Nicola Marsh - Interview with the Daredevil

‘Fresh, funny, flirty and feel-good—who can resist one

of Nicola Marsh’s delectable category romances? With a

fabulously fun heroine, a sexy hero and lashings of witty

dialogue, Overtime in the Boss’s Bed is another keeper from the stellar pen of Nicola Marsh!’ —www.PinkHeartSociety.com on Overtime in the Boss’s Bed

‘Nicola Marsh heats up your winter nights with this

blazingly sensual tale of lost love, second chances and

old secrets! In Marriage: For Business or Pleasure? Nicola Marsh blends hot sensuality with tender romance, witty humour and nail-biting drama, which will keep readers eagerly turning the pages of this spellbinding contemporary romance!’ —www.PinkHeartSociety.com on Marriage: For Business or Pleasure?

‘This lovers-reunited tale is awash in passion,

sensuality and plenty of sparks. The terrific characters

immediately capture your attention,

and from there the pages go flying by.’

—RT Book Reviews on

Marriage: For Business or Pleasure?

‘Sterling characters, an exotic setting and crackling

sexual tension make for a great read.’

—RT Book Reviews on

A Trip with the Tycoon

About Nicola Marsh

NICOLA MARSHhas always had a passion for writing and reading. As a youngster she devoured books when she should have been sleeping, and later kept a diary whose content could be an epic in itself! These days, when she’s not enjoying life with her husband and son in her home city of Melbourne, she’s at her computer, creating the romances she loves in her dream job.

Visit Nicola’s website at www.nicolamarsh.comfor the latest news of her books.

Girl in a Vintage Dress

Deserted Island, Dreamy Ex!

Wild Nights with her Wicked Boss

Overtime in the Boss’s Bed

Three Times a Bridesmaid …

Marriage: For Business or Pleasure?

A Trip With the Tycoon

Two Weeks in the Magnate’s Bed

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Interview with

the Daredevil

Nicola Marsh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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With thanks to the brilliant staff at Palazzo Versace,

who were smiling and enthusiastic and helpful

while I researched this book. I’ll be back!

AVA BECKETT sighed with pleasure as she slid into the warm water, lazily breast-stroking to the edge of the infinity pool where she propped on her forearms, staring out at the lights of Melbourne glittering twenty-seven floors below.

She’d stayed at luxurious hotels around the world but there was something decadently edgy and funky about Melbourne’s newest, the Crown Metropol.

Sighing at the self-indulgence of having the pool all to herself, she let go of the side and floated on her back, eyes closed.

How often had she done this? Done absolutely nothing? Try never. Being the prime minister’s daughter had been bad enough, being a diplomat’s wife harder. Every minute of every day scheduled to a second: what she wore, what she did, what she ate and when. Stifling. Suffocating. Strangling.

Opening her eyes, she focused on the water’s reflection shimmering across the roof, happy to do nothing but float. That or pinch herself to see if all this was real, for she still had a hard time believing she was free.

Finally.

Her relationship with Leon had lasted ten years, their lacklustre marriage two, yet the public fallout from their divorce over the last month had been what shattered her most. Every scandalous, invented word plastered across newspapers and magazines making her life hell.

So she’d escaped. Ditched Canberra for Melbourne, abbreviated her surname to Beck and checked into a new hotel in blessed anonymity.

She needed this break to recover from having her name vilified by muck-raking journalists hell-bent on selling copy rather than the truth, needed some private time to savour her freedom without looking over her shoulder for fear of a long-range lens intruding on a moment that could be misconstrued.

She’d been photographed swimming, grocery shopping and heading into a zumba class, three perfectly innocuous, everyday pastimes not allowed by recently divorced women apparently. They’d cast her as frivolous, callous, cold-blooded; and that had been the nice reporters.

She knew why they’d latched onto her after the divorce while leaving Leon unscathed, but it didn’t make it any easier. Shying away from answering questions, preferring to maintain a poised front and take a back seat to her famous father and extroverted husband over the years had been misconstrued as aloofness and arrogance whereas Leon’s easy smiles and garrulousness made him the media’s darling.

She’d been hounded and chased and bruised by the smear campaign over her divorce and she was done.

Time to take control of her life and moving to Melbourne ensured that; if she stayed under the radar.

A soft splash nearby created a gentle wave but the slight disturbance tossing her off kilter didn’t bother her. In fact, a tidal wave probably wouldn’t shake this surreal feeling of liberating independence.

Bumping against the side of the pool, she rolled over to swim a few laps and promptly crashed into someone, their heads colliding in a sickening clash.

Seeing stars, she submerged, grateful for a strong pair of hands around her waist hauling her upwards.

‘You okay?’

Mortified as she coughed and spluttered before finding her voice, she nodded, swiping hair out of her eyes.

‘Yeah, fine,’ she croaked at the same instant she caught sight of her rescuer—and promptly choked again.

Maybe she’d bumped her head too hard for she could’ve sworn her rescuer, the guy still holding her, was George Clooney.

‘Must have a hard head,’ he said, his lips curving into a devastating smile that had her chest constricting, making her breathless as she wondered whether she’d swallowed water.

That had to be the reason behind her breathlessness.

Flustered, she pointed to his head. ‘Could say the same about yours.’

‘Touché.’

His smile faded as concern darkened his brown eyes to ebony.

‘Are you really okay? I could ring for an ice pack? Or walk you back to your room?’

Incredulous, Ava shook her head, instantly regretting it as a sharp pain jabbed her skull where she’d connected with his.

‘Tell me this wasn’t some lame pickup.’

Confusion creased his brow and she breathed a sigh of relief before he laughed, a deep, full chuckle that rippled over her skin like warm treacle.