Читать книгу A Champagne Christmas: The Christmas Love-Child / The Christmas Night Miracle / The Italian Billionaire's Christmas Miracle - Кэрол Мортимер, Catherine Spencer - Страница 8

ELEGANT shops always made Grace uncomfortable, and the Leighton boutique was the snootiest shop on Bond Street.

She could feel herself tensing up the moment she walked through the door, past grim-jawed security guards in suits like FBI agents. They gave her a hard stare, and she had the sudden feeling they were waiting for her to make one false step so they could take her down as a warning to other broke secretaries who might try to venture inside this rarefied, exclusive world.

Grace swallowed, looking around the elegant primrose-colored boutique. Buying the lingerie the first time had just about killed her. Buying it on behalf of the man she loved, as a gift for another woman—in such a teensy, tiny size, to boot—was just another painful reminder of the fact that Alan had chosen Lady Francesca Danvers over her. The moment Alan had met the beautiful, wealthy aristocrat, he’d forgotten all about the drunken kiss he’d given Grace just the previous night.

It had been Grace’s very first kiss. But for him it had been instantly forgettable.

“Back again, I see,” the snooty salesgirl sniffed. She looked dismissively from Grace’s worn, wet coat to her scuffed-up boots. “Here to do more Christmas shopping for your boss?”

“I, um, yes.” She swallowed. “I need more lingerie. The same exact one. I lost—”

But as she spoke, the salesgirl’s eyes moved over her shoulder as someone new entered the shop.

Grace didn’t need to look around to know it was Maksim. She knew from the immediate electricity in the room. She knew from the thousand watts that lit up the salesgirl’s face as she nearly knocked Grace over in her haste to cross the marble floor. Reaching toward him. Wanting him like every woman in London.

Every woman except her, Grace told herself. He was dangerous and handsome and powerful, and he was her enemy. She didn’t want him. She didn’t.

“Your Highness! Such a pleasure to see you again,” the brunette cried. “We have plenty of new stock—I’d love to show it to you!”

It was painfully obvious to Grace what the salesgirl would really love to show Maksim. For no good reason she felt herself get tight and tense all over. She turned away, used to feeling invisible. In her job, on the street, living alone in a foreign country…invisible. Alone.

Then she felt a strong masculine hand on her shoulder.

“You will start by getting my beautiful friend a replacement of the lingerie she bought,” Maksim said to the salesgirl. He looked down at Grace. “Then—you will get her anything else she desires in the store.”

“Yes, of course, Your Highness,” the salesgirl gasped, her mouth a round O as she looked at Grace with new respect.

His steel-gray eyes and the touch of his hand caused a flash of heat to spread through her body.

“I splashed you with my car,” he said. “It was an unforgivable rudeness. The least I can do is buy you new clothes. A new coat.”

Grace stared at him, warmth cascading all over her. A moment before, she’d felt so invisible and cold, but with one touch he made her feel alive. With one word he’d made her feel she had value in the world.

“Anything you want, Grace,” he said softly, stroking her cheek. “Anything at all. It will be my deepest honor to provide.”

A shudder of longing went through her. Her face turned involuntarily toward his touch, and his hand cupped her cheek. She tried to pull away from him, but her feet weren’t working properly. Neither was the rest of her.

Except for her breasts which started to ache, sending sizzles of longing down to her deepest core.

And at that moment Grace started to realize how dangerous the dark prince truly was.

She licked her lips. “Thank you, but I couldn’t possibly accept.”

His hand traced lightly down her neck to her shoulder, to her coat. “Why do you hide in these clothes, Grace? Why are you afraid to show the world your beauty?”

He really thought she was pretty? It hadn’t just been flattery? Her mind was spinning a million directions at once, and as long as he kept touching her she couldn’t think straight. “I—”

“This would look lovely on you.”

He touched a lovely pink nightgown displayed on a white headless mannequin. The silk and lace were the blush color of a spring rose, and while the low-cut neckline was covered in lace, the rest of the fabric went elegantly to the floor.

Grace, who normally slept in T-shirts and flannel pants, couldn’t imagine sleeping in anything so sybaritic and luxurious.

Against her will, her eyes traced the shape of Maksim’s muscular fingers against the delicate silk. She had the sudden image of what it might feel like to be in that nightgown with his hands on her. To be touched and caressed and stroked through the silk by his strong, powerful touch.

Grace fiercely shook the evocative image out of her mind.

What was wrong with her? She was growing as headless as the mannequin! No man had ever seen her in nightwear. Not even in her flannel pajamas. And it was likely to remain so!

“I’m not in the habit of letting strangers buy me nightgowns,” she said, pulling her hand away from him and forcibly turning her back on the lovely pink silk.

“No lingerie, then,” he said, sounding amused. “In that case, a coat. This one?”

“A coat?” She turned around, tempted. In spite of the cashmere blanket and warmth of his car, she was still shivering from the melted sleet and slush seeping through her old camel-colored coat. Having never owned a proper coat in California, she’d bought this one at a charity shop in London. It had seemed serviceable enough, and the price had been right. But it didn’t hold up very well to rain, and was terribly ugly in the bargain, though Grace tried not to care.

“My car splashed your coat. It’s ruined,” he pointed out. “Surely even your overheightened sense of honor would allow me to replace it as a matter of course.”

He touched a truly beautiful ankle-length black shearling coat with a wide collar. It was a dazzling sight, fit for a princess. She’d admired the coat when she’d first come into the shop a few hours ago. But she’d only admired it from a distance—she hadn’t been nearly brave enough to actually touch it. Particularly after her eye had fallen on the price tag. Ten thousand pounds. In dollars, that equaled—

A new car.

She closed her eyes, suppressing her desire.

“And you must have this, as well.” He pointed at an exquisite silk cocktail dress. “The color matches your eyes.”

She looked at it hungrily. The dress was beautiful—something out of the fashion magazines she saw on newsstands. She reached out to touch the silk, then at the last moment hesitated and took the price tag instead. Four thousand pounds.

What was she thinking? She couldn’t allow her boss’s rival to buy her even a cocktail, let alone a cocktail dress!

Clothes like these were for glamorous, beautiful heiresses like Lady Francesca. Not for broke, plain girls like her. She’d bought her boots at a discount warehouse. Her shirt had cost less than ten dollars at Wal-Mart, and she’d bought her skirt suit used at a consignment shop in Los Angeles. For the past five years, since her father had died, she’d scrimped everywhere she could to help her family.

A lump rose in her throat. But it still hadn’t been enough. She never should have left her mother alone….

“Let me do this small thing for you,” Maksim said decisively. “You cannot refuse me this pleasure.”

And she almost couldn’t. She almost didn’t want to refuse him any pleasure.

But she couldn’t accept. She didn’t trust him. And as much as she wanted these beautiful luxuries, she knew they weren’t for her. Nothing in the Leighton boutique related to real life!

“And just where do you think I would wear that dress?” she retorted, raising her chin so he wouldn’t know how tempted her weak soul had been. “To the grocery store? The post office?”

His lips curved into a smile. “I can think of a few places you could wear it. And not wear it.”

Immediately a shiver of longing went through her body at his sensual smile. Why was he acting like this, wooing her as if she were a desirable, demanding woman?

There could be only one reason the ruthless billionaire prince would have any interest in her: he wanted to use her to get back the things Alan had stolen.

The merger.

The bride.

Grace resolutely turned away. From him, from the black coat, from the extravagant teal cocktail dress and the lavish, hedonistic life they represented. She wouldn’t sell herself, or sell out Alan.

“No,” she said, forcing down the hunger in her soul for everything she knew she’d never have. “I’ll allow you to replace the lingerie. No more.”

He shrugged. “It’s just money, Grace.”

Just money. The words made her want to laugh. Easy enough to say just money when you had plenty of it. Just money had made Grace drop out of college when her father died five years ago. Just money had made her mother worry about bills ever since, with three teenaged sons who ate out the refrigerator daily. And just money was about to make her family lose the only home they’d ever known.

“What is it?” Maksim’s steel-gray eyes were intent on hers, mesmerizing her will with the whispered promise of all her lost dreams. “Tell me what you want. Anything you desire, Grace. Say the word, and it is yours.”

“A couple of mortgage payments,” she said under her breath.

“What?”

“I…I…it’s nothing.” She couldn’t possibly ask Alan’s enemy for a loan. She could only guess what the cost could be. She’d have to stab Alan in the back. She wouldn’t do that, not for any price.

Alan will advance me the money, she told herself desperately. He will!

With a deep intake of breath, she turned away from Maksim to speak directly to the salesgirl. “Just the white silk-and-lace babydoll, please. Size extra small.”

“I have it here, miss,” the brunette said respectfully. Grace watched as the girl folded the lingerie carefully, then wrapped it in tissue paper. She placed it in a glossy primrose-hued box embossed with the Leighton crest, then tied it with a white silk ribbon.

“Only one woman in a hundred would have turned down my offer,” the Russian prince said quietly from behind her. “One in a thousand.”

She looked back at him with a trembling attempt at a smile. “You are my boss’s rival. I feel enough of a traitor allowing you to replace the lingerie. Accepting a gift from you would not be appropriate.”

“No one would ever know about it.”

“I would know. And so would you.”

“Ah.” He looked down at her, his dark eyes intent. “A woman of honor.”

She felt uncomfortable, unsure of what response to make. The way he looked at her didn’t help. It just made her jumpy in her own skin. After feeling invisible for so long, being so suddenly seen by a man like Maksim made her dizzy.

It was like spending years in the darkness and then abruptly being hit by a blaze of sun. It sizzled her all over. She felt blinded by the intensity of his heat.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the salesgirl hold out the bag with a bright smile. “Merry Christmas, miss. Please come again soon.”

“Allow me.” Maksim took the bag, carrying it for her.

A prince and a gentleman?

It shocked her. If she’d been shopping with Alan, he would have made her carry everything. He liked to keep his hands free. After all, he always joked, didn’t women love to carry shopping bags? But then,Alan was her boss.

Maksim was…her enemy?

He was different from any man she’d ever known before. Dangerous. Because he was so handsome? Ruthless. Because he was a billionaire? And gallant. Because he was a prince?

Whatever it was, he was just like the Leighton clothes. Not for Grace. Nothing to do with real life. And yet she couldn’t look away, and a part of her couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to be his woman.

As they climbed into his waiting Rolls-Royce, she felt the strength of his hand beneath her arm as he helped her in. Felt his touch up and down her body. And she trembled in her wet coat for reasons that had nothing to do with cold.

“Is it strange for you to buy lingerie for your ex-girlfriend?” she murmured as the car pulled away from the curb.

He shrugged, looked away. “She may someday be my girlfriend again.”

“But she’s engaged to Alan.”

She saw the twitch in his jaw. “And two months ago she was with me.”

“You can’t possibly think—”

“I don’t wish to speak of her.” He took both her hands in his own. “I wish to speak only of you.” He looked down at her and the edges of his lips turned up. “You need warming up.”

“I…do?” she breathed.

“Join me for dinner tonight.”

He was asking her out on a date? She tried not to tremble. Failed. “I couldn’t possibly.”

His dark eyebrows lowered. “Why?”

“I’m not hungry, for one.” As if on cue, her stomach gave an audible growl and she blushed. She’d worked through lunch writing engagement announcements for Alan’s friends and family, while her boss met Francesca for a celebratory lunch at her father’s estate outside the city. “If Alan found out…”

“He won’t.”

“Splurging on dinner is not in my budget.”

“I will of course be pleased to—”

“No.”

He sighed, clearly exasperated. “You make it impossible to pamper you.”

“I don’t want you to pamper me.” Her stomach growled again, and she bit her lip. “But…perhaps a small snack wouldn’t hurt. As long as we go Dutch.” And as long as Alan never finds out. “There’s a tea shop by Harrods, close to our house.”

He raised his eyebrows. “‘Our’ house?” he asked innocently. “You have a roommate?”

She felt a blush go across her cheeks. “I share a house with Alan.”

He gave her a knowing glance. “I see.”

“We’re not lovers, if that’s what you think!” But she could see he didn’t believe her. She felt her cheeks turn redder still. “I have my own three-room flat in his basement. As his executive secretary, he needs me to always be available. With London rents as expensive as they are, I’m happy to have a place to stay.”

“How very convenient for you both,” he murmured silkily.

“You don’t understand,” she stammered. “It’s all fair and aboveboard. He deducts the cost of the rent from my salary each month!”

He suddenly laughed. “Does he really? So you’re available to him around the clock, running his personal errands on your own time…and he still makes you pay money to live in his basement?” He shook his head. “I can see why he inspires such loyalty.”

“Oh, forget it,” she said in a huff, sitting back against the seat and staring stonily out at passing Hyde Park. “If you’re going to insult Alan, you can forget the tea and just take me home.”

“I didn’t insult him.”

“You did!”

“I’m just surprised at your loyalty.You deserve more.”

She stared at him. She deserved more? It was an entirely new thought. She’d spent three years in low-paying temp jobs in downtown L.A. before she’d been hired by Cali-West. She’d been instantly smitten by the powerful, blond, handsome CEO who looked like a young Hugh Grant. She’d thought herself very lucky.

But the darkly handsome Russian prince thought she deserved…more?

“Are we close to the tea shop?” Maksim asked. She saw the driver waiting for directions, glancing at her in the rearview mirror.

She pointed grumpily. “Right there. Just past the light.”

The white-haired lady who owned the patisserie appeared flustered by Maksim’s broad-shouldered form appearing in the doorway of her dainty shop. He seemed massively masculine, out of place against the faded flowery wallpaper. She immediately seated them at the best table, tucked in a corner window overlooking the crowds and festive windows of Harrods across the street. When the Frenchwoman asked for their order, Grace waited for Maksim to order first, as Alan would have done.

Instead, he looked at her questioningly, reaching across the small table to take her hand. “What do you recommend, Grace?”

“I…um.” She glanced down at her hand wrapped in his far larger one. She could barely think with him touching her. “The…er…” She pulled her hand away under pretense of picking up the gently tattered menu that she’d long ago learned by heart. “The English breakfast tea is good. The pastries are excellent, and so are the sandwiches.” She looked up at Madame Charbon, handing back her menu. “I’ll have my usual.”

The woman nodded.

Maksim handed her his menu. “I’ll have the same.”

“Oui, monsieur.”

As the Frenchwoman departed, Grace looked at him in surprise. “You don’t even know what you just ordered!”

He shrugged. “You know this restaurant. I trust you.”

He trusted her. She tried not to feel flattered. “Want to know what you’re having?”

“I like surprises.”

Normally Grace didn’t, but she was starting to. She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I was so upset in the car. I guess you really weren’t insulting Alan.”

“He is lucky to have you.”

She stared down at the tiny table. The truth was it was sometimes grating how small her paycheck was. And never more so than now. She’d been his junior secretary for eighteen months before she was promoted to executive assistant six months ago. But in spite of her additional responsibilities, he’d never given her a raise commensurate with her new position. He’d always managed to put her off with an excuse and a smile.

Then he’d decided to pursue a long-shot merger with Exemplary Oil PLC and he’d abruptly moved them to London in early October. In L.A. Grace had had fewer expenses. She’d been able to live at home and help her family. Now that she lived in London and paid Alan rent, she was barely able to send her mother a hundred dollars a month.

This led to one inescapable conclusion: the looming foreclosure of her family’s home was entirely Grace’s fault.

As Madame Charbon arrived with the steaming mugs of hot chocolate and croissants, Grace tried to push the depressing thoughts away. They just made her feel more powerless and scared and…angry.

Alan will help me. He will, she repeated to herself.

“What are you thinking about, solnishka mayo?” Maksim asked, leaning forward as he looked at her keenly.

She gulped down some hot chocolate, scalding her tongue. “Nothing. Um. I was just wondering if you’ve ever ridden the Trans-Siberian Railroad.”

His dark eyebrows rose. “An odd question.”

“You’re Russian, aren’t you?” She smiled wistfully. “I used to dream about that train when I was a little girl, a train that crosses seven time zones and nearly six thousand miles, going all the way from Moscow to the Pacific Ocean.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” he said dryly. “I live in Moscow only a few months a year. When I travel or visit the northern oil fields I go by jet.”

“Of course you do,” she said with a sigh. “So where do you live when you’re not in Russia? London?”

“I have many houses around the world. Six or seven. I live in whichever one is convenient.”

She stared at him. “Six or seven? You’re not even sure how many?”

He shrugged. “I have as many as I need. I sell them when I’m bored.” He licked the thick whipped cream off the top of the mug with his wide tongue, causing her to stare in spite of herself. He took a sip of hot chocolate, then a bite of the croissant. “This is delicious.”

“I’m glad you like it. Alan hates hot chocolate.”

Maksim’s eyes suddenly sliced through hers. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

She felt sucker punched.

“What?” she whispered. “Who?”

“You’re his loyal slave. You live in his house. You spend your free hours running his errands. It’s plain you’re not doing it for the money, since you have none. There’s only one explanation. You love him.”

Grace opened up her mouth to deny it, but suddenly she was so tired of lying. Tired of holding everything inside, of keeping it together, of having no one to confide in and no one she could rely upon. She took a deep breath.

“Yes. I love him.” Sinking her head into her hands, she whispered, “It’s hopeless.”

“I know.” She looked up, saw surprising warmth and sympathy in his handsome face. “I’m usually on the other side of it. Old or young, secretaries imagine themselves in love with me and drop like flies from my office. It’s painful. It causes disruption. I hate it.”

“Me, too.” She gave a little laugh that ended with a sob—or was it a sob that ended with a laugh? She tried her best at a laissez-faire shrug. “And now he’s engaged to someone who’s beautiful, wealthy and so, well…”

“Vicious?” His eyes met hers. “Cruel and mean?”

With a gulp, she nodded. “I’m surprised to hear you say that. Didn’t you love her?”

He changed the subject. “You don’t have to endure it, Grace. Come work for me instead.”

It was a good thing she’d already finished her hot chocolate or it would have snorted out her nose. Her eyes flew open, and she saw he wasn’t joking. He was deadly serious.

Her throat closed.

“Work for you?” she gasped.

“I could use another secretary. Leave Barrington. Work for a man who will pay you well and take you far.” He smiled. “The fact that you’re in love with someone else is actually in your favor.”

She swallowed. “Even though it’s the man who stole your girlfriend?”

He took another drink of the hot chocolate.

“Delicious,” he murmured, then looked up at her. “I need a secretary I can trust, Grace. A smart woman who knows the meaning of loyalty. You wouldn’t regret changing your allegiance. I swear to you.”

For an instant she was tempted. What would it be like to work for this handsome prince, instead of Alan?

Maksim was handsome, dangerous and ruthless. But he was also a man she would be free to fight, free to leave, free to speak her mind with, because she did not love him!

“I would pay you double whatever Barrington’s paying you.”

Double?

She licked her lips. “Would you consider paying me in advance?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

She took a deep breath, tempted beyond measure. This could save her mother’s house. Save everything.

“And the catch?”

“You would help me win the merger.”

“And Francesca?”

He shrugged, then held out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

Grace closed her eyes, remembering all the times Alan had teased her, flirted with her. He’d told her more than once that he never wanted her to leave him. “I just couldn’t survive without you, Gracie,” he’d said with his charming movie-star grin. And it had made her so happy! She’d hugged his words to her heart, hoping that he might be starting to see her as more than just a secretary!

Then Lady Francesca Danvers had offered him money and power in such a perfectly beautiful package.

But no matter how Alan had treated her, Grace couldn’t betray him.

Stubborn and foolish, she thought sourly, but she shook her head. “Thanks for asking, but my answer is no.”

Taking back his hand, he nodded. “I understand.”

But he didn’t seem disappointed. On the contrary, he seemed to savor her refusal like a cat licking a bowl of cream.

Finishing the last crumbs of her croissant, Grace left some coins on the table and rose regretfully from her chair. She held out her hand.

“Thank you for a very pleasant afternoon, Prince Maksim.”

He looked at her, and for a moment she was lost in his gaze, swirling in the endless shades of gray.

“No. I thank you, Grace.” He took her hand in his own. A sizzling warmth spread through her body from their intertwined fingers. Then, still holding her hand, he kissed each of her fingers, and she shivered.

“Da svedanya, solnishka mayo. I’ll never forget the way you looked in the street, with the last rays of winter twilight in your pale-blond hair. Like an angel. Like the sun.” He turned her hand over and kissed her palm. An erotic charge arced through her, making her nipples tight and her breasts heavy. Her whole body was suddenly tense, waiting, waiting…

Looking up into her face, he murmured, “Until we meet again.”

He released her, and Grace walked out of the tea shop in a daze. As she slogged through the crowds outside Harrods, gripping her Leighton bag as if her life depended on it, she could still feel that sensual kiss against her palm.

With one brief touch of his lips, he’d branded her. In the dark winter night lit up by Christmas lights and shop windows, she looked down at her right hand, expecting to see the burn of his lips emblazoned on her skin for all the world to see.

But her skin was bare.

She knew she’d never see him again. Probably a good thing.

Definitely a good thing.

And yet…

When Alan yelled at her for not magically foreseeing his wishes in advance…when a check bounced in her bank account…when she was forced to watch the man she loved get married to another woman…when she felt helpless, hopeless, invisible…

She could treasure this one magical afternoon when she’d spent the day with a handsome prince who’d been kind to her. Who’d treated her like a princess.

As she walked home, the sleet softened to snow in the dark stillness of winter, leaving scattered, twisted flurries of flakes.

She’d loved Alan Barrington in hopeless silence for two years. But he’d never affected her like Maksim Rostov had. He’d never made her tremble and shake and feel hot all over. Maksim had changed her in a way she couldn’t understand.

But whatever he’d made her feel didn’t matter now. With a sigh that created a puff of white smoke in the frozen air, Grace climbed slowly up the front steps of the three-story town house she shared with her boss.

The fairy tale was over.