For Revenge...Or Pleasure?. Trish Morey

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      What have we got for you in Harlequin Presents books this month? Some of the most gorgeous men you’re ever likely to meet!

      With His Royal Love-Child, Lucy Monroe brings you another installment in her gripping and emotional trilogy, ROYAL BRIDES; Prince Marcello Scorsolini has a problem—his mistress is pregnant! Meanwhile, in Jane Porter’s sultry, sexy new story, The Sheikh’s Disobedient Bride, Tally is being held captive in Sheikh Tair’s harem…because he intends to tame her! If it’s a Mediterranean tycoon that you’re hoping for, Jacqueline Baird has just the guy for you in The Italian’s Blackmailed Mistress: Max Quintano, ruthless in his pursuit of Sophie, whom he’s determined to bed using every means at his disposal! In Sara Craven’s Wife Against Her Will, Darcy Langton is stunned when she finds herself engaged to businessman Joel Castille—traded as part of a business merger! The glamour continues with For Revenge…Or Pleasure?—the latest title in our popular miniseries FOR LOVE OR MONEY, written by Trish Morey, truly is romance on the red carpet! If it’s a classic read you’re after, try His Secretary Mistress by Chantelle Shaw. She pens her first sensual and heartwarming story for the Presents line with a tall, dark and handsome British hero, whose feisty yet vulnerable secretary tries to keep a secret about her private life that he won’t appreciate.

      Check out www.eHarlequin.com for a list of recent Presents books! Enjoy!

      For Revenge…Or Pleasure?

      Trish Morey

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      All about the author…

       Trish Morey

      TRISH MOREY wrote her first book at age eleven for a children’s book-week competition; entitled Island Dreamer, it proved to be her first rejection. Shattered and broken, she turned to a life where she could combine her love of fiction with her need for creativity—and became a chartered accountant. Life wasn’t all dull though, as she embarked on a skydiving course, completing three jumps before deciding that she’d given her fear of heights a run for its money.

      Meanwhile, she fell in love and married a handsome guy who cut computer code. After the birth of their second daughter, Trish spied an article saying that Harlequin was actively seeking new authors. It was one of those eureka moments—Trish was going to be one of those authors!

      Eleven years after reading that fateful article, the magical phone call came and Trish finally realized her dream. According to Trish, writing and selling a book is a major life achievement that ranks right up there with jumping out of an airplane and motherhood. All three take commitment, determination and sheer guts, but the effort is so very, very worthwhile.

      Trish now lives with her husband and four young daughters in a special part of south Australia, surrounded by orchards and bushland and visited by the occasional koala and kangaroo.

      You can visit Trish at her Web site at www.trishmorey.com or e-mail her at [email protected].

      For my editors, past and present.

      To Angelina Manzano, my first ever editor,

       who made the magical call that turned my

       long-held dreams into reality.

      And to Emma Dunford, whose eternal patience

       and unstinting encouragement are this

       painfully slow writer’s best friends.

      Thank you both!

      CONTENTS

      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 ONE

      SO THIS was the A-List? From his vantage point on the less crowded mezzanine, Loukas Demakis narrowed his eyes and scanned the sea of glittering celebrities milling about below in the Beverly Hills mansion’s ballroom. He suppressed a sneer as his gaze slid over the megastars, the wannabes and the otherwise rich and famous, all trying to out-dazzle each other with their designer clothes, designer bodies, and enough bling-bling to light up Times Square.

      And all of it so fake!

      His jaw clenched, teeth grinding together. This wasn’t his world. The sooner he was out of here the better.

      But first he had a job to do. The words of his father rang loud in his memory—‘Get her away from them. I don’t care what it takes or who gets hurt—just get her out of there!’

      And, dammit, after what had happened to Zoë, there was no way he would let his sister so much as be touched by any of them. He’d do whatever it took to stop her. He’d do whatever it took to keep her safe!

      The crowd swayed apart as a woman strode up to the dais. Two women. He pressed closer to the balustrade, his fingers tightening around the rail.

      It had to be them. The sorcerer and her apprentice.

      Cheers and applause erupted from the crowd when his instincts proved right and Dr Grace Della-Bosca was introduced. A woman in a golden gown stepped up to the microphone. He peered closer. For someone he knew to be on the wrong side of fifty she was remarkably well-preserved. Tutankhamen’s bride wearing Dolce & Gabbana. But then, eternal youth was her business.

      He’d meant to listen to what she had to say. He started to listen. Until the second woman turned towards the crowd and smiled, and the breath ripped out of him as if he’d taken a blow to the body.

      Jade Ferraro.

      This was the woman he’d come to meet. This was the woman he’d come to question. In the flesh.

      And what flesh!

      Where Della-Bosca’s skin looked as if it had been stretched to within an inch of its life, the younger woman’s was smooth and flawless, her features arranged on her face in a way that found the idea of classic good looks wanting. Clear almond-shaped blue eyes echoed a smile that was wide—almost too wide—though her lips looked lush enough to take the width and then some.

      But her face was only one part of the package. Her honey-coloured hair was swept into a sleek coil that exposed the long sweep of her neck to her surprisingly modest neckline.

      And the dress! There was nothing modest about it—it must have been shrink-wrapped around her. Without the shimmering aqua colour of the material it would have been impossible to tell where her skin ended and the fabric began, the way it hugged tight over her breasts, dipping into the curves and skimming over the flat of her stomach. The gown was a total failure in terms of disguising the shape beneath, and yet there was no doubt peeling it off would still be an exercise in discovery. An exercise for which he’d be only too happy to volunteer.

      With a growl laced with acerbity he clamped down on the traitorous response of his body.

      Of course she was a looker. She was bound to be! Because there was no doubt