The Billionaire’s Christmas Bride by L. Steele

37

Amelie

I tip up my chin and march into the room. What the hell am I doing here? Why had I allowed Kirsten to convince me to stay? He frowns as I walk past him to the bar, and pour myself some sparkling water. Yeah, I need my wits about me. I’m not going to fuck this up, or give the alphahole the time of the day either.

I glance around the beautifully furnished living room. The painting above the fire place is definitely an original, the settee in the room is made of plush leather and strewn with cushions, giving it a homey look. The wooden floor gleams, no doubt, polished every day by minions. I take in the corners of the room, the other walls—no clocks. Of course, not. Is his family aware of Weston’s trigger? Had they done away with all time pieces? Of course, they know about his affliction, right?

Footsteps sound behind me as Weston prowls over, "I thought I told you to leave?"

A ripple runs past my nerve endings. Don’t show how nervous you are. Don’t let on how much his nearness affects you.

I turn, glance around him. "Hey, Kirsten," I wave at his sister.

"Come on over, babe, you gotta see what Phe has drawn for you."

"Coming." I march past him, head high, spine straight, my heart booming in my rib cage. He locks his fingers around my wrist.

I squeak.

"Don’t ignore me," he growls under this breath. That harsh edge to his voice? Gah! My nerve endings all flare at once.

I stiffen, glance sideways. "Let go of me," I whisper.

"You don’t tell me what to do."

"And you don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. You told me to leave, remember?"

"And you disobeyed me."

"You’re not my keeper, not even my lover. Any right you had over me, you forfeited right then."

"Have I now?" His fingers tighten on my wrist—and he’s using his left hand, which is not his dominant hand, but it might as well be. Is any part of this guy less than 100% assertive? And why am I going all gooey inside? Hell, he told me to leave, and just before Christmas. What kind of a monster does that? And why the hell does my body refuse to behave around him?

"Yes, you did." I raise my gaze, force myself to see this through, "I’m done with you."

He frowns and something flickers in his gaze. "Amelie, I—"

"Aunteee Amelieee." Phe runs across the room and throws herself at me.

I tug my hand, but Weston still doesn’t release it. I half bend, rub the little girl's hair. "Hey, baby, watcha have there for me?"

She holds up the craft paper, showing an outline of a princess that she’s colored in, complete with tiara. "Who’s this?"

"It's you." She smiles widely. "Princess Amelie."

"Awww." My heart stutters. I tug on my hand again, and this time, Weston releases me. I lower myself to a squat as he takes my drink from my hand. I ignore the gesture, accept the drawing from Phe. "It’s beautiful."

"So pretty," Phoenix giggles.

"Yes, you are." I pull the little girl close and kiss her cheek loudly.

She bursts out laughing, then pulls away. I rise to my feet, glance at the drawing. "Aww," I sigh, "it really is pretty."

"You’re prettier," Weston’s deep rumble surrounds me. I shiver. Hell, this really was a bad idea.

I begin to walk away.

"Amelie," he calls out.

Don’t stop; don’t.

"Your drink."

I wave a hand in the air, "You have it."

I walk toward Kirsten, joining her and the girls. Skye has her nose buried in a book, as usual. She glances up at me, then at the drawing. She snorts under her breath, turns back to her reading.

Kirsten grimaces, then mouths ‘sorry.’

I laugh. I remember being far worse at her age. Of course, my parents, being the strict disciplinarians they were, didn’t help. It’s why I had rebelled every inch of the way. Christmas at home had been quiet, my parents not wanting to change their routine much, even for the festive season. Perhaps there is comfort in everyday chores? More likely, they were so content in each other’s company, I’d never fit in with them. Always the third wheel, the outsider looking in. Then they'd retired to Spain; and with that, all expectation of my visiting them for Christmas had been dropped—on both our sides. Our communication had dwindled down to the occasional phone calls, then that had stopped too.

Don’t get me wrong, they did their best for me, always provided for me, gave me everything I needed... Except a sense of belonging… The kind of warmth I find here. Max runs into the room, heads straight for me and jumps up.

“Hey boy,” I lift him into my arms. "Missed me huh?" He licks my face, and I giggle, "Wow, so much affection, and you saw me what, three minutes ago, huh?"

I glance up and meet Weston’s gaze. He raises the glass—the one he had taken from me—and brings it to his lips. He drains the water, then lowers the glass and licks his lips.

I swallow. Shit, what craziness is this, that his every glance is filled with undertones? A crazy sexual tension that will never abate between us. Too bad… He is an alphahole who will never change colors.

"Patrick," Kirsten cries out, then moves forward to greet the man who’s just walked in. He opens his arms wide as Phe races for him. He catches the little girl, swings her high and she squeals. "Daddy, you’re home," Phe cries.

"I told you I’d be." He kisses her on the cheek, lowers her to the floor, then turning, sweeps his wife into a kiss.

"Ugh," Skye makes a gagging sound, then turns back to her book, which she’s reading standing up, by the way.

"Hey, sweetheart, a kiss for your old man?" Patrick grins at her. Skye glances up, sighs, then walks forward and offers her cheek. Patrick hugs her close, and Skye seems to thaw enough to put her arm around him to hug him.

I can’t stop the giggle that bounces out of me.

Warmth envelops me, and I don’t need to turn round to know that Weston has moved in to stand behind me. "You went against my order."

I snort. "What you going to do about it?" I tip up my chin, "Oh, and I am here because Kirsten asked me to stay. I’ll be gone tomorrow, and then we’ll never have to meet each other again." I thrust Max at him.

Weston grabs the puppy, mostly because I took him by surprise, no doubt.

Max whines, wriggles around. Weston sets him down and he prances toward the girls.

He straightens, glares at me, "You’re still on my turf."

"Whatever." I throw my hands up, pivot and flounce toward the door. Wide shoulders fill the door and a tall man walks in. His features are vaguely familiar. Huh?

He glances at me, and his face lights up, "Amelie." He strides toward me.

I blink up, trying to place him. "Hunter?"

"How are you?" He places his hands on my shoulders, then bends to kiss me on each cheek. "This evening just got more exciting," he whispers in my ear.

I chuckle, pat his shoulder, "What are you doing here?"

"Yes, that’s what I’d like to know." Weston stalks forward to glare at him. The two men are the same height. Hunter wears a suit that is every bit as well cut as Weston’s. His dark hair curls over his collar. He’s every bit as handsome as Weston. So why the hell don’t I feel the same attraction toward him?

He glances between us, then grins, "I was invited."

"Who the fuck by?" Weston snaps.

"By me."

Another man stalks into the room. I blink. His features, his build, that bored, annoyed perma-dick face... It could be Weston, only it isn’t. The creases around his eyes are deeper, his gaze so cold that I shiver. I take a step back and Weston’s warmth cocoons me. His big palm rests on my waist and I don’t push it off. His touch grounds me in the face of his darker, older sibling walking through the door."

"Liam," Weston drawls, confirming my suspicion.

"Weston," Liam jerks his chin. His gaze rests on me for a second; there’s no change in expression on his face, no acknowledgement that he’s seen me. And I thought Weston was a jerk? I bite the inside of my cheek. "Hunter’s with me," Liam tilt his head. "I am supporting his campaign to run for Prime Minister."

"Thought this was meant to be family only," Weston growls.

Liam barely glances in my direction, "Considering you have your latest piece here, you shouldn’t speak, huh?"

I wince. Weston’s big body stiffens behind me. Anger thrums from him and he takes a step forward. "Apologize to her," he growls.

I blink. Go figure. Alphahole here, gets all macho and protective when faced with the threat of an enemy. Or perhaps he wants to save face because I’m here as his guest… Except, I’m not.

I turn on him. "I don’t need you to fight my battles," I snap, then turn to Liam. "For your information, I am here because Kirsten invited me to stay." I step forward, tip my chin up, "And I don’t really care for your impoliteness...and for your apology, even less."

"Liam," a female voice whips through the space.

I look around him and wince. It’s Rosie. Of course, it’s their mother. That’s all I need. What a nightmare. Why did I accept Kirsten’s invitation to stay, again?

Phe skips over to me, then slips her hand through mine. I meet her gaze. She tugs on my arm, I bend down, and she whispers, "You’re not leaving, are you?"

I draw in a breath, then shake my head. "Not yet," I whisper back.

I straighten as Rosie walks into the room. She glances between her sons, "Everything okay?" There’s a warning edge to her voice.

"Yes, Mother," Liam grates out.

She turns to Weston, who hesitates. She tilts her head, and Weston pulls back his shoulders, gives Liam a hard look. "Apologize first," he insists.

I am about to tell him to forget it, when Liam walks over to me. He takes my shoulders then bends to kiss my cheek. "I am sorry about my earlier remark," he says, "I’m afraid Weston tends to get on my nerves. I didn’t mean to insult you that way."

He straightens. Weston tugs me closer so I am out of Liam’s reach.

Liam looks between us and smirks, then walks around us toward the dining room. What the hell was that? Apology my foot. He may have sounded earnest, but that condescending look on his face? Jesus, he is one tough customer.

Rosie turns to Weston, who draws in a breath. He walks over to her, kisses her cheek, "We’re good, Mother."

"Good." She pats his cheek. "Let’s eat." She walks toward the dining room.

OMG, now that’s power, huh? She’s got these alphas to heel, and that’s a talent she’d have learned early. And how, I mean, seriously, how does she do it? She’s the true leader here.

Hunter, Kirsten and Patrick follow. Phe skips forward, with Skye trailing behind.

Weston turns on me and the scowl on his face deepens. He bends his knees, thrusts his face into mine, "I’ve called the car service. They’ll be here after dinner for you. Don’t find an excuse to stay back this time, you get me?"