Christmas with a Billionaire: Billionaire under the Mistletoe / Snowed in with Her Boss / A Diamond for Christmas

Sophie inwardly quaked at the unmistakable disgust Max managed to engender in just that one word. ‘Never mind.’ She gave an uncomfortable shake of her head. ‘As I said, I’ll be a little late in the morning, as I have to shop for those presents for your brother-in-law.’

He gave a dismissive shrug of those powerful shoulders. ‘I’ll be at work anyway.’

Her eyes widened. ‘But your family is here and it’s Christmas Eve!’

He nodded tersely. ‘And?’

And she had already known that Max Hamilton hadn’t become a billionaire without working as hard as he played. That taking Christmas Eve off work to spend the day with his family probably hadn’t even occurred to him, let alone been a real possibility.

‘And nothing,’ she accepted distantly. ‘I was only being polite by informing you why I might be a little late in the morning.’

His mouth twisted with hard derision. ‘I think the two of us have gone way past being “polite” to each other, don’t you?’

Yes, they probably had, Sophie accepted heavily.

There was no probably about it.

Max had seen her breasts earlier, covered only by that red satin and lace bra, for goodness’ sake. Had kissed and caressed them until they still ached with arousal. And he had so obviously fantasised about seeing her in the matching thong too, once she’d told him she was wearing one.

Yes, the two of them were way, way past being polite to each other.

CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_de18d78d-4ca0-5d6b-be3d-fe528fd0ee06)

IT WAS WITH great reluctance that Max let himself into his apartment the following evening, all too aware that, for the next two days at least, there would be no escaping Christmas.

Or Sophie …

A fact instantly brought home to him as he stepped into the marble entrance hall, the delicious smell of food cooking telling him she was probably in the kitchen right now.

He was still utterly furious with her for omitting to tell him that she already had someone in her life. A ‘someone’ called Henry.

At the same time as he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since they’d parted last night. Images of her, of kissing her, touching her, had disturbed his sleep last night, and totally wrecked his concentration at work today.

Damn it, a masochistic side of him wanted to spend time with Sophie. To enjoy looking at her. Talking with her. And to laugh too, as she gave him yet another one of her cheeky set-downs in response to something he had either said or done that she disapproved of.

How sad was that? That he was inwardly aching for even the disapproval of a woman he had met for the first time just three days ago?

Utterly pathetic was what it was.

Sophie was ten years younger than him. A student, for goodness’ sake. And she wasn’t tall and slim, or sophisticated—those fiery red curls were completely untameable!—or in the least classically beautiful.

Or, it seemed, available.

Max freely acknowledged, to himself, at least, that it was the latter which had annoyed him the most.

Because Sophie lived with another man. A man called Henry.

A man Max had been resisting the urge, all last night and today, to seek out and strangle with his bare hands.

How caveman was that?

It was unbelievable that Sophie had managed to get beneath his skin in such a short space of time and he had felt positively primitive just thinking of her sharing an apartment—a bed!—with another man.

‘Uncle Max!’ An excited Amy appeared in the entrance hall, looking cute as a button in a green velvet dress, with a matching ribbon in the darkness of her curls. ‘Uncle Max, come and see how beautiful the tree looks today!’ She grinned happily as she took his hand and pulled him into the sitting room.

Max came to a halt just inside the doorway, fingers tightening about the handle of his briefcase as he saw that Sophie wasn’t in the kitchen, after all, but down on her hands and knees next to the tree in the sitting room, adding yet more gaily wrapped presents to the dozens and dozens already piled high around the base of it.

His mouth went dry as he saw Sophie was wearing fitted brown trousers today, with a matching brown sweater. The former outlined the perfect curve of her bottom as she bent over, causing him to wonder if she was wearing another thong today. The latter clung to the soft swell of her breasts as she straightened to her knees to look across at him guardedly. Those fiery red curls cascaded, unchecked, down onto the slenderness of her shoulders and about her flushed face.

For a man who had always enjoyed coming home to the peace and solitude of his apartment, Max felt a warmth inside at seeing Sophie here with his family.

With very little effort on his part, he could get used to finding her waiting here for him every evening when he came home from work.

A realisation that sent a cold shiver of apprehension down the length of his spine.

He didn’t want or need any woman waiting for him when he came home from work, this evening or any other. He knew only too well how easy it was to lose the people you cared about. The people you loved. Which was why he had never fallen in love with any of the women he had dated.

Why he had deliberately chosen to go out with women he knew there was no chance of him ever falling in love with?

Perhaps.

No, not perhaps—that was exactly what he had done for the last sixteen years. Since losing his parents so suddenly, he had learnt in a single blow just how fragile life could be, and how painful it was to lose the people you loved.

He wouldn’t—couldn’t—allow a fiery-haired urchin like Sophie Carter to penetrate the hard shell he had kept over his emotions for so many years.

‘Are you planning to change before dinner, Max?’ Janice prompted pointedly.

Max gave himself a mental shake as he realised he had been staring at Sophie this whole time, and that his expression must have been as unpleasant as his thoughts, if the pallor of her cheeks was any indication.

His expression remained grim as he turned away to look at Janice. ‘How long do I have before we eat?’

It was impossible for Sophie to miss the fact that Max had chosen to ask his sister that question, rather than the person actually cooking the evening meal. As a means, no doubt, of letting her know exactly where she fit into the scheme of things.

Just as it had been impossible for her to have mistaken the look of displeasure on Max’s face, and the way his fingers took a white-knuckled grip of his briefcase, the moment he entered the sitting room and saw her sitting there with his family.

Well, if he thought for one moment that she had imagined she might be included in their family Christmas, he was mistaken. She knew her place, and it wasn’t here but in the kitchen. She was only here now because it was the first chance she’d had to slip the token presents beneath the tree that she had bought for the Hilton family.

Although, after his behaviour just now, she was starting to regret that she had felt guilt pressure her into buying a present for Max too.

And it had been far from easy to find something suitable for him; what did you buy a man who was a billionaire and already had everything, or had the means to buy anything and everything that he could ever want or need?

The choice of a pop-up book on horses had been easy for Amy. And she had found a pretty, but inexpensive, scarf ring made out of jade for Janice. Tom had been a little more difficult, but Sophie had finally settled on an autobiography she had thought might interest him. Which had just left her with Max to buy for.

Just!

Everything she had looked at had seemed either too personal, or too ordinary, or just too obviously inexpensive for a man as rich and overwhelmingly powerful as Max Hamilton.

Until she remembered the book she had bought for her uncle’s birthday a couple of months ago, a humorous book written by one of the more outspoken politicians. A book her uncle had greatly enjoyed, and recommended for any cynic. Which, Sophie had decided, described Max Hamilton to a T!