âOne night. Iâll reduce the bet to one night.â
Slowly she turned to face him, her expression haughty and scornful. âPity, Rico? From you? Iâm surprised. But I must refuse your gallant gesture. A bet is a bet. You demanded I be your mistress for a month, so your mistress for a month I will be. Not a day less. Not a day more.â
Her contrariness jolted him. Was this her pride still talking, or did she have some other secret agenda? Whatever the case, experience had taught Rico never to try to second-guess Renée, so he just shrugged.
âFine by me.â Far be it from him to lessen her sentence. Sheâd made her bed now. Let her lie in it.
âYou might think that tonight,â she replied. âYou might think differently in a monthâs time.â
âIs that a threat, Renée? Or a challenge?â
âItâs a promiseâ
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 changeâ¦. But will these three rich men marry for loveâor are they desired for their money?
Mistress for a MonthâRicoâs story
#2361
Available only from Harlequin Presents>®.
RICO MANDRETTI jumped into his shiny red Ferrari and headed, not towards Randwick Racecourse, but straight for his parentsâ place on the rural outskirts of Sydney. His plans had changed. Last night had changed them.
âNot today,â Rico muttered to himself as he sped out through Sydneyâs sprawling western suburbs, oblivious of the second glances he received from most of the women in the cars he passed, and all of the women in the cars he was forced to idle next to when the lights turned red.
Only one woman occupied Ricoâs mind these days. Only one woman did he crave to look at him as if he was a man worth looking at and not some prima-donna playboy with no substance at all.
For over five years heâd endured Renée Selinskyâs barbs over the card table every Friday night, as well as at the races on a Saturday afternoon.
Five years was a long time to tolerate such treatment. Too long.
Yet he had to confess that till last night heâd enjoyed their verbal sparring in a perverse fashion, despite the fact Renée usually got the better of him. When sheâd temporarily subjected him to the cold-shoulder treatment a few months back, heâd hated it. Rico discovered during that difficult time that heâd rather have his buttons pressed than be ignored.
Still, Renée had pressed his buttons one too many times last night.
Be damned if he was going to be on the end of that womanâs caustic tongue again today at the races. Enough was enough!
The lights turned green and he floored the accelerator. The Ferrari leapt forward, tyres screeching slightly as he scorched up the road. But, given the speed limit on that section of highway, and the regular traffic lights, there was no solace for Ricoâs frustration in speeding, and no escape for his thoughts.
Soon he was idling at the next set of red lights, practically grinding his teeth when his mind returned once more to his nemesis.
Sheâd be at the races by now, probably sitting at the bar in the membersâ stand, sipping a glass of champagne and looking her usual cool and classy self, not caring a whit that he hadnât turned up, whilst he was sitting here in his car, stewing away, already regretting his decision not to go. He loved the races. They were one of his passions in life. And one of hers, unfortunately.
That was how heâd met Renée in the first place, through their mutual love of horse racing. Just over five years ago sheâd become the third partner in the syndicate he and his best friend, Charles, had formed with the help of Ward Jackman, one of Sydneyâs up-and-coming young horse trainers.
Rico could still remember the first day he met the up-till-then mysterious Mrs Selinsky. The three co-owners had gathered at Randwick races to see their first horse race, a lovely chestnut filly named Flame of Gold.
Before that day, Rico had only known of his lady co-ownerâs existence on paper. Heâd no idea that she was also Renée, the owner of Renéeâs modeling agency and the widow of Joseph Selinsky, a very wealthy banker whoâd been almost forty years his second wifeâs senior, and whoâd passed away the previous year. He did know she was a rich widow, but heâd pictured an overweight, over-groomed madam in her sixties or seventies with more money than she could spend in the beauty salon, and a penchant for gambling.