Painted the Other Woman

What the hell am I going to do about this?

The question hung in Athan’s head like a dead weight. He had to do something. That was inescapable. He had a responsibility to do so.

His thoughts circled back, homing in with his customary focus on identifying solutions to problems he’d ruthlessly analysed. Removing the woman who had so distracted his brother-in-law seemed the obvious move to make right now.

But what if—and now Athan could feel an idea start to germinate in his mind—a rival emerged for her attentions? Lured her away from his brother-in-law?

Dispassionately he made himself study the photo in front of him. As before, he felt his senses stirred by her heart-stopping loveliness.

Resolution filled him. Oh, yes, he could do it.

For one long moment Athan went on staring down at the image on his desk. Then, decisively, he flicked the folder shut. His mind had just made itself up.

It was a very simple, very obvious solution. And as the mental image of her lovely features flickered in his mind’s eye he knew it would be very enjoyable.

JULIA JAMES lives in England with her family. Harlequin Mills & Boon® were the first ‘grown-up’ books she read as a teenager, alongside Georgette Heyer and Daphne du Maurier, and she’s been reading them ever since. Julia adores the English and Celtic countryside, in all its seasons, and is fascinated by all things historical, from castles to cottages. She also has a special love for the Mediterranean—’The most perfect landscape after England!’—and considers both ideal settings for romance stories. In between writing she enjoys walking, gardening, needlework, baking extremely gooey cakes and trying to stay fit!

Recent titles by the same author:

THE DARK SIDE OF DESIRE

FROM DIRT TO DIAMONDS

FORBIDDEN OR FOR BEDDING?

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Painted the Other Woman

Julia James

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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PROLOGUE

MARISA gave a soft gasp as the man opposite her opened the slim case he’d just taken out of his jacket pocket.

‘For you,’ the man said. There was a fond look in his eyes as he slid the case towards her. ‘I want you to have it.’

Marisa gazed at him, open pleasure in her expression.

She ran a finger lightly over the stones, which sparkled in the light from the candle on the table. ‘It’s beautiful!’ she breathed. Then a more troubled expression showed in her eyes. ‘But are you sure …?’

The man gave a decisive nod of his head. ‘Yes, quite sure.’

Marisa picked up the case, reluctantly shutting the lid, gazing across at the man who had given her such a wonderful token of what she meant to him. She dropped the jewellery case into her handbag—the beautiful, soft leather handbag with a designer logo that was yet another such token. Then she lifted her eyes to the man again. She had eyes only for him! Certainly not for the middle-aged man dining alone, a few tables away, engrossed in texting on his mobile phone, his face in shadow.

Now Ian was in her life Marisa had neither eyes nor thoughts for anyone else. From their first meeting to this precious moment he had transformed her life beyond all recognition, and the wonder of it still amazed her. She had had no idea—none at all—when she’d come to London those short months ago how totally her life would change. Oh, she’d had hopes, it was true, and ambitions and purpose—but that they had actually come about was still wonderful to her. And it was all embodied in the startlingly handsome man sitting opposite her, gazing at her with such devotion.

She bit her lip slightly. If only she didn’t have to hide in the corners of Ian’s life, be hidden away from a censorious world like a shameful secret. Yet that, she knew, was what she would be seen as. Someone who had to be hidden away, never acknowledged in public, to the world. That was why they could only meet like this, in places Ian did not usually frequent, where he was not known or recognised, where he could be sure he would not bump into someone who would question her dining with him—someone who knew both him and Eva.

Eva …

The name echoed in Marisa’s head, haunting her like a ghost that could not be exorcised. Emotion darted in her eyes. Oh, she thought in anguish, if only Eva were not who she was. The emotion deepened, and she gazed helplessly across the table at the handsome, smiling face opposite. If only Eva were not the woman who was Ian’s wife …

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