Claiming His Hidden Heir: Claiming His Hidden Heir

About the Authors

CAROL MARINELLI recently filled in a form asking for her job title. Thrilled to be able to put down her answer, she put ‘writer’. Then it asked what Carol did for relaxation and she put down the truth—‘writing’. The third question asked for her hobbies. Well, not wanting to look obsessed, she crossed her fingers and answered ‘swimming’—but, given that the chlorine in the pool does terrible things to her highlights, I’m sure you can guess the real answer!

NATALIE ANDERSON adores happy endings, so you can be sure you’ve got happy endings to enjoy when you buy her books, she promises nothing less. She loves peppermint-filled dark chocolate, pineapple juice & extremely long showers, plus teasing her imaginary friends with dating dilemmas! She lives in New Zealand with her gorgeous husband & four fabulous children. If you love happy endings too, come find her on facebook.com/authornataliea, twitter @authornataliea, or natalie-anderson.com

Also By Carol Marinelli

Their Secret Royal Baby

Their One Night Baby

Billionaires & One-Night Heirs miniseries

The Innocent’s Secret Baby

Bound by the Sultan’s Baby

Sicilian’s Baby of Shame

Ruthless Royal Sheikhs miniseries

Captive for the Sheikh’s Pleasure

Christmas Bride for the Sheikh

Also By Natalie Anderson

The Forgotten Gallo Bride

Claiming His Convenient Fiancée

The Throne of San Felipe miniseries

The Secret That Shocked De Santis

The Mistress That Tamed De Santis

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Claiming His Hidden Heir/Princess’s Pregnancy Secret

Claiming His Hidden Heir

Carol Marinelli

Princess’s Pregnancy Secret

Natalie Anderson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09561-7

CLAIMING HIS HIDDEN HEIR/PRINCESS’S PREGNANCY SECRET

Claiming His Hidden Heir © 2018 Carol Marinelli Princess’s Pregnancy Secret © 2018 Natalie Anderson

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Authors

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Claiming His Hidden Heir

Back Cover Text

Dedication

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

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Princess’s Pregnancy Secret

Back Cover Text

Dedication

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

About the Publisher

Claiming His Hidden Heir

Carol Marinelli

“Did you forget to tell me about my baby?”

He won’t be denied his heir!

Buttoned-up PA Cecelia Andrews’s resignation released her secret raw desire for her demanding playboy boss, Luka Kargas. One year after his callous dismissal, Cecelia’s hiding an even greater secret—their daughter! She’ll never let coldhearted Luka make her daughter feel unwanted. But when Luka uncovers her deceit, there’s no escaping the consequences of her passionate surrender...

For my great friend Frances Housden

An inspiring woman and wonderful writer.

Love always

Carol xxx

PROLOGUE

HE WOULD NOT be hiring Cecelia Andrews.

Property magnate Luka Kargas had already decided that Candidate Number Two would be his new personal assistant.

‘Ms Andrews is here for her interview,’ Hannah, his current PA, informed him.

‘There’s no need for me to meet her,’ Luka responded. ‘I’ve decided to go with Candidate Two.’

‘Luka!’ Hannah reproached, a little braver now that she was leaving. ‘At least have the decency to see her. She’s been through two extensive interviews with me, and as well as that it’s pouring outside. She had to come across London in the middle of a storm.’

‘Not interested,’ Luka said, because he didn’t buy into sob stories. ‘It’s a waste of my time.’

And a slice of Luka’s time was precious indeed.

But then Luka suddenly remembered that Ms Andrews had been personally recommended by Justin, a contact he wanted to keep onside.

‘Fine, send her in,’ Luka said, deciding to see her briefly but then to get rid of her as soon as he could.

Impatient fingers drummed the desk as he waited, and then Candidate Three was shown in.

‘Ms Andrews.’ Luka stood and shook her right hand, noticing that on her left she wore an engagement ring.

Nothing would induce him to hire her, for she would have to have the most patient fiancé in the world to tolerate the ridiculous hours she would have to devote to him.

And everyone knew his reputation.

He just had to give her a few minutes of his time so he could tell Justin that he had interviewed her but gone with another candidate.

‘Please,’ he said. ‘Take a seat.’

Cecelia knew that although he had called her Ms Andrews he was awaiting correction and an invitation to call her by her first name.

There would be no such invitation to do so.

Ms Andrews would do just fine, Cecelia had decided.

She had read about him, thoroughly researched him, and even been told by his current PA during two prolonged interviews about his bad-boy ways.

‘You would have to deal with his girlfriends, or rather his exes,’ Hannah had explained. ‘It can be quite a juggling act at times. Luka works hard all week and then works just as hard breaking hearts at the weekend.’

Cecelia had seen it all before, and not just through her work. She abhorred the rich, debauched kind of lifestyle he led and with good reason—her mother, Harriet, had lived and died the same way.

Still, Luka Kargas’s morals were his own concern, not hers. Cecelia had her sights set on working for royalty and he was a step in the right direction, that was all.

‘He has a yacht, currently moored in Xanero,’ Hannah had said.

‘That’s where he’s from?’ Cecelia checked, although she had found that out in her research.

‘Yes, though you won’t be expected to travel there with him and you won’t be involved with the family business there. Luka keeps that strictly separate.’

She would not be falling for him, Cecelia had reassured both his incumbent PA and herself. The only thing the career-minded Cecelia wanted from Luka Kargas was his name on her résumé and the glowing reference that, after a year’s hard work, he would surely provide.

But now she had finally met him, and as his long olive fingers had closed around hers, the very sensible Cecelia’s conviction that she would not be attracted to him in the least had wavered somewhat.

‘Hannah said you got caught in the storm,’ Luka frowned.

The skies had darkened just over an hour ago.

Luka, from his vantage point of the fortieth floor, had watched the black clouds gather and roll over London.

Candidate Two had arrived drenched and had asked Hannah for a ten-minute delay before proceeding with the interview.

Usually that would have been enough to ensure a black mark against her name but, having watched the storm himself, Luka had accepted the excuse and the rather bedraggled candidate.

Cecelia Andrews was far from bedraggled, though.

She wore a dark grey suit that was immaculate, her blonde hair, worn up, was sleek and smooth, while her make-up was both discreet and in place.

Hannah had insinuated that a drowned rat sat in the entrance yet the woman who sat before him was far from that.

‘I got caught up in the storm,’ Cecelia said, ‘but I wasn’t caught out—I heeded the warnings.’

And she might want to start heeding them now, she thought, for the impact of him on her senses was like nothing she had ever known.

He wore a dark suit and tie and his crisp white shirt accentuated his olive skin; he hadn’t shaved that morning.

The air in the room had changed, as if the charge that had lit the sky for the past hour had joined them.

Luka Kargas was everything her aunt had warned her about, and though she had told herself she could handle it, and that there was no way she could ever be attracted to someone like him, Cecelia hadn’t allowed for the impact of Luka close up.

They skipped through the formalities, both determined to get this over and done with and move on with the day.

‘Hannah will have explained that the hours are long,’ Luka said.

‘She did.’

‘Sixteen-hour days at times.’

‘Yes.’ Cecelia nodded.

‘And there’s an awful lot of travel,’ Luka said. ‘Though for all that the working week is hell, you do get every weekend off.’

She smiled a tight, slightly disbelieving smile.

‘You do,’ Luka said, as he read those full lips. ‘Come Friday night, the entire weekend is yours.’

‘Though I’m guessing I wouldn’t be out of here by five p.m.?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Usually around ten.’

So not really the entire weekend to herself, Cecelia thought as his black eyes scanned through her paperwork. ‘Why are you finishing up with Justin?’

‘Because I didn’t want to live in Dubai.’

‘I go there a lot,’ Luka said, ‘which would mean, by default, so would you.’

‘That’s fine. I just don’t want to live there,’ Cecelia said, and she knew, she just knew, he was alluding to the fact she had a fiancé whose needs would have impacted on her decision.

He was right.

Gordon wouldn’t consider it.

‘Do you speak Greek?’ he asked.

‘No,’ Cecelia said, suddenly hoping it was a prerequisite for the role and that this torture would therefore come to an end. It was torture because her stomach seemed to be folding in on itself and she all of a sudden could feel the weight of her breasts. She had never had such a violent reaction to another person, though of course it was one-sided.

Luka Kargas looked thoroughly bored.

‘Do you speak any other languages?’ he asked.

‘Some French,’ Cecelia said, even though she spoke it very well and had both lived and worked in France for a year.

Anyway, he didn’t want her French, whether a little or a lot of it, for he screwed up his nose.

Good, because Cecelia had now decided that she did not want this job.

She liked safe, and for very good reasons.

Cecelia liked her world ordered, and ten minutes alone with Luka Kargas had just rocked hers.

His black eyes were mesmerising and his brusque indifference had her re-crossing her legs.

Until this moment, sex had been a perfectly pleasant experience, if sometimes a bit of a chore.

Now, though, she sat across from a man who made her think of it.

Actually sit and think about torrid, impromptu sex at two p.m. on a Monday afternoon, and that could never do.

‘Ms Andrews...’

‘Cecelia,’ she corrected, but only because she didn’t want to sound like some uptight spinster.

And she wasn’t.

She was engaged to be married, and right now she found herself desperately trying to hold onto that thought.

Oh, this really would never do!

‘Cecelia.’ He nodded. ‘I see that you don’t have any real experience in the hospitality industry.’

‘No, I don’t,’ Cecelia said. ‘Not a jot.’

‘A jot?’ His black eyes looked up and met her green ones and she saw that his were not actually black but the deepest of browns.

‘I don’t have any experience in the hospitality industry, none at all.’

‘And I note that you wear an engagement ring.’

‘Excuse me...’ Cecelia frowned ‘...but you can’t comment on that.’

He waved his hand dismissively.

Luka read her emergency contact and saw that it wasn’t her fiancé but, in fact, her aunt.

And she intrigued him a touch. ‘Are you engaged?’

‘Yes.’ Cecelia bristled. ‘Not that it’s any of your business.’

‘Cecelia, if you are considering working for me, then you might as well know from the outset that I am not known for my political correctness. I’ll tell it to you straight—I don’t want a PA who is in the throes of planning a big wedding, neither I don’t want someone who is going to have to dash off at six because her fiancé is sulking.’

Cecelia’s jaw tightened because at times Gordon did just that.

‘Mr Kargas, my personal life is not your concern and, let me assure you, it never will be.’

Never, because she was not taking the job!

He heard the double meaning behind her words and almost smiled but then checked himself.

‘Come over here,’ he said, and stood up and headed to the floor-to-ceiling windows.

It was like no interview she had ever experienced before, Cecelia thought as she stood and walked over to join him.

Gosh, he was tall.

And he smelt as if he had bathed in bergamot with a testosterone undertone.

‘See the view,’ Luka said.

‘It’s amazing.’ Cecelia nodded, looking out across a gleaming, wet and shiny London. The grey skies were starting to clear and black clouds were lined with silver but there was no rainbow that she could see.

‘It’s all yours,’ Luka said, and Cecelia frowned. ‘When you finish on a Friday, right up to Monday morning the world out there is your oyster.’ Then he looked over at her. ‘But when you’re here...’

He expected devotion. Cecelia got his meaning.

‘When can you start?’ Luka asked.

Before she declined, Cecelia took a deep breath and thought of the perks of this job—a salary that was almost twice her current one, endless travel and the Kargas name on her résumé for ever.

And then she thought of the pitfalls.

Sixty-hour weeks spent beside this stunning man.

Her attraction to him was as unexpected as it was unsettling.

She actually didn’t know what to do.

‘I’d like some time to think about it,’ Cecelia said in response to his offer.

‘Well, I’m looking for someone who trusts their own instincts and can make prompt decisions.’

Luka now wanted her working for him.

She had impressed him when he had not expected to be impressed, yet something told him that if she walked out of the door Cecelia Andrews would not be coming back.

He could feel her hesitation.

And because he was Luka Kargas he knew when to push, and how. ‘So, I’ll ask again, when can you start, Cecelia?’

Never! Her instincts screamed.

Yet she had so badly wanted this job and the challenge it would bring and, though he was undoubtedly attractive, Cecelia knew herself well enough to be certain she would never get involved with anyone at work.

‘Now,’ Cecelia said, shocked at her own decision. ‘I can start now.’

‘Then welcome aboard.’

And as he shook her hand, Cecelia told herself she could handle it.

CHAPTER ONE

LUKA, AFTER CAREFUL consideration I’ve decided...

Waking just before her alarm went off, Cecelia lay listening to the hiss of bus doors opening on the street outside her London flat and working out how best to resign.

And when to do it?

Did she get it over and done with in the morning? Or wait until the end of the day to tell him that she would not be renewing her contract?

Most people would say she was mad to quit.

The pay was amazing, the travel wonderful, if exhausting, but in the eleven months she had worked for Luka, Cecelia had hit the limit on her primness radar.

He was a playboy in the extreme.

And that wasn’t some vague, unsourced opinion.

It was fact.

Cecelia ran his diary after all!

Quite simply, she couldn’t do it any more and so on Friday, as Luka had headed to the rooftop to swan off in his chopper for a debauched weekend in France, Cecelia had reached for her phone and accepted a six-month contract as personal assistant to an esteemed and elderly foreign diplomat.

While the money and perks would be worse in her new job, the peace of mind it would bring was, to Cecelia, worth its weight in gold.

Only as she reached for her phone to check the time did Cecelia see the date and remember that it was her birthday.

There was never much fuss made of it and she had long since told herself to get over that fact. Her aunt and uncle, who had raised her since the age of eight, simply didn’t bother with such things and before she had died, neither had her mother.

She saw that a message had come in overnight from Luka.

Shan’t be in today, Cece. Cancel my meetings and I’ll call you later.

Cecelia ground her teeth at the annoying shortening of her name that she had repeatedly asked him to stop using. But then she frowned, because in the eleven months that she had worked for Luka he had never taken a day off. Luka had a phenomenal workload yet never missed a beat. But now, on the one day she really needed to speak to him, he wasn’t going to be there.

Cecelia wanted her resignation handed in and sorted, and for her time with Luka to be over. As well as that he had an important meeting with Mr Garcia and his entourage in NYC later today. Although it was an online meeting, it had been incredibly hard to set up and it was going to be extremely messy to cancel.

Despite the absence of her boss—in fact, because of the absence of her boss—today was shaping up to be an exceptionally busy one, and so Cecelia forced herself up and out of bed.

She showered quickly and began to get ready.

Her routines were set in stone and, despite the extensive travel and odd hours required by her job, there were certain things that never changed. She could be in Florence, New York, or home in London but these things remained—her clothes were set out the night before, as was her breakfast, which she ate before tackling her hair.

Routines were vital to Cecelia’s sense of well-being, for during the first eight years of her life, when she had lived with her mother, chaos had been the only certainty.

The reddish fire to Cecelia’s strawberry blonde mane had, courtesy of foils, been dimmed to a neutral blonde. She smoothed and sleeked out her long curls and then tied them back into a neat, low ponytail.

Next, Cecelia applied her make-up.

She didn’t wear much, but as Luka’s PA it was expected that she was always well turned out.

It wasn’t always the case. A famous actress she had once worked for had insisted that Cecelia wear no make-up whatsoever as well as extremely plain clothing. With another employer, for practical reasons, her wardrobe had mainly consisted of boots and jeans.

Cecelia’s skin was pale and needed just a dash of blusher to liven it up. She added a coat of mascara to her lashes, which enhanced her deep green eyes, but, as she did so, a rather bitchy voice coming from the radio caught her attention.

‘What on earth did she expect, getting mixed up with Luka Kargas?’

Cecelia stabbed herself in the eye with the mascara wand at the sound of her boss’s name.

It wasn’t so much that it was a surprise to hear Luka mentioned, more an annoyance that even at seven a.m. and alone in her bedroom still there was no escape from him.

Luka was extremely prominent and, although his name often graced the finance reports, his antics and bad-boy ways were regularly discussed in the tabloids and on the news.

They were having a field day discussing him now!

It would seem that he had used every last second of the weekend to create his own particular brand of havoc. A wild party had taken place aboard his yacht, currently moored off the coast of Nice, on Friday.

Cecelia sat at her dressing table, lips pursed as she heard that the raucous celebrations had continued on to Paris, where Luka and selected guests had hit the casinos. Now it was a case of tears after bedtime for some supermodel who had hoped that things might be different between herself and Luka.

Well, more fool her, then, Cecelia thought.