Cate recognised sudden purpose in Tom Russell’s glinting gaze.
She gathered herself to make a dash for the exit, but too late—for in a couple of strides he was back beside her.
‘Stay put,’ he hissed in her ear, smiling though his white, even teeth were gritted. ‘I’m not finished with you yet.’ He slipped his arm around her and held her close against his hard body.
Her senses plunged into uproar, but she shrank from making a scene and submitted to the disturbing effects of feeling his long muscled thigh pressed against hers.
In a short, nerve-racking while she knew her time had come. As soon as the mourners rose to make their way out, her captor seized the opportunity, amid the confusion, to hustle her away from the goggling stares of his family members, down the aisle, past the crowded vestry, and out through the door to the visitors’ car park.
As they emerged into the sunshine a long, low, black limousine, its darkened windows blank and sinister, drew up alongside them. Visions assailed Cate of being strangled and dumped on some highway.
‘Get in,’ he said, opening the rear door. She hesitated to dive into what looked impossibly like some sultan’s cave, complete with oriental rugs, sumptuous cushioned seats and silken panelling. In the sunlight his cool grey eyes glittered inscrutably against his tan. ‘We need to talk. I have a proposition for you.’
As a child, Anna Cleary loved reading so much that during the midnight hours she was forced to read with a torch under the bedcovers, to lull the suspicions of her sleep-obsessed parents. From an early age she dreamed of writing her own books. She saw herself in a stone cottage by the sea, wearing a velvet smoking jacket and sipping sherry, like Somerset Maugham.
In real life she became a schoolteacher, and her greatest pleasure was teaching children to write beautiful stories.
A little while ago, she and one of her friends made a pact to each write the first chapter of a romance novel in their holidays. From writing her very first line Anna was hooked, and she gave up teaching to become a fulltime writer. She now lives in Queensland, with a deeply sensitive and intelligent cat. She prefers champagne to sherry, and loves music, books, four-legged people, trees, movies and restaurants.
A recent novel by this author:
MY TALL DARK GREEK BOSS
Dear Reader
2008 is a special year for celebrating romance, for it is Mills & Boon’s centenary. To honour the unique place Mills & Boon has occupied in offering fulfilment to readers for a hundred years, I want to share with you a story that encapsulates all the drama and excitement of falling in love, along with the deeper loyalties and true empathy that spring from a sincere and lasting passion.
Recently I attended the funeral of an extremely wealthy and powerful man. While his children kept their grief very private, I was still surprised at the dismissal some people who were not close to the family made of the children’s loss, as though their inheritances should in some way insulate them from bereavement.
Perhaps sometimes it’s hard for us ordinary mortals to imagine someone we see as fabulously wealthy, or a power in the nation, as having the same sensitivities and human emotions we have ourselves. So… I was inspired to dream of a man. Picture him. He’s rich, powerful, and handsomely endowed with all the gifts of the universe—including a searing intelligence and hard male beauty.
There you have Tom Russell. But underneath his stunning exterior. What might it take to penetrate the cold shell that life has formed around his heart?
Now picture a woman. A passionate woman, with a fire in her soul to right the wrongs perpetrated on the world by rich, powerful, gorgeously sexy men with no hearts!
Introducing Cate Summerfield, a vibrant, loving, flesh-and-blood woman like you and me. I hope you enjoy Cate’s story, dear reader, and fall madly in love with that gorgeously sexy millionaire just as she did!
With my very best happy birthday wishes
Anna
TAKEN BY THE MAVERICK MILLIONAIRE
BY
ANNA CLEARY
MILLS & BOON
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For Beth, the heroine of my heart.
PROLOGUE
TOM RUSSELL stood BY his father’s grave and surveyed the rolling pastures. The morning was fresh with smells of earth and grass. All the way to the boundary fence the grasss prang tall, its lush green enriched by its contrast with the flat brown stubble of the farmer’s on the other side. His private creek, fed by the mighty Hunter, was awash, little waterfalls gurgling down its pebbly path, the willows on its bank glowing with new greenery, soaking their privileged toes.
Horse country. Heartland of the Russell newspaper dynasty. And now it was his.
If he could hang onto it.
He drew the crumpled paper from his jeans pocket and smoothed it out. Though he knew them by heart, the spidery words sprang out to gut him afresh.
My son,
By now you’ll know what I’ve done. I want you to understand, boy, that I did it for you as much as for charity. Sometimes a man needs a shock to see what’s important. The big money’s gone, but you’re a true newspaperman at heart, like your old man, and you can probably save Russell Inc if you want to.
Tom, I lost a woman once myself, and I know what it is to grieve. But I also know that the best way to get over a woman is to find another one. You’ve still got your shares in the company and a little bit of property. Find yourself a nice girl who doesn’t care about money…
As always when he reached that line, Tom crushed the letter in his fist and shoved it back into his pocket. The irony of it.
Another woman.
That was always his father’s solution.
As if there could be a woman to replace Sandra. But he could rebuild his inheritance. He could use what was left to claw it all back. In the meantime, he could trade on his reputation and his finance skills to keep what was left of the corporation ticking over. Marry it off to the highest bidder, if necessary. Keep the cash flowing, pay the salaries… Pay the bequests to his stepsisters.
It could be done. It could.
If he could keep his father’s last act a secret. All he needed were weeks. Just a few more weeks…
CHAPTER ONE
MARCUS RUSSELL was dead. Tom, his brilliant, ruthless son, had taken charge of his empire. On the Friday morning of the memorial service, two weeks after the old media magnate had been buried under a Hunter Valley gum tree, cathedral bells rang out across Sydney Harbour, summoning