Millionaire Dad's SOS. Элли Блейк
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Meg’s jaw dropped. ‘Are you saying you have people posted about the place to ward off anyone turning up here to take a photo of me?’
‘We both know it’s not you I am trying to protect.’
Zach’s gaze was steady. Not a hint of humour. Not a hint of a smile. While Meg’s cheeks grew so flushed even her teeth began to feel hot.
Ruby.
Of course. This—all this: the thoughtful blanket, the helpful hat, the beautiful scenery, the long brooding looks—was all about his daughter.
He wasn’t thinking of her at all.
Dear Reader
This here is my twentieth book. Twenty. Phew! I’m shaking my head in disbelief even as I write those words.
I can still remember the moment I wrote the very first words of my first book, THE WEDDING WISH, and the magical moment I realised what the final line would be. My memories of feeling tumbly in the stomach and as if I was about to pass out as I sent my book to Mills & Boon in London are, as I’m sure you can imagine, less fond.
I remember so clearly the night I answered my phone and heard a gorgeous English accent. Crazy as it seemed, I just knew it was Mills & Boon calling. I remember the loooong chat with my editor before she put me out of my misery and let me know that she wanted to buy my book. Champagne flowed at my place; therefore fewer memories remain of the rest of that night ;).
I remember learning of my first title. Being told of my first release date. And, boy, do I remember finding my first box of books with my name on them at the front door. I was so excited I tore the thing open with my bare hands!
Now I’m up to number twenty. And you know what? As I sit here letting the news sink in it’s truly just as exciting as the first. On that note I hand Meg and Zach over to you, and wish you as much fun getting to know them as I had.
Happy reading!
Ally
www.allyblake.com
Millionaire Dad’s SOS
by
Ally Blake
Having once been a professional cheerleader, Ally Blake’s motto is ‘Smile and the world smiles with you’. One way to make Ally smile is by sending her on holidays, especially to locations which inspire her writing. New York and Italy are by far her favourite destinations. Other things that make her smile are the gracious city of Melbourne, the gritty Collingwood football team, and her gorgeous husband Mark.
Reading romance novels was a smile-worthy pursuit from long back, so, with such valuable preparation already behind her, she wrote and sold her first book. Her career as a writer also gives her a perfectly reasonable excuse to indulge in her stationery addiction. That alone is enough to keep her grinning every day!
Ally would love you to visit her at her website www.allyblake.com
Ally also writes for Mills & Boon® Modern Heat™!
This one’s for Veronica, my constant companion through the writing of this book—from bump, to blinking into the light, to becoming my beautiful smiley girl.
PROLOGUE
WWW.CHIC-ONLINE.COM.AU
News just in…
The cameras were out, the paparazzi waiting, seamstresses across the city ready to copy whichever designer frock they were about to be dazzled by, yet all were sorely disappointed when so-fabulous-it-hurts, thinking man’s It-Girl Meg Kelly—the youngest, and we think most adorable, offspring of one-time uber-financier, some-time squillionaire, KInG of the corporate jungle Quinn Kelly—failed to show at the opening of hot new nightclub Bliss.
But wait, there’s more!
Sources close to the family say she hasn’t slept at her apartment or her folks’ pad, the stunning Kelly Manor, the past two nights. And her familiar classic red convertible, often seen parked out front of Kelly Tower—the home of titanic family biz the Kelly Investment Group—is nowhere to be seen.
Where has Brisbane’s favourite daughter disappeared to?
Could she be—gasp!—in hiding, nursing a new nose job? Has the nicest girl in town finally shown a kink in her squeaky clean armour by—eek!—blowing off her host? Is her vanishing act a sign that her Herculean father is not as recovered from recent heart problems as the family would have us believe?
Or—bless her little heart—has she run off with the studly Texan oil baron seen visiting the family manor last week? Oh, please, let that be it! Can we possibly hope this means the last of the Kelly kids has finally found true love at last?
Take our online poll for a chance to win a copy of bestseller Long Live the King: An unauthorised biography of Quinn Kelly!
CHAPTER ONE
‘OF ALL the resorts in all the world, why did she have to walk into mine?’
Zach Jones stood in the shadows of a lush potted palm in a dark corner of the Waratah House lobby, narrowed eyes locked on the figure skipping down the wide stone steps leading away from the main building of the Juniper Falls Rainforest Retreat.
There weren’t many reasons why his resort staff would contact him directly, ever, his reputation being that he was akin to a bear with a sore tooth at the best of times. That was as kind a character reference he could have hoped for, considering his years of unequivocal lack of co-operation with the press.
Despite all that, the rumoured arrival of the woman currently whipping off her cap and trying and failing to tuck her mass of dark curls beneath it had been deemed important enough to give the bear a nudge.
The bear was thankful they had.
After his daily run, he’d lain in wait for her to show her face. In the end he’d missed out on that privilege. She’d scooted through the lobby, head tipped down. Nevertheless, he’d recognised her in an instant. There wouldn’t be many a red-blooded man in this corner of the world who would not.
Even though she was dressed down in shorts, vest top, sneakers and cap rather than her usual society princess razzmatazz of designer frocks and diamonds, there was no mistaking her. Not with those sexy dark curls, that hourglass silhouette in miniature, the kind Zach couldn’t help imagining just begged for fifties-style dresses and high heels to make the most of it, and the ridiculously confident, rock-and-roll sway of those infamous hips.
The woman who’d sent his staff into a tizz the moment she’d zoomed up to the front gates of the resort earlier that week in a growling red convertible filled with designer luggage and equally designer friends was none other than Meg Kelly.
‘Dammit,’ he said loud enough a group of guests heading out the doors gave him a sideways glance. He slid deeper into the shadows, a place he’d always found far more comfortable than being under any kind of spotlight.
Much less the kind of spotlight Meg Kelly seemed to carry on her person, such was her magnetism for the kind of rabid media attention usually reserved for royalty and rock stars. That kind of attention made her exactly the kind of guest most resort owners would give their right arm for.
Not him. Not now.
She