An Unlikely Bride For The Billionaire

‘The girl in that photograph is the woman you’re meant to be. I know it and you know it.’

He was wrong! She didn’t deserve to be that girl. She deserved nothing more than the chance to live her life in peace.

His breath fanned across her lips, addling her brain. She should step away, but she remained, quivering beneath his touch, hardly knowing what she wished for.

He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. Her eyes fluttered closed as she turned towards him …

And then she found herself released.

‘You want me as much as I want you.’

Her heart thudded in her chest. She had to reach out and steady herself against a chair.

‘I don’t know why the thought of being happy scares you.’

MICHELLE DOUGLAS has been writing for Mills & Boon since 2007, and believes she has the best job in the world. She lives in a leafy suburb of Newcastle, on Australia’s east coast, with her own romantic hero, a house full of dust and books and an eclectic collection of sixties and seventies vinyl. She loves to hear from readers and can be contacted via her website: www.michelle-douglas.com.

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To Amber and Anthony, and Jessica and Tim, who are raising the next generation of heroes and heroines with grace and style … and a splendid sense of fun!

Contents

COVER

INTRODUCTION

TITLE PAGE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

DEDICATION

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

EXTRACT

COPYRIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

‘BUT—’ MIA STARED, aghast, at Gordon Coulter ‘—that’s not my job!’ She was a trainee field officer, not a trainee event manager.

Her stomach performed a slow, sickening somersault at the spiteful smile that touched his lips. Gordon was the council administrator in charge of Newcastle’s parks and wildlife—her boss’s boss and a petty bureaucrat to boot. Plum Pines Reserve fell under his control. And he’d made no secret of the fact that he’d love to get rid of her—that he was simply waiting for her to mess up so he could do exactly that.

She did her best to moderate her voice. ‘I’m in charge of the weed extermination project that’s to start on the eastern boundary. Veronica—’ the reserve’s ranger ‘—insists it’s vital we get that underway as soon as possible. We’re supposed to be starting today.’

‘Which is why I’ve handed that project over to Simon.’

Every muscle stiffened in protest, but Mia bit back the objections pressing against the back of her throat. She’d worked ridiculously hard on fine-tuning that project, had gathered together an enthusiastic band of volunteers who didn’t care one jot about her background. More exciting still, she and Veronica had planned to take a full botanical inventory of the area—a comprehensive project that had filled Mia with enthusiasm. And now she was to have no part in it.

‘This isn’t up for debate, Mia.’

Gordon pursed his lips, lifting himself up to his full paunchy height of five feet ten inches. If it was supposed to make him look impressive, it failed. It only drew her attention to the damp half-moons at the armpits of his business shirt.

‘You have to understand that teamwork is vital in an area as poorly funded as ours. If you’re refusing to assist the administrative team in their hour of need then perhaps this isn’t the right organisation for you.’

She wanted to know where Nora was. She wanted to know why Simon hadn’t been given this job instead of her.

‘The Fairweathers will be here at any moment, so if you are refusing to assist...’

‘Of course I’m not refusing.’ She tried to keep her voice level. She couldn’t afford to lose this job. ‘I’m surprised you’d trust me with such an important assignment, that’s all.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘If you screw this up, Maydew, you’ll be out on your ear.’

She didn’t doubt that for a moment.

‘Naturally Nora will take over once she returns.’ His lips tightened. ‘She assures me you’re the only one who can possibly deputise in her stead.’

She bit back a sigh. Nora wanted her on the events team, claiming she was wasted as a field officer. Mia had plans, though, and they didn’t involve being part of the events team.

Where was Nora?

She didn’t ask. She refused to give Gordon the satisfaction of telling her it was none of her business. She’d ring Nora later and make sure she was okay.

The receptionist knocked on the office door. It was Nora’s office, but Gordon co-opted it whenever he decided to work from Plum Pines rather than his office at Council Chambers.

‘Mr Coulter? Mr Fairweather is here.’

‘Send him in.’

Mia moved to the side of the desk—she hadn’t been invited to sit—fighting the urge to move to the back of the room, where she’d be able to remain as unobtrusive as possible.

‘Mr Fairweather, it’s delightful to meet you!’ Gordon moved forward, arm outstretched, greasy smile in place.

Mia repressed a shudder.

And then she glanced at Dylan Fairweather—and had to blink, momentarily dazzled by so much golden...goldenness. Dear Lord, the papers did Dylan Fairweather no justice whatsoever. Not that Mia spent much time reading the society pages, but even she—hermit that she was—knew that Dylan Fairweather was considered one of Australia’s bright young things. Earlier in the year he’d been named one of Australia’s Top Twenty Eligible Bachelors.

If steal-your-breath sex appeal was one of the criteria then Dylan Fairweather had that in spades! Too-long dark gold hair and sexy designer stubble coupled with a golden tan had Mia’s fingers curling into her palms. At six feet two he towered over Gordon, his pale blue business shirt and sand-coloured chinos achieving a casual elegance Gordon had no hope of matching.

Nor did his clothes hide the breadth of his shoulders or the latent strength of powerful thighs. All that power and flaxen golden brilliance should have made him look terrifying—like a prowling lion. But it didn’t. He looked...he looked like a prince out of a fairytale.

Mia tried to tear her gaze away, but couldn’t. Never, in all of her twenty-five years, had she been in the presence of someone so physically perfect.. She remembered one of the women in prison describing how she’d felt when she’d first laid eyes on Vincent van Gogh’s painting The Starry Night. That was how Mia felt now.

Swallowing, she shook herself, appalled at the way her heart raced, at the craving that clawed at her belly. Pulling in a breath, she reminded herself that she wasn’t some primitive savage, controlled by greed and impetuous impulses. Not any more.

When Gordon had said she’d be taking care of the Fairweathers today, she’d been expecting a blushing bride and her aunt, maybe an attendant or two. She hadn’t been expecting the bride’s brother.

His pleasantries with Gordon exchanged, he turned to her and offered his hand with an easy, ‘Dylan Fairweather.’

She took it automatically, appreciating the just-firm-enough grip and almost melting under the unexpected warmth of his smile.

You’re not the melting type.

‘Mia Maydew. It’s nice to meet you. Carla is taking a call. She should only be a moment.’

‘That’s no problem at all.’ Gordon ushered Dylan to a chair, frowning at Mia over his head.

Dear God! Had her paralysing preoccupation been evident for all to see? Heat climbed into her face. Brilliant. Just brilliant.

Gordon took his chair. He still didn’t invite Mia to sit. ‘Unfortunately Nora can’t join us today. She sends her apologies. She was involved in a car accident on her way to work this morning.’

Mia couldn’t prevent her involuntary intake of breath, or the way her hand flew to her abdomen, just below her breasts, to counter the way her stomach jumped. Startlingly brilliant blue eyes surveyed her for a moment, and while the brilliant colour might have the ability to distract a mere mortal, Mia sensed the shrewdness behind them.

Dylan Fairweather shifted ever so slightly on his chair. ‘I hope she’s okay.’

‘Yes, yes, she’s fine, but her car is apparently a write-off. I insisted she go to the hospital for a thorough examination, though.’

Mia closed her eyes briefly and let out a breath.

‘Wise,’ agreed Dylan—Mr Fairweather.

‘In her stead—as a temporary measure, you understand—you’ll have Mia here to run you through wedding options. Anything you’d like to know—ask her. Anything you’d like to see—she’ll show it to you. I promise that nothing will be too much trouble.’

Easy for him to say.

She straightened. It wasn’t the Fairweathers’ fault that Gordon had thrust her into the role of Assistant Events Manager. She’d helped Nora out before with weddings and corporate events. She’d do everything she could to answer the Fairweathers’ questions and help Carla plan the wedding of her dreams.

‘If you’d like to take it from here, Mia?’

‘Certainly.’ She forced a noncommittal smile to her face. ‘If you’d just hand me the Fairweather file from the top drawer of the desk, I’ll take Mr Fairweather through to the meeting room.’

She was tempted to laugh at the disgruntled expression that flitted across Gordon’s face. Had he really thought she didn’t know about the file? She’d helped Nora compile parts of it earlier in the week. Did he hate her so much that he’d risk a lucrative account, not to mention some seriously good publicity, to undermine her? The thought killed any urge to smile.

She had to counsel herself to take the file calmly, before leading Dylan Fairweather out of the office to the meeting room. Her pulse skittered and perspiration gathered at her nape. She preferred working with animals to people. Better yet, she liked working with plants. With over one hundred and seventy hectares of natural bushland to its name, it should have been relatively easy to avoid human contact at Plum Pines Reserve.

‘Can I get you tea or coffee...maybe some water?’ She gestured for Dylan to take a chair at the table, doing what she could to stop her fingers from shaking. This account had excited Nora enormously and, Gordon aside, Mia wanted to do her best for her boss.

From across the table Dylan eyed her closely, a frown in his eyes, although his lips remained curved upwards in a pleasant smile. ‘I think a carafe of water and three glasses would be an excellent idea.’

He thought she needed a drink of water? Dear Lord. She scurried away to fetch it. Did her nerves show that badly? She usually came across as a difficult study. She took a couple of deep breaths to compose herself before returning to the meeting room.

‘Nora is a friend of yours?’ he asked when she was seated, taking charge of the carafe and pouring a glass of water before pushing it across the table to her.

It hit her then that he’d misread her nerves as worry for the other woman. She hesitated. Would Nora consider Mia a friend? ‘Nora is a close colleague. I like her a lot.’

‘The news of her accident was a shock?’

She wasn’t used to anyone being interested in her reactions. ‘It was. I’m relieved it’s not too serious.’ When he continued to stare at her—which did nothing to slow her heart-rate—she forced her lips upwards. ‘I’ll call her later to check if there’s anything she needs. It’s kind of you to be so concerned. Now, let me show you the material Nora and I have gathered in relation to Ms Fairweather’s wedding.’

‘Please—you must call us Carla and Dylan.’

Must she? There was a certain protection afforded by the formality of Mr and Ms.

The customer is always right.

She bit back a sigh. If that were the case...

‘Dylan.’ She tested the name on her tongue. It emerged without any effort at all and tasted like her favourite brand of dark chocolate—flavoured with a bite of sea salt. His smile was her reward, making her forget the rest of her sentence.

‘See...it wasn’t so hard, was it—Mia?’

He made her name sound like a song.

He smiled. ‘I can see why Carla requested you work on her wedding’

She opened her mouth and then closed it, blinking. ‘I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else. I’m afraid I don’t know your sister, Mr Fair—uh... Dylan.’

He stared across at her, but in the end he merely nodded and let it go without challenge. It was as if someone had cut a string and released her.

She glanced down at the folder in an effort to collect herself. ‘Do you know...?’ She cleared her throat. ‘Do you know where Carla would like the ceremony to take place?’

He glanced towards the door, as if hoping his sister would magically appear. ‘Beside some lily pond. It’s apparently where she and Thierry met.’

Right. Mia jotted a note down on her pad.

Blue eyes twinkled across the table at her when she looked up at him again. ‘Aren’t you going to gush about how romantic that is?’

Should she? Was gushing part of the job description?

He laughed as if he’d read that thought in her face, pointing a lean tanned finger at her. ‘You, Ms Maydew, are not a romantic.’

He stared at her as if he knew her. It was utterly disconcerting. She had no intention of letting him know that, though.

She pointed her pen back at him. ‘I am, however, an excellent worker.’

‘Perfect.’ His grin widened. ‘You’ll at least provide a port of sanity amid all the craziness.’

That made her lips twitch. She’d watched TV programs about Bridezillas. Was that what they had on their hands with Carla?

‘Hallelujah!’ He raised his hands heavenwards.

‘What?’

‘I finally managed to get a proper smile out of you.’

She stared at him, nonplussed. Why should he care one way or the other whether she smiled or not? Was smiling also part of the job description?

Darn it—it probably was! Give her animals and plants any day.

She forced her lips to curve upwards.

‘Oh, dear me, no! On a scale of one to ten, that’s not even going to score you a three.’ He donned a mock commentator’s voice. ‘And Mia’s smile has only scored a two point one from the Romanian judge!’

She had to choke back a laugh.

He leant his elbows on the table. There was the whole width of the table between them, but somehow he seemed to bridge that distance without any effort at all. Maybe it was a combination of his height and breadth? She could make out the tiny laughter lines that fanned out from his eyes. She suspected Dylan laughed a lot. She noted the dusky eyelashes...ridiculously long and tipped with gold...and the firm fullness of his bottom lip. She’d bet he kissed a lot too. A pulse started up in the centre of her chest.

‘I suspect, Mia Maydew, it’d be really something to make you laugh.’

She couldn’t explain why, but she found herself jerking back as if he’d just propositioned her.

To cover her confusion, she folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. ‘I have your number, Dylan Fairweather.’ She used his full name in the same way he’d used hers. ‘You’re an incorrigible flirt. I suspect you can’t help yourself.’

He raised his hands. ‘Guilty as charged! But it’s flirting without intent...just a bit of frivolous nonsense.’

His smile made her stomach tumble. ‘Then why...?’

‘Because it’s fun.’ His grin widened and she swore he had the devil in his eyes. ‘Aren’t you going to flirt back?’

She couldn’t help it. She laughed.

* * *

Thank heavens! The woman could laugh.

Dylan sat back and let out a breath when the rather plain and schoolmistressy Mia momentarily transformed from uptight and ordinary-looking to mischievous imp. His gaze lingered on her mouth. He hadn’t noticed how wide and generous it was earlier.

Since he’d witnessed her shock at learning of Nora’s accident, and sensed her nerves at being thrust into the role of wedding co-ordinator, he’d wanted to put her at ease. Putting people at ease was his stock in trade. Mia might call it flirting, but it was nothing more than a bit of harmless fun designed to make her laugh and loosen up. And it had half worked—she’d laughed.

Having now seen Mia smile for real, though, he could see that she was neither plain nor schoolmistressy. It was just an attitude she cultivated. Interesting...

Nora had been ecstatic yesterday when he’d mentioned that they’d like Mia as part of their wedding team. Nora mightn’t have known it, but she’d unwittingly supplied a glowing character reference for Mia. He sat back, resisting the urge to rub his eyes. He wanted everything associated with this wedding to be a joy for Carla. He meant to ensure it went without a hitch.

If only he could be certain the damn wedding should go ahead!

The walls of the glassed-in meeting room pressed in on him. He wanted to be outside and in the fresh air. Now! He wanted to be away from the fresh juniper berry scent of the woman opposite. It had his mind turning to black ski runs in St Moritz, with the wind tearing at his hair and the cold making him feel alive. Which was ridiculous. While he might be on leave, this was no holiday. Besides, if there’d been less frivolity in his life recently Carla might never have become embroiled with a man like Thierry.

Carla’s happiness—that was what he had to focus on. ‘Is the lily pond far? Can you show it to me?’

‘You want to see the lily pond now?’

‘Yes.’

‘What about your sister?’

‘She’s on the phone to her intended. She could be hours. I’ll text her so she’ll know where to find us.’

Dutifully he pulled out his phone.

Mia taking me to lily pond. Meet there.

He held it out for her to see and then hit ‘send’.

Without another word Mia led him out into the warm summer sunshine and he filled his lungs with eucalypt-scented air. The small office block sat on the edge of a rectangle of lush lawn that had to be at least two football fields long. Covered picnic tables marched down each of its sides, shaded by a variety of gum trees, plum pines and bottlebrush trees. The red blossoms of the bottlebrushes had attracted a flock of rainbow lorikeets which descended in a noisy colourful rush.

A peacock strutted through the nearest picnic shelter, checking for crumbs and leftovers, while a bush turkey raked through a nearby pile of leaves. All around the air was filled with birdcalls and the scent of warmed native grasses. Groups of people had gathered around the picnic tables and on blankets on the grass. He could hear children’s laughter from the playground he glimpsed through the trees.

‘This place is popular.’

She gestured that they should take a path to the left. ‘It is.’

Her dark brown hair, pulled back into a severe ponytail, gleamed rich and russet in the bright light. She didn’t wear a scrap of make-up. Not that she needed to. She had a perfect peaches and cream complexion that he hadn’t appreciated under the strip lighting of the office.

He pulled his mind back to the matter at hand. ‘Can we book the entire reserve for the wedding?’

‘I’m afraid not. Plum Pines is a public park. What we can do, though, is rope off the area where your event is being held to keep the general public out.’

‘Hmm...’ He’d have to rethink the security firm he’d initially considered hiring. The wedding security would be a bigger job than he’d originally thought.

She glanced up, her gaze sharp. ‘Is that going to be a problem?’

‘Not if I hire a good security firm.’

‘Let me know if you’d like any recommendations.’ She led him across a bridge spanning a large pond. ‘Officially the park is open from seven a.m. to seven p.m.’

He stared out at the expanse of water, noting several black swans sitting on the edge of the far bank. ‘Is this the lily pond?’

‘No, it’s the duck pond.’

He glanced down into the water and blinked when a tortoise poked its small head out of the water. ‘That...’ He halted to point. ‘That was...’

She glanced over the railing. ‘A Common Longneck Tortoise. The pond is full of them.’

Hands on hips, he completed a full circle, taking in the surroundings. Plum Pines was undeniably pretty, and the native forest rising up all around them undeniably grand. He’d visited some of the most exotic places the world had to offer and yet he’d somehow missed experiencing what was in his own backyard.

‘I can’t believe we’re in the middle of the second largest city in New South Wales. It feels as if we’re in the middle of the bush.’

‘Yes, we’re very privileged.’

That was a rote reply if he’d ever heard one—trotted out for the benefit of visitors. What did Mia really think of the place? Did she love it or loathe it? Her lips were pursed into a prim line that had him itching to make her smile again.

‘You’ll need to apply to the council for an event licence that’ll allow the wedding to extend beyond those hours. There shouldn’t be any issue with that, though.’

She moved off again, with her no-nonsense stride, and after another glance at where the tortoise had disappeared he set off after her.

‘Have you had any weddings that haven’t extended beyond seven p.m.?’ All of the weddings he’d ever attended had kicked on into the wee small hours.

‘There’s been a trend for morning weddings with lunchtime receptions. So, yes.’

She was so serious. And literal. He found himself starting to laugh.

She glanced at him, a frown crinkling her forehead. ‘What’s so funny?’

‘You’re not so good at small talk, are you?’

Her face fell and she stuttered to a halt. ‘You want small talk?’

That made him laugh again. ‘How do you enforce the seven p.m. closing time?’

‘We close the gates to the car parks. There’s a hefty fine involved to have the gates opened. Our people, along with your security firm, will have a list of your guests’ number plates so they can come and go as they please.’

‘Right.’

‘And, as Plum Pines is in the middle of suburbia, we don’t get much foot traffic or many homeless people looking for a place to put up for the night.’

That was something, he supposed.

She consulted her notepad. ‘Do you know how many guests the bride and groom are planning to invite?’

‘Carla informs me that she wants “a small and intimate affair”.’

That frown crinkled her brow again. ‘Do you happen to know what your sister’s idea of “small” might be?’

‘I wouldn’t have a clue.’ He had no idea if Thierry came from a large family or not. The other man had closed up like a clam when Dylan had asked him about them. ‘I can’t say that I know what she means by “intimate” either.’

Mia nodded. ‘I think we can guess that fairly accurately—it probably includes fairy lights strung all around the marquee and surrounding trees, white linen tablecloths with centrepieces involving ivy and candles, vintage china and a string quartet.’