The Bitter Price Of Love

The Bitter Price Of Love
AMANDA BROWNING

Mistress for hire! Hunter Jamieson has been furious to discover that his cousin's intended bride was the same little gold digger who had run out on him only days before. And it seemed Reba Wyeth was up to her old tricks… . She needed money - fast. And marrying Eliot Thorson III seemed the perfect deal. He'd get a beautiful woman on his arm.Reba would get the cash. Simple. Only Hunter Jamieson stood in her way. She had made the mistake of falling for the man, only to have to say goodbye. She'd had her reasons, of course, but Hunter wasn't interested in explanations - only revenge! The wedding was off! If Reba wanted money she could have it, but on one condition - that she become his mistress!Of Trail of Love: "Amanda Browning's portrayal of one woman's difficult search for the truth packs a wallop in itself, but when paired with an obsessive love, readers get twice the fun." - Romantic Times

Table of Contents

Cover Page (#u34d36c5d-644f-585f-b2c4-9c8050db153a)

Excerpt (#u0ef9e05c-1add-5e9a-8609-8f070cfc1c0e)

About the Author (#udf9bb01c-285d-5908-a8bd-499e1dd985f9)

Title Page (#u572af50d-9b28-5544-8871-b18f275c6b85)

CHAPTER ONE (#ued5d54a0-e6c3-5d16-b833-09e28fd2d585)

CHAPTER TWO (#u9933f18a-31a7-50ec-8ca1-fc0fda0bd73a)

CHAPTER THREE (#u5eef1048-8e53-5121-8364-f8d576243a06)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

“I never expected to see you again!”

“I know that, tiger-eyes. I was shocked, too. But not so shocked that I didn’t recognize it wasn’t horror in your eyes when you looked at me, but hunger!”

Reba had hungered—for the love she felt only with him! Hunter had only seen the wanting as sexual!

“So Cousin Eliot’s the sucker you’ve got your hooks into. Does he know you’re only marrying him for his money?”

AMANDA BROWNING still lives in the house where she was born in Essex, England. The third of four children—her sister being her twin—she enjoyed the rough-and-tumble of life with two brothers as much as she did reading books. Writing came naturally as an outlet for a fertile imagination. The love of books led her to a career in libraries, and being single allowed her to take the leap into writing for a living. Success is still something of a wonder, but allows her to indulge in hobbies as varied as embroidery and bird-watching.

The Bitter Price Of Love

Amanda Browning

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_dd5f5d06-4c06-590e-b473-35ce28661fba)

IT WAS late. The party, which had been going on for hours, was slowly winding down. Finding herself temporarily alone, Reba Wyeth set down her half-empty glass and moved towards the patio door which gave access to the roof-garden of this penthouse apartment. Outside the air was cooler, free of the smoke which irritated her eyes. Down below, and as far as the eye could see, the city sparkled. New York. A faint smile curved her lips. The city was at her feet in more ways than one, so shouldn’t she feel happier? She shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms. There was too much on her mind. Too much anxiety and concern. Everything was taking so long, and time was running out.

‘So there you are!’ a slightly scolding voice declared, and she turned, smiling at the man who came to join her.

Eliot Thorson III was universally considered to be quite a catch. He was in his late twenties, tall, tanned, with golden hair and blue eyes. Not only had he inherited a well-known chain of hotels, but he had an apartment in Manhattan and three others in LA, Paris and Rome. He also owned a string of polo ponies and an enormous yacht. Despite all of this, Reba had long ago decided he was a thoroughly nice man, whose only defect was that he was generous to a fault. She fought a constant battle to stop him showering her with anything she had shown the slightest interest in.

He also, to the dismay of her soft heart, thought he was in love with her. She didn’t feel the same, and hadn’t encouraged him in any way to think she might reciprocate. She could, of course, stop seeing him, but it seemed a drastic action, because he was a good friend and she enjoyed his company. She just hoped he would come to see, as she had, that it was an infatuation which would pass in time.

‘It was so stuffy in there, I needed to get some fresh air,’ she explained, and shivered again. It might be summer, but it could still be chilly in the small hours.

‘You’ll get more than fresh air; you’ll catch cold,’ Eliot pronounced, slipping off his dinner-jacket and placing it about her shoulders. ‘There, feel better?’ he asked, and when she nodded, he pulled her against him, holding her gently.

Reba didn’t protest. She had never felt threatened or overwhelmed by Eliot. She liked him. Liked him a lot. ‘Always the perfect gentleman,’ she teased lightly.

‘I’m glad you noticed,’ Eliot observed wryly, then, after a long, companionable silence, added, ‘When are you going to marry me, Reba?’

‘Marry you?’ Reba exclaimed, taken aback. This was a totally new development, and one she, rather naively, hadn’t expected. She should have done; even though she thought it was infatuation, he didn’t.

A fact he underlined now. ‘Don’t sound so surprised. You know I love you, don’t you?’

She hated hurting people, and struggled to frame a careful reply. ‘Yes, but are you sure, Eliot? You know, men fall in love with models all the time,’ she said gently, hoping he would see reason.

Eliot shook his head. ‘This isn’t like that. I love you, Reba. I want to take care of you and make you happy. Please say you’ll marry me.’

Reba eased herself free, so that she could look into his serious face. ‘Oh, Eliot, I care for you very much, but I don’t love you,’ she pointed out unhappily.

The admission didn’t dent his confidence one bit. ‘You will, if you let yourself.’

She had to laugh, albeit nervously. ‘You’re impossible! You can’t know that!’

‘I know I’m in love with you, and we could be happy together,’ he insisted, quartering her face with adoring eyes. ‘But you’re tired, aren’t you, sweetheart, and not up to taking me seriously? Come on, get your purse. I’ll take you home.’

Reba didn’t argue, for in truth she was very nearly out on her feet, and his unexpected proposal had knocked her for six. She was glad he had let the subject drop, although she didn’t believe she had heard the last of it for a moment. They said their goodbyes, and in a matter of minutes were on their way. Reba’s apartment had a view over Central Park, which gave her a feeling of space in an otherwise teeming city. Eliot escorted her right to her door, opening it for her before returning her key. Yet tonight he made no move to kiss her goodnight, and his face was entirely serious.

‘Listen, Reba, this is no joke. I want you to think seriously about marrying me.’ His hands gripped her shoulders through his jacket as he leant forward to add weight to his words. ‘I’ve never asked anyone else to marry me. I love you, sweetheart. We could be happy together. Think about it, please.’

She could see it was no joke. He really meant it, and the very least she could do was give it serious consideration, even if she knew she would still say no. He deserved that. ‘All right, Eliot, I will think about it,’ she promised.

‘And you’ll give me your answer when you get back from your next shoot?’ he urged, not willing to let it rest having got her to this point.

She was flying off to the Caribbean tomorrow on a modelling assignment which was due to last several weeks. It would certainly give her time to think of an answer for him. ‘OK. When I get back. But, Eliot, it could be no and not yes,’ she warned, as she removed his jacket and held it out to him.

He took it, leaning closer. ‘I’m a born optimist,’ he quipped, and kissed her. ‘Goodnight, sweetheart. See you in a couple of weeks.’

He left then, and Reba watched him until he disappeared into the lift with a final wave, before entering her apartment. Locking the door, she felt…unsettled. Edgy and irritable, she made her away through to her bedroom without bothering to switch on the lights until she got there. Throwing her purse down on to the cluttered dressing-table, she removed the combs from her hair, allowing its wildness to spring free. Tossing her head, she eased the tension in her neck, and found herself studying her reflection in the glass.