The Mother And The Millionaire

The Mother And The Millionaire
Alison Fraser

Following unfounded accusations, Jack Doyle had been forced to leave his job at Highfield Manor. Now a millionaire, he's back and the new owner of the house that had been in Esme's family for centuries….Living in close proximity to the man Esme had worshiped as a teenager will be difficult enough. But she's worried that Jack will find out a secret she has kept for ten years….

“It might be interesting to get to know each other again.”

Esme continued to stare at him. “I can’t think what else there is to know,” she responded at length. “You’re Jack Doyle, Internet entrepreneur and new owner of Highfield. I’m Esme Hamilton, single mother of one and ex-cleaner of your mansion. Do you think we have any common ground?”

“Is it Highfield?” he asked bluntly. “Is that the problem? You can’t bear for me, the cook’s son, to have it?”

Esme’s eyes widened at the slant he’d put on things. The animosity she felt was unconnected to house deeds and family origins.

“A little tip for the future, though. If you really don’t like a man, it’s best not to make those little moaning sounds when he’s kissing you. Might give him the whole wrong idea.”

She’s his in the bedroom,

but he can’t buy her love…

The ultimate fantasy becomes a reality

in

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Harlequin Presents (#2263)

The Mother and the Millionaire

Alison Fraser

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS one of those life-changing moments. For Esme, anyway. She opened the door and there he was. Not so different. Older, of course. Better-dressed, too, in dark suit and silk tie. But essentially the same.

‘Midge?’ He half smiled, uncertain whether it was her.

She didn’t smile back. She was sick with shock. It was as if he’d just risen from the dead.

‘Jack Doyle.’ He identified himself.

Quite unnecessary. A towering six feet two, dark-haired and grey-eyed, with razor-sharp cheekbones and a wicked smile, he wasn’t easy to forget.

She struggled to collect her thoughts, only to find herself stammering. ‘I—I—I…’

All her hard-won composure out of the window. A decade’s worth. Back to the gawky teenager, cursed with puppy fat and the awful nickname Midge.

Speech proved impossible. Just as well or she might have said, Go away. I have a life now.

And he wouldn’t have understood.

He took advantage of her silence to do an inventory. Heavy-lidded grey eyes travelled from her coiled blonde hair and fine-boned face to her slim figure in an A-line dress, and back again.

‘Who would have thought it—little Midge all grown up?’ His voice was teasing rather than mocking.

Midge knew that—no, Esme; that was her name—knew that, but it didn’t help. Still, it rescued her from incoherence.

‘No one calls me that now.’ She finally spoke and, looking down her nose, added, ‘May I help you?’

Polite veneer barely masking condescension.

He got it, of course. She’d expected him to. Doyle had always been quick on the uptake. Brilliantly so apart from when it concerned her sister, Arabella.

‘Scary,’ he commented.

‘What?’ she demanded, unable to help herself.

He shook his head but a smile played on his mouth. He was laughing at something.