Christmas with a Billionaire: Billionaire under the Mistletoe / Snowed in with Her Boss / A Diamond for Christmas. Maisey Yates
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or a split lip, while Janice had made up with whichever one of her boyfriends she had previously fallen out with.
‘I only started catering college in September,’ Sophie replied softly, long lashes lowered over those huge brown eyes.
‘What were you doing before that?’
She looked up at him, those deep brown eyes flashing her resentment at the question. ‘What does that have to do with what I’m doing now?’
Nothing at all. Except that Max knew that for some reason Sophie Carter didn’t want to tell him.
Maybe she had been married and was now divorced and branching out on her own? Or maybe she had needed to work for a few years in order to save up the money to put herself through college? Or—
‘Perhaps you could tell me a little about your sister and niece, so that I have some idea what presents to buy them when I go shopping tomorrow?’ Sophie’s eyes were still slightly red from when she had choked on the wine, her nose too, and her lips were slightly puffy.
Max found his gaze lingering a little too long on those puffy lips.
‘Mr Hamilton?’
‘Call me Max,’ he invited distractedly.
‘I would prefer to keep our relationship on a purely professional footing,’ she answered him primly.
And Max was rapidly coming to the realisation that he would much rather they didn’t, that he found Sophie Carter extremely intriguing!
A knee-jerk reaction to having realised Cynthia Maitland’s unwanted expectations of him?
Possibly.
Although he somehow doubted it.
As a self-made billionaire, Max had long ago become accustomed to, and irritated by, the pound signs that gleamed in a woman’s eyes whenever she looked at him.
The only thing gleaming in Sophie Carter’s expressive eyes when she looked at him was disapproval. For men in general? Or was it something specific about him, in particular, she didn’t like or approve of?
And why the hell should it matter to him, one way or the other, what Sophie Carter did or didn’t think of him?
It didn’t was the answer to that question.
He shrugged. ‘Janice likes silk scarves. And Amy is into horses rather than dolls. Or at least she was the last time I spoke to her.’
‘Your sister’s colouring?’
‘Janice is tall, with the same colouring as mine. Except she’s beautiful, of course,’ he added drily.
Sophie’s gaze dropped from meeting that probing green one as she inwardly acknowledged that Max Hamilton was extremely beautiful, in a purely alpha male and masculine way, of course. That overlong ebony hair was silky soft, his face all hard and masculine angles, his body appearing even more so beneath that perfectly tailored suit and white silk shirt.
Yes, Max Hamilton was most definitely a beautiful alpha male.
He was also way, way out of her league.
And, remembering the Cathy faux pas, that last realisation didn’t even merit so much as a second thought! Certainly not while Sophie was still in Max Hamilton’s disturbing company, at least.
‘I think it’s time I left now, and allowed you to get on with the rest of your evening.’
‘I’m not going anywhere.’
Sophie eyed him irritably. ‘Maybe I am?’
‘Are you?’
She frowned. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but I really don’t think that’s any of your business, Mr Hamilton.’ As she had considered it absolutely none of his business that she had given up her original catering course four years ago in order to care for her very ill mother.
It might be none of Max’s business, but he wanted to know anyway—wanted to know if Sophie Carter was involved with anyone right now.
‘I really do have to go now,’ she insisted as she stood up.
Max also rose to his feet, once again towering over her. ‘You haven’t finished your wine.’
She gave a self-derisive smile. ‘I may not be driving, but I think I’ll pass on the wine, after all, if you don’t mind.’
Max found that he did mind, that he had been enjoying himself talking to the unexpectedly outspoken and equally as intriguing Sophie Carter.
Most women, he had found, tended to be an open book. At least, as far as their interest in him was concerned. Cynthia had gone one step further by actually expecting commitment, of course, but otherwise he knew it was his bank balance that was a woman’s primary interest in him.
Not only did Ms Carter seem to disapprove of him—or his wealth?—but she also remained something of an enigma herself. It was a long time since Max had found himself this interested in learning more about a certain woman.
And that woman happened to be the same one with whom he would be spending the run up to Christmas. ‘Will you also be the one doing the cooking for us over Christmas?’
‘The food is already ordered and due to be delivered before your sister and niece arrive on Friday.’ Sophie nodded. ‘Unless you would prefer to find someone else to do the actual catering?’
‘Not at all,’ Max assured smoothly. ‘You don’t have family or friends you would rather be with?’
‘I already told you, I’m an orphan.’
That wasn’t exactly what Max had wanted to know.
But perhaps Christmas this year, with the presence of the feisty Sophie Carter, wouldn’t be just another day to him, as it had been for more years than Max cared to remember.
‘LET ME HELP YOU with those!’
Sophie almost dropped all the bags and parcels she was struggling to carry into Max Hamilton’s apartment at hearing the unexpected sound of his voice somewhere in front and above her. Having spent most of the afternoon shopping—on his credit card!—she hadn’t expected him to have returned home from his office just yet.
‘Did you buy the whole of the toyshop or just half of it?’ he drawled ruefully as he took the parcels out of her arms to reveal that he must have been home for some time to have changed into a casual black cashmere sweater and faded jeans, his overlong dark hair as sexily tousled as ever.
And, if that was even possible, he was looking even more deliciously gorgeous than he had yesterday in that perfectly tailored suit and silk shirt.
‘Just half of it.’ Sophie eyed him ruefully as she carried the shopping bags through to the elegant cream-and-brown sitting room, now dominated by an eight foot tall and fully decorated Christmas tree standing in the corner of the room beside the fireplace. ‘Perhaps you would like to help me wrap them all up?’ she added derisively.
He eyed her thoughtfully. ‘I would, as it happens.’
Sophie gave him a startled look; she hadn’t actually been serious in the suggestion—had considered it a threat rather than a genuine option. ‘You would?’
‘Why not?’ He placed the parcels down on the three-seater sofa. ‘You’ve obviously been busy already today.’
He gave the tree a pointed glance, coloured lights sparkling amongst the thick, green, sweet-smelling bowers and the red-and-gold decorations, with an elegant fairy adorning the top branch.
Sophie had also decorated the tree in the entrance hall today, but with a silver-and-red theme