Sharon Kendrick - The Millionaires' Cinderellas

I’ve known for a long time that I have the best job in the world—writing stories about powerful, complicated men and the women who love them—what’s not to like? Some of these stories have stayed especially close to my heart and I’m delighted to announce that you can now read them for yourself if they’re new to you—or maybe rediscover them if you loved them as much as I do.

I love them for different reasons. Sometimes because there’s a heroine I can particularly identify with—like Rose in Surrender to the Sheikh or Sabrina in The Unlikely Mistress. Sometimes because I am unable to forget the hero—and I confess that they all have an unforgettable hero. I think about Dominic Dashwood in Settling the Score and all the fuss that book caused at the time. I think of the proud Russian, Nikolai, in Too Proud to be Bought and Ross in One Husband Required, who was a very different kind of hero. I can feel as if they’re all in the room with me, urging you to read their stories, and I hope you will.

The collection runs from May through to October 2015, so please write or tweet me @Sharon_Kendrick and tell me which are your favourites.

Happy reading,

Love,

Sharon

SHARON KENDRICKonce won a national writing competition by describing her ideal date: being flown to an exotic island by a gorgeous and powerful man. Little did she realise that she’d just wandered into her dream job! Today she writes for Mills & Boon, featuring often stubborn but always to-die-for heroes and the women who bring them to their knees. She believes that the best books are those you never want to end. Just like life …

The Millionaires’ Cinderellas

Playing the Greek’s Game

The Forbidden Innocent

Too Proud to be Bought

Sharon Kendrick

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Cover

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Playing the Greek’s Game

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

The Forbidden Innocent

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

Too Proud to be Bought

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

Endpage

Copyright

Playing the Greek’s Game

Sharon Kendrick

EMMA’S heart thundered as she stepped into the minimalist penthouse office, but the man sitting at the desk didn’t even bother to lift his dark head.

Light streamed in from the enormous windows which overlooked one of London’s loveliest parks. It was a view for which the world-renowned Granchester was famous—and which helped make the prices of the landmark hotel so eye-wateringly high. But the magnificence of the view paled in comparison with the formidable man who sat working, his attention fixed on the pile of papers before him.

Zak Constantinides.

The watery November sunshine highlighted the coal-black tumble of his hair and emphasised the musculature of his body. His broad shoulders were hunched and tense. Raw masculinity seemed to pulsate from his powerful frame and the thunder of Emma’s heart now became an unsteady beat as she stared at him.

She was nervous. More nervous than she’d been in a long while—and maybe that wasn’t surprising. Her boss was making an unscheduled London appearance and she’d been summoned up to see him in his private lair, with no warning whatsoever. And someone as powerful as the Greek tycoon didn’t normally bother with people like her.

She’d been halfway up a ladder when the summons had come—and it showed. Beneath her faded jeans and loose T-shirt she was hot and sticky—and strands of hair were falling out of her ponytail. It wasn’t exactly the best way to present herself to the powerful billionaire—but there wasn’t a lot she could do about it, given that her comb was sitting in her handbag, tucked away in a staff locker somewhere in the bowels of the building.

He must have known she was standing there but he just carried on working as if the room were empty, leaving her feeling as if she were somehow invisible. Unless that was a deliberate ploy on his part. A way of showing her just who was in the driving seat. As if he needed to—when the sense of influence and privilege in the air was so heavy you could almost reach out and touch it. But hadn’t his brother told her that Zak was a total control freak who enjoyed the weight of his own power?

Feeling like a rookie politician about to make her maiden speech, she cleared her throat. ‘Mr Constantinides?’

At this, he lifted his ebony head to reveal hard, rugged features and gleaming olive skin. So far, so Greek. But Zak Constantinides broke the mould with eyes which were grey, instead of the more predictable brown. They surprised her and everyone else who saw them because they were as unsettling as a stormy sky. They flicked over her now and captured her in their strange, pewter light.

And something inside her tightened. Something she didn’t recognise but which filled her with a certain feeling of foreboding. Probably just nerves. Because what else could it be? She didn’t do men and she certainly didn’t do control-freak billionaires who were rumoured to have harem amounts of women dotted around the globe.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Ne? Ti thelis?’

Emma tried an uncertain smile. Had he spoken in his native tongue to distance himself even further, when she knew that his English was as fluent as hers? If so, it had worked, because now the palms of her hands were growing clammy. ‘I’m Emma Geary. I believe you wanted to see me?’

Zak leaned back in his chair, his slow scrutiny never faltering as he drifted his gaze over her. ‘Indeed I do,’ he said softly as he indicated the chair in front of him. ‘Please sit down, Miss Geary.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, horribly aware of the safety pins which were attached to the front of her T-shirt and a strand of hair which was now clinging to her sticky cheek. Was that why his expression was so unsettling—because she looked scruffy, as anyone would look if they’d been standing on a ladder hanging curtains for most of the morning?

As the Granchester hotel’s in-house interior designer, she’d been busy working on one of the smaller bedrooms on the seventh floor when she’d received the call from his assistant. ‘Get up to the boss’s penthouse office immediately,’ she’d been told. There had barely been time to draw breath before taking the elevator up here in response to his imperious command—and suddenly she wished she’d had time to put on a little make-up. Or substitute a less casual top. Or something. Something which would mean he wouldn’t look at her with those stormy eyes boring into her.