Hired Husband

My dearly departed husband, Ben, and I started from nothing and created the successful Fortune Cosmetics empire.

But fame and wealth aren’t everything—family comes first. My children and grandchildren’s happiness is most important to me. And I’ll do anything—even a little meddling—to make sure they always land on their feet.

Nothing—and no one—will stand in the way of whatever I set out to do….

A LETTER FROM THE AUTHOR

Dear Reader,

I am so proud and pleased to have been asked to write the launch title for FORTUNE’S CHILDREN. I think this is a fast, entertaining, sexy, exciting series—and I certainly had a lot of fun doing Hired Husband. I hope you enjoy it!

It’s been said many times that the rich are different. Yet when I sat down to write about Caroline Fortune, I didn’t find that to be true at all. She brought the same hopes and fears to her relationship with Nick Valkov that I think all of us do in our own lives.

It was Nick who surprised me. When I was told by Silhouette that my hero was a chemist, I had the same mental image Caroline thought Nick should conjure up: dull, boring, puttering away in some dusty old laboratory piled high with books and beakers. So much for stereotypes. I don’t think I’ll ever look at a chemist in quite the same way again!

Caroline and Nick’s marriage starts out as one of convenience and grows to be a love match because they have the chance to become friends. If FORTUNE’S CHILDREN has a message, I believe it’s that husbands aren’t just husbands, and family isn’t just family—they are, or should be, our friends, as well. I think that sometimes in the hustle and bustle of our everyday lives, we tend to forget that. Caroline and Nick remember. May you all be just as fortunate in your own lives!

For my stepfather, Verne.

With love.

REBECCA BRANDEWYNE

New York Times bestselling author Rebecca Brandewyne began her first romance novel at just twenty-one years of age, while finishing her Master of Arts degree in communications. Rebecca has since gone on to write numerous bestsellers. Her versatility as an author has inspired effortless jumps between the genres of contemporary, historical and Gothic fiction, and her various works have appeared on bestseller lists for the New York Times, Publishers Weekly, the Los Angeles Times and Magazine & Bookseller, among many others.

Rebecca has come a long way from her roots as a self-professed country girl. She is now heralded as one of the world’s leading romance authors, equally adept at easing her stories into existing history, setting them squarely in the present or creating future worlds for her characters. With more than 8.5 million copies of her books in print worldwide, Rebecca’s novels have reached 60 countries around the globe.

Meet the Fortunes—three generations of a family with a legacy of wealth, influence and power. As they unite to face an unknown enemy, shocking family secrets are revealed…and passionate new romances are ignited.

KATE FORTUNE: Fearless matriarch of the Fortune clan—until her plane crashes and the family is left to make the most of her legacy. Her children and grandchildren inherit gifts that become touchstones for happiness…and romance.

CAROLINE FORTUNE: The dynamic marketing executive for Fortune Cosmetics, she has no time for romance. But she’ll do anything to save the family business, including marrying—in name only—a sexy scientist.

NICK VALKOV: Fortune’s top chemist needs a bride—and Caroline needs a protector. But what starts as a green card marriage turns into so much more….

KYLE FORTUNE: Playboy millionaire. When he inherits a Wyoming ranch from his grandmother, can this city slicker roll up his sleeves and turn into a genuine cowboy?

LIZ JONES — CELEBRITY GOSSIP

K ate Fortune, CEO of Fortune Cosmetics, was on her way to clinch what close friends have hinted is a major business coup when her private plane crashed. The family isn’t saying anything, but rumor has it that Kate’s missing…and could be dead!

The fabulously wealthy Fortune family has come face-to-face with plenty of turmoil in recent days…and some are saying that this crash was no accident. Just last week a top Fortune Cosmetics employee was faced with deportation. Then, a very mysterious fire exploded in the company lab.

Is someone out to ruin the Fortune family? And how will they survive the secrets and scandal that threaten their reputations? And with Kate’s crash, I hear some Fortune family members are worried about their lives.

Contents

Prologue

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

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Prologue

Washington, D.C.

“N ow, Duckie,” the low voice on the telephone purred throatily. “I know that with all your connections, you must have a friend or two at the INS. And really, what I’m asking is only a teeny, tiny favor, one that involves no risk at all to you or to anybody at the INS, either, for that matter. After all, who could possibly care whether one lone Russian male has his green card revoked? You can say you got a tip from an anonymous informer, which led you to believe that Dr. Nicolai Valkov is a former KGB agent or is hooked up with the Russian mob in this country or something. Whatever. Just as long as he’s viewed as an undesirable alien and deported. The INS won’t question your word, Duckie…the word of one of the most powerful senators on Capitol Hill. So I know you can do it…that you can get rid of Nick Valkov for me. And of course, it goes without saying that I’d be ever so…grateful to you. So grateful, in fact, that I’d have to make a special trip out to Washington just to see you, Duckie. We’ll have our own private celebration, just the two of us. I’ll bring champagne—and that little black boudoir ensemble of mine you like so much….”

As he leaned back in the big burgundy-leather chair before his massive, antique oak desk, Senator Donald Devane closed his eyes at the images evoked by the husky voice on the other end of the telephone. His breath was harsh and labored. His heart hammered with excitement, and his groin tightened unbearably as he remembered their last “celebration”—and the black outfit. His palm sweated profusely on the receiver as he made a long attempt to clear his throat, choked with anticipation and arousal. At last, he managed to speak.

“I…ah…do, in fact, have a friend or two at the INS. So I don’t see why I couldn’t make those arrangements for you. A casual word dropped here or there. No, that shouldn’t pose any problem whatsoever. Consider Nick Valkov as good as on a plane back to Russia at this very moment.”

“Oh, Duckie, I knew my faith in you wasn’t misplaced. Call me just as soon as you’ve got everything fixed up with the INS, and I’ll be on the next plane out to Washington, I promise. Until then, keep my side of the bed warm and have sweet dreams about me…as I will about you. See you soon, Duckie.” A soft, seductive laugh echoed from the receiver before the line went dead, leaving the dial tone buzzing in the senator’s ear.

After he had got his breathing and heartbeat back under control, Donald Devane punched one of the intercom buttons on his telephone, directing his secretary to put through a call for him to the Immigration and Naturalization Service bureau.

Some minutes later, a computer at the INS began the process that would revoke the green card of one Dr. Nicolai Valkov, currently director of research and development at Fortune Cosmetics—and therefore, unbeknown to him, a spoke in somebody’s wheel.

One

Minneapolis, Minnesota

A s Caroline Fortune wheeled her sedate dark blue Volvo into the underground parking lot of the towering, glass-and-steel structure that housed the global headquarters of Fortune Cosmetics, she glanced anxiously at her gold Piaget wristwatch. An accident on the snowy freeway had caused rush-hour traffic to be a nightmare this morning. As a result, she could be late for her 9:00 a.m. meeting—and if there were one thing her grandmother, Kate Winfield Fortune, simply couldn’t abide, it was slack, unprofessional behavior on the job.

And lateness was the sign of a sloppy, disorganized schedule.

Involuntarily, Caroline shuddered at the thought of her grandmother’s infamous wrath being unleashed upon her. The stern rebuke would be precise, apropos and scathing, she knew, delivered with coolly raised, condemnatory eyebrows and in icy tones of haughty grandeur that had in the past reduced many an executive—even male ones—at Fortune Cosmetics not only to obsequious apologies, but even to tears. Caroline had seen it happen on more than one occasion, although, much to her gratitude and relief, she herself was seldom a target of her grandmother’s anger.

And she wouldn’t be this morning, either, not if she could help it. That would be a disastrous way to start out the new year.

Grabbing her Louis Vuitton tote bag and her black leather portfolio from the front passenger seat, Caroline slipped gracefully from the Volvo and slammed the door. The heels of her Maud Frizon pumps clicked briskly on the concrete floor as she hurried toward the bank of elevators that would take her up into the skyscraper owned by her family. She pressed the Up button on the wall, muttering under her breath as several minutes seemed to tick by before, at last, a chime sounded and a pair of elevator doors slid open to admit her.

Presently, she was rushing down the long, plushly carpeted corridors of one of the hushed upper floors, toward the conference room where the meeting was scheduled.

By now, Caroline had her portfolio open and was leafing through it as she hastened along, reviewing the notes she had prepared for her presentation. So she didn’t see Dr. Nicolai Valkov until she literally ran right into him. Like her, he had his head bent over his own portfolio, not watching where he was going, either; as the two of them collided, both their portfolios and the papers inside went flying.

At the unexpected impact, Caroline lost her balance, stumbled, and would have fallen had not Nick’s strong, sure hands abruptly shot out, grabbing hold of her and pulling her close to steady her. She gasped, startled and stricken, as she came up hard against his broad chest, lean hips and corded thighs, her face just inches from his own—as though they were lovers about to kiss.

Caroline had never been so close to Nick Valkov before, and in that instant, she was acutely aware of him—not just as a fellow employee of Fortune Cosmetics, but also as a man. Of how tall and ruggedly handsome he was, dressed in an elegant, pin-striped black suit cut in the European fashion, a crisp white shirt, a foulard tie and a pair of Cole Haan loafers. Of how dark his thick, glossy hair and his deep-set eyes framed by raven-wing brows were—so dark that they were almost black, despite the bright fluorescent lights that blazed overhead. Of the whiteness of his straight teeth against his bronzed skin as a brazen, mocking grin slowly curved his wide, sensual mouth.

“Actually, I was hoping for a sweet roll this morning—but I daresay you would prove even tastier, Ms. Fortune,” Nick drawled impertinently, his low, silky voice tinged with a faint accent born of the fact that Russian, not English, was his native language.

At his words, Caroline flushed painfully, embarrassed and annoyed. If there was one person she always attempted to avoid at Fortune Cosmetics, it was Nick Valkov.

Following the breakup of the Soviet Union, he had emigrated to the United States, where her grandmother had hired him to direct the company’s research and development department. Since that time, Nick had constantly demonstrated marked, traditional Old World tendencies that had led Caroline to believe he not only had no use for equal rights, but also would actually have been more than happy to turn back the clock several centuries where females were concerned. She thought his remark was typical of his attitude toward women: insolent, arrogant and domineering. Really, the man was simply insufferable!

Caroline couldn’t imagine what had prompted her grandmother to hire him—and at a highly generous salary—except that Nick Valkov was considered one of the foremost chemists anywhere on the planet. Deep inside, Caroline knew that no matter how he behaved, Fortune Cosmetics was really extremely lucky to have him. Still, that didn’t give him the right to manhandle and insult her!

“I assure you that you would find me more bitter than a cup of the strongest black coffee, Dr. Valkov,” she insisted now, attempting without success to free her trembling body from his steely grip, which continued to hold her so near that she could feel his heart beating steadily in his chest—and knew he must be equally able to feel the erratic hammering of her own.

“Oh, I’m willing to wager there’s more sugar and cream to you than you let on, Ms. Fortune.” To her utter mortification and outrage, she felt one of Nick’s hands slide insidiously up her back and nape, to her luxuriant mass of sable hair, done up in a stylish French twist. “You know so much about fashion,” he murmured, eyeing her assessingly and pointedly ignoring her indignation and efforts to escape from him. “So why do you always wear your hair like this…so tightly wrapped and severe? I’ve never seen it down. That’s the way it needs to be worn, you know…soft, loose, tangled around your face. As it is, your hair fairly cries out for a man to take the pins from it, so he can see how long it is. Does it fall past your shoulders?” He quirked one eyebrow inquisitively, a mocking half smile still twisting his lips, letting her know he was enjoying her obvious discomfiture. “You aren’t going to tell me, are you. What a pity. Because my guess is that it does—and I’d like to know if I’m right. And these glasses.” He indicated the large, square tortoiseshell frames perched on her slender, classic nose. “I think you use them to hide behind more than you do to see. I’ll bet you don’t actually even need them at all.”

Caroline felt the blush that had yet to leave her cheeks deepen betrayingly, its heat seeming to spread throughout her entire body. Damn the man! Why must he be so infuriatingly audacious and perceptive? Because what Nick suspected was true: her hair did fall below her shoulders, and the prescription in her lenses was so light as to be negligible. She customarily wore both the French twist and the glasses solely because she felt they gave her a more businesslike appearance, a no-nonsense image she had determinedly cultivated to conceal her vulnerable, romantic inner self from the rest of the world—from men in particular.

“Dr. Valkov,” Caroline said frostily, forcing herself to marshal her wits and composure, “not only am I not even remotely interested in what you think, but neither of us has time to stand here exchanging idle chitchat—that is, unless you care to be the recipient of one of my grandmother’s notorious dressing-downs. I, however, do not. Therefore, I would appreciate it if you would release me, so that I, at least, can make our nine o’clock meeting on time. There are currently less than five minutes to spare.”

“The meeting.” Nick started slightly at the reminder. “Would you believe that bumping into you drove it completely from my mind, Ms. Fortune?” He let her go then, kneeling to help her retrieve and sort out all the papers that had scattered from the two portfolios.

Once she and he finally had everything straightened out, they entered the conference room together, where Caroline was dismayed to observe that she and Nick were the very last ones to arrive. Her grandmother sat at the head of the huge, Honduras-mahogany conference table. She was flanked by Caroline’s father, Jacob Fortune, who was Kate’s eldest son and the president of Fortune Cosmetics, and Sterling Foster, who was Kate’s attorney and closest friend. Sprawled in a chair to one side and looking as though he were nursing a pounding hangover was Caroline’s playboy cousin Kyle, his suit jacket already discarded and his collar and tie loosened, despite the early hour.

Although seventy, Kate Winfield Fortune was anything but old and decrepit. She had a striking, barely wrinkled face born of both excellent bone structure and the best cosmetics and skin care money could buy. As usual, her rich, wine red hair, lightly streaked with gray, was upswept in a classic Gibson girl that accentuated the high cheekbones and flawless, creamy skin Caroline herself had inherited.

Despite that Kate was slim and small in stature, her feisty, dynamic personality ensured that she dominated her surroundings. Her sparkling, shrewd blue eyes were evidence to the fact that her vivacity and energy were those of a woman half her age and that her mind was still as sharp as the proverbial tack. Nobody put anything past Kate Winfield Fortune.

She was the CEO of the entire Fortune holdings, which included not only Fortune Cosmetics, an enterprise she herself had founded years ago, but also a worldwide construction and development corporation, and interests in oil and ranching. More than anyone else in the extended Fortune family, Caroline adored her grandmother. She wanted to be just like her.

But in her heart, Caroline knew that, unfortunately, she lacked her grandmother’s natural warmth, wittiness and high spirits, her zest for life and her quest for adventure. If Caroline had ever possessed those attributes, they had been crushed out of her some years back by her disastrous engagement.

She had been so young and so in love with Paul Andersen, a colleague at Fortune Cosmetics. It had nearly destroyed her when, by a cruel trick of fate, she had inadvertently learned it wasn’t her Paul had truly loved, but her share of the Fortune riches.

Since that time, deeply wounded and embittered, Caroline had resolutely steered clear of men, concentrating instead on her career, emulating her grandmother’s business acumen, ambition and flair for fashion. Through intelligence, savvy, hard work, dedication and sheer determination, Caroline had risen through the ranks to become Fortune Cosmetics’ vice president of marketing.

And she knew she was good at her job, that she had earned her position. Because her grandmother didn’t believe in handing anybody—not even family—anything on a silver platter.

“Good morning, everyone.” Caroline quickly drew off her expensive leather gloves and elegant camel wool coat, laying them aside, trying to still the wild thudding of her heart, the agitated quivering of her body, as Nick’s dark glance raked her again appraisingly. “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long. The snow caused an accident on the freeway this morning, tying up traffic forever, or I would have been here sooner.”

“Not to mention the fact that Ms. Fortune and I had a small collision of our own out in the hall.” Nick’s mouth turned down wryly at the corners as he surveyed Caroline, and he shook his head at her imperceptibly, so she knew he disapproved not only of her hair and glasses, but also of her classically tailored Chanel suit and cream-colored silk blouse.

She had the horrible, unsettling impression that he was mentally stripping her naked, that he knew exactly what she looked like naked; to conceal the flush she felt creeping up once more to stain her cheeks crimson, she swiftly bent over her portfolio, which she had spread open on the conference table. She was abruptly beset by such an awful urge to box Nick’s ears, to slap the smirk clean off his handsome face, that she could scarcely contain herself.

What on earth was the matter with her this morning? She was usually cool, composed and competent. It was most unlike her to be so flustered and irritated—especially by a man. The terrible traffic snarl must have rattled her more than she had suspected. She had better get hold of herself in a hurry, she told herself, or her marketing presentation was definitely going to suffer—particularly as Kyle now appeared to have fallen asleep in his chair.

At the sight of him, Caroline silently cursed the kindly impulse that had caused her some months ago to promote him to the position of her assistant. Despite that he was one of her favorite cousins, he was just like every other man she had ever known—utterly worthless and no good, she now thought hotly.

“Well, despite all the mishaps, we’re still on schedule. So, since we’re all assembled, shall we get started?” Kate asked briskly. “Kyle. Kyle! Do you care to wake up and join us this morning?” Frowning, she stared at her errant grandson censoriously as he was nudged to awareness by a surreptitious punch in the ribs, delivered by Sterling Foster. “Somehow, Kyle, I just don’t think you’re cut out for Fortune Cosmetics,” Kate observed dryly, once he had started awake. “It’s my belief that you need to be someplace where you’re forced to get up at the crack of dawn, breathe great lungfuls of fresh air and work so hard all day that you’re too tired for any nightlife at all—much less the wild one that seems to be affecting you for the worse these days.”

“Good heavens, Grandmother. I can’t think of anything less appealing than sunrises and crisp air.” Yawning and rising, Kyle strolled leisurely over to the credenza along one wall, where he poured himself a cup of black coffee from the automatic coffeemaker that sat next to a Baccarat crystal pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice and a sterling-silver tray sporting an assortment of fruits and breads. “Besides, I worked late last night.”

At her grandson’s words, Kate snorted her disbelief but, mercifully, chose not to pursue the subject. Instead, she directed peremptorily, “Nick, you begin, why don’t you. How is my secret youth formula progressing?”

“Very well, actually.” Confidently, Nick stood, moving around the conference table to the computerized video-presentation equipment, into whose drive he inserted a diskette. After a few moments, the huge monitor on the stand was filled with a complex diagram and chemical equations Caroline could not begin to understand. Using a laser pointer, Nick explained. “You’re all aware from previous meetings of the steps we’ve taken to date. This morning, I’m happy to report that after years of research and development, the secret youth formula is finally nearing completion. This is the formula’s matrix. When combined with various properties present in the epidermis, this is what happens, according to both theory and our tests.”

A click of the mouse put the big screen into motion. What followed was a thirty-minute video, detailing in layman’s terms the effect of the secret youth formula upon the skin. The intricate demo ended with the reassembling of the original matrix.