His dark gaze lifted till it tangled with hers. “I might not have made it as clear as I thought I had, given that brevity is my preferred style of address, but, Nora, you must know by now that I came here, to this city, to this street, to this house, for you.”
Nora felt every good feeling she’d ever felt swelling inside her like a rising current, pushing every sadness, every regret, every fear out of the way. Making just enough room for her to say, “And I waited, here, in this city, in this street, in this house, for you.”
Ben breathed out hard. As if he’d been sweating her response.
As if every woman who ever met him didn’t drool, just a little.
As if it weren’t patently obvious how taken with him she was.
He went to open his mouth, but she stepped in, lifted onto her toes and pressed a finger to his lips. “I have more to say.”
He nodded. Her finger moved with it. As she slid her finger away, his nostrils flared, his eyes dilated. And he waited. She knew in that moment he would wait as long as it took for her to get to where she needed to be. This great, hulking, strong, handsome, generous, measured, patient man, whose forbearance deserved awards.
“I walked away. I walked away because that’s what I do. I walk before I’m pushed. Walking always feels like a relief. Like I’ve escaped the jaws of a lion. Walking away from you, though... I didn’t like it.”
“I should have stopped you.”
“You tried.”
“Not hard enough. I would have told you, asked you, begged you, held you, kissed you, lassoed you, serenaded you, if I didn’t know you had to choose to stay, all on your own. And, you know, if I’d had any lassoing skill.”
“And if you’d had the rope?” she asked.
“And if I had the rope.”
She moved in a little closer.
He noticed. A muscle ticcing in his cheek as if it was taking every ounce of power he had not to do the same.
“I have a question,” she said.
Ben’s eyes crinkled. All kinds of lights sparkled in their dark depths. “Ask, Nora. Ask me anything you want.”
Okay. Here goes. “Is there a chance...? I mean... Do you think that you might ever find it in you to—?”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes. I love you, Nora. I love you. I’m in love with you. I have been since before I even set foot on the plane to come to you. If missing you so much these past few days I slept in your bed doesn’t prove that, then let me tell you again. I love you. Don’t get me wrong, you drive me around the bend. But it turns out I really like it there.”
Nora stood there, mouth agape, as Ben’s words rolled over her in waves of luscious loveliness. And while, in the past, she might have closed down in fear that it couldn’t possibly last, she opened herself up to every last drop until she felt as if her bones were made of stardust.
“Nora?” Ben’s deep voice came to her like a dream.
She blinked up into his gorgeous gaze and said, “Mmm?”
“Did that answer your question?”
“It did. It really did. Lucky for you, I love you too.”
The words fell from her mouth with such ease. And she felt a huge weight lift off her chest. As if a hundred pairs of arms that had been holding her down, holding her back, let go as one.
Ben smiled; with teeth, and crinkling eyes, and all. There was no shock in his expression. No surprise. Just a whole load of relief and a joy that she’d finally realised. That she was finally able to feel it. To own it. To share it with him.
Then, as if he could hold back no longer, Ben moved in, sliding his arms around her and pulling her close. Pulling her flush up against him so that not a sliver of sunshine peeked through.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. To the top of her nose. To the edge of her earlobe where his lips stayed as he murmured, “You came out of nowhere, like an invading army from the south, your weapons of choice your determined joy, and passion, and bottomless empathy. I had no clue I’d been living in greyscale till you burst into my life.”
Then he placed a kiss on her neck, in that spot that always made her knees give way. And they didn’t disappoint. Her breath left her in a sigh that was part groan as shivers rocked through her body.
But he was there to catch her, to hold her, to keep her close.
She pulled away, just enough to reach up and place her hands either side of his face. “If I’m an invading army, then you’ve made me work for every victory. But it was worth it. You’re worth it.”
With that, Nora tilted up onto her toes and kissed him. She kissed the man she loved. And she felt it, boy, how she felt it.
In the way he held her, as if she was precious and strong all at once.
In the way he followed her lead in the kiss, while also tempting her to follow his.
In the way he seemed to breathe her in, as if making sure she was real.
When they pulled away, breaths heavy, bodies trembling, Nora leant her head against his chest, then turned so her ear could hear his heart. It was nice to find it sounded as erratic as hers felt. “So what do we do now?”
“I have ideas,” said Ben, the tone of his voice enough to send skitters of heat all through her.
“Don’t worry, we’re both having ideas.” Nora grinned against his chest. “I mean, where do we go from here? We are both about to be kicked out of here; sooner rather than later, I’d think, if Misty has any say in the matter.”
“Did you know she has a law degree? And an MBA? That before running that wild shop of hers she was a pretty famous civil rights attorney, and she still helps out on pro bono cases?”
Nora closed her eyes and breathed him in. “Sounds about right.”
“Mmm...” said Ben, holding her closer.
“Mmm...” said Nora, figuring that if a plane fell on the house she’d die happy. Well, not happy, as she really wanted Ben to follow through with those ideas of his.
“I’ve been thinking,” said Ben.
“You’re good at that.”
“I really am. So, working remotely has been doable in the short term, but it wouldn’t be fair on my team or clients going forward. Meaning I’d have to shut up shop and move it here. Or take a partner. Or sell.”
Nora reared back, her gaze dancing between Ben’s eyes to see if he was messing with her. He seemed serious. Drop-dead gorgeous, but serious. “What do you mean, sell? You can’t sell the Desk of Bennett J Hawthorne. It’s where I found you. It’s a part of you! It’s where you earned your cape. And what about Damon and the team? They’ve come so far.”
Ben laughed. “Trust you to think of everyone before yourself.”
Nora’s nose wrinkled. “Nah. I mean, yes, but I’m mostly thinking of you. And me. I took a holiday to Bali a few years ago. Do you think my passport might still be valid? Do I need a visa to go to London?”
“What about your island?”
“My—the resort? Are you suggesting you’d move your company to a beach hut on the Great Barrier Reef? For me?”
“I’d move to the moon if it meant I got to wake up to this face every day.”
She kissed him again. A kiss that made her see stars.
Before she completely went under his spell, she dragged herself back. “That gig, it’s not for me. I’d be spending my days alone, writing puff pieces for some rich dudes. I prefer making a pittance working for people I can look in the eye. People who appreciate it. People who actually need me. The Girl Upstairs can create content anywhere. And if you’re so het up on living on an island, England is an island, right?”
“Again,” he said, his thumb tracing the edge of her nose. “So wise. So very wise. Now, are we done with all the talking? Because I’m still having those ideas I mentioned earlier. Ideas that involve getting you naked and horizontal and, since we could
be kicked out at any moment, I think it best we get cracking—”
Nora leapt at him then, throwing her arms around his neck. And he caught her, as he always had. Kissing her, and carrying her slowly, carefully, deliberately, up the stairs.
Because they really were precarious for a man with such big feet.
* * * * *
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ISBN-13: 9780369712967
The Millionaire’s Melbourne Proposal
Copyright © 2021 by Ally Blake
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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The truth, he reminded himself. Amal was hiding something. And whatever the secret was, it had inspired his mother to omit just enough to bring him home again.
He had to know what his reason for returning was if he stood any chance of regaining the fragile and temporary peace of mind he’d had before reuniting with the one woman who truly battered through his defenses.
The woman he’d once loved with the whole of his being. Amal.
Apparently, she still had some hold on him.
Amal arched her head back, her smooth neck bared to him where her veil’s silky material was slack. Her chest rose and fell faster, her tiny puffs of warm air brushing his tense jaw, his face having pushed closer on its own accord. His body was running the show. That couldn’t be a good thing.
But he needed his answer. And he needed it now, before he did something he seriously regretted.
Like kissing her.
Dear Reader,
I’ve always wanted to write and publish romances, and to be able to do it fills my heart with such joy! It’s not easy, this writing business, but it’s so very worth every second of doing what I love, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything else.
It took six years of writing a dozen or so romance manuscripts before I finally felt ready to tell the story I was meant to all along.
My first published Harlequin novel, Second Chance to Wear His Ring, is that story.
Set in Somaliland and Ethiopia, this second-chance romance sprung to life in my mind as most of my stories do: with a simple what-if. In this case, what if the heroine has amnesia, and the hero with whom she shares a childhood past, and who hasn’t been home in a long while, reunites with her?
My hero, Mansur, and my heroine, Amal, have grown to mean so much to me. Not only because they look like me, but because I’m getting the chance to share my love for my other home, Somaliland, with you.
I hope Amal and Mansur’s story touches your heart as it has mine.
With lots of love,
Hana
Second Chance to Wear His Ring
Hana Sheik
Hana Sheik falls in love every day reading her favourite romances and writing her own happily-ever-afters. She’s worked various jobs—but never for very long because she’s always wanted to be a romance author. Now she gets to happily live that dream. Born in Somalia, she moved to Ottawa, Canada, at a very young age and still resides there with her family.
Second Chance to Wear His Ring is Hana Sheik’s debut title for Harlequin.
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.
To my family, who love and support me endlessly.
To the Sassy Scribes: Ann, Ash, Heather, Jade, Jayne, Laura, Melanie, Nico, Suzanne.
Finally, to Nic Caws, the best editor a newbie author could ask for—thank you for taking a chance on me.
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
Epilogue
CHAPTER ONE
“MANSUR, I NEED your help.”
The closing words of his mother’s voicemail had kept Mansur Ali awake on the flight and alert on the bumpy ride from the airport to his childhood home.
Manny gripped the roof handle, peering out the truck’s dusty, dirt-tracked window. How had he ended up traveling from Pittsburgh to Somaliland in the end, after vowing he wouldn’t? He leaned back into the matted sheepskin car seat cover, knowing exactly how. One missed call from his mother was what had done the trick.
She had answered his return call, but her explanation had been vague at best, dodgy at worst. Even so, he’d understood that something was wrong. It was enough of a reason to fly home to her.
Spying the sky-blue gates of his family property, Manny sat up, anticipating he’d get his answer soon, in person.
The driver, a distant older relative, grinned at Manny. The gaps in his teeth didn’t dim the sunny gesture. “Your mother will be so happy to see you. For days she’s talked about only you.”
“Yes, it’s been too long,” Manny agreed, his Somali rusty from little use these days.
Leaning on the horn, the driver waited for the gates to be opened by other staff before he eased the pickup onto the spacious driveway.
Manny didn’t wait for him to quiet the engine, exiting hastily. Outside, he faced the morning chill. His flight had come in early, though seven a.m. was well past the usual morning hours he kept. He had a self-imposed grueling schedule as CEO of a multimillion-dollar construction and engineering firm, Aetna Builds. Adrenaline kept him upright after zero sleep.
The whole house hopped with activity. One of his mother’s new maids closed the gates she’d opened for the truck and Manny nearly collided with another unfamiliar young woman, this one carrying a mop and bucket. Soapy water sloshed out, inches from his expensive handmade Italian loafers.
Though she didn’t know how much the shoes were worth, she stammered an apology for blocking his path.
“It’s all right,” he said.
She had enough to worry about, with the bucket looking way too heavy for her to carry alone. Besides, those wide, startled eyes of hers suggested she knew who he was. As did her sudden urgency to cover her head with the shawl wrapped around her shoulders.
Manny redirected his gaze, allowi
ng her privacy. The bespoke three-piece suit gave him away. He hadn’t dressed for his new surroundings. Getting to his mother had been his prime objective. And his mission wasn’t over yet.
“Is my mother inside?” Manny nudged his chin toward the entrance the woman had staggered from, bearing her load.
She nodded, still gawking at him.
Manny thanked her, breezing past in his hurry to see his mother.
Frankincense perfumed the air, its sweet, thick tendrils curling around him, calling up childhood memories.
Squinting, he tried to get his bearings, waiting for his vision to adjust. The house had always been dim inside. His mother swore by natural light, despite the electricity working fine. Manny resisted flicking on the lights in the entrance. He crossed the spacious entrance hall to the living room.
“Mansur.”
Facing the door, his mother had noticed his entry and now called to him, her eyes as large and disbelieving as the young maid’s. The sound of the truck’s running motor grumbled in with the cool breeze. The door to the veranda was open, as were all the windows in the tastefully furnished living area.
She shouldn’t look surprised. She had known he was coming. Manny had left a message for her before he’d boarded his private jet. He’d figured she must have heard it as she’d sent the driver to fetch him.
Then again, she was likely shocked that he had shown up. She hadn’t expected him to heed her summons. And what did that say about him?
That you’re a failure of a son, maybe?
He scowled at the thought and fixed his attention on the scene before him.
His mother stood with the help of a woman who had her back to Manny. He assumed it was another maid. That was the wrong assumption.
“Amal...” Manny breathed her name. It felt too long since he’d allowed himself to think about her. A whole year, to be exact.
If he’d known they would cross paths so quickly he would’ve arranged for his mother to meet him elsewhere. Perhaps in his old bedroom. She’d likely furnished it for him, in the hope that he would opt to stay with her rather than check himself into a hotel.
Harlequin Romance September 2021 Box Set Page 48