Bought For The Frenchman's Pleasure
As a top model, Sorcha Murphy commands a high price. But a terrible, hidden secret is about to return to haunt her. Romain de Valois knows Sorcha is damaged goods–her hedonistic reputation speaks for itself. But he wants her for one final assignment, and he's prepared to pay.Romain believes Sorcha hasn't changed her ways, and decides to change the deal: her paycheck will be recouped in the bedroom!
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She’s his in the bedroom,
but he can’t buy her love…
Showered with diamonds, draped in exquisite lingerie, whisked around the world in the lap of luxury…
The ultimate fantasy becomes a reality.
Live the dream with more
MISTRESS TO A MILLIONAIRE
titles by your favorite authors.
Available only from Harlequin Presents>®.
Abby Green
BOUGHT FOR THE
FRENCHMAN’S PLEASURE
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
This is especially for Margaret, Peter, Jack and
Mary B…not family by blood, but my family in every other conceivable way.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
All about the author…
Abby Green
ABBY GREEN deferred doing a social anthropology degree to work freelance as an assistant director in the film and TV industry—which is a social study in itself! Since then it’s been early starts, long hours, mucky fields, ugly car parks and wet-weather gear—especially working in Ireland. She has no bona fide qualifications but could probably help negotiate a peace agreement between two warring countries after years of dealing with recalcitrant actors.
After discovering a guide to writing romance one day, she decided to capitalize on her long-time love for Harlequin romances and attempt to follow in the footsteps of such authors as Kate Walker and Penny Jordan. She’s enjoying the excuse to be paid to sit inside, away from the elements. She lives in Dublin and hopes that you will enjoy her stories.
You can e-mail her at [email protected].
CHAPTER ONE
AS ROMAIN DE VALOIS approached the ballroom he was glad for a second that the doors were closed. They acted as a barrier of sorts between him and that world. The thought caught him up short. A barrier? Since when had he ever thought he needed that? His strides grew longer, quicker, as if to shrug off the unaccustomed feeling that assailed him. And the most curious sensation hit him too at that moment…the desire to have someone by his side as he approached this set of doors. Someone…a woman…with her hand in his, who would understand effortlessly what he was thinking, who would glance up at him, a gleam of shared understanding in her eyes. She might even smile a little, squeeze his hand…
His steps faltered for just a second before reaching the door. The vibration of the orchestra, the muted raucous chatter and laughter of the hundreds of people inside was palpable in his chest. What on earth was wrong with him? Daydreaming about a woman when he’d never felt the lack of anything before—much less a partner. And one thing was for sure: no woman existed like that in his world, or even in his imagination until that second. If he wanted a woman like that he’d be better off going back to his small French home town, and he’d left that behind a long time ago—physically, mentally and emotionally. His hand touched the handle of the door, concrete and real, not like the disturbing wispy images in his head. He turned it and opened the door.
The rush of body heat, conversation, the smell of perfume mixed with aftershave was vivid and cloying. And yet there was a slightly awed hush that rippled through the room when he walked in. He barely noticed it any more, and wondered if he would even care if it didn’t happen. His mouth twisted with unmistakable cynicism as his eyes skipped over the looks and the whisperings, seeking out his aunt. The fact was, as head of the fashion world’s most powerful business conglomerate, he practically owned every single person who had anything to do with fashion in this huge glittering ballroom, and even some of those who rode on their coat-tails.
He owned all the dresses and suits so carefully picked out with a mind to current trends. He owned the ridiculously expensive cosmetics that sat on the flawless skin of the women, and the lustrous jewels that adorned their ears, necks and throats. They knew it and he knew it.
The crowd shifted and swayed to let him through, and for the first time in his life he didn’t feel any kind of thrill of anticipation. In fact what he felt was…dissatisfaction.
He was relatively young, wealthier than any other man there, and he knew with no false conceit that he was handsome. Most important of all, he was single. And here in New York that put a bounty on his head. So he was under no illusions as to what he represented to women in a crowd like this. And those women he’d have taken his pick from before seemed now to be too garish, too accessible. Dismayingly, the ease with which he knew he could pick the most beautiful, the most desirable, now made distaste flavour his mouth. A pneumatic blonde dressed in little more than a scrap of lace held together by air bore down on him even now.
