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The Marriage Proposition
Sara Craven


Mills & Boon proudly presents THE SARA CRAVEN COLLECTION. Sara’s powerful and passionate romances have captivated and thrilled readers all over the world for five decades making her an international bestseller.THE MARRIAGE PROPOSITIONA business proposal of marriage!When Paige looked at Nick Destry she could hardly believe she was married to him! A successful banker, Nick was confidently sexy but ruthless. He'd wanted a seat on the board, and he'd married Paige to get one.Paige decided to act as if their wedding was just a business proposition. But it was hard sharing Nick's bed. She decided he couldn't have everything his own way - if he truly wanted her, he would have to prove it!









The Marriage Proposition

Sara Craven







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Former journalist SARA CRAVEN published her first novel ‘Garden of Dreams’ for Mills & Boon in 1975. Apart from her writing (naturally!) her passions include reading, bridge, Italian cities, Greek islands, the French language and countryside, and her rescue Jack Russell/cross Button. She has appeared on several TV quiz shows and in 1997 became UK TV Mastermind champion. She lives near her family in Warwickshire – Shakespeare country.




Table of Contents


Cover (#u8149d562-f596-527a-9dbf-80820473bbaa)

Title Page (#u65d8ad87-3712-57f3-9a94-0f23537f55eb)

About the Author (#u6b1d3952-584a-56e3-afb5-edbbbb909cf8)

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

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Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE (#uad64d712-34ce-5a01-953b-0694f9827d43)


‘AND tonight,’ Angela said triumphantly, ‘we’re going to the Waterfront Club.’

Paige, who’d been brushing her hair, stopped and gave her friend a steady look.

‘Isn’t that Brad Coulter’s place?’ she queried.

‘Well, yes.’ Angela picked up a bottle of scent from the dressing table, sniffed it abstractedly and put it down again. ‘Is there a problem?’

‘I certainly hope not.’ Paige paused. ‘Unless you’re taking your matchmaking talents for a run-out.’

‘Brad, my sweet, is an attractive and eligible man, and he’s clearly smitten. So where’s the harm?’

‘You seem to have forgotten one small detail,’ Paige said evenly. ‘I happen to be a married woman.’

Angela snorted. ‘Try reminding your husband of that. Some marriage—when you don’t even live in the same country.’

Paige shrugged. ‘That’s the way it suits us. At least until the divorce comes through,’ she added drily.

‘Well, there you are,’ said Angela.

‘However that doesn’t mean I’m going to do anything to upset the applecart in the meantime.’ Paige resumed work on her hair. ‘The grounds will be two years’ separation. Clean, tidy and final. And nothing for the scandalmongers to get their teeth into.’

Angela raised her eyebrows. ‘Are you claiming that Nick has been equally discreet?’

Paige put the brush down, and began to rub lotion into her hands. ‘I’ve never made any claims on Nick’s behalf,’ she pointed out. ‘He leads his own life.’

‘You can say that again.’ Angela’s tone was waspish. ‘If he wasn’t prepared to waive his bachelor ways, why on earth did he ask you to marry him?’

‘He had his reasons.’

‘And why the hell did you agree?’

Paige smiled at her in the mirror. ‘I had mine, too.’

‘You make it all sound so rational,’ Angela grumbled. ‘And yet you were only together for—how many weeks?’

‘Just over seven, if my memory serves me,’ Paige said reflectively.

‘It’s hardly the kind of thing you forget,’ Angela returned, and Paige’s lips tightened.

‘No. But it’s the kind of thing you want to escape from with as little hassle as possible.’

‘I suppose so.’ Angela frowned. ‘On the other hand, in such a brief time you didn’t really give it a chance to succeed. Have you thought about that?’

‘Believe me, the marriage had failure written into it from day one. But it was a mistake which can be put right, simply and painlessly. However, in the meantime I prefer attractive men—however eligible—to keep well away, until the dust has settled.’ Paige replaced the cap on the hand lotion. ‘And that includes Brad Coulter.’

‘My sweet, you’re going home tomorrow, and everyone visits the Waterfront at least once during their stay on St Antoine. It’s one of the rules.’ Angela’s tone was persuasive. ‘And it’s hardly an intimate dinner à deux. Jack and I will be with you, after all.’ She paused. ‘And I know that Brad’s reserved a special table for us.’

‘Besides, as you all live and work on St Antoine, you can’t really afford to upset him,’ Paige supplied resignedly. She pulled a face. ‘I don’t really have a choice in all this, do I?’

‘Now you’re making me feel guilty.’ Angela glanced at her watch. ‘Hell, it’s time I was getting ready too.’ She squeezed Paige’s shoulder. ‘And look gorgeous. Competition is fierce at the Waterfront.’ She winked cheerfully, and vanished.

As the door closed behind her friend, Paige unpinned her determined smile and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the dressing table and cupping her chin in her hands as she studied herself.

The trouble is, she thought, I’m not actually a competitor, and even if I was I doubt if I’d be battling for Brad Coulter. Or anyone, for that matter.

Because all I really want is my freedom.

Angela had spoken about her brief marriage as if it had been a love match that had somehow come off the rails.

What on earth would she have said if she’d known the truth about Paige’s ill-starred foray into matrimony? That it had been nothing more or less than a business deal. A form of words to enable Nick Destry to take his seat on the board of Harrington Holdings.

Her great-grandfather had no doubt thought he was being very clever when he’d made it a legal requirement for only members of the family to serve on the board. But then he’d been born into an era of large families. He had probably expected future generations to be equally fruitful, and equally successful at keeping intruders at bay, she decided objectively.

In his time, too, financing for the company had been easier to obtain. A series of gentlemen’s agreements conducted in London clubs. All very cosy and agreeable.

She supposed the deal struck with Nick Destry’s merchant bank had been much the same—except that Nick was no gentleman. And cosiness and affability had not been included in his make-up. Nor had fidelity or a sense of decency, she reminded herself tautly.

Apparently he’d made it clear from day one that he was unimpressed by the company’s record in recent years, and that he would only negotiate the finance they needed in return for a measure of control. When old Crispin Harrington’s ruling on family membership had been pointed out to him, he’d shrugged.

‘I’m unmarried and you’ve got a single daughter,’ he’d told Paige’s father with cool insouciance. ‘We’ll have a ceremony to make it legal, then the lady and I can go our separate ways.’ A pause. ‘I presume divorce won’t affect my status on the board?’

And, gasping, Francis Harrington had admitted it wouldn’t.

Divorce, Paige thought, was not a contingency that would ever have occurred to her great-grandfather—or not where the Harrington name was concerned, at least. Other people might lead that kind of erratic life, but it could only be deplored and pitied. Certainly never emulated.

He must be spinning in his grave at this very moment, Paige thought, grimacing.

But then her own head had whirled when the scheme had first been tentatively proposed to her.

‘I’ve made it quite clear to Destry that the decision is entirely yours,’ her father had said anxiously. ‘That there’ll be no coercion of any kind and that the entire arrangement must be strictly temporary, leaving you free to get on with your own life after the statutory period.’

Paige had sat very still, her hands folded in her lap. She had looked at her father, but she hadn’t seen him. The image in her head had been a very different one—a dark, impatient face, with a high-bridged nose and strong, hard mouth. Not handsome, but with an intrinsic dynamism that surpassed conventional good looks. And charm, when he chose to exert it.

That mouth could soften, she’d thought detachedly. Twist ruefully into a smile to make your bones melt—if you were susceptible to such things.

A tall, lean body, wide-shouldered and narrow-hipped that looked equally good in City suits and casual gear.

A low voice with a cool drawl, that could also resonate with hidden laughter.

As a package, it couldn’t be faulted.

And she hadn’t wanted any of it.

She looked at herself, slowly and with consideration. Took in the light brown hair with the elegant blonde highlights, the wide cheekbones, the green eyes with their curling fringe of lashes. The cool, almost tense lines of her mouth.

And he, she thought flatly, hadn’t wanted her either. Checkmate. Death to the king.

She should have said no there and then. Every instinct she possessed had screamed at her to curtly refuse to lend herself to something so blatantly opportunist—and medieval.

Her father had expected her to reject the idea. She’d seen it in the defeated slump of his shoulders. The faint greyness which had replaced the usual ruddiness of his complexion. And this had scared her.

She’d said, her voice faltering a little, ‘Are you telling me this is the only way you can get the finance you need? That a seat on the board is the price?’

Her father had not met her gaze. ‘The bank requires a measure of control for this kind of injection of capital.’ He’d sounded as if he was repeating something he’d learned by rote. ‘They reserve the right to impose conditions. This is one of them. And, because of Crispin’s absurd rule, this is the only way it can be achieved.’

He’d paused. ‘But no one is going to make you do this, Paige. It must be your own decision. And if you refuse—well, we’ll find our funding elsewhere. Somehow.’

She had said flatly, ‘I suspect if it was that simple you’d have done so already. Right?’

There had been another silence, then he’d nodded.

‘Then I’ll do it.’ She had made her tone firm, even positive. ‘After all, it’s only a form of words. A signature on a different sort of dotted line. And as soon as the legal requirement’s been fulfilled we can divorce. End of story.’

Except that it had only been the beginning …

She paused, aware that her heart was thudding suddenly. That she’d allowed herself to stray towards forbidden territory. And that she needed to stop right there.

Restlessly, Paige got up from the dressing stool and walked barefoot across the room, out through the tall glazed doors on to the balcony, the folds of her white silk robe swishing round her long legs as she moved.

The sun was setting, and the Caribbean was pulsing with crimson and gold.

Leaning on the wrought-iron balustrade and staring at the sea, Paige thought, not for the first time, that Jack and Angela’s hotel was one of the most idyllic places she’d ever visited. It occupied one of the prime sites on the island, which undoubtedly helped.

She’d met Angela on their first day at convent boarding school, and they’d been friends ever since. While Paige had gone in for magazine journalism, Angela had become a nurse. She’d met Jack when he’d been admitted to her ward with a badly broken leg, and Paige had been astonished when Angela told her, liltingly, a few weeks later, that she was marrying Jack and going back to St Antoine with him to help run the Hotel Les Roches. She was still frankly amazed to see how easily her friend had adapted to her new life.

The hotel had been the home of Jack’s family for several generations. With the closure of the sugar plantation which had been their livelihood, his father had begun the work of extension and renovation which would transform the old mansion into accommodation that would combine luxury with informality. And Les Roches had been fabulously successful ever since.

She’d had a wonderful holiday, Paige told herself, but she wouldn’t be altogether sorry to go home. These warm tropical nights could be dangerous, and Brad Coulter had been spending far too much time at the hotel lately—even for a close friend of the proprietors.

Anyone else in her position, she thought, would have enjoyed a no-strings flirtation and gone home smiling at the end of it. So why couldn’t she?

It couldn’t be because she felt obliged to remain faithful to her marriage vows. Nick certainly felt no such compulsion. In fact the whole church ceremony had been a cynical charade, and she couldn’t imagine why he’d insisted on it—unless it had been to placate his elderly grandmother who, as well as being his only living relative, was French and a confirmed traditionalist.

Fortunately, she also lived in France, and so would not be aware of how little time her grandson and his bride had actually spent together—even under the same roof. Because, although she would no doubt regard a mariage de convenance as a sensible solution to a difficult problem, she would still demand that appearances be maintained.

But Nick was not one for appearances, Paige thought, biting her lip. Nor was he any good at pretending …

She stopped abruptly, aware that this was another strictly no-go area.

She should concentrate on the positive side of the situation, she decided bracingly. Remind herself that the months and weeks of their separation were ticking away to zero. And freedom.

She turned back into her room with a slight shiver. Sunsets always made her melancholy. And tomorrow it was back to the grindstone.

The dress she chose was a black silky slip with narrow straps, cut cleverly on the bias. She hung a teardrop pearl on a fine gold chain at her throat, and the matching drops in her ears. Her sandals were high-heeled and stylish.

Not to die for, she thought, reviewing herself critically in the full-length mirror. She would never be that. But, all the same, looking good.

The Waterfront had been built on a promontory overlooking St Antoine’s most sheltered harbour. It was a large single-storey building, as local regulations demanded, and provided conference facilities, a health club, and its own discreet casino. In addition it had two excellent restaurants, one of them open air with a thatched roof, overlooking the water, with cabaret in the high season and live music for dancing all the year round.

Brad Coulter was waiting for them in the foyer. He was a stockily built man with a ruggedly handsome face. His blue eyes lit up when he saw Paige.

‘You look wonderful.’ He took her hand and kissed it. ‘Angie, have you persuaded her to stay a while longer?’

‘Not so far, I’m afraid.’ Angela shook her head ruefully. ‘She seems determined to catch that plane tomorrow. Some nonsense about having to earn her living.’

‘She could do that here.’ Brad smiled at her.

‘I don’t think so.’ Paige shook her head, glancing around her, absorbing the ambience of luxury combined with good taste. ‘You don’t need a PR person. This place clearly sells itself.’

‘There are other positions—other roles we could discuss, maybe.’ He was still holding her hand, and Paige detached herself gently.

‘It’s a nice thought, but I’m not really looking at the moment. Thanks.’

‘Well, let me at least show you around,’ Brad suggested. ‘Let you see the layout.’

‘Good idea,’ Jack said heartily. ‘We’ll see you in the bar presently.’

And Paige, with murder in her heart, allowed herself to be led away.

In spite of herself, she found she was enjoying the tour. Brad was clearly proud of what he’d achieved, and rightly so. And he had firm ideas about his plans for the future, she realised with frank appreciation.

‘Sure I can’t tempt you to stay here?’ he asked, his eyes searching as he poured them both a drink in his private office.

‘Absolutely convinced.’ Paige took the glass from him with a murmur of thanks. ‘In fact, I’m not sure I shouldn’t be recruiting you instead, for Harrington Holdings. We could do with your kind of vision.’

His brows lifted. ‘Things not going so well?’

She shrugged. ‘We’ve had a so-so year. More than our fair share of problems.’ She paused, pulling a mock-guilty face. ‘And, as you can see, I’m a lousy PR girl, because I shouldn’t even be talking like this. I ought to be saying that everything in the garden is lovely.’

‘Well, there are no journalists present, and your secrets are safe with me.’ He looked at her enquiringly. ‘So, if your heart’s not in it, why do you work in public relations? Maybe the time is right for a change of career.’

‘I’ve already had one. I started out on a women’s magazine, working in features.’

‘You got tired of that?’

‘By no means. I was persuaded that I was needed elsewhere. And my family can be very persuasive.’

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Then perhaps I should try a little coaxing myself.’

She was aware that he’d moved closer along the big white leather sofa they were sharing.

She stiffened, her hands clasped together in her lap, her whole body language a warning to him not to stray any nearer. She offered him a taut smile. ‘I’m really not open to any kind of inducement at the moment. I have problems of my own to sort out.’

‘I know you’re married,’ he said. ‘Angie told me. But she also said it hadn’t worked out. So that needn’t be a barrier. I’m divorced myself, and it isn’t the end of the world.’ He paused. ‘Unless you’re still carrying a torch for the guy?’

‘Absolutely not.’ Her voice sounded clipped and very clear. ‘We weren’t together long enough to light one.’

‘That doesn’t mean a thing.’ The blue eyes were shrewd. ‘Sometimes it can just take one look across a room full of other people.’

Was that how it had been when he saw her? she wondered, and hoped not with all her heart. Because only self-deception lay that way, as she had reason to know.

‘For me, it would take far more.’ She stared rigidly down at her untouched glass.

‘Well, I’m a patient man,’ he said. ‘I can wait.’

Paige bit her lip. ‘Brad, you’re really nice …’

‘Oh, God,’ he said. ‘I feel a rejection coming on.’

‘But you don’t know me—or anything about me other than things that Angie’s said.’ She attempted a laugh. ‘And, I warn you, she’s biased.’

‘That’s precisely why I want you to stay a while longer. To give us both a chance to find out if this thing could be going somewhere.’ He paused. ‘Paige, I was hit hard when my marriage broke up, and I won’t pretend otherwise. But I’m over it now, and ready to move on. When I saw you, I thought for the first time that this could be the time, the place and the girl.’

She said quietly, ‘I’m flattered. In fact, I’m honoured. But the fact is I’m simply not free, personally or professionally, to make any definite plans for the future. Not yet. I really need to sort out my life back in England.’

‘I’d like to say—keep me in mind. But the Caribbean’s a hell of a long way from Britain.’ His expression was wry.

Paige laughed. ‘Not since jet planes were invented, surely? I thought the worst part of the journey was actually the ferry trip from Sainte Marie,’ she added, wrinkling her nose. ‘I’m not a brilliant sailor, so I’m not looking forward to the return journey.’

Brad stared at her. ‘You mean you didn’t use Hilaire? Then you must. He runs the local air taxi service, which is about as much as our tiny airfield can cope with. I’ll call him now.’ He rose and went over to his desk. ‘What time is your flight? He’ll get you there with time to spare.’

‘Oh, please,’ Paige said, swift alarm rising inside her at the prospect of further damage to her credit card. ‘There’s no need—really. I’ve got my ferry ticket and—’

‘But you’ll be much happier with Hilaire,’ Brad interrupted firmly, punching in the numbers. ‘You won’t stay and let me show you a good time—or give you a job—so please let me do this small thing for you. When does your plane leave?’

She told him reluctantly. She didn’t wish to be beholden to him, but sometimes it was easier just to give in gracefully rather than go on with an argument she suspected she wouldn’t win.

The trouble is, she thought ruefully, I’m not used to receiving kindnesses.

The Harrington clan on the whole tended to be takers rather than givers. And Nick …

Well, Nick gave nothing, she thought, as sudden unwelcome pain twisted inside her.

‘That’s all arranged,’ Brad said cheerfully, replacing the receiver. ‘I’ll send my car for you at noon to take you to the airstrip.’ He studied her, frowning. ‘Are you all right? Have I been putting on too much pressure? I don’t mean to.’

‘No,’ Paige assured him quickly. ‘Everything’s fine. I—I’m very grateful—really.’ She stood up. ‘Jack and Angie will be wondering where we’ve got to. Maybe we should join them.’

‘Of course,’ he said instantly. ‘I’m being selfish. It’s just so good to have you to myself for a little while.’ He came across to her and put his hands gently on her shoulders. ‘May I say goodbye now—in private?’

She smiled fleetingly, muttered something acquiescent as he bent towards her. His lips were warm and firm. The kiss was pleasant and not unduly prolonged.

‘Well,’ Brad said, as he let her go. ‘It’s a start.’

No, Paige thought with regret. It’s not.

She wished so much that it could be otherwise. That his kiss had lit some spark that would have prompted her to accede to his urging and stay. Explore a relationship with him, maybe become half of a couple.

Jack and Angie would have been so pleased—and so smug, she reminded herself wryly.

But it wasn’t to be, and that was all there was to it.

‘How did it go?’ Angie whispered as Paige sat down beside her.

‘He’s really sweet,’ Paige temporised.

‘But you’re still going back tomorrow.’ Angie’s face fell. ‘Jack said you would.’

‘He has wisdom beyond his years.’ Paige squeezed her friend’s arm affectionately. ‘But I’ll be back to stay some other time, if you’ll have me.’

She glanced around her. The tables, set with pristine white linen and gleaming silverware, were stationed round the edge of a large dance floor. The band, a four-piece combination, were playing quietly, but no one was dancing yet, although all the tables were fully occupied. Soft-footed waiters were moving among the diners, and there was a hum of conversation and laughter punctuated by the popping of corks.

Coloured lights were festooned across the thatched roof, and each table also had a candle burning in a pretty glass shade, surrounded by a garland of bright flowers.

‘It’s really lovely here,’ Paige commented. ‘And very crowded. I thought this was the off season.’

‘A couple of big yachts docked in the marina this morning. Jack says it’s Alain Froyat, who owns a string of European magazines, and Kel Drake, the film producer.’ Angie shrugged. ‘Apparently there’s been a weather warning, so they’ve decided to play it safe. And their guests have all come ashore to dine and lose some of their accumulated wealth in Brad’s casino.’

‘A weather warning?’ Paige frowned. ‘Do you mean a hurricane?’

‘Oh, it probably won’t be that bad. But we can get the odd tropical storm at this time of year.’ She pursed her lips. ‘And that might delay your ferry.’

‘That’s not a problem.’ Paige’s tone was rueful. ‘Apparently I’m going to Sainte Marie in style—courtesy of Brad, and someone called Hilaire.’

‘Holy smoke,’ said Angie. ‘I’m impressed. Hilaire must have had to toss out the odd millionaire to make room for you.’

Their table was in the corner of the restaurant nearest the beach, to take advantage of the breeze from the sea. Only there didn’t seem to be one. The air was very warm, and very still. In fact it had almost a brooding quality, Paige thought, watching the reflection of the moon on the calm water. Maybe the skippers on those yachts had known what they were doing when they’d looked for a secure haven. For a moment she was aware of a faint shiver of uneasiness, but dismissed it. She would be halfway home by the time bad weather struck, she told herself resolutely. If indeed it did.

The food was delicious—pumpkin soup followed by red snapper, and a spicy chicken dish served with fragrant rice, all of it accompanied by vintage wines. Dessert was slices of fresh pineapple marinated in liqueur, and a wonderful home-made coconut ice cream.

Brad was an attentive host, keeping the conversation general and light-hearted, and, to Paige’s relief, making no further comment about her imminent departure.

Now that the pressure was off, it was turning into a really enjoyable evening, she decided, as coffee and brandy were served.

The band was playing something soft and dreamy, and Jack and Angie got up to dance. Paige watched them slowly circling the floor in each other’s arms, Jack smiling adoringly into his wife’s eyes and Angie lifting her hand to stroke his cheek.

They’ve got it right, Paige thought, suppressing a pang of envy so fierce it was almost painful.

‘Shall we join them?’

Paige started. Brad was watching her enquiringly, his brow slightly furrowed.

She sent him a bright smile. ‘Why not?’

He was a good dancer, holding her lightly and not too closely. As they moved he exchanged greetings with the people at the tables they passed, or acknowledged someone’s presence with a smile and a nod.

‘You’re good at this,’ she told him.

His grin was rueful. ‘I’m in business, and the rich can be touchy. You can’t afford to ignore anyone. And when someone like Froyat hits town you’ve no idea who might be travelling with him, so it can be perilous.’

‘I bet.’ She was smiling as she glanced towards the big table he was indicating. A sea of faces, all animated, chattering to their neighbours. All relaxed and having a good time.

All, that was, except one. A dark face, cool and sardonic, swam out of the crowd. A man who wasn’t talking to anyone around him, who was even momentarily oblivious to the young and pretty blonde who was draped across him, her arm round his neck. A man who was staring right at her, his eyes narrowed and appraising.

The smile froze on her lips. She felt the breath catch in her throat, the sudden grim thud of her astonished heart against her ribcage.

No, she thought desperately. It can’t be. It can’t …

‘Are you all right?’ Brad’s voice was concerned.

‘Yes.’ Her voice was hoarse, unlike her own. ‘I mean—no. At least …’ She paused. ‘Do you think we could sit down, please?’

‘Of course.’ His arm went round her, supporting her, and she was grateful for it as they made their way off the floor. Because her legs were shaking under her.

‘Can I get you something?’ Brad put her gently into her chair. ‘What’s wrong? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’

No ghost, she thought. But someone only too real, who was, by some terrible mischance, right here on St Antoine.

She said quickly, ‘I think it’s the weather.’ She fanned herself with her hand. ‘It’s got so oppressive suddenly.’

She sipped the glass of iced water he poured for her, and assured him that the slight faintness was passing. That she’d be fine if she could just sit quietly for a few minutes. And that she’d really prefer to be on her own.

‘There must be people you should be talking to,’ she urged. ‘Go and do your social thing while I pull myself together. I feel such a fool …’

‘I’d rather not leave you.’

‘Then you’ll make me feel worse than ever. Please, Brad. I might even go for a quick stroll along the beach—clear my head properly,’ she added with determined brightness.

Or I might run away and never be found again …

‘Are you sure you’d rather be alone?’ He was doubtful—reluctant.

‘Absolutely. Anyway, Jack and Angie will be back in a minute.’ She smiled at him, willing him to walk away. ‘And when you come back I’ll be fine again. Rarin’ to go, in fact.’

She sounded hyper—like a crazy woman—but it seemed to work. She didn’t watch to see what table Brad was heading for, because she didn’t want to know.

She drank some more water, staring at the flicker of the candle-flame behind the glass. What was that old saying? ‘Speak of the devil and he’s sure to appear.’ Only a few hours ago she and Angie had talked about Nick Destry—and here he was.

Unless her imagination was playing tricks—had conjured him up to torment her. Her mind was spinning—in overdrive. Could it be that? Had the trauma of the past months caught up with her at last?

All she had to do was look up—look across the room—and she would know for certain if he was real or some hobgoblin of fantasy. Only she didn’t dare.

Under cover of the tablecloth, her hands clenched impotently into fists. What the hell was the matter with her? she railed inwardly. Why was she reacting like this? Nick wasn’t a mad axe-murderer, out for blood. He was the man she’d married for business reasons and whom she was planning to divorce as soon as it was legal. This was not a problem. Unless she allowed it to be.

It’s just shock, she told herself. All these months of studiously avoiding each other, and here they were in the same nightclub on the same small Caribbean island. Just one of life’s horrible coincidences.

And her secretly nurtured hope that she might never need to set eyes on him again had always been a non-starter—totally unrealistic.

I should have taken a leaf out of Brad’s book, she thought. Smiled and nodded, as if we were passing acquaintances. Instead I let him see me leave the floor in disarray.

She felt her chest tighten, and got to her feet. She hadn’t been serious about that walk along the beach, but it suddenly seemed like a good idea. And she wasn’t running away, she told herself. Just—regrouping.

Stone steps led down to the sand, bleached silver in the moonlight. Paige paused on the bottom step, slipping off her sandals. The warm night lay on her like a blanket, the palm trees that fringed the crescent of sand unmoving as she walked down to the curling edge of the water. Her breathing was still hurried and shallow. She had to fight to control it. To rein herself in to normality, and acceptance of the fact that fate had played her an unpleasant trick.

Although Nick wouldn’t be too pleased to see her either. He was the one who rubbed shoulders with millionaires. She was the wage slave back in England.

But that had been her own choice, she reminded herself restlessly. He’d offered a generous financial settlement in return for her compliance. She need never have worked again. But she’d refused his money.

All through those bitter days she’d kept repeating to herself like a personal mantra, I want nothing from him. Nothing.

When she’d reluctantly accepted the job at Harrington Holdings she’d done so at a reduced salary. After all, she was no longer living in London with its enormous rents. Her parents had wanted her to move back into the vast family home, as her brother Toby had done with his wife, but instead she’d found a small one-bedroomed cottage in a neighbouring village, feeling that at least a measure of independence was preferable.

And she’d managed to do some freelance magazine work, keeping the door open for her eventual return.

It had been a seriously difficult year in so many ways, she reflected. Quite apart from her personal wretchedness, her work with the company had been more like damage limitation than public relations. Since Toby had taken over the running of the organisation, following her father’s illness, there had been nothing but problems, it seemed. And as for that stupid girl he’d married …

She stopped right there. She was the last person in the world entitled to sneer at anyone’s choice of marriage partner after the mess she’d made of her own life.

An incoming wave splashed gently round her bare feet and she shivered slightly. But the chill of the water was nothing in comparison to the ice within her.

She felt blank—numb. But she had to think—decide what to say just in case Nick decided not to keep his distance. She supposed he was a passenger on Alain Froyat’s yacht. But he wouldn’t be there simply for enjoyment, in spite of the pretty blonde he’d been wearing as a scarf. Without doubt there was some big finance deal going down. Something that would make the Maitland Destry bank ever more profitable, and send Nick’s personal wealth soaring even higher.

Not that it was any business of hers, she reminded herself tautly. Neither Nick’s financial standing or his latest girlfriend could be allowed to concern her even marginally.

She’d kept her side of the bargain, and now she wanted the whole sorry charade brought to a conclusion.

Closure, she thought, on a marriage that should never have taken place. I must have been out of my mind to lend myself to such a farce.

Her footsteps slowed. It was time she was getting back to the restaurant. She would tell Angie she had a headache and wanted to go back to Les Roches. She certainly didn’t want Brad coming to find her and being carried away by the whisper of the waves, the moonlight falling across the water. He might even think she’d gone out on to the beach to lure him on.

She hadn’t heard him coming, but then he’d always had the ability to move like a cat.

Yet when she turned he was there, just as she’d known—she’d feared—he would be. Blocking her way. Bringing her to a breathless, tingling halt in front of him. With no means of escape.

He said softly, in that mocking drawl she hated, ‘Good evening, Mrs Destry. Or should I say, “Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania”?’ And he began to laugh.




CHAPTER TWO (#uad64d712-34ce-5a01-953b-0694f9827d43)


PAIGE stood motionless, hands balled into fists at her sides. Inside she was trembling. On the surface she stared back at him, her chin lifting in unmistakable hostility.

She said coldly, ‘Is quoting nonsense at me the best you can do?’

Nick tutted. ‘Shakespeare is hardly nonsense, darling. And it seemed quite appropriate, in view of what comes next from Titania herself,’ he added reflectively. ‘“Fairies skip hence. I have foresworn his bed and company.”’

She felt hot colour rush into her face, and was glad of the sheltering darkness. She could feel anger starting to build in her. She wanted to scream at him—You dare accuse me of that? You—of all people? But that was a path she could not afford to tread, she thought, taking a deep, calming breath.

She said, ‘What are you doing here, Nick?’

‘What a coincidence,’ he said cordially. ‘I was going to ask you exactly the same question. I hope you’re here to promote Harrington Holdings for the island development programme. I see you’re here tonight with one of the chief movers and shakers,’ he added. ‘Is your relationship with him business or personal?’

‘I don’t think you have the slightest right to ask that.’

‘Ah, but I have,’ Nick said softly. ‘For all kinds of reasons. And the fact that I’m your husband is only the least of them.’ He paused to allow that to sink in. ‘So, please, tell me why you’re here.’

‘As a matter of fact I’m on holiday.’ She controlled her voice with an effort. ‘I presume I’m allowed the occasional break.’

‘And Brad Coulter?’

‘I met him socially. He’s a friend.’

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘And would it be indiscreet to enquire how long this—friendship has had to ripen?’

Paige said defensively, ‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m asking when you arrived on this little unspoiled paradise.’

She bit her lip. ‘About three weeks ago.’

He whistled. ‘And all on your salary from Harringtons. Or are you being subsidised—in the name of friendship?’

Paige was startled. Somehow—already—he’d found out that Jack and Angie had offered her cut-price, rock-bottom rates. How the hell had he managed that? she wondered, humiliated. Or was it an educated guess?

She said sharply, ‘And if I am? What concern is it of yours?’

‘You’ll find I’m concerned about a great many things.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘So you’re really not here to drum up trade for the family business?’

‘Harringtons don’t tender for overseas contracts—particularly ones that are halfway round the world. You should know that.’

He said slowly, ‘Well, that’s something they may have to reconsider. Tell me, have you been in touch with the office during this extended vacation of yours? Have any faxes or e-mails come thundering across the ocean at you?’

‘No,’ she said defiantly. ‘And I wouldn’t expect them to—not when this is my first holiday since …’ She hesitated, then said quickly, ‘In over a year.’

‘Since our honeymoon,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that what you were going to say?’

‘Since the trip we were obliged to take after the wedding,’ she said brusquely. ‘Why call it a ridiculous name?’

‘Maybe I’m just a stickler for convention,’ he drawled. There was another pause, then, ‘You really haven’t had any communication with the company?’

‘None at all. I decided I wanted a real vacation.’ Firmly, she put out of her mind the memory of that last row with Toby, and her decision not to let him know where she was while he considered the ultimatum she’d given him.

‘I’d say you’d achieved it. Even down to a little holiday romance.’

‘Thank you,’ she said tautly. ‘You appear to be having a good time yourself.’

‘Ah,’ Nick said softly. ‘But appearances can be deceptive—don’t you find?’

Like you deceived me? she thought. When you made me think—just for a brief moment—one night long ago—that maybe this mismatch between us might work after all. That perhaps it could be more than just a business arrangement …

‘I think,’ she said, ‘that what you see is generally what you get.’ She moved restively, feeling at a disadvantage, standing there barefoot, with her sandals dangling from her hand. ‘Will you excuse me, please? My friends will be wondering where I am. And I’m sure your party will be missing you, too,’ she added pointedly.

‘You’re all consideration.’ He sounded amused, as if her inference wasn’t lost on him. ‘But we really do have things to talk about.’

‘Nothing that can’t wait a few months,’ she said. ‘I’ll get my lawyer to contact yours.’

‘Caribbean holidays and a divorce,’ he said meditatively. ‘You’re going to have an expensive time.’

Suddenly her antennae were alert and sounding an alarm. Because that—almost—sounded like a threat. Didn’t it?

Maybe it was something she needed to find out, she thought, her senses tingling. This confrontation might be galling, but she couldn’t end it quite yet.

She paused, choosing her words carefully. ‘A quick, no-fault ending of our arrangement? With no property settlement or maintenance involved? Surely not.’

‘You don’t count the shattering of hopes and dreams?’ His tone was mocking. ‘The laceration of one’s finest feelings?’

Her mouth tightened. ‘They weren’t included in the deal.’ And if there was any lacerating done, I’m the one left with the scars.

He said slowly, ‘Perhaps I’m looking to renegotiate.’

That insidious trembling had started up again, deep in her gut.

She said quickly and coldly, ‘No chance. The original contract stands, and even that isn’t for much longer. I want out, Nick, so don’t start playing games. I’m not impressed.’

He laughed. ‘Tough talk, honey, but talk is cheap. Are you really prepared for a fight?’

‘That wasn’t part of the arrangement either.’ Her heart was beating fiercely, erratically again. The chain round her throat seemed to be tightening, and she put up a hand and tugged at it mechanically, feeling the delicate links biting into her fingers.

He said laconically, ‘Call it an afterthought.’

She said huskily, ‘Then I recommend you think again.’

His gaze fastened on the nervous movement of her hand. ‘I see,’ he said, ‘that you’ve taken off your wedding ring.’

‘I’m not a hypocrite,’ she said. ‘I won’t—pretend.’

‘No,’ he said, and his voice was suddenly bleak. ‘I’ll grant you that.’

There was a brief uneasy silence, then she said, ‘Nick, there’s no need for this. Our marriage has never existed in any real sense—just on paper. Why make difficulties about ending it?’

He shrugged. ‘Let’s just say I dislike unfinished business.’

She thought wretchedly, How can you finish something that never began …?

Aloud, she said, ‘But you got what you wanted—a seat on the Harrington board.’

‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘Courtesy of that incestuous little family arrangement that should have been legally challenged and wound up years ago.’ There was an odd, almost angry note in his voice.

She said defensively, ‘It’s worked perfectly well, up to now.’

‘Then why did you have to come to me for finance?’ Nick demanded derisively. ‘Because your credit had run out elsewhere, my dear wife, and you know it. Harringtons may have been started by a giant, but there are only pygmies left now.’

She said hotly, ‘How dare you insult my family?’

‘Sometimes the truth hurts, Paige.’ He paused. ‘So does a bad investment.’

She drew a steadying breath. ‘I suggest you take this up with your fellow board members. I’m an employee now, and I really don’t want to discuss it any further. As for our non-marriage—that’s over. And nothing you can say or do will make the slightest difference.’

‘But that’s where you’re wrong,’ Nick said softly. ‘Because I haven’t finished with you, baby. Not by a long chalk. In fact—’ his voice deepened ‘—I haven’t even begun yet.’

They were both standing still, but the space between them seemed to have diminished in some strange way. She could almost feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek. The brush of his body against hers.

Paige made a small inarticulate sound in her throat, then she moved, skirting round him, keeping him at arm’s length or more, walking fast, trying not to run.

Trying to maintain a safe distance between them—if there could be such a thing, she thought crazily as she went up the beach, stumbling a little, despising her own clumsiness. Hating him for being its cause.

She didn’t look back, but then she didn’t have to. She could feel his eyes on her back, burning like ice. Branding her.

Except that she was no possession of his—and she never would be.

‘So there you are,’ Brad greeted her jovially. ‘We were just going to send out a search party.’

‘It’s a pretty straight beach,’ Paige returned as lightly as possible. ‘Not many places to get lost.’ Except in some hell of my own making.

‘What’s going on?’ Angie hissed as Paige took her seat beside her. ‘One minute you’re dancing with Brad, the next you’re out beachcombing.’

‘I needed some air,’ Paige whispered back. ‘I’ve got a headache.’

‘What lousy luck.’ Angie was instantly sympathetic. ‘Do you want to call it a day?’

‘It might be better. I have to finish packing, and I’ve got a long flight tomorrow.’ Out of the corner of her eye, Paige saw Nick come up from the beach. For a moment she thought he was going to come over to their table, and tensed, but he walked straight past without giving any of them a glance. And Angie’s attention was fortunately centred on her.

I’m not getting out completely unscathed, Paige thought. But it could be very much worse.

On her way out, a few minutes later, she risked a brief look at Nick’s table to see if her departure had been witnessed, but he appeared to be completely engrossed in his blonde.

Which, Paige told herself vehemently, could only be a relief.

Brad held her hand for a moment longer than necessary as they said goodnight. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he promised, and she smiled and tried to feel interested and grateful.

But it was impossible. Her mind was in turmoil. Jack and Angie chatted quietly to each other in the front of the car, out of consideration for her headache, and she sat alone in the darkness almost obsessively going over and over the scene on the beach. Asking herself what he could possibly have meant and receiving no answer. At least none that satisfied her, or even offered a modicum of comfort.

But then Nick had always been an enigma, she told herself restively.

She wrapped her arms round her body, shivering. She was shaking inside, aware of a feeling of faint nausea. Of disorientation.

Shock, she thought. That was what it was. He was the last person she’d expected—or wanted—to see. And it was one of life’s terrible ironies that they should be on the same small island, in the same nightclub, at the same time.

If they’d spent the evening anywhere else she’d have avoided him, as she’d been doing so successfully all these months. Checking the schedule of his visits to London, or to the company headquarters, and quietly arranging to be elsewhere. Ensuring work took her far away, to the other end of the country, on the infrequent occasions when he was due to stay at the house.

‘You could make more of an effort,’ Toby had grumbled on the last occasion. ‘It means Denise has to entertain him, and he scares her witless.’

That, Paige thought scathingly, mentally reviewing her sister-in-law’s vacant blue eyes and pouting ever-present smile, would not incur a great deal of effort on Nick’s part.

She had said crisply, ‘She’s the wife of the managing director, Toby. It comes with the territory.’

‘But she doesn’t understand what’s going on. Why you’re never around.’

And with very good reason, Paige had supplemented silently. Total discretion had been insisted on from both sides when the original deal was struck. However, it was tacitly acknowledged in the family that Toby’s wife was an airhead who could gossip for Britain. One whisper of the raison d’être for Paige’s unconventional marriage and she would be up and running with the story.

She had said, ‘Well, I’m sure you can come up with some plausible explanation, brother dear. Because there’s no way I’m going to share a roof with Nick just to protect Denise’s sensibilities.’ She’d paused. ‘And Nick would be no more keen to spend time in my company, believe me.’

And she’d spoken no more than the truth. She was sure of it. So why had he sought her out tonight? she asked herself with shaken bewilderment. Implied the things that he had? She’d kept the terms of their agreement meticulously, yet now, with freedom in sight, Nick appeared to be about to chuck a spanner into the works.

Except she wouldn’t allow it to happen. And being a member of the Harrington board wasn’t necessarily a job for life. Anyone could be voted off. And just because that had never happened, no guarantee was offered that it never would. If the company could just find an alternative source of financing, she thought broodingly, Maitland Destry might be history.

Back at Les Roches, she accepted Angie’s concerned offer of paracetamol, and went up to her room.

Most of her packing was actually already done, she thought, looking around her with a critical eye. And what was left could wait until the morning. So she might as well take a shower and get an early night.

She walked over to the dressing table and sat down wearily, pushing back her hair. It was a pale, strained face looking back at her, she realised with a sigh, then tensed, her hand flying to her throat, as she realised her pearl pendant was missing.

She groaned under her breath.

I must have snapped the chain when I was fiddling with it on the beach, she thought, distressed. Something else to hate Nick for.

Sadly, she unhooked the drops from her ears. Pearls were supposed to symbolise tears, weren’t they? she thought. Maybe the loss of her necklace was a signal to her not to waste any more time in mourning for the past.

From now on she would look forward, not back. And she’d kickstart the new regime with a good night’s sleep, she told herself, biting her lip.

But that was altogether easier said than done. The air in the room was hot and heavy, defeating even the efforts of the ceiling fan, and Paige found herself tossing and turning, trying to find a cool place on the bed, her gown adhering clammily to her skin.

For the first time she was glad to be going home. Nick’s arrival had ruined everything, and she could only be thankful that he’d turned up at the end of her holiday rather than the beginning.

‘I haven’t finished with you.’ Those had been his words, so there was every chance that he might come looking for her again. And it was only a fleeting satisfaction to know that he wouldn’t find her. Not this time.

St Antoine was not big enough for both of them, she told herself with bitter humour. But back in Britain there would be more places to hide. And backup from the rest of the family. Her father, in particular, had always been uneasy about this unholy alliance, so she could count on his support if Nick started making a nuisance of himself.

But it’s all my own fault, she thought bleakly. I should never have got involved in the first place. Should have dismissed the idea of such a marriage as madness. And to hell with family solidarity.

Nor should she have allowed herself to be sweet-talked into taking her current job. She’d been happy where she was. She’d had a life. Whereas now all she seemed to be doing was sorting out one mess after another.

That was two strikes, she reminded herself grimly. She’d have to make damned sure there wasn’t a third.

Sighing, Paige turned on to her back and stared up at the ceiling.

She needed to get back into control, and fast. But it was the sheer unexpectedness of the thing that had thrown her. Looking up—and seeing Nick’s face in the crowd.

Reminding her, painfully, of the first time she’d ever seen him. It was one of the memories she’d tried so hard to suppress, she thought wretchedly, yet there it was, taunting her. As vivid in her brain as if it had happened yesterday. Or even—tonight.

It had been a hen party. One of the girls on the magazine had just got engaged, and a few of them had arranged to meet in a local wine bar to celebrate the august event. Paige had had some work to finish, so she’d arrived last to find the other three well ahead of her on champagne, flushed, slightly rowdy, and looking for mischief.

‘We’re scoring the local talent out of ten,’ Becky declared loudly. ‘So far none of them have risen above two.’ She giggled. ‘And half of them look as if they couldn’t rise at all.’

Paige groaned inwardly. This was clearly not going to be her kind of evening, but she was there, and for Lindsay’s sake she was going to make the best of it.

Already their corner table was attracting a certain amount of attention from the bar’s predominantly male clientele—some amused, some predatory, and some definitely contemptuous.

And, of those, one in particular stood out. He was at the long bar counter with another man. He was tall, and very dark, impeccable in his City suit. An interesting face, too, all planes and angles, with a cool sardonic mouth. Yet it wasn’t his looks, Paige thought, touching the tip of her tongue to suddenly dry lips. Not altogether. There was something about him, not easily defined, which would always draw the eye wherever he was. A sense of power. Of a control that was almost tangible even across the crowded room.

None of which took into account the evident disdain in the hooded glance being aimed at Paige and her companions. But even as she registered what was going on his gaze switched suddenly, making her momentarily the sole focus of his attention, then, as she felt her throat muscles tightening involuntarily, he looked away, his entire stance registering complete and utter indifference.

As she choked back a gasp, Paige felt a nudge from Becky. ‘Who’s your haughty friend?’

Paige shrugged. ‘You tell me.’ She made a business of picking up her glass and sipping from it.

‘Well, he’s the best of a bad bunch.’ Becky pulled a face. ‘God, what a deathly place.’

‘Let’s lighten it up, then.’ Rhona, blonde and chirpy, filled all their flutes to the brim again. ‘On the count of three we empty our glasses, and the last one to finish does a forfeit. How’s that?’

Paige groaned inwardly. She couldn’t even drink water at speed, so she was bound to lose, but it was clear that if she objected she’d be the only dissenting voice. Easier to go with the flow, she thought resignedly, picking up her glass and waiting for the signal.

Just as she’d expected, she finished last, amid giggles and barracking.

‘So what’s her forfeit going to be?’ Lindsay demanded eagerly. ‘Walk round the room without touching the floor? Mime a full strip?’

‘Better than that.’ Becky’s smile was calculating. ‘She’s going over to Mr Snooty at the bar there, and offer him a tenner for a kiss. That’ll teach him to look down his nose at us.’

‘Oh, come on,’ Paige began, alarmed.

‘You have to do it,’ Rhona warned, laughing. ‘Or we’ll make you strip for real.’

Slowly, Paige reached down and extracted a ten-pound note from her bag. Gulping down that champagne had been bad news, she thought detachedly. She was feeling lightheaded, and the pulse in her throat seemed to be beating a warning tattoo.

None of the others would even hesitate, and she knew it. They’d be marching over already, to issue the challenge and put him on the spot. But it wasn’t her style. Strangers suffocated her with shyness. As for this cold-eyed stranger—well, simply asking him the time would be ordeal enough.

As for anything else …

The best she could hope for was that he’d treat her as a drunken pest and ignore her. The worst-case scenario was that she might actually have to kiss him. Or let him kiss her, she amended quickly.

Do it, she commanded herself, rising to her feet. Get it over with. Then you’ll be off the hook and you can go home.

She needed to saunter with purpose, but it was as much as she could do to put one foot in front of the other without tripping. She arranged a smile. Tried to rehearse a few words. But her mind was blank.

Her approach had been noticed, she realised. Her quarry had half turned and was watching her, dark eyes narrowed, mouth unsmiling.

Paige quickened her pace defiantly.

‘Hi.’ Fright made her voice husky, but maybe that was no bad thing.

His brows lifted. ‘Is there something I can do for you?’

‘Actually, yes.’ She widened her smile and lowered her lashes. She lifted her hand, letting him see the money, crackling the note between restless fingers. ‘I’d like to buy a kiss.’

All the neighbouring conversation seemed suddenly to have ceased. The silence that surrounded them simmered with amusement, and an odd tension.

‘Really?’ He drawled the word, leaning back against the bar. The dark gaze captured hers and held it, something glinting in its depths. Mockery, she realised, and something less easily recognised. ‘Only a kiss?’ He looked her up and down very slowly, taking in the neat black dress and the matching jacket, the dark tights and low-heeled pumps, and mentally discarding them.

Undressing her, she realised, shocked, with his eyes.

She swallowed, her last vestiges of bravado ebbing away under the calculated insolence of his stare. It was suddenly like one of those awful dreams where you find yourself naked in public, she thought, resisting an impulse to cover herself with her hands. Common sense told her to walk away, but she seemed unable to move.

Helplessly she watched as he reached inside his coat and took out his wallet.

Mesmerised, Paige saw him produce not one but two fifty-pound notes, and hold them up in front of her shocked face.

‘A counter-offer,’ he said softly. ‘But I’ll expect a damned sight more than a kiss—darling. So how about it?’

She needed a response, a swift comeback that would be witty, succinct, and ultimately devastating. Something to leave him with egg on his face, and make her the heroine of the moment, walking away victorious.

Instead, she heard the first ripple of laughter from their audience, and at the same moment felt a great wave of heat enveloping her from head to foot as she was overwhelmed and annihilated by the blush of the century.

She found herself immobilised, crucified with embarrassment as the guffaws rose in volume around her, and she heard the jeering sotto voce comments that accompanied them.

‘In your dreams,’ was all she could manage at last, her voice a stranger’s, as she forced herself to move. To turn and walk back to the table, trying hard not to run. Attempting to hide her discomfiture. Her humiliation.

At the same time trying to accept that she had no one but herself to blame. That she’d been a total idiot to allow the others to persuade her into such a piece of arrant stupidity. Although the realisation did nothing to calm her feelings or heal the wound to her amour propre.

‘What happened?’ Lindsay’s eyes were like saucers. ‘What on earth did he say to you?’

Paige shrugged, thrusting the money back into her bag with a shaking hand. Her skin was still burning, her mouth dry.

‘Just my luck.’ She tried for lightness. ‘A complete sense of humour bypass. He—turned me down.’

And for that at least she had to be thankful, she thought, as she contemplated for one shaken second what it might have been like to feel his mouth on hers, even momentarily, and her senses went into sudden overspin.

‘Miserable bastard.’ Becky turned a rancorous look towards the bar, and the array of grinning faces observing them. ‘Oh, come on,’ she added impatiently. ‘Let’s get out of here and find somewhere more interesting.’

Let’s just get out of here, Paige amended under her breath. She wanted to be outside, breathing what passed for fresh air. Or finding a convenient corner to die in.

She deliberately didn’t look either to the right or to the left as she walked with the others towards the door. The joke was over, and the audience had found other things to occupy them.

But there was always the possibility that he might be watching her go, and the very idea made her flesh crawl.

Once on the pavement, she firmly refused to accompany the others to a club Becky knew of, and thankfully hailed a passing cab.

She gave the address of her flat and sank back into the corner, closing her eyes wearily. But the stranger’s image was suddenly there, in the darkness behind her eyelids, and she sat up abruptly, smothering a faint gasp.

She couldn’t understand why she was so upset. Why she was still shaking and her insides were churning as they were.

She’d behaved like a fool, and he’d treated her with the contempt she probably deserved, but it went no further than that.

So why was she over-reacting like this—when the best thing she could do was put the whole nasty little incident right out of her mind?

I mustn’t let it matter any more, she told herself with determination. I’m sure that he’ll never give it a second thought—in fact he’s probably forgotten about it already. So there’s no reason for me to go on torturing myself either.

It was just a chance encounter, that’s all. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and did a stupid thing. But it’s over, and I’ll never have to set eyes on him again as long as I live.

The conviction brought a kind of comfort with it.

But, just to be on the safe side, she would make sure that she never, ever set foot in that particular wine bar again, she decided with a small, fierce nod.

And Becky and the others could read what they liked into that.

I was so sure I was safe, Paige thought, staring sightlessly into the darkness, but what did I know? How could I possibly have foreseen what was going to happen? That within a few short weeks he would be back in my life, and no longer a stranger?

With a faint groan, she turned on to her stomach, burying her face in the pillow.

And now here he was again, she thought restlessly. Turning up like a bad penny. Reminding her starkly of all the past humiliations and hurt she’d suffered at his hands. His very presence a threat to her new-won peace of mind.

If she allowed him to be.

I’m going home tomorrow, she thought. And Nick’s going back to the yacht, and his friends, and his blonde. And, if I play my cards right, the next time we are obliged to meet we should be divorced, and I’ll be free of him for ever.

A reassuring thought to go to sleep on.

She was just finishing breakfast the next morning when Jack appeared on the hotel terrace, looking serious.

‘Brad’s just rung,’ he said. ‘Apparently that storm is building up, and Hilaire would like to be on his way before they close the airport at Sainte Marie.’

‘No problem. I’m all ready.’ Paige hastily downed the last of her coffee and rose.

‘But I’m not,’ Angela wailed. ‘I thought we were going to have a nice leisurely morning together.’

‘You still could, but only if Paige is prepared to stay on until the storm blows itself out.’ Jack gave her a questioning look. ‘You know none of us want you to go.’

‘Then now’s the ideal time—before I outstay my welcome.’ Paige gave Angela a swift hug. ‘Life’s certainly not dull here. I’ve never had to outrun a storm before.’

Although it wasn’t just the weather she was trying to outfox, she thought as she went upstairs to check her room one last time. She wasn’t surprised that warnings were being stepped up. It had been dull since dawn, the sun an orange disc behind a veil of steely cloud. The sea was a grey mirror and in the garden below it was still, the palms hanging their heads, motionless.

Brad was waiting when she came downstairs, and there was a flurry of hugs and goodbyes.

‘Come back soon,’ Angela called as they drove off.

‘I’ll second that.’ Brad shot her a smiling glance.

She said lightly, ‘You couldn’t keep me away.’

The car windows were open as they drove to the airstrip, but there wasn’t even the hint of a breeze to ease the leaden atmosphere. There was an odd threatening stillness in the air, as if the natural order had been suspended and was waiting for what might come.

Formalities at the strip were brief. Brad stood with her while her bags were being stowed on the small, smart plane waiting on the tarmac.

As he bent to kiss her, she was passive in his embrace.

He released her reluctantly. He said urgently, ‘You still have time to change your mind. You could stay.’

She sighed inwardly. ‘Brad, I told you—I have to work for my living.’

‘And I’ve told you—I’ll give you a job any time you like.’ His voice roughened. ‘I’ll give you anything you want. Hell, Paige, I don’t want to lose you.’

But there was never any question of that, because I never belonged to you in the first place, she thought. And it would never have worked anyway.

She paused, wondering how she could be so certain. Why she knew this kind, successful, attractive man was not for her, when most other women of her acquaintance would have thanked God for him.

He kissed her again, but in farewell and release, and she gave him a final smile and walked up the steps into the aircraft.

There were four seats, all unoccupied.

‘Am I the only passenger?’ she asked Hilaire, who was already at the controls, making last minute adjustments.

‘One more, just.’ He sent her a cheerful smile over his shoulder. ‘As soon as he’s on board we go.’

Paige hesitated, trying to deal with her uneasiness. The strange sense of foreboding that assailed her. ‘I suppose it is still safe to fly?’

‘You trust old Hilaire, lady.’ His tone was reassuring. ‘I’ll look after you. Get you to Sainte Marie soon as the gentleman comes.’ He paused. ‘And here he is now.’

At last, Paige thought with relief. The quicker they were off, the better she’d be pleased.

As the newcomer entered the cabin she looked up, her mouth curving in a polite, welcoming smile. Then she stopped, her body suddenly rigid, the breath escaping her lungs in a gasp of pure shock.

Nick Destry said softly, ‘Well, what a small world it is.’ He slotted himself into the seat in front of her and fastened his seatbelt, then turned to look back at her. His edged smile did not reach his eyes. ‘Good morning, darling. Running away again?’

She said between her teeth, ‘I am now.’

She fumbled with her own belt, trying desperately to release it. She had to leave—to get off the plane. Because a tropical storm was a welcome alternative to being cooped up with Nick, even for a short flight.

She thought, I can’t—I won’t endure it …

But as the belt finally gave way she heard the engine start, and the plane began to move, preparing for take-off.

And she knew it was too late.




CHAPTER THREE (#uad64d712-34ce-5a01-953b-0694f9827d43)


PAIGE found her voice. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Flying to Sainte Marie,’ Nick returned tersely. ‘But perhaps it’s a trick question.’

‘But yesterday you were on board someone’s yacht.’ Jerkily she refastened her seatbelt.

‘Yes.’ He shrugged. ‘But not as a permanent feature. I always planned to disembark at Sainte Marie and fly back. And I can’t afford to hang round in harbour at St Antoine waiting for this storm to pass, so I decided to use Hilaire’s taxi service.’

‘I’m sure you’ll be much missed.’ She spoke before she could stop herself, and could have bitten her tongue out. She sounded as if she was jealous, she groaned inwardly.

‘Allow me to pay you the same compliment,’ Nick drawled. ‘I saw Brad Coulter trudging back to his car like a lost soul. Did you console him with a fond farewell?’

‘That,’ she said curtly, ‘is none of your business.’

‘And that,’ he said, ‘is open to debate.’ He paused. ‘After all, my sweet, we are still married.’

‘A technicality,’ Paige put in quickly.

‘But an important one. So it’s natural that I should have—concerns.’

‘“Natural” is not a word that I’d ever apply to our relationship,’ she said tautly. ‘I can’t wait to put a stop to the whole ridiculous pretence.’

‘Then we have one thing in common at least,’ Nick returned coolly. ‘In the meantime, is it possible that we might treat each other with a measure of civility? Otherwise a thirty-minute flight is going to seem like eternity.’

It will anyway, Paige thought, biting her lip. Aloud, she said, ‘I can do civil. But I won’t put up with the kind of wind-up that I was subjected to on the beach last night. No more jokes about getting me back. Is that clearly understood?’

He surveyed her for a moment, then shrugged. ‘That’s fine with me. Although the temptation was quite irresistible, believe me. But—all joking cancelled. Will that do?’

Paige looked coldly back at him. ‘Thank you.’

He gave her a brief nod and turned away, reaching down to the briefcase he’d brought on board with him and extracting a sheaf of papers.

The conversation, it seemed, was over. The contact broken. Which was exactly what she wanted.

Paige found herself confronted by a view of the back of his head. His dark hair was thick and silky, and in need of a cut. But that was one of the few things he was careless about, she thought. A curious lapse in one who normally conducted his life with such precision.

Or was it? After all, how much did she really know about him?

But, again, that was how she wanted it, she reminded herself. This way there would be no intimate details to torment her memory when the final legalities had been completed.

She sat back in her seat, firmly turning her own attention to the rapidly diminishing airfield beneath them while her thoughts continued to run riot. Because it wasn’t just a matter of thirty minutes, she thought, an icy fist clenching inside her. It looked as if they were catching the same plane back to Britain, too, and that meant hours. But on a big passenger jet it was unlikely they would be thrust into this kind of unwelcome proximity.

Not, she thought, with a wry twist of her mouth, unless I’m very unlucky and someone upgrades me to business class.

But good fortune had played little part in their dealings with each other so far, she was forced to admit.

It had been barely a month after their first disastrous encounter in the wine bar when she’d received a call from Toby to say the family equivalent of a three-line whip had been issued for the coming weekend.

‘It’s not awfully convenient,’ she objected, frowning. ‘I was thinking of going over to Paris. The magazine’s doing a series on the problems of single travellers and—’

‘It’s not only single travellers who have problems,’ Toby interrupted. ‘We have a finance guy to entertain, all stops pulled out.’ He paused for dramatic emphasis. ‘And it’s really important that we make a good impression.’

‘Is it?’ Paige pulled a face at the telephone. ‘I don’t think I like the sound of this. What’s been going on?’

‘Nothing for you to worry about,’ Toby told her. ‘We need some extra financial backup in the short term, and it’s not been as easy to raise as we thought. Hence the charm offensive. We want to assure this chap that we’re a united family firm, solidly established and totally reliable. Come on, Sis,’ he added in a wheedling tone. ‘It’s not often we ask you to get involved, and you’re a member of the board, too.’

‘Nominally, yes.’ Paige made the concession without pleasure.

She knew what was behind this, of course. Denise had clearly gone into panic mode at the thought of acting as sole hostess, but she would still resent her sister-in-law being brought in to help. Paige would have to perform miracles of tact and diplomacy to ensure the weekend ran smoothly, and prevent Denise retiring in sulky dudgeon to her room with a convenient migraine attack.

I really don’t need this, she told herself.

‘Paige?’ Toby’s voice was urgent. ‘Dad’s relying on you, you know. We all are.’

The emotional blackmail card, Paige recalled bitterly. It had never failed. But if she’d had the remotest idea what form this reliance was going to take she’d have gone to Paris and never returned.

Instead, she’d left work early on Friday and driven down to Priors Hampton. Like a lamb to the slaughter.

Denise, on the other hand, had been behaving like a headless chicken, roaming around the house, giving the staff orders which she rescinded in the next breath.

‘So there you are,’ she greeted her sister-in-law fretfully. ‘He hasn’t arrived yet, thank God, but it’s all turning into a disaster. I’ve given him the Blue Room, but Toby says it should have been the South Suite, and I don’t know if I’ve got time to change everything over.’ Her mouth went into its habitual pout. ‘And Mrs Nixon’s been sulking ever since the catering firm arrived. I’m terrified that she’s going to give notice.’

‘Very unlikely,’ Paige said briskly, putting down her bag. ‘She’s always hated cooking for formal dinner parties. And the Blue Room is fine,’ she added firmly. ‘He’s a money man, not visiting royalty.’

Denise tossed her blonde head. ‘You wouldn’t think so to hear Toby and your father. Everything has to be just so. I asked Toby if I should put flowers in his room, and he nearly bit my head off. Told me I wasn’t to bother him with trivia. But how can I know what to do if he won’t tell me?’

‘It must be very difficult for you,’ Paige said soothingly. ‘And I’d go ahead with the flowers. If he doesn’t like them, his wife probably will.’

‘I don’t think he’s got a wife.’ Denise frowned with the effort of remembering. ‘He’s certainly not bringing her.’ A look of horror dawned. ‘At least I don’t think so. Should I ask Toby? Put extra towels in his bathroom?’

‘I think I’d leave things just as they are.’ Paige patted her arm. ‘I’m sure it will all be perfect.’

‘That’s easy for you to say,’ Denise tossed over her shoulder as she moved off again. ‘All you’ve had to do is show up.’

Paige, who’d crammed an entire day’s work into a morning in order to arrive punctually, bit her lip hard. She told herself resolutely that it was not all Denise’s fault. She hadn’t been trained to run a large house and cope with difficult guests. Yet on her marriage she’d found she was expected to step straight into the shoes of her late mother-in-law, who’d been a charming and competent hostess and who would have sailed serenely through the current situation.




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