Christmas with a Billionaire: Billionaire under the Mistletoe / Snowed in with Her Boss / A Diamond for Christmas. Maisey Yates
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little sprite, with her honest brown eyes, smart—and utterly delicious!—mouth, lived with a man called Henry.
Sophie realised she had made a mistake the moment she’d mentioned Henry’s name, but at the time she had been too flustered by thoughts of her and Max together just minutes ago, too desperate to leave Max’s apartment, to escape him, to think properly before speaking.
And now that she had spoken there was no way she could either retract the statement or admit that Henry was a cat; there was every chance that Max knew his PA had a cat called Henry, and that he would then add two and two together and come up with the correct answer of four. Namely, that Sally knew Sophie rather better than he had previously been informed. Which would not only be embarrassing for all of them but might endanger Sally’s job as Max’s PA.
‘Henry and I are currently sharing a flat, yes.’
‘And just how long has this arrangement with Henry existed?’ Max demanded to know harshly.
Sophie shrugged uncomfortably, not fooled for a moment by the softness of Max’s tone. The dangerous glitter in those green eyes told an altogether different story. ‘Just the past few days.’
‘The past few days?’ Max echoed incredulously. Disgustedly. ‘And you don’t want to spend Christmas with the man you’ve only just started living with?’
She shrugged uncomfortably. ‘I need the money you’re paying me more—’
‘Damn it, you almost allowed me to make love to you just now,’ Max rasped accusingly.
‘I don’t recall there being much “allowing” about it. You just took,’ Sophie came back defensively as she forced herself to meet Max’s gaze, uncomfortably aware of the contempt he now felt towards her as that emotion glittered uncensored in those dark green eyes.
Contempt as well as disgust.
And it would be wholly deserved contempt and disgust if Sophie really were living with a man called Henry and had earlier allowed, and responded to, Max’s kisses and caresses.
As it was, there was no way she could explain who Henry really was, not without also implicating her cousin in the deception they’d carried out.
‘Perhaps it is time that you left.’ Max spoke evenly.
‘Yes.’ Sophie could no longer meet those contemptuous green eyes.
Max’s mouth twisted mockingly. ‘After all, you really don’t want to keep Henry waiting any longer.’
She gave a pained frown. ‘Max—’
‘Yes?’
Sophie inwardly quaked at the unmistakable disgust Max managed to engender in just that one word. ‘Never mind.’ She gave an uncomfortable shake of her head. ‘As I said, I’ll be a little late in the morning, as I have to shop for those presents for your brother-in-law.’
He gave a dismissive shrug of those powerful shoulders. ‘I’ll be at work anyway.’
Her eyes widened. ‘But your family is here and it’s Christmas Eve!’
He nodded tersely. ‘And?’
And she had already known that Max Hamilton hadn’t become a billionaire without working as hard as he played. That taking Christmas Eve off work to spend the day with his family probably hadn’t even occurred to him, let alone been a real possibility.
‘And nothing,’ she accepted distantly. ‘I was only being polite by informing you why I might be a little late in the morning.’
His mouth twisted with hard derision. ‘I think the two of us have gone way past being “polite” to each other, don’t you?’
Yes, they probably had, Sophie accepted heavily.
There was no probably about it.
Max had seen her breasts earlier, covered only by that red satin and lace bra, for goodness’ sake. Had kissed and caressed them until they still ached with arousal. And he had so obviously fantasised about seeing her in the matching thong too, once she’d told him she was wearing one.
Yes, the two of them were way, way past being polite to each other.
IT WAS WITH great reluctance that Max let himself into his apartment the following evening, all too aware that, for the next two days at least, there would be no escaping Christmas.
Or Sophie …
A fact instantly brought home to him as he stepped into the marble entrance hall, the delicious smell of food cooking telling him she was probably in the kitchen right now.
He was still utterly furious with her for omitting to tell him that she already had someone in her life. A ‘someone’ called Henry.
At the same time as he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since they’d parted last night. Images of her, of kissing her, touching her, had disturbed his sleep last night, and totally wrecked his concentration at work today.
Damn it, a masochistic side of him wanted to spend time with Sophie. To enjoy looking at her. Talking with her. And to laugh too, as she gave him yet another one of her cheeky set-downs in response to something he had either said or done that she disapproved of.
How sad was that? That he was inwardly aching for even the disapproval of a woman he had met for the first time just three days ago?
Utterly pathetic was what it was.
Sophie was ten years younger than him. A student, for goodness’ sake. And she wasn’t tall and slim, or sophisticated—those fiery red curls were completely untameable!—or in the least classically beautiful.
Or, it seemed, available.
Max freely acknowledged, to himself, at least, that it was the latter which had annoyed him the most.
Because Sophie lived with another man. A man called Henry.
A man Max had been resisting the urge, all last night and today, to seek out and strangle with his bare hands.
How caveman was that?
It was unbelievable that Sophie had managed to get beneath his skin in such a short space of time and he had felt positively primitive just thinking of her sharing an apartment—a bed!—with another man.
‘Uncle Max!’ An excited Amy appeared in the entrance hall, looking cute as a button in a green velvet dress, with a matching ribbon in the darkness of her curls. ‘Uncle Max, come and see how beautiful the tree looks today!’ She grinned happily as she took his hand and pulled him into the sitting room.
Max came to a halt just inside the doorway, fingers tightening about the handle of his briefcase as he saw that Sophie wasn’t in the kitchen, after all, but down on her hands and knees next to the tree in the sitting room, adding yet more gaily wrapped presents to the dozens and dozens already piled high around the base of it.
His mouth went dry as he saw Sophie was wearing fitted brown trousers today, with a matching brown sweater. The former outlined the perfect curve of her bottom as she bent over, causing him to wonder if she was wearing another thong today. The latter clung to the soft swell of her breasts as she straightened to her knees to look across at him guardedly. Those fiery red curls cascaded, unchecked, down onto the slenderness of her shoulders and about her flushed face.
For a man who had always enjoyed coming home to the peace and solitude of his apartment, Max felt a warmth inside at seeing Sophie here with his family.
With very little effort on his part, he could get used to finding her waiting here for him every evening when he came home from work.
A realisation that sent a cold shiver of