From international bestselling author Zara Cox comes the scorching fourth book in The Mortimers: Wealthy & Wicked series.
Photographer Jensen Scott is convinced his subject is just a pampered princess with a cold heart...but this ice queen is prepared to indulge his wildest desires!
Graciela Mortimer’s reputation precedes her: she’s rich, entitled and far too beautiful, exactly like the woman who broke my heart. But here on a snowy Alaskan photoshoot in the wilderness, I’m starting to think she’s not what I first thought. In fact, she might just be the wake-up call I need.
After Graciela sends away her entourage in favor of an intimate one-on-one shoot with yours truly, a vicious blizzard sweeps through our camp and catches us unprepared. We’re forced to retreat to our cabin, with only each other for company. Perhaps Graciela could make me trust again...but will she let me in long enough to thaw her heart?
Harlequin DARE publishes sexy romances featuring powerful alpha males and bold, fearless women exploring their deepest fantasies.
Read more of Zara Cox’s exciting miniseries The Mortimers: Wealthy & Wicked: Worth the Risk, Pleasure Payback, Her Every Fantasy, available now!
Zara Cox writes contemporary and erotic romance. She lives in the Garden of England—aka Kent—with her hubby and two kids. She loves to read and travel. In 2017 she managed to visit her number one bucket list destination—Hawaii—and is now actively pleading with her husband to live there! She loves to hear from her readers; you can get in touch with her via Twitter (@zcoxbooks), on Instagram (zaracoxwriter) or Facebook (zaracoxwriter).
If you liked Driving Him Wild, why not try
Bad Boss by Jackie Ashenden
Taming Reid by J. Margot Critch
Pure Temptation by Rebecca Hunter
And look for other DARE books by Zara Cox
Close to the Edge
The Mortimers: Wealthy and Wicked
Worth the Risk
Pleasure Payback
Her Every Fantasy
Discover more at Harlequin.com
DRIVING HIM WILD
ZARA COX
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Excerpt from Taming Reid by J. Margot Critch
CHAPTER ONE
THERE WERE CERTAIN markers I’d come to rely on over the years. Markers that signified what sort of day was in store for me.
Opening my eyes exactly sixty seconds before my alarm went off was a good starter sign. My assistant getting my coffee at ninety-one point seven degrees, not the scalding one hundred degrees most people thought was the ideal temperature for the perfect cup of java? Wonderful.
Progression from car to lift to corner office without a single one of my three hundred plus staff interrupting my seven hundred and fifty-seven steps? Utter perfection.
Precision and order equalled harmony.
There was nothing precise or orderly or harmonious about the deep rumbling voice firing off questions at my hapless crew fifty feet from where I stood, perfect coffee rapidly cooling in my hand.
No one had approached me...yet, because I’d taught my people to handle problems well.
And also, I knew deep down to my very bones, because I was who I was.
Graciela Mortimer. The woman who went by many monikers.
Billionaire heiress.
Goddess of Charity.
Queen of Cash.
Or the most frequently used—and the one I hated the most—Bitch Ice Princess.
There was some sort of irony in remembering that here, standing underneath the distant shadow of the ice-covered Alaskan Range, on a frozen lake scant miles from the Arctic Circle while surrounded by minions poised to obey my every word. But wasn’t my life one giant fucked-up expression of the term? Prime example—hadn’t I, in my feverish attempt to not draw attention to myself, inadvertently become the public face of a global conglomerate? That in fervently wishing to be ordinary, remove myself from the harsh spotlight of being a Mortimer, I’d somehow achieved extraordinary status, earning myself, not one or two, but three prestigious magazine cover appearances and a mantel full of accolades?
Nevertheless, if the frenzied media coverage over the last year were an indication, my achievements paled significantly in comparison to the man who’d arrived twenty minutes ago in a flurry of a dozen husky-pulled sleds, sleek but weathered in all-white winter gear and reflective sunglasses, and a whole hour late.
Jensen Scott.
World famous adventure photographer.
Half-English, half-Danish on his mother’s side. And according to Elsa, my mostly efficient if sometimes too day-dreamy assistant, possessor of killer jawline, fuck-me hair, body and eyes.
In short, six foot five of extremely fuckable man.
From where I stood, I could confirm the six-foot-five stature.
I could also confirm that the man possessed a certain intangible...presence, the kind that tweaked even my jaded senses. The kind that compelled and intrigued.
With the ever-present threat of a snowstorm and precious few hours of remaining daylight, everyone had pressing tasks to be getting on with. Yet even those scouts tasked with looking out for unfavourable visits from curious polar bears and other Arctic wildlife were distracted by our latecomer.
That straying from procedure grew increasingly unacceptable, sparking my uncustomary temper. The kind normally tightly controlled and unleashed on the very deserving. Like certain members of my family.
Incomparable talent or not, right this moment, the man dressing down my project manager without so much as raising his voice higher than the cold, frozen landscape around us was jumping on my last but one nerve. Not quite the last because that was reserved. For what exactly? I wasn’t sure. But the instinct I’d learned to heed told me save that last nerve.
Because I’d be needing it sooner rather than later?
Shame I didn’t listen to that caution twenty-odd years ago, back when I’d needed it most. If I had, my life would’ve been oh, so different than it was now.
You sure about that? You think escaping your destiny would’ve been that easy?
I ignored the cynical voice in my head that sounded eerily like my mother’s and narrowed my eyes at the small gathering.
Larry, my normally unflappable project manager, was positively quaking. And it had nothing to do with the freezing wind blowing off the frozen Alaskan lake we currently stood on.
I discarded my coffee and forced my limbs to move, swearing for the
