The Prince Brothers: Satisfaction Guaranteed!: Prince's Passion / Prince's Pleasure / Prince's Love-Child

The Prince Brothers:SatisfactionGuaranteed!

Three red-hot brothers…Three sizzling Hollywood affairs…

Three glitzy, glamorous romances from

reader-favourite Carole Mortimer!

In October 2009 Mills & Boon bringyou two classic collections, eachfeaturing three favourite romancesby our bestselling authors

CHOSEN BY THEGREEK TYCOONThe Antonakos Marriage by Kate Walker At the Greek Tycoon’s Bidding by Cathy Williams The Greek’s Bridal Purchase by Susan Stephens

THE PRINCE BROTHERS:SATISFACTION GUARANTEED! by Carole Mortimer Prince’s PassionPrince’s PleasurePrince’s Love-Child

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Carole Mortimer was born in England, the youngest of three children. She began writing in 1978, and has now written over one hundred and forty books for Harlequin Mills & Boon. Carole has six sons, Matthew, Joshua, Timothy, Michael, David and Peter. She says, ‘I’m happily married to Peter senior; we’re best friends as well as lovers, which is probably the best recipe for a successful relationship. We live in a lovely part of England.’

Don’t miss Carole Mortimer’s exciting new novel,The Infamous Italian’s Secret Baby, availableNovember 2009 from Mills & Boon® Modern™.

‘SO WHAT did your elusive author have to say to my offer this time?’ Nik prompted the publisher as the two men faced each other across the other man’s desk, his American accent muted with deceptive boredom.

Deceptive, because Nik was anything but bored when it came to acquiring the movie rights to J. I. Watson’s emotive book…

James Stephens looked uncomfortable. A man in his mid-fifties, head of Stephens Publishing since his father had retired over twenty years ago, James had obviously seen it all when it came to the often unpredictable temperaments of the authors who wrote for him.

But Nik’s assessing gaze beneath lowered lids could see that the other man was as baffled by the attitude of the author J. I. Watson as Nik was himself.

What was so difficult about him wanting to acquire the movie rights to the book that had taken the publishing world by storm six months ago? Surely it was every author’s dream to have their book turned into a movie? A movie—and even if Nik did say this himself!—to be produced and directed by none other than the Oscar-winning Nikolas Prince?

But no, of the four letters sent to the author in the last two months, the first two had gone unanswered, the third one had resulted in a polite but terse refusal of the proposal, and Nik had yet to hear a response after the fourth. But from the resigned look on James Stephens’s face, it was yet another refusal.

To be truthful, Nik had found the last two months of waiting to meet J. I. Watson increasingly frustrating. A month ago he had even wined and dined the female senior editor here who dealt with the author in the hopes that he could bypass James Stephens altogether and get straight to the author himself. After several dinners Jane Morrow had become relaxed enough in his company to confide in him, after making him promise not to reveal his source, that the author’s real name was Nixon. But she had gone on to admit that this little nugget of information wouldn’t be too much of a help to him, because the publishers always corresponded with the author through a PO box.

‘He turned my offer down again,’ Nik guessed grimly now.

‘Yes,’ James confirmed, obviously relieved not to have to say the words himself.

‘What’s wrong with the man?’ Nik stood up forcefully, a big man, well over six feet tall, his dark hair overlong and slightly unkempt, glittering grey eyes dominating his hard-hewn features. ‘Does he want more money? Is that it?’ he speculated. ‘I’ll give him whatever he wants. Within reason.’

James sighed, a slightly built man with receding brown hair, only the shrewd light in his blue eyes to belie his otherwise amiable appearance. ‘Perhaps if I show you the latest letter we’ve received…?’ He opened a file on his desk, picking up the top sheet of paper to hand it to Nik.

There was only a single line printed on the paper: ‘Not even if Nik Prince were to ask me himself!’

Succinct. To the point. An unmistakable refusal.

And yet, irritating as it certainly was, it wasn’t that one-line refusal that caught and held Nik’s attention as he continued to look at the letter. For printed at the top of the letter was the PO box number Jane had mentioned, and it was right here in London, of all places. A fact that James Stephens had probably forgotten when he’d offered to let Nik look at the letter…

Nik looked up at the publisher, silver gaze narrowed as he handed back the letter without comment; he had no doubts that James Stephens was an honourable man, that if he realized he had breached his author’s anonymity by letting Nik see the place of the PO box, he would most likely contact the man immediately and get him to change their point of contact.