The Scandal Behind the Wedding. Bella Frances
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‘We need to make a move now if we’re going to pull this off.’ He stood, swung round alongside her. Cupped her face with his hands. ‘Trust me. I won’t hurt you. I’ll take care of you.’
She almost choked. They were words that should belong in a real marriage proposal. Words that would have her melting and sobbing a grateful ‘yes’. But this was a business marriage and a business deal.
‘I’ll do it,’ she said.
He smiled. His eyes crinkled and flashed. He dipped his lips and planted a soft, warm kiss on her mouth.
‘Good.’
He kissed her again. Just for a moment. Full on her lips. And her feral cat desire for him sprang up, startling her. What did that add to the mix of this fake marriage? Trouble …
How many times have you had a goal in mind, an end point, a glittering prize that seems to be almost within reach? And then, when your fingers finally close around it, you realise it wasn’t what you wanted or, more importantly, what you needed after all.
Well, this is what happens to Dubai’s hottest bachelor—Danny Ryan. Even the planets align for Danny, because all hell is let loose when they don’t, but when a meteor hits his path in the shape of the lovely Georgia he learns that ‘It’s my way or the highway’ isn’t the only rule in town.
At the start of this book, when Georgia walks into a seven-star hotel, I wondered how on earth she would heal his tortured soul. She seems to have it all: beauty, wit, intelligence and strength. Still not enough for an inferno like Danny … But by the end of the book, when she turns out to be a composite of all the most dedicated educators I’ve ever met, I knew he was toast. Above all of her qualities it’s her selfless compassion that shines most brightly. And when you have that as much as she does the only fitting prize is Danny Ryan.
I loved these characters! I hope you do too.
With my warmest wishes
Bella
Unable to sit still without reading, BELLA FRANCES first found romantic fiction at the age of twelve, in between deadly dull knitting patterns and recipes in the pages of her grandmother’s magazines. An obsession was born! But it wasn’t until one long, hot summer, after completing her first degree in English Literature, that she fell upon the legends that are Mills & Boon® books. She has occasionally lifted her head out of them since to do a range of jobs, including barmaid, financial adviser and teacher, as well as to practise (but never perfect) the art of motherhood to two (almost grown-up) cherubs.
Her eclectic collection of wonderful friends have provided more than their fair share of inspiration for heroes, heroines and glamorous locations, and it was while waiting to board a flight home after a particularly lively holiday that the characters for her first competition success in So You Think You Can Write were born.
Bella lives a very energetic life in the UK, but tries desperately to travel for pleasure at least once a month—strictly in the interests of research!
Catch up with her on her website at www.bellafrances.co.uk
The Scandal
Behind the
Wedding
Bella Frances
To Team O
(the ‘ahead of the game’ years)
Table of Contents
Dear Reader
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
HEART THUDDING THUNDERCLAP-LOUD in her ears, Georgia Blue climbed out of her sand-strewn sedan and tossed the keys to the valet parker. In her best … okay, only vintage Alaïa dress, she looked as if she could actually afford to be a resident here. Crazy how easy it was to pull on a piece of old Lycra, stuff heat-stroked tootsies into razor-sharp slingbacks and strut your way into paradise.
She cut a path through the lobby of the seven-star Al-Jafar, the swish and sway of guests blending into a blur of colour and monochrome. Between the dots of majestic palms and bejewelled pillars the spectacular central fountain bubbled liquid wealth, and in between the couture, the businesswear and the downright casual, black abayas and white kanduras reminded her that, ruby slingbacks aside, she wasn’t in east London any more. Or even anywhere near it.
She passed by the wide, welcoming lounge and straight to the elevators. Times she had sipped iced water with Nick on those sofas flashed through her mind—gorgeous days. When there had still been a chance that old Alaïa might one day make friends with new Alaïa. When the half-carat diamond on her finger had flashed happily, sure that a band of gold would one day join it. Not like now, when her ring was the definition of solitaire. Tucked away with her pride in its little velvet box. Now the best downtime could offer was a beach club Happy Hour in between the two jobs that kept money flowing back home.
And this. This ‘party’. This will-I-won’t-I?, what-have-I-got-to-lose? singles party that her roommate Kirsty had told her about. While the rest of her buddies were all packing their overnight bags to head out of town for a girlie weekend what else was she going to do? Trail social media sites and post fake comments about the awesome time she was having?
No. It was well past time she got a grip on the gloom and took some control back. A singles party was just what she needed. So what if she was dreading it? Could it be that bad?
She poked a seen-much-better-days manicured fingernail to call the elevator. Another luxury that would have to go. Brass doors opened. Smoky mirrors reflected the net result of putting make-up on in a car, on a half-built road, in the middle of a sandstorm, with five minutes to spare. She was Cleopatra-dramatic with the eyes, and