Billionaire Under The Mistletoe

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.

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