Virgin's Sweet Rebellion. Кейт Хьюит

      

       The man could kiss. That wildness that Olivia had suspected hid under his controlled exterior? She’d just had a taste of it and it had left her mind whirling and her lips—and other parts of her body—throbbing.

      Bemused, Olivia followed Ben towards the limo. She barely heard the shouts of the reporters, or saw the flashbulbs going off.

      She’d never been kissed like that before. She’d hardly been kissed at all.

      Not, of course, that she was going to tell Ben that.

      But it had been some kiss. And one she’d wanted, had been thinking about all night. Even longer, if she were honest with herself. And when the reporters had asked for a kiss… well, Olivia hadn’t been about to say no. She’d wanted to kiss him too much and the request was no more than an excuse to touch him. Taste him.

      And he’d tasted good.

      She slid into the limo, saw that Ben was sitting with his face turned determinedly towards the window.

      Olivia thought about making some wry comment about the kiss, joking about it even, but she couldn’t quite make herself do it. The kiss had been wonderful, but the way he’d thrust her away from him afterwards…

      Well, that had been a little ego-bruising. She wasn’t sure why he’d done it and she’d didn’t think she could pull off the breezy confidence to ask. Not when she had so little experience with kisses and especially kisses like that.

       Virgin’s Sweet Rebellion

      Kate Hewitt

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      After spending three years as a die-hard New Yorker, KATE HEWITT now lives in a small village in the English Lake District with her husband, their five children and a golden retriever. In addition to writing intensely emotional stories, she loves reading, baking and playing chess with her son—she has yet to win against him, but she continues to try. Learn more about Kate at www.kate-hewitt.com.

       To Suzy Clarke— thanks for being such a great editor.

      Contents

       Cover

       Introduction

       The Chatsfield

       Title Page

       About the Author

       Dedication

       Harrington Family Tree

       Chatsfield Family Tree

PROLOGUE

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

       Extras

       Extract

       Endpages

       Copyright

PROLOGUE

      ‘YOU KNEW.’ BEN CHATSFIELD stared at his brother Spencer and tried to suppress the sudden surge of rage that threatened to overwhelm him. His hands clenched into fists at his sides and words—angry, bitter words—bubbled to his lips. He swallowed them down. He swallowed it all down, as he always had, and gave a wry quirk of a smile, as if Spencer’s revelation was nothing more than amusing. ‘So. How long have you known?’

      ‘That I was illegitimate?’ Spencer’s mouth tightened and he gave a little shrug. ‘Five years. Since my twenty-ninth birthday.’

      Five years. Ben blinked as he tried to take that in. For the past five years he’d been estranged from his brother, from his whole family, and for what?

      For nothing apparently.

      ‘It’s a nice place you’ve got here,’ Spencer offered, and Ben didn’t answer. Spencer gazed round the relaxed yet elegant dining room of Ben’s flagship bistro in Nice, where he’d shown up out of the blue, walking through the tinted glass doors, his sunglasses slid onto his forehead, as if he were for all the world just another tourist.

      Not Ben’s older brother, the leader of their Three Musketeers, once adored, always missed. When Ben had rounded the corner from the kitchen and come to a standstill, Spencer had smiled easily, as if they’d seen each other last week instead of fourteen years ago.

      ‘Hey, Ben,’ he’d said, and somehow Ben had found his voice and answered back, his voice clipped.

      ‘Spencer.’

      And now his brother was telling him that he’d known for five years the secret Ben had discovered when he was just eighteen years old, the secret that had broken his heart and forced him to leave home, severing all ties with his family. The secret that had cost him so much, maybe even his own soul, and still Spencer just smiled.

      ‘It’s old history now, Ben,’ he said, and Ben could tell Spencer was trying to be conciliatory. Five years too late. ‘Water under the bridge. I always knew there was something that made Michael treat me differently from you and James, and I’m just glad I finally found out it was because he always knew I wasn’t his biological son. I’ve made peace with that.’