Married Under The Mistletoe. Линда Гуднайт

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      CHAPTER ONE

      IN HIS wildest fantasies, if he were given to such things, Daniel Stephens had never expected to be here, doing this.

      He shifted the heavy canvas duffel bag from his shoulder to the pavement in front of the beautiful, light-washed building, slicked back a damp clutch of hair and gazed up at the Knightsbridge Bella Lucia Restaurant.

      London pulsed around him, the genteel hum of the élite, the roar of buses, the swirling, thick moisture of a damp October night, all both familiar and foreign after so many years away.

      This was his birth family’s restaurant. One of three, if he understood correctly. Fabulously successful. Exclusive. Expensive.

      His nostrils flared. Outward façades never impressed him much. To his way of thinking most were lies, like his own childhood, covering a multitude of sins. But he had to admit, the Valentine family had style.

      A chic woman stepped out of a taxicab beside him, tucked her designer bag beneath her arm, and sailed past without a glance to enter the glass double-doors of the restaurant. Soft jazz wafted out briefly, then was sucked back inside as the doors vacuumed shut.

      Daniel had blood here. Blood that hadn’t claimed him or his twin until now when it no longer hurt so much to have no father, no extended family, no one to care. Now his father wanted him. Or so he said. People like John Valentine generally hid ulterior motives. If Daniel waited around awhile, he’d find out what his father was really after.

      The notion of claiming John Valentine as father still rankled as much as Mrs Valentine’s demand for a DNA test to prove it. He’d refused her request during his brief visit a week and a half ago and, furious, had returned to the familiar call of Africa. But his twin brother Dominic had obliged, proving once and for all that the father who СКАЧАТЬ