Kitabı oku: «Millionaire's Woman: The Millionaire's Prospective Wife / The Millionaire's Runaway Bride / The Millionaire's Reward»

Claimed by a devastating, wealthy bachelor!

Millionaire’s Woman

Three intense, luxurious romances from three beloved Mills & Boon authors!

Millionaire’s Woman
Helen Brooks
Catherine George
Angie Ray

MILL & BOON®

www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Millionaire’s Prospective Wife

By

Helen Brooks

Helen Brooks was born and educated in Northampton. She met her husband at the age of sixteen and thirty five years later the magic is still there. They have three lovely children and three beautiful grandchildren.

Helen began writing in 1990 as she approached that milestone of a birthday—forty! She realised her two teenage ambitions (writing a novel and learning to drive) had been lost amid babies and family life, so set about resurrecting them. Her first novel was accepted after one rewrite, and she passed her driving test (the former was a joy and the latter an unmitigated nightmare).

Being a committed Christian and fervent animal lover Helen finds time is always at a premium, but walks in the countryside with her husband and their Irish terrier, meals out followed by the cinema or theatre, reading, swimming, and visiting with friends are all fitted in somehow. She also enjoys sitting in her wonderfully therapeutic, rambling old garden in the sun with a glass of red wine, (under the guise of resting while thinking, of course!).

Since becoming a full-time writer Helen has found her occupation one of pure joy. She loves exploring what makes people tick and finds the old adage “truth is stranger than fiction” to be absolutely true.

CHAPTER ONE

THE moment Cory let Rufus off the lead she knew it was a big mistake. The powerful Labrador cross golden retriever shot across Hyde Park like a bat out of hell, mothers whisking toddlers up into their arms at his approach and elderly couples leaping out of his way with a nimbleness they probably thought had been lost to them years before. Even the group of young people who had been ambling towards them clad in strategically slashed jeans and with piercings in seemingly every nook and cranny lost their cool aplomb, scattering with shrieks and cries which—on the whole, Cory was thankful to note—were good-humoured.

For the first minute or so of following in the dog’s wake Cory shouted apologies to all and sundry, then, when Rufus showed no signs of slowing down, she kept her breath for running.

Why hadn’t she listened to her aunt? Cory silently berated herself as she panted after the dog, wasting valuable breath every twenty yards or so by screeching his name. But Rufus had been so docile and obliging on the walk down Bayswater Road from her aunt’s house, sitting at all the right times without being told and keeping to heel like an old pro. And the deep brown eyes had been so imploring once they’d entered the park, the doggy expression of longing as he’d watched other canines chasing balls and playing making her feel like the wicked witch of the west.

‘Keep him on the lead, Cory,’ Aunt Joan had warned as she’d seen them off at the door, her left leg encased in plaster due to a nasty fall a couple of weeks before. ‘I can just about trust him to come back now but I don’t know how he would react with someone else. He’s perfectly friendly, of course, and just adores children and other dogs, but the original owners kept him confined all the time as well as neglecting him in other ways, as you know. The poor darling.’

‘The poor darling’ was not the phrase she’d choose to describe the dog right at this moment, Cory thought grimly. Her lungs felt as though they were going to burst and her throat and chest were on fire. There were various choice names which sprang to mind but poor and darling didn’t feature in any of them.

Rufus having made a couple of lightning stops to sniff the certain part of other canines’ anatomies which dogs found so interesting, Cory now found herself closer to him than at any time since the undignified chase had begun. Summoning all her strength, she bellowed, ‘Rufus! Stay!’ just as the animal prepared to take off from socialising with a French poodle. The golden head turned, brown eyes considering her with a faintly amazed expression as though he couldn’t understand why she wasn’t entering wholeheartedly into this wonderful game he’d organised. Seizing the opportunity, Cory growled, ‘Come here. Heel, Rufus.’

There was still a good fifty yards between them but she couldn’t run any more, the stitch in her side excruciating. Whether it was her ferocious voice or the fact that she had slowed down to a walk, Cory didn’t know, but the big dog suddenly seemed to realise all was not well. After one more moment of hesitation he took off again, but this time headed straight for her, determined to impress her by the speed with which he obeyed. It was doubtful he even noticed the tall, well-dressed figure about to cross his path. There was one endless moment when man and dog met and then five or six stone of sheer canine muscle sent the unfortunate figure hurtling into the air.

A very nice leather briefcase went one way, the suit jacket which had been slung over one shirt-clad arm another, and all Cory could do was to look in unmitigated horror. The man landed on his back with earth-shaking force and even Rufus realised he’d committed a faux pas. He was slinking obsequiously around the prostrate figure on the grass when Cory reached them, his ears flat to his face and his floppy jowls shaking as though he was about to burst into tears.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.’ Cory went down on to her knees in a flurry of blue denim jeans, pink shirt and tumbled hair the colour of rich dark chocolate. ‘Are you all right?’

The man remained perfectly still for another moment and then drew air into his body with something of a tortured groan. It probably wasn’t the moment to notice it was an exceptionally fit body—tall, lean and muscled with an aggressive masculinity that was rawly sexy—or that the jetblack hair topped a face that was out-and-out dynamite.

Cory swallowed. Pierce Brosnan, Orlando Bloom, Brad Pitt—eat your hearts out. She had to swallow again before she could say, ‘Have you broken anything?’

A pair of very blue eyes met hers. In spite of his prone position and the fact he’d had all the air knocked out of him—or maybe because of it—they were lethal, the one rapier sharp glance saying more than mere words could ever have done. When Cory went to help him as he sat up he motioned her hands away with a cutting action that was savage. It was unfortunate Rufus chose that moment to make his apology by means of a long slobbery lick across one chiselled cheekbone. The man froze for a second but still didn’t say a word before he rose to his feet.

He was tall. Cory found herself looking up some distance as she too stood up. Very tall. And angry. Very, very angry.

‘Is it yours?’

‘I’m sorry.’ She was still frozen by the icy eyes and the way the set of his hard mouth gave the handsome face a harsh cast, and her brain wasn’t working properly.

‘That.’ He gestured furiously in Rufus’s direction. ‘Is it—? Hell!’ The original sentence was cut off. ‘What’s he eating?’

Oh, no. Please, no. This couldn’t be happening. She took the mobile phone out of Rufus’s wet jaws but the damage was already done. Neither of them had noticed the dog snuffling in the discarded jacket. ‘Was…was it expensive?’ she asked in a small voice whilst already knowing the answer. It was a state of the art, super dooper technological miracle of a phone. What else? But it hadn’t been designed to withstand the power of those big jaws.

He ignored the outstretched hand with the chewed phone and took a deep breath, retrieving his briefcase and jacket and wincing slightly as he did so.

He was hurt. But then of course he would be. Meeting an express train in the middle of Hyde Park on a Saturday morning was something even Superman would have found a little hard to take. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘I shouldn’t have taken him off the lead.’

Dark eyebrows climbed sardonically. ‘Really?’

He wasn’t being very gracious but she supposed she couldn’t blame him. Cory took a deep breath. ‘I’ll pay for any damage, of course,’ she said with a little upward jerk of her chin which wasn’t lost on the man in front of her. ‘To the phone, your suit…anything,’ she finished lamely.

The eyebrows went a touch higher. ‘Am I supposed to say thank you here?’ he drawled silkily.

What a thoroughly unpleasant individual. Cory found she could ignore the beauty of the sky-blue eyes quite well now. It wasn’t so much what he said but the way that he said it which was so nasty. ‘Not at all,’ she said curtly, her whole body stiffening. ‘I’m merely making the point, that’s all.’

Rufus had seated himself at the man’s side as though he had disowned her and was now looking the very picture of docility, his big head moving interestedly from one to the other as they had spoken. Cory found she could have throttled him. Preparing to clip the lead back on his collar, she said, ‘Rufus, come here,’ just as the flirtatious French poodle the dog had been eyeing up earlier sauntered past.

Her despairing, ‘Rufus, no!’ was lost as he sprang up, blind and deaf to anything but his hormones.

He had only gone a few feet when one bitingly sharp, deep ‘Sit!’ brought him skidding into the required position seemingly in mid-air. ‘Heel,’ followed with equal success, the dog performing a perfect Crufts manoeuvre to arrive in ingratiatingly quick time pressed close against the man’s legs. As an authoritative male hand stretched out for the lead Cory handed it over. The next moment both lead and dog were returned to her.

‘Thank you.’ It was said with extreme reluctance.

‘You can’t suggest he does what he’s told,’ the man said with irritating coolness. ‘It’s all in the tone.’

‘You’re an expert on dogs?’ Cory responded before she could stop herself.

‘No.’ In a leisurely exercise which stopped just short of being insulting, heavily lashed blue eyes wandered over her hot face. ‘I’m an expert on being obeyed.’

Somehow she didn’t doubt that.

‘Obedience classes would be good for you,’ he continued with insufferable condescension.

It didn’t escape her notice that he had said good for her rather than the dog. The fact that he had several bits of grass in his perfectly groomed hair gave her savage satisfaction. ‘He’s not mine,’ she said shortly. ‘My aunt recently acquired him from a dog sanctuary. They thought he’d been locked away in a shed from when he was a puppy and just thrown scraps now and again. She has been taking him to classes—’ it was wonderful to be able to say it in all truth ‘—but she’s broken her leg and so I offered to give him a walk this morning.’

The sapphire gaze left her face and turned downwards to the golden dog. ‘Poor old boy,’ he said directly to Rufus who wagged his tail furiously.

And then his voice lost the brief softness and returned to its former coldness when he looked at her again and said, ‘For the sake of the dog and not least anyone in his path, keep him on the lead while your aunt is indisposed, would you?’

She bit her lip hard to prevent the spate of words which sprang to mind and counted to ten. ‘I’d worked that one out for myself.’

‘Good.’

It looked as though he was going to walk away and now Cory said quickly, ‘Your phone; I meant what I said about paying for a new one. Do you want my telephone number and address?’

He raised his brow. ‘Are you always so exceedingly generous in giving complete strangers your private details?’

He was deliberately needling her and she recognised it but still couldn’t help being caught on the raw. ‘I’m not in charge of a dog which knocks people down every day,’ she returned smartly.

He muttered something she thought might be, ‘Thank heaven for small mercies,’ before saying, ‘Don’t worry about the phone, Ms…?’

‘James. Cory James.’ She looked at him steadily through velvet-brown eyes just a shade or two lighter than her hair. ‘And I insist on paying for a new one, Mr…?’

‘My name is Nick Morgan and, I repeat, forget about the phone.’ He now took it from her, pocketing it nonchalantly.

‘I can’t do that.’ The obstinate streak which ran through her slender frame like a rod of steel came into play. ‘Rufus has ruined it and I wouldn’t feel happy unless I make amends.’

The square male jaw tightened. ‘It’s not necessary.’

‘I feel it is.’

‘Are you always this—’ he hesitated for the merest fraction of a second, and when he finished ‘—determined?’ she felt sure that was not what he’d been about to say.

‘Always.’ She didn’t smile and neither did he.

He folded his arms, surveying her for some moments without speaking. He was standing a couple of feet from her and in spite of herself her pulse was racing. It was his overwhelming masculinity that was sending the blood coursing, she told herself irritably, and she hated that he could affect her so. It wasn’t attraction—it definitely, definitely wasn’t attraction, she reiterated as though someone had challenged her on it—but more an awareness of the you Tarzan, me Jane type of definition of the sexes. What with his height, which must be at least six-three or four, and the hard look to his body, he was…well…

She couldn’t find a word to describe what Nick Morgan was and so she gave up the struggle as he spoke again.

‘A new phone will be provided the moment I walk into my offices,’ he said evenly, ‘but if you really feel the need for atonement?’

‘I do.’

A thin smile curved across his mouth as though he found something amusing. The next moment Cory realised it was her reaction to his next words he had been anticipating with relish. ‘Then I need a partner for a social occasion tonight and my proposed date has had to fly out to New York at short notice.’ His eyes pierced her with laser brightness. ‘Care to oblige?’

Cory took a moment to compose herself. She had never been so taken aback in her life. Was he joking?

Her face must have reflected her thoughts because the smile widened. ‘I’m quite serious. Of course, if you have a previous engagement or a husband or boyfriend who might object…’ He let his voice trail away but his gaze never left her.

She could lie. No, no she couldn’t, she corrected herself in the next instant, because he’d know. Somehow she knew without question that he would be able to discern any fabrication a mile off. She looked at him squarely. ‘I’m not in a relationship,’ she said shortly. ‘What exactly is involved tonight?’

‘Cocktails, dinner, dancing.’

It wasn’t a proper explanation and they both knew it. Cory waited for more.

After a few seconds had stretched themselves into what was to Cory unbearable tension, he said, ‘I’ve recently taken over a particular company and this is a goodwill gesture by me for the senior management and their partners. Nothing heavy, you know? Merely a table at Templegate and us all getting to know each other on a social level.’

Cory stared at him, her mind buzzing behind the steady brown of her eyes. A table at Templegate for the evening? That was going to cost him an arm and a leg. She had never had the opportunity to see inside the most famous nightclub in London herself, but it was where the young, rich and beautiful went to see and be seen. Trendy magazines were always brimming with pictures of this or that celebrity dancing the night away there and it was common knowledge that dinner equated to a second mortgage. She swallowed hard. ‘A party of how many?’ she asked with what she considered commendable matter-of-factness.

‘Just sixteen, or fifteen as of eight o’clock this morning,’ he added wryly. ‘My date was offered a modelling assignment she apparently couldn’t refuse.’

His girlfriend was a model? But of course she was—what else? Cory asked herself waspishly. He was obviously filthy rich and enormously successful—if the takeover remark was anything to go by. That, added to his good looks, would make him the catch of the year and ensure women were lining up in their droves. This last thought caused her to say, ‘But you must have someone else you can ask to stand in?’

‘Must I?’ he countered with lazy amusement.

‘Well, haven’t you?’

He didn’t answer this directly. What he did say was, ‘You wanted to make reparation for the dog and I suggested a way you could do so. If it’s not to your liking, that’s fine.’

It wasn’t to her liking! Of course it wasn’t to her liking. The kind of women who put in an appearance at Templegate wouldn’t be seen dead in anything other than Versace or Gabbana or Armani; the shoes that clad their tiny feet would take a couple of months of her wages alone. And to spend the evening in the company of this complete stranger who was entertaining other complete strangers would be torture. She’d be terrified of saying or doing something wrong for a start, and what if they were all snooty and standoffish or just plain uncommunicative?

She took one swift glance around the park, which was bathed in warm June sunlight, as though it was going to help her before bringing her eyes back to the keen blue gaze. ‘All right,’ she heard herself saying with faint disbelief. ‘If that’s what you want, fine, although I’d rather just pay for the phone and be done with it.’

‘Not the most gracious acceptance to dinner I’ve ever received.’ The amusement was still very much in evidence as he reached into his briefcase and extracted a small goldembossed card which he handed to her.

Cory glanced down expecting a formal business card, but it merely stated his name followed by four telephone numbers.

‘Forget the first number, that’s my home in Barnstaple,’ he said a touch impatiently. ‘The second is my London flat and the third my private line at the office. Obviously the mobile number is a little irrelevant now.’ Piercing blue eyes fastened on Rufus for a moment and the big dog shifted guiltily at her feet. Nick’s mouth twitched and then he glanced at the gold wrist-watch on one tanned wrist, his brow furrowing and the impatience more pronounced as he said, ‘I’m late for an important meeting, Miss James. Ring the flat after six tonight to give me your address, or the office number if you need me before that. The table’s booked for eight-thirty, incidentally, but we’re meeting in the cocktail bar at eight. I would like to be at the club no later than seven-thirty. Is that acceptable to you?’

The vivid blue eyes raked her face again and her pulse gave an unexplained jump. She managed a nod while she took a deep breath. ‘Look, I’m just an ordinary working girl,’ she said a little breathlessly. ‘I’m not used to places like Templegate, to be frank. If you find someone more suitable today who can help you then feel free to tell me tonight when I phone. I’ll quite understand.’

He had been about to walk away but now he turned and looked at her. There was a swift assessment when his gaze moved over her from the top of her head to the soles of her trainers. His expression didn’t alter and neither did the tone of his voice change when he said, ‘I shan’t change my mind, Miss James. Goodbye.’

Well! Cory’s face was burning as she watched him walk away with long strides which soon put him far into the distance. He’d looked at her as if she was a horse he was considering buying!

She stood for a few moments more until a whine at her feet brought her out of the maelstrom of her thoughts. Glancing down at Rufus she saw he had the nerve to be looking hard done by at the inactivity. ‘Don’t even go there,’ she warned him fiercely. ‘This is all your fault.’

The dog grinned back at her before leaping to his feet and straining at the leash, his nose twitching as a cute Bearded Collie with a topknot tied with a big pink bow to keep the hair out of her eyes swayed past, a definite comehither wiggle to her silky rear end.

‘You definitely need a certain little operation, if you ask me,’ Cory grumbled, before raising her eyes to gaze into the distance again. Blow, he’d gone. She shaded her eyes against the glare of the sun but after a moment or two was forced to accept he had disappeared from view.

All around the normal Saturday scenario was taking place—kids skateboarding, families strolling, couples stretched out on the grass sunbathing or reading, folk walking their dogs, groups of teenagers playing football or cricket or throwing Frisbees to each other—but she felt suddenly separate from it all. A run-of-the-mill walk in the park had suddenly turned into something extraordinary and, now he had gone, she had time to actually consider what had happened and she felt panic rise hot and strong.

She must be mad—stark staring mad—to agree to accompany him to Templegate tonight! Not just accompany him but virtually act as hostess to a group of people she’d never seen before in her life. Why hadn’t she said no? Why hadn’t she taken the get-out clause he’d offered? What on earth had prompted her to acquiesce to such a ridiculous proposition?

She brushed the memory of a striking, evenly planed face and steel-hard body out of her mind determinedly. It wasn’t him as a person, she told herself firmly as she began to continue the walk round the park. She wasn’t interested in Nick Morgan, not in the least. That would be sheer madness. Anyway, he already had a girlfriend and the last thing she was looking for was a relationship of any kind. No, she’d felt obliged to make amends, that was all.

She glanced down at Rufus trotting happily at her side and groaned inwardly. Why had she let him off the lead? Aunt Joan had been specific and she’d ignored her advice—and not for the first time in her life, she added miserably. But she wasn’t going to think of William Patterson now. She had enough problems right at this moment as it was, the most immediate being—what was she going to wear tonight? She would have to do some emergency shopping because she hadn’t got a thing that would pass in Templegate’s fabled surroundings.

As her feet quickened in time with the swirly butterflies in her stomach, Rufus had the most energetic walk he’d had for some time, and by the time the pair of them reached Cory’s aunt’s house they were both panting.

‘Are you all right, dear?’ her aunt asked mildly as she opened the door. ‘You look a little warm.’

Warm would be great. Just being over-warm would be heaven right now. ‘I did a silly thing,’ Cory said miserably as she stepped into the cool hall. ‘A very silly thing as it’s turned out.’

‘Really?’

She nodded.

‘Ooh, lovely,’ her aunt said happily. ‘I’m always doing silly things and it’s so reassuring when someone as together as you does too. The coffee pot’s on, come and tell me all about it.’

Rufus settled in his basket, gnawing frenziedly at an enormous hide bone, and with a mug of fragrant coffee and a plate of chocolate digestives in front of her Cory felt a little better as she related the events of the morning. There was something terribly homely and nice in sitting in her aunt’s farmhouse-type kitchen with a dog at their feet and bright sunlight picking the colour out of a bunch of marigolds in a vase on the windowsill.

When she’d finished explaining, her aunt was beaming. ‘But that’s wonderful,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘You’ll have a wonderful meal in the most wonderful place and this man sounds—’

‘Wonderful?’ Cory interrupted wryly. There had been a sight too many wonderfuls as far as she was concerned. She was terrified, and here was her aunt acting as though she had just won the lottery or something.

‘I was going to say very reasonable,’ her aunt said reproachfully. ‘He could have shouted or caused a fuss after all. Lots of people would have, and in this day and age of everyone suing everyone else at the drop of a hat…’ She sighed, wagging her head in despair at the current trend. ‘And all this Mr Morgan did was to ask you out to dinner at the most fabulous place. I mean, what’s the problem?’

Put like that there wasn’t one, but then her aunt hadn’t seen Nick Morgan. Cory swallowed hard. ‘I don’t have a thing to wear,’ she prevaricated, but even to her own ears it sounded weak. ‘Not something that carries a million dollar label anyway.’

‘Is that all?’ The complacency was now most certainly of the Cheshire cat variety as Joan’s smile widened. ‘Darling go and see a friend of mine, Chantal Lemoine of Mayfair. She’ll fix you up.’

This wasn’t comforting. Cory loved her aunt—since her parents had died within a year of each other when she had been at university, her aunt was the only close relative she had—but Joan had never married and had made her career her life before she’d retired early at the age of fifty after a heart attack scare. She’d had a high-powered position in the world of fashion and hadn’t thought anything of spending an exorbitant amount on a simple skirt or top. Since leaving university four years ago Cory, on the other hand, had felt drawn to work in the sector of social care, something which involved long hours, stress and a merely adequate salary. A salary which didn’t lend itself to designer establishments.

Whether her aunt sensed what she was thinking Cory wasn’t sure, but the next moment the older woman had picked up the telephone saying, ‘I’m ringing Chantal, all right? It’s your birthday in a few weeks’ time and I didn’t have a clue what to get you. This is the perfect answer. You go and choose something absolutely outrageously expensive. You’ve been an angel to me since my fall and I want to thank you.’

‘I couldn’t, Aunty.’ Cory’s cheeks were pink.

‘You could and will.’ And then Joan’s expression and voice changed as she said softly, putting her hand on Cory’s arm, ‘Please, darling. For me. You’re the daughter I never had and you never let me spoil you. Just this once indulge me, eh?’

Cory wriggled uncomfortably. It was true she looked on her aunt more as a mother than anything else. In spite of being an only child she hadn’t been close to either of her parents, who had been so wrapped up in each other they hadn’t needed anyone else, not even their daughter. It had been a lonely and not particularly happy childhood in many respects, and her Aunt Joan had often been an oasis in the desert. Whether because of her childhood or perhaps just the way she was made, she’d always been reserved and independent, preferring to help rather than be helped and to give rather than receive.

‘Hello, could I speak to Miss Lemoine, please?’ Her aunt had taken her hesitation as a yes. When Cory went to speak Joan waved her to silence with a raised hand. ‘Chantal? Darling, how are you? It’s Joan.’ A few seconds and then, ‘Yes, we must as soon as this wretched leg of mine is better. Perhaps lunch at Roberto’s? Look, the reason I’m calling is to ask a favour. I’m sending Cory to you—you remember she’s my niece? She has a very special occasion tonight—at Templegate. Yes, I know, it’s very exciting. The thing is, she needs something really gorgeous and I thought you might be able to help. Could you see to her personally? Advise her on what suits her best? I’d come myself but with this leg…Oh, you’re a sweetheart. Two o’clock will be fine. Thanks so much, darling. And put it on my account, would you, this is a little birthday treat. Bye-bye, Chantal.’

The receiver replaced, her aunt beamed at her. ‘That’s settled then. Sweetheart, you’re going to have a perfectly lovely time and you’ll look beautiful. Chantal will guarantee it.’

Cory smiled but said nothing. The day wasn’t going at all as she had planned.

CHAPTER TWO

IT WAS five to seven and Cory was panicking big time, not least because she barely recognized the girl staring back at her out of the mirror. When she’d left Chantal earlier that afternoon, the little Frenchwoman’s parting encouragement had been, ‘Chérie, make up your mind to enjoy a night on the tiles in haute couture style! Yes? You will look enchanting. As the late Gianni Versace once said: ‘‘If you make an entrance and nobody turns to look at you, my dear, find a back door and leave. And then find a new dress.’’ I promise you, chérie, you will not have to find the door,’ Chantal had said with great satisfaction. ‘Not in that dress.’

It was beautiful. Cory’s gaze left the frightened eyes in the mirror and travelled downwards. And in this case the clothes did definitely maketh the woman. The midnightblue silk just missed being black, the cap-sleeved bodice with flattering collar-bone-skimming neckline topping a skirt with the same leaf transparencies and beading, and, as if all that wasn’t enough to catch the eye, the skirt had vertiginous side slits. These had caused Cory to protest that she couldn’t possibly wear the dress out before she had tried it on, but once Chantal had zipped her up she’d had to admit that it did something to her figure and skin that was riveting.

‘This is the one,’ the little Frenchwoman had cried. ‘This is the dress that makes you a goddess.’

Goddess was going a bit far, Cory thought, her gaze returning to check her make-up for the umpteenth time. But the dress did do something for her that was amazing. She dreaded to think how much it had cost her aunt. None of the clothes in the exclusive shop had had anything so vulgar as a price label. Presumably if one couldn’t take the heat one stayed out of the kitchen!

When she’d made noises about the cost, Chantal had merely tapped the side of her small nose and shook her beautifully coiffured head in disapproval. ‘This is the gift, yes?’ she had scolded, making Cory feel terribly unsophisticated. ‘Your aunt will know and this is enough. Now…’ She had gone on to recommend another couple of establishments where Cory could purchase suitable accessories but, although she’d thanked the older woman, Cory had known she wouldn’t be stepping through their doors. Shoes and bags at several hundred pounds a go just wasn’t an option on her salary.

Instead she had looked round various high street shops and market stalls, eventually finding delicate strappy sandals in just the right shade with a little purse to match in Covent Garden. Racing home to her flat in Notting Hill—the purchase of which had taken every last penny of her inheritance, but which had been supremely worth it—she had showered, washed her hair and set about moisturising and perfuming for the night ahead.

Should she have left her hair down? She glanced again at the silky smooth chignon she’d persuaded her shoulderlength waves into. It had seemed too fussy somehow, the dress being so stunning, but her hair had been up and down three times before she had made up her mind.

‘Stop it.’ She breathed the words out loud into the quiet, pastel-coloured bedroom. ‘It’s just a nightclub, they’re just people like everyone else, he’s just a man.’ And he’d reduced her to talking to herself already after one brief meeting!

An authoritative buzz from the lobby entry intercom brought her hand to her throat before she breathed deeply, willing the panic to subside. Walking through into the small square hall she steeled herself to press the button situated to the side of her front door. ‘Yes, who is it?’ she asked with a breathlessness she could have kicked herself for.

‘Nick Morgan.’ Succinct and to the point.

‘I’ll be right down, Mr Morgan. If you’d care to wait in the lobby…’ She pressed the building’s door release before flying back into the bedroom in a tottering scramble which warned her that the sandals didn’t lend themselves to anything other than dignified sedateness, not unless she wanted to end up on her rear end, that was. And that was unthinkable in front of Nick Morgan.

Snatching up her purse, which was just large enough to hold her keys, lipstick, two twenty pound notes for emergencies—in case he didn’t intend to see her home for example—and a few tissues, she walked carefully back to the hall, opening her front door and then making her way down the wide staircase which led to the lobby.

The old Victorian house had been converted to three fairly large flats, one on each floor. The ground floor flat was owned by a retired couple with a massive German Shepherd called Arnie who had a howl like a wolf’s. This was the biggest apartment, having three bedrooms and its own tiny garden. Cory’s flat and the one above each had two bedrooms and a large balcony off the sitting room French windows. The young married couple above her had made their balcony into a miniature garden, but Cory’s contained a small table and two chairs and a large lacy palm in a big pot and that was all. Her work sometimes involved excruciatingly long hours for a couple of weeks or so and if a problem occurred in one of the families she was assigned to the last thing she wanted to worry about was watering plants.

She was concentrating so hard on descending gracefully, balanced as she was on her giddily high, needle-thin heels, that she didn’t lift her head until she’d reached the safety of the tiled floor of the small entrance lobby.

‘Wow.’

The deep male voice brought her head turning. Nick Morgan was leaning against the far wall, hands thrust in his pockets and black hair slicked back from his brow. He looked like something every red-blooded woman from the age of sixteen to sixty would love to find in their Christmas stocking. An exquisitely cut dinner jacket sat on shoulders broad enough to satisfy even the most demanding female, and the smile lighting up his blue eyes was electric.

Cory forgot to breathe as he walked towards her, only managing to mumble, ‘Hello,’ at the last moment.

‘You look sensational.’

‘Do I?’ Oh, come on, you can do better than that. She wasn’t totally without the ability of social repartee. She took hold of herself, adding, ‘Thank you, you look pretty good yourself,’ with a coolness she hoped he didn’t know was completely feigned.

His gaze moved over her hair, eyes made up to look huge, and carefully painted lips, and there was a faint note of surprise in his voice when he said, ‘You’ll set tongues wagging tonight. They’ll all want to know where I found you.’

He made it sound as though she was a stranded puppy he’d brought in from the cold. She forced a smile, saying lightly, ‘I think it was the other way round, don’t you? Or rather, it was Rufus who did the finding.’ And then, because his comment really had caught her on the raw for some reason, she added sweetly, ‘Perhaps it would be better if we didn’t explain I had to pick you up from the floor.’ She hadn’t, not exactly, but if ever there was justification in stretching a point, Cory felt this was it.

He blinked, just once, but she knew she’d taken him aback. The smile dimmed a little for one thing. ‘Quite.’ He took her elbow. ‘Shall we go?’

That had set the boundaries quite nicely; at least she hoped so. There was no way she was going to let this man patronise her, even if he did have the clout to take half of London to Templegate as his guests. Wealth did not equate to lordship, not in her book.

Once outside, even the heavily laden city fumes couldn’t obliterate the beauty of a perfect June evening. The air was soft and warm, the buzz of the city lazy and evocative. Cory felt a little thrill of anticipation she wouldn’t have thought herself capable of just minutes before.

Instead of the taxi she’d been expecting, she found herself led to a chauffeur-driven Mercedes. After seating her inside the vehicle, Nick Morgan joined her. ‘Templegate, please, George,’ he said easily, before settling himself more comfortably beside her. She could feel the imprint of a hard male thigh against her hip but didn’t dare move. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking he bothered her in any way—if he was thinking along those lines, which he probably wasn’t, of course.

Burningly aware of the way the slits in the dress revealed a tantalising amount of leg, Cory tried to think of something else. Nothing came to mind.

Too late she realised he’d said something and she’d missed it. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she said politely.

‘I asked you if you’d been to Templegate before.’

It was slightly stiff as though he was offended about something. Cory suddenly wondered if he usually had to repeat himself when he was taking a woman out for the evening. She rather doubted it.

The surge of adrenalin this caused enabled her to say quite airily, ‘No, I haven’t as it happens although I’ve heard about the place, of course. One goes to see and be seen, I understand?’

‘I wouldn’t know about that.’

Oh, no. Right.

‘The chef there is second to none, however.’ He looked her full in the face as he spoke, forcing her to meet his gaze. The blue of his eyes was like the deepest ocean, something to drown in. ‘And the guy in the cocktail bar, Luigi, is a master of his art. His drinks carry a sting in the tail that have made many a grown man wake up with the mother and father of a hangover the next morning.’

‘Thanks for the warning,’ she said tightly. He was too close. The confines of the luxurious car were too intimate. Her dress was too revealing. She turned her head to look out of the window.

There was a long pause when the air between them hinted at the delicious sensuality of his aftershave.

‘Relax, Cory.’

It was the first time he had called her by her Christian name and it acted on her overwrought nerves like a cattle prod. ‘Relax?’ Her gaze shot to meet his again. ‘I don’t know what you mean. I’m perfectly relaxed.’

‘Yeah?’ He glanced meaningfully at her lap and for the first time she realised her hands were tight fists.

‘Look, you won’t be expected to do anything tonight,’ he said quietly. ‘Just enjoy yourself, okay? There are no hostess duties, if that’s what’s worrying you.’

She wasn’t sure exactly what was worrying her but playing hostess was only part of it. She managed a little bounce of her head which could have passed for a nod. ‘Your girlfriend,’ she said awkwardly. ‘She’s not going to get the wrong idea about this?’

‘Girlfriend?’ Dark brows furrowed and then cleared. ‘Oh, you mean Miranda? The model? No, she’ll be fine. And, incidentally, she’s a friend without the girl in front of it, if you get my meaning.’

She did. And she wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or worse. Probably a bit of both. Which went with the general craziness of this whole evening.

‘If we’re supposed to be a couple—’ again her eyes shot to his and he smiled innocently ‘—at least as far as my guests are concerned, I should know a bit about you, shouldn’t I? Your work, hobbies, things like that.’

It sounded reasonable. It would have been reasonable if it was anyone but Nick Morgan. Which wasn’t fair, Cory acknowledged silently. She didn’t know him, not in the least, and he might be a very nice person under the arrogance and good looks and blatant wealth. William had been all those things too and she’d given him the benefit of the doubt, more fool her.

She smiled a brittle smile. ‘I’m a social worker, working with disfunctional families on the whole. The hours are long, but when I’m not working I’m either eating, sleeping or preparing to do one or the other. Okay?’

He didn’t say a word, merely continuing to observe her as the Mercedes purred through the evening traffic. Much to her annoyance, Cory found she was the one who looked away first.

She didn’t know why she was loath to reveal anything about herself and her private life to this man, but the check was there, in her spirit. In truth she had lots of friends with whom she socialised and, although she had to do the odd intense stretch at work where she had no time to see anyone, these didn’t occur all the time.

It was a good minute or two before he spoke again, and then his voice was bland. ‘No time for fun then?’

‘Not much, no.’

‘Pity.’

‘I don’t think so.’ He was really annoying her now, not by what he said but the tone in which he said it. But then it was her fault if he was pitying her. ‘I love my work.’

‘I enjoy mine but I still have a life outside it.’

‘Like tonight?’ she asked with a touch of sarcasm.

‘Tonight, I admit, I’m combining work and pleasure.’

He didn’t rise to her bait and Cory found herself feeling somewhat ashamed. She was being awful and she didn’t understand why.

And then he slid shut the glass partition which gave them privacy from the driver, leaning towards her as he said softly, ‘Are you always this prickly or is it me? Have I done something to offend you, Cory?’

She wished he wouldn’t say her name like that, in that deep smoky way. Say something, she told herself. Anything to pass this off. She found she couldn’t, her thought processes seemed to have faltered and died.

She cleared her throat, moistening her lips and then wishing she hadn’t as the piercing gaze followed her tongue. ‘I guess I’m just a little nervous,’ she managed at last. ‘Meeting your guests and so on.’ She waved a vague hand. It wasn’t the people though, just one person and he was sitting right beside her.

‘You are more than a match for them.’

It was dry and she wasn’t quite sure if he was complimenting her or not.

Her face must have revealed her thoughts because his searching gaze was replaced by a smile. ‘You have a very open face,’ he said, the smile lingering at the corners of his mouth. ‘I would have thought that would’ve been a handicap in your line of work.’

She arched an eyebrow. ‘I can be deadpan when I want to be,’ she assured him evenly. It was just that this capability didn’t seem to work around Nick Morgan, although she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of admitting to it.

He settled back in the seat again and Cory breathed an inward sigh of relief as the space between them expanded.

‘So the reason for your single status is down to work obsession?’ he asked smoothly after a small pause.

She didn’t answer this directly. ‘I do not have a work obsession.’

Her voice had been clipped and again the corners of his mouth twitched. ‘What else would you call it when a beautiful woman eats, sleeps and drinks her job?’ he asked mildly.

‘A career?’ She couldn’t remember when she’d last felt so mad with someone.

‘A career doesn’t exclude having friends—’

‘I do have friends.’

‘Or going on dates,’ he continued as though unaware of her interruption.

‘Look, Mr Morgan—’

‘Nick.’ The tone was amiable. ‘Call me Nick or else my guests will think I’ve hired you for the evening.’

He had in a way. She put that fact to one side and concentrated on her main line of attack. ‘I’m sorry but I really don’t see that my lifestyle is any of your business,’ she said hotly. ‘You asked me to stand in for your girlfriend—’

‘She’s not my girlfriend. I thought we’d already ascertained that.’

‘Whatever.’ She put a wealth of disinterest into the word. ‘Anyway, you asked me to stand in for her and I have. I don’t think that that merits the third degree.’

‘You think a little polite social intercourse qualifies as the third degree?’ he asked with reproachful innocence.

Cory swallowed the words she wanted to say. They still had the rest of the evening in front of them and some pretence at togetherness would be required, besides which she was blowed if she was going to rise to his bait. She breathed deeply, counted up to ten and smiled sweetly. ‘One’s definition of politeness can vary so much from person to person, don’t you think, depending on background, upbringing, just how nice someone is?’ she said with saccharine civility.

He knew exactly what she was really saying. Vivid blue eyes held defiant velvet-brown for a few moments and then, to her surprise, he threw back his head and laughed. ‘You’re a formidable lady, Miss Cory James. I have to admit I wondered how a slender young thing like you would be able to take on some big butch parent or other shouting about their rights. Now I know.’

Cory frowned. ‘Do you usually stereotype people so harshly?’ she said sharply. ‘Most of my families are great people who are struggling to keep it together after a rotten start in life. They deserve every little bit of help and support they can get. It’s people like you—’ She stopped abruptly. The evening would certainly be over if she told him what she thought of people like him, and with her aunt paying a fortune for this dress and it having taken her hours to get ready she might just as well see the inside of Templegate!

It was very quiet in the car now. Then Nick said, ‘You don’t like me, do you.’ It was a statement, not a question.

Cory chose not to say anything. The truth was apparent in her silence anyway.

‘Why is that, I wonder?’ he mused thoughtfully.

How long had he got? She nerved herself to glance at him. Bearing in mind he had been pretty reasonable about Rufus, as her aunt had pointed out, she prevaricated, ‘I don’t know you so how could I not like you?’

‘If you’d put just the tiniest amount of warmth into that I might have attempted to persuade myself you meant it,’ he said drily. ‘Is this state of hostilities going to continue all night because I think my guests might have severe indigestion at the end of it if so.’

She glared at him. ‘I promised I’d accompany you and I wouldn’t dream of being other than courteous to your guests.’

‘I’m aware of that. I just thought they might find the evening something of a strain with you savaging their host at every opportunity.’

The underlying amusement in the deep voice made her want to hit him. Instead she called on all her self-control and said calmly, ‘There’s no question of that. I wouldn’t do or say anything to embarrass them.’

‘So I can count on you to give the impression we’re the perfect couple?’

‘Utterly,’ she said with biting sarcasm.

‘Love’s young dream even?’ he drawled lazily.

The quirk to his eyebrows and complete refusal to be affronted by her bad humour brought a reluctant smile to Cory’s face. Impossible man!

‘That’s better.’ He grinned at her and it did something powerful to the ruthlessly handsome face that made her heart race. ‘Now, let me give you a quick who’s who of who’ll be there tonight, OK? They’re a nice bunch on the whole but one or two are still a bit tender after the takeover. Understandable, but not conducive to good working relations. Hence this evening.’

Cory nodded. His tone had suddenly become very businesslike and that suited her down to the ground.

By the time the Mercedes drew up outside the chrome and glass building that was Templegate she’d absorbed most of the background information Nick had given her. She knew that five of the couples were married, including the big chief, Martin Breedon, and that Martin and his wife had recently been presented with their first grandchild. ‘Good talking point,’ Nick said cold-bloodedly. ‘Folk are always gaga over their grandchildren.’ The remaining four consisted of a couple who both worked at the company and who were seeing each other, and a David Blackwell who was bringing a date.

The chauffeur opened the car door but it was Nick who assisted her out of the vehicle before saying, ‘Bring the car at three, OK, unless I ring before that,’ whereupon he took her arm and led her into the building.

Three o’clock? This was going to be one long night. And then Cory’s mind was washed clear of everything but her immediate surroundings. The place was as expensively luxurious as she had expected and huge, but as Nick ushered her into the cocktail bar, which was fairly buzzing, she spotted at least three celebrities without even trying.

Closing her mouth, which she knew had fallen open, and trying to appear as if she was completely au fait with the milieu, Cory took the seat Nick had pulled out for her at a table which overlooked the vast nightclub below. After glancing at the cocktail menu, she tried to look for the least alcoholic drink. She needed to keep all her wits about her tonight and doubtless it would be one where the drinks were flowing.

‘If you’re not sure, how about a champagne cocktail?’ Nick suggested quietly. ‘I’ve ordered champagne for the table.’

‘Lovely.’ She smiled brightly. Once he had walked across to the massive circular bar which ran round three-quarters of the room and behind which a number of waiters were busy shaking mixers and juggling bottles with amazing dexterity, Cory studied the ingredients. Brandy, a couple of dashes of angostura bitters, dry champagne and a white sugar cube. That didn’t sound too lethal, certainly not compared to the Negroni, which was comprised of Campari, sweet vermouth and gin, or a Margarita, which looked pure dynamite. And she’d make the one last.

When Nick returned she took the champagne flute with a smile of thanks, lifting it in a salutation as she said, ‘To a successful evening.’

‘To a successful evening and my beautiful companion.’

She smiled again before taking a sip of the sparkling drink. It was delicious. She could well understand why the cocktail had been a favourite of stars of the silver screen in the forties; it epitomised the elegance and sophistication of that wonderful era beautifully.

‘Well, this is very civilised.’

It could have been a pleasant social comment but she’d seen the wicked glitter in his eyes and knew he was making a point after her antagonism in the car. She decided to ignore it and take the words at face value. ‘Isn’t it,’ she agreed lightly. ‘And what a place this is. Like a film set.’

‘The owner’s always been a sucker for the sort of lavish decadence of the Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers age. He set out to appeal only to the rich and famous, and he succeeded. There are more film stars, models and footballers here per square yard than anywhere else in the world.’

There was something, just the merest inflexion in the deep voice, which suggested he didn’t altogether approve. Cory stared at him curiously. ‘You’re here,’ she pointed out quietly, ‘so you must enjoy all that too.’

‘Must I?’ It was laconic. And then as she continued to keep her eyes on him, he said, ‘It’s amusing to drop in now and again and undeniably useful for tonight’s sort of occasion.’

‘But you don’t like it?’ she persisted.

‘I didn’t say that.’ The blue eyes surveyed her under brows which suddenly had a moody tilt. ‘It’s just that I’ve found that wealth and fame don’t always equate to good manners and acceptable behaviour. The desire to be a sensation and feêted and adored can be ugly when it becomes an obsession. Alex has made a fortune with Templegate and knows just how to keep the latest celebrity purring, whilst being able to take any tantrums and smooth ruffled plumage. I couldn’t do that.’

She didn’t doubt that for a minute. ‘Alex?’ she asked interestedly. ‘Do you know the owner then?’

‘We were at university together.’ He paused, finishing his cocktail in one swallow before he said lazily, ‘Care for another?’

‘I’m fine.’ She’d barely touched her own drink.

This time he raised a hand and immediately a waiter was at his side. After he’d given his order, Nick pointed out a well-known politician who had just entered the bar with a glamorous female on his arm who was easily young enough to be his daughter, if not his granddaughter, and then went on to mention other well-known faces he’d seen at Templegate. It wasn’t until much later that Cory realised he’d turned the conversation away from himself most adeptly.

When the others arrived the atmosphere was a little tense at first, but Cory’s misgivings about Nick’s guests being standoffish were soon put to rest. With the exception of perhaps David Blackwell, the man who had brought along a date in the form of a tall willowy blonde who smiled a lot but who said little, she immediately felt at ease with them.

After cocktails, they were led to their table in the main section of the nightclub and Cory wasn’t surprised it was in a prime position at the edge of the dance floor. The food was excellent, the floor show which entertained them while they ate equally so, and with the armour of the extravagant dress in place Cory felt as good as any of the other women in their designer evening wear.

The circular shape of the table prompted dialogue in which everyone could share, and she soon realised Nick had set himself out to be both charming and amusing. He was winning them all over, she mused, finishing the last of her pudding—a creamy orange charlotte—which had tasted heavenly, with real regret. Not that she would have eaten another morsel, she admitted to herself reluctantly, but each spoonful of the light, tangy dessert had been the stuff dreams were made of.

It was as the floor show ended and coffee arrived at the table that Cory noticed the look on David Blackwell’s face. Everyone was laughing at something Nick had said, their amusement ably enhanced by the amount of very fine champagne which had been consumed, and David, who had just been to the men’s cloakroom, was within a few feet of the table when she happened to glance his way. His bitter expression shocked her before he became aware of her gaze and immediately stitched a smile in place.

What was all that about? Cory asked herself, returning David’s smile briefly before she turned back to Martin on her right as the older man spoke to her. What axe was David Blackwell grinding that made him so full of resentment towards Nick? And then she shrugged the thought away, telling herself it was none of her business and that it didn’t matter anyway. After tonight she wouldn’t see any of them again, including Nick, so any problem or disputes between Nick and David were unimportant to her. She was here to fulfil an obligation, that was all.

As though Nick had been aware of her thoughts, he now reached out a hand and covered one of hers where it was resting on her wineglass. ‘Enjoying yourself?’ he asked softly as her startled gaze met his. ‘In spite of the reason you agreed to come?’

His flesh was warm and firm and a thousand little pinpricks shot out through her nerves at his touch. Ridiculous, she told herself. Ridiculous to react like this to a man you don’t know and have no particular wish to know either. ‘Yes, thank you,’ she returned politely, slipping her hand away from under his on the pretext of reaching for her napkin to dab at the corners of her mouth.

‘Good.’ If he had noticed her withdrawal he didn’t comment on it. ‘Let’s dance.’

‘What?’

Before she’d had a chance to protest he had drawn her to her feet, his cool smile washing over the others as he said, ‘The night’s young, folks. Enjoy it.’

Before she knew where she was Cory found herself in his arms on the dance floor. There were only a few couples taking advantage of the slow, easy number the jazz combo were playing, but it wasn’t that which had caused the sudden tension radiating through every nerve and sinew. His body was hard and strong, and held close to him like this his height was emphasised, making her feel fragile and feminine. It was a nice feeling. And she didn’t want to have nice feelings around Nick Morgan. Neither did she want to acknowledge what the sensual scent of his aftershave was doing to her equilibrium.

She lifted her head, determined to say something to break the curiously intimate spell which seemed to have woven itself around them. His eyes were waiting for her, their blueness riveting, and causing the words to die in her throat as his body betrayed what her closeness was doing to him. ‘You’re one beautiful, sexy woman, Cory James,’ he murmured huskily.

A tingle of excitement fluttered over her skin. It was a warning and she knew it. William had said all the right things and before she’d known it she’d been in way over her head. She was never going to let that happen again. ‘It’s the dress,’ she said, carefully and deliberately, forcing a flatness into her tone. ‘Not me.’

He continued to look down at her and she prayed the trembling which had begun in her stomach wouldn’t transfer itself to the rest of her body. The incredible width of his shoulders, the male squareness of his chin enhanced by the merest cleft and the ruggedness of the handsome face all proclaimed a virile masculinity which was overwhelming.

‘No, it’s not the dress,’ he said softly, his eyes dark and intense. ‘Although it’s stunning.’

Stunning it might be but she regretted wearing it right now. No, no she didn’t, she qualified in the next moment. She wanted to look sexy and beautiful to him. But then again it was the last thing she wanted. Which didn’t make sense…Their gazes were still locked and she forced herself to break it, pulling back a little and glancing round the room as she said, ‘It’s a present, the dress. I didn’t have anything remotely good enough for this place.’ Suddenly the need to make him see they were poles apart was paramount.

‘Who from?’

‘What?’ She glanced at him again.

‘A present from whom?’ he asked quietly, a look on his face now that Cory couldn’t quite pin down.

‘Oh, my Aunt Joan.’ The music had changed and now a livelier number had drawn more people on to the dance floor. Cory noticed they were the only couple still entwined but when she tried to disentangle herself from his arms they merely tightened.

‘Your Aunt Joan.’ His face had cleared. ‘Not an admirer then?’

‘An admirer?’ She stared at him, mingled surprise and outrage vying for first place. ‘Of course not. As if I’d accept a present like this from a man.’

‘It happens.’ His voice was dry.

‘Not with me it doesn’t.’ She glared at him.

‘I’m very pleased to hear it.’

He was laughing at her! Oh, not openly, but she knew amusement was there in the tone of his voice and the way the firm, hard mouth was trying not to smile. ‘You can let go of me for this dance,’ she said frostily.

‘Perhaps I don’t want to let you go.’

‘People are looking.’

‘Let them look.’ He bent his head and skimmed her mouth with his lips. ‘There, that’ll give them something to talk about,’ he said evenly.

For one giddy instant the room swam. The caress had been too fleeting to be called a kiss but she’d felt the contact right down to her Covent Garden shod toes. She blinked. ‘Don’t do that, please,’ she said as firmly as her breathing would allow. ‘It’s not in the agreement.’

‘We didn’t discuss the finer points, if I remember correctly.’

Cory ignored the little flame that had been ignited deep inside and frowned at him. ‘Perhaps because I thought it wasn’t necessary and that you were a gentleman.’

He grinned, completely unabashed. ‘Big mistake,’ he said cheerfully.

She ought to be furious at the arrogance but instead she found herself trying not to smile. But she couldn’t let him suspect that. ‘Shall I spell it out for you then?’

‘Please do,’ he said politely, laughter glinting in his eyes.

‘I agreed to come here tonight because I’m in your debt about Rufus, but acting as your—’

‘Girlfriend?’ he put in helpfully.

‘Companion,’ she corrected firmly, ‘only necessitates the most elementary bodily contact.’

He looked as though he was enjoying himself. ‘Define elementary,’ he said interestedly, his hand at her waist finding bare skin through one of the carefully positioned leaf transparencies and stroking it almost absent-mindedly.

Cory took a steadying breath. ‘In this context elementary means straightforward, simple.’ Her skin was melting. ‘Rudimentary,’ she added desperately.

His head tilted as though he was considering what she’d just said. ‘Sorry, can’t agree to that.’ His eyes danced over her hot face. ‘Call it the interest on the debt if you like, but for this evening you’re my consort and I’m not the kind of guy who is happy with…elementary bodily contact.’

In the same moment that the music finished Cory noticed David and the blonde at their elbow, the other man’s close set eyes fastened avidly on their faces. It was enough to break the spell of Nick’s closeness, and it enabled her to jerk away out of his arms. ‘I’d like to sit down now, please.’

‘Sure.’ He took her hand, weaving his way through the couples on the dance floor and pulling out her chair for her when they reached their table.

Had David Blackwell been listening to their exchange? Cory tried to think exactly what had been said and what impression an eavesdropper might have formed as she sipped at her champagne, but it was difficult with the music and conversation all around. Making the excuse that she needed to visit the Ladies’ cloakroom, she rose from the table, vitally aware of Nick’s eyes on her as she left the room although she didn’t glance his way.

Once in the relative quiet of the reception area she found the cloakroom—an elaborate affair of marble and mirrors—and sat down on one of the cream cushioned seats in the outer area to repair her lipstick. As her mind continued to dissect all that had been said on the dance floor she had to stop herself from groaning out loud. It might have sounded almost as if she was a hired escort of the most basic kind to anyone who didn’t know the true facts.

She put the lipstick back in her purse, fiddling with her hair as her mind sped on. But then what she’d thought earlier still applied—she’d never see any of these people again so it didn’t matter how they viewed her. She just didn’t like someone like the Blackwell man getting the wrong idea, that was all. Admittedly she didn’t know him but the guy gave her the creeps.

She straightened her back, her eyes narrowing as she stared at the reflection in the mirror. She wasn’t going to worry about David Blackwell or anyone else for that matter. She’d fulfil her obligations tonight and make sure she went home alone in a taxi in view of Nick’s earlier comments. She wasn’t sure if he would be crass enough to try anything on when she’d made it clear how she felt, but she wouldn’t give him the chance. The man was dangerous—she refused to qualify to herself that it was her response to him that was dangerous—and she didn’t need any complications in her life at the moment.

When she stepped out of the cloakroom Cory had only taken a couple of steps when David caught hold of her wrist. He made her jump, having come up behind her, and her voice was sharp as she shook her hand free and said, ‘Don’t do that, please.’

‘Sorry, sorry.’ He was smiling but she’d noticed before that his smiles didn’t reach his eyes. ‘I just wanted a word with you, that’s all.’

‘Couldn’t it have waited until we’re at the table?’

‘In private.’ His voice was low. ‘I wanted to speak to you in private, Cory.’

She didn’t like the way he spoke her name in that slightly conspiratorial tone and her voice reflected this when she said, ‘I don’t know you. How could we have anything to discuss privately?’

‘Look, I’ll come clean.’

He was too close and the amount of aftershave he was wearing was making her feel nauseous. It had a sickly sweet scent with a tang of something else beneath it, much like the man himself, she suspected.

‘I couldn’t help overhearing what you and Nick were saying on the dance floor and I take it you aren’t his actual girlfriend?’

Cory stared into the weasely face. Was this a come-on, because if it was he’d get more than he’d bargained for.

When she neither confirmed nor denied this, he went on, ‘The thing is, I suppose you know he’s just taken over the firm, lock, stock and barrel? A lot of people were upset at first but they’ve all gone quiet, pay-offs I suppose,’ he added bitterly.

Where was this going? ‘That’s nothing to do with me.’

‘I know that but—’ He paused. ‘Look, it was clear from what he said that he fancies you and that you aren’t interested. Most women fall in adoration at his feet.’ Again hot resentment came through loud and strong. ‘That being the case, I’d make it worth your while if you could find out a couple of things for me.’

‘What?’ She stared at him in absolute amazement.

‘If you just jollied him along I’m sure he’d talk to you. You know, pillow talk. You could ask him about the takeover and how people were, whether he paid on the quiet to get Martin’s co-operation, things like that. I reckon I’m the only one who hasn’t had a backhander and it’s not fair.’

He wanted a backhander? She’d give him one right round his nasty little face if he said another word. And pillow talk? How dared he? ‘If you want to know anything about Mr Morgan’s dealings with the rest of your associates I suggest you ask him yourself,’ Cory said icily. ‘OK?’

His eyes narrowed at her tone but then a wheedling note came into his voice. ‘That’d be no good, facing him head on like that. It’s the ladies who are his weakness. You could get more out of him with just being friendly than I could in a month of Sundays. He wouldn’t suspect anything if that’s what’s worrying you. He’s used to women throwing themselves at him all the time.’

‘Really?’ If she’d been anywhere else but her present surroundings, Cory would have socked him on the jaw. ‘And I wonder why that is? Could it be that he is a real man rather than a snivelling little excuse for one? You picked the wrong woman to ask to do your dirty work, Mr Blackwell, and the minute I go back into that room Mr Morgan will be told of your proposition, all right?’

‘That won’t be necessary.’

The deep, cold voice behind them made them both jump a mile, and Cory found herself tottering on the exorbitantly high heels for a breathtaking moment. Like David, she’d spun round with more haste than care. Righting herself, she saw a different Nick from the one she’d known all evening. This one was frightening.

‘Nick.’ David’s voice was sickeningly obsequious. ‘This isn’t what you think.’

‘Save it.’ The blue eyes could have been cut from granite. ‘This isn’t the time or the place. My office on Monday morning. Eight o’clock sharp.’

‘But let me explain—’

‘There’s no time, you’re leaving.’ Nick raised his hand and as though by magic one of the staff was at his elbow. ‘Would you be so good as to tell Miss Miller on table twelve that Mr Blackwell is waiting out here for her, please?’

As the man hurried away David tried again, and Cory felt like telling him it was no use.

Nick cut into David’s servile excuses after the first sentence. ‘We might just keep this civilised if you disappear right now,’ he said grimly, ‘but don’t push your luck, David. Not tonight. Ah, Fiona…’ As the blonde appeared with a puzzled expression on her pretty face, Nick waved his hand at David, saying, ‘I’m afraid David is indisposed but I’m sure he’ll see you safely home. Goodnight.’

As Nick took Cory’s arm and walked her away, he murmured, ‘Do you want a few minutes to compose yourself before we join the others?’

Did birds fly? Her head was spinning and she didn’t know if she was on foot or horseback. She nodded, and the next minute she found herself ensconced in the cocktail bar, which was now almost completely deserted. Sinking down on to a seat, she said faintly, ‘What will you do to him?’

‘Don’t worry about David Blackwell; his type always come up smelling of roses.’ As the waiter came over, Nick said to her, ‘Another cocktail?’

‘Is it possible to have a coffee instead?’ She felt a little tipsy as it was.

‘Make that two, please.’

The waiter looked as though he was going to protest for a moment, but after a glance at Nick’s face he said quickly, ‘Two coffees it is, sir,’ and disappeared.

‘For the record, there have been no hand-outs.’ Nick looked her straight in the eye. ‘It’s true Martin didn’t want to relinquish the reins but we reached a compromise where we’re both happy. Unfortunately the guy’s too soft for his own good and has carried a lot of dead wood for years—like David Blackwell—so there will be changes to be made. I’m sure David’s got wind of that and is feeling threatened.’

‘I think he feels a lot more threatened now.’

‘With good cause.’ And then so suddenly that it made Cory catch her breath, his face changed, his voice warm and throaty as he said, ‘Thanks for being on my side out there.’

She didn’t know what to say. She shrugged uncomfortably. If he’d heard the bit about the hand-outs he’d been there longer than she would have liked.

Like before, he seemed to know what she was thinking, his voice now holding a thread of amusement when he murmured, ‘I especially liked the bit about me being a real man.’

‘A gentleman wouldn’t mention he’d heard that,’ she said, knowing she’d gone a bright crimson.

‘I thought we’d already ascertained that I’m not a gentleman.’ His smile lit the flame inside again and this time it burnt stronger.

Cory was very glad when the coffee arrived a moment later.

CHAPTER THREE

CONTRARY to what she had expected after the unpleasant incident with David Blackwell, Cory found she thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the evening.

When they returned to the table Nick said briefly that David was feeling unwell and had had to leave early. Which was true in a way. The other man had certainly looked green about the gills when they’d left him.

No one seemed particularly concerned or interested that David and Fiona were no longer with them; in fact with the young man’s departure the whole group seemed more relaxed and natural, in Cory’s opinion. She wondered just how much David had been whispering in people’s ears about Nick. A little yeast could very quickly work through a batch of dough, and David had seemed resentful of Nick as a person as well as an employer, as the remarks about Nick being popular with the ladies had shown.

Everyone stayed right to the end of the evening at three o’clock, whereupon they all declared they’d had a night to remember. Cory could agree with this as a good part of it had been spent in Nick’s arms on the dance floor.

She’d put the idea of going home in a taxi to one side. Somehow the episode with David had taken her and Nick beyond such a thing. Now, as everyone said goodnight amid hugs and handshakes, the possibility that Nick might expect more than a goodnight peck was at the forefront of her mind. It excited her as much as it scared her. She couldn’t get involved with Nick—every nerve and bone in her body was telling her so. He was way, way out of her league in every respect.

He’d probably not want to see her again anyway. Men the whole world over seemed capable of nipping in and out of bed with this woman or that without it really meaning a thing to them and, from what David had said, Nick was never short of female company.

But she was jumping the gun here. He hadn’t suggested bed. He hadn’t suggested anything.

Slow down, she warned herself silently. Stop panicking. You are a grown woman of twenty-five who is more than capable of taking care of herself in every way, not a fifteen-year-old schoolgirl.

They waited until all of Nick’s guests were safely on their way home in the fleet of taxis he’d ordered, and then he led her over to the Mercedes, which was parked across the road. ‘Care to come back to my place for a nightcap?’ he asked softly as he opened the car door for her.

‘No.’ It was too quick and now she moderated her refusal with a smile as she said, ‘I’m exhausted; it’s been a long day.’

He nodded, joining her in the car and sliding the glass panel which separated them from the driver to one side. ‘Back to Miss James’s place please, George,’ he said quietly before closing it shut again and then pulling a blind down so they were now quite private.

Cory went into overdrive. More flustered than she’d ever been in her life, she searched for something, anything, to distract him. Then she found herself saying, ‘I wondered if we’d see your friend, Alex, tonight but he didn’t appear.’

‘He’s in the States.’

‘Really?’ She was burningly aware of a hard male thigh against hers. ‘On holiday or business?’

‘Holiday.’

‘In what state?’ she gabbled. ‘America’s such a huge country, isn’t it, and so fascinating. I think—’

She never did tell him what she thought because he kissed her. Really kissed her. And it was everything she’d imagined it might be. Hot, stunningly sweet and altogether mind-blowing.

She could tell he was devastatingly experienced, a man who would know a woman’s weakness and just how to use it for his own advantage in the seduction stakes. The warning in her mind was there but it didn’t mean a thing while his mouth was working its magic and his arms were pressing her close to his hardness.

Almost leisurely, he explored her mouth until her heart thudded wildly against the steady beat of his and she was kissing him back in total surrender.

This was crazy, insane. She knew that, knew she had to call a halt before things got out of hand, but it was impossible with her blood singing through her veins and molten lava in the pit of her stomach. His hands were clever, stroking her arms and the smooth roundness of her shoulders until her skin was on fire with his caresses.

She gave herself over totally to the kiss, knowing the danger of letting herself become vulnerable to this man but unable to help herself. He kissed so well; she had never been kissed like this in all her life. She’d found most men used a kiss as a preliminary to other things but Nick seemed in no hurry to progress, seemingly enjoying her mouth as much as she was relishing his.

His hands moved up to her hair and within a moment it was falling down about her shoulders, silky soft and smelling of apple blossom shampoo. His fingers tangled themselves in the rich strands, using them to draw her head backwards to allow him greater access to the sensitive skin of her throat.

Cory moaned softly, her hands sliding over the powerful male chest muscles flexing beneath his shirt. The faint scent of aftershave she’d noticed earlier was teasing her nostrils again, its essence wild and dangerous, feeding her desire with its elusive aroma.

She heard him whisper her name as his mouth came back to hers, his voice husky. She knew what he wanted because she wanted it too, and it didn’t seem to matter where they were or what the rest of the world was doing.

The thought was enough to bring her abruptly to her senses. This was a William Patterson situation all over again. He’d had charisma and that extra something which was undefinable but which made a woman go weak at the knees. He had pursued her, using his wealth and magnetism to dazzling effect until she hadn’t known if black was white. She’d been wary at first. Why would a man like William, fifteen years older than her, rich, successful, be bothering with a little nobody fresh out of university? She’d been right to be wary. She should have gone on being wary…

She had stopped kissing Nick back and unconsciously stiffened as the memories had flooded in, and now she became aware that he had picked up on her withdrawal as he drew away. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked very quietly, but without the annoyance or irritation she’d half-expected.

‘I…I don’t do this, not on the first date.’ Although it wasn’t a date, as she’d reminded him this evening. Which made everything a hundred times worse.

‘You don’t kiss?’

His voice was still without expression and, because she could only catch glimpses of his face now and again by the light of passing streetlamps, she had no idea if he was angry or not. She didn’t know how to answer him. How could she say that what they’d just shared had been more than a kiss, at least to her? That would give all the wrong signals. And to admit she had presumed it was the prelude to something more would be even worse.

Cory swallowed. ‘Not like this, no.’

‘Like this?’

‘In…in the back of a car.’ She swallowed again. ‘A goodnight kiss on the doorstep is one thing, but this is more…’

‘Intimate?’ he finished for her.

‘Yes.’

‘Nice, though.’ There was warmth in his voice now and she was glad of the darkness to hide her burning cheeks. There was a pause and then he said, ‘OK, no more kissing until I deposit you on your doorstep.’ Before she could resist, his arm had gone round her and he drew her into his side, holding her against him, pushing her head down on to his shoulder. ‘Relax,’ he said softly. ‘Shut your eyes and think of that doorstep.’

‘Nick—’

‘No more talking, not unless you want me to remember I’m not a gentleman.’

Relax he’d said, with every nerve she possessed twanging and her heart thumping fit to burst at his closeness.

It seemed a long, long time until the Mercedes purred to a halt outside the flat. Cory knew exactly how a jelly must feel.

‘Your doorstep awaits, Ma’am.’ The deep voice was smoky with amusement.

From some unexpected reserve of self-preservation, Cory managed to feign sleepiness as she raised her head from the pillow of his shoulder. ‘Are we here?’ she mumbled, pretending to yawn. ‘I must have been dozing.’

He didn’t challenge her on the lie, but there was a distinctly quizzical slant to his mouth as he exited the car and then helped her out.

The night air wasn’t cold—in fact there was a humid balminess to the shadowed street which suggested another hot June day in store—but Cory shivered as his big hand closed over her fingers. When she was standing on the pavement she tried to gently disentangle herself from his hold, but Nick was having none of it.

Instead he pulled her to the front door of the house. ‘Come on,’ he said coolly. ‘In we go.’

‘There’s no need for you to come up,’ she protested quickly. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening and—’

‘I’m seeing you to your front door.’ It was spoken in a tone which brooked no argument. ‘I’d never forgive myself if a mad axeman was lying in wait,’ he added with every appearance of seriousness.

She didn’t trust the solemnity any more than she trusted him. ‘I hardly think that’s likely.’

‘No? You want to look at the news and read the papers more often. Rape, pillage, mayhem and destruction are all part of the world we live in,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Do you want me to open the door?’

‘I’m quite capable, thank you.’ Having said that the keys had got themselves jammed in the lining of the purse somehow, and it took a few moments to yank them free under his amused gaze.

Once inside the hall, Cory whispered, ‘You’ll have to be very quiet. The people on this floor have a dog that hears the slightest thing and then barks enough to wake the dead.’

‘Wonderful,’ Nick murmured sarcastically.

‘It is, actually. It makes everyone feel very safe.’

‘Haven’t they heard of burglar alarms?’

A low growl from across the hall persuaded Cory to give up the argument. She slipped off her sandals preparatory to climbing the stairs and, as she straightened, he whispered, ‘You’ve just lost about five inches. What have you been walking on all night, stilts?’

She couldn’t help giggling. ‘You wait till you see my glass eye and wooden leg.’

‘I can’t wait.’

As they reached the first landing where her flat was all amusement left Cory however. Was he expecting to be asked in for a nightcap? Was he expecting to be asked in for something else? Or both? But she’d made it plain how she felt in the car—she hoped. But if he kissed her again…

‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ she began.

‘You’ve already done that bit.’ He had to bend further to kiss her this time now she was minus the sandals, and it was still more satisfying than the most expensive chocolate. All the feelings he’d aroused in the car were there, and her arms were just beginning to snake up to his shoulders when she was free. ‘Goodnight, Cory,’ he said blandly.

Goodnight? She stared at him, totally taken aback, before she pulled herself together. ‘Goodnight,’ she said quickly. ‘And I meant what I said, by the way. It was a lovely evening.’

He smiled, his eyes glittering in the dim light on the landing. ‘I thought so.’ His hand reached out and stroked the silky skin at the side of her face below her ear.

Cory had never realised there were so many nerveendings in one place. Should she ask him in and blow the consequences? The force of the temptation was so strong it was enough to kill it. Besides, he had already turned and walked to the head of the stairs.

‘Sleep well,’ he said lazily.

He wasn’t going to ask to see her again. Well, she’d expected pretty much that, hadn’t she? And if he had, she’d determined she’d say no anyway.

‘Fancy lunch tomorrow?’

Her heart did an Olympic leap and then raced for gold. The moment of truth. Remember William. She didn’t want to remember William, she wanted to say yes. Which was why it had to be no. ‘Lunch?’ she repeated weakly.

‘You know, that meal in between breakfast and dinner?’

It was easier when he was being sarcastic. ‘I don’t think so, thank you.’

‘Why not?’ He rested his arms on the banister, his face full of sharply defined planes and angles in the shadows.

‘Because—’ She hesitated. Should she lie and say she had a prior engagement? But he’d only suggest another time. ‘Because I’m not dating at the moment.’

‘The work thing.’ He shook his head. ‘Not a good enough reason when your dog damn near broke my back.’

‘I’ve made recompense for that,’ she said indignantly. ‘And Rufus isn’t my dog anyway.’

‘You were in charge of him.’ He grinned. ‘Do you want to see my bruises?’

‘Not particularly.’ He was doing the charm bit again and it was lethal. Good job William had made her immune to such ploys.

‘There are women who’d die for the privilege.’

‘I don’t doubt it.’ She was determined not to smile.

‘I’ll be back at midday. There’s a great little pub I know where the roast beef melts in the mouth and the Yorkshire puddings are more than puffs of air.’

‘I’ve told you, I’m not dating,’ she said severely.

‘And I’ve told you, this isn’t a date but more paying off your debt. I don’t like to eat Sunday lunch alone.’ He straightened. ‘OK?’ he threw over his shoulder as he began to walk down the stairs.

Not OK. Definitely not OK, but it was like saying no to a brick wall. She followed him to the top of the stairs, looking down at his back as she hissed, ‘Nick, I’m not having Sunday lunch with you.’

‘Twelve sharp.’ He turned just long enough for her to see the flash of his white teeth in the darkness. ‘And I’m not backing off, Cory, so accept with good grace.’

‘Nick!’

He was in the hall now and his voice was low and reproachful when he murmured, ‘Quiet, remember the dog.’

She muttered something very rude about the dog just as the front door closed behind him.

In spite of the late hour, after Cory had showered and removed her make-up she found she was wide awake. The events of the evening were spinning through her head like a fast moving film and sleep was a million miles away. She tossed and turned for an hour or more before getting out of bed and padding through to the kitchen.

A mug of hot milk and half a packet of chocolate digestive biscuits later, she tried to get a handle on the way her life had been turned upside down in less than twenty-four hours.

The man was a human bulldozer, she told herself irritably. It would serve him right if she was out tomorrow when he called.

But she wouldn’t be.

She sighed. This was madness. Getting involved with a man like Nick Morgan, even briefly, was asking for trouble. Unbidden, thoughts of William intruded and for once she was too muddled and over-tired to stop them.

When she had met him she had left university six months earlier and had been training for her present job. She and her colleagues had treated themselves to a Christmas meal at an expensive restaurant and it had been there she’d bumped into him—quite literally. The heel of one of her shoes had suddenly snapped and she’d fallen against him.

She reached for another biscuit, needing the sweetness to combat the acidity of the memories.

She had known from the beginning that William was wrong for her, that he was the type of man who would never be happy settling down with just one woman. But he had pursued her, probably because she was a challenge. Normally women fell into his lap like ripe plums and it had been something of a novelty for him to be the hunter for once. She had known that, in her head, but in spite of that she had found herself falling for him. Some little grain of sense, of sanity—call it what you would—had prevailed, however, and in spite of all his efforts he hadn’t got her into his bed.

Then he had asked her to marry him.

The packet of biscuits had almost gone now. Feeling mad at herself for the self-indulgence, Cory stuffed the remainder back in the biscuit barrel and turned off the kitchen light, padding back to her bedroom and climbing into bed.

She had been over the moon at William’s proposal. It had meant he wanted her, really wanted her and not just as a sexual conquest. For the first time in her life she had felt loved, the hang-ups from her lonely childhood and teens fading into the distance.

He’d suggested a weekend in Paris to celebrate the engagement, declaring he knew the most perfect little jeweller’s shop there where she could choose her ring. She’d said yes—who wouldn’t? Of course she’d known that ‘celebrating’ would probably mean more than the limited love-making she’d allowed so far, but they were going to be married…

Why she had called unannounced at the advertising agency William owned the night before they were due to leave for Paris, she didn’t really know. She had been visiting a problem family in Soho, and rather than go straight home she’d decided to stroll the mile or so to the agency in Mayfair. With hindsight it had been the worst—and the best—thing she could have done.

Nearly everyone had left by the time she got there, but after assuring William’s secretary—whom she’d met at the door—that she’d surprise him, she had made her way to his office on the top floor of the building. And she’d surprised him all right, as well as the partially clothed blonde he had been writhing with on the couch.

The scene which had followed had been ugly. He’d accused her of being frigid, an emotional cripple and plenty more besides in an effort to justify himself. She had walked out and had never seen him again from that day to this. A very messy end to an affair which never should have started in the first place.

Cory sighed, turning over in bed and hammering at her pillow, which felt as if it was packed with rocks. She had to get some sleep; she’d look like a wet rag in the morning. She began the technique she’d perfected in the months after William’s betrayal, relaxing all her muscles, one by one, from the bottom of her feet to the top of her head.

Half an hour later she was as wide awake as ever, but this time it was Nick Morgan who was featuring on the screen in her mind.

She must have drifted off at some point after it became light, because when the alarm woke her at nine o’clock she was in the middle of a particularly erotic dream which made her blush to think about it.

How could she imagine such antics with a man she’d only met the day before? she asked herself in the shower. She could still feel the electricity racing through her veins which she’d experienced in the dream when Nick had touched and tasted her, and the heat in her body was nothing to do with the warm water cascading down on her. Crazy. She turned the dial to cold. It didn’t help much.