Kate Hewitt - Ruthless Boss, Hired Wife

These ruthless, powerful men are used to

having their own way at the office.

And with their mistresses,

they’re also boss in the bedroom!

Don’t miss any of our

fantastic stories this month:

The Italian Tycoon’s Mistress

by Cathy Williams #13

Ruthless Boss, Hired Wife

by Kate Hewitt #14

In the Tycoon’s Bed

by Kathryn Ross #15

The Rich Man’s Reluctant Mistress

by Margaret Mayo #16

Only in Harlequin Presents EXTRA!

KATE HEWITT discovered her first Harlequin romance on a trip to England when she was thirteen, and she’s continued to read them ever since. She wrote her first story at the age of five, simply because her older brother had written one and she thought she could do it, too. That story was one sentence long—fortunately, they’ve become a bit more detailed as she’s grown older.

She studied drama in college, and shortly after graduation moved to New York City to pursue a career in theater. This was derailed by something far better: meeting the man of her dreams, who happened also to be her older brother’s childhood friend. Ten days after their wedding, they moved to England, where Kate worked a variety of different jobs—drama teacher, editorial assistant, youth worker, secretary and, finally, mother.

When her oldest daughter was one year old, Kate sold her first short story to a British magazine. Since then she has sold many stories and serials, but writing romance remains her first love, of course!

Besides writing, she enjoys reading, traveling and learning to knit—it’s an ongoing process, and she’s made a lot of scarves. After living in England for six years, she now resides in Connecticut with her husband, her three young children and, possibly one day, a dog.

Kate loves to hear from readers. You can contact her through her Web site, www.kate-hewitt.com.

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TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

For Caroline and Ellen,

the two spunkiest heroines I know

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

CORMAC DOUGLAS needed a wife. Tomorrow. Irritation and impatience thrummed through him in time with the drumming of his fingers on his desk. Outside, the crenellated turrets of Edinburgh Castle were shrouded in a thick and gloomy October fog.

He needed a wife. How? Who?

The women he knew were not wife material. Beauties to be seduced or aspiring socialites to be avoided. No one who would be suitable to act as his wife, weekend engagement only.

No one he could entice, bribe or blackmail. Bend to his will.

His narrowed hazel gaze scanned his office—a large, spare room on the top floor of a restored building on Cowgate. He’d gutted the place when he’d bought it five years ago, turned the old, poky rooms into a wide-open space filled with light and exposed brick.

Normally the sight of the office he owned and the memories it banished gave him a satisfaction that replaced his usual restless discontent.

Now it just seemed to mock him. He had the perfect commission, ripe for the taking, meant to be his, and he wouldn’t get it unless he had a wife.

The conversation a few days ago with an architect colleague replayed in his mind.

‘The Hassells finally want to develop a resort in Sint Rimbert,’ Eric had said. ‘Something eco-friendly and luxurious, aimed particularly at families.’

‘Families,’ Cormac repeated without any intonation.

‘Yes, they claim it’s a needed niche in the market—luxury for the little ones.’ He chuckled. ‘It’s a plum commission.’

‘Indeed.’

‘I’d go for it myself, but they want to start work in the new year and I’m already booked.’ He paused, laughing ruefully. ‘I’m also out of the running for another reason—I’m not married.’

‘Married?’ Cormac’s voice turned sharp. ‘What the hell does that have to do with anything?’

‘Apparently the Hassells are a close-knit family. They want someone dependable to design this resort, with family values, seeing as it’s a family resort. Preferably a married man. Of course, that’s just the word on the street—they’d never say as much officially.’

‘Of course.’ Cormac injected a dry note into his voice. ‘Presumably that’s why I haven’t heard of it.’

‘Exactly,’ Eric agreed, laughing. ‘You’re not on the short-list, Cormac.’

‘Not yet.’

‘What are you thinking of? A trip to Gretna Green?’

Cormac knew Eric was joking so he chuckled along with him. ‘Not a bad idea.’

‘You know your own reputation,’ Eric said with a careless laugh. ‘But I didn’t think you were quite that ruthless.’

After the telephone call Cormac had spent a long time staring out at the gloomy skies, the crawl of cars intent on avoiding the traffic of the Old Town.

He imagined the short-list Jan Hassell would have compiled: smug married architects with their happy home lives and uninspired designs.

It was absurd that the Hassells wanted a married man to design the resort. Family values had no effect—at least no positive effect—on one’s work. He should know. His work was his life, his breath. And as for family…

He stifled a curse, one hand balling into a frustrated fist. He wanted that commission. It was a fantastic opportunity, but it was more than that. It was a chance to prove who he was…and who he wasn’t.

He was the best man for the job, could be the best man if given the chance, if he grabbed it.

He wasn’t married.

A few hours after the call from Eric, Cormac had made some calls of his own and finally connected with Jan Hassell. After faxing his CV and some designs to Jan, he’d been invited to a weekend house party on Sint Rimbert, along with two other architects. It was a stone’s throw from complete success and now all he needed was a wife on his arm, an ornament to prove he had all those damn family values.

To get the commission.

To seize it.

He glanced at some letters on his desk which his secretary had left for him to sign and irritably pulled them towards him. He was just scrawling his name on the bottom of the first page when he stopped. Smiled.

Considered.

He had the perfect idea. The perfect wife.

She just didn’t know it yet.

‘I’m glad you’re doing so well, Dani,’ Lizzie said into the phone. She swallowed past the lump which had risen suddenly—stupidly—in her throat. It was ridiculous to feel sad. Dani was happy, enjoying life at university, doing all the things an eighteen-year-old should do.