The Innocent's Shameful Secret

The Forced Bride

Bride of Desire

Seven Sexy Sins

The Innocent’s Sinful Craving

Men Without Mercy

The Highest Stakes of All

Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) for more titles.

Contents

Cover (#u82de4079-458a-5d28-b8c9-6169f073e7b2)

Back Cover Text (#uda3e6072-7848-59cb-9183-1268d4f2152e)

Introduction (#uf33e8353-0093-5acc-905c-dea326910887)

Secret Heirs of Billionaires (#ua8897588-d98d-5310-af13-bb9751db1308)

Title Page (#uab982f57-b7f7-5150-8f55-a83c871a50cc)

About the Author (#udba71923-03d2-5f4b-8430-d3890ce2adac)

CHAPTER ONE (#uf03ba6b7-5f30-5277-81b0-91b867e864ec)

CHAPTER TWO (#u9591965f-37ff-5ed3-a5dd-d64917f71212)

CHAPTER THREE (#u73e832d1-b212-5016-8e26-c421d5882ecc)

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)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#u7209a4af-b016-5abe-b68f-64b0917f1fe7)

SELENA SAW THE letter as soon as she opened the front door, the blue airmail envelope unmissable against the brown matting.

She halted abruptly, recognising the Greek stamp, her stomach lurching as a sudden image blazed into her mind of tall bleached columns rearing into an azure sky, with a pool of grass hidden among the fallen stones at their feet. And the soft murmur of a man’s voice in the sunlight, and the brush of hands, lips and warm, naked skin against her own.

She gasped, the plastic carrier bag she was holding slipping from her numb fingers, sending the lemons it contained bouncing and rolling down the narrow hall to the foot of the stairs.

Before she realised almost in the same instant that the untidy scrawl on the envelope could only be Millie’s. No one else’s. And alarm was replaced by growing anger.

Nearly a year of silence, she thought, her throat muscles tightening. And now—what? Another diatribe of recrimination and accusation with the pen scoring the paper just as her sister’s furious voice had scraped across her flinching senses in that last disastrous telephone conversation?

‘It’s all your fault,’ Millie had accused tearfully. ‘You were supposed to help—to put things right. Instead you’ve behaved like a brainless idiot and ruined everything for both of us. I’ll never forgive you, never, and I don’t want to see you or speak to you again.’

And the phone had gone down with a crash that sounded as if it was in the next room rather than hundreds of miles away in a taverna on a remote Greek island.

Leaving her with the knowledge that there was little she could have said in her own defence even if Millie had been prepared to listen. That she had indeed behaved like a fool and worse than a fool.

But she’d suffered for what she’d done in ways that Millie could not even imagine, or was determined to ignore.

Because since that phone call, there’d been nothing. Until now...

She was sorely tempted to leave the letter lying there. To step over it and walk into her living room and begin the new life that had filled her thoughts on the bus journey home.

Except it wouldn’t just go away. It wouldn’t disintegrate or vanish on a breeze. And, in spite of everything, curiosity would be bound to get the better of her in the end.

She bent stiffly and picked up the envelope, walking through the living room, and tossing it on to the worktop in her small galley kitchen, before filling the kettle and setting it to boil.

She’d originally planned to make a jug of fresh lemonade, clinking with ice, and enjoy it in the warmth of her tiny courtyard. A quiet celebration of this unexpected fresh start.

Now what she needed instead was a caffeine rush, she thought bleakly, taking the jar of coffee and a beaker from the cupboard.

While the kettle was coming to the boil, she went back to the hall, collected the lemons, and put them in the fruit basket.

Idiotic, she told herself, to panic like that. Needless, too. Had she really thought, even for a moment...?

No, she told herself harshly, her hands clenching into fists. You do not—not—go there. Not again. Not ever.

She made her coffee strong and carried it outside, settling herself on the elderly wooden bench in the shadiest corner, making herself recap the previous events of the morning and try to recapture something of its optimism.

She had been alone in the classroom, taking down the wall display for Mrs Forbes and putting it in a folder while she considered rather anxiously how she should occupy the unpaid six week summer break ahead of her, when her reverie was interrupted by the arrival of Mrs Smithson, the head teacher.