Cinderella's Christmas Secret - Sharon Kendrick Page 0,32

‘Gosh, it’s seven o’clock already,’ she observed, sneaking a glance at her watch. ‘Only five more hours to go and it’ll be Christmas Day!’

‘I can hardly wait,’ he said sarcastically.

She watched as he finished cooking the meal, wishing she could tear her eyes away from the graceful agility of his movements and the way his black jeans clung to the hard thrust of his buttocks. But she couldn’t. And all the while she was becoming aware of the four walls which surrounded them and the fact that they were completely alone in this beautiful, desolate building. She could feel tension between them mounting—like dark layers of something tantalising, building and building into the promise of something unbearably sweet.

‘Let’s eat,’ he said suddenly.

But his face was still tense as he began to serve up the soup, his shadow seeming to swamp her in an all-consuming darkness. And somehow his abrupt words managed to destroy the fragile harmony which had briefly existed between them.

CHAPTER SEVEN

HOLLIE SHIVERED AS she lay huddled beneath the heap of the velvet throws, wiggling her toes to stop them from freezing. It was so quiet. Nothing to listen to except the sound of the distant church bells in nearby Trescombe. Nothing to distract her from the thought that Maximo was sleeping just along the corridor and that felt weird. Was he thinking about her and her predicament, or was he fast asleep and oblivious to the presence of his unwanted guest? She cocked her ear as the twelfth and final bell faded into the silent night, announcing to the world that Christmas day had finally arrived.

Some Christmas! She was stuck in a cold, almost empty castle with a man who didn’t want her there. She turned her pillow over and bashed it with her fist. Didn’t matter how many sheep she tried to count, she just couldn’t sleep. In fact, she had dozed only fitfully since she’d retired to bed just after ten last night, leaving Maximo downstairs, working in the library.

Their shared supper had been awkward, to say the least. Oh, the food had been delicious—no doubt about that. Maximo’s Cantabrian mountain stew had hit the spot and the tycoon had waited on her in a way she suspected was totally out of character. She had been impressed by his culinary skills and had said so. But Hollie hadn’t been impervious to the unspoken words which had seemed to dangle in the air like invisible baubles. Just as she’d been unable to ignore the spiralling tension which curled like smoke in the base of her stomach whenever he came near.

But last night had been about more than sexual chemistry and, although his powerful presence had been impossible to ignore, Hollie had learnt a little more about the father of her child. It had been an illuminating insight to discover that his wealth hadn’t been handed to him on a plate, but he was a self-made man, and that revelation had made her feel an undoubted respect towards him. Yet afterwards it was as if he regretted having told her anything at all, because when she had tried to ask him about growing up in those harsh circumstances, he had very firmly changed the subject. And after that, things had become a little stilted.

It hadn’t exactly helped that she had nothing to sleep in and when she’d plucked up courage to ask Maximo if he had a pyjama top she could borrow, he had stared at her as if she had taken leave of her senses.

‘Are you crazy?’ he’d questioned, black eyes narrowed. ‘I never wear anything in bed.’

It had proved yet one more awkward moment in a whole series of them and in Hollie’s opinion, that was far too much information to take on board, in the circumstances. Berating her naïve stupidity and hiding her sudden blush by leaping to her feet, she had escaped upstairs and run herself a bath—more to get warm than anything else. But when she had returned to her room she had found a T-shirt lying on top of the velvet heap of bedcovers, which Maximo must have left there for her. A black T-shirt with the word Legend inscribed across the front. Pulling it on, she had momentarily revelled in the feel of the soft material against her clean skin—even though the garment had swamped her. And wasn’t she aware—on some fundamental level—that she got a kick out of wearing it because he had worn it, too?

She tossed and turned as