Kitabı oku: «The Abby Green Modern Collection»
All about the author… Abby Green
Abby Green worked for twelve years in the film industry. The glamour of four a.m. starts, dealing with precious egos, mucky fields, driving rain…all became too much. After stumbling across a guide to writing romance, she took it as a sign and saw her way out, capitalising on her long-time love for romance books. Now she is very happy to sit in her nice warm house while others are out in the rain and muck! She lives and works in Dublin.
ABBY GREEN deferred doing a social anthropology degree to work freelance as an assistant director in the film and TV industry—which is a social study in itself! Since then it’s been early starts, long hours, mucky fields, ugly car parks and wet-weather gear—especially working in Ireland. She has no bona fide qualifications, but could probably help negotiate a peace agreement between two warring countries after years of dealing with recalcitrant actors.
She discovered a guide to writing romance one day, and decided to capitalize on her longtime love for Mills & Boon romances and attempt to follow in the footsteps of such authors as Kate Walker and Penny Jordan.
She’s enjoying the excuse to be paid to sit inside, away from the elements. She lives in Dublin and hopes that you will enjoy her stories.
You can e-mail her at abbygreen3@yahoo.co.uk.
Dear Reader
I was thrilled to be asked to write one in a series of books centring around the exciting world of International Rugby. My home, Ireland, is bursting with Rugby pride and prowess. The backdrop of Six Nations fever certainly helped me to envisage the single-minded pursuit of an arrogant French hero intent on the seduction of my vulnerable, yet strong Irish heroine!
The game, to me, represents earthy competition and raw sport at its most base and primal level—heady stuff, and very evocative of passion and attraction.
Recently the matches have been played out in the impressive Dublin ground of Croke Park, and that’s where I’ve set the opening of my story. As of 2010, though, the game will return to its home ground of Lansdowne Road, which is currently being refurbished to international standards.
When it came to research—well, let’s just say that it was no hardship to sit and watch the Six Nations in preparation. I have to confess while watching France v Italy my focus on the rules of the game did wander a little from time to time.
I hope that you enjoy reading Alana and Pascal’s story as much as I enjoyed the process of writing it…
Happy reading!
Abby
The Brazilian’s Blackmail Bargain
The Kouros Marriage Revenge
Bought for the Frenchman’s Pleasure
The Mediterranean Billionaire’s Blackmail Bargain
The Spaniard’s Marriage Bargain
The French Tycoon’s Pregnant Mistress
Abby Green
MILLS & BOON
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CONTENTS
Cover
About the Author
Title Page
Dear Reader
The Brazilian’s Blackmail Bargain
Dedication
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Kouros Marriage Revenge
PROLOGUE
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
Bought for the Frenchman’s Pleasure
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
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Mediterranean Billionaire’s Blackmail Bargain
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
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Spaniard’s Marriage Bargain
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
The French Tycoon’s Pregnant Mistress
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
EPILOGUE
Copyright
The Brazilian’s Blackmail Bargain
For Susie Q and again Lynn
my patron saints.
PROLOGUE
London, November
MAGGIE HOLLAND stood just on the other side of the revolving door, the late November darkness throwing the glittering lights of the exclusive London hotel into sharp relief. Her heart was in her mouth, legs shaking, hands clammy and a trickle of sweat ran down her back. Her head ached where pins held the thick mass of curls on top of her head and, with a visibly trembling hand, she pulled the too short mac more tightly around her body. The cold wind whistled around her exposed legs but couldn’t shock her out of the stupor that seemed to have taken control of her body.
A couple clambered out of a cab on the street just behind her and, in a flurry of doormen, luggage and broken German on the cuttingly cold breeze, she knew she had to move into the lobby just behind the glass or move aside and let them pass.
The stupor passed; reality rushed in. Taking a deep breath, she didn’t move aside, much as she wanted to, but pushed the revolving door and stepped into the warm foyer.
She saw him as soon as she walked in. Impossible to miss him; he would draw the eye of anyone with a pulse.
He was standing facing away from her, talking to someone, so hadn’t noted her arrival and she was glad of the respite. A chance, however flimsy, to gather herself and her exposed nerves. And a chance to observe him for a moment.
He stood with hands in his pockets, making the material of his tailored trousers run taut over his behind, drawing attention to a powerful physique that was more like that of an athlete in his prime than a corporate tycoon worth millions…some even said billions. A tycoon who had a fearsome reputation as one of the most innovative and powerful in Europe.
Caleb Cameron hadn’t existed in her world until two weeks ago, when she’d met him at her stepfather’s house for the first time. Never an enthusiastic visitor unless requested by her mother, that had been one of those times when Maggie’s mother had begged her for some support. He had been one of a few assorted businessmen who in the last two weeks had conducted intense meetings with her stepfather. And having been there nearly every day to help her mother hostess, Maggie’s every waking and sleeping thought had quickly become filled with this dynamic man, and still the disbelief that he could possibly be interested in her. Proof of which was this date tonight.
Her mouth compressed. A date which had been hijacked for other ends.
Maggie swallowed with difficulty. She couldn’t escape what she had to do. She knew that with an awful fatality. But…surely he would see through her in a second? She almost hoped he would. He had a rapier-sharp intellect. And yet she was somehow expected to…no, had been ordered to be the one to…Her mind shut down; she felt sick again and shut her eyes briefly.
All she wanted to do was turn around and walk back out of the door. But she couldn’t. If she didn’t go through with this, the consequences didn’t bear thinking about and affected the one person dearest to her. She had no choice.
‘Maggie.’
Her eyes snapped open. How had she not heard him approach? An impression struck her of a large, lethal, graceful jungle cat. She strove for calm, straightening her spine.
‘Caleb, I’m sorry. I hope you weren’t waiting for too long.’
He skimmed a look up and down, leaving her a little breathless, a broad shoulder lifted negligently. ‘A few minutes is a pleasant surprise. I’ve been kept waiting for longer.’
Somehow Maggie knew that was a lie. No woman would keep this man waiting. His penetrating blue gaze held hers captive. She couldn’t look away and that familiar boneless feeling permeated her, making her blood slow and throb through her veins. This was the effect he had had on her ever since she’d laid eyes on him. When she’d been innocent of the part she was being primed to play in her stepfather’s Machiavellian plans. When she’d been aware of nothing more than Caleb…as a man…not someone who had to be betrayed, ruined…plundered for his wealth.
And now…seduced.
Looking up at him, her mind was scrambled. For a second she could almost fool herself into thinking that what was outside didn’t exist. Maybe this really could just be the simple date he’d asked her on…with no agenda. That thought made her breathless with a dangerous excitement. She wasn’t aware of the slight ironic smile that touched her lips at her wishful thinking. After tonight she’d never see him again and that made her insides feel hollow.
An icy gleam lit Caleb’s eyes for a split second, but then it was gone, replaced with benign politeness. ‘Shall we? The dinner table is ready…’
Maggie’s heart plummeted. This was it…no turning back. ‘Fine.’
On wooden legs she preceded him through the foyer to the doors at the other end. She felt as though she was walking to the guillotine. And then, to compound it, the heavy room key in her pocket brushed against her leg. Nausea clawed her stomach again. The key to the room upstairs that had been booked by her stepfather. The scene where the seduction was to take place. He even had his man there somewhere, in the shadows, watching, monitoring proceedings…to make sure one or the other didn’t leave too soon. Before the damage could be done.
Dear God. How could she do this?
At the door to the dining room she felt Caleb’s fingers on her shoulders. She half turned, acutely aware of the bare scrap of lace she was wearing. The excuse for a dress that he had bought for her to wear. She wanted to halt the inevitable slide of the coat from her shoulders even as the maître d’ came forward to take it. Panic rose. She couldn’t do this…she couldn’t look. Couldn’t bear to see the reaction on Caleb’s face when he saw her outfit.
She was wearing a slip. That was all. He’d seen more clothes on a lap dancer. It didn’t suit her pale colouring. The rich red hair was pinned up, making his fingers itch to take it down. A curious burning disappointment licked through his veins as he realised that, even in the cheapest outfit, she still had the power to ignite forceful desire in his body. The tingling awareness of which was making itself very apparent. And something else licked through him too. Self-derision. For a brief moment, before he had found out who she was, or what was going on, he had thought…He tried to stop his thoughts going in that direction. But his mind refused to obey.
When he had first met her, something deep and hidden and unknown had been touched. He had been shaken out of his usual cynical inertia. She had looked at him that first time with such sweet shyness and had then smiled. That smile had captured self-deprecation at her response, the current of sexual awareness running between them and something so intangible…but so innocently feminine, that he’d felt a lurch of surprise. He was used to women smiling at him, but usually with such blatant calculation that his blood ran cold.
His mouth thinned as he followed her through the dining room; he was aware of the openly admiring glances she was getting, the sexy sway of her hips, and his eyes, like theirs, were drawn to the scrap of lace and silk that was barely decent. To see her tonight, with her intentions so disappointingly obvious, he wondered again how he could ever have thought he’d been surprised…or that she wasn’t exactly the same as every other woman.
He knew with confident arrogance that she wanted him. She had felt the same immediate impact on first sight—he knew that. But she probably turned it on for everyone, no distinction being made.
She was nothing more than a mediocre actress, but yet…and he hated the admission, she’d almost fooled him, got under his guard. He’d never had a lapse in his attention before now, keeping corporations going in every major city from Tokyo to London. He knew the minutiae of every single one of them, his control legendary and fear-inducing among his competition. A skill that would not let her or her family undermine that control, even now, when they thought they had him. The fools.
He focused on the facts.
She was here to take him to bed, to seduce him and distract him. To act as the honey trap. One of the oldest tricks in the book. If he wasn’t mistaken, he was sure he’d seen the distinctive shape of a key in her pocket as he’d taken her coat. Was it a key to a hotel room there? The disgust rose like bile.
But two could play at that game; he was here to seduce her too. A little luxury he was affording himself, the spoils of war. Because this was war. Since he’d felt that punch to his gut on first sight, had then discovered what their little game was, the way she’d so blatantly been put on display for him…he’d been determined to sample what was on offer.
They reached the table.
Maggie walked to the other side and faced him with a look of almost, for a fleeting moment…unbelievable trepidation on her face. He mentally shook his head. Hell, she was good. He’d never seen anything like the level of her guile. He reasserted his cool mental clarity, ignored the ache in his loins. The slow burning fire that would be sated.
She would soon know just how dismally their machinations had failed. Then he would take his revenge on her family. And then he would be free of this all-consuming desire that held him in its grip.
By the end of the night she would never…ever forget him or want to cross his path again.
CHAPTER ONE
Dublin, six months later…
‘WE JUST have to meet with Mr Murphy and then it’s all over.’ In the back of the car as they left the graveyard, Maggie took her mother’s hand in hers, concerned by her ashen pallor.
Her mother drew in a shaky breath. ‘Love, I don’t think I can sit through it…I really don’t—’
Maggie tightened her hand in comfort as her mother’s eyes filled and her mouth trembled.
She turned stricken eyes to her daughter. ‘I’m not sad…Is that terrible? I’m so relieved that he’s finally gone; when I think of what I put you through all these years, how I could have—’
‘Shh, Mum. Don’t think about it now. It’s over. He’ll never harm either of us again. We’re free.’
Her heart ached at the desolation in her mother’s eyes, the lines on her face, the lifeless hair scraped back. She had once been a beautiful, vibrant woman. The reason why Tom Holland had wanted her for himself after her father’s untimely death. He’d been pathologically jealous of his cousin.
In those days, as a young widow in Ireland with nothing but the house left to her and a small child, Maggie’s mother had been vulnerable. When Tom had promised to look after her if she married him, she had thought she was doing the best thing for her and her daughter. It was only after the wedding that his vicious cruelty had become apparent and, in a notoriously conservative society where divorce hadn’t been allowed until relatively recently, her mother had effectively been trapped. Until now.
‘Look, you don’t have to sit in on the reading of the will; it’s going to be a matter of routine anyway. Mr Murphy knows us well enough not to insist on your being there and Tom left everything to you. It’s the least he could have done.’ Maggie’s voice couldn’t hide its bitter edge.
‘Oh, really love, do you think so? If I could just take a rest…’
‘Of course, everything is going to be fine.’ Maggie tried to inject upbeat energy into her voice when all she felt was drained beyond belief.
A short time later the car pulled off the main road in the small village outside Dublin and swept through the gates of a large, welcoming country house. Maggie took a deep comforting breath. The first glimpse of the house through the trees that lined the short drive never failed to lift her spirits. It had been their own family home—her father and mother’s. It was the one thing her stepfather hadn’t got his hands on. A link back to happier days, the memories of which she knew had helped her mother get through the worst times. It was here she and her mother had moved back to six months ago, after that…Even now she couldn’t bring herself to think of that night. The pain in her heart was still acute, despite her attempts to ignore it, deny it. The awful humiliation was still vivid.
Luckily her mother had listened to her and they’d left London almost immediately. By the time Tom had realised that his plan hadn’t worked he’d been too caught up with his business to come after them. And now he was gone for good. Dead. She brought her mother up to her bedroom and was almost at the door when she called her back.
‘What is it, Mum?’ Maggie walked over and sat down.
Her mother’s eyes were suddenly bright and serious. ‘Promise me you’ll never speak of what happened to us…what Tom did to us…I couldn’t bear the shame.’
She was used to this recurring plea of her mother’s. ‘Of course not…you know I never have; why would I now?’
Her mother grabbed her hand with surprising strength. ‘Promise me, Margaret.’
‘I promise.’ She pressed a kiss to her mother’s forehead and left again. It was a promise she wouldn’t find hard to keep; she had no intention of talking or thinking about Tom Holland ever again if she could help it. Maggie went back downstairs and heard the sound of a car. The solicitor. After hanging up her coat, she quickly smoothed back her hair, opening the door with a smile as the bell sounded. She had always liked the small man with twinkling eyes. Unlike the rest of Tom Holland’s coterie of hangers-on and staff, his local Dublin solicitor had also been her father’s solicitor.
She showed the older gentleman into the front room. ‘I hope you’ll excuse my mother; she’s not feeling the best.’
He turned to face Maggie, ‘Nothing serious, I hope?’
‘No,’ she quickly assured him, knowing of his genuine concern. ‘She’s just tired and drained from the past few days. But if you need her here—’
He put up a hand. ‘Actually, maybe it’s better if she doesn’t hear what I have to say.’ Suddenly he couldn’t meet Maggie’s eyes and shifted uncomfortably on his feet. A sliver of fear made her stop breathing for a second. It was too good to be true that Tom Holland was gone. She knew it.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Maggie let’s sit down. I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.’
She moved numbly to a chair and watched as the solicitor sat down near a table and put down his briefcase. He didn’t take out any papers. She struggled to stay calm, despite his bleak face.
‘What…what is it?’
He looked up at her finally, his hands stretching out, palms up, empty. ‘I’m afraid that you and your mother have been left with nothing.’
Her heart started to beat normally again, as she relaxed. It wasn’t too bad. She and her mother hadn’t ever received much from Tom and she had been supporting herself for years since college and was building a modest income from her paintings.
‘Well, that’s not the end of the world, is it? But…but where did it all go?’
They were talking about millions of pounds after all. Mr Murphy sighed; he hated being the bearer of bad news. ‘It would appear that one of his adversaries finally brought him down, lock stock and barrel—the timing is most unfortunate. A tycoon in the UK that your stepfather attempted to take over some time ago has been steadily buying up stock, taking over his companies and on the day Tom had the heart attack the last of his businesses crumbled—a freak coincidence.’
That would explain his absence, why he hadn’t followed them home, demanded her mother return to London, punished them. Despite the dire news, Maggie couldn’t help the spike of satisfaction that rushed through her; she only wished she could have seen his reaction when he had found out.
‘Well, there’s nothing to be done now; at least we have our house.’
The words fell into the space between them and Maggie watched with growing dread as she saw Mr Murphy’s eyes flicker away guiltily and his hand went to his collar as if he needed air.
‘Mr Murphy, we do have this house, don’t we? It’s my mother’s.’
He shook his head slowly, as if he couldn’t even bring himself to articulate the words. At Maggie’s desperate look he had to. He cleared his throat and it sounded harsh in the silence of the room.
‘My dear…nearly a year ago in London your stepfather persuaded your mother to sign over this house in his name as collateral. God knows how he persuaded her; maybe she didn’t understand what she was doing…I’m afraid it was tied up with all of his other assets. It now belongs to—’
Just then the sound of a car outside the window stopped his words. Maggie couldn’t move; she was in shock. She couldn’t even begin to figure how her mother had done such a thing; this house was sacrosanct. Rage and disbelief warred inside her as the information sank in.
Mr Murphy was looking out of the window. ‘That’s him. The head of the corporation. He came to see me personally and insisted on coming here today to see you and your mother. I’m so sorry, but he refused to be dissuaded.’
When the doorbell rang and Maggie didn’t move, Mr Murphy finally got up to answer it. She was numb, barely aware of the sound of the door opening, footsteps approaching, the deep timbre of a voice answering something the solicitor had said. Maggie looked up and suddenly her world stopped turning. She felt herself standing slowly as if moving through treacle, her limbs sluggish and unwieldy.
Caleb Cameron. Larger than life, his huge frame filling the doorway. He cocked his head slightly and a mocking smile touched his lips. His eyes captured Maggie’s and she couldn’t look away. They were glacial, moving over her, stripping her. The man who had turned her world upside down that night six months ago was back…apparently to turn it upside down again. She fought strenuously against the shocking pull she could feel in every cell as she reacted to his commanding aura. The room seemed to tilt slightly on its axis as she unconsciously sucked in a breath, her need for oxygen necessary but secondary to the shock after shock that she was reeling from.
Unable to tear her eyes away from his in morbid fascination, she didn’t notice the solicitor precede Caleb into the room and gesture towards her. ‘This is Margaret Holland. Maggie, this is Caleb Cameron, he’s the man who has taken over all of your stepfather’s holdings…including this—’
Before he could say it, she cut in through bloodless lips, ‘I know Mr Cameron; we met in London.’
She sank back down on to the chair behind her because her legs were trembling so much they wouldn’t hold her up any more and looked up, stricken, as Caleb advanced into the room and sat in the chair just vacated by Mr Murphy.
Despite the urbane, debonair exterior, his body clothed in an exquisite suit, he still exuded that untamed potent maleness she remembered all too well. The virile essence of the man couldn’t be contained or disguised by a mere suit. It had bowled her over the first time she had seen him and was having the same effect now, except this time she had the experience of their explosive night together to make seeing him three thousand times worse. And, even though months had passed in the interim, she could feel a hot tide of colour rise up from her chest as countless familiar disturbing images flooded her head.
Caleb exercised iron-willed self-control as he looked her over dispassionately. But despite that effort he couldn’t dismiss the heady rush at seeing her in the flesh again. Her face had paled dramatically on seeing him, almond-shaped green eyes huge in her small oval face, the rich abundant hair pulled back severely. The plain black top and straight black skirt couldn’t hide the curves he remembered all too well—curves she had flaunted for him…yet now she looked thinner. Somehow fragile. And a protective instinct took him unawares.
A vivid memory struck him just then of seeing her for the first time, her hair falling in a mass of vibrant red curls down her back, like some vision from a medieval painting. Freckles stood out starkly against the paleness of her smooth skin as he subjected her to an exacting inspection. He noticed with satisfaction that her cheeks flooded with hectic colour. If he hadn’t known better six months ago, he could have imagined she wore her heart on her sleeve, at the mercy of every reaction showing on that translucent skin. He could have succumbed to a dangerous fantasy. But he hadn’t. Because he had known, almost from the very start, exactly what she was.
