Millionaire Under the Mistletoe

by Stefanie London

  “You know mismatching socks is a gateway activity.” She craned her head to where he stood, untangling the last of the lights.

  “To what?”

  “Further fashion crimes like wearing brown shoes with a black suit, or slogan T-shirts.” She shuddered. “It’s a slippery slope.”

  “And how do I look now? Am I one foot in a fashion jail cell?” He smirked, a lock of his light brown hair falling into his eyes.

  He looked goddamn perfect and he knew it, the smug rat. Well, she was hardly going to tell him that he looked like sex personified. “A for effort, but a C for originality.”

  “You wound me.” He held a hand out to her, motioning for her to stand up. “Help me get these lights on the tree.”

  Reaching up, Stella felt a sharp zing of electricity as his hand engulfed hers. His palms were warm, his grip sure. When he pulled her from the ground, it was as if she were light as a marshmallow. It was all too easy to imagine him tossing her over his shoulder and taking her to his bedroom. Only the intermittent popping of the fireplace reminded her that they weren’t in a vacuum. There was life around them, people and things…though in that moment she didn’t feel anything except his touch. Her stomach fluttered, blood fizzing in her veins.

  Bloody Antonietta and her “pep” talk. She’d planted a seed in Stella’s mind and it was like her libido had been resurrected.

  “So what’s your vice, Stella? Apart from an unhealthy addiction to order, that is.”

  “Why do I need to have a vice?” She stood on the other side of the tree, waiting for Evan to pass the bundle of lights to her.

  “Everyone has a vice.”

  She screwed her lips up in concentration. Now that her university days were over, she only drank in moderation. And she certainly didn’t smoke or do drugs. Hell, she wouldn’t even sneak a grape off the bunches at the supermarket. “I make bad relationship choices.”

  “Really?” Evan’s interest piqued, his light brows arching into points. He laid the end of the lights along the bottom part of the tree and carefully handed the bundle around to her. “Why do you think that is?”

  “I guess I never really had a healthy relationship to look up to.” She shrugged. “I only ever saw my mother with men she wanted to use. Though I guess they used her, too, in a way.”

  “We’re all out for ourselves in the end,” he said with a glib shrug.

  “Glad to see you’re getting into the festive spirit.” She rolled her eyes. “Please don’t ever get a job writing Christmas card messages.”

  “It’s true. You can look at life through rose-tinted glasses, but it’s a survival mechanism.”

  “And what do you think my grandfather got out of giving you and your mother a home when you needed one?” She sucked in a breath as soon as the words came out. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said—”

  “It’s fine.” He shook off her concern. “But Nicholas was the exception. And I don’t claim to be a better man than him. Self-preservation is important to me.”

  It sounded as though he’d left something unsaid, some personal revelation that he couldn’t voice aloud. “Is that because of your mother?”

  “Yeah. She had me very young and her parents kicked her out. I never met my father and she never talked about him, but I know he didn’t treat her well.” His eyes were fixed on something distant as they passed the lights back and forth around the tree. “We drifted a lot because she struggled to hold down a job. She had a few bad relationships along the way, they messed her up.”

  Stella knew that when Evan had arrived at the estate he’d been underweight, dirty, and unable to read or write properly. Her grandfather had told her once that she was very lucky—she hadn’t been able to believe it since she was alone so often growing up. But she understood now what it meant. Privilege might not have made her feel loved, but she never went without food or a roof over her head. She never went without the necessities.

  “That’s awful.” Stella pursed her lips.

  “You move on,” he said. “But it does leave you with a strong sense of survival.”

  “And that’s why you were looking out for number one when you said no to me.” She wasn’t sure understanding his motivations made her feel any differently about the past. Because it was only more proof that he hadn’t felt about her the way she’d felt about him.

  But at least he owned it.

  “This is far too serious a conversation for putting up a tree,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Why don’t you show me the correct way to decorate it? I’d like more than an A for effort and C for originality this time.”

  Her heart fluttered. He could be so damn charming when he wanted to be. And, sure, it was that practiced kind of charm that guys like him had—the type where you could never quite tell whether it was real or not.

  Stella bent down to plug the lights in. As she crouched on the ground, she became conscious of his gaze on her, of his cool green eyes appraising her from above. Heat rose up her neck, filling her cheeks. In the muck of rummaging around the archive room, she’d discarded her hoodie. Now, in just a flimsy T-shirt, she felt exposed.

  She switched on the lights and gave a triumphant cry when the tree lit up, flickering to a silent tune. The effect was magical, the dancing pattern of flashing globes drawing her in. The electricity crackling between them made her want to draw him closer and push him away at the same time. It told of things she had banished long ago. Intimacy was not an option.

  Her breath stuck in her throat. The dazzling lights revived a memory of London twinkling through his bedroom window. She remembered the taste of his kiss so vividly that her lips parted in response. He’d wowed her with his unique combination of gentle coaxing and barely-restrained lust. The way he’d cupped her under that tiny scrap of a dress she’d been wearing, his fingers teasing her through her underwear.

  She clamped her thighs together to stave off the tightness gathering at her sex.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” His eyes bored into her. She was inches from his chest, her face upturned so she could see under the canopy of his overlong hair. “Come on, show me what to do with this thing.”

  His voice held the same degree of tension she felt in the pit of her stomach. What were they doing to one another?

  “Baubles first.” Stella handed him one from each group, hoping to hell her voice didn’t sound as strung out as it felt. “You have to mix them up. Don’t have two gold ones next to one another.”

  She placed the first few ornaments on the tree, spacing them out evenly and creating a subtle pattern. He followed her lead and they worked in silence. Occasionally, she would move one of the baubles he’d placed on the tree, if it didn’t look right. He smirked at the concentration with which she appraised their work. The process relaxed her. She knew each step and could focus on doing something rather than sifting through the confusion in her head.

  You’re supposed to remember how it felt to be rejected. Not how good his hands or his lips were. Not how you were falling head over heels for him.

  The tree came together slowly, piece by piece. They added the collection of old fashioned wooden ornaments that matched the set that Stella had back home; each piece finding its perfect spot among the bristles of the tree. The angel, the drummer boy, the rocking horse, the reindeer—they all had a place.

  “I always put the decorations up here,” he said. “Though the staff aren’t nearly as fussy as you are.”

  “Nothing wrong with doing it properly.”

  “Nothing wrong with a little mess,” he countered. “It keeps life interesting.”

  “I don’t like mess.” She frowned. “It’s…”

  “Messy?”

  “Complicated.”

  What were they even talking about anymore? He didn’t know just how much he’d shattered her poor, virgin heart back then…or maybe he did.

  “It doesn’t have to be complicated,” he said.

  She opened her lips to reply but his hung
ry kiss enveloped her, hot breath filling her mouth where a protest should’ve been. He crushed her to him, one arm snaking around her shoulders so that there was nothing between them but the clothes on their bodies. He tasted of tea and cinnamon.

  A groan passed between them as their tongues met, and Stella melted against him. His tongue danced with hers, probing and exploring her with a gentle yet insistent curiosity. She tilted her head back, feeling him catch it in one hand. His fingers tangled in her hair, tugging her head back farther so that he could gain greater access to her mouth. She was dizzy with lack of air and the pressure of his body against hers. Beneath her T-shirt her skin tingled, alight with the long-forgotten feeling. Her nipples beaded against the lace of her bra and she ached. Everywhere, she ached.

  It had been a long time…a very long time.

  …

  He didn’t mean for it to happen, but once he started he couldn’t stop. The sweet taste of her, the tentative way she opened to him, the little sigh as her body relaxed against his—all of these things tempted him to keep pushing. To keep taking.

  She rubbed against him, her hands sliding up his chest to clasp behind his neck and drag him closer to her. He forgot that they were opposing forces betting against one another. In that moment, he was twenty-five again, enraptured by her. Over the years he’d tried his hardest to ignore her, but when she’d been at her lowest she’d called him. Made him feel like he was important. Kissing her then had meant risking everything that Nicholas Jackson had bestowed on him, the kindness, the generosity…a home. It had been the secret he carried with him always, never far from his heart no matter how far he kept it from his lips.

  Her breasts rubbed against him and he groaned, dropping one hand to her lower back. Her flimsy T-shirt was a tease, the uneven texture of her lace bra visible through the thin fabric. The swell of her breasts pushed forward, barely contained. Begging for his fingers to tease her nipples. He wanted to rip the cotton from her right there in the middle of the sitting room, to expose that beautiful, smooth skin so he could kiss, lick, and nip at every forbidden inch of it.

  Her thumb traced the edge of his jaw as they kissed, her lips leaving his mouth to follow the line to his neck. She devoured him. Hot, open-mouthed kisses seared the hollow at the base of his neck as her fingers curled into his T-shirt. Demanding. Pleading.

  His body screamed for more and the throbbing in his cock heightened to an unbearable state as she slowly writhed against him. She was a sensuous bundle of heat beneath an icy exterior, a walking contradiction, and she’d whipped him into a frenzy.

  It felt so good he couldn’t tear himself away. Her hair was silk in his palm, threads of white gold that caught the pale, winter light. She glowed, her skin luminous against the flickering lights of the Christmas tree. It was so beautiful it could have been staged.

  Evan stiffened, his mouth freezing against hers. She pulled back immediately, the shutters going down as her eyes lost their sparkle and her luscious lips pressed together.

  “That shouldn’t have happened…” She took a step back.

  His mind tried to piece reality back together. If he wanted this estate from her, he needed to be professional. And kissing her in front of a Christmas tree wasn’t professional. Imagining how hot she’d be beneath his hands, in his bed, under his mouth, wasn’t professional. The hard-on in his trousers was definitely not professional.

  Who says you can’t mix business and pleasure? No one can take your livelihood from you now…

  It was a dangerous thought. He’d always steered clear of Stella because she had the potential to undo his world. She represented the thread that, if pulled, could unravel everything. But that wasn’t the case now.

  These days he was in the driver’s seat. He was his own boss and in charge of his own destiny. That meant he could kiss whoever the hell he wanted, Stella included.

  “It’s just a kiss.”

  “You were the one who stopped,” she said. She looked positively angelic with her cheeks flushed pink and her lips swollen. Her hands twisted in front of her; she wouldn’t look him in the eye. “I could feel it.”

  She’d pulled away because she thought he was going to banish her again. “I didn’t stop. I was figuring things out.”

  “There’s nothing to figure out,” she forced the words out slowly. Steadily. “We’re both grieving at the moment. It’s understandable we might seek comfort from one another.”

  “True.”

  “But we shouldn’t.”

  “Why is that?”

  She finally looked up to him; the endless depths of her eyes made him want to screw the rules and ravish her from head to toe. “Because that’s not how I do business.”

  Bullshit. That cover was flimsy at best. It came down to trust or rather, a lack thereof.

  “Me either.” Getting Stella to warm up to him was much like dealing with a skittish horse. He needed to be slow and steady, no sudden movements. “But this is nothing to do with business.”

  He allowed his gaze to sweep over her. The attraction was mutual—he could tell from the way her nipples pressed against her T-shirt, the way her chest rose and fell harder than normal, the way her eyes were dark and wide. The body language was loud and clear; she wanted him. And damn if that didn’t make him harder.

  “Well, that’s why I’m here.” She bent down to pick up a small box and hugged it to her chest. “I’m going to sell the estate and then I’m going home. I wasn’t planning on having a stopover in Bad Decision-ville.”

  “But Bad Decision-ville is so hot right now. There’s a great place that I could take you.” He leaned in closer. Blood surged through his veins as a tremor ran through her.

  “I’m sure you know it like the back of your hand.” She sucked in a breath. “But I’m not interested. Consider the kiss a momentary lapse of judgment.”

  “Bullshit.” He toyed with a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail. “I think you’re very interested and that’s why you’re running scared at the moment.”

  She huffed. “You’re wrong.”

  “I’m hardly ever wrong, Stella. Especially about women.”

  “Great, seeing as you’re such an expert you shouldn’t have any trouble finding someone else to kiss.” She tipped her chin up to him. “Let’s pretend this didn’t happen, okay?”

  Yeah right.

  “Come to London with me this week,” he said. “If I’m going to convince you to move here I need to show you more than the estate.”

  She looked as though she wanted to argue, but she had picked the terms of the bet. “Fine. I’m sure I can arrange to meet with some prospective buyers while I’m there.”

  “Be ready first thing tomorrow.” He leaned down to brush his lips against her cheek, the sharp intake of her breath sending satisfaction coursing through him.

  Score one, Foss.

  Chapter Seven

  Stella’s suitcase gaped up at her from the bed, but she couldn’t concentrate enough to get the job done. Outside, a sleek silver car sat in front of the estate, ready to whisk her off to London for a few days. She wondered if Evan’s tactics worked on other girls.

  Because they didn’t work on you when you kissed him like a damned love-struck fool?

  Ugh. It made her cringe to think of how much she’d enjoyed that kiss. Granted, the list of men she’d locked lips with wasn’t all that long, but even her ex-fiancé hadn’t made her toes curl the way Evan had. And he’d only gotten better with age.

  If he can do that with just a kiss, what can he do with his whole body?

  Yesterday, as he’d walked away without a backward glance, Stella had trembled on the spot. Her body had cried for the loss of his touch. He’d played her like a fiddle, turned her libido up to max volume until her need threatened to split her wide open. The ache between her legs hadn’t abated overnight and now she wanted to throw something at the wall. Her body responded to him without the slightest hesitation. Without fear.

  He was
a business proposition. One she wouldn’t take up, if the bet went her way. But she’d damn well kissed him like there was nothing else on earth she’d rather be doing.

  Idiot, idiot, idiot!

  Good thing she’d pulled away when she had. The moment he’d stilled against her, his lips halting their assault on her senses, she’d been thrown back to that night. Back to the desperation and anxiousness and pure, unadulterated lust that had fired within her until he’d dumped his rejection on her like a bucket of ice water.

  Carrying her V Card through her university days had been an uncomfortable experience. To guys, she was either a leper or a prize to be won. Something to be gambled on. From that point, she’d kept her status a secret until one drunken night she’d confessed it to Evan. But by that stage they’d already stumbled into his room, and his hand had been up her dress. His lips searing a trail down her neck. His fingers breaching her underwear to stroke against her bare skin. She’d gotten that strange quivery sensation in her thighs that only came when she’d let herself explore in the dead of night.

  They’d landed on his bed, half-naked and all the way out of their minds with lust. But for her it went deeper than that. With Evan, she felt as though she belonged. That she wasn’t an impostor trying to fit in, she wasn’t strange and awkward and painfully shy.

  When he’d pulled down the zipper on his trousers and she’d seen him—all of him—for the first time, the nerves had taken hold of her. She wasn’t experienced enough to wow him in bed, so she’d confessed. And then he’d stopped everything. Told her that it wasn’t right for them to be together, that she was probably still drunk and that he didn’t want to take advantage of her.

  That he didn’t feel about her the way she felt about him.

  Then yesterday he’d flipped all that on its head by teasing her with a kiss and the invitation for more. Why?

  Because he wants this estate. Because he wants to win. Don’t go thinking it’s real attraction. If you let him, he’ll play you until he walks away with everything he wants…and that doesn’t include you.