âYou think I just desire you?â
âI know you just desire me, Your Highness. You made me brutally aware of your lust from the first moment we met. It knocked you over. So when you got the chance, you paid five million dollars to force me to do what I told you I would never do willingly. But there is nothing you can say or do to make me change my mind about what kind of man you are. I already know what kind you are. Iâve met your kind before.â
âOh, I doubt that, dear lady,â he said in a tone that sent shivers running up and down her spine. âIn that caseââ he ground out the words ââyou leave me no alternative.â
Charmaine swallowed. âWhat do you mean? No alternativeâ¦?â
âI paid five million dollars for a few short hours of your company tonight. I will donate five hundred million dollars to your precious charity foundationâ¦if you spend a week with me.â
Three Rich Men
Three Australian billionaires;
they can have anything and anyone⦠except three beautiful womenâ¦
Meet Charles, Rico and Ali, three incredibly wealthy friends all living in Sydney. They meet every Friday night to play poker and exchange news about business and their pleasuresâwhich include the pursuit of Sydneyâs most beautiful women.
Up until now, no single woman has ever managed to pin down the elusive, exclusive and eminently eligible bachelors. But thatâs all about to change. First Charles, then Rico and finally Ali will fall for three gorgeous girlsâ¦.
A Rich Manâs Revenge #2349âCharlesâs story
Mistress for a Month #2361âRicoâs story
Sold to the Sheikh #2374âAliâs story
Available only from Mills & Boon
HIS eyes had been on her all afternoon. Dark, beautiful eyes. Arrogant eyes. Presumptuous eyes.
Charmaine knew, soon after their introduction, that His Royal Highness, Prince Ali of Dubar, was going to make some kind of pass before the dayâs races were over.
From the moment she became aware of the sheikhâs interest in her, Charmaine regretted accepting this particular job. The pleasure of being one of the judges for the âFashion-in-the-Fieldâ competition during Flemingtonâs spring racing carnival did not override the displeasure of being pursued by yet another international playboy.
But by the time sheâd completed the job sheâd been hired forâthe final judging on Ladiesâ Day had been over by fourâCharmaine had a firm handle on her irritation and began looking forward to that moment when her admirer put his mouth where his eyes had been, so to speak. Not literally, of course. The thought of such a man actually kissing her made her shudder. Nothing repelled Charmaine more than overly good-looking, overly wealthy men who thought any female they fancied could be had for the price of a dinner. Or even less.
And this one was more than overly good-looking and overly wealthy. The Arab prince and horse breeder was one of the most handsome menâand undoubtedly one of the richestâCharmaine had ever met. Taller and leaner in her opinion than most Arab princes, he was also clean-shaven and dressed that day not in traditional Arab dress, but a pale grey suit and brilliant white shirt which highlighted his richly olive skin and thick, jet-black hair. His face was as hard and lean as his body, his dark, deeply set eyes bisected by a strong nose that was underlined by a cruelly carved but not unattractive mouth.
He looked unlike any sheikh Charmaine had ever met. And sheâd met a few. Supermodels met many of the worldâs wealthiest men, both in the course of their careers and their social lives. The rich and famous liked having the bold and the beautiful at their dos.
Being invited to be a special guest of Prince Ali in his private box at the races had not surprised Charmaine. Having the sheikh think what he had obviously been thinking about her all afternoon didnât surprise her, either. In her experience, billionaire Arab playboys had a tendency to overestimate their own irresistibility, as well as underestimate the morals of some western women. No doubt, in this sheikhâs mind, supermodel equated with superslut.
Charmaine would take great delight in cutting Prince Ali down to size a little. His inflated male ego, she decided as she sensed him watching her again, needed pruning.
She was right. He was watching her, his eyes never leaving her as she made her way back up into the stand, burning their way through her figure-hugging silk dress, stripping her of every stitch and leaving her feeling stark naked and almost bitter over her undeniable physical assets. Not for the first time, Charmaine had a moment of burning resentment over the genes which had combined her fatherâs height and Nordic fairness with her motherâs large blue eyes and womanly curves to produce a tall, head-turning blonde whoâd first rocketed to modelling fame at the tender age of sixteen.