Natasha Oakley - Millionaire Dad - Wife Needed

Dear Reader,

Who was it who said “You make your plans and then life happens?” Certainly that’s true of my life.

It’s also true for Nick and Lydia in this story. By the end of this book they’ve learned a great deal about themselves…and each other. For Nick, full-time parenting is something of a challenge. And Lydia—well, she has to sort out what her dreams really are before she finds her happy ending. Just like all of us!

The British sign language Nick’s daughter, Rosie, uses to communicate is a particular passion of mine.

It all began for me when I was in an open-air production of Much Ado About Nothing, which was “signed” once a week. Sitting in the bushes waiting for my next entrance, I had a perfect view of the interpreter—who was amazing. I fell in love. Not with the man himself, although he was quite gorgeous, but with the language.

I’m now a qualified communicator—and in a few years I’m sure Nick will join me.

With love,

Natasha

NATASHA OAKLEY

told everyone at her primary school she wanted to be an author when she grew up. Her plan was to stay at home and have her mum bring her coffee at regular intervals—a drink she didn’t like then. The coffee addiction became reality, and the love of storytelling stayed with her. A professional actress, Natasha began writing when her fifth child started to sleep through the night. Born in London, she now lives in Bedfordshire with her husband and young family. When not writing, or needed for “crowd control,” she loves to escape to antiques fairs and auctions. Find out more about Natasha and her books on her Web site— www.natashaoakley.com.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Silhouette Romance® is thrilled to bring you

a sparkling new book from British author

Natasha Oakley

Her poignant and emotional writing

will tug on your heartstrings.

“Her words shoot straight to your heart just like Cupid’s

arrow. Ms. Oakley has a special talent for making you

fall in love with her characters.”

—writersunlimited.com

“One of the best writers of contemporary

romance writing today!”

—cataromance.com

“Emotional, romantic and unforgettable,

Natasha Oakley aims straight for your heart with

richly drawn characters, powerfully intense emotions

and heart-stopping romance!”

—cataromance.com

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

THERE was no one there.

Lydia Stanford set her heavy briefcase down and banged again on the dark blue front door of the cottage, stepping back to look at the top floor windows that peeked sleepily out of a roof of handmade tiles.

It was picturesque, but she wasn’t here to admire the view and it all looked ominously quiet. There was no glint of movement in the upstairs rooms. No sound of radio or television in the background. Nothing.

Well, nothing except the half-open window above the ramshackle single brick addition at the back. She lifted the brass plate covering the letterbox and peered inside. ‘Ms Bennington? Are you there?’

Total silence.

‘Ms Bennington? It’s Lydia Stanford. We have an appointment at ten.’

Had an appointment at ten, she corrected silently. It was now nearly twenty past. Damn and blast the woman. Where was she? Lydia straightened and shook back her hair. What exactly was she supposed to do now?

Was it possible Wendy Bennington had forgotten their meeting? Lydia wrinkled her nose and stared at the closed door as though it held all the answers. It didn’t seem likely she’d have forgotten. The woman was in her late seventies but had a mind so sharp she made politicians quake at the knees the minute she opened her mouth. She’d lay money on her not forgetting a thing. Ever.

Which was why she’d grabbed at the chance to write an authorised biography of Wendy Bennington. It was the kind of once-in-a-lifetime opportunity which meant she’d broken off her first holiday in five years. Why she’d got the first flight back to London and had immersed herself in researching the inveterate campaigner’s astonishing life.

So where was she? Lydia peered round the empty garden as though she expected to see Wendy Bennington walk up the path. Just yesterday the older woman had sounded so enthusiastic about the project; surely she wouldn’t have gone out? And leaving a window open? No one did that any more.

Lydia sucked in her breath and considered her options. She could, of course, get back in her car and drive back up the motorway to London. Or she could go and get a coffee in Cambridge and come back in an hour or so. Either one would be an irritating waste of her time.

She pushed the bell and rattled the letterbox. Even though it didn’t seem worth doing, she bent down and shouted loudly, ‘Ms Bennington?’ Through the narrow opening she could see the green swirly patterned carpet, but nothing else. The cottage seemed completely deserted.

She half closed the plate, her fingers still on the brass. It wasn’t a voice or even a definite noise that made her pause. Perhaps it was a sixth sense that something was wrong. She called again, ‘Ms Bennington, are you there?’

Silence. And then a soft thud. Almost.

‘Hello? Hello, Ms Bennington?’

She couldn’t be absolutely certain, but she thought she heard the sound again. Not a footstep or someone falling…nothing that obvious. But something. She was almost sure of it.

Lydia straightened and shifted her briefcase into her other hand. Of course it could be nothing more exciting than a cat knocking over a waste-paper basket, but…

But if that soft noise had been the elderly lady’s attempt to attract attention she wouldn’t thank her for walking away and leaving her. Would she? She’d expect her to use her initiative…and do something. Which meant…

What?

Lydia chewed gently at the side of her mouth. It had to be worth a try at getting into the cottage through the open window. If Wendy Bennington had been taken ill…

It was possible. She might have fallen. Accidents in the home were very common, after all. If anything like that had happened, trying to get into the cottage would be the right thing to do. She glanced down at her watch, now showing twenty-five minutes past the hour.

With sudden energy, Lydia quickly walked round to the back of the cottage and stared at the small upstairs window. It was tantalisingly open. If she could just climb on to the flat roof, reaching the window would be child’s play. It didn’t look that difficult.

She glanced over her shoulder. There was no one around. No one to ask if they’d seen Wendy Bennington that morning.

There was no choice…

Lydia carefully concealed her briefcase beneath a large rhododendron and stood back to consider her options. It really wasn’t going to be difficult—as long as the flat roof was strong enough to take her weight.