A Champagne Christmas: The Christmas Love-Child / The Christmas Night Miracle / The Italian Billionaire's Christmas Miracle

“That box,” she snapped, “is my boss’s Christmas gift for his new fiancée. Silk Leighton lingerie. I can’t go back without it!”

“Your boss isn’t worth dying for.”

“My boss is Alan Barrington!”

Glaring at him, Grace waited for a reaction when he realized she worked for his enemy, his rival in the gas and oil industry, who’d not only just stolen his merger with Exemplary Oil PLC but had stolen his fiancée, the beautiful, tempestuous Lady Francesca in the bargain!

Prince Maksim’s handsome face was utterly impassive. She had no idea what he was thinking. A marked difference from Alan, Grace thought. Her flirtatious boss’s thoughts were always instantly expressed, either by flippant words or the expression on his good-looking face.

But the image of her boss’s toothy smile dissipated instantly from her mind as the dark Russian prince reached out his hand to lift her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. “Your boss is truly not worthy of your sacrifice.”

She licked her lips nervously. “Aren’t you w-wishing you’d let me run into traffic now, Your Highness?”

Prince Maksim arrogantly smiled down at her.

“As tempting as it is to cause him staffing problems, I’m afraid I cannot allow you to cover the street with your blood.” He gently stroked her hair from her face. “Call me old-fashioned.”

He knew she worked for his enemy, so why was he still being courteous? Why wasn’t he calling her names or wishing her to the devil? Although, he would have an easy time luring any woman anywhere, she thought. Even to the depths of hell itself.

Frightened by all the new sensations running through her at his touch, she pulled back. “I’ll take my chances with the traffic.”

“You’ll get new lingerie.”

“New lingerie?” Safely out of his reach, she regained her equilibrium enough to give an incredulous, scornful laugh. “Right! New lingerie. Maybe in your world Leighton clothes are disposable as baby wipes, but—”

“I will pay for it.” He gave her a level look from his steel-gray eyes. “Of course.”

If it had been any other person on the planet, she would have accepted gratefully. But not this man. She couldn’t accept the help of her boss’s worst enemy.

Could she?

As if in slow motion, she saw a red double-decker bus crush the lavender-blue box into a big greasy puddle in the middle of the street.

Alan would be furious if she went home tonight with the expensive charge on his credit card but no lingerie. Alan was completely unforgiving of others’ mistakes when they caused him problems. For years he’d hated Prince Maksim, the rival who’d beaten him over and over again. With Cali-West Energy Corporation’s stock prices falling, the stockholders had begun to call for Alan’s replacement as CEO.

That was before Alan met Lady Francesca Danvers at a charity ball six weeks ago. Their whirlwind romance had gained him the support of her father, the Earl of Hainesworth, who was chair of Exemplary’s board of trustees. The deal had changed from a merger of British and Russian energy giants to a British-American one. For weeks now Alan had gleefully recounted to Grace how he’d finally beaten his rival.

Grace hadn’t particularly enjoyed his gloating, since it inevitably involved details of how Alan was luring the beautiful, feisty, redheaded Lady Francesca into his bed.

What if Alan was so furious about the ruined lingerie, he demanded Grace pay the bill? What if instead of giving her the advance she so desperately needed, he docked her pay?

She swore under her breath.

“Do not refuse my help, Miss Cannon,” Prince Maksim said evenly. “That would be stubborn and foolish.”

“Well, Stubborn and Foolish are my middle names!” Grace snapped, furious at herself.

She could have stayed in L.A. and made sure her mother’s mortgage was paid each month—but no. She’d been too stubbornly and foolishly infatuated with her boss. Pathetic, she thought in disgust. There surely had to be some kind of self-help program for women like her, pathetically in love with a boss who believed her to have no feelings—like an animatronic robot!

“Stubborn and Foolish, Miss Cannon?” Maksim’s lips curved. “Clearly American baby-name trends have changed over the years.”

“My middle name is actually Diana.” Narrowing her eyes, she looked up at Prince Maksim. “But you already know that, don’t you? How do you already know my last name?”

“You told me you work for Barrington.” He lifted a dark eyebrow. “Don’t you think I know the name of his most trusted secretary?”

Prince Maksim Rostov knew her name.

The fact made her feel warm all over. Made her feel…important.

Until a new, chilling suspicion went down her spine.

He knew her name.

He knew she worked for Alan.

And she was supposed to believe they’d just randomly met on the street two blocks from her home?

Grace was distracted and was nearly knocked over by two heavy tourists decked in cameras, Harrods bags and Santa hats, but she steadied herself to glare at him. “So you’ll understand why, as his most trusted secretary, I can’t accept any favors from you.”

Prince Maksim gave her an easy smile.

“Barrington has nothing to do with this. Replacing the lingerie is repaying a personal debt to you.” His smile spread into a carelessly wicked grin that she felt down to her toes. “I can hardly remain indebted to my enemy.”

She swallowed, hardly able to collect her thoughts beneath the intensity of his gaze. “I wouldn’t say I’m exactly your enemy…”

“Then there is no problem.”

“But…”

He enfolded her hand back in his own. The warmth of his naked palm against hers was more erotic than she’d ever thought holding a hand could be.After so many years of useless pining over her boss, this was the most physically intimate she’d been with any man since…since…

Since that brief moment after the Halloween party when Alan had drunkenly taken her in his arms and given her a big wet kiss before he’d collapsed in a drunken stupor on the office couch.

That sad event had been her first—and only—kiss. In school she’d been too focused on her studies to date anyone. After her father had died and she’d dropped out of college, she’d been too grief-stricken. Then she’d been too busy as a temp in downtown L.A., working to take care of her heartbroken mother and younger brothers.

Grace had become a twenty-five-year-old virgin.

A freak of nature.

And a million miles away from Prince Maksim Rostov’s league!

But his car had splashed her, she argued with herself. He’d caused her to drop the lingerie. Wouldn’t it be fair to allow him to replace it, when the alternative could mean her ruin?

Tempted, she licked her lips nervously. The sensation of his hand against her own caused a swirling in the tender center of her palm that sent awareness prickling up to the flesh of her ear, tightening her nipples and making her breasts feel strangely heavy. She felt his gaze trace her lips. Her cheeks went hot and her mouth went dry. Every breath she took, every rise and fall of her lungs, became more shallow.

“It is cold,” he said. “My car is waiting.”

“But, but Leighton clothes are expensive,” she stammered, floundering. “They’re so expensive they make Hermès and Louis Vuitton look like a bargain-basement fire sale.”