Nicola Marsh - Deserted Island, Dreamy Ex

‘Sterling characters … and crackling sexual tension make for a great read.’

—RT Book Reviews on A Trip with the Tycoon

‘A sizzling tale of lust developing into love …’

—RT Book Reviews on Princess Australia

‘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?

‘Marsh does an admirable job of challenging her characters to confront their innermost fears and find love in the process.”

—RT Book Reviews on Overtime in the Boss’s Bed

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.

Deserted Island, Dreamy Ex

Nicola Marsh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

Three Times a Bridesmaid…

A Trip with the Tycoon

The Billionaire’s Baby

Wild Nights with her Wicked Boss

Marriage: For Business or Pleasure?

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

This one’s for all my newfound friends on Twitter. Tweeting with you is a blast!

Stranded Survival Tip #1

Your past is only a line call away.

KRISTI WILDEpicked up the single blush-pink rose, twirled it under her nose, closed her eyes and inhaled the subtle fragrance.

She should call Lars and thank him but … Her eyes snapped open, landed on the trite card he’d probably sent to countless other women, and she promptly tossed the store-bought, cellophane-wrapped rose in the bin.

The only reason she’d agreed to a date with Sydney’s top male model was to gain a firsthand look at a rival promotions company’s much touted coup in landing the Annabel Modelling Agency as a client.

The fact Lars was six four, ripped, tanned and gorgeous had merely been added incentive.

Walking into Guillaume hand in hand with a guy like Lars had been an ego trip. But that was about as exciting as things got for the night.

Lars had the looks but his personality could put a bunch of hyperactive kids to sleep. While she’d scoped out the opposition, feasted on fabulous French food and swilled pricey champagne, Lars had droned on about himself … and on … and on.

She’d faked interest, been the epitome of a dewy-eyed, suitably impressed bimbo hanging on his every word. She’d do anything for a promotion these days. Excluding the horizontal catwalk, which was exactly what Lars had had in mind the moment they’d stepped into the elevator at the end of the night.

The rose might be an apology. Then again, considering his smug assuredness she’d succumb to his charms next time, he was probably hedging his bets.

Wrinkling her nose, she nudged the bin away with her Christian Louboutin fuchsia patent peep-toes and darted a glance at her online calendar.

Great, just enough time to grab a soy chai latte before heading to the Sydney Cricket Ground for a football promotion.

She grabbed her bag, opened the door, in time for her boss to sweep into the room on four-inch Choos, a swathe of crushed ebony velvet bellowing around her like a witch’s cloak, a cloud of Chanel No 5 in her wake.

‘Hey, Ros, I was just on my way out—’

‘You’re not going anywhere.’

Rosanna waved a wad of paper under her nose and pointed at her desk.

‘Sit. Listen.’

Kristi rolled her eyes. ‘The bossy routine doesn’t impress me so much any more after watching you dance the tango with that half-naked waiter at the Christmas party last year. And after that romp through the chocolate fountain at the PR awards night. And that incident with the stripper at Shay’s hen night—’

‘Zip it.’

Despite her being a driven professional businesswoman, Rosanna’s pride in her wild side endeared her to co-workers. Kristi couldn’t imagine speaking to any other boss the way she did to Ros.

‘Take a look at this.’

Rosanna’s kohled eyes sparkled with mischief as she handed her the sheaf of documents, clapping her hands once she’d delivered her bundle.

Kristi hadn’t seen her boss this excited since Endorse This had snatched a huge client out from under a competitor’s nose.

‘You’re going to thank me.’

Rosanna started pacing, shaking her hands out, muttering under her breath in the exact way she did while brainstorming with her PR team.

Curious as to what had her boss this hyped, Kristi scanned the top document, her confusion increasing rather than di min ish ing.

‘What’s this reality show documentary about?’

It sounded interesting, if you were crazy enough to want to be stranded on an island with a stranger for a week. ‘We doing the PR for it?’

Rosanna shook her head, magenta-streaked corkscrew curls flying.

‘No. One better.’

Flipping pages, Kristi spied an entry form.

‘You thinking of entering?’

Rosanna grinned, the evil grin of a lioness about to pounce on a defenceless gazelle.

‘Not me.’

‘Then what …?’

Realisation dawned as Rosanna’s grin widened.

‘Oh, no, you haven’t?’

Rosanna perched on the edge of her desk, studying her mulberry manicured talons at length.

‘I entered your details for the female applicant.’ She gestured to the flyer, pointed at the fine print. ‘You’ve been chosen. Just you and some hot stud on a deserted island for seven days and seven long, hot, glorious nights. Cool, huh?’

There were plenty of words to describe what her boss had done.

Cool wasn’t one of them.

Kristi dropped the entry form as if it were radioactive waste, tentatively poked it with her toe, before inhaling deep, calming breaths. Rosanna might be tolerant but there was no point getting wound up to the point she could happily strangle her boss.

‘I want you to turn Survivor for a week.’

This had to be a joke, one of Rosanna’s bizarre tests she spontaneously sprang on employees at random to test their company loyalty.

Clenching her fist so hard the documents crinkled, she placed them on the desk, desperately trying to subdue the buzzing in her head to form a coherent argument to convince her boss there wasn’t a chance she’d do this.