Italian Attraction: The Italian Tycoon's Bride / An Italian Engagement / One Summer in Italy...

Italian Attraction: The Italian Tycoon's Bride / An Italian Engagement / One Summer in Italy...
CATHERINE GEORGE

Lucy Gordon

HELEN BROOKS

The Italian Tycoon’s Bride Maisie Burns is a nice girl, with little experience of the world. But that doesn’t stop tycoon Blaine Morosini wanting her! Maisie doesn’t see the effect she has on the enigmatic Italian – she thinks she’s far too plain for a man like him. Blaine realises that if he’s to have Maisie, he’ll have to put his playboy past behind him and make her his wife! An Italian Engagement Max Wingate is darkly, broodingly handsome – a perfect fit for his Italian surroundings. But his romantic charm and the fact that he rescues her still isn’t enough to persuade Abigail Green to fall headlong into his arms. Max is determined to have her open up, surrender to him, and he’ll use any means at his disposal…One Summer in Italy… It was supposed to be just a holiday… But somehow Holly became enchanted by a motherless little girl and entranced by the girl’s mysterious father, Matteo. Before she knew what was happening, she had been swept away to their luxurious villa in Rome. As the long summer days began to fade, Holly discovered that the heart of the man she was coming to love hid some dark secrets.

A taste of Italy …

Italian Attraction

Three satisfying and passionate romances from three beloved Mills & Boon authors!

Italian Attraction

THE ITALIAN TYCOON'S BRIDE HELEN BROOKS

AN ITALIAN ENGAGEMENT CATHERINE GEORGE

ONE SUMMER IN ITALY… LUCY GORDON

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

THE ITALIAN

TYCOON’S BRIDE

HELEN BROOKS

About the Author

HELEN BROOKS was born and educated in Northampton, England. She met her husband at the age of sixteen and thirty-five years later the magic is still there. They have three lovely children and a menagerie of animals in the house. The children, friends and pets all keep the house buzzing and the food cupboards empty, but Helen wouldn’t have it any other way.

Helen began writing in 1990 as she approached that milestone of a birthday—forty! She realized her two teenage ambitions (writing a novel and learning to drive) had been lost amid babies and family life, so she set about resurrecting them. Her first novel was accepted after one rewrite, and she passed her driving test (the former was a joy and the latter an unmitigated nightmare).

A committed Christian and fervent animal lover, Helen finds time is always at a premium, but walks in the countryside with her husband and dogs, meals out followed by the cinema or theatre, reading, swimming and visiting with friends are all fitted in somehow. She also enjoys sitting in her wonderfully therapeutic, rambling old garden in the sun with a glass of red wine (under the guise of resting while thinking, of course!).

Since becoming a full-time writer Helen has found her occupation pure joy. She loves exploring what makes people tick and finds the old adage “truth is stranger than fiction” to be absolutely true. She would love to hear from any readers.

CHAPTER ONE

MAISIE sat staring at the navel ring of the spiky-haired girl sitting opposite her on the tube train. It was a very nice piece of jewellery but definitely flamboyant, encrusted as it was with tiny, different coloured stones. Then again its owner was flamboyant; the purple and red striped hair below which sparkled a pair of blue eyes surrounded by panda make-up was meant to catch the attention. This is me, take it or leave it. No compromise.

Maisie shifted in her seat, her eyes still locked on the little ring and the tanned flat stomach surrounding it. The girl certainly hadn’t pigged out on pizza and toffee doughnuts the night before; in fact Maisie doubted if she had ever pigged out in the whole of her life. The ultra-long legs encased in strategically torn jeans were as thin as any model’s, and the cropped vest top showed slim arms heavily weighed down with bangles and beaded bracelets. she looked gorgeously slender and brimming with the joy of life. Technically the girl was very different from the tall willowy blonde whom Jeff had just waltzed off with, but the pair were definitely sisters under the skin.

The thought of Jeff and Camellia—apparently the name meant perfection, one of Maisie’s not-so-good friends had taken covert pleasure in informing her—brought tears stinging at the backs of her eyes, and Maisie fumbled for a tissue. She couldn’t cry here, not on the tube in the middle of a Saturday morning, she told herself fiercely, turning her head and staring at her reflection in the tube window. This wasn’t a good idea. It reminded her that her wavy brown hair and brown eyes were fairly nondescript and that her face was definitely of the round variety.

Possibly because she was concentrating extremely hard on not glancing at the girl across the way again, Maisie realised in the next moment or two that she had missed her stop. Great. Now, on top of acknowledging that everyone probably thought they were sharing the carriage with a fat little munchkin, she was going to be late for her weekly coffee date with Sue and Jackie. And they would be bound to assume it was because she’d been howling over Jeff.

Poor Maisie. They might not say it out loud but that was what they would be thinking. She could read it in everyone’s eyes. Well, it was up to her to show them that she wasn’t poor Maisie, wasn’t it? That she didn’t give a damn, in fact? She bet the ringed beauty across the way wouldn’t. Not that a girl like her would have her fiancé walk out on her a few weeks before the wedding in the first place.

Determinedly keeping her eyes from straying but employing her brain into the bargain, Maisie alighted at the next stop, eventually emerging into the bright sunlight of a busy Oxford Street. The June sun was hotter than she had expected it to be, and she found herself wishing she had worn something other than her calf-length denim skirt and long-sleeved top as she battled her way through Saturday shoppers.

Why was she breaking her neck to get to a meeting she had no wish to be at?

As the thought struck, Maisie’s frantic pace slowed. She was going to arrive at the coffee bar looking like something the cat wouldn’t deign to drag in at this rate, and ten to one Sue and Jackie would be sitting there all cool and relaxed, sipping iced water or something non-calorific.

Not that the pair of them weren’t dear friends, Maisie assured herself as she continued at a more measured pace past John Lewis. They had all been inseparable from primary school, but Sue was a successful fashion buyer and Jackie a beautician with her own business, which had come on in leaps and bounds since she’d started it three years ago.

She, on the other hand, had followed her heart and not her head—or, more to the point, her prospective bank balance—in her choice of career. On leaving sixth-form at eighteen with three quite presentable A-levels in chemistry, maths and biology, she’d had to accept that the grades were not the straight As needed for the veterinary degree course she had aspired to. With only six universities in the UK having veterinary schools, and five applicants for every one of the three hundred or so places, she had been presented with the unpleasant truth that she could try for ever and not obtain the necessary qualifications.

Maisie was nearing the coffee bar now and guilt at being late speeded up her feet even as her mind meandered on.

And so, in spite of encouragement from her teachers and even stronger encouragement from her mother to apply for a degree course in biochemistry or animal physiology or even agriculture, she had opted for veterinary nursing. The money was poor, the hours long and, since there was no equivalent to the nursing service within human hospitals, there was no formal career structure and promotion prospects were limited. And she loved every minute. Or she had done until two weeks ago.

‘Whew.’ She breathed out a sigh as she dived off Oxford Street into the side street in which the coffee bar was situated, standing by some iron railings as she smoothed her hair back from her hot face, pulled down her top and wished she didn’t feel so sticky. After energetically fanning herself with a leaflet for vitamin pills she’d found in her handbag, she conceded it just made her more over-heated. She glanced at her watch. It wasn’t the expensive little silver beauty Jeff had given her for Christmas, because that was now the pride and joy of her local charity shop, along with every other gift which had come from him in the two years since she had known him; the ring she had flung back in his lying, cheating face. No, this watch was a sturdy plastic thing from a market stall. Which summed up her entire life at present really.

The rich smell of coffee was overpowering as she stepped through the open doors of the coffee bar, her glance moving swiftly over the assembled clientele. She saw Sue and Jackie in the same moment that both women raised their hands to her, but what made her pause for a second was the fact that they were not alone. A man was sitting lazily beside Jackie, one knee crossed over the other and with both arms stretched out along the back of the booth in which the three were situated. And what a man. Raven-black hair, tanned skin, chiselled features—even from six or seven metres away he was drop dead gorgeous. Not that she was really noticing such things at the present time, of course, not with her life in tatters, she assured herself as she made her way over to them.

‘You’re twenty minutes late.’

This was from Sue, who was such a stickler for punctuality she had made sure none of them ever got a detention for being late at school.

‘Sorry.’ Maisie smiled brightly. ‘Missed my tube stop.’

‘That’s fine, no problem.’

As Jackie spoke Maisie saw her flash Sue a glance which said all too clearly, Don’t have a go at her; remember what’s happened. Poor Maisie.

Maisie kept the smile in place with gritted teeth. ‘I’ll just go and grab a coffee, won’t be a tick.’

‘Please, let me. What will you have?’

Drop dead gorgeous had risen to his feet at her approach, and now Jackie said, ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I should have introduced you. Maisie, this is my uncle, Blaine Morosini. Blaine, my other best friend, Maisie.’

Uncle? But he was nowhere near old enough to be Jackie’s uncle, was he? And then, as Maisie stared into a pair of greeny-blue eyes heavily fringed by black lashes, she found her thoughts moving in a different direction. She didn’t consider herself particularly small at five-foot-six, but she was having to look up a considerable way. Blaine Morosini must be at least six-foot-three or-four, and big with it. Well, not big exactly, she amended, answering his formal, ‘How do you do?’ with a smile and a nod. There didn’t seem to be the tiniest bit of fat on the lean broad frame from what she could see. But certainly he was more muscled and honed than most men. Or perhaps it was just that he gave an overall impression which was a bit overwhelming.

She blinked, finding it surprisingly hard to break the hold the beautiful eyes had on her.

‘I know what you’re thinking, Maisie.’

Jackie was smiling as Maisie’s gaze swung to her friend’s face. Maisie almost blurted out, If you do, don’t say it out loud, before she stopped herself.

‘You’re thinking, how can Blaine possibly be my uncle when he’s only a couple of years older than us, aren’t you?’

Maisie breathed a silent sigh of relief. ‘Something like that.’

‘I’m Jackie’s half-uncle, to be strictly accurate.’