A Dream Christmas. Кэрол Мортимер

off his scathing comment to look at Sophie searchingly. ‘You said that Sally and her parents are your only relatives?’

      She gave a puzzled frown. ‘Yes.’

      Max remembered that Sally had taken a week’s compassionate leave during the summer so that she could spend some time with her cousin, whose mother had just died after a long and painful illness. And then there had been another day off following that week, so that Sally could attend her aunt’s funeral.

      And Sophie’s unfinished comment just now regarding her desire not to travel yet.

      Was it possible that her aunt had been Sophie’s mother?

      ‘When did your own parents die, Sophie?’ he prompted huskily.

      She frowned. ‘I don’t see …’

      ‘Humour me,’ Max bit out abruptly.

      ‘My father died fifteen years ago, and my mother … my mother died six months ago,’ she acknowledged huskily, her gaze not meeting his even though her chin rose challengingly. ‘It’s because she was so ill for so long that I didn’t finish my original college course.’

      Max was angry with Sophie for not telling him of her connection to Sally. And even more furious with her for allowing him to believe that Henry was a man.

      At the same time he couldn’t help but feel compassion for her recent loss. Because it was recent; losing a beloved parent was an ache, a hollowness that could never be truly filled. And he, of all people, should know how it felt to lose your parents, and to spend that first Christmas without them. Especially so when it had been just Sophie and her mother for so many years.

      There were also his own strange, as yet inexplicable desires, feelings even, for Sophie. Feelings he was just too angry at the moment to even try to comprehend. Feelings that made him even angrier about this situation, if anything.

      One thing he did know, no matter how cross he might be with Sophie right now—he had no intention of leaving her here to spend Christmas alone with that hissing, spitting fur ball!

      He drew in a deep breath. ‘Does Sally have a travel basket for Henry?’

      Sophie looked startled. ‘Sorry?’

      ‘You may well have cause to be before this Christmas is over,’ Max warned grimly. ‘But all I’m interested in knowing for now is whether or not you have a basket we can put that monster into—’ he shot Henry a quelling glance as he saw the black cat had slunk out from beneath the coffee table and was now eyeing him balefully ‘—while we drive back to my apartment.’

      Sophie wasn’t just startled now; she was dumbstruck. Was Max seriously suggesting that she should not only continue to spend the rest of Christmas with him and his family at his apartment, but that she should also bring along the belligerent Henry to join them, too?

      Because he wanted her to spend Christmas with him?

      Doubtful, after this recent conversation.

      It was more likely to be because she had been hired to ‘deliver Christmas’ to him and his family and Max still expected her to do exactly that.

      ‘The snow is falling heavier than ever, Sophie,’ Max rasped at her continued silence. ‘Which means we have to leave soon if we’re going to get back at all.’

      It was the latter, of course, Sophie accepted heavily. She really shouldn’t harbour any illusions of it being anything else, despite their earlier intimacy.

      She might have fallen in love with Max in just a few short days, but he certainly didn’t feel anything approaching that emotion for her.

      And he never would …

       CHAPTER TWELVE

      ‘WHO WOULD HAVE thought that a five-year-old could make a lapdog—or, in this case, cat—out of the fur ball?’ Max mused as he entered the kitchen of his apartment. He’d just spent several minutes in the sitting room watching Amy carry Henry around in her arms as if he were a baby while the cat looked up at her adoringly. ‘He’s a disgrace to the feline race!’

      Sophie couldn’t help but laugh as she turned, her face flushed, from taking warmed mince pies from the oven, ready for an afternoon snack.

      The last twenty-four hours had gone more smoothly than she could ever have hoped for, following that awful scene between herself and Max at Sally’s flat yesterday evening.

      Present opening this morning had been fun. How could it not be, in the company of a five-year-old who still believed in Father Christmas?

      To Sophie’s surprise, she had received gifts not only from Janice and Tom, and a separate one from Amy, but there had also been a present under the tree for her from Max. A beautiful pashmina in shades of russet and brown, which she had been convinced Janice must have chosen for him until the other woman assured her that she hadn’t.

      Sophie’s heart had given a leap at the thought of Max having gone out to buy a present for her. A pleasure that had been instantly dampened by the blandness of his expression when she had given him her heartfelt thanks for the gift, and he had distractedly thanked her for his own present of the book from her.

      Sophie had kept herself busy in the kitchen all morning and Christmas lunch had been a great success. The turkey had been cooked to perfection, along with an assortment of roasted vegetables, with Christmas and chocolate pudding to follow—the latter was for Amy—accompanied by Sophie’s own special brandy cream and ice cream.

      Sophie had still been a little uncomfortable as the family once again insisted that she had to sit down and join them for the meal. She was so very aware, still, of the gulf that now yawned between herself and Max.

      But she needn’t have worried because Max had gone out of his way to be polite to her today.

      Too polite, if Sophie was honest with herself. She much preferred the rude irascible Max to this polite stranger.

      She eyed him warily now. ‘Can I get you anything?’

      ‘I think the two of us should talk, don’t you?’ He leant back against the kitchen table, arms folded in front of his powerful chest as he studied her from between narrowed lids. He looked very handsome in a black silk shirt and faded blue jeans, his dark hair as tousled as ever.

      Sophie gave him a nervous glance as she placed the mince pies onto a plate. ‘If this is about me not telling you of my family connection to Sally …’

      ‘It isn’t. Although I’m interested to know why you made that decision.’ His eyes had narrowed questioningly.

      Sophie chewed on her bottom lip. ‘Sally mentioned that you once had a problem with a friend of hers who took over as your PA while Sally was away on holiday.’

      ‘Cathy Lawrence,’ he muttered with feeling.

      ‘Yes.’ She winced at those obvious feelings of disgust. ‘I was the one who persuaded Sally into not revealing our own family connection. Just in case I messed up too,’ she added awkwardly.

      His eyes darkened with amusement. ‘The difference being that I would have welcomed you throwing yourself at me every chance you got.’

      ‘Instead of which, I threw you.’ Her cheeks burned with remembered embarrassment. ‘Onto the kitchen floor,’ she reminded him with a wince.

      Max shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘I deserved it.’

      ‘But …’

      ‘Stop worrying, Sophie; I assure you, there will be no repercussions on Sally for any of this. The opposite, in fact,’ he added huskily. ‘This Christmas has been more than I could ever have hoped for. It’s been magical,’ Max continued softly. ‘And that’s mainly due to you.’