Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

Copyright

“Won’t you sitdown, Mr…?”

“Stone,” he said softly, and smiled as he sank down into the chair opposite her, his powerful body making her nerves quiver as he put his hands behind his strong dark head, leaning back, watching her from below hooded eyelids. “Gabriel Stone.”

“An unusual name,” Rhiannon said conversationally. “Although deeply classical.”

“One of the four archangels. Gabriel, Raphael, Michael and Hod. A divine quartet. Untouched by sin.” His blue eyes glittered. “Unlike me.”

“Ah, yes. ‘Angel by name, sinner by nature.’ Where did I read that?”

SARAH HOLLAND

was born in Kent and brought up in London. She began writing at eighteen because she loved the warmth and excitement of Harlequin books. She has traveled the world, living in Hong Kong, the south of France and Holland. She attended a drama school, and was a nightclub singer and a songwriter. She now lives on the Isle of Man. Her hobbies are acting, singing, painting and psychology. She loves buying clothes, noisy dinner parties and being busy.

The Dominant Male

Sarah Holland

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Alejandro Carillo de Albornoz

CHAPTER ONE

RHIANNON attracted attention just by walking across the lawns.

Dressed in scarlet and gold, as a wild, dark-haired gyspy, she was not only ravishing but rather out of place among the respectable and wealthy guests.

Kohl made her green eyes smoulder, her midriff was bare, and she wore gold bells in her ears, around her neck, on her wrists and around her slender, scented ankles.

She looked like an exotic, seductive slave.

And suddenly she sensed a man watching her.

Her green eyes flicked to him, a dark, sidelong look from below her sooty lashes. A quiver of excitement and fear ran through her, as though she knew he would one day command her life, fill her senses and be the centre of her world.

Fanciful stuff…but he was gorgeous.

Tall, very tall, with jet-black hair and steel-blue eyes which dazzled her with their life-force and inner power. His smile was clever, knowing and admiring. His mouth was very tough. So was his hard-boned, cynical-looking face.

In fact, he had an air of absolute power about him that was formidable, and made every pulse in her body jump to attention.

As their eyes met her step faltered.

She felt her heart flutter in brief, wild response, staring at every inch of him as he stood watching her, a glass of champagne in one hand, silver cuff-links gleaming at strong, dark-haired wrists, his powerful body impeccably dressed in an expensive black suit.

A sense of déjà vu washed over her in hot-cold waves, and the dazzling green of her eyes seemed the only emotion-filled part of her otherwise still face.

Suddenly the spell shattered.

A little girl in a red dress was being chased by a naughty boy with a water pistol. The girl hurtled into Rhiannon, then ran off shrieking with laughter, ribbons flying.

‘Hey!’ Rhiannon laughed as the boy squirted his water pistol at her.

He rat-a-tat-tatted her as though his blue plastic pistol were a machine-gun and then hurtled after his quarry, who was rapidly disappearing behind the drinks marquee.

Smiling affectionately, Rhiannon turned, saw the gorgeous stranger still watching her, and gave him a haughty look. Who did he think he was anyway? Staring at her as though she were a champagne truffle in a shop window…

Turning her back on his laser-blue stare, she told herself that dangerous, exciting men were all very well, but twenty-four-hour-a-day love and friendship were far more important

She walked towards the vast mansion with its white stone unicorns and long red walls. Music came from the indoor swimming pool and elegant guests stood in the slender windows, where white lace curtains fluttered softly in the warm breeze, drinking champagne as they discussed the forthcoming raffle.

And there was Bobby, standing by the white pillars and statues around the pool, drinking orange juice, for he never touched alcohol, and talking to a group of kindly elderly women.

He turned and saw her. A calm smile touched his face. He spoke briefly to the women, who smiled and nodded understandingly, then walked across towards Rhiannon.

At once she turned, hot green eyes staring across to that man, the dark, powerful man by the lake. He was still watching her. She decided to make a show of her relationship with Bobby just to teach him not to stare at her.

‘Darling!’ Bobby lumbered up and kissed her chastely on the cheek. ‘What brings you out here? I thought you were busy telling fortunes and having your palm crossed with silver.’

‘I wanted to see you.’

‘Splendid!’

‘I wanted a kiss!’

‘Gosh!’

‘Anything wrong with that, my darling Bobby?’ Rhiannon twined her slender jewelled wrists around his neck, deeply aware of the blue-eyed man still watching.

‘Nothing wrong with it at all!’ said Bobby, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

She kissed his mouth softly, lingeringly. He was a tall, thickset man. He looked more like a farmer than an executive. He dressed as he lived: traditionally, conventionally, quietly, understatedly.

And he hated public show.

That was why his neck was going brick-red as Rhiannon kissed him in front of all these people.

‘Darling,’ he said under his breath, ‘do please keep your passions under control! What on earth will the ladies from the committee think?’

‘That we’re in love, engaged to be married and—’

‘And thoroughly scandalous!’ He gently disentangled her arms from around his neck. ‘Come along, now. Behave!’

She felt herself redden hotly, aware of the dark stranger watching them, a cynical smile on his tough mouth. He had seen the rejection and it had told him all he needed to know. Rhiannon could have kicked herself for being so stupid. What on earth had made her think Bobby would let her kiss him like that in public? They might have been engaged for a year after seeing each other for four, but that didn’t mean that the stable, reliable, down-to-earth Bobby would change just for her to show some insolent stranger that she was already spoken for.

Bobby frowned, seeing the hot colour in her face, the embarrassed way she lowered her lashes, and interpreted it correctly.

‘We’re here to raise money for a good cause,’ he reminded her gently. ‘Speaking of which—how are you doing with your particular sideshow efforts?’

‘Oh…’ She leapt on the change of subject with relief. ‘Six hundred pounds in all, so far.’

‘Goodness!’ He was astonished. ‘Just for reading tarot cards?’

‘One woman gave me a pound, another gave me a cheque for two hundred,’ Rhiannon shrugged tense shoulders, still deeply aware of the dark stranger’s eyes. ‘That’s the way it happens with charity events.’

‘Two hundred quid just for reading tarot cards!’ Bobby whistled. ‘Perhaps you should take it up professionally!’

She laughed. ‘And give up the day job? Not in a million years!’

Rhiannon was a top advertising executive. The creative director of Solomon Associates, no less, and one of the most powerful advertising forces in London. She had gone into Solomon’s straight from art college at twenty-one, and over the last five years had carved herself a career that was the pride and joy of her family, who were still living in their little country village in Hampshire.

But today she was ‘Rhiannon the Welsh Witch’, telling fortunes in a little Romany tent in the grounds of Courtney Manor, raising funds for her favourite children’s charity.

‘Still, you’re making lots of money here.’ Bobby took her arm, walking with her towards the drinks marquee. ‘And I’m not surprised. There are so many wealthy people here.’

‘There always are at these charity events. I’m surprised they don’t just write it boldly on the invitations—

“DO NOT ATTEND WITHOUT YOUR CHEQUEBOOK”.’

‘And he’s got the biggest chequebook of all,’ Bobby said, glancing across the lawns.

‘Who has?’

‘Him. The very tall man over there.’

Her eyes followed his glance until she realised with a thudding heart that he was talking about her stranger—the tall, dark man with the fierce blue eyes and cynical face.

Prickling, she said, ‘I suppose he’s some kind of wealthy…’ Her voice trailed off as her mind suddenly rearranged those powerful features into a newspaper photograph, a magazine cover, a face on the television news.

‘Don’t you recognise him? He’s—’

‘Gabriel Stone,’ she whispered, breathless.

As though her soft voice had reached his ears, Gabriel Stone looked up at that moment, and as those blue eyes met hers her body jerked with electrifying sexual attraction.

‘Is that who he is?’ Flustered and off balance, she clung to Bobby’s solid, boring, safe arm. ‘I did wonder. Gabriel Stone…’ She could barely think properly.

‘Charismatic swine, isn’t he?’ Bobby murmured. ‘All that power, of course.’

‘No doubt he’s earned it…’

‘I read the other day that he’s just bought a small island in the Pacific’

‘I’m sure it’s not too small to cope with his private jet.’

Darling—do you mind terribly that I’m not in that league?’

She stared at him in amazement. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. We’ve both got enough money to see us through, and that’s all that matters. Why on earth should you think I’d be-’

‘Just a thought.’ He took her left hand, lifted it to his mouth and kissed the diamond solitaire that gleamed on her finger.

Gabriel Stone’s eyes narrowed sharply. His powerful body seemed to tense. Rhiannon’s heart skipped rapid beats and her eyes darted to his hard face. She felt quivers of excitement and fear run through her, and thought, Stop staring at me!

‘So when are we going to tie the knot?’ Bobby asked teasingly.

‘Soon as you like,’ she heard her own off-balance voice say. ‘How about next week?’

Bobby gaped like a goldfish, then stammered: ‘Wh-wh-what?’

She could have kicked herself. It was the first time in the year since they had got engaged that she’d said anything like that. Normally she played marriage down, pleaded career problems, begged for more time, sometimes even told him she wasn’t so sure any more.

So what on earth had made her suddenly say they could get married as soon as he liked?

‘Well, Rhiannon…’ Bobby began anxiously. ‘You know I love you dearly, but marriage so soon…I mean, I had anticipated longer…I mean, I—’

‘Don’t worry, it was just a joke!’ She laughed it off whilst wondering two things: a. why they were both intent on delaying their marriage for eternity and b. why she had been so determined to show Gabriel Stone that she belonged to Bobby.

‘Just a joke!’ Rhiannon said again, and looked quickly at her watch. ‘Heavens, is that the time? I’d better get back to work…’

He didn’t try to stop her as she moved away from him, and she was sure it was because he was relieved not to have to discuss marriage again. He just watched her walk away…

Another pair of eyes watched her too. Gabriel Stone’s. Go away! her mind shouted silently. Don’t look at me. Keep away from me. I don’t even know you.

But her pulses leapt with excitement and she felt aware of every inch of her skin: her bared midriff, the sway of her hips, the curve of her breasts, her buttocks and the soft feel of the grass beneath her naked jewelled toes.

Once inside her tent, she breathed deeply, angrily aware of her feeling of deep excitement, just because he had looked at her with those ruthless eyes.

What’s the matter with you? she demanded. First you turn to jelly just because he looks at you. Then you try to seduce Bobby publicly just to annoy him. Then you actually consider marrying earlier than planned just because—because of what?

Some dark-haired stranger with sex appeal?

This is madness, she decided. I need to dispel this clamouring for great passion with dangerous, ruthless strangers. And the best way is with white magic.

Smiling to herself, she sank down into her Welsh Witch chair, with its carved black faces both beautiful and terrifying. A golden lamp hung overhead and the table gleamed with purpole silk and gold coins. Incense burned, filling the air with its sweet smoke, and the walls were hung with silk scarves in scarlet, blue, indigo and gold. Tarot cards were spread out on the table where she had left them.

Quickly she shuffled the pack, eyes closed and red lips murmuring her wish. ‘I wish to remain engaged to Bobby for another year, then marry him, live happily ever after…’ Her green eyes darkened with memories as she added, ‘And never again fall helplessly in love with a man who can make me lose my head…’

The cards were ready. She sensed it, began to spread them in the Celtic cross, and as each card turned she felt more and more afraid of the reading.

The Ace of Cups signifying marriage, blocked by The King of Swords, signifying a ruthless and powerful man. In the immediate future, the Seven of Wands, signifying a fight between two men.

‘Rubbish!’ she muttered, refusing to believe it as she finished the spread. ‘Hocus-pocus! Mumbo-jumbo! Jiggery-pokery!’

The last card was The Lovers.

She went into shock.

For a long time she stared at it, her heart thudding violently. It was five years since she’d got that card. Five years of recovery. Five years of loving Bobby. Five years of safety since Jack…

Jack…

Just the memory of him made something in her heart resist. It was like looking back on another life, a previous incarnation, as though the woman she had been when she loved Jack was someone else entirely, not her, not Rhiannon Windmorr.

She had been slavishly devoted to him, following him around like a puppy, gazing at him adoringly with besotted green eyes and doing anything he’d asked her, as though he were her master and she his slave—a situation that had continued until she’d lost her self-respect.

But that was all over now. She had recovered, moved on, picked herself up and found a way to rebuild her shattered self-esteem, had met Bobby, loved him as a friend, and now she was—oh, yes, she was—going to marry him and live happily ever after. Most of all, she was never again going to be in danger from her own fierce, slavish desire.

The warm breeze softly rang the bellchimes.

Her green eyes flashed up to the entrance of the tent.

Gabriel Stone filled the doorway, his broad shoulders blocking the sunlight outside, his height and power dominating both the silken little marquee and Rhiannon’s mind.

In silence, they looked at one another.

Excitement blazed in Rhiannon’s green eyes. He saw it and smiled, as though he already knew she was his to control, as though he had known it, just as she had, the moment their eyes first met.

‘What do you want?’ Rhiannon’s taut voice demanded.

‘You,’ he murmured with a ruthless glint in his blue eyes.

Breathless, she just stared at him, speechless because he had been so incredibly direct.

‘You,’ he said again softly, and moved further inside. ‘I want you…to tell my future.’

She watched him, eyes as green as a witch’s cat’s.

‘You can do that, can’t you?’ he drawled smokily. ‘Tell my future? Shuffle the cards and let me know what exquisite surprises fate has in store for me?’

‘Yes,’ she said, trying to pretend this was a normal client, a normal reading. ‘Won’t you sit down, Mr…?’

‘Stone,’ he said softly, and smiled as he sank down in the chair opposite her, his powerful body making her nerves quiver as he put his hands behind his strong dark head, leaning back, watching her from below hooded eyelids. ‘Gabriel Stone.’

‘An unusual name,’ she said conversationally, shuffling the cards. ‘Although deeply classical.’

‘One of the four archangels. Gabriel, Raphael, Michael and Hod. A divine quartet. Untouched by sin.’ His blue eyes glittered. ‘Unlike me.’

‘Ah, yes. “Angel by name, sinner by nature”. Where did I read that?’

‘Life magazine. Last year.’

Her pulses raced as she studied him in the dusky gold lamplight. He wasn’t remotely unrepentant. And he did have the face of a sinner. Hard and cynical, with every wicked thought etched at the corners of those steel-blue eyes, forever recorded, all his misdeeds and wrongdoings there for all to see.

He was so desirable…

‘Here.’ She warily handed him the cards. ‘Shuffle them and think of your question.’

He smiled as he took them, let his long, strong fingers brush hers and seemed aware of the leap of her pulses at his touch. But he said nothing and shuffled the cards deftly.

‘You’re supposed to close your eyes,’ Rhiannon informed him. ‘To better focus on your question.’

‘I am focusing on my question. It’s sitting right in front of me.’

Breathless for a second, she stared, then said, ‘You can’t ask a question about me!’

‘Why not?’ He put the cards down, caressed them with one long, lazy finger in a manner that made her breathless.

‘Because I said so! I’m not here to indulge the passing fancies of men like you! I’m here to raise money for charity, and if you can’t think of a more appropriate question—’

‘Money for charity?’ His strong hand lifted to the inside pocket of his expensive black jacket, and the light fell on the silk lining gleaming richly, on the Savile Row label embroidered in silver. ‘I think I can make it worth your while to do as I ask.’

‘I very much doubt it! I can’t be bought! By you or anybody else! And I’ve had just about enough of your—’

‘Shall we say…’ he withdrew his chequebook and a silver pen ‘…One thousand pounds?’

Her jaw dropped. ‘What…?’

‘For charity, of course,’ he murmured, and began to write with bold, black self-assured style, a personal cheque from Gabriel Stone for one thousand pounds sterling. ‘I’ll make it payable to the charity shall I?’

She stared in speechless amazement as he continued to write, but her only thought was, I knew his handwriting would look like that. So confident, leaning to the right, big bold strokes, and a signature that spoke of a powerful personality and a healthy ego.

‘Such good work,’ he drawled softly, tearing the cheque out and handing it to her with a cynical, lazy smile. ‘One must contribute as much as one can.’

Rhiannon took the cheque, warring with herself briefly but humbly aware that she must think of all the lost, hungry, homeless, helpless children it would benefit—and not of how it grated on her to be bought by this man.

‘Thank you,’ she said eventually, putting the cheque in her cash-box. ‘That’s a very generous contribution. Very kind of you…’

‘Think nothing of it.’ He arched arrogant black brows at her, his face tough. ‘Now read the cards for me.’

It was a command, an order, and the formidable look on his face as he gave it made her tense with excitement, hating herself for being unable to resist responding completely to his will, his authority, his dark desire to control.

Rhiannon picked up the cards. ‘What is your question?’

‘What lies in the future for us?’ he said insolently.

‘There is no us!’

‘Let’s see whether the cards agree with you.’

With a mutinous expression she began turning over the cards, using the Celtic cross again—so much simpler than other readings, so much more direct.

‘The King of Swords,’ she heard her shocked, husky voice say as she stared down at it, then looked warily up at Gabriel Stone’s formidable face.

‘That’s me, is it?’ he drawled coolly. ‘Where are you?’

Rhiannon turned the next card over and caught her breath audibly.

‘What is it?’ He frowned, leaning forward to study the card.

‘Nothing!’ she said thickly, because she wasn’t going to let him know that his reading so far was the exact reversal of her own, just moments earlier. Where her happiness with Bobby had been blocked by Gabriel Stone, Gabriel Stone’s desire for her was blocked by her engagement to Bobby. It was so uncanny that she had to suppress the desire to dash the cards from the silken table.

And as she turned the rest over she began to tremble at what they predicted.

Herself as The High Priestess, his ultimate goal.

Gabriel as The Devil, chaining naked prisoners to his throne.

And the last and most terrifying card of all—The Lovers.

‘Ah…’ murmured Gabriel Stone with a smile of cool satisfaction. ‘The Lovers. I did rather expect that card to come up. Didn’t you?’

‘No!’ she snapped hotly, and slammed the cards down on the table, ‘And it doesn’t refer to me, so don’t get any ideas or—’

‘But if my question was about you, surely the cards are telling us we will be lovers?’

‘Mr Stone,’ she said thickly, ‘I am engaged to another man.’

‘I know. I asked around. You’ve been with him for some years.’

‘And I assure you I have every intention of staying with him for many more! I am marrying him.’

‘Don’t worry. I won’t let that stand in my way.’ He smiled slowly as he saw her shocked expression. ‘Did you think I would?’

‘Well, out of common decency—’

‘I don’t care about common decency. It’s me you want, not him.’

‘I beg your pardon! What on earth makes you think I want anything to do with you?’

‘The way you look at me.’

‘And how do I look at you?’

‘As though you’re afraid of me.’

She fell abruptly silent, her heart thudding hard enough to be heard while through her body ran silvery tremors of desire.

‘But you’re attracted to me too—aren’t you, Rhiannon? And excited by me.’ His eyes were hypnotic. ‘Don’t worry, the feeling is more than mutual. Only difference is—I’m not afraid of you. Quite the reverse. Truth is…I like the fear I see in your eyes. I like to see you looking helplessly feminine. It makes me want to make love to you.’

Her breath caught audibly. ‘Mr Stone, I don’t remember ever being spoken to like this in my life. Not only do I not like it, but I won’t put up with it. I am engaged to be married. I’m faithful to—’

‘Does he make love to you?’ In the dim lighting he watched her red lips part in silent shock. ‘Clearly not.’ His eyes were ruthless. ‘I could see the lack of passion on his side from a distance. And the pipe-and-slippers mentality in his face.’

‘I like his “pipe-and-slippers mentality”!’

‘Then why were you seductive with him at first? Why did you let him stop you when you were trying to kiss him? You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. But that fiancé of yours didn’t want to know. What’s the matter with him? If you were my woman and you twined yourself around me like that, I’d drag you off into the bushes and give you what you so obviously want.’

‘This conversation is unacceptable!’ Shooting to her feet, she stood there in trembling silence for a moment.

He smiled and stood up too, moving around the little table with absolute self-assurance, his body as masculine and threatening as that of a dark pagan god. ‘The truth is unacceptable, is it?’

‘It’s not the truth! You keep away from me!’ She backed away from him rapidly, pulses hammering. ‘I love Bobby! I’m going to marry him!’

‘You’re not going to marry that idiot!’ He advanced on her.

She kept backing. ‘Just watch me!’

‘Bet you won’t promise to obey him.’

‘Modern women never do!’

‘You’d obey me, Rhiannon.’ He stopped, cornering her at the edge of the wall of the canvas tent.

Yes, she thought in terror. My God, I’d obey you. And she almost said it. Just looking into those ruthless blue eyes made her want to start right away, and she was horrified by how much she would enjoy obeying a man like this, a man with such a powerful will, such a strong sense of himself and such an unbreakable determination to get what he wanted.

Rhiannon saw all that and more in his face.

But the feelings he evoked in her reminded her so forcibly of Jack that she couldn’t bear to let him win. Jack had been bad enough, but this man was twenty times the ruthless swine he had been. If Jack had knocked her confidence, Gabriel Stone would absolutely destroy it—and probably ruin not only her career but her security in her love for Bobby in the process.

‘Perhaps I’d obey you if you put a gun to my head, Mr Stone!’ Rhiannon said thickly, lifting her chin. ‘But it would have to be a kalashnikov rifle!’

‘Well,’ he drawled softly, ‘maybe I have a kalashnikov in my mind. If I do, it’s pointed right at you as we speak. And from the way that lovely heart is beating…’ His long fingers slid to her wrist, felt her manic pulse. ‘Ah, yes…’

‘Don’t touch me!’ she whispered threadily.

‘You’d obey me.’ The blue eyes blazed with arrogance. ‘You certainly wouldn’t get away with treating me like a doormat, the way you treat your tame fiancé.’

‘I do not treat him like a—’

‘Yes, you do. All that seductive flirting was for my benefit, not his. You used him as a shield against me. Now, why should you do that, I wonder? Only one answer makes sense. He’s not making love to you, and you’ve put up with it for too long.’

‘Why, you—’ she whispered thickly, staring up into his ruthless eyes, horrified that he could have guessed the truth with such deadly accuracy. ‘You—you-’

‘Hit a nerve, did I?’ he mocked. ‘But don’t worry. Your frustration won’t last much longer.’

‘How dare you?’

‘I’ve decided that I want you now, and that means there’ll be no stopping me. Within the month you’ll be my woman, my lover—and this phoney engagement will be a thing of the past.’

She gave a nervous laugh. ‘And how do you propose to accomplish all of that?’

‘By insisting that you obey me, Rhiannon,’ he said smokily, evoking a shiver of exquisite desire in her, which she fought.

‘Haven’t you ever heard of feminism? Women have changed since the Neanderthal era, and modern women don’t want to obey any—’

‘Women are women,’ he cut in. ‘They want to be treated as such.’

‘They want to be treated with respect!’

He laughed softly. ‘I never met a woman who wanted me to make love to her respectfully! What’s the matter with you? Don’t you know what it is you like? Or has your sexless relationship with that idiot made you forget how much you like to submit to a powerful man?’

She stared for a second, wondering if he knew her from her past life. She was excited, knowing deep in the guilty recesses of her sexual self that he was right—that was exactly what she liked.

Then she realised how stupid she was being. Of course he didn’t know her! He was a total stranger with a brilliant chat-up line which he was lucky enough to find working on her.

Furiously she pushed at his shoulders and shouted, ‘Stop it! You don’t even know me—how dare you talk to me like this? Get your hands off me and—’

‘Make me,’ he drawled, unmoving as a monolith. ‘You’re a strong woman, a modern woman, a woman not about to submit or obey! Go on—make me stop!’

She pushed at his shoulders hard, harder.

He just stood where he was, smiling mockingly, a ruthless glimmer in his steel-blue eyes as she pushed and pushed and pushed, getting more and more flustered.

Eventually she stopped, breathing harshly, dwarfed by his height and defeated by his physical strength.

‘So much for the modern woman!’ he drawled, and then pulled her hard against his body, his dark head swooping, his ruthless mouth closing over hers as she opened it to gasp and was silenced by his kiss.

Her vulnerable eyes flashed with a plea for mercy, but her mouth opened beneath his with a moan of helpless desire. And, although she struggled angrily against him, he really was too strong for her, kissing her deeply, determined to impose his will on her, enjoying her puny struggles as he controlled her easily, hard hands stroking her naked midriff, one pressing the small of her back so that she could feel every inch of his body hard against her.

It was wonderful, mindless ecstasy, and eventually she surrendered with a sigh of sweet capitulation, unable to fight any more, obliterated by him. She found her hands on his broad shoulders, clinging to him as she felt the last traces of common sense, of will-power, of fidelity to Bobby slide from her grasp like grains of sand on a hot summer beach as the water rushed in to engulf them.

He took immediate advantage, sensing her submission, and deepened the kiss. She clung to him blindly, unable to stop herself, drowning in a desire she hadn’t felt for years, years, centuries…

It was as though she had been covered in dust, a relic from a long-forgotten age, hiding from life, from love, from passion behind Bobby’s unthreatening personality until this man, Gabriel Stone, had come along to rip aside the façade and bring her, literally, to her knees with the excitement of being a woman in a man’s arms.

He slid one strong hand down to cup her rear, making her moan hoarsely, gasping for breath.

‘Don’t…please…’ she whispered shakingly against his hot mouth.

‘Make me stop!’ he whispered back, his breath hot on her tongue as his strong hand fondled the curve of her buttocks and made her burn with hot, moist desire.

‘You know I can’t…you’re stronger than me!’

‘Then give in and do as you’re told!’

Her heart leapt with fierce excitement, but the memory of Jack Ratchett and that hellish experience five years ago was still strong enough to break through her excitement and make her find a way to stop him.

She couldn’t fight him physically. But she could scream her head off—and that was precisely what she did.

She pulled her head back from him and screamed loudly.

His eyes flashed with steel-blue rage as her piercing scream rent the air. They both heard the sounds of people running towards the tent

Bobby lumbered in, followed closely by two other men and one woman.

For a second they all just stared at Rhiannon, standing flustered and breathing hoarsely, her eyes glittering, her face flushed, backed up against the silken wall, while Gabriel Stone towered as tall as the ceiling, hands thrust in the pockets of his expensive black suit, a look of hard, arrogant power on his tough face.

‘A sensational reading.’ Gabriel turned swiftly, taking charge. ‘I’m afraid Rhiannon was so startled by her accuracy with the tarot cards that she quite lost her self-control.’

‘Rhiannon…?’ Bobby asked gently, coming towards her, glancing suspiciously at Gabriel Stone.

‘It’s OK,’ she said shakily. ‘I’m all right.’ But she didn’t tell him what had really happened, and as her eyes met Gabriel Stone’s she saw the gleam of triumph in those blue depths, because he had made her support his story…he had made her obey him.

‘I do apologise, Mr Stone.’ The male organiser was more concerned with keeping Gabriel Stone happy. ‘We hired her in good faith, and…’

‘Please, don’t apologise for her.’ Gabriel Stone cut him off with a curt, contemptuous note in his voice. ‘If she was scared by the reading it was my fault, not hers. I won’t have her penalised. Understand me?’

‘Oh, yes, of course, Mr Stone!’

‘Good.’ He turned to look at her. ‘Thank you very much for an exciting glimpse of the future, Rhiannon.’

‘Don’t mention it!’ she muttered.

‘I shall remember precisely what the cards predicted.’

‘I’m sure you will!’

‘And I shall most definitely,’ he drawled mockingly, ‘be in touch with you to discuss it more fully in the future.’

Her eyes smouldered at him.

‘Until then…’ Gabriel Stone turned and strode coolly out of the tent, giving no more than a cursory nod to the men and the woman who practically bowed to the ground in their haste to curry favour with him, his money and his undeniable power.

Rhiannon watched him go, her eyes filled with hatred.

Hatred and desire…

CHAPTER TWO

RHIANNON presented almost two thousand pounds to the charity organisers. Naturally they were thrilled. It was the single biggest contribution of the day. Rhiannon told them that Gabriel Stone had donated the largest amount and they all swooned like mad, saying things like, ‘He really is the most marvellous man,’ and ‘How can one man be so generous and so sexy?’

‘Does he always contribute so heavily?’ she asked, because she had to know if he had been generous for good or bad motives.

‘Oh, yes!’ Marella, the head of the committee told her. ‘Mr Stone is a born philanthropist. He doesn’t just make millions and keep them all to himself. He donates to worthy causes wherever he finds them. And he has a particular fondness for children’s charities.’

Rhiannon mulled this over. The brute had made it appear as though he wanted to buy her, not help children. Yet clearly he would have donated as much whatever the circumstances.

That doesn’t make him a saint, though, she thought angrily. Look at the way he behaved towards me!

‘We’re going to be late for dinner, Rhiannon,’ Bobby whispered in her ear as she was about to accept another cup of tea from Marella. ‘I booked the table for seven-thirty…’

Rhiannon quickly excused herself and went to get changed in one of the superb bathrooms of the Manor. She had brought her evening outfit with her, and it almost felt as though she’d had a little holiday because she had to pack her day clothes, her Welsh Witch costume, her tarot cards and her make-up into a little suitcase.

In the mirror, she saw the faint bruising of her lips from Gabriel Stone’s kiss, and she wondered if she would ever need lipstick again. Her heart thudded harder as she remembered the strong arms around her body, the insistent pressure of his mouth, the exciting intimacy of their tongues sliding together and the burning heat of her blood…

I hate him! she thought defiantly, fighting the force of her own desire. How did he know what I yearned for? Is it written all over my face?

Staring into the mirror, she saw the wildness of her green eyes, the pout of her red mouth, and wondered, What told Gabriel Stone that I wanted to be dominated by him?

It was her secret.

Her secret, dammit, and nobody else was supposed to know—not even Bobby. Like Pandora with her golden casket, she had kept it buried for five long years, never thinking about it herself, if she could help it—let alone telling anyone else.

It wasn’t just the desire to love, honour and obey a man that she had kept secret all these years. Nor was it the desire to find herself with a man who would dominate her physically, make her feel feminine and helpless and exquisitely ravaged in lovemaking. It was more the fact that only a dominant man could ever hope to make her truly fall in love.

Of course, she loved Bobby, but in such a different way. He was and always had been more like a friend, a comfortable and familiar cushion she nestled on while getting on with her own life and career.

But a man like Gabriel Stone could make her fall helplessly in love, and that made him dangerous.

Far too dangerous to allow him access to her again—even though she was already so fascinated by him that all she could think of were his dazzling eyes, his cynical face, the power of his kiss…and what other wicked delights a kiss like that could lead to.

‘Rhiannon!’ Bobby called up the vast sweeping staircase. ‘I booked the table for seven-thirty! We’re going to be late!’

‘Just coming!’ Rhiannon snapped out of her reverie and hurried downstairs with her little suitcase, which Bobby stowed in the car as they both said their goodbyes to the charity organisers.

They drove swiftly back to London and had dinner at a homely little Italian restaurant just round the corner from Rhiannon’s Kensington home.

But she was preoccupied and tense all through the meal, dark passion occasionally smouldering in her eyes as she toyed with her food indifferently and remembered Gabriel’s words—’I like to see you looking helplessly feminine…’ Why did that phrase make her want to make love with him until the world exploded into a thousand stars?

After dinner, Bobby drove her home.

‘Darling,’ he said as he pulled up in the cobbled mews, ‘you’ve been so quiet since we left the Manor. Are you all right?’

‘Yes, I’m fine.’ She looked at him through her lashes, frowning. How could she tell him the truth? He had never even tried to make love to her. Their whole relationship had been founded, from the beginning, on a mutual fear of casual sex and intimacy. How could she confide in him now when what was bothering her was precisely that?

Something in her must have changed. There was no denying that she had spent the whole evening dreaming of Gabriel’s kiss, touch, dominant lovemaking. But Bobby was unaware of that. Just as he was unaware that Rhiannon now clamoured for more of Gabriel Stone.

Guilt ate away at her. Bobby was clearly still the same. He had not been the man to awaken her sleeping desires. Gabriel Stone had done that. So what could she possibly say to Bobby about it without rocking their security and damaging their friendship?

‘I suppose you’re just tired?’ Bobby ventured helpfully.

‘I suppose so,’ she agreed, wishing she could confide in him as she had always done when something was bothering her. ‘And I had such a busy week at the office. I was working late every night.’

‘You work too much.’ Bobby smiled, relaxing with the familiar excuse. ‘I’ve told you that before.’

‘I love working. I’ve told you that before!’

Bobby laughed and opened his door. ‘OK, Mademoiselle Workaholic! Let’s call it a night, shall we?’

Rhiannon stepped out of the car too, and walked round in the moonlit, lamplit mews to her bottle-green front door with the gold lion knocker and the two hanging plants beside it.

‘Lunch tomorrow?’ Bobby put his arms around her. ‘I could come round at twelve, read the papers while you cook. Maybe we could have a game of Monopoly…’

The thought of the familiar routine horrified her. Don’t you realise that everything’s changed since I met Gabriel Stone? she wanted to say. But she would just have sounded mad. After all—how could it all have changed in just one meeting with a complete stranger…?

Suddenly she needed to do something that would keep her security with Bobby, and for some insane reason she thought that making him see her in a sexier light would do the trick.

‘Bobby,’ she said on impulse, ‘why don’t we do something different this Sunday?’ ‘Such as? Picnic in Hyde Park? Motor down to—?’ ‘Why don’t we make wild, passionate love instead?’ His eyes almost fell out of his head. ‘Make love…!’ ‘I…’ Her skin burned with embarrassment. ‘I—I just meant we ought to do something different. That’s all.’ She turned away from him, worry in her eyes. His attitude to sex had never bothered her before. Why did it bother her now? But she knew the answer to that. It was six feet six with steel-blue eyes and a tough, sexy mouth.

‘Well, I…’ Bobby coughed nervously, as uncomfortable as she was. ‘I’d love to, darling, but I thought you felt as I did. About sex before marriage, I mean. Not the done thing, and all that. Rather tawdry.’ He shuffled his feet, face red. ‘Sort of thing cheap, insincere people do.’

‘But we have been together for five years, and—’

‘Yes, yes, but…’ He shifted uncomfortably in the lamplight. ‘The wedding night is the proper time. And don’t forget we’ve steered clear of sex because it was what you wanted. That was what you said in the beginning, remember?’

‘What did I say?’ she asked huskily, leaning against his shoulder, closing her eyes and praying that his love, his kindness, his tenderness would keep the forces of her desire for Gabriel Stone at bay. Like a magic charm, an amulet, a crucifix to ward off the Devil.

‘That Jack Ratchett had driven you mad with his need to control you. That he’d made you obey him in everything. And that you never wanted to be involved with a man like that again as long as you lived.’

She sighed softly, reassured. ‘And what else?’

He kissed her forehead, saying deeply, ‘That you would only get involved with me if I promised never to play power-games with you, and never to force you into lovemaking until you were ready.’

‘Yes, that’s right…’ She smiled up into his eyes with love. ‘I did say that, didn’t I?’

‘And you are still happy with it, aren’t you, darling?’ He asked eagerly, almost desperately. ‘I mean—you don’t change your mind about something so loathsome overnight. Do you, dearest?’

‘No…’ Her voice said the word, but she stared at him and thought, Loathsome? Did we really once agree? Am I really going to marry him?

The worry she felt as those thoughts ran through her mind was so deep she couldn’t cope with it. Instinctively she tried to cling to what was safe, secure, familiar.

‘You’re right, Bobby. Power-games are horrid and so is sex. I want nothing more to do with either.’

Horrors! she thought, listening to herself. I sound like some awful old prude instead of a young woman. Do I really hate sex? But even as she thought it she remembered Gabriel Stone’s kiss, her passionate response and the helpless desire she had felt in his arms…

‘Look, I really must go in now,’ she heard her shaken voice saying as her hands fumbled in her bag for the keys. ‘I’m so tired. That’s probably all that’s wrong with me. I need to sleep.’

‘A tired boy is a fretful boy, as my mother always says.’ Bobby irritated her further with yet another of his mother’s sayings. ‘And it applies to girls too, darling. We don’t want you all fretful when you’ve so much work to do, do we?’

Rhiannon smiled tensely, kissed him goodnight and went inside.

She put the light on and stood staring at her beautiful living room for a long moment in silence.

It seemed strange. As though she’d never seen it before. As though it were a rented house, not the home she’d lived in and loved for three years.

Her briefcase was open on the pale yellow couch and the storyboard was visible from here: tiny television screens with colour drawings in each one, depicting frame by frame the advertisement she had devised for Carillo’s Cuban coffee.

A Cuban hacienda at night. Two cups of coffee steaming on an antique drawing room table. An overhead fan and smouldering music…

The camera moved across the bed and out onto the balcony.

A sultry, sexy brunette stands on the balcony over-lookng Havana. She is wearing a long, slinky red evening dress, slit to the thigh, and a red bougainvillea flower in her hair.

A black limousine pulls up in the aristocratic Havana street below. A liveried chauffeur rushes to open the rear door. A tall, dark and incredibly powerful-looking man steps out, looks up at the brunette on the balcony and gives a slow, ruthless smile.

The sultry brunette looks at the camera and says throatily, ‘I like my men the way I like my coffee…dark, rich and very strong.’

CARILLO’S CUBAN COFFEE, flashes up onto the screen. DARK, RICH AND VERY STRONG.

Rhiannon studied the storyboard. When she’d left for the charity fête this morning, her mind had been filled with Carillo’s Cuban coffee. She hadn’t been able to decide whether to stick with ‘Dark, rich and very strong’ or move to her new idea of ‘When you feel like coming on strong’.

Now she couldn’t care less.

It was a matter of complete indifference to her.

All she cared about was whether or not she would ever see Gabriel Stone again, and whether he would kiss her as he had kissed her today, unleashing that dammed-up passion.

He made me feel like a woman for the first time in years, she realised with a shock.

And I loved every second of it.

But how could he do it in just one brief meeting?

How…?

Ambition had been her lover and best friend for so long that she automatically expected to feel dynamic and excited as soon as she crossed the threshold of Solomon Advertising Associates on Monday morning.

But as she entered the busy black glass building on Tottenham Court Road she felt the same sense of detachment and strangeness she had felt all weekend.

She quickened her step, almost running to the lifts as though from the changes in herself. On the seventh floor people said hello to her as always, and she said hello back cheerily, but inside she felt alien to them, and to the whole business of advertising.

She hurried past Bobby’s little glass office without stopping to wave. He was sitting at his desk, playing with the executive toy she had bought him for Christmas last year.

But there was her own office, just ahead, a beacon of light—her palace, her reason for living. The door was polished oak with a gleaming gold plaque on it which read‘RHIANNON WINDMORR—CREATIVE DIRECTOR’.

Just the sight of it had always made her smile brightly. But today she felt nothing. It was just a piece of brass on a door, that was all—nothing more.

She went inside, closed the door and looked at the trophies, the certificates, the award-winning designs, adverts and accolades collected over the last five years. They seemed so pointless. Just pieces of brass and wood and glossy posters. They weren’t real or alive, they couldn’t make her feel wonderful any more—and they no longer filled her with passionate excitement.

Only one thing, however, had happened to her since she’d left this office at midnight on Friday—Gabriel Stone!

Damn the man! What has he done to me? Is this some kind of magic spell he’s put over me, making me turn my face from my own life and wish for nothing but love, passion, desire…

There was a knock at the door.

Whirling round, she called sharply, ‘Come in!’

‘Morning!’ Jerry, the receptionist, strode in, blonde hair flying, pink lips glossy, high heels flashing. ‘Sorry to disturb, but an urgent package has just arrived for you.’

‘For me?’ Rhiannon took the big white parcel with a frown.

‘A chauffeur just hand-delivered it to Reception. I’m dying to know what’s inside it.’

Curiouser and curiouser, thought Rhiannon, opening the parcel while Jerry watched.

She saw a flash of scarlet-gold silk beneath folds of white tissue paper, and a white envelope nestling among the tissue with the unmistakable handwriting of Gabriel Stone in black.

‘I don’t believe it!’ Rhiannon said through her teeth, heart thudding hard as she tore the envelope open with trembling hands and read the card.

Miss Windmorr,

I’m having an intimate dinner party on Saturday night. It would amuse me if I could entertain my guests with a Welsh Witch. My chauffeur will collect you from your home address at seven-thirty. Wear the costume provided. Come alone.

Gabriel Stone.

How had he managed to find her? Not only here at Solomon Associates, but also to get her home address? Then she remembered him talking to the host and hostess at that charity fête. He had found out that she was engaged to Bobby. It must have been a simple matter to get her work and home addresses.

She looked down at the note in her unsteady hands. It wasn’t just the condescending and insolent tone that offended her. Nor even the curt commands, issued as though she were some kind of minor domestic employee. What made her most furious was the total lack of respect which permeated his letter from start to finish.

‘Gabriel Stone!’ Jerry gasped, reading over Rhiannon’s shoulder. ‘Gosh, you lucky thing!’

‘Lucky…?’

‘Oh, yes! He’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen!’

‘Optically challenged, are you?’ Rhiannon snapped.

‘Oh, come on! He’s got more animal magnetism than any man has a right to! You should have seen him when he walked in here twenty minutes ago! Those blue eyes, that tough face—’

‘Walked in here?’ Rhiannon whispered, almost collapsing like a tower of jelly on the spot. ‘You mean—here? He’s here? In the building?’

‘Yes, he’s upstairs with Steve Solomon.’

Rhiannon swayed, aware of the excitement gripping her body like an electric fist, knowing she was a fool to feel it—a lemming rushing blindly over a cliff to destruction. How stupid to feel excited at the prospect of her own unquestionable doom if she ever let him near her.

‘Maybe he’s going to switch to Solomon Associates!’ Jerry mused. ‘All his companies have been with Rawdon and Taylor for years. They’re so old-fashioned, though. Did you see—?’

‘Even if Gabriel Stone does switch to us, I won’t have anything to do with him! Just look at this note! Have you ever seen anything so conceited? Demanding I come to his party like a performing monkey!’

‘I’d perform for him any old day!’

‘Oh, Jerry! Must you think of sex, sex—?’

The telephone rang sharply.

Rhiannon snatched it up, her voice unsteady. ‘Rhiannon Windmorr!’

‘Ah, Miss Windmorr!’ Steve Solomon, the chairman, drawled, like the lazy fat-cat he was. ‘Get up to my office right away, please. We have a potential new client I’d like you to meet.’

‘But, sir, I—’

The line went dead.

For a second Rhiannon just stood there, clutching the receiver with a damp hand while Jerry waited with bated breath.

Trembling, she clumsily put the receiver down.

‘Well?’ Jerry asked eagerly.

‘I have to go up to Solomon’s office right away,’ she said huskily. ‘To meet a new client.’ She smoothed her damp palms on her skirt. How could she face him? She felt so vulnerable…

‘It must be Gabriel Stone!’

‘Yes, well, I think that’s perfectly obvious!’ Rhiannon looked down at the package. ‘I’ll have to go up and see him, I suppose.’ Her voice was still husky, and she heard the unsteady desire throbbing in her voice, knew she wanted him and hated herself for it.

‘Ooh!’ Jerry said dreamily. ‘Let me know what happens!’

Rhiannon gave her a sharp look and left the office, striding as purposefully as she could across the open-plan area with its potted palms and air-conditioning, heading for the chairman’s lift.

The lift took her to the fifteenth floor with luxurious speed.

Her reflection in the mirrored wall undermined her confidence. The shimmer of helpless femininity in her green eyes was so severe she could barely look at it herself.

Nervous, she tidied her long black hair, but it still fell softly around her flushed pink face, making her look girlish despite the smart red skirt-suit she wore—and even that made her look desirably female, with its nipped-in waist and figure-hugging cut.

Walking out of the lift and onto the plush oyster-coloured carpets, she tried to look confident, but inside her heart was thudding hard and her legs were actually shaking.

‘Miss Windmorr!’ The secretary smiled as she entered the outer rooms. ‘Mr Solomon is expecting you.’

‘Thank you!’ she said unsteadily.

‘Gabriel Stone is with him!’ breathed the secretary. ‘He is the sexiest man I’ve ever seen in my life! Lucky you, being invited in to meet him!’

‘Lucky old me!’ Rhiannon said thickly, and knocked on the door, then entered at Solomon’s shout.

Gabriel Stone was standing by the windows, with Steve Solomon next to him. Both men were in an attitude of old friends, but it was clear—so clear—who was the more powerful of the two, because not only did Gabriel Stone tower over Steve Solomon but everything about him, from the cut of his impeccable grey suit to the lift of his dark head, shouted, Power. Authority. Masculinity. Superiority.

He turned with a cool smile to look at her, ruthless blue eyes glittering with mockery.

In silence she met his gaze measure for measure, but her heart was beating like a crazy drum.

She wanted him so much she could barely stand.

And he knew it. How could he fail to notice that her eyes flashed over him with desire? Flashed over the hard muscles emphasised by the grey suit, the taut waistcoat, the silver watch-chain gleaming across it and the dark red silk tie knotted at his throat.

‘Miss Windmorr!’ he drawled smokily. ‘We meet again.’

‘Hello, Mr Stone.’ Her voice was more confident than she could have prayed for it to be. ‘What brings you to my offices?’

‘Oh, are they yours? I was under the impression that they belonged to Steve Solomon, here.’

‘Yes, of course. Forgive me.’ Humiliating colour stung her cheeks. ‘Welcome to Solomon Associates, Mr Stone. How may we help you?’

He smiled with lazy satisfaction. ‘Well, now, that’s the kind of welcome I prefer!’

Rhiannon’s green eyes filled with furious rebellion as she thought to herself, You rotten, power-wielding snake!

‘I’ve been discussing the possibility of switching all my accounts from Rawdon and Taylor to Solomon’s. I’d prefer to test the water first, so I’ll only hand over one account initially. I’d like you, Miss Windmorr, to work on it for me.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t at the moment,’ she informed him. ‘I’m still working on Carillo’s Cuban coffee.’

‘What a pity,’ said Gabriel softly. ‘In that case, I’ll have to withdraw my offer.’

Her jaw dropped in shock.

‘Er, Mr Stone,’ Steve said rapidly, shooting a furious glare at her, ‘I’m sure Rhiannon will be pleased to work for—’

‘I did want her to handle my account,’ said Gabriel with a smile and a sinister note in his voice. ‘Only her. Nobody else.’

‘I’m sure she’ll agree to—’

‘But, if she prefers not to—’ Gabriel strode coolly past her towards the door ‘—I shall have to take my business elsewhere.’

‘Rhiannon!’ Steve exploded, dark eyes blazing.

‘Yes, all right!’ she muttered thickly, and turned, calling resentfully, ‘Please wait, Mr Stone!’

He turned, a mocking smile on his hard mouth.

She hated him—and desired him—more in that moment, standing there with the light of victory in his eyes, than she could ever have thought possible.

‘Of course I’ll work on the account,’ she said tightly.

‘I’m delighted to hear it,’ Gabriel drawled with a cynical smile, and moved back into the room, arrogance itself as he stood there, dark head lifted with authority. ‘Mr Solomon—would you be so good as to leave us alone now, to discuss the details?’

‘Yes, of course!’ Steve hurriedly moved away while Rhiannon stood rigidly, aware that she was being set up but helpless to stop it. ‘Just tell my secretary when my office is free again.’

Gabriel Stone gave a cool nod, and a second later the door had closed, leaving them alone.

The silence between them seethed with sexual attraction, fierce cross-currents of emotion, and an awareness of each other that was nothing short of electrifying.

Rhiannon spoke first—out of necessity as well as nerves.

‘How did you engineer this?’

‘Simple,’ he drawled. ‘I just had my secretary ring your boss and say the magic words: “Mr Gabriel Stone would like to meet with you in one hour’s time.”‘ He smiled lazily. ‘Of course, he said yes. They always do.’

‘Must be nice to be so powerful!’

He laughed softly. ‘Yes, it is!’

‘And what about the rest of your plan? Sending that ridiculous gift, that insulting invitation and—’

‘I wanted you to be angry by the time your boss summoned you. I wanted you to refuse to work with me in his presence, just to make sure you understood your position.’

‘And what is my position?’

‘Powerless,’ he drawled mockingly.

Rage blazed through her veins so fiercely that she practically had to nail herself to the floor to stop herself hitting his dark, arrogant face.

He smiled. ‘I suppose you want to slap my face. That’s only natural. A pity your hands are so effectively tied.’

‘My hands are not tied!’ she choked out ‘I can hit you any time I want!’

‘Go on, then. See where it gets you.’

She fumed impotently, hands curling into fists at her sides.

‘Darling,’ he murmured, ‘never make a threat you’re not prepared to carry out.’

‘Don’t you dare call me darling!’ she said under her breath, tears spurting suddenly to sting her eyes. ‘I loathe you for what you’re doing. And just what do you hope to achieve by it anyway?’

‘I would have thought that was perfectly obvious!’

‘Sex?’ she whispered fiercely, her vision blurring.

‘No need to say it like that!’ He frowned. ‘I saw and felt how much I turned you on. I can assure you the feeling is mutual. Surely, after years of a sexless relationship with that clown, you should be eager to feel like a woman again? So why the frightened whisper? Anyone would think I wanted to do something terrible to you instead of make love to you.’

Rhiannon had already looked away, breathless with horror at the continuing accuracy of his guesses—not only about her response to him as a woman, but about her sexless relationship with Bobby.

There was a tense silence.

She didn’t look round but she could feel his eyes on her, and she knew he was thinking—thinking hard, trying to figure out why her reaction should be this way.

‘Rhiannon…?’ he said under his breath, sensing the depth of the change in her emotions.

The note of compassion in his voice made tears sting her eyes, and she went rigid with the fear that she might break down.

His footsteps sounded behind her. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing!’

A big gentle hand touched her shoulder. ‘Hey…look at me…’

‘No!’ she said thickly, feeling pathetic as she struggled not to cry, standing with her back to him like an obstinate child while the tears burned at her eyes.

The seconds ticked away in tense silence and Gabriel Stone felt the tremors of emotion in her shoulders as he held her.

‘Come on,’ he said softly. ‘Why the big emotional display?’

‘I’m not being emotional!’

‘Then what are you doing?’ He laughed seductively. ‘Any minute now you’ll stamp your foot like a little girl and—’

She reacted as though stung. ‘Don’t laugh at me! My personal feelings are none of your business!’

‘But I’m going to make them my business.’ He turned her with infinite care, as though she were a precious piece of porcelain.

Her tear-filled eyes met his.

‘Ah…’ The tough face softened.

‘And don’t patronise me either!’

‘Forgive me,’ he murmured with a smile. ‘But it melts the strongest heart to see you show such helpless femininity. You’re quite a powerful woman, you know, Rhiannon. It’s touching to see how very female you can be.’

Rhiannon felt absurdly flattered, and hated herself for it. ‘I suppose that brings us very neatly to the point, doesn’t it? You want to dedicate yourself to reducing me to a state of helpless femininity!’

‘Why, so I do!’ he drawled with a flash of mockery in his eyes. ‘But I thought my intentions towards you were understood. Or weren’t you listening to me on Saturday?’

‘I was listening…’ She lowered her lashes, staring at the dark red silk tie against the white shirt and powerful chest.

‘Then you know,’ he said deeply, ‘that I want you badly enough to find out why you’re involved in that dull, sexless relationship.’

‘You have no proof that it’s dull or sexless!’

‘Rhiannon, I could see it with my own eyes.’

‘Because he didn’t kiss me? How do you know he didn’t ravish me as soon as we got home that night?’

He tensed, frowning. ‘I don’t believe it!’

She carried on staring at his chest.

‘Well?’ he demanded thickly. ‘Did he make love to you? Has he ever made love to you?’

I could lie, she thought, holding her breath. I could say Bobby made love to me and then he’d go away, never come back…never make wild, passionate love to me…

‘Tell me!’ Gabriel bit out under his breath, and his long fingers tightened on her shoulders. ‘Tell me, damn you, or I’ll—!’

‘No.’

He relaxed. He even drew a sharp breath. Those eyes moved rapidly over her face and the white line of his mouth curved as he gave a wry smile.

‘I was right, then,’ he drawled arrogantly. ‘He is a wimp!’

Her eyes flashed angrily up to meet his from under her lashes.

‘Was I right about everything, Rhiannon? Oh, I can see from that look that I was!’ He laughed under his breath as she tried angrily to get away from him. ‘No, you don’t! You’re staying right here until I’ve got what I wanted from you!’

‘You’re never going to get that, Mr Stone!’ she said furiously, fighting to escape those hard fingers. ‘I am engaged to another man. When will you get that through your thick head?’

‘My head is many things, but thick isn’t one of them. And if I want to take you to bed, I damned well will.’

‘The only way you’ll get me into bed is as a corpse!’

‘Oh, you’ll be very much alive. You’ll also be powerless, naked and more than willing.’

Without stopping to think, she moved to slap him hard—and missed.

He was too quick for her, catching her hand at the wrist and leaving her struggling impotently once more while he grinned down at her, amused.

‘Darling!’ he mocked. ‘You don’t have to go to such lengths to show me you’re climbing the walls with sexual frustration.’

‘How dare you speak to me like that?’ she gibbered. ‘How dare you?’

‘Because I want you to be happy, you stupid, obstinate female!’

‘I’ll only be happy when you get out of my life!’

‘I’m here to stay, Rhiannon!’

‘But why? Why? I don’t want you here!’

‘And I don’t want to see a woman like you marrying a pompous, half-witted, sexless little idiot like Bobby—what’s his name?’

‘Pratt,’ she snapped, without thinking of the repercussions, and then realised precisely what she had done.

There was a long, stunned silence. The hot sunlight blazed over them from the wide airy windows and London’s skyscrapers glittered far above the stately white palaces of centuries past.

Gabriel started to laugh. ‘What? You’re kidding me! His name is not Pratt!’

‘It’s not his fault!’ She glared at him furiously.

‘Oh, I quite agree!’ He was laughing so much his powerful chest was shaking. ‘He can’t help being a complete and utter—’

‘Right, that’s it! I am not staying here to listen to my fiancé being insulted by a swine like you!’

‘Oh, come on! Where’s your sense of humour?’ The light in his eyes was so incandescent that it was irresistible to her, making her heart move and her own eyes light up in response to his personality, his wit, his soul. ‘Darling, the man’s been living up to his name for years! You can’t marry him! And I absolutely refuse to allow you to become a Pratt yourself!’

She looked away, obstinately refusing to be moved by him. He could be as charming as he liked. She refused point-blank to be swayed by him.

Apart from that—she had to confess that from the moment she had met Bobby his surname had been one of her strongest objections to him. But she didn’t want Gabriel Stone to know that.

He smiled, his eyes filled with affection. ‘You know what I’m saying is right. So come on…stop fighting me. The cards predicted we’d be lovers. Why don’t you just give in to destiny—and to me?’

‘I’m in control of my destiny,’ she said in a husky voice. ‘Not a set of tarot cards, and certainly not you!’

‘Fine. I want you to be in control of your destiny. It’s your body I’m going to take control of.’

She raised her head. ‘And what if I won’t let you?’

‘Oh, you’ll let me!’ he drawled, eyes hardening to ruthless steel so suddenly that she caught her breath with excitement just to see the different reflections of this multi-faceted man: ‘You’ll let me all right, Rhiannon! I’m going to encourage you to submit—and then I’m going to make a woman out of you!’

‘You think I’d give my consent to that kind of thing?’

‘Even a tiger knows how to roll onto its back and let itself be stroked.’

She was breathless again, staring at his arrogant face, thinking of her first oil painting: a tiger moving stealthily through a darkened jungle towards a dark man asleep beneath a tree. Her tutor had told her that the tiger was herself…a man-eater.

‘Glad to see you’re being more agreeable,’ Gabriel murmured with a smile, misinterpreting her stare. ‘So let’s see what else you’re agreeable to, shall we? We agree, for instance, that you have to take this job. We agree that I currently have total professional control over you. And we also agree that we will one day be lovers.’

‘I never agreed to the last one!’ she told him flatly, lifting her dark head and trying to look convincing.

‘That’s because I’m going to demand submission, darling. And I’ll start on Saturday night, when you arrive at my house.’

‘Ah, yes! Saturday night! I’d forgotten, in all this non-excitement, about your insulting little note and that truly humiliating costume!’

‘But you’ll look sensational,’ he said deeply, and the sudden tenderness of his voice made her heart melt like an ice-cream in a microwave. ‘How can you possibly see that as humiliating?’

She hesitated while her stupid heart carried on melting: ‘I…’ She felt her skin shiver with excitement: ‘Well, I…I just have no intention of wearing it—or of attending your dinner party.’

‘You will, or I’ll have you fired.’

‘Fired!’ She was so furious she could hardly speak coherently. ‘I beg your pardon, Mr Stone, but I am a highly qualified, highly respected woman, and I do not need your say-so to remain employed!’ Her eyes flashed with rage. ‘I can walk into another top job anywhere in advertising, and don’t you forget it!’

‘That may be so.’ His eyes turned ruthless. ‘But I happen to know all about the Moretti account.’

Her breath caught in horror. ‘The Moretti account…?’

‘Mmm. Shall we talk about it alone? Or shall I call Steve back in here to make it a cosy threesome?’

Rhiannon’s face paled with disbelief. He sounded so sure, so arrogant. He must know all the gory details. And she certainly wasn’t about to put it to the test. Not the Moretti scandal…

It had been her first major account as creative director, three years ago. She had been working on a top-secret campaign for Moretti Cars to launch the Panther, a long, sleek sports car they had just built to corner the market in affordable glamour.

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