Innocent's Nine-Month Scandal (Barsi On Fifth Duet Book 2; One Night With Consequences) Read online

  “If you’re pregnant...

  ...you’ll marry me.”

  Control is everything to billionaire Viktor Rohan. Then Rozalia Toth appears on his mansion’s doorstep, looking for a family heirloom, and throws his world into chaos! Her sweetness intrigues him beyond measure...and as their inescapable chemistry explodes, Viktor realizes Rozi’s innocence isn’t an act! But their passion has consequences, and Viktor refuses to let scandal ruin his family again. Their baby will be legitimate! And Rozi? She will be his...

  Discover this dramatic surprise pregnancy story!

  “We were both reckless,” Rozi said. “This—” she flicked her fingertips at her middle “—doesn’t have to become your responsibility.”

  “Don’t be naive, Rozi.” The way Viktor spoke her nickname was a disconcerting mix of the way her family lovingly shortened it and his own thickly accented, unique appropriation of the two syllables. It was comforting and familiar, yet sexy and gruff.

  Disarming.

  Or maybe it was simply that her emotions were growing heightened as she sensed her grip on her life slipping away and falling under his firm, ruthless control.

  “I’m not naive,” she protested.

  “I’m sure you’re very worldly in many ways,” he scoffed. “But we still have to wait out the result. So let’s wait.”

  “Are you out of your mind? Then I really might repeat my grandmother’s life, raising a child alone in New York.” She waved a hand in a direction that might be west. She was too disoriented to have any sense of space and time right now.

  “You wouldn’t go back to America,” he said, voice so commanding, her ears rang. “If you’re pregnant, you’ll stay here. And marry me.”

  One Night With Consequences

  When one night...leads to pregnancy!

  When succumbing to a night of unbridled desire, it’s impossible to think past the morning after!

  But with the sheets barely settled, that little blue line appears on the pregnancy test, and it doesn’t take long to realize that one night of white-hot passion has turned into a lifetime of consequences!

  Only one question remains:

  How do you tell a man you’ve just met that you’re about to share more than just his bed?

  Find out in:

  The Italian’s One-Night Consequence by Cathy Williams

  Princess’s Nine-Month Secret by Kate Hewitt

  Consequence of the Greek’s Revenge by Trish Morey

  The Innocent’s Shock Pregnancy by Carol Marinelli

  An Innocent, A Seduction, A Secret by Abby Green

  Carrying the Sheikh’s Baby by Heidi Rice

  The Venetian One-Night Baby by Melanie Milburne

  Heiress’s Pregnancy Scandal by Julia James

  Look for more One Night With Consequences coming soon!

  Dani Collins

  Innocent’s Nine-Month Scandal

  Canadian Dani Collins knew in high school that she wanted to write romance for a living. Twenty-five years later, after marrying her high school sweetheart, having two kids with him, working at several generic office jobs and submitting countless manuscripts, she got The Call. Her first Harlequin novel won the Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best First in Series from RT Book Reviews. She now works in her own office, writing romance.

  Books by Dani Collins

  Harlequin Presents

  The Secret Beneath the Veil

  Conveniently Wed!

  Claiming His Christmas Wife

  One Night With Consequences

  Consequence of His Revenge

  Innocents for Billionaires

  A Virgin to Redeem the Billionaire

  Innocent’s Nine-Month Scandal

  The Sauveterre Siblings

  Pursued by the Desert Prince

  His Mistress with Two Secrets

  Bound by the Millionaire’s Ring

  Prince’s Son of Scandal

  Bound to the Desert King

  Sheikh’s Princess of Convenience

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

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  To my son, Sam, who made the mistake of calling me when I was stuck after bringing Rozalia and Viktor to the chalet in the Carpathians. Sam suggested they go dancing in the village square, with lights strung above the dance floor and arches of flowers, like at a wedding. I had to cut the scene in later drafts, but the image got me writing, so thank you, Sam. I only wish I could offer such elegant coding solutions should you ever be stuck while programming. xo

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  EPILOGUE

  EXCERPT FROM CHOSEN AS THE SHEIKH'S ROYAL BRIDE BY JENNIE LUCAS

  CHAPTER ONE

  “NO ENTRY, MISS.”

  The middle-aged man in a uniform spoke in heavily accented English. He wore an air of boredom, not even looking at Rozalia Toth as he turned her away from the gate of Kastély Karolyi.

  “The best photos are from up the hill.” He pointed.

  She couldn’t blame him for thinking she was one more tourist milling on the sidewalk, eager for shots of the gorgeous architecture here in Budapest. On her way to the gate, she had snapped the front of the Rohan family home, thinking to show it to her family when she got back to New York.

  It was so beautiful, who could resist? Intricate gray brickwork was covered in centuries of vines and framed by lush old maples and oaks. The scrupulously manicured flower beds splashed color around the wide staircase that formed the covered entryway. Tall windows were spaced evenly across both floors with wrought iron balconies jutting out from a few at the top. Adorable round gables and a chimney on top made it storybook perfect.

  She would have been charmed even without the familial connection—of which hers was virtually nonexistent. Even so, she intended to exploit it.

  “I have an appointment with Mara Rohan,” she said in Hungarian.

  “Name?”

  “Rozalia Toth. She’s expecting my cousin, Gisella Drummond. I’ve come in her place.” She had thought about emailing ahead to warn about the change of plan, but had gambled they would be less likely to turn her away if she was here in person.

  She gazed on the house again, listening to the guard radio her name, sorry that Gisella couldn’t be here with her. Through childhood and years of schooling, as they both gained their degrees and apprenticed as goldsmiths, they had longed to see their family’s “old country.”

  Rozalia, in particular, had always been curious about the family history. But rather than walk the narrowest alleys of Budapest to find the walk-up where their grandmother had been born, or drive into the countryside to locate her own grandfather’s birthplace, she had been drawn here to Kastély Karolyi.

  Istvan Karolyi would have been her grandfather if he hadn’t died in the revolution. Instead, he was only Gisella’s grandfather. Their grandmother, Eszti, had met him while they were attending university. When she became pregnant, Istvan asked her to marry him, offering a pair of family earrings in lieu of an engagement ring. He then sent her to America ahead of him, to escape the unrest. He died before he could join her and Eszti later married Rozalia’s grandfather, but still held a small torch for her first love.

  That sort of titanic romance went straight to Rozalia’s soft heart. She needed to know everything about it.

  And, like Gisella, she yearned to get her hands on those earrings, separated just as Eszti and Istvan had been. Rozalia and her cousin had searched for years for them, wanting to give them back to their grandmother so she could hold again that token from her first love.

  A message came back to the guard that Mara Rohan had left town. The guard asked if someone else would take the meeting.

  Rozalia perked up in anticipation that Mara’s son, Viktor, would admit her. He was gorgeous. And a count, not that Hungary allowed their nobility to use their titles, but it was one more thing that made him ultraintriguing.

  From the moment Rozalia had searched his name, she’d been enthralled with the look of him—all dark and brooding with short black hair, a strong brow line and a squared-off, clean-shaven jaw. His mouth was the most intriguing. His upper lip was narrow, but formed with two well-defined peaks. The bottom was full and bitable—not that she had ever let herself go enough to nibble on a man’s bottom lip, but he certainly put the idea into her head.

  One near-naked shot of him on the beach had jump-started a million fantasies. She was only human, for heaven’s sake. He’d been caught as he emerged with snorkel and fins in his hands, the most impossibly small bathing suit straining to cover his naughty bits. The rest of him was pure muscle, abs flat, dark nipples sharpened by the chill against the swarthy plane of his chest. His expression as he realized he was being photographed was positively filthy, he was so disgusted at whoever had taken the shot.

  Why that made her laugh, she didn’t know, but she had been drawn here as much by the opportunity to meet that man as she was by the chance to acquire her grandmother’s earring.

  The security guard received a response and shook his head, repeating in English the message she had understood in Hungarian as clearly as he had.

  “Your appointment is canceled.”

  So much for showing up in person making it harder to turn her away. Rozalia set her back teeth and found a pleasant smile. “May I reschedule?”

  “No.” He didn’t bother checking with the voice on the radio for that one.

  “May I leave a note?”

  His cheek ticked, but he let her stand there and scribble in her notebook. She said she was sorry to have missed the chance to speak with the family and that she would be in the city for several more days, then added the name of her hotel and her contact details.

  She tore out the sheet and handed it to the guard. He would no doubt crumple it, but she thanked him and started back to her hotel.

  She waited until she was out of his earshot before releasing her disparaging snort.

  She had spent the best part of a decade tracking her grandmother’s earrings. She wasn’t about to give up that easily.

  * * *

  Viktor Rohan was mentally sorting a dozen priorities as he left Rika Corp and descended the stairs toward his waiting car.

  A young woman, a backpacker, if the map she held was anything to go by, stood chatting up his driver. The spring breeze pressed the fabric of her T-shirt against her modest chest and lifted the waves of her loose brunette hair away from her creamy complexion. She wore no makeup, but sunshine was all she needed. That buttermilk skin would light up any room—most specifically a darkened bedroom.

  Viktor didn’t begrudge his driver a personal life, but for some reason, as his employee leaned in to make a play for this one, Viktor bristled. A compulsive This one’s for me resounded in him.

  He had grown out of picking up women, especially young, free-spirited ones, back when he’d still been nursing scorn over an adolescent heartbreak. From his midtwenties on, he’d preferred the convenience of longer-term arrangements with women in his social circle. Now that he was hitting thirty, however, even those comfortable situations came with expectations of a more serious future. His own mother badgered him ceaselessly to marry and produce an heir.

  Perhaps his interest in this pretty traveler was reflexive pushback against his mother’s latest efforts because he found himself mentally rearranging his priorities again, now allowing for a shared dinner this evening—with plenty of time allotted for other potential entertainments to develop.

  “Joszef.”

  His driver snapped to attention and hurried to open the back door of his town car.

  The woman turned to look at him and stilled as though transfixed. A slow smile filled her expression with even more light. He thought of artwork that depicted angels of grace and goddesses of fertility, none of which had ever caused such a brilliant thrust of heat to swell in him.

  Oh, yes, this one was definitely his.

  “That saves me going inside to ask for you.” She came toward him, hand extended. “I’m pleased to meet you, Úr. Rohan.”

  She spoke in Hungarian without accent, but something told him she was American. He took her hand the way a cat snared a bird that flittered too close, pulling her in, determined she wouldn’t get away.

  Then she spoke again, and the hunter inside him went from playful to bloodthirsty, claws extending.

  “I’m Rozalia Toth. Do you have time to speak with me?”

  * * *

  Viktor Rohan dropped her hand like she was made of fire. It was a shock when she was still reeling from that initial touch that had set her alight. The spark of generic attraction she’d experienced for an online image flared to sharp fascination as she faced him in person. A compulsion to know everything about this man welled in her.

  “No,” he answered with the look she had seen in that beach photograph, like he thought she was something irritating. Abhorrent, even. Definitely far beneath him. “How do you have the nerve to chase me down like this?”

  He was so much more dynamic and dangerous in real life. An air of potent virility came off him along with ruthless command of his surroundings. It took everything in her to keep her faculties and respond, “I had an appointment with your mother. She promised to show me an antique earring that my grandmother possessed at one time, but she canceled at the last minute.”

  “You aren’t the one who made the appointment and I advised her against agreeing to it, not when you haven’t even offered an apology.” He turned to step into the space of the open car door.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. I should have been clear that I took Gisella’s place.”

  He swiveled a look on her that should have sent her head rolling into the street. “I meant an apology from your grandmother. For stealing our family heirloom.”

  “What? Grandmamma didn’t steal those earrings. Why on earth do you think that?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think it. I know it.” So confident, as if it was a proven fact. He folded himself into the back of his car.

  “Wait! That’s wrong.” She pushed herself into the space behind the door, so his driver couldn’t slam it without breaking her shins. She braced a hand on the top of the door as she leaned her head down. “Your great-uncle gave them to her as an engagement present.”

  “How is that possible? He was dead before they went missing. Joszef,” he said sharply.

  The driver, who’d been doing his best to charm the socks—and everything else—off her a minute ago, set his hand on her arm.

  Rozalia had long ago learned how to shake off a grope in the subway and cast a warning look that had any man stepping back in defense of his chestnuts. The driver did exactly tha t, one hand blocking his fly on reflex.

  She also knew better than to get into cars with strangers, but that’s exactly what she did. She pushed into the back seat, trying to crawl across him like she was taking the far chair in a row at the theater.

  It was rude enough, and startled Viktor so that he grabbed her waist to steady her in front of him, practically on his lap. His strength was undeniable, but what froze her in place was the impact of his touch. For a moment, they were eye to eye, nose tip to nose tip, practically about to kiss.

  His eyes were gray as an ashen sky, moody and ominous without any hint of blue. And dear Lord he had an erotic mouth.

  Her hand was on the leather seat next to his thigh, but she longed to brace against the well-developed ball of his shoulder. Touch the heat of his neck. He smelled of something woodsy and spicy, fine wool and the barest hint of brandy.

  All of that combined with the flash in his stormy gaze to give her the vertigo she experienced looking down from tall buildings. The flip-flop in her stomach warned of a life-threatening fall even though she knew she was perfectly safe.

  “Sir?” Joszef said.

  With a muscular twist, Viktor dumped Rozalia onto the seat beside him.

  “Close the door,” he said.

  It slammed.

  He settled his arm along the back of the seat so he was angled toward her, silently asking, What now?

  Because she was trapped. The luxury sedan had a roomy interior, but it became unbearably small and airless. She felt enclosed with a panther. A hungry one. Her feet were still tangled with his and she carefully withdrew them to her side of the car.

  “Are you finished work for the day? Can I buy you a drink?” she asked. Somewhere reputable and crowded, preferably. “I’d like to talk this out. I always understood that Istvan died after he gave Grandmamma the earrings.”

  She was using her conciliatory I statements deliberately. The family didn’t call her their number one mediator for nothing.