Not Just a Convenient Marriage
Michelle Douglas
From rebel—to knight in shining armor…?
Losing her family fortune, it’s time for once-privileged Nell Smythe-Whittaker to make it on her own…with a little help from delicious bad boy Rick Bradford!
Rick hasn’t seen Nell since childhood, but with a family mystery to solve Rick needs Nell as much as she needs him. Yet with a past as checkered as his, can Rick ever be good enough for this beautiful heiress? It’s something he’s willing to prove….
The Wild Ones
What will it take to tame these rebels?
For my little brother, Kyle, who’s always been a rebel in his own way.
RICK BRADFORD STARED at the Victorian mansion elegantly arranged in front of him and then down at the note in his hand before crumpling the piece of paper and shoving it in his jeans pocket.
He’d checked with his friend Tash earlier. ‘You’re sure you got that right? Nell Smythe-Whittaker rang and asked if I’d drop round?’
‘For the tenth time, Rick, yes! It was the Princess all right. And no, she didn’t mention what it was about. And no, I didn’t ask her.’
For the last fortnight Tash’s brain had been addled by love. His lip curled. Not that he had anything against Mitch King and it was great to see Tash happy but, as far as he could tell, her street smarts had all but floated out of the window. Why hadn’t she asked the Princess what this was about?
Because she was viewing the world through rose-coloured glasses, that was why. His lip curled a little more. He wasn’t sure he could stand being a third wheel in her and Mitch’s hazy, happy little world for much longer. It was time to move on. Tomorrow he’d head up the coast, find work somewhere and...
And what?
He lifted a shoulder.
First he’d find out what Nell Smythe-Whittaker wanted. You won’t find that out by standing here on the footpath like some dumb schmuck.
Blowing out a breath, he settled a mantle of casual, almost insolent assurance about himself. The people from Nell’s world—probably including Nell herself—looked down on the likes of him and he had no intention of giving them, or her, the satisfaction of thinking he cared two hoots either way.
Would Nell look down that pretty autocratic nose at him? He hadn’t spoken to her since they were ten years old. He could count the number of times he’d seen her since then—and only ever in the distance—on one hand. They’d never spoken, but she’d always lifted a hand in acknowledgement. And he’d always waved back.
It had never felt real. It had always felt somehow apart from the daily humdrum. He scratched a hand across his face. Stupid! Fairy tales! He was too old for such nonsense.
You’re