‘An easy playboy lifestyle—sure, occasionally. But for the most part I work very long, very hard,’ Owen stated.
‘Why? When you’re wealthy enough to retire tomorrow?’ Bella asked.
‘Because I like it.’ Because he couldn’t not. Because he was driven. Because he was missing something that everyone else had—the compassion, the consideration, the plain awareness and empathy towards others. His relationship with Liz had made him feel claustrophobic. He wouldn’t allow that pressure to be put on him again. But he’d have Bella the way he wanted.
‘For all that success—’ Owen underlined the word, knowing the concept annoyed her ‘—I’m still the guy who made your legs so weak you couldn’t stand.’ He took a step back, determined to walk away now. He spoke softer. ‘I’m still the guy who made you alternately sigh then scream with pleasure.’ He paused. He’d leave her knowing exactly what his intentions were—plain and simple. He spoke softer still. ‘And I’m the guy who’s going to do it all again.’
Possibly the only librarian who got told off herself for talking too much, Natalie Anderson decided writing books might be more fun than shelving them—and boy, is it that. Especially writing romance—it’s the realisation of a lifetime dream, kick-started by many an afternoon spent devouring Grandma’s Mills & Boons®… She lives in New Zealand, with her husband and four gorgeous-but-exhausting children. Swing by her website any time—she’d love to hear from you: www.natalie-anderson.com
Recent titles by the same author:
BOUGHT: ONE NIGHT, ONE MARRIAGE
PLEASURED BY THE SECRET MILLIONAIRE
MISTRESS UNDER CONTRACT
Dear Reader
Have you ever been in that awful awkward social situation where you felt totally out of place and just wished someone would come along and rescue you? Especially someone tall, dark and handsome, say? Wouldn’t that make you look and feel like Miss Utterly Attractive herself?
Nice fantasy, isn’t it? And Bella, my poor Bella, thought it might have actually happened to her!
But things are never quite as they are in fairytales, are they? Not everything goes as smoothly as we wish it would. And what if you do find your wish fulfilled? How do you handle it if it doesn’t turn out to be all that you’d hoped?
Come and join Bella and Owen as they both discover that losing something they each thought precious might enable them to find something much, much better. Because there is nothing nicer than a happy ending and the beginning of a lifetime of love, is there?
I do hope you enjoy it!
Love
Natalie
PLEASURED IN THE PLAYBOY’S PENTHOUSE
BY
NATALIE ANDERSON
For Soraya—you are so generous and supportive,
always dropping everything to read in a rush and then
getting back to me so quickly and so helpfully—
and this one was some rush, wasn’t it? I am really
looking forward to repaying you in kind so very soon.
CHAPTER ONE
DID she want a ‘sex machine’ or a ‘slow comfortable screw’? Choices, choices…and tonight Bella was struggling with decisions. The names were all such appalling puns, she didn’t know if she’d be able to ask for one without blushing. Especially as she was sitting all alone in this bar—on a Friday night. The bartender would probably panic and think she was coming on to him. But as she looked at the gleaming glasses lined up behind the counter and the rows of bottles holding varying amounts of brightly coloured liquid, her taste buds were tickled. It had been a while since she’d had anything more indulgent than whatever was the cheapest red wine at the supermarket. Surely she was justified in having something fabulous to celebrate her day? And as this weekend had already burned one huge hole in her savings, she might as well make it a crater.
She looked back at the cocktail list, but barely read on. She’d waited all day for someone to say it. Someone. Anyone. It wasn’t as if she expected a party—a cake, candles or even a card. It was a frantic time getting everything organised for Vita’s wedding, Bella understood that. But surely even one of them could have remembered? Her father perhaps?
But no. She was just there, as usual, in the background, like the family cat. Present, accounted for, but blending in as if part of the furniture. It was only if she had some sort of catastrophe that they remembered her. And she was determined to avoid any catastrophes this weekend. This was Vita’s special time. As uncomfortable as Bella felt, she was determined to help make the weekend as wonderful as it could be for her sister.
Volunteering to oversee the decorating had been her best idea. It had meant she’d been able to avoid most of the others. And honestly, she’d felt more at home with the waitresses and staff of the exclusive resort than with her own family and their friends.
When she’d paused at lunchtime she’d looked up and seen them out walking along the beach. The island of Waiheke looked as if it had been taken over by an accountancy convention. In truth it basically had. They were like clones. All wearing corporate casual. The men in fawn trousers and open-collared pale blue shirts. Tomorrow they’d be in fawn again only with white shirts for the wedding. Afterwards, they’d saunter on the sand in three-quarter ‘casual’ trousers, overly colourful Hawaiian shirts, with their pale feet sliding in leather ‘mandals’. They all had crisp cut hair, and expensive sunglasses plastered across their faces. The women were using their even more expensive sunglasses to pin back their long, sleek hair. Her tall, glamorous cousins, her sister. They were all the same. All so incredibly successful—if you equated money, highflying jobs and incredibly suitable partners with success.
She’d tried it once—to play it their way. She’d dated a guy who was more approved of by her own family than she was herself. What a disaster that had been. They still didn’t believe that she’d been the one to end it. Of course, there were reasons for that. But none Bella felt like dwelling on now. Tomorrow was going to be bad enough.
After she’d finally hung all the ribbons on the white-shrouded chairs, she’d headed straight for the bar inside the main building of the hotel. She’d celebrate herself. Toast in another year. Raise a glass to the success of the last. Even if no one else was going to. Even if there wasn’t that much success to toast.
There had been talk of a family dinner, but the preparations had run too late—drinks maybe. She was glad. She didn’t want to face the all too inevitable questions about her career and her love-life, the looks of unwanted sympathy from her aunts. There’d be time enough for that the next day, when there was no way she could avoid them as much as she had today. For today was her day and she could spend the last of it however she wanted to.
Now, as she sat and waited to be served,
