LITMIR.BIZ

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      When Quinn looked at her with intense, consuming heat in his vivid eyes, she let the words slip free on a husky whisper.

      ‘I love you.’

      It was as if a dam had burst. Hiccupping sobs sounded and tears streamed while she said it more firmly. ‘You really have no idea how much I love you.’

      For a moment Quinn froze, and then his gruff voice demanded, ‘Say it again.’

      ‘I love you.’ Somehow she managed to smile. It was weak and tremulous, but it was the best she could do. ‘I can’t breathe properly when you’re not there.’

      Trish Wylie tried various careers before eventually fulfilling her dream of writing. Years spent working in the music industry, in promotions, and teaching little kids about ponies gave her plenty of opportunity to study life and the people around her. Which, in Trish’s opinion, is a pretty good study course for writing! Living in Ireland, Trish balances her time between writing and horses. If you get to spend your days doing things you love, then she thinks that’s not doing too badly. You can contact Trish at www.trishwylie.com

       Praise for Trish Wylie

      ‘Trish Wylie’s HER ONE AND ONLY VALENTINE

       has excellent characters—particularly the larger-than-life

       hero. It also has charm and wit to spare.’

       —Romantic Times BOOKreviews

       Trish also writes for Modern Heat ™

      ‘Charming, romantic and fabulous,

       HIS MISTRESS, HIS TERMS is another novel

       by Ms Wylie with keeper stamped all over it.’

       —Cataromance.com

       Dear Reader

      In the summer of 2007 I fell in love. Not with a tall, dark and handsome, but with a city. In the dying light of a summer day I looked out through the windows of an airport shuttle and there it was—New York. It took my breath away. And the further I got into the heart of the city the harder I fell.

      Suddenly I understood why there are as many Irish in NYC as there are on the entire island of Ireland! If I was to choose a place to live over there then it would definitely be Brooklyn Heights. Not that I could afford it. But that’s the beauty of fiction—you can live anywhere in the world and price is no object! Another beauty is you can then add a completely gorgeous hero to the mix. And I do think this is Quinn’s story. He takes a bigger journey in this book than I did to get to New York from Ireland. The bigger they are the harder they fall, they say. But this one fought and fought and fought. Bless him.

      Personally, I plan on keeping my eyes peeled on my next New York trip. Well…you never know, do you? A girl can dream…

      Hs & Ks

       Trish

      MANHATTAN BOSS, DIAMOND PROPOSAL

      BY

      TRISH WYLIE

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      For Marilyn, the kind of reader

       who makes me remember why I write,

       even on the days words are hard to find…

      And for John—the best tour guide in New York City.

      PROLOGUE

      ‘HE’S NOT COMING.’

      ‘What do you mean he’s not coming?’

      Clare O’Connor turned away from the floor-length mirror, her chin lifting so she could search his eyes. Not that she knew him well enough to be able to read anything there. Tall, dark and brooding she’d named him after their first meeting. And despite the fact she’d since had glimpses of a wicked sense of humour, when he chose to use it, she still thought her initial impression was on the money.

      She shook her head. ‘What do you mean he’s not coming? Did something happen to him?’

      A muscle jumped in his jaw. And it was the first indication she had that he was telling the truth. She shook her head again, nervous laughter escaping her parted lips. No way. There was no way Jamie had done this to her. Not now.

      ‘I’m sorry, Clare.’

      When one long arm lifted towards her she stepped back, the world tilting a little beneath her feet. ‘Where is he?’

      ‘He’s gone.’

      ‘Gone?’

      Gone where? Why? What had happened? This kind of thing didn’t happen in real life! She tried to form a coherent thought rather than parroting everything she was told. Why now? Why not yesterday or the day before that or the day before that? When there’d been time to cancel everything and let everyone know. Why let her follow him all the way across the Atlantic if—?

      ‘He didn’t have the guts to face you.’

      Clare laughed a little more manically. ‘So he sent you to tell me?’ Of all the people Jamie knew he had felt this guy was the one to send? It was almost funny. ‘No phone call? No note? Is this a joke?’

      ‘No joke. He’s gone and he’s not coming back.’

      The determined tone to his voice made the edges of her vision go dark. When she felt herself swaying, two large hands grasped her elbows to steady her while she blinked furiously.

      ‘You need to sit down.’

      Clare yanked her arms free, her gaze focusing on a smudge of dirt on his jacket before sliding over the dark material and noticing several other smudges along the way. But she wasn’t interested in how they’d got there, she just needed to think. She needed to—

      When her chin jerked towards the door and her eyes widened with horror, his husky voice sounded above her head. ‘I’ll go.’

      Dear God. All the people beyond that door, waiting for her—how was she supposed to face them? But she couldn’t let him go out there and do her dirty work for her. Not that the offer wasn’t tempting, but they were waiting for her. And some of them had flown thousands of miles—for her. So it was her responsibility to tell them…

      Swallowing down a wave of nausea, she reached for his arm. ‘Wait. Just give me a second here.’

      Taking several deep breaths of cool air, she tightened her fingers around his forearm, as if the part of her that was drowning naturally sought out something solid to keep her from going under.

      From somewhere she found the strength to keep her voice calm. ‘Did he leave with her?’

      ‘Clare—’

      She flexed her fingers as she looked up. ‘Did he? I want to know.’

      ‘How long have you known?’

      Up until he’d asked that question she’d never really known for sure. But she had her answer now, didn’t she? So much for telling herself it was paranoia…

      Letting go of his arm, she nodded firmly while biting down on her lower lip to stop it from trembling. If the price of naïveté was the death of the starry-eyed dreamer then the job was done. And she was about to receive her punishment on a grand scale, wasn’t she?

      ‘I’ll tell them. It’s because of me they’re out there in the first place.’

      ‘You don’t have to.’

      ‘Yes, I do.’ An inward breath caught on a hint of a sob so she closed her eyes and willed it away, promising it: later. Later when no one could see. ‘Jamie might

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