Christmas with a Billionaire

And, looking about him, he could see that Sophie Carter had done exactly that. There was already a real six foot tall Christmas tree standing in the entrance hall, not decorated yet, but there was an overflowing box of brightly coloured ornaments beside it, obviously in readiness.

There were also sprigs of real berried holly tucked behind the picture frames. That seemed to be what Sophie Carter had been doing when he’d entered the apartment and startled her into falling off the stepladder.

‘It looks great so far,’ he complimented lightly. ‘I just—For some reason, I had expected you to be older.’

‘You should have stopped while you were ahead, Mr Hamilton!’

That derisive smile grew wider, caused dimples to appear in her freckled cheeks.

Max grimaced. ‘Was I ahead?’

‘Probably not,’ she came back drily.

He gave an irritated shake of his head. ‘Have we met before?’

Sophie Carter gave a snort of laughter. ‘That’s not very likely, is it?’

Max raised dark brows. ‘Why is that?’

She gave a dismissive wave of her hand that nevertheless managed to encompass the luxury of his penthouse apartment as well as his own appearance, as opposed to her own less than sartorial elegance in jeans, a jumper and heavy boots.

Max’s own attention stayed on that slender artistic hand, the fingers long and delicate, the nails kept practically short. One of his particular hates was long, red-painted talons that could scratch a man’s back to pieces when—

Now that really was an inappropriate thought when made in connection to the hired help!

‘Do you do this sort of thing all the time or is this just a holiday job for you?’ Max tried again.

She shrugged slender shoulders. ‘I’m on Christmas break from my college course.’

Which meant she must be at least eighteen, Max realised. ‘In?’

‘Catering and business management,’ she seemed to reveal reluctantly.

‘So this is just a temp job to earn some extra money during the holidays?’ he realised.

‘Yes,’ she confirmed tightly.

Max’s brows lowered as he frowned. ‘And have you done this organising Christmas thing before?’

‘Many times,’ she assured drily.

‘Do you—’

‘Perhaps you would prefer it if I stopped what I’m doing for now?’ She spoke briskly. ‘I can easily come back again in the morning. After you’ve left for work, of course.’

What Max would really like would be to know why it was that this woman seemed to have decided she disliked him before she had even met him. Because he was pretty sure that she had. After all, his first act had been to save her from what could have been a nasty, and painful, fall onto the marble-tiled floor of his entrance hall.

He shrugged. ‘There isn’t actually a lot of time left before Christmas.’

‘No,’ Sophie acknowledged evenly, more than a little disturbed at the realisation that she found Max Hamilton so immediate, as well as so fiercely, intrusively masculine.

She had known yesterday that just the sound of his voice sent shivers of awareness down her spine—that huskily sexy voice that made a woman think of silk sheets and naked, entwined bodies.

But the last thing Sophie had been expecting was to find the man himself so attractive that her knees felt weak and her hands trembled slightly. She could kind of see where Sally’s friend Cathy had been coming from with this guy. It was just as well she and Sally had agreed not to admit to the family connection …

‘It really is your choice, Mr Hamilton,’ she added dismissively. ‘After all, you’re the one paying the bill.’

He considered her with those deep green eyes for several seconds before speaking again. ‘Maybe the two of us should start again over a glass of wine. You are old enough to drink, I take it?’ he added hastily.

‘I’m twenty-four, Mr Hamilton. I’ve been allowed to drink for several years.’ Sophie eyed him irritably.

‘Twenty-four?’ He looked startled. ‘You don’t look it.’ He eyed her doubtfully.

‘Well, you don’t look like a man who is either too busy or too lazy to organise Christmas for his sister and niece, but obviously looks can be deceiving,’ Sophie came back tartly.

And instantly had cause to regret that tartness as those hard green eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.

CHAPTER TWO

‘WHO ARE YOU?’ Max Hamilton demanded again, his voice briskly authoritative now as he suddenly seemed to tower over her in the confines of the entrance hall of his apartment.

Sophie realised she had seriously overstepped the mark with her last comment. ‘I apologise, Mr Hamilton. That was very rude of me and … there is no excuse for it.’

Except her physical reaction to Max Hamilton, of course. Which, given the circumstances of her family connection to Sally, she had no intention of allowing this man to so much as guess at. There was far more at stake here than her irritation with these unexpected feelings towards Max Hamilton. Sally’s job, for one thing. And ensuring that his five-year-old niece, Amy, had an enjoyable Christmas for another.

‘I believe a glass of wine for each of us is definitely in order.’ Max Hamilton spoke determinedly, his tone brooking no argument as he stepped back with the obvious intention of having Sophie precede him into the kitchen just down the hallway.

She did so reluctantly, very self-conscious as she wondered if Max Hamilton was looking at her own unbruised backside as she walked in front of him down the hallway. Probably not, when he had thought she wasn’t even old enough to legally drink alcohol until a few minutes ago. She definitely bore no resemblance, in looks or sophistication, to those beautiful women he was always being photographed with in the papers.

And why did that even matter?

Just because Max Hamilton was the most sexily gorgeous man Sophie had ever set eyes on, with a voice to match, it didn’t mean she was about to join the legion of women who were rumoured to have fallen in love with him over the last ten years.

Because the man was also a too rich and equally spoilt playboy and, worst of all, one who preferred to go skiing with friends rather than celebrate Christmas with his family.

As far as Sophie was concerned, that last mark against him was the worst one …

She watched him now from beneath lowered lashes, hesitating near the doorway as he crossed the kitchen to the wine cooler next to the huge stainless steel American-style fridge.

‘You aren’t driving later, are you?’

Sophie gave a tight smile. ‘Public transport.’

He nodded. ‘White wine okay with you?’

‘Fine,’ she confirmed distractedly.

He moved with a light predatory grace that Sophie found as disturbing as the rest of him. His legs were long in tailored dark trousers, the matching jacket of his suit fitting perfectly over those wide and muscled shoulders, the darkness of his tousled hair almost touching his shoulders at the back and falling onto his brow at the front.

It was testament to how much this man dominated the space around him that Sophie found herself looking at him rather than admiring the amazing kitchen she had literally drooled over earlier today.

She wasn’t a great lover of modern kitchens, but she was willing to make an exception with this one; the kitchen units were high gloss black, topped with dark grey marble, as was the worktable standing in the middle of the spacious room. There was a matching breakfast bar, while all of the appliances were stainless steel, including a large range cooker that took up half of one wall. It was a chef’s dream kitchen.

Sophie’s dream kitchen …

And, if she hadn’t already succeeded in blowing it by goading her new boss, she was going to enjoy the privilege of being allowed to cook in here over the Christmas period.

‘Sophie?’

She looked up to find that Max Hamilton was looking across at her expectantly, having poured the two glasses of white wine and placed them on the breakfast bar, all while she was lusting after his kitchen!

‘Sorry.’ She stepped forward to sit up on one of the bar stools.

Not in the least elegantly, unfortunately; as Sophie knew from experience, there was no way any woman who was only five feet two inches tall could ever get up on a bar stool and look elegant or sexy whilst doing it!

Max Hamilton, meanwhile, looked both of those things as he moved to sit on one of the stools opposite and, as expected with his superior height, had absolutely no problem doing so.

He eyed her after taking a sip of his wine. ‘Aren’t you a little old to still be at college?’

The question was so unexpected that Sophie choked on the wine she had been sipping.

‘Careful!’ He moved with that smooth animal grace as he swiftly made his way round the breakfast bar before slapping her on the back.

Sophie glowered up at him as that slap caused her to spit out the rest of the wine. With her eyes streaming from choking and her nose leaking the excess wine, she must look oh-so-very elegant! ‘I’m not sure whether I should thank you for that or not …’ she croaked breathlessly.

‘Just trying to help.’ He grinned down at her unrepentantly as he pulled the white silk handkerchief from the breast pocket of his jacket and presented it to her with a flourish.

Sophie muttered under her breath as she took the handkerchief and mopped up the tears from her cheeks before giving her nose a noisy blow.

‘Sorry?’

She glared up at him. ‘I said I can probably do without help like that.’

‘Would you rather I had let you continue to choke?’ Max held back another smile as he moved to sit back on the bar stool opposite, his expression deliberately innocent as he looked across at her enquiringly.

‘I would rather—Oh, never mind,’ Sophie dismissed impatiently. ‘A minute ago you thought I was underage. I’ll return this to you once I’ve laundered it.’ She pocketed the used handkerchief. ‘And then you say I’m too old to still be at college. Maybe I’m doing an advanced course?’

‘Are you?’ Surprisingly, Max found he was enjoying himself; Sophie Carter certainly wasn’t boring!

As he so often found that he was bored when in the company of the beautiful women he habitually dated?

Well, yes, if Max was honest, he invariably found, no matter how beautiful or desirable and accomplished a woman was in bed, that when it came to actual conversation those women usually bored him almost to the point of falling asleep in their company.

Sophie Carter wasn’t classically beautiful, but her skin was creamy smooth and the tight red shoulder-length curls, which should have clashed garishly with her red jumper but somehow didn’t, were somehow endearing, and those brown eyes were huge enough for a man to drown in. Plus there were those lusciously sensual lips …

Oh, for goodness’ sake. She was only here in his apartment to ensure that Janice and Amy had a good Christmas. Well, as good as it could be, considering that his sister and brother-in-law were currently at loggerheads over something.

Max had no intention of getting caught in the middle of that argument, whatever it was; he knew from experience how volatile his younger sister could be. He had leapt to Janice’s defence too many times when they were both in their teens, only to find that he was the one left sporting a black eye 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.

CHAPTER THREE

‘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 and a silver star twinkling on the top.

‘I have to say, Sophie, that I’m really impressed with all your hard work so far.’ Max Hamilton nodded his approval. ‘The least I can do is to help giftwrap the presents after you’ve been out and chosen all of them.’

Sophie really had been joking earlier; she had no real desire to share wrapping Christmas presents with Max Hamilton, of all people.

Years of wrapping presents with her mother, enjoying the laughter, the pleasure and later the odd glass of wine, told her it was far too intimate a pastime to share with a man who made her feel nervous at the best of times. And so far there had been very few of those between the two of them!

Max didn’t know whether to be amused or enchanted by Sophie’s appearance in a red coat, the hood of the coat edged with white fur. She wore fur-trimmed gloves on her elegant hands, and there was even fur topping the calf-high boots worn over her jeans. She looked like a very petite and cuddly Mrs Santa Claus!

Enchanted probably wasn’t a good thing when Max already found Sophie far too intriguing for their current situation as employer and temporary employee.

But she really had transformed his home in a short space of time, the smell of fresh pine having hit his nose the moment he’d entered the apartment an hour or so ago. The tree decorations were tasteful rather than garish, the coloured lights twinkling merrily when he’d switched them on, and there were yet more sprigs of fresh holly adorning the pictures in the sitting room.

There were even three beautifully embroidered stockings draped across the arm of one of the chairs, no doubt placed there ready to be hung up for Janice, Amy and himself on Christmas Eve.

And she had returned his handkerchief to him, ironed as well as laundered!

‘I’m being paid—very generously, I might add!—to buy and giftwrap the Christmas presents for your sister and niece,’ Sophie Carter reminded him tartly.

Max found himself irritated that she had deliberately reminded him of that fact. ‘Nothing for me?’ he drawled.

Those deep brown eyes widened. ‘You would hardly be giving yourself a present!’

He quirked a mocking brow. ‘Does that mean you didn’t buy me a present, either?’

‘Why on earth would I do th …? Very funny, Mr Hamilton.’ She placed the half a dozen or so bags down on the sofa next to the parcels, along with the wrapping paper and labels, before straightening.

Max found himself wondering what sort of present Sophie Carter might buy him.

He usually received an expensive shirt, or maybe a sweater or aftershave, if there happened to be a woman in his life at Christmastime, but Sophie was a student, and obviously didn’t have a lot of money, so what sort of gift would she choose? Something inexpensive but personal? Or maybe—

Damn it, Max had found himself thinking of his employee far too much today already!

Sally was well on her way to Canada by now and, without the help of his efficient PA, his own day had been even busier than usual. But still he had found time to sit and muse about the fiery-haired Sophie Carter …

He knew from their conversation the previous day that she was an orphan, aged twenty-four and at catering college.

What he still didn’t know was if she had a man in her life; the fact that Sophie was willing to spend Christmas cooking for his family would seem to imply that she didn’t.

Max had deliberately chosen to spend his Christmases skiing the last ten years, since Janice had married Tom and moved to the States, and he had been only too glad to do so. Very occasionally he had taken a woman with him, but more often than not he had preferred to go alone, well away from all the festivities and anyone who knew him.

Sophie Carter didn’t seem to have any choice but to spend Christmas alone, possibly without any presents to open up on Christmas morning either, except maybe something from friends?

It made Max feel guilty at the amount of expensive gifts she had gone out and chosen for Janice and Amy today. Totally illogically, he realised; it wasn’t up to him to provide a happy Christmas or presents for every waif and stray who crossed his path. Even if he wanted to.

Which he didn’t, he told himself firmly.

Max had been eighteen and Janice sixteen when their parents were killed in a car crash on Christmas Eve, hit by a drunk driver on their way home from doing some last-minute shopping for presents.

After that Max had only gone through the motions of Christmas for Janice’s sake, and had been perfectly happy not to have to once his sister was married and living in New York.

He certainly didn’t want to involve himself in the preparations for this Christmas any more than he needed to either.

‘Yes, very funny,’ he finally answered Sophie tersely. ‘As you said yesterday that you’re using public transport, you may as well get off home now; you can wrap the presents up tomorrow.’

Sophie had no idea what Max Hamilton had been thinking about for the past few minutes as he’d scowled darkly but, whatever it was, they weren’t pleasant thoughts. He also seemed to have rethought his offer to help her giftwrap his sister’s and niece’s Christmas presents.

‘Fine,’ she accepted just as abruptly. ‘Maybe you could just write out a dozen or so labels for Janice and Amy tonight, ready to go on the gifts tomorrow?’

‘Of course.’ He nodded, his expression arrogantly remote, now looking every inch the billionaire CEO he was.