The Illegitimate Billionaire (Whiskey Bay Brides Book 4; Billionaire & Babies) Read online

  His orders are simple—marry his half brother’s gold-digging widow and bring her children into the fold.

  But his convenient wife is nothing like he expected...

  If black-sheep billionaire Deacon marries Callie, his father has promised him legitimacy...and acceptance. But Callie is not the gold digger Deacon was promised. She makes him burn with need...and rethink his selfish motives. Is deceiving Callie and her sons a price he’s willing to pay for his father’s love?

  Two thousand dollars?

  She couldn’t afford to donate two thousand dollars!

  Callie met Deacon’s secretive, self-satisfied smirk, and she immediately knew what had happened. What kind of man would do that for her?

  The interest in his eyes sent a pleasant sizzle down her spine. He had a casual, earthy sexuality that reached out to her. She had to remind herself she was...at least possibly...annoyed with him.

  A good person would be annoyed with him. Wouldn’t they?

  She followed him to the door. Her gaze moved involuntarily from his broad shoulders, down the taper of his back, to his attractive rear. A good person wouldn’t be watching his rear end either.

  She wanted to be a good person.

  He took her hand as they walked beneath the arching oak trees. Then he lifted it and held it still against his lips. She felt a wash of helpless desire warm her body and flush her skin. “Can I kiss you?” he whispered. “I want to kiss you.”

  She didn’t even think to refuse. “Yes.”

  * * *

  The Illegitimate Billionaire is part of Harlequin Desire’s #1 bestselling series, Billionaires and Babies: Powerful men...wrapped around their babies’ little fingers.

  Dear Reader,

  The Illegitimate Billionaire was very much inspired by my own children and by my nieces and nephews. Writing the story took me back to when they were toddlers, their foibles, their wonder and their delightful take on the world unfolding around them.

  Illegitimate and shunned, Deacon Holt is shocked when his billionaire father, Tyrell, makes him the offer of a lifetime—his birthright. In return, Tyrell asks only one thing—that Deacon romance and marry Callie Clarkson and bring Tyrell’s grandchildren home.

  Deacon refuses. But then he meets Callie, and all bets are off.

  Barbara

  Barbara Dunlop

  The Illegitimate Billionaire

  New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Barbara Dunlop has written more than forty novels for Harlequin, including the acclaimed Chicago Sons series for Harlequin Desire. Her sexy, lighthearted stories regularly hit bestseller lists. Barbara is a three-time finalist for the Romance Writers of America’s RITA® Award.

  Books by Barbara Dunlop

  Harlequin Desire

  Chicago Sons

  Sex, Lies and the CEO

  Seduced by the CEO

  A Bargain with the Boss

  His Stolen Bride

  Whiskey Bay Brides

  From Temptation to Twins

  Twelve Nights of Temptation

  His Temptation, Her Secret

  Billionaires and Babies

  The Illigitimate Billionaire

  Visit her Author Profile page at www.Harlequin.com, or barbaradunlop.com, for more titles.

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  For Shaina, Jacob, Karl and Heidi

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Excerpt from Wrong Brother, Right Man by Kat Cantrell

  One

  In an absurdly masculine room, deep in the halls of Clarkson Castle, Deacon Holt carefully neutralized his expression. He wouldn’t give Tyrell Clarkson the satisfaction of seeing anger, envy or any other emotion.

  “Drink?” Tyrell asked, making a half turn toward Deacon from the inlayed walnut bar. He held up a cut-crystal decanter that Deacon could only guess held decades-old single malt.

  Tyrell was well-known in Hale Harbor, Virginia, for indulging in the finer things.

  “No,” Deacon answered. He had no idea why he’d been summoned today, after being shunned his entire life, but he was positive this wasn’t a social occasion.

  Tyrell shrugged and poured two glasses anyway. He cut partway across the library and bent at the waist to set the glasses on opposite sides of a dark wood coffee table.

  “In case you change your mind,” he said and gestured to one of two brown leather armchairs flanking the table.

  Deacon preferred to stand. He wanted to be on alert for whatever was coming.

  “Sit,” Tyrell said and folded himself into the opposite chair.

  Though he was in his late fifties, Tyrell was obviously in good shape. He had a full head of hair, and his wrinkles were few, giving his face character. By any objective measure, he was a good-looking man.

  Tyrell was rich. He was clever. He was powerful.

  He was also detestable.

  “What do you want?” Deacon asked.

  The rest of Hale Harbor might jump to Tyrell’s commands, but not Deacon.

  “A conversation.”

  “Why?”

  Tyrell lifted his glass and turned it in the light that beamed down from the ceiling fixtures. He gazed at the amber liquid. “Glen Klavitt, 1965.”

  “Am I supposed to be impressed?”

  “You’re supposed to be curious. When was the last time you tasted fifty-year-old single malt?”

  “I forget.” Deacon wasn’t rising to the bait, even though they both knew he wasn’t in a tax bracket that would allow him to casually spend whatever 1965 Glen Klavitt cost. Not that he’d be foolish enough to blow his money on it anyway.

  “Sit down, boy.”

  “I’m not your dog.”

  One of Tyrell’s brows went up.

  Deacon expected Tyrell to react with anger. He mentally braced himself for the onslaught, realizing he’d been looking forward to a fight from the moment he walked through the oversize castle doors.

  “But you are my son.” Tyrell’s words, though softly spoken, fell like cannonballs into the cavernous room.

  Deacon held still, half expecting eight generations of Clarksons to rise from their graves and rattle the crested shields hanging on the stone walls.

  He tried to gauge Tyrell’s expression, but it was inscrutable.

  “Do you need a kidney?” he asked, voicing the first theory that came into his mind.

  Tyrell’s mask cracked, and he almost smiled. “I’m in perfect health.”

  Deacon didn’t want to be curious about anything to do with the Clarkson family. He wanted to turn on his heel and walk out the door. Whatever was going on here, he wanted no part of it.

  Tyrell had two healthy, living legitimate sons, Aaron and Beau. He didn’t need to reach out to Deacon for anything—at least, not for anything that was honorable.

  “Will you relax?” Tyrell asked, ge
sturing to the empty chair with his glass.

  “No.”

  “Stubborn—”

  “Like father, like son?” Deacon asked mildly.

  Tyrell laughed.

  It was the last thing Deacon had expected.

  “I don’t know why I thought this would be easy,” Tyrell said. “Aren’t you even a little bit curious?”

  “I stopped caring about you a long time ago.”

  “Yet, here you are.”

  Deacon knew Tyrell had him there. Despite his anger, despite his hatred, despite the twenty-nine years of resentment, Deacon had come the first time Tyrell called. Deacon told himself he was here for a confrontation with the man who had impregnated and then abandoned his mother. But the truth was he’d also been curious. He was still curious.

  He sat down.

  “That’s better,” Tyrell said.

  “What do you want?”

  “Do I have to want something?”

  “No. But you do.”

  “You’re not stupid. I’ll grant you that.”

  Deacon wasn’t sure if Tyrell expected a thank you for the backhanded compliment. If he did, he was going to be disappointed.

  “Why am I here?” Deacon pressed.

  “I assume you know about Frederick.”

  “I do.”

  Tyrell’s youngest son—and Deacon’s half brother, though they’d never been introduced—Frederick had died of pneumonia six months ago. Rumor had it that Frederick’s lungs had been seriously damaged as a child, when he’d been thrown from a horse. The fall had also broken his spine and confined him to a wheelchair.

  “Did you know he lived in Charleston?” Tyrell asked.

  Deacon hadn’t known where Frederick lived. He’d only known Frederick had left home after college and never returned. Everyone in Hale Harbor knew Frederick had a falling out with his father and walked out of the Clarkson family’s life. Deacon had silently admired Fredrick for doing it.

  “Frederick has two sons,” Tyrell said. His gaze didn’t waver.

  Deacon was surprised at that news. He wasn’t an expert on spinal cord injuries, but he wouldn’t have expected Frederick to father children. He supposed they could have been adopted.

  He didn’t know what Tyrell anticipated as a response to that particular revelation. But Deacon didn’t have anything to say about Frederick’s sons.

  “The oldest is four, the other eighteen months,” Tyrell said.

  “Congratulations?” Deacon ventured.

  “My only grandchildren, and I’ve never met them.”

  “I don’t get where this is going.” Deacon had sure never met Tyrell’s grandsons.

  The entire Clarkson family did their best to pretend Deacon didn’t exist. Aaron and Beau knew perfectly well who he was, though he’d never been sure about Tyrell’s wife, Margo. It was possible Tyrell had been successful in keeping Deacon a secret from her all these years—which begged the question of what Deacon was doing in the castle today. Surely Margo would be curious.

  Tyrell took a healthy swallow of the scotch.

  Deacon decided to try it. What the heck? It might be the one and only thing his father ever gave him.

  He lifted the expensive tumbler to his lips and took an experimental sip. The whiskey was smooth, rich and peaty, not bad, but he’d sampled better. Then again, the company might be tainting the taste.

  “I want to see my grandsons,” Tyrell said.

  “So see them.”

  “I can’t.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  “Frederick’s widow.”

  It took Deacon a beat to comprehend what Tyrell meant. Then he grinned. Poetic justice had visited Tyrell. Deacon took another sip of the whiskey, silently toasting the widow. The scotch tasted better this time, really quite good.

  “You find that amusing?” Tyrell’s words were terse.

  “Someone keeping the powerful Tyrell Clarkson from something he wants? Yes, I find that amusing.” Deacon saw no point in shading his feelings. Tyrell couldn’t possibly think Deacon gave a damn about Tyrell’s happiness.

  Tyrell seemed to gather himself, leaning forward, his chin jutting. “Down to brass tacks, then. Let’s see if you think this is funny. I’ll trade you what I want for what you want.”

  The words unnerved Deacon. At the same time, they put him on alert. “You haven’t the first idea of what I want.”

  “Don’t be too sure about that.”

  “I’m completely sure about that.” Deacon had never even had a conversation with his father, never mind confided his hopes and dreams to him.

  “I’ll acknowledge you as my son,” Tyrell said.

  It was all Deacon could do not to laugh at the offer. “I could have proved our relationship through DNA years ago.”

  “I mean, I’ll make you an heir.”

  “Put me in your will?” Deacon wasn’t falling for a promise like that—a promise changeable with the stroke of a pen.

  “No. Not when I die. Now. I’m offering you twenty-five percent of Hale Harbor Port. You’ll be equal partners with me, Aaron and Beau.”

  Hale Harbor Port was a billion-dollar corporation that had been owned by succeeding generations of the Clarkson family since the 1700s. Deacon tried to wrap his head around the offer. He couldn’t.

  His entire childhood he’d dreamed of being a part of the Clarkson family. He’d spun fantasies that Tyrell truly loved Deacon’s mother, that he secretly wanted Deacon in his life, that he would one day leave Margo and welcome Deacon and his mother into the castle.

  But then Deacon’s mother had died when he was barely nineteen, and Tyrell didn’t so much as send condolences. Deacon accepted the reality that he meant nothing to Tyrell, and he stopped dreaming.

  And now this offer came completely out of the blue. What could possibly be worth twenty-five percent of a billion dollars? Nothing legal, that was for sure.

  “You want me to kidnap them?” Deacon asked.

  Tyrell shook his head. “That would be too easy. Also temporary, because we’d be sure to get caught.”

  “But you’re not morally opposed to it?” Maybe it should have surprised Deacon that Tyrell would consider committing a capital crime. It didn’t.

  Tyrell drew in an impatient breath. “Give me credit for a little finesse.”

  Deacon knew he should walk away from this conversation. “I don’t give you credit for anything.”

  “But you’re still listening.”

  “I’m curious, not tempted.”

  Tyrell gave a smug smile, polishing off his drink. “Oh, you’re tempted all right.”

  “Spit it out, or I’m leaving.” Deacon rose to his feet. He wasn’t going to play this game any longer.

  “I want you to romance and marry Frederick’s widow and bring my grandsons home.” Tyrell watched intently for Deacon’s reaction.

  Deacon didn’t have a reaction. He would have bet he hadn’t heard right, but Tyrell’s words were crystal clear.

  “Why?” Deacon tried to fathom the complexity that had to lie behind the request.

  Tyrell was reputed to be a master conspirator.

  “Why would she marry me?” Deacon voiced his own thought process as he searched for more information. “And what does it gain you? Just offer her money to come home.”

  “I can’t offer her money to come home. I can’t even risk contacting her. I’m positive Frederick poisoned her against the family. If I make that play and fail, it’s game over.”

  “You have a whole lot of money to offer.”

  However Frederick might have disparaged his family, surely most mortal women would be attracted to the family’s immense wealth.

  “Frederick may have walked away from the company,” Tyrell said. “But he didn’t walk away from hi
s trust fund. She doesn’t need money.”

  Again, Deacon smiled. “Something you can’t buy. Must be frustrating.”

  “She doesn’t know you,” Tyrell said.

  “Does she know Aaron and Beau?” Deacon still wasn’t getting the play here. It had to be galling for Tyrell to approach Deacon for anything.

  “Aaron’s already married,” Tyrell pointed out. “And Beau... I’m not naïve where it comes to my children, Deacon. Beau’s nobody’s idea of a good husband and father.”

  Deacon didn’t disagree with that statement. Beau had always been the wild one, parties every weekend and a different girlfriend every month. His exploits had been splashed across local gossip columns dozens of times.

  “You, on the other hand,” Tyrell continued. He gestured Deacon up and down with his empty glass. “I recognize you have a certain sophistication. Women seem to like you. Nice women seem to like you.”

  Deacon couldn’t help but be amazed that Tyrell had paid any attention to him at all.

  “You’re not publicly connected to the family,” Tyrell continued. “You can move in under the radar, romance her, marry her.”

  “Then blindside her with the news about you?” Deacon had always questioned Tyrell’s morality, but this was beyond belief.

  Tyrell rolled his eyes. “Ease her into it, boy.”

  “No.” An ownership position in Hale Harbor Port might be Deacon’s lifelong dream, but he wasn’t going to use Frederick’s widow as a pawn.

  Tyrell came to his feet. “You have a moral objection?”

  “Yes. And you should, too.” Deacon peered into Tyrell’s eyes, searching for some semblance of a soul. “You do know that, right?”

  “Go meet her,” Tyrell said.

  Deacon started to refuse again, but Tyrell talked right over him. “Just meet her before you decide. If you don’t want to do it, don’t do it. But don’t give up hundreds of millions of dollars without looking at all the angles.”

  “You’re the angles guy, not me.”

  “You’re my son,” Tyrell repeated.

  Deacon wanted to protest. He might be saddled with Tyrell’s DNA, but he wasn’t anything like him. He had a moral compass. He got it from his mother.