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Magnate's Mistress...Accidentally Pregnant!
Kimberly Lang
Pregnant by the wild and wicked billionaire!Ally Smith might have dumped her cheating fiance, but she refuses to waste her non-refundable honeymoon in the Caribbean! Trying to embrace her freedom, Ally meets sexy stranger Chris Wells. . . Not recognising him as the famous thrill-seeking tycoon, Ally throws cautionto the wind and allows Chris, with his hot body, to sweep her into an even hotter summer fling!But back home Ally realises that, unlike her tan, memories of their wild night will never fade. . . Oh-so-sensible Ally is expecting the playboy's baby!
“Ally,” Chris whispered, the sound slowly filtering though the erotic haze around her, and she shivered at hearing her name on his lips.
She opened her eyes to find him staring intently at her, his fingers still tangled in her hair and his thumbs gently stroking her temples.
“If you plan on actually having dinner tonight, we should probably stop.” His fingers slid out of her hair; a rueful smile played on his lips.
Dinner? She didn’t give a tinker’s damn about dinner. The only thing she was hungry for was the man plastered against her like some kind of fantasy in the flesh.
Chris shifted his weight and Ally tightened her grip to keep him from moving away. Indecision nibbled at her. She should let him go. A lifetime’s experience of responsibility and rationality told her to backtrack to the getting-to-know-you steps they’d leapfrogged over with that kiss.
I don’t want to.
The realization shook her to the soles of her plain brown sandals. Her sandals that were practical, boring, and suddenly symbolic of her entire existence. She didn’t even have sexy, pretty shoes in her life—much less men like Chris.
She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, dithering with herself. When she looked up to meet his eyes she saw the heat and the question there, and her decision became crystal-clear.
“I’m not in the least bit hungry. But if you are I do know a place that delivers to my hotel.”
Dear Reader
My home has a deep philosophical divide. It doesn’t stem from the fact that my husband is an engineer and I’m a writer, or even the fact that he’s British and I’m American. No, our home is deeply divided over the fundamental nature and purpose of boats. I firmly believe that boats should have powerful motors so they can go very fast, preferably while they pull a water skier, and he thinks boats should have sails. There’s no easy way to meet in the middle on that one.
I have to admit, though, there is something amazingly romantic about a sailboat, and it was easy enough for me to identify with my heroine, Ally, when she fell in love with a sailor. Ally and I also share an ignorance about all things sailboat-related, so I’m deeply indebted to my husband, my father-in-law Jayk, my baby brother-in-law Jono, and Jay Cook from the Charleston Ocean Racing Association for their help with the sailing technicalities of this book. Any mistakes you find are mine—they tried very hard to educate me, but my learning curve was steep.
Ally and Chris were so much fun to write—I just loved their chemistry and spark. I hope you find it as easy to fall in love with Chris as I did—ahem, I mean Ally. Ally falls in love with Chris.
(And, you know, the whole sailboat thing is really starting to grow on me…)
Happy Reading!
Kimberly
Kimberly Lang hid romance novels behind her textbooks in junior high, and even a Master’s programme in English couldn’t break her obsession with dashing heroes and happily ever after. A ballet dancer turned English teacher, Kimberly married an electrical engineer and turned her life into an ongoing episode of When Dilbert Met Frasier. She and her Darling Geek live in beautiful North Alabama with their one Amazing Child—who, unfortunately, shows an aptitude for sports.
Visit Kimberly at www.booksbykimberly.com for the latest news—and don’t forget to say hi while you’re there!
Recent titles by the same author:
THE MILLIONAIRE’S MISBEHAVING MISTRESS
THE SECRET MISTRESS ARRANGEMENT
MAGNATE’S MISTRESS…ACCIDENTALLY PREGNANT!
BY
KIMBERLY LANG
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk/)
To my beautiful, clever, and all-around
Amazing Child—although it will be many years
before you are old enough to read this book
(thirty, at least, if your father has any say in the matter), let me remind you that tonight, at dinner, you told me you wanted to be a romance writer like me when you grew up because it was ‘cool’.
You know what? I think you’re cool, too, and you can be
anything you want to be when you grow up—
well, except maybe a flamingo.
CHAPTER ONE
NOTE TO SELF: never prepay your honeymoon.
Ally Smith sat on the beach under a tattered umbrella nursing her watered-down piña colada and wondered why that caveat didn’t make it into any of the wedding planning books. Probably because no one plans a wedding with escape clauses.
She should write her own book for brides-to-be. She’d definitely include a chapter on cancellation clauses, the folly of prepayments and how to mitigate the financial toll of lost deposits. Oh, and some fun stuff like how to build a nifty bonfire with three hundred monogrammed cocktail napkins.
And a chapter on how to know you’re marrying the wrong guy.
She dug her toes into the warm sand and watched the sailboats bobbing on the waves as they made their way into and out of the marina just down the beach. Why hadn’t she pushed harder for the trip to Australia where she could at least be snow skiing right now? June in Oz was supposed to be fabulous. Why had she let Gerry talk her into this when they lived just twenty minutes from the Georgia coast—a popular honeymoon destination in and of itself? She could go to the beach anytime she wanted. She didn’t have to fly to the Caribbean for sand and surf.
Because I was too happy to finally be engaged.
In the four months since she’d happened home at lunchtime to find Gerry having a nooner with their travel agent—which explained why he’d insisted they use her to begin with, and probably also why Ally was booked into the worst hotel on the island—she’d come to realize some hard truths: she’d picked good looks and charm over substance, and she should have dumped Gerry-the-sorry-bastard four years ago.
Now, two days into her “honeymoon,” she was bored out of her mind.
“Is this seat taken, pretty lady?”
The low, gruff voice pulled her out of her reverie. Shading her eyes from the late-afternoon sun, she turned to find the source of the question.
And nearly spit out her drink as she ended up eye level with the smallest swimming trunks ever made, straining over a body they were never designed to grace.
In any decent movie, the voice would have belonged to a handsome tennis pro with a tan and bulging biceps. This was her life, though, so while her admirer did sport a tan, his body bulged in all the wrong places—like over the waistband of his Speedo. Ally bit her lip as her eyes moved upward, past the gold chain tangling in his furry chest hair to the three-day salt-and-pepper stubble, the ridiculous iridescent blue wraparound sunglasses and wide-brimmed Panama hat.
She was being hit on by a bad cliché. This horrible vacation experience was now complete. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You look like you could use some company. How about we have a drink and get to know each other?” Without waiting for her response, the man lowered himself into the adjacent lounge chair, took off his sunglasses and stuck out his hand. “Fred Alexander.”
With no excuse to deny the tenets of her proper Southern upbringing, she shook the proffered hand. The palm was damp. He held her hand a bit too long, and she fought the urge to wipe it on her towel once released. “I’m Ally. It’s nice to meet you, but—”
“A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be sitting out here alone. No telling who might come along to bother you.” He winked at her.
Yeah, no telling. There were plenty of people on the beach. Why had Fred picked her to hit on? Because you are a loser magnet. First Gerry and now this guy. At least Gerry had been good-looking, a fact he’d never let her forget.
She had to escape. She should have just stayed in Savannah. Oh, but no, she’d been steamed over the loss of so many other down payments that she wasn’t going to let a vacation go to waste, too. It had sounded so practical at the time. She knew better now.
“I was just about to go in, actually. I think I’m getting too much sun.” She reached for her bag and slid to the edge of her seat, ready to beat a hasty retreat. Fred placed his hand on her wrist and stroked his thumb over the skin. Ally gently moved away from his hand and out of arm’s reach as she stood.
“I’d be happy to rub some lotion on you.” Fred’s eyes roamed slowly down her body and back up to her cleavage, making her skin crawl. With a slow shake of his head, he said, “That’s a crime, Ally. A girl with a body like yours should be showing it off in a bikini.” She’d never been so glad to be wearing a one-piece in her entire life, and as he licked his lips in appreciation, Ally felt as if she needed a hot shower.
“Thanks, but no. I’m—”
“Dinner, then. I saw you checking in alone yesterday and figured you’d be looking for some company.”
Ugh. She took another step back. “Um, well, I…”
“I’m staying here, too. Suite sixteen. It must be fate that we’re both here on our own…”
It was in her nature to make people happy, but this crossed the line. There was “nice” and then there was “stupid.” She’d made enough stupid decisions—no more.
“Enjoy the beach.” She could hear Fred muttering something about her attitude as she left. Whatever. What little enjoyment she’d had just relaxing to the sounds of the surf evaporated in the wake of being hit on by some creepy guy old enough to be her father.
Maybe the TV in her room had a movie channel. She could take that shower, order room service for dinner—if they even did room service in this hotel; she hadn’t seen a menu when she’d checked in last night—and plan to do some sightseeing on the island tomorrow.
This was the most pathetic vacation ever. Or was she the pathetic one?
The lobby was mostly empty as she waited behind a couple checking in. More honeymooners. The young woman carried a bouquet, and the red-haired man at her side was having a hard time checking in since he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off his new bride. They seemed happy, and Ally silently wished them well as they headed for their room.
“I’d like to see about ordering room service to suite twenty-six.”
The hotel clerk shook his head. “Sorry. No room service. Just the restaurant.”
Lovely. She thought she’d hit her low spot on this vacation with the arrival of Fred, but obviously there was much more awaiting her over the next few days. Like eating every meal alone.
“But I do have a message for you, Mrs. Hogsten.”
“Miss Smith,” she corrected automatically. Another good reason not to marry Gerry. She’d never liked the sound of his last name.
The clerk’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he rechecked his computer screen.
Ally sighed. “I know. It says Hogsten, party of two, but it’s just me. Miss Smith.”
She saw the flash of pity in the man’s eyes as the implications of staying alone in a honeymoon suite registered.
No sense trying to explain she wasn’t the least bit sorry to still be single. “The message?”
He handed her a folded piece of paper. “Enjoy your evening.”
“Thanks.” She flipped it open for a quick peek as she walked back to her room. Her mother’s number.
Good Lord, what now? She’d hadn’t been gone that long, and she’d made sure all of them were squared away before she left.
Kicking the door closed with her foot, she dug in her bag for her cell phone, only to flip it open and remember she didn’t have service here.
The minifridge in her room was well stocked after her trip to the local liquor store last night, and the bottle of Chardonnay called her name. She poured a glass and took a drink before dialing the long string of numbers to call home.
“Oh, honey, it’s so good to hear from you!”
Her mom sounded as though the phone call was a nice surprise, which meant nothing was seriously wrong on the home front. That didn’t mean she was off the hook, though. Ally drained her glass before she spoke. Instead of refilling it, she took the bottle with her over to the bed and sat down. She might need the whole thing. “You asked me to call. Is everything okay?”
“Oh, we’re fine. I guess.”
Ally waited.
“Well, other than the fact your sister is going to put me in an early grave with her dramatics…”
Oh, goody. Ring the bell for Mom versus Erin, round 427. Did she really need to be discussing this long-distance?
Breathe in. Breathe out. How typical. Could her family not function for at least a few days without her there? She’d like to think that if she’d really been on her honeymoon, no one would expect her to deal with this. Who was she kidding? If her family tree were any nuttier, squirrels would start showing up at Thanksgiving dinner. She loved them, but not a one had an ounce of sense.
Maybe she’d been adopted. Switched at birth. Or had she been intentionally placed in this family simply to keep them all from spiraling out of control with their dramatics? It sucked to be the grown-up all the time.
When her mom finally paused for a breath, Ally started her peacekeeping duties. “Mom, it is her wedding—”
“Maybe so, but you’d think she’d understand how important this is.”
It was a wedding, not the trials of Hercules, for goodness’ sake. But it took another half hour for Ally to convince her mom of that, albeit temporarily. She banged her head against the headboard gently in frustration.
“And, Ally, honey, the state sent a notice about the property taxes.”
“I took care of that before I left.”
“So what do I do with the notice?”
“Just set it aside, and I’ll get it when I come home. I’ll double-check with the state to be sure, but I wrote the check along with your other first-of-the-month bills.”
“Oh, then that’s good.”
The small headache her mother always caused after more than twenty minutes throbbed behind her eyes. “Mom, I’m going to go find some dinner now. I’ll see you when I get home, and we’ll sort everything out then.”
“Of course, honey. Have a wonderful time. We’ll talk soon.”
With the phone safely back in its cradle, Ally leaned back against the headboard of the king-size bed and hugged the bottle of wine to her chest. I’m so glad I don’t have cell service here.
Out her bedroom window, she could see the sun setting over the water. Dammit, she was on vacation. Granted, it was the strangest vacation ever, but it was her vacation nonetheless. She was alone in a honeymoon suite, in a place she hadn’t wanted to come to, and staying at a low-end hotel because her travel agent was both spiteful and incompetent. And she’d paid top dollar for this disaster. It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t right, but there were worse places to be. She should make the most of it.
She’d earned a vacation, by God. She’d put up with Gerry for three years longer than she should have in the hopes he’d shape up and be worth the investment of her time and energy. Instead she’d carried him—financially and emotionally—for all that time. Planning and then canceling the wedding had been stressful, and when she added in her family’s constant stream of crises, it was no wonder she’d had a headache for as long as she could remember.
She needed a vacation. She deserved it. She would take advantage of it.
