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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2016
Copyright © Tilly Bagshawe 2016
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2016
Tilly Bagshawe asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the authorâs imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780008132811
Ebook Edition © June 2016 ISBN: 9780008132835
Version 2016-05-24
Henry Saxton Brae was admiring his business partnerâs considerable assets.
âHarder!â she commanded. âIâm almost there!â
Her eyes were closed and her breathing ragged. Her pretty, elfin face was twisted into an expression of intense concentration as she willed herself to orgasm.
Henry felt a momentâs deep loathing, first for George and then for himself. Then he closed his own eyes and erupted inside her, his fingers digging painfully into the small of her back as they both came.
âNaughty,â Georgina chided him, turning to rub the bruises already forming above her buttocks as she dismounted, with an insufferably smug look on her face. Every time they did this, George had âwonâ and Henry had âlostâ. She delighted in the power she had over him; her ability to goad him into sex, even though she knew deep down he despised her.
âRobertâs bound to notice. What am I going to tell him?â
âIâm sure youâll think of something,â Henry muttered bitterly, pulling up his jeans. âLyingâs never exactly been a problem for you.â
âOr you, darling,â George shot back.
They were lying on the floor of Gigtix.comâs London offices, the internet box-office company that Henry Saxton Brae and Georgina Savile had founded together three years ago. It had made both of them fabulously wealthy, but it had also bound them together in what was becoming an increasingly toxic relationship. Georgeâs recently acquired husband Robert, a barrister of quite earth-shattering banality, was far too unimaginative ever to suspect anything might be going on behind his back. But Eva, Henryâs girlfriend, was beginning to get suspicious.
Not girlfriend, Henry reminded himself guiltily. Fiancée.
Why had he given in to George again? Why? What compulsion kept driving him to cheat on the woman he loved, and who was a thousand times more beautiful than malicious, manipulative, spiteful George Savile, or any of his other meaningless flings?
âIâm serious,â George pouted, examining her bruises more closely. âHow would you like it if I sent you back to Ikea with scratches all over your back?â
âDonât call her that,â Henry snapped. âIkeaâ was Georginaâs nickname for Eva, because she was Swedish and, in Georgeâs mind, disposable. Looking at his Patek Philippe watch, Henry felt his anxiety levels rise still further. âI have to go. Iâm going to be late.â
âFor what? Your curfew?â Georgina taunted, slipping a ridiculously tight pink T-shirt over her nude push-up bra.
âFor the village fete,â said Henry, grabbing his car keys from the desk. âIâm supposed to be giving out prizes.â
George threw her slender neck back and laughed loudly.
âIâd forgotten youâre playing the country gentleman now. How priceless!â
âIâm not playing,â said Henry.
Henry had bought Hanborough Castle, the Swell Valleyâs most idyllically romantic estate, six months ago, and now lived there full time with his bride-to-be. The whole thing was ridiculous. Taking Henry Saxton Brae out of London was like taking a killer whale out of the ocean. Henry was a predator, not a pet.