Every Girl's Secret Fantasy. Robyn Grady

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      One Christmas long ago, ROBYN GRADY received a book from her big sister and immediately fell in love with Cinderella. Sprinklings of magic, deepest wishes come true—she was hooked! Picture books with glass slippers later gave way to romance novels, and, more recently, the real-life dream of writing for Mills & Boon.

      After a fifteen-year career in television, Robyn met her own modern-day hero. They live on Australia’s Sunshine Coast with their three little princesses, two poodles, and a cat called Tinkie. She loves new shoes, worn jeans, lunches at Moffat Beach and hanging out with her friends on eHarlequin. Learn about her latest releases at www.robyngrady.com, and don’t forget to say hi. She’d love to hear from you!

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      THE MAGNATE’S MARRIAGE DEMAND

      FOR BLACKMAIL OR PLEASURE

      BABY BEQUEST

      BEDDED BY BLACKMAIL

      MILLS & BOON

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      For Senior Editor extraordinaire, Kimberley Young

      Thank you for your guidance and unfailing belief in my work, for the amazing opportunities and, most of all, your friendship.

      Epigraph

       ‘Tell me you didn’t enjoy our kiss.’

      She crossed her arms and looked away.

      Outside the reception doors now, Pace pulled up. When he didn’t speak or let her down, she warily met his gaze.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Did you say something?’

      She wanted to tell him to show a little mercy and let her go.

      But, more, she wanted the achingly delicious sensation he whipped up inside her to go on. Seriously, if he could kiss like that, how would the rest of his repertoire pan out? How would it be to know Pace fully unleashed and acting purely on animal instinct? If he couldn’t set her fireworks off, no one could.

      Phoebe held her breath, curled her toes, then surrendered to a defeated sigh.

      Her arms looped around his neck and she raised herself to meet his mouth. For better or worse, she was ready to start talking.

      Chapter One

      KNEES gone weak, Phoebe Moore drank in the sight of two bronzed arms angling down over a well-packed T-shirt and large masculine hands raising its black interlock hem. Unaware of his company, the man dragged the shirt up over his head. At the same time Phoebe’s throat thickened and her mouth went bone-dry. After a criminally toned abdomen and broad chest were revealed, he bunched the shirt into a ball and set about towelling all that premium meat and muscle.

      Phoebe released a quivering sigh.

      No wonder Brodricks Prestige Cars’ slogan was “The Thrill of Your Life”.

      Dynamic, charming, all gloriously packaged in the body of a sex god, the man in question—the delectable Pace Davis—was Brodricks’ lead technical adviser and resident chief mechanic. That chest, those jeans…The vision standing before her was enough to reduce Phoebe to a creamy puddle. But the best part—as well as the worst—was his sultry air of mystery. The three times she and Pace had met he’d seemed interested in details of her life, but had been curiously elusive about his own.

      She could guess why.

      At the far end of the otherwise deserted Sydney workshop, Pace swiped the shirt down one trunk of an arm and up the other. As he gave his delectably dewy chest another chamois, sensing a presence, he glanced over and gifted her a smile—a particularly sensual lopsided grin. Air eased from Phoebe’s lungs as, moving to join her, Pace ruffled his inky-black hair into a tousled style.

      That was how he’d look in the mornings, she decided, hugging her clip-folder close. Slightly dishevelled and completely desirable.

      When the heat racing through her veins pooled and contracted low in her belly, Phoebe hauled herself back and drew up tall. Time to remember how late she’d stayed up the previous night making that list—her dare-to-be-bold, nothing-left-out wish list. The first point was underlined in red:

       Reclaim my sexuality…Find Mr Right Now!

      In one sense, dreamy Pace Davis was the perfect candidate. The friction that zapped between them would explode like two sticks of lit dynamite if they ever transferred their physical attraction to the bedroom. But taking that plunge with Pace would never happen, and for three very good reasons.

      Phoebe tried to remember those reasons now, as Pace’s electric blue gaze combed her shoulders, her hips, while that mouthwatering bare chest rolled to a stop a mere foot away. His eyes locked on hers, and his square jaw shifted before that rich, deep voice rumbled out.

      “Well, well, if it isn’t Miss Phoebe Moore.” His brows swooped together. “But wait…there’s something different about you.”

      Phoebe’s face flushed hot. Different? Was it the spot on her chin?

      “It’s there in your eyes,” he went on, and that wicked smile curved his mouth again. “It’s finally happened. You’ve had a change of heart and want me to take you home.”

      Perhaps it was that honey-over-gravel voice, the smouldering intensity in his eyes, or