No Need For Love
She wants a baby. He wants an heir. But what about love?Hannah has been married once before, but now she is perfectly happy on her own. Well… maybe not perfectly happy… . She has always wanted children. So when her boss, Grant MacLean, suggests that they marry in order to have a child, Hannah is tempted.Secretly she finds Grant incredibly attractive and she can have it all: a home and security, and a baby to love. This time, there will be no man owning her heart who can break it - or will there? Can Hannah really go through a wedding and a pregnancy with Grant, and then not care if he acts on his plan to divorce her?By the author of the acclaimed series, LANDON'S LEGACY: "An outstanding reading experience." - Romantic Times
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ExcerptAbout the AuthorTitle PageCHAPTER ONECHAPTER TWOCHAPTER THREECHAPTER FOURCHAPTER FIVECHAPTER SIXCHAPTER SEVENCHAPTER EIGHTCHAPTER NINECHAPTER TENCHAPTER ELEVENCHAPTER TWELVECopyright
“Say yes.”
It was insane. It was impossible. Was he going to kiss her again?
“Hannah? Will you at least think about it?”
Anything, she thought desperately, anything to make him stop looking at her that way, to make him let go of her.
“Yes,” she whispered, “all right, I will. I—”
A smile swept across his face. “I knew you’d see it my way,” he said triumphantly.
She stared at him in horror. “Grant, no! I only said—”
He drew her into his arms. “I promise you, Hannah, you’ll never regret this decision.”
SANDRA MARTON is the author of more than thirty romance novels. Readers around the world love her strong, passionate heroes and determined, spirited heroines. When she’s not writing, Sandra likes to hike, read, explore out-of-the-way restaurants and travel to faraway places. The mother of two grown sons, Sandra lives with her husband in a sun-filled house in a quiet corner of Connecticut where she alternates between extravagant bouts of gourmet cooking and take-out pizza. Sandra loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her (SASE) at P.O. Box 295, Storrs, Connecticut 06268.
CHAPTER ONE
IF THE bit of black satin and lace spilling from the gold foil box wasn’t the sexiest nightgown Hannah had ever seen, it was certainly a close contender. It looked as if it might make the man who saw you in it go up in flames the moment you opened its matching peignoir.
‘Well?’ Sally shifted impatiently from one foot to the other. ‘What do you think?’
Hannah poked a finger at the sheer bodice. ‘It’s—uh—it’s very nice.’
‘Nice?’ Sally made a face. ‘It’s got to be better than “nice”, Hannah. “Nice” is what your mother buys you for sleep-away camp, it’s not what the girls you work with give you as a wedding gift!’
Hannah nodded. ‘Right. That’s what I meant, that it’s the perfect present for a bridal shower.’ She pushed her oversized glasses up on the bridge of her nose. ‘Really.’
‘Yeah?’ Sally drew the gown towards her, regarded it critically, then let it slip back so it lay draped across the gold box. ‘Gosh, I hope so. I’ve never been the one to choose the gift before. I just hope Betty likes it.’
‘I’m sure she will.’
‘OK, then, I’m gonna just leave this here until it’s time to give it to her—or you can bring it with you when you come to the lunch room, OK?’
‘Me? Oh, I can’t! I’ve too much to... do,’ Hannah finished lamely as the door swung shut. Sally was gone, leaving only a drift of perfume behind.
Hannah stared at the gown, made a face, and sank down in her chair. Today seemed to be her day for dealing with the two extremes of wedded bliss, she thought. Her forehead creased as she leaned towards her computer and began scrolling through the ugly details of Gibbs vs. Gibbs. What had once been a happy marriage had been reduced to a case file of accusations and rebuttals.
Well, she thought as she began typing, at least there hadn’t been any children involved. Her fingers slowed on the keys. That was what people had said about her too, eight long years ago when the pain of her own divorce had been fresh and questions about the future had seemed insurmountable.
‘It’s a good thing you didn’t have kids,’ they’d said, and Hannah had agreed. It had been scary enough being responsible for herself, let alone for a baby.
But she’d turned out to be perfectly capable of making a life, a good one, for herself. All it lacked, if it lacked anything, was someone to share it with. Not a man. Never that. But if she’d had a child, a daughter or a son, a smiling face to come home to at the end of the day...
Hannah gave herself a little shake. ‘Oh, come on,’ she said briskly. Her fingers danced over the computer keyboard. There was no point in wasting time on what might have been. It was now that mattered—and that meant making sense of the Byzantine complications of the case her boss had dumped on to her shoulders just before he’d marched out of the door.
‘Do something with this mess,’ he’d demanded, dropping several thick files on her desk on his way out.
‘Do what?’ Hannah had asked, bewildered. She had been Grant MacLean’s assistant for five months now, but she’d only helped him with his speciality, international law.
‘Make some sense out of it, Miss Lewis,’ he’d said, his grey eyes cool. ‘You do have some sort of paralegal training, don’t you?’
And you’re the one who gets paid a fortune to practise law, Hannah had wanted to say. But she hadn’t. She liked her job too much to toss it all away. Besides, she’d learned to bite her tongue and let her boss’s sharper comments slip by.
Mean MacLean, Sally had dubbed him, and, if it was a cruel nickname, it was close to accurate.
‘What a waste,’ she’d groaned, ‘all that thick black hair, white teeth, rippling muscles, and gorgeous eyes—and a heart so tiny you’d have to perform micro-surgery to find it!’
