The Mysterious Italian Houseguest. Scarlet Wilson

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      ‘I want to stay here, Portia. Not in some hotel. Do you think that would be possible?’

      Portia. Javier didn’t say her name. He practically sang it.

      He didn’t even remember her. Not that she’d expected him to—really. But she had met him and interviewed him before. And it was kind of insulting for a guy not to remember you—even in the cut-throat Hollywood industry.

      Her rational head understood. At any press junket he’d meet hundreds of journalists and could never be expected to remember them all. On awards nights he’d speak to just as many again on the red carpet. She wasn’t any different from any other person who shoved a microphone in his face and tried to think of an original question.

      But it still stung.

      And now he wanted to stay with her. Javier Russo wanted to stay with her.

      She lifted her hands from his chest. She needed all her senses to be working. And they were already piqued. A fresh, clean scent drifted up under her nose. She scrunched up her face for a second and tried to shake it off. The last thing she needed to think about was fresh, clean Javier Russo.

      The Mysterious Italian Houseguest

      Scarlet Wilson

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      SCARLET WILSON writes for both Mills & Boon Romance and Medical Romance. She lives on the west coast of Scotland with her fiancé and their two sons. She loves to hear from readers and can be reached via her website: www.scarlet-wilson.com.

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      Contents

       Cover

       Back Cover Text

       Introduction

       Title Page

       About the Author

       CHAPTER ONE

       CHAPTER TWO

       CHAPTER THREE

       CHAPTER FOUR

       CHAPTER FIVE

       CHAPTER SIX

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       CHAPTER NINE

       CHAPTER TEN

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

       EPILOGUE

       Extract

       Copyright

       CHAPTER ONE

      PORTIA CLOSED THE door behind her and breathed out as the car puttered off into the distance. Finally, peace perfect peace.

      Somewhere, on the other side of the house, she could hear the chirrup of birds. After three days of being constantly surrounded by people and chatter it was music to her ears.

      She leaned back against the cool wall, tempted to just slide down it.

      Her sister Miranda’s wedding was over. She could stop smiling. She could stop fending off the intrusive questions from her sisters. Miranda had looked radiant, lost in the pink cloud of love and drifting off somewhere that seemed a million miles out of Portia’s reach.

      She was the oldest sister—wasn’t she supposed to get married first?

      The СКАЧАТЬ