Modern Romance November 2016 Books 1-4
Текст- Объем: 700 стр. 1 иллюстрация
- Жанр: контркультура, короткие любовные романы, современная зарубежная литература, эротические романы, юмористическая фантастикаРедактировать
Modern Romance November 2016 Books 1-4
Di Sione’s Virgin Mistress
Sharon Kendrick
Snowbound with His Innocent Temptation
Cathy Williams
The Italian’s Christmas Child
Lynne Graham
A Diamond for Del Rio’s Housekeeper
Susan Stephens
MILLS & BOON
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Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Di Sione’s Virgin Mistress
Back Cover Text
Introduction
The Billionaire’s Legacy
About the Author
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EPILOGUE
Snowbound with His Innocent Temptation
Back Cover Text
Introduction
About the Author
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
The Italian’s Christmas Child
Back Cover Text
Introduction
Christmas with a Tycoon
About the Author
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
EPILOGUE
A Diamond for Del Rio’s Housekeeper
Back Cover Text
Introduction
Wedlocked
About the Author
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
EPILOGUE
Copyright
Di Sione’s Virgin Mistress
Sharon Kendrick
“I have the tiara you want and you have to pay for it.”
Dante Di Sione could forgive the beautiful blonde he kissed in the airport lounge for accidentally taking the suitcase with his grandfather’s precious tiara in it. But then she has the nerve to blackmail him into accompanying her to her sister’s wedding!
So when news of their supposed engagement breaks, Dante takes his revenge and ensures that Willow plays the part of his loving wife-to-be to the full. Only, he has no idea that Willow has faked all that bold confidence...and is a virgin!
Book 5 of The Billionaire’s Legacy
Dante smiled, but it was a smile edged with impatience—and a danger that even Willow could recognise was sexual.
‘That depends on you and what you want.’
‘What I want?’ she said faintly.
‘Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but I thought that you were as frustrated by your sister’s interruption as I was. I was under the distinct impression that our fake relationship was about to get real, and in a very satisfying way. It would certainly be more convincing if we were properly intimate instead of just pretending to be. So, are we going to play games with each other? Or are we going to give in to what we both clearly want?’
The Billionaire’s Legacy
A search for truth and the promise of passion!
For nearly sixty years Italian billionaire Giovanni Di Sione has kept a shocking secret. Now, nearing the end of his days, he wants his grandchildren to know their true heritage.
He sends them each on a journey to find his ‘Lost Mistresses’—a collection of love tokens and the only remaining evidence of his lost identity, his lost history…his lost love.
With each item collected the Di Sione siblings take one step closer to the truth…and embark on a passionate journey that none could have expected!
Find out what happens in
The Billionaire’s Legacy
Di Sione’s Innocent Conquest by Carol Marinelli
The Di Sione Secret Baby by Maya Blake
To Blackmail a Di Sione by Rachael Thomas
The Return of the Di Sione Wife by Caitlin Crews
Di Sione’s Virgin Mistress by Sharon Kendrick
A Di Sione for the Greek’s Pleasure by Kate Hewitt
A Deal for the Di Sione Ring by Jennifer Hayward
The Last Di Sione Claims His Prize by Maisey Yates
Collect all 8 volumes!
SHARON KENDRICK once won a national writing competition by describing her ideal date: being flown to an exotic island by a gorgeous and powerful man. Little did she realise that she’d just wandered into her dream job! Today she writes for Mills & Boon, featuring often stubborn but always to die for heroes and the women who bring them to their knees. She believes that the best books are those you never want to end. Just like life...
For Sarah-Jane Volkers, who will know exactly why this book is dedicated to her when she reads it!
And to the brilliant Rafael Vinoly, whose words painted such a perfect vignette of Long Island life...
CHAPTER ONE
DANTE DI SIONE FELT the adrenaline pumping through his body as he walked into the tiny airport terminal. His heart was pounding and his forehead was beaded with sweat. He felt like he’d been running. Or just rolled away from a woman after a bout of particularly energetic sex. Even though it was a long time since he could even remember having sex. He frowned. How long?
His mind raced back over the past few weeks spent chasing across continents and flitting in and out of different time zones. He’d visited a dizzying array of countries, been presented with a whole shoal of red herrings and wandered up against several dead ends before arriving here, in the Caribbean. All in pursuit of a priceless piece of jewellery which his grandfather wanted for reasons he’d declined to share. Dante felt the tight clench of his heart. A dying man’s wish.
Yet wasn’t the truth that he had been tantalised by the task he’d been given and which he had taken on as a favour to someone who had given him so much? That his usually jaded appetite had been sharpened by a taste of the unusual. Truth was, he was dreading going back to his high-octane world of big business and the slightly decadent glamour of his adopted Parisian home. He had enjoyed the unpredictability of the chase and the sense that he was stepping outside his highly privileged comfort zone.
His hand tightened around the handle of his bag which contained the precious tiara. All he needed to do now was to hang on to this and never let it go—at least, not until he had placed it at his grandfather’s sickbed so that the old man could do what he wanted with it.
His mouth felt dry. He could use a drink, and...something else. Something to distract him from the fact that the adrenaline was beginning to trickle from his system, leaving him with that flat, empty feeling which he’d spent his whole life trying to avoid.
He looked around. The small terminal was filled with the usual suspects which this kind of upmarket Caribbean destination inevitably attracted. As well as the overtanned and ostentatiously wealthy, there seemed to have been some photo shoot taking place, because the place was full of models. He saw several giraffe-tall young women turn in his direction, their endless legs displayed in tiny denim shorts and their battered straw hats tilted at an angle so all you could see were their cute noses and full lips as they pouted at him. But he wasn’t in the mood for anyone as predictable as a model. Maybe he’d just do a little work instead. Get on to René at his office in Paris and discover what had been going on in his busy and thriving company while he’d been away.
And then his gaze was drawn to a woman sitting on her own. The only pale person in a sea of tanned bodies. Her hair was blond and she looked as fragile as spun sugar—with one of those pashmina things wrapped around her narrow shoulders which seemed to swamp her. She looked clean. He narrowed his eyes. Like she’d spent most of her life underwater and had just been brought up to the surface. She was sitting at the bar with an untouched glass of pink champagne in front of her, and as their eyes met, she picked up her glass, flustered, and began to stare at it as if it contained the secret to the universe—though he noticed she didn’t drink any.
Was it that which made him start walking towards her, bewitched by a sudden demonstration of shyness which was so rare in the world he inhabited? With a few sure strides he reached her and put his bag down on the floor, right next to a remarkably similar brown leather carry-on. But then she lifted her head and all he could think about was the fragile beauty of her features.
‘Hi,’ he said.
‘Hi,’ she said in a very English accent as she blinked up at him through thick lashes.
‘Have we met before?’ he questioned.
She looked startled. Like someone who had been caught in an unexpected spotlight. She dug her teeth into her lower lip and worried them across the smooth rosy surface.
‘I don’t think so,’ she said, then shook her head so that the strands of fair hair shimmered over her narrow shoulders like a silky cascade of water. ‘No, we haven’t. I would have remembered.’
He leaned on the bar, and smiled. ‘But you were staring at me as if you knew me.’
Willow didn’t answer—not straight away—her head was too full of confusion and embarrassment combined with a powerful tug of attraction which she wasn’t quite sure how to handle. Yes, of course she had been staring at him because—quite honestly—who wouldn’t?
Beneath the pashmina, she felt the shiver of goose bumps as she met his mocking gaze, acknowledging that he was probably the most perfect man she’d ever seen—and she worked in an industry which dealt almost exclusively with perfect men. Dressed with the carelessness only the truly wealthy could carry off, he looked as if he’d only just fallen out of bed—though probably not his own. Faded jeans clung to unbelievably muscular thighs, and although his silk shirt was slightly creased, he still managed to convey a sense of power and privilege. His eyes were bright blue, his black hair was tousled and the gleam of his golden olive skin hinted at a Mediterranean lineage. Yet behind the brooding good looks she could detect a definite touch of steel—a dangerous edge which only added to his allure.
And Willow was usually left cold by good-looking men, something she put down to a certain shyness around them. Years of being ill, followed by a spell in an all-girls school, had meant that she’d grown up in an exclusively female environment and the only men she’d ever really met had been doctors. She’d been cocooned in her own little world where she’d felt safe—and safety had been a big deal to her.
So what was it about this man with the intense blue eyes which had made her heart start slamming against her ribcage, as if it was fighting to get out of her chest?
He was still looking at her questioningly and she tried to imagine what her sisters would say in similar circumstances. They certainly wouldn’t be struck dumb like this. They’d probably shrug their gym-honed shoulders and make some smart comment, and hold out their half-empty glasses for a refill.
Willow twisted the stem of the champagne glass in between her finger and thumb. So act like they do. Pretend that gorgeous-looking men talk to you every day of the week.
‘I imagine you must be used to people staring at you,’ she said truthfully, taking her first sip of champagne and then another, and feeling it rush straight to her head.
‘True.’ He gave a flicker of a smile as he slid onto the bar stool beside her. ‘What are you drinking?’
‘No, honestly.’ She shook her head, because surely the champagne must be responsible for the sudden warmth which was making her cheeks grow hot. ‘I mustn’t have too much. I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘I was going to ask if it was any good.’
‘Oh. Yes. Of course. Right. Silly of me. It’s...’ Feeling even more flustered, Willow stared at the fizzing bubbles and drank a little more, even though suddenly it tasted like medicine on her tongue. ‘It’s the best champagne I’ve ever had.’
‘And you often drink champagne on your own at airports, do you?’ he drawled.
She shook her head. ‘No. Actually, I’m celebrating the end of a job.’
Dante nodded, knowing this was his cue to ask her about her job, but the last thing he wanted was to have to listen to a résumé of her career. Instead, he asked the bartender for a beer, then leaned against the bar and began to study her.
He started with her hair—the kind of hair he’d like to see spread over his groin—because although he wouldn’t kick a brunette or a redhead out of bed in a hurry, he was drawn to blondes like an ant to the honeypot. But up close he could see anomalies in her appearance which made her looks more interesting than beautiful. He noted the almost-translucent pallor of her skin which was stretched over the highest cheekbones he’d ever seen. Her eyes were grey—the soft, misty grey of an English winter sky. Grey like woodsmoke. And although her lips were plump, that was the only bit of her which was—because she was thin. Too thin. Her slim thighs were covered in jeans onto which tiny peacocks had been embroidered, but that was as much as he could see because the damned pashmina was wrapped around her like an oversize tablecloth.
He wondered what had drawn him towards her when there were other more beautiful women in the terminal who would have welcomed his company, rather than looking as if a tiger had suddenly taken the seat beside her. Was it the sense that she didn’t really fit in here? That she appeared to be something of an outsider? And hadn’t he always been one of those himself? The man on the outside who was always looking in.
Maybe he just wanted something to distract him from the thought of returning to the States with the tiara, and the realisation that there was still so much which had been left undone or unsaid in his troubled family. Dante felt as if his grandfather’s illness had brought him to a sudden crossroads in his life and suddenly he couldn’t imagine the world without the man who had always loved him, no matter what.
And in the meantime, this jumpy-looking blonde was making him have all kinds of carnal thoughts, even though she still had that wary look on her face. He smiled, because usually he let women do all the running, which meant that he could walk away with a relatively clear conscience when he ended the affair. Women who chased men had an inbuilt confidence which usually appealed to him and yet suddenly the novelty of someone who was all tongue-tied and flustered was really too delicious to resist.
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