Mistletoe Wishes: The Billionaire's Christmas GiftOne Christmas Night in VeniceSnowbound With the Millionaire

by Carole Mortimer

  “Good save,” Diane whispered breathlessly, tilting her head back to look up into his face.

  His dark eyes held hers as he gently reached up to dust delicate snowflakes from her hair and lashes. “Always. Always when it comes to you.”

  He sounded so grave, so serious, that it made her heart turn over. Rising up on tiptoe, she touched her mouth to his. His lips were cool and yet his breath was warm, and she clung to him, and their tentative kiss turned fierce and hot and demanding.

  Her arms wound round his neck and his hand settled low on her back, molding her slim frame to his. She loved him and needed him more than she’d loved or needed anyone.

  “Tell me this isn’t a dream,” she begged. “Tell me that it’s real—”

  “It’s real.”

  “And we’re together?”

  “And very much in love.”

  Her eyes burned, and her throat ached, and she curled her fingers into a fist against his chest. “Five years, Dom. Five years…”

  “I know.”

  “So how can it be? How did we find each other?”

  He gave his head a slight shake and carefully brushed a stray snowflake from her cheek. “I don’t know. But I thank my lucky stars.”

  Lucky stars, she repeated silently, tipping her head back to look up into the sky. Thick clouds obscured the stars, and yet she sent up a prayer. Thank you, destiny. Thank you, angels. Thank you, God. This was the most beautiful, miraculous Christmas ever. Well, almost.

  Domenico wrapped her even more securely in his arms and dropped a kiss on the top of her head, then the tip of her nose, before at last finding her lips. “Merry Christmas, my heart.”

  He was warm, and strong, and real, and he was hers. Hers to cherish forever. “Merry Christmas, my love.”

  And it was.

  SNOWBOUND WITH THE MILLIONAIRE

  Catherine George

  Dear Reader,

  For me, Christmas means the joy of having my family around to help celebrate this special day. Hours, sometimes days, of preparation and cooking and gift-wrapping are a labor of love I enjoy every year, my ears glued to the travel news as I worry about the journeys our nearest and dearest must take to join us.

  When they arrive, we all gather round the festive table, happy to be together to drink toasts and reminisce as we enjoy roast turkey and herb stuffing and vast quantities of bread sauce (vital ingredient!) followed by much smaller servings of traditional Christmas pudding. And when, at last, no one can eat another thing, we finally get down to the joyous business of handing out presents.

  In other words, for me, as for most fortunate people, Christmas means togetherness and family reunions.

  In my story, however, the situation is very different. Both my main characters are determined to spend Christmas entirely alone. But fate and stormy weather bring them together to share an unusual, eventful Christmas, followed by a New Year happy with promise for the future.

  With warm good wishes to you for Christmas and the New Year,

  Catherine

  CHAPTER ONE

  DOUBTS crept in towards the end of her journey. Her brilliant idea began to feel like such a big fat mistake she was tempted to make a swift U-turn back to Pennington. But a stubborn refusal to admit she was wrong—plus the rain and gale-force wind buffeting the car—sent her off the Christmas-busy motorway at the next exit.

  A few winding B-route miles later Georgia’s headlights picked up a battered signpost which directed her down a steep, unlit side road. The car bucked like a runaway horse on its potholed descent to an ominously swollen river, but as she crossed the narrow bridge a solitary streetlight gave her a glimpse of a white cottage on a rise up ahead. With a sigh of relief she drove up to it through a layer of surface water seeping from surrounding fields.

  Georgia parked the car in a converted outhouse at the back of the cottage, then hauled out her suitcase and dashed across the yard to the back door. After a struggle she got the big iron key into the lock, and fumbled for the light switch as she opened a door which led straight into a kitchen. She took a quick look round, then dived back out into the relentless downpour to unload the car. Breathless and drenched after the final trip, she dumped down a heavy coolbox and locked the kitchen door behind her in triumph. She’d made it!

  Teeth chattering, she hung her dripping raincoat on a hook on the back door, and then switched on the heating and filled a kettle. She took a quick look in the small sitting room and finally sat down at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee, to text her safe arrival to her friend and flatmate. Amy Conway thought Georgia was totally crazy to come here for the Christmas holidays, instead of spending them at the Conway family home in Pennington. And right now, alone in a cold strange house, Georgia could see her point.

  But as the temperature rose in the small farmhouse-style kitchen Georgia’s spirits rose with it. For several reasons—some of them kept secret even from Amy—she had opted for Christmas on her own in peace. The plan was to go to bed early, get up late, and recharge her batteries ready for the coming year. The cottage had a television, and she’d brought her radio for company at night. She had a bag of presents to open on Christmas morning, a supply of food and, most vital of all, a stack of fiction plus a few textbooks to get some work done. And on Boxing Day she would get some fresh air on the kind of long walk she never had time for in town.

  Georgia heated soup she was almost too tired to eat. Afterwards, yawning widely, she filled a hot water bottle from the kettle and took her bags up the steep staircase. She shook her head in wonder at the thought of her mother and stepfather in this basic little cottage. But their home had sold so rapidly while Georgia was working in Northumbria that the Coopers had been obliged to rent somewhere in a hurry after shipping their belongings to Portugal. When Georgia had returned south to Pennington her mother and stepfather had spent a fortnight with her in the flat she shared with Amy, and then flown off to their new life in the Algarve—to the house that had once been their holiday getaway and would now be their permanent home. But at the very last minute at the airport Rose Cooper, tearful at parting with her daughter, had remembered something left behind in the rented cottage Georgia had never seen.

  ‘It’s just a box of sentimental things—photographs and so on—but I’d hate to lose them. You’ve got the key to hand over to the estate agent, but before you do could you pop down there, darling, and pick the box up for me some time before the lease is up at the end of the year? You can bring it with you when you come over in January for the almond blossom.’

  Georgia smiled guiltily as she surveyed her sleeping quarters. Her mother had never intended her to spend more than an hour or two here, especially at this time of year. Nevertheless here she was, switching on lamps, making the bed, and preparing to sleep in a strange room in a house she’d never set foot in before.

  It would be a very unusual Christmas. But at least she’d have peace on earth. And by the time she left she might even manage goodwill to all men.

  She hung up the few clothes she’d packed for her brief stay, and got ready for bed in a hurry, grateful to curl up with the hot water bottle under a heavy-duty duvet as gusts of wind lashed rain at the window. At least there was one comfort. The scary journey on top of a busy stint at Amy’s shop meant she should sleep well tonight.

  Georgia slept so well she surfaced slowly the following morning and stretched, savouring the rare luxury of a lie-in. After a hot bath she dressed in a warm shirt, heavy cable sweater, thick cord jeans and fleece-lined boots, and with time to linger for once enjoyed a leisurely breakfast. Later she switched on lamps in the cosy little sitting room, and thought about putting a match to the log fire in the horseshoe grate. In the end she deferred that as a treat to look forward to later. As she settled down to work she received a text from Amy, which translated as ‘late night, mega headache, shop packed, lucky you.’ Georgia grinned. She could just picture the scene in the hip little dress shop as party finery sold like hot cakes
. But, having manned the shop alone for a while the previous Sunday, while Amy went Christmas shopping with her boyfriend, Georgia went on working, untroubled by guilt. It would be her first Christmas Eve without a frantic last-minute shopping session: one thing, at least, she was deliriously happy to miss in this weather.

  Georgia spent the day with lesson plans and textbooks, and then went upstairs to look for her mother’s belongings. Their move to Portugal had been in the pipeline for some time, and would have been made long since except for Rose Cooper’s reluctance to leave her daughter behind in the UK. Once Georgia had graduated and her career was underway she had finally convinced her mother that she would be fine, and at last the Coopers had taken the plunge—but only after Paul had put down a generous deposit on a bigger Pennington flat for his stepdaughter. Amy had been delighted to move in as her friend’s tenant, and Rose and Paul had finally gone off happy to their new life in Portugal.

  Georgia soon gave up on the bedrooms. There was no cardboard box of keepsakes in either, nor in the bathroom. A thorough search downstairs had no success, either. Georgia thrust her hands through her hair, stymied. But she was so hungry by this time she gave up. If the box had been left in the outhouse, the search would have to wait for daylight in the morning.

  With a sudden yen for the kind of meal frowned on in the flat, due to Amy’s constant dieting, Georgia grilled bacon and tomatoes, fried an egg, made toast, and piled it all on a tray to eat in front of the television. She put a match to the fire, and then sat back to enjoy a carol service from Kings College, Cambridge. Fond though she was of Amy, it was rather restful to have time alone. Guilty at the discovery, she rang her friend to hear that the shop had done record business.

  ‘Due to your brainwave of ten percent Christmas Eve reductions customers braved the rain in droves,’ said Amy with satisfaction. ‘The Saturday girls worked their little socks off, and Liam is now waiting to wine and dine me before delivering me to the Conway family pile to hang up my stocking. So what’s happening with you? Are you all right? Really, I mean? Because if you’re not, Georgie, promise me you’ll drive straight back here in the morning.’

  Georgia stated firmly that she was fine, sent affectionate messages to Amy’s family, and rang off before her friend could get started again on the sheer lunacy of spending Christmas alone.

  It was later that night, just as Georgia was wondering whether to go to bed early or add another log to the fire, when hammering on the front door, followed by a dog’s deep-throated barking, frightened the life out of her.

  ‘Open up!’ yelled a man’s voice.

  Heart thumping, Georgia sucked in a deep, unsteady breath. ‘Who—who is it?’

  ‘More to the point who are you?’ he shouted. ‘Open this door!’

  Praying that the stout safety chain would hold, Georgia darted into the sitting room to grab the poker. Brandishing her weapon, she opened the door the merest crack, then stared, utterly speechless, at the apparition on the doorstep.

  Torch in one hand, the leash of a large, panting dog in the other, Chance Warner loomed tall in sodden caped raincoat and wide-brimmed hat.

  ‘Georgie?’ He eyed her in blank amazement through the narrow opening. ‘What the devil are you doing here?’

  Georgia lowered her weapon. ‘I could ask the same of you!’ She stiffened as the lights flickered.

  Her visitor cursed under his breath. ‘I was afraid of this. Get your things. You’ll have to come up to the house.’

  ‘Your house?’ He had to be joking! She’d had quite enough of Chance Warner and his family—his brother Toby most of all.

  ‘You certainly can’t stay here. Who’s with you?’

  ‘No one,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘You’re here alone?’ He eyed her suspiciously. ‘Why? Though it’s a damn good thing you are. I draw the line at a house party. And put that poker down. You’re upsetting the dog!’ A sudden gust of wind threatened to take the door off its chain, and her visitor lost patience and swung the torch beam over the garden. ‘Take a look at that. Now, will you please get a move on?’

  Georgia stared in horror at the water covering the lower half of the small lawn. ‘Oh my God! Will it reach the cottage?’

  ‘It might. So get your gear and let’s move. Now!’

  ‘I need to make the fire safe first—’

  ‘Let me in, and I’ll do that while you pack. Travel light,’ he added as she unhooked the chain. ‘The road down below is under water, so it means a hike up over the common to my place.’

  The little hall felt crowded with the addition of a tall wet man and a large wet dog. Georgia frowned anxiously as he shut the door behind him. ‘Shouldn’t we move some furniture or carpets, or something? In case the water does come up this far?’

  ‘No time. Get your things while I make the fire safe. Come on, Georgie.’

  Her mind in a turmoil, she flew up the stairs, pulled on a long cardigan, tied a scarf round her neck, and stuffed her possessions in her holdall. She raced downstairs to pick up the bag of presents, and hesitated over the rest of her books. When the lights gave another ominous flicker she abandoned them and shot out to join Chance in the kitchen.

  ‘Well done!’ He took the holdall from her. ‘Can you manage the other bag yourself for now?’

  ‘Of course.’ She zipped herself into her scarlet raincoat and fastened the hood tightly over her hair. As an afterthought she found some bin liners under the sink, tied the bag of presents securely inside a couple of them, then got out her keys and slung her handbag over her shoulder.

  ‘I’ll turn everything off.’ He switched on his torch, then flipped the necessary switches behind the door. When he opened it he directed the torch beam at the path leading up behind the outhouse and let the dog loose. ‘Home, Luther!’

  Georgia stared in surprise as the dog went loping off. ‘Won’t someone be worried when he gets back on his own?’

  Chance shook his head. ‘Nobody home except Ruby, and he’ll enjoy the run. He’ll shelter in the stable until we get there. Now, lock that door, Red Riding Hood. Let’s go.’

  It was no easy task in a howling gale in the dark, even with his torch trained on the keyhole. Georgia finally managed it, dropped the key into a pocket, picked up her bin bag and followed her rescuer across the yard and up the steep, sodden path, apprehensive now she was alone in the dark with Chance Warner. Their sole previous encounter had caused such embarrassing trouble she’d done her best to forget it. Yet now she was on her way to stay in his house.

  And who was Ruby?

  ‘Is my car safe in there?’ she shouted at his broad back.

  ‘Have to be—no way to move it,’ he yelled over his shoulder. ‘A gate up the top here opens onto a narrow path up to the common, but it’s very steep and easy to stray from in the dark. Hook your free hand in my belt and stay close behind me.’

  Wishing passionately she’d never left Pennington, Georgia had to trot awkwardly to keep up with Chance’s long-legged stride on the steep ascent. After a while the world was reduced to a howling wet wilderness, with only the beam of the torch spearing the dark. They climbed at such a punishing pace the breath was tearing through her chest by the time the path finally levelled out on to the common and lights were visible in the distance. Georgia wrenched her frozen fingers from his belt as Chance came to a halt.

  ‘Civilisation in sight,’ he panted, and shone the torch on her face. ‘Are you all right, Georgie?’

  She nodded dumbly, trying to catch her breath.

  ‘Give me that bag. It’s not far now. The going’s a bit easier now we’ve stopped climbing.’

  It was marginally easier underfoot, but the relentless wind blew such gusts of sleet in their faces Georgia’s teeth began to chatter like castanets. The lights seemed to stay obstinately in the distance, but at last the torch beam picked up a stone wall lining the road, and a pair of tall gates came into view. Chance reached in his pocket and aimed a remote control; the gates swung open to let th
em through, and then clanged shut behind them as they trudged along a drive lined with trees and what appeared to be genuine old street lamps. Luther raced out to meet them as floodlights lit up the façade of a house so austerely beautiful Georgia made a note to take a good look at it some time when she wasn’t drenched and exhausted and in a spin over the drastic change in her Christmas plans.

  ‘Good lad!’ said Chance, patting the dog. He turned searching eyes on Georgia as the light fell on her wan face. ‘We’ll go round the back to the boot room. You’ll soon be warm.’ He hurried her across a yard and unlocked the door of a huge utility room to a vociferous welcome from a Jack Russell terrier which leapt up, barking in shrill excitement, as Georgia put down her bin bag.

  ‘Good girl, Ruby,’ said Chance, patting her as he tossed his hat on a draining board. ‘Now, let’s get you out of that wet coat, Georgie. You must be frozen.’

  ‘A bit,’ she admitted hoarsely. ‘That was quite a hike.’

  ‘Sorry to drag you along at such a lick, but I wanted to get you home and dry.’ He helped her off with her raincoat and hung it up with his own. ‘Did you pack something to put on your feet?’

  She nodded and bent to unzip her holdall, but her numb fingers refused to oblige.

  ‘Let me. Are these what you want?’ Chance took out the black velvet slippers she’d thrust on top of her clothes, and lifted her on to a countertop to pull off her boots. ‘Your feet are like blocks of ice,’ he muttered, rubbing them between his hands. ‘Though I’m glad to see you go for sensible boots instead of useless things with five-inch heels.’

  A good thing she hadn’t brought the pair she owned exactly like that, then, thought Georgia, her pulse racing at the touch of his hands, which stilled suddenly as his eyes met hers. She scrambled down in a hurry, forcing a polite smile as she thrust her icy feet into the slippers. ‘This is very good of you. I’m grateful.’