It’s an unforgettable, luxurious Christmas with an irresistible alpha male when you spend

Billionaire Under the Mistletoe
Carole Mortimer
Snowed in with Her Boss
Maisey Yates
A Diamond for Christmas
Joss Wood

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

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

Copyright

Billionaire Under the Mistletoe

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.

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