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The Bride Of Santa Barbara
Angela Devine


An Unmarried Bride? How could you cope with a man who anticipated your secret fantasies even before you had them yourself… ? Daniel Pryor had made a career out of turning people's dreams into reality. Now it was Beth's turn… . He'd pulled her from the depths of Santa Barbara harbor - the wedding dress Beth had been wearing was no protection against the charge of attraction between them.But Beth had to resist Daniel's temptation. Because once he'd fulfilled her dreams, he would turn his interest to someone else… wouldn't he?









The Bride Of Santa Barbara

Angela Devine











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




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE (#u49f9c638-e99c-59a4-8515-a569b874f53e)

CHAPTER TWO (#u2b31e0b5-6371-5743-8b9b-3e057fa6fbe4)

CHAPTER THREE (#u3ef53025-f89d-5dbf-9dda-c2c568fbb1f5)

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 ONE


‘OK, BETH. This is the most important day of your life. You’re getting married today. So let’s have a really big smile.’

With a hesitant tilt of her lips Beth turned to face the photographer. Behind him she could see the towering blue hills that rose like a painted backdrop behind the city of Santa Barbara. Above them the sun was just beginning to rise, sending a faint pink glow along the ridge-tops and lighting up the palm trees and white stuccoed houses on the waterfront. The air was still moist and fresh with no hint of the heat that would blaze out later in the day. A gentle breeze blew from the land, sending a sound like wind chimes rippling through the masts of the yachts in the marina and ruffling her veil. She stole a swift glance behind her and saw that the ocean was taking on the same rosy pink hue of the sky. It was a perfect day for taking photos and a perfect day for a wedding. Feeling half shy and half foolish, Beth let her thoughts dwell on the prospect of marrying Warren. All the doubts of the last three years would be swept aside in one glorious moment. The uncertainties would be gone forever...

‘You’re frowning slightly, honey,’ warned the photographer. ‘I want a really big smile. Radiant. Joyful. Yes, like that.’

Finally Beth pushed away her doubts. A wistful look crept into her light blue eyes and a hesitant half-smile played around the corners of her wide mouth. She concentrated on happiness and suddenly her whole face lit up. Her lips parted into a beaming grin and the cleft in her chin grew more accentuated than ever.

‘That’s great!’ exclaimed the photographer. ‘Any time you want a job as a professional model, you just come straight to me. Now can you lean a little against the railings of the launch? Yes, like that. I want to catch the background of the harbour behind you.’

The varnished deck of the motor launch was bobbing gently under Beth’s feet and the long white dress hampered her movements. But, looping her train cautiously over one arm, she did her best to obey his orders.

‘See if you can actually sit up on the railing a little,’ he urged. ‘I want your curls fluttering in the breeze and the veil blowing out behind you. That’s fine.’

Darting a swift glance over her shoulder, Beth saw the pearly pink curve of a sail gliding towards them across the water like the outstretched wings of a bird. She scrambled into a precarious position on the railing, pushed the lace veil out over her right shoulder and ran her long slim fingers through her blonde curls.

‘Like this, Michael?’ she asked.

‘Great,’ agreed the photographer. ‘Now if you could just— ‘

But what he was going to say Beth never found out, for at that moment there was a terrific thud and the cabin cruiser plunged sharply beneath her feet as if an earthquake had struck. She snatched wildly at the railing, missed and fell into the harbour with a terrified shriek. A torrent of salt water poured into her mouth. Flailing wildly, she tried to fight her way back to the surface. Normally she was a good swimmer, but then she did not usually swim in a wedding-dress. The folds of material were rapidly filling up with water and dragging her down, the veil was wrapped tightly around her neck and her lungs felt ready to burst. One of her white satin shoes slipped off her foot and she kicked wildly, trying to free the other one. All around her there was nothing but an explosion of bubbles and green blurry water and inside her chest was the beginning of a searing pain. Suddenly strong arms appeared from nowhere and dragged her to the surface. She opened her mouth and took in a long, choking gulp of fresh air. Her wet veil felt like a strangling rope around her throat and she fought with a new vigour to try and free herself. Then to her relief the encumbrance was suddenly torn loose and flung away. Beth became aware that somebody’s strong arm was flung over her left shoulder and holding her tightly under her right armpit. For an instant she lay motionless with relief in that reassuring grip. Then she saw her veil beginning to fill with water and sink beneath the green surface of the waves.

‘Oh, no, my veil!’ she gasped, struggling wildly to try and grab it. ‘I can’t lose that.’

‘I’ll buy you a new one,’ promised a deep masculine voice.

Lean brown fingers thrust aside her wet curls and she caught a glimpse of keen dark eyes. Then her rescuer began to swim in a strong, effortless side-stroke, dragging her after him. Raising her head, she saw the gleaming white stern of a yacht dead ahead of them. When they reached it, the stranger shouted to somebody on board and a rope-ladder came splashing down into the water beside her. By now Beth was shivering with cold and shock and her first fumbling attempts to get a grip on the ladder were in vain. With an impatient oath the man in the water grabbed her by the back of her dress and hoisted her almost bodily over the stern of the yacht. A moment later he had hauled himself up beside her.

‘Are you all right?’ he demanded.

Beth opened her mouth to speak but was seized by a paroxysm of coughing. With an involuntary gulp she ducked her head over the rear of the yacht and was violently sick into the water.

As she straightened up, shuddering and gasping, she saw a sight that took her breath away. On the green surface of the water where the motor launch had been bobbing only moments before, there was nothing but a single red lifebelt surrounded by a few scraps of floating wreckage.

‘What happened to our boat?’ she demanded, her voice sharp with alarm.

‘It sank,’ replied her rescuer. ‘And you’re lucky you didn’t go down with it.’

‘But Warren and the photographer...where are they?’

Her voice was shrill with fear and the stranger grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her round to face the south.

‘They’ve swum to the wharf,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, they look fine.’ Beth followed his pointing finger to a spot where the grey outline of Stearns Wharf could be seen jutting out into the water. Sure enough, Warren and Michael had already climbed out on to the wooden planks of the wharf and were wringing the water out of their soaked clothing. As she watched, Warren turned and made an obscene gesture towards the yacht.

‘You reckless, destructive bastard!’ he shouted across the water. ‘I’ll sue you for this.’

‘We’ll see about that!’ muttered the stranger grimly. ‘Benson, take us ashore at the Yacht Club and phone the police.’

He turned back to Beth and held out his hand.

‘My name is Daniel Pryor,’ he said curtly.

Something in his manner was as threatening as if he were pointing a loaded gun at her. Yet, not knowing what else to do, she shook hands.

‘I’m Beth Saxon,’ she replied.

It seemed ridiculous to be standing there exchanging such formal greetings when they looked like a pair of typhoon victims. Beth’s white high-heeled shoes had been lost, her sodden veil was somewhere at the bottom of the harbour and her beautiful dress was soaked with salt water. She stole a swift glance at her rescuer. He didn’t look much better. His brown, curly hair lay damp and sleek against his head, and his white polo-shirt and white yachting shorts clung closely to his muscular frame. He was about thirty-five, with a hawk-like nose, dark eyes, a square jaw and a powerfully built physique, all of which seemed hauntingly familiar, although quite unknown to her. Although he was not conventionally handsome, Daniel Pryor was the kind of man who would always stand out in a crowd. The kind of man Beth instinctively distrusted.

The skin on the back of her neck rose in goose-bumps that had nothing to do with the cold, as she realised whom he reminded her of. Her sister Kerry’s ex-husband Greg. A ruthless, irresistible sensualist who had swept her sister through four years of passion, excitement and misery before abandoning her for another woman. Involuntarily Beth stiffened as Daniel took her arm.

‘You’re cold. Go below to the cabin and dry yourself off,’ he ordered brusquely. ‘There’s a bathrobe of mine down there that you can put on. And when we get ashore we’ll see about having your dress dry-cleaned.’

Hating herself for the strange, fluttering thrill that his deep voice woke inside her, Beth obeyed without any argument. But, as she clambered awkwardly down the hatch in her wet dress, a maelstrom of confused feelings seethed inside her. Uppermost were shock and disbelief. This couldn’t have happened! And yet it had happened or she wouldn’t be here dripping a dark trail of sea-water along the carpeted floor. All the same, the reality of the accident still hadn’t sunk in. She felt numb, as if she were watching a blurred video about someone else. Some girl who had nearly drowned. That thought made her stiffen in horror, recalling those terrifying moments underwater before Daniel Pryor had saved her. Once again she felt the urgent grip of his powerful arms, the way he had thrust her upwards to the life-giving air. And, in spite of her misgivings about his raw animal magnetism, relief and gratitude flooded through her.

But this was followed almost at once by more turbulent emotions. Fear, apprehension, confusion. Why did she have to be saved by a man who woke such uncomfortable memories in her? Nobody had ever known of Beth’s unwilling attraction to her brother-in-law, because she had taken very good care that they shouldn’t. And when Greg, with his brooding bedroom eyes and husky, caressing voice, had finally abandoned her sister, Beth had viewed his departure with relief. After all, his callous behaviour had simply confirmed her view that sexy men were likely to be incredibly dangerous and destructive. But that didn’t make it any easier to cope with another one made in the same mould, especially when he appeared out of the blue like this. Not that she really knew anything about Daniel Pryor. Except that his arms were incredibly strong, his voice was like dark velvet and simply being in his presence made her feel weak at the knees. Yet that was quite enough to set alarm bells ringing in her head.

Beth shuddered as she gripped the cabin door-handle. One thing she was sure of—the sooner she was out of this situation, the better.

The cabin proved to be surprisingly luxurious in spite of its small size. The walls were upholstered in some kind of apricot-coloured vinyl and there was a large double bed with a grey and apricot cover. A strip of tiny lights ran along the cornice near the ceiling and stowage lockers were built into the walls. Pulling open a door, Beth saw that there was also a small en-suite bathroom decorated in pale green marble with a ceiling shaft to let in natural light from the deck above.

With shaking fingers she somehow managed to pull off the soaking wedding-dress and climbed into the shower. Two minutes under a refreshing downpour of hot water revived her spirits a little, but she was still too shaken to comprehend completely what had happened.

By the time she had dried off and wrapped a thick white towelling bathrobe around her she felt a bump as the yacht came alongside a jetty. Hastily rubbing her hair with the towel, she went into the cabin, opened one of the stowage lockers and looked inside. As she had hoped, she found a pair of leather thongs which she slipped on to her feet. A moment later there was a knock on the cabin door.

‘Come in,’ she called.

It was the man who had dragged her out of the water. Daniel Pryor. Unsmiling, soaking wet and with an expression of veiled exasperation on his face. And there was no mistaking the undertone of controlled hostility in his voice when he spoke.

‘If you’ve finished, Miss Saxon,’ he said, ‘I’ll just get changed myself and then we’ll go ashore. Perhaps you’d like to wait for me up on deck.’

‘Y-yes, of course,’ stammered Beth. She looked around in a dazed fashion, caught sight of the wedding-dress still crumpled on the floor in the tiny bathroom. ‘But my dress—’

‘I’ll bring it up with me when I come.’

Climbing up the hatchway on to the deck, she looked over the railings of the yacht and saw that they were drawn up alongside a jetty that formed part of the Yacht Club marina. And, to her alarm, she saw a policeman with a notebook standing at the far end of the jetty.

‘Do you know what’s going on?’ she asked the short, grey-haired crewman who was sitting at the tiller of the yacht. His red, genial face wore an imperturbable look, as if collisions on the harbour were all in a day’s work for him. But at Beth’s question he unbent enough to smile faintly.

‘Don’t you worry, madam,’ he replied in a clipped British accent. ‘Mr Pryor will handle it, whatever it is.’

An almost reverent note crept into his voice as he spoke Daniel’s name and Beth found herself unaccountably irritated by it. She longed desperately to escape from this situation, but there was little she could do except wait. After a couple of minutes Daniel Pryor emerged from the hatchway looking casually well dressed in short-sleeved grey and white striped shirt, matching grey shorts and rope-soled espadrilles. He handed a large plastic bag to Benson and turned to Beth. His face was impassive as he stretched out one hand to her.

‘You’d better let me help you ashore,’ he offered. ‘You won’t be able to climb very well in that outfit.’

Reluctantly Beth allowed him to take her arm and help her over the railing on to the jetty. An involuntary tingle sparked through her at the touch of his warm fingers and she broke away the moment she was safely ashore. To her dismay she saw that an interested knot of spectators was collecting near the clubhouse and watching as the policeman strolled towards them. He touched his cap in a brief gesture of respect.

‘Sorry to trouble you, Mr Pryor,’ he said pleasantly, ‘but we’ve had a complaint laid that you rammed somebody out there in the bay.’

Daniel Pryor’s dark eyes took on a stormy expression and his chin set into a hard line.

‘Perhaps we can go inside the clubhouse and discuss the matter in private,’ he said.

‘Yes, sir,’ agreed the policeman.

Beth scuffled along between them in her overlarge thongs, trying not to think about the disturbing responses which Daniel Pryor’s nearness awoke in her. In any case, she had plenty of other problems to worry about. What really had happened out there in the bay? Had the motor launch really sunk so fast? And, if so, just whose fault was it? And what would happen to Warren if he was responsible?

Reaching the clubhouse, Daniel held open the door for her and ushered her inside. Then, after a quick word to an official, he led her into a private office along with the policeman.

‘Please sit down, Officer,’ he invited. ‘But if you don’t mind we’ll make this as brief as possible. The young lady has an important appointment to keep.’

Beth’s dark eyebrows met in a puzzled line. Do I? she thought. What appointment? But Daniel was already talking again. Striding across the room to a whiteboard that hung on one wall, he picked up a red felt pen and began drawing a diagram, while he explained rapidly what had happened. The conversation immediately became too technical for Beth to follow with its talk of port tacks, starboard tacks, figure-of-eights and wind directions. But the policeman was nodding attentively. In a few moments he closed his notebook with a snap and nodded with a satisfied expression.

‘Seems like an open-and-shut case to me,’ he said, standing up. ‘Power gives way to sail, it’s as simple as that.’

Beth rose uncertainly to her feet.

‘Can I go, then?’ she asked. ‘Is it all over?’

A faint look of sardonic amusement crinkled the corners of Daniel Pryor’s eyes. ‘Were you afraid we were going to put you in gaol?’ he asked. ‘Yes, I’d say it’s all over. Wouldn’t you, Officer?’

‘Yes, I would,’ agreed the policeman. ‘Unless that other guy wants to take you to court, but in my opinion that would be a plain stupid thing for him to do.’

‘Do you know what’s happened to him?’ stammered Beth anxiously. ‘Warren Clark, I mean, the man who was driving the motor launch. My fiancé. Are you sure he wasn’t hurt?’

‘Well, ma’am,’ replied the policeman with a harassed expression, ‘the last I saw of him, he was on his way down to the hospital to get himself checked out, but it didn’t seem as if there was too much wrong with him. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better be going. I have other work to do.’

As the door closed behind him, Beth sank shakily into a chair. Delayed shock was beginning to assault her and her thoughts whirled crazily. I hope Warren’s not hurt, she mused, but if he isn’t why hasn’t he come to find me? And where do I go from here?

‘Hospital,’ she echoed. ‘What on earth do I do now?’

A faint tremor shivered through her limbs and she had to fight down the urge to fling herself into Daniel’s arms and burst into tears. Oh, lord, she thought miserably. If he knew what I was thinking, I’d be so embarrassed, I’d curl up and die. Biting her lip, she darted Daniel a stricken glance and then lifted her head defiantly.

Daniel Pryor stood gazing at her for a moment out of brooding dark eyes, then the grim look around the corners of his mouth suddenly softened. Crossing the room, he laid his hand briefly on her shoulder. His touch seemed to scorch through the towelling bathrobe and Beth shifted uneasily, willing him not to notice the way her pulse-rate suddenly soared and her breathing grew fast and shallow. No doubt, with his aura of power and sensuality, women threw themselves at him all the time. But she had no desire to make a fool of herself. Chemistry, she thought cynically, that’s all it is. And she tried to draw away from his touch.

Her movement attracted his attention. Panic jolted through her as she met that smouldering gaze and then glanced hastily away. She felt her cheeks flushing hotly and yearned for him to say something to ease the strain. But for several moments he remained thoughtfully silent. And, when he did speak, his voice had a harsh edge to it.

‘Well, it’s not your fault that you’re engaged to an idiot,’ he growled. ‘And I can’t help taking pity on a bride. So cheer up, Miss Saxon. I’m sure we can get you both to the church on time.’

Beth stared at him with a baffled expression.

‘What are you talking about?’ she demanded. ‘What church?’

Daniel frowned, radiating a dose of antagonism that was as ominous and unmistakable as the massing of thunderclouds before a storm.

‘To the church where you’re getting married, of course,’ he replied curtly. ‘Which reminds me, you’d better give me some details. Where was the wedding supposed to be held and what time? Is there someone I should call to tell them you’ll be late?’

Light suddenly dawned inside Beth’s confused brain. She gave a half-hysterical gulp of laughter.

‘There isn’t any wedding,’ she explained. ‘We were just doing fashion photos and I was modelling the bridal dress. I’m not getting married today.’

The expression on his face baffled her. The thunderous scowl relaxed fractionally and was replaced by a look of fierce amusement.

‘No wedding?’ he drawled lazily. ‘Well, that is interesting. In that case, I guess there’s no real harm done, is there?’

A shadow crossed Beth’s face and she took in breath in a long, shaky sigh. Dismissing her tumultuous reactions to Daniel as too dangerous to contemplate, she tried to focus on the consequences of the morning’s events. Now that she knew Warren was safe, the other glaring result of the accident occurred to her.

‘Oh, yes, there is,’ she said miserably. ‘If that motor launch has really sunk to the bottom of the harbour, then my entire collection of autumn clothes has gone with it. All except for the bridal gown, and that’s probably ruined by the salt water.’

Daniel shrugged indifferently.

‘Well, I wouldn’t worry too much about that,’ he said. ‘Your insurance will cover the clothes. And you can easily buy some more right here in Santa Barbara.’

‘But you don’t understand,’ protested Beth passionately, her voice rising and growing faster. ‘I can’t just go out to a shop and replace those! They were originals. Clothes that I designed and made myself. Each of those is one of a kind and I’m supposed to be displaying them at a fashion show in Los Angeles in three days’ time. So now what am I going to do?’ She broke off suddenly and her eyes filled with tears. ‘It’s the end of everything I’ve worked for!’

Daniel’s harsh, brooding features took on an expression of total absorption, as if he were a chess master faced by a teasing problem or a champion skier embarking on a taxing downhill slalom.

‘Where are you staying in Santa Barbara?’ he rapped out.

Beth stared at him in bewilderment.

‘Nowhere,’ she said. ‘Warren and I drove a hire car up here from Los Angeles during the night. And we were going to drive back this afternoon.’

‘Right. That simplifies things. Where was your luggage? In the car?’

‘No. All aboard the motor launch,’ said Beth despairingly.

‘Never mind. We’ll replace it. Now we’d better get moving if we’re going to sort this out. Come on.’

He dragged her to her feet, opened the door and thrust her out into the clubroom’s main lounge.

‘But where are you taking me?’ demanded Beth.

‘Back to my place to get things organised,’ replied Daniel. He snapped his fingers at a figure who was hovering discreetly on the far side of the room. ‘Benson, come here. I want you to go down town and buy Miss Saxon some clothes. A size eight, I’d say at a guess. And how about shoes? What size do you take?’

‘Six,’ stammered Beth, wondering whether her companion had gone right off his head.

‘And size six shoes,’ finished Daniel briskly. ‘Enough for three days. Bring them back to the house as soon as possible.’

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Benson, turning on his heel and departing.

Daniel intercepted Beth’s look of horrified disbelief and a mocking smile flickered suddenly around the edges of his mouth.

‘Don’t worry, Benson is a genuine English butler,’ he assured her. ‘And he has excellent taste. I’m sure you’ll like the clothes he chooses.’

‘It’s not that!’ wailed Beth. ‘But you must see, I can’t possibly go with you. I don’t know anything about you.’

Daniel brushed aside this objection with a careless wave of his hand. ‘I’m not really in the habit of kidnapping young women,’ he assured her wearily. ‘But I’m sure the Yacht Club manager will give me a character reference if you need it. Now, are you coming with me or not?’

Beth stared at him, feeling completely taken aback. She couldn’t help feeling an ominous sense of misgiving about the prospect of going off with Daniel. Not that she expected him to do her any harm, but she sensed a subtler kind of danger in his company. The danger of an intoxicating, sensual attraction whose potency she could not ignore. Yet what else could she do? Alone in a strange city with no possessions, who else could she turn to? Besides, she need not stay long. If he would just let her use his phone to contact Warren, she could be on her way again as soon as Benson brought her some clothes.

‘I suppose I’ll have to,’ she said slowly. ‘I don’t know where else I could go in your dressing-gown anyway.’

Daniel gave a low growl of laughter.

‘Well, you could try getting a job as a mannequin in a store window,’ he suggested. ‘But failing that I think you’d better come home with me and have some breakfast.’

With a feeling of unreality Beth allowed herself to be led out into the car park and handed into a gleaming silver Jaguar. As they drove through the streets of Santa Barbara, she pinched herself quietly on the arm, wondering whether all of this was real. But the white Spanishstyle buildings with their orange-tiled roofs, the tall palm trees with their waving fronds like giant pineapples, the dark blue soaring backdrop of the hills and the glimmering expanse of the harbour all looked much the same as they had an hour earlier.

‘Where are you from?’ asked Daniel abruptly. ‘You don’t sound like an American.’

‘I’m not,’ agreed Beth. ‘I’m from Australia.’

‘And what are you doing in California?’ he asked. ‘Are you on vacation?’

‘No.’ She shook her head and felt drips of water cascade down her neck. ‘I’m here on business, or I was.’

‘What kind of business? Fashion design?’

‘Yes. I’ve been invited to show my autumn collection of clothes at a big fashion parade in Los Angeles on Tuesday.’

‘Los Angeles, huh?’ echoed Daniel. ‘So what made you come to Santa Barbara? Are you just having a weekend off before the big event?’

Beth shook her head again, trying to fight off the despair that was beginning to well up inside her.

‘No. We just drove up from Los Angeles to do some publicity photos of the collection. I couldn’t afford a professional model, so I modelled the clothes myself.’

‘What were the photos for?’ asked Daniel. ‘Advertising?’

‘Yes, sort of. You see, after the fashion show on Tuesday there’ll be trade shows in other places: New York, Miami, that sort of thing. What they do is hire a large hall and everyone sets up a booth with photos of their collection so buyers can come and see them and order whatever they want. I showed my clothes to an agent in LA and she encouraged me to get the photos done and send them on to New York. If the show went well on Tuesday, I was hoping I could break into the rest of the US market. But now—’

Her voice wobbled suddenly. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth.

‘I see,’ said Daniel softly. ‘But now your entire autumn collection is at the bottom of the Santa Barbara harbour and you think your life is ruined. Is that right?’

Beth’s eyes blurred suddenly. Two large tears rolled down her cheek.

‘That’s about it,’ she breathed huskily.

Daniel’s powerful right hand shot out and squeezed her fingers so hard that she felt the bones grate. She glanced at him in surprise and his dark eyes met hers briefly in a look that seared her. Then he turned back to face the road, gritting his teeth as if he had just taken some momentous decision.

‘Trust me,’ he urged. ‘I’ll find a way to solve your problem.’

Beth gave a croaking laugh which was close to a sob.

‘If you do, you’re a magician!’ she said bitterly. ‘Anyway, why should you bother?’

‘I have my reasons,’ he said cryptically.




CHAPTER TWO


BETH was still puzzling over what he meant when the road suddenly took a turn up into the hills and the car began to climb along a series of winding lanes. At last Daniel turned off the road at the imposing entrance to a villa. Black wrought-iron gates rose eight feet high in an intricate filigree pattern between two massive pillars of honey-coloured stucco. On either side of the gateway hung Spanish wrought-iron carriage-lamps. Beyond the gates, Beth caught a glimpse of a garden which looked cool and green and inviting. Amid its tangled foliage the driveway curved out of sight in a dappled pattern of light and shade.

Daniel touched a button on the sun visor above the windscreen and with barely a squeak the gates swung wide open. They drove through a twisting avenue of cypresses for nearly two hundred yards before at last the house itself came into view. It was an imposing villa built in a Spanish style with cream stuccoed walls, black shutters, orange roof-tiles and a clock tower. Daniel parked the Jaguar on a brick terrace and led Beth up to the front entrance of the house. This too was in the Spanish style with pillars of sandstone, an arched entranceway and double doors surmounted by a graceful fanlight. In the centre of the porch hung another wrought-iron lamp and on either side of the door there were tubs of light blue lobelias and yellow violas to soften the harshness of the sandstone.

Daniel inserted a key into the brass lock and flung open the doors, revealing a cool marble-floored hallway. On the right this gave way to an open-plan living and dining area with a parquetry floor, Mexican rugs, a lot of black leather and chrome furniture and a huge central fireplace stacked with freshly sawn logs. Most of the far wall was occupied by floor-to-ceiling glass French doors which led on to a shady terrace. Striding across the room, Daniel unlocked one of these doors and ushered Beth outside.

‘Go and sit by the pool,’ he urged, ‘while I rustle up some breakfast.’

‘Can I do anything to help?’ asked Beth in a subdued voice.

‘Yes. You can stop looking as if you’re about to face an executioner at any moment,’ replied Daniel.

But Beth found the advice hard to follow. Slumping into a garden chair, she cupped her chin in her hands and gazed moodily over the vista that lay before her. It was an attractive sight. Beyond the kidney-shaped pool was a brick terrace flanked by tubs of geraniums and bordered by a low wall. Below this the ground dropped away sharply to reveal a breathtaking view of the Pacific Ocean. By now the sun was high in the sky and the sea had turned a deep cobalt-blue. Huge, fluffy white clouds floated against a paler blue sky and the bright sunlight gleamed back from the creamy white stucco walls of the Spanish-style houses far below. Bees buzzed in the flowering plants that climbed a trellis on one wall and the air was sweet and heavy with the scent of jasmine.

It should have been a wonderful experience sitting here on this five-hundred-foot-high hilltop overlooking the ocean and surrounded by every imaginable luxury, but nothing could raise Beth’s spirits at the moment. In the space of the last hour her world seemed to have fallen to pieces. Her fiancé Warren was off in some unnamed hospital, possibly injured. All her possessions were at the bottom of the Santa Barbara harbour and her bright hopes of breaking into American fashion design were in ruins. All she had were the clothes she stood up in and even those didn’t belong to her. They belonged to that extraordinary American who had whisked her away to his hilltop hideaway and who seemed to be quite out of touch with reality. And why had Daniel invited her here? A tremor of anxiety skittered through her as she tried to fathom his motives. Was he planning to try and seduce her? Beth was no fool and she couldn’t help suspecting that the current of tingling physical awareness which had sparked between them at the Yacht Club had stung Daniel as fiercely as her. Yet she couldn’t keep running away from physically alluring men for the rest of her life just because of one bad experience. Besides, sparks of sexual attraction must ignite beween people all the time and it didn’t necessarily stop them from having any social contacts. She would simply have to remain cool and aloof and hope that Daniel did likewise. All the same, she couldn’t help feeling profoundly disturbed by being here.

Turning in her chair, she looked back towards the house and saw that the kitchen also faced on to the terrace. Through the window she could see Daniel grinding coffee and simultaneously holding an animated conversation on a mobile telephone which was tucked into the crook of his shoulder. Catching her eye, he winked at her. A heady feeling of excitement rushed through her veins, then she sighed and sank further down into her chair with her shoulders hunched. This is crazy, she thought to herself. What on earth am I doing here?

Ten minutes later Daniel appeared on the terrace carrying a tray loaded with hot blueberry muffins, coffee, orange juice and butter. To Beth’s astonishment the mobile phone was also sitting on the tray.

‘Right, let’s eat and then we’ll solve your problem.’

Beth gave him a glum look but accepted a hot muffin and a cup of coffee. Despite her depression the strong, sweet coffee and the tart, crumbly muffins began to revive her. For the first time she felt capable of looking ahead more than the next five minutes. And something occurred to her which had not yet crossed her mind. Wincing, she decided to get the uncomfortable moment over with.

‘I’m awfully sorry about the accident,’ she blurted out. ‘I hope your yacht didn’t suffer too much damage, but, if it did, I want you to know that we’ll pay. Somehow.’

‘Forget my yacht!’ he said roughly. ‘If your insurance doesn’t cover it, mine certainly will. And we’ve more important matters to discuss. Now are you ready to make plans?’

She bit her lip and nodded.

‘I guess so. And the first thing I’d better do is find out which hospital Warren’s at and let him know that I’m OK.’

‘That’s already taken care of,’ Daniel assured her swiftly. ‘I phoned and checked. Warren’s at the Mater Hospital. He’s perfectly fine and he knows that you’re here.’

‘Thank you,’ sighed Beth. ‘In that case I suppose he’ll be arriving any time now to collect me.’

‘Maybe,’ retorted Daniel. ‘But I can’t help finding it pretty damned strange that he ever left you in the first place. If you’d been my fiancée, I’d have wanted to know that you were OK immediately. What I’d like to know is why the hell he didn’t come to the Yacht Club to look for you.’

Beth fought down a disloyal temptation to wonder the same thing. Adroitly she changed the subject.

‘You know, I think I’ll have to accept your offer of those clothes you sent Benson to buy,’ she said hastily. ‘After all, I can’t go back to Los Angeles in your bathrobe or in a wet wedding-gown. But if you write down your address for me I’ll make sure that you’re repaid. And if you could just phone the hospital and remind Warren to pick me up I’d be very grateful.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Daniel sternly. ‘You’re not going anywhere. We’ve got to find a way of getting your fashion collection ready for the show on Tuesday.’

Beth gave a gasp of astonished laughter.

‘That’s impossible!’ she cried. ‘Look, I’m sure you mean well, but I don’t believe there’s any way we can get those clothes back off the bottom of the harbour.’

Daniel nodded tranquilly and buttered a muffin.

‘No, you’re right there,’ he agreed. ‘I already phoned a diving and salvage firm while I was in the kitchen and they said the same thing, so I guess you’ll just have to make a new lot of clothes.’

Beth groaned.

‘A new lot of clothes?’ she echoed incredulously. ‘You must be joking! It would take half a dozen dressmakers working round the clock for the next six days to reproduce those clothes. There’s no way I could get a new collection together by Tuesday.’

‘Is that right?’ asked Daniel, setting down his muffin and reaching for the mobile phone. He punched in some numbers. ‘Let me see, six dressmakers working round the clock for six days? Well, that shouldn’t be too difficult. Hello? Wendy? Listen, I need two dozen dressmakers to come over to my place right away and work round the clock until Monday night. Can you do that?’

Beth watched aghast as Daniel nodded, smiled and wrote down a couple of figures on a small notepad. Then he switched off the phone.

‘It’s all settled,’ he said tranquilly. ‘They’ll be round in an hour.’

Beth stared at him in horror.

‘Do you seriously mean to tell me you just hired two dozen dressmakers to make up my clothes for the show on Tuesday?’ she demanded.

Daniel nodded.

‘You’ve got it,’ he agreed.

‘But I can’t possibly afford that!’ cried Beth. ‘All I have in the world is two hundred dollars in a bank account in Sydney and the clothes I stand up in. And even those belong to you.’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll foot the bill,’ Daniel assured her.

‘But why should you put money into solving my problems?’

‘I’m an entrepreneur,’ he replied with a shrug. ‘I often put up capital for deserving business ventures. And what could be more deserving than a bride in distress? Anyway, you can pay me back once you’re rich and famous.’

Beth felt an uncomfortable sensation in her stomach, as if she had just plunged three floors in a lift.

‘What if I never am rich and famous?’ she demanded.

Daniel’s white teeth flashed in a taunting smile.

‘Then I guess I’ll just have to sue you for my bathrobe,’ he replied.

Beth twisted her fingers together nervously.

‘Look, this may be a big joke to you,’ she said. ‘But it’s really important to me. I appreciate your offer, but what you’re trying to do is impossible. Besides, I just can’t afford to get into that kind of debt.’

Or get involved with a man who attracts me so much, she added silently. Daniel stirred his coffee and raised one eyebrow.

‘Funny,’ he remarked. ‘You don’t look like the kind to just give up and die. I thought you had guts.’

Beth’s blue eyes blazed. She knew her faults as well as anyone, but she never gave up on anything that mattered. Even her mother said she was stubborn.

‘I’m not just giving up and dying!’ she cried defiantly. ‘And I do have guts. But what you’re trying to do is ridiculous!’

‘Is it?’ asked Daniel softly. His dark eyes scanned her face, issuing a challenge which she could not ignore. ‘Or is it just that you don’t have the courage to go for broke? Come on, Beth, couldn’t those twenty-four women reproduce the collection in three days under your guidance? It’s twice as many as you said you’d need. Couldn’t they, if you really put your heart and soul into it and refused to be defeated?’

Beth hesitated, feeling her cheeks stain with colour. An unwilling surge of mingled terror and exultation flooded through her.

‘I—I suppose so,’ she stammered. ‘In theory. But it’s not really practical. I’d need all kinds of equipment, sewing machines, scissors, everything...’

‘That’s easy,’ said Daniel, reaching for the phone again. ‘I’ll just call up and order what you need.’

Impulsively Beth reached out and gripped his powerful brown hand.

‘Please don’t,’ she begged. ‘You’re just getting me in deeper and deeper and I know I’ll never be able to repay you. This is all moving much too fast for me.’

Daniel shook off her hand.

‘Look, honey,’ he growled. ‘I was a movie producer and director in Hollywood for ten years and in that business there’s only the quick and the dead. Trust me. I know what I’m doing. Now, what do you need?’

Sinking back into her chair, Beth stared at him with a defeated expression. Arguing with Daniel Pryor was obviously like trying to swim the wrong way up Niagara Falls or scratch your way through solid rock with your bare fingernails. You could do nothing but lose. With a strong feeling of unreality and the first fluttering pangs of excitement she picked up his Biro and notepad and began to make a list.

‘A dozen sewing machines,’ she said. ‘Dressmakers’ dummies, cutting boards, scissors, pins, lots of coloured threads, chalk...’

Daniel’s eyes narrowed in amusement.

‘There,’ he said. ‘It’s not so painful, is it? And you won’t even need to do any of the sewing yourself. These women have all worked as wardrobe mistresses in Hollywood. They’re the best there is. All you’ll have to do is tell them what you want.’

A fresh wave of panic washed over Beth.

‘But I don’t know how to tell anyone what to do,’ she protested. ‘I’ve never done this kind of thing before. I’ve always had to do all the work myself except for a little bit of help from Warren. I wouldn’t know where to begin with bossing people around.’

‘Then you’d better learn fast,’ ordered Daniel crisply. ‘I’d say your career is on the verge of taking off like a rocket. So I suggest you just hang on and enjoy the ride.’

Twenty minutes later Daniel’s valet, Benson, arrived back from the city with half a dozen carrier bags full of clothes, far more that Beth would ever have thought necessary for a three-day period. Daniel picked up the bags and led her through to the guest wing where he showed her into a vast bedroom decorated in Spanish style. Dropping the bags unceremoniously on the bed, he looked at his watch.

‘Be as quick as you can,’ he warned. ‘Wendy and the girls will be here soon.’

When the door had closed behind him, Beth emptied the bags out on to the bed. Her eyes opened wide in amazement. Benson had bought enough clothes for a three-month holiday rather than a three-day working stint. There was hand-embroidered French underwear, three cotton nightdresses, a bikini, shorts, T-shirts, half a dozen pairs of shoes ranging from blue trainers to black evening shoes, a tracksuit, a dressing-gown, three day-dresses and a smart business suit in pale blue linen. In addition a waterproof bag held a selection of toiletries and make-up. Shaking her head in disbelief, Beth chose a pair of blue and yellow checkered shorts with a matching pale blue top and leather sandals.

When she was dressed, she took the expensive hairbrush from the toiletries bag and brushed her blonde curls into some kind of order. Then, staring at herself thoughtfully in the huge mirror above the dressing-table, she applied some make-up. A light beige foundation, a hint of blusher on her cheeks, a coral-pink lipstick and a touch of blue eyeshadow to bring out the colour of her eyes. ‘I’ll bet this is the weirdest “wedding-day” anyone ever had,’ she muttered to herself.

Just at that moment there was a knock at the door and she hurried to answer it. It was Daniel.

‘Are you ready, Beth?’ he asked. ‘Wendy and the girls are here.’

She followed him along the hallway, her sandals scuffing lightly on the brown terracotta tiles. Turning a corner, he flung open a door and revealed a spacious ballroom more than forty feet long. Beth’s mouth fell open at the scene of frantic activity that faced her. On the opposite side of the room the French doors were open and two workmen in blue overalls were staggering in, carrying a heavy sewing cabinet. Eight or nine other sewing cabinets were already set up along the room and some of them already had sewing machines in place. At the far end of the room a woman with ginger hair was pushing a couple of full-sized mirrors on castors into place. Next to them was a noticeboard covered in black hessian. The hum of conversation was reverberating around the room, but Daniel raised his voice above the uproar and addressed the woman with the ginger hair.

‘Wendy, could you come here, please? I want you to meet Beth.’

The woman turned round and her homely features split into a wide smile. She was covered with freckles as heavily as if they had been sprinkled on with a chocolate shaker. Her purple shorts and top were already festooned with the tools of her trade. A tape measure hung around her neck and a wrist pin-cushion studded with bright red and yellow and blue pins was attached firmly to her left wrist. She hurried across the room to meet them, both hands outstretched.

‘Oh, Daniel!’ she cried. ‘This is the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in weeks. Hi, Beth, how are you? I’m Wendy Fulton. Now, what do you want us to do?’

Hesitantly Beth began to explain. In a moment Wendy interrupted her to find a sketch-book and some coloured pencils. Beth sat down and began to draw and talk at the same time, with a sense of rising excitement. Was it really possible that they might achieve this incredible feat? Her eyes met Daniel’s and he gave her a faint smile. She caught her breath and then smiled back at him uncertainly.

‘Just call Blair’s down in the city if you need any fabric sent up,’ he told Wendy. ‘I’ll be in my study if you need me. And make sure this young lady gets some sleep some time tonight, won’t you?’

And with that he slipped away.

Beth had never worked so hard in all her life. Nor had she ever known that work could be so exhilarating. For the next few hours she was so busy that she scarcely had time to breathe. Under her direction the twelve women traced out patterns, cut fabrics and sewed together garments with a speed that amazed and enthralled her. And as the day wore on her secret conviction that Daniel Pryor was stark raving mad slowly began to give way to the wild hope that he might be a genuine miracle-worker. By seven o’clock in the evening, when the second shift of dressmakers came on duty, several garments were already completed. And more were laid out in pieces on the floor or pinned to the dressmakers’ dummies. When Benson came into the ballroom to announce that dinner was being served in the dining-room, Beth was too excited to join the others.

‘I’ll just stay on here and keep working,’ she said. ‘I’m really not hungry but if you could send me in something to drink I’d be grateful.’

Ten minutes later the English butler returned with a glass of lemon mineral water, a toasted chicken sandwich and salad on a tray. Beth smiled warmly at him, gulped down the mineral water and left the sandwich for a moment while she went to check on some problems. For the rest of the evening time flew by as she cut out fabric, drew coloured sketches or hovered anxiously behind the sewing machines, directing the workers. At the back of her mind she noted absently that Benson had switched on the overhead lights and that the garden outside was growing dark, but she was absolutely stunned when a sudden burst of laughter in the corridor outside the room announced the return of the first shift of workers. The ginger-haired Wendy came back into the room and stopped dead with a reproving clicking of her tongue.

‘Oh, Beth!’ she exclaimed reproachfully. ‘Are you still here? Don’t you realise it’s three o’clock in the morning?’

‘What?’ cried Beth. ‘I don’t believe you.’

She was crouching on the floor over a cutting-board and, as she tried to rise to her feet, a sudden cramp locked the muscles of her leg so that she had to hobble around painfully, squealing and massaging her calf. Wendy gave an exasperated groan and came to her aid.

‘Daniel will be furious if he hears that you’ve been running yourself as hard as this,’ she said. ‘Come on, sit down for a minute, honey, and let me massage it. When did you last eat?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Beth vaguely, giving a low gasp of pain as Wendy kneaded the cramped muscle. ‘I had a chicken sandwich earlier on.’

Wendy’s glance tracked across the room to the plate containing a large toasted sandwich with a single bite taken out of it.

‘Oh, did you?’ she demanded drily.

Beth grinned, showing fugitive dimples. ‘Well, I meant to,’ she said. ‘Oh, that leg is much better. Thank you, Wendy.’

Wendy hauled her to her feet. ‘Look, why don’t you go to bed now?’ she demanded. ‘You look really bushed.’

‘I know,’ admitted Beth ruefully. ‘But I can’t bear to leave until I know that suede jacket is safely finished. That’s the one I’m really praying over.’

Wendy took her arm and propelled her firmly towards the door. ‘Well, if you won’t go to bed, at least lie down in the conservatory for a while. And take some fresh food from the kitchen with you. I’ll come and call you when the jacket’s done.’

Beth stretched, feeling the ache in her shoulder and conscious of the sudden throbbing in her head. ‘All right, I think I will,’ she agreed.

Ten minutes later she ambled wearily into the back of the house and uttered a soft exclamation of delight. The room covered the full width of the house and was illuminated by concealed lighting hidden among the plants. As Beth pressed the light switch, a soft golden glow filled the entire room, revealing a luxuriant jungle of plants. There were huge tubs of tuberous begonias, pink and white and yellow. Baskets filled with trailing blue lobelias hung from the ceiling and the walls were lined with thickets of mauve hydrangeas. Every gap was filled with the brilliantly coloured foliage of coleus plants, pink and yellow and amazing shades of burgundy. The air was heavy with the scent of lilies and somewhere she could hear the sound of running water. Investigating further, Beth found a little grotto tucked away in one corner looking almost like a natural rock pool with its delicate ferns and mosses and a fountain rippling into a pool filled with goldfish.

‘Oh, how nice,’ she breathed, sinking into a conveniently placed chaise-longue and pulling up a bamboo table. She had been too tired to make herself a fresh meal, but she drank some lemonade straight from a can and ate the remains of her chicken sandwich and the salad. A large slice of Black Forest cake made a delicious dessert and she was asleep even before she had finished licking the last smear of chocolate from her fingers. How long she slept she didn’t know, but she dreamt that Warren was lifting her and carrying her away, except that in the dream Warren was far stronger and more tender than he had ever been in real life. It was only when her bare legs brushed against a damp hydrangea, spilling a shower of cold droplets over her skin, that she came awake with a start and realised that it was not Warren who was holding her. It was Daniel Pryor. With a startled gasp she tried to struggle free.

‘What are you doing?’ she demanded. ‘Put me down!’

He did as she asked, but did not release her. His left arm remained tensed around her body, supporting her, and she could not help being disturbingly conscious of his nearness and warmth. Panic jolted through her and she tried urgently to twist away.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked in a puzzled voice. ‘Are you still dreaming? You look terrified.’

His arm tightened around her.

‘No!’ she choked. ‘I’m not. I’m awake! It’s just that...’

She paused and a shudder went through her. How could she possibly admit to herself, much less to him, that his mere presence was sheer torment to her? She inhaled sharply, feeling her senses swim at the spicy scent of his aftershave, mingled with the subtle aromas of the conservatory. Against the dark outlines of the plants his body seemed to loom over her, huge, primitive, vaguely threatening. And yet mysteriously she felt drawn to him so powerfully that her heart accelerated and her breathing grew fast and shallow. Her eyes dilated in alarm as he stepped towards her.

‘It’s all right,’ he murmured soothingly. ‘You’ve just woken in a strange place and lost your bearings. But you’re quite safe. Trust me.’

His hands moved up and gripped her shoulders, kneading the tense muscles until she gave a soft groan and relaxed under his touch. Swaying slightly, she let herself rest against him. It felt wonderful to rest her head against his chest and let go of all her exhaustion and worry. But that momentary weakness was her undoing. As her cheek brushed against his shirt, she heard him catch his breath. Sleepily she looked up at him and their eyes met. She saw that he was watching her with a passionate urgency that both thrilled and appalled her. His intense, searing scrutiny took her breath away and she dropped her gaze, but her entire body still seemed to throb with awareness of him. Dizzy with longing, she sensed the exact way that his chin was brushing against the top of her head, his breath was fanning her hair and his hard, warm chest was pressed against her cheek. He was taller than Warren and more powerfully built, with massive shoulders and lean, muscular thighs. Yet it wasn’t just his physique that set him apart from Warren, it was the air of power and authority that radiated out from him. Insanely, Beth wondered what it would be like to be kissed by a man like that. Darting him a fleeting, troubled glance, she tried half-heartedly to break away, and a moment later she had her answer.

With a muffled oath he caught her against him, holding her so tightly that she could feel his furiously beating heart. Then his lips came down on hers with a passion that shocked and enthralled her. Never had she been kissed like this, and she responded as if she had been born for this moment. His kisses were violent and devouring, as if he wanted to possess her, body and soul. Yet they awoke an answering need deep inside her and she kissed him back with equal frenzy. Glorying in his arrogant male strength and power, she arched her back and swayed sinuously against him. Her eyelids fluttered closed and her lips parted in a quivering invitation. Flame seemed to leap through every cell of her body at his urgent, demanding touch. And when he hauled her against him so hard that she could not mistake his fierce masculine arousal she gave a soft whimper deep in her throat. With an answering groan, he buried his face in her hair and nuzzled her sensually. Tremors of excitement prickled through her body as his lips travelled down the column of her throat in a trail of feather-light kisses. She shuddered, unable to bear the exquisite torment and yet wishing it would go on forever. In that moment their entire being seemed to melt and flow together in pure paradise.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ Daniel murmured hoarsely. ‘I feel I want to drown in your sweetness.’

The words were like a dash of cold water in her face. Jerking herself free, Beth stepped back a pace. The memory of Greg with his honeyed tongue and dark, caressing eyes rose like a spectre to haunt her.

‘Leave me alone!’ she cried, backing away from him. ‘I’m not some gullible teenager to be taken in by a smooth line. Save your flattery for someone else!’

And, turning blindly away, she made a rush for the door. He caught her before she reached it and seized her by the wrist. Not hard, but with enough force to make her miserably sure that he was in control.

‘What is this all about?’ he demanded, his dark eyebrows drawing into a threatening frown. ‘Would you mind telling me what’s going on?’

Her breath came in fast, shallow gulps.

‘Nothing is going on!’ she hissed. ‘That’s the whole point. This should never have happened and, if you’ve any decency at all, you’ll act as if it didn’t. Please!’

And with a desperate lunge she broke away from him and fled.




CHAPTER THREE


IF BETH hadn’t been so exhausted, she would have lain awake for hours worrying about what had happened in the conservatory. As it was, she simply crawled into bed and fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow, but when she woke up the following morning she had an ominous feeling of misgiving, as if she were about to face final exams or a trip to the dentist. Pulling herself upright in the huge bed, she blinked around at the unfamiliar room and memory came hurtling back to her.

‘Oh, no,’ she groaned, sinking down under the covers. ‘What on earth have I done?’

Her own behaviour the previous evening completely baffled her. She wasn’t in the habit of kissing strange men. In fact she had never even had a serious boyfriend apart from Warren. So how on earth had she found herself swept into that passionate embrace with Daniel Pryor? Had he simply taken advantage of her exhaustion and shock to kiss her against her will? She gave a low, bitter laugh. No, that wasn’t fair. It hadn’t been against her will, she had been entirely willing and that was what alarmed her most. She had always been reserved and serious by nature, so much so that the other students at technical college had nicknamed her the Ice Maiden. But there had been nothing cold about the way she had melted into Daniel’s embrace last night. Even thinking about it made a strange, tremulous warmth uncoil deep inside her.

The trouble was that the man had a kind of raw animal magnetism that ought to be banned by law. With his wide shoulders and narrow hips, sultry dark eyes and that faint brooding smile, he was a menace to any woman between the ages of eight and eighty. After watching her sister’s tempestuous marriage come to grief, Beth had never thought she would fall for something as primitive as mere sex appeal. And the way she had responded to Daniel the previous evening made her feel enormously guilty. After all, she loved Warren, didn’t she? Although there had been moments in the last year or so when she had wondered about that. Yet she had always hoped that she and Warren would eventually be married, so how could she ever have become so recklessly carried away with somebody else?

The telephone rang beside her bed, interrupting her reverie. She picked up the receiver and heard Benson’s brisk English tones on the other end of the line.

‘Good morning, Miss Saxon. I trust you slept well. I’m just calling to say that Mr Pryor would like you to join him on the terrace for breakfast at ten o’clock.’

‘Ten o’clock?’ echoed Beth aghast. ‘What’s the time now then?’

‘Nine thirty-five, madam.’

‘Oh, no,’ groaned Beth. ‘I’d meant to be downstairs working with the girls by six o’clock. Look, please tell Mr Pryor I’m sorry but I can’t possibly meet him. I’ll just get some toast and tea in the kitchen and get back to work.’

Benson cleared his throat apologetically.

‘I regret to inform you, Miss Saxon, that Mr Pryor was most insistent that you should join him and he certainly won’t allow you back in the workroom before eleven.’

Beth gave a gasp of incredulous laughter.

‘What do you mean, he won’t allow me?’ she demanded. ‘What’s going to happen if I do go down there?’

‘I have been instructed to act as a...”bouncer” is the term, I believe, madam.’

Beth choked with outraged amusement. What was Daniel Pryor—some kind of caveman? The order was ludicrous, but there was no point getting involved in an undignified argument with the butler about it.

‘All right, Benson,’ she sighed. ‘I can’t argue with that. I’ll be on the terrace at ten o’clock.’

Climbing out of bed, she showered and dressed. Although she told herself that she had no urge to impress Daniel Pryor, she hesitated for a long time over her choice of clothes. Finally she decided on a jersey suit of pale blue and white with culottes and a matching top and she took special care over her make up and blow-drying her hair. She told herself that this was only to give her confidence for a difficult interview, but secretly she knew that there was more to it than that. She was surprised and rather touched to find that Benson had included a large vial of Ma Griffe scent in her toiletry bag. Taking off the cap, she sprayed a small jet of it on to her wrists and neck and then inhaled the elusive fragrance. Her stomach churned nervously. Oh, dear, she thought. I’m not looking forward to seeing Daniel again, but I suppose the only way to get over it is to confront it.

When she arrived on the terrace she found that it was another glorious Californian day filled with bright sunlight and the sound of birdsong from the garden. Daniel was lounging at a table on the terrace reading a newspaper but he rose to his feet as she approached. Her expert eye took in the details of his clothing and noted that he was wearing beige designer trousers and a blue and beige Pierre Cardin shirt with Gucci shoes. She was also uncomfortably aware that she hadn’t underestimated his virile attraction the night before.

‘Sit down,’ he invited. ‘And help yourself to some food.’

There was a vast array of dishes on the table. A frosted glass platter held wedges of luscious green honeydew melon, fresh pineapple, papaw and strawberries. Next to this was a hotplate from which came the enticing aroma of crispy bacon, grilled sausages and tomatoes. There was also a wicker basket full of mouthwatering Danish pastries, large jugs of orange and apple juice and a percolator of fresh coffee.

To cover her embarrassment Beth helped herself to a plate of fruit salad and began to eat, darting Daniel nervous glances. But he seemed totally unaware of either her embarrassment or the possible cause of it.

‘So how did you get into fashion design?’ he asked, laying aside his newspaper.

Beth was grateful for the neutral topic and began to babble rapidly.

‘Well, my mother worked in a factory as a machinist when I was a little girl,’ she said. ‘We weren’t very well off so she always had to make her own clothes at home. She brought home scraps of fabric from the factory and I used to help her. I really loved it. Sometimes the pieces of material were so small it needed a lot of ingenuity to put them together into a garment.’

Daniel’s eyebrows rose.

‘That sounds like a rather deprived childhood,’ he remarked.

‘Don’t you dare say that!’ exclaimed Beth indignantly. ‘I may have been deprived of material things, but my mother is a really warm, affectionate person. I was never deprived of love and that’s the most important thing.’

His lips twitched.

‘I couldn’t agree more,’ he said. ‘But you were quite poor, were you?’

‘Yes, we were. My father had an accident on a building site when I was seven years old and was crippled by it. He didn’t get much in compensation and my mother had three children and no real job training, so we couldn’t help being poor.’

Her defiant tone bought a glint of amusement to Daniel’s dark eyes.

‘It’s not a crime,’ he murmured.

‘You’d think it was the way some people talk,’ retorted Beth. ‘Warren always—’

She broke off, biting her lip.

‘Warren always what?’ asked Daniel.

‘Never mind.’

He frowned and stroked his chin thoughtfully. But when he spoke again he said nothing about Warren.

‘All right, so you helped make clothes when you were a little kid. Then what?’

‘I did dressmaking at high school and won a scholarship to go to technical college. I spent three years there and in my final year I won the big prize for designing. It was a trip to London for the spring shows, which was wonderful. That was when I knew that I really wanted to be a fashion designer more than anything else in the world.’

Daniel nodded.

‘I see. And how long ago was that?’ he asked.

‘Two years ago. When I came back I had to find a job, so I’ve been working in a big department store as a fashion buyer for the last two years and doing my designing at night.’

‘And where does Warren come into all this? asked Daniel.

‘He was in my fashion design course at technical college,’ replied Beth. ‘He dropped out in his last year, because he didn’t get his assignments finished on time. But it didn’t matter so much for him. His parents own a big chain of fashion stores and he was able to get a job right away.’

Daniel drank some more coffee and gritted his teeth as if it were bitter. ‘Do you really intend to marry him?’

Beth gave him a flustered look. What business was it of his?

‘I don’t know,’ she stammered warily. ‘I hope so.’

‘Are you sleeping with him?’ he asked.

Her face flamed. ‘I don’t see that that’s any business of yours,’ she retorted.

‘It might be,’ he said cryptically. ‘Anyway, let’s just say I’m curious. Are you sleeping with him?’

Beth was silent for a moment, too angry to speak, and then it occurred to her that perhaps this was the best way of fending Daniel off once and for all. After all, she didn’t want any more encounters like the one in the conservatory last night.

‘Yes, I am,’ she snapped.

His face remained impassive.

‘I see. And what sort of business relationship do you have?’

She set her lips stubbornly. But his eyes remained fixed on her so piercingly that she felt that he was looking right into her soul.

‘What difference does it make?’ she muttered at last.

‘I think I’m entitled to ask,’ he replied evenly. ‘Seeing that I’m backing you in this little venture to get your fashion collection together.’

She ground her teeth, unable to deny the truth of that.

‘Well, we don’t have any kind of formal partnership at this stage,’ she admitted grudgingly. ‘And I did most of the designs and the sewing for the collection, but Warren did help me now and then.’

‘And whose name is it appearing under at the show?’ asked Daniel.

‘Both our names,’ muttered Beth.

‘Louder,’ prompted Daniel.

‘Both our names,’ shouted Beth.

Daniel smiled unpleasantly. ‘I see, he said. ‘He takes advantage of you every which way he can, doesn’t he?’

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ asked Beth in a dangerous voice.

Daniel gave a mirthless laugh.

‘That would be obvious to you, sweetheart,’ he said, ‘if you weren’t so wet behind the ears. The guy is obviously sleeping with you without any intention of ever marrying you. And he’s also using your talent and hard work to get himself ahead in business. If you had any brains at all, you’d give him the boot.’

‘Don’t talk about Warren like that!’ protested Beth indignantly.

Daniel’s lips drew back into a contemptuous sneer.

‘Why not?’ he demanded. ‘It’s obvious he’s just using you. Besides, if your precious Warren is so concerned about you, why hasn’t he come here to find you yet?’

Beth flushed uncomfortably. The same thought had crossed her own mind, although she certainly wasn’t going to admit that to Daniel.

‘Maybe he didn’t get your message,’ she suggested.

‘Or maybe he’s waiting for you to come running back to him like a devoted little puppy-dog,’ he countered. ‘Why don’t you open your eyes to him, Beth? He’s not going to come looking for you. He obviously doesn’t care a damn about you.’

Beth flinched.

‘He does care,’ she insisted doggedly. ‘And he will come. I’m sure he will.’

At that moment Benson appeared on the terrace with a discreet cough.

‘Excuse me, sir,’ he said. ‘There’s a Mr Warren Clark waiting for you in the den. He says he wants to speak to you both.’

Beth shot Daniel a triumphant look and felt a thrill of malicious pleasure at seeing him momentarily disconcerted.

‘All right, we’ll come and see what he wants,’ he said.

When they entered the den, Warren was standing with one elbow propped on the mantelpiece and his back to the door, but he turned at the sound of their footsteps. He was only of medium height, but his body was so gracefully proportioned that he seemed taller. He was extremely handsome in an almost effeminate way, with toffee-brown eyes and long silky brown hair that was cut in two layers so that a long curtain of it kept falling forward over his face. Privately Beth had never much liked the style, since it meant that Warren had to continually push his hair back from his forehead with a flicking movement of his head. He did so now. There was no mistaking the displeasure in his face.

‘What the hell are you doing here, Beth?’ he demanded without preamble.

Beth opened her mouth to speak, but found herself foiled by Daniel who immediately took control of the situation.

‘Sit down, Beth,’ he ordered with a hint of steel in his voice. And he turned to Warren, his dark eyes narrowed and his face unsmiling. ‘My name is Daniel Pryor. I guess you’ve come here to apologise for the accident yesterday.’

‘No, I haven’t!’ grated Warren indignantly. ‘You’re the one who rammed me. And let me tell you, you’re going to pay for it, pay dearly.’

‘Is that so?’ purred Daniel. ‘Well, it seems to me, Mr Clark, your manners are about as poor as your seamanship. I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but the law quite clearly states that a boat under power must always give way to a boat under sail. I was sailing into the harbour and it was your responsibility to give way to me. You were the one who caused the accident.’

Warren thrust out his chin aggressively.

‘Now just a damn minute—’ he began, stepping closer to Daniel.

Hastily Beth placed herself between them and laid one hand on the sleeve of Warren’s Paisley shirt.

‘He’s right, Warren,’ she said nervously. ‘That’s exactly what the policeman at the Yacht Club said. The accident was all our fault.’

Warren looked at her as if she had gone mad.

‘Don’t be such a fool, Beth,’ he exclaimed in a low, urgent voice. ‘You should never make an admission of liability like that.’

Beth’s eyebrows met in a bewildered frown.

‘Even when you’re in the wrong?’ she demanded.

‘Especially when you’re in the wrong,’ insisted Warren.

Daniel’s lips curled into a smile of sardonic amusement.

‘What a pity you didn’t go into law,’ he murmured. ‘I can see you would have been a great asset to the legal profession. But since you didn’t, I think we’ll leave our attorneys to argue the rights and wrongs of the case and decide on an appropriate settlement. I’ll give you my card.’

He crossed the room to a handsome mahogany desk and withdrew a square of white cardboard which he handed to Warren. Warren held it between his finger and thumb as if he were juggling a scorpion.

‘I get it,’ he sneered. ‘You think you’re going to sue me and make big bucks out of me, don’t you, Pryor? Well, you’re wrong, because I’ll hire the finest lawyer I can find. You might think you’re just dealing with some nobody of a student. But I’m more important than you realise. I’m—’

‘Oh, stop blustering, Warren!’ cried Beth in exasperation. ‘There’s no need for all this sabre-rattling. Accidents do happen and there’s no point being unpleasant about it.’

‘Don’t blame him,’ murmured Daniel provocatively. ‘He was probably born unpleasant.’

Warren’s face turned white with rage.

‘Why did you ever get involved with this arrogant bastard?’ he demanded, turning to Beth.

Beth shot Daniel an exasperated glance. At the moment she was tempted to wonder the same thing herself, but her innate honesty forced her to be fair.

‘He’s been very kind to me since our launch sank yesterday,’ she insisted.

‘And what exactly is that supposed to mean?’ asked Warren suspiciously.

‘Sit down and I’ll tell you,’ begged Beth. ‘You know how our clothing collection was lost when the launch sank? Well, Daniel has hired two dozen dressmakers to replace the entire collection in time for the show on Monday.’

Warren stared at her, open-mouthed.

‘That’s ridiculous!’ he protested. ‘It’s impossible.’

‘I know,’ agreed Beth. ‘That’s what I thought at first, too. But it’s happening, Warren. They’ve already finished seven or eight garments. Why don’t you come and see? Why don’t you stay here and help us? You’d be wonderful. You know what all the garments are supposed to look like and you could help me draft the patterns.’




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