by Jennie Lucas
He was glad to be leaving the company in good shape. The shocking scandal of his birth, building on the soap-opera-like quality of his wedding and fatherhood—which had already gone viral on social media—had created so much outrageous publicity that Liontari’s brands had all gone up an average of six percent, causing a huge leap in shareholder value. Even the story that, as a rebellious, heartsick teenager, Leonidas had chopped up his mother’s Picasso with scissors when she abandoned him, somehow had added a darker, sexier edge to some of his more traditional brands. Even the most elite, art-loving clientele had forgiven Leonidas for it, after he’d donated the Picasso to a museum last month.
He’d once believed that if people ever learned the truth about him, they would destroy him with pitchforks and scorn. Instead, he’d become some sort of folk hero. He’d heard rumors of a telenovela in development, based on his life.
People were complicated, he thought. Success could be fleeting. All you had to do was look at Franck Bain, once so successful, to see that. A week after the man had fled Daisy’s rented cottage in California, he’d been arrested in Japan for trying to pass off a supposedly lost Van Gogh.
Leonidas shook his head. He couldn’t pretend he regretted the man’s imprisonment. He deserved it. Though Leonidas liked to believe he was a changed man, an understanding, loving person who would never think of taking vengeance on others, he was glad he didn’t have to prove it with Bain.
And it left Leonidas free to move on with his life, to more important things, like spending time with his wife, his child and his friends. They were all that mattered. The people who loved him. He loved them, too. Daisy and Livvy most of all.
He looked down at his wife now as she sat at the kitchen table. She gave him a mysterious smile. He was intrigued.
“Are you hiding something from me?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“Yes,” he whispered, leaning forward. Drawing his hand down her long dark hair, he moved his lips against her ear, soft as breath. “And you’re going to tell me.”
He felt her shiver beneath his touch. He ran his hands over the blush-colored silk, softly over her shoulders, to her back, to her full breasts...
Her very full breasts.
He blinked, then pulled back, his eyes wide as he searched his wife’s gaze. “Are you... You’re not...”
“Not pregnant? I’m not.”
He exhaled, shocked by his own disappointment. He hadn’t even been thinking about trying for another baby, not yet. After all, Livvy was only seven months old. Was he really ready for another baby in the house?
More mayhem. More chaos. More love.
Yes, Leonidas realized. Yes, he was. He wanted another baby. Or six. A large family, big enough for a football team—that sounded perfect.
But there was no rush. He’d just keep putting in the practice, intensely and passionately, every night in bed. A smile traced the edges of his lips. It was a tough job, but someone had to do it.
“It’s all right,” he said huskily, lowering his head toward hers. “We’ll keep trying...”
Daisy put her hand on his chest, stopping him before he could kiss her.
“I’m not,” her green eyes twinkled, “not pregnant.”
His forehead furrowed as he searched her gaze. Then he sucked in his breath. “Not not pregnant?”
Daisy ducked her head, her smile suddenly shy. “It must have happened at Christmas. Maybe Christmas Eve. That time under the tree...”
“Agape mou,” he said, dazzled with joy. Taking her in his arms, he kissed his wife passionately at the kitchen table. As he held her, he wondered what he’d done to deserve such happiness.
Then the dog door thudded loudly, and suddenly there was a large wet hairy dog between them, shaking water and snow all over the room, and their baby girl gurgled with laughter. As Daisy pulled back from her husband’s embrace, her eyes danced as she laughed, too.
And Leonidas knew their joy would last forever. Their lives wouldn’t be all laughter, for sure. But they’d build their future together, day by day, through snow and sun, rain and roses.
It would never be perfect. But it would be happy.
Just like him. Once, he’d been lost. He’d been broken. But Daisy had loved him anyway. He’d learned the meaning of love from the woman who, in spite of his flaws, had given him her precious heart.
* * *
If you fell in love with Penniless and Secretly Pregnant you’re sure to adore these other stories by Jennie Lucas!
Chosen as the Sheikh’s Royal Bride
Christmas Baby for the Greek
Her Boss’s One-Night Baby
Claiming the Virgin’s Baby
Available now!
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The Billionaire’s Cinderella Contract
by Michelle Smart
CHAPTER ONE
MIA CALDWELL GAZED at the nondescript central London building before her then double-checked the address she’d been given. She’d never heard of Club Giroud, but this ordinary, black, slightly shabby front door did not look like the entrance of any club she’d been to before. The address matched, and the app on her phone indicated she was in the right place.
She put her finger to the doorbell, tightened her hold on her handbag and waited, trying hard not to bounce on her toes.
At the end of last night’s performance she’d been in her tiny shared dressing room barely minutes when her normally useless agent had called. She hadn’t spoken to Phil in over a month, so the call had been as unexpected as his news that she’d been invited to audition for the director of a new theatre company intending to tour a show in the south of the country.
The only catch was that the audition was being held first thing the next morning in a private club rather than in a theatre. Oh, and Phil had forgotten to get the name of the theatre company. And the name of the show. Or to ask how much the pay would be.
She really needed to think about getting a new agent.
As she was on the last leg of her current tour and had nothing else lined up there was no way she was turning the audition down. Whatever the pay was, it couldn’t be less than she was currently earning. If she was lucky, and they intended to play bigger theatres, she might earn a little more, hopefully enough to save a little cash. The boiler in her flat kept making ominous noises whenever she turned the hot water on, there was damp coming through the walls, plus there was no way her car would pass its next MOT. Right now, she didn’t have the money to pay for any of these things.
The door opened. A huge man mountain with shoulder-length greasy hair dressed in a too-short and too-tight black suit stood in the threshold and stared at her with no expression whatsoever.
‘Is this Club Giroud?’ Mia asked when the man mountain made no effort to speak.
‘And you are?’
‘Mia Caldwell.’
‘ID?’
That was something else, apart from the venue, that she’d found curious about this audition. The request for her to bring identification.
The man mountain examined her driving licence closely, gave a grunt, passed it back and then stepped aside to admit her with a curt, ‘Follow me.’
She hesitated before stepping into a lobby as dingy and nondescript as the building’s exterior, and followed Mr Man Mountain to a door at the far end. When that door opened...
Her eyes widened and for a moment she stood still, taking it all in. If there was a
polar opposite of the dingy, nondescript lobby this was it, but she barely had time to soak in the richly decorated Gothic reception room when Mr Man Mountain grunted at her to continue and she was led through another door into a wide Gothic-inspired corridor. Up a flight of hardwood stairs, they came to another corridor. Some of the doors they passed were open. Mia caught a glimpse of a casino then a little further on a tantalising peep of a bar with a grand piano. Mr Man Mountain finally came to a stop, pushed a door open and indicated for her to enter.
She fixed the sunny smile to her face that now came as naturally to her as breathing and crossed the threshold.
This room was a fraction of the size of the others she’d passed and contained only two dark leather sofas separated by a small table. A man sat reading through a paper file. Their eyes met as the door closed behind her.
Prickles laced her spine at the unabashed scrutiny she found in his stare but, before the prickles could be defined, he rose from his seat and strode to her.
‘Miss Caldwell?’ he clarified, extending his hand. ‘Damián Delgado. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
She held her hand out and found it gripped by the firmest handshake she’d ever been on the receiving end of.
‘Likewise,’ she murmured. Mia rarely found herself flustered but there was something about this man that set all her nerve endings pinging.
He was gorgeous. As tall as Mr Man Mountain but half the width, he had a muscular physique wrapped in a crisp white shirt, navy trousers and a silver striped tie but it was his eyes that really captured her attention. It was like staring into melted obsidian. Thick black hair styled in a classic crew cut framed a chiselled face with a broad yet defined nose and a generous mouth, all of which was enhanced by a trim black goatee beard.
And he smelled amazing.
‘Can I get you refreshment?’
As her throat had suddenly gone dry, she asked for a glass of water.
‘Still or sparkling?’
‘Still.’
He walked to a cabinet. ‘Please take a seat.’
Fearing she was in danger of swooning over his voice as well as his looks, she sat on the sofa opposite the one he’d been using. But honestly, his voice...it matched his eyes, all dark and rich, and his accent! This was a voice she would gladly have read her a bedtime story.
‘Let us get straight to business,’ he said as he popped the lid of a glass bottle of water. ‘What have you been told about why you’re here?’
For the beat of a moment Mia wondered what he was talking about. And then she realised she’d been on the verge of drooling over this man and pulled herself together sharply. ‘That I’m here to audition for a role...’ She looked more closely at him. At the immaculate way he was turned out, right down to shoes so buffed he could use them as mirrors...
Damián Delgado did not look like any theatre director she’d met before. And nor did his name mean anything to her. There was not a performing arts magazine or blog that Mia didn’t subscribe to. His name should mean something.
Suspicions suddenly zinging through her, she narrowed her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know the name of the production.’
‘That’s because there is no production.’
‘Sorry?’
He placed her glass of water on the table and folded himself back on the sofa. ‘The audition was a cover story.’ He inclined towards her, his scrutinising stare unblinking. Unsettling. ‘I need an actress to accompany me for a weekend to my family home in Monte Cleure.’
She drank half her water, unable to tear her gaze from his face even while she tried to take in his words. Mia had never been to Monte Cleure, a tiny principality sandwiched between France and Spain. Widely regarded as one of the wealthiest and most glamorous countries on the planet, only the stinking rich could afford to live there.
‘If you agree to my proposition, I am prepared to pay you two hundred thousand pounds and cover all your expenses.’
Her mouth dropped open. So stunned was she at the astronomical figure quoted, which was ten times the amount she’d earned over the past year, that it took a few seconds for her brain to process it. ‘You want to pay me two hundred thousand pounds?’
He gave a sharp nod of his head.
‘Wow.’ She blew a whistle. ‘That’s a lot of money...’ Fresh suspicions zinged to life. ‘What would I be expected to do for it?’
‘There are aspects to be discussed after we reach agreement but the main thing I will require is for you to act as if you’re in love with me.’
Mia’s twenty-four years on this earth had left her no stranger to shocks but this was in a different league and so unexpected that it was difficult to compute what this man, this stranger, was asking of her. She drained the rest of her water while trying to clear the clutter in her brain. If not for the seriousness of his expression she would be searching the room for hidden cameras. This had to be a wind-up. ‘Sorry if I seem dim, but run that by me again. You want to pay me to pretend to be your girlfriend for a weekend with your family?’
‘Si. But in my world we say partner or lover. Never girlfriend.’
That jolted her further. ‘Lover...?’ The minor stupor that had numbed her brain cells vanished. ‘Would I be expected to share a room with you while we’re there?’
His gaze was unflinching. ‘And a bed. My family must believe we are serious about each other.’
Disgust curdled swiftly in her stomach and she rose to her feet. ‘I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else. I’m an actress, not an escort.’
‘I know exactly who you are, Miss Caldwell.’ The way his mouth curved at this sent a frisson of ice racing up her spine. ‘It is an actress I need. I will require affection and devotion only when in the presence of others. Behind closed doors things will be strictly platonic.’
She hugged her bag tightly to her stomach and inched her way backwards. ‘I’m not sharing a bed with a stranger who’s twice my size and taking his word that things will be platonic. No way. I’m not for sale. Find someone else.’
He shrugged sardonically and steepled long, tapered fingers. ‘I don’t want someone else, Miss Caldwell. I want you. Do you know who I am?’
Having backed herself to the door, she wrapped her fingers around the handle and gave a brittle smile. ‘Nope. And I don’t care. Goodbye, Mr Delgado.’
‘Before you throw away the opportunity of a lifetime, search it. Search my name. You will find that accepting my proposition will be more than a financial advantage to you. It will give your career the turbo boost it needs too.’
A sudden vision of this man being a wealthy backer of theatre productions made Mia loosen her hold on the door handle. Who was this man?
Damián saw the curiosity and indecision cloud her beautiful features. ‘Search my name,’ he repeated. He’d not gone to all this trouble finding the perfect candidate only for her to dismiss it out of hand. Time was running out. In less than three weeks, the family business he’d spent his adult life working for and which should already be under his control would be taken from him and his reputation destroyed. The business itself would likely be destroyed too. If he had any chance of stopping this happening, he needed Mia’s agreement and he needed it today. He’d been certain the mention of two hundred thousand pounds would be enough to entice her into further discussion.
Mia Caldwell, formerly known as Mia Clarke, had struggled for work since graduating from drama school three years ago. Her main source of income was with a provincial theatre company touring the UK’s smaller towns, her dry spells supplemented by working in a coffee shop. To say she was hungry for her big break would be an understatement.
Slowly, she reached into the cheapest and shabbiest handbag he’d ever seen. She pulled out a phone then settled bright blue eyes on him. ‘How do you spell your name?’
He recited it then settled back to watch her s
croll through the overload of information his name would bring. Her back pressed against the door, she read quickly, eyes flickering from the screen to him, disbelief and amazement blazing from them.
For the role he required, Damián had done his homework. He’d set his lawyer the task of compiling a shortlist of beautiful, hungry London-based actresses—he didn’t want to have to worry about language problems—looking for their big break, with one extra requirement added. He’d been presented with the portfolio of four actresses who met the criteria. With her honey-blonde hair and sparkling, intelligent bright blue eyes, Mia Caldwell had captured his attention immediately. There was something about the look of her that would fit in the world he inhabited. To satisfy himself of her acting abilities and to have a believable first encounter, he’d attended a performance of My Fair Lady at the tiniest theatre he’d ever been in, fully expecting an evening of boredom. Instead, he’d found himself captivated. Mia had lit up the stage and utterly convinced as a cockney flower girl. She’d been funny, vulnerable, charming and could sing like an angel. Damián had known before the interval that he’d found his own real-life Eliza Doolittle.
He hadn’t expected to find her more attractive and captivating in real life. The photographs in her portfolio didn’t do her justice. A classical oval face framed beautiful almond-shaped eyes, a straight nose and a wide, generous mouth. Add to that a lithe figure, currently hidden beneath a loose knee-length shirt dress, and she would look at home on a catwalk. If she had a couple of extra inches of height that was. On stage, she’d appeared magnified. Up close, she was far more waif-like.
The intelligence he’d detected in her photographs shone through in person too. There were people in Damián’s world blessed with wealth and looks at the expense of brain cells. Mia was blessed with looks and brain cells without the wealth. Exactly as he required. The job he required of her was far more than being an adornment on his arm.
