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His Untamed Innocent
Sara Craven
A dark desire… Jake Radley-Smith is pleasantly surprised to find a strange female in his company apartment – wearing a bath towel! He isn’t interested in Marin’s sob story…he’s late for a house party and she’ll be perfect as his ready-made date! Marin’s completely bewildered…She thought pretending to be a loving couple would be easy, but the chemistry between her and Jake is explosive! She’s also left in no doubt that what Jake wants, he gets…and it seems he wants her – badly. How can she, inexperienced and nervous, handle his lethal brand of dark desire?


Marin froze at the sound of the front door opening, then slamming shut, followed by a swift and undoubtedly masculine tread approaching down the hallway.
Sick with fright, she looked round for something—anything that she could use to defend herself against the intruder.

Except that he was already in the doorway, his voice harsh with irritation as he demanded, ‘For God’s sake, Lynne, have you suddenly gone deaf?’ and paused, with a swift intake of breath, as realisation dawned.

Marin found herself being comprehensively surveyed by eyes as glacially blue as a polar sea. When he spoke again, his voice was ominously quiet. ‘Who the hell are you, and what are you doing here?’

Obeying an instinct she barely understood, she made sure the folds of her towel were secure.

‘I could ask you the same thing,’ she retorted, her voice quivering a little, because she already knew the answer. That the unexpected and unwanted visitor, looking her over as she stood there, next door to naked and embarrassed out of her life, was Lynne’s boss, Jake Radley-Smith.

‘Don’t play games, sweetheart,’ he advised, his tone as cold as his gaze…

His Untamed Innocent
By

Sara Craven



www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
SARA CRAVEN was born in South Devon and grew up in a house full of books. She worked as a local journalist, covering everything from flower shows to murders, and started writing for Mills & Boon
in 1975. When not writing, she enjoys films, music, theatre, cooking, and eating in good restaurants. She now lives near her family in Warwickshire. Sara has appeared as a contestant on the former Channel Four game show Fifteen to One, and in 1997 was the UK television Mastermind champion. In 2005 she was a member of the Romantic Novelists’ team on University Challenge—the Professionals.
Recent titles by the same author:
RUTHLESS AWAKENING
THE SANTANGELI MARRIAGE
ONE NIGHT WITH HIS VIRGIN MISTRESS
THE VIRGIN’S WEDDING NIGHT

Chapter One
THEY SAID THE only sure things in life were death and taxes, Marin Wade thought as she lifted the sponge and squeezed wonderfully warm, scented water over her shoulders and down her breasts. But there was an additional certainty—that as soon as you got into a hot and longed-for bath the phone would ring.
Just as it was doing at this very moment.
Yet for once she would not be scrambling out, cursing and reaching for a towel in order to obey its summons because—oh joy, oh bliss—it was not her phone.
Whoever it was at the other end could speak to the answering machine.
Of course, it might be Lynne calling to check that she was settling in and that all was well, but if so she’d leave a message too. And later, when Marin was bathed and fed, she’d ring back and thank her stepsister yet again for offering her this temporary bolt hole with so few questions asked. Up to now, at least, she thought wryly.
Lynne was three years her senior, and since their parents had retired to a villa beside a golf course in Portugal she’d taken her elder-sister role very seriously indeed. So when she returned on Sunday night she’d want to know why Marin’s dream job had come to a premature end.
And by then it might be good to have someone to confide in over the entire nasty mess.
Because she would be starting to feel better about it all. Once she’d got over her tiredness and the chaos of the last twenty-four hours and could think straight, she’d have this whole weekend to herself to start making plans and being positive about her life, rather than wanting to howl.
Of course, she’d have to wait until Monday to find out if she still had a job with the agency, or if her erstwhile employer’s threat to have her fired had born fruit, she thought unhappily. But at least she could start looking for somewhere to live until her own flat became available again.
Not that it wasn’t gorgeous here. Lynne had told her she was welcome to stay as long as she wanted, but she needed to stand on her own two feet and get herself together again as soon as possible.
She looked around her almost in awe. This bathroom alone was to-die-for, she thought; its soft, aqua tiles made you imagine that you were floating in some warm, foreign sea. Add to that the spacious living room with its raised dining-alcove, the state-of-the-art kitchen and the two elegantly fitted bedrooms, and Marin was as near to living in the lap of luxury as she was ever likely to get.
What she couldn’t quite figure was how Lynne could possibly afford such a sumptuous environment.
Her stepsister was, of course, the personal assistant of Jake Radley-Smith, principal of one of the most successful financial public-relations firms in the UK—but surely she’d have to be earning mega-bucks in order to rent even a cupboard in a place like this?
Although Marin was wallowing in it all, she felt vaguely uneasy just the same, knowing how extremely ordinary Lynne’s previous flat had been.
And, if she hadn’t known that Lynne was deeply in love with Mike and on her way to Kent with him this very minute to meet his parents, she might even be wondering what kind of ‘personal assistance’ her stepsister had actually provided for her high-flying boss, and whether this flat was payment for services rendered.
As if, she thought, pulling a face at herself. Dirt must be catching.
She leaned back against the quilted head-rest, closing her eyes, as she contemplated the disastrous turn her life had taken. The worst of it was, she hadn’t seen it coming. Which must make her the biggest, most naïve idiot still walking free.
It had also been stupid to agree to a short-term let of her own flat during her absence, but hindsight was a wonderful thing, and the position she’d been offered with best-selling romantic novelist Adela Mason had been guaranteed for a minimum of six months, so it had seemed safe enough at the time.
‘Her usual secretary has to have time off. Her elderly mother is about to have a serious operation and will need a lot of aftercare,’ her boss Wendy Ingram had told her. ‘Ms Mason does her research in London, then goes down to her house in southwestern France to do the actual writing, so she wants someone to fill the gap.’ She had pursed her lips. ‘Apparently, we were recommended to her, but she’s not easy to please.’
‘Adela Mason,’ Marin had echoed, her hazel eyes shining. ‘I can’t believe it. She’s a terrific writer. I’m her number one fan.’
‘Which is why I suggested you, although I suspect you’re rather too young. But she’s already turned down Naomi and Lorna, and says she wants someone simpatico,’ Wendy had snorted. ‘But don’t allow your enthusiasm for her as an author to run away with you,’ she’d added dourly. ‘You may be sick of the sight of the new book before it’s finished. I looked her up on the Internet and saw this magazine interview with her. She writes in longhand, it seems, on special paper with a special pen. You’ll be typing the drafts on to a computer for her to correct, and there could be as many as ten of them.’
She paused. ‘You’ll also be doing a lot of fetching and carrying as well; being her secretary will only be part of it. She’s looking for a one-woman service industry, and you’ll be earning every cent she pays you. But as she’s just remarried you may at least be spared from bringing her the cup of designer hot-chocolate she likes last thing at night.’
‘For a chance to work with Adela Mason, I’d even pick the cocoa beans,’ Marin assured her jubilantly. ‘It’s not a problem.’
‘But getting through the interview might be,’ Wendy warned.
Adela Mason had been taking part in a TV panel game that evening, dark hair cut in a severe bob, and a crimson dress making the most of an enviable figure. She was bright and sparky, and had emerged as an easy winner, accepting the plaudits of her fellow-panellists with apparent modesty.
Yet there had been something about her smile and the turn of her head that had plainly been intended to remind them all that she was also the biggest earner on the show.
Why should that worry me? Marin had asked herself. I’m not going to be any kind of rival, just a toiler in her vineyard—if I get through the interview, that is.
However, somewhat to her own surprise, she’d done so.
‘You seem to have rather more about you than the other candidates,’ Ms Mason had told her, playing with the large solitaire-diamond on her wedding finger. ‘One of them gave the impression she’d never read a book in her life, and the other was just—unsuitable.’ She looked Marin over, taking in the slender body, the light brown hair swept back from her face and fastened at her nape with a ribbon, the pale, creamy skin and quiet, unremarkable features, and nodded. ‘Yes, if your keyboard skills are up to scratch, I think you’ll do very well.’
She’d paused. ‘I’m planning to go down to Evrier sur Tarn next week. I expect you to be available to travel with me. Betsy made all the stopover arrangements before she went off to play Florence Nightingale, but if there are any difficulties I expect you to sort them out.’
Marin could have done without that fairly callous remark about her predecessor, but she’d smiled and agreed that sorting of most kinds was well within her remit.
Not realising that, less than a month later, it would be her own immediate future that would need her attention.
And there, she thought with faint annoyance, went that damned phone again.
‘People know I’m away,’ Lynne had told her as she’d left, adding drily, ‘And I’ve left Rad a written memo too, so you shouldn’t be disturbed.’
Except it wasn’t working out like that. Someone or more had clearly slipped through the net.
‘Please leave your message after the tone,’ she advised the unknown caller in a sing-song voice, before adding more hot water and some extra drops of perfumed oil to the bath and sliding further down into its comforting depths.
It must be lovely, she reflected wistfully, to be so much in demand, to have friends constantly ringing to suggest a cinema, a meal or even a drink.
And to have someone like Mike…
That probably most of all, she admitted. Because, at twenty, she still hadn’t had anything approaching a serious relationship with a man.
On the other hand, she was by no means Marin No-Mates. She’d gone on dates since she’d been in London, of course she had, generally making up foursomes with the other girls at the agency. Occasionally, the guy she’d been partnered with for the evening had asked to see her again. Occasionally.
But in all honesty it had never really mattered to her when there had been no further contact.
She was the first to recognise that she was shy and found it difficult to sparkle in company, that she didn’t know how to flirt, or take part in the jokey conversations that said one thing but meant something completely different. That she couldn’t in a thousand years imagine herself being drawn into the kind of casual intimacy that seemed the norm these days.
Not that she disapproved, exactly. What other people did on the briefest acquaintance was none of her business. She only knew that it wasn’t for her, that her own inhibitions weren’t so easily discarded. Probably the men she encountered knew it too, and decided to go after girls with fewer hang-ups.
‘Do you think I’m a freak?’ she’d once asked Lynne, troubled, but the other had only laughed.
‘No, honey pie, I think you’ve got principles and you’re going to need to fall very seriously in love before you’re tempted to abandon them. And there’s nothing remotely freakish about that, so stop beating yourself up.’
The memory of that made Marin smile. Lynne was so good for her, she thought gratefully, so warm and outgoing like her father, Derek Fanshawe, who’d met and fallen in love with Marin’s mother six years earlier.
And very different from her own father, who’d been a quiet man, Marin thought, but fond. Her childhood had been safe and comfortable in the shelter of her parents’ happy marriage.
Clive Wade had been a successful solicitor, who specialised rather ruefully in divorce, declaring that every case that crossed his desk made him count his own blessings all over again.
And he’d gone on counting them until the day he’d collapsed outside a courtroom and died with terrible suddenness from a heart weakness no one had ever suspected, leaving Marin’s smiling, bright-eyed mother as a grey-faced ghost unable to comprehend so devastating a loss.
Looking blankly back at people who told her that at least she had no money worries. That Clive had been a high earner, and had invested shrewdly. And that she should sell their mortgage-free home with its memories and move on.
But it had been three years before a friend, who worked with her in the charity shop where Barbara Wade spent most of her mornings, had persuaded her to join her on a luxury trip round the Norwegian fjords. Derek Fanshawe, a big man with a ready smile, had been assigned to their table on the first evening, and by the time the cruise had ended Barbara, to her own surprise, no longer felt guilty about warming to his charm and ebullient kindness. Realised in fact that she was going to miss him more than she’d believed possible.
Only to discover he was not prepared to become a reminiscence to be smiled over and put aside. That, as a widower with an only daughter, he wanted to see Barbara again and eventually ask her to make a new life with him.
There could, Marin realised, have been so many problems. Second families so often didn’t work, and at first she hadn’t wanted to like Derek, seeing this as disloyalty to her father’s memory.
But he’d accepted her dilemma with such understanding and sensitivity that it had been impossible not to meet him at least halfway. And, watching her mother bloom in his affection, she’d soon grown to love him and know that she could welcome their marriage.
While in Lynne she’d found not only a sister but a friend. So, in spite of recent events, she could count her blessings too.
Although the telephone issuing yet another imperative summons was definitely not among them.
Groaning, she leaned forward to let the water drain away, then lifted herself lithely out of the bath, reaching for one of the fluffy, white bath sheets waiting in a neat pile on the tiled surround and wrapping it round her like a sarong, tucking the ends in above her breasts.
She shook her hair loose, combing the damp ends with her fingers, before wandering barefoot down the passage into the living room.
She went to the telephone table and pressed the ‘play’ button. A man’s voice—not Mike’s—said abruptly, ‘Lynne, pick up. It’s urgent.’ The second message was simply a sigh, expressing impatience and exasperation in equal measure, and the third had been cut off as soon as the machine had kicked in.
Perhaps the caller had decided it was time to take no for an answer after all, Marin thought as she turned away—then froze as she heard the rattle of a key in a lock, the sound of the front door opening then slamming shut, followed by a swift and undoubtedly masculine tread approaching down the hallway.
Sick with fright, she looked round for something, anything that she could use to defend herself against the intruder.
Except that he was already in the doorway, his voice harsh with irritation as he demanded, ‘For God’s sake, Lynne, have you suddenly gone deaf?’ He paused with a swift intake of breath as realisation dawned.
Marin found herself being comprehensively surveyed by eyes as glacially blue as a polar sea. When he spoke again, his voice was ominously quiet. ‘Who the hell are you, and what are you doing here?’
Obeying an instinct she barely understood, she made sure the folds of the towel were secure.
‘I could ask you the same thing,’ she retorted, her voice quivering a little, because she already knew the answer—that the unexpected and unwanted visitor looking her over as she stood there, next door to naked and embarrassed out of her life, was Lynne’s boss, Jake Radley-Smith.
‘Don’t play games, sweetheart,’ he advised, his tone as cold as his gaze. ‘Just answer my questions before I call the police. How did you get in here?’
‘I’m staying with my sister.’
‘Sister?’ he repeated, as if the word was in a foreign language. ‘But Lynne’s an only child.’
‘Stepsister, then,’ she said. ‘Her father married my mother several years ago.’
‘Yes,’ he said slowly. ‘I’d forgotten. But it doesn’t explain why she’s given you the run of the place. However, that can wait.’ He glanced round, raking a hand through dark hair worn rather longer than fashion dictated. ‘So where is Lynne? I need to talk to her urgently.’
‘She’s not here; she’s away for the weekend in Kent. She said she’d told you.’
The tanned face became, if possible, even more forbidding. ‘I thought I might catch her before she left.’
Which was exactly why Lynne had made such a speedy departure, thought Marin.
‘I’m not missing out again,’ her stepsister had said grimly as she’d fastened her weekend case. ‘I’m going before Rad the workaholic finds another pressing reason for me to stay in London, like he did last time I planned to go to Kent. He may be prepared to put in twenty-four-seven, but not everyone feels the same, and I’d rather have this time off than a bonus, however generous, or Mike’s parents will wonder if I’m avoiding them.’
Marin straightened her bare shoulders. ‘I’m afraid not,’ she said. ‘She’ll be back on Sunday.’
‘Which does not solve the problem I have this evening,’ Jake Radley-Smith said curtly.
She lifted her chin. ‘I quite see she should have stayed here on the off chance you might need her,’ she returned with equal crispness. ‘But Lynne happens to have a life, and on balance I’d say it’s rather more important for her to meet the people who are going to be her in-laws than hang around in order to pander to her employer’s last-minute requests.’
There was a silence, then he said, ‘Quite a speech, Miss…er…?’
‘Wade,’ she supplied. ‘Marin Wade. And, as you can see for yourself that Lynne isn’t here, I’d really like you to go, please.’
He said almost pleasantly, ‘I’m sure you would, Miss Wade, but it’s hardly for you to order me off my own premises.’ The blue eyes looked her over again very much more slowly, and she felt her throat tighten.
It occurred to her that she’d only ever seen him before in newspaper photographs, none of which had done him much justice. He wasn’t handsome, she thought, not with that beak of a nose which looked as if it had been broken at some point, but he was more than attractive. Very much more. His eyes were stunning, when they stopped glaring at people, while his mouth…
She stopped right there, telling herself hurriedly that she didn’t even want to contemplate his mouth, which had begun to slant into a faint but dangerous smile.
‘And you’re hardly in any position to throw me out,’ he went on softly. ‘Not when you’re so delightfully undressed. I don’t think that towel would stay put for long if it came to a struggle.’
He had her at a total disadvantage, of course. The dark formality of his charcoal business-suit set off the lean virility of his tall body, while the grey brocade waistcoat accentuated his slim waist. His shirt was white and crisp, and his tie was deep-red silk.
He couldn’t have been more fully dressed if he’d tried, she thought with bewilderment, so how could he give her the troubling impression that he was exactly the opposite? That, in fact, he wasn’t wearing any clothes at all?
She needed to return to safer ground—and fast. She said, dry-mouthed, ‘What do you mean—your premises?’
‘This is a company flat, Miss Wade,’ he drawled, his mouth quirking now in open sensuality. ‘It belongs to me, and I use it for foreign clients who don’t care for hotels. Lynne is borrowing it, as her landlord, much against his will, is being forced to carry out a major refit of her flat, and all the others in the property. Didn’t she explain that before inviting you to move in?’
She shook her head. She said in a small, wooden voice, ‘There wasn’t much time for explanations. And she didn’t know I’d be coming until I rang her from the airport and told her I was pretty much stranded.’
He frowned. ‘What happened? Were you robbed on holiday?’
‘No, nothing like that. I was working in France, and it—went wrong. And my own place is let for five months.’
‘I see,’ he said slowly. ‘So, that would seem to make you homeless, unemployed and broke.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, lifting her chin. ‘I don’t need to have that pointed out to me.’
‘Therefore,’ he went on as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘We might be able to do a deal. How much would you charge to spend the evening with me?’
Marin gasped in sheer outrage. ‘What do you take me for?’ she burst out, then stopped, furiously aware of the response she was inviting.
‘Well, clearly not what you’re thinking.’ He had the audacity to laugh.
‘No matter how fetching you may look in that towel—which has slipped a little,’ he added softly, ‘in case you hadn’t noticed.’
Colour stormed into her face as she tugged it hastily back to its former level, cursing his powers of observation.
‘And I’m making you a bona fide offer,’ he continued. ‘I have to go to a party tonight, and the girl I was taking has succumbed to a virus. That’s why I called Lynne—because I don’t want to turn up at this shindig flying solo, and I’d have paid her over the odds for helping me out. But, as she’s not around, you’ll do instead.’
There was a taut silence, then she said, ‘You have to be joking.’
‘Now, there’s a stock response,’ he commented. ‘Your earlier eloquence seems to have deserted you.’
‘But not my sense of humour.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Thank you for your gracious invitation, Mr Radley-Smith, but—no. Not if my life depended on it.’
‘I was thinking more of your immediate fiscal future, Miss Wade. Can you really afford to turn down several hundred quid for a couple of hours in my company?’
No, she probably couldn’t, she admitted silently, but what difference did that make?
She said, ‘I don’t belong in your high-powered PR world, Mr Radley-Smith, believe me. I don’t mingle well, I never network and I’m hopeless at parties. Spend your money somewhere else.’
‘On the other hand,’ he said softly, ‘If you obliged me in this, I could be persuaded to turn a blind eye to Lynne’s infraction of her tenancy here by taking in waifs and strays. I might even let you stay until your life takes a turn for the better.’
He smiled at her again. ‘So, why don’t you slip on your little black dress and come with me tonight?’
‘Because I do not have a little black dress,’ Marin said angrily. ‘But I’m sure you have a little black book, Mr Radley-Smith.’
In fact, she knew he had, because Lynne had once told her, laughing that his list of girlfriends was legendary, right up there with the telephone directory. Marin had looked back at her stepsister, so confident and so pretty, and asked, wide-eyed, ‘Has he ever made a pass at you?’
Lynne had shrugged. ‘Once, in the early days—almost. But never since. I’m not his type—and he certainly isn’t mine,’ she’d added firmly. ‘That’s why we work so well together.’
‘It’s a little late in the day to start ringing round,’ he said. He paused, frowning a little. ‘Besides, you’re an unknown quantity, which suits my purpose far better. So stop arguing, like a good girl, and go and get dressed—black, white or sky-blue pink, I don’t care. If you’ve nothing suitable, borrow from Lynne. You’re about the same size, as far as I can judge.’
She could have done without that particular judgement, that lingering blue gaze that seemed to treat her towel as if it had somehow ceased to exist.
‘Of course,’ he went on more slowly, ‘We could always give the party a miss and stay here together instead. There’s champagne in the fridge, so we’d be able to relax while you tell me all about yourself, including how you lost your last job.
‘And then you wouldn’t need to change. You could stay looking as delightful as you do now, give or take an adjustment or two,’ he added silkily. ‘And subject to negotiation, naturally. Maybe I could persuade you to let that towel slip a little further next time—or even a lot. What do you say?’
‘I say,’ Marin returned between gritted teeth, aware that she was not only blushing but that her heart was thudding erratically, and resenting him on both counts. ‘That on reflection I’d prefer to go to your bloody party.’
His grin made her long to hit him. ‘A wise decision, sweetheart. And I’ll wait dutifully, if reluctantly, here while you carry out the necessary transformation.’ He paused pensively. ‘But if you need any help don’t hesitate to call me.’
‘Count on it,’ she said with poisonous sweetness. ‘The moment I can think of a name bad enough.’
And, still clutching her towel, Marin beat a strategic if not wholly dignified retreat.

Chapter Two
‘I MUST,’ MARIN muttered under her breath, ‘be completely out of my mind.’
She looked at her reflection with disfavour. Even with the aid of Lynne’s cosmetics, she still looked—ordinary. And no one was ever going to believe she was Jake Radley-Smith’s girl of choice, even for five minutes, let alone an entire evening.
But at least her favourite dress—a silky, olive-green wraparound, knee-length with cap sleeves, and a long sash that tied on the hip—was wearable. Probably because, unused during her time in France, it had been the last thing she’d taken from the wardrobe and had been packed on top of everything else.
She could only hope it would build her confidence once she had it on, as it usually did. Except that nothing was usual about this particular evening.
She had seriously considered making a dash for it, but Mr Radley-Smith would have seen her passing the living-room door, and she didn’t relish the idea of him making a dash for her in return.
Like being stalked by a black panther, she thought with a sudden shiver.
Besides, in practical terms, if she was about to lose her job then she really needed the money he was apparently prepared to pay her for doing him this favour, plus the place to stay. Although the thought of being beholden to him grated on her severely.
The incident in France had been a nightmare, but some instinct she hadn’t realised she possessed warned her that any involvement with Jake Radley-Smith had the potential to be infinitely worse.
And she couldn’t rely on her lack of glamour to be her safeguard any more, as she’d found to her cost.
She sighed softly, almost despairingly. But some cash in hand would be more than welcome, she reminded herself. In fact, it could be essential.
And, although she might not like parties, she knew what to do at them—grab a soft drink from the tray and become invisible in some corner until it was time to leave.
She was retying her sash in a bow, her fingers having unaccountably turned into thumbs, when he knocked on the door.
‘How much longer are you planning to be?’
The dossier was building up nicely, she thought grimly. Too many girlfriends. Far too manipulative. Not enough patience. Plus an excessive amount of—what?—charisma? Sex appeal? She wasn’t sure what to call it. Only that she was afraid of it, and would be extra-careful in consequence.
‘I’m ready,’ she called back, slipping her feet into the waiting high-heeled pewter sandals, and picking up the small bag on its long chain that matched them and her cream-fringed shawl.
She’d expected some comment when she emerged from the bedroom, but he just flicked her with a glance and nodded abruptly.
Not that she wanted his approbation. God forbid. But still…
She said, ‘I didn’t know what to do with my hair.’ She touched its shining fall, reaching, straight as rain water, to her shoulder blades with a self-conscious hand. ‘Whether or not I should try to put it up, perhaps.’
‘It looks fine.’ He walked to the door. ‘Shall we go?’
‘Whose party is this?’ she asked, eventually breaking the silence as she sat beside him in the black cab he’d summoned with such irritating ease. ‘Or is it strictly on a need-to-know basis?’
‘It’s being given by the boss of Torchbearer Insurance, a major client of ours,’ he said after a pause.
‘And is your agency doing a good job for them?’
‘The best,’ he nodded.
‘Then you should be among friends,’ she said. ‘So why trail a strange girl along with you?’
His mouth twisted. ‘Call it—a different kind of insurance,’ he said. ‘Personal liability. And perhaps I should ask you a few questions before we get there—for a start, how old are you?’
‘Twenty.’ Telling him straight seemed better than some coy evasion.
‘You look younger.’
So the carefully applied make-up hadn’t supplied one atom of sophistication after all, she thought, and stifled a sigh.
‘And what do you do for a living—when you’re in work?’
‘I’m a secretary,’ she said. ‘I do agency work here in the UK and Europe. I’m good with computers, and I speak French and a smattering of Italian. I also book restaurant tables, make excuses on behalf of my employer, send flowers, organise travel and collect dry-cleaning.’
‘My God,’ he said. ‘You sound like a wife.’
She played with the chain on her bag. ‘Doesn’t Lynne do all that for you?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But she’s actually going to be a wife, probably thanks to my specialised training.’
Somehow the outraged gasp she’d intended turned into a giggle. ‘I wouldn’t let her hear you say that.’
‘Neither would I,’ he said, and grinned back at her. ‘So, what happened to the job? Was the restaurant overbooked? Did the flowers fail to arrive?’
Her throat tightened; she didn’t look at him. ‘There was a—misunderstanding which couldn’t be resolved.’
There was a pause, then he said drily, ‘I see.’
No, she thought, you don’t. But it’s still too new, too raw for me to talk about. And, even if the memory is still capable of making me feel sick to my stomach, you are the last person in the world I could ever confide in anyway.
She hurried into speech. ‘Maybe you should tell me how I’m supposed to address you this evening. I can hardly go on saying—“Mr Radley-Smith.”’ She hesitated. ‘Do I call you Rad, as Lynne does?’
‘That’s for working hours,’ he said. ‘In my more private moments, I prefer Jake. So make it that, please.’
She bit her lip, thinking the last thing she wanted was to be part of any of his private moments. She said tautly, ‘I’ll—try to remember.’
And when all this is over, she thought, I’ll try even harder to forget.
The party was being held at the Arundel Club, just off Pall Mall. The entrance hall was like a grand foreign church, complete with classical statues, and Marin, self-conscious about the clatter of her heels on the wide marble staircase, wondered if she ought to tiptoe instead.
At the top of the stairs, they turned left into a wide corridor carpeted in dark blue. There were alcoves at intervals along the entire length, some with a small, gilded table displaying either a large and elaborate piece of antique ceramic or a flower arrangement, while others were occupied by small armchairs upholstered in gold-and-ivory stripes.
Jake Radley-Smith indicated a door on the right-hand side. ‘The women’s cloakroom,’ he said laconically. ‘You might want to check your wrap.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Thank you. I probably should.’
As she stepped inside, Marin was engulfed in a high-pitched chatter, and a clash of expensive perfumes. Handing over her shawl, she was aware of two girls next to her glancing at it, and then looking at her, before exchanging faintly derisive smiles.
No, she told herself. They’re quite right. I don’t belong here. I’ll just have to keep thinking of the money and that will get me through.
She fussed with her hair for a minute or two and applied a touch more lipstick, waiting for the crowd to clear.
When she emerged into the corridor, Jake Radley-Smith was standing a few yards away, frowning at a large, predominantly brown landscape occupying the wall between two alcoves.
She made herself walk towards him and forced a smile. ‘I’m ready.’
‘Somehow,’ he said, ‘I rather doubt that.’ As she reached him, he took her by the shoulders, spun her into the nearest alcove and kissed her very slowly, and extremely thoroughly, that astonishing mouth moving on hers with an expertise that turned her legs to water, and almost—almost—had her clinging to his shoulders to steady herself.
‘What the hell,’ she said furiously when she could speak, ‘was all that in aid of?’
‘Window dressing,’ he told her calmly. ‘Nothing to get uptight about. But I’m not usually seen with anyone who looks quite so untouched, and people might wonder.’
‘You,’ she said, her voice shaking, ‘don’t have to be seen with me at all. This was your idea. Not mine.’
He said, ‘Then consider the kiss an afterthought.’ He smiled at her. ‘And it’s worked. You look just ruffled enough for people to wonder.’
Then he took her hand and walked her briskly to the end of the corridor, where a pair of double doors stood ajar, and ushered her into the room beyond before she could think of a crushing remark—or anything to say at all, for that matter. Because ruffled was hardly the word to describe the welter of emotion churning inside her.
The President’s Room was vast, ornate, brightly lit and full of people, all of them talking above the efforts of a string quartet to play Mozart.
Almost as soon as they got inside, a male voice called, ‘Rad—good to see you. I’ve been wanting a word.’
For a moment, they were surrounded, then suddenly her companion was gone, drawn forward on a wave of greetings into a group of other men and hidden behind a wall of suits.
Which meant, thankfully, that she now had her hand back, so all she needed to do was try to recover her breath, along with some much-needed composure. And not touch a finger to her tingling mouth to see if it was really as swollen as it felt.
Mr Radley-Smith was clearly someone who intended even the least of his kisses to be remembered, she thought, swallowing. And his casual riposte of ‘window dressing’ was also going to linger in her mind for some time to come. As would ‘afterthought’.
More than time for Operation Camouflage, she decided, unclenching her fists in order to take a glass of fresh orange juice from a proffered tray and looking round for sanctuary.
The crowd seemed to be drifting in the direction of the long buffet tables, where chefs in tall, white hats were waiting to carve from an enormous turkey as well as joints of beef and ham, for a moment, Marin’s stomach lurched in longing. But she resisted temptation, telling herself she could still cook the pasta supper she’d originally planned when she got home.
She headed instead for one of the long windows which had been left open to the warm evening air, stepping out on to a tiny balcony with a wrought iron balustrade.
With a bit of luck, Mr Radley-Smith might think she’d taken advantage of his momentary inattention to disappear completely, she told herself, relishing the coolness of the orange juice against her dry throat.
But escaping from him out here was not proving as successful as she’d hoped. Instead, Marin found she was reviewing everything Lynne had ever said about him.
She knew for instance that, even without the company, he was a millionaire in his own right with a place in the country as well as a flat in Chelsea.
‘Is he married?’ she’d once asked, and Lynne had laughed.
‘No, my pet, nor ever likely to be. Rad seems to have a sixth sense that warns him whenever the lady of the moment starts hearing wedding bells and—bingo—suddenly he’s not really around any more. It’s invariably done with a great deal of charm, but it’s still over.
‘And, of course, he spends quite a lot of time abroad, which helps.’
Before Marin had gone to work for the Ingram Organisation, Lynne had offered to see if there was anything suitable going at the agency.
‘You might find it more interesting than being a glorified temp,’ she’d urged, but Marin had shaken her head with determination.
‘No,’ she’d said. ‘It’s not for me.’
So, perhaps I have a sixth sense too, she thought as she finished her orange juice. Although it had seemed to go on the blink outside in the corridor, just now, or she’d have dodged.
Her haven was suddenly not as warm as it had been, either. A slight breeze had got up since sunset, and with a faint shiver she turned to go back inside.
Only to find her path firmly blocked.
The tall woman confronting her might be wearing the ubiquitous black, but her dress screamed French design, its severe lines relieved by the virtual collar of diamonds round her creamy throat. In her late twenties, she was reed-slim, like most of the other females in the room, and her blond hair was swept up into the kind of careless style that takes hours to achieve.
She was beautiful, with green eyes under impossibly long, mascaraed lashes, but there was no warmth in the glance surveying Marin.
And her tone was equally cold. ‘Excuse me, but do you mind telling me who you are? I wasn’t aware you were on our guest list for the evening.’
‘She’s with me, Diana,’ Jake said easily as he appeared out of nowhere, walking to Marin’s side and sliding an arm round her waist to draw her closer against him. ‘Her name’s Marin Wade. Darling, this is our hostess, Mrs Halsay.’
‘I should have known, of course.’ Mrs Halsay gave a musical laugh. ‘Jake’s invitations always say “and partner.” His social life changes so rapidly, it’s safer that way. So do forgive my lack of recognition.’ She favoured Marin with a smile as radiant as it was brief, then turned back to Jake. ‘Tell me, my sweet, where did you find this charming child?’
Jake shrugged. ‘Let’s just say that we found each other.’
Diana Halsay pouted at him. ‘But how wicked of you to let her wander off alone, with so many potential predators hovering.’
‘Don’t concern yourself on that score,’ Jake drawled. ‘Our separation was purely temporary, and I was extremely careful not to lose sight of her.’
‘Well,’ she said, sending another smiling glance in Marin’s direction accompanied by the merest flicker of an eyebrow, ‘If you neglect her again, I’m sure she’ll find some delicious way to punish you. Now, take her off and feed her, my darling, and make sure you introduce her to all the people who are dying to meet her.’
For a moment, a slim hand burdened by a platinum wedding-ring and a diamond cluster as spectacular as her necklace rested on his sleeve, then she was gone.
‘“Charming child,”’ Marin repeated woodenly. ‘Not a description ever applied to her, I’ll bet.’
Jake’s mouth twisted. ‘In thirty years’ time, sweetheart, you’ll remember her words with a sigh of nostalgia. And, as hunger seems to be making you peevish, come and eat.’
Marin hung back. ‘I’d prefer to do that at home.’
His brows lifted mockingly. ‘Cocoa and a sandwich?’
She lifted a defiant chin. ‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘Where would you like me to begin?’ he murmured. ‘Besides, your evening’s work isn’t over yet, so you need to keep your strength up.’
Led over to the buffet and made to choose, Marin found herself with a plateful of poached salmon, lobster mayonnaise and shrimp vol-au-vents, accompanied by a selection of exotic salads. And, in spite of her protests, a glass of champagne.
‘One of humanity’s greatest inventions,’ Jake said, watching with faint amusement as she took a cautious sip. ‘A wine that can be drunk at any hour of the day—or night.’
She said stonily, ‘I’ll just have to take your word for that, Mr Radley-Smith,’ and went on with her supper.
When that was finished, she—met people. It would have been hard not to do so, she reflected, as her companion seemed to know everyone in the room. And all of them, apparently, wanted to know her too.
With Jake’s arm draped casually round her shoulders, her tongue should have been glued to the roof of her mouth, but she actually found herself responding to the friendly overtures coming her way, and making shy conversation instead of feeling as awkward and self-conscious, as she usually did in these situations. She could even withstand the speculative glances from some of the other girls.
My ten minutes of fame, she thought ironically, as Jake Radley-Smith’s latest squeeze. If only they knew!
One of the last people to approach them was the Torchbearer Insurance chairman, Graham Halsay. He was a tall man, slightly overweight, handsome with a florid complexion.
‘Ah—Rad. Good to see you. Yes, very good.’ There was a kind of awkward joviality in his voice. ‘I feel we need to get together over the campaign for Torchbearer’s new household policies, but my diary is full for the whole of next week.’ He paused. ‘However Diana has invited some people down to Queens Barton at the weekend, and I wondered—hoped that you might join us too.
‘The pair of us could hammer out a few things in private, which would also give us a get-out from my wife’s interminable sporting-contests.’
He gave a quick bray of laughter, then looked at Marin. ‘And of course Diana absolutely insists that you bring your Miss—er—Wade with you. She found her quite delightful.’
Marin tensed, and felt the warning pressure of Jake’s hand on hers.
He said, smiling, ‘Thank you, Graham. We’d both be delighted. I’d love Marin to see the house, and the gardens must be looking fabulous.’
‘Well, that’s splendid,’ Graham Halsay said a mite too heartily. ‘First class, in fact. Really look forward to seeing you next Friday evening—both of you.’
Marin stood in silence, watching him go. When he was out of earshot, she said huskily, ‘So what excuse do I invent—summer flu or food poisoning? If I blame the lobster mayonnaise, he may feel too guilty to ask any questions.’
Jake’s mouth was set in a hard line. He said brusquely, ‘No excuse will be necessary. I accepted the invitation on behalf of us both, and we will be spending next weekend at Queens Barton together. Let that be clearly understood.’
‘No way.’ Marin, startled, tried to pull her hand free and failed.
Jake leaned forward, his mouth smiling as he trailed a fingertip down the curve of her cheek, his eyes like chips of ice. His lips brushing her ear, he whispered, ‘This is not up for public discussion, sweetheart. So save the argument until we’re alone.’ He paused. ‘Now, smile back at me as if you have nothing on your mind but bedtime.’
And just how, exactly, do you do that? Marin wondered, producing a dutiful grimace and hoping it would pass. Especially when your bedtimes generally involved pyjamas and a good book.
Seething, she collected her wrap and walked downstairs with him in silence, climbed into the back of the taxi and huddled herself into the opposite corner to him while she tried to marshal her thoughts.
‘So,’ he said at last. ‘What’s the problem?’
She touched the tip of her tongue to her dry lips. ‘I—I don’t want to be involved in this. Not again. Not after this evening.’
Her voice shook. ‘I may look younger than my age, and be called a child by the Queen of Diamonds back there, but that doesn’t make me an idiot. And you were using me tonight as a decoy to fool her husband, because you’re involved with—her. With Mrs Halsay. There’s never an excuse for breaking up a marriage. So, never again, thank you.’
‘Is that the case for the prosecution?’ he asked, and there was a note of amusement in his voice which scraped along her nerve-endings.
She said stormily, ‘It’s all a joke to you, isn’t it? A game with peoples’ lives—peoples’ hearts. You don’t care that there are innocent parties in all this who are going to be hurt.’
‘Actually, I do care,’ he said. ‘Quite a lot. Particularly when the innocent party is myself.’
She gasped. ‘You’re pretending that you’re not having an affair with Mrs Halsay?’
‘I’m pretending nothing,’ he said calmly. ‘Yes, Diana and I were lovers for a time, but that was eighteen months ago, while she was still Diana Marriot. Only she was looking for a rich husband, and I wasn’t interested in marriage, as I made quite clear from the first. She assumed she could make me change my mind; I knew she wouldn’t. She thought if she issued an ultimatum and walked out, I’d come after her. She was wrong about that too.’
It’s done with a great deal of charm, but it’s still over. Lynne’s words, thought Marin. And clearly no idle comment.
‘But she was the reason I was with you tonight,’ she flung back at him. ‘You can’t deny that.’
‘I won’t even try,’ he drawled. ‘You see, when Diana finally realised that I’d meant what I said, she looked around for a replacement and found Graham, who was just getting over a nasty divorce and wanted to prove it to the world with a glamorous new wife. Naturally, I wasn’t asked to the wedding, but after a couple of months she wangled an invitation to a reception she knew I’d be attending.
‘She was perfectly frank with me. Said she’d only married Graham because I wasn’t available, but now could quite understand why his first wife had ditched him for someone younger and more fun in bed. And, on those very grounds, she suggested that our former relationship should be quickly and quietly resumed.
‘She added that we’d need to be ultra-discreet, because Graham, due to his past problems, had a jealous streak, and regarded any of her previous involvements with suspicion.
‘However, when I said a blunt and unequivocal “no” to her flattering invitation, she first of all didn’t believe me. Insisted that she knew I still wanted her.’
Marin’s throat tightened. ‘And did you?’
‘You’ve seen her,’ he said laconically. ‘And I’ve never professed to be made of stone. On the other hand, I’ve always known she could be big trouble. And her offer simply confirmed that.
‘So I stayed politely adamant, and she got angry. Said that no one turned her down a second time, and that she was going to make me sorry for the way I’d treated her.
‘That it would be quite easy for her to make Graham think that I was sniffing round her again, trying to restart our affair, and how would I like to see the Torchbearer Insurance account go up in smoke, as it were, as a consequence.’
He paused. ‘However, she also suggested that under the circumstances I might like to rethink the whole situation, and fast. See sense, as she put it, and remember how good we’d been together.’
He added, ‘Since then I’ve taken damned good care to be accompanied by a female companion at any events where she’s also a guest. And, although it hasn’t the slightest appeal for either of us, sweetheart, that’s why you’ll be accompanying me to Queens Barton next weekend.’
He took out his wallet as the cab drew up at its destination. ‘We’ll discuss the details over a nightcap. I presume you know how the coffee machine works?’
‘You’re—coming up with me?’ She couldn’t keep the dismay out of her voice. ‘That won’t be necessary.’
‘I think it probably will,’ he said. ‘Unless you remembered to put Lynne’s key in your bag before you left. No? I thought not.’
A mistake, she thought as she accompanied him mutinously up to the flat and waited resentfully for him to unlock the door, that she would try not to make again—like so many others.
‘I’m going to have a brandy with my coffee,’ he told her when they were back inside. ‘May I get you one?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
‘And I like my coffee filtered, black and without sugar,’ he continued. ‘As the world now believes we have breakfast together on a regular basis, that’s something you’ll be expected to know, and need to remember.’
‘Then the world must be blind as well as stupid,’ Marin said curtly. Do you imagine any man would want a skinny, ugly little bitch like you? For a moment, her memory blazed with the pain of those words.
She forced herself to add calmly, ‘As for your ex-girlfriend, I’d bet good money that she wasn’t fooled for a moment.’
‘Then we’ll have to be rather more convincing next time.’
‘There isn’t going to be any next time.’ She glared at him. ‘There can’t. I’m sorry Mrs Halsay apparently finds you so irresistible, but this ludicrous bargain of ours was strictly a one-off. You had no right to accept an invitation to this house party without consulting me first. For all you know, I might have my own plans for next weekend.’
‘Forgive me,’ he said, the blue eyes merciless. ‘But as you gave me the impression that you had nowhere to live and very little money, it never occurred to me that your social diary would be bursting at the seams.’
‘It isn’t,’ she said. ‘ But that doesn’t mean I’m willing to spend two days out of my life pretending we’re in a relationship in order to keep your ex-mistress at bay.’
He said, on a note of polite enquiry, ‘And presumably you also wish to forego the two thousand pounds I’m prepared to pay you to do exactly that?’
When Marin could speak, she said, ‘You must be crazy.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Merely totally determined.’
‘But your girlfriend will be over her virus by the weekend,’ she protested. ‘Surely you should be taking her?’
‘Not,’ he said, ‘when the invitation was quite definitely extended to you.’
He paused. ‘Now, I suggest you make that coffee, and when you come back we’ll talk about what’s really on your mind.’
He added softly, ‘Which of course will be the sleeping arrangements.’ And he smiled at her.

Chapter Three
MARIN HAD LEARNED to make coffee in all kinds of ways, for all kinds of people, using all kinds of equipment, so once in the kitchen she was able to switch easily to auto-pilot and begin her preparations without scaldings or spillages, however much she might be shaking inside. As she undoubtedly was.
As the tantalising aroma of the rich, Colombian blend began to fill the air, she arranged white porcelain cups and saucers on a beech tray then leaned against the marble counter top, staring into space.
Something else to add to the dossier on the minus side, she thought without pleasure. Jake Radley-Smith had turned out to be a mind reader.
But then it didn’t take too much perception to recognise all the implications of a weekend house-party in the country. Not when they’d been invited, and would presumably be treated as a couple.
He must have known that, she thought wildly, when he accepted the invitation. I suppose he imagined two thousand pounds would buy my compliance, but he’s wrong.
And if the prospect of being left to Diana Halsay’s tender mercies during the day while Jake was shut up with his host talking business chilled Marin’s blood, the thought that she’d almost certainly be expected to spend her nights with him was infinitely worse.
I don’t even want to contemplate that, she told herself. Or—my God—discuss it with him, either. I hoped he’d simply take no for an answer and opt for someone—anyone—else.
Because I’m not prepared to let myself be trapped into another situation that is none of my making, or made to appear as something I’m not. I—I can’t. Not again.
But it was becoming painfully and worryingly obvious that, in addition to the rest of his flaws, Jake Radley-Smith was not someone who cared to have his wishes opposed.
Drawing a deep breath, Marin put the coffee jug on the tray and carried it into the living room.
Jake was occupying one of the sofas, coat and tie discarded and his waistcoat unfastened along with the top buttons on his shirt. A cut glass goblet containing his brandy was on the pale wooden table in front of him, and he looked casual, relaxed and—as if she needed any reminder—very much at home.
Whereas she felt as if she was treading over broken glass.
She put the tray down on the table next to the brandy, poured the coffee then sat down opposite him, feet together and hands folded in her lap.
‘You look,’ he said softly, ‘as if you’re about to be interviewed for a job, and if it makes you feel better, we’ll play it that way. So let’s move straight to pay and conditions. I’m offering two thousand pounds for you to continue to play the role of my girlfriend as you did tonight, but this time from mid-afternoon on Friday next to some point after lunch on Sunday. That’s the deal on the table, and it won’t change.’
She said bitterly, ‘How simple you make it sound.’
‘Because, unlike you, I’m not looking for complications,’ he drawled.
‘But it is complicated,’ she said. ‘It has to be. If we go there together, they’ll think—that we are—together,’ she finished lamely.
‘In other words, we may end up sharing a bedroom and a bed.’ He shrugged. ‘You must have done so before. It’s no big deal.’
He’d said earlier that night that she looked untouched, but presumably he believed that was only skin deep. That a girl of her age and generation was experienced enough to shrug off any potential awkwardness. Maybe even to find it amusing.
Only he couldn’t be more wrong, she thought, swallowing down the bubble of hysteria threatening to rise in her throat. Yet she was reluctant to let him suspect her total innocence in case it amused him, although being laughed at might be the least of her worries.
‘But in the past, it’s always been my choice.’ She made herself speak steadily. ‘That—might not be the case this time.’
‘So, what’s the matter, darling?’ he asked, the blue eyes narrowing as he reached for his coffee. ‘Scared I may not be able to spend two nights in your company without being overcome by lust?’
He shook his head. ‘You really don’t have to worry. I never make a serious move on a woman unless I receive a very definite invitation first. And I can’t imagine anything of that kind coming my way from you. Right?’
Her face was burning. ‘Absolutely right.’
‘Said with true feeling,’ he murmured. ‘However, if it’s any reassurance, in the past when I stayed at Queens Barton with a lady, admittedly in pre-Diana days, we were always given adjoining rooms. Mrs Martin, the housekeeper, is the old-fashioned kind.’
He paused. ‘Naturally, I never bothered at the time to check if the communicating door locked, but I’m sure there’ll be a chair you can wedge under the handle if you’re worried I might sleepwalk.
‘In fact,’ he added, musing. ‘I might even take the same precaution myself, in case your dreams send you wandering in the small hours.’
‘They don’t,’ Marin said curtly. ‘And I won’t.’ She picked up her own coffee. Drank. Braced herself. ‘But there’s also the question of “window dressing,” as you call it,’ she added, her blush deepening. ‘I—I’d want that kept to a minimum.’
‘Agreed,’ he said promptly. ‘Even a peck on the cheek, arranged in advance and signed for in triplicate.’
She sent him a bitter look. ‘It really is just a game to you, isn’t it?’
‘No,’ he said with sudden harshness. ‘It bloody well isn’t. I am deadly serious about keeping Graham and Torchbearer on side, even if it means negotiating my way through a fairly tricky forty-eight hours, and the rest.’
His smile did not reach his eyes. ‘And the great advantage of having you beside me, instead of some more accommodating companion, Miss Wade, is that, as I told you before, you’re a total unknown.
‘You said just now that you hadn’t fooled Diana. Yet why else did she come flying over to accuse you of gate-crashing? Because you were a complete stranger, and it threw her. So she tried to find out who you were and what you were. And she’s still no wiser, so you need to be prepared to answer some questions at your next encounter.’
‘And what,’ she said, ‘am I supposed to tell her?’
He shrugged. ‘As much or as little as you wish—apart from the fact that you’re only with me because you’re being paid.’ He added thoughtfully, ‘Tonight’s air of shy mystery went down pretty well with most people.’
‘Perhaps because it was perfectly genuine,’ Marin said huskily. ‘I am shy, and the real mystery was, what the hell was I doing getting mixed up with someone like you?’ She shook her head. ‘I think that things would have been a great deal easier if you’d just—married her as she wanted.’
‘Not easier in any way that appeals to me,’ he said drily. ‘Besides, Miss Wade, I’m not the marrying kind. Has Lynne never mentioned that?’
She said too quickly, ‘She doesn’t talk about you.’
‘What a paragon.’ His tone was ironic. ‘I must raise her salary.’ He finished the rest of his brandy. ‘So, what about it, sweetheart? What’s your final answer? I’m offering honest pay for a couple of days of dishonest work, and you can’t pretend you don’t need the money.’
It galled her to acknowledge inwardly that he was right. ‘I’m going to have you fired, you treacherous little slut,’ had been Adela Mason’s parting threat; if she succeeded, Marin would be in real trouble. The Ingram Organisation was built on trust; it had to be, when its staff spent so much time travelling with clients or staying in their homes. If Wendy Ingram believed she’d betrayed that trust so deeply and fundamentally, then Marin would be out in the cold with heaven only knew what kind of a reference.
And the search for another job could be long and arduous.
So could she really afford to turn down this offer, however loaded? And knew what her answer must be.
She gave a small, defeated sigh. ‘Yes,’ she muttered unwillingly. ‘We have a deal.’
‘Good.’ He got to his feet. ‘I’ll be in touch during the week about the final arrangements. But before I go…’ Reaching for his jacket, he took a cheque book and pen from an inside pocket. He wrote swiftly, signed his name and handed the cheque to her.
‘For services already rendered,’ he said.
She looked down at it. She said numbly, ‘Five hundred pounds?’
‘Isn’t that enough?’
‘More than enough.’ She made a helpless gesture. ‘All I did was stand there.’
‘But you did it very decoratively,’ he said. ‘No one in the room would have dreamed it was just a business transaction.’ He smiled at her. ‘At times, I found it hard to remember that myself.’
So, Marin thought with sudden breathlessness, had she. Just once, and only for a moment when standing in the curve of his arm, she’d found herself fighting the temptation to lean back and rest her head against the strength of his shoulder. A brief battle he was totally unaware of and which, thankfully, she’d won.
And something she could not allow to happen again.
He shrugged on his coat and walked to the door. ‘Until next weekend,’ he said. His faint smile seemed to graze her skin. ‘Goodnight, Miss Wade.’ And went.
Leaving her staring after him, his cheque still clutched in her hand.

‘So,’ Lynne said, smiling, ‘You’ve heard all about my weekend. How did yours go? I’m sorry I had to leave you in the lurch, honey, but if you had to be miserable at least it was in comfort.’
She gave Marin a long look. ‘But you don’t seem to have found your surroundings particularly restful,’ she added candidly. ‘On the contrary, you look as if you’ve barely slept. Are you still brooding over the sudden demise of the dream job?’
Marin bit her lip. ‘And its possible repercussions,’ she admitted.
‘Come and tell me all about it while I get supper.’ Lynne got to her feet. ‘Mike’s mother, the lovely Denise, sent me back with one of her home-made chicken and mushroom pies.’
‘Don’t you want to keep it to share with Mike?’ Marin asked as she trailed after her into the kitchen.
‘Certainly not,’ said Lynne. ‘He didn’t offer me any of the leftover joint of beef she gave him.’ She handed Marin a pack of French beans, a colander and a knife. ‘Sort these out while I peel some potatoes.’
They worked for a few minutes in silence, then Lynne said gently, ‘I’m listening, my lamb, so start talking.’
Marin bent her head. ‘At first everything was fine. The weather was glorious and the house was beautiful, right on the edge of the village, with its own swimming pool. She—Ms Mason—told me to call her Adela, and even though she set quite a pace with the work I could cope easily. I was in seventh heaven.’
‘But then?’ Lynne prompted gently when she paused.
‘Then her husband arrived, blond, smooth and younger than her. He’d been in Germany, apparently, discussing some kind of business deal. I got the impression it hadn’t gone too well, because there was a bit of an atmosphere. I was glad to get away.
‘I was in a small flat that she’d recently had converted from some outbuildings. As she said, privacy for both of us.
‘We always had a break after lunch, so the following afternoon I’d just got back from a swim when he, Greg, turned up. Said he wanted to have a look at the place and make sure the builders had done their job properly.
‘I didn’t want to let him in, but I couldn’t very well refuse. So he wandered round, peering at the window frames and examining all the kitchen and bathroom fittings.’
She flushed. ‘And he went into my room, which was awful, because the clothes I’d taken off earlier were on the bed, including my underwear. And he looked at me and grinned, and made some remark about me being untidy but that he wouldn’t report me to the boss—this time.’
‘I see.’ Lynne’s tone was grim. ‘And when did this charmer make his move? Right then and there?’
Marin finished the beans and pushed the colander to one side. ‘No. But I could feel him watching me all the time. I never gave him the least encouragement—I swear it.’
She took a deep breath. ‘Then, a few days ago, Adela announced after lunch that she was driving to the supermarché. I—I thought he’d gone with her, so I went for my usual swim.’
She shuddered. ‘When I went back to the flat, he was waiting for me in the bedroom. He said “Alone at last,” and called me “sweet pea”. I told him to get out, but he pushed me down on to the bed and started trying to undo my bikini top and kiss me at the same time. I—I realised he’d unzipped his trousers.
‘I was struggling and trying so hard to scream that, when it started, for one crazy moment I thought it was actually me. Then Greg let me go, and I saw Adela standing in the doorway with her mouth open, making these dreadful sounds.
‘I can remember thinking, “Oh, poor thing. She’ll never forgive him for this.” Then he got up and fastened his trousers, and started accusing me. Said I’d asked him over because the shower wasn’t working properly and started flirting with him, but he’d thought it was a joke until I undid his zip, and said, “She’s shopping. We’re safe”. And pulled him down on to the bed.
‘He said I’d been coming on to him from the day he arrived, that I’d asked him to guess the colour of my underwear and then shown him it was white with pink roses.
‘He said, “For God’s sake, Del, look at her. She’s no bloody oil painting. Who the hell would want to start anything with such a pathetic little object?”
‘He said he hadn’t told her about it because he felt sorry for me. He just never believed I’d go this far.’
Lynne gasped. ‘Didn’t you tell her what really happened?’ she demanded.
Marin closed her eyes. ‘I tried, but she didn’t want to know. He’d got his story in first, and she believed him.
‘Meanwhile, Adela was calling me foul names—“skinny little tart” being the most repeatable—and at one point I thought she was going to hit me, but by then Greg seemed to be in control because he stopped her. Said I wasn’t worth it, and she should just get rid of me.’
She lifted her chin. ‘So that’s exactly what she did. I had to pack and get out. I’d have been stuck down there in the middle of nowhere but for Cecile, the housekeeper, who brought me some supper and told me her nephew would take me to Toulouse in his lorry first thing next morning if I wanted. I gathered that I hadn’t been Greg’s only victim.
‘At Toulouse, I got on a flight thanks to a no-show, and here I am,’ she added, trying a smile which collapsed.
Lynne said quietly, ‘Bastard! Complete and utter bastard! And let’s hope La Mason’s next book’s a stinker.’
She was equally upbeat about Marin’s future prospects over supper.
‘Up to this point you’ve had clients singing your praises. And if the worst happens you can stay on here while you’re job-hunting.’ She paused. ‘I’ll have to clear it with Rad, of course, as it’s his flat and he’s letting me camp here as a favour. However, there shouldn’t be a problem.’
Marin hastily swallowed some chicken and was about to say, ‘Actually…’
But Lynne was going on, ‘Of course, I won’t be here myself for much longer. Mike and I are starting to look for a flat to buy next week.’ Her sudden smile was rapt and tender. ‘We’re planning the wedding for next year, and you have to be bridesmaid.’
She paused, frowning a little. ‘And I shall also have to find my successor and train her up.’
‘You’re going to leave the agency?’
‘Not immediately. But a married assistant will never do for Rad. He requires total commitment, and my priority is going to be Mike.’ She cut herself another sliver of pie. ‘I know you weren’t keen a couple of years back,’ she added thoughtfully, ‘But you might consider working for Rad yourself, if push comes to shove.’
Marin drew a deep breath, telling herself that she had to break the news at some point. ‘Oddly enough,’ she said, trying to sound casual, ‘I’m doing precisely that—in a manner of speaking.’
There was a silence, then Lynne put down her knife and fork, her eyes narrowing. ‘Explain,’ she said. ‘Speaking in a manner I can understand.’
Marin considered and rejected a number of openings, and was left with the unvarnished truth.
She said baldly, ‘He’s hired me to be his girlfriend.’
She saw Lynne’s expression turn to horror and added hastily. ‘Well, pretend to be, anyway. He needed someone to take to a party. His real girlfriend couldn’t go, and you were away, so he picked me.’
‘Then he can just unpick you again,’ Lynne said grimly. ‘And I shall tell him so. When is this party?’
Marin bit her lip. ‘Last Friday.’
Lynne closed her eyes. ‘Dear God.’
‘No, it’s all right,’ Marin assured her. ‘It was business. It was fine. Nothing happened.’
Give or take a kiss, she thought uncomfortably, the memory of his arm around me and the warmth of him near me.
‘Fine?’ Lynne echoed derisively. ‘After what’s just happened in France?’ She snorted. ‘I’d say it’s out of the frying pan into a very hot fire. Oh God, I could murder Rad for this.’
‘If you really want to kill someone,’ Marin said, ‘Try a woman called Diana Halsay.’
There was a silence, then Lynne said wearily, ‘Oh, bloody hell. Just when you think it’s safe to go back in the water…’ She sighed. ‘I thought she’d finally abandoned the chase where Rad was concerned.’
‘She has, in a way.’ Marin pushed away her empty plate. ‘Now she’s trying to convince her husband that Ja…’ She swallowed. ‘That Mr Radley-Smith is chasing her instead.’
‘So that the agency loses the Torchbearer business,’ Lynne said grimly. ‘My word, she must want her revenge very badly.’ She looked at Marin. ‘And, of course, Friday was the Torchbearer reception. It’s been in the diary for weeks. I should have remembered.’
She paused. ‘But I assumed Jake would be taking Celia Forrest.’
‘She was ill.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’ Lynne pulled a face. ‘A condition brought on, no doubt, by the realisation that her application for the post of Mrs Radley-Smith, like so many others, has not been successful. She added cynically, ‘But she’ll get over it. One of his girlfriends told me that falling for Jake was rather like catching a virus—except that it was much easier to recover from once you’d got out of bed.’
Marin’s face warmed. She said, ‘I can’t imagine why any woman would want him. He’s far too fond of his own way.’
Lynne gave her an old-fashioned look. ‘Well, he managed to persuade you to go to his party,’ she commented. ‘Why didn’t you say no, and go on saying it until he got the message?’
Marin had a sudden memory of blue eyes lazily scanning her half-naked body. A voice saying, “We could always stay here together instead.”
She thought—Because the alternative would have been so very much worse.
Aloud, she said lamely, ‘He said he’d pay me. Very generously.’ She tried to smile. ‘It seemed like an offer I couldn’t refuse.’
‘As long as it was the only one.’ Lynne smiled back, but her eyes were serious. ‘And forget I suggested working for him. Once was clearly enough.’
Marin moved restively. ‘Except it won’t be,’ she said in a low voice. ‘The Halsays have invited us to their house in the country next weekend, and this time he’s paying me four times as much to go with him, to keep up the pretence.’
There was a silence, then Lynne said softly and succinctly, ‘Over my dead body.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Marin, you can’t afford to get involved with Jake, believe me. He’s out of your league, just as he was always out of mine.’
She shook her head. ‘When I first started working for him, I could have gone overboard so easily, and don’t think I wasn’t tempted, but I saw the danger just in time and pulled back. Because I didn’t want to be one more notch on his bedpost, and you mustn’t settle for that, either. You’re worth so much more.’
‘But it’s not like that,’ Marin protested. ‘The whole thing is strictly business, I promise. Separate rooms, everything. It couldn’t possibly be anything else. I mean, look at me,’ she added, Adela Mason’s strident insults echoing in her mind.
‘I’m looking,’ Lynne said flatly. ‘And I see a sweet and conspicuously innocent girl. Who should not be spending even a moment, let alone two days and nights, with a major predator like Jake Radley-Smith.
‘Separate rooms?’ She shook her head again. ‘I’d prefer you in a separate universe. Because you would not be dealing with a fumbling amateur like that idiot in France.’ She paused. ‘Sweetheart, if you’re worried about money, then stop. I’ll match whatever he’s offering, and you can pay me back as and when you can afford it.’
‘When you’re saving for a deposit on a flat and a wedding?’ Marin bit her lip. ‘Lynne, it’s lovely of you to think of it, but he—Mr Radley-Smith’s already given me five hundred pounds and promised me another two thousand after the weekend.’ She saw Lynne’s eyes widen. ‘If Mrs Ingram fires me, I shall need it. And you couldn’t possibly spare that much.’
‘No,’ her stepsister admitted ruefully. ‘Probably not.’ She sighed. ‘But I still don’t like this—any of it.’ Her eyes glinted wrathfully. ‘And I shall have a few things to say to my esteemed boss tomorrow morning.’
‘No—please.’ Marin was aghast. ‘I made the agreement with him, and I can handle it. There are—ground rules in place.’
She tried to speak more lightly. ‘And, after France, my sense of self-preservation has improved a hundred per cent. So you really don’t have to worry. Because I’m not a child any more.’
‘That,’ Lynne informed her drily, ‘is exactly the problem.’ And she got up to clear the table.

Chapter Four
MARIN FOUND IT difficult to sleep that night. She told herself it was because she was dreading the coming interview with Mrs Ingram, but in her heart she knew she was restless because she hadn’t been completely honest with Lynne.
Or, for that matter, with herself.
She turned over, punching irritably at her pillow. In retrospect, she now realised she’d been silly to think that, whatever the reason for it, she could remain totally immune to Jake’s company. Especially that kiss.
I just wasn’t expecting it, she thought defensively. That’s all. Besides, I was off-balance from the moment he walked and caught me in that damned towel. And he made sure I stayed that way.
But now that she knew his potential danger, she would be more on her guard.
Besides, it was a house party, she reminded herself defensively. There would be other people around, and, for at least some of the time, Jake and Graham Halsay would be off talking business, so they wouldn’t be in each other’s pockets.
As for the hours of darkness—well, she would just have to trust that the Halsays’ housekeeper would allocate the usual rooms, giving her privacy if not total peace of mind.
But she couldn’t allow herself to think like that. From here on in, it was going to be strictly business. Forty-eight hours, she told herself. That was all. And when it was over she would never have to see him again, unless it was as a guest at Lynne’s wedding next year.
Just two days and two nights and he would be out of her life.

She awoke later than she’d planned the following morning, to find the flat empty and a note from Lynne on the kitchen counter. ‘You looked as if you needed your rest, it ran. I took some croissants and a loaf out of the freezer earlier, and there’s cereal in the cupboard. Also plenty of eggs. I’ll be back around six.’ And, heavily underlined, ‘Try not to worry.’
Marin scrambled the eggs and ate them with grilled smoked bacon, followed by toast with cherry jam and some strong coffee.
Then, dressed in a neat grey skirt and white blouse topped by a navy jacket, she set off for the Ingram Organisation.
Tina, the office secretary, greeted her wide-eyed. ‘The phone line between here and France was burning up on Friday,’ she whispered, and nodded towards Wendy Ingram’s office door. ‘Go right in. She’s waiting for you.’
Mrs Ingram was on the phone when Marin entered, nodding briskly and making notes on a pad in front of her. She gestured to Marin to take a seat then, her call over, she put down her pen and leaned back in her chair.
‘That’s quite a can of worms you seem to have opened,’ she observed caustically. ‘According to Ms Mason, you’re a home-wrecker—a sex-mad wolf in sheep’s clothing who abused her hospitality, her kindness and her trust.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘So, any comment?’
Marin met her gaze steadily. ‘I think the lady is blaming the wrong wolf,’ she said quietly, and gave a succinct and unemotional account of what had happened. ‘I think, when she decided to hire me, she assumed it would be safe,’ she added. ‘That I wouldn’t be his type.’
Wendy Ingram gave a sharp, angry sigh. ‘I suspected as much. In the heat of the moment, Ms Mason said rather more than she intended. And she is now blacklisted.’ She clicked on her computer and looked at the screen. ‘But it leaves me with a difficulty about you. I have nothing until next week at the earliest, and that would be another residential job, running the admin for a veterinary practice in Essex.
‘Their office manager is the sister of one of the vets, but she’s off to Australia for a month, and her local replacement has broken her right arm quite badly so this is something of an emergency.’

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