Reawakened By His Christmas Kiss

A Christmas reunion...

...with his Sleeping Beauty!

In this Fairytale Brides story, Alex Davenport’s shocked when her latest assignment finds her in her old home, Blakeley Castle, and face-to-face with first love Finn Hawkin! The tycoon needs her PR skills but she refuses to revisit their romance or what happened back then. Until she’s snowbound with Finn and his little nieces. He let her down once, but can he and the girls reawaken Alex’s frozen heart this Christmas?

A former au pair, bookseller, marketing manager and seafront trader, JESSICA GILMORE now works for an environmental charity in York, England. Married with one daughter, one fluffy dog and two dog-loathing cats, she spends her time avoiding housework and can usually be found with her nose in a book. Jessica writes emotional romance with a hint of humour, a splash of sunshine and a great deal of delicious food—and equally delicious heroes!

Also by Jessica Gilmore

Baby Surprise for the Spanish Billionaire

Summer Romance with the Italian Tycoon

Fairytale Brides miniseries

Honeymooning with Her Brazilian Boss

Cinderella’s Secret Royal Fling

Reawakened by His Christmas Kiss

And look out for the next story

Coming soon

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Reawakened by His Christmas Kiss

Jessica Gilmore

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09189-3

REAWAKENED BY HIS CHRISTMAS KISS

© 2019 Jessica Gilmore

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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For Rose, Rich, Ol and Jake.

Thank you for everything.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Extract

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

FINN HAWKIN ACCEPTED a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and surveyed the scene before him, his lips curving into an appreciative smile. Fairy lights and gossamer white drapes, elaborate costumes and a vast ballroom might be wasted on him, but his small nieces would want to hear about every single detail of the night. The Armarian Midsummer Ball was like every one of their favourite fairy-tales brought to life.

A masked and cloaked figure paused beside him. ‘Having fun?’

‘Laurent!’ Finn turned to greet his old friend with genuine delight. His presence here might be more business than personal, but it was good to see his host. ‘Thanks for the invite.’

‘You are more than welcome. I’m glad you could come.’

A hint of sympathy tinged the other man’s voice; Finn didn’t confide in many people, but Laurent knew how difficult the last year had been, the hard choices Finn had been faced with.

‘How are your nieces?’

‘Tired out after a week of enjoying your glorious beaches. Not that they’ll admit it. Tonight they are most put out at not coming with me to a real-life royal ball. I’ve promised to smuggle cake back to the villa. Hopefully that will mollify them.’

‘Bring them to the palace,’ Laurent offered. ‘It’ll still be chaotic tomorrow, but maybe the day after? We have puppies in the stables they can meet, and I’ll take them to the highest turret and tell them grisly stories about how my ancestors repelled would-be invaders.’

‘They’ll like that. Thanks, Laurent.’

‘And we can catch up properly. It’ll be easier when I’m not hosting several hundred people.’

‘Perils of being a prince.’

But Finn couldn’t help noticing that Laurent seemed more at ease than usual. He was usually so reserved, so rigid when in public, but this evening he was like a different man, his smile genuine and easy, his whole being infused with a lightness and joy that Finn couldn’t imagine feeling.

‘Who’s the girl?’

‘What girl?’ Laurent’s grin only widened, his eyes softening as they rested on a slim figure in yellow and silver, standing to the side of the ballroom, directing a group of waitresses.

‘The girl you haven’t been able to take your eyes off all night. When you haven’t been disappearing outside with her, that is.’

It was unlike Laurent to be openly seen with a woman—and, although his costume gave him a degree of anonymity, it wasn’t enough of a disguise to ensure complete privacy. No, if Laurent was dancing, flirting and holding intense, smouldering conversations so publicly, then his intentions must be pretty serious, and that was unexpected from a man who had seemed reconciled to a sensible marriage of convenience.

‘That’s Emilia. She’s the party planner. She put this whole ball together in less than a month.’ Laurent might have been aiming for offhand, but the pride in his voice was a dead giveaway; he was in deep.

‘She’s done a great job. The whole evening is magical.’

‘Says the man standing on the side alone. I didn’t expect you to use your plus one, Finn, but there are plenty of beautiful women here who I’m sure would love to dance with you. Would you like me to introduce you to anyone? How about the Contessa, over there?’ Laurent indicated a haughty blonde waving a fan as she ignored an eager crowd of young men.

Finn laughed. ‘She looks a little above my pay grade.’

‘Modesty doesn’t become you, Finn. You’re young, active, and you still have all your own hair and teeth. That puts you above half the men in this room, and that’s before we take into account your very successful company and the small fact that you’ve just bought your own castle. Even the Contessa would think that makes you very suitable for one dance at least.’

‘Blakeley hardly compares with a royal palace,’ Finn protested, but pride swelled through him at the thought of the ancient old building, currently being restored to make a home for his nieces and a base for his rapidly expanding business.

He hadn’t inherited the castle, he’d bought it with money he’d earned the hard way. Although he’d grown up on the Blakeley estate, nothing had been handed to him. His success was down to pure hard work and some lucky—and canny—decisions.

‘I’m happy for you,’ Laurent said softly. ‘You’ve achieved your goal. How many men can say that?’

Finn sipped his drink. Laurent was right. He was barely thirty and he’d hit every one of the goals he’d set when they were students in Paris: to found his own business, make a fortune, and live on an estate like the one he’d grown up on. Only this time he’d be the one in the big house, not the gardener’s boy, doffing his cap to his so-called betters.

‘We never stop setting goals, Laurent, we just change the goalposts. Now my nieces come first. Giving them the kind of happiness and security they need...that’s my priority.’

‘If anyone can, you can.’

They stood there in silence for a moment, watching the opulently adorned dancers waltz around the dance floor until Laurent’s gaze strayed once again to the girl in the yellow dress. Finn followed his gaze. She had moved away from the waitresses and was talking animatedly to a tall, elegant woman dressed in a demure black dress, her light brown hair elegantly coiled into a chignon.

Recognition punched him. It couldn’t be...

Or could it? Was this the girl he’d searched for in vain through the years, right here in a ballroom hundreds of miles away from the place where they’d grown up?

Last time he had seen her, her hair had been bleached platinum blonde and cut into a choppy bob which had instantly spawned a thousand imitations. She’d been a decade younger, coltish and angular, with cheekbones sharp enough to cut through butter and a knowing, slanting gaze that had pouted down from billboards and magazine covers across the globe—before she had disappeared from public view and from his life, as if she had never been.

‘Lola?’ he half whispered. And, as if she’d heard him, the woman looked up, alert, scenting danger.

He must be imagining things. Lola Beaumont was gone, disappeared into the ether. He knew that. He’d looked for her for long enough. He blinked and refocussed. He must be mistaken. The woman was clearly working at the event, and Lola was always the guest of honour, not the help. It was a passing resemblance, that was all.

He’d thought he’d cured himself of seeing Lola at every corner years ago. But Finn couldn’t stop himself from turning to Laurent. ‘Who is that? Talking to Emilia?’

‘Who? Oh, that’s Alex—Alexandra Davenport. She co-owns a party planning agency with Emilia and two other women. She arrived yesterday, I think, to oversee things tonight so Emilia could attend the ball. Why?’ Laurent’s smile turned sly. ‘Would you like an introduction to her?’

‘No, thanks. Just curious.’

But Finn’s mind was working furiously. Alexandra was Lola’s middle name, wasn’t it? Surely it was a coincidence—a similarity of features, a shared name, that was all. But as he gazed across at the woman he couldn’t help feeling that there were no such things as coincidences and now, just as his life was exactly where he wanted it to be, Lola Beaumont had returned to disrupt it all over again.

The question was, what was he going to do about it?

CHAPTER ONE

WITH A HERCULEAN effort, Alexandra Davenport managed to wait until she had passed through Passport Control before she turned on her phone. Pulling her small case behind her, she headed towards Customs and the exit, impatient as her phone whirred through its settings and began to process all communications from the last eight hours.

All around her people staggered past, eyes red, clothes wrinkled from the overnight flight. Alex, on the other hand, felt surprisingly well-rested. Thank goodness she’d packed a washcloth and a clean top in her overnight bag, and had freshened up just before the fasten seat belts sign came on. She was refreshed, she had slept, and she was ready for anything.

She glanced at her phone, not surprised to see every notification symbol jostling for space at the top. There was always a crisis somewhere. Which for her was a good thing; promotional PR paid the bills, but it was managing the unexpected and spinning disaster into gold where she excelled.

She dialled up voicemail and waited for the first message to come through.

‘Alex? It’s me.’

Alex smiled as she heard the voice of Amber, her colleague and, more importantly, her friend. With just three words she was home. Home. A place she had stopped believing existed. After all, hadn’t she trained herself not to rely on people or places?

‘Hope you get this in time. What am I saying? Of course you will. There’s no way you don’t have a fully charged phone ready to switch on the second you land! So, we’ve had a last-minute booking. It’s a residential stay and the client is very much demanding that you get there asap. So you need to head straight there. I’ve arranged for a car to pick you up and take you. Give me a call when you’re on the way and I can go through everything with you. Don’t worry, I packed up some clothes for you and they’ve been collected. Well done again on New York. You rocked it. Can’t believe we’re properly international! Talk soon!’

The voicemail ended and Alex frowned as she saved it. She hadn’t been expecting to head straight out again—after a week away she was more than ready to return to the Chelsea townhouse she had inherited the year before and turned into both a home and the business premises for her three closest—and only—friends. Together they had set up the Happy Ever After Agency, offering regular, one-off and consultancy support in everything from admin to events, PR to bespoke jobs.

Only eight months after opening they already had a strong reputation, backed up by glowing testimonials from previous clients. Glowing testimonials thanks to their ability to react quickly. Exactly as she needed to do right now, she reminded herself. Her feelings didn’t matter. The client always came first.

Of course it didn’t hurt their reputation that one of their previous clients, Prince Laurent, Archduke of Armaria, was currently courting Emilia, their events specialist, whilst tech billionaire Deangelo Santos was engaged to Harriet, his former PA and their head of admin.

Alex suppressed a sigh. They’d been open less than a year and already it was all change. Next year Harriet would marry Deangelo and officially move out of the townhouse, and they all knew Laurent would propose to Emilia any day now.

Harriet intended to carry on working once she was married but, although Emilia would remain a business partner, there was no way she would be able to take on any jobs once she became Archduchess. Alex was absolutely delighted for her friends, but she couldn’t help wishing they’d had more time together first. Time to really build the agency.

She swallowed, not wanting to admit even to herself that the ache she felt deep inside wasn’t just down to the changes in the business. She’d been so happy these last few months, living and working with her friends. She’d trained herself to enjoy her own company, but the house felt alive with the four of them in it. It was welcoming. Would it seem empty when there were just two?

Pushing the dark thoughts away, Alex walked swiftly through Customs, checking her emails as she did so and flicking through her clients’ social media feeds to make sure there was nothing requiring immediate attention.

She was just aware enough of her surroundings to make sure she didn’t crash into anyone, otherwise she zoned out the noise and hubbub as she exited into the Arrivals Hall. She stopped for a moment, scanning the waiting crowds for a sign with her name on it, but before she could spot it her attention was snagged by a teenage girl running past her to launch herself into the arms of a middle-aged couple, whose wide smiles and bright eyes showed how very glad they were to see her.

No one had ever waited for Alex unless they’d been paid to be there, like the driver today. She watched as the couple enfolded the girl in their arms, unable to help noticing other reunions, some loud, some tearful, and one so passionate she felt like a voyeur.

She straightened. Enough of this nonsense. She had just had a very successful few days, turning the agency into an international proposition, and she was heading straight into another job. Success, security, everything she was working towards was within reach. That was where she needed to focus.

With a jolt of relief, she spotted the sign with her name on it and headed towards it. The sooner she was out of the airport the better.

Ten minutes later Alex found herself ensconced in the back of a comfortable saloon car, her laptop purring to life beside her, a notebook on the folded-out tray table, a chilled bottle of water and a pot of fruit beside it. She read through her emails again quickly, but there was nothing from Amber to indicate where she was going and what she would be doing once she was there.

The driver had volunteered the information that the journey would take around an hour and a half, depending on traffic, but hadn’t mentioned the destination. No matter. Amber would fill her in.

Despite the earliness of the hour the roads were busy and the car crawled along. Looking out of the darkened windows into the pre-dawn winter gloom, Alex noted how low and heavy the skies were. The temperature had dropped as well, now closer to the New York chill she’d just left than the autumnal mildness she’d flown away from just a week ago.

It was easy to believe that Christmas was less than three weeks away and winter was well and truly settling in.

A sign caught her eye and she winced at the realisation that they were heading out to the M40. Hopefully they’d turn off soon. She normally avoided the area around the Chilterns. It was far too full of memories.

She checked her phone and decided that it was late enough to call Amber. Barely had she pressed the call button when her friend answered, sounding, as always, far too chipper for first thing in the morning.

‘Hi, Alex! You got my message?’

‘I did. Which is why I am in the back of a car heading out of London and not into it. Who’s the client and what’s so urgent that I’m needed on site straight away? A threatened exposé? PR disaster?’ Her mind whirled. The thornier the problem the more she loved it.

‘Nothing so exciting. I’m sorry. But hopefully you’ll still enjoy the brief. Have you heard of Hawk?’

Alex thought for a moment, the name niggling at her. ‘It sounds familiar.’

‘It’s an outdoor lifestyle brand, all rugged clothing, popular with those people who like to leave their city pad in their four-by-four to go for a ten-minute walk on the beach, but the clothes are the real deal as well, you know? They’re worn by loads of serious climbers and explorer types. They have that cute hawk symbol on all their clothes. Like my winter coat?’

‘Yes. I know who you mean.’ She didn’t own any of their clothing personally, but she was aware of the company’s stellar reputation. ‘What’s happened? Why do they need me?’

‘A broken leg.’

Alex blinked. Maybe she wasn’t as refreshed as she thought. ‘A broken leg?’

‘Their PR manager has managed to break her leg in several places. She’s confined to bed with her leg in a cage.’

That made more sense. ‘I see.’

‘They’ve just moved their headquarters to some kind of stately home out towards Swindon, I think. That’s where you’re headed.’

Alex let out a breath she hadn’t quite realised she was holding. Swindon was past the danger area. ‘Okay...’

‘The owner is opening up the whole estate as an outdoor activity and nature destination. You know the kind of thing: adventure playgrounds and forest trails, all in line with the whole Hawk brand. They’re running the business out of converted barns, or stables, or something suitably rustic. They’re officially opening at the end of the week, with a ton of Christmas-themed events. Apparently the house and grounds were all neglected and it’s the kind of area where jobs are sparse, house prices sky-high and lots of incomers are buying second homes, so there’s a whole rejuvenating-the-village and local-jobs-for-local-people thing going on as well.’

‘Very worthy,’ Alex said drily. ‘But any Communications and PR plan for all that will have been agreed months ago. What do they need me for?’

‘To look after things while the PR manager is on bed-rest.’

Alex shifted, staring out of the window at the pinkening sky. ‘Amber, that’s not a difficult job. Any of our temps could take a plan and implement it. They don’t need me for anything so simple. It’s not like I’m cheap.’

‘They were adamant they wanted you. It’s a big deal, Alex. Opening up the house after all this time is a huge undertaking, and it’s very different to anything they’ve done before. They see the estate as the embodiment of their brand. They’re really big on sustainability and corporate responsibility, which fits in with the job creation and community stuff. They need a safe pair of hands to make sure it’s properly publicised. Besides, they hinted that there might be bigger work coming our way if they were happy. Maybe this is some kind of test.’

‘Maybe...’ But Alex had entered PR for a reason. She knew when someone was spinning a story and this situation just didn’t ring true. ‘Send me the brief, will you?’

‘I don’t have it. They wanted to talk you through it all in person. But, honestly, they are opening with a whole Christmassy bang. You’ll be kept suitably busy, I promise.’

All Alex’s senses tingled. As soon as she finished the call she planned to find out every last bit of knowledge she could about Hawk and its owner. If it was in the public domain—or semi-public—then she would find it. Maybe she was wrong, and this situation was all absolutely legitimate, but she needed to be prepared for any and every eventuality.

‘Alex, before you go... Dalstone sent over their press release for you to work your magic on and they want it back before nine this morning. Can you take a look now?’