Accidental Bride. Darcy Maguire

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      “We’re here.”

      Clare’s eyes shot open. “Where?”

      “My mother’s.”

      “Your mother’s?” She swallowed hard. What on earth was he bringing her here for? She was meant to be another one-night stand, not taken home to mother! She looked down at her breasts, struggling to escape her skimpy red dress, the indecent amount of leg she was showing and her striking red stilettos…with the discomfort, she guessed, of a lap dancer at the opera. What had she got herself into?

      Mark took Clare’s hand as he helped her out of the limousine. He tried not to smile. He’d certainly surprised her—she looked positively put out. “Problem?”

      She flashed him a smile. “No, of course not.” She smoothed out her dress, looking for all the world as if she was searching for extra length. “Flattered, really.”

      Darcy Maguire is the newest Australian author to join Harlequin Romance®.

      You’ll love her fresh, contemporary style, brimming with emotional warmth!

      Men who turn your whole world upside down!

      Strong and silent…

      Powerful and passionate…

      Tough and tender…

      Who can resist the rugged loners of the Outback?

      As tough and untamed as the land they rule, they burn as hot as the Australian sun once they meet the women they’ve been waiting for.

      Accidental Bride

      Darcy Maguire

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

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      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 FIFTEEN

       CHAPTER SIXTEEN

       CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

       CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

      CHAPTER ONE

      SHE was to die for.

      Mark King couldn’t help but look at her. He darted glances from the dance-floor, noting the other men in the room, young and old alike, drawn to her like yuppies to Wall Street. They had no idea.

      Mark, however, knew she was dangerous. His heart pounded in his chest and his blood fired to the challenge. And she’d be a challenge—he raked her boldly with his eyes—every sexy inch of her.

      She stood as tall as the group of men who swarmed around her, dwarfing them in both stature and style. The light fell softly on her from the chandeliers of the hotel ballroom, setting off burgundy highlights in her dark hair—hair that was swept back to her nape, small wisps escaping to frame her ivory face.

      Pearl drops hung from her ears and a string of pearls fell low over the swell of her breasts. Mark closed his eyes and could almost imagine trailing his lips over her skin.

      He led his date closer to the stranger, moving slowly with the music, his eyes drawn to the long black gown that hugged the woman’s shape faithfully, and to the curves that made his hands itch with the need to touch. The split in her dress ran almost the entire length of her long legs—legs that captivated him with fantasies of what they’d feel like wrapped around him.

      Mark saw a bearded man close to her, intimately close, possessively close, almost touching his suit against her bare shoulders. His gut clenched tight. He dropped his gaze to her hands—not one ring on any of her fingers—and let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. Who was she?

      ‘Mark!’ Sasha’s voice scraped on his fantasies. ‘If you don’t want to dance, just tell me. These are new shoes.’

      Mark looked down, dimly aware of his size ten and a halves on the tips of Sasha’s shiny red shoes. ‘Sorry.’ He moved back onto the floor, noticing the score had changed, as had the rhythm of the music. He willed himself to focus on something other than the sexy stranger.

      There was always more than enough work to fill his mind. Tracking down the next challenge, the delving and the searching for weaknesses in a company, the thrill involved in acquiring it, and the dissecting and selling off to make every dollar spent multiply for him.

      What sort of job would Miss Femme Fatale have? A model? A designer? Or maybe she survived as a professional heartbreaker, progressing from one relationship to the next, consuming both bank balance and heart? A fleeting urge to find a place for her in his company surged from his loins—he could see her occasionally, often, always…

      ‘Excuse me,’ said a silky voice. A perfectly manicured, unvarnished fingernail tapped Sasha’s shoulder.