“You, however, my sweet darling Holly, heated my blood from the first moment I saw you.”

He cupped her face and bent down to kiss her.

Not a hard kiss. Or a hungry one. A soft, tender, loving kiss that rocked her soul.

What a fool she was. A silly fool. Didn’t she know she’d been half in love with him before she even met him? He was everything she’d ever wanted in a man. The trouble was, as perfect as he was in her eyes, in his heart of hearts, he would always belong to someone else.

Tears pricked at her eyes, bringing panic. She didn’t want him to know how she felt about him. He might use the knowledge against her. Make her do things she knew she shouldn’t do, like say yes to marrying him.

Bought: One Bride
Miranda Lee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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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

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

PROLOGUE

THE lift purred its way up to the penthouse floor, coming to a quiet halt before the door slid smoothly open, revealing a marble-floored foyer underfoot, and a breathtaking view straight ahead. Sydney Harbour on a clear summer’s day was always a sight to behold, with its sparkling blue water and picturesque surrounds, but more so from this height and this vantage point.

Richard shook his head as he walked from the lift towards the huge plate-glass window, his expression wry as he glanced over his shoulder at Reece, who’d hung back a little.

“I can see why you’ve had no trouble selling these apartments,” he remarked to his friend and business colleague. “I’ve never seen a finer view.”

Reece’s handsome face showed satisfaction as he came forward to stand at Richard’s shoulder. “I always abide by that famous old real estate saying. Position. Position. Position. Aside from being north-facing with a great view of the bridge, this point at East Balmain is just a short ferry ride from Sydney’s Central Business District, and an even shorter ride across to Darling Harbour.”

“It’s certainly a top spot, especially being near to the CBD. Which is just as well,” Richard added. “There were mutterings at the bank all last year that I’d used their money to back one too many of your projects. My new position as CEO could have been on the line if this had proved to be one big white elephant. The board were seriously worried when you wouldn’t allow investors to buy off the plan.”

Reece smiled. “Aah, but these apartments weren’t directed at investors. They were designed so that people would fall in love with at least one of them and want to live here. As well as devoting two floors to a private gym, pool, sauna and squash courts, I had each apartment individually decorated and furnished, right down to the sheets, towels and accessories. It added between one and two hundred thousand to the cost of each apartment, but it’s proved to be a most successful selling tool.”

Richard winced. Up to two hundred thousand, spent decorating each apartment. Good God.

“I’m glad you didn’t tell me that earlier. The old fogies at the bank would have had a pink fit. I might have too,” he added with a dry laugh. There were factions at the bank who didn’t approve of Richard’s promotion last year. A couple of the senior executives thought he was too young at thirty-eight to run a multibillion-dollar financial institution.

“That’s why I didn’t tell you till now,” Reece said with a wry grin. “I know when to keep a secret. But you’ve had the last laugh, dear friend,” he said, clapping Richard on the shoulder. “The building’s only been open since last October and we already have a ninety-five per cent occupancy rate. Three short months, and there’s only one penthouse left empty, along with a few apartments on the lower floors.”

“What’s wrong with the penthouse you haven’t sold?” Richard asked. “Too expensive? Wrong colour scheme?”

“Nope. It’s not on the market.”

“Aah. The developer has claimed it for himself.”

Reece’s blue eyes twinkled. “Come on. I’ll show it to you.”

“I can understand now why you’ve kept this one,” Richard said ten minutes later.

It was nothing like other city penthouses Richard had seen during his lifetime. And he’d seen quite a few. This was like a house up in the sky. A beach house, complete with garden beds, a lap pool and wide, cream-tiled terraces where you could stretch out and enjoy the view and soak up the sun.

Inside, the décor continued the promise of a relaxed, sun-filled lifestyle, with the same cream tiles on the floors throughout. The walls were painted either cream or a warm buttery colour. Most of the furniture was made of natural cane, with soft furnishings in various shades of blue. Rugs in blues and yellows gave warmth to the tiled floors.

No curtains or blinds blocked the view, though the glass doors and windows were tinted to reduce any glare. Naturally, the interior was fully air-conditioned and Reece proudly announced there was heating under the floor tiles to warm the place in the winter. Every room had a view and sliding glass doors that led out onto the terraces. A high cement wall separated the two top-floor penthouses, providing privacy and a courtyard effect to house the lap pool.

When Richard walked into the spacious master bedroom with its luxuriously large bed and built-in television screen in the wall opposite, a feeling of sheer envy consumed him.

He’d always admired Reece for his tenacity and resilience, admired how he’d picked himself up both professionally and personally a few years back and worked his way back from the brink of bankruptcy to his current position as the golden boy of Sydney’s property development business.

But he had never, ever envied him.

Till now.

Suddenly, Richard wanted this penthouse. Wanted to live in it. Wanted to come home to it every night, instead of the cold, soulless apartment he’d occupied since his wife’s death eighteen months ago. He even wanted to share it with someone, which was a surprise as well. Up till this moment, the thought of sharing his life—and his bed—with another woman had been anathema to him. He’d been in total emotional shutdown since he’d buried Joanna. Total sexual shutdown as well.

No wonder he’d been capable of putting in twenty-four-hour days at the bank. His male hormones had to be directed somewhere. It seemed, however, that his male hormones were about to emerge from their cryogenic state, for when Richard looked at the king-sized bed in front of his eyes, he didn’t envisage sleeping in it alone.

His flesh actually stirred with the mental image of himself making love to a woman on top of that blue satin quilt. No one he already knew. An attractive stranger. Brunette. Soft-eyed. Full-breasted. And very willing.

His flesh stirred even further.

“You really like this place, don’t you?” Reece said.

Richard laughed. “I didn’t think I was that obvious. But, yes, I really do. Would you consider selling it to me?”

“Nope.”

Frustration flared within Richard, alongside another surge of testosterone. “Damn it, Reece, you already own a mansion on the water just around the corner. What do you want this place for?”

“To give to you.”

“What?” Richard’s eyebrows shot ceiling-wards.

Reece smiled that disarming, charming smile of his. “Here are the keys, my friend. It’s yours.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Richard exclaimed, though his heart was hammering inside his chest. “I can’t let you do that. Hell, this place has to be worth a small fortune.”

“Five point four million the other penthouse sold for, to be precise. But this one is bigger and better. Here.” And he pressed the keys into Richard’s right hand.

“No, no. You have to let me pay for it!”

“Absolutely not. It’s all yours, in appreciation. You were there for me, Rich, when no one else was. And I’m not just talking about the money. You gave me your hand in friendship. And you had faith in my judgement. That’s worth more than all the money in the world.”

Richard didn’t know what to say. Only twice in his banking career had he made personal friends of men he’d lent money to. It was generally advised against. But he’d never had any cause to regret either decision.

Reece, of course, was always a hard man to say no to, and impossible not to like.

Mike had been a different kettle of fish entirely. As dark in looks and personality as Reece was light and bright, the young computer genius had come to the bank several years ago for backing to start his own software company. A one-time juvenile delinquent who had a permanent chip on his shoulder, Mike had no ability to sell himself at all.

But he was creatively brilliant, cripplingly honest and unashamedly ambitious. Richard had been so impressed, he’d invested his own money into Mike’s company as well as the bank’s.

Over time, Richard had found himself really liking Mike as well, despite his gruff manner. He’d persuaded Mike to go along to one of Reece’s famous parties and the three of them had soon become close friends.

Nowadays, Richard counted Reece and Mike as his best and only true friends. Other male colleagues in his life pretended friendship, but Richard knew that they had knives ready behind his back, to be used if he gave them a chance.

“You have no idea how much this means to me,” Richard said, his hand closing tightly around the keys. “But to accept a luxury penthouse as a gift—especially this one—would put me in an impossible position at the bank. My enemies would have a field day. There’d be all sorts of rumours about corruption and paybacks and Lord knows what else. You must let me pay for it.”

“You and that bloody bank and those pompous pricks you work with!”

Richard laughed. “Yes, I know, but it’s my bloody bank now and I’d like to keep it that way. I’ll give you the proper market value. What would that be? Six million?”

“Probably.” Reece sighed. “Very well. Six million.”

“Look, it’s not as though I can’t afford it,” Richard pointed out. “I made a packet out of the house at Palm Beach I bought.” And which he’d sold a week after Joanna’s funeral.

Richard didn’t add that in the eighteen months since Joanna’s death, he’d also tripled his personal fortune in the stock market. Amazing what profits could be made when you were uncaring of the risks you were taking.

He could retire right now on his portfolio of property and shares.

But of course he wouldn’t. He enjoyed the cut and thrust of the financial world; enjoyed the power of his new position, and the prestige that went with it.

Richard wondered momentarily what Joanna would have made of his success, if she’d still been alive. She would have liked the money, and the social life his new job required of him. But would it have kept her solely in his bed?

Richard doubted it. Any woman who took a lover within two years of her marriage had to be unfaithful by nature.

If it hadn’t been for the autopsy report, he would never have known the awful truth about the woman he loved. He’d questioned the coroner at length about the age of the child Joanna had been carrying when the car accident had claimed her life, but he’d been told there was no mistake. Six weeks, give or take a few days.

Richard had been overseas on business for over a month surrounding the time of conception.

The child was not his.

Richard’s hand closed even more tightly around the keys. He’d wanted a child with her so much. But Joanna had kept putting him off, saying she wasn’t ready for dirty nappies and sleepless nights.

The thing that tormented him the most—now that he could bear to think about it—was the way she’d greeted him when he’d returned home that last time. As if she’d truly loved him. As if she’d missed him so much. She hadn’t been able to get enough of him in bed, when all the while she’d been carrying another man’s child.

Clearly, she’d been going to pass the baby off as his.

What kind of woman could do that?

Richard had buried both of them with a broken heart, then buried himself in his career.

They said time healed everything. Perhaps so. But Richard knew his life would never be the same, post-Joanna. He could never fall in love again for starters. That part of him had died with her.

But he didn’t want to continue living alone.

And he still wanted a child.

It was definitely time to move on. Time to find himself a new wife, the way Reece had found Alanna after his fiancée had dumped him.

“You have that look on your face,” Reece said, breaking the silence in the bedroom.

“What look is that?”

“The one you get when you’re about to ask me endless questions, usually on the new project I’ve just come to you with.”

The corner of Richard’s mouth twitched. “You’re a remarkably intuitive man. I do have some questions for you. And, yes, it’s about a project of yours. But not a new one. One you completed last year. Shall we go out onto the terrace and sit down?”

“I’ve never known you to be so mysterious,” he said as he followed Richard through the sliding glass doors out into the sunshine.

Richard pulled out one of the chairs of the nearest outdoor setting and sat down. There were several arrangements dotted around the various terraces. This was made in cream aluminium, with a glass-topped table and pale blue, all-weather cushions on the chairs.

Richard waited till Reece was settled opposite him before he spoke.

“I’ve decided I want to get married again,” he began.

“But that’s great!” his friend proclaimed. “I didn’t realise you were seeing someone.”

“I’m not. But I hope to be soon, once you put me in touch with the woman who runs Wives Wanted.”

Reece’s mouth dropped open before snapping shut again. “But you didn’t approve when I told you about that.”

“I was surprised, that’s all.” A reasonable reaction, in Richard’s opinion. Reece was not the sort of man one would ever imagine using an introduction agency. His confession to his best man and groomsman just before his wedding last year that he’d found his beautiful new bride via an internet website had come as a shock.

The agency was called Wives Wanted, its aim being to match professional men with the kind of women lots of them wanted to marry, especially those of the “once bitten, twice shy” brigade. Apparently, its database was chock-full of attractive women who were only interested in one career. Marriage. Women whose priority was not necessarily romantic love, but security and commitment.

A lot of them had had previous marriages, or relationships, that had failed to deliver what they wanted in life. Some were currently career girls, but were prepared to relegate their careers to the back seat, for the right man.

“It was Mike who didn’t approve,” Richard pointed out. “But don’t forget, he hadn’t met Alanna at that stage.”

Thankfully, Richard had stopped Mike from repeating to Reece at the reception that he thought all women who put themselves out like that were nothing but cold-blooded gold-diggers, looking for a gravy train to ride. He’d voiced that opinion to Richard, however. More than once.

But no one who got to know Reece’s wife would believe such a thing of her.

Richard had initially been stunned when Reece had confessed that he’d found his lovely Alanna through this agency. He’d presumed Reece had met her socially. After all, he had a very active social life. A man of his looks and position could have had his pick of women.

When Richard had asked him outright at the wedding reception why he’d gone to an introduction agency, Reece’s reply had been very to the point, and extremely pragmatic.

“It was a question of time. I wanted a wife and a family, but I didn’t want to be bothered with a traditional courtship. Far too lengthy a process. Whenever I want a property with certain requirements, I get my PA to narrow the field down for me before I look personally. I approached finding a wife the same way. I gave Wives Wanted a list of my requirements and they selected several suitable candidates for me to view via the internet. I chose three who appealed to me. I only had to date each one once and I knew straight away which girl I would marry.”

Richard recalled naïvely asking Reece if it was a case of love at first sight, at which Mike had laughed.

“Reece isn’t interested in love any more,” Mike had drily informed him. “Not after that other bitch did the dirty on him. Isn’t that right, Reece?”

Reece had confirmed that love certainly hadn’t come into the equation, on either side, although he claimed he wouldn’t have married Alanna without some sexual chemistry between them.

Some sexual chemistry?

Richard still considered this a rather outrageous understatement. He’d had several opportunities to observe Reece and Alanna together, both before and after their wedding. To his eyes, the sexual chemistry between them was quite electric, especially on Reece’s part.

Richard had noted at a recent dinner party he’d attended at the Diamonds’ place that Reece had spent an inordinate amount of time watching his beautiful wife talking to the male guest sitting next to her.

Admittedly, Alanna had looked extra stunning that night in a clinging white satin gown that made the most of her physical assets. There hadn’t been a man sitting at that table who hadn’t found his eyes coming back to her all the time, himself included.

Richard thought it was just as well that ethereal-looking blondes with porcelain skin, pale green eyes and tall, willowy figures didn’t overly stir his male hormones. He preferred the more earthy kind of women, with stronger colouring and lush bodies.

Joanna had had black hair, black eyes and a voluptuous figure.

Not that Richard wanted to marry some clone of Joanna. Hell, no. He wanted the second Mrs Richard Crawford to be as far removed from the first as a woman could be. In personality and character, that was. Physically, he’d always been attracted to brunettes with curves. He knew, when he eventually studied the Wives Wanted database, he wouldn’t be selecting any skinny blondes.

“Are you absolutely sure about this?” Reece asked him.

“Absolutely.”

“I presume you’re not looking for love, then.”

“You presume correctly.”

“You want a marriage of convenience. Like mine.”

“Yes.”

Reece frowned. “I’m not sure you’re cut out for a relationship like that, Rich. You’re a bit of a romantic at heart.”

“Not any more, I’m not.”

Richard wished he hadn’t sounded quite so bitter. Reece looked startled. As well he might. Reece knew nothing about Joanna’s betrayal. Men, even the closest of friends, didn’t tell each other things like that.

“I’ve made up my mind about this,” Richard stated firmly.

“Can I ask why?” Reece probed.

“It’s not rocket science, my friend. Just the need for companionship. And some regular sex.”

“You could get that from a girlfriend.”

“I don’t want a girlfriend. I want a wife.”

“Aah, I get the picture. It’s because of the bank. Your position as CEO would be consolidated if you were married.”

Now it was Richard’s turn to be startled. “It has nothing whatsoever to do with the bank. I simply want to be married. I want what you’ve got, Reece. A good-looking woman who’s happy to be my wife, and to have my child.”

“I didn’t realise you wanted a family.”

“Why on earth would you think that?”

Reece shrugged. “You were married to Joanna for two years, more than enough time to have a baby.”

“That was not my doing,” Richard informed his friend, doing his best not to sound cold.

Reece still frowned. “I thought you were happy with Joanna…”

“I was,” he said truthfully enough. His unhappiness hadn’t begun till after she’d died. “I was mad about her. But she’s gone, and I’m here and I’m lonely, all right? I want a woman in my life. What I don’t want, however, is romance. I’ve been there, done that.”

Reece nodded. “Yes, I can understand where you’re coming from.”

“You should. I know how you felt about Kristine. Which is why you went to Wives Wanted in the first place. Because you were still in love with her.”

“The way you still are with Joanna.”

Richard didn’t deny it. If he had, he might have had to explain.

“Now that that’s all settled, I’m going back inside to have another look at my fabulous new penthouse,” he said, scraping back his chair and standing up. “Which reminds me. Can I move in before contracts are exchanged?”

“Move in today, if you like.”

Richard was not an impulsive man by nature but, today, things were a-changing. “You know what? I think I will.”

CHAPTER ONE

HOLLY glared for the umpteenth time at the FOR SALE sign that had been taped on the shop window less than half an hour earlier. Fury and indignation warred inside her swirling stomach and whirling head.

How dared her stepmother do this? How dared she?

A Flower A Day was at least half hers by rights. She should have been consulted. Should have been considered.

But any consideration for her feelings had clearly ended with her father’s death. Any hope of his beloved business one day being hers had died with him.

She’d been stupid to stay on. Especially stupid to work for such a pathetic salary, considering she managed the shop now, and did the books as well. Every Sunday, no less. Her day off!

Heck, Sara took home almost as much money as she did. And Sara only worked from Wednesday till Saturday as a casual. Sure, Sara was an excellent florist with loads of experience but Holly was every bit as experienced. She might only be twenty-six but she’d been working with flowers all her life. Her dad had started training her to be a florist when she’d been knee-high to a grasshopper. She’d joined him in the shop soon after her fifteenth birthday.

Holly’s heart twisted as she remembered how happy they’d been back then. Just her and her dad.

And then Connie had come along.

Holly hadn’t realised till after her dad had died two years back what kind of woman her stepmother was. Connie had been very clever during the eight years she’d been the second Mrs Greenaway.

But Holly had certainly known within weeks of her dad marrying the attractive divorcee that her stepsister was a nasty piece of work. Jealous, spiteful and devious. Unfortunately, Katie had been equally clever with her new stepfather as his new wife had.

Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth around him.

Holly bitterly resented the money Connie and Katie had wheedled out of her dad. Only the fact that he’d seemed happy had made her stay silent over the vicious things Katie had said to her in private.

Of course, after her dad had died, all gloves had been off. Connie had begun showing her true colours and Katie…well, Katie had gone from bad to worse.

Holly knew she should have moved out of their lives altogether right then and there, but she just couldn’t bear to part company with her dad’s flower shop. She still felt close to him there. So she’d moved into the flat above the shop and set about getting A Flower A Day back on track.

Business had fallen right off after her father’s stroke, Holly having been so upset that she’d had to close the shop for a while. It had taken over a year to get all his old clients back and to start making a profit. Not that A Flower A Day would ever be a great money-making concern. Strip shopping wasn’t very successful these days. The malls had taken over.

The shop and the flat, however, were still worth good money, despite being ancient and not in the best of condition. Probably over a million. More if someone bought it as a business, along with the goodwill.

Holly glowered at the FOR SALE sign one more time. She’d been crazy to work so hard for so little when she’d known, deep down, that the only ones who would reap the rewards were Connie and the obnoxious Katie. Unfortunately, her father had left his wife everything in his will, made soon after they’d been married when Holly had only been sixteen. He’d relied on Connie to look after his daughter. But the merry widow had had other plans.

So had her rotten daughter…

But Holly didn’t want to think about that. She’d thought about what had happened over Christmas far too much already.

If Dave had really loved her, Katie would not have been able to steal him. But she had. She was even going to marry him. That should have been the final straw for Holly but, strangely enough, it hadn’t been.

The final straw was that FOR SALE sign.

Holly decided then and there that she’d played Cinderella long enough. The time had come for some major changes and major decisions. She knew she’d be very sad to walk away from her dad’s pride and joy, but it had to be done. Because it wasn’t going to be her pride and joy for much longer. It would soon belong to someone else.

“I’m just ducking down to the station, Sara,” she said crisply. “I need this morning’s Herald.”

Sara glanced up from where she was finishing an exquisite table setting of pink carnations. It was for a local lady who was a pink addict.

“Looking for a new job?” Sara said.

“Absolutely.”

“About time,” Sara muttered.

A very attractive redhead in her midthirties, Sara had seen plenty of living and did not suffer fools gladly. She’d long expressed the opinion that Holly should strike out on her own.

“You’re right,” Holly agreed. “I’ll be looking for a new place to live as well.”

Sydney’s Saturday morning Herald was always chock-full of job and flat-share advertisements. Holly had actually looked before; a few weeks ago, after Dave had left her for Katie. She just hadn’t had the courage at that stage to totally change her life, and to leave everything that was so familiar to her.

But she’d found the courage now.

Sara smiled her approval. “Atta girl. And don’t you go worrying about me. As soon as you’re out of here, so am I. I wouldn’t work for that cow Connie if this was the last flower shop in Sydney.”

“She is a cow, isn’t she?”

“Of the highest order. And so’s the daughter. For what it’s worth, Katie deserves Dave. I was pleased as Punch the day you got rid of him.”

“Er…he dumped me, Sara.”

“Only good thing he ever did for you. Now you can find yourself a really nice bloke, someone who’ll appreciate your qualities.”

“Thanks for the compliment, Sara, but really nice blokes are hard to find. They certainly haven’t been thick on the ground in my life. Dave’s not the first loser boyfriend I’ve had. I seem to attract the fickle, faithless type.”

“Go get yourself a job in the city, love. Where the suits are.”

“Suits?”

“You know. Men in suits. Executive types. I used to work at a flower stall in Market Place. There was an endless parade of male eye candy walking by there, I can tell you. Talk about yummy.”

“Yes, but does wearing a suit to work equate with being a nice bloke?”

“Nope. But it often equates with money. Might as well fall for a rich guy as a poor guy.”

“You didn’t.” Sara was married to a man who worked on the railways.

“Yes, well, I’m a romantic fool.”

“I’m a romantic fool as well.”

Sara pulled a face. “Yeah. Most of us girls are. Oh well, you’d better go get that Herald before they’re all gone.”

Holly bought the last paper in the newsagent’s and hurried back to study the classifieds between customers, but the news was disappointing. There weren’t very many jobs for florists advertised that weekend. And only two in the city. As for sharing a flat…

The reality of moving in with strangers after living on her own for two years made Holly shudder. Yet she couldn’t afford to rent somewhere decent by herself, not unless her salary was pretty good. She certainly couldn’t afford to buy a place. She had some savings but not much. A couple of thousand. Having Dave as a boyfriend had not been cheap. She’d ended up paying for most things, his excuse being he was saving up for their future together.

Like, how gullible could a girl get?

Facing her shortcomings was not a pleasant experience. But by the time Sara left to go home at four o’clock and Holly began closing up the shop, she’d come to terms with her own pathetic performance as a supposedly adult woman. She had no one to blame but herself if her life was a shambles. She’d taken the line of least resistance and allowed people to walk all over her.

But no more. Come Monday morning she would get in contact with one of the many services who did professional résumés. She’d never had to apply for a job before but she knew you had to present yourself well. Then she would apply for those two jobs in the city. Sara was right. The city was the way to go.

But she wasn’t going to fall into the trap of accepting any job that paid poorly. She would need a good salary if she wanted to keep living by herself.

She didn’t have to rush. Businesses like A Flower A Day did not sell overnight. She probably had a couple of months at least to make her plans and execute them.

Meanwhile, she wasn’t going to breathe a word to Connie. And she would stash away every cent she could.

The sight of a huge bunch of red roses sitting in a bucket in the corner brought Holly up with a jolt. It was a phone order she had taken yesterday afternoon. Not one of her usual clients. A man, who’d promised to pick them up by noon today.

With a sigh, she checked her records, found his name and number, and rang.

An answering machine. Botheration. She hated answering machines.

After leaving a message saying she’d cancelled the order, Holly hung up with a sigh.

What a waste. Such lovely red roses. Expensive, too. He hadn’t wanted buds, but open flowers. They wouldn’t last more than a few days. Impossible to sell them to anyone else.

And then an idea came to her.

Mrs Crawford. She absolutely loved roses, and she wasn’t due to leave on her overseas jaunt till the end of next week. Holly could call them a going-away gift. Plus a thank you for all the times she’d dropped into the shop for a chat and a cuppa.

Nice woman, Mrs Crawford.

If Holly’s thoughts drifted momentarily to Richard Crawford, she didn’t allow them to linger. Yet there was a time when she’d thought about Mrs Crawford’s precious only son quite a bit. She’d even woven wild fantasies around him, about their meeting one day and his being bowled over by her.

Sara was right. Most women were romantic fools!

Flicking her address book over to the Cs, she checked Mrs Crawford’s number and rang to make sure she’d be there.

Engaged.

Oh, well, at least she was home.

Holly bent to scoop the roses out of the bucket, wrapped them in some silver paper and tied them with a red bow the same colour as the blooms. She would walk up to Mrs Crawford’s house and give them to her personally. It wasn’t far and the day was still pleasantly warm. The sun didn’t set till late and it was only four-fifteen.

When Holly set out, it never occurred to her that Richard Crawford might be at his mother’s house, even if it was the weekend. Mrs Crawford had told her just the other day that she rarely saw her son any more. Apparently, he’d been promoted to CEO at his bank—the youngest ever!—and was more of a workaholic than ever.

Holly took her time, strolling rather than striding out, enjoying the fresh air and mentally running through her list of things to do in the coming weeks.

Number one. Find a job, preferably in the city.

Number two. Find a flat, preferably near the city.

Number three. Find herself a nice bloke. Preferably one who wore a suit and worked in the city.

Holly pulled a face, then struck number three off her list. That could definitely wait a while.

Regardless of how much of a two-timing rat Dave had turned out to be, he’d still been her boyfriend for over a year and she’d thought she loved him. Had thought he loved her as well. He’d said he did often enough.

Dave’s dumping her for Katie had really hurt. Holly’s self-esteem was still seriously bruised and she simply wasn’t ready to launch herself back into the dating scene.

No, she would concentrate on the two things she could manage. A new job and a new place to live.

Finding a new boyfriend was not on her agenda, not for quite some time.

CHAPTER TWO

“I’M GOING now.”

Richard looked up from his laptop, taking a few moments to focus on his mother, who was standing in the study doorway.

“You’re looking very smart,” he said.

“Thank you,” she returned, her hand lifting to lightly touch her exquisitely groomed blonde hair. “Nice of you to notice.”

Richard had noticed more than her new hair. She was a totally different woman today, all due to Melvin’s arrival in her life, no doubt.

“I’m sorry I’m going out, Richard. But you could have warned me you were dropping by. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of you for weeks.”

“I’ve been exceptionally busy,” he said, and let her think he meant at the bank.

In reality, he’d been busy, wining and dining his five final selections from Wives Wanted. So far he’d taken out four of them. The first three, on successive Saturday nights. Number four, however, hadn’t been able to make it tonight, so he’d taken her out last night.

The evening had proved as disappointing as the three previous dinner dates.

Richard had been going to go into work today—he often worked on a Saturday—but he’d decided at the last moment, and in a spirit of total exasperation, to come and tell his mother about his quest for a new wife via Wives Wanted. He hadn’t wanted to discuss his lack of success so far with Reece, and certainly not with Mike, who knew nothing of his wife-finding endeavours. Richard had even brought his laptop with him to show his mother the Wives Wanted database.

But when he’d arrived she’d been so excited about her own date with Melvin that Richard had abandoned that idea.

And now he was glad he had. Because she would never understand why he wanted a marriage of convenience. Not unless he told her the truth about Joanna. And he refused to bare his soul like that.

“I won’t be back till late,” she said. “We’re going to the theatre after dinner. But there’s pizza in the freezer. And a nice bottle of wine in the door of the fridge.”

“Watch it, Mum. You’re in danger of becoming a party girl.”

Her face visibly stiffened. “And what if I am?” she snapped. “I think it’s about time, don’t you?”

Richard was startled by her reaction. Did she think he was criticising her?

Possibly. His father had been a critical bastard. He didn’t know how his mother had stood being married to him. It had been bad enough being his son. Richard had learned to survive by excelling in all his endeavours. Difficult for a father to find fault when his son came first at everything.

After his father had died several years back, Richard had expected his mother to marry again. She’d only been in her late fifties at the time. And she was a good-looking woman. Reginald Crawford wouldn’t have married any other kind.

But she hadn’t married again. She’d lived a very quiet life, playing bowls once a week on ladies day, and bridge on a Tuesday night. Mostly, she stayed at home where she looked after her garden, watched TV and read. Then suddenly, at sixty-five, the travel bug had hit.

Not wanting to explore the world alone, she’d placed an ad on the community bulletin board at the local library for a travelling companion. Melvin had applied a fortnight ago and was found to be very agreeable. A retired surgeon, he was a widower as well. Not a man to let grass grow under his feet, Melvin had already organised their world trip to start this coming Friday.

“I wasn’t being critical, Mum,” Richard said carefully. “I think what you’re doing is fabulous.”

“You mean that, Richard? You don’t think I’m being foolish?”

“Not at all. But I would like to meet Melvin personally before you leave.”

“Check up on him, you mean.”

“You are quite a wealthy widow, Mum,” he pointed out. “And I’m your only son. I have to keep an eye on my future inheritance, you know.”

This was a load of garbage and his mother knew it. Richard had made more money during his relatively short banking career than his father had in forty years of accounting. Reginald Crawford had always been too conservative with his own investments. He gave excellent advice to his clients but couldn’t seem to transfer that to his own portfolio.

Still, by the time he’d dropped dead of a heart attack at the age of seventy, he’d been able to leave his wife their Strathfield home, mortgage-free, along with a superannuation policy that would keep her in comfort till her own death. Which hopefully wouldn’t be for many years to come.

“You don’t have to worry, Richard,” she said airily. “Melvin is wealthy in his own right. Far wealthier than me. You should see his home. It’s magnificent.”

“I’d like to. So how old, exactly, is Melvin, by the way?”

“Sixty-six.”

Only one year older than his mother. A good match. Better than with his father, who’d been twelve years older.

“He sounds great. Better not keep him waiting, then. See you in the morning. Have fun,” he called after her as she headed for the front door.

He wasn’t sure if he heard right, but he was pretty sure she’d muttered, “I intend to.”

The front door banged shut, leaving Richard to an empty house, but not an empty mind.

Sixty-six, he mused. Was a man past it at sixty-six?

He doubted it.

One thing he knew for sure. A man wasn’t past it at thirty-eight.

Ignoring his growing sexual frustration was proving difficult. His male hormones, now directed where they normally went, had been giving him hassle. Yet there was no hope for them in sight.

It had been six weeks since Reece had put him in touch with the woman who ran Wives Wanted, a striking-looking but tough lady named Natalie Fairlane. Six weeks, and he wasn’t any closer to finding a woman he wanted to continue dating, with a view to matrimony.

He returned to his laptop and brought up the photo of his fifth selection. Another brunette. She was as beautiful on the screen as the other four had been. But not one of them had had any effect on him in the flesh.

There’d been no chemistry, as Reece would have put it.

They’d all been far too eager to please him as well. He’d seen the lack of sincerity in their eyes. In a couple of them, he’d sensed downright greed. They’d chosen the most expensive food on the menu, and the most expensive wine.

That had been one of his little tests. Letting them choose the wine, of which he never drank much. No way did he want any decision he made influenced by being intoxicated. By the end of dinner, every one of the four had made it obvious they would be only too happy to accompany him home to bed.

Richard didn’t think he was that irresistible to women.

He was a good-looking enough man. Tall and well built with strong, masculine features. His steely grey eyes, however, were on the hard side, he’d been told, and his manner was formidable.

Forbidding was the word one female employee had called him.

He supposed his approachability was not helped by his manner of dress, which could only be described as ultra conservative. The board at the bank preferred their CEO to look dignified, rather than sexy. The mainly pinstriped suits he wore were expensive, but not trendy. His dark brown hair was kept short. He shaved twice a day when necessary, and his after-shave was discreet. His only jewellery was a gold Rolex watch.

Women did not throw themselves at him as they did at Reece, or even at Mike, whose long-haired bad-boy image seemed to attract a certain type of lady. Probably the ones who liked to live dangerously.

No, Richard didn’t think it was his natural sex appeal that had made his dates salivate by the end of each dinner. More likely the unlimited limit on his credit card.

So he’d sent each of them home in a taxi afterwards and returned home alone, where he’d filled in the questionnaire required after each date, ticking the box that said he didn’t want to see the lady again and emailing it to Natalie Fairlane.

That was another of Wives Wanted’s hard and fast rules. If either person didn’t want to see the other again, that was it. Finis. If the female attempted further contact they were struck off the database. If it was the male doing the harassing, he was no longer a client of Wives Wanted.

No doubt this system was much better than going through a normal introduction agency or internet dating service. For one thing, the weirdos were weeded out. Richard knew he’d been put through an extensive background check before being accepted as a client. Ms Fairlane had informed him of this necessary procedure during his personal interview, at the same time assuring him that every girl on the database had been through the same security check, and was exactly what she purported to be.

Physically, at least, that was true. Each girl he’d dated had been as beautiful as they were in their photos.

But more and more Richard was beginning to think Mike was right. Most of these women were gold-diggers. Maybe Reece had just been damned lucky with Alanna.

But, having paid his money, he was determined to see the list through before giving up on the idea. He was planning to contact his fifth choice on the list when the front doorbell rang.

“Who on earth?” he muttered, standing up and making his way across the study and into the main hallway.

The Crawford family home was not a mansion, but it was spacious and solid, with the kind of character associated with houses built in Sydney’s better suburbs in the nineteen thirties. Tall ceilings, decorative cornices, wide verandas, and wonderful stained-glass panels on either side of the front door.

As Richard strode towards the door the sunshine filtered through those panels, making coloured patterns on the polished wooden floor, then on the pale grey trousers he was wearing.

Wrenching the door open, the first thing he saw was a huge bunch of red roses. Followed by a face peeping around them.

A female face.

“Oh,” the owner of the face exclaimed, her big brown eyes widening. “I wasn’t expecting… I didn’t realise…” She grimaced, then drew herself up straight, holding the roses at her waist, a bit like a nervous bride. “Sorry. I don’t usually babble. Is Mrs Crawford home?”

“I’m afraid not,” Richard replied, whilst thinking to himself that he already liked this girl much better than any on that damned database.

Yet she wasn’t nearly as beautiful. Or as well groomed.

Her long dark brown hair was somewhat wind-blown. And there wasn’t a scrap of make-up on her oval-shaped face. Her outfit of a wraparound floral skirt and simple blue T-shirt shouted department-store wear, not designer label.

But, for all that, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“My mother’s gone out for the day,” he heard himself say whilst his hormone-sharpened gaze took in her ringless left hand.

Not that that meant much. She could still be living with someone, or be dating some commitment-phobic fool who hadn’t snapped her up off the single shelf. That was one thing each of his Saturday night dates had bewailed over the dinner table. How many men these days didn’t want to become husbands and fathers.

“She won’t be back till very late tonight,” he added. “Can I help you perhaps? I’m her son. Richard.”

“Yes, I know that,” she said, then looked flustered by her admission.

“In that case, you have the advantage on me,” he replied smoothly. “Have we met before?” He knew damned well they hadn’t. He would have remembered.

“No. Not really. I mean, I saw you at your wife’s funeral. I…um…I did the flowers.”

She seemed embarrassed at having to mention the occasion. On his part, Richard was pleased that he could be reminded of that day without too much pain.

Yes, he was definitely ready to move on.

“I see,” he said as he wondered how old she might be. Late twenties perhaps?

“Please forgive me if I say I don’t recall noticing the flowers that day,” he said ruefully. “But I’m sure they were lovely. I presume these are for my mother?” he said, nodding towards the roses she was holding. Probably from crafty old Melvin.

“Yes. It’s a phone order which was never picked up today. I know how much Mrs Crawford likes flowers—roses particularly—and I thought she might like them. I realise she’s going away next Friday but they won’t last that long.”

“You know about Mum’s trip?”

“Yes, she…um…told me about it herself last week. And about her new doctor friend. Melvin, isn’t it? It’s a pity, really. If she’d still been looking for a travelling companion, I might have applied for the job myself.”

Richard was taken aback. “Why on earth would a girl like you want to travel anywhere with a woman old enough to be her grandmother?”

She shrugged. “Just to escape, I guess.”

If she’d said to travel the world on the cheap, Richard might have understood. But to escape screamed something much more emotional. So did the bleakness that had suddenly filled her big brown eyes.

“Escape from what?” he probed gently. “Are you in some kind of trouble? Man trouble perhaps?”

She wasn’t a raving beauty but, the more Richard looked at her, the more attractive he found her. She had lovely eyes, a sexy mouth and a fabulous figure.

He fancied her. Other men would, too.

She shook her head. “No, no, nothing like that. Here. Give these to your mother when she gets home, will you? Tell her they’re from Holly. Just say they’re a little thank-you present for all the times she’s dropped in at the shop for a chat. She’s a really sweet lady, your mum.”

Richard refused to take the flowers. “Why don’t you come inside and arrange them in a vase for her?” he suggested before she could cut and run. Any girl who wanted to get away that badly sounded like a girl who wasn’t very happy with her life at the moment. If she did have a boyfriend, he sure as hell wasn’t doing the right thing by her.

She blinked, then stared at him.

Richard had no idea what she was thinking, which in itself was as intriguing and attractive as she was. He’d been able to read those women he’d taken to dinner like an open book.

“Look,” he said with what he hoped wasn’t a “big bad wolf” smile. “I have absolutely no talent with flower arranging, whereas you’d have to be an expert. So what do you say, Holly? You do the flowers and I’ll make us both some coffee. I’m good at coffee.”

She still hesitated, making Richard wonder if he was easier to read than she was. Maybe she could see his intentions in his eyes. Not that they were evil intentions. He just wanted the opportunity to learn a bit more about her. He wasn’t planning to seduce her.

Not yet, anyway.

“Who knows?” he said lightly. “Maybe Melvin will prove to be an utter bore and Mum will come home early, still looking for that travelling companion.”

She laughed. “I don’t think there’s much chance of that happening, and you know it. You’re just being nice, like your mum.”

Nice. She thought he was being nice.

Richard’s conscience stirred. But he swiftly put aside any qualms.

Faint heart never won fair lady.

“We will adjourn to the kitchen,” he said before she had time to think up some excuse to flee. “This way.” And taking her arm, he ushered her inside.

CHAPTER THREE

“I’LL JUST get you some scissors from Dad’s study first,” Richard said as he closed the door behind them.

When he abandoned Holly’s elbow to walk up the hallway into a room on the right, a small shudder of relief rippled through her.

Having Richard Crawford answer the doorbell had been a real shock. She’d been expecting his mother.

But there he’d been, as large as life, and more handsome than ever, even more so than eighteen months earlier, when she’d first seen him. Gone were the dark rings under his eyes and that pale, haunted expression.

How wicked Holly had felt, finding him so attractive at his wife’s funeral. The man had been in deep mourning, for pity’s sake, shattered by the tragic death of the beautiful woman he’d married two years before. She knew from Mrs Crawford how much her son had adored his beautiful Joanna.

But all Holly had been able to think of whenever she’d snuck a peek at Richard Crawford that day was how impressive he looked in black. Her eyes had returned repeatedly to him during the service. She’d even envied his dead wife for at least having known the love of a man like that. Holly had been feeling extra lonely and vulnerable at the time, her father having passed away only a few months earlier.

For several weeks afterwards, she’d dreamt up all sorts of romantic scenarios where the handsome widower and herself would meet. But, strangely, not one had involved his being home, alone, when she delivered flowers to his mother’s house. Neither did any scenario anticipate how intimidating she might actually find him in the flesh.

Intimidating. But still disturbingly sexy.

When he’d taken her arm just now, she’d felt almost paralysed by his touch, and his commanding physical presence.

Richard Crawford was a big man. Very tall and broad-shouldered, with large hands and firm fingers, and a manner to match.

She was grateful not to be in his presence at the moment. It gave her time to regather her composure.

But he’d be back any moment.

When he didn’t return after a couple of excruciatingly long minutes, an agitated Holly tiptoed along the floral carpet runner till she could see into the room he’d entered.

His father’s study, he’d said it was.

The room resembled more of an English gentleman’s club than a study, with wood panelled walls, rich maroon velvet curtains and large leather armchairs. The desk Richard Crawford was rummaging through was a huge mahogany antique, which looked at odds with the very modern laptop sitting down one end.

Which was plugged in and on, she noted.

That explained the engaged signal when she’d telephoned. He’d been working. His mother said he’d become a workaholic.

But what was he doing here when Mrs Crawford was out? And why was he dressed the way he was, in smart grey trousers and a crisp blue business shirt? Add a tie and jacket, he’d be ready for the office.

Not many Australian men would be dressed as he was on a summer Saturday afternoon. Most would be lounging around in shorts and thongs.

Dave would have.

“Shouldn’t be much longer,” he said with a quick, upwards glance at her from under his darkly beetled brows. “I know they’re here somewhere.”

“That’s all right,” she replied. “Take your time.”

He smiled at her. Not a wide, warm, infectious grin that had been Dave’s trademark. A rather restrained smile.

Richard Crawford was different from Dave all round.

Of course, he came from a different world from Dave. A more cultured, educated world. And he was a lot older. In his late thirties at least.

Holly frowned at this last thought. Normally, she wouldn’t look twice at any man his age. She was only twenty-six. All her boyfriends to date had always been around her own age, give or take a year.

Dave, the rat, had been exactly the same age.

Holly’s thoughts turned bitter as they always did when she thought of Dave. Her only comfort was her recent realisation that she hadn’t been truly in love with the creep. She’d just been fooled by his flattering ways. He was a charmer, was Dave.

A sales rep for a company that made cheap cards, he’d talked her into stocking his entire range within five minutes of walking into the shop. Talked himself into her life and her bed a week later.

Not that he was all that good in bed. But then, neither was she.

Dave had insisted she was, of course. He’d never stopped paying her compliments. Holly had come to the somewhat depressing conclusion since the demise of their relationship that he’d probably lied to her about everything, but especially that.

The man was a liar and a louse. Lots of men were these days.

But not this man, she thought as Richard Crawford looked up from the final desk drawer in triumph, a pair of scissors in his left hand. He was a man of honour. And depth. According to his mother, he hadn’t even looked at another woman since his wife’s death. What Holly wouldn’t give to be loved the way he’d loved his wife.

“Thought I’d never find the darned things,” he said as he rejoined her in the hallway. “The kitchen’s down here,” he added, then took her elbow again.

Holly shivered when another jolt of electricity shot up her arm, the same as the first time.

“It’s cool inside these old houses, isn’t it?” he said, thankfully misinterpreting her reaction as he ushered her down the hallway.

“Very,” she agreed. But she didn’t feel cool. Suddenly, she felt very warm indeed.

“Your mother didn’t say you were staying with her,” she began babbling again. “That’s why I was so surprised when you answered the door.”

“Just popped in to visit for the weekend,” he explained, steering her into a large, homey kitchen with a dark slate floor and lots of pale wooden benchtops. “Didn’t know Mum would be going out. Mmm, I wonder where she keeps the vases?” he said, stopping in the middle of the room to survey the U-shaped array of cupboards. “You wouldn’t happen to know, would you?”

Holly tried to will her heart to slow down. Useless exercise. It kept pounding away behind her ribs, regardless.

“Sorry,” she said with a stiff little smile. “I’ve delivered flowers here before, but I’ve never been inside. I’ll just put these in the sink and help you look.”

“Good idea.”

She was still half filling the smaller of the two sinks with water when he said, “Bingo! Vases galore down in here!”

Snapping off the tap, she turned to find him hunched down in front of one of the lower cupboards, the fine wool of his grey trousers stretched tight across his buttocks and thighs. His shirt was having a similar problem as it tried to house his broad shoulders and back.

Holly swallowed. This was crazy. She’d never been the sort of girl to ogle men’s bodies. She’d never cared if her past boyfriends had muscles or not. She’d once filled in a survey in a women’s magazine asking what it was that first attracted her to a man and she’d put eyes. Dave had had twinkly blue eyes to go with his winning smiles.

This memory had just entered her head when Richard Crawford’s head turned and two wintry grey eyes lifted to hers.

A strangely erotic shiver ran deep inside her.

“Plenty of different sizes here,” he said. “What do you prefer?”

It was testimony to her shocking state of mind that her thoughts immediately jumped to the size, not of the various vases on offer, but of the part of his anatomy that was thankfully hidden by his squatting position.

“I’ll have that glass one there on the right,” she said. How she didn’t blush when he handed it to her, she had no idea.

Actually arranging the flowers was a blessing. She could concentrate on what she did best, and not even look at him as he busied himself making some truly mouth-watering coffee. Not the instant kind. The kind that percolated.

Unfortunately, he finished his job first, after which he settled on one of the kitchen stools to watch her work. She knew it was probably her over-heated imagination, but Holly could have sworn his eyes were more on her than the flowers.

“You really are good at that,” he said.

“It’s my job,” she returned, pleased to hear her voice didn’t betray her inner turmoil.

“Have you always worked with flowers?”

“All my life. My dad was a florist. He trained me.”

“Was?”

“He died just over two years back. A stroke.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been tough on you and your family.”

“My mother’s dead too,” she told him. “She died when I was just a toddler. But Dad married again when I was sixteen. I have a stepmother and a stepsister, Katie, who’s two years younger than I am.”

Holly refrained from blurting out that both females were wicked witches, especially Katie. She didn’t want to sound like a whinger. She’d cried out her sob story to his mother, though, when she’d come into the shop one day, soon after Dave had dumped her.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“What? Oh, I’m twenty-six.”

“That young,” he said in a way that indicated he had thought her older.

Holly’s already battered self-esteem took this added blow quite badly. All of a sudden, tears welled up in her eyes. Thank God she wasn’t facing his way, giving her the opportunity to blink them away and gather herself once more.

But the incident put a stop to her foolishly getting excited at being alone with Richard Crawford. Which she had been. No use pretending she hadn’t. She’d been thinking all sorts of silly things in the back of her head, such as he’d been looking at her with admiration and asking her questions because he was attracted to her.

God, she was laughable. If and when Richard Crawford started dating again, it would be with a woman like his wife. A sophisticated stunner. Holly had seen a framed photo of Joanna Crawford at the funeral. Talk about gorgeous! She’d also been supersmart. A literary agent, working for an international publisher whose head office was in New York. Mrs Crawford senior had told Holly all about her daughter-in-law-to-be when she’d dropped into the shop to select a mother-of-the-groom corsage the day before the wedding.

What interest could Richard Crawford possibly have in a simple girl who arranged flowers for a living, was passably attractive at best and had never been further from Sydney than the Central Coast?

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