The Daniel Deal

By Joanne Hill

A modern romance packed with heartwarming emotion, a touch of humour, a marriage of convenience.... and a wee Fox Terrier called Barnaby, who is about to change everything in The Daniel Deal.
Daniel Christie’s beloved grandfather, Sir Arthur Christie, is dying, and Daniel knows there’s only way to make his last weeks happy ones – give him the one thing he’s always wanted – the promise of heirs. All Daniel has to do is fall in love, have the wedding, and follow it with lots of little Daniels.
Well, that’s not going to happen. So Daniel comes up with the next best solution. He hires jobless Melinda Green to be his wife.
Mel has good reason to accept Daniel’s crazy deal. Her bills are mounting, and with her invalid mother needing ongoing care, Mel knows a few months as Mrs Christie, with the massive payment at the end, is a gift from heaven. And just because Daniel is rich and he’s gorgeous doesn’t mean she’ll end up with “feelings” for him. After all, her fiancé just dumped her for her best friend so men are totally off the radar.
Or, so she thought, because the Daniel deal is about to change everything!
Come downunder to The City of Sails, Auckland, and meet the Christies: wealthy Daniel and his bride, Melinda, a woman he never expected to fall in love with, let alone change his heart in the process.
The Daniel Deal is a modern romance, guaranteed to warm your heart, as two strangers fine love in the most unusual place: their marriage!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joanne Hill
• Release date: Dec 16, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301446667

Joanne Hill

Joanne writes contemporary romance novels, often with a rom-com twist. She researched category romance from a Readers Advisory perspective for her masters degree, and has presented a paper on the research at the Library Association conference. She lives in New Zealand. For more information, visit www.joannehill.com.

Book preview

THE DANIEL DEAL

JOANNE HILL

A City of Sails Romance

© 2012 Joanne Hill

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the author, except for review or promotional purposes.

This is a work of fiction and liberties may have been taken with some details.

Smashwords Edition ISBN: 978-0-9941166-1-1

My bride, my very own, you have stolen my heart!

With one glance from your eyes and the glow of your necklace,

you have stolen my heart.

Song of Solomon 4:9 CEV

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

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER ONE

Give her a kid with a complex, any complex, and she was in her element.

Teenage kids, confused kids, kids that suffered acne, unrequited love, parents that didn’t understand them, and she was there.

Little kids, however, were something else.

Mel shot a wary glance at the toddler in her arms, a two-year-old called Matilda who had jam on her face, sand stuck to the jam, and a lethal Barbie in her pudgy fist. Mel felt as far out of her comfort zone as she could get.

Mama, Matilda squealed, waving the doll.

Mummy will be here soon. Mel jerked her head back as the Barbie came an inch away from connecting with her nose. I bet she’s finished all her shopping and she’s parking her car right now and before you know it, we’ll be having a barbeque back at the campsite. She glanced up towards the carpark to see if Stacey was there, hopefully with one hand ready to take her children and the other holding a bag of food. There was only a tall, dark-haired man stalking down the grass bank towards the beach. He took long, angry strides, the tails of his cream shirt flapping around his hips. He glanced at her — the briefest look —- and continued walking, a don’t-bother-me-and-I-won’t-bother-you warning written in every step he took.

Suits me just fine.

She tensed as Eli, Matilda’s 'spawn of Satan' brother, hurtled over the damp sand dragging a dodgy kite behind him.

She called, Watch out, Eli, you’re not looking where you’re going.

He ignored her, ran back up the end of the beach, spun around and made his way back, intent on the kite and its dismal attempts to get lift off.

Matilda wriggled as Eli sped past and Mel cautioned again, Eli, be careful. Her words carried back towards her on a breeze of sea air.

Matilda began to whine and Mel jiggled her. There, there, it’s okay. Mummy’s nearly here I’m sure of it. She’s nearly here, Mattie.

Or maybe she wasn’t nearly here at all. Maybe she’d decided to keep on driving past the shops and wasn’t coming back. Mel glanced over towards the campsite of the Shakespear Regional Park. They’d only met a few days ago when they’d helped each other set up their tents and she'd suspected Stacey was suffering mild depression.

Or maybe it wasn’t mild at all. Maybe in the months since she’d resigned from her job at the school, Mel had lost her touch. Had lost the ability to see what wasn’t so obvious to everyone else. Unease settled in her stomach the same time as Eli ran straight into the path of the man walking into the ankle-height waves.

"Watch out." The warning froze on Mel’s lips as Eli connected with solid thigh, throwing them both off balance. The man fell and took Eli with him into the edges of the surf.

Mel’s heart raced in panic as she set Matilda down.

Wadder, Matilda squealed as she toddled towards the sea.

Mattie, no, Melinda yelled, swooping her up just in time.

Dread pounded her as the man grabbed Eli and stood up. His pants were wet, his shirt tails soaking, and Eli yelled, My kite, my kite, as the kite drifted down the beach.

The man looked warily at Eli, holding him out as if he were something indescribably nasty.

Mel jogged the short distance, Matilda laughing with each bounce, and when she reached him, she apologised. I’m so sorry this has happened.

His cool gaze zeroed in on Matilda, then back to Mel. She felt the urge to squirm and said hastily, Eli, say sorry to the man for knocking him over.

Eli shook his head firmly, yelled, I want my kite, and tried to escape the man’s grip.

The man addressed Eli. I have no idea what they are teaching your mother in parenting school but clearly they’ve failed.

Mel stiffened. It was one thing to consider herself a failure as a potential parent but quite another to have it confirmed by a complete stranger.

She breathed in deeply. "I am sorry about this but it is a beach. Flying kites is what kids do on beaches."

His blue-grey eyes stared at her as if she had just muttered the earth was square. The child could have drowned.

She rolled her eyes. He wasn’t about to drown. I was watching him.

One eyebrow lifted.

She ignored it and said to Eli, his arms still waving around for the kite, You’re meant to watch where you’re running with that kite. I told you that a million—

She pulled herself up. She hadn’t actually told him a million times at all — maybe four or five — but it felt like a million. No wonder His Lordship thinks I'm the mother.

He set Eli down and Eli promptly turned back to Mel and wrapped his arms around her legs so tight, she had to struggle not to fall.

There, there, Eli, she murmured as he buried his face against her jeans and she patted his head. Someone loves me, she thought, then quickly pushed the pity party away. She was here to forget about Max and the wedding — not dwell on it.

She gathered herself and glanced back at the man. He was well over six foot with coal black hair that grazed his shirt collar, a slightly square cut to his chin, and shoulders broad enough to make you feel protected. A pulse of awareness zipped through her. To her surprise it felt good. Made her feel as if she were alive after all and not the cold sack of potatoes Max had accused her of being. She said, Look, I am truly sorry about all this.

He continued to glare. His face seemed to be getting darker which was oddly even more attractive. Take that, Max. I am so responsive. Take that.

She tried again. I’m staying at the campground just along the way. She gestured down the beach to the site entrance. If you need to — get changed or anything.

As a rule, I don’t carry spare clothes in my car. He wiped one wet, sandy hand over his shirt. Just keep better control of your children. They shouldn’t be running wild on a beach.

The gibe that she was incapable of being a good parent dug deeper. She didn’t need to feel any more incapable than she already did, especially with what was happening in her life. Or rather, not happening. She inhaled sharply. "They were not running wild."

They need to be kept under better control. He glanced towards a woman walking a Border Collie down the beach on a leash. A well restrained Border Collie, Mel noted.

He raised his eyebrows.

You’ve got to be kidding, she choked out in disgust. Comparing children to animals is absurd. I suppose you think they should be seen, not heard, and whipped for the slightest misdemeanour. You could get in a lot of trouble for saying things like that you know.

I never said a thing. Though is ‘misdemeanour’ what you call uncontrolled children running loose in public places?

Matilda began to cry again and Mel jiggled her. The movement caused her braless breasts to wobble and his gaze settled there with the briefest spark of what might have been interest, before looking back up to the car park beyond the grass strip where no doubt he’d parked his shiny, valet-perfect, late model BMW.

I’d like to say it was a pleasure meeting you. He shoved his hands in his jeans pocket, then the other. He swore.

Dread shot through Mel. Please let his keys be there and not floating around in the sea. Please, please, please…

He pulled out a short gold chain with several keys and jangled them. But that would be a lie.

Then he turned and walked back to the reserve, to the car park beyond, with his wet jeans and damp shirt, and she almost sank onto the beach with relief. Yes, it was all her fault, she knew that. She had been the adult in charge of Eli. But a goodbye, a nod to the head, an acknowledgement via those lips would have been something.

Good looking, yes. A darned shame about the personality.

He is not Max, a voice screamed in her head. Let it go.

Too late, she called out, Wait.

His broad shoulders stiffened a second before he stopped.

You can’t just…you don’t… I mean, it’s…

He turned around exasperated. Just make sure your child doesn’t do it again. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes if he took out a pensioner.

Her mouth gaped, coherence drew to a splutter on her lips, and at the same time she heard Stacey’s voice and turned to see her running along the beach towards them.

Mel? she called, her hair flowing behind her, yellow dress flapping around her legs. I’m so sorry I’m late. I just dropped the shopping off at my tent but all the oldies from the campervan tour were there and they just insisted I have a cup of tea and—

She stared at the retreating man’s wet pants and then at Eli, complete with wetter clothes, sulky expression, and a tight grip on Mel’s thighs.

Eli? she gasped.

Eli just had a bit of an incident, Mel explained. No one got hurt.

Not from the look of that guy. Stacey took Matilda out of Melinda’s arms and stopped her son from taking off down the beach again in search of the kite. I’m terribly sorry — sir, she called out to the now distant figure.

Mel turned away from him and his arrogant arse. Her body still seethed with frustration and never had the idea of climbing into her little tent and zipping it up held as much appeal as it did now. But before that, she needed to make sure everything was fine here. Stacey, are you okay?

Sure. She jiggled Matilda who had her head on Stacey’s shoulder and her thumb in her mouth, just watching Mel. Mel smiled and Matilda turned to face the other way.

Are you sure? Is there anything I can do?

Honestly, I’m sure.

Still, Mel hesitated. I’ll head back to the campsite. I might have a go at making something yummy on the BBQ for us all for tea.

Stacey nodded. That would be great. And I’m fine — I really am — and I owe you. She gave a wobbly smile. Getting away on my own, even if it was just going up to the shops and having a coffee and time alone to think — well, it really helped. You were right. I feel heaps better.

Mel squeezed her arm, relieved beyond belief, and made her way back down the beach. She walked as fast as she could, her feet sinking into the soft sand as she neared the hard, grassy walkway. Again, Max popped into her mind and again she forced him away, as far away as she could. It angered her. It had been over two months now and she should have seen it coming when looking back, the signs were all so obvious. That’s what angered her so much now. All the lies. All the deception. Her plans, her future, ripped apart by a man she thought she loved. No. She had loved him. Of course she had.

Hadn’t she?

Not so different from all the kids you’ve counselled, are you, Miss Green.

She bet that man on the beach didn’t have to deal with being lied to. Or being jilted just weeks out from a wedding. He’d be the one doing the jilting, and there were probably broken hearts scattered across New Zealand, courtesy of him.

She broke into a slow jog as her feet hit solid earth, enjoying the freedom, and her spine tingled all the way back to her tent. With any luck she’d never see him again, and she pushed his image firmly out of her mind, and wondered what to cook for dinner.

***

Daniel stood outside the small green and red tent that Stacey had directed him to.

Mel — that was the other woman’s name — Mel — was supposedly inside. It was barely big enough for one person, looked as if it would rip apart in a decent gust, yet he could hear the muted sounds of voices from inside.

It was impossible she had someone with her. Daniel glanced around the near-deserted campground.

Stacey had assured him there were two dozen people booked in for the week and he'd counted three other tents and a couple of campervans. Retired people sat around on fold-up chairs; chatting, laughing, apparently having a good time. It was beyond him how they could. He waved a bug away from his face. The urge to go camping had always eluded him although the silence held some appeal. Especially with what was going on in his life right now.

He glanced back at the tent. A car was parked alongside, an old hatchback boasting rust, missing hubcaps, chipped paintwork, and bumper stickers promoting the Auckland rugby team. A blue, plastic tarpaulin had been rigged up between two trees, and a solitary chair and a camp table sat beneath it. The chair was covered with a faded patchwork quilt.

What was he thinking of, coming here? What had possessed him to think a spontaneous walk along a beach would do some good and clear his mind? He had never done spontaneous in his life. Spontaneity messed with control and he needed to be in control.

He turned, on the verge of heading back up to his car, when he hesitated. He had never been a quitter, either. You did not run a billion-dollar empire by leaping out of the woodpile when it started to burn. There were, of course, exceptions to every rule and right now would be a good time to exercise that exception. So, go home, Christie.

He hesitated, then turned back to the tent. Against his better judgement he ground out, Excuse me.

The voices in the tent stopped. Seconds passed and his irritation grew. He gave it one more shot. I know you’re in there. Would you come out? As an afterthought he added, Please.

He’d never been particularly good with apologies. They were mostly unnecessary although if he screwed up, he’d admit it. He just didn’t screw up. Yet he’d driven away from the beach in those wet jeans and that wet shirt, with sand in his shoes, and five minutes down the road Mel’s image had refused to budge. She hadn’t even attempted to correct his assumption she was the mother of those children. Why?

I need to talk to you. He’d give her ten seconds. Then he’d get the heck out of here and put it out of his mind.

There was movement in the tent, the zip opened and she thrust her head out.

Oh, it’s you, she announced with disapproval.

Obviously. She had brown eyes. Dark brown eyes that watched him with a Who do you think you are? intensity. Interesting. Normally people watched him with trepidation or respect. Or if they were women, blatant expectation. They did not look at him as if he were the scum of the earth.

I need to talk to you, he repeated.

She didn’t move and he wondered if he was going to end up humiliating himself even further by getting on his hands and knees and crawling into the tent.

My head, she told him, "insists I tell you where to get off, because I’m familiar with your type. You don’t listen