Secret Heirs Collection. Коллектив авторов
be out in this heat?’
‘Well, if I’m going to live here, I’ve got to get used to it,’ replied Joanna, slipping her arm about his waist. ‘We are going to live here, aren’t we?’
‘I like the way you say “we”,’ murmured Matt, his eyes devouring her. ‘How did I ever live without you?’
Matt bent to bury his face in the curve of her shoulder and Joanna cupped his neck with gentle fingers. ‘I should have believed you all along.’
Matt lifted his head. ‘Yeah, you should,’ he agreed roughly. ‘I’ve never lied to you, and I never will.’
Joanna gnawed on her lower lip. ‘Will you believe me if I tell you that soon after I got here, I was prepared to put all that behind us and ask you if I could stay?’
‘Because of the baby?’
‘No, because of us,’ exclaimed Joanna huskily. ‘I didn’t want you to think I had any ulterior motive for being here, but perhaps I had.’
Matt stared at her. ‘Do you mean that?’
‘Of course, I mean it.’ She paused. ‘But after—after that—that time on the beach, you seemed so—remote.’
‘I wanted to see you; of course, I did.’ Matt groaned. ‘But it was hard to know what I was going to say. Then my parents being there meant we couldn’t have a private conversation.’ He paused. ‘But surely it was obvious how I felt? I couldn’t keep my hands off you.’
There was another satisfying moment, and then Henry’s hearty voice broke into their embrace. ‘Would you like me to take your son back to the villa?’ he asked, peering into the stroller and making goo-goo noises at the baby.
Matt grinned at Joanna. ‘I didn’t know you were a nursemaid, Henry,’ he said, and the older man lifted his head to pull a face.
‘I thought you might like a little privacy, that’s all,’ he said innocently. ‘Particularly with Mrs Sophie coming this afternoon.’
‘God, I’d forgotten that. She’s dying to see her nephew, I know.’ Then Matt looked at Joanna. ‘So, what do you think? Have you got time to take a walk along the beach with me?’
‘A walk?’ she echoed, handing the stroller into Henry’s capable hands. ‘Why, Mr Novak, I do believe I have. Do you mind if I take your arm?’
‘I’m hoping you’ll take every part of me,’ murmured Matt in an undertone, and Joanna was still giggling when Henry disappeared from view.
Abby Green
I’d like to dedicate this book to the memory of
Jimmy Devlin who was known affectionately
throughout the Irish film business as ‘Jimmy
The Bus’. That was his job, driving a minibus to
and from different locations, carrying everyone
from cast to crew. He made everyone feel like a
VIP, even if it was your first job. He was a true
gentleman who oozed an old world charm and
respect for everyone around him, especially
women. Men like Jimmy Devlin make it easy to
write about larger than life heroes, because he
epitomised what a hero was.
Ar dheis dé go raibh a h-anam.
ROSE O’MALLEY’S HEART was racing. Her skin felt clammy, her palms were sweaty and she was light-headed. She was basically exhibiting all the signs of heading into a full-blown panic attack, or some kind of emotional and physical meltdown, right here on a closed toilet seat in one of Manhattan’s most exclusive hotel bathrooms.
Her surroundings, opulent as they were, were only making things worse. Highlighting the fact that she shouldn’t be here. Highlighting the fact that this was not her world. She was one generation removed from Ireland, by way of Queens, and to say she felt like a fish out of water was an understatement.
Her reflection in the mirror on the back of the cubicle door showed a stranger. A sleek, soignée stranger. Her normally wavy shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair was all straight and glossy and coiled up into a sophisticated chignon at the back of her head.
Rose acknowledged faintly that she had a neck. She’d never noticed it before now.
Only the bottom half of her face was visible because the rest of it was obscured by a delicately ornate black and gold mask. Her eyes glinted out, looking very frightened and green and almost feverish. Her mouth was painted a garish red. Her cheeks were flushed.
She put the back of her hand to one burning cheek.
Relief flooded her for a moment. That was it: she was coming down with the flu. She ignored the little voice pointing out that they were in the middle of an abnormally warm New York spring and rationalised that she couldn’t possibly go out there now—she’d infect all the most important people in Manhattan with her germs.
But just as she was about to stand up, with her sheer black dress shimmering in the mirror, the main door of the powder room opened and some women came in, chattering excitedly. Rose sat back down again, a feeling of futility sinking into her bones.
Of course she didn’t have the flu.
But she still wasn’t ready to come into actual human contact with anyone. Thankfully she was in the end stall, furthest away from the door. She’d wait till they left.
One of the women who’d entered—Rose figured there were two—spoke in a loud indiscreet whisper. ‘Oh, my God. Did you see him? I mean, I know he’s totally hot—but seriously? I think my ovaries just exploded.’
The other woman’s tone was dry and sardonic. ‘Well, that’s just a waste of good eggs. It’s common knowledge he doesn’t want anything to do with the inheritance his family have bequeathed to any child he might have—he even changed his name to distance himself!’
The friend was incredulous. ‘Who on earth would turn their back on billions of dollars and a family name that dates back to the Mayflower?’
Rose’s insides cramped painfully. She knew exactly who: the most infamous man at the party. Zac Valenti. He was here. She’d been hoping he might not be. But he was. And now the palpitations were back.
The women were still gossiping amidst the sounds of rummaging in a bag.
‘Everyone thought he was having, like, a breakdown or something after he left Addison Carmichael waiting at the altar, but the man literally rose from the ashes.’
The voices got lower, and Rose found herself straining forward towards the door to hear.
‘They say that he’s now the richest eligible male in the United States.’
‘But did you get the vibe he sends off? Seriously cold—and moody. Like, you can look, but you can’t touch.’
The other voice turned dreamy. ‘I know… Those silent brooding types are so damned attractive.’
There was a squirt of something that sounded like perfume and a derisive snort. ‘I think it has a little more to do with the fact that he’s a walking gold mine for any woman who can succeed