Cinderella's Christmas Secret (Mills & Boon Modern) Page 2

  ‘Can I tempt you with something to eat, Señor Diaz?’

  A soft voice broke into Maximo’s reverie and, glad to have the dark tangle of his thoughts interrupted, he turned his head to see a woman standing there, a tray of food in her hands. But it wasn’t the unappetising fare which caught his attention and held it, as much as her appearance.

  Tempt him? She most certainly could.

  His narrowed his eyes, because the thought came out of nowhere, especially as she looked faintly ridiculous in her fancy-dress costume. A sudden pulse beat at his temple and he felt the inexplicable drying of his mouth. Ridiculous, yes—but kind of sexy, too. No. Scrub that. Very sexy.

  For a moment he thought she seemed faintly familiar, but the thought instantly left him because he was finding it difficult not to stare. And difficult to breathe. Who wouldn’t when she looked so...spectacular? He swallowed as he continued with his silent scrutiny. Rich green velvet emphasised the porcelain paleness of her skin and a band of white fur at her shoulders drew his attention to her creamy flesh—which was unfashionably soft and abundant. Maximo allowed his gaze to move down, distracted by long legs which seemed to go all the way up to her armpits, an illusion no doubt helped by her teetering shoes. Sexy, scarlet shoes—and most men didn’t bother denying their reaction to that kind of footwear.

  Yet, in direct contrast to the provocation of those killer heels, she wore not a scrap of make-up on her milk-pale face and the healthy sway of hair which gleamed beneath the fairy lights made Maximo experience something he hadn’t felt in quite a while. A stealthy but insistent tug of desire, which pulsed through his veins like sweet, dark honey.

  His mouth twisted self-deprecatingly. Surely the healthy libido which seemed to have deserted him of late hadn’t been stirred by something as off-the-wall as a woman in fancy dress? Maybe his sexual appetite had become so jaded that he was being tempted by a little seasonal role play.

  ‘Um...we have a selection of delicious canapés on offer,’ she was saying, her words tumbling over themselves, and something about the softness of her voice made his skin prickle with recognition once more. ‘We’ve got pineapple and cheese on sticks and vol-au-vents—or there’s mini quiche, if you prefer.’

  ‘Mini quiche?’ he echoed sardonically, dropping his gaze to survey something unrecognisable which was stabbed unappetisingly onto the end of a cocktail stick, and maybe she picked up on his tone because when he looked up again, her face had turned very pink.

  ‘I know they’re not to everyone’s taste—’

  His mouth twisted. ‘You can say that again.’

  ‘But the tourist board suggested we go with a retro theme,’ she defended.

  He found himself unexpectedly charmed by her blush, for when was the last time that had happened? ‘And why would that be, I wonder?’

  ‘Because nostalgia is big, especially at Christmas.’ She hesitated, as if establishing whether he really did want to talk to her or whether he was just being polite. ‘Isn’t that the whole point of it?’

  ‘But it isn’t Christmas,’ he pointed out. ‘Not for weeks.’

  ‘Yes, I know. But the holiday always puts people in a good mood. And everywhere looks better with a few decorations and a Christmas tree.’

  ‘I must beg to differ,’ he commented, shooting a disparaging gaze at the glittering fir with its flashing fairy lights, which was nudging the hotel ceiling. He studied the fake presents he could see piled up at the base and couldn’t repress a shudder. ‘It looks monstrous.’

  She hesitated again. ‘You sound as if you don’t like Christmas?’

  ‘Something of an understatement,’ he returned coolly. ‘If you want the truth, I loathe it.’

  ‘Oh. Right. Well, that’s a shame,’ she said and he could see her biting her lip as she struggled to think of a suitably compensatory response. ‘In that case, would you like a glass of bubbly? There’s plenty over on the bar—I can easily go and fetch you one.’

  He could just imagine the quality of wine on offer but something about her worried expression made Maximo bite back the acerbic response which was hovering on his lips. Suddenly he realised it wasn’t fair to take his mood out on her. For him, this party was nothing more than a social necessity—an opportunity to meet the local officials who would help facilitate his ambitious plans. It certainly wasn’t what he’d call a pleasure, and she was only doing her job, after all.

  And then that first faint flicker of recognition crystallised into something more solid, which made him examine her face more closely, because the dark-lashed beauty of her grey eyes had stirred more than a vague memory.

  ‘Don’t I know you?’ he questioned suddenly.

  She wriggled her milky shoulders a little awkwardly. ‘You don’t exactly know me, Signor Diaz,’ she said. ‘We’ve met a few times when you’ve been into the office. I work in the estate agency you’re using to purchase the castle. I’m usually—’

  ‘Sitting behind a desk. Sí, sí—of course, I remember,’ he said, for hadn’t she been an oasis of calm during his recent purchase, and as unlike her abrasive and predatory boss as it was possible to be? She’d made him coffee and served him with something delicious to accompany it. But usually her clothes were unremarkable and her thick hair always scraped back in a style so severe, he imagined even a nun might shun it as unflattering. He remembered thinking that if he were planning on moving his business here, she might make the perfect secretary, and perhaps he would have poached her and paid her twice as much as she was currently earning.

  He’d had no idea that beneath her drab clothes was a body which was little short of sensational and he was finding it unexpectedly difficult to reconcile these two dramatically different images of the same woman. ‘So why the sudden change of role—and the sudden change of outfit?’

  ‘I know. It’s awful, isn’t it?’ she whispered, her stricken gaze glancing down at the clashing colours of red and green.

  ‘I don’t know if that’s the word I would have chosen,’ he answered carefully. ‘I think it suits you, if you want the truth.’

  ‘Seriously?’ She looked surprised and then shyly delighted.

  And wasn’t it strange how her obvious self-consciousness was playing sudden havoc with Maximo’s senses? The way she was biting her bottom lip was drawing his attention to the cushion of pink flesh which curved so sweetly into a shy smile. Her mouth suddenly looked very inviting. And extremely kissable. Bizarre. He shook his head, reminding himself that there were plenty of women more suitable as recipients of his desire than an office junior in fancy dress. ‘Are you moonlighting?’

  ‘You could say that.’

  She lowered her voice again so he had to lean closer to hear her, and as he did he caught the faint drift of her scent and wondered how something so light and delicate could smell so unbelievably provocative. ‘The waitress who’d been hired to do this let them down at the last minute,’ she confided. ‘And I was asked to—’

  ‘Ah! There you are, Maximo! Hiding away in the shadows, like some dashing conquistador!’

  A shrill voice crashed into their conversation and Maximo looked up to see Janette James bearing down on them, her body language managing to be both sinuous yet determined at the same time. She wore a look on her face which he’d seen the first time he’d walked into her estate agency and every time since. It was an expression he’d encountered many times during his life, but especially from middle-aged divorcees.

  ‘I do hope Hollie has been looking after you?’ she was saying. ‘I’m sure she has, judging by the amount of time she’s been standing here.’ She fluttered him another predatory smile before turning to the hapless waitress by his side. ‘But there are other people in the room, Hollie dear, tempting as it must be to monopolise Señor Diaz. People who are very hungry. So run along, will you? The mayor keeps glancing in your direction and he looks as if he could murder a s
ausage roll.’

  Hollie nodded, aware of Maximo Diaz’s burning black gaze on her as she moved away and that the high heels were making her hips sway in a way she hoped wasn’t drawing attention to her bottom. Finding the mayor waiting, she kept her smile intact as he popped an entire sausage roll into his mouth, and thought about what her boss had said. Had she been guilty of monopolising the Spaniard? Maybe she had. She’d certainly been transfixed by him. Lulled by the timbre of his richly accented voice, she had been unable to tear her eyes away from his darkly beautiful face. But for once it had been a two-way street, because tonight she sensed that she had captured his complete attention. Instead of flicking her his usual dismissive glance, he had been openly staring at her and talking to her and listening to her as if her opinion actually mattered.

  Had she been gaping at him like a stranded fish in response to that and drinking in all that powerful mastery instead of ‘working the room’ as Janette had told her to? She turned her head and watched other people moving towards him, as if they too were being magnetised by all that unashamed masculinity.

  ‘Good-looking fellow, isn’t he?’ observed the mayor wryly, noting the direction of her gaze as he reached for a second sausage roll. ‘I’ve noticed every woman in the room can’t seem to stop staring at him.’

  Hollie winced. And she had been as guilty as the rest! She had drooled over him like some teenager at a pop concert.

  ‘I guess everyone’s interested because he’s about to become a local landowner.’

  ‘You think so? Wouldn’t have anything to do with the size of his wallet or the fact that he looks like an old-fashioned matinee idol, would it?’

  ‘Of course not,’ she said primly, quickly excusing herself to continue her elfish duties with renewed fervour, in an attempt to redeem herself in her boss’s eyes. She dispensed the gradually wilting selection left on her tray, topped up glasses and tried to keep busy, but, irritatingly, her thoughts kept flitting back to the man with the black eyes who was currently being monopolised by the local member of parliament. Maximo Diaz had unsettled her and made her feel distinctly disorientated because when he’d looked at her that way, she’d felt...

  It was difficult to describe but she’d felt different. As if she weren’t Hollie Walker at all, but as if another woman had taken over her body. During a brief conversation about the wisdom of serving throwback cocktail snacks, an entirely different narrative had been running through her head. Hadn’t she found her gaze straying to the Spaniard’s sensual lips, which looked like an invitation to sin, and wondered what it would be like to be kissed by him? Hadn’t her curiosity been piqued about how it would feel to be held in the arms of someone who looked so unbelievably strong?

  Which was crazy. A man like Maximo Diaz was about as far out of her reach as the cold stars in the heavens. He was an international playboy with girlfriends who featured regularly on the covers of glossy magazines, while she was a twenty-six-year-old virgin. In fact, sometimes Hollie thought she could be defined by all the things she hadn’t done. Yes, she’d gone to live in London—and just look how that had ended—but she’d never been intimate with a man. She’d never lain naked in someone’s arms, or shared a giggling breakfast with them next morning, or gone on a mini-break, or been given a sentimental piece of jewellery.

  Maybe that was her own fault. She knew people thought she dressed too conservatively for her age, because they’d hinted at it more than once and Janette had come right out and said so on more than one occasion. But they hadn’t grown up watching a woman who used sexual allure like a weapon, had they? Who’d painted her face like a courtesan and squeezed her body into clothes bought solely for the intention of showing off her fabulous physique. But it hadn’t worked. Her mother had spent years making herself available to a man who didn’t want her and, as Hollie had watched her repeat that humiliating spectacle over and over again, she had vowed she was never going to be like that. Women didn’t need a man to define them any more and she was going to live her life on her terms.

  She cleared away empty glasses and plates and the next time she looked, Maximo Diaz was nowhere to be seen and most of the other guests had begun to drift away. Her heart sank. And that was that. She hadn’t even seen him go! Feeling curiously deflated, she brushed up the dropped cocktail sticks and pine needles which littered the floor before making her way back to the basement to change, and by the time she’d bagged up her elf costume, the place was almost empty.

  Someone had turned off the flashing Christmas tree lights and the hotel seemed deserted as she left by the staff entrance at the back. But as Hollie stepped out into the dark night, she was unprepared for the rain—or rather, the sudden deluge which was tipping from the sky. With no umbrella and a coat which wasn’t particularly waterproof, she was quickly soaked through and her windswept progress to the nearby bus stop didn’t provide much in the way of shelter. She looked upwards. Why hadn’t the council bothered to repair that gaping hole in the roof?

  In vain she scanned the horizon for the welcoming light of the bus and was just contemplating digging out her phone to call a taxi—and to hell with the expense—or even braving the elements and walking home, when a large dark car purred soundlessly down the street and came to a gliding halt beside her.

  It wasn’t a car she recognised. It was sleek and gleaming and obviously very expensive. A car which looked totally out of place in this tiny Devon town, especially as it was being driven by a chauffeur who wore a peaked cap. But Hollie’s heart missed a beat as she identified the powerful figure sitting in the back seat.

  The electric window slid down and the shiver which rippled down her spine had less to do with the water slowly soaking through her jacket and more to do with the ebony gaze of Maximo Diaz, which was spearing through her like a dark sword. With a crashing heart she registered his thick black hair and the curve of his sensual mouth, which now twisted in what looked like resignation.

  ‘Get in’ was all he said.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘WHERE TO?’ MAXIMO demanded as the woman slid her damp and shivering body onto the seat beside him and his chauffeur shut the door on the howling night.

  ‘I was on my way h-home.’

  ‘I’d kind of worked that out for myself,’ he said, steeling himself against the strangely seductive stumble of her words. ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘Right on the edge of town, towards the moors.’ She turned her face towards his in the dim light of the limousine and he could hear the faint deference in her voice. ‘It’s very kind of you to give me a lift, Señor Diaz.’

  ‘I’m not known for my kindness,’ he told her, with impatient candour. ‘But you’d have to be pretty hard-hearted to drive past a woman standing alone at a rainy bus stop on a night like this.’ He stared at the raindrops which glittered on her pale cheeks and lowered his voice. ‘The question is whether you want me to drive you home, or did your mother warn you never to accept lifts from strangers?’

  ‘You’re not exactly a stranger, are you?’ she answered primly. ‘And since you’re offering, then I’ll accept. Thank you. It’s a rotten night and it really is very...nice of you.’

  Nice as well as kind? Maximo almost laughed as he leaned forward to tap the glass and the big car moved forward. When was the last time he’d been described in such glowing terms? The nurses who had cared for his mother in her final days would certainly never have subscribed to such a favourable opinion, but their views on the world had been as black and white as the habits they wore. Nice sons did not neglect their dying mother, nor remain dry-eyed as she shuddered out her last breath.

  ‘Anyway, you can call me Maximo. And put on your seat belt,’ he ordered, dragging his thoughts back from the painful past to the woman still shivering beside him.

  ‘I’m trying.’

  Waving away her fumbling fingers, he leaned over to slot in her seat belt and as he again caught a drif
t of scent which was more soap than perfume, he wondered if his behaviour really was motivated by a stab of chivalry and nothing more. Because wasn’t the truth that tonight he had wanted her—and not in some hypothetical role as his ideal secretarial assistant? Hell, no. Tonight, all the softness and sweetness he’d previously associated with her had collided with a totally unexpected raunchy version, which had planted desire stubbornly in his mind. And he hadn’t seemed able to shift it...

  Either way, he hadn’t intended to take it any further, for what would be the point? She was a small-town woman and he was just...passing through. He didn’t do one-night stands. He never had, for all kinds of reasons. They were too messy and had the potential to be complicated, and complicated was something he avoided at all cost. So he had left the hotel and the humdrum party and convinced himself he would quickly forget her—at least until next time he ran into her, if indeed he did. Only by then, she would be back to normal. He wouldn’t be dazzled by that very obvious visual stimulant of a short, figure-hugging dress, because she would be back in her drab clothes—barely meriting a second glance as he signed off on his castle purchase. And that would be an end to it. Adios. He wasn’t intending to stay in this claustrophobic town for a second longer than he needed to. He would sign on the dotted line, put his deal into rapid motion—and nobody would see him for dust.