He could have sworn that when he first kissed her, she’d almost opened up to him, at least physically.

Then she’d stalked off without a word. Banged down the shutters in his face. And but for an occasional brief, unwitting chink, she’d kept them down ever since.

If she thought he’d back off, she could think again. She’d thrown out a challenge, and he’d never refused one in his life. One day he’d make her acknowledge that this unsettling desire to touch, to explore, to know, wasn’t all on his side.

She might be the boss’s daughter, heiress to Kingsley’s little kingdom, but she’d learn that sex was the great leveler. When it came down to it, a naked princess was like any other woman without her clothes….

Dear Reader,

Calling all royal watchers! This month, Silhouette Romance’s Carolyn Zane kicks off our exciting new series, ROYALLY WED: THE MISSING HEIR, with the gem Of Royal Blood. Fans of last year’s ROYALLY WED series will love this thrilling four-book adventure, filled with twists and turns—and of course, plenty of love and romance. Blue bloods and commoners alike will also enjoy Laurey Bright’s newest addition to her VIRGIN BRIDES thematic series, The Heiress Bride, about a woman who agrees to marry to protect the empire that is rightfully hers.

This month is also filled with earth-shattering secrets! First, award-winning author Sharon De Vita serves up a whopper in her latest SADDLE FALLS title, Anything for Her Family. Natalie McMahon is much more than the twin boys’ nanny—she’s their mother! And in Karen Rose Smith’s A Husband in Her Eyes, the heroine has her eyesight restored, only to have haunting visions of a man and child. Can she bring love and happiness back into their lives?

Everyone likes surprises, right? Well, in Susan Meier’s Married Right Away, the heroine certainly gives her boss the shock of his life—she’s having his baby! And Love Inspired author Cynthia Rutledge makes her Silhouette Romance debut with her modern-day Cinderella story, Trish’s Not-So-Little Secret, about “Fatty Patty” who comes back to her hometown a beautiful swan—and a single mom with a jaw-dropping secret!

We hope this month that you feel like a princess and enjoy the royal treats we have for you from Silhouette Romance.

Happy reading!

Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor

The Heiress Bride
Laurey Bright

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Books by Laurey Bright

Silhouette Romance

Tears of Morning #107

Sweet Vengeance #125

Long Way from Home #356

The Rainbow Way #525

Jacinth #568

The Mother of His Child #918

Marrying Marcus #1558

The Heiress Bride #1578

Silhouette Special Edition

Deep Waters #62

When Morning Comes #143

Fetters of the Past #213

A Sudden Sunlight #516

Games of Chance #564

A Guilty Passion #586

The Older Man #761

The Kindness of Strangers #820

An Interrupted Marriage #916

Silhouette Intimate Moments

Summers Past #470

A Perfect Marriage #621

LAUREY BRIGHT

has held a number of different jobs, but has never wanted to be anything but a writer. She lives in New Zealand, where she creates the stories of contemporary people in love that have won her a following all over the world. Visit her at her Web site, http://www.laureybright.com.

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 One

It was a humid summer evening, and the annual Waikura Clarion Christmas party was in full swing.

Checking that the guests were enjoying themselves, Alysia paused in the doorway of the big front lounge.

Her father, wine glass in hand, held forth to a respectful circle of his employees. Spencer Kingsley was a big man, and his confident stance, rich baritone voice and command of language ensured that people listened to him.

Only one person had let his attention stray; Chase Osborne, the chief reporter, stared absently into his glass.

As Alysia stood watching, Chase raised his dark head and looked directly at her with unblinking green-brown eyes under emphatic black brows. He gave her a courteous nod, then his gaze left her as her father threw back his head in laughter, echoed by the rest of the group.

Chase’s firmly delineated mouth moved only a fraction of an inch at one corner before he downed the remainder of his drink.

He had scarcely noticed Alysia, despite the green chiffon designer dress that exposed the smooth skin of her arms and shoulders, complemented her fine, fair hair, and emphasized eyes the same clear light green as the pendants in her ears, carved from translucent New Zealand inanga jade.

Her eyes were her best feature, though when she was younger she’d thought green a wishy-washy color, longing for a more positive blue or brown.

Once she had horrified her father by using a strawberry rinse in her hair. Now she occasionally had her hairdresser use highlights in the winter to give it a bit of life.

She was no great beauty, but tonight several people had commented favorably on her appearance, and even her father had said that she’d never looked prettier, lighting a tiny glow inside her.

For Chase Osborne she might have been just another piece of furniture in the crowded room.

“Allie!” A rotund middle-aged man appeared at her elbow. The Clarion’s advertising manager, Howard Franklin was one of the few people who habitually shortened her name. “You’ve done a great job.”

“Thank you, Howard.” She actually had done very little. Her father had told her which catering firm to hire and given her a list of staff members to invite. “I hope you and Mollie are enjoying yourselves.”

Everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time. The younger contingent had gravitated from the swimming pool to the games room. Several couples were dancing on the terrace to music from a tape player, while older staff and their partners gathered in the lounge.

“Great, great,” Howard assured her. “But you don’t have a drink. Busy looking after everyone else, eh? Let me get one for you.” He took her arm to guide her toward the bottles and glasses on a table in a corner.

A burly man with a flushed face turned from it as they approached, two frothing beer mugs in his hands. Verne Hastie was the print room manager. “Allie!” he said in overhearty tones. “Long time no see. All grown up, too!” Bold blue eyes approved the shoestring-strapped dress and fitted bodice.

Alysia stiffened as her cool gaze briefly met his.

Verne grinned widely at Howard. “How come you’re with the prettiest girl in the room, an old fogy like you?” he demanded. He laughed uproariously.

“I’m just getting Alysia a drink,” Howard said. “What would you like, Allie?”

She turned to him with relief as Verne went off across the room. “Gin with lemon bitters. Make it strong.”

Howard chuckled. “Well, you’ve had your twenty-first birthday.” He poured the drink and handed it to her. “Here you are.”

She gripped the glass tightly in a damp hand and took a generous gulp from it. Sweeping a glance around the room, she encountered Chase Osborne’s dark eyes again. This time they were alert, his gaze dropping, apparently to gauge the level of the liquid in her glass before rising again to hers, curiosity and something that might have been a hint of concern stirring in his eyes.

A spoon tinkling against a glass brought Alysia’s attention to her father, who was standing near Chase. Someone killed the tape player and the dancers gathered at the French doors leading to the terrace, while other people were summoned from the games room.

Spencer cleared his throat. “Christmas being a family occasion, and you all being part of the Clarion family, this seems an appropriate time to make an announcement.”

As Spencer’s proud gaze traveled around the room Alysia felt a surprised thrill. She hadn’t expected a formal announcement, though everyone probably knew already she was about to start working with them, her very first real job after leaving university.

Spencer smiled and continued. “As I’m getting on in years—” he paused for muted laughter and murmured denials around the room “—it’s time I started thinking about the future. Young blood is always good for an old business and the Clarion is no exception. I’ve decided, therefore, to appoint a deputy editor.”

Deputy? Alysia felt dizzy. Not a junior position in the newsroom after all. Instead a new position created just for her.

The business degree she’d taken before attending journalism school might have made her father think she’d be more valuable in management. But she’d expected to work her way up, not be presented with a plum position working at his side.

Flushing with embarrassed excitement, she took a step forward.

“So…” Spencer raised his glass. “Please drink to my right-hand man and the Clarion’s deputy editor.”

He turned to Chase and put an arm around his shoulders. “Chase—here’s to your new position. Congratulations.”

All the blood drained from Alysia’s cheeks. She felt herself go pale and cold, her temples thudding.

Everyone was raising their glasses, calling out their congratulations, and a smattering of applause broke out. Thank God no one was taking any notice of her. What a fool she’d almost made of herself.

Chase was smiling as Spencer shook his hand. “Thank you all very much,” he said. “And Spencer, I’m deeply honored by your confidence in me.”

Sycophant. Toady! A sour taste rose in Alysia’s throat, almost choking her. While everyone else surged around the two men, offering Chase congratulations, she left the room, almost running along the wide passageway to a door that opened onto the old back veranda and the garden. She had to get away before anyone saw how upset she was. How betrayed she felt.

Quickly she descended the broad steps and crossed the moonlit lawn bordered by a mixture of native New Zealand evergreens and exotic hibiscus, roses and lavender. The trailing leaves of the pepper tree whipped at her face, startling her, and she breathed in their sharp scent as she went on.

Beyond the formal garden a path wound between thick shrubs, and at its end a low stone wall served the double function of retaining the steep bank and providing a place to sit and survey the view.

A sea of lights spread out far below, a winding curve of blackness marking the river that bisected the town. And beyond the farthest lights a range of hills created another black uneven line below the five stars of the Southern Cross and the pale misty swathe of the Milky Way.

Alysia sat on the wall, half turned to stare unseeingly at the winking of the lights imitating the crowded night sky overhead.

Gradually the turmoil inside her subsided, while she castigated herself for being such a fool. It didn’t mean her father didn’t love her…only that she was too young and inexperienced for a senior position and he knew it. She knew it. Her sickening disappointment was based on a fleeting false impression. She would just have to get over it.

Once she did start work she’d show him, show everyone—she’d be the best damned reporter the Clarion had ever had. Better even than Chase Osborne. And in a few years she’d be given her rightful place as the heir to the Kingsley heritage. Because she’d have earned it.

She stayed unmoving for a long time, scarcely hearing the revelry from the house, until the breeze wafting uphill from the river rustling and rattling the manuka and flax and occasional tall, lacy ponga fern covering the slope, made her shiver.

Rubbing at her bare arms, she got up, stopping with a small gasp as she saw the dark bulk of a man standing rock-still a few feet away.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Chase Osborne said.

“How long have you been there?” Her tone was sharper than she’d meant it to be.

Perhaps that was why he didn’t answer straight away. “Your father sent me to find you.”

It didn’t answer her question, but after a half second’s reflection she decided not to pursue it. “How did you know where to look?”

“It took me a while.” He paused. “Are you all right?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” He hadn’t guessed, had he, how nearly she’d invited humiliation? Her cheeks burned and she was thankful for the dim light.

Chase said, “You seemed to be knocking back your drink in there as if you needed a fix.”

“I can handle my liquor. It was one glass of gin and lemon and I didn’t even finish it.” Or had she? She couldn’t remember now what she’d done with it in her blind need to escape. Anyway, she was an adult. How much she drank needn’t concern him. “I’m fine,” she asserted.

She had an uneasy feeling he didn’t believe her, but after a moment’s silence he changed the subject. “This is quite a sight, isn’t it?” He came to her side, looking down at the lights and the invisible river. The sleeve of his jacket brushed her arm, and she involuntarily flinched away.

Chase turned his head, and even in the dark she sensed his air of amused curiosity before he switched his attention back to the view.

“You must have seen it before,” Alysia said.

“Never at night. Kingsley’s kingdom.”

Something in his tone made her defensive. “It’s only a town.”

He turned to her again. “Your family’s town.”

“We don’t own it. Not anymore.”

“In your great-great-grandfather’s day—”

“That was a long time ago.” Jasper Kingsley, only weeks off an immigrant ship from England, had bought land from the local Maori tribe, milled the standing timber that covered it, raised a settlement on the banks of the river—in those days a navigable water-way—and leased the cleared land to small farmers, making himself a sort of unofficial squire. He’d built the big house, at that time the only house on the hillside, from which he could survey his creation. But in over a century and a half the town had grown and times had changed.

“All we own now is the house and the newspaper,” Alysia pointed out. “And a few old buildings,” she added punctiliously. Plus various stocks and shares.

“Those old buildings are on prime sites,” Chase reminded her. “Worth quite a lot in today’s market.”

She had no doubt he was right. Not that it was any of his business.

His voice butter-smooth, he added, “And one day they’ll all be yours.”

“I hope that day is a long way off,” she told him tightly. And hoped he understood that she found discussing her father’s death—even indirectly and only in theory—distasteful.

Chase turned, altering his stance so that he appeared to loom over her. He was blocking her way to the path. When she stepped forward he didn’t budge.

Alysia raised her eyes to his face, half-lit by the blue-white moonlight. She’d never thought him a particularly good-looking man—his strong features were too well-defined, the bone structure too obvious. But he was striking, and close-up he presented a formidable air of masculinity.

She didn’t recall that they had ever been alone before, unless she counted occasions when he had come to the house and she’d let him in to her father’s study.

She smelled a faint aroma of clean clothing, soap and an underlying pleasant tang that reminded her of the sea. Aftershave? As he looked down at her the planes of his face seemed angular, the chin jutting and the straight black brows almost merged in a frown.

The noise of the party suddenly seemed very distant. The moon slipped behind a high cloud, deepening the darkness.

Alysia stepped back and felt her legs touch the wall. “By the way, congratulations.” She hoped her voice sounded casual.

“Thank you. Do I get the feeling you aren’t thrilled about my promotion?”

“What my father does at the Clarion, whom he appoints, is entirely up to him…at least for some years yet.”

There was a telling silence while he absorbed the subtle warning. Then Chase enquired smoothly, “Looking to the future, are you? To when your father retires?”

“Are you?”

They remained staring at each other, the gloom making it difficult for her to see his expression.

Chase said, “I’m not a Kingsley.”

“You needn’t worry about your job yet.” It would be years before she was ready to take over the business. Embarrassment at her brief earlier assumption crawled in her stomach.

“Did I say I was worried?” Chase sounded confident, amused. As though he saw her as a puny threat, at best.

“By the time my father retires I’m sure you’ll have found yourself some wider, greener pastures. I promise I won’t hold you back.”

He rocked a little on his heels, his head slanted to one side, hands sliding into his pockets. “You won’t?” he said very softly. She knew he meant: You think you could?

Alysia’s chest felt constricted, her cheeks hot. “You’re ambitious,” she said. “My father may think you’ll stick around out of loyalty to him, but…”

“What do you think?” he challenged her. His voice deepening, he added, “Are you telling me this town isn’t big enough for both of us?”

“Is it big enough for you?” She’d never thought so. Surely this job with a provincial, family-owned paper, however respected and prosperous, was a mere stepping stone in his career path.

He said, “That depends.”

“My father won’t give up control for a long while yet. It’s always been a family concern.”

“And you’re the last of the family.”

Alysia discovered that her hands were clenched. She loosened her fingers, flexed them secretly. “Within the next five, ten years…”

“You think you’ll be ready to take over?” Chase queried.

Alysia’s teeth hurt, and the incipient headache that had begun with her father’s announcement had become an insistent throbbing. She hadn’t meant to go so far. But if Chase Osborne imagined he was in line for editor-in-chief, a title that had always remained in family hands, it was time someone disillusioned him. It had only been fair to spell it out. She took in a quick breath. “If my father wants me, hadn’t we better—”

Chase interrupted. “I didn’t say he wanted you.”

Her discomfort with his dark presence crystallized into a jagged antagonism. Her chin lifted. “You told me—”

“That he sent me to find you,” Chase said. “He wondered where you’d got to.”

“Well, you’ve found me. Now either go back and tell him I’m here and I’m fine, or get out of my way.”

He made no attempt to do so. “All in good time, Princess,” he said lazily. “I’m not your lackey.”

Unaccountably Alysia’s heart was hammering. He hadn’t moved an inch, but she sensed anger behind the deceptively gentle tone. An irrational, atavistic fear made her lash out with words. “No,” she said, her head lifting to an unconsciously arrogant tilt. “You’re my father’s.”

He seemed to be contemplating her, holding himself so still it was uncanny. The moon reappeared, throwing a faint nimbus around his head but scarcely lighting his face except for the glitter of his eyes. He made a short, sharp sound that might have been the beginning of a laugh. “Is that what you think?” he asked her. “He’s my employer.”

“So you jump when he says ‘Jump’ and obediently check up on his daughter when he tells you to. I didn’t know that was part of the deputy editor’s job description.”

“It’s part of being a guest in Spencer’s house,” Chase replied. “He didn’t like to leave the party, as he’s the host. I take it you didn’t want to be found.”

Ignoring the implication that she was neglecting her duties as her father’s hostess, Alysia said, “I didn’t need to be found! I would have been coming back in a minute anyway.”

“Well, then—” at last he moved aside so that she could precede him “—I’ll escort you.”

She swept past him, and Chase followed, not speaking again. But she could feel his gaze like a burning laser right between her shoulder blades.

When they reached the pepper tree he stepped forward and lifted the hanging branch. As she passed under it a cool, spice-scented leaf brushed her cheek. Her bare shoulder came in contact with the fabric of Chase’s jacket.

The house, lit from end to end, was before them, but they were still in the shadow of the tree when he caught her arm, drawing her back to face him.

Surprised, Alysia raised her head. “What is it?”

“Just this,” he answered.

His hand slid about her waist, pulling her against him so that her body curved at the hard bar of his arm, and her head fell back in astonishment before his mouth descended on hers.

He ignored her startled movement, one hand going to her nape while his mouth continued to explore hers in a kiss that was surely too expert.

Too surprised at first to resist, she had let her lips remain soft under his, but now she closed them firmly against the seductive coaxing that invited her to reciprocate. She made herself rigid in his embrace, her hands splayed on his upper arms, feeling the tensing of the muscles when he tightened his hold. As his mouth insisted on a response from her, she counted to ten and refused to give in to the growing urge to kiss him back.

His fingers tangled in her hair and his lips compelled hers apart—until Alysia sank her teeth briefly and quite hard into his lower lip. She heard him give a low grunt deep in his throat before he raised his head and she was free.

Her high heels sinking in to the yielding turf beside the path, she nearly overbalanced. Chase grabbed at her wrist, half holding her off and half supporting her, and as she recovered herself she saw that he was silently laughing. He touched a finger gingerly to his lip and said, “Not quite what I expected.”

“What did you expect, then?” she asked, her voice low but shaking with anger and a peculiar sense of excitement. He surely hadn’t thought she’d capitulate?

“What you tried at first,” he said frankly. “The stone statue impersonation. It was quite effective, too. But this—” he touched his lip again “—is…interesting.”

His tone held a kind of speculative respect.

He hadn’t hurt her. But beneath the experienced technique that had forced her to fight her own arousal, the kiss had been an expression of dominance. She’d deliberately taunted him, admittedly inviting retaliation, and he’d chosen a very male way of showing her that he wouldn’t allow her to get away with it.

Inwardly seething but not deigning to reply or even give in to the temptation to slap him, which would no doubt amuse him further, she turned and walked from him toward the house, but when she reached the steps he was right behind her.

Inside it was warm and seemed stuffy. Her father was seeing people off at the front door. As Alysia and Chase approached he said, “There you are! Come and say good-night to Howard and Mollie, Alysia.”

She expected Chase to leave her. Instead he stayed at her side, and when the Franklins had left he said, “I’ll be off, too.”

“It’s early!” Spencer protested. “The young ones are still dancing—why don’t you two go and join them? I think Alysia deserves to enjoy herself now.”

“Alysia?” Chase turned to her, the perfect picture of courtesy.

“Thank you,” she said precisely, “but I have a headache, and the music is a bit loud.”

“Perhaps you’d rather go to bed,” he suggested, his tone all concern, but his eyes held a wicked challenge.

She kept her own face schooled to a polite mask. “I’ll see our guests off first,” she told him. “You said you were going?”

Her father looked at her with surprise, but Chase gave her an appreciative grin and said, “If you’re not going to partner me after all.”

The grin was amazingly attractive. He seemed to have forgotten his flare of temper in the garden and the devastating way he’d expressed it. Now he regarded it as some kind of joke.

Alysia said, letting her eyes show her angry contempt, “I know you’ve enjoyed yourself.”

“Even more than I anticipated,” he assured her. “Thank you for making the evening so—stimulating.”

Her eyelids flickered and she fought the impulse to look at her father to see if he was catching any hint of the undercurrents.

To her relief, Chase turned to him, shaking his hand. “A great party.”

Spencer beamed. “Alysia did a wonderful job.”

“Really, all I did was hire the caterers,” she protested mildly. But pleasure at her father’s rare praise warmed her cheeks and a spot somewhere in her midriff.

Verne Hastie came to say goodbye, and Alysia fixed a hostess smile on her face, turning from his beery breath as he kissed her cheek, his big hands squeezing her bare shoulders.

“We should entertain more often,” Spencer suggested when he’d closed the door on the last of the guests. “The Clarion’s a family paper—the staff needs to feel a part of it.”

“Of the family?” Her father was proud of the Kingsley tradition, of his ancestry and of the Clarion’s long—by New Zealand standards—history, but tonight was the first time she’d heard him claim the paper’s staff as family.

“The younger ones,” he said vaguely, “need to feel they belong. I lost two good people this year. Moving on.”

But he was gaining another in the New Year—Alysia. Who wouldn’t be leaving. She said, “Not many people nowadays stay with a company for life.”

“Pity. No sense of continuity, of loyalty.”

Chase ought to be held for a time by loyalty, by gratitude for the fast series of promotions he’d enjoyed under Spencer’s patronage.

But didn’t Spencer see that the very ambition he had admired and fostered in the younger man must inevitably lead to his desertion?

Alysia said, “Chase Osborne can’t rise any higher at the Clarion, can he?” The Kingsleys always retained the top positions. It was one of the few truly family newspapers left.

Her father’s gaze was penetrating while at the same time she had the impression his mind wasn’t fully on their conversation. “I didn’t train up a man like Chase to lose him to some big city corporation. He knows I’ll see him right.”

Had Chase already been looking elsewhere? Alysia wondered later as she prepared for bed. Was that what was behind the promotion, the creation of a prestigious new position for him?

But in a year or two would that be enough to hold him, in a job where he could go no further?

She turned on her pillow and told herself it didn’t matter if he left for better prospects, except that her father would be disappointed. And probably furious.

Chase Osborne was an opportunist by nature. Witness the way he’d climbed the ladder of success from lowly agricultural reporter to his present position, while older and more experienced staff remained stuck in the newsroom.

He was her father’s blue-eyed boy—except that his eyes were actually an uncomfortably knowing hazel-green—and she gathered that his meteoric rise had created some antipathy among other employees. Chase apparently cared for the criticism no more than Spencer did. Those who were jealous or aggrieved either accepted the changes or left.

As she began to drift into sleep she found herself reliving the kiss under the pepper tree, vividly recalling every detail.

With an effort she opened her eyes, and restlessly turned on the pillow.

Chase Osborne believed in making the most of his chances. In the darkened garden he’d acted true to type—stung by her less than enthusiastic reaction to him and his promotion, and perhaps aided by a certain amount of alcohol which might have blunted some natural inhibition about kissing the boss’s daughter. He’d wanted to make her succumb, to assert the most primitive kind of male power because she’d shown him how little the other kind impressed her.

Maybe he was regretting it now. If she’d complained to her father he might have found himself less in favor. That would have been a setback to his flagrant ambition.

Contemplating the thought briefly, she quickly discarded it. Spencer would tell her she was making a mountain out of a molehill—if he believed her at all. Bitter memory rose to haunt her, and she determinedly pushed it away.

Put the kiss down to an excess of Christmas spirit and forget it.

Surprisingly difficult. She lay wakeful for ages, plagued by images of a dark head bowed over her, a glint of laughter in moonlit eyes, a warm masculine mouth confidently moving on hers, hard arms holding her firmly but not cruelly.

And she woke in the morning with the scent of the pepper tree still in her dream memory.

Chapter Two

The traffic light changed from red to green. Alysia turned the snappy little blue Toyota and it moved forward, then inexplicably stopped, stranding her in the middle of the intersection.

Other cars maneuvered around the stationary vehicle as she vainly pumped the accelerator and switched the key off and on.

Clenching both hands on the steering wheel, she gave vent to an expletive that would have shocked her father, before getting out and gratefully accepting the help of a couple of hefty male passersby who pushed the car to the side of the road.

“Want me to take a gander at the engine?” one asked.

“Thanks, but no.” Amateur tinkering might void the guarantee.

The other Samaritan, a blond young man with a cocky air, offered hopefully, “I can give you a lift. My car’s over there.”

Alysia shook her head and brushed back a strand of hair escaping her ponytail. “I’ll be fine,” she said firmly. “My father’s office is quite close. Thanks for your help.”

He stood by as she took her purse and shopping bags from the car, locked the doors and walked away. When she glanced back he was still watching. Damn.

The late-afternoon sun beat hotly on her shoulders, bared by the tiny, sleeveless pink top she wore with a short denim skirt. Scientists had been warning of ozone depletion over New Zealand for years now. And summer was early this year. Christmas was still two weeks away.

At the Clarion Building she paused, and unconsciously took a slightly deeper breath before ascending the worn marble steps into the dim chill of the imposing old building. Next year she’d be doing this every day. Working in the newsroom with other reporters, she reminded herself. Not in the print room with its huge machines, echoing spaces and hidden corners.

She left her keys and purchases with the receptionist, then went up the brass-edged stairs and along a corridor to the office suite at the end.

A word processor hummed on the desk in the outer office, but there was no sign of Glenys Heath, her father’s longtime secretary. The inner door was ajar. Tapping on the panels, Alysia pushed it wide and walked in.

Spencer was rummaging in a drawer behind the desk while Chase Osborne lounged against one side of it, his hands in his pockets. He looked up, giving her a faint, questioning smile, and straightened.

Spencer lifted his head, a sheet of paper in his hand. “Here it is!” he said, handing the paper to Chase before he noticed his daughter. “Alysia, my dear! This is a surprise.” He smiled at her, so evidently happy to see her that she flushed with pleasure.

Chase said, “I’ll leave you.”

“No need,” Spencer assured him. “Alysia won’t mind waiting while we go over the figures, will you, Alysia? Get her a chair, Chase.”

Alysia murmured that of course she didn’t mind, and sank into the chair that Chase unnecessarily placed for her.

“I think I can follow these okay,” he told Spencer, glancing at the sheet of paper.

Holding out his hand for it, Spencer said a mite testily, “We’ll just check them together. Excuse us, my dear.”

Alysia slipped her leather bag from her shoulder, folded her hands in her lap on top of it and placed her ankles together while the two men murmured over the document before them.

She deduced that Chase was perfectly able to understand without Spencer’s help, and when she looked up she found that instead of following the finger her father was running down a column, he had lifted his head slightly and was idly staring at her.

Alysia blinked, and he gave her an almost conspiratorial smile before his attention returned to the paper.

Alysia shifted her feet, crossing her ankles and tucking them to one side. As if he’d caught the movement from the corner of his eye, Chase’s attention strayed again, and she was aware that he was interestedly inspecting her ankles, then her calves right up to where her skirt stopped above her knees.

Resisting the urge to tug at the skirt, she curled her fingers around the bag in her lap. Chase’s eyes swept up to her face, and he smiled openly before lowering his head and concentrating on what her father had to say.

He didn’t look up again, and Alysia, after gazing at the art prints on the cream-painted walls, found herself studying the strong male hand that Chase had spread on the desk to brace himself as he bent over Spencer’s shoulder. He had long fingers with short, almost square nails. His sleeves were rolled to the elbow, and his arm, sporting a businesslike stainless-steel watch, looked muscular and lightly tanned under a dusting of hair. She recalled how strongly it had held her three nights ago, how his fingers had combed through her hair and cradled her nape. Reluctant heat invaded her.

At last her father stopped talking, and Chase said patiently, “Okay, I’ve got that,” before picking up the paper and folding it.

Spencer said, “What about a drink after work, Chase? Get Howard along. We need to do some preliminary planning of the home improvement supplement.”

If Chase was put out at the demand on his supposedly free time, he didn’t show it. “If you like,” he said easily. About to leave, he paused as Alysia opened her mouth to speak, then changed her mind. His brows lifted in faint interrogation. “Something wrong?”

Alysia shook her head. To her father, she said, “My car broke down. I’ve called the garage to get the keys from reception and fetch it, and I was going to ask you for a lift. But if you’re not coming straight home—”

Spencer frowned. “You haven’t run out of petrol?”

Chase was trying not to grin, she thought. “I have plenty of petrol,” she said, her chin lifting. “Teething troubles, I suppose.” The car was brand-new.

Her father snorted. “I’ll have something to say to the dealer about that.” His face clearing somewhat, he suggested, “No reason why you shouldn’t come with us. In fact we could all have dinner afterward. Save you fixing a meal.”

“I can get a taxi.” It was much too hot to walk.

Spencer overrode her, apparently unwilling to relinquish his solution. “Tell Howard he’s invited to dinner, too,” he ordered Chase. “He’ll have to let his wife know.”

Seated on a deep upholstered banquette flanking a low polished table, Alysia was next to Chase as they were served predinner drinks.

Howard produced a briefcase and opened a folder. “This is a preliminary draft of the home improvement supplement, but I think we can do better than last year, if we increase the ratio of straight advertisements—”

The three men bent over the folder, effectively blocking Alysia out. Spencer, with an air of giving her a treat, had ordered the cocktail of the day for her, and it had come in a wide, shallow glass decorated with a cherry and a tiny pink parasol. She sipped at it slowly until only a film of creamy foam remained, then sat idly opening and shutting the parasol.

“Alysia?” Chase’s voice was in her ear, and she looked up to find his face quite close. The other two men were still engrossed in discussion. “Another drink?”

“No thanks.” She shut the parasol decisively and placed it in her glass.

Chase’s gaze followed the movement. “How was it?”

“The way it looked,” she answered succinctly.

He gave a small, almost silent laugh. “Pink and sweet,” he said, following her exactly. “Didn’t you like it?”

“It was fine. I just don’t need another.”

He was still looking at her rather curiously, humor curling his mouth, when Spencer called his attention back to business.

After the waitress led them to their table it was Chase who pulled out a chair for Alysia between him and her father. The discussion continued throughout the meal.

“Our clients will provide most of the copy,” Howard said.

Chase leaned back in his chair and picked up his wine glass. “Half the PR people who write those advertorials can’t even spell, let alone string a literate sentence together.”

“So we edit it!” Howard spread his hands. “That’s what we pay sub-editors for.”

“Advertorial?” Alysia queried.

Howard explained. “Articles about our advertisers’ products.”

“I know,” she answered. “Disguised advertising. A cheap way to fill pages.”

Chase gave her a considering look. “You have a problem with it?”

At journalism school this subject had been debated quite hotly. “I think people should know when they’re reading puff for the paper’s clients, not a real product comparison. Will the supplement be labeled as advertising?”

Spencer said impatiently, “People wouldn’t read it.”

“They would if they’re interested in the featured products,” she argued.

“You don’t think,” Chase asked her, “that our readers are astute enough to know that a glowing article cheek by jowl with an ad for the product is a promo?”

“A lot of people trust a newspaper to deliver impartial opinions.”

“Certainly, in the news pages—”

Spencer interrupted brusquely. “People who don’t advertise with us can’t expect free publicity, Alysia. Just let us get on with our planning, my dear.”

Alysia swallowed a protest. She might have paper qualifications but that didn’t give her any clout with these experienced men. “Yes, of course,” she said quietly.

Chase’s eyes were still on her, as if she’d intrigued him, although her views couldn’t be new to any seasoned newspaperman. “I’m interested in what Alysia has to say.”

“I’ve said it.” She looked down at her plate and speared a morsel of pineapple.

“We value your opinion, I’m sure.” Her father gave her a perfunctory smile, but she was more conscious of Chase’s concentrated gaze. “Now, Chase, if we have copy from advertisers there’ll be no need to send staffers…”

No use expecting her father to listen seriously to her. Even though these days he bought her cocktails and took her along to an impromptu business dinner instead of treating her to ice-cream cones and G-rated films. Maybe parents never really accepted that their children had grown up.

When they’d had coffee Chase pushed his cup aside. “Thanks for the meal, Spencer. Shall we call it a night?”

Howard said, “I want to talk to Spencer about a problem with the classifieds.”

Spencer called the waiter for more coffee, but Chase and Alysia both shook their heads.

“You don’t need me anymore,” Chase said. Again his eyes lighted on Alysia, with that new and disconcerting intentness. “Alysia looks tired. If you two want to stay on, I can take her home.”

“I don’t mind waiting,” Alysia said.

But Spencer waved a hand benevolently and said, “Go with Chase, my dear. I’m sorry if this is a bit tedious for you.”

Didn’t he know she wanted to be involved in anything to do with the paper? It was her future. “It isn’t at all—”

But Chase was already on his feet, and she had little choice. Gathering up her bag, she said good-night to Howard and walked beside Chase to the entrance, then into the cooler night air in the car-park.

Chase paused outside the doorway and let out a brief, whistling breath.

“You didn’t need to offer to take me home,” Alysia said. “It’s out of your way—”

“No problem.” He curled his fingers around her arm in a light hold. “I’m grateful for the excuse.”

Alysia was silent, and as they neared his car he said, “Sorry. That was tactless.”

Not sure if the apology was for the implication that he’d wanted to get away from her father, or for suggesting that taking her home was no more than a pretext, she said coolly, “It’s all right, Mr. Osborne.”

He unlocked the passenger door and turned his head to glance at her probingly as he opened it.

With careful grace Alysia sank into the seat and waited while he closed the door.

When he slid in beside her he didn’t immediately start the engine. Instead, his hands resting on the steering wheel, he turned to her and queried, “Mr. Osborne? We’ve known each other since you were a skinny little schoolgirl, Alysia.”

Alysia had been nearly sixteen when Chase came to work for the Clarion. Leaving school eighteen months later, she had completed her Bachelor of Commerce in Auckland, several hours south of Waikura, before enrolling in journalism school still farther south in Wellington for a graduate diploma.

And in those few years Chase Osborne had climbed through several grades to chief reporter. And now deputy editor, although he couldn’t be more than thirty.

“I might have been skinny then,” Alysia said, “but actually I was tall for my age.”

His mouth curved. “And you’re not skinny any longer.”

His eyes remained on her face, but she recalled his almost absentminded assessment of her legs when she’d sat in her father’s office, and again the memory of that devastating kiss under the pepper tree surfaced, tingling in her blood.

“All grown up, in fact,” Chase said. “But I hope you don’t expect me to call you Miss Kingsley.”

“I’m not a snob.”

“No?”

Alysia stirred, and her bare arm brushed Chase’s sleeve.

Turning away from him, she pulled her safety belt from its housing and clicked it into position.

She lifted an errant strand of hair from her cheek and put it behind her ear, then sat with her eyes focused straight ahead. The car park was lit with street lamps, and a few spiky cabbage trees shivered in a breeze, their slim, patterned trunks rising from floodlit flowerbeds.

Chase switched on the key and the engine murmured into life. He swung the car onto the road, drove through two sets of traffic lights and turned along the riverside. Between the boathouses and marine businesses, glimpses of dark water reflected wavery ribbons of light.

“So you have your own car now?” Chase asked.

Not sure why she felt defensive, Alysia said, “My father bought it as a graduation present.”

“Congratulations on your diploma, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“I was surprised you decided to do a journalism course after all.”

“Why?” Surely nothing could have been more obvious.

“I had the idea you didn’t particularly care for the newspaper business. We don’t see you down at the office much.”

Alysia felt her skin tighten but she kept her voice calm. “The last few years I’ve been studying,” she reminded him. “Of course I care—I’m a Kingsley.”

“Ah…the Kingsley dynasty,” he murmured.

“I prefer to call it a tradition.” Alysia didn’t like the irony coloring his voice.

He was silent for a couple of seconds. “Spencer doesn’t have a lot of time for high-powered career women.”

Spencer tended toward archaic views on women in business—in fact on women in general—but he didn’t have a choice in her case. The newspaper was a family institution, and Alysia was the only family he had. When she told him she wanted to first gain a commerce degree and then study journalism for a year, he had talked approvingly about the value of qualifications.

“I’m starting at the Clarion after the New Year,” she said. “Hasn’t my father mentioned it?”

“He suggested we make a place for you.”

Alysia guessed from the reserve in his voice that Chase Osborne didn’t approve of nepotism. Too bad. It might be old-fashioned, but it was the way the Clarion had always operated, each generation succeeding the last. One day the newspaper would pass to her. Her father couldn’t deny her that.

Her hands clasped almost painfully together. “I’m qualified.”

She willed away a nasty, sick feeling in her stomach. She was an adult now. Time she acted like one, instead of like some scared little schoolgirl.

Chase made a sound like a short, scornful little laugh. “You have a brand-new diploma.”

“Even you must have been a beginner once.” She knew she sounded snippy. “I don’t mind starting at the bottom. Like my father.” Though heir to the business, he’d begun as a junior reporter, straight from school.

“He’s a good journo,” Chase conceded. “I’ve learned a lot from him.”

“And so will I be,” Alysia asserted.

“You mean it’s in the blood?”

The mockery in the remark stung, although he couldn’t know how it reached a particularly sensitive place in her heart. Her throat tightened. “Anyone can learn.”

They reached the house and she was out of the car before Chase came round it to open the door for her.

“I’ll see you inside.” He followed her up the wide path to the front door and waited while she opened her bag, fumbling for her keys. She let out a short, annoyed exclamation and he said, “What’s wrong?”

“I assumed I’d be coming home with Dad. I’ve left my house key on the ring with the car keys.”

“So you can’t get in.”

“Damn! How stupid!” She glared at the firmly locked front door as if that might miraculously open it.

“No hidden keys?”

“We don’t do that.”

“Probably wise. What about open windows?”

“The bathroom, maybe. But it’s too high.”

“Show me.”

“You can’t…” But she showed him all the same, and then watched as he swung onto the roof of the veranda.

He moved with grace and economy and Alysia was unwillingly fascinated by the play of muscles under his shirt, the lithe masculinity of his body. Sternly she thrust away the stirring of sexual curiosity.

Chase made surefootedly for the slightly open window, thrust it wide and hoisted himself through the narrow space.

A few minutes later lights went on and he opened the door for her, stepping back to allow her in. He was fishing in his pocket with his left hand, holding his right hand up while blood trickled from the knuckles.

“What have you done?”

“Grazed myself getting the window open properly. There wasn’t much room. It’s nothing.” He’d found a handkerchief and was clumsily trying to wrap it about his bleeding hand. “I don’t think I’ve messed the carpet. Can you tie this for me?”

“Come upstairs again and I’ll get a plaster for it. Come on,” Alysia insisted as he looked about to argue.

She led him to the main bathroom, placed her bag on the floor and took a first-aid box from the cupboard under the hand basin. She unscrewed the cap on a bottle of disinfectant. “Is it dirty?”

“No. Just pour a bit of that on,” he said, holding his hand over the basin. “It’ll kill any lurking germs.”

He winced slightly as she did so, and she murmured, “Maybe we should have diluted this. It stings.”

“I noticed.” He seemed very close, watching her as she swabbed the wound dry with a piece of gauze and pressed a plaster over it. Although he shifted back a little while she replaced the disinfectant and plasters, she was conscious of him right behind her.

When she turned he didn’t move, and she found herself trapped against the basin. She raised wary eyes, and caught a strange look in his. A look that seemed attentive and faintly puzzled. Without speaking he lowered his head, pressing a quick, warm kiss on her mouth.

It was over before she had a chance to either reciprocate or protest, or even decide which she wanted to do.

“Thank you,” he said. And still he didn’t move away, his steady gaze questioning.

She stared back, refusing to evade the challenge.

He was too adept at finding vulnerable areas of her psyche. A reporter’s instinct, she guessed, that told him where to dig for what lay under the surface. For what people preferred to keep hidden.

He knew that since the kiss in the garden she’d been unwillingly attracted to him. No doubt the knowledge gave him great satisfaction. But that didn’t mean she’d give in to the attraction.

His smile widened a little, and then his head dipped again.

Alysia whipped her own head back, her hands clutching at the cold porcelain of the basin behind her.

Chase straightened. Alysia tried to keep her eyes steady and indifferent. She still felt a tingle of surprised pleasure on her lips. But mingled with the pleasure was hostility, resentment that this man could produce that sensation.

At last Chase took a step away, then another. Blocking the doorway, he cast a lightning glance over her, and she realized that she was taut as a bowstring, her body curved so that her breasts and hips were thrust forward. Hastily she readjusted her stance, releasing her grip on the basin to bring her arms protectively across her midriff.

Chase laughed then, his eyes going glittery. She must have imagined that fleeting tenderness, there was no sign of it now. The thought pierced her, unexpectedly poignant.

“That cocktail,” he said conversationally, “was it chilled?”

Alysia blinked at the non sequitur. “Yes. There was ice in it.”

“I thought so.” He stood there a moment longer, surveying her in a not unfriendly way but with a hint of sarcasm in his slight smile. Then he sketched her a salute. “Tell your father he ought to get a burglarproof catch on that window. Good night—I’ll find my own way out.”

She heard his quick footsteps on the stairs, and the forceful closing of the front door, and then the distinct sound of whistling as he went on down the path.

Pink and sweet—and cold. That’s what he thought of her, Alysia acknowledged irritably. Translated it meant insipid and uninteresting.

It didn’t matter. What Chase Osborne thought of her was a matter of total indifference to her. Wasn’t it?

Chapter Three

Alysia and her father spent Christmas Day with his sister in Auckland. Aunt Patricia’s children were all married but some of them brought along their families for Christmas dinner.

Perhaps because she’d been an only child herself, Alysia enjoyed the children, willingly keeping them amused while their parents relaxed after a too-large midday meal.

At the end of the day she helped her cousin Valda pack children and their paraphernalia into the family station wagon.

Stuffing a teddy bear into a carry bag, Valda asked her curiously, “Do you really want to work at the Clarion?”

Alysia straightened from fastening a child’s safety belt. “Of course.”

Valda cast her a shrewd look. “To please your father?”

Alysia tucked an errant strand of her hair into its clasp. “To carry on the family tradition.”

“Robbie!” Momentarily distracted, Valda admonished her younger son. “Leave your sister alone!” Turning back to Alysia, she looked at her speculatively. “I wondered if you chose to study journalism in Wellington just for a chance to spread your wings. Between your father and my mother you’d led a pretty sheltered life.”

While Alysia was at university she had boarded with her aunt and uncle. Her father had vetoed her sharing accommodation with friends, seemingly convinced that student houses were both expensive and dens of iniquity. And Aunt Patricia had discharged her responsibility very conscientiously.

“I had a good time while I was at university,” Alysia said. “Your mother never locked me in.”

Valda laughed. “Good for you. Well, if you’re happy—Robbie, I said stop that! Where’s that husband of mine?”

“I’ll find him,” Alysia offered, and made for the house.

Between Christmas and New Year, Alysia drove to Auckland to help her university friends celebrate one of their birthdays.

Seated round a large table in an upmarket restaurant, the group bantered with the waitress, laughed at corny jokes and enjoyed being together again.

They had reached the dessert course when Alysia saw Chase Osborne across the room, dining tête-à-tête with a dark, sultry young woman wearing a slinky black dress that showed off her generously curved figure.

The woman was talking, using her hands for emphasis, showing off long, elegant nails painted a brilliant pink, and occasionally pushing at the riot of loose curls about her face. Chase smiled now and then at something she said, and once laughed outright.

That was when he noticed Alysia, his eyes catching hers across the room, laughter still on his mouth as he lifted a hand to her.

She felt the impact of that look like a small shock, and nodded to him, mustering a smile.

His eyes took in her companions and then returned to his partner. Alysia tore her gaze away. The birthday boy had called for another bottle of wine and was refilling glasses over laughing protests.

When the waiter carried in a cake ablaze with candles the party became even more lively, attracting the notice of other diners, some of whom good-naturedly joined in the singing of “Happy Birthday.” Determined not to glance in Chase’s direction again, Alysia was nevertheless acutely aware that he too had looked up at the cheers and laughter.

As the group left the restaurant, the host’s unsteady steps being hilariously directed by two other young men, Chase and his companion were in the foyer. With a word to the woman, he crossed to Alysia and drew her aside. “You’re not driving home tonight?”

“I’m staying with my cousin in Auckland.”

“Did you bring your own car to the restaurant?”

“No. What does it have to do with—”

“I can give you a lift.”

Astonished, she looked past him to where the sultry beauty waited. “Your girlfriend might object to that.”

“Your father might object to you being driven by some young idiot who’s over the limit.”

“My friends are not idiots. Donna doesn’t drink at all, and she’ll be driving some of us home. The others are taking a taxi. Not that it need concern you.”

He released her arm without apology. “I’m glad to hear it. You’ll be all right, then?”

“I’m not a silly teenager, Chase.”

“Okay. You go home tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Me, too.” He cast a comprehensively critical glance over her friends in the background. “See you back in Waikura, then.” He walked off to rejoin his dinner date, who tucked a hand into his arm and lifted her face to give him a dazzling smile.

Alysia left the restaurant with the others and tried to share in their hilarity as they made for the car and piled in to it. She had enjoyed the chance to relax, be young and a little goofy with her friends. But now they seemed very juvenile, and their tipsy humor failed to amuse her anymore. Somehow tonight was spoiled for her.

“Your boss’s daughter?” Mariette asked Chase as they walked to his car.

“Yes.” He’d told her that when he went to speak with Alysia. To make sure she wasn’t going to do anything silly and dangerous.

“Is she underage?”

“For drinking? No.” Feeling a need to justify himself, Chase added, “But her father’s very protective.”

Mariette gave him a sideways look. “Seems he’s not the only one. She didn’t look too thrilled with you.”

“She doesn’t like me much,” Chase admitted shortly, not sure why that irritated him.

Before the Christmas party he’d scarcely thought of Alysia Kingsley at all. She’d only appeared during vacations from school or university, not changing a great deal from the quiet, pretty, but rather colorless kid he’d first met.

At the party he’d noted that the duckling who had never been ugly was definitely a swan, but it wasn’t until he’d found her in the garden, looking pensive and somehow poignant, that he’d had to quell a surprising impulse to take her in his arms, not only to comfort, but to find out what that slight but feminine body would feel like snuggled against his.

Her instant resentment of his presence, the fierceness of her unsuspected dislike, had if anything heightened the sexual curiosity she’d aroused. He’d been unable to resist kissing her even though he knew she wouldn’t welcome it. Not at all his usual style.

And despite her effort to freeze him off he’d recognized the subtle signs of her instinctive response.

She was a bundle of contradictions. A spoiled daddy’s girl who somehow managed to seem insecure, vulnerable. Docile and compliant with her father, but capable of a cutting arrogance with lesser mortals. She didn’t hide her hostility to Chase, yet he’d swear she felt the same sexual buzz he did when he touched her.

And tonight he shouldn’t even be thinking about Alysia Kingsley while another woman hung on his arm saying something he hadn’t even heard. He smiled down at Mariette. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“Are we going back to my place?”

Although he’d had every intention of doing so when he phoned and suggested a date, Chase shook his head. “I’ll drop you off,” he said, pleading pressure of work. It wouldn’t be fair to accept the invitation when another woman was annoyingly uppermost in his thoughts. He’d drive to Waikura tonight.

“Good birthday party?” Spencer enquired at breakfast on Monday. Alysia hadn’t returned from Auckland until late on Sunday night, and when she’d let herself in the house had been in darkness.

“Fine,” she answered automatically. “It was nice seeing my friends again.”

“You have friends in Waikura,” Spencer commented.

“Not really, now.” Away at boarding school through her high school years, she had lost touch with her earlier playmates.

In the days that followed, making the most of her last long holiday, Alysia swam, pottered around the house and indulged herself with books that weren’t prescribed for exams.

On New Year’s Eve, dressed in a brief tube top and shorts, she was lying on a rug under the pepper tree, absorbed in a fat romantic historical saga, when Chase found her.

He’d knocked at the front door and, getting no reply, walked around the back. Realizing that Alysia was unaware of his presence, he’d spent a few minutes contemplating the picture she made, without the prickly defenses she always assumed in his presence. Lying on her side, her head propped on one hand, her knees drawn up, she might have been still a teenager, but for the decidedly womanly curve of her hip, and the glimpse of a cleavage afforded by the skimpy top she wore.

Her expression was absorbed, the jade-green eyes half hidden by long lashes, her lips innocent of makeup and slightly parted. He watched her tongue briefly touch the upper one as she turned a page, and his body tightened and stirred.

He remembered the taste of her mouth, remembered how despite her maddening refusal to allow her rigidly held body to accept his embrace, that mouth, which had mocked and defied and flicked him on the raw, felt soft and sweet and incredibly seductive. A contradiction.

Looking at her body now, Chase’s mouth curved in self-mockery. He could have sworn that when he first kissed her she’d almost opened up to him, at least physically, and then she’d stalked off without a word. Banged down the shutters in his face. And, but for an occasional brief, unwitting chink, she’d kept them down ever since.

If she thought he’d back off she could think again. She’d thrown out a challenge and he’d never refused one in his life. One day he’d make her acknowledge that this unsettling desire to touch, to explore, to know, wasn’t all on his side.

She might the boss’s daughter, heiress to Kingsley’s little kingdom, but she’d learn that sex was the great leveler. When it came down to it, a naked princess was like any other woman without her clothes.

Alysia turned another page. A shadow fell across it and Chase’s deep voice said, “Hi, there.”

“Chase!” At first she couldn’t see him properly against the sun as she scrambled to her feet. “What are you doing here?”

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