Infamous Bargain
Infamous Bargain
Daphne Clair
What Other Choice Did She Have? "You're not so irresistible, you know?" Brian told Kynan. Wealth, good looks, power and sex appeal. Financier Kynan Roth had all the superficial advantages. Briar was looking for other qualities in a husband - compassion, understanding and, above all, trust.But how was she going to convince the cynical Kynan of that, when, to rescue her father, she had just committed the cardinal sin of marrying him for his money… .
Infamous Bargain
Daphne Clair
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#ub6289a08-4cc1-5462-9df1-15d7b50217b3)
CHAPTER TWO (#udf09a0fb-1237-5b78-b3a0-8b4bbe0e86ab)
CHAPTER THREE (#u192b7fa8-0ad3-5152-b903-21dfe4734537)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
BRIAR slipped a pair of long silver and garnet earrings into place and rearranged a tendril of hair that had fallen against her cheek.
The deceptively casual style suited her, and the ‘Sunset’ rinse she’d had last week added a touch of warmth to what she thought of as a rather insipid colour. In her teenage years the extreme fairness of childhood had given way to something between brown and blonde. The rinse wasn’t obvious. Her father had cast it a puzzled, cursory glance, and apparently dismissed the subtle change as a figment of his imagination.
She could hear his voice, rich and a trace over-hearty, greeting the arriving guests. Already the doorbell had rung three or four times. Her stepmother would be in a flutter as usual, nervously checking impeccable place-settings, twitching unnecessarily at cushions, and darting out to the kitchen to ensure the caterers were coping, although they were from one of Auckland’s best and most experienced firms.
Briar checked her make-up. The new ‘Tropic Dusk’ eyeshadow was a subtle shade, making eyes that were neither blue nor grey seem larger, darker and somehow mysterious. Better go down. Laura would need her calming presence, and her father would be getting impatient if she didn’t soon appear and start being polite and welcoming to the financiers and lawyers and business people exchanging small talk over glasses of imported whisky and gold-medal New Zealand wines.
‘And I want you to pay special attention to Kynan Roth,’ he’d instructed Briar. ‘Make sure he has a good time.’
He hadn’t noticed the ironic glance that his daughter threw at him, and she’d bitten her tongue on the remark that hovered on the tip of it. Xavier Cunningham, despite his experience in business and his assiduous cultivation of the well-to-do and the financially useful, was probably totally unaware that his twenty-four-year-old daughter was capable of even slightly ribald thoughts. Briar knew very well that all he was asking of her was to act the poised, gracious hostess that his second wife had never learned to be.
Briar slid a pair of high-heeled pumps over her gossamer-stockinged feet, and adjusted the thin straps of the sheer floating confection of champagne chiffon over silk that she’d bought for tonight. Her father had insisted on her having a new dress, and even provided a hefty cheque for it.
She walked along the brass-edged carpet laid between gleaming kauri boards along the wide upstairs hall, and paused at the top of the curved staircase. The old, proudly preserved mansion, set in half an acre of mature garden in the long-established suburb of Remuera, was an estate agent’s dream. A Persian rug on the floor of the high-ceilinged lobby deadened the footsteps of the middle-aged couple her father was ushering into the big living-room from which a babble of voices floated. As the bell burred once more he inclined his handsome greying head and said to them, ‘I’ll be right with you. Here’s Laura—she’ll get you a drink,’ before turning to open the door again.
Briar was halfway down the stairs by the time the newcomer had shaken hands with her father and exchanged some remarks about the imminence of summer. He had a deep, incisive voice, and curiosity made her glance up from her concentration on the stair carpet. At the same time he must have become aware of her moving down the stairs, and lifted his head, gazing past Xavier’s shoulder.
Briar paused for an instant, surprised by a searching scrutiny from eyes the colour of old pewter, or a dawn sea. And—in spite of the unequivocal masculine reaction she discerned in them—as hard as metal and cold as a winter morning.
He was somewhere in his early thirties, she judged, his thick, dark hair untouched by grey, but there was a world of experience in those eyes, and in the taut planes of his cheeks, the carved-from-granite mouth. Even his stance, on the surface casual, one hand thrust into the pocket of a suit expertly tailored to a frame more appropriate to an athlete than a businessman, gave the impression of an underlying tensile strength. Perhaps it was the way his feet in their polished black leather were planted slightly apart on the Persian pattern, and the knife-edge crease of his trousers failed to conceal the latent power in his long legs.
He was taller than her father, who was well-built and not a small man, and she wondered if he lifted weights. Under the impeccable suit his shoulders were broad, his stomach flat. He looked superbly fit while not bulging with overdeveloped muscles.
As Briar descended the remaining stairs, he returned her involuntary inspection with interest, and a faint, knowing smile fleetingly curved his mouth. She felt the fine hair on her nape prickle. Very sure of himself, this man. Sure of his effect on women, too.
‘There you are!’ her father said, smiling expansively as he turned to her. ‘Kynan, let me introduce you to my daughter. Briar, this is Kynan Roth. I told you about him.’ He directed a meaningful glance at her, and Briar noticed that the other man sent a quick, probing look at his host before he took her extended hand and closed strong fingers about it.
His hand was warm and he held hers firmly before releasing it.
‘Come along in, Kynan,’ her father said, laying a hand on his guest’s shoulder. Briar thought the shoulder stiffened. He hung back, allowing her to precede him and her father into the lounge. It was a large room furnished with comfortable leather chairs and sofas, solid mahogany coffee-tables, and some good antique cabinets and occasional pieces. The bar in one corner had been carefully designed to blend into the décor.
‘I’ll leave Briar to look after you,’ her father said, giving the other man’s shoulder a pat, ‘if you don’t mind. Catch up with you later.’
‘I’m delighted.’ A gleam entered the cool eyes as Kynan Roth murmured the polite response.
He didn’t look delighted, Briar thought. He looked like a wary predator, circling for the kill but with one ear pricked for trouble.
She said, ‘What would you like to drink?’
‘What are you going to have?’
‘A Chardonnay.’ She didn’t usually drink anything more than dry ginger ale this early in the evening at her father’s parties, but something about this man was making her tense, and a glass of wine might relax her.
‘Then I’ll have the same.’
Surprise made her hesitate. He looked like a straight whisky man, or vodka on the rocks at least.
He raised his brows a fraction. ‘Anything wrong?’
Briar shook her head and smiled, more at her thoughts than at him.
He didn’t smile back, but something flickered in his eyes, and those slightly satanic brows momentarily drew together.
‘Briar!’ Her stepmother, draped in designer blue silk, clutched at her arm. ‘There you are!’
Briar saw Kynan Roth’s mouth twitch at the corner, his glance flicking from Laura to her as he obviously remembered her father’s identical greeting, though delivered quite differently. He was looking at Briar now rather curiously.
‘Laura,’ she said, forestalling any outpouring of the latest imagined crisis—wine that hadn’t been uncorked in time, a guest who had just now casually mentioned being a vegetarian, a last-minute begging-off leaving the table numbers uneven?—‘this is Kynan Roth.’
Laura, remembering her manners, flashed a distracted smile. ‘How do you do, Mr...?’ Then the name obviously penetrated and the sky-blue eyes widened. ‘Oh! Oh, Mr Roth! Oh, I’m very pleased to meet you.’ She held out her hand, but almost as though she anticipated it might be bitten off. Her gaze now was fascinated in the way a mouse was supposed to be fascinated by a snake. As Kynan took her hand she looked about anxiously. ‘My husband...he’ll be wanting to...’
‘He let me in,’ Kynan told her, releasing her fingers.
‘Oh. Oh, good!’ She was still looking at him. ‘You’re not at all what I expected.’
‘Really?’ He still didn’t smile, yet Briar had the distinct impression he was beginning to enjoy himself. ‘Tell me what you expected.’ He bent his head towards Laura.
Laura blushed, the colour rising under her ageless white skin to the roots of her beautifully coiffured blonde hair. She looked helplessly at Briar.
Briar put a reassuring arm about her waist. ‘I don’t suppose Mr Roth expects you to answer that,’ she said, fixing a social smile to her face.
Mr Roth looked as though he might be about to dispute her supposition, but Briar didn’t give him a chance. ‘He might not hear what he’d like to,’ she went on, braving the faint spark that rose in the strangely metallic eyes. ‘I was just about to fetch him a drink.’ She withdrew her arm from Laura and took Kynan’s, steering him away. ‘The bar’s this way.’ If he got his kicks from teasing defenceless women, at least she could rescue Laura from him.
When they had their wine, he turned to her, lifting his glass. ‘The name’s Kynan,’ he said, ‘Briar.’
Be nice to him, her father had instructed. She curved the corners of her mouth upward and raised her glass. Her eyes fleetingly met his before sipping her wine gave her an excuse to look away. There was a concentration in his stare that made her uneasy.
She half turned from him, watching the other guests. All were representative of solid, respectable firms who managed the city’s wealth, the kind of people her father had cultivated ever since, as a young, shrewd accountant with a hard-won degree and none of the right connections, he had set out to forge for himself a place in the upper echelons of Auckland’s business community.
‘Is there anyone I need to introduce you to?’ she asked. She wondered if this evening had been arranged specifically to impress Kynan Roth.
He cast a cursory glance about. ‘I’ve met some of the men.’
One of the women, Briar knew, was a successful barrister, another a well-known artist. But they were here because their husbands had been invited to bring them. Xavier found it difficult to cope with women in business.
‘Would you like to meet their wives?’ she asked.
His look seemed vaguely speculative. ‘Would you mind?’ he asked, a thread of something like laughter in his voice.
‘Introducing you? Not at all.’ She turned to lead him away from the bar, wondering why she’d thought there was a hidden meaning in his innocuous question. Then it hit her. He’d thought she’d been cutting him out for herself when she steered him away from Laura, that she’d decided not to let another woman near him.
She nearly laughed aloud. Automatically, her head swivelled to look back at him as he followed her, and he came closer to her and said, ‘What?’
‘Nothing.’ She shook her head, indignation overcoming the laughter. She’d like to take him down more than a peg, but wrecking her father’s dinner party wasn’t the way to do it. Especially as Laura would field the blame.
She gave him a brilliant smile to hide her thoughts and led him towards a plump, pleasant-faced woman sitting on one of the deep leather sofas and twiddling with her glass while her husband talked with another man. Briar introduced them all to Kynan and, when he’d seated himself beside the woman with every appearance of pleasure, gracefully withdrew to find Laura and fix if necessary whatever was bothering her.
Apparently the crisis was over. Her father and stepmother were talking with another couple now. When she joined them, asking quietly, ‘Is there something you wanted me to do, Laura?’ she received a grateful smile and a whispered,
‘It’s all right, I think. The caterers said they’d sort it out.’
‘I’m sure they will.’ Briar smiled at the other couple and asked after their children, two at university and one still attending school.
As soon as their various whereabouts and latest exam results had been verified, Xavier broke into the conversation. ‘Are you looking after Kynan, Briar?’
Suppressing a retort that she’d never met anyone less in need of looking after, Briar said patiently, ‘I got him a drink and he’s talking to Kath Bailey.’
Xavier frowned. ‘You should have stayed with him.’ Following his eyes, Briar saw Kath talking animatedly, her companion apparently listening with absorbed attention. Kath was a teacher, and, although she probably didn’t have a lot in common with Kynan Roth, she wouldn’t wilt with embarrassment if he should decide to have a little fun at her expense. In fact she’d probably give as good as she got, in the nicest way possible.
‘He looks quite happy,’ she pointed out.
Xavier said, ‘Mmm. Well...I’ll just.... Excuse me a moment.’ And he nodded to the group and went over to the sofa.
Laura glanced at her watch. ‘Dinner should be ready soon.’ She took half a step towards the door, then stopped, apparently remembering her duty as hostess. ‘Briar, would you...?’
‘I’ll check.’ Briar was glad to leave the room. Laura seemed even more nervous than usual, and her father was like a cat on hot bricks. What could possibly be so significant about Kynan Roth?
She got no enlightenment over the meal, although he was seated next to her at the table. The dinner-party chat touched on the news of the day, skated over politics, and moved on to an exchange of views on best-selling books and the latest films, interspersed with business gossip.
Her father seemed surprisingly ready to concur with Kynan Roth’s views—not that the younger man expressed them except when someone directly asked what he thought. And Laura, with her carefully rehearsed list of questions-to-keep-the-conversation-from-flagging, wasn’t the only one who asked. The others seemed to find his opinion worth their attention, even if they disagreed. But most of the time he just listened, with an expression that Briar found impossible to define. Not boredom, exactly. More as though he was patiently waiting for some small glitter of gold to turn up in a pan of dross.
He seemed to have a good mind, and Briar respected that. He didn’t dither about sitting on metaphorical fences, but considered other views and asked intelligent questions, seemingly in pursuit of information, not to score off an opponent. The perfect dinner guest, in fact.
Once he turned to her when a lively debate was going on among their neighbours, and said, ‘Are you always so quiet?’
Briar put down her fork among the remnants of the artichoke on her plate and picked up her wine glass. ‘When there’s no particular need to talk,’ she replied.
‘What do you think of the government’s moves on taxation, then?’ he asked her.
It wasn’t a question her father would ever have thought of asking a woman. She glanced up at Kynan, wondering if he expected her to disclaim any interest in or knowledge of the subject. Was he looking for an opportunity to indulge what she suspected was a heartless sense of humour?
His eyes held nothing that she could detect except a courteous curiosity.
Well, if he really wanted to know, she would tell him. She did, succinctly and logically. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. He raised a point or two that they tossed about between them while the caterers served succulent lamb garnished with paper-thin orange slices and mint sprigs, and then he slanted her an odd little smile before turning to answer a remark addressed to him from across the table.
When she refused dessert, he gave her another smile, accompanied by a quick, surmising and slightly humorous glance over her slim but well-defined figure. Then he spooned into a fluffy four-inch-high cheesecake topped with kiwifruit and strawberries on a thick layer of fresh whipped cream.
Briar was accustomed to people assuming that she skipped sweets because she was dieting, and usually it didn’t bother her. Now, although he hadn’t commented, she found herself biting her tongue to stop herself snapping, ‘I just don’t have a sweet tooth!’ to correct Kynan Roth’s tacit preconception.
When they all returned to the other room for coffee, she helped Laura pass the cups. Her father was talking to Kynan, who listened with his head inclined, his eyes intent and watchful. She let Laura take them coffee, carrying a second tray in the opposite direction. But when Kynan Roth’s cup was empty, Xavier brought it to her for refilling, and muttered, ‘Take this to Kynan, will you? There’s an empty seat beside him now.’
She had to sit by him, since every other chair was occupied. He took his cup from her and regarded her over it before his eyes lowered and he took a sip. ‘Good coffee,’ he said. ‘Where do you get it?’
‘I’ve no idea. That’s Laura’s decision.’ Laura was actually quite good at housekeeping and at backstage organisation, never leaving anything to chance because she suffered such agonies if the smallest thing went wrong. Her indecisiveness and nervous anxiety could drive people like her husband wild, but the professionals she employed liked her, perhaps because she was always grateful for their expert advice.
‘You call your mother Laura?’
‘Stepmother,’ Briar explained briefly.
He didn’t ask for details. ‘You seem to get on well with her.’
‘She’s been extremely good to me.’
‘A change from the stereotype.’
‘Stereotypes are often wrong. I’m no Cinderella.’
‘I can see that.’ His gaze held a shade of mockery. ‘And no ugly stepsisters?’
‘No sisters or brothers of any sort.’
‘You’re an only child?’
‘Yes.’ Laura would have liked children of her own, she was sure. Briar didn’t know if the lack of them had been an accident of fate or a deliberate choice of her father’s.
A bearded man with an incipient paunch came over and said to Kynan, ‘Kath tells me you’re a cricketer.’
‘Used to be,’ Kynan answered. ‘Nowadays I just watch, mostly.’
Clive Bailey, patting his expanding waistline, grinned. ‘Me, too. Our son’s a great little goer, though. Got any kids in the game, yourself?’
‘No kids,’ Kynan said easily. ‘I’m not married.’
‘Thing is,’ Clive explained, ‘our club’s looking for coaches for the juniors—’
Briar finished her coffee and said, ‘Please excuse me. I think Laura needs some help.’
Laura, as always preferring making herself busy to making conversation, had begun collecting empty cups. Kynan emptied his and handed it to Briar as she stood up. She gave him an automatic smile and went to join her stepmother. She’d done her duty by the special guest; her father ought to be satisfied that he’d not been neglected.
But later Xavier cornered her, with Kynan in tow beside him. ‘Kynan’s interested in early New Zealand paintings,’ he told her with an air of something approaching triumph. ‘I told him you’d show him our Heaphy in the library. I don’t like to leave the other guests.’
The other guests, Briar might have told him, would almost certainly not be aware of his absence for five or ten minutes. Good manners prevailed. She mustered a pleasant smile and said, ‘Of course.’
Xavier squeezed the other man’s arm. ‘Briar will look after you.’
Briar reflected that her father appeared to have decided that her mission in life was to look after Kynan Roth. She took a fleeting look at the object of all this attention, and found an ironic glint in his dark eyes, coupled with something else even more disturbing. It occurred to her that she didn’t want to be alone with this man.
But she could hardly come to any harm in a room only two doors away from here. ‘This way,’ she said, turning as they reached the passageway.
He walked at her side, and when she reached out to open the library door he stepped quickly in front of her, so that she steeled herself not to snatch back her hand as his fingers closed about the gleaming brass knob. He cast her a questioning glance and swung open the door, then stood back to let her go first.
Xavier seldom read anything other than newspapers, financial magazines and business guides, though occasionally he skimmed through a book that had hit the best-seller lists or that someone had given him. But the previous owners had stocked the library with classics, travel books and biographies, to which had been added some well-reviewed modern fiction. Xavier frequently worked there on his portable computer, or waded through mountains of paperwork at the huge antique desk.
The Charles Heaphy original, a watercolour of a bracken-covered hillside washed in light, with a painstaking rendering of delicate ponga ferns in the foreground, hung on the wall to one side of the desk.
‘That’s it,’ Briar said unnecessarily. Kynan was already crossing the carpet to inspect it.
Briar stood in the centre of the room waiting for him. Finally he said over his shoulder, ‘Quite a good example, isn’t it?’ He returned his attention to the painting.
‘Is it? I’m no expert, I’m afraid. I’ve always rather liked it, though.’ She walked over to stand beside him, admiring it.
‘Has it been in the family for long?’ He glanced at her again.
‘In the family?’ She shook her head. ‘Dad bought it a few years ago, when the financial wizards were saying that art was a gilt-edged investment for the future. I gather that it hasn’t increased in value as much as he was led to believe it might.’
‘So he’s not a connoisseur?’
She wondered if her father had been trying to impress Kynan with art talk. Xavier was good at picking up snippets of information and trotting them out at opportune moments, giving the impression of more knowledge than he really had.
‘Are you?’ she countered, deflecting the question.
‘I have an interest, but I doubt if I could spot a fake.’
‘This isn’t a fake.’ Her father would have had that thoroughly checked.
He turned to her. ‘I haven’t suggested that it is. Not my field, except in an amateur way.’
‘What is your field?’ she asked him. She’d been wondering all evening. His name had sounded vaguely familiar, but she was unable to make the necessary connection.
‘Didn’t your father brief you?’
‘Brief me?’ She looked at him blankly, finding knowing laughter lurking in his eyes, and dropped her gaze as she recalled being told to be nice to him. She felt as though he was reading her mind, an uncomfortable sensation.
‘I’m in company finance,’ he told her, ‘among other things.’
‘An entrepreneur?’
‘I prefer the term investor. These days entrepreneur tends to be a term of opprobrium.’
‘How times have changed.’
‘Are you old enough to remember?’
‘I’m not a child.’
‘No.’ His eyes gleamed.
Briar looked away.
He said softly, ‘You’re not pretending to be shy?’
She looked up then, and found the cool, piercing eyes on her face, a hint of cynicism in them. ‘I’m not shy.’
‘No, I didn’t think so. Your father tells me he depends on you a lot. I gather your stepmother isn’t nearly as reliable.’
‘She just needs a bit of self-confidence. She’s...’
‘Decorative?’ Kynan suggested drily.
‘She’s also a very nice person!’
‘I’m sure she is. How long have she and your father been married?’
‘About thirteen years.’
‘That long? You must have been just a kid.’
‘A teenager—nearly. Laura was my salvation.’
‘Oh?’ His head cocked as though he wanted to hear more.
She wasn’t prepared to exchange confidences with this discomfiting stranger. She opened her mouth to ask if he was ready to leave now, but he forestalled her. ‘And are you prepared to be hers?’ he asked. ‘Or your father’s?’
Feeling as though some piece of the conversation was missing, Briar said hesitantly, ‘I...help when I can.’
‘I’m sure you do.’ He gazed at her almost broodingly. ‘I suppose you all have a lot to lose.’
‘I’m not sure what you mean.’
‘All this—’ he looked about them ‘—is very impressive. Gives the effect of a solid background.’
Her eyes sparked. ‘Everything my father has he’s got by his own efforts. He’s never pretended to be anything he isn’t.’
‘Maybe that’s a matter of opinion.’
Apprehension fluttered in her stomach. Something was wrong, and the supreme confidence of this man, contrasting with her father’s peculiar nervousness tonight, had a lot to do with it.
He said, ‘I only needed to ask around the financial community when he began pursuing my acquaintanceship, to find out why.’
With a trace of acid that brought a brief surprise to his eyes, Briar said, ‘You mean it wasn’t for the charm of your personality? And what did you find out?’
‘That your father needs cash, and he needs it fast.’
Several things fell into place. Her anger dissolved in fright, which automatically she tried to conceal. ‘I...don’t know anything about my father’s financial affairs,’ she said. ‘And if I did I wouldn’t be discussing them with you.’
‘No,’ he said slowly, ‘I suppose that isn’t your role.’
Role? Whatever he meant by that, the expression on his face warned her that it wasn’t good. He looked hard and contemptuous, and she didn’t like the way he was studying her, his gaze moving from her defiant eyes down to her feet and slowly back again.
Stiffening under the visual assault, she said, ‘I’m afraid I’m not up with the play. I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Oh, come on.’ He was smiling, in an oddly angry way. ‘You’ve played it perfectly so far. Done everything darling Daddy told you to.’
He knew? ‘My father is just being a good host,’ Briar said. Some dim understanding of what he meant began to filter through her puzzlement. Her voice turned icy. ‘This is your first time in our home and he hoped you’d enjoy the evening. I think you misunderstood. If you’ve finished in here...’
‘Surely you’re not finished yet? You don’t need to give up on providing me with enjoyment just because I find you—and your father—a little...obvious.’
Briar took a deep, disbelieving breath. ‘If this is some kind of game—’
‘Isn’t it?’ he queried, his brows rising diabolically. ‘I thought it was the oldest game in the world. Or should I say...profession?’
CHAPTER TWO
BRIAR felt almost dizzy. Anger brought a flush to her cheeks and buzzed in her head. She wanted to hit him, lash out with her hands, wipe the cool, scornful smile from his handsome face.
She clenched her fists at her sides, but her voice, a notch higher than usual, shook. ‘I don’t know how you usually conduct your business, Mr Roth, but I assure you that my father would never expect me to lower myself to that level. I suggest you get your mind out of the gutter! Or better still, crawl back in there where you belong. Excuse me, I need some clean air.’
She turned, making for the door, but was brought up short by a hard hand on her wrist pulling her about to face him.
Tugging at it, she said, eyes blazing, ‘Don’t you touch me!’
‘Hang on there.’ He easily swung her to one side, reaching over to push the door shut.
Alarmed, she tried to kick out at him, but he evaded it and let her go so suddenly that she almost lost her balance.
Now he was standing against the door, leaning on the panels with his hands in his pockets and his burnished-pewter eyes alert and bright.
‘If you don’t get away from that door I’ll scream,’ she threatened.
‘Don’t be silly, I’m not hurting you. Not even touching you, in fact.’
Her head went up, her mouth stubbornly set. ‘I want to leave.’
‘In a minute.’ He was regarding her with speculation. ‘Are you mad because I called your bluff, or because I was wrong in my assumptions?’
Briar’s hand clenched. ‘I’m not going to defend myself to you. You probably wouldn’t believe me, anyway.’
‘Try me,’ he offered.
She debated trying to shove him aside, but although she was no weakling, he had the edge over her in both size and strength. She’d felt the power in his grip as he held her. ‘You were wrong,’ she said, her voice very even although she was sizzling inside. ‘Totally, completely wrong.’
He seemed to be weighing that up, still steadily watching her. ‘Your father didn’t tell you to give me a good time?’
Briar felt her cheeks burn again. ‘He didn’t mean what you think.’
Softly, Kynan asked, ‘Are you sure?’
An insidious doubt crept into her mind. Shaking it off, she said, ‘Of course I’m sure. He wouldn’t...and anyway, I wouldn’t...’
Something like a grin briefly appeared on the chiselled mouth. ‘I’m beginning to believe that you wouldn’t.’ He paused. ‘I apologise.’
An apology was certainly due. ‘Am I supposed to thank you for that?’ she enquired.
The grin widened slightly. ‘Not necessarily.’
‘Good.’ She was still simmering. ‘Might I suggest you refrain from jumping to bizarre conclusions next time someone offers you their normal hospitality?’
‘Oh, come on, Briar.’ He folded his arms and crossed one ankle over the other, looking at her. ‘What was I supposed to think? Your father was throwing you at me at every turn, and you certainly didn’t seem to be objecting. You brought me in here on the flimsiest excuse—’
‘He told me to—’
Kynan nodded. ‘Are you always such a dutiful daughter? You seemed to be quite pleased with the idea.’
‘I’m a good actress.’
He smiled openly at her tart tone. It made him look considerably less formidable. ‘A natural,’ he agreed. ‘So...you don’t really like me at all?’
‘Should I?’
‘Ouch!’ he murmured. ‘What should I do? Go down on my knees?’
She could hardly imagine it. ‘You could start by moving away from the door.’
For a second or two he stayed there, then he unfolded his arms and stood aside, waiting.
Briar took an uncertain step forward, and Kynan leaned over and turned the handle, throwing the door wide.
‘Thank you,’ she said, sweeping past him into the passageway.
He closed the door and came to her side, saying nothing as they returned to the other room.
Some people were leaving, and Kynan took her arm in a light hold, drawing her closer to him to make way for them. Her father and Laura were seeing them out, Xavier casting Briar and Kynan a sharp glance.
‘I should be going, too,’ Kynan murmured. ‘I think I may have outstayed my welcome.’
She gave him a sarcastic look, and he laughed. ‘I’ll go home and find some sackcloth and ashes,’ he promised. ‘Can you bear to say goodnight to me civilly?’
Briar regarded him stony-faced. It seemed to her he was taking the whole thing rather casually. He was doubtless used to charming birds from trees when he took a mind to it, but it would take more than a smile and a careless apology to mollify her. ‘Goodnight,’ she said, and held out her hand.
He looked down at it, smiling faintly, before he took it in his. ‘Goodnight, Briar.’ He turned her hand over, and raised her fingers fleetingly to his lips. She felt the warm brush of his mouth against her skin, and some unidentifiable sensation passed through her body. Then he released her and went to say goodnight to her father and stepmother.
* * *
Next day two huge florist’s bouquets arrived at the house. One was addressed to Laura, with a card thanking her for dinner and an enjoyable evening, signed Kynan Roth. The other was for Briar.
She opened the envelope and read the card. There was nothing on it but his name. She supposed it was a reinforcement of his apology.
‘Aren’t they lovely?’ Laura breathed in the scent of pink roses and carnations as she arranged them in a white porcelain vase. ‘That’s a man with style!’ She looked sidelong at Briar. ‘Did you...get along with him?’
‘Does it matter?’ Briar asked, tucking the card back into its envelope. Her bouquet featured yellow irises and deep creamy roses shading to gold in the centre. She wondered if he’d chosen the flowers himself.
‘Oh, no! Not specially. Your father seemed to think...’ Laura pushed a tall carnation into the vase, and the stem snapped in two. ‘Oh, I’m so clumsy!’
‘You’re not. It was too long,’ Briar pointed out absently. ‘What’s going on, Laura? Has Dad told you?’
‘He doesn’t tell me about his business affairs, you know that. But something has been bothering him.’ Laura twiddled with the broken stem she had pulled from the vase, then dropped it and picked up the piece with the flower on it, regarding the arrangement uncertainly.
‘What did he say?’
‘Nothing much at all,’ Laura said quickly. ‘But I know he’s worried.’
‘Financial problems?’ Kynan Roth had said so, but why should she believe him? Her father had always been successful. Some years ago he had moved from straight accountancy to setting up a financial advice and investment service. He was regarded as a man who knew where the best deals were to be made. Lawyers and accountants often referred to him clients who had some money set aside and were unsure as to where to invest it.
‘I suppose so,’ Laura said. ‘When I asked him what was the matter he said there’s been a downturn in the share-market, but he’s sure things will straighten themselves out.’
‘Is he hoping to attract some investment money from Kynan Roth?’
‘I don’t know. He said more than once that he couldn’t afford to lose Mr Roth, so I was to make sure he enjoyed himself and that there were no slip-ups last night. But knowing how important it was just made me go to pieces.’
‘You did fine.’
‘Do you think so? I must admit that Mr Roth was perfectly nice, although something about the man makes me nervous. It was kind of him to send flowers. Didn’t you like him?’
‘Not specially,’ Briar answered crisply. ‘Did Dad say that he wanted me to...?’
‘What?’ Laura turned enquiring blue eyes on her.
‘Never mind, it wasn’t important.’ Laura was inclined to make a big worry out of quite trivial things. She might have blown up a casual remark out of proportion to its real significance, Briar told herself. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Of course her father hadn’t set her up with Kynan. Not deliberately. He might have had some vague hope that if they took to each other it would make a business arrangement easier to bring about. He certainly hadn’t been asking her to sell herself in return for some of Kynan’s money.
* * *
Over lunch, Xavier asked her, ‘How did you get on with Kynan Roth?’
She looked up from her salad. ‘All right.’ And bluntly she asked, ‘Why?’
‘No particular reason. I thought you might enjoy meeting someone nearer your age...’
‘I meet people my age all the time,’ Briar said. ‘Who exactly is Kynan Roth, anyway?’
‘He’s been overseas for a number of years—he was chief executive of a big Australian steel firm. When his father died last year he came home to take over the family company. Created quite a stir. Bit of a whiz-kid.’
‘Quite a number of whiz-kids lost their shirts in the last crash, didn’t they?’ Briar commented.
‘Yes, indeed. Got caught on the market with their pants down. Young idiots who flew around in their corporate jets taking over companies and throwing champagne parties every time their shares doubled in value.’ Xavier’s lips curled distastefully. ‘Roth’s not that sort. The business has a rock-solid base, manufacturing plants that have been in the family for a long time. He brought new ideas back with him and expanded the original company. Old money and business acumen are a winning combination.’
‘Big money?’
‘Hundreds of millions. Low profile, like his father, but it’s there, all right.’
‘He said you need cash.’
Xavier looked at her sharply. ‘When did he say that?’
‘Last night, when I was showing him the Heaphy. Is that why you asked me to be nice to him?’
A dull flush rose in Xavier’s neck. ‘He’s a useful contact, just like all the others who were here last night.’
‘As a possible source of quick money?’
Laura put down her fork. ‘Do you want some more ham, Briar?’
‘This is business, Briar,’ her father said dismissively. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’
Briar’s glance at her stepmother was apologetic, but she turned again to her father. ‘Just how important to you is this man?’
Xavier replied testily, ‘Nothing to worry about. I simply need a bit of short-term finance to cover a temporary cash-flow problem.’
Alarm bells were ringing in Briar’s head. ‘You’re hoping he’ll give you a loan?’
‘A business loan is more complicated than—than mortgaging a house, or buying a car on hire-purchase.’
Laura’s smooth brow creased. ‘You won’t have to mortgage the house, will you?’
‘The house! It wouldn’t begin to cover—’ Xavier scowled. ‘Wherever did you get that idea?’
‘I suppose,’ Briar said, ‘you could sell the Heaphy.’
‘A few thousand dollars!’ Xavier gave a rather harsh laugh. ‘It won’t come to that. I told you, it’s nothing to worry about.’
He bent his attention to the cold mutton on his plate. Briar’s eyes met Laura’s over the table. Laura’s blue gaze was clouded, and the frown had not left her face.
* * *
The phone rang as the two women were stacking the dishwasher after lunch, and Laura went to answer it. Hearing her muted voice in the hall, Briar assumed the call was for her stepmother. But after a minute or two Laura called, ‘Briar—can you come to the phone?’
As Briar took the receiver, Laura whispered, ‘It’s Kynan Roth!’ She retreated back to the kitchen as Briar lifted the receiver to her ear.
‘Thank you for the flowers,’ Briar said formally. ‘They’re beautiful.’
‘I’m glad you like them. Have you forgiven me, yet?’
She deliberately let half a second elapse before she said coolly, ‘Of course.’
Faint laughter came down the line. ‘But not entirely? Let me make amends—’
‘I thought that was what the flowers were for.’
‘They haven’t done the trick, have they? I’d like to take you to dinner tonight, if you’re free.’
‘On the theory that an evening in your company will “do the trick”?’ she enquired drily.
‘Nasty, Briar! On the theory that a good dinner in a comfortable restaurant might have a soothing effect. Where would you like to go?’
‘With you? I’m not sure that I want to go anywhere.’
Laura appeared in the kitchen doorway, a plate in her hand, her expression tense. She’d been listening, Briar realised. As her eyes met Briar’s, she gave an apologetic smile and ducked back.
‘But you are free tonight?’ Kynan was asking.
As she debated over whether to admit she was, he said, ‘Have you been to Benedict’s?’
‘Not yet.’ It was a new place that had opened in a blaze of publicity. The owners were said to have lured the best chef in town from his previous position in the kitchen of a top hotel.
‘I’ll book us a table,’ he said. ‘Pick you up at seven, OK?’
She wanted to tell him no, it wasn’t OK at all. But Laura’s disquiet had communicated itself to her. She hesitated and was lost.
‘See you then,’ Kynan said. And she was left holding the phone, with the dialling tone humming in her ear.
* * *
She wore an apricot wild silk jacket over a flowered skirt and soft jade green blouse, and put on the highest heels in her wardrobe, remembering that Kynan Roth was a tall man. She didn’t want him towering over her.
He arrived promptly and she opened the door to him herself. Laura had already served a meal for herself and Xavier, and they were watching a favourite programme in the TV room. ‘Briar’s going out with Kynan Roth,’ Laura had told Xavier brightly.
Watching her father’s face, Briar thought he seemed almost disconcerted. Then he’d said, a shade too loudly, ‘Well, that’s nice, Briar. Must have taken a fancy to you.’
* * *
Kynan ushered her into the passenger seat of a shiny dark blue car. He had manners, if nothing else, she reflected. And quickly amended that—as well as everything else. Money, good looks, power, and the sex appeal that went with them. All the superficial advantages were his.
And superficial they were, she reminded herself as he slid into the driver’s seat, smiling at her before starting the engine. There were more important qualities that she looked for in a man. Compassion, kindness, understanding, the capacity to love, and a sense of humour.
He had that last, but she wasn’t sure if there was any warmth or gentleness behind it. An ability to laugh at others didn’t necessarily go with an equal willingness to laugh at oneself.
She concentrated on the view from the side-window—the big, rambling old houses and professional buildings lining Remuera Road. But as Kynan stopped for a red light she peeped speculatively at his profile, eyeing the jutting nose and strong chin.
He turned as though he’d felt her gaze, and asked, ‘What’s that for?’
‘What?’ She looked away, watching a woman walk by on the pavement with a Siamese cat on a leash.
‘That look you just gave me,’ he said.
‘I was wondering if you can laugh at yourself.’ She raised her chin and met his eyes.
‘Think I can’t?’ He stared back at her.
Behind them a horn tooted gently. ‘The light’s changed,’ she told him.
He gave the other driver a wave, and sent the car gliding over the intersection. Picking up speed, he kept his eyes on the road and the traffic. ‘You didn’t seem to think I was particularly funny,’ he said, ‘last night.’
Last night she’d thought he was particularly insulting. ‘I wasn’t thinking of last night. Just...in general.’
‘Well...’ He slanted her a glance. ‘Perhaps you’ll find out, in time.’
Which suggested that they’d be seeing each other again after tonight.
They cruised through the Newmarket shopping area, and then crested a hill and drove past the colonial-style shops and trendy eating places in Parnell village. He didn’t speak again until they reached the restaurant down near the harbour, and he let her out of the car.
Briar half expected him to take over ordering her meal for her. Instead he allowed her to make her own choice and consulted her preference before deciding on the wine. The restaurant was crowded, but their table, lit by a single candle and discreetly dim wall-lighting, was screened by a couple of plants and a trellised partition, and next to a window overlooking a glimpse of the Waitemata Harbour. She wondered if he’d asked for it specially. ‘Have you been here before?’ she asked him.
‘Once. The food’s good. And the service.’
‘And the view.’ The darkened water reflected the lights of the city near the shore. Further out the moonlight had washed it with a subtle silvery patina. ‘It’s lovely.’
‘Mm-hmm.’ But when she looked back, his eyes were on her face. ‘You’re looking wonderful tonight,’ he said. ‘I’ve been telling myself all day you couldn’t be as beautiful as I remembered.’
‘I...thank you.’ She wasn’t unaccustomed to compliments. She’d travelled in Italy and France, and the men there weren’t backward in their comments on a woman’s appearance. But she was oddly flustered now. He didn’t sound admiring, but rather as if he was reporting a fact, almost clinically detached.
He said, ‘I’ve never seen eyes that colour before. Like moonlight on water.’
Instinctively she glanced out at the moonlit harbour, and returned her gaze to his in frank disbelief.
Kynan looked briefly out at the view, too. ‘Not quite the same, I admit. They remind me of nightfall in the Islands.’
Briar gave a little laugh.
‘What’s funny?’
‘My eyeshadow,’ she said, ‘is called “Tropic Dusk”.’
‘It’s a perfect description.’ He leaned over and brushed a finger very lightly over her eyelid. ‘I didn’t realise you were wearing shadow.’ He looked at the faint smudge on his finger and his eyes gleamed as he raised them again to hers.
She studied the starched white tablecloth, fiddled with a polished silver fork, and lifted a hand nervously to brush a strand of hair from her cheek.
‘Tell me about yourself,’ he invited.
‘What, everything?’ She looked up. She wasn’t shy or nervous, normally. He was only a man, and she’d had dealings with equally sophisticated men before, just as handsome, just as sure of themselves. Well, almost.
‘Where did you go to school?’ he asked. ‘Diocesan?’
Briar grimaced. ‘How did you guess?’
He laughed. ‘It isn’t hard, is it?’
Given what he knew or had guessed of her background, Briar had to admit it wasn’t. Xavier had always gone for the best. The most socially acceptable.
‘And after that—what?’ he asked, and answered for her, ‘University, right?’
‘Right,’ Briar conceded.
‘And a Bachelor of Arts degree, which you got easily.’
‘Am I that predictable?’
‘And then...you did your Overseas Experience. Along with a couple of girlfriends. Or a boyfriend.’
‘I went with a group of both sexes.’
‘Anyone special, for you?’
‘We made a pact before we left. No pairings. We had a great time, without hassles or emotional tangles.’
‘Where did you go?’
This was safe ground. She talked about her travels until their food arrived, and then asked if he’d done much travelling himself.
‘Closer to home, mostly. I crewed on a schooner round the Pacific Islands when I was younger.’
That was interesting, and she plied him with questions while they finished their dinner. And discovered that he did have an ability to laugh at himself—at least at his younger self, fighting seasickness in a mid-ocean squall, being the butt of a practical joke involving a fake shark fin in a lagoon in the Cook Islands, falling from a coconut palm when he tried to emulate the Fijians who climbed to the top with deceptive ease.
‘Were you hurt?’ she asked him.
‘Fortunately the sand was soft. I bruised my ego, that’s all. And took some teasing about it afterwards.’ He pushed his plate aside. ‘You don’t eat sweets, do you?’
‘Sometimes. I’d prefer cheese tonight, but don’t let me stop you.’
He shook his head. ‘I’ll join you. A cheese board,’ he said to the waiter who had appeared to take their plates. ‘And then coffee?’ He looked at Briar enquiringly.
‘Yes, thank you.’
Cutting herself a wedge of pale, delicately flavoured havarti, she asked, ‘So how do you become an investor? My father said you’d inherited a manufacturing company.’
He was placing a slice of gruyre on a cracker. When he looked up she thought he seemed wary. ‘My father’s firm made parts for ship-building. When he took over it already had a healthy profile. He expanded the base, used the profits to buy up various companies in related fields. His business judgement was impeccable.’ A bitter expression crossed his face, so fleetingly that Briar decided she’d imagined it.
‘And the firm survived when others went bust.’
‘He’d never over-extended on the basis of cash that he didn’t have. Since I took over I’ve tried to invest as wisely. And I’ve had a certain amount of luck.’
‘Luck?’
‘There’s an element of risk involved,’ he said. ‘What I like to do is step in when a firm is shaky but basically viable, save a good business from going down the drain, taking investors and staff with it. One of my purchases turned out to be a dud but the others covered the loss. Our shares haven’t made huge overnight gains. On the other hand, they’re steady climbers. They’re worth more than twice what they were a few years back.’
‘You’re a bit of a gambler?’
He picked up the cheese knife, then put it down again. ‘Is this leading somewhere?’
‘What do you mean?’ As his brows went up in scepticism, she felt a flush rise to her cheeks. ‘You asked me to tell you about myself. I was simply returning the compliment.’ She was angry, and didn’t care if he knew it.
After a moment he said, ‘OK.’ And he reached over and touched her hand, just a light touch on her skin. Oddly, she felt a tiny fluttering in her stomach, almost as though he’d threatened her in some way.
The coffee came, and she was glad of the diversion. She spooned cream into hers and stirred it broodingly.
‘So what do you do all day?’ he asked her.
‘I help out in a boutique in Newmarket owned by a friend. Fashion accessories.’
He didn’t seem madly impressed. She supposed it was small beer compared with his business empire. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘How long have you been doing that?’
‘About a year. Before that I worked for a market research firm, but they laid off some staff and it was last in, first out. And I’ve been a kennelmaid, receptionist, theatre assistant—before the theatre company went bust. Of course, overseas I picked up odd jobs—fruitpicking, waitressing—once I worked as a nanny for a little while.’
‘A pretty varied working life,’ Kynan commented.
‘I like variety. I was never blessed—or cursed—with a burning ambition for a particular career.’ She was happy to have work of any sort that provided her with some independence.
‘And you still live at home?’
‘Since I came back from overseas.’ His tone was non-committal, but she found herself reacting defensively. ‘It’s convenient and Laura likes having me there.’ When she had first returned she’d intended to go flatting. But Laura had seemed so relieved to have her home, and her father had taken it for granted that she’d stay. Somehow she had never made the move.
‘There’s no man in your life?’
‘If there was,’ she said, ‘I wouldn’t be here with you.’
‘You’re the faithful type?’ he mocked, as though he didn’t believe that such a type existed.
‘If I loved a man,’ she said, ‘I’d be faithful to him.’
‘And have you?’
‘Have I...?’
‘Ever loved a man?’
‘I’m not sure I...know what you mean.’
His mouth quirked. ‘It’s a simple question, but you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.’
It wasn’t a simple question at all. Of course she’d been in love, briefly and blindingly—and falsely, as it turned out. Because that couldn’t be real love, that died so easily and so fast. Real love, lasting love, was a different thing altogether. It hadn’t happened to her yet, and maybe never would. She only hoped that when it did she would recognise it. But what he’d been asking—what she’d thought he was asking—was if she’d had a lover in the physical sense.
‘It’s a very personal question,’ she said.
‘I’ll withdraw it if you like,’ he offered easily, as though it didn’t matter, after all. ‘Maybe...one day I’ll find out the answer.’
His smile glinted. Briar drew in a breath, ready to slay him with words, but of course that was what he was waiting for, her rising to the bait. And then he’d go all innocent and deny that he’d meant what she thought. She knew that game.
Well, she wasn’t going to play it with him. She kept her expression blank and raised her coffee-cup to her lips. Putting it down again, she said pleasantly, ‘That was a wonderful meal. Thank you.’
Kynan inclined his head. ‘Not at all. It was worth it for the pleasure of your company.’ He finished his coffee and asked, ‘More for you?’
Briar shook her head.
He paid the bill and took her arm as they left the restaurant. ‘It’s a nice night,’ he said. ‘Feel like a stroll along the waterfront?’ The scent of the sea came faintly to them. Moonlight still shimmered on the horizon.
It wasn’t late. Cars constantly passed by under the green glow of the street-lights. The night air was cool but pleasant. ‘All right,’ she heard herself say. ‘A short one.’
They walked slowly, and he took her hand and tucked it into his arm. She might have withdrawn it except for the darkness which the street-lights didn’t altogether dispel, and the high heels of her shoes. It wouldn’t do to trip and fall at his feet.
After a while they stopped and leaned on a guard-rail, looking out at the water and the multicoloured reflected lights, ceaselessly moving, and breaking into disjointed lines. Small, unseen wavelets lapped at the shore, and a fishy, salty scent rose from the breakwater. Briar removed her hand from Kynan’s and placed it on the cold metal of the railing.
Kynan turned and leaned back so that he could see her face. His elbows rested on the rail. ‘What did your father say when you told him you were going out with me?’ he asked her.
Briar glanced at him briefly. ‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
‘He said you must have taken a fancy to me.’ She tilted her head, challengingly.
Kynan gave a breathy laugh. ‘Not, “Good girl”?’
Briar drew away from the guard-rail, taking a step back from him. ‘I thought you’d admitted you were wrong about that.’
‘About you,’ he corrected her. ‘And your father is no fool. He’s right, of course. I have taken a fancy to you—just as he wanted me to.’ His voice was light, but there was an undercurrent to it that made her decidedly uncomfortable.
‘Am I supposed to be flattered?’
‘You needn’t be.’
She wasn’t at all sure what he was getting at. Why did she have the feeling that half of this conversation wasn’t taking place between the two of them at all, but somewhere inside his head?
‘I’m cold,’ she said.
His teeth gleamed whitely for a second. ‘Sure.’ He sounded as though he didn’t believe her for an instant. He knew she was retreating. ‘I’ll take you back to the car.’
He drove her home in silence, and she felt stifled and fidgety the whole time. At the house he got out and came round to her door, but she was already on the pavement when he reached her.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘The meal was delicious.’
‘You’re not going to ask me in?’
‘I need an early night. We had a party last night, remember.’
‘Aren’t you used to late nights?’ He was looking at her curiously.
‘I don’t spend my life at parties, if that’s what you mean.’
‘How about tomorrow afternoon?’
‘What about it?’
‘It’s Sunday,’ he said patiently. ‘Are you free in the afternoon? Do you like cricket?’
‘You don’t need to offer me any more outings,’ she said. ‘The dinner was more than adequate atonement.’
‘Meaning, you don’t want to see me again?’
Why was he insisting on making her spell it out? She lifted a shoulder, not saying anything.
His voice soft, he said, ‘Playing hard to get, Briar?’
She almost choked on her indrawn breath. ‘If you still think that my father—’
He made a small, derisive sound. ‘This has nothing to do with your father. It’s to do with you—and me.’
Bewildered, she demanded, ‘What are you talking about?’
‘This,’ he said tersely, and he reached for her and pulled her into his arms and kissed her before she could do anything about it, driving her astonished lips apart with stunning eroticism. His mouth was warm and firm and compelling, and he gathered her body against his as if he knew that was where it belonged, with a sureness and grace that had her pliant as a willow branch for long seconds, before she stiffened and thrust her hands against him, wrenching herself away, her breath coming fast between her open, moistened lips.
He said, ‘That’s what I was talking about. If I took a fancy to you—and I did—at least it’s mutual. So stop pretending, Briar. Let’s be honest about it.’
CHAPTER THREE
BRIAR hadn’t known. She felt stupid that she hadn’t known it until then. He was right. And he’d recognised, long before she did, that the unsettling effect he had on her was due to basic sexual instinct that had seethed beneath the surface and manifested itself in the uncomfortable emotional reactions she’d mistaken for dislike and even fear.
She’d been right the first time she saw him when she’d thought he was far too knowing and too sure of himself. It was humiliating that he’d proved his point so easily, but at least now she knew about her own vulnerability and she’d not let him take her unawares again.
‘Sex on its own,’ she said, ‘doesn’t interest me.’
Kynan laughed. ‘It doesn’t interest me, either. Mutuality is much more satisfying.’
She was glad it was dark enough that the heat in her cheeks wouldn’t be visible. ‘I meant,’ she said, fighting for some dignity, ‘that I’m not in the market for a casual fling with any passing stranger.’
He cocked his head to one side. ‘Are you so responsive to every passing stranger who happens along?’
‘You know I’m not!’ she snapped.
‘How could I know? We only met—’
‘That’s just my point!’
‘Ah. You feel we should know each other better before indulging in...intimacies.’
Briar found her fists were clenched. ‘I’ve no intention of indulging in anything of the kind!’
‘Not even when you know me better?’
‘I don’t want to know you better! I have no desire—’
His laughter interrupted her. ‘Liar. Why don’t you want to get to know me?’
‘I have no desire,’ she said deliberately, ‘to get to know a self-satisfied, smug, egotistical—’
‘I get the idea,’ he interrupted. ‘You don’t like me.’
‘No, I don’t!’
He grinned. ‘Do you always jump to conclusions about people you hardly know?’
‘Only when their behaviour warrants it.’
He leaned forward a little, bringing his face closer to hers. ‘But you liked kissing me, Briar,’ he reminded her softly. ‘You can’t deny that.’
‘That doesn’t mean you had a right to do it!’
Changing tack abruptly, he said, ‘I thought you were enjoying yourself, tonight. Or was that another demonstration of your acting ability? Don’t bother to be polite,’ he added with some irony.
Tempted to dispute it, she hesitated and reluctantly admitted, ‘It was very...pleasant.’
‘Damned with faint praise,’ he murmured. ‘And the kiss was pleasant too, wasn’t it? A nice way of rounding off the evening, I thought.’
‘No, you didn’t. You meant to teach me a lesson.’
He was still for a moment, then he gave a slight shrug. ‘Maybe that was a part of it. But mostly, I’d been wanting to kiss you ever since we met.’ He paused. ‘Don’t tell me you weren’t aware of it.’
She’d seen the attentive interest in his eyes in that first instant when he looked up and saw her coming down the stairs. She couldn’t refute that. She looked away from him. ‘If you mean that I should have expected to have to pay for my dinner—’
‘I’d stop there if I were you!’ His voice sent a small shiver of fright down her spine. She forced herself to meet his gaze again, defiance in her eyes, but she couldn’t find any more words.
His eyes were very dark, and even in this light she could see the angry spark in them. ‘Don’t push me too far, Briar,’ he warned.
‘Are you threatening me?’ She faced him, her chin squared.
He looked down at her and suddenly laughed again. ‘No.’ He lifted a hand and flicked at her cheek with his finger. ‘I’m telling you to watch those thorns of yours, my sweet rose.’
She jerked her head away from the tiny stinging touch. ‘I’m not yours, and I’m not sweet!’
He was smiling at her, enjoying this. ‘I’d noticed. But I’m sure you could be if you put your mind to it. Think about it.’ And he swung on his heel and went back round the car.
With his hand on the door-handle, he said, ‘Go into the house.’
She was standing where he had left her, and she turned and walked quickly up the path, not looking round as she fumbled with the lock and let herself in. As she closed the door she heard the sound of his car moving away.
* * *
To her annoyance she did think about it—about him, anyway—quite a lot over the next few days. Trying to put him out of her mind simply didn’t work. Her brain insisted on going over and over things he’d said, and her body kept reacting to memories of the way he’d held her and kissed her and woken that unexpected response.
Her father had wanted to know, over breakfast the following morning, how her evening had been.
‘Very nice, thank you,’ was all the reply she was prepared to give him.
But after a few minutes he’d said, as though unable to contain himself, ‘Well, will you be seeing him again?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Briar kept her voice casual.
‘You didn’t offend him, did you?’
‘No.’ She might have, she supposed, with her assessment of his character, but he’d shown no sign of being mortally wounded. If anything, he’d found it amusing. ‘I thought you said he wasn’t all that important. Why are you so anxious?’
‘I’m not anxious,’ her father asserted. ‘But at your age you ought to be thinking about...things. It wouldn’t do you any harm to encourage him.’
Laura said, ‘But if Briar doesn’t like him, Xavier—’
‘What’s wrong with him?’ her husband demanded. ‘Kynan Roth is a very good catch for a girl.’
Laura said, ‘Briar is a very good catch, herself. Any man would be lucky to have her.’
‘Thank you, Laura.’ Briar smiled at her. ‘But I’m not actually thinking of marriage—and neither, I’m sure, is Kynan. I doubt if he’s the marrying kind.’
Laura said confidently, ‘Every man is the marrying kind. They need it more than we do.’
Xavier bent a surprised stare on his wife. ‘What gave you that idea?’
‘I read it somewhere. Men marry more quickly after they lose a partner, and are happier when they’re married. Women are happier single. Statistically speaking,’ Laura added hastily, ducking her head.
‘I don’t believe it,’ Xavier said bluntly.
Laura cast her stepdaughter a lightning-fast glance, then turned an innocent gaze to her husband. ‘Well, that’s what it said.’
‘I’m certainly happy being single,’ Briar declared.
‘Are you saying you don’t want to marry?’ her father asked, a hint of outrage in his voice.
‘Not yet. Maybe never. But if the right man came along...’
‘How do you know Kynan Roth isn’t the right man for you?’
‘He does seem very eligible,’ Laura murmured. ‘Handsome, too. And thoughtful. Not many men will phone their hostess to thank her for a party, and even fewer send flowers...’
‘Do you want to marry me off, too?’ Briar asked her.
‘No, of course not! I love having you here, I don’t know what I’d do without you. But we don’t want to selfishly keep you at home.’
‘You’re not a bit selfish. And you don’t really need my help.’
Laura looked doubtful, and Xavier gave a snort that made his daughter throw him a quick glance, but he didn’t seem to notice.
‘Anyway,’ Briar said, ‘Kynan isn’t likely to suggest seeing me again.’
He’d probably go off and find someone who was less prickly. And good luck to him.
* * *
So she was startled when one day she looked up from serving a customer in the boutique and saw an unmistakable dark head bent over a rack of silk scarves in a corner.
When she had wrapped the customer’s purchase and the woman had left the shop, Kynan turned and smiled at her. ‘So this is where you are,’ he said.
Did that mean his visit was coincidence? She hadn’t told him the name of the shop or exactly where it was. She said, safely, ‘Yes. Can I help you?’
He surveyed her silently for a moment, as though debating what to say. Then he smiled again. ‘Sure. I want to buy someone a present.’
‘A woman?’ There were racks of men’s ties and unisex scarves, but he was in the section containing more obviously feminine wear, and she came out from behind the counter to stand on the other side of the circular display rack.
‘Yes, a woman.’
‘Do you know what colours she likes? What kind of clothes she feels comfortable in? Casual or dressy? And is she dark or fair or—?’
‘Dark,’ he said. ‘Dark-haired, fair-skinned. Brown eyes. She reads Vogue and shops at Saks. Her favourite oufit is a sort of rusty red suit and a blouse with lots of green in it. And she’s just bought herself a red dress.’
He knew a lot about her, Briar thought. She wondered how long he’d known this woman—and how intimately.
Not that it was any concern of hers, of course. As two more people entered the shop, she turned her attention to the scarves, pushing aside a couple of tie-dyed ones and another in blue and green stripes. ‘Perhaps this?’ she suggested, pulling out a big silk square printed with autumn leaves. ‘Or this?’ The pattern was abstract, a daring combination of green, orange and red splashed with black.
‘Mmm,’ he said, fingering the second one. ‘I think she’d like that.’ He took it from her and spread it between his hands, finally nodding. ‘I’ll take it.’
So ‘she’ was no conservative dresser, Briar deduced. ‘Would you like it gift-wrapped? And I can give you a card, if you like.’
‘Thank you.’ He slid a hand into his breast pocket and took out a brown leather wallet. ‘How much?’
He hadn’t looked at the price tags. The scarf wasn’t a cheap one, but he put down a fifty-dollar note on the counter without comment.
Another customer approached, holding two packets of tights. Cutting off a piece of gift-wrap, Briar called through the screened doorway leading to the back of the shop, ‘Pat? Can you serve?’
She deftly wrapped the parcel and was showing Kynan a card for his approval when Pat came in and Kynan looked up, his gaze suddenly arrested.
‘All right?’ Briar prompted him.
He turned to her. ‘Yes. That’s fine.’ His eyes went back to her partner. ‘I hadn’t realised—’
Puzzled, she glanced at the red-headed young man by her side who was serving the other customer. It dawned on her that Kynan had expected her friend and employer to be female.
He was looking at her again now, a peculiarly searching look. She smiled at him blandly and handed him the card. ‘Do you want to write something in it?’
He scrawled, ‘Love, Kynan’ on the inside. She could read it, even upside-down and trying not to. He hadn’t attempted to hide it. She placed the card in the parcel and made a professional job of wrapping it before tucking the fifty dollars in the till and handing him the change.
He picked up the parcel and stood as though weighing it in his hand. Then he said, ‘What time do you finish here?’
‘We lock up at five tonight, and spend about ten minutes cashing up.’
Pat glanced at her curiously as he reached across to the till, and she stepped back to give him room.
Kynan waited until the other transaction was finished, the two people had left, and Pat was moving away to help another customer who was picking up bags and belts at random and replacing them.
‘Come and have a drink with me before you go home,’ Kynan suggested. ‘Or better still, let me take you to dinner.’
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Daphne Clair
What Other Choice Did She Have? "You're not so irresistible, you know?" Brian told Kynan. Wealth, good looks, power and sex appeal. Financier Kynan Roth had all the superficial advantages. Briar was looking for other qualities in a husband - compassion, understanding and, above all, trust.But how was she going to convince the cynical Kynan of that, when, to rescue her father, she had just committed the cardinal sin of marrying him for his money… .
Infamous Bargain
Daphne Clair
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#ub6289a08-4cc1-5462-9df1-15d7b50217b3)
CHAPTER TWO (#udf09a0fb-1237-5b78-b3a0-8b4bbe0e86ab)
CHAPTER THREE (#u192b7fa8-0ad3-5152-b903-21dfe4734537)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
BRIAR slipped a pair of long silver and garnet earrings into place and rearranged a tendril of hair that had fallen against her cheek.
The deceptively casual style suited her, and the ‘Sunset’ rinse she’d had last week added a touch of warmth to what she thought of as a rather insipid colour. In her teenage years the extreme fairness of childhood had given way to something between brown and blonde. The rinse wasn’t obvious. Her father had cast it a puzzled, cursory glance, and apparently dismissed the subtle change as a figment of his imagination.
She could hear his voice, rich and a trace over-hearty, greeting the arriving guests. Already the doorbell had rung three or four times. Her stepmother would be in a flutter as usual, nervously checking impeccable place-settings, twitching unnecessarily at cushions, and darting out to the kitchen to ensure the caterers were coping, although they were from one of Auckland’s best and most experienced firms.
Briar checked her make-up. The new ‘Tropic Dusk’ eyeshadow was a subtle shade, making eyes that were neither blue nor grey seem larger, darker and somehow mysterious. Better go down. Laura would need her calming presence, and her father would be getting impatient if she didn’t soon appear and start being polite and welcoming to the financiers and lawyers and business people exchanging small talk over glasses of imported whisky and gold-medal New Zealand wines.
‘And I want you to pay special attention to Kynan Roth,’ he’d instructed Briar. ‘Make sure he has a good time.’
He hadn’t noticed the ironic glance that his daughter threw at him, and she’d bitten her tongue on the remark that hovered on the tip of it. Xavier Cunningham, despite his experience in business and his assiduous cultivation of the well-to-do and the financially useful, was probably totally unaware that his twenty-four-year-old daughter was capable of even slightly ribald thoughts. Briar knew very well that all he was asking of her was to act the poised, gracious hostess that his second wife had never learned to be.
Briar slid a pair of high-heeled pumps over her gossamer-stockinged feet, and adjusted the thin straps of the sheer floating confection of champagne chiffon over silk that she’d bought for tonight. Her father had insisted on her having a new dress, and even provided a hefty cheque for it.
She walked along the brass-edged carpet laid between gleaming kauri boards along the wide upstairs hall, and paused at the top of the curved staircase. The old, proudly preserved mansion, set in half an acre of mature garden in the long-established suburb of Remuera, was an estate agent’s dream. A Persian rug on the floor of the high-ceilinged lobby deadened the footsteps of the middle-aged couple her father was ushering into the big living-room from which a babble of voices floated. As the bell burred once more he inclined his handsome greying head and said to them, ‘I’ll be right with you. Here’s Laura—she’ll get you a drink,’ before turning to open the door again.
Briar was halfway down the stairs by the time the newcomer had shaken hands with her father and exchanged some remarks about the imminence of summer. He had a deep, incisive voice, and curiosity made her glance up from her concentration on the stair carpet. At the same time he must have become aware of her moving down the stairs, and lifted his head, gazing past Xavier’s shoulder.
Briar paused for an instant, surprised by a searching scrutiny from eyes the colour of old pewter, or a dawn sea. And—in spite of the unequivocal masculine reaction she discerned in them—as hard as metal and cold as a winter morning.
He was somewhere in his early thirties, she judged, his thick, dark hair untouched by grey, but there was a world of experience in those eyes, and in the taut planes of his cheeks, the carved-from-granite mouth. Even his stance, on the surface casual, one hand thrust into the pocket of a suit expertly tailored to a frame more appropriate to an athlete than a businessman, gave the impression of an underlying tensile strength. Perhaps it was the way his feet in their polished black leather were planted slightly apart on the Persian pattern, and the knife-edge crease of his trousers failed to conceal the latent power in his long legs.
He was taller than her father, who was well-built and not a small man, and she wondered if he lifted weights. Under the impeccable suit his shoulders were broad, his stomach flat. He looked superbly fit while not bulging with overdeveloped muscles.
As Briar descended the remaining stairs, he returned her involuntary inspection with interest, and a faint, knowing smile fleetingly curved his mouth. She felt the fine hair on her nape prickle. Very sure of himself, this man. Sure of his effect on women, too.
‘There you are!’ her father said, smiling expansively as he turned to her. ‘Kynan, let me introduce you to my daughter. Briar, this is Kynan Roth. I told you about him.’ He directed a meaningful glance at her, and Briar noticed that the other man sent a quick, probing look at his host before he took her extended hand and closed strong fingers about it.
His hand was warm and he held hers firmly before releasing it.
‘Come along in, Kynan,’ her father said, laying a hand on his guest’s shoulder. Briar thought the shoulder stiffened. He hung back, allowing her to precede him and her father into the lounge. It was a large room furnished with comfortable leather chairs and sofas, solid mahogany coffee-tables, and some good antique cabinets and occasional pieces. The bar in one corner had been carefully designed to blend into the décor.
‘I’ll leave Briar to look after you,’ her father said, giving the other man’s shoulder a pat, ‘if you don’t mind. Catch up with you later.’
‘I’m delighted.’ A gleam entered the cool eyes as Kynan Roth murmured the polite response.
He didn’t look delighted, Briar thought. He looked like a wary predator, circling for the kill but with one ear pricked for trouble.
She said, ‘What would you like to drink?’
‘What are you going to have?’
‘A Chardonnay.’ She didn’t usually drink anything more than dry ginger ale this early in the evening at her father’s parties, but something about this man was making her tense, and a glass of wine might relax her.
‘Then I’ll have the same.’
Surprise made her hesitate. He looked like a straight whisky man, or vodka on the rocks at least.
He raised his brows a fraction. ‘Anything wrong?’
Briar shook her head and smiled, more at her thoughts than at him.
He didn’t smile back, but something flickered in his eyes, and those slightly satanic brows momentarily drew together.
‘Briar!’ Her stepmother, draped in designer blue silk, clutched at her arm. ‘There you are!’
Briar saw Kynan Roth’s mouth twitch at the corner, his glance flicking from Laura to her as he obviously remembered her father’s identical greeting, though delivered quite differently. He was looking at Briar now rather curiously.
‘Laura,’ she said, forestalling any outpouring of the latest imagined crisis—wine that hadn’t been uncorked in time, a guest who had just now casually mentioned being a vegetarian, a last-minute begging-off leaving the table numbers uneven?—‘this is Kynan Roth.’
Laura, remembering her manners, flashed a distracted smile. ‘How do you do, Mr...?’ Then the name obviously penetrated and the sky-blue eyes widened. ‘Oh! Oh, Mr Roth! Oh, I’m very pleased to meet you.’ She held out her hand, but almost as though she anticipated it might be bitten off. Her gaze now was fascinated in the way a mouse was supposed to be fascinated by a snake. As Kynan took her hand she looked about anxiously. ‘My husband...he’ll be wanting to...’
‘He let me in,’ Kynan told her, releasing her fingers.
‘Oh. Oh, good!’ She was still looking at him. ‘You’re not at all what I expected.’
‘Really?’ He still didn’t smile, yet Briar had the distinct impression he was beginning to enjoy himself. ‘Tell me what you expected.’ He bent his head towards Laura.
Laura blushed, the colour rising under her ageless white skin to the roots of her beautifully coiffured blonde hair. She looked helplessly at Briar.
Briar put a reassuring arm about her waist. ‘I don’t suppose Mr Roth expects you to answer that,’ she said, fixing a social smile to her face.
Mr Roth looked as though he might be about to dispute her supposition, but Briar didn’t give him a chance. ‘He might not hear what he’d like to,’ she went on, braving the faint spark that rose in the strangely metallic eyes. ‘I was just about to fetch him a drink.’ She withdrew her arm from Laura and took Kynan’s, steering him away. ‘The bar’s this way.’ If he got his kicks from teasing defenceless women, at least she could rescue Laura from him.
When they had their wine, he turned to her, lifting his glass. ‘The name’s Kynan,’ he said, ‘Briar.’
Be nice to him, her father had instructed. She curved the corners of her mouth upward and raised her glass. Her eyes fleetingly met his before sipping her wine gave her an excuse to look away. There was a concentration in his stare that made her uneasy.
She half turned from him, watching the other guests. All were representative of solid, respectable firms who managed the city’s wealth, the kind of people her father had cultivated ever since, as a young, shrewd accountant with a hard-won degree and none of the right connections, he had set out to forge for himself a place in the upper echelons of Auckland’s business community.
‘Is there anyone I need to introduce you to?’ she asked. She wondered if this evening had been arranged specifically to impress Kynan Roth.
He cast a cursory glance about. ‘I’ve met some of the men.’
One of the women, Briar knew, was a successful barrister, another a well-known artist. But they were here because their husbands had been invited to bring them. Xavier found it difficult to cope with women in business.
‘Would you like to meet their wives?’ she asked.
His look seemed vaguely speculative. ‘Would you mind?’ he asked, a thread of something like laughter in his voice.
‘Introducing you? Not at all.’ She turned to lead him away from the bar, wondering why she’d thought there was a hidden meaning in his innocuous question. Then it hit her. He’d thought she’d been cutting him out for herself when she steered him away from Laura, that she’d decided not to let another woman near him.
She nearly laughed aloud. Automatically, her head swivelled to look back at him as he followed her, and he came closer to her and said, ‘What?’
‘Nothing.’ She shook her head, indignation overcoming the laughter. She’d like to take him down more than a peg, but wrecking her father’s dinner party wasn’t the way to do it. Especially as Laura would field the blame.
She gave him a brilliant smile to hide her thoughts and led him towards a plump, pleasant-faced woman sitting on one of the deep leather sofas and twiddling with her glass while her husband talked with another man. Briar introduced them all to Kynan and, when he’d seated himself beside the woman with every appearance of pleasure, gracefully withdrew to find Laura and fix if necessary whatever was bothering her.
Apparently the crisis was over. Her father and stepmother were talking with another couple now. When she joined them, asking quietly, ‘Is there something you wanted me to do, Laura?’ she received a grateful smile and a whispered,
‘It’s all right, I think. The caterers said they’d sort it out.’
‘I’m sure they will.’ Briar smiled at the other couple and asked after their children, two at university and one still attending school.
As soon as their various whereabouts and latest exam results had been verified, Xavier broke into the conversation. ‘Are you looking after Kynan, Briar?’
Suppressing a retort that she’d never met anyone less in need of looking after, Briar said patiently, ‘I got him a drink and he’s talking to Kath Bailey.’
Xavier frowned. ‘You should have stayed with him.’ Following his eyes, Briar saw Kath talking animatedly, her companion apparently listening with absorbed attention. Kath was a teacher, and, although she probably didn’t have a lot in common with Kynan Roth, she wouldn’t wilt with embarrassment if he should decide to have a little fun at her expense. In fact she’d probably give as good as she got, in the nicest way possible.
‘He looks quite happy,’ she pointed out.
Xavier said, ‘Mmm. Well...I’ll just.... Excuse me a moment.’ And he nodded to the group and went over to the sofa.
Laura glanced at her watch. ‘Dinner should be ready soon.’ She took half a step towards the door, then stopped, apparently remembering her duty as hostess. ‘Briar, would you...?’
‘I’ll check.’ Briar was glad to leave the room. Laura seemed even more nervous than usual, and her father was like a cat on hot bricks. What could possibly be so significant about Kynan Roth?
She got no enlightenment over the meal, although he was seated next to her at the table. The dinner-party chat touched on the news of the day, skated over politics, and moved on to an exchange of views on best-selling books and the latest films, interspersed with business gossip.
Her father seemed surprisingly ready to concur with Kynan Roth’s views—not that the younger man expressed them except when someone directly asked what he thought. And Laura, with her carefully rehearsed list of questions-to-keep-the-conversation-from-flagging, wasn’t the only one who asked. The others seemed to find his opinion worth their attention, even if they disagreed. But most of the time he just listened, with an expression that Briar found impossible to define. Not boredom, exactly. More as though he was patiently waiting for some small glitter of gold to turn up in a pan of dross.
He seemed to have a good mind, and Briar respected that. He didn’t dither about sitting on metaphorical fences, but considered other views and asked intelligent questions, seemingly in pursuit of information, not to score off an opponent. The perfect dinner guest, in fact.
Once he turned to her when a lively debate was going on among their neighbours, and said, ‘Are you always so quiet?’
Briar put down her fork among the remnants of the artichoke on her plate and picked up her wine glass. ‘When there’s no particular need to talk,’ she replied.
‘What do you think of the government’s moves on taxation, then?’ he asked her.
It wasn’t a question her father would ever have thought of asking a woman. She glanced up at Kynan, wondering if he expected her to disclaim any interest in or knowledge of the subject. Was he looking for an opportunity to indulge what she suspected was a heartless sense of humour?
His eyes held nothing that she could detect except a courteous curiosity.
Well, if he really wanted to know, she would tell him. She did, succinctly and logically. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. He raised a point or two that they tossed about between them while the caterers served succulent lamb garnished with paper-thin orange slices and mint sprigs, and then he slanted her an odd little smile before turning to answer a remark addressed to him from across the table.
When she refused dessert, he gave her another smile, accompanied by a quick, surmising and slightly humorous glance over her slim but well-defined figure. Then he spooned into a fluffy four-inch-high cheesecake topped with kiwifruit and strawberries on a thick layer of fresh whipped cream.
Briar was accustomed to people assuming that she skipped sweets because she was dieting, and usually it didn’t bother her. Now, although he hadn’t commented, she found herself biting her tongue to stop herself snapping, ‘I just don’t have a sweet tooth!’ to correct Kynan Roth’s tacit preconception.
When they all returned to the other room for coffee, she helped Laura pass the cups. Her father was talking to Kynan, who listened with his head inclined, his eyes intent and watchful. She let Laura take them coffee, carrying a second tray in the opposite direction. But when Kynan Roth’s cup was empty, Xavier brought it to her for refilling, and muttered, ‘Take this to Kynan, will you? There’s an empty seat beside him now.’
She had to sit by him, since every other chair was occupied. He took his cup from her and regarded her over it before his eyes lowered and he took a sip. ‘Good coffee,’ he said. ‘Where do you get it?’
‘I’ve no idea. That’s Laura’s decision.’ Laura was actually quite good at housekeeping and at backstage organisation, never leaving anything to chance because she suffered such agonies if the smallest thing went wrong. Her indecisiveness and nervous anxiety could drive people like her husband wild, but the professionals she employed liked her, perhaps because she was always grateful for their expert advice.
‘You call your mother Laura?’
‘Stepmother,’ Briar explained briefly.
He didn’t ask for details. ‘You seem to get on well with her.’
‘She’s been extremely good to me.’
‘A change from the stereotype.’
‘Stereotypes are often wrong. I’m no Cinderella.’
‘I can see that.’ His gaze held a shade of mockery. ‘And no ugly stepsisters?’
‘No sisters or brothers of any sort.’
‘You’re an only child?’
‘Yes.’ Laura would have liked children of her own, she was sure. Briar didn’t know if the lack of them had been an accident of fate or a deliberate choice of her father’s.
A bearded man with an incipient paunch came over and said to Kynan, ‘Kath tells me you’re a cricketer.’
‘Used to be,’ Kynan answered. ‘Nowadays I just watch, mostly.’
Clive Bailey, patting his expanding waistline, grinned. ‘Me, too. Our son’s a great little goer, though. Got any kids in the game, yourself?’
‘No kids,’ Kynan said easily. ‘I’m not married.’
‘Thing is,’ Clive explained, ‘our club’s looking for coaches for the juniors—’
Briar finished her coffee and said, ‘Please excuse me. I think Laura needs some help.’
Laura, as always preferring making herself busy to making conversation, had begun collecting empty cups. Kynan emptied his and handed it to Briar as she stood up. She gave him an automatic smile and went to join her stepmother. She’d done her duty by the special guest; her father ought to be satisfied that he’d not been neglected.
But later Xavier cornered her, with Kynan in tow beside him. ‘Kynan’s interested in early New Zealand paintings,’ he told her with an air of something approaching triumph. ‘I told him you’d show him our Heaphy in the library. I don’t like to leave the other guests.’
The other guests, Briar might have told him, would almost certainly not be aware of his absence for five or ten minutes. Good manners prevailed. She mustered a pleasant smile and said, ‘Of course.’
Xavier squeezed the other man’s arm. ‘Briar will look after you.’
Briar reflected that her father appeared to have decided that her mission in life was to look after Kynan Roth. She took a fleeting look at the object of all this attention, and found an ironic glint in his dark eyes, coupled with something else even more disturbing. It occurred to her that she didn’t want to be alone with this man.
But she could hardly come to any harm in a room only two doors away from here. ‘This way,’ she said, turning as they reached the passageway.
He walked at her side, and when she reached out to open the library door he stepped quickly in front of her, so that she steeled herself not to snatch back her hand as his fingers closed about the gleaming brass knob. He cast her a questioning glance and swung open the door, then stood back to let her go first.
Xavier seldom read anything other than newspapers, financial magazines and business guides, though occasionally he skimmed through a book that had hit the best-seller lists or that someone had given him. But the previous owners had stocked the library with classics, travel books and biographies, to which had been added some well-reviewed modern fiction. Xavier frequently worked there on his portable computer, or waded through mountains of paperwork at the huge antique desk.
The Charles Heaphy original, a watercolour of a bracken-covered hillside washed in light, with a painstaking rendering of delicate ponga ferns in the foreground, hung on the wall to one side of the desk.
‘That’s it,’ Briar said unnecessarily. Kynan was already crossing the carpet to inspect it.
Briar stood in the centre of the room waiting for him. Finally he said over his shoulder, ‘Quite a good example, isn’t it?’ He returned his attention to the painting.
‘Is it? I’m no expert, I’m afraid. I’ve always rather liked it, though.’ She walked over to stand beside him, admiring it.
‘Has it been in the family for long?’ He glanced at her again.
‘In the family?’ She shook her head. ‘Dad bought it a few years ago, when the financial wizards were saying that art was a gilt-edged investment for the future. I gather that it hasn’t increased in value as much as he was led to believe it might.’
‘So he’s not a connoisseur?’
She wondered if her father had been trying to impress Kynan with art talk. Xavier was good at picking up snippets of information and trotting them out at opportune moments, giving the impression of more knowledge than he really had.
‘Are you?’ she countered, deflecting the question.
‘I have an interest, but I doubt if I could spot a fake.’
‘This isn’t a fake.’ Her father would have had that thoroughly checked.
He turned to her. ‘I haven’t suggested that it is. Not my field, except in an amateur way.’
‘What is your field?’ she asked him. She’d been wondering all evening. His name had sounded vaguely familiar, but she was unable to make the necessary connection.
‘Didn’t your father brief you?’
‘Brief me?’ She looked at him blankly, finding knowing laughter lurking in his eyes, and dropped her gaze as she recalled being told to be nice to him. She felt as though he was reading her mind, an uncomfortable sensation.
‘I’m in company finance,’ he told her, ‘among other things.’
‘An entrepreneur?’
‘I prefer the term investor. These days entrepreneur tends to be a term of opprobrium.’
‘How times have changed.’
‘Are you old enough to remember?’
‘I’m not a child.’
‘No.’ His eyes gleamed.
Briar looked away.
He said softly, ‘You’re not pretending to be shy?’
She looked up then, and found the cool, piercing eyes on her face, a hint of cynicism in them. ‘I’m not shy.’
‘No, I didn’t think so. Your father tells me he depends on you a lot. I gather your stepmother isn’t nearly as reliable.’
‘She just needs a bit of self-confidence. She’s...’
‘Decorative?’ Kynan suggested drily.
‘She’s also a very nice person!’
‘I’m sure she is. How long have she and your father been married?’
‘About thirteen years.’
‘That long? You must have been just a kid.’
‘A teenager—nearly. Laura was my salvation.’
‘Oh?’ His head cocked as though he wanted to hear more.
She wasn’t prepared to exchange confidences with this discomfiting stranger. She opened her mouth to ask if he was ready to leave now, but he forestalled her. ‘And are you prepared to be hers?’ he asked. ‘Or your father’s?’
Feeling as though some piece of the conversation was missing, Briar said hesitantly, ‘I...help when I can.’
‘I’m sure you do.’ He gazed at her almost broodingly. ‘I suppose you all have a lot to lose.’
‘I’m not sure what you mean.’
‘All this—’ he looked about them ‘—is very impressive. Gives the effect of a solid background.’
Her eyes sparked. ‘Everything my father has he’s got by his own efforts. He’s never pretended to be anything he isn’t.’
‘Maybe that’s a matter of opinion.’
Apprehension fluttered in her stomach. Something was wrong, and the supreme confidence of this man, contrasting with her father’s peculiar nervousness tonight, had a lot to do with it.
He said, ‘I only needed to ask around the financial community when he began pursuing my acquaintanceship, to find out why.’
With a trace of acid that brought a brief surprise to his eyes, Briar said, ‘You mean it wasn’t for the charm of your personality? And what did you find out?’
‘That your father needs cash, and he needs it fast.’
Several things fell into place. Her anger dissolved in fright, which automatically she tried to conceal. ‘I...don’t know anything about my father’s financial affairs,’ she said. ‘And if I did I wouldn’t be discussing them with you.’
‘No,’ he said slowly, ‘I suppose that isn’t your role.’
Role? Whatever he meant by that, the expression on his face warned her that it wasn’t good. He looked hard and contemptuous, and she didn’t like the way he was studying her, his gaze moving from her defiant eyes down to her feet and slowly back again.
Stiffening under the visual assault, she said, ‘I’m afraid I’m not up with the play. I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Oh, come on.’ He was smiling, in an oddly angry way. ‘You’ve played it perfectly so far. Done everything darling Daddy told you to.’
He knew? ‘My father is just being a good host,’ Briar said. Some dim understanding of what he meant began to filter through her puzzlement. Her voice turned icy. ‘This is your first time in our home and he hoped you’d enjoy the evening. I think you misunderstood. If you’ve finished in here...’
‘Surely you’re not finished yet? You don’t need to give up on providing me with enjoyment just because I find you—and your father—a little...obvious.’
Briar took a deep, disbelieving breath. ‘If this is some kind of game—’
‘Isn’t it?’ he queried, his brows rising diabolically. ‘I thought it was the oldest game in the world. Or should I say...profession?’
CHAPTER TWO
BRIAR felt almost dizzy. Anger brought a flush to her cheeks and buzzed in her head. She wanted to hit him, lash out with her hands, wipe the cool, scornful smile from his handsome face.
She clenched her fists at her sides, but her voice, a notch higher than usual, shook. ‘I don’t know how you usually conduct your business, Mr Roth, but I assure you that my father would never expect me to lower myself to that level. I suggest you get your mind out of the gutter! Or better still, crawl back in there where you belong. Excuse me, I need some clean air.’
She turned, making for the door, but was brought up short by a hard hand on her wrist pulling her about to face him.
Tugging at it, she said, eyes blazing, ‘Don’t you touch me!’
‘Hang on there.’ He easily swung her to one side, reaching over to push the door shut.
Alarmed, she tried to kick out at him, but he evaded it and let her go so suddenly that she almost lost her balance.
Now he was standing against the door, leaning on the panels with his hands in his pockets and his burnished-pewter eyes alert and bright.
‘If you don’t get away from that door I’ll scream,’ she threatened.
‘Don’t be silly, I’m not hurting you. Not even touching you, in fact.’
Her head went up, her mouth stubbornly set. ‘I want to leave.’
‘In a minute.’ He was regarding her with speculation. ‘Are you mad because I called your bluff, or because I was wrong in my assumptions?’
Briar’s hand clenched. ‘I’m not going to defend myself to you. You probably wouldn’t believe me, anyway.’
‘Try me,’ he offered.
She debated trying to shove him aside, but although she was no weakling, he had the edge over her in both size and strength. She’d felt the power in his grip as he held her. ‘You were wrong,’ she said, her voice very even although she was sizzling inside. ‘Totally, completely wrong.’
He seemed to be weighing that up, still steadily watching her. ‘Your father didn’t tell you to give me a good time?’
Briar felt her cheeks burn again. ‘He didn’t mean what you think.’
Softly, Kynan asked, ‘Are you sure?’
An insidious doubt crept into her mind. Shaking it off, she said, ‘Of course I’m sure. He wouldn’t...and anyway, I wouldn’t...’
Something like a grin briefly appeared on the chiselled mouth. ‘I’m beginning to believe that you wouldn’t.’ He paused. ‘I apologise.’
An apology was certainly due. ‘Am I supposed to thank you for that?’ she enquired.
The grin widened slightly. ‘Not necessarily.’
‘Good.’ She was still simmering. ‘Might I suggest you refrain from jumping to bizarre conclusions next time someone offers you their normal hospitality?’
‘Oh, come on, Briar.’ He folded his arms and crossed one ankle over the other, looking at her. ‘What was I supposed to think? Your father was throwing you at me at every turn, and you certainly didn’t seem to be objecting. You brought me in here on the flimsiest excuse—’
‘He told me to—’
Kynan nodded. ‘Are you always such a dutiful daughter? You seemed to be quite pleased with the idea.’
‘I’m a good actress.’
He smiled openly at her tart tone. It made him look considerably less formidable. ‘A natural,’ he agreed. ‘So...you don’t really like me at all?’
‘Should I?’
‘Ouch!’ he murmured. ‘What should I do? Go down on my knees?’
She could hardly imagine it. ‘You could start by moving away from the door.’
For a second or two he stayed there, then he unfolded his arms and stood aside, waiting.
Briar took an uncertain step forward, and Kynan leaned over and turned the handle, throwing the door wide.
‘Thank you,’ she said, sweeping past him into the passageway.
He closed the door and came to her side, saying nothing as they returned to the other room.
Some people were leaving, and Kynan took her arm in a light hold, drawing her closer to him to make way for them. Her father and Laura were seeing them out, Xavier casting Briar and Kynan a sharp glance.
‘I should be going, too,’ Kynan murmured. ‘I think I may have outstayed my welcome.’
She gave him a sarcastic look, and he laughed. ‘I’ll go home and find some sackcloth and ashes,’ he promised. ‘Can you bear to say goodnight to me civilly?’
Briar regarded him stony-faced. It seemed to her he was taking the whole thing rather casually. He was doubtless used to charming birds from trees when he took a mind to it, but it would take more than a smile and a careless apology to mollify her. ‘Goodnight,’ she said, and held out her hand.
He looked down at it, smiling faintly, before he took it in his. ‘Goodnight, Briar.’ He turned her hand over, and raised her fingers fleetingly to his lips. She felt the warm brush of his mouth against her skin, and some unidentifiable sensation passed through her body. Then he released her and went to say goodnight to her father and stepmother.
* * *
Next day two huge florist’s bouquets arrived at the house. One was addressed to Laura, with a card thanking her for dinner and an enjoyable evening, signed Kynan Roth. The other was for Briar.
She opened the envelope and read the card. There was nothing on it but his name. She supposed it was a reinforcement of his apology.
‘Aren’t they lovely?’ Laura breathed in the scent of pink roses and carnations as she arranged them in a white porcelain vase. ‘That’s a man with style!’ She looked sidelong at Briar. ‘Did you...get along with him?’
‘Does it matter?’ Briar asked, tucking the card back into its envelope. Her bouquet featured yellow irises and deep creamy roses shading to gold in the centre. She wondered if he’d chosen the flowers himself.
‘Oh, no! Not specially. Your father seemed to think...’ Laura pushed a tall carnation into the vase, and the stem snapped in two. ‘Oh, I’m so clumsy!’
‘You’re not. It was too long,’ Briar pointed out absently. ‘What’s going on, Laura? Has Dad told you?’
‘He doesn’t tell me about his business affairs, you know that. But something has been bothering him.’ Laura twiddled with the broken stem she had pulled from the vase, then dropped it and picked up the piece with the flower on it, regarding the arrangement uncertainly.
‘What did he say?’
‘Nothing much at all,’ Laura said quickly. ‘But I know he’s worried.’
‘Financial problems?’ Kynan Roth had said so, but why should she believe him? Her father had always been successful. Some years ago he had moved from straight accountancy to setting up a financial advice and investment service. He was regarded as a man who knew where the best deals were to be made. Lawyers and accountants often referred to him clients who had some money set aside and were unsure as to where to invest it.
‘I suppose so,’ Laura said. ‘When I asked him what was the matter he said there’s been a downturn in the share-market, but he’s sure things will straighten themselves out.’
‘Is he hoping to attract some investment money from Kynan Roth?’
‘I don’t know. He said more than once that he couldn’t afford to lose Mr Roth, so I was to make sure he enjoyed himself and that there were no slip-ups last night. But knowing how important it was just made me go to pieces.’
‘You did fine.’
‘Do you think so? I must admit that Mr Roth was perfectly nice, although something about the man makes me nervous. It was kind of him to send flowers. Didn’t you like him?’
‘Not specially,’ Briar answered crisply. ‘Did Dad say that he wanted me to...?’
‘What?’ Laura turned enquiring blue eyes on her.
‘Never mind, it wasn’t important.’ Laura was inclined to make a big worry out of quite trivial things. She might have blown up a casual remark out of proportion to its real significance, Briar told herself. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Of course her father hadn’t set her up with Kynan. Not deliberately. He might have had some vague hope that if they took to each other it would make a business arrangement easier to bring about. He certainly hadn’t been asking her to sell herself in return for some of Kynan’s money.
* * *
Over lunch, Xavier asked her, ‘How did you get on with Kynan Roth?’
She looked up from her salad. ‘All right.’ And bluntly she asked, ‘Why?’
‘No particular reason. I thought you might enjoy meeting someone nearer your age...’
‘I meet people my age all the time,’ Briar said. ‘Who exactly is Kynan Roth, anyway?’
‘He’s been overseas for a number of years—he was chief executive of a big Australian steel firm. When his father died last year he came home to take over the family company. Created quite a stir. Bit of a whiz-kid.’
‘Quite a number of whiz-kids lost their shirts in the last crash, didn’t they?’ Briar commented.
‘Yes, indeed. Got caught on the market with their pants down. Young idiots who flew around in their corporate jets taking over companies and throwing champagne parties every time their shares doubled in value.’ Xavier’s lips curled distastefully. ‘Roth’s not that sort. The business has a rock-solid base, manufacturing plants that have been in the family for a long time. He brought new ideas back with him and expanded the original company. Old money and business acumen are a winning combination.’
‘Big money?’
‘Hundreds of millions. Low profile, like his father, but it’s there, all right.’
‘He said you need cash.’
Xavier looked at her sharply. ‘When did he say that?’
‘Last night, when I was showing him the Heaphy. Is that why you asked me to be nice to him?’
A dull flush rose in Xavier’s neck. ‘He’s a useful contact, just like all the others who were here last night.’
‘As a possible source of quick money?’
Laura put down her fork. ‘Do you want some more ham, Briar?’
‘This is business, Briar,’ her father said dismissively. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’
Briar’s glance at her stepmother was apologetic, but she turned again to her father. ‘Just how important to you is this man?’
Xavier replied testily, ‘Nothing to worry about. I simply need a bit of short-term finance to cover a temporary cash-flow problem.’
Alarm bells were ringing in Briar’s head. ‘You’re hoping he’ll give you a loan?’
‘A business loan is more complicated than—than mortgaging a house, or buying a car on hire-purchase.’
Laura’s smooth brow creased. ‘You won’t have to mortgage the house, will you?’
‘The house! It wouldn’t begin to cover—’ Xavier scowled. ‘Wherever did you get that idea?’
‘I suppose,’ Briar said, ‘you could sell the Heaphy.’
‘A few thousand dollars!’ Xavier gave a rather harsh laugh. ‘It won’t come to that. I told you, it’s nothing to worry about.’
He bent his attention to the cold mutton on his plate. Briar’s eyes met Laura’s over the table. Laura’s blue gaze was clouded, and the frown had not left her face.
* * *
The phone rang as the two women were stacking the dishwasher after lunch, and Laura went to answer it. Hearing her muted voice in the hall, Briar assumed the call was for her stepmother. But after a minute or two Laura called, ‘Briar—can you come to the phone?’
As Briar took the receiver, Laura whispered, ‘It’s Kynan Roth!’ She retreated back to the kitchen as Briar lifted the receiver to her ear.
‘Thank you for the flowers,’ Briar said formally. ‘They’re beautiful.’
‘I’m glad you like them. Have you forgiven me, yet?’
She deliberately let half a second elapse before she said coolly, ‘Of course.’
Faint laughter came down the line. ‘But not entirely? Let me make amends—’
‘I thought that was what the flowers were for.’
‘They haven’t done the trick, have they? I’d like to take you to dinner tonight, if you’re free.’
‘On the theory that an evening in your company will “do the trick”?’ she enquired drily.
‘Nasty, Briar! On the theory that a good dinner in a comfortable restaurant might have a soothing effect. Where would you like to go?’
‘With you? I’m not sure that I want to go anywhere.’
Laura appeared in the kitchen doorway, a plate in her hand, her expression tense. She’d been listening, Briar realised. As her eyes met Briar’s, she gave an apologetic smile and ducked back.
‘But you are free tonight?’ Kynan was asking.
As she debated over whether to admit she was, he said, ‘Have you been to Benedict’s?’
‘Not yet.’ It was a new place that had opened in a blaze of publicity. The owners were said to have lured the best chef in town from his previous position in the kitchen of a top hotel.
‘I’ll book us a table,’ he said. ‘Pick you up at seven, OK?’
She wanted to tell him no, it wasn’t OK at all. But Laura’s disquiet had communicated itself to her. She hesitated and was lost.
‘See you then,’ Kynan said. And she was left holding the phone, with the dialling tone humming in her ear.
* * *
She wore an apricot wild silk jacket over a flowered skirt and soft jade green blouse, and put on the highest heels in her wardrobe, remembering that Kynan Roth was a tall man. She didn’t want him towering over her.
He arrived promptly and she opened the door to him herself. Laura had already served a meal for herself and Xavier, and they were watching a favourite programme in the TV room. ‘Briar’s going out with Kynan Roth,’ Laura had told Xavier brightly.
Watching her father’s face, Briar thought he seemed almost disconcerted. Then he’d said, a shade too loudly, ‘Well, that’s nice, Briar. Must have taken a fancy to you.’
* * *
Kynan ushered her into the passenger seat of a shiny dark blue car. He had manners, if nothing else, she reflected. And quickly amended that—as well as everything else. Money, good looks, power, and the sex appeal that went with them. All the superficial advantages were his.
And superficial they were, she reminded herself as he slid into the driver’s seat, smiling at her before starting the engine. There were more important qualities that she looked for in a man. Compassion, kindness, understanding, the capacity to love, and a sense of humour.
He had that last, but she wasn’t sure if there was any warmth or gentleness behind it. An ability to laugh at others didn’t necessarily go with an equal willingness to laugh at oneself.
She concentrated on the view from the side-window—the big, rambling old houses and professional buildings lining Remuera Road. But as Kynan stopped for a red light she peeped speculatively at his profile, eyeing the jutting nose and strong chin.
He turned as though he’d felt her gaze, and asked, ‘What’s that for?’
‘What?’ She looked away, watching a woman walk by on the pavement with a Siamese cat on a leash.
‘That look you just gave me,’ he said.
‘I was wondering if you can laugh at yourself.’ She raised her chin and met his eyes.
‘Think I can’t?’ He stared back at her.
Behind them a horn tooted gently. ‘The light’s changed,’ she told him.
He gave the other driver a wave, and sent the car gliding over the intersection. Picking up speed, he kept his eyes on the road and the traffic. ‘You didn’t seem to think I was particularly funny,’ he said, ‘last night.’
Last night she’d thought he was particularly insulting. ‘I wasn’t thinking of last night. Just...in general.’
‘Well...’ He slanted her a glance. ‘Perhaps you’ll find out, in time.’
Which suggested that they’d be seeing each other again after tonight.
They cruised through the Newmarket shopping area, and then crested a hill and drove past the colonial-style shops and trendy eating places in Parnell village. He didn’t speak again until they reached the restaurant down near the harbour, and he let her out of the car.
Briar half expected him to take over ordering her meal for her. Instead he allowed her to make her own choice and consulted her preference before deciding on the wine. The restaurant was crowded, but their table, lit by a single candle and discreetly dim wall-lighting, was screened by a couple of plants and a trellised partition, and next to a window overlooking a glimpse of the Waitemata Harbour. She wondered if he’d asked for it specially. ‘Have you been here before?’ she asked him.
‘Once. The food’s good. And the service.’
‘And the view.’ The darkened water reflected the lights of the city near the shore. Further out the moonlight had washed it with a subtle silvery patina. ‘It’s lovely.’
‘Mm-hmm.’ But when she looked back, his eyes were on her face. ‘You’re looking wonderful tonight,’ he said. ‘I’ve been telling myself all day you couldn’t be as beautiful as I remembered.’
‘I...thank you.’ She wasn’t unaccustomed to compliments. She’d travelled in Italy and France, and the men there weren’t backward in their comments on a woman’s appearance. But she was oddly flustered now. He didn’t sound admiring, but rather as if he was reporting a fact, almost clinically detached.
He said, ‘I’ve never seen eyes that colour before. Like moonlight on water.’
Instinctively she glanced out at the moonlit harbour, and returned her gaze to his in frank disbelief.
Kynan looked briefly out at the view, too. ‘Not quite the same, I admit. They remind me of nightfall in the Islands.’
Briar gave a little laugh.
‘What’s funny?’
‘My eyeshadow,’ she said, ‘is called “Tropic Dusk”.’
‘It’s a perfect description.’ He leaned over and brushed a finger very lightly over her eyelid. ‘I didn’t realise you were wearing shadow.’ He looked at the faint smudge on his finger and his eyes gleamed as he raised them again to hers.
She studied the starched white tablecloth, fiddled with a polished silver fork, and lifted a hand nervously to brush a strand of hair from her cheek.
‘Tell me about yourself,’ he invited.
‘What, everything?’ She looked up. She wasn’t shy or nervous, normally. He was only a man, and she’d had dealings with equally sophisticated men before, just as handsome, just as sure of themselves. Well, almost.
‘Where did you go to school?’ he asked. ‘Diocesan?’
Briar grimaced. ‘How did you guess?’
He laughed. ‘It isn’t hard, is it?’
Given what he knew or had guessed of her background, Briar had to admit it wasn’t. Xavier had always gone for the best. The most socially acceptable.
‘And after that—what?’ he asked, and answered for her, ‘University, right?’
‘Right,’ Briar conceded.
‘And a Bachelor of Arts degree, which you got easily.’
‘Am I that predictable?’
‘And then...you did your Overseas Experience. Along with a couple of girlfriends. Or a boyfriend.’
‘I went with a group of both sexes.’
‘Anyone special, for you?’
‘We made a pact before we left. No pairings. We had a great time, without hassles or emotional tangles.’
‘Where did you go?’
This was safe ground. She talked about her travels until their food arrived, and then asked if he’d done much travelling himself.
‘Closer to home, mostly. I crewed on a schooner round the Pacific Islands when I was younger.’
That was interesting, and she plied him with questions while they finished their dinner. And discovered that he did have an ability to laugh at himself—at least at his younger self, fighting seasickness in a mid-ocean squall, being the butt of a practical joke involving a fake shark fin in a lagoon in the Cook Islands, falling from a coconut palm when he tried to emulate the Fijians who climbed to the top with deceptive ease.
‘Were you hurt?’ she asked him.
‘Fortunately the sand was soft. I bruised my ego, that’s all. And took some teasing about it afterwards.’ He pushed his plate aside. ‘You don’t eat sweets, do you?’
‘Sometimes. I’d prefer cheese tonight, but don’t let me stop you.’
He shook his head. ‘I’ll join you. A cheese board,’ he said to the waiter who had appeared to take their plates. ‘And then coffee?’ He looked at Briar enquiringly.
‘Yes, thank you.’
Cutting herself a wedge of pale, delicately flavoured havarti, she asked, ‘So how do you become an investor? My father said you’d inherited a manufacturing company.’
He was placing a slice of gruyre on a cracker. When he looked up she thought he seemed wary. ‘My father’s firm made parts for ship-building. When he took over it already had a healthy profile. He expanded the base, used the profits to buy up various companies in related fields. His business judgement was impeccable.’ A bitter expression crossed his face, so fleetingly that Briar decided she’d imagined it.
‘And the firm survived when others went bust.’
‘He’d never over-extended on the basis of cash that he didn’t have. Since I took over I’ve tried to invest as wisely. And I’ve had a certain amount of luck.’
‘Luck?’
‘There’s an element of risk involved,’ he said. ‘What I like to do is step in when a firm is shaky but basically viable, save a good business from going down the drain, taking investors and staff with it. One of my purchases turned out to be a dud but the others covered the loss. Our shares haven’t made huge overnight gains. On the other hand, they’re steady climbers. They’re worth more than twice what they were a few years back.’
‘You’re a bit of a gambler?’
He picked up the cheese knife, then put it down again. ‘Is this leading somewhere?’
‘What do you mean?’ As his brows went up in scepticism, she felt a flush rise to her cheeks. ‘You asked me to tell you about myself. I was simply returning the compliment.’ She was angry, and didn’t care if he knew it.
After a moment he said, ‘OK.’ And he reached over and touched her hand, just a light touch on her skin. Oddly, she felt a tiny fluttering in her stomach, almost as though he’d threatened her in some way.
The coffee came, and she was glad of the diversion. She spooned cream into hers and stirred it broodingly.
‘So what do you do all day?’ he asked her.
‘I help out in a boutique in Newmarket owned by a friend. Fashion accessories.’
He didn’t seem madly impressed. She supposed it was small beer compared with his business empire. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘How long have you been doing that?’
‘About a year. Before that I worked for a market research firm, but they laid off some staff and it was last in, first out. And I’ve been a kennelmaid, receptionist, theatre assistant—before the theatre company went bust. Of course, overseas I picked up odd jobs—fruitpicking, waitressing—once I worked as a nanny for a little while.’
‘A pretty varied working life,’ Kynan commented.
‘I like variety. I was never blessed—or cursed—with a burning ambition for a particular career.’ She was happy to have work of any sort that provided her with some independence.
‘And you still live at home?’
‘Since I came back from overseas.’ His tone was non-committal, but she found herself reacting defensively. ‘It’s convenient and Laura likes having me there.’ When she had first returned she’d intended to go flatting. But Laura had seemed so relieved to have her home, and her father had taken it for granted that she’d stay. Somehow she had never made the move.
‘There’s no man in your life?’
‘If there was,’ she said, ‘I wouldn’t be here with you.’
‘You’re the faithful type?’ he mocked, as though he didn’t believe that such a type existed.
‘If I loved a man,’ she said, ‘I’d be faithful to him.’
‘And have you?’
‘Have I...?’
‘Ever loved a man?’
‘I’m not sure I...know what you mean.’
His mouth quirked. ‘It’s a simple question, but you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.’
It wasn’t a simple question at all. Of course she’d been in love, briefly and blindingly—and falsely, as it turned out. Because that couldn’t be real love, that died so easily and so fast. Real love, lasting love, was a different thing altogether. It hadn’t happened to her yet, and maybe never would. She only hoped that when it did she would recognise it. But what he’d been asking—what she’d thought he was asking—was if she’d had a lover in the physical sense.
‘It’s a very personal question,’ she said.
‘I’ll withdraw it if you like,’ he offered easily, as though it didn’t matter, after all. ‘Maybe...one day I’ll find out the answer.’
His smile glinted. Briar drew in a breath, ready to slay him with words, but of course that was what he was waiting for, her rising to the bait. And then he’d go all innocent and deny that he’d meant what she thought. She knew that game.
Well, she wasn’t going to play it with him. She kept her expression blank and raised her coffee-cup to her lips. Putting it down again, she said pleasantly, ‘That was a wonderful meal. Thank you.’
Kynan inclined his head. ‘Not at all. It was worth it for the pleasure of your company.’ He finished his coffee and asked, ‘More for you?’
Briar shook her head.
He paid the bill and took her arm as they left the restaurant. ‘It’s a nice night,’ he said. ‘Feel like a stroll along the waterfront?’ The scent of the sea came faintly to them. Moonlight still shimmered on the horizon.
It wasn’t late. Cars constantly passed by under the green glow of the street-lights. The night air was cool but pleasant. ‘All right,’ she heard herself say. ‘A short one.’
They walked slowly, and he took her hand and tucked it into his arm. She might have withdrawn it except for the darkness which the street-lights didn’t altogether dispel, and the high heels of her shoes. It wouldn’t do to trip and fall at his feet.
After a while they stopped and leaned on a guard-rail, looking out at the water and the multicoloured reflected lights, ceaselessly moving, and breaking into disjointed lines. Small, unseen wavelets lapped at the shore, and a fishy, salty scent rose from the breakwater. Briar removed her hand from Kynan’s and placed it on the cold metal of the railing.
Kynan turned and leaned back so that he could see her face. His elbows rested on the rail. ‘What did your father say when you told him you were going out with me?’ he asked her.
Briar glanced at him briefly. ‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
‘He said you must have taken a fancy to me.’ She tilted her head, challengingly.
Kynan gave a breathy laugh. ‘Not, “Good girl”?’
Briar drew away from the guard-rail, taking a step back from him. ‘I thought you’d admitted you were wrong about that.’
‘About you,’ he corrected her. ‘And your father is no fool. He’s right, of course. I have taken a fancy to you—just as he wanted me to.’ His voice was light, but there was an undercurrent to it that made her decidedly uncomfortable.
‘Am I supposed to be flattered?’
‘You needn’t be.’
She wasn’t at all sure what he was getting at. Why did she have the feeling that half of this conversation wasn’t taking place between the two of them at all, but somewhere inside his head?
‘I’m cold,’ she said.
His teeth gleamed whitely for a second. ‘Sure.’ He sounded as though he didn’t believe her for an instant. He knew she was retreating. ‘I’ll take you back to the car.’
He drove her home in silence, and she felt stifled and fidgety the whole time. At the house he got out and came round to her door, but she was already on the pavement when he reached her.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘The meal was delicious.’
‘You’re not going to ask me in?’
‘I need an early night. We had a party last night, remember.’
‘Aren’t you used to late nights?’ He was looking at her curiously.
‘I don’t spend my life at parties, if that’s what you mean.’
‘How about tomorrow afternoon?’
‘What about it?’
‘It’s Sunday,’ he said patiently. ‘Are you free in the afternoon? Do you like cricket?’
‘You don’t need to offer me any more outings,’ she said. ‘The dinner was more than adequate atonement.’
‘Meaning, you don’t want to see me again?’
Why was he insisting on making her spell it out? She lifted a shoulder, not saying anything.
His voice soft, he said, ‘Playing hard to get, Briar?’
She almost choked on her indrawn breath. ‘If you still think that my father—’
He made a small, derisive sound. ‘This has nothing to do with your father. It’s to do with you—and me.’
Bewildered, she demanded, ‘What are you talking about?’
‘This,’ he said tersely, and he reached for her and pulled her into his arms and kissed her before she could do anything about it, driving her astonished lips apart with stunning eroticism. His mouth was warm and firm and compelling, and he gathered her body against his as if he knew that was where it belonged, with a sureness and grace that had her pliant as a willow branch for long seconds, before she stiffened and thrust her hands against him, wrenching herself away, her breath coming fast between her open, moistened lips.
He said, ‘That’s what I was talking about. If I took a fancy to you—and I did—at least it’s mutual. So stop pretending, Briar. Let’s be honest about it.’
CHAPTER THREE
BRIAR hadn’t known. She felt stupid that she hadn’t known it until then. He was right. And he’d recognised, long before she did, that the unsettling effect he had on her was due to basic sexual instinct that had seethed beneath the surface and manifested itself in the uncomfortable emotional reactions she’d mistaken for dislike and even fear.
She’d been right the first time she saw him when she’d thought he was far too knowing and too sure of himself. It was humiliating that he’d proved his point so easily, but at least now she knew about her own vulnerability and she’d not let him take her unawares again.
‘Sex on its own,’ she said, ‘doesn’t interest me.’
Kynan laughed. ‘It doesn’t interest me, either. Mutuality is much more satisfying.’
She was glad it was dark enough that the heat in her cheeks wouldn’t be visible. ‘I meant,’ she said, fighting for some dignity, ‘that I’m not in the market for a casual fling with any passing stranger.’
He cocked his head to one side. ‘Are you so responsive to every passing stranger who happens along?’
‘You know I’m not!’ she snapped.
‘How could I know? We only met—’
‘That’s just my point!’
‘Ah. You feel we should know each other better before indulging in...intimacies.’
Briar found her fists were clenched. ‘I’ve no intention of indulging in anything of the kind!’
‘Not even when you know me better?’
‘I don’t want to know you better! I have no desire—’
His laughter interrupted her. ‘Liar. Why don’t you want to get to know me?’
‘I have no desire,’ she said deliberately, ‘to get to know a self-satisfied, smug, egotistical—’
‘I get the idea,’ he interrupted. ‘You don’t like me.’
‘No, I don’t!’
He grinned. ‘Do you always jump to conclusions about people you hardly know?’
‘Only when their behaviour warrants it.’
He leaned forward a little, bringing his face closer to hers. ‘But you liked kissing me, Briar,’ he reminded her softly. ‘You can’t deny that.’
‘That doesn’t mean you had a right to do it!’
Changing tack abruptly, he said, ‘I thought you were enjoying yourself, tonight. Or was that another demonstration of your acting ability? Don’t bother to be polite,’ he added with some irony.
Tempted to dispute it, she hesitated and reluctantly admitted, ‘It was very...pleasant.’
‘Damned with faint praise,’ he murmured. ‘And the kiss was pleasant too, wasn’t it? A nice way of rounding off the evening, I thought.’
‘No, you didn’t. You meant to teach me a lesson.’
He was still for a moment, then he gave a slight shrug. ‘Maybe that was a part of it. But mostly, I’d been wanting to kiss you ever since we met.’ He paused. ‘Don’t tell me you weren’t aware of it.’
She’d seen the attentive interest in his eyes in that first instant when he looked up and saw her coming down the stairs. She couldn’t refute that. She looked away from him. ‘If you mean that I should have expected to have to pay for my dinner—’
‘I’d stop there if I were you!’ His voice sent a small shiver of fright down her spine. She forced herself to meet his gaze again, defiance in her eyes, but she couldn’t find any more words.
His eyes were very dark, and even in this light she could see the angry spark in them. ‘Don’t push me too far, Briar,’ he warned.
‘Are you threatening me?’ She faced him, her chin squared.
He looked down at her and suddenly laughed again. ‘No.’ He lifted a hand and flicked at her cheek with his finger. ‘I’m telling you to watch those thorns of yours, my sweet rose.’
She jerked her head away from the tiny stinging touch. ‘I’m not yours, and I’m not sweet!’
He was smiling at her, enjoying this. ‘I’d noticed. But I’m sure you could be if you put your mind to it. Think about it.’ And he swung on his heel and went back round the car.
With his hand on the door-handle, he said, ‘Go into the house.’
She was standing where he had left her, and she turned and walked quickly up the path, not looking round as she fumbled with the lock and let herself in. As she closed the door she heard the sound of his car moving away.
* * *
To her annoyance she did think about it—about him, anyway—quite a lot over the next few days. Trying to put him out of her mind simply didn’t work. Her brain insisted on going over and over things he’d said, and her body kept reacting to memories of the way he’d held her and kissed her and woken that unexpected response.
Her father had wanted to know, over breakfast the following morning, how her evening had been.
‘Very nice, thank you,’ was all the reply she was prepared to give him.
But after a few minutes he’d said, as though unable to contain himself, ‘Well, will you be seeing him again?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Briar kept her voice casual.
‘You didn’t offend him, did you?’
‘No.’ She might have, she supposed, with her assessment of his character, but he’d shown no sign of being mortally wounded. If anything, he’d found it amusing. ‘I thought you said he wasn’t all that important. Why are you so anxious?’
‘I’m not anxious,’ her father asserted. ‘But at your age you ought to be thinking about...things. It wouldn’t do you any harm to encourage him.’
Laura said, ‘But if Briar doesn’t like him, Xavier—’
‘What’s wrong with him?’ her husband demanded. ‘Kynan Roth is a very good catch for a girl.’
Laura said, ‘Briar is a very good catch, herself. Any man would be lucky to have her.’
‘Thank you, Laura.’ Briar smiled at her. ‘But I’m not actually thinking of marriage—and neither, I’m sure, is Kynan. I doubt if he’s the marrying kind.’
Laura said confidently, ‘Every man is the marrying kind. They need it more than we do.’
Xavier bent a surprised stare on his wife. ‘What gave you that idea?’
‘I read it somewhere. Men marry more quickly after they lose a partner, and are happier when they’re married. Women are happier single. Statistically speaking,’ Laura added hastily, ducking her head.
‘I don’t believe it,’ Xavier said bluntly.
Laura cast her stepdaughter a lightning-fast glance, then turned an innocent gaze to her husband. ‘Well, that’s what it said.’
‘I’m certainly happy being single,’ Briar declared.
‘Are you saying you don’t want to marry?’ her father asked, a hint of outrage in his voice.
‘Not yet. Maybe never. But if the right man came along...’
‘How do you know Kynan Roth isn’t the right man for you?’
‘He does seem very eligible,’ Laura murmured. ‘Handsome, too. And thoughtful. Not many men will phone their hostess to thank her for a party, and even fewer send flowers...’
‘Do you want to marry me off, too?’ Briar asked her.
‘No, of course not! I love having you here, I don’t know what I’d do without you. But we don’t want to selfishly keep you at home.’
‘You’re not a bit selfish. And you don’t really need my help.’
Laura looked doubtful, and Xavier gave a snort that made his daughter throw him a quick glance, but he didn’t seem to notice.
‘Anyway,’ Briar said, ‘Kynan isn’t likely to suggest seeing me again.’
He’d probably go off and find someone who was less prickly. And good luck to him.
* * *
So she was startled when one day she looked up from serving a customer in the boutique and saw an unmistakable dark head bent over a rack of silk scarves in a corner.
When she had wrapped the customer’s purchase and the woman had left the shop, Kynan turned and smiled at her. ‘So this is where you are,’ he said.
Did that mean his visit was coincidence? She hadn’t told him the name of the shop or exactly where it was. She said, safely, ‘Yes. Can I help you?’
He surveyed her silently for a moment, as though debating what to say. Then he smiled again. ‘Sure. I want to buy someone a present.’
‘A woman?’ There were racks of men’s ties and unisex scarves, but he was in the section containing more obviously feminine wear, and she came out from behind the counter to stand on the other side of the circular display rack.
‘Yes, a woman.’
‘Do you know what colours she likes? What kind of clothes she feels comfortable in? Casual or dressy? And is she dark or fair or—?’
‘Dark,’ he said. ‘Dark-haired, fair-skinned. Brown eyes. She reads Vogue and shops at Saks. Her favourite oufit is a sort of rusty red suit and a blouse with lots of green in it. And she’s just bought herself a red dress.’
He knew a lot about her, Briar thought. She wondered how long he’d known this woman—and how intimately.
Not that it was any concern of hers, of course. As two more people entered the shop, she turned her attention to the scarves, pushing aside a couple of tie-dyed ones and another in blue and green stripes. ‘Perhaps this?’ she suggested, pulling out a big silk square printed with autumn leaves. ‘Or this?’ The pattern was abstract, a daring combination of green, orange and red splashed with black.
‘Mmm,’ he said, fingering the second one. ‘I think she’d like that.’ He took it from her and spread it between his hands, finally nodding. ‘I’ll take it.’
So ‘she’ was no conservative dresser, Briar deduced. ‘Would you like it gift-wrapped? And I can give you a card, if you like.’
‘Thank you.’ He slid a hand into his breast pocket and took out a brown leather wallet. ‘How much?’
He hadn’t looked at the price tags. The scarf wasn’t a cheap one, but he put down a fifty-dollar note on the counter without comment.
Another customer approached, holding two packets of tights. Cutting off a piece of gift-wrap, Briar called through the screened doorway leading to the back of the shop, ‘Pat? Can you serve?’
She deftly wrapped the parcel and was showing Kynan a card for his approval when Pat came in and Kynan looked up, his gaze suddenly arrested.
‘All right?’ Briar prompted him.
He turned to her. ‘Yes. That’s fine.’ His eyes went back to her partner. ‘I hadn’t realised—’
Puzzled, she glanced at the red-headed young man by her side who was serving the other customer. It dawned on her that Kynan had expected her friend and employer to be female.
He was looking at her again now, a peculiarly searching look. She smiled at him blandly and handed him the card. ‘Do you want to write something in it?’
He scrawled, ‘Love, Kynan’ on the inside. She could read it, even upside-down and trying not to. He hadn’t attempted to hide it. She placed the card in the parcel and made a professional job of wrapping it before tucking the fifty dollars in the till and handing him the change.
He picked up the parcel and stood as though weighing it in his hand. Then he said, ‘What time do you finish here?’
‘We lock up at five tonight, and spend about ten minutes cashing up.’
Pat glanced at her curiously as he reached across to the till, and she stepped back to give him room.
Kynan waited until the other transaction was finished, the two people had left, and Pat was moving away to help another customer who was picking up bags and belts at random and replacing them.
‘Come and have a drink with me before you go home,’ Kynan suggested. ‘Or better still, let me take you to dinner.’
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Daphne Clair
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: What Other Choice Did She Have? «You′re not so irresistible, you know?» Brian told Kynan. Wealth, good looks, power and sex appeal. Financier Kynan Roth had all the superficial advantages. Briar was looking for other qualities in a husband – compassion, understanding and, above all, trust.But how was she going to convince the cynical Kynan of that, when, to rescue her father, she had just committed the cardinal sin of marrying him for his money… .