Page 11 of Cinderella's Christmas Secret

‘Oh. Must you?’ Her voice had been little more than a murmur, but afterwards she wondered if she’d sounded a little needy.

‘I’m afraid I must. I’ve called my chauffeur to come and pick me up. I have a meeting.’

She remembered thinking it was very early to be having a meeting and then, drugged with satiation and satisfaction, she had fallen into a deep sleep and when she’d woken up, he had gone.

It had taken nearly a week for her to realise Maximo wasn’t going to contact her again. He had told her he wouldn’t but hadn’t there been a stupid glimmer of hope which had taken up stubborn residence in her mind and made her hope he might change his mind? But there had been no phone call. No flowers. No unexpected dropping in at the estate agency to ask whether she might happen to be free for lunch—and of course she would have said yes, because her daily home-made sandwich, which reposed at the bottom of the office fridge, could easily be eaten another day.

But Maximo had done none of these things. The purchase of his castle was now complete and everyone in the town was breathlessly waiting for the refurbishment to begin, when he would turn it into the most talked about hotel in Devon to add to his prestigious group. She assumed that was why he was here today. She’d heard he was having high-powered meetings in the nearby city of Exeter and so, when Janette had left the office to have her nails painted, Hollie had hunted around for the tycoon’s telephone number and had sent him a text, asking if she could see him.

His answer hadn’t exactly boosted her confidence, or her resolve. It had been blunt and to the point. Some people might even have called it rude.

I’m very busy.

She wished she could have told him to take a running jump, but that was exactly what he would like her to do, she reminded herself bitterly. Her finger had been shaking with rage and she had wasted time correcting several typos as she had furiously tapped out a response.

I’m sure you are, but I need to see you.

She’d been forced to wait for a whole hour before the reluctant reply had come winging back.

I can give you half an hour at six p.m. Where?

That had made her hesitate. Neutral territory would be best. But she couldn’t risk any kind of scene, not in a town this small where people would talk. And so even though uncomfortable memories of last time he had visited her cottage wouldn’t seem to leave her alone, Hollie forced herself to reply.

Can you come to my cottage? I assume you remember where it is?

And the terse rejoinder.

I’ll see you there.

It seemed insane to think about it now, but she’d actually made some biscuits in preparation for his visit, which were currently sitting on her best china plate in the kitchen. She’d told herself it was mor

e to give herself something to do, rather than pacing the floor as she waited for the smooth purr of his limousine. But the insane truth was that she was making shortbread because she knew he liked it.

It was pathetic, really. Did she honestly imagine that the sugary cookie was going to make him smile and tell her everything was going to be okay, and he was fine with the fact that she was carrying his baby after what was only ever supposed to be a one-night stand?

She turned away from the window and glanced around the small sitting room, her gaze coming to rest on the miniature Christmas tree she’d forced herself to decorate, even though she hadn’t been feeling remotely festive at the time. Its rainbow lights were pretty and the little baubles she’d crafted herself usually filled her heart with seasonal joy as she dangled them from the pine branches. But she had been so bogged down by a feeling of dread at what she was about to do that not even holiday decorations had been able to lighten her mood.

She heard the sound of a powerful engine and quickly ducked away from the window, not wanting to be seen watching and waiting, like some kind of crazed stalker from a horror film. She drew in a deep breath as she heard the approaching crunch of footsteps and slowly expelled it as the doorbell jangled.

Silently counting to three, Hollie walked calmly towards the door, trying to mentally prepare herself for the sight of Maximo Diaz as it swung open. And even though she had thought about him every single day since their night of passion, Hollie was still unprepared for the visceral impact of seeing him again.

He looked...

Her heart rate, which had already been elevated, now began to pick up into a deafening crescendo as she stared at him.

He looked...incredible.

Dressed entirely in black, he wore jeans and a buttery leather jacket, beneath which was a sweater so soft it could only have been made from cashmere. But that was the only soft thing about him. His body was hard and his face was even harder. Black eyes studied her as coldly as chips of jet and those wickedly sensual lips were set and unsmiling. How weird it was to think of all the pleasures those lips had showered on her while they’d been in bed together, when now they seemed to flatten at the edges with a look of faint disdain. Or was that her imagination?

Hollie knew she had to pull herself together. She couldn’t keep catastrophising or trying to get inside his head. She had to act as normally as possible, although that was never going to be easy given what she was about to tell him. How would she have spoken to him if she hadn’t had sex with him? How did she used to speak to him when he came into the office, during those easy, uncomplicated days before she’d been stupid enough to allow him to seduce her? With an enormous effort, she fixed a bright smile to her lips, aware of the stupidity of her greeting even as it tumbled from her.

‘Good afternoon, Señor Diaz!’

Maximo tried very hard not to react to the instinctive punch to his gut as he studied the woman standing before him. He should be on his guard after her rather embarrassing determination to see him, yet all he could think about was her pale, soft flesh and the thickness of her shiny golden-brown hair as it had tumbled down over her bare breasts. Was that unwanted reaction responsible for his drawled words, which weren’t the words he intended? ‘Don’t you think such formality is a little inappropriate, in view of what happened?’

‘Even though you didn’t even know my name at the time?’ she answered quickly.

Maximo winced. She was right. How had that even happened? He still wasn’t sure, and looking at her now provided no easy answers. The provocative minx in the towering red heels and thigh-skimming green dress was nothing but a distant memory, for she’d reverted back to her usual sensible look. Her magnificent hair was tied back into a tight bun and her lips were bare. She wore a neat skirt and forgettable sweater, which had obviously not been bought with the intention of emphasising her curves, and her brown leather boots had seen better days. They were obviously old boots which had been carefully polished—and something about that recognition of someone who was ‘making do’ struck a raw and distant chord deep inside him. She looked unremarkable, yet... He frowned. Wasn’t there a glowing inner quality about her, which seemed to transcend her rather drab appearance?

---