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

by Clare Connelly

  “Instructive?” He repeated.

  “Yes. I’m twenty-one and until half an hour ago I was still a virgin. It was time for me to grow up.” She cleared her throat and stepped away from him, grabbing her cup of tea as she went, seeking refuge on the far side of the kitchen.

  “I’m glad I could be of service,” he said softly.

  “You were.” Her smile was brittle. “But now, I want to go back to London”

  He frowned, his expression one she couldn’t decipher. “You can’t be serious.”

  “You think I can stay here?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Nothing has changed, Claudia. If you return to London, the press will have a field day. You will be hounded once more.”

  “And being under the same roof with you is any better?”

  He winced visibly at the comparison and she knew she was being unfair. What had happened hadn’t been his fault. She’d wanted him just as much as he had her. More, probably, because she had zero experience and her body had been burning up for a man’s touch. Any man’s touch? Or his?

  She knew the answer to that.

  “You know why you are here,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “And what I will do if you leave.”

  “You’re not serious? You can’t honestly be blackmailing me with my own inheritance?”

  He shrugged his shoulders unapologetically, a glint of determination firing in his eyes.

  “Nothing has changed. I still want to protect your father’s legacy, which means keeping you out of the spotlight.”

  “That’s a horrible thing to say,” she muttered.

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Says you. Anyway, I have to go back,” she snapped, sipping her tea and then placing the cup down on the bench, loudly, and with a resounding thud. Tea slopped up the sides and landed in a pool beside the mug.

  “Why? Why must you?” He demanded, moving closer, so that her pulse fired with hope and anticipation.

  “Because I made a commitment to a friend and I have to honour it.”

  “If this is about Arthur Pennington…”

  She glared at him. “It’s not! And even if it were, that’s none of your business.”

  “I think we have established that your life is very much my business. Even more so now.”

  “What, we’ve had sex and so you get to control who I see and speak to?” She rolled her eyes, annoyed by the tremor of pleasure that his possessive command created in her. “No way.” She said the last demur for her own benefit as much as his.

  “Who have you made this promise to?”

  She frowned, bringing her attention back to the reason she wanted to return to London.

  “Lady Margaret FitzHerbert.”

  “Who?” Stavros demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “She’s a friend,” Claudia said stiffly, omitting the fact that they’d met when Claudia had been sixteen and desperately looking for something to do that might take the focus off her academic failings. Margaret had introduced her to the society scene, and had brought her onto the boards of numerous charities.

  Despite her inability to read or write particularly well, Claudia was a vocal member of meetings and made up for her failings in other ways. Like attracting the right crowd and the press.

  “I owe her a lot,” Claudia tacked on. “And she needs me Friday night.”

  “Why?” He prompted, his expression unyielding.

  Claudia ground her teeth together. “Because I always do the opening welcome at this gala fundraising night and she hasn’t been able to replace me at late notice.”

  “And I presume there will be press at this event?” He murmured silkily.

  “Of course,” Claudia rolled her eyes. “That’s how we raise the profile of the event, to bring attention to the cause. We’ve had interviews in national papers this year.”

  “What’s the charity?”

  Claudia arched her brows skeptically. “Why?”

  “I’m curious at the kind of causes you choose to support.”

  She thought about not answering. About being churlish and lying. But her name was linked to the charity. A quick google search would give him the information he sought.

  “We’re raising money for juvenile victims of land mines. Children. Children in Cambodia who’ve lost arms and legs because they went for a swim in the river on a hot day. Children in Kuwait who’ve been blinded because they picked up a landmine and tossed it, mistaking it for an innocuous chunk of metal. Children in Somalia who’ve lost their parents because they were trying to clear landmines on the route the kids take to school. So yeah, Stavros. This is important. I want to go. And not just because there’s going to be press and champagne. I want to go because it matters.”

  The passion with which she spoke filled the room like a golden cloud, making it difficult for Stavros to say anything in response.

  He stared at her for a piercing moment, mentally weighing each word of her speech before nodding decisively.

  “Fine. We’ll go to London tomorrow.” He moved closer and pressed a thumb beneath her chin. “And I will be your date for the event.”

  Even as he pulled his car into the sweeping drive of The Maychester on Park Lane, Claudia was still haunted by his parting words.

  And I will be your date for the event.

  Her date?

  She slanted a sidelong glance at him – perhaps her thousandth since they’d set out from Barnwell that afternoon, and then quickly jerked her attention away as he she felt him turn to look at her.

  “You’ve been quiet.”

  She nodded. It wasn’t for the usual reasons either. Claudia always felt a whisper of anxiety before she went into nights like this, knowing what was expected of her, and the part she would need to play. The gregarious party girl routine was one she had perfected, and yet there was an increasing pressure that she struggled with.

  “Just running over my speech in my mind,” she said softly.

  “Want to practice it on me?” He prompted.

  She shook her head. “No.” Her door was opened then, by a suited doorman with a shining top hat.

  “Good evening, miss.”

  “Hi.” She stepped out of the car. Stavros was right behind her, his frame strong and warm as he put a hand in the small of her back.

  It was the first time they’d touched since they’d spoken in the kitchen, the day before, and her senses went into overdrive, regardless of the fact it was a perfectly innocuous contact.

  She moved further ahead, dislodging his hand from her. The glass doors opened automatically, welcoming them into the grandiose foyer.

  “I thought you’d have a place here,” she murmured.

  “In London?” He asked, moving towards the reception desk. “I do.”

  “So why are we at a hotel?”

  “It is being renovated,” he said. “And we both know why your home is not suitable.”

  They’d discussed it, heatedly, and he’d won. As usual. He didn’t want her going anywhere near where the paparazzi might be camped out, even when she’d pointed out all of her suitable dresses were there. Instead, he’d told her to buy something and have it delivered to the hotel, which she’d done. He’d also all but forbidden her from contacting Arthur, and even though it hadn’t even occurred to her to do so, Claudia was suddenly very tempted to call him up, just to annoy Stavros.

  It was childish but he did bring the worst out in her.

  A woman smiled as they approached the counter. “May I help you?”

  Claudia looked up at Stavros just as he pulled his phone out of his hip pocket. “Check us in, Claudia. I have to take this.”

  She resisted the urge to poke her tongue out at his retreating back, then turned her gaze back to the receptionist.

  “Is this your first stay with us, ma’am?”

  Claudia nodded.

  “Excellent. Welcome to The Maychester. I’ll just need you to fill out this guest registration form,” she han
ded the sheet of paper over to Claudia with a pen, obviously having no concept that she might as well have slide Claudia an arsenic pill lined with snake venom and told her to ‘eat up’.

  “A guest registration form?” She murmured, her eyes blurring as she looked down at the page. The words were gobbledygook, like any time she felt pressured to read. Her hand trembled as she lifted the pen, hovering the tip over the first box and then blinking.

  Failure settled around her.

  She forced a bright smile to her face.

  “I’m sorry,” she leaned closer to the receptionist, her tone conspiratorial. As though they were good friends rather than strangers. “I had a few too many champagnes with lunch and I think I’ll make a mess of this if I even attempt it. Would you mind?”

  The receptionist looked surprised at first, but she covered it swiftly, and then she was smiling. “Of course, ma’am.”

  Claudia was still dictating information to the receptionist as Stavros disconnected the call, and made his way over.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Fine,” Claudia snapped, then took in a breath and told herself to relax. It was almost done.

  “Just your signature, thanks,” the receptionist winked at Claudia, as though they were sharing a secret joke.

  There was only one spot left on the form and Claudia added the cursive signature she’d developed over the years.

  “Your suite is on the seventh floor. I understand you’ve had some items stowed in the room already, but please don’t hesitate to contact our concierge if there are any problems. You’ll catch a lovely view of the Winter Wonderland from the bedroom.”

  Claudia frowned. “There’s two bedrooms?”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am. All our suites have a minimum of three bedrooms, actually.” And then, the receptionist leaned forward once more, her own smile conspiratorial. “Except the honeymoon suite, of course.”

  “Of course,” Claudia murmured. “Thank you.”

  “Enjoy your night!” The receptionist called cheerily.

  Claudia risked a glance at Stavros as they moved towards the bank of lifts, him striding and her having to walk quickly to keep up.

  He wasn’t saying anything, and he seemed distracted.

  “Is everything okay?”

  He turned to her and nodded, but still said nothing. Claudia frowned, jabbing her finger into the lift call button.

  The doors opened instantly, revealing a sumptuous cubicle, lined with mirrors, featured a red velvet bench and an old-fashioned lamp protruding from the wall.

  “How charming,” she remarked, swiping the key and pressing the button for the seventh floor. He stood beside her and in the confines of the tiny space she was instantly aware of his effect on her.

  Muscles low in her body clenched with the memory of his possession and she almost groaned audibly. She took in a breath to calm her rioting nerves but it was a terrible idea, because the cubicle was filled with him, including his unique scent, and it expanded into her lungs and senses, reminding her powerfully of all the ways she desired him.

  “Do you usually get hotel staff to do your menial paperwork?” He asked as the lift doors opened and Claudia froze. She’d hoped he hadn’t seen, or hadn’t noticed. But Stavros saw everything.

  Claudia’s heart sank, because she knew from experience there was only one way to cover incidents like this up. It was the same way she’d beguiled the receptionist downstairs.

  She sent him a look of impatience. “Yes, Stavros. I snagged a nail getting into the car and I didn’t want to make it any worse. I don’t exactly have time for a manicure before this thing tonight.” She winced mentally at the image she was playing into, the expectations people had of a spoiled, entitled heiress. “Is that okay with you? Or do you want to find fault with me for that too?”

  It wasn’t fair. She was using his guilt over the fact they’d slept together to shut down his line of questioning. But desperate times called for desperate measures and Stavros was the last person on earth she wanted to know about her dyslexia.

  She couldn’t stand it if he, of all people, looked at her as though she was broken. Like her father had. With that sense of disappointment and disbelief.

  “And writing would do that?” He prompted, apparently not fooled by her story.

  “Could have,” she shrugged. She slowed as they reached a gloss white door with their room number in gold on the front, then swiped the key across the panel.

  The door made a clicking noise as it unlocked and they were in the suite. It was exactly as Claudia would have expected a hotel of this standing to offer. Sumptuous furnishings, beautiful views in all directions, everything the very best quality.

  “Well,” she murmured, not meeting his eyes. “There’s only an hour before we have to leave again. I’d better get ready.” She forced a frosty smile to her lips and then moved into one of the doors to the right, hoping it was a bedroom.

  It was, and luckily, it had a garment bag hanging in the large wardrobe. She lifted it out, running the zip down and carefully pulling the Valentino gown. It was the perfect dress for the occasion. Black with a vee neck and a scooped back, fitted to the waist and then flared to the knees. Red flowers in a gauze material were overlaid on the dress and she’d chosen a pair of red stilettos to partner it with.

  Ordinarily she wouldn’t buy a gown like this without a fitting but Valentino had been her go-to designer for so long that she was confident they knew her sizing. She held it against her body and looked in the mirror.

  She was pleased with what she saw. She knew it would look good. But Claudia didn’t smile.

  She had the inexplicable sense that storm clouds were gathering on the horizon of her life, and she had no clue how to shield from them.

  The phone call had put him in a bad mood. He could say ‘no’ to Kristos, ‘no’ to Nikos, ‘no’ to Benedictus, and he sure as hell could say ‘no’ to Loukas, given the fact his younger brother had seen fit to propose to Stavros’s ex-girlfriend. But Calista, Loukas’s twin, had always had a very special place in Stavros’s heart. She was ten years his junior and he was closest of all to her. Hearing her on the other end of the line, almost in tears, because of how upset the family was that he wasn’t coming home for Christmas, made Stavros wonder if he wasn’t being monumentally selfish.

  There was even a part of him that wondered if he hadn’t overreacted to Claudia’s recent scandal simply because it had presented him with a convenient excuse to stay away from his family at a time when he would prefer not to be in Athens.

  Perhaps.

  All these things ravaged his brain, as he stared at the television news without taking any of it in.

  The phone call from Calista, while aggravating, was not why Stavros found himself dressed in a custom-made tuxedo cradling a scotch twenty minutes before a driver was due to take them to this event. It wasn’t why he was glowering and in a mood that could out-do a tornado for pent-up energy.

  It was Claudia.

  It was the mystery of Claudia; the sense that any time he got close to understanding what made her tick, she shifted away from him, like trying to catch soap in the middle of the ocean. There was something, something just beneath her surface, and yet he had no idea what. But he knew she was a chameleon, always mindful of what people thought, and acting in a way she hoped they’d expect.

  Why had she got the receptionist to fill out the registration forms?

  His frown deepened and he threw back a measure of scotch, his eyes locking to the television as it went to a commercial break. He’d been with a lot of women in his youth, and many of them were spoiled, entitled and vain, and he’d never known one not to pick up a pen for the sake of her manicure. He wasn’t even sure if it was physically possible for a snagged nail to make writing difficult or for writing to make such a thing worse.

  The certainty that she’d lied to him detonated in his gut.

  But why?

  The shrapnel would not settle.

&nb
sp; Though he hated to suspect it of Claudia, he wondered if it was a question of status. If she wanted to assert herself as somehow being better than the receptionist and so perhaps she’d asked the other woman to complete the form. As a show of power.

  It hardly gelled with what he thought he knew of his ward, and yet what possible explanation could there be?

  He didn’t know, but Stavros wanted to. He wanted to understand her, and he suspected that he would not rest until he had got to the bottom of what made his irresponsible ward the way she was.

  He lifted his glass and in doing so, tilted his head, just enough to catch the impression of black and red. He focused his attention.

  And felt as though he’d been punched, hard, in the solar plexus.

  She was a dream come true. Half angel, half vamp. She’d styled her hair into a big, messy bun on the top of her hair, and her pale, creamy skin resembled moonlight and milk. He dragged his gaze down her body, wishing he’d paid closer attention when they’d made love. How he wished he’d stripped her naked and kissed her all over, tasted her flesh, driven her wild with his mouth. He wanted to see her desperately and impatience spread like a cloud through his veins.

  He half-expected her to be glaring at him when he lifted his attention back to her face – a face she’d made up sparingly, simply enhancing her natural beauty with a slick of dark red lipstick and a wipe of mascara. Only Claudia wasn’t watching him.

  She was as transfixed by the television as he was by her. Her eyes were glued to the screen. He turned to see for himself what had caught her attention.

  The John Lewis Christmas ad. Why was he not surprised? He’d seen it dozens of times, despite the fact he barely watched television. The ad was everywhere, as always, and while he appreciated it was a poignant theme and a beautiful song, he hadn’t watched it and felt as Claudia did.

  A smile tickled her lips, but it was not one of amusement or even happiness. It was a sad smile; there was something so bittersweet in her face that he almost found himself holding his breath.

  He turned back to the television in time to catch the moment the father in the ad opened his gift – the gift the little girl had been saving to buy him all year and it hit him with resounding clarity.