A Champagne Christmas: The Christmas Love-Child / The Christmas Night Miracle / The Italian Billionaire's Christmas Miracle. Catherine SpencerЧитать онлайн книгу.
motor, and the Bugatti flew like a black raven through the mist and rain.
GRACE took a deep breath as she stood on the terrace of Maksim’s Dartmoor estate, staring out at the snow-dusted fields. They’d left the London rain far behind. Here the moors were wide and haunted beneath the last rays of fading red sun. A thick white mist was blowing in from the sea.
Tears fell unheeded down Grace’s cold cheeks. The sound of her mother’s happy crying still echoed in her ears as she tucked her cell phone back into her bag.
She’d done it. She’d told her mother that she would save the house from foreclosure. Now Grace would make sure her family never worried about money again. She took another deep breath, grateful beyond words that she’d found her strength. That she’d found herself.
Thanks to Maksim.
Maksim, who’d treated Grace like a princess. She’d never have imagined that any man, let alone someone so handsome and powerful and rich beyond belief, would treat her that way.
Now Grace realized she should accept nothing less. She would never settle again.
She wanted the fairy tale.
She turned from the wide terrace overlooking the carefully tended classical garden and returned through the back door of his eighteenth-century country house. Maksim was waiting.
The inside of the house was every bit as Gothic and misty as the moors outside. Perhaps because the fifty rooms had no furniture—just white translucent curtains that seemed to move against the windows even when they were closed, twisting eerily in an invisible draft that no human skin could feel.
She’d called her mother outside on the terrace, where the cell phone reception was better, and where she could have privacy. She didn’t want Maksim to know how desperate she’d been for money. She didn’t want him to think of her as someone who needed saving.
She’d been proud to save herself.
She wanted Maksim as her equal. As her friend. As her…lover? She could barely move her lips to form the word, but there it was. Her secret.
She wanted him as her lover.
She wanted him for the fire he sparked inside her. For the way he’d somehow made her become the woman she’d always dreamed she could be. For the dreams suddenly coming true around her, like roses blooming full and red amid the breathless hush of winter.
Grace walked back through the empty salon. Painted cherubs looked down at her from the two-hundred-year-old painting soaring high above the enormous chandelier.
This house was beautiful, large…and lonely.
No one lived here, Maksim had told her. He’d bought it to use as his weekend escape, but he’d been too busy with work to bother visiting. The caretaker and his elderly wife, who resided in a nearby cottage, were the only ones who’d entered the estate for the last several years.
Until now.
The house seemed happy to finally have company, she thought, then nearly laughed at her own ridiculous thought. The house was happy?
What was it about houses that made people so batty?
Grace wiped her eyes as she approached the dining room. She felt like an idiot for crying because she was happy, but as foolish as it sounded, she felt as if her family—as long as they had their home—could survive and be strong.
She entered the dining room, then stopped in shock.
The room was dark, lit by the fire in the marble fireplace—and by dozens of white pillar candles of various sizes and shapes on the floor.
Maksim was lighting the last candle as she entered. He was darkly handsome, wearing a black shirt and black pants. He looked up at her, then straightened as the expression on his handsome face changed to concern.
“You were crying,” he demanded.
“Houses,” she sniffled, looking with wonder at all the candles. “They don’t make a family, except they do, don’t they?”
He frowned. “You’re not making any sense.”
Laughing through her tears, she shook her head. “I’m just happy. I needed money for my house. Thanks to the raise, I’ll have it.”
“Good,” he growled. “About time you moved out of Barrington’s basement.”
He’d misunderstood her, but she didn’t correct him. Moving out of Alan’s house was a good idea, and as soon as her family’s home was secure, that was exactly what she intended to do.
Blowing out the match and tossing it aside, he put his arms around her. “Now leave his office and come work for me.”
“Mixing business and pleasure would be a bad idea,” she whispered.
He stroked her chin. “I’ll buy you a house as your bonus. Any house you want.”
She looked around the eighteenth-century country mansion mischievously. “Really? Any house?”
He laughed, then he kissed her. His lips were warm and passionate. She felt his rough chin against her skin as his tongue stroked hers, luring her, intoxicating her. She pressed her body against his. When he pulled away, a little sigh escaped her.
“Let me take care of you, Grace,” he murmured against her skin.
“I don’t want you as my boss,” she managed to say. “And I don’t want your money. I just want you.”
His eyes flickered.
“And I take care of what is mine,” he growled.
She was his? The idea of his possession was like a warm blanket wrapped around her. He cared about her. Hadn’t he proved that last night when he’d let her go? He could have easily made her a one-night stand, but instead he was wooing her. Courting her in this romantic way.
And she was starting to care about him more than she wanted to admit.
He sat down on a thick white blanket on the floor near the fire. He patted a spot next to him. “Sit down,” he said, quirking a seductive eyebrow. When she did, he handed her a flute of champagne.
“Sure, you have champagne,” she teased. “But what about furniture?”
Reaching into the hamper, he held out a chocolate-covered strawberry. “I don’t need a bed for what I intend to do to you.”
She opened her mouth obediently, and he fed it to her. Then she took the next strawberry from the basket and returned the favor. As he suckled the rich chocolate from the lush fruit, he never took his gaze from hers.
She shivered. When she finished the flute of champagne, he took it from her without a word. Gently brushing her hair aside, he kissed her neck. She closed her eyes, shuddering with desire as he nibbled his way down her throat.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.
And for no good reason, she felt like crying.
“Thank you,” she said, opening her eyes to look directly into his. “Thank you, Maksim.”
His dark eyes looked surprised. “For what?”
She looked past him, to the translucent white curtains and lead-paned windows overlooking the winter twilight. Shaking with the force of her emotion, she looked into his face.
“It has been a hard few years for my family.” She took a deep breath. “I didn’t know what to cling to anymore. Didn’t know what to believe in.”
Maksim looked at her steadily above the shimmering firelight. His eyes were deep smoke, his strong jawline shadowed with bristle. Surrounded by