Rachel Charles held the skimpy piece of sequinned fabric against her body, sighing at her reflection in the changing-room mirror. If it even stretched across her curves, she imagined she’d look alarmingly like a disco ball, in both shape and blinding capability. Not exactly the look she wanted to project at the Hartbury & Sons department store Christmas party—especially not as the stepdaughter of the last remaining Hartbury in the business.

There were no ‘& Sons’ any more—just Rachel’s stepmother, Hannah, and her two stepsisters, Gretchen and Maisie. And Rachel’s father, of course, since he’d married Hannah and become an enthusiastic part of the Hartbury family.

Unlike her.

She tossed the disco-ball dress in the direction of the pile building up on the chair in the corner of the large changing area. The store was closing, so she didn’t need to worry about any customers coming in.

That didn’t mean she was without an audience, though.

‘What was wrong with that one?’ Maisie asked, from her relaxed position draped across the chaise longue beside the full-length mirror. ‘I thought it was perfectly festive.’

This was the problem with sisters—something Rachel hadn’t experienced until she was in her early teens and her father remarried. For some reason, they seemed invested in Rachel’s wardrobe—although in this case she suspected it was so Maisie could borrow the dress once Rachel inevitably chickened out of wearing it to the party after she’d bought it.

‘I think that one’s maybe more your style, Maisie,’ she said dryly, reaching for the next contender in the pile. ‘You’d look fantastic in it.’

How had her stepsisters even got involved in this shopping expedition anyway? Rachel had casually mentioned, when asked by her stepmother if she’d decided what she was wearing to the party, that she’d probably just wear the same black dress as last year. And then, the minute she finished her shift on the till that evening, Gretchen and Maisie had been there waiting, their arms full of half the stock from the womenswear floor, their smiles beaming enthusiasm at her.

She wanted to believe that it was a sweet, sisterly gesture. Maybe before last summer she’d have even been able to convince herself of that. But not now.

Now, she knew as fact, rather than just suspicion, what her stepsisters really thought of her—thanks to Tobias. At least she had something to thank her sort-of ex for, she supposed.

Just a few more weeks, Rachel reminded herself, as she drew the curtain on the changing room. As soon as her father’s next set of test results came in, and he had his meeting with the consultant, she’d be ready to act. To move on and move out, at last, from the Hartbury family home.

It had made sense after university to move back home for a while. After all, Hartbury House was a four-storey town house in central London. It had plenty of room for the five of them and was far better positioned than anything she could have afforded on her own—even when she finally managed to get a job.

That had been the next issue, of course—finding employment. Her Oxford degree went a long way on application forms, but her lack of confidence made interviews a nightmare. Many Oxford grads she knew had come out of university with a determination to embrace opportunity, believing they could do anything.

Somehow, she’d emerged with the opposite world view. And apparently it showed in job interviews.

So when Hannah had suggested she work at the family business for a while, just until she found her feet, it had seemed like a logical next step. She’d found her own niche there, beyond just working on the shop floor, and had started to feel as if she might even be making a difference. Seven years later, it was hard to imagine working anywhere else.

She shook her head to stop her wool-gathering, and wriggled into the next dress on the pile. One thing at a time, that was how she had to do this.

First, she needed to know that her father was really okay after that terrifying rush into hospital earlier in the year, him clutching at his chest, and her trying to remember all the details of his blood-pressure medication to tell the doctors. She wouldn’t get that assurance until nearer Christmas, maybe even the new year. That was the time to think about using her hoarded savings to find her own place to live. Then, once she was settled, she could think about maybe changing jobs.

One step at a time. Starting with finding a dress for the Christmas party.

The next dress was plain, a green velvet thing that stretched from her chin to her ankles, stopping at her wrists on the way. She supposed it was a little bit better than the disco ball—until Gretchen handed her a pom-pom-laden wrap to wear over it. ‘To, you know, hide your lumpy bits.’

Rachel winced at her reflection. I look like a Christmas tree. But she’d promised to try to keep the peace with her stepsisters, for her father’s sake. He’d been so upset by their row last summer, after everything went down with Tobias, and Hannah believed that stress must have added to his heart problems. Maybe even caused the heart attack that followed not so long after.

Rachel was less convinced, but she wasn’t going to risk it. However much Gretchen and Maisie provoked her.

Two months at the most, and I’ll be out of here. I hope.

‘It’s very…festive,’ she said.

Gretchen beamed. ‘Exactly! And I knew you wouldn’t want to feel uncomfortable and on display,’ she added, shooting a look at the disco-ball dress, which had somehow made its way into Maisie’s grasp.

She’s trying to be kind. She knows I’m self-conscious about my curves. Maybe if she repeated the words enough inside her head it would be easier to believe them.

This was the other problem with sisters—well, with having two gorgeous, willowy, stepsisters with legs that went on for ever and which often featured in the celebrity gossip pages, demurely climbing out of cars arriving at the latest hot spot or party. Gretchen and Maisie were heiresses in their own right, courtesy of their late, great father, the famed tycoon Howard Jacobs. Their money, combined with their looks, made them It Girls, the ones to be seen with around London.

Rachel was none of those things. Not tall or willowy, not rich or beautiful. She was short, curvy, and while she liked to think her face wasn’t actively offensive, it was really quite normal, under her cloud of curly brown hair.

Gretchen and Maisie obviously found her a sartorial puzzle to solve. Maisie tried to put her in the sort of things she would wear, and Gretchen tried to disguise all her disagreeable parts.

Rachel sighed and thought wistfully of her old black dress at home.

Out of the entire pile of dresses her stepsisters had shown up with, there had only been one she’d liked—and that, Gretchen admitted, she’d only picked up by mistake. It was cranberry red with navy stags, owls and a woodland print across it, knee length, with a wrap front top and, best of all, pockets. Gretchen had whipped it away as soon as she’d selected it, though, declaring that it would draw far too much attention to her curves. Even Maisie had nodded, adding that it didn’t even have any sparkle to distract the eye.

Because apparently she was so disgusting to look at that people’s eyes needed to be distracted.

She studied the Christmas tree outfit again. Maybe if she took off the pom-pom wrap…

‘Well, that’s a look.’

Rachel froze. She knew that voice. That low, warm voice with humour lurking behind it. There was no cruelty in it, but that didn’t stop her insides curling up and dying from embarrassment.

Damon Hunter. Her best friend’s younger brother, the most attractive man she’d ever met in real life and, incidentally, the last person on the planet she wanted to see her dressed up like a Christmas tree.

Well, this was just ideal.

Forcing herself to take a deep breath, she looked up from studying the pom-poms on the wrap, and met his gaze in the mirror. ‘Hello, Damon. What are you doing here?’

Her voice was even, friendly, and she was proud of herself for managing that much. She might look like a Christmas tree, but that didn’t mean she had to throw all dignity to the winds.

She’d been hiding her crush on Celeste’s little brother for the best part of a decade. It was second nature at this point.

‘Celeste sent me to pick you up. For some reason she seemed to think you’d try and wriggle out of attending this thing tonight.’

That was because Celeste knew her too well. From the moment they’d been put together in the halls of residence at university, along with three boys whose only interests were rugby, beer, and pulling unsuspecting girls in freshers’ week, Rachel and Celeste had been best mates. Rachel had always suspected that, if it hadn’t been for those circumstances, the two of them would probably never even have met, let alone become friends. Neither of them was exactly the outgoing, friend-making type. In fact, she suspected she might be Celeste’s onlyfriend, the only person she’d ever looked up from her studies long enough to get to know.

It might have been sheer convenience, but Rachel still felt a little special, knowing that.

‘You’re going out tonight?’ Gretchen asked, sounding faintly astonished. Rachel didn’t take it personally; she was pretty surprised too.

‘Where are you going?’ Maisie had straightened a little on the chaise longue, her endless legs folded in the way that showed them off best, angled towards Damon, of course. ‘Can we come? Unless it’s a hot date, of course…’ She and Gretchen couldn’t help but giggle at that idea, apparently. Again, Rachel couldn’t bring herself to blame them for it. The idea of gorgeous, outgoing, charming and successful Damon Hunter going on a date with a shy and dumpy shop girl was pretty hilarious.

Sighing, Rachel turned at last and faced Damon’s amused gaze in reality, rather than just reflection. ‘Damon, these are my stepsisters, Gretchen and Maisie. And this is Damon, Celeste’s brother.’ The girls looked blank at the mention of Celeste. ‘My best friend Celeste,’ Rachel clarified.

‘Oh, right!’ Gretchen clapped her hands together as she placed the name, then turned to Damon with a conspiratorial smile. ‘To be honest, we kind of thought Rachel had invented Celeste for the longest time. It’s not like we ever see her.’

‘Although if we’d known she had a brother that looked like you—’ Maisie muttered, until Gretchen shot her a warning look.

‘My sister isn’t the most sociable of people,’ Damon said, with an easy smile.

‘Understatement,’ Rachel mumbled. Damon obviously heard it though, as he shot her an amused look. Turning her head to hide her blush, she ducked into the changing cubicle again, drawing the curtain tight closed as she changed back into normal, non-Christmas-tree clothes. The curtain, and the rustle of velvet, did nothing to cover the sound of her stepsisters flirting with Damon, though.

She forced herself to think positively about it. Gretchen and Maisie were exactly the sort of women Damon dated—usually for about a fortnight, before moving on. Maybe if one or both of them were distracted by Damon for a while, they’d stop their latest humiliation tactic of dressing her up in Christmas ornaments. That was a bonus, right?

And really, she’d spent nearly ten years watching Damon date other women—starting with the fresher girl he pulled in that nightclub when he came to stay with her and Celeste in their second year of university. It wasn’t as if he was ever going to date her, so what difference did it make who he dated?

It did, of course. But she swallowed the thought and pulled her black and grey jumper dress over her head instead.

‘My sister is taking part in some weirdly academic quiz show about Christmas tonight,’ Damon was saying when she emerged from the thick woollen cocoon. ‘She wants Rachel and me in the audience to cheer her on.’

Gretchen and Maisie’s enthusiasm about joining them for the evening obviously waned when they heard their plans. But as Rachel emerged from the changing room, Maisie was listing places in London Damon should try for the nightlife—and maybe he would see her there.

‘Ready?’ Damon asked, the minute Rachel emerged.

Rachel nodded, but before she could grab her bag her stepmother, Hannah, appeared looking flustered.

‘There you are!’ She reached out to grab Rachel’s arm. ‘There’s been an absolute disaster with one of the window displays. Some brat climbed in to try and get one of those silly mice you’ve put in every one of them and knocked half of it over. I need it fixed before you go home.’

Rachel nodded along as her stepmother dragged her towards the stairs. ‘Of course. Five minutes?’ she said, twisting her neck to look over her shoulder at Damon.

‘Take your time.’ That easy smile was back. Of course he didn’t mind, Rachel realised, as she made her way down the stairs to the ground floor. He got more flirting time with Gretchen and Maisie.

She wondered which one of them would win him over by the time she’d fixed the display.

*

Damon watched Rachel go, her knitted dress pulled tight across the curve of her backside, and wondered what on earth had possessed her to swap it for the hideous green velvet thing she’d been wearing when he arrived. Then he looked back at the predatory smiles on her stepsisters’ faces and twigged.

‘So you guys were helping Rachel choose a new dress?’ he asked lightly as he headed over to a stack of discarded outfits on the chair by the door.

The one in the leather miniskirt—Maisie, maybe?—nodded. ‘For the company Christmas party,’ she explained. ‘Mum throws a huge one every year, and invites all the staff. It’s so generous of her, really.’

‘She told us that Rachel was planning on wearing the same old boring black dress she wears every year,’ the other one—Gretchen, his mind filled in—went on. ‘So of course we had to offer to help her find something better. It was our, well, sisterly duty.’

The girls exchanged a look that Damon pretended not to see. One that made his blood warm to a simmering boil on Rachel’s behalf.

They weren’t helping her, whatever they said. They were trying to humiliate her.

He knew how that felt—to be surrounded by people who thought they were smarter than him and thought he wouldn’t notice when they used it against him. In his case, his family genuinely were cleverer; he didn’t think the same of Rachel’s stepsisters. All the same, he couldn’t imagine Rachel liked it any more than he did.

Damon leafed through the pile of fabric. There were skimpy, showy outfits that he knew instinctively that Rachel would hate; oversized draping dresses in vile patterns and fabrics, that would cover every inch of Rachel’s admirable curves; something that looked like a child’s bridesmaid’s dress in pink taffeta, complete with bow…all of them designed to make Rachel look ridiculous, he assumed.

She’d never been the show-off type, he remembered. Even next to his sister, who was always more likely to be found in the library than a nightclub, and prized the ability to quote Homer—the Ancient Greek writer, not the yellow cartoon figure, unfortunately, or else the siblings might have had more in common—high above the ability to put together a stylish outfit on a student budget. Rachel had been the one in the corner, tugging the sleeves of her cardigan over her hands, while Celeste got into an argument with someone about, well, pretty much anything. Rachel had been shy, quiet, mousy even, for all that he knew there was a dry sense of humour and a quick smile hiding behind those cardigans. And, as he’d discovered when crashing into her outside the bathroom one weekend when he was staying with them at university, when she was clad in nothing but a towel, some incredible curves.

He’d discovered more about her, one night—about her mind, her heart, her self. One night when it had been just the two of them, talking and dreaming aloud while they looked for Celeste together. One night, when he’d felt more of a connection to another person than he’d felt before or since.

But he tried not to think too often about that night. Not nine years ago, and definitely not now.

Because connection wasn’t something Damon Hunter looked for in life.

The point was, the Rachel he’d known then, the Rachel he knew now, wouldn’t wear any of these dresses willingly.

At the bottom of the pile, though, was something else. A quirky dress with woodland animals printed on it, in a great shade of dark red that would suit Rachel’s colouring. ‘Which one of you chose this one for her?’ He pulled it out of the stack to get a better look. The neckline dipped into a low V-shape, it was tight through the bodice, then the skirt flared out to fall to, he imagined, around knee length. He smiled at the sight of the owls, stags and mice peeping out behind tree prints and fallen leaves.

It was, he had to admit, very Rachel. Maybe one of her stepsisters didn’t have it in for her after all.

But when he looked up, Gretchen rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, that. I picked that one up by accident—I was supposed to be putting it to one side for a client. I do personal shopping, you know. Helping people who have no idea of style to find things to make them look, well, less awful.’

‘It’s a nice dress,’ Damon said, wondering how she could make shopping sound like a vocation and a way to humiliate people, all at the same time.

‘Oh, but it would be terrible for Rachel—it would only draw attention to her, well, you know…’ her voice dropped to a whisper ‘…size.’

Damon rather thought it would draw attention to her generous curves, which, in his opinion, could only be a good thing.

‘I should put it away.’ Gretchen reached out to take the dress from him, but Damon held it out of her reach as he checked the label. The size was the same as the other dresses in the stack, so it should fit her. And he’d bet money Celeste hadn’t even thought about a Christmas present for her best friend yet. If he bought it, she could give it to Rachel as an early Christmas present, so she could wear it to the party. He’d have done a good deed, and he’d be in his sister’s good books—hopefully good enough that she’d let him off Christmas shopping for their parents this year, since he never had any idea what to buy them anyway. Everybody won.

That was all. Nothing to do with that lingering connection he wasn’t thinking about.

He flashed Gretchen and Maisie his most winning smile. They returned it, only for their faces to fall as he said, ‘I think I’ll buy it for her. Are there any tills still open?’

There weren’t, but it only took a little fast talk and a few smiles to find an employee willing to put the sale through for him anyway—with their staff discount, to boot, not that he needed it. Then, leaving the stepsisters behind with their hideous dress choices, Damon took his Hartbury & Sons designer paper bag and ambled towards the ground floor window displays to find Rachel.

It took him longer than he’d expected. The storefront stretched around the corner to front onto two streets, giving it six huge windows to look out over the pavement. With the main lighting switched off for the night, and only a few spotlights left on to illuminate things for the cleaning staff, he had to check each window individually to locate Rachel, and even then he missed her. Only when he’d peered into all six windows without spotting her did he head back to the centre and call out.

‘Rach?’

A torchlight beam swung around from the far window and caught him in the eyes. Blinking, he covered them with his hand, just as he saw Rachel clambering out from behind the window display in the first window he’d checked. God only knew where she’d managed to hide, but between the decorations and some sort of backboard, it was hard to get a good look in there.

‘Sorry, sorry. Are we late?’ she asked, switching off the torch.

‘Not if you’re ready to go now.’ And if he drove just a tiny bit faster than was strictly advisable on winter city streets.

‘I am, I am.’ Grabbing her bag from the floor by the window, she rushed towards the door, half colliding with him on her way, which only served to make her more flustered. ‘Sorry!’

With a smile, Damon calmly took Rachel’s elbow and led her in the direction of the exit.

She’d always been like this, he reflected. The day he’d met her she’d managed to dump half the cup of tea she’d just made over herself, the floor, and the biscuit tin as he’d walked into the kitchen and Celeste had introduced them. Rachel was Rachel—a little shy, a lot clumsy. She still wore the same, oversized knits she’d worn at university too, and her hair still curled around her face the same way. She was a constant; he’d almost call her part of the family if that wasn’t actually an insult, given his family. He had to put up with them. What made Rachel put up with Celeste he’d never been entirely sure.

He had a pretty good idea what Celeste got from being friends with Rachel, though. On his bad days, it made him a little jealous.

‘So, what happened to the window display that couldn’t wait until morning?’ he asked.

Rachel pulled a face, still looking frazzled. He supposed her evening so far couldn’t have been the most fun: playing dress up with her stepsisters, then having to fix the window. He hadn’t stopped to look at the Christmas displays on the way in, but these things were all much of a muchness, right? Bit of tinsel, a fake tree, a mannequin wearing a Christmas jumper and some boxes covered in wrapping paper. Much like the vignettes littering the inside of the shop—and Damon was pretty sure he wouldn’t have noticed them at all if it weren’t for the latest project he’d taken on, occupying his brain.

‘Hannah was right, it was all my fault. It was the mice, you see. Too tempting, I suppose.’

‘Mice?’ Where did they fit into the Christmas theme? Or were these the same mice he saw scuttling about on the London Underground, on the rare occasions he travelled on it?

‘Come on. I’ll show you.’ As they left via the side door, she dragged him around to the furthest window. ‘Can you see the mouse?’

Damon blinked as he took in the display. Not a string of tinsel to be seen, although there were plenty of fairy lights, illuminating the scene for passers-by.

There were no mannequins in Christmas jumpers either, or fake presents. Instead, the window opened up onto another world filled with what looked like a whole village made of gingerbread—iced houses and shops with tiny Christmas cakes and cookies for sale behind their windows. There was a Christmas tree, of course—two, in fact. One was made from a giant stack of gingerbread stars, with iced decorations and pinprick fairy lights. The other was actually a tower of perfect white iced Christmas cakes, stacked from biggest to smallest, with a golden iced, star-shaped cake on top.

In between the trees, in front of the buildings and surrounded by icing-sugar snow, was a mirror lake with an ice-skating hedgehog, rabbit and even a deer with tiny skates on all four hooves. But no mouse.

‘I don’t see it,’ he admitted, peering harder.

Rachel grinned. ‘Then I’ve done it right. Try getting down to child level.’

Giving her a sceptical look, Damon squatted down closer to the pavement—and suddenly the scene took on a whole new dimension.

He’d assumed that the shop windows, with their tiny fake treats, were all there was to the buildings. He’d been wrong. From this level—the level at which the shop’s younger visitors would be viewing it—he could see far more. Behind the windows there were whole new worlds: decorated living rooms, shops with tiny animal customers, and there, curled up on an armchair by a Christmas tree, a small mouse. ‘I see him!’

Even Damon could hear the delight in his voice, and it made Rachel’s smile widen further. ‘There’s a mouse in every window,’ she explained. ‘Hidden, as a sort of treasure hunt for the kids.’

‘Are they all like this?’ He looked back at the astonishing display. ‘Because this is amazing. Did you do this?’ Of course she had. It was total Rachel—nice to look at on the surface, but with so much more to offer underneath.

Stop thinking about it. He mentally pulled away from thinking about Rachel, even as she was standing beside him. It was easy enough. He’d had years of practice.

Unaware of his roving thoughts, Rachel ducked her chin modestly. ‘Yeah. I do them every year. It’s kind of my thing. But they’re not all exactly like this; this one is for our food and drink gifting range. There’s one for womenswear, one for homewares, one for kids’ gifts…’ She shrugged. ‘Basically, I split the six windows to cover all the big areas of the store.’

‘Can I see them?’ In the back of his mind an idea was forming. One that had nothing to do with spending more time with Rachel, and everything to do with business. Just as it should be.

If all her window displays were as cool as this one, Rachel could be just what he needed to get his latest project working at last.

‘Have we got time? Won’t Celeste be waiting?’ Rachel’s teeth pressed against her plump lower lip, a line of concern forming between her brows.

Damon flashed her his best ‘Trust Me’ smile. ‘Celeste can wait. I want to see your work.’

Spots of pink appeared in her cheeks, and he knew the smile had worked its usual magic. ‘Okay. Come this way.’

 

• Text Copyright © 2020 by Sophie Pembroke
• Cover Art Copyright © 2020 by Harlequin Enterprises Limited
• Permission to reproduce text granted by Harlequin Books S.A. Cover art used by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises Limited. All rights reserved.