Fortune's Secret Heir. Allison Leigh

      

       MEET THE … FORTUNES?

      Fortune (?) of the Month: Ben Robinson. Ben Fortune?

       Age: 33

      Vital statistics: Six foot two, eyes of blue, and nerves of steel. You don’t want to get in his way.

      Claim to Fame: He is COO of Robinson Tech— and quite possibly a legitimate heir to the Fortune dynasty.

      Romantic prospects: He could have almost any woman he wants … except the one he wants.

      “I knew Ella would make the perfect assistant, even when she was mixing lousy drinks at Kate Fortune’s birthday party. Ella is bright, sensitive and discreet. She’s also gorgeous and sweet and all wrong for me. I am a work-obsessed, bottomline man—and I’m selfish. Maybe too selfish to walk away, even when I know I should …”

      * * *

      The Fortunes of Texas: All Fortune’s Children— Money. Family. Cowboys. Meet the Austin Fortunes!

      Fortune’s Secret Heir

      Allison Leigh

      

www.millsandboon.co.uk

      ALLISON LEIGH, a frequent name on bestseller lists, claims her high point as a writer is hearing from readers that they laughed, cried or lost sleep while reading her books. She credits her family with great patience for the time she’s parked at her computer, and for blessing her with the kind of love she wants her readers to share with the characters living in the pages of her books. Contact her at www.allisonleigh.com.

      For handsome young Koda Kole. Welcome to the world, my love.

      A beautiful adventure awaits.

      Contents

       Cover

       Introduction

       Title Page

       About the Author

       Dedication

Prologue

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

       Chapter Fifteen

       Extract

       Copyright

       Prologue

      A strong arm came around her from behind, sliding comfortingly and familiarly around her waist. “Are you sure about this, sweetheart?”

      She smoothed her hand over his and the charms on her bracelet jangled softly. Also familiar. Also comforting. Seeming to remind her of all that had gone before.

      She leaned her head back against her husband’s chest and nodded. “Absolutely certain.”

      She felt, more than heard, his low laugh. “I needn’t have asked. When are you ever uncertain?”

      Her lips twitched. She pulled his warm hand up to kiss before moving out of his arms. Careful not to disturb any of the wrapped gifts piled high around its base, she stepped close to the massive Christmas tree—nearly fifteen feet of perfectly fresh Fraser fir—and automatically adjusted the hang of one of the glass globes. Custom-made during one of her trips abroad, it was gloriously beautiful. But the angel hanging above the globe that had been handmade by one of her great-grandchildren just a few years ago meant just as much to her. So many memories. Every ornament on the fragrant tree held a memory. A history. And in her family, there was a lot of history.

      For a moment—only a moment—a sliver of uncertainty burrowed under her skin. That wasn’t familiar at all. Whether her plan would be greeted by cheers or jeers when her family soon arrived and she shared it with them, it nevertheless had a purpose. And given everything they’d lived through, accomplished and triumphed over, particularly in the past twenty years, she knew there was no point in hesitation. She’d been on this earth nine decades.

      She touched the handmade angel, marveling a little at that very fact.

      Definitely no point in hesitation. Not at her age.

      So, regardless of their reactions, it was time to act. Time to move forward. It was the right thing for the family. The right thing for the company. If she had any dissenters, they’d soon see things her way.

      Uncertainty yanked out by mental tweezers as if the sliver had never been, she continued to the side table, where she’d left the invitations. She didn’t bother fanning through the elegantly addressed linen envelopes. She’d already checked them, twice, against her carefully prepared list. She could only imagine the responses they’d elicit when they were opened by their intended recipients.

      If she was in the same position as her guests, she wasn’t sure she would bother to attend a gala if she didn’t know its purpose or even the identity of the person who’d issued the invitation. Why should they? But then, everyone was usually intrigued by a little mystery. On that, she was counting. That, and the financial incentive of donations being made to their favorite charities if they intended to attend. And at this point, it was paramount that word not get out. Lord only knew the chaos that could ensue.

      She left the