Revealing Her Nine-Month Secret Read online

  He couldn’t forget her.

  Hell, Carrie was why he was in Fiji at all. Her joyful dreams of heading to a Pacific island paradise had gotten to him. He’d not taken her teasing suggestion that he invest there seriously at the time. But a couple months later, he’d still been unable to shake the thought and he’d begun a genuine investigation for work. Now he was feeling raw enough to admit the ridiculous truth. He’d been tempting fate—wanting to find her, unable to forget her.

  And she didn’t want to see him.

  So Massimo would respect her wishes. But even from Sydney, he still made the daily call—indulging that stupid need for the few minutes it took. The need to know how she was. Where she was. Each day he got the same response.

  Stable. Stable. Stable. Always followed by the kicker. I’m sorry, sir. No visitors or calls allowed.

  It was almost another three weeks before everything changed. Because it wasn’t the usual receptionist.

  “Barrett?” the telephonist echoed vaguely as he tapped on the computer. “Barrett. They’re both doing well.”

  “Well” was good, but... Massimo froze. “Both?”

  USA TODAY bestselling author Natalie Anderson writes emotional contemporary romance full of sparkling banter, sizzling heat and uplifting endings—perfect for readers who love to escape with empowered heroines and arrogant alphas who are too sexy for their own good. When she’s not writing, you’ll find Natalie wrangling her four children, three cats, two goldfish and one dog...and snuggled in a heap on the sofa with her husband at the end of the day. Follow her at natalie-anderson.com.

  Books by Natalie Anderson

  Harlequin Presents

  Pregnant by the Commanding Greek

  The Greek’s One-Night Heir

  Secrets Made in Paradise

  Conveniently Wed!

  The Innocent’s Emergency Wedding

  Once Upon a Temptation

  Shy Queen in the Royal Spotlight

  Rebels, Brothers, Billionaires

  Stranded for One Scandalous Week

  Nine Months to Claim Her

  The Christmas Princess Swap

  The Queen’s Impossible Boss

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  Natalie Anderson

  Revealing Her Nine-Month Secret

  For my Cheesy Crafts Crew. You’re the best bunch of witchy, wool-magic women... Thanks for letting this lefty bring nothing but the cheese!

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  EXCERPT FROM CINDERELLA FOR THE MIAMI PLAYBOY BY DANI COLLINS

  CHAPTER ONE

  HOPE HADN’T QUITE DIED. Carrie Barrett glanced again at the door. A blind date with her workmate’s cousin. Agreeing had been a terrible people-pleaser moment—second only to doing that reading at her sister’s wedding. Since that horror fest she’d been trying to train herself out of the habit. But today she’d not just wanted to agree to a favour for someone else, she’d wanted to fit in. She’d even wanted to meet someone new.

  It was a full year since she’d been jilted. Six months since she’d travelled from her home to the other side of the world. It was time to at least try and have some fun. But her date was late and a lifetime of punctuality meant Carrie was now sitting in a not-quite-fitted summer dress that wasn’t even hers, conspicuously alone in the rooftop restaurant of the plushest waterfront hotel in Auckland, New Zealand.

  At least she could avoid the waiter’s enquiring looks by admiring the gleaming super yachts moored in the marina. The Waitematā harbour was especially stunning at sunset. But, despite the postcard perfection, she couldn’t help glancing back to the door as more people arrived.

  Please show up. It would be so great if someone would just show up. Just this once.

  Her stomach somersaulted as a man walked in just as she willed it. Impressive height. Broad shoulders. Brilliant eyes—their focus landed directly on her. Just for a second.

  It wasn’t him, of course. Her date would be wearing a red jacket. This guy was entirely in black and the hold of his head, his all-encompassing gaze and his wholly confident stance sealed his command of the room. His arrival electrified everyone. They all turned, immediately straightening, eyes brightening, literally lip-licking.

  Carrie wasn’t miraculously immune. Goose bumps shimmied over her skin. Allergic, right? He was high performance personified. She’d been around the type long enough to instantly recognise the aura. Doubtless he’d be ruthlessly driven. As were her law-partner parents and champion-athletics stars sisters. Worst of all, her ex-fiancé too. Carrie intimately understood that the fight for success at the highest level meant other things got sacrificed—time and attention always, people often and sometimes someone wanted to win so badly they cheated.

  Despite knowing this, she wasn’t repelled by the new arrival but as transfixed as everyone else. He was a pirate, plundering hearts with the sheer authority of his presence. Even the ultra-professional and discreet maître d’ took half a second to recover.

  A murmured word and a moment later, the man followed the restaurateur. Only one empty table separated hers from his—now the last empty table. Apparently he felt no discomfort going solo in such a convivial setting. Of course, if he wanted company, he only needed to toss a glance at anyone crowding that bar and he’d be accosted in seconds. But he obviously didn’t want, because he chose to sit with his back to them.

  Which meant he faced her. Which meant she now had to look anywhere but straight ahead because otherwise she’d be staring right at him. It was as if they were at the same table—stretched apart by only a little distance.

  So awkward.

  She wanted to surreptitiously slither away. Instead, she watched the door. A woman arrived and another couple of men. They all went to the bar. She drew a disappointed breath and her gaze inadvertently slid over him and stopped. Because, just like that, time ended. He was more than a pirate. He had the beauty of an angel and the tempting gleam of a devil. And he was taking in far more than the colour of her hair.

  Her cheeks heated as his gaze slowly swept over her features. Utterly fanciful thoughts filled her head. And, worse, her body actually reacted—heating as sensation zinged along her veins, tightening, softening. Shocking. Super-embarrassing. Also unstoppable.

  The spell was only broken by the arrival of the maître d’ at the man’s shoulder. Her devilish pirate-angel angled his head to listen to the man but didn’t take his eyes off her. But the interruption recalled her brain from its whimsical, sensual flight.

  So, so awkward. Had he seen her reaction? Read her mind? But something had started unfurling inside and it couldn’t be stopped. He said something in a low voice, and the maître d’s eyes widened, but he nodded. Of course. Because this man got what he wanted. Every. Time.

  But he wouldn’t want her. She was way too ordinary. Like attracted like—superstars bonded with other superstars and that was as it should be. Because the less bright got bu
rned to bits when they got too close to stars like him.

  ‘Would madam like to order or wait a while longer for her guest?’

  The maître d’s question mortified her. She’d been stood up. And she’d not ordered yet because this restaurant was not travelling-temp budget-friendly. But a random hit of pride made her refuse to walk out in front of the guy who had it all. The one who was still watching her. There’d be no slithering out without him noticing because he’d already noticed. For once, for this worst of moments, she was not invisible.

  * * *

  She wasn’t his type. But Massimo Donati-Wells listened to the conversation between the maître d’ and the strawberry blonde at the opposite table anyway. He’d already succumbed to the inexplicable urge to instruct the man not to allow anyone to be seated at the table between him and the petite woman with the pouting lips and soft-looking skin. He’d spotted her when he’d walked in and deliberately sat with his back to the rest of the room. She’d noticed him and, while that was hardly unusual, his shockingly instant response to her hyper-aware stare?

  Very, very physical. It wasn’t unwelcome. It had been a long few days, and after the satisfaction of securing his latest contract a reward wouldn’t go astray. So he sat back and didn’t try to stop the current flowing. The electricity that had arced the moment he’d locked eyes with her had an addictive burst.

  Her attention again flickered to the door over his shoulder. She was waiting for someone. A date? His muscles tensed. Foolish date for being late. Her phone pinged. Massimo unashamedly watched her read the message. She blinked rapidly and her mouth compressed.

  ‘Actually, I will order something, please.’ She called the maître d’ back.

  Pink-cheeked, the blue-eyed princess was clearly trying not to run. She was scraping together pride. Good for her.

  ‘Um...’ She didn’t bother to scan the menu. ‘A pina colada, please.’

  He bit the inside of his cheek so he didn’t smile. The beach cocktail classic wasn’t even on the menu at this bar. It was known for its champagne selection. But the maître d’ was too professional even to blink.

  ‘Of course.’

  She really wasn’t his type. Too fresh. Too soft. The sort that blushed and probably dreamed of one true love. He selected the sort who played quick and never expected him to stay. The streetwise sort who were the same as him. But something kept him staring. Not just her smooth skin and soft curves, but the defiant courage shimmering in her sapphire eyes—and the vulnerability that underpinned it.

  She shouldn’t have been stood up. His ribs tightened, making his heart beat more forcefully against the constraints while his imagination slipped its chain and plotted just what she should be getting tonight. Touch. Definitely touch. The kind of touch to make her smile, sparkle, scream.

  And he wanted her to look back at him so he’d feel that jolt of electricity again.

  ‘Mind if I join you?’ He called across the slight distance, shocking himself with his inability to resist temptation. ‘My guest cancelled on me last minute.’

  He’d wanted to dine alone. He’d had people seeking his pleasure and approval all day. This was supposed to have been an evening of peace before flying home tomorrow. And the strawberry-blonde sweetheart wasn’t stupid. She pointedly glanced at the single place-setting at his table. Yeah, he’d just lied to her, and she knew it.

  ‘Just a drink until your guest arrives...’ he murmured, not used to having to ask anyone a second time.

  In her heart-shaped face her smile twisted. ‘He’s not coming.’ She didn’t even try to lie.

  ‘Then he’s an idiot.’ Massimo stood and moved seats before she could say anything more. ‘I’m hungry,’ he said equably. ‘Are you?’

  For a second he wondered if she was about to refuse. If he’d misread the arc of attraction that had bewitched him moments ago. If his customary boldness was too much for her. She was, after all, too soft.

  But her chin lifted. ‘I’m not sure. I can’t actually think right now.’

  The hit of honesty amused him. ‘Let’s find out.’

  He glanced to his side and the maître d’ materialised as if by magic. Massimo murmured his order.

  ‘They serve tapas,’ he explained after the man hurried away. ‘I ordered some of everything.’

  She assessed him with the clearest, bluest eyes he’d ever looked into and, despite the sizzling energy, there wasn’t exactly approval shining in them.

  ‘Everything? You must be hungry,’ she said, sharpness edging her tone. ‘You didn’t want some big, juicy steak with a rich sauce and all the trimmings?’

  A hint of challenge, of censure. She probably thought him a jerk and maybe he was. But there was another jolt of fire. Massimo wanted more because it warmed him in a way he hadn’t felt in an age.

  ‘Sampling lots of things is more fun than being stuck with only the one dish, don’t you think?’ He played up the arrogance she clearly read in him.

  Suspicion firmed in her eyes. ‘You mean you like to try all the different meats available on the charcuterie board?’

  Her tart riposte burned in the best way. ‘Absolutely. A nibble here, a nibble there. Sometimes, however,’ he acknowledged swiftly, ‘It’s nice enough just to look.’

  Because she probably shouldn’t be on the board. He’d devour her and, despite her little push-back, he wasn’t sure she’d handle it.

  ‘Just looking leaves you satisfied?’ she queried, disbelief audible. ‘Your appetite is fully assuaged by little more than a glance?’

  His ribs tightened even more. ‘I guess it depends. What about yours?’

  She looked at him for a long moment. ‘I’m still developing my palate. There’s a lot I haven’t tried.’

  A ball of heat exploded in his loins. Hadn’t she? Did she want to?

  ‘You’re very used to getting your own way,’ she added after a moment. ‘Do you choose from the board before anyone else gets a chance?’

  He smiled. ‘You think I would do that?’

  ‘You don’t bat an eyelid when ordering absolutely everything on the menu, having walked into a place and taking a seat at a table as if it were your own...’

  He saw the moment she realised and her mouth formed an ‘O’. It was a very luscious mouth. Massimo’s watered.

  ‘Is it your own?’ She gazed at him intently. ‘This hotel?’

  ‘I’m only an investor.’ Massimo had made so much money, he spent his days finding things to invest in. Well, fighting off the people who came to him asking for his investment and advice. His private equity empire was renowned for identifying future successful entities, meaning he simply kept making more money. He was not going to lie—he liked it. He liked success, liked living on his own terms. He also liked seducing pretty women who knew the score. This woman didn’t.

  ‘Only,’ she echoed. ‘So you only invest in high-end luxury hotels?’

  ‘Actually, I’m currently focussing on renewable energy projects.’

  A hint of humour stole into those blue eyes. ‘Oh, how worthy.’ She nodded. ‘Do you hope to create a more sustainable future for your children?’

  He stared back at her, appreciating the totally passive-aggressive niggle. No one had dared deal to him in a long while and he badly wanted to strike back with something inflammatory to provoke a reaction from her. The judgement got beneath his skin. ‘Actually,’ he said silkily. ‘I have no intention of having children.’

  ‘Naturally.’ She smiled.

  He shot her a look. ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning, it is a truth universally acknowledged that every wealthy man feels a driving need to warn every female he meets that he’s not in the market for either marriage or children.’

  He looked at her, his mouth twitching. ‘Quite.’ He nodded firmly, appreciating her distortion of the famous literary line. ‘S
o glad you readily understand my position.’

  ‘I’m not in the market either, in case you were curious.’ Her arrogance was completely faked.

  He smirked. ‘Which is why you’re sitting here waiting for...?’

  She eyed him severely but spoilt the look with an eventual smile. ‘I was doing a friend a favour.’

  ‘Oh, really? That’s what you’re going with?’

  ‘It happens to be the truth.’ She shrugged. ‘But please, fear not, I’m only using you as a foil against public humiliation and for free food.’

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Glad we’re able to be so frank. Equally, glad I’m able to oblige.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Who was he?’ He was stupidly curious now. ‘The idiot?’

  ‘I don’t even know. It was a set-up. I said yes for a friend but apparently the guy’s been caught up at work.’ The bitterness in her tone ran deep.

  ‘Oh, workaholics.’ He shook his head ruefully. ‘Need to steer clear of those.’

  A flash of disbelief widened her blue eyes, then her smile blossomed and a little laugh escaped. ‘Indeed.’

  That laugh was everything. He wanted more. He wanted that laugh in his bed.

  ‘What about your date?’ she asked.

  ‘There wasn’t one. I lied.’ The pretence fell away and he was honest.

  ‘Yes.’ Her lashes lifted and those blue eyes lanced through him. ‘You’ve experience with that.’

  ‘Doesn’t everyone?’ Now he was the one who couldn’t keep a splinter of bitterness back. ‘Both ways.’

  ‘Apparently so.’

  The connection between them suddenly flared and he felt a wave of empathy. He knew exactly how awful it was to be lied to.

  A waiter arrived with her pina colada and a bottle of wine for him, severing the surprisingly solemn connection that had formed so suddenly.

  ‘You’re English,’ he noted when the waiter was gone.

  ‘You’re Australian,’ she countered with a smile.

  Accents were the least of what they were noticing about each other.