Summer Escape With The Tycoon

From whirlwind fling...

To wedding ring?

In this Destination Brides story, bidding on a Canadian adventure vacation results in the trip of a lifetime for divorce lawyer Molly Quinn in more ways than one... Paired up with gorgeous tycoon Eric Chambault, they’re pushed out of their comfort zones and closer together, until Molly can’t resist embarking on a fling. But as their vacation comes to an end, will their summer romance work in the real world?

DONNA ALWARD lives on Canada’s east coast with her family, which includes a husband, a couple of kids, a senior dog and two crazy cats. Her heart-warming stories of love, hope and homecoming have been translated into several languages, hit bestseller lists and won awards, but her favourite thing is hearing from readers! When she’s not writing she enjoys reading—of course!—knitting, gardening, cooking…and she’s a Masterpiece Theater addict. You can visit her on the web at DonnaAlward.com, and join her mailing list at DonnaAlward.com/newsletter.

Also by Donna Alward

Hired: The Italian’s Bride

The Cowboy’s Christmas Family

The Cowboy’s Convenient Bride

Marrying a Millionaire miniseries

Best Man for the Wedding Planner

Secret Millionaire for the Surrogate

Destination Brides collection

Summer Escape with the Tycoon

And look out for the next book

Swept Away by the Venetian Millionaire

by Nina Singh

Available next month

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Summer Escape with the Tycoon

Donna Alward

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09115-2

SUMMER ESCAPE WITH THE TYCOON

© 2019 Donna Alward

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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To Barb, Nina, and Liz…but especially Liz,

because being in a continuity with you

is one of MY bucket list items. xx

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

THE LAST PLACE Molly Quinn wanted to be tonight was at the Merchant Seafarer Resort, wearing a snug cocktail dress and her feet in a new pair of heels that added a good three inches to her height and blisters on each of her pinky toes.

A parking attendant took her keys and she handed him a generous tip before taking a breath and entering the luxurious lobby. Cool air washed over her and she made a conscious effort to tamp down her irritation. It didn’t help that she’d been in heels since seven this morning, in the office early to prepare for a deposition. After a grueling day with clients who’d acted more like children than adults, she’d changed at the office, left an hour early and then fought the traffic to get to the resort on Nantucket on time. Tomorrow she had to be in court by ten, so she had no option other than to drive back to the city tonight and get in at an ungodly hour. Why had she done this again?

She had to admit, it was a gorgeous spot. Positioned above a white-sand beach, with sloping grounds leading to the ocean, the Seafarer was a Nantucket icon: grand, timeless and a bastion of wealth and opulence. But Molly would have much preferred sitting on her balcony, sans footwear, sipping on a glass of rosé to attending such an event, no matter how wonderful the cause.

“Molly! You made it.”

Ryan O’Neill appeared out of nowhere, striding across the lobby as if he owned it, dressed in perfectly tailored Armani. Tall, with striking blue eyes and a hint of Irish red in his chestnut hair, he garnered attention wherever he went. Lately he’d received a good amount of attention because of his divorce from a somewhat obscure actress—one who was more recognizable now because of the public nature of the split. Ryan had brought the money into the relationship, and Molly had been the lawyer in charge of ensuring he kept as much of it as possible.

Moreover, she liked him, and they’d become friends of a sort. He was a train wreck at the moment on a personal level, but he was a nice, fun guy, and she hadn’t been able to say no when he’d asked her to attend tonight’s dinner and auction with him. No one wanted to attend these things alone and make for an odd number at a sponsored table—especially when you were the sponsor.

“Ryan.” She smiled genuinely and held out her hands. He took them and gave them a squeeze, then leaned forward and kissed her cheek in greeting.

“Thank you for coming tonight. There’s nothing worse than attending these things alone.”

She grinned up at him, feeling a little of her annoyance dissipate. “You’re welcome. Sorry I’m a little late.”

“It’s just getting started. Let’s get you a glass of wine, shall we?”

“Just one,” she cautioned. “I have to drive back to the city tonight.”

“Ah, yes. No staying at the hotel tonight, I remember.” He put a hand at her back and chuckled a little. “You do like to follow the rules.”

“Always.” She arched her back and moved away from his hand slightly, not wanting to settle into the touch that was both solicitous and...a little too familiar. She looked up at him, all Irish roguishness and twinkling eyes, and suppressed a sigh of irritation...and maybe a hint of regret. “Which is why I accepted your invitation tonight when I said no to the others. Officially you’re no longer my client, so I’m not breaking any rules.”

“Yet.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Still not staying the night. But nice try,” she teased. If she thought he really meant it, that his overtures were more than flirting, she would have refused the invitation. But she knew he was still a bit too raw from his divorce to do more than be charming.

He laughed now as he guided her from the lobby to the ballroom where the dinner and silent auction for a new opioid treatment center was being held. The other reason she hadn’t been able to say no to him was because she knew that it was a personal cause. Ryan’s brother had been in and out of rehab since he was twenty-two. Ryan had confessed to her during one of their meetings that finding the painkillers in his wife’s bag had been a critical moment in deciding if he wanted their marriage to continue. He’d immediately had Molly’s sympathy. And if she were being honest, the ugliness of his divorce had exhausted her and made her wonder if her exorbitant fees were, in fact, worth it.

But that was behind them now. The ballroom was stunning. Tables were bedecked with ivory and gold linens, and flower arrangements, heavy with lilies, sent out a pungent, exotic scent. The room was already half full of other guests, who mingled with long-stemmed or highball glasses in their hands. Chandeliers dripping with crystal winked over the assembled crowd, and soft music played. A waiter approached and Molly took a glass of something white and cool as Ryan asked for a whiskey.

It was a good cause. There was food. She had a good-looking, fun date. And she still really wanted to be home and out of the shoes and dress and Spanx that kept her figure smooth and a size smaller beneath her dress. As the Lycra dug into her ribs, she heard her mother’s voice in her head, reminding her of the extra ten pounds she always carried, and how certain dresses simply weren’t flattering. One day she was going to burn every single slimming garment she owned and say the heck with it.

For a while she and Ryan mingled, then moved on to peruse the auction items.

Each one represented a grand adventure, a trip of a lifetime. Displays were arranged with some featuring promotional videos, while others had representatives in attendance. She gawped at the offerings. There was an African safari. A castle in Provence, among the heady scent of lavender fields. Italy—including gondola rides in Venice, a wine agriturismo in Tuscany and a side trip to Malta and the famed Blue Grotto. The rain forest in Costa Rica and mountain climbing in Nepal. Bids had already been made on some of the adventures, and she sipped her wine and wondered what it would be like to actually take a trip like that. These were bucket-list items, she realized. Bucket lists to help those, like Ryan’s brother, who may never have the chance to do any of their bucket-list items if they didn’t kick their addictions.

It made her pause and think about her complaints that were really, in the overall scheme of things, small stuff. She had all this money and a great career and she wasn’t happy. So maybe it was time for a change. For some time she’d felt that family law was a mistake, and a bit too soul-destroying. The trouble was, she wasn’t at all sure what would make her happy.

Ryan was chatting to someone a few feet away and Molly stopped at a table, her attention caught by a monitor where killer whales curved through the waves, their dorsal fins straight and tall. The shot shifted to a group of kayakers sliding through the water, with huge sequoia trees, rolling hills of grapevines and a view of the ocean from a luxury hotel room. The words Island Outdoor Adventures crossed the screen, with the smaller words Vancouver Island, Canada.

Canada. Maybe not the most exotic location in the world, but she’d occasionally traveled to Montreal or Toronto for conferences and she’d loved the country. She stepped closer to the table and picked up the glossy brochure. The adventure promised a variety of experiences, most outdoor, with luxury accommodations to pamper even the most particular guest.

“Find something you like?”

Ryan’s voice sounded by her ear and she half turned. “Maybe?”

He picked up a brochure and flipped it open. “Kayaking with killer whales? Zip-lining in the rain forest?” His teasing eyes swept over her. “That doesn’t sound much like you, Molly.”

A sliver of indignation seared through her. How would Ryan O’Neill know what did or didn’t sound like her? Sure, they got along well. He’d been a good client and they’d had some fun conversations. But he didn’t know her. Not really.

Unless he did. Unless she really was as boring as his tone made her sound. Her whole life she’d followed a set plan, hadn’t she? Never a misstep. Of course, it meant she hadn’t made many mistakes. But she’d never taken any risks, either. Regret didn’t just happen because of what a person had done; it could come from what they hadn’t done, too.

“What does sound like me?” she asked carefully.

He shrugged and took a drink of his whiskey. “I don’t know. Work. You work a lot and when you’re not working you’re doing things that are associated with work.”

“Like tonight?” she asked, a bit sharply, and noticed the teasing look in his eyes dimmed.

“I didn’t ask you here as my lawyer. I asked you as a friend.”

“I know.” She sighed. “I’m sorry I’m so snippy.” It really wasn’t him she was annoyed with. He’d struck a nerve. She did work too much and didn’t cut loose often. Huh. Scratch often. Try never.

Nope. Molly Quinn did exactly what was expected of her, right on time and by the rules. After her brother’s death at a young age, it had fallen to Molly to wave the family banner, and she’d done it with pride. Valedictorian of her high-school class. Full scholarship for her undergrad and a degree at Harvard Law—naturally—to make her parents proud. And then, also as expected, she’d joined the family firm. She was now a full partner at the ripe old age of twenty-nine, in Quinn, Colton and Quinn, the premier family-law practice on the East Coast, outside of New York. The Colton was honorary now, as her father’s partner had retired two years ago. At nearly thirty, she’d dissolved dozens of marriages without ever having been married herself.

She’d been close, once. She hadn’t been willing to become anyone’s accessory. She’d worked too hard. She’d wanted...more.

So Molly lived a very nice life. A very nice, insular, boring, sheltered life doing exactly what was expected on the appropriate time line.

“Are you thinking of bidding?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.” She hesitated. “Maybe.”

“Well, you could always start the bid on this one and then it might prompt someone else to step up and get the ball rolling. The higher the bid, the better for the rehab center.”

He made a good point, so she looked at the itinerary again and bid a bit lower than the trip’s worth. What the heck.

Thirty minutes later, they sat down to dinner. Ryan was a prominent vascular surgeon, and the table was filled with several of his colleagues and their spouses or dates. Molly smiled and spoke at the appropriate times, but much of the conversation eluded her and her mind kept darting back to the Vancouver Island adventure. What would it be like to do such a crazy thing? She’d never been particularly athletic, and she’d certainly never left on a whim to do something so impulsive. But just because she never had didn’t mean she couldn’t.

Dinner was delicious, the seafood fresh and the vegetables locally sourced. The music was lovely, conversation was witty and sophisticated, and Molly was bored out of her mind. With her mother’s caution still ringing in her head, she refused dessert, some sort of terrine that looked divine and probably contained a zillion calories. When plates were cleared she was mad at herself. Why shouldn’t she have dessert if she wanted? Why did she always have to deprive herself? It certainly didn’t make her a better person.

That was it, she realized. Following the rules, following the path that had been laid out before her, hadn’t made her a good person. The truth was, she didn’t really know who she was, other than a good lawyer. She felt sad about that for a few moments, and then she set her jaw.

The only person who could change that was her. And maybe it would take getting away and going out of her comfort zone to really discover who Molly Quinn was and what she wanted.

She excused herself and went back to the silent-auction offerings again. At the Island Outdoor Adventures table, she hesitated and looked at the bidding sheet. Two other bids were there, and disappointment rushed through her.

Screw it, she said to herself and reached for a pen. She hastily scribbled a new bid. She wanted this now. Wanted to run away and have her own personal-revelation moment. Just because she’d never done those things didn’t mean she couldn’t; that was why they were bucket-list items. And just because they’d never been on her personal bucket list didn’t mean they weren’t once-in-a-lifetime experiences. Maybe she wouldn’t Eat, Pray, Love her way to enlightenment, but a change of scenery and a challenge might be exactly what she needed to gain some personal clarity.

As the evening progressed, she made her way back to the table again and again and upped the bid. At one point she wondered if it was going too far and cringed at how much of a hit her savings account would take if she won. Then her competitive streak would pop up again and she’d write down her next bid.

The evening’s emcee announced the final ten minutes of bidding. A man who looked to be in his midthirties stepped up and raised an eyebrow as he read her latest entry, then picked up a pen and scribbled something down. Not to be outdone, she went right behind him and raised the bid by two thousand. Her heart pounded as she returned to Ryan’s side. The bids were now sitting at twice what the entire trip was worth.

She checked her watch.

Mystery man met her gaze and quirked his eyebrow again. He was handsome, she acknowledged, with thick dark hair and chocolaty eyes that warmed as a hint of a smile tipped his lips, a challenge if she ever saw one. She gave a nonchalant smile and a shrug, as if to say, “Whatever.” There were six minutes left.

He walked over to the table. A smile played over his lips as he saw her entry. And then he upped the bid again.

He stepped back, smiled broadly and walked off.

She was dying to know what he’d written down, but she was already in too deep to make any rash moves or give him the opportunity to outbid her again. She shrugged, then turned to Ryan and made small talk with their host, Kit Merchant, as the seconds ticked down in her head. Kit had arrived late and was regaling them with sailing stories. Molly listened with half an ear, the other part of her brain busy ticking away the moments until she could make her move.

When there were just thirty seconds left by her count, she sauntered over to the table, wrote her name, looked at his bid, took a deep breath and wrote a new number only one hundred dollars greater than his final bid. She put down the pen and turned around. He was about to step forward when the emcee called, “Bidding is now over. No more bids will be accepted.”

She’d won.

CHAPTER TWO

ERIC CHAMBAULT TOOK a deep breath and stepped out of the elevator, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. He’d had an acquisitions meeting early this morning. Then he’d headed for the airport in order to make his flight. Montreal to Victoria was a long trip, and he’d enjoyed the few hours with his phone in airplane mode. Once he’d landed, though, it had buzzed and rung nonstop. On the last call, he’d told his assistant that every call for the next ten days was to be directed to the appropriate VP and that he would be out of contact. Then he did something he hadn’t done in nearly eight years. He turned it off and left it off.

He’d be lucky if his blood pressure wasn’t skyrocketing again. Thirty-four years old and his doctor had cautioned him about stress and told him to take a vacation. He wasn’t interested in lying on a beach somewhere. Instead he’d taken the advice of one of his friends and started looking into outdoor adventures. Joe had gone on one a year or so ago in South America and said it had been the best trip he’d ever taken.

Initially, Eric had thought it would be a vacation for two. Then the divorce papers were served and it was clear no couples trip would be on the agenda. What followed had been eight months of legal wrangling that had cost him an exorbitant amount in billable hours. In the end, he’d paid his legal bills and hers, too, as well as a settlement that still made him grit his teeth: just over thirty million in a lump sum. The only saving grace was that he wouldn’t have to worry about paying alimony every month for the next four or five decades. Murielle had got her money and he was left with a bad taste in his mouth and a heart full of disillusionment.

He waved his key card over the hotel-room door and it turned green. With a twist of the handle the door swung open and he stepped inside, pulling his large suitcase behind him. He could have had a bellboy bring his things up to the room, but right now he didn’t want to see any other people. He wanted to be alone. Take a shower. Perhaps have a nap before the group dinner tonight, which he was dreading. Because people.

But maybe a shower and a power snooze would put him in a better frame of mind. He just wasn’t there yet.

A sound touched his ears and he frowned. Water running? He looked around and spied a Vuitton case on the luggage rack. What the hell? Was there someone in his room? Eyebrows knit together, he strode toward the bathroom and opened the door.

The string of profanity that greeted him, complete with splashing, had him shutting the door immediately. But not before he’d had a chance to spy long, soapy legs, the tops of some very lovely breasts that were covered with bubbles, and a flashing pair of blue eyes below dark hair, damp from the steam in the room.

A man could notice a lot in two seconds, apparently.

He spoke through the now closed door. “Um...you’re in my room.”

There was a splash and then her words came, sharp as knives. “You’re in my room and I’ll thank you to get out. Now.”

Eric sighed and pressed his fingers to the spot at the top of his nose, where suddenly all his tension had centered. “I just checked in, and I assure you, this is my room. But I’ll wait for you to get dressed. I’m sure the hotel will get this straightened out and you’ll be in your own room in no time.”

And probably a smaller one. At least he’d been put in an executive room, complete with a lavish king bed, a comfortable seating area and a view of Victoria Harbor that was incredible.

There was a great deal of splashing now and the sound of water draining. Eric stepped back from the door and took a breath, then went to the window to look outside. Seriously. He just wanted to relax for an hour. Was that too much to ask? This was supposed to be a first-class hotel with top-notch service. How did this sort of mix-up even happen?