Kate Thomas - Daddy By Design? - Daddy By Design? / Her Perfect Wife

Two brand-new stories in every volume…twice a month!

Duets Vol. #69

Popular Barbara Daly serves up a delightful Double Duets this month featuring the smart, sexy, sassy Sumner sisters, Faith and Charity. The Telegraph Herald says this about Barbara’s books. Look for “…a delicious blend of humor, seduction and romance as refreshing as a day in New England.”

Duets Vol. #70

Cheryl Anne Porter returns with the second book in her humorous miniseries A FUNNY THING HAPPENED ON THE WAY TO THE DELIVERY ROOM. This talented writer always delivers “a funny ride—a roller coaster of fun and adventure.” Joining her is Silhouette author Kate Thomas with a neat premise. What does an overburdened working woman need these days? A stay-at-home “wife!”—in the form of the sexy, ever helpful hero!

Be sure to pick up both Duets volumes today!

Daddy by Design?

Cheryl Anne Porter

Her Perfect Wife

Kate Thomas

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Daddy by Design? Daddy by Design? Cheryl Anne Porter

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Her Perfect Wife

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Daddy by Design?

Cheryl Anne Porter

The elevator stopped with a sick, grinding crunch.

“This is not happening.” Trey turned toward the panel of buttons, pushing every one. Nothing happened. He muttered beneath his breath then started beating on the door with a fist. “Hey, out there! We need help. There’s a woman in labor in here—and a man about to have a heart attack. Can anybody hear me?”

Apparently nobody could. Trey turned to Cinda, eyeing her as if he’d known all along that she’d be trouble. “So, how are you feeling right now?” he asked.

“Fine.” Trey gave her a doubting stare and Cinda caved. “Okay, so I could explode any minute here. I’m not any happier about this than you are.” She bit down on her bottom lip. “Oh, God. A labor pain. I don’t think I can hold on. You have to do something.”

His eyes widened. “Got any suggestions?”

Was she not busy enough already? Did she have to do everything? Cinda breathed through her physical pain and pointed to the emergency phone behind its glass case. “Try calling someone, Mr. Cooper. Because if my labor progresses much further, the two of us are quickly going to become the three of us….”

Dear Reader,

I always love writing books set in the South, because the stories seem to take on a life of their own. The sultry climate and the slow pace of living offer great potential for plot, character and conflict. And with all that in place, all I have to do is write what I know! See, I’m a Southern girl myself, born in Savannah, Georgia. So when I was thinking about writing my second book in the A FUNNY THING HAPPENED ON THE WAY TO THE DELIVERY ROOM miniseries, how could I set it anywhere else?

All I had to come up with was a fictitious small town, a couple of transplanted Yankees, a stuck elevator, a cute baby…and, well, you can read for yourself! I hope you have as much fun reading this story as I did creating it.

Enjoy!

Cheryl Anne Porter

HARLEQUIN DUETS

12—PUPPY LOVE

21—DRIVE-BY DADDY

35—SITTING PRETTY

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

818—HER ONLY CHANCE

To my sweet baby girl, MacKenzie.

Love you, “Macaroon.”

And to all my relatives in Georgia

(about half the state at last count),

but most especially to my cousin Joyce Colbaugh

for her unflagging efforts to promote my books

in her neck of the woods!

IT WAS JANUARY 2. A gray and sleety New York City day, full of traffic gridlock, honking car horns, and short tempers. A day of overworked people in a hurry to get home. What a time for Cinda Cavanaugh to be waiting for the cranky elevator outside her obstetrician’s office. She’d just been given the news that she was about to become a mother—soon. Not that she didn’t know that. She was, after all, more or less nine months pregnant, the key words being “more or less.”

It turned out it was going to be “more.” Her routine appointment had suddenly become anything but. In her mind, Cinda could still hear Dr. Butler confirming that Cinda, after many false alarms, was now truly in the early stages of real labor. Only the baby was still in a breach position. So the doctor had promptly sent Cinda on her way to the hospital, promising to follow her as soon as she rearranged her other appointments.

“Ha,” Cinda muttered, standing there alone in the long hallway, “I should have taken a rolled-up magazine to those other women and chased them away myself.”

Though Cinda felt a little bad about her self-centered, mean-spirited thoughts, she reminded herself that she wasn’t always this testy. It was just today. She’d heard that women in labor had a different set of rules. She squeezed her eyes shut and put a hand to her forehead. “So, what made me think I could do this alone?” She opened her eyes, grimacing. “Better yet, what made Dr. Butler think I really needed to be enlightened as to what actually goes on during a Caesarean-section delivery? God, just do it. Don’t tell me about it. Ick.”

Cinda caressed her swollen abdomen, now directing her conversation to the perfectly formed little girl whose image she’d just seen on the ultrasound screen. You know what, my little princess? You could really help out. Go ahead—turn. Don’t give your mother such a hard time. Mother? Cinda thought about that. “Oh, God, I’m the mother.”

She pushed the down button again and suddenly caught her own reflection staring back at her from the polished-metal elevator doors. “Oh, surely not.” But, yes, that carnival fun-house reflection was indeed her own. “Are you telling me that I left the house looking like this?”

Obviously she had, because polished metal didn’t lie. What she saw was a pale-blond head with angst-widened golden eyes above a swollen body covered by a black-wool winter coat, cream-colored slacks, and black boots. Well, great. I look like a sheep ready for shearing. Cinda pursed her lips, transferring her disgust to the elevator. “Come on, what’s the problem here? As you can plainly see, I need to get to the hospital. Preferably today.”

She pushed the down button firmly again. And then ten more times after that before she caught herself. Get a grip, Cinda. She put her fingers to her temples and pressed lightly. “I can do this. I have to do this. The nursery’s ready. I’m ready. My baby is apparently ready.” Cinda put a hand to her swollen belly. “We can do this, baby girl.”

Just then, an irritatingly pleasant ding alerted Cinda that the contrary elevator car had deigned to arrive. She exhaled her relief. “Oh, thank God.”

The doors opened without incident, presenting an empty elevator car. Swallowing back a sudden and uncustomary sense of impending doom, Cinda stepped inside and forced herself to push the button for the lobby. Anticipating the closing of the doors and the pull of gravity on her ride downward, she anchored herself by hanging on to the handrail that girded three sides of the rickety car. Not the least bit reassured, she studied her boxlike surroundings. Had this elevator really been this old and wobbly when she’d used it just an hour ago?