THE STORY SO FAR…

After her father’s death, Gemma Smith left the opal fields of the Outback for Sydney to find out the truth about her mother, and to sell her priceless discovery, a flawless black opal.

Fate introduced Gemma to Nathan Whitmore, a famous screenwriter, who offered her a reward for the gem, which had been stolen from Byron Whitmore, Nathan’s adoptive father, twenty years before. Highly attracted by Gemma’s vulnerability, Nathan also seduced and married her.

Gemma’s life was changed forever, and she witnessed startling events in the Whitmore household, too: Nathan’s wild-child adoptive sister, Jade, discovered happiness with Kyle Gainsford, while Melanie, the family housekeeper, let go of her traumatic past and married Royce Grantham. And just look at what had happened to Ava, Byron’s ungainly, much younger sister! She had lost weight and had found Vince Morelli, the handsome, caring Italian of her dreams! But where did all that leave Gemma and Nathan?

There were so many doubts and rumors that Gemma couldn’t ignore, including the disturbing things Damian Campbell had told her about Nathan’s troubled past….

PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS IN THIS BOOK

GEMMA SMITH-WHITMORE: on her father’s death, Gemma discovers a magnificent black opal worth a small fortune, and an old photograph that casts doubt on her real identity. In search of the truth about her mother, and a new life, she goes to Sydney, where she is seduced by, and then married to Nathan Whitmore.

NATHAN WHITMORE: adopted son of Byron Whitmore, Nathan is a talented screenwriter and playwright. After a troubled childhood and a divorce, Nathan is utterly ruthless and controlled. Will he ever be the loving, caring husband of whom Gemma has dreamed?

CELESTE CAMPBELL: head of the Campbell Jewelry empire, Celeste is rumored to have had numerous affairs with younger men. Celeste’s beauty and business acumen make her a woman not to be toyed with—she does the toying. But her predatory exterior hides a broken heart for an old love that refuses to die…

BYRON WHITMORE: patriarch of the Whitmore family, he is a strong, dynamic figure, whose unhappy, loveless marriage came tragically to an end. Secretly very sensual, he did once come close to a woman, but his ambition was greater than his desire…

DAMIAN CAMPBELL: younger brother of Celeste, Damian abuses his position as sales and marketing manager in the Campbell Jewelry empire, as he is only interested in self-gratification and sexual pleasure. He doesn’t care whom he hurts in their pursuit.

LENORE LANGTRY: talented stage actress, ex-wfie of Nathan Whitmore and mother of Kirsty, Lenore has finally found love with top solicitor Zachary Marsden, though she still maintains a close relationship with Nathan.

AVA WHITMORE: Byron’s much younger sister, Ava has blossomed and is now engaged to Vince Morelli, the owner of a gardening and construction business.

A NOTE TO THE READER:

This novel is one of a series of six set in the glamorous, cutthroat world of Australian opal dealing. It is the author’s suggestion, however, that they be read in the order written.

Scandals and Secrets
Miranda Lee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

CELESTE was turning for her twentieth lap when a glimpse of male legs standing at the end of the pool brought her to a gasping halt, water-filled eyes snapping upwards.

‘Good God, Damian,’ she said irritably once she’d caught her breath and found her feet. ‘You frightened the life out of me.’

Her brother laughed. ‘Nothing and no one can frighten the life out of you, Celeste. What on earth did you think I was? A rapist?’ He laughed again. ‘I would pity any poor rapist who set his sights on you, sister, dear. I know who it’d be ending up on his back.’

Celeste flashed her brother a coolly reproachful glance as she stroked over to the wall, intuition telling her he was referring to her reputation as a man-eater, not complimenting her on her martial arts skills. Damian delighted in delivering sarcastic little barbs her way. In that respect he was very much like Irene.

Dismay and irritation mingled to rattle Celeste momentarily. If there was one person she didn’t like thinking about it was her half-sister. Irene’s death last year might have lessened the feelings of hostility and hatred Celeste had harboured against Irene all these years, but thinking about her inevitably led to thinking about another person, who was unfortunately very much alive.

‘What do you want, Damian?’ she snapped, her nerves suddenly on edge. ‘It’s not like you to surface on a Saturday till at least mid-afternoon. When you come home on a Friday night at all, that is.’

Her brother did not have a monopoly on sarcasm, Celeste realised with a twinge of conscience. Not that Damian was capable of being hurt by such remarks. If anything, he seemed to enjoy any allusion to his decadent lifestyle.

Damian was a lost cause in Celeste’s opinion. Spoilt, selfish and lazy, he was also far too good-looking for his own good. When he’d been younger, she’d made excuses for his wild behaviour, hoping he might grow out of being reckless and irresponsible, especially when it came to the opposite sex. But twenty-nine saw him as a playboy of the worst kind. Celeste was appalled at how many happy marriages he had destroyed. What a pity the wives never saw the wickedness behind that boyish smile and those magnetic black eyes!

If Celeste had had her way, she would have tossed Damian to the four winds ages ago and forced him at least to fend for himself. That might have given him a bit of character. But he was the apple of their mother’s eye, and Adele had ignored all her daughter’s advice when it came to her ‘baby’. She’d insisted Damian be given a position in the family company, for which he was paid a salary far and above his contribution to Campbell Jewels, a salary which never seemed to meet his ever-increasing needs. Only last week, he’d approached Celeste for a loan, which she’d given him on the condition it was the first and last time.

‘I hope you haven’t come here looking for more money,’ she added tartly as she levered herself out of the pool and stripped her cap off. Long tawny blonde waves tumbled over her forehead and eyes. Celeste combed her hair back off her face with her fingers before walking over to pick up a towel and start drying herself. ‘If you have, you’re wasting your time.’

Damian lowered himself on to one of the cane loungers and surveyed his sister with a curious mixture of dislike and admiration.

For a female rising forty, she was still a hot-looking bird. Of course she spent a fortune on her face and hair, and she worked the hell out of her body to keep it looking like that, without an ounce of extra flesh, every muscle toned and honed to perfection.

She was not to his taste, however, either physically or personality-wise. Celeste was as hard as her body. He liked his women soft, in all respects. And he preferred brunettes, especially one particular brunette with big innocent brown eyes, the most luscious body and the sweetest of smiles.

Damn, but he couldn’t wait for the delectable Mrs Nathan Whitmore to fall into his hands. They said everything came to those who waited but he was getting sick and tired of waiting for Gemma to wake up to the sort of man that husband of hers was. Maybe he would have to think of some way he could give the situation a little push...

Meanwhile, he was about to relieve his boredom by giving his darling sister a different kind of push. Hell, but he was going to enjoy relaying the news he’d found out last night.

When Celeste saw Damian’s mouth pull back into a wickedly smug smile, a prickle of alarm shivered down her damp spine.

‘You’d like for me to have come crawling, wouldn’t you?’ he said silkily, linking his hands behind his head and crossing his ankles with an air of arrogant insolence. ‘You like having men suck up to you. It makes you feel all-powerful. That’s one of the reasons why you only screw around with younger men. Because they grovel better, and they’re easier to control.’

Celeste’s mouth dropped open for a second before it snapped shut. Underneath his nasty delivery and understandably inaccurate assumptions, Damian was right about her enjoying power over the male of the species. That was one of her rewards for staying alive, for picking herself up from the edge of insanity and suicide, and choosing to survive. It felt good to have men jumping to obey her every whim and want, having them bow and scrape. The days of her ever having to be afraid of a man, or in having them control any aspect of her life, were long over.

Or so she had believed. Till recently.

‘What a delicate turn of phrase you have, Damian,’ she said drily, needing a few moments to regain her composure after such a disturbing train of thought.

He laughed. ‘Since when did you take offence at calling a spade a spade? You don’t give a damn what people think of you, Celeste. You never have.’

Celeste frowned at this dig at the way she’d lived her life over the past decade or so, especially her uncaring attitude to scandal and gossip. It was true that she’d deliberately fuelled her reputation as a man-eater, publicly parading a long line of toy-boy companions for the gossip-mongers and tabloids to report.

What the general public did not know—or even her own brother—was that not once, during that time, had she actually been to bed with any of those young studs. Oh, yes, she’d flirted openly with them, especially when the cameras had been close. She’d allowed them to take her to highly publicised premieres, charity balls, the races and any other function where her photo was likely to be taken and printed, complete with partner.

Most of her supposed lovers had been independently wealthy playboy types from society families around Sydney. Some, however, had been employees—her personal assistant and chauffeurs were always young, male and handsome—whom she outwardly treated much more intimately than their position warranted. Amazing how quickly rumour escalated such relationships into tempestuous affairs.

Celeste suspected the men themselves lied about their conquests of the infamous female head of Campbell Jewels. Perhaps their male egos prompted them to feed the gossip about her reputedly voracious sexuality, each one in turn thinking they were the only one not to succeed in getting her into bed.

Celeste had never been bothered by any of this before. She had revelled in it all, finding some kind of weird vengeance in the knowledge that there was one particular person whom her scandalous reputation might hopefully hurt. She used to like to picture his face when he read or heard the latest gossip about her. She would imagine him hating her, yet still wanting her at the same time.

Thinking about his ongoing unrequited desire evoked an inner satisfaction that soothed the savage beast lurking within her heart.

Or it had. Till she’d taken herself off to the Whitmore Opals ball a few weeks back and come face to face with that unrequited desire, only to find out that her own desire for Byron Whitmore was still there, just as unrequited as his, and just as strong as ever.

Celeste had been utterly thrown. She’d been so sure she would never feel any desire for any man ever again, let alone the man who’d been the instigation of all her pain and anguish. Suddenly, that night, her much vaunted control over her life had been in danger of slipping away.

Any imminent disintegration had been temporarily staved off, however, by the most unlikely circumstances: an attempted robbery.

The prize for the thieves was to have been the Heart of Fire, a magnificent uncut black opal, the auction of which had been advertised as the highlight of the ball.

When she’d first heard news of the auction on the grapevine, she’d tried dismissing the thought that this could be the same opal which had played such an unfortunate part in her life over twenty years before, but once she saw it for herself on display in the Regency store windows all sorts of tortuous thoughts and futile hopes had forced her to walk back into the lion’s den and confront the past as she had never confronted it before. In the flesh.

The results had been horrendous. Not only was she shattered by the realisation that she still wanted Byron in a sexual sense, she had also stupidly forked out two million dollars for an opal she couldn’t even bear to look at. She hadn’t even been to elicit any real information about the circumstances of the Heart of Fire’s reappearance, Byron having answered her query with some slick lie about it turning up in some old dead miner’s things at Lightning Ridge and being returned to him. As if anyone would just hand over a two-million-dollar opal!

Celeste had been in a most uncharacteristic mental turmoil that night when the balaclavaed robbers made their unexpected appearance. When one grabbed her as hostage, she’d been momentarily at a loss, obeying his commands and weakly going with him like a lamb to the slaughter, till some brutal manhandling had snapped her out of her submissive fog, revitalising her bitter determination never to surrender any of her self to any man in any way ever again, either emotionally or physically.

Out of the blue, she’d struck back, using the self-defence skills she’d learnt many years before, felling her assailants with two quick kicks. With hindsight, she almost felt gratitude to those brutes for bringing back horrific memories which in turn had renewed her fighting spirit.

Suddenly, she’d felt strong again, strong enough to defy this unwanted weakness of still wanting Byron Whitmore in a sexual sense. When fate placed her in his insidious presence once again a few days after the ball, she had delighted in deliberately courting his disgust in an appalling display of over-the-top flirtation with her chauffeur.

Unfortunately, her outrageous behaviour had back-fired on her in a couple of ways. Firstly, the chauffeur had been inspired to take liberties later that evening and she’d had to fire him. But the second and more disastrous outcome was that this time Byron’s obvious contempt had unaccountably distressed, instead of soothed her.

Celeste had eventually pulled herself together to the point where Byron ceased to fill her thoughts on a daily basis. But she certainly wasn’t looking forward to confronting him again next Monday at the trial of the ringleader of the robbers, where they were both witnesses.

‘Is this your version of the silent treatment?’ Damian drawled in a derisive tone. ‘If so, I find it incredibly boring.’

‘Say what it is you have to say, Damian,’ she answered sharply. ‘I’m not in the mood for any of your sick little games.’

‘Moi? Play sick games? Never!’ His laughter grated on her already stretched nerves.

‘Damian,’ she rebuked. ‘Get on with it!’

His hands dropped back to his sides and he sat up, a petulant expression on his too handsome face. ‘You always spoil my fun.’

‘Your idea of fun is not my idea of fun.’

‘Really? I always thought it was. I like a bit of young stuff myself.’

Celeste’s chin came up and she eyed her brother with distaste. ‘I’m going over to the house. I have other things I’d rather do than stand here freezing to death.’

‘What?’

‘What do you mean, what?’

‘I mean what else have you got to do? After all, you haven’t found a new young stud to fill your leisure hours yet, have you? You know, Celeste, you never did tell me why you fired Gerry. I mean, I do realise it’s rather clichéd—and a tad tacky—for the rich lady employer to have her chauffeur perform extra services but he did seem well equipped for the job.’

Celeste was appalled at the fierce heat that raced up her neck and into her cheeks. Blushing had never been her style but her newly sensitised self was suddenly finding the picture she had painted of herself over the years not only embarrassing but almost obscene. When hadn’t she seen what she was doing? Where had her pride disappeared to? Clearly, her hatred of Byron and men in general had warped her so much that she didn’t care what anyone thought of her.

But suddenly, she did. Dear God, she did...

‘Well, well, well,’ Damian drawled. ‘Whatever did Gerry do? I would have thought he was a very straight young fellow. Did he try something a little more...adventurous? Is that it?’

‘Don’t be disgusting, Damian,’ she snapped. ‘I simply decided I didn’t need a chauffeur any longer.’

‘I see. So you have another gorgeous young hunk to tease Byron Whitmore with, do you?’

Celeste gasped before she could stop herself.

‘You thought I didn’t know?’ Damian’s smile was pure malice as he stood up and walked towards her. ‘Silly Celeste. Didn’t you know Irene always told me everything? I know all about your encounters with our dear sister’s husband. Whoops, half-sister. Though he wasn’t her husband the first time, was he? Merely her boyfriend.’

‘He was not,’ Celeste choked out, her head whirling with Damian’s disclosure. ‘Irene and Byron were not going out when I first met him. I was on work experience at Whitmore’s. She didn’t start going out with Byron till after I went back to boarding-school. I didn’t try to take Byron away from Irene. She took him away from me!’

‘And what of later, Celeste?’ Damian said in a low, smarmy voice. ‘He was her husband then, wasn’t he?’

Celeste closed her eyes and shuddered.

‘Yet you made love to him, didn’t you?’ Damian taunted softly. ‘You had to have him, no matter what...’

Celeste’s eyes opened, huge and haunted. ‘Yes,’ she confessed brokenly. ‘Yes...’

‘You callous bitch,’ he said with so much venom that Celeste was stunned.

She shook her head. ‘You don’t understand how it was.’

He laughed. ‘Oh, I understand only too well. We’re all tarred with the same brush. Irene... You... Me... We take after dear Papa, which makes us not good people to cross. We want what we want and God help anyone who gets in our way. You and Irene wanted the same man. A cat fight was inevitable, but the only one who came out on top was Byron. Literally.’

‘You’re disgusting!’

‘That’s the pot calling the kettle black, surely.’

‘It wasn’t like Irene said. I didn’t set out to seduce Byron. I didn’t set out to do anything!’ Anger that she was having to defend her morals to Damian, of all people, had her whirling away and dragging on the towelling robe that she’d brought with her. Flicking her hair over her shoulder, she turned back to face her brother with a steely expression on her face. ‘I do not wish to discuss what happened with Byron in the past. It’s dead and gone as Irene is dead and gone.’

‘Really, Celeste? Are you saying you don’t feel a thing for Byron any more, that he hasn’t been your silent sexual prey all along?’

Outrage at both Damian and her own stupid feelings rose in her breast. ‘I detest Byron Whitmore!’ she lashed out. ‘I wouldn’t let him touch me if he was the last man on earth!’

‘No kidding. Then it won’t bother you that he’s about to be married again.’

Celeste could no more stop the blood from leaving her face than she could the daggers of dismay that stabbed into her heart. She clutched the robe around her and did her level best not to sway on her feet, or look anything other than coldly indifferent. With a supreme effort of will, she somehow found a wry smile and a semblance of composure. ‘Is that so?’ she drawled. ‘And who’s the unlucky lady?’

Damian seemed disconcerted by her quick recovery. Clearly, he’d wanted to distress her, wanted to twist those daggers. His black eyes were still watchful on her, waiting for her to betray her feelings, but this only hardened Celeste’s resolve to keep them to herself. If she was stupid enough still to feel anything for that holier-than-thou hypocrite, then the last thing she was going to do was show it or admit it. That would betray everything that had sustained her all these years.

‘Her name is Catherine Gateshead,’ Damian informed her sourly.

‘And how did you come across this priceless information?’ Celeste thought her tone was perfect. Just a little sarcastic, and a lot bored.

‘A friend of hers told a friend of mine they were going to announce their engagement at Byron’s fiftieth birthday party last night. It seems they’ve been quite a hot item for quite some time.’

Celeste battled to control a whole host of reactions, not the least of which was shock at hearing Byron’s age. Fifty! He didn’t look fifty. Clearly, he wasn’t acting as though he was fifty, either, she thought bitterly. Still, he’d always been a highly sexed man and Irene had been dead for nearly a year.

‘And how old is this Catherine person?’ she asked as nonchalantly as she could manage.

Damian’s smirk suggested he’d picked up on her tension. ‘A good few years younger than you, dear sister. And smashing-looking, I’m told.’

Celeste threw her brother a savage look and he laughed.

‘Jealousy can be an ugly thing. Not that you’ve got anything to worry about, Celeste. No woman can hold a candle to you when you put your mind to it. I’ll never forget the look on that bastard Whitmore’s face when you swanned into the Regency ballroom recently in that dress. God, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. Not that I blame him. That was some dress.’

Celeste cringed at the memory of the aforesaid dress. She hadn’t realised, till she was making her way down the centre of the ballroom and caught a glimpse of herself in one of the mirrored walls, how that dress looked from a distance. The skin-coloured material and tightly fitted style gave the illusion of nudity, the selected beading marking out a provocative outline around her nipples and crotch. Up close in the boutique, it had not looked so scandalously revealing. Still, under Byron’s critical gaze, she’d had no alternative but to carry off the outrageous outfit with panache or be left looking a fool.

‘It was perfectly obvious to anyone with a brain in their head,’ Damian was raving on, ‘that you’ve only got to click your fingers his way and he’d drop Catherine Whatsername as though she has a contagious disease. Alternatively, you could have some real fun and wait till he married the silly bitch, then move in for the ultimate kill. A married Byron seems to bring out your best hunting instincts.’

Celeste amazed herself by not reacting visibly to Damian’s crude and inflammatory remarks. Her expression remained remarkably cool, as was her laugh. ‘I think you’re confusing me with yourself, brother dear. You’re the one who’s always running after married people. I prefer my bed partners both single and decidedly younger than fifty. I don’t think Byron Whitmore fills the bill, do you?’

Retying the sash on her robe, Celeste picked up her towel and pushed past her brother, striding confidently towards the door. Damian scowled after her, irritated by his lack of success at stirring up trouble. What he didn’t see was the grey pallor in his sister’s face as she left the pool-house, or the haunted look in her eyes. Neither could he guess at the storm of emotion gathering in her heart, nor her lack of confidence in her ability to deal with any of it.

Celeste headed across the lawns and up the stone steps to the back of the house, blinking madly as she went. I do not care about Byron Whitmore, she kept saying to herself. I do not care what he does or where he goes or whom he marries. I do not care!

Celeste swept into the huge kitchen and put on the kettle for a cup of coffee. By the time she was sipping its soothing warmth, she was almost her old self again.

Till she suddenly remembered the trial on Monday.

Her head dropped into her hands, her stomach instantly churning.

‘Oh, God...’

CHAPTER TWO

THE taxi sped off, leaving Gemma standing on the pavement with her suitcase at her feet. She was smiling to herself.

Nathan was going to get the shock of his life when she walked in. He thought she was out in good old Lightning Ridge, patiently awaiting the Monday afternoon flight back to Sydney. Instead, here she was, home a day early, the lucky passenger on a private jet chartered by an American couple staying at her motel.

The McFaddens had dropped in on the opal-mining town as part of a whirlwind tour of the outback of Australia, and, not finding the dust, flies and heat to their liking, had decided to head for Sydney posthaste. When Gemma had told them over breakfast this morning in the dining-room that she wished she were back home in Sydney as well, they’d offered her a lift. Delighted, she’d accepted, and here she was!

A glance at her watch showed it had only just passed one in the afternoon.

For a few seconds, she regretted that her trip back to Lightning Ridge had been so unrewarding in the matter of finding anything out about her missing mother. Perhaps she should have stayed the extra day and come back on the Monday as originally planned.

In all honesty, she hadn’t tried all that hard, had she? One short interview with Mr Gunther—her dead father’s only friend in Lightning Ridge—and one afternoon spent talking to the miners who’d just happened to drop into the pub. Neither would qualify as an in-depth investigation. Was it that underneath she was afraid of the truth? Or of finding out that Nathan was right? Some people’s pasts were better off left there.

Still, the trip back to where she’d grown up had made Gemma appreciate the life she had made for herself now in Sydney. She had an interesting job selling opals to an exclusive clientele in Whitmore’s glamorous store in the Regency Hotel. She was married to Sydney’s most successful playwright who also just happened to be the most handsome, sexiest man who’d ever drawn breath. And soon she was going to start having the family she’d always wanted.

Her big brown eyes melted as she thought of her husband, and their phone conversation last Friday night. That had been less than two days ago, but it seemed like an eternity. She’d done exactly as he’d suggested and thrown away her pills. Then she’d done the second thing he’d wanted: come home.

Smiling a very female smile, she extracted her keys from her carry-all handbag, picked up her suitcase and walked over to the security door of the four-storey building that housed their apartment. On the top floor, their unit had a lovely view of Elizabeth Bay and, while Gemma called it home for now, she knew she wouldn’t want to bring up a child, or children, in such a contained and restricted environment. She would want a house and a big back yard with a dog in it, a dog she would call Blue.

Gemma’s heart squeezed tight as she thought of that moment out at the Ridge yesterday when she’d visited Blue’s grave. He was buried not far from the dugout she’d been brought up in, on a small hillock he used to lie on sometimes. She hadn’t been able to stop the sudden welling-up of emotion nor the flood of tears that had streamed from her eyes. Now, as she turned the key and let herself into the building, she felt those tears pricking at her eyes again.

She would have brought Blue to Sydney with her if she’d had the chance. But some rotten swine had poisoned him while she’d been at her father’s funeral. She’d been shattered when she found his body, seemingly more upset over her dog’s death than her father’s.

Gemma felt a stab of guilt at that memory, frowning as she carried her case inside the cool foyer and shut the door behind her. Going back to Lightning Ridge had dredged up memories she would rather have forgotten. Yes, Nathan was right. One’s happiness lay in the future, not the past. Her future and her happiness lay in her marriage to Nathan, in their having a family together.

A determined expression momentarily thinned Gemma’s full mouth. If Nathan thought she was going to stop at one baby, he was very much mistaken. She’d hated not having any brothers and sisters, hated not having a mother and a father. No child of hers was going to go through life feeling deprived and different, as she had done. Her children would have every advantage she could give them.

Gemma’s mouth suddenly relaxed into a quietly rueful smile.

Just look at me, getting all carried away and serious. Thinking too far ahead was as bad as spending all one’s energy worrying about the past. My first priority is being happy here and now—and in getting pregnant with my first baby. Still, if Nathan’s mood on the phone the other night was anything to go by then the latter shouldn’t take too long.

Gemma hurried over to press the lift button on the wall, her heart racing excitedly as she thought of what was in store for her upstairs.

The lift doors whooshed back and she stepped inside the empty compartment, pressing number four and waiting impatiently for them to shut again.

Actually, she and Nathan hadn’t made love for ages. Not that Nathan hadn’t wanted to. He always wanted to. But some recent and rather shocking allegations about Nathan’s sexual history had played on her mind, and she’d begun making excuses not to make love with her husband. Even after being assured by an independent source that the most shocking of these allegations was untrue, she’d still found herself acting very negatively in the bedroom. Nathan had been remarkably patient with her, and she aimed to reward that patience in full tonight.

Maybe I’ll fall pregnant straight away, Gemma thought excitedly as the doors shut and the lift began to rise.

Probably not, she conceded, but it felt wonderfully warming to think about the possibility. It would give added meaning to what had previously been little more than a physical intimacy between them. Gemma held high hopes that having a baby together would bring about the emotional bonding with Nathan that she’d always felt was missing in their relationship.

With spirits high and pulse galloping, she stepped out of the lift on the fourth floor, eager to have her husband’s arms around her, to have him kiss her as he’d kissed her at the airport the other day. Too bad if he was deeply involved with his writing. She was going to insist he leave it and give her his full attention. No doubt he would be holed up in his study, his handsome face buried in the computer screen. But nothing was going to save him from being seduced today. Nothing!

Gemma’s grin faded to a frown as she opened their apartment door. Nathan’s raised voice was coming through the closed double doors that led into the living-room, sounding so impassioned that Gemma was shocked into stillness, her hand on the doorknob, her case still in the hallway outside. His next words came crystal-clear to her startled ears, and their content staggered her.

‘So what if it was just sex last night?’ Nathan scoffed angrily. ‘And the night before. When has it ever been anything other than just sex between us?’

Gemma paled, her hand tightening over the knob as Lenore’s voice flung a furious reply.

‘When has it ever been anything else but just sex for you with any woman?’

Nathan laughed.

Despite her being already frozen with shock and horror, that cold laughter chilled Gemma to the bones.

‘You think I didn’t love you that night all those years,’ Lenore swept on, ‘when we made a baby together? You think that was only sex for me?’

‘I know it was.’ Scornfully.

‘You bastard!’

‘Nothing is to be achieved by calling names. Why don’t you come over here and stop being a fool? Besides, you can hardly flounce out of here in a temper. You’re not properly dressed.’

Gemma had to stuff a fist into her mouth to stop an anguished groan from escaping.

A muffled groan did find its way through those hideous doors, however, and Gemma thought she would die.

‘I should never have let you talk me into coming here,’ Lenore cried. ‘I should never have let you touch me. You’ve always been bad news for women. God, but I hate you.’

‘Shall we see how much?’ he taunted.

‘No, don’t! Oh...oh, God, I’m hopeless...’

Gemma couldn’t stand another second of such emotional torture, but the wild urge to burst in on them and create an embarrassing scene was superseded by feelings of pained pride. Why should she humiliate herself in front of two such shameless creatures? They wouldn’t really care, except in how being caught out would affect their cruelly selfish and amoral lives.

But oh, God, the betrayal hurt as she’d never been hurt before. Nothing compared with the vice-like pain gripping her heart, nor the wintry emptiness within, as though her soul had been sucked dry by some huge emotional vacuum cleaner.

Gemma somehow managed to close the door, hoist her carry-all up on to her shoulder and pick up her suitcase. She didn’t take the lift. She went down the fire stairs, quite slowly, each shuddering step like a death-kneel, her mind disbelieving of how quickly her excited happiness had been changed to despair.

Tears filled her eyes and flooded over, running down her cheeks. She didn’t stop to wipe them away. Neither did she stop going down those steps. If she did, she would surely sag down into a wretched impotent huddle, and once she did that she would not have the energy or the courage to do anything or go anywhere. Nathan might accidentally find her there and she couldn’t bear to hear the lies he was sure to come up with to explain what she’d overheard.

Gemma exited the building and turned to walk up the streets and around the corner, no real destination in mind. She just wanted to get as far away from Nathan and Lenore as she could. The act of walking was a salvation in itself, for having to put one foot in front of the other had a kind of robotic comfort. Gradually, the breeze dried the tears on Gemma’s cheeks and she felt the pieces of her shattered soul gradually reassemble into something that was capable of making decisions.

Not that she was whole again. Her heart would never be whole again, she recognised bleakly. It would remain broken, but a type of glueing together was taking place as she walked, her bewildered despair giving way to the human survival technique of cynicism and anger.

You shouldn’t be surprised, Gemma, a bitter voice berated. You had plenty of clues that Nathan hadn’t married you for love, no matter what he claimed. True love does not keep its emotional distance, nor harbour dark secrets. It is open and trusting and warm and wonderful. Nathan, on far too many occasions, was secretive and distrusting and cold and downright wicked. Look at the way he enslaved your senses, turned you into little more than a sexual puppet. If he’s been patient with you lately, it was because he had other fish to fry. He didn’t need to make love to you because he was having an affair with Lenore!

And you suspected as much. Go on, admit it, you stupid little idiot! Underneath you were worried about the time he was spending with Lenore but in the end you chose to ignore it, because you wanted to believe in his love, wanted to keep pretending.

As for Lenore...

Now that the initial shock was over and she was thinking more clearly, Gemma was stunned to find she didn’t feel quite so angry with Nathan’s ex-wife. In fact, she almost felt sorry for her. If Lenore hated Nathan, as she said, then that was because she was also still in love with him. Gemma could well understand a woman loving and hating Nathan at the same time. She certainly did right at this moment. But at least the hate part seemed to clear one’s vision of the man he really was. Lenore didn’t sound as though she was under any illusions. Neither was Gemma any more. Just to love Nathan was to become a fool, there was no doubt about that. A blind fool!

Gemma looked back over all the warnings she’d been given about Nathan, the warnings she had naïvely ignored. Instead, she’d stupidly gone into a marriage based on nothing but the physical. His wanting her to have a baby was the one thing that she didn’t quite understand. There again, men had babies all the time with women they didn’t love. Maybe it was a matter of ego, of wanting to replicate their genes, or of wanting to keep the women under their control.

Nathan had demonstrated a jealousy and possessiveness over her from the start, suggesting that, while he might not love her, he did like ‘owning’ her. Since their marriage, he’d moulded her into the sort of wife that suited him, a sexually submissive little doll whom he could dress as he fancied, parade in public on his arm, then bring home and make love to as he pleased.

Well, he wouldn’t be ‘making love’ to her any more, she vowed with an intense bitterness that kept the despair at bay. Their marriage was over as of this moment. She would never go back to him. Never ever!

Gemma strode on, around the next corner, heading towards she knew not what. But the ramifications of the decision she had just made were not long in sinking in. Would Byron give her the sack once he found out she’d left his precious adopted son? Even if he didn’t, where was she going to live now? She had no real friends, no one she could turn to, except perhaps...

Damian had said she could rely on him if ever she needed a friend.

Gemma slowed her step. Why was she so loath to call Damian Campbell? Was it just pride that was stopping her, or something more complex than that? Nathan’s own warnings about his enemy no longer held water, did they? One couldn’t believe a thing he said. And yet...

Gemma sighed her confusion, halting completely on the pavement, putting the suitcase down. Momentarily, she closed her eyes, the events of the day threatening to overwhelm her. She felt so alone, so alone and so wretched. Tired too. Yes, suddenly, she felt dreadfully tired. Emotional exhaustion, she supposed.

Opening her eyes, she glanced around and there, on the next corner, stood an old hotel. What she needed was a quiet place to lie down. Somewhere she could simply sleep for a while. Nathan was not expecting her back in Sydney till the following afternoon. He was not expecting her to call tonight. This gave her over twenty-four hours to decide what action she was going to take. Wearily, Gemma picked up her suitcase again and began walking in the direction of the hotel.

What would have happened, she wondered grimly as she carefully crossed the street, if she had stayed in Lightning Ridge and come back as originally planned?

Gemma shuddered to think that she would have innocently gone back home to her husband’s bed, unknowing of his treachery, unsuspecting of how callously he had betrayed her over the weekend, how he would go on betraying her.

Innocent.

Unknowing.

Unsuspecting.

Well, she wasn’t innocent any longer and she would never be unknowing or unsuspecting again. From this moment on, Gemma Whitmore would place her trust in one person only.

Herself.

CHAPTER THREE

CELESTE surveyed her wardrobe with some concern on the Monday morning, moving outfit after outfit along the racks in her dressing-room, mulling over the effect each one would have on Byron Whitmore. What could she wear that wouldn’t inspire contempt in his eyes?

Or lust.

At this last thought, Celeste brought herself up sharply. What on earth was the matter with her, caring what Byron thought, or felt? It was her own feelings she had to worry about. Her own lust. Or desire. Or whatever people called it these days.

She’d read somewhere recently that lust had a chemical basis, hormones or such sparking off endorphins in the brain which in turn impelled one’s body to mate with the object of its desire without any reference to logic or common sense. A mindless animal thing, in other words.

A mindless animal thing was all she could possibly still feel for that man, she’d decided bitterly after her run-in with Damian at the weekend. Nothing else. Certainly not anything finer or deeper. She’d been silly even to consider such a possibility, let alone worry about it!

Since this was the case, she reasoned ruthlessly, then the person who needed protecting was herself, not Byron. How better to protect herself than to dress as provocatively as she always had, thereby ensuring his lust and contempt?

Celeste knew full well that the holier-than-thou Byron Whitmore would not contaminate himself by touching someone who epitomised everything he despised. She was safe, as long as she ran true to form. Whereas if she came out looking unexpectedly demure, shock might make him vulnerable to the primitive desires she knew still lurked in that staunchly high-principled soul of his. She’d seen the lust in his eyes the night of the ball as surely as she had felt her own.

A canary-yellow dress jumped out at her and she drew it from the rack, smiling. If that didn’t put some fire in his veins and disgust into those beautiful blue eyes of his then her name wasn’t Celeste Campbell.

Made of stretch jersey wool, the yellow sheath fitted her like a glove and finished mid-thigh. The high rolled neck and long tight sleeves practised reverse physiology by being more provocative than the lowest-cut, most revealing style. Perhaps this had something to do with the way it clung, projecting a subtle promise rather than overt promiscuity.

Subtle?

Celeste laughed. There was nothing subtle about that yellow dress if it was worn without a bra and only tights underneath—the ones with built-in panties which had not a single ridge to reveal their existence. She had worn it that way to the races one day and caused a minor sensation. Celeste remembered the occasion with wry affection because her photograph had been splashed across all the Sunday society pages and she felt confident Byron would have seen them. There was nothing that made her feel better than the knowledge she might have upset Byron’s equilibrium.

It was not simply a matter of a woman scorned having her revenge, as her brother probably believed. It was a matter of justice. Byron had to be punished for what he had set in motion with his merciless ambition. She shouldn’t have to be the only one to suffer.

The image of her lovely little baby girl swam before her eyes for a moment before she ruthlessly forced it down, down into the depths of darkness, hopefully never to surface again. She’d trained herself not to think about that any more, for what was the point? She’d done all that she could, had tried to find her baby. Tried and tried and tried. In the end, she had had to put the search side and go on with her life. Either that, or kill herself, or go mad.

Her decision to put the past behind her and go on living had been a brave one. Of course, that didn’t mean she no longer suffered, or that she was totally successful in blocking those crippling memories. This was the second time this year she had lapsed. The first time had been when she’d seen that damned opal. How could she not have started thinking about the past when confronted by a piece of it? But confronting an inanimate object was nothing compared to confronting the man who’d set all the horrors in motion.

Celeste shuddered, then stiffened and straightened, using every ounce of her iron will to smooth the pained anguish from her face. Her tiger’s eyes, which had mirrored intense distress for a second, now flashed with the type of coldly glittering lights that would have terrified any enemy.

Celeste only had one enemy within reach these days. Byron Whitmore.

If I wear the matching yellow sandals complete with three-inch heels, she decided with icy determination, I should meet him eye to eye.

Well, not quite, she conceded drily as she draped the yellow dress over her arm and picked up those same yellow sandals. Byron stretched the tape measure to six feet four. If that wasn’t daunting enough, he had shoulders like axe-handles and legs any football player would kill for. Top that off with a classically handsome face which was ageing better than Cary Grant’s and you had a man so damned attractive it was downright unfair!

What irked Celeste as well was that Byron’s sex appeal was not dimmed by his possessing the sort of chauvinistic attitude to women that sent feminists into a right flap. Yet, for some weird and wonderful reason, most women responded to his strongly male stance very positively. They became coy in his presence. Coy and fluttering and feminine. She herself had been guilty of such a reaction in the old days, as had dear sweet Irene. Oh, yes, Irene had been putty in his hands, quite the reverse of the hard-edged sarcastic bitch everyone else had known her to be.

Thinking about the way she herself had blindly responded to Byron in the past rehardened Celeste’s heart towards him in the present. Unfortunately, her emotional toughness did not seem to spill over into other areas. Her mind and body were running their own races, recalling things she would rather not recall.

Byron, kissing her in his office when she’d been only seventeen.

Byron, making love to her. Once again in his office.

Byron, making love to her yet again. Not in his office. On the billiard-table. At Belleview. Two years later...

For a few tormenting moments she could almost feel how it had felt when he made love to her. God, she would have done anything he wanted. She had done anything he wanted!

Celeste squeezed her eyes tightly shut, detesting herself for the wave of heat flooding her body. But when her nipples actually hardened, her eyes flung open wide in shock.

Furious with herself for her lack of control, Celeste swept back into her luxurious bedroom, dumping her clothes on the huge round bed before heading for her equally luxurious bathroom. Arousal quickly gave way to other more satisfying emotions, a vengeful smile curving her generous mouth as she slipped the silky robe from her shoulders and snapped on the shower taps. God, but she was going to enjoy making that bastard’s loins itch today. It was the least she could do in the face of her own damnable desires.

* * *

CELESTE’S BITTER RESOLVE lasted right up till the moment her taxi pulled up in front of the court-house and she saw Byron walking down the street towards her. Her immediate flutter of nerves mocked her determination to be ruthlessly seductive in his presence, her instantly churning stomach bringing with it both irritation and dismay.

What in God’s name was the matter with her? This was Byron Whitmore here, the man who’d almost destroyed her. No mercy, Celeste. No mercy!

Damn, but he did look good in that black suit. Distinguished and handsome, yet incredibly sexy. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

The driver curtly announcing the fare snapped Celeste out of her emotional confusion. She handed him over a note, told him brusquely to keep the change, then began to alight from the back seat, just as Byron drew alongside. Their eyes met as she swung the door wide and presented her long legs to the spring sunshine.

Byron halted mid-stride to glare at her, his blue eyes soothingly derisive as they raked over her, taking in everything she’d wanted him to take in. This was familiar ground to Celeste and she indulged in a smug smile. With her self-confidence restored, she uncurled her tall athletic body with the sensuous grace of a Siamese cat, swinging the door shut behind her before turning to face her foe.

‘Good morning, Byron,’ she said huskily, that confidently sensual smile firmly in place.

Byron seemed to stiffen under its impact, which only made her sense of satisfaction increase. She revelled in the way his eyes followed her every movement as she smoothed the tight skirt down over her hips, then adjusted the brim of her wide straw hat.

‘For God’s sake, Celeste,’ he snapped at last, blue eyes glittering. ‘You’re going to a trial, not the races.’

So! He had seen those photos of her in the paper.

Good.

‘Looking at you,’ she returned silkily while she idly played with the gold rope necklace hanging between her breasts, ‘one might have thought we were off to a funeral. Truly, Byron, you should never wear black. Grey’s your colour. And you shouldn’t scowl like that. It’s bad for your health. Gives you high blood-pressure. A man your age has to worry about such things.’

The muscles in Byron’s jaw convulsed as though he was clenching and unclenching his teeth. He seemed to be doing the same with his hands. His eyes, however, kept flicking back to her chest where she could feel her braless nipples growing more erect by the moment. Far from being disconcerted by this as she had been earlier on, Celeste found that her own arousal fuelled her to be even more outrageous.

‘Did you know that owning a pet can lower your blood-pressure?’ she purred. ‘It has something to do with the stroking. You look like you could do with a pet, Byron. Not a dog, though. A cat. A nice soft sensual cat that enjoys a lot of stroking...’

Their eyes locked, Celeste lifting a saucy eyebrow at him while she awaited Byron’s reaction to her provocative words.

Those beautiful blue eyes of his blazed for a second before they turned icily contemptuous. Celeste smiled her satisfaction with the way the encounter was going. Byron was so predictable.

‘Thank you for the advice, Celeste,’ he bit out, ‘but I think I know what clothes suit me after all these years. As for my blood-pressure,’ he went on drily, ‘it’s just fine. I have no need of a cat, nor any other artificial method of relaxation.’

‘Really?’ Her smile was a deliciously sarcastic curve. ‘Oh, I see! Silly me. I did hear you were getting married again. I forgot. Yes, you’re right, there’s nothing to compare with mother nature’s natural relaxant, is there?’

Byron’s frozen stare unnerved Celeste for a moment.

‘I am not getting married again,’ he said coldly.

Celeste thought she hid her reaction very well. ‘You’re not?’ she said airily. ‘Well, there you are. People say you should only believe half of what you see and none of what you hear.’

‘Where you’re concerned, Celeste,’ he returned frostily, ‘I believe everything I see and add considerably to all that I hear.’

Her laughter was light and flirtatious. ‘You’re such a flatterer! Shouldn’t we be going inside?’

Without waiting for his reply, she turned and began walking up the never-ending steps. He automatically fell into step beside her, Celeste suddenly finding his nearness claustrophobic, which was rather perverse. Hadn’t she wanted to tease him, to inflame his unrequited desire for her?

‘You came in a taxi,’ he remarked on the way up. ‘What happened to your Rolls?’

‘Nothing. It’s in the garage at home. It’s simply minus one chauffeur.’

Byron slanted her a sardonic glance. ‘What happened? Didn’t he come up to expectations?’

‘Obviously not. Didn’t your fiancée?’

Byron ground to a halt. ‘Catherine was never my fiancée.’

‘Oh? What was she, then?’ Celeste was unnerved by the pleasure she found in the word—was.

‘A friend.’

‘A close friend, from all reports. And quite a deal younger than you.’

Byron’s handsome face darkened. ‘At least she wasn’t on my payroll!’

‘You think women like that are free?’ Celeste countered caustically. ‘I’ll bet she knew what you were worth, right down to your last dollar. And I’ll bet she thought an affair was a down-payment on a more permanent contract.’

‘Then she thought wrong.’

Celeste heard the harsh note in his voice. ‘What happened, Byron?’ she queried softly, moving closer and reaching out to touch him on the wrist. ‘Did you find out she was a mercenary gold-digging bitch? You poor darling...’ Her fingernail slid down his sleeve, over his cuff and onto bare flesh. ‘Better to stick to the devil you know in future, don’t you think?’

For a few excruciatingly tense seconds, Celeste thought he was actually going to drag her into his arms and kiss her. His eyes were like hot coals on her softly parted lips, his chest rising and falling with visibly unchecked passion.

But Byron did not let her down. He gathered himself superbly, giving her the coldest look while he lifted her hand from the back of his with obvious distaste.

‘I’d appreciate it if you would keep your hands to yourself,’ he drawled. ‘I don’t know where they’ve been.’

Celeste’s heart contracted fiercely at this open insult. You’ll keep, Byron, she thought savagely. You’ll keep.

Outwardly, she delivered a silky smile. ‘Shall we adjourn to courtroom six?’

‘By all means,’ he returned, just as smoothly.

Courtroom six, however, was not where they ended up. Instead, they were shuffled into a waiting-room where there was nothing to do but wait till they were called to the witness stand. The minutes ticked away with endless tedium. Celeste finding it difficult to remain in the same room with Byron without the soothing comfort of his ongoing contempt. A silently brooding Byron was far too attractive to her recently renewed desire for him.

Celeste contemplated starting a conversation about the night of the ball, and the robbery, and what he was going to say in the witness stand. But that would lead to talk about the Heart of Fire. And while she would have liked to question Byron again over how that rotten opal had come to turn up again, she couldn’t bear dredging up any more memories today, certainly not those memories...

‘Tell me, what’s happening with your family?’ she asked Byron so abruptly that he jumped in his seat.

He eyed her suspiciously. ‘Why would you want to know about my family?’

Her shrug was nonchalant. ‘Why not? They’re my family too, in a roundabout sort of way. Besides, I’m fed up with that old feud nonsense between the Whitmores and the Campbells. We should let bygones be bygones.’

‘Pardon me if I say I don’t believe that for a moment,’ he scoffed. ‘You singlehandedly revived the old feud when you took over Campbell Jewels. Your mother might have been prepared to let bygones be bygones after your father died. But not, you, Celeste. Never you.’

‘A woman can change her mind, can’t she?’

Byron laughed. ‘You mean you’re going to drop all your unfair business tactics? You’re not going to deliberately undercut our prices, even at your own expense? You’re not going to bribe any more Japanese tour guides to bypass our stores in favour of yours?’

‘That was not done with my sanction,’ she said sharply.

‘Then I suggest you get rid of your sales and marketing manager before he ruins you.’

‘I have spoken to Damian.’

‘Spoken? He should have been fired!’

‘He’s family,’ she sighed. ‘You must know what that’s like. I feel responsible for him.’

Celeste was surprised to see understanding soften Byron’s face. ‘Yes,’ he sighed as well. ‘I do. But one makes a lot of mistakes in the name of family responsibility.’

Celeste nodded her agreement while Byron fell silent.

‘Ava’s getting married,’ he resumed abruptly after a short interval.

‘Good lord!’ Celeste was genuinely surprised. ‘Who to?’

‘A very interesting man by the name of Vince Morelli.’

‘An Italian?’

‘An Australian-Italian. In his early thirties and handsome as the devil, though not in a typically Latin fashion. He has the colouring and the body of a Bondi lifesaver.’

‘Well, I am surprised. I’m afraid I rather saw Ava going to her grave a spinster. Are you sure he’s not after her money? As your only sister, she must have quite an inheritance.’

‘He has more than enough money of his own. Runs a construction company that specialises in building blocks of units. My solicitor says he’s rock-solid.’

She threw him a dry look. ‘I see you had him checked out.’

‘I didn’t get where I am today by being trusting, Celeste. Still, you wouldn’t have so many doubts if you saw Ava today. She’s trimmed off a lot of weight and is looking positively glowing. Being in love suits her.’

Celeste flinched inside. ‘How nice for her,’ she said a little stiffly. ‘Speaking of being in love, has Jade tied the knot yet with that hunk of a fiancé she was with at the ball?’

‘Yes, and she’s expecting a baby.’

Celeste had to fight hard this time not to show a thing on her face. ‘Really,’ she said with a falsely bright smile. ‘Is she going to stay home and give up her career?’

‘No such luck, Celeste. Kyle’s the one who’s retiring. Apparently, he fancies himself a house husband while Jade stays head of marketing at Whitmore’s.’

‘Just my luck,’ she muttered. ‘But let’s not talk about business. What’s this I hear about Nathan’s marriage being on the rocks?’

‘What rubbish!’ Byron exclaimed hotly. ‘Nathan and Gemma are extremely happy.’

‘Well, there, you see what I mean? How can one believe what one hears? Nathan’s blissfully happy with his child bride and you’re not getting married again, either. I really must stop listening to gossip. Are you sure you’re not getting married again? You’re not just trying to keep it a secret, are you?’

‘I have no intention of ever getting married again,’ Byron bit out.

‘Oh? Why’s that? Wasn’t your one experience with marriage a happy one?’

‘You know damned well what my marriage was like, Celeste.’

‘I’m not sure I do. Why don’t you tell me?’

‘I am not going to rake over old coals. Neither am I going to speak ill of the dead. Irene tried to be a good wife to me, and I did my best to be a good husband to her.’

‘But you didn’t love her.’

‘Don’t you dare talk to me about love,’ he snarled. ‘You have no concept of what love is.’

Celeste was startled by his sudden vehemence.

‘Women like you are poison to all decent men,’ he raved on in a low but highly emotional voice. ‘You make them think you love them, but you don’t. You play games with them. You turn them inside out. You fuel their desires, use their bodies, and when you’ve had enough you throw them away. Well, I called your bluff that last time, didn’t I, Celeste? I used you and I threw you away. Watch out, darling, or I might do the same thing again. After all, we both know what you are, don’t we? Not a cat. An alley-cat. I could have you just like that!’ And he clicked his fingers.

It was ironic that at that precise moment Byron was called to the witness stand. He stood up, and, without a backward glance, strode proudly from the room.

Celeste stared after him, her heart pounding madly in her chest. Outrage at his insults warred with the astonishing realisation that Byron might really have loved her once. Why else would he still be so bitter towards her? Why else hate her so virulently?

Celeste had always suspected Irene had fed him a whole lot of lies about her after she’d gone back to school, lies that had made her look very bad. Even so, Byron had been very ready to believe those lies, had been very quick to write her a ‘dear John’ letter, dismissing their affair as a temporary infatuation which he deeply regretted. He’d stated quite coldly that he wanted nothing to do with her ever again.

Celeste had been crushed by this brutal and rather confusing rejection, then shattered when a few short months later he’d married Irene.

Recalling the distress she had felt at that time hardened Celeste’s heart again. No, she decided staunchly, and clenched her teeth down hard in her jaw. Byron’s fierce antagonism towards her just now was no proof of a past love. He was simply being the same hypocritical bastard he’d always been, pretending to be holier-than-thou, judging her on standards that he himself didn’t live up to. He’d lied when he’d told her he loved her back then. Lied for the sole purpose of possessing her body. and when he’d had his fill and she’d gone back to school, he’d callously dumped her and moved on to Irene, who he’d obviously thought would bring him Campbell Jewels as well as her beautiful and undoubtedly willing body.

Men like Byron didn’t love women, Celeste accepted with a bitter cynicism. They loved sex and money and success. They loved power and position in the community. Nothing was more important to Byron than his social standing, his so-called good name. Why else would he spend so much time and money working for charity? Why else would he have taken that degenerate boy off the streets and adopted him, for heaven’s sake?

Because he wanted everyone to look up to him and say what a great man he was. How generous and good. How bloody wonderful!

But that shining reputation of his had been won at a cost. She’d been the one to pay. Yet he had the hide to tear strips off her character, as well as the gall to claim he could have her as easily as he could snap his fingers.

Like hell, she thought. Like bloody hell! There was no way she would ever let him touch her again. Never in a million years!

CHAPTER FOUR

GEMMA’S hand trembled as she dialled. It was the hardest thing she had ever had to do but she had to do it. Nathan would be leaving soon to go to the airport to pick her up, and even she didn’t have the heart callously to let him worry when she didn’t get off that plane.

The telephone in their apartment rang and rang and rang, but he didn’t answer. It had not occurred to her that Nathan might not be home, that he might go straight from rehearsals at the theatre to Mascot Airport. But now it did, and she groaned her dismay. God, she just wasn’t thinking straight.

With her heart thudding madly in her chest, she hung up hurriedly and looked up the theatre number in the telephone book. This time, someone answered immediately, and luckily Nathan was soon located. He came on the line, sounding worried.

‘Gemma? What’s wrong, darling? Did you miss the flight?’

‘No, Nathan,’ she replied, fighting to keep her voice steady. ‘I didn’t miss the flight.’

‘Then where are you ringing from? You’re supposed to be in the air. Oh, I see. The flight’s been delayed. Never mind, darling. These things happen. So when will you be arriving?’

The two ‘darlings’ had really hurt, bringing the sense of outrage she needed. ‘I won’t be arriving, Nathan. I’m not coming home.’

‘Not coming home?’ he repeated in a stunned, almost blank tone.

‘That’s right. You told me once that if I ever wanted out of our marriage I was to say so up-front.’ She paused long enough to drag in a much needed breath. ‘I want out of our marriage, Nathan. My solicitor will be in touch.’

‘Wait!’ he cried, seemingly aware that she was about to hang up. ‘You...you can’t just leave me like this, Gemma. You must give me a reason. God-dammit, I have a right to know the reason!’ he demanded, clearly shaken.

‘The reason? The reason is you’re a cheat and a liar. I’m sure it won’t take too much intelligence to work out what I’m talking about. You took me for a fool, Nathan. And I’m not. I’m not...’ Her voice broke and she struggled for control. ‘Oh, God, how could you? I didn’t deserve that. I...I...’ She broke off and forcibly pulled herself together. ‘Goodbye, Nathan. Don’t bother trotting out to Lightning Ridge to find me. I’m not there.’

She hung up, then sank down on the side of the hotel bed, looking and feeling utterly drained. No tears came. She was all out of tears.

But dear God, whatever was she going to do? Where was she going to go?

Her overnight stay in the old hotel and many hours of thinking had provided no solutions except that she was going to divorce Nathan. No doubt some fancy solicitor could drive a hard bargain for her when it came to a financial settlement, but she automatically shrank from that and from what people would say about her. They’d only been married a few months, after all. She also shrank from having to tell Nathan’s family the reason for her leaving him—that he’d been cheating on her with his ex-wife.

Not that they would necessarily believe her. Nathan would deny it, of course, and so would Lenore. Byron, Gemma realised, would be loath to believe such a thing of his golden-haired boy. Nathan could do no wrong in his eyes, being supposedly as old-fashioned in his moral principles as his adopted father. Ava was the only person Gemma could think of who would be on her side, but how could she put brother against sister? It wasn’t right.

No, she would have to strike out on her own. She still had the money Byron had paid her as a reward for bringing back the Heart of Fire. That would cover her expenses for a while. And she could probably get a job easily enough with her mastery of oral Japanese.

Going back to work at Whitmore’s was not an option. Even if Byron didn’t fire her, Nathan would descend upon her there like an avenging angel, demanding further explanations when doing his best to whitewash his behaviour. He might even throw himself on her mercy and beg her forgiveness. She could not have borne that.

What she needed, more than anything, was to disappear for a while, out of reach of Nathan and any private detective he might hire to find her. Which meant not staying in any hotel, nor going to real estate agents nor applying for a job. That would leave a trail any decent detective would easily pick up on.

So where could she go?

Damian’s offer, which had been hovering at the back of her mind all along, but which she had previously dismissed, jumped to the fore. Why not? she rationalised. He was in a position to help her. He had the money and the connections. He’d even promised her a job if she ever wanted one. Campbell Jewels had stores in other states. Maybe she could move to Brisbane or to Melbourne: get herself well away from Sydney and Nathan.

At three in the afternoon, Damian would probably be in his office. Gemma looked up the number of the head office of Campbell Jewels and, once again, dialled.

‘Could I speak to Damian Campbell, please?’ she requested of the girl who answered.

An extension was tried but no one answered.

‘Mr Campbell doesn’t seem to be in his office at the moment,’ the receptionist said with brisk politeness. ‘Would you like to leave a message and I’ll get him to ring you back?’

Gemma sighed. ‘Yes, all right.’ And she relayed her name and the hotel number, adding that this was an emergency and she would appreciate every effort being made to get the message to Mr Campbell as soon as possible.

After she had hung up yet again, Gemma lay down in the dimly lit room and closed her eyes. Depression descended, as did exhaustion. She hadn’t slept much the previous night. Now, she could not stop her mind from slipping into the blackness.

* * *

CELESTE LEFT the court-house in a highly agitated state. Her encounter with Byron was bad enough, but having to face that pig who had manhandled her so brutally the night of the robbery had upset her more than she’d thought it would. Still, she was sure he’d be put behind bars after her solid and unwavering testimony. Men who perpetrated violence against women should be incarcerated and the key thrown away, in her opinion.

She chose to walk back to the office. It was only a couple of blocks and the fresh air would do her mood good. On the way she made a brief stopover in a coffee lounge where she banished some hunger pangs with a roll and some coffee. By the time the lift carried her up to the tenth floor of the city office block that housed the head office of Campbell Jewels, Celeste felt much better.

Five minutes later she was seated behind her large modern desk, reading the monthly sales reports and chewing thoughtfully on a Biro. Shaking her head, she picked up her telephone and asked for Damian’s extension, only to be told by his secretary that he wasn’t back yet from lunch.

Striding out to Reception, she informed the startled receptionist that Mr Campbell was to be sent into her office the moment he reappeared, and not a second later. She was fuming by the time he walked in—without knocking—at five to four.

‘You wanted to see me, Celeste?’ he said with arrogant nonchalance, plonking himself down on the black leather chesterfield and drawing a packet of cigarettes from his pocket.

‘I don’t allow smoking in here, Damian,’ she said coldly.

‘Tough. If you don’t like it, fire me.’ And he lit up, drawing in deeply, then exhaling in her direction.

She glared at him through the haze of smoke. ‘I just might do that.’

‘No, you won’t. Darling Mama holds the ultimate reins in this place and she wouldn’t hear of it.’

‘Darling Mama is in Europe for another few months,’ came Celeste’s dry reminder. ‘Before she left, she gave me a free hand to do whatever I thought was best for the company. Not in one’s wildest imagination could your performance as sales and marketing manager be labelled that. Our retail outlets are still suffering a backlash from the publicity we received over the tour-guide scandal. Our exports are down nearly twenty per cent. And the quality of the opals we’ve been using leaves a lot to be desired.’

‘Shocking,’ he murmured, clearly not at all concerned.

Celeste’s eyes narrowed on him. ‘Have you been drinking, Damian?’

His smirk was revealing. ‘I may have had a tipple or two with lunch. Is that against the rules as well?’

‘No. But having a three-hour lunch is. You were supposed to be back at your desk at two. It’s after four.’

‘Is it really?’ he mocked. ‘I must have lost track of time.’

‘Damian,’ she said sternly. ‘You must realise I can’t allow this to go on.’

‘Why not? The family’s so rich that Campbell Jewels could go bankrupt and we’d still be all right. Your obsession with trying to outdo Whitmore Opals all the time is such a bore and so unnecessary. You should be out there enjoying yourself, like I do.’

‘Doing what?’ she snapped. ‘Drinking yourself silly and playing poker?’

‘Tch tch. Such spleen. I take it your meeting with Mr Whitmore in court did not go to your liking? What went wrong? Didn’t he succumb to the charms you so discreetly put on display today?’ His black gaze encompassed her thoroughly, noting her high colour as well as her figure-hugging clothing.

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about, Damian. And you’re trying to change the subject.’

‘Is that what I’m doing? I thought I was sitting here, smoking.’

‘You really are quite drunk, aren’t you?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘That’s it then. As of today, you’re no longer the sales and marketing manager. I won’t sack you completely. I wouldn’t do that to Mother. But I’m moving you into some useless position where you can’t do any harm. You can be director of public relations.’

‘Director of public relations? We haven’t got a director of public relations!’

‘Exactly. It should be right up your alley. No one will notice or care if you came to work or not.’

Celeste watched Damian’s annoyance disappearing as the practicality of his new position sank in. ‘Sounds perfect,’ he drawled. ‘And who are you going to get to replace me?’

She made a dismissive gesture with the Biro. ‘I’m sure there must be someone in this company who can do the job.’

Damian laughed. ‘I’m sure there is. I can see him now. He’ll be bright and young and handsome, not to mention prepared to be extremely grateful to the boss.’

Celeste had had just about enough. ‘Damian, I’m warning you. I—’

A sharp tap on the door stopped her in mid-flow.

‘Come in,’ she said sharply, knowing her assistant would not interrupt like this unless it was very important.’

‘Yes, Luke?’ she asked when he popped his head in the door.

‘Miss Landers says an urgent message came in for Mr Campbell a while back, but she only just found out he had returned from lunch and was in here.’

‘What is it?’ Damian asked, swivelling round.

‘Here... She wrote down the name and number.’ He handed over a piece of paper to Damian, who remained seated where he was. ‘The lady said it was an emergency and you were to ring her back as soon as you came in.’ Luke nodded towards Celeste, then left, shutting the door with discreet quiet behind him.

Celeste was shocked by the look of sly glee that came into Damian’s eyes as he read the note. ‘Fantastic,’ he muttered, then jumped to his feet. ‘I must go.’

‘Wait a minute, Damian! Who is this woman? And what’s the emergency?’

‘That, my dear sister,’ he said with dark passion in his voice, ‘is none of your business.’

‘I hope you’re not getting tangled up with another married woman.’

He threw her a scornful look. ‘I never get tangled up with a married woman, Celeste.’

‘That’s just playing with words. You know what I meant.’

‘Yes, of course I do. And as I said before, mind your own damned business!’

There was nothing quiet or discreet about Damian’s exit. He slammed the door after him, leaving Celeste feeling more worried about her brother than she’d been in years. Drinking. Gambling. Getting into debt. Having affairs with other men’s wives. Where would it all end?

She shook her head and looked back down at the appalling sales reports. There was nothing she could do about Damian, but there was something she could do about Campbell’s dwindling profits. Reaching over, she pressed the intercom button.

‘Yes, Ms Campbell?’ Luke answered.

‘I need to see you,’ she rapped out. ‘Straight away.’

‘Coming...’

Luke presented himself immediately, adjusting his tie a little self-consciously as he came to attention in front of her desk. At thirty, he was older than her previous assistant, and not nearly as handsome. But he knew how to dress to make the most of his very good body and he knew how to follow orders. Above all, he was intelligent and ambitious. Ruthlessly so, she believed. Every now and then, a cool sharpness came into those bland grey eyes of his, giving him a totally different look. Celeste sometimes wondered what he would have done if her occasional public flirtation with him had been put to the acid test. To be honest, she had a feeling he would have turned her down, which was perhaps why she was about to give him the chance of a lifetime.

‘As of this moment, Luke,’ she said crisply, ‘the position of sales and marketing manager is vacant. Mr Campbell is going to take over a new position in the company as director of public relations. I was wondering if you’d be interested in his old position.’

Celeste was gratified with Luke’s reaction. He was suitably stunned for a split-second, but quickly assumed that cool and highly self-contained bearing she rather admired.

‘I would indeed,’ was all he said. There was no gushing, no grovelling.

Celeste smiled at him. Yes, she thought with great satisfaction. You’ll do. You’ll do splendidly.

CHAPTER FIVE

GEMMA was wrenched out of a deep sleep by someone shaking her. Her eyes sprang open to find Damian Campbell sitting on the hotel bed beside her, peering worriedly down into her face. There was another equally worried-looking man hovering behind him. It took her a few moments to recognise him as the desk clerk from downstairs.

‘Are you all right, Gemma?’ Damian was asking anxiously. ‘You haven’t done anything silly, have you?’

‘Wh...what?’ she stammered, her head still fuzzy from sleep. ‘I...I...don’t know what you mean.’

Damian smiled. ‘She’s fine,’ he threw over his shoulder at the desk clerk. ‘You can go now. Thanks for letting me in. False alarm.’

Gemma’s mind slowly started working. She levered herself up on one elbow and watched the man leave. When he’d closed the door, her gaze returned to Damian. ‘What on earth did you tell him? My God, you thought I might have tried to kill myself, didn’t you?’

Damian shrugged. ‘Who knows what you might have done? I didn’t get your message for quite a while and you did say it was an emergency. When I rang the number and found out it was a hotel not far from the city, I decided to hot-foot it right over here instead of just ringing. Then when I knocked on your door, you didn’t answer.’

‘I was asleep!’

‘I can see that now.’

His smile was so sweet, Gemma couldn’t stay angry with him. ‘I...I’ve left Nathan,’ she admitted unhappily, swinging her feet over the side of the bed and sitting up properly.

‘I gathered that,’ came Damian’s gentle reply. He picked up her closest hand, stroking it soothingly with his other hand. After an initial instinctive resistance, Gemma soon found the action both relaxing and comforting. She closed her eyes and sighed.

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