Olivero's Outrageous Proposal. Kate Walker

      

       ‘If you marry me then, as your husband, it will be my duty to help you and your family.’

      ‘It’s not that—’ Put like that, it brought home to Alyse all the more the reason why she should feel this whole deal was just too good to be true. ‘It’s—what will you get out of this?’

      Something changed in his blue eyes, as if a wash of dark water was flooding over them, but then, to her astonishment, they cleared again. Dario smiled down into her concerned face, and as he did so he held out his hand to her, palm upwards, as he had done when he had brought back the pearl earring to her the day before. Dazedly she put her own hand into his and felt herself being drawn up to her feet, to stand close to him.

      ‘Do you really have to ask?’

      KATE WALKER was born in Nottingham, UK, but grew up in West Yorkshire. She met her husband at university in Wales and originally worked as a children’s librarian. After the birth of her son she returned to her old childhood love of writing. Her first book was published in 1984. She now lives in Lincolnshire with her husband (also a writer), and two cats who think they rule her life.

      Olivero’s Outrageous Proposal

      Kate Walker

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MILLS & BOON

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      For my dear friend Pat

      1949–2014

      Good friends are like stars…

      You don’t always see them,

      but you know they are always there.

      Contents

       Cover

       Introduction

       About the Author

       Title Page

       Dedication

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

       CHAPTER FIVE

       CHAPTER SIX

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       CHAPTER NINE

       CHAPTER TEN

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

       CHAPTER TWELVE

       Extract

       Copyright

       CHAPTER ONE

      ALYSE HAD ALMOST given up on her plan, and was on the verge of deciding that the whole thing was a crazy, downright dangerous idea, when she saw him. She was actually thinking about leaving before this dazzling charity ball had really got started, suffering second and even third thoughts about the wild scheme she had come up with when the crowd before her parted slightly, forming a pathway that led straight from her to the tall, dark male on the opposite side of the room.

      Her breath caught, and she knew that her eyes had widened even as she pushed back a fall of golden-blonde hair so as to see him better. He was...

      ‘Perfect...’

      The word slipped past her lips, escaping her control and actually whispering into the overheated air.

      The man on the far side of the room looked so different, alien almost. He stood out as vividly as a big black eagle in the middle of a bunch of glorious, sparkling peacocks. Of the same species but somehow totally unlike everyone else.

      And that difference was what caught her eyes and held them, finding it impossible to look away. She even froze with her champagne flute halfway to her lips, unable to complete the movement.

      He was stunning. There was no other word for it. Tall and strong with a lean, powerful physique encased in the sleek sophistication of formal clothes in a way that somehow made him look dangerously untamed in contrast to the elegant silk suit, the pristine white of his shirt. His tie had been tugged loose at some point by impatient, restless hands, and it now dangled limply around his throat where the top button of his shirt had been wrenched open too, as if he needed space to breathe. The fall of his black hair was worn longer than any other man’s there, like the mane of a powerful lion. High slashing cheekbones were etched above the lean stretch of his cheeks, long dark lashes concealing the burn of his eyes as he stared out across the room, the faint smile on his sensual mouth one of cold derision rather than any real sign of warmth.

      And it was that that made him perfect. The faint but obvious sign that, like her, he didn’t quite belong here. Of course, she doubted that he’d been pushed out into the public world as she had. Her father had insisted that she come here tonight, when she’d much rather have stayed at home.

      ‘You need to get out after spending your days stuck in that poky little art gallery,’ he’d said.

      ‘I like my days in the gallery!’ Alyse had protested. It might not be the job in fine art she’d hoped for, but she earned her own money and, if nothing else, it gave her a break from the stresses at home when the demands of her mother’s illness seemed to throw a black cloud over everything.

      ‘But you’ll never meet anyone unless you socialise more.’

      For ‘anyone’ read Marcus Kavanaugh, Alyse thought wryly. The man who had made her life hell recently with his unwanted attentions, his persistent visits and determination to persuade her to marry him. He’d even started turning up at the ‘poky little’ art gallery so that she had no peace from him. Then just recently, for some reason, Alyse’s father seemed to have decided that the marriage would be a match made in heaven.

      ‘He might be your boss’s son and heir, but he’s just not my type!’ she’d protested, but it was obvious that her father wasn’t listening. He wasn’t actually pressing her to accept Marcus’s proposal but, all the same, it was plain that he thought it was unlikely that she’d do better with anyone else.

      In the