Miranda Lee - Mistress for a Month

Slowly she turned to face him, her expression haughty and scornful. “Pity, Rico? From you? I’m surprised. But I must refuse your gallant gesture. A bet is a bet. You demanded I be your mistress for a month, so your mistress for a month I will be. Not a day less. Not a day more.”

Her contrariness jolted him. Was this her pride still talking, or did she have some other secret agenda? Whatever the case, experience had taught Rico never to try to second-guess Renée, so he just shrugged.

“Fine by me.” Far be it from him to lessen her sentence. She’d made her bed now. Let her lie in it.

“You might think that tonight,” she replied. “You might think differently in a month’s time.”

“Is that a threat, Renée? Or a challenge?”

“It’s a promise”

Three Rich Men

Three Australian billionaires;

they can have anything and anyone…

except three beautiful women…

Meet Charles, Rico and Ali, three incredibly wealthy friends all living in Sydney. They meet every Friday night to play poker and exchange news about business and their pleasures—which include the pursuit of Sydney’s most beautiful women.

Up until now, no single woman has ever managed to pin down the elusive, exclusive and eminently eligible bachelors. But that’s all about to change…. But will these three rich men marry for love—or are they desired for their money?

Mistress for a Month—Rico’s story

#2361

Available only from Harlequin Presents ®.

Three Rich Men

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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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

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

RICO MANDRETTI jumped into his shiny red Ferrari and headed, not towards Randwick Racecourse, but straight for his parents’ place on the rural outskirts of Sydney. His plans had changed. Last night had changed them.

‘Not today,’ Rico muttered to himself as he sped out through Sydney’s sprawling western suburbs, oblivious of the second glances he received from most of the women in the cars he passed, and all of the women in the cars he was forced to idle next to when the lights turned red.

Only one woman occupied Rico’s mind these days. Only one woman did he crave to look at him as if he was a man worth looking at and not some prima-donna playboy with no substance at all.

For over five years he’d endured Renée Selinsky’s barbs over the card table every Friday night, as well as at the races on a Saturday afternoon.

Five years was a long time to tolerate such treatment. Too long.

Yet he had to confess that till last night he’d enjoyed their verbal sparring in a perverse fashion, despite the fact Renée usually got the better of him. When she’d temporarily subjected him to the cold-shoulder treatment a few months back, he’d hated it. Rico discovered during that difficult time that he’d rather have his buttons pressed than be ignored.

Still, Renée had pressed his buttons one too many times last night.

Be damned if he was going to be on the end of that woman’s caustic tongue again today at the races. Enough was enough!

The lights turned green and he floored the accelerator. The Ferrari leapt forward, tyres screeching slightly as he scorched up the road. But, given the speed limit on that section of highway, and the regular traffic lights, there was no solace for Rico’s frustration in speeding, and no escape for his thoughts.

Soon he was idling at the next set of red lights, practically grinding his teeth when his mind returned once more to his nemesis.

She’d be at the races by now, probably sitting at the bar in the members’ stand, sipping a glass of champagne and looking her usual cool and classy self, not caring a whit that he hadn’t turned up, whilst he was sitting here in his car, stewing away, already regretting his decision not to go. He loved the races. They were one of his passions in life. And one of hers, unfortunately.

That was how he’d met Renée in the first place, through their mutual love of horse racing. Just over five years ago she’d become the third partner in the syndicate he and his best friend, Charles, had formed with the help of Ward Jackman, one of Sydney’s up-and-coming young horse trainers.

Rico could still remember the first day he met the up-till-then mysterious Mrs Selinsky. The three co-owners had gathered at Randwick races to see their first horse race, a lovely chestnut filly named Flame of Gold.

Before that day, Rico had only known of his lady co-owner’s existence on paper. He’d no idea that she was also Renée, the owner of Renée’s modeling agency and the widow of Joseph Selinsky, a very wealthy banker who’d been almost forty years his second wife’s senior, and who’d passed away the previous year. He did know she was a rich widow, but he’d pictured an overweight, over-groomed madam in her sixties or seventies with more money than she could spend in the beauty salon, and a penchant for gambling.

Nothing had prepared Rico for the sleekly sophisticated, super-stylish and super-intelligent thirty-year-old which Mrs Selinsky had proved to be. And certainly nothing had prepared Rico for her instantly negative reaction to him. He was used to being fawned over by the opposite sex, not the exact opposite.

Looking back, he’d been attracted to her right from first sight, despite his having another woman on his arm that day. His fiancée, in fact. Jasmine. The bright, bubbly, beautifully blonde Jasmine. He’d thought himself in love with Jasmine, and he’d married her a month later.

It was a marriage which had been doomed from the start. God, if he’d only known then what he knew now.

But would that have changed anything? he pondered as he revved up the Ferrari’s engine in anticipation of these lights turning green. What if he’d realised Jasmine was an unfeeling fortune-hunter before their wedding? Or that his so-called love for her was the result of his being cleverly conned and constantly flattered? What if he’d broken up with his faking fiancée and pursued the enigmatic and striking Renée instead?

Renée’s reaction to him might have been very different if he’d been single and available five years ago, instead of engaged and supposedly besotted with his fiancée.

After all, he was Rico Mandretti, the producer and star of A Passion for Pasta, the most successful cooking show on television. The merry widow—as he’d soon nicknamed Renée—obviously knew the value of a dollar, given she’d already married once for money. Rico could not imagine a woman of her youth and beauty marrying a man in his sixties for love.