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‘I don’t want a full-time relationship, Draco, and I’m not into one-night stands.’ A bit late to remember that, Eve.
‘Believe me, one night with you would not be nearly enough for any man. Most men will say anything to get you into bed.’
‘But you’re different, I suppose?’ Eve asked.
‘As a matter of fact I am. I am exactly the sort of man you need.’
‘Is that meant to be a turn-on?’ She had no idea if this arrogant pronouncement was intended to arouse her, but it did.
‘Think about it. I can give you great sex—and it was great—with no strings, no emotional upheaval. Just satisfying sex.’
‘That sounds …’
‘Perfect?’
‘Immoral!’
Draco’s husky laughter rang out. ‘Stay with me long enough, angel, and I will corrupt you; you do have a body made for sin.’
Though lacking much authentic Welsh blood—she comes from English/Irish stock—KIM LAWRENCE was born and brought up in North Wales. She returned there when she married, and her sons were both born on Anglesey, an island off the coast. Though not isolated, Anglesey is a little off the beaten track, but lively Dublin, which Kim loves, is only a short ferry-ride away.
Today they live on the farm her husband was brought up on. Welsh is the first language of many people in this area and Kim’s husband and sons are all bilingual—she is having a lot of fun, not to mention a few headaches, trying to learn the language!
With small children, the unsocial hours of nursing didn’t look attractive—so, encouraged by a husband who thinks she can do anything she sets her mind to, Kim tried her hand at writing. Always a keen Mills & Boon® reader, it seemed natural for her to write a romance novel—now she can’t imagine doing anything else.
She is a keen gardener and cook and enjoys running—often on the beach. Living on an island the sea is never very far away. She is usually accompanied by her Jack Russell, Sprout—don’t ask … it’s a long story!
One Night With Morelli
Kim Lawrence
Massive thanks to my editor Kathryn
for being so elastic with the deadline on this one!
Contents
SHE HATED BEING late and she was—very.
Her jaw ached with tension. Obviously it served no purpose to get stressed about stuff you couldn’t control, like fog at airports, traffic jams or—no, dropping in at the office had been completely avoidable and a major mistake, but it was human nature and she couldn’t help it.
Weaving her way neatly in and out of the crowds still wearing her sensible long-haul-flight shoes, Eve flicked open her phone. She was studying the screen, her fingers flying, when a sharp tug almost pulled her off her feet.
Instinct rather than good sense made her grip tighten around the holdall slung over her shoulder. The tussle was short but the thief who grunted and swore at length at her had size on his side; although he was skinny, he was wiry and tall and he easily escaped with her bag.
‘Help… Thief!’
Dozens must have heard her anguished cry but nobody reacted until the tall hooded youth—a stereotype if there ever was one—who was shouldering his way through the crowd clutching her bag hit one pedestrian who did not move aside.
She saw the thief bounce off this immovable object and hit the pavement face down before crowds hid him and her bag from view.
She missed the thief shaking his head as he looked up, a snarl on his thin, acne-marked face aimed at the man at whose feet he lay sprawled. The snarl melted abruptly and was replaced by a flash of fear as he released the bag handle as though it were alight and, lurching to his feet, ran away.
Draco sighed. If he weren’t already very late he might have chased the culprit but he was, so instead he bent to pick up the stolen bag, which immediately opened, disgorging its contents at his feet and all over the pavement.
Draco blinked. In his thirty-three years he’d seen a lot and few things had the power to surprise him any more. In fact, only that very morning he’d asked himself if he was in a rut—the trouble with ruts was you didn’t always recognise you were in one—but standing ankle-deep in ladies’ underwear—wildly sexy lingerie,