âThis lovers-reunited tale is awash in passion,
sensuality and plenty of sparks. The terrific characters immediately capture your attention, and from there the pages go flying by.â âRT Book Reviews on Marriage: For Business or Pleasure?
âSterling characters, an exotic setting â¦
and crackling sexual tension make for a great read. The realistically paced romance is also refreshing.â âRT Book Reviews on A Trip with the Tycoon
âRomantic, engrossing and realistic,
The Billionaireâs Baby shines with pathos, charm and heart, and readers looking for a story they can lose themselves in shall certainly not be disappointed.â âpinkheartsocietyreviews.blogspot.com on The Billionaireâs Baby
CHARLI loathed babysitting.
Not that she had anything against kids, per se, but having her bossâs grandson tag along on Storm Varthâs comeback tour sucked.
Big-time.
As if minding the wild rock star wasnât bad enough, she had to worry about Luca Petrelli watching her every move.
Not good.
Stabbing at the elevator button, she glanced around the lobby of Melbourneâs Crown Towers, the familiar muted golds and warm browns exuding class and sophistication.
She practically lived in this hotel with the number of international musos and rock stars that stayed here. And where Landry Records stars stayed, sheâd be there, catering to their every whim.
It was what she did best: pamper visiting rock royalty, arrange VIP services, guarantee every second of every itinerary ran like clockwork.
She thrived on it; the buzz, the rush, the pressure of ensuring the plans she put into place ran smoothly.
Nothing fazed her. Not any more.
Stepping into the elevator, she glanced at her watch and grimaced. Luca Petrelli had better be ready and waiting when she knocked on his door, or else.
Sheâd co-ordinated their departure and arrival time between here and Ballarat to the last second. Stormâs tour bus had just taken off and while the surly rock star had demanded he not be approached until morning, she wanted to ensure his arrival at the first stop of his tour of Victoria went off without a hitch.
She had things to do and no one, not even some notorious slack-arse playboy, would slow her down.
As the elevator doors soundlessly slid open, she smoothed down her favourite aubergine skirt, adjusted her jacket and stepped out, a quick glance at the numbers on the wall sending her right.
She marched up the long corridor, her impatience growing with every step.
Sheâd do anything for Hector Landry, CEO of Australiaâs biggest recording label, but when her boss and mentor had sprung the surprise of Lucaâs unwelcome presence on her a few hours ago, sheâd almost balked.
Okay, so sheâd been a little harsh in labelling his presence babysitting some idle playboy. Apparently the infamous Luca Petrelli had dragged himself away from the French Riviera and the parties in Rio de Janeiro as a favour to Hector, whoâd just fired his top financier and needed a quickie replacement on this tour.
Enter one recalcitrant playboy who flaunted his charms from one end of the globe to another. The fact he used his public profile to raise money for charities only served to raise her suspicions.
If the guy hadnât been near his grandfather in the past ten years, what the hell was he doing here now?
She stopped outside the suite and knocked, quickly relaxing her face into neutral. This was a job, just like any other sheâd done for Hector and she had no right to second-guess her boss or the rationale behind his flaky grandsonâs visit.
However, as the door swung open and she caught her first glimpse of Luca Petrelli, she knew this was no ordinary job.
âYou look disappointed,â he drawled, holding the door open with one hand, leaning against the jamb with the other, naked from the waist up.
She didnât dare glance down to assess the rest of the situation, though as a jumble of emotions tumbled through Charli disappointment wasnât one of them.
Sheâd seen pictures of Luca in magazines, taking time to politely glance at the odd snapshot Hector would point out to her. The pride in Hectorâs voice had always grated. How could he be proud of a layabout grandson who never visited let alone acknowledged he existed?