Unbreak My Heart (Childhood Sweethearts Reunited)

Back Cover Blurb

Andre Le Court first set eyes on Kate Frost when he was two and she was a babe in her mother's arms. He's twenty-five now, and he still remembers the moment perfectly, the moment Kate Frost slipped inside his heart.

His family owned a big hotel, her parents worked there. Andre's father spent years trying to separate his son from the daughter of the hired help. Eventually he grew desperate and sent Andre away to boarding school.

Nine years later, Kate turns up on the doorstep of Andre's prestigious hotel with the paparazzi at her heels and the six-week-old daughter of her celebrity ex in her arms. She has nowhere left to run except back to the place where she left her heart all those years ago.

Andre lost Kate once, he won't lose her again. But he has an image to maintain, a reputation as a successful businessman. A bohemian young woman with beads in her hair is not a suitable wife for him.

In Andre, Kate sees tantalizing glimpses of the boy she adored. But most of the time she hardly recognizes the powerful, successful man he's become, his lifestyle so like that of his despised father.

Can they forgive the pain of the past, accept each other as they are now, and rediscover the childhood love that was snatched away from them?

Author's Note

For those who may not know, the Island of Jersey, or Bailiwick of Jersey, is part of the group of islands known as the Channel Isles. It is forty-six square miles in size and lies in the English Channel off the coast of Normandy, France.

Jersey is a self-governing British dependency, not part of the UK. The currency is
GBP
(Jersey produces some of its own notes and coins). The island's main language is English although being so close to France, this country's influence is much in evidence.

In the UK, Jersey is well known as a tax haven for the wealthy.

Chapter One

Kate Frost clutched her baby tightly as the taxi took a sharp bend, and her stomach contracted with nerves. She had thought she would feel safe once she set foot on home soil, on the Island of Jersey in the Channel Isles where she grew up. The moment she stepped off the ferry and tasted the salty island air, she knew she was home. But she hadn't counted on the paparazzi pursuing her across from England.

She rubbed her thumb over the shiny surface of her lucky penny in the pocket of her skirt, the Jersey penny she had kept on her ever since she left the island seven years ago. She could do with all the luck she could get when she faced her old friend Andre Le Court and asked for his help.

She tried to picture Andre as he was now at twenty-five, but in her mind he would be forever sixteen, sea salt drying on his tanned skin, his thick, dark hair dancing in the breeze. Life had been much happier and more carefree back then, before Andre's father sent him away to boarding school and everything changed.

The familiar landscape of small, steep fields swept past the windows of the taxi. She looked out the back to see if the photographers were still following. She caught glimpses of the narrow road they'd left behind winding away between the hedges. Hope flared as she thought she'd lost them, then the flash of sun on glass revealed the car following about a hundred yards back.

Her six-week-old baby girl, Keiko, stirred in her sleep, flexing her tiny fingers against the front of Kate's shirt. "It's all right, sweet pea. Mummy's here." Kate wrapped her arms protectively around the precious tiny body, breathing in the delicate fragrance of her baby's hair.

Andre wasn't going to be pleased with her for bringing the paparazzi to disturb the peace of his luxury hotel, but he was her last hope. She couldn't think of anyone else to turn to now that her stepfather had sent her packing. If she was lucky, Andre would help her for old times' sake.

Kate scrubbed her hand across her face. Shielding Keiko from the photographers had left Kate numb with exhaustion. A few rude words came to mind that she'd like to say to her publicity-obsessed ex-boyfriend, Dan. He'd use anyone or anything to keep his name in the media.

The whine of a car engine cut into her thoughts. The photographers' rental car had caught up with her taxi. The redheaded man, who'd been her worst tormentor, was driving. He gave her a cocky grin and mouthed, "Got you." She turned away and ground her teeth.

The taxi rounded the final bend, and the driver glanced over his shoulder. "Nearly there, love. This place will set you back a bob or two. Got a couple of gold bars in the bottom of that backpack of yours, have you?"

Kate cast a rueful glance at her bag. It was so heavy it felt as though she had. "I'm a friend of Mr. Le Court's. I'm hoping I'll get a freebie."

He gave a low whistle and stared at her in his mirror. "Good luck with that."

The taxi slowed as it approached the entrance to the Caspian Manor Hotel. Out of habit, Kate looked for the dragons. They were still there, perched regally on top of the massive granite gateposts. As the taxi turned down the drive, Kate peered up at one of the lichen-encrusted creatures that had kept watch over the manor house gates since the thirteenth century. The dragon was hunched down, tail curled around its body, wings partially open as though it was about to take off. To think that, when they were children, she and Andre had climbed the eight-foot pillars so they could ride the dragons. They must have been a little crazy back then.

The car wound along the narrow drive bordered by wooded slopes, thick with a lush palette of greens and colored wildflowers.

Kate released her seatbelt, checked the fastening on Keiko's baby sling and pulled on her backpack in readiness to climb out. She looked up as they emerged from the woods and rounded the final corner of the drive.

Andre's Norman manor house still had the power to steal her breath. Its turrets and crenellated battlements were clothed in passionflower and wisteria like a fairytale castle. Growing up here had been wonderful. She had only been the gardener's daughter, but in spirit this place belonged to her as well. She hoped its master was in a good mood and ready to grant her sanctuary.

***

Andre Le Court leaned back in his office chair, twisted around to face the window, and watched a herring gull glide across the square of cloudless blue sky. He adjusted the telephone in his grip as he listened to Elizabeth Delacroix, his aspiring graphic designer. "I think it would brighten the whole dining room if you got rid of the oak paneling," she said." I know it's listed, but we could box it in."

He frowned at her sketches on the desk in front of him. "Liz, the panels in the dining room are thirteenth century. They're an important feature of the house. I want to make the most of the Caspian's assets, not hide them away." Promising Elizabeth's grandfather Edmund Delacroix that she could put in a proposal had been a serious mistake. The woman had no idea what she was doing! She was suggesting he remodel the hotel, when the brief had clearly stated he wanted a new promotional concept. Unfortunately, he felt obliged to consider her proposal for her grandfather's sake. Edmund had been there for Andre when his grandfather died, offering help and advice on how to run the two hotels he'd inherited. Andre owed him.

To make matters worse, Andre suspected Edmund was pushing Elizabeth his way in the hope romance might blossom, but he wasn't interested. If he had to spend much time with the woman, she would drive him nuts.

"Look, Liz," he said, "this isn't what I'm looking for. Have a rethink and come up with a new concept for promoting the Caspian. I'm simply trying to rebrand it. Give my regards to your grandfather." Liz suggested dinner and he grimaced until she said Edmund wanted to talk to him. "Fine, I'll see you both on the terrace here at eight."

He ended his call and cast a frustrated glance at the other three proposals he'd had for rebranding the hotel, all stylish, glossy covers and no substance. In his gut he knew what he was after but didn't have the creative skill to put the idea on paper. The Caspian was beautiful and quirky, an ancient slumbering monster of a place. He needed someone who understood the building's personality, someone who could come up with a new way to promote it that didn't involve tearing out its heart and turning it into a clone of other top notch hotels.

His grandfather's dream had been for the Caspian Manor to win the Connoisseur Club poll, to be recognized as the top hotel in Europe. Andre owed it to the old man to make that dream come true. But he needed help.

The squeal of car tires on gravel cut into his thoughts. At the sound of raised voices, he stood and strode over to the open window, catching the back view of two men as they entered the front of the hotel. Then he heard the sound of a woman's voice raised in protest, a voice that hurled him back through a kaleidoscope of memories. He gripped the window frame to steady himself, a little shocked. After all these years, Kate Frost still had the power to rock his world, and he didn't like it.

Andre crushed his first instinct to dash downstairs to see her. Instead he grabbed his jacket, slipped it on, and carefully straightened the cuffs. Aware of every breath, he counted them, marked the seconds, kept control. He had an image to maintain, a professional persona that required discipline. He could not let her get to him.

He left his office and paused at the top of the narrow oak stairs that led down to the reception area. The lobby of his normally peaceful manor house hotel was in turmoil.

She stood on the plush, red carpet, shouting at three men with cameras who were trying to take her photograph. Her slender figure was almost obscured by an enormous pack on her back and what looked like a smaller bag slung across her chest. She wore a long, blue skirt shot through with fine gold threads. Her feet were bare; her small toes almost lost in the thick pile of the carpet. Every time she moved, the multitude of slim, gold bangles on her arm jangled, and the beads in her fine blonde braids rattled.

Andre's normally efficient duty manager was unsuccessfully trying to restore calm. The reception staff stood motionless as if dumbstruck. A group of Swiss bankers, some minor French politicians, and the CEO of an American Pharmaceutical Company all looked on, some with fascination, some with disapproval.

Kate Frost was back in his life.

Andre fastened his jacket, then smoothly took the ten steps down to the lobby and made his way through the crowd.

Andre arrived in time to grab Kate's wrist as she aimed her sandal at one of the photographers. It was only then he realized what they were trying to photograph. A tiny pink head covered with golden fluff protruded out of the small bag on her front.

The breath left him as though he'd been punched in the gut. For a moment, he struggled to draw in air. "No, Kat," he whispered. Why would she have a baby with that sleazeball Daniel Crowther?

One of the photographers called to him, "You're Andre Le Court, the owner of the hotel?" Then without waiting for a reply: "Mr. Le Court, how long have you known Kate Frost? Are you friends with Daniel Crowther?"

"No," Andre snapped, knowing he shouldn't engage with these men, but unable to hold back the denial. They kept firing questions at him, but he concentrated on Kate. Gently taking her elbow, Andre guided her through the swelling crowd of inquisitive faces toward the stairway. But the pushy photographer wasn't ready to give up. "Andre, are you the baby's father?"