Pregnant By The Maverick Millionaire

“We can’t be both friends and lovers, Kade!” Brodie protested.

“We can be anything we damn well want,” Kade replied. “But for now, why don’t we try to be friends first, figure out how we’re going to be parents together without complicating it with sex?”

He confused and bedazzled her, Brodie admitted. She couldn’t keep up with him. She felt like she was being maneuvered into a corner, pushed there by the force of his will. “I don’t know! I need to think.”

Kade smiled, stepped back and placed his hands into the pockets of his khaki shorts. “You can think all you want, Brodie, but it isn’t going to change a damn thing. I’m going to be around whether you like it or not.” He ducked his head and dropped a kiss on her temple.

“You might as well get used to it,” he murmured into her ear.

***

Pregnant by the Maverick Millionaire is part of the series From Mavericks to Married— Three superfine hockey players finally meet their matches!

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JOSS WOOD’S passion for putting black letters on a white screen is matched only by her love of books and travelling (especially to the wild places of southern Africa) and, possibly, by her hatred of ironing and making school lunches.

Joss has written over sixteen books for the Mills & Boon KISS, Mills & Boon Presents and, most recently, Mills & Boon Desire lines.

After a career in business lobbying and local economic development, Joss now writes full-time. She lives in KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa, with her husband and two teenage children, surrounded by family, friends, animals and a ridiculous amount of books.

Joss is a member of the RWA (Romance Writers of America) and ROSA (Romance Writers of South Africa).

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Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Extract

Copyright

One

Funny.

Built.

Sexy.

Smart. So, so, smart.

Courteous, hot, confident.

He was the entire package, a gorgeous combination of everything any woman would ever want or need for a flash-in-the-pan encounter. That being said, Brodie Stewart knew there were at least a billion women in the world who would slap her senseless for what she was about to do and she didn’t blame them.

“Brodie? Did you hear me? I asked if you want to come upstairs,” Kade whispered into her ear, his hand on her rib cage, his thumb rubbing the underside of her right breast.

She licked her lips and tasted him on her tongue, inhaled the citrus and spice of his soap-scented skin and tipped her head sideways to allow his lips to explore the cords of her neck. Man, he was good at this, Brodie thought.

She should step away, she should stop this...

She’d been saying the same thing for three weeks. She shouldn’t have waited for Kade every early morning on the running trail, shouldn’t have felt the butterflies in her stomach when he loped toward her, a six-foot-plus slab of celebrity muscle. She shouldn’t have laughed at his jokes, responded to his gentle flirting. And she certainly shouldn’t have accepted his offer to return to his place for a lazy cup of Saturday morning coffee/sex after their seven-mile loop around Stanley Park.

As much as she wanted to know what that cocky, mobile mouth could do, she definitely should not have kissed him.

She’d thought she had it all worked out, had convinced herself she could handle this, him. It wasn’t like she hadn’t had sex since Jay. There had been a few guys—okay, two—since the accident a decade ago. On paper, Kade was perfect. The ex-professional ice hockey player, now second in charge of the Vancouver Mavericks, was resolutely single. Proudly unavailable and, unlike most females of a certain age, Brodie had no desire to change him. In fact, one of the reasons she’d said yes to his offer for coffee was because she knew exactly what he wanted and it wasn’t a happily-ever-after with her.

Okay, it had been a while and she was out of practice, but why, oh, dear Lord why, couldn’t she get past her hang-ups and have a quick tumble with the gorgeous, very practiced Kade Webb?

Maybe it was because something about him resonated with her, because he was more than a pretty package. Because his kisses were deep and compelling and made her quiver with more than a quick physical connection. He reminded her of love, of intimacy, of emotional connections.

She really didn’t want the reminder.

Brodie peeled herself off Kade’s wide chest and dropped a quick so-sorry kiss on his chin, her lips brushing the golden stubble on his jaw. She rolled off the leather couch, stood up and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling folding doors leading to an expansive balcony. Brodie placed her hand on the cool glass. From this penthouse loft downtown he had the most amazing view of False Creek and the Granville and Burrard bridges. It was a big-bucks view and absolutely fabulous. She took it in...and gave herself time to form a response to his question.

Reluctantly Brodie turned and placed her hands behind her butt, leaning against the glass. Her heart and libido wanted to return to his embrace, trace those long, hard muscles, taste his naturally olive-shaded skin, shove her hands into his loose, surfer-boy blond hair, watch those brown eyes deepen to black as passion swept him away. But her brain was firmly in charge and it was telling her to run, as far and as fast as she could, before she found herself in a situation that was out of her control.

God, he was going to think she was a tease, that she was playing him. She wasn’t, not really. She was just protecting herself.

Emotionally. Psychically. In all the ways she could.

Brodie felt his eyes on her but stared down at her sneakers, wishing she was wearing more than a tight hoodie and running tights. She knew he was waiting for an explanation for her blowing hot and cold, for kissing him senseless and then backing away. She couldn’t tell him—this man she’d jogged with, who knew nothing more about her than her name and that she liked to run—that even though she was crazy horny, the idea of sex, with him, reminded her of intimacy and intimacy scared the skin off her.

He was supposed to be a fun time, a quick thing but, dammit, Kade Webb had stirred up emotions she thought were long dead. Of all the men in Vancouver, why him? He was such a cliché—handsome, wealthy, charming, successful. In Jane Austen’s world he would’ve been called a rake and three hundred years later the moniker still suited him well.

Brodie sighed, wishing she’d played this differently. Everyone knew what a fitness fanatic he was, how fast he ran, and it was common knowledge that he ran most mornings in Stanley Park. She’d wanted to see if she could, in any way, keep up with him. Instead of keeping pace with him at the crack of dawn, she should’ve hung back and kept her distance. At first he’d been amused with her idea that she could match his long-legged stride, but she’d run track in college. She had speed and stamina on her side. When he realized he couldn’t shake her he started bantering with her. Many runs and many conversations led to this morning’s invitation for coffee/sex.

She’d enjoyed those random conversations so much she’d frequently forgotten she was jogging with the city’s most elusive bachelor. To her, he was just a guy with a wicked sense of humor, a sharp brain and, admittedly, a very sexy body. Running alongside him had certainly not been a hardship. She’d actually taken pleasure in his appreciation of her.

So much so that she’d thought she was strong enough, brave enough, to have a casual encounter on a Saturday morning as any other confident, sophisticated, modern woman would. Yeah. Right.

“You’ve changed your mind, haven’t you?” His voice was as rich as the sunbeams dancing across the wooden floor. Her eyes flew up to meet his and, to her relief, she didn’t see any anger in his expression, just regret.

“I’m so sorry. I thought I could.” Brodie lifted her hands in an I-don’t-know-what-happened gesture.

“Was it me? Did I do something you didn’t like?”

Aw...

Brodie blushed. “No, you’re fabulous. God, you must know you kiss really well and I’m sure...” Her blush deepened. “I’m sure you do everything well.”

Kade pushed himself into a sitting position on the couch and placed his ankle on his knee. He leaned back and the muscles in his big arms flexed as he linked his hands behind his head, his expensive running shirt pulling tight across his broad chest. She could see the ridges of his stomach and knew the fabric covered a perfect six-pack of sexy-as-sin muscles.

Stop thinking about his body, his stomach, about those hard thighs...

“Maybe you’d feel more at ease if I tell you you’re in control here. You say no—to anything, at any point—and I’ll back off,” Kade quietly stated.

This was a prime example of why she was attracted to him. Beyond the charm, beneath the sexy face and the scorching body, was the man she suspected the public never saw; someone who was thoughtful enough to put her at ease. Someone who could quiet her fears, who could make her consider casting off a protective layer or two.

Thoughtful Kade reminded her of Jay, which reminded her of the person she’d been before her life had been turned inside out. The open, happy, sunny girl who’d loved life with a vengeance. A young woman who had the world at her feet.

That was what scared her most about being with him. He made her remember who she’d been before she wasn’t that person anymore.

Sex she could handle, but she was terrified of feeling good, contented. She couldn’t deal with happiness.

Not when she knew how quickly it could be ripped away.

Brodie bit her lip and lifted her hands in the air. She saw a hint of frustration pass across Kade’s face.

“Okay, then I really don’t understand. You seemed to be as into me as I am into you.”

Brodie scratched the back of her neck. “Yeah, I’m a mess. It’s difficult to explain but trust me when I tell you it’s all me and not you.”

Kade nodded. “Oh, I know it’s all you ’cause if I had anything to do with it then you’d be naked and panting right now.”

Well, there wasn’t a hell of a lot to say to that. She should just go. “This was a very bad decision on my part.” Brodie moved away from the window and clasped her hands behind her back. “I’m really sorry to blow hot and cold.”

Kade stood up and raked his fingers through his hair. “No worries. It’s not the end of the world.”

She was sure it wasn’t, not for him. He’d had a variety of woman hanging off his arm since he was eighteen years old and new to the Mavericks. In sixteen years, that was a lot of women and a lot of hanging. With one call, one text message, he could have Brodie’s replacement here in ten minutes.

So, there was an upside to this stupid scenario; she would never be one of “Webb’s Women.”

As she walked toward the door, Kade’s phone buzzed and he picked it up off the coffee table. He swiped the screen with his thumb and frowned as he read the text message.

“Quinn and Mac are on their way up,” he said.

Quinn Rayne and Mac McCaskill, Kade’s best friends, his ex-teammates and current business partners. Yeah, she wasn’t proud to admit that, like every other obsessed Mavericks fan, she read about their exploits in the papers and online. The women, although Kade wasn’t quite as much a player as Quinn and Mac, the crazy stunts—mostly Quinn—the scandals... Quinn again. Actually, these days, it was mostly Quinn who gave the press grist for the mill.

Brodie glanced at her wristwatch. It was 7:36 a.m. on a Saturday morning. “So early?”

“Yeah, weird.” Kade stood up and walked across the expansive loft to the kitchen area. He opened a huge fridge and pulled out two bottles of water. He waved one in her direction. “Want one?”

Brodie nodded and easily caught the bottle he lobbed in her direction. “Thanks.” She gestured to the door. “So, I think I should go.”

Kade nodded his agreement, saw she was struggling to crack the top and walked toward her. He took the bottle, opened the lid and handed it back to her. “There you go.”

“Thanks,” Brodie said and gestured to the couch. “Sorry, you know...about that.”

Kade’s expression was pure speculation. “Maybe one day you’ll tell me why.” They heard a clatter of footsteps outside the door. “My boys are here.”

“I’ll get out of your way.”

Kade moved past her and opened the door to his friends. Brodie opened her mouth to say a quick hello, but her words died at the looks on their faces. They pushed past her to flank Kade, looking pale. Their eyes were rimmed with red.

“What’s wrong?” Kade demanded, his voice harsh.

Brodie watched as they each put a hand on Kade’s shoulders. Her stomach plummeted to the floor at their expressions; she recognized them instantly. They were the bearers of bad news, the harbingers of doom. They were going to tell him his life was about to do a 180.

She’d seen the same expression on her aunt’s face when Poppy had told her that her parents, her best friend, Chelsea, and her old friend but new boyfriend Jay were dead, along with six other people, in a nightmarish accident. They’d been on their way to a dinner to celebrate her twentieth birthday and apparently life had thought being the lone survivor of a multivehicle crash was a suitable gift.

Why was I left behind?

“Tell. Me.” Kade’s snap brought her back to his hall, to the three men looking like the ground was shifting under their feet.

“Kade, Vernon had a heart attack this morning,” Quinn said, his words stilted. “He didn’t make it, bud.”

She saw the flash of denial on Kade’s face, the disbelief, and she quietly slipped out the door. Grief was an intensely personal and private emotion and the last thing he needed was a stranger in his space, in his home. Besides, she was still dealing with her own sorrow, still working through losing her own family, her closest friend and the man whom she’d thought she’d marry.

Sorry, Kade, she thought. So, so sorry. A long time ago she’d had a brave heart and a free spirit and she hoped the news of his friend’s death wouldn’t change the core of who he was, like the same kind of news had changed her.

But life had changed her and she wasn’t that free-spirited girl anymore. She walked back into her real life knowing she certainly wasn’t the type of woman who could handle sexy, bachelor millionaires tempting her to walk on the wild side.

Six months later

Brodie typed her client’s answer into her tablet, hit Enter and looked up. Dammit, she thought, instantly recognizing the interest in his eyes. This appointment was already running overtime and she really didn’t want to fend off his advances.

This was one downside to dealing with male clients in her matchmaking business. Because she was reasonably attractive they thought they would skip the sometimes tedious process of finding a mate and go straight for her.

“What type of woman are you looking for?” she asked, deliberately playing with the massive-but-fake emerald-and-diamond monstrosity on the ring finger of her left hand.

“Actually, I was going to say a tiny blonde with a nice figure but I’m open to other possibilities. Maybe someone who looks like you...who is you. I have tickets for the opera. Do you like opera?”

Ack. She hated opera and she didn’t date her clients. Ever. She didn’t date at all. Brodie sent him a tight smile and lifted her hand to show him her ring. “I’m flattered but I’m engaged. Tom is a special ops soldier, currently overseas.”

Last week Tom had been Mike and he’d been an ace detective. The week before he’d been Jace and a white-water adventurer. What could she say? She liked variety in her fake fiancés.

Brodie took down the rest of his information, ignored his smooth attempts to flirt with her despite her engagement to Tom and insisted on paying for coffee. She watched as he left the café and climbed into a low-slung Japanese sports car. When she was certain he was out of view, she dropped her head to the table and gently banged her forehead.

“Another one asking for a date?” Jan, the owner of the coffee shop, dropped into the chair across from Brodie and patted her head. Despite Brodie trying to keep her distance from the ebullient older woman, Jan had, somehow, become her friend. She rarely confided in anybody—talking about stuff and discussing the past changed nothing, so what was the point?—but Jan didn’t let it bother her. Like her great-aunt Poppy, Jan nagged Brodie to open up on a fairly regular basis.

Funny, Brodie had talked more to Kade in three weeks than she had to anybody—Jan and Poppy included—for the last decade.

Well, that thought had barreled in from nowhere. Brodie rarely, if ever, thought about Kade Webb during daylight hours. Memories of him, his kiss, his hard body under her hands, were little gifts she gave to herself at night, in the comfort of the dark.

“Being asked out on dates is an occupational hazard.” Brodie stretched out her spine and rolled her head on her shoulders in an effort to work out the kinks.

Jan pushed a pretty pink plate holding a chocolate chip cookie across the table. “Maybe this will make you feel better.”

It would, but Brodie knew there was something other than sympathy behind Jan’s fat-and-sugar-laden gesture. “What do you want?”

“My cousin is in her thirties and is open to using a matchmaker. I suggested you.”

Brodie scowled at her friend, but she couldn’t stop herself from breaking off the corner of the cookie and lifting it to her mouth. Flavors exploded on her tongue and she closed her eyes in ecstasy. “Better than sex, I swear.”

“Honey, if my cookies are better than sex, then you ain’t doing it right,” Jan replied, her voice tart. She leaned forward, her bright blue eyes inquisitive. “You having sex you haven’t told me about, Brodie?”

She wished. The closest she’d come to sex was Kade Webb’s hot kiss six months ago, but sex itself? She thought back. Three or so years?

She was pathetic.

After taking another bite of the cookie, Brodie pulled her thoughts from her brief encounter with the CEO of the Mavericks professional ice hockey team and narrowed her eyes at her friend. “You know I only take men as my clients, Jan.”

“Which is a stupid idea. You are halving your market,” Jan said, her business sense offended. But Brodie’s business model worked; Brodie dealt with men, while her associate Colin only had women clients. They pooled their databases and office resources. As a result, they were doing okay. In the hectic twenty-first century—the age of the internet, icky diseases and idiots—singles wanted help wading through the dating cesspool.

“Women are too emotional, too picky and too needy. Too much drama,” Brodie told Jan. Again.

Brodie snapped off another piece of cookie and wrinkled her nose when she realized she’d eaten most of it. She was a sucker for chocolate. And cookies. Thank the Lord she had a fast metabolism. She still ran every day, but never in the morning.

“The men don’t really want to date me. They just like the attention I pay them. They tend to forget they are paying me to pay attention. And I know far too much about them too soon.”

An alert on her tablet told her she’d received a new email. Jan pushed herself to her feet. “I’ll let you get back to work. Do you want another cup of coffee?”

Brodie already had caffeine-filled veins but why should that matter? “Please.”

She swiped her finger across her tablet and accessed her inbox. She’d received quite a few messages when she’d been dealing with Mr. Suave but only one made her pulse accelerate.

Your donation to the auction at the Mavericks’ Charity Ball filled the subject line and all the moisture in her mouth disappeared. Jeez, she’d had a brief encounter with Kade months ago, shouldn’t she have forgotten about him by now?

Unfortunately Kade wasn’t the type of man who was easily forgotten. And, if she had to be truthful, she still missed those early-morning runs when it seemed like they had the park to themselves. She missed the way her heart kicked up when she saw him, missed the way he pushed her to run faster, train harder. She’d enjoyed him, enjoyed that time with him, more than she should have.

Brodie rubbed her hands over her face and gave herself a mental slap. She was almost thirty, a successful business owner and matchmaker to some of the sharpest, richest, most successful bachelors in the city. She should not be thinking about the sharpest, richest, best-looking bachelor in the city.

Pathetic squared. Brodie shook her head at her ridiculousness and opened the email.

Dear Ms. Stewart,

On behalf of the Chief Executive Officer of the Vancouver Mavericks, Kade Webb, may I extend our heartfelt gratitude for your donation to the Mavericks’ auction to be held on June 19.

Attached is your invitation to a luncheon my department is hosting for our valued sponsors earlier on the day. You are most welcome to attend the ball and charity auction; the cost and details are attached.

We look forward to your presence at lunch on the 19 of June. Please see the attached document for the venue and time.

Yours,

Wren Bayliss

Public Relations Director

Vancouver Mavericks

Thanks but, no thanks. She wouldn’t be attending. Donating to the charity auction had been Colin’s idea and he could attend the luncheon and ball on their behalf. She wasn’t even sure donating their services to the charity auction would raise any money... What bachelor or bachelorette would admit to wanting to use a matchmaker in a room full of their friends and colleagues? Their business was based on discretion and her clients came to her, mostly, via word of mouth. But Wren, and Colin, had dismissed Brodie’s concerns. They seemed to think sisters, brothers and friends would bid on their siblings’ or friends’ behalf. Besides, the guest could bid silently via cell phone as well, so anonymity, if it was required, would be assured.

Thanks to the competition of online matchmaking Colin was convinced they needed to cement their position as matchmakers to the elite of Vancouver society and they needed to network more and foster relationships. Being part of the Mavericks’ silent auction was a huge coup and would be excellent direct advertising to their target group. Since marketing and PR was Colin’s forte, she’d told him he could represent them at the luncheon.

Yes, a part of her reluctance was the fact there was a chance Kade would be at the function. Months might’ve passed but she was still embarrassed down to her two-inch designer heels. She’d acted like a ditzy virgin who said yes but meant no. God! How could she be in the same room with him without wanting to jump him—the man still fueled her sexual fantasies—but also wanting to hide under the table?