TRISH MOREY is an Australian whoâs also spent time living and working in New Zealand and England. Now sheâs settled with her husband and four young daughters in a special part of South Australia, surrounded by orchards and bushland, and visited by the occasional koala and kangaroo.
With a life-long love of reading, she penned her first book at age eleven, after which life, career and a growing family kept her busy until once again she could indulge her desire to create characters and stories, this time in romance. Having her work published is a dream come true.
Visit Trish at her website at www.trishmorey.com
Donât miss Trish Moreyâs exciting new novel, The Italian Bossâs Mistress of Revenge, available from Modern⢠romance in September 2008.
Dear Reader,
What is it about the Mediterranean male that makes him so hard to resist? Is it the olive-skinned good looks, the flashing eyes and thick dark hair? Is it the rich accent that curls its way into your senses? Both get a huge tick from me.
But what really sets the Mediterranean male apart is passion, a passion for life, a passion for family and a passionate nature that means heâll meet any conflict head on. And if that conflict comes in the shape of a woman, then watch out, because the sparks will really fly!
Alejandro Rodriguez is one such passionate man. Nobody had ever walked out on this Spaniard before. Not until a certain blue-eyed bombshell, Leah Mitchell, who decided to cut her losses and walk away, before she ended up losing her pride as well as her heart to him. But Alejandro hadnât finished with Leah, so there was no way he was going to let her get away with that!
Iâm thrilled to be part of this Her Latin Lover anthology in this, Harlequin Mills & Boonâs Centenary year. I hope you enjoy it!
With love and best wishes,
Trish
x
With thanks to Bec, Kate, Karen, Alison and Robbie for a fabulous girlsâ own weekend.
Hereâs to row boats, abandoned beaches, chilled lime cordial on a hot summerâs day and fabulous Thai food. But most of all, hereâs to great friends! May there be many more such adventures. With love and fond hugs,
Trish
NOBODY walked out on Alejandro Rodriguez. Not business tycoons or CEOs or poker-faced politicians. And definitely not women. Leah Mitchell was just going to have to get that through her head.
He watched her working through the window of her small dressmaking shop from his vantage point across the narrow street, her head down, totally focused on the task at hand, her fingers nimble and quick as they worked the fabric through the machine.
He remembered those fingers, long and slender like the woman herself, and he remembered how theyâd once worked their skilful magic on him â¦
He missed them.
He growled, low in his throat, a familiar thumping demand building below. Soon, he knew, soon he would feel her hands weave their magic upon him once again.
All of a sudden those same fingers stilled and she looked up, her eyes alert, searching the streetscape outside, the passing pedestrians and traffic, almost as if sheâd sensed his presence. He smiled as he flipped the collar of his coat up against the unseasonable November cold. So she wasnât over him? Heâd suspected as much.
And heâd enjoy proving it to her.
Heâd make her wish sheâd never left him, make her beg for more.
And then heâd unceremoniously dump her.
The peak hour Sydney traffic was bumper to bumper along the narrow one-way street, but somehow Alejandro forged a path through, parting the sea of cars as if he had a God-given right, the tails of his long black coat swirling in his wake like the wings of a manta ray.
He was oblivious to the sound of car horns, oblivious to the calls from irate drivers to get off the road. Because right now his focus was on one thing and one thing onlyâLeah Mitchell, and how he was going to get her back into his bed.
Leah rolled her head, trying to relax her neck and shoulders, trying to dispel the crazy feeling that someone was watching her. It was nerves, she told herself, crazy nerves following the panicked phone call from Jordan, informing him that the bank had given him a week to pay them back or they would foreclose. Sheâd hardly eaten in the two days since, desperately trying to work out how she could help him while surviving on nothing more than coffee and dry crackers. No wonder she was jumpy.
Sheâd barely turned her attention back to the garment she was altering when a movement outside caught her eye. Nothing more than a flash of black, but enough to set every hair on the back of her neck to prickling awareness. There was something about the way that dark shadow had movedâsomething that had rippled through her on a wave of dread and taken her right back to another time, another place.
But it couldnât be him.
Not here.
Not now.
And then the door opened, the ancient bell above tinkling. An incongruous sound, given the man who had just entered. A man, it occurred to her, who should more likely be accompanied by a thunder clap or heralded by a blast of trumpets, not the mere tinkle of a tiny bell.