The Unbreakable Trilogy
850 pages of passion, love and betrayal. The Unbreakable Trilogy; a must-read for fans of erotic romance.In THE SILVER CHAIN, photographer Serena Folkes is indulging her impulsive side with a night-time shoot. But someone is watching her – mysterious entrepreneur Gustav Levi. Serena doesn’t know it yet, but this handsome stranger will change her life forever…In THE GOLDEN LOCKET, Serenna and Gustav are ensconced in his penthouse mansion in New York. All seems blissfully happy; but with a whole new world of sexual encounters out there for them to explore, their eyes are soon opened far beyond their cosy world. Is their love enough to survive the excitement that the Big Apple holds…In THE DIAMOND RING, life should be blissful for Gustav and Serena. It should be a time of happiness; a time to plan their their future together. But the ghosts of Gustav’s past have returned to haunt him, and one in particular casts a dangerous shadow over their relationship..
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PRIMULA BOND
The Unbreakable Trilogy
The Silver Chain The Golden Locket The Diamond Ring
Avon An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2015
Copyright © Primula Bond 2015
The Silver Chain copyright © Primula Bond 2013
The Golden Locket copyright © Primula Bond 2013
The Diamond Ring copyright © Primula Bond 2014
Primula Bond 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 author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780007524150, 9780007539789, 9780007550906
Ebook Edition © February 2015 ISBN: 9780008135102
Version: 2015–01–07
Table of Contents
PRIMULA BOND
The Silver Chain
Copyright
Avon
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2013
Copyright © Primula Bond 2013
Cover photographs © Shutterstock
Cover design © Steve Boggs 2013
Primula Bond 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 author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780007524174
Ebook Edition © July 2013 ISBN: 9780007524150
Version: 2015–01–07
Dedication
To R who is my rock
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
At last. At last. We jolt once, twice, then start to move. The rumbling from the diesel grows louder and more determined as the engine settles into gear. The vibrations under my seat are calmer, but they are doing nothing to quell the churning in my stomach.
The grey paved platform, slippery from the rain driving in from the south west, rolls smoothly alongside as we pull away, but it’s still too slow, too slow. I feel like I’m on the run. My hands are shoved under my legs to keep them prisoner. My heart is juddering as if there’s still time for someone to slam on the brakes and arrest me. Why do I feel like that? This is as final as it gets. Everything alongside me, soon to be left behind, is finished.
I’m free to go where I like, so why does this feel like the great escape?
I wish I was sitting up front with the driver. Not to talk to him. I only want to perch quietly on a ledge or a stool up front, and stare out at the world.
What a day job a train driver has. He’s probably sick to death of it, but what a view he has, all to himself. He clambers up to the cab at the start of every shift, yawning and cursing, carrying his flask of muddy tea, then all day and sometimes all night he’s king of the road. The big curving window, smeared with grease and smuts, spattered with rain, sometimes even with blood or guts or bits of animals, is a cinema screen showing the English countryside unfurling between the carved leafy embankments. The gleaming metal tracks converge in the distance just like the parallel lines you draw in art classes to learn perspective.
Why doesn’t he step on it? We are still crawling, we still haven’t emerged from the canopy roof and ornate bottle- green girders of the station.
