Master of her Virtue

Master of her Virtue
Miranda Lee

‘By the end of this year I will not be a virgin any more.’Shy, cautious Violet has always kept herself hidden away from the world. Now she’s had enough of life in the shadows. Her resolutions?1. To accept every party invitation going2. To find a man who will steer her away from purity…Enter Leo Wolfe, internationally renowned film director, who is power, wealth and attraction personified. If there was ever a man to lead Violet from the path of virtue it’s him… But is Violet ready for where he wants to take her?‘Miranda writes such an interesting story – she’s definitely well worth a read!’ – Virginia, 50, Suffolk

‘I’ve been wanting to do that all night. But not to worry, Violet. I don’t seduce sweet young things like you.

‘But perhaps it’s as well I’m flying back to England in the near future, because you are one hell of a wicked temptation. I dare say I might see you again some day. But not too soon, hopefully. I think of myself as a decent man, but I’m no saint.’

He whirled away from her and strode off down the corridor without a backward glance, leaving her staring after him in a state of shock. Just a kiss—her first kiss—and she would have said yes to anything he wanted.

Violet trembled at the thought.

About the Author

MIRANDA LEE is Australian, and lives near Sydney. Born and raised in the bush, she was boarding-school-educated, and briefly pursued a career in classical music before moving to Sydney and embracing the world of computers. Happily married, with three daughters, she began writing when family commitments kept her at home. She likes to create stories that are believable, modern, fast-paced and sexy. Her interests include meaty sagas, doing word puzzles, gambling and going to the movies.

Recent titles by the same author:

CONTRACT WITH CONSEQUENCES

THE MAN EVERY WOMAN WANTS

NOT A MARRYING MAN

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Master of her Virtue

Miranda Lee

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

CHAPTER ONE

‘ALL PACKED AND ready to go, Violet?’ her father called out to her from the kitchen.

‘Coming,’ she called back, relieved that Christmas was over for another year and she could escape back to her life in Sydney.

She’d once loved Christmas, Violet thought as she gave her bedroom one last glance. As she’d once loved this room. But that was when she’d been twelve, a whole year before puberty had struck and her carefree little girl’s world had changed for ever.

Soon after that her room had become her prison. Admittedly, a pretty prison, with pink walls, pink bedspread and pink curtains, not to mention her own television and DVD player. But a prison all the same.

‘Time to go, Violet,’ her father said, this time from her open bedroom door. ‘You don’t want to miss your plane.’

Lord, no, she thought, suppressing a shudder as she slung her carry-all over her shoulder then grabbed the handle of her small suitcase. Four days at home was more than enough. It wasn’t just the memories it evoked but the endless questioning from her well-meaning family—usually around the dinner table on Christmas day after her sister’s children had abandoned the grown-ups for a swim in the pool. How was her job going? Her writing? Her love life?

Oh yes, it always came back to her love life. Or lack of it.

When she’d said—as she’d said every year—that she wasn’t dating anyone special right now, Gavin, her wonderfully tactful brother, had asked her if she was a lesbian. Fortunately, he’d been howled down by the others, especially her brother-in-law, Steve, who was married to her sister, Vanessa, and was the nicest man. Everyone had laughed when he’d said if Violet was a lesbian then he was gay. Most unlikely, given he was a big, brawny tiler with a wife, two children and a Harley Davidson.

The subject had been dropped after that, thank heavens. But the following day, when she and Vanessa had been alone in the kitchen clearing up after their traditional Boxing Day barbeque, her sister had given her a long sidewards glance and said quietly, ‘I know you’re not gay, Vi. But you’re not still a virgin, are you?’

Violet had lied, of course, claiming she’d lost her virginity when she’d been at uni. Vanessa hadn’t looked entirely convinced but she’d let the matter drop, for which Violet was grateful.

They’d never been all that close; had never confided in each other as some sisters did. Vanessa was eight years older and had never been on the same wavelength as Violet.

Still, it seemed incredible that anyone in her family would ever think that she would find relationships with the opposite sex easy. Years of suffering from severe cystic acne had blighted her teenage years, turning her once-happy, outgoing personality into a shy, introverted one. Going to high school had been sheer torture. It wasn’t just her brother who’d called her ‘pizza face’. She’d been teased and bullied to such an extent that she’d come home crying most days.

Her distressed mother had bought every product known to mankind to fix the problem but nothing had worked, often making her skin worse. The one thing her mother hadn’t done was take her to a doctor, her father having insisted that she’d grow out of it. But she hadn’t, not till a wonderfully wise counsellor at school had taken Violet to her own doctor a few months before her graduation.

The lady GP had been very sympathetic and knowledgeable, prescribing an antibiotic lotion, as well as putting Violet on a particular brand of the contraceptive pill which was famous for correcting the hormone imbalance causing her acne in the first place. The ugly red pimples had gradually gone away, but unfortunately by then comfort-eating and constant picking had left Violet with two equally depressing problems: scars and obesity.

No, no; that wasn’t true. She hadn’t been obese. But she’d definitely been overweight.

Okay, so she’d finally fixed both those problems with a healthy diet, regular work-outs and endless sessions with a miracle laser which had cost her every cent of a ten-thousand-dollar inheritance she’d fortuitously received from a great aunt who’d died around that time. But the emotional scars left behind by years of low self-esteem at a crucial time in her life could not be so easily fixed. She still lacked confidence in her appearance; still found it hard to believe that men found her attractive. The mirror told her one thing, but her mind told her another. She had been asked out this past year a couple of times, but she’d always said no.

In her defence, neither of the two men who’d invited her out had possessed any of the qualities which she secretly desired in a man: they hadn’t been wickedly handsome, sinfully sexy or even remotely charming. One caught the same bus as she did every day and was as dull as ditch-water. The other worked in the supermarket where she shopped. Despite not being totally unattractive, he was not the kind of chap who was ever likely to make manager of the store.

Neither man had been anything like the irresistible heroes who strutted their arrogant selves through the pages of the romance novels she’d once devoured during the long, lonely hours she’d spent in her pink prison.

Her gaze flicked to the book case which still contained a large number of those romances, all of them historical, favourites that she couldn’t bear to part with. She hadn’t read any of them for ages, however, her reading habits having changed over the years.

At uni she’d been obliged to read Shakespeare and the classics as well as lots of modern literary works—she’d majored in English literature—leaving little time for reading romances. Any spare reading time she had had been spent reading the unpublished novels emailed to her by Henry, a literary agent whom she’d worked for as a paid reader. Most of those books had been thrillers.

Now that she was Henry’s full-time assistant, Violet was also obliged to read a lot of the best sellers published around the world so that she was always up-to-date with the current market. And, whilst some of these books did have romantic elements, none were anything like the raunchy historical romances she’d once been addicted to.

Suddenly, she had the urge to see if they still held the same fascination for her that they once had; if they could still make her heart race. Dropping the handle of her case, she crossed the room to the book case where she began searching for one particular favourite, about a pirate who’d kidnapped an English noble woman then fallen in love with her, and vice versa. It was all total fantasy, of course. But Violet had loved it.

‘Violet, for Pete’s sake, come on,’ her father said impatiently when she bent down to check the bottom shelf.

‘Won’t be a sec,’ she replied, her gaze quickly scanning the row of books.

And there it was, dog-eared and with the pages yellowing, but the cover still as shocking as ever, with the heroine’s clothes in disarray and the handsome pirate hero looming over her with lecherous intent. Wicked devil, she thought, but with a jolt of remembered pleasure.

‘Just wanted something to read on the plane,’ she said as she quickly shoved the book into her carry-all.

Saying goodbye to her mother was the only difficult part in leaving. Her mother always cried.

‘Don’t wait till next Christmas to come home, love,’ her mother said, sniffling into a wadful of tissues.

‘All right, Mum,’ Violet said, biting her own bottom lip.

‘Promise me you’ll come home for Easter.’

Violet searched her mind for any excuse. But couldn’t find one.

‘I’ll try, Mum. I promise.’

Her father didn’t talk during the drive to the airport. He wasn’t much of a talker. A plumber by trade, he was a good but simple man who loved his wife and his family, though it was clear to both Vanessa and Violet that Gavin was the apple of his eye. Admittedly, they were like two peas in a pod, with Gavin having become a plumber as well. Vanessa was closest to her mother, both in looks and personality, whilst Violet … Well, Violet had always been the odd one out in the family in every way.