The Tycoon's Trophy Mistress

The Tycoon's Trophy Mistress
Lee Wilkinson

Charlotte Michaels has a good reason for wanting revenge and, if she dares, there's one way she can get it–by acting up close and personal with her boss. But Charlotte doesn't realize that she's getting into something way over her head because he already has an agenda of his own….Daniel Wolfe is not a man to be messed with. He desires Charlotte–and wants to know what it is that she's hiding from him. So he decides that a little pillow talk is to be the order of business. Soon Charlotte finds herself being offered an unexpected career move that requires her to work late–as her boss's mistress!

“In the meantime, I thought you could stay at my place.”

“Stay at your place?” Charlotte echoed, knowing she should be pleased, but was momentarily horrified, and sounded it.

“Rather than book you into a hotel, I thought you could stay. Unless, of course, you have any serious objections to living under my roof for a short time?”

“W-well…no.”

“I thought the press might have managed to convince you that no woman is safe when I’m around.”

She didn't need convincing, Charlotte thought bitterly—she already knew that he was a ruthless womanizer.

LEE WILKINSON lives with her husband in a three-hundred-year-old stone cottage in a Derbyshire village in England, which most winters gets cut off by snow. They both enjoy traveling and recently, joining forces with their daughter and son-in-law, spent a year going ’round the world “on a shoestring,” while their son looked after Kelly, their much loved German shepherd. Her hobbies are reading and gardening, and holding impromptu barbecues for her long-suffering family and friends.

The Tycoon’s Trophy Mistress

Lee Wilkinson

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

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

IN THE London headquarters of Wolfe International the man with the cool grey eyes paced the luxurious private office kept solely for his use, restless as a tiger in a cage.

What would he do if she didn’t show, if she’d changed her mind?

Above the muted but ever-present background roar of Piccadilly’s traffic he heard the high-pitched whine of the lift.

A moment later, pausing by the long narrow horizontal window between the two offices, he saw the door of the outer office open.

Screened by the cream vertical-slatted blind, he watched her walk into the empty outer office and stand by Telford’s large, imposing desk.

A natural redhead, he judged—long-legged, slender and graceful, with an oval face, a straight nose, high cheekbones, a determined chin and a mouth like a young Sophia Loren’s.

Her hair was taken up into a smooth coil which served to emphasize her pure bone-structure, and from his vantage point he could see that her eyes slanted up a little at the outer corners. Disappointingly, he couldn’t make out their colour.

She was so exactly like his dream of a perfect woman that she could have been built to his specification.

Though this woman was far from being a plastic, mass-produced, empty-headed doll type.

A special something—the alignment of her features maybe—made hers a fascinating face rather than merely beautiful. And, judging by the job she did and what he had already found out about her, she had brains and character.

Assets most of the others had lacked.

But until now, avoiding any risk of involvement or emotional blood-letting, he hadn’t been looking for brains or character, merely a beautiful companion to decorate his arm at public functions and a beautiful body to take to bed at night. In short, his physical needs satisfied while his emotions remained placid, undisturbed.

This time, however, his emotions were anything but placid and undisturbed. He had wanted her fiercely, passionately, since the first moment he had set eyes on her some three months previously.

Then he had caught sight of her briefly just as he was about to leave for the airport and, knocked for six, had asked his Managing Director who she was.

‘That’s Tim Hunt’s sister.’

The answer had shaken Daniel Wolfe badly and it was a moment before he said evenly, ‘I wasn’t aware he had a sister.’

‘So far as I know it isn’t common knowledge.’

‘Personnel had no other Hunt listed.’

‘Her name’s Charlotte Michaels,’ Telford told him as the two men took the lift down.

With a sudden stab of alarm Daniel demanded, ‘Is she married?’ He had always avoided married women like the plague.

‘No, she’s single.’

‘Then why the different surnames?’

‘I suppose, to be exact, I should have said she’s Tim Hunt’s stepsister.’

Daniel let his breath out slowly. ‘That would certainly have made things clearer.’ Then, thoughtfully, ‘Have you any idea if she was close to her stepbrother?’

‘I gather they were extremely close.’

‘She wasn’t at the funeral.’