Saying Yes to the Millionaire

Josh waved the piece of paper in front of Fern’s nose. “The treasure hunt.”

Her heart seemed to have slowed to almost nothing and she could hear the rush of the river in her ears.

“You want me to be your partner?”

He jumped off the wall and stepped in front of her. For a moment she thought he was going to take her hands, but then he fidgeted, and stuffed them in his pockets. “Yes.”

“Why me?”

He looked her straight in the eye. “Because I think you’d be perfect.”

Inside her head she was screaming with frustration. How many times had she hoped to hear those words? But what he was asking her now wasn’t what she’d yearned for back then. He had no idea he’d ignited a painful and distant memory.

Four days with Josh. Once upon a time, she’d have thought that was heaven.

But it was only an hour since they’d met again, and she was getting all her signals crossed imagining there’d be moments and bolts from the blue and—heaven help her poor confused heart rate—kisses.

Four days would be far too much…and never enough.

Would your perfect wedding be in the spring, when flowers are starting to blossom and it’s the perfect season for new beginnings?

Or perhaps a balmy garden wedding, set off by a riot of color, making the summer bride glow with the joys of a happy future….

Do you dream of being a fall bride, walking down the aisle amid the dazzling reds and burnished golds of falling leaves?

Or of a winter wedding dusted with glistening white snowflakes, celebrated by the ringing of frosty church bells?

With Harlequin Romance® you can have them all! And, best of all, you can experience the rush of falling in love with a gorgeous groom….

In April we celebrated spring with The Bride’s Baby by Liz Fielding

This month, enjoy the summer sun with Saying Yes to the Millionaire by Fiona Harper

Coming in September with crisp autumnal days: The Millionaire’s Proposal by Trish Wylie

Don’t miss:

Marry-Me Christmas

by Shirley Jump, out in December.

Fiona Harper

Saying Yes to the Millionaire

As a child, Fiona Harper was constantly teased for either having her nose in a book or living in a dream world. Things haven’t changed much since then, but at least in writing she’s found a use for her runaway imagination. After studying dance at university, Fiona worked as a dancer, teacher and choreographer before trading in that career for video-editing and production. When she became a mother she cut back on her working hours to spend time with her children, and when her littlest one started elementary school Fiona found a few spare moments to rediscover an old but not forgotten love—writing.

Fiona lives in London, but her other favorite places to be are the Highlands of Scotland and the Kent countryside on a summer’s afternoon. She loves cooking good food and anything cinnamon-flavored. Of course she still can’t keep away from a good book, or a good movie—especially romances—but only if she’s stocked up on tissues, because she knows she will need them by the end, be it happy or sad. Her favorite things in the world are her wonderful husband, who has learned to decipher her incoherent ramblings, and her two daughters.

For Kirsteen, my naughty little sister,

who has travelled the world and

bungee-jumped while I’ve just sat home

and day-dreamed about it.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ONE

‘NO, I CAN’T. I don’t think I can do this!’

Solid ground was a distant memory. Fern glanced down past her feet and a tidal wave of nausea crashed in her stomach. The Thames glittered in the June sun and London politely carried on about its business one hundred and fifty feet below her. Someone behind her muttered, ‘Is she going to jump or not?’

Not. Definitely not. Surely, if God had meant us to do this we’d have been born with lengths of elastic attached to our feet.

She gulped. Every muscle in her body had tightened itself into a dozen knots. She closed her eyes, but that just made things worse. The darkness magnified the dull roar of the traffic and the flap of the bungee cord as it swung in the faint breeze. Her body swayed.

No. She was not going to do this.

Her eyes snapped open and she twisted her head, opening her mouth to tell them it had all been a horrible mistake. But, before the sounds emerged from the back of her throat, a warm pair of hands steadied her on either side of her waist.

‘She’s all right. Aren’t you, Fern?’

Fern shook her head, but the squeak that finally made it out of her mouth sounded an awful lot like yes.

She caught a faint hint of aftershave as he moved closer, felt his breath as it tickled the fine tendrils of hair that had worked their way out of her ponytail and now curled in front of her ears.

‘You can do this.’ The voice sounded so warm and reassuring. ‘You know that, don’t you?’

For a second, Fern almost forgot where she was, high on a crane on the banks of the Thames. Almost forgot the crowd of onlookers and charity event organisers looking up at her from the hard concrete below. She recognised that voice!

Josh was here.

And he was right behind her, whispering words of encouragement into her ear. Her pulse didn’t know whether to speed up, slow down or stop altogether. But, bizarrely, she felt safe with him there, so close she could feel the beat of his heart against her back.

‘Yes,’ she whispered. This time, she half-believed her answer.

‘So…I’m going to count to three, and when I say go, you just allow yourself to fall.’

He had the most delicious voice. It seemed to curl and roll inside her ears. She got carried away just listening to the sounds, the individual syllables, forgetting the meaning of the words. And then suddenly she realised he was saying three.

‘But I—’

He didn’t shout; he said the next word so gently it was almost as if he’d just breathed out. ‘Go.’

And then she was falling, falling—the breath sucked so hard from her body that she couldn’t even scream.

Three days earlier…

‘No, thank you.’ Fern shook her head once, firmly, hoping Lisette would get the message. She should have known better. Her friend waved something slimy-looking on a fork in front of her face, so close she was going cross-eyed trying to focus on it.

‘Go on! Try it.’

‘Really, Lisette. No. I don’t like seafood.’

‘It’s squid. Hardly tastes of anything.’ The fork swayed in a hypnotising motion. ‘We’ve been coming to Giovanni’s once a month for the past year and each time you order exactly the same.’

Fern fended the squid-loaded cutlery off with her hand. ‘I like Pasta Neapolitana. It’s my favourite.’

Lisette threw her fork down on her plate. ‘It’s boring, that’s what it is.’

‘It’s nice. And I don’t run the risk of food poisoning if it hasn’t been cooked or stored properly.’

‘Spoken like a true Health and Safety specialist.’

Fern stabbed a pasta bow with her fork, put it in her mouth and chewed, all the time staring defiantly at her friend. Lisette was always poking fun at her job. She swallowed her mouthful and took a sip of wine. Not everybody could have an outlandish job like Lisette’s. And besides, her job might seem routine, but she helped people, kept them safe.

‘Talking of jobs, what are you up to next week?’

Lisette popped the squid in her mouth and swallowed, wearing a playful smile as she gulped it down. ‘Guess.’

Fern rolled her eyes. Lisette’s main work was being a professional ‘extra’. She could end up sitting in a pub in one of the weekly soaps or dressed up in tin-foil for a sci-fi series. Variety might be the spice of life, but Fern couldn’t understand how Lisette tolerated a job with sporadic work, long hours and four o’clock in the morning starts.

‘Lis, I haven’t got a clue. Why don’t you just tell me?’

‘I’ve got a spot on a new police drama. Next week my uniform will be fishnets, high heels and a wicked glint in my eye.’

A small crease appeared between Fern’s brows. ‘Since when did police officers wear fishnets?’

Lisette grinned at her. ‘Come on, can you really picture me in big clumpy heels and a neat white shirt? I’m going to be “Hooker Number Three”. Cool, huh?’

Fern nodded, perhaps a little too hard. Lisette gave her a knowing smile.

‘I’m sorry, Lis. I’m really pleased you’ve got the work but…’

‘Standing up in front of a room full of people and being outrageous is just not your cup of tea. I know. Horses for courses, and all that. I’d die of boredom being an insurance investigator.’

‘Risk analyst,’ Fern reminded her, although she didn’t know why she bothered. Lisette always got her job title wrong. You just had to mention the word ‘insurance’ or ‘office’ and Lis’s eyes glazed over.

‘Yeah, yeah. I remember.’

They returned their attention to their food. Lisette speared a mussel and paused before she put the fork into her mouth. ‘If not squid, how about one of these?’

Fern sighed. ‘No.’

‘D’you know,’ Lis said, still munching the dollop of yuckiness, ‘I think I hear you say that word more than any other in your vocabulary.’

‘No, you don’t.’

Lisette stabbed the air with her fork in a got you kind of manner. Fern looked at her plate and decided she couldn’t be bothered with the rest.

‘See? You’re bored with that already. What you need is a bit more excitement in your life.’

Oh, yeah. Here we go.

Lisette saw it as her mission in life to liven up her poor, deprived friend. Over the years she’d dragged her along to all sorts of strange activities: kickboxing, paragliding, weird yoga classes where you were supposed to fold yourself up like a pretzel…And when those attempts had failed it had got even worse. Next she’d started trying to find exciting men for Fern to date. After an evening with Brad the Formula One driver, she’d been scared of getting in a car for a week.

‘No, I do not.’

Lis’s mouth stretched into a thin, wide smile. ‘There’s that word again. You just can’t help yourself, can you?’

‘Yes. I can.’ Now it was her turn to wear the wide smile.

Lisette shovelled more pasta into her mouth and as she chewed she stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. When she’d finished she sat back in her chair and folded her arms. ‘I reckon if you had to go a week without saying no, you’d shrivel up and die.’

‘Now you’re just being ridiculous.’

‘Am I? Okay, let’s see just how ridiculous my theory is.’

Fern really should have listened to her instinct to get up and sprint out of the restaurant door at that point but she was too intrigued to miss out on the last part of her character assassination.

Lisette nodded to herself and then looked Fern square in the eye. ‘I challenge you to say yes to every question you are asked for one whole week.’

Fern laughed so hard that a couple of other diners turned round to stare at her and she clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘And why on earth would I accept a challenge like that?’

A glint appeared in Lisette’s eye. Fern’s stomach dropped. When Lis thought on the hop like this, there was normally trouble to follow. Her brain was likely to kangaroo off in all sorts of directions and come up with some really stupid ideas.

‘Because I will donate five hundred pounds to your Leukaemia Research thingy if you do it.’

That was below the belt. How was she going to refuse an offer like that? The cancer research charity she championed desperately needed more funds for vital research—research into treatments that might have saved Ryan’s life all those years ago, if they’d been available. The charity was asking its volunteer fundraisers to try and raise one hundred thousand pounds. She’d been on countless fun runs, had sponsored this-and-thats, all to hike the total up—and they were so close now. Five thousand pounds to go. What Lisette was offering was a tenth of that. More than she could ever hope to raise by herself in one week.

‘You’re insane.’

‘Quite possibly. But I’d quite happily hand over the cash if I got to see you take a few chances, live life a little. You’re stuck in a rut, darling.’

No, she wasn’t! She opened her mouth to tell Lisette so, but then realised she’d just be using that word again and it would only encourage her.

‘Perhaps I like my rut.’

Lisette leaned back to let the waiter clear their plates. ‘That, my dear Fern, is the heart of the problem. You need to break out of it now, before you hit middle age and get stuck in it for ever.’

If her insides hadn’t been churning, the dramatic look on Lisette’s face would have made her want to laugh. She took a deep breath. Her friend might be letting her imagination run away with her, but she still had some weapons of her own. Logic. Good sense. Sanity, even.

‘You haven’t thought this through at all. I couldn’t possibly say yes to every question somebody asked me in a week. What if somebody asked me if I wanted to rob a bank, or set myself on fire?’

‘Yes, complete strangers always wander up to you in London and ask you to join them in a spot of light burglary.’

Fern looked heavenwards and pushed her plate even further away from her. It was invading her personal space, making her feel uncomfortable. ‘You’re over-dramatising again. You know what I’m talking about. Someone could ask me to look the other way while they stole something or ask me to do something risky. I know the rest of the world might see London as being so very proper and a little bit stuffy but, let’s face it, there are nutters roaming the streets of this city.’

Lisette should know. She’d dated half of them.

‘You’re right.’ Lisette dug in her handbag for a pen and started doodling on a napkin. Really not a good idea as this was the sort of establishment that didn’t use paper napkins but linen ones. ‘We need some ground rules.’

‘We don’t need any rules at all. I’m not doing it.’

Lisette carried on scribbling. ‘Okay, there are some get out clauses. Nothing illegal. Nothing truly dangerous.’

‘Nothing immoral.’ Why was she joining in? This wasn’t going to go anywhere.

Lisette looked up at that point. ‘Nothing immoral? Pity. You’re cancelling out a whole lot of fun that way.’

‘It might sound fun to you, but I’m certainly not going to say yes if some guy walks up to me and asks me to…you know.’

‘Like I said, cancelling out a whole lot of fun, but I’ll concede. You’re allowed to say no if it’s something truly against your conscience.’

‘Gee, thanks.’ A cheeky smile spread across her lips and lifted her cheeks. ‘How are you going to keep a check on me? You can’t follow me round all week. What if I cheat?’

Lisette went so still for a second that Fern thought her heart must have stopped, and then she laughed so loudly that the man behind Fern turned round again and glared at her. Fern gave him an it-wasn’t-me-this-time shrug and turned back to face Lisette, who was wiping her eyes. There was a smudge of mascara on Lis’s cheek. She decided not to tell her about it.

‘Nah. Don’t think so, my little Fern. Even if you were tempted, you’d cave in when I handed you the cheque and you’d confess all, wouldn’t you?’

‘No!’ What kind of sap did her flatmate think she was? But, then again…She buried her head in her hands, her shoulder-length blonde hair swinging forward to hide her face. ‘Oh, all right. Yes, I would.’

‘If there’s one person in this crazy world who is guaranteed to do the right thing, the sensible thing, it’s you.’

Fern picked up the dessert menu and stared at it. ‘And that’s exactly why I’m not going to take any part in your crazy scheme.’

‘Really? I mean, really?’ Lisette dipped the menu down with the tip of one of her fingers so she could look into Fern’s eyes. ‘Think of it as another sponsored event. I’m sponsoring you to prise yourself from your rut for one week. Just one week. You can do that, can’t you? For charity?’ She batted her eyelids, a completely ridiculous gesture, but somehow it always worked on Fern.

Drat that woman! After living with her for three years, she knew exactly where Fern’s weak points were. And raising money to prevent any more children going through the pain and sickness that her brother had endured before his death, to stop any more families being left with a large gaping hole that could never be filled, was something she couldn’t walk away from.

‘I can walk away at any time?’

Lisette shrugged. ‘You can. But you won’t get the money. It’ll be up to you.’

Fern picked up a wineglass and sloshed back the rest of the contents. ‘Okay. Yes. I’ll do it.’ For Ryan. Here’s to you, big brother, she thought as she swallowed the Chardonnay.

Lisette clapped her hands and rubbed them together with glee. ‘I’m going to make sure you have the most exciting week of your life!’

Fern reached for the wine bottle and poured herself another glass. That was exactly what she’d been afraid of.

‘Sorry, Callum. You’re going to have to take the New York meeting on your own.’ Josh stuck his head through the doorway into the living room and spotted his father dozing on the sofa with the paper over his face. He nudged the door closed and lowered his voice. ‘My dad is getting better—slowly—but I’m going to stick around for at least another fortnight.’

While his business partner lamented that he was going to miss a vital appointment with the head of an exclusive hotel chain, Josh wandered from the hallway into the kitchen and stared out of the window into the garden. Callum would cope fine without him; he was such a worrier. Personally, Josh was more disappointed at abandoning the trip he’d had planned after New York—a planned visit to one of his pet projects.

Recently One Life Travel had opened a non-profit making arm that organised charity expeditions. Want to walk the Great Wall of China to help save the whales? Or canoe up the Amazon to raise funds to fight heart disease? Then the new One Life Expeditions was the place to go.

The Amazon. He sighed. He’d been really looking forward to a spot of canoeing. He’d planned to join one of the latest expeditions to personally see if the company was getting it right—if the guides were good, the equipment safe, the staff knowledgeable.

This hands-on personal touch, a rigid policy of road-testing absolutely everything, was why what had started as a simple website offering good advice and cheap deals for backpackers had mushroomed into an award-winning travel corporation. They were in the business of offering once-in-a-lifetime trips, whether that be cheap flights and even cheaper hostels for the backpackers, or exclusive individually tailored trips with five-star elegance for a more discerning clientele.

He could see his mother kneeling on the lawn, planting petunias. His parents’ garden was beautiful, no doubt about that. But it was too…tame. And too small. No chance of running into snakes on the bowling green lawn or piranhas in the fish pond, more’s the pity.

‘It’ll be fine. Take Sara with you,’ he told Callum. His PA was so efficient it would almost be as if he were there in person. ‘She knows the deal inside out. I’ll call you in a week and give you an update.’

He said his goodbyes and left the cordless phone on the kitchen counter. Mum would nag him about that in a minute.

It seemed odd being back in this house, even sleeping in his old bedroom rather than in his own house on the other side of town. Nothing had changed here. Oh, there were different kitchen cabinets and a new three-piece suite, but the atmosphere, the essence of the place was the same. Comforting and stifling all at the same time.

Of course, Mum was delighted to have him here. She hardly let him out of her sight. But maybe that was to be expected. Nowadays he only really made it home for big celebrations, like dad’s sixtieth—had that really been six months ago?—and Christmas dinner. Well, most Christmas dinners. Last December he’d been left stranded in Nepal after a trek through the Himalayan foothills, his flight cancelled.

It was good to see his parents again, but he’d rather it had been under different circumstances. Six weeks ago, he’d got a frantic call from his mother letting him know that his father was undergoing emergency heart surgery. He’d flown straight home. It had been touch and go for a few days, but Dad was pulling through.

He didn’t want to think about the ten-hour flight home. It had been the first time in years that he hadn’t enjoyed the rush of take-off. All he’d been able to think about was how little he’d seen his parents in the last few months and how awful it would be if…

He shook his head and stepped through the open back door and walked towards his mother, leaving that thought behind in the bright and cheery kitchen. His feet were itchy. He wanted to be here for his father but, at the same time, now that Dad was on the mend he was starting to feel like a spare part.

Mum was now standing on the lawn, hands on hips, surveying her handiwork.

‘They look nice, Mum.’

She turned and looked at him, her face screwed up against the bright sunshine. ‘Not very exotic, I know, but I like them. It makes the place feel like home.’

Josh smiled back at her and his gaze drifted down the garden. It was a good-sized plot for a semi-detached house of this size, stretching back more than a hundred feet. A big garden, in London suburb terms. It looked lighter, somehow. The bottom of the garden had always seemed so shady in his childhood memories.

And then he realised something was missing.

‘Mum? What happened to the old apple tree?’

She wiped her hands on the front of her old gardening jeans and walked over to stand by his side. ‘We had some heavy winds this spring. Eighty mile an hour gusts at times.’ She shrugged. ‘Woke up the next morning to find most of the apple tree in next door’s garden.’

He instantly set off walking towards where the apple tree had once been. Only a stump was left. Suddenly he felt angry. That tree had been a huge part of his childhood. He and Ryan, the boy next door and his best friend, had spent more time in its branches during the summer months than they had with their feet on the earth. If he’d known the last time he’d been here that it would be the last time he’d see it, he would have…dunno…said a prayer or something.

He didn’t like graveyards. They were way too permanent. And he hadn’t been to visit the small marble headstone in St Mark’s churchyard, not even on the day of Ryan’s funeral. Instead, he’d come here to the apple tree. He’d climbed up into the highest branches and sat silently with his legs swinging. If only…

If only he’d realised that summer, when he’d been thirteen and Ryan had been fourteen, that it would be their last one together. He would have made sure they finished the tree-house they’d been planning to build in those old branches, not just left it as a few planks nailed in strategic places.