The Prince's Secret Baby. Christine Rimmer
Words of praise for Mills & Boon® from New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling authors
“When I started writing for Mills & Boon, I was
delighted by the length of the books, which allowed
the freedom to create, and develop more within each
character and their romance. I have always been a fan
of Mills & Boon! I hope to write for it for many years
to come. Long live Mills & Boon!”
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live long, and prosper!”
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“I owe a great deal to Mills & Boon for allowing me to
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About the Author
CHRISTINE RIMMER came to her profession the long way around. Before settling down to write about the magic of romance, she’d been everything from an actress to a salesclerk to a waitress. Now that she’s finally found work that suits her perfectly, she insists she never had a problem keeping a job—she was merely gaining “life experience” for her future as a novelist. Christine is grateful not only for the joy she finds in writing, but for what waits when the day’s work is through: a man she loves who loves her right back and the privilege of watching their children grow and change day to day. She lives with her family in Oregon. Visit Christine at www.christinerimmer.com.
The Prince’s
Secret Baby
Christine Rimmer
MILLS & BOON
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tradition at Mills & Boon.”
—Sherryl Woods
Chapter one
“Stop here,” Rule Bravo-Calabretti said to the driver.
The limousine rolled to a silent stop at the head of the row of parking spaces in the shadowed parking garage. The Mercedes-Benz sedan Rule had been following turned into the single empty space at the other end of the row, not far from the elevators and the stairs that led into the mall. From where he sat behind tinted windows, Rule could also see the breezeway outside the parking structure. It led directly into Macy’s department store.
The brake lights of the Mercedes went dark. A woman emerged from the sedan, her head and shoulders appearing above the tops of the row of cars. She had thick brown hair that fell in well-behaved waves. Settling the strap of her bag on her shoulder, she shut the car door and emerged into the open aisle, where she turned back and aimed her key at the car. The Benz gave an obedient beep.
She put the key away in her bag. She looked, Rule decided, just as she’d looked in the pictures his investigators had taken of her—only more attractive, somehow. She wasn’t a pretty woman. But there was something about her that he found much more interesting than mere prettiness. She was tall and slim and wore a blue silk jacket, which was perfectly and conservatively tailored. Her matching blue skirt kissed the tops of her slender knees. Her shoes were darker than her suit, with medium heels and closed toes.
He watched as she settled her bag in place again, straightened her jacket and turned for the door to the breezeway. He thought she looked very determined and somehow he found that determination utterly charming.
She hadn’t glanced in the limousine’s direction. He was almost certain she had no idea that he’d been following her.
And his mind was made up, just like that, in the sixty seconds it took to watch her emerge from her car, put her key in her purse and turn to go. He had to meet her.
Yes, he’d always told himself he never would. That as long as she was running her life successfully, taking good care of the child, it would be wrong of him to interfere. He’d relinquished all rights by law. And he had to live with the choices he had made.
But this wasn’t about rights. This wasn’t about challenging her for what was hers.
He had no intention of interfering. He simply had to … speak with her, had to know if his first reaction to seeing her in the flesh was just a fluke, a moment of starry-eyed idiocy brought on by the fact that she had what mattered most to him.
All right, it was playing with fire. And he shouldn’t even be here. He should be finishing his business in Dallas and rushing back to Montedoro. He should be spending time with Lili, learning to accept that they could be a good match, have a good life.
And he would return to Montedoro. Soon.
But right now, today, he was going to do the thing he’d wanted to do for far too long now. He was going meet Sydney O’Shea face-to-face.
Sydney could not believe it.
The totally hunky—and oddly familiar—guy down the aisle from her in Macy’s housewares department was actually making eyes at her. Men like that did not make eyes at Sydney. Men like that made eyes at women as gorgeous as they were.
And no, it wasn’t that Sydney was ugly. She wasn’t. But she wasn’t beautiful, either. And there was something much too … practical and self-sufficient about her. Something a little too focused, as well. She also happened to be very smart. Men tended to find her intimidating, even at first glance.
So. Really. It was probably only her imagination that the drop-dead gorgeous guy by the waffle irons and electric griddles was looking at her. She pretended to read the tag on a stainless-steel sauté pan—and slid another glance in Mr. Eye Candy’s