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Christmas Kisses
The Spanish Billionaire’s Christmas Bride
Maggie Cox
Christmas Bride-to-Be
Alison Roberts
Christmas Wishes, Mistletoe Kisses
Fiona Harper
The Spanish Billionaire’s Christmas Bride
Maggie Cox
About the Author
The day MAGGIE COX saw the film version of Wuthering Heights, with a beautiful Merle Oberon and a very handsome Laurence Olivier, was the day she became hooked on romance. From that day onwards she spent a lot of time dreaming up her own romances, secretly hoping that one day she might become published and get paid for doing what she loved most! Now that her dream is being realised, she wakes up every morning and counts her blessings. She is married to a gorgeous man and is the mother of two wonderful sons. Her two other great passions in life—besides her family and reading/writing—are music and films.
To Suzy, for your boundless enthusiasm and encouragement.
CHAPTER ONE
DOMINIQUE couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It was as if her worst nightmare had come to life. Still in shock from the news her mother had called to deliver, she was having trouble taking in the rest of the tirade.
‘Let me get this straight,’ she said to her mother. ‘You told Cristiano Cordova where I lived so that he could come and see the baby and … What was it you said? See for himself the dreadful conditions in which I’m living?’
She stared at the telephone receiver in her hand as though it were an unexploded bomb, mute outrage gripping her throat while fear and dread cascaded through her bloodstream like a swollen river bursting its banks.
‘Why? Why would you do such a thing?’
‘Why do you think? I told him because the Cordovas obviously aren’t short of a penny or two, and they owe you! Since that good-for-nothing Ramón is dead, and you’ve been saddled with his child to try and raise on your own instead of finishing your degree, they ought to take some sort of responsibility for what’s happened, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Is that what you told him? That he was responsible for Matilde?’
‘Yes!’ There was stubborn defiance in the other woman’s voice. ‘And he agreed!’
‘Listen … they owe me nothing! It was my own decision to go ahead with the pregnancy and have the baby, and it’s nothing to do with anyone else! If Ramón himself wasn’t interested in his daughter why do you think for one moment that I would be remotely interested in making contact with the rest of his family? Much less have one of them come visit me!’
‘Well, someone should pay for the mess that man got you into—and why shouldn’t his family cough up? He ruined your life, Dominique! You were on course for a wonderful career and now look at you!’
For a moment Dominique couldn’t speak over the raw pain inside her throat. Her mother made it sound as if she was the biggest failure that ever lived! Was there nothing she could ever do to please her? Already knowing the answer, she fought off the wave of shame and despondency that washed over her and dispiritedly murmured a strained goodbye.
A week on and still she greeted each minute in dread of Cristiano Cordova showing up at her door, possibly wanting to assume some sort of control over her baby’s future. The already broken nights she endured, waking to feed Matilde, had been disrupted further by anxiety and fear. The freedom to lead her own life that she’d so desperately sought when she’d finally left her mother’s house to care for her baby on her own had been horribly threatened and spoiled.
She had already been feeling strangely disconnected from the rest of the world—the only light in her life being derived from her beautiful baby girl—while other people were looking forward to the holiday season, busy flitting in and out of the shops that were bursting with glittering arrays of Christmas paraphernalia, and counting down the days for the big event itself. The restaurant where Dominique worked as a waitress was already inundated with orders for lunch on Christmas Day, and she could have increased her hours in a heartbeat if she didn’t fiercely guard the maximum time she could afford to spend with her baby. But other people’s anticipation of Christmas only served to heighten her sense of isolation.
And now her mother had betrayed her. She had colluded with Cristiano Cordova—Ramón’s rich and influential cousin—behind her back, and encouraged the idea that Dominique’s baby was now his responsibility, since there was now no hope of Ramón himself ever fulfilling that role. The revelation still had the power to stun her senseless. She was still reeling from the news that Ramón was dead … killed in a car accident on some remote mountain pass in Spain. The catalogue of heartbreak since Dominique had met him was surely now complete?
Cristiano declined the offer of more coffee from the smiling air stewardess and, making a steeple of his fingers, stared out at the dazzling vista of pale clouds that resembled sun-struck snow-covered mountain peaks in the sky. For a poignant moment he imagined his young cousin’s restless and unhappy spirit, roaming free amongst those selfsame clouds—no longer bound by the constraints of the physical existence that had seemed to cause him so much turmoil and difficulty while he lived … Emotion welled up inside him and painfully cramped his throat. If only he had been able to get through to Ramón as he’d longed to … get him to see that the family would have forgiven him every transgression if he had only met them halfway …
But it was too late for recriminations. The situation was beyond rescue now. Cristiano had never voiced out loud his terrible fear that perhaps Ramón had deliberately sought to end his own life by driving his car over a clifftop that dreadful night—but he could not help thinking it just the same, and the thought gave him nightmares.
When a letter had been discovered amongst Ramón’s things after the funeral—from a girl none of the family had ever even heard of before—Cristiano and the family had honestly been stunned by its contents. The girl … Dominique … wrote to tell him news of the birth of her baby—Ramón’s baby—and had even included a photograph of the infant. Although things were well and truly over between them, she wrote, she thought he should at least know that he was the father of a healthy and beautiful little girl.
The letter had been dated six months earlier, and though he knew he would have to go to the UK and investigate for himself the legitimacy of the girl’s claims, Cristiano had also realised it must fall to him to convey the news that Ramón was dead—and that could not wait. But he had not had the opportunity to speak to Dominique herself. Instead, when he had called the telephone number she’d included in her letter, the girl’s mother had answered. Upon his revealing to her who he was and why he was calling the woman had not held back.
His ‘heartless, good-for-nothing cousin’ had wrecked her daughter’s life, Cristiano had been told in no uncertain terms, and his family had better do something about it. Dominique had only had a year to go before
