Me?’ Sophie echoed softly. ‘I didn’t do anything that you didn’t pay me to do.’
Max’s mouth tightened. ‘We both know you’ve gone way above and beyond what I asked for,’ he corrected huskily. ‘In fact, none of this—’ his glance encompassed the whole of his apartment; the sound of his niece’s laughter heard from the next room, the decorations, the wonderful, and deeply nostalgic, smells of the Christmas food cooking ‘—would have been possible without you.’
‘I’m sure you would have managed well enough without me, hired someone else to …’
‘That’s the whole point, Sophie.’ Max straightened as he looked down at her intensely. ‘I’ve realised this last few days that I don’t want anyone else. That managing is exactly what I’ve been doing for so many years. Without you.’
She shot him a nervous glance from beneath lowered lashes. ‘I don’t understand.’
He smiled at her with sympathy; after the shock and, yes, he admitted it, anger of realising that Sophie had hidden from him that she was Sally’s cousin it had taken him twenty-four hours of soul-searching to reach his own conclusions as to why he felt so angry. He couldn’t expect Sophie to understand how he felt after just a couple of minutes of conversation. Or expect her to feel the same way about him as he now felt about her.
The only encouragement he had was that he knew Sophie responded to him on a physical level, at least. The rest would have to be worked at.
Which was a pretty scary thought for a man who had never in his life felt the least inclination to work at a relationship with a woman before now.
Before Sophie.
He smiled slightly. ‘I love the book you bought me for Christmas, by the way. I’ve been meaning to buy it for months, I just never got around to it, was always too busy doing something else.’
‘I’m glad you like it.’ She still eyed him warily. ‘As you can see, I love my pashmina.’ She was wearing it about her neck right now, the russet and brown colours looking wonderful against the red of her hair.
‘I’m glad.’ Max nodded. ‘Sophie …’ He gave a grimace as he paused impatiently.
‘Yes?’
Max straightened his shoulders determinedly. ‘I may as well come straight out with it and just tell you how I feel.’
‘How you feel about what?’ Sophie looked completely bewildered by his intensity.
She might look even more bewildered in a moment, but it was a risk Max had to take. That he was determined to take. ‘Everything you’ve said and thought about me was correct. I’ve avoided celebrating Christmas for years because of my parents’ deaths on Christmas Eve sixteen years ago. I found it an irritation; I even resented having to organise Christmas here this year for Janice and Amy. And I have a reputation when it comes to women. Have never so much as contemplated a serious relationship with one.’
‘Max …’
‘Until now,’ he completed firmly. ‘Until you,’ he added huskily as he reached out to take both her hands in his. ‘Sophie—’ He drew in a deep steadying breath. ‘Being with you these past few days, feeling my apartment become a home rather than just a place for me to sleep. Laughing with you, arguing with you, kissing you …’
‘Oh, please don’t!’ She groaned her embarrassment.
He gave a wide smile. ‘I love kissing you and touching you, Sophie. Just as I love laughing and arguing with you. In fact, I love it all so much, I love you so much, I want to go on doing it for the rest of my life.’
Sophie had ceased breathing as she gazed up at Max searchingly, wonderingly, sure she must be dreaming. Or that she had somehow fallen over and bumped her head and was imagining all of this. Because Max—Max Hamilton, billionaire CEO and owner of Hamilton Enterprises, a man who had avoided emotional involvement for all of his adult life—couldn’t possibly have just told her that he loved her. Could he?
She gave a disbelieving shake of her head. ‘You were so angry with me last night.’
‘I was angry with myself,’ he corrected. ‘And totally confused by the depth of that anger. It’s taken me until now to admit why that was. Sophie, I’m no good at this sort of thing, have no idea how to go about courting you, wooing you, winning you, let alone persuading you into loving me as I love you.’ He drew in a deep breath. ‘But I would dearly like you—in fact, I’m begging you—to give me a chance to at least try.’
Sophie couldn’t speak, could still barely breathe, as she felt the hot tears gather in her eyes. Tears of happiness, not sorrow. Because, miracle of miracles, Max had just told her that he loved her.
Max loved her!
It was too huge, too immense, too intense for her to be able to fully take it in.
‘Sophie, please,’ Max groaned throatily at her continued silence. ‘At least tell me you’ll give me that chance. I couldn’t bear it if—These past few days, being here with you, coming home to you, have shown me that it, and you as my wife, are what I want for the rest of my life.’ He stared down at her intently.
‘You want to marry me?’ she gasped breathlessly.
‘Of course I want to marry you.’ Max looked down at her sternly. ‘What did you think I meant by courting, wooing and winning you?’
‘I didn’t think—Didn’t know—Oh, yes, Max, I’ll marry you!’ She threw her arms about his neck as she launched herself into his arms. ‘I love you too, Max. I love you so very much.’ She beamed up at him. ‘I didn’t dare to hope, to dream, that you would ever feel the same way about me.’
Max looked down at her searchingly, his face lighting up with joy as he saw the truth of that love shining in the warmth of her eyes and her expressive face.
Miracles did happen, Max realised emotionally.
And Sophie was his own personal miracle.
A miracle he fully intended to love and cherish for the rest of his life.
EXACTLY A YEAR LATER, Sophie’s main Christmas present to Max was to tell him that in approximately seven months’ time they would be bringing yet another miracle to the happiness of their married life together. That she was expecting a cousin for Amy and her six-month-old brother, Barney …
* * * * *
Snowed in with Her Boss
Maisey Yates
USA TODAY bestselling author MAISEY YATES lives in rural Oregon with her husband and three children. She reels the epic trek she takes several times a day from her office to her coffee-maker is a true example of her pioneer spirit. In 2009 Maisey sold her first book to Mills & Boon® Modern™. Since then it’s been a whirlwind of sexy alpha males and happily-ever-afters and she wouldn’t have it any other way. Maisey’s favourite time of year is Christmas, when she can focus on family and friends. Visit her website at www.maiseyyates.com and look for her on Facebook.
CHAPTER ONE
“PLEASE, SIR. WE NEED just one more shovelful of coal for the fire. Only, the bookkeepers are freezing, even with their fingerless gloves and stocking caps.”
“What are you talking about, Amelia?” Luc Chevalier looked up from his desk at his assistant, who appeared, if possible, more doe-eyed than usual, her dark brows crinkling in the middle, her hands clasped in front of her chest.
“Embellishing my request for time off.”
“It is not cold in this office. Neither do I have a … fireplace in here, and if I did, I wouldn’t burn coal. I would burn wood.”
“A Christmas Carol,” she said, blinking her owlish blue eyes. “I feel like a Dickensian street urchin.” She sighed, brushing her bangs out of her eyes.
“I cannot give you time off.”
“Think of Tiny Tim.”
“I sincerely doubt anyone called Tiny Tim is depending on your presence over the holidays.”
“You don’t know that,” she said.
He cleared his throat and shuffled the papers on his desk. “I do, actually. You have two sisters. You have no brothers. Your father’s name is Michael. And unless you have a new nephew named Tim, there is no Tim.”
“How do you remember all that? It makes it seem like you care.”
“Not especially,” he said, “it’s just that I don’t forget.”
“Charming. Luc, it’s Christmas. I need some extra time off.”
“What is the date today, Amelia?”
“It’s December 21.”
“Then it is not Christmas. Christmas is one day. Not a week. Not four months as store displays might have you believe. One day. You will be off work in time on Christmas Eve to enjoy any religious services you may need to attend, and you will be off on the day of the holiday itself. But not the entire week before.”
“Don’t you have some sort of feast to get to? Family gathering?”
“You’re well aware that I do not have a good relationship with anyone in my family, as my father is a terrible human being and my brother is barely a notch above him. I do not take holidays with them. I do not take holidays at all.”
“Bah. Humbug,” she said.
“In continuation of your A Christmas Carol theme. Very clever.”
“Though, I feel, underappreciated in this setting.”
“Which setting?”
“Your office. With a man who hates Christmas, the sound of children’s laughter and classic literature.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he said. “I’m quite fond of classic literature.”
“Har. Har. Please, Luc.”
He cleared his throat and stood up, watching Amelia’s blue eyes widen slightly as he did. “I’m sorry, but I found out only an hour ago that I need to go to Aspen to speak to Don Fleischer about the acquisition of the resort. I can’t afford to sit it out and wait until after Christmas.”
Luc was relatively new to real estate. He was coming off being the CEO of one of Europe’s largest investment firms. But after finding out his father was stealing from clients, he’d walked, after burning the generations-old institution to the ground.
His father had caused him enough pain over the course of his life, yet he’d continued to work for the old man and he had no idea why.
But he was done with that. He’d taken the money he’d earned off investments and started new, away from Chevalier Financial.
And that meant he couldn’t let things simply sit just because some people felt the need to inject their lives with frivolity and trees inside their living rooms. He didn’t get it, particularly, but then, the only function Christmas had ever served in his life was that it got his father out of the house nearly every night for the month of December for social engagements.
He’d always appreciated that about the holidays, anyway.
“Wait … what? We’re going to Colorado?”
“Yes. You’ll be compensated for travel, as always, and I will have you back in time for Christmas. Actual Christmas, and not these vague days leading up to it that everyone seems to want to spend in a red-and-green haze.”
“Luc … my family is …”
“You can bring them back key chains. And a mug. I will give you spending money for cheesy, location-based souvenirs.”
“Luc, I don’t …”
“It is not a request, Amelia, it’s part of your job.”
She balled her hands into fists and raised them up, shaking them, the ring on her left hand glittering in the light. “Blast you, Luc Chevalier.”
“Every year, Amelia. For the past three years. And you still act surprised?”
“You don’t make me go on a last-minute business trip every year.”
“No, but we have this discussion about Christmas every year. Though, this is the first year you’ve borrowed from A Christmas Carol. The year you stole from scripture to try and convince me was a particular low.”
“On earth, peace and time off among men.”
“We leave early tomorrow. We’re taking the private plane, and I will have those candy cane lattes you like.”
“And the candy stir sticks?” she asked.
“Yes, the candy stir sticks.”
She sucked her lush bottom lip between her teeth and chewed on it for a moment, and he allowed himself some time to enjoy the sight.
He hadn’t enjoyed a woman in … far too long. Starting up a new company meant there was no time for sex. Though, sex and his assistant should never be a part of the same train of thought. No matter how long it had been.
A good assistant was a lot harder to find than a good time in bed. And his very engaged assistant was off-limits for even more reasons than just employment.
“And scones?”
“In several flavors, though I believe cranberry is your seasonal preference.”
A smile made the corners of her lips turn upward. “You remembered.”
“Again, because I don’t forget. Don’t be flattered by it.”
“I’ve known you for nearly four years and you’ve never once flattered me on purpose, Luc.”
“But what does it really matter since you still end up getting the coffee you like?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I guess it doesn’t. Though, don’t think it atones for the fact that you’re making me fly more than halfway across the country when I have Christmas shopping to do.”
“You can shop online. During business hours. You do it, anyway.”
Her eyes widened, her mouth dropping open in a perfect rendition of shock. “I do not.”
“You do. On your phone. I’ve seen you do it.”
“Vintage fashion goes fast. I have to be able to buy it when it comes up.”
“And you have to be able to … I don’t know, personally assist me when I need it.”
She rolled her eyes. “When do I not, Luc?”
“You always do, which is why you still work for me. And speaking of the fact that you still work for me, perhaps it’s time you went and did a little of that.”
“Oh, Luc, Santa is going to bring you so many presents.”
He smiled in spite of himself. Amelia had that way about her. She wasn’t the type of person he would normally employ. Much less the type of person he would employ to work so closely with him.
She wasn’t quiet or professional. She didn’t seem to observe any sort of conventional dress code. Though her red shoes, black dress pants and oversize charcoal sweater, open at the front with a white button-up shirt dotted with birds were indeed office appropriate in the strictest sense, they were not conventional.
She also wasn’t one to work with quiet efficiency. Rather, she was one to work while whistling, or singing. She had a nice voice, soft and old-fashioned, like having a black-and-white movie flitting around the office.
And he should mind. She should drive him crazy. She should disrupt his peace of mind and his Zen, though many would argue he actually possessed no Zen. And yet, Amelia didn’t bother him in the least. He found her a strange, if somewhat comforting presence.
She wasn’t quietly efficient, but she was efficient, and sometimes her singing “A Few of My Favorite Things” was a nice signal that her efficiency was in full swing.
“Santa would be better off giving presents to someone who needs them,” he said. “If I want something, I go out and get it. I don’t need to wait for it to be brought to me.”
She pursed her lips. “Yep. Well, I’m off to go and do all that work I have to do. Since I won’t be in the office for … how many days?”
“We’re only staying over one night, Amelia. You’ll be back home in plenty of time for Christmas. Don’t make your eyes all big.”
“They’re just like that,” she said, blinking slowly.
He let out a deliberate sigh, then scooped the papers up from his desk and handed them to her. “No, they aren’t. You definitely make them larger in different situations. You’re doing it now, don’t try and play innocent.”
Dark-fringed eyes widened farther. “I am not.”
He raised his brows and she raised hers back. “Off with you,” he said, smiling again, because she just had that way about her.
“I’m off, Mr. Chevalier.” Somehow when she said “Mr. Chevalier” it had a way of sounding less respectful than when she called him Luc.
“Good,” he said.
“‘Ohh, tidings of comfort and joy!’” she sang as she walked out.
“Well, that’s going to be fun on a three-hour plane ride,” he muttered, sitting back at his desk.
He might be adding alcohol of some kind to his latte. There was only so much holiday cheer he could stomach.
CHAPTER TWO
AMELIA BRUSHED HER bangs out of her eyes, trying to undo the damage done by the wind as she’d boarded Luc’s private plane.
She should be used to the opulence by now, but she wasn’t. How could you get used to opulence on this scale? A giant plane, for two people and staff. It was bigger than her apartment, and definitely plusher. But then, she doubted Luc got anything at thrift shops.
She sat down on the couch and tried to ignore the dull buzz that filled her ears. Shell-shocked was about all that described her this morning. Not heartbroken, which was weird. Or not weird. But angry. And she was rarely angry.
But she was now. She felt … empty. And tricked. And in some ways relieved. But also confused.
It’s you I want to spend my life with. This isn’t who I want to be.
Well, what was she supposed to do with that? Thanks for all this right around the holidays, Clint.
She fiddled with her engagement ring, a heavy weight settling on her chest.
“Where is my latte?” she asked the empty room.
Luc chose that moment to stride—yes, stride, he was big on the striding—into the seating area of the plane. Her heart did a funny little jump thing. Like it did when he surprised her. It wasn’t her fault. He was dead sexy, and no matter her current circumstances, she noticed. She noticed big-time.
From his lean, well-muscled build, to his smooth mocha skin, dark eyes and sensual lips … Oh, yes, Luc Chevalier was not a man a woman could ignore. Even a woman like her, who was ensnared in a relationship so complicated she didn’t even want to look at the man she was engaged to, and should not want to look at any other man, period.
Stupid Clint. And his stupid issues. Issues that were hers because that’s what happened when you cared for someone. When you’d loved them since you were sixteen.
Nine years. Nine years of being together, of buying into all kinds of stupid things she never should have, and now … well, she had no idea what.
Things with Clint had seemed simple at first. Then she’d started working for Luc and things had become immeasurably more complicated. She’d had a man in her life providing her with companionship, being the son her parents had never had and in general treating her like a sister while he was supposed to be her future husband. All while her boss slowly drove her crazy with the promise of lust and sex that had certainly not been a happening thing in her relationship.
Of course, Luc had never actually promised her sex. But he … exuded it. One look at him, and you knew, just knew, what those big, capable hands could do. Probably. It was all hypothetical for her. But her imagination was really good. It always had been. Heck, after all these dry years with Clint, it had to be. Honed, sharpened, etcetera.
He’d convinced her that waiting until marriage was romantic and right. And she’d felt … as if it showed how serious he was. As if it made her special. Of course, it might have been had he not been burning off his sexual needs with other people.
While she’d had nothing but fantasies. And scones. And shoes.
Lots and lots of shoes.
And complications. After this morning there were complications she’d never foreseen. Her entire life felt upended. Her family … Oh, this would destroy her family. Clint was the son her parents had never had and her marrying him was so darn approved of it was almost comical.
“Your latte will arrive after takeoff,” Luc said, sitting in the chair opposite her, his masculine scent teasing her nose and making her stomach tighten. Working with him was hard on a girl’s hormones. “Buckle up.”
She obeyed, not even bristling at his commanding tone, because hey, she was used to it.
Honestly, it was a good thing he was as grumpy as he was. That sort of helped to counterbalance his sexiness. Okay, she lied. Sometimes his grumpiness was even enticing. Because it made every smile she eked out of him an achievement. It made him seem like a locked box holding something special inside and sometimes she got little glimpses of it, and it made her want to just … wrench him open sometimes.
But that was inappropriate. One should not want to wrench their boss open.
Yet she always had. Her fascination with Luc, with his moods, and his smile, and his good looks, had been there from day one. Her ring had kept her insulated against taking any of it too seriously or too far. But there had always been a little more to her feelings for him than was strictly appropriate.
A little flutter of excitement when he walked into the office in the morning that had absolutely no business being there.
The engines fired up, and they started moving down the runway. There were a lot of perks to one’s boss having a private plane, but the efficiency and speed were top on the list. They achieved liftoff only a few minutes after she boarded, and she didn’t even have to sit next to anyone with questionable hygiene.
Luc’s hygiene was impeccable. He smelled like … well, he smelled like everything good and spicy. The man, ironically, smelled like Christmas.
“Thanks for that, Luc. So are you going to let me in on the agenda for the next couple of days and why I’m so necessary?”
“You’re necessary because you always are,” he said, his accent caressing the words like a touch. A very sensual touch. He spoke very good English but there was a French flavor to his speech that never failed to make her feel all shivery.
“Well, thanks for that. But specifically, what function am I fulfilling?”
“I need you to help keep track of things. And to give your opinion. When I decide on what I want to offer, I’d like your take on things.”
“But you’re an expert on real estate. Surely you don’t need my opinion.”
“I do. I need people to want to come and stay in a resort. Obviously, it’s being sold because it’s not profitable at the moment, or at least it’s not doing what Fleischer wants it to. Or else why would he sell? So I have to make the decision as to whether or not I can make it do what he can’t.”
“And you want my opinion for that?”
“Yes.”
“I’m flattered. Look, that’s the second time in two days you’ve flattered me. You’re losing your edge.”
“You can unbuckle now,” he said, a command, not a request. Why did it make her go all shivery?
“Okay,” she said, undoing the buckle because she wanted to, not because he’d told her to.
She leaned back in her seat, and the stewardess appeared with a red-and-white mug, and a small plate with a scone. She also had Scotch for Luc.
“Wow. That’s roguish of you. It’s early.”
“It’s evening in Paris.”
“And we’re in New York.”
“I’m still on Paris time.”
“Have you been back to Paris in four years?”
He smiled and she gave herself a mental back pat.
“No.” Then he unrepentantly lifted his glass to his lips and took a drink.
She admired him for it, if she was completely honest. He was a master at not giving a damn about what other people thought, or what the rules or conventions were. And to someone who was so bound to those same things, it was both awe-inspiring and terrifying.
She wished she could be like that for one fleeting moment. That she could say to hell with convention and reason. To hell with Clint and their past. To hell with what he was asking her to do. And with what her family might think.
But that wasn’t her.
“I’ll just stick with my latte.”
He held his drink out. “You don’t care to make it more interesting?”
“A full-fat latte is interesting enough,” she said. “Trust me. Why are we leaving so early?”
“We have a breakfast meeting with Fleischer.”
“A breakfast meeting?”
“Yes, after which we will spend our time enjoying the resort. I think he’s hoping to drive the price up.”
“By showing you a nice relaxing time? Doesn’t he know you’d rather chew glass? Oh, no, he’s probably going to foist holiday cheer on you!”
“Luckily,” Luc said, leaning back, one long leg stretched out in front of him, the other bent at the knee, “I am immune. You, on the other hand, had better be careful.”
“I’m already radiant with cheer,” she said, smiling and fluttering her lashes at him. This, at least, felt normal. She’d forget all that other crap for now. No one ever teased Luc, she’d noticed that when she’d first come to work with him. But she did. She treated him like she did everyone else, well, with some added respect because he signed her paychecks, but her parents had always taught her that race, gender, class or general uptightness were never a reason to treat anyone differently.
So, in spite of the fact that he was as rich as God and scary as all get-out, she treated Luc like she did everyone. And weirdly, he seemed to like it. At least, she still had a job. So at the minimum he tolerated it.
Which she would accept.
“You do sort of radiate,” he said, taking another drink of Scotch.
“Why don’t I feel complimented?”
He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. I need you to check on some properties while I deal with some final schematics approvals for the new build. And no singing.”
“No singing?”
“Drink your latte.”
“But I want to sing.” She didn’t really.
“No,” he said, taking another sip of his Scotch as he took his laptop out of the bag that was positioned next to him, “singing.”
She pulled a face and took her computer out, too. “I can sing in my mind.”
“No, you can’t.”
“You don’t own my thoughts, Luc Chevalier,” she said, opening up her laptop and typing in her password.
“No, I meant you’re incapable of singing in your head. You will be belting out something ridiculous in about five minutes. It’s best if we put a moratorium on music.”
“I can so sing in my head.” She had a feeling she wouldn’t, though. Not with her thoughts as crammed with gloom as they were.
They both put their heads down and started working. And it didn’t take long for her to fill the empty space left by reading boring work reports with a Christmas carol. A few moments later Amelia felt her lips start moving and then …
“‘God rest ye merry …’” She looked up, at Luc’s dark, judgy gaze. She cleared her throat and looked back down. “Bah humbug, Mr. Scrooge.”
But she didn’t sing again. She worked. And she kept on that way until the plane landed in Denver.
“That landing was terrible,” Amelia said as they got into the limo that was waiting for them in front.
“It always is here,” he said. “It’s all the mountains.”
“Damn mountains,” she muttered, putting her purse in her lap and curling up against the door, more for a little distance from Luc than from genuine trauma over their rough landing.
Luc reached over, his finger brushing her cheek. A bolt of heat crackled across her skin and went down deep. “Are you all right?” he asked, his deep voice traveling along the path forged by the fire that had gone before it.
It was a one-two punch. His touch and his voice. If he added something else to the mix she was toast. She moved more tightly into the cold plastic embrace of the door handle.
“I’m fine,” she said. “I get a little nauseous on rough touchdowns like that, but honestly, it’s nothing to be concerned about because … Since when are you ever concerned?”
“Since you look like you’re about to vomit on the leather seats.”
“So touching.”
She whipped her phone out of her purse and opened up one of her flash sale shopping apps, scrolling through the daily deals.
“See? You do shop at work.”
“It’s early!” she protested. “And we went back in time.”
“You’re still on the clock until five.”
“You’re harsh,” she said, touching a picture of a pair of candy-apple-red shoes.
“You have shoes that look just like that,” he said.
“No, I don’t.”
“You do.”
“I don’t!”
“You wore them yesterday.”
She rolled her eyes. “Those are cranberry. These are more of a true red.”
“And today you have on Muk Luks.”
She looked down at her knee-high furry boots, with the leather laces and fuzzy balls. “Yes. I do. It’s cold here out west. It’s snowing.”
“Which is what you want with a ski resort,” he said. “At least we have that.”
“Yeah, otherwise it’s just a bunch of rich idiots scooting down a mud hill.”
“Yes, well, you don’t want that.”
“Mmm.”
The limo wound up the side of a mountain, on a freshly plowed two-lane road lined with snow-covered evergreens.
In Manhattan, there were places on the streets where your vision was walled in by buildings. Beyond the gray steel in front of you was the glass and metal beyond it, and above, there was a small pocket of yellow-coal sky.
But here … here it was trees. Trees along the roadway, over the mountains and, beyond that, more trees, with a shocking blue sky streaked with white clouds.
It was like being thrust into Oz after the black-and-white haze of Kansas.
The road ended on the mountaintop at a large lodge, constructed of heavy wooden beams and a green sheet metal roof, covered in patches of bright snow.
“Sold. Can I live here forever?” she asked.
“There are very few shops,” he said.
“Online shopping.”
“Are you still online shopping?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “Because as someone pointed out, I do have very similar shoes.”
“You should have brought ski boots.”
“We’re only going to be here a day.”
“Yes, and we’re due at breakfast now.”
“Now? I am in Muk Luks, Luc, as you pointed out.”
He made a very dismissive French sound that rippled through her, not like the sexy electricity from before, but like annoying, static electricity. “They’ll do fine. You’re in the mountains, after all. And you look as beautiful as ever.”
Don’t blush. Don’t blush. “You think I’m beautiful?”
Oh, wow. What in the world was that? How needy could she get? Asking if he thought she was beautiful.
Though, considering the beating her ego had taken recently … she did feel in need.
He looked her over, his dark gaze assessing. “Yes. Because you are beautiful, and I can see.”
“Oh, well. That’s nice.”
“I am nice.”
“Pah!”
Luc got out of the limo and walked around to her side, opening the door for her. “Look,” he said, “nice.”
“Well, you aren’t horrible.”
“Damned with faint praise.”
“I bet that doesn’t happen often.”
A smile curved his lips. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether or not they’re mad that I didn’t stay around for the morning after.”
“Ah,” she said, getting out of the limo, her head a little swimmy. She really didn’t need to think of Luc in that context. Not so near her … thinking about him in that context. “Well, that has nothing to do with this.”
“Of course not. Ready for breakfast?”
“Obviously I expect a Denver omelet.”
“We’re not in Denver.”
“But we’re a lot closer than usual. So I assume it will be superior to the New York Denver omelet.”
“One hopes,” he said.
They walked across the paved drive and through the front doors into the expansive lobby. An older man dressed in a suit, with black hair that looked as though it might have been dusted in snow, stood there with a woman at his side. She was near his age, Amelia guessed, and perfectly put together in a blue pantsuit that Amelia herself would never be caught dead in, but could respect.
“Mr. Chevalier.” The man, Don Fleischer, she presumed, extended his hand.
“Mr. Fleischer,” Luc said, confirming her initial thought. “And this is?”
“My lovely wife, Anna.”
“Pleasure,” Luc said, his lips wrapped around the word as if it was decadent chocolate. Why was his voice so sexy?
Anna Fleischer was not unaffected. And really, who would be? The other woman flushed slightly and extended her hand to shake his. “Very nice to meet you.”
“I’m very pleased to see you’ve brought your girlfriend—or is that fiancée,” he said, his eyes dropping to her left hand, “with you. I prefer to have something of a family meeting, rather than a true business meeting. And I particularly like it when a man includes his partner in important business affairs.”
“Naturally,” Luc said, moving nearer to her, his arm sliding around her waist. “I would hardly make such a decision without the woman I love by my side.”
CHAPTER THREE
AMELIA STIFFENED, HER EYES widening. “Uh …”
“You must be starving, Amelia, darling,” Luc said.
She curled her hand into a fist, feeling conscious of the ring on her finger, the one that had been there for four years. The one she’d spent most of the day considering removing.
And now it had gotten them into this.
Though, why Luc was touching her instead of correcting Fleischer she didn’t know.
She felt as if she’d stepped into an alternate dimension. What was the man going on about? “I did have the scone on the plane.”
“Just one scone,” he said. “I thought you wanted an omelet.”
Don laughed. “We do have good omelets. Right this way into the dining area.”
Amelia and Luc followed, Luc with his arm still wrapped around her waist. He was making her all warm. And it was weird.
Then when they reached the table he held the chair out for her. She sat, giving him the best and most subtle side eye she could manage.
The breakfast really was a personal visit, peppered with talks of business. Luc was adept at mainly keeping the personal topics relegated to Don and Anna, and to use those moments to push through to a discussion about the running of the resort. They were moving to be in warmer climates, to be nearer to their grandchildren, but the resort was special to them and wouldn’t it be nice to have another couple interested in taking it over?
Luc, to his credit, did remind them that he owned many properties, and would likely not personally run things in Aspen. But they were both sold on his charm, so neither seemed to mind.
Amelia, for her part, mainly sat quietly, shoveling egg, ham and cheese into her mouth. It was a good omelet. That, at least, in this crazy mixed-up world, was a surety. Cheese would never fail her.
Every once in a while she would nod enthusiastically in agreement with Luc, because that much she knew would be appreciated. That she did as part of her job. The touching stuff, though, was not a part of her job, and every time he brushed his fingers over her knuckles she had to fight the urge to leap up out of her chair and shake the warm fuzzies off her hand.
She didn’t, though. She sat still. And she was pretty sure she was accomplishing the playing it cool act.
“Well,” Don said, standing when all the plates were clear. Everyone else at the table followed suit. “I suppose I should let you get to your room.”
“I … It is no trouble at all to have Amelia put in her own room,” Luc said, stumbling over his English. She’d never heard him do that before.
Anna laughed. “We’re not that old-fashioned, Mr. Chevalier. We put you in the Aspen Suite. Of course we didn’t realize Amelia was coming, but it is the best room in the lodge.”
“Faaaabulous,” Amelia said, heat rising in her cheeks and other … places.
“Everything was taken up already,” Don said.
“Oh, very kind of you,” Luc said, smiling. “Now … which floor?”
Don handed him a card with a code written on it. “The top floor. And you have a passcode to get into the room.”
“Fantastic.” Luc took it and tucked it into his suit jacket pocket. “Shall we?”
“We shall,” she said, smiling far too brightly as she walked with him to the elevator. They got inside and when the doors slid shut, she rounded on him. “What the?”
“I could have corrected them, but to what end? We’re here for a day, to look the place over and to try and get the best deal possible. Forging something of a … personal relationship with the Fleischers is obviously the way to go. And will make my somewhat low offer look okay.”
“This is awkward. Like … fourteen-year-old boy walking by the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition in public, while wearing sweatpants, awkward.”
“That is some kind of awkward.”
“Isn’t it?” she snipped.
“Amelia, you and I have worked together for four years, I’m sure we can sleep in close quarters for an evening without being terribly bothered by it. Unless you’re bothered by it.”
“What? Me? Pfffft.” She blew out a breath. “Bothered. Why would I be bothered?”
“You seem bothered.”
She crossed her arms under her breasts and determinedly stared the elevator doors down, as if that might make it move faster. “Nope,” she said. “Not. Bothered, that is. Not even a little. You’re my boss and … and … a friend kind of, when you aren’t being a grumpy…. Well, you’re grumpy most of the time but … why would it be weird? It’s not weird.”
“Then everything should be fine. I just saw no need to rock the boat.”
She took a deep breath and let it back out again, everything suddenly kind of unsteady. “But you lied. About us. And I don’t … I don’t really like that.”
“Why?”
“Because. Just … you know, forget it.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “It doesn’t really matter.”
“Fantastic,” he said.
The doors slid open and Luc walked out without waiting, then strode down the hall to the room, punching in the code quickly. She followed, trying to process why exactly she was suddenly in annoyed territory, rather than just slightly uncomfortable territory.
Shades of Clint?
No. This had nothing to do with Clint, and all the garbage happening with him. That was a separate drama and would have to wait to be dealt with. Probably while they were all spending Christmas together. His parents and hers, and … just great.
Anyway, for her to be bothered by Luc’s little lie on that level would sort of require her to have feelings for Luc. And for him to be tricking her into thinking he had feelings for her. Which was not what was happening. So really, it was nothing like Clint. So she should just chill.
She walked into the suite and breathed a sigh of relief. It was large. With more than one room. There was a couch right in the main room, and there was what she assumed to be a bedroom off to the left. There was another door to the right that might just be another bedroom.
“There,” he said. “This will actually be quite convenient, because if I need you for anything, you’ll be right there.”
She nearly choked over the image that put in her head. Of Luc needing her. In the night. His big hands, dark on her pale skin as they skimmed her curves and …
“Yeah,” she said. “For work stuff.”
“What else would I mean?”
“No … personal stuff.”
He arched a dark brow. “Amelia, does this make you uncomfortable? Because the last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable.”
“No,” she said. “I’m fine. It’s a nonissue. We’re adults. We can manage.”
“Let me tell you,” he said, dark eyes blazing as he took two steps closer to her, his expression intense. “I know some men just take what they want, with no thought to how it might affect other people, but I am not that man.”
“I know,” she said, feeling breathless now.
“That is for men like my brother.”
She swallowed hard, her heart beating fast. “Yes, I know. Your brother the fiancée-stealing jerk.”
“Have you heard the story?” he asked.
“From you? Only every time his name is mentioned in the news. I also read the article in Vanity Fair about The Wedding That Wasn’t.”
“You didn’t even work for me then.”
“No, but I read that kind of thing. I’m interested in society and pop culture and it was … a big deal.”
“I know, Amelia, it was my wedding. Trust me, I know.”
She blinked. “You must have loved her a lot.”
Luc paused, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking at Amelia, who looked especially wide-eyed, yet again, since their encounter with the Fleischers downstairs. Not that he could blame her, especially.
It had been a definite change in direction, but as he’d said to her in the elevator, he saw no reason to correct Don, not when it might work to their advantage in some way. He had no way of knowing, and it would be best if he could simply give himself every tool to work with.
Of course, somehow, all of that had led to a shared suite, and to her asking questions about Marie.
“No,” he said, his tone harsher than he’d intended. “I did not love her a lot. I daresay I didn’t love her much at all. It was a business arrangement.” Which was partly true. But she’d been the woman he was prepared to spend his life with and, in the end, she’d betrayed him.
And even more painfully, his brother had betrayed him. Yes, he knew Blaise had his own baggage. Raised mainly in Africa with their mother, Blaise’s life had been completely different from Luc’s. Luc had spent his childhood in a mansion in Paris.
And in his mind, he’d always seen Blaise’s stealing Marie before the wedding as some kind of revenge. Revenge for a charmed life that had never been as charmed as Blaise had imagined. As anyone might have imagined.
His father had been—was still—a tyrant. A mean drunk. Distant at best and violent at worst.
But all anyone ever saw was the facade. The mansion. The man in the suit.
Luc knew differently.
And while he’d paid lip service to forgiveness, while he’d told Blaise years ago to just forget it, forgiveness had never truly taken root in him. Because Blaise couldn’t return what he’d stolen. Because Luc could never forget.
“Well, if you didn’t love her then …” Amelia looked at him, pain in her blue eyes. “I hope she knew, Luc. Because I think it’s pretty bad form to use a woman like that. To use anyone like that.”
“She knew,” Luc said. “Though, in the end she said it wasn’t enough. The day before the wedding. Do you suppose she could have come to that conclusion faster? Do you suppose she might have … ended things with me before she jumped into bed with my brother?”
Amelia frowned. “Fine. Point taken.”
“I was not using her. I believe I just pointed out to you that I’m not one who does that.”
“And … your brother was using her?”
“My brother is with someone else now.”
Blaise and his wife, Ella, had been married for four years. Surprisingly, or rather not, Luc had not attended the wedding.
“I know,” Amelia said, pointing toward her breasts. At least, that was where his eyes went. “This dress is hers.”
“You’re wearing one of my sister-in-law’s designs?” he asked.
“I wear Ella Stanton clothes all the time. She’s a genius. I like to mix her with vintage.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
“So I can’t sing in my head and you don’t know how you feel about me wearing a certain designer? What next? Are you going to order me to take the dress off?”
She froze as soon as the words left her mouth, her gaze clashing with his.
He took a moment to appreciate the way her dress formed to her figure. One thing was certain, his sister-in-law was talented. The gray sweater dress made the most of every curve, covering skin, but tantalizing all the same.
And he wondered what exactly she might look like unwrapped for his pleasure. He’d done his best never to go there with her, really, he’d succeeded. She wasn’t his type. She was open, smiley and chipper. She wasn’t all self-contained and polished like an ice sculpture, not in the least.
She was all cheer and broad gestures. And she was not his fiancée. She was engaged to another man, and he would be damned if he ever sunk that low.
He would never be like his brother. Would never be like his father. Both seemed to do whatever they wanted in regards to women, but not Luc.
He ignored the fierce twist in his gut and turned toward the bar in the corner. “I could use a drink.”
“It’s still before noon.”
“Not in New York.”
“Blah!” she said. “So … what, I have to pretend to be your fiancée now?”
“Only until tomorrow,” he said, walking over to the bar and pulling out a bottle of whiskey.
“This ring,” she said, holding her hand up, “would be a pretty poor showing for a billionaire.”
“I’ve only just started up the company, maybe I’m saving my money?”
“Bah,” she said. “I would throw this back at you if that were your offering!”
“But it was Clint’s offering, and you don’t seem to mind it coming from him.”
“Clint,” she said, “is not a billionaire. He is a thousandaire, with an okay job. All things considered, this ring is pretty good.”
“Such a double standard.”
“Yeah, well,” she said, “you’re also a lot more demanding than Clint is, so … I think you’d owe me for putting up with your shenanigans.”
“Shenanigans?” he repeated.
“Yeah, your shenanigans. This? This right here? This fake engagement brouhaha is the definition of a shenanigan. It may even be high jinks.”
“High jinks?”
“Madcap ones!”
He almost laughed at her. She was … she was just so very much. An explosion of color and movement, all the time. The ring, the one they’d just been discussing, caught the lights, glittering. Reminding him of the fact that he couldn’t notice. Not really.
There was a knock at the door and Luc put down his drink. Amelia was just standing there. “I’ve got it,” he said, “don’t worry.”
“Was I supposed to assist you in door answering? I’m not a butler.”
He turned and headed to the door, opening it. “Yes?”
There was a woman in a black uniform there, with a cart in front of her.
“May I come in?”
“Sure,” he said, stepping aside and allowing her entry while he examined the items on the cart. An ice bucket, champagne, a bowl of chocolate-covered strawberries. There was also a white envelope with his name on it.
“Compliments of Mr. Fleischer,” she said. “He wanted you to experience the romance package the resort offers, both so that you could appreciate just what sort of draw couples might feel to the location, and for you and your fiancée.” She bowed slightly. “Enjoy.”
Pulsuz fraqment bitdi.
