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His Mistletoe Proposal
Christy McKellen
A diamond for Christmas Flora Morgan is determined to honor her best friend's dying wish, even if it means relocating to England and accepting the challenge to try to fix Alex Trevelyan's broken heart.Except brooding musician Alex, her best friend's brother, isn't interested in Flora's help. She may be beautiful, but he's no charity case! Until it becomes clear that he isn't the only one who needs saving. And perhaps he's the key to showing this beautiful breath of fresh air that love can be found in the most unexpected of places!
A diamond for Christmas
Flora Morgan is determined to honor her best friend’s dying wish, even if it means relocating to England and accepting the challenge to try to fix Alex Trevelyan’s broken heart.
Except brooding musician Alex, her best friend’s brother, isn’t interested in Flora’s help. She may be beautiful, but he’s no charity case! Until it becomes clear that he isn’t the only one who needs saving. And perhaps he’s the key to showing this beautiful breath of fresh air that love can be found in the most unexpected of places!
‘In case it’s bad luck to ignore it—’ Flora pointed at the mistletoe ‘—I’m just going to kiss you on the cheek.’
But as she leaned forward, angling her head so that her lips were aiming for the side of his face, Alex turned towards her and their mouths connected.
She drew back with a startled gasp. ‘Oh! Sorry, I didn’t mean to—’
But he cut her off by sliding his hand into her hair and pulling her back towards him, pressing his mouth hard against hers again so deliberately there was no way she could misconstrue it as an accident.
Her insides seemed to melt as he deepened the kiss, opening his mouth to slide his tongue against hers. It was a covetous kiss, full of need and determination, and she sank into it, basking in his hunger.
When he finally released his grip on the back of her head and they drew apart, their mouths remaining only centimetres from each other, they stood transfixed in each other’s gazes, their breathing loud in the quiet corridor.
‘What—? What’s going on here?’ she gasped, staring into his eyes in total astonishment.
‘I’m kissing you this time,’ he murmured, gazing at her with such fierce intensity that her whole body flooded with desire. ‘Is that okay?’
She blinked at him. ‘Uh—yes. Of course. Yes, it’s okay.’ Because it was. It really, really was.
The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. ‘In that case I’m going to do it again.’
His Mistletoe Proposal
Christy McKellen
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Formerly a video and radio producer, CHRISTY MCKELLEN now spends her time writing fun, impassioned and emotive romance with an undercurrent of sensual tension. When she’s not writing she can be found enjoying life with her husband and three children, walking for pleasure and researching other people’s deepest secrets and desires. Christy loves to hear from readers. You can get hold of her at www.christymckellen.com (http://www.christymckellen.com).
Okay, Charlotte, my compassionate, clever, beautiful girl. As promised, this one is dedicated to you.
I love you more than words can say.
And I always will.
Mum
Contents
Cover (#ucb9583cf-5f4f-57cf-a0f1-684fd067901e)
Back Cover Text (#u24c48e32-a0ff-5c18-9892-9935ceda5f11)
Introduction (#u13181e9f-5d05-5388-892a-23a64b8d1ee7)
Title Page (#ud40bfaf7-80f0-5ca3-8f88-0e3a64e16fe3)
About the Author (#u9ece4bfc-599e-5e37-aef8-a5d3c684a9fe)
Dedication (#u423a44e6-5c3f-535e-b29b-5912a5ede871)
CHAPTER ONE (#uc551446e-0541-5cca-a825-3690a4081073)
CHAPTER TWO (#u24cc5793-fe42-5e19-9f74-dde42c34109c)
CHAPTER THREE (#u16b51df5-5b87-5a1f-830c-3f3ac0b25cab)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#uc312186e-cc56-539f-b943-30e0948cc808)
To my darling Flora—confidante, cheerleader and anchor to my universe,
So this is weird, right? Me speaking to you from the grave. But I wanted to get all my thoughts down on paper because I knew I’d get all choked up and make a mess of it if I tried to say it out loud. So here goes...
I know this is a lot to ask, but please don’t be too sad now that I’ve gone. I feel as though I’ve made peace with what’s happened to me and I’d hate to think of my passing as something that would hold you back from living your own life to the full. I’ve had a good and happy existence. All twenty-eight of my years have been blessed with love and wonderful experiences and my life’s been all the better for having you in it, Flora.
I’m so proud of you for all that you’ve achieved. I always knew you’d be successful in whatever you did, but your drive and determination have astounded even me. I know you probably won’t take a minute to step back and see the enormity of what you’ve accomplished, but get this: you truly are an incredible person, as well as the kindest, most generous woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.
Which leads me on to two favours I have to ask of you, Flora. Firstly, and I know it’s a biggie, please look out for Alex now that I’m not around to do it any more. As you know, I was the only family he had left and I hate to think of him being alone in the world. He wouldn’t admit it—I think he was trying to protect my last few weeks on earth so they’d be stress-free—but I think someone broke his heart recently and he’s really hurting.
Secondly, check your breasts for lumps EVERY DAY. Or, even better, get a gorgeous sex-god to do it for you *wink*. Don’t make the same mistake I did and shrug cancer off as something that happens to someone else. Someone older. Or less busy.
You have such a good heart, Flora. You deserve to be happy, so go easy on yourself, okay?
I love you.
Your best friend for ever,
Amy
FLORA MORGAN CAUGHT the tear on her finger before it fell onto the precious, now rather crumpled, piece of paper she clutched in her hand. She’d carried the letter around with her ever since it had dropped through her letter box nearly a month ago, and she’d taken it out regularly since then to read it, hoping to conjure Amy’s spirit during her weaker moments.
She missed her friend so much it made her heart physically ache. She had no idea how she was going to live her life without having Amy around, always ready to jolly her out of a funk and lift her spirits with one of her rousing pep talks.
But she was going to have to. Because her best friend was gone.
The hum and chatter of Bath’s famous Pump Room restaurant faded away as she lost herself in some of the happy memories she’d shared with Amy during the six years they’d known each other. They’d met at their first jobs after graduating from university, sitting side by side in cramped, scruffy cubicles at the blue-chip company based in Glasgow that had selected them for their highly competitive fast-track programme. They’d hit it off immediately—their mutual love of order and precision drawing them together like paper clips to a magnet. Sharing both the professional and personal exciting highs and painful lows over the years that followed had cemented their tight friendship.
Folding the letter carefully away into the Italian leather handbag she’d bought herself for a birthday present, Flora took a deep breath to centre herself. Now wasn’t the time to get all emotionally tangled up. She needed to focus on her reason for being here today and for that she needed to have her wits about her.
Not that her reason for being here today had turned up yet.
Sitting up straighter, Flora became aware of a burst of movement over at the ma?tre d’s desk and she turned to see that her companion for afternoon tea had finally arrived. Eighteen minutes late. But then who was counting?
Shaking off her lingering melancholy, she straightened the neckline of her silk blouse and smoothed her fingertips over her eyebrows to make sure they were both still following the required curve. They were.
Standing up, she tried not to notice how out of place Alex Trevelyan seemed in jeans that looked about ready to lie down and die, black Chelsea boots with scuffed toes and a crumpled leather jacket. She doubted very much that he’d even glanced in the mirror that morning considering how his mussed-up chestnut-brown hair fell over his cobalt-blue eyes and what must have been a week’s worth of stubble darkened his prominent cheekbones and square jaw.
A few years ago, his just-rolled-out-of-bed sexy musician charisma would have been irresistible to her na?ve, overly optimistic self, but not any more. She’d learnt her lesson about men like that the hard way. If she dated anyone these days, she went for smart, business-orientated men who were just as focused on their careers as she was. Though, as Amy had regularly pointed out, that was probably why she’d remained mostly single for the last couple of years. Which Flora was fine with. She didn’t need a man to fulfil her.
As he drew nearer, Alex’s bloodshot eyes ringed with dark circles made her heart squeeze. She mentally berated herself for being so critical of his appearance when the poor man’s twin sister had died barely a month ago. He was obviously still grief-stricken.
She’d only seen him briefly at the funeral; he’d turned up at the last second wearing casual grey trousers and a bright blue shirt that had been open at the neck and glaringly free of a tie. To be fair, Amy hadn’t wanted them to wear the usual black mourning clothes. Afterwards, he’d been busy with the vicar and a group of people whom she’d guessed were old friends of the family. She, in turn, had been caught up talking to mutual acquaintances of her and Amy’s. By the time she’d looked round to offer her condolences to Alex he’d disappeared, not even turning up at the wake afterwards. She’d guessed he’d been too upset to face any more sympathy from strangers.
Amy’s words swam across her vision—I was the only family he had left. He needed her support and kindness right now, not her judgement.
Relaxing her posture so that her hands fell neatly to her sides, Flora gave Alex her warmest smile as he finally navigated past the last couple of linen-covered tables and came to a halt in front of her. Taking a deep breath, she was just about to launch into the short monologue she’d composed in her head about how pleased she was that he’d agreed to meet her so they could talk about Amy and support each other during such a difficult time, when he leaned past her to pick up her glass of mineral water and proceeded to chug the whole lot of it, not even acknowledging her presence until he’d satisfied his thirst.
‘That’s better,’ he gasped, slamming the glass back down onto the table before finally turning to face her with a wink. ‘Don’t let anyone talk you into drinking whisky after four pints at the pub. It’s a life event catalyst.’
She stared at him, aghast.
Instead of looking contrite, he yawned loudly into his hand. ‘Sorry, I’ve only just got up. Late night.’
Flora swallowed back her shock before replying, ‘It’s three o’clock in the afternoon.’
He smiled, his expression one of wry audacity. ‘Like I said, late night.’
This wasn’t the grieving, broken man she’d been expecting to turn up today and the incongruity was playing havoc with her composure—something that made her really uncomfortable. She hated to be on the back foot; years of facing difficult clients in tense business situations had taught her that.
Pulling herself together, she said, ‘Thanks for meeting me. I thought it might be nice for us to get to know each other, what with us being the two people closest to Amy.’
He nodded, then motioned for her to sit down, taking the seat opposite.
‘You were in the States, right? New York?’ he asked once he was settled.
‘Yes, I was working as Head of Marketing for Bounce soft drinks,’ she said proudly. ‘I transferred over there when the company opened up a New York office about a year ago.’
Usually when she mentioned her job and the position she held, people would look impressed and start asking her questions about what that entailed and how she’d risen so quickly up the ranks, but Alex didn’t say a word. And he didn’t seem impressed either; he seemed...bored.
This didn’t surprise her though; Amy had told her all about her brother’s attitude towards people who worked for corporations and how he thought it was ‘capitalist gluttony with a corporate greed cherry on top.’ Flora privately thought that a man who had given up a perfectly good job in corporate finance to faff about as a musician had no right to judge others and their career choices. If he wanted to waste his talents just so he could sit on his high horse, looking down on others who were slogging away to make a success of themselves, then that was his business.
She wasn’t going to rise to it. She had more important things to worry about—like gaining the trust and respect of her new boss. After transferring to the London-based office it was proving harder than she’d expected to do this.
Not for the first time, it had made her question whether she should set up her own business at some point, but she was keenly aware of what a big risk that would be.
She gave herself a mental shake. She really shouldn’t be allowing her thoughts to wander back to work right now.
‘Anyway, since I’m over here now I thought it might be nice for us to get to know each other a bit so we could support each other,’ she said, waving for the waiter, who appeared not to notice her. Biting back a sigh of frustration, she refocused on Alex, who was lounging back in his chair with his arms folded and his brow furrowed.
Was it her imagination or did he really not want to be here?
She cleared her throat. ‘I didn’t want to be one of those people who kept away for fear of not knowing what to say to someone who’s just lost someone close to them,’ she said, deciding just to plough on. ‘Sending flowers and cards is all very well, but sometimes you just need some human contact, you know?’
He cocked his head and gave her a slow grin. ‘Is that why you came back to England? For some human contact?’
She shifted in her seat, feeling heat rise up her neck. ‘I needed a change of scene,’ she said, straightening the cutlery on the table.
What she didn’t tell him was that he was the real reason for moving back here. She was determined to take Amy’s last wish seriously, and if that meant living in the same city as Alex for a while then so be it. London was too far removed from Bath to keep an eye on him easily, and she certainly couldn’t have done it from New York. So she’d jumped at an opportunity for a temporary transfer to the West London office, commuting in from Bath to oversee a UK-only product launch.
Alex appeared to be thinking about what she’d said, and after a short pause he leaned forwards in his chair to look her right in the eye, as if making the decision to finally engage with the conversation. ‘It’s good to meet you in the flesh,’ he said, the corner of his mouth lifting into a grin. ‘Amy talked about you a lot over the years.’ He paused. ‘And during the last weeks of her life.’
At last there was a flash of emotion in his eyes, which he blinked away quickly.
Flora nodded, taking a moment to relax her throat, which had tightened with sorrow at the sound of her best friend’s name. ‘It’s good to meet you too. I—’ She took a breath. ‘I feel awful that I didn’t make it back in time to see her in the hospice. I tried to get back to England as fast as I could, but—’ She’d run out of words. The pathetic ring to her excuse made her cringe inside.
She’d thought she had more time. That Amy had more time. Her friend had told her during one of their regular video calls that she was doing better and not to worry about rushing back to see her. But then she’d taken a sudden, unexpected turn for the worse.
As if he’d read her mind, Alex leaned forwards and put his large, warm hand over hers where it lay on the table. ‘Don’t beat yourself up about it. None of us realised she’d go that soon. She did seem to have a reprieve at one point. You couldn’t have known. Amy knew you would have come sooner if you’d been able to. She told me that.’
Flora could do nothing but nod like one of those tacky toy dogs you saw in the back of cars sometimes. She was suddenly terrified she might start crying in the middle of the restaurant and have to sit there with her make-up running down her face and nowhere to hide.
Alex obviously read her distress because he gave her hand a squeeze. ‘Hey, let’s get out of here. This place is making my headache worse.’ He glanced around the magnificent room with a pained grimace. ‘There’s a really good pub round the corner that does amazing burgers.’
Wrestling her emotions back under control, Flora shot him a bewildered look. ‘But we’ve come here for afternoon tea.’ She gestured round at the magnificent eighteenth-century room with its cut-glass chandelier hanging from the ornate ceiling and the grand piano, which was being expertly played by a gentleman in a tuxedo.
