Falling For Her Bad Boy Boss (Island Girls: 3 Sisters In Mauritius) Read online

  Falling For Her

  Bad Boy Boss

  Island Girls: 3 Sisters in Mauritius

  Book3

  by

  ZEE MONODEE

  Island Girls: 3 sisters in Mauritius Series

  The One That Got Away

  How To Love An Ogre

  Falling For Her Bad Boy Boss

  Other Books by Zee Monodee:

  Destiny’s Child Series

  The Doctor’s Prescription For Love

  The Lawyer’s Pregnancy Takeover

  The Tycoon’s Second Chance Baby (Coming Soon)

  The Daimsbury Chronicles Series

  Storm In Their Hearts (Spin-off)

  Bad Luck With Besties

  A Girl Named Trouble

  Cancer And The Playboy

  Love Amid Hot Flashes (Coming Soon)

  Falling For Her Bad Boy Boss

  (Island Girls: 3 Sisters in Mauritius, Book 3)

  By Zee Monodee

  Copyright 2007-2018, Zee Monodee

  (previously published under the title Winds Of Change)

  Kindle Edition

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  As the story is set in Mauritius (a Commonwealth country), the spelling and Grammar for this book is English (United Kingdom.)

  Cover Artist: Zee Monodee

  Editor: Natalie G. Owens (http://divasatwork.wordpress.com/)

  Blurb:

  When ties that held you back become unbound, do you dare take another chance at love?

  Suddenly a widow …

  The perfect daughter, wife, mother, homemaker—the path every Indo-Mauritian woman is expected to take. Neha Kiran has followed the rules all her life, but now in her late thirties, she finally acknowledges something doesn’t feel right. Then, one day, her husband dies … and she is free.

  Suddenly into unknown territory …

  Success, fame, alcoholism—former New Zealand boxing champion Logan Warrington has known such highs and lows and managed to put them all behind him. Between past and future, the present exists only to be survived. Coming to work as the co-owner of an Internet TV station in Mauritius shouldn’t have changed a thing … until he meets Neha.

  Suddenly blow in the winds of change …

  Neha and Logan cannot deny the intense attraction sizzling between them. But being together feels like playing a dangerous yet thrilling game of Russian roulette. Emotions, desire, forbidden love, fear—surely, something this wrong cannot be right …

  Still, can a few moments of stolen magic lead to a commitment that will last a lifetime?

  If you enjoy stories of redemption and second chances with grown up characters, Bollywood drama, and an endearing and big and boisterous family, then you will love this tale where the middle sister in the Hemant household finds out that it is okay to finally give in to her heart one cold winter on the tropical island of Mauritius.

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  Follow the link here: http://eepurl.com/cPfD6T

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  About The Author

  Don’t Forget Your FREE Book

  Excerpt from The Doctor’s Prescription For Love (Destiny’s Child, Book1)

  Falling For Her

  Bad Boy Boss

  Chapter One

  Neha Kiran was hiding—she’d admit it to herself. With her three children out of the house, she had a few moments’ peace from the never-ending drama the kids managed to rack up in her life. And without their father here to turn them into manageable offspring rather than Hell’s spawns, she was in over her head dealing with them.

  Her thumb pressed onto the open page of the historical romance novel she was reading, and her gaze lost its focus on the words. Rahul wasn’t here anymore … but it’s not like he’d been that much present in their lives to begin with before he’d been reported missing during a Monsoon flood in Mumbai. He used to travel a lot, work even more, and even she, his wife, had hardly seen him except at bed time.

  When he’d turn away from her and fall asleep.

  The thought hurt, even more than the notion that he was no longer here. The latter, she’d had over a year and a half to get used to. The idea that her marriage had most probably been a sham from Day One? That was still akin to the red-hot blade of betrayal slicing through her heart.

  Because she couldn’t help but ask herself, then, if Rahul had in fact loved another woman. Her elder sister, actually … The arranged marriage between their families, who’d been neighbours here in the upper plateau town of Curepipe, in Mauritius, was supposed to have been between Rahul and Lara. Until Lara had agreed to another proposal that had taken her back to London, and then Reema Kiran had fallen on Neha as the backup solution for her son’s bride.

  Blinking, she pulled herself out of that path leading nowhere. It didn’t help that she’d loved Rahul with all she’d had, ever since the day she had spotted him in the next-door garden, he all of sixteen while she’d been on the cusp of turning fourteen. Her family had still been living out of boxes following their move from London, where she and her two other sisters had been born and raised.

  He hadn’t loved her …

  She jumped from the couch and clutched the book in her hand. A quick glance at the clock on the mantel showed her it was close to five p.m. The children would be home soon—she better not let them catch her reading such steamy and frankly, silly, material. She’d always snuck the books in when Rahul had been away—guess that had become second nature to her.

  She plumped the cushions, then went up the stairs to her bedroom, where she stashed the novel at the back of her underwear drawer. Neha then came back downstairs, taking a turn into the kitchen as the kids would surely be starving. Well, not Susanne, her only daughter and the eldest of the clan, who wanted to be a model and thus steered clear of anything ‘carbs.’ But Kunal, her second-born and eldest son, would be coming from the gym, and he would be needing fuel. Rishi, the youngest, well, he was a growing boy—these always needed food.

  However, once at the sink, she stopped in her step at the sight greeting her from the window. Two beautiful women were heading towards her hous
e, crossing in from the opening in the hedge separating her property from the one next door.

  A groan escaped her. What were her sisters doing here? Quiet just went out the window. Her two siblings weren’t favourite people on her list when she was craving some peace. The two could talk the hind leg off a donkey all while Neha remained there like the odd one out. Mind, she loved her sisters, but she’d never had the easy camaraderie the other two shared.

  Gravel crunched outside, and a knock sounded at the back door. The frosted-glass panel then swung wide open, and the two women walked in.

  “She hasn’t got any pot on the stove, so I won,” Diya, her younger, petite sister, said.

  The devil’s spawn. Diya was every mother’s worst nightmare, a tomboy who’d had no respect and no concern for rules and propriety when she’d been growing up. Now in her late twenties, married and a parent to four boys, Diya still inspired fright and tremors in their mother and in both her sisters, as well as the poor soul who’d had the ill-fated luck to fall in love with her and marry her. No one knew what she could be up to at any given time.

  “Doesn’t mean she remembered there’s dinner at Mum’s tonight,” Lara, her older sister, replied.

  “Dinner at Mum’s tonight?” Neha squeaked.

  Blast it, she had completely forgotten how they’d all go eat at her parents’ place on the next public holiday. Today.

  “Aha!” Lara exclaimed. “I won.”

  Neha stood straighter as the two women settled on the tall bar stools at the kitchen counter. Both had dressed in jeans and tailored shirts, but while Diya’s looked like a rabid cat had attacked the fabrics with its claws, Lara’s resembled an outfit straight out of a fashion magazine. With her understated makeup, Lara epitomized the perfect modern woman confident in herself. A far cry from Diya, with her sparkly blue eyeliner, and Neha, with her comfortable skirt and cotton blouse.

  And that’s where it hurt. Diya couldn’t and wouldn’t give a damn, for anything, and Lara effortlessly achieved perfection in everything. The effortlessly bit made Neha cringe. Why couldn’t she, with all the exertion and struggle she put into her life, manage such flawlessness? Lara had a husband—a rich and successful doctor!—as crazy about her today as the first day he’d set eyes on her; she’d always been expected to be acquainted with great career heights, and her position as Managing Director of one of the most successful conference centres in the Indian Ocean wouldn’t contradict this. And the eldest of the Hemant girls had picture-perfect children who also remembered their manners whether with family or strangers alike—

  “Earth to Neha,” Diya said, waving a hand in front of Neha’s eyes.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled. “You’re alone? Where’s the gang?”

  Best she cut her losses. And find out if, or when, the hordes might descend on her place—everyone strove to escape their mother’s vicinity, and she being next-door meant her house was the perfect getaway. Good thing she’d had time to stash the novel away.

  Stepping closer to the island, she drew a stool and sat down.

  “All at Mum’s place. Dad’s over the moon to have all the grandkids, and Mum’s tipsy to have the sons-in-law there to boost her ego and tell her what wonderful girls she brought up.”

  She had to laugh. Lara had summed up their family pretty well.

  “Where are the kids?” Diya asked.

  “Suze and Rishi should be home any minute. Ballet and maths tuition.”

  “And Kunal?”

  “At the gym. Again.”

  However much it pained her that her son was into violent martial arts, she knew it was for the best. They’d been living in Cape Town, South Africa when Rahul had been declared missing. The children had been hit hard by the news, but she hadn’t known how much in Kunal’s case. When one day, she’d received a call from the police informing her that her son had been involved in a backstreet fight, she’d learnt of the extent of the emotional damage on him. On the sly, he’d started to train into Muay Thai and had busted a local gang member with his ‘skills.’

  Never mind that he’d already had a black belt in karate by then. She’d thought it all harmless fun, a boy channelling his hormones and energy. But that had been a scare, forcing her to get a grip on herself and her family. She’d ditched the guilt plaguing her whenever she recalled how she’d, for one instant, wanted out of her marriage that very morning when the call had come. People always said, “Be careful what you wish for.” She knew it all too well. Within a couple of weeks, she’d packed them up, put the house for sale, and come back to Mauritius, to their family home that had belonged to Rahul’s family for generations.

  After the brush with the law back there, she’d known her son would come looking for some violent practice here, too, whether legally or illegally. She’d thus signed him up for kickboxing training at a gym run by a former boxer who’d turned to training the next generation of Mauritian athletes. At least with him, Kunal would be in good, responsible hands. She trusted the man after having met him a few times and asked around about his reputation. He wouldn’t let any harm come to her son.

  “Goodness gracious, Neha. I’ve never seen you frown so much. Another few like the ones you’re giving us, and you’re gonna need Botox,” Diya said.

  “Dee.” Lara’s tone held a warning.

  “No, seriously.” Diya turned her intensively mascara-ed eyes onto Neha. “Stop worrying so much about the kids. You gotta let them live a little. And get a life for yourself, too, in the process.”

  Don’t you start. However much she didn’t want to start a verbal argument with the family’s sharpest tongue, she had to put a stop to this. They always got on her case, but backed off when she put her foot down.

  “Dee, they’re teenagers. Of course I’m gonna be worried.”

  “Bull. I’ve got a teen at home, too, in case you don’t know.”

  Right—Diya’s eldest stepson. An angel. Not like her lot.

  “Dee does have a point,” Lara said.

  Neha bit her lip to refrain from replying. What would they know about her existence? They weren’t one parent down in their households. Though she’d always manned the family unit alone, knowing that Rahul wasn’t coming back was something else. He hadn’t been declared dead, legally or otherwise, but he’d been actively missing for over eighteen months now.

  And he wasn’t coming back. She knew that. Too much time had passed for him to have been caught in an accident or with a lost cell phone—the scenarios she’d told herself had been most likely upon first hearing the news. She’d clung to them at first, when panic had been making her break into asthma attacks every so often. She’d lived with an inhaler within easy reach for weeks.

  “Face it. When was the last time you did something for you? Or for fun? Like go to the spa,” Diya asked.

  “She always says she doesn’t have time, Auntie Dee,” Suzanne said as she breezed into the house and joined her aunts at the counter.

  Inside her, Neha groaned. Just what she needed, Suzanne joining the clan against her. Her daughter had started pestering her about ‘getting a life.’ As much as she was happy her little girl was back to being her obnoxious self after the near-breakdown following the news of Rahul’s disappearance and the Goth and punk-rock stage back then, Suzanne was still too much of a handful under any circumstance.

  “All that beauty stuff is not for me.” Who had time for all that? She had a house to run, thank you, and three hellions to raise. She stood. “Anyone want a cuppa?”

  “Now, who’s playing hooky?” Diya asked. The beautiful young woman who could still pass for a teenager scrunched her delicate features. “Goodness, Neha. That blouse of yours was in style when? Two decades ago? And when did you last tweeze your unibrow?”

  “Don’t bother.” Suzanne rolled her eyes. “What Mum needs is a makeover. Her look is so passé, it’s scary.”

  “What you need is a purpose, like a job,” Lara said.

  “And who’ll take her when she loo
ks like this frumpy desperate housewife?”

  “Dee, shut up, will you?” Lara scolded.

  For once, Neha agreed with her. How could they discuss her as if she weren’t in the room?

  “I don’t want a job, thank you. I’ve got one that satisfies me plenty,” she replied.

  “Dirty laundry and in the kitchen all day with a cleaning spray stuck to your hand. Yeah, right, Mum. You loooove your life.”

  Well, true how, painted this way, her world looked drab, but what if she got her kicks out of doing laundry? The corporate world scared her a little—okay, a lot!—and she’d always known her fortes were being the good wife, mother, and homemaker. She’d been raised to be the perfect Indian household daughter-in-law, and unlike her sisters, she’d never had any problem with that.

  “Communications science and media management. That was your major for the degree you got in South Africa, innit?” Lara asked.

  How did she remember? Neha must’ve mentioned it just once, in passing. But maybe her mother had thought it best to spread the news far and wide as often as she got the chance.

  “But I’m not looking for a job. Now cut it out. Who wants cupcakes?”

  She went over to the cake stand on the opposite counter where she retrieved a tray of frosted vanilla little cakes in their paper cups.

  Diya reached for one. Lara swiped a little butter cream off Diya’s cake.

  “Have one,” she told her sister.

  “No, thanks,” Lara replied.

  Hmm. Lara probably didn’t want to disrupt her faultless figure which, even after three pregnancies, resembled a statuesque model’s.

  Gravel crunched again outside, and a knock resounded. A tall, blond young man with a sobbing toddler in his arms pushed the door open.