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

by Clare Connelly

  “Do not mock this,” he said seriously. “You are here because you need to be. I hope you will see that, in time.” She was too full of jingling emotions to respond. She couldn’t trust herself to speak and so she didn’t.

  She shouldered past him angrily and moved out of the small boots room into the wide corridor.

  It was like being back in time. Everything – every thing – was exactly as it had been then, six years ago. Her eyes flicked over the paintings she’d walked past and taken note of with a sense of wonderment, back then, and then onwards to the enormous staircase that ran like the ribcage to the house’s body. The stairs were at least two metres wide, and they moved in a sort of square spiral, grandly allowing one to travel around the house solo or with an entourage of fifty, if the occasion required.

  She took them two at a time, as she had as a child, enjoying the feeling of making air push through her lungs. She paused on the first floor, and looked left then right.

  His room, she knew, was the first door on the left.

  She’d had nightmares, back when she’d first come to Barnwell, and he’d comforted her the first night, waking at the sound of her crying and making her a hot chocolate. She swallowed and turned right, forcing the memory down deep inside of her.

  The first door on the right was the room she’d used on that occasion.

  Not ‘her’ room or anything so cozy and normal. She lingered on the threshold a moment and then pushed the door inwards, holding her breath without realizing it.

  It was more than a room. It was enormous, with a four-poster bed recessed into a cavity down one end, a lounge suite set in the middle of the room, and a pair of arm chairs set in front of the fire. There was a bathroom and a walk-in robe, and the windows overlooking the river that flowed to the west of the house were bayed, so that she could sit there and watch the progress of the water. As she had done so often as a teenager.

  On the wall beside the bed, she knew what she’d see without even looking. She turned slowly, her heart thumping in anticipation.

  Books.

  All the books. She moved towards the shelves with that same sense of angry frustration she’d felt as a teenager and stared at the inanimate objects that could so easily bring her to tears.

  Absentmindedly, she reached for one, turning it to a random page and staring at the black marks on white paper.

  She could make out some of the words, the very small ones, but not many. She tried to remember the lessons her headmistress had taught her, the tricks that had been supposed to help her improve her literacy. But Claudia’s dyslexia was unusually severe – ironic given that her father had been a world-renowned novelist of horror stories.

  She pushed the book back in the shelf angrily.

  What did it matter?

  She had other skills. Reading wasn’t everything.

  Only it had been to Christopher. He’d never understood how his own daughter hadn’t wanted to sit with him and pore through books, laughing at the jokes contained within their pages, experiencing emotional hardships in line with the characters.

  She’d pretended for a while, but then it had been easier to feign disinterest than to admit the truth to her dad.

  That she was stupid.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  She abandoned the thought, knowing that it would lead to a sense of feeling sorry for oneself and that she didn’t want to do that. She wasn’t little Claudia La Roche anymore, alone and afraid.

  She was, simply, Claudia. She could barely read and she rarely attempted writing for the sake of her spelling, but she had made a name for herself in other ways. And she’d be damned if she was going to let Stavros make her feel ashamed of that.

  She strode through the enormous bedroom – more of a suite, really – into the bathroom. Another enormous space with white and green tiles and brass fittings and a spa bath that overlooked the same view of the river that she adored. She stopped in front of the mirror and stared at herself, barely recognizing the timid woman who stared back. With determination, she reached into the top drawer and pulled out a hair brush. She moved it through the length of her hair, returning order to the windswept mop, then replaced the brush. It was then that she noticed a bag of cosmetics. Curiously, she lifted it out, unzipping it and marveling at the full range of Estee Lauder products within.

  For a moment she wondered if some other occupant had left the bag behind, but they were all brand-new. She pressed some bronzer to her cheeks and a little gloss to her lips. A cursory inspection showed there were also several bottles of perfume, a toothbrush and toothpaste, shower gels and hair products.

  Curiosity pushed her into the walk-in robe and she shook her head as she stepped inside. It was not a fully stocked wardrobe, but there was enough here. Hangers lined one wall, full of clothes still with their tags in place. Jeans, skirts, jumpers, a couple of dresses. She shook her head, retrieving a fresh sweater from a hanger and changing into it. She pulled a beige pashmina from another spot and wrapped it around her neck, then moved to the drawers opposite the clothes. She opened the top one and gasped as colourful silk filled her vision. Her fingers rifled through the assortment of underwear, all unmistakably upmarket and incredibly sexy.

  Her cheeks flushed bright pink as she wondered if Stavros had selected it.

  Of course he hadn’t. This was a job he’d most definitely given to an assistant. Or to Marta. Which begged the question: how long had he been planning this little kidnapping for?

  She moved to the next drawer and discovered something far more pedestrian than the lace and silk contained above.

  Socks. Bright socks which made her smile even as she knew she should feel angry at all of this. She stepped out of her ballet slippers and pulled a pair of bright-pink fluffy socks onto her feet, then opened the last drawer.

  And wished she hadn’t.

  Negligees. Folded neatly, but each of them as sexy as the underwear. Long and silky with lace in the cups, so that when she wore them her breasts would be on display.

  It was proof that Stavros hadn’t been behind the selection of her clothes. No way would he have encouraged what he saw as her morally lax decisions.

  It was strange, given that these were not her clothes, but the simple act of changing into something fresh and putting a little make up on had left her feeling more like herself. More in control.

  She gave herself one last inspection in the mirror contained within the door of the wardrobe. Claudia La Roche, socialite heiress, stared back. And it was a reminder she badly needed.

  She had carefully cultivated this image because it was so much better than anyone learning the truth about her – she didn’t want people to think she was dumb and disappointing. She wanted them to see her as strong and beautiful and confident – and she needed Stavros to see her that way, too. He thought she was a money-wasting, spoiled, indulged child? Well, she’d prove him right.

  She straightened her spine as her eyes narrowed.

  Yes. She’d act the part he expected her to play, and he’d be glad to see the back of her.

  With one final inspection of her outfit, she moved back into the hallway and then down the stairs, into the formal entrance to the mansion. And something glaring caught her attention.

  She frowned, looking around more slowly, but still it was missing.

  Where were the decorations?

  Christmas was only two weeks away. Shouldn’t there have been swags of ivy decorating the stairs? Baubles glistening over picture frames? And a tree?

  She moved down the hallway, peering in rooms as she went. Not a hint of festive spirit anywhere.

  Her frown deepened as she made her way to the large drawing room at the end of the house – where they’d dined most of the time on her previous visit. There was an overwhelming number of drawing and dining rooms, libraries and lounges, and this was the least intimidating of them all. It was somewhat shabbily decorated, compared to the rest of the house, with old lounge suites and a pool table, and
best of all, there were no books.

  None.

  She moved towards the table, a rustic timber turned-leg that could accommodate six people at most. It had been set for two.

  Them.

  “Ah, Claudia!” Though Claudia hadn’t seen Marta in years, she recognized her voice instantly, her thick Polish accent just as robust as it had been six years earlier. “Oh, look at you!” The older woman grinned, her eyes sparkling as they met Claudia’s. “What a beauty you have become!”

  “Hello, Marta,” Claudia smiled, and accepted the housekeeper’s embrace. “How are you?”

  “Oh, a beauty, but you need some of my cooking, eh?” Marta reached down and pinched Claudia’s hip. “You are all bone!”

  “Not quite,” Claudia said with a rueful shake of her head, and as she did so, her eyes landed on a dark figure standing in the door frame, watching the interaction.

  His eyes were unmistakably carrying out their own surveillance of her body and the world seemed to stop spinning. Time stood still.

  “You’ve been well? You are so famous! I cannot open the paper without seeing your picture. And always so beautiful in those dresses you wear.” Marta clucked her approval but it brought colour to Claudia’s cheeks and lifted Stavros’s eyes to hers, his gaze glowering with disapproval.

  “Yes,” he murmured. “Claudia is a natural when it comes to drawing attention to herself.”

  Marta sent her boss a look of frustration. “Ignore him. He is a bear with a sore head at the moment.”

  “More so than usual?” Claudia responded archly.

  “Oh, of course…”

  “Thank you, Marta,” Stavros interrupted.

  Marta grinned, without any indication that she cared she’d just been dismissed. “Dinner will be right out.”

  She moved quickly, her wiry frame spry despite the fact she must have been in her seventies at least.

  “I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks you’re an unreasonable bastard,” Claudia simpered with false amusement.

  His eyes flashed warning to hers. “You’re not. And nor is Marta. That seems to be a popular opinion.”

  Curiosity flared inside Claudia. Was something going on with her guardian? Something in his own life that was making him act so overbearing and unreasonable?

  “Drink?” He prompted.

  Contrary to Claudia’s carefully cultivated image, she didn’t actually drink a lot at all. Not since that night of her eighteenth birthday when her world had come crumbling down around her ears, anyway.

  “Yes,” she said, instinctively shying away from Stavros realizing that she was nothing like ‘Claudia’ from the papers. “A martini,” she added for good measure.

  His eyes drew together for a brief moment and then he nodded, moving to the bar at the side of the room. It was fully stocked with just about every liquor bottle Claudia could imagine.

  Dyslexia was a funny thing. She found reading almost impossible but she loved shopping for groceries because she could pick items based solely on their packaging. She had become adept at recognizing key words like ‘low-fat’ or ‘sugar free’, and the rest worked itself out.

  “You found your room?”

  “Yes.” Her eyes held his for a moment. “And the clothes you bought for me.”

  He said nothing, and her heart trembled in her chest. “How long have you been planning this?”

  “Planning what?”

  “To bring me to Barnwell?”

  “Not long.” He shook a stainless steel container from one hand to the other then popped the lid and poured the contents into two martini glasses.

  “Long enough to arrange a wardrobe for me.”

  “That was the work of a day. My assistant brought those things out yesterday.”

  “Ah. So you didn’t browse the shelves of Selfridges for my clothes?” She pushed, and then, because she was somewhat enjoying playing the part, “You didn’t run your fingers over the silk underwear, selecting which you thought might suit me?”

  Surprise at her boldness was throbbing in her gut, but it was dwarfed by the satisfaction she had of seeing colour slash his cheekbones.

  “I have no interest in your underwear,” he said sardonically. “A fact I believe I’ve made abundantly clear to you in the past.”

  Ouch.

  What had she expected? That she could play with fire and not get burned?

  Besides, he was right. He had rejected her attempts at seduction with embarrassing ease. And yet, something like intuition made her wonder. Did he not look at her now and see the woman she’d become?

  Was he not curious about the waves of desire that were washing over them?

  He handed her drink over and she took it gratefully, sipping it on autopilot. The strength of the alcohol burned her mouth. But she didn’t give into the cough that was threatening.

  “Would you like to think of me doing something so intimate?” He turned the conversation back on her, moving away from behind the bar, staring down at her from his considerably greater height. “Did you fantasize about me hand-selecting your underwear, imagining it on your body as I did so?”

  He’d turned the tables with offensive ease.

  She glared at him. “I was just curious,” she mumbled and look away.

  “Careful, asteraki,” he surprised her by reaching for her chin and lifting her face to his. “You think you are experienced with men but believe me, you have never known a man like me.” He brought his face closer to hers, so that their eyes were only inches apart. “Do not flirt with me for sport or I might take you up on what you’re offering so freely.”

  She gasped, drawing in an angry breath. Or was it a breath of need and desire, of hope? Of acceptance?

  “I thought you weren’t interested in me?” She murmured silkily, narrowing her caramel-coloured eyes as they roamed his body. “I thought I was a stupid little girl who’d had too much to drink?” She tossed back another generous sip of her liquor, letting it disappear all the way down her throat and into her body, spreading warmth into paralysed nerve centres.

  “You were eighteen years old then. You were a stupid little girl.”

  The answer hurt her. But the flipside didn’t. “And now?” She asked huskily.

  His eyes narrowed. “You are not innocent anymore.”

  Colour flared in Claudia’s cheeks. If only he knew! If only he knew that she was completely untouched. That beyond a few fumbling kisses at nightclubs – kisses that had been caught on camera and published in gossip rags, admittedly – she had no experience with men. And certainly not men like Stavros.

  She had to get control of this situation. She was way out of her depth. “No, I’m not,” she muttered, stepping away from him. Everything in her body screamed at her for being so stupid, for removing his touch.

  “So do not bait me,” he growled. “By asking me about your lingerie. Do not bait me, or you might find you get what you’re asking for.”

  Chapter 3

  DO NOT BAIT ME, or you might find you get what you’re asking for.

  His words were flying around her brain, filling her with confusion. Had she been baiting him? She’d certainly been trying to aggravate him.

  And yes, she admitted, running a finger around the base of her drink. She’d been hoping to get a response out of him. But not that response.

  She was on tenterhooks, sensual heat and anticipation at war with the anger and hatred she felt for this man. This man her father had loved so much, this man who had neglected her for years.

  “That was delicious, Marta, thank you,” Claudia murmured as the housekeeper came to clear the plates.

  “You hardly touched it!” Marta said with a shake of her head. “You didn’t like it?”

  Claudia dropped her gaze to the duck and gooseberry pie, which had been delicious. Only she’d been too distracted to do it justice. “It was lovely, but I ate a late lunch, I’m sorry.” She blinked her long lashes towards her guardian, not looking away even when
the full force of his stare was returned, landing squarely on her face. “I didn’t realise I’d be dining at Barnwell, enjoying your exceptional cooking, or I most definitely would have brought my appetite.”

  “Ah, tomorrow,” Marta said with a wink. “I make you pork belly.”

  Claudia smiled. “You remember?”

  “Oh, it was your favourite, that summer. I could not give you enough pork belly.”

  Claudia nodded. She had loved it, paired with red cabbage and crispy potatoes, it had been delicious. The kind of food she’d never tasted before. Her boarding school, though exclusive, served rather bland fare.

  Stavros’s plate was empty and Marta clucked her approval as she removed it.

  “There is dessert,” Marta said.

  “Just coffee, for me,” Claudia said, rubbing a hand over her stomach. “I really couldn’t eat another thing.”

  “You are going to make it hard for me to fatten you up, I see,” Marta grinned. “But I like a challenge.”

  The housekeeper moved from the room, and they were alone once more, the tension crackling between them as ferociously as the fire in the grate and the wind beyond the walls.

  “Why are you spending Christmas here?” Claudia asked, nervousness making her speak quickly. Or was that the martini she’d downed in record time, followed by a glass of pinot gris?

  His eyes glinted when they met hers. “As opposed to?”

  “At home, with your family.”

  He leaned forward, and beneath the table his legs extended, brushing against her socked feet. She didn’t move away, though. She let herself enjoy the proximity, knowing how wrong it was. How stupid and foolish.

  “I am thirty-five years old. You think I have to be at my mother’s side, even now?”

  “I think Christmas is a time people generally get together, yes.”

  “Ah,” he nodded sagely. “And so we are. I am your guardian, and I will spend this holiday with you.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I meant family.”

  “You have no family,” he pointed out and the truth of that sentence filled her with a gulfing ache. Strange that she still wasn’t used to that.