The Billionaire's Virgin Mistress. Sandra Field

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      Sandra has always loved to read, fascinated by the lure of being drawn into the other world of the story. Her first book was published as To Trust My Love. Sandra says, “I write out of my experience. I have learned that love, with its joys and its pains, is all-important. I hope this knowledge enriches my writing, and touches a chord in you, the reader.”

      CHAPTER ONE

      AS THE Malagash Island ferry eased into the dock, Cade Lorimer turned on the ignition of his beloved Maserati and prepared himself for what would undoubtedly be an unpleasant interview.

      Saluting the ferry attendant, he drove up the metal ramp onto the narrow highway. He knew exactly where he was going. He owned most of the island, after all. An island now awash in early September sunlight, its thickets of evergreens hugging the cliffs, the sea sparkling as it dashed itself against the rocks.

      He was here at the request of Del, his adoptive father. Here on a fool’s errand, one that could lead to nothing but trouble—because the woman he was to track down was, in theory, Del’s granddaughter.

      Del’s granddaughter? That had to be the joke of the century. She was a fake. Of course she was.

      According to Del she’d been born in Madrid, and had spent most of her life in Europe. Yet for the last eleven months she’d been living a mere forty miles from Del’s summer mansion on the coast of Maine.

      Cade didn’t believe in coincidence. Tess Ritchie was an imposter who’d heard of Del’s considerable fortune and was biding her time to lay claim to it.

      So it was up to him to stop her. And stop her he would.

      On the meadows above the road, three deer were peacefully grazing; Cade’s eyes flicked over them, barely registering their presence. Del—so he’d said—had known about Tess ever since she was born, had supported her financially for her entire life, but had never been in touch with her directly or breathed a word about her existence to anyone.

      Through local gossip, Cade had long ago found out about Del’s biological son, Cory, the black sheep of the family who was, supposedly, Tess Ritchie’s father. Del had never breathed a word about Cory’s existence, either.

      The two best kept secrets on the eastern seaboard, Cade thought, his fingers drumming the soft leather on the steering wheel. If by any chance Tess Ritchie wasn’t a fake, then she was related to Del by blood. As he, Cade, was not.

      This simple fact rankled; he resented even the possibility of Del having a granddaughter. Stupid of him, no doubt. But wasn’t his reaction one more indication of how he’d always felt cheated of any true connection to Del?

      Cade rolled down the window, the breeze tugging at his hair. Another minute or two and he’d be there. The investigator’s report had stated that Tess Ritchie was renting a converted fish shack just past the village.