Carmel appeared in the doorway. ‘Ms Minslow, a suite has been prepared for your convenience so you can freshen up.’
Really?
‘If you’d like to follow me.’
The suite was the height of luxury. And laid out on the bed was the most gorgeous outfit. ‘A gift from Mr Cooper-Ford,’ Carmel murmured, closing the door softly behind her, leaving Christy alone.
She stared at the outfit. And couldn’t stop from reaching out to touch it. For some reason she couldn’t fathom, Jamie had bought her a calf-length skirt in a bold print of watermelon slices—the pink of the watermelon contrasting beautifully with the black seeds and the green background. It was fun and whimsical and exactly what she’d have chosen for herself. A simple shell top in a matching pink and green ballet flats completed the outfit.
Christy glanced down at her suit. They’d completed their business. Maybe the change of clothes indicated a move to more personal business? Not giving herself a chance to think, she slipped the outfit on and was admiring the effect in the mirror when her phone rang. She pressed it to her ear.
‘Christy, it’s Jamie.’
His beautiful accent filled her ears and everything inside her tried to take flight. She had to swallow before she could speak. ‘Hello, Jamie.’ She didn’t know what to say. ‘It’s nice to hear from you.’ Nice? She mouthed to herself and winced.
‘I’ve wanted to call you for the last nineteen days. I’ve missed you. More than I realised it was possible to miss anyone.’
His words electrified her. ‘Then why haven’t you called?’
‘Because I’ve been an idiot.’
She collapsed to the side of the bed.
‘Will you have lunch with me in an hour’s time?’
‘Yes!’ She shot to her feet, and then she frowned. ‘No.’
‘No?’ His voice emerged heavy, as if she’d punched the life out of him.
‘Jamie, am I your highly personal reason for being in Australia?’
‘Yes.’ He paused and for a moment all she could hear was ragged breathing. ‘I’ve left it too late, haven’t I? I’ve screwed up—’
‘No!’ With one hand she shoved her suit, tightly rolled up, into her briefcase. ‘But if I’m the reason you’re here, I don’t want to wait an hour to find out why. I want to see you now. Where are you?’
‘Up on deck.’
‘Don’t move,’ she ordered, slapping her phone shut and racing out of the door.
She found him at the front of the boat, framed against the Harbour Bridge. He’d swapped his suit for sand-coloured chinos and a turquoise polo shirt. The light breeze ruffled his hair, and he looked like every dream she’d ever had of a handsome prince. She wanted to smile but all her energy was focused on remaining upright.
‘Hello again.’ A smile hooked up one side of his mouth and she wanted to throw herself at him.
‘Hi.’ It was nothing more than a breath of air. She didn’t know if he’d even heard it.
‘Damn it! I had a really cool speech prepared,’ he muttered, ‘but...’ Swooping forward, he cupped her face in his hands, his lips crashing to hers in a fever of need and desire that would have bowled her over if he weren’t holding her so securely. Inside her everything tossed and tumbled in a daze of desire and need and a million fizzy bubbles of happiness.
He dragged his mouth from hers and she tried to contain all of those fizzy bubbles. It was just a kiss. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. It—
‘I’ve missed you every second for the last nineteen days.’
She blinked.
‘Whenever I close my eyes, I see you. When I open them I can still see you...and all I can do is ache for you.’
As he spoke, his brow lowered to hers. She’d entirely lost the ability to speak, to move, to do anything!
‘Hell. This wasn’t the speech I meant to give. I—’
She grabbed his arm as he straightened. ‘But I like this speech. I like it a lot.’
He searched her face and then a grin spread across that beautiful mouth. Taking her hand, he led her beneath the nearby canopy to a sofa, twining his fingers through hers. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tear up the contract the minute you asked me to. I...’ He shook his head. ‘Everything had become jumbled in my mind, and all I could think was I’d be betraying my father. Which I know is nonsense now, by the way. But at the time it felt like a betrayal of everything I’d been given and I couldn’t make sense of anything.’
His haggard expression had her hand tightening about his. ‘If you had torn it up, I’d fully intended to print another one out and sign it again,’ she confessed. ‘I just wanted—’ she shrugged ‘—proof that you cared about something beyond MA.’
‘After what I’d allowed my mother to do—making our deal public when I’d given you my word that wouldn’t happen—I thought I’d lost every shred of your respect and goodwill.’
‘I thought I’d lost yours! I thought I’d alienated you after everything I’d said about your parents. I should’ve kept my mouth shut.’
‘You spoke because you cared. I just didn’t want to see what was right under my nose.’
She gripped his hand in both her own. ‘Tell me how you managed to extricate yourself from MA. Is your mother still speaking to you?’
She listened as he told her about the decision he’d made to forge a path of his own, and his mother’s surprising reaction. She could hardly believe it. ‘She gave you her blessing?’
‘Fully and without reservation.’ He pressed a kiss to her palm. ‘You made me see that I have the right to lead my own life. And that in doing so, I won’t be breaking my promise to my father.’
It was so much to take in.
‘And your mother?’ His gaze sharpened. ‘I’ve been in a hundred different kinds of hell thinking we caused problems between the two of you—’
‘Well, you can stop thinking it,’ she broke in. ‘We had a big heart-to-heart when I got home, and I discovered she’d already sensed my lack of enthusiasm for the business side of things. She wasn’t as surprised as I thought she’d be at the news.’ She shrugged. ‘She just wants me to be happy.’
She stared up at him. He hadn’t mentioned the L word yet, and she wasn’t going to bring it up either. It was enough that he’d told her how he’d missed her. It would do for now.
She hesitated, not wanting to break the idyllic mood but needing to know. ‘I have to ask...are you investing in Beach Monday because you feel guilty about all that happened in Singapore?’
‘No!’ His head rocked back. ‘I’m investing in your company for many reasons. Some of them good...and some of them probably not so good,’ he added with a grimace.
Tension balled in her stomach. ‘Not so good?’ she croaked.
‘Let me start with the good.’ He’d gone a little green, as if he was fighting seasickness, and her stomach churned in sympathy. ‘What I need to say first is that I truly believe in Beach Monday. Christy, your designs are amazing. I fell in love with your umbrellas the first time I clapped eyes on them. They made something inside of me want to dance and sing and go on a holiday.’
Her eyes burned.
‘I honestly believe that with the business support I can bring to the table, we can launch Beach Monday into the stratosphere. Your design skills and vision partnered with my business know-how and connections...’ He spread his hands. ‘It’s a winning combination. I’m honoured you’ve agreed to take me on as a partner. And that’s the truth. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I mean to make the most of it.’
She nodded impatiently. ‘Okay, that all sounds great. Now tell me the not so good reasons.’ She needed to know them now.
‘I dangled this carrot as an excuse to see you.’
‘You didn’t need an excuse for that.’
‘I had nothing else to offer
you. I wanted to prove to you that I was a free agent.’
‘You didn’t have to offer me anything or prove anything to me.’
He met her gaze. ‘And I wanted the time and opportunity to win your heart.’
Everything inside her stopped working.
‘I’m hoping that working with you will give me a chance to do that.’
She was aware of the breeze blowing a strand of hair across her face, of the water lapping against the sides of the yacht, but she couldn’t move a muscle. He wanted...?
‘Those are the reasons I made my offer to you, Christy. Guilt had nothing to do with it. I know what I said about not wanting anything to do with love, but I was an idiot. I have a new vision for my future now. And I want that future to be with you.’
All of the things holding her immobile slipped away. ‘You...you...’ She stood, trembling. He went to stand too, but she pushed him back down and planted herself in his lap. Her heart was too full to speak so she kissed him instead, falling into him with every fibre of her being.
She lifted her head several moments later, breathing hard. ‘You don’t need the time and opportunity to win my heart, Jamie. It’s already yours. It has been ever since you sat in the forest garden with me at the airport and convinced me to stay in Singapore.’
A slow smile transformed his face. ‘That’s because I was putty in your hands from the moment you saw me at the airport and your face fell when you realised I’d come to meet you. It was humbling, hilarious, and caught me completely off guard.’
‘Because you’d caught me off guard! I wanted to make a good impression.’
‘You made an impression, all right.’ His eyes danced, but then he grew serious again. ‘I know we haven’t known each other very long, but I feel as if I’ve known you forever. Something inside of me recognises something inside of you...and I don’t want to live without it again. Christy Minslow, I know it’s probably too soon to say this, but I love you.’
The vulnerability that stretched through his eyes caught at her insides. ‘Soul mates,’ she whispered. ‘You’re my soul mate.’
‘Soul mates.’ He nodded. ‘I like the sound of that.’
She took his face in her hands and stared deep into his eyes. ‘I love you too, Jamie.’ She watched his eyes flare with hope and love. ‘But I want you to know that you don’t need to invest in Beach Monday for me to keep loving you. I—’
He touched his fingers to her lips. ‘I know, but I want to. For the business reasons I mentioned. Okay?’
She searched his face and the last prickle of uncertainty melted away and she nodded.
‘In a year’s time—maybe minus nineteen days—I’m going to ask you to marry me.’
Her breath hitched. ‘And after I say yes, can we agree to honeymoon in Singapore?’
He kissed her, his lips curving into a smile against hers. ‘Deal.’
‘Jamie?’
‘Hmm?’
‘I really like doing business with you.’
‘Ditto.’
And then they didn’t speak again for a very long time.
* * *
If you enjoyed this story, check out these other great reads from Michelle Douglas
Redemption of the Maverick Millionaire
The Maid, the Millionaire and the Baby
Miss Prim’s Greek Island Fling
The Million Pound Marriage Deal
All available now!
Keep reading for an excerpt from Christmas Reunion in Paris by Liz Fielding.
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Christmas Reunion in Paris
by Liz Fielding
CHAPTER ONE
City Diary, London Evening Post,
28th September
Following a meeting with creditors of the Harrington Park Hotel, the owner, Nicholas Wolfe, announced today that he has filed for bankruptcy.
Once a name breathed with a sigh of pleasure, the hotel was considered a home away from home by those wealthy enough to enjoy the Harrington experience. But the hotel began to lose its way following the death of Rupert Harrington two decades ago.
Katherine, his widow, handed ownership of the hotel to her second husband, American businessman Nicholas Wolfe, in order to concentrate on her young family. Wolfe lacked the magic Harrington touch, however, and under his stewardship the brand lost its sparkle. Following Katherine’s death in a road accident the hotel’s decline, while slow, was terminal.
Rumour has it that James Harrington, owner of the Michelin-starred restaurant L’Étranger, and the younger son of Katherine and Rupert Harrington, has teamed up with his interior designer twin, Sally Harrington, to put together a bid, hoping to restore this iconic London hotel to its former glory.
CHLOE WAS RUNNING LATE. She should be on her way to another job, but an outbreak of flu had left the hotel short-handed and when the head of Housekeeping had asked her to extend her shift, refusal had not been an option.
The double shift had left her exhausted, her legs, feet, head were aching, but this was the last guestroom. The room had been booked for a late arrival, but she was running out of time.
Always uneasy about being upstairs when guests were beginning to return from shopping or sightseeing, she worked fast, but it had to be perfect. She needed this job and mentally ticked off a checklist, ensuring that everything was exactly as a guest who was staying in a luxurious boutique hotel in the heart of Paris would expect.
The small fridge was fully stocked. The flowers perfect, the fruit without a blemish. A bottle of mineral water stood beside a gleaming glass. A small pink-lidded box containing two light-as-air macarons was on the tray beside the coffee machine.
She took a breath, momentarily swept back to the taste of raspberry and rose petals melting in her mouth. A long-ago treat from the boy she loved...
She’d spent too long daydreaming and the click of the key in the lock brought her back to reality with the arrival of madame to check the room.
‘J’ai terminé...’
‘Prends ton temps, madame...’ The man’s tone was reassuring, not madame, but the guest telling her to take her time as he dropped his bag and crossed to the window.
He spoke in French and his accent was good, but he was English and her hand trembled as she smoothed back the cover.
A complaint would have been bad, but far worse was the risk that she would come face to face with someone who might recognise her. Someone who had attended the same exclusive private boarding school.
News of where she was, what she was doing—in mocking tones of scandalised amusement—would be flashed around social media within hours. She would have to leave Paris, start again somewhere else. That would cost money, put her dream further out of reach.
The possibility, she told herself, was vanishingly small. She took a breath, reminded herself that staff were invisible. Even if she did come face to face with someone with whom she’d been at school, someone who knew her parents, they would only see the white shirt, the black waistcoat and skirt.
The uniform, not the person.
She straightened from her task, took one last glance around. The man was staring out at Paris, already ablaze with lights for the Christmas season, but she didn’t see the view, only the face mirrored in the glass.
Chloe gasped his name.
‘James...’
It was no more than a whispered breath, but his gaze flickered from the lights of the city to her own image mirrored alongside him.
For a moment, as they looked into the reflection of each other’s eyes, her heart stood still. Would he recognise her? Remember
her?
The thought had barely formed before he spun around so fast that, as if he had disturbed the earth’s rotation, the room rocked.
She flung out a hand as her world tilted, throwing her off balance, but there was only air to grasp until strong fingers clasped hers, his body steadying her world as he stepped into her, supporting her, holding her, saying her name.
Not a ghost, but the living man with whom, a lifetime ago, she had shared an intense, passionate teenage love.
A doomed romance that had brought disaster down on both their heads but, in his arms, she had forgotten reality, naively blanked from her mind the future planned for her by ambitious parents.
For a few short months, lying spooned against his body, feeling the slow, steady thud of his heart beating against her ribs, the softness of his sleeping breath against her neck, anything had seemed possible.
Now, unbelievably, he was here, grown into the promise of the youth whose every kiss, every touch had stolen her senses, his fingers entwined in her own, a hand at her back, holding her safe against the breadth of wide shoulders, their bodies touching close. Looking at her as if he could not believe what he was seeing.
His eyes were still that thrilling swirl of grey and green that, for years, had haunted her dreams. To look at his wide, sensuous mouth was to feel his lips angled against hers, feel the heat of his need echoed in the desire pounding through her veins and for a moment, weakly, she leaned into him.
‘Chloe...’ He breathed her name into her hair, as uncertain as the first time he’d kissed her, as the first time they had made love. The same thrilling tremor rippled through her and for a heartbeat, maybe two, she was that girl again, in his arms, lifting her face to him, inviting more.
And then he said her name again, not with that first rare wonder, but with disbelief written into the frown puckering his forehead.
She was clinging to him, waiting for his kiss, while he was attempting to relate the glossy princess of the sixth form with whom he had fallen in love to the maid turning down his bed.
Singapore Fling with the Millionaire Page 17