Mercy Howard's childhood was sheltered, and her job as housekeeper to sexy Italian businessman Andreo Pascali makes her realize that she needs a makeover! A new haircut and some clothes later, Andreo discovers his housekeeper is no longer a mouse--but a fox! He wants to add mistress to Mercy's list of duties, but she's not going to settle for a no-strings affair.
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July 31, 2006
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Excerpt from The Italian Millionaire's Virgin Wife by Diana Hamilton
Knox had left his employ, taking retirement to make her home with her recently widowed sister in Kent, impatiently lifted the final sheet of paper, scanned it in a nanosecond and even more impatiently tossed it aside.
"No details," he dismissed tersely, his wide sensual mouth tightening with annoyance, lancing a look of displeasure at his current lover.
Though current was on the verge of becoming past. Trisha was becoming far too demanding and clingy definitely against his emphatically stated ground rules.
Only last evening he'd returned from the agency with the intention of wrestling with the problem of how to come up with an idea for a sensational TV commercial, one bearing the inimitable Pascali stamp of excellence and selling clout for something as deeply uninspiring as a brand of ready meals, only to find that Trisha had let herself in and was waiting for him with a wretched Chinese takeaway festering in the oven. She'd done that fluffing up thing with her hair, accompanying it with the usual pouty mouth bit once sexily amusing but now utterly boring and had told him, sounding deadly serious, "What you need, light of my life, is a wife. Then you wouldn't be facing these dreary interviews and wasting the time you say is so precious."
His scowl darkened. As a hint, it seriously raised his annoyance threshold. She knew darn well he didn't need or want a wife. He wanted an unobtrusive housekeeper and at this rate it didn't look as if he was going to get one!
"The last two girls seemed perfectly fine," he snapped. "Though, I grant you, the first applicant was a nightmare." Eighty if she was a day, even though her letter of application had given her age as fifty, dotty as they came. He'd had Trisha make her a cup of tea and had personally put her into a taxi. She'd given the address of a retirement home to the driver and waved maniacally as she'd been driven away.
"There was nothing wrong with the other two," he reiterated tightly. Vital energy, constrained for too long, had him on his feet, pacing the confines of his home office. "Good qualifications, excellent references," he reminded with a bite.
"Darling," Trisha soothed with a sycophantic smile. "Don't get cross. I offered my help and advice when you said you didn't do domestic stuff. And my advice is that both those girls wouldn't stay for longer than a few weeks. Reasonably bright, passably pretty, leave to get married in no time. You need a middle-aged home body. And there are no details because she didn't send a letter of application; she simply phoned yesterday afternoon and asked for an interview."
Had sounded bossy, too. Andreo wouldn't find bossiness in the least bit sexy. Whereas either of the previous two...