A New Year Bride

‘You got poached?’ Somehow, he could see Grace with her flawless complexion and friendly personality being an asset to any make-up counter.

She nodded. ‘But it wasn’t really for me. I had to eventually give up due to some family issues and when I needed a job again Maids in Chelsea kind of found me.’

‘Family issues? You have children?’

She shook her head and laughed. ‘Oh, no. I’d want to find a husband first.’

He hadn’t even considered the fact she might have children, or a husband! What was wrong with him? He tried to tease out a few more details. ‘So, you haven’t found a husband yet?’

She shook her head again. ‘I haven’t had time.’ She looked up and met his gaze. ‘I’ve dated casually in the last few years, but haven’t really had time for a relationship.’

Due to her family issues? He didn’t feel as though he could press.

‘I take it you were brought up in Scotland?’

He smiled. ‘What’s the giveaway?’

She laughed and took a sip of her coffee. ‘Is Sean Connery your father?’

‘Sean Connery wouldn’t have got a look-in. My mum and dad were childhood sweethearts. They lived next door to each other from the age of five.’

Grace set down her knife and fork. ‘Oh, wow. That’s so nice.’

It was nice. His mum and dad’s marriage had always been rock solid, even when half the people he’d gone to school with seemed to have more step-parents than grades at school.

‘Are they still in Scotland?’

‘Always. They’ll never leave.’

She gave him a fixed stare. ‘Why did you leave?’

He hesitated then spoke quickly. ‘Business.’ There was so much more to it than that. He had a home—a castle—in Scotland that had been his pride and joy. He hadn’t set foot in it for over a year. The penthouse in The Armstrong was where he now called home. He needed to change the subject—fast.

‘Tell me about the Christmas stuff?’

She quickly swallowed a mouthful of food. ‘What do you mean?’

He sipped his coffee. Then stopped and connected with her gaze. ‘Wow.’

A smile spread across her face. ‘I told you.’

He kept his nose above the coffee and breathed in the aroma, then took another sip. The coffee was different from most of the roasts he’d tasted. Finlay was a self-confessed snob when it came to coffee. This was good.

He looked over his shoulder to where the coffee machine and barista were standing. ‘I have to find out what this is.’

She was still smiling. ‘You’ll be lucky if they tell you. The coffee in here has been this good for years. My gran and I used to come here all the time.’

Her voice quietened. He wanted to ask some more but it felt like prying. Could he really go there?

He went back to safer territory. ‘The Christmas stuff. You seem to really enjoy it.’

She gave him a careful stare. Her voice was soft. ‘I do. I’ve always loved Christmas. It’s my favourite time of year.’ She stretched her fingers across the table and brushed them against his hand. ‘I’m sorry, I know you said you didn’t like it.’

He took a deep breath. The coffee was excellent in here. The food was surprisingly good. And the company…the company was intriguing.

Grace was polite, well-mannered and good at her job. She was also excellent at the unexpected job he’d flung on her the other day. She’d more than delivered.

It was more than a little distracting that she was also incredibly beautiful. But it was an understated beauty. Shiny hair and a pair of deep dark brown eyes that could hide a million secrets. But it wasn’t the secrets that intrigued him. It was the sincerity.

Grace didn’t feel like the kind of person who would tell lies. She seemed inherently good. All the staff at the hotel liked her. Frank was strangely protective of her.

He took a deep breath. ‘It’s not that I don’t like it. I know I said that—’

She touched his hand again. ‘No, you said you hated it.’

He nodded. ‘Okay, I said I hated it. And I have. For the last five years. But I didn’t always hate it. I had great Christmases as a kid. My sister and I always enjoyed Christmas with our mum and dad.’

Grace pressed her lips together. ‘I’ve spent all my Christmases with my gran. My mum…’ She paused as she searched for the words, ‘My mum had me when she was very young. My dad was never on the scene. I was brought up by my gran.’

‘Your mum wasn’t around?’

Grace shook her head. ‘Not much. She’s married now—lives in Australia—and has a new family. I have two half-brothers.’ Her gaze was fixated on her plate of food. ‘She’s very happy.’

‘Do you talk?’

Grace looked up. ‘Yes. Of course. Just…not much. We have a relationship of sorts.’

‘What does that mean?’

Grace sighed and gave a shrug. ‘I’m a twenty-eight-year-old woman. There’s not much point in holding a grudge against someone who couldn’t cope with a baby as a teenager. I had a good life with my gran. And we had the best Christmases together.’

He got the feeling she was taking the conversation away from her family circumstances and back onto Christmas.

‘Is that where your love of Christmas came from?’

She smiled again and got a little sparkle in her eyes. ‘Gran and I used to watch lots of black and white films, and we especially loved the Christmas-themed ones. We had a whole load of handmade ornaments. Spray-painted pine cones were our favourites. We did a lot of Christmas baking. We couldn’t afford a real tree every year but we always had a holly wreath and I loved the smell.’ There was something in her voice. Something in the tone. These were all happy memories—loving memories. But he could hear the wistfulness as she spoke.

He’d told her the biggest event in his life. It didn’t matter that he’d blurted it out in anger with a whole host of other things. Grace knew probably the most important thing about him.

Him? He knew very little about her. It was like peeling back a layer at a time. And the further he peeled back the layers, the more he liked her.

She looked out of the window. ‘I love Christmas—especially when it snows. It makes it just a little more magical. I love when night falls and you can look out across the dark city and see snow-covered roofs. I always automatically want to watch the sky to see if I can spot Santa’s sleigh.’

‘Aren’t you a little old for Santa?’ Her eyes were sparkling. She really did love the magic of Christmas. The thing that for the last five years he’d well and truly lost.

It made him realise how sad he’d been. How much he’d isolated himself. Sure, plenty of people didn’t like Christmas. Lots of people around the world didn’t celebrate it.

But, when it had been a part of your life for so long, and then something had destroyed it, the reminder of what it could be circulated around his mind.

She set down her knife and fork. ‘Finlay Armstrong, are you telling me there’s no Santa?’ She said it in such a warm, friendly voice that it pulled him back from his thoughts without any regrets.

He pushed his plate away. ‘Grace Ellis, I would never say something like that.’

She wagged her finger at him as her phone beeped. ‘Just as well. In that case I won’t need to tell you off.’ She glanced at her phone. ‘Oh, great, the light bulbs have arrived.’ She reached around for her pink coat and woolly hat. Her eyes were shining again. ‘Come on, Finlay. Let’s light up The Armstrong!’

How on earth could he say no?

CHAPTER FIVE

‘I HAVE THE perfect dress for you.’ Mrs Archer clapped her hands together. ‘You’ll love it!’

‘What?’ Grace was stunned out of her reverie. She’d spent the last few days in a fog. A fog named Finlay Armstrong.

He’d managed to commandeer staff from every department and they’d spent two hours—Finlay included—replacing the light bulbs on the external display. Five specially phoned-in maintenance men had hung the purple and white strips down either side of the exterior of The Armstrong.

As they’d stood together on the opposite side of the street to get a better look, Finlay had given her a nudge. ‘It does look good, Grace. You were right.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Thank you.’

The closed-off man who apparently had a reputation as a recluse was coming out of his shell. Except Finlay hadn’t been in a shell. Grace got the impression he’d been in a dark cave where the only thing he’d let penetrate was work.

He was smiling more. His shoulders didn’t seem quite so tense. Since their first meeting he’d never shouted, never been impolite. Only for the briefest second did she see something cloud his eyes before it was pushed away again. Even Frank had commented on the changes in the last few days.

She nudged Finlay back. ‘Just wait until next year. I’ll pick a whole new colour scheme and bankrupt you in light bulbs!’ She’d been so happy, so excited that things had worked out she’d actually winked at him.

Winked. All she could do right now was cringe.

But the wink hadn’t scared him off. Every time she’d turned around in the last two days, Finlay had been there—asking her about something, talking to her about other pieces of interior design work she might be interested in. Getting her to sit down and chat.

They’d had another lunch together. Around four coffees. And a makeshift dinner—a Chinese take-away in the office one night.

She’d even found herself telling him about the Elizabethan-style chairs she’d found in a junk shop and spent weeks re-covering and re-staining on her own.

Last night she hadn’t slept a wink. Her brain had been trying to work out what on earth was going on between them. Was she reading this all wrong? Had it really been that long since she’d dated that she couldn’t work out the signals any more?

‘Ta-da!’

Mrs Archer brought her back to the present day by swinging open a cupboard door and revealing what lay behind it.

Wow.

It glimmered in the early-morning winter light. A full-length silver evening gown in heavy-duty satin with a bodice and wide straps glittering with sequins. Around the top of the coat hanger was a fur wrap. She was almost scared to touch it.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Alice Archer. ‘It’s not real fur. But it probably cost ten times as much as it should.’

Grace’s heart was pounding in her chest. She’d forgotten Alice had offered to find her something for the party. When Finlay had given her that exorbitant cheque the other day she’d almost squealed. Bills had been difficult since her grandmother had died.

Her grandmother and late grandfather had had small pensions that had contributed to the upkeep of the flat. Keeping up with bills was tough on her own. There was no room for any extras—any party dresses. She’d actually planned on going to some of the charity shops around Chelsea later to see if she could find anything to wear tonight.

‘It’s just beautiful,’ she finally said. Her hand touched the satin. She’d never felt anything like it in her life.

‘The colour will suit you marvellously.’ Alice smiled. ‘I had it in my head as soon as you told me about the party.’

‘When did you wear this, Alice? It’s just stunning.’

Alice whispered in her ear. ‘Don’t tell Finlay Armstrong, but I wore it at a New Year ball in The Ritz the year my Robin proposed to me.’

Grace pulled back her hand. ‘Oh, Alice, I can’t wear your beautiful dress. It has such special memories for you—and it’s immaculate. I would be terrified about something happening to it.’

Alice shook her head. ‘Nonsense, I insist.’ She ran her fingers down the fabric of the dress with a far-off expression in her eyes. ‘I always think that clothes are for wearing. I think of this as my lucky dress.’ She gave Grace a special smile. ‘And I’m hoping it will bring you some luck too.’

Grace stared in the mirror. Someone else was staring back at her. Whoever it was—it wasn’t Grace Ellis. Ashleigh had come around and set her hair in curls. Sophie had helped her apply film-star make-up. She’d never worn liquid eyeliner before and wasn’t quite sure how Sophie had managed to do the little upward flicks.

Around her neck she was wearing the silver locket her grandmother had bought her for her twenty-first birthday and Emma had loaned her a pair of glittery earrings.

They were probably diamonds. But Emma hadn’t told her that. She’d just squealed with excitement when she’d seen Grace all dressed up and said she had the perfect thing to finish it off.

And she’d been right. Right now, Grace Ellis felt like a princess. It didn’t matter that the only items she was wearing that actually belonged to her were her locket, her underwear and her shoes.

The party was being held in one of the smaller main rooms in the hotel. The music was already playing and she could see coloured flashing lights. Her heart started beating in tempo with the music. Her hands were sweating. She was nervous.

But it seemed she wasn’t the only one.

Finlay was pacing up and down outside the room. She couldn’t help but smile. Just that one sight instantly made her feel better. Although the girls had helped her get ready they’d also plied her with questions.

‘What’s going on with you and Finlay Armstrong?’

‘Is this a date?’

‘Are you interested in him?’

‘Do you want to date him?’

By the time they’d left her head had been spinning. She didn’t know the answer to the first two questions. But the last two? She didn’t want to answer them. Not out loud, anyway.

‘Grace. You’re here.’ Finlay covered the distance between them in long strides, slowing as he reached her. At first he’d only focused on her face, but as he’d neared his gaze had swept up and down her body. He seemed to catch his breath. ‘You look incredible.’

‘You seem surprised.’

He shook his head. ‘Of course I’m not surprised. You always look beautiful. But…’ He paused and gestured with his hand. ‘The dress and—’ He reached out to touch the stole. ‘What is this thing anyway? You look like a film star. Should I phone the press?’

He leaned closer, giving her a whiff of his spicy aftershave. She tried not to shiver. He tilted his head to the side. ‘What have you done to your eyes?’

She touched his jacket sleeve. ‘It’s called make-up, Finlay. Women wear it every day.’ She made a point of looking him up and down too. The suit probably cost more than she even wanted to think about. But it was immaculate, cut to perfection. ‘You don’t look so bad yourself.’

His gaze fixed on hers. ‘Grace?’

‘Yes?’

‘Thank you for saying you’d come with me.’ The tone of his voice had changed. He wasn’t being playful now, he was being serious. ‘You know I haven’t come to one of these in the last few years.’

She licked her lips and nodded, trying not to let her brain get carried away with itself. ‘Why have you come this year?’ she asked softly.

She was tiptoeing around about him—trying not to admit to the rapidly beating heart in her chest. She liked this man a whole lot more than she should. She didn’t even know what this was between them. But Finlay was giving her little signs of…something. Did he even realise that? Or was this all just in her imagination?

‘It was just time,’ he said, giving his head a little nod.

Her heart jumped up to the back of her throat. Time.

Just as it had been time to think about Christmas decorations. What else might it be time for?

The serious expression left his face and he stuck out his elbow towards her. ‘Well, Ms Ellis, are you ready to go to The Armstrong’s Christmas party?’

She slid her hand through his arm as all the little hairs on her arm stood on end. ‘I think I could be. Lead the way.’

The party was fabulous. She recognised lots of faces. Other chambermaids, bar staff, porters, reception staff and kitchen staff. Frank the concierge had dressed as Father Christmas and looked perfect.

There was a huge table laid with appetisers and sweets. A chocolate fountain, a pick-and-mix sweetie cart and the equivalent of an outside street cart serving burgers.

Finlay nudged her. ‘What? Did you think it would all be truffles and hors d’oeuvres?’

She gave him a smile. ‘I wasn’t sure.’

He shrugged. ‘The first year it was. Frank discreetly told me later that the staff went home hungry. After that, I gave Kevin, from the kitchen, free rein to organise whatever he thought appropriate for the Christmas party. I don’t think anyone has gone home hungry since.’

She laughed as he led her over to the bar. ‘Which of the Christmas cocktails would you like?’ he asked.

She was surprised. ‘You have Christmas cocktails?’

‘Oh, yes. We have the chocolate raspberry martini, the Festive Shot, with peppermint schnapps, grenadine and crème de menthe, then there is the Christmas Candy Cane, with berry vodka, peppermint schnapps and crème de cacao—or, my personal favourite, Rudolph’s Blast: rum, cranberries, peach schnapps and a squeeze of fresh lime.’

Grace shook her head and leaned her elbows up on the bar. ‘You know what’s in every cocktail?’

He gestured to the barman. ‘We’ll have two Rudolph’s Blasts, please.’

He leaned on the bar next to her and leaned his head on one hand. ‘Okay, that dress. You kind of caught me by surprise. Where did you get it?’

She waved her hand. ‘Did you expect me to come in uniform?’

He hadn’t taken his eyes off her and the smile on his face—well, it wasn’t just friendly. It seemed…interested. ‘Of course I didn’t. But you look like something the Christmas fairy pulled off the tree.’

Her eyes narrowed and she mirrored his position, leaning her head on one hand and staring straight back. ‘And is that good—or bad?’

He didn’t answer right away, and the barman set their cocktails down in front of them.

She leaned forward and took a sip of the cocktail. She licked her lips again as the mixture of rum and fruit warmed her mouth. He was focused on her mouth.

And she knew it.

She ran her tongue along her lips again then bit the edge of her straw.

‘I only have the dress on loan,’ she said quietly. ‘And I’ve promised to take very good care of it.’

He leaned a little closer, obviously trying to hear her above the music playing around them. Had she lowered her voice deliberately? Maybe.

As he moved a little closer she was still focused on those blue eyes. Only they weren’t as blue as normal. In the dim lights his pupils had dilated so much there was only a thin rim of blue around them. Was it the light? Or was it her?

‘Who gave you the loan of the dress?’

‘A good friend.’

‘A designer?’

Ah…he was worried she’d been loaned the dress by a male designer. She could tell by his tone. She took another sip of her cocktail. It was strong. But it was warming lots of places all around her body. ‘Someone much closer to home.’

His brow furrowed. She was playing games with him.

His hand reached over and rested on her arm. ‘Someone I know?’

She smiled. ‘Someone you respect. Someone I respect.’ Grace lifted her hand and placed it on her chest. ‘I’m told it’s lucky. Her husband proposed to her when she was wearing this dress.’

Something flitted across his eyes. It was the briefest of seconds but it made her cringe a little inside. That might have come out a little awkwardly. She wasn’t dropping hints. She absolutely wasn’t.

Then, it was almost as if the pieces fell into place. ‘Alice Archer?’ His voice was louder and the edges of his mouth turned upwards in a wide smile as he shook his head in disbelief, looking Grace up and down—again.

She was getting used to this.

‘This was Alice Archer’s dress?’

She nodded. ‘This is Alice Archer’s dress. She offered to give me something to wear a few days ago when she heard I was coming to the party.’ Grace ran her palm across the smooth satin. Just the barest touch let her know the quality of the fabric. ‘I had forgotten. When I walked in this morning she had it hanging up waiting for me.’

He moved closer again, his shoulder brushing against hers as he lifted his cocktail from the bar. ‘Well, I think it’s a beautiful dress. I have no idea how old it is, but it looks brand new.’

Her heart gave a little soar. The dress was definitely a hit. She’d need to buy Alice a thank-you present. A Christmas song started playing behind them, causing the rest of the people in the room to let out a loud cheer. The dance floor filled quickly. Grace sipped her drink.

‘Do you want to dance?’

She shook her head. ‘Not to this. I prefer to spectate when it’s something wild. I prefer slow dances.’

She hadn’t meant it quite to come out like that, but as her gaze connected with those blue eyes the expression on his face made her suck in a breath.

She could practically feel the chemistry between them sparkling. She wasn’t imagining this. She just wasn’t.

It wasn’t possible for the buzz she felt every time he looked at her, or touched her, not to be real.

‘I’ll take you up on that,’ he said hoarsely, before turning back to the barman. ‘Can we have some more cocktails?’

His senses were on overload. Her floral scent was drifting around him, entwining him like a coiling snake. His fingertips tingled where they’d touched her silky skin. The throaty whisper of her voice had sent blood rushing through his body as if he were doing a marathon. His eyes didn’t know whether to watch the smoky eyes, the tongue running along her succulent lips, the shimmer of the silver satin against her curves or the way her curls tumbled around the pale skin at her neck. As for taste? He could only imagine…

What was more, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shut his senses down.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t spent time with women since Anna had died. On a few occasions, he had. But those encounters had been courteous, brief and for one purpose only.

There had been no attachment. No emotional involvement.

But with Grace? Things felt entirely different.

He wanted to see her. He wanted to be around her. He was interested in her, and what she thought. He didn’t want to see her a few times and just dismiss her from his life.

It had been twelve years since he’d really dated. One date with Anna had been enough to know he didn’t need to look any further. And right now, with his stomach tipping upside down, he wasn’t sure he knew what to do any more.

Oh, he knew what to do.

He just couldn’t picture doing it with emotions attached.

All of those memories and sensations belonged to Anna. He knocked back the last of the cocktail and lifted the Festive Shots that had appeared on the bar. He blinked, then tipped his back and finished it before turning to Grace.

Wow. Nope, nothing had changed in that millisecond. She was still here with her tumbling curls, sensational figure and eyes that looked as if they see down into his very soul.

She gave him a suspicious look as she eyed the shot glass. ‘Who are you trying to get drunk, you, or me?’

He signalled to the barman again, who replaced his shot. He held it up and clinked it against her glass. ‘This is only my third drink and it’s only your second. Somehow, I think we can cope.’

She clinked her glass against his, then tipped back her head and downed her shot too. It must have hit the back of her throat because she laughed and burst out coughing. He laughed too and gave her back a gentle slap. ‘It hits hard, doesn’t it?’

She nodded as her eyes gleamed a little with water. ‘Oh, wow.’ She coughed again. ‘Festive? More like dynamite.’

The music slowed and she glanced over her shoulder. ‘Something you like?’

She tipped her head to the side as if she were contemplating the music. ‘Actually, I really love this song.’