Bought: One Bride. Miranda LeeЧитать онлайн книгу.
it to me?”
“Nope.”
Frustration flared within Richard, alongside another surge of testosterone. “Damn it, Reece, you already own a mansion on the water just around the corner. What do you want this place for?”
“To give to you.”
“What?” Richard’s eyebrows shot ceiling-wards.
Reece smiled that disarming, charming smile of his. “Here are the keys, my friend. It’s yours.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Richard exclaimed, though his heart was hammering inside his chest. “I can’t let you do that. Hell, this place has to be worth a small fortune.”
“Five point four million the other penthouse sold for, to be precise. But this one is bigger and better. Here.” And he pressed the keys into Richard’s right hand.
“No, no. You have to let me pay for it!”
“Absolutely not. It’s all yours, in appreciation. You were there for me, Rich, when no one else was. And I’m not just talking about the money. You gave me your hand in friendship. And you had faith in my judgement. That’s worth more than all the money in the world.”
Richard didn’t know what to say. Only twice in his banking career had he made personal friends of men he’d lent money to. It was generally advised against. But he’d never had any cause to regret either decision.
Reece, of course, was always a hard man to say no to, and impossible not to like.
Mike had been a different kettle of fish entirely. As dark in looks and personality as Reece was light and bright, the young computer genius had come to the bank several years ago for backing to start his own software company. A one-time juvenile delinquent who had a permanent chip on his shoulder, Mike had no ability to sell himself at all.
But he was creatively brilliant, cripplingly honest and unashamedly ambitious. Richard had been so impressed, he’d invested his own money into Mike’s company as well as the bank’s.
Over time, Richard had found himself really liking Mike as well, despite his gruff manner. He’d persuaded Mike to go along to one of Reece’s famous parties and the three of them had soon become close friends.
Nowadays, Richard counted Reece and Mike as his best and only true friends. Other male colleagues in his life pretended friendship, but Richard knew that they had knives ready behind his back, to be used if he gave them a chance.
“You have no idea how much this means to me,” Richard said, his hand closing tightly around the keys. “But to accept a luxury penthouse as a gift—especially this one—would put me in an impossible position at the bank. My enemies would have a field day. There’d be all sorts of rumours about corruption and paybacks and Lord knows what else. You must let me pay for it.”
“You and that bloody bank and those pompous pricks you work with!”
Richard laughed. “Yes, I know, but it’s my bloody bank now and I’d like to keep it that way. I’ll give you the proper market value. What would that be? Six million?”
“Probably.” Reece sighed. “Very well. Six million.”
“Look, it’s not as though I can’t afford it,” Richard pointed out. “I made a packet out of the house at Palm Beach I bought.” And which he’d sold a week after Joanna’s funeral.
Richard didn’t add that in the eighteen months since Joanna’s death, he’d also tripled his personal fortune in the stock market. Amazing what profits could be made when you were uncaring of the risks you were taking.
He could retire right now on his portfolio of property and shares.
But of course he wouldn’t. He enjoyed the cut and thrust of the financial world; enjoyed the power of his new position, and the prestige that went with it.
Richard wondered momentarily what Joanna would have made of his success, if she’d still been alive. She would have liked the money, and the social life his new job required of him. But would it have kept her solely in his bed?
Richard doubted it. Any woman who took a lover within two years of her marriage had to be unfaithful by nature.
If it hadn’t been for the autopsy report, he would never have known the awful truth about the woman he loved. He’d questioned the coroner at length about the age of the child Joanna had been carrying when the car accident had claimed her life, but he’d been told there was no mistake. Six weeks, give or take a few days.
Richard had been overseas on business for over a month surrounding the time of conception.
The child was not his.
Richard’s hand closed even more tightly around the keys. He’d wanted a child with her so much. But Joanna had kept putting him off, saying she wasn’t ready for dirty nappies and sleepless nights.
The thing that tormented him the most—now that he could bear to think about it—was the way she’d greeted him when he’d returned home that last time. As if she’d truly loved him. As if she’d missed him so much. She hadn’t been able to get enough of him in bed, when all the while she’d been carrying another man’s child.
Clearly, she’d been going to pass the baby off as his.
What kind of woman could do that?
Richard had buried both of them with a broken heart, then buried himself in his career.
They said time healed everything. Perhaps so. But Richard knew his life would never be the same, post-Joanna. He could never fall in love again for starters. That part of him had died with her.
But he didn’t want to continue living alone.
And he still wanted a child.
It was definitely time to move on. Time to find himself a new wife, the way Reece had found Alanna after his fiancée had dumped him.
“You have that look on your face,” Reece said, breaking the silence in the bedroom.
“What look is that?”
“The one you get when you’re about to ask me endless questions, usually on the new project I’ve just come to you with.”
The corner of Richard’s mouth twitched. “You’re a remarkably intuitive man. I do have some questions for you. And, yes, it’s about a project of yours. But not a new one. One you completed last year. Shall we go out onto the terrace and sit down?”
“I’ve never known you to be so mysterious,” he said as he followed Richard through the sliding glass doors out into the sunshine.
Richard pulled out one of the chairs of the nearest outdoor setting and sat down. There were several arrangements dotted around the various terraces. This was made in cream aluminium, with a glass-topped table and pale blue, all-weather cushions on the chairs.
Richard waited till Reece was settled opposite him before he spoke.
“I’ve decided I want to get married again,” he began.
“But that’s great!” his friend proclaimed. “I didn’t realise you were seeing someone.”
“I’m not. But I hope to be soon, once you put me in touch with the woman who runs Wives Wanted.”
Reece’s mouth dropped open before snapping shut again. “But you didn’t approve when I told you about that.”
“I was surprised, that’s all.” A reasonable reaction, in Richard’s opinion. Reece was not the sort of man one would ever imagine using an introduction agency. His confession to his best man and groomsman just before his wedding last year that he’d found his beautiful new bride via an internet website had come as a shock.
The agency was called Wives Wanted, its aim being to match professional men with the kind of women lots of them wanted to marry, especially those