Sun Chara - Recluse Millionaire, Reluctant Bride

A division of HarperCollins Publishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Harper Impulse an imprint of

HarperCollins Publishers

1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by Harper Impulse 2017

Copyright © Sun Chara 2017

Cover design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2017

Cover photograph © Shutterstock.com

Sun Chara asserts the moral right to

be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International

and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen.

No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, 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 HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition ©December 2017

ISBN: 9780008145064

Version 2017-11-29

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page A division of HarperCollins Publishers www.harpercollins.co.uk

Copyright Table of Contents Cover Title Page Copyright Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Acknowledgements Also by Sun Chara About the Author About HarperImpulse About the Publisher Harper Impulse an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk First published in Great Britain by Harper Impulse 2017 Copyright © Sun Chara 2017 Cover design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2017 Cover photograph © Shutterstock.com Sun Chara asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, 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 HarperCollins. Ebook Edition ©December 2017 ISBN: 9780008145064 Version 2017-11-29

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Acknowledgements

Also by Sun Chara

About the Author

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

Friday 4:00 a.m.

Stan Rogers had to bring her here, even if he had to resort to ‘unusual’ methods. He had to get the exotic beauty to agree to his terms. He rubbed the sting from his eyes and the crick from his neck.

A gust of air hurled through the half-open window of his office, bringing with it the scent of Douglas fir. He didn’t even flinch at the icy bite on his face. A wake-up call? Rolling up his sleeves, he dismissed the foolish notion and flicked the desk lamp on. The glare sliced across the shadowed room.

He had no choice. It was either her or his son. He’d asked once and she’d refused. Clamping down on the pricking of his conscience, he swiveled in his chair and paced the two burly men’s approach.

“Bring her.” He slapped his hand on the mahogany desk, his words chips of ice. “Today.”

***

Friday 10:00 a.m.

He was behind it. Stella sensed it in her gut, and that made him a dangerous adversary. Perspiration seeped from her pores and made her jogging suit stick to her skin. A moist drop slid between her breasts. The sun’s glare made her squint. Her mind catapulted.

“I asked you to bring her here,” he muttered, his words directed at her two sheepish escorts. “But not floundering in a fish net.” He bounded over the two steps of the mountain lodge and landed with ease, the gravel crunching beneath his boots.

In two strides, he bridged the distance and halted not two feet from her. His heat filtered to her … his aftershave … she wrinkled her nose. Scents of spruce blended with it, and she couldn’t place it. Couldn’t place him. A niggle nudged her brain, and then vaporized.

“You all right?” he murmured, his hawk-like gaze on her.

Stella’s knees almost buckled, and she gripped the trunk of a nearby pine. Her knuckles grazed the bark. A sliver pierced her skin, and she sucked in a breath, gritting her teeth against the sting of the abrasion.

“Take it off her at once.”

While the two bumblers fumbled to extricate her from the twine, Stella staked out her surroundings and zoned in on her captor.

He towered above her, with his legs slightly apart, and shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans; the movement stretched his sweater—of Native Indian design—taut across his chest, hinting at the muscle beneath. His casual stance bespoke of power, ownership, confidence.

Sexual energy.

Her side stitched a warning.

He looked rugged as the Canadian Rockies, and hard. Flint hard.

Autumn sunlight glinted off the gold in his hair. A shade lighter than his close-cropped beard, it brushed his shoulders. His laser-sharp eyes reminded her of an ocean storm…dark, turbulent. The oddest feeling rocked her stomach; the force of his gaze set off signals of another sort in her brain, yet unclear. Through the racket in her head, a spark of a memory flared, but she couldn’t grasp it.

“This is the ogre,” she murmured to herself. Goosebumps skittered on her skin, and not entirely caused by the November air piercing her clothes.

The flick, Shrek , flashed through her mind, and a smile struggled for a place on her mouth. She bit it away. The man looming over her didn’t appear as a benevolent green giant.

And she was no princess; just an ordinary working girl.

So what did he want with her?

“What’s going on?” Stella rubbed her uninjured hand over her arm to ward off the chill. “Explain.”

“Of course.” He stroked his chin and tilted his head. A golden earring glittered, and it was like a sledgehammer hit her brain.

Blood drained from her face and her heart smashed against her ribs.