Christmas Angel for the Billionaire

CHAPTER SEVEN

ANNIE stared at the closed door. ‘I don’t want to be safe!’ she repeated, louder this time.

All her life she’d been kept safe by a grandfather afraid that he’d lose her, as he’d lost his son. She’d been educated at home by tutors, had very few friends-mothers tended to be nervous about inviting her to play when she arrived with a bodyguard in tow.

And it hadn’t got any better as she got older. The only men her grandfather had allowed within touching distance had known better than to take liberties with the nation’s sweetheart. And somehow she’d never managed to get beyond that.

She’d been so sure that George was different.

He’d run out on the family business, had at least one ex-wife, a broken relationship with his teenage daughter. She should have been able to rely on a man with a record like that to take advantage of a damsel in distress.

It wasn’t as if she’d screamed when she found him in her bedroom. On the contrary, when she’d turned and seen him she’d known exactly why women lost their heads over totally unsuitable men. Had been more than ready to lose hers. In every sense of the word.

Instead, after a promising start and despite the fact that she was a towel drop away from being naked, he’d kissed her on the top of the head as if she was six years old instead of twenty-six.

How lowering was that?

She looked at the hand with which she’d detained him, used it to tug free the towel, standing defiantly naked. Then, catching sight of herself in the mirror-all skin and bones-she didn’t blame him. Who on earth would fall in lust with that? she thought, quickly pulling on the pink nightie to cover herself up.

Pink, cute. With a bunny on the front. Just about perfect for a six-year-old, she thought as she climbed into bed.

Or the oldest virgin in the country.

George woke from a dream in which a large, pink, girl rabbit wearing glasses had him pinned down to the bed, furry paws planted firmly on his chest.

Her familiar blue eyes appealed to him to save her while she murmured softly, over and over, ‘I don’t want to be safe…’ And he knew that in some way they were, for her, one and the same thing.

He sat up with a start, certain that he’d seen those eyes somewhere before. Then he scrubbed his hands over his face to wake himself up properly, telling himself that he’d misheard her. She couldn’t possibly have said what he thought she’d said.

It was still pitch dark outside, barely five o’clock, but he swung his legs over the narrow single bed of his boyhood room, not prepared to risk going back to sleep just in case the bunny was still there, lying in wait in his subconscious.

He dressed quickly and, very quietly so as not to disturb anyone, went downstairs and let himself out of the house.

Hetty glanced up from the kitchen scales where she was carefully weighing out flour as Annie walked into the kitchen.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she apologised. ‘I had no idea it was so late.’

As she’d lain alone in the large comfortable bed, certain that once again sleep would elude her, she’d started to make a shopping list in her head. The first thing she was going to buy, she’d decided, was a slinky, sexy nightdress. The kind made for taking off rather than putting on. The last thing she remembered was trying to decide whether it should be black or red.

‘I can’t remember the last time I slept like that.’

‘Well, you must have been tired after your journey. Can you make yourself breakfast? There are plenty of eggs, bacon…’ She made a broad gesture at the collection of ingredients stacked on the kitchen table. ‘I find cooking takes my mind off things.’

‘A slice of toast will do me,’ Annie said. ‘And some tea. Can I make a cup for you?’

She smiled. ‘That would be lovely. Thank you, dear.’

Annie dropped a couple of slices of bread into the toaster, put on the kettle.

‘It’s so quiet here,’ she said.

‘This used to be a farm. Didn’t George tell you?’ She looked up. ‘How did you meet?’

‘Actually, Hetty, George and I aren’t…’ she made a gesture that she hoped would cover the situation ‘…together.’ She swallowed as George’s mother, reaching for a bag of sugar, paused, a frown creasing her brow. ‘My car broke down yesterday evening and I called the nearest garage. He came and picked me up.’

‘George took out the tow-truck?’ she asked, astonished.

‘Not with any enthusiasm,’ she admitted. ‘I was going to call a cab to take me to the motel but Xandra asked me to stay.’

‘Xandra?’ She raised her hand to her mouth. ‘You mean…? But I…’

‘It’s all right. An easy mistake to make and George was the complete gentleman…’ unfortunately ‘…and retired, leaving me in sole possession of the bedroom. I do hope he wasn’t too uncomfortable.’

‘He probably used his old bedroom,’ she said, pouring the sugar into the scales. ‘Pity. It’s about time he settled down with a decent woman.’

‘I’m sure he’d be much happier with an indecent one.’

His mother laughed. ‘No doubt. Maybe that’s why he was in such a bad mood when I took him out some tea earlier. I sent Xandra on an errand to keep her out of his way.’

‘Oh. I had assumed she was with him. She seems very keen.’

‘I know. My husband dotes on her. Let’s her do anything she wants.’ She sighed. ‘Life would have been a great deal easier if George had been a girl. He wouldn’t have been so hard. Expected so much…’ Hetty sighed, then smiled as Annie handed her a cup of tea. ‘Even so, he really shouldn’t have let her get so involved with the garage.’

‘She would never have stuck at it unless she really wanted to be a motor mechanic,’ she said, buttering the toast.

‘George told you about that?’

‘No, it was Xandra. She’s very determined. And I should warn you that she doesn’t want to go back to boarding school. She wants to stay here.’

‘She already spends most of her holidays with us. Her mother has other interests. Pass me that bowl, will you?’

Annie would have liked to ask about George. What interests kept him away? But that would be invading his privacy and, instead, she handed Hetty a large old-fashioned crockery mixing bowl.

‘Are you making a Christmas cake?’

‘It’s silly really. You can buy such good ones and I don’t suppose George-my George-will be able to eat it. The doctor said he needs to lose some weight.’

‘Walking is good. For the heart,’ she added. Then, sucking melted butter from her thumb, ‘Can I do anything to help?’

‘You could make a start creaming the sugar and butter, if you like.’ She tipped the sugar into the bowl, adding butter she’d already measured and chopped up. ‘You’ll find a wooden spoon in the drawer.’

There was no fancy electric mixer to make light work of it, but Annie had seen the process often enough as a child to know what she had to do.

‘What’s the problem with your car?’ Hetty asked when she’d spooned the last of the spices into a saucer and everything was measured. ‘Will it take long to fix?’

‘It’s terminal, I’m afraid. George is going to arrange for it to be crushed.’

‘But that’s-’

Before she could finish, Xandra burst through the door. ‘Got them! Oh, hi, Annie.’ She dumped the box on one of the chairs. ‘I’ve been up in the attic sorting out the Christmas decs. Now all we need is a tree.’

‘Why don’t you and Annie take the Land Rover and go and pick one up from the farm?’ her grandmother suggested.

‘That would be so brilliant.’

Annie blinked at the transformation from last night’s moody teen to this childlike enthusiasm.

‘But I…’

‘What?’

‘I really should be going.’

‘Where? You’re staying for the Christmas market, aren’t you? Annie can stay for the weekend, can’t she, Gran?’

‘It’s fine with me.’

‘But you don’t know me from Adam,’ Annie protested. ‘Besides, wouldn’t you rather go to the farm with your father?’

‘You mean the Grinch?’

‘That’s not fair, Xan,’ Hetty said.

‘Oh, please. He hates Christmas and we all know why.’ Then, ‘Come on, Annie, let’s go and choose the biggest tree we can find.’

She swallowed. The scent of the newly cut evergreen brought indoors never failed to bring back that terrible Christmas when her parents hadn’t come home.

‘You will stay?’ the girl pressed. ‘We could go to the market together. It’ll be fun.’

She looked up, ready to explain that she really had to move on, but Hetty, exhaustion in every line of her face, met her gaze with a silent plea that she couldn’t ignore.

‘Let’s go and get the tree and we’ll take it from there,’ she said.

‘Excellent. Can we go now, Gran?’

‘I’ll be glad to have the place to myself. Not too big,’ she called after her, adding a silent, ‘Thank you,’ to Annie before raising her voice to add, ‘We don’t want a repeat of last year.’ Then, ‘Wrap up. It’s cold out. There’s a scarf on the hook. Gloves in the drawer.’

‘What happened last year?’ Annie asked Xandra, tucking the ends of her hair into the woolly hat before she hauled herself up behind the wheel of an elderly Land Rover.

‘Granddad came home with a ten-foot tree and we couldn’t get it through the door. He’s really silly about Christmas.’

‘Is he? You spend a lot of time with your grandparents?’

She pulled a face. ‘We used to have a lovely house with a garden, but my mother took an interior decorating course and caught minimalism, so traded it in for a loft apartment on the Melchester quays. Not the kind of place for a girl with engine oil under her fingernails.’

‘There’s such a thing as a nail brush,’ she pointed out, biting back the What about your father? question.

‘I suppose, but my mother treats Christmas as a design opportunity. Last year it was silver and white with mauve “accents”.’ She did the thing with her fingers to indicate the quotes.

‘Mauve?’ Annie repeated.

‘With the tiniest, tiniest white lights.’ And, putting on a clipped accent, Xandra said, ‘All terribly, terribly tasteful, dahling.’ Then, ‘Christmas isn’t supposed to be tasteful.’

‘Isn’t it?’ Annie asked, sobering as she thought about the Dickens-inspired designer co-ordinated green, red and gold that traditionally decked the halls of King’s Lacey for the festive season. ‘What is it supposed to be?’

Xandra’s response was a broad grin. ‘Stick around and see what I’ve got planned.’ Then, with a groan as she saw her father, ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’

George had emerged from the workshop and was striding purposefully in their direction and by the time she’d managed to start the cold engine he was at the window and she had no choice but to push it open. He was wearing overalls and there was a smear of grease on his cheek that her fingers itched to wipe away before her lips planted a kiss in that exact spot.

Losing her mind, clearly, she decided, keeping her hands firmly on the steering wheel, her eyes firmly on him, managing a fairly coherent, ‘Good morning.’ Unable to resist saying, ‘I hope you managed to sleep well.’

He lifted an eyebrow, acknowledging the reference to her turning him out of his bed.

‘Well enough,’ he replied, although he’d apparently had to think about it. ‘You?’

‘Like a log for the first time in as long as I can remember,’ she said gratefully. ‘Thank you.’

He nodded. ‘You look…rested.’ Then, as he wiped his hands on a rag, ‘Where are you two off to?’

‘We’re going to the farm,’ she said. ‘To buy a tree.’

‘Come on, Annie. Let’s go,’ Xandra butted in impatiently.

He put his hand on the open window to keep her where she was. ‘Tree?’ He frowned.

‘A Christmas tree? You remember Christmas, don’t you? Peace on earth, goodwill, tacky decs, bad songs. Terrible presents.’

His jaw tightened. ‘I have heard of it.’ Then, looking at Annie, ‘Have you ever driven a four-wheel drive?’

About to assure him that, despite all evidence to the contrary, she’d not only been taught to drive everything on her grandfather’s estate by an ex-police driving instructor, but had been trained in survival driving, she managed to stop herself.

And not simply because mentioning the fact that her grandfather owned an estate seemed like a bad idea.

‘Why?’ she asked innocently. ‘Is it different to driving a car?’

‘In other words, no,’ he said, opening the door. ‘Shift over, I’ll take you.’

‘Can’t you just take me through it?’ she suggested. ‘I know how busy you are and I’ve put you to more than enough trouble.’

‘You think?’ He held her gaze for so long that she was afraid he knew exactly what she was doing. Then, shaking his head, ‘It’ll be quicker if I run you there.’

‘I’m really sorry,’ she said as she edged her bottom along the seat. ‘It was your mother’s idea and she’s been so kind. It’s the least I can do.’

Xandra was staring straight ahead, rigid with tension.

‘Budge up,’ she urged.

The girl moved no more than a hand’s width and Annie could almost feel the waves of animosity coming off her. Clearly her plan to get father and daughter to bond over the purchase of a Christmas tree wasn’t going to be as simple as she’d hoped.

That said, she was a little tense herself as George squashed in beside her, his arm brushing against her as he reached for the gearstick. He glanced at her, asking her with the slightest lift of his eyebrow if she was all right. She gave a barely discernible shrug to indicate that she was fine.

As if.

She was crushed up against the kind of man who would light up any woman’s dreams, her cheek against his shoulder, her thigh trembling against the hard muscles of his leg. She could feel every move he made, every breath and even the familiar smell of hot oil from the engine of the aged vehicle couldn’t mask the scent of warm male.

It was too noisy to talk but as they came to a halt at a busy roundabout he turned to her.

‘You’ll have more room if you put your arm on my shoulder,’ he said, looking down at her. But for a moment, mesmerised by his sensuous lower lip, close enough to kiss, she didn’t, couldn’t, move. Then, before she could get a grip, ease her arm free and lay it across those wide shoulders, Xandra abruptly shifted sideways.

‘I’m…fine,’ she managed as she reluctantly eased herself away from his warmth.

The Christmas tree farm wasn’t far and they were soon pulling off the road and into an area cleared for a car park.

Beside it was the seasonal shop in a little chalet decorated with fake snow and strings of fairy lights. In front of it there was a children’s ride, a bright red sleigh with Rudolph-complete with flashing nose-and Santa, with his sack of parcels, at the reins.

As soon as they came to a halt, Xandra opened the door and leapt down, not waiting for her or her father, disappearing stiff-legged, stiff-necked into the plantation.

‘Are you coming?’ Annie paused on the edge of the seat, looking back as she realised that George hadn’t moved.

‘You know me,’ he said, his face expressionless. ‘I’m just the driver.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s not your fault.’

‘No. And I am truly grateful to you for stepping in. Xandra wants to decorate the house for your father before he comes home from the hospital.’

Or was it really for him? she wondered.

Despite everything she’d said, he’d said, was Xandra hoping that he’d relent over closing the garage, stay for the holiday? That they’d all have a perfect fairy-tale Christmas together, the kind that proper families had in story books?

Dickens, she thought as she jumped down, had a lot to answer for.

Hitting the uneven ground jarred the ankle she’d wrenched the day before and she gave a little yelp.

And then she moaned.

‘What?’ George asked.

‘Nothing…’ She let the word die away as she hung onto the door.

Muttering something that she was clearly not meant to hear, he climbed out and walked round the Land Rover to see for himself.

‘It’s nothing,’ she repeated, letting go of the door with one hand just long enough to wave him away. ‘I gave my ankle a bit of a wrench yesterday when I stepped in that pothole and just now, well, the drop was further than I thought…’ Enough. Don’t overdo it, Annie, she told herself and taking a steadying breath, she straightened herself, touched her toe to the ground. Bravely fought back a wince. ‘Give me a minute,’ she said with a little gasp. ‘I’ll be fine.’

‘Let me see.’

She didn’t have to feign the gasp as he put his hands around her waist and lifted her back up onto the seat, then picked up her left foot, resting her ankle in the palm of his hand.

‘It doesn’t look swollen,’ he said, gently feeling around the bone, the instep and he looked up, slate eyes suddenly filled with suspicion.

‘No. I told you. It’ll be fine.’ She slid down, forcing him back, and began to limp after Xandra.

‘Wait!’

‘I promised Hetty I’d keep an eye on her,’ she said, not looking back. ‘Make sure she keeps her ambitions below ceiling height.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ he said, closing the door and coming after her. ‘Here,’ he said, taking her arms and putting them around his neck. She scarcely had time to react to his irritable command before he’d bent and picked her up. ‘Hang on.’

He didn’t need to tell her twice and she hung on for dear life, arms around his neck, cheek in the crook of his warm neck as he walked across to the wooden chalet, carried her up the steps and set her down on a chair.

‘Stay there and try not to get into any more trouble,’ he said, picking up her foot and turning another chair for it to rest on. ‘Okay?’ his said, his face level with hers.

‘Okay,’ she said a touch breathlessly.

He nodded. ‘Right. I’d better go and make sure Xandra doesn’t pick out something that would be more at home in Trafalgar Square.’

‘Wait!’ she said and, before he could straighten, took his chin in her hand as she searched her pockets for a tissue.

He must have shaved last night after he’d left her, she realised, feeling only the slight rasp of morning stubble against her palm as she reached up and gently wiped the grease off his cheek. Then, because he was looking at her in a way that made her insides melt, she said, ‘George Saxon and Son has a reputation to maintain.’

She’d meant to sound brisk, businesslike, matter-of-fact but her voice, trained to deliver a speech to the back of a banqueting hall, for once refused to co-operate and it came out as little more than a whisper.

‘And what about Annie Rowland?’ he asked, his face expressionless.

‘What? I haven’t got grease on my face, have I?’ she asked, instinctively touching the same place on her own cheek.

‘Not grease,’ he said, lifting her glasses off her nose and slipping them into the top pocket of his overalls. ‘Something far worse.’

‘Oh, but-’

He stopped her protest by planting a kiss very firmly on her lips. For a moment she tried to talk through it but then, as the warmth of his lips penetrated the outer chill, heating her through to the bone, a tiny shiver of pleasure rippled through her and she forgot what she was trying to say.

Instead, she clutched at his shoulder, closed her eyes and, oblivious to the woman sitting by the till, she kissed him back. Let slip a tiny mew of disappointment as he drew back and the cold rushed back in.

She opened her eyes and for a moment they just looked at each other before, without another word, he turned and walked out of the door.

The woman behind the counter cleared her throat as, slightly dazed, Annie watched George follow the path his daughter had taken between the trees.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

‘I’m not sure,’ she said, raising cold fingers to hot lips. ‘I’m really not at all sure.’

‘Only there are signs warning about the uneven paths,’ she said defensively.

‘Are there?’ She watched George until he disappeared from sight and then turned to look at the woman.

‘It says we’re not responsible-’

‘Oh!’ Annie said, finally catching onto the fact that she wasn’t referring to the hiccup in her heartbeat, her ragged pulse rate. Or the way George had stolen her glasses before kissing her.

The woman was only concerned about the fact that she’d apparently injured her ankle in their car park and might decide to sue the pants off them.

She shook her head. ‘Don’t worry about it. I hurt it yesterday,’ she said, reassuring her. ‘Today was no more than a reminder.’

‘Well, that’s a relief. You wouldn’t believe…’ She let it go, smiled, then followed her gaze as she looked along the path that George had taken. ‘It’s good your man is so caring.’

‘Oh, but he isn’t…’

Her man.

She’d only met him last night. Barely knew him. And he didn’t know her at all. No one who knew her would dare to kiss her the way he’d kissed her.

And yet she’d been closer to him in that short time than almost any man she’d ever known. She already cared about him in ways she had only dreamed of. And his daughter.

She’d grown up without a father of her own and if she could heal the breach between them she would go home knowing that she’d done something good.

‘Can I get you something while you’re waiting? Tea? Coffee? Hot chocolate?’

The little wooden chalet was, it seemed, more than simply a place to pay for the trees, the bundles of mistletoe and holly stacked up outside.

There was a little counter for serving hot drinks, cakes and mince pies and the walls were lined with shelves displaying seasonal decorations made by local craftsmen, although she was the only customer for the moment, despite the cars lined up outside. Obviously everyone else was out in the plantation picking out their trees.

Annie ordered a mince pie and a cup of hot chocolate and then, while she was waiting, instead of ignoring the decorations as she usually did, she looked around her, hoping to find something that would amuse Xandra.

There were beautiful handmade candles, charming wooden decorations. All perfectly lovely. All so wonderfully…tasteful.

Outside, a child climbed in the sleigh alongside Santa. His mother put a coin in the machine and it began to move in a motion designed to make over-excited children sick, while it played Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

Not tasteful at all.

‘Here you are.’ The woman brought her chocolate and mince pie. ‘Would you like the paper?’ she asked, offering her one of the red tops. ‘Something to look at while you’re waiting.’

About to refuse, she changed her mind, deciding to check out the kind of coverage she’d got yesterday. Make sure there was nothing that would rouse the slightest suspicion in an eagle-eyed editor or set alarms bells ringing if anyone in her own office took more than the usual cursory glance.

‘Thanks. That would be great.’

A picture of Lydia leaving the Pink Ribbon Lunch had made the front page. With rumours of a wedding, that was inevitable, but the hat, a last-minute special from her favourite designer featuring a Pink Ribbon spangled veil, had successfully blurred her features.

She’d seen so many photographs of herself, her head at just that angle as she’d turned to smile for the cameras, that even she found it hard to believe that it wasn’t actually her.

And if Lydia had a bloom that she’d been lacking in recent months, the caption writer had put his own spin on that.

Lady Rose was radiant as she left the Pink Ribbon Lunch yesterday before flying to Bab el Sama for a well-earned break before Christmas at King’s Lacey, her family home. The question is, will she be on her own? See page five.

She turned to page five, where there was a double-page spread including a recent picture of her, smiling as she left some event with Rupert. Thankful it was over, no doubt.

There was a huge aerial photograph of Bab el Sama, and another distant shot of the beach taken from the sea, along with many words written by someone who had never been there-no one from the press had ever set foot in the place-speculating on the luxury, the seclusion of a resort that was, apparently, the perfect place for lovers.

Put together the words ‘radiant’ and ‘lovers’ and read between the lines…

Yuck.

But, then again, it was only what she’d expected and with luck the possibility would keep the paparazzi fixed to the spot, hoping for a picture that would earn them a fortune.

She smiled. Sorry, chaps, she thought, as she closed the paper, folded it over so that the front page was hidden and put it back on the counter. Then, brimful of goodwill despite rather than because of the season, she said, ‘I don’t suppose I could persuade you to part with Rudolph, could I?’

‘You’d be surprised how many people have asked me that,’ she said, ‘but we’ve only got him on hire during December.’

‘Pity.’

‘Believe me,’ she said as the child demanded another ride and the song started up again, ‘after the first hundred times, it feels like a lifetime.’