Abby Green
THE BRAZILIAN’S BLACKMAIL BARGAIN

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

For Susie Q and again Lynn

my patron saints.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

PROLOGUE

London, November

MAGGIE HOLLAND stood just on the other side of the revolving door, the late November darkness throwing the glittering lights of the exclusive London hotel into sharp relief. Her heart was in her mouth, legs shaking, hands clammy and a trickle of sweat ran down her back. Her head ached where pins held the thick mass of curls on top of her head and, with a visibly trembling hand, she pulled the too short mac more tightly around her body. The cold wind whistled around her exposed legs but couldn’t shock her out of the stupor that seemed to have taken control of her body.

A couple clambered out of a cab on the street just behind her and, in a flurry of doormen, luggage and broken German on the cuttingly cold breeze, she knew she had to move into the lobby just behind the glass or move aside and let them pass.

The stupor passed; reality rushed in. Taking a deep breath, she didn’t move aside, much as she wanted to, but pushed the revolving door and stepped into the warm foyer.

She saw him as soon as she walked in. Impossible to miss him; he would draw the eye of anyone with a pulse.

He was standing facing away from her, talking to someone, so hadn’t noted her arrival and she was glad of the respite. A chance, however flimsy, to gather herself and her exposed nerves. And a chance to observe him for a moment.

He stood with hands in his pockets, making the material of his tailored trousers run taut over his behind, drawing attention to a powerful physique that was more like that of an athlete in his prime than a corporate tycoon worth millions…some even said billions. A tycoon who had a fearsome reputation as one of the most innovative and powerful in Europe.

Caleb Cameron hadn’t existed in her world until two weeks ago, when she’d met him at her stepfather’s house for the first time. Never an enthusiastic visitor unless requested by her mother, that had been one of those times when Maggie’s mother had begged her for some support. He had been one of a few assorted businessmen who in the last two weeks had conducted intense meetings with her stepfather. And having been there nearly every day to help her mother hostess, Maggie’s every waking and sleeping thought had quickly become filled with this dynamic man, and still the disbelief that he could possibly be interested in her. Proof of which was this date tonight.

Her mouth compressed. A date which had been hijacked for other ends.

Maggie swallowed with difficulty. She couldn’t escape what she had to do. She knew that with an awful fatality. But…surely he would see through her in a second? She almost hoped he would. He had a rapier-sharp intellect. And yet she was somehow expected to…no, had been ordered to be the one to…Her mind shut down; she felt sick again and shut her eyes briefly.

All she wanted to do was turn around and walk back out of the door. But she couldn’t. If she didn’t go through with this, the consequences didn’t bear thinking about and affected the one person dearest to her. She had no choice.

‘Maggie.’

Her eyes snapped open. How had she not heard him approach? An impression struck her of a large, lethal, graceful jungle cat. She strove for calm, straightening her spine.

‘Caleb, I’m sorry. I hope you weren’t waiting for too long.’

He skimmed a look up and down, leaving her a little breathless, a broad shoulder lifted negligently. ‘A few minutes is a pleasant surprise. I’ve been kept waiting for longer.’

Somehow Maggie knew that was a lie. No woman would keep this man waiting. His penetrating blue gaze held hers captive. She couldn’t look away and that familiar boneless feeling permeated her, making her blood slow and throb through her veins. This was the effect he had had on her ever since she’d laid eyes on him. When she’d been innocent of the part she was being primed to play in her stepfather’s Machiavellian plans. When she’d been aware of nothing more than Caleb…as a man…not someone who had to be betrayed, ruined…plundered for his wealth.

And now…seduced.

Looking up at him, her mind was scrambled. For a second she could almost fool herself into thinking that what was outside didn’t exist. Maybe this really could just be the simple date he’d asked her on…with no agenda. That thought made her breathless with a dangerous excitement. She wasn’t aware of the slight ironic smile that touched her lips at her wishful thinking. After tonight she’d never see him again and that made her insides feel hollow.

An icy gleam lit Caleb’s eyes for a split second, but then it was gone, replaced with benign politeness. ‘Shall we? The dinner table is ready…’

Maggie’s heart plummeted. This was it…no turning back. ‘Fine.’

On wooden legs she preceded him through the foyer to the doors at the other end. She felt as though she was walking to the guillotine. And then, to compound it, the heavy room key in her pocket brushed against her leg. Nausea clawed her stomach again. The key to the room upstairs that had been booked by her stepfather. The scene where the seduction was to take place. He even had his man there somewhere, in the shadows, watching, monitoring proceedings…to make sure one or the other didn’t leave too soon. Before the damage could be done.

Dear God. How could she do this?

At the door to the dining room she felt Caleb’s fingers on her shoulders. She half turned, acutely aware of the bare scrap of lace she was wearing. The excuse for a dress that he had bought for her to wear. She wanted to halt the inevitable slide of the coat from her shoulders even as the maître d’ came forward to take it. Panic rose. She couldn’t do this…she couldn’t look. Couldn’t bear to see the reaction on Caleb’s face when he saw her outfit.

She was wearing a slip. That was all. He’d seen more clothes on a lap dancer. It didn’t suit her pale colouring. The rich red hair was pinned up, making his fingers itch to take it down. A curious burning disappointment licked through his veins as he realised that, even in the cheapest outfit, she still had the power to ignite forceful desire in his body. The tingling awareness of which was making itself very apparent. And something else licked through him too. Self-derision. For a brief moment, before he had found out who she was, or what was going on, he had thought…He tried to stop his thoughts going in that direction. But his mind refused to obey.

When he had first met her, something deep and hidden and unknown had been touched. He had been shaken out of his usual cynical inertia. She had looked at him that first time with such sweet shyness and had then smiled. That smile had captured self-deprecation at her response, the current of sexual awareness running between them and something so intangible…but so innocently feminine, that he’d felt a lurch of surprise. He was used to women smiling at him, but usually with such blatant calculation that his blood ran cold.

His mouth thinned as he followed her through the dining room; he was aware of the openly admiring glances she was getting, the sexy sway of her hips, and his eyes, like theirs, were drawn to the scrap of lace and silk that was barely decent. To see her tonight, with her intentions so disappointingly obvious, he wondered again how he could ever have thought he’d been surprised…or that she wasn’t exactly the same as every other woman.

He knew with confident arrogance that she wanted him. She had felt the same immediate impact on first sight—he knew that. But she probably turned it on for everyone, no distinction being made.

She was nothing more than a mediocre actress, but yet…and he hated the admission, she’d almost fooled him, got under his guard. He’d never had a lapse in his attention before now, keeping corporations going in every major city from Tokyo to London. He knew the minutiae of every single one of them, his control legendary and fear-inducing among his competition. A skill that would not let her or her family undermine that control, even now, when they thought they had him. The fools.

He focused on the facts.

She was here to take him to bed, to seduce him and distract him. To act as the honey trap. One of the oldest tricks in the book. If he wasn’t mistaken, he was sure he’d seen the distinctive shape of a key in her pocket as he’d taken her coat. Was it a key to a hotel room there? The disgust rose like bile.

But two could play at that game; he was here to seduce her too. A little luxury he was affording himself, the spoils of war. Because this was war. Since he’d felt that punch to his gut on first sight, had then discovered what their little game was, the way she’d so blatantly been put on display for him…he’d been determined to sample what was on offer.

They reached the table.

Maggie walked to the other side and faced him with a look of almost, for a fleeting moment…unbelievable trepidation on her face. He mentally shook his head. Hell, she was good. He’d never seen anything like the level of her guile. He reasserted his cool mental clarity, ignored the ache in his loins. The slow burning fire that would be sated.

She would soon know just how dismally their machinations had failed. Then he would take his revenge on her family. And then he would be free of this all-consuming desire that held him in its grip.

By the end of the night she would never…ever forget him or want to cross his path again.

CHAPTER ONE

Dublin, six months later…

‘WE JUST have to meet with Mr Murphy and then it’s all over.’ In the back of the car as they left the graveyard, Maggie took her mother’s hand in hers, concerned by her ashen pallor.

Her mother drew in a shaky breath. ‘Love, I don’t think I can sit through it…I really don’t—’

Maggie tightened her hand in comfort as her mother’s eyes filled and her mouth trembled.

She turned stricken eyes to her daughter. ‘I’m not sad…Is that terrible? I’m so relieved that he’s finally gone; when I think of what I put you through all these years, how I could have—’

‘Shh, Mum. Don’t think about it now. It’s over. He’ll never harm either of us again. We’re free.’

Her heart ached at the desolation in her mother’s eyes, the lines on her face, the lifeless hair scraped back. She had once been a beautiful, vibrant woman. The reason why Tom Holland had wanted her for himself after her father’s untimely death. He’d been pathologically jealous of his cousin.

In those days, as a young widow in Ireland with nothing but the house left to her and a small child, Maggie’s mother had been vulnerable. When Tom had promised to look after her if she married him, she had thought she was doing the best thing for her and her daughter. It was only after the wedding that his vicious cruelty had become apparent and, in a notoriously conservative society where divorce hadn’t been allowed until relatively recently, her mother had effectively been trapped. Until now.

‘Look, you don’t have to sit in on the reading of the will; it’s going to be a matter of routine anyway. Mr Murphy knows us well enough not to insist on your being there and Tom left everything to you. It’s the least he could have done.’ Maggie’s voice couldn’t hide its bitter edge.

‘Oh, really love, do you think so? If I could just take a rest…’

‘Of course, everything is going to be fine.’ Maggie tried to inject upbeat energy into her voice when all she felt was drained beyond belief.

A short time later the car pulled off the main road in the small village outside Dublin and swept through the gates of a large, welcoming country house. Maggie took a deep comforting breath. The first glimpse of the house through the trees that lined the short drive never failed to lift her spirits. It had been their own family home—her father and mother’s. It was the one thing her stepfather hadn’t got his hands on. A link back to happier days, the memories of which she knew had helped her mother get through the worst times. It was here she and her mother had moved back to six months ago, after that…Even now she couldn’t bring herself to think of that night. The pain in her heart was still acute, despite her attempts to ignore it, deny it. The awful humiliation was still vivid.

Luckily her mother had listened to her and they’d left London almost immediately. By the time Tom had realised that his plan hadn’t worked he’d been too caught up with his business to come after them. And now he was gone for good. Dead. She brought her mother up to her bedroom and was almost at the door when she called her back.

‘What is it, Mum?’ Maggie walked over and sat down.

Her mother’s eyes were suddenly bright and serious. ‘Promise me you’ll never speak of what happened to us…what Tom did to us…I couldn’t bear the shame.’

She was used to this recurring plea of her mother’s. ‘Of course not…you know I never have; why would I now?’

Her mother grabbed her hand with surprising strength. ‘Promise me, Margaret.’

‘I promise.’ She pressed a kiss to her mother’s forehead and left again. It was a promise she wouldn’t find hard to keep; she had no intention of talking or thinking about Tom Holland ever again if she could help it. Maggie went back downstairs and heard the sound of a car. The solicitor. After hanging up her coat, she quickly smoothed back her hair, opening the door with a smile as the bell sounded. She had always liked the small man with twinkling eyes. Unlike the rest of Tom Holland’s coterie of hangers-on and staff, his local Dublin solicitor had also been her father’s solicitor.

She showed the older gentleman into the front room. ‘I hope you’ll excuse my mother; she’s not feeling the best.’

He turned to face Maggie, ‘Nothing serious, I hope?’

‘No,’ she quickly assured him, knowing of his genuine concern. ‘She’s just tired and drained from the past few days. But if you need her here—’

He put up a hand. ‘Actually, maybe it’s better if she doesn’t hear what I have to say.’ Suddenly he couldn’t meet Maggie’s eyes and shifted uncomfortably on his feet. A sliver of fear made her stop breathing for a second. It was too good to be true that Tom Holland was gone. She knew it.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Maggie let’s sit down. I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.’

She moved numbly to a chair and watched as the solicitor sat down near a table and put down his briefcase. He didn’t take out any papers. She struggled to stay calm, despite his bleak face.

‘What…what is it?’

He looked up at her finally, his hands stretching out, palms up, empty. ‘I’m afraid that you and your mother have been left with nothing.’

Her heart started to beat normally again, as she relaxed. It wasn’t too bad. She and her mother hadn’t ever received much from Tom and she had been supporting herself for years since college and was building a modest income from her paintings.

‘Well, that’s not the end of the world, is it? But…but where did it all go?’

They were talking about millions of pounds after all. Mr Murphy sighed; he hated being the bearer of bad news. ‘It would appear that one of his adversaries finally brought him down, lock stock and barrel—the timing is most unfortunate. A tycoon in the UK that your stepfather attempted to take over some time ago has been steadily buying up stock, taking over his companies and on the day Tom had the heart attack the last of his businesses crumbled—a freak coincidence.’

That would explain his absence, why he hadn’t followed them home, demanded her mother return to London, punished them. Despite the dire news, Maggie couldn’t help the spike of satisfaction that rushed through her; she only wished she could have seen his reaction when he had found out.

‘Well, there’s nothing to be done now; at least we have our house.’

The words fell into the space between them and Maggie watched with growing dread as she saw Mr Murphy’s eyes flicker away guiltily and his hand went to his collar as if he needed air.

‘Mr Murphy, we do have this house, don’t we? It’s my mother’s.’

He shook his head slowly, as if he couldn’t even bring himself to articulate the words. At Maggie’s desperate look he had to. He cleared his throat and it sounded harsh in the silence of the room.

‘My dear…nearly a year ago in London your stepfather persuaded your mother to sign over this house in his name as collateral. God knows how he persuaded her; maybe she didn’t understand what she was doing…I’m afraid it was tied up with all of his other assets. It now belongs to—’

Just then the sound of a car outside the window stopped his words. Maggie couldn’t move; she was in shock. She couldn’t even begin to figure how her mother had done such a thing; this house was sacrosanct. Rage and disbelief warred inside her as the information sank in.

Mr Murphy was looking out of the window. ‘That’s him. The head of the corporation. He came to see me personally and insisted on coming here today to see you and your mother. I’m so sorry, but he refused to be dissuaded.’

When the doorbell rang and Maggie didn’t move, Mr Murphy finally got up to answer it. She was numb, barely aware of the sound of the door opening, footsteps approaching, the deep timbre of a voice answering something the solicitor had said. Maggie looked up and suddenly her world stopped turning. She felt herself standing slowly as if moving through treacle, her limbs sluggish and unwieldy.

Caleb Cameron. Larger than life, his huge frame filling the doorway. He cocked his head slightly and a mocking smile touched his lips. His eyes captured Maggie’s and she couldn’t look away. They were glacial, moving over her, stripping her. The man who had turned her world upside down that night six months ago was back…apparently to turn it upside down again. She fought strenuously against the shocking pull she could feel in every cell as she reacted to his commanding aura. The room seemed to tilt slightly on its axis as she unconsciously sucked in a breath, her need for oxygen necessary but secondary to the shock after shock that she was reeling from.

Unable to tear her eyes away from his in morbid fascination, she didn’t notice the solicitor precede Caleb into the room and gesture towards her. ‘This is Margaret Holland. Maggie, this is Caleb Cameron, he’s the man who has taken over all of your stepfather’s holdings…including this—’

Before he could say it, she cut in through bloodless lips, ‘I know Mr Cameron; we met in London.’

She sank back down on to the chair behind her because her legs were trembling so much they wouldn’t hold her up any more and looked up, stricken, as Caleb advanced into the room and sat in the chair just vacated by Mr Murphy.

Despite the urbane, debonair exterior, his body clothed in an exquisite suit, he still exuded that untamed potent maleness she remembered all too well. The virile essence of the man couldn’t be contained or disguised by a mere suit. It had bowled her over the first time she had seen him and was having the same effect now, except this time she had the experience of their explosive night together to make seeing him three thousand times worse. And, even though months had passed in the interim, she could feel a hot tide of colour rise up from her chest as countless familiar disturbing images flooded her head.

Caleb exercised iron-willed self-control as he looked her over dispassionately. But despite that effort he couldn’t dismiss the heady rush at seeing her in the flesh again. Her face had paled dramatically on seeing him, almond-shaped green eyes huge in her small oval face, the rich abundant hair pulled back severely. The plain black top and straight black skirt couldn’t hide the curves he remembered all too well—curves she had flaunted for him…yet now she looked thinner. Somehow fragile. And a protective instinct took him unawares.

A vivid memory struck him just then of seeing her for the first time, her hair falling in a mass of vibrant red curls down her back, like some vision from a medieval painting. Freckles stood out starkly against the paleness of her smooth skin as he subjected her to an exacting inspection. He noticed with satisfaction that her cheeks flooded with hectic colour. If he hadn’t known better six months ago, he could have imagined she wore her heart on her sleeve, at the mercy of every reaction showing on that translucent skin. He could have succumbed to a dangerous fantasy. But he hadn’t. Because he had known, almost from the very start, exactly what she was.

Maggie Holland was a mercenary bitch who had tried, with her stepfather, to play him for a fool. Never again.

He could see her throat work as she tried to speak.

‘You…you’ve taken over everything.’ Her voice was faint.

She was so transparent…

It gave him such pleasure to know that he was pulling the rug of wealth from under her deceitful feet. He brought his glance, which had shifted to take in the room, back to her face.

‘Yes, Ms Holland.’

The implied insult in his use of her surname was obvious and a part of her shrank back.

‘As of now, I own every single business interest of your stepfather’s, including this very house. Naturally I declined to take on board his more dubious holdings; the Inland Revenue here and in the UK are currently investigating those and you might find that you’re due to receive some hefty tax bills; they have a surprisingly low regard for offshore accounts that haven’t been declared.’

Maggie stood up, galvanized into action by the explicit threat in his voice. For the first time since she had seen him again, she tore her gaze away and looked at Mr Murphy, who was near the door.

‘Is this true? Can it be possible?’

The older man just nodded his head miserably. She looked back to Caleb, a wild panic rising up. He was utterly unconcerned, as if watching a fly on its back struggling to right itself.

‘But…but how is this possible? I mean, how can we not have known?’ She feverishly went over everything in her pounding head. Even though they hadn’t seen Tom in months…how had they somehow missed noticing the dire straits he was leading them to? And how, for the love of God, was it possible that even now he was reaching out from the grave to ruin them…as if he hadn’t done enough already?

Because he tried to ruin this man in front of you, with your help…

She shut out the voice with difficulty. She couldn’t dwell on that now.

‘Mr Murphy…’ she implored, incapable of saying another word. Her eyes said it all. The solicitor took her arm and led her to sit down on a couch. She was glad of his protection from facing Caleb alone. She refused to acknowledge him, just feet away, willing him to be gone with all of his threatening words and devastating presence.

‘I’m sorry, Maggie, but it is true. Your mother is potentially in debt to the Revenue if they find that Tom was hiding funds in offshore accounts, as they suspect. I can fight the case for you if it comes up, but…’ He shrugged.

It was getting worse and worse. Maggie pressed a hand to her forehead.

Caleb stood up with lithe grace and rearranged his cuffs negligently. Maggie looked at him warily from beneath dark lashes, her heart still hammering painfully. ‘Murphy, I’ll leave the rest to you. Ms Holland, I have nothing more to say to you. I’ll expect you and your mother to be out of this house within two weeks; I trust that will give you time to sort yourselves out.’ He smiled cruelly. ‘I could have exercised my right to take the house today, but would rather you be gone should I decide to move in.’

‘Move in…’ Maggie repeated dumbly.

‘Yes. I’m doing some business in Dublin for a couple of months and need a bolt-hole from the city. This place would serve nicely…’ he flicked a dismissive glance around the room ‘…after I’ve had it redecorated, of course.’

Maggie stood up again, every inch of her body quivering in anger and reaction, this intrusion into their private sanctuary too much. ‘How dare you come in here and speak to me like this, on the very day of a funeral…have you no decency?’

‘Decency?’ He laughed mirthlessly. They had both forgotten the presence of the other man. Standing close to him, Maggie’s head bent back to look up, her throat exposed. She could feel the pulse beat rapidly at her neck. His eyes roved her face contemptuously, his lips curling in obvious distaste at what he saw. ‘You have a nerve to talk about decency…or should I inform our friend here exactly what role you played in your own downfall?’

So this was his revenge. He had gone after her stepfather with ruthless precision and now it was her turn. She looked at him, aghast at his capacity to take vengeance to the very last degree. In his mind she had been just as complicit as Tom Holland and deserved everything she was getting.

Without a backward glance, he strode from the room. It felt curiously flat and drained of colour after his explosive energy had left. She heard the doors close, the car start up, the gravel spurt from under the wheels as he sped away, taking their lives with him. After he was gone, Mr Murphy stood too. Maggie looked at him blankly, still stunned.

‘As you can see, your stepfather bit off a little more than he could chew with Cameron. He’s never been known to suffer fools gladly and when your stepfather made a second bid to topple Cameron’s empire he unleashed the tiger.’

‘The second bid…’

‘Well, actually, it was the third or fourth…Your stepfather really had a bee in his bonnet about Cameron, saw him as the ultimate prize to win. I know you and your mother weren’t aware of most of Tom’s dealings. After he tried to take over the Cameron Corporation by legitimate means and failed, he then went underground…and used other tactics, but still couldn’t do it.’

Maggie felt sick. She remembered all too well her unwitting role in those tactics. It had been she who had been used in the effort to divert his attention for a crucial moment in time. Thank God Mr Murphy didn’t seem to know too much and, after all, it had been in London, not Dublin.

The solicitor continued with a touch of awe in his voice, oblivious to Maggie’s turmoil. ‘Cameron systematically went through every one of Tom’s interests and with a lot more finesse managed to bring him to his knees, which was unusual really; Cameron isn’t known for going after his enemies so arbitrarily and mercilessly—he’s usually happy to cripple their defences, render them impotent.’ He shook his head. ‘Tom must have really pushed his buttons…’

Maggie flushed guiltily. ‘Well, he’s finished us too, it would seem.’

‘Yes.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I’ve looked at it every which way and he really does have it all sewn up. About the Revenue—I’m hoping if it comes to it that we can make a case…I can try to prove that your mother, while being named in the will, had no other part in her husband’s affairs.’

Maggie turned worried eyes to his. ‘But we don’t have anything any more, no money…How could we afford…?’

He patted her hand. ‘Don’t worry about that now. I know how hard it’s been for your mother. I won’t let that man make her life worse than it’s already been if I can help it.’

Maggie felt tears threaten at his kindness. ‘Thank you.’

With a few more comforting words he got up to leave and, after Maggie had closed the front door, she sagged against it. How on earth was she going to tell her mother? She knew this news would devastate her. For Maggie, her worst nightmare had just happened—coming face to face with Caleb Cameron again. She went back into the front room and, for the first time in her life, with a shaking hand, poured herself a shot of brandy and swallowed it back in one gulp.

As Caleb came to a halt in traffic, he struck the steering wheel with such force that drivers around him looked over, but the light of sudden interest in one woman’s eyes went unnoticed. When the lights went green he pulled away sharply, castigating himself. What had he been thinking? He’d always known he was going to ruin Tom Holland after his regular repeated takeover bids—the last one being the closest call. Far too close. The one that had involved her. But the takeover wasn’t what occupied his thoughts.

He’d told Maggie Holland he never wanted to see her again six months ago and yet, within hours of landing in the country, he had to come and see for himself…stand over his final piece of revenge. He could have left it in the solicitor’s hands. So why had he gone all the way out there? To confirm for himself that she couldn’t possibly still hold him in thrall?

But it had backfired spectacularly.

To his utter and complete self-disgust, his body had told him in no uncertain terms that she did indeed have the same intoxicating effect. The minute he’d seen her. And yet now he’d made them all pay. So why didn’t he feel satisfied? Why was her image burned on to his retina? And how the hell did he think he was going to survive in Dublin for two months, knowing she was in the same city?

As if to dampen the desire, he thought back to that night, when she had done everything exactly as he had suspected. Even down to having a room booked at the hotel. She’d brought him up there and seduced him. Exactly as he’d known she would.

But yet she didn’t sleep with you…a small voice reminded him mockingly.

Maybe that was it? He’d never walked away from a woman he desired before and yet he’d walked away from her that night. He still wasn’t sure why he’d left, when he knew he could have had her…without force. Her attraction had been undeniable, it was in every breathless gasp, every eye-dilating look she’d given him. But when she’d refused him herself at the last moment…somehow he couldn’t…He cursed and halted uncomfortable memories. All he knew now was that the unsatisfied ache he remembered had taken up residence again. The ache that had never really gone away if he was brutally honest with himself.

He would have to take a mistress. And soon. He’d been without a woman for too long and that was just what he needed to redirect his wandering attention. And erase Maggie Holland from his thoughts once and for all.

CHAPTER TWO

THAT evening Maggie prepared a light supper and woke her mother up. When they were sitting in the kitchen afterwards she finally asked the question Maggie had been dreading. ‘How did it go with Michael?’

She steeled herself. ‘Not great. I’m afraid I have some bad news.’

Her mother’s fingers clenched around the mug, her knuckles white. ‘What is it?’

Maggie could have wept at the familiar stoic look in her eyes. She drove down the lump. ‘Mum…someone took over Tom’s business…Just the day after he died it became apparent that he had lost everything. Effectively we’re bankrupt. It was…’ she quashed the potent image of Caleb from her mind’s eye ‘…someone who he had tried to take over.’

‘I always knew a lot of people had grievances against him…There was bound to be someone…So what does it mean?’ her mother asked.

‘Well…’ Maggie desperately fought against saying the house just yet ‘…it means that we don’t get anything; it’s all gone.’

Her mother gave much the same reaction as Maggie had earlier. ‘Well, that’s not the worst thing, is it? I mean, what have we ever had?’ She smiled a watery smile at her daughter and looked around the kitchen. ‘At least we have the house…Honestly, love, I don’t know what I’d do if we didn’t have this; it’s all I have left of your father and now I’ll be able to live here in peace.’ Maggie’s mother reached across the table and took her daughter’s hand, ‘Don’t look so worried, pet, everything will work out. I’ll get a job…you’ve got your painting; we’ll be okay.’

She hadn’t figured it out yet, Maggie knew with a sick horror. Somehow, her mother hadn’t equated signing over the house as collateral with Tom losing everything.

‘Mum…you don’t realise. We’ve lost everything…’

Her mother still looked at her blankly.

‘Mr Murphy said you signed the house over to Tom before we left London…’

‘Yes, love, but that was just…he just said it was…that it was only to…’ She stopped talking.

‘Oh, dear God, what did I do?’

Maggie held her hand. ‘It’s gone too. It was included in the rest of his assets.’

Her mother didn’t move for some time and then pulled her hand away slowly and got up to rinse out her cup. Maggie followed her, worried about her lack of reaction.

When her mother turned to face her she felt real fear, her eyes were dead, any sign of life or spark gone.

‘Mum…’

‘Margaret, I can’t…don’t make me think about this…I can’t bear it.’

She watched helplessly as the bowed woman walked out of the kitchen and knew that she was struggling with all of her might to keep herself together. That night she heard the muted sobs through her wall and knew that her proud mother would hate her to witness the awful grief. She couldn’t bear to hear her pain. What could she do? There had to be some way out…some solution.

The next morning, as the weak dawn light filtered through the curtains, Maggie lay with eyes wide open after a sleepless night. A night where demons had invaded every thought. Demons that had a familiar severely handsome face. She knew with a fatal certainty what she had to do. What the only option was.

When she walked into the kitchen a short while later any doubts in her head about her plan fled. Her mother was sitting there listlessly. She looked up briefly with shadowed eyes, her face a grey mask of disappointment and weariness. Maggie went and sat down beside her. ‘Mum, look at me.’ She waited until her mother brought her head around, slowly, as if it were a heavy weight.

‘I’m going to go into town for a while…I have something to do, but I’ll be back later or first thing in the morning.’

Hopefully with good news…

She didn’t want to say too much in case she got her mother’s hopes up, but right then and there Maggie vowed with everything in her heart that she would do whatever it took to get the house back in her mother’s name. She cooked a light breakfast and forced her mother to have some, relieved to see a slight bloom return to her cheeks before she left.

Once in her small, battered Mini, she stopped by Michael Murphy’s office in the main street to find out where Caleb’s offices were. He didn’t ask any questions, just said as he handed her the address, ‘He’s not going to be easy to see; everyone in Dublin is begging an audience…’

‘I know, but I’ll camp outside his door if I have to,’ Maggie replied grimly.

She hit the rush hour traffic on the way into town and the journey, which might normally take thirty minutes, took three times as long.

Finally she was in the city centre and parked near the building in the financial district where Caleb’s offices had been set up. She was dressed smartly in her one and only suit. She wanted to look as businesslike as possible. It was dark blue—a skirt and short jacket with a matching cream silk shirt. She wore sheer stockings and high heels and had tied her unruly hair back in a severe bun. She wanted to feel armoured against Caleb’s scathing looks and condemnation. Even if she was shaking like a leaf on the inside.

The spring air was deceptively mild, yet she shivered. At reception they directed her up to the top floor, which Caleb had taken over in its entirety for his sole use. Her stomach churned as she ascended in the lift, the thought of seeing him face to face again more daunting than she had thought possible.

Any illusion of ease in getting to see him was swiftly dashed on her arrival on to the opulently designed floor. A veritable bulldog of a secretary was guarding the main foyer and looked Maggie up and down when she requested to see Caleb.

‘Do you have an appointment?’

‘Well…not exactly, but when he hears who it is he might have a couple of minutes to spare. I won’t take up much of his time.’

‘I’ll let him know, but he has meetings back to back all day. You might be waiting for some time.’

‘That’s fine.’ She’d wait until midnight if she had to. She made a quick call on her mobile to a friend of her mother’s in the village, asking her to look in and make sure she was okay. With that done, she settled in for the wait.

Some eight hours later Maggie had run the gamut of emotions: irritation, boredom, anger, despair, disbelief and now she was just exhausted. Her suit was crumpled, her shoes were off and her hair was unravelling. Any make-up that had been there had long slid off. She hadn’t left for anything except a crucial toilet visit in case she missed him. All day long men in suits had come and gone. She’d seen lunch being delivered and then taken away again, prompting her own stomach to rumble. The first secretary had been and gone and had been replaced by another similarly bad-tempered one.

Caleb’s door opened again and Maggie resigned herself to seeing yet more faceless suits departing and thought dimly that the man’s stamina was unbelievable. She didn’t register for a minute that it was Caleb himself walking out, his tall, powerful build unmistakable. When her sluggish brain finally clicked into gear, she jumped up, her body protesting at the sudden movement after sitting for so long. He was striding towards the lift, not looking left or right; he hadn’t even seen her as she was partially tucked away behind a plant.

‘Caleb…’ she cursed her impulse to call him by his first name ‘…Mr Cameron—wait!’

He had just pressed the button for the lift and turned around slowly, his brows snapping together when he saw her. Maggie forced herself to stand tall, only realising then that she was in stockinged feet, her shoes abandoned somewhere near the chair. She hitched up her chin.

‘Mr Cameron, I’ve been waiting all day to see you. I know you’re busy, but I’d appreciate just a few minutes of your time.’

‘Ivy told me you were here earlier, but she knew I was tied up all day.’

‘I insisted on staying…I hoped you might have a window somewhere…’

‘Well, as you can see, I didn’t. And now, if you’ll excuse me…Call tomorrow and maybe there will be a free appointment.’

He couldn’t leave. Maggie stood, open-mouthed. She’d been waiting for hours without food or water to see him. The look on his face said he couldn’t have cared less if she’d been bleeding and begging at his feet. He turned away dismissively.

She looked at his broad back, the doors of the lift opening silently; she had to stop him. She ran forward and put her hands in to stop the closing doors, looking up into his forbiddingly expressionless face.

‘Please, Mr Cameron, I’m begging you to just listen to what I have to say for five minutes. I’ve been waiting here since half ten this morning. I know that’s my own fault, but I have to talk to you.’

He stood back against the wall of the lift, casually looking Maggie up and down as if he were used to women flinging themselves in his path. Which he more than likely was, she thought bitterly. He regarded her for a long moment. She fought against squirming under his look.

‘Very well. Five minutes.’

‘Thank you,’ Maggie let out on a sigh of relief.

He stepped back out of the lift and, with a flick of his hand, instructed the gaping secretary to go for the night. Without looking back to see if Maggie was following, he went into his office. She found her shoes and scrambled to put them on and follow him in before he changed his mind.

When she walked in warily he was pouring himself a shot of some dark liquid and sat down at his desk, one large hand clamped around the glass. Maggie stood nervously, taking in the dominantly masculine aura of the room. One low lamp cast a pool of light. The shadows in the room made him look even darker than he normally did, which, she remembered, came from his Brazilian mother. His father was the quintessential Englishman and the two sides—one tempestuous and passionate, the other sophisticated—proved to be a heady combination. As Maggie remembered all too well.

‘Well?’ he asked softly, with more than a hint of steel in his tone.

She took a deep breath. ‘It’s about our house.’

‘You mean my house.’

She nodded slightly, feeling a surge of anger at his proprietary arrogance. ‘That house belonged to my father…my birth father,’ she qualified. ‘It’s always been my mother’s, the one thing that Tom didn’t own.’

‘And…?’ he asked in a bored tone, vaguely remembering a plain, nervous woman who had hovered around the edges of the meetings in Holland’s house.

Maggie moved closer behind the chair opposite his, her hands curling unconsciously around the top, knuckles white. ‘Tom made her sign the house over to him. It’s always been in her name. I…I don’t know how he managed it; she always vowed she’d never—’ Maggie stopped herself. He didn’t need to know the gory details. ‘By taking the house, the only person you’re punishing is my mother, and she’s got nothing to do with what happened…She’s suffered enough—’

‘As the wife of a multi-millionaire?’ he sneered, his lip curling in disbelief. ‘You must be joking if you expect me to believe that. You just want to salvage something and you’ve concocted some lame sob story—’

‘It’s not!’ Maggie said fiercely. ‘Please. You have to believe me.’

‘Believe you?’ He stood up and advanced around the desk to her side. She stood rooted to the spot. ‘You don’t have a truthful bone in your body…Tell me, how many other men have you teased for Tom Holland in the last few months…Ten? Twenty? Or maybe you gave them the delectable fruits of your body that you denied me?’

His crude words shocked her into action, wide green eyes stared up and, without thinking about what she was doing, somehow she had moved closer and her hand lifted up, trembling, but before it could reach its target, her wrist was caught. She abhorred violence and yet, here she was, about to strike him.

‘Now, now…Sheath your claws, you little cat. I don’t think you really want to do that, do you?’

With the shock of the near violence and Caleb’s hand like a steel clamp around her wrist, Maggie felt her pulse speeding up to triple time. Her eyes drank him in despite herself, taking in the hard jaw, the dark hair swept back off his forehead. The sensuous lips pulled into a grim line. But it was the eyes she remembered the most. Piercing blue—a blue that she’d fancied herself drowning in once…she shut her eyes at the memories…eyes which sliced through her when she opened her own again.

‘You can give up the act.’ He dropped her hand as though it was infectious and Maggie stepped back; she had to put space between them. She rubbed her wrist absently where he had gripped it, knowing that she’d have a bruise in the morning. She forced herself to look at him again.

‘The simple fact is that if you take the house it will kill my mother. It’s all she’s ever counted on, all that she has to remind her of my father. She didn’t get anything from Tom Holland except—’

Maggie belatedly remembered her mother’s desperate plea not to reveal the reality of her marriage.

‘Yes? Except what?’

This man would never understand. Too much had happened for her to count on any level of trust.

She steeled herself against his overpowering presence, the condemnation in his cold, implacable gaze. She ignored his prompt. ‘I know my word means nothing to you, but please just hear me out. She never had anything to do with any of his business concerns and certainly nothing to do with trying to take you down…’

Caleb’s eyes narrowed and Maggie seized on a chink in the armour. ‘You can ask anyone who knew him,’ she said in a rush, ‘Ask Mr Murphy; he knows. This isn’t for me; it’s for her. I’m asking you to put the house back into her name…for her sake.’

He just watched her with those hard eyes, his face shuttered. Then he said slowly, ‘And all the time your mother was supposedly blithely unaware, you were in league with your stepfather, doing your seductive routine, conning innocent men…and now what? You have a fit of conscience and want to make it up to her? I don’t buy it.’

Maggie couldn’t fight his opinion of her; it was so low that it may as well have been in the gutter.

She answered with a brittle smile. ‘Yes, you could say that’s what it is. I’m trying to mend my ways, starting with my mother.’ She felt silly tears smart at the back of her eyes. The truth of what she too had suffered at the hands of that man burned like a brand and that someone like Caleb, especially Caleb, would never believe her.

‘If I were to do as you ask, how can I be sure you’re being altruistic—and what will make it worth my while?’

‘I’ll do anything you want…anything! Wash floors…’ she said wildly, the brittleness gone, sensing a chance, however flimsy. ‘Anything. Just please give my mother back her house; she doesn’t deserve this punishment.’

Caleb lounged back nonchalantly against the desk, arms folded across his broad chest, the material of his shirt straining. Maggie couldn’t believe that in the midst of all this she could be so aware of him. His gaze was uncomfortably assessing.

He’d already decided he was going to take a mistress, but why go to the tiresome bother of having to go through the motions just to get someone into his bed? When what…who he really wanted was conveniently within his grasp. One thing he knew for certain as she stood in front of him, her whole petite frame quivering so lightly that it was barely perceptible—was that he wanted her. Badly. More than he’d ever wanted a woman in his life. And he always got what he wanted…

‘You’d sell your soul to the devil?’

‘Yes.’ She answered simply, without hesitation. ‘If I had to.’

‘You’d sell yourself to me?’ he asked softly.

It took slow seconds for his words to sink in; she wasn’t sure if she had heard him correctly. ‘I’m sorry—what…?’

‘You heard me.’

‘Sell myself like…like some kind of—’

‘Mistress. You…’He looked her up and down thoroughly, his eyes resting for long seconds on her breasts, which rose and fell, her distress evident. ‘Your body to me in exchange for the house.’

Maggie stepped back, blanching at his stark words, his intent, but Caleb stood and advanced a step for every one that she took back. As if she could have ever hoped that she could appeal to just his mercy. Men like him exacted payment for everything.

‘I couldn’t do that…How…how could you even suggest such a thing?’

‘Because, you see, I can. Believe me, I don’t want to want you…but I do. And you owe me…ever since you seduced me up in that hotel room six months ago and then turned on the ice maiden act. Tell me, did it turn you on? Was it part of the plan? Did you feel powerful, knowing that you could bring a man to the brink—’

‘Stop! It wasn’t…I didn’t…’ she denied automatically, wanting to halt his words, the tide of burning humiliation that threatened to overwhelm her, as she remembered just how awfully wanton she had been, the shock of her response to him. It had been that, along with the crushing burden of guilt, that had stunned her into frozen immobility at the time. Everything else had been forgotten. Even her mother. Even the threat. And it had scared the life out of her.

But it had been too late for her to laugh it off or feign nonchalance and then he had dropped the bombshell…revealing just how much he had known all along. Far more than her. Any nebulous desire she might have had to confide in him had died a death right there. He had set out to seduce her as cold-bloodedly as he’d believed she had done. She shivered. And yet there’d been nothing cold-blooded about their lovemaking.

‘You tricked me, Maggie. Can you deny that you met me that night with seduction and betrayal in mind?’ he asked, making her focus again on the present conversation. A stillness came into the air around them.

‘No…’ she replied faintly. Because that was exactly what she had done. Albeit against her will. But if he knew that…He could never know how much she had wanted it to be for real. Finding out the extent of his own deceit when hers had been unintended had exposed a wound that was still far too raw…He’d annihilate her and it would bring up all the emotions she’d buried in London, thinking she’d never see him again. She desperately tried another tack. ‘But you hate me…How can you want me?’

‘I think that you aren’t so naïve as to imagine that love or even friendship needs to be involved in the act of sex. I want you—you want the house. It’s a simple equation.’

His words flayed her somewhere inside and her hands were clenched tight into fists by her sides. ‘But how? I mean, for how long or when?’

‘Until I leave Dublin.’

She backed away again, the house, her mother, forgotten. All she could see was the menacing threat in front of her. The dispassionate way he was talking reached down to somewhere deep inside her and she knew that he had the power to rip away the very fabric of herself if she allowed him to do this. She summoned up some last reserve of strength. ‘But that’s two months…I can’t…I won’t sleep with you. I couldn’t…’ she sought feverishly for something to make him back off ‘…I don’t want you.’

‘Liar.’

Before she could emit a sound of protest, with lightning speed his arms reached out and he hauled her against his chest, his head descending so quickly that she didn’t have time to twist her own away. A hand snaked around to hold it in place, his mouth covering hers, crushing her lips to his. She could taste blood on the tender inner skin of her mouth. Despite the obvious cruelty of the kiss, Maggie could feel an intense excitement explode in her belly, every cell straining to get closer, acutely aware of his absolute maleness and strength.

Then, with a subtle and expert change in tempo, his lips softened, the hand on the back of her head became caressing. His fingers loosening the already unravelling bun, she felt her hair tumble down her back. Her fists, crushed against his chest, could feel his heart beating, the warm skin under the shirt, and they wanted to stretch out, feel, take in the exquisite breadth of it. She shook with the effort it took not to allow that to happen.

With the long wait and no food all day, she was already light-headed; Caleb’s potent sexuality effortlessly swept away any resistance. Her eyes closed, Maggie was soon lost in sensation, unaware of anything but the feel of his mouth on hers, hard yet soft. When his tongue sought entry, her mouth opened on a defeated sigh and his tongue touching hers ignited a fire between her legs.

Being in his arms again, with the intensely sensual memories that had never abated…she didn’t stand a chance. His mouth moved away and Maggie sucked in a betraying breath until she felt his lips blaze a hot trail down her neck, down to where the pulse beat erratically against her skin. The hand on her back moved lower and pulled her bottom up and into him where she could feel the hard evidence of his desire. She felt every part of her pulsating with the need for him to take her.

That desire transported her back in time and was as effective as a cold douche. She used all her strength to break free. If he hadn’t kept his hands on her shoulders she would have collapsed at his feet. Her eyes were glazed, wide and dark green with unmistakable arousal. Her lips were swollen and moist.

The look on his face was triumphant, derision in his eyes at what he thought of her paltry attempt to stop his lovemaking. ‘As I said…you’re a liar.’ He cupped one hand around her chin, tilting her head up inexorably. ‘The honey of the honey trap still tastes surprisingly sweet.’

Maggie breathed out on a shuddering breath. She pulled herself away and tried to disguise the trembling in her legs.

‘You should be thankful that I still desire you…or you’d have nothing to bargain with.’

His stark words forced Maggie’s stricken mind back to why she was there. How could she have forgotten? She focused on them—anything to take her mind off her awful weakness. ‘Are you saying you’ll give my mother back her house?’

He inclined his head slowly. ‘If you give me what I want.’

‘Me.’

‘Yes.’

Maggie suddenly thought of something and seized on it. ‘But…don’t you have a girlfriend?’

‘What?’ he asked sharply.

She flushed at her quick words and the realisation that it might be obvious she’d scoured the papers for news of him—where it was common knowledge that he was never without a beautiful companion. ‘The papers…’ Her voice trailed off, her cheeks pink.

‘Girlfriend!’ He laughed mockingly. ‘How quaint. I don’t think I’ve had a girlfriend since I was six and living in Rio de Janeiro with my mother. I don’t do girlfriends, and no, there’s no one at the moment, not that you should care, since you have the morals of an alley cat.’

That’s handy, Maggie thought slightly hysterically, not even registering his insulting words—plenty of room for the sacrificial lamb to enter stage left. And he was right—how could she be so naïve? This man moved in rarefied circles where the most beautiful and socially acceptable women would be available. Men like him took mistresses until they grew bored or until they needed to marry. And then it would be to the right person, groomed for the job.

Knowing she sounded strangely calm, and knowing it was shock, she asked, ‘How would this work?’

‘If I’m going to sign the house back to your mother, then be here at two p.m. tomorrow with your bags packed.’

A numbness seeped into her bones. ‘You’d expect me to move in with you?’

‘Yes. I’ll need an escort, companion…and a willing lover.’

The word lover, never mind willing, made shivers of treacherous anticipation skitter down Maggie’s spine. She stood stock-still, her hair and clothes in disarray, legs still trembling slightly, her mouth feeling bruised and sensitised.

How had he done this to her? How had she let him?

He had been as guilty as her stepfather six months ago, as far as she was concerned. Both had used her like a pawn in their game of domination. And yet she couldn’t help this awful, craving desire that wiped all logic from her brain. That made her weak to him. She hated herself for it. Self-contempt laced her voice. ‘What, then?’

‘You’ll sign a contract that makes sure you get nothing from the deal. The house goes into your mother’s name solely, not even to pass to you as inheritance. One condition will be that she can’t sell it…just in case that was what you were planning.’

She felt sick. ‘God…what they say about you is true; you’ve already sized up every way I could possibly use this for my own ends. You have no heart.’

A flash of something crossed his face for a split second; if Maggie had been less biased at that moment she could almost have said it was hurt. But him? No way. The man wasn’t capable of such a feeling. As if to confirm her opinion, his face was like a mask again—it must have been her imagination.

He ignored her words. ‘And this will happen when you’ve given me what I want.’

‘When I’ve slept with you.’

‘For two months or as long as I desire you.’

‘What if that’s only one night?’ she said defiantly.

He stepped closer again and stopped just short of her. His scent enveloped her. She froze. ‘Oh, but it won’t be, Maggie. I can tell you that much.’

Turning her back for a moment, she sought some respite from his laser-like gaze. Her hands twisted as her mind raced. Their house was worth millions by now…She hadn’t a hope of raising that kind of money, and it wasn’t about the money. That house was where her mother should be able to live out her days. In peace at last. For Maggie’s whole life she had protected her mother. Sometimes more successfully than others. Ever since the first time she’d tried ineffectually to come between Tom’s fists and her mother’s body. She’d been just six years old and she still bore the scar of that day.

But Tom was gone. This was her mother’s last chance of happiness and if she could make sure it happened, undo the wrong that had been done, then she had to. Somehow…and she couldn’t think now, not when he was so close…she would have to do this. She turned around again and faced Caleb unflinchingly, determined not to let him see how she had crumbled inside. She hitched her chin. ‘And if I’m not here tomorrow?’

At the look on her face Caleb felt a bizarre lurch somewhere in his chest. For a split second he actually wasn’t sure if she would do this…and didn’t like how that felt. At all. Not after having decided that he would take her as his mistress. He quashed the doubt and the feeling ruthlessly. She was just playing him, probably already trying to figure out how much she could walk away with, which he vowed would be nothing more than he was prepared to give. He stood to his full intimidating height and glanced at the heavy platinum watch that encircled one brown wrist. ‘You would now have one week and six days to move out of that house before I move in.’

She watched as Caleb started to walk away, no hint of the passionate kiss they’d just shared in evidence anywhere. He wasn’t tousled and shaking like her. He was cool and almost…bored. As if he did this sort of thing every day. He turned, closing his top button, straightening his tie.

‘It’s up to you, Maggie. Be here tomorrow or say goodbye to the house. You can let yourself out.’

And then he walked out the door.

CHAPTER THREE

THE next day at half past one, Maggie sat in her car outside Caleb’s offices, feeling hot and cold and clammy all at the same time. Her mind lurched from one dead end to another. Going home last night, she’d almost convinced herself that she could persuade her mother that they could start afresh somewhere, let the house go…anything so she wouldn’t have to become Caleb’s…chattel.

But when she’d arrived home she’d met the doctor on his way out. Panic had seized her, Caleb forgotten. The doctor had been grim. Things were not good. He’d said that he was afraid for her mother’s long-term health…her mental health in particular. That he hadn’t seen such acute grief in a long time. Miserably, Maggie knew exactly what was wrong.

The house being taken was just the straw breaking the camel’s back. And if anything placed her in a position of no going back, this was it. Even though she’d known deep down she’d never have had the heart to deny her mother this anyway. Not when she could do something about it. Not when she’d been partly responsible, however coerced she’d been at the time. She knew with that thought she wasn’t really being fair on herself, but the truth was…she was responsible. Tom had sucked her into an awful complicity with him. And, however misplaced, she still felt the guilt.

The absolute point of no return had been that morning when she’d informed her mother that, amazingly, Caleb had been merciful enough to leave her the house. But on the condition that Maggie start work for him immediately in recompense.

Maggie had explained that he’d agreed to sign the house back over once she’d started work and moved into the city to be closer. Her mother had been too stunned and ecstatic to question Maggie too deeply. And the difference in her, in the space of even those few minutes, had been nothing short of miraculous, driving the nail into the coffin of Maggie’s hopes for escaping her fate.

And now here she was. About to embark on the longest, most treacherous two months of her life. But in the end, if it bought her freedom too…then she would cope. Somehow. And she thought she knew how. Caleb thought she was a conniving, mercenary woman of the world…so that was what she would be. He would never see inside the protective shell she was going to erect around herself. Would never see the part of her that was so vulnerable to him. The part that had stupidly believed six months ago…for a brief moment…that he might actually be interested in her. Her mouth compressed. Oh, he had been…just not in the way her silly, foolish heart had believed, or hoped. She looked at her watch. Two o’clock. She took a deep breath and opened the car door.

Lifting a hand to knock on Caleb’s office door, having been directed there by the unsmiling Ivy, Maggie jumped when it opened suddenly. Caleb stood on the other side, his shirt un-buttoned, showing a few crisp hairs and the smooth brown column of his throat. His rolled-up sleeves revealed muscular forearms and his hair looked as though he’d just run an impatient hand through it.

‘You’re late,’ he bit out.

Maggie made a herculean effort to appear blasé and looked at her watch. ‘Two minutes late, Mr Cameron.’

‘I take it you’re accepting the offer.’

She nodded jerkily. ‘If you’ll keep your end of the bargain.’

‘Of course.’ He ran a heated look up and down her body, then focused on her face; freckles descended all the way down to the cleavage just exposed by the V-necked cardigan she wore. His body tightened. ‘Don’t be late again.’

‘I’ll do my best.’

They bristled at each other from either side of the door for a few seconds. A muscle twitched at Caleb’s jaw. Maggie could feel a light sweat break out on her brow. He reached out and, taking her arm, pulled her into his office, the bizarre moment gone. Once inside, she pulled free and walked to one corner. Caleb went and propped a hip on the side of his desk.

For a moment Maggie was simply stunned by the view that had been obscured by last night’s darkness. Windows on all sides gave a breathtaking vista of the bustling city, all the way to the Dublin mountains in the distance. She would have loved to go and study it but kept the awe from her face and resolutely fixed her gaze on him.

‘I think we can progress from Mr Cameron to Caleb from now on…I don’t like formality in the bedroom.’

‘We’re not in the bedroom yet,’ she snapped.

He stood and was automatically dangerous. Maggie fought against backing away. How was she going to convince him she was a world-weary socialite if she jumped every time he moved? He strolled indolently towards her, coming to a halt just inches away. He was so close that she could see darker flecks of blue in his eyes. ‘Oh…we will be. Soon enough. Now, say my name. I want to hear it.’

What? She frowned up at him, opened her mouth to speak and, for the life of her…just couldn’t. For some reason, even though she’d called him by his first name only the day before, right now, she couldn’t conceive of saying it out loud. It felt as if it had become loaded with some kind of meaning…an endearment of sorts. She shook her head, confusion in the depths of her eyes, a red tide creeping up her face.

He moved closer, bringing a hand to the back of her neck, caressing, finding the delicate spot just below her hairline. ‘Maggie…’

Paralysis gripped her. ‘I…can’t.’

‘Maggie. Say it.’

She felt as though she’d been drugged, her limbs heavy, blood flowing thick and slow through her veins. His head was bending, drawing closer…he was going to kiss her. Weakly, she brought her hands up between them.

‘Caleb.’ It came out huskily, much like a lover would say it. And, in saying it, she knew why it had been so hard. She’d stepped over the line completely. She was his now. How could such an innocuous moment feel so full of meaning?

He stopped and straightened slowly. ‘There…now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?’

God. She had only been in his office less than five minutes and already she was being reduced to a gibbering wreck. She had to get a grip. Had to play the part she’d planned. The only way she knew how to protect herself.

She moved briskly away, dislodging his hand, and searched her mind for something, anything, to deflect his intense focus. She seized on the first thing and whirled around, a bright forced smile on her face. ‘Clothes!’

‘What about them?’ Caleb was very watchful, arms crossed. He couldn’t figure it; in the space of a split second she’d gone from blushing just saying his name to clothes? One thing he knew for certain—he couldn’t trust her an inch. She was up to something. And, from what he knew of women, that something always amounted to something financial.

Maggie twirled a lock of hair around one finger, something she normally did out of unconscious habit but this time contrived to look as coquettish as possible. ‘Well, I expect you’ll want me to look my best…and I’ve left all those sorts of clothes in London…so unless you like this casual look…’ She gestured disdainfully at her chain store outfit. She hated this. It went against every sensibility she had to ask for anything, but she wanted him to think the worst.

Her abrupt volte-face jarred with him but then a world-weariness seeped into his bones. She was just like all the others. No different. But then he’d hardly expected her to be different, had he? And he didn’t want her in some other man’s cast-offs. The very thought made his fists curl. She was his now. She would dress for his pleasure—no one else’s.

‘Just tell me where and I’ll set up an account—you can go this afternoon. I have to go to Monte Carlo for two days tomorrow—something that’s just come up—so you can come too. I presume your passport is in order?’

Maggie blanched, her sham of confidence abruptly shaken, and nodded dumbly, taking in the rapid-fire delivery. Monte Carlo? She really was in another world now…

Caleb had moved back to his desk and was picking up the phone, looking at her expectantly, impatiently. Maggie furiously tried to remember his question and mentioned the double-barrelled name of an exclusive store nearby—somewhere she’d never normally go.

After a quick, brusque conversation it was done. Caleb stood and came around to Maggie, tilting her face to his with long fingers. ‘Stay away from the cheap tarty stuff, if you can. I don’t want a repeat performance of that dinner, where I had to endure every man in the room tripping over himself to get a look at your…’ he flicked a glance down to her chest ‘…assets.’

She burned with humiliation at his mention of the dress her stepfather had forced her to wear. A memory rushed back. Tom Holland’s mottled, angry red face in hers.

‘You can wear this or go naked. If you don’t…you’ll be responsible for what’s going to happen to your mother.’

Maggie willed the image away and clenched her jaw against Caleb’s hand.

‘I’ll do my best. But I still have the dress, so I might just surprise you.’

The look on his face was chilling. ‘Do that and I’ll rip it off and dress you myself. Don’t play games with me. You won’t win.’

A finger of fear clutched at her throat. She didn’t know what had made her want to provoke him just then. Of course she didn’t still have the dress; it had been relegated to a bin that awful night. She would have burned it if she could.

Finally he released her. She went on wobbly legs to the door. Just as she was about to leave, he called her name. She turned around reluctantly.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.