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Available this month:

The Billionaire’s Virgin Mistress

by Sandra Field

Available only from Harlequin Presents®.

Sandra Field
THE BILLIONAIRE’S VIRGIN MISTRESS

Contents

All about the author…

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

All about the author…
Sandra Field

Although born in England, SANDRA FIELD has lived most of her life in Canada. She says the silence and emptiness of the North in particular speaks to her. While she enjoys traveling and passing on her sense of a new place, she often chooses to write about the city that is now her home. She’s been very fortunate for years to be able to combine a love of travel (particularly to the North—she doesn’t do heat well) with her writing, by describing settings that most people will probably never visit.

Kayaking and canoeing, hiking and gardening, listening to music and reading are all sources of great pleasure. But best of all are good friends, some going back to her high-school days, and her family. She has a beautiful daughter-in-law and the two most delightful, handsome and intelligent grandchildren in the world (of course!).

Sandra has always loved to read, fascinated by the lure of being drawn into the other world of the story. Her first book was published as To Trust My Love. Sandra says, “I write out of my experience. I have learned that love, with its joys and its pains, is all-important. I hope this knowledge enriches my writing, and touches a chord in you, the reader.”

CHAPTER ONE

AS THE Malagash Island ferry eased into the dock, Cade Lorimer turned on the ignition of his beloved Maserati and prepared himself for what would undoubtedly be an unpleasant interview.

Saluting the ferry attendant, he drove up the metal ramp onto the narrow highway. He knew exactly where he was going. He owned most of the island, after all. An island now awash in early September sunlight, its thickets of evergreens hugging the cliffs, the sea sparkling as it dashed itself against the rocks.

He was here at the request of Del, his adoptive father. Here on a fool’s errand, one that could lead to nothing but trouble—because the woman he was to track down was, in theory, Del’s granddaughter.

Del’s granddaughter? That had to be the joke of the century. She was a fake. Of course she was.

According to Del she’d been born in Madrid, and had spent most of her life in Europe. Yet for the last eleven months she’d been living a mere forty miles from Del’s summer mansion on the coast of Maine.

Cade didn’t believe in coincidence. Tess Ritchie was an imposter who’d heard of Del’s considerable fortune and was biding her time to lay claim to it.

So it was up to him to stop her. And stop her he would.

On the meadows above the road, three deer were peacefully grazing; Cade’s eyes flicked over them, barely registering their presence. Del—so he’d said—had known about Tess ever since she was born, had supported her financially for her entire life, but had never been in touch with her directly or breathed a word about her existence to anyone.

Through local gossip, Cade had long ago found out about Del’s biological son, Cory, the black sheep of the family who was, supposedly, Tess Ritchie’s father. Del had never breathed a word about Cory’s existence, either.

The two best kept secrets on the eastern seaboard, Cade thought, his fingers drumming the soft leather on the steering wheel. If by any chance Tess Ritchie wasn’t a fake, then she was related to Del by blood. As he, Cade, was not.

This simple fact rankled; he resented even the possibility of Del having a granddaughter. Stupid of him, no doubt. But wasn’t his reaction one more indication of how he’d always felt cheated of any true connection to Del?

Cade rolled down the window, the breeze tugging at his hair. Another minute or two and he’d be there. The investigator’s report had stated that Tess Ritchie was renting a converted fish shack just past the village.

The investigator was one Cade himself had used; his reputation was impeccable. But this time, he was out to lunch.

As for strategy, Cade figured he’d wing it once he was face-to-face with Tess Ritchie. For sure, he’d have to fight her off. The woman wasn’t born who could resist Del’s money, let alone Cade’s far more substantial wealth. Billionaire had a certain ring, he had to admit.

So there were two rich men in the family. Yeah, he’d have to fight her off.

He rounded a corner, and there, on the shore of the cove, was a fish shack that had been turned into a small winterized cabin. An image of Moorings, Del’s summer place, flashed across Cade’s mind; Del wanted him to bring Tess Ritchie to Moorings on the return trip. The contrast with the fish shack was so laughable that Cade’s anger jumped another notch.

He turned down the dirt track to the cabin. No car parked outside and no sign of life. Tess Ritchie worked full-time, Tuesday to Saturday, at the local library, that much Cade knew; it was why he’d arrived well before nine on a Saturday morning.

He drew up outside the cabin and climbed out of his car. Waves murmured on the shingled beach; a pair of gulls soared overhead, their wings limned in light. Filling his lungs with cool salt air, Cade briefly forgot his errand in a moment of sheer pleasure. His own love of the sea was a rare bond between him and Del.

With an impatient sigh, he strode over to the door—painted an ebullient shade of yellow—knocked hard and knew instinctively that the silence on the other side of the door was the silence of emptiness. Fool’s errand, indeed. She wasn’t even home.

On ponderous gray wings a heron flew past; and to Cade’s ears came the rattle of footsteps on the pebbles. Swiftly he circled the cabin. A woman wearing brief shorts and a tank top was jogging toward him along the crest of the beach. She was agile, tanned and lithe, her hair jammed under a vivid orange baseball cap.

Then she caught sight of him. She stopped dead in her tracks, her breast heaving from exertion, and for the space of ten full seconds they stared at each other across the expanse of pebbled beach.

At a much slower pace, which was imbued with reluctance—or was it fear? Cade wondered—she started toward him.

On his way to the cabin, he’d pictured a bleached blonde with a slash of red lipstick and a lush, in-your-face body. He’d been wrong. About as wrong as he could be. His mouth dry, his eyes intent, he watched her come to a halt twenty feet away from him, her back to the sun.

No lipstick. A sheen of sweat on her face, most of which was shadowed by the oversize brim of her cap. Workmanlike sneakers on her feet, and legs to die for. He stepped closer and saw her, almost imperceptibly, shrink away from him. She said sharply, “Are you lost? The village is back that way.”

“Are you Tess Ritchie?”

“Yes.”

“My name’s Cade Lorimer. I need to talk to you.”

He could easily have missed the tiny flicker of response that crossed her features as he said his name, so swift was it, and as swiftly subdued. Oh, yes, he thought, you’re good. Just not quite good enough.

“I’m sorry,” she said, not sounding at all sorry, “I don’t know you and I don’t have the time to talk to you—I need to get ready for work.”

“I think, when you know why I’m here, you’ll make the time,” he said softly.

“Then you think wrong. If you really want to see me, come to the public library. Half a mile down the road, across from the post office. I’ll be there until five this afternoon. And now if you’ll excuse me—”

“Lorimer,” Cade said. “The name doesn’t ring a bell?”

“Why should it?”

“Del Lorimer is my father—he’s the one who sent me here. His other son—Cory—was your father.”

Her body went rigid. In a staccato voice, she said, “How do you know my father’s name?”

“Let’s go inside. As I said, we have things to talk about.”

But she was backing away, step by step, her gaze glued to his face. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said, her fists clenched by her side so tightly that the knuckles were white.

Terror, Cade thought, puzzled. Why the hell would she be terrified of him? She should be jumping up and down for joy that Del Lorimer had finally sent someone to seek her out. “If you don’t want to go inside,” he said, “we can talk out here. There’s lots of time—the library doesn’t open for an hour and a half.”

“Talk about what?”

“Your grandfather. Wendel—better know as Del—Lorimer. Who just happens to spend his summers forty miles down the coast. Don’t tell me you don’t know about him because I won’t believe you.”

“You’re out of your mind,” she whispered. “I don’t have a grandfather. My grandparents died years ago—not that that’s any of your business. Whatever your game is, Mr. Lorimer, I don’t like it. Please leave. And don’t come back, or I’ll set the police on you.”

The sheriff on Malagash Island was a longtime friend of Cade’s. He should have come up with a strategy, Cade thought irritably, because this wasn’t going the way he’d imagined it would. “Who told you your grandparents died?”

A tiny shiver rippled through her body; she hugged her arms to her chest. “Go away—just leave me alone.”

“We have several options here, but that’s not one of them.” Cade’s jaw tightened. Above her thin tank top, he could see the enticing shadow of her cleavage. Her arms were smoothly muscled, her fingers long and narrow. Ringless, he noticed, and in a sudden spurt of rage recalled the Lorimer family diamonds.

He’d had enough of this ridiculous fencing. In a blur of movement, he closed the distance between them, gripped her by the arms and said forcefully, “Your grandfather sent me. Cory Lorimer’s father.”

Ducking her head, she kicked out at him, as vicious and unexpected as a snake. As Cade automatically evaded the slash of her foot, she tore free and took off at a run up the slope.

In five fast strides, Cade caught up with her, grabbed her by the shoulder and tugged her around to face him. But before he could say anything, her body went limp in his hold. Oh, yeah, he thought cynically, oldest trick in the book. Digging his fingers into her shoulder because she was a dead weight, he wrapped the other arm around her waist.

Then, to his dismay, he realized it wasn’t a trick. She’d fainted, a genuine, no-fooling faint. Face paper-white, eyes shut, body boneless. With a muttered curse, he lowered her to the ground and thrust her head between her knees.

So the terror had been real. What in God’s name was going on? Impulsively he pulled the ball cap off her head, loosing a tumble of dark chestnut curls from which the sun teased streaks of gold. It was soft between his fingers, silky smooth. She was too thin, he thought. But her skin was like silk, too.

Then she stirred, muttering something under her breath. He said with a calmness he was far from feeling, “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have frightened you like that.”

He could hear her trying to steady her breath; the small sounds smote him with compunction. He added, “I’ve never in my life terrified a woman into fainting—not my style. Which is something you’ll have to take on trust. Look, let’s start again. I have a very important message for you, one I’ve promised to deliver. But we can do this outside, so you’ll feel safe.”

Slowly Tess raised her head, her hair falling around her face. She needed a haircut, she thought distantly. Time to get out the scissors and hack the ends off.

The man was still there. Through her tumbled curls she saw hair black as the ravens that flocked the beaches, eyes the harsh gray of the cliffs that ringed the island. His face was carved like the cliffs—hard, unyielding, craggy. And undeniably, terrifyingly male.

A stranger. But worse than a stranger, she thought with a superstitious shiver. Her fate. Dark, dangerous and full of secrets.

Pushing her hair back, terror rising in her throat again so that she could scarcely breathe, she said raggedly, “I’ve nothing here worth stealing. No money, and I don’t do drugs, I swear I don’t.”

Cade Lorimer said blankly, “Your eyes. They’re green.”

Panic-stricken, she gaped at him. Con artist, or certifiably mad? What did green eyes have to do with anything? She pushed hard against him and said frantically, “There’s nothing here for you. Cory’s dead—he’s been dead for years. Can’t you just leave me in peace?”

Cade’s heart was thudding in his chest; her words scarcely registered. In all his life, he’d only known one other person with eyes that true, deep green, the green of wet leaves in springtime. That person was Del Lorimer.

She must be Del’s granddaughter. She had to be. “Do you wear contact lenses?” he rapped.

Temper streaked with a flash of humor came to her rescue, briefly subduing fear. “Which mental ward have you escaped from? You’re here to rob me and you want to know if I wear contacts?”

“Just answer me,” Cade said brusquely. “Your eyes—are they really green?”

“Of course they are—what sort of stupid question is that?”

“The only question that matters,” he said heavily. So she wasn’t a fake; he’d been way off base. That wasn’t his style, either.

As for her, her whole body was taut with tension; she was looking at him as warily as if he really was an escapee from a mental institution. Or a thief, the other accusation she’d thrown at him.

Logically he should explain the significance of her eye color. But he wasn’t quite ready to do that. “I’m no thief—I have all the money I need,” Cade said, “and I’m entirely sane. As for drugs, I’ve never touched them—more than enough excitement in day-to-day living without dosing myself with chemical additives.” He hesitated, then added with huge reluctance, “I’m here to give you something, not to take anything away.”

“There’s nothing you can give me that I would want,” she said stonily. “Nothing.”

“How can you say that, when you haven’t heard me out?” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “The first step is for both of us to stand up, how about it?”

He took her by the elbow. The coolness of her skin seeped into his pores; her nearness sent heat licking along his veins, liquid heat, primitive and lethal. Oh, no, he thought, appalled. He wasn’t going to lust after Del’s granddaughter. That really wasn’t in the cards.

But as he eased her upright, his senses were assaulted by her body’s fragility, and by the scent of lavender, delicate and uncomplicated, that drifted from her skin. Again desire ravaged him, unasked for, totally unwelcome. With all the willpower at his command, a willpower honed over the years, Cade kept his face an unrevealing mask and forced himself to relax.

Shrugging off his fleece vest, he wrapped it around her shoulders. “You’re cold,” he said. “Go inside and get something warm on. You could call the police, too—Dan Pollard’s the sheriff’s name, I’ve known him for years. Give him a description, and he’ll vet me. Then we’ll talk.”

Tess swallowed. Cade Lorimer was standing too close to her, much too close. But while there was concern in his voice, and remorse overlying the gray depths of his gaze, she had the strong sense that both these emotions were, at best, superficial. Lorimer, she thought, and shuddered. How could she trust anyone with the same last name as Cory, her father? “I’ll call the police right away,” she said flatly. “Don’t follow me into the house.”

A gull screamed overhead as she walked steadily toward the cabin. The door shut decisively behind her, and Cade heard the snap of the lock. Restlessly he began prowling up and down. If she really was Del’s granddaughter, why had she never contacted Del? She’d been here for nearly a year, and not once had she put the touch on him. So what kind of game was she playing? Lying to him, telling him both her grandparents were dead, acting as though he, Cade, was a combination of Attila the Hun and Hannibal Lector.

What was taking her so long?

Swiftly he walked around the back of the cabin, wondering if he’d fallen for the second oldest trick in the book—escape via the back door. But through the plate glass windows that overlooked a small deck and the ocean, he could see Tess Ritchie inside the cabin, her back to him as she did something at the stove. Declining to spy on her, Cade turned and stared out to sea.

No answers there.

The back door scraped open. Tess said, “I’ve made coffee. I’ll give you sixteen minutes of my time and not a minute more.”

“Did you phone the sheriff?”

As she gave a choppy nod, Cade pulled up one of the cheap plastic chairs and sat down. She set a tray on the low table. Her movements swift, she poured two mugs of steaming coffee and pushed a plate of muffins toward him. “Homemade?” he asked casually.

“Blueberry. I picked the berries two weeks ago. I’ve lived here nearly a year—why did you pick today to turn up?”

He knew exactly how long she’d lived here. “A month ago my grandfather had a minor heart attack. It scared the pants off him—his first intimation that he, like everyone else, is mortal. That’s when he hired an investigator to—”

“An investigator?”

The terror was back, full force, nor was she making any effort to mask it. “That’s right,” Cade said, all his suspicions resurfacing. “Del wanted to discover your whereabouts. Eventually the investigator came up with this location. You must have known of Del’s existence, or why else would you be living so close?”

Tess buried her nose in her mug, inhaling the pungency of the dark Colombian blend. “I’m living on the island because I was offered a job here and I love the sea.” And because, she thought, it was a very long way from Amsterdam. “Why would Cory lie, telling me both my grandparents were dead?” she flashed. “My grandfather died years ago, in New York City. Not long after, my grandmother succumbed to pneumonia.”

“Was Cory a truthful man?”

Her fingers tightened around the handle of her mug. “He had no reason to lie.”

“He did lie. Del’s very much alive and wants to meet you. That’s why I’m here—to bring that about.”

Coffee sloshed over the rim of her mug. “No.”

“You haven’t even heard me out.”

“I don’t want to meet him! Ever. Go home and tell him that, and don’t either of you bother me again.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“Maybe you should try looking at it from my point of view,” she snapped, color flagging her cheeks.

Cade looked at her in silence. Her cheekbones flared like wings; her lips were a soft and voluptuous curve, infinitely enticing, while her eyes, so exotically shaped, so vivid in hue, drew him like a magnet. She was—he knew this without a shadow of doubt—the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

He’d seen—and bedded—more than a few beautiful women.

“So what is your point of view?” he said in a hard voice.

Fractionally she hesitated. “I disliked my father,” she said evenly. “Disliked and distrusted him. I therefore have no wish to meet his father—a man who, let’s be frank, has ignored my existence for twenty-two years.”

Cade leaned forward, clipping off his words. “He’s supported you financially for twenty-two years. Or are you forgetting that?”

She gave an incredulous laugh. “Supported me? Are you kidding?”

“Every month of your life, money’s been deposited in a Swiss account for your use.”

She banged her mug on the table; more coffee spilled over the rim. “You’re lying—I’ve never seen a penny of that money.”

“Or are you lying?” Cade said with dangerous softness. “There’s a lot more money where that came from.”

She surged to her feet. “Don’t insult me—I wouldn’t touch Lorimer money! It’s the last thing I need.”

Cade stood up, too, and deliberately let his gaze wander over the plastic furniture and the roughly shingled walls of the little cabin. “Doesn’t look that way to me.”

“Money,” she spat, “you think it can buy everything? Look around you, Cade Lorimer. I go to sleep at night to the sound of the waves. I watch the tides come and go, the shorebirds feed, the deer wander over the hill. I’m free here, I’m in control of my own life and I’m finally learning to be happy—and no one’s going to take that from me. No one! Including Del Lorimer.”

Abruptly Tess ran out of words. Dammit, she thought, why did I spout off like that? I never talk about myself to anyone. And then to bare my soul to Cade Lorimer, of all people. A man who screams danger from every pore.

He was watching her, those storm-gray eyes focused on her, intent as a hunter who sees movement in the underbrush. “One of us is lying,” he said, “and it isn’t me.”

“Then why are you so anxious to introduce me to my grandfather?” she said sweetly, “if I’m nothing but a money-grubbing liar?”

“Because he asked me to.”

“Oh, so you dance to his tune? But of course, I’m forgetting, he’s a very rich man.”

Cade’s breath hissed between his teeth. Had he ever known a woman to get so easily under his skin? “Del gave me a secure and happy childhood,” he grated, “and taught me a great deal over the years. Now he’s old and he’s sick, and it’s payback time.”

Tess said, going on intuition, “You didn’t mean to tell me that, did you? Any more that I meant to sound off about freedom and happiness.”

Infuriated by her accuracy, Cade picked up his mug and drained it. “You make a mean cup of coffee, Tess Ritchie,” he said with a wolfish grin. “In your lunch hour, go on the Internet and look up Lorimer Inc.—check me and Del out, get a few facts. I’m taking you out for dinner after work. I’ll pick you up here, sharp at six-thirty, and we’ll continue this conversation.”

She raised brows as elegant as wings. “Are you giving me orders?”

“You catch on fast.”

“I have my faults, but stupidity isn’t among them.”

“I didn’t think it was,” he said dryly.

“Good. Then you’ll understand why I’m not going out for dinner with you. Goodbye, Mr. Lorimer. It’s been…interesting.”

“So interesting that I’m not about to say goodbye. Come off it, Tess—you’re certainly smart enough to know I won’t vanish just because it suits you. Six-thirty. If nothing else, you’ll get a free meal at the hotel, prepared by one of the finest chefs along the coast.” His smile bared his teeth. “Besides, I’ve been told I’m a passable dinner date. Now hadn’t you better get ready for work instead of standing there staring at me with your mouth open? I wouldn’t want you to be late.”

“I’m not—”

He took the two steps off the deck in a single stride, loped around the corner of the cabin, got in his car and roared up the slope.

He’d gotten away from her without touching her again. For which he deserved a medal. And he knew exactly what he was going to do next. A self-imposed task, the potential results rather more important than he liked.

CHAPTER TWO

CAREFULLY Cade steered the Maserati between the potholes in Tess’s driveway. He was twenty-five minutes early. Only, he assured himself, because he’d completed his task, and the paperback novel he’d brought with him had failed to hold his attention.

Nothing to do with Tess, and the itch under his skin to see her again.

He climbed out of his car and knocked on her door. No answer. He knocked again, feeling his nerves tighten. Had he been a fool to take her for granted, and assume she’d be meekly waiting for him? She was no pushover. If she didn’t want to see him again, she’d take measures to put that into effect.

He tried the door, which, to his surprise, opened smoothly. Stepping inside, he closed it behind him. Ella Fitzgerald was crooning on the stereo; the shower was running full-blast.

Tess was home. She hadn’t run away.

It shouldn’t matter to him as much as it did.

Cade looked around, taking his time. Clothes were flung over the chair: a black dress, hose and sleek black underwear that raised his blood pressure a full notch. Dragging his eyes away, he took in the cheerful hooked rugs dotting the worn pineboard floor, and an array of cushions that brightened the sagging chesterfield. Books overflowed the homemade shelves. The room was spotlessly clean.

Absolutely no evidence that she’d ever had any access to Del’s allowance, or to any other substantial source of money, Cade thought. Basically it was the room of someone who lived off a minimal paycheck.

Someone who’d be far from immune to the Lorimers’ wealth.

The CD came to an end. He flipped through a stack of discs, discovering old favorites of his own, intrigued by how eclectic a collection it was. He selected a CD and snapped open the cover.

The shower shut off. As he leaned down to push the play button, a door opened behind him and he heard the soft pad of bare feet on the wooden floor. He turned around.

Tess shrieked with alarm, clutching the towel to her breasts. Her hair was wrapped in another towel, turban-fashion, emphasizing her slender throat and those astonishing cheekbones; her shoulders were pearled with water and her legs went on forever. He wanted her, Cade thought. Wanted her here and now. Fiercely and without any thought for the consequences.

He wasn’t going to do a damn thing about it. For starters, she was Del’s granddaughter and strictly off-limits. Plus—more importantly—he was far from convinced she was as innocent as she looked. Too much money was at stake.

She said shakily, “You’re early.”

“I did knock. The door wasn’t locked.”

“I usually don’t bother locking it. Although I guess I should when you’re around.”

He said hoarsely, “Tess—”

“Don’t come near me!”

The terror was back full force. “Sometime—soon—you’re going to tell me why I frighten you so badly,” he said. “I made a dinner reservation for seven—charming though you look right now, a towel won’t cut it.”

Her heart was still racketing in her chest. Sure, he’d startled her. But it was more than that. In his light gray suit, blue shirt and silk tie, Cade looked formidably sophisticated and wholly, disturbingly male. Not to mention sexy, a word she avoided like the plague.

She was the nearest thing to naked.

Power, she thought slowly, that’s what he breathed; although he was quite possibly unaware of it. Power. Money. Sexual charisma. All three put his danger quotient off the chart.

She didn’t do sex.

To her horror, she heard herself blurt, “If Del Lorimer’s my grandfather, that makes you my uncle.” This all-too-obvious fact hadn’t struck her until five minutes after Cade had driven away from her cabin this morning.

“I’m Del’s adopted son,” Cade said curtly. “No blood relation to your grandfather at all. Or to you.” Just as well, he thought savagely, given the way his hormones were acting up.

Adopted. Not a blood relative. But not her fate, either, Tess thought in a sudden snap of fury. Merely a man who was a total stranger to her, and who would remain just that—a stranger.

Unfortunately her thoughts didn’t stop there. Because she’d grown up in an environment where she could trust nothing, she’d always endeavored to remain honest with herself. If she were to be honest now, relief had been her predominant emotion that Cade Lorimer wasn’t related to her by blood; close on its heels had been utter dismay at all the implications of that relief.

It didn’t matter who Cade was. She just didn’t do sex.

Deeply grateful he couldn’t read her mind, she said tartly, “So you’re an adopted son. If I’m the newly discovered granddaughter, aren’t you afraid I’ll supplant you?”

“No,” Cade said coldly, and watched her lower her lashes, her face unreadable.

Then she looked up, meeting his gaze in unspoken challenge. “My clothes are on the chair,” she said. “Turn your back.”

Unwillingly admiring her spirit, he tore his eyes from the silken slopes of her bare shoulders and did as she asked. “You okay with this music?”

“Meatloaf, Verdi, Diana Krall,” she said wildly, “play what you like. And I’m not wearing a towel for dinner, I’m wearing a dress. The only one I own, so if it’s not up to your standards, too bad.”

“You’d look gorgeous wearing burlap.”

“Mr. Cade Flattery Lorimer,” she retorted, picking up her clothes and holding them like a shield in front of her.

Suddenly angry, Cade turned to face her. “I mean it. Look in the mirror, for God’s sake—you’re an extraordinarily beautiful woman.”

Her jaw dropped. “I’m too skinny and my hair’s a mess.”

He grinned at her, a mocking grin sparked with so much energy that it took her breath away. “Slender, not skinny,” he drawled. “Although you’re right about the hair—a good cut would do wonders.”

“What is your angle? If money doesn’t work, try sex?”

“What a wildcat you are. Hissing and spitting if anyone gets near you.”

“Whereas you’re like a panther! Sleek and dangerous.”

She hadn’t meant to say that. Only to think it.

“Now who’s pouring on the flattery?” Cade said. “Get dressed and dry that mop of hair, or we’ll be late for dinner.”

Oddly enough, beneath a storm of emotions she couldn’t possibly have labeled, Tess was very hungry. Scowling, she marched out of the room with as much dignity as she could muster when swathed in an old blue bath towel, and shut her bedroom door with more than necessary force. For the first time in her life, she wished she owned a real dress. Something out of Vogue, stunningly simple, reeking of money and sophistication.

With a vicious snap she switched on her hair dryer. She didn’t have time to cut her hair, but she was going to slather on eye shadow and mascara. For courage, she thought, picking up her brush.

Because wasn’t one of the several reasons she’d decided to keep this dinner date the simple fact that running away was the coward’s way out?

In the last few years, she’d done too much running.

Cade had put on Mozart by the time Tess walked back into the living room. Taking his time, he looked her up and down, noticing instantly that her fingernails were digging into her palms, and her jaw was tight. Her dress was a plain black sheath, teamed with sheer black hose and stiletto heels. She’d swept her tangle of hair into a knot high on her head; clustered black beads dangled from her earlobes. Her mouth—his own went dry—was a luscious raspberry-red. He said, “Beautiful’s such an overused word—you take my breath away.”

Her heart lurched in her breast. She said coolly, “I made my dress from a remnant that was on sale. The shoes come from Second Time Around—I only hope the original owner won’t be eating dinner at the hotel.”

“I bet she never looked that good in them.”

“You’re too kind.”

Part of her liked this verbal banter, Tess thought uneasily. Quelling a stab of fear, she took a white mohair sweater from the cupboard, flung it around her shoulders and stalked out the door.

Cade’s car smelled of leather; he drove with smooth competence, making small talk about the scenery. Ten minutes later they were seated in the hotel dining room by a window overlooking the ocean, the applewood in the fireplace crackling cheerfully. Trying not to panic at the alarming array of silverware, Tess took a deep breath and went on the offensive. “Your company—Lorimer Inc.—owns this hotel. And many others, worldwide, all part of the DelMer chain of fine hotels.”

“Del has rather a large ego—he liked the idea of combining his two names. So you checked him out.”

“Him and his adopted son. I’d be a fool not to meet him, wouldn’t I? A rich old man—every woman’s dream.”

“No more shoes from Second Time Around,” Cade said.

“No more hose from the dollar store.” The waiter put a menu in front of her, a thick leather binder embossed with gold. She wasn’t going to be intimidated by a menu, Tess thought resolutely, and opened it to the first page. “Once I’ve hooked up with Del, I could buy the dollar store. A whole string of them.”

“You could,” Cade said. “Do you like martinis?”

She’d never had one. “Of course.”

“Straight up or on the rocks?”

“On the rocks. I could buy a car like yours.”

“Several, I should think.”

Her eyes narrowed. She was doing her best to act like the crassest of fortune-hunters, and Cade wasn’t even reacting. If anything, he was laughing at her. Chewing on her lip, she added, “I’d inherit a ton of money when my grandfather dies. Enough to buy diamond earrings and go on a world cruise.”

“Lorimer Inc. owns a fleet of cruise ships—you could take your pick. Stateroom, the works. I’m sure by then you’d have found some diamonds to your taste.”

She’d never liked the look of diamonds. Too cold, too flashy. “Emeralds, to go with my eyes,” she said dreamily.

“Excellent choice…have you decided on an appetizer?”

The menu was in Italian with the English in script below. When she was eleven, she’d spent a year in Rome with Cory and Opal, her wayward mother; Tess said in impeccable Italian, “I’ll have fegato grasso al mango.” She flipped the page. “With stufato di pesce for a main course.”

Each was the most expensive item on the page. Blanking out the actual dollar amount, she said with as much innuendo as her conscience would allow, “How is your grandfather’s health? You mentioned a heart attack.”

“Oh, I suspect he’s got a good many years in him yet. You might have to wait for that inheritance.”

“Or is the inheritance like the support—nonexistent?” she retorted. “If, as you claim, I really am related to him, I could always go to the press. Illegitimate Granddaughter Cheated Of Her Rights—I can see the headlines now, can’t you?”

With a flourish, the waiter put the martinis on the table, and took their orders. Tess loathed olives. She picked up the frosted glass and took a hefty swallow. Her face convulsed. “That’s straight antifreeze!”

“Your first martini?” Cade said innocently.

“They don’t serve them at the chicken takeout.” She grimaced. “I see why—who’d want to eat olives pickled in ethylene glycol?”

Cade signaled the waiter, asked for a brandy Alexander, and said smoothly, “Del hates martinis, too. And loves the ocean.”

“Does he? How nice. You know, if allegedly he’s been supporting me since I was born, he owes me quite a backlog.” She smiled at Cade, batting her mascaraed lashes. “I’d better hire a good lawyer.”

“It would have to be a very good one to take on Lorimer Inc.”

“Then there’s you,” she said in a voice like cream, brushing his fingers with her own, letting them linger until every nerve in his body tightened. “You make Del’s fortune look like small change.”

It was the first time she’d touched him voluntarily; and how he loathed her motive for doing it. Holding tight to his temper, Cade watched her pout her raspberry-red lips, heard her purr, “I’d be a fool to turn my back on you or Del, Cade. But especially you.”

His voice taut, because there was a limit to what a man had to put up with, Cade said, “Do you want to know what I did today? I wandered around the village talking to people about you. People who’ve known you for the better part of eleven months.” The pout was gone, he noticed with mean pleasure, replaced by blank shock. Calmly he kept going. “I’m sure you’d agree with me that the islanders to a man—or woman—are sober New Englanders who don’t go in for flattery. They described you as reliable, honest, frugal, hardworking. Likes to walk the beaches by herself. Hardly ever goes off-island. No friends. No wild parties. No men.”

Tess gripped the edge of the table. “You spent the day gossiping about me? How dare you! And why would they talk to you? The islanders aren’t just sober, they’re closemouthed to a fault.”

“Several years ago, I paid top dollar to buy up ninety percent of the island. Made it into a nature conservancy to protect it from development—the only concession being that I build this place.” Cade waved his martini at his surroundings. “So I’m in like a dirty sock—the islanders love me. You might as well drop the gold-digger act, it’s wasted on me. You can’t fool an islander—if they say you’re honest as the tide turns, I’ll go along with that.”

For now, he added silently.

With exquisite timing, the waiter deposited a creamy drink sprinkled with nutmeg in front of her. She glared at it, trying to gather her wits. She’d just made a total fool of herself. Good job, Tess. What’s the follow-up?

“Try your drink,” Cade said, giving her the full benefit of his smile. One of his women had called it lethal; another, dynamite. It was a weapon he wasn’t above using when it suited him.

But instead of blushing in confusion or smiling back, Tess said furiously, “I’ve never laid eyes on one red cent of your grandfather’s money.”

His smile faded. “That was the next item on my agenda.” He waited while her antipasto was put in front of her. “I talked to Del today. He’s a stubborn, cantankerous old man, who likes control and claims he’s mislaid the investigator’s report—”

“You haven’t seen it?”

The emotion in her face was unquestionably relief. Cade picked up his fork. “No. But I did get out of Del—by sheer bloody-mindedness—the investigator’s discovery that ever since your father died six years ago, your allowance has been siphoned off the account by your mother. Opal Ritchie. I can only presume Cory took it prior to that.”

Briefly Tess shut her eyes. Opal and Cory. Her parents. Cory with his unpredictable rages, his drug-induced highs. Opal, wild, willful, never to be trusted. The rooms, she thought. Oh God, those awful rooms…

“What’s wrong?” Cade demanded.

When she opened her eyes, she was back in the elegant dining room, with its high-arched windows and vaulted ceiling, its polite murmur of conversation; and a pair of stormy-gray eyes boring into her soul. “I’m fine,” she said flatly, and with superhuman effort pulled herself together. The brandy Alexander, which was delicious, slid down her throat. The array of silver looked a little less intimidating. Carefully she selected the mate of the fork Cade had used and took a bite of mango, chewing thoroughly, tasting nothing. “You called me a liar back at the cabin.”

“I shouldn’t have doubted you,” Cade said curtly. At least with regard to Del’s monthly support, he shouldn’t have. But he still had plenty of other questions about the all-too desirable and highly enigmatic Tess Ritchie.

The tight knot in her chest easing somewhat—for hadn’t he more or less apologized?—Tess said shrewdly, “You still wish I was a thousand miles away from Del, don’t you? So you and I are on the same wavelength. The distance’ll be forty miles, not a thousand—but forty miles is plenty. Because I don’t care about the Lorimer money. His or yours. I like my life here on the island, it’s all I want and I’m not leaving here. You can tell my grandfather I’m grateful he did his best to support me—it wasn’t his fault that I never saw the money. But it’s too late now. I don’t need his support anymore.”

Her green eyes blazed with honesty. Disconcerted, Cade discovered in himself a contrary and ridiculous urge to take her words at face value. To trust her.

He’d never trusted a woman in his life other than Selena, his mother, whose every motive had been on the surface for all to see. Tess wasn’t Selena. Tess was mysterious, fiery and unpredictable.

Trust her? He’d be a fool to be betrayed by a pair of emerald-green eyes.

He’d been holding a weapon in abeyance. Deciding now was the time to use it, Cade said coolly, “Del told me something else today—that the investigator drew a complete blank for the year you turned sixteen. The year your father died. What happened that year?”

Her skin went cold. A roaring filled her ears. She couldn’t faint again, she thought desperately. Not twice in one day. She shoved the fork in her mouth, and concentrated on chewing. She might as well have been eating cardboard.

She’d slept wrapped in cardboard for over two months.

Forcing herself to swallow, desperate to change the subject, she said jaggedly, “Where does my grandfather spend his winters?”

Cade sat back in his chair, gazing at her, his brain in overdrive. Mysterious was a euphemism where Tess was concerned. She was secretive and closemouthed, a woman for whom terror was a constant companion. What had she done at sixteen—or what had happened to her—to induce that blank-eyed stare, those trembling fingers?

He shoved down an unwelcome pang of compassion, allowing all his latent distrust to rise to the surface instead. She’d been a model of good behavior ever since she’d arrived on Malagash Island. But preceding that? What then?

“Are you in trouble with the law?” he demanded.

“No,” she said. But her gaze was downcast, and her voice lacked conviction.

Fine, he thought. I might just do some investigating on my own behalf. Del likes to think he holds the reins, but I’m the one in control here.

With equal certainty Cade knew that if he didn’t bring Tess Ritchie back to Moorings, Del would order the chauffeur to drive him to the island and find her for himself.

He said casually, “You speak very good Italian.”

“When I was twelve, I lived for a year in Rome.” She glanced up, her eyes shuttered. “I also speak German, Dutch, French and a smattering of Spanish. A European upbringing has its advantages.” Which, she thought bitterly, really was lying.

“Favorite artist?”

“Van Gogh. I don’t see how anyone could live in Amsterdam and not love his work. Rembrandt and Vermeer close seconds.”

“Your tastes in music are eclectic and you like espionage novels.”

“You should be the investigator,” she said nastily. “I also like medieval art, lavender soap and pizza with anchovies.”

Lavender, he thought, remembering the fragrant, misty rows of blue in the fields of Provence. It was an unsophisticated scent, earthy and real, that somehow suited her. Trying to focus, he said at random, “Which university did you attend?”

Her lashes flickered. She said edgily, “There are other ways of getting an education.”

“Where’s your mother living now?”

She dropped her fork with a small clatter. “I have no idea.”

Her main course was put in front of her. Tess grabbed the nearest knife and fork and started to eat. Red wine had been poured in her glass, the firelight dancing like rubies in its depths. In sudden despair, exhausted by memories she only rarely allowed to surface, she craved to be home in her little cabin, the woodstove burning, a mug of hot chocolate on the table beside her.

And the clock turned back, so that she’d never met Cade Lorimer; never heard of a putative grandfather who lived only forty miles away.

Cade said, “I’ve upset you.”

“You’re good at that.”

“I’d noticed. I’ll book myself into the hotel and get in touch with Del tonight—we’ll go see him tomorrow morning. The library’s closed Sunday and Monday—I checked.”

“I’m sure you did. I’m not going.”

No point in arguing now, Cade thought. But at least there was some color back in her cheeks.

What had she done at sixteen? Quelling a question he couldn’t possibly answer, he began talking about the Vermeers he’d seen at the Metropolitan Museum, segueing to the political scene in Manhattan; and discovered she was well-informed, her judgments acute, occasionally slanted in a way that fascinated him. Then, of course, there was the play of firelight in the thick mass of her hair, the shadows shifting over her delicate collarbone and ivory throat.

Wanting her hadn’t gone away; it had, if anything, intensified. Good thing he was known for his willpower; he was going to need all of it. Because to seduce Tess Ritchie would be a very bad move.

They were sipping espressos when his cell phone rang. “Excuse me a minute,” he said, and took it from his pocket. “Lorimer,” he barked.

Tess straightened her shoulders, trying to work the tension from them unobtrusively. In half an hour she’d be home, her door locked, her life resuming its normal, peaceful pattern.

Peace was all she wanted. Peace, order and control.

Then, abruptly, her attention switched to Cade’s side of the conversation. “He’s what?” Cade was saying. “How bad? So you’re at the hospital now. Okay, I’ll be on my way in five minutes. I’ll see you tomorrow, Doc. Thanks.”

He pushed the end button and thrust the phone back in his pocket. The color had drained from his face, his jaw a tight line. He said flatly, “Del’s had another heart attack. A minor one, according to his family doctor.” He waved to the waiter. “We’ll leave as soon as I’ve paid the bill.”

So Cade loves his adoptive father, Tess thought, and felt emotion clog her throat. Cory hadn’t loved her. Ever.

She never cried. Couldn’t afford to. So why did she feel like crying now? She forced the tears down, watching Cade pass over his credit card.

What if Del Lorimer had another heart attack in the night, and died? She’d never meet him. Never find out if he really was her grandfather, or if this whole farrago was the product of an overeager investigator. But if Del was, by any chance, truly her grandfather, blood of her blood, shouldn’t she see him, find out if he was a replica of Cory or someone entirely different?

We…Cade had said a few moments ago. We’ll leave…she thoroughly disliked the way he’d taken it for granted that she’d go with him.

It was her choice, and only hers.

Stay or go.

CHAPTER THREE

TRYING to decide what she should do, Tess gazed at Cade in silence; he was frowning at the bill, his mind obviously elsewhere. What if he drove off the road because he was thinking about Del rather than his driving?

Somehow the decision had made itself. Tess said evenly, “If I come with you, I’ll need some clothes.”

“No time,” Cade said. “We can get anything you need tomorrow. Let’s go.”

As obediently as a well-trained hound, she followed him out of the dining room to his car; and felt her heart contract when it took him two attempts to get the key in the ignition. “Are you all right to drive?” she asked.

“Don’t worry—I won’t put you in the ditch.”

It’s you I’m worried about, not me. As she fastened her seat belt, the soft leather seat enveloping her, Tess knew her words for the truth. How long since she’d allowed anyone else to matter to her?

Forever and a day.

Or, more accurately, not since that hot summer’s night when she was five, and she and her parents had fled Madrid on the midnight train. Just the three of them: they’d left behind Tess’s beloved nanny, Ysabel, without Tess even having the chance to say goodbye to her.

That long-ago heartbreak, so laced with betrayal, had cured Tess, once and for all, of letting anyone close to her.

The last person she should allow to bend that rule was Cade Lorimer. Yet for some reason Tess found herself gazing at his hands, wrapped around the leather-coated steering wheel. Strong hands with a dusting of dark hair, and long, lean fingers that made her ache somewhere deep inside.

She dragged her eyes away, staring out the window. The brief ferry trip was soon over, the forty-mile drive passing in a blur of black spruce, dark rocks and the glitter of the moon on the sea. Although Cade showed no inclination to talk and she had nothing to say, the silence was far from restful. It was a relief when he pulled into the parking lot of an imposing brick building, and she could get out of the car and stretch her legs. “Hospital’s state of the art,” he said without a trace of emotion, striding toward the entrance. “Del endowed it after my mother died two years ago.”

“Oh…I’m sorry she’s dead.”

“Del’s lost without her,” Cade said tersely, pushing open the door.

And you, she wondered, did you love your mother just as you so obviously love Del?

Then, to her dismay, Cade took her by the hand. His palm was warm, his fingers clasping hers with automatic strength. With shocking speed, heat raced through her body, fiery and inescapable. Her steps faltered, every nerve on high alert. The ache in her belly intensified, and she could no more deny it than she could shut out the long corridor with its antiseptic smell and polished tile floor. Desire, she thought helplessly. I’ve never felt it in my life, yet recognize it as though I’ve always known it. How can that be?

It was more than she could do to pull her hand away. Because Cade needed her, or because she was a total fool?

Desire wasn’t on the list, any more than sex.

They’d arrived at the elevator. As they rose to the second floor, Tess stared at the controls, her body a tumult of longing that both terrified and bewildered her. She forced her features to immobility. She couldn’t bear for Cade to guess her feelings, for then she would truly be naked in front of him.

As they left the elevator, the nurse on duty smiled at Cade. “Room 204,” she said. “He’s resting well.”

“Thanks,” Cade said briefly. Outside the room, he hesitated, inwardly steeling himself for whatever he might find.

Tess tried to tug her hand free. But his fingers tightened, and—short of causing a scene—she had no choice but to follow him into the room. Standing at his side, tension singing along her nerves, Tess looked down at the man in the bed.

Del Lorimer was asleep, his mane of silver hair spread on the pillow, his strongly corded arms bare to the elbow. Automatically she recorded a beak of a nose, an obstinate chin and the facial wrinkles of a man who’s lived his life at full tilt.

She felt not the slightest flicker of recognition. Not even remotely did he remind her of Cory.

Swiftly Tess switched her gaze to Cade; and with dismay saw a man closed against any emotion. His features were tight, his jaw clenched, while his eyes were like dark pits, unreadable and unreachable.

In unconscious antipathy she moved away from him so that their shoulders were no longer touching. She’d been wrong: Cade didn’t love his adoptive father. By the look of him, love wasn’t a word he’d even recognize.

In a way, she was glad to see his true colors so clearly; it made it easier to dismiss him as a ruthless interloper who was interfering in her life with results she could neither anticipate nor desire.

Desire. That word again.

Desire someone incapable of loving the father who—on Cade’s own admission—had given him security and love as a boy? She’d have to be crazy to do that.

To her relief, a white-jacketed doctor came to the door. Cade joined him there, holding a low-voiced conversation, then came back into the room. “We might as well go,” he said impersonally. “Del will sleep the night through, there’s no point in staying.”

For a split second Tess looked down at the man lying so still in the bed, a man who, other than common human concern, meant nothing to her. Then she preceded Cade out of the room, walking fast down the hushed, immaculate corridor.

Sixteen minutes after they left the hospital, Cade slowed at two impressive stone pillars and turned down a driveway that wound between stiff Scotch pines and a forest of rhododendrons. Del’s stone mansion boasted grandiose white pillars, a formal array of windows and huge chimneys, and equally formal gardens, raked, clipped and weeded to a neatness nature never intended.

Tess disliked it on sight.

For the first time, she broke the silence since they’d left the hospital. “You’ll take me home tomorrow,” she said.

Cade rubbed his neck, trying to get the tension out. “You can sleep in the west wing,” he said. “You’ll hear the sea through the windows.”

“Tomorrow,” she repeated inflexibly.

He shifted in his seat so that he was gazing into her vivid green eyes. Against his will, an image of Del flashed across his mind: a shrunken old man lying too still in a hospital bed, the bars raised on either side. “Give it a rest, Tess,” he said sharply. “Haven’t we argued enough for one day?”

“Then perhaps you should try listening to me.”

Whatever her background, she’d learned to fight for herself, he thought, watching the night shadows slant across her face. Her skin gleamed pale, infinitely desirable, the pulse throbbing gently at the base of her throat. Flooding him as irresistibly as a storm surge, he longed to rest his face there, close his eyes and let the warmth of her skin seep through his pores.

Not since he’d started dating had he ever been pulled so strongly to a woman. It wasn’t the way he operated. Easy come, easy go, everything pleasant and on the surface, that was him. He sure as hell wasn’t going to break that pattern with Tess Ritchie. Might as well step into a minefield.

Anyway, judging by the look on her face, she’d rather clobber him than hold him close.

“Let’s go in,” he said, and climbed out of the car.

When he unlocked the massive oak door, four large dogs came scrabbling across the marble floor, barking in excitement, white teeth gleaming. With a gasp of pure horror, Tess grabbed Cade, thrusting him between her and the dogs. The alley, the dog snarling…crack of a gunshot.

“Down!” Cade said, and all four subsided, jaws agape, tongues lolling. Swiftly he turned. “You’re afraid of dogs, Tess?”

Wrong word, he thought. For terror, once again, was etched into every line of her body, her eyes saturated with emotions he couldn’t begin to name, let alone understand.

“I—yes, I’m afraid of them,” she faltered. Flushing, she dropped her hold on his suit jacket.

“They thought I was Del.”

“I don’t care what they thought—just keep them away from me.”

“You get bitten as a kid?” he said casually, signaling for the dogs to stay as he led her up the magnificent curve of the stairwell.

“Yes. Yes, I was.”

Accusing her of lying would start another argument, Cade decided. But she was definitely lying. Again. He opened the fourth door along the hallway. “The Rose Room,” he said ironically. “My mother was, in many ways, very conservative.”

An ornate brass bed, too much ruffled chintz, an acre of rose-pink carpet, and a bouquet of real roses on the mantel. “My whole house would fit in here,” Tess said.

Cade opened a drawer in the Chippendale dresser and pulled out a nightgown. “Towels and toothbrush in the bathroom,” he said brusquely. “Come down for breakfast in the morning any time you’re ready.”

The gown was a slither of green silk that had probably cost more than her entire wardrobe. As Tess gingerly took it from him, a spark of electricity leaped between them. She jumped back, giving a nervous laugh, tossing the gown on the bed. As though he couldn’t help himself, Cade took her by the shoulders. “All too appropriate,” he said tightly.

His fingers scorched through her dress; his eyes skewered her to the wall. She tried to twist free. “Don’t!”

“You’re so goddamn beautiful—I can’t keep my hands off you.”

Deep within, feelings she’d never experienced before uncoiled in her belly, slowly, lazily, unarguably. Her knees felt weak. Her heart was juddering in her breast. With all her strength, she pushed against the hard planes of Cade’s chest. “If you brought me here to seduce me, you’ve got the wrong woman. Let go, Cade! Please…”

She wasn’t a woman who would beg easily. She wasn’t playing hard to get, either—he was almost sure of that. Plain and simple, she hated being touched. By him? Or by anyone?

His usual women were willing. All too willing, tediously and predictably so; which was probably why it had been a considerable while since he’d shared his bed.

Cade released her, rubbing his palms down his trousers, and stated the obvious. “You feel the attraction, too. But for some reason you’re fighting it.”

“I don’t feel anything! Or is your ego so inflated you can’t stand rejection?”

The wildcat was back, eyes glittering. “You do feel it, Tess. I can read the signals.” He gave her a mock salute. “We’ll pick this up in the morning. Good night.”

The door closed softly behind him. Tess locked it with a decisive snap, then sank down on the bed. She’d never in her life met anyone like Cade Lorimer.

A few moments ago, desire had almost overwhelmed her. Desire was a phenomenon she’d read about, always with faint derision; it wasn’t something she’d ever expected to attack her like an enemy from within.

When Tess woke the next morning, the sound of the sea was drowned by the hard pelt of rain driven against the windowpanes.

Trying to shake off a strange sense of oppression, she sat up, and saw with a jolt of unease that an envelope had been pushed under her door.

Opening it as warily as if it contained a deadly virus, Tess unfolded the sheet of heavy vellum. I’ll stay at the hospital all day, it said. The housekeeper will find something for you to wear and the dogs will be kept in the kennels. Cade.

His handwriting was angular, decisive and very masculine. Cautiously Tess unlocked the door, peeked down the empty hallway and grabbed the small heap of clothes on the floor. Tights, a scoop-necked T-shirt and a pair of sandals that looked brand-new: the housekeeper had come through.

Quickly she dressed and went downstairs for breakfast. She spent the rest of the day curled up in the library, reading and listening to the rain, birch logs snapping in the fireplace. But to her intense annoyance, from midafternoon onward, she found herself straining for the sound of Cade’s car.

She wanted him to drive her home. That was the only reason she was interested in his return.

She got up, pacing back and forth, wishing the rain would let up so she could go outdoors. Then, from the corner of her eye, she noticed a collection of framed diplomas on the wall of the alcove beyond the fireplace. Walking closer, she saw degrees from Harvard, awards from the London School of Economics, the letters dancing in front of her eyes.

All the diplomas were Cade’s.

Humiliation wasn’t an emotion new to Tess; but she’d never before felt it so keenly or so painfully. She hadn’t even graduated from high school.

Worse, she was the daughter of a small-time crook and his unscrupulous mistress.

Cade Lorimer was way out of her league. One thing was certain—she’d never be his mistress. Not that she wanted to be, of course.

Viciously Tess dug the poker into the glowing coals, tossed another log on the fire and went back to her book.

Dinner was a welcome break, even though her appetite had deserted her. But when Cade still wasn’t back by nine o’clock that evening, Tess clumped downstairs to the kitchen. She was trapped in this horrible house for another night, she thought irritably, making herself a mug of hot chocolate, stirring in too many marshmallows, then taking an experimental sip.

Behind her, the swing door swished open. Cade said, “You’ve got marshmallow on your chin.”

She glowered at him. “Nice to see you, too.”

“I need a drink—something stronger than hot chocolate.”

“How’s Del?” she countered; and realized to her surprise that she really wanted to know.

“Cranky as a bear in a cage. Coming home late tomorrow afternoon. Whose clothes are you wearing?”

“The butler’s granddaughter’s,” she said.

The tights were too short and the T-shirt too small. Trying very hard to keep his gaze above the level of her breasts—which were exquisitely shaped—Cade opened the door of the refrigerator, took out a beer and uncapped it. Taking a long draught, he said, “Hospital food has to be the worst in the nation and their tap water tastes like pure chlorine.”

He’d dropped onto a stool by the counter and was loosening the collar of his shirt. He looked tired, she thought reluctantly, watching the muscles in his throat move as he swallowed.

His body hair was a dark tangle at the neckline of his shirt; the thin cotton clung to the breadth of his shoulders. As he rolled up his sleeves, corded muscles moved smoothly under his skin. Moved erotically, Tess thought, and buried her nose in her mug. What was wrong with her? She never noticed the way a man moved.

The silence had stretched on too long. She said politely, “Is it still raining?”

“Supposed to stop tomorrow morning.” He took another gulp of beer. “What did you do all day?”

“Read in the library.”

“Right up your alley,” he said with a faint smile.

One smile. That was all. No reason for her to feel as though he’d given her the sun, the moon and the stars. The man had charm to burn, she thought crossly; but she’d always considered charm a slippery attribute at best. Picking up her mug to drain the last of the hot chocolate from it, she said tautly, “If you’re not able to drive me home tomorrow morning, I’m sure there’s a chauffeur hidden away in this barn of a house. I’ll get him to drive me…good night.”

“Wait a minute!”

Furious, she glanced down. His fingers—those elegant fingers—were clamped around her left wrist. “Let go,” she flared. “I’m not in the mood for macho.”

“Del won’t be home until the afternoon, and he wants to meet you—so you can’t go back before that. And when you meet him, don’t say or do anything to upset him. He’s to be kept quiet for the next while, and he’s not supposed to worry about anything.”

“You told him I was here? That I’d meet him?” she said, her voice rising.

“Of course I did. Why else are you here?”

“How was I supposed to leave? I don’t have a car, there’s no bus to Malagash Island and I don’t like hitchhiking in a downpour.”

Cade stood up, still clasping her wrist. “You’ll meet him, Tess. You don’t have to throw your arms around him. But, by God, you’ll be polite.”

“Is this your CEO act?” she snapped. “Well, whoop-de-doo.”

Her eyes were like green fire. Not stopping to think, Cade dropped his head and kissed her, hard and fast and with all the pent-up emotion of the last two days. Then he stepped back, his heart juddering in his chest. “I’ve been wanting to do that ever since I saw you jogging on the beach,” he snarled. “You be around when Del comes home, and watch what you say. If you’re half the person the islanders say you are, you wouldn’t want an old man’s death on your conscience.”

His kiss, so unexpected, so forceful, had seared through her like a bolt of lightning. Her adrenaline sky-high, any caution lost in rage, Tess wrenched her wrist free and blazed, “You’re the one who brought me here—what about your conscience?”

“My conscience is my concern. Just behave yourself tomorrow.”

“Don’t tell me how to behave—I’m twenty-two, not ten,” Tess retorted, itching to throw her empty mug in his face. Banging it on the counter instead, she pivoted to leave the room.

Like a steel clamp, Cade’s hand closed around her shoulder. “I’m not only telling you how to behave, I expect to be obeyed. Have you got that straight?”

“I’m not an employee you can fire when the whim takes you!”

“No,” he said in a voice like ice, “you’re Del’s granddaughter.” Then, with a deliberation that was subtly insulting, he released her and stepped back.

Was she really related to the old man she’d seen in the hospital? Or was this whole setup as unreliable as a bad dream? Unable to think of a thing to say, as furious with herself as she was with Cade, Tess marched out of the room with as much dignity as she could muster. As she raced up the back stairs, she realized she was scrubbing at her mouth, doing her best to erase a kiss that had been shattering in its heat, its anger and its imperious demands.

No wonder words had deserted her. No wonder she was on the run.

Once again, she locked her bedroom door.

CHAPTER FOUR

BY THE time the rain stopped the next day, an hour after lunch, Tess was in a foul mood. She’d go mad if she didn’t get some exercise.

She’d always hated being confined.

While Moorings must be worth a mint, she wouldn’t trade it for her cabin for all the money in the world. But would Cade believe her if she told him that? Somehow, she doubted it.

She slipped out the front door. The air was filled with the heady scent of wet pine needles mingled with salt from the sea. Breathing deep, she set off down a narrow path that, she hoped, would lead her to the ocean.

The path ended at a secluded cove ringed by rocks, where the water sparkled and danced, riffling onto a pale sand beach. Quickly she shucked off her borrowed sandals, and dipped her toe in. Cold, yes, but not unbearably so. She looked around. No one in sight, and Cade wouldn’t be back until late afternoon.

Like the mischievous little girl she’d never been allowed to be, Tess stripped to her underwear and, giggling breathlessly, ran into the water. In a mighty splash she flopped forward and thrashed toward the rocks.

She’d learned to swim at a local pool the year she’d spent in Boston as a housekeeper; her strokes were strong, if not particularly stylish. The exercise warmed her, and all the kinks—physical and emotional—of the last forty-eight hours washed away.

Heaven, she thought, turning on her back and floating so she could gaze into the guileless blue sky.

Cade settled Del in the master suite at Moorings, promising to bring Tess to meet him in an hour or so. He then went in search of her.

He drew a blank in the library, the dining room, the solarium and her bedroom. Her black dress was still hanging in the closet; so she couldn’t have left.

The beach, he thought. That’s where she’d go. Unless she’d left Moorings altogether: she hadn’t liked his ultimatum or his CEO act, and he wouldn’t put it past her to start walking the highway toward Malagash Island. He hoped to God she wouldn’t hitchhike; even on the back roads of Maine, that wasn’t a good idea.

If she wasn’t at the shore, where would he look next?

He hurried to his room, changed into running gear, and took off down the path. Wet leaves brushed his bare arms, and it was unseasonably warm. He was sweating by the time he emerged onto the beach.

A little heap of clothes lay on the sand and the beach was deserted. Cade jolted to a stop and scanned the surf, his pulse pounding in his ears.

Where the hell was she?

Then he caught sight of a wet head, sleek as a seal’s, out by the rocks. Tess. She was cavorting in the waves, diving, splashing and kicking. His relief was instantly engulfed in anger.

He yelled her name. Her head swiveled. She waved at him, and even from that distance he could see she was laughing. Anger notched up to sheer fury.

He ran the length of the beach, his sneakers sinking into the sand. Then, with ferocious speed, he leaped from rock to rock along the long outcrop of granite. When he was level with her, he shouted, “Come closer—I’ll lift you out.”

Treading water, she gazed dubiously at the chunks of rock. “I’ll swim back to the beach and meet you there.”

“Do as you’re told. Or so help me, I’ll jump in and haul you out.”

A wave sloshed over her bare shoulders. Laughing with delight, she said pertly, “It’s a gorgeous day! Why are you so angry?”

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