Taking Over the Tycoon Read online

  Dear Reader,

  I am very pleased and honored to be part of Harlequin American Romance’s 20th anniversary. I was privileged to have one of my love stories, Touch of Fire, selected for publication that first year. To date, I have published seventy-one novels. Fifty-nine of them have been Harlequin American Romance titles.

  And the reason for that is simple. Harlequin American Romance novels embody everything I hold dear about family and friends, love and commitment. The stories can by funny, serious, sad and happy. They are a slice of real life with a dollop of romance and fantasy thrown in. And they end happily—every time.

  My heartfelt thanks to the wonderful editors I have worked with over the years, including and especially my editor for the past eight years, the supremely talented Denise O’Sullivan.

  To the readers who have read and loved my books and shared them with family and friends—you make it all worthwhile.

  My very best to you all.

  Dear Reader,

  What a spectacular lineup of love stories Harlequin American Romance has for you this month as we continue to celebrate our 20th anniversary. Start off with another wonderful title in Cathy Gillen Thacker’s DEVERAUX LEGACY series, Taking Over the Tycoon. Sexy millionaire Connor Templeton is used to getting whatever—whomever—he wants! But has he finally met his match in one beguiling single mother?

  Next, Fortune’s Twins by Kara Lennox is the latest installment in the MILLIONAIRE, MONTANA continuity series. In this book, a night of passion leaves a “Main Street Millionaire” expecting twins—and has the whole town wondering “Who’s the daddy?” After catching a bridal bouquet and opening an heirloom hope chest, a shy virgin dreams about asking her secret crush to father the baby she yearns for, in Have Bouquet, Need Boyfriend, part of Rita Herron’s HARTWELL HOPE CHESTS series. And don’t miss Inherited: One Baby! by Laura Marie Altom, in which a handsome bachelor must convince his ex-wife to remarry him in order to keep custody of the adorable orphaned baby left in his care.

  Enjoy this month’s offerings, and be sure to return each and every month to Harlequin American Romance!

  Melissa Jeglinski

  Associate Senior Editor

  Harlequin American Romance

  Cathy Gillen Thacker

  TAKING OVER THE TYCOON

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Cathy Gillen Thacker married her high school sweetheart and hasn’t had a dull moment since. Why, you ask? Well, there were three kids, various pets, any number of automobiles, several moves across the country, his and her careers and sundry other experiences (some of which were exciting and some of which weren’t). But mostly, there was love and friendship and laughter, and lots of experiences she wouldn’t trade for the world.

  Books by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

  37—TOUCH OF FIRE

  75—PROMISE ME TODAY

  102—HEART’S JOURNEY

  134—REACH FOR THE STARS

  143—A FAMILY TO CHERISH

  156—HEAVEN SHARED

  166—THE DEVLIN DARE

  187—ROGUE’S BARGAIN

  233—GUARDIAN ANGEL

  247—FAMILY AFFAIR

  262—NATURAL TOUCH

  277—PERFECT MATCH

  307—ONE MAN’S FOLLY

  318—LIFETIME GUARANTEE

  334—MEANT TO BE

  367—IT’S ONLY TEMPORARY

  388—FATHER OF THE BRIDE

  407—AN UNEXPECTED FAMILY

  423—TANGLED WEB

  445—HOME FREE

  452—ANYTHING’S POSSIBLE

  456—THE COWBOY’S MISTRESS

  472—HONEYMOON FOR HIRE

  483—BEGUILED AGAIN

  494—FIANCÉ FOR SALE

  506—KIDNAPPING NICK

  521—BABY ON THE DOORSTEP◊

  526—DADDY TO THE RESCUE◊

  529—TOO MANY MOMS◊

  540—JENNY AND THE FORTUNE TELLER

  556—LOVE POTION #5

  568—MISS CHARLOTTE SURRENDERS

  587—A SHOTGUN WEDDING

  607—DADDY CHRISTMAS

  613—MATCHMAKING BABY

  625—THE COWBOY’S BRIDEΔ

  629—THE RANCH STUDΔ

  633—THE MAVERICK MARRIAGEΔ

  673—ONE HOT COWBOY

  697—SPUR-OF-THE-MOMENT MARRIAGEΔ

  713—SNOWBOUND BRIDE††

  717—HOT CHOCOLATE HONEYMOON††

  721—SNOW BABY††

  747—MAKE ROOM FOR BABY

  754—BABY’S FIRST CHRISTMAS

  789—DR. COWBOY*

  793—WILDCAT COWBOY*

  797—A COWBOY’S WOMAN*

  801—A COWBOY KIND OF DADDY*

  837—THE BRIDE SAID, “I DID?”†

  841—THE BRIDE SAID, “FINALLY!”†

  862—THE BRIDE SAID, “SURPRISE!”†

  870—THE VIRGIN BRIDE SAID, “WOW!”†

  937—HER BACHELOR CHALLENGE**

  941—HIS MARRIAGE BONUS**

  945—MY SECRET WIFE**

  949—THEIR INSTANT BABY**

  973—TAKING OVER THE TYCOON**

  HARLEQUIN BOOKS

  TEXAS VOWS: A MCCABE FAMILY SAGA*

  THE HEIRESS**

  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

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Kristy Neumeyer waited until the tall, sexy man in front of her finished his silky-smooth spiel before she put her paintbrush down and wiped her hands on the rag looped into the belt of her jeans. Turning back to him, she decided not to mince words this time, and she gave him her most stubborn smile. “I’ve got just three words for your proposition.”

  He waited, hope shining in his gorgeous gray eyes, as Kristy tightened her lips and continued. “Not. Gonna. Happen.” Not ever, no matter what he did. No matter how attractive Connor Templeton looked standing there with his neatly cut, dark blond hair, the hint of autumn tan on his handsome face. No matter how easily his confident and commanding presence could take her breath away. And it was high time the ultrasuccessful real estate tycoon realized that, Kristy determined. His development projects might attract gold, not just in Charleston, South Carolina, but all up and down the East Coast of the United States, but they did not interest her. Not for a red-hot second.

  For the briefest moment, Connor Templeton’s chiseled jaw dropped, and he regarded her in stunned amazement, as if unable to believe she was going to pass on the oh-so-lucrative proposition he had just politely and painstakingly laid out for her. His own smile fading, he watched as she finished painting one of the shutters beside the double lobby doors a deep pine-green. “You obviously haven’t fully calculated my offer,” he stated finally.

  As the warm October breeze ruffled her hair, Kristy picked up her bucket and brush and moved a little farther down the covered porch that faced the Atlantic Ocean, to the next double hung window. Ignoring his frank perusal of her, she took a tranquilizing breath and continued painting. She’d had the outside of the 1950s lodge painted a snowy white by a professional crew, but to save money, had left the trim work around the first floor doors and windows for herself. “And I don’t intend to, either, Mr. Big Business,” she said. If he had his way, he’d swiftly have her leading the life of the rich and idle, instead of bringing
life back to the resort she had inherited from her beloved aunt Ida.

  Connor followed her, being careful not to get paint on his casually elegant clothes as he leaned against one of the square posts that supported the porch roof. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his khaki slacks. “The name’s Connor,” he reminded her cordially. “Connor Templeton.”

  Kristy slanted him a glance, ignoring the way his broad shoulders filled out his classic navy blazer and patterned shirt. “Daisy Templeton Granger’s older brother, I know.” Daisy was a good friend of hers. They had gotten to know each other through mutual friends the previous spring.

  “Then you should also know,” Connor insisted, “if you’re friends with my baby sister, that I am a nice guy.”

  Who wouldn’t hurt a flea? “I don’t care if you’re the king of England, Mr. Templeton,” Kristy told him firmly. “I’m staying put. So take that back to your business partner and all the investors you and Skip Wakefield have rounded up.” She stopped what she was doing and marched forward until they were standing nose to nose. Refusing to let that slow, sexy smile of his turn her knees to jelly, she continued, “Because I am not selling Paradise Resort. Not now. Not ever.”

  The oceanfront lodge, twelve cottages and a stretch of beautiful private beach that comprised the Folly Beach, South Carolina resort, was not just Kristy’s inheritance, it was her future and long-held dream. And she was not parting with it. Not even for the five million dollars purchase price Connor Templeton and his partner, Skip Wakefield, were waving in front of her nose. Money that would more than obliterate both mortgages on the resort and Kristy’s own mountain of debt.

  She knew she still had a lot of work to do on the interior of the lodge, particularly in the individual guest rooms. But thanks to the grueling work she had put in all summer, the rest of it, including all the common areas, were shaping up nicely. Plus the resort had old-fashioned charm, reminiscent of relaxing family vacations of a bygone era. There were no tennis courts here, no golf courses or video arcades, just the lodge, the dunes and the beach. It was quiet and low-key and appealing, a place where people who simply wanted to spend time together could come. The two-story, white clapboard lodge had a dramatically pitched gable roof over the lobby, club and dining rooms, kitchen, reservation desk and private office, all located in the central part of the building. Two rectangular wings spread out on either side. Native palmetto trees thirty feet in height surrounded the hotel and stood sentry on the short drive from Folly Beach Road to the parking area. An array of flowering bushes—camellias, bougainvilleas, magnolias and azaleas—added color around the lodge and cottages.

  “You don’t have to decide today,” Connor continued, persuasively stating his case. “You can take some time to think about it.”

  “I don’t have to think about it,” Kristy stated. What was it about these two guys that they didn’t understand when a business offer was being refused?

  Before Connor could reply to that, Kristy’s obnoxious neighbor to the south, Bruce Fitts, suddenly rounded the side of the lodge. As always, the too-tanned, penguin-shaped man with the thin black mustache was dressed in swim trunks—trunks that were, in Kristy’s estimation, way too brief. He also wore expensive Italian sandals and an open shirt accessorized with several thick gold chains.

  “I told you and your partner she was unreasonable!” Fitts declared as he rushed across the wide front porch the locals liked to refer to as the piazza. Looking to Connor for help, Fitts ran a hand over his slick-backed ebony hair.

  Kristy turned to Connor, barely able to believe that an aristocratic man like Connor would associate with the oily “entrepreneur” inhabiting the luxurious new beach house just south of her resort. Unlike the other hardworking inhabitants of Folly Beach, Bruce Fitts made his money from sleazy schemes. He was constantly threatening lawsuits, ripping off insurance companies and doing whatever he could to rake in easy money. And when he wasn’t scheming and conniving, he was spying on other residents, including Kristy and her girls, through the telescope mounted on his deck. She had been trying to ignore him, and his near constant complaints, but with him in such close proximity, it wasn’t easy.

  “What are you doing here, Fitts?” Connor turned to glare warningly at Bruce.

  “Yeah,” Kristy said sarcastically to Connor, “I bet you’ve got a real deal on some prime marshland you want to sell me. For a friendly little discount, of course.” How stupid did Connor and his partner think she was? Clearly, they would do anything to get her to throw in the towel, even, it seemed, employing her thoroughly disreputable neighbor. Not that the idea was without merit, Kristy had to admit. Being around Bruce Fitts for any length of time did make her want to split.

  Bruce glared at Kristy resentfully as he declared, “You’re just like your aunt.”

  Kristy smiled. Her poor aunt had had to put up with this, too. “Thank you,” she said sweetly. “I’ll consider that a compliment, since my aunt Ida was one of my all-time favorite people.”

  “Forcing the rest of us homeowners to look at this eye-sore!” Bruce sputtered.

  Kristy conceded that Paradise Resort was in need of a lot of tender loving care. But that was why she was here—to bring it back to life.

  “Mr. Fitts, please leave us,” Connor stated firmly.

  Bruce stared at Connor. Obviously realizing that he was not a man to tangle with if you could help it, Bruce backed down reluctantly. “Fine.” He snorted, then wagged a finger at Kristy. “But not before I tell you, missy, that I am not going to let you keep on devaluating my property with this dump for very much longer, even if I have to personally find a way to shut you down!”

  There was no way he could do so legally, Kristy knew. She had complied with all state and local regulations as she worked to get the aging property looking good again.

  Letting her neighbor know with a glance that she had no intention of falling victim to any of his shenanigans, she warned right back, “Try it. Give it your best shot!” She marched closer, fists knotted at her sides. “Now get off my property, Mr. Fitts, and stay off, before I call the police!”

  Bruce Fitts glared at Kristy, unwilling to budge, until Connor clapped a hand on his shoulder and murmured something in Fitts’s ear. Kristy had no idea what he said, but Fitts calmed down immediately, and with a last condescending glance at Kristy, headed off the porch and back down the beach toward his own home, a luxurious beachfront house overlooking the Atlantic.

  “I would thank you for getting rid of that horse’s behind,” Kristy said, turning back to Connor. “Except I have the distinct feeling you’re on Fitts’s side in all this.”

  He focused on her face and loosely pinned up hair. “I’m not on anyone’s side.”

  Kristy shot him another disgruntled look. In her thirty-three years, she had never met anyone quite this persistent. “A few minutes ago you were trying to convince me you were on my side.” At least that’s how his sales pitch—and the sum he was offering to buy the place—had sounded to her.

  Connor folded his arms in front of him, leaned against the wooden post again and looked deep into her eyes. “I want everyone to be happy,” he explained. “And I honestly think, if you were to listen to me and sell this property to people who could afford to build the kind of luxury condo project this area of Folly Beach needs, we would all be better off.”

  THIS WAS THE POINT in the conversation, Connor thought, when Kristy Neumeyer was supposed to relax and begin to seriously consider his and Skip Wakefield’s very generous offer to purchase her property. Instead she was glaring at him as if he were a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe. Sighing, she shook her head, picked up her paintbrush and went back to the louvered shutter she had been painting. Her back to him, she said, “I think we’ve said everything there is to say.”

  Or in other words, Connor thought, it was time for him to be shoving off. The only problem being he didn’t want to leave. And that was a little hard to fathom. At thirty-eight, Connor h
ad long ago given up on spending time with people who did not enjoy his company, or vice versa. In his opinion, life was too short to force personal relationships, even the most useful or casual of ones.

  But there was something about the delectable beauty next to him that completely captured his attention. And it had to do with more than her incredibly sexy looks. Although those were pretty remarkable, Connor had to admit. Even in the midst of what looked to be a very physically challenging workday, she was drop-dead gorgeous. Her hair was a glossy dark brown, and the straight, silky locks had been loosely twisted and caught at the back of her head in a tortoiseshell clip—a look that would have been very neat and businesslike had it not been for the wispy tendrils that had escaped along her cheekbones and neck. She didn’t seem to be wearing any makeup, but then, Connor noted with a satisfied sigh, she didn’t need it. Her skin was flawless and golden, her lips pink and luscious. Color bloomed in her cheeks, emphasizing the delicate bone structure of her face. Her nose was slender, her dark brown eyes sparkled—especially when she was sparring with him. And as for her stubborn chin…it was as pretty and feminine as the rest of her.

  She looked to be several inches shorter than he was—which made her about five feet five inches tall, he guessed. The snug-fitting jeans and cap-sleeved, yellow T-shirt she was wearing made the most of what was a very nice figure—so nice that Connor was having trouble keeping his eyes off her slender, showgirl-sexy legs.

  Determined to find some way for them to connect, as friends as well as future business allies, he walked over to stand beside her. What was that old saying? If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em? “I could lend a hand here,” he said, noting she still had several shutters to paint.

  Kristy made a face at him. “In those clothes? I don’t think so.”

  So okay, he wasn’t dressed for hard manual labor. That didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of it, however. Connor took off his sport coat, loosened his tie. Still searching for some way for the two of them to connect, he said easily, “Daisy says you’re great, that you gave her a place to stay when her whole world was turned upside down.” Connor knew his little sister was a great judge of character. Plus Daisy never said anything she didn’t mean.