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Christmas Contract For His Cinderella
Jane Porter
December in the brooding Sicilian’s castle… Spending the Christmas holidays with the man who broke her heart is Monet’s worst nightmare. But when commanding Marcu’s children urgently need a nanny she can’t refuse. Landing back in his aristocratic world, where free-spirited Monet never belonged, is bittersweet torture…and Marcu doesn’t anticipate his overly ordered life being disrupted by the enchanting woman Monet’s become. Duty has always dictated his actions—making Monet, with her infamous family history, strictly forbidden. But as their long-simmering passion burns intensely enough to melt the snow will Marcu finally claim his Christmas Cinderella…?
December in the brooding Sicilian’s castle...
Spending the holidays with the man who broke her heart is Monet’s worst nightmare. But when commanding Marcu’s children urgently need a nanny, she can’t refuse. Landing back in his aristocratic world, where free-spirited Monet never belonged, is bittersweet torture...
Marcu doesn’t anticipate his overly ordered life being disrupted by the enchanting woman Monet’s become. Duty has always dictated his actions, making Monet, with her infamous family history, strictly forbidden. But when their long-simmering passion burns intensely enough to melt the snow, will Marcu finally claim his Christmas Cinderella...?
New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author JANE PORTER has written forty romances and eleven women’s fiction novels since her first sale to Mills & Boon in 2000. A five-time RITA® Award finalist, Jane is known for her passionate, emotional and sensual novels, and loves nothing more than alpha heroes, exotic locations and happy-ever-afters. Today Jane lives in sunny San Clemente, California, with her surfer husband and three sons. Visit janeporter.com (http://www.janeporter.com).
Also by Jane Porter (#u912af88c-e7a2-5c44-bfe4-2d11aa155a8c)
Bought to Carry His Heir
His Merciless Marriage Bargain
The Prince’s Scandalous Wedding Vow
TThe Disgraced Copelands miniseries
The Fallen Greek Bride
His Defiant Desert Queen
Her Sinful Secret
Passion in Paradise collection
His Shock Marriage in Greece
Stolen Brides collection
Kidnapped for His Royal Duty
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Christmas Contract for His Cinderella
Jane Porter
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08852-7
CHRISTMAS CONTRACT FOR HIS CINDERELLA
© 2019 Jane Porter
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Note to Readers (#u912af88c-e7a2-5c44-bfe4-2d11aa155a8c)
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Contents
Cover (#u90af30ba-9414-524e-af50-e4d5af268f9d)
Back Cover Text (#ubcd17fc8-2388-52fb-8929-e586b4b8fe09)
About the Author (#u851f8b95-7a9f-5ed3-97f3-21f1637476d2)
Booklist (#u67898b05-21a9-58de-88d8-dd3beaa88caa)
Title Page (#u602a1ec8-b9c4-5025-96bf-3ec707066e7a)
Copyright (#ue70a908e-f750-524f-830d-383055204695)
Note to Readers
CHAPTER ONE (#ue216e19a-49d2-51f1-8478-c48fdc256a8d)
CHAPTER TWO (#ud65996cb-c83b-51da-91cf-2250e07df1df)
CHAPTER THREE (#u1306bd88-9643-592b-85f8-350d3b4b430c)
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)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
MONET WILDE WAS in the back room on the fifth floor of Bernard Department Store, searching for a customer’s missing gown, which she was sure had gone to alterations but apparently had never actually arrived there, when one of her salesgirls appeared, informing her that a gentleman was waiting for her, and while he was brusque, he was not as irritable as Mrs. Wilkerson, who couldn’t understand how her daughter’s bridal gown could just disappear.
Monet sighed and reached up to smooth a dark tendril that had come loose from her neat chignon, aware that she dressed more matronly than most matrons, but as the manager of the bridal department it was important to maintain a sense of decorum. “Did he say what he wants?” she asked with a glance at the clock on the stockroom wall. Fifteen minutes until closing. Fifteen minutes to find a very expensive gown for a very irate mother of the bride.
“You.” The salesgirl’s expression turned rueful. “Well, he asked for you. By name.”
Monet’s heart fell. “Tell me we haven’t misplaced another gown.”
“He didn’t say. He just asked for you.”
Monet’s frown deepened. It had been a maddeningly busy day at Bernard’s, the kind of busy that characterized Christmas shopping on a weekend in December. The customers had descended in hordes the moment the department-store doors opened this morning at nine, and the queues and demands had been endless. Apparently everyone had decided that an impromptu wedding was in order, and what could be more festive than getting married on Christmas, or a destination wedding for New Year’s? Monet had spent hours already on the phone calling designers, other stores, seamstresses, trying to find out what was available, and what could be done with gowns that might be available, and she still had a dozen things to do before closing.
“Does he have a name?” Monet asked.
“Marcus Oberto, or something like that. He’s Italian.”
Monet froze, even as she silently corrected the girl. Marcu Uberto was the name, and Marcu wasn’t Italian, but Sicilian.
“I told him you were quite busy,” the girl added. “But he said he’d wait. He said to take your time and there was no rush.”
Monet didn’t believe that for a second. Marcu was not a man to be kept waiting.
And yet what was he doing here? And why now?
Those two questions circled her brain, creating unwanted anxiety. She hadn’t seen Marcu in eight years, and the last time she’d heard from him had been almost three years ago to the day. What could he possibly want this close to Christmas?
“Shall I give him a message?” the salesgirl asked with a cheeky smile. “I don’t mind. He’s seriously sexy. But then I adore Italians, don’t you?”
Sicilian, Monet again silently corrected.
Marcu was Sicilian to the bone.
“Thank you for the offer,” Monet said, “but I’ll need to handle Signor Uberto. However, you could help me by phoning Mrs. Wilkerson and let her know we haven’t forgotten her, and we should have news about the missing bridal gown first thing in the morning.”
“Will we?” the girl replied, wrinkling her brow.
Monet couldn’t even imagine the fallout if they didn’t have good news. “We had better,” Monet said firmly, squaring her shoulders and heading from the stockroom to face Marcu.
She spotted him immediately as she emerged through the silver-and-gray curtains. He stood in the center of the marbled floor, commanding the space, which was something since the fifth floor of Bernard’s was topped by a glass dome and there was nothing but airy space on the bridal floor.
Tall, and broad through the shoulders, Marcu looked every inch the powerful wealthy aristocrat. Sophisticated and impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit and crisp white shirt—a suit and shirt she was certain from the tailoring had been made just for him. He’d paired the severe suit with a brilliant blue tie to set off his glossy black hair and piercing blue eyes. Eight years ago he’d worn his thick black hair long, but now it was cropped short and combed severely back from his brow while a hint of a shadow darkened his strong, angled jaw.
Monet’s pulse pounded, and her mouth dried as she fought back a wave of memories—memories she couldn’t bear to deal with on a night like this. Fortunately, he hadn’t yet seen her, and she was grateful for small mercies as she fought to control her breathing, and center herself. She’d worked so hard to block the past that she felt wildly unprepared for dealing with Marcu Uberto in her present.
“Courage and calm,” she whispered to herself. “You can do this.”
“Marcu,” she said politely, approaching him. “What brings you to Bernard’s? Is there a gift, or purchase I can help you with?”
Monet. A streak of icy hot sensation raced through him at the sudden sound of her voice, a voice he’d know anywhere. It wasn’t low or high, but there was a warmth to her tone, a sweetness, that matched her warm, sweet personality.
He turned to face her, half expecting the girl he’d last seen—petite, laughing, unassuming—but that wasn’t the woman before him. The Monet he’d known in Palermo had a quick smile and bright golden-brown eyes, but this Monet was incredibly slender with a guarded gaze and firm full lips that looked as if they rarely smiled. She certainly wasn’t smiling now, and with her hair drawn back, and dressed in a matronly lavender and gray tweed knit sheath dress with a matching knit jacket, she looked older than her twenty-six years.
“Hello, Monet,” he said, moving forward to kiss her on each cheek.
She barely tolerated his cheek grazing hers before stepping quickly away. “Marcu,” she replied quietly, unemotionally.
No, she wasn’t happy to see him in her workspace, but then he hadn’t expected her to welcome him with open arms.
“I’ve come to see you on a personal matter,” he said, matching her detached tone. “I’d hoped that by coming here near to closing time, I would be able to steal you away afterward so we could talk without distractions.”
Her already guarded expression shuttered completely, leaving her pretty features utterly blank. Once he’d known her so well that he could read all of her thoughts. He could read nothing now.
“The store might be closing soon,” she answered with a small, stiff smile, “but unfortunately I’ll be here for another hour. I still have orders to process and missing items to be found. Perhaps next time you’re in London—with advance notice—we could have that visit?”
“The last time I was in London you refused to see me.”
“Our schedules prevented it.”
“No, Monet, you prevented it.” His eyes met hers and held. “I won’t be put off this time. I’m here, and happy to wait until you’ve finished.”
“You won’t be allowed to remain in the building after we close.”
“Then I’ll wait in my car.” He glanced around the floor with its sleek silver Christmas trees and elegant decorations. “But why will it take you an hour to wrap things up? There’s no one here. Everyone but your colleague has gone.”
“I’m the manager and this is my department, so it falls to me to take care of all the pieces.” She paused, her gaze lifting to meet his. “Surely you don’t really want me to explain all the details of my job to you? I can’t imagine you’re that interested in bridal retail.”
