Reform of the Playboy

  “For heaven’s sake, Finn!”

  Harriet protested, struggling to escape from his iron grip. Unfortunately, the more she twisted and turned, the more she found herself becoming entangled with the rumpled sheet. “Has it ever occurred to you that there might be some women who don’t fancy you?”

  “Well, now—let’s see….” Finn murmured, his lips twitching with suppressed laughter as he pretended to be giving serious consideration to the subject. “There was my first teacher at primary school, of course. Miss Wallace. She definitely didn’t like me—always claimed that I was easily the naughtiest boy in the school!”

  “Let’s hear it for Miss Wallace!” Harriet muttered grimly. “Come on, Finn—please be sensible. What’s the point of playing these sorts of silly games?”

  “I don’t think this comes under the heading of silly games,” he murmured softly, pulling her closer to his bare chest.

  The streets of London aren’t just paved

  with gold—they’re home to three of the

  world’s most eligible bachelors!

  London, England: a city of style, sophistication—

  and romance! Its exclusive Notting Hill district is

  the perfect place to fall in love. Sparks fly as

  three sexy, single men meet—and marry—three

  lively, independent women….

  This fabulous new miniseries features the talents

  of Sara Craven, Mary Lyons and

  Sophie Weston: three hugely popular

  authors who between them have sold more

  than 35 million books worldwide.

  Other books in this series are:

  Reform of the Playboy #2083 by Mary Lyons

  The Millionaire Affair #2089 by Sophie Weston

  MARY LYONS

  Reform of the Playboy

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘SO, TELL me more about this party tonight?’

  ‘What’s to tell?’ Finn Maclean spun the wheel of his large Mercedes to avoid a taxi, doing an illegal U-turn in the middle of Notting Hill Gate. ‘It’s just going to be the usual media shindig. Lots of champagne; loud music; not enough food—and everyone yelling at the top of their voices.’

  ‘Any gorgeous-looking girls?’ Tim asked hopefully.

  ‘No problem—there’ll be plenty of them!’ Finn turned to grin at his old friend. ‘But whether they’ll have anything inside their beautiful heads—apart from an interest in the size of your wallet, of course—is highly unlikely.’

  ‘That’s OK by me. I’m not fussy!’ Tim laughed as Finn deftly slotted the vehicle into a parking space and switched off the engine.

  ‘Well, good hunting! But you may have to find your own way home—because I’m not intending to stay very long,’ Finn warned him. ‘In fact, I wouldn’t have bothered to turn up if I hadn’t arranged to meet someone who knows of an apartment I can rent.’

  ‘But I thought you’d just bought that amazing penthouse in Holland Park?’

  ‘Yes, so I have. But unfortunately it needs a total refit,’ Finn said as he opened his car door. ‘And with carpenters, plumbers, and goodness knows who else crawling all over the place, it makes sense to clear out and leave them to it.’

  ‘How long is it going to take?’

  ‘About six months. And that’s the problem,’ Finn explained. ‘Because I need to live in this area—if only to keep an eye on the builders. Unfortunately, it’s proving extremely difficult to find anyone willing to rent me a flat for just a few months. Which is why,’ he added, ‘I’m dragging you along to what is likely to be a dead boring party—instead of us having a quiet dinner and a good bottle of wine at the Halcyon.’

  ‘That’s OK by me,’ Tim assured him. ‘But how come someone who’s had more girls than I’ve had hot dinners should be sounding so unenthusiastic about the prospect of wine, women and song? Which reminds me,’ he added with a grin. ‘What’s happened to the lovely Linda?’

  ‘I imagine that she’s still as lovely as ever,’ Finn drawled coolly. ‘However, I can’t give you an up-to-date report, since Linda and I split up well over six months ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Tim murmured. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Nothing very dramatic.’ Finn shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘She wanted to get married—and I didn’t. End of story.’

  Climbing out of the car, Tim found himself wondering why his old friend—who was not only amazingly good-looking, but also a very wealthy and highly successful man—hadn’t yet found the right woman. Maybe it was something to do with the guy being almost too attractive?

  Such an idea would never have occurred to him if his older married sister, Susie, after comforting one of Finn’s tearful ex-girlfriends, hadn’t bluntly stated, ‘That man is far too attractive and sexy for his own good. As far as I can see, he only has to turn those amazing blue eyes on a girl—and she’s a goner!’

  However, when Tim had said that he wouldn’t mind having the same problem, his sister had merely given a caustic laugh before telling him to count his blessings.

  ‘You may be a boring old stick, Tim, but at least when a girl comes on to you it’s because she really likes you, and finds you interesting. Can you imagine the sheer boredom of having women throwing themselves at you—morning, noon and night?’

  ‘I reckon I could hack it,’ he’d retorted with a grin, before changing the subject. But it had since occurred to him that there might well be something in what his sister had said, after all.

  While there was no doubt that his old friend was a genuinely nice, upright sort of guy—good with children, kind to old ladies and all that jazz—he was definitely spoilt as far as the female sex were concerned. Why, even now, as they entered the bar and restaurant which had been taken over by the film company for the evening, Finn’s appearance was instantly greeted with cries of delight by practically every woman in the place.

  Way to go! he told himself, shaking his head ruefully as his friend was immediately surrounded by a crowd of nubile blonde nymphets, leaving Tim to make his own solitary way to the bar.

  ‘I can’t think why I let you drag me here…’ Harriet muttered, casting an apprehensive eye at the long line of expensive limousines double-parked outside the large white building. ‘This type of ultra-glamorous function really isn’t my kind of thing.’

  ‘Don’t be so stuffy! Besides, this is definitely one of the “in” places, at the moment,’ Sophie retorted as the large plate glass doors flew open at their approach.

  ‘But I’m not a sort of “in” person,’ Harriet protested weakly. ‘In fact, most of the time these days I’m feeling decidedly “out.”’

  ‘That’s only because you insist on going out with that boring banker of yours,’ Sophie told her, before giving their names to the doorman.

  ‘He’s not boring!’

  ‘Oh, yes, he is,’ her friend retorted bluntly. ‘For heaven’s sake, Harriet—can’t you see that he’s cast a complete blight over your love life? If you’re not sleeping with the guy—and I don’t blame you, since I reckon he’s about as attractive as a bowl of sheep’s eyes for breakfast—why waste your time with him?’

  ‘Kindly leave my private life out of this discussion!’ Harriet hissed, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

  Not for the first time, she found herself bitterly regretting the fact that, having drunk too much wine one evening, she’d found herself telling Sophie the
truth about her current relationship with George Harding.

  ‘While you’re stuck with boring George, how on earth can you hope to meet “Mr Wonderful”?’ her old friend continued, clearly determined not to leave the subject alone. ‘Which is why it’s definitely time you traded him in, for a much more attractive, sexy sort of guy.’

  ‘George is a very nice man,’ Harriet retorted as they waited for their names to be checked off the list of guests. ‘And besides, I’ve known him for ever.’

  Sophie gave a snort of grim laughter. ‘Which is precisely why it’s time you had a new boyfriend. Someone with a bit of life in them; someone reasonably good-looking and with a sense of humour. In fact, all the qualities that George totally lacks!

  ‘Yes, I know,’ she continued quickly as Harriet opened her mouth to protest. ‘I know your parents think he’s great. And that you regard him as a nice, safe escort—who’s not going to give you any hassle. Believe me,’ Sophie added with a laugh, ‘I’ve absolutely nothing against rich bankers. The more the merrier, as far as I’m concerned! But George really is heavy. And a lovely girl like you could do a whole lot better.’

  Harriet glared down at her old schoolfriend. ‘Have you been drinking? I’m only asking,’ she drawled sarcastically, ‘because I’ve noticed that you always start having a go about poor old George when you’ve been lunching at one of those expensive local restaurants—supposedly chatting up your clients.’

  Sophie giggled. ‘Yes, as it happens, I did have a very good lunch at 192,’ she agreed cheerfully.

  But, while she probably had drunk far too much wine at lunch, she was still totally convinced that her oldest and dearest friend badly needed rescuing from George Harding. Unfortunately, despite explaining until she was blue in the face that if Harriet had decided she was frigid it was definitely George’s fault, not hers, she couldn’t seem to get her friend to listen to the message.

  I know that I’m right, Sophie told herself, gazing up at the girl who towered over her own diminutive figure. With that luminous, pale alabaster skin, surrounded by a thick mane of deep red hair, Harriet could have stepped straight out of one of those Pre-Raphaelite paintings by Burne-Jones or William Morris. It was a crying shame that such unusual, startling beauty should be thrown away on her current, extremely dull boyfriend.

  ‘Well, I don’t think either of us are likely to meet “Mr Wonderful” at this sort of party,’ Harriet muttered as they entered the large room.

  ‘You never know who’s going to turn up—especially at a function which is being hosted by a film company,’ Sophie told her impatiently. ‘I gather they’re throwing a post-production party for everyone who’s been helping them on the movie. So relax—OK?’

  It’s very far from being ‘OK,’ Harriet told herself, grimly eyeing the interior of the large space as Sophie began steering an unsteady course towards the bar.

  She had no problem with the restaurant’s avant-garde decor—which had clearly been designed on the theme of a modern chemist’s shop: its windows outside lined with rows of pharmaceutical products, and the white-topped tables and stools in the shape of aspirins. But, after having to deal with builders all day, Harriet had been looking forward to a quiet evening, chatting over a bottle of wine with her old friend. Not mixing with a crowd of highly fashionable and glamorous strangers, all dressed up to the nines—and shouting at one another at the top of their voices.

  Well over an hour later, Harriet had been given little cause to change her mind. Pinned in a corner of the room by a highly unattractive man, she found herself looking desperately around for an avenue of escape.

  There was, of course, no sign of Sophie, who was probably busy chatting up some exciting film star, Harriet told herself glumly, bitterly aware that both her own height and colouring placed her at a distinctive disadvantage.

  This bar and restaurant might be absolutely the ‘in’ thing at the moment—but so also, it seemed, were petite, stick-thin blondes. Which meant that no one was likely to be interested in a girl who stood six foot in her stockinged feet, possessed a reasonably slim figure but with curves in all the right places, and whose head was crowned by a mass of thick fiery-red hair.

  Ignoring the drink in her hand—an evil-looking blue cocktail, which was probably highly toxic—Harriet stared over the shoulder of the man, who was still droning on about ‘camera angles’ and ‘light meters,’ towards a group in the far corner.

  Well, at least they seemed to be having fun, she thought glumly, viewing the clutch of amazingly beautiful girls, all gaily laughing their heads off and flicking their long blonde hair—clearly trying to catch the notice of a man in their midst.

  The lighting was far too dim to make out his features, but if he was attracting that amount of attention there was a good chance that he was likely to be drop-dead gorgeous. Which was definitely not the case with the man who’d now got her pinned her in the corner—and who seemed determined to bore for Britain.

  ‘Ah, there you are!’ Sophie cried, suddenly materialising from the thick crowd around the bar. ‘Come along—there’s someone I want you to meet.’

  ‘That’s the best news I heard all evening,’ Harriet muttered, thankfully allowing herself to be dragged away from the corner where she’d been trapped. ‘I’d just about given up all hope of rescue, and was getting ready to go home.’

  ‘Oh, come on—loosen up! That man you were with didn’t look all that bad,’ Sophie said, charging up to the bar and ordering two glasses of champagne.

  ‘Are you kidding? He had all the attraction of a dead fish!’

  Sophie giggled. ‘Well, I’ve managed to chat up one or two quite handsome guys.’

  ‘Good for you,’ Harriet muttered, taking a sip of champagne. ‘As far as I can see, most of the men here seem to be either fat, rich and boring—or slim, gay and unavailable.’

  ‘I know what you mean, but I guess that’s show business,’ her friend agreed with a sigh. ‘Still, the man I want you to meet is definitely into women. In fact, not only is he absolutely gorgeous and as rich as Croesus—but he’s not married! How about that?’

  ‘Oh, yeah? So, what’s the catch?’

  ‘There isn’t one,’ Sophie assured her earnestly. ‘He’s just about perfect.’

  ‘Do me a favour!’ Harriet retorted with a grim laugh. ‘No one is that perfect! There must be something wrong with him. So what is it? Has he got the Mother from Hell? Is his current girlfriend the Fiend from Outer Space? Is he a transvestite, or…?’

  ‘Absolutely not!’

  ‘Well…?’

  ‘No, honestly—I’m not kidding,’ Sophie protested. ‘He’s really great.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’ Harriet snorted with derision. ‘If this guy is so “great”—why haven’t you snapped him up? It’s not like you to be backward in coming forward, is it?’

  ‘Thanks!’

  Harriet laughed. ‘Come on—spill the beans.’

  ‘I am telling the truth,’ Sophie assured her earnestly. ‘And he really is currently available. Which is why I think I might be in with a chance. Well, I probably will be…just as soon as he moves into that second-floor flat of yours.’

  ‘What…?’ Harriet gazed at her in disbelief. ‘You must be joking.’

  ‘No, really—it’s a great idea.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Sophie—are you out of your mind? You know the builders only moved out today. I mean…’ She gave a helpless shrug. ‘Quite apart from anything else, the paint hasn’t even had time to dry.’

  ‘But I’ve worked it all out, and— Oh, my goodness! There’s Declan Malone, the famous TV reporter, and his new wife Olivia,’ Sophie exclaimed excitedly. ‘I must just try and have a quick word with him,’ she added, slipping off her high bar stool. ‘If I can maybe persuade them to sell their house, I’ve got at least two clients who’d be willing to snap it up straight away.’

  Harriet sighed and shook her head. She was having difficulty getting used to her old schoolfriend’s me
tamorphosis into ‘Little Miss Fix-It.’ In fact, when introducing Sophie to the estate agent who’d been handling the sale of her aunt’s house in Lansdowne Gardens, Harriet had no idea that the other girl’s new career would prove to be such a success.

  After living a butterfly existence, flitting from job to job and never staying in any position for more than a few months, it now seemed as though Sophie had at last discovered her true vocation.

  As her friend had explained, only the other day, ‘It’s just the same as introducing friends at a party. Only instead of hoping that they’ll like one another—I’m hoping that they’ll fall in love with a house, instead.’ And, since Sophie possessed an address book practically bulging at the seams, it seemed very likely that she would be ‘introducing’ her friends and acquaintances to various properties in the area for some time to come.

  Although Harriet had doubts about the wisdom of renting the lower ground flat in her own house to Sophie, that too had proved to be a great success. With its own private entrance out on to the street, it meant that the two girls, while remaining close friends, had no problem in living their own separate lives.

  But, now that Sophie seemed intent on introducing a strange man into her house, Harriet couldn’t help thinking that things were going to change—and not necessarily for the better.

  ‘No, Declan and Olivia aren’t interested in selling their house,’ Sophie said, forcing her way through the crowd as she joined Harriet at the bar. ‘Still, it’s always fun to meet new people, and you never know—they might just change their minds and give me a call.’

  ‘Do you ever stop networking?’ Harriet enquired, the slightly caustic note in her voice going completely over her friend’s head.

  ‘Absolutely not,’ Sophie told her seriously. ‘After all, you never know when the bread you’ve thrown on the water isn’t going to be gobbled up by a nice fat duck—right? Which reminds me…we were talking about your new second-floor apartment.’