The Spanish Billionaire's Christmas Bride. Maggie Cox

them for ever?

      ‘Dominique.’

      Suddenly the man she’d come to visit was in the open doorway before her—a tall, dark clothed figure, lean-hipped and hard-muscled, the suggestion of reined-in power very much evident despite his casual stance. Like a cat ready to pounce at the first hint of danger. Glancing up into his compelling face, she saw that his eyes were as fathomless as a black night studded with stars, and his jet hair gleamed like a dark moonlit sea. Dominique’s mouth seemed to instantly dry up at the sight of him.

      ‘Where is Matilde?’

      ‘I left her with my friend for a couple of hours…I thought it would make it easier for us to talk.’

      ‘That is a shame. I was looking forward to seeing her again.’

      Dominique felt both guilty and chastised. ‘I’m not trying to stop you seeing her. I just thought—’

      ‘It is early yet. Perhaps I can see her later on in the day?’

      Cristiano studied her face intently for a moment, as though needing to discern whether he could trust her or not, and Dominique sensed he knew she had not brought Matilde along because her fears about the outcome of this meeting had not yet been allayed.

      ‘You had better come in.’

      The elegant drawing room she entered was decorated in a tasteful quintessentially English style, with antique furniture, inviting luxurious sofas and armchairs, and plush red velvet curtains finished with opulent swags at the windows. There was even a baby grand piano in residence, its polished ebony wood gleaming. Dominique felt like the little match girl, wandering in from the cold in her nondescript black woollen dress and slightly oversized tweed coat. A room like this, she mused, called for nothing less than a tall elegant blonde clad in haute couture and diamonds—the kind that graced billboards, not a five-foot-five unconfident girl with nondescript brown hair and a deepening sense of dread.

      ‘I’ve ordered us some coffee. It should be with us shortly. Please…let me take your coat.’

      Embarrassed and then angry at the idea that Cristiano must guess that her well worn, less-than-elegant coat was a charity shop buy, Dominique handed it to him with an air of defiance.

      ‘Sit down,’ he told her, his dark gaze briefly skimming her figure in the unremarkable black dress…another cast-off from a charity shop.

      It was impossible to know what was going on behind those extraordinary dark eyes of his, but everything about Cristiano Cordova reeked of class and money. Standing there in that elegant drawing room with him, Dominique was painfully aware of the discrepancy in their backgrounds. It was funny, but she hadn’t felt that way with Ramón. Maybe it was because he had been younger and a little less sure of himself? There had been times in their short-lived relationship when he had definitely displayed what had seemed like vulnerability to her. In contrast, she had never met a man who appeared more certain of his place in the world than Cristiano Cordova. No doubt he already had a tall elegant blonde in his life, Dominique mused.

      ‘Make yourself comfortable,’ he suggested. ‘It is cold outside today, no?’

      He didn’t seem the type to casually discuss the weather, and she guessed that maybe he was doing it to try and help her feel less overwhelmed. But would a man like him be that considerate? A man who clearly knew what he wanted and would not let a little thing like somebody else’s conflicting desires get in the way?

      As she sank into one of the inviting armchairs, Dominique watched Cristiano take up residence at the end of the sofa nearest to her—which was far too close for comfort, if she was honest—and she swallowed hard.

      ‘Yes, it is cold.’

      ‘I can see that you are somewhat tense about this meeting, Dominique. I want to reassure you that I have asked you here only because I want the very best for you and your daughter.’

      ‘That’s all well and good, but I’m a little tired of everybody else being convinced they know what’s best for me and Matilde!’ she snapped, feeling her throat threatening to close.

      ‘How old are you?’

      ‘Twenty-one… Why? I suppose now you’re going to tell me that I’m far too young and irresponsible to possibly know my own mind? Well, for your information I know exactly what I want for me and my baby, and I don’t need anyone else to tell me different!’

      A knock on the door heralded the arrival of their coffee and prevented Cristiano from immediately replying to her tirade. While the smartly attired steward arranged an exquisite silver tray on the low burnished wood table in front of them, Dominique tried hard to get her emotions back under control. Why did the man get to her this way? Make her feel so defensive and angry?

      Watching him tip the steward at the door, she waited until he returned to his seat before she spoke again. ‘I’m sorry—I lost my temper.’

      ‘It is an emotional time for all of us. Let me pour you some coffee. Do you take cream and sugar?’

      ‘Yes, please.’

      He looked frighteningly calm and collected in comparison with the riot of nerves and emotions she was personally experiencing inside, and as Dominique accepted her drink, his gaze met and held hers for perturbing seconds.

      ‘I spoke to my family last night and I explained to them why you are reticent about returning to Spain with me. They understand your concerns about your job, but—like me—do not see it as an obstacle that cannot be easily overcome. They have implored me to do my utmost to persuade you to come and join us for Christmas at least. You have had some time to think things over and now I would really like your answer, Dominique. What do you say?’