Christmas With a Billionaire: Billionaire Under the MistletoeSnowed in With Her BossA Diamond for Christmas

by Carole Mortimer

  “You’re stressed?” he asked.

  She blinked. “A little.”

  “You’ve been singing a lot of Christmas carols for someone who’s stressed.”

  “Well, I acquired a lot of my stress today.” Her eyes narrowed.

  “Point taken.”

  “A ride on the tram over the mountain, to a restaurant at the summit. Wow. That sounds...high.”

  “Do you have a problem with heights?”

  “Not at all,” she said. “If you do, maybe I’ll take the tram ride, and you can get the massage except...I really do want the massage.”

  “We can’t do things separately,” he said.

  “Well, then, the massage is off the...massage table. Because I’m not getting oiled up with you.” Her cheeks turned pink. “Well, that was a little bit more...out there than I meant it to be.” She cleared her throat. “How about this tram? We can ride it to the top for lunch.”

  “Is food all you think about?”

  “Hey, I’ve now watched you pour two alcoholic beverages very early in the day, so if we’re going to get judgmental you’re going to lose this round, my friend.”

  “All right, lunch it is.”

  “I’m thinking cheeseburger.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, Luc. Really. Because cheese doesn’t ask stupid questions. Cheese understands.”

  “Well, then let’s journey to the mountaintop for your understanding cheese.”

  “You’re absurd,” she said, “this entire thing is absurd.”

  “Well, we’re living it. So we might as well enjoy it.”

  She worried her lip for a moment, then slapped her hands down on her thighs. “Yes, dammit, I will enjoy it. I’m owed some enjoyment. A little time off without my family. Still with my boss, but hey, I’ll take what I can get. Let’s go get that burger.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “WELL, THAT REALLY was high. So this had better be quite the hamburger,” Amelia said as they waited for their food.

  The tram had taken nearly an hour, which Amelia had seemed honor-bound to fill up with Amelia-like chatter. About birds, and trees. And how blue the sky was.

  And all he’d been able to think about was how her lips had looked wrapped around the strawberry. And from there, his mind had gone to how her lips might look if they were wrapped around his—

  Yes, he’d had to adjust his thinking quite often. Among other things.

  “I imagine it will be,” he said. “Since it’s closer to Denver.”

  “That doesn’t apply to all food, just foods with Denver in the name.” She rolled her eyes and took a French fry out of the basket in front of them.

  “That makes more sense than what I was thinking.”

  “Do you have culture shock yet from leaving Paris and all its pastries behind?”

  He lifted a shoulder and took a fry from the basket. “No. New York has everything I want. Plus it’s missing a lot of things I’d rather not deal with.”

  “Your family.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What happened with your dad? I mean...we’ve never talked about him. I know it was a huge deal in Europe when you left the firm.”

  “Because my father is a tyrant, and why I worked with him for as long as I did is...well, it is a mystery to me. I was raised to take over the firm, and I did. I was raised to marry a suitable woman, and for a while it seemed I would do both. I had Marie, who was so very perfect to be the queen for the Chevalier kingdom. Until it all came crashing down. And there was a point where I was still working to keep my father’s empire running, while my brother went out and did what he pleased...and I asked myself why I was still working so hard for something I didn’t even care about.”

  “You got an answer, I take it?”

  “No. I got no answer. And that was when I decided to leave. If you don’t know why you’re working sixty-to-eighty-hour workweeks, you shouldn’t be working them.”

  “I don’t suppose.”

  “I also found out my father had been stealing money. From the business, from clients. So after I set the law on him, I left.”

  “You were the one who...who broke all of that open?”

  “Yes. I am. Don’t tell me you secretly imagined I might be involved in the crime?”

  “I seriously never did,” she said. “You’re too much of a rule follower.”

  Luc frowned. Under normal circumstances he wouldn’t mind being called a rule follower. But for some reason, coming from her just now, it sounded very unexciting. And as though it might be the real reason he hadn’t had sex in nearly a year.

  “Well, I’m glad to think you don’t believe I could be a criminal,” he said.

  “Though,” she said, “I’m starting to think that I can be very stupid about people.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Just...reasons.”

  Right then, a waiter set their plates in front of them. Two very large cheeseburgers. The view, which was all snow-capped trees and gray rock jutting up beyond them, was at odds with the food. One was common, the other altogether unique. Wild.

  Then there was Amelia. She seemed more a part of this than Manhattan somehow. Perhaps because she defied the clean, sleek steel of the city. Because she was nonuniform and bright. Because she was modern and vintage, and Christmas carols and snark.

  “What are your reasons? I just told you my secrets.”

  She shook her head. “Mine are not really...mine. I know that doesn’t make sense but...it’s true.”

  “Fair enough,” he said. “We’re not really on a date, after all. Just testing out the food.”

  “And it is good,” she said, taking a bite of her cheeseburger.

  “Well, I’m glad it was worth the trek.”

  They ate in silence. Well, relative silence. Sometimes Amelia hummed while she chewed.

  “Ready to head back down the mountain?”

  “Uh, sure, I guess so.”

  He left the voucher that had been included with the brochure on the table and they walked back to the tram. “Ready?”

  “Yep.”

  He walked into the yellow car and held his hand out. She took it and he lifted her inside. Her hands were so soft. Warm.

  The attendant slid the door shut, and the car began to move along the cable, out of the station and back over the trees, over the valley that ran between the mountains.

  “Wow,” she said. “This is incredible. Also, though, when you look straight down it makes you slightly dizzy.”

  “Then don’t look down,” he said.

  “It’s kind of a rush,” she said, leaning toward the window, her forehead pressed against the glass. “Smoother than an airplane. And it feels more real. It feels a lot more like flying in some ways.”

  “You were the kind of girl who would dream of flying, I think,” he said. He wasn’t sure why he’d said it. He only knew it was true.

  She looked at him and smiled, a dimple in her left cheek dipping inward. “I did. I made myself cardboard wings and used glue and gold glitter to make them sparkle. I was fifteen. It wasn’t so socially acceptable.”

  “You seem like you don’t care much for convention, anyway.”

  “You know, I don’t in some ways. I mean, society can take a flying leap. But in other ways...I know what it’s like to have family expectations of you. I mean...sure it wasn’t running a bank or anything but...I’m really close to my parents and I know they see me a certain way. That they see my future a certain way. And if they were tyrants or criminals, then maybe I could walk away, but they aren’t. I love them. And I’m just always afraid of disappointing them.”

  “How could you possibly disappoint them?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “There are wa
ys, I’m sure. It’s just...in my family there are a lot of emotions.”

  “You have sisters,” he said.

  “Yes, I do. And you know that because a Chevalier never forgets.”

  “True enough.”

  They rode the rest of the way in silence, which was beyond unusual for Amelia, her face pale, her cheeks and lips a stark pink in contrast, her gaze focused on the view. She looked oddly serious. And sad. It made his stomach twist.

  The car touched down at the other station, and he helped Amelia out. “Ready for the massage?”

  “What did I tell you about the massage?” she asked.

  “Do you really want to skip this? We’re testing out the facility.”

  The dimple deepened, blue eyes glittering. “Fine. I guess I’ll suffer the indignity for a little deep tissue relief.”

  He reached out to take her hand, and she pulled away. “What?” he asked.

  “I—I shouldn’t.”

  “Clint?” he asked.

  “Kind of.”

  “Just hands,” he said, and he didn’t know why he felt compelled to convince her of that. Didn’t know why he felt the need to talk her into letting him touch her.

  “Just hands,” she said, extending hers.

  He wove his fingers through hers, the shock of her skin on his not lessening since the last time he’d touched her. This whole thing with her was much more problematic than he’d anticipated.

  They walked out of the tram terminal and into the lodge again, heading up the stairs that led to the spa.

  It was all exactly what he wanted to see as a potential buyer. Very little needed to be done to the property to make it perfect. The same rustic elegance that was evidenced in the rest of the place carried through, craftsman-style details, beautiful inlaid wood and exposed beams.

  And at the center was a giant Christmas tree, white lights glittering against the deep green.

  With the right marketing, this resort could be much bigger than it was. He didn’t see why it wasn’t yet on the radar of celebrities looking for a place to stay and ski. In his mind it was well suited to that. All it needed was a bit of rebranding.

  A woman greeted them at the front and ushered them into a small room that had a wall entirely made of glass, which overlooked the broad expanse of wilderness at the back of the resort. There was utter privacy, with a sense of openness.

  Yes, this could be a very popular destination.

  Amelia looked pointedly at the two white robes, hanging on the little room divider.

  “I take it that’s what we’re supposed to wear?” she asked.

  “I think so. You can get behind the shade if you like.”

  He felt as if they were potentially playing with fire. In fact, he knew he was. He knew that this had gone somewhere beyond simply playing the part of happy couple, and assessing the value of the resort. Frankly, he could have donned a suit, walked in here and told Don Fleischer he was prepared to offer and that he wanted to inspect the facilities, and yet he hadn’t.

  And he wasn’t going to. Not when...not when this was happening. Not when, for the first time in his memory he felt a rush of excitement and the thought of what might happen.

  Sex was a certainty for him—dry spell aside— when he went out, if he wanted sex, he got it. Women were always willing. The combination of money, power and looks was his ticket into many bedrooms. And there was no thrill. There was no tightening in his stomach, no rush of anticipation. No sense of the unique or unknown.

  Sex was a known quantity. How could anything about it be suspenseful? It was simply arousing, and then, satisfying.

  This wasn’t even sex. This was just the anticipation of being near her while she was dressed in nothing more than a robe. This was just the desire to see a bit more skin than she’d shown while in her dress.

  The desire to be in this intimate setting with her.

  It wasn’t about release. It wasn’t about getting naked and getting it done as quickly as possible. He wouldn’t even touch her. It was just about the moment.

  For some reason the moment had become everything.

  Amelia disappeared behind the divider and he turned toward it, undoing the top button on his shirt. He could hear her rustling around behind the screen, hear her clothes being removed.

  And he could imagine it.

  Every whisper of fabric over skin had his imagination on overdrive, until his body ached. Until he was so hard he couldn’t talk himself down.

  He put on his robe quickly and sat on the massage table, his hands in his lap.

  A moment later, Amelia emerged, her cheeks the color of ripe strawberries. Which were fresh on his mind for several reasons.

  She sat on the massage table across from him, forcing a smile. “So now we wait?”

  “Yes,” he said, unable to stop himself from taking a visual tour of her body. The robes were thin, the room warmed by a fireplace in the corner.

  The V of pale skin than ran from her elegant neck down to the curve of her breasts was enticing. Begging for touch. Begging, at least, for him to sit there and appreciate her.

  She took a deep breath that jarred his heart and sent a kick of heat through his veins. The thin fabric of her robe molding tightly over her breasts, revealing the outline of her nipples.

  Mon dieu.

  He needed to get a grip. Preferably in private and on himself.

  He was a thirty-five-year-old man, not some horny teenager. It was his own fault for putting off sex as long as he had.

  She took a breath, her lips parting as if she was about to say something when the door opened. Two massage therapists came in, smiling and greeting them both, before turning on some sort of wooden flute music.

  That he could do without. He wasn’t a meditation sort of guy.

  “Go ahead and lay down on your stomach,” his masseuse said. “We can lower the robe down past your shoulders and work on your back.”

  He looked over at Amelia, who scrambled to lay facedown on the table before turning her head away from him and shimmying her shoulders, working the top of her robe down, baring her back, her breasts covered by her position.

  He looked away from her and did the same.

  And for the next several minutes tried not to die of extreme overarousal.

  It wasn’t the touch of the woman working on his muscles. He barely felt that. It was the sounds Amelia was making. Amelia didn’t do anything quietly, so he didn’t know why he should be so surprised that, when being massaged, Amelia sounded as though she was eating very good chocolate, or having very good sex.

  “You’re very tense, Mr. Chevalier,” his masseuse said, right about the time Amelia moaned, long and low into the table.

  Yes, he was. And he had a feeling he was going to leave this appointment with more knots in his back than when he’d come in.

  “Mmm...yessssss.”

  Merde.

  She was actually going to kill him. There was no point even denying it now, as he lay facedown on the massage table trying to fight the hard-on from hell. He wanted her. He wanted her naked and under him, and over him.

  His assistant. A woman with a ring on her finger.

  He was, in that moment, everything he hated and still wanting her was stronger than the shame.

  The half-hour session seemed as though it lasted four times as long. When they put hot rocks along the line of his spine, and hers, he was ready to beg to be thrown in a snowbank. She liked the hot rocks very much, and she was not shy about voicing her approval.

  Finally, it was over. Amelia’s moan of completion and disappointment sent one final lick of flame over his skin.

  “That ends the session. Now we’ll leave you two to get dressed. If you need anything else during your stay, we’re here to see to
your needs.”

  No they were here to ignite impossible needs, he thought bitterly as he sat up, his robe pooling around his waist.

  Amelia sat up when the door closed, her dark brown hair tumbled over one shoulder, her cheeks flushed, her robe clutched tightly in her fists, closed snugly over her breasts.

  She looked like a woman who’d just been tumbled. Or, rather she looked like a woman who needed to be. Or maybe it wasn’t her. Maybe it was just him. Maybe he was the one who needed it, and he was reading the signs wrong.

  But he didn’t care just now.

  “Amelia,” he said, his voice low, rough, almost unrecognizable even to his own ears. “I am your boss. And this is a vulnerable situation for you.” He was tripping over his English now. He wasn’t sure if what he was saying made sense. All of his thoughts had reverted to French. And he was trying to translate the words coming out of his mouth as quickly as possible. “But, and forgive me, you are oiled up and you’re naked. And I want.... If you want me to stay over here, I want you to say so. Now.”

  Amelia could only stare at Luc, her heart in her throat, her entire body shaking.

  The massage had her feeling loose, and very languid, which was a word she didn’t think she’d ever embodied before.

  And he was right. They were naked. And oiled up. And yeah, she’d said that would never happen. But right now it was happening. And he was looking at her as though she was a woman. A woman he desired. Not a woman he cared for. Not a woman he hoped might fix him.

  His eyes burned with heat and passion, the kind that had never, ever been directed at her before, and until that moment, she hadn’t realized it had been missing.

  But it was. And suddenly she felt parched for it. Needy. Desperate.

  “I don’t want you to stay over there,” she said, her words coming out in a rush.

  “Well, thank God for that.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  IT WAS INSANE. And it was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. She hadn’t made any decisions about Clint yet, and technically, regardless of the circumstances, they were still engaged. Which meant that she should tell Luc to get back on his side of the room.