Read the book: «The Rival's Heir»

One

Darby Brogan listened with half an ear to the presentation but couldn’t make herself concentrate. Unlike the other architects in the room who were listening intently, her thoughts were a million miles away from the project of a lifetime. Designing Boston’s newest art museum was, suddenly and unexpectedly, the very last thing on her mind.

Darby crossed her legs, tapped her phone against her knee and mentally urged the speaker to hurry up. Modern, fresh, distinctive, ecologically friendly... Yes, she got it. This was all in the bid documents.

Her phone vibrated in her hand. Darby swiped her thumb across the screen and quickly read the messages posted in the group only she, her twin, Jules, and their best friend and business partner, DJ, had access to.

Where are you? Why aren’t you back? How did your appointment with Dr. Mackenzie go?

Darby typed a quick reply to DJ’s question.

At the museum bid presentation. Should be back in an hour or so.

Darby saw that Jules was typing and waited for her message to pop up on the screen. As she expected, it had nothing to do with work and everything to do with the appointment Darby had just come from.

Tell us!

Darby wished she hadn’t recently pushed DJ to be more open and forthcoming. It made it difficult for Darby to keep her own secrets from her best friend and her twin.

It’s not good. Basically, I’m running out of time. If I want a child, I should attempt IVF in the next six months.

She waited a beat before adding:

So that’s a big decision I need to make. And quickly.

Judging by their lack of an immediate response, Darby knew her friends were absorbing her news, trying, like she was, to make sense of what she’d learned.

Darby wanted children. Being a mommy was her biggest wish. But despite knowing that she was going to have problems carrying a child, she’d always believed she’d need to face her infertility issues sometime in the future. She’d thought she had time, options, but...no. Her condition had been upgraded from serious to severe and she’d been told to expect a hysterectomy within the next few years.

And she had yet to hit thirty.

I thought I’d have a husband, at least a partner, when I needed to go there. I never imagined I’d have to do this—if I’m going to do this—alone.

You’ll never be alone!!!

What Jules said, DJ added.

They were great, and she loved them, but Darby imagined strong arms, a broad chest, a male perspective. She’d been called beautiful, strong and smart, but she still went to bed alone every night.

Being an alpha female was hard enough for most men to accept. Being an alpha female with infertility issues seemed a step too far. The reality was that she couldn’t afford to wait any longer to find a man who shared her dreams for a family; she had no more time to waste. If she wanted a child, she’d be doing it now, solo, albeit with the help of science. And a sperm donor.

DJ’s name popped up again on her screen.

How can we help?

Darby smiled, so glad these women were in her life. Darby ignored her burning eyes and straightened her shoulders. It was bad news, sure, but she hadn’t received a death sentence. Her dreams were in ICU, but she wasn’t.

Keep it in perspective, Brogan. Humor, as she’d learned, was always a good deterrent to negativity, so she thought a moment before typing again.

I’ll expect you to help me select a sperm donor.

Any excuse to openly ogle guys! Jules’s answer flashed on her screen. I’m there.

DJ repeated the sentiment, adding a couple of heart-eyed emoji to convey her excitement. Darby knew they were just being kind. They were both engaged to and head over heels in love with smart, successful, stupidly sexy men.

Darby was not jealous...

Well, maybe a little.

They all—including her mother!—had hot guys in their beds. Jules was engaged to her childhood friend; DJ and her long-term on-again, off-again lover had recently decided to be permanently on. As for Darby’s mother, Callie? She was having an affair with a scorching hot man a decade younger.

Darby wouldn’t mind a sexy tattooed man to have some fun with. Her life for the past year or so had been all work and very little play... Actually, that pretty much summed up her life in total. She didn’t play much at all, she never had.

After a lifetime of school and college success, she’d recently been named one of the most exciting 40 Architects Under 40 in the latest edition of a well-known design publication. She was a partner in what was described as the most successful design house in Boston, possibly on all the East Coast. She was reasonably attractive, wealthy and healthy. Well, except for her annoying reproductive system.

And she was single...

So very, very single.

She felt panic tickle her throat. What if she were incapable of loving someone, of being in a have-it-all partnership? What if she was too independent, too strong willed, too competitive to build her life with a man?

As for a solo attempt at motherhood...could she do this?

Darby shifted in her seat. She refused to give negative thoughts space in her brain. She wanted a child and she could be a single mom. It was okay that she’d yet to meet her special someone. She was glad she hadn’t wasted her valuable time on a he’ll-do guy.

If she was going to settle down, she wanted someone who wanted what she did...everything. Kids, a kick-ass career, a stable, respectful relationship.

World peace, an end to famine...

Darby frowned when she realized that the organization’s director was no longer speaking. She looked around the ballroom, seeing that the attendees had shifted their focus to the back of the room. Turning in her seat, her brows lifted when she saw the lone figure leaning against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other.

Oh...

Oh...wow.

Judah Huntley was better looking in person than the pictures she’d seen of him online. Taller, too. Being tall herself, she guesstimated he was six-two or six-three, and under his charcoal, obviously designer Italian suit, his body was tougher, harder, more muscular than she would have expected. Broad chest, long legs, thick arms and a masculine face. Stubble covered his cheeks and jaw, his nose looked like it had been broken once, maybe twice and his thick wavy espresso-colored hair looked like he routinely combed it with his fingers.

Sexy, built and the brightest architectural mind of his generation.

Darby swallowed, conscious that her mouth was dry and her heart was banging against her chest. There was an unfamiliar heat between her legs—welcome back, libido! Damn, she wouldn’t mind taking Judah Huntley out for a spin.

Whoa, Brogan, not like you.

The men she dated and—very rarely—slept with had to work damn hard to get her to that point but Darby knew Judah Huntley would just have to crook his finger and she’d come running.

Maybe it was her kooky state of mind, yet here she was, panting over a man across the room.

Darby couldn’t pull her eyes from Huntley’s fallen-angel face. Be sensible, Brogan. This scorched-earth attraction was an aberration, nothing to be concerned about. She was only intrigued by Judah Huntley because he was such a phenomenal architect, because he’d designed that ecohouse in Denmark that was a brilliant piece of art, as was that ski lodge in Davos and the new headquarters for one of the world’s leading software companies in Austin. He was creative and innovative, throwing together contrasting materials and techniques and making them work.

And he was sexy enough to make her soul ache.

Dark eyes—black? blue?—under strong brows met hers.

And Darby felt the world shift beneath her.

A small smile pulled the corners of his mouth upward and she placed her hand to her heart. God, the way he looked at her, like he was imagining her naked...

He straightened, pushed his hands into the pockets of his suit pants and she saw that his stomach was flat. She remembered a photo of him running on a beach in Cyprus... That muscled, ridged stomach. Just looking at him was more pleasure than she’d had in a while.

Unbidden, the image of her eggs and his sperm colliding in a petri dish, creating a baby in the lab, jumped into her head. If she imagined them in bed together, practicing the art of making babies the old-fashioned way, her panties might explode.

Darby fought the temptation to get up, walk over to him, hold out her hand and lead him away. She didn’t think he’d say no. Damn, she was tempted.

“Miss Brogan? Miss! Brogan!”

Darby turned her head at the irritated voice of the director at the front of the room. What was his problem? Frowning, she looked around and saw the amused faces of her colleagues.

“May I continue?”

Darby quickly nodded, her face flaming. She heard the muffled snickers. Dammit, the entire room had caught her looking at Judah Huntley. Since, as her family frequently told her, she had the most expressive face in the history of the world, they all knew she’d been imagining Huntley naked.

Darby slid down in her seat, only just resisting the urge to cover her face with her hands. Even if she found the guts to proposition him—a very big if—sleeping with Judah Huntley wasn’t an option. Especially since she was now embarrassed beyond all belief.

Darby kept her eyes on the speaker while she fought the urge to look back and take just one more peek. Yeah, good plan, just embarrass yourself further, Brogan, add some fuel to the fire.

It took all her willpower to keep her eyes forward and when the presentation finally ended—the longest ten minutes in the world—Darby stood up and oh-so casually looked across the room.

Judah Huntley was gone.

Six weeks later

Judah Huntley took a sip of overly sweet champagne from the glass in his hand and tried not to wince. God, he hated these functions. He strongly believed in the power of an old-fashioned email, quietly stating whether he’d been awarded the commission or not. Putting on a suit and noose and making small talk was his level of hell.

But Jonathan, his business manager, had RSVP’d on Judah’s behalf, saying that he’d be glad to attend the foundation’s cocktail party. He’d also promised that if Huntley and Associates was commissioned to design the new art museum, Judah would hire a local architect to be the firm’s local liaison.

It made sense to hire someone local to do the grunt work of visiting the planning offices, research, smoothing the way. The Boston-based architect wouldn’t do any drafting or design work; Judah had an experienced team back in New York to implement his ideas. They were the best and brightest of the bunch and routinely met his high standards.

As a winner of two of the world’s most prestigious architecture awards, Judah knew his interest in designing the art museum was unexpected. It wasn’t a big project or even a lucrative one. Since the project was being funded by a nonprofit, his design fees would be laughable. But thanks to international businessmen with very deep pockets who wanted his name attached to their buildings, Judah had a fat bank account and could afford to take on a project at cost.

He had buildings all over the world but had yet to design one in Boston, his hometown. He wanted to create something that was beautiful and functional, something Bostonians would enjoy. He was renowned for his innovative corporate buildings and envelope-pushing mansions but there was something special, something intoxicating, about designing a building to hold art and treasures. The box had to be as exciting, as electrifying as the contents...

And that was why he was standing in a stuffy ballroom waiting for someone to announce what everyone already knew: Judah would be awarded the project.

Upsides to being in Boston were a gorgeous site and an interesting project. Downside? Being in Boston. The smells, the air, the buildings all made him remember how his life used to be. Stifling. Demanding. Claustrophobic. Long on responsibility and short on fun.

Judah was grateful for the feminine hand on his arm that jerked him back to the present. An attractive woman stood in front of him, blond hair, red lips, bold eyes. He chatted with her politely, but she wasn’t the woman who’d first come to mind.

The last time he’d stood in this room, he’d locked eyes with a younger, sexier blonde who’d made his stomach bungee jump. Initially, she’d reminded him of a storybook Cinderella, all flashing eyes and tiny frame, but then he’d caught the look in her eyes, on her face, and decided that she was more a duchess than a princess, more sophisticated than simple.

He wondered if she was here again tonight.

But, if she was, what did it matter? Though he’d been rocked by their instinctual attraction—when last had he felt such an instant physical reaction to anyone?—the thought of making small talk, doing the dating dance, felt like too much effort.

Chatting up a woman, taking her back to his hotel room and having sex was the mental equivalent of riding an immensely popular roller coaster. Patience was required to get on the ride, there was the brief sensation of pleasure, then the inevitable anticlimax when the cart rolled to a stop.

After Carla, he’d ridden as many roller coasters as he could. A year and too many women later, he’d realized that mindless sex with mindless women wasn’t working for him and he went cold turkey. In the past eighteen months, he’d gone from being monogamous to being a player to being a monk.

Judah sighed. While no guy rapidly approaching his forties preferred having solo sex, he did like having a life that was drama-free.

But that blonde he’d seen here before—tall, slim, stunningly sexy—was the first woman in six months who’d caught his interest. She’d made his core temperature rise. She had the face of a naughty pixie, the body of a lingerie model and the eyes of a water nymph. When he’d looked at her, reality faded. All he could see was her, stretched out on a rug in front of a roaring fire, naked on the white sands of Tahiti or on the cool marble of a designer kitchen. Hell, up against the fabric-covered wall of an intensely uninteresting hotel ballroom.

He’d wanted her.

And because he’d been so damned tempted to walk over, take her hand and find the closest private space where he could put his hands on that body, he’d acted like the adult he professed to be and left. He didn’t want mindless sex anymore, but the thought of anything more—becoming emotionally involved, making a connection—terrified him.

So he was in no-man’s-land, dating himself. And, man, was he so tired of that...

Half concentrating on the conversation with the woman in front of him, Judah looked up to see the director of the foundation heading to the podium. Standing at the back of the room, Judah’s height allowed him to see over the heads of most of the guests and he recognized some candidates from the meeting weeks ago.

He cursed himself when he realized he was looking for a bright blond head and exceptional legs.

“Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of the Grantham-Ford Foundation...”

Judah pushed his hands into the pockets of his suit pants, tuned out the opening remarks of the chairman of the board and looked toward the door, his attention caught by an elder man in a suit, his tanned face scanning the crowd, obviously looking for someone. He looked vaguely familiar, like a worried version of someone from Judah’s past.

Intrigued, Judah edged his way closer to the door. The man’s dark eyes caught his movement and Judah saw relief cross his face. The man was looking for him. But why here at this hotel, in the middle of a function? Judah had an office, an assistant who managed his schedule.

Odd.

“We were all blown away by the designs submitted and it was difficult to make a choice...”

Judah ignored the droning voice and frowned as the man eased away from the doorway, gesturing for Judah to join him in the hallway. Judah tossed a look over his shoulder, guessing the director would ramble on for a few more minutes—the man seemed to like the sound of his own voice. Judah pulled the door to the room partially closed behind him. If he was needed, he had no doubt someone would find him.

“Mr. Huntley! I am so glad I managed to track you down.”

Judah’s heart sank when he heard the masculine version of Carla’s heavy Italian accent. Judah scowled. His ex, the opera-singing heiress, had hit a new low if she was sending her minions to deliver her messages. Judah had nothing to say to her face or via her employees. She’d cheated on him—he was pretty sure it hadn’t been the first time—but he’d caught her. She and her lover had been in his bed, in his apartment. Naked on his sheets.

Judah didn’t share, ever. Infidelity was his hard limit. And he was still pissed that he’d felt compelled to buy a new bed and give those expensive sheets to a charity shop. He’d thought about selling his apartment, but that was going a step too far. Carla wasn’t worth the sacrifice of his stunning views of Central Park.

Judah held up his hand. “Not interested.”

“Wait, Mr. Huntley.”

Judah lifted an eyebrow dismissively. “You have thirty seconds and I’m only giving you that much because this evening is sadly lacking in entertainment.”

Thin shoulders pushed back and an elegant hand smoothed a lock of silver hair off the man’s forehead. “I am Maximo Rossi. I am Carla’s personal lawyer.”

Okay. And what did Carla’s personal lawyer want from Judah? Thanks to being the sole beneficiary of her father’s billions, Carla had more money than God, along with her luscious body and stunning face. She also had the voice of an angel. They hadn’t had any contact for months, so why now? Judah felt his stomach twist itself into a Gordian knot. This couldn’t be good.

He forced himself to remain calm. “Is Carla okay?”

“She’s fine...mostly.”

Oh, God. He recognized the weariness in the older man’s eyes, the frustration that dealing with Carla Barlos incurred. The man probably had a stomach ulcer and high blood pressure. Judah could sympathize. Carla was hard work.

“What does that mean?” Judah demanded, hearing the apprehension in Rossi’s voice.

“Bertolli has written a new opera, one just for her.”

Bertolli’s music sounded like screeching cats, but what did Judah know? But even he, philistine that he was, understood how a big a deal it was to have Bertolli, the most exciting composer in the world, build an opera around Carla.

“It’s a morality tale. Carla’s lead character is a crusader for moral reform.”

While Judah appreciated the irony, he didn’t understand why Rossi was here, telling him this. Why should Judah care what Carla was up to? He hadn’t seen her for more than eighteen months.

Deciding he was done here, Judah was about to excuse himself when he heard the arrival of the elevator. The doors opened and a long leg, ending in a blush-colored pump, emerged from the box. A frothy peppermint-colored dress danced around slim thighs.

She was here, she was back.

Rossi forgotten, Judah’s eyes wandered upward, taking in a thin belt around a tiny waist, skating up a narrow chest. Her breasts were fantastic, small but perky. Athletic but not overly so, fit but still oh-so feminine. And God, that face.

Judah felt his cold heart sputter as blood drained south. A wide mouth made for kissing, high cheekbones, eyes the color of zinc under arched brows. Blond hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail.

He’d last seen her across a crowded room weeks ago. He’d thought her sexy then. Now, he upgraded that assessment to heart-stoppingly hot.

He wanted her. Now, immediately, up against that wall, his hands on those tanned thighs, his tongue on her neck, her nipple, her naval. He could go back to being a monk tomorrow...

But she had yet to notice him. Her attention was taken by the other occupants of the elevator, a black-haired, dark-eyed baby held by a hard-faced, middle-aged woman. The woman held the kid like she would hold a test tube of poison, awkward and fearful. He didn’t blame her; he wasn’t a kid person either.

He used to be, but that was a long time ago. When he was young and stupid.

Rossi cleared his throat. “That is my assistant and the baby is Jacquetta Huntley. Carla needs you to take her for at least six months. She can’t be responsible for her and prepare for the biggest performance of her career.”

While Judah struggled to make sense of the man’s words, a booming voice from the front of the room rolled into the hallway.

“I am pleased and proud to announce that the architect designing the Grantham-Ford Art Museum will be Judah Huntley. Judah, please come forward and say a few words.”

Judah’s eyes darted between three faces: Rossi, the baby and the blonde.

It was official. He’d just fallen down Alice’s rabbit hole.