The Millionaire's Pregnant Bride Read online

  This month, in

  THE MILLIONAIRE’S PREGNANT BRIDE

  by Dixie Browning,

  Meet William Bradford—CFO of Wescott Oil and millionaire cowboy. His marriage to the lovely Diana Foster was supposed to be in name only. But it wasn’t long before Will found himself wishing Diana would be his wife…in every way!

  SILHOUETTE DESIRE

  IS PROUD TO PRESENT THE

  Five wealthy Texas bachelors—all members of the state’s most exclusive club—set out to uncover the traitor in their midst…and find true love.

  And don’t miss

  HER LONE STAR PROTECTOR

  by Peggy Moreland,

  the second installment of the

  Texas Cattleman’s Club: The Last Bachelor series.

  Available next month in Silhouette Desire!

  Dear Reader,

  Escape the winter doldrums by reading six new passionate, powerful and provocative romances from Silhouette Desire!

  Start with our MAN OF THE MONTH, The Playboy Sheikh, the latest SONS OF THE DESERT love story by bestselling author Alexandra Sellers. Also thrilling is the second title in our yearlong continuity series DYNASTIES: THE CONNELLYS. In Maternally Yours by Kathie DeNosky, a pleasure-seeking tycoon falls for a soon-to-be mom.

  All you readers who’ve requested more titles in Cait London’s beloved TALLCHIEFS miniseries will delight in her smoldering Tallchief: The Hunter. And more great news for our loyal Desire readers—a brand-new five-book series featuring THE TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB, subtitled THE LAST BACHELOR, launches this month. In The Millionaire’s Pregnant Bride by Dixie Browning, passion erupts between an oil executive and secretary who marry for the sake of her unborn child.

  A single-dad surgeon meets his match in Dr. Desirable, the second book of Kristi Gold’s MARRYING AN M.D. miniseries. And Kate Little’s Tall, Dark & Cranky is an enchanting contemporary version of Beauty and the Beast.

  Indulge yourself with all six of these exhilarating love stories from Silhouette Desire!

  Enjoy!

  Joan Marlow Golan

  Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

  The Millionaire’s Pregnant Bride

  DIXIE BROWNING

  Books by Dixie Browning

  Silhouette Desire

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  *Keegan’s Hunt #820

  *Lucy and the Stone #853

  *Two Hearts, Slightly Used #890

  †Alex and the Angel #949

  †The Beauty, the Beast and the Baby #985

  The Baby Notion #1011

  †Stryker’s Wife #1033

  Look What the Stork Brought #1111

  ‡The Passionate G-Man #1141

  ‡A Knight in Rusty Armor #1195

  Texas Millionaire #1232

  The Bride-in-Law #1251

  §A Bride for Jackson Powers #1273

  §The Virgin and the Vengeful Groom #1331

  More to Love #1372

  Rocky and the Senator’s Daughter #1399

  The Millionaire’s Pregnant Bride #1420

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  Reach Out To Cherish #110

  Just Deserts #181

  Time and Tide #205

  By Any Other Name #228

  The Security Man #314

  Belonging #414

  Silhouette Romance

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  Silhouette Books

  Silhouette Christmas Stories 1987

  “Henry the Ninth”

  Spring Fancy 1994

  “Grace and the Law”

  World’s Most Eligible Bachelors

  ‡His Business, Her Baby

  Harlequin Historicals—Writing as Bronwyn Williams

  White Witch #3

  Dandelion #23

  Stormwalker #47

  Gideon’s Fall #67

  The Mariner’s Bride #99

  The Paper Marriage #524

  Longshadow’s Woman #553

  DIXIE BROWNING

  is an award-winning painter and writer, mother and grandmother. Her father was a big-league baseball player, her grandfather a sea captain. In addition to her nearly 80 contemporary romances, Dixie and her sister, Mary Williams, have written more than a dozen historical romances under the name Bronwyn Williams. Contact Dixie at www.dixiebrowning.com or at P.O. Box 1389, Buxton, NC 27920.

  * * *

  “What’s Happening in Royal?”

  NEWS FLASH, February—Word has it that one of Royal’s sexiest tycoons has gone and gotten himself hitched—in a hurry! William Bradford has been the talk of the town since he and Diana Foster said “I do.” Not much is known about the blushing bride, but she must be something special to have persuaded Will to give up his confirmed bachelor status! Several eyewitnesses report that Diana has a certain glow about her…could there already be a little Bradford on the way?

  Also in the news, it looks like there might be trouble brewing at Wescott Oil. Rumors of missing money abound…. Is there a thief at large? Nobody seems to know for certain, but Wescott’s new CEO, Sebastian Wescott, has refused to comment on the situation, except to say that he is looking into matters….

  And what’s going on at Royal’s Texas Cattleman’s Club? It seems a few of Royal’s sexiest bachelors have made a bet as to which one of them will be the last bachelor left standing. Gents, if you need any help on this one, we know a few local ladies who’d be willing to lend a hand….

  * * *

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  One

  Will Bradford switched off the lights in his tenth-floor office in the Wescott Building and debated whether or not to stop off at the Royal Diner for a bowl of chili on the way home. Too much trouble, he decided. After spend
ing one more in a long string of eighteen-hour days trying to unravel the mess left behind by the unexpected death of his partner and one-time friend, Jack Wescott, he wasn’t up to dealing with anything as complicated as a grease-stained menu. His three-day-a-week housekeeper would have left something in the freezer he could zap in the microwave.

  That is, if he could stay awake long enough to eat.

  You’d think the man had deliberately tried to scramble the books, Will mused tiredly as he reached for the coat of his rumpled, Western-cut suit, slung it over his left shoulder and headed for the elevator. God knows, Jack Wescott had shaved a few corners over the years, but things were in worse shape than anyone had expected. A fanatic regarding privacy, Jack had essentially distrusted anything with a hard drive. Like most successful enterprises, Wescott Oil had a large computer division, yet Jack had insisted on keeping a hands-on set of paper files under lock and key.

  Probably, Will mused, because he’d engaged in more than a few questionable business practices along the way to building his oil empire. Jack had been equally reckless in his personal life. Will had known about some of it and suspected more, even though the friendship that had begun more than fifteen years ago had cooled over the past few years.

  Jack had been a womanizer, both before and after his marriage had ended. That sort of thing wasn’t easy to keep hidden in a town like Royal, where gossip was a stock in trade. What had taken everyone by surprise, however, had been the sudden appearance of an illegitimate son shortly after Jack’s death; Dorian Brady had turned up last month in Royal.

  The resemblance between Dorian and Sebastian Wescott, Jack’s legitimate son and heir, was striking enough that no one had doubted the relationship, even before it had been checked out. It seemed that when any of Jack’s old flames got pregnant, he bought them a one-way ticket out of town. Evidently one of them had read about Jack’s death and told her son, who figured it was time to call in a long-overdue debt.

  As much as he hated the scandal for Sebastian’s sake, Will couldn’t blame the guy. If Dorian resented Jack’s shabby treatment of him and his mother, he hid it well. Sebastian had accepted him to the extent of taking his half brother into his home and giving him a job in the computer division of Wescott Oil. Now Seb was pushing for Dorian’s membership in the Texas Cattlemen’s Club.

  Will decided to reserve judgment.

  Jack’s secretary was another matter. The first time he’d seen her, she’d been backing out of the Royal Diner, talking to someone still inside. He’d held the door and waited patiently—tired, but not too tired to appreciate the view.

  Not that she’d been advertising the view. Just the opposite, in fact. There’d been nothing at all outstanding in the tan-gray gabardine dress she’d been wearing. The color had a name: one of those colors with “au” in the middle. Mauve, taupe. He could never remember what it was. With her glossy, brown hair and delicate build, it had looked coolly elegant on a day when the temperature could frazzle the calmest nerves.

  Two shapely young women passed by the diner licking ice cream cones. They were wearing tight jeans and skimpy, skin-tight tops. He’d barely spared them a glance.

  “It’s over next to the library, I think,” the lady standing in the doorway was saying. “I’ve got several boxes to go, once I sort through them.”

  Nice hips. Slender build, rounded in just the right places. Gabardine was a surprisingly sexy fabric when it hung—as this did—over a shapely pair of hips, merely hinting at the surface beneath.

  He must have sighed. Will knew he hadn’t said anything, because what could he have said other than, “Would you please either come in or go out, lady? It’s nearly three in the afternoon and I haven’t had lunch.”

  She turned—gasped—and wiped a three-scoop ice cream cone across his chest. “Oh, my— Oh, dear— I’m so sorry!”

  Will backed up, staring blankly down at the mess she’d made of one of his favorite ties. “It’s all right,” he assured her. Then, when she began mopping the mess up with a handkerchief in one hand, the rapidly melting cone in the other, he said, “Look, it’s really all right, okay? No harm done.”

  No harm a dry cleaner couldn’t take care of. Trouble was, he had that three-thirty meeting. He could either go home and change clothes or go inside and have a quick lunch.

  “Oh, Lord, I can’t believe—and I think I know you, too. That’s even worse.”

  He was edging away, wanting to escape before his shoes caught the rest of her melting chocolate ice cream. “No problem. It’s all right.” She looked as if she might burst into tears, which would be the last straw. He didn’t know her. Might have seen her around town somewhere—she was the kind of woman a man wouldn’t notice right off, but when he did, she’d be worth a second look.

  Only not today. Not under these circumstances.

  “Excuse me, I think I’ll go drown myself.”

  Sticky, hot, irritated, he managed a smile. “Swimming pools frown on that sort of thing.”

  “Is there still a French Foreign Legion? Do they take women? Look, I’m really, really—”

  “Don’t say it. Better go back inside and wash your hands before you get into more trouble.”

  She opened her mouth, closed it again and sighed. Looking disgustedly at the melting mess in her left hand, she tossed it in the trash receptacle, sighed again and walked away.

  For several minutes Will stared after her. She was worth watching. Again, nothing particularly outstanding—no twitchy little behind, no slinky movements, she simply walked. Where the devil, he wondered, had he seen her before? There was something about her…

  The second time he saw her was several days after the ice-cream episode. She was just coming out of the secretarial pool. On his way to meet someone in the lobby, he’d stopped and stared, tempted to go and ask her name and if she worked there and whether or not she’d be interested in exploring a brief, nonbinding relationship with him. Fortunately, she hadn’t noticed. Fortunately, no one else had, either.

  Equally fortunately, common sense had kicked in before he could be accused of workplace harassment. The trouble was, his social life had been moderated along with just about everything else as he’d neared the four-oh mark. He was out of practice.

  He had seen her several times after that, and the less she did to call attention to her sexuality, the more intrigued he became. There was something challenging about a woman who went out of her way to downplay her feminine attractions. Made a man wonder what was under all the muted colors and understated styles. The lady was a challenge, and if there was one thing Will thrived on, it was challenge.

  But not this kind of challenge.

  He told himself it was probably something simple—maybe a minor midlife crisis. He’d made a policy of never mixing business with pleasure. In today’s litigious society, it simply wasn’t worth the risk of future embarrassment, awkwardness or worse. Even so, he’d been almost at the point of breaking his own rule and asking her out when Jack had moved in and staked a claim by whisking her up to the executive floor as his personal secretary.

  Jack’s tastes had invariably run to leggy blondes in thigh-high skirts, with big boobs and big blond hair. The Foster woman was a marked improvement. Quelling his own disappointment, Will had gone out three nights in a row with three different women and—always the gentleman—had managed to conceal his boredom.

  As for what Diana Foster had seen in Jack Wescott, that was easy. At fifty-eight, the wealthy oilman had been in peak physical condition until he’d dropped dead of a massive heart attack. It was widely known that wealth was among the world’s greatest aphrodisiacs, and Jack had been a practiced philanderer who enjoyed bragging about the notches on his bedpost.

  At least he hadn’t bragged about his latest conquest. If he had, Will might have decked the man. After which, Will would have been forced to sell his stock, turn in his resignation and move out to his ranch a few years earlier than he’d planned to retire.

  Wh
at he couldn’t understand now, after Jack’s death, was what the quietly elegant Ms. Foster had gained from the affair. She still drove the same elderly sedan, still wore the same inexpensive classic styles and—so far as he could tell—owned no jewelry other than pearl studs and the type of wristwatch that could be purchased at most drugstores.

  Not that he’d paid any particular attention to her, once he’d realized she was having an affair with his business partner. For all he knew, Jack might’ve been planning to marry the woman, even though Jack had sworn he would never let himself be trapped into marriage again.

  But, if that had been the case, surely he’d have had his lawyers drawing up a prenuptial agreement, and there’d been nothing like that in the works when he’d died. As a rule, Jack had even his mistresses sign a settlement agreement so that they couldn’t come back to haunt him. Dorian’s mother had signed one, but obviously Dorian didn’t consider the terms of the agreement to apply to him.

  Waiting for the elevator, Will stroked the back of his neck, massaging away the tension that always seemed to settle there. Jack’s will, which had been read four days ago, had been simple and direct. Other than a few token gifts to his household staff, Sebastian had inherited everything the IRS didn’t claim.

  As executor of Jack’s estate, Will was still trying to reconcile a few discrepancies in his personal accounts. Jack had been notoriously delinquent when it came to balancing his own checkbooks.

  Nodding to the night security guard who let him out of the building, Will set off to walk the eleven blocks to his own apartment. Maybe fresh air would work a miracle. Maybe his headache would ease and the incomprehensible entries on Jack’s personal check stubs would miraculously begin to make sense.

  And maybe he would quit obsessing on the quiet, elegant beauty who had begun to crop up in more than a few of his dreams.

  On the long walk home, Will mulled over a few minor discrepancies he’d come across just today. While the business’s financial records were in excellent condition, thanks largely to his own hand on the controls, Jack’s personal affairs weren’t quite so tidy. In building the empire that bore his name, he had stepped on more than a few toes, cut more than a few corners and no doubt had paid off his share of politicians and predatory women. Which might account for the unexplained drafts for tens of thousands of dollars in the past few months.