Liz Fielding - Fairytale Christmas

Fairytale Christmas

Mistletoe and the Lost Stiletto

Liz Fielding

Her Holiday Prince Charming

Christine Flynn

A Princess by Christmas

Jennifer Faye

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page Fairytale Christmas Mistletoe and the Lost Stiletto Liz Fielding Her Holiday Prince Charming Christine Flynn A Princess by Christmas Jennifer Faye www.millsandboon.co.uk

Mistletoe and the Lost Stiletto Mistletoe and the Lost Stiletto Liz Fielding

Back Cover Text Lucy was drowning in raw sensation. Lying in the arms of a total stranger, drowning in the quicksilver heat of his eyes, his touch, parting her lips to gasp in air, struggling to breathe. What was she thinking? What was she doing? On some distant level she knew she had to move, run, but here, now, only the most primitive sensations were getting through… She squirmed away from him in alarm, using her hands and feet to scrabble backwards. “No!” It was the cry of a man bereft. “Stop!” But the urgency of Nathaniel’s words spurred her on, dodging through moving shoppers, taking the stairs two at a time, fear driving her escape. Nathaniel forced himself to move, pick up the shoe that had tumbled unnoticed from her bag. He turned it in his hand. It bore an expensive, high-end designer label at odds with the damp edge around the platform sole, splashes of pavement dirt on the slender and very high, very slender stiletto heel. This was not a shoe for walking in the rain. It had been made to ride in limousines, walk along red carpets, to be worn by the consorts of very rich men. The kind who employed bodyguards…

About the Author LIZ FIELDING was born with itchy feet. She made it to Zambia before her twenty-first birthday and, gathering her own special hero and a couple of children on the way, lived in Botswana, Kenya and Bahrain – with pauses for sightseeing pretty much everywhere in between. She now lives in the west of England, close to the Regency grandeur of Bath and the ancient mystery of Stonehenge, and these days leaves her pen to do the travelling. For news of upcoming books visit Liz’s website: lizfielding.com

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Her Holiday Prince Charming

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

A Princess by Christmas

About the Author

Dedication

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

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

EPILOGUE

Copyright

Mistletoe and the Lost Stiletto

Liz Fielding

Lucy was drowning in raw sensation. Lying in the arms of a total stranger, drowning in the quicksilver heat of his eyes, his touch, parting her lips to gasp in air, struggling to breathe.

What was she thinking? What was she doing?

On some distant level she knew she had to move, run, but here, now, only the most primitive sensations were getting through…

She squirmed away from him in alarm, using her hands and feet to scrabble backwards.

“No!”

It was the cry of a man bereft.

“Stop!”

But the urgency of Nathaniel’s words spurred her on, dodging through moving shoppers, taking the stairs two at a time, fear driving her escape.

Nathaniel forced himself to move, pick up the shoe that had tumbled unnoticed from her bag.

He turned it in his hand.

It bore an expensive, high-end designer label at odds with the damp edge around the platform sole, splashes of pavement dirt on the slender and very high, very slender stiletto heel. This was not a shoe for walking in the rain. It had been made to ride in limousines, walk along red carpets, to be worn by the consorts of very rich men. The kind who employed bodyguards…

LIZ FIELDINGwas born with itchy feet. She made it to Zambia before her twenty-first birthday and, gathering her own special hero and a couple of children on the way, lived in Botswana, Kenya and Bahrain – with pauses for sightseeing pretty much everywhere in between. She now lives in the west of England, close to the Regency grandeur of Bath and the ancient mystery of Stonehenge, and these days leaves her pen to do the travelling.

For news of upcoming books visit Liz’s website: lizfielding.com

Wednesday, 1 stDecember

Appointments for Miss Lucy Bright

09:30 Beauty salon

12:30 Lunch with Marji Hayes, editor, Celebrity magazine

14:30 Celebrity photoshoot (with my mum!)

16:00 Serafina March, Wedding Designer.

20:00 Dinner at Ritz, guest list attached

Lucy Bright diary entry, 1st December:

Wish I could be at press conference for the unveiling of the Lucy B fashion chain this afternoon but, according to Rupert’s dragon of a secretary, it’s for the financial rather than the gossip pages. Which put me in my place. I can’t even appeal to Rupert since he won’t be flying in until lunchtime. And how come he gets out of the meeting with the über scary Serafina March? It’s his wedding, too.

Stupid question. He’s too busy for ‘girl’ stuff. He’s been out of the country more than he’s been in it for the last month and at this rate I’ll be walking up the aisle on my own.

The celebration dinner tonight is, as I’m constantly reminded, my moment in the sun and, obviously, a morning being pampered, a luscious lunch with the editor of Celebrity and then a meeting with the wedding designer to the stars meets all the criteria for the fairy tale. I am Lucy Bright. It’s my name — Lucy B — that’s going to be above the doors of a hundred High Street shops come the spring. So why do I feel as if I’m on the outside looking in?

RUBBING at the base of her engagement ring with her thumb so that the huge diamond sparkled, Lucy Bright made an effort to shake off the feeling that things weren’t quite as fairy tale as media coverage of her romance with Rupert Henshawe would suggest. Determined to shake off the feeling, she logged into Twitter to update her followers on what she’d be doing for the rest of the day.