Kitabı oku: «Seduction: The Billionaire's Bride of Vengeance»

Three rich, ruthless, eligible but

uncompromising bachelors, who’ll

use any means to bed—and wed— their women!

Seduction

Three dramatic, sexy and utterly

compelling stories from Australian

author Miranda Lee

Passion Lynne Graham June 2011

Pleasure Sandra Marton July 2011

Seduction Miranda Lee August 2011

Fascination Carole Mortimer September 2011

Satisfaction Sharon Kendrick October 2011

Celebration Carol Marinelli November 2011

About the Author

MIRANDA LEE is Australian, living near Sydney. Born and raised in the bush, she was boarding-school educated and briefly pursued a career in classical music, before moving to Sydney and embracing the world of computers. Happily married, with three daughters, she began writing when family commitments kept her at home. She likes to create stories that are believable, modern, fast-paced and sexy. Her interests include meaty sagas, doing word puzzles, gambling and going to the movies.

Look out for Miranda Lee’s exciting novel, Not a Marrying Man, available soon from Mills & Boon^® Modern^™.

Seduction

The Billionaire’s

Bride of Vengeance

The Billionaire’s

Bride of Convenience

The Billionaire’s

Bride of Innocence

Miranda Lee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Billionaire’s

Bride of Vengeance

Miranda Lee

PROLOGUE

RUSSELL’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as he arrived at the address he’d been given.

‘Mr Power is out of the office today,’ he’d been told when he burst into Power Mortgages half an hour earlier and demanded to see Alistair Power.

At first the receptionist had refused to tell Russell where Power might be, no doubt sensing trouble in the eyes of the distraught young man standing in front of her desk. But Russell’s ironically truthful statement that he had urgent business with her boss concerning the tragic death of a business associate had finally elicited the information he wanted. Mr Power and his wife were at the construction site of their new home in the exclusive Sydney suburb of Belleview Hill.

Russell had somehow managed a smile and the girl had jotted down the address.

He wasn’t smiling now, a bitter bile filling his mouth as he stared up at what was obviously going to be a grand mansion. Amazing what one could buy with other people’s money!

Russell wrenched the wheel of his rusty old car towards the gravel driveway and drove right up to the front of the three-storeyed building. The shell of the house was finished, the roof was on, the front steps in place. A middle-aged man in a superbly tailored business suit was standing up on the porch, a leggy blonde next to him.

Power’s trophy wife, obviously.

Russell didn’t stop to think, his emotions spilling over at the sight of the man whose greed had driven his father to despair and suicide. Hatred propelled him out of the car, his hands curling into furious fists as he charged up the steps.

‘Alistair Power!’ he called out at the same time.

Cool grey eyes raked over him; Power was not overly perturbed, it seemed, by Russell’s aggressive approach.

‘Yes. Can I help you?’

Russell could not believe the man’s lack of concern. Couldn’t he see his visitor had murder in his heart?

Russell resisted the urge to punch Power then and there. First, he wanted the creep to know who he was and why he’d come.

‘I thought you’d like to know that my father killed himself last week.’

Power’s eyebrows arched. ‘And your father is?’

‘Keith McClain.’

‘That name means nothing to me. I know no Keith McClain.’

My God, he didn’t even recognise his father’s name! Yet Russell knew that his dad—his shy but proud dad—had gone to Power personally and begged him for more time to repay his loan.

‘You knew him well enough to let him take out two mortgages on his farm,’ Russell ground out, ‘when he had no possible means of meeting the repayments. He had no stock, no crops, no income. The ten-year drought had seen to that. But his land was valuable, wasn’t it? So you deliberately let him get into debt and then you just took it!’

‘Young man, I don’t force people to take out mortgages.’

‘You shouldn’t agree to lend money which you know people can’t pay back,’ Russell countered heatedly. ‘I’ve made some enquiries about Power Mortgages and that’s your modus operandi.’

Power didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘I haven’t done anything illegal. The mistake was your father’s. He should have sold his property rather than borrow more money.’

‘But the land had been in his family for generations! He knew nothing else but farming.’

‘That’s not my fault.’

‘But it is your fault. You, and men like you. You don’t have any feelings, any compassion. All you care about is making money.’

‘Business has little room for compassion, son.’

‘Don’t you call me son, you greedy bastard,’ Russell snapped, a red haze of grief launching him forwards.

The trophy wife threw herself in front of Power, stopping Russell in his tracks.

‘Don’t!’ she cried, her hands fluttering up to ward off Russell’s fists. ‘It’ll only make things worse. And it won’t bring your father back.’

He stared into her striking green eyes and saw she didn’t really have any compassion, either. She was just protecting her lifestyle.

The seeds of a different vengeance were sown in Russell at that point; a vengeance which would be far more satisfying than murder.

Pulling away from her, Russell whirled and walked back down the steps. At the bottom, he turned and glared back up at Power.

‘One day,’ he threatened, his eyes as hard as his heart, ‘one day, I’m going to destroy you. I vow on my father’s grave that I won’t rest till I take everything you hold dear, the way you took everything from him!’

CHAPTER ONE

Sixteen years later …

BANGKOK WAS HOT, VERY hot. And humid.

By the time Nicole had walked the kilometre from her cheap hotel to the orphanage, her singlet top was clinging to her back.

The Nicole of a few months ago would have complained incessantly about her limp-rag hair and sweaty clothes. If she’d been staying in Bangkok back then, she would not have moved from her five-star, air-conditioned hotel, except to take a dip in the pool, or a ride in a luxury limousine.

But that Nicole no longer existed. On one traumatic day last June, her very spoiled eyes had been opened by the discovery that the three main people in her life were not the good guys she’d believed them to be.

First, she’d walked in on her soon-to-be husband having sex on his office desk with his PA. Neither of them had noticed her presence in the doorway at the time.

Shattered, Nicole had fled home to her mother who’d amazingly tried to convince her that it was impossible for wealthy, successful men to be faithful. If Nicole was sensible, she’d learn to turn a blind eye to her fiancé’s sexual transgressions.

‘I always do whenever Alistair strays,’ her mother had said without turning a hair on her beautifully coiffured blonde head.

The realisation that her stepfather had been sleeping around, and that her mother collaborated with his adultery, had shocked Nicole, possibly even more than David’s infidelity.

It had all been too much. A pampered princess she might have become since her mother married Alistair, but she was not without morals or feelings.

The following day she’d returned her engagement ring, resulting in an argument during which David had said some cutting things to her about her inadequacies in the bedroom. After that she’d had an equally unpleasant confrontation with her stepfather, who’d called her naïve and narrow-minded.

‘The winners in this world don’t always follow the rules,’ he’d stated arrogantly. ‘David is a winner. As his wife, you, my dear Nicole, could have had it all. Now I’ll have to find you another rich husband who can keep you in the manner to which you’ve become accustomed.’

Nicole had been rendered speechless by the inference that David had been procured for her by her stepfather.

But, with hindsight, she realised that had probably been so.

Nicole had immediately quit her totally superficial and no doubt nepotistically acquired position in the PR department of Power Mortgages. That same afternoon, she’d answered an ad in a newspaper to go on a backpacking holiday with another girl whose friend had withdrawn from the trip at the last minute. A week later Nicole had flown out of Mascot Airport with nothing but her severance pay, hopeful of finding some much needed independence, plus some new priorities other than the supposed good things in life.

Now, four months later, she was a different person.

A real person, she liked to think, living in the real world.

‘Nicoe, Nicoe!’ the children at the orphanage chorused when she walked into the dusty compound where they were playing.

Nicole smiled at how they couldn’t pronounce the letter ‘l’. Yet on the whole their English was very good, courtesy of the wonderful woman who ran the orphanage.

After hugs and kisses all round, the children begged her to sing something for them. Music had always been a great love of Nicole’s and she had a good voice.

‘What song would you like?’ she asked, hooking her carry-all over her shoulder and heading for the shade of the only tree that graced the yard.

‘Warzing Matinda!’ a little boy called out.

‘“Waltzing Matilda”, you mean,’ she said, ruffling his thick black hair.

‘Yes, Nicoe. Warzing Matinda.’

She laughed, and they all laughed, too. It always amazed Nicole how happy these children could be. Yet, materially speaking, they had nothing. She’d thought she’d been poor before her mother had met and married Alistair. Compared to these orphans, she’d been rich.

‘All right. Let’s sit down here.’

The kids all settled down in the dirt under the tree, their eager faces turned up towards her.

Nicole opened her mouth and began to sing.

‘“Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong,

Under the shade of a coolabah tree.

And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boiled.

You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me …”’

None of the children moved a muscle till she finished the famous Australian ballad, after which they jumped up and clapped and begged her to sing it again. She would have, if the chime on her cellphone hadn’t interrupted.

‘Excuse me,’ she said as she fished out her phone from her bag. ‘Off you go and play for a while.’

Nicole already suspected who might be calling. Her mother rang her every week, all the while pretending that her daughter wasn’t disgusted with her. Nicole didn’t have the heart to cut the woman out of her life entirely. She still loved her mother, and knew her mother loved her.

‘Yes?’ she answered.

‘Nicole, it’s your mother.’

Nicole frowned. Something was wrong. Her mother never called herself that. On top of which, her voice sounded very strained.

‘Hello, Mum. What’s up?’

‘I … um …’ Mrs Power broke off, then suddenly blurted out, ‘You have to come home.’

Nicole’s frown deepened. ‘Come home? Why?’ She paused. ‘Mum, where are you?’

‘I can’t tell you that.’

‘What? Why not?’

‘Your father doesn’t want anyone to know where we are.’

‘Alistair Power is not my father,’ Nicole said coldly.

‘He’s more of a father than that married creep who impregnated me,’ her mother snapped. ‘Alistair, no! Let me talk to her.’

Nicole heard the sound of a scuffle in the background.

‘Now you listen to me, you ungrateful little chit!’ Alistair spat out down the line. ‘If it had been up to me, I wouldn’t have bothered with this call. But your mother loves you, though lord knows why. This is the situation. My company has gone belly-up and my creditors are baying for more blood, so we’ve left Australia for good. The bank has repossessed the house in Belleview Hill and no doubt will sell it, lock, stock and barrel, to some greedy opportunist.’

‘But … but all my things are still there!’ Nicole protested.

‘That’s why your mother called. To tell you to get your butt back to Sydney pronto before the locks are changed and all your personal possessions are sent to a charity or the rubbish tip.’

‘They can’t do that!’

‘Who’s to stop them? I certainly can’t.’

Nicole groaned. She didn’t give a damn about her designer clothes. But she did care about all the mementos of her childhood, especially her school days, which had been very happy. There were several photo albums and scrapbooks which were irreplaceable to her. That they might be thrown into some skip filled her with horror.

‘Here’s your mother again,’ Alistair growled.

‘You don’t have to worry about your jewellery, dear,’ her mother said in a sugary-sweet voice. ‘I brought it all with me.’

‘I don’t care about the jewellery, Mum.’

‘But it’s worth a small fortune!’

She was right, Nicole realised. Her stepfather had showered her with beautiful pieces over the years: diamonds, pearls and lots of emeralds.

‘To match your beautiful eyes,’ he’d said more than once, ladling on the false charm which came so easily to him.

It suddenly occurred to Nicole that if she sold her jewellery, she would have the funds to make some much needed improvements to this orphanage. It would be silly to throw such an opportunity away for the sake of pride.

‘Would it be possible for you to send my jewellery to me, Mum?’

‘Of course. But where? Every time I ring you, you’re in a different country. Which one is it now?’

‘The same one as last time. Thailand. On second thoughts, could you courier all my jewellery to Kara’s place? I’ll let her know it’s coming. You remember her address, don’t you?’

‘How could I possibly forget? I drove you there enough times. You are going home, then, to collect your things?’

‘Yes. As soon as I can get a flight to Sydney.’ Thank goodness she already had a pre-paid return ticket, because she was almost broke.

‘That’s good. It really bothered me, having to leave behind all those lovely clothes of yours.’

Nicole sighed. Glad to see you’ve still got your priorities right, Mum.

‘I’m sorry I can’t tell you where we are. But you don’t have to worry,’ her mother whispered down the line. ‘We have plenty of money to live on. Alistair deposited a good chunk into an offshore account last year. If you need anything, you only have to ask.’

Nicole shuddered. Over my dead body. ‘I should go, Mum.’

‘Ring me from Sydney, won’t you?’

‘OK.’

Nicole shook her head as she hung up. There was no hope for her mother, she realised sadly. No hope at all.

CHAPTER TWO

TOTAL revenge, Russell was forced to accept as he drove towards his enemy’s mansion in Bellevue Hill, was very difficult to achieve.

For sixteen years, the thought of vengeance had sustained him as he’d worked tirelessly to create the means to bring down the man who’d been responsible for his father’s death. To make Power pay for what he’d done—not just to Russell’s father, but to thousands of other desperate people.

At last the opportunity had presented itself, courtesy of the meltdown of the prime mortgage market in the USA. Russell had gone in for the kill, ruthlessly selling all the shares in Power Mortgages that he’d secretly acquired over the years. In one short week, he’d succeeded in wiping millions off that amoral bastard’s fortune.

When Sydney’s real estate grapevine—to which Russell was privy—revealed that Power had borrowed extensively to support his lavish lifestyle, and that his banker had repossessed his multi-million dollar mansion, Russell had made an immediate offer for the house which he’d known would not be refused. He hadn’t bothered with an inspection of the building, or with viewing the contents, which were part of the deal. He hadn’t wanted to set foot in the place till it was his.

And now he was on his way there, the contracts safely signed, the keys in his pocket.

He should have been over the moon.

But he wasn’t.

Why?

Because the bastard had escaped, that’s why. Fled the country, flown off to some secret overseas hideaway, where he’d probably funnelled millions into off-shore accounts so that he wouldn’t have to pay back his many creditors in Australia.

The thought of Alistair Power lying back on some beach in the Bahamas irked Russell no end. Men like that had no right to live, let alone live in the lap of luxury.

Still, there was some satisfaction to be gained from knowing that his enemy’s reputation had been ruined. No longer would Power be fêted by presidents and prime ministers. Nor would that smarmy smile of his be continuously flashed across television screens, because of coverage of whatever super-glamorous party he happened to be throwing that weekend.

The venue for those parties came into view. Russell finally saw the finished version of the three-storeyed mansion he’d visited that fateful day sixteen years earlier.

An hour ago, he’d been listening to the man handling the sale at the bank wax lyrical about how the house had been designed to take full advantage of its site on one of the highest points in Bellevue Hill: how each floor had lots of terraces and balconies, all with wonderful views of the city and harbour; how the top level was devoted entirely to living rooms, providing the perfect setting for parties.

But no verbal description could do justice to the visual impact of the building, with its dazzlingly white cement-rendered walls and the rich, royal-blue trim around its many windows and doors.

Russell pulled into the driveway and braked to a halt in front of a pair of security gates.

Sixteen years ago, there’d been no security at all. In fact, there’d been nothing to stop him from doing what he’d gone here to do.

Russell sighed.

Part of him would always regret that he’d settled for vengeful words that day, rather than actions. Still, if he had given in to his violent urgings, he’d be currently looking through prison bars and not the wrought-iron ones in front of him. He certainly wouldn’t be sitting here in a rich man’s car, wearing a rich man’s suit.

Russell pressed the remote he’d been given, waiting with learned patience till the gates swung open, after which he drove slowly around the circular drive that surrounded a magnificent marble Italian-style fountain.

Russell bypassed the six-car garage at the side of the house, parking his racing-green Aston Martin at the base of the flight of stone steps which led up to a now impressively columned front porch. With the house keys in his hand, he climbed out from behind the wheel then walked up the steps, stopping once he reached the top to turn round and take in the view.

The grounds were as magnificent as the fountain, having the grandeur which would have befitted a palace, with extensive lawns edged with perfectly pruned hedges and perfectly placed shade trees. Russell had been assured that the back garden was more impressive than the front, with a large terrace, a solar-heated pool and a synthetic-surface tennis court.

‘The pool has a pool house,’ the man at the bank had rattled on, ‘which has its own kitchen, bathroom, two guest bedrooms and a spacious living area. It’s larger than a lot of Sydney apartments.’

Possibly larger than his own, Russell accepted. He currently lived quite modestly in a two-bedroom unit on McMahon’s Point, having never felt the need for anything bigger, or more opulent. After all, he only went there to eat and sleep. Unlike a lot of successful real-estate agents, he didn’t entertain much. When he did, it was never at home.

Power’s mansion, however, was not the kind of home one only slept in. It was built for showing off … built as a monument to its owner’s material success.

And now it was all his.

Once again, Russell didn’t experience the rush of triumphant pleasure he’d always anticipated such a moment would bring. Was it a case of the journey being better than reaching the destination? Or was it that he had no one to share his vengeance with?

His mother had never succumbed to the anger and bitterness which had consumed Russell after his father’s suicide. She hadn’t blamed Power Mortgages at all, astonishing Russell with the revelation that his father had suffered from depression for some time, which had led to the poor decisions that had resulted in their farm being repossessed. She’d dismissed the fact that Power Mortgages specialised in arranging loans for people who had no hope of repaying them in the first place.

After grieving for her much-loved husband for a couple of years, Frieda McClain had chosen to move on with her life, marrying another farmer.

Russell had never been able to understand his mother’s attitude. Frankly, he’d felt almost betrayed by the briefness of her mourning. He’d been absolutely devastated by his father’s suicide, his sorrow made all the worse by a measure of guilt.

Russell hated the thought that one of the reasons his father had borrowed so much had been to give his son the kind of education he’d never received himself. Although Russell had won a scholarship to a top Sydney boarding school, of course there’d been more expenses involved than just the fees. Then, after Russell had passed his high-school certificate, his father had insisted he go on to uni, paying for him to share a flat with his much wealthier school friends, even buying him an old car to get around in.

He should have known his dad couldn’t afford any of it. He should have seen the truth behind the white lies. The evidence had been there every time he went home.

Russell had been close to suicide himself the day he’d buried his father.

Only the thought of revenge had sustained him, giving him something to live for. After his run-in with Power he’d immediately dropped out of his law degree and taken a job as a real-estate salesman, luckily finding a position in a premier agency in Sydney’s exclusive eastern suburbs. Over the next few years, he’d spent a lot less time with his friends—and even less with girls—channelling all his energies into becoming rich enough to have the weapons to ruin Alistair Power.

At the age of thirty-six, he was Sydney’s most successful real-estate agent, owning several businesses in the best Sydney suburbs, plus a personal portfolio of property to rival the wealthiest in Australia, a portfolio which now included one of Sydney’s most photographed homes.

Russell realised, as he turned and strode under the covered portico, that the media were sure to get hold of the news that he’d bought this place. Such purchases were news. For a split-second, he considered doing what he’d never done before: give an interview to a journalist in the vain hope that Power might read it and finally connect the Russell McClain of McClain Real Estate with that long-haired youth who’d threatened vengeance all those years ago.

Waste of time, Russell decided as he slotted the key into the brass lock of the double front doors. Because Power wouldn’t make the connection. They’d already met again—over a property deal—and there’d not been a hint of recognition in Power’s face. It seemed men without consciences didn’t remember their victims for long. Possibly because there were too many of them.

What a cold-blooded bastard!

As Russell pushed open the heavy front doors and stepped into the cavernous foyer of the house, a surprising sound met his ears.

Singing.

Startled, he stood stock-still and listened.

Yes. Someone was singing somewhere upstairs—a woman.

Russell frowned. Could it be a radio, perhaps left playing by the cleaning service which the bank said had serviced the place yesterday?

No, it wasn’t a radio, he quickly deduced, the voice having no instrumental backing.

Someone was in his house, someone who shouldn’t be there. And they were upstairs, singing.

Russell knew exactly who it was.

A squatter.

It was a scenario not unfamiliar to him.

People would be amazed at how often empty homes were squatted in, even ones as lavish as this. It didn’t matter how much security you had, how high the walls were or how many locks you had—these street-smart scroungers found a way in.

Russell planned his course of action as he made his way quietly up the curving staircase to the first floor.

Often there was a whole group of them, usually junkies. Sometimes, however, it was just some runaway looking for a place to sleep. Or to shower.

He suspected this might be the latter.

When Russell reached the first landing, he could hear the faint hiss of water running as well as the singing. It sounded as if she was in the shower. He moved across the wide, carpeted landing to the door straight in front of him. Very carefully, he turned the knob and popped his head in.

No, not in here, Russell quickly deduced.

He shook his head as he glanced around what had to be the master bedroom. Power certainly hadn’t stinted on the decor. Even if the French-style furniture was reproduction, it must still have cost a packet. So had the movie-size television screen built into the wall opposite the foot of the bed.

Russell’s eyebrows lifted. Maybe twenty million was a bargain price for this place. The contents alone were worth a small fortune. It must have hurt Power to leave it all behind.

He sure as hell hoped so.

It pained him that Power would probably never know who had bought his house. It pained him even more that he would never be able to have a more personal revenge on the man.

Maybe he would gain some more satisfaction when he actually moved in, which he fully intended to do tomorrow.

But, first, he had to turf out his unwelcome guest.

Shutting the door, he moved along the corridor to his left where he popped his head in the next door.

It was another bedroom, very pretty and very feminine.

The queen-sized bed had obviously been slept in, the gold satin quilt thrown back, the pillows crumpled.

The sound of water running was definitely louder in there, though the singing had suddenly stopped. Slipping inside, Russell made his way silently across the room, noting the bundle of cheap-looking clothes thrown carelessly on the floor next to the bed.

He shook his head at the sight. The hide of this woman!

When he reached what he presumed was the bathroom door he considered knocking first, but decided against giving this bold interloper any warning.

Too bad if she was stark naked, he decided angrily as he reached for the door knob. Squatters didn’t deserve any consideration or respect.

Without thinking of the possible consequences of his actions, Russell turned the knob and pushed open the door.

CHAPTER THREE

SHE was naked, with the kind of body which took a man’s breath away: tall and slender, with long legs, perfect breasts and a pert but curvy little bottom.

She didn’t notice him standing there, her eyes squeezed tightly shut as she vigorously shampooed her long, fair hair.

Russell made no move to make his presence known to her. He was way too busy admiring the view. Yet he’d never been the kind of man to openly ogle women, or to salivate over centrefolds.

But he was on the verge of salivating now, not to mention succumbing to an increasingly forbidden fantasy.

Perhaps he’d been too long without a woman …

On the whole, Russell didn’t find his mainly celibate lifestyle too much of a hardship. Working twenty-four-seven absorbed his energies to a large degree. But at least once a month his male hormones would rebel.

Despite not being traditionally handsome, Russell never had any trouble attracting women, especially when he put himself in an environment conducive to seduction. Sydney nightclubs always had a plethora of beautiful young things who were only too willing and eager to accommodate him, first on the dance floor and then in his bed.

Possibly, some of these girls had hoped things would progress beyond the kind of brief, strictly sexual liaisons Russell indulged in, despite his always having made it clear right from the start that it wouldn’t.

And it never did. Relationships were definitely not on Russell’s agenda. Never had been, never would be. Something had happened to his heart after his father’s death: it had lost the capacity to love and to trust. His heart had become hard, he knew.

However, another part of Russell’s body was hard at this precise moment.

Frustration raged as he continued to look at the naked nymph in the shower. Frustration, plus the wickedest of temptations.

When her hands lifted to smooth her soapy hair back from her forehead, she tipped her face up into the spray, turning it this way and that.

Russell’s fascinated gaze fastened on her face. She was beautiful, with delicate features and clear skin. Of course, he couldn’t see her eyes, which remained tightly shut. But it seemed impossible that Mother Nature could have fashioned a creature so lovely, then given her ugly eyes.

No, they would be beautiful, like the rest of her.

Once she opened them, however, and saw him standing there, staring at her, all hell would break loose. She would probably scream the place down.

I should have called the police and not burst in here, Russell realised with hindsight.

Experience had taught him that squatters and runaways were extremely wily. If he called the police now, he wouldn’t put it past this girl to concoct some story that he’d invited her here. She might even cry rape. And they just might believe her, given her looks.

Russell did the only thing he could, under the circumstances. He backed out of the room, shutting the door very quietly behind him. There he waited till the shower was turned off and sufficient time had passed for her to have dried and dressed herself.

Then he did the right thing.

He knocked.

‘Who is it?’ the girl called out.

‘More to the point, who are you?’ he challenged.

‘Nicole Power,’ she called back.

‘Who?’ Had he heard right? Had she really said she was Nicole Power? Surely not!

‘Nicole Power,’ she repeated.

Shock rendered Russell speechless.

Nicole Power! Of all people! Of all women!

He hadn’t recognised her. Not without her clothes on, and not without her eyes open.

Even worse was the fact that he’d fancied her. No, that was an understatement. He’d lusted after her, with a force that was as blind as it was almost overpowering.

For a moment back there in that bathroom, when he’d believed she was a penniless runaway, he’d imagined making her an offer that was as wrong as it was wickedly exciting.

‘You can stay,’ he’d envisaged himself saying, ‘but you’ll have to move into the master bedroom. And you’re never to cover that beautiful body of yours with clothes.’

A quite irrational fury fuelled his tongue.

‘Aren’t you aware that your father no longer owns this house?’ he snapped. ‘You have no right to be here. No right at all.’ And no right to make me want to seduce you!

‘Look, I can explain,’ she said in a lilting voice which was as attractive as her singing, ‘but it’s rather difficult talking through the door.’

‘Then come out and explain,’ Russell commanded gruffly.

‘I can’t. I don’t have any clothes with me. And I’m not coming out wrapped in a towel!’

Russell grimaced. Little did she know but he’d seen her in a lot less.

It was no wonder he hadn’t recognised her, he supposed. He’d never seen Power’s daughter in the flesh before, so to speak, only a few times on the TV news, hosting one of her never-ending birthday parties. Her twenty-first a few years ago had been so obscenely expensive that it had received extensive coverage. Admittedly, she hadn’t been on the TV lately. He did recall seeing her on the news about six months ago, going to the première of a movie, sashaying up the red carpet, dressed up to the nines and with not a hair out of place as she’d flashed her pearly whites for photographers.

He’d always thought her the ultimate rich bitch, groomed within an inch of her life. He’d also cynically believed that nothing about her skin-deep beauty was real, especially her long blonde hair. He’d imagined she was a product of a good plastic surgeon and an expert hairdresser.

Now he knew that she was a natural beauty and a natural blonde, courtesy of that small triangle of fair curls he’d glimpsed between her legs.

Damn! He had to stop thinking about things like that.

‘What say I meet you downstairs in ten minutes’ time?’ she suggested through the door.

A sensible suggestion, but it irritated him all the same. This whole scenario irritated him.

‘Make it five,’ he countered sharply, before whirling on his heel and heading for the door.

CHAPTER FOUR

NICOLE gritted her teeth, any embarrassment she’d been suffering from swiftly replaced by annoyance. She might not have any right to be here, but he had no right to be rude, whoever he was. There certainly wasn’t any need to treat her like some criminal, not once he’d discovered who she was.

Nicole wished she’d insisted on knowing who he was.

A security guard perhaps?

He’d sounded like a security guard. He certainly hadn’t been a gentleman.

When a peek into her bedroom showed that he’d left, Nicole set about finding something to wear. Not the wrap-around skirt and top she’d worn on the plane. Or any of the crushed clothes in her backpack.

She would have to select something from the wardrobe she’d left behind.

There was a lot to choose from in the walk-in wardrobe. Nicole shook her head when she saw that some of the items still had their price tags on them. All of them carried designer labels too, and most of them were on the glamorous side. Not the kind of thing she wore these days.

Jeans would have to do, she decided. Jeans and a simple black T-shirt.

Both were designer pieces but at least they didn’t look it!

The five-minute limit she’d been given was fast approaching by the time she found some clean underwear and got herself dressed. She would have to hurry, since it was imperative she not antagonise the man waiting for her downstairs. The last thing she needed was for him to demand she leave without giving her the opportunity to do what she’d flown back to Sydney to do.

As Nicole quickly wound her damp hair up into a loose knot on top of her head, she regretted not having packed up everything she wanted the moment she’d arrived this morning. That way, she’d have been long gone by now. Unfortunately, when her flight had touched down at Mascot at six this morning, she’d been totally wrecked. She hadn’t slept a wink all night because of a crying baby in the seat behind her. So when she’d let herself into the deserted house—which didn’t even have a For Sale sign outside of it—sleep had beckoned. She’d stripped off and dived straight into the bed which had been hers since the age of nine. It hadn’t occurred to her that anyone might come and find her here.

Now she was in the awkward position of having to ask the grump downstairs for a favour. Her name—which had once opened doors to her—was not going to be an asset, either. The name of Power was probably mud around Sydney these days.

With a sigh, Nicole slipped her bare feet into a pair of black mules and made her way reluctantly to the door.

She heard him before she saw him, marching back and forth across the marble-floored foyer, his heavy footsteps echoing through the house. As Nicole crossed the carpeted landing which led to the curving staircase, she began picturing an overweight fellow in his fifties with a power complex. So the sight of a tall, dark-haired, well-built man in his mid-to-late thirties came as a surprise, as did the clothes he was wearing.

Nicole might have reached the stage when an expensive wardrobe had lost its appeal for her, but she still recognised top-quality clothes when she saw them. This man’s navy-blue suit was definitely not off-the-peg. Aside from the faint sheen on the material, which shouted a mohair blend, the single-breasted jacket was superbly tailored, with not a wrinkle where the sleeves met the presumably padded shoulders.

For surely they couldn’t be his real shoulders, Nicole thought a touch cynically as she started walking down the stairs. Men who wore suits like that were rarely renowned for their physical fitness.

David had looked extremely well built in all of his business suits. But he’d not been quite so impressive once he’d undressed.

Nicole grimaced. She was always doing that nowadays, finding things to criticise about her ex-fiancé. Yet once she’d thought him fantastic. More fool her!

Suddenly, the man downstairs stopped that infernal pacing and glanced up.

For the first time during the last four months, Nicole was grateful for something her stepfather had once given her—a modelling and deportment course which had also concentrated on self-control and discipline.

She’d never needed both of those things more than at the moment when this man’s eyes met hers.

Blue, they were. Not a bright or a brilliant blue, but an icy blue, about the same colour as his shirt.

It wasn’t the colour of his eyes which rattled her, however, but the intense dislike she glimpsed in their chilly depths.

For a split second her step faltered, but then she continued on down the stairs, smiling at him and pretending he wasn’t looking at her as if she was his worst enemy.

All the while she was wondering why he was so antagonistic towards her, as well as who he might be.

She’d presumed, when she’d first seen his expensive business suit, that he’d been sent from the bank that had repossessed the house. Now that she could see him better, however, she changed her mind on that score.

He didn’t look like a banker. His thick, wavy black hair was worn too long for that career, just reaching his collar at the back. There was also something decidedly unconservative about his roughly hewn features. If she wasn’t mistaken his nose had been broken at some stage. And there was the hint of a five-o’clock shadow around his strongly squared jaw line.

Put him in less elegant clothes, and one would have thought he did something physical for a living. Physical and dangerous.

A prize fighter, maybe. Or a pirate.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ she apologised politely as she reached the bottom step.

Russell almost laughed. She wasn’t sorry about anything.

Females like her thought the world was their oyster. Of course, being rich and beautiful was a powerful combination. Though possibly, now that her doting father’s financial situation had changed, she would have to rely more on her beauty.

It irked Russell that he found her just as attractive with her clothes on, though that image of her in the nude wasn’t far from his mind. It also irked him that she looked fantastic without any of the artifices that were rich bitches’ stock-in-trade.

Not a single scrap of make-up adorned her lovely face, not to mention her even more lovely green eyes.

Hadn’t he known they’d be beautiful?

Of course, they were her mother’s eyes.

He stared hard at her and tried to see what she’d inherited from her father, beside her natural air of self-containment.

‘And you are?’ she asked coolly as she stretched out her right hand towards him.

‘McClain,’ he ground out, steeling himself as he shook her hand. Touching her in any way, shape or form could be hazardous, so he kept any contact as brief as possible. ‘Russell McClain.’

‘That name rings a bell,’ she said, a delicate frown creasing her forehead. ‘Have we met before?’

‘No.’

‘I didn’t think so,’ she mused aloud. ‘But …’ The frown abruptly disappeared, replaced by a smile which twisted Russell’s gut into a terrible knot. ‘I know who you are now,’ she said with a flash of recognition. ‘You’re the McClain on all those For Sale signs around Sydney. You’re McClain Real Estate.’

‘That’s me,’ he admitted.

‘So you’ve been hired to sell the house.’

‘No.’

She looked taken aback. ‘I don’t understand. If you’re not here as a real-estate agent, then why are you here?’

‘I’m here, Ms Power,’ he said, his mouth curving in anticipation of his moment of triumph, ‘not to sell this house, but to take possession of it. As of an hour ago, it’s mine, along with all its contents.’

Once again, he was denied satisfaction. Because she didn’t look devastated. Just surprised.

‘Goodness! That was quick. Did you get a bargain?’

‘I paid the market price,’ he said somewhat stiffly. Why wasn’t she more upset?

The answer was obvious: because she already knew about the bank’s repossession and probable fire-sale. Why? Because she was still in touch with her doting father.

‘Mmm,’ she said. ‘I would have thought the bank might have auctioned it. But no matter. My only concern is removing my personal things.’

‘Why didn’t you remove them before this?’ he asked abruptly.

‘I would have if I’d known the situation. But I didn’t. I’ve been overseas for the last few months. Although once Mum contacted me and told me what had happened, I flew back straight away. My plane got in first thing this morning. I honestly didn’t think it would cause any trouble if I came here to collect my things. I didn’t mean to stay long, but I was so wrecked after the flight that I couldn’t resist a sleep.’

‘I see,’ he bit out. Now he knew why she hadn’t been in the news lately. She’d been overseas. Probably staying in various playgrounds of the rich and famous: St Moritz, the French Riviera, maybe the Greek islands? Her skin had that warm, honey colour which indicated a life of leisure in the sun.

‘Look, it won’t take me too long to pack what I want,’ she went on hurriedly. ‘I promise I won’t take anything I shouldn’t. The household silver is safe, I can assure you,’ she finished with another of those gut-twisting smiles.

Damn it all, what was it about this creature which entranced him so?

He wanted to hate her, but he was finding it darned difficult.

Russell vowed to try harder.

‘You obviously still have a set of house keys,’ he pointed out sharply.

‘I promise to leave them behind. We could arrange a hiding place.’

‘I don’t think so, Ms Power. I’ll stay till you go. That way you can hand them to me personally.’

Her shrug showed the first trace of irritation. ‘If you insist.’

‘I insist.’

‘It could take me quite a while,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to contact a girlfriend and get her to bring over her car. I have a lot of clothes and only a couple of suitcases.’

‘That’s all right. I’ll wait.’

Her very pretty mouth tightened. ‘You’re being ridiculous, do you know that?’

‘I’m being careful.’

‘I only want what is rightfully mine.’

‘So do I. I’ve paid twenty million dollars for the privilege.’

‘Twenty million! Wow! And there I was thinking you were a greedy opportunist.’

Russell drew himself up to his full six feet three inches.

‘I don’t take advantage of other people’s misfortunes,’ he said, stung by her remark.

‘In that case you should appreciate my situation more,’ she said. ‘And be a little more accommodating. I mean, you’re not moving in here right this second, are you?’

‘No.’

‘Then what’s your problem?’ she threw at him, green eyes flashing. ‘Surely you don’t think I’m going to strip the place bare.’

‘I have no idea what you might do, Ms Power. I don’t know you.’

Her hands found her hips. ‘Then why do you dislike me so much?’

‘I don’t,’ he lied.

‘Huh! I can always tell when someone doesn’t like me, and you don’t like me, Mr McClain.’

‘You’re imagining things,’ he said.

‘If I am, then goodness knows how you got to be such a success at your job. I always thought real-estate salesmen were experts in charm. You seem to have left yours at the front door.’

Russell’s smile was wry. ‘Aah, but I’m not trying to sell you anything, Ms Power.’

‘Oh for pity’s sake, call me Nicole.’

‘If you insist.’

‘I insist.’ Her hands fell from her hips as an exasperated sigh escaped her lips. ‘Look, I appreciate you must have had a shock, finding someone in your new house, especially not knowing who I was. After all, you didn’t know it was me, did you?’

‘No,’ he replied, his mind once again going back to the sight of her in that shower. His body began recalling that sight, too.

Russell cleared his throat and did up his suit jacket. ‘I thought you were a squatter,’ he admitted.

‘And once you found out I wasn’t?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You still weren’t happy. When I came downstairs you glared at me like I was some kind of vermin.’

That’s because I wanted you, naked again, and under me. For hours on end.

I still do.

The discomfort of his ongoing arousal made Russell brutally aware that to stay in her provocative company any longer than necessary was masochistic in the extreme. He had to get out of here, and soon.

‘Now you really are imagining things,’ he said. ‘But you’re right,’ he added with one of those warm, winning smiles he reserved for his female clients. ‘I am being rather ridiculous about this. So please … take your time packing your things, and stay another night, if you need to. You can drop the keys in at the Bondi branch of McClain Real Estate any time tomorrow.’

She seemed stunned by his sudden turnaround.

Russell took her speechless moment as his cue to depart.

‘Goodbye, Ms Power,’ he said with a small nod of his head. ‘It’s been a pleasure meeting you.’

CHAPTER FIVE

I STILL don’t know what it was that I said or did which changed his mind,’ Nicole told Kara as they carried yet another load of clothes down to Kara’s car.

It was eleven o’clock the next morning, Nicole having taken up Russell McClain’s offer to stay another night.

‘He went from being hostile to helpful in one second flat,’ she went on. ‘And then he called meeting me a pleasure! I tell you, I’ve never been so bamboozled in all my life.’

Kara gave her a knowing look. ‘You fancied him, didn’t you?’

‘You have to be joking! He was the rudest man I’ve ever met.’

‘Yep,’ Kara said, totally unruffled by her best friend’s denial. ‘You fancied him.’

Nicole sighed. ‘I shouldn’t have.’ But Kara was right. Underneath the natural antagonism she felt at the way he’d treated her, she had fancied him.

Maybe she had a secret yen for the dark and dangerous type. Or for men with cold eyes and a personality to match.

But now Nicole realised that she hadn’t been fooled by his switch from chilly to charming, just confused.

‘Was he very good-looking?’ Kara asked as they trudged upstairs again for the umpteenth time.

‘You wouldn’t have thought so,’ she told her petite and slightly plump friend, who always went for the pretty-boy type. ‘Too tall and too macho for you.’

‘What did you say his name was?’

‘Russell McClain. Of McClain Real Estate fame.’

‘Never heard of him. But you know me—I have absolutely no interest in business.’

An understatement. Kara’s family were old money and high society. Kara didn’t have to work, so she didn’t. Nicole could now see that her best friend’s charity-luncheon, party-going lifestyle was extremely shallow, as hers had once been. But she still loved Kara, who had a kind heart and would never deliberately hurt anyone.

Unlike other people with money …

‘This McClain guy has obviously done very well for himself,’ Kara said. ‘You did say he paid twenty million for this place, didn’t you?’

‘That’s right.’

‘You should have been nicer to him.’

‘I was nice to him,’ Nicole protested. ‘Till he made it perfectly clear that he didn’t like me for whatever weird and wonderful reason. Oh, what am I doing, taking all these clothes with me?’ she said once they reached the walk-in wardrobe again. ‘I know I said I wasn’t going to leave a single thing behind for that man to throw away, but this is insane. It’s not as though I would wear most of them any more. Especially these,’ she said as she scooped up an armful of evening gowns.

‘I can’t understand why not,’ Kara said, taking the last few dresses down from the racks. ‘They’re all utterly gorgeous. I think you’ve gone a bit far with this new social conscience of yours, Nickie darling. You don’t have to dress like a tramp to do good in this world. And you don’t have to sell all your lovely jewellery, which arrived first thing this morning, by the way. You must know you won’t get even half what it’s worth. What you need,’ she went on as the girls made their way downstairs again, ‘is a seriously rich husband who’ll give you an unlimited credit card, then leave you alone to do whatever you like with his money.’

‘While he does whatever he likes,’ Nicole pointed out archly. ‘The last man on earth I would ever marry is a seriously rich man.’

‘Megan is.’

Nicole stopped just inside the front door to throw her friend a puzzled glance. ‘Megan who?’

‘Megan Donnelly. Surely you remember her. She was in the class below ours at school.’

Kara and Nicole had attended a private girls’ boarding-school which only the very well-heeled could afford.

‘I can’t put a face to the name,’ Nicole said, frowning.

‘She was a pretty brunette with big brown eyes. But terribly shy.’

‘Oh, yes, I remember her now. She was a good artist, wasn’t she? Used to do all the school posters.’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Who’s she marrying?’

‘James Logan.’

Nicole’s eyebrows arched in surprise. James Logan was the high-profile owner of Images, Sydney’s biggest advertising and management agency. She’d met him socially a few times, and, whilst he was extremely good-looking with a highly polished persona, there was something about him which she didn’t like.

‘He’s been married before, hasn’t he?’ she said on their way down to the front steps. ‘To that model, Jackie something-or-other. Golly, I’m bad with names.’

‘Jackie Foster. Yes, they were divorced a couple of years back. He must have given her a huge settlement because she doesn’t work as a model any more. Rumour has it she bought a house in Acapulco and is living there with her new partner. Women like her are never alone for long,’ Kara finished up with a flash of uncharacteristic cynicism.

‘Or men like him,’ Nicole replied just as drily.

‘True.’

‘I wonder what he sees in Megan,’ Nicole said as she laid the evening gowns on top of the huge pile on the back seat.

‘Who knows?’ Kara replied with an airy shrug. ‘But he isn’t called the makeover man for nothing. I imagine it will be a very different Megan who swans down the aisle on Saturday afternoon. I can’t wait to see what she looks like. That’s everything, isn’t it?’ she said, and slammed the hatchback door shut.

‘I should hope so. How come you got an invitation to Megan’s wedding, by the way?’ Nicole asked. ‘I mean, it’s not as though you and she were close friends.’

‘Her mum and my mum play bridge together. Would you like to come? I know for a fact that there have been a couple of last minute drop-outs, which annoyed the bride’s mother no end. I could easily get you an invite. It’s black-tie, but that won’t be a problem for you, not with your wardrobe.’

‘I don’t think so, Kara.’

‘Don’t be silly. My whole family’s going. You’ll still be staying at our place on Saturday, won’t you?’

Nicole didn’t want to impose on Kara’s parents, or stay in Sydney any longer than necessary. But it would take time to sell her jewellery, if she wanted a fair price.

Thinking of selling her jewellery gave her another idea. Why not sell off most of her totally useless wardrobe as well? There was an up-market second-hand shop in Double Bay that bought designer clothes and accessories, especially items which hadn’t been worn, or worn hardly at all. Nicole’s mother had been a regular customer over the years, having developed the snobbish and almost obscene habit of not wearing any outfit more than twice.

‘Well?’ Kara piped up. ‘Does that face mean a yes or a no?’

‘It’s a yes,’ Nicole said. ‘If you’re sure your mum doesn’t mind.’ When she’d rung Kara this morning, it had worried her that Kara’s family might not want to have anything further to do with her, now that she was the daughter of a runaway bankrupt who’d clearly left a lot of angry people behind.

‘Will you stop being so silly? Of course Mum won’t mind. She thinks you’re terrific. That settles it, then. You’re coming with us to Megan’s wedding. If nothing else, you’ll get a good feed, which you look like you need. And who knows? You might meet some gorgeous guy who’ll sweep you off your feet and keep you in Sydney for a while. I’ve really missed you, you know, sweetie. Life hasn’t been the same without your joie de vivre.’

Nicole pulled a face. ‘I lost my joie de vivre back in June.’

‘Then it’s high time you found it again. At Megan’s wedding.’

‘I’m not sure I’m in the mood for a wedding. But I’ll go, provided you do me one favour.’

‘What’s that?’

‘After we lock up here, I want you drive to the Bondi branch of McClain Real Estate.’

‘What for?’

‘I’ve been ordered to drop off my set of house keys there. But I don’t want to go in myself. Would you do it for me? I don’t want to run the risk of seeing that man ever again!’

‘Coward,’ Kara said with a cheeky grin …

‘You needn’t have worried,’ Kara told her half an hour later. ‘He wasn’t there. He’s out playing golf. But the receptionist said she’d been instructed to text him as soon as the keys arrived.’

‘And did she?’

‘Oh, yes. Straight away.’

‘I can imagine. The man’s a natural bully. Was there any message back?’

‘I didn’t wait to find out.’

‘Oh …’

‘For a girl who didn’t want to see him again, you seem very interested in his movements.’

‘I just don’t want him getting back to me about anything.’

‘How can he, when he doesn’t have a clue where you’re staying in Sydney? You didn’t give him my name or address, did you?’

‘No.’

‘Then you don’t have to worry. The odds of your running into Mr Bully McClain again in a city of over four million people are next to zero!’

Russell read the text message without any visible reaction. But he had to make a conscious effort to relax his stomach muscles as he and Hugh walked to the next tee.

He’d been enjoying their golf game so far, finding it a pleasant distraction from thinking about the day before and his frustrating run-in with Nicole Power. He was also one shot in front, which was rare. Although a naturally talented sportsman, Russell didn’t play enough to seriously challenge Hugh, who spent more time on a golf course than he did behind his desk.

Russell wished now that he hadn’t asked Barbara to text him when those wretched keys arrived. All it had done was bring back disturbing memories—and even more disturbing desires.

Still, he’d been wise to get out of that house when he had yesterday. Even so, he’d had a dreadfully restless night, his male hormones giving him hell. Now they were back on high alert again.

Under the circumstances, he might be forced to pick up some starry-eyed female at James’s wedding this weekend. He couldn’t see himself lasting too many more nights without having some extremely satisfying sex.

Meanwhile, he had a golf game to win.

‘You do realise Jimmy-boy doesn’t love Megan,’ Hugh said just as Russell lined up for his drive on the tenth hole. ‘He’s only marrying her because she’s pregnant.’

Russell stopped his backswing in time, shooting Hugh a exasperated glance. ‘Are you trying to put me off? Because if you are, you’ve chosen the wrong tack. I already know all that.’

Russell should have anticipated Hugh’s disapproval. The three of them had been mates since school and knew each other very well. Of the trio, Hugh was by far the softest and most romantic in nature, despite having garnered a well-deserved reputation over the last decade as one of Sydney’s most notorious playboys.

‘He actually admitted it, did he?’ Hugh said, indignation in his voice.

‘No. He didn’t have to. Look, Hugh, we both know James is still hung up on Jackie. He’s marrying Megan to get what she couldn’t give him: a family.’

Russell had no problem with that. Sometimes, a man had to do what a man had to do.

‘He is overseas on business, isn’t he?’ Hugh asked with a scowl on his face. ‘He’s not still seeing that wretched woman, I hope.’

Hugh had not liked Jackie. He’d thought her a gold-digger. Hugh claimed to be able to spot members of that species at first sight, his position as only son and heir to the Parkinson Media fortune making him an expert on the subject.

‘Not that I know of,’ Russell said. But he wouldn’t put it past his friend. Since his divorce, James had developed a ruthless streak which surpassed even his.

James’s courtship of Megan had been a classic example. He’d pursued the girl with a passion which had even fooled Russell for a while. But soon after their engagement had been announced six short weeks ago—the day after Megan told him she was pregnant—James had done a flit overseas, minus his adoring and unsuspecting fiancée. He wasn’t due to return till tomorrow, the day before his wedding.

Russell suspected that the pregnancy had been planned. Not by Megan, but by James. No way would he want to find himself with another wife who couldn’t have children, which had been the unfortunate case with Jackie. When she’d discovered that she was infertile Jackie had insisted on a divorce, refusing James’s suggestion that they try IVF or adoption. Russell had never seen his friend so distraught as he’d been at that time in his life.

Not that James had openly voiced his distress. He was not a man to talk about his personal problems. Neither would he ever let them totally rule or ruin his life.

Hence his marriage to Megan, who was one of the sweetest girls Russell had ever met.

‘It’s all right for you,’ Hugh said somewhat disgruntedly. ‘You’re not the best man. You don’t have to make a speech. How can I stand up there and rave on about how much James loves Megan when I know it’s not true?’

‘Could we leave this conversation till I’ve hit off?’ Russell replied, then promptly smashed the golf ball a good sixty metres down the fairway, at least twenty metres past Hugh’s ball.

Hugh whistled. ‘What’s got into you today? You suffering from a testosterone overload or something?’

‘Possibly,’ Russell replied, his mind once again filling with the image of a certain blonde standing naked in that made-for-two shower. ‘You might as well know, I guess. Yesterday, I bought Alistair Power’s mansion in Belleview Hill.’

Hugh wasn’t surprised, which was understandable. Both Hugh and James knew how he felt about Power. The three of them had been room-mates at uni when Russell’s father had committed suicide. He’d confessed everything that had happened afterwards to the other two. Although they’d never discussed it, they’d known what had been driving Russell all these years.

‘For how much?’ Hugh asked.

‘Twenty mil.’

‘But you’d have paid double that, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yep.’

Hugh cocked his head on one side, his expression speculative. ‘Just how much were you responsible for what happened to Power Mortgages?’

‘Power’s greed was ultimately responsible,’ Russell bit out. ‘I just gave things a helping hand.’

‘I can imagine,’ Hugh muttered. ‘So is that it, Russ? Is it over?’

Russell shrugged. ‘There’s nothing much more I can do, is there? Power’s escaped. And I doubt very much if he’s broke. He’s probably out there on some island in the Bahamas, sipping pina coladas.’

‘Let it go, mate. Let it go and move on.’

‘That’s easier said than done. Getting even with that bastard has become a way of life.’

‘I do see that. But like you said, you’ve done all that can be done. It’s time you made a different life for yourself.’

‘And what, exactly, would you suggest?’

‘You could consider having a real relationship with a girl for a change? Perhaps even consider a child or two?’

Russell stared at his friend. ‘Am I hearing you right? You’re suggesting that I do what James is doing? Marry some nice girl I don’t love just to have children?’

‘Who says you won’t love her? From what I’ve seen, you’ve never given love a chance. You might surprise yourself.’

‘I never surprise myself. I’m just like you, my friend. I don’t do love and commitment. But enough of me. Back to your problem as best man. Why don’t you rave on about how much Megan loves James?’ Russell suggested as he swept up his tee, then shoved his jumbo-sized driver back in his golf bag. ‘That’s true enough. Then concentrate on how beautiful a bride she is. No one will notice that you don’t mention the bridegroom’s affections. Leave it up to him to lie. He’s obviously very good at it.’

‘I don’t get it,’ Hugh grumbled as they made their way down the fairway. ‘I would have thought you’d have seriously disapproved of this marriage. You’re always going on about honesty being the best policy.’

‘There’s honesty and honesty, Hugh,’ Russell replied. ‘Sometimes a little white lie doesn’t do any harm. James will make a good husband and father. Megan will never know that his heart is elsewhere.’

‘Don’t be too sure about that. Some day, someone is going to say something. Jim should have told her the truth from the start. She would still have married him.’

‘I doubt that. A girl as sensitive as Megan wouldn’t like being short-changed in the love department.’

Hugh sighed. ‘Marriage is a trap for all players, especially when big money’s involved. I don’t want anything to do with it.’

‘You’ve certainly made no secret of that.’

‘One has to learn from experience,’ Hugh pontificated. ‘And from history. I’m just like my father. I need variety when it comes to women. My boredom threshold is spectacularly low. What I don’t need, however, is a string of ex-wives, like dear old Dad has acquired. He’s damned lucky that none except my mother produced offspring, or he’d be broke by now.’

Russell laughed. ‘Broke? The man’s a billionaire ten times over!’

‘That’s beside the point. For an intelligent man, Dad is extremely thick about his sex addiction. I’ve learned the difference between love and lust, and I live accordingly.’

‘Give the man a medal.’

Hush’s bedroom-blue eyes shot daggers at Russell. ‘You can be a judgemental bastard, do you know that?’

‘Yes.’

‘Hypocritical as well. You criticise my sex life yet you’re doing pretty much the same.’

‘We’re both bad bastards when it comes to the fairer sex.’

‘Not as bad as Jimmy-boy. I have a dreadful feeling about this marriage, Russ. Do you think it’s too late to talk him out of it?’

‘I’ve already tried.’

‘And?’

‘You know James. He’s as stubborn as a mule. Now, let’s stop this futile conversation and play golf.’

Hugh shrugged resignedly. Russ was right. Jim was not good at taking advice. But it was a shame, he thought. Megan was a darling. Not his type, of course. He liked women with spirit.

Thinking of women with spirit reminded him of the one woman in his life who had too much spirit—his PA, Kathryn.

What a slave-driver! She actually expected him to go to the office every day, and made her disapproval loud and clear when he didn’t. Lately he’d found himself actually going to work most mornings, just to shut her up. It was no wonder Russ was beating him today. Hell, he hadn’t played golf in over a week!

The situation could not continue. He’d have to get rid of her. But how? She’d never given him any cause to fire her. She was perfection as an employee. Capable and conscientious, never taking a day off, never arriving late or leaving early.

Her fiancé had his pity. She was going to make a dreadful wife. A real nag, keeping tabs on him every minute of the day and always wanting everything to be just so.

Of course, there would be some compensation for a husband putting up with her unrelenting standards. She was, without doubt, one of the sexiest women he’d ever met.

Not pretty, or beautiful.

Sexy.

‘You’ve just walked right past your ball,’ Russell pointed out.

‘What? Oh, yeah … right.’

‘I can see now why I’m winning. Your mind is elsewhere. So what’s the problem? A woman?’

‘Got it in one.’

‘Can’t get her into bed, is that it?’

A light went on in Hugh’s brain. He hadn’t realised up till this moment why he’d hired Kathryn Hart in the first place, and why he was now thinking about firing her.

‘You’ve hit the nail right on the head, Russ,’ he muttered. Damn, why hadn’t he realised this earlier?

‘You’ll find a way, mate,’ his friend said drily. ‘You always do.’

CHAPTER SIX

NICOLE’s gasp of shock sent Kara’s head whipping round to face her friend.

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

‘It’s him,’ was all Nicole could manage.

‘Who?’ Kara frowned as she followed the direction of Nicole’s stunned gaze to the three men who stood at the head of the church aisle. ‘You can’t mean the groom. And you certainly can’t mean the best man. That’s Hugh Parkinson. Everyone in Sydney knows Hugh Parkinson. So you must mean the groomsman. I don’t recognise him.’

‘You said the odds of my running into him again were zero,’ Nicole muttered under her breath.

‘That’s Russell McClain of McClain Real Estate?’

‘The one and only.’ Looking sinfully sexy in a sleek black dinner suit.

‘He’s better-looking than I thought he’d be.’

‘He’s had a haircut and he’s wearing a tux. All men look good in tuxes.’

‘No, not all men. Though Leyton does, don’t you, darling?’ Kara said, hooking arms with the man by her side.

Leyton was Kara’s latest in a long line of boyfriends. Kara was inclined to be on the fickle side and Nicole didn’t even try to keep up with the passing parade of pretty boys her friend had dated over the years.

‘Don’t I what?’ Leyton replied a little vacantly.

Intelligence was not something Kara valued in a man, unlike Nicole, who could not abide stupidity.

‘Never mind,’ Kara said, patting Leyton’s hand.

The bride’s arrival put paid to any further conversation over the amazing coincidence of Russell McClain being at this wedding. Though it wasn’t till the bride started walking down the aisle that Nicole managed to drag her attention back to the present.

Megan still looked like Megan, Nicole thought as the bride moved past her pew. There’d been no radical makeover. Though she did look truly lovely in a strapless ivory dress which had a tightly boned and heavily beaded bodice and a huge gathered skirt. Under the long veil—which was held in place by a simple coronet of tiny roses—her dark brown hair was tightly pulled back from her beautifully made-up face, an exquisite pearl necklace adorning her slender neck.

‘Doesn’t she look fabulous?’ Kara gushed.

‘Absolutely gorgeous,’ Nicole concurred.

Unfortunately, once the bride had passed by, Nicole’s mind returned to the third man at the head of the aisle. Why, oh, why, did fate have to be this cruel?

Fortunately, he wasn’t looking down into the congregation, so he hadn’t seen her. Still, it was just a matter of time.

Nicole shuddered at the thought of meeting him again.

The ceremony was simple and very traditional. It was also quite short and soon the wedding party moved off into the vestry, presumably to sign the register. It wouldn’t be long before they’d be walking back down the aisle, right past where Nicole was sitting.

‘Just going outside for some fresh air,’ Nicole said. ‘It’s very stuffy in here.’ Before Kara could stop her she jumped up and slipped out the back, heading straight for the oak tree in the corner of the churchyard.

It was the perfect hiding place, the tree’s large trunk keeping her out of sight whilst its huge canopy of leaves provided shade from what was an unseasonably hot day for early November. Although it was getting on for five in the afternoon, it was still extremely warm and surprisingly humid for this time of year. A storm was predicted for later in the evening but not soon enough to spoil the wedding. At the moment, there wasn’t even a cloud in the clear blue sky.

A sudden burst of noise and laughter indicated that the ceremony was over, a glance around the trunk confirming that the wedding party had emerged from the church, followed by waves of guests, most of them armed with digital cameras and photo-taking phones.

Nicole stayed hidden whilst all the photographs were taken, but not so hidden that she couldn’t get a few surreptitious glimpses of the annoying man whom she didn’t want to fancy … but did.

Finally the wedding party left, and Nicole called out to Kara, who was obviously looking for her.

‘So there you are!’ Kara said. ‘What are you doing, skulking off in this corner? As if I don’t know! Come on, we’re off to the reception. And before you say it, no, we can’t possibly take you home. It’s too far for one thing. Leyton would have to drive back across the harbour bridge, then back again. The reception is being held at a yacht club not far from here.’

‘I could always take a taxi,’ Nicole said. She was no longer stone-broke, having sold a good proportion of her wardrobe yesterday.

‘Mum would not be pleased if you did a flit. And the mother of the bride would be livid. You’re stuck, sweetie. Not that I’m sure why you’d want to run away. Your Mr McClain is quite yummy, if you like the gladiatorial type. And he’s not into the second bridesmaid, by the way, even though she practically glued herself to his side during the photographs.’

‘How do you know that?’ Nicole had been feeling quite jealous of the attractive redhead, whose burgundy satin bridesmaid dress had showed an impressive cleavage.

‘Because he hasn’t even looked at her boobs,’ Kara said. ‘And just about every other man has, I can tell you.’

‘He can look if he wants to,’ Nicole said offhandedly. ‘What do I care?’

‘Oh, come, now, Nickie. You don’t fool me for a minute. You’ve got the hots for the guy.’

‘I wouldn’t go that far.’

‘I would. You know, I don’t understand what your problem is. In the old days, you’d have just sashayed up to him and in no time flat he’d have been toast.’

‘That was then and this is now,’ Nicole said, thinking that what Kara said was true. She used to have great success in attracting the opposite sex, and great confidence.

But David had destroyed a lot of her self-esteem, his critical words still stinging.

‘The trouble with girls like you,’ he’d thrown at her when she returned his ring, ‘is that you think being drop-dead gorgeous is enough for a man. But it isn’t. What we want is a woman with some passion in her veins, not some vain little puss who expects to just lie back and let the man do all the work.

‘And that’s another thing,’ he’d added. ‘If you think I’m sorry this engagement is over then you can think again. You might be beautiful to look at, sweetheart, but you’re a bloody bore in bed.’

Ever since that day, whenever a man had looked at her with interest Nicole had run a mile.

A light suddenly went on in her brain. Up till now, she’d convinced herself she’d seen nothing in Russell McClain’s eyes the other day but dislike.

But now she realised that was not strictly true. Along with the dislike, she’d glimpsed something else.

Desire.

Unfortunately, this time, Nicole didn’t want to run a mile. Despite her fear of further humiliation, she wanted to sashay up to him at the wedding reception. She wanted him to be toast.

But she just didn’t have the courage, or the confidence.

Kara sighed a long, exasperated-sounding sigh. ‘Whatever am I going to do with you? That creep has a lot to answer for.’

Nicole blinked up at her. ‘What creep?’

‘David, of course. Who did you think I meant? Surely not Mr McClain. He hardly qualifies as a creep. He was nice to you in the end, wasn’t he?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘You worry too much these days. Come on, let’s go. Leyton’s already gone back to his car and he’ll be wondering where we are.’

Nicole reluctantly allowed herself to be led away, all the while thinking she should never have agreed to come to this wedding in the first place. At the same time she could not deny that there was a small sliver of excitement running through her veins at the prospect of meeting Russell McClain again.

At least she was looking her best, having been to the hairdresser’s first thing this morning with Kara, then having spent quite a long time afterwards on her body. Months of not bothering had been reversed as she’d buffed herself to the max. Her make-up had taken her almost an hour, but overall the final result had been most pleasing.

The dress she was wearing—one of only a few dresses she’d not sold yesterday—was a pale green, empire-line, halter-necked number with a low-cut draped bodice and a swishy skirt which finished just above her knee. More of a party dress than the kind of thing one wore to a snooty wedding. But she’d always liked it.

She hadn’t been going to wear jewellery, despite having not sold any yet. But Kara had talked her into donning the emerald and diamond set Alistair had presented her with on her twenty-first, which consisted of a pendant and two drop earrings.

‘This is a society wedding, sweetie,’ Kara had said somewhat impatiently. ‘If you’re not going to wear a more formal dress, then you have to at least wear some serious bling, not to mention decent shoes.’

The handmade Italian shoes Kara had produced for her to wear were extremely glamorous, a slender crisscross of exquisitely beaded straps somehow managing to anchor her feet to their very high heels. Stockings had been out of the question, so Nicole had sprayed her legs with some fake tan to match the natural tan she had acquired on her upper half in Thailand.

‘No sitting in a corner tonight,’ Kara said during the drive to the yacht club. ‘I want to see you up and dancing and having some fun.’

‘In these shoes?’

‘Shoes never stopped you in the past. And if a certain someone asks you to dance then you must promise me you won’t say no.’

‘You can be terribly bossy, do you know that?’

‘I do,’ Leyton interjected—though not unhappily.

‘Promise?’ Kara insisted.

Nicole didn’t have to promise any such thing. Because if Russell McClain asked her to dance, she knew she would not be able to say no. All she could hope was that he wouldn’t ask her.

Because there was something about the man which she didn’t trust—and she’d had enough of untrustworthy men.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘I promise.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

RUSSELL’S frustrated gaze was scanning the guest tables in search of feminine prey when his eyes landed on the very female who’d put him in this appalling state in the first place.

His heart lurched at the sight of her. So did something else.

Blast! What on earth was Nicole Power doing at James’s wedding?

His gaze shifted to the rest of the people at her table, but he didn’t recognise any of them. There again, he didn’t recognise most of the guests. Despite his wealth, he wasn’t a social animal. Not like James, or Hugh; they enjoyed entertaining and being entertained. Russell had had had other priorities up till now.

His need for revenge had consumed him.

Now something else was consuming him.

The more he stared at her, sitting there looking absolutely delicious in the sexiest green dress, the more he wanted her.

Had she seen him yet? he wondered.

She must have. He was in the main wedding party. Strange that he hadn’t spotted her before this. Perhaps she was deliberately avoiding him? He could well understand why: he’d been pretty obnoxious the other day.

Hugh suddenly leant over from the chair next to him.

‘I see you’re eyeing that hot-looking blonde over there,’ he said. ‘Presumably, you haven’t recognised her. That’s Nicole Power, your enemy’s daughter.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘You know?’

‘Indeed I do.’

Hugh frowned. ‘Russ, you’re not going to take this revenge of yours too far, are you? I mean, she’s not to blame for what her father did.’

Up till this moment, Russell hadn’t thought of his attraction for Nicole Power as anything more than extremely annoying. The thought of using his unexpected and, up till now, unwanted passion as a weapon against his enemy had never occurred to him.

But, suddenly, the vengeful words he’d thrown at Alistair Power all those years ago took on an added meaning: he’d vowed to take everything his enemy held dear …

Clearly, Power held his daughter dear …

It was a wickedly tempting idea …

‘What do you know about her?’ Russell asked Hugh abruptly.

‘If you think I’m going to help you seduce that poor girl, then you have another think coming.’

‘She’s far from being poor, Hugh. I’ll warrant those are real diamonds and emeralds she’s wearing. And that dress has designer label written all over it. She might not be personally responsible for what her father did, but she’s never minded living off the proceeds.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘Yeah, Hugh, I do. Now, tell me what you know about her.’

Hugh sighed. ‘She was briefly engaged to David Porter earlier this year.’

‘The stockbroker?’

‘Yep.’

‘What happened? Wasn’t he rich enough?’

Hugh shrugged, clearly not happy with giving him any information at all. ‘I have no idea. Porter’s not in my immediate social circle. But I’ve heard he’s a ladies’ man. Maybe she found out she wasn’t going to be his one and only.’

‘I doubt that.’ Russell could not conceive of any man being unfaithful to Nicole Power. If she were his, he wouldn’t let her out of his sight … he’d keep her chained to his bed.

‘When does the dancing begin?’ came his abrupt question.

‘Not for a while. First come the speeches, then the cutting of the cake, followed by the bridal waltz. After which, other people can join in.’

Russell’s smile was wry. ‘Sounds like you’ve been to a lot of weddings.’

‘My family and friends don’t seem to learn from experience. This is the second one for James as you will recall. Dear old Dad has had four more wives since my mother.’

‘Presumably I won’t ever have to go to yours, then.’

‘Not unless some alien takes possession of my body and forces me into it.’

‘What about this woman who won’t go to bed with you? You might be reduced to marrying her, just to get her in the sack.’

Hugh looked appalled. ‘Marry just for sex? You have to be joking. No man’s that desperate these days.’

Russell’s eyes went back to the object of his own desire.

He was a man and he wanted Nicole Power, quite desperately.

But Hugh was right. You didn’t marry a girl just for sex. But what about revenge? Did you marry a girl for that?

His conscience rebelled at the idea. But his dark side didn’t. It revelled in the thought of having his cake and eating it, too.

His eyes narrowed as they raked over the sheer perfection of her face, which was even more beautiful today. Of course, she was wearing make-up and her upswept hairdo had obviously been done by a professional. All in all, she was the epitome of feminine beauty: a fair-haired siren with a breathtaking allure which would tempt any man.

Russell was more than tempted.

His head whirled with wildly tantalising thoughts. How would it feel to possess her, body and soul? To have her look at him, not with irritation as she had the other day, but with passion? Maybe even love?

Would that satisfy his vengeful soul, having Nicole Power fall in love with him?

Russell suspected that it might.

Such thinking, however, was a fantasy at this moment. If he wanted to know how it felt, he’d have to make his fantasy come true.

Somehow.

His lips pursed as his mind began to plan.

She was obviously unattached at the moment, having been seated with women on either side of her at the table.

But being unattached was not enough.

He wasn’t as handsome as James, or Hugh. He was a country boy, a bit of a rough diamond, so neither did he possess his friends’ natural charm.

What he did have, however, was money. Lots of it.

As much as he believed Alistair Power was still supporting his daughter, he knew that girls like Nicole Power could never be too rich. It was also a point in Russell’s favour that he wanted her to the extent that he did.

Women, he’d found from experience, liked being wanted, even more than they liked being loved. They were often seduced by the flattery of being pursued, of being the object of uncontrollable desire.

I wanted you from the first moment I saw you, were very seductive words. He’d used them to great effect before.

This time, they wouldn’t be a pick-up line, either. They’d be true. With a bit of luck, he might be able to sweep Nicole Power off her feet and into his bed with those passionately delivered words, after which he hoped to obtain her total sexual surrender via his skills in the bedroom.

Russell didn’t pretend to rival Hugh’s Casanova-like reputation but he knew how to make love. He genuinely liked female bodies, liked touching them, kissing them. He liked their softness and sweetness, their curves and their cavities.

Once he’d got a girl into his bed, she rarely wanted to leave. The trick with Nicole Power would be getting her into his bed in the first place.

Russell was staring at her and planning his course of action when her head suddenly lifted and their eyes clashed.

She didn’t look away immediately. She held his gaze for several startled seconds before turning her head and engaging the curvy brunette next to her in conversation.

‘I suggest you give her a miss, mate,’ Hugh said. ‘Why not try Kristy? She’s as keen as mustard.’

Russell grimaced at the mention of the bridesmaid who’d been his partner for the marriage ceremony. ‘A little too keen for me,’ he replied drily.

‘In that case you won’t mind if I—er—’

‘Feel free.’

‘Great. Oh, oh. Toast and speech time. Mine, unfortunately. By the way, I did what you suggested and concentrated on Megan’s love for James. Hope she doesn’t notice that anything’s missing.’

‘She won’t. She’s obviously besotted.’

Russell glanced along the curved table at the bride, and then at James, who’d been doing his best imitation of an equally besotted bridegroom all day. At their small and very select stag party last night—just drinks for the three of them at the Belleview Hill house—Hugh had refrained from asking James too many questions about his trip overseas, perhaps not wanting to know the truth.

What was to be gained by discovering that James had spent some time with his ex; that he might even have slept with her?

Russell already suspected that something had happened between James and Jackie. He’d seen the bleakness in his friend’s eyes last night when James had thought neither Russell nor Hugh were looking.

Hopefully James would find some happiness married to Megan, he might even fall in love with her in the end.

No, that was the sort of romantic crap Hugh came out with. James wasn’t going to fall in love with Megan any more than he’d fall in love with Nicole Power.

Russell didn’t delude himself about the ruthless individual he’d become over the years. His plan to cold-bloodedly seduce his enemy’s daughter tonight was wicked enough. To even consider marrying her was truly wicked.

But that was getting ahead of himself.

She might tell him to get lost later tonight. In a way, he hoped she would. Because if she didn’t, she would put him on a path from which there might be no turning back.

Frankly, to have anything to do with her was risky, even downright dangerous. He could pretend she was his prey, but for how long? He was the besotted one here. She was the one with all the potential power.

Once she knew he was attracted to her—a man with millions—then the tables could well be turned. She might set her cap at him.

Russell had to laugh.

‘What’s so funny?’ Hugh asked.

‘Just the perversity of life, mate.’

‘Don’t tell me about it. I already know. But it’s not life that’s the main problem. It’s women.’

‘You could be right there.’

‘I am right, Russ. Take my word for it.’

Russell’s eyes turned to again seek out the woman currently giving him problems.

But her chair was empty.