The Billionaire’s Baby

by Nicola Marsh

  Our

  miniseries has grown!

  Now you can share in even more tears and triumphs as Harlequin Romance® brings you a month full of

  Pregnancy & Proposals, Miracles & Marriage!

  Don’t miss:

  Adopted: Family in a Million

  by Barbara McMahon

  Hired: Nanny Bride

  by Cara Colter

  Italian Tycoon, Secret Son

  by Lucy Gordon

  Blind-Date Baby

  by Fiona Harper

  The Billionaire’s Baby

  by Nicola Marsh

  Doorstep Daddy

  by Shirley Jump

  “I want you, Cam.”

  He brushed a thumb across her chin repeatedly—soft, soothing, rhythmic. “It has always been you. It was just the two of us at the start, and that’s enough for me. You and me—partners, lovers, best friends, forever.

  She’d laid the truth out for him so he wasn’t under any illusions, and he still wanted her. Just her.

  Hope swept through her and she rode the wave, his sincere pledge dousing her doubts, silencing the voice of reason for an all too brief moment, filling her with the teensiest amount of optimism that they could make this work.

  She desperately wanted to believe him, wishing she had as much faith in them as he did. But no amount of wishing and hoping could eradicate the simple truth.

  He wanted kids; she couldn’t have them.

  NICOLA MARSH

  The Billionaire’s Baby

  TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

  AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

  STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

  PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

  For my fab editor, Lucy, who went above and beyond

  the call of duty with this one.

  Thanks, Lucy!

  Nicola Marsh has always had a passion for writing and reading. As a youngster, she devoured books when she should have been sleeping, and later kept a diary, which could be an epic in itself! These days, when she’s not simply enjoying life with her husband and son in her home city of Melbourne, she’s at her computer, creating the romances she loves in her dream job. Visit Nicola’s Web site at www.nicolamarsh.com for the latest news of her books.

  Look out for Nicola Marsh’s

  next Harlequin Romance® novel,

  A Trip with the Tycoon

  September 2009

  Dear Reader,

  This year, Harlequin celebrates its sixtieth anniversary, and I’m thrilled to be a part of it. If reading Harlequin Romance® novels is a buzz, writing them is phenomenal! I adore creating handsome heroes and modern heroines, and placing them in some very interesting situations. With that in mind, I took one independent city girl, added a laid-back, sexy hero, gave them a shared past and the result is The Billionaire’s Baby.

  There’s nothing like the rush of first love—meeting that special someone, falling head over heels, not being able to eat or breathe or do anything without daydreaming about the next time you’ll meet. Camryn and Blane had this type of love. But like many first loves, they were young, circumstances intervened and the thrill faded into painful memories.

  So what would you do if your first love walked back into your life? If he’d never forgotten you? If he wanted to reunite? If he was determined to win you back at all costs?

  Remember that initial buzz? The pitter-patter of your heart? The tummy drop-away? The tingle down to your toes when he glanced your way? Cam’s about to experience all that and more. Can she open her heart to the man who stole it all those years ago?

  I fell in love with Blane. For the first time in seventeen books, one of my heroes made me cry. He’s special. Cam thinks so, too! I hope you enjoy their reunion as much as I did creating it.

  Happy reading,

  Nicola

  www.nicolamarsh.com

  CONTENTS

  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 ONE

  CAMRYN HENDERSON hated Valentine’s Day.

  A day designed to highlight over-the-top, mushy commercialism. All that hearts-and-flowers claptrap might work for those foolish enough to believe in romance, but she knew better.

  Boy, did she know better.

  ‘That was some turnout today, huh?’

  Camryn stopped swiping at the immaculate stainless-steel surface behind the bar and mustered a tired smile for Anna, her best employee and closest friend.

  ‘Our biggest day all year.’

  She propped against the bar and shifted her weight from one aching foot to the other. Her favourite knee-high black leather boots with a two-inch block heel might look great and add to her street cred as a hip young thing running the trendiest café in Melbourne’s Docklands, but built for comfort they weren’t.

  ‘Every café and restaurant along this stretch was packed today. Nice to know romance is alive and well.’

  Camryn refrained from wrinkling her nose in disgust at the mention of romance—just.

  ‘Sure, it’s great for business but, personally, I think it’s a bit lame. All pomp and show for one day when for the rest of the year those couples probably barely speak to each other.’

  She’d worked Valentine’s Day for the last six years, forced to watch cosy couples mooning over each other, the intimate smiles, the hand-holding, the roses, even the occasional marriage proposal.

  She’d seen it all, had been relieved to have distanced herself from all that fanciful nonsense, but it was times like now, when the café had all but emptied and the tea candles had burned low, that she couldn’t help but wish for something she’d once had on this day…a lifetime ago.

  ‘You’re the only woman I know who doesn’t have a romantic bone in her body.’ Anna waved a finger in front of her face and tut-tutted. ‘Maybe you should let the little fat guy with the bow fire an arrow your way for once.’

  ‘Not on your life.’

  She’d already been stung in the butt by one of Cupid’s arrows and had the scars to prove it.

  ‘Besides, I’ve found my niche.’

  They laughed as she picked up a black serviette with a bold fuchsia Café Niche printed on it and thrust it towards Anna. ‘See, it says so right here.’

  ‘And what the boss says goes. Yeah, yeah, I know.’ Anna shook her head. ‘Well, want to know what I think?’

  Camryn grinned as she poured milk into a stainless-steel jug, hankering for a frothy cappuccino before wrapping things up for the night. ‘You’re going to tell me anyway, so go ahead.’

  Anna smirked as she slid two cups onto saucers and readied the espresso machine.

  ‘I think Cupid likes a challenge, and you, my friend, are it. The ultimate romantic rebel. Wouldn’t it be a notch in his bow to get you all hot and bothered over some guy?’

  ‘Sooo not going to happen.’

  Her mouth twitched. If her friend only knew how hot and bothered she’d once been over a guy and what had happened on this particular day. ‘Though I kind of like the thought of being a rebel. Makes me want to wear black leather to work.’

  Anna raised an eyebrow and sent a pointed look at her boots. ‘You already do.’

  She grimaced as she wiggled a foot. ‘Yeah, and it’s killing me.’

  ‘You don’t get to look as good as we do without a little pain.’

  Anna cinche
d her belt, made entirely of interlocking silver circles, tighter around her ample waist and patted what she proudly referred to as her ‘bountiful booty’. ‘Besides, wish I could get away with wearing what you do. However, skinny jeans, clingy silk tops and knee-high boots just aren’t me.’

  ‘You always look great,’ Camryn said, silently agreeing the typical outfit she wore to work definitely wouldn’t flatter her vertically challenged, curvaceous friend.

  ‘Thanks, hon. Now, let me make the cappuccinos while you hustle the last stragglers out the door.’

  Anna jerked her head in the direction of a table near the floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the spectacular Melbourne city night skyline. ‘It isn’t as if they’re here waiting for Cupid to strike.’

  Camryn laughed as she glanced over at the two tradesmen, Dirk and Mike, who religiously frequented the café, poring over house plans spread across the table.

  ‘Hey, you never know. Maybe they’re planning on building their dream home?’

  Anna quirked an eyebrow as both heads turned in sync as a blonde in a mini skirt walked past outside. ‘Uh, I don’t think so. Now, shoo! Give them a delicate shove out the door so we can put our feet up and get a decent caffeine hit before we lock up.’

  ‘Actually, the guys have organised a project manager to meet me here tonight to discuss the renovations on my apartment, so I’ll have to wait around till he arrives. Why don’t we skip the coffee and you head home? I’ll lock up.’

  ‘Sure thing, boss.’ Anna sent her a mock salute and grinned. ‘Want me to turn down the lights to discourage other customers from dropping in? And flick the sign on the door?’

  ‘I’ll do it. Thanks, have a good night.’

  As Camryn walked the length of the bar to the power box, she glanced at her watch, hoping the project manager would arrive soon. She needed the renovations done asap, and all the other builders she’d tried had fobbed her off with ‘I’m too busy’ lines or tried to rip her off because she was a woman.

  And she hated that. She hadn’t got where she was today without being strong and independent and focused on her goals, something chauvinistic guys just didn’t understand.

  Flicking two switches to dim the lights, she had her finger poised over a third when a man pushed through the front door.

  ‘Great. He’s finally here,’ she thought as she flicked the last switch and picked up the set of hefty keys to lock up, eager to get this meeting underway.

  However, as she neared the door, the keys crashed to the floor, along with her hopes for a productive consultation, her heart stopping when she got a closer look at the man who’d just entered.

  Scruffy, wind-tossed, ultra casual.

  Faded denim, soft grey T-shirt, worn leather work boots.

  Stubble shadows, laugh-lines around grey eyes, slight dimples bracketing a mouth made for smiling.

  A mouth that was smiling at her, a wide, genuine smile filled with warmth, a smile that packed a punch, a smile she could never forget no matter how hard she tried.

  And she’d tried. She’d tried for six long, lonely years, yet the minute Blane Andrews strolled in and smiled that all-too-familiar smile, she was instantly transported back in time.

  To the first time she’d seen that smile, on Valentine’s Day, as fate would have it, to a time when that smile rarely left his face, when he’d lavished her with attention, when they’d been crazy for each other.

  Seeing him again after all these years was like being sucked into a vortex of swirling memories of love and laughter and sunshine on a hot summer’s day beside a lazy, meandering creek.

  Of sharing hot dogs perched on the back of his rusty old Ford, watching the sun set, wiping ketchup off each other with smiles on their faces and love in their hearts.

  Of taking long slow walks hand in hand in the shade of towering eucalypts, oblivious to the bush beauty, focused solely on each other.

  Of cuddling and kissing and floating on air, lost in the exquisite, heady perfection of first love.

  Oh, yeah, falling for Blane had been a whirlwind of exhilarating highs, before being spit out the other side, left with nothing but pain and loss and devastation.

  He’d ripped her heart out, and she never wanted to feel that way again.

  Ever.

  ‘Everything okay, Cam?’

  ‘You mean right now or are you asking how I’ve been the last six years?’

  Trying not to show how rattled she was by his reappearance and the abbreviated form of her name only he had ever called her, she bent to pick up the keys at the same time he did, their fingers brushing, hers tingling, his long and warm and heartrendingly familiar.

  She jerked back, straightening too quickly, and his hand shot out to steady her elbow, the barest of touches enough to give her dormant hormones a jolt.

  ‘Both.’

  He scanned her face as if looking for answers, those slate-grey eyes as frank and warm as they’d always been, beautiful, honest eyes that said trust me.

  Foolishly, she’d once complied.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  A big, fat lie if ever she heard one. How could she be fine when the love of her life, the man who’d walked out on her without an explanation, came waltzing in here on the anniversary of the day she’d first handed him her heart? Only to have it carved up three months later.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she blurted, sliding the key ring from index finger to index finger, the jangle as the keys clinked and clanked against one another deafening in the growing silence.

  ‘I came to see you.’

  Her heart thudded at the sincerity in his eyes.

  He was telling the truth.

  She may not have seen him for six years but she’d never forget the way she could always read his moods by the blue flecks in his eyes.

  Indigo indicated happiness—the kind of intense, spontaneous happiness they’d had for twelve all-too-brief weeks.

  Cobalt indicated honesty—she’d believed him when he’d said she was the only girl for him, that they’d always be together, that he’d love her for ever.

  Deep smoky-gentian meant passion—the mind-blowing, unforgettable, once-in-a-lifetime connection they’d shared.

  Oh, yeah, she could remember each and every shade of those flecks, had lost herself in those grey depths for three blissful months. Until he’d walked away.

  So what if those flecks glowed cobalt now? Did his honesty count for anything when he hadn’t been able to face her with the truth before leaving?

  Hating the surge of emotion making her tummy gripe, she stepped back, forcing him to release his hold on her elbow and instantly missing the contact.

  Irrational, stupid and crazy, but her body had softened under his touch, had leaned towards him, recognising on some subconscious level the one guy to ever know her intimately. And by the strange heat seeping through her muscles, her traitorous body was rejoicing despite the hard-learned lesson that he couldn’t be trusted.

  ‘You came to see me? Well, here I am. Now that you’ve seen me, why don’t you leave?’

  He smiled, and she struggled not to gasp at the impact, her pulse doing a familiar tango through her veins.

  ‘You can’t get rid of me that easily.’

  ‘Could’ve fooled me,’ she snapped, mentally clapping one hand over her mouth while slapping herself upside the head with the other.

  An emotional outburst like that would suggest she still cared—which she didn’t, she couldn’t—and the last thing she needed was him hanging around trying to rehash the past.

  To her chagrin he laughed, a rich, natural sound that warmed her better than any cappuccino she’d ever drunk. And she’d drunk the equivalent of a year’s supply of Brazil beans after he’d left, to recapture half the heat he used to make her feel.

  ‘Guess I deserved that.’

  ‘And the rest.’

  The laugh-lines around his eyes deepened. ‘Go ahead. Get it all out of your system.’

 
; ‘Don’t tempt me.’

  She toyed with the keys, torn between the urge to take him up on his offer and tell him how heartbroken she’d been, how she’d searched for him for a year, how she hadn’t let another guy close because of him and the emotional fallout from their intense relationship—and booting him out the door and never giving him another thought.

  ‘Cam, I know you don’t want to kick me out.’

  Great, he could still read her mind, could hone in on how she was feeling, and there was something about the way he looked at her, as if he could see right down to her soul and knew better than she did that the last thing she wanted to do was kick him out.

  For as much as she wanted him to walk right back out that door and never come back—he was good at that—a huge part of her clamoured to know where he’d been, what he’d been doing and why he’d ripped their perfect world apart.

  ‘You don’t know what I want anymore,’ she said, hating the flare of hurt in his eyes and how much her heart ached in response.

  ‘I’d like to.’

  His intent was clear, and she inhaled sharply, his poignantly familiar, fresh outdoorsy scent reminiscent of crushed cedar leaves in a spring shower, the tantalising trace filling her nose, her lungs, making her want to lean into the soft, sensitive spot under his jaw and nuzzle him as she used to.

  Ignoring the incredible yearning to do just that, she rattled the keys.

  ‘I’m closing up.’

  He raised an eyebrow and glanced at the lights she’d dimmed. ‘I can see that, but we really need to talk.’

  ‘Actually, we don’t.’

  Because if she let him talk, let him explain why he’d run out on her all those years ago, she’d be compelled to relive the pain, and there was no way she’d go through that heart-break again.