Lucy Monroe - Million Dollar Christmas Proposal

“I think you’d better kiss me,” Audrey said.

“What?” Had he heard correctly? “You want me to kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I think that should be obvious.”

Vincenzo was not used to people implying he was thick. “Explain it to me.”

“Because if we don’t have the chemistry to make it through a single kiss, the rest of this interview is an exercise in futility. Since you’re so set on us being physically compatible.”

It actually made sense, and he had not considered it because he’d been so intent on not giving in to his urge to kiss her.

He nodded and stood up, away from the desk, putting his hand out to her. “That is an excellent point.”

Curling his fingers around her hand, he pulled her to her feet. Her body came within inches of his own.

Their gazes locked. Hers was filled with trepidation—and something else that he had been unsure he would find there: desire.

“You want me.”

“I want a kiss,” she corrected, but the truth was there.

Dear Reader

When I was growing up, no matter how harsh life had got, my mom always made Christmas magical for us. I have very few good memories related to my dad, but Christmas mornings are one of them. From the big sooty boot-prints he made from our fireplace to the Christmas tree, to convince us Santa had come, to the cradle and highchair he made for my baby doll when I was seven, it was the one time a year I could remember him being a real dad.

My mom insisted Christmas miracles happened, and every year he managed to be a dad for that one day I knew she was right. By the time I was ten my dad was no longer around on Christmas or any other day, but the certainty of the magic of the holidays never left me.

My husband and I have tried to give magical moments to our own children and those we’ve taken in over the years. And, while Tom is an amazing dad every day of the year, I have to say he outshines himself at Christmas.

Hoping with my whole heart that you experience a little holiday magic this year!

Much love

Lucy

Million Dollar Christmas Proposal

Lucy Monroe

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LUCY MONROEstarted reading at the age of four. After going through the children’s books at home, she was caught by her mother reading adult novels pilfered from the higher shelves on the bookcase… Alas, it was nine years before she got her hands on a Mills & Boon ®Romance her older sister had brought home. She loves to create the strong alpha males and independent women who people Mills & Boon ®books. When she’s not immersed in a romance novel (whether reading or writing it), she enjoys travel with her family, having tea with the neighbours, gardening, and visits from her numerous nieces and nephews.

Lucy loves to hear from her readers:

email LucyMonroe@LucyMonroe.com,

or visit www.LucyMonroe.com

Recent titles by the same author:

PRINCE OF SECRETS (By His Royal Decree) ONE NIGHT HEIR (By His Royal Decree) NOT JUST THE GREEK’S WIFE HEART OF A DESERT WARRIOR

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For my niece, Hannah, because you are a big part of my holiday magic. Thank you for helping me and Isabelle decorate for Christmas, and especially for your patience and creativity in decorating my “Mr. Monk”, color-coordinated, every ornament evenly spaced tree each year. Few teenagers would be nearly so accepting of my OCD tendencies. Your parents raised you right and I’m in awe of what a lovely and strong young woman you truly are. Love you!

And with a special hug for all the teens who find themselves scrambling for a place to sleep this holiday season. It is my sincerest hope you find warmth and safety wrapped in holiday joy. That, as my husband and I have opened our home to some, so might others open theirs to you. Blessings and love!

Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

EYES DRY, HEART shattered, Audrey Miller sat in the chair beside her baby brother’s hospital bed and prayed for him to wake up.

He’d been in a coma since the ambulance brought him in three days ago and she wasn’t leaving him. She wasn’t letting go of him. Not like their parents had done.

Not like their two older siblings had.

How could family act like strangers? Worse than strangers? The rest of the Miller clan had cruelly rejected the incredibly sweet, scary-smart twelve-year-old boy. All because he’d told their parents he was gay.

He was twelve, for heaven’s sake. What difference did it make?

But when he’d refused to recant his words, had insisted it wasn’t some kind of phase or confusion despite his tender years, their parents had kicked him out.

Audrey couldn’t even imagine it. She wouldn’t have known what do at that age, alone and homeless. Toby had, though.

With nothing more than his saved-up allowance, his laptop, and a backpack full of clothes, he’d made his way south the two hundred miles from Boston to New York.

He hadn’t called ahead, hadn’t questioned. He’d just come to Audrey. He’d trusted her to be there for him when the rest of the family wasn’t and she would never betray that trust.

Audrey hadn’t thought it could get any worse than her parents kicking Toby out, had been sure that given time to consider their actions they would change their minds and let him move back home. They lived in one of the most progressive cities in the country, for goodness’ sake.

But Carol and Randall Miller were not progressive people. She just hadn’t realized how very steeped in narrow-minded conservatism they were.

Not until they gave her an ultimatum: remain a member in good standing with the rest of the family or stick by Toby. They’d made it clear that if she stuck by her little brother and supported him in any way they would withdraw all financial support and cut off all contact with Audrey.

Their plan to scare both of their youngest children into compliance with their strict viewpoint of the world had backfired.

Audrey had refused and when Toby had learned what that cost her, he’d tried to kill himself. Toby had used the Swiss Army knife their father had given him for his twelfth birthday to cut his wrists.

It hadn’t been a cry for help; it had been a testament to his utter wretchedness at their parents’ total rejection. He did it when the house she shared with three other Barnard students was supposed to be empty for several hours.

If Audrey’s roommate hadn’t forgotten a paper she had to turn in and gone back to the house, if Liz hadn’t investigated the running shower when Toby hadn’t answered her call, he would have died there, his blood washing down the drain of their old-fashioned porcelain tub.