www.millsandboon.co.uk

      ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

      This book truly wouldn’t have been possible without the amazing people in my life who inspire me endlessly.

      Richard Hoelderlin, whose own search for his birth parents first drew me to the idea for this book. You are gone, dear friend, but your good heart is not forgotten.

      The story was brought back to me by another friend, Julie Ann Coney, who shared with me the sad, beautiful story of her search for her birth mother, and gave Grace’s story its shape.

      Thanks to my dearest friend, Linda Guidi, a true beauty with a big heart, for her generous support and inspiration.

      Dora Hoelderlin for providing background on adoptive search. Gerry Zdenek for the scoop on the beauty biz. Javier Castillo, for the scoop on the world of advertising (mistakes are mine). Robert Clegg for showing me some chess moves and for providing the most logical (and amusing) explanation of why people fall in love.

      My family, especially my brother Jim, who kept it all together for us during a year when everything seemed to fall apart; my brother Brian, who is my biggest fan; Kim Castellano-Curnyn, Upper West Side Bombshell; Trina K. Curnyn (the Kis for Killer Wit); and Dave Webber, who always seems to have answers to my obscure questions.

      Sarah Mlynowski, fabulous writer and savvy editor, for reading my drafts.

      My wonderful editor, Joan Marlow Golan, who loved Grace from the very first chapter. All the talented people behind Red Dress Ink, especially Margaret, Laura, Stephanie, Margie, Tara and Tania.

      And of course, my mother, the original bombshell, and the best friend this girl could have.

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      1

      “When you lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas.”

      —Jean Harlow

      It amazed me to discover my relationship with Ethan was only as strong as the latex between us.

      “Oh, God,” he said as he looked down at me, just moments after what I had assumed was his orgasm. But what I had taken for a look of euphoria on his face turned out to be utter panic.

      “What’s wrong?” I asked, gazing down at where he kneeled between my legs. He was studying me in a way that made me feel vaguely embarrassed, despite the fact that we had been dating six months and were, by most standards, in a relationship.

      “It’s…gone,” he said with disbelief.

      “Gone?”

      “The condom. It’s disappeared. Inside you.”

      Alarmed, I immediately sat up.

      “No, no, no—don’t move,” he said, squinting down at me as if about to perform surgery.

      With a sigh, I swung away from him, slid off the bed.

      “Where are you going?” he demanded.

      “To get it out,” I replied, heading for the bathroom.

      A sudden calm descended over me, probably because Ethan was panicking so much, I didn’t feel the need. But once I was in the bathroom alone, I was scared. I sat down on the side of the tub and, a bit frantically I’ll admit, investigated. I was relieved, momentarily, when I fished out the errant bit of latex. And horrified when, upon closer examination, I discovered the damning tear.

      I leaned back against the tiled wall, the “what ifs” whirling through my mind. And I discovered, with something resembling surprise, that my chief reason for alarm—the possibility that Ethan and I—that is, the idea of a baby—was not so…alarming. I was thirty-four years old. I was a Senior Product Manager for Roxanne Dubrow cosmetics and made damn good money. I had a somewhat posh one bedroom on the Upper West Side. If I wasn’t ready now…

      Okay, so it wasn’t perfect timing. I was about to start work on Roxanne Dubrow’s next big campaign, which I was hoping would lead to bigger things for my career. And then there was Ethan. Things were going just fine between us, but a baby? I tried to imagine Ethan, with his pinstripe suits and wire-rimmed glasses, cuddling a child. At first, the image was a bit peculiar. All I could come up with was the look of disgust on Ethan’s face as the imaginary child upended its breakfast on his Italian silk tie. But then I mentally put Ethan in a T-shirt and jeans, set him in a lush suburban backyard tossing a ball to a tow-headed little boy and, suddenly, a warmth swept through me, taking me by surprise. I could do this. If I had to.

      In this quasi-calm state I returned to the bedroom. Ethan sat up on the bed, looking at me with anticipation. Though he was still naked, he had put his glasses on, and I felt a sudden urge to laugh. What was it about a naked man in glasses that