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The Magnate’s Baby Promise
By
Paula Roe
AND
Having the Billionaire’s Baby
By
Sandra Hyatt
MILLS & BOON
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The Magnate’s Baby Promise
By
Paula Roe
She wondered if she’d just imagined that night in Sydney, two months ago.
Cal Prescott stood in the doorway, broad and immaculately dressed in a dark grey suit, a chilly gleam in his eyes. Those same eyes had creased with serious concentration as they’d shared hot, wet kisses in the privacy of his penthouse suite. Flared with hunger as he’d slipped her dress from her shoulders—She slammed the door on those memories, barely managing a croak. “Cal.” “Ava.” Cal’s voice, a slow burning rasp that had turned her on so quickly, so completely, was the same, but little else was. His face was a study in frozen control, eyes reflecting only an impersonal razor-sharp study as he remained still, somehow dwarfing her kitchen even from the relative safety of the doorway.
She was alone with Cal Prescott. Again.
Despite wanting to be a vet, choreographer, hairdresser, card shark and an interior designer (though not all at once!), PAULA ROE ended up as a personal assistant, office manager, aerobics instructor and software trainer for thirteen years (which also funded her extensive travel through the US and Europe). Today she still retains a deep love of filing systems, stationery and travelling, although the latter is only in her dreams these days. Paula lives near western Sydney’s glorious Blue Mountains with her family, an ancient black cat and a garden full of rainbow lorikeets, magpies and willy wagtails. You can visit her at www.paularoe.com.
Grateful thanks to my wonderful writing group, The Coven, for the hours of brainstorming, encouragement and Saturday morning brunches. Oh, and for letting me immortalize your names in print. I owe you all a large decaf soy caramel latte!
Dear Reader,
Just like my navigation skills, sometimes my stories begin in one place then end up somewhere completely different. This one was no exception. I did know a few things—secret pregnancy, forced marriage, Outback business in trouble—but that’s where the similarities ended. Cal and Ava started with different names and occupations, different pasts and conflict, and even though I loved that story, it just wasn’t the right one for them. And because I never throw my ideas away, the original version is sitting in my filing cabinet, waiting for its time to shine.
It’s exciting to see my first “Outback” story come to fruition. Even though Gum Tree Falls and Jindalee are purely fictional, I did do some research in and around far western NSW where Ava grew up (no hardship—it’s gorgeous country). Creative license is a beautiful thing, so I renovated “The Toaster”—the controversial but expensive apartment block at Sydney’s Circular Quay—into a very tall, very elegant building where Cal lives. I don’t know about you, but I’d love to have the Quay, Opera House and Royal Botanical Gardens as my daily room with a view!
Come and visit me at www.paularoe.com, where there’s more behind-the-scenes info about The Magnate’s Baby Promise.
With love,
Paula
Chapter One
It’s my company. Mine.
The mantra throbbed in Cal Prescott’s brain until, with a growl of frustration, he slammed his palms on the desk and shot to his feet.
Victor had really done it this time—not only pitting his sons against each other for the ultimate prize of VP Tech but demanding an heir in the bargain. With a sharp breath Cal whirled to study the panoramic view of Sydney’s Circular Quay and Botany Bay below, the gun-metal arch of Sydney Harbour Bridge nestled comfortably in the foreground. The unusually sunny June morning did nothing to smooth his anger; Victor’s trademark directness still smouldered away in his gut.
You must both marry and produce an heir. The first one to do so gets the company.
Zac, his stepbrother, didn’t deserve VP Tech. He was Victor’s real flesh and blood, yes, but the younger man had turned his back on them years ago. It was Cal who’d stuck with family, who had put in the long hours, steadily growing the business until his One-Click office software package had finally cracked the biggest seller spot in Australia last year.
Cal Prescott didn’t walk away. Ever. He’d put every waking hour, every drop of sweat into his stepfather’s company. Damned if he’d let it slip through his fingers now.
With long-legged strides he stalked over to a discreet wall panel and jabbed a button to reveal a well-stocked bar. He smoothly poured himself a glass of whiskey, neat.
Making money, proving himself, had been an all-consuming desire for so long he barely remembered a time he hadn’t lived and breathed it. And with every million he’d made, every deal he’d brokered, he could’ve sworn he’d seen pride on Victor’s craggy face, felt the rush of approval when the gruff, emotionally spare man imparted brief praise. Obviously he was good enough to bring in millions but not good enough to be a Prescott, to be automatically entrusted with the legacy of VP Tech.
Unfamiliar bitterness knotted his insides, curled his lip. Victor hadn’t even given him the courtesy of an explanation; he’d simply issued the ultimatum then left on some business trip, leaving Cal to sort through the bombshell’s wreckage.
The phone rang then and Cal sat, grabbing the receiver.
“There’s a woman I’d like you to meet,” Victor said by way of greeting.
Speak of the devil. “You’re back.”
“Yes. You remember Miles Jasper, the Melbourne heart surgeon?”
The sour taste of futility burnt the back of his throat. “No.”
Victor ignored him and continued. “He has a daughter. She’s twenty-seven, blond, attractive and—”
“I don’t give a damn if she’s Miss Universe,” Cal ground out. “I’m not some prize stallion at auction. I may have agreed to this ludicrous arrangement, but I will pick my own wife.” He slammed the phone down with a satisfying crack.
After a long, drawn-out moment he dragged in a controlled breath, slid a sealed envelope from his desk drawer and slowly centred it on the desk with meticulous care.
Thanks to a local investigator and a helpful cabbie, his obsession with the elusive Ava Reilly could now be put to rest.
For the past nine weeks he’d refused to think about her, about that one amazing night, shoving it from his mind with the decisive efficiency he was renowned for. But now, as he let his thoughts wander back to their chance encounter, the walls began to crack.
Long limbs, soft black hair and a pair of bright blue eyes teased his memory. Ava. A movie-star name, one that evoked a woman with poise, elegance. Presence.
She’d gotten under his skin and stayed there, disrupting his thoughts at awkward times—in meetings, with clients. The worst were the early mornings, before the sun rose. Time and again he’d hauled himself from the depths of a hot erotic dream where her mouth had been on his, her lips trailing over his chest, her skin hot and silky beneath his hands. It had left him frustrated and aching with need way too many times.
He’d been determined to forget her, forget what had just been a one-night stand. Ironically, he’d gotten his wish three days ago. Three days since his stepfather had issued his ultimatum, seventy-two hours in which VP Tech had dominated his thoughts and he’d seesawed between dull, throbbing rage and aggravated tension.
With a flick of his wrist, he ripped open the envelope and scanned the report.
After too many broken nights and unfocused days, he’d taken action. Now he steeled himself for reality to shatter the fantasy. She could be married, or engaged. His thoughts darkened. He could’ve been her last fling before she’d settled down to marry her childhood sweetheart—
As his eyes flipped over the paragraphs, his brows took a dive. Ava Reilly owned a bed-and-breakfast in rural western New South Wales.
He reached for his computer mouse, clicked on the Internet connection and typed “Jindalee retreat” in the search engine. Seconds later he was looking at Jindalee’s basic Web page. No wonder she was up to her eyeballs in debt with the bank about to foreclose next month. The place was under-promoted and unremarkable for a simple outback town with less than five hundred people.
He went back to the report, skimming over her finan-cials until he got to the summary of her weekly errands. Cal snorted. That PI was thorough, he’d give him that.
Approximately eight weeks pregnant.
“What the hell?”
Office walls suddenly closed in on him, tight and airless, forcing Cal to take a deep gulp.
In one sharp movement, he crushed the offending paper and hurled it across his office, where it hit the wall with a soft thud. No. No way. Not again.
A shuddering breath wracked through him as shock stiffened every muscle. He’d had that, once. A baby. His baby. A child to follow in his footsteps, to nurture and love. To shower with his wealth and experience and to ensure the past was never repeated. He’d been ecstatic when Melissa had told him. Vulnerable.
Stupid.
She’d faked everything and he’d vowed never to repeat that failure again.
But this…this changed everything.
He tightened his jaw, teeth grinding together. After making mad, passionate love, Ava had run like a thief in the night. If not for those black bikini knickers he’d found tangled in the sheets, it could have all been just a delicious, erotic dream.
His thoughts spun out of control, fed by heated memories. And as he recalled every sigh, every touch, his shock morphed into something more sinister. Swiftly his mind clicked through options. Chance encounter or deliberate? Perhaps part of a calculated blackmail plan?
His harsh laugh exploded in the quiet office. If the child was his, it provided a neat solution to all his problems.
He slammed down his glass then picked up the phone. “Jenny—arrange for a car and inform the airstrip I’ll be flying within the hour.”
Replacing the receiver with deliberate slowness he stood, a low curse softly rumbling across his lips.
His baby.
Shards of intense possessiveness stabbed, threatening to choke off his air. If Ava thought he’d pay up and stay out of her life, she was very much mistaken. Every single day, in the midst of everything he’d attained, who he was and where he’d come from were never far from his mind. And no long-legged, dark-haired seductress with wide blue eyes would compromise his beliefs.
With gnawing apprehension, Ava realized she had to face facts—Jindalee was spiralling into a money pit and she had no way of stopping it.
She sighed, eyeing the final notices spread before her on the kitchen table. Absently she ran a frustrated hand over the tangle of hair that had slipped from its ponytail. She’d been certain people would jump at the chance to spend time at a real get-away-from-it-all rural retreat, so certain she’d sunk all her parents’ insurance money into the venture. She’d converted the homestead into a reception and dining area, built a five-cabin extension and refurbished the kitchen.
All to emphasise her spectacular downfall.
Her rooms were empty most weekends and she didn’t have the money or experience to keep on advertising. Despite her fierce determination to ignore the town gossips, she knew they’d feed on this until her belly started to grow, and then the Gum Tree Falls grapevine would be buzzing anew with “have you heard the latest on Ava Reilly?”
With burning cheeks she stood, eased out the kink in her back and took a deep breath. Tentatively, she placed a hand on her still-flat stomach.
A baby. Hers.
Wonder and shock tripped her breath, adding a shaky edge to the inhale. She tried to swallow but tears welled in her eyes. Quickly, she dashed them away. She hadn’t gone looking for a one-night stand, yet the stranger had commanded her eyes the instant he’d settled on the bar stool next to hers at Blu Horizon, an exclusive cocktail lounge at Sydney’s Shangri-La Hotel. He’d radiated confidence and wealth as if powered by some inner sun, from every thread of his sharply tailored black suit to the closely cropped, almost military haircut. Yet there was something more, something a little vulnerable beneath that chiselled face, all angles and shadow.
It was only after she’d snuck back to her girlfriend’s place at 2:00 a.m. that she’d discovered the real identity of the man who’d rocked her world. Mr. One-Click, heir apparent to the great Victor Prescott’s vast technology empire. Cal Prescott’s computer software had recently become number one in national sales. Hell, she’d just upgraded her office computer with the latest version.
She snorted at the irony. Cal Prescott was one of the richest men under thirty-five, a man who regularly dated supermodels and socialites. He was a man who avoided emotional entanglements, who revelled in his bachelor lifestyle. If working long hours and staying single was an Olympic event, he’d have a cupboard full of gold medals.
It was a good thing you left. A smart choice. The right choice. Still, a tiny doubt niggled. How could she single-handedly bring a baby into her life, a debt-ridden life to which she could add the grim possibility of being homeless, too?
She’d wavered between absolute joy and utter despair a million times this past week. And every time she always returned to one realization: fate. Karma. Destiny. Whatever it was called, the universe was telling her that despite everything, this baby was meant to be.
Ava Rose, life never throws anything your way you’re not capable of handling. Her mother’s favourite phrase teased her mouth into a too-brief smile before the familiar throb of loss hit. She let it sit there for a second before shoving it aside. Death and tragedy hadn’t defeated her before. A new life wouldn’t now.
She dropped her hands to the table and gathered up the papers. The pity party’s over. It was time to take action and get her life back on track. Somehow.
“Doing your paperwork, I see.”
Ava whirled, her brain tingling at the sound of that oh-so-delicious voice. A millisecond later, her stomach fell to the floor.
Cal Prescott stood in the doorway, broad and immaculately dressed in a dark grey suit, a chilly gleam in his eyes. Those eyes, once so intensely passionate, now so cold and distant that she wondered if she’d just imagined that night in Sydney two months ago. Those same eyes had creased with serious concentration as they’d shared hot, wet kisses in the privacy of his Shangri-La Hotel penthouse suite. Flared with hunger as he’d slipped her dress from her shoulders—
She slammed the door on those memories, barely managing a croak. “Cal.”
“Ava.” Cal’s voice, a slow-burning rasp that had turned her on so quickly, so completely, was the same, but little else was. His face was a study in frozen control, eyes reflecting only an impersonal, razor-sharp study as he remained still, somehow dwarfing her kitchen even from the relative safety of the doorway.
She was alone with Cal Prescott. Again.
The air thickened, heavy with expectation. A warm throb started up between her legs as she swallowed a single desperate groan.
“What…” She croaked then cleared her throat. “What are you doing here?”
His lip curled but he said nothing, a broad, tense statue intent on letting the moment swirl and grow. She steeled herself as his eyes flickered over her in thorough scrutiny, gathering up her dignity with a smoothing of her wayward hair. Yet his eyes followed those fluttery movements until she firmly jammed her hands in her back pockets.
He snorted, a sound so full of contempt that Ava took a cautious step backwards.
“Are you pregnant with my child?”
Ava grabbed the edge of the kitchen counter, reeling from the blow. How could he know? She’d barely had time to get used to it herself. She’d driven into Parkes for an over-the-counter test, then followed up at a free clinic. She’d told no one, not even Aunt Jillian.
She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Like an idiot she just stood there, blinking in shock.
“Who…how..?” She finally managed.
“Do not play the innocent, Ava.” His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening imperceptibly. “Now answer me.”
The subtle threat behind his silky words, the fury reflected in every tightened muscle, was all too clear. Ava felt her cheeks flush and just like that, she snapped.
“Do you think I planned this? I didn’t even know who you were until after I—” she paused.
“Ran away?” He finished, his eyes way too perceptive.
She crossed her arms, refusing to let him see he’d struck a nerve. Yet her mind raced a million miles an hour until something finally clicked. “That’s why you’re here. You think I want money from you.” Bile rose in her throat, acrid and burning. “Get out of my kitchen,” she ground out.
“I’m not going anywhere. Is the baby mine?”
For one heartbeat, she seriously considered lying, but just as quickly rejected it. Apart from the fact she was a terrible liar, she wouldn’t. Not about something this important. So with fear of the unknown fluttering in her belly, she slowly nodded. “Yes, Cal. It’s yours.”
He paused. “A paternity test will prove it.”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “It will.”
His cold mask cracked, morphing into an expression so raw that she had to take a step back from the intensity.
He strode to her, the distance between them evaporating into an excruciating invasion of her comfort zone. He was Cal Prescott, and he was there, right there and amazingly, the urge to touch him, to smell him, thundered through her senses. She wanted to melt right into his very bones until she couldn’t tell where she finished and he started.
Anger poured off him, slamming into her, breaking through her thoughts. Then with a soft curse he abruptly whirled, shoving a hand through his hair, leaving short, tufted peaks in its wake. Hair that emphasised his ruthlessly angular face and framed those rich brown eyes to perfection. It was a face so achingly distant, one that screamed control and power in every muscle, every line.
“What do you want?” He demanded now, pinning her with sharp intensity.
Instinctively she placed a hand over her belly, which only succeeded in drawing his attention. Abruptly she shoved her hands back in her jean pockets. “From you? Nothing.”
His gaze narrowed. “Don’t lie to me. Not now.”
“I’m not lying! I didn’t even know I was pregnant until a week ago.”
“So that’s the way you’re going to play it.” When he crossed his arms, utterly convinced of her guilt, her frustration ratcheted up.
“I don’t care what you think,” she hissed back. “It’s none of your business!”
He stilled, staring at her, while all around them there was silence, as if the earth itself was awaiting his comeback with bated breath.
Then he smiled. The sheer triumph in that one simple action sent a chilling wave over her skin. It was the smile of a man used to getting his own way, a man who made thousands of million-dollar deals and steamrolled over his detractors. It was a smile that told her he’d won.
Won what?
“You being pregnant with my child is none of my business?” he said now, arching one derisive brow up. “On the contrary. I’ve given this a lot of thought. That child needs a father. We’ll get married.”
Deep below the surface, the bombshell exploded, sending shock waves through Ava’s insides. Oblivious to the aftermath, Cal flipped open a sleek black mobile phone and dialled. “I’ve already applied for a wedding licence and my solicitor will finalise the prenup. I dislike large engagement parties so we’ll skip that, of course. But I have booked dinner at Tetsuya’s with my parents tomorrow night, so—”
Ava finally found her voice. “What are you doing?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you crazy?”
“What?” When he put his hand over the mouthpiece and glared at her like she was some sort of annoying irritation, Ava saw red.
“You can’t force me to marry you!” She jammed her hands on her hips and shouted the last word, anger surging up to scorch her throat.
Slowly, Cal hung up, forcing restraint into every muscle of his body. Her hands fisted on her hips, hips that curved into the worn denim and came this close to being indecent. His eyes travelled upwards, past the ratty shirt that skimmed her waist, the rolled-up sleeves over tanned forearms, to the low neckline that revealed a smooth expanse of throat.
He finally fixed on her face, a face he’d seen in his dreams, deep in the throes of passion. Her silken black hair was half up, half down, the remnants of a ponytail feathering her jaw. A stubborn jaw that was now rigid with fury.
It was the offer of a lifetime, marrying into the Prescott wealth. He may have preempted her blackmail attempt but she’d still be well compensated. What the hell was she ticked off about? Thrown, he glanced at her mouth.
It did him in, seeing that lush mouth again. Gentle creases around her lips denoted a lifetime in the sun, but all he could think about was the softness of that flesh when it had teased and tempted him. How she’d placed hot, searing kisses across his chest, trailed her tongue over his belly before—
With a silent curse, he scowled, which only seemed to anger her.
“I am not marrying you.” She enunciated the words as if he was missing a few brain cells.
He scowled. “Why not?”
Her eyes rounded in incredulity. “Because for one, you don’t tell someone you’re marrying them, you ask them. Second, we don’t even know each other. And third, I don’t want to marry you.”
“I know you need money to save this place. I’m making you an offer.” When she remained silent, he turned the screw a little more. “You get your money and I get a wife.”
Her breath sucked in. “I don’t need your money.”
“Because you’ve got so many other offers, right? Your neighbor…Sawyer?” He lifted his eyebrows mockingly. “He’s mortgaged to the hilt.” As he watched her face drain of color he said flatly, “What, you didn’t know?”
She said nothing, just stared at him with those bright blue eyes full of recrimination.
“The way I see it, you don’t have a choice,” he said now. “I’ll give you until tomorrow to think it through, but we both know your answer.”
Ava was speechless, floored by the depth of his arrogance. “If you care so much, then why not just sue for custody?” she finally whispered. “Why marriage?”
“Because I do not ignore my responsibilities.” His voice tightened in the spacious kitchen. “Did you intend to tell me about this baby at all?”
She quickly drew a hand over her stomach as the blood rushed from her face. She couldn’t think, couldn’t even breathe with his ever-watchful eyes, the lingering scent of his warm skin, the aftermath of his luscious voice in the air all around her. “I…didn’t think you’d want to know. You’re Cal Prescott and—”
“You don’t know what I want.” Fury flickered, working his jaw. “You walked into my life, spent the night, then walked right out again.”
“So this is your way of getting back at me?”
“This is not about you. It’s about a child.” His eyes dropped to her belly, then up again, his expression unreadable. “My child.”
He effectively ended their conversation with a flick of his hand, a white business card between his two fingers. When she didn’t take it he slammed it down on the counter. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Almost as if he couldn’t stand to remain in her presence a second longer, he turned and stalked out the door.
