Christmas Angel for the Billionaire

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THREE hours later, the car parked, her arm tucked firmly in George’s-it was clear he wasn’t going to let her stray from his side-Annie stood in the centre of Maybridge. There were lights everywhere and a brass band was playing Christmas carols as crowds of shoppers searched out presents for their loved ones.

Somewhere, in her subconscious, she knew this was how Christmas was meant to be, but now she was touching it, feeling it as she was jostled by shoppers laden with bags, excited children who’d spotted ‘Santa’ in a mock-up sleigh, collecting for a local charity. Noisy, joyful, it was a world away from Christmas as she knew it.

‘What do you need?’ George asked.

This. This normality. This man, she thought, as she looked up at him and for a moment the carols, the lights faded.

‘Annie?’

This moment, she thought, refusing to think about next week.

‘Just a few basic essentials. Underwear, another pair of jeans-these are a bit big,’ she said, tugging at the waist. ‘Nothing fancy.’

‘I know just the place,’ Xandra said. She paused at the entrance to a large store, glanced at her father. ‘You might want to give this a miss.’

‘If you think you can scare me away with threats of female undergarments, think again.’

‘You are so embarrassing.’

‘I understood it was a parent’s duty to embarrass their offspring,’ he replied, unmoved.

‘Oh, please! I’ll wait here,’ she said, taking out her cellphone, her thumb already busy texting before she reached the nearest bench.

‘I won’t be long,’ Annie said, then, realising that he wasn’t going to let her out of his sight, proceeded to test his assertion. Faced with the choice between six-packs of pants in plain white, mixed colours or patterned, she asked him to choose.

He took all three packs and dropped them in the basket, lips firmly sealed.

She tried on jeans while he stood guard at the changing room door, modelling them for him. By the time they reached the socks he’d had enough and, after looking down at her feet, he gathered up a pair of each before she could tease him further.

‘Spoilsport,’ she said.

‘You’d better believe it,’ he said.

She added a sweater and three tops to the basket and then queued up to pay.

‘That was fun,’ she said, handing the bags to George and waving to Xandra before obediently slipping her hand through the elbow he’d stuck out. ‘What now?’

‘Food?’ he suggested, heading for a van from which the tantalising smell of frying onions was wafting. ‘Who fancies a hot dog?’

‘Not for me,’ Xandra said, backing away. ‘I need some shampoo. Can I get you anything, Annie?’

‘Please.’ By the time she’d given Xandra some money, George had a halfeaten hot dog in one hand. ‘Are they good?’

‘You’ve never had one?’ He shook his head. ‘Stupid question.’

He ordered two. ‘I missed lunch,’ he said, catching her look as he sucked mustard from his thumb.

‘Me too,’ she said, holding his gaze as she took one of them from him.

He looked away first, which wasn’t as pleasing as it should have been and, taking the only comfort on offer, she bit deep into the bun, reminding herself that she was in search of new experiences.

Who knew when she’d share another hot dog moment with a seriously sexy man?

It must have been the fumes of the mustard hitting the back of her throat that brought tears to her eyes, making her choke.

‘Better?’ George asked, helpfully thumping her back. Leaving his hand there.

‘Not much,’ she said, dropping the remains of the hot dog in the bin. ‘It’s been quite a day for new experiences.’

He removed his hand as if burned. ‘What’s keeping Xandra?’

She sighed. ‘She said she’d meet us by the Christmas tree in the square.’

All the trees that surrounded the square had white lights threaded through their bare branches, creating a fairyland arena for the seasonal ice rink that had been created in the central plaza and throwing the huge Christmas tree, ablaze with colour, into vivid contrast.

But it wasn’t the figures on the ice or the lights that brought George to an abrupt halt. It was the sight of his daughter, sitting on a bench, much too close to the boy from the Christmas tree farm.

‘The damned lights were just an excuse to come into town and meet him,’ he declared but, as he surged forward, Annie stepped in front of him, a hand on his chest.

‘They could have met by chance.’

He looked at her. ‘Do you really believe that?’

‘Does it matter? She chose to wait and come into town with you.’

‘She wanted to come on her own.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, I could shake you!’ She took a deep breath, then, slowly, talking to him as if he were a child, she said, ‘Don’t you understand? Xandra got herself suspended from school deliberately. Mrs Warburton would have let her go and visit her grandfather in hospital, but she didn’t want an afternoon off school. She wanted to be with you.’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ he said. He took another step but Annie didn’t budge. ‘I tried,’ he said. ‘It’s not easy from the other side of the Atlantic, but I’ve tried and tried to be a father-I even applied for joint custody.’

‘The Family Court turned you down?’

‘Penny told them that she would be confused. She was already that. Calling her new husband Daddy, ignoring me. Wouldn’t come and see me in London when I was here on business. Wouldn’t come to the States, even when I offered the theme park incentive.’

‘She doesn’t want theme parks,’ she said. ‘She wants you.’

‘But-’

‘Not in America, not in London, but here.’

He spread his arms, indicating that she’d got what she wanted.

‘That’s just the beginning. She’s not going to make it easy for you. She’ll test you and test you. Keep pushing you away to see how resilient you are. Whether you love her enough to stay.’

‘She knows I love her,’ he protested. ‘I’ve given her everything she’s ever wanted. Ever asked for.’

‘Except yourself. She wants you, here, in her life. Not some Santa figure with a bottomless cheque book, but a father. She’s afraid that you’ve only come to close down the garage, tidy up the loose ends, and she’s desperately afraid that this time when you leave you’ll never come back.’

‘How can you know that?’ he demanded, not wanting to believe it.

‘Because I tested everyone. Not with tears or tantrums, I just withheld myself. Made nannies, governesses, teachers, even my grandfather prove that they weren’t going to go away and never come back, the way my parents had.’

‘I came back.’

‘How often? Once a year? Twice?’ She put her hands on his shoulders, forced him to look at her. ‘How much do you want to be a father?’ she demanded. ‘Final answer.’

‘Enough not to turn a blind eye to hot-wiring cars or making secret plans to meet up with boys.’

‘Right answer,’ she said, with a smile that made the lights seem dim. ‘Come on, let’s go and say hello.’

‘Hello?’ he said, staying put. ‘That’s it?’

‘It’s a start.’

‘But-’

Annie felt for him. She could see that he wanted to go over there and grab that boy by the throat, demand that he never come near his precious little girl.

‘Open your eyes, open your ears, George. Listen to what she’s telling you. She wants you to be part of her life but you’re going to have to accept that she’s a young woman.’

George tore his gaze from his daughter and looked at her advocate. Passionate. Caring.

‘You’re not talking about her,’ he said. ‘You’re talking about yourself.’

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. It was obvious. When she was six years old her life had changed for ever. At sixteen she’d become a national icon and had never had the freedom to meet a boy in town. Test herself. Make mistakes.

She knew everything. And nothing. But it was the everything that was important.

‘Okay,’ he said, ‘let’s go and say hello.’

‘And?’ she said, still pushing him.

‘And what?’

‘And ask him if he likes Chinese food,’ she said.

He took a deep breath. ‘Let’s go and say hello. And ask him if he likes Chinese food.’

‘You ask him while I get the skates,’ she said, straightening, taking a step back. ‘What size do you take?’

‘Skates?’ He groaned. ‘Please tell me you’re kidding.’

‘I’ve only got a week. Less. I’m not missing out on a single opportunity.’

‘Couldn’t you just wait until you go home?’ he asked. ‘Get your personal assistant to call some Olympic champion to give you a twirl around the ice?’

‘I could,’ she agreed, ‘but I wouldn’t be that self-indulgent.’ He was being facetious, she knew. He’d briefly let down his guard and now he was using sarcasm to keep her at a distance. No deal. If he wanted her distant, he was going to have to let her go. ‘And, anyway, where would the fun be in that?’

‘You’re saying that you’d rather go out there and be pushed, shoved, fall over, make a fool of yourself in public?’

‘Exactly like everyone else,’ she said, ‘but I don’t need you to hold my hand. If you’d rather watch from the sidelines I’d quite understand.’

George growled with frustration.

She was an enigma. A woman of supreme confidence who was at home with the powerful and the most vulnerable. Touchingly innocent and yet old beyond her years. Clear-sighted when it came to other people’s problems, but lost in the maze of her own confusion.

On the surface she had everything. She had only to express a wish for it to be granted. Any wish except one. The privacy to be herself.

He regarded her-her eyes were shining with a look of anticipation that he’d seen before-and for a moment he forgot to breathe as he revised the number of impossible items on her wish list to two.

The second should have been tailor-made for a man who had made a life’s work of the no-strings-attached, mutually enjoyable sexual encounter. It was the perfect scenario. A beautiful woman who would, in the reverse of the Cinderella story, on the seventeenth of December change back into a princess.

But Annie had, from the first moment she’d turned that penetrating gaze full on him, set about turning his life upside down.

Within twenty-four hours of meeting her he was beginning to forge a shaky relationship with his daughter, was talking to his father and found himself thinking all kinds of impossible things both before and after breakfast.

And accepting one irrefutable truth.

If he made love to Annie, he would never be able to let her go.

But she wasn’t Annie Rowland. She was Lady Roseanne Napier and, no matter what her eyes were telling him, they both knew that she could never stay.

‘Well?’ she demanded impatiently.

‘Have you ever been on ice skates?’ he asked.

‘No, but they’re all doing it,’ she said, turning to look at the figures moving with varying stages of competence across the ice. ‘How hard can it be?’

‘They all had someone to hold their hand when they did it for the first time.’

Skating he could do. Holding her hand, knowing that he would have to let go, would be harder, but a few days of being ordinary would be his gift to her. Something for her to look back on with pleasure. For him to remember for ever.

She looked back at him, hesitated.

‘What are you waiting for?’ he asked. ‘Let’s go and get those boots. Just don’t complain to me when you can’t move in the morning.’

‘What about Xandra?’ she asked. ‘That boy?’

He glanced at them, sitting on the bench talking, laughing.

‘They can take care of the bags.’

Annie felt the pain a lot sooner than the next morning. She’d spent more time in close contact with the ice than gliding across it-would have spent more but for George-and had been laughing too much to waste time or breath complaining about it.

George was laughing too as he lifted her back onto her feet for the umpteenth time. ‘Hold onto my shoulders,’ he said as he steadied her, hands on her waist, then grabbed her more tightly as her feet began to slide from beneath her again. Too late. They both went down.

‘Have you had enough of this?’ he asked, his smile fading as, ignoring the skaters swirling around them, he focused his entire attention on giving her exactly what she wanted. ‘Or do you want to give it one more try?’

One more, a hundred times more wouldn’t be enough, Annie knew. She wanted a lifetime of George Saxon’s strong arms about her, holding her, supporting her. A lifetime of him laughing at her, with her.

‘Aren’t we supposed to be shopping for lights?’ she said, looking away.

Xandra and her new boyfriend were leaning on the rail watching them. ‘Pathetic,’ she called out, laughing at the pair of them. ‘Give it up.’

‘She might have a point,’ Annie said, turning back to George.

‘She hasn’t the first idea,’ he said, his expression intent, his lips kissing close. And neither of them were talking about ice skating.

While the skaters whirled around them, in their small space on the ice the world seemed to stand still as they drank in each other. Every moment.

‘Come on,’ Xandra called. ‘Dan knows a great place to buy lights.’

Annie scrambled to her feet and, for the first time since she’d stepped onto the ice, her feet were doing what they were supposed to as she glided gracefully to the edge of the rink with George a heartbeat behind her.

‘Dan?’ he said.

‘Dan Cartwright.’ The boy stuck out his hand. ‘We met this morning, sir. At the farm.’

‘I remember,’ George said, taking it.

The boy didn’t actually wince but he swallowed hard.

‘I’m Annie,’ she said, holding out her own hand so that George was forced to relinquish his grip. ‘Shall we go and look at these lights?’

The tree lights were just the start. They piled icicle lights for the eaves, curtain lights for the walls, rope lights for the fence into their trolley. And then Annie spotted a life-size reindeer-driven sleigh with Santa himself at the reins and refused to leave without it.

‘We won’t be able to get it into the car,’ George protested.

‘Dan’s got a motorbike,’ Xandra said. ‘He’s got a spare helmet so I could go home on the back of that.’

‘No,’ he replied without hesitation. ‘You can’t.’

‘In fact,’ she said, carrying on as if he hadn’t spoken, ‘when I go to Maybridge High I’ll need some transport. You had a motorbike, didn’t you?’

Yes, he’d had a bike, but that was different. She was a…‘If you want to go to Maybridge High I’ll drive you there myself,’ he snapped back.

There was a pause, no longer than a heartbeat, while the reality of what he’d said sank in.

He would drive her. Be here. Change his life for her…

‘Oh, please!’ She rolled her eyes. ‘How pathetic would I look? Besides, Dan said he’d teach me to ride.’

‘I’ve never been on a motorbike,’ Annie cut in before he could respond. ‘Why don’t I go with Dan?’ Then, ‘Actually, I’d love a lesson too.’

‘No one is going on the back of Dan’s bike!’ he exploded. ‘And if anyone is going to teach anyone to ride anything, it will be me!’

‘Brilliant,’ Xandra said, then, just as he realised that he’d been stitched up like a kipper, she nudged him with her shoulder and said, ‘Thanks, Dad.’

Dad…

He looked at Annie. She had her hand to her mouth, confirmation that he hadn’t misheard, hadn’t got it wrong, but something amazing had just happened and he had to swallow twice before he could manage, ‘We could come and pick up the sleigh tomorrow in the four-wheel drive.’

‘Great. I can get my hair cut at the same time.’

‘Whatever you want, Annie,’ he replied, and meant it. ‘Now, shall we get out of here and pick up some food? Dan? Chinese?’

‘Well?’ Annie asked, giving a twirl so that George, who’d been waiting for her in a coffee shop opposite the hairdresser, could fully appreciate the stylish elfin cut that now framed her face. ‘What do you think?’

‘It doesn’t matter what I think,’ he replied. ‘The question is, are you happy?’

‘Absolutely,’ she said. ‘I love it. Even better, no one in there even suggested I looked like…anyone else.’

‘A result, then. Although when you reappear in public sporting your new look, they might just wonder.’

‘They might wonder, but I’ve got the pictures to prove I’m in Bab el Sama,’ she said, indicating a newspaper left by one of the café’s patrons. ‘Actually, that’s the one downside. Poor Lydia doesn’t get a choice in the matter. She’s going to have to have her hair cut whether she wants to or not.’

‘It goes with the job, but if it worries you buy her a wig for Christmas,’ he suggested.

‘You’re not just a pretty face,’ she said, slipping her arm in his. ‘Now, let’s take a look at this Christmas market.’

‘Really? What happened to hating Christmas?’

‘Not this Christmas,’ she said as they wandered amongst the little stalls decorated with lights and fake snow, admiring the handmade gifts and decorations. ‘The new memories I’ve made will make this a Christmas I will always cherish.’

‘That makes two of us,’ he said.

They drank gingerbread lattes to warm themselves, tasted tiny samples of every kind of food, bought some of it, then stopped at a stall selling silly seasonal headgear.

‘I have to have one of those,’ Annie said and George picked up an angel headband which he settled carefully on her head.

‘Uh-uh. The angel is on holiday.’ She pulled it off and replaced it with one bearing sprigs of mistletoe that lit up and flashed enticingly. ‘Let’s give this one a test run,’ she teased, closing her eyes and tilting her face to invite a kiss.

His cold lips barely brushed her cheek and, about to pull it off, ask the stallholder if he had something a little more effective, something in George’s eyes stopped her. Not the warning to behave that she anticipated, but the mute appeal of a man for whom one more kiss would be one too many. An admission that while he’d walked away from temptation it had not been easy. That he was on a knife-edge.

‘Perfect!’ she exclaimed brightly as she turned swiftly away to check the rest of the stall. ‘This for you, I think,’ she said, choosing a Santa hat. She wanted to put it on him, just as he’d put on the angel headband. Pull it down over his ears, cradle his dear face, kiss him so thoroughly that he’d fall.

Yesterday she might have done. Yesterday he’d been this sexy, gorgeous man who’d turned her on, lit her up like the Christmas tree in the square. Today, with one look, she knew that one kiss was never going to be enough. Understood what he’d known instinctively. That walking away after anything more would tear her in two.

So she simply handed him the hat and left him to pay for it, stepping quickly away to look at a stall selling handmade jewellery. Giving them both space to take a breath, put back the smiles, continue as if the world hadn’t just shifted on its axis.

She chose a pair of pretty snowman earrings for Xandra, a snowflake brooch for Hetty, a holly tie-tack for George’s father and had them put in little gift bags. Just something to thank them for accepting her as she was-no trappings, just ordinary Annie.

She didn’t buy anything for George.

She’d already given him her heart.

‘All done?’ he asked, joining her, and she nodded but, as they were leaving, she spotted the same angels that had been on sale at the Christmas tree farm and stopped. ‘I have to have one of those,’ she said.

‘You’re really getting into the Christmas thing,’ he said, taking the bag while she paid for the angel.

She shook her head. ‘It’s for the tree at King’s Lacey. A discordant note of simplicity amongst the ornate designer perfection to remind me…’ She faltered and, when he didn’t press her, she said, ‘Let’s go home.’

George gave the reindeer a final tug to test the fixing, making sure that it was secure.

‘Switch it on,’ he called down. ‘Let’s see if it works.’ He was leaving it as long as possible before he was forced to climb down. He felt safer up here on the roof, as far from Annie as he could get.

He’d known a week would be hard, he just hadn’t realised how hard. How hard he’d fallen.

He’d never believed in love at first sight and yet from the first moment he’d set eyes on her it had been there, a magnetic pull. Each day, hour, minute he spent in her company was drawing him closer to her. And the nearer he got, the harder it was going to be to break away.

She understood, he knew. Had been careful to keep her distance since that moment at the market when she’d lifted her face for a kiss-he’d kissed her before without invitation, after all-and he hadn’t been able to do it. Not kiss her and let her go.

She’d urged him to get involved with the renovation of Xandra’s car, build on the new start they’d made-not that he’d needed much encouragement. The moment when she’d called him ‘Dad’ had been a turning point. There was a long way to go, but he was here for the long haul and he’d spent a lot of time on the phone to Chicago, reorganising his life. But that had still left a lot of time to be together.

Time when she got into trouble trying to cook and needed a taster and he’d stayed to help.

Time around the table when, even when they weren’t alone, somehow there was a silent connection, something that grew stronger each day.

Time for quiet moments by the fire when his mother and Xandra were at the hospital. Not saying much. Not touching. Just looking up and seeing her curled up in the chair opposite. Being together.

Perfect moments that had felt like coming home.

‘Xandra should do the official switch on,’ she called back. ‘It was all her idea.’

‘This is just a test run. She can do it properly later, when it’s dark.’

‘Okay…’ She put her hand on the switch, then said, ‘It gives me great pleasure to light up the Saxon family home this Christmas. God bless it and all who live in it.’

She threw the switch and the lights came on, twinkling faintly in the bright winter sunlight.

‘It’s going to look fabulous when it gets dark,’ Annie said, shading her eyes as she looked up at him. ‘You’ve done an amazing job with Santa. He looks as if he’s just touched down on the roof.’

There was no putting it off and he climbed down the scaffold tower. ‘I suspect I’ve broken at least half a dozen town planning laws,’ he said. ‘It’ll be a distraction for passing motorists and in all probability an air traffic hazard. And, as for cheering up my father when he gets home, he’ll undoubtedly have a relapse at the prospect of the electricity bill when he sees it.’

‘Phooey.’

He looked at her. ‘Phooey? What kind of language is that for the daughter of a marquess?’

‘Completely inappropriate,’ she admitted, looking right back at him, and they both knew that he was reminding her that time was running out. ‘Annie Rowland, on the other hand, can say phooey as much as she wants. So…Phooey,’ she said, clinging to these final hours. Then, turning back to the house, ‘Besides, you won’t be able to see it from the road. Well, apart from Santa up there on the roof. And the rest of the lights are energy efficient, so a very merry eco-friendly Christmas to you.’

‘I’ll bet you don’t have one of those on the roof of your stately home,’ he said a touch desperately. Reminding himself that she wasn’t Annie Rowland, that this was a little fantasy she was living. When the metaphorical clock struck midnight she would turn back into Lady Rose and drive off in a limo with chauffeur and bodyguard in attendance, return to the waiting Viscount and the life she was born to.

‘They did have another one in the shop,’ she said, turning those stunning blue eyes on him. ‘Do you think they’d deliver it to King’s Lacey?’

‘If you were prepared to pay the carriage, I imagine they’d deliver it to the moon, but what would your grandfather say?’

‘I’ve no idea, but the estate children would love it. In fact, I might see if I can hire a Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer sleigh ride for the Christmas party.’

‘You have a party?’

‘Of course. It’s expected. A party for the local children, with Santa in attendance with presents for everyone. The tenant farmers in for drinks on Christmas Eve and then, on Christmas Day, my grandfather and I sit in state in the dining room for lunch before exchanging perfectly wrapped gifts. The only thing that’s missing is conversation because, rather than say the wrong thing, we say nothing at all.’

‘I find it hard to imagine you tiptoeing around anyone’s feelings. You certainly don’t tiptoe around mine.’

‘I know.’ She smiled at him. ‘You can’t imagine how relaxing that is.’

‘So why do you put up with it year after year?’ he demanded, suddenly angry, not with her grandfather but with her for enduring it rather than changing it.

‘Duty?’ she said. ‘And my grandfather is all the family I have.’ Then, in a clear attempt to change the subject, ‘What about you, George? Are you really going to stay on?’

‘You suspect I might be pining for my beach bum existence?’

‘That would be George Saxon, the beach bum who designed a series of computer programs that helps to reduce wear and tear on combustion engines?’ He waited, knowing that she had something on her mind. ‘Who’s since designed a dozen applications that have made him so much money he never has to work again?’

‘Does Rupert Devenish work for a living?’ he asked.

‘Rupert runs his estates. Holds directorships in numerous companies. Works for charity. He’s not idle.’

‘It’s no wonder the press are so excited,’ he said, wishing he hadn’t started this. ‘You sound like the perfect match.’

The colour drained from her face but, without missing a beat, she said, ‘Don’t we?’ Then, briskly, ‘Okay. The lights are done and we’ve just got time for that motorcycle lesson you promised me before your father gets home from the hospital.’

‘For that we’d need a motorcycle,’ he pointed out thankfully. ‘I thought perhaps, this year, I might break with tradition and, instead of a bank transfer, I’d let Xandra choose her own present. No prizes for guessing what she’ll choose.’

It was meant to distract her and it did.

‘It’ll be a cheap Christmas, then. The only bike she wants is yours.’

‘Mine?’

‘The one in the barn?’

George glanced at the stone long-barn, all that remained of the original farm buildings. Over the years it had served as a stable, a depository for tack, garden tools and every item of transportation he’d ever owned since his first trike, then crossed to the door and pushed it open.

‘What is it?’ she asked as he stared at a familiar tarpaulin.

‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘History. A heap of rust.’ But, unable to help himself, he pulled back the tarpaulin to reveal the motorbike he’d bought on his sixteenth birthday.

It wasn’t a classic. Nothing like the high-powered one he rode in California, but he’d saved every last penny of money he’d earned or been given for birthdays, Christmas, to buy it and it had represented freedom, independence. He’d ridden it home from Cambridge that first Christmas, high on his new life, full of everything he’d done and seen.

Four weeks later, when it was time to return to his studies, Penny had refused to ride on the back because of the baby and they’d taken the train.