Millionaire Under the Mistletoe Page 2

  She shook her head and gathered her handbag, scarf, and magazine. The headphones sat around her neck, and it comforted her to know that she could block out the world at any moment. Crowds daunted her and her stomach roiled at the thought of battling the masses inside the airport.

  He reached to open the overhead locker above his own seat, the action causing his T-shirt to rise and reveal a sliver of taut flesh at his back. No love handles there. He was lean like a runner, not an ounce of fat on him. But his shoulders and arms were built for power. Stella fought back a sudden flutter in her chest and averted her eyes to where the airline hostesses bustled around, preparing the exit.

  “I’ve got my driver meeting me,” he said as he placed a small carry-on bag into the aisle in front of him. “You’re welcome to join me and save braving the taxi line.”

  “I’ve already booked a car.”

  The thought of being cooped up for another minute with Evan made her antsy. Already there was the ghost of old attraction making itself known, an increased awareness of his presence that manifested itself as a prickle under her skin. The less time she spent with him, the better.

  He motioned for her to exit ahead of him, although the aisle was crammed with people and bags. His broad shoulders dominated the space, demanding that she look nowhere but at him. Sucking in a breath, she tried not to brush him as she passed. But her hand skimmed the soft denim of one hard thigh and she had to force herself to act like she hadn’t noticed.

  Cocky bastard. No doubt he’d done that to assert some kind of power over her. She pulled her shoulders back and marched forward, thanking the airline staff as she exited the plane.

  Following the signs to the baggage collection, she walked as quickly as possible—dodging parents wrangling toddlers and couples strolling with linked arms. Her sneakers squeaked against the floor as she circumvented a woman who’d stopped in the middle of the walkway. Evan probably thought she was crazy since they were going to the same place anyway, but her head wasn’t in the right space.

  She made it to the baggage area and spotted the carousel with her flight number displayed. It was empty save for a single, forgotten suitcase that slowly chugged along. She tapped her foot and drummed her fingers against her thigh. Eventually the other people from her flight started to arrive and suitcases filtered out. Her eyes scanned the area for Evan, but she couldn’t see him.

  Outside the airport rain thundered down, pelting the roof with a ferocity that made her shiver. Wind howled long and loud, the English winter was in full force despite it only being the first of December. It was going to be a cold one, apparently, even by their standards. Wrapping her scarf tighter around her neck, she cursed her grandfather for sending her here. Her tan had lost its glow while she visited a friend in the chilly northern part of Italy before making her way to England. A small part of her suspected she might turn into a human ice-cube before Christmas was out.

  Christmas.

  The very thought of her once beloved holiday dragged her lips into a frown. This was the first festive season she wasn’t looking forward to.

  Her suitcase made its way around the last bend of the carousel, the yellow ribbon on the luggage tag a vibrant flicker among the sea of black and brown bags. She stepped forward and grasped the handle, yanking the heavy bag toward her. Her feet slipped from under her and she fell back, landing hard up against something. Two hands clamped down on her shoulders as her suitcase clattered to the floor.

  “We meet again.” Evan’s voice froze her.

  The gentle pressure of her back against his chest burned beneath the fine wool of her top and she almost slipped in her haste to put some distance between them. “How delightful,” she muttered.

  “Tell me you’ve brought a jacket. You’ll catch your death in that.”

  The lightweight cashmere top had been purchased in Italy since she didn’t have a need for anything like it back home. She really wanted to stop and pull her coat out of her bag, but that would only prolong their interaction.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, bending down to right her suitcase.

  “You’re in for a rude shock.” He stepped forward and grabbed his bag. “I’m sure you’ll remember it gets bloody cold here. It’s only going to get worse before Christmas.”

  Stella rolled her eyes and yanked the handle up, preparing to make a getaway once more. “Gee, you’re really selling it.”

  “Some of us like the rain and snow.” He followed her toward the immigration queue. “I’d hate to be hot all the time.”

  “You’re missing out.” She couldn’t stop the words spilling out, a defensive reaction left over from their teenage years which required her to prove that her home was better than his. “Queensland is wonderful. So much sun, sand, and the most gorgeous sunsets you’ll ever see.”

  “Your face lights up when you talk about home.” He studied her, his eyes narrowed as though he were figuring something out.

  At one time she would have given her left arm to have to his icy green eyes locked on her in such an intense way. The day he’d noticed that she was no longer a child, but a blossoming young woman, had been the sweetest of victories. If only she’d known how it would all end.

  “That’s because I’d rather be there now.” She kept her eyes forward. “Like I said, as soon as I’ve dealt with the business stuff I’m outta here.”

  “You never know.” They approached the twin snaking lines at the immigration section of the airport. “You might decide to stay. Your grandfather always wanted to move back here.”

  She doubted it. Her grandfather had loved Australia as much as she did. This was simply Evan’s way of trying to get into her head.

  “Too bad, Mr. Foss,” she muttered as she joined the queue for non-UK citizens. “You’re not getting near my head or my estate.”

  Chapter Two

  Evan slid into the back seat of the BMW that would take him to the estate. His driver had left the car running and it was a welcome reprieve from the chill outside. He didn’t often have someone drive him around. Frankly, it made him feel like a tosser. But in this case, his time was better spent getting back to work as quickly as possible rather than queuing for a taxi or spending hours on the train. At least in a quiet car he could make his business calls, check in with the office, and try to screw his head back on properly.

  His attempts to engage Stella in any kind of conversation had failed miserably. But once they were at the estate she wouldn’t have any choice but to see him. She couldn’t hide forever. And, given she’d requested that they hold all accommodation bookings for the time being, he’d have her all to himself.

  As the driver joined the line for the slow trudge out of the airport, Evan’s phone rang. “Hello?”

  “Welcome home, Ev,” his assistant, Melanie, said cheerfully. “I see we rolled out the sunshine for your arrival.”

  Evan glanced out the window at the angry sky and smirked. “Or not.”

  “Don’t take it personally,” she said with a laugh. “Now, I got word from Ethel that Ms. Jackson’s plane has landed. You two might have crossed paths in the airport, apparently she was flying in from Italy as well. What a coincidence, right?”

  “Mmm hmm.” He pulled his tablet out of his bag so he could check his emails.

  “Anyhow, I was calling to let you know we’ve had a request for a room over Christmas. I know you said that she didn’t want anyone there—”

  “That still stands.”

  Pause. “Well, it is her business, I guess.”

  Not for long, if I have anything to say about it.

  The Jackson estate would take his property business to the next level and give him a foot in the door where he desperately needed one. Evan had wanted to be a hotelier ever since Nicholas had taken him to a hotel for the very first time at the age of seventeen. He’d been shadowing Nicholas on a business trip, learning the ropes and busting his gut as an intern to one of the biggest players in the game. When they’d arrived at the
Savoy, Evan had wondered if they’d accidentally ended up at Buckingham Palace. Never in his life had he seen such opulence. Nicholas had been treated like a king, and Evan, too, by extension.

  Seeing the young boy’s wonder, Nicholas had paid for Evan to spend the night and left a driver behind to bring him home the next day. That’s when he’d first become aware of his dream.

  But hotels were expensive and breaking into the market required far more capital than Evan had currently. He’d done well for himself, that was for sure, but one didn’t simply purchase the Savoy straight off the bat. What he needed was something smaller and more manageable. Boutique. Something that had an existing charm he could work with, that he could shape and refine into his own style.

  The Jackson Estate was it. His plans to turn the tired-looking building into a luxury country retreat for Europe’s rich and famous was exactly what he needed to make a name for himself outside his current sphere. The hard, grimy days of flipping properties would be over and Evan would finally have the kind of success he craved.

  Too bad his mother wasn’t around to see it. He would have set her up in the plushest, cushiest house money could buy, where she would never have had to lift a finger ever again.

  “Ev?” Melanie’s voice brought him back to the present. “You still with me?”

  “Sorry, Mel.” He cleared his throat. “I got distracted there for a minute.”

  “I can tell when you’re checking emails instead of paying attention to me. I won’t keep you, but I wanted to let you know that Matt called. Said he’s completed the inspection on that cottage in Somerset.”

  “And…?” His brows pinched.

  “He wants you to call him.”

  That wasn’t a good sign. Matt, short for Matteo, was his project manager and best friend. The guy knew houses, having worked in his father’s construction company since he was a kid. But he wasn’t the kind of guy who wanted to run a business for himself, which made him the perfect employee. He worked hard, always gave his honest opinion, and didn’t have an agenda. A bloody rare thing, in Evan’s experience. If Matt wanted to talk instead of email, that meant he knew Evan wasn’t going to like his assessment.

  “Fine.”

  He ended the call with Melanie and took a moment to clear his head. Rain streamed along the windows of the car as they flew down the motorway. The BMW was quiet against the slick road, the motion tempting him to close his eyes for a moment. Sleep wasn’t something that’d ever come easy to Evan, so it pained him not to drift off when his body needed it. The backseat of a car had always been the one place that slumber couldn’t elude him. Perhaps because the locked doors and forward motion meant he was safe…

  He tore his eyes away from the window and forced himself to dial Matt’s number. One more call and then he could nap the rest of the way.

  “Evan, my man.” Matt’s booming voice almost shook Evan’s eardrum. The guy didn’t just build houses, he was built like one and had the voice to match. “How was the motherland?”

  “Amazing. Your people know how to do food, that’s for sure. I stuffed my face the whole time.”

  “And I bet it doesn’t show at all. Bastard.” Matt’s hearty laugh caused Evan to hold the phone away from his ear for a moment. “Look, I went to the cottage in Somerset…”

  “Hit me with it, I can take it.”

  “It’s a piece of shit, Ev. Complete tear down.” He sighed. “I know you were hoping this would be ‘the one,’ but we can find something better.”

  He’d said they could “find something better” twelve months ago and yet they were still looking. If it were any other job, he wouldn’t have cared. But this house was for someone special and it had to be perfect. Unfortunately, at the rate they were currently going, the recipient would be on her deathbed before they found the right spot.

  “Then we keep looking,” he said with a sigh.

  “Sorry, man. But we can’t have her living in a dump. I’m not going to sign off unless it’s right.”

  “That’s why I trust you.” Evan rubbed a hand over his face. “And only you.”

  “We’ll find the right one, I promise.” Matt paused. “So has the Little Princess arrived at the estate yet?”

  “Oh, she’s arrived all right.” Evan filled his friend in on their chance encounter.

  “And she shut you up, just like that? Man, I gotta meet this woman.” There was a clink of something in the background, followed by the noise of Matt’s espresso machine. “Anyone who can render you speechless has got some skills.”

  “She can’t avoid me forever. I’m going to be all over her when we’re back at the estate.” He hadn’t meant the words to be anything sexual, but his mind revived a memory—flicking tongues and the taste of her, sweet like honey. Her lips had been so soft and pliable, curved and touchable like the rest of her body. “She won’t know what hit her.”

  “So long as you keep your eye on the prize,” Matt said sagely. “No point being a fly on honey if you don’t get her to sell.”

  “Don’t you worry about that. By the time Christmas is out, I’ll have the deed to that property and she’ll be back in Australia, no sweat at all.”

  …

  The rasp of knuckles against glass woke Stella with a start. She’d managed to sleep the entire two-hour drive from Heathrow to Oxfordshire, where the Jackson Estate was located. An older woman stood outside her door and held an umbrella. The rain had slacked off to a monotonous drizzle, but the blackened clouds hinted at storms to come.

  Freudian much?

  Rubbing her eyes, Stella opened the car door and stepped onto the gravel. “Hi, Ethel.”

  “It’s good to see you again, Miss Jackson.” The woman tucked her arm through Stella’s. She was barely five feet tall and struggled to hold the umbrella above Stella’s more imposing height. Stella took it from her so she could keep them both dry. “I want you to know we’re all so very sorry about your grandfather. I wish we were meeting again under different circumstances.”

  A lump lodged in Stella’s throat and she could only nod in response. It’d been six months and still the pain of her loss was fresh and raw and sharp.

  “We miss him terribly,” Ethel added.

  “I know.” Her throat closed around the words, strangling them into silence. She bowed her head as they made their way across the rain-slicked gravel.

  The estate hadn’t changed much over the years. The Edwardian behemoth had seemed almost magical when she was a young girl, and as an adult she held a new appreciation for the strong, old building. Not to mention the grounds with its views of the lush English countryside.

  Green, rolling hills crested up to meet the heavy blackened clouds. Even in weather so miserable, the estate still looked as beautiful as ever. Grand and regal. Growing up, Stella’s most beloved bedtime stories were the ones her grandfather told of his adventures conducting business all around the world—from the fancy cakes he’d eaten in Paris, to visiting the crumbling old buildings in Italy. But his eyes always sparkled most when he talked about the house he grew up in. Not that you could simply call the Jackson Estate a house—the imposing structure sat atop a hill and stretched out across the Jackson’s land, dwarfing anyone who stood by it.

  “Do come inside, dear.” Ethel tugged Stella toward the open front door. “You’ll catch a chill.”

  Inside the house was inviting, an impressive feat for a place with such high ceilings. Sure it was a little dated, but she liked the old-world charm. It was once a cherished family home. Although, since she was the only remaining Jackson, there wasn’t much of a family left to appreciate it. These days it served as accommodation for people looking to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city, but that business had been dying off with no one taking over the reins.

  And Stella had requested that they keep the place clear for her visit. Having too many people around would make her stay even more difficult.

  Stella followed Ethel up the staircase to the first floor
and ran her hand along the polished mahogany railing. A memory flashed—the rush of wind in her hair as she’d slid down the banister with Evan waiting to catch her at the bottom.

  “This will be your room.” Ethel opened the door. Huge windows allowed the winter light to stream in and a view of the rain-soaked hills filled the far wall. “You might remember there’s a bathroom across the hall and we’ll be serving supper in about an hour. Evan will be joining you tonight.”

  Stella didn’t bother to alert Ethel to her chance encounter with Evan as she’d been doing her best to forget about it. Still, being in this house was making all the old memories come alive, one in particular…

  No. She was not going to think about that. Frowning, she pulled her phone from her bag and realized it had been a few hours since she’d checked it at the airport. She was out of sorts. Sleep had been elusive of late and it was messing with her head. For once, work could wait.

  Dropping onto the quilt-covered bed, she pulled the crumpled letter from her pocket, smoothing it out with her palms. She’d folded and un-folded it so many times that the seams were deeply etched into the paper. Her grandfather’s chicken-scratch handwriting covered the page, shaky in spots from the tremor the medication had given him. His words were smudged in one corner.

  It is my dying wish that you visit my family home, the Jackson Estate, one last time. You will stay there in December before deciding what to do with the property. After Christmas it is yours to do with as you wish. I know you’ll make the right choice. I love you, my little star.

  Stella knew she was going to sell the estate. Not because she needed the money—the Jackson fortune was enough to cover her several lifetimes over—but because the estate required too much upkeep. It wasn’t something she could fit into her already bursting-at-the-seams work schedule, especially from the other side of the world. Although, if she was being truly honest with herself, it was that she couldn’t bear the thought of owning this place and not having her grandfather.

  One last time.

  After this month was through, she wouldn’t see the estate again. Her chest clenched. She was selling off a piece of her history, a piece of her family. But without him it meant nothing. She had no other real family to speak of—only a mother who chose money over her. She’d lost her father, her grandfather, and her fiancé. She was it—the sole recipient of the family estate and Nicholas Jackson’s property empire.