He hasn’t changed, she thought, then shook her head slowly. No, he has changed, but he’s still—Will. My Will.
No.
Yes!
Stop it. Never mind that, look at him. Look at the changes. He’s bigger—taller, older.
His eyes look tired. Beautiful, still staggeringly beautiful, but tired.
Why so tired?
She wanted to cry, to laugh, to hug him—and because she could do none of them, she retreated, through a door she found conveniently placed behind her, and fled into the sanctuary of another hallway.
She needed time—time to think. Time to get her ducks in a row and her heart back under control before she said or did something stupid.
Oh, Lord. Will….
What happens when you suddenly discover your happy twosome is about to be turned into a…family?
Do you panic?
Do you laugh?
Do you cry?
Or…do you get married?
The answer is all of the above—and plenty more!
Share the laughter and the tears as these unsuspecting couples are plunged into parenthood! Whether it’s a baby on the way or the creation of a brand-new instant family, these men and women have no choice but to be
When parenthood takes you by surprise!
The Baby Proposal
by Rebecca Winters
HR # 3808
The Pregnant Tycoon
Caroline Anderson
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
HAPPY Birthday, Izzy. The big three-O. Terrific.
Izzy felt her smile slipping and yanked it back with effort. Any minute now her face would start to crack. For what felt like hours she’d laughed at the witty in-jokes, picked at the delicate and hideously expensive canapés and now she’d had enough. If she didn’t get out of here in the next five minutes, she was going to scream.
Loudly.
It was her thirtieth birthday, and she was at a party. Not her party, though, although it was in a way her celebration. No, this was a party to celebrate the phenomenally successful flotation on the stock market of yet another company she’d rescued from certain death.
Been there, done that, she thought tiredly, but everyone was on a high, and only a real party-pooper wouldn’t want to celebrate with their friends.
Friends? She gave a quiet, slightly despairing little laugh. Apart from Kate, she hadn’t known any of them for more than a year at the most. Were they really friends? Or were they only there because of who and what she was?
And who was she? She knew what she was, and if she ever lost sight of it, the press would lose no time in reminding her with one of the selection of nicknames they thought so amusing.
The Stripper, The Assassin—Godzilla was the latest in a long line. And all because she went in where angels feared to tread, and restructured ailing companies, turning them around and pointing them in the right direction. And, of course, because she was a woman, and because she was so young, she’d attracted a lot of attention in doing it.
More, really, than was warranted. Plenty of people did what she did, but not many, she was forced to admit, with such startling results. She’d been lucky—very lucky. Her instincts had only let her down once, and the press had loved it.
But not this time. This time it had been another runaway success, and she knew she’d never need to work again.
She would, of course, simply because if she didn’t work, then what would she do with her life? Without work, it was empty.
Barren.
Nonsense, she told herself. You’ve got a great apartment overlooking the river near Canary Wharf, a fantastic assistant in Kate, you can have anything you want—except privacy.
That was the penalty. She had more appearances in the society rags than the average royal, every date she went on was turned into a full-blown affair—which was a joke, because most men were so terrified of her they’d run screaming before they got to her bedroom door—and she was standing there surrounded by people who didn’t even know her.
Heavens, I don’t know me. Where are my real friends? Do I have any?
‘Excuse me,’ she murmured with a vague smile, and headed for the ladies’ loo. A few minutes alone—
‘You OK?’
She glanced at Kate, her right-hand-woman—and the closest thing she had to a real friend—and dredged up a smile. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’
‘Great party. They’re a super bunch—I’ll miss them. Still, there’s always the next lot.’
She fell
