Claiming His Love-Child. Sandra MartonЧитать онлайн книгу.
on>
“Then why did you come here today?”
He smiled, and she knew she would remember the chill of that smile forever.
“I came to tell you what happens next,” he said softly.
“What—what happens next?”
Cullen nodded. He’d thought about this a thousand times…. Like it or not, the child growing in Marissa Perez’s womb was his. Like it or not, he was responsible not just for its conception but for its life. Like it or not, by late last night he could think of only one appropriate plan of action.
“What happens next,” he said slowly, his eyes on Marissa’s face, “is that you’re going to become my wife.”
Dear Reader,
Welcome to the exciting world of the O’Connells. Keir, Cullen and Sean are sexy, exciting men. Their sisters, Fallon, Megan and Brianna, are strong, independent women. What do they all have in common? They’re all going to risk everything to find everlasting love.
Claiming His Love-Child is Cullen’s story. He’s a handsome, successful bachelor. He’s watched Keir find a woman and fall head over heels in love. He’s just seen Fallon marry the man of her dreams. But would he ever trade his freedom for a wedding ring? No way, Cullen says…but life has a way of surprising us.
After a night of searing passion, Cullen O’Connell can’t forget Marissa. But when the top lawyer tracks her down, he’s in for a shock…she’s pregnant! If Cullen wants to claim his love-child, he reckons there’s only one thing to do—offer Marissa marriage. But will she accept?
I think their story will grab you by the heart. That’s what it did to me as I wrote it.
With love,
Claiming His Love-Child
Sandra Marton
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 ONE
July, the coast of Sicily
MEMORIES of the woman and the long, hot night she’d spent in his arms were demons that haunted Cullen O’Connell’s waking and sleeping hours.
He didn’t like it. What was she doing in his head? The sex had been great. Okay, incredible, but sex was all it was. She was bright and beautiful, but he hardly knew her. Outside the context of the night they’d spent together, she meant nothing to him.
Cullen had no reason to think about her, especially now.
He was in Italy to celebrate his sister’s marriage with the rest of his family. The past few days had been great. Whether they were partying or just sitting around talking, Cullen had never found better company than his brothers. Add his three sisters to the mix, things only got better. Toss in his mother and stepfather for good measure, you had a gathering of the O’Connell clan that would put any other party to shame.
As for the setting—most people would call it idyllic. Castello Lucchesi stood on a cliff overlooking the Mediterranean with Mount Etna, trailing ribbons of fire, as a backdrop.
The perfect setting for the perfect party. Cullen’s mouth thinned. Then, why was he so restless? Why was he thinking about a woman he barely knew? Why this increasing desire to head home to Boston?
Too much togetherness?
Maybe.
Cullen sighed, undid the jet studs at the collar and cuffs of his frilled white shirt, rolled the sleeves back on his tanned, muscled forearms and stared out over the sea. He’d already discarded the jacket of his tux, left it draped over one of the little white folding chairs in the garden of the castello.
It had never happened before. Well, there was a first time for everything.
Maybe it was the occasion making him feel edgy. This was the third O’Connell wedding in two years. First his mother’s, then his brother Keir’s, and now his sister Fallon had tied the knot.
Or the noose, Cullen thought as he went up the winding steps that led to the crenellated watchtower overlooking the castle and the Mediterranean.
What was it about weddings that made women weep and men want to run for the hills?
At least this one had been unusual. The high cliff, the blue sea, the magnificent castle…
Cullen smiled.
And that game of touch football yesterday, on the beach below the castle. The Shirts—Megan, Briana and Fallon—had come within one touchdown of trouncing the skins—Sean and Cullen, with Keir and Fallon’s groom, Stefano, spelling each other.
Meg had protested. “No fair. That’s four to three.”
“It isn’t,” Cullen had insisted. “The four of us don’t play at the same time. And you’re a fine one to talk about what’s fair, considering that you darned near fractured three of my ribs with that elbow of yours.”
“Yeah,” Bree said, poking out her chin, “but that only means you’ve always got a fresh player with unbroken ribs on the field.”
“Well, you’ve got a cheering section building your morale,” Cullen had retaliated.
They’d all looked at Keir’s pregnant wife, Cassie, sitting on the sidelines. Cassie had grinned, pumped both fists in the air and yelled, Yea, which was exactly the distraction Meg needed to shout “Fumble,” scoop up the ball and charge across the goal line.
“Cheater!” Cullen had yelled, and his sisters said, yeah, right, and so what? All was fair in love, war and football.
Somehow they’d all ended up in the pool, laughing and ducking each other under the water. Well, all except Stefano and Fallon, who’d wandered off alone, gazing into each other’s eyes. And Keir and Cassie had stayed on the sidelines, too, with Keir hovering over his wife as if she were made of crystal.
Cullen leaned out of the tower’s embrasure, which still bore the warmth of the sun that was only now starting to lower in the sky.
The last few days had been fun. The evenings, too. Lots of good food and vino, and plenty of time for Stefano to get to know them and them to get to know him. It had all been great…except for those unwanted flashes of memory. The X-rated images, captured forever in his head.
Marissa, whispering his name. Clinging to him. Moving beneath him, taking him deep, so deep, inside her…
“Hell,” Cullen muttered. It was pretty sad when a grown man could turn himself on by thinking back to something that had happened two months ago.
Exhaustion could explain it. He’d flown in Friday, straight from a week of twelve-hour days spent between his office and the courtroom. Combine that with jet lag, a Sicilian heat so oppressive you could almost feel it melting your bones, toss in worry about Fallon’s accident and the scars left on her lovely face, and he had every right to be a basket case.
At