The tycoon's trophy mistress [antikvár]

CHAPTER ONEIn the London headquarters of Wolfe International the man with the cool grey eyes paced the luxurious private office kept solely for his use, restless as a tiger in a cage.What would he do if she didn't show, if she'd changed her mind?Above the muted but ever-present background roar of Piccadilly's traffic he heard the high-pitched whine of the lift.A moment later, pausing by the long narrow horizontal window between the two offices, he saw the door of the outer office open.Screened by the cream vertical-slatted blind, he watched her walk into the empty outer office and stand by Telford's large, imposing desk.A natural redhead, he judgedlong-legged, slender and graceful, with an oval face, a straight nose, high cheekbones, a determined chin and a mouth like a young Sophia Loren's.Her hair was taken up into a smooth coil which served to emphasize her pure bone-structure, and from his vantage point he could see that her eyes slanted up a little at the outer corners. Disappointingly, he couldn't make out their colour.She was so exactly like his dream of a perfect woman that she could have been built to his specification.Though this woman was far from being a plastic, mass-produced, empty-headed doll type.A special somethingthe alignment of her features maybemade hers a fascinating face rather than merely5