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Shattered Illusions
Anne Mather


Mills & Boon are excited to present The Anne Mather Collection – the complete works by this classic author made available to download for the very first time! These books span six decades of a phenomenal writing career, and every story is available to read unedited and untouched from their original release.Some secrets just won't stay hidden Dominic Redding was curious – and intrigued. Why had English academic Jaime Harris left a perfectly good job to come work for his stepmother?Jaime Harris had come to Bermuda with a purpose–to find out more about the mysterious Catriona Redding – and her good-looking stepson, Dominic, seemed intent on jeopardizing all that. At first he’s suspicious and harsh…then protective and seductive. Is he her ally? Because even though the family was already full of dark secrets, Jaime was there to reveal some more of her own that might just change everything…







Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author

ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the

publishing industry, having written over one hundred

and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than

forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance

for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful,

passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!


I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun—staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com (mailto:mystic-am@msn.com) and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.


Shattered Illusions

Anne Mather






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


Table of Contents

Cover (#u4ec3e3cd-cec5-5c60-8c3d-8edb6259d195)

About the Author (#uf4497848-080a-5fa2-b4ce-7f09beb0bc0e)

Title Page (#u3c299d1d-43b8-5deb-8090-beb71812543a)

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 FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#u84c4cdc0-72c1-5c02-8dfe-c494ec15e984)

SHE shouldn’t have come.

The feeling grew stronger every minute she was kept waiting in this beautiful room, which was nothing like any office she had ever imagined.

But office it was, despite the drifting clouds of chiffon at the long windows. A place where Catriona Redding wrote her very successful novels, regardless of the famous paintings that looked down from the silk-hung walls.

Jaime drew a steadying breath.

The desk alone must have cost a small fortune. A singular slab of polished granite, its surface was strewn with the evidence of Catriona Redding’s profession. Files, books, a veritable plethora of pens and pencils; Jaime already knew that she preferred to write her books in longhand, and who could blame her? Sitting in this room, which reflected the light of the huge outdoor pool that flanked it, with the sweep of Copperhead Bay beyond, the clatter of keys would have been an intrusion, even from the computer that Jaime would be expected to employ.

If she was taken on for the probationary two weeks...

And she was by no means certain that she would be. Although she had passed the preliminary interview with Catriona Redding’s agent in London, she had still to meet the woman herself, had still to be approved by her proposed employer. It had been made clear to her from the outset that Catriona Redding would make the final decision. For all she was here in Bermuda, the job still hung in the balance.

She cast another look about her, wondering if leaving her here in this impressive apartment was intended to intimidate her. She knew so little about the woman she had come here to meet, and the longer she remained in isolation, the more doubtful about her own motives she became.

What was she doing here? she asked herself. What did she hope to achieve? Did she really want to be Catriona Redding’s secretary, even briefly? She was a lecturer in English, for heaven’s sake. It was years since she’d taken orders from anyone.

She knew the obvious answer, of course. She wanted to meet Catriona Redding. She wanted to meet her, and get to know her in an unthreatening capacity, to try and find out why she’d done what she had. It had seemed the easiest—if not the wisest—way of achieving her ambitions, without embarrassing either herself or Catriona Redding. If she was taken on, she’d worry about her choices then. For now, she was content to take one day at a time.

Or she had been until a rather snooty housekeeper had shown her into Catriona Redding’s study...

The instructions she had been given in London had been explicit. She was to regard this interview—at Catriona Redding’s luxury estate in Bermuda—as a preliminary to being given two weeks’ probationary tenure. In consequence, she had been advised to bring her immediate needs with her, and should the position be made permanent she should make arrangements for the rest of her belongings to be sent on.

Which had seemed reasonable enough, and Jaime had quite enjoyed the unfamiliar trip across the Atlantic. She’d always liked flying, and her seat in the British Airways jet had been very comfortable. Had she not had a germ of apprehension beavering away in the pit of her stomach, she might have been able to appreciate the trip for its own sake. She had never crossed the Atlantic before, and although Bermuda was not a West Indian island it was situated nearer to the American continent than anywhere else.

And that was probably why she was feeling so uneasy now, she decided. The holidays she’d taken in Europe had not prepared her for the effects of jet lag, and although it was a sunny evening here in Bermuda her body clock was telling her it was already after eleven. She was tired. That was why so many doubts were assailing her. When she’d had a good night’s sleep, she’d feel much more optimistic.

But before that happened...

A sudden splash, as if of an object striking water, alerted her to the fact that someone was using the pool outside. The patio windows were slightly ajar, as witness the billowing curtains, but even if she had not been able to hear the rippling water she’d have guessed what was happening by the patterns spreading on the ceiling above her head.

She was tempted to get up and see who it was. But the anxiety—fear—that it might be Catriona Redding kept her anchored to her seat. Besides, she did not want to be caught spying on whoever might be using the pool. She had to remember she was here for an interview, and, as such, she would be unwise to risk losing the job out of curiosity.

All the same, her eyes were drawn in that direction, and she felt a twinge of envy for whoever had the right to cool off in that way. For all the room was air-conditioned, she could feel the draught of warm air coming in through the crack in the windows, and her nerves were working overtime to send an unpleasant trickle of perspiration down her spine.

A shadow moved beyond the windows, and she realised the swimmer had emerged from the pool. She saw the silhouette of a man, tall and dark, moving with a lithe grace across the tiled apron. His back was to her, for which she was grateful, for when he bent to lift a towel from one of the chairs that faced the water she was almost sure he was naked.

Her mouth dried instantly. Whoever he was, he was obviously someone Catriona Redding knew well. She blinked. It was something that had not occurred to her. That the woman might be involved with someone else. Which was foolish, she acknowledged impatiently. Successful women could have their pick of admirers.

All the same, Catriona Redding had to be fifty, if she was a day, and the man who had drawn Jaime’s eyes appeared to be in the prime of his life. Though she couldn’t really tell through the drifting veils of chiffon. It was just an impression she had received from the casual indolence of his stride.

She swallowed uneasily, hoping that, whoever he was, he wouldn’t decide to enter the house through the study’s inviting windows. Could she get up and close them before he noticed? Would he think she’d been spying on him, if he glimpsed her through the glass? She didn’t know why she had such a strong compulsion to avoid a complete stranger, but she breathed a little more freely when he moved away.

Her relief at this escape almost overshadowed the sudden opening of the door. But the reminder of why she was here brought her automatically to her feet, and she was already schooling her features when Catriona Redding turned to face her.

‘Miss Harris?’ The name could mean nothing to her, and the hand she held out to Jaime was as cool and impersonal as she could have expected. Slim fingers, their elegance enhanced by several gold rings—none of them a wedding ring—gripped Jaime’s fingers briefly. ‘Please sit down, Miss Harris,’ she instructed smoothly, seating herself in the grey leather chair across the desk. ‘Did you have a pleasant journey?’

Jaime struggled to find her tongue. She hadn’t expected to be so affected by this first meeting, and it was galling to feel as nervous as she did. She was an honours graduate, for God’s sake. For the past five years she had been lecturing to students who should have been far more intimidating than one woman. But the fact remained she was tongue-tied, as much by Catriona Redding’s appearance as anything else.

The woman was quite simply stunning. Her silken cap of silvery blonde hair, tinted perhaps, framed a face that showed little evidence of its years. Dark blue eyes, between sooty lashes, were spaced wide above well-marked cheekbones. A delicately shaped nose set off a mouth that was full-lipped without being exactly generous. And her skin was smooth and unblemished, and only lightly touched with a golden tan.

Jaime didn’t quite know what she had expected, or quite why she was as surprised as she was. She’d seen Catriona Redding’s picture on the jackets of her books, so she should have been prepared for this. But the reality was so much more shocking than the image had ever been.

‘Is something wrong?’

Jaime’s hands clenched in her lap. Pull yourself together, she chided herself angrily. Do you want her to think you’re naive as well as stupid?

‘I’m sorry,’ she said hurriedly, hoping she didn’t sound too sycophantic. ‘It’s just such a—a thrill—for me, meeting you in the flesh. I’ve—read all your books, Miss Redding.’ That, at least, was true. ‘I’m a great admirer of your work.’

Was she?

‘You are?’ Apparently the other woman accepted this without question. A wintry smile appeared. ‘Do you have a favourite? I’m always interested to hear which books strike a chord with my readers.’

Jaime swallowed. For a moment her mind went blank, and she couldn’t remember even one of the titles. But then rationality returned, and she found what she was looking for. Even if it was difficult to be objective when she’d read all twenty books in less than a month.

‘I—I think I enjoyed Heartless best,’ she answered, wondering if her choice, which had been made at random, possessed some hidden meaning she was unaware of. After all, her father would probably say the title was appropriate, but she didn’t want to think of Robert Michaels right now.

Thankfully, her answer seemed to satisfy her would-be employer, and she made some deprecatory comment that allowed Jaime a little more time to study her appearance. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have guessed that Catriona Redding was in her late thirties. There was an air of agelessness about her that was deliberately enhanced by the rather severely tailored suit she was wearing.

‘I believe you’ve been living in London, Miss Harris,’ she prompted now, and Jaime endeavoured to keep her mind on why she was supposed to be here. Why she was here, dammit, she reminded herself fiercely. It wouldn’t do to appear too overwhelmed at the prospect of working with the famous author.

‘Um—yes,’ she replied, aware that she was being given a penetrating appraisal in her turn. ‘I—er—I’ve been working as a research assistant at the university.’

‘So I see.’ Catriona consulted the file she had taken from the pile on her desk. ‘Impressive qualifications for someone who wants to work as my secretary.’ She lifted her head. ‘Do you mind telling me why you want this job?’

Jaime drew a breath, and started on the explanation she had devised for just this situation. ‘I’ve been restless for some time,’ she said, which was also true. ‘And, before I got my degree, I took time out to get some secretarial qualifications, and worked for nine months as a secretary in a small publishing house. That—that was what first inspired my interest in your books, Miss Redding. One of the girls I worked with lent me Harvest Moon, and—and I’ve been a fan ever since.’

‘And this—interest in my work encouraged you to give up your position at the university?’

Catriona sounded sceptical, and Jaime couldn’t altogether blame her.

‘Partly,’ she answered carefully. ‘But, as I said before, I was already dissatisfied with my job. Researching ancient languages can become boring, Miss Redding. I was looking for something new, and when I saw your advertisement it seemed like an amazing coincidence.’

‘I see.’

Catriona continued to regard her with that faint air of suspicion, and Jaime had to control the impulse to check that her hair was still neatly confined in its braid or that her lipstick wasn’t smudged. There was no way this woman could know that she had not been employed as a research assistant, she assured herself. Her superior at the college was a friend, and it had only meant twisting his words a little.

‘So tell me about yourself,’ Catriona suggested at last. ‘My agent dealt with your qualifications, and the salary that’s on offer. I want to know a few personal details, Miss Harris. Tell me about your family.’

Jaime moistened her lips. ‘I don’t have a family, Miss Redding.’ Then, taking a chance, she said, ‘My father died a few months ago, and I have no other close relations.’

‘No husband?’ Catriona consulted her notes again. ‘I see from your application that you’re almost thirty, Miss Harris. Aren’t you interested in getting married?’

‘Not at present.’

Jaime wasn’t at all convinced that such a question was warranted. Just because Catriona Redding wrote passionate novels about relationships between the sexes, that did not give her the right to probe the psyches of her employees. If she had been applying for this job in a purely impersonal capacity, she would have resented it. As it was, she put it down to Catriona’s curiosity and nothing else.

‘But you do want to get married one day?’ the woman was asking now, and Jaime wondered what she was implying. Did she want some committed career woman, who wouldn’t waste a second glance on a man? Or was there some other reason for her interest?

‘Maybe,’ she conceded at last. And then, because something more was needed, she added, ‘My work didn’t leave a lot of time for socialising.’

Catriona frowned. ‘I hope you don’t see this job as a sinecure, Miss Harris. That is to say, working for me will not be an easy ride. I tend to work long hours without a break, and my personal deadlines are demanding, to say the least.’

‘I’m not looking for an easy option, Miss Redding,’ Jaime assured her hurriedly. ‘If you suspect that the prospect of working here, in such idyllic surroundings, was the main reason I applied for this job, you couldn’t be more wrong. Of course, it’s more attractive than—than where I used to work, but I’m not overawed by my surroundings. If you give me an opportunity to prove myself, I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.’

‘So you haven’t come here looking for a wealthy husband, Miss Harris?’ And before Jaime could voice her indignation she went on, ‘It’s not been unknown. My last assistant made quite a nuisance of herself, and I’m afraid I had to dismiss her.’ She paused. ‘But you look a much more—sensible girl. Kristin was a flirt, and far too concerned with her own appearance.’

Which was as good as saying that she was unattractive, and therefore no competition, thought Jaime drily. How could someone who wrote such sensitive prose be so insensitive herself? She caught her upper lip between her teeth. If she wasn’t careful, she’d start by disliking the woman. This was going to be so much harder than she’d thought.

‘I’m not interested in finding a husband, Miss Redding,’ she assured her firmly. ‘I think I can safely say you will not have to fire me on those terms. I simply want a change of—focus. As I said in my application, I should very much like to work with you.’

The sincerity in her tone was convincing—as well it should be, reflected Jaime, with an inner smile. If Catriona Redding had lived in the wilds of Alaska or the slums of Calcutta, she would have been just as keen to work for her. But even she drew back from admitting that.

‘Very well.’ Catriona rose from her seat, and walked with unhurried grace to the long windows. Drawing the filmy curtain aside, she looked out on the pool area outside. Whatever she saw beyond the windows seemed to please her, for when she turned back to Jaime she was wearing a much more indulgent expression. ‘Very well,’ she said again. ‘As my agent will have informed you, I’m prepared to offer a two-week trial, if that’s agreeable to you. Naturally, you will be given the same privilege.’ Her smile intimated how generous the offer was. ‘We’ll soon find out if we—suit one another.’ She paused. ‘All right?’

She’d done it.

Jaime’s breath left her lungs in a rush. ‘All right,’ she echoed, amazed to hear that her voice sounded so normal. And then, because she felt it was expected of her, she said, ‘Thank you.’

‘Good.’ Catriona walked back to her desk and pressed a button on the intercom. ‘Sophie?’ She cast a look at Jaime as she waited. ‘Sophie’s my housekeeper,’ she explained. And then, as the woman answered, she said, ‘Yes, Sophie. I’ve decided to offer Miss—um—Harris the job. She’ll be starting work tomorrow. Can you come and show her to her apartments, please?’

Her rooms were situated in a kind of annexe. It was attached to the main house by means of a vine-hung walkway, which even at this hour of the evening was fragrant with the scent of the pale pink flowers that grew there. The pool she had glimpsed earlier was just visible beyond the white-painted wall of the house, and from a dusk-shaded cupola came the drowsy sound of doves.

Idyllic surroundings indeed, she reflected, still basking in the glow of her success. The only fly in her particular ointment was the housekeeper, Sophie, who still maintained the air of superiority she’d adopted when she’d first shown Jaime into the house.

The door to her apartments had a key, she noticed with some relief, but it wasn’t locked, and Sophie thrust it open without ceremony. ‘I’m sure you’ll find you have everything you need here,’ she declared, using the switch by the door to turn on several lamps. ‘Miss Spencer had no complaints. She was very happy here.’

‘Was she?’

Jaime was beginning to get an inkling as to why Sophie resented her. Evidently, this Miss Spencer was the Kristin Catriona Redding had spoken of so disparagingly, but Sophie clearly considered that she should still have the job.

Deciding there was no point in pursuing the matter, Jaime surveyed the living room they had entered with real pleasure. ‘Did you do this, Sophie?’ she asked, indicating an arrangement of hibiscus and bird of paradise flowers that occupied a prominent position on a low table. Dark green waxy leaves cradled petals of crimson and orange, and it was no effort to admire them as she crossed the Chinese rug. ‘They’re beautiful!’

‘Miss Redding has a standing order with a firm of florists in Hamilton,’ responded Sophie dampeningly. She opened another door to display an adjoining bedroom. ‘Your bathroom is through there.’

‘It’s very nice. Thank you.’

Jaime refused to be daunted, and after another encompassing look about the room Sophie made for the door. ‘Miss Redding will advise you of the eating arrangements tomorrow morning at breakfast,’ she added brusquely. ‘I’ll have Samuel fetch your supper in fifteen minutes.’

Jaime was inclined to say that she didn’t want any supper, thank you, but it would have seemed ungrateful to refuse. Besides, although she was tired, she was doubtful if she’d be able to sleep right away. She was far too excited to relax.

‘My suitcase...’ she ventured instead as Sophie went out the door, and the housekeeper turned back to give her a disdainful look.

‘You’ll find your suitcase in the bedroom,’ she advised crisply. ‘Samuel attended to it earlier. Even if Miss Redding hadn’t decided to employ you, naturally you’d have been offered a bed for the night.’

‘Oh.’ Jaime felt suitably chastened. ‘Thank you.’

‘Miss Redding’s orders,’ declared Sophie, disclaiming all responsibility. ‘Goodnight, Miss Harris. I hope you sleep well.’

Do you?

Jaime closed the door behind the housekeeper with a sense of relief. There was no doubt in her mind that Sophie didn’t hope any such thing. Biting her lip, she turned the key before turning to reappraise her surroundings. Whatever else might happen, she was certainly going to have no complaints about her comfort while she was here.

It was almost dark, the twilight much shorter here than in England. The lamps Sophie had turned on had made the room clearly visible from outside, but before she drew the blinds she took a moment to admire the view.

There was a balcony beyond the windows, with a glass-topped table and a pair of rattan chairs. But it was the sweeping curve of the bay beyond the shrubbery that caught her imagination. And a sea which at this hour of the evening was painted with gold.

The room was even cosier when the curtains were drawn. A pair of rose-patterned sofas faced one another across a marble hearth, with the long low table that held the exotic flower arrangement between. There were several polished cabinets, one of which contained a television, and a single-stemmed mahogany table, and several matching mahogany chairs with velvet seats.

A huge Chinese rug covered most of the floor, but in the bedroom next door a cream shag pile was soft beneath her feet. Kicking off her shoes, she allowed her toes to curl into the carpet, imagining how disappointed her predecessor must have felt to be leaving all this behind.

The bedroom was dominated by a large, colonial-style bed, whose ruched counterpane matched the ruched silk curtains at the bedroom windows. The colour scheme of cream and gold was echoed in pale striped wallpaper, with the dark mahogany armoire and chest of drawers proving an attractive contrast.

Her suitcase was waiting on the padded ottoman at the foot of the bed, and she was releasing the clasps when she heard someone knock at the outer door. Her supper, she guessed ruefully, going to answer it. Whatever faults Sophie had, efficiency wasn’t one of them.

The tall, ebony-skinned man who had brought her tray was probably Sophie’s husband, she decided, though, unlike the housekeeper, he was inclined to be friendly. Setting the tray on the circular table, he took a little time to tell her what was under the silver lids, and then wished her a good night before he left.

Closing the door after him, Jaime leaned back against it, feeling a little less alien after his visit. It wasn’t her fault, after all, that Kristin Spencer had been dismissed. She was just grateful for the opportunity it had given her.

After unpacking her suitcase and exploring the sensuous luxury of the bathroom, Jaime sat down to her meal with some reluctance. She really wasn’t hungry, but conversely she was too hyped up to go to bed, and the spicy shrimps with sauce were quite delicious. She left the medallions of veal, and nibbled on the strawberry shortcake, even if it wasn’t particularly wise to eat something so sweet before going to bed. But, she told herself, she needed the sugar to maintain her optimism, and she’d never tasted such a delicious dessert before.

A small bottle of wine had accompanied the meal, and before going for her shower Jaime emptied the bottle into her glass, and stepped out onto the balcony. The shifting waters of the bay were no longer visible, but they were still audible, and she propped her hip against the rail and breathed deeply of the soft, salt-laden air. She was here, she thought incredulously. She was going to work with Catriona Redding. ‘Forgive me, Dad,’ she whispered, ‘but I had to see what she was like for myself.’


CHAPTER TWO (#u84c4cdc0-72c1-5c02-8dfe-c494ec15e984)

DOMINIC awakened with a foul taste in his mouth. And a headache, he discovered, when he lifted his head off the pillow. Which wasn’t so surprising, really. He’d drunk the better part of a bottle of Scotch the night before.

But it was the reason why he’d drunk the Scotch that made him want to bury his head in the pillow again and drag the sheet, which was all that was covering him, over his head. Catriona, damn her, was making his life difficult, and he sometimes actually found himself wishing his father had never married her.

Or died so soon, he appended ruefully, leaving him in such an invidious position. He thrust the sheet aside, and propped himself up on his elbows. If Lawrence Redding had still been alive, his life would have been so much simpler.

Sliding his long legs out of bed, he got rather unsteadily to his feet. The room rocked for a moment, but then steadied, and, promising himself he wouldn’t let this happen again, Dominic trudged across the carpeted floor.

Through the slatted blinds, the sun was just beginning to gild the arched roofs of the cabanas that flanked the pool. The lushness of the gardens gave the place a tropical appearance at this time of the year, and he couldn’t deny that he still regarded this place as home.

Beyond the pool and the gardens, dunes sloped away towards a stretch of white sand. The curve of Copperhead Bay formed an almost perfect backdrop, the ocean creaming softly on the shore. The tide was going out, leaving a tracery of rock pools that reflected the strengthening rays of the rising sun. His father had built this house to take full advantage of the view, and Dominic never tired of its timeless beauty.

Had never thought there might come a time when he would be forced to make a choice, he reflected wearily. After all, when his father married Catriona, he had been only sixteen. He’d never dreamt that in less than twenty years Lawrence Redding would be dead.

He was pondering the beneficial effects of an early morning dip when he saw someone appear from around the side of the house. A woman, he saw at once—a tall woman, dressed in trousers and a shirt, with a thick plait of rust-coloured hair draped over one shoulder. She had her arms wrapped about her body as she walked, and she acted as if she wasn’t really aware of where she was.

He sighed. He knew who she must be, of course. She was his stepmother’s new assistant, who’d apparently arrived from England the day before. Catriona had omitted to tell him that she had had a London employment agency find her another assistant. Just as she had omitted to tell him that while he was in New York she’d dismissed Kristin Spencer.

Poor Kristin. His lips twisted. He should have warned her that Catriona didn’t like competition. And judging from his first impression of the woman by the pool she had gone for experience over beauty this time.

He grimaced, not liking the cynicism that was creeping into his consciousness these days. Catriona’s fault, of course, but it was his own fault too for allowing himself to be influenced by her. Perhaps, if he’d had more success in his marriage than his father had, he’d have overcome the tendency. As it was, it was far too easy to accept his stepmother’s interpretation of events, and if he wasn’t careful he’d become just like her, taking what he wanted from life, without considering the consequences.

He frowned. He wondered what had attracted this woman to leave an apparently successful career in London to come and work in Bermuda. He supposed the idea was glamorous enough, but after a few weeks in the islands would she, like Kristin, be eager for some kind of diversion? After all, this estate was a good twelve miles from Hamilton, and apart from the obvious attractions of swimming and sunbathing there wasn’t a lot to do. Even the islanders themselves spent regular breaks in the United Kingdom or the United States, and Dominic knew he’d go stir crazy himself if he was obliged to live here all year round.

Catriona had said this woman was a fan, that she’d left the lucrative position she’d enjoyed at the university to work with a writer she admired, but Dominic found that hard to believe. Or was that just another example of his cynicism? he wondered wryly. There was no doubt that his father’s publishing house had benefited greatly from Catriona’s novels.

Shaking his head, he forced himself to leave the woman to her solitary walk and went into the adjoining bathroom. A cool shower achieved what the ocean had denied him, and after towelling himself dry he ran an exploratory hand over his roughening jawline. He needed a shave, but he couldn’t be bothered to attend to that right now. Instead, ignoring the warnings of his conscience, he pulled on a pair of frayed, knee-length denims and a black vest, and left his rooms.

The house was cool and quiet. Despite her sometimes strict working schedule, his stepmother rarely stirred before 8 a.m. Unlike himself, she was one of those people who could sleep whatever the circumstances, emerging from her room each morning with that fresh, unblemished appearance he knew so well.

Whatever else Catriona possessed, she was not troubled by a conscience—unlike himself.

Like many of the homes in Bermuda, the house was two-storeyed, with a hipped roof, and a huge underground storage tank for rain water. It was always a source of interest to tourists that despite the lushness of its vegetation Bermuda had no actual water supply. But happily the islands were blessed with sufficient rain to fill the tanks, and Dominic had never tasted purer water in his life.

Descending the curving staircase into the Italian-tiled hall, Dominic paused for a moment to lace his canvas deck shoes. Here, evidence of his father’s interest in sculpture was present in the marble likeness of an eighteenth-century nude that stood beside the archway into a cream- and rose-painted drawing room, while a pair of Venetian sconces provided light on the rare occasions when the power supply was interrupted.

Because he was so familiar with the house, Dominic paid little attention to the elegance of his surroundings. His father had built the house when he was little more than a schoolboy, and it was as familiar to him as his own apartment in Manhattan. Though perhaps not as comfortable these days, he conceded, with some irony.

Leaving the hall by means of the glass-panelled door that led into the sun-filled morning room, he crossed the braided carpet to reach the windows. Releasing the catch, he slid the patio door along, and stepped outside.

The warmth that met him was hypnotic. The coolness of the house was such a contrast to the sensuous heat of the morning and even there, in the shade of the terrace, his skin prickled in anticipation of the sun’s assault. There was little humidity, and although it could get very hot in the middle of the day it was seldom unbearable. Right now, at the beginning of July, summer was at its height, and apart from a few fleecy clouds the sky above was clear.

Breathing deeply, he stepped out into the sunlight. From here, it was possible to see the whole of the pool area, and he was almost disappointed to find that the woman he’d seen earlier had disappeared. Not that he had any interest in her, he assured himself drily. He knew better than to show any partiality for Catriona’s protégées. He was just curious to know what had really persuaded her to take this job.

He sighed, and glanced at the watch on his wrist. It was barely seven o’clock, and apart from having to speak to his office later the day was his own. A prospect that didn’t please him as it should, he realised grimly, wishing he had not succumbed to Catriona’s invitation to recuperate at Copperhead Bay. Dammit, he had only had a cold. Just because he had neglected it, and it had turned to pneumonia, that was no reason to leave New York at one of the busiest times of the year.

The trouble was, her invitation had come when his spirits were at their lowest ebb, and he’d given in without really considering what he was taking on. It was over a year since his father’s death, and he should have known that Catriona would consider twelve months more than long enough to mourn her late husband.

A shadow moved at the far side of the pool. He’d been wrong, he realised at once. The woman hadn’t disappeared. She’d been there all the time, hidden by the canopy of a striped lounge chair, but now she had got to her feet, and her consternation at seeing him was evident in every startled line of her body.

Dominic hesitated. It would be easy enough to turn and go back into the house, and save her the trouble of having to explain herself to him. But something, some latent spark of interest that he would otherwise have denied, kept him where he was. Made him move forward in fact, to intercept her automatic intention to escape.

‘Good morning,’ he said easily, shoving his hands into the back pockets of his cut-offs to avoid the necessity of a more formal introduction. ‘It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it?’

‘Beautiful, yes,’ she answered, with evident unwillingness. And then, because she obviously thought she’d been trespassing, she added, ‘I’m sorry if I disturbed you.’

‘You didn’t,’ he assured her, although she had, inadvertently at least. There was something about her that stirred a vague sense of recognition inside him, and although he had not been wrong about her age her pale features were not unappealing. ‘Miss—Harrison, isn’t it?’

‘Harris,’ she corrected him at once, one hand reaching to circle her throat. ‘Um-Jaime Harris,’ she appended, the unbuttoned sleeve of her shirt falling back to reveal the vulnerable curve of her elbow. ‘Mr—er—’

He was curiously reluctant to tell her. ‘Redding,’ he supplied briefly. ‘Dominic Redding. Catriona’s—stepson.’

‘Oh!’ Was it his imagination or did that information cause a little of the tenseness to leave her face? ‘How do you do?’

So formal!

His lips curled. ‘Reasonably well, mostly,’ he replied, with a wry smile. ‘How about you?’

‘Oh—I—yes. I’m fine,’ she stammered, her tongue appearing to moisten her lips, and Dominic was surprised to find himself studying her features with rather more discrimination.

His first impression had not been entirely wrong, he decided. She was older than Kristin had been, and decidedly more reserved in her approach to men. But there was some merit in those wide-set grey eyes, which avoided his gaze more often than they met it, and her mouth, for all its nervousness, had a surprisingly sensual lower lip.

All in all, she was not what he had expected, Dominic mused, half wishing he hadn’t effected the introduction. Catriona wouldn’t approve of his socialising with the paid help, and for all he seldom obeyed her dictates he didn’t want to make life any more difficult than it already was.

‘Do you live here, Mr Redding?’

While he had been brooding over past mistakes, she had evidently gained in confidence. Her question caught him unawares, and although he guessed it was innocent enough he objected to being interrogated.

‘Sometimes,’ he answered obliquely, and he could almost sense the way she took in his reply, and stored it away for future reference. He had been right, he thought again. She was nothing like Kristin. He wasn’t altogether sure he trusted her.

‘Sometimes?’ she echoed now, in that diffident way she had of speaking. ‘It’s not your home, then?’

‘It was my father’s house. I live in New York,’ declared Dominic, not quite knowing why he suddenly felt so defensive. He turned the tables. ‘Tell me, Miss Harris, why would someone with a degree in English, and an obviously secure job in a London university, give it all up to come and work as Catriona’s secretary?’

That seemed to baulk her. But only briefly.

‘Why—I’m a great fan of your stepmother’s!’ she exclaimed, with rather more spirit than she had shown thus far. ‘It was a wonderful opportunity.’

Was it?

Dominic’s mouth drew in. Her enthusiasm seemed genuine enough, and yet there was something about the way she’d said the words that made him doubt her sincerity. But what other reason could she have for coming to the island? Why was he looking for problems, when there were none to find?

‘Well, I hope it lives up to your expectations,’ he averred, deciding to curtail their conversation. She was here. Catriona had employed her—temporarily, at least. And he intended to return to New York in a few days anyway.

‘Thank you.’

She seemed to sense his irritation, for after allowing him a polite look from beneath thick, gold-tipped lashes she moved towards the colonnade that led back to her apartment.

But, as he was reaching to pull his vest over his head, preparatory to taking a swim, her voice drifted back to him. ‘Your father’s dead?’ she asked, and Dominic jerked the top down again, and turned to regard her with dark, angry eyes.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I’m sorry.’ Her nervousness didn’t seem feigned now. Quite the opposite. ‘But you said—you said it was your father’s house. Is Miss—Mrs—Redding a widow?’

Dominic’s nostrils flared. ‘That would seem a fair assumption,’ he responded curtly. ‘Why?’

‘Oh—no reason.’ A faint smile brushed across that sensual mouth. She gestured towards her rooms. ‘I’d better go and get ready for breakfast.’

And get rid of those ugly trousers, thought Dominic grimly, tossing off his vest and reaching for the zip of his cut-offs. But then his hand stilled. Dammit, he wasn’t wearing any swimming shorts. It wasn’t that he was bashful. He was long past the age of feeling any callow modesty about his body; it was simply that he didn’t care for the idea of her watching him. There was something about Miss Harris that disturbed his equilibrium.

His mood completely soured now, Dominic snatched up his top and strode back to the terrace. Slamming the patio door aside, he plunged into the house—and came face to face with his stepmother.

With his eyes still dazzled from the sunlight outside, Dominic was even less inclined to be tolerant. ‘Dammit, Cat,’ he muttered, pulling back from her reaching hands, ‘what the hell are you doing up at this hour of the morning?’

His stepmother regarded him with cool indulgence. In a coral-pink satin wrapper, she was slim and elegant, her make-up light, but faultless, despite the early hour.

‘I heard voices, darling,’ she defended herself silkily, her nails brushing softly against his skin. She viewed his half-naked appearance with evident enjoyment. ‘Was Sophie on the prowl again?’

‘No.’ Dominic bit off the word, wishing he didn’t have to explain who he’d been talking to. But Catriona wouldn’t be satisfied until she had the story from him, and it was obviously more sensible to be honest from the start. ‘I met your new secretary.’

‘Miss Harris?’ Catriona’s delicately tinted lips tightened, and Dominic prepared himself for the remonstrance that he was sure was to come. ‘What did you think of her, darling? Quite a change from Kristin, isn’t she? And such a frump! Is that what universities are turning out these days?’

He knew a quite absurd desire to defend the woman, but he suppressed the urge. So long as Catriona thought she was unthreatening, Miss Harris’s job was safe. Besides, it was only what he had thought, seeing her from the window. His later opinion had been influenced by a ridiculous awareness of her sexuality.

‘Who knows?’ he responded, grateful for the diversion. ‘She seems to admire your work, as you said.’

‘Mmm.’ Catriona absorbed the compliment indifferently, her attention focused now on his mouth. Her tongue circled her lips. ‘Kiss me good morning, darling. Then I’ll ask Sophie to serve us breakfast on the terrace. It’s not often we get the chance to be alone at this time of day.’

Dominic bent and brushed her mouth with his own, but when he would have drawn back again her slim arms circled his neck. ‘More,’ she whispered huskily, her small teeth nibbling at his ear. ‘I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t we have breakfast in bed?’

Dominic’s hands on her shoulders propelled her away from him. ‘Not this morning, Cat,’ he told her flatly, even though the blood was racing through his veins. He’d wanted her for ever, it seemed; ever since his father had first brought her to this house. But he couldn’t despoil his father’s memory by making her his mistress. Not yet, at any rate.

‘Why not?’ Catriona looked sulky now, her thin lips drawn down in a frustrated curve. ‘When are you going to accept that we’ve waited long enough? Dom, Larry has been dead for more than a year!’

‘I know.’

Dominic lifted his vest and tugged it over his head, using the action to avoid her resentful eyes. Dammit, he knew better than anyone how long it was since they had buried his father, and of how mixed his feelings had been because Lawrence Redding was gone.

‘If you’re not careful, I shall begin to think you don’t love me anymore,’ Catriona accused him now, her eyes sparkling with more anger than grief. ‘I thought when you agreed to come here to recuperate that you’d realised we can’t go on like this any longer. I need you, Dom. I want to be with you. And I always thought that was what you wanted, too.’

‘It is!’

Dominic’s jaw compressed, and the urge to ignore his scruples and take her in his arms almost overcame his common sense. But for all he was desperate to make love to her this wasn’t the time. He owed his father much more than a lousy twelve months’ grace.

‘Then why—?’

‘Look, we’ll have breakfast together, right?’ he interrupted her tersely. ‘It’s too early in the day to have a conversation like this. I’ll speak to Sophie while you go and put some clothes on. Besides, didn’t you tell me you’d be having breakfast with your new assistant? You can’t let her down.’

‘But you can let me down, it seems,’ retorted Catriona coldly, tightening the cord of her robe about her slim waist. ‘You’re a cruel bastard, Dom. Sometimes I wonder why I care about you so much.’

Dominic sighed. ‘Cat—’

‘Don’t say anything more.’ Catriona held up a quelling hand, and walked haughtily towards the door. ‘And don’t bother joining us for breakfast. As you say, my work—or in this case my assistant—must come first.’

Dominic grimaced as she disappeared, but although he was sure he would pay for it later he didn’t regret having made a stand. During the past twelve months, his relationship with Catriona had developed faster than even he could have imagined, and he knew it was time to slow it down.

It was strange—he could remember the first time he’d seen Catriona as if it were yesterday. He’d been fifteen years old at the time, home from school in Boston, spending his summer swimming and sailing, and loafing around the house.

He’d been used to being on his own in those days. His mother had been killed in a freak skiing accident when he was only six, and his father had coped with his grief by burying himself in his work. The publishing house in New York, which Dominic’s grandfather had founded, had kept him busy, and Lawrence Redding had never really learned how to delegate.

Catriona—Markham, as she was known then—had been a young author from England. She’d written a couple of rather poor detective novels that hadn’t found a publisher, and her agent had sent her latest manuscript to Goldman and Redding in New York in the hope of appealing to the lucrative American market.

Dominic didn’t know if his father had considered that first manuscript might be worthy of publication, or whether, on meeting her, he’d just been blinded by the woman’s beauty. In any event, six months later she’d become Mrs Lawrence Redding, and six months after that her first romantic historical novel had been published under the name of Catriona Redding.

He knew it had been his father’s influence which had first made her books so successful. With the promotion he’d given that first book and Catriona’s own personality sparkling on every talk-show nationwide, it would have been hard to fail. Dominic knew from his own experience that it wasn’t always the book itself that put it on the best-seller lists. But it had been the second and all the subsequent successes that had made Catriona Redding a household name. In writing romantic historicals she had found her niche, and each new title had attracted more and more readers.

It would have been ungracious not to admit that Goldman and Redding had benefited greatly from the alliance, but, as Catriona frequently said when she was interviewed, she owed her success to Larry for pointing her in the right direction. And, although towards the end of her husband’s life Catriona had often spoken of the possible advantages of writing for a larger publishing house, she had never actually deserted her husband’s firm.

His own reaction to acquiring a new stepmother was not something Dominic was particularly proud of. He’d always thought she was too young for his father, and, at sixteen, he’d just been beginning to explore his own sexuality. He could—and had—defended his attraction to her by pointing out her own culpability. For all she’d remained faithful to his father, she had done nothing to diffuse his fascination.

Indeed, he’d sometimes wondered what she would have done if he’d had less respect for his father. There was no doubt that she’d enjoyed flirting with him, and she’d begun to regard him as a permanent fixture in her life. Although she was about ten years older than he was, she’d always behaved as if they had more in common than she and his father, and only when Lawrence was present had she behaved as a stepmother should.

It had been easier when he’d gone away to college. Away from Catriona’s influence, he’d begun to notice other women, and when he was twenty-two he’d married the sister of one of his college friends. Mary Beth was sweet and gentle, everything Catriona was not, and although his parents had attended the wedding Catriona had soon made it plain that his wife was not welcome at Copperhead Bay.

She hadn’t said it in so many words, of course. It was still his father’s house, and Lawrence Redding had taken quite a shine to his new daughter-in-law. But Catriona had disliked Mary Beth on sight, and had lost no opportunity to belittle her. Or to show her hostility, Dominic conceded grimly, so that even Mary Beth was made aware of it, and had refused to go where she wasn’t wanted.

It had made things impossible for him—as it had been intended to do—but instead of blaming Catriona Dominic had blamed his wife. He’d convinced himself that she must have done something to offend his stepmother, and Mary Beth had eventually forced him to choose between his family and herself.

It had been no contest, he mused now, half-bitterly. His infatuation for his stepmother had been too strong, and Catriona, damn her, had known that from the start. Apart from anything else, she’d banked on the fact that he’d do nothing to hurt his father—even if he had drawn the line at being involved in the production of his stepmother’s books.

His father’s sudden death of a heart attack at the age of sixty-four had changed a lot of things. Not least the fact that Catriona was now free to do whatever she liked. Less than three months after his father’s funeral, she had let Dominic know that she knew how he had always felt about her, and that there was no reason now for her to deny the fact that she reciprocated his feelings. She’d said she’d always known that her marriage to Lawrence Redding had been a mistake, but that luckily she still had plenty of time to make amends.

But that had been too much, even for Dominic. Coming close on the heels of the unwelcome news that his father had expected him to take over as nominal head of Goldman and Redding, he had felt stifled. He had never wanted to work for his father’s firm, and although his feelings for Catriona hadn’t lessened they had altered. He still wanted her, of course he did. But he had no intention of abusing his father’s memory by bedding his widow almost before he was cold in his grave.

But the fact remained that, although Catriona had inherited the house on Bermuda, where she’d written all her best-sellers, and the bulk of his father’s personal fortune, Lawrence Redding had left the publishing company to his son. And although Dominic had trained as a lawyer, not an editor, and had been working for a successful firm of attorneys in Boston at the time of his father’s death, he’d felt obliged to resign his position and move to New York.

Which was probably the biggest mistake he’d ever made, he conceded now, pushing his hands back into his pockets and staring broodingly over the pool. With Catriona as his client—as well as his would-be lover—he was struggling. He knew as well as anyone that if he offended Catriona, and she found an alternative publisher, Goldman and Redding would suffer.

But what else could he have done, given the terms of his father’s last will and testament? Lawrence Redding had wanted him to take over the running of the company; he’d wanted him to produce Catriona’s books in his place. God, hadn’t he ever suspected how Dominic felt about her? Or was this his way of showing that the two of them had his blessing?

Dominic scowled. There really was no reason for him to continue resisting the inevitable. Catriona was right; it was over a year since his father’s death. There was nothing—and no one—to prevent him from making them both happy. So why didn’t he go upstairs now and finish what he’d started a few minutes ago?

But still he stayed there, and presently a pair of curiously knowing grey eyes drifted across his inner vision. He wondered how Catriona’s solemn-faced secretary would react if she knew what he was thinking. Would she get some vicarious thrill from picturing them together, or would she be disgusted by the overtones of incest inherent in the relationship?

The latter, he suspected brusquely, the urge to go and give Catriona what she wanted rapidly fading. The moment when he might have given in was past, and his mood had darkened. Deciding to forgo breakfast, he pushed the door open again and left the building. In this frame of mind, he was better on his own.


CHAPTER THREE (#u84c4cdc0-72c1-5c02-8dfe-c494ec15e984)

‘DO YOU drive?’

Jaime looked up with a start. Something, some sixth sense perhaps, had warned her she was no longer alone, and she slipped the earphones down around her neck. She had spent the afternoon transcribing the tape of letters Catriona Redding had recorded that morning, and she blamed the fact that she was tired for the disturbing ripple of awareness that spread along her veins at that moment.

Dominic Redding was propped in the doorway of the small office that adjoined Catriona’s study, his hip lodged against one side of the frame, his hand braced against the other. He looked as if he’d been working out: his cotton shorts were clinging to the powerful muscles of his thighs and his grey vest was soaked with sweat. She could smell the heat of his body, even though there were several feet between them. It was not an unpleasant scent, but the knowledge of what she was thinking brought an unwilling trace of colour to her cheeks.

‘Um—what did you—?’

She hadn’t seen him since the previous morning, when he’d come upon her so unexpectedly beside the pool, and she’d begun to think he must have left the island. He’d told her he lived in New York, after all, and surely he couldn’t have much in common with his stepmother.

‘I asked if you could drive,’ he repeated, at her stammering response, and Jaime knew her prevarication had been necessary. She wasn’t used to being disconcerted by a man, and this man put the kind of thoughts into her head that she hadn’t had since she was a teenager. For heaven’s sake, she chided herself, irritated by this evidence of what she regarded as her own immaturity. She’d been holding her own in the male-dominated world of the university since she was eighteen. What on earth was wrong with her now?

Dominic Redding was speaking again, and she forced herself to concentrate on what he was saying. ‘Catriona seldom uses a car herself, and I thought you might be interested in seeing a little more of the island. It’s Saturday tomorrow, so I guess it’s your day off.’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes, what?’ His dark eyes were unerringly intent. ‘Yes, you can drive, or yes, you’d like to see more of the island? There’s a twenty miles an hour speed limit in operation if you’re nervous.’

‘I’m not nervous.’ Jaime was used to driving her father about London, but she didn’t want to go into that. ‘And yes, I can drive. I’ve been driving for—well, for years.’

‘Great.’ A lock of damp dark hair flopped onto his forehead and he thrust it back with an impatient hand. ‘So—how does the idea grab you? I believe the shops in Hamilton are pretty good.’

Jaime let her hands rest on the keys of the word processor, taking care not to put any weight on them. It was kind of him to think of her, she thought, trying to get his suggestion in perspective. Two days of working for Catriona had persuaded her that she would be unlikely to think of such a thing. Catriona was, quite simply, the most self-motivated person she had ever met.

‘I—it sounds good,’ she answered at last. ‘But I’m not sure if Miss Redding will expect me to work.’

‘Well, okay.’ He shrugged. ‘Let me know if you decide to take me up on it. There’s an open-topped four-by-four that’s seldom used.’

‘Thank you.’

Jaime was grateful—and for the interruption, too. She had been typing almost solidly for the past couple of hours, and for someone who was more used to grading essays the consistent glare of the computer screen was tiring. Her eyes were probably red-rimmed with exhaustion, she thought gloomily, wondering what Dominic Redding must think of her. Not that it mattered, she assured herself with feeling. He was not the kind of man who attracted her.

‘You’re welcome.’

His drawling response was vaguely ironic, but she hardly had time to evaluate his humour before the door to Catriona Redding’s study was jerked open. ‘For heaven’s sake, Miss Harris,’ she was exhorting as she stormed into her secretary’s room, ‘must I remind you that I’m trying to work in—? Oh!’ This as she saw who Jaime had been talking to. Her tone changed to one of guarded approval. ‘Dominic!’ She moistened her lips. ‘Were you looking for me?’

‘Oh, I think I’d know where to find you,’ he replied, with a strangely mocking expression on his face. ‘No. As a matter of fact, I came to see your secretary. I’ve offered her the use of the Toyota.’

Catriona’s mouth tightened. ‘Have you really?’ she remarked, linking her long fingers together at her waist. ‘I don’t recall you asking my permission.’

Dominic’s eyes narrowed. ‘I didn’t think it was necessary.’

‘No?’

‘No.’ His jaw compressed. ‘The vehicle never leaves the garage, for God’s sake!’

‘Nevertheless—’

‘Nevertheless, it’s yours, is that it?’ Dominic countered angrily, straightening his spine against the jamb. ‘Well, okay. Forget the car. I’ll take her myself. I assume the Harley-Davidson is still mine?’

Catriona’s face crumpled. ‘That won’t be necessary,’ she said, and now Jaime was amazed to see what looked like tears sparkling at the corners of her vivid blue eyes. ‘If—if I don’t need it, of course she can use the Toyota. I was just being bitchy. I’m sorry. I’ve been half out of my mind since you took off.’

Dominic looked impatient now, and Jaime wondered why his stepmother’s mood swings should cause such acrimony between them. Catriona was like a child, she thought incredulously—perverse and malicious one minute, appealingly tearful the next. She acted as if her stepson’s good opinion was all that mattered to her, and Jaime knew a sudden sense of unease that had nothing to do with her own position in the household.

And, as if realising that she was an unwilling spectator to their confrontation, Dominic pulled a wry face. ‘Hey, I need a shower,’ he said, including both women in his sweeping gaze. Then, addressing himself to Catriona, he added, ‘We’ll finish this discussion later. Ask Sophie to send me up a couple of beers, will you?’

‘I’ve got some beer in my fridge!’ exclaimed Catriona at once, gesturing at the room behind her. ‘And I’m—dying to hear what you’ve been doing. Samuel said he thought you’d gone to the marina—’

‘Later,’ said Dominic, once again including Jaime in his response. ‘You don’t want me to catch another chill, do you? This air-conditioning’s fixing to freeze my—’ he grimaced ‘—toes!’

Short of causing another unpleasant scene, there was little more Catriona could say, and with a rueful nod in Jaime’s direction Dominic disappeared out of the door. Leaving a distinctly chilly atmosphere behind him, thought Jaime unhappily. An atmosphere that had nothing to do with the air-conditioning at all.

Alone with her employer, Jaime fixed her gaze on the computer screen that only moments before she had been grateful to avoid. But somehow she had the feeling that anything she said might precipitate an argument, and that, far from backing down, in this case the woman would enjoy the opportunity to make someone else look small.

‘Have you finished yet?’ she asked at last, and Jaime had no choice but to make eye contact with her.

‘I’ve finished typing your notes,’ she replied pleasantly. She touched the Dictaphone. ‘But I’m not sure how many letters are left on the tape.’

Catriona took a deep breath. ‘Do you find it interesting?’ she asked. ‘The manuscript, I mean.’ The previous day they had spent organising a working schedule, and this was the first opportunity Jaime had had to transcribe the handwritten pages. ‘My previous secretary used to give me her opinion.’ Her lips twisted. ‘Poor Kristin; she didn’t have a clue.’

Jaime swallowed. ‘I think it’s very interesting,’ she said, not falling into that trap. If Catriona was looking for a fight, she could look somewhere else. She had no intention of jeopardising her position by attempting to guess what her employer wanted to hear.

Catriona seemed to grow impatient, and brushed a scarlet nail across Jaime’s knuckles where they rested on the keys. ‘So tactful,’ she said. ‘So efficient, too.’ She paused, and the younger woman knew an almost overwhelming impulse to move away from her. ‘I hope you’re not going to prove too good to be true.’

Jaime caught her lower lip between her teeth, and bit down hard. The pain steadied her. ‘I hope not,’ she managed politely, resisting the urge to replace her headphones and end this conversation once and for all. ‘Would you like me to print the pages I’ve already typed?’

‘That won’t be necessary.’ Catriona’s tone hardened. ‘No, I suggest you print them and check them yourself before passing them on to me. I shall expect a faultless copy when you’ve finished. Let’s hope you have no more distractions, shall we?’

Jaime caught her breath, sensing they were coming to the crux of what Catriona really wanted to say. She wasn’t hanging about here just to annoy her secretary. She wanted to explain what had happened earlier—to justify her own behaviour, so that Jaime wouldn’t get the wrong idea.

‘Um—Mr Redding only stopped off in passing,’ she said, and then wished she hadn’t when Catriona impaled her with an accusatory gaze.

‘In passing?’ she echoed. ‘Do you know where Dominic has been?’

‘Of course not.’ Jaime now found herself in exactly the position she’d hoped to avoid. ‘I just meant—he was only here for a few minutes.’

‘I know exactly how long he was here,’ retorted Catriona coldly. ‘I know precisely the moment when you stopped typing and started flirting with him.’

Jaime gasped then. She couldn’t help it. ‘I—I wasn’t flirting with him,’ she protested, even though her scarlet cheeks probably proclaimed just the opposite. ‘He—he asked me if I could drive. That was all.’

‘Really?’ Catriona regarded her between narrowed lids. ‘Well, if you didn’t flirt with Dom, you must be the first woman he’s met who hasn’t done so,’ she declared contemptuously.

Jaime lifted her shoulders. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Oh, don’t be sorry.’ Catriona was impatient now, as if regretting her earlier outburst. ‘But he is a dangerously attractive man, don’t you think? Or do your tastes lie in another direction?’

Jaime stared at her. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Well, you are—what was it you put in your application? —twenty-eight?’

‘Twenty-nine.’

‘You see—’ Catriona spread her hands ‘—and you’ve never been married. Surely I can be forgiven for being curious?’

Jaime wanted to knock the smug expression off Catriona’s face, but she knew better than to show her hand that way. Instead, she sat there like some stiffly postured dummy, letting Catriona walk all over her.

She doesn’t know me, she kept telling herself; she doesn’t know who I am. If she did, it would be different. To her, I’m just another female, who might, or might not, become a nuisance so far as Dominic is concerned. Catriona is just laying out the ground rules; making sure her new secretary doesn’t get the wrong idea.

‘It’s not important,’ she said now, managing to sound as if it really wasn’t. ‘You needn’t worry, Mrs Redding. Your stepson is in no danger from me.’

‘Miss Redding,’ said Catriona irritably. ‘It’s Miss Redding. Please don’t forget. And I never think of Dominic as my stepson. He’s a man, and I’m a woman.’ Her lips softened. ‘Do you understand?’

Jaime felt suddenly sick. She could feel the colour draining out of her face now, and she prayed Catriona wouldn’t notice it, too. Dear God, what was she saying? That she and Dominic Redding were lovers? Jaime couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t possible. She had to be twenty years older than he was, at least.

‘Have I shocked you?’

To her horror, Jaime realised that Catriona was actually enjoying this. Now that she’d betrayed her sordid little secret, she seemed to be hoping that Jaime wouldn’t let her down. Catriona wanted her to show some reaction, preferably admiration. After all, Dominic Redding was a very attractive man. Jaime was not unaware of that.

‘I—it’s nothing to do with me,’ she muttered, wishing the woman would just go away and leave her alone. She’d had enough of feeling like a mouse in the paws of a rather vicious she-cat. In all her feeble calculations, she’d never allowed for this.

‘But it is to do with you,’ Catriona persisted, though to Jaime’s relief she moved towards the open door of her study. ‘After all, you’re a member of the household now. I want you to understand why I was so upset earlier.’

In a pig’s eye!

For all the chaotic state of her emotions, Jaime still knew a lie when she heard one. Catriona didn’t care what she thought of her. She just wanted to warn her that if she had any ideas about Dominic she should forget them—or take the consequences.

Like Kristin? Which might explain Sophie’s attitude, as well.

Schooling her features to an impassive blandness, Jaime chose the least provocative path she knew. ‘Will you be wanting to examine these pages tonight, Miss Redding?’ she enquired politely. ‘I should think I could have them checked in about an hour.’

The implications of what she had learned that afternoon struck Jaime more strongly that evening.

After Samuel had delivered her supper tray, as usual, she carried it out onto the balcony, and seated herself in one of the cushioned rattan chairs. Yesterday morning, Catriona had informed her that although they might sometimes have breakfast or lunch together she would be expected to dine in her own quarters. It was nothing less than Jaime had anticipated. She’d read enough books to know how live-in employees were usually treated.

Tonight, however, she could not maintain the spirit of objectivity that had carried her through the two days since her arrival. Restlessness, and the undoubted shock she had received when Catriona had spoken of her relationship with Dominic, had left her in a state of raw ambivalence. She no longer knew whether what she was doing was entirely sensible; she didn’t even know if she wanted to stay.

It had all seemed so simple in London.

Her father’s death, and the discovery of the newspaper clippings, had shed a whole new light on her own identity, and, although in the beginning she’d never had any intention of doing anything about it, seeing Catriona’s advertisement as she had had given her this crazy idea of applying for the job.

After all, she’d thought, if she could arrange it, what did she have to lose? She had no family ties to worry about, and it wasn’t as if it was going to be a permanent arrangement. All she’d needed was a couple of weeks’ leave-of-absence, and with the long summer vacation in the offing that hadn’t been a problem.

And, when she’d applied for the job, she hadn’t really believed that she might be appointed. After all, it was some years since she’d done any secretarial work, even if she used a computer to store her notes. There were so many competent secretaries in the market-place, but she was called for a second interview, and ultimately told that, subject to Catriona’s approval, the job was hers.

So where was the excitement now that she had felt then? Why had everything suddenly gone so flat? She knew the answer, of course—had known it from the moment Catriona had first walked into her study. When she’d regarded Jaime with that cold, assessing smile, she’d suspected then she’d made a huge mistake.

But then she’d determined to overcome her apprehension. She’d put her misgivings down to the way she was feeling, but now she was not so sure. She was beginning to wonder if the doubts she had had might not have been a warning. And she’d ignored it because the idea of flying over three thousand miles, just to turn around and fly back again, had seemed childish and immature.

She sighed. What had happened, after all, to cause all this soul-searching? Was it just because she’d found out Catriona was having an affair? For heaven’s sake, the woman’s sexual habits had nothing to do with why she had come here. It was natural that she should have a man in her life. She was a beautiful woman. So why not?

The truth was a much more personal thing than she wanted to acknowledge. Although she barely knew Dominic Redding—and had certainly no expectation that he might ever find her attractive—the idea that he might be having an affair with his father’s widow overstepped the bounds of decency, so far as Jaime was concerned.

Perhaps she was a prude; perhaps her opinion was hopelessly provincial. The world of the university did tend to insulate one from the more sordid side of life. Why should it matter to her what Catriona and her stepson did in the privacy of their own apartments? Wasn’t she judging them unfairly, without knowing any of the facts?

Whatever, the news had cast an uneasy shadow over the situation. She had had such high hopes when she’d come here, yet slowly but surely they were all being eaten away. But what had she expected from a woman who, twenty-seven years ago, had abandoned her husband and baby? She should have let Cathryn Michaels stay dead. Resurrecting icons was always a risky business...


CHAPTER FOUR (#u84c4cdc0-72c1-5c02-8dfe-c494ec15e984)

DOMINIC allowed the wave to carry him all the way in to the shore, and then pushed himself to his feet and walked up out of the ocean. Water streamed over his shoulders from the overly long hair that lapped at his nape, and he raised a careless hand to push back the heavy dark strands. He’d have to get it cut before he went back to the office, he reflected, and scowled as the connotations of that thought soured his mood.

Picking up the towel he had dropped on the beach, he dried himself vigorously, warming his cooling flesh. Although the ocean was several degrees warmer here than it was off the coast of New York state, at this hour of the morning it could still feel chilly. But the exhilaration of the experience always made him feel good.

Or it did usually, he amended, drying his thighs, and then reaching for his jeans. This morning, he’d used the excuse of going for a swim to avoid having to make a decision about when he was leaving. After last night, he knew he couldn’t put it off much longer.

Catriona had been particularly irritating the previous evening. Far from trying to understand his position, she had accused him of avoiding her, of avoiding any discussion about their future. She’d even asked if he found her new assistant attractive, as if that were relevant. He grimaced. She surely couldn’t imagine he was interested in Jaime Harris. For God’s sake, he’d been civil to the woman, that was all. Catriona’s constant carping about his treatment of other females simply wasn’t warranted.

He zipped up his jeans, leaving the button at his waist unfastened as he towelled his hair. Dammit, what kind of a life were they going to have together if she didn’t trust him? Since his divorce from Mary Beth, he’d never had another serious relationship.

He looped the towel about his neck, and stared broodingly towards the headland. Obviously the bug that had sapped his strength and brought him here was still infecting his system. Right now, he couldn’t think about the future with any enthusiasm at all. God, he didn’t even know what the future held, and the more Catriona pushed him, the more reluctant he was to placate her.

A shadow moved suddenly near the dunes that sloped down to the beach, and he stiffened. Dammit, he realised impatiently, it was that woman again: Jaime Harris. Had Catriona set her to spy on him as well?

The unlikelihood of that scenario brought a cynical compression to his lips. Catriona would never do that. Particularly not when the woman was younger than she was. More likely, she was still having a problem with sleeping. He knew what it was like to wake early in the morning and not be able to fall asleep again. He pulled a wry face. His being here at this hour was proof of that.

It was obvious from the way she was trying to melt back into the shadows that she was as unwilling to acknowledge the encounter as before. And he was tempted to let her go, without embarrassing her again. But what the hell? he thought. Maybe this was what he needed. Perhaps talking to someone else would lift the weight of his problems for a short while.

It couldn’t have been much fun for her so far. Working for Catriona all day, and then being expected to entertain herself every evening, was not his idea of the ideal job. He’d noticed that, despite his invitation, she hadn’t used the Toyota over the weekend. He suspected Catriona had kept her busy. When Catriona was in the throes of composition, she tended not to consider anyone’s needs but her own.

Abandoning his mood of introspection, he turned and looked directly at her, so that she was obliged either to acknowledge she had seen him or risk offending him by pretending she hadn’t. A faint smile touched his lips as he watched her indecision, although he guessed the outcome was a foregone conclusion. He could almost sense what she was thinking, as she hovered between recognition and rejection, but he wasn’t surprised when she gave in to his approach.

‘Good morning,’ he said as he sauntered, barefoot, across the sand towards her. His lips twitched. ‘We must stop meeting like this.’

Her lips tightened. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said stiffly. ‘I always seem to be invading your space.’

‘It’s a free country,’ he responded carelessly, aware that her greeting had been less friendly than it might have been. Dammit, surely she wasn’t offended because he’d accosted her? He couldn’t believe she might be embarrassed by his half-naked state.

‘You’ve been swimming,’ she said, and it was more a statement than a question. She wanted to get away from him, he knew, but the courtesies had to be observed. Her formality amused him. It was such a refreshing change.

‘Mmm,’ he said, aware that he was studying her with rather more interest than he had done thus far. His first impressions of her had been too facile. There was intelligence, as well as perception, in her face.

And she had great legs, he noticed, his eyes dropping briefly below her waist. She’d found some shorts from somewhere, and the awful trousers had disappeared, revealing slender calves and neat ankles. Of course, they were not the sort of shorts he would have liked to see her wearing, he thought. With her waist, she didn’t need to resort to an elasticated band, and they were cotton instead of silk. But he could imagine how she would look in the alternative, with a matching silk vest, instead of the baggy cotton T-shirt she had on.

‘I was just going back,’ she murmured, the faint flush of heat that stained her throat revealing she was not unaware of his appraisal.

For someone used to working with men, she was very sensitive, he reflected. He couldn’t imagine any of the women of his acquaintance behaving that way. And she was a woman who had been prepared to leave her home and family, and take a job in completely alien surroundings, he appended as that beguiling trace of familiarity gripped him once again.

Dammit, did he know her? he wondered. Was that why she was regarding him as if he’d just crawled out from beneath the nearest stone? But no. Although he had been wary of her, she had shown no hostility towards him the first morning she was here, when he’d encountered her by the pool. On the contrary, it was he who had been suspicious of her motives. So what had happened since to cause her to change her mind?

Catriona?

‘You’re not going for a swim?’ he found himself saying now as she turned away, and her eyes darted disbelievingly to his face.

‘A swim?’

‘Why not?’ he countered, not quite knowing why he had suggested it himself. Except that he wanted to dispel the animosity she seemed to be exhibiting towards him. For some crazy reason, he resented her regarding him as her enemy. Whatever Catriona had said—and he guessed it must be something to do with their relationship—this woman had no reason to censure him.




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