One Night With Her Millionaire Boss

Always the groomsman, never the groom...

...until one night changes everything.

Ned Hudson has always known his destiny—to inherit and run his family’s rural Australian estate. Now, ready to settle down, his “wife wish list” is exact...so why can’t he get city-girl Freya Delaney off his mind? When Freya arrives to photograph his historic home, a spark ignites. And after one night of passion has unintended consequences, he might just find himself throwing the list out the window!

KANDY SHEPHERD swapped a career as a magazine editor for a life writing romance. She lives on a small farm in the Blue Mountains near Sydney, Australia, with her husband, daughter, and lots of pets. She believes in love at first sight and real-life romance—they worked for her! Kandy loves to hear from her readers. Visit her at kandyshepherd.com.

Also by Kandy Shepherd

Conveniently Wed to the Greek

Stranded with Her Greek Tycoon

Best Man and the Runaway Bride

Second Chance with the Single Dad

Falling for the Secret Princess

Sydney Brides miniseries

Gift-Wrapped in Her Wedding Dress

Crown Prince’s Chosen Bride

The Bridesmaid’s Baby Bump

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

One Night with Her Millionaire Boss

Kandy Shepherd

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90337-4

ONE NIGHT WITH HER MILLIONAIRE BOSS

© 2020 Kandy Shepherd

Published in Great Britain 2020

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.

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To my wonderful, clever and patient editor,

Victoria Britton, who helps make my stories

the best they can be. Thank you!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

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

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

NED HUDSON HAD lost count of the times he’d been best man or groomsman for one of his friends. His cousin, Erin, however—one of the bridesmaids in today’s ceremony—delighted in reminding him of the specifics of his track record. ‘You know what they say, Ned: five times a groomsman, never a groom,’ she teased before the service in the country town church where generations of his family had taken their vows, been christened, even buried.

Ned tried to laugh it off. ‘You make it sound like a curse. Doesn’t that saying apply to bridesmaids? Girls, not guys?’

‘I can’t see why it doesn’t apply to men too,’ she said. ‘You’re pushing thirty, Ned. Handsome, wealthy, a great guy. I don’t know why you’re so determined to stay single. Maybe it’s time for the farmer to think about taking a wife.’

Ned gritted his teeth. He wasn’t actively avoiding marriage. Far from it. He wanted a wife to share his life on Five and a Half Mile Creek, the historic homestead and vast holdings of land that had been in his family for more than one hundred and fifty years, and which was now in his hands. Farmer wasn’t really the right word to describe him though—he was more of a CEO of a multi-faceted rural enterprise with a turnover in the multi-millions. It wasn’t a role for a single guy. He needed a supportive spouse by his side. And then there was the matter of providing an heir.

But he fell for the wrong kind of women. Women who valued the trappings of his considerable wealth—the penthouse in the most exclusive part of the big city of Melbourne, the private plane, international travel—over the idea of a settled family life. Women who wanted the excitement of the city over the more fulfilling pace of the rural life he loved, but who pretended to like the country until they had him snared. Three years ago he’d fallen head over heels in love with such a woman, had come close to proposing to her, so close he’d been gutted when she’d revealed her true colours. He wouldn’t get caught like that again.

Today, his brother Wil was marrying lovely Georgia. They’d been friends at university but never more than friends until Wil had taken custody of his baby daughter, Nina, after his ex-wife had died in an accident. Learning to look after the daughter Wil hadn’t known about had brought him and Georgia closer and they had fallen in love.

Love. Huh. Wil and Georgia had been lucky in the love stakes. Ned, however, had been working on the wrong criteria when it came to relationships. The roller-coaster ride of infatuation and emotion did not appear to work for the kind of wife required for the boss of Five and a Half Mile Creek. He had seen the way it had torn his parents apart, so he should have known better. It had been a painful lesson to learn.

Never a groom. The curse-like phrase kept reverberating through his mind. He would turn thirty in a few months, and was fed up with putting his personal life on hold. Sooner rather than later, he wanted to get married, to exchange vows at this very altar. And he didn’t want to deal with time-wasters like Leanne, the gold-digger who had broken his heart.

So what did he want in a wife?

As the ceremony proceeded, Ned thought about his requirements for the ideal wife and mother of his children. It didn’t take him long to formulate a wish-list.

She should be tall, as he was six foot three. Dark-haired, brown-eyed women were his ‘type’ though he was open to hair colour, eye colour, et cetera.

But there were other, non-negotiable attributes for the future Mrs Ned Hudson:

1. Genuine enjoyment of country life essential.

2. Management experience to help run the business would be advantageous. Accountant or lawyer ideal.

3. Love of animals, particularly horses. A vet or vet nurse would be very welcome.

4. An interest in gardening.

5. A good cook.

6. Conservative, country-focused values.

But how to find her? Living out here, nearly four hundred kilometres from Melbourne, meant he couldn’t count on happenstance to deliver him the right kind of wife. That meant a dating site.

He dreaded having to create a profile to sell himself. Tall, well built, financially secure... That might work. He was an expert horseman. Piloted his own plane. Liked reading political thrillers in his rare downtime. But above all, he was a man of the land—his land.

He never wanted to live anywhere else. His connection to the land came before everything. Any future wife would have to understand that. Five and a Half Mile Creek was more a vocation than a job—he’d been born to it.

He’d been an only child until he was fourteen. Then Wil, aged thirteen, had come to Five and a Half Mile Creek—a troubled foster child, hostile and hurting. Ned had treated the boy with caution and respect, as he did the lost and injured animals he cared for, and had been overjoyed when Wil had been adopted and become his brother.

His parents treated them equally as sons. However, while Wil loved Five and a Half Mile Creek, he had no desire to own it. Ned was destined to inherit the property but when his mother had survived breast cancer, his parents had decided to fulfil her bucket list by travelling around the world. Ned had been in partnership with his dad running Five and a Half Mile Creek before. Now the responsibility was entirely on his shoulders. That left little opportunity to look for a wife.

Never a groom.

By the time the reception at the homestead was in full swing, he’d decided he would not let that happen. A dating site it would have to be. After he’d posed for the last of the seemingly interminable photos where the best man was required, he managed to get away from the celebration and into his private study. No one would miss him for ten minutes or so. He closed the door, sat down at his computer and typed up that wife wish-list.

Perhaps it seemed a tad impersonal, he thought uncomfortably when he reviewed the list. In fact, it read more like an employment ad. But anyone marrying him would have to take on not just a husband but Five and a Half Mile Creek too.

Besides, there was nothing wrong with being practical. He’d fallen head over heels in love before and it hadn’t worked out. In fact, each time had ended disastrously. Infatuation was not the basis for a lasting relationship. Practicality was the way to go. Mutual values, shared interests, a judicious getting-to-know-each-other period. That was how it could work.

He would make sure of it.

With a sigh of relief, Freya Delaney swung her little purple van into the driveway that led from an imposing set of gates to the Hudson family’s historic property, Five and a Half Mile Creek. She hadn’t realised just how far away from the city it was when she’d set off from Melbourne the day before. She’d actually crossed the border from the state of Victoria into New South Wales.

This was the real Australian countryside—huge skies, mile after mile of emptiness with only the occasional dwelling. Swathes of rich, productive land were devoted to crops or sheep, interspersed with areas of natural bushland.

She shuddered. How could anyone live in such isolation? The inner city with crowded, buzzing streets and a coffee shop on every corner was more to her taste.

But the landscape was beautiful in its own way and she was glad for the opportunity to visit. Not only was she on assignment for her boss, Hugh Tran, the photographer who had shot the wedding held at Five and a Half Mile Creek the previous weekend, but she was also on a secret, personal mission of her own.

She’d known Wil Hudson—though his name hadn’t been Hudson then and her name hadn’t been Freya—when they’d both been thirteen and in foster care. Wil had proved a true friend to her when her safety had been threatened. But she hadn’t seen him since. Helping her boss edit the wedding shoot, she’d immediately recognised the handsome, dark-haired groom as grown-up Wil.

She’d felt an immense rush of relief that he’d found happiness with a lovely wife and a sweet baby daughter. Things had, thank heaven, turned out well for Wil. But she hadn’t shared any of those thoughts with her boss, Hugh. All she’d done was comment on what a beautiful wedding it was. And what an utterly gorgeous location.

‘I’m an old friend of Jackie Hudson, the mother of the groom,’ Hugh had said. ‘She was a well-known interior designer in her day—I first knew her as Jacqueline Travis. She asked me at the wedding could I photograph the newly redecorated homestead. It’s a job right up your alley, Freya, would be a good thing for your portfolio. Why don’t you take over the shoot?’

A shiver of what she wasn’t sure was excitement or trepidation had run up her spine. ‘But won’t your friend expect you to do it?’

‘I shot the wedding purely as a favour. Besides, Jackie doesn’t live there any more. Her older son, Ned, is running the place. Good, steady kind of guy.’

Boring kind of guy, Freya translated.

She dated creative, interesting men—much good that they had done her. Her last relationship had been with a rock musician. She’d thought he’d sung to her soul, but in truth he was manipulative and borderline abusive. Freya been left with a bruised heart and hadn’t let down her barriers to a man since.

She knew she should say no to the assignment. Wil had found the happy life he deserved. Freya had made something of herself too. Her traumatic past was something to be pushed to the furthest corners of her mind. She had no desire to intrude on Wil’s new life. But she loved shooting interiors. And she couldn’t deny she was curious about the home her old friend had ended up with after those awful years in foster care and institutions. She’d like to see Five and a Half Mile Creek.

‘I’ll check with her son to see if it’s okay,’ she’d said. ‘Show me which one he is in the wedding photos.’

She’d flicked through the images of Ned Hudson, the best man. He was good-looking in a rugged, manly way—tall, wore a tux well. Even in the photos, he seemed to have a presence, as if people would take note of what he had to say. He didn’t look anything like Wil but, of course, they weren’t related by blood.

She’d felt some trepidation about informing Ned Hudson she was replacing his mother’s choice of photographer. But when she’d called him, and had a brief, to-the-point conversation, he’d raised no objections. So here she was, ten days after the wedding, at one of the grandest pastoral properties in the country—owned by people who were in the highest echelons of society.

She drove slowly up the long, tree-lined driveway to the house, set in what must be an acre of glorious, well-tended gardens bright with autumnal colour in the early morning sun. It was more mansion than farmhouse, an imposing Victorian-era building with peaked slate roofs and turrets and surrounded on all sides by wide verandas.

She’d seen the wedding photos, but still she was knocked out by the house’s classic beauty and elegance. This was serious money. Old money. But she wasn’t intimidated. She’d shot interiors in some of the finest homes in Melbourne for the glossiest of lifestyle magazines. She could do this one justice.

Freya negotiated the circular gravel driveway and parked the van as close as she could to the house. She swung herself out of the driver’s seat, to be greeted by crisp morning air, the scent of roses...and the furious barking of a dog.

The black-and-white border collie stood on the wide veranda just steps away, in front of the double-fronted door. Freya froze, paralysed by her fear of dogs. One of her foster parents had had a vicious mutt they’d used to keep the children in order. It had never bitten her, but its ominous snarling and bared teeth had established a terror she’d never got over.

A man shouldered his way through the door. ‘Molly, stay,’ a deep masculine voice commanded.

Ned Hudson. She recognised him immediately as he strode out onto the veranda. Tall, broad-shouldered, more handsome than the photos gave him credit for. He was totally in charge of the dog. At his command, it dropped to the floor. ‘Good girl. Miss Delaney is a friend,’ he said, as he scratched it behind the ears.

The dog had ceased its fearsome barking but its pink tongue lolled from its scarily sharp white teeth. As long as it didn’t come any closer, Freya thought, she’d be okay. She took a deep breath to calm herself. How mortifying to be cringing in terror at a dog on a farm, where, of course, you would expect a dog to be.

‘Don’t worry about Molly,’ Ned Hudson said. ‘She’s a sweet old girl. Her days working with sheep are over, so she makes it her mission to guard the house. Now I’ve told her you’re a friend she’ll drop her guard.’

‘Er, that’s good,’ Freya said, keeping a wary eye on the animal. All dogs, even fluffy little white ones, terrified her. She felt okay with cats but had never owned one. A pet was too much commitment—and commitment scared her more than even the most ferocious dog.

Ned stood at the top of the steps, towering over her, even taller than he looked in the photos, with a strong-jawed face, light brown hair and clear blue eyes. She caught her breath.

Not boring at all.

As he took the steps in just a few long-legged strides she stood transfixed at how attractive she found him. Not her type, of course. But he was so big, so strong, so rural. In his dark blue jeans and a blue-and-black checked shirt he was totally in keeping with his surroundings with the confidence of a wealthy man utterly sure of his place in the world.

Whereas she, scared of dogs, with a wide purple stripe in her hair, wearing skinny black jeans, a flowing black top and ankle boots that were perfectly in keeping with her inner-city Melbourne lifestyle, suddenly felt very, very out of place.

All the old insecurities she’d battled so hard to overcome threatened to come rushing back.

She didn’t belong here.

Especially under false pretences—she had no intention of revealing to Ned Hudson that she’d ever known his brother Wil. She would just be Freya the photographer, do her job efficiently and head back down that driveway as soon as she could.

Ned didn’t know what he had been expecting the replacement photographer to be like—to be honest he hadn’t given her much thought—but Freya Delaney made him look twice. She was about his age, he guessed, petite, slender, arty in the way she dressed and quite lovely—wide cheekbones and a determined jaw saving her from doll-like prettiness. Her pale blonde hair was streaked with purple.

She took a step towards him. ‘I’m Freya,’ she said. ‘Not Miss Delaney. And I’ll try not to be too frightened of your dog.’

A slight breeze lifted her long lavender-coloured scarf so it wafted behind her like wings. She laughed as she tried to bat it back into place, twisting and turning as she did so. Her hair shone like a pale gold halo in the morning sun and her eyes gleamed a brilliant shade of blue. Ned wasn’t a fanciful man but for a moment she seemed like some fey, other-worldly creature who had flitted in from the rose garden behind her.

He shook his head to clear it of the ridiculous thought.

Where in hell did that come from?

He held out his hand, ready to begin his ‘welcome to Five and a Half Mile Creek’ spiel but the words choked in his throat and something disconcertingly different came out.

‘You like purple,’ he said, indicating the purple van, the streak in her hair, the tiny purple stone in her eyebrow ring, more purple glinting at her earlobes.

He knew the comment was inane the second that it slipped out. Damn. He could be cursedly awkward when it came to chit-chat. Her eyes widened but she politely shook his hand in a firm grasp for just the required amount of time.

‘Yes, I love purple,’ she said with a delightful curving of her lips. ‘It’s the colour of creativity.’ Her voice was slightly husky in an intriguing contrast to her very feminine appearance.

‘You’re a photographer—that makes sense.’

She gave a small, self-deprecating shrug that he found charming. ‘Not all my photography is creative,’ she said. ‘Most of it is commercial, the highlight being a Christmas tree decorated with small cans of cat food instead of baubles.’

He laughed. ‘Really? That sounds creative to me.’

Again, that little shrug. ‘It did look rather cute. And I believe it sold a lot of cat food. But the shoot was hardly the highlight of my career. I hope wearing purple will better channel my creativity for my own, more artistic photography.’

If anyone else had said that, Ned would have snorted his disbelief. But from this woman it seemed to make a curious kind of sense. She put her left hand to a purple-stoned earring without, he thought, realising she was doing so. He noticed one thing she didn’t wear was a purple-stoned ring. Any ring, in fact, on her pale, slender fingers.

‘Also my birthday is in February and amethyst is my birthstone.’ She paused, flushed high on her cheekbones. ‘But you don’t want to hear all that.’

But he did. Suddenly Ned wanted to know more about Freya Delaney. ‘My mother is very creative,’ he said.

‘What’s her birthstone?’ Freya asked.

Now it was his turn to shrug. ‘No idea,’ he said. It wasn’t part of the knowledge bank of a man running thousands of acres devoted to sheep and mixed grains, handling multiple high-stakes investments.

‘Your mother is a big name in her field. I looked her up.’

‘She’s pretty much retired these days.’

Ned was proud of his mother’s achievements, the beautiful home she had created for her family on the bones of the historic property. But his mother’s creative drive had not come without its demands. Jacqueline Travis had been a city girl at the top of her career game who had fallen for a country guy—and settling down on Five and a Half Mile Creek hadn’t been without its problems. Ned knew from painful experience how difficult that had been for her, his father, and him as his mother had battled to both keep up her career and make a home out here. Periodically, she had packed up and headed back to Melbourne for weeks on end—leaving her young son torn between his mother and the home he loved.