‘Didi, how do you feel about extending this arrangement a little longer? Say, three weeks?’
‘What do you mean?’ She tried to keep her voice even, her expression neutral.
But she knew what he meant, and blood pounded through her veins. A ball of fire lodged behind her breastbone, shooting flares up and down the length of her body.
He wanted her—here. In this bed. And she didn’t need rocket science to work it out.
If she wanted, for three weeks she could be Cameron Black’s live-in mistress.
Anne Oliver has won Romance Writers of Australia’s award for Romantic Book of the Year two years running, with her first and second books!
2007: BEHIND CLOSED DOORS…
Cleo Honeywell has always loved Jack Devlin, but he moved to the other side of the world—without even a phone call! Now Jack’s back. Cleo is determined not to fall at his feet, or into his bed. But this time Jack can’t wait to get Cleo behind closed doors…
2008: ONE NIGHT BEFORE MARRIAGE
Still smarting from the way her ex dumped her, virginal Carissa Grace is looking for a single night of hot passion to help her move on. Then she meets tall, sexy hotel magnate Ben Jamieson, and it appears she has found exactly the man she’s been looking for…
Romantic Times BOOKreviews gave this novel a four-star review: ‘A terrific story. Anne Oliver has created a winner in Ben, the hot and sexy but equally complex hero.’
Anne Oliver’s novels are smart, sexy and sassy— step into her world…
MEMOIRS OF A
MILLIONAIRE’S
MISTRESS
BY
ANNE OLIVER
When not teaching or writing, Anne Oliver loves nothing more than escaping into a book. She keeps a box of tissues handy—her favourite stories are intense, passionate, against-all-odds romances. Eight years ago she began creating her own characters in paranormal and time travel adventures, before turning to contemporary romance. Other interests include quilting, astronomy, all things Scottish, and eating anything she doesn’t have to cook. Sharing her characters’ journeys with readers all over the world is a privilege…and a dream come true. The winner of Australia’s Romantic Book of the Year Award for short category in both 2007 and 2008, Anne lives in Adelaide, South Australia, and has two adult children. Visit her website at www.anne-oliver.com. She loves to hear from readers. E-mail her at [email protected].
Also by this author:
HOT BOSS, WICKED NIGHTS
PREGNANT BY THE PLAYBOY TYCOON
BUSINESS IN THE BEDROOM
THE EX FACTOR
ONE NIGHT BEFORE MARRIAGE
BEHIND CLOSED DOORS…
MILLS & BOON
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With thanks to my editor, Meg Lewis.
For my colleagues and friends who supported me through tough times during the writing of this book, especially Gay—thanks for the roses!
CHAPTER ONE
‘DON’T date this man.’
Didi O’Flanagan paid scant attention to her workmate’s warning, barely glancing up as she scoured her bag for lip gloss. ‘Whatever he did, Roz, he probably doesn’t deserve to have his photo plastered to the mirror in a public restroom…’ Her words segued to a hum of approval, lip gloss momentarily forgotten.
Maybe he did deserve it. His eyes—deep dark blue—were the kind of eyes that could persuade you to do things you’d never do in your right mind…
‘Only the woman who put it here knows that.’ Roz leaned in for a closer look. ‘You must’ve really ticked her off, Cameron Black. Still, you are a bit of a hunk.’
‘Yeah…’ Didi had to agree. Dark hair, squared jaw. Perfect kissing lips. What did the rest of him look like? she wondered. She imagined a man with looks like that would keep his body toned to match. In fact she could imagine quite a lot about that body. ‘We could try Googling those “don’t date him” websites…’
‘Hmm, revenge. Undoubtedly a dish best served online…’ Roz agreed. ‘But right now, if we want to keep our jobs, we’d better get out there and start serving those impatient big-shots,’ Roz reminded her, heading for the door.
Didi blinked, feeling as if she’d somehow stepped out of a time warp. ‘Right behind you.’
Cameron Black. Why did that name sound familiar? Didi wondered. Shaking the thought away for now, she unscrewed her tube of colour, slicked coral gloss over her lips.
She twitched at a few blonde spikes, straightened her uniform’s little bow tie and fiddled with her name-tag, which always seemed to tilt at an angle no matter how many times she adjusted it.
She couldn’t resist; her gaze slid back to the printout on the mirror. Below the picture were the words, ‘He’s not the man you think he is.’ On impulse, she reached out. She didn’t care what he’d done, it wasn’t right. That was what she told herself as she peeled it off. There were two sides to every story. Not that she knew much about relationships. In her twenty-three years there’d been only one serious relationship, and that mistake had coloured her perception in a very uncolourful way.
But she couldn’t bring herself to crumple the paper and toss it in the waste basket on her way out as she’d intended. It seemed a sacrilege to spoil that perfect face. She folded it into quarters, then again, carefully
