His San Diego Sweetheart

Just say you will

Plenty of women have tried to capture the treasurer of the San Diego chapter of the Millionaire Moguls, Vaughn Ellicott—and his impressive bank account. When the former naval officer meets a gorgeous stranger in need of help, he surprises himself by offering her a mutually beneficial deal. Career-minded Vaughn tells himself that their business arrangement will get his family off his back. But suddenly that’s not nearly as important as getting his beautiful new bride into bed...

Hotel manager Miranda Jensen needs to marry to inherit her grandfather’s fortune. Now the perfect solution to her problem has become handsomely complicated. Between private evenings at Vaughn’s lavish beachfront estate and glittering public events on his arm, she begins to truly fall for him in their pretend affair. And soon Miranda’s no longer able to settle for less than love. Will Vaughn choose to turn make-believe into passionate reality?

YAHRAH ST. JOHN is the author of twenty-seven books. When she’s not at home crafting one of her sexy romances with compelling heroes and feisty heroines with a dash of family drama, she can be found in the kitchen cooking one of her gourmet meals discovered on the Food Network for her husband. Or this thrill-seeking junkie can be found traveling the globe seeking out her new adventure. A graduate of Hyde Park Career Academy, she earned a bachelor of arts degree in English from Northwestern University. St. John is a member of Romance Writers of America, but is an avid reader of all genres. She lives in sunny Orlando, the City Beautiful, where there’s great weather all year round. For more information, please visit www.yahrahstjohn.com.

Also By Yahrah St. John

Two to Tango

Need You Now

Lost Without You

Formula for Passion

Delicious Destiny

A Chance with You

Heat Wave of Desire

Cappuccino Kisses

Taming Her Tycoon

Miami After Hours

Taming Her Billionaire

His San Diego Sweetheart

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

His San Diego Sweetheart

Yahrah St. John

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08272-3

HIS SAN DIEGO SWEETHEART

© 2018 Harlequin Books S.A.

Published in Great Britain 2018

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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Version: 2020-03-02

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“Hope you don’t mind getting dirty,” Vaughn said as the cabdriver drove them to the restaurant. His thigh was inches from hers and he could feel himself getting further and further turned on by this woman and they hadn’t even touched yet.

“I don’t mind,” Miranda said. “In fact, the dirtier the better. Though I do wish I’d opted to change clothes.” She looked down at her attire.

“Why?” Vaughn asked, glancing in her direction. “You look beautiful.”

“But a bit overdressed for the beach, right?” She laughed.

He smiled. “A bit. That’s what makes you so adorable.” He reached across the short distance between them and tucked a wayward strand of hair that had fallen in her face behind her ear. When she looked up at him, her eyes were filled with desire. Vaughn wanted to sweep his mouth across hers and taste her, but the car came to a stop.

“We’re here!” she said brightly.

Yes, we are, Vaughn thought. If the car hadn’t come to a halt, it was a certainty he would have acted on the rampant desire he felt for Miranda.

Dear Reader,

His San Diego Sweetheart is an exciting new book in the Millionaire Moguls series featuring three heroes: Vaughn Ellicott, Jordan Jace and Christopher Marland. Vaughn is a former navy man turned sexy surfer with a billion-dollar surfing business. He has no time for love because he never received it growing up as a child, but that doesn’t stop him from risking his heart when he offers Miranda Jensen a marriage of convenience to save her inheritance.

Heightening the drama is a delicious sabotage subplot in the Millionaire Moguls organization. To find out who’s the saboteur, pick up the next installment in the series: Seduced in San Diego by Reese Ryan.

I enjoyed researching San Diego and learning about surfing. With my adventurous streak, I may even try it one day.

For more info, visit my website, www.yahrahstjohn.com, to download my latest ebooks or write me at yahrah@yahrahstjohn.com.

Best,

Yahrah St. John

Acknowledgments

To my newest right hand, Christy Massie. Thank you for the encouragement and morale boost!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue

Extract

Chapter 1

Vaughn Ellicott, Jr. sliced through the crashing surf at San Diego’s Black Beach on his custom-made surfboard. Surfing was his own piece of heaven and gave Vaughn the freedom he desperately craved after the rigors of Navy life as a lieutenant. For a decade, he’d done as he was instructed because that was what his father, Commander Vaughn Ellicott, Sr., expected of him. But now, Vaughn did what he wanted to do and surfing was as natural to him as breathing, even though at six foot two, he towered over some of the other surfers. When he was in the water, he felt an inner peace with Mother Nature as he challenged himself on the waves. He saw the waves as opportunities to lose himself and find himself at the same time.

And he had found himself. Five years ago, he’d started a company, Elite. After he began designing his own wet suits, other surfers had begun showing interest in his work. Seeing a business opportunity, he’d formed Elite and sold his wet suits online. From there, sales had skyrocketed. His high-end scuba gear company now sold dive computers and any other gear a surfer needed, from surfboards and bags, to leashes and wax. The fact that his business interests mirrored his passion was perfect for Vaughn.

Even though it was nearly the weekend, it was long past time for him to depart the beach. Vaughn should have left thirty minutes ago. He was due to attend a meeting of Prescott George—the Millionaire Moguls club, as the press liked to dub them. The nickname had been given to them because their national organization was comprised mainly of millionaires. The club had been formed in the 1940s by Prescott Owens and George Rollins. Today, Prescott George’s numbers had grown into the thousands and there were chapters all over the world. Vaughn was proud to be a member and the treasurer of the San Diego chapter.

Emerging from the Pacific Ocean carrying his surfboard, Vaughn began peeling off his wet suit when a pair of feminine eyes caught his gaze. She was giving him the once-over. And he didn’t mind the attention; he was used to it. In social circles, he was a sought-after millionaire bachelor with an impressive seaside estate. And on the beach, he was looked up to because of his fearlessness and passion for the sport.

Vaughn had no trouble attracting women. Any kind of woman. So much so that he couldn’t get a moment’s peace. Women adored his physique which he spent a great deal of time honing, and his impressive assets, but Vaughn had yet to find one worth keeping around. They all seemed a little too eager to be with a Millionaire Mogul, and so he dealt with them with a long-handled spoon, engaging only when he wanted companionship or needed physical release.

Vaughn gave the beautiful stranger one final intense stare. Long silky dark hair. Expressive almond-shaped eyes. Tawny brown skin slightly kissed from the sun. Although she was wearing a sleeveless dress, it was a bit too formal and didn’t fit with the unusually warm spring afternoon. Her only admission that she knew she was at the beach was the fact that she’d kicked off her pumps and they lay partially submerged in the sand. Maybe that was why she stood out.

But there was something sad about her though. And as much as Vaughn would love to find out her story, he was late. He purposefully trudged through the sand toward the locker room so he could get changed into business attire. Today was important for the San Diego chapter. Today, the Moguls had visitors. Joshua DeLong and Daniel Cobb, co-presidents of the national chapter in Miami, were in town.

There were rumors that San Diego could be awarded Chapter of the Year. Vaughn certainly hoped that was the case; it would be a prestigious honor. The chapter had been successful in attracting younger members to the organization, but it hadn’t come without drama. Some of the older members of Prescott George were less enthused. They felt like they were being pushed out to make room for a younger, hipper generation, which simply wasn’t true. Vaughn believed in the Moguls motto: From generation to generation, lifting each other up. If they didn’t pull in the next generation, how could they possibly continue providing college scholarships to needy students and funding to inner-city organizations?

All of these thoughts coursed through Vaughn’s mind as he took a quick shower, changed into a designer black suit with pinstriped tie and headed for his Ferrari California T in the parking lot. He smiled when he saw the expensive sports vehicle with its turbocharged engine and drop top. For such a new company, Elite had done quite well in the marketplace and afforded Vaughn the luxury of a fancy car, private jet and a beachside mansion in La Jolla. Before turning on the engine, he glanced back at the beach, wondering why a woman as beautiful as that stranger looked so forlorn. He shrugged. Wasn’t his problem. He had bigger fish to fry. He turned the ignition, the Ferrari roared to life and Vaughn sped away.

* * *

The San Diego Prescott George chapter was located inside a historic brewery near the East Village. Vaughn parked outside the renovated, environmentally friendly building and strode inside. He walked through the offices, glancing around at the exposed brick, loft ceilings and state-of-the-art canopy lighting that made up the Moguls club as he headed to the all-glass conference room. As in other Prescott George offices, pictures of their founding members, Prescott Owens and George Rollins, hung on the walls, reminding them of who started the organization. The meeting was already underway and multiple sets of eyes glowered at Vaughn as he made his way near the head of the table where Christopher Marland, the chapter’s president, sat next to two strangers who Vaughn could only assume were Daniel Cobb and Joshua DeLong.

Vaughn gave a halfhearted smile as he sat down. “Sorry. I was unavoidably detained.”

“By what? A wave?” Another member guffawed.

Several other members at the table chuckled softly at the joke, but they immediately stopped when Vaughn glared at them.

“You might want to wipe off the evidence,” Christopher concurred as he reached across the table and brushed sand off Vaughn’s shoulder.

Darn! He thought he’d caught it all. It wasn’t easy changing into a suit at a beach locker room. Perhaps he should endow the county with a new state-of-the art facility to ensure something like this didn’t happen again?

“Getting back to business,” Christopher said, returning his focus to the meeting. “We’re pleased that the chapter is being graced with such an honor.”

“So, it’s true?” Vaughn interrupted him. “We’re Chapter of the Year?”

“That’s right,” one of his Miami brethren replied. He was tall and fair-skinned with striking blue eyes. Vaughn didn’t know brothers could have eyes that color. “We feel that San Diego has shown not only the vision, but the gravitas necessary to propel Prescott George into the future.”

“Daniel Cobb.” The other gentleman reached across the table to shake Vaughn’s hand. “And that’s Joshua DeLong.” He inclined his head to the fair-skinned man beside him. “We know it couldn’t have been easy. There had to be opposition to change, probably as much as we’ve encountered in Miami.”

“You mean when you ousted a Rollins?” an older member asked from the far side of the table.

“No!” Daniel responded hotly. “Ashton realized it was in the best interest of Prescott George to have some new blood with fresh ideas at the helm. He’s still very much involved in the Miami chapter.”

“I doubt that,” the man muttered underneath his breath.

“If you have something to say,” Joshua DeLong responded, “by all means, speak up. We welcome feedback. Good or bad.”

Daniel grabbed Joshua’s arm and whispered something in his ear.

Vaughn couldn’t resist smiling. He liked Joshua DeLong. He was his kind of guy. Just look at his appearance. He wasn’t wearing the customary suit like the rest of the members of Prescott George, Daniel included. He wore trousers and a T-shirt with a blazer he’d probably haphazardly thrown on at the last minute to show he was making an effort. Vaughn understood wanting to dance to the beat of your own drum. It was what he’d been doing for years now that he was no longer an officer in the United States Navy.

The older member remained mum.

“Good then,” Daniel said. “Then, if it’s alright with you—” he turned to Christopher “—we’d like to announce your selection as Chapter of the Year at your annual benefit in a few months.”

“Sounds like a mighty fine idea,” Vaughn chimed in. “It would be great press for the organization and chapter. Don’tcha think?” He glanced around the table at the other members.

“My skills at handling the press are fully at your disposal,” Joshua DeLong said.

“Skills?” Another member laughed. “Infamy is more like it.” Several other members expressed their amusement.

Vaughn stepped in. “It’s those very same tweets, Instagram posts and Snapchats that have helped connect us with new members.”

“You mean the young whippersnappers who can’t be bothered to be here?” The older man glanced around the room.

“They aren’t on the board,” Christopher responded tightly and Vaughn noticed the firm line across his mouth. “That’s why they have mentors to groom them into becoming leaders. It doesn’t happen overnight.”

“I’d love to hear more about this mentorship program,” Daniel responded. “Do you both have time to discuss after the meeting?” He directed his question to Christopher and Vaughn.

“Absolutely,” they both said in unison.

The chapter meeting concluded soon after and Vaughn watched the other members shuffle out of the room. Once the room had cleared, Joshua spoke first. “Looks like you face the same resistance to change that we’ve encountered in Miami.”

“We do.” Christopher nodded.

“How do you combat it?” Daniel inquired.

Vaughn chuckled, but Christopher responded. “Clearly, we haven’t squashed it entirely. We’ve just had to push forward with our agenda.”

“Attracting younger members?” Joshua offered. “Talk to me about this mentorship program.”

“Let’s retire to the lounge for cigars.” Christopher gestured for the men to walk ahead of him.

The lounge housed several large chocolate leather sofas surrounded by modern and edgy furnishings. The men sat in a semicircle and discussed the future of Prescott George. Christopher offered their guests expensive cigars which another member had brought back from Cuba. Eventually, conversation returned to San Diego’s progress with millennials.

“We’ve had some great events like beachside barbecues, art gallery openings and wine tastings, specifically geared to a select group of young millionaires,” Christopher said. “We have a great artist in our midst, Jordan Jace. You may have heard of him?”

Joshua nodded. “I have his work. It’s cutting-edge.”

“Jace is like a lot of our younger members. They like being part of an organization in a limited capacity,” Christopher responded. “Of course, I know our small-time events are a far cry from the charity galas you have in Miami.”

“Hey, that’s how you have to roll in South Beach,” Joshua replied with a chuckle as he leaned back and puffed on a cigar. “Go big or go home.”

“Our chapter does plenty of good work. We just do it in a less traditional format,” Christopher intervened and Vaughn couldn’t help but notice how uptight the man always was. But that was Christopher; he certainly wasn’t Vaughn’s favorite person after he’d dumped his baby sister Eliza all those years ago. Vaughn didn’t think she’d ever truly recovered. He suspected it was why she’d moved to New York, to have a fresh start and get over Christopher. She was back now and keeping a low profile.

Hours later, after they’d shaken hands with their Miami brethren and given them their best advice, Christopher returned to his office to work on an architectural project, but Vaughn was restless. He hadn’t had nearly enough time at the beach today. He’d gone into Elite’s office early that morning and taken care of some pressing business and hadn’t been able to get out to the beach until the late morning. Then, he’d had to cut his surfing time in half because of the Prescott George meeting. He needed to breathe in some fresh, salty ocean air. Hopping into his Ferrari, Vaughn headed back to his second home, the beach.

* * *

Miranda Jensen sucked in several deep breaths. She was glad the surf god who had majestically surfaced from the Pacific Ocean wearing a snug-fitting wet suit was gone. She colored when she thought about how she’d stared so openly at the magnificent specimen of a man. Unabashedly, she’d watched him glide the zipper of his wet suit down as he’d shaken off the excess water. He had a sculpted torso which had revealed hard, defining muscles underneath and eight, yes, eight-pack abs that were impossible to ignore.

The man was ripped!

His chest had been surprisingly smooth and hair-free and Miranda would have loved to flick her tongue across the brown discs of his nipples.

Sweet Jesus!

What was wrong with her?

She’d struggled to gulp in air as he’d walked straight toward her, never taking his eyes off her. At first, she’d thought he was going to make a pass at her. There was obvious interest lurking in those penetrating dark depths. He’d seen her giving him the eye, but instead of talking to her, he’d kept moving, leaving Miranda to wonder if it was because of her man curse. She was still hypersensitive when it came to men these days. How could she not be? She had a bad track record when it came to the opposite sex and the broken heart to prove it.

Since her breakup with Jake, whom she’d thought was the love of her life, Miranda had had a series of unsuccessful relationships. Jake had unceremoniously kicked her to the curb in a favor of a promising career in Japan with a pretty something coworker he’d met abroad. Her rebound guy, Anthony, was a womanizer and notorious cheat. She’d caught him in bed with one of her supposed friends. The last joker, Chris, she’d dated had only been after her money, ingratiating himself into her family in the hopes he’d hit the jackpot. Thankfully, she’d gotten hip to his real agenda before she’d married him; otherwise it would have been a disaster of epic proportions.

And now all Miranda could hear was the sound of a clock ticking in her head.

No, it wasn’t her biological clock.

It was the timer on her fortune, which was about to slip through her fingers if she couldn’t find a groom. She had her grandfather to thank for putting her in the predicament she was in. He’d passed away a couple of months ago and as a condition of his will, he required that his only grandchild, Miranda, marry by the age of thirty or forfeit her inheritance altogether. If she didn’t marry, the huge sum of money that was rightfully hers would go to one of her grandfather’s charities and forever vanquish Miranda’s dream of opening her own upscale bed-and-breakfast by the ocean. Or at least postpone it.

Fury boiled inside Miranda’s veins.

She valued her independence, but perversely she needed to be tied to a man in order to achieve her personal goals.

But this time love would have nothing to do with it.

Miranda didn’t know if she’d been trying too hard to find Mr. Right. Or whether she was just one of those people who were destined to be alone. Nevertheless, the rejections and lies of her former lovers had hardened her heart. She’d vowed that no man would ever hurt her again. If they were after her money, so be it.

But it would be on her terms.

She’d taken a leave of absence from her job as a hotel administrator in Chicago to go husband shopping. She was hoping to find a man and make him an offer he couldn’t refuse: a marriage of convenience with a huge cash payday.