www.millsandboon.co.uk

      RYANNE COREY

      An author of bestselling romance novels, Ryanne Corey lives in Idaho in the shadow of the Teton Mountains, “the best place in the world to write and write and write.” She has written over twenty novels and is recognized for the true-to-life humor and sensuality of her characters. She has received several awards over the past few years, including the Romantic Times Magazine Best Novel and Lifetime Achievement Awards. She has long believed that life is too serious to be taken too seriously. In her writing she enjoys creating appealing and amusing characters that take their first breath on page one, endearing themselves to the readers long after the book is finished. “For me,” Ryanne says, “bringing a smile to someone’s face is what life is all about.”

      Nothing is more satisfying to her than hearing from readers who share her enjoyment of “love and laughter.” You can write to her at P.O. Box 328, Tetonia, ID 83452. Please include a SASE if a reply is desired.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      One

      This job was cake.

      Billy Lucas lay stretched out on the bed, a banana Popsicle in his hand and three sinfully comfortable feather pillows behind his back. The Popsicle and the pillows were perks of the job. Ask for anything you need, Harris Roper had told him.

      Being Billy, he’d taken advantage of the offer. Besides, there was a lovely Latin maid who hustled over from the kitchen whenever he ordered food. She spoke no English, but had beautiful black eyes and giggled whenever Billy winked at her. Whatever it took to draw a woman’s attention, Billy had in spades. It was a gift he had enjoyed thoroughly in his life, but never abused. He respected women deeply, but had little regard for his own ability to make a lasting commitment. Life was far too interesting to settle down in the suburbs. Even the thought made him shiver.

      His room had originally been intended for a chauffeur, or so he assumed. He had not been born into the Palm Beach set, but rather into the crime-ridden Oakland, California, set. They didn’t have apartments for the chauffeur where he grew up. They had bars on the windows and jagged broken bottles topping cinder-block fences. The fine art of staying alive had kept him on his toes, however. Never once in his thirty-three years had he felt the boredom he’d seen on the faces of these poor Palm Beach trust-fund babies.

      And he knew what he was talking about. There were five separate camera monitors mounted on the ceiling above his bed. One gave him a panoramic view of the front of the pink-tiled palace, another covered the walk-way leading to the guesthouse. One covered the west side of the guesthouse, another the east side, which included the garage. And the last camera—his personal favorite—gave him a close-up of Julie Roper’s front door.

      For nearly two weeks now, he had watched Julie’s comings and goings night and day. On the rare occasions when she went out alone, he was an invisible shadow. Once, very late at night, he’d followed her down to the beach, watching from the redwood dock as she’d skipped barefoot through the surf. She’d actually skipped, like a child who could hardly contain her own energy. He’d known then she was one lady he would never be able to predict, which made the job all the more interesting. She had pure class written all over her. Her shoulder-length hair was dark blond, artfully streaked with platinum, and whenever she walked, her shoulders were thrown back and her head held high. Billy had never seen an actual princess, but he imagined princesses would walk something like Julie Roper did. She dressed with the classy nonchalance of someone who could afford the best, but who put on the first thing in her closet and forgot about it. She was small, with fine bones and a look of fragility, which he was beginning to suspect might be deceptive. For whatever reason, she chose to live in the small guesthouse rather than the palatial main house. He was having a hard time getting a fix on her personality, which was very unusual for Billy Lucas. He was famous in his humble circles for being able to predict someone’s next move with uncanny accuracy, but little Julie Roper kept him guessing. A gazillion-dollar heiress skipping through the surf? A woman who chose to live in a cottage rather than a palace? A woman who was terribly easy on the eyes, yet had no dates beyond an occasional evening with a stocky fellow who looked like a marine sergeant? No kisses, no cuddling, just a bear hug at her door.

      And speak of the devil…

      Billy perked up, watching as she emerged from the stucco monstrosity he had dubbed the Palm Beach Hilton. Her short white-sequined dress, slim-fitting