The Millionaire Affair

For a hectic moment, Lisa didn’t know whether he meant her home or her body. Or both. And, crazily, did not care. She almost agreed to let him in and go wherever it took her….

But then she opened her eyes. Behind his head she saw the elegant sweep of the terrace, the chauffeur-driven car. A cold thought struck: this is a rich man playing a game. A clever game but a game nonetheless. She had been there before and it hurt.

Nikolai felt her turn to a block of wood in his arms. He raised his head and let her go.

“You change your mind fast,” Nikolai said.

“No, I don’t. I’ve always said I didn’t want to have anything to do with you.” To her own astonishment she sounded quite cool about it.

“Are you denying you wanted me just now?”

The streets of London aren’t just paved

with gold—they’re home to three of the world’s most eligible bachelors!

London, England: a city of style, sophistication—

and romance! Its exclusive Notting Hill district is the perfect place to fall in love. Sparks fly as three sexy, single men meet—and marry?—three lively, independent women….

This fabulous miniseries features the talents of

Sara Craven, Mary Lyons and Sophie Weston: three hugely popular authors who between them have sold more than 35 million books worldwide.

Notting Hill Grooms:

Irresistible Temptation by Sara Craven #2077

Reform of the Playboy by Mary Lyons #2083

The Millionaire Affair by Sophie Weston #2089

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

THE overheated ballroom was heady with the scent of hot house lilies. The party had got to the stage of slow dancing. In clouds of figured satin the bride was circling in the arms of the most glamorous man in the room.

A photographer, indistinguishable in his dinner jacket from the elegant guests, pointed his camera at the couple.

‘Bride and Count Nikolai Ivanov,’ he murmured to his assistant.

‘Exposure ninety-eight: Ivanov,’ she wrote down obediently.

She peered over the top of her notebook.

Count Nikolai Ivanov was well over six feet, with midnight-dark hair, broad shoulders and an unambiguous self-confidence that hit you between the eyes. Add to that the haughty profile of an Aztec prince, and eyes at once intense and alert with sophisticated amusement, and it was no wonder that the bride was gazing up at him, mesmerised. When he swung her into the air with an easy strength, the assistant sighed.

‘Wow,’ she said, appreciative and envious. ‘Now why haven’t I seen him before?’

‘Wouldn’t have done you any good if you had.’ The photographer continued to rake the room with his lens. ‘Most eligible bachelor in Europe and he spends half his time in the jungle. Terrible waste. Not your style at all.’

‘Oh, I could stretch a point in this case,’ said the assistant with feeling. ‘He’s gorgeous.’

Her boss looked at her cynically. ‘He’s also a heartbreaker. And the last of his line since his brother died.’

‘I wasn’t thinking of trying to marry the man,’ protested the girl, laughing.

‘Just as well. The Ivanovs can trace their line further than the Romanovs, I’m told. Count Nikolai won’t be marrying anyone unless she has at least three coats of arms and a title in the family.’ He raised his camera again. ‘Ah, there’s the mother of the bride with our hostess. Exposure ninety-nine: Madame Repiquet and Countess Ivanova.’

‘Grandmère is looking tired,’ Nikolai murmured in his grandfather’s ear. ‘Shall I take her away?’

‘You can try,’ said his grandfather humorously.

Véronique Repiquet was lucky to be allowed to hold her wedding reception in this exquisite French château. The revels, as everyone knew, would go on all night. So it had been arranged that the old Count and Countess would spend the night at Nikolai’s small villa on the estate.

His grandson chuckled. ‘I shall take a firm line,’ he said confidently. ‘Women always respond to that.’

His grandfather cast his eyes to the magnificent gilded ceiling.

‘You think you know so much about women, don’t you?’

‘I’m an animal behaviourist,’ said Nikolai with a twinkle. ‘I’ve been trained to know about women.’

His grandfather smiled. But he looked perturbed as well.

‘Do you never have any doubts, Nicki?’

Nikolai looked startled. ‘All the time. Every expedition, every paper I write, every lecture I give. If I didn’t have any doubts there wouldn’t be anything interesting left to research.’

‘I didn’t mean about your work,’ snapped his grandfather, suddenly annoyed. ‘I meant about women.’

Nikolai looked at him in concern. The loss of temper was out of character for his gentle grandfather. He slipped his arm round the older man’s shoulders.

‘What is it, Pauli? Regretting lending the château for this junket?’