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For Revenge...Or Pleasure?
Trish Morey


Real/fake?Jade Ferraro is a cosmetic surgeon at an elite Beverly Hills clinic. But to Loukas Demakis she's a fraud.Revenge/pleasure?Loukas plans to seduce top secret information from Jade, and then discard her when he's done.Money/truth…Loukas buys Jade dinner–for a donation of one million dollars! But will the cost of the truth be worth the price of his heart?














What have we got for you in Harlequin Presents books this month? Some of the most gorgeous men you’re ever likely to meet!

With His Royal Love-Child, Lucy Monroe brings you another installment in her gripping and emotional trilogy, ROYAL BRIDES; Prince Marcello Scorsolini has a problem—his mistress is pregnant! Meanwhile, in Jane Porter’s sultry, sexy new story, The Sheikh’s Disobedient Bride, Tally is being held captive in Sheikh Tair’s harem…because he intends to tame her! If it’s a Mediterranean tycoon that you’re hoping for, Jacqueline Baird has just the guy for you in The Italian’s Blackmailed Mistress: Max Quintano, ruthless in his pursuit of Sophie, whom he’s determined to bed using every means at his disposal! In Sara Craven’s Wife Against Her Will, Darcy Langton is stunned when she finds herself engaged to businessman Joel Castille—traded as part of a business merger! The glamour continues with For Revenge…Or Pleasure?—the latest title in our popular miniseries FOR LOVE OR MONEY, written by Trish Morey, truly is romance on the red carpet! If it’s a classic read you’re after, try His Secretary Mistress by Chantelle Shaw. She pens her first sensual and heartwarming story for the Presents line with a tall, dark and handsome British hero, whose feisty yet vulnerable secretary tries to keep a secret about her private life that he won’t appreciate.

Check out www.eHarlequin.com for a list of recent Presents books! Enjoy!




For Revenge…Or Pleasure?

Trish Morey










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




All about the author…

Trish Morey


TRISH MOREY wrote her first book at age eleven for a children’s book-week competition; entitled Island Dreamer, it proved to be her first rejection. Shattered and broken, she turned to a life where she could combine her love of fiction with her need for creativity—and became a chartered accountant.


Life wasn’t all dull though, as she embarked on a skydiving course, completing three jumps before deciding that she’d given her fear of heights a run for its money.

Meanwhile, she fell in love and married a handsome guy who cut computer code. After the birth of their second daughter, Trish spied an article saying that Harlequin was actively seeking new authors. It was one of those eureka moments—Trish was going to be one of those authors!

Eleven years after reading that fateful article, the magical phone call came and Trish finally realized her dream. According to Trish, writing and selling a book is a major life achievement that ranks right up there with jumping out of an airplane and motherhood. All three take commitment, determination and sheer guts, but the effort is so very, very worthwhile.

Trish now lives with her husband and four young daughters in a special part of south Australia, surrounded by orchards and bushland and visited by the occasional koala and kangaroo.

You can visit Trish at her Web site at www.trishmorey.com or e-mail her at trish@trishmorey.com.


For my editors, past and present.

To Angelina Manzano, my first ever editor,

who made the magical call that turned my

long-held dreams into reality.

And to Emma Dunford, whose eternal patience

and unstinting encouragement are this

painfully slow writer’s best friends.

Thank you both!




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN




CHAPTER ONE


SO THIS was the A-List? From his vantage point on the less crowded mezzanine, Loukas Demakis narrowed his eyes and scanned the sea of glittering celebrities milling about below in the Beverly Hills mansion’s ballroom. He suppressed a sneer as his gaze slid over the megastars, the wannabes and the otherwise rich and famous, all trying to out-dazzle each other with their designer clothes, designer bodies, and enough bling-bling to light up Times Square.

And all of it so fake!

His jaw clenched, teeth grinding together. This wasn’t his world. The sooner he was out of here the better.

But first he had a job to do. The words of his father rang loud in his memory—‘Get her away from them. I don’t care what it takes or who gets hurt—just get her out of there!’

And, dammit, after what had happened to Zoë, there was no way he would let his sister so much as be touched by any of them. He’d do whatever it took to stop her. He’d do whatever it took to keep her safe!

The crowd swayed apart as a woman strode up to the dais. Two women. He pressed closer to the balustrade, his fingers tightening around the rail.

It had to be them. The sorcerer and her apprentice.

Cheers and applause erupted from the crowd when his instincts proved right and Dr Grace Della-Bosca was introduced. A woman in a golden gown stepped up to the microphone. He peered closer. For someone he knew to be on the wrong side of fifty she was remarkably well-preserved. Tutankhamen’s bride wearing Dolce & Gabbana. But then, eternal youth was her business.

He’d meant to listen to what she had to say. He started to listen. Until the second woman turned towards the crowd and smiled, and the breath ripped out of him as if he’d taken a blow to the body.

Jade Ferraro.

This was the woman he’d come to meet. This was the woman he’d come to question. In the flesh.

And what flesh!

Where Della-Bosca’s skin looked as if it had been stretched to within an inch of its life, the younger woman’s was smooth and flawless, her features arranged on her face in a way that found the idea of classic good looks wanting. Clear almond-shaped blue eyes echoed a smile that was wide—almost too wide—though her lips looked lush enough to take the width and then some.

But her face was only one part of the package. Her honey-coloured hair was swept into a sleek coil that exposed the long sweep of her neck to her surprisingly modest neckline.

And the dress! There was nothing modest about it—it must have been shrink-wrapped around her. Without the shimmering aqua colour of the material it would have been impossible to tell where her skin ended and the fabric began, the way it hugged tight over her breasts, dipping into the curves and skimming over the flat of her stomach. The gown was a total failure in terms of disguising the shape beneath, and yet there was no doubt peeling it off would still be an exercise in discovery. An exercise for which he’d be only too happy to volunteer.

With a growl laced with acerbity he clamped down on the traitorous response of his body.

Of course she was a looker. She was bound to be! Because there was no doubt her attributes owed more to the skilled hands of Dr Grace Della-Bosca, the mother superior of the high church of cosmetic surgery, than to any generous endowment by Mother Nature. She was a walking advertisement for the witch doctor’s talents.

The speech came to an end and the crowd once again broke into applause. The younger woman turned back towards the dais a fraction, and then hesitated, her hands locked together as if frozen mid-clap. Then her head swivelled back over her shoulder, her chin lifted and swept up across the crowd, until her eyes jagged and stuck rock-solid on his.

He saw them widen in shocked perplexity; he saw the fractional coming together of her brows as she battled for recognition. He even fancied he felt the tremors spreading out from the quake that rippled through her, and in that instant he decided on a new and much more satisfying course of attack. He allowed himself a smile as his body hummed its approval of his plan.

It hadn’t been his choice to come here tonight, but just because he had to mix with a crowd of people he had nothing in common with and even less respect for it didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the mission he was on. Why should he settle for just questions and answers when he could have so much more? Why shouldn’t he find out what Jade Ferraro was really made of?

‘Run all you like, Jade Ferraro,’ he muttered as she spun away and disappeared into the throng of people surrounding the famous cosmetic surgeon. ‘But I will have you.’



Someone pressed a glass of champagne into her hand and her first impulse was to hold the moistly beaded flute to her head to cool her heated brow. She wasn’t sure what had happened just then, but the experience of meeting that intense dark gaze had left her almost reeling.

Then the orchestra started playing, and couples were swirling around, and suddenly it was too hot, too loud, and much too claustrophobic in the crowded ballroom.

She heard her name and snapped her attention away from the glass. ‘So, tell me how you think it went,’ Grace insisted, sounding impatient, as if it wasn’t the first time she’d framed the question.

‘Oh, absolutely wonderful,’ Jade assured her, kissing her mentor on each cheek, knowing the woman she admired more than anyone in the world would have been just that—despite the fact she couldn’t recall a thing beyond Grace’s thanks to everyone for attending the fundraiser. But then, it was impossible to remember anything aside from the prickly sensation that someone had been watching her, and the blast-furnace heat that had confronted her eyes once she’d found the source.

She took a deep breath, trying to dispel the lingering echoes of the strange sensation, trying to ignore the questions that remained unresolved in her mind. Who was that man? Why had he been watching her?

But someone else’s eyes were on her now, someone else was waiting for a response, and questions about the owner of one powerfully intense pair of eyes that had seemed able to pierce right through to her soul had to be shoved aside. Because tonight was all about the world-famous Dr Della-Bosca, and the foundation established in her name. Nothing should be allowed to distract her from that.

This time the smile she allowed herself was heartfelt.

‘The evening is a runaway success,’ Jade assured the older woman. ‘And you’re the star,’ she continued with more enthusiasm. ‘Funds from tonight will set up your Saving Faces Foundation for years.’

‘Yes,’ Grace finally acknowledged, with a smile echoed in one expertly shaped eyebrow as she cast her eyes around the celebrity-filled ballroom. ‘We must have done well.’

‘It’s a total credit to you, Grace,’ a gruff male voice cut in. ‘Our city could do with more corporate citizens like you.’

‘Mayor Goldfinch,’ Grace said with obvious delight as she was swept up into the distinguished-looking gentleman’s embrace. ‘And I thought our favourite foundation trustee wasn’t able to make it tonight.’

‘Knowing this night meant so much to you, how could I stay away? I pulled some strings and here I am.’

Jade allowed herself a smile as she made a tactical withdrawal, certain that neither would notice anyway. The widower Mayor had made no secret of the fact he was looking for a new wife, and with a fortune made from his property development business there was no shortage of candidates. But it was Grace who was most frequently pictured on his arm, and it was clear that whatever feelings he had for Grace were reciprocated.

And Grace worked so hard, Jade reflected, switching her champagne for a glass of mineral water from the tray of a passing waiter; she so deserved to find a partner. She deserved to be happy.

A swirl of red fabric across the room and a flash of firm cleavage caught her eye. Rachael Delaney, her mind registered instantly. Twenty-year-old Southern belle and regular client of the Della-Bosca Clinic, who’d spent the last two years taking the TV soap world by storm and was now making a play for fame and fortune in the big league. And, from the way her recently enhanced breasts were spilling out of the slashed-to-the-navel line of her gown in the direction of the producer she was courting, it was clear Rachael was hoping the results of her latest procedure might just get her the movie contract she hungered for tonight.

Good luck to her, Jade thought, as she sipped on her mineral water, given she’d invested so much money in making herself look good—from the curve of her plumped lips to the sparkle in her skilfully upturned eyes. Jade could tick off the changes the Della-Bosca Clinic had made like checking off inventory.

‘Not in the mood for celebrating?’

She didn’t have to turn. The heated rush of sensation that rolled down her spine and unfurled into her extremities was all the confirmation she needed. That deep voice had to be the perfect accompaniment to the pair of piercing dark eyes that had left their imprint stamped all too deeply on her senses.

And somehow she knew it was important not to give in to her desire to turn straight away. Somehow she knew she had to continue to focus on something, anything, if she was going to maintain a hold on reality—her reality.

‘What’s it to you?’ she responded, keeping her voice surprisingly light even as her back stiffened against his prickling proximity. She didn’t know who he was, but she was in no hurry to be pinned under that potent stare again.

Instead she kept her gaze locked on Rachael as if she was holding onto a lifeline. Rachael was her link to reality, her excuse not to turn, and her instinctive defence against this strange out-of-her-depth feeling that seemed to go hand in hand with this stranger’s presence.

But suddenly something blocked her view.

Not something.

Someone.

Him!

She sucked in a breath as broad shoulders filled her vision. And once again the man who’d been looking down from the mezzanine stared at her—except this time his piercing eyes were barely inches away. And, just as before, she felt the heat blasting from their penetrating brown depths in a confusing mixture of danger combined with a heart-stopping magnetism.

‘Have we met?’ she asked, kicking up her chin and knowing full well that she’d never seen the man before—in or out of the clinic. Having put the invitation list together, she knew he wasn’t on it. Which meant he had to be someone’s partner…

Lucky them.

The thought was so unwelcome she tried to quash it outright, but there was no chance of that—not when it was so true. Every part of this man seemed a perfect part of the whole—his slick dark hair, his chiselled bone structure, lips that were not too thin, not too full, and a body that promised to be every bit as well put together.

His lips turned into the barest smile. ‘Maybe it’s time we did.’

She waited for him to introduce himself, but he offered not a scrap of information more, failing to reveal who he was or why he was there, and impatience clicked logic back into gear, snapping her out of her frozen stance.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Whoever-you-are, but I have invited guests to look after. I really don’t have time to play games.’

She made to move away, but his velvet words stopped her in her tracks.

‘And if you had the time?’

She stopped and blinked, forcing her back ramrod-straight in defence. She looked over her shoulder at him. ‘Excuse me?’

‘If you had the time, would you be more inclined to play?’

Warm shivers assaulted her flesh. Was it the effect of his rich deep voice, or was it because she almost hoped he just might mean it? Something about the man was compelling. Damn, everything about the man was compelling. And something about her own body’s reaction impelled her to believe him.

‘I don’t play games.’ She arched an eyebrow in his direction for effect.

‘Pity,’ he said. ‘Such a waste.’

‘Not really,’ she replied, raising her chin with the certainty that she was about to have the final word. ‘Because when I play, I play for keeps.’

She turned away, allowing herself a smile, feeling she’d won some kind of moral victory at least. Besides, the encounter had left her tingling with excitement. He might have thrown her completely at the start, but she’d enjoyed the attention from someone who appeared way more three-dimensional than the usual Beverly Hills society, with their egocentric conversation and their rapid-fire evaluation of who you were and how you might be of any use to them.

But she hadn’t taken more than two steps before his rich laughter snagged into her consciousness, drawing her around as easily as a gentle finger press.

Except the way he looked at her and the set of his large, strong body, like the king of the jungle about to pounce and devour its prey, wiped out her feeling of superiority in an instant.

‘In that case,’ he said, his dark eyes crinkling at the sides, yet still filled with intensity that took her breath away, ‘let the games begin.’




CHAPTER TWO


HE’D eliminated the distance between them, had reached out and taken hold of her hand before she could react. She gasped at his warmth, at the sculpted perfection of his hand and at his gentle touch, while fully aware of the latent strength lurking beneath.

Without taking his eyes from hers he carried her hand to his mouth. She’d expected just a brief kiss, and was vaguely aware of how old-fashioned this gesture was, but already she was imagining the graze of his lips on her skin, was anticipating the brush of his warm breath. But at the last moment he flipped her hand over so that his mouth pressed open and hot against her wrist.

Her pulse thundered into life under his molten kiss, her blood super-heated, melting her bones and stirring her dark, tender places into life. And as his liquid lips worked their magic on her skin and his tongue joined into the fray, ratcheting up the sensations another notch, she was certain that if he hadn’t been holding on to her hand she might well have dissolved into a puddle on the floor.

She tasted as good as she looked. Better. This was going to be far more enjoyable than he would ever have anticipated.

And he had her. There was no question. The passion flaring into life in her eyes told him that she would be more than responsive, more than accommodating. The way her lips were softly parted told him she was eager for more of what his mouth could do for her, and the way her nipples pressed all too obviously against the tight fabric of her gown told him that even tonight would not be too soon.

She would soon be his. And then she would tell him everything she knew to save his sister.

And he would destroy Dr Della-Bosca and pull apart the clinic, even if he had to do it brick by brick!

He clamped down on the aching response of his own body as slowly, reluctantly, he drew his lips away.

‘Who are you?’ she asked, her words less a demand this time, more a breathy supplication.

He smiled and dipped his head fractionally, still with a hold on her hand. ‘Loukas Demakis,’ he said. ‘A pleasure to meet you, Dr Ferraro.’

Her eyes narrowed and sparked, and he could see she was building connections as if suddenly understanding. Had the pieces fallen into place already? Had she realised the recently married Olympia was his sister? Did she have any idea at all why he was here?

‘Demakis?’ she repeated. ‘As in the Senator currently making a run for the White House?’

‘My father,’ he replied, rapidly reassessing his quarry’s intelligence. ‘You’ve heard of him?’

Her eyes regarded him frostily as she tugged her hand out of his, using it to support her glass. ‘Would that be such a surprise? I do try to keep informed of what’s going on in the world around us. Did you assume that just because I spend my days working with beautiful people that I must be a complete airhead?’

‘Not at all,’ he countered. Not any more. ‘I’d be a fool to make a mistake like that—obviously.’

She smiled a little then, a sweet smile of victory that didn’t make it anywhere near her eyes. ‘Obviously,’ she mimicked, as if she knew damned well he’d underestimated her and been caught out.

His back teeth ground together. He certainly wouldn’t do that again. There was much too much at stake to be outsmarted by any of Della-Bosca’s cronies.

And that was all she was, he thought, forcing himself to remember, forcing himself to disregard the perfect skin and the womanly curves poured so skilfully into that dress. One of Della-Bosca’s cronies. Regardless of the fact he still burned to possess her. Regardless of the fact he could already anticipate the feel of her honey-fleshed limbs around him.

And that last thought brought with it a smile as he flicked his gaze over her again. She would be good in bed—his own body’s reaction told him that. There was no chance he’d misjudged her on that score.

He inhaled a steadying breath, finding it infused with her fragrance. Fresh. Spicy. Tempting.

‘I’m sure my father will be gratified to hear his reputation extends so far.’

‘Then be sure to tell him,’ she replied. ‘I’d actually like to see him make it all the way to the White House.’

He suppressed a snarl. Now what was she trying to prove? His father didn’t need the support of people like her—people who did what she did, preying on the insecurity of others—and he certainly didn’t want it.

‘And you really care if he makes it?’

Her eyes narrowed and he felt their glacial challenge again.

‘Is that so hard to believe?’ she quipped, confirming his thoughts. ‘I would have thought you’d be happy to find someone who supported your father’s policy stance. Perhaps not. But, for what it’s worth, I think there would be a kind of poetic justice in having someone like your father in the White House, don’t you?’

His brow pulled tight. ‘What do you mean?’

She arched an eyebrow and her blue eyes sparkled with confidence in a way that rankled. ‘Given that ancient Greece was the cradle of democracy, I think there’s a happy kind of irony there—democracy going full circle, if you like.’ She paused, her wide mouth curling into a teasing smile that disappeared all too quickly.

‘Besides, I’ve read about your father’s background—how his grandparents arrived in the nineteen-twenties with nothing and yet built up a boat-building empire; it’s a very impressive story. You must be very proud of your family’s achievements.’

Was he? He hadn’t thought about it or the business lately—he’d had more pressing things to think about, like his half-sister marrying an American reality TV programme loser, her love affair with celebrity, running with the brat-pack and screwing up her life, and a father who wanted her stopped before she screwed up his political aspirations or got herself killed—or both.

And he was going to make damned sure that didn’t happen.

He looked down at her, his need to avenge the past and protect his sister setting his already heated blood to simmer point.

‘Is that what you’ve got planned for yourself—your own rags to riches story?’

Her jaw worked from side to side as her eyes sparked cold flame.

‘Excuse me, Mr Demakis. I’d really like to say it’s been a pleasure…’

She turned to leave, a liquid ripple of blue disappearing into the crowd.

‘So what’s it like for an Australian in Beverly Hills?’ he called after her through the babble and laughter of the crowded room.

She stopped dead, her back stiff, and then for a second it looked as if she was going to keep moving.

‘What’s it like to be so far from home?’

She swivelled this time, her expression perplexed. ‘You picked up on my accent?’ she said, moving closer. ‘Most people don’t.’

‘It’s there,’ he lied, knowing that his knowledge of her country of birth had a great deal more to do with his research into her place in the Della-Bosca hierarchy than with any residual twang of an Australian accent.

She’d come to work at the clinic three years ago, obviously chasing the money and the high life it could provide her with. She’d hit pay-dirt right off, setting up with Della-Bosca and being swept along in her rise to celebrity and fortune. And now she was the successor to the throne. Nature’s handmaiden in a world where beauty was paramount. Where fakery was king and no cost was too great.

‘Why try to lose such a distinctive accent?’ he asked, although he already knew the answer.

She shook her head, as if searching for a reason. ‘It was too distinctive. It was easier to be accepted into society here without always answering questions about where I came from.’ She shrugged. ‘That’s all.’

Fake, he thought. Just like the rest of her.

She looked up at him.

‘Mr Demakis—’ she began.

‘Loukas,’ he corrected, setting his voice to satin-smooth again. He’d wasted too much time, and he’d almost lost her once. It was time to take charge of the conversation again. ‘Call me Loukas.’

She paused over that for a second, her top teeth gently raking over one glossy lower lip, almost as if the idea was strangely uncomfortable and needed to be come to terms with.

‘Okay…Loukas,’ she said finally, with a subtle nod of assent. ‘What is it that brings you to the Saving Faces Foundation Gala? I can’t remember your name on the guest list. Did you accompany someone here?’

He allowed himself a smile as he registered her continued interest. He hadn’t lost her after all. She was still curious, still wanting to know more about him, still feeling the same physical tug of attraction that he felt too, and that would make his job that much easier. ‘No. I came alone.’

Her head tilted fractionally. ‘Then why are you here?’

‘Just one reason,’ he said, taking advantage of a passing waiter to rid her of her neglected glass. Then he took her right hand, lifting it until it was at her shoulder level between them before holding his palm flat against hers, interlacing their fingers together. He watched her widening eyes flit to their joined hands before finding his once more. ‘But it’s a very, very good one.’

‘Oh?’ she said, her voice a husky whisper, her blue eyes wary yet intrigued, her breathing but a shadow. ‘And what might that be?’

Her faintly spicy feminine scent stirred his senses as his fingers curled between hers, and he drank in the woman before him. Blue eyes, high cheekbones, and a tendril of honey-coloured hair trailing loose from its sleek coil, kissing her neck wherever it touched in soft teasing waves.

His hunger built. That would soon be him, kissing the skin of her throat, kissing her slick, sweet lips, kissing every last inch of her until she cried out for release. And it would be no hardship to give it to her.

‘Can’t you tell?’ he said as his free arm circled around her and he spun her with him onto the dance floor. ‘I came here to meet you.’



It was the wrong answer.

His answer should have been couched in terms of wanting to support the foundation, of wanting to help children with shattered faces and fractured spirits to rebuild their lives and make them whole again. He should have been here to applaud the work of a great doctor and a worthy cause.

It was definitely not the answer she’d expected from a man who seemed dangerously threatening, at times resentful, and more often than not antagonistic. It wasn’t the answer she’d wanted. He was hiding something behind those hard brown eyes, so shiny and impenetrable they might have been French polished. What was his real purpose? Why was he really here?

And yet, as he steered her expertly around the dance floor, his firm body an aching whisker from hers, somehow his words fed into her soul, fed those dark secret places until they pulsed into life. While her brain screamed to her that this was mad, that this was unwise, her body played a different tune.

Her body liked his words.

Her senses welcomed his message.

And her flesh wanted him closer still.

With each step he took her further away from the life she knew. With each whirl she felt inexorably, utterly, spun further away from her clinical—practical—medical background. In his arms she felt reckless, a little wild; she felt good.

He didn’t speak, and she didn’t mind. She doubted she could string two words together right now. Besides, she was too busy enjoying the unfamiliar sensations of being held by the best-looking man in the room.

His breath glided past her ear, soft and luxuriant, and she felt him draw her even closer. Her heart seemed to stop as their bodies met, the splayed hand at her waist forcing them into contact from chest to thigh, their movements on the dance floor setting up a sensual friction between them, his musky cologne like an invitation, beckoning her to nestle closer.

The music, the charged atmosphere, his body against hers—it was all so intoxicating. His lips nuzzled at her ear and she tilted her head into his caress, unashamedly seeking more of the warm, tingling contact he was offering.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ he murmured softly, and the warm shimmer of sensation bloomed into a wave of heated sensuality that rolled over her and left her breathless.

She knew he was attracted to her, had sensed he was. His eyes contained secrets and mysteries, but his desire had broken through with a raw intensity that couldn’t be ignored. And yet it was still such a powerful aphrodisiac to hear him say the words.

Everyone was beautiful here. There wasn’t a woman there tonight whose looks didn’t dazzle, whose bodies weren’t centrefold-worthy, whose smiles weren’t toothpaste-commercial-perfect. And yet, of all the women in the room, he’d said those words to her!

The hand at her waist stroked higher, breaching the low backline of her gown and startling her with its heated touch. He traced his fingers across her exposed skin, setting fires that burned with lightning bolt impact deep within her flesh and started spot fires low down inside.

The only part of logic that remained in her mind told her she was being seduced, that this was seduction at its most potent, and that this man was a master of the art. But, beyond that recognition, logic was no help to her now—not when she was being held captive by the spell he’d woven around her. Not when she was being swept off her feet.

‘I want to make love to you.’

She gasped. His directness shocked at the same time as it delighted, sending coiled messages through her nerve-endings to prepare herself for coupling even before she’d had a chance to assimilate his offer.

What should she do? She could hardly take offence. Not when her own body hungered for the same outcome, was even now preparing itself, tingling with expectation.

His lips brushed over her earlobe and she raised her chin to give him better access. He took it, his mouth gliding over her throat, turning her nipples achingly tight.

Vaguely she was aware of the music drifting to a conclusion, of couples around them moving apart.

‘Well?’ he whispered in her ear, his deep voice another layer of seduction, another caress. ‘Make love with me, Jade. Make love with me now—tonight.’

Something about the way he said her name wove its way deep into her senses, trailing a promise of things to come like a silken ribbon tugging insistently and irresistibly around her heated core.

He wanted to make love to her. To hear his words had sent her into a heady spin. Just the very thought of making love with this man was intoxicating. Because she knew what her body wanted. It wanted her to answer in the affirmative.

Was it wrong to want to? Was it wrong to want to give in to the desires that were besetting her? Wrong to give in to the forces of passion that were swirling around her—through her?

There should be one thousand reasons why not. There should be reasons clamouring for attention, pounding on her brain for supremacy. But right now none of them could be found, and rational thought was so heavily weighted with pure physical need that it threw up arguments instead about why she should make love with him. Arguments like, how could it possibly be wrong when it felt so damned right?

She lifted her head and looked into his eyes, felt the passion and the need, and knew that she couldn’t bring herself to lie. She couldn’t say no. And yet neither was she able to release herself totally from the constraints of her own upbringing. She’d never been the sort of person who did this sort of thing—meeting up with strangers and agreeing to make love with them.

And yet here she was…

‘You’re a very magnetic man,’ she said, understating the facts by a factor of ten. ‘And I admit I’m attracted…’

‘But?’ he urged.

‘But I’m not protected,’ she heard herself say—the most honest thing she could think of under the circumstances.

Something flared into life in his eyes, something that told her he wasn’t disappointed at the naïveté of her confession, that his need was barely contained, let alone extinguished.

He let his arm peel slowly from around her back, instead winding it through hers and taking her hand as he led her from the floor. ‘Allow me to take care of that.’

Despite the rush of cool air as they’d pulled apart, moist heat pooled heavy and insistent between her quivering thighs. Her heart thumping, she forced her legs to keep walking to the beat of the pounding in her veins, forced her melting spine to hold her erect. He was leading her somewhere private. He was leading her somewhere to make love to her.

Her breath tripped in her throat. Had she meant to do that? Had her non-committal answer been designed to give him the chance to take the decision out of her hands? So that she would get what she wanted by default?

Somehow he negotiated her through the room. The strain of knowing she’d landed herself in this position was threatening to shatter the plastic smile masking her face; the anticipation of what was to come was urging her to move even faster. The crowd was thinning out, people were spilling out into the terraces, and by now there would no doubt be a pool full of skimpily clad young women offering their wares, ready to take on all comers.

Guests had drifted off into sheltered corners of the garden, or even not so sheltered ones, for their assignations. She’d never been comfortable with this side of celebrity life here in Beverly Hills—and yet wasn’t that what she was now doing herself? Searching for privacy, seeking out what amounted to a love-nest with someone little more than a stranger? Did she really want to be doing this?

Whether he sensed her reluctance or was merely giving in to the relative quiet and darkness of a sheltered doorway some distance away, she found herself spun back against panelled wood as his mouth crashed down on hers.

His lips were warm, his mouth was hot, and what he did to her senses sent her temperature rocketing off the scale and forced any returning logic to flee. She’d never before been bombarded with sensations such as these, never before been subjected to the overwhelming drive of passion. And never before could have imagined herself giving in to it. But then, she’d had no idea…

His hands cupped her behind and she was pulled, full-length, up against his body, the clear evidence of his need pressing into her between them. She gasped into his mouth as she realised his evident size, felt his inherent power. Soon that power would be unleashed within her. She was melting down from the feel of his hands on her, from the touch of his lips, from the anticipation of what was to come.

He drew his head back the merest fraction, his breathing as ragged and choppy as hers. ‘What’s behind that door?’ he said, his voice husky with desire, his words laced with need.

‘The library,’ she whispered back. ‘But it should be locked.’

One hand left her for the moment it took to test the handle. It gave with the barest snick. Even in the gloom she could see the spark of his eyes gleaming down on her, as if he was closer to achieving some prize. Her heart fluttered as the realisation hit her. She was the prize. He wanted her and soon he would have her.

Instead of fear, her expectation cranked up another notch. This feeling was mutual. Because he wasn’t the only one who was going to get something out of tonight.

Tonight she would have him too.

His lips came down to meet hers again, this time in a softer caress, his lips massaging hers, his tongue a brief graze across her teeth, and she let herself slide into his delicious touch. The man was good enough to eat, and she planned to relish every taste.

Loukas turned her then, and silently they slipped into the void opening up behind them. Gently he pressed her back against the wall. Softly he pushed the door closed alongside her. Another tiny snick, but another huge moment. Because that door closing meant that there was no changing her mind.

It meant there was no going back.




CHAPTER THREE


JADE let herself drown in the power of his kiss, giving herself up to his lips and his tongue and his raw masculine heat. Together they worked in a rhythm set by the primitive drumbeat pounding in her ears. He tasted so good—so right—and she answered his kiss with her own, seeking more, wanting more, her lips meshing with his, her tongue greedily seeking out whatever else he could give her.

She felt one arm circle her neck, pulling her closer to him. The other she felt skim across the skin of her back, setting off a zipper-line of sensation that started with the involuntary thrust of her hips against his and ended with her gasping into his mouth at what she encountered yet again.

His low, rumbling response told her he approved of her reaction, while his hand shifted to trace the underswell of her breast and then brushed over its surface, calling a halt to her breathing as it glanced over the nub of her tight nipple contained beneath.

And, like a jolt of electricity, panic seized her, breaking through the magic fog he’d spun around her, forcing rational thought to surface at last and finally find its rightful place in her mind. She hadn’t thought this through! She hadn’t been thinking, period.

What if he saw?

Why had she put herself in a position where she could be so thoroughly humiliated once again?

He’d said she was beautiful. Wasn’t that enough for her? Couldn’t she just have left it at that? She’d thought only of sex; she’d been too blinded by her own lust to see what should have been foremost in her mind: that Loukas would never want her when he knew. That Loukas would never in a million years think her beautiful once he knew.

His mouth was on her throat, his lips dancing a wild tango against her neck, and her heart was still racing. But now there was fear and trepidation in her mix of emotions.

She half registered a noise like a grunt, oddly distant when Loukas was so close. When the sound came again she froze.

Someone else was in the room.

She snapped her eyes open and peered over Loukas’s shoulder. The pitch-blackness that had met them when they’d entered the large library had given way to a dim grey gloom in which nothing appeared to be moving or out of place between the walls of floor-to-ceiling books. She was imagining things. Against her throat Loukas’s mouth continued to weave magic, complicating the push-pull of her fears and her wants as the sound came again.

Sounds.

In tune now with more than just the rush of blood in her ears, this time she heard a softer gasping moan answer the straining sounds. And more sounds, now louder, and more grunting, punctuated by urgent panting and then the unmistakable slap of flesh against flesh, building in speed, steadily and inexorably.

She squeezed her eyes shut again, wishing she could close down her hearing, afraid to breathe, afraid to move. Someone was making love—right here in the library—and they’d inadvertently stumbled right into their secret tryst.

But there was no shutting out what was happening, and the sounds fed into her consciousness, reminding her why she’d come there, and setting her flesh to prickling awareness of the man holding her even in her shock.

Because they’d come here to engage in that same act—to make those same noises, to seek that same inexorable release.

Loukas’s mouth stilled and he pulled back as he too realised what was happening. He touched one finger to her lips and pulled her closer against him, as if sheltering her from what was happening while he edged a look over his shoulder. They had to get out of here. He would surely know that as well as she did. But before they could make a move a sound and a sudden movement in the low light drew her eyes directly to the source—and she found them.

Mostly hidden from view, sheltered from the door behind a long sofa, it was no wonder that whoever it was had been too absorbed to realise they had company. She was just about to turn her face away when the man rocked back on his knees and she recognised him.

Mayor Goldfinch!

No wonder the library door had been unlocked—Grace must have brought him here.

Now Jade had to get out, and take Loukas, before either of them saw her. She would never in a million years subject Grace to that kind of embarrassment. She couldn’t let her find out that they had inadvertently stumbled upon them during such a private act.

She prodded Loukas to leave, but he stilled her movements. ‘Wait,’ he whispered, so quietly she half wondered if she’d inhaled his words instead. ‘Wait just a moment.’

But she didn’t want to stay. She didn’t want to hear any more, to be witness to anyone’s lovemaking—least of all to Grace’s. More than anything she wanted to get out, now, and it took supreme strength of will to remain cradled in Loukas’s arms while she waited seemingly for ever for the pair to resume their frantic activities.

The sounds of motion and mounting excitement finally resumed, telling her Mayor Goldfinch had Grace exactly where he wanted her once more. She wanted to close her ears as every sound, every whimper, fed into her own needs, making her overwhelmingly aware of what she herself might be doing right now, of what she’d given her tacit agreement to. Her flesh shimmied into action where Loukas held her, where she brushed up alongside him, as the aura of coupling wrapped itself around them.

But at last they were moving out of here. Loukas was just manoeuvring her closer to the door, ready to bundle her out, when she heard gruff words.

‘Oh, Rach. Oh, sweet baby, I’ve missed you.’

For a second she thought she’d misheard the name—it had to have been Grace that he’d said—but then she spied the lush sheen of red satin slung over the settee, had recognised the young, drawling tones responding enthusiastically to the Mayor’s encouragement and cold revulsion worked its clammy way up her spine.

Because it wasn’t Grace that Mayor Goldfinch was entertaining. It was Rachael Delaney!

She almost cried out with the shock, but a large firm hand clamped down over her mouth, rendering her mute. Under cover of the noise of the couple’s latest activities, Loukas had the door pulled open and whisked her back outside before she could react—and before the couple could know what was happening.

She burst free from his grip and threw herself along the passageway, gulping in great mouthfuls of air, trying to clear her lungs of the filth of that room.

‘Jade!’ she heard him call. ‘Jade!’

She couldn’t answer—wouldn’t stop as she fled. She wanted to go upstairs to her suite but, knowing Loukas might follow her, she made for the safety of the crowded ballroom. Did Grace have any idea the man she was hoping would propose was busy slaking his lust on one of her guests? Did she have any idea the man she was hoping to marry was such a low-class act?

She had to get away. Away from the betrayal going on behind her. Away from the cheap act that she herself had been about to take part in.

Loukas had said he wanted to make love to her, and she’d let herself be swept away—yet it wasn’t love that people made in secret trysts like the one they’d just happened upon. There was no love involved. It was just sex—pure, unadulterated animal lust—and she’d just about let herself cave into the same base desires.

She felt sick to the stomach.

A steel band took hold of her arm, wheeling her around. ‘Stop.’

She looked up into his eyes, wanting but unable to contain her desperate need for oxygen.

‘Let me go,’ she insisted.

‘You were happy for me to touch you before.’

‘That was before. I’m sorry. I made a mistake. I should never have gone with you. I should never have led you on like that.’

‘You didn’t lead me on. We both wanted to make love. Still want to make love. You can’t deny that.’

‘No,’ she said, shaking her head wildly, as if to shake out the soiled images and damning sounds that replayed endlessly through her mind. ‘Not like that. That wasn’t love that was being made in there. I was wrong. I’m sorry.’

‘Come with me, then. We’ll get out of this rats’ nest and talk.’

‘No.’ She held one hand up as she backed away. Her skin burned with both humiliation and embarrassment. It was bad enough having lived through the experience without having to analyse it. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Demakis. There’s nothing to talk about.’ Then she turned and fled into the ballroom.

‘This isn’t over!’

There was no point arguing with him; she just kept right on surging away from him. He’d picked the wrong woman, that was all. No more explanations necessary.

If it was just quick sex he was after she had no doubt he’d find someone else for the night—a woman who would be more accommodating and who had less hang-ups, who wouldn’t be fazed about sharing a room with another couple hard at it, a woman who would happily look elsewhere if she was in that situation. And there was every chance he’d find that woman here.

With his looks he’d have his pick. And she’d almost fallen for him—hook, line and sinker. To think he’d swayed her so much with that line of his—‘I came here to meet you.’ She’d played right into his hands. Thank God she’d had enough sense not to take him upstairs to her suite—there would have been no escape then.

No, he’d find someone else in short order, and there was no chance she’d ever see Mr Loukas Demakis again.

The rush of relief she felt at that prospect evaporated the instant she noticed the last person she wanted to talk to right now heading straight for her.

‘Oh, Jade,’ Grace said, casting her eyes all about the room. ‘You haven’t seen Mayor Goldfinch anywhere?’

Jade stood blankly, her stomach lurching as she fought to raise her eyes above shoe level.

‘Only I wanted to show him the clinic’s latest plans for expansion, and he seems to have disappeared.’

‘I can’t help you,’ Jade insisted, her heart breaking for the older woman even as she lied. Grace would have to find out the truth at some time, but not now. Jade couldn’t bear to spoil her otherwise perfect night. ‘Have you tried the garden?’ she added, taking her by the arm and steering her towards the French doors to ensure she couldn’t stumble into the library and discover the Mayor’s sleazy betrayal herself. Because while half of her wanted Grace to find out what kind of man he really was, the other half wanted to protect her friend from the pain of knowing the whole sordid truth. ‘I’ll help you look.’



The young girl looked up, her kohl-rimmed eyes hopeful and expectant as Jade entered the consulting room. While outwardly Jade acknowledged both Grace and the client, inwardly she sighed. Despite the heavy make-up, Jade knew the young waif-like blonde was barely eighteen years old—and yet already Pia Kovac was a regular customer at the clinic—too regular for her liking.

‘Thanks for stepping in, Dr Ferraro,’ said Grace. ‘Pia has asked us to consider doing a few extra little things for her. Seeing as a couple of them will require your deft touch with the laser, I thought you should sit in on this consultation.’

‘No problem,’ Jade responded, taking a seat in one of the velvet sofas surrounding the plush coffee table set-up when what she really wanted was to go back to her apartment at the mansion and let herself slip into a long soaking bath.

How did Grace do it? She looked at her now, as she outlined the procedures Pia had in mind, and could only marvel at how fresh and bright-eyed she looked even while she still managed to retain an air of serenity and calm about her. No doubt about it—the woman was amazing. Jade would be up to her neck in bubbles right now if she hadn’t been called in to this consultation.

Today had been too long—a full day of laser surgery punctuated only by an hour-long luncheon meeting with Grace to discuss the financial results from the Gala.

As expected, the evening had been a runaway success in raising both funds and the profile of the foundation. Months of planning had paid off, and Jade was now feeling the anticlimax of masterminding and carrying off a successful event seeping through her bones.

But that wasn’t the only anticlimax she was feeling. Ever since that night she’d felt strangely let down, and it all had to do with the larger-than-life memories of one tall, dark stranger. And yet nothing had happened between them, really. Nothing compared to what might have happened. Right now she could be filled with regrets about crazy actions and impetuous desires. She could be cursing herself for giving in to nothing more than base lust.

Instead she should feel proud of herself for having had the strength to get out of the situation. She should be feeling relieved she’d come to her senses before it was too late—even if it had taken a philandering mayor to wake her up to what she was doing.

So why did she feel as if she’d missed out? Why was she disappointed that she’d heard not a thing from Loukas Demakis when it was clearly to her advantage never to run into the man again?

With a struggle she forced her could-have-been lover out of her mind and brought her focus back to the shopping basket of cosmetic goodies Grace was outlining. It was an impressive list; Pia had obviously been doing her homework.

‘Jade,’ Grace said at last, ‘would you agree that’s the best way to proceed? For you to do the minor laser surgery components before I’ve done the breast augmentation?’

Jade drew in a weary breath and looked at the young woman sitting opposite—a teenager, certainly, but hardly flat-chested. She suppressed a sigh. This was one of the things that really grated about this business. It was one thing for the clinic to be helping people retain or reclaim their youthful looks, but it seemed another thing entirely to start with major remodelling of the looks of someone barely out of puberty.

‘Pia,’ she said gently, ‘are you sure you’ve thought this all through? A breast augmentation isn’t something to take lightly. Are you sure you really need it?’

Pia’s expression dropped like a stone. ‘But I have to do something. Kurt says the only thing wrong with me is I don’t have enough up top.’

Jade glanced over her notes. ‘Then why the liposuction?’

‘Kurt hates fat.’

It was hardly a surprising answer. Kurt hadn’t liked her nose or her lips either, when Pia had first appeared on the clinic’s doorstep six months ago, a newlywed with a massive inferiority complex and a demanding would-be celebrity husband. Without a doubt the failed reality TV contender had had more than a little to do with her recent cheek implants as well.

‘And what do you like? What do you really want, Pia?’

‘I want to keep Kurt.’ Her words came out like a sulky child threatened with the loss of her favourite bedtime toy. Which was probably how she felt, given the rumours that Kurt was already tiring of his hastily arranged Las Vegas marriage.

‘And of course you will,’ crooned Grace, sending daggers to Jade as she shifted next to Pia on the couch, taking her hand and stroking it gently. ‘And we’ll do everything to help you. Won’t we, Jade?’



‘What was that all about?’

Jade was just collecting her purse and jacket when Grace paced purposefully into her office. ‘It sounded very much like you were trying to talk Pia out of surgery back there.’

Jade rubbed her brow and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I’m sorry, Grace. I just think she’s too young to be doing all this. Especially when she doesn’t need it. If it wasn’t for Kurt—’

‘Kurt’s her husband. Of course she wants to please him! Our job is to give the clients what they want. Not to talk them out of it.’

‘But she’s so young—’

‘She won’t be young for ever. Satisfy her now and we’ll have a client for life.’ She arched one eyebrow high, accentuating her bright eyes. ‘Think about that. Your future is with people just like Pia. Sow the seeds now, and reap the harvest for life.’

Jade recoiled at her words. When had Grace become so cynical?

‘I didn’t think the clinic was so desperate for money that we had to go recruiting teenagers.’

‘She came to us. We didn’t “recruit” her. And don’t sniff at the money. It pays you well enough, doesn’t it? I’ve tried to make you feel welcome here, and I’ve tried to support you while you become established. Haven’t I opened my home up to you, giving you your own space? I thought you enjoyed working here,’ she continued. ‘I thought we were part of a team. But then, if you’re not happy…’

The older woman’s eyes clouded over suddenly, and her unfinished sentence was enough to sting Jade with remorse.

Grace was right, of course. Grace was more like a fairy godmother than a colleague—making her dreams come true not just once in her life, but twice.

Because it had been Grace’s removal of her ugly facial birthmark that had given Jade the inspiration and the courage to enter the same field and pursue the quest for excellence. She wanted the chance to make such amazing differences to other people’s lives too. She wanted the chance to put something back. And Grace had given her that opportunity too, when she’d approved her application and given her a place at the clinic.

She owed everything to Grace—her job, her success, and most of all the chance to be accepted as a normal human being. Nobody had ever done so much for her. Nobody else had made her life so worthwhile.

So Jade wouldn’t let her down—especially not now, when it was clear that Grace was already in for a rough ride when she discovered the truth about Mayor Goldfinch.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Of course I’m happy working here.’

‘Then don’t let me hear any more about you trying to talk people out of surgery. You have a gift, and these people need you. They’ll do anything to look better.’ Grace reached out and grasped her forearm, squeezing it so hard her acrylic nails bit deep into Jade’s flesh. ‘You, more than anyone, should appreciate that.’



She’d been so close. If he’d taken her somewhere else, if he’d found somewhere private, she would have been his. Even now, leaning against the door of her champagne-coloured Mercedes convertible in the palm-tree-lined car park behind the Della-Bosca Clinic, he could still feel her in his arms, feel her shuddering response to his touch.

She’d wanted him that night!

She’d melted into his arms like warm syrup and he could have had her. If it hadn’t been for the Mayor and his young bimbo beating them to it, he would have had her. She’d been his for the taking. Ripe and luscious and so hot to touch that he was aching to have another chance to unleash the passion he knew was lurking beneath that polished exterior.

He smiled to himself as he pocketed his sunglasses. If she thought her rapid departure meant she’d escaped him, she had another think coming. He wasn’t done with this strategy just yet.

So far he’d accomplished none of the things he’d set out to do to comply with his father’s request to keep his sister safe; he’d found out none of the information he needed to pull the rug out from underneath Dr Della-Bosca’s Manolo-clad feet. But there was still no better way to find out what he needed to than to coax it out of her young colleague.

And next time he’d make sure there was no chance for her to change her mind. Next time she wouldn’t get away.

His body hummed with anticipation of the hunt. The information couldn’t come more enticingly gift-wrapped. The idea of extracting what he needed to know couldn’t possibly give him more of a charge.

She might be as plastic as the industry she worked for, and the celebrities she practised on, but at least she was making his quest more entertaining than he’d ever imagined possible.

He pulled one hand from his pocket and glanced down at his watch, but it only confirmed what the sun was already telling him as it dipped lower in the sky—the doctor kept long hours. The nip and tuck business was obviously booming.

Then a movement at the side door caught his eye. It was her. As she stepped from the door her hand went to the back of her head, and with a toss she pulled a clip from her hair, releasing it. He growled his approval as the wave swung around her face and tumbled over her shoulders like a sweep of honey.

He liked the way she looked with her hair down. Even more than how it looked, it appealed to his sense of economy.

One less thing for him to remove.

She couldn’t wait to get into that bath. Grace might be content to stay and deal with paperwork till all hours, but Jade had had enough for one day. And there was absolutely no need for Grace to stay back. They had enough staff that Grace need never bother herself with administration, but she’d always been hands-on, always been involved, even with matters as mundane as the accounts. She was a total inspiration.

Her neck and shoulders aching, Jade unclipped her hair as she stepped from the building, already mentally unwinding as she shook her hair free. She took two steps into the car park and froze.

It was him. He was leaning against her car and looking for all the world as if he owned it. Did he know it was hers? In the same instant she asked herself the question she’d already answered herself in the affirmative. Of course he knew. Why else would he be sprawled all over it? How he knew wasn’t even an issue. This man didn’t strike her as the sort who would have trouble getting anything—least of all information.

But what the hell was he doing here? Even in the gathering twilight the foolishness of her actions at the ball came back in stark detail to taunt her. And she didn’t want to be reminded of that night. Didn’t want to be reminded of what had nearly happened. Didn’t want to be reminded of how his firm body and his sultry mouth had made her feel…

She swallowed down an urge to turn around and walk the other way. She’d run from him once before, and be damned if he’d see her bolt again. It was her car he was leaning on. He was the one who was going to leave.

So she forced her legs to move once more, forced herself closer to where he stood so casually regarding her approach, his hands in his pockets, one leg bent over the other, while she wound tighter and tighter inside like a coiled spring.

She stopped two metres shy, wondering how the hell she was going to get into her car while he leaned against her door.

She nodded. ‘Mr Demakis.’

‘Loukas,’ he corrected. ‘How are you, Dr Ferraro?’

If he thought that was an invitation to ask him to call her Jade he was very much mistaken. ‘You seem to be blocking my car door.’

He looked around as if surprised. ‘This is your car? Now, there’s a coincidence.’

‘An unbelievable coincidence, I would have thought,’ she said, making it clear she knew it was no accident of fate that had brought them together today.

‘It seems we have a mutual liking for this particular marque,’ he continued, indicating the car alongside hers. Another sleek Mercedes Sports, although so clearly the top of the line it made her smaller soft-top look like a basic city run-around. ‘I wonder what else we have in common?’

His easy banter grated on her nerves, especially as his eyes gave her different messages entirely. In what remained of the light of day they were nowhere near as dark as they’d seemed in the evening lighting, more a rich chestnut colour—though right now they contained a noticeable absence of warmth. And yet she felt a heat emanating from them that burned into her senses and touched parts of her deep down inside, where the humming his touch had set in train Saturday evening was coming alive once again.

How could he do that? Look so cold and imperious in the same instant he was setting her skin aflame?

She shifted her stance, trying to quell her mutinous flesh and disguising her purpose by digging through her purse for her keys.

‘Who can say?’ She took a step closer, holding her keys pointedly. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me?’

He didn’t move an inch, still leaning against the car door, and she was left wondering about the wisdom of moving closer to him.

‘You’re not curious enough to find out?’

She tilted her head up to his face, taking in the challenging glint in his eyes and the crooked smile. Why was he here? Did he see her as an easy target? Did he expect her to fall into bed with him the moment he reappeared in her life and take up where they’d left off in the library?

Or was there just the remotest chance he was really interested in getting to know her?

Oh, yes, she was curious all right. And it had nothing to do with what they had or didn’t have in common. But, whatever he wanted, there was no chance she’d be swept away by irrationality again. Once was more than enough.

And, if he was honestly interested in getting to know her better, he’d soon work out that ambushing someone in the car park after a long day was hardly the way to win friends.

She forced what she hoped would pass as a smile to her face. ‘Not in the least bit curious,’ she lied. ‘And I really have to be leaving now, so if you’ll kindly sprawl over your own car instead, I’ll get going.’

He laughed out loud, pushing himself upright, away from her car. At last, she thought, sensing escape was near at hand. But still he didn’t move his feet. And now he was even closer. Close enough to bring memories of that night, of being next to his body, held by his arms against his muscled torso, crashing over her. Close enough that if she just reached out her hand she could once again touch him, could feel his heated skin through her fingertips, feel the beat of his heart pulse its way into hers.




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