The Billionaire's Baby Chase

Dear Genevieve,

One day you’ll be old enough to ask where I was during those early months of your life after you were taken away from me. I want you to know that you were never out of my thoughts. Every time I saw a little girl around the right age, it tore me up inside. I never stopped looking for you or gave up hope of finding you.

When I finally did, my first sight of you gave me that lump-in-the-throat feeling you get when you see a perfect sunset, or hear “Silent Night” playing. Then your tiny hand crept into mine, and the waiting was over.

Thanks to Zoe, who took such good care of you while we were apart, I’ve heard about the milestones in your small life. I only pray I can share the big ones still ahead of you. If something should happen to me, you’ll always have Zoe and the certainty that I loved you enough to find you and bring you home. Always remember you mean the world to me.

Love,

Dad

The Billionaire’s Baby Chase

Valerie Parv

www.millsandboon.co.uk

VALERIE PARV

With twenty-five million copies of her books sold internationally, including many Waldenbooks bestsellers, it’s no wonder Valerie Parv is known as Australia’s queen of romance and is the recognized media spokesperson for all things romantic.

Valerie lives in Australia’s capital city of Canberra, where she is a volunteer zoo guide. She draws on this and other aspects of her life for many of her novels, having spent almost thirty-eight years happily married to her romantic hero, Paul. As she says, “Love gives you wings—romance helps you fly.”

For Margie and Tony,

my favorite parent role models.

And for Paul, always.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

Prologue

Bill Margolin gave a sigh of frustration but he should have known it would have no effect on his patient who kept his back turned and his gaze on the spectacular view of the Sydney Harbor beyond the plate-glass window.

It was a shame all his patients didn’t keep themselves in such great shape, the doctor thought, watching the tall man shrug into his shirt. With what James was facing, he’d need every bit of his strength if he was to survive. Bill hated to be the bearer of bad news, but as a doctor as well as a friend he had to make James understand the risk he was taking.

A wry smile tugged at Bill’s mouth. When had anyone ever made James Langford do anything? The man was the original immovable object, a goal-seeking missile who went over or around obstacles if he could, but through them if he had to. But generally they were business obstacles. There was no way he could go around this particular problem and it was Bill’s job to convince him.

With another sigh he returned his attention to the X rays clipped to a lighted board in front of him. When they were students together there had been times when Bill would have killed to have a physique like his friend, to say nothing of James’s fabled charm with women—but now wasn’t one of those times. “You can’t put the operation off much longer,” he repeated in his most authoritative doctor-voice.

With decisive movements, James finished dressing then skewered his friend with a look of such blue-eyed intensity that it wasn’t hard to see why women flocked around him. James had a knack of giving you his full attention, which made you feel as if you were the most important person in the world at that moment.

James swung a chair around and straddled it, his fingers drumming a tattoo on the back. “You said the bullet hasn’t moved since my last scan.”

“It hasn’t, but that doesn’t mean it won’t. It’s already pressing against a nerve in your spine, which is why you’re getting these blinding headaches.”

James gave him a rueful glance, massaging his left arm as if the memory was lodged there. “And the tingling and numbness in my arm. No need to remind me.”

“If I don’t, you’ll keep putting off the operation until you keel over for good.”

James frowned. “After I got shot by that Middle Eastern fanatic who objected to foreigners working in his country, the doctors assured me operating to remove the bullet would do more harm than good.”

“But that was before it started to move. We’ve been over this already, James. Surgery is your only option. I wish there was another way but there isn’t. You have to let me schedule the operation.”

“So you can kill me a lot sooner?” It was unfair taking this out on Bill, but right now he was the only target James had. All he needed was another three months, then the doctor could do what he had to and the outcome wouldn’t matter so much.

“So you can have a fighting chance to live.” The doctor ground out the words. “I know the operation is risky, but leaving the bullet alone until it paralyzes or kills you is a whole lot riskier.”

James flattened both palms against his friend’s desk and met his concerned gaze squarely. “The bottom line, Bill. Will three months make that much difference?”

Anger flared in the doctor’s expression. “You want me to quote you the odds on your survival? I’m a doctor, not a mathematician. I can’t encourage you to risk your life so you can complete some business deal.”

James’s full mouth tightened into a grim line. “You know me better than that, Bill. This isn’t about business.”

“Then what’s so damned urgent it can’t wait until you have the surgery?”

“My daughter’s future.” He leaned over, reveling in the shock on his friend’s craggy face, a mirror of his own expression when he’d heard the news earlier today. “The investigators think they’ve located Genevieve, Bill.”

The doctor cleared his throat noisily, a sure cover for an incipient emotional outburst. “Are you sure? After eighteen months, I thought you’d given up hope of finding her.”

He should have known that giving up wasn’t in James’s vocabulary, either. “Not a chance. As soon as you told me I needed the operation, and the risk it entailed, I had the investigators step up their efforts. I have no intentions of dying on that operating table of yours without seeing my daughter again, and installing her in her rightful place as my heir.”

He didn’t add if it’s the last thing I do, because they both knew it could be. No point in laboring the obvious, James thought. Bill nodded slowly. “I see why you need your three months.”

“Do I have them?”

The doctor ran wiry fingers through his hair, which had been graying since they were at university together. “It’s a hell of a risk. I’d want to monitor your condition closely, and you’d need to guarantee to take things as easy as possible.”

“Done and done,” James assured him. “Thanks, Bill.”

The doctor shook his head. “Don’t thank me. I probably need my head examined for letting you walk out of here without a firm date for surgery, but I know what it’s been like for you since Ruth disappeared with the baby. Where did you locate them finally?”

“Right here in Sydney. They were practically under my nose the whole time and I never knew it,” James said grimly.

“Does Ruth know you’re on to her?”

A shadow darkened James’s features. “Ruth’s dead. Sailing accident in the harbor.”

Bill didn’t waste his breath on platitudes. Any love his friend had known for his wife had been extinguished the day she ran away with their child. After working in the security business in the Middle East where she and James met, Ruth had known how to cover her tracks well. Only a handful of close friends, Bill among them, knew what hell James had endured because of Ruth. He hardly dared to ask, “What about your daughter?”

James reached into his briefcase and pulled out a folder, opening it on the doctor’s desk. “I got this two hours ago.” On top lay a black-and-white photograph, the edges slightly blurred as if it had been taken covertly from some distance away, which was probably the case. “This woman was taking care of Genevieve for Ruth when she died. The P.I. is certain the child with her is my daughter.” His voice dipped huskily as he shoved the photo across the desk.

Bill studied the picture. It showed a tiny girl about four or five years old astride a pony at the beach. The child’s delight fairly leapt off the page at him. At the pony’s head stood an equally compelling-looking woman. About five foot six, the doctor estimated, and ideally proportioned for her height. The only excessive thing about her seemed to be the mass of curls tumbling to her shoulders.

Margolin found himself smiling involuntarily as the woman’s sunlit pleasure communicated itself to him through the grainy photograph. She looked windblown but happy, her heart-shaped face mirroring the child’s pleasure. All her attention was focused on the child astride the pony, as if nothing else mattered in the world. As a father himself, the doctor knew how that felt.

He glanced at James in concern. His friend’s eyes were fixed on the photo, the hunger in them almost palpable. “What are you going to do?” Bill asked quietly, feeling his chest tighten. If this turned out to be another false lead, it was going to hit James hard.

His friend dragged his eyes away from the picture as if the effort cost him a great deal. The look he turned on Bill burned with purpose. “By the time I get back to my office, I’ll have absolute confirmation that she’s my daughter. Then I want to see her, find out how she’s been living since she was taken away. This woman, Zoe Holden, apparently fostered her when her family couldn’t be traced.”

“So she doesn’t know who the child belongs to?” A sigh gusted past Bill’s lips as James shook his head. “This will come as quite a shock to her.”

James’s hands balled into fists before he made an obvious effort to relax them. “I’m well aware of how it’s going to feel. I’ve been there, remember?”

“Maybe you should let the authorities handle the initial approach,” Bill suggested, knowing it was futile as soon as James flashed him a fierce look.

“If I’d left this to the authorities, I’d still be waiting,” he said. “This time I’ll handle it my way.” He flicked the folder closed. “Zoe Holden is a property manager with a local real estate agency. As it happens, my firm has been looking for somewhere to house executives visiting from overseas and her agency has been advertising a suitable place. I’ve arranged to inspect the property. It will give me the perfect opportunity to find out what this Zoe Holden is like and what sort of home she’s been providing for Genevieve.”

Bill whistled soundlessly. “Sounds a bit cloak-and-dagger to me, but it’s one way to check her out without tipping your hand. When will you see her?”

James consulted the gold Rolex gleaming on his tanned wrist. “I have an appointment with her this afternoon. As you’ve spent the morning drumming into me, I don’t have the luxury of time to waste. The sooner I get my daughter back, the sooner you can operate. Do we have a deal?”

The doctor frowned. “You can’t bargain with your health, but if you follow my orders and take things easy, maybe you can postpone the operation a little longer. Lord knows, you’re stubborn enough. And if there is a chance of getting Genevieve back, I can’t stand in your way. Now get out of here. I have sick people waiting who are willing to let me help them.”

In spite of a lingering headache courtesy of the doctor’s poking and prodding, James managed to whistle as he strode through the waiting rooms and headed for the elevator that would deliver him to the underground car park.

Back in his car again he reached for the photo supplied by the private investigator. He must have studied it a hundred times since it was delivered until every detail was burned into his memory, but he still hadn’t tired of it. After eighteen months of enduring a wrenching sense of loss every time he set eyes on a four-year-old, he was entitled to feel elated at the sight of this particular child. From her huge dark eyes to a smile that could light up a room by itself, everything about her screamed a rightness he could feel deep inside. This was his daughter. He knew it.

But this time he found his eyes drawn to the woman holding the pony and a different kind of awareness clawed through him, astonishing him with its power and unexpectedness. She was beautiful. Not the kind of beauty you saw on magazine covers, but rather more natural, with a vibrancy that invited attention. Unaware she was being photographed, she looked relaxed and happy, dressed for the beach in figure-hugging shorts and a skimpy T-shirt. James had a momentary vision of himself clasping her around that incredibly slender waist and whirling her around into the air, just to find out if her laugh was as silvery as her smile promised.

Nerves leapt along his spine, aggravating the tender spot where the bullet was lodged in the side of his neck and the jolt of pain brought him back to reality. He took deep, steadying breaths until the pain passed, telling himself all the while that his reaction to the woman was a result of seeing her with his child. That was all it was and all it could ever be. Because once she found out who he was and what he wanted she would sooner cut out his heart than waste a smile on James Langford.

Chapter One

The child planted tiny fists on small hips. “Mummy, what’s a spitting image?”

Zoe looked up from the property brief she was studying and suppressed a smile. “It means a person who looks very much like somebody else. Where did you hear that?”

Genie frowned. “Simon’s mummy says he’s the spitting image of his daddy.” She paused, wrinkling her face in concentration. “Am I the spitting image of you?”

Zoe fought to keep her feelings from registering on her face. Genie was far from being her spitting image. The child was as dark as she herself was fair. Genie’s eyes, fixed expectantly on her, were a vivid blue in contrast to her own eyes, which were the color of autumn leaves.

A heart-wrenching rush of love for those self-same features tore through Zoe, making her eyes blur with tears of happiness and gratitude. She was blessed to have the chance to be a mother to a child as beautiful both in looks and nature as Genie. They didn’t have to look alike to share a bond she could feel like a steel filament stretching between them.

To cover the torrent of emotions flooding through her, she ruffled Genie’s thick chestnut hair, so unlike her own tangle of straw-colored curls. “You don’t need to be anyone’s spitting image, sweetheart. You’re a beautiful, precious one-of-a-kind.”

Genie sighed heavily. “I don’t want a mummy who went away. I want to be borned your little girl so I could be your spitting image.”

Zoe felt another jolt deep inside her even as she masked the reaction with a loving smile. Genie so seldom mentioned her real mother that it came as a shock to be reminded of the reality.

She was annoyed with herself for reacting badly to the reminder now, instead of counting her blessings. A child was one blessing her ill-fated marriage to Andrew hadn’t bestowed, although she had dreamed of it long and hard enough. There was nothing physically wrong, doctor after doctor had assured her, not unless you counted deep unhappiness. But Andrew’s jealous behavior had frozen something deep inside her.

Her life had settled onto a much more even keel since her husband died, although she still shuddered to think of how quickly everything had changed. He simply hadn’t believed she was attending a business seminar with a workmate. Convinced she was on her way to meet a man, Andrew had followed her, slamming his car into a telegraph pole in his unseeing rage. He had died instantly.

Zoe no longer allowed herself to dream of an ideal relationship, although the longing for a child of her own was harder to subdue. That she hadn’t even been close to managing it had become obvious the day she got the chance to foster Genie and love her as her own. No child could have been more cherished.

Zoe set the folder aside and took Genie’s chubby hands in her own. “Don’t I tell you almost every day that you are my little girl in every way that matters and I love you very, very much?” The child nodded solemnly and Zoe pulled in a deep breath. “Do you remember the teddy bear I made for your last birthday?”

Genie nodded again. “Yes.”

“And Big Ted that Santa brought you before that?”

“When I was little,” Genie confirmed so seriously that Zoe had to make an effort not to laugh.

“Do you love Big Ted any less because I didn’t make him for you?”

Genie looked affronted at the very idea. “’Course not. I love both my teddies zackly the same.”

Zoe enveloped the child in a hug, feeling her eyes threatening to brim again. “Now you know how I feel about you. You’re my special little girl and it doesn’t matter one bit that you didn’t grow inside me.”

“Or if Santa brought me.” Genie finished on a triumphant note. Then she added more hopefully, “Maybe if I asked Santa—”

“Santa doesn’t bring children,” Zoe interjected before Genie could embellish the notion. “Any more than he brought you.”

Genie chewed her lower lip. “I know, but it would be fun if he could bring me a baby brother or sister.”

A pang gripped Zoe. She knew just how Genie felt. Maybe she was getting greedy, but sometimes her arms ached to hold a baby and feel its mouth nuzzling against her breast. The desire for another child to grow with Genie, to share her games and discoveries, and the outpouring of maternal love Zoe knew she had to offer was almost more than she could bear. Not for the first time she made herself count her blessings. She had Genie to love and care for, and it was more than she had ever dreamed would be hers. She managed a tremulous smile. “Speaking of fun, isn’t it time you got ready to go to playgroup?”

To Zoe’s intense relief, the distraction worked as it usually did. “Are you coming, too?” Genie demanded, all thoughts of Santa and babies miraculously forgotten.

Zoe wished she could distract herself so easily. She shook her head. “Simon’s mummy is taking you both today.” Simon’s mother, Julie, lived next door and was Zoe’s friend and self-appointed morale officer. “I have to show a house to a nice man who’s coming all the way from the country to see it.”

Genie made a face. “Do you have to? Why can’t he look at a house by his own self?”

Zoe laughed at the child’s persistence. “Because he can’t, that’s why. Now scoot. Auntie Julie will be here any minute.”

The child scampered off down the hall to her bedroom. In minutes she was back, carrying her koala backpack and favorite Barbie doll, just as the doorbell pealed. As soon as Zoe opened it, Genie launched herself at Simon and his mother, who were waiting outside. Amid promises to be good and hugs all around, they left in a flurry of chatter and excitement.

Zoe barely had time to assemble the documents she would need for the house inspection when the doorbell pealed again.

James Langford waited with barely leashed impatience. When he had asked his secretary to arrange the appointment with Zoe Holden, he had not expected to meet her at what was obviously her own home. He had been fully prepared to spin some tale that would end in her inviting him home after they had inspected the Strathfield mansion.

Being invited here was beyond all his expectations and he could barely suppress a shiver of anticipation. He was so close to finding his daughter he could practically taste his success.

The signs of a child in residence made him catch his breath, his chest tightening painfully. A battered tricycle lay on its side on the front lawn while a ball made a splash of scarlet beneath a rosemary bush. In the report which had awaited him on his desk after he returned from the doctor’s office the investigators had noted these signs and more.

A good deal more.

The child living with Zoe Holden was unquestionably Genevieve Langford.

It had taken James half an hour before he recovered sufficiently to read beyond that simple statement to the proof the investigators had amassed, and the background they had supplied on the Holden woman.

It seemed she hadn’t always worked as a property manager. Until she obtained her real estate agent’s license, she’d been a live-in nanny. Her late husband had lived next door to her employer, which was how they’d met. After the husband died, she’d supported herself by looking after other people’s children in her home, while she studied for her present career.

According to the report, Ruth had left their child with Zoe frequently while she made a new life for herself under a false name. Thinking of what sort of life she’d chosen, James felt his features tighten. Freed of the constraints of their marriage, she had thrown herself into all sorts of wild adventures, trying everything from parachuting to whitewater rafting and, finally, to sailing on Sydney Harbor. She hadn’t survived her last escapade.

James’s jaw muscles worked as he considered what could have driven his wife to do such crazy things. Was she trying to prove something to herself? Or was she thumbing her nose at James himself, knowing he would never approve of her life-style?

Damn it, he wasn’t a tyrant, expecting his wife to sit at home and be a meek little wife and mother. But he did believe that parenthood conveyed some responsibilities, not least of which was surviving to see your child grow to adulthood.

He dragged in a strangled breath. Even though it had happened eighteen months before, finding out about Ruth’s death so abruptly had hit him harder than he had expected. Not because he still loved her. He wasn’t that much of a fool. But because her death had been so senseless. Like the proverbial candle in the wind, she had burned herself out long before her time. And because she had never discussed her feelings with him, he had no idea what part he himself might have played in the tragedy.

By hiding herself and Genevieve under a false identity, Ruth had left the authorities no way to trace him after her death. According to the investigator’s report, all avenues of inquiry had been tried, many of them by Zoe Holden herself. When any family had proved impossible to trace, she had finally fostered the little girl.

There was no doubt that his search was almost over, but he couldn’t let himself accept it. Not yet. Until he was reunited with Genevieve, he was reluctant to trust any amount of evidence. But he would trust his instincts. They had urged him to follow just one more hopeless lead and not to give up. Thank providence he hadn’t, or he wouldn’t be standing here now with his throat drying and his palms sweating while his heart raced a mile a minute. Setting up a modern telecommunications network for a volatile Middle Eastern country hadn’t reduced him to this state.

Drawing in a steadying breath, he let his hand edge toward the doorbell again. Before he could press it, the door swung open and he was confronted by the woman whose face he had been studying in photographs all day.

The first thing he realized was that she was more attractive by far than the grainy picture had suggested. She was slighter, too, and as he had suspected, he could have spanned her waist with both hands. What the photo hadn’t revealed was the determined lift to her chin and the flash of challenge in her amber eyes which made him feel as if he’d been king-hit. The crackle of awareness arced through him again, stronger now that she was before him in the flesh. It was even more of an effort to gain control of his vocal cords. Only years of top-level business negotiations gave him the skills to conceal her effect on him. “Zoe Holden?” he made himself ask, although he already knew the answer.