Playboys. Lynne Graham

Playboys - Lynne Graham

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       Proud, masculine and passionate, these men are used to having it all.

      Lysander, the gorgeous, dynamic

      Greek tycoon …

      Nikolai, the ruthless, charismatic

      Russian magnate …

      Leandro, the sexy, aristocratic

      Spanish billionaire …


       Fantastic novels from favourite, bestselling author

       Lynne GRAHAM

      Lynne GRAHAM Playboys

       The Greek Tycoon’s Disobedient Bride

       The Ruthless Magnate’s Virgin Mistress

       The Spanish Billionaire’s Pregnant Wife

       Lynne Graham

      MILLS & BOON

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       The Greek Tycoon’s Disobedient Bride

       Lynne Graham

      About the Author

      LYNNE GRAHAM was born in Northern Ireland and has been a keen Mills & Boon® reader since her teens. She is very happily married, with an understanding husband who has learned to cook since she started to write! Her five children keep her on her toes. She has a very large dog, which knocks everything over, a very small terrier, which barks a lot, and two cats. When time allows, Lynne is a keen gardener.

       Look out for Lynne Graham’s latest exciting new trilogy, available from March to May in Mills & Boon® Modern™.


      THE Greek billionaire Lysander Metaxis strode into the luxurious salon of his fabulous yacht, where his personal staff awaited him. It was half past seven in the morning. Aware that their hugely wealthy and dynamic employer usually started work at six and rarely slept more than five hours, everyone was striving to look wide awake.

      His senior PA, Dmitri, presented him with a folder. ‘I hope you’ll be pleased, sir.’

      His lean, dark, handsome face intent, Lysander withdrew the photographs of Madrigal Court. Dense woodland on all sides screened the Elizabethan manor house from curious eyes, but not from the air. His only previous acquaintance with the ancient building was through his mother’s childhood photograph albums. The superb definition of the aerial shots revealed the extensive deterioration that had taken place in recent decades.

      His metallic-bronze gaze grew steadily harder and colder, for it was clear that the listed building was in serious need of repair. The roof was in a mess, the brickwork required attention and there was a suspicious bulge in a gable wall. Yet, Gladys Stewart had repeatedly refused to sell the property to his late father, Aristide. However, the old lady was dying nowand he could only assume that her demise would finally make the purchase of the house possible.

      Madrigal Court had belonged to his mother’s family for over four hundred years before financial adversity had forced its sale. Over time the reacquisition of Madrigal Court had become a matter of Metaxis family honour. And family honour was an issue that Lysander, who was Greek to his backbone, held in very high regard. His ruthlessness was legendary and he was a dangerous man to cross. But even though he was one of the richest men in the world, he had never forgotten his humble beginnings or the cruel neglect he had endured before fortune had smiled on him and given him Virginia and Aristide Metaxis as adoptive parents.

      The acknowledgement of that inestimable debt spawned dark brooding thoughts, which cast disturbing shadows across Lysander’s usual emotional coolness. Recent developments had made buying back Virginia’s ancestral home a burning mission, as opposed to an ambition to be attained at some unspecified future date. Whatever it took he had to get the house back and quickly. All of a sudden time was of the essence, he conceded bleakly.

      A stunning brunette, clad in a transparent wrap that concealed nothing of her astonishing figure, strolled in. Her caressing fingertips inscribed a provocative pattern on the back of his hand. ‘Come back to bed,’ she whispered invitingly.

      Almost imperceptibly, Lysander stiffened. ‘I’m busy,’ he drawled without expression.

      His staff exchanged significant glances. No woman ever held Lysander’s attention for longer than a few weeks. His current lover might not know it yet, but she was already history.

      ‘Dmitri …’ Lysander lifted his well-shaped dark head‘… who authorised polythene tunnels to be installed inside the walled garden?’

      The PA stepped forward and frowned down at the photo in frank bewilderment. ‘Er … isn’t that part of Madrigal Court’s grounds, sir? I’m afraid I have no idea.’

      Lysander dealt Dmitri a fulminating appraisal and told him to get the Metaxis legal team on the phone for a conference call. For his UK lawyers, it became a day of unalloyed misery and grovelling apology. The rolling of heads was threatened, sacrifices were made. They promised immediate action, but the Greek tycoon commanded them to do nothing for the present. When he wanted action, he would choose the timing.


      ‘THE Metaxis family are waiting for me to die.’ Feverish hatred burned in Gladys Stewart’s embittered gaze. ‘Vultures—that’s what they are!’

      ‘Well, whoever they are they’ll have to wait a little longer,’ the nurse informed the older woman cheerfully while she checked her blood pressure. ‘You have great vitality.’

      ‘You’ve got no business interrupting a private conversation!’ her patient hissed in a tone of pure vitriol, her thin hands clenching on the bedclothes. ‘I was addressing my granddaughter. Ophelia … where are you? Ophelia?’

      A young woman with unusual pale blue eyes was engaged in piling up discarded bed linen. Directing an apologetic glance at the district nurse, she moved forward. Small in stature, she wore a loose sweater and trousers that only hinted at her hourglass figure. Hair the colour of ripe wheat was tied up with a piece of gardening twine. But nothing could hide her beauty.

      ‘I’m here,’ she told her grandmother.

      As she studied her Gladys Stewart’s narrow mouth compressed with furious resentment. ‘If you made more effort, you’d have had a husband years ago!’ she condemned bitterly. ‘Your mother was a complete fool but at least she knew how to make the most of her looks!’

      Ophelia, who was single by choice and inclination, thought wryly of her late

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