The Millionaire's Blackmail Bargain (1 of 2 free samples)

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COPYRIGHT
The Millionaire's Blackmail Bargain by Heidi Rice. Copyright 2007 by Heidi Rice.
All Rights Reserved. Sharing not permitted.

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THE MILLIONAIRE'S BLACKMAIL BARGAIN

Heidi Rice

For my mum, Sylvia, because she's magnificent. With special thanks to my sister-in-law Isabel for making Jack fluent in French (unlike me).


CHAPTER ONE

CARMEL ROURKE strained to hear the footsteps in the bedroom next door, crouched against the cold enamel of the bath and tried not to breathe. Now, if she could just stop her heartbeat sounding like the cannon-fire finale from the 1812 Overture, she might be able to avoid spending Christmas in a prison cell.

How had she ended up hiding in The Ritz hotel bathroom of a complete stranger? And how had her life taken another sharp turn into the toilet without her seeing it coming?

This time, it was all Louisa's stupid fault.

Trust her so-called friend Louisa to come up with a harebrained scheme that would get Louisa a promotion and probably a Pulitzer Prize, if they pulled it off--and land Mel in jail if they didn't. Never listen to a woman who can eat like a trucker and still fit into a size six. People like that never paid for their crimes. Mel, on the other hand, only had to look at a chocolate bar and it went straight to her hips.

The footsteps from next door stopped. Mel sucked in another breath and held it. She heard the bedsprings give a muffled crunch and then the Ten O'Clock News blared out its signature tune. Blast, now she wouldn't be able to hear if the guy was coming in here or not. Time to start praying.

Please don't let him come in here. Please don't let him come in here.

Mel recited the mantra in her head as sweat trickled down between her breasts. Her cotton blouse and wool skirt were suffocating her. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn't eaten anything since her lunchtime yoghurt. Fabulous, it would be just her luck to pass out from starvation. Good to know she'd be able to fit into a smaller-sized prison uniform.

She leaned her head back against the tiles, stared at the gleaming silver showerhead above her and tried to piece together how exactly she'd ended up in this predicament in the first place--staring starvation, humiliation and almost certain arrest in the face.

It had all begun at the book launch when Louisa had spotted 'the hunk'.

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'I'm telling you, I bet you anything it's him,' Louisa whispered in Mel's ear, downing her third sandwich in a row.

'It's not him, Louisa,' Mel insisted as the bookstore manager at the head of the crowd continued to wax lyrical about the latest soon-to-be best-seller from the mysterious crime novelist known only as Devlin. 'I don't care what you've read in Vanity Fair. Devlin doesn't do publicity; he'd be nuts to turn up at his own book launches incognito.'

In the last five years, Devlin had become a worldwide publishing sensation. His sales, though, hadn't outstripped the furious press speculation about his hidden identity. Louisa was one of the many reporters clamouring to unmask him. But in Mel's humble editorial assistant's opinion, the book-launch idea was a wild one, even for Louisa.

They'd been there for nearly twenty minutes listening to the bookstore manager drone on about Devlin's 'punishing prose' and 'atmospheric allegories' while Louisa worked her way through the curly sandwiches on the refreshment table--and not one person had piqued even Louisa's vivid imagination.

Then 'the hunk' walked in.

Mel saw him first, standing alone at the back of the shop. She didn't like tall men, she found them intimidating, but, goodness, this guy was striking. Tall, dark and handsome didn't even begin to cover it.

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