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About the Authors
CATHY WILLIAMS can remember reading Mills & Boon books as a teenager and, now that she is writing them, she remains an avid fan. For her, there is nothing like creating romantic stories and engaging plots and each and every book is a new adventure. Cathy lives in London and her three daughters, Charlotte, Olivia and Emma have always been, and continue to be, the greatest inspiration in her life.
ANNE MATHER and her husband live in the north of England in a village bordering the county of Yorkshire. It’s a beautiful area, and she can’t imagine living anywhere else. She’s been making up stories since she was in primary school and would say that writing is a huge part of her life. When people ask if writing is a lonely occupation, she usually says that she’s so busy sorting out her characters’ lives, she doesn’t have time to feel lonely. Anne’s written over one-hundred-andsixty novels, and her books have appeared on both the New York Times and USA TODAY bestseller lists. She loves reading and walking and browsing in bookshops – now that her son and daughter are grown, she takes great delight in her grandchildren. You can email her at mystic-am@msn.com
Irish author ABBY GREEN threw in a very glamorous career in film and TV—which really consisted of a lot of standing in the rain outside actors’ trailers—to pursue her love of romance. After she’d bombarded Mills & Boon with manuscripts they kindly accepted one, and an author was born. She lives in Dublin, Ireland, and loves any excuse for distraction. Visit www.abby-green.com or e-mail abbygreenauthor@gmail.com
Secret Heirs: Their Baby Bargain
Bound by the Billionaire’s Baby
Cathy Williams
An Heir Made in the Marriage Bed
Anne Mather
An Heir to Make a Marriage
Abby Green
www.millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-1-474-09616-4
SECRET HEIRS: THEIR BABY BARGAIN
Bound by the Billionaire’s Baby © 2015 Cathy Williams An Heir Made in the Marriage Bed © 2017 Anne Mather An Heir to Make Their Marriage © 2016 Abby Green
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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Table of Contents
Cover
About the Authors
Title Page
Copyright
Bound by the Billionaire’s Baby
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
An Heir Made in the Marriage Bed
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
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
EPILOGUE
An Heir to Make a Marriage
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
EPILOGUE
About the Publisher
Bound by the Billionaire’s Baby
Cathy Williams
To my three wonderful and inspiring daughters.
CHAPTER ONE
FROM THE VERY second Susie walked into the restaurant she knew she had made a big mistake. It joined the other three big mistakes she had made in the past fortnight. Making mistakes was beginning to feel like a full-time occupation.
What had possessed her to wear high heels? Why was she clutching a silly little bag with sequins, borrowed from one of her friends? And how on earth had she found herself in a ridiculous small red dress which had screamed sexy and glamorous when she had tried it on earlier in the week but now shrieked...sad and desperate?
Utterly grateful that she had wisely shunned the flamboyant checked coat which she had been tempted to buy with the dress, and had instead chosen something slightly more sober, she wrapped her black cape tightly round her, making sure to conceal every single square inch of the stupid red dress.
So what the heck should she do now? she wondered.
Date number four was there and seated at the bar. In a couple of seconds he would look round and he would spot her. She had told him that she would be wearing red. The red might be concealed under the cape but how many other lonesome single girls were there here? None.
His picture on the online dating agency she used had seemed so promising, but one glance at him showed her that it had been a cruel lie.
He wasn’t tall. Even though he was sitting she could see that. His feet dangled. Nor was he surfer blond...more wet sand than surf, to be perfectly honest...and he looked at least twenty years older than in his photograph. Furthermore he was wearing a bright yellow jumper and trousers that were vaguely mustard in colour.
She should have actually chatted with him on the phone instead of rushing headlong into a date. She should have relied on more than a couple of flirty messages and one email. She would have known then that he might be the sort of guy who wore yellow jumpers and mustard-coloured trousers. But instead she had jumped right in at the deep end and now here she was...
She felt faint.
This was an expensive bar/restaurant. It was the latest in hip and cool. People had to wait for months to get a booking. The only reason she had been able to get one was because her parents had had to cancel at the last minute and had told her that she could go along in their place. They had asked her to report back on the food—they wanted details.
‘Take a friend,’ her mother had said, with just the amount of weary resignation that seemed to hallmark everything she said to her. ‘You surely must know someone who isn’t absolutely broke...’
By which she had meant, You must know a man who isn’t scraping by without a decent job...someone who doesn’t play in a band in bars...or doesn’t slouch around in between acting jobs that never come up...or isn’t currently saving to go on a world trip, taking in the Dalai Lama on the way...
The mere fact that online date number four had heard of this place had been a point in his favour.
Silly assumption on her part.
Her fundamental sense of decency warred with a pressing urge to turn tail and scarper before she was spotted—but how could she scarper when she knew her parents would want to know all about the experience? It wasn’t as though she could wing it...make it up as she went along. She was rubbish at lying and her mother was gifted at spotting lies.
Yet she knew what the outcome of this would be before it even started. She knew they would make stilted conversation but would both be keen to end it. She knew that the conversation would run out sometime after the starter but they would both feel obliged to stay until the main course and she knew they would definitely leave without dessert or coffee. She felt he might make her pick up the tab. He would definitely insist on going Dutch. He would probably work out exactly who had eaten what and calculate the bill accordingly.
Already in the grip of uncertainty and a mild depression that she had found herself in this situation yet again, Susie glanced around the crowded restaurant.
It was buzzing with cool people. The bar area was busy and the restaurant, which was off to one side, a marvel of glass, chrome and plants, was likewise packed.
Couples and groups were everywhere...except at the back... Sitting at the best table in the place was...a guy...
For a few seconds her heart actually flipped over, because she had never seen anyone quite so stunningly good-looking in her life before. Raven-black hair, bronzed skin that spoke of some sort of exotically foreign gene pool, perfectly chiselled features... When the Big Guy above had been dishing out looks he had been first in the queue.
He was sitting in front of his laptop, oblivious to everyone around him. The sheer cheek of having a laptop on the table in one of the most sought-after restaurants in the city was impressive. As was the fact that he wasn’t dressed for show. He was in a pair of dark jeans and a long-sleeved faded black jumper that fitted him in a way that revealed a lean, muscular body. Everything about him suggested that he didn’t care where he was or who was looking at him, and there was an invisible exclusion zone around him that implied that no one should dare get too close.
He was just the sort of guy she should have found, scrolling through all those possibilities on the dating website—although, that said, he was probably just the sort of guy who had probably never heard of a dating website. Why would he?
And he was on his own.
The table wasn’t set for two. There was a drink in front of him but he had shoved his plate and all the cutlery to one side. She was sure that there was some kind of unwritten rule about doing something like that in a place like this but he was pulling it off.
Taking a deep breath, she turned to the maître d’, who had swooped down to ask her whether she had reservation and said airily, ‘I’m with...’
She pointed to the stranger at the back of the room and tried to smile knowingly. She had never done anything like this in her life before. But faced with the horror of date number four, the certainty of being spotted, the necessity to stay put until it was safe to slink to the table she had reserved and sample the food...desperation had made her act out of character.
‘Señor Burzi...?’
‘Absolutely!’ If only she could scuttle back to the apartment in her glad rags to sit in front of the telly with a chocolate bar and a glass of wine. Right now that would have been heaven.
But she couldn’t—and right now she didn’t want to think anyway. She just didn’t want to spend another evening on her own, dealing with what her parents and her sister had been telling her for the past three years...that she had to ‘get some direction’ in her life...that she should start thinking about a career instead of painting pictures and drawing cartoon characters...that she was ‘so lucky’ to have been given the education that she had and that she owed it to herself to make the best of it... Perhaps they weren’t quite so brutally honest, but she could read between the lines.
‘Is Señor Burzi expecting you, Miss...?’
‘Of course he is! I wouldn’t be asking to join him if he wasn’t, would I?’
She began walking purposefully over to the dark, sexy stranger, hoping and praying that her date wouldn’t spot her, and hoping and praying even more that the maître d’ wouldn’t create an embarrassing fuss and chuck her out.
Head down, she practically collided with the table, and was aware of two piercing dark eyes shifting from the computer to her flushed face as she plopped down in one of the empty chairs.
‘What the hell...? Who the hell are you?’
‘Señor Burzi...this lady said that she was expecting to join you...’
‘I’m really sorry. I know I’m probably interrupting you. But, please...could you just bear with me for a few minutes? I...I’m in a bit of a sticky situation...’
‘Show her out, Giorgio, and next time please don’t make the mistake of bringing anyone to my table unless I tell you to.’
His voice was deep and dark and velvety and perfectly matched the way he looked. His attention had returned to whatever was on his computer. She was dismissed. She would be chucked out of the restaurant.
Panic filled her. Panic and just...just a feeling of hopelessness. She should never have been persuaded by her two best friends into this crazy online dating situation. The thought of being escorted out of the restaurant like a common criminal, while everyone including her yellow-jumpered date turned and stared and sniggered, was just too much.
‘Just a few minutes. I just need somewhere to...er...sit for a few minutes...’
This time the man did look up, and she had to force herself not to stare because up close he was even better looking than he had appeared from a distance. His eyes were navy blue and he had eyelashes to die for—long, thick and dark, and right now fringing eyes that were the temperature of ice.
‘Not my problem. And how the hell did you find out that I was going to be here?’ he asked coldly. He spared a glance for the maître d’, who was hovering and wringing his hands. ‘Leave us, Giorgio. I’ll get rid of her myself.’
‘Sorry?’ Susie looked at him blankly.
‘I haven’t got time for this. I have no idea how you found out where I was, but now that you’re here let me make myself perfectly clear. Whatever begging mission you’re on, you can forget it. Charitable donations are handled by my company. Donations of any other nature are not on the table. And a word to the wise...? Next time you get it into your head to start digging for gold, try being a little more subtle. Now, I’m giving you the option of making a dignified exit or being thrown out. Which one would you rather go for?’
Angry colour had seeped into her cheeks as the meaning of what he was saying gradually became clear.
She had no idea who the man was, but he actually thought that she had targeted him! Thought that she was making a play for him because she wanted to ask him for money!
‘Are you accusing me of coming here to ask you for money?’
The man gave a bark of humourless laughter and raked his eyes over her. ‘Clever deduction. Now, what’s your choice of exit going to be?’
‘I didn’t come here to ask for money. I don’t even know who you are...’
‘Now, I wonder why I find that hard to believe?’
‘Please—just hear me out. I honestly don’t make it a habit to approach strange men in...er...bars...or even expensive restaurants...but I won’t be long...’
She had as much right to be here as he did. Admittedly not actually at his table, but in the restaurant...generally speaking.
She actually had her own table booked, and would be forking out for some very expensive food just as soon as her blind date left and she could relax—and that was more than could be said for him, judging from the way his plate had been shoved to one side. One drink wasn’t going to make the restaurant owner a rich guy, was it? In fact he was just the sort of customer a restaurant owner would hate! The sort of customer who booked a table, had a drink, made it last for four hours and refused to budge for the remainder of the evening.
‘I haven’t come here because I’m targeting you for money,’ she repeated urgently, leaning forward, elbows resting on the table. ‘And, by the way, I feel very sorry for you if you can’t talk to a stranger for three minutes without thinking that they’re going to ask you to put your hand in your pocket and write them out a cheque! You’re the only person in this place on your own and I...I...just need to kill a little time before I’m shown to my table. I do have, actually, a valid reservation. And I will be eating.’
She took a deep breath and powered on before he had a chance to throw her out on her ear—because, whether she had a valid reason to be there or not, she certainly didn’t have a valid reason to gatecrash his table.
‘Do you see the guy sitting at the bar?’
Humiliation made her skin prickle. She had always been a people person. Finding herself stared at as though she was something that had crawled in off the streets—something that needed to be bagged and binned immediately—was a new experience for her and she didn’t like it.
His icy silence squashed her natural breeziness like a pin being stuck into a balloon.
* * *
Sergio Burzi was frankly incredulous. Had she just told him that she felt sorry for him or had he misheard? He felt as though he had been run over by a bus, and was momentarily too dazed to do anything but pick himself up and dust himself down.
‘There are a lot of guys at the bar,’ he said.
So she would eventually do one of two things. Ask outright for money for some hare-brained scheme or else try and cosy up to him. He was a target for gold-diggers, and gold-diggers came in all different shapes and sizes and plied their trade with the back-up of all sorts of sob stories and fairytales.
But he was between women...jaded with the opposite sex. He liked them clever, career-orientated...he liked women who had purposeful, goal-orientated lives, who weren’t clingy and emotional. He had had them by the bucketload, but recently...they did less and less for him. Not even the chase was as stimulating as it had used to be, and more often than not the ‘catch of the day’ became boring in a matter of weeks.
What was the harm in letting this woman sit with him for a couple of minutes before he got rid of her?
She was putting on a damn fine show and she was really rather attractive. Big brown eyes, blonde curly hair that looked as though it had only a passing acquaintance with a brush, full, sexy lips...
A sharp pang of pure lust hit him deep in the gut. He had a vivid image of how that cloud of strawberry blonde hair would look spread across his pillow, her pale skin against his much darker bronze.
It just showed how neglected his sex-life had been of late. He had dispatched his last girlfriend over two months ago and hadn’t had the energy or the desire to replace her.
And now this tawdry little gold-digger had stirred him up. He sat back, easing the discomfort of a sudden rock-hard erection, and gave her his undivided attention.
‘Which one are you talking about?’ he asked, angling his big body so that he could extend his long legs to one side. ‘And why should I be looking at him?’
Susie relaxed fractionally. He was prepared to listen to what she had to say. This would be the end of her learning curve. No more blind dates. Ever.
‘Yellow jumper. Mustard trousers. Thin sandy hair. Do you see him?’
Sergio glanced at the bar and then back to her flushed, earnest face. ‘I see him.’
He was beginning to enjoy himself. He could see Giorgio out of the corner of his eye, anxiously watching the table, ready to spring into action should he need to, and Sergio gave just the slightest shake of his head.
She was going round the houses to get to the point, but she had managed to pique his interest. That in itself was worth the storyline.
When she finally made a move on him he wondered whether he would take her up on the offer... She wasn’t his type, but wasn’t a change as good as a rest?
‘And you’ve pointed him out to me because...?’
‘He’s my blind date and I’m trying to avoid him.’
She groaned, looked at the man sitting opposite her, and her breathing picked up because those lazy, dark, fathomless eyes made her nervous and excited at the same time...gave her a weird, giddy feeling.
‘I met him on one of those dating websites,’ she confided glumly. ‘They cater for the under-thirties. You know the kind of thing...young people seeking serious relationships... It’s a lie. None of them are. I feel awful about standing up poor Phil, but I just can’t face another date frantically trying to make small talk while the minutes tick by at a snail’s pace...’