Ordinary Girl, Millionaire Tycoon. Darlene Gardner

emphasis>He highly doubted that Kaylee was Sofia’s birth daughter, but somebody was. And he had to admit Kaylee looked the part.

      “If you’re really Constanzia, you’ll be able to prove it.”

      “I never claimed I was Constanzia. All I said is I thought I might be.”

      “Then get me your birth certificate and adoption papers.”

      A wariness settled over her like a second skin. “My birth certificate’s at my father’s house in Houston.”

      “Let me guess. Your adoption papers are there, too.”

      She hesitated, but when she spoke her voice was strong. “I guess Sofia didn’t tell you?”

      “Tell me what?”

      “I don’t have any papers because my parents never admitted I was adopted.”

      He let out a short, harsh laugh. “Lady, you are a piece of work.”

       ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      

      While working as a newspaper sportswriter, Darlene Gardner realised she’d rather make up quotes than rely on an athlete to say something interesting. So she quit her job and concentrated on a fiction career that landed her at Mills & Boon, where she’s written for Temptation and Intimate Moments before finding a home at Superromance.

      Please visit Darlene on the web at www. darlene gardner.com.

      Dear Reader,

      Where do we belong? With the people who gave us life or those who happen into our lives? That was the question running through my mind when I wrote Ordinary Girl, Millionaire Tycoon, about a woman who believes she’s finally found her place in the world.

      But when that place is populated by a lottery winner who may or may not be her birth mother and the woman’s over-protective step-son, matters aren’t black and white. Especially when love is thrown into the mix.

      Although I’m not new to Mills & Boon, I am new to Superromance. It was a pleasure to explore a deeper, richer story in what has always been one of my favourite lines. I hope you enjoy this story.

      All my best,

       Darlene

      PS You can visit me on the web at

      www.darlenegardner.com.

      Ordinary Girl, Millionaire Tycoon

      DARLENE GARDNER

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MILLS & BOON

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      To my grandmothers Rose Gorta and

      Rose Hrobak, who are gone from this life but

      not from my heart. I like to think these warm,

      wonderful women would have enjoyed having a

      granddaughter who writes about love.

      CHAPTER ONE

      UNTIL KAYLEE CARTER sat on the television remote and accidentally switched the channel from a Seinfeld rerun to the late-night news, she’d thought her mother was dead.

      She picked up the remote to change the channel back, but her finger paused on the flash button when the camera panned over lush, rolling countryside that seemed to stretch for miles.

      The pink-and-white blooms of apple orchards made the deep green of the grass and the azure, cloud-dotted sky even more lovely. The blossoms caused the gentle hillsides to come alive with color and touched something inside Kaylee that the city never reached, something that ached with longing.

      Her modest little duplex in Fort Lauderdale off U.S. 1, which was far too close to a high-crime area where muggings and break-ins were common, seemed to fade into the background.

      McIntosh, Ohio, the caption read. Named, if Kaylee wasn’t mistaken, for a popular variety of red apple. The warm feelings suddenly made a bit more sense. Kaylee had been born in Ohio, although her parents had returned to their native Texas when she was only a few weeks old and she’d since moved to Florida.

      The compelling face of a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman took the place of the orchard. Although Kaylee was positive she’d never seen the woman before, she seemed familiar.

      The woman had a timeless quality that made it hard to guess her age. Early forties, perhaps? Her wide-set eyes and shoulder-length hair were as dark as Kaylee’s own, her nose as distinctive, her olive complexion nearly as unlined except around the mouth and eyes.

      The reason for those lines became evident when the woman smiled, which she obviously did often. An inner glow seemed to light the smile and radiate from her.

      Kaylee leaned toward the nineteen-inch television screen, wishing she could have splurged on a bigger set. Another caption identified the woman as Sofia Donatelli, a former cook at Nunzio’s Restaurant in McIntosh who’d won ten million dollars in the Ohio lottery.

      “I need luck like that,” Kaylee murmured.

      She scrambled off the worn sofa she’d bought at a garage sale, sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV and turned up the sound.

      An impossibly handsome reporter with a square jaw, blindingly white teeth and gilded highlights in his brown hair revealed that Sofia had become known in the Ohio Valley for her generosity since winning the prize six weeks ago.

      He interviewed a young mother who told how Sofia paid for experimental surgery to help control her daughter’s Tourette’s syndrome and a businessman who’d gotten seed money from her to open an ice-cream parlor. The camera then switched back to a shot of Sofia and the good-looking reporter.

      “You’re probably asking yourself what’s in this lottery bonanza for the woman who won the prize. So tell us, Sofia, what will you splurge on? A mansion in L.A.? A yacht that will take you around the world? A garage full of expensive cars?”

      “What I want is something money can’t buy.” Sofia stared straight into the camera, her eyes moist and glowing with an emotion so stark that Kaylee’s chest tightened. “I want to find my daughter.”

      Kaylee’s heart pounded so hard she felt it slamming against her chest wall. She edged closer to the set, afraid to miss a word.

      “When did you last see your daughter?” the reporter asked.

      “When she was a few minutes old. I was sixteen.” Sofia smiled softly, sadly. “I thought the best thing for my baby was to give her up for adoption. I got to hold her, but only briefly. Then the nurse took her away, and I never saw her again.”

      “When was this?”

      “Twenty-five years ago,” Sofia said, “and there hasn’t been a day since that I haven’t thought of her.”

      The