The Million Pound Marriage Deal, page 1
A marriage of convenience...
With a price!
Billionaire playboy Will Trent-Paterson has one year to get married. His father will disinherit him if he doesn’t settle down, leaving his vulnerable sister homeless! So when his old friend Sophie Mitchell jokes that she’d marry him for a million pounds, a temporary marriage seems like the perfect solution! Until, after spending time with captivating Sophie, Will realizes walking away will be the hardest part...
“If you were really willing to marry me for a million pounds, Sophie, how would you see that marriage working?”
“I wasn’t serious when I said I’d marry you for a million pounds,” she whispered, when the waiter had melted into the background again.
“I know. You were being flippant. But if we were to speak hypothetically...” Will let the rest of the sentence dangle and watched her mind race behind the perfect blue of her eyes. “I’d put a million pounds into your bank account... What would I get in return?”
“A million pounds...?”
Her eyes glazed over and he could feel his lips start to lift. “I believe that was the price you put on it.” A million pounds...and then she could live the life she’d just outlined to him.
She shook herself. “We’re playing hypotheticals?”
He nodded.
“Well, if that were to ever happen...it’d have to be a strictly business arrangement. A paper marriage—no sex, no children, no complications.”
Dear Reader,
When I was a teenager I wanted an older brother—not for the worldly advice he could offer, or the support of a friendly shoulder, or even the teasing camaraderie. The sole reason I wanted an older brother was for his friends. And in my mind they were always cute, kind and a little bit mysterious.
Of course, I suspect the reality would’ve proven far different. If I’d had an older brother, his friends would’ve simply become a part of the family—much like my and my sister’s friends. But the fantasy has long lingered in my mind, and I decided to finally give it life in Sophie and Will’s story.
Sophie and Will have been on the periphery of each other’s lives for fifteen years, but it’s not until the events of this story that they really get to know each other. I hope you enjoy their journey of discovery as much as I did.
Hugs,
Michelle
The Million Pound Marriage Deal
Michelle Douglas
Michelle Douglas has been writing for Harlequin since 2007 and believes she has the best job in the world. She lives in a leafy suburb of Newcastle, on Australia’s east coast, with her own romantic hero, a house full of dust and books, and an eclectic collection of ’60s and ’70s vinyl. She loves to hear from readers and can be contacted via her website, michelle-douglas.com.
Books by Michelle Douglas
Harlequin Romance
The Vineyards of Calanetti
Reunited by a Baby Secret
The Wild Ones
Her Irresistible Protector
The Rebel and the Heiress
The Redemption of Rico D’Angelo
Road Trip with the Eligible Bachelor
Snowbound Surprise for the Billionaire
The Millionaire and the Maid
A Deal to Mend Their Marriage
An Unlikely Bride for the Billionaire
The Spanish Tycoon’s Takeover
Sarah and the Secret Sheikh
A Baby in His In-Tray
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
Join Harlequin My Rewards today and earn a FREE ebook!
Click here to Join Harlequin My Rewards
http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010002
In memory of James (Jim) Morris (23/4/51–21/11/17), who is sadly missed by all who knew and loved him.
Praise for
Michelle Douglas
“Captivatingly sweet!... Great characters, a heartwarming story line and just a whole lot of feel good reading!”
—Goodreads on The Spanish Tycoon’s Takeover
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
EPILOGUE
EXCERPT FROM CONVENIENTLY WED TO THE PRINCE BY NINA MILNE
CHAPTER ONE
A QUICK GLANCE around the Soho restaurant informed Sophie that she’d arrived first—which was unusual.
‘And that’s a gold star for me,’ she murmured under her breath, before sending a smile to the approaching waiter. ‘I believe there’s a reservation in the name of Trent-Paterson.’
‘Certainly, madam.’
He didn’t even need to check the reservation book, but led her across the room to a table set in an alcove and screened from the rest of the room by palms. Knowing Will, it was probably the best table in the house. She wondered if this was one of the places where he normally brought his women.
Not that they were his women, of course. It was just that there was such a parade of them in and out of his life.
You can’t talk.
She bit back a sigh.
The restaurant was upmarket, of course, and eschewed modern minimalist lines that were currently in vogue, celebrating instead a colonial décor popular over a century ago. It reminded her of Raffles in Singapore. Minus the heat and humidity. This wasn’t the kind of establishment that needed to justify itself. She took a seat.
‘Can I get you a drink, madam?’
‘Yes, please. A sparkling mineral water would be lovely.’
He blinked before his face became a smooth mask again. Ah...so he recognised her too, huh? She resisted the urge to tease him. New leaf, remember?
She glanced through the screen of palms at the rest of the room and shook her head. ‘Horrible,’ she murmured. Normally she and Will met in the café at the Tate Modern. Where they could stare out at the vista spread before them rather than at each other.
And where occasionally their shoulders would bump. Accidentally, of course—Will would never purposely touch his best friend’s little sister. Especially not now Peter was dead. But those accidental moments always made her feel less alone.
‘Crazy,’ she murmured. ‘Also you have to stop talking to yourself like this or someone will overhear.’ She thought about that for a moment and then shrugged. ‘So what?’
It wasn’t like a century ago, when they could’ve had her committed for such eccentricity. Besides, she’d been called far less savoury things than crazy by the press...and her father.
She watched the waiter return with both her mineral water and Will, and missed the Tate Modern’s café with its view over a grey city. But today called for more salubrious surroundings. Today was Peter’s birthday.
Maybe that was why she felt so claustrophobic amid all this airy, white-shuttered cane and palm expansiveness.
Will couldn’t see her as well as she could see him, but she tried not to study him too intently anyway, though the temptation lurked at the edges of her consciousness. As usual her heart-rate picked up speed at the sight of those impossibly broad shoulders, long legs and lean hips. William Trent-Paterson was built along lines that made every woman in the room stand to attention, figuratively speaking. A woman had once told her that she ovulated every single time she clapped eyes on Will.
She tried to ignore all thoughts of ovulation, eggs and procreation. Regardless of what Will looked like she knew that, as usual, his lips would press into a thin line when he saw her.
‘Such a shame,’ she murmured, because, actually, she really liked him. Still, she’d love to see him run to fat. Just a little bit. Just one flaw—that was all she asked. Maybe then she’d feel on more of an even footing with him.
You might as well ask for the moon.
‘Sophie,’ he said when he reached her.
As predicted those lips pinched together. So did the skin around his eyes. It was a double shame because he had a nice smile, though she rarely saw it.
‘Hello, Will.’
She rose and they gave each other perfunctory pecks on the cheeks, keeping the width of the table between them. A rush of lime and a darker musky note flooded her senses. She pulled back and planted herself in her chair again and tried to ignore the heavy thud-thud of the pulse in her throat.
It was like this every single time—the stilted distance and the heart thudding.
She suspected it was because there was no other person on the planet who had loved Peter as much as she had...except for Will.
And her father, but that was too difficult.
Since the viciousness of her parents’ separation and subsequent divorce when she was eleven and Peter sixteen—when the only thing her parents were focused on was hurting each other—she and Peter had turned to each other. They’d seemed to realise they had no other family to rely on. She’d done her best to stop him from growing too grave and serious, while he’d done his best to stop her from feeling as if she didn’t measure up. She’d looked up to him so much. Had depended on him.
And now he was gone...
She couldn’t believe the hole it had left in her life.
It made her think that she and Will should hold each other tight on the occasions they did see each other, take comfort in each other. But it was never like that.
Because Will didn’t really like her.
But some strange sense of honour kept them in touch, some respect for Peter they weren’t prepared to surrender.
Would he be relieved if she hadn’t shown up—if she just stopped turning up for their monthly coffee dates and occasional lunches? Would he feel he’d discharged some unspoken duty to Peter and was now off the hook? The thought made her heart ache. She couldn’t stop coming. He was one of her last links to Peter. And Peter was the only person who had truly loved her for who she was.
She couldn’t let that go. She couldn’t let Peter go, which meant she couldn’t let Will go. And she wanted to tell him she was sorry for that, sorry if that made things difficult for him.
But she didn’t. Because it would make him uncomfortable...and she didn’t want to do anything that would make him uncomfortable. She’d like to make him smile if she could.
‘You look glum.’
That slammed her back to the present. ‘Sorry, just feeling a bit wistful for...for what could’ve been.’
He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, and she realised he’d thought she was referring to Peter. Make things more cheerful.
She waved to encompass the restaurant. ‘I’ve not been here before.’
He straightened. ‘Do you like it?’
‘It’s lovely,’ she said, because she was always on her best behaviour with Will.
Amazingly he laughed. ‘You hate it.’
‘Well, the fact of the matter is I’m starved. So as long as the food is good, I don’t care about anything else.’
Those lips pressed back into a tight line. ‘Traditionally you barely touch any of your food.’
‘Today I can promise you that I’ll clean my plate.’ New leaf.
He raised a sardonic eyebrow. ‘You’re planning on ordering the green salad and nothing else?’
She snapped her menu closed. ‘I’m having the lamb.’
‘Excellent choice, I’ll have the same.’ He handed the waiter his menu, his eyes not leaving hers. ‘How’s your father?’
Here began the ritual questions. She pushed down a sigh. Just once she’d like... She pushed that thought down too. ‘Triumphant that I’ve been forced to toe the line and run all of his foreseeable charity events.’
For the moment. Beneath the table she twisted her watch around and around on her wrist. She needed a way to find a lot of money fast. Really fast. And she had no idea how she was going to do it. Her father paid her a generous allowance for acting as his event planner, but it was nowhere near enough to help Carla in any practical way...to make amends to the other woman. And she wasn’t stupid enough to ask her father for a loan. He’d take too much delight in telling her that she was a carbon copy of her mother and to go to blazes.
Dark eyes surveyed her across the table. ‘That’s nobody’s fault but your own.’
True, but... ‘A more gallant man would’ve refrained from pointing that out.’
‘I don’t feel like being gallant today, Sophie. I feel like smashing something.’
Her ears perked up. Wow, that was out of character. Interesting.
But then he shook himself and asked, ‘How’s Carla?’
Her appetite fled at the mention of Peter’s fiancée. She stared at the screen of palms rather than at him, pain throbbing in the back of her throat. She’d been toying with her bread knife, but she carefully set it back down, afraid that if she didn’t she’d stab herself in the leg. Which was no more than she deserved, but that might get her committed. Besides it wouldn’t help anyone. She couldn’t abscond from responsibility. Not this time.
‘That good, huh?’
Carla was in drug rehab—drug rehab Sophie had to try and find the money for—but Carla had sworn her to secrecy and Sophie owed her that much. At the very least. Self-loathing bloomed in her chest. How could she have let things get so out of hand? How could she have been so blind? How could she have let Carla—and Peter—down so spectacularly?
She pressed her hands together to stop them from shaking. ‘She can’t let the memory of Peter go.’
‘And we can?’
The words burst from him, unexpected, and Sophie flinched, throwing up an arm as if to ward off the words.
Silence pounded between them.
Eventually Will cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry.’
She could feel the weight of his gaze, but she didn’t want to meet it. She adjusted her cutlery instead. ‘It’s a valid point,’ she squeezed out from a tight throat. ‘But it’s only been two years.’ It was too soon for forgetting...for letting go.
From the corner of her eyes she saw him drag a hand back through dark auburn hair. ‘I’m starting to think that us continuing to meet like this isn’t doing anybody any good, and that—’
‘No!’
Her gaze flew to his, snagged and held.
‘Please,’ she whispered. To her absolute horror tears slid down her cheeks and she wanted to close her eyes and will the floor to swallow her whole. She hadn’t let him see her cry, not since the funeral. In the humiliation of the moment she wanted to get up and walk out of this horrible restaurant, but she had to stop what he was trying to do.
‘Please, Will, I’m not ready to give this up.’ The thought of it filled her with panic. ‘Please don’t bring an end to...this. I can’t—’ She swallowed down a sob. ‘I know it’s uncomfortable. And I know I’m a trial.’
She’d been a trial to every person in her life. Except Peter. She’d try harder not to be a trial to Will in the future. ‘But, you see, you loved him. And I loved him. And remembering that, having proof—’ recognition ‘—helps.’
His skin had gone grey and his jaw clenched so hard it made her feel sick.
She mopped at her cheeks. ‘Will you excuse me while I go find the ladies’?’
He nodded.
‘Will you be here when I get back?’
She held her breath until he gave another hard nod. Without another word she fled to the ladies’ room, only giving herself enough time to splash some cold water onto overheated cheeks and to repair her eyeliner. Thank God for waterproof mascara!
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, sliding into her seat again. Their meal had arrived while she’d been away, and she spread her linen serviette across her lap and lifted her knife and fork. ‘Today is always a tough day. I’m sorry that you bore the brunt of my dissatisfaction with it.’
‘I’m sorry I wasn’t more sensitive.’
He wanted to throttle her. She wasn’t sure how she could tell—the hard set of his shoulders maybe combined with the deep burning in his eyes.
‘How’s Carol Ann?’ she asked.
‘Fully recovered from her surgery. She loved the set of DVDs you sent her. Though from all accounts the rest of the household are being driven insane.’
That made her grin. Carol Ann was Will’s younger sister and the same age as Sophie, but she had Down’s syndrome with all of the associated health issues that entailed. Sophie had only met her a few times, but she sent her birthday and Christmas cards...and gifts on the few occasions she’d been hospitalised. They spoke on the phone. Her last gift had been a DVD box set of musicals. ‘I’m glad they’ve been such a hit. The world needs more The King and I.’
He almost smiled so she counted that as an almost win.
‘How’s your grandfather?’
All signs of humour drained from him and she winced. ‘The grapevine informs me that he’s been making another push to get you to settle down.’
‘Good news travels fast. I supposed you were at Catriona McManus’s thirtieth last weekend.’
Nope. She’d given up wild times and painting the town red. She was avoiding parties, other than the ones her father was forcing her to plan, organise and host on his behalf. It was all a part of her turning over a new leaf. But that didn’t mean she could avoid the rumour mill completely. ‘So it’s true, then?’
