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The Playboy's Ruthless Pursuit
Miranda Lee
His most challenging conquestWhen you’re as handsome, dynamic and wealthy as British tycoon Jeremy Barker-Whittle, there’s no shortage of stunning women willing to share your bed. So when Alice Waterhouse says no, it’s a challenge the jaded playboy can’t refuse.But discovering Alice’s carefully guarded innocence puts paid to Jeremy’s thoughts of briefly stolen passion. The cynical CEO must put aside this delicate beauty… until Alice shocks by asking him to take her virginity!As Jeremy toys with the temptation to be the first man to show Alice pleasure, he’s unaware that she could be the first woman to tame him…
‘What are you afraid of, Alice?’ Jeremy asked, frowning as his eyes searched hers.
‘Maybe I’m afraid of myself,’ she replied.
‘You think too much. Time to just feel, Alice, and to have fun.’
‘Fun?’ she echoed. When had she ever had fun with a man?
He smiled. ‘Clearly fun is a concept you’re unfamiliar with. Let me teach you, Alice. I’m an expert at the art of fun.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’
‘You’re going to come to dinner with me tomorrow night, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ she said, sick of arguing with herself over this.
‘Good. I’ll ring you tomorrow and we’ll make definite plans.’
With that, he turned and left her, flushed and frustrated, on the doorstep. She watched him walk away and get into the back of his car without a backward glance.
A shaken Alice let herself in the front door. She walked slowly along the hall and into her bedroom, where she climbed into bed and lay awake for hours, thinking about Jeremy, and tomorrow night, and fun.
By ‘fun’ he obviously meant sex.
Even whilst she wanted to, the idea of actually doing it at long last was overwhelmingly nerve-racking. How would he react when he found out she was a virgin?
Rich, Ruthless and Renowned (#ulink_8c90ff62-37ab-53a4-b2af-b6293f00b89c)
Billionaires secure their brides!
International tycoons Sergio, Alex and Jeremy were best friends at college. Bonded by their shared passion for business—and bedding beautiful women!—they formed The Bachelors’ Club, which had only two goals:
1 Live life to the full.
2 Become billionaires in their own right!
But now, with the dotted line signed for the sale of their multibillion-dollar wine empire, there’s one final thing left for each of the bachelors to accomplish: securing a bride!
The trilogy begins with Sergio’s story in
The Italian's Ruthless Seduction
Continues with Alex’s story in
The Billionaire’s Ruthless Affair
And concludes with Jeremy’s story in
The Playboy’s Ruthless Pursuit
The Playboy’s Ruthless Pursuit
Miranda Lee
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Born and raised in the Australian bush, MIRANDA LEE was boarding-school-educated, and briefly pursued a career in classical music before moving to Sydney and embracing the world of computers. Happily married, with three daughters, she began writing when family commitments kept her at home. She likes to create stories that are believable, modern, fast-paced and sexy. Her interests include meaty sagas, doing word puzzles, gambling and going to the movies.
To my husband, Tony, for always being there.
Contents
COVER (#udfe42c42-1851-58e2-96e8-8f835f1822a9)
INTRODUCTION (#ucf752d54-b9c3-550e-89de-1d3230c08852)
Rich, Ruthless and Renowned (#uebef9db7-fd3b-5945-b076-cef2dfc29411)
TITLE PAGE (#uca2cb98e-15c3-5cbd-9b6a-ee937c827092)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#u431ef6f2-740c-51e8-8a67-b6c94b24746a)
DEDICATION (#u363a293f-eb0e-50c3-8815-235f24fe7692)
CHAPTER ONE (#u2ea85910-7fbe-5572-b8b5-1751b22cf705)
CHAPTER TWO (#u587e7317-62e2-52f6-ace8-832430cc7b6e)
CHAPTER THREE (#ub8206b6a-00d1-5393-ac7f-d17a2724e230)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u2f9f9db4-057f-5e3f-a252-88f08b1a2e9d)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u5f924e59-c5d3-5ced-a47a-23c22ceabf58)
CHAPTER SIX (#ua056b0cc-cb31-5e1a-92e8-af32e9ae22d1)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
EXTRACT (#litres_trial_promo)
COPYRIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_5fed994a-a2b9-5379-8cf5-f975e1ce262d)
I SHOULD BE HAPPIER, Jeremy thought as he leant back in his office chair and put his feet up on his large leather-topped desk. My life is pretty well perfect. I’m as healthy as a horse, filthy rich and blessedly single. On top of that, I’m no longer Chief Investment Consultant at the London branch of the Barker-Whittle banking empire. What a relief!
Working for his over-achieving father had not been Jeremy’s idea of a fun occupation. Unfortunately, he’d been darned good at his job. Despite the accolades and the generous bonuses he’d earned over the years, he much preferred being his own boss. Jeremy had used some of his recently acquired wealth to buy an ailing publishing firm, which he was turning into a rather surprising success. Perverse, considering it was an accidental purchase.
Jeremy’s initial aim when launching out on his own had been to go into the property development business, his first purchase last year a town house in one of Mayfair’s best streets. But the publishing company leasing the building had proved difficult to deal with, the owner stubbornly insisting on staying put till his lease ran out. So Jeremy had made an offer that he couldn’t refuse, thereby solving the problem, his intention having been to relocate his new business to cheaper premises whilst he renovated and converted the slightly run-down property into three luxury apartments.
But things hadn’t worked out that way. He’d found himself liking the people who worked at Mayfair Books, all of whom were naturally worried about losing their jobs. He also liked the rooms the way they were. Slightly shabby, yes, but full of character and charm, with lots of wood-panelled walls and antique furniture. It had been clear from talking to the employees and looking at their sales figures, however, that the business itself had desperately needed updating. Whilst Jeremy had known next to nothing about the modern publishing industry, he was an intelligent and well-connected man, with loads of business contacts, one of which headed the marketing division of a rather famous London publisher.
So here he was, almost a year later, heading Barker Books, having changed the name along with the company’s fortunes. They’d actually made a profit during the last quarter. He even got up every morning and happily went into his office these days, unlike his time at the bank when he’d conducted most of his business over the phone.
So work wasn’t the reason for this odd feeling of discontent.
Jeremy knew it wasn’t his love life, either. That was sailing along as usual, though, since buying the book business, his focus had been more on work than women.
Not that he felt sexually frustrated. He didn’t. Jeremy had no trouble finding willing ladies to accompany him to the many social occasions he was constantly invited to. A man of his status and wealth was a prized guest. His partner du jour invariably accompanied him back to his bed for the night, despite Jeremy always making it clear that dating him was never going to lead to a ring on her finger. He didn’t do love or, God forbid, marriage. Thankfully, most of them were good with that, because he didn’t do broken hearts, either.
When the reason for his discontent continued to elude Jeremy, he was forced to give the matter deeper thought, something he usually tried to avoid at all costs. He’d never seen the benefit of self-analysis, or counselling. It had never done his older brothers any good. Jeremy knew exactly why he was the way he was. He didn’t need a shrink to tell him that his aversion to love and marriage stemmed from his parents’ constant divorcing and remarrying. That, plus their abandoning him to boarding school when he was just eight, where he’d been bullied endlessly.
He hated thinking about those years, so he didn’t, his mind swiftly moving on to happier times. He’d thoroughly enjoyed his years at University in London, finally using his excellent brain to its full capacity. His results had thrilled his maternal grandmother, who’d promptly made him her heir, on the condition he went on to study at Oxford. Which he had, his generous private income—Gran had passed away shortly after he enrolled—providing him with the kind of lifestyle to which he’d quickly become addicted. He’d done sufficient study to easily pass his exams but, generally speaking, fun had been the order of the day, Jeremy carousing to a level that might have become a problem if he hadn’t acquired two slightly more sensible friends.
Thinking of Sergio and Alex sent Jeremy’s gaze to the photo of the three of them that was sitting on his desk. Harriet had taken it on the day Sergio had married his one-time stepsister in July last year, Sergio having asked both Alex and himself to be his best men. The wedding had taken place on the shores of Lake Como, in the grounds of a magnificent villa. Whilst no longer worried that Bella might be a chip off her fortune-hunting mother’s block, Jeremy wasn’t convinced the marriage would last. Love never lasted, did it? Still, there was nothing he could do about that. It was a shame, though, how little he saw of his best friend these days. Of both his best friends. He had seen them at Alex’s wedding to Harriet in Australia back in February, but only briefly. Jeremy really missed the days when they’d all lived in London and got together regularly, back when they’d still all been bachelors and hadn’t become billionaires.
Hadn’t been thirty-five, either. That had been the kiss of death, their all turning thirty-five last year. That, and the super sale of their WOW wine bar franchise to an American equity company. Suddenly, everything had changed, with the Bachelor Club they’d formed back at Oxford no longer relevant. Maybe their friendship was no longer relevant, either.
With a sigh, Jeremy scraped his feet off his desk. They hit the floor with a thud, the sound echoing the hollow feeling inside his heart. Leaning forward, he picked up the photo, frowning as he studied the three faces smiling back at him.
Jeremy didn’t envy his friends and their marriages, but he hated the thought that he would hardly ever see them from now on. Their priorities would be their wives and their families, not him. He would become old news, someone whom they recalled with vague fondness when they glanced through their photo albums every decade or so.
‘Who’s that man, Dad?’ he imagined Alex’s son asking. Harriet was expecting a boy.
‘Oh, that’s Jeremy. A chap I knew once. We went to Oxford together. He was the best man at our wedding. Gosh. Haven’t seen him for years.’
Jeremy scowled as he slammed the photo face down on the desk and snatched up his phone.
‘Damn it all, I’m not going to let that happen,’ he ground out as he retrieved Alex’s number.
Realising it would be the middle of the night in Australia—not nice to call at such an hour—Jeremy sent an email volunteering himself for godfather duty when the time came. That done, he righted the photo, placed it back in its pride of place and settled down to have a look at their current sales figures. Finding the file on his laptop, he clicked it open but didn’t get far before there was a rapid tap-tap-tap on his door.
‘Come in, Madge,’ he said.
Madge entered as briskly as she did everything. In her mid-fifties, Madge was a thin, plain woman with cropped grey hair, piercing blue eyes and a schoolmarm manner. Jeremy had hired her soon after buying the business, the previous owner’s secretary having quit in a huff over the new owner’s high-handed tactics. Jeremy had been impressed with Madge’s no-nonsense attitude, plus her knowledge of the publishing industry. He liked her enormously, and the affection was mutual.
‘We have a problem,’ she said straight away.
‘Which is?’
‘Kenneth Jacobs can’t be the auctioneer at tonight’s charity auction. He has a terrible head cold. I could hardly understand him on the phone just now.’
‘I see,’ Jeremy said, not actually seeing at all. He knew who Kenneth Jacobs was; hard not to, since he was Jeremy’s only best-selling author, having come with the deal when he’d bought the business. Kenneth wrote the grizzliest of murder mysteries, which had a huge fan base but whose forty-plus books hadn’t been marketed properly. Despite knowing this, Kenneth hadn’t left the publisher who’d given him his start. A crusty old bachelor, Kenneth was lazy when it came to business matters. Once Jeremy had taken the helm, he’d republished Kenneth’s entire back list, with new covers, and put them all out as e-Books.
‘What charity auction?’ Jeremy asked, having gained the impression that he was supposed to already know.
Madge rolled her eyes. ‘Truly. Just as well you have me to organise things around here. It’s not easy working for a man who has a short-term memory loss.’
‘I’ll have you know I have a photographic memory,’ Jeremy said defensively whilst his mind scrambled to remember what it was he’d forgotten.
‘In that case I’ll photograph everything for you in the future instead of telling you,’ Madge said with her usual caustic wit.
As much as Jeremy often enjoyed Madge’s dry sense of humour, on this occasion his patience was wearing a little thin.
‘Do that, Madge. But for now I would appreciate it if you’d explain about this charity auction one more time, then tell me exactly how I’m supposed to fix the problem of Kenneth having a head cold.’ Though by now he had a pretty good idea. Jeremy wasn’t always the most intuitive of men, but he wasn’t thick, either.
Madge expelled one of her exasperated sighs. ‘I would have thought that the words charity auction were self-explanatory. But that’s beside the point. You told me after the last charity dinner you went to that I wasn’t to accept any more invitations to such dos. You said you’d rather slash your wrists than sit through another of those dinners where the food was below par and the speakers intolerably boring. You said you were happy to donate to whatever cause was going but you’d given up being a masochist when you stopped working for your father. You said that—’
‘Yes, yes,’ Jeremy broke in firmly. ‘I get the picture. But that last dinner was just a meal followed by speeches, not something as interesting as an auction. Now, if you don’t mind, please fill me in on the relevant details and stop with the ancient history lesson.’
