Praise for Kate Hardy’s writing:

SURRENDER TO THE PLAYBOY SHEIKH ‘Surrender yourself to this sexy and romantic attraction-at-first-sight story. Every aspect is spot-on, from the smoking-hot pair to the sensual step-by-step build-up as attraction turns to love. This hero is definitely a keeper!’

—RT Book Reviews

‘I thoroughly enjoyed reading Kate Hardy’s first Sheikh romance: SURRENDER TO THE PLAYBOY SHEIKH! A tender, poignant and moving tale that tugs at the heartstrings, SURRENDER TO THE PLAYBOY SHEIKH is an unmissable story of hope, redemption, second chances and destiny from a wonderful writer who never fails to write stories which keep you turning the pages late into the night!’

—Cataromance.com

PLAYBOY BOSS, PREGNANCY OF PASSION ‘This story features a strong heroine who gains strength from her family and a hero who realises the importance of love and family before it’s too late. Add in their captivating romance and it makes for one great read.’

—RT Book Reviews

‘As addictive as ever, Kate Hardy’s latest Modern Heat, PLAYBOY BOSS, PREGNANCY OF PASSION, is a spellbinding tale that sizzles with wonderful sexual tension, palpable emotion and tender romance. Featuring a sexy hero and a resourceful heroine, PLAYBOY BOSS, PREGNANCY OF PASSION is another keeper by the fantastic award-winning author Kate Hardy!’

—Cataromance. com

Felix couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt an attraction this strong.

And he wanted. So badly that it shocked him to the core.

Daisy Bell was seriously striking when she wasn’t hiding behind her chief mechanic clothes. Surely men told her all the time how beautiful she was?

And that look in her eyes, quickly masked, told him that the attraction was mutual. There was a definite connection between them.

So what were they going to do about this?

Mixing business and pleasure was a mistake he didn’t make. Ever. But Daisy Bell really tempted him to break all his rules. Tempted him to reach out and twirl a strand of her hair round his forefinger, to see if it felt as soft and silky as it looked. To kiss her, to find out if her sea-green eyes turned the colour of jade when she was aroused.

She looked at his mouth, and he knew from her expression that she was thinking exactly the same thing. Wondering what it would be like. How he would taste. How electric it would be between them…

Kate Hardy lives in Norwich, in the east of England, with her husband, two young children, and too many books to count! When she’s not busy writing romance or researching local history, she helps out at her children’s schools; she’s a school governor and chair of the PTA. She also loves cooking—see if you can spot the recipes sneaked into her books! (They’re also on her website, along with extracts and stories behind the books.)

Writing for Mills & Boon has been a dream come true for Kate—something she’d wanted to do ever since she was twelve. She’s been writing Mills & Boon® Medical™ Romances for nearly five years now, and also writes for Modern Heat™. She says it’s the best of both worlds, because she gets to learn lots of new things when she’s researching the background to a book—add a touch of passion, drama and danger, a new gorgeous hero every time, and it’s the perfect job!

Kate’s always delighted to hear from readers, so do drop in to her website at www.katehardy.com

Recent titles by the same author:

Modern Heat™

TEMPORARY BOSS, PERMANENT MISTRESS

PLAYBOY BOSS, PREGNANCY OF PASSION

(To Tame a Playboy duet)

SURRENDER TO THE PLAYBOY SHEIKH

(To Tame a Playboy duet)

Medical™ Romance

THE DOCTOR’S LOST-AND-FOUND BRIDE

FALLING FOR THE PLAYBOY MILLIONAIRE

(Brides of Penhally Bay)

THE CHILDREN’s DOCTOR’s SPECIAL PROPOSAL

(The London Victoria duet)

THE GREEK DOCTOR’s NEW-YEAR BABY

(The London Victoria duet)

Good Girl or Gold-Digger?

by

Kate Hardy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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For Gerard, with all my love

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Praise

Excerpt

About the Author

Authorbooksby

Title Page

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

Epilogue

Copyright

Chapter One

THIS had to be some horribly realistic nightmare. It couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t.

Daisy closed her eyes and pinched her arm.

When it hurt, the sick feeling in her stomach intensified, and she opened her eyes again to face the facts.

Someone really had broken into the fairground museum. Several people—and pretty drunk, too, judging by the number of smashed bottles around the gallopers and the vomit sprayed nearby. Yobs who’d thought it would be a laugh to cut off the horses’ tails and spray-paint obscene graffiti along their sides. And they’d used the cafe as a coconut shy and lobbed stones through the plate glass, wrecking it.

Daisy had always been practical and could fix almost anything, but she couldn’t fix this—at least, not fast enough. No way could she open the fairground today. It would take days to sort out this mess and make it safe for children and families again.

Who on earth would do something like this? It was completely beyond her. Why would anyone want to wreck such a beautiful piece of machinery, an important piece of heritage, just for kicks?

With shaking hands, Daisy grabbed her mobile phone and called the police to report the damage.

When she’d finished, she called her uncle. She hated having to call him on his day off—the day when she was supposed to be in charge and opening up—but this had stopped being a normal Sunday. And she wasn’t the only one who had a huge stake in the museum; Bill had given it half a lifetime.

‘Bill, it’s Daisy. I’m so sorry to ring you at this time on a Sunday morning, but…’ She swallowed hard, not knowing what to say, how to tell him such awful news.

‘Daisy, are you all right? What’s happened?’

‘Vandals must’ve got in last night. I don’t know how.’ Daisy knew beyond all doubt that she’d locked up properly the night before. ‘But there’s a lot of broken glass and they’ve damaged the gallopers.’ She bit her lip. The police are on their way. We’ll have to stay closed for at least today, probably tomorrow as well.’

This would have to happen so early in the season. As they ran the museum on a shoestring, this was going to put a major hole in their budget. It could all be fixed, but it would take time, and they’d have to pay the insurance excess, which wouldn’t be small. Not to mention the missed takings until the fairground was back in action. Disappointed tourists might be put off ever coming back to the museum, and they’d tell their friends, too, who would then shelve their own planned visit. And that would hit future takings.

Without a decent amount of visitors through the gates, there wouldn’t be money for their planned restoration programme. The ride she’d managed to rescue last autumn would have another year for rust to creep through it, another year that might mean it was too late to save it. So instead of having a working set of vintage chair-o-planes that would absolutely thrill their visitors they’d be left with a heap of useless scrap metal. All that money wasted, and she’d been the one who’d stuck her neck out and persuaded Bill to buy it in the first place. So much for proving that she could take over when Bill retired in a couple of years. She’d spent money they should’ve kept as reserves in case of situations like this.

‘The police want statements from me, obviously, as I’m the one who discovered it. But they said they’d like to talk to you as well. I’m sorry, Bill.’

‘All right, love. I’m on my way,’ Bill reassured her. ‘I’ll be there in twenty minutes.’

‘Thanks. I’ll put up some signs saying we’re closed today and then start ringing round the staff. See you in a bit.’ Daisy slid the phone back into her pocket and stared at the gallopers, the Victorian roundabout that her great-grandfather had built, complete with its original fairground organ. Part of her wanted to go over to each of the mutilated horses in turn and hug them, tell them that everything was going to be OK. Stupid, she knew. Apart from anything else, it might damage any evidence the yobs had left behind. And the horses were wooden, had no feelings. But she’d grown up with them, could remember riding them as a toddler, and it felt as if someone just had smashed something from her childhood and trampled on it.

She’d spent ten years of her life helping to build this place up: ten years when she’d taken a tough course in mechanical engineering, having to justify herself to her parents, to her tutors, to the other students on the course. Ten years when she’d had to persuade people that she was doing the right thing. Half the time they’d thought they knew better, and Stuart had even made her choose between the fairground and him.

Not that it had been much of an ultimatum. Any man who wanted to change her and stop her doing what she loved wasn’t the right man for her. She knew she’d made the right choice, turning him down. The right choice for both of them. He was married with small children, now, children that he regularly brought to the fairground.

Funny how he could see what she saw in it now.

But it was too late. Even if Stu hadn’t been married, she wasn’t interested any more. When her next two boyfriends had turned out to be from the same mould as him—wanting her to change and be a girly girl instead of a skilled mechanic—she’d decided to cut her losses and concentrate on her work. At least here she’d been accepted for who she was—once she’d persuaded the older volunteers that she was a chip off her grandmother’s block. She’d proved that she could listen and work hard, and that she was good at her job.

She’d fixed the notice to the gates stating that the fairground was closed due to unavoidable circumstances and was sitting at her desk, working her way through the list of volunteers, when Bill and Nancy walked in. Bill was grim-faced.

‘I can’t believe this,’ he said when she put the phone down. ‘I’d like to get my hands on whoever did it and give them a bloody good hiding.’

‘I’d rather stake them out, smear them in jam and leave them to the wasps,’ Daisy said. ‘Or maybe use the road-roller and squish them. How could they do it? I mean, what did they get out of it?’ Her fists balled in anger and frustration. ‘I just don’t understand why anyone would do something like that.’

‘I know, love.’ Bill hugged her. ‘All that work everyone’s put in, wrecked.’

‘And all the people who were planning to come here today—they’ll be so disappointed.’ She dragged in a breath. ‘Maybe I should ring Annie.’ Her best friend was the features editor of the local newspaper. ‘She’ll know how to get it onto the radio news-desk, so it’ll save some people a wasted journey.’

‘Good idea, love,’ Nancy said.

‘I’ve been ringing round and telling everyone to stay at home today,’ Daisy explained. ‘So far, everyone’s said to call them when the police say we can start clearing up and they’ll come in and help.’

‘We’re lucky. We’ve got a good crowd.’ Bill sighed. ‘You call Annie, and Nancy and I will keep going with the volunteers’ list.’

‘I’ll put the kettle on first,’ Nancy said. ‘I know we’ve got milk in the office fridge; I’ll go and get some more later, or when they let us back in the cafe, but it’ll keep us going for now.’

Annie turned up in the middle of the police interviews with chocolate cake and a photographer. ‘Cake because it makes everyone feel better, and photographs because this is probably going to make the front page. And you’re perfect for it, Daze.’

‘You want photographs of me?’ Daisy asked, mystified. ‘Why? I mean, doesn’t the scene out there speak for itself?’

‘You know what they say—a picture paints a thousand words,’ Annie said. ‘And you’re really photogenic, Daze—plus you wear your heart on your sleeve, so everyone’s going to be able to see how upset you are. Your face will get a huge sympathy vote.’

‘I don’t want sympathy. I want my fairground back the way it should be,’ Daisy told her.

‘I know, hon, and it will be,’ Annie soothed. ‘The local radio and television will pick up on this. You can get the word out through them and the paper that you’re closed for the rest of the week, and it’ll also remind people that you’re here. With any luck, you’ll get tons more visitors than normal next weekend because they’ll want to come and rubberneck.’

Daisy grimaced. ‘Annie, that’s horrible.’

‘It’s human nature,’ Annie said. ‘You know, that policeman over there keeps giving you the eye. Give him a smile.’

‘Annie!’ Daisy looked at her best friend in disbelief. The fairground was in trouble and Annie was thinking about fixing her up with a man?

‘Daze, working here you don’t exactly get to meet many single men, let alone men below the age of fifty,’ Annie said, sounding completely unrepentant. ‘Seize the day. He’s very cute. And he’s definitely interested.’

Daisy blew out a breath. ‘Well, I’m not interested in him, thanks very much.’

‘Mind if I go and have a chat to him?’

‘Do what you like, as long as you don’t try to fix me up on a blind date with him.’ Daisy scowled. ‘Not everyone wants a life partner, you know.’

‘And you’re happy with just your cat?’ Annie asked, looking unconvinced.

‘Yes, I am. Titan’s good company and he’s not demanding.’

Annie scoffed. ‘Not demanding? This is the cat who has a plush bed in every room of your house and a taste for fresh poached salmon.’

‘OK, but he’s still not as demanding as a man would be.’ Her cat didn’t want her to change and be more feminine. He loved her for herself, not for who he wanted her to be. ‘Though he’s not very happy with me right now because I’ve locked him in my office to make sure he doesn’t get broken glass in his paws.’ She frowned. ‘Why are we talking about this? Annie, I know you’re happy with Ray—and I’m really happy for you—but I’m fine as I am, really.’

‘Hmm.’ Annie looked at her. ‘Right. I’m going to chat to that policeman, because I need some information for my copy. And while I’m gone Si’s going to take a picture of you looking distraught.’

‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea to have my picture in the paper.’

‘Tough. I’ve already cleared it with Bill. He says you’re prettier than he is, so you’re doing it.’ She smiled.

Daisy sighed. ‘You’re such a hard-nosed journo.’

‘Annie Sylvester, Super-Hack: that’s me.’ Annie gave her a hug. ‘And once the police say we can start clearing up I’ll give you a hand dealing with the glass and scrubbing all the paint off. I’ll give Ray a ring and he’ll come and muck in, too.’

‘Thanks. I owe you,’ Daisy said.

‘Course you don’t. That’s what best mates are for. You’d do the same for me.’ She paused. ‘Have you called the rest of your family yet?’

‘No.’ Daisy lifted her chin. She was perfectly capable of running her own life, and most people realised early on that she was the kind of person who fixed things efficiently and without a fuss, but her family still insisted on treating her as the baby, the one who had to be bailed out of things. It drove her crazy, even more so than their insistence that career progression and earning a good salary was more important than job satisfaction. If she called them, of course they’d come—but she’d be living up to all their prejudices. ‘Bill, Nancy and I can manage.’

‘Sometimes,’ Annie said softly, ‘you can be too proud, you know.’

‘Let’s agree to disagree.’ Daisy sighed. ‘Look, I love them, and we get on fine—most of the time. But I don’t want a lecture or an I-told-you-so speech, and that’d be the price of them helping. You know that, too. So it’s better to keep things smooth and keep them away from it.’

‘If you say so, hon. But wouldn’t it be better that they heard the news from you than saw it on the front page of the paper tomorrow morning?’

Daisy knew her best friend was right. ‘OK. I’ll talk to them tonight, I promise.’ When she’d fixed as much as she could.

The rest of the day seemed to be spent giving statements and making cups of tea while they waited for the scene-of-crime team to finish gathering evidence so they could start fixing the mess the vandals had left. By the time the light had gone, the cafe windows were boarded up temporarily, the glass had been swept up and they’d made a start on removing the graffiti.

But Monday morning brought more bad news. ‘The insurance company says we’re not covered,’ Daisy told Bill, settling on the edge of his desk. ‘Apparently vandalism’s been excluded from our policy for three years.’ She sighed. ‘It seems they changed our policy terms when Derek was ill, and nobody picked it up at the time.’ Derek was Bill’s best friend and their insurance broker.

‘So we have to pay for the damage ourselves?’

She nodded grimly. ‘They can recommend a glazier, but we’ll have to pay the full cost of repairs.’

‘And plate glass costs a fortune.’ Bill muttered a curse under his breath and shook his head. ‘I know we can’t afford not to fix the cafe, but we can’t afford to fix it, either.’

She dragged in a breath. ‘Because I talked you into buying the chair-o-planes.’

‘Love, they were a bargain, and we would’ve kicked ourselves if we’d missed the chance. It’s not that.’ Bill sighed. ‘The way the stock markets have gone, my investments are worth practically nothing now, even if I cash them in—and you know as well as I do we run this place on a shoestring. If we go to the bank and ask for a loan, they’ll laugh us out of the office because we couldn’t pay it back.’

‘Not from the museum takings,’ Daisy said. ‘But there’s my house.’ The two-up-two-down terraced house her grandmother had left her. ‘I can talk the bank into giving me a mortgage to release some of the equity.’

‘On the salary you draw from here, they wouldn’t lend you a penny.’ Bill shook his head. ‘And I wouldn’t let you get into debt for this anyway. No, love.’

‘It’s my heritage as well,’ Daisy pointed out. Her uncle had often said that she was the child he and Nancy hadn’t been able to have. ‘Your grandfather, my great-grandfather.’ She took a deep breath. She’d been thinking about Annie’s words since yesterday. Maybe her best friend was right. It had been a bit unfair of her to tell her family by text message last night and then switch her phone off so they couldn’t get hold of her. She hadn’t given them the chance to help because she hadn’t wanted to deal with the way they saw her. But maybe it was time she swallowed her pride, for the sake of the fairground. This was something she couldn’t fix on her own; they did need bailing out. ‘We could ask Dad, Ben, Ed and Mikey to help. They’d chip in, because it’s their heritage, too.’

‘No. Ben has a young family to think about, Ed and Mikey have huge mortgages and your dad’s about to retire.’ Bill sighed. ‘His investments are in the same state as mine.’

And there was still the fact that Daisy’s family saw the fairground as Bill’s whimsy, which in their view was stopping Daisy from having a proper career. Which was why she avoided talking to them about it.

Bill looked grim. ‘We’re going to have to get a backer outside the family.’

‘Who’s going to invest in a steam-fairground museum in a recession?’ Daisy asked.

‘The prices of steam engines are rocketing—no pun intended,’ Bill said, with a nod to the model of Stephenson’s Rocket on his desk. ‘So right now investors will see their money as being safer here than in shares.’

Daisy shook her head. ‘Investors always come with conditions attached. And they won’t see this the way we do, that we’re conserving our heritage. They’ll want to see big returns on their money—they’ll want a hike in entrance fees and more stuff in the shop. And what if they decide to pull out? How would we raise the money to buy out their share?’

‘I don’t know, love.’ Bill looked bleak. ‘We could sell the showman’s engine.’

It was worth a small fortune, but it was also the last engine that Bell’s had ever made, and Daisy had spent four years working on its restoration. ‘Over my dead body. There has to be another way.’

‘Short of winning the lottery, or discovering that fairy godmothers are real, I doubt it, love. We’ll have to take on a partner.’

‘Or a sponsor, perhaps.’ Daisy sighed. ‘I’ll stick the kettle on. And then we’ll work out what we can offer a sponsor, make a list of all the local businessmen and divvy up the calls between us.’ She hugged him. ‘We’ll find our silver lining.’

Felix picked the phone up without taking his eyes off the spreadsheet. ‘Gisbourne.’

‘Oh good. I’m so glad you’re there, Felix.’

Felix sighed inwardly; it served him right for not checking the caller display first. Now his sister was going to nag him instead of leaving a message on his answering machine. Which meant he couldn’t fast-forward it, or delete the message unheard and tell a white lie about his answering machine going wrong. ‘Good morning, Antonia.’

‘Mummy says you’re weaselling out of the house party this weekend.’

Typical Antonia: she always came straight to the point. ‘Sorry, sweets. Can’t make it. I’m busy at work.’

‘Come off it,’ Antonia scoffed. ‘You’re perfectly capable of going to the house party and sorting out your business stuff first thing in the morning, before anyone else in the house even thinks of getting up.’

True. But it didn’t mean that he wanted to do it.

‘Mummy really wants you there.’

‘Only because she’s lined up yet another suitable woman for me.’ Felix sighed. ‘Look, Toni, I’m not interested in getting married. I’m never getting married.’

‘Don’t try and con me that you’re not interested in women. I saw that picture of you in the gossip rags the other week, with a certain actress draped all over you. Or are you going to tell me you’re just good friends?’

‘No. It was a…’ He compressed his mouth and shook his head in irritation. ‘Toni, for pity’s sake, you’re my little sister. I am not discussing my love life with you.’

‘The lack of it, more like. Your women never last more than three dates.’ She sighed. ‘You know that Mummy just wants you to be happy. We all do.’

‘I am happy.’

‘Settled, then.’

‘I have a nice flat in Docklands and a successful business. That counts as settled in most people’s eyes.’

‘You know what I mean. Settled with someone.’

‘I’m allergic to women with wedding bells in their eyes.’ He paused. ‘I just wish our mother would get off my case.’

‘If you hadn’t got cold feet over poor Tabitha, you’d be safely married off by now and Mummy would be happy,’ Antonia pointed out.

Maybe, but Felix certainly wouldn’t have been. His marriage would have been an utter nightmare. For a moment, he wondered if he should’ve told his family the truth about Tabitha. But then they would’ve been even worse, treating him like a victim, crowding him and pitying him, and he would’ve hated that even more than he hated their constant attempts to fix him up with someone. On balance, it was better that they thought him a heart-breaker who just needed the right woman to tame him.

Except he didn’t need anyone. He was perfectly happy with his life as it was: with a job that fulfilled him, and dating women who understood right from the start that he wasn’t looking for long-term, just for fun. Because he was never, ever going to put himself in another situation like he had with his ex-fiancée. He would never let his heart be that vulnerable again. ‘Maybe,’ he said.

‘Come on, Felix. It won’t be so bad.’

Oh yes, it would be. His mother must have introduced him to every single blonde with long legs in the whole of Gloucestershire, because she thought he liked leggy blondes.

Well, he did.

He just didn’t want to get married to one. Didn’t want to get married to anyone.

‘Toni, I really am busy, so I’ll call you later, OK?’

She sighed. ‘OK. But you’d better, or I’ll ring you.’

‘Message received and understood. Bye, sweetie.’

He put the phone down and leaned back in his chair, frowning. Time to find a cast-iron excuse to avoid his parents. The sad thing was, he would’ve enjoyed a weekend in the country, had it been just the family there. He liked his parents and his sisters, and even his brothers-in-law were good company. But Sophie Gisbourne had decided that her only son needed to be married, so she always insisted that weekends at their Cotswolds estate would involve a house party. And every time she invited a ‘suitable’ woman to be his partner at dinner—with the subtext being that she would be a suitable partner for life as well.

Sometimes Felix thought that his mother had been born two hundred years too late. She would’ve made the perfect Regency mama, brokering marriage and offering advice to friends. But in this day and age it was just infuriating. He went into the small kitchen and made two mugs of coffee, adding sugar to his PA’s mug before returning to the office. ‘Here you go, Mina.’ He noticed that his PA looked uncharacteristically upset. ‘Are you OK? What’s wrong?’

Mina flapped a hand at him. ‘Don’t mind me, it’s silly.’ There were tears in her eyes. He perched on the edge of her desk. ‘Talk to me. Someone’s ill? You need time off?’

‘No, nothing like that. Mum sent me this.’ She handed him a sheet of newspaper that had clearly been folded neatly and sent through the post:

VANDALS PUT FAIRGROUND MUSEUM IN A SPIN

‘She used to take me there when I was little. It’s a really magical place.’ Mina’s mouth compressed. ‘I can’t believe vandals would wreck it like that.’

Felix skimmed down to the picture of a woman sitting on an old-fashioned fairground ride, looking heartbroken. There was something about her, something that made him want to see what she looked like when she smiled.

Which was crazy. You couldn’t make decisions on the basis of a photograph of someone you’d never met. He wasn’t that reckless.

Besides, she wasn’t his type. For the last three years he’d dated mainly tall blondes with long legs, plus the occasional redhead. But petite and brunette was definitely out: it would remind him too much of Tabitha.

But it seemed that the fairground needed rescuing. That was his speciality: rescuing businesses before they went to the wall. And this was a business with a difference, something that might give him the challenge he felt that his life had lacked lately. It wouldn’t hurt to take a look.

When he’d finished reading the article, he looked at Mina. ‘Do you know the Bells?’

She shook her head.

‘Can you get me the manager’s number?’ He smiled at her. ‘This looks as if it could be an interesting opportunity.’ And if he checked the place out for himself at the weekend, that gave him a valid excuse to avoid his mother’s latest ‘suitable women’ onslaught without hurting her feelings.

Just perfect.

Chapter Two

‘SO THAT’S us,’ Bill said with a smile. ‘Well, me, anyway. You really need to meet my number two.’

Daisy Bell: the woman from the photograph, according to the article. Deputy manager of the fairground.

Felix was annoyed with himself for being so keen to meet her. For all he knew, she could be married or involved elsewhere. And he wasn’t in the market for a relationship anyway.

But her face had haunted his dreams for the last week, and his heart rate speeded up a notch at the thought of finally meeting her.

‘She’s supposed to be here, but she’s obviously forgotten the time,’ Bill said.

How on earth could she forget a meeting that might make the difference between the museum being a going concern or heading straight for bankruptcy? This really didn’t gel with the picture of the devastated woman in the paper. Or had it been a set-up? Drag in a pretty woman with tears in her eyes to give a human dimension to the piece and the saps would be flocking here in droves, wanting to protect her and invest in the fairground…

No, he was being cynical, letting his past get in the way. William Bell seemed genuine enough. And Daisy had been dressed in trousers and a plain shirt, not a floaty dress and impractical heels. She wasn’t the frivolous, frothy type that Tabitha had been. Just because Daisy was petite and brunette, like his ex-fiancée, it didn’t mean that she shared the same personality traits: shallower than a puddle and a liar to boot.

But, now he’d started on that train of thought, he found it hard to stop. Why wasn’t she at this meeting? Maybe the fairground wasn’t really that important to her. Or maybe she didn’t pull her weight, and her uncle put family loyalty before sound business practice and let her get away with it because she batted her eyelashes at him and told him he was her favourite uncle. Well, Felix was good at pruning dead wood and giving more able people a chance to prove themselves. If he was going to invest in the museum and turn the business around, and Daisy turned out to be a liability, he’d give her her marching orders. Very, very quickly. Pretty or not.

‘It’s going to be quicker to fish her out of the workshop,’ Bill said. ‘And I can show you round a bit at the same time.’

Felix’s expectations hit a new low as they reached a single-storey building with breezeblock walls and a corrugated-iron roof. What was Daisy doing in the workshop—chatting up the mechanic when she was supposed to be working?

But as Bill opened the door Felix could hear someone singing—a female voice, giving a surprisingly good rendition of ‘I Can See Clearly Now’.

‘I thought as much,’ Bill said with a wry chuckle. ‘Her work’s going well and she’s lost track of time. You can always tell, because she sings. It’s when things go badly that she’s silent.’

‘What’s going well?’ Felix asked, mystified.

‘Work on the engine.’ Bill looked puzzled. ‘Didn’t I tell you she’s my chief mechanic as well as my number two?’

‘No.’ Felix blinked. It hadn’t been on the website, either, or in the article. ‘Mechanic?’

‘A word to the wise: she’s a bit touchy about sexism,’ Bill said. ‘And she gives as good as she gets—it comes from having three older brothers.’

‘Right.’ Felix mentally readjusted his picture of Daisy. A mechanic and a bit touchy: to him, that suggested a woman with muscles, cropped hair, probably a nose ring or a tattoo, and an attitude to go with it. But the woman in the photograph hadn’t looked like that. She hadn’t been wearing a skirt, admittedly, and her hair had been pulled back from her face, but she hadn’t looked butch.

He was definitely missing something here. But what?

When they entered the building he could see feet sticking out from under an engine, wearing Doc Martens—bright purple ones. Each one had a stylised white daisy painted on it.

His mental picture took another shift. He could hear his mother sighing and saying, ‘Most unsuitable.’

Oh, for pity’s sake. He was too old to rebel against his parents. He was thirty-four, not fourteen.

But he had a feeling that, with footwear that unusual, Daisy Bell herself would turn out to be equally unusual. And she was the first woman who’d intrigued him this much in a long, long time.

A large ginger cat was curled on top of the engine. ‘Tell her she’s got visitors, lad,’ Bill said.

To Felix’s surprise, the cat leapt down from its perch. A couple of seconds later, he heard a bang, followed by ‘Ow!’ and the singing stopped.

‘Daisy. It’s half-past ten,’ Bill called.

‘Oh, blimey. Tell me he’s not here yet and I’ve still got time to tidy up?’

There was a grating sound—something rolling over concrete, Felix guessed—and then a woman emerged from under the engine.

The woman from the photograph.

She was wearing an oversized engine-driver’s cap that covered her hair completely, an extremely shapeless and unflattering—not to mention dirty—boiler suit, and her face and hands were covered in oil. Face to face, she looked younger than he’d expected, though the newspaper report hadn’t mentioned her age. She was in her very early twenties, he’d guess: too young and inexperienced for her position as Bill’s second in command.

She couldn’t be more than five feet four.

Not blonde, and not long-legged. Completely not his type. But the second that Felix met her sea-green eyes he felt as if there was some kind of connection between them. He couldn’t define it, but it was there, zinging through him.

‘Actually, love, he was early,’ Bill said. ‘Felix, this is my niece, chief mechanic and number two here, Daisy Bell. Daisy, this is Felix Gisbourne.’

Oh, no. Why hadn’t she guessed that Bill would bring the man to meet her if she wasn’t in the office on time? And why on earth hadn’t she thought to ask someone to come and fetch her at least half an hour before Felix Gisbourne was due, so she could at least have greeted him with a handshake? Daisy wiped her hands on a rag, inspected them briefly and knew they didn’t pass muster.

‘Sorry.’ She grimaced. ‘I don’t want to cover you in oil. Better take the handshake as read.’

‘Of course.’ Felix gave her a polite nod.

He was nothing like Daisy had imagined. She’d expected someone nearing his fifties, not someone who looked as if he was around her own age, almost thirty.

And he was the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. Tall, with dark hair, fair skin, dark grey eyes and a mouth that promised sensuality—the kind of looks that made women take a second glance at an ad in a glossy magazine, even a third. He could’ve made a fortune as a model.

Maybe he had been a model at one point. He certainly knew how to dress. His suit looked as if it was made to measure; it was teamed with a white shirt, sober tie and shoes which Daisy guessed were handmade and Italian. His outfit looked as if it cost more than the salary she drew each month.

He was absolutely immaculate—flawlessly groomed, clean shaven, and those shoes were polished to a dazzle. This was a man for whom appearances really mattered. The kind of man, she thought with an inward grimace, who’d expect the women he associated with to wear designer dresses and spend hours at the hairdresser’s and beauty salon—which was so not her. She revised her earlier thought about Felix being a potential investor in the fairground. No way would a man who dressed so fastidiously muck in, in case he got his hands dirty. If he insisted on being anything more than a sleeping partner in Bell’s, it wasn’t going to work.

‘Are you all right?’ Bill asked.

‘Yes. I just hit my head when Titan smacked me in the ear.’

Felix stared at her, as if he was wondering whether he’d been transported into some strange parallel-universe. ‘The cat smacked you in the ear?’

‘It normally means he’s hungry or someone wants me,’ Daisy elaborated. ‘If I’m working on one of the engines, I don’t always hear people come in. So they tell him to fetch me. He kind of thinks he’s a dog. Or maybe a human, I’m not sure.’

A second later, the cat leapt from the engine onto her shoulder; absent-mindedly, she scratched behind his ears and he began to purr.

‘Or Captain Flint?’ Felix suggested, the corners of his mouth tilting.

Long John Silver’s parrot. Daisy’s smile was genuine for the first time. If the man had a sense of humour, it would take the edge off his pristine appearance—and it meant that maybe she could work with him. ‘I’ve been trying to teach him to talk, but I’m afraid he’s sticking with “meow” rather than “pieces of eight”.’

‘Daisy, would you show Felix round for me?’ Bill asked.

‘Course I will.’ She looked at her uncle, narrowing her eyes slightly. He really didn’t look that well. She made a mental note to have a word with Nancy and find out what Bill wasn’t telling her about his health. Maybe it was just the worry about the fairground and whether their new visitor was going to invest in them or consider a big sponsorship deal. She could identify with that; she hadn’t slept particularly well for the last few nights, either.

So she’d better put on a good show when she took Felix round the site, because she had no intention of letting her uncle down, or the part-time staff and volunteers who’d stood by them for years. If getting Felix Gisbourne to invest in them meant schmoozing, then she’d schmooze to Olympic gold medal standard.

Gently, she lifted the cat from her shoulder and set him back on the engine. ‘We’re going walkies. See you in a bit, OK?’

Titan purred.

‘I’ll bring Mr Gisbourne back to the office when I’ve shown him round, Bill.’

Bill smiled at her. ‘Thanks, love.’

When Bill had left the workshop, she turned to Felix. ‘What would you like to see first, Mr Gisbourne?’

‘Felix,’ he corrected. ‘I prefer informality.’

‘With that suit?’ She clapped a hand to her mouth in horror as soon as the words were out. So much for the promise to herself to schmooze the guy. Why had she opened her mouth? ‘Sorry. Forget I said that. Please,’ she added belatedly.

‘Whatever. Just walk me round and tell me what I’m looking at,’ Felix said.

‘OK. First off, this is a working museum, so our collection here is original rather than replica. But we believe that it’s better for them to be used than just moulder away in glass cases while people look at them and think, “So what?” We want people to enjoy them, just like they have for the last hundred or so years. To get the real experience of an old-fashioned fairground.’

‘You have rides dating from the 1800s?’ he asked, sounding surprised.

‘Yes. The gallopers date from 1895.’ She shrugged. ‘But I imagine you saw them in the paper.’

He nodded. ‘Have they found whoever did it?’

‘Not yet. Though, when they do, I’d like to have them under my command for a week,’ Daisy said.

‘So you could teach them a lesson?’

‘It depends what you mean by lesson. When I saw what they’d done, I admit I was furious. But when I’d calmed down a bit, I realised that if they’re the kind who enjoy smashing things up, it’s a fair bet they’ve grown up where nobody around them respected anything and they’ve learned to value nothing. If they worked for me, it’d give them a channel for their energy, and they might learn that they have a talent for something. It’d give them some self-respect—and that’s the first step to being able to respect others.’

‘So you’d let them off without punishment?’ Felix said.

She spread her hands. ‘Chucking kids in jail won’t solve the problem—if they’re stuck somewhere without an outlet for their energy, they’ll brood and get more resentful, and they’ll lash out as soon as they’re out again. I want to show them that there’s another way. Give them an interest and a stake in things. They’re not going to destroy something they’ve spent time building—they’ll want to protect it.’

He nodded. ‘So you see the good in people.’

His face was impassive; was he saying that was a bad thing? Maybe it was, where business was concerned. ‘Look, I’m not naïve enough to look at things through rose-coloured glasses, but seeing the good in things is a lot healthier than being cynical and believing that everyone’s out solely for what they can get.’

‘Indeed.’

‘There’s good and bad in everyone. The trick is finding how to maximise the good and minimise the bad.’ She stopped, realising that she was getting carried away. ‘Anyway, you didn’t come here to listen to me on my soapbox. You want to see what we have here.’ She took him round each ride, explaining their history as she did so. ‘All the ones before 1935 were built by our family’s firm. Though I couldn’t resist the 1950s dodgems when we had the chance to buy them.’

Felix asked lots of questions as they walked round; each one seemed to be more critical than the last. By the time they reached the last ride—Daisy’s favourite, the old switchback gondola—she’d had enough of his blatant criticism, and her intention of schmoozing him dissolved. She faced him, folding her arms. ‘You seem to have a problem with just about everything I’ve told you, and I get the impression you think that Bill and I are amateurs. Let me tell you, he’s run this place for nearly thirty years, and I’ve been working here for ten of them. He does a damn good job and you’re judging him unfairly.’

‘I’m assessing the business. It’s what I do—and I’m good at it,’ Felix replied, looking completely unfazed.

‘This is what we do, and we’re good at it,’ Daisy countered, lifting her chin and wishing that she was six inches taller and fifty pounds heavier. If she were five feet ten and hefty, maybe he’d take her seriously.

‘You might be a brilliant mechanic and understand everything to do with how the rides work and their history, but your business sense leaves a lot to be desired—and so does Bill’s. There are lots of areas where you could be making money and you’re not taking advantage of them, and you’re definitely not using your assets to their full potential. That’s why you don’t have the money to cope with any setbacks, such as the vandalism. Your margins are way too tight.’

‘This is heritage, Mr Gisbourne,’ she said frostily.

‘Felix,’ he corrected.

Daisy deliberately didn’t repeat his first name. ‘The whole point of this place, Mr Gisbourne, is to make our heritage accessible to people. There are so few of these rides left, and even fewer of them are in working order; quite a few of those here were just left to rot, and we’ve rescued them and restored them.’

‘Without enough money to run the place, you’re not going to be able to make it accessible to people or afford the restoration costs. You’ll go under. So you need to compromise.’

‘That’s why we’re looking at sponsorship deals.’ It was the whole point as to why he’d come to see them, wasn’t it? To see what they could offer him and what he could offer them?

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. ‘You’re not a woman who compromises easily, are you?’

Daisy thought of her ex-boyfriends and how the last three had tried to change her. If a man couldn’t accept her for who she was and wanted to make her into a different person, someone she wasn’t, then she wasn’t interested. And the same went for her business. If the price of his investment was changing Bell’s, making it all about the money instead of all about the heritage and fun, then she wasn’t interested. If she had to, she’d take a part-time job to earn extra cash that she could feed into the fairground, to give them a breathing space until they found a sponsor who understood where they were coming from. ‘I’m glad you realise that.’ She lifted her chin a fraction higher. ‘And don’t be fooled by my name. I’m not a delicate little flower.’

‘Daisy.’ He tipped his head on one side. ‘You’re right. “Boots” suits you better.’

‘Boots?’

He indicated her Doc Martens. ‘And then there’s the Cockney rhyming slang.’

Daisy roots: boots. She knew that. Although normally she loved puns, and adored tormenting her brothers with them, it annoyed her that Felix was being clever with her. She was about to say something tart when he spoke again.

‘Have dinner with me at my hotel tonight.’

It sounded more like an order than a request, raising her hackles higher still. Why did he want to have dinner with her anyway? Was he trying to come on to her?

‘A working dinner,’ he clarified.

She could feel the blush staining her cheeks; clearly he’d worked out what she was thinking. Well, of course he hadn’t been coming on to her. Men like Felix Gisbourne dated glamorous women who wore high heels and nail polish and earrings and expensive hairdos. He wouldn’t be interested in the likes of her.

Besides, she wasn’t interested in him as anything more than an investor. Couldn’t be. The fairground was too important.

‘Sure. I think Bill’s free, too.’

‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I was thinking just you and me. If you’ve been working as his number two for as long as he says you have, then you’ll have the answers, and I won’t have to drag him away from his family.’

Another assumption: that she didn’t have anyone in her life to be dragged away from. Then again, he was right, so there was no point in arguing; she had no plans to spend her evening with anyone other than Titan.

‘By the way,’ he added, ‘the hotel isn’t really a jeans and boiler suits place.’

For a moment, she thought about telling him to get lost. In a truly pithy manner.

But then she thought of Bill, and the people who depended on them for jobs, and forced her temper to simmer. ‘Just tell me where and when to meet you.’

‘Seven o’clock.’

He named a hotel five miles away, on the coast, the poshest one in the area; its restaurant had two Michelin stars. And it wasn’t really within cycling distance—not with a skirt on, anyway—so she’d better organise a taxi. ‘That’s fine,’ she said coolly. ‘I’ll see you at seven.’

His smile did weird things to her stomach. Oh, this was bad. She had to ignore the surge of attraction. Even if there hadn’t been a business deal in the way, they were too different for it to work, because she wasn’t suitable girlfriend-material.

‘I’ll look forward to it, Boots.’ He sketched a salute, following up with another of those devastating smiles. She’d bet he knew the effect it had on women. ‘I’ll find my own way over to Bill.’

‘I’ll take you.’

‘You’re busy. I wouldn’t want to disturb you.’

Too late. He already had disturbed her.

‘À bientôt,’ he said softly. ‘Seven o’clock. Don’t be late.’

Like she had been for their meeting this morning? That had been an aberration, she thought. As Felix Gisbourne was about to find out.

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