Demanding His Billion-Dollar Heir (HQR Presents)

by Pippa Roscoe

  ‘But more than that, because of that night, I forced myself to truly take a look at who I am, who I want to be. I’m beginning to learn about “just Maria” and,’ she said with a much larger smile, ‘I like her.’ Then she frowned. ‘Me. I like me. I like discovering who I am and, more than anything, I truly want you to come on that journey of discovery with me. I am so thankful for that night in Iondorra. I honestly believe I fell in love with you that first night, when in some ways we were each more ourselves than we have been since then. And I would very much like to spend the rest of my life being that way with you and our child.’

  ‘Can you say that again?’ he demanded on a shaky exhale.

  ‘The whole thing?’ Maria demanded, a little worried that she’d not be able to do it.

  ‘No, just the most important bit.’

  She smiled, instantly understanding what he was looking for.

  ‘I love you, Matthieu Montcour.’

  ‘I will never tire of hearing that, Maria. And I will never tire of saying it myself. I love you so, so much.’

  Her hand reached out to caress his jaw, to reach for him and pull him to her in a kiss that was just as much joy and love and acceptance as it was passion and desire and need. Her heart soared as he swept her up from where she was sitting and into his arms, entwined beneath the clematis and honeysuckle as if they were weaving themselves together for ever.

  Matthieu would wear the bracelet every single day for the rest of his life, through the birth of their first child—a beautiful baby girl, boisterous and full of laughter and as naughty as she could get away with—and their second, a gorgeous baby boy, sometimes serious, but always loving and considered and kind. He would wear it when he renewed his vows with his wife in the wedding he wanted to finally give her, surrounded by family and friends full of laughter, love and joy. And he would wear it as they weathered the storms that came through loss or hurt, but he would always wear it with the love that filled his heart completely for his wife, their children, his parents and himself. And he would never not be thankful that his beautiful wife had opened his heart to love and shown him that he was not the beast he had spent so long thinking himself, but someone worthy of the queen of his heart.

  * * *

  Unable to put Demanding His Billion-Dollar Heir down? Find your next page-turner with these other stories by Pippa Roscoe!

  A Ring to Take His Revenge

  Claimed for the Greek’s Child

  Reclaimed by the Powerful Sheikh

  Virgin Princess’s Marriage Debt

  Available now!

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  Revelations of a Secret Princess

  by Annie West

  CHAPTER ONE

  CARO EMERGED FROM the café, huddling into her coat as the wind swirled around her ankles and bit her face. Funny that her skin could feel numb with cold while inside she was all churning heat. Nothing could extinguish that fire inside.

  Except the possibility she might fail.

  She faltered to a stop, grasping a lamp post with one gloved hand, fighting nausea.

  Her head told her success was unlikely.

  Her heart urged her on. Not with logic, but with desperate hope.

  She’d never been courageous or adventurous. From infancy she’d been trained to do as she was told, never make waves or put herself forward. Her one attempt to break free and make her own decisions had been disastrous.

  But that was years ago. She’d changed, reinventing herself in the aftermath of tragedy and pain. Caro might not be naturally intrepid but she was determined. She breathed deep, swallowing sharp, sustaining Alpine air. She’d do whatever it took now to succeed.

  Caro looked up the street of the famous Swiss ski resort, ultra-exclusive with its astronomically high prices. Tourists gaped at the elegant shop windows, but they’d be gone by evening, driven away by the chic resort’s unaffordability.

  Up a nearby valley was one of the world’s most iconic mountains. In the other direction lay her destination. Setting her jaw, she crunched over a dusting of late snow and got into her small rental car.

  Twenty minutes later Caro nosed the car around a bend and emerged in a cleared space that hung partway up a mountain. The view was spectacular but she barely noticed.

  She’d assumed she was driving to a ski lodge or an architect-designed home positioned for a multimillion-dollar vista. Instead she looked up at a wall of pale stone, a fairy-tale profusion of towers with steep, angular roofs. There was even a portcullis, raised to reveal a cobbled courtyard.

  Caro stared at the centuries-old castle. This was no romantic ruin. It looked solid and meticulously maintained.

  She’d known Jake Maynard was rich but he must have money to burn to live here. Her research told her he hadn’t inherited it. His permanent home was in Australia.

  She set her jaw. Caro had seen behind the scenes of the rich and famous and knew human frailties lurked there as they did everywhere. Wealth and overt luxury didn’t awe her.

  That was the one tiny advantage she had. Caro clung to it, feeling the nervous lurch of her stomach, tasting desperation on her tongue. Slowly she drove under the portcullis with its security camera, feeling each bump of the old cobblestones. Then she parked in the corner of the courtyard, next to a sleek, black vehicle.

  It was only when she switched off the ignition and heard the silence thicken around her that she realised her hands shook.

  Firming her lips, she reached for her purse, flicked a look in the mirror and pushed the door open.

  She could do this.

  She would do it.

  Two lives depended on it.

  * * *

  ‘Ms Rivage is here.’

  At the sound of his secretary’s voice, Jake reluctantly looked up from behind his desk. Neil stood in the doorway, his expression bland.

  Logic had urged Jake to excise this woman from the shortlist. She didn’t have the experience of the front-running applicants. Yet one small detail in her application had caught Neil’s eye, and Jake’s. Small but vitally important. He raked a hand through his hair and told himself he’d give her fifteen minutes.

  Neil stood aside and she walked in.

  Jake felt his eyebrows channel down in a frown, his senses humming like the rigging on a yacht when a sudden wind rose. The nape of his neck prickled and his nostrils flared as if sensing...something.

  She looked like a nanny straight from central casting. Yet at the same time not. He surveyed her plain skirt suit, scraped-back hair and apparent lack of make-up.

  What was it about her that didn’t fit? He’d learned to rely on his instincts and right now they sensed...something.

  He got to his feet and walked around the desk, hand outstretched.

  ‘Ms Rivage.’

  His hand engulfed slim, soft fingers, yet her grip was firm as she returned his gesture. Most of the other applicants had non-existent handshakes. Either they’d simpered up at him, or were content to let him take the lead. This one looked him square in the eye.

  But only for a moment. Then her brown gaze slewed from his and he knew she stifled anxiety.

  Of course she’s anxious. She’s applying for a job. She must know her qualifications aren’t impressive.

  Yet his sixth sense tickled, telling him this was more than interview nerves.

  ‘Please, Ms Rivage, take a seat.’

  She nodded. ‘Thank you, Mr Maynard.’

  Her voi
ce was deeper than he’d expected, with a husky resonance that teased an altogether earthier part of his consciousness. Perhaps it was the hint of an accent colouring her perfect English. But Jake had never been swayed by a sexy accent. Not unless it was accompanied by an equally sexy body.

  Caro Rivage’s body was hard to define behind the boxy jacket and skirt. She was tall in those heels, just half a head shorter than he, and her long legs were slender. She subsided into the chair with a grace that seemed at odds with the sombre suit. Brown clothes, brown eyes, dark, dull brown hair. She should look forgettable yet Jake found it hard to drag his gaze away.

  Maybe it was the neat way she angled her ankles beneath her, accentuating an innate femininity that plain suit belied. Or the creamy skin that contrasted so startlingly with the dark suit.

  Not completely pale. His gaze traversed her small, lush mouth and high cheekbones, both tinted the palest pink. Not, he’d swear, from make-up. This looked like the genuine article, a peaches and cream complexion, unblemished by the years of sun exposure he was used to seeing in his fellow Australians.

  She shifted, her eyes lifting almost to his, then away, making Jake aware he was staring. The knowledge disturbed him. He wasn’t interested in Ms Rivage’s skin. Even if it looked as soft as a petal.

  He pulled out his chair and sank into it, sprawling comfortably. Again that swift almost-stare from his guest before she looked down and smoothed her skirt.

  Was she afraid of men?

  But then she lifted her chin and their gazes collided. He felt the impact as a wave of heat.

  Jake stared back, intrigued. What was this sensation? Attraction? Surely not for such a sparrow, even if she did have nice legs and an intriguing face. Suspicion?

  Something about her made him cautious.

  ‘Tell me about yourself, Ms Rivage.’ He leaned back, elbows on the chair arms, and steepled his fingers under his chin.

  * * *

  Jake Maynard’s voice was a delicious rumble that she felt like a burr of pleasure in her veins. Caro blinked, ordering herself not to be fanciful. She was immune to male charm—once bitten, twice shy. Yet even as the thought surfaced, she knew this man wasn’t trying to charm. Despite the gesture of welcome and the barest hint of a welcoming smile, she sensed an intensity of purpose that made her pulse quicken.

  Or maybe it was the laser-sharp keenness of his grey eyes beneath coal-black eyebrows. It made his eyes seem diamond bright and knowing, as if he saw beyond her carefully constructed appearance to those secrets she hoarded close.

  It took everything she had not to shift in her seat or betray any other sign of weakness. Or break away from that glittering stare.

  She drew a deep breath, conscious of the unfamiliar new suit, the pantyhose and heeled shoes that felt so different from the comfortable jeans, skirts and flat shoes she’d worn for the past few years.

  The very act of putting on these clothes made her simultaneously grateful for the camouflage and unsettled by the reminder of her other life.

  One black eyebrow climbed his broad forehead towards thick, ebony hair, reminding her he was waiting. With that hard but handsome face, powerful physique and enormous fortune Jake Maynard probably wasn’t used to women making him wait.

  The thought dampened the worst of Caro’s nerves, helping her focus. She’d been distracted by the aura of strength emanating from him, courtesy of broad shoulders. By even features and that slash of a dimple in one cheek when he offered his half-smile. By his air of strength and dependability.

  As if any man could be relied on!

  She folded her hands and began. ‘My application speaks for itself. I love working with children and I’m very good at it. As you’ll see from my references.’

  Her chin lifted as if anticipating an argument. Even now her father’s habit of squashing her self-confidence had its effect. She expected Jake Maynard to disagree with her claim, though it was true.

  For too long those cool eyes held hers, then his gaze fell to the papers before him. Caro’s breath rushed out in relief. She’d have to do better than this if she were to convince him and win the job.

  The possibility of being rejected was unthinkable. She bit her lip as he looked up, brows contracting as he read her features.

  ‘You don’t have formal qualifications.’

  ‘A degree in early childhood education?’ She shook her head. ‘My experience is all hands on. But you’ll see I’ve done a number of short courses on specific early learning issues.’

  He didn’t bother to check her application again, letting it fall to the desk. Caro’s heart plunged with it. Surely that wasn’t it? He wouldn’t write her off so easily, not when he’d decided to interview her!

  ‘I have to tell you the other short-listed applicants have both practical experience, years of it, plus excellent formal qualifications.’

  There it was, the brush-off she’d feared. Nausea churned at the idea of being given her marching orders.

  ‘Have you read my references? I believe you’ll find them persuasive.’

  He sat back further in his chair, as if getting comfortable while he watched her squirm. He didn’t bother glancing at her application.

  Maybe the contrast between his bronzed skin and the dark jacket he wore teased her imagination, or perhaps it was his almost insulting air of indolence, but for a second Caro fancied something demonic in the knowing slant of those dark brows. Something fierce and compelling and totally at odds with this comfortable room full of old, leather-bound books.

  ‘I’m supposed to be awed because one of your referees is a countess?’ Had he memorised her application? Caro was surprised he recalled that level of detail. ‘Unfortunately for you, Ms Rivage, I’m not swayed by an aristocratic title.’

  His sneer rankled. Stephanie was a dear friend as well as a client. She’d given her reference in good faith. Caro sat taller, fixing her slouching interviewer with a stare.

  ‘The key part of the reference is the description of my work, Mr Maynard, not my employer’s title.’

  Those straight eyebrows rose as if he was surprised at her response. Did he expect her to sit silently while he picked her application and her friends apart?

  ‘Her son faced a range of difficulties when I began working with him. Together we made considerable progress.’

  ‘You claim all his improvement was because of you?’

  ‘No. It was a team effort that included some specialised programmes. But I was there with him every day, a major part of that.’

  That might not sound as good as I did it all myself, but it was the truth.

  No sign of approval on those stark features. Maybe that was how Jake Maynard looked while processing information—gaze sharp, brow frowning and mouth pursed. The expression emphasised the heavy planes of his jaw and the slant of his high cheekbones. He reminded Caro of a picture that had fascinated her as a child, of a medieval knight frowning in concentration as he pinioned a flailing dragon the size of small Shetland pony with his lance.

  Her sympathies had always been with the little dragon.

  ‘You think four or five years working as a nanny and preschool assistant make you the best person to look after my niece?’

  She’d been wrong. The steely glint in his eyes was more condescending than the medieval knight who hung in a dark corner of the upstairs corridor. It reminded her of her father’s chilly stare. The one that through her childhood had reduced her to apologetic silence.

  That, as much as her desperation, stiffened Caro’s spine.

  Slowly she shifted position, sitting back in her seat and lifting one leg, crossing it over her other knee, feeling the slide of silky pantyhose. A flicker in that grey-eyed stare told her Jake Maynard noted the movement.

  For some reason her chest constricted, as if the air turned thick and hard to breathe. She refused to let it sho
w, instead adopting what she hoped was a relaxed pose.

  ‘I can’t speak about the other applicants, but if I’m given the opportunity I’ll devote myself to your niece totally. You won’t have any complaints.’

  ‘That’s a big claim.’

  ‘But true. I know my capabilities, and my dedication.’ In that at least she was absolutely the best person for the job.

  Her stomach plunged. He didn’t look impressed. Why should he? No doubt he had hordes of ultra-qualified specialists at his beck and call. The very real possibility of being ejected without a chance to prove herself seemed more likely by the moment. Then where would she be? What other opportunity would she have?

  Caro re-crossed her legs. ‘Clearly you were interested enough in my application to interview me.’

  Her pulse thundered in her ears as she stifled fear at the prospect of failing. She’d known her chances were slim yet she’d obstinately clung to hope. This was her one opportunity to make things right. If Jake Maynard had any inkling of why she was really here she’d be out of the door before her feet touched the ground.

  The thought flushed heat through her, eddying deep inside and burning her cheeks. Was his niece somewhere close even now?

  ‘Perhaps I was interested in meeting a woman so confident despite her lack of solid credentials.’