Praise for Trish Wylie

      ‘Another fantastic novel by Trish Wylie which you

       will devour in a single sitting! Brimming with passion,

       emotion, romance and humour, and featuring a fantastic

       heroine and a gorgeous hero … sheer perfection!’

       —CataRomance on

       O’Reilly’s Bride

      ‘With its splendid cast of amiable characters, hilarious

       one-liners, heartwarming romance and powerful

       emotional intensity … another triumph for the hugely

       talented Trish Wylie, one of the brightest stars of

       contemporary romance!’

       —CataRomance on

       Project: Parenthood

      ‘Absolutely wonderful! Trish Wylie’s spellbinding tale

       will tickle your funny bone and tug at your heartstrings.

       Featuring characters which leap off the pages,

       realistic dialogue, sweet romance, sizzling sex scenes,

       electrifying sexual tension and dramatic emotional

       intensity … feel-good romance at its finest!’

       —CataRomance on

       White-Hot

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

      About the Author

      TRISH WYLIE worked on a long career of careers to get to the one she wanted from her late teens. She flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder while playing the promotions game, patted her manicured hands on the backs of musicians in the music business, smiled sweetly at awkward customers during the retail nightmare known as the run-up to Christmas, and has got completely lost in her car in every single town in Ireland while working as a sales rep. And it took all that character-building and a healthy sense of humour to get her dream job, she feels—where she spends her days in reindeer slippers, with her hair in whatever band she can find to keep it out of the way, make-up as vague and distant a memory as manicured nails, while she gets to create the kind of dream man she’d still like to believe is out there somewhere. If it turns out he is, she promises she’ll let you know … after she’s been out for a new wardrobe, a manicure and a make-over …

       Also by Trish Wylie

      One Night with the Rebel Billionaire

       His Mistress, His Terms

       His L.A. Cinderella

       Breathless!

       Bride of the Emerald Isle

       Claimed by the Billionaire Bad Boy

       Her One and Only Valentine

       Her Real-Life Hero

       Her Unexpected Baby

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

       The Inconvenient Laws of Attraction

      Trish Wylie

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      For everyone who kept me from hitting the ground

       until I remembered how to fly again.

      CHAPTER ONE

      ‘OLIVIA BRANNIGAN. Blake Clayton?’

      Continuing to rehearse below her breath, she tugged firmly on her jacket as she walked up the path. ‘I represent Wagner, Liebstrahm, Barker and DeLuise, and …’

      It was what came after the ‘and’ she was struggling with most. Informing him of a legacy was one thing, breaking the news that came with it was another, even if the news was several weeks old. But the man would have to live in a cave to have avoided hearing about it and they couldn’t have been that close—not when it had taken so long to find him.

      The Stars And Stripes hanging from the porch fluttered gently in a welcome hint of air movement as she took a deep breath and pressed the buzzer.

      ‘I regret to have to inform you …’ She hated that line. Last time she’d made a death notification it had been more than difficult:

      It had been the final act in a series of events that altered the course of her life.

      When the door swung open, a heavy-set man holding a half-eaten hamburger looked her over from head to toe.

      ‘Mr Clayton?’

      ‘Yo, Blake!’ he yelled.

      ‘What?’ a voice yelled in answer.

      ‘Anyone suing you?’

      ‘Not this week.’

      ‘Guess you can come in then.’ The man grinned, issuing an invitation with a jerk of his head.

      Following him down the hallway, Olivia’s heels clicked in an even, businesslike rhythm while she focused on their destination and the man she would discover when she got there. In a matter of seconds he would be a living, breathing person instead of someone she’d spent entirely too much time trying to picture in her mind while she was searching for him. She wouldn’t have to imagine what he looked like or wonder how he was going to react.

      The mystery would be solved.

      Anticipation built with each step as she prepared for the disappointment of reality when compared to the uncharacteristic flights of fantasy she’d been engaged in of late. There was just something about this case that got to her, and with her track record when it came to emotional involvement in the workplace, that wasn’t good.

      The sooner she wrapped it up, the better.

      The room she walked into was in a chaotic state of construction. There were four men in it: two chewing hamburgers, one hunkered down sanding a door-frame and another by large windows covered in opaque plastic. Since the man by the windows was looking at her, she approached him and held out a hand. ‘Mr Clayton, I’m Olivia Brannigan from—’

      ‘Over here, sweetheart.’ A deep, rough-edged voice drew her gaze to the man sanding the door-frame.

      ‘You’re Blake Clayton?’ She turned around. Considering how long it had taken to find him, she had to be sure. ‘Blake Anders Clayton.’

      There was a snort of laughter behind her.

      ‘Thanks for that.’ He shook his head, dropping his chin and lifting a hand to remove the dust mask from his face as he stood up. ‘So what’d I do this time?’

      Opening her mouth to set his mind at ease, anything resembling coherent thought scrambled when he set the mask aside and looked directly at her. The room contracted; it was suddenly smaller and tighter and felt as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of it. Everything in her peripheral vision blurred as her gaze locked on him and doggedly refused to let go. But who could blame a girl for staring?

      A little heads-up on how he looked might have helped.

      Six foot two, possibly three, lean at the waist, broad at the shoulders, with short spikes of unruly chocolate-brown hair and dark eyes that sparkled with more than a hint of the guy a girl’s mother would warn her about; Blake Clayton was the living, breathing definition of seriously smokin’ hot.

      When