Count Maxime's Virgin. Susan Stephens

      Her lips…her full, trembling lips…tempted him. He leaned his weight against her and felt her body respond. Was that only to him? He pulled back again and stared down at her. She met his gaze levelly, and this time there were no tears.

      ‘I want you,’ she murmured, and her eyes had grown dark and slumberous. Brushing her hair back from her brow, as if he would find something to steal his trust away beneath its silky weight, he dipped his head and kissed her.

      It felt like coming home.

      He had to remind himself he had many homes and didn’t stay long in any of them.

      Susan Stephens was a professional singer before meeting her husband on the tiny Mediterranean island of Malta. In true Modern™ Romance style they met on Monday, became engaged on Friday and were married three months after that. Almost thirty years and three children later, they are still in love. (Susan does not advise her children to return home one day with a similar story, as she may not take the news with the same fortitude as her own mother!)

      Susan had written several non-fiction books when fate took a hand. At a charity costume ball there was an after-dinner auction. One of the lots, ‘Spend a Day with an Author’, had been donated by Mills & Boon® author Penny Jordan. Susan’s husband bought this lot, and Penny was to become not just a great friend but a wonderful mentor, who encouraged Susan to write romance.

      Susan loves her family, her pets, her friends and her writing. She enjoys entertaining, travel and going to the theatre. She reads, cooks, and plays the piano to relax, and can occasionally be found throwing herself off mountains on a pair of skis or galloping through the countryside. Visit Susan’s website: www.susanstephens.net—she loves to hear from her readers all around the world!

       Recent books by the same author:

      Modern™ Romance DESERT KING, PREGNANT MISTRESS BOUGHT: ONE ISLAND, ONE BRIDE ONE-NIGHT BABY BEDDED BY THE DESERT KING

      The Royal House of Niroli EXPECTING HIS ROYAL BABY—Book 5

      Modern Heat™ HOUSEKEEPER AT HIS BECK AND CALL LAYING DOWN THE LAW DIRTY WEEKEND

      COUNT MAXIME’S VIRGIN

      BY

      SUSAN STEPHENS

      For my friends, Danielle and Cathy, and of course for la belle France.

      CHAPTER ONE

      THE men in the bar of the fancy London hotel had laughingly agreed that Tara should get out more. The better-looking of the two, a tall, powerfully built man called Lucien, with striking dark looks and thick nut-brown hair, argued with Tara’s older sister, Freya, that there was no such thing as ‘too quiet’, and if Tara didn’t want to party hard, why should she? Having flashed him a grateful glance, Tara sank back into the shadows with relief.

      To get close to her sister was all eighteen-year-old Tara had ever wanted, but she was beginning to wonder if it was possible to get close to a flame that burned as bright as Freya. Maybe this was the way, Tara reflected later as she squeezed into some of her sister’s clothes. The two girls had returned to their bedsit alone and were preparing to go out with the men they’d met earlier. Freya was always encouraging Tara to socialise, and tonight Tara felt it was a chance for her to prove she would do pretty much anything to win Freya’s approval.

      But not that, Tara thought, as the face of the man who had defended her earlier swam into her mind. Lucien’s dark chocolate voice and black amused gaze had made her feel so nervous. He belonged to that other, more exciting world, the world Freya yearned to inhabit, the world in which Tara knew she didn’t fit.

      Freya thought nothing of talking to men they didn’t know, but it was agony for Tara, who had hardly raised her eyes during the whole embarrassing encounter. She had felt so tongue-tied and gauche, so fat and so plain in her charity shop clothes, perched next to a glamorous older sister who drew attention wherever she went. She had wanted to disappear, and had only looked up once more when she’d been forced to answer the Lucien’s direct question: ‘Shouldn’t you be studying?’

      Instead of picking up men in a bar, she had presumed he meant. She had told him she did study, but by then, of course, Freya had moved the conversation on, wanting nothing to detract from the flirtatious tone she’d set. When Tara mentioned the remark later, Freya had laughed it off, saying Tara mustn’t let it get to her, and that she had the rest of her life to study, and must use her youth to snare a man…

      Tara’s face was burning with humiliation as she thought about this now, though in fairness Freya had been partly right, for whatever he’d said about studying, Lucien, with the exotic accent, whose knowing gaze had sent flames of heat pulsing through her secret places, had asked Freya to make sure her little sister accompanied her to the party tonight.

      Why had he done that? Tara wondered, going hot and cold as she thought about it. She already felt ridiculous, sitting here in their draughty bedsit, drenched in Freya’s French perfume and wearing a body control underskirt Freya had said she must to create the right first impression. The second impression didn’t bear thinking about. She’d have to be cut out of this top, just for starters.

      ‘Stop fiddling with that top, Tara,’ Freya insisted, breaking off from skilfully applying false eyelashes to admonish her. ‘It cost a fortune—’

      ‘Sorry…’ Freya had insisted she must wear something glamorous tonight, and had pushed the spangled top into her hands. She was about to stop fiddling as instructed when Freya snatched it back.

      ‘I’ve decided to wear it. You can have this one—’

      ‘Thank you…’ It was such a relief to exchange the glittery top Freya had picked out for her to wear, for an older, duller boob tube with a much more modest neckline.

      ‘I hope you know your man’s a count?’ Freya pouted in the mirror as she applied her lip gloss.

      ‘A count?’ Tara’s heart rate doubled. ‘Really?’ No wonder Lucien, the man who made her pulse race, was so confident and commanding. But since when was he her man? And if he was her man, what on earth was she supposed to do with him, never mind the fact that he was a count! She would never think of a thing to say to interest a man like that.

      ‘You’re a very lucky girl. It’s up to you to make the most of tonight. Who knows…?’

      Who knew what? Tara wondered, struggling to heave the Freya-sized Lycra top over her head. She raised a hesitant smile to please her sister. One thing was sure, she didn’t know anything about that stuff, although her determination to better herself was no less than Freya’s. There might not be room for a desk in their tiny room, but the books she was studying were kept safely under the bed.

      ‘Here, put this wrap on—’ Freya tossed what looked like a fabulous genuine fur in her direction.

      ‘I’d rather not—’ Tara shrank from the deep white pelt. In her imagination it still carried the faint scent of fresh air and freedom.

      ‘Why ever not?’ Freya demanded impatiently.

      ‘I might spill something on it—’ She hoped Freya was convinced by her excuse.

      ‘Oh, all right then.’ Freya pulled a face as she sorted through the tumble of clothes on her side of the bed. ‘Take this shawl instead.’

      Tara thought the pale blue shawl much prettier than the fur. Stroking it appreciatively, she thought about Freya’s explanation for this fabulous collection of expensive things. ‘Men like to buy me presents,’ Freya had said, ‘and