CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Tycoon’s Stowaway
Cathy Williams
‘You lied to me?’
‘I wouldn’t exactly call it a lie …’ Naturally Lucas had expected surprise—incredulity, even—but at the end of the day a ski instructor had been swapped for a billionaire. He had taken it as a given that his newly discovered status would do its usual job and bring a smile of servile appreciation to her lips. It hadn’t.
‘Well, I would.’ Milly was struggling to contain her anger. How dared he? How dared he play her for a complete fool?
‘You made false assumptions,’ Lucas told her with barely concealed impatience. ‘I chose not to set you straight.’
She sprang to her feet and stormed over to the window, stared out for a little while, and then stormed back towards him, hands on her hips. ‘Why didn’t you just tell me who you were?’
Because I was enjoying the novelty of being with someone refreshingly honest … Because in a world where wariness and suspicion are bywords it was a holiday, not having to guard every syllable, watch every turn of phrase, accept instant adulation without being able to distinguish what was genuine and what was promoted by a healthy knowledge of how much I was worth …
‘When you’re as rich as I am, it pays to be careful.’
‘In other words, I could have been just another cheap, tacky gold-digger, after your money?’
‘If you want to put it like that …’
His dark eyes were cool, assessing, unflinching. She could have hit him.
But there was no denying that she still wanted to kiss him.
CATHY WILLIAMS can remember reading Mills and Boon® as a teenager, and now that she’s writing them she remains an avid fan. For her, there is nothing like creating romantic stories and engaging plots, and each and every book is a new adventure. Cathy lives in London, and her three daughters, Charlotte, Olivia and Emma, have always been and continue to be the greatest inspiration in her life.
To my fabulous and inspiring daughters.
‘AMELIA? IS THAT Amelia Mayfield?’
Milly pressed the mobile phone against her ear, already regretting that she had been stupid enough to pick up the call. How many more instructions could Sandra King give about this job?
She was going to be a chalet girl! Two weeks of cooking and looking after a family of four! Anyone would think that she was being primed to run the country. It wasn’t even as though she hadn’t done this before. She had, two years ago, for three months before she’d started the hotel job in London.
‘Yes.’ She sighed, allowing her eyes to drift over the pure, dazzling canvas of white snow all around her. It had been a fantastic trip, just the thing to clear her head and get her mind off her miserable situation. She had travelled in style and she had enjoyed every second of it. It was almost a shame that she was now in the back seat of the chauffeur-driven SUV with her destination only half an hour away.
‘You haven’t been picking up your phone!’ The voice down the other end was sharp and accusatory. Milly could picture the other woman clearly, sitting at her desk in Mayfair, her shiny blond hair scraped back with an Alice band, her long perfectly manicured nails tapping impatiently on her desk.
Sandra King had interviewed her not once but three times for this job. It was almost as though she had resented having to give the job to someone small and round with red hair when there were so many other, more suitable candidates in the mix: girls with cut-glass accents, braying laughs and shiny blond hair scraped back with Alice bands.
But, as she had made clear with unnecessarily cruel satisfaction, this particular family wanted someone plain and down to earth, because the last thing the señora wanted was a floozy who might decide to start flirting with her rich husband.
Milly, who had looked up
