Postcards From New York: A Child Claimed by Gold / A Debt Paid in the Marriage Bed / A Dangerously Sexy Secret

About the Authors

RACHAEL THOMAS has always loved reading romance, and is thrilled to be a Mills & Boon author. She lives and works on a farm in Wales—a far cry from the glamour of a Mills & Boon Modern story—but that makes slipping into her characters’ worlds all the more appealing. When she’s not writing, or working on the farm, she enjoys photography and visiting historical castles and grand houses. Visit her at rachaelthomas.co.uk.

JENNIFER HAYWARD has been a fan of romance since filching her sister’s novels to escape her teenage angst. Her career in journalism and PR, including years of working alongside powerful, charismatic CEOs and travelling the world, has provided perfect fodder for the fast-paced, sexy stories she likes to write, always with a touch of humour. A native of Canada’s East Coast, Jennifer lives in Toronto with her Viking husband and young Viking-in-training.

USA TODAY bestselling author STEFANIE LONDON is a voracious reader who has dreamed of being an author her whole life. After sneaking several English-lit subjects into her “very practical” business degree, she got a job in corporate communications. But it wasn’t long before she turned to romance fiction. She recently left her hometown of Melbourne to start a new adventure in Toronto and now spends her days writing contemporary romances with humour, heat and heart.

For more information on Stefanie and her books, check out her website at stefanie-london.com or her Facebook page at Facebook.com/stefanielondonauthor.

Postcards from New York

A Child Claimed by Gold

Rachael Thomas

A Debt Paid in the Marriage Bed

Jennifer Hayward

A Dangerously Sexy Secret

Stefanie London

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09504-4

POSTCARDS FROM NEW YORK

A Child Claimed by Gold © 2017 Rachael Thomas A Debt Paid in the Marriage Bed © 2017 Jennifer Drogell A Dangerously Sexy Secret © 2016 Stefanie Little

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 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.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Copyright

A Child Claimed by Gold

Back Cover Text

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

EPILOGUE

A Debt Paid 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

EPILOGUE

A Dangerously Sexy Secret

Back Cover Text

Dedication

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

About the Publisher

A Child Claimed by Gold

Rachael Thomas

A scandal of their own making

Nikolai Cunningham has kept his family history secret for seventeen years. So when photographer Emma Sanders is granted exclusive access to his childhood home, he returns to Russia to ensure it stays hidden.

Though she tries to keep her eye on the story, Nikolai’s potent sexuality proves too much for Emma’s untouched body to resist! But, convinced she only wanted a scoop, Nikolai casts Emma out, unaware she’s pregnant!

When the consequence of their recklessness is revealed, Nikolai will legitimize his heir—with a gold wedding ring!

CHAPTER ONE

NIKOLAI CUNNINGHAM BRACED himself against the icy-cold winds of the homeland he’d turned his back on as he waited for Emma Sanders to arrive on the next train. The heavy grey sky held the promise of more snow and matched his anger that a complete stranger had interfered in his life, bringing him back to Russia and a family he’d long ago disowned. He and his mother had left Vladimir for New York when he was ten years old and the shadow of the events preceding that day still clung to them, threatening to unravel everything.

The train rumbled into the station and he prepared himself for what he was certain would be the worst few days imaginable. His life was in New York, and returning to Vladimir had never been part of his plans. That was until his estranged grandmother had crept from the past, offering her family story to World in Photographs.

He’d also been contacted, no doubt because his grandmother had very graciously provided the name he now lived under, but he’d refused. At least, until he’d learnt his grandmother was more than ready to talk and expose everything he and his mother had fled from, probably putting the blame firmly at his mother’s feet. In a bid to protect his mother from their painful past, and prevent his name being linked to the family name of Petrushov once more, he’d had no option but to return.

He stood back and watched the travellers climbing down from the train, scanning them quickly, trying to remember the image he’d seen of Miss Sanders on the Internet and match it to one of the disembarking passengers. Then he saw her, wrapped up against the cold in true Russian style, only her face visible between the faux fur hat and scarf. She looked about her nervously, clutching the handle of her small case in a gloved hand. She could have been Russian, she blended in so well, but her apprehension and uncertainty singled her out as a stranger to Vladimir.

Accepting he had to do this and face whatever came from it for his mother’s sake, he pulled his coat collar tighter against the cold and walked towards her. She looked at him and he held her gaze as he strode along the platform, the determination to get this over with as fast as possible dominating all other thought.

‘Miss Sanders.’ He stopped in front of her, registering her height, which almost matched his, something he found strangely pleasing.

‘Mr Petrushov?’ Her voice was as clear and crisp as a frosty morning, but by contrast her eyes were a mossy green, reminding him of the depths of Russian forests in summer. Why was he noticing such details? She distracted him, knocked him off course, and only now he registered how she’d addressed him.

Nikolai’s anger intensified. Beautiful or not, Miss Sanders obviously hadn’t done her research well. It had been seventeen years since he’d abandoned the name Petrushov in favour of his stepfather’s name, Cunningham.

‘Nikolai Cunningham,’ he corrected then, before any questions could be asked, continued, ‘I trust you enjoyed your train journey from Moscow?’

‘Sorry—and yes, I did, Mr Cunningham.’ He saw her dark brows furrow in confusion, but refused to elaborate on why he, a Russian-born man, had a distinctly American surname. That was none of her business and he had every intention it would stay that way.

He looked down at the young woman, wrapped up against the cruel winds of winter, and although her alluring green eyes were a distraction he was unable to put aside his anger towards her. ‘And you must be Miss Sanders from World in Photographs?’ He added silently to himself, the woman who wants to rip open my mother’s past and delve into my childhood, no doubt in order to further her career.

‘Please, call me Emma,’ she said and held out her gloved hand to him. He didn’t take it but looked into the lustrous green of her eyes and wondered what colour her hair was beneath the fur of her hat. Her photo on the Internet hadn’t done her any justice: she was stunning.

Irritation mingled with the anger. This was the last woman he wanted to stir his interests. Just being here in Vladimir meant she had the power to cause real hurt to his mother and he strongly suspected she didn’t know yet just how much. It was up to him to ensure she never realised just how dramatic the true story of his family was.

He fully intended that she would be distracted by the undeniable beauty of a Russian winter and had already organised plenty of photo opportunities to keep her from the real story. A story that would destroy his mother and upend his world if it got out. All he had to do was prevent her meeting with the grandmother he hadn’t seen since he was ten but he didn’t yet know how to achieve that.

‘We should get out of the wind,’ he said firmly, trying to ignore the way the colour of her eyes reminded him of his childhood summers here in Vladimir. It was a place he hadn’t thought of for a long time and certainly didn’t want to think of now. ‘I took the liberty of booking into the same hotel; that way, I can be of as much help to you as possible.’

His motives were much less honourable. All he intended to do was ensure she saw only what he wanted her to see and certainly not what he feared his grandmother wanted to share with her—a family torn apart by deceit.

‘Thank you.’ She smiled up at him and satisfaction made him return the smile. He was already winning her round. Just a few more days of this nonsense and he could head back to New York and put all this behind him. ‘That’s very thoughtful of you.’

‘The hotel has a very comfortable lounge where I suggest we go over just what you need for your article.’

She believed he was being thoughtful. What would she say if she knew he was determined to hide all he could, despite his grandmother’s attempt to ruin the family name? That was another matter he had to deal with and one thing was for certain: Miss Emma Sanders wouldn’t be a witness to that particular showdown.

‘That would be a good idea.’ She laughed softly and, although the scarf around her face hid her lips and she drew her shoulders up against the cold, from the way her eyes sparkled he could imagine she was smiling at him. The image stirred sensations which contrasted wildly with the anger and irritation he’d been harbouring since discovering that his grandmother had agreed to be interviewed for the magazine.

‘Allow me,’ he said and reached for her luggage, pleased it was a small case and her photography bag. This meant she didn’t have any intentions to make her stay any longer than the three days World in Photographs had requested from him and his family.

His family. That was a joke.

‘Thank you.’ This time, as she pulled her scarf a little lower with gloved hands, he could see she was smiling. It also had an unexpected effect on him. The idea of kissing those lips flashed through his mind, sending a trail of blazing lust hurtling through him. That train of thought would achieve nothing and he grimly pushed it away. This was not a time to allow lust to reign and certainly not with this woman.

‘This way, Miss Sanders,’ he said purposefully, ignoring her invitation to use her first name, and walked briskly away without ensuring she was following, heading for the hotel he’d booked into. He’d purposefully chosen the same hotel as the interfering Miss Sanders, enabling him to ensure she didn’t meddle in the dark, hidden past of his family. Had that been the right decision?

Now that he’d met Emma Sanders he knew he’d be able to charm and distract her, making sure she learnt only the romantic ideals about his family story she was no doubt searching for. The only problem was that he suspected he himself was in danger of falling victim to her charms and distractions.

‘I expect you are used to this cold, but it’s a shock for me,’ she said as they stepped inside, out of the wind. The warmth of the hotel, set out as if a village of cosy log cabins, gave it an intimate and even romantic feel that would no doubt help his cause. Very soon he’d have Miss Emma Sanders believing he was more than pleased to talk about his family history.

‘My home is in New York, Miss Sanders.’

‘Oh,’ she said, pulling off her hat as they entered the lounge area of the main part of the hotel, the heat of the log fire a welcome relief from outside. ‘I’m sorry; I assumed you lived here with your grandmother.’

He watched as she removed her scarf, revealing long, straight hair the colour of sable, and for a brief moment he forgot himself, forgot that this woman had the power to hurt his mother and expose him for what he really was, as that earlier trail of lust streaked through him again. Mentally he shook himself. He might have a history of brief and hot affairs with women, but this was one woman he could not want.

‘Never assume anything, Miss Sanders.’ Angered by his reaction at seeing beneath the layers of dark fur she wore, as if born to Russian winters, he fought to keep his tone neutral. She was a beautiful woman, and his body’s reaction to her meant that his voice was anything but neutral and much harsher than it should have been.

She looked up at him, a question in her eyes, her slender dark brows furrowed into a frown of confusion. ‘Life has taught me that, Mr Petrushov.’

‘Cunningham,’ he corrected her again, but something in the way she said those words and the look of haunted fear which had rushed across her beautiful face as she’d spoken nudged at his conscience. He shouldn’t be so hard, so aggressive. Not if he wanted to steer her away from the truth of his family. Maybe playing to the attraction sizzling between them would be the way to create that distraction?

He wondered what she meant as he picked up on the inference that life hadn’t been easy for her. He resisted the urge to ask, not wanting to draw her into a conversation that may turn back on him. Over the years he’d become adept at providing just enough information about himself to satisfy people, but never enough for them to know the full facts.

‘Then we already understand one another.’ He pulled off his coat and hat, hung them up then took hers from her, his fingers unexpectedly brushing against hers. A jolt of heat surged through him and, as she pulled her hand back, she looked up at him, her green eyes wide and startled. Her full lips, slicked with gloss, parted and he had an almost uncontrollable urge to lower his head and kiss her. Not a gentle brushing of lips but a hard, demanding kiss. The kind of kiss which led to fierce and passionate sex.

What the hell was he thinking?

She stepped back away from him as a flush of colour covered her pale face and her eyes darkened to resemble the deepest ocean. She’d felt it too, of that there was no doubt. If she had been any other woman, he wouldn’t have thought twice about acting on the attraction. But she wasn’t any other woman. She could tear open his past, threatening not just his mother’s happiness but his reputation. He wouldn’t allow it to happen—not at any cost.

‘Yes, yes, we do. We—we understand each other perfectly.’ She stumbled over her words and he stifled a smile of satisfaction. Maybe the attraction could be used to ensure she didn’t find out just who he really was. If a touch and a brief moment of sexual chemistry could disarm her, that would be a pleasant way to distract her from digging around too much into his family’s past.

* * *

Emma hated the way she could hardly form a sentence as Nikolai Cunningham all but scrutinised her. He had muddled her mind and sent her insides into turmoil from the moment they’d met. It was as if a spark of recognition had reached out from him, inexplicably drawing her closer.

She thought of Richard, the man she’d always wished could be more than just a friend, and compared him to this powerful specimen of masculinity. Richard was attractive but safe, but this man was undeniably handsome and oozed a lethal kind of sex appeal. She shivered as something arced between them. He held her gaze and she knew she had to remember he was also the man who held the key to her successfully completing this assignment and securing a long-term contract with World in Photographs.

What happened over the next few days could launch her career as a photographer. More importantly, it would provide a regular income, which was badly needed if she was to stand any chance at all of supporting her younger sister Jess as she embarked on a lifetime dream of becoming a ballerina. They’d both had so many knockbacks in life, going from foster home to foster home, that she wanted her younger sister to do what made her happy. And she was good at it—talented, in fact. After the things they’d experienced together, they both deserved happiness, and if Jess was happy then so was she.

The tall, dark-haired man who’d just sent a frisson of awareness zipping around her had been distinctly cold towards her initially, more so than the icy winds. Something had inexplicably changed in the last few moments. He’d looked at her differently, making heat surge through her in a way she’d never known before, and she wasn’t sure she was able to deal with it. Thoughts of Richard had never done that to her.

‘I shall accompany you to the meeting with Marya Petrushov, who is my grandmother, but first I will take you to several locations you can use for the photographs you require.’ Something about the tone of his voice made it clear that to ask for more than this right now would be inadvisable, especially the way he’d said his grandmother’s name. She immediately sensed unresolved issues and wondered how often he saw his grandmother with so many miles between them.

Throwing caution to the wind and quelling her curiosity for now, she looked directly at him, her chin lifted slightly, and clearly set out her terms. ‘I not only need photographs of locations, Mr Petrushov, but of you and your grandmother—along with any other family members.’

Her brief was to step inside the life of the Russian family which had made its wealth only decades ago and see just how it lived. If she didn’t deliver on that brief, she’d never get her contract, which would mean she’d have no way of funding Jess in one of Russia’s elite ballet schools. The fact that this meeting was taking place in a town only a night-train-ride away from where Jess had a much-coveted place at a world famous ballet school was a good sign and she’d believed it couldn’t go wrong, that it was meant to be.

Now, looking at Nikolai as he laid down his own rules about the interview, she had serious doubts it would ever go right. He dominated the entire room they’d walked into; even though the residents’ lounge was large and spacious, he had taken command of every bit of that space. He was undoubtedly in control.

He also intimidated her, not that she would ever let him know that. It wouldn’t do to let a man who was obviously used to being in charge see subservience. No, she would stand her ground. She sensed she would have to be as strong as him if she wanted to get what the brief dictated.

‘There are no other family members, Miss Sanders.’ He made his way towards a group of comfortable chairs around the warmth of the fire and she followed, determined he wasn’t going to put her off so easily. She only had a week here in Russia and she wanted to see Jess before flying back to London.

He gestured to her to sit and then took the chair next to hers, his long legs suddenly emphasised as he sat. Nerves filled her and the way he watched her unsettled her more than she’d ever known. She wished she knew what he was thinking, but those dark eyes of his were unreadable.

‘A photo of you and your grandmother...’ She hadn’t even finished her suggestion when he leant forward, bringing them close to one another in an intimate kind of way. It was too close and her words faltered into nothing.

‘No.’ That one word silenced any suggestions she had, the anger in it reverberating around the room like a rogue firework. Then, as if he realised how hard and unyielding that sounded, he sat back and offered an explanation. ‘I have not seen my grandmother for many years, so a loving family photo will not be possible, Miss Sanders.’