Yvonne Lindsay - The Ceo's Contract Bride

“We what?” Gwen growled. “No way. That’s so not part of the deal. We’ve been there and done that. It didn’t work then—it sure as hell won’t work now.”

“My father’s expecting to see a devoted couple.”

Gwen froze. She had a very bad feeling. “How devoted?”

“We have to convince him it’s a love match.”

“I can’t do it.”

“Look, let’s not forget what you get in all this. You’re not doing it out of love.” He’d dealt his trump card, and they both knew it. She’d do anything to keep her house. Anything. If that meant being Declan’s radiant, devoted bride, she had to agree.

“Okay, I’ll do it.” Her voice was reduced to a whisper.

“We’d better get some practice in, then.”

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With heartfelt thanks beyond words, to my wonderful husband, children and family, for all your support and encouragement and for always standing by me and believing in my dream.

Dear Reader

When I was in primary school I met a girl who’d been “promised” to a young boy by her family. I remember being amazed that a marriage could be arranged when you were so young, and it was the fodder for many a daydream. Since then, I’ve always loved to read tales of arranged marriages and marriages of convenience, and I had a lot of fun writing this one, where I pushed together two people who really felt they ought to be apart.

The first version of this story won the Romance Writers of New Zealand 2004 Clendon Award. Back then Declan had a different name and was helping his brother out as a topless waiter when he met Gwen. The original idea came from my hairdresser who, together with a group of good friends, has ladies’ days that are catered by…you guessed it…hunky male topless waiters. Of course, that part of the story has now gone, but the incendiary attraction between Declan and Gwen still burns, as does, I hope, your enthusiasm for the Knight brothers. Watch out next for Mason and Helena’s story—available this March—for one more New Zealand Knight!

With very best wishes,

Yvonne Lindsay

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Coming Next Month

“Six weeks until the tender closes, mate.”

Declan Knight leaned back his office chair and grimaced at his youngest brother’s words as they echoed down the telephone line. He shot an irritated glance at his Rolex—yeah, six weeks. He could count off the seconds he had left to find the finance he needed to pull this project off.

“Don’t remind me,” he growled.

“Hey, it isn’t my fault Mum put that stipulation in her will for our trust funds. Besides, who’d have thought you’d still be one of New Zealand’s most wanted bachelors?”

Declan remained silent. He sensed Connor’s instant discomfort over the crackling line.

“Dec? I’m sorry, mate.”

“Yeah, I know.” Declan interrupted swiftly before his brother could say another word. “I gotta move on.” Move on from the reality that he hadn’t been able to save Renata, his fiancée, when she’d needed him most. For a minute he allowed her face to swirl through his memory before fading away to where he kept the past locked down—locked down with his guilt.

“So, you want to go out tonight? Have a drink maybe? Show the Auckland nightspots how to have a really good time?” Connor’s voice brought him back instantly.

“Sorry, previous engagement.” Declan scowled into the mouthpiece.

“Well, don’t sound so excited about it. What’s the occasion?”

“Steve Crenshaw’s prewedding party.”

“You’re kidding, right? Watch-the-paint-dry Steve?”

“I wish I were kidding.” The pencil Declan had been twiddling through his fingers snapped—the two pieces falling unheeded to the floor. His staid and übercautious finance manager was marrying the one woman in the world who was a constant reminder of his failure, and his deepest betrayal—Renata’s oldest and dearest friend, Gwen Jones.

“Maybe you should ask him for some tips on how to find a wife.”

Declan’s lips tweaked into a reluctant smile as he heard the suppressed laughter in his brother’s voice. “I don’t think so,” he answered.

“You’re probably right. Okay then. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Ciao, bro’.”

Declan slowly replaced the receiver. It wasn’t that he was short of women, in fact the opposite was true, but he sure as hell didn’t want to marry any of them. There wasn’t a single one who wouldn’t expect declarations of undying devotion—devotion he was incapable of giving.

He’d been there, done that. He would bear the scars forever. Losing Renata had been the hardest thing in his life. He was never going down that road again. And he wasn’t going to make promises he knew he couldn’t hold to. It just wasn’t his style, not now, not ever.

If he hadn’t had his business to pour his energies into when Renata had died he may as well have buried himself with her. In some ways he probably had, but it was a choice he’d made, and one he stuck to.

He spun out of his chair and headed for the shower in the old bathroom of the converted Art Deco building, thankful—not for the first time—that he’d kept a fully functional bathroom in the office building. It gave him no end of pride to base the administrative side of his work here—his first completed project—the one his father had said would never succeed.

The house had been in a sorry state of repair, stuck in the middle of what had once been a residential area and which had slowly been absorbed by the nearby light-industrial zone. It had been just the sort of project he’d needed to get his hands on, literally, and had given him the opportunity to showcase his talents to restore and convert historical buildings for practical as well as aesthetic means. Cavaliere Developments had come a long way from the fledgling business he’d created eight years ago—and had a long way further to go if he had any say in the matter.

As he peeled off his work clothes, bunching them into a large crumpled ball in his fists, he wondered for the hundredth time if maybe he hadn’t bitten off more than he could chew with the Sellers project. Buying the building outright wasn’t the problem, he could do that without a blip on his financial radar. But converting it to luxury apartments, reminiscent of the era the building was constructed, took serious bucks. Bucks his board of directors, now headed by his father, would never authorise.

He’d worked out a way he could do it, though, a way to skip past any potential stonewalling by the board, and had liquidated everything he owned—his house, his stock in his father’s company—everything, except his car and this building. He’d even temporarily moved in with his other brother, Mason, to minimise his expenses. But without the buffer of more funds his dream would be out of the running before he could even begin.