Margaret Mayo - Married Again to the Millionaire

‘What are you doing, Adam?’ Sienna asked fiercely when Ethan was out of earshot. ‘If you think spending money on him is the answer, think again. He wants you, not your money.’

‘You’re incredibly sexy when you’re angry—do you know that, Sienna?’

‘This isn’t about you and me.’

It was like water off a duck’s back. Adam smiled, completely unperturbed by her words.

Sienna’s heart drummed an age-old rhythm, each beat building up her senses, and when Adam’s lips claimed hers she was totally ready. It was like much needed rain after a dry summer. It was like finding water in the desert. It fed her inner needs, and against her better judgement she returned his kiss.

Born in the industrial heart of England, Margaret Mayonow lives in a Staffordshire countryside village. She became a writer by accident, after attempting to write a short story when she was almost forty, and now writing is one of the most enjoyable parts of her life. She combines her hobby of photography with her research.

by

MILLS & BOON ®

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Cover Page

Excerpt ‘What are you doing, Adam?’ Sienna asked fiercely when Ethan was out of earshot. ‘If you think spending money on him is the answer, think again. He wants you, not your money.’ ‘You’re incredibly sexy when you’re angry—do you know that, Sienna?’ ‘This isn’t about you and me.’ It was like water off a duck’s back. Adam smiled, completely unperturbed by her words. Sienna’s heart drummed an age-old rhythm, each beat building up her senses, and when Adam’s lips claimed hers she was totally ready. It was like much needed rain after a dry summer. It was like finding water in the desert. It fed her inner needs, and against her better judgement she returned his kiss.

About the Author Born in the industrial heart of England, Margaret Mayo now lives in a Staffordshire countryside village. She became a writer by accident, after attempting to write a short story when she was almost forty, and now writing is one of the most enjoyable parts of her life. She combines her hobby of photography with her research.

Title Page Married Again to the Millionaire by

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

Copyright

SIENNA’S heart pounded as she stood outside the prestigious residential development, which was set in its own park alongside the Thames. Only the very rich could afford to live there. And the last time she’d seen Adam he’d definitely not been in that category…

When no one answered the intercom system, and it appeared that she had wasted her time, she felt strangely relieved. It had taken a lot of courage to come here and she was just about to leave when she heard Adam’s well-remembered voice.

‘Sienna?’

It was like velvet over steel. From experience she knew that it could be as soft as molten chocolate or as hard edged as a razor blade. She had felt both sides of his tongue, and as she stood there now Sienna gave an involuntary shudder.

She’d had no idea that a video camera was monitoring her presence. The thought that Adam knew she was there and that he had probably been watching the expression on her face as she waited chilled her blood.

Forewarned was forearmed, and she was at a definite disadvantage.

‘Adam!’ Was that really her own voice sounding scratchy and nervous when she had been determined to be strong? And why the hell was he keeping her standing here instead of allowing her entrance?

Was he taking some sort of perverse pleasure in it? Unless he didn’t want to see her! After all, it had been over five years. ‘I—I need to speak to you.’ Her mouth had gone suddenly dry, swallowing became impossible.

‘After all this time? How interesting. You’d better come in.’ Again his deep, dark voice scraped over her nerves and as the barrier to the landscaped gardens lifted Sienna made her way slowly to the main entrance door of the complex where she was confronted with yet another see-your-visitor system. With a sigh she pressed the appropriate button and waited—and waited.

After what seemed like several minutes, though was probably only one, Adam’s voice reached her ears again. ‘You look impatient, Sienna.’

‘Are you playing games with me?’ She heard the sharpness in her tone but was uncaring any longer. Her anger was building and she was beginning to wish that she had never decided to approach Adam.

‘I’ve been trying to work out why you’re here.’

‘And unless you let me in, you’ll never know. In fact, don’t bother, I’ve changed my mind.’ She swung on one of her ridiculously high heels, heels she had donned to give her the height and the confidence to do what she was about to do, and was about to march back the way she had come when he spoke again.

‘Wait!’

And she heard a click as the door opened.

‘Top floor, penthouse suite. The lift’s to your right.’

With his curt instructions echoing in her ears, Sienna approached the lift. It whooshed her swiftly and silently to the top of the building and she emerged in an entrance hall lined with beech panelling and lit by discreet, inset spotlights. Beneath her feet were exquisite tiles in varying shades of bronze and olive green. Glossy-leaved plants stood in corners and a mirror was directly opposite.

She looked, thought Sienna, petrified. Her wide blue eyes were burning like coals in her pale face, her chestnut hair awry, despite having taken care with it before she had left home. And having nervously nibbled her lips while she had waited to gain entrance, her lipstick was non-existent.

This was not the image she wanted to portray and she stood there a moment taking deep steadying breaths, pulling herself together, forcing a smile. She combed her hair, reapplied her lipstick and was popping the tube back into her bag when a door opened and Adam strode towards her.

Sienna took in a sharp breath. The change in him was dramatic. He’d gone from being almost too thin to broad-shouldered and well muscled. She could actually see his muscles rippling beneath the silk of his shirt. His waist and hips were still slender but he had powerful thighs, barely hidden beneath fine linen trousers.

Where had all this body development come from? she wondered. It looked as though he worked out on a major scale and yet from what she knew of him, and what she’d read in the press, he didn’t appear to have time for exercise. Work was still his ethos. If there had been more than twenty-four hours in a day he would have worked most of them.

His strong jaw with its cleft beneath sculpted lips was firm. His eyes, which were a dark, dark blue, were riveted on her face. Thick black brows jutted over them. The only thing that hadn’t changed was his black, curling hair, which was as awry as it had ever been. It touched his shirt collar and looked as though it desperately needed trimming and combing.