Billionaire Under The Mistletoe
Carole Mortimer
Carole Mortimer is one of Mills & Boon’s best loved Modern Romance authors. With nearly 200 books published and a career spanning 35 years, Mills & Boon are thrilled to present her complete works available to download for the very first time! Rediscover old favourites - and find new ones! - in this fabulous collection…Can his sexy Santa save Christmas?With the unexpected arrival of his beloved sister and little niece, billionaire Max Hamilton wonders if he can get Christmas organised in time! Max usually spends the holidays skiing in Switzerland—he hasn’t enjoyed a festive family gathering since the tragic death of his parents—and his beautiful London home doesn’t even have a Christmas tree!Enter soft-hearted Sophie to pull off a last-minute Christmas miracle for a family in crisis. But can she resist the temptation of her billionaire under the mistletoe?
Billionaire Under the Mistletoe
Carole Mortimer
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#ub8118d67-1a3c-52b5-aa95-20c56944ee3c)
Title Page (#uc1ed981e-44cf-5c90-9846-a3cddd72637d)
PROLOGUE (#ulink_ccaa3ec8-4496-5672-a605-8ca2cbb08291)
CHAPTER ONE (#uc935428d-3616-5732-8d2b-15caea2fd406)
CHAPTER TWO (#u0b1c3509-3a1b-5fe1-a247-6f35f7414578)
CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#ulink_de881de9-1f9d-593c-ab1f-c87099eb79ae)
‘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 (#ulink_df8d9965-7f0e-5ca2-9694-5240e3a77d4a)
‘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 (#ulink_e558a838-99bf-549f-b75b-85efc4c2a2b5)
‘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.
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