Lee Wilkinson - From Mistresses To Wives?

Will she become more than just a lover?

Three steamy and passionate romances from

three beloved Mills & Boon authors!

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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By

KAY THORPEwas born in Sheffield in 1935. She tried out a variety of jobs after leaving school. Writing began as a hobby, becoming a way of life only after she had her first completed novel accepted for publication in 1968. Since then she’s written over fifty and now lives with her husband, son, German shepherd dog and lucky black cat on the outskirts of Chesterfield in Derbyshire. Her interests include reading, hiking and travel.

LIGHT as the brush of a butterfly’s wings against the sensitive skin at her nape, the kiss brought a dreamy smile to Jessica’s lips. She moved instinctively closer to the hard male body at her back, murmuring deep in her throat as a hand slid around her to explore her slender length with a touch like fire, traversing every curve, seeking every intimate crevice, rousing her to an overwhelming need for more.

Paul gave a soft laugh and drew her onto her back to find her lips in a kiss like nothing she had experienced before. Sliding her arms about the broad shoulders, Jessica gave herself up to the embrace, thrilling to the ripple of muscle beneath her fingers.

Since when had Paul had muscles like these? came the sudden thought, snapping her out of the dream and into devastating reality.

Sheer panic propelled her from the bed. ‘Who the hell are you?’ she demanded.

‘I might ask you the same question,’ came the answer in tones more intrigued than concerned. ‘What happened to Leonie?’

Jessica drew a steadying breath. A stranger to her, but obviously not to Leonie. ‘She isn’t here.’

Propped on an elbow, the man in the bed reached out a hand to switch on a bedside lamp, playing another, quite different tune on her stomach muscles as she viewed the firm-jawed, assertively masculine features beneath the thick sweep of dark hair.

‘I’d rather gathered that,’ he said drily. ‘It doesn’t explain what you’re doing in her apartment.’

‘I could say the same about—’ Jessica caught herself up as he lifted an ironic eyebrow. His reason for being here had to be obvious to all but the densest of mortals.

The gleam of lamplight on his naked shoulders reminded her that the rest of him was naked too. Her breath shortened again at the memory of how it had felt to be held close to that well-honed body—the sensations created by his exploring hands. She should have known the difference the moment he touched her. Paul had never aroused her as fast. Paul had never aroused her to anything like that degree, in fact.

It took the downward drift of steel-grey eyes to bring her to a sudden awareness of the lack of concealment afforded by her semi-sheer nightdress. The cotton wrap she used about the apartment was draped over the end of the bed. She reached for it, steeling herself to ignore the tilt of his lips as she pulled it on.

‘Leonie offered me use of the apartment for a break,’ she said tautly. ‘As you obviously have a key to the place, I’d have thought you’d know her movements.’

The shrug was easy. ‘We don’t have any hard and fast arrangement. I was driving by and saw the hire car in her parking slot. She doesn’t normally let other people use the place.’

‘She has this time.’ Jessica saw no reason to go into further detail. ‘I’d be grateful if you left,’ she added with what dignity she could muster. ‘You can leave your key on the way out. Leonie can let you have it back when she’s next here.’

‘Sure.’ He came upright, lips quirking once more at the expression on her face as he made to throw back the covers. ‘My things are over there on the chair.’

‘I’ll wait through in the sitting room,’ she said hastily.

She made for the door, closing it between the two of them in some temporary relief. Just a few minutes ago she had been on the verge of offering herself with abandonment to a man she didn’t know from Adam! Considering her response to him, and his own very obvious arousal, he’d shown considerable strength of mind in managing to treat the situation with any degree of humour at all, she supposed.

The beautifully furnished and decorated room was softly lit by a couple of lamps. He must have switched them on in his progression across to the bedroom. Catching a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror on the wall opposite, Jessica pulled a wry face. With her mop of naturally curly chestnut hair doing its own thing as usual, and her face shining like a beacon from the coating of moisturiser she had given it on retiring, there was little wonder that his passion had died such a swift death.

What she found difficult to understand was Leonie’s failure to even mention the fact that someone else had a key to the place. Unless she’d genuinely forgotten about it.

Visualising the man through there in the bedroom, Jessica found that difficult to believe.

It wasn’t yet one, she saw from the wall clock. She’d only been asleep an hour or so. Whose bed, she wondered, would Paul be occupying tonight? It was unlikely to be his own.

She thrust the thought from mind as the door behind her opened again, and moved sharply away to turn and confront the man framed in the doorway. He was dressed now in a lightweight pale grey suit and black shirt, the latter open at the neck to reveal a firm tanned throat. Early thirties, she judged, clamping down on the sensations running riot inside her again at the mental image of the body beneath the casual clothing.

‘Seems I owe you an apology,’ he said with no sign of discomfiture. ‘I suppose I should have known.’

‘But one woman feels much like another in the dark,’ Jessica suggested cynically.

‘Only when the body shape’s very much the same,’ came the smooth response. ‘You and Leonie could almost be twins!’

He was laughing at her inwardly if not showing it, Jessica suspected. Eyes like chips of green ice, she said, ‘Your key, please!’

‘Of course.’ He took a key ring from a pocket, and removed one, placing it on the nearest available surface. ‘Having got that out of the way, how about a drink before I take to the road again?’ he tagged on with what she considered quite astonishing cheek in the circumstances.

‘I realise you’ll probably be accustomed to having women go to any lengths to keep you around,’ she clipped, ‘but I want you out! You know where the door is.’

‘The name’s Zac Prescott,’ he said, making no move to comply. ‘And you are?’

‘My name is immaterial. And I don’t give a damn who you are! Are you going to leave—or do I have to call the police?’

The firm mouth curved slowly, sensually, sending another warm trickle down her spine. ‘To charge me with what? There was no real harm done.’