Secret Millionaire for the Surrogate

by Donna Alward

  “As long as you’ll have me.”

  “Us, too,” Dan said. “We’re your family. That’s what we do.”

  “Always,” Drew assured her, putting his arm around her and holding her and Isabelle close. “A family and a man who loves you desperately. And always will.”

  If he had anything to say about it.

  EPILOGUE

  HARPER HAD NEVER seen anything quite like the Thorsmork Valley.

  It was cool, and she wore a hat and mittens as well as her jacket and hiking boots as they’d climbed all the way up to Magni and Modi, volcanic craters left behind after 2010’s massive eruption.

  There were times she’d felt on top of the world in her lifetime, but nothing compared to this.

  Drew came up beside her. “Doing okay?”

  “Perfect,” she replied, catching her breath. “I still can’t believe we’re here.”

  The first thing Drew had done when they’d arrived was take her to the famed Blue Lagoon, and they’d spent two days in Reykjavik in luxury, being pampered in a spa and adjusting to the jet lag. This morning, though, they’d stopped at Seljalandsfoss Falls and then on to the volcanic hike. The landscape was different from anything she’d ever seen, majestic and sweeping and so very, very old, like something out of Tolkien or George R. R. Martin’s books. She’d stopped often and lifted her camera, in such awe and wonder that she didn’t know how she was ever going to process it all.

  “I told you I wanted to bring you to Iceland someday. Because neither of us had ever been here. A first for us together, you know?”

  She leaned in close to him. “I do know. And it’s been more than I ever dreamed possible.” In the four months since the store opening, Drew had been true to his word. He’d split his time as much as possible between Sacramento and Banff, and she’d made a few trips south, too. He’d shown her his favorite hikes and spots. But this...this was a big step. Their first expedition together.

  And it had been so romantic, right from the beginning. Drew had insisted on deluxe accommodations and amenities. She hadn’t ever been treated to such luxury. It wasn’t how she wanted to live, but it was darned nice on vacation.

  But there was something different about Drew today, and Harper turned to face him. “Are you okay?”

  He smiled. “I’m perfect. I think. It’ll depend.”

  “Depend on what?”

  He reached into his pocket and dropped to one knee. Ahead of them, the tour guide gave a shout and the rest of their party started to whistle as they clued in to what was happening. Harper’s heart skipped a beat as she looked down at Drew, who had pulled a tiny box out of his jacket pocket.

  “This is our first trip, and I don’t want it to be our last. I want to always be beside you, Harper. I want to love you and be what you need. I want to be your home. I want to explore the world with you, and someday I want to put our little son or daughter in a backpack and go on adventures. If you’re up for the adventure, will you marry me?”

  There was no other answer she could give than yes. With Drew, she’d learned the meaning of home, and of compromise and of the safety that came from leaning on someone you loved and trusted. “Yes,” she said, a laugh of joy bubbling up from her throat. “Yes, I’ll marry you. Whenever you say and wherever you want to go.”

  “We’ll make an adventurer out of you yet,” he said, sliding the ring over her finger, then standing and pulling her into a bear hug as the tour group cheered loudly.

  “You already have,” she whispered in his ear, ready to take on whatever came next.

  * * *

  Look out for the previous story in the Marrying a Millionaire duet

  Best Man for the Wedding Planner

  And if you enjoyed this story, check out these other great reads from Donna Alward

  The Cowboy’s Convenient Bride

  The Cowboy’s Christmas Family

  The Cowboy’s Homecoming

  Hired: The Italian’s Bride

  All available now!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Resisting the Italian Single Dad by Katrina Cudmore.

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  Resisting the Italian Single Dad

  by Katrina Cudmore

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE EXACT SECOND her office clock hit midday, Carly Knight grabbed her laptop bag and the yellow cardboard box jammed with the natural sleeping aids she brought to all her parent talks. She was about to leave her office when the angry blare of a car horn from the road outside had her pause by her office window to watch a taxi driver angrily weave past a silver car that had pulled in on the double yellow line.

  The driver’s door slowly opened. A tall, powerfully built man climbed out. He moved to the other side of the car. Wasn’t he worried about getting a parking fine? But then, given the car he was driving, a parking fine would probably be nothing more than pocket change to him.

  He came to a stop at the rear door of the car and bowed his head for the briefest of seconds before sending his gaze heavenwards. There was an aloneness, a heaviness of spirit in how he stood stock-still, his feet firmly anchored to the ground, staring upwards. The man’s lips moved briefly in speech as though he was talking to someone.

  She needed to leave or she’d be late for her talk, but she couldn’t drag herself away from watching him. She moved closer to the window, placed her palm against the cool glass.

  Opening the rear door, he leant into the car for a moment before reappearing with a little girl in his arms.

  He kissed her forehead, tenderly smoothed her soft brown curls and attempted to place her down on the footpath. But the little girl, dressed in a yellow jacket and blue pants, and who Carly guessed was about two years of age, refused to let go.

  The man shook his head and then began to pace the footpath, the little girl in his arms, glancing all the while down the street. Who was he waiting for?

  Carly soon had her answer when a petite, dark-haired woman, holding hands with a similarly dark-haired boy of four or five, rushed towards him. She hugged the man warmly, stroked the little girl’s cheek. They were a beautiful family. Carly’s heart tightened at their intimacy. But then the man attempted to pass the little girl to her mother, but she clung to him, refusing to let go. In the end, he was forced to remove her baby stroller from the boot of his car one-handed, refusing the mother’s offer of help. When he lowered the little girl into the stroller, Carly could hear her cries of protest. Kneeling before the stroller, th
e man stroked the little girl’s curls, but her leg smacked against his forearm and pushed him away.

  The woman said something to him and hugged him again before rushing off with both children.

  Fists tightly bunched at his side, the man stared after his family for a long while before turning in the direction of Carly’s building. Carly’s head jerked back at the desolation etched on his face. She stepped back from the window, out of his view, feeling like an intruder on his suffering.

  Should she go down and ask him if everything was okay?

  The man’s chest rose heavily and when he exhaled, the torment in his eyes disappeared. An aloof, guarded expression took its place. He removed his phone from his pocket, answered a call and strode in the direction of her office block.

  Carly frowned. Could this be Mr Lovato? Her client who was supposed to have been here half an hour ago? But why didn’t his wife come in with him?

  Locking the office door behind her, she went out onto the stairwell and was on the turn of the stairs when the door to the reception area burst open.

  A blur of dark wavy hair, a phone pressed to hard jawbone, an expensive grey suit, the jacket spilling backwards as he climbed the stairs two at a time, raced towards her.

  Carly’s heart lurched; it was rather disconcerting to be faced with such male perfection on a Tuesday lunchtime on the concrete stairs of an office block desperately in need of refurbishing.

  Light, misty green eyes flicked in her direction as he passed her by.

  Turning, she saw that he had already reached the turn in the stairs. ‘Mr Lovato?’

  He came to a stop and looked down towards her. Standing still, he was even more devastatingly handsome than when he had been in motion. He considered her through a serious gaze, his mouth shaped like a soft wave, turning ever so slightly downwards at the corners.

  He rolled his impressively wide shoulders and gave a nod.

  ‘I’m Carly Knight, the sleep consultant you made the appointment with. Is everything okay?’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean?’

  There was a defensiveness to his tone that had Carly wavering. She wanted to ask if she could somehow help in whatever had been troubling him outside, but the proud tilt of his head told her he would not welcome her intrusion.

  Instead she climbed the stairs to stand a few steps below him. ‘I’m sorry but I have another appointment that I have to leave for. If you speak to Nina on reception she will schedule another appointment for you.’

  He considered her for a moment, the ever so slight tightening of his jaw the only indicator of his unhappiness. ‘I apologise for my lateness. I promise I won’t delay you for more than ten minutes.’

  His voice was deep and—okay, so she’d admit it—really sexy. Where was his accent from? His surname, Lovato, was that Italian or Spanish? His smooth tanned skin and dark hair suggested long, sun-kissed Mediterranean days in whitewashed villages with views of a glistening sea.

  For a moment, a deep longing for some sunshine and freedom washed through Carly. After a long icy winter, spring in London had proved to be cold and miserable. And it felt as though she hadn’t seen daylight for years thanks to the ongoing task of establishing her fledgling sleep consultancy business, which entailed working late into the night on far too many evenings.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Lovato, I really have to leave for another appointment.’

  ‘It’s important that I meet with you now.’

  Carly attempted to give him a sympathetic smile, but in truth her earlier irritation with Mr Lovato, which had temporarily disappeared in the face of his upset, was quickly reappearing at his insistent tone. Only this morning, he had somehow managed to sweet-talk an appointment with Nina, the office-block receptionist who provided a diary booking service for all the tenants, despite the fact that Carly’s diary was already full for the day. Nina usually guarded the diaries like a Rottweiler on steroids.

  When Carly had questioned Nina on why she had given him an appointment, Nina had given her a soppy smile that was alarming in itself and said he had been referred by Dr Segal, a paediatrician who was increasingly referring patients to Carly, and that she hadn’t had the heart to turn him away; that he had sounded so lovely and sincere and such a concerned dad for his daughter who wouldn’t sleep at night. Tough-as-nails Nina had obviously fallen for that deeply accented voice that no doubt had the potential to melt granite.

  ‘It’s now close to ten minutes past twelve, you’re over half an hour late for your appointment,’ Carly pointed out. From his expensive suit, glistening black leather shoes and a car even her stepfather couldn’t afford, Carly guessed that Mr Lovato was rich. Seriously rich. And no doubt used to getting his own way. But not now. Not with her. She had spent her teenage years being manipulated by a stepfather who had used his wealth to get his own way regardless of the consequences to others. If Mr Lovato was anything like her stepfather he would have no problem in making Carly late for her appointment with a group of other parents, as long as his own needs were met. Money talked for some people and it gave them an inflated sense of entitlement. ‘My receptionist shouldn’t have given you an appointment today. My diary was full. She tried calling you back to make alternative arrangements but you didn’t answer her calls.’

  ‘I was working from home today—between taking care of my daughter and client calls I never managed to call Nina back.’ He shrugged, gave her a hint of an apologetic smile. ‘When it was time to leave I couldn’t find my daughter’s shoes. And when we were finally on our way I realised that I had left her changing bag in the hallway so I had to turn around. You know how it is when you have children—time seems to disappear into a void of chasing your own shadow.’

  Carly cleared her throat, ignoring the nudge of pain in her chest at his not unexpected but incorrect assumption she had children of her own. It was a common assumption many clients made. ‘I don’t have any children of my own but from working with them for the last decade I agree that you have to be very organised around them.’

  His gaze narrowed. Carly pressed on, knowing she had to leave for her meeting despite a nagging feeling that she should give Mr Lovato some time. ‘Nina should be able to schedule you in for some time next week, after the bank holiday.’

  Moving down the steps towards her, he came to a stop directly in front of her. Carly tilted her head to meet his gaze. He was tall. Very tall. At least six feet four, and over eight inches taller than herself.

  He carried himself with a smooth ease, which, combined with his prominent angular features and soul-searching eyes, had the effect of making you forget all that you were thinking, and everything you were about to say.

  ‘I want us to speak now.’

  Carly blinked at the smoothness of his tone, at the bluntness of his words. ‘That’s not possible. I’m giving a talk to a parent group in Kilburn at one. I have to leave now or I’m going to be late.’

  His eyes narrowed but did not move from hers for a moment. Carly had to force herself not to look away, hating the heat that was growing on her skin at his nearness, the strange feeling of undoing that was unravelling in her insides.

  ‘How are you getting there?’

  Carly frowned. ‘The underground.’

  ‘I’ll drive you.’

  Carly stared after him as he moved to the reception doors. He held one of the scruffy blue doors in need of a repaint open for her. Carly followed him down. ‘That’s not necessary, Mr Lovato.’

  His beguiling mouth curved upwards into a hint of a smile. ‘My name is Maximiliano but you can call me Max. We can talk on the journey there. It’s the least I can do considering my lateness for our meeting. Can I carry your box out to the car for you?’

  Irritated, Carly shook her head. ‘No...and I don’t think it’s appropriate you driving me. After all, we have just met.’

  To this he let out a
n amused exhalation before saying, ‘I’m a seriously sleep-deprived father. I can assure you that you have nothing to fear from me.’ He looked towards reception where Nina was staring in their direction and added in a teasing tone, ‘Nina, I’m driving Ms Knight to her appointment in Kilburn. Should anything happen to her you have my address and telephone number, which you can pass onto the police.’

  Unbelievably, Nina giggled at this. Carly eyed her with exasperation but Nina was too busy ogling their visitor to catch her annoyance.

  ‘I really don’t think—’

  Before she could add anything else, Max interrupted her, his voice low, the intensity of his proud gaze flipping her stomach. ‘I urgently need your help, Ms Knight...as does my daughter.’

  * * *

  Carly Knight’s cornflower-blue eyes disappeared in a slow blink behind her long and lush eyelashes as she considered his words.

  Max wanted to walk away. He hated asking for help. It wasn’t in his nature. He found it degrading—a sign of weakness. He valued his privacy, disliked having to expose himself and his family to the scrutiny of an outsider. From a young age he had understood the importance of self-reliance. His mother, a strict disciplinarian, had constantly told him that to be dependent on others made you weak. And growing up in a tough suburban neighbourhood of Rome, he had quickly learned that to survive he had to be strong, resilient and, most important of all, never show weakness.

  Carly Knight was not what he had expected. When he had reluctantly called the number his paediatrician had given him, he had imagined meeting an older woman, a grandmother perhaps, with sensible hair and sensible shoes to match her sensible personality. A woman with years of experience dealing with strong-willed toddlers hell-bent on testing their parents.

  He hadn’t expected a woman who hadn’t experienced first-hand the exhausting reality of parenting. He hadn’t expected sparkling white trainers under ankle-length faded blue jeans, a white blouse covered in red stars. He hadn’t expected tumbling blonde hair or creamy skin so smooth he wanted to touch his thumb against her high cheekbones. He hadn’t expected the attitude that said he was an inconvenience in her life.