Yvonne Lindsay - Ultimatum - Marriage / For the Sake of the Secret Child - Ultimatum - Marriage / For the Sake of the Secret Child

Ultimatum:

Marriage

Ann Major

For The Sake of

the Secret Child

Yvonne Lindsay

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Ultimatum: Marriage

Ann Major

How ironic that the spot his bride had chosen for their wedding had once been the most popular dueling ground in New Orleans.

Too bad the twenty-first century was more civilized. If Jake could have called his bride’s father out and shot him, he would have.

Jake wanted to hate Alicia for complicating his life, but reason told him he was equally to blame. He didn’t want to marry her, but with every word that the priest uttered binding him to Alicia Butler, his desire for her grew until it felt like a crushing weight. Indeed, ever since he’d agreed to the marriage, thoughts of Alicia in his bed had consumed him.

They say a little piece of paper doesn’t matter; that it changes nothing.

They don’t know anything. He felt trapped. Doomed. At the same time his body raged to have her again.

Dear Reader,

I believe that love is the most powerful positive force in the world and that if we open our hearts, it will find us and change our lives for the better. Not that I think we always get to choose who we love or when we fall in love, but isn’t that what makes it so interesting?

After Alicia’s wealthy father is accused of embezzlement on a grand scale and arrested, she is devastated. Just when she thinks she’s lost everything and has nowhere to turn, she discovers she’s pregnant by Jake Claiborne, the man who slept with her and then reported her dad to the feds.

Although she’d rather never see Jake again, she knocks on his door and tells him they’re going to have a baby.

Having lost her own mother young, Alicia has always longed to be part of a loving family. Naturally, she wants this for her baby as well. At first she sees no possibility of realizing her dream in her temporary marriage of convenience to Jake, but slowly, miraculously, she finds ways to build on what they feel for one another until she does.

Enjoy,

Ann Major

ANN MAJORlives in Texas with her husband of many years and is the mother of three grown children. She has a master’s degree from Texas A&M at Kingsville, Texas, and is a former English teacher. She is a founding board member of the Romance Writers of America and a frequent speaker at writers’ groups.

Ann loves to write; she considers her ability to do so a gift. Her hobbies include hiking in the mountains, sailing, ocean kayaking, traveling and playing the piano. But most of all she enjoys her family. Visit her website at www.annmajor.com.

This book is dedicated to my talented editor,

Krista Stroever.

“Sorry, Claiborne. The decision’s been made. You’re off the project. A lot of people don’t like all the notoriety and publicity you’ve been getting lately because of your association with Mitchell Butler and his daughter, Alicia.”

Jake knew better than to defend himself by saying he was a victim of Butler, too.

“I’m just the messenger,” the caller said.

Jake clenched the phone but said nothing more. He wouldn’t beg.

Not that he hadn’t tried to defend himself to the press earlier in the week after they’d set up base camps outside his home and office. All he’d accomplished was to give the reporters words to twist in such a way as to make him look like he was guilty of having been a partner to Butler’s embezzlement scheme.

A final click was followed by a dial tone.

For a second Jake thought about Mitchell Butler and his beautiful daughter. Had she aided and abetted her father?

Jake Claiborne felt his headache build as he replaced the telephone. Not that he hadn’t been expecting such a call.

He wouldn’t think about her . Or the night he’d spent in her arms. Or how cool and aloof she’d been ever since. Not that he could blame her. Hell, he and Hayes Daniels, his twin brother’s CEO, had turned Mitchell into the feds the day after Jake had made love to her.

No doubt she was as guilty as her father. To think or feel anything about such a witch was a recipe for more disaster. No, the thing to do was to move on.

For a long moment he stared down at the miniature New Orleans he’d built. The structures, which were composed of cardboard, plastic and painted foam, looked vivid and exciting on his table against the window. When his icy-blue gaze swept to the model of the brazenly dramatic stadium that until five minutes ago he and his team had still dreamed of building, the hammer in his right temple pounded even more viciously.

Don’t think about her .

Mitchell Butler had been rich and powerful and admired—until six weeks ago. Now his shipyard was bankrupt and his plans for a merger with Claiborne Energy defunct. His pampered daughter had been fired from her job as editor of the Louisiana Observer . Millions were missing from Butler’s offshore bank in the Caymans and from Houses for Hurricane Victims. Or was it billions? The figures quoted by the media seemed to grow exponentially.

Mitchell was broke and so were his investors. Butler, who was the most despised man in Louisiana, was responsible for ruining a lot of people besides Jake.

Tempted to smash the little buildings to the floor, Jake made a fist. He needed a few moments to himself to get his mind off the Butlers and regain his control.

Leaning against his desk and relaxing his hand, he stood there for a long moment, wondering how he’d tell his employees the bad news.

Better to face them now. Better to get it over with .

He jammed his hands into the pockets of his faded jeans and strode out of his private office into that of his secretary.

“Vanessa. Have everybody assemble in the boardroom. Say, in five minutes. And hold my calls.”

Vanessa, who had twenty years on him and a will of iron hardened by a bitter marital experience, continued to tap steadily on her keyboard. She was a formidable worker, A single mother, she’d raised her three boys on her own.

Jake stepped closer to her desk and whispered, “It’s not my fault your ex cheated on you and got that other woman pregnant.”

Frowning, she pulled her gaze from her computer screen and looked up at him.

“Just checking to see if you even knew I was here or heard a word I said,” he said.

“Five minutes. Boardroom. Everybody assemble. Hold calls.” She poked her pencil into her bun, whirled, got on the intercom and barked out the order.

Ten minutes later, his headache much worse, Jake stood before sixty of his employees.

“I have some bad news,” he said, stiffening when they whitened. He disliked disappointing those who counted on him almost as much as he hated failing.

“We can’t get the funding we need to build the stadium. Jones won’t even pay for our latest revisions to the designs … so I’m afraid I have no choice but to …”

He was about to mention he would be calling quite a few people into his office to discuss their termination when Vanessa whirled toward him looking as dark as those first ominous storm bands on the horizon that signaled a hurricane. She slapped a phone into his palm.

She was frowning so coldly he knew better than to ask what could possibly be more important than his informing his employees that because of Mitchell Butler he was going to have to let quite a few of them go.