Anne Oliver - Memoirs of a Millionaires Mistress (Harlequin Presents)

D ONT date this man.

Didi OFlanagan paid scant attention to her workmates warning, barely glancing up as she scoured her bag for lip gloss. Whatever he did, Roz, he probably doesnt deserve to have his photo plastered to the mirror in a public restroom Her words segued to a hum of approval, lip gloss momentarily forgotten.

Maybe he did deserve it. His eyesdeep dark bluewere the kind of eyes that could persuade you to do things youd never do in your right mind

Only the woman who put it here knows that. Roz leaned in for a closer look. You mustve really ticked her off, Cameron Black. Still, you are a bit of a hunk.

Yeah Didi had to agree. Dark hair, squared jaw. Perfect kissing lips. What did the rest of him look like? she wondered. She imagined a man with looks like that would keep his body toned to match. In fact she could imagine quite a lot about that body. We could try Googling those dont date him websites

Hmm, revenge. Undoubtedly a dish best served online Roz agreed. But right now, if we want to keep our jobs, wed better get out there and start serving those impatient big-shots, Roz reminded her, heading for the door.

Didi blinked, feeling as if shed somehow stepped out of a time warp. Right behind you.

Cameron Black. Why did that name sound familiar? Didi wondered. Shaking the thought away for now, she unscrewed her tube of colour, slicked coral gloss over her lips.

She twitched at a few blonde spikes, straightened her uniforms little bow tie and fiddled with her name-tag, which always seemed to tilt at an angle no matter how many times she adjusted it.

She couldnt resist; her gaze slid back to the printout on the mirror. Below the picture were the words, Hes not the man you think he is. On impulse, she reached out. She didnt care what hed done, it wasnt right. That was what she told herself as she peeled it off. There were two sides to every story. Not that she knew much about relationships. In her twenty-three years thered been only one serious relationship, and that mistake had coloured her perception in a very un colourful way.

But she couldnt bring herself to crumple the paper and toss it in the waste basket on her way out as shed intended. It seemed a sacrilege to spoil that perfect face. She folded it into quarters, then again, carefully creasing the lines before sliding it into the pocket of her black trousers.

A few moments later Didi circulated the crowded room with her tray of finger food. Predominantly male executives in business attire made for a sea of sombre suits interspersed with splashes of colour and the occasional whiff of feminine perfume.

Didi aimed a winning smile at the group of men shed targeted as being the head honchos. Would you like to try a crab cake with lemongrass sauce? Or perhaps one of these baked cheese olive balls?

As expected, her smile was ignored as they continued their discussion around the model of a proposed development for one of Melbournes inner city precincts on a table in front of them, but a few greedy fingers plucked her dainty morsels off the tray.

Rude, rude, rude. Her smile remained, but inside she gritted her teeth as she skirted the group to reappear around the other side. She hated this subservient, thankless job. But right now she had no alternative if she didnt want to slink home to Sydney and admit shed made a mistake

Thank you, Didi.

The unexpected rich baritone voice had her looking upway upat the man whod taken the last crab cake and had the courtesy to use her name. Youre welcome. I hope you enjoyit Her voice faded away as her gaze met a pair of twinkling blue eyes

This couldnt be the man whose photo was warming her right hip even as he smiled. Could it?

Yes. It couldand it most definitely was. So the woman whod left the picture in the Ladies had known hed be heremaybe she still was, and wanted to witness his humiliation.

The cheap printout didnt do him justicehe was gorgeous. His eyes were navy, almost black. And focused wholly on her. Hed shaved tonight; no sign of that stubble. Just smooth tanned skinHer palms itched to find out just how smooth. The maroon and black ties sheen accentuated his snowy white shirt, drawing her attention to a prominent Adams apple and solid neck. His hair was shorter than it was in the picture and the rooms light caught threads of auburn amongst the brown.

He wore a pinstriped charcoal suit and she knew from her experience with fabrics that it was Italian and expensive. Touchable. Warm from his body heat. Her insides did a slow roll and her fingers tightened on the tray.