Goodreads Summary :Discovering his ex-girlfriend was behind his company's bad press was one thing. Learning she'd secretly borne his son was entirely different. Millionaire PR guru Max Preston would not accept any of Gillian Mitchell's excuses. She "would" marry him--or he'd use his power to take his son away from her.After a whirlwind Vegas wedding, however, Max's desire for Gillian was as intense as ever. But he knew thinking of their marriage as more than a convenient arrangement meant entering territory even a tycoon was unprepared to tackle.
Which cover do you like more ??
Silhouette (old) or harlequin-silhouette (new after takeover) (Comment) - Mine goes for the totally new - love how her lush lips with purple lip-color look and Desire covers have gotten boring now ,I guess and love the way how in harlequin one his half-face is enticingly shown
Here's a totally new kind of review in a way as it is just contains my favorite lines from the novel
Max sat in the chair she’d vacated earlier, opposite Ethan. They were staring at each other—from perfectly matched blue eyes—with unabashed curiosity. Ethan could outstare almost anyone. She now realized where that ability had come from. Gillian set her son’s bowl in front of him, milk slopping over the side as she did so. Her hands clenched into fists, her nails dug into her palms. She had to calm down, take control, of herself and of the situation. Ethan, having looked his fill at the stranger, picked up his spoon and began eating, his breakfast now more important than the man at the table. Gillian found a cloth for the spilled milk.
She’d known her son looked like his father, but seeing them here together for the first time, the resemblance was even stronger than she’d realized. Seeing them here together was both her greatest wish and her greatest fear. “What’s your name?” Ethan had stopped spooning cereal into his mouth long enough to ask the innocent question.
Not here. Not now. Gillian tried to telegraph the silent message to him. Not in front of Ethan. “His birthday is the same day as yours,” she said quietly. Max jerked back as though she’d hit him.
The sight was as surreal as if James Bond had waltzed in and done the same thing. With an obedience that had to be alien to him, he pushed engines and carriages around a blue plastic track, taking garbled advice from the expert on the trains’ names and what they carried and the appropriate noises to make. The two of them spun stories and orchestrated derailments.
She was so sure she’d done the right thing. For everyone. For Max because he didn’t want a family, for Ethan because he deserved better than a father who didn’t want him and for her because she hadn’t wanted to trap, or be trapped with, a man who didn’t love her, who didn’t open up emotionally, who would always put his career ahead of anything else in his life. Who would ultimately, in the ways that counted, reject her and their son.
Three years and he still used the same cologne. Eternity. The one that made her think of him whenever she’d smelled it. The scent reassured her. He was a creature of habit. He didn’t change his ways for anyone.
“Daddy,” Ethan said, “look.” Max’s eyes widened and he looked sharply back at Ethan.She’d seen his shock. Felt it herself. “Daddy.” Her son had called him “Daddy.” As though for him it was the most natural thing in the world. But she knew that single word had rocked both Max’s and her world to the core.
A wife he’d married only to give their son a lawful family and to guarantee an instant part in their life. A wife he’d expected to feel nothing for. A wife whom he’d had to restrain himself from taking in his arms and holding, because Gillian—always confident, always certain—had looked so…lost.
He adapted quickly to most any situation, but this one was so far out of left field that it was going to take some time.
With just a night-light for illumination, Gillian looked at her little boy as his eyelids drifted closed. He was so like his father. She shook her head. For a few minutes this morning she’d thought today was going to be an ordinary Saturday. And now her whole world had been turned upside down. She was married to Max, a man who didn’t love her, but who she could only hope would grow to love Ethan and be there for him for the long haul. If being married to him helped ensure that, she had to at least try to be glad of it. Not frightened. She wasn’t even sure what the fear was about. She trusted Max. He had a deep integrity. He’d said going into their original relationship what he did and didn’t want. So if he said he wouldn’t touch her, he wouldn’t.
She’d cared for Max once, more than she’d let on because she’d known he didn’t want that from her. She had to be stronger than to care for him again. She’d learned to live with loneliness, without his presence or warmth. She could go on without it now.
“She is nice.” There was a warning edge to Max’s voice. “And yes, she’s pretty, but she’s also honest and kind and has the courage of her convictions. She always stands up for the underdog. That spirit was the thing that first drew me to her.”
In ten minutes she’d completed the puzzle. He’d liked that about her, that she was sharp, and determined, and independent. Too independent apparently. So independent she thought she didn’t need him. He was a PR expert, he knew all about making the best of a bad situation, of turning what might look like a disaster to a person’s advantage.
He knew she’d seen the photo with Dylan in it. And he could only be thankful she’d asked no questions, even though he’d seen them in her eyes. She was a journalist, it was in her nature to be inquisitive, but that was one area she’d get no access. That was private. The death of his twin had scarred him so deeply that it overshadowed his life from that point on. Nothing ever touching him so deeply again, not grief, and not joy. He didn’t have it in him to bond so closely with anyone again. He never even wanted to have it in him. Which meant he had to set boundaries for himself. He would go home tonight, help with Ethan’s mealtime and bath time and bedtime, allow himself the simple pleasure of reading a story to his son, of feeling his little arms snake around his neck as he hugged him good-night, and then he would go out for dinner. On his own. He could come back to the office and work. He would set the pattern for how this arrangement with Gillian was going to work.
Never before had he spent two hours on the beach exploring rock pools and collecting shells. The concept had stirred a quiet voice to whisper that perhaps his outwardly successful life could be perceived as a little sterile, a little empty. He’d quashed the thought.
“I went through all the stages of grief—anger, denial, guilt, over and over. In the end I figured out I was never going to get over it but that I couldn’t let it beat me. I would go on…with the emptiness inside.”
They sat in silence and as the screen went blank the room darkened. “I didn’t know what to do with myself after he died,” Max said. “I’d always been half of a pair. I didn’t know who I was anymore.” He stood abruptly, crossed to the drapes.
And she would be waiting. And she would ask no questions, make no accusations. She offered only acceptance and warmth and understanding. And love. And he didn’t want that. He wanted barriers. He wanted protection. He wanted things to be simple.
Gillian shouldn’t have said what she did. She shouldn’t have said she loved him. For all the world he didn’t want to hurt her. He’d warned her. He caught his reflection in the glass, saw for an instant Dylan’s eyes. Dylan who’d been afraid of nothing, who teased and pushed. And his brother laughingly whispered “coward” in his ear. Coward?
It wasn’t Gillian he was afraid of hurting. It was, he understood with blinding clarity, about protecting the shell of a life he’d been living. It was about fear. His fear of loving. That was why he’d fought the rising tide of emotions he felt for her. Because he didn’t want to feel anything at all. Because the greater the love, the greater the pain of loss. But if he carried on behaving like an idiot—doing the very thing he’d assured her he’d never do, proving all her initial doubts about him right—he would lose her. And that loss would be insurmountable. Because he loved her, whether he’d wanted to or not.
Which cover do you like more ??
Silhouette (old) or harlequin-silhouette (new after takeover) (Comment) - Mine goes for the totally new - love how her lush lips with purple lip-color look and Desire covers have gotten boring now ,I guess and love the way how in harlequin one his half-face is enticingly shown
Here's a totally new kind of review in a way as it is just contains my favorite lines from the novel
Max sat in the chair she’d vacated earlier, opposite Ethan. They were staring at each other—from perfectly matched blue eyes—with unabashed curiosity. Ethan could outstare almost anyone. She now realized where that ability had come from. Gillian set her son’s bowl in front of him, milk slopping over the side as she did so. Her hands clenched into fists, her nails dug into her palms. She had to calm down, take control, of herself and of the situation. Ethan, having looked his fill at the stranger, picked up his spoon and began eating, his breakfast now more important than the man at the table. Gillian found a cloth for the spilled milk.
She’d known her son looked like his father, but seeing them here together for the first time, the resemblance was even stronger than she’d realized. Seeing them here together was both her greatest wish and her greatest fear. “What’s your name?” Ethan had stopped spooning cereal into his mouth long enough to ask the innocent question.
Not here. Not now. Gillian tried to telegraph the silent message to him. Not in front of Ethan. “His birthday is the same day as yours,” she said quietly. Max jerked back as though she’d hit him.
The sight was as surreal as if James Bond had waltzed in and done the same thing. With an obedience that had to be alien to him, he pushed engines and carriages around a blue plastic track, taking garbled advice from the expert on the trains’ names and what they carried and the appropriate noises to make. The two of them spun stories and orchestrated derailments.
She was so sure she’d done the right thing. For everyone. For Max because he didn’t want a family, for Ethan because he deserved better than a father who didn’t want him and for her because she hadn’t wanted to trap, or be trapped with, a man who didn’t love her, who didn’t open up emotionally, who would always put his career ahead of anything else in his life. Who would ultimately, in the ways that counted, reject her and their son.
Three years and he still used the same cologne. Eternity. The one that made her think of him whenever she’d smelled it. The scent reassured her. He was a creature of habit. He didn’t change his ways for anyone.
“Daddy,” Ethan said, “look.” Max’s eyes widened and he looked sharply back at Ethan.She’d seen his shock. Felt it herself. “Daddy.” Her son had called him “Daddy.” As though for him it was the most natural thing in the world. But she knew that single word had rocked both Max’s and her world to the core.
A wife he’d married only to give their son a lawful family and to guarantee an instant part in their life. A wife he’d expected to feel nothing for. A wife whom he’d had to restrain himself from taking in his arms and holding, because Gillian—always confident, always certain—had looked so…lost.
He adapted quickly to most any situation, but this one was so far out of left field that it was going to take some time.
With just a night-light for illumination, Gillian looked at her little boy as his eyelids drifted closed. He was so like his father. She shook her head. For a few minutes this morning she’d thought today was going to be an ordinary Saturday. And now her whole world had been turned upside down. She was married to Max, a man who didn’t love her, but who she could only hope would grow to love Ethan and be there for him for the long haul. If being married to him helped ensure that, she had to at least try to be glad of it. Not frightened. She wasn’t even sure what the fear was about. She trusted Max. He had a deep integrity. He’d said going into their original relationship what he did and didn’t want. So if he said he wouldn’t touch her, he wouldn’t.
She’d cared for Max once, more than she’d let on because she’d known he didn’t want that from her. She had to be stronger than to care for him again. She’d learned to live with loneliness, without his presence or warmth. She could go on without it now.
“She is nice.” There was a warning edge to Max’s voice. “And yes, she’s pretty, but she’s also honest and kind and has the courage of her convictions. She always stands up for the underdog. That spirit was the thing that first drew me to her.”
In ten minutes she’d completed the puzzle. He’d liked that about her, that she was sharp, and determined, and independent. Too independent apparently. So independent she thought she didn’t need him. He was a PR expert, he knew all about making the best of a bad situation, of turning what might look like a disaster to a person’s advantage.
He knew she’d seen the photo with Dylan in it. And he could only be thankful she’d asked no questions, even though he’d seen them in her eyes. She was a journalist, it was in her nature to be inquisitive, but that was one area she’d get no access. That was private. The death of his twin had scarred him so deeply that it overshadowed his life from that point on. Nothing ever touching him so deeply again, not grief, and not joy. He didn’t have it in him to bond so closely with anyone again. He never even wanted to have it in him. Which meant he had to set boundaries for himself. He would go home tonight, help with Ethan’s mealtime and bath time and bedtime, allow himself the simple pleasure of reading a story to his son, of feeling his little arms snake around his neck as he hugged him good-night, and then he would go out for dinner. On his own. He could come back to the office and work. He would set the pattern for how this arrangement with Gillian was going to work.
Never before had he spent two hours on the beach exploring rock pools and collecting shells. The concept had stirred a quiet voice to whisper that perhaps his outwardly successful life could be perceived as a little sterile, a little empty. He’d quashed the thought.
“I went through all the stages of grief—anger, denial, guilt, over and over. In the end I figured out I was never going to get over it but that I couldn’t let it beat me. I would go on…with the emptiness inside.”
They sat in silence and as the screen went blank the room darkened. “I didn’t know what to do with myself after he died,” Max said. “I’d always been half of a pair. I didn’t know who I was anymore.” He stood abruptly, crossed to the drapes.
And she would be waiting. And she would ask no questions, make no accusations. She offered only acceptance and warmth and understanding. And love. And he didn’t want that. He wanted barriers. He wanted protection. He wanted things to be simple.
Gillian shouldn’t have said what she did. She shouldn’t have said she loved him. For all the world he didn’t want to hurt her. He’d warned her. He caught his reflection in the glass, saw for an instant Dylan’s eyes. Dylan who’d been afraid of nothing, who teased and pushed. And his brother laughingly whispered “coward” in his ear. Coward?
It wasn’t Gillian he was afraid of hurting. It was, he understood with blinding clarity, about protecting the shell of a life he’d been living. It was about fear. His fear of loving. That was why he’d fought the rising tide of emotions he felt for her. Because he didn’t want to feel anything at all. Because the greater the love, the greater the pain of loss. But if he carried on behaving like an idiot—doing the very thing he’d assured her he’d never do, proving all her initial doubts about him right—he would lose her. And that loss would be insurmountable. Because he loved her, whether he’d wanted to or not.
