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Bachelor's Bought Bride / CEO's Expectant Secretary: Bachelor's Bought Bride / CEO's Expectant Secretary
Jennifer Lewis
Leanne Banks
Bachelor’s Bought Bride Attractive, sweet natured…and filthy rich, Bree Kincannon was just the bride ad exec Gavin Spencer had been looking for. And Bree’s father had secretly offered him a cool million, too. It took the bachelor no time to turn the heiress into his loving wife. But when Bree discovered the reason behind Gavin’s whirlwind courtship, the bedroom door was slammed in his face!CEO’s Expectant Secretary CEO Brock Maddox had been betrayed by his lover. . . his own secretary. And when he finally confronted Elle Linton, he discovered she’d been keeping an even bigger secret. Elle was carrying his baby. Brock declared Elle would marry him. But he was determined that his head would make all his decisions from here on…KINGS OF THE BOARDROOM They need the right women to melt their steel-hard hearts!
BACHELOR’S
BOUGHT BRIDE
JENNIFER LEWIS
CEO’S EXPECTANT
SECRETARY
LEANNE BANKS
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Advertising Media Volume 187
FEATURE SPOTLIGHT
This Week in Advertising…
The Adman: Gavin Spencer
Her New Campaign: People Treats. For husbands who need to learn to sit, stay and beg.
We’ve all heard the rumblings that Maddox Communications exec Gavin Spencer was itching to start his own agency. After all, he has been under the thumb of the Maddox family for far too long. And he is a genius. But we all wondered how he’d acquire the capital to get his business off the ground. Could he possibly have entered into a deal with the devil … um, we mean his new father-in-law?
Yes, you read it correctly. Gavin Spencer has taken the marriage plunge—with heiress Bree Kincannon. There’s no denying Miss Kincannon is somewhat attractive … but she’s been on the shelf for so long we almost forgot she existed. Could her rich daddy have offered Gavin some startup cash to take Bree off his hands? Oops—have we said too much? Sorry, Mrs Spencer! We’re sure it’s all pure conjecture on our part … But may be you should speak to your husband just in case.
BACHELOR’S
BOUGHT BRIDE
JENNIFER LEWIS
About the Author
JENNIFER LEWIS has been dreaming up stories for as long as she can remember and is thrilled to be able to share them with readers. She has lived on both sides of the Atlantic and worked in media and the arts before she grew bold enough to put pen to paper. Happily settled in England with her family, she would love to hear from readers at jen@jen-lewis.com. Visit her website at www.jenlewis.com.
Dear Reader,
The past year has been an exciting time for me. Last summer my family moved from our long-time home outside New York City to a pretty village near London. I grew up in London, but left when I was still a teenager, so there has been much to absorb and learn about living here as an adult. First I had to get used to driving on the other side of the road (I still keep trying to climb in the wrong side of the car!). Road lanes and especially parking spaces are tiny and I had my first-ever accidents, all involving stationary objects, happily. The twenty-four-hour clock is the norm here, and I still panic when I look for the time and discover that it’s 15:34. Doesn’t that sound way later than 3:34?
I’ve made some wonderful new friends and had many adventures, but it’s also been a great pleasure to just slip into my fantasy world and write. I love the fact that the imagination travels with you, never gets lost in baggage claim and doesn’t need an adaptor. My favorite characters live on both sides of the Atlantic—and anywhere else I might happen to be. Thank goodness for books!
I hope you enjoy escaping into Bree and Gavin’s romantic journey as much as I did while I wrote the story.
Jen
For Julie, international woman of mystery and
passionate San Franciscan, who’s made living
in England so much fun.
Acknowledgements:
Many thanks to the kind people who read the book
while I was writing it, including Anne, Anne-Marie,
Carol, Cynthia, Jerri, Leeanne, Marie and Paula, my
agent Andrea and Senior Editor Krista Stroever.
One
Uh-oh. What now?
Bree Kincannon’s father waved to her from across the ballroom. A self-conscious everyone-is-watching wave. She stiffened as he headed toward her, marching through the splendidly attired crowd. He’d left their table the moment dessert was done, heading out to see and be seen, as usual.
Bree, as usual, had settled into her chair to listen to the music and wait for the evening to end. She’d come only because the fundraiser was for one of her favorite charities.
Wary, she glanced up as her father approached, his silver hair gleaming in the ballroom lights. Then she noticed the tall man behind him.
Oh, no. Not another introduction. She thought he’d finally given up trying to introduce her to every eligible bachelor in San Francisco.
“Bree, dear, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
A familiar refrain. She’d heard it a lot in her twenty-nine years, and it rarely led beyond an awkward first date.
Still, she rose to her feet and planted a smile firmly on her lips.
“Gavin, this is my daughter, Bree. Bree, this is Gavin Spencer. He’s an advertising executive with Maddox Communications.”
Gavin Spencer thrust out his arm. She politely extended her hand to meet his. “Nice to …” Oh, goodness. She looked up and her heart almost stopped. Thick dark hair swept back from a high forehead. The slightest hint of five-o’clock shadow enhanced chiseled features, which framed a wide, sensual mouth.
He was gorgeous.
“Meet me?” A twinkle of humor lit warm gray eyes.
“Uh, yes. Really nice to meet you.” She snatched her hand back. Her palm was practically sweating. Her father must be nuts thinking a man like this might be interested in her. “Maddox has done some really good campaigns lately. The print ads for Porto Shoes were really eye-catching.”
And perhaps I could use the word really a few more times in quick succession. She felt her face heat.
“Thanks, I worked on that campaign.” A smile revealed perfect white teeth. His chin had a slight cleft. “Your father tells me you’re a photographer.”
Bree’s eyes darted to her father. He had? Shock and pride swept over her. He never bothered to say a word about her hobby, as he’d called it once. “Yes. I enjoy taking photos.”
“She just won an award,” her father chimed in, his face beaming with bonhomie. “The Black Hat or something.”
“Black B-Book,” she stammered. “It’s a commercial photography competition.”
“I know what the Black Book Awards are.” Gavin tilted his head. “That’s quite an accomplishment.”
Bree’s father waved to someone across the ballroom, nodded his apologies and strode off into the crowd.
Leaving her all alone with the most breathtakingly handsome man in the room.
She swallowed, smoothed the front of her crinkled taffeta dress and wished she’d worn something less … hideous.
“What kind of photographs do you take?”
“Portraits, mostly.” Her voice sounded reasonably steady, which was impressive under the circumstances. She was annoyed that this gorgeous man her father had forced on her was having such an effect on her. She always felt so out of place in these situations. “I try to capture people’s personalities.”
“That sounds like quite a challenge.”
“It’s mostly about timing. Picking the right moment.” She shrugged. She couldn’t explain it herself. “I think the technical term is that I have a knack for it.”
His finely cut mouth widened into a smile and those dreamy gray eyes twinkled. “A knack generally implies the kind of talent that makes you stand out from the crowd.”
“Well, I certainly don’t stand out from this crowd.” She swept her arm, indicating San Francisco’s most elegant and well-heeled partygoers—and instantly regretted her foolish words.
Of course she stood out. As the frumpiest and most unexciting person there.
“Everyone here is trying so hard to stand out.” Dimples appeared under his impressive cheekbones. “It’s the people who aren’t trying who are more interesting. Would you like to dance?”
“Dance?” Did he mean with him? No one ever asked her to dance at these things.
“Is there an echo in here?”
“No. I mean, yes. Yes, I’d like to dance.”
For a split second she wished the polished parquet would swallow her whole. Which would be quite a big gulp. Of course he didn’t want to dance with her. He was just being polite. No doubt he’d have appreciated it if she politely refused.
But he extended his arm, clad in a deep black suit—like every other man at the formal gala—and led her to the dance floor where a band, in white tie and tails, played the thirties classic “In the Mood.”
Gavin swept her out into the middle of the floor and slid his arm around her waist. Her whole body shivered with awareness, even through all the layers of crunchy taffeta. The steps to the dance were probably lodged somewhere in her subconscious. Lord knows she’d been dragged to enough dancing classes as a kid.
The room rushed past her as Gavin twirled her into a spin. He chased the music across the room, guiding them effortlessly through the other dancers. His enticing masculine scent wrapped around her, hypnotic and intoxicating. Her feet followed his almost as if they were attached, stepping in time. Her arm barely reached around his broad shoulders—which was quite something considering she was five feet nine inches—but she seemed to float along with him, gliding on the soaring trombones and quick-stepping with the punchy trumpets, until the music slid to a close.
Breathless and blinking, Bree extricated herself from Gavin’s strong arms. Was that really her whipping around the floor like that—with a man like him?
“You’re a wonderful dancer.” His breath felt hot on her ear.
“Me? It was all you. I just had to follow.”
“That’s an art in itself. I bet you half the women in this room would be fighting so hard to lead they’d trip me up.”
Bree laughed. “Probably true.”
“You have a beautiful smile.”
“Six years of orthodontics will do that for you.”
He laughed. “And a wicked sense of humor.” He led her off the dance floor, toward the bar. Eyes swiveled to him from all directions—both male and female eyes. Apparently no one could keep their gaze off the most impressive man in the room.
And he walked with his arm threaded firmly through hers.
Bree blinked under the unfamiliar glare of attention. They probably all wondered what on earth he was doing with her.
Heck, she wondered, too.
Being an heiress, and a plain one at that, made it easy to figure out what a man wanted. Begins with m and ends in y. But this guy could probably marry any heiress in the room—and there were plenty of them here tonight.
What was so special about her?
A voice in her head told her to stop worrying about it and just enjoy the attention that was making her heart beat faster than it had in quite some time.
“Would you like champagne?” He turned to offer her a glass.
“Thanks.” Why not? The dance alone was something to celebrate. She took a sip and let the bubbles tickle her tongue.
He leaned in until his sexy stubble almost brushed her cheek. “How come I’ve never met you before?”
“I don’t go out much. I adopted my two cats from the Oakland Animal Society, though, so I wanted to come to their fundraiser tonight. Do you have any pets?”
He shook his head. “Don’t have the time. I work long hours and travel a lot. I bet your cats were lucky to find you.”
“I like to think so. Especially since Ali needs insulin shots every day. Animals with health issues are hard to find homes for.”
“You’re a caring person.”
“Or a sucker.” She smiled. “But a happy one. They’re my babies.”
An odd expression flickered across Gavin’s face. Something in his eyes, really, since his chiseled features didn’t move.
Was he wondering why he was wasting time with a cat-owning spinster in a puffy dress, while stunning women cast suggestive glances over their drinks at him?
She’d rather be home with her cats anyway. Being around Gavin made her nervous, had her analyzing every move he made. She’d be a lot more comfortable with a camera lens between them. He was definitely too good-looking. It couldn’t be healthy for her insides to be fluttering like this.
“I’m here because a client bought a table for the agency. It’s obviously a good cause but I don’t like these dos much, either,” he murmured. “Too many people. Long speeches. Chewy beef.” His dimples appeared again.
A warm sensation filled her chest. “What do you like to do?”
