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www.millsandboon.co.uk
For Lucca Elliott, my sweet baby boy…
Contents
Prologue
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
Prologue
One hour ago Mary had expected to lie back on the king-size bed in the most exclusive bed-and-breakfast in Long Lake, Minnesota, and let Ethan Curtis make love to her, with no emotion, zero response from her body. At that very same time, she’d wondered if he’d be rough, cold, like the unfeeling bastard she’d met in her family’s former offices a week ago—the offices he now controlled and ran like a well-oiled, profit-gouging, soul-sucking machine.
His mouth moved over hers, slowly, seductively coaxing her back to the present. Every time his skin brushed against hers, every time his teeth raked lightly over her neck or back or shoulder, she mewled so loudly with desire she was sure the entire inn heard her and knew exactly what she was doing.
Ethan Curtis might’ve been a bastard, but he was anything but cold.
Moonlight spilled into the room, making it impossible not to see Ethan’s face as he pushed into her again, his cut cheekbones, hard mouth, and tanned neck taut with exertion and damp with sweat. His cobalt gaze slipped from her eyes to her mouth, and he lowered his head. Mary’s heart hammered in her chest as she tried to force back the rush of desire in her blood when his full mouth found hers and nuzzled her lips open.
The reality of why they were here in bed together, so that her father was now free from any threat of prison, scratched at the door of her mind. She wished she could crawl out from underneath Ethan and leave the room, but her body continued to betray her. Maybe it was because she hadn’t been with a man in two years. Maybe she just craved the weight and the closeness and the surge of adrenaline, but she wanted this man so badly she ached with it.
Ethan drifted lazily from her mouth to her cheek, then to her ear. She felt the tip of his tongue against her lobe and shivered, her back arching, her hips arching, her body taking him deeper. Her ears were surprisingly sensitive, and she hated that he knew it, that he was having this power over her—yet loved it at the same time. His tongue flicked back and forth as though he were tending to more than just the lobe of her ear, and she trembled again with sudden spasms she couldn’t control. Outside their door, she heard voices, heavy footfall in the hallway, then a door closing. Had they heard her as she moaned with desire, her body begging him for more?
The urge to touch Ethan, grab his lower back and buttocks, sink her fingers and nails into his muscular flesh was almost overwhelming and she fisted the sheets at her sides. It was the one thing she’d promised herself—not to touch him. But the pledge was hurting her far more than it was hurting him, she imagined. His tanned, thickly muscled chest and shoulders had erotic voices of their own and were calling to her as he rose for a moment, then settled back against her breasts.
How could you sleep with a man like this? she heard herself say, though the only sound her throat produced was a deep moan of satisfaction as he lowered his head to her breast and suckled deeply on one hard, pink nipple. How could you desire a man like this?
He’s a demon.
Shuddering with the electric heat, she wrapped her legs around him and arched her back, pumping her hips furiously. She was close, so close. It had been two incredibly quiet years since she’d been with a man she’d dated for only a few months, two long years since she’d faked release before breaking it off and wandering back into hermit territory and remaining there as the eternal businesswoman. She’d felt the real charge of climax only in her dreams—those dreams of faceless strangers pleasuring her body until she woke up sweaty and frustrated. But there was no faking anything tonight.
Again her thoughts were seized and cast aside by Ethan’s touch. He slipped his hand between them, his fingers inching downward until he combed through the pale curls between her spread thighs. As he stroked her, flicked the tender, aching bud, Mary gulped for air. She didn’t want to give in to him. He didn’t deserve her desire, her complete and utter surrender. But her head fell back anyway as the heat of his hand and the skill of his fingers took her over the edge. She knew how loudly she cried out as he played her, as he sank deeper, but she didn’t care. Wounded, desperate and totally unaware of time, she clawed at the white sheets, pretending they were his skin.
Ethan watched her, his gaze feral yet brushed with uncharacteristic concern. Then with a growl of hunger, he pushed deeply inside her, his rhythm steady, his breathing anything but. The force of his release made him shake, made his body hard as iron, and when he dropped gently on top of her, he buried his head in the damp curve of her neck.
It was only moments before Mary’s skin started to cool and her rational mind returned, along with her anger. No matter how much her body craved this man, in the light of day this had been little more than a transaction.
A wave of nausea moved through her as she recalled the day Ethan Curtis had made her an offer she hadn’t been able to refuse.
“You’re one arrogant son of a bitch, you know that, Curtis?” she had said to him.
Ethan had sat back in his leather chair and regarded her with cold eyes. “I think we’ve established that. Are you going to take the deal or not?”
With his short black hair, sharp blue eyes and hooked nose, Ethan resembled a hawk more than a man. Mary had never seen a man with more arrogance or more presence.
She had stood in his massive office of glass and metal, with its hard, uncompromising edges, and tried to be as much of a hard-ass as him. “I told you I would agree to artificial insemination.”
“If I felt that you would actually honor—”
“Honor?” she said, appalled. “We’ve leaped way beyond that now.”
“True.” His sapphire gaze had missed nothing, especially the intense desire she had to thwart him in any way possible. “But to make certain your end of the bargain is upheld, we’ll do this the old-fashioned way.”
“Not a chance in hell.”
He’d looked amused. “You may even like it.”
She’d given him a derisive glance. “Maybe. But we’ll never know. I’m not going to bed with you, Mr. Curtis.”
The look of amusement had disappeared and he’d replied gravely, “You want your father cleared of all charges. I want a child. It’s very simple.”
Simple. The word now crashed around in Mary’s brain as the man who’d uttered it one week ago rolled off her in one gentle movement. Nothing was simple about this situation. She ventured a quick glance at him as he sat up, his back to her, ropes of thick muscle flexing as he moved. Was it possible to despise someone yet be intrigued by them at the same time?
His voice cut through her silent query. “Do you want me to go?”
Despite her efforts to remain indifferent, she felt anger bubble up within her. At herself and at him. “Yes.”
His jaw tight, he let out a slow breath. “I will see you again tomorrow.”
Without answering, she got up from the bed and headed straight for the bathroom. She wasn’t about to turn over and lie there, sheet pulled up to her chin like a naive girl who’d just been taken advantage of. She’d known exactly what she was doing and why, and had admittedly enjoyed herself.
She turned on the shower to drown out any sound of him getting dressed and walking out, then threw back the shower curtain and stared at the water as it dropped like rain onto the virginal white surface of the porcelain tub. She placed one foot over the tub, but quickly stepped back on the mat. Why the hell wasn’t she getting in there, getting clean, getting rid of any sign of him? What kind of woman didn’t want to wash off the scent of a man she had sworn to hate—a man who wanted her only to procure a blue-blooded child? Not any kind of woman she would respect.
Mary let go of the curtain and went to stand in front of the full-length mirror on the bathroom door. With nervous fingers, she ran a hand down her torso, over her belly. Had they made a child tonight? A shiver of excitement went through her, accompanied by an intense feeling of dread. A baby. She sighed. There was nothing in the world she wanted more than to build a family of her own, but not this way.
Feeling ashamed, she looked away. Her priorities were what they had always been, ever since she was a child: to fix the lives of others before her own. And right now having all charges dropped against her father was the most important thing. She wasn’t getting a family out of this deal, she was keeping her father out of prison.
Her hands splayed on her belly once more and she shook her head. Impossible. The whole damn deal. She was a fool for thinking it would work, just as Ethan Curtis was a fool for thinking that if she did get pregnant, the baby would ever be raised by anyone but its mother.
One
Four Weeks Later.
“Whose idea was it to install a kitchen in the office?” Tess York inquired, the words slightly muffled by a massive bite of eggs Benedict.
Olivia Winston flipped a yellow dish towel over her shoulder and walked her petite, though incredibly curvaceous, frame over to the table with the grace of a movie star. “Ah, that would be me.”
“Well, you’re a genius, kid.”
Beneath a rim of shaggy brown bangs, Olivia’s gold eyes sparkled. “This I know.”
Tess laughed at her partner’s mock display of arrogance, her long mass of red curls hopping about her back like marionettes. “All I want to know is where my mimosa is.”
“No drinking before ten o’clock.” Mary Kelley sat across from Tess, her wavy blond hair falling about her face as she absentmindedly drew slash marks through the hollandaise with her fork. “Unless disaster strikes.”
“I’d say a two-week dry spell qualifies,” Tess said slyly, making Olivia laugh.
“It’s August.” Mary looked from one of her partners to the other. “We’re always a little slow at the end of the summer.”
“Slow, sure,” Olivia retorted, holding a piece of perfectly cooked bacon up like a white flag. “But we’re bordering on drought.”
Barring these two weeks in August, No Ring Required was normally buzzing with activity. The premier wife-for-hire company in the Midwest had zero competition and one hell of a brilliant staff. With Mary’s creativity and business sense, Olivia’s culinary skill and Tess’s wise budgeting and decorating style, NRR was a highly successful company. The problem, Mary had to admit, was that all three of them were such intense workaholics who cared nothing for a private life that they had no idea what to do with themselves on their downtime. And each time the end of summer came aknocking, the women panicked in their own ways.
“Well,” Mary continued, putting down her fork and dropping her napkin over an untouched plate of food. “Clearly this is no time to be picky about clients.”
“Yeah, Olivia,” Tess murmured with a grin.
Olivia raised her brows questioningly. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
“I think she’s referring to your problem with trust-fund clients,” Mary offered, laughing when Tess cleared her throat loudly.
Olivia scowled, then reached down and grabbed Mary’s plate. “I don’t like them, and nothing’s going to change that. Trust-funders are boorish, brainless, self-obsessed jerks, who think they not only own the world, but everyone else along with it.”
Tess flashed Mary a grin. “Tell us how you really feel.”
“Yes,” Mary agreed. “I’m not entirely clear on your opinion regarding the rich.”
As her partners chuckled, Olivia sighed. “It’s not the rich, it’s—Oh, forget it.” Clearly looking for a way to end the current conversation, Olivia glared at Mary’s untouched plate. “Mary, you’re not on a diet, are you?”
“What?” Mary said, sobering.
Olivia tossed her an assessing glance before she turned and sashayed back to her beloved Viking range. “You know that I feel as though diets are a total affront to all those in the culinary world.”
“I do know that.”
“Besides, there’s not a grapefruit or bowl of cabbage soup in my fridge, I’m afraid.”
As a shot of nerves zipped through her, Mary shook her head. “No diet, Olivia. I guess I’m just not very hungry.”
Tess paused long enough to swallow. “As much as I hate to side with Olivia, that’s been going on for a while now.”
“Yep,” Olivia agreed.
“And, well,” Tess began awkwardly, “we’re here if…well, you know.”
Mary nodded and forced a smile. “I know.”
Among the three of them, talking about business was an easy, playful and spirited adventure, but when the conversation turned to anything emotional or personal, the women of NRR seemed to transform into the Stooges—a bumbling, uneasy mess. From the inception of No Ring Required there had been a sort of unspoken rule between the partners to keep personal matters to themselves. Odd, and perhaps against every female cliché, for three women to abstain from discussion about history and feelings, but there it was.
“So, what’s on the agenda today, ladies?” Tess asked, pushing away from the table and a very clean plate.
“I have a meeting with a potential client,” Mary informed them, her gaze drifting over to the clock on the wall. Okay, five minutes were up. The test was done. The zip of nerves from a moment ago turned into a pulse-pounding elephant-sitting-on-her-chest type of situation.
“Maybe not such a dry spell after all,” Olivia remarked gaily, her good mood returning. “I also have a client coming in at two whose fiancée ditched him a week before the wedding and he wants help with what he referred to as a “screw her” dinner party.”
Tess laughed. “Should be fun.”
Mary hardly heard them as the muscles in her legs tensed painfully, as though she was on the verge of a charley horse. The pregnancy test was hidden behind fifty or so rolls of the insanely soft Charmin Ultra that Olivia insisted on buying. Would there be one line or two? One line or two?
“Big name or big business for you?” Tess asked, staring at Mary expectantly.
“Ah…both actually.”
“Sounds great.” Olivia set her own full plate down beside Tess, then promptly rearranged her silverware, napkin and water glass to their proper places, now ready to partake in her own breakfast.
Her heart slamming against her ribs, Mary stood and grabbed her purse. “I just have to hit the little girl’s room and then I’ll be on my way.”
“Good luck,” Olivia called.
Tess nodded. “Yeah, good luck, kid.”
If they only knew the double meaning in her good wishes, Mary thought, each step toward the bathroom feeling as though she was walking in quicksand. She had no idea what she wanted to see when she tossed aside all that toilet paper and pulled out the test. If it was positive, she’d have to make plans to get away from Minneapolis eventually, away from Ethan—that man would never let her walk away with his child. If it was negative, her father’s life was over. She felt a sickly sour feeling in her stomach. She had lives to protect, and she wasn’t altogether sure how capable she was.
She locked the door behind her, sat on the floor and opened the cabinets under the sink. The mountain of white rolls pushed aside easily as she reached inside and felt for the thin stick. Her pulse pounded in her ears. God, what did she want here?
Her fingers closed around the test and she yanked it back. With one heavy exhale she stared at the results.
It was three twenty-seven and Ethan Curtis was growing more impatient by the second.
He wasn’t used to being kept waiting. People arrived early for meetings with him, fifteen to thirty minutes on average. They would sit in his massive lobby until he was ready to see them. For six years it had been this way. He knew his employees thought he was an arrogant ass. He liked it that way.
He punched the intercom button. “Marylyn, when Miss Kelley arrives, have her join me on the roof.”
There was a slight pause on the other end of the line. Marylyn had never heard such a request, but she recovered quickly. “Yes, sir. Of course.”
Ethan glanced at the clock. Three thirty-one. Where the hell was she? He stalked over to the elevator and stabbed the button. Mary Kelley was a strong-willed, business-first, no-nonsense type of person—not unlike himself. But if she worked for him, she’d be fired by now.
He was not generally a nervous man. He didn’t pace, worry or stress before a deal was done. If a client didn’t perform or comply the way he wanted them to, he finessed the situation, made it work to his advantage. However, as he rode his private elevator the short distance to the roof, his gut continued to contract painfully, just like it had the day his father had informed him that his mother had taken up with a new man and wasn’t coming back.
Ethan walked out of the elevator and onto the rooftop, for which he had hired a world-renowned landscape architect and two botanists to transform into his escape three years ago. The courtyard opened to a Moroccan-tiled fountain and several ancient sculptures, while to the left was a sun terrace, complete with bar and circular planters filled with flax, pyracantha and perennials to keep the urban scene colorful year-round. Red bougainvillea covered several of the arched trellises, and cherry trees flanked the central walkway. It was a strange mixture of ease and exotic, and it suited Ethan perfectly.
He sensed her, smelled her, before he saw her. Fresh, soapy—yes, he remembered. The lower half of him contracted as his mind played the ever-present film of those nights in July over again. Ethan saw himself lying on top of her, buried deep inside of her, his mouth on hers as he breathed in her scent and she moaned and writhed like a wildcat.
He glanced over his shoulder to see her walking toward him. She was average height, average build, but Mary Kelley possessed two things that would make any man stop dead in his tracks and stare. Long, toned, sexy-as-hell legs that he could practically feel wrapped around his waist at this moment, and pale blue eyes that turned up at the corners, like a cat’s. “You’re late.”
She didn’t respond. “What’s all this, Mr. Curtis?” she said, looking around the garden seemingly unimpressed. “Your bat cave?”
As well as the legs and the eyes, she also had a sharp tongue.
“A sanctuary.”
Her brows drew together as she sat in the chair opposite him, the skirt of her pale blue Chanel suit sliding upward to just a few inches above her knees. The late-afternoon sun hit her full force, her blond hair appearing almost white. “And what do you need sanctuary from? All the people you’ve screwed over this week?”
Yes, a very sharp tongue, though he remembered that it could also be soft and wet. “You think I thrive on making life difficult for others?”
“I think it may be your life’s blood.”
There was no disputing the fact that she disliked him. No, he could see that clearly. What he couldn’t make out from her attitude was if she was carrying his child or not, and that was the one thing he desperately wanted to know.
He walked over to the bar. “Drink?”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
“Anything in particular? Martini, soda?” That would give him his answer.
“Something cold would be nice. It’s pretty warm.”
“You’re going to make me work for this, aren’t you?”
“Would you really appreciate it any other way?” she said brusquely.
“Martini?”
“Lemonade would be great if you have it. I’m driving.”
“Mary—”
“Do you think you deserve an easy answer, Mr. Curtis?” she interrupted coldly. “Think back to how we got here.”
He had done nothing but, for the past four weeks, though not in the same way as she, clearly. “We made an agreement.”
She laughed bitterly. “Is that what you’d call it? You blackmailed me and I gave in. Maybe gave up is a better way to put it.”
Ethan abandoned the drinks and went to stand before her. Her cat eyes were blazing hatred, and her claws were out, but he didn’t give a damn if she was angry. He wanted one thing and one thing only, and he would go to any lengths necessary to get it.
“Are you pregnant?” he asked bluntly.
It took her a moment to answer. Several emotions crossed her face, and her breathing seemed shallow and slightly labored before she finally nodded. “Yes.”
Ethan turned away, his heart pounding like a jack-hammer. He’d wanted this but had never believed it possible. He had no idea how to react.
“You’ll drop all charges against my father,” Mary said, her tone nonemotional.
He stood there, his back to her. “Of course.”
“And you won’t interfere in my life until the baby is born.”
He opened his mouth to agree, then paused. He turned to face her again. “I don’t know if can do that.”
“That was our agreement,” Mary countered, coming to her feet, her gaze fierce. “Do you not even have one ounce of honor in your blood, Mr. Curtis? Where the hell did you grow up, under a rock?”
She didn’t know where he came from, couldn’t know, but her words struck him hard and he frowned. “I will keep my word.”
Seemingly satisfied, Mary grabbed her purse and started for the elevator. “Good.”
“But there’s one condition,” Ethan called after her.
She whirled around, held his gaze without blinking. “There were no conditions.”
“This has nothing to do with my child, Mary. This is business.”
“I was under the impression that the child was business,” she said dryly.
Despite the dig, Ethan pressed on. “I want to hire you.”
She looked confused for a moment, then broke out laughing bitterly. “Never.”
“You’d turn away business so you don’t have to be around me? I thought you were way tougher than that.”
“I have enough business. I don’t need yours.”
The foolishness of that statement made him smile. “Being the heads of two successful companies, we both know that’s not true.”
“Look,” she began impatiently, “my deal with you is done. Unless you plan to go back on your word and not drop the charges—”
“No,” he cut in firmly. “But perhaps you also want that sculpture your father risked so much to retrieve?”
“I couldn’t give a damn.”
“No, but your father does.” He gestured to the courtyard and the small sculpture of a woman and child that Hugh Kelley had almost gone to jail for. It had been a gift from the Harringtons, part of their courtship when Ethan took over the company. They’d hated him for buying controlling shares in Harrington Corp., but the company was floundering under their care, and because they still wanted to be involved, they’d forced themselves to act nicely. If Ethan had known the rare sculpture belonged to a family member, he probably would’ve rejected the piece. For as much as he wanted to be accepted and welcomed into the old money of Minneapolis, he hated family drama. He hadn’t been too keen on having Hugh Kelley arrested for wanting the sculpture back, either, but he also wouldn’t allow breaking and entering at his company for any reason.
“Why are you doing this?” Mary asked, her cat eyes inspecting him as though he were a pesky rodent. “Why would you care if my father has that sculpture back? You have what you want.”