“No,” Mike ground out as he carried her from the kitchen in the direction of the bedroom. “That is not what I want. I just want you, Natalie.”

Natalie didn’t say a word as he swept her into the bedroom. She was too busy fighting with the futile hopes that his passionate words evoked in her.

Because he didn’t really want her, did he? Not for forever. Just for the time being.

But the time being was exciting, she told herself as he lowered her to the bed.

Enjoy it, Natalie.

And who knew what might happen in the future?

When a wealthy man wants a wife, he doesn’t always follow the rules!

Welcome to Miranda Lee’s stunning, sexy new trilogy!

Meet Richard, Reece and Mike, three Sydney millionaires with a mission—they all want to get married…but none wants to fall in love!

Bought: One Bride

Richard’s story:

His money can buy him anything he wants…and he wants a wife!

The Tycoon’s Trophy Wife

Reece’s story:

She was everything he wanted in a wife…till he fell in love with her!

A Scandalous Marriage

Mike’s story:

He married her for money—her beauty was a bonus!

Available only from Harlequin Presents®

A Scandalous Marriage
Miranda Lee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

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

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

MIKE was grimly silent during the taxi ride from Mascot to his apartment in Glebe. He wasn’t at all happy with the way his business trip to the States had turned out, or the course of action he’d rather impulsively decided to take.

But it was too late to change his mind now. He was locked in.

Once home, Mike stripped off the Italian business suit that he’d bought for his meeting with Helsinger and headed for the bathroom. After a shower and shave, he pulled on blue jeans and a T-shirt, then set about cooking himself a decent breakfast. The breakfast they’d served him on the plane as they’d approached Sydney hadn’t touched his sides.

Mike ate the plate of bacon and eggs out on the sun-drenched balcony, which was north-facing and had a great view of Sydney’s inner harbour.

The balcony was one of the reasons Mike had bought this particular apartment. Water relaxed him, he’d discovered. He liked nothing better than to sit out here in the evening after a hard day’s work on the computer, sipping a glass of whisky whilst the water distracted and calmed his mind.

Nothing, however, was going to calm his mind at this moment.

He ate quickly, his aim just to fill his stomach before driving into the city to meet with his best friend—and banker. As Mike scraped the leftovers into the garbage disposal he wondered what Richard’s reaction would be.

Mike suspected he’d be supportive of his rather unconventional decision. Richard might look conservative, but underneath he was anything but. You didn’t get to be CEO of an international bank before the age of forty by being meek and mild. Richard had his ruthless side, especially when it came to making money. And as crazy as Mike’s scheme might sound, if it succeeded, it was going to make both of them very wealthy men.

Five minutes later, Mike slipped on his favourite black leather jacket and headed for the front door. Half an hour later, he was sitting in Richard’s office.

‘What do you mean you didn’t see Helsinger?’ Richard’s tone was more confused than angry. ‘I thought you’d lined that meeting up before you left Sydney.’

‘Unfortunately, Chuck was called out of town the day I arrived in LA,’ Mike told him. ‘He left his apologies. A family emergency.’

‘Hell, Mike. That was bad luck.’

‘No sweat. I met with his managing director, instead. He assured me Comproware were still very interested in my new anti-virus, anti-spyware program.’

‘Yes, I’m sure they are,’ Richard said drily. ‘It’s brilliant.’

Mike wholeheartedly agreed with Richard. It was brilliant, especially the way it could track back to see where the virus—or the spy—came from, then deliver a counter-strike of its own. Mike had known, right from the first day he’d started work on the ground-breaking program, that his own relatively small, Australian-based software company didn’t have the power to do such a product justice. He needed an international company with marketing clout to launch it, worldwide.

After doing some indepth research, he’d come up with Comproware, a relatively new American software company that had great marketing flair, and which also had a reputation for offering generous contracts to the creators of new programs and games, paying royalties instead of a flat sum.

After some not-so-successful negotiating via the internet and the telephone, Mike had flown to Comproware’s head office in America to meet the owner face to face. He’d expected to pin Helsinger down to a contract during his two-day stopover. He certainly hadn’t expected what had transpired, or the path he’d now set himself upon.

‘I didn’t get a contract,’ he admitted. ‘What I did get, however, was the offer of a possible partnership.’

‘A partnership!’ Richard exclaimed excitedly. ‘With Chuck Helsinger? You’ve got to be kidding. That man’s a retail legend. Everything he touches turns to gold. A partnership with him has to be worth millions.’

‘Actually, Rich, more like billions. If I can close this deal, your fifteen per cent of my little company is going to make you an even richer man than you already are. Reece is going to be pretty pleased with his fifteen per cent, too.’

And my seventy per cent share means I’m going to be able to do all those things I’ve always wanted to do, Mike thought, not for the first time. A boys’ club in every city and big town in Australia. Lots more summer camps. And scholarships.

The possibilities were limitless!

If he got the partnership.

Richard shook his head in amazement. ‘I can’t believe it. This is incredible.’

‘There was one small catch. But I can fix that.’

Richard immediately looked wary. ‘What catch?’

‘Chuck Helsinger has a hard-and-fast rule about the men he goes into partnership with.’

‘What rule is that?’

‘They have to be married. Settled men with solid family values.’

‘You’re joking.’

‘Nope.’

Richard groaned, then leant back in his leather office chair, his elbows on the padded arm-rests, his hands steepled together in front, his dark brows drawing together. ‘And how, pray tell, are you going to fix that?’

‘I’ve already started. I immediately emailed Chuck that I’d recently become engaged to a wonderful girl and that we were getting married before Christmas.’

Richard’s eyebrows formed a sardonic arch. ‘That was very inventive of you, Mike, but I don’t think that’s going to cut it. A man like Chuck Helsinger is sure to have any prospective business partner of his thoroughly investigated. He’ll soon find out that you lied to him.’

‘I did think of that. But it’s not going to be a lie for long.’

Richard shot forward on his chair. ‘You mean you’d actually get married!’

Mike could understand his friend’s shock. Mike was, after all, a confirmed bachelor. He’d told Richard many times that marriage would never be on his agenda.

Still, he’d never anticipated a deal such as this coming his way. Sometimes, a man had to do what a man had to do.

But on his own terms, of course.

‘If I want this partnership,’ Mike said matter-of-factly, ‘I’m going to have to. And as soon as possible. Helsinger is going to be in Sydney on the fourth of December to pick up a luxury yacht he’s having built here. It’s a Christmas present for his family. He and his wife want me and my new bride to join them for a couple of days for a getting-to-know-you cruise around Sydney’s waterways. I presume, if I pass muster as a happily married man with solid family values, the partnership will be mine.’

‘Good God!’ Richard exclaimed.

‘Look, I don’t intend to stay married,’ Mike informed his friend. ‘It will just be a business arrangement, played out till the partnership is signed and sealed.’

‘That’s a bit cold-blooded, isn’t it, Mike? Even for you.’

Mike shrugged. ‘The end justifies the means. After all, what right does that hypocritical old buzzard have to insist on such a ridiculous requirement? Being married has nothing to do with being a good businessman. I’m proof of that.’

‘Maybe, but that doesn’t make him hypocritical.’

‘You reckon? I did some investigating myself before I decided on Comproware, delving into its owner’s professional and personal background. Did you know that Chuck’s on his third wife, a woman, I might add, who’s a good twenty-five years younger than his own seventy years? Okay, so they have been married for sixteen years and she’s given him children. Two boys. But does that make him a decent man with solid family values?’

‘I see what you mean,’ Richard muttered.

‘His wife can’t be much better. Do you honestly think she married him for his charm? Hell, no. She hitched herself to a gravy train, like lots of women do with wealthy guys. You know how it is, Rich. Money is one hell of an incentive when it comes to some members of the fairer sex. Since I became a millionaire, I’ve never been lacking for female company. I’ll have no trouble finding myself a temporary wife. I just have to wave the right amount under the right girl’s mercenary little nose.’

‘You sound like you have someone in mind. One of your ex-girlfriends, I suppose. You’ve had enough of them.’

‘Hell, no. None of those will do. The last thing I want is complications, or consequences. I need a wife who knows exactly what I require from her, right from the start. Which is absolutely nothing but appearances. This will be a marriage in name only, to be discreetly dissolved at a later date. There will be no consummation of this union. Be assured of that!’ Mike finished up forcefully.

He was sick and tired of women claiming emotional involvement with him, despite his up-front warnings. They seemed to accept his ‘just-company-and-sex’ rule to begin with. But once he took them to bed a few times, they changed. Mike couldn’t bear it when a woman started telling him she loved him. For one thing, he just didn’t believe them. Women trotted out those three little words all the time to manipulate men. And to try to trap them.

Little did they know that telling Mike they loved him was the kiss of death.

That was the reason for his many exes. As soon as they began to get clingy, that was it. His latest ex had been a dedicated career girl. A lawyer, chosen because he’d thought she might be different. But no…she’d soon become just as possessive as all the others.

Mike had given up dating for a while, because he simply couldn’t stand the scenes. Lately, he’d been spending his spare time with his charity work, instead. And putting in more hours at the gym.

‘And where do you think you’re going to find this super mercenary creature, Mike? Girls don’t walk around with signs on them saying they’ll marry for money.’

‘What a short memory you have, Rich. I’ll get her from an internet introduction agency, of course. Didn’t you tell me yourself that you tried Wives Wanted before you found Holly? And didn’t you confess to me over a bottle of Johnny Walker that that particular matchmaking service had loads of good-looking gold-diggers on their books?’

Richard frowned. ‘You’re right. I did say that. But, in hindsight, maybe I misjudged them. I was in a pretty cynical state of mind at the time I dated those women. They probably weren’t as bad as all that. I mean, Reece found Alanna using that agency. No one in their right minds would call her a gold-digger.’

‘There are always the exception to the rule,’ Mike said, his mind momentarily going to Reece’s lovely and very loving wife. ‘Alanna is that exception. Wives Wanted will have what I’m looking for. What I need from you, Rich, is their contact number. Do you still have it? If you don’t, I could ask Reece.’

‘I have it here somewhere,’ Richard admitted.

No use protesting further, he realised as he opened the top drawer in his desk and went through the pile of business cards he kept in the corner, looking for the one from Wives Wanted. Mike was clearly determined to do this. And who could blame him? A partnership with Chuck Helsinger was the chance of a lifetime.

Still…

Holly wasn’t going to believe him when he told her about this tonight. Mike was the most anti-marriage guy they knew. Anti-marriage. Anti-love. And anti-women.

No, that was going too far. He wasn’t anti-women. There was always some beautiful dolly-bird on his arm. Women buzzed around Mike like bees to the honeypot. Richard wasn’t too sure why, since Mike wasn’t conventionally handsome. Holly said it was because he was tall, dark and dangerous-looking.

Richard conceded that Mike’s macho appearance might be the main contributing factor to his attractiveness. He had wall-to-wall muscles. And then some.

He also rarely dressed in suits, favouring jeans and leather jackets. Black, like the one he had on today.

Whatever it was, Mike was never lacking in female company. Fortunately, Holly didn’t go for that type. She preferred his own more conservative, well-groomed style. Thank God.

‘Here it is,’ he said as he picked up the card and handed it across to Mike. ‘The woman who runs the place is called Natalie Fairlane. Her name and number are on the back. She’ll want you to come in for an interview before she matches you up with anyone. She never takes on a client over the internet. I suggest you don’t tell her up front what your agenda is. Ms Fairlane takes her matchmaking services very seriously. One other little word of warning, too. The women on the Wives Wanted database whom I dated were all drop dead gorgeous. It might be wise if you didn’t pick one who’s too beautiful. Otherwise, it could be hard for a man like you to keep your hands off.’

Mike bristled. ‘What do you mean, a man like me?’

‘You like your sex, Mike. Don’t pretend you don’t. You’ve had more girlfriends in the few years I’ve known you than the stock market has ups and down. I think you’re very wise not consummating this marriage. But will you be able to resist temptation? The reality is that during the time that you’re going to be…“married”—’ Richard made quotation-like signs with his fingers ‘—you and your new bride will be together quite a bit. You’ll have to share a cabin on Helsinger’s yacht, for starters. If she’s too pretty, you might find it hard to keep your hands off the merchandise.’

‘You underestimate me, Rich. I can do celibate. No problem.’ He’d been doing it for a few weeks now. ‘For the amount of money at stake here, I’d become a monk for life.’

Richard didn’t look too convinced. ‘If you say so. Now don’t forget what I said about Natalie Fairlane,’ he added when Mike stood up. ‘Watch what you say to her.’

‘I think you’re being a bit naïve about the owner of Wives Wanted,’ Mike replied. ‘Ms Fairlane is in the marriage business strictly for the money, just like ninety-nine per cent of her female clients. Wave the right amount under her nose and the old bag’ll find me the right girl before you can say Jack Robinson.’

A wry smile pulled at Richard’s mouth as he watched Mike leave. He’d love to be a fly on the wall when his friend met the formidable Ms Fairlane.

Mike might be right about her being as mercenary as some of the women on the Wives Wanted database. He didn’t know her well enough to judge. But an old bag, she was not.

CHAPTER TWO

‘MUM, this is terrible,’ Natalie said. ‘How on earth did you and Dad let your finances get into such a mess?’

Even as she asked the question Natalie already knew the answer. Her father had always been attracted to get-rich-quick schemes. He wasn’t a gambler in the ordinary sense of the word. He didn’t waste money at casinos or on the racetrack, but he was a sucker for the kind of investment or business idea that sounded too good to be true, and usually was.

Natalie hadn’t realised what a poor businessman he’d been when she’d been growing up. She’d never lacked for anything. As an only child, she’d actually been rather spoilt.

It wasn’t till Natalie had grown up that she’d realised her parents lived mainly on credit.

She’d been helping her mother out with her housekeeping budget for quite some time—slipping her a hundred dollars or so every time they saw each other. But now, it seemed that things had really hit rock-bottom. Her father could no longer continue with his latest venture—a lawn-mowing franchise he’d foolishly borrowed money on top of his already hefty mortgage to buy, and which required a fit young man to run.

Natalie’s dad was reasonably fit. But he was fifty-seven.

Last month, he’d fallen and broken his ankle.

Naturally, he hadn’t taken out any income-protection insurance. What sane insurance company would have given it to him, anyway?

The bank was threatening to repossess their house if they didn’t meet their mortgage, which was already running months in arrears. Natalie could cover a couple of months’ payments, but not the many thousands of dollars they were behind.

Which meant her parents would shortly have no money and no place to live.

Natalie shuddered at the thought of having them live with her. She was thirty-four years of age, long past the time when you enjoyed living with your parents.

On top of that, she ran her business from home, using one of the two bedrooms in her terraced house as an office-cum-computer room, and her downstairs living room as her reception and interviewing area.

Things would get very difficult with two more adults in the place. Especially two miserable ones.

‘Don’t you worry, dear,’ her mother said. ‘I’m going to get a job.’

Natalie rolled her eyes. Her mother was as big a dreamer as her father. She hadn’t been properly employed for over twenty years. She’d been busy helping her silly husband with all his crazy schemes. On top of that, she was even older than Natalie’s dad.

No one was going to employ a fifty-nine-year-old woman with no certifiable qualifications.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Mum,’ Natalie said more sharply than she intended. ‘It’s not that easy to get a job at your age.’

‘I’m going to do cleaning. Your father ran off some fliers on that old computer and printer you gave him and I put them in every postbox in the neighbourhood.’

Natalie wanted to cry. It wasn’t right that her mother had to become a cleaner at her age.

‘Mum, I could get a second mortgage on this place,’ Natalie offered. ‘It’s gone up quite a bit in value since I bought it.’

‘You’ll do no such thing,’ her mother said firmly. ‘We’ll be fine. I don’t want you to worry.’

Then why did you tell me? Natalie groaned silently.

The sound of her doorbell ringing brought Natalie back to her own life. ‘Mum, can I ring you back later? I have a client at the door.’ Her first in a fortnight. Business at Wives Wanted had dropped off a bit this past month. She hadn’t had any new female clients, either. Maybe it was time for another series of magazine ads. It was a rare business that could survive on word of mouth alone.

‘You go, dear. But do ring me back later.’

‘I will. I promise.’

Natalie hung up quickly, buttoning up her suit jacket as she rose and headed for the front door.

A quick glance in the hallway mirror as she passed by assured her she looked every inch the professional businesswoman. Her thick auburn hair was pulled back tightly into a French pleat. Her make-up was minimal and her jewellery discreet. Just a slimline gold wrist-watch and simple gold studs in her ears.

It wasn’t till her hand reached for the knob that Natalie wondered what Mr Mike Stone looked like.

He’d been referred to her by Richard Crawford, a merchant banker who’d been a client of Wives Wanted earlier this year. Natalie suspected, however, that Mr Stone wasn’t in the banking business. He hadn’t sounded like executive material over the phone. He’d sounded less polished than Richard Crawford. Hopefully, that didn’t mean less rich. Most of her male clients were well-off, professional men.

But beggars couldn’t be choosers, especially not right now. If Mr Stone was willing to pay a few thousand for her to find him a wife, then he could be a truck driver for all she cared.

Better, however, if he were a rich truck driver.

Most of her girls weren’t in the market for working-class husbands.

Natalie turned the knob and opened the front door, her eyes widening when she saw the man standing on her doorstep.

Never, during the three years she’d been running Wives Wanted, had she had a client quite like this.

He wouldn’t have looked totally out of place behind the wheel of a truck, she supposed. Not if it was an army truck and he was wearing a military uniform instead of the jeans and black leather jacket he was currently wearing.

Mike Stone was soldier material through and through.

Not an ordinary soldier, Natalie decided as her assessing gaze travelled all the way up his impressive body to his hard, dark eyes and close-cropped brown hair. A commando, one of those highly trained soldiers who went on covert missions and killed people without making a sound or turning a hair’s breadth.

He wasn’t classically good-looking. His features lacked symmetry. His nose had obviously been broken at one stage and his mouth was way too cruel.

But, for all that, Natalie found him extremely attractive.

Natalie smothered an inner sigh of frustration, at the same time making sure that not a single hint of interest showed on her face.

Ever since she could remember, Natalie had been attracted to men like this. Men who didn’t fit the conventional mould. Men who exuded an air of danger. Men who both intrigued and aroused her.

Ten years ago, she would have gone openly gaga over this guy. Today, the inner twanging of her female antennae irritated the life out of her.

‘Ms Fairlane?’ he enquired, his rough, gravelly voice matching his appearance.

‘Yes,’ she returned, annoyed with the way her heart was racing. And with the way he was looking her up and down, his expression somewhat surprised. What on earth had Richard Crawford told him about her?

‘Mike Stone,’ he said at last, and held out his hand.

She hesitated before she placed her own hand in his, steeling herself not to react to his touch in any way.

But when his large male fingers closed firmly around her much smaller, softer hand, there it was.

That spark. That automatic zap of sexual chemistry, running up her arm, leaving goose-bumps in the wake of its highly charged current.

Thank God her jacket had long sleeves, and that she had anticipated something like this.

‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Stone,’ she said, her outer coolness belying her inner heat. If she’d met Mike Stone anywhere else, she would have walked away. No, she would have run. But she could hardly do so at this moment. He was a potential paying client. A potential five grand in her pocket. Money she was in desperate need of today.

‘Mike,’ he said. ‘Call me Mike.’

‘Mike,’ she repeated, her mouth pulling back into a plastic smile. ‘Well, come on in, Mike,’ she said, waving him past her into the hallway. ‘The first room on the left. Go right in and find a place to sit.’

Natalie pressed herself hard against the wall as he stepped inside. No way did she want his broad-shouldered body accidentally brushing against her chest as he walked along the narrow hallway. But once he did move safely past her, she watched his back view far too avidly and for far too long before she pulled herself together and flung the front door shut, rolling her eyes at herself as she followed him into the living room.

By this time he was settling himself in the middle of her sofa, his long legs stretching out in front of him whilst he leant back and glanced around.

Natalie knew it was an oddly furnished room, filled with pieces that didn’t match but that she personally liked. There were three large squashy armchairs covered in an assortment of prints, plus a seductively long brown velvet sofa, which stretched across under the front window and on which her client had just made himself very comfortable.

On the wall opposite the sofa was a state-of-the-art home theatre system, which she was still paying for. The wall to the right of her visitor had built-in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, in front of which sat an ancient mahogany desk, with the latest laptop sitting on one end and an old-fashioned green desk lamp on the other. The floor was polished boxwood, a colourful circular rug providing warmth and a touch of the orient.

There was no coffee-table to bump into, just an assortment of side tables in all shapes and sizes on which sat ornaments and curios bought from flea markets and garage sales. Two standing lamps with gold-fringed lampshades flanked the sofa, providing subtle light at night when she was watching TV.

A friend had once commented to Natalie that the décor of her living room was very much as she was. Hard to pin down.

‘You’re very punctual,’ she said brusquely, glancing at her watch as she headed for the upright chair behind her desk. It was right on five, the time they’d agreed upon for his interview.

‘I’m always punctual when I’m not working,’ he replied.

Natalie ground to an instant halt. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said sharply. ‘But I don’t take on male clients who are unemployed.’

Again, he looked her up and down, his expression this time annoyingly unreadable.

‘I didn’t say I was unemployed. I said I wasn’t working at the moment. I am self-employed. I own a computer software company.’

Natalie could not have been more surprised. He didn’t look at all like a man who spent most of his life sitting at a computer. He was far too fit-looking. Far too tanned.

As Brandon had been.

His reminding her of Brandon sent her irritation meter up even higher.

‘I see,’ she bit out. ‘Sorry,’ she added before proceeding over to her desk, where she sat down and turned on the laptop.

Natalie took her time pulling up the page into which she would enter his personal details and requirements, not looking up till she was good and ready.

‘So what happens where you are working?’ she finally asked.

‘I sometimes don’t show up at all,’ he returned.

Charming, she thought.

It seemed men who looked like this were true to type.

Brandon had never been on time for anything. There again, Brandon had had lots of reasons for running late for his dates with her. Or for not showing up at all.

His job as an anti-terrorist agent for one. Plus the wife and two children that she’d never known he had, came the added caustic thought.

She wondered what Mike Stone’s excuse was.

‘Sounds like you’re a workaholic.’

‘It’s not the first time I’ve been called that,’ he replied with an indifferent shrug.

Natalie liked him less with each passing second. ‘Is that why you haven’t had much luck finding a wife so far?’ she asked rather waspishly.

‘No. I could have married any number of women.’

‘Really.’ Natalie added outrageously arrogant to his rapidly increasing list of flaws.

Finding Mike Stone a wife was going to prove difficult, despite his impressively masculine physique. Her girls all wanted amenable husbands, not up-themselves egotists. Most of them had had unhappy relationships in the past, with difficult and selfish men who hadn’t delivered. By the time they came to her, they usually knew exactly what they wanted, and had no intention of settling for anything less.

Natalie suspected that the likes of Mike Stone would not find favour with any of them.

But it wasn’t her problem if none of her girls wanted to marry him. She charged her male clients five thousand dollars up front, whether they found a wife at Wives Wanted, or not.

For his money, Mr Stone would be matched and introduced to five very attractive and intelligent women who fitted his criteria the best, and vice versa. After that, it was up to him.

But he’d have to show a bit more charm on a date than he was currently showing if he wanted a wife. Just being sexy was not enough for her once-bitten, twice-shy girls.

Still, that wasn’t her problem.

‘Since you own a computer software company, Mike,’ she said matter-of-factly, ‘you’ll be familiar with the type of program I use to match up my clients. It’s quite basic, really. Mine, however, does have a security check built in, which validates that my clients are exactly who they say they are. I presume you have no objection to that?’

‘Nope.’

‘Good. Let’s get started, then. Your full name.’

‘Mike Stone.’

‘No, your full name,’ she said, a touch of exasperation creeping into her voice. ‘The name that’s on your birth certificate and driving licence.’

‘Mike Stone.’

Natalie gritted her teeth. ‘Not Michael?’

‘Just Mike.’

‘Fine. Your address and phone number, please? Mobile as well.’

She typed them in as he rattled them off, thinking to herself that his address of an apartment in Glebe could be good news or bad news. Glebe had become a trendy suburb of late. Its proximity to the inner city and Sydney University was highly valued. But some parts of it were still a bit dumpy.

‘Your work address?’

‘I work from home.’

Oh-oh. Now that was definitely bad news. Okay, so there were some small businesses that were quite successful. But not too many.

‘Age,’ she said.

‘Thirty-four.’

Now her eyebrows lifted. She’d thought him older. There was a wealth of life’s experience within those eyes.

‘I’ll be thirty-five in December,’ he added. ‘December the fifteenth.’

‘So you’re a Sagittarius,’ she said as she tapped in that information.

‘I don’t believe in crap like that.’

‘Really.’ She should have known. Brandon had said something very similar when she’d claimed the stars deemed them a reasonable match. She was a Virgo, which wasn’t a bad match with a Scorpio.

But Natalie wished she’d taken notice of the part that said Scorpio was the sign of dark secrets.

‘Marital status?’ she went on.

‘What?’

‘Have you ever been married?’

‘Nope.’

‘Lots of my clients have been,’ she remarked.

‘Not me, sweetheart.’

Natalie stiffened before shooting him a wintry glance. ‘My name is Natalie,’ she said in a voice that would have cut frozen butter. ‘Not sweetheart.’

His black eyes glittered for a moment, as though her correction amused him. ‘My mistake. Sorry.’

She could see he wasn’t. Not at all. But at least she’d made her stand. She couldn’t bear men who called women generic names liked sweetheart and honey. It was condescending and demeaning.

‘Well, nothing has come back to say that you’re not who you say you are,’ she told him after a few seconds’ wait. Neither was there a warning that he’d ever been arrested, or in prison. ‘Now on to your physical description. I can see for myself that your hair is dark brown and very short, and that your eyes are black.’

‘They’re not black. They’re dark brown. They just look black because they’re deeply set.’

Deeply set and infuriatingly sexy.

‘Right,’ she said. ‘Height?’

‘Six four. Six five, maybe.’

‘What’s that in centimetres?’

‘Lord knows.’

‘Never mind. I’ll put six five. I’m five ten and you’re a good bit taller than me.’

For weight/bodytype, she typed in ‘fit and muscly’. She wasn’t the only female in the world who liked well-built men.

‘Do you smoke?’

‘Nope.’

‘Do you drink?’

He laughed. ‘Do ducks swim?’

‘How much do you drink?’

‘Depends.’

‘On what?’

‘On whether I’m working or not. I don’t drink when I’m working.’

Natalie sighed. ‘And when you’re not?’

He shrugged. ‘I’m a scotch man. But I like a nice red with evening meals and a cold beer on a hot day.’

‘Would you classify yourself as a problem drinker?’

‘Certainly not.’

‘Hobbies.’

‘Hobbies?’ he repeated.

‘What do you enjoy doing during your leisure hours?’ she asked, and looked up from the laptop.

Their eyes met momentarily before his left her face to drift down to where her jacket was straining across her breasts.

‘Besides that,’ she snapped.

His eyes narrowed on her, and she wondered if he was wondering why she was letting him get under her skin so much.

‘I like to work out,’ he replied. ‘And to go out.’

‘Where to?’

‘Clubs. Pubs. Wherever I can have a drink with my mates and meet women.’

He’d have no trouble picking up women, Natalie conceded. He wouldn’t even have to speak. His hard, sexy body and those hard, sexy eyes would do all the talking for him.

‘Are you a good lover?’

The question was out of her mouth before she could stop herself. It was not one of her usual questions. But, thankfully, he didn’t know that.

‘I’ve never had any complaints,’ came his nonchalant reply.

She almost asked him how much sex he would want from his wife, but she pulled herself up just in time. She’d already overstepped the mark.

‘Religion?’ she asked instead.

‘Nope.’

‘An atheist?’

‘Nope.’

‘What, then?’ she asked through gritted teeth.

‘The Lord and I haven’t had much to do with each other so far, but who knows what the future might hold?’

‘Fine. I’ll put open-minded on the subject of religion. Education?’

‘Not much.’

‘Could you be more specific than that?’

‘I attended school till I was seventeen, but I didn’t sit for my school certificate or my HSC. I’ve never been to college or university. I’m a self-taught computer genius.’

‘Genius? My, let’s not be too modest here.’

‘I’m not being modest. I’m saying it as it is.’

‘Fine. But I think I’ll enter computer expert. You wouldn’t want to put off a potential wife by sounding a little…shall we say…arrogant?’

‘I’m not arrogant. I’m honest. But put what you like.’

She intended to. Lord, but he was the most irritating man. ‘What’s the name of your software company?’

‘Stoneware.’

‘Stoneware?’ She rolled her eyes at him.

‘The name amused me,’ he said, and actually smiled.

Not a big smile. More a lifting of the corner of his mouth.

‘You do have a sense of humour, then?’

‘It’s not one of my best qualities.’

‘Somehow I gathered that,’ she muttered. ‘Now, Mike, I will understand if you do not want to give me a precise figure, but approximately what is your annual income?’

‘I don’t mind telling you. Last year Stoneware made six point four million dollars profit. I own seventy per cent of the company, so my share was four point four eight million. I expect this next year to be a much better year, however.’

Natalie swallowed her surprise and said, ‘How much better?’

‘A lot better,’ he replied drily. ‘We released a couple of new games which have really taken off.’

‘I see.’

‘I presume that improves my chances of finding a wife?’

His question—and his tone—had a decidedly cynical flavour, which ruffled Natalie’s feathers.

‘Money alone will not secure you a wife from amongst my girls,’ she told him crisply.

‘Are you sure about that?’

‘Quite sure.’

‘Pity.’

‘What does that mean?’

He stared hard at her, making her squirm on her chair.

‘You know, you’re not quite what I expected,’ was his next, rather cryptic comment, ‘but I can see you’re still a no-nonsense businesswoman. Like I said, I’m a truthful man. I don’t like to con people. I also don’t have the time to muck around. The thing is, Ms Fairlane,’ he continued as he sat forward on the sofa, his elbows coming to rest on his knees, ‘I need a wife before the first week in December.’

CHAPTER THREE

‘THE first week in December!’ Natalie exclaimed. ‘But December’s just over a month away!’

‘That’s right,’ Mike said, feeling perversely pleased that he’d got a real rise out of her.

He’d met females like Natalie Fairlane before. For some reason they were sour on life, and on men. That was why they tried to hide their femininity behind masculine-looking clothes. They lived in constant denial of their sex, and their sexuality.

Yet a man would have to be blind not to see that Natalie Fairlane was a looker. With the right makeup and the right outfit, she’d be a knock-’em-dead type. She had all the basic equipment. Gorgeous red hair. Striking blue eyes. A sultry mouth. And, if he was not mistaken, hiding behind that simply awful grey trouser suit was a darned good figure.

‘But that’s impossible!’ she informed him agitatedly. ‘It takes a month and a day to get a marriage licence, unless you have a special reason for a special licence. Do you?’ she demanded to know. ‘Oh, this is quite ridiculous. Why do you have to be married by then?’

Natalie watched as he sighed, then leant back again, stretching his arms along the back of the sofa, his leather jacket coming apart as he did so.

Natalie did her best not to stare. But, brother, did that man have a chest on him!

‘Do you want the long version or the short version?’ he said.

‘Any version will do,’ she told him. ‘Provided it makes sense.’

‘Fair enough. The thing is, Ms Fairlane, I’m in negotiations with an American company named Comproware who are very interested in a new firewall program I’ve written. Interested enough to offer me a partnership.’

‘And?’ Natalie prompted when he stopped talking for a second. Patience was not one of Natalie’s virtues. ‘Such a partnership would earn my company many millions over the coming years. Unfortunately, the owner of Comproware is a sanctimonious, self-righteous old buzzard named Chuck Helsinger who refuses to go into partnership with any man who isn’t married. Married with solid family values, I’ve been informed.’

‘Aah, I’m beginning to see. But why do you call Mr Helsinger self-righteous?’

‘He’s seventy years old. And his wife is in her forties. His third wife.’

‘At least he married her!’

‘Trading your wife in on a younger model every once in a while hardly demonstrates solid family values. Not that I feel all that sorry for any of his wives. No doubt they only married him in the first place for his money.’

‘Which is exactly what you’re planning to do,’ she pointed out tartly. ‘Marrying for Mr Helsinger’s money.’

‘Right in one, Ms Fairlane. Glad to see you’ve got the picture.’

‘Oh, I’ve got the picture all right, Mr Stone,’ she countered, a furious indignation simmering away inside her. ‘Now let me give you my picture. If you think I would insult any of my girls by matching a man like you up with any of them, then you can think again. They wouldn’t enter into the kind of loveless marriage you’re wanting, for all the money in the world. They want real marriages with real husbands and the possibilities of a real family, which I presume wouldn’t be on your agenda.’

Her tirade didn’t seem to have affected him in the slightest. He continued to lounge back in that nonchalantly relaxed pose, his expression as poker-faced as ever.

‘You’re quite right, Ms Fairlane. I certainly wasn’t planning on being a real husband. This would be a business arrangement only, with a discreet divorce in the foreseeable future.’

‘A business arrangement?’ she repeated a bit blankly. ‘You mean…no sex?’

‘Absolutely no sex.’

Somehow she found that hard to believe. Mike Stone oozed testosterone from every pore.

But then she realised what he meant. Just no sex with his bought bride. He’d probably still be having it off with other women.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said stiffly. ‘I would still not entertain the thought of putting such an outrageous proposition to any of my girls. It’s not what they came to Wives Wanted to get. They would be offended and none would accept.’

‘You’re quite sure of that?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘I will pay one million dollars up front. And a further one million if the partnership goes through.’

Natalie gaped before she could stop herself.

‘Naturally, I will also cover all expenses associated with the wedding,’ the object of her gaping went on before she could regather her composure. ‘The marriage will have to look real. Mr Helsinger could be having me investigated.’

‘I see,’ she said after her mouth finally snapped shut. ‘That’s a very…generous…offer.’

Generous and tempting.

‘It’s fair for the amount of work and inconvenience involved. Aside from the bother of going through with a wedding, and making it look the goods, my temporary wife will have to be available to spend a couple of days with me aboard Mr Helsinger’s yacht early in December. He’s coming here to Sydney to pick up this brand-new luxury boat and look me over at the same time.’

Natalie frowned. ‘Yachts don’t have huge bedrooms. If you’re supposed to be newly-weds, you’ll have to share a cabin.’

‘I can see the way your mind is working, Ms Fairlane, but I can promise you there won’t be any hanky-panky. I don’t want to create any problems afterwards. This marriage will not be consummated, so please don’t match me up with any female who might fancy herself a femme fatale, or who might imagine that I will fall in love with her. I won’t,’ he finished up with a flash of steel in his hard, dark eyes. ‘I don’t fall in love and I won’t be staying married.’

‘You don’t have to worry about some poor deluded creature from Wives Wanted trying to seduce you, Mr Stone,’ she said, thinking his name reflected his nature. He was made of stone. ‘I still have no intention of matching you with any of my female clients.’

Natalie would later question why she did what she did next. Was it just for the money, or were there other, darker forces at work?

The money was certainly very tempting. She would be able to pay off her parents’ mortgage and give them a lump sum to help with their retirement. Then, when she got the second million—she didn’t doubt that the ruthlessly ambitious Mike Stone would get his partnership—she could pay off her own mortgage and maybe go on an overseas holiday. She was getting tired of matching other women to men who actually wanted to marry them. It had once given her a kick to see two of her clients happily wed. Lately, however, a measure of envy had been creeping in.

Despite her disastrous relationship with Brandon, Natalie had always believed she would marry one day. And have a family of her own. When she’d started Wives Wanted three years back, she’d still harboured the hope that one day her Mr Right would walk through the door.

But something had happened to her, post-Brandon. She’d become defensive and aggressive where the opposite sex was concerned. The bottom line was she just didn’t trust them.

Men were not attracted to her harder, more cynical persona. She hadn’t had a date, or a single lover, since Brandon.

‘How about me?’ came her curt offer.

That got his attention. He sat up straight, his arms falling off the back of the sofa.

‘You?’

The shock in his voice piqued her considerably.

‘Yes, me,’ she snapped. ‘What’s wrong with me?’

What was wrong with her was that he fancied her.

Keeping his hands off the provocative Ms Fairlane might prove difficult, especially on those nights they were thrown together on the yacht. On the other hand, it was clear she wasn’t about to help him find a wife from amongst her precious ‘girls’.

Suddenly, he understood why. She wanted the job—nope, she wanted the money—for herself.

‘I suppose you were looking for someone younger,’ she said with a flash of those cut-glass blue eyes of hers.

‘How old are you?’ he asked.

‘The same age as you. Thirty-four.’

His eyebrows lifted. He would have tagged her as a couple of years older. But that was probably due to the dreary clothes she was wearing.

‘I can look younger,’ she said with a proud toss of her head. ‘And prettier. If that’s what you want.’

‘What I want, Ms Fairlane, is a wife who can convince Chuck Helsinger that she’s genuinely in love with me. Can you do that?’

Her chin lifted. ‘For two million dollars? I’ll convince him I adore every single hair on your head.’

Mike smiled as he ran his hand over his very thick crew cut. This, he’d like to see.

His smile faded, however, when he realised he might find it even harder to keep his hands off when Ms Fairlane started playing the besotted bride. He would have to keep reminding himself that she was just doing it for the money.

Damn, but that thought really annoyed him. He hated gold-diggers with a passion.

‘I presume you won’t entertain any romantic fantasies that I might fall in love with you and want to stay married to you?’ he threw at her.

‘Don’t be ridiculous! You’d be the last man on earth I’d fantasise over.’

‘I’m not your type?’

‘Only a fool would fantasise over a man who obviously doesn’t believe in love and marriage. I am not a fool, Mr Stone,’ she finished up firmly.

‘In that case, it’s a deal, Ms Fairlane.’

Even as he said the words Mike suspected he was going to regret marrying this tough-talking but rather temperamental redhead. But what alternative did he have? Instant wives didn’t grow on trees. December would be here before he could blink.

For the first time since they’d met, she suddenly looked uncertain, her hand coming up to her throat in a decidedly vulnerable gesture.

She had a long throat, he noticed. Long and pale, as if she hadn’t been out in the sun for ages.

An image popped into Mike’s mind of her lying naked on a bed, her whole body pale and soft, her gleaming red hair spread out on the pillow. Her wide eyes would be locked with his, just as they were now, but more so, their expression expectant, yet at the same time excited.

‘So…what do we do now?’ she said, breaking into his fantasy.

Why don’t I take you to bed? he wanted to say.

Because that was what he wanted to do. Right now.

It had been too long, Mike realised ruefully, since he’d been to bed with a woman. Richard was right. Celibacy did not sit well with him, not when he was in the company of a woman he fancied.

But there was nothing he could do about it now, certainly not with Ms Fairlane. She’d blow a gasket if he started coming on to her. Nope. He was trapped into a no-sex existence for another couple of months at least. He couldn’t even sneak a bit on the side. Cunning old Chuck might find out about it and any partnership would fly out the window.

Just think of the money, he told himself. The same as the mercenary Ms Fairlane is doing. And stop thinking about her being naked, and willing. The odds of her ever being naked and willing with you, Mikey, are about as high as your staying married to her.

Which reminded him. He had a marriage to arrange, and there was no time to lose.

‘It’s Thursday night,’ he returned, glancing at his watch. ‘The stores don’t close till nine. First, we’ll go get a quick bite to eat. After that, I’m taking you engagement-ring shopping.’

CHAPTER FOUR

‘WHAT?’ Shock propelled Natalie to her feet. ‘Did you say engagement-ring shopping?’

‘Absolutely,’ Mike replied, rising to his feet also.

‘But surely that’s not necessary!’ She couldn’t bear the thought of going into a jewellery shop with him and pretending to be lovers.

‘Of course it is,’ he returned. ‘When I present you to Mr Chuck Helsinger as my wife you’re going to have everything my wife should have. That includes a rock on your ring finger and a wardrobe which will knock that dirty old devil’s eyes out.’

‘But…’

‘No buts, please, Natalie. Sorry, but I do have to call you Natalie, since sweetheart and honey and, I presume, darling is out. Unless, of course, you want me to call you Nat.’

She winced at the shortened form of her name, which she’d been called in high school and which she still hated.

‘Natalie will be fine,’ she bit out.

‘Okay. And don’t you forget to call me Mike. It wouldn’t do for you to address me as Mr Stone.’

‘I guess not. Now, about this wardrobe business…’

‘Yes?’

‘I don’t always dress like this, you know. These are just my work clothes.’

‘That’s a relief.’

Natalie bristled. ‘There’s no need to insult me.’

‘I wasn’t insulting you. I was being truthful again. That pant suit you’re wearing is simply dreadful. The colour does nothing for you and the cut is far too masculine.’

‘I thought you were a computer genius,’ she snapped. ‘Not the fashion police.’

‘I’m a man. And I know what looks good on a woman. The fact that you would even consider buying that outfit in the first place speaks for itself. I’m taking you clothes shopping before December, whether you like it or not.’

‘Whatever,’ she said, privately conceding that her wardrobe possibly didn’t have the clothes necessary for a weekend cruise with the jet set. ‘You’re paying for it.’

‘Good. That’s one thing I like about you, Natalie. You know what side your bread is buttered on.’

Natalie tried not to take offence. But it was a bit much, having him criticise her clothes, then tell her that the only thing he liked about her was her mercenary side.

She was tempted to throw at him that the only reason she’d made this appalling deal with him was because of her parents’ dire financial position.

Which reminded her.

‘I have to make a quick phone call before I leave,’ she told him.

‘Fine. I’ll wait for you out in my car. It’s parked just down the street. It’s a four-wheel drive. Black, with the number plate STONE. You can’t miss it.’

He was gone before she could think of a suitably caustic comment.

Natalie rolled her eyes, then snatched up the phone on the desk. But as she punched in her mother’s number she wondered what on earth she was going to tell her.

Nothing, Natalie decided, till the first million was in the bank.

In that case, you’d better stop being so darned prickly, came a sharp warning from her head. Or your would-be benefactor might back out of the deal.

If he wanted to buy her an engagement ring, then fine. If he wanted to buy her a whole wardrobe, that was fine, too. She was not in a position to look this particular gift horse in the mouth.

‘It’s me again, Mum,’ she said when her mother answered. ‘Some good news. I’ve got another client at last.’

‘That’s good news. Is he rich?’

‘Rich enough.’

‘Good-looking?’

‘Sort of.’

‘Do you think you’ll be able to find him a wife, more to the point?’

‘Yes. No trouble. Which means I’ll be flush soon, so don’t you go doing anything foolish like pawning things, or borrowing more money from some loan shark. Meanwhile, give me the name of the bank which holds your mortgage.’ Her mother always took care of the banking.

She did so, Natalie making a mental note of it as she thought up a strategy to satisfy her parents till she could take care of the whole mortgage. Though Lord knew what she was going to tell them then. Maybe that she’d won the lottery.

‘I’ll go see the manager tomorrow and organise to have your mortgage refinanced at a lower interest rate,’ she offered. ‘Rates have come down considerably since you took out that loan. And I’ll cover your first few months’ payments. Give you some breathing space.’

‘Would you? Oh, darling, that would be wonderful. I’ve been so worried.’

‘Yes, Mum, I’m sure you have been. But you don’t have to be any longer. I would never see you tossed out of your home. You must know that.’

‘You are such a good girl.’

Natalie grimaced. That all depended on one’s definition of good. Was it good to marry a man strictly for money?

She supposed it wasn’t bad, if the money was for a good cause and you didn’t prostitute yourself as well by sleeping with him.

It was bad, however, to secretly wish that you were doing just that.

Natalie smothered a groan. It was no use. She had to confess, if only to herself, that just the thought of sleeping with Mike Stone was insidiously exciting.

It was just as well that he was firm on the ‘no sex’ part of their arrangement. And that he wasn’t attracted to her.

Natalie would hate to think what would happen if he fancied her. She would make a fool of herself all right. Not in the way she’d been a fool over Brandon. She would never fall in love with Mike, or think he was anything other than the ruthless, arrogant, mercenary devil that he was.

But she didn’t want him lumping her together with all the other silly women he’d obviously bedded and not wedded. In her case, Natalie was determined it was going to be a case of wedded, and not bedded.

‘I still can’t stay and chat, Mum,’ she said. ‘I’m going out to dinner with my client.’

‘I hope he’s paying.’

‘Mum, this is me you’re talking to. Miss Budget-wise. Of course, he’s paying.’

‘In that case, eat up, dear. You’re getting too thin, you know.’

Natalie had to laugh. Thin, she was not. But her mother always thought she was.

‘I’ll ring you tomorrow night,’ she promised. ‘Let you know how I went with the bank. Bye.’

‘Bye, dear. And thanks again.’

Natalie resisted the temptation to primp and preen before joining Mike outside. She just grabbed her black carryall, locked the front door and launched herself out into the street.

His car was as macho as he was, she thought as she hurried towards it. An all-black four-wheel drive with darkly tinted windows that exuded a faintly menacing air.

A shiver ran down her spine when the passenger door suddenly swung open, propelled by a black leather-clad arm that disappeared as swiftly as it had appeared.

‘You are a most unusual woman,’ he said as she climbed in and shut the door behind her.

‘In what way?’

‘You don’t keep a man waiting.’