Barbara Dunlop: His Convenient Virgin Bride / Seduction on the CEO’s Terms: His Convenient Virgin Bride

His Convenient

Virgin Bride

Barbara Dunlop

Seduction On

The Ceo’s Terms

Charlene Sands

www.millsandboon.co.uk

His Convenient

Virgin Bride

Barbara Dunlop

“Something like that,” he admitted.

Stephanie shook her head. “Thanks for stopping by, Alec. You’re an honorable man. But your baby is safe in my hands. I’ll drop you a line once it’s born.”

“Not quite the way things are going to happen,” he said as he stared down at her with intense purpose.

“Get this straight in your mind, Stephanie. You are marrying me.”

She squinted into his dark, intense eyes. “That was a joke, right?”

“Am I laughing?”

BARBARA DUNLOP writes romantic stories while curled up in a log cabin in Canada’s far north, where bears outnumber people and it snows six months of the year. Fortunately, she has a brawny husband and two teenage children to haul firewood and clear the driveway while she sips cocoa and muses about her upcoming chapters. Barbara loves to hear from readers. You can contact her through her website at www.barbaradunlop.com.

For my husband

Dear Reader,

Welcome to the MONTANA MILLIONAIRES: THE RYDERS series from Desire™. I have a great time writing siblings, and I hope you enjoy stephanie’s story in His Convenient Virgin Bride, along with the stories of her brothers, Royce and Jared, in the companion books.

I also love a ranch setting and a smart, protective hero. Add to that a little mystery and a long-ago family secret, and you have the ingredients for a really fun write. I enjoyed exploring the Ryder family history in this book, and it was great to touch base again with the characters from Seduction and the CEO and In Bed with the Wrangler. I hope you enjoy the finale to the Ryders’ series.

Happy reading!

Barbara

Stephanie Ryder felt a telltale breeze puff against the skin of her chest. She glanced down to discover a button had popped on her stretch cotton blouse. The lace of her white bra and the curve of her breasts were clearly visible in the gap.

She crossed her arms to block the view, arching a mocking brow at the man silhouetted in the tack shed door. “You, Alec Creighton, are no gentleman.”

Wearing a dress shirt, charcoal slacks and black loafers that were at odds with the rustic setting of a working horse stable, his gaze moved indolently from the wall of her forearm back to her eyes. “It took you twenty-four hours to figure that out?”

“Hardly,” she scoffed. “But you keep reinforcing the impression.”

He took a step forward. “Are you still mad?” She swiftly redid the button and smoothed her blouse. “I was never mad.”

Disappointed, yes. Wesley Harrison had been inches away from kissing her last night when Alec had interrupted them.

Wesley was a great guy. He was good-looking, smart and funny, and only a year younger than Stephanie. He’d been training at Ryder Equestrian Center since June, and he’d been flirting with her since they met.

“He’s too young for you,” said Alec.

“We’re the same age.” Practically.

The jut of Alec’s brow questioned her honesty, but he didn’t call her on it.

With his trim hair, square chin, slate-gray eyes and instructions to go through her equestrian business records with a fine-tooth comb, she should have found his presence intimidating. But Stephanie had spent most of her life handling two older brothers and countless unruly jumping horses. She wasn’t about to get rattled by a hired corporate gun.

“Shouldn’t you be working?” she asked.

“I need your help.”

It was her turn to quirk a brow. Financial management was definitely not her forte. “With what?”

“Tour of the place.”

She reached for the cordless phone on the workbench next to Rosie-Jo’s tack. “No problem.” She pressed speed dial three.

“What are you doing?”

The numbers bleeped swiftly in her ear. “Calling the stable manager.”

Alec closed the distance between them. “Why?”

“To arrange for a tour.” He lifted the phone from her hand and pressed the off button. “You can give me a tour.”

“I don’t have time.”

“You are still mad at me.”

“No, I’m not.”

She wasn’t thrilled to have him here. Who would be? He’d be her houseguest for the next few days, and he was under orders from her brothers to streamline the family’s corporation, Ryder International. She was a little worried, okay a lot worried, that he’d find fault with her management of the Ryder Equestrian Center.

Stephanie didn’t skimp on quality, which meant she didn’t skimp on cost, either. She was training world-class jumpers. And competing at that level demanded the best in everything; horses, feed, tack, trainers, vets and facilities. She was accustomed to defending her choices to her brothers. She wasn’t crazy about defending them to a stranger.

“Are you proud of the place?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” she answered without hesitation.

“Then show it to me,” he challenged.

She hesitated, searching her mind for a dignified out.

He waited, the barest hint of a smirk twitching his mouth.

Finally she squared her shoulders, straightened to her full five foot five and met his gaze head-on. “You, Alec Creighton,” she repeated, “are no gentleman.”

The smile broadened, and he eased away, stepping to one side and gesturing to the tack shed door. “After you.”

Stephanie waltzed past with her head held high.

It wasn’t often a man talked her into a corner. She didn’t much like it, but she might as well get this over with. She’d give him his tour, answer his questions, send him back to the ranch house office and get back to her regular routine.

She had an intermediate jumping class to teach this morning, her own training this afternoon and she needed to have the vet examine her Hanoverian mare, Rosie-Jo. Rosie had shied at a jump in practice yesterday, and Stephanie needed to make sure the horse didn’t have any hidden injuries.

They headed down the dirt road alongside a hay barn, moving in the direction of the main stable and riding arena. She was tempted to lead him, expensive loafers and all, through the mud and manure around the treadmill pool.

It would serve him right.

“So, what exactly is it that you do?” she asked, resisting temptation.

“I troubleshoot.”

She tipped her head to squint at his profile in the bright sunshine. Last night, she’d privately acknowledged that he was an incredibly good-looking man. He also carried himself well, squared shoulders, long stride, confident gait. “And what does that mean?”

“It means, that when people have trouble, they call me.” He nodded to the low, white building, off by itself at the edge of Melody Meadow. “What’s that?”

“Vet clinic. What kind of trouble?”

“Your kind of trouble. You have your own vet?”

“We do. You mean cash flow and too rapid corporate expansion?” That was the Ryder’s corporate issue in a nutshell.

“Sometimes.”

“And the other times?”

He didn’t answer.

“Are you proud of it?” she goaded.

He gave a rueful smile as he shook his head.

She tilted her head to one side, going for ingenuous and hopeful. It usually worked on her brothers.

“Fine. Mostly I identify market sector expansion opportunities then analyze the financial and political framework of specific overseas economic regions.”