One Night with the Rebel Billionaire. Trish Wylie

      

      Adam moved his hand, nudging her chin up with his fist. And then he kissed her.

      He took advantage of her submission to part her lips with his tongue and sweep inside, taking her sharp gasp of cooler night air and replacing it with raw heat. In a mist of sensuality Roane was only vaguely aware of him wrapping his arm around her waist and tugging her closer to the edge of her chair. Her arms lifted, hands sliding around the column of his neck to hold him tight as their knees bumped together. Every doubt, every fear, every voice of reason in her head short-circuited except one.

       Why haven’t I been kissed like this before?

      Trish Wylie worked on a long career of careers to get to the one she’d wanted from her late teens. She flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder while playing the promotions game, patted her manicured hands on the backs of musicians in the music business, smiled sweetly at awkward customers during the retail nightmare known as the run-up to Christmas, and got completely lost in her car in every single town in Ireland while working as a sales rep. And it took all that character-building and a healthy sense of humour to get her dream job, she feels—where she spends her days in reindeer slippers, with her hair in whatever band she can find to keep it out of the way, make-up as vague and distant a memory as manicured nails, while she gets to create the kind of dream man she’d still like to believe is out there somewhere. If it turns out he is, she promises she’ll let you know…after she’s been out for a new wardrobe, a manicure and a make-over…

       Recent books by the same author:

      Mills & Boon^® Modern Heat™ THE RETURN OF THE REBEL HIS MISTRESS, HIS TERMS CLAIMED BY THE BILLIONAIRE BAD BOY

      Trish also writes for Mills & Boon^® Romance! In February look out for her fabulous new book, MANHATTAN BOSS, DIAMOND PROPOSAL!

      Mills & Boon^® Romance THE BRIDE OF THE EMERALD ISLE HER ONE AND ONLY VALENTINE THE MILLIONAIRE’S PROPOSAL

       Dear Reader

      Is there anything sexier than an intelligent man? I don’t think so. If he’s drop-dead gorgeous and sexy as sin he’ll turn my head—absolutely he will—but make him as intelligent as he is drool-worthy and you’ve got my undivided attention!

      When Adam Bryant started to take shape in my mind he was an intelligent man—don’t get me wrong. But I didn’t realise just how intelligent until I’d written the first chapter. I guess there should have been hints of it there but—call me shallow—I may have been a tad distracted by the image of an Adonis skinny-dipping on a beach in the moonlight. I’m only human! Then all of a sudden my motorcycle-riding, skinny-dipping, black sheep/prodigal son of a hero started quoting Voltaire and Kerouac at my heroine. Hang on, I thought. This one is deep. This one is way more intelligent than I am. This one? Oh, my. This one is incredibly sexy! Never mind my heroine—I want him.

      But a guy like this is a thinker, he’s an analyser. He was never gonna fall for a woman overnight, was he? So what happens when the story wants itself told inside a time frame of four days? Hmm…let’s just see, shall we?

      Hs & Ks

       Trish

      ONE NIGHT WITH THE REBEL BILLIONAIRE

      BY

      TRISH WYLIE

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      For Sharon W—friend, reader, and fellow admirer of

       hot men and gorgeous horses. Luv ya, babes!

      CHAPTER ONE

      ‘EXCUSE ME. I’M SORRY. This is a private beach.’

      Roane Elliott stepped tentatively closer. A full moon lit everything around her in shades of silver and grey, with black shadows that seemed to breathe with the ebb and flow of the tide. But her surroundings didn’t worry her as much as the presence of the stranger; she might have known every rock, every path, every place the sand sank deeper beneath her feet—but she also knew she was too far away from a 911 call for it to help if she got into trouble…

      Her footsteps faltered. But it wasn’t the sudden 911 thought that had done it; it was because she was now standing close enough to see he was—

      Her eyes widened. Oh, dear Lord. He was naked!

      More than that, he was an Adonis. In the silvery light every tight muscle was defined in shadowy dips and shimmering planes from wide shoulders to tapering waist to taut… Her mouth went dry.

      He turned around, so Roane swiftly averted her gaze, and mumbled under her breath, ‘Look at his face.’

      When she glanced at him from the corner of her eye her errant gaze didn’t do what it was told. Well, who could blame her? He was sensational. She damped her lips as if she could taste him on the air before forcing her gaze sharply upwards, her palms itching with an almost primal urge to reach out and touch.

      ‘This is a private beach,’ she repeated with a little more force, lifting her chin to make her point. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’

      ‘The ocean belongs to everyone.’ Even the tone of his voice was magical.

      Well, he could take that deep, rumbling, deliciously masculine voice of his that was doing something completely undiscovered to her pulse rate and—

      Her thought process stalled. Wow, he had the most amazing muscle definition on his chest and upper arms. Not pumped up, steroid induced definition, oh, no. He looked like the kind of man who worked at something very physical for a living. Or was a natural sportsman of some kind, a swimmer maybe—no, not lean enough for a swimmer. Not that he was fat anywhere she could see, which was pretty much everywhere if she chose to take a good long look. And she could have, because he wasn’t the least bit embarrassed about being naked—in fact, he placed his hands on his hips, almost daring her to go right ahead and look.

      Thankfully the silent arrogance brought her gaze north to his shadowed face rather than travelling south, which, deep down, it really wanted to do…

      She cleared her throat. ‘You’re not in the ocean; you’re standing on the beach. And it’s private. You have to go. There are security patrols.’

      It was a lie. But he didn’t know that.

      In the shadows the suggestion of a crooked smile appeared, ‘Your beach, is it?’

      ‘It belongs to the family I work for. I—’ She’d been about to tell him she had a place a few hundred yards away. No doubt she’d be casually discussing the weather with him next. ‘I have permission to be here.’

      When he took a step forwards she instinctively stepped back. ‘I know self-defence, so don’t try anything. I’m a black belt in ju-kwando.’

      A brief chuckle of deep laughter preceded the dropping of his hands and another forward step. ‘My clothes are behind you. And for future reference it’s ju-jitsu or tae kwon do. Nice try. But I won’t bite you.’

      Roane moved to the side as he stepped closer, colour rising on her cheeks when he inclined his head and added a low, ‘Not unless you ask me to.’

      She opened her mouth to say something cutting in return and couldn’t seem to get her brain to work well enough to form a sentence. But she liked to think any red-blooded female would have been the same when confronted with such temptation. He was one of those men that would take what he wanted when he wanted, wasn’t he? She could feel it. There was just something very erotic about that—in the darkness—when he was naked… For a girl as inexperienced as Roane it was quite the realization.