The Right Mr. Wrong Read Online Free
Author: Natalie Anderson
looking at using Liam’s new boat for a one-off fashion shoot.’ Gia coolly confirmed the worst. ‘You arrange it, Vivi.’
Vivi glanced at him, stiffening as she encountered his watchful eyes. He had an annoyingly amused look on his face, as if he suspected how much she didn’t want to arrange it. As if he knew she wanted to tell him to go jump off one of his precious boats. But she didn’t tell him. Instead she pulled on her tough-nut, impervious-to-stress persona.
‘Of course.’ She smiled. What Gia wanted, Vivi did. She was professional and she had no problem working with someone equally professional. She’d calmly navigate these waters with Liam’s own secretary. ‘No doubt you have an assistant I can liaise with, Liam?’
‘Not here,’ he answered with a roguish drawl and a deliberately un apologetic shrug. ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to liaise directly with me.’
TWO
The extravagant hotel in Milan had more bouncers roaming the rooms than the fashion magazines had models. There were roped-off areas within roped-off areas—screens protecting the most rich and famous from the merely rich and famous. And, in the central, most holy, V.V.V.V.I.P part of the place stood Liam Wilson.
He didn’t let it go to his head. He was only here because of mystery, reputation and mutual benefit. Because the world’s most sought-after designer was happy to work with him and her pet, the world’s latest ‘It’ model, was happy to use him. He wasn’t afraid of using contacts to get ahead either—not in the professional sense. But this wasn’t just about business. This was personal too.
He’d wanted to catch up with Victoria Rutherford—the woman now named Vivi Grace. He’d known she’d be somewhere behind the scenes at the show tonight but, even so, finally seeing her again had taken him by complete surprise. It was that gloriously sexy, uptight outfit. He’d had to freeze as if it were a game of musical statues to stop from hitting on her as he had five years ago. In less than a second the urge had bitten all over again. Red hot, rampaging lust.
Rot . He gritted his teeth. He did not still find her attractive. It was merely her braless state. Finding real curves in this particular environment was heady stuff. Plus, he’d been single—i.e. sex-starved—these last few months. He’d been working vicious hours. His juices were flowing because he smelt business success in the air... Oh, he could come up with a hundred excuses for the instant rock-hard reaction he’d felt.
But he couldn’t help looking at her. Drinking her in. She had the same beautiful curves—swollen breasts, slim waist, sweet hips. Her white shirt and black skirt were clearly intended to give off the uber-efficient, frigid school-mistress stereotype, but they totally failed. The knee-length skirt simply emphasised the legs on show beneath and made a man itch to slide the hem higher to see the thighs Liam already knew were supple, strong and yet soft. The fabric curved tight over her hips, giving her a slim roundedness that was so much more attractive to him than the bony frame of the supposed supermodel.
On her feet were the instruments of torture that were uniform in this industry—the highest of heels. He’d no idea how she could walk in them but he liked how they brought her face nearer to his. Not quite eye to eye but tantalisingly not far from mouth to mouth. They were a superficial sign of change—so different from the slip-on things she’d worn that winter. Her hair was different too. Gone were the long waves of blonde. In their place was a sharp-edged cut just to her chin. Very French. He’d seen the style a lot. On Victoria it looked good, but so different from the style she’d had those years ago. A veneer of sophistication had replaced sweet innocence. She’d topped off this change with her new name. Vivi .
But none of those changes wiped the image he had of her in his head—with her naked and able only
Vivi glanced at him, stiffening as she encountered his watchful eyes. He had an annoyingly amused look on his face, as if he suspected how much she didn’t want to arrange it. As if he knew she wanted to tell him to go jump off one of his precious boats. But she didn’t tell him. Instead she pulled on her tough-nut, impervious-to-stress persona.
‘Of course.’ She smiled. What Gia wanted, Vivi did. She was professional and she had no problem working with someone equally professional. She’d calmly navigate these waters with Liam’s own secretary. ‘No doubt you have an assistant I can liaise with, Liam?’
‘Not here,’ he answered with a roguish drawl and a deliberately un apologetic shrug. ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to liaise directly with me.’
TWO
The extravagant hotel in Milan had more bouncers roaming the rooms than the fashion magazines had models. There were roped-off areas within roped-off areas—screens protecting the most rich and famous from the merely rich and famous. And, in the central, most holy, V.V.V.V.I.P part of the place stood Liam Wilson.
He didn’t let it go to his head. He was only here because of mystery, reputation and mutual benefit. Because the world’s most sought-after designer was happy to work with him and her pet, the world’s latest ‘It’ model, was happy to use him. He wasn’t afraid of using contacts to get ahead either—not in the professional sense. But this wasn’t just about business. This was personal too.
He’d wanted to catch up with Victoria Rutherford—the woman now named Vivi Grace. He’d known she’d be somewhere behind the scenes at the show tonight but, even so, finally seeing her again had taken him by complete surprise. It was that gloriously sexy, uptight outfit. He’d had to freeze as if it were a game of musical statues to stop from hitting on her as he had five years ago. In less than a second the urge had bitten all over again. Red hot, rampaging lust.
Rot . He gritted his teeth. He did not still find her attractive. It was merely her braless state. Finding real curves in this particular environment was heady stuff. Plus, he’d been single—i.e. sex-starved—these last few months. He’d been working vicious hours. His juices were flowing because he smelt business success in the air... Oh, he could come up with a hundred excuses for the instant rock-hard reaction he’d felt.
But he couldn’t help looking at her. Drinking her in. She had the same beautiful curves—swollen breasts, slim waist, sweet hips. Her white shirt and black skirt were clearly intended to give off the uber-efficient, frigid school-mistress stereotype, but they totally failed. The knee-length skirt simply emphasised the legs on show beneath and made a man itch to slide the hem higher to see the thighs Liam already knew were supple, strong and yet soft. The fabric curved tight over her hips, giving her a slim roundedness that was so much more attractive to him than the bony frame of the supposed supermodel.
On her feet were the instruments of torture that were uniform in this industry—the highest of heels. He’d no idea how she could walk in them but he liked how they brought her face nearer to his. Not quite eye to eye but tantalisingly not far from mouth to mouth. They were a superficial sign of change—so different from the slip-on things she’d worn that winter. Her hair was different too. Gone were the long waves of blonde. In their place was a sharp-edged cut just to her chin. Very French. He’d seen the style a lot. On Victoria it looked good, but so different from the style she’d had those years ago. A veneer of sophistication had replaced sweet innocence. She’d topped off this change with her new name. Vivi .
But none of those changes wiped the image he had of her in his head—with her naked and able only
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