This Christmas and Forever: A heartwarming anthology of billionaire holiday romances...

by Clare Connelly

  This Christmas and Forever

  An Anthology

  Clare Connelly

  Contents

  About the Author

  Her Guardian’s Christmas Seduction

  All She Wants for Christmas

  Her Surprise Baby Christmas

  Excerpt - Regret Me Not

  Books By Clare Connelly

  About the Author

  Clare Connelly grew up in a small country town in Australia. Surrounded by rainforests, and rickety old timber houses, magic was thick in the air, and stories and storytelling were a huge part of her childhood.

  From early on in life, Clare realised her favourite books were romance stories, and read voraciously. Anything from Jane Austen to Georgette Heyer, to Mills & Boon and (more recently) 50 Shades, Clare is a romance devotee. She first turned her hand to penning a novel at fifteen (if memory serves, it was something about a glamorous fashion model who fell foul of a high-end designer. Sparks flew, clothes flew faster, and love was born.)

  Clare has a small family and a bungalow near the sea. When she isn't chasing after energetic little toddlers, or wiping fingerprints off furniture, she's writing, thinking about writing, or wishing she were writing.

  Clare loves connecting with her readers. Head to www.clareconnelly.co.uk to sign up to her newsletter, or join her official facebook page.

  All the characters in the following books are fictitious and have no existence outside the author’s imagination. They have no relation to anyone bearing the same or names and are pure invention.

  All rights reserved. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reprinted by any means without permission of the Author.

  The illustration on the cover of this collection of titles features model/s and bears no relation to the characters described within. All of these books have been previously published as individual novels under the same titles.

  First published as an anthology 2019

  HER GUARDIAN’S CHRISTMAS SEDUCTION 2017

  ALL SHE WANTS FOR CHRISTMAS 2014

  HER SURPRISE BABY CHRISTMAS 2018

  Photo cover credit Adobe Stock

  (c) Clare Connelly All Rights Reserved

  Contact Clare:

  Website: http://www.clareconnelly.co.uk

  Blog: http://clarewriteslove.wordpress.com/

  Email: Clareconnelly@outlook.com

  Follow Clare Connelly on facebook for all the latest.

  Her Guardian’s Christmas Seduction

  Dedication

  To my little Christmas angels,

  J and E,

  who decorate our tree and our lives with such joy.

  Chapter 1

  “GET IN.”

  At first, the noise of paparazzi, snapping their enormous cameras in her face, throwing questions at her with startling speed, made it impossible for Claudia to hear the tersely worded command. She pushed further along the footpath, folding her arms to block the chill that she could feel even through her jeans and leather jacket. She was immediately regretting her decision to leave the safety and privacy of her apartment, especially just to pick up a coffee.

  “Get in the car.” Now, there was something in the words that cut through her distractions. She looked toward the direction from which it had come and saw a dark Range Rover with a window half rolled down.

  She couldn’t have said why, but something compelled her to move towards the car. She had the strangest sense of recognition, despite the fact she’d never seen the car before. She wrenched the door open and had a moment of startling recognition when her eyes met his – and felt the full force of his condemnation.

  It was familiar.

  Claudia was pretty sure it was the only way Stavros Aresteides had ever looked at her in his life, his angular face harsh with its cynical, scathing judgement whenever he looked her way.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Click – click – click. Camera lenses created a frenzy of activity, reaching around her to capture the mysterious driver of the car.

  Stavros winced at the invasion – he was fiercely private.

  “Get in the car and shut the door.” The words were thrown at her from between clenched teeth, but they had the desired effect, spurring her to action. She pulled herself up into the car – no mean feat given her height or lack thereof, and did as he’d said, slamming the door shut and pressing back against the soft, black leather seat.

  Inside the car, beside her unwilling guardian, she was thrown back in time, through the years, to their first meeting, their second, their third – to the handful of times they’d met, each of which had left her feeling at a distinct disadvantage. This was no different.

  And not just because she was cringingly aware of his physical perfections as ever before, with his darkly handsome face, dominant features, eyes that seemed to glow. Not just because she couldn’t help but feel his immense size, his strength, his undisguised power. Not just because she could feel anger emanating off him in waves.

  “I asked you why you’re here.”

  He threw her a look of mocking frustration and pulled the car out into the quiet London street, pressing the accelerator and moving them both away from the scrum of paparazzi.

  Claudia’s heart was racing – she couldn’t have said if it was the fear and adrenalin that accompanied her whenever the photographers trailed her, or if it was this – sitting beside Stavros, so close she was aware of every single movement of his.

  And the effect on her.

  Memories she had tried hard to repress shredded through her. Memories from years earlier, when she’d been eighteen and naïve, and so in love with her handsome guardian that she’d forgotten to listen to common sense.

  Her mouth went dry, her lips more so, as she remembered the way she’d cleaved her teenage body to his, the effects of too much champagne making her act like an absolute fool. She’d thrown herself at him that night, and he’d cruelly rejected her, making it very apparent that he had no matching desire for his troublesome ward.

  He was perfectly clean-shaven now, his square, chiseled jaw on display to eyes that were hungry to roam his features. On the night she’d kissed him, he’d been stubbled; she could still remember exactly how it had felt against her chin and cheek.

  The memory burned through her, and she blinked to clear it.

  “You have been front page news for the past fortnight and you ask why I’m here? That is a stupid question, even for you.”

  The insult hurt. So much more than it should have. She felt the sting of his derision, and her throat was instantly sore, aching with unshed tears and strong emotions.

  “It will die down,” she muttered, angling her head out of the window so that she missed the way Stavros regarded her with a muttered curse before staring straight ahead.

  “You stole your best friend’s fiancé,” he drawled. “This is not the kind of story that the press easily tires of.”

  Claudia sucked in a sharp breath. “I did no such thing!”

  His expression showed disbelief. “He left your apartment minutes before you. The truth is obvious.”

  “It’s not what you think,” she said quietly. “I’m not involved with Artie.”

  He shot her a look of barbed amusement. “I don’t care one way or the other,” he said with a softness that belied the strength of his intent. “You are disgracing your father’s memory – yet again. I won’t have it.”

  Shame rolled through Claudia. “He’s just a friend,” sh
e said, unable to say why it was suddenly so important that he should believe her.

  “I don’t care,” Stavros repeated, his accent thick, spiced with the mysteries of the Mediterranean from which he heralded. In fact, he was so full of Greece. He seemed to have captured with his being the essence of the sun, sand and salty tang of the sea, and he exuded them just by breathing. “You can do what you want, Claudia. You can sleep with Arthur Pennington, you can sleep with his brother and cousin and father and best friend for all I care.” He pulled up at traffic lights and turned to face her, and his eyes were so full of scorn and distaste that something inside of her froze to death.

  “But you need to learn to employ more discretion.”

  Outrage at the injustice of his accusation overtook any other emotion. “You have no business telling me what I need,” she snapped.

  “We both know that’s not true.” The lights changed and he sped off, moving them further and further away from her Knightsbridge apartment.

  Claudia rolled her eyes. “Because you’re my guardian,” she said the word with obvious sarcasm.

  “Yes, Claudia. Because I’m your guardian. Because your existence depends on my generosity.”

  She arched a brow. “I beg your pardon, but it is my trust fund you administer.”

  He pierced her with a scathing look of contempt. “True. But it is I who gets to decide just what you receive each year. I have been generous, to this point. More generous than I should have been, obviously.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He took the turn off for the ring road and Claudia sat up straighter, her eyes scouring the streets for a hint of where he was taking her.

  “You are wasting your life.” His mouth was a grim line in his face. “You do nothing with your days except shop and waste money and find new ways to get yourself into the paper. Every week there’s another story, another party, a different lover, a new scandal.” He spat the last word like an indictment and then shook his head gravely. “Your father would be ashamed.”

  She sucked in a breath and looked out the window once more, her neck long and swan like as she tried to hide the way his condemnation had wounded her – even when she knew that he wasn’t accurate on all counts. “I don’t think you have any idea what he would have felt,” she said after a moment, when she was certain she could speak without her emotions showing in her voice.

  His laugh was a sharp rejection. “Your father was my closest friend.” His fingers gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles glowed white. “He was a brilliant man who worked every day of his life. I think it’s safe to say he would find your attitude as disappointing as I do.”

  Tears filled Claudia’s eyes and she blinked furiously to clear them. It didn’t work. She dipped her head forward so that her chestnut hair shielded her from his view, should he decide to look her way.

  “Artie’s just a friend.”

  Stavros grunted. “I told you, I don’t care. It is not this one incident that has me concerned. It is all of it. I thought you would outgrow this vapid, heiress-at-large image you’ve cultivated for yourself. At eighteen, you showed all the signs of what you were to become, but I gave you the benefit of the doubt because it is normal for most teenagers to go through a phase of irresponsibility. And now, here we are. At twenty-one, you are every bit as bad. You are becoming a joke.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath. “How dare you?” She demanded fiercely. “You can’t just turn up at my door and speak to me like this…”

  “On the contrary. I should have done it years ago. I cannot help but feel a share of blame in this. I am your guardian, your care fell to me. It was my job to make sure you grew into a woman your father would be proud of.” He turned to face her, and his expression showed not a hint of softening, even though he must have seen the paleness of her cheeks and the moistness of her eyes. “I have failed.”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” she said, and turned away.

  “I know what you’ve shown me,” he said dangerously, and when he reached down to change gears, his hand brushed her thigh, so that she jolted in her seat against her will.

  “What you’ve shown the world. I know what I see in the papers. What I read online.”

  “Oh, and you go googling me, do you?” She rolled her eyes. “Looking for scandals with which to hit me over the head?”

  “I certainly do not have to look very hard.”

  Claudia’s cheeks flushed. She was in the paper often, it was true. But most of that was to raise the profile of the charities she supported, the causes to which she belonged. The latest scandal was, admittedly, unfortunate. But the press had got the wrong idea completely and she’d decided, along with Artie and Marianne, not to waste energy feeding the rumour mill by launching denials.

  “But you’re still looking? Waiting for me to fail?”

  “I’m afraid to say it is somewhat inevitable.”

  Her sharp intake of breath had him looking towards her once more.

  “You do not like to be told the truth, but you should get used to it. You’re going to be hearing a lot more of it over the next fortnight.”

  “Oh, yeah? And why is that?”

  “Because,” his face was serious, his expression completely devoid of pleasure as he turned back to the road. “You are coming to stay at Barnwell.”

  She spun around to face him, her hair whipping against her cheek. “What? Could you repeat that? For a second I thought you said…”

  “You heard correctly,” he interrupted, the words darkly menacing.

  “No way. It’s almost Christmas,” she said stubbornly. “I have a million things planned. I can’t just walk away from my life and stay in the countryside.”

  He tossed her a sardonic look. “You will do it.”

  “No.” She crossed her arms and the leather jacket made a squeaking noise of adjustment. “And you can’t make me.”

  His laugh was a short, raspy denouncement. “Don’t challenge me, agape mou. You will not enjoy the experience.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  He shrugged his broad shoulders and she caught a hint of his masculine fragrance. It was so uniquely ‘Stavros’ that her stomach tugged with the awareness she thought she’d long ago outgrown.

  “It is simply an observation,” he corrected. “I have had many opponents. None of them happy about it.”

  “I don’t want to be your opponent,” she snapped. “But nor do I want to be your prisoner.”

  “My prisoner,” he repeated thoughtfully. “What an interesting idea.”

  She rolled her eyes, but it was an act of bravado. Inside, she was trembling. “I’m serious.”

  “So am I.” His dark eyes glittered like black gemstones when they met hers. They were full of mockery. “Perhaps I should simply lock you up at Barnwell for the next four years and throw away the key.”

  Claudia’s breath caught in her throat and deep down, something like excitement flared in her gut at the very idea.

  “And then what, Stavros? Do you unleash me on the world, a reformed woman? An image of pious modesty and boring focus?”

  His lips twisted in dismissal of that. “I’m a business man, not a magician. You will never be either of those things.”

  The observation stung on so many levels but she didn’t visibly react. She was, after all, used to such throwaway comments from almost everyone she met. You’re Christopher La Roche’s daughter? Are you a writer as well? No? I’ll bet you love to read? No? What do you do then? Oh.

  “But in four years, you will no longer be my problem,” he said with cold detachment. “You can party away your fortune and cover the papers every day for a year, for all I care. When you are twenty-five, I’ll wash my hands of you.”

  She froze, his words so much more cutting than she’d expected. They revealed the depth of his true feelings for her – feelings that he had managed to conceal for the most part.

  He hated her.

  A shive
r ran down her spine, a frisson that was ice cold. She was alone. Completely alone in the world. And despite the fact she only saw her guardian a handful of times a year, and never for very long, she had still thought of him as someone close to her.

  Someone meaningful.

  Someone who was an anchor to her existence.

  He was none of those things.

  He was tolerating her existence but he didn’t relish his role in her life. He felt nothing for her except impatience and apparently distaste.

  “I’m sorry you’ve found the role of my guardian to be so unpleasant. You can wash your hands of me now, Stavros. I won’t tell anyone.”

  “Believe me, I would if I could. But I made a promise to your father and I have no intention of breaking it.”

  “I don’t think dad would have expected you to kidnap me and imprison me in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Barnwell is just outside Bath,” he said with a derisive curl of his lips. “It’s hardly the middle of nowhere. And your father would have wanted me to do whatever I saw fit to save you from becoming a national laughing stock.”

  Her mouth dropped. “How can you actually say that?”

  “For two weeks I have woken to reports about your love triangle. The man you stole from your best friend. The fact he now lives with you. The papers have been full of the salacious details.”

  “They’ve been full of fiction,” she disputed heatedly, despite not having read any of the pieces for herself. “I told you, Artie is just a friend.”

  “The fiancé of your best friend. And you’re living with him.”

  “Yes, because they broke up and one of them had to move out of their home, and it couldn’t be Marianne because she has an enormous art studio on the first floor.”