All about the author… Abby Green

Abby Green worked for twelve years in the film industry. The glamour of four a.m. starts, dealing with precious egos, mucky fields, driving rain…all became too much. After stumbling across a guide to writing romance, she took it as a sign and saw her way out, capitalising on her long-time love for romance books. Now she is very happy to sit in her nice warm house while others are out in the rain and muck! She lives and works in Dublin.

ABBY GREEN deferred doing a social anthropology degree to work freelance as an assistant director in the film and TV industry—which is a social study in itself! Since then it’s been early starts, long hours, mucky fields, ugly car parks and wet-weather gear—especially working in Ireland. She has no bona fide qualifications, but could probably help negotiate a peace agreement between two warring countries after years of dealing with recalcitrant actors.

She discovered a guide to writing romance one day, and decided to capitalize on her longtime love for Mills & Boon romances and attempt to follow in the footsteps of such authors as Kate Walker and Penny Jordan.

She’s enjoying the excuse to be paid to sit inside, away from the elements. She lives in Dublin and hopes that you will enjoy her stories.

You can e-mail her at abbygreen3@yahoo.co.uk.

Dear Reader

I was thrilled to be asked to write one in a series of books centring around the exciting world of International Rugby. My home, Ireland, is bursting with Rugby pride and prowess. The backdrop of Six Nations fever certainly helped me to envisage the single-minded pursuit of an arrogant French hero intent on the seduction of my vulnerable, yet strong Irish heroine!

The game, to me, represents earthy competition and raw sport at its most base and primal level—heady stuff, and very evocative of passion and attraction.

Recently the matches have been played out in the impressive Dublin ground of Croke Park, and that’s where I’ve set the opening of my story. As of 2010, though, the game will return to its home ground of Lansdowne Road, which is currently being refurbished to international standards.

When it came to research—well, let’s just say that it was no hardship to sit and watch the Six Nations in preparation. I have to confess while watching France v Italy my focus on the rules of the game did wander a little from time to time.

I hope that you enjoy reading Alana and Pascal’s story as much as I enjoyed the process of writing it…

Happy reading!

Abby

The Brazilian’s Blackmail Bargain
The Kouros Marriage Revenge
Bought for the Frenchman’s Pleasure
The Mediterranean Billionaire’s Blackmail Bargain
The Spaniard’s Marriage Bargain
The French Tycoon’s Pregnant Mistress
Abby Green

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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CONTENTS

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Dear Reader

The Brazilian’s Blackmail Bargain

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

The Kouros Marriage Revenge

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

Bought for the Frenchman’s Pleasure

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The Mediterranean Billionaire’s Blackmail Bargain

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The Spaniard’s Marriage Bargain

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

The French Tycoon’s Pregnant Mistress

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

Copyright

The Brazilian’s Blackmail Bargain

For Susie Q and again Lynn

my patron saints.

PROLOGUE

London, November

MAGGIE HOLLAND stood just on the other side of the revolving door, the late November darkness throwing the glittering lights of the exclusive London hotel into sharp relief. Her heart was in her mouth, legs shaking, hands clammy and a trickle of sweat ran down her back. Her head ached where pins held the thick mass of curls on top of her head and, with a visibly trembling hand, she pulled the too short mac more tightly around her body. The cold wind whistled around her exposed legs but couldn’t shock her out of the stupor that seemed to have taken control of her body.

A couple clambered out of a cab on the street just behind her and, in a flurry of doormen, luggage and broken German on the cuttingly cold breeze, she knew she had to move into the lobby just behind the glass or move aside and let them pass.

The stupor passed; reality rushed in. Taking a deep breath, she didn’t move aside, much as she wanted to, but pushed the revolving door and stepped into the warm foyer.

She saw him as soon as she walked in. Impossible to miss him; he would draw the eye of anyone with a pulse.

He was standing facing away from her, talking to someone, so hadn’t noted her arrival and she was glad of the respite. A chance, however flimsy, to gather herself and her exposed nerves. And a chance to observe him for a moment.

He stood with hands in his pockets, making the material of his tailored trousers run taut over his behind, drawing attention to a powerful physique that was more like that of an athlete in his prime than a corporate tycoon worth millions…some even said billions. A tycoon who had a fearsome reputation as one of the most innovative and powerful in Europe.

Caleb Cameron hadn’t existed in her world until two weeks ago, when she’d met him at her stepfather’s house for the first time. Never an enthusiastic visitor unless requested by her mother, that had been one of those times when Maggie’s mother had begged her for some support. He had been one of a few assorted businessmen who in the last two weeks had conducted intense meetings with her stepfather. And having been there nearly every day to help her mother hostess, Maggie’s every waking and sleeping thought had quickly become filled with this dynamic man, and still the disbelief that he could possibly be interested in her. Proof of which was this date tonight.

Her mouth compressed. A date which had been hijacked for other ends.

Maggie swallowed with difficulty. She couldn’t escape what she had to do. She knew that with an awful fatality. But…surely he would see through her in a second? She almost hoped he would. He had a rapier-sharp intellect. And yet she was somehow expected to…no, had been ordered to be the one to…Her mind shut down; she felt sick again and shut her eyes briefly.

All she wanted to do was turn around and walk back out of the door. But she couldn’t. If she didn’t go through with this, the consequences didn’t bear thinking about and affected the one person dearest to her. She had no choice.

‘Maggie.’

Her eyes snapped open. How had she not heard him approach? An impression struck her of a large, lethal, graceful jungle cat. She strove for calm, straightening her spine.

‘Caleb, I’m sorry. I hope you weren’t waiting for too long.’

He skimmed a look up and down, leaving her a little breathless, a broad shoulder lifted negligently. ‘A few minutes is a pleasant surprise. I’ve been kept waiting for longer.’

Somehow Maggie knew that was a lie. No woman would keep this man waiting. His penetrating blue gaze held hers captive. She couldn’t look away and that familiar boneless feeling permeated her, making her blood slow and throb through her veins. This was the effect he had had on her ever since she’d laid eyes on him. When she’d been innocent of the part she was being primed to play in her stepfather’s Machiavellian plans. When she’d been aware of nothing more than Caleb…as a man…not someone who had to be betrayed, ruined…plundered for his wealth.

And now…seduced.

Looking up at him, her mind was scrambled. For a second she could almost fool herself into thinking that what was outside didn’t exist. Maybe this really could just be the simple date he’d asked her on…with no agenda. That thought made her breathless with a dangerous excitement. She wasn’t aware of the slight ironic smile that touched her lips at her wishful thinking. After tonight she’d never see him again and that made her insides feel hollow.

An icy gleam lit Caleb’s eyes for a split second, but then it was gone, replaced with benign politeness. ‘Shall we? The dinner table is ready…’

Maggie’s heart plummeted. This was it…no turning back. ‘Fine.’

On wooden legs she preceded him through the foyer to the doors at the other end. She felt as though she was walking to the guillotine. And then, to compound it, the heavy room key in her pocket brushed against her leg. Nausea clawed her stomach again. The key to the room upstairs that had been booked by her stepfather. The scene where the seduction was to take place. He even had his man there somewhere, in the shadows, watching, monitoring proceedings…to make sure one or the other didn’t leave too soon. Before the damage could be done.

Dear God. How could she do this?

At the door to the dining room she felt Caleb’s fingers on her shoulders. She half turned, acutely aware of the bare scrap of lace she was wearing. The excuse for a dress that he had bought for her to wear. She wanted to halt the inevitable slide of the coat from her shoulders even as the maître d’ came forward to take it. Panic rose. She couldn’t do this…she couldn’t look. Couldn’t bear to see the reaction on Caleb’s face when he saw her outfit.

She was wearing a slip. That was all. He’d seen more clothes on a lap dancer. It didn’t suit her pale colouring. The rich red hair was pinned up, making his fingers itch to take it down. A curious burning disappointment licked through his veins as he realised that, even in the cheapest outfit, she still had the power to ignite forceful desire in his body. The tingling awareness of which was making itself very apparent. And something else licked through him too. Self-derision. For a brief moment, before he had found out who she was, or what was going on, he had thought…He tried to stop his thoughts going in that direction. But his mind refused to obey.

When he had first met her, something deep and hidden and unknown had been touched. He had been shaken out of his usual cynical inertia. She had looked at him that first time with such sweet shyness and had then smiled. That smile had captured self-deprecation at her response, the current of sexual awareness running between them and something so intangible…but so innocently feminine, that he’d felt a lurch of surprise. He was used to women smiling at him, but usually with such blatant calculation that his blood ran cold.

His mouth thinned as he followed her through the dining room; he was aware of the openly admiring glances she was getting, the sexy sway of her hips, and his eyes, like theirs, were drawn to the scrap of lace and silk that was barely decent. To see her tonight, with her intentions so disappointingly obvious, he wondered again how he could ever have thought he’d been surprised…or that she wasn’t exactly the same as every other woman.

He knew with confident arrogance that she wanted him. She had felt the same immediate impact on first sight—he knew that. But she probably turned it on for everyone, no distinction being made.

She was nothing more than a mediocre actress, but yet…and he hated the admission, she’d almost fooled him, got under his guard. He’d never had a lapse in his attention before now, keeping corporations going in every major city from Tokyo to London. He knew the minutiae of every single one of them, his control legendary and fear-inducing among his competition. A skill that would not let her or her family undermine that control, even now, when they thought they had him. The fools.

He focused on the facts.

She was here to take him to bed, to seduce him and distract him. To act as the honey trap. One of the oldest tricks in the book. If he wasn’t mistaken, he was sure he’d seen the distinctive shape of a key in her pocket as he’d taken her coat. Was it a key to a hotel room there? The disgust rose like bile.

But two could play at that game; he was here to seduce her too. A little luxury he was affording himself, the spoils of war. Because this was war. Since he’d felt that punch to his gut on first sight, had then discovered what their little game was, the way she’d so blatantly been put on display for him…he’d been determined to sample what was on offer.

They reached the table.

Maggie walked to the other side and faced him with a look of almost, for a fleeting moment…unbelievable trepidation on her face. He mentally shook his head. Hell, she was good. He’d never seen anything like the level of her guile. He reasserted his cool mental clarity, ignored the ache in his loins. The slow burning fire that would be sated.

She would soon know just how dismally their machinations had failed. Then he would take his revenge on her family. And then he would be free of this all-consuming desire that held him in its grip.

By the end of the night she would never…ever forget him or want to cross his path again.

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