Cara Colter - Rescued by the Millionaire

“Hey, don’t cry. It’s going to be all right.”

Daniel Riverton put his arms underneath her. She could smell the crisp, clean scent of him and feel the banded muscle of his arms as he slid them beneath her.

For a moment Trixie had to shut her eyes against a wave of dizziness. When she opened them she expected she would have a more realistic perspective of her rescuer.

Instead her first impression deepened. Now she could see him fully, and he really was the most mouthwatering man she had ever seen.

She knew he really was incredibly, heart-stoppingly handsome. Add to that her every sense tingling with the blissful awareness of life’s glories that a close brush with catastrophe could bring, and Daniel Riverton was irresistible.

“Please stop crying. I’ve got you.”

Rescued by the Millionaire

Cara Colter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CARA COLTERlives in British Columbia with her partner, Rob, and eleven horses. She has three grown children and a grandson. She is a recent recipient of an RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award in the Love and Laughter category. Cara loves to hear from readers, and you can contact her or learn more about her through her website: www.cara-colter.com.

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To my friend Debbie Kepke, who put the “try” in triathalon. Thanks for allowing me to be part of the journey.

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

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

EPILOGUE

EXCERPT

CHAPTER ONE

THE PITTER-PATTER of little feet.

Daniel Riverton lay on the sofa contemplating that saying with utter dislike. It seemed to him he had always heard that expression spoken with affection, usually by his mother who seemed to hold out the hope, despite all the evidence to the contrary—and her considerable contribution to his cynicism about romance—that he was going to provide her with grandchildren someday.

His mother. Twenty-two text messages today. Who on earth had taught her to text, anyway?

Urgent. Please call. Are you avoiding me?

At least the pitter-patter of little feet was providing something of a distraction from that. But obviously that expression would never be used with affection by anyone who had tried living below apartment 602 Harrington Place for the past four days.

Obviously that expression would never be used, period, by anyone being subjected to the actual pitter-patter of little feet. At three in the morning, when the owners of said little feet should be in bed, fast asleep.

As far as Daniel could tell, the owners of said little feet had woken up at about the same time he was getting home from a long, productive and wonderfully challenging day of avoiding his mother’s phone calls and looking after business at his company, River’s Edge Enterprises. Today, he had put in fourteen hours, had a light dinner with friends and come home just wanting the most simple of pleasures: a good night’s sleep.

At two in the morning he had moved from his bedroom after it had become evident the little monsters from upstairs were jumping on a bed located somewhere directly above his head.

But the pitter-patter of little feet had followed him. For the past hour they had been running in a frantic, tight circle right above his new location on the sofa. The light fixture above him—Swarovski, apparently—was trembling and shuddering ominously.

The condominium manager, Mrs. Bulittle, had been unsympathetic about his complaints. “Yes, Mr. Riverton, it is an adult only building, but people are allowed to have children visit.”

This said as if he, Daniel, the victim of the pitter-pattering, was the nuisance, as if he had said children shouldn’t be allowed in the world, not asked for the right to quiet enjoyment in his own premises, heavy emphasis on the quiet.

Temporary premises, thank goodness. The Harrington was an older building, surrounded with lilacs, rather than the more modern aesthetic for landscaping. Still, it had a sought-after southwest Calgary location right on the edge of lower Mount Royal.

The circa 1970 apartments had been converted to condos. Despite Kevin’s extravagant upgrades to this unit, it was more than evident no one had given soundproofing a thought back in the good old days.

Was it even possible to soundproof against such an onslaught?

While he was feeling annoyed with expressions, Daniel decided to add “never look a gift horse in the mouth” to his list. Three in the morning was a great time to compile lists of trivial sayings and to look gift horses in the mouth.

It had seemed serendipitous when his best friend Kevin Wilson, owner of 502, had been going overseas on a photography assignment for three months at the very same time Daniel’s own premises—a very upscale loft conversion that was completely soundproof—was undergoing a major renovation.

At the very same time he was going into hiding from his mother.

He owned the building. His loft apartment was right above his business, and he was the only person who lived in the building, a fact he would be a great deal more grateful for when he returned to it.

He’d been talked into the renovation when he’d been seeing an interior designer, Angelica. He’d already known they weren’t going anywhere as a couple, and so had she. They both had extraordinarily demanding professional lives—the pitter-patter of little feet not even a blip on either of their radars—but he had liked the bachelor chic of her design, a design notably lacking a Swarovski crystal chandelier.

The renovation had now outlasted the relationship by several weeks. The breakup had been amiable, as were most of his breakups.

When he had complained to the manager about the noise in 602 for the third time, Mrs. Bulittle had sniffed and said, “It’s not as if Mr. Wilson hasn’t had a noisy party or two.”

Daniel was pretty sure he’d heard the slightest touch of smugness in her voice, which was possible since Mrs. Bulittle lived directly below 502, in 402.

She had no doubt suffered a night or two of lost sleep herself, since Daniel could vouch for the noisiness of several parties he had attended in this very apartment.

Ah, he and Kevin had enviable lives. Successful thirtysomethings, unattached, and pretty much devoted to keeping it that way, much to the chagrin of both their mothers!

Daniel, where are you staying during the reno of your loft? I can’t reach you. Is this any way to treat your mother?

Mom, I’m fine. Just busy.

He followed that with a couple of heart symbols. He liked texting! You could have the pretext of intimacy while being totally disengaged. To assuage the slight guilt he was feeling for avoiding her, he sent her flowers, thanking his lucky stars that her marriage to Pierre had landed her in Montreal and she loved it there and still lived there. If she was local and lacking his current address? She would be camped out in his office!