Page 20 of Cinderella's Christmas Secret

She picked up the story again, thinking that nobody ever really asked her stuff like this. ‘One day my father just stopped contacting her and we never found out what happened to him. Like you said, things were different in those days and there was no social media to be able to track someone down. My mum never really got over it and after she died, I sold her little house and went to catering college. Long story short, I made a friend there and used the rest of my savings to go into business with her—we opened a tea shop in London.’

‘But? I sense there’s a but coming.’

He was insightful, she thought—or maybe such a successful businessman was always going to have an instinct for a duff business venture. ‘My partner borrowed a whole load of money on the business and couldn’t pay it back.’

‘That’s theft,’ he observed acidly.

‘She meant to pay it back,’ she defended. ‘But that was never going to happen and I couldn’t bear to waste any more time, or make any more bad memories by chasing her through the small courts. Anyway, we’d chosen a hopeless location. It was more a hip coffee shop sort of area and not really suited to a venue which was serving dinky plates of scones, with cream and jam. It’s why I came to Devon, which is that kind of place. It’s why, no matter what happens, I’m glad you came here too, Maximo.’

He looked startled. ‘You are?’

‘Yes, I am. Not because of the baby, because I know that’s bad news for you.’ She ignored the pained expression on his face but resolutely carried on. ‘It wasn’t meant to happen, but it did—and I will do everything to make sure our child has the best possible life I can give them. And I’ve lived with a man who didn’t want to be a father, which is why I can cope with the fact you don’t want to be involved. It’s better that way. Better that we’re upfront about things from the beginning so everyone knows where they stand—’

‘Hollie—’

‘No, please let me finish.’ She drew a deep breath and stared straight into his fathoms-deep eyes, thinking how thick and black the lashes were. ‘What makes me glad is the fact that you’ve bought Kastelloes, because you’ll be injecting life back into this town and local community. So my business—and every other business in Trescombe—will benefit.’ He got up quickly to attend to his cooking, an uncomfortable expression crossing his face, and she wondered if she was boring him. ‘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 libra

ry.

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 the minutes continued to tick slowly by. She looked at her watch to note that midnight had become one o’clock and she was as restless as before and so, wrapping one of the velvet throws around herself, she went to the window and gazed outside. And despite everything, she couldn’t hold back the sigh of wonder which escaped from her lips because outside was the most perfect scene she could imagine—like an illustration from a book about winter.

The snow had stopped falling and the moon was huge in the sky, bathing the milky landscape in a bright and silvery light. Against the frosty stillness of the landscape, the tall shapes of the trees rose ghostly and beautiful and for a moment Holly just drank it all in until the dryness in her throat reminded her that she was thirsty. Why hadn’t she thought to bring a drink to bed with her?

She stood very still and listened but could hear nothing and surely Maximo must be fast asleep by now. Carefully opening the door to avoid making any noise, she crept along the corridor, clutching her makeshift cloak around her. The whisper of velvet brushing against the stone steps was the only sound she could hear and quietly she made her way to the kitchen, turning the switch on so that it flooded with light. It was neat and clean, all the debris from dinner tidied away. Maximo had obviously cleared up after she went to bed. He really was independent she thought, scrolling back through those rare memories of her father to realise that not once had he ever lifted a finger to help her mother.

She poured herself a glass of water and thirstily gulped it down before pouring another and switching off the light. And although the castle was dark and very quiet, Hollie wasn’t in the least bit spooked—because the walls felt friendly. She wondered if other women, like her, had wandered these stone corridors in the dead of night and wondered how they were going to cope with an unknown future.

Lost in thought, she had almost reached the end of the passageway when a figure suddenly emerged from the shadows and Hollie jumped. Water arced and splashed against the stone wall and as the glass slipped from her fingers Maximo lunged forward to catch it—cradling the intact vessel in the palm of his hand like a professional cricketer who had just made a sensational catch.

‘You scared the life out of me!’ she accused, aware that his hair was ruffled as if he’d hurriedly dragged his sweater over his head and that the top button of his jeans was undone.

‘I didn’t mean to alarm you. I couldn’t sleep and I heard something moving downstairs, or rather someone, so I threw on some clothes and came down to investigate.’ His shuttered gaze flicked over her. ‘You’d better get back upstairs,’ he added, and suddenly his voice was tinged with harshness. ‘It’s cold.’

Hollie nodded but she didn’t move. She couldn’t move. It was as if she had suddenly forgotten how to use her legs.

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