The Rival's Heir

She wants a career and a baby...

Can her sexy boss give her both?

Darby Brogan has goals: single motherhood and a successful career. And she won’t be distracted...even if rival architect Judah Huntley is the stuff of fantasies. But when Darby accepts a job with Judah, there are strings—caring for the baby on his doorstep! But when playing house gets hot and heavy, will temporary turn into having it all?

JOSS WOOD loves books and traveling—especially to the wild places of Southern Africa and, well, anywhere. She’s a wife, a mum to two teenagers and slave to two cats. After a career in local economic development, she now writes full-time. Joss is a member of Romance Writers of America and Romance Writers of South Africa.

Also by Joss Wood

The Ballantyne Billionaires miniseries

His Ex’s Well-Kept Secret

One Night to Forever

The CEO’s Nanny Affair

Little Secrets: Unexpectedly Pregnant

Love in Boston miniseries

Friendship on Fire

Hot Christmas Kisses

The Rival’s Heir

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

The Rival’s Heir

Joss Wood

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07697-5

THE RIVAL’S HEIR

© 2018 Joss Wood

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.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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This book is dedicated to anyone who has struggled

with infertility. I get how hard it is.

You have my love and prayers.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Extract

About the Publisher

Prologue

Callie Brogan looked around the lavish crowded function room at the Lockwood Country Club and edged her way to the side. She’d attended, and hosted, many parties in this very room and knew all the escape routes.

A few steps backward and her back was against the floor-to-ceiling glass doors. She fiddled behind her and yep, there was the handle. Callie pushed it down, felt the door swing open and as quickly as she could, ducked onto the small balcony that ran the length of the ballroom. She closed the door behind her, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

She didn’t mind the dark, nor the cold—in fact she welcomed both. Anything was better than loud music, louder laughter and incessant chatter. Staring a new year in the face, she needed a few minutes of quiet, just to think.

Her beloved husband, Ray, was gone. He had been for many years.

It was time to let him go.

She couldn’t hold on to him while she had an affair with the man she’d come here with tonight. It wasn’t fair to either of them.

Callie looked down at the ring Ray had put on her finger over thirty years ago. She turned it around and around again. It was time to take it off, to put it away or at the very least, move it to her right hand. She wasn’t Ray’s anymore.

And while she might be sleeping with Mason—adventurous, inked and hot—she didn’t belong to him either. She needed a new life, one that was hers alone. She wanted more. She no longer wanted to be the person she was, but she also didn’t know who she wanted to be.

She had to reinvent herself.

But how?

Before she could finish the thought, a soft coat settled on her shoulders, broad hands on her hips.

“Are you okay?” Mason asked, his warm breath on her ear.

“Fine,” Callie answered, wincing at her terse answer. She’d just wanted five minutes on her own, to figure things out.

But it was New Year’s Eve, they were at a ball, and she had tomorrow to think about her life and why she was so discontented, in spite of having a fantastically sexy man sharing her sheets. The music was playing, the countdown would soon start and her issues could wait.

Callie looped her arms around Mason’s neck, pushing a smile onto her face.

“Let’s go inside, grab a drink and dance,” Callie said, trying for gaiety.

Mason stepped back and shook his head. “I’ve been watching you for the last ten minutes. I saw you playing with your ring.”

Callie frowned down at her hand and the big diamond winked back at her. “Okay?” she replied, confused.

Mason pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just once, Callie, I’d like to go somewhere, do something, that isn’t tinged with the memories of your husband.”

Before Callie could tell him that she hadn’t been thinking about Ray, he continued, “Is it going to be like this for the next year, two years, ten? I’m asking so I know how long I’ll be competing for your attention.”

Callie felt the burn of shock, the heat of anger. “That’s not fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is you mentally wandering off to join him while I am here. What’s not fair is you wearing his ring while I bring you to orgasm, his picture facedown in the drawer next to your bed. Do you bring him out when we’re done, Callie? Sneak him back into place when I leave?”

She did. God. And Mason knew.

Callie lifted her hands in protest. Because she felt embarrassed, she went on the attack. “Why are you hassling me? I thought this was just an affair. Why are you sounding all possessive and jealous?”

Mason opened his mouth to respond, then cursed before snapping it shut. His expression cooled, then turned inscrutable. “You’re right. Forgive me.” His deep voice was coated with frost.

From inside, the revelers started to count down to the New Year and when the crowd roared, Mason bent down and kissed her cheek, as remote as an Antarctic iceberg. “Happy New Year, Callie.”

When Callie went back inside just a few minutes later, Mason was gone.

One

Darby Brogan listened with half an ear to the presentation but couldn’t make herself concentrate. Unlike the other architects in the room who were listening intently, her thoughts were a million miles away from the project of a lifetime. Designing Boston’s newest art museum was, suddenly and unexpectedly, the very last thing on her mind.

Darby crossed her legs, tapped her phone against her knee and mentally urged the speaker to hurry up. Modern, fresh, distinctive, ecologically friendly... Yes, she got it. This was all in the bid documents.

Her phone vibrated in her hand. Darby swiped her thumb across the screen and quickly read the messages posted in the group only she, her twin, Jules, and their best friend and business partner, DJ, had access to.

Where are you? Why aren’t you back? How did your appointment with Dr. Mackenzie go?

Darby typed a quick reply to DJ’s question.

At the museum bid presentation. Should be back in an hour or so.

Darby saw that Jules was typing and waited for her message to pop up on the screen. As she expected, it had nothing to do with work and everything to do with the appointment Darby had just come from.

Tell us!

Darby wished she hadn’t recently pushed DJ to be more open and forthcoming. It made it difficult for Darby to keep her own secrets from her best friend and her twin.

It’s not good. Basically, I’m running out of time. If I want a child, I should attempt IVF in the next six months.

She waited a beat before adding:

So that’s a big decision I need to make. And quickly.

Judging by their lack of an immediate response, Darby knew her friends were absorbing her news, trying, like she was, to make sense of what she’d learned.

Darby wanted children. Being a mommy was her biggest wish. But despite knowing that she was going to have problems carrying a child, she’d always believed she’d need to face her infertility issues sometime in the future. She’d thought she had time, options, but...no. Her condition had been upgraded from serious to severe and she’d been told to expect a hysterectomy within the next few years.

And she had yet to hit thirty.

I thought I’d have a husband, at least a partner, when I needed to go there. I never imagined I’d have to do this—if I’m going to do this—alone.

You’ll never be alone!!!

What Jules said, DJ added.

They were great, and she loved them, but Darby imagined strong arms, a broad chest, a male perspective. She’d been called beautiful, strong and smart, but she still went to bed alone every night.

Being an alpha female was hard enough for most men to accept. Being an alpha female with infertility issues seemed a step too far. The reality was that she couldn’t afford to wait any longer to find a man who shared her dreams for a family; she had no more time to waste. If she wanted a child, she’d be doing it now, solo, albeit with the help of science. And a sperm donor.

DJ’s name popped up again on her screen.

How can we help?

Darby smiled, so glad these women were in her life. Darby ignored her burning eyes and straightened her shoulders. It was bad news, sure, but she hadn’t received a death sentence. Her dreams were in ICU, but she wasn’t.

Keep it in perspective, Brogan. Humor, as she’d learned, was always a good deterrent to negativity, so she thought a moment before typing again.

I’ll expect you to help me select a sperm donor.

Any excuse to openly ogle guys! Jules’s answer flashed on her screen. I’m there.

DJ repeated the sentiment, adding a couple of heart-eyed emoji to convey her excitement. Darby knew they were just being kind. They were both engaged to and head over heels in love with smart, successful, stupidly sexy men.

Darby was not jealous...

Well, maybe a little.

They all—including her mother!—had hot guys in their beds. Jules was engaged to her childhood friend; DJ and her long-term on-again, off-again lover had recently decided to be permanently on. As for Darby’s mother, Callie? She was having an affair with a scorching hot man a decade younger.

Darby wouldn’t mind a sexy tattooed man to have some fun with. Her life for the past year or so had been all work and very little play... Actually, that pretty much summed up her life in total. She didn’t play much at all, she never had.

After a lifetime of school and college success, she’d recently been named one of the most exciting 40 Architects Under 40 in the latest edition of a well-known design publication. She was a partner in what was described as the most successful design house in Boston, possibly on all the East Coast. She was reasonably attractive, wealthy and healthy. Well, except for her annoying reproductive system.

And she was single...

So very, very single.

She felt panic tickle her throat. What if she were incapable of loving someone, of being in a have-it-all partnership? What if she was too independent, too strong willed, too competitive to build her life with a man?

As for a solo attempt at motherhood...could she do this?

Darby shifted in her seat. She refused to give negative thoughts space in her brain. She wanted a child and she could be a single mom. It was okay that she’d yet to meet her special someone. She was glad she hadn’t wasted her valuable time on a he’ll-do guy.

If she was going to settle down, she wanted someone who wanted what she did...everything. Kids, a kick-ass career, a stable, respectful relationship.

World peace, an end to famine...

Darby frowned when she realized that the organization’s director was no longer speaking. She looked around the ballroom, seeing that the attendees had shifted their focus to the back of the room. Turning in her seat, her brows lifted when she saw the lone figure leaning against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other.

Oh...

Oh...wow.

Judah Huntley was better looking in person than the pictures she’d seen of him online. Taller, too. Being tall herself, she guesstimated he was six-two or six-three, and under his charcoal, obviously designer Italian suit, his body was tougher, harder, more muscular than she would have expected. Broad chest, long legs, thick arms and a masculine face. Stubble covered his cheeks and jaw, his nose looked like it had been broken once, maybe twice and his thick wavy espresso-colored hair looked like he routinely combed it with his fingers.

Sexy, built and the brightest architectural mind of his generation.

Darby swallowed, conscious that her mouth was dry and her heart was banging against her chest. There was an unfamiliar heat between her legs—welcome back, libido! Damn, she wouldn’t mind taking Judah Huntley out for a spin.

Whoa, Brogan, not like you.

The men she dated and—very rarely—slept with had to work damn hard to get her to that point but Darby knew Judah Huntley would just have to crook his finger and she’d come running.

Maybe it was her kooky state of mind, yet here she was, panting over a man across the room.

Darby couldn’t pull her eyes from Huntley’s fallen-angel face. Be sensible, Brogan. This scorched-earth attraction was an aberration, nothing to be concerned about. She was only intrigued by Judah Huntley because he was such a phenomenal architect, because he’d designed that ecohouse in Denmark that was a brilliant piece of art, as was that ski lodge in Davos and the new headquarters for one of the world’s leading software companies in Austin. He was creative and innovative, throwing together contrasting materials and techniques and making them work.

And he was sexy enough to make her soul ache.

Dark eyes—black? blue?—under strong brows met hers.

And Darby felt the world shift beneath her.

A small smile pulled the corners of his mouth upward and she placed her hand to her heart. God, the way he looked at her, like he was imagining her naked...

He straightened, pushed his hands into the pockets of his suit pants and she saw that his stomach was flat. She remembered a photo of him running on a beach in Cyprus... That muscled, ridged stomach. Just looking at him was more pleasure than she’d had in a while.

Unbidden, the image of her eggs and his sperm colliding in a petri dish, creating a baby in the lab, jumped into her head. If she imagined them in bed together, practicing the art of making babies the old-fashioned way, her panties might explode.

Darby fought the temptation to get up, walk over to him, hold out her hand and lead him away. She didn’t think he’d say no. Damn, she was tempted.

“Miss Brogan? Miss! Brogan!”

Darby turned her head at the irritated voice of the director at the front of the room. What was his problem? Frowning, she looked around and saw the amused faces of her colleagues.

“May I continue?”

Darby quickly nodded, her face flaming. She heard the muffled snickers. Dammit, the entire room had caught her looking at Judah Huntley. Since, as her family frequently told her, she had the most expressive face in the history of the world, they all knew she’d been imagining Huntley naked.

Darby slid down in her seat, only just resisting the urge to cover her face with her hands. Even if she found the guts to proposition him—a very big if—sleeping with Judah Huntley wasn’t an option. Especially since she was now embarrassed beyond all belief.

Darby kept her eyes on the speaker while she fought the urge to look back and take just one more peek. Yeah, good plan, just embarrass yourself further, Brogan, add some fuel to the fire.

It took all her willpower to keep her eyes forward and when the presentation finally ended—the longest ten minutes in the world—Darby stood up and oh-so casually looked across the room.

Judah Huntley was gone.

Six weeks later

Judah Huntley took a sip of overly sweet champagne from the glass in his hand and tried not to wince. God, he hated these functions. He strongly believed in the power of an old-fashioned email, quietly stating whether he’d been awarded the commission or not. Putting on a suit and noose and making small talk was his level of hell.

But Jonathan, his business manager, had RSVP’d on Judah’s behalf, saying that he’d be glad to attend the foundation’s cocktail party. He’d also promised that if Huntley and Associates was commissioned to design the new art museum, Judah would hire a local architect to be the firm’s local liaison.

It made sense to hire someone local to do the grunt work of visiting the planning offices, research, smoothing the way. The Boston-based architect wouldn’t do any drafting or design work; Judah had an experienced team back in New York to implement his ideas. They were the best and brightest of the bunch and routinely met his high standards.

As a winner of two of the world’s most prestigious architecture awards, Judah knew his interest in designing the art museum was unexpected. It wasn’t a big project or even a lucrative one. Since the project was being funded by a nonprofit, his design fees would be laughable. But thanks to international businessmen with very deep pockets who wanted his name attached to their buildings, Judah had a fat bank account and could afford to take on a project at cost.

He had buildings all over the world but had yet to design one in Boston, his hometown. He wanted to create something that was beautiful and functional, something Bostonians would enjoy. He was renowned for his innovative corporate buildings and envelope-pushing mansions but there was something special, something intoxicating, about designing a building to hold art and treasures. The box had to be as exciting, as electrifying as the contents...

And that was why he was standing in a stuffy ballroom waiting for someone to announce what everyone already knew: Judah would be awarded the project.

Upsides to being in Boston were a gorgeous site and an interesting project. Downside? Being in Boston. The smells, the air, the buildings all made him remember how his life used to be. Stifling. Demanding. Claustrophobic. Long on responsibility and short on fun.

Judah was grateful for the feminine hand on his arm that jerked him back to the present. An attractive woman stood in front of him, blond hair, red lips, bold eyes. He chatted with her politely, but she wasn’t the woman who’d first come to mind.

The last time he’d stood in this room, he’d locked eyes with a younger, sexier blonde who’d made his stomach bungee jump. Initially, she’d reminded him of a storybook Cinderella, all flashing eyes and tiny frame, but then he’d caught the look in her eyes, on her face, and decided that she was more a duchess than a princess, more sophisticated than simple.

He wondered if she was here again tonight.

But, if she was, what did it matter? Though he’d been rocked by their instinctual attraction—when last had he felt such an instant physical reaction to anyone?—the thought of making small talk, doing the dating dance, felt like too much effort.

Chatting up a woman, taking her back to his hotel room and having sex was the mental equivalent of riding an immensely popular roller coaster. Patience was required to get on the ride, there was the brief sensation of pleasure, then the inevitable anticlimax when the cart rolled to a stop.

After Carla, he’d ridden as many roller coasters as he could. A year and too many women later, he’d realized that mindless sex with mindless women wasn’t working for him and he went cold turkey. In the past eighteen months, he’d gone from being monogamous to being a player to being a monk.

Judah sighed. While no guy rapidly approaching his forties preferred having solo sex, he did like having a life that was drama-free.

But that blonde he’d seen here before—tall, slim, stunningly sexy—was the first woman in six months who’d caught his interest. She’d made his core temperature rise. She had the face of a naughty pixie, the body of a lingerie model and the eyes of a water nymph. When he’d looked at her, reality faded. All he could see was her, stretched out on a rug in front of a roaring fire, naked on the white sands of Tahiti or on the cool marble of a designer kitchen. Hell, up against the fabric-covered wall of an intensely uninteresting hotel ballroom.

He’d wanted her.

And because he’d been so damned tempted to walk over, take her hand and find the closest private space where he could put his hands on that body, he’d acted like the adult he professed to be and left. He didn’t want mindless sex anymore, but the thought of anything more—becoming emotionally involved, making a connection—terrified him.

So he was in no-man’s-land, dating himself. And, man, was he so tired of that...

Half concentrating on the conversation with the woman in front of him, Judah looked up to see the director of the foundation heading to the podium. Standing at the back of the room, Judah’s height allowed him to see over the heads of most of the guests and he recognized some candidates from the meeting weeks ago.