The Millionaire's Pregnant Wife

He had to have her; every cell in his body impelled him to that end. But at what cost? And on whose terms?

As he turned away, a piece of paper on top of a pile of newspapers caught his eye, partly because the writing was in bright red ink. It was headed THE FREEDOM LIST. Quickly his eyes skimmed the page. Go to art school. Travel. Paint a masterpiece. Have torrid sex.

He jolted to a stop. This last directive had been crossed out. Have an affair had been printed above it.

His pang of conscience vanished in a surge of relief. So Kelsey wanted an affair; perhaps she had left the list out so he’d read it. If the few kisses they’d exchanged were anything to go by, the sex would indeed be torrid.

Paint a masterpiece. His brain made a lightning-swift leap. His good friend Rico was a world-renowned artist.

“Dinner’s ready, Luke,” Kelsey called from the kitchen. “Come and get it.”

Come and get it… Oh, yes, he thought, and went back into the kitchen.

The fish was tender and flaky, the batter crisp and the French fries, drenched in vinegar and salt, delicious. Luke said soulfully, “Why haven’t any of the men in Hadley snapped you up? You’re gorgeous and you’ve got a body to die for—and your fish and chips are the nearest thing to heaven.”

“There was the small matter of three boys underfoot, and a dearth of eligible men.”

No wonder torrid sex had been written in red ink. Luke said, squeezing lemon juice over his fish, “I noticed your list in the living room—”

“My list?” she squeaked, blanching. “Where? I didn’t leave it out, did I? Luke, you didn’t read it!”

“You did, and I did.” He gave her his most charming smile. “It was difficult not to—the ink’s eye-catching. So I have a proposal for you. For both of us, actually. A joint venture.”

From ivory-pale, her cheeks had flushed as red as the ink. She said in a rush, “I meant to take it upstairs. But then I must have gotten distracted sorting Glen’s old hockey gear. You didn’t really read it?”

Do a sales pitch, Luke. Fast. “I own a resort on a little island in the Bahamas,” he said with another big smile. “My good friend Rico Albeniz is flying down there later this week to spend a few days—have you heard of him?” When she nodded, he went on, “I’ll call him tonight. You and I will fly down there tomorrow, and you can have a lesson or two with him.”

“With Rico Albeniz? He wouldn’t even look at me—he’s famous!”

“He’ll look at you. If I ask him to.”

“Money talks?” she said coldly, forking up some chips.

“He’s my friend,” Luke said, an edge to his voice.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “But—”

“I haven’t finished,” Luke said patiently. “While we’re there, you and I will share a bed. Have an affair. Don’t you see? Travel, torrid sex, and the chance to paint—you can cross three things off your list at once.”

“How very efficient,” she said, in an unreadable voice.

“It’s called time-management,” he added with a touch of smugness, and took another mouthful of fish.

“Spoken like a businessman.”

He leaned forward. “You want me, Kelsey, and I want you—as I swear I’ve never wanted a woman before. You’re as far from my usual kind of lover as you can be, and I should be running in the opposite direction. I don’t normally babble on about pearls or orphanages or my mother, and I don’t know why I’m doing it with you. But I do know one thing—I won’t rest until I have you in my bed.”

He seemed to have finished all he had to say. He dabbed his last mouthful of fish in tartar sauce. Kelsey was gaping at him, her fork partway to her mouth, her eyes dazed. “I can’t have an affair with—”

“Why can’t you?”

“To start with, I can’t go away tomorrow. Just like that. I have…responsibilities.” Her voice died to a whisper.

“No, you don’t. The last one left for forestry school a few days ago.”

Kelsey swallowed a French fry that tasted like cardboard. She needed a haircut, she thought crazily, she couldn’t go away. “I have to sell the house.”

“You’ll be in much better shape to do so after a holiday.”

“I don’t have any—”

“—money? I’m writing you a check this evening for the last three days. The flight’s free, because it’s on my private jet, and I own the resort—no room charge.”