The Maid, the Millionaire and the Baby

by Michelle Douglas

  Imogen laughed. ‘If they keep that up my aunts might just push them in the deep end.’

  ‘And your cousins are teaching George how to dive.’ George, who was nearly four and utterly fearless!

  ‘Good for them.’ She set a final bunch of grapes to her platter with a flourish and then turned and looped her arms about his neck. ‘So how are you enjoying our very first party in our gorgeous new house?’

  ‘I love it. When can we have another one?’

  He didn’t try to temper his excitement, his enthusiasm...his joy. He knew it must be shining from his face, but he didn’t have to be wary or guarded here—not among these people who’d embraced him and claimed him as one of their own.

  Her face softened. ‘You deserve all of this, Jasper. All of the fun and holiday spirit and love.’

  ‘I don’t know about that.’

  ‘I do,’ she said, her voice a soft whisper against his skin.

  They’d married eighteen months ago, and he hadn’t known it was possible for one man to feel so lucky—loving her was the smartest thing he’d ever done. That love filled his chest now, making him feel weightless, as if he could float up to the highest point of the ceiling.

  She glanced beyond him, her luscious lips curving into a smile. ‘It’s nice to see your mother and Emily enjoying themselves.’

  He followed her gaze to the terrace outside, where his mother and sister were firmly ensconced in a circle of Imogen’s family—all of them laughing and seemingly talking at once. It’d taken time for the shadows to retreat from their eyes. They’d bear scars forever, he knew that, but it didn’t mean they couldn’t be happy in the here and now.

  He’d had three cottages built on this ten-acre block, each with its own private garden. Emily and George were in one, Katherine in another, and the married couple he and Imogen had hired as housekeeper and gardener were living in the third. He’d wanted to build one for his mother but she hadn’t let him. She’d sold the house in Sydney to buy a modest unit in Wollongong’s town centre, within easy access to them all. He hoped that, given enough time, both Emily and his mother would find a love like his and Imogen’s—a love that healed and renewed; a love that made the world a place full of hope and possibility.

  Imogen reached up on tiptoe to press her lips to his and a familiar surge of heat licked along his veins. Whatever she saw in his face made her chuckle. ‘Hold that thought until the party’s over.’

  He had every intention of doing exactly that. For now, he contented himself with reaching for his phone and selecting a song from his playlist. He spun her in his arms as sixties Southern Californian surf music poured from the speakers. ‘Pretend I’m a vacuum cleaner and dance with me.’

  She threw her head back and laughed, her dark curls bouncing with effervescent good humour. ‘Best offer I’ve had all night!’

  He made a mental note to better that offer when they were alone.

  His heart nearly burst when the entire kitchen and dining room erupted into a storm of dancing. Katherine and Imogen’s mother, Gloria, started a complicated dance that had them both breathless by the end and everyone else clapping madly. Katherine’s writing career was going from strength to strength and Gloria, in her spare time, had taken it upon herself to become Katherine’s marketing manager. He suppressed a grin. So far the arrangement was working beautifully even given the occasional inevitable bump along the way.

  ‘Food’s up,’ Imogen hollered when the song ended.

  They ate. They socialised. They sang Christmas carols for the children. At nine o’clock the fireworks he’d arranged—with all the associated council permits and fire safety precautions in place—created a magical display that delighted child and adult alike.

  After that, sleepy children were put to sleep in spare bedrooms or on the sofas in the lounge room while the adults continued to revel for another couple of hours. Eventually, though, the guests started to excuse themselves. Jasper saw the last of them off and then wandered back through the house to find his glorious wife.

  She stood outside on the terrace, staring at a moonlit sea. She turned to greet him with a smile as big as her heart, and full of love. For him. The knowledge awed him. ‘That was one of the best Christmas Eve parties ever, Jasper. If we’re not careful we might just find ourselves hosting it every year.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind.’

  She poked him in the ribs before sliding an arm about his waist. ‘You’d love it.’

  He grinned, tucking her in more firmly against his side. ‘That was the best Christmas Eve ever.’

  ‘Which is what you said last year...and the year before that,’ she teased.

  ‘And I’ll probably say it again next year.’ He sobered, glancing down at her. ‘They keep getting better. I don’t know how, but they do.’

  She sobered too. Moving out from beneath his arm, she took his hand in both her own. ‘I think this one is extra special.’

  ‘It’s the first time we’ve hosted one of the Christmas events.’ That was a big deal. ‘And we did it in our dream home.’ To be honest, though, wherever Imogen happened to be was his definition of dream home.

  ‘Not just that—this whole year has been amazing.’

  Her and Lauren’s sewing business had become a soaring success. They now ran a very exclusive fashion house—The House of Tesoura. Emily had started her own PR company, and the fashion house had been her first client. Both businesses were thriving. ‘You’ve achieved amazing things this year, Imogen. The House of Tesoura is the toast of the town.’

  ‘I’m ecstatic about that, of course—’ her eyes danced ‘—and over the moon that I can blow raspberries at all of the naysayers, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the plans we discussed a few months ago. I feel as if we’re on the cusp of an exciting new adventure.’

  He swallowed and his heart started to thud. ‘You mean...about starting a family soon?’ He was almost too afraid to hope. He already had so much.

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m talking about.’ She bit her lip and then took his hand and laid it flat against her abdomen, her eyes shining and her lips trembling.

  A jolt shot through him like electricity—he went rigid, and then a wild, glorious excitement coursed through him. ‘You’re...?’

  She nodded. ‘I found out yesterday. I wasn’t going to tell you until tomorrow. I thought it’d be the best Christmas present ever. But I’ve been bursting with the news...and now seemed like the perfect time.’

  He couldn’t push a single word past the lump in his throat.

  Imogen was pregnant.

  His hand curved against her in wonder.

  They were going to have a baby.

  ‘Happy?’ she whispered.

  With a superhuman effort, he swallowed down the lump. ‘I thought I was happy two minutes ago. This—’ he shook his head ‘—it’s almost too much.’

  ‘No, it’s not, darling Jasper.’ She reached up to touch his face. ‘It’s just right. It’s exactly as it should be.’

  ‘I’m the luckiest man alive.’ Cupping her face, he lowered his mouth to hers and told her in a language that needed no words exactly how happy he was.

  * * *

  If you enjoyed this story, check out these other great reads from Michelle Douglas

  Miss Prim’s Greek Island Fling

  The Million Pound Marriage Deal

  An Unlikely Bride for the Billionaire

  A Deal to Mend Their Marriage

  All available now!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Crazy About Her Impossible Boss by Ally Blake.

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Romance.

  You adore a feel-good story! Harlequin Romance offers uplifting escapes featuring real, relatable women and strong, deeply desirable men. Experience the intensity, anticipation and sheer rush of
falling in love.

  Enjoy four new stories from Harlequin Romance every month!

  Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!

  Other ways to keep in touch:

  Harlequin.com/newsletters

  Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks

  Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks

  HarlequinBlog.com

  Crazy About Her Impossible Boss

  by Ally Blake

  CHAPTER ONE

  LUCINDA. PICK UP. Lucinda. Pick up. Lucinda. Pick up.

  Lucinda’s fingers hovered over the keyboard keys right as the voice stopped, their ends tingling from typing ninety-plus words a minute.

  She cocked an ear but couldn’t tell where the voice had come from.

  From her desk—aka The Guard Tower Blocking All From Entrance Into Her Boss’s Sacred Space—she could see all the way from his corner office, down the hall past Reception to the lifts at the end, and there was no one nearby.

  She went back to typing and...

  Lucinda. Pick up. Lucinda. Pick up. Lucinda. Pick up.

  With a huff, she lifted her fingers from the keys and zeroed in on the sound.

  It was coming from her phone, which was lit up beseechingly by her elbow. Someone had added a new ringtone. The picture smiling back at her gave her a fair idea who was behind the deep, gravelly voice.

  Biting her lips to suppress a scowl—or possibly a smile—Lucinda pressed the little red “end call” dot on the screen, flicking the call to voicemail. She was a busy woman. The man could wait.

  Straightening her shoulders, Lucinda found her spot on the screen once more, pressed a quick finger to her earbud and picked up the trail of the conversation in her ear as Dahlia—Executive Assistant to the Head of Advertising at the Melbourne Ballet Company—continued her story about the man who’d stood her up for drinks the night before.

  As Lucinda listened, mmm-ing in all the right places, she continued to type a bullet-point list of the day’s top business-related headlines—trending brands, celebrity gaffes and wins, as well as a few choice titbits she thought might be relevant to her boss—a ritual she’d begun when she’d first landed a job at the Big Picture Group six-and-a-half years earlier.

  Then her mobile started ringing again, the tone deep, resonant and insistent. Male. Lucinda. Pick up. Lucinda. Pick up. Lucinda. Pick up.

  Lucinda did not pick up. She opened a drawer, tossed the phone inside, covered it in a pile of miscellaneous paper and shut the drawer once more.

  Then into her mouthpiece she said, “Dahlia, you are a rare gem. Find a man who sees your worth. One who looks you in the eye. Who listens when you speak. Who shows up when he says he will. Find a grown-up. Do not waste another moment settling for anything less. You’ll thank me.”

  Dahlia thanked her profusely and rang off. But not before promising to send Lucinda a dozen A-circle tickets to opening night of the Melbourne Ballet’s next show. Lucinda didn’t bite back that smile. She already had a couple of clients lined up who’d love her for ever for those tickets.

  Though she did wonder—if only briefly—whether she was, in fact, the best possible person Dahlia, or anyone, could turn to for dating advice. At least she hadn’t given Dahlia any advice she wouldn’t follow herself.

  “Probably why you’ve been single for so long,” she muttered, before getting back to work.

  Until her phone started up again. Lucinda. Pick up. Lucinda. Pick up. Lucinda. Pick up. Only muffled. By paper. And a closed drawer.

  Lucinda slowly typed the last bullet point, saved the file and sent it flying through the ether to her boss’s computer, before turning on her chair to face the man himself.

  Angus Wolfe, one of the top branding specialists in town, if not the country, sat on the other side of a wall of diffused, smoky glass that separated him from the rest of the world.

  He leant back in his big leather chair, feet up on the decadently deep windowsill, face in profile as he looked out over the stunning view of the Melbourne skyline. The dying sun sparkled and glinted off the staggering shards of chrome and glass beyond but Lucinda only had eyes for the mobile phone pressed to his ear.

  When the drawer began to vibrate a moment before her phone rang, she whipped it open, grabbed her phone and again pressed the little red “end call” dot. She then shoved back her chair, stalked to the discreet glass door that was hers and hers alone, opened it with a satisfying swish and strode across the acre of soft grey carpet to her boss’s desk.

  There was no way he wasn’t fully aware she stood behind him. The man’s ability to read a room was legendary. He noticed changes in temperature, pulse, breathing and tone of voice the way other people noticed being kicked in the shin.

  Yet still she took a selfish moment to drink him in before officially making herself known.

  For Angus Wolfe’s profile was a study in staggering male beauty.

  The man was all chiselled angles. Sharp jaw, close-shaven. Hair darkly curling and a mite over-long. The reading glasses he refused to admit he needed to wear did nothing to soften the impact of the most formidable pair of dark-hazel eyes that had ever been seen.

  Even the tendons in his neck were a sight to behold.

  Then he shifted. Slowly. Like a big cat stretching in the sun. The lines of his charcoal suit moved with him, cut as they were to make the most of his...everything. Each one cost more than she’d spent on her car. She knew. She paid his bills.

  Then she spotted his socks. Peeking out from the top of his custom-made dress shoes was the merest hint of a wolf motif. She’d given him those socks for Christmas.

  Her heart gave a little flutter, releasing a gossamer thread of lust that wafted from throat to belly to places less mentionable.

  She squished the thing. Fast.

  Angus Wolfe might be able to read a room, but if anyone dared claim that Lucinda Starling—his long-time executive assistant, his right-hand woman, his not-so-secret weapon—was a teeny, tiny little bit in love with him, he’d have laughed till he split a kidney.

  Either she kept her cards closer to her chest than she realised or he had a blind spot when it came to her. The fact that he had no clue was a gift. And she planned to keep it that way.

  For the sake of her job. Her self-respect. Her mental health.

  When her phone went off in her hand—Lucinda. Pick up—she flinched.

  Then she pulled herself together. She held her phone at arm’s length and said, “Really?”

  A beat slunk by before Angus turned in his chair, mouth kicked to one side in the kind of half-smile that always meant trouble.

  “When did you even get access to my phone?” she asked.

  He tapped the side of his nose. “I have ways,” he said, his voice deeper in person than in the recording, the words unhurried, the effect magnetic. “Ways and means.”

  “So they say,” she sassed.

  No one else would have noticed Angus’s pause. The infinitesimal shift in his eyes. But Lucinda noticed it all. It was her job to do so. It was what made her so good at getting him what he needed before he even knew he needed it.

  It was also why she mentally kicked herself for the flirty bass note in her voice.

  Their relationship, as it was, was a finely tuned, perfectly balanced thing. There was sass, and plenty of it. And banter. There was also brutal honesty. And respect. A little flirtation was within the rules. Part of the game. For they worked really long hours and had to do what they had to do to keep it fun. It took work to keep the balance right. Work to make sure the guy had no clue how she felt about him.

  Lucinda feigned resignation as she cocked a hip and waggled her phone in his general direction in order to deflect his attention. “Were you calling for a reason or were you just bored? Because I have plenty of admin I
can sling your way if you’re looking for something to do.”

  Angus blinked, breathed deeply through his nose and dragged his chair closer to his desk. “Thank you, but no. I wanted you.”

  “I was busy,” she said, even while his words skipped and tripped through the unguarded parts of her subconscious.

  “Doing what?”

  She moved around behind his desk, turned the sleek monitor to face her and called up the screen that mirrored her own, where a bright-yellow computer-generated sticky note said, Read me.

  Angus rubbed a single finger across the crease below his bottom lip. Lucinda tried not to stare at his mouth, she really did—but there she was, staring, as his face split into a grin. “Anyway, now I have you, sit.”

  His voice had dropped. A fraction. Enough.

  She glanced up at his eyes. Imagined a bookshop full of self-help books taking her to task for allowing herself even a brief moment of fantasy.

  Gritting her teeth, Lucinda walked back round his desk, taking the time to change her ringtone to something less likely to make the hairs on the back of her neck flutter and tickle. Where was a funeral dirge when you needed one?

  She pulled up her chair, the rose-pink velvet tub chair he’d bought her for Christmas. The fact he let her keep it in his office, the absolute best part of the gift.

  She sat then pulled out the notebook and pencil she’d grabbed without thinking when she’d picked up her phone. She scratched the pencil a few times to warm it up and settled in preparation for Angus’s labyrinthine mind to shift, sway and touch on more bright ideas than any one person had the right to keep in their head.

  “Ready?” he asked, that slight lift on one side of his mouth.

  “Always.”

  Angus clapped and like that he was in work mode. One hundred and ten percent. “Right. The Remède account.”

  For the next ten minutes, Angus went on a wild and woolly stream of consciousness about the rebranding of the Remède cosmetics company, once upon a time a global force, now attempting a last-ditch about-turn in its fortunes before it sank.