KIM LAWRENCE - One Night with Morelli

‘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 LAWRENCEwas 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!

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Massive thanks to my editor Kathryn

for being so elastic with the deadline on this one!

Contents

Cover

Introduction ‘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.’

About the Author 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!

Title Page One Night With Morelli Kim Lawrence www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dedication Massive thanks to my editor Kathryn for being so elastic with the deadline on this one!

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

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, to be precise—most definitely surprised him.

Now that, he thought, was something that didn’t happen every day of the week—at least not to him.

One dark mobile brow elevated, and with a half-smile tugging his sensually sculpted lips upwards he bent forward and hooked a bra from the top of the silky heap. Silk, and a shocking-pink tartan, it was definitely a statement and, if he was any judge, a D cup.

Under his breath he read the hand-sewn label along one seam.

‘Eve’s Temptation.’ It was catchy and the name rang a faint bell.

Had Rachel had something similar in a more subdued colour? He sighed. While he missed the great sex, if he was honest—and he generally was—he didn’t miss Rachel herself, and he had no regrets about his decision to terminate their short and, he had assumed, mutually satisfactory arrangement.

Only she had crossed the line. It had started with the ‘we’ and ‘us’ comments— we could stop off at my parents’, my sister has offered us her ski lodge as it’ll be empty at New Year. Draco blamed himself for allowing it to pass as long as he had, but in his defence the sex had been very good indeed.

Things had finally come to a head a couple of months ago when she had accidentally bumped into him in the middle of an exclusive department store on one of the rare occasions when he was able to spend some quality time with his daughter.

It wasn’t her appallingly obvious efforts to ingratiate herself with Josie that had stuck in Draco’s mind; it was his daughter’s comment on the way home.

‘Don’t be too brutal will you, Dad, when you dump her?’

The worried expression in her eyes had made him realise that he’d become complacent, he’d allowed the once clearly defined lines between his home life and the other aspects of his life to blur. It was more important to keep that protective wall around his home life now that Josie was getting older than it ever had been.

The day he had looked at his baby and realised that her mother wasn’t coming back he had sworn that this desertion would not affect her; he would protect her, give her security. He had made some inevitable mistakes along the way but at least he hadn’t allowed her to form attachments with the women he had enjoyed fleeting liaisons with over the years and risk being hurt when they too left.

‘Nice,’ he murmured, running his thumb over the fine butter-soft silk.

‘That’s mine.’ Eve’s determined gaze was fixed on the pink tartan bra that she hoped was going to be next season’s best-seller.

‘You’re Eve?’

‘Yes.’ The response was automatic. She could, if she’d wanted, have claimed ownership of, not just the name, but the bra and the brand of which she was justifiably proud, though there was a strong possibility that, as on numerous previous occasions, the information would be received with scepticism.

She understood why: it was all about appearances and she simply didn’t look the part of a successful businesswoman, let alone one who was the founder of a successful underwear company that had based its brand on glamour with a quirky edge that not only looked good but was comfortable to wear.

‘It was very brave of you to stop that thief running away with my bag. I hope he didn’t hurt you.’ Her smile faded dramatically as she looked up into the face of the man who was holding her sample. ‘I’m very…’ She cleared her throat and swallowed, her tongue uncomfortably glued to the roof of her mouth.

There were several other equally disturbing accompanying symptoms, and it was so totally unexpected that it took her a few heart-racing moments to put a name to the frantic heart-pounding, uncontrolled heat rush and visceral clutch that dug into her stomach and tightened like a fist. Even the fine invisible hair on her forearms was tingling in response to what this man exuded, which was—give it a name, Evie, and move on, she told herself sternly—raw sex!

Either that or this was a much less publicised symptom of jet lag!

‘Grateful.’ For small mercies—I didn’t drool, she added silently, refusing to contemplate the mortifying possibility that she had been standing there with her mouth open for more than a few seconds.

Now that she was able to study his face with the objectivity she prided herself on, Eve could see that, though her first impressions were right—he was quite remarkably good–looking; maybe the most good-looking man she’d ever seen up close—it wasn’t his face or athletic body that had caused her nervous system to go into meltdown, it was the aura of raw sexuality that he exuded like a force field.