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The Rival's Heir
Joss Wood


The best of both worlds…Darby Brogan has goals: single motherhood and a successful career. Yet when Darby accepts a job with rival architect Judah Huntley, there are strings—caring for the baby on his doorstep! But when playing house gets hot and heavy, will temporary turn into having it all?







She wants a career and a baby...

Can her sexy boss give her both?

Darby Brogan has goals: single motherhood and a successful career. And she won’t be distracted...even if rival architect Judah Huntley is the stuff of fantasies. But when Darby accepts a job with Judah, there are strings—caring for the baby on his doorstep! But when playing house gets hot and heavy, will temporary turn into having it all?


JOSS WOOD loves books and traveling—especially to the wild places of Southern Africa and, well, anywhere. She’s a wife, a mum to two teenagers and slave to two cats. After a career in local economic development, she now writes full-time. Joss is a member of Romance Writers of America and Romance Writers of South Africa.


Also by Joss Wood (#u6491bffd-a4ba-5955-80d6-a973f0f7dd05)

The Ballantyne Billionaires miniseries

His Ex’s Well-Kept Secret

One Night to Forever

The CEO’s Nanny Affair

Little Secrets: Unexpectedly Pregnant

Love in Boston miniseries

Friendship on Fire

Hot Christmas Kisses

The Rival’s Heir

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).


The Rival’s Heir

Joss Wood






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-07697-5

THE RIVAL’S HEIR

© 2018 Joss Wood

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


This book is dedicated to anyone who has struggled

with infertility. I get how hard it is.

You have my love and prayers.


Contents

Cover (#u28186639-cf95-5616-803c-6ac7a9fbbd0f)

Back Cover Text (#uae600631-2237-59cb-84ed-a3643b803606)

About the Author (#u318f1c38-8e0a-5aae-9ccb-ccffb7924136)

Booklist (#udb73c41c-c51f-5535-9f97-074c45454238)

Title Page (#ub977c27c-7c58-5fe3-ace2-358d2cf9067d)

Copyright (#u661aa499-58ce-5437-88a7-5b5adcfc9fab)

Dedication (#u74aeb617-e611-563b-92c2-985406b07654)

Prologue (#u97d707da-3c7c-5bcf-9590-62901cf9a662)

One (#ub74adf49-3e3c-5d27-981a-6df97e565688)

Two (#ubb6e52ea-a9c0-5f1b-bf10-991c1b3b1886)

Three (#u5815ff9f-ad2e-53f8-94cd-1acf6ab715c9)

Four (#ueda84a0b-ff5c-5de0-bd1b-4a3323348f5c)

Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


Prologue (#u6491bffd-a4ba-5955-80d6-a973f0f7dd05)

Callie Brogan looked around the lavish crowded function room at the Lockwood Country Club and edged her way to the side. She’d attended, and hosted, many parties in this very room and knew all the escape routes.

A few steps backward and her back was against the floor-to-ceiling glass doors. She fiddled behind her and yep, there was the handle. Callie pushed it down, felt the door swing open and as quickly as she could, ducked onto the small balcony that ran the length of the ballroom. She closed the door behind her, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

She didn’t mind the dark, nor the cold—in fact she welcomed both. Anything was better than loud music, louder laughter and incessant chatter. Staring a new year in the face, she needed a few minutes of quiet, just to think.

Her beloved husband, Ray, was gone. He had been for many years.

It was time to let him go.

She couldn’t hold on to him while she had an affair with the man she’d come here with tonight. It wasn’t fair to either of them.

Callie looked down at the ring Ray had put on her finger over thirty years ago. She turned it around and around again. It was time to take it off, to put it away or at the very least, move it to her right hand. She wasn’t Ray’s anymore.

And while she might be sleeping with Mason—adventurous, inked and hot—she didn’t belong to him either. She needed a new life, one that was hers alone. She wanted more. She no longer wanted to be the person she was, but she also didn’t know who she wanted to be.

She had to reinvent herself.

But how?

Before she could finish the thought, a soft coat settled on her shoulders, broad hands on her hips.

“Are you okay?” Mason asked, his warm breath on her ear.

“Fine,” Callie answered, wincing at her terse answer. She’d just wanted five minutes on her own, to figure things out.

But it was New Year’s Eve, they were at a ball, and she had tomorrow to think about her life and why she was so discontented, in spite of having a fantastically sexy man sharing her sheets. The music was playing, the countdown would soon start and her issues could wait.

Callie looped her arms around Mason’s neck, pushing a smile onto her face.

“Let’s go inside, grab a drink and dance,” Callie said, trying for gaiety.

Mason stepped back and shook his head. “I’ve been watching you for the last ten minutes. I saw you playing with your ring.”

Callie frowned down at her hand and the big diamond winked back at her. “Okay?” she replied, confused.

Mason pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just once, Callie, I’d like to go somewhere, do something, that isn’t tinged with the memories of your husband.”

Before Callie could tell him that she hadn’t been thinking about Ray, he continued, “Is it going to be like this for the next year, two years, ten? I’m asking so I know how long I’ll be competing for your attention.”

Callie felt the burn of shock, the heat of anger. “That’s not fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is you mentally wandering off to join him while I am here. What’s not fair is you wearing his ring while I bring you to orgasm, his picture facedown in the drawer next to your bed. Do you bring him out when we’re done, Callie? Sneak him back into place when I leave?”

She did. God. And Mason knew.

Callie lifted her hands in protest. Because she felt embarrassed, she went on the attack. “Why are you hassling me? I thought this was just an affair. Why are you sounding all possessive and jealous?”

Mason opened his mouth to respond, then cursed before snapping it shut. His expression cooled, then turned inscrutable. “You’re right. Forgive me.” His deep voice was coated with frost.

From inside, the revelers started to count down to the New Year and when the crowd roared, Mason bent down and kissed her cheek, as remote as an Antarctic iceberg. “Happy New Year, Callie.”

When Callie went back inside just a few minutes later, Mason was gone.


One (#u6491bffd-a4ba-5955-80d6-a973f0f7dd05)

Darby Brogan listened with half an ear to the presentation but couldn’t make herself concentrate. Unlike the other architects in the room who were listening intently, her thoughts were a million miles away from the project of a lifetime. Designing Boston’s newest art museum was, suddenly and unexpectedly, the very last thing on her mind.

Darby crossed her legs, tapped her phone against her knee and mentally urged the speaker to hurry up. Modern, fresh, distinctive, ecologically friendly... Yes, she got it. This was all in the bid documents.

Her phone vibrated in her hand. Darby swiped her thumb across the screen and quickly read the messages posted in the group only she, her twin, Jules, and their best friend and business partner, DJ, had access to.

Where are you? Why aren’t you back? How did your appointment with Dr. Mackenzie go?

Darby typed a quick reply to DJ’s question.

At the museum bid presentation. Should be back in an hour or so.

Darby saw that Jules was typing and waited for her message to pop up on the screen. As she expected, it had nothing to do with work and everything to do with the appointment Darby had just come from.

Tell us!

Darby wished she hadn’t recently pushed DJ to be more open and forthcoming. It made it difficult for Darby to keep her own secrets from her best friend and her twin.

It’s not good. Basically, I’m running out of time. If I want a child, I should attempt IVF in the next six months.

She waited a beat before adding:

So that’s a big decision I need to make. And quickly.

Judging by their lack of an immediate response, Darby knew her friends were absorbing her news, trying, like she was, to make sense of what she’d learned.

Darby wanted children. Being a mommy was her biggest wish. But despite knowing that she was going to have problems carrying a child, she’d always believed she’d need to face her infertility issues sometime in the future. She’d thought she had time, options, but...no. Her condition had been upgraded from serious to severe and she’d been told to expect a hysterectomy within the next few years.

And she had yet to hit thirty.

I thought I’d have a husband, at least a partner, when I needed to go there. I never imagined I’d have to do this—if I’m going to do this—alone.

You’ll never be alone!!!

What Jules said, DJ added.

They were great, and she loved them, but Darby imagined strong arms, a broad chest, a male perspective. She’d been called beautiful, strong and smart, but she still went to bed alone every night.

Being an alpha female was hard enough for most men to accept. Being an alpha female with infertility issues seemed a step too far. The reality was that she couldn’t afford to wait any longer to find a man who shared her dreams for a family; she had no more time to waste. If she wanted a child, she’d be doing it now, solo, albeit with the help of science. And a sperm donor.

DJ’s name popped up again on her screen.

How can we help?

Darby smiled, so glad these women were in her life. Darby ignored her burning eyes and straightened her shoulders. It was bad news, sure, but she hadn’t received a death sentence. Her dreams were in ICU, but she wasn’t.

Keep it in perspective, Brogan. Humor, as she’d learned, was always a good deterrent to negativity, so she thought a moment before typing again.

I’ll expect you to help me select a sperm donor.

Any excuse to openly ogle guys! Jules’s answer flashed on her screen. I’m there.

DJ repeated the sentiment, adding a couple of heart-eyed emoji to convey her excitement. Darby knew they were just being kind. They were both engaged to and head over heels in love with smart, successful, stupidly sexy men.

Darby was not jealous...

Well, maybe a little.

They all—including her mother!—had hot guys in their beds. Jules was engaged to her childhood friend; DJ and her long-term on-again, off-again lover had recently decided to be permanently on. As for Darby’s mother, Callie? She was having an affair with a scorching hot man a decade younger.

Darby wouldn’t mind a sexy tattooed man to have some fun with. Her life for the past year or so had been all work and very little play... Actually, that pretty much summed up her life in total. She didn’t play much at all, she never had.

After a lifetime of school and college success, she’d recently been named one of the most exciting 40 Architects Under 40 in the latest edition of a well-known design publication. She was a partner in what was described as the most successful design house in Boston, possibly on all the East Coast. She was reasonably attractive, wealthy and healthy. Well, except for her annoying reproductive system.

And she was single...

So very, very single.

She felt panic tickle her throat. What if she were incapable of loving someone, of being in a have-it-all partnership? What if she was too independent, too strong willed, too competitive to build her life with a man?

As for a solo attempt at motherhood...could she do this?

Darby shifted in her seat. She refused to give negative thoughts space in her brain. She wanted a child and she could be a single mom. It was okay that she’d yet to meet her special someone. She was glad she hadn’t wasted her valuable time on a he’ll-do guy.

If she was going to settle down, she wanted someone who wanted what she did...everything. Kids, a kick-ass career, a stable, respectful relationship.

World peace, an end to famine...

Darby frowned when she realized that the organization’s director was no longer speaking. She looked around the ballroom, seeing that the attendees had shifted their focus to the back of the room. Turning in her seat, her brows lifted when she saw the lone figure leaning against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other.

Oh...

Oh...wow.

Judah Huntley was better looking in person than the pictures she’d seen of him online. Taller, too. Being tall herself, she guesstimated he was six-two or six-three, and under his charcoal, obviously designer Italian suit, his body was tougher, harder, more muscular than she would have expected. Broad chest, long legs, thick arms and a masculine face. Stubble covered his cheeks and jaw, his nose looked like it had been broken once, maybe twice and his thick wavy espresso-colored hair looked like he routinely combed it with his fingers.

Sexy, built and the brightest architectural mind of his generation.

Darby swallowed, conscious that her mouth was dry and her heart was banging against her chest. There was an unfamiliar heat between her legs—welcome back, libido! Damn, she wouldn’t mind taking Judah Huntley out for a spin.

Whoa, Brogan, not like you.

The men she dated and—very rarely—slept with had to work damn hard to get her to that point but Darby knew Judah Huntley would just have to crook his finger and she’d come running.

Maybe it was her kooky state of mind, yet here she was, panting over a man across the room.

Darby couldn’t pull her eyes from Huntley’s fallen-angel face. Be sensible, Brogan. This scorched-earth attraction was an aberration, nothing to be concerned about. She was only intrigued by Judah Huntley because he was such a phenomenal architect, because he’d designed that ecohouse in Denmark that was a brilliant piece of art, as was that ski lodge in Davos and the new headquarters for one of the world’s leading software companies in Austin. He was creative and innovative, throwing together contrasting materials and techniques and making them work.

And he was sexy enough to make her soul ache.

Dark eyes—black? blue?—under strong brows met hers.

And Darby felt the world shift beneath her.

A small smile pulled the corners of his mouth upward and she placed her hand to her heart. God, the way he looked at her, like he was imagining her naked...

He straightened, pushed his hands into the pockets of his suit pants and she saw that his stomach was flat. She remembered a photo of him running on a beach in Cyprus... That muscled, ridged stomach. Just looking at him was more pleasure than she’d had in a while.

Unbidden, the image of her eggs and his sperm colliding in a petri dish, creating a baby in the lab, jumped into her head. If she imagined them in bed together, practicing the art of making babies the old-fashioned way, her panties might explode.

Darby fought the temptation to get up, walk over to him, hold out her hand and lead him away. She didn’t think he’d say no. Damn, she was tempted.

“Miss Brogan? Miss! Brogan!”

Darby turned her head at the irritated voice of the director at the front of the room. What was his problem? Frowning, she looked around and saw the amused faces of her colleagues.

“May I continue?”

Darby quickly nodded, her face flaming. She heard the muffled snickers. Dammit, the entire room had caught her looking at Judah Huntley. Since, as her family frequently told her, she had the most expressive face in the history of the world, they all knew she’d been imagining Huntley naked.

Darby slid down in her seat, only just resisting the urge to cover her face with her hands. Even if she found the guts to proposition him—a very big if—sleeping with Judah Huntley wasn’t an option. Especially since she was now embarrassed beyond all belief.

Darby kept her eyes on the speaker while she fought the urge to look back and take just one more peek. Yeah, good plan, just embarrass yourself further, Brogan, add some fuel to the fire.

It took all her willpower to keep her eyes forward and when the presentation finally ended—the longest ten minutes in the world—Darby stood up and oh-so casually looked across the room.

Judah Huntley was gone.

Six weeks later

Judah Huntley took a sip of overly sweet champagne from the glass in his hand and tried not to wince. God, he hated these functions. He strongly believed in the power of an old-fashioned email, quietly stating whether he’d been awarded the commission or not. Putting on a suit and noose and making small talk was his level of hell.

But Jonathan, his business manager, had RSVP’d on Judah’s behalf, saying that he’d be glad to attend the foundation’s cocktail party. He’d also promised that if Huntley and Associates was commissioned to design the new art museum, Judah would hire a local architect to be the firm’s local liaison.

It made sense to hire someone local to do the grunt work of visiting the planning offices, research, smoothing the way. The Boston-based architect wouldn’t do any drafting or design work; Judah had an experienced team back in New York to implement his ideas. They were the best and brightest of the bunch and routinely met his high standards.

As a winner of two of the world’s most prestigious architecture awards, Judah knew his interest in designing the art museum was unexpected. It wasn’t a big project or even a lucrative one. Since the project was being funded by a nonprofit, his design fees would be laughable. But thanks to international businessmen with very deep pockets who wanted his name attached to their buildings, Judah had a fat bank account and could afford to take on a project at cost.

He had buildings all over the world but had yet to design one in Boston, his hometown. He wanted to create something that was beautiful and functional, something Bostonians would enjoy. He was renowned for his innovative corporate buildings and envelope-pushing mansions but there was something special, something intoxicating, about designing a building to hold art and treasures. The box had to be as exciting, as electrifying as the contents...

And that was why he was standing in a stuffy ballroom waiting for someone to announce what everyone already knew: Judah would be awarded the project.

Upsides to being in Boston were a gorgeous site and an interesting project. Downside? Being in Boston. The smells, the air, the buildings all made him remember how his life used to be. Stifling. Demanding. Claustrophobic. Long on responsibility and short on fun.

Judah was grateful for the feminine hand on his arm that jerked him back to the present. An attractive woman stood in front of him, blond hair, red lips, bold eyes. He chatted with her politely, but she wasn’t the woman who’d first come to mind.

The last time he’d stood in this room, he’d locked eyes with a younger, sexier blonde who’d made his stomach bungee jump. Initially, she’d reminded him of a storybook Cinderella, all flashing eyes and tiny frame, but then he’d caught the look in her eyes, on her face, and decided that she was more a duchess than a princess, more sophisticated than simple.

He wondered if she was here again tonight.

But, if she was, what did it matter? Though he’d been rocked by their instinctual attraction—when last had he felt such an instant physical reaction to anyone?—the thought of making small talk, doing the dating dance, felt like too much effort.

Chatting up a woman, taking her back to his hotel room and having sex was the mental equivalent of riding an immensely popular roller coaster. Patience was required to get on the ride, there was the brief sensation of pleasure, then the inevitable anticlimax when the cart rolled to a stop.

After Carla, he’d ridden as many roller coasters as he could. A year and too many women later, he’d realized that mindless sex with mindless women wasn’t working for him and he went cold turkey. In the past eighteen months, he’d gone from being monogamous to being a player to being a monk.

Judah sighed. While no guy rapidly approaching his forties preferred having solo sex, he did like having a life that was drama-free.

But that blonde he’d seen here before—tall, slim, stunningly sexy—was the first woman in six months who’d caught his interest. She’d made his core temperature rise. She had the face of a naughty pixie, the body of a lingerie model and the eyes of a water nymph. When he’d looked at her, reality faded. All he could see was her, stretched out on a rug in front of a roaring fire, naked on the white sands of Tahiti or on the cool marble of a designer kitchen. Hell, up against the fabric-covered wall of an intensely uninteresting hotel ballroom.

He’d wanted her.

And because he’d been so damned tempted to walk over, take her hand and find the closest private space where he could put his hands on that body, he’d acted like the adult he professed to be and left. He didn’t want mindless sex anymore, but the thought of anything more—becoming emotionally involved, making a connection—terrified him.

So he was in no-man’s-land, dating himself. And, man, was he so tired of that...

Half concentrating on the conversation with the woman in front of him, Judah looked up to see the director of the foundation heading to the podium. Standing at the back of the room, Judah’s height allowed him to see over the heads of most of the guests and he recognized some candidates from the meeting weeks ago.

He cursed himself when he realized he was looking for a bright blond head and exceptional legs.

“Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of the Grantham-Ford Foundation...”

Judah pushed his hands into the pockets of his suit pants, tuned out the opening remarks of the chairman of the board and looked toward the door, his attention caught by an elder man in a suit, his tanned face scanning the crowd, obviously looking for someone. He looked vaguely familiar, like a worried version of someone from Judah’s past.

Intrigued, Judah edged his way closer to the door. The man’s dark eyes caught his movement and Judah saw relief cross his face. The man was looking for him. But why here at this hotel, in the middle of a function? Judah had an office, an assistant who managed his schedule.

Odd.

“We were all blown away by the designs submitted and it was difficult to make a choice...”

Judah ignored the droning voice and frowned as the man eased away from the doorway, gesturing for Judah to join him in the hallway. Judah tossed a look over his shoulder, guessing the director would ramble on for a few more minutes—the man seemed to like the sound of his own voice. Judah pulled the door to the room partially closed behind him. If he was needed, he had no doubt someone would find him.

“Mr. Huntley! I am so glad I managed to track you down.”

Judah’s heart sank when he heard the masculine version of Carla’s heavy Italian accent. Judah scowled. His ex, the opera-singing heiress, had hit a new low if she was sending her minions to deliver her messages. Judah had nothing to say to her face or via her employees. She’d cheated on him—he was pretty sure it hadn’t been the first time—but he’d caught her. She and her lover had been in his bed, in his apartment. Naked on his sheets.

Judah didn’t share, ever. Infidelity was his hard limit. And he was still pissed that he’d felt compelled to buy a new bed and give those expensive sheets to a charity shop. He’d thought about selling his apartment, but that was going a step too far. Carla wasn’t worth the sacrifice of his stunning views of Central Park.

Judah held up his hand. “Not interested.”

“Wait, Mr. Huntley.”

Judah lifted an eyebrow dismissively. “You have thirty seconds and I’m only giving you that much because this evening is sadly lacking in entertainment.”

Thin shoulders pushed back and an elegant hand smoothed a lock of silver hair off the man’s forehead. “I am Maximo Rossi. I am Carla’s personal lawyer.”

Okay. And what did Carla’s personal lawyer want from Judah? Thanks to being the sole beneficiary of her father’s billions, Carla had more money than God, along with her luscious body and stunning face. She also had the voice of an angel. They hadn’t had any contact for months, so why now? Judah felt his stomach twist itself into a Gordian knot. This couldn’t be good.

He forced himself to remain calm. “Is Carla okay?”

“She’s fine...mostly.”

Oh, God. He recognized the weariness in the older man’s eyes, the frustration that dealing with Carla Barlos incurred. The man probably had a stomach ulcer and high blood pressure. Judah could sympathize. Carla was hard work.

“What does that mean?” Judah demanded, hearing the apprehension in Rossi’s voice.

“Bertolli has written a new opera, one just for her.”

Bertolli’s music sounded like screeching cats, but what did Judah know? But even he, philistine that he was, understood how a big a deal it was to have Bertolli, the most exciting composer in the world, build an opera around Carla.

“It’s a morality tale. Carla’s lead character is a crusader for moral reform.”

While Judah appreciated the irony, he didn’t understand why Rossi was here, telling him this. Why should Judah care what Carla was up to? He hadn’t seen her for more than eighteen months.

Deciding he was done here, Judah was about to excuse himself when he heard the arrival of the elevator. The doors opened and a long leg, ending in a blush-colored pump, emerged from the box. A frothy peppermint-colored dress danced around slim thighs.

She was here, she was back.

Rossi forgotten, Judah’s eyes wandered upward, taking in a thin belt around a tiny waist, skating up a narrow chest. Her breasts were fantastic, small but perky. Athletic but not overly so, fit but still oh-so feminine. And God, that face.

Judah felt his cold heart sputter as blood drained south. A wide mouth made for kissing, high cheekbones, eyes the color of zinc under arched brows. Blond hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail.

He’d last seen her across a crowded room weeks ago. He’d thought her sexy then. Now, he upgraded that assessment to heart-stoppingly hot.

He wanted her. Now, immediately, up against that wall, his hands on those tanned thighs, his tongue on her neck, her nipple, her naval. He could go back to being a monk tomorrow...

But she had yet to notice him. Her attention was taken by the other occupants of the elevator, a black-haired, dark-eyed baby held by a hard-faced, middle-aged woman. The woman held the kid like she would hold a test tube of poison, awkward and fearful. He didn’t blame her; he wasn’t a kid person either.

He used to be, but that was a long time ago. When he was young and stupid.

Rossi cleared his throat. “That is my assistant and the baby is Jacquetta Huntley. Carla needs you to take her for at least six months. She can’t be responsible for her and prepare for the biggest performance of her career.”

While Judah struggled to make sense of the man’s words, a booming voice from the front of the room rolled into the hallway.

“I am pleased and proud to announce that the architect designing the Grantham-Ford Art Museum will be Judah Huntley. Judah, please come forward and say a few words.”

Judah’s eyes darted between three faces: Rossi, the baby and the blonde.

It was official. He’d just fallen down Alice’s rabbit hole.


Two (#u6491bffd-a4ba-5955-80d6-a973f0f7dd05)

Three things occurred to Darby at the same time.

One, Judah Huntley was more gorgeous than she remembered.

Two, he had a kid he didn’t know about.

Three, hers wasn’t the only messed-up life.

Oh, he was good. On hearing he had a child, his expression barely changed, but his ink-blue eyes held disbelief and a heavy dose of WTF. The baby, stunningly gorgeous with rosy cheeks and hair the color of bitter chocolate, looked at them from the stiff arms of the woman carrying her.

Darby knew she should move away, she should give them some privacy but...

She wasn’t that noble, and this was too good to miss. How would Judah Huntley juggle the announcement of the commission and the news that he had a child? Would he flip, freeze, flee?

Darby couldn’t wait to find out.

The baby let out a soft cry, Judah was called to the front of the room again and the weary woman took a step toward Judah, holding the baby out like a parcel. Judah threw up his hands in a hell-no gesture and the baby responded by letting out a shriller cry.

Darby forgot about the drama playing out in front of her eyes and focused on that small face scrunched up and turning red. The wails grew louder and someone she recognized as one of the foundation’s board members appeared at the door.

“Mr. Huntley, they are calling for you. You’ve been awarded the design contract.”

No surprise there. Judah was an amazing architect.

But his ability to ignore a screaming baby annoyed her. Pushing past the lawyer, she reached for the little girl, ignoring the look of relief on the older woman’s face. Tucking the baby into the crook of her arm, Darby placed her pinkie finger in the little girl’s mouth and felt the tug of tiny lips.

Darby looked at Judah. “She’s hungry.”

He threw his hands up in the air and shook his head. “Not my problem.”

“Apparently it is,” Darby responded tartly.

“Um... Mr. Huntley. Really, you need to come back inside.” The man tugged the sleeve of Judah’s jacket.

Darby noticed, again, that the jacket covered a set of rather big arms and broad shoulders. Judah’s easy dismissal of this beautiful baby was irritating, but her hormones had yet to receive the message that she shouldn’t be imagining what Huntley’s body looked like under that expensive suit.

Judah pushed his hand through his thick, expertly cut hair and she heard the barely audible swear he dropped. Yeah, Huntley wasn’t having a good day.

He gripped the bridge of his nose. After a brief pause, he lifted his head and Darby saw the determination on his face, the assertiveness in his eyes. There was something superhot about an alpha male doing his thing...

Judah nodded to the closed door of the ballroom.

“I’m going to go back in there to accept this damn commission. Rossi, you are going to take the baby with you and you will call me and we will arrange a suitable time to meet and discuss Carla’s insanity. Do not ambush me again.” That dark blue gaze scraped over her and he shook his head. “You, I have no idea who you are but if you’d kindly give the kid back, we can all go on with our lives.”

His tone suggested that he wasn’t interested in hearing any arguments and when no one spoke, he turned around and walked back into the ballroom, the board member following closely behind. Darby heard the audience’s roar of applause and looked down at the little girl in her arms.

She had Judah’s nose and the shape of his eyes and Darby could see the hint of Judah’s shallow dimple in the baby’s left cheek. Like his, the baby’s hair was dark, her sweet brows strong. She was utterly perfect and those deep dark eyes—brown, not blue—looked up at Darby’s, content to suckle on her pinkie.

She was, possibly, the most beautiful baby Darby had ever seen and as she’d been obsessed by babies for longer than was healthy, she’d seen more than a lot. This little girl looked like what she was, the offspring of two boundlessly beautiful people.

Before his death, Darby’s father had been a well-known Boston businessman and her parents had been, at one time, the heart of Boston society, so she’d had a taste of fame. But Huntley and his ex-girlfriend were famous on an entirely different level. Carla, an exciting, lushly beautiful, stunningly wealthy opera-singing heiress, had millions of social media followers and was tabloid gold. Thanks to his talent, his stupidly sexy body, and his penchant for dating models and actresses, Judah was also a media golden boy.

They might be famous, but Darby wasn’t impressed by either of the little girl’s parents right now.

How could Carla just shove her child out of her life, pass her on like she was an unwanted package? And why hadn’t Judah stepped up? Didn’t they realize that a child was a gift, indescribably precious? What was wrong with these people?

Had the world gone mad?

The baby burped and then her face scrunched up, her eyes closing. Darby had enough experience to know that the little girl was about to fill her diaper. The telltale smell wafted up and Darby half smiled. Yep, there it was.

Darby looked up and saw the two lawyers grimace in immediate expressions of distaste.

“She needs changing,” Darby stated just in case they hadn’t made the connection between the smell and the problem.

Identical looks of horror and two steps back. “No! No, no, no!”

The baby squirmed in Darby’s arms and let out a wail loud enough to be heard in Fenway Park. Okay, time to go.

The baby was stunningly cute and too adorable for words, but Darby had come here to work. It wasn’t a surprise that Huntley had been awarded the project, but Darby knew there were lots of well-heeled socialites in that room with money to burn. Some of them might want a summer place designed or a house renovated.

Business had been a bit slow lately and she needed a new, lucrative project. She also needed to finish the renovations to two small apartment buildings she owned in Back Bay and get them on the market, but she knew it might take some time to sell them at the price she wanted.

Thank God she was due her quarterly dividend check from Winston and Brogan tomorrow; that was the money she’d allocated to her IVF fund. With that money and any she managed to save over the next four months, she could have the procedure in five months’ time. At the thought, her stomach churned, then burned.

Unlike Huntley and his ex, she wanted a child.

Didn’t she?

The two Europeans exchanged a long look as if they were silently arguing about who was going to do the honors of changing the little girl. They both looked horrified.

“I need to get going,” Darby said.

A charming smile crossed the lawyer’s face. “The nanny we hired to look after Jacquetta since we left Italy has been dismissed. Could you change her since neither of us knows how?”

“What makes you think I do?” Darby asked.

Mr. Slick just shrugged, and Darby knew she was being played. It had been years since she’d changed a diaper, but she’d looked after babies as a teenager. She was sure it was like riding a bike; one didn’t just forget. And God, if she left little Jacquetta—goodness, what a mouthful—in their hands, the kid would be more miserable than she was now. It was one diaper, Darby could deal.

Darby held out her hand for the bag draped over the lady’s shoulder. Darby would change Jacquetta—Jac—make up a bottle for the little girl and send them on their way. There was no doubt she’d remember this encounter for the rest of her life: hot guy, cute kid, drama...

“There’s a baby room just around the corner.” Darby jerked her head at the woman. “You’re coming with me.”

“Perché?”

Why? Jeez, these people were seriously whacked. “Because you don’t just hand over a baby to a stranger, that’s why.”

Mr. Slick smiled at her. “The corridor ends just beyond the restroom so there is nowhere to take little Jacquetta. If you wanted to steal her, you’d have to pass by us. And we’ll be here waiting.”

Darby frowned, unease crawling across her skin.

“Besides, this is one of the best hotels in Boston, there are cameras everywhere.” Mr. Slick winced as Jacquetta’s cries escalated in volume.

Dammit. She was going to do this.

Darby started to walk down the hallway. Feeling eyes on her, she looked back. Her gut was screaming at her that their expressions were too bland, that she was being played. How the hell had she ended up in this situation?

Then Jac released a high-pitched scream and Darby looked down, her heart hurting over the little girl’s distress. The baby, defenseless and innocent, had to come first. Darby would change her and make up a bottle, maybe give her a little cuddle and then Darby would hand her back.

Her life would go back to normal in ten minutes.

Darby walked down the corridor, her hand tapping Jac’s little bottom, unable to resist dropping a kiss on the baby’s curly head. In the baby changing room, Darby laid Jac on the soft changing table and looked down into the little girl’s exquisite face.

“Should I have one just like you?”

Jac, being no more than nine months old, didn’t have a clue.

Little Jac sucked her bottle as Darby walked back down the hallway, her shoulders aching from the unaccustomed weight of holding a baby and a seriously heavy baby bag. The baby was clean and happy, and Darby could hand her over and go back to her life.

Except that, when she turned the corner, there was nobody to hand the baby back to.

Hearing noise from the elevator, Darby spun around and saw the two lawyers standing in the elevator.

“Give the baby to Judah Huntley,” Mr. Slick told her, his words sliding between the closing doors.

Darby couldn’t believe what they’d done. They’d left Jac with a stranger! How did they know she wasn’t a psycho, that she wouldn’t just walk off with the baby?

Dumping the heavy bag into the stroller and leaving it in the hallway, Darby pushed open the door to the ballroom with her hip and scanned the audience. It wasn’t difficult to find Huntley since he was taller than pretty much everyone. His dark head was bent to better hear the words of an olive-skinned brunette wearing a low top. Her expression brazenly suggested that she wouldn’t say no if Huntley invited her to take a tour of his guest suite, or the nearest closet.

Irrationally annoyed, Darby focused on the photographs flashing onto the presentation screen on the far side of the room, each image stealing her breath. The first photo was of Huntley’s proposed design for the Grantham-Ford museum and it was fantastic. The building looked curvy and feminine, sultry and almost, dare she say it, sexy. It was stunning and, dammit, so much better than her own design. The man deserved to win the commission. As images of his previous designs rolled across the wall, she stood there, blown away yet again by his talent.

Darby pulled her gaze away from the images and looked back to the creator of those magnificent buildings, surprised to find his eyes on her. God, he was a good-looking man. An intriguing combination of sexy and smart, tough and taciturn.

She jerked her head to summon him over and studied him as he made his way toward her, graceful despite his height and large frame.

Stepping back into the hall, Darby glanced down at the sleeping bundle in her arms, smiling at the very feminine version of that masculine man heading her way. She’d hand Jac over to her him and remind herself that this beautiful child was not her problem. She had her own baby issues to figure out.

As Judah reached the door, the chairman of the board, so in love with his own voice, tapped his glass with a spoon and the room fell quiet.

Puffed up with self-importance, he spoke into the microphone. “Given this foundation’s commitment to supporting Bostonian talent, I understand that some of our local professionals might be upset that the design has been awarded to a New York–based architect, but the winning design was simply outstanding. That said, it is my great pleasure to announce that Huntley and Associates is looking for a local architect to work with Judah Huntley on the art museum project.”

The room erupted into clapping and cheers, and Darby looked at Judah, her eyebrows raised.

Judah shrugged before murmuring, “He’s making it sound like more than it is. My new hire will be little more than a glorified intern, the liaison between the foundation and myself.”

Darby felt the sharp nip of annoyance. “She or he won’t get to work on the construction documentation?”

“I have a team back in New York for that. They are a well-oiled machine.”

So the position was not something she was interested in. She was an architect, not an intern. “Do you intend to pay this person or are they expected to work for the honor of being able to put your name as a reference on their resume?”

He didn’t react to her snippiness. “They’ll be paid.”

“How much?” Darby demanded. She wasn’t interested in working as an intern but she was curious what world-renowned architects paid.

Judah named a figure and Darby’s mouth fell open. That much? Seriously? Well, wow. At that rate, her interest rose. Pity he was a baby-rejecting jerk or she’d put her name in the hat.

Jac hiccuped in her sleep and Judah’s eyes shifted to the living doll in Darby’s arms. She looked into his face for any hint of acceptance or compassion and felt disappointed when she found none. She didn’t like him, but she reluctantly conceded that his hard and brooding expression was as sexy as his debonair and urbane facade. The many faces of Judah Huntley, Darby mused.

This man, who is uninterested in his own child, is the opposite of what you are looking for in a man.

“Why do you still have the child?”

Darby narrowed her eyes at his clipped tone. “I have her because I changed her diaper for your friends. They said they’d be waiting for me in the hallway, but they left before I could hand her back.”

Judah glared at her and in the dim light, she saw concern jump into his eyes. “What?”

He was a smart guy, why was this difficult to understand? “Do try to keep up, Huntley. I changed her diaper, made up some formula and when I got back, the two Italians were in the elevator. I thought about chasing them down, then figured the easier option was to hand Jac over to you.”

“Jack? Her name is Jack?”

Darby heard the weird note in his voice and wondered why the name rocked his boat. “They called her Jacquetta but that’s too much of a mouthful, so I shortened it to Jac,” Darby replied. “Here you go.”

Darby tried to hand Judah the child, but he stepped back, looking horrified.

Oh, no! She’d already done more than enough. “This is a child, Huntley! Your child, apparently. You don’t just get to throw your hands up in the air and step back. She’s a baby, not a package you can refuse.”

Judah rubbed the back of his neck. “Damned Carla. What the hell is she playing at?”

“So, I take it Jac is a bit of a surprise? That you didn’t know about her?”

“Of course I didn’t know about her! She’s not—” Judah snapped his mouth shut and gripped the bridge of his nose in frustration.

That he’d been about to say that the baby wasn’t his was easy to work out. But Darby wasn’t that much of an idiot. Judah might not want Jac to be his, but the little girl was a carbon copy of him, down to her nose and stubborn chin.

Judah glanced down at Jac and lifted his big shoulders. “I can’t take her.”

Oh, God, she was so done with this. Darby lifted her free hand, gripped Judah’s lapel and stood up on her toes, annoyed to realize that she still needed more height to look him in the eye. “Listen to me, you spoiled, inconsiderate ass! This baby was brought to you by those useless fools and if I track them down, I will carve them up for leaving her with a stranger and then disappearing. I could’ve been a baby trafficker, a nut case, a psycho!”

Amusement jumped into Judah’s eyes. “Are you?”

God, when he half smiled, that dimple deepened and her stomach quivered. It was like he just dialed his sexy factor up to lethal and—

Why was she thinking about that? She was supposed to be tearing him a new one! Sexy or not, he was going to get a very big piece of her mind. “You’re an idiot if you can’t see how much Jac looks like you! And even though I am the only one who seems to give a damn about this child, she is not my responsibility.”

“You agreed to change her, you let them go. You could’ve handed her back.”

Could he really be that unfeeling, that cold? This man who created art in buildings with such verve, such emotion in every line. How could he be so devoid of warmth?

“You heartless bastard! Do you know how lucky you are to have a child? Do you know how many people would love to be you?” Darby winced when her voice rose. Then she decided that she didn’t care. Somebody needed to stand up for Jac, to put her first, and it seemed Darby had been nominated. “She’s the innocent party and if you can’t see that, then you are a complete and utter waste of space.”

Darby knew she was panting, knew she was on the edge of tears and knew she had to leave before she lost it. She also had to leave before she walked away with the baby nobody but her seemed to want.

Pulling Judah’s arm from his side, she bundled Jac into his embrace, making sure he had a firm grip before letting the little girl go. Refusing to look at him, Darby dropped a quick kiss on Jac’s smooth forehead.

Darby smacked Jac’s empty bottle into Judah’s other hand and sent him a hard, tight smile. “My friend DJ says that having kids should be heavily regulated and subject to licensing. I’ve never agreed more with that statement than right now.” She stared up into his beautiful face, confusion replacing anger. “I don’t understand how someone so talented, who can put so much emotion into a building, can be so hard. And so cold.”

Judah dipped his head so she could feel his breath on her ear, so she inhaled his unique scent of lemons and detergent and something earthy and sexy that made her want to bury her face in his neck and breathe him in. For a moment—a small infinitesimal moment—she imagined that she and Judah were a couple, that he was standing guard over his family, but the words that left his mouth shattered that image.

“This baby isn’t mine.”

Of course he’d say that.

“No, you just don’t want her to be yours,” Darby muttered. “She should be good for about another half hour or so. After that, I hope she gives you hell. Bye now.”

Judah’s eyes hit hers and Darby felt their punch. All that gorgeous blue, that face and that body, wasted on a self-absorbed cretin.

Good luck, Jacquetta, you’re going to need it, honey.


Three (#u6491bffd-a4ba-5955-80d6-a973f0f7dd05)

Way to make friends and influence people. Judah watched the Duchess step toward the elevator, cursing when the doors closed on a froth of fabric. She was gone, and he should be glad.

Should being the operative word.

She’d just reamed him but instead of getting pissed he’d just been turned on... But, in his defense, she was smokin’.

She was also gone.

Judah shook his head. Well, that was that. Looking down at the little girl he held, he watched as her eyes fluttered closed and her mouth softened. She did look like him, Judah admitted. Then again, he and Jake both took after their dad and no one ever suspected that they were half siblings and not full blood brothers.

Judah thought he’d been the only casualty of Jake and Carla’s illicit weekend spent together in his apartment but no, they always went a step further than necessary. Why light a Roman candle when you could detonate a bomb?

Judah felt the back of his throat burn. A year and a half had passed; how could the double betrayal still hurt so damn much? He ran his knuckle over Jac’s flower-soft cheek. His pain, the fiery anger, he realized, wasn’t only for him but also for Jacquetta. This little human, this doll-faced child, deserved better than two dysfunctional cretins as parents.

Judah used his free hand to pull his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket and scroll through his contact list. He hadn’t dialed this number in so long, he hoped it was still operational.

The phone buzzed, beeped and started to ring.

Keep your cool, keep your cool...

“Judah, baby.”

Her growly, sexy voice raised nothing more than red-hot anger. “What the hell, Carla? A baby? Are you insane?”

“I know it’s a bit of a surprise, but I need you to take her for a while so I can finish this project.”

“Let me think about that...” Judah replied, trying his utmost to keep his voice low. “No. A thousand times no! This isn’t happening.”

“It is.” Carla’s voice turned hard. “Either you or your brother have to take her until I decide I want her back.”

“Then call Jake, for God’s sake! He’s her father, not me! And don’t you think one of you should’ve let me know I have a niece?”

“You made it very clear to both of us that you’d washed your hands of us.”

“You talk as if I didn’t find you naked in my bed, in a position I still can’t get out of my head. Then you spilled the ugly details of our breakup to distract the press from finding out you were cheating on me with my much younger brother while I dealt with the mess Jake created.”

Why had he even mentioned the past? Carla didn’t care then, and she didn’t care now.

“Call Rossi back or get Jake to come get his daughter,” he said. “She. Is. Not. My. Problem.”

“Do you think it would be wise of me to leave Jac with Jake? He’s an addict with a felony record, thanks to you. He’s not daddy material.”

“Carla, you can’t just dump a baby on me like she’s a UPS parcel!” Okay, he’d borrowed that from the Duchess, but it applied. God, what had he seen in Carla? Oh, yeah, the sex had been phenomenal but like Turkish delight, she was best taken in small doses. “Come and get her, Carla.”

“No,” Carla replied. “I need some time. Just hear me out, please?”

He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, but his silence gave her room to speak.

“I have a new job, Bertolli is composing an opera and I am the lead character.”

“Yeah, I heard. You are being cast against type.”

“You are not the first to notice that. There have been a lot of insinuations already, about my past, you, my relationship with Bertolli.”

“Which is?”

Carla didn’t answer, which meant there was a very good chance she was sleeping with Bertolli. She was playing with fire. If word got out that she was sleeping with one of Italy’s most conservative, outwardly faithful men, the country’s favorite composer—a national treasure!—she would be labeled a sinful temptress and the press would eat her alive.

Judah walked to the end of the hallway and placed his hand on the floor-to-ceiling window. He looked down at the bustling streets of downtown Boston below, resting his forehead on the cool glass.

“There was a story recently, suggesting you are not her father. I cannot take the chance of the world finding out that Jake is Jacquetta’s father and not you. It was enough of a scandal that I had a baby out of wedlock but if they find out about my liaison with Jake—”

“Affair.”

“If they find out about Jake, that he is your brother and a heroin addict, that I had his baby not yours, the story will be on the front page of every tabloid from here to China. It will be a scandal and my contract with the new production says I have to remain scandal-free.”

His heart bled. None of this had anything to do with him. Jake and Carla had had sex in Judah’s bed and now they had to deal with the consequences of their actions. He was in no way responsible for them or the fruit of their loins.

Judah glanced down at the little girl and ignored the tiny lump in his throat.

She could’ve been his...

No, he didn’t want kids; he never had. He remembered having to change Jake’s diapers, night after night rocking him to sleep because their parents were out on the town or simply out of town. For six years, he’d been Jake’s primary caregiver, the adult in the house. He’d bought Jake clothes, made him meals, packed his school lunches. As a twelve-year-old child himself, Judah had stepped up to the plate and taken on responsibility for another human being—because his father and stepmother were useless—and Judah had promised himself that he would never again put himself in that position.

After a pregnancy scare in his early twenties, he’d wanted a vasectomy, to take the issue off the table permanently. But the doctor refused, telling Judah he was too young, he might still change his mind. Furious, Judah had vowed to find another doctor, but then his career took off and he’d never found the time to go back.

But he would. When he stopped being a monk, he’d find another doctor. He was thirty-five, he hadn’t changed his mind in ten years and he wouldn’t be refused again. As a child, he’d raised his baby brother and he didn’t want to raise another child.

A scholarship to college had been his exit out of that life and he still felt guilty for leaving six-year-old Jake behind. Despite Judah’s attempts to keep tabs on his brother from afar, Jake was smoking weed by thirteen, fully addicted and boosting cars to feed his habit by sixteen. By eighteen, he was in juvie.

Never again would Judah put himself in the position of having to choose between his future and his obligations. So, no kids. And after a few relationships that went nowhere and Car Crash Carla, no commitment.

To anyone.

Ever.

Judah sucked in a calming breath. “I’m at the Sheraton, downtown Boston. Presidential suite. Get Rossi back here.”

Carla pulled in a deep, ragged breath. “I tried to call him just before you called but his phone is off.”

Judah gripped the bridge of his nose and cursed. “Make a plan, Carla.”

Carla thought for a minute. “I’ll call an agency, hire a nanny. They can send someone.”

God, she was going to ask a stranger to pick up Jac? Now that was exactly the type of dick move his father and stepmother would’ve pulled. Judah felt the burn of intense anger. “No, Carla. You will come and get her. Yourself. Personally.”

“I can’t. It’s just not possible.” Carla spluttered her reply, making it sound like he’d asked her to become a nun.

“Jacquetta is your daughter, so you come and get her. It’s not up for negotiation”

Carla finally ran out of expletives. “I’ll come but I need some time.”

“You’ve got a day. Be here in twenty-four hours or I’m going to be the one calling the tabloids, Carla.”

“Judah, no! I am in Como, it will take more time than that.”

“You should’ve thought about that when you played pass-the-parcel with your daughter,” Judah said, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “Hurry up, Carla. The clock is ticking.”

Judah disconnected the call and banged the face of his phone against his forehead. He released his own series of curses and looked down to see Jac sending him a wide-eyed look. “Your mom is something else, kid.”

Jac blinked once, then again and then she smiled, revealing a gorgeous dimple and pink gums. Man, she was cute. And despite being passed from person to person, remarkably sanguine.

“So, I guess it’s you and me for the next twenty-four hours.”

Jac waved her pudgy arms in the air and kicked her legs.

“Glad you are on board with that program. It’s been a while since I made bottles or changed diapers so if you can try not to be hungry or need a change in the next day or so, I’d be grateful.”

Jac sent him what he was sure was a get-real look.

Judah walked her back to where the stroller stood, dropped her bag into the storage compartment and strapped her in. It had been years and years since he’d been in charge of anyone under two feet tall but he still instinctively knew what he was doing.

He could look after this child for a day. A day wasn’t so long. Not when he compared it to looking after his brother day in and day out for six or so years.

This time around he was an adult and he had a voice. And he’d damn well use it.

After work the next afternoon, Darby sat down on the deep purple sofa in the showroom of Winston and Brogan and tucked a bright yellow cushion behind her back. While she loved color, and frequently approved of Jules’s interior design choices, she simply did not like the industry’s current obsession with eggplant. But Winston and Brogan were cutting-edge designers and they always reflected what was hot.

DJ squeezed Darby’s shoulder before sitting down next to her, the diamond on the ring finger of her left hand so big Darby was sure she could see it from space. Jules’s emerald was just as large, as valuable, as impressive. Darby’s future brothers-in-law—one by law and both by love—were crazy about Jules and DJ respectively. Darby was happy they’d found their soul mates.

Hers was probably stuck up a tree or had been run over by an out-of-control bus. Or maybe there wasn’t a man who would put up with a determined, driven, stubborn, type-A personality with fertility issues.

Jules placed a cup of tea on the white coffee table between them before taking the seat to DJ’s left. DJ squeezed Darby’s hand. “Sorry you didn’t get the Grantham-Ford project, Darbs.”

Darby forced a shrug. She hated to lose, even if it was to a Pritzker Prize winner. “It wasn’t a surprise that Huntley got it. They’d be fools to pass up his design. It was magnificent.”

So was Huntley, for a cold, hard jerk bucket.

Jules linked her hands around her knee. “And have they announced who will be his liaison between Huntley and Associates and the Grantham-Ford Foundation?”

Every architect in the city wanted a shot to work with Huntley, to be at his beck and call. Everybody but Darby. She’d seen the measure of the man last night and she was less than impressed.

“Don’t care. It’s an intern position and I’m not interested.” She took the stack of paper DJ handed her and smiled. Financials. A discussion, then her dividend check. Yay.

DJ tapped the end of her pen against the stack of papers in her lap and cleared her throat. “Let’s go through the financials first. Let’s ignore page one and two and go straight to page three.”

Darby flipped to the right page and saw the column detailing income and expenses. Compared to Jules’s interior design income for the past six months, the architectural side of the business—Darby’s side of the business—was trailing Jules’s contribution by half. Up until this year, they’d been equal contributors, with DJ running the finances. It had been the perfect triangle, but now it looked like Darby’s side was collapsing.

She took the check DJ handed her and looked at the total. Then she looked at DJ, wondering if she’d left off a zero.

“This is it?”

“Yes.”

Well, hell.

DJ leaned forward, her eyes sober. “It wasn’t a great quarter, it’s tough out there. The interior design had a boost in income thanks to Noah employing Jules to do yacht interiors, and you had small jobs but nothing that brought in big money.”

Darby stared at her check, her mind spinning. This check didn’t come close to what she needed to pay for IVF. She’d have to put her buildings up for sale immediately, take what she could get for them. She might not even clear her costs, but it would free up the money. Any way she looked at it, she was moving backward, not forward. Dammit.

“There are other factors that contributed to a less than stellar year, Darby.”

“Like?” Darby demanded.

“The rent on this building went up significantly—”

“We agreed we needed to be here, that this was the best place for us to be,” Darby countered. “And that was only a ten percent increase.” She skimmed the lines, looking for other anomalies. “The real reason we aren’t growing is because I didn’t bring in enough income.”

The proof was there, in black and white. She hadn’t been an equal contributor. She’d failed.

Darby didn’t like to fail.

“I’ll make it up to you. This next quarter, you’ll see.” She felt the need to apologize again. “I’m so sorry. You guys have worked so hard and I didn’t pull my weight.”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Jules muttered before sending her twin a hard look. “Can I hand you a hair shirt? Would that make you feel better?”

“But—”

“Who bankrolled this business, Darby?” Jules demanded, not giving Darby a chance to answer. “You did. You bought and fixed up that cottage and the profit you made paid our expenses for the first six months. Thanks to you, we didn’t have to borrow money from Mom or Levi or a bank.”

“The cost of renting the warehouse, the additional staff we’ve had to take on because we’ve expanded have all contributed to the drop in profits,” DJ explained. “It’s normal, Darby.”

Darby looked at the profit-loss line and winced. “It’s shocking.”

DJ rolled her eyes. “You are such an overachiever, Darby. We can afford one less than stellar quarter. We still made a small profit.”

But not enough, not nearly enough. From now on, Darby would be all over every project she could find. She’d work longer hours, take in as much work as she could. She had to make up the shortfall, and that meant doubling her income. She needed work, and lots of it.

“Oh, God, she’s got that crazy look in her eye,” Jules said. “You just flicked her competitive switch.” She leaned forward, blue eyes pinning Darby to the seat. “We’re in this together, Darby, so stop thinking this is your problem to solve. This is not a competition.”

It was a refrain she’d heard all her life: you’re too competitive, Darby. You can’t treat anything as fun, Darby. You don’t have to win at everything, Darby.

What no one understood was that being competitive was the way she was made. She couldn’t remember a time when winning wasn’t her goal.

One of her earliest memories was being on the playground, wanting to be the girl who could run the fastest, jump the longest, swing the highest. She excelled at all sports, was one of the most popular girls in school. She could remember dreading the results of tests, needing to achieve better grades than, well, everyone. Her report cards were all As and when she got her first C, in college, she’d been devastated.

Yes, she was competitive. Yes, she was driven. But, dammit, being both got results. She just had to refocus, redefine her goals. Do better, be better. Determination, her old friend, flowed through her, energizing her.

Darby Brynn Brogan had always produced the results and she would this time, too. Options, scenarios and plans buzzed through her brain.

DJ leaned her shoulder into Darby’s. “Business is about troughs and highs, Darby, everything balances out in the end. I promise that Winston and Brogan is okay. The next cycle will be a lot better.”

What if it wasn’t? What if the economy worsened? She didn’t deal in what-ifs, in maybes. She needed a plan to boost her side of the business. She needed work, a lucrative contract, and she knew one place where she could get one.

Judah Huntley had found his Boston-based architect. He just needed to be notified of the decision.


Four (#u6491bffd-a4ba-5955-80d6-a973f0f7dd05)

After twenty-four hours of looking after Jac, Judah was hanging on to the end of his rope with his teeth. He was exhausted. He needed a shower and to sleep for a week.

Jac, he was certain, was as shattered as he was. She constantly needed to be reassured. She did this incredibly effectively, by crying incessantly. He’d changed her, fed her, held her, paced the room with her but the kid just cried.

And then she cried some more.

How had he done this as a child, a teenager? He must’ve had a guardian angel, some celestial being giving him guidance, because, God knew, the adults in the house hadn’t been interested.

Judah pushed his hand into his hair and wondered, again, where Carla was. He hadn’t managed to reach her the past twelve hours. For the first ten of those hours, he hadn’t been worried. She was in the air. But her flight landed two hours ago and she should have rocked up an hour ago. Judah tensed and reminded himself that Carla had the attention span of a three-week-old puppy. She was easily distracted and being an hour late was nothing.

She could be stuck in a traffic jam or held up at customs. There were lots of reasonable explanations for her tardiness. She would get here eventually. Late but begging him to forgive her, flashing that big smile and batting those enormous, expressive brown eyes.

He would forgive her anything if she would just take Jac and let him get some sleep.

Judah moved Jac up onto his shoulder, patted her little bottom and sighed when she let out another high-pitched wail. Why wasn’t she asleep yet?

Hearing the buzz of the hotel room phone, Judah walked across the presidential suite and lunged for the phone before remembering he was holding a baby. Cursing, he tightened his hold on Jac, shook his head when her volume control went up and barked a greeting into the phone.

“Mr. Huntley you have a visitor—”

“Send her up,” Judah muttered, banging the receiver down. He rubbed Jac’s back. “Your mommy is here, Jac. Think she can save us both?”

Jac’s wail was his answer and he nodded. “I understand your worry. But if I know your mom, she will have brought a nanny with her and you’ll be in safe hands.”

Sleep was within his grasp. He looked across the room to the open door of the bedroom, sighing at the California king-size bed made up with fine Egyptian sheets and an expensive comforter. Ten minutes, maybe fifteen and he would be facedown in blessed quiet.

He liked quiet. He liked calm. Most of all, he liked sleep.

Judah went to stand by the front door. He would stay calm, he told himself. He would just hand Jac over, not engage with his volatile ex-lover—screaming and throwing stuff was Carla’s favorite way to negotiate an argument—and then he’d lock the door behind him and strip off as he headed to his bedroom. He smelled like regurgitated milk since Jac had shown her disgust for the situation by vomiting all over his shirt. He should shower but he probably wouldn’t; his need for sleep was too strong.

At thirty-five, he was too old to go for days without sleep. He was too old for drama, full stop.

Judah yanked open the door. All thoughts about keeping his cool disappeared. “I always thought you were unbelievably self-absorbed, but this behavior is beyond where I thought you would ever go. She’s a little girl, Carla, not a doll—Jesus.”

Judah blinked once, then again before lifting his free hand to rub his bleary eyes. But when he opened his eyes again, the Duchess still stood in the doorway, her silver-gray eyes dominating her face.

Hoping against hope, Judah pulled her to the side and stuck his head into the corridor. Nope, no feisty Italian opera singer in sight. He looked down at his watch. She was now an hour and a half late.

Judah was, not to put too fine a point on it, starting to worry. He needed to start making some calls. Something about this entire situation felt wrong.

“This isn’t a good time, Duchess.”

The use of the nickname didn’t impress her, but Judah didn’t care. He was too tired to deal with an uptight blonde.

She stepped into the hallway, carefully shut the door behind her and looked at the still-crying Jac. “How long has she been upset?”

“Forever,” Judah replied wearily. “I don’t think she’s stopped crying.”




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