Sandra Marton - The Princes' Brides - The Italian Prince's Pregnant Bride / The Greek Prince's Chosen Wife / The Spanish Prince's Virgin Bride

Pregnant by a regal rogue…

The Princes’ Brides

Three passionate, intense romances from a classic Mills & Boon author!

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

In July 2010 Mills & Boon bring you four classic collections, each featuring three favourite romances by our bestselling authors

THE PRINCES’ BRIDES

by Sandra Marton

The Italian Prince’s Pregnant Bride

The Greek Prince’s Chosen Wife

The Spanish Prince’s Virgin Bride

TYCOON’S CHOICE

Kept by the Tycoon by Lee Wilkinson

Taken by the Tycoon by Kathryn Ross

The Tycoon’s Proposal by Leigh Michaels

THE MILLIONAIRE’S CLUB:

JACOB, LOGAN & MARC

Black-Tie Seduction by Cindy Gerard

Less-Than-Innocent Invitation by Shirley Rogers

Strictly Confidential Attraction by Brenda Jackson

SAYING ‘YES!’ TO THE BOSS

Having Her Boss’s Baby by Susan Mallery

Business or Pleasure? by Julie Hogan

Business Affairs by Shirley Rogers

SANDRA MARTONwrote her first novel while she was still in primary school. Her doting parents told her she’d be a writer some day and Sandra believed them. In secondary school and college she wrote dark poetry nobody but her boyfriend understood – though, looking back, she suspects he was just being kind. As a wife and mother she wrote murky short stories in what little spare time she could manage, but not even her boyfriend-turned-husband could pretend to understand those. Sandra tried her hand at other things, among them teaching and serving on the Board of Education in her home town, but the dream of becoming a writer was always in her heart.

At last Sandra realised she wanted to write books about what all women hope to find: love with that one special man, love that’s rich with fire and passion, love that lasts for ever. She wrote a novel, her very first, and sold it to Mills & Boon ®Modern ™romance. Since then she’s written more than sixty books, all of them featuring sexy, gorgeous, larger-than-life heroes. A four-time RITA ®award finalist, she’s also received five Romantic Times magazine awards and has been honoured with RT’s Career Achievement Award for Series Romance. Sandra lives with her very own sexy, gorgeous, larger-than-life hero in a sun-filled house on a quiet country lane in the north-eastern United States.

Don’t miss Sandra Marton’s exciting new novel, Falco: The Dark Guardian, available in August 2010 from Mills & Boon® Modern™.

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SHE came hurrying along the sidewalk, enveloped from head to toe in black suede, stiletto-heeled boots clicking sharply, her head bent against the rain-driven wind, and barreled into Nicolo just as he stepped from the taxi.

The doorman moved forward but Nicolo had already dropped his briefcase and caught her by the shoulders.

“Easy,” he said pleasantly.

Her hood fell back as she looked up at him. Nicolo, always appreciative of beauty, smiled.

She was beautiful, with elegant bones, a mouth that looked soft and inviting, and eyes the deep blue of spring violets, all that framed by a mass of honey-colored loose curls.

If someone had to run you down, this was surely the woman an intelligent man would choose.

“Are you all right?”

She pulled out of his grasp. “I’m fine.”

“My fault entirely,” he said graciously. “I should have watched where I was—”

“Yes,” the woman said, “you should have.”

He blinked. She was looking at him with total disdain. His smile faded. Though he was Roman, he’d spent a good part of his life in Manhattan. He understood that civility was not an art here but it was she who’d run into him.

“I beg your pardon, signorina, but—”

“But then,” she said coldly, “I suppose people like you think you own the street.”

Nicolo lifted his hands from her shoulders with exaggerated care.

“Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but—”

“You,” she said crisply, “are my problem.”

What was this? A Mona Lisa with the temperament of a hellcat. Innate old-world gallantry warred with new-world attitude.

Attitude won.

“You know,” he said brusquely, “I apologized to you when there was no need, and you speak to me as if I were scum. You could use some manners.”

“Just because I’m a woman—”

“Is that what you are?” His smile was as cold as his words. “Let’s see about that, shall we?” Temper soaring, logic shot to hell, Nicolo pulled the blonde to her toes and kissed her.

It lasted less than a second. Just a quick brush of his mouth over hers. Then he let go of her, had the satisfaction of seeing those violet eyes widen in astonishment…

And caught the rich, sweet taste of her on his lips.

Sweet heaven. Had he gone un po ’pazzo?

He had to be. Only a crazy man would haul a mean-tempered woman into his arms on Fifth Avenue.

“You,” she said, “you—you—”

Oh, but it had been worth it. Look at her now, sputtering like a steam engine, that icy demeanor completely shattered.

She jerked free of his hands. Her arm rose. She was going to slap him; he could read it in those amazing eyes, eyes that flashed lethal bolts of lightning. He probably deserved it—but he’d be damned if he’d let her do it.

He bent his head toward hers. “Hit me,” he said softly, “and I promise, I’ll make your world come crashing down around your ears.”

Her lips formed a phrase he would not have imagined women knew. Not the women in his world, at any rate, but then none of them would have accused a man of something clearly their fault.

Why be modest? The truth was, not a woman he’d ever met would have blamed him even if he were at fault.

The hellcat glared at him. He returned the look. Then she swept past him, honey-blond mane glittering with raindrops, black suede coat billowing after her like a sail.

He watched her go until she was lost in the umbrella-shrouded crowd hurrying through the chilly March rain.

Then he took a deep breath and turned his back to her.

His eyes met the doorman’s. Nothing. Not the slightest acknowledgment that anything the least bit unusual had happened but then, this was New York. New Yorkers had long ago learned it was wisest not to know anything.

And a damned good thing for him.

Kissing her had been bad enough. Challenging her to call the police…

Nicolo shuddered.

How stupid could a man be? He could have ended up with his face spread across Page Six. Not exactly the publicity one wanted before a meeting with the ninety-year-old head of an investment firm that prided itself on decorum and confidentiality.

The rain was coming down harder.

The doorman already had his suitcase. Nicolo picked up his briefcase and walked into the hotel.

His suite was on the forty-third floor, which gave him an excellent view of the park and the skyline beyond it.

When he started looking for a permanent place to live in the city, he’d want a view like this.

Nicolo tossed his raincoat on a chair. If all went well, he’d contact a Realtor after Monday’s meeting.