Rachael Stewart - Naughty Or Nice / A Sinful Little Christmas

‘Nothing… I’m just getting Eva. Mum wants her to cut the cake.’

‘The last place Eva will be is in my study, son.’

Nate gives an awkward laugh. ‘Sure…of course. I’ll check upstairs.’

They move off, their voices growing distant, and I know my brother is protecting us. But I don’t want protection. I don’t want to hide any more.

‘Lucas, please don’t push me away. I don’t want to deny this any more. I know you feel the same. I know you—’

‘You don’t know anything.’

‘You want me—’

‘Yes, I want you.’ He launches the words at me, so certain. ‘But that’s not love.’

‘It is—because I love you.’

‘You don’t love me. You’re infatuated, confused, doped up on hormones.’

My heart starts to split in two, ice running through the middle. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about…’

‘I know you and your family are all that I have. That without you I have nothing.’

I don’t know what to say to that. I know the truth of it. But it makes my reasoning all the more valid. It’s so simple.

‘Then accept that we love one another and that my family will be happy for us. Once they adjust.’

His head shakes violently. ‘No, they won’t. Don’t you see? Nate was banging this door down to stop us. He knows .’

‘But—’

‘No, Eva, he’s already made it clear you’re off-limits and, hell, he’s right. What happens to me a year or two down the line when this…whatever this is…fizzles out?’

‘It won’t.’

‘You can guarantee that, can you?’

‘I… I…’

He rakes both hands through his hair, his torment written in his haunted brown eyes. Eyes I’ve dreamed about for so long.

And then he’s turning away and heading for the door.

‘Please,’ I hear myself say. ‘Don’t go.’

He doesn’t even pause—doesn’t even look back as he unlocks the door and slips away. Leaving me standing there, my heart in tatters, as I realise he means it.

That no matter how much I love him he can never be mine.

THIS IS MY MOMENT. For the first time in my life I know that I’ve made it. That I stand apart. My family name hasn’t handed me this. Aside from a small investment from dear old Ma and Pa, this is all me.

My baby is finally ready, and companies are clambering over themselves to head up its manufacture, its distribution, wanting to join forces, to conquer the field.

But I have weeks to decide.

Tonight is about enjoying the buzz…feeding it.

The room is fit to bursting with prospective producers and vendors alike. And here’s me, confident in a festive red silk dress that just sweeps the floor, my blonde hair knotted up high, sophisticated, yet softened by the loose locks that fall free. The delicate bubbles of the champagne in my hand are feeding my ego and my mood to perfection.

‘Well, you did it, angel.’

I turn and lift my chin to meet my father’s eye. I can see the admiration in his gaze—something I’ve hungered for since I found I could outrun my brother at fourteen.

It’s not that I’m naturally competitive, but when you’re always deemed the less capable, the girl , it can happen. Even more so when your brother can apparently do no wrong, when in truth he does plenty wrong, and still has admiration dished out in spades.

‘I know.’

He tenses, and I fear he’s read the bitterness in my tone. But, no, his eyes leave me and narrow. Something else has caught his attention.

‘What the hell…?’ he mutters.

I follow his line of sight, but already my nerves sizzle. My father doesn’t ever show unease—he doesn’t do emotion, particularly in a business setting like tonight’s launch party. My launch party.

‘Did you invite him?’

‘Wh—?’ The word dies and my entire body draws tight.

I see him. I see the exact cause of my father’s unease and feel it seep into my very skin. My mood dies with it. The champagne flute trembles in my hand and I know I should look away, but I can’t.

Ten years and still my eyes are hooked on him.

Lucas Waring.

My family’s nemesis.

My heart’s downfall.

‘No,’ I manage to say.

I shouldn’t be surprised—not when the room is full of his peers.

Peers? Are you dreaming?

They’re not his equal. No one is. Waring Holdings has it all and now here is Lucas, wanting… what?

‘He can’t possibly think you’ll be interested in working with him.’

My father speaks my mind exactly. He can’t. But what else?

‘There’s only one way to find out.’

I’m not the eighteen-year-old girl I once was, and I’m not the woman I became soon after that, determined to evade him. I am in control now. This is my night. This is work.

‘Excuse me.’

‘No.’ My father steps into my path. ‘I’ll get rid of him.’

I hold his eye as my lips twitch. What I want to say is Stop treating me like a child , but in my mind that sounds petulant and childlike in itself. Instead I smile up at him. ‘He’s made the effort to come. I should at least see what he wants.’

‘But—’

‘But nothing, Dad. Giving someone as powerful as Lucas the cold shoulder tonight of all nights would send the wrong message to the room.’

My father grunts and swigs his champagne. He knows I’m right. He didn’t get where he is today by letting personal differences get in his way. But then it’s the first time I’m aware of that Lucas has dared venture near any of us in five long years.

Ever since my family shut him out and the blame for the demise of the company he co-owned with Nate seemed to land firmly at his feet.

I questioned it at the time. I continued to question it each and every time Nate screwed up after that. It couldn’t have been down to Lucas—not entirely. But it seems Lucas has suffered the same as me.

Nate’s golden halo failed to shift.

I can’t deny I’m curious as to what truly went down. And I also can’t deny that his presence here tonight only serves to help my cause, my product. It’ll feed the frenzy already taking hold as companies vie for my business.

Or it’ll send them running, because they’ll think there’s no chance in hell you’ll look anywhere else but him.

Not him—his business, Eva!

I give my head a small shake, the loose curls from my updo brushing against the prickled skin of my nape. It loosens up my thoughts, the tension.

‘Why don’t you make sure Mum doesn’t flip at his presence?’ I say, and with another sip of champagne I start to make my way towards him, praying he doesn’t spy me before I’m prepared.

But already his head is turning, as if he senses my approach, and then his eyes are locked on mine and I can feel a startling rush through my system. It doesn’t matter that I’m used to the sight of him on the TV, in the tabloids—that same old zing is in my belly, that heat that only his physical presence has ever instilled creeping into my cheeks.

I want to look away, but I won’t give him that. I am stronger now, wiser, and the better for it. And so I enjoy him, my eyes sweeping over every inch of him. His black hair, long on top. His prominent brow arching over heavy-lashed eyes that narrow on me, dark and intense. I ignore the hiccup to my pulse and cut lower, to his wide, angular jaw with its intentional stubble.

I avoid his mouth entirely.

I don’t need the memory of its brief contact all those years ago. I really don’t.

I move my eyes lower, to the broad set of his shoulders—wider than I recall. Imposing. I don’t dwell on the muscle behind that. Instead I focus on the designer cut of his deep grey suit, the white shirt and his defiantly skinny black tie.