CHAPTER TWO
KATE HEWITT discovered her first Mills & Boon ® romance on a trip to England when she was thirteen and she’s continued to read them ever since. She wrote her first story at the age of five, simply because her older brother had written one and she thought she could do it too. That story was one sentence long—fortunately they’ve become a bit more detailed as she’s grown older. She has written plays, short stories, and magazine serials for many years, but writing romance remains her first love. Besides writing, she enjoys reading, travelling and learning to knit. After marrying the man of her dreams—her older brother’s childhood friend—she lived in England for six years and now resides in Connecticut with her husband, her five young children and an overly affectionate golden retriever.
Kate loves to hear from readers—you can contact her through her website, www.kate-hewitt.com.
For Caroline and Ellen, the two spunkiest heroines I know
CORMAC DOUGLAS needed a wife. Tomorrow. Irritation and impatience thrummed through him in time with the drumming of his fingers on his desk. Outside, the crenellated turrets of Edinburgh Castle were shrouded in a thick and gloomy October fog.
He needed a wife. How? Who?
The women he knew were not wife material. Beauties to be seduced or aspiring socialites to be avoided. No one who would be suitable to act as his wife, weekend engagement only.
No one he could entice, bribe or blackmail. Bend to his will.
His narrowed hazel gaze scanned his office—a large, spare room on the top floor of a restored building on Cowgate. He’d gutted the place when he’d bought it five years ago, turned the old, poky rooms into a wide-open space filled with light and exposed brick.
Normally the sight of the office he owned and the memories it banished gave him a satisfaction that replaced his usual restless discontent.
Now it just seemed to mock him. He had the perfect commission, ripe for the taking, meant to be his, and he wouldn’t get it unless he had a wife.
The conversation a few days ago with an architect colleague replayed in his mind.
‘The Hassells finally want to develop a resort in Sint Rimbert,’ Eric had said. ‘Something eco-friendly and luxurious, aimed particularly at families.’
‘Families,’ Cormac repeated without any intonation.
‘Yes, they claim it’s a needed niche in the market—luxury for the little ones.’ He chuckled. ‘It’s a plum commission.’
‘Indeed.’
‘I’d go for it myself, but they want to start work in the new year and I’m already booked.’ He paused, laughing ruefully. ‘I’m also out of the running for another reason—I’m not married.’
‘Married?’ Cormac’s voice turned sharp. ‘What the hell does that have to do with anything?’
‘Apparently the Hassells are a close-knit family. They want someone dependable to design this resort, with family values, seeing as it’s a family resort. Preferably a married man. Of course, that’s just the word on the street—they’d never say as much officially.’
‘Of course.’ Cormac injected a dry note into his voice. ‘Presumably that’s why I haven’t heard of it.’
‘Exactly,’ Eric agreed, laughing. ‘You’re not on the short-list, Cormac.’
‘Not yet.’
‘What are you thinking of? A trip to Gretna Green?’
Cormac knew Eric was joking so he chuckled along with him. ‘Not a bad idea.’
‘You know your own reputation,’ Eric said with a careless laugh. ‘But I didn’t think you were quite that ruthless.’
After the telephone call Cormac had spent a long time staring out at the gloomy skies, the crawl of cars intent on avoiding the traffic of the Old Town.
He imagined the short-list Jan Hassell would have compiled: smug married architects with their happy home lives and uninspired designs.
It was absurd that the Hassells wanted a married man to design the resort. Family values had no effect—at least no positive effect—on one’s work. He should know. His work was his life, his breath. And as for family…
He stifled a curse, one hand balling into a frustrated fist. He wanted that commission. It was a fantastic opportunity, but it was more than that. It was a chance to prove who he was…and who he wasn’t.
He was the best man for the job, could be the best man if given the chance, if he grabbed it.
He wasn’t married.
A few hours after the call from Eric, Cormac had made some calls of his own and finally connected with Jan Hassell. After faxing his CV and some designs to Jan, he’d been invited to a weekend house party on Sint Rimbert, along with two other architects. It was a stone’s throw from complete success and now all he needed was a wife on his arm, an ornament to prove he had all those damn family values.
To
