His 24-Hour Wife

“Is it okay with you if I move a little closer?”

He chuckled. “We’re supposed to be in love. I think you’re allowed to get as close as you want without asking permission.”

She stepped in and leaned her head on his shoulder. It felt good there. Felt right. As if his body remembered their intimacy. He took his hand from her waist and wrapped it around her, securing her against him, and she let out a contented sigh.

He imagined leaning down, finding her lips and losing himself in her kiss. Then taking her by the hand down the hall to her bedroom …

Except they had an audience.

And they were pretending.

This wasn’t real. He couldn’t let himself be lulled into falling for the very story they were spinning for the press. He released her and stepped back.

“Look, I should head home.”

“I’ll be in touch first thing in the morning.”

He settled on the same greeting he gave his brothers’ fiancées, and kissed her cheek.

Then he left the apartment. Quickly. Because the stupid part of his brain had told him to kiss her again. And this time, not on the cheek.

* * *

His 24-Hour Wife is part of the Hawke Brothers trilogy: Three tycoon bachelors, three very special mergers …

His 24-Hour Wife

Rachel Bailey

www.millsandboon.co.uk

RACHEL BAILEY developed a serious book addiction at a young age (via Peter Rabbit and Jemima Puddleduck), and has never recovered. Just how she likes it. She went on to earn degrees in psychology and social work but is now living her dream—writing romance for a living.

She lives in a piece of paradise on Australia’s Sunshine Coast with her hero and four dogs, where she loves to sit with a dog or two, overlooking the trees and reading books from her evergrowing to-be-read pile.

Rachel would love to hear from you and can be contacted through her website, www.rachelbailey.com.

This book is for Charles Griemsman, who’s worked on all my Desire books since 2009. Charles, you are an absolute pleasure to work with, and have such an excellent eye for story. Thank you for making my books better!

Thank you to Barbara DeLeo, Amanda Ashby and Sharon Archer for your brainstorming and suggestions. Also to Amy Andrews for my favourite line in the book. You’re all amazing!

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Extract

Copyright

One

Callie Mitchell straightened her skirt, took a deep breath to calm the butterflies in her stomach and followed the receptionist to Adam Hawke’s office on the top floor of a downtown LA office building. The central operations of his company, Hawke’s Blooms, took up the entire floor and, as CEO, Adam had a corner office, which had to have killer views.

In hindsight, it had probably been a bad idea to stop on the way for a little Dutch courage—especially because it had been alcohol that had started this whole crazy mess—but she’d needed some help. It wasn’t every day a woman had an appointment to see her secret husband.

In fact, she hadn’t seen him once in the three months since their wedding day, so this was quite the momentous occasion. They’d met at an industry conference in Las Vegas just over two years ago and spent an amazing night together, then had hooked up again at the following year’s conference. Third time had been the charm—this year they’d added vows to their rendezvous.

The receptionist opened the door and waved her through and suddenly Callie was standing in front of him. The man she’d spent the most explosive times of her life with. The rest of the world faded away, leaving only him. The oxygen must have faded away, as well, because suddenly she couldn’t get her lungs to work.

The receptionist had slipped out and closed the door behind her, leaving them alone, but Callie couldn’t find a word to say. Although Adam wasn’t saying anything, either.

He was as perfect as she remembered, which was a surprise—she’d been certain her imagination had embellished things, that no man could be that gorgeous. Yet here was over six feet of proof standing before her. His green eyes were as intense, his frame as broad and powerful as the image she had in her mind’s eye. But he was wearing a suit with a crisp white shirt and dark blue tie. Most of her memories were of him stretched across the Vegas hotel sheets wearing nothing but a smile.

He cleared his throat. “You look different as a brunette.”

She’d gone back to her natural caramel brown about three weeks ago, but instead of telling him that, she heard herself say, “You look different with clothes on.”

His eyes widened, and she covered her mouth. That Dutch courage had been a very bad idea.

Then he laughed, a low rumble that seemed to fill the room. “I’m starting to remember why I married you.”

“And what drove you away again,” she said and smiled. After a day spent in bed, gradually sobering up, Adam had suggested a divorce. She’d been having so much fun—and was, in all honesty, so dazzled by the Adonis who’d proposed to her—that she would have given their marriage a shot. But she’d had no rational argument for staying together, so she’d agreed.