The CEO (The Millionaire Malones Book 2)

by Victoria Purman

  That’s when he dropped the bombshell. ‘But I don’t want to sell it.’

  Ava’s hand on his thigh became a fierce grip. ‘Huh?’

  Chris, Ellie and long-distance Cooper all stared at him, open-mouthed.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Chris leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.

  ‘The Meadows should stay in the Malone family because I figure it will be a fantastic place to have a wedding reception.’

  ‘What the—?’ He could hear Ava’s sharp intake of breath.

  Callum stood, fished a red velvet box out of his back pocket and flicked it open. Then he turned to Ava and knelt down on the plush carpet.

  ‘Oh, Callum …’ she said on a sigh and the tears welled. She peered into the box at the huge square emerald surrounded by diamonds, nestled in a bed of white satin.

  In front of the best men he knew, Callum looked up at the woman he’d been waiting for his whole life.

  The tears in Ava’s eyes simply emboldened him to say what was in his heart. Every word of it.

  ‘I love you, Ava. And I’m asking you to marry me. What do you think about having the wedding at The Meadows?’

  ‘Callum,’ she said, with a mixture of laughter and happy tears. ‘It would be perfect.’

  Ava held out her hand and Callum slipped his mother’s engagement ring on Ava’s finger. When it was safely in place, looking perfect on her tanned skin, he kissed the back of her hand, softly, slowly and happily. She reached for his cheeks and leaned down to plant a loving and utterly familiar kiss on his lips. He knew her well enough by now to know that the tears rolling down her cheeks were from joy.

  ‘My wedding gift to you is that garden. It’s yours, Ava. If you want it.’ The look in her eyes told him she understood the importance of the place, how much it meant to them, not as a grand old house with enviable views, but because it was the place he’d fallen in love with her.

  ‘I love you, Callum Malone,’ Ava said, beaming.

  ‘Lucky for me,’ he replied as he sat next to her, an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close. ‘And Coop,’ he called out, ‘The place is big enough for you to crash in when you’re back in Sydney.’

  ‘Cool. Congrats you two.’

  Callum laughed when Chris threw his arms around him from behind, giving him a great big old bear hug the way he used to do when they were kids. ‘Bloody brilliant move, mate. We like her.’

  ‘We like her a lot,’ Ellie added, smiling warmly at Ava.

  Callum turned to his older brother. ‘And there’s room for you both too, Chris, and don’t look at me like I’m crazy. You and Ellie need a bigger house now that you’ve got Charlotte, and I bet you won’t stop at one kid, right?’

  He watched Chris and Ellie exchange knowing glances.

  ‘I’ve thought it all through. You two can have the east wing.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Chris said, rubbing his jaw. Callum knew his brother was hedging his bets on agreeing to anything before he’d discussed it privately with his wife. So Callum went right for her soft spot.

  ‘And Ellie, I figured the ballroom, reception areas and the kitchen would be useful for functions for the Malone Foundation. Think of all the events you could have there. You could raise a lot of money.’

  Ellie’s eyes shot wide open. ‘We’re in.’

  Next to him, Ava nuzzled his neck, her soft lips were against his ear and he breathed her in.

  ‘You are the best man I’ve ever met, did you know that?’

  He was the luckiest man in the world, he knew that for certain. ‘Only because of you, Ava. You didn’t just change my gardens, you changed me, too. You’re the reason I decided to keep The Meadows. We can put family and love back in that house, you and me.’

  He felt Ava’s shoulders shake as she slipped her arm around him. ‘I can’t wait.’

  ‘You’re going to have to give up your flat in Bondi,’ he grinned.

  ‘It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.’ Then she moved closer and whispered in his ear. ‘I’ve got five hundred bucks and two hours. You want to show a girl a good time?’

  He met her eyes. ‘Only every day for the rest of our lives.’

  Ava smiled up at him.

  ‘Now that sounds like a plan.’

  Epilogue

  ‡

  Three years later…

  ‘Another slice of cinnamon cake, Mrs Malone?’

  The voice in Ava’s head sounded indistinct in her still half-asleep haze and she blinked her eyes open. Above her, a cloudless Sydney sky glittered like sapphires. All around her, her city oasis, her dream garden, her haven, came to life in shades of green and white and grey. And there, fuzzy at first but now clear as a bell, her husband was kneeling next to her offering a plate. She didn’t have to see what was on it to know what it held. The delicious aroma of cinnamon almost had her salivating.

  ‘Is that what I think it is?’ she murmured, still sleepy, still drunk with happiness at the life she and Callum were making together. She stretched her arms out above her head and yawned.

  ‘Fresh from the oven,’ Callum announced with pride as he set the plate down on the rug Ava had spread out on the grass.

  ‘Ah, now I remember why I married you. For the cake.’ Ava propped herself up and reached for a piece, relishing its aroma as she took a bite.

  ‘Just for the cake, huh?’ Callum leaned over and kissed her, laughing at the taste of cinnamon and sugar on her mouth.

  ‘Maybe for a few other things.’ She smiled and took another bite. ‘What’s the time?’

  ‘Who cares? It’s Saturday. You’re not working and neither am I. And you, my darling wife, need all the sleep you can get in your present condition.’ Callum slipped a hand under Ava’s T-shirt and smoothed her bulging and taut belly. His touch was warm and gentle and the new life inside her kicked, as if the baby knew how much love there was waiting for it when it was born.

  ‘I have done this before, you know. Rather recently, in fact. Is she awake?’ Ava glanced around the lawn.

  ‘She carried the plate and now she’s hiding in the cubby house,’ Callum whispered as he cocked his head in the direction of the shelter Callum and Chris had built six months before, nestled in a hedge at one end of the rolling lawn. ‘She’s waiting for you to find her.’

  ‘Oh, is she,’ Ava winked. Callum helped her stand and she moved in bare feet across the lawn, stealthy as a ninja.

  ‘Daddy,’ she called out. ‘Do you know where Lily is?’

  They both heard the giggle.

  ‘Is she in the house?’ Callum called out. He was right behind Ava, a protective hand on the small of her back.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Ava called out in a sing-song voice.

  ‘Did she climb into that big old tree with the koalas?’

  A louder giggle this time, and Ava slipped her hand in Callum’s.

  When they reached the cubby house, Ava pushed opened the door and their daughter, barefoot, a smudge of dirt across her face, her pink shorts and T-shirt covered in grass stains, squealed in delight and clapped her hands together in a joyous celebration.

  ‘Here I am, Daddy!’ she announced and launched herself at Callum’s legs. He bent to pick her up and cuddled her in his arms.

  Ava watched as the man she loved with all her heart enveloped their daughter in an embrace full of love and hope and warmth. Her father had once accused her of being a sooky la la, prone to crying at the drop of a hat. There were no words for what she was now. Since Lily had been born, she cried at everything their daughter did. A smile. A hug. Every time Lily called her ‘Mummy’. Her first word. Her first step. The way she loved her daddy. Everything about Ava’s new and fulfilled life brought her to tears. Her heart had been so full the past three years that each and every day she thought it might burst.

  When Callum had proposed to her, three years before, he’d promised her that they would put family and love back in The Meadows.

  He’d more than kept his
word.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Callum had seen her tears and rested a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  Ava sobbed, laughter and tears together, and managed a smile as she held her arms wide and gathered her family close to her heart.

  ‘Nothing, Cal. Absolutely nothing.’

  The End

  Enjoy an excerpt from Book 1 of the Millionaire Malones

  The Millionaire

  by Victoria Purman

  Copyright © 2015

  “It can’t be him.” Ellie Flannery stopped in her tracks and squinted into the brilliant Australian summer sunshine.

  It bounced off the perfect, white sand all around her and beamed right up into her face like a flash light, half blinding her. It was only ten in the morning, but already, the blazing, January sun warmed her bare legs and the warm tickle of the Pacific Ocean waves lapped her toes as she sank a little into the sand and stared at the distant figure in the water.

  “You’re totally imagining things,” she told herself. “It’s simply not possible.”

  The bay of One Mile Beach was surrounded by sand dunes and natural scrub, and the beach curved between two jutting headlands that marked the coast like bookends. Ellie’s best friend Bron had recently moved there, and Ellie had scored an extra day off work to visit the small coastal town. She’d thought she was the only one on the beach that quiet Monday.

  She shook her head. Maybe the sea air and the glare had fired up her imagination. She shielded her eyes with a flat hand and tried to focus on the person in the distance to make sure she wasn’t going mad.

  It wasn’t the shoulders she recognised – lots of surfers were built like Olympic swimmers. And it wasn’t the height. Or the tanned. Or the abs or the flat stomach. Or the black board shorts which looked vacuum-sealed against his hips and his muscular thighs. Everywhere she turned in Australia she copped an eyeful of guys like that.

  It was the hair. The shoulder length cascade of blond that the man pushed off his forehead with a wave of his hand as he emerged from the surf. Wet and slick and his trademark.

  She would know that hair anywhere. She would know him anywhere.

  It was him. One hundred per cent.

  It was Chris Malone.

  He was just as famous for his photographs of war-torn and disaster-ravaged parts of the world as he was for his locks. He’d been shot at by the Taliban, almost swept away by hurricanes, been thrown in jail, and come perilously close to causing diplomatic incidents a number of times. All because he used a camera like a weapon to reveal horror, show compassion, and expose the truth.

  Ellie was a reporter on a small Sydney suburban paper and knew him by reputation. One of his stills from the 2004 Indonesian earthquake and tsunami was her computer’s screen saver. She looked it every day, and every day it inspired her to try and capture with her words what he’d managed to capture with none.

  “It’s Chris Malone,” she whispered in to the salty breeze. “I knew it.”

  He was striding towards her, a surfboard under his right arm, half-walking, half-jogging out of the water. And Ellie tingled. It had nothing to do with the body heading in her direction and everything to do with the realisation that she had a scoop on her hands. And the chance to ask him a favour she knew he wouldn’t be able to refuse. She glanced up and down the beach. No one else was around.

  There was just her and Chris Malone. She’d caught the world-famous photojournalist, surfing on an isolated beach, two and a half hours north of Sydney. She was already writing the headline in her head.

  Ellie reached into her loose shirt and pulled her iPhone from her swimsuit. It was the only place she could tuck the thing and she never went anywhere without it. She could use it to record an interview, since she didn’t have a pen and notepad with her, and then snap a few pictures.

  He was twenty feet away and she was staring. She couldn’t help it. It was Chris Malone. With the hair. And the reputation.

  Then he was ten feet from her.

  She noticed a heavy, black watch on his left wrist and followed a vein all the way up to the crook of his elbow. If he had a tan line on his hips she couldn’t see it, and there wasn’t a mark on his chest to ruin the sheer perfection of his muscles and corrugations and his perfectly rounded pecs.

  And then there were only a few strides between them.

  He was so close she could see the droplets of water drizzling down his stunning chest.

  Her heart began to thump wildly and her pulse set off on a jog. The words came out before she could stop them, tumbling from her parched lips like the waves on the sand behind them.

  “Good surfing out there today?” She wanted to kick herself. Her voice made her sound like a groupie and not like the professional colleague she was. Not that she thought she was in his league by any stretch, but still. She had skills, although they’d apparently deserted her at that very moment.

  He stopped. “Excuse me?” Malone raised his eyebrows in a question. The grains of sand that were caught in his neatly trimmed beard were shimmering in the sunlight. When Ellie looked into his eyes they were curious rather than annoyed.

  They were the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Pale and translucent. Like light blue sapphires.

  He was looking at her. In a friendly way, actually. And when his gaze dropped from her face to her breasts, that pulse exploded from a jog into a sprint. His gaze settled on her mouth for a moment before meeting her eyes. She realised he was waiting for her to speak.

  Something clenched in her chest. All she could think was, don’t blow this. Don’t be an idiot.

  “Any good waves?” she managed.

  “Yeah, not bad out there today.” And then Malone half-smiled at her and she forgot her own name. He was so much more beautiful in person than in any of the photos of him she’d ever seen. He was always portrayed with his camera, with a flak jacket on, a grim expression and serious eyes, with toppled buildings and rubble behind him in a dusty haze.

  But now, here, on the beach, he seemed the opposite of all those things.

  “Do you surf yourself?”

  “Oh no, I’m just… I’m here… well. What I’m trying to say is that I’m a huge fan, Chris. I mean, Mr. Malone,” she stammered. “It’s an honour to—”

  His reaction was sudden and jarring. His piercing, friendly eyes became steely and his shoulders stiffened. He took a step back on the sand.

  Holy crap. She’d blown it.

  “Shit,” he grunted and shook his head.

  “Wait. Please. What I meant was—”

  Malone raised a hand as if to dismiss her and didn’t say another word. He took off up the beach, his long, strong legs not bothered at all by stomping through the soft sand as he walked to a path in between the coastal shrubs. The sand flicked angrily behind him as he strode away.

  Ellie couldn’t move. Her feet were still planted in the sand and when she looked down, she realised she was still clutching her phone. She hadn’t even taken a damn photo.

  “I really like your work,” she called half-heartedly into the wind and to the empty beach.

  If he’d heard her, he didn’t turn around.

  *

  So much for the middle of freaking nowhere, Chris thought ruefully as he stashed his board into the back of his four-wheel drive. After stripping off in the car park, and changing into dry clothes, he’d driven away with the distinct feeling his day was ruined. His plan had been to get as far away from anyone he knew and just have a quiet surf. Him and the clean, clear waters of Australia’s east coast and the sound of nothing but the roar of the ocean in his ears, the taste of salt in his mouth, and a board under his feet.

  Was that really too much to ask?

  Apparently, yeah.

  He’d learnt a long time ago that he couldn’t escape being Chris Malone, no matter where he went. Australia was a huge country, with twenty-two thousand miles of coastline, but of all the damn beaches in all the damn country, he managed to find one where the only other
person on the damn beach knew who he was.

  And when that only other person was a gorgeous woman with long legs, shoulder-length hair the colour of caramel, and big brown eyes – which he wouldn’t have minded looking into for a little while longer – it was even more disappointing.

  Chris had taken the road out of Sydney earlier that day to hit the waves in a place he figured he could be anonymous. It was impossible these days to surf on any of the city’s best beaches without running into someone he knew. He’d been around a long time and he had fingers in a lot of pies. He had connections in the media, in surfing, across a whole range of sports clubs from his youth and, despite his best attempts to stay as far away from it as humanly possible, the business world his father and one of his younger twin brothers, Callum, inhabited.

  He’d flown back to Australia four weeks before from Moscow via London, determined to escape the bitter winter and the dark days, with a plan to stay away from everybody. He hadn’t let his father or Callum know where he was. And as for his other brother? Cooper was always chasing a wave somewhere in the world. The rest of the family kept up with his life by checking his surfing competition victories in the sports news.

  Chris hadn’t told them he was back because he hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone or see anyone or to answer the inevitable questions about why he’d returned home. He didn’t want to explain the truth. After more than ten years roaming the globe, with a rucksack and a camera and a well-stamped collection of passports, jumping from one continent to another, from one disaster to another, seeing things no one should ever see, he was simply exhausted.

  He needed a break.

  He’d been running for ten years on adrenalin and reputation and his street smarts and his addiction to the chase, but it had all caught up with him now. Chris wound down the window and let the cool sea air blow his hair around, so he could feel something other than sheer mental and physical exhaustion.