Bought by a Millionaire

“May I help you?” the woman asked cheerily.

“My name is Shannon Moriarty. I have a two o’clock appointment with Mr. Bishop.”

The attractive, middle-aged brunette was already nodding. “Mr. Bishop is expecting you, Miss Moriarty. I’ll show you right in.”

Not even a minute to prepare herself; two seconds to powder her nose or run a hand through her windblown hair. Suddenly, she was so nervous that she really had to go to the bathroom. But she followed the receptionist down the long, mahogany-paneled hall to Burke Bishop’s sprawling office.

Shannon strode through the open door, then froze in her tracks. She was almost afraid to take another step for fear something would shatter. The black marble floor shimmered like a deep canyon, visible only in moonlight, giving the illusion that anyone who tried to cross the room would be walking on air. A glass-topped credenza lined one wall, the warm autumn hues of various liquors filling decanters of every shape and size. Black leather armchairs sat on either side of a glass coffee table against another wall.

Chrome and black and enough glass to fill every window of the Sistine Chapel. Even the man’s desk was glass.

Her attention landed on the high-back leather chair, swaying gently from side to side as someone facing the opposite direction talked on the phone. He twisted the black cord around his index finger, let it fall, then twisted the cord again.

Oh, Lord. Burke Bishop sat in that chair. The wealthiest man in Illinois…possibly America. A man reported to be sought after by every available woman in Chicago high society—and a few who weren’t quite available, but didn’t seem to care.

Before Shannon had the chance to run—and she was seriously considering it—the telephone conversation ended and Burke Bishop turned. His slate-gray eyes landed on her, running the length of her body and back.

Shannon felt her cheeks heat, her heart pick up its pace at the directness of his gaze. The numerous pictures she’d seen of him in newspapers and magazines didn’t do the man justice. He was remarkably, stunningly attractive. His hair was black and cut short, with only a small stray lock curling across his forehead above one dark eye. His charcoal suit was likely Armani and fit him like a glove, his silk tie a splash of mottled colors running straight down his chest.

“Miss Moriarty. Please, have a seat.”

His voice nearly made her knees buckle. Deep and rich and confident, it slid through her veins like warm honey. Before her legs gave out on her, she moved to one of the black and chrome chairs in front of his desk, letting her bag slide to the floor by her feet.

“I appreciate your coming in,” he said, opening a large legal folder on his desk and perusing the contents. “Do you mind if I run through a few of the details of your previous meetings with my doctors and attorneys?”

She swallowed. There had been plenty of them, and she’d answered at least a million questions. But she’d expected much the same from her appointment with Burke Bishop, so she shook her head in acquiescence.

“You’re twenty-six years old.”

“Yes,” she answered, even though it was clearly a statement, not a question.

“A high school graduate, now attending the University of Northeastern Illinois. Majoring in early childhood education.”

“Yes.”

“Your medical records are exemplary. Nothing more than the usual childhood diseases.”

“Yes,” she said again.

Apparently satisfied with her response, he closed the folder, tapped the edge against his desk twice, and then set it aside.

He turned his gray gaze on her and her stomach muscles tightened.

“I’d like to ask you a few personal questions, if that’s all right.”

“Of course.” She was interviewing for a job, after all, and he was to be her employer. She didn’t dare refuse him anything.

“What made you answer my ad for a surrogate mother, Miss Moriarty?”

It wasn’t what she’d expected, but she answered honestly. “I need the money.”

When he didn’t even blink at that, she continued. “I know that sounds shallow, Mr. Bishop, but I thought you would appreciate the truth rather than a noble lie.”

“And what do you need the money for?” he wanted to know.

She took a deep breath. “My mother had a stroke. Although she recovered, her mind and body aren’t what they used to be. She needs round-the-clock care. She lived with me for a while, but with school and work, I just can’t be there for her twenty-four hours a day. It was her decision to move into an adult care facility so that I could continue my education, but I don’t think she realizes how expensive it is.”

“Meadow Lark Assisted Living Center,” he murmured from memory. “Have you told her about your financial problems?”

“No,” Shannon said adamantly. “She thinks the bills are being paid out of her savings, which a lot of them were. Unfortunately, the money didn’t last long. She’s living now on the credit Meadow Lark has been willing to extend us, and I’m making the largest monthly payments I can afford, but I refuse to burden her with the details of how grave the situation really is.”

Her throat tightened and she blinked back a sudden wave of sentiment. “She took care of me all my life. Now it’s my turn to take care of her.”

He nodded his understanding. “You’re working two jobs, as well as going to school. A receptionist at the law firm of Benson and Tate during the day and a waitress at The Tavern restaurant at night. And you took off two years from school to care for your mother after her stroke.”

She inclined her head. “She insisted I go back. She doesn’t want me giving up my entire life for her.”

“And you’re willing to go through with this? To make this sort of sacrifice in order to keep her at Meadow Lark?”

Shannon straightened her spine and lifted her chin, saying simply, “She’s my mother. I would do anything for her.”

A hint of a smile tugged at his lips as he crossed his arms in front of him on the desktop. “You do realize this is going to take up a rather large chunk of your time.”

Shannon relaxed a bit, glad to be moving away from the topic of her ill mother and fighting the urge to stare at Burke Bishop’s full, sensuous mouth where it almost curved into a hint of feeling. “Yes. But other than regular medical checkups and such, I should still be able to keep up with my courses.”

She didn’t mention the emotional toll that might be a higher price to pay than the physical. But that was something she was willing to face, for the sake of her mother’s health and happiness.

She glanced down at her beige suede half boots for a second before lifting her gaze to his once again. “I’d hoped to cut back on my work hours, to give myself more study time, but no matter what, I won’t be quitting both jobs. Any money you pay me will go directly toward my mother’s medical care, since I’m perfectly capable of supporting myself.”

Silence filled the room while he seemed to digest that, and then he launched back into the personal interrogation.

“Forgive me for asking, since I know my people have already covered this topic, but you’re not currently involved with another man, correct? You’re not sexually active?”

“No,” she answered quickly. “You don’t have to worry about that.” It had been so long, he really didn’t have to worry about it.

Burke studied Shannon through narrowed eyes. She wasn’t a classic beauty, poised and painted like so many of the women he’d dated since making his first million. No, she was one of those natural, free-spirited women who let their hair fall loose around their faces and wore earth-toned clothing meant more for comfort than style.

But her riot of red, spiral curls reminded him of fireplace flames, and the light sprinkling of freckles across her nose gave him the incomprehensible urge to lean across his desk and touch them with the tip of one finger. Maybe kiss them to see if they tasted like cinnamon.

She wore a long paisley skirt and an olive sweater that fell to mid-thigh and covered everything of interest. Which didn’t keep Burke’s mind from wandering the least little bit. He thought he knew exactly what she would look like beneath that oversize outfit.

And therein lay the problem.

So far this morning, he’d met with six other possible surrogates. Two more were scheduled for later in the afternoon. But Shannon was the only woman who had sent a shock of pure sexual attraction rocketing through his system the minute she walked in the door.

He’d glanced up from his phone conversation as soon as he heard the knob on his office door turning, but his reaction to Shannon Moriarty was so uncharacteristic—and so strong—he’d quickly spun back around in his chair and taken a few much-needed moments to finish his call and get his breathing—as well as his libido—under control.

Unless his afternoon candidates turned out to be Julia Roberts or Meg Ryan, he couldn’t imagine having a stronger response to either of them.