The Mediterranean Millionaire's Mistress
SHE'D lost her best friend and discovered she wasn't who she thought she was—all in the space of a few weeks.
Two unrelated but cataclysmic events which had catapulted Ianthe from safety into the frightening sphere of the unknown, and in the painful process introduced her to a whole other reality.
"Well," she said. "Now that I'm here, I may as well make the best of it."
Frowning in the mirror at the doubt she saw reflected so clearly in the rich caramel depths of her dark brown eyes, she tried to stem the tilting sensation that made her feel as though she was desperately endeavouring to keep her balance when a deep fissure had just cracked open beneath her feet.
"Keep breathing...just keep breathing."
Her own advice rang a little hollow round the plain whitewashed walls of the hotel room, with its lone faded picture of a Greek Madonna and child—but still she grabbed at it, standing perfectly still until some of the terror ebbed away and she was breathing normally again. A slow trickle of sweat meandered down the valley between her breasts. She would fight this...she had to. There we ... read full excerpt from: The Mediterranean Millionaire's Mistress ebook
