Mistress : Hired for the Billionaire's Pleasure

by India Grey

• ISBN13: 9780373527052
• ISBN10: 0373527055
• Format: Paperback
• Copyright: 2009-02-10
• Publisher: Harlequin

Summary

Fast cars, glamorous socialites--everyday components of devastatingly handsome billionaire Orlando Winterton's thrilling, decadent lifestyle....When Rachel arrives at Orlando's remote country estate in desperate need, Orlando cannot deny the pull of her fragile beauty, and takes her passionately. Then a baby is found abandoned on Orlando's doorstep--allegedly his son!Now Orlando will hire Rachel to take care of the child--and as long as she's under his roof, he'll keep on making love to her...until he's got her out of his system!

Excerpts

It was barely light as Rachel let herself out of the front door of The Old Rectory and closed it silently behind her. The damp chill of early morning curled itself around her, and her slow outdrawn breath made misty plumes in the bitter February air.Already the house was stirring, but only with the impersonal band of cleaners and caterers who had come in early to obliterate the traces of last night's party and prepare for today's celebrations. Even so, making her way carefully across the grass, Rachel felt the back of her neck prickle with fear that she was being watched. Swiftly she headed in the direction of the high hedge that separated the old house from the churchyard, not really knowing why--only that she had to escape from the house and try to find somewhere where she could think.And breathe. And step outside of the relentless march of events towards the moment she couldn't even bear to contemplate.In her hand she carried a half empty bottle of champagne that she had picked up from the table in the hall on the way out. Last night's pre-wedding party, for a handful of the most influential of Carlos's music industry friends, had apparently gone on into the small hours--although she herself had gone to bed around midnight. No doubt he'd be furious with her for not staying and 'making an impression', or chatting up the right people, but her head had ached and her heart had been leaden with dread at the coming day. She'd pleaded tiredness, but had ended up lying awake until the last cars had left in a noisy series of slamming doors and shouted farewells at about three a.m., bearing Carlos off to the plush country house hotel where he was to spend the final night of his long years of bachelor freedom.And in the darkness Rachel had wrapped her arms around herself and shivered with horror at the thought of what the following night would bring.Ducking though a low archway cut into the beech hedge, she found herself in the churchyard. A thin mist hung low over the ground, giving the place an eerie air of melancholy which suited her mood perfectly. Tugging the sleeves of her thick cashmere sweater down over her hands, she hugged the bottle to her and walked slowly around to the other side of the church, out of sight of the house. Everything was grey, black, silver in the early morning light. She tipped her face up to the leaden sky, watching the rooks circling above the spire of the church, and felt nothing but despair.A gust of icy wind whipped her hair over her face and made her shiver. Up ahead, in the shadow of an ancient yew tree, stood the largest grave of all, set slightly apart from the rest, topped by an imposing stone angel with its carved wings partly furled and its pale face downturned. Rachel found herself drawn towards it.Beneath the canopy of the yew it was sheltered from the wind. The angel gazed down at her with blank eyes, and the expression on its sculpted face was one of infinite compassion and resignation.He's seen it all before,she thought bleakly. Those pale, sightless eyes must have witnessed countless weddings and funerals, extremes of joy and tragedy. She wondered whether there had ever been another bride who would rather be going to her own funeral than her wedding.Sinking down onto the dry earth beneath the angel's cold, pale feet, she took a swig of champagne, then leaned her cheek against the lichened stone. The sides of the tomb were carved with rows of names and dates, some of which were worn away almost to illegibility and obscured by moss. But the name nearest to her was still sharp and clear. Tracing her fingers over it, she read the words.The Hon. Felix Alexander Wintertonof Easton HallKilled in active service to his countryHE GAVE HIS TODAY THAT WE MIGHT HAVEOUR TOMORROWShe looked up at the angel with a watery smile and raised the champagne bottle. 'Cheers, Felix,' she whispered. 'But in my case that was a real wasted gesture.'