“Married?”

His ruthlessly beautiful mouth twisting, he said, “If you’re conscience-stricken because you’ve been unfaithful to the saintly Michael, let me remind you he’s been dead for almost three years. It’s time you let him go.”

She shook her head, searching through her mind for memories of a dead husband and finding only echoing, empty caverns “Who are you?” she asked again, her words strained and desperate.

Contempt gleamed in his half-closed eyes. “Stop it now—it’s not working,” he said softly, lethally. “I’m the only man you made love with last night, the man whose arms you slept in.”

Unable to meet that probing gaze, she dropped her face into her hands. “I don’t know who you are,” she blurted unevenly, trying to flog her aching brain into producing a memory. When it remained obstinately and terrifyingly empty she wailed, “I don’t even know who I am. I don’t know where this is. I don’t know—I don’t know anything!”

Forgotten Sins
Robyn Donald

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ONE

JAKE saw Aline Connor the moment he walked into the drawing-room. Heat and desire hit him like a blow, bringing his body alive and nearly overpowering his confident self-possession.

How the hell, he thought with savage self-mockery, did she do that to him? Witchcraft?

He’d had a pig of a week, culminating in a delayed, turbulent flight from Canada to New Zealand the previous night, yet one glance and he knew he’d have travelled ten times as far to see her.

‘Ah, there’s the guest of honour,’ cooed Lauren Penn, who’d pulled up outside the old Victorian villa at the same time as Jake, and strolled in with him. ‘She’s such a little darling, isn’t she? Wasn’t she good in the church—not a murmur as the vicar splashed her forehead! I think she’s inherited Keir’s massive self-assurance, lucky little girl.’

An undercurrent in her voice caught Jake’s attention. Meeting his swift scrutiny with a sideways glance and a challenging smile, she used the doorway as an excuse to brush against him. Perfume, overtly erotic, rose in a clinging, cloying cloud; neither it nor the swift friction of skin against skin when she touched his hand affected Jake.

He’d grown cynical since he’d begun to appear in the eligible bachelor lists; certain women—those whose main aim in life was to fascinate a rich man into marriage—had targeted him. Although some had inspired casual desire, it had been nothing like the violent, elemental hunger he felt whenever he looked at Aline—or whenever he thought of her, or heard her, or touched her…

It had to be witchcraft, a spell spun by a black-haired, blue-eyed witch with a voice like cool music and skin so silkily transparent he wondered whether it would show bruises after making love.

His mouth curled sardonically. In spite of her aloofness and reserve, he’d sensed a reluctant, involuntary response, but it clear as hell irked her, and it certainly wasn’t anything as strong as the basic need that clawed through him.

Not that Aline’s aloofness was personal; she didn’t target anyone. Lauren Penn displayed more overt welcome in one smile than Aline showed in her whole graceful, elegant body. Yet from the moment he’d seen her he’d wanted her with a raw, consuming hunger that had nothing to do with logic or intelligence. Until then always able to control his passions, it angered and astonished him that he couldn’t do it now.

Lauren sent him another melting glance and murmured, ‘They look such a happy group, don’t they? Aline cuddling baby Emma while Hope sits proudly by. Hope strikes me as the possessive sort, so all those rumours about Aline being Keir’s lover can’t be true.’

It wasn’t the first time Jake had heard that particular suggestion, although usually as innuendo. It had angered him previously; it enraged him now. He liked Lauren, and if he hadn’t heard a feverish note buried in her brittle words he wouldn’t have bothered to silence his cutting response.

Something was clearly going on. It concerned Aline—and that meant it concerned him.

Lauren’s gaze was fixed on Aline. Without waiting for an answer she drawled, ‘Aline’s cold-blooded enough to swap passion for friendship if it worked to her advantage, but I don’t think Hope would welcome her husband’s discarded lover as a friend.’

One of the reasons Jake hated the insinuation was that he suspected it had some basis; he’d sensed a certain tension between Keir Carmichael and his tall, exquisite executive, but he knew men—whatever had happened in the past, Keir wasn’t interested in Aline now. Although his face made granite look expressive, he couldn’t hide the way he felt about his wife.

Just as well, Jake thought with cold purposefulness. If he’d wanted Aline, Carmichael would have had a fight on his hands.

‘Champagne, madam? Sir?’ a waiter offered smoothly.

‘Oh, lovely—perfect for such a glorious day,’ Lauren accepted eagerly, her hand shaking as she took the glass. She raised it to Jake. ‘I love spring—all those new beginnings make you glad to be alive, don’t they?’

Every sense alert, Jake took a glass too, listening with half an ear as she delivered a rapid, amusing commentary on several other guests, infuriated when he caught himself glancing above her head at the woman who haunted him.

Poised, slender body disposed on a big sofa, patrician face alight, Aline Connor smiled at the baby in her lap. For the past two months she’d been negotiating with him on behalf of Keir Carmichael’s merchant bank, displaying an intelligence sharp enough to keep Jake on his toes, disciplined enough to almost convince him of her indifference. Almost…

Beside her, Keir Carmichael’s glowing wife, the mother of the baby, said something that set both women laughing. Laughing with them, the baby reached out chubby fingers to pat Aline’s cheek. She caught the little hand and kissed it.

A shaft of pure sensation stabbed Jake with ferocious impact.

From beside him Lauren said with brittle intensity, ‘I’m surprised to see Emma so happy in Aline’s lap. I know Aline doesn’t like children—she refused to have any when she was married to Mike, and he really wanted them.’

Jake had good instincts, and by now they were on full alert.

He lifted an intimidating eyebrow and glanced down at the woman beside him. She held her glass to her mouth like a shield; above the rim, her eyes were shiny and opaque.

Neutrally he said, ‘I hadn’t realised you knew them both so well.’

Her shoulders sketched a shrug. ‘Aline was in my class at school.’ Deepening her voice to add emphasis to her next words, she went on, ‘She was the classic nerd—a skinny, conceited kid who never forgot to do her homework and scored top marks year after year until she took them for granted. I was the class clown and she despised me.’ Lauren directed a wry look upwards, making clever use of long curling lashes. ‘Not that I blame her—children are cruel, and we were awful to her.’ She sipped more champagne before saying with a slow smile, ‘Mind you, that was over twenty years ago and we were only kids.’

The implication being that Aline never forgot grudges, no matter how old and insignificant?

Negligently Jake observed, ‘Did you go to school with her husband too?’

A fugitive emotion flashed over her exquisitely made-up face; Lauren took another, longer sip of champagne and shook her head. ‘No, he was three years older than me, and went to a different school. His death was such a tragedy. We were all shattered.’ Her glance stabbed across the room. ‘I admired Aline enormously; she didn’t cry at the funeral even though it must have been hell for her.’

The implication being that Aline hadn’t cared much about her husband…?

Grimly aware that he’d have cut this conversation off before it had started if he hadn’t been obsessed by its subject, Jake said, ‘I’d heard it was a great romance.’

Lauren’s face froze. For a second he saw malice and a dreadful bitterness in the wide eyes before they were hidden by those curling lashes.

‘So everyone says,’ she agreed tonelessly. ‘Which is why I find it so difficult to believe that she was sleeping with Keir within a year of Mike’s death.’

Her blind smile setting off more alarm signals, she continued brightly, ‘It doesn’t fit into the grieving widow scenario at all, does it? And then, of course, Mike…’

‘Mike?’ Jake probed, trying to keep his voice mildly interested, and failing. A faint rasp to his words betrayed his interest.

After a swift, furtive glance, Lauren veiled her eyes and stretched her mouth into a dazzling smile. ‘Nothing important. But most men find being married to a snow queen pretty depressing. Oh, there’s someone I have to say hello to! I’ll see you later, Jake.’ And, waving to an elderly man on the verandah, she set off across the room fast enough to suggest her departure was a definite escape.

Frowning, he watched as she embraced her quarry—Tony Hudson, a famous athlete of forty years previously, esteemed now for his work with at-risk children. Because of that Michael Connor had appointed him one of the trustees of his charitable trust, set up before his death and hugely supported by New Zealanders, one of whom was Jake’s personal assistant.

His frown deepening, Jake drank some of the excellent champagne without tasting it. Lauren had looked off balance enough to cause a scene.

That hadn’t worried him too much; his deliberate probing did. He didn’t normally pump women—especially not social butterflies with bigger hair than brains—but he was becoming absurdly sensitive about Aline Connor.

And not because she refused to allow herself to be susceptible to him. His mouth tightened, then relaxed into a smile as his host came towards him. He didn’t want a woman who was impressed by his wealth and power, but, with the ruthless, unsparing honesty that had made him more enemies than friends, he acknowledged that he wouldn’t object in the least if Aline succumbed to this inconvenient attraction smouldering between them.

For all her wary reserve, she felt something; he could see her now, taking such care not to look across the room that her awareness of him pulsed around her like an aura. Well, they’d signed the deal a week ago. From now on they met as man and woman, not as business associates.

Keir said, ‘Good that you could make it, Jake.’

Smiling, Jake shook hands. ‘Your daughter is the most accomplished flirt I know; I wasn’t going to miss her christening.’

Even before she saw him come in the door, Aline knew when Jake Howard arrived. His presence charged the atmosphere, sending out vibrations that homed in on her nerve-ends and caused swift chaos. Although she tried not to react, she stole a glance towards the door just in time to see him coming in with Lauren Penn.

Dark jealousy shafted through her. Shocked and startled by its force and depth, Aline tightened her grip around the baby in her lap, wishing that for once she’d left her hair loose so that she could hide behind it.

Emma squirmed. ‘It’s all right,’ Aline soothed, releasing her. ‘There, see, you’re fine.’

The baby smiled forgivingly at her, revealing what looked like a tiny grain of rice on her lower gum.

‘Sweetheart!’ Aline exclaimed. ‘You’re getting a tooth! Aren’t you too young?’

From across the room, Jake’s scrutiny sent a familiar surge of anticipation and apprehension through her.

Hope said, ‘Most babies start to teethe around six months, so she’s right on target.’

‘I don’t know much about babies,’ Aline said regretfully.

‘You’re doing very well with that one,’ Hope said with a quick grin. ‘Emma adores you.’

Emma chose that moment to give an elaborate yawn, and both women laughed. The baby smiled up at Aline and reached up to pat her cheek; Aline’s heart melted. She kissed the chubby starfish hand. ‘And I adore her.’ Something compelled her to add, ‘And not because she looks like Keir. That was a crazy stupidity I’ve recovered from.’

‘I know.’ Hope looked at her with warm empathy. ‘Don’t keep apologising, Aline. We’ve agreed to let it lie in the past where it belongs.’

Aline touched the baby’s fine hair, cupping her hand protectively around the nape of her neck. ‘I just wish it had never happened,’ she said, sombre and intense. Driven and desperately unhappy, Aline had acted totally out of character by trying to break Hope’s engagement. ‘It didn’t mean a thing to either of us. And I so wish I hadn’t told you.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Hope said firmly.

A glance at her face revealed that she was being completely truthful. Hope was so confident of her husband’s love that a one-night stand before he met her again meant nothing.

She finished by saying, ‘Forget it. I have.’

‘You haven’t, but you’ve certainly forgiven.’ Pale and severe, Aline said, ‘Which I don’t deserve.’

‘It’s time you forgave yourself,’ Hope said sternly. ‘That’s your problem, you know—you’re a perfectionist, and you expect impossibly high standards from yourself. It’s probably what makes you such an asset to Keir’s bank, but it must be hell for you to live with.’

Aline said, ‘It’s the way I am.’ She glanced from beneath her lashes across the room. Jake and Keir were talking, their combined masculinity overpowering.

Following her gaze, Hope observed with dry amusement, ‘They should wear labels—“Caution, Dangerous Male”. All we need is for Leo Dacre to join them, and every woman in the room would faint.’ She hesitated, then asked, ‘What do you think of Jake?’

Aline almost surrendered to her instincts and uttered the explosive character analysis that hovered on her tongue. Instead, perhaps she could ease some of the guilt she still felt at trying to prevent Hope and Keir’s marriage.

With a smile she tried to purge of irony, she said, ‘He’s really something, isn’t he?’

Hope said, ‘He’s gorgeous.’

But her eyes lingered on her husband, not on Jake. For Hope no other man existed but Keir. Once Aline had felt like that too, but Michael was dead.

She stirred, transferring her gaze to Emma, who was solemnly watching the crowd assembled in her honour. If Michael hadn’t wanted to wait for children, Aline might be holding her own child…

Banishing the painful thought, she said crisply, ‘Got it in one. Jake Howard is gorgeous.’

Her hostess gave a snort of laughter. ‘Actually, that’s the wrong word. “Gorgeous” makes me think of sleek, pouting male models, all biceps and bravado. Jake’s got classic features.’ Her glance switched to Aline. ‘Like you, in fact. And, like you, he has a formidable brain.’

When Aline pulled a face, Hope went on quietly, ‘Though I know you’ve had to fight for the right to be taken seriously—life’s not fair for clever women, especially when they’re beautiful.’

‘At least I’m not blonde—they find it even more difficult,’ Aline said.

Ironic that she’d happily, swiftly, surrender her cool, lifeless, regular features for a tenth of the warmth and fire and individuality that blazed from Hope.

Hope said thoughtfully, ‘I wonder if Jake’s wonderful face means that the strength and intelligence behind it was overlooked when he started building his empire? I bet lots of people dismissed him as just a handsome lightweight.’

‘I’m sure he’d have turned it to his advantage. By the time they realised he’s about as lightweight as Mount Ruapehu he’d probably taken them over,’ Aline pointed out, reluctantly recalling her first impression of Jake Howard.

Well-briefed, she’d known that he’d used his brilliant degree to set up as a forestry consultant straight out of university. Within ten years he’d built a huge organisation with global interests, and a reputation for fairness and honesty—and ruthlessness when he was attacked. She’d read about his takeovers, and the way he’d cut ethnic minorities in as stakeholders in his projects.

Yet when she’d first met him it had been his sheer physical presence and his potent, lethal sexuality that had slammed through her barriers.

Hope said cheerfully, ‘Keir says he’s got discipline and daring, and enough focus and determination to take over the world if he wants to.’ She laughed again. ‘And he’s good with babies too. Emma bats her lashes and coos at him. He should get married and raise a dynasty.’

‘All he’d have to do is wave a wedding ring,’ Aline snapped, adding lamely, ‘Anyway, he might have girls instead of sons.’

Hope’s brows lifted. ‘So? You’re living proof that women can make it in the world of business.’

‘Ah, but I was my father’s son,’ Aline told her, her mouth twisting.

‘He must have been proud of you.’

Relaxing her rigid shoulders, Aline pinned on a smile. ‘I hope so,’ she said, glancing surreptitiously past the baby to where Jake and Keir had been joined by Lauren, all flicking hair and sultry seduction.

Jake looked up. For long, timeless seconds their eyes clashed, duelling across the room.

He radiated energy—a formidable, hypnotic power that sent shivery chills up her spine. Nothing like Michael, who’d been big-hearted and gallant and joyous—and who’d died. Why did death take the best?

Deliberately she broke contact, only to meet Lauren’s gaze; the woman lifted a glass of champagne to her, her smile glittering. Aline forced her lips into an answering curve, grateful when Emma leapt excitedly in her arms, almost overbalancing. Hauling her back to safety, she said crisply, ‘Emma’s not the only one who flirts with Jake.’

‘No.’ Hope’s voice was troubled. ‘Something’s been hounding Lauren for years, but it looks as though she’s getting really close to the edge. Her father’s so worried about her.’

With the confidence of a child who has known nothing but love, Emma raised a commanding hand, worked her mouth earnestly, and eventually produced a sound so close to boo that both women laughed, and Aline forgot Lauren’s hostility.

In a few minutes she allowed herself another glance across the room to see Lauren flirting with another young man, Keir charming a pleasant middle-aged woman, and Jake talking—no, listening—to an earnest Tony Hudson, one of the trustees of Michael’s charitable trust.

Making a mental note to contact Tony again this week and try again to persuade him it was time the trust gave some of its millions of dollars to the young people it was set up to help, Aline relaxed.

But when the hair on the back of her neck stood up in primitive recognition of danger, she knew without raising her eyes who’d joined them. Right in front of her she saw long legs and narrow hips, a man’s confident, almost aggressive stance.

Thank heavens Jake’s negotiations with the bank were over; from now on others would deal with him and his business. She’d no longer wake each morning haunted by the challenge in his dark face, the special note in his voice that reached right down inside her, taunting her with her hidden weakness.

Keeping her head down, she dropped a kiss on the baby’s satin cheek.

Beside her Hope said, ‘Jake! How lovely to see you!’

‘How do you manage to glow like that?’ The practised compliment came easily, but there was no doubt about the pure male appreciation in his voice.

Emma bounced and launched herself forwards, holding out chubby arms with a smile that almost split her face.

‘Well, button, is that a tooth I see?’ Jake’s voice came closer as he dropped onto his haunches and touched the baby’s cheek.

Startled, Aline looked into tawny-gold eyes—eagle’s eyes, she’d thought at their first meeting, piercing and merciless. Subsequent meetings hadn’t changed her mind.

He smiled crookedly at her. ‘Hello, Aline.’

A flutter of pulse at the base of her throat drew his gaze; weighed down by the laughing baby, Aline couldn’t drag her eyes from his face. He was so close she could see the small laughter lines fanning out from the corners of those relentless eyes, the thick black lashes, and the chiselled, beautiful lines of his mouth with its thinner upper lip and disturbingly curved lower.

Always before she’d avoided his scrutiny by focusing just past him; now, her head spinning, her senses afire, she drowned in gold. Something had altered. She sensed a difference in Jake, a deeply dominant shift in attitude.

With an effort of will that took all her strength, she deliberately shut down her treacherous awareness, withdrawing into the guarded fastness only Michael had been able to enter.

Jake’s mouth curved in mocking recognition of her silent rejection. He got to his feet with a lithe grace that proclaimed power and control. ‘Here, give the heroine of the day to me,’ he said, reaching out confident arms.

Transferring a chuckling baby meant that Aline had to get much closer, had to touch him for the first time except when they’d shaken hands—something she’d tried to limit, only to have him force the gesture every time they’d met and parted.

Her heart thudded painfully; without looking at him she settled Emma into his iron embrace and stepped back, ambushed by the heat radiating from him, and his hard, tensile masculinity.

All right, she told herself as the conversation was taken over efficiently by the others, admit it. You are—you’re aware of him.

The last honest part of her brain sniggered and drawled, To put it bluntly, you want him. Even more bluntly, you want to go to bed with him.

Well, why not? It was merely a ruthlessly physical ‘Me Tarzan, you Jane’ response, carefully formulated by Mother Nature to perpetuate the species. He was all alpha male, while she was a woman in her late twenties with her biological clock beginning to tick.

She hated being so vulnerable to Jake Howard’s intense magnetism, his elemental strength and determination. Her weakness betrayed everything she’d felt for her husband because not even Michael had delivered such a blazing punch of erotic excitement.

But she’d shared much more with Michael; he’d valued her for many other things besides her femaleness.

Every time Jake looked at her she saw recognition of her as a sexual being in those eagle’s eyes, in the way he spoke and responded to her. Even when they’d been negotiating hard and forcefully he’d made sure she knew he liked what he saw.

And his tactics had worked. Now her skin tightened whenever he came into a room, his presence invading her guarded detachment.

Hope laughed as he tossed Emma into the air. ‘You can do that all day and she’ll still want more—she has a cast-iron stomach. You’re very experienced with children.’

‘I like them,’ he said simply. ‘Nice basic things, kids. You know exactly where you are with them—if they don’t like you they howl and struggle; if they decide you’re a fit person to hold them they smile and coo.’ His glinting eyes moved to Aline’s face. ‘There’s no wasting time with children; they won’t allow it.’

Hope’s brows shot up, but she returned a remark that made him laugh, and then Keir arrived, and for five minutes or so they chatted with relaxed ease.

Too soon, but inevitably, Hope and Keir moved on, taking Emma with them. With her usual store of small talk evaporating fast, Aline cast around for something innocuous to say before escaping.

Jake watched her from beneath his lashes, an unnerving glint of mockery lighting his eyes.

Edgily she summoned a cool smile. ‘I didn’t realise you were going to be here,’ she said, hoping the observation didn’t sound as inane to him as it did to her.

Her hope was dashed immediately. ‘You mean you assumed I wouldn’t be. Do you want me to go?’

‘No!’ She inhaled quickly, sharply, to settle her racing pulses. ‘Of course not,’ she said, encouraged when her voice revealed nothing more than polite interest.

She lifted her eyes, only to find them captured by his. Dazedly, she felt as though she’d fallen into frozen fire, lost all individuality, all reason, all control…

Forcing another tight smile, she went on, ‘I thought you were in Vancouver,’ and wrenched her gaze free of the forbidden imprisonment of his, fixing her eyes on his mouth.

Only to discover that it was as dangerous to her peace of mind as his tawny-gold eyes. Sex, she reminded herself sturdily, that’s all it is. Yes, it was humiliating to be attracted to a man like Jake, a man so unlike Michael they had almost nothing in common except their gender, but she’d get over it now she didn’t have to see him so often.

‘Jets leave Canada every day for New Zealand. I plan to be seeing quite a bit of Keir and his wife in the future.’

‘They’re a lovely family,’ Aline said tautly.

Silence stretched between them, buzzing with hidden significance. He waited, but when she refused to break it he said with smooth insolence, ‘And I plan to be seeing more of you.’

She gave him a small, meaningless smile. ‘I don’t imagine we’ll need to meet again now that we’ve stitched up the deal—’

‘This has nothing to do with the deal.’ He paused before saying in a voice underpinned by steel, ‘This is about us, Aline. You and me.’

The drawing-room was large and filled with people, all at that pleasant state of talkativeness engendered by a glass of excellent champagne. More people had spilled out of the open French doors onto the wide Victorian verandah beyond. It bore the hallmarks of an excellent party, yet Aline sat alone, imprisoned by his inflexible will.

Hands clenched by her sides, she said, ‘No,’ the word a stone dropped into echoing silence.

Strong fingers closed around her wrist, shackling it. ‘I can feel your heartbeat against my fingertips,’ Jake said thoughtfully. ‘It’s going twice the normal speed.’

Before she tried to twist free he released her. ‘No,’ she said again, the meaningless word splintering into the tension between them. ‘And don’t ever do that again. I don’t like being manhandled.’

From behind came a sly voice, soft, heavy with innuendo. ‘She’s never liked being touched. Except by her husband, of course,’ Lauren Penn said. Her smile bubbled into laughter, low and mocking. ‘And you know, that’s a joke. Just the biggest joke in the world.’

‘Lauren…’ Aline’s glance swerved to the half-empty glass of champagne in the other woman’s hand.

Lauren swallowed the rest of the wine, setting the empty glass down with exaggerated care on a table. ‘Lauren,’ she mimicked. ‘Lauren, shut up. Lauren, go away. Lauren, stop making a scene. You know, I’m so sick of you. Ever since he died you’ve worn your grief for your darling lost Michael like a bloody crown. Other people grieved too, but that never occurred to you, did it?’ Her glance darted to Jake’s angular face.

As though encouraged by his dispassionate regard, she purred, ‘You see, Jake, poor Aline has a little problem. She really doesn’t like being touched—and that’s straight from the horse’s mouth. Mike said she was like turquoise, cold and smooth and shallow—nothing but surface colour. He called her the Untouchable—sometimes the Snow Queen. He said that when they had sex it was like worshipping at some shrine instead of loving a flesh-and-blood woman—’

‘That’s more than enough.’ Jake’s voice held such crackling menace that Lauren went white. Her eyes moved from Jake’s grim face to Aline, locked in a hideous stasis.

Jake said softly, ‘Get out of here.’

Lauren whispered, ‘It’s time she knew. She’s eating her heart out for a lie. I loved Mike and he loved me. We’d been lovers for a year when he died.’ Her eyes glazed with tears and her mouth trembled. ‘He wanted to come away with me, but he didn’t want to hurt her. We were going to get married.’

Unable to hold back, Aline retorted in a shaking voice, ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Because you don’t want to.’ Open antagonism sharpened her words. ‘Do you know what happened when he died? I lost our baby.’

Her anguished glance across the room to Emma, smiling in her father’s arms, struck both Jake and Aline mute.

Bitterly she went on, ‘If you hadn’t clung so hard he’d have left you, and then he and my baby would still be alive. I wouldn’t have let him fly across the sea looking for some idiot solo yachtsman who’d got himself lost. You killed Mike—and you killed my baby because you wouldn’t let go!’

That was when Aline knew she was telling the truth.

CHAPTER TWO

IT HURT, Aline realised, to breathe. It even hurt to think. The last time she could remember such pain was when they’d told her Michael was dead. The irony almost knocked her to her knees.

Lauren said softly, ‘You’re so stubborn and self-centred, so sure you’re always right, but tomorrow you’ll have to believe me. I even lent the author Mike’s letters.’

Jake’s eyes narrowed. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ he asked in a tone that wilted Lauren’s antagonism.

Defiantly she said, ‘Aline refused to talk to the writer—Stuart someone—when he contacted her about a biography of Mike. But I did. I told him everything about Mike and me because I wanted people to know he loved me. Tomorrow morning everyone in New Zealand will read that Aline gave Mike nothing, and I gave him everything.’

Locked in a savage agony of rejection and betrayal, Aline closed her eyes, listening to the meaningless words buzz around inside her head. She craved numbness, forgetfulness, with the avid hunger of an addict.

‘And that book’s coming out tomorrow?’ Jake demanded so silkily that Aline’s lashes flew up.

No emotion showed in his face, but his gaze focused on Lauren with the searing lance of a laser. Behind the hard, handsome features Aline saw a predator, menacing, relentless, and lethally dangerous.

Visibly bracing herself, Lauren took an instinctive step backwards. ‘It’s being launched next week, but tomorrow there’ll be a big extract in one of the Sunday papers.’ From somewhere she produced an aggressive tone. ‘Mike put New Zealand on the map with his single-handed sailing voyages around the world, and he cared enough about kids to set up the Connor Trust and raise millions of dollars for it. Some of the money from the book’s going to the Trust, yet Aline would have stopped publication if she’d been able to.’ She cast a scathing glance at Aline. ‘People need to know what a wonderful man—a truly great man—he was. I’m not ashamed of loving him, and I’ll be proud until I die that he loved me.’

Jake would have liked very much to wrap his hands around that slender throat and throttle the life out of her, but he needed to get Aline out of there before the confrontation—already drawing covert attention—went any further. White and frozen, her subtle cosmetics displayed for the mask they were, she hadn’t moved since Lauren had started her attack.

It was the first time he’d seen her at a disadvantage, and he was startled by the fierce protectiveness that unexpectedly gripped him.

Ignoring Lauren, he stepped between the two women and touched Aline’s arm. When she didn’t respond he said gently, ‘Aline, come with me.’

After a taut moment she shivered.

‘Let’s go,’ he said, relieved when she let him steer her out of the nearest door and into the entrance hall, mercifully empty of onlookers.

With a firm hand at her elbow, he led her across the gleaming wooden floor with its priceless Persian rug; he wondered if the door to Keir’s study would be locked, but it yielded to his urgent hand.

Mentally thanking Keir for his trust in his guests, he pushed it open, noting with a half-smile that Keir wasn’t that trusting; everything but the desk and the bookshelves had been locked away in a bank of cupboards.

Obediently, silently, Aline went ahead, finally stopping in the middle of the room to look around with dazed bewilderment. Succumbing to his concern, Jake folded her slim, cold hands in his, but although she didn’t resist it was like touching a statue.

‘She could be lying,’ he said harshly.

‘She’s not lying.’ Aline’s voice sounded distant, muted, empty of the subtle sexy texture that made it so erotic beneath the surface crispness.

‘How do you know?’

She shuddered. ‘He used to say my eyes were like the very best turquoise. How would she know that unless he told her?’

Pillow-talk, he thought savagely. ‘It could have slipped out in conversation.’

She shook her head. ‘Keir must know; he was Michael’s best friend,’ she said. And then with a half-sob, ‘Yes, of course. That’s why…’

‘Tell me,’ he commanded when her voice trailed away into nothingness.

She didn’t ask him what business it was of his. The shock of Lauren’s revelation had smashed the barriers he’d tried so hard to penetrate these past months. Ruthlessly practical, he decided it might be a good thing; if she’d been living in a fool’s paradise the truth could only set her free. It might even help the small personal crusade he’d embarked on—finding out exactly what was going on in the Connor Trust.

But, God, he hated to see her in such pain.

In that same empty monotone she said, ‘About a year before Michael died I noticed a distance between them, and after that we didn’t see much of Keir. I asked Michael why, and he said that it was the natural way of things—married men didn’t have so much in common with their single friends.’ She lifted her lashes and looked at him with blank eyes like enamelled jewels, their vivid colour framed by long black lashes. ‘You believe people when you love them because it hurts too much not to.’

Looking into that lifeless, beautiful face, Jake thought violently that if he could kill a dead man he’d do it right then.

A soft sound from behind alerted him to the opening of the door; instantly he swung around, thrusting Aline behind him as their host entered the room.

Frowning, Keir demanded, ‘What’s going on here?’

Jake stood to one side and let Aline tell Keir exactly what Lauren had said.

He was good, Jake thought with respect; their host’s ice-grey eyes registered only a single flash of fury, but of course Aline noticed.

She whispered, ‘Was Lauren the only one?’

‘Yes,’ Keir said brusquely.

‘So he did love her,’ she said, as though the words stabbed her to the heart. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Would you have believed me?’ When she shook her head he added more gently, ‘It wasn’t my place to tell you.’

Jake understood. He’d been in an impossible position. Was Keir’s knowledge the source of the tension he’d sensed between Aline and her boss?

Politely, Aline said, ‘Of course it wasn’t. I’m sorry I asked. Keir, I think I’d better go now.’

‘I’ll take you,’ Jake told her.

She swivelled as though she’d forgotten he was there. ‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said woodenly, ‘but my car’s here.’

‘You can’t drive.’ Jake’s voice was patient. ‘I’ll make sure your car gets home.’

He could see her try to muster her defences. ‘I’ll be perfectly all—’

‘You’re not fit to drive,’ Jake said brutally. ‘Kill yourself if you want to, but what if you kill someone else?’

Huge turquoise eyes held his until she made a blundering gesture of rejection, muttering, ‘All right, I’ll go with you.’ She turned back to Keir. ‘Please tell Hope I’m sorry?’

‘Of course. Will you be all right?’ He frowned, his eyes travelling from Aline’s shuttered face to Jake’s.

With an effort Jake could only imagine, she managed a faint curve of her lips.

‘Of course I will. You don’t die from disillusion. And I’ve got this week off—I’ll be fine once I’ve had a chance to get used to the idea of—of…’ She choked and caught herself up.

Harshly, Jake said, ‘I’ll look after her.’

He and Keir exchanged a look, golden eyes clashing with ice-grey. Jake said softly, ‘This has nothing to do with you.’

Keir didn’t like that, but after several taut seconds he nodded.

Once safely in Jake’s car, Aline sat back into the seat and stared at the window, trying desperately to summon a blankness that would blot out her thoughts.

It was useless. All her mind could register was the stark, inescapable fact that Michael had betrayed her.

Eventually she blurted, ‘I’m surprised she waited so long to tell me.’ The words burst from some secret part of her, rooted in a miserable mixture of anguish and furious humiliation.

‘Why would she want to tell you?’ Jake asked, backing the car skilfully between two badly parked others.

‘For years she hasn’t said a word! Why now, I wonder?’ And to her astonishment Aline heard herself say, ‘I’m so sorry for her; to love someone and not be able to grieve openly for him must be the worst kind of hell. And then to lose her baby…’ Her voice trailed off as she remembered that Michael had refused her a child. Stumbling, she said, ‘Perhaps she wanted to forewarn me—’

‘The baby,’ Jake told her with ruthless frankness. ‘That’s what she saw when she came in the door—you laughing with Emma.’

Aline looked down at her hands, realising they’d taken on a life of their own and were writhing together in her lap in the classic gesture of helpless indecision. Revulsion and sheer force of will subdued them into stillness.

‘I see.’ She straightened her fingers and stared at the wedding ring she’d worn with such pride ever since Michael had put it on five years previously. It weighed heavy, as crushing as treachery.

Clenching and unclenching her hands, she said thinly, ‘I feel a total idiot. Grieving nearly three years for someone who told his lover what pet names he called me!’

‘You’re not the first person to have your trust betrayed.’ Jake’s voice was infuriatingly calm, close to off-hand. ‘It happens to everyone.’

‘To you?’ she demanded.

He shrugged. ‘Of course.’

Suddenly aflame with reviving anger, she said intensely, ‘I’m not going to put myself in such a position again. Never!’

Jake glanced across and saw the savage, almost wild determination on her face as she wrenched off the wedding ring and wound down the window. He didn’t stop her when she flung the ring through the window. Fresh air whipped around them, carrying the scent of grass and manuka balsam and the faint, salty tang of the sea.

‘There,’ she said intensely. ‘It’s over. All I want to do now is forget.’

Brows slightly raised, Jake drove on.

A few miles down the road she said, ‘Turn right at the next turn-off. I live—’

‘I know where you live—in a townhouse beside the harbour on Whangaparoa Peninsula,’ he told her curtly.

Later she might wonder how he knew her address, but at the moment she couldn’t summon up the energy.

But he wouldn’t let her sink into the stupor she craved. Coolly persistent, he asked, ‘What are your plans?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said dully. She looked around as though in an unknown landscape. ‘Stay at home, I suppose. Regroup…’

‘Did you live there with him?’

‘Who? Oh, Michael. Yes.’ Stupid—she’d been so stupid! ‘I don’t want to go back there,’ she admitted with painful honesty.

‘You could come with me,’ he suggested casually. ‘I own a beach house not too far away—it’s completely isolated. I’m going there tonight for a few days before I leave New Zealand. You can come if you want to.’

She made a jerky movement, then clamped her hands together in her lap. ‘I couldn’t impose,’ she said in her stiffest tone.

His laughter was low and cynical. ‘You mean, you think I might try to seduce you. Naturally, after you’ve had such a huge shock, that’s exactly what I’d do. You don’t have much of an opinion of me, but, for the record, you won’t have to sleep with me.’

Scarlet-faced, she muttered, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.’

Her head drooped sideways. Racked by an exhaustion of the spirit, by waves of tiredness that slowed her brain and made her unable to think sensibly, she muttered, ‘I’ll be fine. It was kind of you to offer, though. Thank you.’

But when the car drew to a halt outside her house a pleasant and determined young woman, with cameraman and sound recorder in tow, was waiting for her in the street. One or two neighbours were already outside, watching.

Strong face angry, Jake swore beneath his breath. ‘Do you want to turn around and get out of here?’

‘Where would I go?’ she asked, her voice so thin and apprehensive it horrified her. She dragged in a breath and said between her teeth, ‘No, I will not run away.’

‘Good,’ he responded smoothly, pulling in behind the television company van. ‘Give them that arrogant stare and walk right over the top of them. Wait in the car until I let you out, and from then on I’ll be just behind you.’

Clinging to that promise, Aline straightened her shoulders and disciplined her face as she got out of the car.

‘Mrs Connor?’ the journalist asked after a rapid, appreciative glance at Jake. ‘I wonder if I could have a word with you—?’

‘No, thank you,’ Aline said, appalled by the cold reptilian scud of fear down her spine. She saw the camera focus and had to hide an impulse to scuttle inside to safety.

‘It won’t take a moment—it’s about Stuart Freely’s biography of your husband.’ The woman gave a persuasive smile. ‘We thought you might like to make some comments.’

‘You heard Ms Connor,’ Jake said briefly. ‘She doesn’t want to comment.’

Smirched and sickened by the determined interest she saw in the woman’s face, Aline unlocked the door and walked inside.

‘It must be a quiet weekend for news,’ she said bitterly as Jake closed the door behind him.

‘Change your mind and come with me. The uproar will die down in a week or so—the media will soon find something else to feed on.’

‘You’re very kind,’ she said, fear mingling with a restless longing, ‘but it would be cowardly—’

‘Cowardly? To stop them putting you in a pillory to entertain an audience?’ Each scornful word cut through the armour of aloofness she’d erected. ‘Come up with a better excuse than that, Aline.’

Aline looked around the sitting room she and Michael had furnished with so much care, so much pleasure. Black anger and despair gripped her. The thought of spending one more moment in this shrine to a lie was beyond bearing.

At least in Jake’s abrasive company she wouldn’t wallow in self-pity, imagining Michael and Lauren in each other’s arms, hearing him whisper his love to another woman…

‘All right, I’ll come,’ she said, weakly surrendering.

‘Get some clothes,’ Jake commanded. He took a mobile phone from his pocket and began to punch in numbers. She watched as he held it to his mouth, his keen raptor’s eyes fixed on her. ‘Sally?’ he said. ‘I’ve got a couple of jobs for you, both urgent—’

Aline ran up the stairs and flung clothes from her wardrobe into a weekend bag. Feverishly but automatically, she stuffed cosmetics and toiletries on top, grabbed a pair of shoes, and changed from her silk suit into black trousers and a polo-necked T-shirt the same colour. After pushing the long sleeves up to her elbows, she slung a black linen shirt around her shoulders in case it got cold on the boat.

Abruptly her energy drained away; she stood for a long moment, staring blankly around. Michael smiled at her from the dressing table. Eyes filling with tears at the loss of a lovely dream, she walked over and put the photograph face down in the drawer. One day perhaps she would accept that to have loved him was worth it; all she could feel now was outrage and humiliation—and an angry, unexpected sympathy for Lauren, because Michael had betrayed them both.

‘Have you finished up there?’

‘Yes,’ she said promptly, and came out of the room. Behind her, jerked by her ungentle hand, the door closed with a small crash.

Six foot three of virile, compelling male, Jake waited at the foot of the stairs, the autocratic angles of his bronze profile gilded by the late-afternoon sun. Tawny lights glimmered in his black hair and a cynical smile hardened his mouth.

He was the ultimate challenge, she thought, stabbed by an urgent, primitive response—a challenge she wasn’t up to.

‘Do you need help with that bag?’ he asked briskly.

Heat burned along her cheekbones. ‘No, thank you,’ she said, lifting it and walking down the stairs. Instinct warned her that by going with Jake she was setting out on an unknown journey into perilous seas, a journey with no map and no compass. And she was a very weary wayfarer.

Perhaps her mental and emotional exhaustion showed in her face, for Jake took the bag from her and asked in a different voice, ‘Do you have a back door?’

‘Through there.’ She indicated the direction. ‘It leads into the garage, and then into an access alley.’

‘Good.’ His smile twisted as he glanced at her. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you when you haven’t been dressed in perfect taste. Those are ideal clothes for a fast getaway. Can you walk half a kilometre or so up to the golf course?’

‘Of course I can—but why?’

‘Because that’s where the helicopter will be.’

‘The helicopter?’ Her voice sounded flat, without inflection, but she didn’t care; she struggled to reach that shroud of grey nothingness that shielded her from pain and shock. She’d come to know it well after Michael’s death, but it was no longer there for her and she knew why; Jake’s raw masculinity had blown it into wispy shreds, leaving her quivering and exposed.

Patiently he said, ‘The chopper was to have picked me up in Auckland, but it’s on its way here now.’

‘What about your car?’

‘Someone will drive it back to town,’ he told her.

Because it seemed reasonable, Aline nodded and followed him through the back door, docilely handed him the keys and waited while he locked up behind them.

‘I’ll go ahead,’ he said.

But nobody ambushed them in the alley behind the townhouses.

‘Most people never think to check the back,’ Jake said, locking the gate behind Aline and pocketing the keys. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

Sometimes, she thought, donning sunglasses as they strode away from the house she’d shared with Michael, it was easier and simpler to give in to an irresistible force. And if that was just another way to say she was a coward—well, so be it.

They had almost reached the golf course when they heard the helicopter coming across the ocean, descending rapidly.

‘Walk faster,’ Jake said calmly as the whump-whump-whump of its engine began to echo. ‘No, don’t run—we don’t want to attract any attention.’

But no one took any notice; people living around this superb golf course were accustomed to the arrival and departure of helicopters. The street was still empty when they turned into the gate and headed for the concrete pad where the chopper was settling with cumbersome accuracy.

The pilot lifted a hand. The door slid open and another man leapt down, crouching as he ran towards them. Jake dropped something into his palm, then grabbed Aline’s hand.

‘Keep your head down,’ he commanded, and towed her up to the open door.

The blast of turbulent air whipped long strands of black hair from the neat coil at the back of her head, tossing it around her cold face. Jake dumped the cases, and in spite of her protests lifted Aline into the machine.

The way her eager flesh reacted to his impersonal grip finally robbed her of any chance of reaching that barren, emotionless refuge she longed for. She might have been able to put the swimming in her head down to the thud of the rotors, but what set her heartbeat pummelling her breastbone was Jake’s touch, the faint salty fragrance of his skin, and his effortless strength.

She pushed the tangled locks from her face with shaking fingers.

By then in the front, Jake turned. ‘Seatbelt,’ he mouthed, pointing to the belt with one imperative hand.

Biting her lip, she nodded and groped for the straps. After watching until she’d buckled them across her waist, Jake pushed the door closed before reaching for a pair of headphones. Beneath the fine material of his shirt his body flexed with spare masculine grace.

Aline watched his lips move as he said something to the pilot. Was she being incredibly stupid to go with him?

Well, if she was, who cared? She closed her eyes. Michael, she thought drearily, oh, Michael…

Yet deep in her innermost heart she’d always known she wasn’t enough of a woman to keep Michael satisfied. Lauren’s ripe femininity was what men wanted.

A howling increase in the blast of the engines was followed by a sudden lurch and then lift-off. Aline settled back and let her eyelids drift up. With bent head, Jake was checking something in his lap. The westering sun painted a wash of gold over his face, emphasising its bold stamp of authority, its stark, forceful command.

Heat seared through her, smashing past the layers of weary grief. She shivered with muted apprehension as they flew away from the sunset over water the colour of wine, heading over peninsulas and bays and islands. How on earth had she let herself be hijacked like this?

Cowardice, she decided, and Jake’s uncompromising will. She should have seen it coming; she’d soon learned to respect his intelligence and his grasp of business. He’d known exactly what he wanted from his association with the bank, and he’d used his clout and a certain amount of ruthless power in negotiation, although the final deal satisfied both partners.

Yet beneath the civilised—if aggressive—businessman, she thought with an odd primitive thrill, lurked a warrior, a man with hunting instincts as keenly honed as those marauders who’d swept periodically out of the desert or the forest, or from frozen wastes to plunder and loot and enslave. In spite of his mask of civilised discipline, Jake Howard radiated a primal intensity that slashed through her misery and humiliation, homing in on the basic need of a woman for a man.

When he caught her watching him the arrogantly handsome face didn’t change expression, but his unreadable eyes narrowed when he mouthed, ‘OK?’

Bitterly angry at the betraying tug of sensation deep in the pit of her stomach, she nodded and glanced away. How odd that she should be torn between grief at the shattering of her memories and this heated awareness of another man.

From their first meeting she’d reluctantly responded to Jake’s sexual energy, the supercharged physicality that his expensive tailoring didn’t hide, but she’d done her best to ignore it, seeing her unwilling response as treachery to the memory of the man she’d loved with all her heart.

And if that thought didn’t hurt so much she’d be laughing at her own naïve foolishness.

Once more she closed her eyes and tried to sink into nothingness. It didn’t work.

Angry and tense because Jake’s presence kept jerking her back into the real world, she peered sideways, picking out places she recognised—various islands and the intertwined arms of sea and land. The helicopter rode through a sunlit canopy while darkness overtook the land, and in its wake sprang scatterings of golden pinpricks. Trying to keep her mind from fixing obsessively on the man in front, Aline named every cluster and string of lights.

At last it was too dark to see, and she closed her eyes again, only opening them when the helicopter banked.

They landed in a purple and indigo night that bloomed with stars. Jake pushed the door back and swung long legs down; turning, he beckoned Aline.

She fumbled with the seatbelt; once free she hunched her shoulders and eased herself across to the door. Jake didn’t move, and when she looked into his face he gave a sudden humourless smile and lifted her down. Frustrated by her involuntary response she stiffened, knocking her temple against the side of the opening.

It hurt, and she said, ‘Ouch,’ putting up a hand to the slight contusion as he carried her easily across the grass, setting her down well away from the helicopter.

‘What happened?’ he demanded, running his fingers through her hair to discover the small bump. Frowning, he traced its contours gently.

Shaken by his nearness and his unexpected gentleness, Aline stepped back and shook her head.

‘Stay there,’ he commanded, and strode back to collect two bags, hers and one that must have been waiting for him on the chopper.

‘Thank you,’ she said bleakly when he dumped them at her feet.

She picked them up and turned towards the dark bulk of a house. After two or three steps she realised he wasn’t with her. A swift glance over her shoulder revealed him unloading a couple of cartons from the helicopter.

Food, of course; he’d have organised it while she’d packed. No, he’d planned this holiday before he’d gone to Emma’s christening, so supplies would already have been seen to.

She dropped the bags and started to go back to help unload, but Jake, his rangy body outlined in light from the helicopter, had almost reached her. As he put the cartons down the helicopter rose like a squat, noisy beetle, its lights blinking steadily while it banked above them and then soared away.

Jake straightened up. ‘How’s your head?’ he asked abruptly. ‘No headache?’

‘No, it was just a small bump.’ She cleared her throat. ‘It’s fine.’

‘Welcome to my bach,’ he said, and took her hand.

Automatically Aline pulled back, but the warm, strong fingers didn’t release her. ‘The grass is uneven,’ he explained, scooping up the bags and urging her towards the house.

‘What about the cartons—?’

‘I’ll come back for them. Come on, you’re cold.’

‘I’m not.’

He brought her hand up to his face, pressing it for one tense second against heated skin and the subtle abrasion of his beard. That fleeting contact seared through every quickening cell in her body.

‘Definitely cold,’ he said calmly. ‘Let’s get inside.’

And because she didn’t want to get involved in an undignified tug of war she couldn’t win—not because his clasp was strangely comforting—she let her fingers lie in the warmth of his and walked beside him towards the house.

Behind them the chop-chop-chop of motors faded into silence. Stars pulsated above, far brighter than they ever were in the city. A cool breeze flirted across her face, heavy with the delicious perfume of mown grass. Every sense suddenly and painfully alert, Aline pretended to gaze around.

At the house Jake dropped her hand and unlocked a wide door. Pushing it open, he switched on a light inside the door and glanced down at her, his face oddly rigid in the bright flood of light. ‘Come in, Aline,’ he said with unusual formality.

‘I wouldn’t call this a bach,’ she remarked, hesitating a cowardly second before bracing her shoulders and walking inside. ‘It’s far too big and modern. How many bedrooms does it have?’

‘Four. I didn’t know that baches had to have a certain number of rooms to deserve the name.’ His voice was cool, entirely lacking in any undercurrents, but his eyes scrutinised her face with a perceptiveness that screamed an alarm inside her. ‘It’s built to be easy to look after, suitable for casual holidays, so as far as I’m concerned it’s a bach.’

‘It’s lovely,’ she said quickly, looking around with assumed interest.

Apprehension prickled through her. Jake had seen her desperate and hurting; would he use that pain and desperation against her?

Not that it mattered; later her pride might suffer, but for the moment she didn’t—wouldn’t—let herself care.

She just wished it had been any other man than Jake Howard who’d offered her a refuge.

Perhaps he felt some guilt for that scene with Lauren, but a sideways glance as he strode beside her along the wide, tiled hall dispelled that idea. Why should he? It hadn’t been his fault, and anyway, Jake didn’t look the sort of man who did guilt.

‘Let me see that bump.’

‘It’s perfectly all right,’ she said, voice sharpening. ‘I can’t even feel it now, and it didn’t break the skin.’

But he insisted on parting her black hair with exquisite care so that he could check it. Aline closed her eyes, only to open them swiftly when she found that darkness emphasised his faint male scent—salty and sensual—and the slow fire of his touch on her head. Tensely she bit her lip.

He released her, saying abruptly, ‘It’s going down already. You’re rocking on your feet. I’ll show you to your room and you can rest there if you like.’

‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘It was barely a bump.’

The room he showed her was huge; Aline stood staring at the vast bed as Jake opened windows, letting in a great swathe of fresh, salty air. ‘The bathroom’s through that door,’ he said, indicating one in the wall. ‘I’ll bring you something to drink.’

‘I don’t want—’

‘Aline,’ he said very softly, his face hard and watchful, ‘just let go, will you? You’ve been running on adrenalin and will-power ever since that bloody woman spilled her guts. A drink will ease a bit of that tension, and a decent meal will give you something to use for energy. At the moment you look like the princess in the tower—white and drawn and so tightly wound you’ll shatter if a mosquito lands on you.’

Her chin lifted. ‘I don’t need a drink to ease tension. I’m not in the habit of “spilling my guts”—’ her voice infused his phrase with delicate scorn ‘—to perfect strangers, thank you.’

He gave her a thin, unsparing smile. ‘That sounds more like the Aline Connor I know. Not even my mother said I was perfect, but as for being strangers—I don’t think so…’

Something mesmerising in his fierce eyes, in the deep voice, tightened around Aline and imprisoned her in a cage of indecision. Breath clogged her lungs; she heard the distant drumbeat of her pulse, slow and heavy and then faster, faster, as Jake took her face in his hands and tilted it to meet his uncompromising gaze. Two lean forefingers traced the black, winged length of her brows.

Eyes glittering with a crazy mixture of anger and hunger, Aline jerked her head back. ‘Let me go,’ she said, the words hoarse and laboured.

‘We’re not strangers, Aline,’ Jake said, laughing in his throat as he dropped his hands and stepped a pace away from her. ‘Far from it.’

Sickened by the shivering pleasure his expert touch had given her, she said crudely, ‘You said I wouldn’t have to sleep with you.’

‘And I meant it.’ He didn’t seem angry, although his eyes were calculating. ‘But I’m not going to let you lie to yourself. You know as well as I do that from the moment we met we’ve been acutely, uncomfortably and inconveniently conscious of each other. Sooner or later we’re going to do something about it.’

‘I won’t—’

‘Calm down.’ He said it so forcefully the words dried on her tongue. ‘I’ve already told you I’m not such an insensitive clod that I’d try to persuade you now. Come out when you’re ready.’

Aline waited until the door closed silently behind him before unpacking with rapid, angry energy, stacking her clothes in the walk-in wardrobe next to the bathroom.

Then she gazed around the room—large and light, furnished with a casual expertise that breathed skill and money—and found herself liking it very much.

Retreating, she showered, sighing when her tense muscles finally relaxed under the hot water. But by the time she’d towelled herself dry and dressed—the same black trousers topped this time by a soft silk shirt in the moody aquamarines and blues that went so well with her eyes—she was once more as tight as a coiled spring.

‘Stupid!’ she muttered between her teeth, picking up the hairdrier. ‘So, why wouldn’t the bathroom have everything a woman might need? Do you care?’

A twist of jealousy gave her an answer she didn’t like. Refusing to consider the highly suspect implications, she used the drier and her brush to free her hair of tangles before winding it firmly into its knot and venturing out of the sanctuary of her room.

‘Ah, back to normal,’ Jake said enigmatically, looking across the high bar that separated the kitchen from a huge living and dining area. ‘A pity—I liked that wild, uncaged look.’

She frowned, shocked anew by the pulse of response through her. He’d changed too, his long legs and narrow hips shaped by casual trousers, with a tawny, superbly cut cotton shirt clinging to his wide shoulders. Rolled sleeves revealed tanned forearms, and damp hair fell across his brow as he stirred something that smelt delicious.

‘The wild uncaged look doesn’t fit into corporate life,’ she said evenly. ‘Can I help?’

‘Can you cook?’

‘I can stir,’ she retorted, irritated at the defensive undertone to the words.

He laughed. ‘It’s all right—I’ve got dinner organised.’ He set the spoon down and put a lid on the saucepan, then emerged through the doorway and strode across to a sideboard where a tray held a bottle of champagne and two tall flutes.

Aline shuddered. After this afternoon she didn’t think she’d ever be able to drink champagne again without recalling Lauren. She said tautly, ‘A man who can cook—wonderful!’

‘All the great chefs are men,’ he said, still amused.

‘Not any longer they’re not.’

Smiling, he eased the cork from the bottle. His charismatic mixture of confidence and grace and authority made everything he did seem easy.

Aline glanced at the bottle; this wasn’t merely champagne, it was superb French champagne. ‘Are you trying to impress me?’ she asked, a cynical smile touching her mouth.

Gleaming gold eyes scanned her face with cool interest. ‘Could I?’

CHAPTER THREE

A HEATED recklessness gripped Aline. Tomorrow she’d regret this, but she replied, ‘No, you’re not trying to impress; that armour-plated confidence is tough enough for you to ignore what anyone thinks.’

Especially a woman he’d seen comprehensively humiliated. Jake probably felt sorry for her, she thought, outraged pride gouging more holes in her disintegrating armour.

‘I do have some respect for some people’s opinions,’ he said dryly.

‘But none for public opinion.’

‘A hundred and fifty years ago public opinion held that women were unfit to vote.’ His smile was ironic. ‘Most women believed that too. So, no, I don’t listen to public opinion.’

He had the sort of mind that stimulated her, made her want to sharpen her own wits against his. Stubbornly she kept silent as he poured the pale gold liquid into the flutes—lean, tanned hands, strong and deft, capable and expert…

‘We should drink a toast,’ Jake said. When she looked up sharply he handed her a glass with an enigmatic smile. ‘To the truth.’

Aline’s mouth twisted. “‘And the truth shall make you free”?’ she scoffed before she drank. Bitterness spiked her words as she set the glass down onto the polished wood table with an audible click. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Would you rather still be chained by comfortable lies?’ Jake asked sardonically. ‘You surprise me.’

Her eyelashes quivered but she kept staring into the glass. Tiny bubbles beaded and winked, rising in columns to the surface of the champagne. ‘Why?’

‘Surely you’d rather deal with a painful truth than live a lie.’ He waited, and when she said nothing he added deliberately, ‘You’ve always struck me as being as strong and fine as spun steel. Only weaklings hide behind convenient falsehoods.’

Aline lifted the glass to her lips again. Although some detached part of her brain conveyed to her that the champagne was dry and exquisite, it might have been sour milk for all the pleasure she took in it. ‘I’m gratified you think I’m strong,’ she said, folding her lips on the other words that threatened to tumble out and angry with herself for saying that much. Vulnerability brought predators prowling.

Sure enough, Jake’s glance sharpened. ‘But?’

She summoned a light, casual shrug and a cool smile. ‘Sometimes it’s the only thing a person’s got going for them, and steel is utilitarian stuff.’

His brows met over the blade of his nose. ‘The world runs on utilitarian stuff,’ he said dispassionately, watching her with unsettling curiosity. ‘Steel, coal, oil, trees felled to make paper, metals dug from the ground, food grown in the earth. Are you a closet romantic, Aline, yearning for moonbeams?’

‘No,’ she said with a brittle lack of emphasis, tight shoulders moving uneasily under his intent golden scrutiny. She thought to sip some more champagne, but put the glass down untouched. The last thing she needed was a head clouded by bubbles.

The glimmer of starlight on the sea gave her an opportunity; she walked across to uncurtained windows and gazed out. ‘What a lovely spot you have here.’

It was a clumsily obvious ploy, but to her relief he let her get away with it. Ten minutes later they were discussing a controversial takeover that had been exercising the minds of financial journalists for the past week.

Usually Aline could do this sort of thing without thinking, but tonight Jake’s trenchant, perceptive comments kept prodding her brain out of neutral; by the time dinner was ready she realised with sick shame that she hadn’t thought of Michael for at least an hour.

At first she ate the scallop and noodle salad automatically, hardly tasting the sophisticated lime juice and sesame oil dressing, but soon the bite of chilli and fresh ginger and the smooth richness of the scallops shook her tastebuds awake.

‘That was delicious,’ she said with real appreciation when she’d finished. ‘You’re not just a man who can cook—you’re a superb cook.’

‘Thank you,’ he said laconically.

Aline watched as he collected the plates and took them into the kitchen. The combination of food and champagne and impersonal yet exhilarating conversation, the strange novelty of being cosseted and cared for, both stimulated and lulled her into a languid mood.

Jake was dangerous. When all she’d wanted to do was hide for the rest of her life he’d forced her senses and mind into enjoyable alertness. Simply by being himself—a compelling, attractive man—he’d broken through the bitterness of betrayal.

Heat surged from deep inside her, stinging her skin, clouding reason and logic in fumes of sensation. Shakily she got up and walked across the big room, pushing back the folding doors to gulp in cool air, moist from the sea, lush with the scent of greenery. She didn’t want to feel, to cope, to recover; for once in her life she longed to hide and howl at her emptiness.

When Jake came in from the kitchen carrying a couple of serving dishes she asked with tight formality, ‘Do you mind if I leave the doors open?’

‘No,’ he said, setting the dishes down. He straightened and stood watching her as she came towards her.

Something about his stillness, the metallic light in his golden eyes, the controlled lines of his sculpted mouth, chased ripples of unease across Aline’s skin. Lightly, steadily she said, ‘I was suspiciously close to nodding off, and I don’t want to miss any of this superb dinner.’

His smile was enigmatic. ‘Then sit down and eat it.’

An hour later she sighed, ‘No, no coffee, thank you. That was a wonderful feast. Where on earth did you learn to cook—or were you a chef in a previous incarnation?’

‘I couldn’t afford to eat out when I was at university,’ he said, getting up and holding out his hand to her. ‘So I learnt how to make a decent meal. I like to be good at what I do.’

Oh, she believed him. At everything he did, she thought, trying to banish an image of him making love, bronzed skin gleaming…

‘Who taught you?’ She let her hand lie in his, adding with a brittle smile, ‘The current girlfriend, I suppose.’

‘A restaurant.’

He let her go, but before she had time to feel bereft he supported her elbow in an easy grip, startlingly warm through the fine silk of her sleeve.

Shamed by the untamed frisson of need zigzagging through her, she said, ‘A restaurant altruistic enough to give lessons in gourmet cooking to penniless university students? If only I’d known about it I might be able to cook something more sophisticated than scrambled eggs.’

‘If you can make a good fist of those you can cook anything,’ he said, steering her towards the seating area. ‘I started in the kitchen as a part-time hand and gradually rose through the ranks. By the time I finished my degree I was allowed to cook the odd dish if the chef was in a good mood and there weren’t too many customers that night.’

Something—probably the second glass of champagne she’d been unwise enough to drink—persuaded her to confess, ‘I can produce very basic meals, but that’s all.’

‘Yes,’ he said austerely, ‘you look as though you survive on salads. Don’t you enjoy cooking?’

She shrugged, collapsing into a sofa that faced the wide open doors. ‘My sister was the domestic daughter. She could conjure a fantastic meal from some stale cheese, a couple of lettuce leaves and a spoonful of chutney, so she went to gourmet cooking classes while I collected degrees. I was going to follow my father into his business.’

He switched off the lights.

‘What are you doing?’ she demanded, jerking bolt upright.

‘Any moment now you’ll see the moon rise over the Coromandel Peninsula. It’s worth watching.’ His amused tone further unsettled her.

However, when she heard the soft sounds of him settling into a chair close by she relaxed her taut body, turning her head to look at the little bay. Miles away, over a waste of sea that trembled in the starshine, a faint glow outlined a high hill.

Out of the darkness Jake asked casually, ‘So did you follow your father into the business?’

‘No.’

Silence stretched between them until he prompted, ‘What happened?’

‘My sister and mother were killed in a car accident.’ Aline looked down at her lap and carefully untangled her knotted fingers. ‘My father sold the business and used the money to set up a foundation in their memory.’ She paused, before finishing evenly, ‘And then he killed himself.’

Because she kept her eyes fixed onto the scene outside, she neither heard Jake move nor saw him. As moonlight rimmed the horizon in silver she felt the sofa cushions give beside her. Her skin burned with primitive awareness and she had to concentrate on her breathing.

‘A cruel and cowardly thing to do.’ His voice was corrosively contemptuous.

‘It’s all right,’ she said calmly, holding herself upright to fight an abject weakness that craved the warmth and the solid support of his powerful body. ‘I understood. He loved them very much.’

Jake’s silence had a forbidding undercurrent. She finished, ‘It was almost six years ago; I’ve got over it.’

‘So well that you have to gird yourself up when you speak of it?’ he asked coolly. He ran a swift, unsparing hand the length of her spine from her shoulder to her waist. ‘Pure steel,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Did you cry for them?’

‘I’m not a freak! Of course I cried for them.’ Aline fought back the spurt of anger to add more temperately, ‘But you can’t cry for ever. Sooner or later you have to leave the past behind.’

‘Something your father was too cowardly to do, apparently.’ His scathing tone revealed his lack of sympathy for those who wallowed in grief. Instead of returning to his chair, he leaned back into the cushions.

Aline stole a swift sideways glance as she inched away from him until stopped by the arm of the sofa. The moon had risen, filling the night with a glowing, coppery radiance that turned in a breath to silver. Against the light Jake’s profile outlined power and force, controlled yet dangerous.

He said, ‘Tell me about your husband. What made him set up that trust?’

Even as he said the words he wondered savagely what the hell he thought he was doing. She’d had too many betrayals in her life and here he was contemplating the possibility of another.

Night-attuned eyes scanned the pale oval of her face, turned resolutely to the rising moon. With her shoulders squared at right angles to a wand-straight spine, her tilted chin, Aline’s whole body expressed a slender, indomitable refusal to surrender. He felt her resentment, knew that the large turquoise eyes would be flat and opaque.

That inconvenient protectiveness—more debilitating than the restless lust that stirred his groin—almost made him give up, but he’d made a promise.

Expecting a flat refusal, a curt suggestion to mind his own business, he was surprised when she answered. ‘Hope Carmichael reminds me a bit of Michael—partly it’s the colouring, so warm, as though the sun’s always shining on them. My sister and mother were like that too—they attracted people like magnets and wherever they went they brought laughter and empathy with them like gifts.’

Jake watched her unblinkingly. Buried deep beneath the cool, level tone was a resigned envy, as though her own talents were worth nothing; her father’s legacy, probably.

Jake found himself thoroughly disliking the man who’d convinced her she wasn’t worth staying alive for.

He enjoyed women, but none had intrigued him like Aline, hiding her passionate intensity beneath a guarded self-possession. He wanted that caged passion for himself.

Now, however, was not the time. Ruthlessly tamping down his familiar hunger, he observed, ‘And Michael Connor?’ She stayed stubbornly silent, so he remarked, ‘As well as a superb yachtsman, he was a brilliant photographer. I’ve seen his Oceans collection.’