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About the Authors
ANDREA BOLTER has always been fascinated by matters of the heart. In fact shes the one her girlfriends turn to for advice with their love-lives. A city mouse, she lives in Los Angeles with her husband and daughter. She loves travel, rock ’n’ roll, sitting at cafés, and watching romantic comedies she’s already seen a hundred times. Say “hi” at andreabolter.com
Her New York Billionaire is Andrea Bolter’s debut title for Mills & Boon. Visit her Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk
A former au pair, bookseller, marketing manager and seafront trader, JESSICA GILMORE now works for an environmental charity in York, England. Married with one daughter, one fluffy dog and two dog-loathing cats, she spends her time avoiding housework and can usually be found with her nose in a book. Jessica writes emotional romance with a hint of humour, a splash of sunshine and a great deal of delicious food—and equally delicious heroes!
TRISH WYLIE worked on a long career of careers to get to the one she’d wanted from her late teens. She flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder while playing the promotions game, patted her manicured hands on the backs of musicians in the music business, smiled sweetly at awkward customers during the retail nightmare known as the run-up to Christmas, and got completely lost in her car in every single town in Ireland while working as a sales rep.
It took all that character-building and a healthy sense of humour to get her dream job, she feels—where she spends her days in reindeer slippers, with her hair in whatever band she can find to keep it out of the way, make-up as vague and distant a memory as manicured nails, while she gets to create the kind of dream man she’d still like to believe is out there somewhere. If it turns out he is, she promises she’ll let you know…after she’s been out for a new wardrobe, a manicure and a makeover…
One Summer in New York
Her New York Billionaire
Andrea Bolter
Unveiling The Bridesmaid
Jessica Gilmore
Her Man in Manhattan
Trish Wylie
www.millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-1-474-09619-5
ONE SUMMER IN NEW YORK
Her New York Billionaire © 2017 Andrea Bolter Unveiling The Bridesmaid © 2016 Jessica Gilmore Her Man In Manhattan © 2012 Trish Wylie
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.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk
Version: 2020-03-02
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Table of Contents
Cover
About the Authors
Title Page
Copyright
Her New York Billionaire
Back Cover Text
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
Unveiling The Bridesmaid
Back Cover Text
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
Her Man in Manhattan
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
About the Publisher
Her New York Billionaire
Andrea Bolter
His fake fiancée?
Artist Holly Motta arrives in New York to make a new start...only to find billionaire Ethan Benton occupying the apartment where she is meant to be staying! But there’s another surprise in store... Ethan needs a fake fiancée—fast!—and he wants her to fill the role!
But Ethan’s got no intention of trusting any woman with his heart. Until he lets beautiful Holly into his world...and discovers she is the only woman he’d really like to make his wife!
For Alex
CHAPTER ONE
“WHY IS YOUR face blue?”
Holly froze in shock. She had just opened the door to the apartment she’d expected to find empty. But instead of flicking on the lights in a vacant living room she’d walked in on lamps already blazing. And a shirtless man sitting in the center of the sofa. Reading a newspaper. A gorgeous brown-haired shirtless man was reading a newspaper.
“Why is your face blue?” he repeated. Broad shoulders peeked out over the newspaper he was holding.
Why is your face blue? Holly heard the individual words but couldn’t put them together to understand them as a question. She could hardly get over the fact that there was a man in the apartment, let alone make sense of the sounds coming from his mouth.
She checked the keys in her hand. Perhaps she was somehow in the wrong place.
And then she saw.
Her hands were blue. Cobalt Blue Two Eleven, to be exact. She’d know that color anywhere. It was one of her favorites.
It suddenly made sense. Just a few minutes ago she’d ducked out of the rain and under the front awning of the building to rifle through her duffel bag for the piece of paper that confirmed the address. The duffel held paint tubes and brushes, paperwork, clothes and heaven knew what else. The cap must have come off her Cobalt Two Eleven.
And she must have touched her face with paint-covered hands.
“What are you doing here?” Holly asked the shirtless man.
“This apartment belongs to my company.”
He lowered his newspaper, folded it matter-of-factly and laid it beside him. Giving Holly a full view of his long, lean torso that led down to the plaid pajama bottoms covering the lower half of his body.
“What is it that you are doing here?”
The lump that had balled in Holly’s throat delayed her response. She hadn’t seen a half-naked man in a very long time. And she hadn’t seen a man who looked like he did while he was busy being half-naked in...well, possibly ever.
“I’m staying here,” she answered.
It had been a grueling journey, and the last thing she’d expected was to have to reckon with someone once she got here.
She blinked her eyes hard to pull herself together and tried not to panic. “I was told I could use this apartment.”
“That must have been a mistake.”
Mistake? What was this man talking about?
“I’ve just arrived from Florida. My brother, Vince, works in the Miami office of Benton Worldwide Properties. This is one of the apartments they keep for visitors to New York.”
“That is correct.”
“Vince arranged for me to stay here. He confirmed it last week. And he called again yesterday to Benton Boston headquarters.”
“I am Ethan Benton, Vice President of Benton Worldwide. As you can see from my...” he gestured down his chest “...state of undress, I am staying here at the moment.”
“Okay, well, I’m Holly Motta and I was counting on using this apartment. See?” She shook the blue-painted keys. “The Boston office left the keys in my name with the doorman downstairs.”
“I apologize for the mistake. I have just arrived tonight myself. In the morning I will look into who is responsible for this egregious error and have their head lopped off.”
The left corner of his mouth hitched up a bit.
Ethan Benton and his bare chest sat on a black leather sofa. Matching armchairs faced opposite, separated by a modern glass coffee table. The furnishings were spare. Two large framed photos were the only adornments on the wall. Both black and white, one was of a potted orchid and the other a maple tree.
Bland as a plain piece of toast. A typical corporate apartment, Holly guessed, having never been in one before. Elegant, yet all business. With no personal touches.
It was hardly the type of place where a beautiful shirtless man should be reading a newspaper. Not at all the kind of place where one brown curl of hair would fall in front of that man’s forehead as if it were no big deal. As if that wasn’t the most charming thing that a wet and exhausted young woman from Fort Pierce, Florida could imagine.
“Again, so sorry for the miscommunication,” said the man that curl belonged to, “but you are going to have to leave. I will have the doorman hail you a taxi.”
“Not so fast.”
Holly snapped out of her fascination with his hair. She stomped over to one of the chairs opposite the sofa. Keeping her blue hands in the air, so as not to get paint anywhere, she lowered herself down.
“If your corporate office didn’t have you scheduled to stay here, maybe it’s you who should leave.”
The corner of his mouth ticked up again—which was either cute or annoying. Holly wasn’t sure yet.
“Obviously I am not going to leave my company’s apartment.”
Holly couldn’t believe this was happening. This morning she had taken a bus from Fort Pierce to West Palm Beach airport. Then her flight to Newark, New Jersey had been delayed. When it had finally landed she’d taken another bus to the Port Authority terminal in Manhattan. It had been raining and dark by then, and there had hardly been a taxi to be had. She’d got drenched flagging one down. The cab brought her to this address on the Upper East Side.
And now—same as always, just when she was trying to do something for herself—someone else’s need was somehow one-upping hers.
“What am I supposed to do?”
“I would suggest you go to a hotel.”
Hotels in New York were expensive. Holly had been saving money for months to make a go of it when she got here. She couldn’t use up any of her funds on a hotel stay.
“I can’t afford it.”
Ethan fixed a strangely searching stare on her.
While he assessed her Holly’s eyes followed his long fingers as they casually traced the taut muscles of his chest down and then back up again. Down. And up. Down. And up.
After seemingly giving it some thought, he reasoned, “You must know people in New York that you can stay with?”
“No. I don’t know anyone here. I came here to...”
Holly stopped herself. This man was a total stranger. She shouldn’t be telling him anything about her life. He didn’t need to know about her ex-husband, Ricky the Rat, her crazy mom, or any of it.
Maybe all that chaos was behind her now. Maybe the whole world was at her feet. Or maybe there were more hard times ahead.
Holly didn’t know. But she was going to find out.
Hard rain continued to pelt against the window.
An unwelcome tear dropped its way out of her eye. When she instinctively reached up to brush it away before Ethan noticed she found Cobalt Two Eleven was smeared on the back of her hand as well.
“Are you crying?” Ethan asked, as if he were observing a revolutionary scientific function.
“I’m not crying,” Holly denied. “It’s been a long day.”
“Perhaps you would like use the bathroom to wash up,” Ethan offered. He pointed behind him. “It is the door on the right.”
“Thank you.” Holly hoisted herself up without touching anything, and made her way past Ethan and his curl of hair. “By the way—I’m not leaving.”
Behind the sofa was a small dining table made of glass and steel like the coffee table. Four orange leather dining chairs provided a much-needed pop of color. Beyond that was a teeny kitchen.
Her brother had told her it was a very compact one-bedroom apartment. It would do quite fine. This was to be a temporary stepping stone for Holly. Either she was in New York to stay or it was merely a transition to somewhere else. Only time would tell.
She found her way into the marble-appointed bathroom and tapped the door closed with her boot. Made a mental commitment to also slam the door shut on her intense immediate attraction to Ethan Benton...astoundingly handsome, half-naked. Although it took her a stubborn minute to stop wondering what it might be like to lay her cheek against the firmness of one of those brawny shoulders.
Oh, no! She caught her reflection in the mirror above the sink. It was so much worse than she could have envisioned. She had Cobalt Two Eleven streaked across her face in horizontal stripes. Like a tribal warrior. Her black bangs were plastered to her forehead in sweaty points. She was a scary mess. What must this man think of her?
Not wanting to get anything dirty, she used her elbow to start the faucet. With both hands under the running water, she saw color begin swirling down the drain. She rubbed her hands together until enough paint was removed that she could adjust the tap to make the water hotter and pick up the pristine bar of white soap.
Eventually her hands were scoured clean—save for a little residual blue around the cuticles and under the nails. As usual. She reached for the fluffy towel hanging on the rack.
Next, Holly wanted to get her jacket off before she tackled washing her face. She unzipped the sleek and stylish black leather jacket she had bought at the shopping mall in Fort Pierce yesterday. With Florida’s mild climate, there hadn’t been a lot of selection, but she’d needed something warm for New York. When she’d seen it, she’d known it was the one for her.
Ricky the Rat would have hated it. He’d have said it was highfalutin’. Yeah, well, falute this! Decisions were going to be made by her, for her from now on. Not based on what other people wanted or thought.
After her face was scrubbed she towel-dried her bangs and peeled off her ponytail band. Fluffed out the dark hair that had grown far past her shoulders. With the longer hair, she realized she already had a new look. New hair. New jacket. New city. She was ready for a new life.
Giving a yank on her tee shirt and a tug on her jeans, she was more than a little concerned about how she’d look to Ethan when she went back into the living room. Which was, of course, completely ridiculous because she didn’t even know him.
* * *
My, my, but Holly Motta cleaned up well. Distracted by the blue paint on her face, Ethan hadn’t noticed the other blue. The crystal color of her eyes. How they played against her lush jet-black hair.
As soon as she returned from the bathroom a rush of energy swept through the living room. He didn’t know what kind of magic she held, but it wasn’t like anything he had been in the same space with before.
All he could mutter was, “Better?”
It wasn’t really a question.
He was glad he had nabbed a tee shirt from the bedroom, although he was still barefoot.
“Yes, thanks.” She slid past him to her luggage, still at the front door.
He reached for his computer tablet and tapped the screen. Best to get Holly out of the apartment right now. For starters, he had no idea who she was. Ethan knew firsthand that there were all sorts of liars and scammers in this world, no matter how innocent they might look. He had his family’s company to protect. The company that he was to run.
As soon as he could get his aunt Louise to retire.
As if a heart attack hadn’t been enough, his beloved aunt was now losing her balance and mobility due to a rare neurological disorder that caused lack of feeling in her feet. Benton Worldwide’s annual shareholders’ gala was this Saturday. Ethan hoped Aunt Louise didn’t have any bruises on her face from the fall he’d heard she’d taken last week.
Ethan owed everything to Aunt Louise and to Uncle Melvin, who had passed away five years ago. Without them he would just have been an abandoned child with no one to guide him toward a future.
His aunt had only one final request before she retired from the company that she, Uncle Mel and Ethan’s late father had spent fifty years growing into an empire. She wanted to be sure that Ethan was settled in all areas of his life. Then she’d feel that everything was in its right place before she stepped down and let him take over. One last component to the family plan.
Ethan had lied to his aunt by claiming that he’d found what she wanted him to have. But he hadn’t. So he had a lot to take care of in the next few days.
His temples pulsed as he thought about it all. Commotion was not an option. This exhilarating woman who had blown into the apartment needed to leave immediately. Not to mention the fact that there was something far too alluring about her that he had to get away from. Fast.
On top of it all he had a conference call in a few minutes that he still had to prepare for.
But with a few swipes across the tablet’s screen he confirmed that all the Benton properties in New York were occupied.
Holly slung her jacket on the coat rack by the door and sat down on the floor. After pulling off one, then the other, she tossed her boots to the side. Ethan was mesmerized by her arms as they rummaged through her bag. She seemed to be made up only of elongated loose limbs that bent freely in every direction. Lanky. Gangly, even.
Downright adorable.
Nothing about Holly was at all like the rigid, hoity-toity blondes he usually kept company with. Women who were all wrong for him. Since he wasn’t looking for someone right, that didn’t matter. It kept his aunt happy to see him dating. But, of course, now he had told Aunt Louise that was all coming to an end. And he had a plan as to how to cover that lie.
Under her boots, Holly was wearing one red sock and one striped. She rolled those off and wiggled her toes. “That feels good...” She sighed, as if to herself.
Ethan’s mouth quirked. “Miss Motta, please do not make yourself at home.”
“I have nowhere else to go.”
Holly death-stared him right in the face, putting on her best tough guy act. In reality she looked terrified that he was going to throw her out. She’d already been in tears before she washed up.
“Can’t you be the one to leave?”
His stern expression melted a bit. What was he going to do? Toss her out into the cold rain?
She said she didn’t know anyone in New York that she could stay with. Funny, but he didn’t either. There were dozens—hundreds—of colleagues and workers in the city, connected with various Benton projects. Yet no one he’d call late on a rainy night to see if they had a sofa or guest room he could use.
Ridiculous. He’d sooner go back to the airport and sleep on his private jet.
He could pay for Holly’s hotel room. Or he supposed he himself could go to a hotel. But—good heavens. He’d been in flight all day, had already unpacked and undressed here. Why on earth should he leave his own property?
“I do not suppose it will do for either of us to try to find other accommodation at this late hour.”
“What’s your plan, then?”
Ethan always had a plan. His life was structured around plans. He was about to embark on his biggest yet—moving Aunt Louise into retirement and taking the CEO seat.
“We will both spend the night here.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t. I’m sure you’re a very nice per—”
“I assure you, Miss Motta, I have no motive other than getting a peaceful night’s rest. You will sleep in the bedroom and I will make do out here.” He gestured toward the sofa.
“I need to think about that. That doesn’t seem right. Maybe I should call my brother. Let me just get my things straightened out.” Holly returned to her task of sorting out her duffel bag, quarantining paint-stained items in a plastic bag.
She didn’t look up at him until she lifted out a pair of white socks. They were splattered with the same blue that had been disguising her lovely face. “Occupational hazard.”
“You are a painter, I take it?”
“Yup.”
“And you have come to New York to pursue fame and fortune?”
“Ha! That would be nice. Who wouldn’t want their work to hang in a museum or a gallery here...?”
“I sense there is a but at the end of that.”