The Rival's Heir

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.