Mills & Boon Christmas Delights Collection

The Christmas Delights Collection

The Christmas Project

Maxine Morrey

Millionaire Under the Mistletoe

Kim Lawrence, Janice Maynard and Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

A Christmas Family Miracle

Rebecca Winters, Teresa Carpenter and Susan Meier

Kiss Me at Christmas

Susan Mallery

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

The Christmas Project

Blurb

Author Bio

Acknowledgements

Dedication

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

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Excerpt

Millionaire Under the Mistletoe

The Playboy’s Mistress

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

Christmas in the Billionaire’s Bed

About the Author

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

The Boss’s Mistletoe Manoeuvres

About the Author

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

A Christmas Family Miracle

Snowbound with Her Hero

Back Cover Text

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

Baby Under the Christmas Tree

Back Cover Text

About the Author

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

Single Dad’s Christmas Miracle

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Dedication

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

EPILOGUE

Kiss Me at Christmas

Marry Me at Christmas

Back Cover Text

Praise

About the Author

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

A Kiss in the Snow

Back Cover Text

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Copyright

The Christmas Project

Maxine Morrey

Christmas in the city has never been more magical!

Professional organiser Kate Stone has never – NEVER – been tempted to hit a client over the head with a snow shovel, but Michael O’Farrell is the most obnoxious – and heart-stoppingly gorgeous – man she has ever met. If he weren’t her best friend’s brother, she would not have waited on his doorstep in the freezing cold for five minutes, let alone an hour.

Kate knows, however, that her job isn’t just about tidying up, sometimes she needs to be part therapist too, and Michael clearly needs her help to declutter his heart as well as his home.

But with the festive season just around the corner there isn’t much time to get Michael’s house ready for the O’Farrell family celebrations, but everyone knows that at Christmas anything can happen...

MAXINE MORREY

has wanted to be a writer for as long as she can remember and wrote her first (very short) book for school when she was ten. Coming in first, she won a handful of book tokens – best prize ever at the time!

As time went by, she continued to write, but ‘normal’ work often got in the way. Finally, she decided to go for it, and wrote. Really wrote. And after a while she had a bunch of articles, and a non-fiction book to her name.

But her first love is novels, and, in August 2015, Maxine got the call to say that she had won Carina UK’s ‘Write Christmas’ competition, with her romantic comedy, ‘Winter’s Fairytale’

Maxine lives on the south coast of England, and when not wrangling with words, can be found tackling her To Be Read pile, sewing, listening to podcasts, and walking.

Her website is: www.scribblermaxi.co.uk

You can also find her on Twitter @Scribbler_Maxi

On Facebook www.facebook.com/MaxineMorreyAuthor

On Instagram @Scribbler_Maxi

On Pinterest @ScribblerMaxi

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank the team at Carina UK/HQ, especially my amazing Editor, Victoria Oundjian, without whose incredible support and continued belief in me, this book may never have come to be.

I’d also like to say an enormous thank you to the very wonderful Emma Dellow for her friendship, kindness and support. All of it has meant so very much to me, especially this year, and I can’t even begin to tell you how much I value you. Big, big hugs.

Another huge thank you goes to all the absolutely incredible book bloggers whom I met through their support of my Carina debut last November. You are all such fabulous people and your support is valued so much. I was very much in at the deep end last year and you all were so kind and helpful and supportive, and I am incredibly thankful for that. You’re all complete superstars.

And finally, I’d like to thank James – for everything.

Dedication

To Mum and Dad

Thank you for introducing me to the joy of words and reading from such a young age. Even though I know now how precious little time you had to call your own as you both worked so very hard, library trips and encouragement in my reading was never in short supply. Thank you.

Chapter One

I peered down at my feet and wondered exactly how many toes I’d have left when I finally got home this evening. It was totally possible to get frostbite in North London, right? The snow that had been threatening all afternoon had finally begun to fall about half an hour ago, right around the same time I’d lost all feeling in every single one of my extremities. It had already started settling and the heavy flakes now falling looked set to continue all night. And yet, here I was, huddled under an umbrella that was doing very little for the bottom half of my body, still waiting.

Had I known I was going to be stood outside, freezing my backside off whilst waiting for a client who was, at this point – I checked my watch – exactly fifty-seven minutes late, I would have worn my fur-lined boots rather than the gorgeous four-inch heeled Mary Janes that currently adorned my feet. Still, on the upside, I was at least fully colour-coordinated: My nose now matched my scarlet shoes and lipstick, and my hands and feet were likely a fetching shade of blue to tone perfectly with my tailored navy wool coat. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I checked the screen again - no new messages or missed calls. I’d give it precisely three more minutes and then I was off.

I gave another glance up to the house. In contrast to many others I’d passed down this avenue, there was no clue here that we were in the midst of the countdown to Christmas. No tree twinkled with fairy lights in the beautiful bay window, no decorations or cards lined the windowsill. Outside, in the tiny bit of garden that was left from making it into a parking space, instead of illuminated reindeer and snowmen, the border was filled with blackened, soggy annuals left over from the summer. The other houses looked warm and welcoming. This one appeared cold and impersonal.

I stamped my feet, trying to kick-start the circulation, all the while hoping not to break off any icicled digits. Next door, a late model 4X4 pulled up and two designer-clad children tumbled out the back doors, laughing as they charged up the path. From the driver’s seat emerged one of the yummy mummies the area was well-known for. I surreptitiously admired her crocheted beanie as she busied herself unloading the car. She wore it with the assured style of Kate Moss, and looked fabulous. I knew from experience the moment I put one on my head it magically transformed into a tea cosy. Bit unfair.

The deep, throaty rumble of a powerful motorbike caught my attention. As I looked up, the cyclops-like headlight flashed across me as it turned into the driveway on which I was standing, coming to a stop almost beside me. With a final throttle blip, the engine fell silent. The rider kicked out its stand and then swung a long leg over to dismount before turning to me. A hand lifted and flicked the visor up. Vivid green eyes looked out as the figure towered about me.

‘Can I help you?’ The tone was deep, Irish accented, and less than friendly.

‘Are you Mr O’Farrell?’

‘That would depend on who’s asking.’

‘Hello Michael,’ Yummy Mummy called, several designer shopping bags looped over each arm. She flashed Motorbike Boy a stunning smile that showed impossibly white, perfectly straight teeth.

‘Evening Tamara.’

It was impossible to tell if he was smiling as he hadn’t yet removed his crash helmet. But I took a wild guess at no, judging by those eyes.

‘Good day?’ she pursued. Her gaze flicked briefly over me before returning to focus on her neighbour.

He gave a non-committal shrug that made his leathers creak. ‘You know how it is.’

She tilted her head and pulled a sympathetic face, oozing empathy and understanding.

Yeah, right, I thought, doubting very much that she had a clue what it was ‘like’, at all.

‘Well, if you ever need anything, you know where I am.’

Mentally, I raised my eyebrows so high they barely connected with my face. Physically I kept my face impassive. I saw the man glance at me, briefly, before he replied. I studied my feet for a moment as I considered the possibility that my ‘impassive’ face may need some work.

‘I do, thanks.’

She gave him another full-wattage smile before moving gracefully up the steps and in through the large black painted front door.

The man turned his attention back to me and tilted his head in question, apparently still awaiting a reply to his enquiry.

‘My name is Kate Stone.’ The name didn’t seem to spark any recognition. ‘You had an appointment with me for six o’clock this evening.’

He lifted his arm and wiggled his wrist a little until a watch face peeked out enough from his sleeve to see the time.

‘It’s gone seven.’

‘Yes. It is.’

‘So why are you still here?’

This is exactly why I hate doing favours for friends. My business was in demand and had a waiting list. Without trying to sound smug, I didn’t need this. Ordinarily there was no way I would have waited so long for a client to show. Add that to the fact that there was no explanation or even attempt at apology for his lateness, and my patience was being severely tested. But Janey had begged me to come and help her brother, even paying for the initial consultation herself. I’d rearranged other clients and missed my yoga class tonight because, according to him, six o’clock was the only time he could possibly make it this week. Or not apparently.

‘I suppose you’d better come in before you freeze to death.’

‘Thanks. I’d hate to inconvenience you by croaking on your doorstep,’ I mumbled.

‘Sorry?’ He spun round, the bottom of his boot grating on the step.

Whoops.

I shook my head innocently, grateful for the muffling properties of the crash helmet he still wore.

Mr O’Farrell made his way around the junk that consumed his porch, opened the door and strode in, leaving it to me to see myself in and close the door behind me. As I did, he pulled off the crash helmet and sat it on a cluttered phone table that stood in the hallway. He was, of course, ridiculously good-looking once the protective head gear was removed. Perhaps that went some way to explaining the high opinion he clearly had of himself. Mind you, his hair, black as coal, definitely needed a good cut, and the stubble on his face was way beyond ‘designer’ but not a beard either. Maybe he felt he didn’t need to bother with attention to personal grooming when women like his neighbour were already throwing suggestive invitations his way. Well, Yummy Mummy next door might find ‘mean and moody’ attractive, but to me, Michael O’Farrell, was merely abrasive and rude, no matter how tall, dark and gorgeous the wrapping was.

Sitting heavily on a bench seat in the hall, my new client yanked off his boots. My gaze, however, was roaming around the areas of the house that I could see from the hallway. This was most definitely not going to be a five-minute job. Unfortunately. Because if first impressions were anything to go by, I was keen to spend the least amount of time possible with my new client.

‘You didn’t answer me earlier.’ The soft Irish accent did nothing to hide the abruptness of his manner.

I frowned.

‘Why you’re actually here? I left Janey a message to tell you that I was running late and wouldn’t be able to make it. I assumed she’d pass it on to you.’

‘When did you call her?’

‘About an hour ago.’

‘She would already have been in yoga class by then. It has a strict policy of requiring all mobiles to be switched off.’

This time it was his turn to frown.

‘I thought she said something about knowing you from that class. Don’t you two go to yoga together.’

‘Yes, we do. Ordinarily.’

I saw the penny drop.

‘Right.’ He stood.

Great. No apology for making me miss my class either. If this all proceeded, I was seriously tempted to shift him to my assistant. I’d dealt with enough ‘challenging’ clients in my time, and it would be good practice for her to take O’Farrell on. Mind you, Bernice was adorably cute and an absolute sweetie so in all probability would have him eating out of her hand within ten minutes. And that was fine too. Just so long as I didn’t have to deal with him.

He unzipped the top of his leathers and began wrestling the upper half off his shoulders.

‘Just so you know, Miss Stone. None of this was my idea. I have absolutely no wish for you to come into my home and start poking about, faffing and cleaning up. I’m more than happy with things just the way they are.’

Sorry Janey, but enough’s enough. I wasn’t prepared to waste my or my assistant’s time with someone who clearly wasn’t going to even try.

‘Mr O’Farrell. I do not specialise in “faffing” or “poking about”. Neither am I a cleaner. But I suspect you’re already aware of all that. Clearly you have no interest in my services and, as such, I think it’s probably best if we discontinue now in order to prevent either of us wasting any more time. If you could call your sister and explain the situation that would be most helpful. Goodnight.’

I turned and took the few steps back to the door, my hand upon the catch.

‘Wait,’ he called as a phone began to ring, its tone muffled. Digging into the rucksack he’d been wearing on the bike, he yanked a mobile out and looked at the screen.

‘Shit.’ Michael took a deep breath and answered. ‘Hi Janey.’ His eyes focused on his socked feet as he listened, his gaze raising only briefly to glance over at me. ‘Yes, she’s still here…No, I…Of course I do…Fine, hang on a minute.’ He looked back at me and held out the phone. ‘My sister would like to talk to you.’

I hesitated. What was the most polite way of telling my best friend that her brother was a rude and arrogant dick who has no appreciation or respect for what I do, and no inclination to be helped anyway?

I took the phone. ‘Hi Janey. How – ’

‘I am sooooo sorry!’ Janey interrupted. ‘I just got the message on my phone that he was going to be late. I can’t believe it! He promised me and I know you went out of your way to be there tonight. I love him and everything, of course, but Jesus, he really can come across as an arrogant shit sometimes. I know he’s just trying to get out of doing it all.’

‘It’s fine. Don’t worry. We’ve consensually decided that perhaps this isn’t the right thing for – ’

‘No! No, no no! You have to stay! Please!’

‘Janey. It really only works if the person involved wants it to. Otherwise everything will go back to how it was within weeks, which is just a waste of time for everyone involved. Not to mention a waste of money.’

‘Wait. Don’t leave yet. OK? Promise?’

I paused.

‘Please, Kate. It’s really important. He needs this.’ Her voice was softer now.

‘OK. Fine. As it’s you.’

‘Thank you, thank you, thank you. Right. Now, can you pass the phone back to my dick of a brother?’ Her voice was louder again now and from the look on his face, Michael heard the comment. Which was good news for me as it meant I didn’t have to find a way to tell Janey any of that stuff after all. She was clearly already aware. He held out one large hand which I put the phone in. He lifted the mobile back to his ear.

‘Yes. No. I know. Yes. Yes, I promise. OK. What? No, you don’t need…fine. Here…’ He stabbed at his phone and Janey’s voice came out on speaker.

‘Is it on speaker?’

‘Yes.’

I felt bad that I was perversely enjoying seeing this rude, arrogant man getting bossed about by his little sister. But then I looked down and saw my soaked, numb feet, and remembered how cold I was, and miraculously, all traces of guilt disappeared instantaneously.

‘Kate, can you hear me?’

‘Yes, Janey.’