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Christmas With the Billionaire
Christmas With the Billionaire
Susan Stephens
Chapter One
Okay. She could do this.
Kate Black stared up at the gleaming façade of 1, Royal Buildings and braced her capable shoulders. Even at first light on a winter morning, with snow drifting down, London’s premier apartment block was impressive. From chambermaid in rural Yorkshire to house sitter for a member of the aristocracy in central London, she’d taken quite a leap, but the agency she’d signed on to had begged her to fill in for them when another girl let them down last minute, so here she was.
Nothing could be as hard as digging sheep out of snowdrifts in the middle of a blizzard on her parents’ farm in the North of England, Kate reflected. She hoisted her bulging carrier bags full of Christmas gifts from her family onto her shoulder and wheeled her case forward. She hadn’t come to London to be crushed by insecurity, but to make her parents proud. Sheep farming was a tough life, and once she graduated college and was on a decent wage, she was going to help them out with extra money where she could.
“Can I help you?”
She jumped to see the uniformed doorman giving her a disapproving look. Fair enough. She was littering up his entrance. Gleaming glass doors without a fingerprint to be seen, sitting atop an impressive claret-colored mat with a crown emblazoned on it, hardly agreed with her battered suitcase and the shabby outfit she’d pulled together with a ratty scarf. Who could blame him for staring down his nose at her?
With a bright smile, she advanced. “Hi—” She extended her hand in greeting. Which he ignored. “I’m Kate Black?”
His lack of reaction was a concern. She tried again. “I’m here to house-sit for Lady Vallender over the holidays?”
From his expression she guessed he knew nothing of this.
“I have a letter...” Shifting her bags around, she delved into the pocket of her coat. “Here—” She held it out to him. “Suite forty-four?” she added hopefully when he continued to block her way. “The floor just below the top floor...?”
“Morning Sir!”
She staggered back as the doorman brushed past her to swing the door wide. And froze when she recognized his visitor.
The tall, dark man stopped on the threshold in the shadows, where he looked more saturnine than ever, if such a thing were possible.
“Morning, Jack. Problem?” he questioned in a deep, commanding voice.
She would have known him anywhere from his many interviews on television, and his photographs in the press. Jason Kent, entrepreneur, financial pundit, sex god—the world’s so-called most eligible bachelor was now the man barring her way.
Suited and booted in the finest tailoring that molded his powerful body to perfection, Kent looked as if he might be fresh from a business meeting. He certainly had the expression of the cat that got the cream. Perhaps he’d just sealed one of those billion-dollar deals he was so famous for, Kate mused, transfixed by his dark, probing eyes.
He really had the compelling navy-blue stare they talked about in the press, and sweeping ebony brows that, together with his chiseled cheekbones and thick, jet black hair, gave him the look of a barbarian from the plains... Genghis Khan, potentially—
“Can I help you?”
In so many ways.
Her foundations rocked at the sound of his voice.
“The young lady is just leaving, sir,” the doorman hurried to explain.
“No, I’m not. I just arrived.”
Kent’s stare sharpened. “What do you want, Miss...?”
Lifting her chin, she stood her ground. “Ms. Black. Ms. Kate Black. I’m expected. The agency sent me. I’ve come from the North of England to house-sit for Lady Vallender.”
The doorman blinked, while Jason Kent remained impassive. Neither of them moved to let her in. No problem. If there was one thing she’d learned wrestling sheep up on the moors, it was that you didn’t back down until you got the result you wanted.
“You can leave this to me now,” Kent told the doorman.
“Yes, sir.” Jack all but saluted. “If you’re quite sure, sir?”
“I think I can handle it,” Kent said dryly.
Oh, could he? She wasn’t some fragile female to be brushed off. She was a sturdy farmer’s daughter—who had to admit she was totally disarmed when Jason Kent took hold of her arm and ushered her into the warmth.
“Lady Vallender’s apartment?” he queried pleasantly. “It’s immediately below mine.”
Susan Stephens
Chapter One
Okay. She could do this.
Kate Black stared up at the gleaming façade of 1, Royal Buildings and braced her capable shoulders. Even at first light on a winter morning, with snow drifting down, London’s premier apartment block was impressive. From chambermaid in rural Yorkshire to house sitter for a member of the aristocracy in central London, she’d taken quite a leap, but the agency she’d signed on to had begged her to fill in for them when another girl let them down last minute, so here she was.
Nothing could be as hard as digging sheep out of snowdrifts in the middle of a blizzard on her parents’ farm in the North of England, Kate reflected. She hoisted her bulging carrier bags full of Christmas gifts from her family onto her shoulder and wheeled her case forward. She hadn’t come to London to be crushed by insecurity, but to make her parents proud. Sheep farming was a tough life, and once she graduated college and was on a decent wage, she was going to help them out with extra money where she could.
“Can I help you?”
She jumped to see the uniformed doorman giving her a disapproving look. Fair enough. She was littering up his entrance. Gleaming glass doors without a fingerprint to be seen, sitting atop an impressive claret-colored mat with a crown emblazoned on it, hardly agreed with her battered suitcase and the shabby outfit she’d pulled together with a ratty scarf. Who could blame him for staring down his nose at her?
With a bright smile, she advanced. “Hi—” She extended her hand in greeting. Which he ignored. “I’m Kate Black?”
His lack of reaction was a concern. She tried again. “I’m here to house-sit for Lady Vallender over the holidays?”
From his expression she guessed he knew nothing of this.
“I have a letter...” Shifting her bags around, she delved into the pocket of her coat. “Here—” She held it out to him. “Suite forty-four?” she added hopefully when he continued to block her way. “The floor just below the top floor...?”
“Morning Sir!”
She staggered back as the doorman brushed past her to swing the door wide. And froze when she recognized his visitor.
The tall, dark man stopped on the threshold in the shadows, where he looked more saturnine than ever, if such a thing were possible.
“Morning, Jack. Problem?” he questioned in a deep, commanding voice.
She would have known him anywhere from his many interviews on television, and his photographs in the press. Jason Kent, entrepreneur, financial pundit, sex god—the world’s so-called most eligible bachelor was now the man barring her way.
Suited and booted in the finest tailoring that molded his powerful body to perfection, Kent looked as if he might be fresh from a business meeting. He certainly had the expression of the cat that got the cream. Perhaps he’d just sealed one of those billion-dollar deals he was so famous for, Kate mused, transfixed by his dark, probing eyes.
He really had the compelling navy-blue stare they talked about in the press, and sweeping ebony brows that, together with his chiseled cheekbones and thick, jet black hair, gave him the look of a barbarian from the plains... Genghis Khan, potentially—
“Can I help you?”
In so many ways.
Her foundations rocked at the sound of his voice.
“The young lady is just leaving, sir,” the doorman hurried to explain.
“No, I’m not. I just arrived.”
Kent’s stare sharpened. “What do you want, Miss...?”
Lifting her chin, she stood her ground. “Ms. Black. Ms. Kate Black. I’m expected. The agency sent me. I’ve come from the North of England to house-sit for Lady Vallender.”
The doorman blinked, while Jason Kent remained impassive. Neither of them moved to let her in. No problem. If there was one thing she’d learned wrestling sheep up on the moors, it was that you didn’t back down until you got the result you wanted.
“You can leave this to me now,” Kent told the doorman.
“Yes, sir.” Jack all but saluted. “If you’re quite sure, sir?”
“I think I can handle it,” Kent said dryly.
Oh, could he? She wasn’t some fragile female to be brushed off. She was a sturdy farmer’s daughter—who had to admit she was totally disarmed when Jason Kent took hold of her arm and ushered her into the warmth.
“Lady Vallender’s apartment?” he queried pleasantly. “It’s immediately below mine.”
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