What are friends for?
She wants a baby. He needs an heir. It seems like the perfect arrangement…until they decide to conceive the old-fashioned way.
Having a baby with his best friend is the means to an end for Nick Caroselli. In his quest to receive a ten-million-dollar inheritance, he’ll also be giving Theresa Phillips the one thing she really wants…a child. Once the baby’s born and the money’s in the bank, they can divorce, share custody and go back to being buddies. But their best-laid plans are about to take a sharp turn under the mistletoe, as things really heat up this Christmas.
“I’m Going To Be A Single Mom.”
Nick sat back in his seat, looking stunned. “How? Who’s going to be the father?”
“I’m going to use a donor.”
After a long moment of silence, Nick said, “You really want to do it. Have a baby, I mean.”
“I really do.”
“What if I had a better way? For both of us.”
Both of them? She failed to see how her plan to have a baby could in any way benefit him. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I know the perfect man to be the father of your baby. Someone who would actually be around. Someone willing to take financial responsibility for the rest of the baby’s life.”
Whoever this so-called perfect man was, he sounded too good to be true. “Oh, yeah?” she said. “Who?”
He leaned forward, his dark eyes serious. “Me.”
Dear Reader,
Welcome to my new series, The Caroselli Inheritance! And the next installment of my “Getting to know Michelle” reader letters.
Spring has always been my favorite time of year. For the past twenty-two years, since we bought our first house, it’s meant that it’s time to plant the vegetable garden. I’ve had many hobbies over the years—drawing, painting, crafts, crochet—but by far my favorite and most consistent is gardening.
First I have to decide what to plant. Around the middle of February I make a list of what we’ll need for the year, then I fire up the lights in the greenhouse in my basement, run to English Gardens for seeds and soil, and get to work. I’ve been starting my own plants for several years now, although I used to buy them, and though I know it sounds a little silly, each year it continues to amaze me to watch the tender little seedlings sprout, then grow into thriving plants.
Strangely enough, the actual planting is my least favorite part, and I can’t say I’m thrilled picking weeds either, but when I bite into that first big, juicy tomato, snap a crisp green bean or slice a tangy clove of fresh garlic, it’s worth the work! Though by now most of the plants are probably shriveled and dead—if I’m lucky I may still have a sprig or two of broccoli to pick—that’s okay. I get to start it all over again in a few months!
Best,
Michelle
Michelle Celmer
Caroselli’s Christmas Baby
Books by Michelle Celmer
Harlequin Desire
Exposed: Her Undercover Millionaire #2084
†One Month with the Magnate #2099
†A Clandestine Corporate Affair #2106
†Much More Than a Mistress #2111
The Nanny Bombshell #2133
Princess in the Making #2175
§Caroselli’s Christmas Baby #2194
Silhouette Desire
The Secretary’s Secret #1774
Best Man’s Conquest #1799
*The King’s Convenient Bride #1876
*The Illegitimate Prince’s Baby #1877
*An Affair with the Princess #1900
*The Duke’s Boardroom Affair #1919
Royal Seducer #1951
The Oilman’s Baby Bargain #1970
*Christmas with the Prince #1979
Money Man’s Fiancée Negotiation #2006
*Virgin Princess, Tycoon’s Temptation #2026
*Expectant Princess, Unexpected Affair #2032
†The Tycoon’s Paternity Agenda #2053
Harlequin Superromance
Nanny Next Door #1685
Harlequin Special Edition
No Ordinary Joe #2196
Silhouette Special Edition
Accidentally Expecting #1847
†Black Gold Billionaires
*Royal Seductions
§The Caroselli Inheritance
Other titles by this author available in ebook format.
MICHELLE CELMER
is a bestselling author of more than thirty books. When she’s not writing, she likes to spend time with her husband, kids, grandchildren and a menagerie of animals.
Michelle loves to hear from readers. Visit her website, www.michellecelmer.com, like her on Facebook, or write her at P.O. Box 300, Clawson, MI 48017.
For Steve, who truly is my hero.
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
Excerpt
Prologue
“As your attorney, and your friend, I have to say, Giuseppe, that I think this is a really bad idea.”
Giuseppe Caroselli sat in his wingback leather chair—the one his wife, Angelica, God rest her saintly soul, had surprised him with for his eighty-fifth birthday—while Marcus Russo eyed him furtively from the sofa. And he was was right. This scheme Giuseppe had concocted had the potential to blow up in his face, and create another rift in a family that already had its share of quarrels. But he was an old man and time was running low. He could sit back and do nothing, but the potential outcome was too heartbreaking to imagine. He had to do something.
“It must be done,” he told Marcus. “I’ve waited long enough.”
“I can’t decide which would be worse,” Marcus said, rising from the sofa and walking to the window that boasted a picturesque view of the park across the street, though most of the leaves had already fallen. “If they say no, or they actually say yes.”
“They’ve left me no choice. For the good of the family, it must be done.” Carrying on the Caroselli legacy had always been his number one priority. It was the reason he had fled Italy at the height of the Second World War, speaking not a word of English, with a only few dollars in the pocket of his trousers and his nonni’s secret family chocolate recipe emblazoned in his memory. He knew the Caroselli name was destined for great things.
He’d worked scrimped and saved until he had the money to start the first Caroselli Chocolate shop in downtown Chicago. In the next sixty years the Caroselli name grew to be recognized throughout the world, yet now it was in danger of dying out forever. Of his eight grandchildren and six great-grandchildren, there wasn’t a single heir to carry on the family name. Though his three sons each had a son, they were all still single and seemed to have no desire whatsoever to marry and start families of their own.
Giuseppe had no choice but to take matters into his own hands, and make them an offer they simply could not refuse.
There was a soft rap on the study door, and the butler appeared, tall and wiry and nearly as old as his charge. “They’re here, sir.”
Right on time, Giuseppe thought with a smile. If there was one thing that could be said about his grandsons, they were unfailingly reliable. They were also as ambitious as Giuseppe had been at their age, which is why he believed this might work. “Thank you, William. Send them in.”
The
butler nodded and slipped from the room. A few seconds later his grandsons filed in. First Nicolas, charming and affable, with a smile that had been known to get him out of trouble with authority, and into trouble with the ladies. Following him was Nick’s cousin Robert, serious, focused and unflinchingly loyal. And last but not least, the oldest of all his grandchildren, ambitious, dependable Antonio Junior.
His joints protesting the movement, Giuseppe rose from his chair. “Thank you for coming, boys.” He gestured to the couch. “Please, have a seat.”
They did as he asked, all three looking apprehensive.
“You are obviously curious as to why you’re here,” Giuseppe said, easing back into his chair.
“I’d like to know why we had to keep it a secret,” Nick said, his brow furrowed with worry. “And why is Marcus here? Is something wrong?”
“Are you ill?” Tony asked.
“Fit as a fiddle,” Giuseppe said. Or as fit as an arthritic man of ninety-two could be. “There is a matter of great importance we must discuss.”
“Is the business in trouble?” Rob asked. For him, the company always came first, which was both a blessing and a curse. Had he not been so career-focused, he could be married with children by now. They all could.
“This isn’t about the business,” he told them. “At least, not directly. This is about the Caroselli family name, which will die unless the three of you marry and have sons.”
That earned him a collective eye roll from all three boys.
“Nonno, we’ve been through this before,” Nick said. “I for one am not ready to settle down. And I think I speak for all of us when I say that another lecture isn’t going to change that.”
“I know, that’s why this time I’ve decided to offer an incentive.”
That got their attention. Tony leaned forward slightly and asked, “What sort of incentive?”
“In a trust I have placed the sum of thirty million dollars to be split three ways when each of you marries and produces a male heir.”
Three jaws dropped in unison.
Nick was the first to recover. “You’re seriously going to give us each ten million dollars to get hitched and have a kid?”
“A son. And there are conditions.”
“If you’re going to try to force us into arranged marriages with nice Italian girls from the homeland, forget it,” Rob said.
If only he could be so lucky. And while he would love to see each of them marry a nice Italian girl, he was in no position to be picky. “You’re free to marry whomever you please.”
“So what’s the catch?” Tony asked.
“First, you cannot tell a soul about the arrangement. Not your parents or your siblings, not even your intended. If you do, you forfeit your third of the trust and it will be split between the other two.”
“And?” Nick said.
“If I should join your nonni, God rest her saintly soul, by the end of the second year and before a male heir is born to any one of you, the trust will be rolled back into my estate.”
“So the clock is ticking,” Nick said.
“Maybe. Of course, I could live to be one hundred. My doctor tells me that I’m in excellent health. But is that a chance any of you is willing to take? If you agree to my terms, that is.”
“What about Jessica?” Nick asked. “She has four children, yet I suspect you’ve not given her a dime.”
“I love your sister, Nick, and all my granddaughters, but their children will never carry the Caroselli name. I owe it to my parents, and my grandparents, and those who lived before them to keep the family name alive for future generations. But I also don’t want to see my granddaughters hurt, which is why this must always remain a secret.”
“Do you intend to have us sign some sort of contract?” Tony asked, turning to Marcus.
“That was my suggestion,” Marcus told him, “but your grandfather refuses.”
“No one will be signing anything,” Giuseppe said. “You’ll just have to trust that my word is good.”
“Of course we trust your word, Nonno,” Nick said, shooting the others a look. “You’ve never given us any reason not to.”
“I feel the same way about the three of you. Which is why I trust you to keep our arrangement private.”
Tony frowned. “What if you die? Won’t the family learn about it then?”
“They won’t suspect a thing. The money is already put aside, separate from the rest of my fortune, and as my attorney and executor to my will, Marcus and Marcus alone will have access to it. He will see that the money is distributed accordingly.”
“What if we aren’t ready to start families?” Rob asked.
Giuseppe shrugged. “Then you lose out on ten million dollars, and your third will go to your cousins.”
All three boys glanced at each other. Knowing how proud and independent they were, there was still the very real possibility that they might deny his request.
“Do you expect an answer today?” Nick asked.
“No, but I would at least like your word that each of you will give my offer serious thought.”
Another look was exchanged, then all three nodded.
“Of course we will, Nonno,” Rob said.
Had he been standing, Giuseppe may have crumpled with relief, and if not for gravity holding him to the earth, the heavy weight lifted from his stooped shoulders surely would have set him aloft. It wasn’t a guarantee, but they hadn’t outright rejected the idea, either, and that was a start. And given their competitive natures, he was quite positive that if one agreed, the other two would eventually follow suit.
After several minutes of talk about the business and family, Nick, Rob and Tony left.
“So,” Marcus asked, as the study door snapped closed behind them, “how do you suppose they’ll react when they learn there is no thirty million dollars set aside?”
Giuseppe shrugged. “I think they will be so blissfully happy, and so grateful for my timely intervention, that the money will mean nothing to them.”
“You have the money, Giuseppe. Have you considered actually giving it to them if they meet your terms?”
“And alienate my other grandchildren?” he scoffed. “What sort of man do you think I am?”
Marcus shook his head with exasperation. “And if you’re wrong? If they do want the money? If they’re angry that you lied to them?”
“They won’t be.” Besides, to carry on the Caroselli name—his legacy—that was a risk he was willing to take.
One
Late again.
Terri Phillips watched with a mix of irritation and amusement as her best friend, Nick Caroselli, walked briskly through the dining room of the bistro to their favorite booth near the bar, where they met every Thursday night for dinner.
With his jet-black hair, smoldering brown eyes, warm olive complexion and lean physique, heads swiveled and forks halted halfway to mouths as he passed. But Nick being Nick, he didn’t seem to notice. Not that he was unaware of his effect on women, nor was he innocent of using his charm to get his way when the need arose.
Not that it worked on her anymore.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said with that crooked grin he flashed when he was trying to get out of trouble. Fat snowflakes peppered the shoulders of his wool coat and dotted his hair, and his cheeks were rosy from the cold, meaning he’d walked the two blocks from the world headquarters of Caroselli Chocolate. “Work was crazy today.”
“I’ve only been here a few minutes,” she said, even though it had actually been more like twenty. Long enough to have downed two glasses of the champagne they were supposed to be toasting with.
He leaned in to brush a kiss across her cheek, the rasp of his evening stubble rough against her skin. She breathed in the whisper of his sandalwood soap—a birthday gift from her—combined with the sweet scent of chocolate that clung to him every time he spent the day in the company test kitchen.
“Still snowing?” she asked.
“
It’s practically a blizzard out there.” Nick shrugged out of his coat, then stuck his scarf and leather gloves in the sleeve—a habit he’d developed when they were kids, after misplacing endless sets of mittens and scarves—then hung it on the hook behind their booth. “At this rate, we may actually get a white Christmas this year.”
“That would be nice.” Having spent the first nine years of her life in New Mexico, she’d never even seen snow until she’d moved to Chicago. To this day, she still loved it. Of course, having a home business meant no snowy commute, so she was biased.
“I ordered our usual,” she said as Nick slid into his seat.
He loosened his tie, and gestured to the champagne bottle. “Are we celebrating something?”
“You could say that.”
He plucked his napkin from the table and draped it across his lap. “What’s up?”
“First,” she said, “you’ll be happy to know that I broke up with Blake.”
Nick beamed. “Well, damn, that is a reason to celebrate!”
Nick had never liked her most recent boyfriend—the latest in a long and depressing string of failed relationships. He didn’t think Blake had what it took to make Terri happy. Turned out he was right. Even if it did take her four months to see it.
But last week Blake had mentioned offhandedly that his lease was almost up, and it seemed silly that they should both be paying rent when he spent most of his time at her place, anyway. Despite being more than ready to get married and start a family, when she imagined doing it with him, she’d felt…well, not much of anything, actually. Which was definitely not a good way to feel about a potential husband and father of her children. It was proof that, as Nick had warned her, she was settling again.
Nick poured himself a glass of champagne and took a sip. “So, what did he say when you dumped him?”
“That I’ll never find anyone else like him.”
Nick laughed. “Well, yeah, isn’t that the point? He was about as interesting as a paper clip. With half the personality.”
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