Millionaire Under the Mistletoe

by Stefanie London

  Rich as a king, and lonely as an orphan.

  “Get on with it,” she muttered to herself. “The quicker you get this over with, the quicker you can go home.”

  She hoisted her suitcase onto her bed and unzipped it. Four neat stacks of clothing stared up at her. She removed each piece, unfolded it, and hung it inside the antique armoire with methodical efficiency.

  There was no point being upset. Nothing would change the fact that she was now on her own. It was time to step up and do her grandfather proud.

  …

  Evan paced in the sitting room while he waited for Stella to arrive for dinner. The fireplace was lit, the golden flames enticing him to open his palms against the radiating heat. He’d freshened up at the cottage at the bottom of the estate, desperately hoping the hot water would wash away the strange sensations Stella had invoked.

  It hadn’t.

  They had a history, which was not how he liked to go into a business deal. But he couldn’t afford to lose his head, especially since he’d been preparing himself for her visit for weeks. His assistant had pulled together a dossier on the sole heiress to the Jackson fortune—though much of it he already knew. She lived a life out of the spotlight, which was unusual for a member of the young and wealthy. Particularly one who looked as paparazzi-worthy as she did. But she’d never been particularly extroverted or social, even as a young woman. There had been mention of a fiancé, but she hadn’t worn an engagement ring on the plane and there had been no tell-tale line of a ring recently removed.

  So either it was false or they’d broken up some time ago.

  Stella’s mother got more of a mention in the social pages than her daughter. She’d gone on to marry some investment banker, and had followed that with a quickie divorce and another marriage to a shipping magnate. From all Evan knew about the former Mrs. Jackson, he wasn’t surprised.

  Stella’s life was, however, a complete mystery. Even her LinkedIn profile—the only social media profile she had that wasn’t private—showed little about her life other than her work for a large, luxury hotel chain.

  “Evan?” Stella’s voice caught his attention and he turned away from the fireplace.

  She hovered in the doorway, the soft lighting making her skin look luminous and almost ethereal. Goddess-like. She folded her arms across her chest. The defensive posture made her shoulders stoop slightly, as if she were closing in on herself. Her golden hair was slicked back, her face free of makeup, which allowed the freckles scattered across the high points of her face to show. She eyed him as one might a suspicious stranger.

  But they were far from strangers.

  At one point, he’d known all there was to know about Stella Jackson. That she was sheltered, lonely, fiercely intelligent. A sweet-toothed bookworm who re-read Pride and Prejudice annually. Then he’d gone and blown it all to hell.

  He cleared his throat and motioned for them to move to the dining room. “Have you settled in?”

  She nodded, following him. The dining room was set for two, all the good crockery and silverware arranged neatly on the table. Whenever he ate at the estate it was usually sitting in the kitchen as he’d done as a young lad. Though these days he wasn’t gorging himself on scraps. Back then he’d often eat until he was sick, since he’d been trained to take what he could get in case the next meal was days away.

  “I was thinking we could get together tomorrow to talk through some of the particulars of the estate,” Evan said, reaching for a bottle of wine. “Red?”

  “Please.” Stella took her seat and tilted her glass to him.

  “I’d like to discuss the plans I have for the estate and how we might be able to work toward a quick turnaround with the sale.” He cleared his throat. Something about her was setting him on edge, throwing him off his game. Her presence dredged up too many memories, too many things he’d worked hard to bury.

  “Don’t you think you’re jumping the gun a little?” There was nothing in the fathomless depths of her eyes, no inkling as to how she felt.

  It was like staring at a stone wall.

  “No.” He held her gaze and she didn’t blink, didn’t look away.

  “Roast lamb with mushy peas,” Ethel announced, carrying a tray with their meals. “Thought you might need something comforting after your travels, dear.”

  “God, I have missed mushy peas.” Stella smiled at Ethel and it was as if a ray of sunshine had broken through her. “That’s exactly what I wanted, thank you.”

  Evan accepted his plate and watched intently as she tucked into her meal. The girl had always been as gangly as a baby giraffe despite the fact that she could eat him under the table. “Good to see you haven’t lost your appetite,” he said.

  She nodded, slicing into another piece of roast lamb. “Surprising since you jumped straight in with the business talk. That normally puts me off my food.”

  “I thought you’d want to get it over with so you can enjoy your holiday,” he replied.

  “As I said on the plane, I’m not here for enjoyment.” She brought her wineglass to her lips and sipped delicately. “I’m here to find the best buyer for this estate and to do the right thing by my grandfather. I can’t take pleasure in either of those things.”

  “I understand that, but there’s no crime in having a little fun.”

  “And I suppose you’re the person to show me how to do that?”

  Her golden brows rose, issuing a silent challenge. There’d always been a sense of competition between them whenever she’d visited with her grandfather. At the time, he’d been hot-blooded with envy that she got to claim the role of legitimate grandchild to Nicholas Jackson while he was just the son of the hired help. But that didn’t stop him rising to the occasion.

  “Of course,” he replied, topping up her glass. “But I say it because you shouldn’t feel like a prisoner here. I’m sure Nicholas wouldn’t have wanted you to be miserable.”

  If he was going to break through Stella’s tough outer shell and convince her to sell him the estate, he would have to be persistent. He would have to show her why he was the perfect person to ensure the Jackson name lived on beyond the relic that was this dusty, old estate.

  “What’s your game plan, Evan?” she asked. “I know you want to get your hands on this estate, and frankly, I don’t want to sell it to you.”

  “Why?”

  He knew why. Four years ago he’d taken her to bed and it hadn’t gone according to plan—she’d walked out of his flat and he hadn’t seen her since. He’d spent the following month waiting for Nicholas to call him up and tell him never to show his face again…but the call hadn’t come. He suspected that she’d never told her grandfather what’d happened.

  And part of him wanted to hear her acknowledge that.

  “I have my reasons.” She shrugged, and looked at her plate. She was baiting him, being purposefully coy. The desire to engage in competition tugged at him. It was the part that drove him to win, the part that wouldn’t let him sleep until he had a plan for how to take the next step in his career. That endless driving force was who he was.

  “So tell me. Unless you’re too embarrassed?”

  Her jaw twitched. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

  “Then it’s going to be a long month.” Smug satisfaction coursed through him when he caught the widening of her eyes.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I figured playing host was the least I could do for the granddaughter of my mentor. I’m going to run my business from here for the month and keep you company.” He couldn’t hold back his grin when her rosebud lips pursed. “We’ll have all the time in the world to discuss your reasons.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Your tactics won’t work on me, Evan.”

  “No tactics.” He held up his hands. “Just business.”

  “How exactly am I supposed to do business with someone I don’t trust?”

  There it was. It wasn’t just anger about the past, or resentme
nt that he’d taken her grandfather’s time from her. She was worried that he’d go back on his word, that he’d say whatever was necessary to get what he wanted. That he’d charm her into bed, in a manner of speaking.

  “And you think you’ll trust a buyer you don’t personally know?”

  A bitter laugh rumbled in her throat. “The fact that you’re not even denying your lack of trustworthiness says a lot.”

  “That’s not true. I simply know better than to try to change those types of opinions overnight. Hence, I’m planning to be here for the month.”

  “You’ll need a hell of a lot more than a month to change my mind, Evan.” Her lips twisted. “The Ten Commandments were less set in stone than my opinion of you.”

  “That’s okay. I’ve beaten worse odds.” He shrugged.

  The scratch of cutlery against porcelain filled the air as they ate in silence. Stella avoided his gaze the entire time, excusing herself before Ethel even had the chance to bring out dessert. He’d make sure to send the food home with the kitchen staff so it didn’t go to waste. Even now, the thought of throwing food out disgusted him.

  By the time he made it back down to the cottage at the bottom of the estate, a weariness had spread over him. As an adult he’d glimpsed what his mother’s life must have been like, constantly battling for things. Constantly fighting to get ahead. Though for her it had been about survival and for him it was something more. Every step forward was proof he’d defied the odds. And every step forward was one more between him and what could have been.

  Nothing would keep him from success.

  Chapter Three

  Stella awoke tangled in sheets, the pale morning sunlight streaming in over her. After a tense dinner with Evan, she’d declined dessert in the lounge and had climbed straight into bed. Sitting around making small talk while they tried to further avoid taking swipes at one another sounded like her idea of hell.

  Get used to it, you’ve got a whole month of that to look forward to.

  But instead of catching up on sleep, she’d watched the wee hours of the morning tick over at a snail’s pace. Her head was full of mixed emotions, memories. Questions.

  Like, how the hell could she still find Evan Foss attractive after all that had happened?

  Her body still flushed with shame whenever she thought about that night. She’d been ready to give him everything—her body, her heart. And he’d rejected her.

  Extracting herself from the knotted sheet that held her fast like a cotton python, she ground her fists into her sandy eyes. Perhaps digging out her laptop to answer emails at three a.m. had been a bad idea. She reached for her jeans and the knit she’d purchased in Italy, yelping as the frosty air chilled her bare skin for the 3.2 seconds it took her to get changed. Then she shoved two pairs of socks onto her feet.

  Better safe than sorry where this kind of weather was concerned.

  Downstairs, Ethel bustled about and the dining table was set for one, a glass of orange juice awaiting her. Stella knew she must look a mess—her hair felt as though it were sticking out in all directions and her face was devoid of makeup. Again. Normally, she’d have hidden a rough night with a swipe of her magic concealer wand and livened her cheeks with a little pink blush. But not today. Evan could take her as she came.

  The tension with him still simmered beneath the surface, threatening to burst free at any second. It wasn’t like her to feel so on edge, to feel as though she might not be able to control her emotions.

  “What do you want for breakfast?” Ethel continued wiping down the crystal stemware that sat on display in the dining room. “I can get the cook to make you some bacon and eggs, if you like.”

  “Oh no,” Stella responded, forcing a chipper tone. “The OJ will be plenty. I normally have coffee for breakfast.”

  “Child, I am not letting you go out without a solid meal in your stomach,” Ethel said, narrowing her eyes. She had an effective motherly stare. Zero to full-fledged guilt in under three seconds. “I promised Mr. Nicholas I would take care of you.”

  Of course she’d promised him. Stella’s chest clenched. Her grandfather would’ve made sure everything was in place for her trip, people to cater to her every need and enough food to feed an army. It was ironic really, since she’d spent so much time alone as a young girl. Business trips kept Nicholas on the move, always trekking across the globe and leaving her behind with her absent mother. Stella was independent, not because it’d come naturally but because she’d never had a choice.

  A swell of resentment took her by surprise, but she shook it off. “Maybe just a slice of toast, then?”

  Ethel grunted her annoyance but didn’t argue, and within moments four large slices of toast and several preserves were produced. Sighing, Stella pushed down the churning discomfort in her stomach and reached for a slice, covering it in the darkest jam.

  “Mmm blackberry,” Stella said, talking through a mouthful. “Delicious.”

  “It’s homemade.” Evan’s voice sounded behind her and her spine stiffened in response. “We planted blackberry bushes at the edge of the estate a few summers ago.”

  “You’ll have to show me.” She bit into her toast again, enjoying the tart sweetness.

  Evan dropped into a chair next to her. For some reason, whenever he got close, her nerves seemed to vibrate like tuning forks. Like she had something inside her that could only be activated by him. He had a commanding presence, but not in an over-the-top kind of way. Certainly not like some of the flashy men she worked with at the hotel. Evan didn’t need the bells and whistles of a designer suit and an expensive watch to get her attention. His presence alone sucked her into his vortex.

  “Ethel, how about a pot of tea for Stella?” he said.

  “I’d love a coffee, actually.” Stella flicked her tongue to the corner of her lips to catch a stray drop of jam, and Evan’s gaze hovered on her mouth. “Tea’s not quite enough for me in the mornings.”

  “So you’re not a morning person?” He arched a brow and leaned back in his chair, observing her as she ate. A stray lock of chestnut hair fell across his forehead, begging for fingers to sweep it back into place.

  “Not by nature,” she replied. “I like getting up early for surfing and not much else.”

  Despite her eternal desire for a sleep in, she was usually in the office by eight. But she didn’t want to draw attention to her professional life since that topic usually resulted in shaking heads and lectures about work-life balance. The thing was, Stella didn’t see the need to increase “life time” when there wasn’t anything to fill it with. Surfing already got priority outside business hours and it wasn’t like she had anything or anyone else to come home to.

  Ethel arrived with a pot of tea and a black coffee, and Stella cradled the steaming cup of dark liquid in both hands. “What are the plans for today?”

  “We’ll take a tour of the grounds,” Evan said, reaching past her for a piece of toast. Her nose caught a whiff of his scent—a combination of citrus soap and country air—and her insides curled in response. “We’ve made a few changes here and there. When your grandfather left me in charge, I made some improvements.”

  She concentrated on the last few bites of her toast, trying desperately to ignore the reactions her traitorous body was having. The more distance she kept, the better off she would be. The safer her heart would be. The last thing she needed was to rekindle her connection with Evan, no matter what her lady parts were saying.

  “I didn’t know you’d been looking after the place for that long,” she said.

  “It’s been almost two years. When Nicholas got sick he knew that it wouldn’t be feasible to travel often and he wanted to make sure everything was well taken care of.”

  “Sounds like him. He always had a plan for everything.”

  Evan nodded, something flickering across his face. But his mask of casual impassivity was back in place before she could look deeper. “There’s a lot to see, as I’m sure you’ll remember. Bu
t I think it might be good to stretch our legs.”

  Although she would have much preferred to hole herself away and work on setting up meetings with potential buyers, at least getting out in the fresh air would help clear her head. “Why don’t we get started? No sense in wasting the day.”

  She figured that if they were walking, she could keep her blood flowing and her mind occupied on something other than the past. She would not remember the way his hands had felt on her, pulling her closer, palming her breasts…and then pushing her away. The memory would curl around her heart and strangle it to death if she allowed it.

  They made their way outside and the cold air slapped her across the face, making her cheeks and nose sting. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “How do you live in this weather?”

  “With this.” He handed her a thick, wool scarf that she doubled around her neck, burrowing her chin immediately into the warm, fluffy cocoon. Evan had picked up an umbrella on his way out. He handed her a waterproof jacket and tilted his head toward a row of mud-speckled rubber boots lining the front of the house. “And a pair of wellies.”

  “Wellies?” Stella picked up one of the smaller pair of boots. “You mean gumboots?”

  “Wellies, short for Wellington boots,” he responded, a smirk on his face. “Or have you forgotten how to speak the Queen’s English?”

  She slipped the coat on and then stuffed one foot after the other into the rubber boots, pulling them over the legs of her jeans. “I’m pretty sure the queen doesn’t wear gumboots.”

  Even through the hazy, mist-filled air the view was majestic from every angle. Rolling hills continued in all directions, other estates and farms dotting the green, sloping lines. Except for the occasional bleat of a sheep or cluck of a chicken, it was silent. Mystical. The quiet filled Stella’s mind, drawing her into the beauty of her surroundings and giving her a sense of peace for the first time in months.