This Christmas and Forever: A heartwarming anthology of billionaire holiday romances... Read online

  He sent Claudia a droll look. “And no one else could have taken him in? He couldn’t have rented somewhere? Stayed in a hotel?”

  Claudia’s caramel coloured eyes were huge and flecked with hurt. “Maybe. I don’t know. He didn’t need to, because I was there and I offered for him to stay with me.”

  “How … kind of you,” Stavros drawled, in a way that made it obvious he didn’t believe a word of what she’d said.

  “Look,” Claudia seethed. “You can think what you want. I don’t care. But I’m not going to stay with you. It’s absurdly stupid.”

  “It is also what’s happening.”

  “I hate to break it to you and your God-complex, but you can’t actually detain me against my wishes.”

  “No,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “But if you do not do as I say, and I mean everything I say, then I will withhold your allowance completely.”

  Startled eyes flew to him. His face, in profile, was resolute. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Why should you not go and get a job like most people your age? You have a home and I would not take that away.”

  “How very generous of you,” she snapped sarcastically, lifting fingers to her temples and rubbing them. Even if she made significant cutbacks, she still had expenses. Obligations. Far more than she could ever cover without her allowance.

  “It is two weeks,” he said, softening his voice.

  Tears pricked her eyes again. “It’s Christmas in two weeks.”

  He flicked a glance at her. “Yes.”

  “You mean for us to spend Christmas at Barnwell? Together?”

  His look pierced her. “I hadn’t thought of it in those terms,” he said. “I will be there, and you will be, so yes, we will spend Christmas together. At Barnwell.”

  Claudia swallowed and turned to stare out of the window at the suburban scenery of outer-London. Stavros drove the roads expertly, handling them with confidence, even as they moved into the countryside and ice was in the air.

  Christmas in Barnwell? With her dictatorial guardian for company?

  “I have no clothes,” she said after a heavy moment of contemplation.

  She was still looking out of the window so missed the way his mouth sneered at the predictability of her first concern. “You will have access to the internet,” he said with barely concealed impatience. “Having seen your AMEX bill for the last three years, I know you are familiar with the concept of online shopping.”

  She blinked in surprise. He’d looked at her credit card bills? “I always presumed you had a secretary who took care of that kind of thing.”

  Of course he did. He had three secretaries who ran the mundane tasks of his daily life, including the administering of his ward’s concerns. But he had taken more of an interest in her activities since that night. The night she’d drunk way too much and pressed her teenage body to his, begging him to make love to her, to make her a woman.

  A shiver of something like warning ran down his spine.

  He had wanted her that night. He had been disgusted in himself for the way his body had responded to his best friend’s teenage daughter’s heavy-handed attempts at seduction. And he’d been furious at her for the wanton lack of self-respect she’d demonstrated.

  It had shown him that Claudia was at risk of moving into behaviours of which he certainly didn’t approve. So yes, he’d personally overseen her spending, and he’d had many reasons to worry since.

  Christmas was a particularly extravagant time for the literary heiress. This year, he would keep a closer eye on her. At some point, she would need to learn to manage her own affairs. Perhaps this would be the beginning of fiscal responsibility?

  “Stavros?” She prompted, her eyes roaming his face.

  “Yes, Claudia.” He sighed heavily. “I personally went through your spending. That is one of the duties your father entrusted to me when he asked me to take care of you.”

  “To take care of me?” She repeated, the words heavy with scorn. “And you think that’s what you’ve done?”

  “You disagree?” He asked, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the road ahead.

  “Oh, I suppose you could say you’ve cared for me,” she huffed angrily. “If you think seeing me for the bare minimum time each year suffices.”

  “And you think taking you to bed would have been better?”

  Chapter 2

  THE WORDS HUNG BETWEEN them like an actual, physical shape. Claudia stared at it, and passed it to her captor, and her insides quivered with surprise and shock and yes, damn it, with remembered desire.

  “No,” she mumbled after a moment, wishing the car would open to reveal a hatch through which she might escape, and disappear. How dare he throw that night in her face? She had regretted it every time she’d thought of it since.

  His knuckles were white again through the tan of his skin. Tension screeched through the car, and only the sound of Claudia’s labored breathing could be heard above the low rumble of the powerful car’s engine. She stared resolutely out of the window, outrage making it impossible for her to speak.

  Her chest moved rapidly, and Stavros’s dark gaze moved from the road before them to his ward’s face, and then dropped lower. She was slim, and yet voluptuous. The hint of cleavage was exposed by the low scoop of her shirt, and he remembered every detail of how she’d felt when she’d wrapped her arms around his waist, gluing her young body to his and asking him to make love to her for her eighteenth birthday gift.

  A muscle in his jaw clenched as he forced himself to focus on driving, but his mind was on that night, on the way he’d been equally angry and tempted. He’d wanted her. He’d wanted to be the one to teach her body how to feel, to show her what desire was and yes, damn it, he’d fantasised about giving his ward her first orgasm.

  And the fact he’d even thought about it was a weakness that disgusted Stavros Aresteides to this very day.

  Claudia was the daughter of his dearest friend and Stavros had been trusted with looking after her. With keeping her safe. He would have put money on the fact Christopher La Roche meant from men like him, as well as from any other multitude of disasters that would await the billion-pound heiress.

  So he’d rejected her and he’d focused the anger he’d felt at himself squarely onto her. He winced as he remembered the charges he’d thrown at her, the disgust he had imbued his words with. He’d crushed her that night.

  His lips twisted wistfully. He thought he had, anyway, but Claudia had bounced straight back. It had been only weeks after that she’d first appeared in the papers, wearing a dress he could still see clearly in his mind. It was burned into his memories, the way the white cotton had been almost transparent, the fabric had been so fine. It had scooped low over her breasts and had barely covered her arse. She’d been laughing at something someone had said, her head was tilted back, her fingers curved around a glass of champagne, and her nipples had been visibly erect.

  It was the image that had captivated the nation and cemented her place as an up and coming ‘it’ girl. Who knew such a thing existed? Who knew it was possible to make a career out of being ‘famous’, though thank God she hadn’t turned up on any of those dodgy reality TV shows for washed-up newsreaders. Yet.

  His lips were a grim line. He had to act, no matter how little this duty pleased him.

  “We are still almost two hours from Barnwell,” he said coldly. “Why don’t you rest.”

  “Rest?” She repeated with obvious incredulity. “You think I could rest after this?” She spun in her chair once more, pinning him with her outraged glare. “You think I should just go quietly with you? No way, Stavros. If you’re going to kidnap me then you’d better believe I’m going to make you know I’m here.”

  He tossed her a look that hinted at barely-concealed impatience. “Stop being so childish,” he said. And the insult hurt. It hurt deeply, because he had said exactly that to her that night. “I am not kidnapping you. I am saving you.”

&nbs
p; “Saving me?” She responded with a laugh. “From what?”

  “From yourself, apparently,” he muttered, then slid her a sidelong glance. “From the hordes of photographers who have laid siege to your apartment. From your so-called friend Artie who is happy for you to be at the centre of his little drama.”

  “This isn’t his fault.”

  Stavros laughed and shook his head. They reached the motorway and he merged onto it, pressing his foot down so that the car growled with agreement as it sped up, moving into the fast-moving lane and beginning to devour the miles that stood between her normal life and captivity.

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this.” She glared at him. “I’m just going to get an uber back to London as soon as we arrive.”

  “We both know you won’t.” He passed a lorry and continued onwards. “You might think you don’t need your father’s money enough to stay. Fine. That’s your decision. If you want to try to make it in the real world like a big girl then, by all means, be my guest.” He narrowed his eyes slightly, still looking straight ahead. Tiny little lines of concentration formed and Claudia’s gut twisted.

  He was outrageously handsome, given what a bastard he was. What a waste of such fantastic looks.

  “But I do think you care about earning his approval. I think you care about the fact that your father trusted me to guide you morally and that you are badly in need of moral guidance.”

  Colour drained from her face. “You’re not actually suggesting you’re fit for that role.”

  He eyed her speculatively.

  “I gather this is like a ‘do as I say, not as I do’ kind of mentorship?”

  He arched his brows then gave his full attention back to the motorway. “In what way do you think I lack the ability to guide you?”

  “You’re … you run through women faster than I change shoes,” she said thickly, wishing she could do a better job of concealing how his sexploits affected her.

  “That was a long time ago,” he said seriously. He thought of Riannon and anger churned his gut. Anger directed at the woman he’d been intending to marry and his brother, who was now to be her groom. Anger at the fact they were spending Christmas with his family, and everyone was happy with the substitution.

  “Yeah, well, like you said. I’m twenty-one. Isn’t this my time to live a little?”

  “A little,” he responded dryly. “Have a taste of the wild life, certainly. Not to eat the whole damned buffet as you are. When was the last time you had a quiet night in?” He prompted unrelentingly.

  “It’s a busy time of year, I told you,” she murmured. “My calendar for December books up months in advance. I’m meant to be going to see the London Symphony tonight, in fact.”

  “You’ll have to buy the recording.”

  She glared at him. “You’re serious about this?”

  “Yes, Claudia. I’m deadly serious. Now sit back and enjoy the ride.” He flicked the car radio on and the sound of classical Christmas carols filled the space. She doubted a man like Stavros with a heart chipped from the ice core of the earth had chosen to play something so beautifully festive. He probably hadn’t even realized that Christmas carols were on the radio. He just wanted to drown out her objections to this stupid plan.

  Claudia settled back in her seat and shut her eyes, letting the music wash over her and relax her.

  This was a stupid idea but no doubt it wasn’t fully formed. She’d go to Barnwell for a few days. Once he had calmed down, she’d talk some sense into him. And then she’d get the hell out of there before she could make an even bigger fool of herself than she had three years earlier.

  It was dusk by the time his car reached the estate. The sun was setting low in the sky and the air was thick with the magic of the countryside. Despite the anger she felt towards her captor, Claudia sat up straighter in the seat and peered out of her window, craning to catch any of the landmarks that might seem familiar.

  It had been a long time since she’d been to his home. In fact, she’d come only once, right after her father’s funeral. Stavros had brought her home to stay for a few nights, while the arrangements were put in place for her ongoing care.

  The little orphan he’d been lumbered with the duty of caring of – a duty he so clearly hadn’t wanted.

  At fifteen, she’d been on the brink of womanhood and spending days in proximity to this man, even in her grief-addled state, had woken something inside of her. He’d imprinted on her mind, and she’d begun to dream about him.

  She’d wanted him even then, though she hadn’t known what the feelings were that had been coursing through her hormonally charged body. She’d known only that he made her heart flip and flop and her pulse race, that she felt warm when she was near him.

  A hedge of blackberries grew wild on one side. She remembered walking all the way down to it and picking the berries in the midday sun. They’d been warm and gooey and had dribbled down her chin as she’d eaten them. Her fingers had been stained for days. In fact, even after she’d returned to boarding school, she’d borne faint traces of the purple juice, a reminder of Barnwell and the changes that had begun to take place in her body and mind.

  He pressed a button above the visor and slowed the car down at the same time. A large, wrought-iron gate began to open inwards, and though she didn’t hear it, she imagined it groaning like a bad film adaptation of Dracula.

  It was a magical time of day to arrive somewhere like Barnwell. The air was almost golden and it cast shadows and light on the rolling lawns that passed on either side of the gravel drive. He moved the car into the estate and, she couldn’t help herself, Claudia spun in her seat to watch the gates begin to close. She watched until they’d slammed shut.

  And tried not to get all dramatic about the fact she was literally under his lock and key. She knew from experience it wasn’t easy to leave the estate without his permission.

  It was one of the things Stavros had told her back when Christopher had died and the press had begun to follow her, looking for a photo of the poor, grieving orphan.

  “You can relax here, asteráki. No one can enter the estate without my knowledge. We have alarms on the perimeter, cameras watching the entrances. You are safe.”

  Only the dangers had come from within.

  Had come from him, and her, and how she felt for him.

  The car moved onwards, around the large curve of the drive, so that to the left she could see the formal garden with its elaborately planted patterns. Even at this time of year it was beautiful, the ferns in between each garden bed growing tall and proud, reminding her of ten Christmas trees standing guard over the place.

  To her right was one of the gate houses, and the gardens behind it grew more wild and free, a tangle of trees that had reminded fifteen-year-old Claudia La Roche of an enchanted woodland.

  And then, there was the house. She leaned forward unconsciously as they approached, her eyes sweeping over the stone mansion, with its ancient windows and chimneys. It was both impossibly grand and homely at the same time, a testament to the restorations that Stavros’s grandmother had undertaken. Wisteria grew wild over this side, though at the moment it was just the skeletal evidence of what warmth would bring – a nest of dry, wooded veins that scrambled over the stone side of the house. He brought the car to a stop on the gravel and they both sat there for a moment, the silence dropping heavier than the night.

  “Marta has prepared dinner,” he said stiffly, then pushed his car door open.

  Claudia watched as he sprung from the vehicle and moved towards the house, without a backwards glance at the car or her. She stayed where she was, not as a form of protest, but because she was glued to the seat.

  Standing like this, walking to the house, she could only stare. She’d seen him six months earlier, it wasn’t as though she’d been deprived of the sight of him. But it had been their usual twenty-minute cocktail for her birthday – a ritual he observed each year, marking the progress of her aging by presenting he
r with some kind of gift or other, undoubtedly hand-selected by one of his assistants.

  But somehow, watching him stride towards his country estate, wearing jeans and a pullover rather than the suits she usually saw him in, she could only stare.

  And feel something like danger and warning slick her insides with a dark, desirous heat.

  He was the embodiment of power. She pressed her hand to the door but stayed where she was, a sinking feeling wrapping around her.

  How the hell was she going to get through even a day of this? Let alone two weeks?

  She pushed the car open, and her shoes made a crunching sound as they landed on the gravel. It was colder here at Barnwell than in London, and her leather jacket offered little protection to the mid-winter’s evening. She wrapped her arms over her chest and jogged towards the side entrance.

  Everything about it brought memories back, including the glow from within the door that had seemed so welcoming as a grieving fifteen-year-old. Now, it seemed to be like the fires of the devil’s belly. She swallowed and pushed the door inwards.

  Stavros was on the other side, apparently waiting for her.

  “Do you remember how to get to your room?”

  The question did something odd to her. Just the reference of ‘her room’ made her long for all the things she’d never had. A normal home. A bedroom of her own. The familiarity that came of being wanted by someone.

  She nodded, sure she could find her way.

  “Good.” His eyes glittered when they met hers. “Then go and freshen up. We’ll eat in half an hour.”

  “Yes, sir,” she snapped, unable to resist the temptation of lifting her fingers to her brow and mock-military saluting him.

  He reached out and grabbed her hand, surprising them both. He held her fingers between his, and her body reacted instantly. Every fibre of her being began to vibrate with desire and need. Her eyes latched to his and she jerked her fingers away, terrified of what she’d felt, of what had happened the instant they’d touched.