About the Author Title Page 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 Copyright

About the Author

MIRANDA LEE is Australian, living near Sydney. Born and raised in the bush, she was boarding-school educated and briefly pursued a classical music career before moving to Sydney and embracing the world of computers. Happily married, with three daughters, she began writing when family commitments kept her at home. She likes to create stories that are believable, modern, fast-paced and sexy. Her interests include reading meaty sagas, doing word puzzles, gambling and going to the movies.

Red-Hot And Reckless

Miranda Lee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

AMBER was preoccupied as she inserted the key in the front door. She was thinking of business, as was often the case these days. Amazing, really, how much she was enjoying running the family company. More amazing was the fact that she was pretty good at it.

Okay, so she hadn’t quite filled her father’s shoes as yet, but their accountant had commented only today that Hollingsworths was looking healthier than ever.

When Amber turned the key and pushed open the front door, she didn’t notice her stepmother standing there in the foyer, waiting for her.

‘Lord, Beverly!’ Amber exclaimed, once she did. ‘You gave me a fright. I didn’t see you there.’

‘Your father wants to see you,’ her stepmother announced, her tone terse. ‘Straight away.’

‘What about?’ Amber asked.

‘I have no idea.’ Beverly stared at her with cold eyes, blinked once, very slowly, then turned, just as slowly, and walked off.

Amber barely resisted pulling a face. Instead, she smothered a sigh and strode across the spacious foyer and down the wide hallway which bisected the right wing of the house, stopping at the first door on the right.

The room inside had once been her father’s study, an impressive and very masculine room which had suited its owner and occupier. Twelve months ago, after her father’s stroke, it had been converted into a bedroom with a private bathroom. The room opposite the study, once a billiard room, had also been converted—into quarters for her father’s live-in male nurse-cum-companion-cum-physio.

Amber’s knock was hesitant. Not so the ‘come in’ which roared through the door. Surprisingly, her father’s stroke hadn’t affected his speech, or his deep, loud voice. Just occasionally Amber wasn’t sure if she thought this fortunate or not.

Gathering herself, she opened the door and walked in.

‘Hi, there, Dad,’ she said breezily. ‘You wanted to see me?’

Dear heaven, would she never get used to seeing his once strong, tanned face looking so gaunt and pale? Or the wheelchair at the foot of the bed? Or that thin, withered leg which Bill was at that moment massaging quite vigorously?

‘Hi, there, Bill.’ She directed her words towards her father’s minder. Bill was a big, bald, plain man in his late thirties. He had a placid nature, which was just as well. ‘How’s the patient?’ Amber asked him. ‘He’s sounding a bit grumpy.’

‘The patient’s spitting chips, girlie,’ her father jumped in, while Bill merely shrugged and continued the massage. ‘So don’t try talking around me. It won’t work. Leave it, Bill,’ he said irritably, and yanked his near-dead limb away from Bill’s hold. It dropped onto the bed with a hollow-sounding thud. ‘Go and get yourself a drink or something. I have serious business to discuss with Sunrise Point’s Businesswoman-of-the-Year, here.’

Bill shrugged again and left the room. He was used to his patient’s irascibility. Edward Hollingsworth was not the sort of man to take meekly to inactivity. He was a mover and a shaker. A doer, even at sixty-two years old. Being partially paralysed and lying round in bed most of his day did little for his temper.

‘I take it you haven’t seen this week’s local paper?’ Edward Hollingsworth snarled, and leant over to snatch up the newspaper from where it was lying on the pillow next to him. ‘I dare say you haven’t, or you wouldn’t have been looking so pleased with yourself as you came in. Bill always gets me the first copy hot off the press, but shortly all the people in Sunrise will be taking their copies out of their postboxes and learning over their evening meals that Edward Hollingsworth is a ruthless, greedy bastard, and that his daughter is a chip off the old block!’

‘What?’ Amber gasped.

‘Here, read it yourself!’ he growled, and shoved the paper forward. She took it and sank down on the side of the huge bed. The headlines brought another gasp to her lips: ‘WIDOW DECLARES WAR ON HOLLINGSWORTHS!’ And then in smaller print...

Mrs Pearl Sinclair, 79, of Sinclair Farm, Potts Road, told the Sunrise Gazette this week that Hollingsworths is trying to pressure her into selling her home and her land to them. ‘It’s a disgrace!’ she told the Gazette. ‘A scandal! I don’t want to sell. I’m a war widow. I came to live here as a new bride nearly sixty years ago. I had my son and daughter here. All my memories are here. This is my home. How can you put a price on memories? Or a home? Hollingsworths say they need it for the car park of their new shopping centre and cinema complex. That it’s the only suitable site. But I say that’s rubbish. Edward Hollingsworth owns half the coast around here. Let him build his shopping centre somewhere else. I am not going to be bullied into selling him my home!

‘And as far as that daughter of his is concerned—you can tell Amber Hollingsworth from me that I won’t be emotionally blackmailed into selling, either. I see now what she was trying to do when she came to my house the other day and sat here in my kitchen and drank my tea and pretended to be nice to me. She was just trying to soft-soap me, giving me all that rubbish about wanting to do good for the town. When did any Hollingsworth ever do good for this town? Edward Hollingsworth only ever cared about doing good for himself. I can’t see any daughter of his being any better!

‘I dare say they’ll offer me even more money now. But they can offer me the world and my answer will be the same. No! A resounding no! You tell the Hollingsworth family that from me. And if Amber Hollingsworth comes here again, trying to con me with her sweet smiles and pretty ways, I’ll set my dog onto her! I’ll have you know that Rocky here was banned from racing because he was a fighter, and he’s a very vicious watchdog!’

The article was accompanied by a photograph of the old lady, looking defiant, standing on the front verandah of that wretched house of hers with a decidedly overweight greyhound standing guard by her side.

Amber couldn’t help it. She laughed. ‘Set the dog onto me? That dog almost loved me to death the day I visited!’

‘Amber, this is not a laughing matter,’ her father snapped. ‘You told me on Monday night that that sale was in the bag. Now, just forty-eight hours later, we have that to contend with! You and I both know there is no other site for that car park, because there is no other site large enough and flat enough for the complex. You can’t build shopping malls on the sides of mountains. And you can’t build them too far out of town or you defeat the purpose. ’We either get the Sinclair farm or this project of yours dies a natural death.‘

Amber knew her father was right. Sunrise Point couldn’t expand at will, like so many other coastal towns on the north coast of New South Wales, because of logistical reasons. Firstly, no homes or hotels could be built anywhere on the actual point, or right alongside the two accompanying beaches—a national park occupied the foreshores. Secondly, the Great Dividing Range kinked towards the coastline at that point, so that there simply wasn’t all that much room for development. As it was, most of the houses were built on slopes.

‘Look, I don’t know what that devious old lady is up to, Dad,’ Amber said, sighing, ‘but she couldn’t have been nicer or more agreeable on Monday. She said she thought my offer very generous, but just wanted a few days to think it over. She asked me to come back the following Monday. I got the impression the wait was just a formality, that she would sign on the dotted line.’

‘Well, something obviously happened during those few days to change her mind. Maybe she talked to someone in her family, and that someone convinced her your offer wasn’t generous enough. Call me a cynical old bastard, but I reckon that article there is a ploy to get more money!’ And he jabbed his finger at the newspaper.

Amber’s stomach tightened. ‘You could be right, Dad. And I think I know who that someone is, too. Ben Sinclair. Her grandson. I wouldn’t put it past him to want to milk Hollingsworths for every cent he can get.’

‘You sound like you know him pretty well, but I have no recollection of a grandson at all!’

‘Oh, Dad, surely you remember Ben?’ Amber asked irritably. ‘He was in my class at school. He came to live here with his grandmother when he was about sixteen. You must remember him. He shocked everyone by getting the best exam results of all of us. His tertiary score was in the top two percent of the state. They put his photo in this very paper.’

‘What did he look like?’

‘Oh, dark hair and eyes. Quite good-looking, really, if you could overlook his permanently sulky expression.’

‘Nope. Can’t remember him at all. The only boy I remember from your class is Chris Johnson. Whom you would have done well to marry instead of that American playboy you latched onto when I was fool enough to give you an overseas trip as a graduation present.’

‘Yes, well, I was too young to marry anyone at that stage. I was only nineteen, you know. I wish you’d stopped me.’

Her father laughed. ‘That’s like trying to stop the rain falling on a rainforest. You’re as stubborn as me once you set your sights on something. No one could have stopped you marrying Chad. At least you had the good sense to divorce him in the end. Pity you took so long about it.

‘But back to the issue at hand. What are you going to do about this Sinclair business? I know how you’ve got your heart set on this complex, daughter, but is it worth a scandal? I’ve come to like having this town’s respect, even if it has been a long time coming. When I get better I’m going to run for Mayor.’

‘Then I suggest we do everything possible to get this project up and running. This town needs this complex, Dad.’

‘I agree, but to build it Hollingsworths needs the Sinclair farm. How do you aim to get it? By offering the old lady more money, like she said?’

‘I guess so.’

‘And how much money do you think that will entail?’

‘I’m not sure...’

Frankly, Amber wasn’t sure about anything at that moment. This startling new development had thrown her for a loop. Pearl Sinclair had not seemed all that interested in money the other day. Neither had she seemed the type to bow to pressure, not even Ben’s. She was as tough as teak.

Maybe she was attached to the ramshackle dump she lived in, Amber mused, but it was hard to imagine so. The house was falling around her ears, and the farm part had long deteriorated into nothing but a chicken coop and a dilapidated barn. The land had also recently had a one-in-twenty-five-year flood rating stamped on the council charts, so on the open market it wasn’t worth much.

‘Maybe we’re reading this all wrong,’ Amber speculated. ‘Maybe old Pearl just couldn’t face the move at her age. Or the search for somewhere else to live. Maybe it was all too daunting.’

‘My dear Amber,’ came her father’s exasperated reply, ‘that would not explain her vitriolic and quite personal attack on us. No, this grandson of hers has got in her ear and stirred her all up.’

Her father fell thoughtfully silent. Amber tried to keep her mind empty of thoughts she didn’t want to think, and memories she didn’t want to remember.

‘What about the son and daughter she mentioned?’ her father asked abruptly. ‘Where are they?’

Amber shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Either she’s estranged from them, or they’re dead. I think Ben is her only close relative. Or the only one who visits. And he doesn’t visit all that often any more. She was complaining over that cup of tea I had with her that he didn’t even come home last Christmas. He lives down in Sydney now, and went off with some new girlfriend. She was pretty upset about it.’

‘I see. Well, my guess is the dear boy will be home soon. With bells on. What does he do, do you know?’

‘He’s a lawyer. Works for some big Sydney law firm.’

‘Dear God, that’s all we need—having to contend with some clever-boots city lawyer. No doubt he’s sniffed a huge profit to be made in all this.’

‘He’s probably sniffed more than that,’ Amber muttered.

Her father’s sharp blue eyes narrowed on her. ‘What the hell does that mean? Was there ever something between you and this Ben Sinclair? Tell me the truth, daughter. Don’t lie. You’re a terrible liar, anyway.’

No, I’m not, she thought. I’m a very good liar. I lived a lie all during my six-year marriage to Chad. No one knew how wretched I was. Or what a failure I felt.

‘No.’ She lied again. ‘There was nothing personal between Ben and myself. But he was dirt-poor back then, and as antisocial as you could get. I think he disliked me merely because I was rich.’

‘When he reads this article in the paper, he’ll dislike you even more.’

‘Maybe he won’t read it.’

‘Pigs. He’s responsible for it, I’ll warrant. We can expect Ben Sinclair on our doorstep any day now.’

‘How delightful,’ she said drily.

Her father’s eyes narrowed on her further. ‘There’s certainly no love lost between you two, is there?’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. We’ve hardly spoken two words to each other in the past ten years. But he was a nasty piece of goods at school, and I see no reason to believe he’s changed. I would imagine that as a man he’s just as disagreeable.’

Amber had actually run into him several times during the three years since her return home. A couple of times in the main street but mostly in church, at Easter and Christmas. Not this last Christmas, however.

She’d known, before his grandmother had told her, that Ben hadn’t come home last Christmas. She’d looked for him at the church service. And missed him, she realised all of a sudden. Perverse, when on each previous occasion he’d reduced their encounters to nothing but a distantly cool nod, or a chillingly polite, hell, Amber.‘

‘Disagreeable or not,’ her father snapped, ‘you’ll have to deal with him if you want to build that complex.’

‘We’ll see, Dad,’ she said, trying not to sound as rattled as she was suddenly feeling. ‘We’ll see.’

‘I have a feeling there’s more to this than meets the eye. Watch it, daughter. The last thing I want to see is our family name splashed across next week’s headlines in another souped-up scandal!’

CHAPTER TWO

BEN scooped up this week’s copy of the Sunrise Gazette from the floor then kicked the front door shut behind him. He stripped off the wrapping, tossed the rolled paper onto his favourite armchair for later perusal, then strode out into the kitchen to stuff the shrivelled ball of plastic into the bin.

He grimaced as he reached for the whisky bottle which was sitting in readiness on the starkly white kitchen counter. His other hand up-ended the clean glass which sat next to it. Unscrewing the cap on the bottle, he poured himself a well needed measure.

What a day! What a life! Wall to wall bulldust!

He loosened his blue silk tie with a frustrated yank then retrieved a tray of ice from the fridge, plopping several cubes into the straight Scotch. He was scowling as he snatched up the glass.

Strange. He had always thought being a big-city lawyer would make him supremely happy. He’d have money and kudos. People would look up to him and think he was someone. Women would fall at his feet.

Well, he certainly had money. Corporate law paid very well. How else could he have afforded this snazzy unit overlooking Sydney Harbour? Or the sleek black Saab 9000 CD Turbo which occupied one of his two private car spaces in the underground car park, twenty storeys down?

He gulped down a large swallow of liquid tranquilliser, then frowned at his need for it.

A top-flight legal eagle earned more than most doctors these days, and Ben’s six-figure salary satisfied his craving for monetary success. But he hadn’t been basking in too much community admiration lately.

The status of lawyers worldwide had slipped somewhat in the past ten years. In a recent poll, public opinion had had them just above politicians and used-car salesmen. People generally thought of lawyers as shysters and rogues who charged exorbitant fees for services which were often ineffectual and inefficient.

The law firm where Ben worked as a junior partner was actually very effective and efficient, but very, very expensive. The rate per hour for a consultancy alone was exorbitant. Once a client actually hired them, the costs began to soar. Certainly they got results, which perhaps justified the high fees. Ben appreciated the adage that you only got what you paid for. It was the petty but hidden charges which rankled.

When he’d noticed yesterday that they’d started billing clients two dollars for every miserable photocopy, he’d seen red. But when he’d pointed out this questionable charge to one of the senior partners this afternoon, he’d been told curtly and coldly that crusading lawyers worked for Legal Aid, not one of the largest and most successful law firms in Sydney.

‘Maybe working for Legal Aid might not be such a bad idea,’ Ben muttered into his drink, feeling quite dissatisfied with his professional life at that moment.

Admittedly, he could not complain over his private life and his score rate with the opposite sex. There were an incredible number of beautiful women in Sydney who obviously weren’t as discriminating as the public over where or how you earned your money, as long as you drove a great car, dressed in even greater suits and took them to the greatest restaurants.

Over the past few years Ben had dated a steady succession of society beauties and career colleagues, plus the odd sprinkling of unashamedly ambitious gold-diggers. In a weird kind of way he rather preferred these last steely-hearted souls, because he empathised with what drove them to be so accommodating.

Poverty.

Or an aversion to it.

Ben knew about being poor. And he didn’t plan on being poor ever again. Or being without a pretty woman on his arm. It was just a pity his choice of profession hadn’t won him the personal esteem and respect he coveted as well.

‘Still,’ he muttered as he lifted the straight Scotch to his lips once more, ‘two out of three ain’t bad. Stop griping, Ben. Would you rather still be living with Gran back at Sunrise Point? Every time you become disgruntled with your life, think about the life you once had—living with a crotchety old lady on a ramshackle farm, being treated by everyone in town—and at school—as an outsider. And, worst of all, being looked down upon by the one girl you so desperately wanted.’

Amber Hollingsworth...

Ben’s top lip curled as he thought of her—as he still did far too often. What an insufferably spoiled, self-centred little snob she’d been!

But so bloody beautiful. The type of girl boys like him could only dream about. Blonde, of course. With hair down to her waist, legs up to her armpits and perfect, perky breasts which had jiggled tauntingly as she walked along.

And what a walk that had been! A cross between a wanton wiggle and an arrogant strut. That prettily pert nose always up in the air, her slender shoulders well back, her spine straight, but her hips swaying seductively from side to side as those long legs propelled her along.

There hadn’t been a boy in school—or a man in town—who hadn’t stopped to watch Amber Hollingsworth walk by.

Except me, Ben recalled, with the beginnings of a rueful smile.

Oh, he’d watched. But surreptitiously. Sneakily.

He’d never stopped and gawked. He would never have given the bitch the satisfaction.

And she had been a bitch. To him. But only to him.

To all the other boys at school, butter wouldn’t have melted in her mouth. She’d been so sweet to them, flashing that megawatt smile of hers, widening those falsely innocent big blue eyes and fluttering those impossibly long, curling eyelashes.

All he’d got from the first day his gran dropped him off at school, the day after his sixteenth birthday, had been pitying glances, soon followed by scornful comments.

‘Really, Ben. Don’t you own any other clothes?’

‘Really, Ben. I don’t know how they do things down in the city, but up here we wear deodorant.’

‘Really, Ben. Didn’t your mother teach you it’s rude to stare?’

He scowled as he thought of that one time she’d caught him doing just that. Staring at her.

It had been a year or so after the welfare department had sent him to live with his gran. On that particular summer’s day Amber had been lying on the grass under a tree in the school grounds during the lunch-hour. It had been very hot, and she’d undone the top two buttons of her white school blouse. From where Ben had been sitting on a nearby bench he’d been able to see all of her cleavage and most of one of those perfect breasts, inadequately encased in expensive white lace.

Ben had been pretty sure she’d known he was ogling her all along, and had even shifted her body slightly to give him a better view. Finally, when he’d been totally engrossed in drooling over those luscious curves, her head had snapped round to catch him in the act. He hadn’t looked away, as he might usually have done. He’d just kept on staring.

For a split second he could have sworn she’d blushed—although it might have been the thirty-five degrees centigrade warming her cheeks—but then she’d tossed her hair back, lifted her nose and delivered that scathing reproach about his mother and his rude staring.

Ben had hated her from that moment. Hated her and wanted her at the same time. He’d vowed to get even with the high and mighty Miss Amber Hollingsworth if it was the last thing he did.

His need for revenge, however, had not been as great as the other, far more basic need she’d evoked in him—as had been demonstrated the night of their graduation ball.

He hadn’t taken a partner. Not because he couldn’t find one, but because if he couldn’t take Amber Hollingsworth, he wouldn’t take anyone. Such had been his obsession with her.

Actually, there had been several girls in class who would have happily been his partner—not to mention his latest girlfriend. By then, at nearly nineteen, Ben’s tall, lean frame had filled out nicely, and some of his female classmates had suddenly seemed to find his looks quite sexy.

Ben had cut his sexual teeth on their unexpected and quite brazen willingness during his last two terms in high school. But none had held his interest beyond a couple of encounters. For one thing he hadn’t had enough money to date a steady girlfriend. For another he’d quickly grown to despise their easiness.

Despite her overt sensuality and nymph-like beauty, Amber Hollingsworth had still been a virgin. Everyone in school had known that. If she hadn’t been, her latest boyfriend would have shouted his success to the rooftops and beyond.

Chris Johnson had thought he was God’s gift to girls, with his sun-streaked blond hair and bronzed torso. Sunrise High’s best surfer had reputedly made out with every half-decent-lookirtg bird in school, and had set his sights on the prize of prizes—the beautiful blonde daughter of the richest man in town.

So far, without much success, it had seemed.

Ben had set out to look as good as he could that night. It had been a matter of pride, not hope.

He’d saved every cent for weeks from what he’d earned selling free-range eggs door to door after school, and had hired a proper formal outfit. A smart black tux, a dazzling white shirt and a crisp black bow-tie. He’d even bought new black shoes. He’d also had his unruly black waves professionally trimmed. Gran had pronounced him very handsome indeed as she drove him to the school hall in her rusty old pick-up truck.

Amber had looked more beautiful that night than he’d ever seen her. Her dress had been virginal white, yet very sexy. Just down to her knees, with a floaty skirt and a tight top with tiny straps over her shoulders.

Ben hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. He hadn’t bothered to hide his feelings this time, letting his crazed but usually controlled desire off the leash for once, gobbling her up with a hungry gaze which no girl could have mistaken.

She hadn’t mistaken it. And she’d looked back. Long, agitated glances which had carried an intriguingly fearful quality, as though she hadn’t wanted to look back at him, but couldn’t help herself.

Her reluctant but compelling interest had stirred a wildly reckless confidence in Ben. When her boyfriend had abandoned Amber to go to the men’s room around midnight, Ben had sauntered across the dance floor towards her.

‘Come for a walk with me,’ he said, his words not a polite request but a blunt order. He often adopted an arrogant attitude with girls these days, and, perversely, it seemed to work. But he’d never dreamt he would talk to Amber Hollingsworth in such an offhanded fashion. Usually just her presence could deflate his confidence, though not a certain part of his anatomy. At this very moment, every single part of him was raging with a wild desire.

Her lovely blue eyes widened. She might have tossed her hair, but it was up, with long tantalising tendrils curling around her beautiful face.

‘Who do you think you’re talking to, Ben Sinclair?’ she retorted, though shakily. ‘I’m not one of those little sluts you’ve been running around with who let you do what you like down behind the gym.’

‘Just shut up and do as you’re told,’ he muttered, and, taking her hand, curled his fingers forcefully through hers. An electric charge raced down his arm—and up hers, judging by the look on her face.

‘Come on,’ he insisted, and began pulling her through the throng of gyrating dancers. Several of their graduating classmates stared after them.

Ben suspected he might have Chris Johnson to contend with the following day, but he didn’t care. At that moment Amber was meekly following his lead, and looking just a little bewildered by her own submissive behaviour. Ben was quite blown away by the dizzying feeling of power charging along his already dangerously heated bloodstream.

He didn’t take her behind the gym. He took her down behind the staff block, which was further away. It was also darker. He drew her into a recessed doorway and pressed her up against the smooth wooden door. He could hardly see her face in the darkness, but he could smell her heady perfume and feel her trembling body.

He didn’t say a word. He just started kissing her. And touching her. All over.

She didn’t stop him. In fact she was soon actively aiding and abetting him. Kissing him back, touching him back. She couldn’t seem to get enough of him.

His own fierce arousal quickly transformed to a passionate resolve. He would be her first. He would show her how much she meant to him, how much he’d always wanted her.

And ten minutes later he was doing just that, doing it while they stood there in that darkened doorway, doing it with a startling and shocking ease. She clung to his shoulders and whispered his name as he surged deeply—and unimpeded—into her.

There was no protest or cry of pain from his supposedly virginal victim, only a low moan of the most ecstatic pleasure. She began moving on him with an amazingly practised skill, squeezing and releasing his flesh as no girl had ever done to him before.

Stunned and stupidly distressed, he’d immediately withdrawn, standing there in a speechless state as he tried to come to terms with his shock. Her only reaction was a dazed groan of disappointment at having her satisfaction snatched away from her at the last moment.

His own far more crippling disappointment suddenly found voice in his tongue, and he tore strips off her in words which he could not remember afterwards. He only knew he called her all sorts of names. He didn’t mean most of them, of course. It was his hurt talking. He’d been a fool to put her on such a pedestal.

But she had the last word anyway. She put the seal on what he meant to her and how she really felt about him...by not saying anything. By turning up her nose and simply going back to the ball and dancing with Chris as if nothing had happened. She looked right through him when he came back inside. When he kept staring at her, she laughed, then curled her arms much more tightly around Chris’ neck.

He’d been shocked. And shattered. He’d never known a girl could be like that. Ruthless. Unfeeling. Cruel. He had heard that laugh in his head for years, repeatedly imagining how that evening had ended for her, wrapped naked in Chris’s arms, giving him all she’d given Ben. But much, much more.

Ben shuddered at his masochistic thoughts, forcibly snapping his mind back to the present. He hadn’t thought about Amber Hollingsworth in such depth for a long time. God knew why she still haunted him. She wasn’t worth thinking about. Females like her were only good for one thing.

Ben strode back into his living room, and there, waiting for him, was his hometown paper, the one which kept him in touch—not only with Sunrise, but with Miss High-and-Mighty herself. It had told him about her marriage to an American playboy all those years ago. It had informed him of her divorce and return home three years back.

Ben had hoped her homecoming after her divorce was only a temporary thing, but when her father had had a stroke early last year Ben had been shocked to read in the paper that Amber had taken the helm of Hollingsworths—a most unlikely event, considering she had never been academically minded. At school she’d been more interested in her hair and her nails than in computers or business studies.

But clearly she’d found her feet being a minor tycoon, and she meant to stay. A week before Christmas he’d read in the Gazette about her grand plans for a shopping and cinema complex for the area.

Her ongoing presence in town was one of the reasons Ben had avoided going home last Christmas. His gran always dragged him along to church, and the thought of running into Amber there, as he seemed to every Christmas, had been enough to make him accept Brenda’s invitation to spend the Christmas break with her and her family.

A mistake, as it had turned out. Even putting up with another disturbing encounter with Amber would have been preferable to enduring four days with Brenda’s incredibly snooty family. They made the Hollingsworths look poor by comparison. And almost normal. Seeing the real Brenda in action—my God, she actually called her parents Mumsy and Daddykins!—had dampened his ardour for her in bed, and he hadn’t taken her out since.

Why was it, Ben wondered, that he knew nothing would ever dampen his ardour for Amber Hollingsworth? She could be as bitchy as she liked. As snobbish. As promiscuous. As ambitious. Anything, really. And he would still want her.

Ben glared down at the rolled up paper. He conceded that it was this ongoing obsession with Amber Hollingsworth which made him keep on subscribing to this pathetic rag. Why couldn’t he get over his masochistic fascination with the female? Why couldn’t he bear to sever the link once and for all by cancelling his subscription and never returning to Sunrise Point, not even at Christmas?

It seemed that such a final action was beyond him. For one thing he could not hurt his gran by never returning to the farm. She was a right pain in the neck, but she had been good to him when he’d desperately needed someone. If it hadn’t been for his gran’s support and encouragement, he probably would have ended up on the other side of the law.

Ben accepted that this coming Easter—which was less than a month away—he would drive back to Sunrise Point and sit in that damned church again, dreading yet aching to see his eternal torment one more time.

He drained the last of his drink, placed the empty glass on the coffee table, scooped up the paper from his armchair and plonked himself down. With angry sweeping movements, he spread the paper out on his lap.

The headline jumped out at him, and then the photo of his gran. His heart began to thump as he read the story, a mounting fury sending his blood charging hotly around his body. But along with the fury was frustration. Why hadn’t his Gran told him? Why hadn’t she rung?

He practically ground his teeth as he thought of Amber Hollingsworth, smugly thinking she could sweet-talk a seemingly defenceless old lady into parting with her home and land. For a pittance, no doubt.

Well, she didn’t know his gran, did she? Amber thought she could have anything she wanted, when she wanted it, simply because she’d been born rich and beautiful. Her motto in life was, ‘I want. And what I want, I get. And when I don’t want it any more, I get out’.

He felt sorry for that poor bastard who’d married her. No doubt she’d led him a merry dance. She’d led every male who cared about her merry dances. Chris Johnson had been given short shrift straight after that graduation ball. He’d been no longer wanted once the richest man in town gave his darling daughter a fancy trip around the world. Chris had bad-mouthed Amber around town for months afterwards, finally revealing the true nature of their relationship. His opinion of her was no higher than Ben’s own.

Ben clenched his teeth hard in his jaw. He’d denied her instant gratification once, and, by God, he’d make sure she didn’t have it this time, too.

No way was Ben going to allow his Gran to sell that land to the Hollingsworths. He’d buy the useless damned farm himself, if need be! The time for getting even with the Princess of Sunrise Point had finally arrived.

CHAPTER THREE

‘PERHAPS you don’t realise it, Amber, but, aside from that scandalous business in the paper yesterday, your father is very disappointed in you.’

Amber closed her eyes momentarily, grateful that her back was turned to her stepmother. Every time they were alone these days, Beverly trotted out some subtle criticism or other. Plus some not so subtle criticisms lately.

It hadn’t always been like that. When Edward Hollingsworth had first started dating Beverly, over ten years ago, she’d been all milk and honey around Amber. Amber had quite liked the woman, despite feeling naturally jealous that her father suddenly had no time for her at all. When they’d married, during Amber’s last year at school, she’d tried to be happy that her father had finally found someone to share his life with. His first wife, Amber’s mother, had tragically drowned only three years after their wedding, and less than two years after Amber’s birth.

Beverly had been an attractive widow in her forties back then, with a grown son of her own who didn’t live with her. She’d kept up a very convincing sweet stepmamma act even after the marriage, though Amber had always wondered whose idea it had been to send her overseas as soon as she’d left school. And she suspected Beverly had been thrilled when Amber had married an American.

It was easy to be nice from a distance. Over the telephone she’d been sweet as apple pie. But when Amber had come home to live, suddenly she could do nothing right in her stepmother’s eyes. Yet Amber had tried to stay out of her way, going every day to the office with her father and leaving the home front totally in her stepmother’s hands.

Beverly’s change in attitude had become even more marked, however, after her husband’s stroke. Clearly she had hoped that her own son, Carl—who had a business and marketing degree—would be brought up from Sydney and put in charge of the family company, which had a wide range of business interests. Hollingsworths Pty Ltd owned several shops in town, as well as all over northern New South Wales. They also had investments in holiday resorts, units, restaurants, and a lot of land.

When Edward had given the job as acting managing director to Amber, Beverly had been hard pushed to hide her resentment. When Amber had begun making a success of her new position, the gloves had really come off.

Beverly especially hated the new adult closeness which had developed between father and daughter. She was always trying to drive wedges between them. The article in the paper had provided her with a wonderful weapon over the past twenty-four hours. But it seemed it wasn’t enough.

Amber finished pouring herself a glass of white wine whilst pondering her amazing capacity for making enemies over the years. Most of the girls at school had loathed her. Her stepbrother, Carl, despised her. Her ex-husband, Chad, had tried to kill her when she’d said she was leaving him. Chris, her high school sweetheart, had never forgiven her for making a fool of him on that ghastly night.

But all of them paled into insignificance beside what Ben Sinclair felt for her. No doubt murder would be too good for Amber Hollingsworth, in his opinion.

But she wouldn’t think about Ben just now. Thinking about Ben always disturbed her far too much, and she needed every ounce of composure she owned to combat Beverly once she got on her ‘tear Amber down to size’ bandwagon.

She turned to face her stepmother, feeling oddly curious over what the woman had come up with this time. ‘Really, Beverly? In what other way is Dad disappointed in me?’

‘Just look at you,’ Beverly said, with a faint curl of her thinnish upper lip. ‘Twenty-eight years old and you’re husbandless, childless and sexless.’

Amber’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Sexless, Beverly? What on earth do you mean?’ No point in defending the husbandless and childless part. They were all too evident. And if her stepmother’s tactless remark hurt, she certainly wasn’t going to show it. Amber was a past master at hiding hurts.

‘You know very well what I mean,’ Beverly continued curtly. ‘Oh, you’re beautiful enough, I suppose, though far too thin in my opinion...’

Amber’s blue eyes moved tellingly over her stepmother’s growing bulk, but she said nothing. She didn’t have to. Beverly’s snaky remark had said it all.

‘You haven’t dated once in the three years you’ve been living at home since your divorce. Clearly you don’t care for male company.’

Amber sipped her drink as she walked slowly across the finely furnished lounge room and settled herself on the silk brocade sofa. Beverly was sitting in her usual chair, nursing a generous whisky and soda.

‘You’re wrong, Beverly,’ she said, quite calmly. ‘I like male company a lot. I prefer it, actually, to female company. I enjoy talking with Father and the other men I work with very much. As for your accusation about my dating, I’ve been out to dinner with several men this past year.’

‘That’s not what I mean and you know it,’ Beverly snapped. ‘They were just business dinners. One could not call them proper dates by any stretch of the imagination.’

‘Oh, I see—you’re talking about sex!’ Amber said bluntly, having learnt since going into business that, occasionally, attack was the best defence.

‘That’s right. I’m talking about sex. Is that a dirty word with you?’

‘Not if it’s accompanied by the word ’love’, Beverly. I’m one of those peculiar girls who needs to be in love to enjoy making love.’

And that’s the most hypocritical thing you’ve ever said in your life, whispered her conscience. A lie of the most mammoth proportions. A whopper, in fact. The most memorable lovemaking you ever experienced in your life was when love had nothing to do with it.

Amber tried to keep the hot memory of that incredibly brief and incredibly torrid encounter from tumbling into her mind. But it was impossible.

She was back there in her head, and in her body. Behind the staff block, pressed up against the darkened door, panting as Ben pushed her panties aside and entered her as they stood there.

My God, she could still remember how it had felt as he’d done it to her! She’d been consumed by a wild, hot pleasure, plus the most compelling need. How would it have felt if he’d continued? she’d often wondered since.

She hadn’t been sure why he’d stopped at first. Till he’d sneered his contempt at her.

‘You might be incredibly beautiful,’ he’d snarled, ‘and you might be filthy rich. But underneath that high and mighty touch-me-not air you’re nothing but a slut, Amber Hollingsworth. A cheap little slut! Don’t go imagining for one moment I really like you. I just wanted to show you how easily I could have you. But, quite frankly, I’ve never been partial to girls who open their legs at the drop of a hat.’

If he’d been expecting her to argue, or cry, or fall apart, he’d been sadly mistaken. Amber had always possessed a fierce self-protective pride which made her react to hurt and embarrassment—and, yes, shame —by withdrawing behind a façade, a shell of cool, even icy indifference.

People often thought her a snob at times like that—or a hard-hearted bitch—but that was not so. It was simply a survival mechanism she’d learnt as a little girl when she hadn’t had a mother to advise or protect her. In those days her father had rarely been home, leaving the childminding to paid help who hadn’t given a damn about Amber on a personal level. It had been easier to withdraw from a distressful or confusing situation than ask a virtual stranger how to handle it. Eventually it had become an automatic behaviour pattern to deal with any kind of emotional conflict.

Which was why she’d always behaved so badly around Ben Sinclair. From the first moment he’d walked into their class, when she’d been fifteen, she’d been bewildered by her feelings for him. She’d been strangely drawn to those dark, angry eyes and his intriguingly antisocial personality. She hadn’t liked him, but she’d been attracted nevertheless. Oh, how she’d wanted him to look at her, to chase after her like most of the other boys in school. When he hadn’t, she’d tried to rouse some sort of reaction by making sarcastic remarks.

On the one day she’d caught him actually staring at her, with undisguised lust in that brooding black gaze of his, she’d been in danger of self-combustion. So rattled had she been by the instant heat he’d evoked in her, she’d only just managed to hide her fluster behind another of her highly caustic comments.

There was no doubt she’d hurt him that time with her barb, for he’d glared at her with hatred in his eyes. After that encounter he had not looked at her again with anything other than contempt.

Not till the night of the graduation ball...

Dear heaven, she’d nearly died when he’d walked into the school hall that night. He’d been smoulderingly handsome in that black dinner suit. He’d looked a man where the rest of her classmates had been just boys.

And he’d looked at her as a man would have looked at her.

His very adult desire had seared across the dance floor, sending darts of fire licking along her veins. She hadn’t been able to stop glancing back at him; hadn’t been able to stop wanting him to ask her to dance. Yet when he’d finally come over, he hadn’t asked her to dance. He’d asked her to go outside with him.

She’d known what he wanted. She’d heard the recent rumours about him, how he only took girls outside from school dances for one thing.

Yet she’d gone with him. Not only gone with him, but let him. Let him kiss her, touch her. Let him do what she had never let Chris do, never let any boy do before.

Not for one moment had she even thought of stopping him. Her body had had a mind of its own. Had been burning for him. Reaching for him. Begging for him. It was only afterwards that she’d realised it hadn’t hurt. No pain at all. Only the wildest, sweetest pleasure. Her flesh had opened and closed around his as though it had had a secret agenda, as though this had been what it had been waiting for all its life.

The hurt had come later—when he withdrew, when he spat his appalling contempt at her, when she understood that he’d done what he’d done out of some kind of sick revenge for all those times she’d looked at him with seeming contempt

Naturally she’d had to protect herself from the blinding emotional pain which had threatened to overwhelm her. Dear God, she’d just given her virginity to him. And there he was, calling her a cheap slut!

Spitting back a counter-attack in words would have been not only inadequate but impossible at that moment. So she’d retreated behind her usual hard-nosed shell. She’d managed somehow to return to the dance, to find Chris and pretend she’d just been outside for some fresh air. He hadn’t found out the truth till later, when her female classmates had been kind enough to tell him. She’d steeled herself when Ben had walked back inside. She’d even managed to laugh at something Chris had said, and, when she’d looked over Chris’s shoulder at him one last time, Ben’s face had been filled with even more contempt than before.

‘The only person you have ever loved, Amber Hollingsworth,’ her stepmother sniped, snapping Amber back to the present, ‘is yourself!’

‘You’re entitled to your opinion, Beverly,’ Amber said coolly. ‘But you’re wrong. I love my father very much. And he loves me very much.’

‘Oh, I know that. Your father is a fool when it comes to his precious darling daughter. He gave you the business to run in the same way he let you trot along to work with him every day. Just to keep you happy. To make up to you for your supposedly miserable marriage and divorce.

‘As if you ever loved that Chad person in the first place!’ she raved on. ‘All he was to you was another sugar-daddy who indulged you as shamelessly as Edward did. But when his money started running out, you left him. If you cared for your father at all,’ Beverly scoffed, ‘you’d stop playing at being a tycoon and give him what he really wants. A grandchild.’

Amber was taken aback. ‘A grandchild!’

‘Yes, of course. Men like Edward like to see their line continued. Unfortunately I was too old when we married to give your father more children.’

‘Dad has never said anything to me about wanting a grandchild,’ Amber said stiffly.

‘Neither would he. But I know he would like nothing better than to see you happily married and pregnant. But you and I know that isn’t going to come about, don’t we, Amber? You were married six years and never had a baby. But there again, having a family wasn’t the aim of that marriage, was it? It was money. Too bad there wasn’t much left for a decent divorce settlement. And now...now you’ve got your sights set on other goals. You’re into power these days. Power and position.’

Amber could only stand so much. She stood up, her hand tightening around her glass to stop it from shaking. ‘Now you look here, Beverly. I’ll have you know that—’

The telephone ringing interrupted her counter-attack. Amber knew June, the housekeeper, was busy cooking the dinner, and Bill was giving her father his evening massage, so she strode across the room and out into the hallway, sweeping up the receiver.

‘Amber Hollingsworth,’ she said, her businesslike tone a reflection of the control she was trying to muster. But her temper was fairly bubbling at Beverly’s unjust accusations.

‘Hello, Amber,’ a cool male voice drawled down the line. ‘I’m so glad to find you home.’

‘Ben,’ she croaked, then swallowed to clear the instant thickening in her throat.

‘Right in one. I’m surprised you recognised my voice. Or were you expecting my call?’

‘Er...’

He laughed. It was not a warm sound. ‘You seem at a loss for words. How unlike you, Amber. I recall you were always very good with your tongue.’

At that moment, Amber’s tongue lay uselessly in her mouth. Not so that awful night, she recalled. It had danced with Ben’s in an erotic tango during kisses which hadn’t been kisses but a total seduction of her senses—and her conscience.

But of course he wasn’t referring to that.

‘The silent treatment might have worked for you in the past, Amber,’ Ben went on coldly, ‘but not this time. I’ve been trying to ring Gran, but she’s taken the phone off the hook. Why would that be, I wonder? I can only imagine she’s getting calls she doesn’t like.

‘Whatever, I’ll be leaving here first thing in the morning and should be in Sunrise by mid-afternoon. I just thought I’d let you know that if you have any ideas of threatening Gran, or doing anything at all that might be construed as harassment, then I’ll have you in court so fast it will make your head spin.’

Amber found her voice at last. ‘But I would never do anything like that!’

‘Now, why is it I have no confidence in that sweet assurance? Have you spoken to Gran since the paper came out?’

‘No.’ She’d been going to drive out today, but in the end had decided not to. She’d spent the day going over the plans for the complex and seeing if there was any alternative to putting the car park on Sinclair land. There was. But it was far too expensive. Still, it was a solution of a kind, if her back ended up against the wall. Sunrise was going to get its complex, even if Hollingsworths had to take a loss!

‘I’m surprised,’ came Ben’s droll remark. ‘I thought you’d be out there, rolling out some more honey-tongued arguments to change Gran’s mind.’

‘Believe it or not, Ben Sinclair,’ Amber snapped, ‘but when I spoke to your grandmother the other day she seemed very agreeable to the idea of selling. And my offer was very generous—triple what that land is worth on the open market. I have no idea what changed her mind, or gave her the attitude she expressed in the paper. Unless it was you,’ she added tartly.

His momentary silence surprised Amber.

‘I haven’t spoken to Gran since last Sunday night,’ he said curtly at last. ‘Might I ask when you made this very generous offer?’

‘Monday.’

‘Well, as you can see, I had nothing to do with Gran’s supposed change of attitude. Maybe you mistook her agreement in the first place. I would imagine you’re pretty used to assuming most people would do what you want, Amber. The Sinclairs must be proving a bit of a thorn in your side.’

Amber gritted her teeth. ‘I don’t think I mistook her attitude at all. Look, if you’ll be home tomorrow afternoon, I’d like the opportunity to speak to you both together. I believe, once I explain the full situation, you’ll be able to make your gran see how important this complex really is to Sunrise Point’s future. Ben, you have no idea how many local people don’t have jobs. Especially amongst the young.’

‘My God, Amber, this new you is quite a stunning change from the old Amber. She wouldn’t have given a damn about Sunrise Point’s future. After all, she couldn’t get out of the old hometown fast enough. The Amber I came to know and love certainly wouldn’t have sounded so passionate about things local and economical. I’m sure I will find it fascinating to hear your selling spiel.

‘Be at the farm at four,’ he ordered brusquely. ‘But don’t bother bringing the Hollingsworth chequebook. Because we’re not selling. Not now. Not ever.’

He hung up, leaving Amber in a state of mounting fury. Who did that supercilious, sarcastic bastard think he was? No one had left town more quickly than he had. No one was more selfish—or less socially conscious.

As for his gran, it was her land still, wasn’t it? If Amber could persuade her to sell, then Ben Sinclair could just butt out.

She wouldn’t be at the farm at four. She’d get there at three, with a damned sight more than the Hollingsworth chequebook in hand. She’d have a few other subtle enticements up her sleeve which an old lady might appreciate.

Ben wanted war? Well, he’d get war!

‘Who was that?’ Beverly demanded to know. Amber replaced the receiver and turned to face her sour-faced stepmother. Beverly wanted war too, it seemed. Still, there was no point in lying to her.

‘Ben Sinclair,’ Amber said a touch aggressively. ‘Pearl Sinclair’s grandson.’

Beverly’s eyebrows lifted, then fell. ‘Your father said he’d be in touch. What did he want?’

‘To see me. Out at the farm. Tomorrow afternoon.’

‘So what’s he like, this Ben Sinclair?’

‘Tall, dark and handsome.’

‘Really! How old?’

‘Thirtyish,’ Amber guessed. He’d been about a year older than herself, and she was twenty-nine next birthday.

‘Smart?’

‘Super-smart, and sexy as hell.’

Beverly’s eyebrows lifted some more. ‘Really!’

‘He’s also a bastard of the first order!’

Beverly blinked. ‘Goodness, Amber, I’ve never heard you speak so passionately about a man before. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you’re not sexless after all. Maybe you just need the right male to bring out the fire in you. I’m intrigued. I think I shall invite this Ben Sinclair to dinner.’

‘Don’t you dare.’

‘Amber, this is my home. I will invite whom I please.’

‘I think Dad might have something to say about that.’

‘I think your father will approve wholeheartedly. He always says the best place for one’s enemies is under your own roof where you can see them. I’ll go ask him.’

She swanned off, leaving Amber to smoulder all by herself.

Oh, go and invite him to dinner, she thought at last with reckless anger. I don’t care. At least that way I’ll have all my current enemies present under the one roof as well!

CHAPTER FOUR

BEN cursed the Pacific Highway all the way home. Dangerous damned road. The government ought to be skinned alive for not spending the money and turning it into a dual highway from Sydney to Brisbane. It was no wonder he didn’t visit Gran as often as he should. You took your life in your hands every time you got behind a wheel and headed north along the coast road.

His watch said a quarter to three as he reached the top of Wingaroo Mountain then began the slow, winding descent which would take him down into the valley and the town of Sunrise.

Thank God he would arrive at the farm in plenty of time to be unwound and prepared for Amber’s arrival around four. And in plenty of time to have a good chat with Gran. He still hadn’t been able to contact her by telephone. Clearly she’d taken it permanently off the hook. He would have something to say about that when he got home—and her not telling him anything about the Hollingsworths’ offer.

Gran was an independent and stubborn old lady. Hadn’t she steadfastly refused his offers of money to make her life easier? She wouldn’t even let him pay to have the old farmhouse painted. Gran had never asked anybody for anything. And was proud of it!

But there were times when you should ask your family for help.

And he was her only family now. His mum had finally passed away last year, after spending endless years in and out of hospitals, her liver finally giving up the ghost. His uncle Jack, Gran’s eldest offspring, had been long gone, a victim of the Vietnam war. Gran had outlived all her own brothers and sisters, and her various nieces and nephews didn’t give a damn about their ornery old aunt Pearl.

So there was just him left to stand up for her. And to stop the likes of Amber Hollingsworth from spoiling the old lady’s last years. If Gran wanted to die on that decrepit old farm, then she had every right to, and that suddenly self-righteous bitch wasn’t going to make an old lady feel guilty for clinging to her memories.

Ben could hardly believe the conversation he’d had with Amber last night, or the way she’d trotted out all that bleeding heart stuff about the town’s future and unemployment and such. Saint Amber Hollingsworth! Not likely. Next thing she’d be running for Mayor, like her father had several years back.

Everyone in Sunrise knew Edward Hollingsworth had only run for local government to protect his business interests in the area, not because he was a civicminded soul. That was why he hadn’t won the town’s vote. Gran was right. You could never trust a Hollingsworth’s motivation, especially when they started spouting forth high-minded philosophies. Ben knew Amber Hollingsworth’s priorities. And they began and ended with Amber Hollingsworth! Leopards didn’t change their spots.

Ben carefully negotiated the roundabout at the bottom of the hill and headed for the town centre, slowing as he entered the wide but almost empty main street. For a Friday afternoon, it was certainly pretty dead. Only half a dozen cars were parked in the middle.

He slowed further and started to frown. Half the shops were vacant, he noted, with ‘For Lease’ signs in their bare windows. Groups of young people slouched on the corners and outside the Blue Gum Café, looking dejected. Most were smoking. Some were sitting in the gutters. All the males glared at him driving by as though he had no right to be driving such a great car. The girls just stared.

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