Husband Not Included

Husband Not Included
Mary Lyons

A funny thing happened on the way to the divorce court…Supermodel Flora Johnson is the "Angel Girl," the face of a new makeup campaign. The cosmetics company has insisted on some tough clauses in her contract: no sex, no scandal and definitely no husband … . Unfortunately Flora has never actually got around to divorcing Ross Whitney… and the photo shoot is taking place on his Caribbean island!Paradise isn't big enough for the both of them. Can Flora persuade her ex-husband-to-be to keep their marriage a secret? Difficult, when all Ross wants to do is relive the best moments of their marriage… in bed! Mary Lyons writes sharp, sophisticated and sexy stories that will leave you chuckling and breathless for more!

“Why are you pretending not to know your own wife?” (#u06518c78-2701-512f-9b65-8fb84eaef2d9)About the Author (#u7db554e0-e573-5d58-a534-fc5958afff15)Title Page (#ud1f50dac-1f27-523f-b8a5-a657d765135f)PROLOGUE (#ub3e5e36e-333f-5a06-9185-b93aa10fb638)CHAPTER ONE (#uf50e34b8-0054-51c9-84f4-8c5791d513af)CHAPTER TWO (#u167d0fc4-9b1e-5d0a-9c30-10f016d0107b)CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

“Why are you pretending not to know your own wife?”

“Maybe the answer, dear Miss Johnson, is that since my wife was such a spoiled, tiresome woman, I’m doing my best to forget that I was ever married...?”

“Believe me—your wife feels exactly the same way about her crummy, despicable husband!” Flora ground out through clenched teeth.

“That sounds like a fair description of my wife,” Ross drawled smoothly. “In fact, it seems as if you’ve already had the misfortune of meeting the lady. If so, you’ll know that she’s a bad-tempered, completely self-absorbed person, who’s incapable of thinking of anyone or anything—other than her own selfish interests.”

“That’s a really foul thing to say!” Flora cried. “I’m not like that. I...”

“My dear Miss Johnson!” he interjected swiftly. “I was, of course, referring to my wife. Surely you can’t imagine that I was talking about you?”

MARY LYONS was born in Toronto, Canada, moving to live permanently in England when she was six, although she still proudly maintains her Canadian citizenship. Having married and raised four children, her life nowadays is relatively peaceful—unlike her earlier years when she worked as a radio announcer, reviewed books and, for a time, lived in a turbulent area of the Middle East. She still enjoys a bit of excitement, combining romance with action, humor and suspense in her books whenever possible.

Husband Not Included!

Mary Lyons

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

PROLOGUE

‘IT’S BEEN really great talking to you, Brad. Good luck with your next film—I hear it’s going to be a smash hit!’

The auburn-haired reporter gave the young film star a brilliant smile before swirling around to face the TV camera.

‘Wow! It’s certainly a fantastic party going on here, following the Oscar ceremony,’ she continued, her voice almost breathless with excitement. ‘I’m hoping to have a word later with some of the really fantastic, mega, mega film stars here tonight. But first I’d like you to meet the man who gets my own personal vote for “hunk of the month”. Yes, folks, it’s the winner of the Oscar for Best Screenplay...Duncan Ross!’

The camera swung around to focus on a tall, broad-shouldered figure as the reporter hurried to his side, quickly thrusting a microphone up towards his tanned face.

‘Of course, just about everyone has read your exciting, action-packed novels. Which is why I’m so thrilled to meet you tonight,’ she gushed, an eager smile on her lips as she gazed up at the handsome features of the dark-haired man towering over her diminutive figure. ‘I’m definitely one of your greatest fans!’

‘Er...thank you,’ he muttered, clearly uncomfortable at suddenly finding himself in the spotlight.

‘I’m told your latest book, A Time to Live—A Time to Die, has been on the New York bestseller list for the past twelve weeks?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you must be over the moon at having won an Oscar tonight... right?’

He shrugged. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

‘But, I bet you never imagined that the film of your book, Fear No Evil, would completely sweep the board?’

‘No...er...no, I didn’t,’ he muttered tersely.

‘Hey, come on! I’ve heard all about the famous British reserve, and I can see that you’re definitely a modest kinda guy. But, let’s try and loosen up here, OK?’ the reporter urged, clearly struggling to inject some pizzazz into her interview with such an obviously taciturn and tight-lipped man. ‘I mean, it’s definitely unusual for a film to win so many Oscars, right?’

He raised a dark, quizzical eyebrow before giving a brief shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘I know virtually nothing about the past history of these awards.’

‘OK...’ She sighed, quickly glancing down at the clipboard in her hand. ‘Well, how do you feel about the prize for Best Actress going to the lovely Lois Shelton? I hear that the two of you spent quite some time together on location!’

‘Oh, really...?’ he drawled coldly. ‘Maybe you should find better things to do with your time other than listening to idle, foolish gossip.’

‘Whoops! I guess that’s put me in my place!’ The reporter gave a shrill peal of hollow laughter as he gazed stonily down at her. ‘Well—it’s been a real pleasure talking to you,’ she cooed through gritted teeth, before turning to give the camera a wide smile. ‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, let’s meet some more of the wonderful, wonderful people here tonight. But first, a word from our sponsor...’

With a deft flick of the remote control, Marty Goldberg switched off the video recording.

‘Quite frankly, I’ve seen better interviews in pitch-dark, under water!’ he announced, swivelling around in his chair to face the man sitting on the other side of the desk. ‘You’re going to have to do a lot better than that in the future, Ross. A whole lot better!’

Ross Duncan Whitney gazed silently at his literary agent for a moment, before giving a dismissive shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘You know how I loathe all that Hollywood razzmatazz. And I can’t stand stupid, empty-headed women. Especially ones asking impertinent questions about my private life,’ he added grimly.

‘So, who cares about the girl’s IQ?’ Marty demanded in exasperated tones. ‘That reporter was only doing her job. And, besides, she’s quite right. You’re going to have to learn to loosen up a little and face the fact that you no longer have much of a private life. Because winning the Oscar has made you “News”—whether you like it or not.’

‘OK...OK, I’ve got the message.’ Ross sighed, rising to his feet and strolling over to gaze out of the large plate glass window at the skyline of New York city. “So, where do we go from here?’

‘Well, your “Duncan Ross” books are continuing to sell like hot cakes. What’s more—thanks to the Oscar—we can add another zero to the sum offered by the publishers for your next contract So, all in all, I’d say that you’re now a very rich man!’

Ross turned to grin at his agent. ‘I’m not likely to complain about that.’

‘I should hope not!’ Marty laughed. ‘And definitely not when you see the terms I’ve managed to screw out of the film company for the rights on your latest book,’ he added, tossing a thick, heavy contract onto the desk in front of him.

‘They’ll have to find some other writer to do the adaptation, because I’m never going to write another screenplay,’ Ross announced grimly. ‘In fact, rather than have to put up with any more of those neurotic Hollywood filmmakers, I’d prefer to spend the rest of my life working down a Siberian salt mine!’

The older man gave a deep chuckle of laughter. ‘OK—I reckon it’s now my turn to say that I’ve got the message. So, what are your plans for the next six months? Will you be returning to that Caribbean island of yours?’

‘Yes, I think so. Especially since I want to get the next book to you as soon as possible.’

‘OK, that sounds fine. There is just one thing...’ The agent paused for a moment, gazing at the tall, dark figure of the man once again clearly buried in thought as he stared out of the window.

Powerfully built, his body all lean muscle and sinew with a mind to match his physical perfection, Ross was certainly nobody’s fool. And Marty wasn’t looking forward to getting the brush-off from such a very hard, tough man—who was perfectly capable of annihilating a guy with just one scathing glance from those deep blue eyes beneath their heavy lids. There was no way, for instance, that he would have made the mistake of asking Ross about his romance with Lois Shelton—a subject which was clearly off-limits as far as his client was concerned.

‘I wonder...’ Marty cleared his throat. ‘I wonder if you’d do me a favour?’

‘Sure. What is it?’

‘Well, I’m really asking for your help on behalf of my wife. I like to try and keep her happy, and...’

‘Oh, Marty!’ Ross grinned and shook his dark head. After twenty-five years of marriage, and despite all his friends’ dire warnings, the small, tubby agent had insisted on divorcing his wife to marry a blonde bimbo young enough to be his own daughter. ‘Is she giving you a hard time?’

‘Yeah, you could say that,’ the agent muttered, wondering—as he’d done so often lately—whether possessing a ‘trophy wife’ was all it was cracked up to be. ‘But the favour is really for my wife’s brother, Bernie Schwartz. He’s a real whiz-kid, and earning piles of dough with that cosmetic company he joined a few years ago.’

‘So—what’s the problem?’