Elusive Obsession
Carole Mortimer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

Copyright

PROLOGUE

‘HAVE you just come here to gloat, Falcon?’ her father’s voice rasped disgustedly. ‘Do you find some nefarious pleasure in watching your victims in their last death throes?’

She had been sleeping unobserved behind the curtains of the seated bay window in her father’s study when the two men had entered the room a short time ago, had gone there to hide from Nanny and the lessons she had intended giving her. Having been sent home from boarding-school, because she had fallen victim to the outbreak of mumps that had stricken almost half the pupils of the school, it was completely unfair, she had thought, that she had to do lessons at home now that she felt a little better but was still contagious. There had to be some advantage to being sick, she had decided! And so she had hidden in the one place she knew Nanny would never think to look for her—her father’s study—and then she had fallen asleep in the hot sun that shone through the huge window on this clear May day.

But she hadn’t slept for long, her father’s voice, raised in anger—something she had rarely known from the charmingly mild-mannered man during her nine years of life—easily intruding into her slumbers.

‘You chose this way, Howard.’ The man who answered her father’s impassioned accusation spoke so softly that she could barely hear him, and yet still she could feel the power in his words.

‘What other choice did you leave me?’ her father scorned with obvious contempt for the other man. ‘You’ve taken it all, haven’t you, Falcon? My business, my home, my—— My God, you couldn’t even leave me my pride, couldn’t do that, could you? My God, men like you make me sick!’

Whatever initial guilty thoughts she might have had of revealing her presence behind the curtain had faded almost as quickly as they came into her head; her father wouldn’t like the idea of her eavesdropping—accidentally or otherwise—on what was obviously a very private conversation, but from the little she had already heard she knew he would be even less pleased now if she were to step out and reveal that she had heard anything at all. She might only be nine years old, but she knew this conversation was very serious indeed.

Chalford, her home, the only one she had ever known, gone? To this man, this stranger, a man she couldn’t even see properly?

She had tried to look at him around the edge of the long wine-coloured velvet drapes, but she was too frightened of being discovered to put her head out too far. All she had was an impression of size and power—oh, what power!—that seemed to emanate from his very stillness.

He seemed to turn in her direction at that moment, as if sensing he was being observed, and she quickly ducked back behind the cover of the curtain, her breath caught in her throat as she waited in terrified expectation for a hand to reach out and drag her from her hiding place to face the full force, not just of Nanny’s displeasure at the way she had hidden from her so that she shouldn’t do those awful lessons, but her father’s wrath at her behaviour too. And his disappointment in her would be much harder to bear than Nanny’s scolding…

But as the seconds ticked by on the grandfather clock that stood against one wall of her father’s study, and no hand reached out for her, she slowly began to breathe again.

Once again the reply to her father’s accusation was made quietly. ‘No one twisted your arm, Howard,’ the man dismissed calmly. ‘You did it all yourself.’

‘Oh, yes, of course I did,’ her father scoffed scathingly. ‘How easy it is for men like you to set traps for gullible men like me——’

‘Greedy men like you,’ he was corrected harshly, ‘who blame everyone but themselves, the only real culprit, for their mistakes!’

She was filled with fury against this man. How dared he talk to her beloved father like that? She wanted to go out there and kick his shins for him, demand that he apologise to her father, who had to be the cleverest, most wonderful man in the world.

But before outrage could overcome good sense her father answered the man. ‘The only mistake I ever made was in believing I could trust you!’ he said self-disgustedly. ‘Oh, get out, will you, Falcon?’ He suddenly sounded very weary. ‘Chalford isn’t yours yet, not until the dust has settled and the lawyers say it is, and until that happens you aren’t welcome in my home. Now get out, Falcon,’ he repeated harshly. ‘And take Janette with you.’

Janette? Why on earth would her stepmother want to leave with this hateful man, a man her father obviously hated? None of this made any sense to her.

‘I don’t want your wife, Howard,’ the other man told him hardly. ‘I never did.’

‘Served her purpose, has she?’ her father said with knowing contempt. ‘Well, I don’t want her any more either!’

‘That’s between the two of you,’ the other man dismissed without emotion. ‘I’m only interested in——’

‘I know why you’re here, Falcon,’ her father cut in heatedly. ‘And I’ve told you, you have everything else—the house you’ll have to wait for. And much joy may it give you every time you think of how it came into your possession!’ There was the sound of the door behind wrenched open. ‘I’ve asked you to leave twice; if I have to do so again I’ll call in the police and have you forcibly removed—I wonder how that would look in newsprint?’

There was silence for several long-drawn-out seconds after this direct challenge, and she suddenly realised she was holding her breath again, this time without even knowing she had been doing it. She didn’t understand half the conversation she had unwittingly overheard, but she did recognise the raw emotion behind her father’s words as he once again ordered the man Falcon to leave Chalford immediately.

‘Very well,’ the other man finally conceded, and there was the sound of him moving towards the door her father obviously still held open for him. ‘I suggest we talk again, Howard, when you feel in a more reasonable frame of mind.’

‘And I suggest,’ her father returned tautly, ‘that in future you stay well away from me and my family!’

The door was closed with only slightly repressed violence as the other man finally seemed to have left, and with his departure the room was suddenly filled with an ominous silence, a silence that seemed endless.

She wanted to run out into the room, put her arms around her father and tell him that she thought the Falcon man was hateful too, that she didn’t want him to have her beloved Chalford, that he couldn’t let that awful man come and live here! But if she did that she would give away her hiding place, reveal that she had been eavesdropping on their conversation. And, indulgent as her father was with her, she knew that would make him cross all over again.

No, she would just have to wait here now until her father left his study, and then creep quietly away herself. It was almost teatime, so she shouldn’t have too long to wait, and her stomach rumbled hopefully; her father always joined them in the small family sitting-room for tea.

She could hear him moving about his study now, knew he had sat down at the desk, that he was opening and shutting the drawers as he looked for things he wanted. And then the room fell very silent, and as the minutes passed the muscles in her legs began to ache from the effort of having to sit completely still so that she wouldn’t be detected.

Suddenly, when she was beginning to think she would have to move anyway and face the consequences, without any warning, except perhaps the smallest of clicking noises, the silence was shattered by a deafening roar.

For a moment she was just too stunned to move, and then her surprise at the sudden noise turned to puzzlement. She had recognised the sound only too well, often having accompanied her father on his seasonal ‘shoots’. But he had always impressed on her, on those occasions, the importance of never having a loaded gun anywhere near the house, of always making sure the safety catch was on before handling a gun at all.

And yet she knew, without a doubt, that it was the sound of a gun being shot that had reverberated around the room seconds ago.

There was the sound of running feet in the hallway outside now, the door to the study being thrown open, the babble of the voices of the people who had entered the room—she guiltily recognised Nanny’s as being one of them, and there was Sylvester the butler too, and Mrs Hall the housekeeper—coming to an abrupt and sudden end … possibly so that her father could reprimand them for entering his study without knocking, as they were supposed to do!

‘My God…!’ Sylvester finally groaned raggedly.

She wondered why Nanny hadn’t rebuked him for the blasphemy, as she knew the elderly lady would have done if it had been her. The old lady had been Daddy’s nanny first, was almost at retirement age now, and her old-fashioned morality lingered on with this, the second generation.

But her curiosity was now fast overtaking any fear she had of a reprimand for disappearing in the way she had after lunch, until finally she couldn’t stand it any longer, silently leaving her hiding place, edging quietly into the room in the direction of her father’s desk, which seemed to be where everyone else’s attention was centred. So intent were they all that they didn’t even see her.

What she saw when she reached the desk made her eyes widen with disbelieving horror, and all the colour drain from her cheeks. That—that couldn’t be her father! It was too grotesque, horrific, unrecognisable as a human being, even. And the blood. Good God, there was blood everywhere. Everywhere. All over the pale blue shirt and checked jacket she knew her father had been wearing earlier in the day!

She opened her mouth to scream as she realised it was her father. But no sound passed her lips. And the silent scream went on and on and on…

CHAPTER ONE

‘I’VE dressed some brides in my time, Di——’ Joanna lovingly arranged the ivory-coloured veil for what must have been the dozenth time ‘—but you look—you look——’ Words seemed to fail the twice-married and twice-divorced cynic.

‘Fantastic!’ Cally told her without hesitation as she burst into the room and heard the latter part of their conversation.

‘Absolutely beautiful.’ Joanna, perfectly capable of talking for herself, drily chose her own description. ‘Of course, the gown could have something to do with it…!’

‘It has everything to do with it.’ Diana finally spoke from behind the sheer ivory-coloured veil with its beautifully arranged teardrop pearls draping her forehead. ‘Charles is going to be delighted,’ she said with husky confidence, squeezing the older woman’s arms reassuringly.

‘He had better be!’ Joanna told her fiercely as she still fussed over the veil, seeking absolute perfection in its shimmering length that cascaded to the base of Diana’s spine, her hair shimmering like gold beneath the whole length of it. ‘I’ve had nightmares about the next few moments!’

‘You had better get out there, Di,’ Cally advised warningly. ‘Before Charles is reduced to a quivering wreck!’

‘And why shouldn’t he be?’ Joanna said with a certain amount of relish. ‘After the week he’s just given me, I feel like one!’

With a wryly affectionate smile for the older woman Diana glided over to the door in the ivory satin gown, the tiny teardrop pearls on her forehead the only adornment on both the veil and the gown, the simplistic lines of the latter outlining the perfection of her uptilted breasts, slender length of waist, and gently curving hips. It was a gown of sheer genius, a masterpiece.

‘Oh, my God, I almost forgot to tell you in the excitement!’ Cally hurried over to her, stunningly beautiful herself in a shimmering gold gown. ‘The mystery guest has at last arrived,’ she told Diana breathlessly. ‘It’s Reece Falcon!’ The announcement was made with a triumphant note for the effect the man’s identity was sure to have.

But Cally couldn’t know just how much of an effect it had had on the woman so thankfully hidden behind the shimmering veil. Her cheeks paled, green eyes glazed with forbidden memories, her mouth suddenly dry.

‘He’s Chris’s father,’ Cally encouraged as she received no obvious response from Diana. ‘Christopher Falcon,’ she enlarged frustratedly as she still had no reply. ‘The man who has been sending you red roses all week and generally making a pest of himself!’

Diana swallowed hard, fighting to regain control. It had just been the shock, the suddenness—— She had known she would have to face him again one day, but she had hoped it would be by her design, not like this, not today; she hadn’t even realised he had been sent an invitation. But perhaps he hadn’t, not in the normal way; Charles would have been sure to tell her of such an important guest. No, Reece Falcon had arranged this at the last minute; he was the sort of man who, when he decided he wanted something, made sure he got it. Getting himself invited here today would have been easy for a man like him.

Cally still looked deflated by her lack of reaction. ‘Diana——’

‘Will you stop delaying the girl?’ Joanna cut in desperately. ‘I can hear Charles building up to the finale now. God knows what he will do if Diana is late with her entrance——!’

‘Heaven forbid the bride should be late,’ Diana returned drily, fully in command of her emotions again now. Reece Falcon was just a man, with chinks in his arrogant armour like any other; hadn’t she managed to find one of them? Wasn’t that the reason he was here today? But there was nothing he could do to her, absolutely nothing he could do that would touch her either mentally or physically.

‘There won’t be a dry eye in the house,’ Joanna predicted. Even cynically hardened as she was, she was obviously moved by the delicate perfection of the bride who stood before her.

Diana gave her a grateful smile before stepping proudly from the room, she could hear the expectant murmur of voices in the main room as she took her place in readiness for presenting herself to them, professionalism taking over as she stepped out on to the catwalk right on cue, barely aware of the awed gasps of admiration as she began her slow walk—just the way Charles had told her he wanted it done!—down the raised platform. Silence fell over the entire room as she did so, even the effervescent Charles, the designer-genius of the gown, having nothing further to say after he had announced the ‘Divine Bride’.

All week, at this Paris fashion show, Diana had been showing Charles’s ‘Divine Collection’ exclusively. For she was Divine.

It had all started out as a gimmick thought up by her agent and herself when she first took up modelling four years ago: the Divine Diana. But as her career took off she had simply become known as Divine to her colleagues and the public alike. This exclusive collection named after her was as much an accolade to her own success as it was to Charles’s brilliance as a designer. This wedding gown, her final appearance for the week, was to be her—and obviously Charles’s—pièce de résistance.

And from the stunned reaction of the audience, as they gazed up at her with wide-eyed wonder, it was having the desired effect.

But now, at this moment in time, Diana was interested in one reaction only to her appearance—that of the man seated in the chair in the centre of the row at the very end of the catwalk—a chair, placed between a beautiful redhead on one side and a lovely blonde on the other, that had, until a very short time ago, remained mockingly empty. Model after model, as they came backstage for another quick change, had exclaimed over this unusual fact as the show progressed. It was unheard of for a seat to remain empty in this way at the Paris Fashion Show. And right there, at the end of the catwalk, it had been so glaringly obvious to them all.

But the seat, as Cally had stated, was empty no longer, was now occupied by a man whose very size seemed to dwarf those around him.

It was him. Reece Falcon. Or just Falcon, as he was generally known. A bird of prey. How apt.

And Diana knew that today she was the focus of that narrowed silver gaze. Not admiringly, as with the rest of the audience, but with cold, raking assessment, chilling contempt stamped on every arrogant line of his harshly chiselled face.

The veil she wore acted as a shield, gauzy admittedly, but it nevertheless meant she could look out, while no one—including this silver-eyed devil—could look in. It was all the reprieve she needed after learning of his unexpected presence here today. She knew why he was here, of course, had known this moment would have to arrive eventually. That chink in his armour…

The photographs she had seen of him didn’t in any way do him justice, could in no way tell of the power he emanated as he sat there so still and totally knowing. The lightweight hand-made suit he wore did nothing to tame the sheer animal savagery of the man, and neither did the cream silk shirt and neatly knotted tie at the base of his throat, all of them the trappings of civilisation worn by a man who lived by his own rules and not those dictated to him.

Dark hair that seemed inclined to curl was kept neatly cut to his perfectly shaped head, equally dark brows winging arrogantly over those narrowed silver-coloured eyes, the latter taking on a slightly luminous quality against the dark tan of his skin. His nose looked as if it might have been broken at some time in his life—probably by one of his many enemies, Diana dismissed with contempt—appearing almost hawklike with that slight bump in its bridge, further enhancing his Falcon reputation, no doubt. His mouth was thin and unsmiling, his jaw square and challenging as his head tilted back in that steady assessment. A bird of prey, in fact.

But she had no intention of being his next victim!

As Charles had instructed, she glided to a halt at the end of the catwalk, pausing for effect, all eyes riveted on her now, before slowly raising slender silver-tipped fingers and lifting the veil back from her face.

As Charles had predicted, spontaneous applause filled the room as the full effect of her youthful beauty in the magnificently simple gown became apparent, several women openly crying at the simplistic perfection she presented.

Reece Falcon, Diana noticed, remained unsmiling, showing no emotion whatsoever, although that luminous glitter of his eyes seemed to have taken on a mesmerising quality.

Diana wasn’t in the least conceited about the way she looked, had no illusions about her pale ‘English Rose’ beauty; after all, for the last four years her face and her body had been her fortune, and the photographers and designers left her in no doubt about the fact that she would only be popular for as long as those looks lasted.

Her golden hair, naturally wavy, reached to the base of her spine, framing a face that was hauntingly lovely; green always-distant eyes flecked with gold were surrounded by thick dark lashes, her nose was short and straight, her lips full and sensual, her chin small and pointed, her skin as pale and creamy as magnolia. She had an almost Pre-Raphaelite beauty, an unworldliness that made her much in demand both for modelling and photographic sessions.

But she might as well have been a block of misshapen wood for all the impression she had made on Reece Falcon!

A cold lack of emotion remained in that silver-eyed gaze as she moved first to one side of the T-shaped dais and then the other to show the full effect of the gracefully flowing lines of the back of the gown, her hair glistening like gold against the ivory veil.

Diana held her features composed in the dreamily distant way Charles had wanted from her, her hands steepled together almost in prayer as she walked, the long ivory sleeves ending in a point that reached the knuckle of the third finger of each hand. She had the look of a proudly sacrificial bride.

The silence began to be broken now as some of the women in the audience began to whisper together excitedly, overcome by the majestic beauty.

Diana knew her composure must have slipped slightly as the beautiful redhead sitting to the left of Reece Falcon turned to him and murmured softly, the blue-eyed gaze remaining fixed on Diana as she did so.

The woman had been here from the beginning of the show, but when she laid a slender scarlet-tipped hand on Reece Falcon’s arm as she spoke to him, an act that implied intimacy between them, it was obvious the two of them knew each other very well.

It was the first indication Diana had had that Reece Falcon wasn’t here alone.

It should mean nothing to her, did mean nothing, and yet—— Reece Falcon had had a string of women in his life since his divorce ten years ago, and it was unlikely this one would be any more significant than any of them had been, yet she hadn’t realised he was involved with anyone at the moment…

Before she began that long slow walk back up the catwalk, to the sound of thunderous applause now, she found herself giving the other woman a more searching look. She wasn’t as young as Diana had first thought; she looked to be in her mid to late thirties—very close to Reece Falcon’s own age of thirty-nine—although the professionally artful use of make-up made her initially appear more youthful. Small and delicately made, and expensively dressed in designer-label clothes that Diana instantly recognised as such, the woman was obviously the sophisticated socialite Reece Falcon usually involved himself with. Beautiful as the woman was, she only held half of Reece Falcon’s attention as she spoke to him, the other half being firmly fixed on Diana, and so she doubted the other woman would figure any more prominently in his life than any of those others had over the years.

Diana couldn’t help the slightly contemptuous twist to her lips as she turned to begin the walk back, whatever slight wavering of confidence she had momentarily known disappearing completely as those silver eyes continued to glare up at her; whatever place the beautiful redhead had in his life, she couldn’t completely divert his attention away from Diana!

The congratulations, once she reached the changing-room, from Joanna and the other models, passed over her head as if she was in a dream as she stepped out of the wedding gown to reveal that she wore only skin-coloured panties beneath, her breasts full and rosy-tipped, her body more slender unclothed than it had appeared in the exquisite clothes she had been modelling all week, her legs long and slim, each movement she made unknowingly graceful, her hair at last revealed in all its long shimmering glory as Joanna carefully removed the delicacy of the pure lace veil.

Diana’s attention was held by the bouquet of roses that lay on a table in the corner of the room—today’s offering from Chris, the card attached to them having remained unopened as they had arrived during the rush and bustle of the half an hour before the show began. She had felt no urgency to open the envelope and read the card inside because she had thought it would be the same as the others during the week; two simple words—‘Marry me’. But perhaps this time she had been wrong; surely Chris knew his father was here, in Paris?

She hastily pulled on her robe over her near-nakedness, tying the belt securely about her waist even as she crossed the room to the roses, taking the card from the small white envelope and reading the message there. Those same two words still featured, but underneath, as if added later, was another message. It read, ‘The Falcon is on the hunt.’ They both knew the Falcon was his father. If only she had taken the time to read this card, she would at least have had some warning that Reece Falcon might be here in Paris, if nothing else. She had to accept that he probably knew something of her relationship with Chris too; the fact that he was here, tonight, was surely more than just a coincidence. It would more than explain that glitter-eyed look!

‘Coming to the party?’ Cally appeared at her side, unashamedly attempting to read the card that Diana slowly crushed in her hand, shrugging dismissively at the movement, the babble of voices continuing behind them, everyone obviously relieved that the evening had gone as well as it had and that the week of hard work was over.

With a tiny half-smile of apology, Diana shook her head in the negative. It had been a rhetorical question on Cally’s part anyway; both of them already knew that she wouldn’t go with the others to the huge party being thrown for them all.

‘I thought not,’ Cally grinned with an unoffended shrug. ‘Back to the hotel,’ she guessed, ‘a good night’s sleep. And then back to England on the first available flight in the morning,’ she said knowingly.

Diana’s smile widened at this totally correct assessment of her plans for the next twelve hours, the unguarded smile instantly revealing exactly how young she really was, the heavy make-up she had been wearing for modelling all evening tending to add years as well as the required sophistication.

‘Am I so predictable?’ She shook her head ruefully.

‘I shouldn’t worry about it,’ Cally shrugged dismissively. ‘It only adds to the elusiveness of the Divine Diana image.’

In part, it was only an image, one she had deliberately cultivated over the years. But the truth of the matter was that she didn’t really have any interest in the social side of her profession; she earned her living as a model, but she didn’t feel that meant she had to be on show the whole time.

And so she did her work, a professional to her fingertips, always on time for assignments, never subjecting the people she was working with or for to moods or temper-tantrums, while at the same time keeping her private life very private indeed. Which wasn’t as difficult as it sounded—not when she didn’t go out to the usual round of clubs and restaurants that her colleagues frequented, and so gave the Press no food for gossip. And people rarely connected the young woman shopping in the local supermarket, or walking in the park, with the glamorous model Divine who often adorned their newspapers in one exotically lovely gown or another. It seemed, with her glorious cascade of hair confined at her nape or in a single plait down the length of her spine, her face free of make-up, and barely looking her twenty-one years, that she bore no resemblance then to the beautiful model Divine.

She returned Cally’s smile now. ‘A good night’s sleep sounds a very welcome idea at the moment!’ She was thoroughly exhausted from the hectic pace of the last week, and finding Reece Falcon sitting in the audience for her very last entrance of the week had been much more traumatic on her nerves—and her energy level—than she cared to admit.

But she went in search of Charles before leaving, knowing he would be caught up in the crush of people who wanted to congratulate him on the success of his designs; Charles enjoyed this adulation almost as much as he did putting the collection together in the first place.

Diana almost turned and left without talking to him at all when she saw who he was talking to; Reece Falcon!

Her desire for flight before she was seen was instinctive, self-protective—and, she decided with inner anger at herself, totally cowardly.

‘Ah, Diana!’ Charles smiled warmly as the congratulations she was receiving caught his attention, and he reached out a hand to draw her to his side, his arm moving about the slender width of her shoulders; he was several inches taller than Diana, for all her height. ‘We were just talking about you,’ he told her with satisfaction.

She tensed inwardly even as she compared the two men. The two were of a similar age, but Charles was tall, slender and blond, filled with a nervous energy that was evident in the way he found it difficult to stand still for any amount of time, constantly moving his hands as he talked, tapping those same hands rhythmically against his thighs when he wasn’t. The other man, in sharp contrast, was very dark in colouring, and even taller than Charles, with a big, powerful body that nevertheless gave the impression of not having a superfluous ounce of flesh on its frame. And he was possessed of a stillness that was, in itself, more powerful than mere strength could ever be.

Diana assessed him coolly before turning her attention back to Charles; the flush of success was still on his cheeks. ‘Oh, yes?’ she prompted huskily.

‘Not you exactly.’ It was the other man who answered her softly spoken query—and at the sound of his voice Diana knew a sickening thud in the bottom of her stomach. ‘We were discussing the wedding gown you modelled.’

She turned to him sharply, frowning. ‘The wedding gown…?’

‘Yes,’ Charles confirmed slowly, although he looked at the other man somewhat quizzically. ‘Although we hadn’t quite got around to discussing your interest in it…?’

‘I want it,’ Reece Falcon stated with simple fact, never doubting for a moment that the gown would be his.

Diana still watched him with puzzled green eyes, not in the least surprised by his self-assurance that he would get what he wanted; this man always got what he wanted. What she was surprised about was what he actually wanted this time. The wedding gown. Why on earth——?

‘Well, that’s marvellous!’ Charles told him with obvious pleasure, his arm falling away from Diana’s shoulders in his enthusiasm. ‘I had no idea!’ He reached out and shook the other man’s hand. ‘I would be delighted to design a wedding gown for you—well, not for you personally, of course.’ He gave a laugh at his own little joke.

Diana had no doubts as to the reason why Charles was so delighted at the prospect of designing a wedding gown exclusively for the Falcon family: the wedding gown would be photographed and shown all over the world, would earn its designer worldwide publicity and prestige.

But the fact that there was to be a wedding at all filled Diana with misgivings.

Silver clashed with green as she found her gaze meeting Reece Falcon’s head-on for the first time, something akin to an electric shock passing through her body at the force she encountered there, a barely leashed energy behind the outward calm. He returned her gaze coldly, challengingly—almost as if he knew what she was thinking, feeling. Impossible. He couldn’t possibly know!

The original Ice Maiden, Reece realised with mocking amusement. He had met many women in his life—too damned many, he acknowledged grimly—some of them, although not many, as coldly distant as this particular one. But none of them had been as young or possessed of such a removed air as this model Divine.

He was curious in spite of himself, and thought now that he should perhaps have taken the trouble to find out a little more about her before coming here, other than the fact that she was being disruptive to his plans for his son. Now that he had seen her for himself, and could see how beautiful but strangely elusive she was, he realised why Chris was so fascinated by the young woman that he had risked even Reece’s anger to continue seeing her.

This young woman could be trouble with a capital T. Good God, there was no could about it!

He broke their gaze with easy dismissal, turning back to Charles Oxley, knowing a momentary satisfaction as he did so that the other man was no longer touching this exquisitely lovely creature—although he knew that none of that pleasure would be obvious in his expression; years of schooling his features and learning to hide his innermost thoughts and emotions meant that he now did it automatically. Until a few minutes ago when Diana joined them he had wondered at Oxley’s sexual inclinations, but the way the other man looked at the model he was left in no doubt. Or was it just that this woman-child was so exotically lovely that no man could look at her without appreciating her understated sensuality…?

‘I don’t want a gown designed, Charles,’ he drawled dismissively. ‘I want the one I saw tonight.’

Charles frowned. ‘The one…? But—I think the bride should see it first before making any decision, don’t you?’ he attempted to cajole. ‘It may not be—what she wants for herself. I would be pleased to set a time when we can all get together to discuss what you would like,’ he added lightly, obviously not wanting to offend by refusing the wedding gown Divine had modelled earlier.

Reece knew exactly why the other man was prevaricating, could appreciate Charles Oxley’s reluctance to let a woman wear a gown, wedding or otherwise, that he wasn’t absolutely positive would look right on her and at the same time be a credit to his undoubted reputation as a designer. At the same time that he could appreciate the other man’s feelings, however, he also knew that he wanted the gown!

‘She’s seen it,’ he told the other man drily. ‘She likes it. It’s what she wants.’ And what that particular lady wanted, she got!

This time there was no mistaking a reaction in the model Divine as she stood at Charles Oxley’s side. She didn’t move, and her facial expression—strangely, for one so young—remained perfectly controlled. And yet Reece knew his words had disturbed her; he could feel the tension in her.

Tension was the very least of what this young woman should feel; she was responsible for trying to thwart his plans for Chris. A fact he intended rectifying at the first opportunity.

Although he had to admit, if Chris had to choose a woman to have a passionate fling with, he had better taste than Reece would have given him credit for. This young model Divine wasn’t at all what he had been expecting when he’d heard of the relationship. Although she must only be a year or so older than Chris’s twenty, at the same time she gave the impression that she was much older than that; there was also a vulnerability about her that he knew she tried to hide by her very elusiveness. A strange combination. Interesting. Intriguing…He already knew he meant to learn more about her.

He didn’t question the fact that he found attractive the young girl his own son had told him he wanted to marry. Chris would get over the infatuation, hopefully learn from it, and there was little in Reece’s own life that he denied himself once he had established in his own mind that he wanted it. And everyone, he had learnt with increasing cynicism, had their price. With Chris, this particular young lady’s price appeared to have been marriage. But then, it was standard practice, in any deal, to ask for more than you actually expected to get. It was time Chris, as much as this young girl, learnt that!

‘I’m flattered, Mr Falcon,’ Charles began tentatively, ‘that the bride should like that particular gown so much——’

‘Don’t be,’ Reece drawled. ‘This particular lady is used to getting what she wants.’ Every time. And she was a beautiful, maddening bundle of provocation. He pitied—and envied—any man who tried to tame her.

Oxley still looked dismayed at the way the conversation was going, obviously searching for that narrow line between being polite to what he appreciated was a prestigious customer, and yet at the same time standing by his own professional reputation. ‘But if we could just——’

‘Charles—I’m sorry to interrupt.’ A slightly breathless lady in her early forties bore determinedly down on them, looking at Reece briefly, chewing on her bottom lip as she recognised him instantly. ‘Edgar Poole is looking for you,’ she told Charles awkwardly.

Reece was well aware of who Edgar Poole was; he had done business with the successful entrepreneur several times in the past, and had actually gone into a couple of deals with him too. Successfully, of course. They both played to win. And Edgar’s young and lovely wife would be the reason the other man was here at all today. Reece could appreciate Oxley’s dilemma now in not knowing whether he should continue his conversation with him—one that he was finding it difficult to deal with—or go and see Edgar and the lovely Caryn, who might be more agreeable to deal with.

Reece decided, on this occasion, to take pity on him, inwardly admitting that he felt slightly distracted himself, but for quite a different reason. ‘I’ll give you a call within the next few days, Charles,’ he drawled mockingly. ‘But I won’t change my mind about the wedding gown,’ he warned him. ‘And believe me,’ he added derisively, ‘neither will the bride!’

The bride. Every time she was mentioned Diana felt her nerves jangle. She had had no idea… In all the weeks she had known Chris, not once had he mentioned that his father was contemplating marriage. In fact, for years now, Reece Falcon had been avoiding that very state. Not that there hadn’t been numerous women wanting to change his mind about that, but the man himself had just been determined he wasn’t going to make that sort of commitment to any woman ever again.

But now that Diana was aware of the impending marriage she didn’t doubt who the intended bride was to be; she had a vivid memory, as she walked down the catwalk in the wedding gown earlier, of a red-tipped hand resting proprietorially on Reece Falcon’s arm as the beautiful redhead sitting beside him engaged him in conversation while her gaze remained firmly fixed on Diana wearing the gown.

From what Diana remembered about the other woman—and she wished now she had taken more notice of her!—Charles was right to feel concerned about the advisability of Reece Falcon’s bride wearing that particular gown; the redhead had looked too short to be able to carry off the beautiful simplicity of the long flowing lines of the gown.

Diana found now, as she turned back to look at Reece Falcon as Charles hurried off with Joanna at his side, that her own gaze was on a level with the aquiline nose with that intriguing bump at its bridge. At the same time she also realised the two of them, for all that the room was crowded with people, were effectively alone. And now that she had learnt of his marriage she needed time to sit down and consider what effect that had on her own plans.

She gave him a politely dismissively smile. ‘If you’ll excuse me——’

‘No,’ he told her evenly, effortlessly.

Her lashes fluttered uncertainly as she looked at him, momentarily disconcerted. ‘I’m sorry,’ she finally shook her head. ‘I——’

‘Are you?’ he rasped, eyes narrowed to silver slits.

She frowned now, unsure of the change of mood. ‘I meant——’

‘I know what you meant, Divine.’ His mouth twisted with scorn for her professional name. ‘I happen to think, having now met you, that you’re probably enjoying yourself.’

Diana met his gaze unflinchingly. ‘If I didn’t enjoy my work, Mr Falcon, then I wouldn’t do it any more.’

Dark brows rose mockingly. ‘From what I hear of the fees top-class models—and I include you, obviously, in that category,’ he drawled, acknowledging the slight inclination of her head, at the compliment, with one of his own, ‘command nowadays, that would be a little foolish, don’t you think?’

Her mouth firmed, eyes flashing slightly at the taunt. ‘Some things are more important than money, Mr Falcon——’ She broke off in stunned defence as he began to laugh at the comment, not a soft chuckle, but loud mocking laughter that had people all around the room turning to look at them curiously, a soft buzz of conversation instantly following as the two of them were recognised.

How dared he laugh at her? Just because he made money, and the power that money could buy him—power and money being the gods in his life—that was no reason to judge everyone else by the same cynicism.

He was shaking his head ruefully as the laughter died away, somehow appearing younger with his face relaxed in humour. ‘Where on earth did Chris find you?’ he mused disbelievingly.

She drew in a sharp breath as understanding dawned. ‘Ah,’ she nodded.

‘Penny finally dropped, has it?’ Reece Falcon taunted, his gaze sweeping over her disparagingly. ‘You’ve been playing games with my son, Divine——’

‘Diana,’ she snapped irritably. ‘My name is Diana,’ she explained challengingly as he looked at her with raised brows.

‘I thought Divine was a bloody silly name for any parent to have saddled a child with!’ He shook his head self-derisively. ‘But I take it Chris insists on calling you by it,’ he added knowingly.

Chris thought her professional name was romantic. He also enjoyed being seen with someone as publically known as Divine was. She had only been out with Chris to public places half a dozen times, but on a couple of those occasions they had been spotted together by the Press, and several questioning comments had appeared in the gossip columns concerning the two of them following that. It wasn’t so surprising, then, that Reece Falcon had finally got to hear about their relationship—in fact, it was what she had been hoping for! She just wished she had had a little more warning…

‘Chris is different,’ she told his father huskily, meeting the narrowed silver gaze with steady challenge.

‘Oh, yes,’ Reece Falcon acknowledged sharply. ‘He’s very different. The main way in which he differs from other people is that he’s my son——’

‘We all have disadvantages in our lives, Mr Falcon,’ Diana told him with contempt. ‘It’s just a question of trying to overcome them as best we can!’

For a moment he looked stunned by the quick viciousness of her attack, as if he very rarely came across such obvious antagonism directed towards him, and never from a woman. But as his initial surprise turned to deepening curiosity, his gaze searching now on the beauty of her face with its two bright spots of colour in otherwise pale cheeks indicating the anger she still felt, she knew that he found her outspoken attitude towards him intriguing in spite of himself.

‘So it is,’ he finally drawled appreciatively. ‘But you must realise, Diana, that the two of us have to talk——’

‘Not at all,’ she dismissed firmly, half turning as if to leave, and almost gasping out loud as Reece Falcon’s fingers clasped about her wrist to stop her from moving away. As it was she couldn’t stop the way her eyes widened, or the way they shadowed to a deep emeraldgreen. ‘Let go of my arm, Mr Falcon,’ she instructed with careful control, her voice barely above a whisper now, although she knew by the way his gaze narrowed on her consideringly that he had heard every word she said. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to do what she asked!

He shook his head finally, his fingers still like steel bands about her flesh. ‘Not until you agree that we have to talk.’

Her breathing felt as if it were coming in short, painful gasps, she felt cold and shivery despite the heat of the room, and her skin seemed to burn where he touched her—and at that moment she knew she wanted to agree to anything to get him to release her. But ultimately she knew she wouldn’t—couldn’t do that; that she would never show any sign of weakness towards this man.

Instead she looked at him coldly. ‘If you don’t release my arm, Mr Falcon, I’m going to start screaming,’ she told him with calm indifference. Inside she was just so relieved that she was managing to sound as controlled as she normally did—when in reality she really did feel like screaming! ‘And when I scream it will be—— Thank you,’ she accepted coolly as he slowly released her wrist as he saw she meant every word she said. ‘The truth of the matter is, Mr Falcon,’ she continued pleasantly, as if she hadn’t just directly challenged the man—and won!—‘that I’m very tired just now, and I actually intend going back to my hotel for a bath and a long sleep——’

‘Which hotel?’ he demanded quickly, his voice an angry rasp, all his earlier amusement—at her expense—having faded.

‘George the Fifth,’ she supplied without hesitation, having no reason to feel threatened; she had no intention of talking to this man anywhere tonight—she really did feel very tired after the gruelling week she had just had. And talking to this man at all wasn’t helping her exhaustion; in fact her nerves felt stretched to breaking-point. ‘But——’

‘Diana, you forgot to take these with you!’ Cally called out, hurrying over with the bouquet of red roses Diana had left in the changing-room, and pausing to give Reece Falcon an encouraging smile once she had handed the flowers over to Diana, although she hastily made her excuses and left again when he just returned her gaze coldly.

Diana held on to the bouquet of roses. ‘That wasn’t very kind,’ she told Reece Falcon critically, knowing she wouldn’t really have expected anything else from him!

‘“Kind” isn’t a word that I’ve heard often to describe me,’ he acknowledged derisively. ‘From my son?’ He looked at the roses with narrowed eyes.

Her arms tightened about the flowers defensively. ‘Yes.’

He nodded, as if he had never doubted it. ‘Then I’ll call at your hotel tomorrow morning and we can have breakfast together. Unless——’ his mouth twisted mockingly ‘—you’re one of those models who live on lettuce leaves and black coffee?’ He arched dark brows questioningly.

She knew that some of her friends did have a problem keeping their weight down, although she thought a diet of lettuce leaves was probably a slight exaggeration; it didn’t surprise her at all that Reece Falcon should be totally familiar with the problem some models had—no doubt he had been involved with more than one of them in the past!

‘One of the things I’ve enjoyed most about being in Paris,’ she drawled, ‘has been my fresh croissants and creamy coffee for breakfast,’ smoothly answering his derision.

He gave an acknowledging inclination of his head. ‘In that case, I’ll be at your hotel for breakfast at eight-thirty. Too early for you?’ he challenged.

She shook her head coolly. ‘Perfect.’ Because by that time she would no longer be at the hotel but at the airport, waiting for her flight home!

‘Tomorrow morning, then.’ Reece Falcon nodded abruptly before striding confidently away.

Because he didn’t doubt, as he had decided it would be so, that the two of them would be sitting down to breakfast together in the morning at eight-thirty!

Arrogant.

Self-centred.

Autocratic.

No wonder Chris found him just too much to try to live up to.

Well, if Reece Falcon thought that she was impressed by his arrogance he was sadly mistaken! Now that she had met the man, actually spoken to him, she disliked him even more intensely than she had before.

And she had already hated with vehemence the man who had ruined her father, made his life so unbearable that he had been left with no alternative but to take his own life…!

CHAPTER TWO

SHE was Divine.

International model. Travelled extensively. Was in demand for her unique brand of beauty all over the world. Always, as one of the highest paid models in the world, travelling first class, with champagne and roses—red roses, of course, her favourite flowers!—all the way.

Her suite at the George the Fifth was no exception—beautifully furnished with understated elegance, her bedroom dominated by the huge canopied bed she now lay in. But for all this quiet richness of her surroundings, and her own physical exhaustion, Diana lay wide-eyed and unable to sleep beneath the coolness of the bedclothes.

She wasn’t even sure how she came to be back at the hotel at all; she vaguely remembered the comfort of the limousine Charles had arranged to be at her disposal during her stay in Paris, but nothing of her journey through the streets still crowded with people in the outdoor cafés and restaurants, and she certainly didn’t remember entering the hotel itself and coming up to her suite.

Because of Reece Falcon…

She had been preparing herself for weeks for their first meeting. But when she had thought about it—and she had thought about it, often!—the meeting had always been by her own design, not sprung on her out of the blue as it had been earlier tonight.

It had shaken her much more than she could ever have imagined!

It had nothing to do with the way Reece Falcon looked—although God knew that was ominous enough. No, it had been the first sound of his voice again after all these years. She could have been blindfolded and would still have known the sound of that voice anywhere, was never likely to forget how the man had sounded who had forced her father to take his own life.

Because she wasn’t just Divine. Wasn’t just Diana Lamb, either. Her real name was Divinia Lambeth. Daughter of Howard Lambeth, a man Reece Falcon had taken delight in ruining.

She got restlessly out of the bed, giving up all idea of even trying to sleep, her cream silk nightshirt flowing smoothly over her body to mid-thigh, her legs long and golden beneath its length as she padded over to the window, gazing out over the beauty that was Paris by moonlight.

Not that she actually saw any of that, her thoughts too deep inside her as she cursed herself for not handling the meeting earlier this evening with Reece Falcon more calmly than she had. She had thought she could cope with it, had encouraged her friendship with Reece Falcon’s son because she had believed that—and she had been reduced to a quivering wreck after only a single meeting with the man she had grown up hating with a vehemence she knew often bordered on obsession.

Not content with forcing her father into taking his own life rather than facing the public scandal her father knew would follow after revelations were made about his business affairs—although that had been more than enough reason for the young Divinia to hate him!—Reece Falcon was also responsible for destroying anything that might have been left after the loss of her father.

Everything they had had needed to be sold in an effort to pay off her father’s creditors, and once Reece Falcon had claimed the family home as his own there hadn’t been that much left to sell! But Divinia’s life had changed irrevocably after her father’s death, the indulgent childhood she had known wiped out in a single act. Her only consolation in all that had been that Janette had lost her extravagant lifestyle too. After what Divinia had heard during her father’s conversation with Reece Falcon concerning her stepmother, she had felt the woman didn’t deserve to have anything from her father anyway; she might have only been nine years old then, but she certainly hadn’t been too young to realise that her stepmother had betrayed her father in some way. And with the passing of the years, her own maturity, she had been able to guess in what way Janette had been persuaded to betray her husband. The young Divinia had despised her beautiful stepmother almost as much as she hated Reece Falcon!

Which had been unfortunate, considering Janette had been made her sole guardian. And at nine Divinia hadn’t been left with any choice but to do as Janette decided she should. But Janette had only been twenty-five herself at the death of her husband, and had certainly had no intention of being hampered with a nine-year-old stepdaughter now that she was on her own and there was no money for a nanny. Somehow Janette had managed to salvage enough money from the chaos to send Divinia back to her private school; it would have been kinder if she hadn’t.

Everyone at the school, including Divinia’s own friends, was aware of the way her father had died and the reason for it, and while a few of her really close friends had remained loyal a lot more chose to shun her; it had almost been as if her father’s failure might rub off on them and taint them too. The following eight years of her school life had been miserable ones for her, and there was little respite from its overpowering presence in her life, as most of her school holidays were spent there too. Was it any wonder when she finally managed to escape from the place that she changed her name to Diana Lamb and tried to stamp out the misery of those years by severing all the ties she had with the people involved with them?

Janette had remarried within six months of Diana’s father’s death, to an Italian businessman who didn’t give a damn about the scandal surrounding her first husband; he just wanted a beautiful woman—and there was no doubting Janette was still that, with her shoulder-length ash-blonde hair and deep blue eyes—that he could display socially on his arm when needed, and leave to her own devices when he found other diversions to amuse him. This arrangement suited Janette perfectly; her main loves in life were herself and the indulgences Marco’s money could now buy her.

Whatever had been between Janette and Reece Falcon at the time of Diana’s father’s death seemed to have ended with Howard Lambeth’s death, and Diana had been glad—glad: why should Janette find happiness with her father’s murderer?

After Janette felt secure in her second marriage she had relented slightly in her attitude towards Diana, and allowed her to join them in their Italian home for several weeks of her school holidays throughout the year. Diana still despised her beautiful stepmother, but any time she spent away from the school had to be a bonus, and Marco was nice. Like a lot of Italian men, he liked children.

Unfortunately, however, Diana hadn’t remained a child…

Her thoughts veered sharply away from that second distressing time in her young life. Reece Falcon. It was all his fault. All of it. If he hadn’t pushed her father to the desperation of taking his own life, none of those things would have happened to her.

Which was why, since meeting Chris, she now wanted Reece Falcon to suffer the same pain she had.

Having now met the man himself, she knew that was going to be far from easy.

But she had to do it. Had to!

‘All right, Puddle.’ She chuckled softly at the antics of her cat, climbing up one of the legs of the yellow and pink leggings she wore in an effort to reach the bowl of food she was preparing for him. ‘Lunch is served!’ She put him out of his mewling misery by putting the bowl down on the cool tiled floor of her kitchen, watching indulgently as he launched himself into the bowl as if he hadn’t been fed for a month.

Which was far from the truth. She had only been away for a week, and Roger, the man who lived in the flat across the hallway, and who looked after the cat while she was away, always told her Puddle ate enough for ten cats. Puddle, a pure black cat, with an elusively absent tail, always reacted the same to her going away: he seemed to sense when she was going and stopped eating for several days before she went, then gorged himself in her absence, and then ate everything in sight once she was back—including little nips out of her legs, just to let her know he didn’t approve of her having gone away in the first place!

It was uncanny how the cat always knew she was going, even if she deliberately delayed packing until the very last moment. But after two years of being subjected to Puddle’s unique form of protest Diana had decided it had to be the Celt in him that knew; he was one of those rare things nowadays—a truly Manx cat, totally bereft of a tail. He was also clever, intuitive, and didn’t suffer fools gladly. He was the only companion Diana wanted in the large flat she had bought and decorated in her own particular style.

All the floors in the two-bedroomed flat, one of which she had made into a studio for the painting she did as a hobby, were either tiled or wood-panelled, with brightly coloured scatter-rugs thrown at random over their surfaces; the furniture, what there was of it, was all white, as were the walls. As Diana walked through from the kitchen with a mug of coffee, leaving Puddle to finish his brunch, she was like a bright splash of colour in the otherwise austere surroundings, wearing a bright yellow T-shirt over the garish multi-coloured leggings.

She dropped down on to one of the white bean-bags that lay about the room, relaxing back in its body-shaping comfort, letting all the tension of the day drain out of her as she sipped the strong coffee.

It had been an uneventful flight back from Paris early that morning, with very few people recognising the tall woman with her hair pulled back into a tight bun at her nape, wearing the white business suit and white blouse beneath the jacket, as the glamorous model Divine. It was exactly the way she liked it to be.

She enjoyed her work; she had really meant it when she had told Reece Falcon that if she didn’t enjoy modelling any more then she wouldn’t be doing it. She was thrilled that so many people liked the way she looked, how clothes looked on her. But that was the professional side of her life, and as Divine she accepted that, but as Diana Lamb she liked to keep her life very private indeed.

But even if anyone had recognised her on the early flight this morning they had been too polite to bother her. No, her tension had reached a head-pounding pitch long before she even reached the airport. She hadn’t slept all night, had just been too tense, too haunted by memories, to be able even to think of relaxing enough to grab a few hours’ sleep. Reece Falcon’s presence in Paris had deeply disturbed her. As it was, she had packed and left the hotel long before she needed to, and had then sat around at the airport constantly looking over her shoulder in case Reece Falcon should already have realised she had gone and followed her there!

He hadn’t, of course, but by the time she boarded the aircraft bound for Heathrow her tension had been such that she had almost leapt out of her seat when the air hostess approached her quietly from behind and asked if she would like a drink!

Lying back in this bean-bag, her eyes closed, the coffee-mug now hanging limply from her fingers, she realised this was the first time she had relaxed in over twelve hours. Since that meeting with Reece Falcon. She could almost, almost…fall asleep…

The strident ringing of the doorbell did little more than elicit a heartfelt groan of protest; she was too exhausted at that moment to do more than that.

She knew who it was, of course. Christopher had wanted to be with her in Paris this last week, but his father had sent him off on business for him—deliberately, Diana now realised—to America. Diana had told him how busy she was going to be with the show—too busy to spend much time with him really, and so he had finally gone to America, protesting all the way, hence the arrival of those red roses from him every day they were apart. But Chris should have arrived back in England this morning too, and had no doubt come to see her now with the intention of repeating his marriage proposal.

In spite of herself, she actually liked Chris. She certainly hadn’t wanted to, having considered before she met him that as Reece Falcon’s only child he was as much the enemy as his father was. But Chris was nothing like Reece Falcon; he was very easygoing by nature, and, taking after his American-born mother in looks, tall and blond, with the physique of an athlete. Even so, Diana had no intention of marrying him…!

‘Keep my seat warm, Puddle,’ she sighed wearily as she got up to answer the second ring of the doorbell, the now bulging cat instantly taking her place on the warm cushion.

But the tired smile of welcome that curved her lips froze into something resembling a grimace as she opened the door to find it wasn’t Chris who stood there at all, but his father—Reece Falcon!

Silver eyes glittered with mocking satisfaction as he saw the stunned expression she was too tired to mask, his mouth twisting derisively. ‘Breakfast.’ He held up the brown paper carrier-bag he held in one arm. ‘I told you we would have breakfast together.’

And what he ‘told’ her he was going to do, he obviously did, Diana realised dazedly as he brushed past her into the flat, easily finding his way into her spacious kitchen—probably following the smell of coffee!—the sound of his whistling coming from there seconds later, accompanied by the rustling of the paper bag as he obviously unpacked its contents.

She had seriously underestimated him over this, Diana now realised. She had thought that, once he discovered she had left the hotel before his arrival, he might just follow her to the airport; it had never occurred to her that he would follow her back to London!

But it should have done, she now berated herself. Who better than she to know how arrogantly single-minded this man could be when he set his mind to it?

By the time she followed him into the kitchen he had unpacked croissants, pastries and fruit into bowls and on to plates—a traditional French breakfast, in fact! This man didn’t do anything by halves, Diana acknowledged; he had told her he would be joining her for breakfast, and a true continental breakfast it was going to be. It might almost have come from France itself. In fact—he might just have done exactly that. Chris had told her his father flew around the world in his own jet; there was no reason why he shouldn’t have brought breakfast back from Paris with him this morning!

‘Ah, coffee.’ He picked up the pot Diana had made only minutes earlier, pouring them both a fresh mugful. ‘It’s good,’ he told her appreciatively after the first sip.

Diana was still stunned into silence. This flat, with its simplicity of design, was her own private little haven. And this man had just invaded it without a qualm. Certainly without an invitation!

‘Drink up,’ he encouraged briskly as her mug of coffee remained untouched on the marble worktop. ‘And we’ll take the food through to the sitting-room.’ He easily balanced the plates in the expansive strength of his hands. ‘I had a brief glimpse of that room on the way in here; I’d like to have a closer look,’ he added almost to himself, striding out of the kitchen with sure steps.

Once again Diana followed him dazedly, feeling as if she were following in the wake of a tidal wave!

He was dressed totally in black today, in a loose short-sleeved shirt with black fitted trousers that drew attention to the lean length of his legs. He looked every one of his thirty-nine years, lines of experience beside his eyes and mouth, and yet at the same time he possessed a dangerous magnetism that made age irrelevant.

‘Puddle,’ Diana finally managed to say weakly as Reece put the laden plates down on the rug in front of the bean-bags.

He looked up at her with raised brows. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘The cat,’ she explained a little impatiently, feeling as if she were being treated—and for the most part, acting, she freely admitted—like an idiot.

But once again his unexpected appearance had thrown her completely; it was the only excuse she could give herself for her lack of force, for allowing him to invade her home in the way he had. But her strength had always been of a different kind than force. It was only now, when faced with Reece Falcon himself, that she realised how ineffective that might be in dealing with him!

* * *

Gobsmacked.

Not very grammatical. Certainly not very delicately put. And it certainly wasn’t a turn of phrase Reece could ever remember using before. But it so perfectly described how the Divine Diana had looked when she first opened the door and found him standing on the other side of it!

And she wasn’t faring much better now either, burbling on about Puddle being the name of the cat that lay stretched out on one of the bean-bags. He didn’t get the relevance of the introduction of the cat into the conversation at all. Unless she thought perhaps he didn’t like them, or was allergic to them? As it happened he liked cats, approved of their detached independence from the people who thought they owned them; he respected their intelligence. He had never been able to appreciate hearing a woman being called a cat; he had never yet met any woman who portrayed anything like their majestic aloofness—not and actually meant it, that was!

And yet…

He studied Diana as she stood a short distance away from him. He knew a little more about her now, having called his assistant, Paul, once he had realised Diana had left Paris early this morning without seeing him, instructing the other man to have any information he could find concerning the model Divine available to him once he reached London. It hadn’t even occurred to him that it wouldn’t be; Paul was as efficient as he was highly paid, and only Reece knew he was the highest paid in the business.

Paul had two files waiting for him, one on the professional model Divine, the other one a personal file on Diana Lamb. Reece had been surprised at the briefness of the latter, barely three sheets of paper long, whereas the professional file was so thick with photographs and newspaper articles about her work that it had to be put on a desk to be read.

There had been hundreds—no, thousands—of photographs in this second file of the lovely Divine, of the model wearing everything and nothing—— No, never really nothing. The beautiful Divine had never been that sort of model, and, while Reece had been able to see the golden perfection of her body in minuscule swimwear, her nakedness had remained tantalisingly elusive. He had found those provocative photographs so much more erotic to look at than complete nudity could ever have been.

The personal file on Diana Lamb, for different reasons, had been just as frustrating. There was no childhood history at all, but, as this wasn’t the part of Diana’s life he was interested in, that hadn’t disturbed him unduly. He might be able to find something in her background with which to hit Chris if the couple persisted with their relationship, but for the moment it wasn’t too important.

The adult Diana Lamb, it appeared, led a very quiet life, no high-profile romances—he had asked Paul to check into there being any low-profile ones—no scandals either, just a calm, uncluttered life that didn’t include family, and not too many friends either, friendship with this woman seeming to be an exclusive club not too many people were admitted to.

And yet Chris, his wayward, frivolously irresponsible son, had been allowed into that select club. That fact, for reasons he wasn’t yet sure of, irritated the hell out of Reece.

And so the information Paul had managed to gather together about this woman, hastily as it had been done, didn’t really tell him much more than he already knew: the model Divine was one of the highest paid in the business, while Diana Lamb was an extremely elusive woman.

‘Puddle likes bread and cakes,’ she impatiently explained her earlier warning about the cat now.

Reece turned to look down at the cat as it stretched before getting lazily to its feet. ‘Stay!’ he instructed softly, silver gaze meeting lime-green in a silent battle of wills.

The cat was the first to look away, falling back down on the big bean-bag before curling up and going back to sleep, looking for all the world as if he had never had any interest in the food so temptingly laid out before him.

Now if only he could elicit the cat owner’s co-operation in the same way he might be in business!

As it was, Diana gave the sleeping cat a look that told it exactly what she thought of its disloyalty, before sitting down gingerly on the edge of the same big cushion.

Reece thought she looked even younger today without the heavy make-up she had been wearing the evening before for the show. In fact, she didn’t look as if she was wearing any make-up at all today. And he could tell by the way the T-shirt reached baggily to her mid-thighs that she hadn’t worn the body-hugging leggings for effect but for comfort.

If anything she looked even more beautiful today, that vulnerability he had sensed in her yesterday even more apparent, although, strangely enough, so was that inner strength he had been aware of too. She really was the most unusual woman he had ever met!

‘Eat,’ he instructed harshly, disturbed at the force of his growing attraction for the young woman he had only met at all because he wanted to evict her from his son’s life. He certainly hadn’t meant for her to take up residence in his own ordered life instead!

She met his gaze coldly. ‘I’m not the cat!’

His mouth twisted derisively at the way it so obviously rankled with her that her cat had obeyed him instantly. It was just a rapport he seemed to have with felines, was certainly nothing personal. Although it relieved his own tension to know this woman hadn’t liked it one little bit.

‘You’re far too skinny.’ He was deliberately insulting, enjoying the responses he was getting from her now much more than the careful control he had encountered from her the night before. Obviously catching this young woman off-guard was the key to success where she was concerned.

She sat cross-legged on the cushion now, unselfconsciously alluring, a slight smile curving her lips as she shook her head. ‘I’m an inch off being six feet tall, and an English size eight.’

He knew all that from her professional file, also that she had a body weight of only one hundred and thirty pounds, dark green eyes surrounded by sooty lashes, and waist-length hair that the Press seemed to describe as honey-coloured.

But away from the spotlights, her face youthfully free of make-up, the high prominence of her cheekbones seemed even more apparent, the line of her jaw sharper, the creamy length of her throat taking on a new fragility. And Reece was sure that, beneath the voluminous folds of that bright yellow T-shirt, the curves of her body would take on a more pronounced slenderness too.

For goodness’ sake, he had come here to get her out of Chris’s life, not concern himself with whether, because of her chosen career and the demands it made on her, she ate enough!

What was this man up to now? Why didn’t he just get to the point of his visit and get it over with, because they both knew the only reason he was here talking to her at all was because of Chris. Or was this all part of his game-plan—lure her into a false sense of security, and then hit her straight between the eyes with his demand that she get out of Chris’s life?

He sat back on his heels, eyes narrowed to steely slits. ‘How much do you want to leave Chris alone?’ he rasped harshly.

Ah. He was back on territory she understood now. But he didn’t understand at all, because it wasn’t ‘how much’ she wanted at all; it was something so much more than that.

Neither of them was at all interested in the array of food, and Puddle, opening one eye and seeing their indifference, decided it was all fair game, getting up slowly to pad over to the rug—and delicately help himself to a particularly succulent-looking pastry!

Because, like her, Diana was sure, the cat had known of Reece Falcon’s lapse of control—an unfamiliar feeling for him. But she had guessed from the first that, where other things might fail to hit this man where it hurt, his son Christopher was definitely his Achilles’ heel!

The silver gaze flickered only briefly over the disobedient cat as it slunk off into a corner to enjoy its loot, although Diana was sure the slight had clearly registered with this arrogant man.

‘I said, how much?’ he repeated coldly.

Diana eyed him pityingly. ‘I’ve told you before, money doesn’t interest me,’ she said with obvious disgust for the crudity of the suggestion that it did. ‘Perhaps it doesn’t appear so to you, because I choose to live quietly, and because of the modest circumstances of this flat, but I’m a very wealthy woman in my own right because of my career.’ Her years as a top model had been good ones, and she could now command thousands of pounds for just a day’s work. She didn’t need money from this man—she had enough to live in comfort for the rest of her life even if she should never work again. And at only twenty-one years of age, by anyone’s standards, that was no mean achievement. Not that she was even considering retiring from the job she loved so much, but it was nevertheless, after years of hardship, gratifying to be secure in her own wealth.

‘No one ever has enough money,’ Reece Falcon rasped with contempt for the subject.

Only the very rich, who had never known any other way of life, could afford to be this arrogant. Reece Falcon had certainly never known what it was to want just enough money that you didn’t have to be beholden to someone else for even the clothes you wore!

‘I said I don’t want your money, Mr Falcon,’ she told him in a carefully controlled voice. She wouldn’t touch his money. Not one single penny of the Falcon millions—tainted as it was with the blood and suffering of others. No, she didn’t want any part of Reece Falcon’s money.

His mouth thinned, dark brows raised in mocking scorn. ‘Then what do you want, Diana? Chris?’ he derided disbelievingly. ‘A boy of twenty, who can’t even begin to match your inner maturity?’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t believe, knowing Chris as I do, that he can even begin to satisfy the needs of a woman like you.’

She knew he was being deliberately insulting, and yet she felt the colour drain from her cheeks anyway. ‘Needs…?’ she repeated harshly. ‘I don’t——’

‘Oh, but I’m sure you do, Diana.’ Suddenly Reece Falcon was very close to her on the gaily coloured scatter-rug in front of the bean-bag she sat on. ‘I think you know exactly what I mean by “needs”.’ He was so close now that his breath stirred the hair at her temple.

Every nerve in her body was screaming a protest, every brain cell she possessed recoiling in horror, as she knew, seconds before his mouth descended savagely on hers, that he was going to kiss her!

And it was like no other kiss she had ever known in her life before; it was totally demanding, erotically forceful, allowing no room for denial or rejection, just completely and utterly sensual, those warm lips moving over and against hers in a slow caress that seemed without end.

Try as she might—and she did try!—Diana’s mouth couldn’t escape his, and then, just when she thought she couldn’t stand it any longer, she knew what she had to do, knew that she was approaching this all wrong; her response, any response, was what Reece Falcon wanted!

And so she went suddenly still, her arms falling to her sides, her body going limp in his arms, her mouth coldly slack and unmoving.

For long, timeless seconds, as Reece continued to kiss her, it seemed that wasn’t going to work either. And then—miraculously to her, because she was starting to feel faint now!—he seemed to realise she was completely unresponsive, and his mouth stilled against hers even as he opened his eyes and looked down at her, her green gaze returning his with cold contempt for what he was doing to her.

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