The Millionaire's Rebellious Mistress - By Catherine George
Alex kissed her mouth, taking so much time over it Sarah’s heart was pounding when he raised his head. “You know, I’m not so sure about this friend thing after all,” he said huskily, his eyes glittering.
She heaved in an unsteady breath, trying to tamp down the heat his expert, hungry mouth had sent surging through her entire body. “You don’t want that anymore?”
“Yes, of course I do. But I have a problem.”
“The way you look tonight, any normal guy would want to be more than just your friend, Sarah. But don’t worry,” he said softly. “I’ll stick to the rules.”
“Yours—friendship with the enemy, but no sleeping with him.”
CATHERINE GEORGE was born on the border between Wales and England in a village blessed with both a public and a lending library. Catherine was fervently encouraged to read by a like-minded mother and developed an addiction to reading.
At eighteen Catherine met the husband who eventually took her off to Brazil. He worked as chief engineer of a large gold-mining operation in Minas Gerais, which provided a popular background for several of Catherine’s early novels.
After nine happy years the education of their small son took them back to Britain, and soon afterward a daughter was born. But Catherine always found time to read, if only in the bath! When her husband’s job took him abroad again she enrolled in a creative-writing course, then read countless novels by Harlequin authors before trying a hand at one herself. Her first effort was not only accepted, but voted best of its genre for that year.
Catherine has written more than sixty novels since and has won another award along the way. But now she has come full circle. After living in Brazil, and in England’s the Wirral, Warwick and the Forest of Dean, Catherine now resides in the beautiful Welsh Marches—with access to a county library, several bookshops and a busy market hall with a treasure trove of secondhand paperbacks!
THE MILLIONAIRE’S REBELLIOUS MISTRESS
~ MISTRESS BRIDES ~
THE MILLIONAIRE’S REBELLIOUS MISTRESS
ALEXANDER MERRICK achieved the vice-chairmanship of the Merrick Group before he was thirty, but no one who worked for him was in the slightest doubt that his appointment was due to ability rather than nepotism. They soon found he ran as tight a ship as his father and his grandfather before him, but with a more humanist approach. He had made it clear from day one that the door of his top floor corner office would always be open to any member of staff with a problem, and this particular morning he sat back, ready to listen, when his assistant came in looking gloomy.
‘What’s up, Greg? Girlfriend stand you up last night?’
‘No, Alex.’ Not long out of college, Greg Harris still got a buzz from being on first-name terms with his dynamic young boss. ‘I just had a phone call. Bad news. Our bid was unsuccessful.’
‘What?’ Alex Merrick shot upright. ‘So who the hell got them?’
‘I don’t know that yet.’ Greg cleared his throat. ‘I asked my—my friend to let me know the result of the sealed bid right away, as a personal favour, which is why I’m ahead of the game, but no other details yet.’
Alex swore volubly. ‘It must be some local builder with friends in high places. He’ll probably demolish the Medlar Farm cottages and build God knows what in their place—’ He broke off, eyeing his assistant speculatively. ‘Is your friend a girl?’
Greg nodded, flushing.
Alex gave him the crooked smile that few people could resist. ‘Excellent. Take her out to dinner; charm her into finding out who got the bid. I’ll pay.’
THE VIEW of the sunset over sweeping lawns and tree-fringed lake was so perfect the dining room could have been part of a film set.
Sarah’s escort smiled at her in satisfaction. ‘You obviously approve of my choice, darling?’
‘Of course. Who wouldn’t?’ But she was surprised by it. Oliver normally wined and dined her in more conservative restaurants, where the cuisine was less haute than Easthope Court. ‘Is this a special occasion?’
His eyes slid away. ‘Let’s leave explanations until later. Our meal is on its way.’
The waiter set Sarah’s entrée in front of her, and with a hint of flourish removed the cover from an offering of such culinary art she looked at the plate in awe, not sure whether she should eat it or frame it. But instead of sharing that with someone who took his food as seriously as Oliver, she asked about his latest triumph in court.
Sarah listened attentively