Therese Beharrie - Tempted By The Billionaire Next Door

He’s the one man who’s off-limits...

But could he be her Mr. Right?

When Jessica Steyn learns her delicious new neighbor is actually her best friend’s brother, billionaire bad boy Dylan Nel, she’s torn. After all, she’s just become his sister’s surrogate! Acting on their attraction would complicate things, but they’re soon growing closer. Overcoming Dylan’s troubled family history—and Jessica’s pregnancy—seems impossible, but could the answer to their heartaches be just next door?

THERESE BEHARRIE has always been thrilled by romance. Her love of reading established this—and now she gets to write happy-ever-afters for a living, and about all things romance in her blog at theresebeharrie.com. She married a man who constantly exceeds her romantic expectations and is an infinite source of inspiration for her romantic heroes. She lives in Cape Town, South Africa, and is still amazed that her dream of being a romance author is a reality.

Also by Therese Beharrie

The Tycoon’s Reluctant Cinderella

A Marriage Worth Saving

The Millionaire’s Redemption

Conveniently Wed, Royally Bound miniseries

United by Their Royal Baby

Falling for His Convenient Queen

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Tempted by the Billionaire Next Door

Therese Beharrie

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07762-0

TEMPTED BY THE BILLIONAIRE NEXT DOOR

© 2018 Therese Beharrie

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Grant, my best friend.

And Jenny, for taking the squirming, questing and searching journey of friendship with me.

I can’t imagine doing this without you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

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

CHAPTER NINETEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

JESSICA STEYN HADN’T deliberately sought out the half-naked man who’d entertained her over the last week. But she couldn’t deny that watching him had fast become her new favourite hobby.

She watched as he bent over to pick up another stack of logs—watched as the muscles of his naked back rippled, the lightest sheen of sweat defining them even more—and conceded that it was definitely top-notch entertainment.

Guilt poked at her, but she ignored it. It wasn’t her fault that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Nor was it her fault that he’d made a routine of cutting up the trees in his yard. Every day at noon he emerged from the house—wearing an old T-shirt that inevitably got tossed aside about five minutes into his task—and hacked the trunks he’d cut down the day before into logs. He then placed them in a pile, before carrying them over to an enclosed area where he’d set them down and start all over again.

So, ever since she’d noticed there was a routine, every day at noon she would settle in front of the window that overlooked his property to enjoy the show.

Thank goodness she’d discovered him, she thought as he gulped down a bottle of water. Water that dribbled over his chin, creating an enticing path down the column of his throat, between his pecs and the impressive ridges of his abs. Her heart rate immediately skyrocketed, and she thought that maybe she needed a glass of water, too.

He was a pretty decent distraction in an otherwise boring day. Now that her friend and boss, Anja, was away with her husband, Chet, on business, Jess’s days were mostly free. Apart from watching Mr Sexy-Next-Door.

And, of course, thinking about the child she carried.

Before her mind could take that detour—about how this child made Jess feel as if her life was actually worth something for the first time—she thought about how annoyed she was with Anja for not telling her that there was a Mr Sexy-Next-Door.

She’d been helping Anja manage her yoga studio for almost two years now, and this was the first time Jess had seen him. Though, to be fair, it was also the first time Jess had stayed at Anja’s house for longer than a few days. But she still expected Anja to tell her about the man. Perhaps not as her boss, but as her friend.

And definitely as her best friend.

But all thoughts of that vanished when the top log of the stack Mr Sexy had set down started to roll. He’d already turned away, so didn’t see the snowball effect of that one log. Jess pushed out of her chair, a wordless cry of warning on her lips, but it was too late. The logs had rolled under his feet and she watched in horror as he fell to the ground, twisting his body so that he landed on his hip.

Before she knew it, she was out of the front door. She had to turn back when she realised she hadn’t locked the house and, after she did, she ran as fast as her swollen body would allow to her temporary neighbour’s house. She said a silent prayer of thanks when she found his gate open and then she was kneeling beside him, her hands running over the chest she’d admired only minutes before.

She ignored how the grooves of his muscles, his abs, felt beneath her hands and focused on identifying whether anything was broken. She realised that he’d turned over onto his back then, but it only made her pause for a second. Then her hands were on his ankles, his calves, but, before she could feel his thighs or hips, two large hands gripped her wrists.

‘I’m not opposed to having a beautiful woman run her hands over me, but maybe we should leave that particular area for when we know each other better.’