Cinderella's Christmas Secret (Mills & Boon Modern) Page 11

  She rode him. She rode him as if she had been born to do just that. Was it instinct which made her so proficient at that age-old rhythm? Because it certainly wasn’t experience. Yet she seemed to read him so well. As if she knew exactly when he wanted her to pull the borrowed sweater over her head so that he could drink in every second of her partial striptease and the luscious bounce of her breasts. She shook her hair, so that it moved around her bare shoulders like a shiny ripple of wheat. And then he was coming and so was she. Coming and coming and coming...and it was like no orgasm he’d ever experienced.

  His shout of exclamation—or was it exultation?—was harsh. Imprecise. His body bucked helplessly beneath her. And when it was over she didn’t say a word, and he was glad. He didn’t want her attempting to give meaning to what had just taken place. Because it had no meaning. It was just a manifestation of their extraordinary physical chemistry.

  He stirred, wanting to put a little distance between them. Needing space to order his befuddled thoughts. ‘Don’t you think maybe it’s time for dessert?’

  ‘But there isn’t...’ Her breath was warm against his neck, her words soporific and slightly slurred. ‘I’m afraid there isn’t any dessert.’

  He pulled back from her and frowned. ‘Really? I thought you brought cake with you?’

  Unwillingly stirred from her sleepy state, Hollie stared back at him in confusion, suddenly remembering the wretched cake which Janette had insisted on commissioning. ‘You really want cake now?’

  ‘Why not?’

  Why not? She hadn’t wanted to present it to him at the time and she was even less inclined to do so now, because it seemed to symbolise some of the things which had been so out of kilter between them. It reminded her of the speed with which he’d left her bed and the way he’d distanced himself afterwards. Worst of all was the memory of his reaction to her pregnancy when he’d been so angry and cold. And she was slightly irritated that he’d asked for it now, because it was hardly the most romantic way to end what had just been the most erotic encounter of her life. But Maximo doesn’t do romance, she reminded herself fiercely. He does sex. And that’s all he does. Better think about that before you start fabricating any more foolish dreams about him.

  ‘Of course. How could I have forgotten? I’ll go and fetch it,’ she said, sliding from his lap and plucking his sweater from the floor, before wriggling it over her head. After a detour to the bathroom she hunted down the cake, and when she walked back into the library, she found Maximo still sitting at the table, seemingly lost in thought as he stared across the room at the crackling fire. He looked up as she put the cake on the table, but his expression was shadowed and indecipherable—their mood of lazy sensuality seemingly broken. She wanted to cut him a slice before he had seen it, but he had risen from his seat to look over her shoulder, at the Spanish word for congratulations, which she had laboriously piped onto the white icing.

  ‘“Felicidades,”’ he read slowly, and then pointed to a fuzzy-looking shape beside the word. ‘And what’s this?’

  Did he guess it was a teardrop, which had fallen straight onto the coloured icing at a critical moment? Yesterday she might have concocted some flimsy excuse and told him that she’d been trying to create a star, but not today. Because he had told her stuff. He’d confided in her. Hard, painful stuff. He’d let his guard down, presumably because he’d felt as if, on some level, he could trust her. So maybe she should trust him, too. And besides, it wasn’t as if they had any shared illusions about the future which could be tarnished by the truth, was it?

  ‘It was a tear,’ she admitted, meeting the seeking expression in his black eyes with a shrug. ‘I was feeling a bit sorry for myself.’

  ‘But you’re not now?’

  ‘No, I’m not. There’s no point. If life gives you lemons, you just have to make lemonade.’

  Maximo took the slice she offered him, breaking off a fragment and putting it in his mouth so that it melted in a sugary rush against his tongue. He thought about the days which had led up to this moment, and the days which would follow. His mind began to compose an agenda, just like when he took on a new business deal and had to deal with facts methodically. Whatever happened he would support his child financially—in a way in which his own father had never supported him.

  Just financially?

  He stared across the table at Hollie, who was studiously picking frosting off her own piece of cake, though not actually eating any. And suddenly he realised that, despite all her outward simplicity, the package she presented was way more complex than he’d first imagined.

  He had been the first man to have had sex with her. The only man. That shouldn’t have meant anything but the truth was, it did. It made a primitive satisfaction pulse through his body. And although that realisation should have unsettled him, somehow it didn’t because it had shone a light onto something else he’d only just realised.

  Going forward, he didn’t want her sleeping with other men. Just as he didn’t want his child calling another man Papi. Maybe his attitude could be described as possession but could also be described as pragmatism. Because if the lack of a father had cast dark clouds over his life, hadn’t she experienced something similar? And if that were the case, then wasn’t it comparatively easy for them to do something about it, to spare their own child a similar kind of heartache?

  ‘Marry me, Hollie.’

  She looked up from her crumbled cake, her expression one of shock then confusion, as if she hadn’t heard him properly. She knitted her brows together. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said, marry me, Hollie.’

  ‘Is that an...order?’

  ‘Does my method of asking offend you? Do you want me to pretend?’ he demanded huskily. ‘To go down on one knee with a ring-pull from a cola can and tell you I’ll buy you a thirty-carat diamond ring when we hit the shops?’

  ‘No, Maximo, I don’t want you to pretend anything. I want you to tell me why you’ve suddenly come out with this extraordinary proposal.’

  There was a pause. She’d told him she didn’t want him to pretend, so he wouldn’t. ‘Because I think it’s the only sensible solution to our dilemma.’

  ‘Dilemma? Is that what you call it?’

  ‘Don’t try to gilt-edge a situation which neither of us ever intended to happen,’ he said roughly. ‘But instead, let’s try to make the best of what we have. To make the lemonade, as you said. I don’t want this child to grow up thinking his father didn’t want him.’

  ‘But you don’t, do you?’ she questioned baldly. ‘Want him. Or her, for that matter.’

  He shook his head. ‘Now that the shock has worn off, I find that I do.’

  ‘But that isn’t enough to justify marriage, Maximo.’

  ‘No lo es—I agree. And if it were someone else, I suspect I would not be having this conversation. But I find you easy company, Hollie, and that is rare—for my past relationships with women have not been easy. And believe me, our sexual chemistry is even more rare.’

  ‘But...marriage,’ she said. ‘Isn’t that a rather extreme solution?’

  Her continued opposition rather than the instant capitulation he’d been anticipating only spurred Maximo on—because never did he feel quite so alive as when he was having to fight for something. ‘I don’t think I’ll have a problem living with you. Plus my work takes me away a lot, which would give us both space. You will never have to worry about money. Ever. And that will still apply even if you find the situation intolerable and ask me for a divorce.’

  He looked at her, his eyes cool and expectant, and Hollie felt the lurch of something she couldn’t quite define. Or maybe she just didn’t dare to. Because surely she should be feeling offended by his rather brutal words. Surely she shouldn’t be excited about the thought of getting wed to a man who was clearly offering marriage out of some archaic form of duty? But she was. She couldn’t
help herself. She might try to talk herself out of her feelings by applying logic, but they were still her feelings.

  The truth was that she found him easy company, too. And while she had no experience of sexual chemistry, she didn’t imagine it was possible for that side of their relationship to get any better.

  But the main thing to consider was her baby.

  Their baby.

  She touched her fingers to her belly and felt a little spark of hope flickering inside her. Didn’t she owe it to this innocent life inside her to offer their child the best possible start in life? To not have to worry about spiralling childcare costs, or the fact that her baby had no contact with a single other blood relative than her. Hadn’t she grown up that way and found it lonely and miserable? And Maximo had experienced that too—he’d effectively admitted it to her earlier.

  Yet she didn’t have a clue about what passed for normal behaviour in the world of this privileged billionaire. For all she knew, he might want what she believed was called an ‘open’ marriage and some instinct deep in her gut told her she would find that intolerable.

  ‘What about fidelity?’ she blurted out. ‘Are you intending to be faithful to me?’

  ‘I am and I will,’ he said, his voice suddenly growing harsh. ‘But I will also be truthful, Hollie. And if ever I meet a woman I desire more than you, then I will tell you so immediately and we will dissolve our marriage.’

  It wasn’t the answer she’d wanted, but she guessed it would have to do. Because although once again his words were brutal, at least they were true. She thought of the story he had told her and the bitter sadness she had seen in his eyes as he’d recounted it. Maximo had his vulnerabilities too, she realised, just like her. Couldn’t they be there for each other—to reach out to each other in times of need—united against a sometimes cruel world?

  So Hollie nodded as a sudden sense of calm filled her and the smile she gave him came straight from the heart. ‘Then I will,’ she said softly. ‘I will marry you, Maximo.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE THAW SET in and it was as if the snow had never existed. As if it had all been nothing but a dream. As if Christmas Day and the four days which followed had never actually happened.

  Except that they had. At the end of that delicious and sensual sojourn in the ancient castle Kastelloes, Maximo Diaz had asked Hollie Walker to marry him. And her future had changed in an instant. Her image of herself as a plucky but sometimes lonely single mother had crumbled away and instead she was having to get her head around the fact that soon she was going to be the wife of the sexy Spanish tycoon.

  Maximo was still sleeping as she slipped silently from the bed, wrapping herself in velvet—green today—before staring out of the window. Water was dripping from branches, from bushes—drip-drip-drip. The dark turrets of the castle were no longer topped by a crown of white and nor did the bushes look like giant white stones. The magic had gone, she realised, a sudden whisper of apprehension prickling over her as she studied Maximo’s tousled black head lying against the pillow and all her suppressed fears were suddenly given life.

  Would he wake up and regret the resolution they’d come to at the end of Christmas Day, when—possibly affected by the emotional aftermath of the things he’d told her—he had asked her to be his wife? Perhaps it would be better if she gave him the opportunity to retract words he might have delivered too hastily, and she wondered if she could manage to do it in a way which meant that neither of them would lose face.

  His lashes fluttered open—so dark against the silken olive of his skin—and mentally Hollie steeled herself against his beauty as he surveyed her through a shuttered gaze.

  ‘The snow has melted,’ she said baldly.

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘Good?’

  ‘Sure. Unless you were planning to build a snowman. Don’t you need a change of underwear, and don’t we need to get to London? If the roads are clear, it means we can go.’

  ‘London?’ She looked at him blankly. ‘You never said anything about London.’

  ‘My jet is in an airfield on the outskirts of the city, Hollie.’ His voice was soft but his words resolute. ‘And I’m due back in Madrid for a New Year’s party I’ve promised to attend under pain of death if I don’t. As my future wife you’ll be coming with me and there’s no reason why you shouldn’t move in straight away.’

  She hadn’t considered living in Madrid either. How stupid was that? ‘But I thought...’

  ‘What?’ he prompted softly, throwing back the pile of velvet throws to rise from the bed like a magnificent dark and golden statue brought to life, before walking towards her. ‘What did you think?’

  ‘That I’d...’ It was difficult to think of anything when he was standing so close and so naked. ‘Well, I’ll have to work out my notice for Janette.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  She nodded. ‘Of course.’

  He shrugged, his eyes shards of glittering jet. ‘Even though I could easily arrange for one of my staff to take your place?’

  His suggestion made her feel dispensable. As if her job and her old life were of no consequence. And even though it was a simple office job which anyone could probably do, and even though Hollie had often found Janette difficult, she had no intention of disappearing in a puff of smoke simply because a rich man was snapping his fingers. If she fell in with his autocratic wishes so readily, it wouldn’t bode well for the rest of their lives, would it?

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t do that, Maximo,’ she said. ‘I can’t possibly break my contract. I don’t want to sneak away from Trescombe under a black cloud.’

  His face darkened, as if her determination surprised and slightly irked him. ‘I am loath to be apart from you, Hollie—perhaps I’ve become a little too used to having you in my bed,’ he murmured. ‘But obviously we can work round it. We’ll just have to jet between the two places until you’re free to move, if that’s what you want.’

  Of course it wasn’t what she wanted. In a way, she was terrified of being apart from him. Terrified that their affair and his subsequent proposal would get diluted by distance and prove as insubstantial as the Christmas snow itself. If she worked out her notice there was the very real possibility that Maximo would change his mind and Hollie didn’t want him to change his mind.

  She wanted this. Him. The whole package.

  She wanted to be his wife. She wanted him to be a father to their baby.

  But if Maximo was going to get cold feet, then surely it was better if they discovered it now rather than later.

  ‘The month will soon pass,’ she said, with a certainty she didn’t feel.

  ‘You think so?’ He sighed. ‘Then I guess I must be patient—which is not an attribute I’ve ever been particularly known for. I suppose I must admire your loyalty to your employer, Hollie—but that’s all we’re going to say on the subject, because I’m taking you back to bed.’

  Hollie was still glowing when Maximo’s limousine made its way up the hill towards the castle, and she began to get an idea how smoothly the world worked when it was powered by wealth. Decisions which might have taken weeks to evolve were enacted almost before you’d finished making them. Life became seamless and also a little bit scary as she was driven to her cottage and instructed to pack only the things she couldn’t bear to be without.

  ‘But we’re not leaving Trescombe completely, are we?’ she questioned. ‘I mean, it’s not like we’re cutting ties with the place completely. Because when you start renovating the castle—’

  ‘Let’s just concentrate on the essentials for now, shall we, Hollie?’

  And although his words were a little clipped, Hollie couldn’t deny how comforting it was to have someone else make the decisions. She felt the tension leave her body, realising this was the first time she’d ever had someone to lean on. She had cared for her mother and supported he
r emotionally when she’d gone to pieces, and then she had cared for herself when her mother had died. Why wouldn’t she? Yet she couldn’t deny how great it was to let someone else take responsibility for a change.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll go and get my things together. Would you like to come inside?’

  ‘No. I’ll wait here in the car. I have a few calls to make.’

  It took her less than twenty minutes before Hollie rushed out of the door with her little suitcase, half imagining that the limousine might have disappeared in the interim, like Cinderella’s fancy coach turning into a pumpkin. But, no, it was still there—and the six-year-old twin boys who lived in the house opposite were gazing at the shiny black livery as if Santa’s reinvented sleigh had made a post-Christmas appearance. As the chauffeur shut the door behind her, Maximo lifted a narrow-eyed gaze from his computer and Hollie got the distinct feeling he had forgotten she was there.

  Through towns decked with Christmas finery, they were driven at speed to London, where Maximo announced his intention to buy her a completely new wardrobe, so she could arrive in Madrid suitably clad.

  Which left her wondering exactly what was the matter with the way she looked now.

  She stared rather moodily at her well-polished brown leather boots before lifting her gaze to his. ‘Because I’ll let you down, I suppose?’

  ‘It’s not a question of letting me down. You look like a college student,’ he informed her, almost gently, his fingertips whispering over her mane of hair. ‘Which is undoubtedly a wildly sexy look, just not one which is particularly appropriate for my future wife. If you aren’t dressed suitably it will make you self-conscious, for you will be mixing with women who will undoubtedly be wearing very costly clothes.’

  ‘Gosh, you’re making our future union sound like it’s going to be fun, Maximo.’

  He smiled then—a slow, sensual smile which curled over her skin like a wisp of smoke. ‘Oh, I can offer you fun, Hollie. Be in no doubt about that. Now wipe that apprehensive look from your face and kiss me instead.’