Worth The Risk. Zara Cox
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“I like to win at all costs…”
But wanting her could cost him everything.
With a multibillion-dollar deal on the line, billionaire playboy Gideon Mortimer can’t afford another tabloid scandal. He’s committed to a chastity contract, but being on the same yacht as Leonie Branson—temptation personified—is pure, unadulterated torture. Relinquishing control of their thrilling sexual chemistry to tenacious Leonie feels tantalizingly worth the risk—to his reputation and his well-protected heart.
“DARE is Harlequin’s hottest line yet. Every book should come with a free fan. I dare you to try them!”
—Tiffany Reisz, international bestselling author
ZARA COX writes contemporary and erotic romance. She lives in the Garden of England—aka Kent—with her hubby and two kids. She loves to read and travel. In 2017 she managed to visit her number one bucket list destination—Hawaii—and is now actively pleading with her husband to live there! She loves to hear from her readers and you can get in touch with her via Twitter (@zcoxbooks), on Instagram (zaracoxwriter) or Facebook (zaracoxwriter).
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Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.
Worth the Risk
Zara Cox
ISBN: 978-1-474-07144-4
WORTH THE RISK
© 2018 Zara Cox
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Gideon
GREAT-AUNT FLO WAS pacing my office.
Seventy-five-year-olds, regardless of how sprightly they still were, had no business pacing three months after double hip-replacement operations.
Normally I welcomed her out-of-the-blue visits, because out of all my blood relatives, she was the only one I could tolerate for more than five minutes. Which was great, because I adored every wrinkled inch of her.
Normally that adoration was returned.
Today, however, every look she speared at me from her light blue eyes sparked an unsettling amount of disappointment.
My nape tightened.
I ran through the list of possible unsavoury things I’d done since I last saw her—bloody hell, there were a lot—and tuned back in just as she gave a melodramatic sigh.
‘The last straw was when they called you a reckless playboy.’
I