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Naughty Nights in the Millionaire's Mansion
Robyn Grady
Hot-shot in the boardroom – blazing in the bedroom! Dynamic and drop-dead gorgeous, in two weeks’ time Sydney millionaire Mitch Stuart will be president of his family’s empire – and he won’t allow himself any distractions…Enter Vanessa Craig! Vanessa’s working hard to keep her little business afloat, although she can’t help but care more about the pets in her store than pennies in the bank. Mitch steps in to help her in the only way he knows: financially.But Vanessa’s bewitching kisses threaten his hard-and-fast corporate rule: not to mix business with pleasure…
‘While we’re on the subject ofgetting things straight…I don’tregret kissing you, Vanessa. Quitethe contrary.’ That curious gleamfaded up and swam again in hiseyes. ‘Would it surprise you tohear I’d like to do it again?’
A hot jet of arousal flashed through her veins. For a moment she was so shaken she couldn’t respond. She wet her suddenly dry lips, then wished she hadn’t. She didn’t want to give him the wrong idea.
Her voice was a croak. ‘That wouldn’t be wise.’
The line between his brows gradually deepened. ‘You’re right. Of course. Not wise at all.’
She gazed up dreamily, lost in the entrancing mirrors of his eyes. ‘So was that kiss just part of the service?’
His jaw tightened. ‘No. That was unforgivable. It won’t happen again.’
‘You’re certain?’
The pad of his thumb grazed her lips before his mouth descended once more. ‘Absolutely.’
One Christmas long ago, Robyn Grady received a book from her big sister and immediately fell in love with Cinderella. Sprinklings of magic, deepest wishes come true—she was hooked! Picture books with glass slippers later gave way to romance novels and, more recently, the real-life dream of writing for Mills & Boon.
After a fifteen-year career in television, Robyn met her own modern-day hero. They live on Australia’s Sunshine Coast, with their three little princesses, two poodles and a cat called Tinkie. She loves new shoes, worn jeans, lunches at Moffat Beach and hanging out with her friends on eHarlequin. Learn about her latest releases at www.robyngrady.com and don’t forget to say hi. She’d love to hear from you!
Robyn also writes for Mills & Boon
Desire!
Dear Reader
Today’s world is such a busy place. Seems we have a thousand things to do and a thousand choices to make. The pressure can be overwhelming. Imagine if we could cast some ancient spell and conjure up the perfect balance between work and relaxation—responsibility and fun…
Multimillionaire Mitch Stuart knows about the former, not so much the latter. When his father died, Mitch became head of a house full of dependent females. After years of automatically putting his family and their company first, Mitch happens upon a fascinating lady. Vanessa Craig prefers tatty jeans to Chanel, puppies over expensive perfume—and she has this focused young banker, with the world at his feet, completely bewitched. Unfortunately she’s appeared in his life at the worst possible time.
Vanessa has never known such passion or happiness. She’d like nothing better than to languish for ever in the bliss to be found in Mitch Stuart’s strong arms. However, if they continue to see each other Mitch could lose what he’s worked towards for so long. She needs to make a single, heartrending choice. If Mitch can’t do what needs to be done, perhaps she should do it for him…and bow out of his life.
I hope you enjoy Mitch and Vanessa’s journey towards finding and embracing the very best of both worlds.
And, Stuey…in my books, you’re every woman’s quintessential sexy banker.☺
Best
Robyn
NAUGHTY NIGHTS IN THE MILLIONAIRE’S MANSION
BY
ROBYN GRADY
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Moet and Ebony, with love
CHAPTER ONE
‘IT’S settled. You’re coming home with me.’
The low murmur at Vanessa Craig’s back left her nape tingling, as if her skin had been brushed by an intimate kiss. Drawn from stacking the last of the special diet dog food, she curled some hair behind her ear, then slowly edged around. She tried—but failed—to keep her eyes in her head.
Of course, the attractive man standing nearby hadn’t spoken to her. Heck, he didn’t know she existed, even if Vanessa was acutely aware of every sensitised cell in her body suddenly glowing with life.
Powerhouse height, pitch-black hair, a strong shadowed jaw and eyes bluer than any Vanessa had seen. The precise cut of his trousers, the immaculate polish of his shoes—everything about this man didn’t simply say he settled for the best.
He was the best.
When the man-god shifted his weight, the ledge of his magnificent shoulders went back. His attention drifted from the small tank, which contained a single goldfish, and landed on her.
‘Afternoon.’ His mouth curved up at one side as he quarter-turned to face her. ‘You work here?’
Vanessa swallowed the knot of hot desire tugging in her throat. ‘I’m the manager.’
‘Great. I’m interested in that fish.’
Vanessa studied the goldfish, who was busy studying the man. She smiled over. ‘Not half as interested as he seems to be in you.’
While she spoke, the light changed in her customer’s ocean-blue eyes, as though something in her face or her voice, made him wonder if they’d met before. Not on this side of her dreams.
As his sexy smile returned, he tilted his head at the tank. ‘I’m wondering…can you tell his gender?’
Although Vanessa had answered that question regarding fish many times in the past two years, the majority of people who visited her Sydney pet store—Great and Small—seemed content to while away some time fawning over the puppies and kittens. Who could blame them? Cute bundles of fur bouncing around, pressing their squishy wet noses against the window, desperate for a cuddle. Searching for a home.
Caring for her animals was a labour of pure love, but the real joy came when one went to a family whom she knew would truly care. Friends were great: Josie and Tia, her buddies since high school, were the best. But family, real family…well, everybody wanted one.
Did this man have a family? Was he an uncle? A father?
She set a hand on a corner of the cool tank. ‘Males can have tiny dots on the gills and pectoral fins. Like those.’ She waggled a finger at the little guy’s fins, then filtered in an interesting detail. ‘Did you know that the Japanese have been keeping goldfish as pets for over a thousand years?’
His gorgeous eyes smiled and sparkled. ‘Is that right?’
She nodded. ‘It’s also a bona fide fact that watching fish swim can be soothing to the nerves.’
‘Well, that’s got to be cheaper than the psychiatrist I’m seeing.’
Vanessa’s jaw dropped, but then he lifted a brow and smiled—a sultry gotcha smile that burrowed beneath the skin and coddled every inch of her.
‘Actually, a friend of mine has a large aquarium,’ he admitted. ‘He says nothing’s more relaxing at the end of a long, hard day. No fuss, no bother. No noise.’ The impressive breadth of his chest expanded beneath its dark wool blend shirt as he retrieved his wallet from a back pocket. ‘Do you take Visa?’
But before he could extract the card, his attention shifted to a nearby glass pen and its excited scramble of Rottweiler pups. Aware her scent was Perfume de la Birdcage from the tray she’d cleaned earlier, Vanessa swiped both hands down her jeans and moved closer. ‘They’re pretty special, huh? Only came in this morning.’
When the lines of his classically cut profile intensified, as if he were considering a change of tack, she subtly tested, ‘Have you owned a dog before?’
Attention fixed on the pups, the dark slashes of his brows fell together. ‘I grew up with dogs…’ His Hollywood jaw shifted. ‘Kind of.’
She grinned. ‘Kind of grew up, or kind of dogs?’
His crystalline gaze met hers again; the contact rippled through her blood like the aftermath of a fiery liquid touch.
‘Poodles.’ His gaze dipped to her mouth, traced the sweep of her lips, then flicked back to her eyes. ‘I grew up with poodles. The tiny, yappy ones.’
Only half recovered from the sizzle of his gaze, she dug her hands into her pockets and rocked back on her Reeboks. ‘Whatever size, poodles are a highly intelligent breed.’
‘They certainly know how to get what they want.’
‘The family pooches were pampered?’
‘Like every other female in the house.’ His brows crunched together again. ‘Sorry. Too much information.’
She didn’t mind. She was intrigued.
So he had a mother as well as sisters, sounded like. The fine lines branching from the corners of his eyes said late twenties, early thirties at the outside —too old to live at home with the brood. Had he grown up overrun by female siblings and a domineering matriarch? Perhaps his father had been away often, a foreign diplomat for some exotic far-off land; the dreamy slant to his eyes and coal-fringed lashes suggested a Mediterranean connection maybe.
She smiled at herself.
And maybe she needed to get a life. Whatever his background, she wouldn’t get to know him well enough to hear it.
‘These pups are only eight weeks old. They’ll grow a whole lot bigger. I’d suggest a good quality bed.’ She selected one from a nearby display. ‘We recommend this brand.’
Close to where her hand rested, he rubbed and pinched the foam. ‘Hmm. Firm yet soft.’
As if on direct dial, the tips of her breasts picked up, tightening to responsive beads beneath her T-shirt. Vanessa surrendered to the delicious undercurrent before managing to shake herself free.
Good Lord, Josie was right. She needed a holiday. But with her most recent business crisis breathing down her neck, sipping piña coladas beneath palm fronds wasn’t likely any time soon. She’d take a holiday when she was back on her feet, when her business was back in the black. She wasn’t about to give up on her dream.
She set the dog bed down and cleared the thickness from her throat. ‘Rotties make great guard dogs as well as companions.’
On cue, the only male pup set his big front paws on the window; his tail whipped around back so hard, the motion almost knocked him over. Anyone who thought dogs didn’t smile didn’t know dogs.
She weaved around a giggling toddler, who clapped as Mr Cheese went hell-for-whiskers on his mouse wheel. ‘He’ll need walks. And puppy school to help socialise him.’
‘Like kindergarten for dogs.’ His arms crossed, then he scratched his temple. ‘How much time are we talking about? I get home late. I work most weekends too.’
Vanessa’s heartbeat slowed. She should have guessed. His aura exuded energy and no-nonsense efficiency. Not that ‘handsome high-powered executive’ was a turn off. Just everyone seemed so busy these days—the twenty-first century treadmill gone mad. No one had time to walk their dogs and smell the flowers any more.
Her gaze flicked to his left hand—large, tanned but no gold ring. Still, not all those who were taken wore bands. As she’d found out.
‘Perhaps your wife could help.’
‘I’m not married.’
‘Girlfriend?’
She was curious—only for the dog’s sake. A workaholic man-god descended from warriors wouldn’t be interested in an ordinary girl working her way up the ladder…lately one rung up, three rungs back.
‘My housekeeper comes in once a week.’
She cut him a wry grin. Not the same.
She had a thought. ‘If a dog’s too much responsibility and a fish maybe isn’t enough, perhaps a—’
‘Don’t say cat.’ His chin and its deep cleft came down. ‘I don’t do cats.’
She almost rolled her eyes. What was it with men and moggies?
‘A bird then? We have some lovely budgies. Or a parrot? You can teach them to talk. Sit on your shoulder.’
The nostrils of his hawkish nose flared. ‘I don’t think so.’
She indicated a cage. ‘What about a reptapet?’
‘You mean a snake?’ He visibly shuddered, a full body shiver. ‘Pass.’
He skirted around an elderly man in a grey fedora squeaking at the guinea pigs to return to that tank and scrutinised the fish. Hovering above its yellow and blue bed stones, the fish blew a bubble and stared back. Looking closer, he lifted a hand to knock on the glass.
When she touched the platinum watch on his wrist—fish and tapping was a no-go zone—the fiery sensation of his skin on hers released a crackling zap hurtling up her limb. The scrumptious shockwave carried an arrow straight to her chest and stole the air from her lungs.
He straightened and looked at her oddly—a curious glint in his eye as if he might have felt the charge too. Or maybe that look simply said handsoff.
Stepping back, she drew her tingling hand away. ‘Plenty of people have satisfying relationships with fish,’ she said in an unintentionally husky voice.
An intrigued smile swam in the depths of his eyes. ‘Do you?’
Her glance took inventory of the wall of tanks behind them. ‘We have scores of fish here.’
‘But do you have fish at home?’
‘No.’
‘A dog?’
‘I’m not allowed.’
His brows jumped. ‘You live with your parents?’
She blinked twice. ‘I rent.’
‘But you have family close by.’
Her stomach lurched at his assumption. Orphaned at a young age, she’d been brought up by an aunt on the rural east coast of Australia. She had no brothers or sisters, grandparents or cousins. Other than Aunt McKenzie, she had no one.
