Caroselli's Accidental Heir. Michelle Celmer

      

       Did she honestly believe he was just going to let her leave again while she was pregnant with his baby?

      “You have your return ticket?” he asked, and she nodded. “Can I see it?”

      Looking puzzled, she pulled a folded sheet of white paper from her purse belt, which was almost hidden under the swell of her belly. Lucy handed him the sheet of paper and he promptly ripped it in half.

      “Okay,” she said. “That was very dramatic and all. But you do realize that I can just print another one.”

      He crumpled the paper and tossed it into the backseat. “Call it a symbolic gesture.”

      “I got that part. I'm just not sure what it symbolizes.”

      “You're not going back to Florida.”

      She blinked in surprise. “I'm not?”

      “You're going to stay here in Chicago.”

      “Where?”

      “You're going to live with me. And as soon as we have time to arrange it, you're going to marry me.”

      * * *

      Caroselli's Accidental Heir is part of The Caroselli Inheritance trilogy: Ten million dollars to produce an heir. The clock is ticking.

      Caroselli’s Accidental Heir

      Michelle Celmer

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MICHELLE CELMER is a bestselling author of more than thirty books. When she's not writing, she likes to spend time with her husband, kids, grandchildren and a menagerie of animals.

      Michelle loves to hear from readers. Visit her website, www.michellecelmer.com, like her on Facebook or write her at PO Box 300, Clawson, MI 48017, USA.

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      To Beppie, whose friendship means the world to me.

      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

       Chapter Fifteen

       Extract

      One

      In twenty-three years, nine months and sixteen days, Lucy Bates had made her fair share of questionable choices. Due to her impulsive nature, her guileless curiosity—and an occasional lack of basic common sense—she’d found herself in more than a few...complicated situations. But her current predicament topped them all.

      Note to self: The next time you have the bright idea to leave a man and move across country in the hopes that he’ll follow you, don’t bother.

      Not only had Tony not followed her, he’d gone out and found someone new. After nearly a year of casually dating Lucy, and not a single mention of taking their relationship to the next level, he was marrying a virtual stranger.

      Not only had he been dating this new woman a measly two months, she wasn’t pregnant with his baby.

      Lucy was.

      She was a stereotype.

      The poor girl who fell for the rich guy and got knocked up. And though there was a whole lot more to it than that, she knew that was all anyone would see. Including Tony.

      “This is it,” the cab driver announced as he pulled up to the house. Lucy peered out the window. Located in one of the oldest and most prestigious neighborhoods in Chicago, the Caroselli mansion put the neighboring homes to shame. It was old, and a little gaudy for her taste. But very grand.

      The street was lined with luxury cars and SUVs, and children were playing in the park directly across the street. Tony once told her that his grandfather, the founder of Caroselli chocolate, liked to sit in his study, in his favorite chair, and watch the kids play. He said it reminded him of home. Home being Italy.

      She handed the driver the last of her cash and climbed out of the cab. The sun was shining, but there was a chill in the air.

      She’d blown her entire savings account on a roundtrip plane ticket from Florida to Chicago, paying the exorbitant Sunday rates, so from here on in she would have to rely on her credit card. If she maxed that out...well, she would think of something. She always did.

      But it wasn’t just about her anymore. She needed to start thinking like a mother, putting the baby first.

      She laid a hand on her swollen belly, felt the thump thump of itty bitty feet against her palm, never so confused, or terrified, or content in her whole life.

      She promised herself right then that if she could just figure this mess out, she would never do another impulsive thing for as long as she lived.

      And this time she meant it.

      “You’ve got him right where you want him,” her mom had told her on the way to the airport that morning in her clunker of a car that always seemed to be one repair away from the junkyard. “Whatever he offers you to keep this quiet,