The Mills & Boon Ultimate Christmas Collection. Kate Hardy

someone who enjoyed the lifestyle his wealth brought to its fullest extent.

      But he’d shown a different side to her that day. He’d seen that she was vulnerable and had made it his mission to get her through the wedding with a smile on her face. Whether his motive from the outset had been to bed her, she didn’t care. She’d wanted him too. For the one and only time in her life she’d thrown caution to the wind and embraced a side she’d spent a lifetime suppressing.

      Even if she hadn’t been a princess and he a commoner whom her brother detested, she would never have expected more than one night. Commitment was an alien concept to him.

      But she hadn’t been able to get him from her mind. Every time she closed her eyes she could see him. She could taste him. She could feel his skin under her fingers. In the privacy of her bed she would relive their night together, playing it over like a movie in her head. Every touch. Every caress.

      She had assumed the next time she would see him would be at some function or other. She had assumed he would greet her with the usual kiss and that maybe his hand would press into her side a little longer than normal, a subtle acknowledgement of their time together. She had assumed she would hug their secret to herself for the rest of her life.

      Since she could remember, it had been made plain her virginity was sacred, something to be saved for her wedding day. For twenty-five years she had accepted this.

      She was a princess. She had a life of wealth and privilege. She was a representative of the House of Fernandez, expected to marry into a family that would strengthen her own family’s cultural links and power. She was expected to behave with decorum and propriety at all times and not once had she failed in this. She had never whispered a word of complaint that her brother was allowed to do whatever he wanted with whomever he wanted and neither had she complained that free spirit Isabella’s bratty behaviour was indulged by their brother and father alike.

      Dominic had never raised a finger to Isabella.

      Not once in her life had Catalina ever done anything that wasn’t for the good of the House of Fernandez. Not once.

      And then she had.

      She had cast aside duty for one forbidden night.

      And now she would be punished for that moment of blissful madness for the rest of her life.

      What she didn’t know and couldn’t begin to predict was what that punishment would entail.

      * * *

      Christmas was the one time of year Nathaniel detested. All that fake bonhomie, the commercialisation, the forced proximity with so-called loved ones. All of it.

      It brought home as nothing else did that the three people Nathaniel had loved with all his heart were gone, had been dead now for twenty-eight years. On Christmas morning, the time traditionally spent opening presents and leaving a trail of discarded wrapping paper everywhere, the loss felt as fresh as it had the first morning he’d woken without them.

      This year he’d made the decision to spend the period in Monte Cleure rather than in any of his other homes. Other than the fact it was the site of his most current development, Monte Cleure had a relatively temperate winter climate, situated as it was on France’s southern border with Spain, meaning there was little to no chance of snow.

      He’d avoided snow for twenty-eight years.

      The only sign of festivity in his apartment was the empty bottle of Scotch on the floor by the sofa, which was where he found himself when he was rudely awakened early on Boxing Day morning by the shrill tone of the intercom.

      He sat bolt upright, clutching his pounding head and cursing himself for not making it to his bed. If he hadn’t given his household staff four days off each to spend the holidays with their families, he would let one of them deal with the caller.

      Stumbling to his feet, he punched the intercom.

      ‘Yes?’ he growled. He’d left instructions with the concierge that he was not to be disturbed until tomorrow when the madness of Christmas was over.

      ‘Monsieur Giroud, His Highness Prince Dominic from the House of Fernandez is here to see you.’

      ‘What does he want?’

      The concierge’s voice dropped to a scared murmur. ‘It is not my place to ask.’ Nathaniel might be the boss and owner of the entire building, but Dominic was heir to the throne of the entire country.

      Nathaniel left unsaid his thought that the Prince might not be such a self-satisfied moron if people asked questions of him.

      ‘Send him up.’

      While he waited for the elevator to bring Dominic to him, he staggered to the kitchen and downed a pint of water.

      Whatever the Prince wanted could not be good.

      A loud rap on the door announced his arrival.

      Nathaniel pulled the door open. The burly figure of the heir to the Monte Cleure throne strode in, followed closely by a bodyguard.

      ‘What can I do for you, Dominic?’ he asked, deliberately not using his title. Then, also deliberately, he turned his back and walked through to the living area. ‘Here to celebrate some festive cheer with me?’

      When there was no answer, he said, ‘Can I offer you a drink?’

      ‘From the look and smell of you, you’ve already had enough to drink,’ Dominic sneered. He had the air of a junior silverback making a show of asserting its dominance. If his head didn’t hurt so much, Nathaniel would find it amusing.

      ‘If I’d known you were coming I would have showered. So, drink?’

      ‘I’m not here for a social visit.’

      ‘I didn’t imagine you were. However, I am of the opinion that even the most boring business conversation can be sweetened with a pot of fresh Columbian coffee.’ It could only help his pounding head.

      ‘I’m not here for a business meeting either.’

      ‘Then why don’t you tell me what’s so urgent you turn up unannounced at my home demanding an audience.’

      ‘Your home?’

      ‘Bought and paid for. The title deeds to the Ravensberg building are held with my lawyer if you wish to see them?’ Nathaniel hadn’t rented since the first apartment he’d had when he’d been seventeen and his landlord had dragged his heels over fixing the broken heating system during a particularly cold spell.

      He liked to be master of his own destiny, reliant only on himself. All his properties, business and personal alike—and he had so many he’d lost count—were solely his. He didn’t owe a cent to any person, bank or organisation. His business was his and his alone. No one could take it away from him. Bricks and mortar he could count on; permanent fixtures in a fragile world full of horrors.

      ‘Title deeds are only worth something if you own the land the property is built upon. Take your development here in my country for example.’

      ‘For sure,’ he agreed amiably. He knew it infuriated Dominic that his father had overridden his objections and granted Nathaniel all the necessary permissions. ‘But I think you will need to use a different example with which to make your point. I always purchase the land itself for any development I undertake.’

      Nathaniel was over halfway through the construction of a hotel and business complex that would be Monte Cleure’s highest landmark. It was his most ambitious project to date, a skyscraper of magnificence and beauty. Architect Monthly magazine had declared it a potential contender for Building of the Decade.

      So far he had invested one hundred million euros in the development and fully expected to spend the same amount again by the time the project was complete.

      ‘Now why don’t we stop all this pussy-footing around and you tell me why you’re here, and then I can go back to bed?’

      ‘My