Page 19 of Cinderella's Christmas Secret 1
Maximo’s lips clamped shut, telling himself to be grateful that her perceptive observation had brought him to his senses at last. What was thematterwith him? Hadn’t he been just about to tell her the rest of his pitiful story, lulled by her soft voice and seeking eyes? And why—just because his estranged mother was dead and his equilibrium had temporarily been disturbed?
Hadn’t he spent the last two decades eradicating those memories—only to almost blurt them out to a woman who already had too much power over him? Because her pregnancy gave Hollie Walker undue influence in his life, he recognised suddenly—and she could use that influence any way she saw fit.
He gave the pot another stir. He had carefully controlled his image for most of his life. He never gave interviews, never let people too close. He worked hard and played hard and donated generously to charity—and for these qualities he was mostly admired and envied in equal measure. But of himself he gave nothing away. Even during his longest relationships—and none of those had ever been what you’d call lengthy—he had never been anything less than guarded. Hadn’t that been part of his appeal—that women saw him as an enigma and a challenge and themselves as the one who would break down those high barriers with which he had surrounded himself?
But Hollie was different. She couldn’t help but be different. She was carrying his baby and, inevitably, that was going to cause ripples of curiosity in the circles in which he moved. Sooner or later people were going to find out that this unknown Englishwoman was pregnant with his child. She would be able to present herself to the world however she saw fit. As a victim, if she so desired. And he would have absolutely no control over that.
He felt the sudden knot in his stomach. He had already told her plenty about himself, but of her he knew nothing. Nothing at all. Wasn’t it time he did? Not because he particularly cared what made her tick, but because he needed to redress that balance of knowledge.
He pulled out the stool opposite hers and sat down. ‘What about you?’ he questioned, carelessly.
‘Me?’
‘I’ve told you how I started out. Now it’s your turn.’
Hollie hesitated. He had divulged much more than she’d expected, though she’d noticed that his story had stopped very abruptly. But he had still surprised her and maybe if he hadn’t been so forthcoming she might have brushed over her own background, because it wasn’t much to write home about, was it? Even so, it was more than a little distracting to have him sitting so close, making her acutely aware of all the latent power in his muscular body and the devilish gleam of his ebony eyes.
‘I was the only child of a single mother, too,’ she began and saw a muscle begin working at his temple, as if he thought she was grasping for things they had in common and was irritated by it. Instantly, she sought to emphasise the differences between them. ‘We weren’t exactly poor, but we weren’t exactly rich either. My father...’
‘What about your father?’ he probed.
She shrugged. ‘Well, to be honest, I never knew him very well. He was a bit of a womaniser, I guess. Good-looking. Easy company. One of those men who want to have their cake and eat it. He was a sales manager and so travelled around the area a lot. He had several different lovers, although only one child, as far as I know. He’d tell my mother he loved her and he’d move in with us for a bit and then...’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t know if having a baby cramped his style, or whether he found it stultifying that the whole household always seemed to revolve around him. But the more my mother ran round after him, the more he seemed to despise her. So they’d have a big row and he’d move out and then the whole cycle would start again.’
‘That must have been tough on you,’ he observed slowly.
‘Not really.’ Hollie slipped into her bestevery-cloud-has-a-silver-liningattitude. ‘It’s true that Mum used to go to pieces every time, but it’s how I taught myself how to cook, and...’
‘Go on,’ he said, the faintest of smiles touching the edges of his mouth.
She picked up the story again, thinking that nobody ever really asked her stuff like this. ‘One day my father just stopped contacting her and we never found out what happened to him. Like you said, things were different in those days and there was no social media to be able to track someone down. My mum never really got over it and after she died, I sold her little house and went to catering college. Long story short, I made a friend there and used the rest of my savings to go into business with her—we opened a tea shop in London.’
‘But? I sense there’s a but coming.’
He was insightful, she thought—or maybe such a successful businessman was always going to have an instinct for a duff business venture. ‘My partner borrowed a whole load of money on the business and couldn’t pay it back.’
‘That’s theft,’ he observed acidly.
‘Shemeantto pay it back,’ she defended. ‘But that was never going to happen and I couldn’t bear to waste any more time, or make any more bad memories by chasing her through the small courts. Anyway, we’d chosen a hopeless location. It was more a hip coffee shop sort of area and not really suited to a venue which was serving dinky plates of scones, with cream and jam. It’s why I came to Devon, whichisthat kind of place. It’s why, no matter what happens, I’m glad you came here too, Maximo.’
He looked startled. ‘You are?’
‘Yes, I am. Not because of the baby, because I know that’s bad news for you.’ She ignored the pained expression on his face but resolutely carried on. ‘It wasn’t meant to happen, but it did—and I will do everything to make sure our child has the best possible life I can give them. And I’ve lived with a man who didn’t want to be a father, which is why I can cope with the fact you don’t want to be involved. It’s better that way. Better that we’re upfront about things from the beginning so everyone knows where they stand—’
‘Hollie—’
‘No, please let me finish.’ She drew a deep breath and stared straight into his fathoms-deep eyes, thinking how thick and black the lashes were. ‘What makes me glad is the fact that you’ve bought Kastelloes, because you’ll be injecting life back into this town and local community. So my business—and every other business in Trescombe—will benefit.’ He got up quickly to attend to his cooking, an uncomfortable expression crossing his face, and she wondered if she was boring him. ‘Gosh, it’s seven o’clock already,’ she observed, sneaking a glance at her watch. ‘Only five more hours to go and it’ll be Christmas Day!’
‘I can hardly wait,’ he said sarcastically.
She watched as he finished cooking the meal, wishing she could tear her eyes away from the graceful agility of his movements and the way his black jeans clung to the hard thrust of his buttocks. But she couldn’t. And all the while she was becoming aware of the four walls which surrounded them and the fact that they were completely alone in this beautiful, desolate building. She could feel tension between them mounting—like dark layers of something tantalising, building and building into the promise of something unbearably sweet.
‘Let’s eat,’ he said suddenly.
But his face was still tense as he began to serve up the soup, his shadow seeming to swamp her in an all-consuming darkness. And somehow his abrupt words managed to destroy the fragile harmony which had briefly existed between them.
CHAPTER SEVEN
HOLLIESHIVEREDASshe lay huddled beneath the heap of the velvet throws, wiggling her toes to stop them from freezing. It was soquiet. Nothing to listen to except the sound of the distant church bells in nearby Trescombe. Nothing to distract her from the thought that Maximo was sleeping just along the corridor and that felt weird. Was he thinking about her and her predicament, or was he fast asleep and oblivious to the presence of his unwanted guest? She cocked her ear as the twelfth and final bell faded into the silent night, announcing to the world that Christmas day had finally arrived.
