The Billionaire's Heart

By Kathleen O'Brien

High School art teacher Sophie Smith is usually the most honest of women. But when her dearest friend and mentor asks her to be her stand-in on a two-week vacation at an Amalfi Coast luxury resort, she won’t let her down… even if it means posing as a rich, pampered socialite.

As it turns out, Sophie could get used to this, especially handsome, enigmatic gardener Declan Muldoon who’s strangely more thrilling than any of the billionaires buzzing around. She ends up falling for him—hard.

Then Sophie discovers she’s not the only one pretending. Declan’s gardener gig is temporary. He’s actually the black sheep of a very wealthy, powerful family, a man who appears to be in need of an heiress.

An heiress exactly like Sophie is pretending to be…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tule Publishing
• Release date: Sep 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781943963157

Kathleen O'Brien

Kathleen O’Brien is a former feature writer and TV critic who’s written more than 35 novels. She’s a five-time finalist for the RWA Rita award and a multiple nominee for the Romantic Times awards. Though her books range from warmly witty to suspenseful, they all focus on strong characters and thrilling romantic relationships. They reflect her deep love of family, home and community, and her empathy for the challenges faced by women as they juggle today's complex lives.

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Dedication

To Nancy Robards Thompson, Katherine Garbera, Mary Louise Wells and Eve Gaddy, great friends who make writing great fun.

Dear Reader

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Dear reader,

I adore vacations. I love the excitement of leaving real life behind, and discovering other places, other people, other ways of living.

I always get a little breathless in that moment when the plane takes off, the car hits the road, the boat leaves the port. I suddenly feel brimming over with possibility. Anything can happen. I’m not even really me anymore.

But I have to admit that, as thrilling as leaving can be, coming home is always the best. The momentary freedom is fun, but, when the vacation clock strikes midnight, I am delighted to step back into my old routine, newly appreciative of what I have and who I really am.

For Sophie Smith, though, the heroine of this novella, the stakes are far higher. Her vacation on the Amalfi Coast is a chance to leave life as a struggling art teacher temporarily behind. To help a dying friend fulfill a fantasy, Sophie will pose as a rich American heiress, staying in luxury suites, wearing designer clothes, and being fawned over by billionaires.

Exciting, yes. But dangerous, too. Because, while she’s pretending to be someone she isn’t, Sophie finds herself falling in love with Declan Muldoon, the handsome landscape architect for the beautiful Italian resort.

Now, if she has any chance to turn this holiday romance into something real, she has to confess the truth. And she may discover that Declan, who eagerly made love to an elegant heiress under the stars, has absolutely no interest in a penniless schoolteacher who’s been lying to him all this time. She knows that, when her clock strikes midnight, the only souvenir she takes home from her fairy tale trip might be a painfully broken heart.

I hope you enjoy reading her story, and watching her find the courage to test the limits of love.

Warmly,

Kathleen

Chapter One

Hi, Millie! Operation Miss Moneybags has landed! I’m afraid I gave myself away first thing by sticking my head out the limo window to smell the air (like lemons!) and look at the Mediterranean. I’ll do better when I get to the hotel, I promise. No one will guess I’m just Sophie, the ordinary art teacher, who’s never been anywhere before.

More later. Don’t work too hard. You’re almost done with the chemo!! Celebrate...but carefully. :)

Sophia Rose Smith wasn’t a rich woman, but she knew exactly what they looked like. She should—she’d studied a thousand paintings of them in art school. Her favorite was a Sargent portrait of a pale, dark-haired beauty in black. Staring directly at the artist, the woman was utterly composed, unsmiling, concerned only with her own opinion, and not with anyone else’s.

Sophie carefully arranged that same expression onto her features as she stepped out of her limo and gazed up at the elegant Hotel dei Fiori, the pride of Isola del Sole, a jewel of an island near the Amalfi Coast.

At least she hoped she got the rich look right. It would have helped to be six inches taller, and maybe a chic thirty-three instead of an inexperienced twenty-five.

It would have helped to look like Millie, who at sixty-eight still had a slightly Lauren Bacall elegance, an aristocratic, angular face under a dark Gibson Girl upsweep.

Sophie, on the other hand, had a girl-next-door snub nose under Shirley Temple yellow curls.

But she could pull this off. She had to. Pretending to be a wealthy American tourist for the next two weeks might seem silly to her, but it was everything to Millie.

Stretching her shoulders back in ballerina posture, she began ascending the steps. It felt wrong not to help the driver and the porter as they wrangled with her luggage, but she forced herself to leave them behind, like debris in a sailboat’s wake. Think like a princess.

She didn’t allow herself to rubberneck at the beautiful people and sophisticated architecture around her. Gawking was the Boston Sophie. The Amalfi Sophie had been here, done this, too often to be impressed.

But when she entered the lobby, the suave act failed. She hadn’t ever been here—or anywhere remotely this grand. Like someone rising from the dark into a blinding light, she was temporarily overwhelmed by the bustling activity, by the vaulted ceiling, the massive flower arrangements, the crystal and gold and gleaming wood.

The large, cool space smelled of old money, exotic blooms, and rare perfume.

She paused on the center medallion of an ornate Persian carpet, as if the circle of roses was a safe space on a chessboard. For the first time since agreeing to come, she felt butterflies in her stomach. That surprised her. She hadn’t ever been overly impressed by money. She wasn’t intimidated by the rich and famous.

But this...this was different.

Pretending to fit in here wouldn’t be as easy as she’d thought, back when she and Millie planned it at the older woman’s dining room table. Originally, they’d been planning it for Millie, and she’d spent a fortune on this trip, buying the best of everything from luggage to hotel suites so that she could, just once in her life, experience the life of a rich, pampered somebody.

And then, when last year’s cancer had suddenly returned, robbing her of the chance, she’d recruited Sophie to take her place.

In a nearby marble column, Sophie could just make out a watery reflection of herself. It took her a few seconds to recognize that stylish creature swathed in sea-green silk. The long, flowing dress cost more than anything she’d ever owned. She’d been horrified when Millie insisted on buying it. But Millie hadn’t budged.

The woman reflected in the marble looked small, and a little lost. Sophie took a deep breath. Was she up to this, after all? The doctors had said they weren’t absolutely sure Millie’s chemo would work this time.

Would the last thing she ever did for her friend and mentor end up being a failure?

No. She set her jaw. She might not have done much traveling in her life, but she had exhaustively studied the finest art of the entire world. She understood beauty. She appreciated it. She could be as comfortable here, in this glamorous place, as anyone.

As if to offer encouragement, the man sitting at the grand piano under the staircase began playing At Last. Instinctively, she smiled. That song was Millie’s favorite. It was her secret anthem, in a way.

Millie had waited so long, sixty-eight years, to get this one taste of luxury, of adventure, maybe even of romance.

She’d never married, never had a family. Her sculpting career had never flourished, in spite of her immense talent. She had failing health, a crumbling townhouse and a cat, and that was all. To cover her disappointment, she’d developed a crust of hard-boiled bluntness that fooled most people into thinking she didn’t care.

Only Sophie had been trusted with Millie’s secret dreams of romance on the Amalfi coast.

So no way was Sophie letting her down.

Sophie pivoted toward the registration desk, on the other side of the graceful staircase. But she moved too fast. She ended up bumping into an enormous flower arrangement that stood on an ornate side table. Her hands jerked out awkwardly to catch the arrangement if it toppled.

I’m so sorry, she said to no one in particular, as a shower of yellow rose petals cascaded onto her sandals.

Ah, it’s nothing to fret over, a man answered, startling her. His voice was deep and tinged with a Scottish brogue, a surprise in this Italian paradise. If the roses weren’t already overdue for changing, they wouldn’t be falling apart at one touch.

She smiled sheepishly, wondering why she hadn’t noticed him there. Who was he? She observed that he was tall, dark-haired, and smiling, but the rest of the details got lost in the awkward moment.

With the subtlest twitch of a hand, he summoned a young bellman. Tell Elaine the roses are blown, he said with an air of authority. I’ll have Marc deliver fresh ones to her by noon.

The bellman nodded deferentially and hurried away.

Why deferential? Who was he? Sophie regarded him curiously. He frowned at the flowers, and he ran his hand deftly over the tabletop, making the petals disappear into his palm like a magic trick.

The extra few seconds gave her time to study him, but she still wasn’t able to pinpoint how he fit into the Hotel dei Fiori picture. He wasn’t dressed like the other guests, but he didn’t really look like staff, either. He wore black pants and a white t-shirt, a simple enough get-up. But he wore them with a strange combination of indifference and elegance—as if he’d tossed them on without much thought, but the clothes clung lovingly to his body, grateful to have been chosen.

And why not? It was a wonderful body. Trim, but muscular and strong, as if he loved hard work and extreme sports.

And his face... As an artist, she was always analyzing faces with a detached curiosity. But as she studied this man’s features, she felt her blood stir in her veins. He was perhaps the most glamorous person she’d ever seen in real life.

He had bone structure like a Greek statue, high cheekbones and a strong jaw with a perfect cleft in a surprisingly sweet chin. And the coloring...he was drawn with all the best crayons. Larkspur blue for his eyes, raven black for his hair, outdoor bronze for his skin.

Thank you, she began. Mr...

Declan, he said with a smile.

Was that a first or a last name? He didn’t volunteer more. But for some reason she did. Thank you, Declan. I’m Sophie Smith, and—

She wasn’t sure what she’d intended to say. She knew only that, for some inexplicable reason, she wanted to prolong the encounter. She had the feeling he was about to stride away, off on whatever business he had here at the hotel.

But it didn’t matter what she’d intended, because she didn’t get the chance. Her words were interrupted by the noisy arrival of a second man. This one was handsome, too—was it a requirement for staying at the Fiori?—but the newcomer had the slightly beefy look of a retired jock in danger of going to seed. He wore a tan holiday suit that had probably fit better last month.

Excuse me. Smiling, the newcomer stopped at her elbow—a little too close. He was, inexplicably, extending a fist full of giant yellow sunflowers.

Hello, there, he said, filling the syllables with throaty familiarity, though he was a complete stranger. I’m sorry to interrupt, Miss...

She didn’t offer her name. She stepped back a few inches. This type was easier to peg. About thirty, thirty-five, maybe. American. Tourist, all the way. Hazel eyes that looked hot and bloodshot, set in weather-beaten skin. Money coming out the ears.

Yes?

I... well, I picked these in the hotel garden just now, the man said, indicating the flowers. On a whim, really. I had no idea what I would do with them. But the minute I saw you standing here, looking more beautiful than any flower, I knew I had picked them for you.

She almost laughed. Did people really talk like this? Was this a popular pick-up line among the rich and ridiculous?

What would Sargent’s lady in black do if a stranger dared to flirt with her this way? She would put him in his place immediately, of course. Sophie lifted her chin, preparing to do the same.

But then, at the last instant, she glimpsed a hint of insecurity behind his brassy grin. He reminded her of Boomer Perkins, one of her pimply freshmen, who was always loud and pushy in art class, trying to get pretty Gwen Baker’s attention.

Poor guy. Under the bluster, he was only a little boy, afraid he might be rejected.

Relenting, she smiled and accepted the bouquet with a show of polite pleasure—even though she hated sunflowers, which always looked slightly fake to her.

They’re beautiful, she said. Thank you.

It is absolutely my pleasure. His chest swelled as he inhaled, straining the button on his expensive shirt. "I do hope you’re checking in...not out. He stepped even closer. I’d hate to think I had discovered you only to lose you..."

Behind her, the man with the brogue made a sound between a cough and a laugh. She turned, and she glimpsed a sparkle of mirth in his eye. He held her gaze knowingly, until she had to bury her nose in the flowers to keep an answering laugh from bubbling up in her throat.

The man with the flowers was trying to be sweet, presumably. But...but he was just so ridiculous.

She inhaled deeply, as if showing appreciation for the sunflowers could offset the snort. The odor rose halfway up her nose, and she sneezed...and then sneezed again. The yellow petals quivered under the onslaught of air.

You’re allergic, the dark-haired man pronounced flatly. He reached out and eased the flowers from her fingers. He handed them back unceremoniously to the American tourist.

"And who, exactly, are you?" The American sounded indignant.

The dark-haired man smiled. Declan Muldoon. Landscape architect for the Fiori.

"You’re staff? Well, Muldoon, you may not know who I am, but—"

Of course I do, Mr. Wharton. Declan Muldoon raised one eyebrow above a smile that proved the name didn’t exactly strike awe in his heart. For the record, many people are allergic to helianthus, which is one reason we don’t put them in the guests’ rooms. The next time you want to impress someone, try roses. Or...here’s a thought...the hotel florist? We offer guests a discount.

"I don’t need a discount! Wharton’s large face turned red. Obviously Muldoon had hit a nerve. I’ll be renting the penthouse of the Fiori for almost two months, and at these prices I think I have the right to..."

He

Reviews for The Billionaire's Heart

[bette_hansen · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A wonderful addition to the Amalfi Night series. When Sophie Smith and Declan Muldoon meet on Isola del Sole neither is exactly what they appear to be. She's visiting the luxury resort and he assumes she is a rich socialite. He's working as a landscaper for the resort so she assumes he is a blue collar worker. Both will be surprised when they find out the truth about each other!

This is a good one and I definitely recommend it.