Bella Bucannon – Unlocking The Millionaire's Heart (страница 1)
He’s locked himself away...
Can Jemma find the key to his heart?
Working with Jemma Harrison on his novel is the last thing millionaire Nate Thornton wants. After his harrowing experience as a war reporter, Nate prefers to be alone. He certainly doesn’t want Jemma reawakening his desires—or his dreams! But soon Nate can’t deny the light Jemma brings to his life. Could she be the one woman to open his heart again?
BELLA BUCANNON lives in a quiet northern suburb of Adelaide with her soulmate husband, who loves and supports her in any endeavour. She enjoys walking, dining out and travelling. Bus tours or cruising with days at sea to relax, plot and write are top of her list. Apart from category romance she also writes very short stories and poems for a local writing group. Bella believes joining RWA and SARA early in her writing journey was a major factor in her achievements.
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Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.
Unlocking the Millionaire’s Heart
Bella Bucannon
ISBN: 978-1-474-07750-7
UNLOCKING THE MILLIONAIRE’S HEART
© 2018 Harriet Nichola Jarvis
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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Thank you to family, friends and fellow writers, whose encouragement and support were invaluable during the highs and lows of this particular writing journey.
To my husband, always willing to brainstorm when I’m stuck for a word or idea, always reassuring.
To Kim for special insight.
To Victoria and Laurie for their advice and guidance.
Contents
NATE THORNTON SHOOK the rain from his hair with vigour before entering the towering central office block in Sydney’s city centre. He’d had to reschedule planned video meetings to make the train trip from Katoomba at Brian Hamilton’s insistence, and he’d been further frustrated by his evasive remarks.
‘It has to be Thursday the ninth. I think I’ve found a resolution for your hero and heroine interaction problem. And there’s a publisher who’s interested in seeing a revised copy of your book.’
Late-night research had shown Brian Hamilton to be one of the best literary agents in Australia. After initial contact he had asked for, and read, Nate’s synopsis and first three chapters, then requested the full manuscript. His brutal honesty on its marketability had convinced Nate he was the contract negotiator he wanted.
Attempts to rewrite the scenes he’d specified, however, had proved that particular aspect wasn’t his forte. And when he’d been tempted to suggest cutting them out, the feeling in his gut had told him it wasn’t that simple, and to ask if the agent could find a better solution.
It wasn’t the possibility of income that drove Nate to his computer. Astute investment of an inheritance and a significant part of his earnings while working abroad meant he was financially secure for years. Or, as his brother claimed, ‘filthy rich’—a phrase he detested. Although he envied Sam the satisfaction he’d achieved as a pilot in the air force, currently stationed at Edinburgh, north of Adelaide.
His compulsion to write had been driven by the need to put the hardships and traumas he’d witnessed as an international reporter where they belonged—in his past. Those harrowing images of man’s inhumanity to man were still in his head, though for the most part he managed to keep them buried.
There was nothing he could do regarding the way he now viewed life and interacted with new acquaintances. The walls he’d built for his own emotional protection were solid and permanent.
Frowning at the number of floors all six lifts had to descend before reaching him, he punched the ‘up’ button and tapped his fingers on his thigh. Okay, so he wasn’t so hot on the touchy-feely sentimental stuff. Hell, the rest of his hundred thousand words were damn good, and his target readers weren’t romantic females.
No disrespect intended.
The street doors sliding open drew his attention. The woman who came in brushing raindrops from her hair held it. He had a quick impression of black tights, then a flash of blue patterned fabric under a beige raincoat as she unbuttoned and shook it.