The Baby Inheritance

“Actions speak louder than words. And what you’re doing is ignoring me and Rose.”

“I’m not ignoring the baby, I’m ignoring you.”

“Why?” Lilah demanded, tossing both hands high.

Could she really not see what it cost him to avoid her company? Was she clueless about the attraction sizzling between them? Well, if so, Reed thought, it was time to let her know exactly what was going on here.

Her scent reached for him, surrounded him and he threw caution out the damn window. “Because of this.”

He grabbed her, pulled her in close and kissed her as he’d wanted to for days.

* * *

The Baby Inheritance is part of Mills & Boon’s no.1 bestselling series,

Billionaires and Babies: Powerful men… wrapped around their babies’ little fingers.

The Baby

Inheritance

Maureen Child

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MAUREEN CHILD writes for the Mills & Boon Desire line and can’t imagine a better job.

A seven-time finalist for a prestigious Romance Writers of America RITA® Award, Maureen is an author of more than one hundred romance novels. Her books regularly appear on bestseller lists and have won several awards, including a Prism Award, a National Readers’ Choice Award, a Colorado Romance Writers Award of Excellence and a Golden Quill Award. She is a native Californian but has recently moved to the mountains of Utah.

To Patti Canterbury Hambleton—Best friend since first grade and still the absolute Best.

For all the laughs and tears and crazy adventures.

I love you.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Extract

Copyright

One

“Divorce is reality,” Reed Hudson told his client. “It’s marriage that’s the anomaly.”

Carson Duke, America’s favorite action-movie star, just stared at his attorney for a long minute, before saying, “That’s cold.”

Reed shook his head slowly. The man was here to end a marriage that most of the country looked on as a fairy tale come to life, and still he didn’t want to accept the simple truth. Reed had seen this over and over again. Oh, most of the people who came to him were eager to end a marriage that had become inconvenient or boring or both. But there were a few people who came to him wishing they were anywhere but in his office, ending a relationship that they’d hoped was forever.

Forever. Even the thought nearly brought a smile. In his experience, both business and personal, there was no such thing as forever.

“Like I said,” Reed told Carson with a shake of his head, “not cold. Reality.”

“Harsh.” Then Carson snorted a short laugh and crossed his legs, his ankle on top of his knee. Frowning a little, he asked quietly, “You ever been married?”

Now Reed laughed. “Oh, hell, no.”

Just the idea of him ever getting married was ridiculous. His reputation alone, as what the tabloids called the “divorce attorney to the stars,” was enough to make sure no woman he was involved with developed long-term plans. And representing most of Hollywood and New York in high-profile divorce cases had all started with a single client five years before. Reed had represented television’s most likable comedian in a nasty split from a wife who made the “bunny boiler” look like a good time.

Word had spread in Hollywood and across celebrity lines, and soon Reed’s practice was littered with the rich and famous. He enjoyed his work, relished protecting his clients from bad relationships and shattering the occasional prenup. And, if there was one thing he’d learned through the years, it was that even the best marriage could dissolve into misery.

But, he hadn’t exactly needed his clients to teach him that lesson. His own family was a sterling example of just how badly marriages could go. His father was now on wife number five and living in London, while Reed’s mother and husband number four were currently enjoying the heat and tropical atmosphere of Bali. And from what Reed had been hearing, his mother was already looking for husband number five. Thanks to his serially monogamous parents, Reed had ten siblings, full and half, ranging in age from three to thirty-two with another baby sister due any minute thanks to his father’s ridiculously young, and apparently fertile, wife.

For most of his life, Reed, as the oldest child in the wildly eclectic and extended immediate family, had been the one who stepped in and kept things moving. When his siblings had a problem, they came to him. When his parents needed a fast divorce in order to marry their next “true love,” they came to him. When the apocalypse finally arrived, he had no doubt that they would all turn to him, expecting Reed to save all of their asses. He was used to it and had long ago accepted his role in the Hudson clan. The fact that his experience as a mediator had served him so well as an attorney was simply a bonus.

Looking at his latest client, Reed thought back over the past year and remembered the innumerable articles and pictures flashed across the tabloids. Carson Duke and his wife, Tia Brennan, had graced the covers of magazines and the pages of newspapers, and the two had been favorites on the celebrity websites. They’d had a whirlwind romance that had ended in a fairy-tale wedding on a Hawaiian cliff overlooking the Pacific.

Stories proclaiming the nearly magical connection between the two, holding them up as examples of what “real” love looked like, had been printed, pored over and discussed all across the world. Yet here Carson sat, a little more than a year later, hiring Reed to represent him in a divorce that promised to be as high-profile as the marriage had been.

“Let’s get down to business then,” Reed said and looked at the man across from him. Just like in his movies, Carson Duke looked tough, determined and had the cool, hard gaze of a seasoned warrior. Not surprising, since the star had been a US Marine before turning to Hollywood. “First tell me what your wife thinks about all of this.”

Carson sighed, shoved one hand through his hair and then blurted out, “It was her idea. Things have been rough between us for a while now.” It looked as though every word he spoke tasted bitter. “She—we—decided that it would be better, for both of us, if we just end the marriage and walk away now, before things get ugly.”

“Uh-huh.” Duke sounded reasonable, but so many of Reed’s clients did when they were first entering the muddy swamp of litigation. Couples determined to remain “friendly” eventually succumbed to name-calling and vicious diatribes. Reed wasn’t looking forward to watching Carson and his wife go down that path. “I need to know—are you seeing someone else? Is another woman at the bottom of all this? I will find out sooner or later, so it would be better for all of us if you tell me now so there are no surprises.”

Carson stiffened, but Reed held up a hand to silence what would no doubt be a tirade of insult and outrage. All of his clients tended to paint themselves as the injured party, and if Reed wasn’t careful, he could be blindsided by a scorned lover testifying for the opposition. Better to have as much information as possible from the jump. “These are questions I have to ask. If you’re smart, you’ll answer.”

Carson stewed in his chair for a second or two, looked as though he’d like to punch something, then surged to his feet in one smooth motion.

“No,” he snapped, and paced across the room to stop at one of the wide windows overlooking the sweep of ocean stretching out into the distance. He stared through the glass for several long seconds, as if trying to calm down, then turned his head to look directly at Reed. “No. I didn’t cheat. Neither did Tia.”

Reed’s eyebrows arched. First time he’d heard a client defend a spouse. “You’re sure about her?”

“Absolutely.” Carson shook his head and looked back through the glass at the sunlight dancing on the ocean’s surface. “This isn’t about cheating or lying or any other damn thing.”

Intriguing. The old irreconcilable differences plea was usually just an excuse to keep secrets private. There were always reasons for a divorce, and in Reed’s experience, cheating was right at the top of the list.

“Then why are you here?” Reed asked, leaning back in his black leather desk chair.

“Because we’re not happy anymore.” Carson laid one hand on the glass. “It started out great,” he continued as if to himself. “Tia and I met and it was like...magic. You know?”

“No,” Reed said, smiling. “But I’ll take your word for it.”

Carson shook his head. “We couldn’t keep our hands off each other. From that first moment, there was something powerful between us.” He smiled, and shot Reed another quick glance. “It was more than sex, though. We used to talk all night, laughing, planning, talking about moving out of Hollywood, having kids. But the last few months, between work and other demands on both of us...hell. We hardly see each other anymore. So why be married?”

Pitiful excuse to sentence yourself to divorce court, but then, Reed silently acknowledged, he’d heard worse. He’d once represented a man who claimed he needed a divorce because his wife kept hiding cookies from him. Reed had almost advised him to buy his own damn cookies, but had figured it was none of his business. Because the cookies weren’t the real reason. They were simply the excuse. The man wanted a divorce; Reed would get it for him. That was his job. He wasn’t a marriage counselor, after all.

“All right then,” Reed said briskly. “I’ll get the paperwork started. Tia won’t be contesting the divorce?”

“No.” Carson shoved both hands into his pockets. “Like I said. Her idea.”

“That’ll make it easier,” Reed told him.

Wryly, Carson whispered, “I suppose that’s a good thing.”

“It is.” Reed watched his client and felt a stir of sympathy. He wasn’t a cold man. He knew that people came to him when their worlds were dissolving. In order to maintain a professional distance, he sometimes came off as harsh when all he was trying to do was to be a rock for his clients. To be the one stable point in a suddenly rocking world. And as he studied Carson Duke, he knew the man didn’t need pity, he needed someone to guide him through unfamiliar waters. “Trust me,” Reed said. “You don’t want a long, drawn-out battle described daily in the tabloids.”

Carson shuddered at the idea. “I can’t even take the trash out at my house without some photographer leaning out of a tree for a picture. You know, on the drive down here from Malibu, I was telling myself that it’d be a hell of a lot easier on most of us if your office was in LA—but getting away from most of the paparazzi is worth the drive.”

Over the years, Reed had told himself the same thing about relocating to Los Angeles many times, but damned if he could convince himself to move. A quick glance around his office only reinforced that feeling. The building itself was old—built in 1890—though thankfully it had been spared the Victorian gingerbread so popular at the time. He’d bought the building, had it completely remodeled and now, it was just as he wanted it. Character on the outside, sleek and elegant on the inside, plus the office was only a fifteen-minute drive from his home.

Besides, Reed preferred Orange County. Liked the fact that Newport Beach sprawled out in front of his two-story building crouched on the Pacific Coast Highway and he had the majestic sweep of ocean behind him. Sure, in the summer the streets were crowded with tourists—but he’d have the same problem in LA without the beautiful setting. Newport Beach was more laid-back than LA, but upscale enough to convince clients they were with the right attorney. Besides, if he had to drive the 405 freeway every night to get from his office to his home at the Saint Regis hotel in Laguna Beach, he’d be spending more than two hours a night just sitting in traffic. If clients wanted the best, then they’d better be ready to do the drive.

“I’ll have the papers drawn up and messengered to you in a few days.”

“No need,” the other man said. “I’m taking a few days. Staying at the Saint Regis Monarch. I’ve got a suite there.”

Since Reed lived in a massive suite at the exclusive, five-star resort, he knew the hotel would give Carson the distance he wanted from Hollywood and the scoop-hungry photographers who would be hunting him once news of an impending divorce hit the media. And it would hit, no matter how they tried to keep it quiet. If Carson or Tia’s people didn’t release the news, then someone along the chain of information would. There were always leaks no matter how hard you tried to keep things confidential. It wouldn’t come from Reed’s staff, that he knew. They were paid extremely well—not just for their expertise, but for their discretion—and knew their jobs depended on their ability to keep their clients’ business to themselves.

But there were others out there Reed had no control over. Everyone from valets at the Monarch to desk clerks and hotel maids. Once the media found out where Carson was staying, they’d continue to dig until they found out why the action star was holed up sixty miles from his house.

“You live at the Monarch, don’t you?” Carson asked.

“Yeah, I do. So once the paperwork is completed, I’ll have it all sent to your room for signing.”

“Convenient, huh?” Carson said wryly. “Anyway, I’m registered under the name Wyatt Earp.”

Reed laughed. The wildly famous usually signed into hotels under false names to keep those not in their immediate circle from knowing where they were. “Got it,” he said. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Right.” Carson nodded. “Thanks, I guess.”

Reed watched the man go and once the office door was closed again, he walked to the windows behind his desk and stared out at the view of the ocean as his client had done only moments ago. He’d been through this so many times now, with so many people, he knew what Carson Duke was feeling, thinking. The big decision had been made. The divorce was in play. Now he was feeling a mixture of relief and sorrow and wondering if he was doing the right thing.

Oh, sure, there were plenty of people who divorced with joy in their hearts and a spring in their steps. But they weren’t the rule. Generally, people felt the pain of losing something they’d once pinned their hopes and dreams on. Hell, Reed had seen it in his own family time and again. Each of his parents invariably entered a marriage thinking that this time would be the last. The one. True love and they would finally live happily ever after.

“And they’re never right,” he murmured, shaking his head.

Once again, he was reminded that he’d made the right life choice in never letting himself fall into the trap of convincing himself that good, healthy lust was some kind of romantic love destined to transform his life.

At that thought, he snorted in amusement, then walked back to his desk to begin drafting Carson Duke’s divorce papers.

* * *

Lilah Strong took her time driving along Pacific Coast Highway. The scenery was wildly different from what she was used to and she intended to enjoy it in spite of the hot ball of anger nestled deep in her belly. She didn’t like being angry. It always felt to her like a waste of emotion. The person she was furious with didn’t care how she felt. Her anger affected no one but her...by making her a little nauseous.

But knowing that did nothing to ease the underlying tension that burned inside her. So rather than try to ease that uncomfortable feeling, she briefly distracted herself by glancing out at the ocean.

It was lovely—surfers gliding toward shore on the tops of waves. Sunlight glinting off the deep blue surface of the sea. Boats with jewel-toned sails and children building castles in the sand armed with nothing more than tiny buckets and shovels.

Lilah was a mountain girl, through and through. Her preferred view was of a tree-laden slope, wide-open meadows covered in bright splashes of wildflowers or the snowy mountainsides that backed up to her house. But looking out at the Pacific was a nice change. Of course, she had time to look at the sea while driving only because she wasn’t actually “driving.” It was more...parking.

Pacific Coast Highway was completely backed up with locals, tourists and, it seemed to her, every surfer in Southern California. It was the middle of June and Lilah could imagine that the crowds would only be getting thicker as the summer went on. But thankfully, that wouldn’t be her problem.

In a day or two, she’d be back in the mountains, leaving her companion here in Orange County. That thought gave her heart a hard squeeze, but there was nothing she could do about it. It wasn’t as if she’d had a choice in any of this. If she’d been someone else, maybe she would have considered ignoring facts. But she couldn’t live a lie. She had to do the right thing—even if it felt wrong.

Glancing into the rearview mirror, she looked at her companion and said, “You’re awfully quiet. Too much to think about to leave room for talking, hmm? I know how you feel.”

Her own mind was spinning. Lilah had been dreading this trip to California for two weeks and now that it was here, she was still trying to think of a way out of the situation she found herself in. But no matter how she looked at it, Lilah was stuck. As was her friend in the backseat.

If she were doing this on her turf, so to speak, she might feel a little more in control. Back in her small mountain town in Utah, she had friends. People she could count on to stand with her. Here, all she had were her own two feet and that sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.

Orange County, California, was only an hour-and-a-half flight from Lilah’s home, but it might as well have been on the other side of the world. She was walking into the unknown with no way out but through.

By the time she parked, helped her friend out of the car and walked into the law office, Lilah’s stomach was swirling with nerves. The building was Victorian on the outside and a sweep of glass and chrome on the inside. It was unsettling, as if designed to keep clients off guard, and maybe that was the idea. The floors were a polished, high-gleam hardwood, but the walls were decorated with modern paintings consisting of splashes of bright color. The reception desk where a stern-faced, middle-aged woman sat sentry was a slab of glass atop shining steel legs. Even the banister gliding along the wood staircase was made up of steel spindles faced with a wall of glass. It was cold, sterile and just a little intimidating. Oh, she was now sincerely prepared to dislike the man she was there to see. Lilah stiffened her spine and approached the reception desk. “I’m Lilah Strong. I’m here to see Reed Hudson.”

The woman looked from Lilah to her friend and back again. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No. I’m here on behalf of his sister, Spring Hudson Bates,” Lilah said and watched a flicker of interest glitter in the woman’s eyes. “It’s important that I see him now.”

“One moment.” The woman watched Lilah as she picked up a phone and pressed a single button. “Mr. Hudson, there’s a woman here to see you. She claims to have been sent by your sister Spring.”

Claims? Lilah swallowed the spurt of impatience that jumped into her throat. It took another moment or two before the receptionist hung up and waved one hand at the staircase. “Mr. Hudson will see you. Up the stairs, first door on the left.”

“Thank you.” Lilah and her companion walked away, but as she went, she felt the other woman’s curious gaze follow her.

At the landing, Lilah paused to settle herself outside the heavy double doors. She took a breath, then turned the knob and walked inside.

The outer office was small, but bright, with sunlight pouring through windows that overlooked the ocean. Lilah stepped inside and took a breath, pausing long enough to appreciate the elegant furnishings. The wood floors shone. In one corner, there was a healthy ficus tree in a silver pot. A pair of gray chairs separated by a black table sat against one wall.

A young woman with short black hair and brown eyes sat at a sleek black desk and gave Lilah a friendly smile as she entered. “Hello. I’m Karen, Mr. Hudson’s executive assistant. You must be Ms. Strong. Mr. Hudson’s waiting for you.”

She stood and walked to a pair of double doors. Opening them, she stepped back and Lilah steeled herself before she walked into the lion’s den.

The man’s office was enormous—no doubt designed to impress and intimidate. Mission accomplished, she thought. A wall of glass behind his desk afforded a spectacular view of the ocean, and on her left, the glass wall continued, displaying a bird’s-eye view of Pacific Coast Highway and the crowds that cluttered the street and sidewalks.

The wood floor shone here, too, with the slices of sunlight lying on it sparkling like diamonds. There were several expensive-looking rugs dotting the floor, and the furniture here was less chrome and more dark leather. Still didn’t seem to fit in a Victorian building, but it was less startling to the senses than the first-floor decor. But, Lilah told herself, she wasn’t here to critique the results of what some designer had done to the stately old building. Instead, she was here to face down the man now standing up behind his desk.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “And what do you know about my sister Spring?”

His voice was deep, rumbling around the room like thunder. He was tall—easily six feet three or four—with thick black hair expensively trimmed to look casual. He wore a black, pin-striped suit and a white dress shirt accented with a red power tie. His shoulders were broad, his jaw square, his eyes green, and as they focused on her, they didn’t look friendly.

Well, she thought, that was fine, since she wasn’t feeling very friendly, either. He was as intimidating as the plush office, and far more attractive—which had nothing to do with anything, she reminded herself.

Still, she was glad she’d taken care with her appearance before this meeting. At home, she went days without even bothering with makeup. Today, she wore her own version of a power suit. Black slacks, red shirt and short red jacket. Her black boots had a two-inch heel, adding to her five-foot-six-inch height. She was as prepared for this meeting as it was possible to be. Which wasn’t saying much.

“I’m Lilah Strong.”

“I was told who you are,” he said. “What I don’t know is why you’re here.”

“Right.” She took a deep breath, then blew it out again. Deliberately striding across the floor in a quick march, she heard her heels click on the wood then soften on the rugs as she approached him. When she was so close she caught a whiff of his aftershave—a subtle scent that reminded her of the forests at home—she stopped. With his wide, black matte desk between them, she looked into his deep green eyes and said, “Spring was my friend. That’s why I’m here. She asked me to do something for her and I couldn’t say no. That’s the only reason I’m here.”

“All right.”

That deep voice seemed to reverberate inside her, leaving her more shaken than she wanted to admit. Why was he so gorgeous? Why did the wary look in his eyes seem sexy rather than irritating? And why was she letting an unwanted attraction scatter her thoughts?