The Millionaire Next Door

“I really should go.”

“How many times are you going to say that?” Hudson asked.

“Until I convince myself to follow through, I guess.”

“I like you, Amanda. I also want you. I guess that’s no big surprise. But maybe it would be better if we didn’t go there.”

She nodded. “Much wiser.”

“Good night, then.”

“Yes, good night.” She turned, got as far as the door, actually had her hand on the knob when she turned to look at him one more time.

The naked hunger she saw in his eyes did her in. No man had ever looked at her like that, as if she was the last morsel of bread on earth. And Amanda could no more deny her own desire than she could stop breathing.

“Don’t look so glum about it. I have to lower my blood pressure, too. We can work on it together.”

She brightened. “Could we make it a contest? Whoever lowers their blood pressure the most gets, um…” Gets to kiss the other one senseless.

The Millionaire Next Door

Kara Lennox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Texas native Kara Lennox has been an art director, typesetter, advertising copywriter, textbook editor and reporter. She’s worked in a boutique, a health club and has conducted telephone surveys. She’s been an antiques dealer and briefly ran a clipping service. But no work has made her happier than writing romance novels.

When Kara isn’t writing, she indulges in an ever-changing array of weird hobbies, from rock climbing to crystal digging. But her mind is never far from her stories. Just about anything can send her running to her computer to jot down a new idea for some future novel.

Books by Kara Lennox

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

841—VIRGIN PROMISE

856—TWIN EXPECTATIONS

871—TAME AN OLDER MAN

893—BABY BY THE BOOK

917—THE UNLAWFULLY WEDDED PRINCESS

934—VIXEN IN DISGUISE *

942—PLAIN JANE’S PLAN*

951—SASSY CINDERELLA*

974—FORTUNE’S TWINS

991—THE MILLIONAIRE NEXT DOOR

Rx

Name: Hudson Stack, M.D.

Diagnosis: High Blood Pressure

General Instructions:

• Take a vacation in a small Texas town.

• Spend some quality time with your adorable daughter.

• Learn how to fish.

• Fall head over heels in love with your beautiful blond neighbor.

Signed: George Blake Stimson, M.D.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Prologue

Hudson Stack, M.D., sat in the office of George Blake Stimson, Chief of Surgery at Boston General, his irritation rising as he learned the results of his mandatory physical.

“Your blood pressure is in the red zone,” George said, continuing a long harangue. “Your cholesterol is off the charts, your triglycerides are completely out of whack. Your caffeine consumption is three times what it ought to be. Your reflexes are slow, you’re sleep deprived, and you’re irritable. And no doctor, I don’t care how famous or how popular, is going to operate on patients in my hospital when he’s falling apart.”

“Are you telling me I’m fired?” Hudson asked, alarmed. He’d had these little discussions with George before. Usually the crusty old surgeon warned him to take it easy, eat healthier, get more sleep, that sort of thing.

Hudson had believed his job was secure. He’d recently become the hospital’s best public relations tool. Inventing an artificial valve that was going to save millions of lives had put Hudson’s name in the medical journals. Saving the mayor’s life with an emergency quintuple bypass had put his name in the headlines. Most recently, Boston Life magazine had named him “Boston’s Hottest Bachelor,” ensuring he remain in the public eye far longer than Hudson would have liked.

“Of course you’re not fired. Administration would tar and feather me if I did that. But you are going on vacation, starting now.”

“I can’t,” Hudson immediately replied. “I’ve got two surgeries in the morning and three more—”

“Those surgeries will be reassigned to other surgeons.”

“You can’t do that.”

“I can and will do whatever it takes. Would you want a surgeon in your shape operating on your heart?”

“There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“Your test results speak differently.”

Hudson knew that arguing was fruitless. George’s word was like God’s around here. Hudson could appeal to no one; no one would take his side.

“I suppose I could use a few days off,” he finally said, grudgingly. And maybe it was true. He hadn’t seen his daughter in a week—at least, not awake. He usually got home long after she was in bed. He would spend a few minutes just looking at Bethany as she slept, reassuring himself that she was fine.

“I’m not talking about a few days,” George said. “I want you to take off at least a month. And I want you to get far, far away from Boston and go someplace where nobody knows you. And I want you to learn to fish.”

Hudson just sat there, stunned. A month? He couldn’t take that long away from his work.

“Hudson, I’m not speaking now as your superior, but as your friend. You’re a heart attack waiting to happen. Maybe not this week, or this year, but you’re heading in that general direction. I even heard you were seen smoking.”

“What snitch told you that?” He smoked two, maybe three cigarettes a day. Smoking gave him an excuse to slip outside, alone, and do nothing for a few minutes.

George rolled his eyes. He handed Hudson a piece of paper with an address and phone number on it. “Ed Hardison and I were in med school together. He lives in Texas. I want you to call him. He’ll find a place for you to stay. He has a fishing boat and all the tackle.”

This was like some drug-induced nightmare. Texas? In the summer? “You’re serious about the fishing?”

“It’s the best therapy for stress I can think of,” George said with a dreamy look in his eye. “Take your kid. Spend a month or two doing absolutely nothing. After that, you’ll have another physical. If you look better then, you can come back to work.”

Hudson went straight home, cursing the entire time. He was just angry enough that he was going to call George’s bluff. There were probably half a dozen hospitals in the Boston area drooling to have him on staff.

As he waited for an interminable traffic light to change, he checked his cell phone messages. Janey had called with a litany of reminders: have his tux cleaned, have his car serviced, call his aunt on her birthday tomorrow. Oh, and the Heart Association fund-raiser was Friday night.

His mother had called with a similar list—and he was planning to take Janey to the fund-raiser, right?

He sighed. He hated black-tie affairs, but they were a necessary evil, he supposed. At least he never had to scrounge for a date. Janey was always available. He probably should just marry her and get it over with. He knew she would say yes if he asked. Lord knew she’d been hinting at it long enough.

Another message was from some radio station that wanted to interview him. He erased that one. The last thing he wanted was more publicity.

The final three messages were from women he’d never heard of who thought they were just what a lonely but rich doctor might need to make his life complete. He made a mental note to have his phone number changed—again.

He parked his Jaguar at the curb and stomped through the front door of his Back Bay brownstone. Though he owned two other houses, he’d bought this one because it was close to the hospital. He’d intended to spend only an occasional night here, when he didn’t want to face a long drive home late at night. But he’d found it so convenient, he’d ended up living here full-time.

He headed straight for his home office. But the sound of a little girl’s laughter stopped him.

Bethany. Guilt needled his conscience. He really should spend more time with her. Though his mother and mother-in-law took turns caring for Bethany, and they both seemed anxious for the privilege, nothing took the place of a father’s love and attention. He set down his briefcase and headed up the stairs to the living room. It was lunchtime. He would eat lunch with Bethany, he decided. Then he would figure out his next move.

He found Bethany sitting on the floor of the living room watching TV. She had spread the sofa cushions all over the Persian rug in some game of pretend, and was now sprawled across them, her thumb in her mouth.

“Bethany!” his mother, Judith, called from the dining room. “Lunch is ready. Come quickly, now, before it gets cold.”

Bethany, not seeing Hudson, hopped up and scampered to obey her Grandma Judith. Hudson smiled. His daughter was a well-behaved girl, thanks to the time she spent with her grandmothers, who were already grooming her to be a debutante.

Looking forward to eating lunch with his daughter, Hudson paused to pick up the sofa cushions so his mother wouldn’t fuss. Since his housekeeper always prepared too much food, he knew there would be plenty.

“Is Philip eating with us?” he heard Bethany ask from the dining room. Philip was Judith’s chauffeur.

“Bethany, dear, Philip is a servant. Now that you’re a young lady, you don’t eat with the servants.”

Hudson cringed. He was all for Bethany growing up into a refined young lady, but he didn’t condone snobbery. His mother, however, had been raised in a different era, and she couldn’t be talked out of her opinions about class and station.

“But I like Philip,” Bethany argued. “When he takes me to school, I tell everybody he’s my daddy.”

Hudson froze, horrified.

“Now, Bethany,” Judith said in a very reasonable tone, though her voice shook, “we’ve talked about this. Philip is a very nice man, and you should always be kind to him. But he is not your father.”

Hudson didn’t think, he just acted. He waltzed into the room, a smile pasted on his face.

Bethany stared at him in surprise. “Daddy!”

At least she recognized him. “Good news,” he announced. “Bethany and I are going on a father-daughter vacation. We’re going to learn to fish.”

Chapter One

“Look, Daddy, a cowboy!” Bethany squealed.

Hudson had just pulled his rental car into a space on the Cottonwood, Texas, town square. Sure enough, a wiry man wearing faded Wrangler jeans, pointy-toed boots and a white cowboy hat climbed out of the truck next to their car. He saw them, smiled and tipped his hat before going on about his business.

Bethany stared at him in rapt fascination, and kept right on staring as she climbed out of the rental car. Everything delighted her.

He took her hand and they walked into Tri-County Realty, which George’s friend Ed Hardison had recommended. A woman in her fifties with a bleach-blond beehive and thin, penciled eyebrows sat behind a desk talking on the phone. She made eye contact with Hudson and held up a finger to indicate she’d be with him in a minute.

Hudson nodded, his irritation rising. He’d been looking forward to escaping all the attention he’d been receiving in Boston, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be ignored.

He wandered over to a bulletin board that featured photographs of various properties for sale and for rent. Bethany climbed up on a chair to study the photos with him.

“I want to live here, Daddy,” she said, pointing to the most opulent home on the board, a huge mansion on the lake. The asking price was almost a million dollars, which seemed cheap to Hudson. In Boston a property like that would cost three or four times as much.

“That one’s for sale, not for rent,” he explained, though he had no idea if Bethany understood the difference. “When the nice lady gets off the phone, we’ll see everything that’s available.”

“Margie never gets off the phone,” a voice from an interior office called out. The voice was brisk, but with a honey-edged Southern accent.

Intrigued, Hudson followed the sound of the voice through a doorway, finding himself in a large, well-appointed office with a view of the town square. But the woman who worked here apparently didn’t want to take advantage of the view. She had her desk turned so she had her back to the window, and the shades were drawn.

Her walls were covered with plaques—top seller for her company, at least three years running. Million Dollar Club. An award from the chamber of commerce for Cottonwood’s Ambassador of the Year. Other spots on the wall were filled with framed letters from grateful clients. Hudson recognized the name of a country-western singer and a former lieutenant governor.

The woman stood up and held out her hand, shaking his with a firm grip that made him fear for his surgeon’s hands. It seemed odd that such a delicate hand could wield so much strength. “Nice to meet you. I’m Amanda Dewhurst.”

“Hudson. Stack.” He held his breath, waiting for the inevitable reaction. Back home, if someone didn’t instantly recognize him, they at least knew his name. Oh, you’re that bachelor doctor guy. At which point they would wax eloquent about their uncle’s heart disease or try to set him up with a little sister.

He was tired of dealing with that. He didn’t want anyone bothering him, inviting him to parties, interviewing him for the paper or trying to seduce him. He just wanted to be a guy on vacation with his daughter. He didn’t hold out much hope. His notoriety as a surgeon might not extend this far from Boston, but everyone knew who the Boston Stacks were. They were right up there with the Kennedys. For generations, Stacks had been senators, judges, philanthropists and tycoons.

Amazingly, Amanda didn’t bat an eye. “Pleased to meet you.” She turned a dazzling smile on Bethany. “Hi, sugar. What’s your name? Would you like a piece of candy?” Amanda looked up at Hudson. “Can she have a piece of candy?”

“I don’t eat candy,” Bethany said primly. “It rots your teeth.”

“So it does,” Amanda replied, her composure unshaken. “How about an apple?”

A tiny refrigerator sat behind Amanda’s desk. When she opened it, he caught a glimpse of can after can of Slimfast—and one red apple. She grabbed the apple and brought it out, offering it to Bethany.

Bethany accepted the apple, thanked Amanda, then didn’t eat it. She seemed enthralled with the beautiful office—and with Amanda herself, whom Hudson confessed wasn’t bad to look at. She was petite, with silver-blond hair and a pixie face. Her hair was unfortunately pulled into a tight twist, piquing Hudson’s curiosity. How long was it?

She wore a red skirt with a sheer white blouse and a black patent-leather belt at her slim waist. Her nails were shiny red and salon-fresh, her complexion fair and flawless, her lips skillfully painted. She was about as well put together as any woman he’d ever seen, and he’d spent his whole life around females with wealth and style.

The surprise was finding her in this backwater town.

“What can I do for you this fine spring day?” she asked.

“We’re looking for a furnished house to rent. Ed Hardison said I should go through Tri-County.”

Amanda smiled. “You’re friends of the Hardisons? Such nice people,” she went on without waiting for an answer. “I sold Allison Hardison’s house a few months ago when she and Jeff got married. What kind of house are you looking for?”

“We want a house with a lake,” Bethany said.

Amanda beamed. “We have some lovely lakefront homes available. Are you new to the area?”

“Just visiting,” Hudson said. “We’ll only be here a month. We’re looking for a furnished rental.”

Amanda’s smile faltered. “Oh.”

“Is that a problem?”

“It’s just that most of the rentals require at least a six-month lease. But that’s okay. I can find something. Let me check our listings.”

“We want the big house—out there,” Bethany said, pointing to the outer office.

Amanda got a dreamy look in her eye. “You must mean the Clooney place. It’s the prettiest house on the lake. Unfortunately, it’s not for rent.”

Hudson almost agreed to buy it. It was hard for him to deny his daughter anything. But the house probably wouldn’t come with furniture, and he didn’t want to spend his whole vacation buying stuff for a house he would occupy for a few weeks, tops.

“I’m sure we can find something else,” he said.

Amanda’s pretty hands flew over her computer keyboard in a curiously sensual way. Hudson found himself staring at those hands, and the way her breasts jiggled ever so slightly with the enthusiasm she put into the typing. That sheer blouse revealed a lacy camisole underneath.

She called up property after property on the computer, rejecting each one for one reason or another. Some weren’t furnished. Some wouldn’t take children. Some were already rented.

“You don’t have any pets, do you?” Amanda asked.

“No,” Hudson said. Thank God.

“But I’m going to get a pony,” Bethany said hopefully.

Amanda pored over her listings, but she couldn’t locate a single rental house on the lake that didn’t have some barrier to Hudson renting it. He could have offered more money. Every fussy landlord had his price. But he didn’t want to call attention to his financial status. He was playing the part of an average guy, and an average guy didn’t have money to burn.

“I have several rentals in town,” Amanda said hopefully. “There’s a beautiful Victorian right on the square.”

“I want to be on the water,” Hudson said firmly. “I’m here to fish.”

“What about the Skillman cabin?” Margie called from the reception area.

Amanda’s face stiffened. “I don’t think you’d be interested in that one.”

“Why not?” Hudson asked.

“It’s small, for one thing.”

“There’s just the two of us.”

“And I’m little so I don’t take up much room,” Bethany added.

“It’s furnished,” Margie called.

“Margie, do you want to come in here and work with Mr. Stack?” Amanda asked, though the teasing tone in her voice softened the sarcasm. “I could take a coffee break.”

“Well, I’m just trying to help. Jeez.”

“So what about this cabin?” Hudson asked. “Do you have a picture of it?”

Amanda sighed. “Yes, somewhere. It’s not in the computer yet. I’m afraid it doesn’t have much curb appeal. It’s rather…rustic.”

Bethany climbed up in her chair and leaned over the desk, to better observe what Amanda was doing. “What does rustic mean, Daddy?”

“It means, um, old-fashioned and not very luxurious.”

“Like Grandma Ruth’s apartment?”

“Sort of.” Hudson’s mother-in-law lived in an old brownstone, with fashionably worn Oriental rugs, creaking wood floors, 1960s appliances and a rotary telephone. He supposed some people would consider that rustic. Ruth Hanover had enough money to buy any modern luxury she wanted, but she insisted nothing worthwhile had been manufactured in the past thirty years.

Finally Amanda produced a creased photo of a no-frills A-frame log cabin, not very big. But it did have a dock.

“Does it have electricity and running water?” Hudson asked.

“Sometimes. I really don’t think—”

“It’s like Abe Lincoln’s house!” Bethany exclaimed. “I want to live there, Daddy.”

Well, that cinched it. “Can we go see it?”

“Okay,” Amanda replied without much enthusiasm.

AMANDA WISHED Margie had kept her suggestions to herself. She didn’t want to rent out the Skillman cabin, because it happened to be next door to her own. Every single renter who’d leased the cabin had been noisy, annoying and low class. The last tenant had thrown loud parties and trashed the place, and the Skillmans hadn’t bothered to clean it up. Now it was empty, and Amanda preferred it that way.

Still, Hudson didn’t appear to be rowdy, though it was always hard to tell on a first meeting. He was good-looking, that was for sure. Though he was at least in his mid-thirties, his body had a youthful vigor, all lean muscle and smooth coordination. His hair was short and dark, but she could tell it had some natural curl to it. He had a square jaw, square shoulders and square hands—not much softness to him.

She liked that.

His East Coast accent called to mind Kennedys and Rockefellers. But somehow she doubted he fell into that category, or he’d be vacationing in Martha’s Vineyard or some such place. Cottonwood’s reputation as a fishing and boating mecca was growing, and it drew visitors from Dallas and Houston. But Boston?

The fact Hudson was even considering the rundown Skillman cabin meant he probably didn’t have a lot of money. Still, a commission was a commission. Maybe he’d like it here and decide to stay, and she’d sell him a house.

At any rate, she wasn’t going to let Mary Jo Dickens get him. Mary Jo was vying with Amanda for first place in sales this month, and Amanda didn’t like it one bit. Amanda had boasted top sales every month for four years, and she intended to maintain her streak. Even a small commission might be enough to edge Mary Jo ahead of Amanda.

She unlocked the doors of her silver Lincoln with a press of a button on her key chain.

“This is a pretty car,” Bethany said when they were all settled into the soft leather seats.

“Thank you,” Amanda said. The payments were eating her alive, but she firmly believed a luxurious car put her clients in the mood to buy. “So what brings you to Cottonwood?”

“Daddy got fired,” Bethany announced, as if it were something to be proud of.

Alarm bells went off in Amanda’s mind. If Mr. Stack didn’t have a job, how was he going to pay for even a small rental house? Lakefront property wasn’t cheap, not even the Skillman cabin.

“Let’s call it a leave of absence, Bethany,” Hudson said quickly. “A long-overdue vacation, really.”

“And what sort of work do you do?”

She wasn’t sure, but she thought he tensed at the question. And he didn’t answer right away. Finally he said, “I work at a hospital.”

She observed him from the corner of her eye. His clothes, while a bit rumpled, appeared to be quality made. He had a good haircut and nice teeth that had probably seen braces. Nice eyes, too, a very deep, sincere brown.

“Are you a doctor?” she finally asked when he offered no more details.

Again, that slight tension. “I do repair work.”

Was he lying? Was he an escaped convict, or a non-custodial dad who’d kidnapped his daughter?

Well, it was none of her business, so long as he could pay the rent. And if he really was a repairman, maybe he could do some work on the Skillman cabin. The owners would probably give him a break on the rent if he did a little patching and painting. She mentioned this possibility to him.