Inherited: Baby. Nicola Marsh

      From bump to baby and beyond….

      Whether she’s expecting or they’re adopting, a special arrival is on its way!

      Follow the tears and triumphs as these couples find their lives blessed with the magic of parenthood.

      Rescued: Mother-To-Be

      by Trish Wylie

      “I don’t want your money!”

      Anger scorched across her face and she calmed with obvious effort. He could see it in the unclenching fists, the softening of her shoulders, and he bided his time, watching uncertainty war with pride, fury battle vulnerability.

      “What do you want, then?” he finally prompted, increasingly uncomfortable with standing in this tiny room not knowing what to say or do, clumsy in his efforts to help.

      For a moment he wondered if she’d heard him, as Maya’s attention remained fixed on Chas, the intensity of maternal love etched on her face taking his breath away.

      “I do want something from you. A commitment.”

      His world tilted as the impact of her demand hit him full-on.…

      Inherited: Baby

      Nicola Marsh

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Nicola Marsh has always had a passion for writing and reading. As a youngster, she devoured books when she should have been sleeping, and later kept a diary, which could be an epic in itself! These days, when she’s not enjoying life with her husband and son in her home city of Melbourne, she’s at her computer doing her dream job: creating the romances she loves. Visit Nicola’s Web site at www.nicolamarsh.com for the latest news of her books.

      For Dad, who thinks horses are the best thing on four legs! And thanks to Trish for her horse expertise.

      CONTENTS

       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

       EPILOGUE

      CHAPTER ONE

      MAYA EDISON STOOD ramrod straight, oblivious to the huge society crowd that had turned the funeral into a farce. She stared at the casket containing her dead fiancé as it was lowered into the ground, wishing she could cry.

      Wishing she could feel something other than the soul-deep weariness that had seeped into her bones around the time she had moved in with Joe Bourke, fallen pregnant with his child and bought his phoney lines about wanting to get married.

      Wishing she didn’t feel the slightest hint of relief that her nightmare with Joe was over. Or the overwhelming guilt at her role in his death.

      Loving Joe had been a rush, a whirlwind romance that had plucked her up and deposited her in the eye of an emotional hurricane, leaving her to pick up the pieces less than two years later.

      ‘You okay?’

      She turned at the light touch on her elbow, nodding mechanically, gaining some comfort from the genuine concern in Riley’s deep blue eyes.

      Riley Bourke, Joe’s serious older brother, the only person at this funeral who had lent a helping hand after Joe’s death, the only person who seemed to care.

      Joe had used to scoff at Riley, labelling him a stodgy, boring old fuddy-duddy when in fact only six years separated them. Unfortunately, Joe’s twenty-eight had been going on eighteen, something she’d realised all too late, while Riley’s solid dependability had been a godsend since her fiancé’s death.

      The rest of Joe’s friends were hangers-on, party people who hadn’t relinquished their hold on her fiancé even after he became a father. They were only here now to get their faces in tomorrow’s newspapers.

      Joe Bourke, entrepreneur, leading player in Australia’s horse racing circles, Melbourne’s society darling and all-round nice guy, was dead.

      Big news in a city that had fawned over him, laying his life out for all and sundry on a regular basis in the gossip columns. Joe had lapped up the publicity, she’d hated it. Yet another reason why they’d grown apart and something that had ultimately led to this tragic day.

      ‘You don’t have to come to the wake. Why don’t you take Chas home?’

      Riley hadn’t relinquished his hold on her elbow, obviously not convinced she was all right.

      She’d have to do better than this. For some strange reason, she’d had no compulsion to weep till Riley looked at her with real compassion. Suddenly she wanted to blubber like Chas when he was wet, hungry or teething. Thankfully, her precious son had slept in his pram next to her during the entire funeral, oblivious to the fact he’d lost his daddy before he really knew him.

      Not that Joe had shown the slightest bit of interest in getting to know his son over the last fourteen months since Chas had been born.

      Mentally chastising herself for paying out on Joe even on the day of his funeral, she managed a weak smile. ‘I’d like nothing better than to take Chas home but shouldn’t I be at the wake?’

      She refrained from adding, Won’t people talk?

      People had been talking since the minute Joe had met her at the Cup Eve Ball less than two years ago and swept her off her feet, right into his plush South Bank apartment.

      ‘What was one of the richest men in Melbourne doing with a horse strapper? A girl who mucked out stables for a living? A girl who hadn’t given up her job despite being cocooned in the dreamy arms of Joe Bourke?’

      Oh yeah, people had talked. And talked. And were still talking, a soft tittering sweeping the crowd now that the formalities were over and they looked forward to the elaborate bash Riley had organised