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

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Copyright

“Lauren? It’s Michael,” he said with a soft list of anticipation.

Her stomach clenched. The archdeceiver himself! If he thought she was about to rush in and beg for more, he could think again. “Yes?” she queried, her mind suddenly cold and clear.

“I found your note. It was a great night for me, too.”

“I’m glad it was mutual,” she replied silkily, waiting for the perfect line to turn the knife.

He laughed. “Couldn’t be more so. When do you think you’ll finish work tonight?” “Oh, I don’t know. What do you want, Michael?” That was a good question. Let him beg!

“I’ll be with you again as soon as you’re free.”

She deliberately heaved a sigh. “Look, Michael, it was a great night. A really great night. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?” Silence. “Come again?” He sounded puzzled, disbelieving.

Lauren went in for the kill. “Well, the fact of the matter is that I don’t go in for repeat performances. Why spoil a perfect memory?”

EMMA DARCY

nearly became an actress, until her fiancé declared he preferred to attend the theater with her. She became a wife and mother. Later she took up oil painting-unsuccessfully, she remarks. Then she tried architecture, designing the family home in New South Wales, Australia. Next came romance writing- “the hardest and most challenging of all the activities,” she confesses.

The Father Of Her Child
Emma Darcy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Sue Curran, my editor, in warm appreciation of her sharing and caring

CHAPTER ONE

“LAUREN says…”

Michael Timberlane’s jaw clenched. His friend and client, Evan Daniel, continued talking, blithely ignorant of the effect of those two explosively evocative words.Lauren says. Michael didn’t hear anything else. His mind filled with brooding resentment.

He couldn’t count the number of times his ex-wife had thrown those words at him as though Lauren Magee was the font of all knowledge and wisdom on how a marriage should work. Lauren says, Lauren says. a long litany of feminist claptrap that had given Roxanne the encouragement to indulge herself in single-minded selfishness. Any sense of give and take had flown right out the door under Lauren Magee’s influence.

It was a black day when that woman had accepted the position as publicist at the publishing house where Roxanne worked in marketing. Why the Sydney branch of Global Publications had to import a career woman from Melbourne to head its publicity department was beyond Michael’s comprehension, but the word in the industry was that Lauren Magee was a fireball. She obviously didn’t mind whom she scorched, either.

Michael grudgingly conceded he had not been averse to the idea of divorce by the time Roxanne decided it was what she wanted. His ideal of a true partnership within a love relationship had been comprehensively whittled away. Nevertheless, Evan’s inadvertent reminder of the interfering judgments by a woman who didn’t even know him stirred a vengeful wish to turn Lauren Magee and her insidious list of women’s rights upside down and inside out.

Would that he could!

It was undoubtedly a waste of energy even thinking about it. The woman had to be a man hater with a brick-wall temperament, totally closed to logic or reason. She would probably have Evan’s balls for breakfast if he stepped out of line on this promotional tour she had organised for him. A male author who liked an alcoholic lunch would not be her cup of tea at all.

Michael unclenched his jaw, relaxed his facial muscles and dutifully tuned back into Evan’s flow of excitement over his jam-packed schedule of interviews with the media. Global Publications, via Lauren Magee, was certainly doing him proud in their efforts to launch his new historical novel on the Australian reading public. Michael hoped it would sell well, not only for his friend’s sake, but also for his own satisfaction as Evan’s literary agent.

He silently congratulated himself on getting Evan an extremely good deal for the book, though he would have privately preferred the highest bidder to have been any other publishing house than Global Publications. But business was business. The best interests of all the authors on his list had to be served. That was one of the principles by which he’d gained his reputation as an agent whose judgment could be trusted.

He knew books. He knew what they were worth and where their market was. Evan Daniel’s sweeping saga of early colonial days in the convict settlement of New South Wales was a rattling good story and had the elements for solid, commercial success. All it needed was the right push to bring it to public attention.

“I need your help, Michael.”

Evan’s excitement seemed to have faded into a sudden fit of anxiety. Michael raised his eyebrows, inviting elaboration on whatever problem was troubling his friend. This had to be the underlying reason for his visit this morning. It was a long drive from Evan’s home at Leura in the Blue Mountains to Michael’s apartment-cum-office at Milson’s Point in the very heart of Sydney. Enthusing over his promotional tour hardly constituted a strong enough motive to bring him here.

All the signs of inner agitation were evident. Evan shifted his somewhat roly-poly body uncomfortably. He tugged at the frizzy brown curls above his ears, pulling them out into tufts. With his round face and big, dark, soulful eyes, Evan frequently reminded Michael of a cuddly koala bear. Despite his rotund shape, women were attracted to him. There was something very appealing about Evan. His bright and benevolent personality reached out to people.

“Could you take the time off to come with me on the tour to Melbourne and Brisbane?” he finally blurted out.

“You don’t need me to hold your hand, Evan. You’ll do fine. Your natural enthusiasm about your book…”

“It’s not that. I’m not scared of the interviews,” came the hasty assurance. His ensuing grimace held both apology and an appeal for understanding. “It’s Tasha. She’s going to be rabidly jealous of Lauren the moment she lays eyes on her.”

Michael was astounded. “Lauren Magee?”

“You know how gorgeous she is. And I’ll be staying in the same hotels with her.”

“Lauren Magee…gorgeous?” Michael couldn’t believe it. In his mind’s eye Lauren Magee was a sexless martinet, as thin as a matchstick with every bit of feminine sweetness squeezed out of her.

Evan looked puzzled. “Haven’t you met her?”

It would be pistols at dawn if he did, Michael thought darkly. “I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure,” he drawled with deliberate carelessness.

“I thought you knew everyone in the publishing industry.”

Evan’s surprise was comical. Michael had to smile. “The publishers and the commissioning editors, yes. I haven’t met every single person on their staffs.”

“But Lauren. Oh, well, you can meet her at the party tonight. I’ll introduce you. Then you’ll see why I need you to come with me on the tour. I know it’s asking a big favour, Michael, but…”

“I won’t be there tonight,” Michael stated flatly.

It was Global’s launching party for all its new books for the coming year. Roxanne would be swanning around with her second choice of husband, who was, Michael thought cynically, quite perfect for her. Her preening didn’t bother him, but she made such a pointed show of it in front of him he felt sorry for the other guy. It was distasteful. Such comparisons always were.

Michael prided himself on being civilised. Most of the time he was. Very civilised. Extremely civilised. The combination of Roxanne on parade, trying in her perverse vanity to make a fool of him, plus Lauren Magee on the sidelines with her feminist cant, just happened to bring out the savage in him. It was not a feeling he liked.

Evan looked hurt. “I’m one of the speakers.”

“I’m sorry, Evan, but you don’t need me to applaud your speech.”

“I do need you. Not for applause. If I could stand you between Tasha and Lauren, it would save me a power of trouble. Tasha wouldn’t get any funny ideas with you around. It’s perfectly obvious that any woman with two eyes in her head would go for you, not me.”

That wasn’t necessarily true, Michael thought. Superficially, he supposed, he fitted the tall, dark and handsome tag, but in a savage mood, he knew he could look more intimidating than attractive.

“And if you came on tour with me,” Evan pressed, “Tasha would have no reason to get upset.”

The impassioned plea tried Michael’s patience. “Your marital problems are none of my business, Evan. If you can’t assure your wife of your unbreakable fidelity, take her with you.”

“You know Tasha is eight months pregnant,” came the plaintive protest. “Can you see her manoeuvring into an economy-class seat on one of those small intercity planes? Not to mention her doctor’s orders to rest and take care. We’re not taking any chances with this baby. Not after two miscarriages.”

Michael frowned. He had forgotten Tasha’s delicate condition and the trouble she’d had in carrying a child to full term. Evan was right. It was stupid to take any risk. If it was his wife and baby Michael knew he’d be cocooning them in cotton wool.

His desire to have children had been frustrated by Roxanne’s deceptions, and he wondered now if he’d ever get to be a father. Finding the right woman had to come first. He assured himself that at thirtyfour, he was still in his prime and his choices in life were wide open. He was not restricted by time.

“Surely Tasha can trust you,” he offered. “It’s only for a few days.”

Evan sighed. “Normally, yes, but she’s in a very fragile mood, feeling all lumpy and undesirable. We’ve had to refrain from sex because. Well, I don’t want to go into that.” He flushed. “Anyhow, she’s not going to be happy about me flying off with a woman as gorgeous and sexy-looking as Lauren Magee.”

Lauren Magee sexy-looking? Michael shook his head incredulously. That was wrapping a wormy apple in a glossy skin.

The glum, discomforted face of his friend stirred sympathy. Evan and Tasha were going through a tough time. The successful launching of this book was important to them financially, so it couldn’t be dropped, and Evan was quite likely to fumble the interviews and get smashed on double gins if he was upset.

“Please?” he begged. “There’s no one else I can turn to. If you don’t help me.” He rolled his eyes and gestured despairingly.

Michael’s curiosity was piqued. “Do you like her, Evan?” he asked pertinently.

“Who? Lauren?” He looked innocent. “She’s a lovely girl, but I’m a married man, Michael. I love my wife and I’m not about to stray.” Hotly earnest.

“Does she like you?”

Uncomfortable shifting again. “Well, er, only in a friendly kind of way. I just don’t want Tasha to misunderstand. If you’re with me, everything will be all right.”

A nasty little troublemaker, amusing herself by coming between husbands and wives, Michael thought with considerable venom. Not this time, Lauren Magee, he silently vowed. Lovely girl…huh! She might be gorgeous and sexy-looking, but she clearly had the sting of an asp, poisoning other people’s relationships.

Michael decided it would give him immense satisfaction to do a bit of stinging of his own. Besides, Tasha deserved to have peace of mind during this difficult period. The strain of an advanced and possibly threatened pregnancy was more than enough for her and Evan to cope with. Protecting them from any capricious harm by Lauren Magee was the decent thing to do.

“Okay, Evan, I’ll run interference for you,” he said, a dangerous little smile lurking on his lips.

Relief burst over his friend’s face. “At the party tonight? And the tour?”

“Yes. You can count on me for both.”

And to hell with Roxanne and her ridiculous gloating with her new husband! He could stomach that if he had to for one evening. It was in a good cause. As for Lauren Magee, well, he was beginning to look forward to locking horns with her.

Evan surged out of his chair and reached over Michael’s desk to grab his hand and shake it vigorously with both of his. “You’re a true, true friend and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. It means I can relax and enjoy everything, and Tasha will, too. She’s been looking forward to tonight’s launching party. Wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

“Then I hope she’ll have a happy evening.”

Evan grinned. “Champagne on tap. I love free drinks.”

“Don’t forget you have to drive,” Michael warned dryly.

“Uh-uh. We’re staying in the city overnight. Taxis both ways.”

“What hotel? I could pick you up. Best if we arrive together, don’t you think?”

“Great!” Evan heaved a huge, contented sigh. “I won’t forget this, Michael. Any time you want a favour, you’ve got it.”

“I’ll remember that. Do you have a list of the tour details with you. dates, times, flights, hotels?”

“Sure do. With all the telephone numbers for you to make your bookings.”

Evan was probably right about no-one else being able to help him, Michael reflected a few minutes later. The cost of this safeguard venture would prohibit most people. Money meant nothing to him, never had, and Evan knew it. Real friendship did. All the wealth in the world couldn’t buy that. If a couple of thousand dollars could prevent Tasha and Evan from being messed up by Lauren Magee, Michael was only too happy to supply the necessary.

That lady had a few things coming to her.

Michael figured he was just the man to deliver them.

He could feel the primitive savage stirring inside him, and this time he didn’t try to suppress the feeling. He revelled in it. Being civilised could definitely be overrated. He had the taste of revenge in his mouth. It was sweet.

CHAPTER TWO

“COME on, Lauren,” Graham Parker urged. “It’s peak hour, remember? The traffic across the city is bound to be horrendous, and I want to make it to Rose Bay by six.”

“I’m coming.” The last page of the publicity flyer started rolling through the fax machine. Confident there’d be no problem with the transmission, Lauren turned to her desk, snatched up her handbag and flashed a smile at the head of the marketing department. “Ready to go.”

Graham was in his mid-forties, solidly married to his wife, family and computer and nicely avuncular towards her. Lauren knew he read nothing personal into her asking him for a lift to the launching party. It was simply a convenience between two coworkers. She always felt in a comfort zone with Graham. It was a pleasant feeling.

“Snazzy belt,” he commented appreciatively.

She grinned, pleased with the compliment. The belt was a recent purchase, featuring a large gold bow set on a wide, black, elasticised band. “Nothing like a good accessory to turn day wear into glitz.”

He shook his head in bemusement as she joined him. “Do you turn your whole life into a time and motion study?”

“Have to with my job, Graham.”

“I don’t know how you can stand the pace. Always on the go. It would give me a coronary.”

“I like it.”

It filled her life. She needed that. She didn’t like having too much time to dwell on the empty spaces. It was good to keep busy. Besides, she was doing what she did best, organising schedules, taking care of people, sorting them out, fitting everything and everyone into a workable and effective pattern. It seemed to Lauren she had been doing that as long as she could remember, having been the eldest child in a family of nine.

Once she had dreamed of having someone take care of her and do all the looking after. Big mistake. Her stomach clenched in recoil at the memory of the prison her ex-husband had made of their marriage. Never again, she vowed. Obsessive possessiveness had no place in Lauren’s concept of love. It was both frightening and crushing.

As she rode the elevator to the ground floor with Graham, she consciously banished those shadows from her mind. These days she lived life on her own terms, and the party tonight should be fun. No responsibilities for her apart from chatting to a few authors, making them feel welcome and introducing them to other guests. Champagne was to flow freely and a band had been booked to provide dance music after the speeches. Lauren loved dancing.

She adjusted the new belt so the gold bow was set closer to her hip line. It looked brilliant on the bright violet of her ribbed knit sweater. She was really pleased with the overall effect, the wide black elastic accentuating the black of her skirt and tights and the bow picking up the gold trim on her black suede shoes.

She still had to do her hair. It was in a bit of a tangle from being loose all day. Lauren grinned to herself as she recalled her hairdresser calling it a wild animal. The copper-red hue did not come out of a bottle and the natural curls bounced from her scalp and rioted over her shoulders and halfway down her back.

Once she was in Graham’s car she would pile up her unruly hair and clip on the black and gold earrings. That would certainly put the finishing touch to her cocktail-hour appearance.

Graham hustled her out of Global’s office building to the car park, clearly anxious to be on his way. By Lauren’s calculation, from where they were in Artarmon, the express route to the bridge and the Harbour Tunnel to the Eastern Suburbs cut the trip to Rose Bay to forty minutes at most, even through peak hour traffic. The party didn’t start until six, and it was only just past five now.

“Why the hurry?” she asked. Accustomed to travelling to a tight schedule, Lauren disliked the waste of time involved in arriving anywhere too early.

“I want to check the display table before anyone arrives.”

“I thought Roxanne was doing that.”

She had told Lauren so this morning, pleased with the task of setting up a display of the new titles catalogue and the gift T-shirts.

“She tripped down the steps out there and sprained her ankle,” Graham stated flatly.

Lauren rolled her eyes. Another drama in Roxanne’s life to be endlessly recounted to every ear she could find!

“I don’t know if she finished the job first,” Graham added with a grimace.

“I take it she won’t be at the party with her new husband tonight,” Lauren said dryly.

“Into each life some rain must fall.”

Lauren couldn’t help laughing at his droll intonation. Since Roxanne worked in marketing, Graham was even more a victim of her confidences than Lauren was. His responses were invariably short, pithy sayings. He let the rest float over his head.

They were probably being unkind, Lauren thought, as they settled into the car. Spraining an ankle was no joke. It should evoke sympathy. The problem was that Roxanne was such a sympathy gobbler, one’s natural store of it ran out. This past year Lauren had taken to actively evading Roxanne and her self-indulgent wallowing in real or imagined woes.

She ruefully reflected that when she had first arrived at Global Publications, she had been sucked right into being a listener. Like a sponge, she had absorbed a steady stream of complaints about the demands and unreasonable expectations of Roxanne’s first husband, It had hit on wounds from her own miserable marriage, drawing what might have been, in hindsight, unwarranted sympathy, as well as the best advice she could give.

She hadn’t known then that advice was not really what was wanted. Roxanne soaked up advice from everyone who would give it. She went looking for advice constantly because it gave her the excuse to talk about herself. Roxanne Kinsey was the most self-absorbed person Lauren had ever met.

All the same, Roxanne was probably well rid of her first husband. He had sounded as though he was tarred with the same brush as Lauren’s big mistake. Men who wanted to own women were innately insecure. No trust. Rabid jealousy. Demanding accountability of every moment away from them. Forcing their will on every little thing.

Nightmare alley, Lauren thought, and was glad to be out of it. Although she did miss living in Melbourne. All her family were there. Unfortunately, so was Wayne, and she didn’t trust him to stay out of her life. Despite their divorce, he wouldn’t let go. Coming to Sydney had effected a solid break from him, and that had been necessary for her peace of mind, but she did find it lonely up here.

At least she would have a chance to visit her mother during her stay in Melbourne with Evan Daniel. A smile broke through her brooding as she thought of the upcoming promotional tour. Some authors were highly touchy and temperamental, but Evan Daniel was a real sweetie, cheerful, obliging, appreciative of everything she had arranged for him, a lovely, warm, huggable bear of a man. She wished she could find someone like him for herself.

Her mobile telephone beeped, and she quickly drew it out of of her handbag.

Graham threw her a twinkling look. “That thing will be growing out of your ear if you don’t watch out, Lauren.”

“It would be handier if it did,” she returned lightly.

She knew Graham’s remark was not a criticism, yet coming on top of her thoughts about Wayne, it scraped a highly sensitive area. The night she had walked away from her marriage, Wayne had ripped her mobile telephone from her ear and hurled it against the wall in a jealous rage. The memory lingered darkly as she answered the call.

It was from the producer of a television daytime chat show. She had tried to reach him earlier this afternoon, but he had been too busy to take the call. He was returning it now. This frequently happened with the media people she had to deal with. It was not until they had wrapped up the business of the day that they gave their attention to anything relating to tomorrow or next week or a fortnight from now. Calls were made after normal working hours had ended.

That was one of the reasons Lauren had a mobile telephone. It was necessary to gain a successful result from her initiatives. She worked to other people’s convenience, not her own. If she wasn’t available to take calls, to instantly follow up on opportunities offered, they could all too easily be lost.

A promotional campaign had to be effected within a certain limited time. Media interest was often a chain reaction. It was also fickle. If she didn’t strike while the iron was hot, she was not doing her job properly. It was as simple as that.

It wasn’t as though Wayne hadn’t known she loved her job before they were married. It had come as a shock when he had expected her to give it up for him within weeks of their honeymoon. She might even have done so if that had been the only problem emerging between them, but his attitude towards her work permeated everything else, too. It was like having married Dr. Jekyll, then finding herself living with Mr. Hyde.

By the time she had talked through arrangements with the television producer, Graham had driven past King’s Cross and was well on the way to Rose Bay. She tucked the mobile phone in her handbag and decided to postpone putting her hair up until they arrived at the restaurant. It would be easier to do it in the ladies’ powder room, and they would certainly be arriving ahead of the guests.

“When do you take off with Evan Daniel?” Graham asked.

“Next week. Wednesday.”

“You’ve drummed up a lot of interest in him.”

“Good subject.”

“He’s a nice guy.”

“Very likeable,” Lauren agreed warmly. “I think he’ll come over well. I hope you’ve got good supplies of his books in the shops, Graham.”

“Best-seller status.”

“Great!”

He shot her a curious look. “Is Evan Daniel your kind of guy, Lauren?”

“Why do you ask?” she returned teasingly, aware there was considerable speculation about her love life amongst Global’s staff.

Graham shrugged. “I know you date occasionally but you don’t stick with anyone for long.”

“It’s difficult to maintain a relationship in my kind of job.”

“I notice you shy off really good-looking guys.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. And that’s odd for a good-looking girl like you.”

“Maybe I want more than what’s on the surface.”

“That’s why I asked about Evan.”

“He’s married, Graham.”

“That doesn’t seem to stop anyone these days,” he observed dryly.

“His wife is pregnant. Do you think I’d respect a man who played around when his wife is expecting his baby?”

“Ah, respect! Yes, there has to be respect.” He nodded sagely, then threw her a smile of approval. “I’ve got to hand it to you, Lauren. You’ve got your head on straight.”

She hoped so. She’d certainly lost her head completely over Wayne. He was so handsome he’d melt most women in their shoes. And he had a body to drool over. Pure pin-up material. Her chemistry had led her badly astray, and that was something to be wary of. Graham was very perceptive. She did shy off good-looking guys.

Maybe, Lauren reflected, that wasn’t being fair. One shouldn’t make generalisations from one bad experience. She resolved to give the next really attractive man who showed an interest in her at least half a chance to show he had some decent substance, too.

They drove past the marina at Rose Bay and through the gateway to the park where the Salamander Restaurant held a prime position on the shoreline. Global was holding its launching party in real style. Lauren felt a bright lilt of anticipation. Perhaps tonight she would meet someone interesting, a stranger across a crowded room.

She grinned.

Did hope never die?

CHAPTER THREE

LAUREN saw him arrive-the stranger.

She didn’t know why her gaze was drawn to the restaurant foyer at that particular moment. She was out on the deck overlooking the bay, chatting with a small circle of associates. People were milling around in the dining room, which had been cleared of its normal furniture for freedom of movement. For some reason the groups of guests had shifted, leaving an unobscured channel of vision. And there he was.

It gave Lauren a weird feeling, as though she had conjured him up herself, somehow waving a mental magic wand, making the people part, and there in the spotlight-one tall, dark, handsome stranger. But the illusion was incomplete. His eyes didn’t meet hers. He didn’t even glance her way. His attention was directed to his companions. He was smiling, a warm, kindly, reassuring kind of smile.

“Lauren, what did you think of.?”

It took an act of will to draw her gaze to her companions and focus her mind on what was being said. She gave her opinion on the question directed at her and tossed the conversational ball into the general ring, disinterested in pursuing a discussion.

People had moved when she looked again. She surreptitiously changed her position, scanning the crowd in an idle manner, half wondering at herself that she felt so drawn to find him, place him. Hadn’t she told herself a thousand times it was the person inside who really counted, not superficial attraction?

It was the smile, she decided. She’d liked his smile. A smile could say a lot about the inner person. She was curious about him. That was perfectly natural.

She spotted him in a group she quickly identified. Evan Daniel was talking to his editor, Beth Hayward. The pretty blonde between Evan and the stranger was probably Evan’s wife, Tasha. She had a proprietal air as she watched him speak. My husband, it said, with pride and pleasure.

The stranger bent and whispered something in the blonde’s ear. She nodded and threw him a grateful look. He moved away. Lauren followed his progress across the room to a set of glass doors that opened to the other end of the deck from where she stood. He didn’t look around him as most people did, seeking familiar faces, ready to greet or respond. From the moment he set off alone, his face wore a closed, forbidding look.

Lauren was intrigued. It was a total shutdown of charm. He exuded an air of single-minded purpose. Not a party animal, she concluded, more a man with a mission. She wondered why he was here this evening and what he intended to achieve.

His classy, dark grey suit had the stamp of a conservative professional, as did his shirt and neatly styled black hair. In contrast to that image, a blue shirt and a brightly patterned silk tie made a vivid splash of individualism that denied any easy pigeonholing of this man.

His face was pleasingly proportioned, cleanly chiseled, unmistakably male, although a full-lipped mouth softened and sensualised it. Another interesting and endearing feature was surprisingly small and neat ears. His eyebrows were straight, with a slightly downward slant. It was impossible to discern eye colour at this distance, but Lauren decided it would probably be brown. Dark chocolate. She loved dark chocolate.

He stepped onto the deck. He didn’t glance in her direction or pause to admire the spectacular view of the harbourside around the bay. He headed straight to where tables and chairs were stacked in the far corner. With brisk economy of movement he separated a small table and two chairs, then took them inside, choosing to set them against the glass wall in a protected alcove beside a serving bench.

It was interesting to watch the animation of his face as he returned to Evan and Tasha Daniel, breaking into their chat with Beth Hayward to usher them all over to the place he had prepared for them. As they moved, Lauren saw how heavily pregnant Evan’s wife was and realised it was her comfort that was the stranger’s prime consideration.

A thoughtful, caring man. Also a man of action. As soon as Tasha Daniel was settled on a chair, he signalled one of the waiters over to offer his tray of drinks. He selected champagne for Tasha but took orange juice for himself. A non-drinker, Lauren speculated, or a man bent on keeping all his wits about him? It would be interesting to know his connection to Evan and Tasha Daniel.

Lauren waited until Beth Hayward took her leave of them, then went straight into action, intent on having her curiosity satisfied. With the ready excuse of having to see an author, she moved inside and collected two of the gift presentation packs from the display table. Armed with these to sweeten the introduction to Evan’s wife and their friend, she headed across the room to them.

Evan saw her coming. His genial face broke into a welcoming smile. He spoke to his wife, clearly identifying Lauren for her, and Tasha Daniel’s gaze zeroed in on the woman who would be taking her husband on a promotional tour. Shock was the first reaction. Lauren could almost see, Her? flashing into Tasha’s mind, surrounded by neon-red lights zigzagging danger signals.

She’d met the reaction before and hoped to defuse it quickly. Few women liked the idea of having Lauren look after their men. She was too vividly female, almost spectacularly so with the contrast of pearly pale skin, copper-red hair and cornflower-blue eyes. But she was not a predatory rival for their affections. Usually she managed to project that, given a few minutes in their company.

After leaving Wayne, she had gone through a period of downplaying her physical attributes, covering up her figure, wearing no make-up, even having her red curls cropped to within an inch of her scalp and dying her hair brown, hating the idea of any man seeing her only as an ornamental possession.

Eventually she had realised she was damaging herself, feeding fears and repressing her natural exuberance for life and all its joys. It was much better to simply maintain a balanced sense of selfworth and let the rest of the world sort itself out.

Lauren felt the stranger watch her approach, too. Maybe it was only the effect of her heightened awareness of him, but she was conscious of all her sensory levels rising, sharpening, as though she was moving into a highly dangerous zone. Suddenly she felt wary of him, reluctant to pursue the interest he had sparked in her.

A spurious, fantasy interest, she told herself, bound to bring disappointment. Now that she was so close, it was silly not to look and assess the man more directly, yet some deeply protective instinct tugged on her mind, wanting to shun the influence he had already unwittingly exerted on her. She switched on a bright smile for Evan Daniel and his wife, but didn’t include the stranger in its warm sweep. He was, after all, a stranger.

“Hi, there!” she greeted them with casual friendliness. “I collected these souvenirs for you before they’re all taken.”

“I didn’t realise they were being given away,” Evan remarked in surprise. “Thanks, Lauren. Good of you to think of it.” He turned quickly to his wife, who began to struggle up from her chair. “This is Tasha. Lauren Magee, Tasha.”

“Please don’t move,” Lauren protested. “It’s good you’ve found a place to sit. It’s a long night on one’s feet.”

“Yes,” Tasha agreed, subsiding again. “I’m pleased to meet you, Lauren,” she added somewhat stiffly.

“Likewise. I’ve heard so much about you from Evan. And the coming baby. I’m very happy for you both.”

Tasha flushed. “Thank you.”

“And please remember, if you’re worried about anything while Evan is away on tour, just ring me on my mobile telephone number, and I’ll cancel interviews at a moment’s notice. You come first, Tasha.”

The wariness left her eyes. “Oh, I’m sure everything will be all right.”

“That’s great! Your husband has written a topline book, so we hope to let every reader in Australia hear about it.”

“I’m amazed at the number of interviews you’ve lined up for him.”

Lauren laughed, placing the catalogue and T-shirt packages on the table for Tasha to take as she shared her amusement in a woman-to-woman confidence. “He’ll be complaining to you about being run off his feet and how exhausted he is, but it will be worth the effort if the sales zoom. That’s the whole point of the exercise.”

“How soon will you know if it’s worked?” she asked curiously.

Having successfully refocused Tasha’s mind, taking it off her and moving it squarely onto the job in hand, Lauren relaxed. “Give it a month.” She moved her gaze to Evan. “If you contact Graham Parker, of marketing, he should have figures for you by then.”

“Oh, good! Uh, Lauren.” Relief and pleasure beamed from Evan’s face. With the eagerness of an overgrown puppy wanting everyone lapped with goodwill, he pressed on. “Someone I want you to meet.”

She braced herself. Against what, she wasn’t sure. Even as she’d been addressing Tasha, working at winning her over, she had been acutely conscious of the man standing to the right of her, waiting, listening, watching.

Evan gestured for her to turn and meet the stranger head on. “My friend and literary agent, Michael Timberlane.”

Lauren’s mind buzzed with that information as she slowly swung towards him. Michael Timberlane was, by renown, the most trusted literary agent in the business, his judgment of books being proved commercially sound so many times it overrode doubt. She knew he handled Evan’s work and that of many other successful authors, but their paths had never crossed.

His work was done before she was called in to help the books sell. She hadn’t been curious about him, since his field of expertise didn’t touch on hers. But she was curious now. The combination of a highly perceptive mind in a highly attractive body was an irresistible draw.

Still an instinctive caution held her back from showing eagerness. She fixed a polite smile on her face, one she would turn on for an introduction to anyone. Her gaze, she was sure, reflected only a friendly interest as she lifted it to acknowledge him.

Choong! Two laser beams piercing her eyes and attacking her soul with lightning-bolt force!

Lauren felt like a stunned butterfly, pinned to a board for minute examination under a powerful microscope and utterly helpless to do anything about it. She had not braced herself enough. She vaguely sensed a declaration of war-you cannot hide from me-and the assault from his eyessilver-grey eyes, like luminous stainless steel slicing through all her defensive levels-left her mind quivering and her body a mass of jangling nerve ends.

She must have offered her hand because she felt it being taken, hard warmth enclosing hers, male touching female, igniting an electric sense of sexuality, linking, testing, while his eyes still staked their claim on her, riveting in their concentrated quest for knowledge. And she couldn’t tear her own away.

Lauren had never experienced anything like it in her whole life. Some tiny logical strain in her brain recited that this cataclysmic moment would pass. It had to. Time did move on. Soon she would make sense of this.

Soon…

CHAPTER FOUR

MICHAEL fought grimly against being completely thrown by the woman who stood before him. His first sight of her had been like a punch in the gut. Lauren Magee was everything Evan had said she was, and more-gorgeous, sexy, vibrant, vital, and that was before she had even opened her mouth and displayed the adept mind that could assess a situation, seize it and act positively to gain the result she wanted.

Tasha was now putty in her hands. Evan’s fears were demolished. It was perfectly plain he was tickled pink by the attention Lauren Magee was giving to both of them. And it was such clever attention, striking the right note of caring and liking for Tasha and a delightfully open camaraderie with Evan.

Michael had clutched at cynicism to reduce her effect on him. Lauren Magee was exerting control over her impact, exercising manipulative skills, showing she was a superior being who could handle anything and anyone. Not him, he had fiercely vowed as she had turned to encompass him in her powerful radiance. He knew her for what she was!

With every atom of his brain and will he had penetrated the deceptive mask of polite interest, denying the distraction of her stunning blue eyes, seeking for the truth, scouring her soul for it. There had to be some trace of antagonism towards him, some sense of malicious triumph. She knew who he was now. She had to know what part she had played in ending his marriage.

Nothing! Nothing except a mesmerised wonder that tugged at his heart, making him feel like a marauding savage for not treating her tenderly. That had to be wrong. She was tricking him somehow.

He took hold of her hand, grasping it firmly, expecting at least a twinge of recoil. If she was true to her inner beliefs and judgments she had to react negatively to his touch. Yet her hand lay submissively in his, soft, delicately boned, seductively feminine, stirring sensations he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Still that clear luminosity in her eyes. Nothing to hide. But there had to be. Unless.

She didn’t know he was Roxanne’s ex-husband.

It seemed incredible to Michael that Lauren Magee was ignorant of the connection, yet it was the only answer that made sense of her total lack of any discernible rejection of him. Had Roxanne been so disaffected that she hadn’t bothered to identify him as the husband she sought advice about?

Keeping her precious maiden name of Kinsey might have muddied the tracks, or Roxanne could have assumed it was common knowledge she was married to Michael Timberlane. She had been proud to own him for the first year or two, though by the time Lauren Magee arrived in Sydney from Melbourne, the shine had worn off that pride under the burden of trying to make their relationship gel in a workable fashion.

Easier for Roxanne to slide out of putting the effort in, Michael reflected cynically, and Lauren Magee had given her all the excuses to justify doing so. Yet she looked at him so innocently, so openly and honestly, waiting for him to write on the blank sheet that the meeting of strangers always offered, to give her a cue for what might develop between them from this moment, a moment cut free of any past and offering all the choices of possible futures.

He was tempted.

In any rational, objective sense, Lauren Magee was an anathema to him.

Yet he wanted her.

He wanted to empty her mind of all its clever reasoning and drive her insane with desire for him. He wanted to unpin the fiery mass of curls she had swirled into a topknot and see them spilling over a pillow in riotous abandonment. He wanted to tear off her sweater and fill his hands with the lush softness of those delectably rounded breasts that were thrusting so provocatively against the stretchy knit fabric.

And that sexy belt accentuating the feminine smallness of her waist and the sensual curve of her hips. He imagined stretching her white-skinned arms above her head, winding the wide black elastic around her wrists with the gold bow on top, holding her hands together so she couldn’t weave her female magic on him while he took his fill of her.

Lauren Magee, submitting to the man she had reviled, giving herself to him, her long, elegant legs wrapped around him in supplication, in need, wanting him. Oh, yes, that would be sweet vengeance. And ravishing her luscious mouth, purging it of all the unjust words she’d said against him, replacing them with the intensely satisfying sounds of cries and gasps of pleasure.

His loins tightened. His heart thudded with the violent force of the warring feelings she stirred. His body zinged with shots of adrenaline as his mind played through one scenario after another, all of them erotic, all of them feeding the highly aroused savage inside him.

It took all of Michael’s formidable willpower to clamp down on that rampant beast. Basic common sense insisted he play the civilised man. Fantasies were fantasies. Realities wiped out any chance of them happening anyway.

He might be a blank page to Lauren Magee right now, but the moment Roxanne turned up, he’d be history in her book. Roxanne would make certain of it. He only had a very limited time to play the game he had set out to play, getting in a few pointed shots that might just puncture Lauren Magee’s confidence in dabbling with other people’s lives.

It should be amusing to draw her out, to watch her natural response to him before Roxanne’s axe fell. And afterwards she would remember. Oh, yes, that keen, clever mind of Lauren Magee’s would remember everything said between them, spoken and unspoken.

Michael told himself he would be satisfied with that. The trick was to keep his mind focused on the desired result, the only result that was really open to him.

CHAPTER FIVE

“I’M IMPRESSED.”

Michael Timberlane’s voice seemed to harmonise with the feelings he stirred, sliding to Lauren on a low, penetrating, intimate level.

“What by?” The words tripped from her tongue, breathless, husky, unconsidered, revealing how deeply she was caught in the thrall of possibilities pulsing between them.

“Your professionalism,” he answered.

Did he know intuitively what was important to her? Excitement tingled through a welling of intense pleasure. Lauren wished she knew more of him. Was he married?

“Thank you,” she returned warmly. “I do my best. As you do, by reputation.”

“There are some who would say my best falls short of their expectations. Haven’t you heard that, Ms. Magee?”

His hand slid away from hers. The withdrawal highlighted the unexpected formality of his address to her. Lauren felt confused. Why was he suddenly being off-putting?

“I’m sorry if you’ve been a target of ill will, Mr. Timberlane,” she said with a touch of sympathy. “People’s expectations are sometimes unrealistic.”

“And unreasonable,” he shot back.

She hesitated, uncertain of where he was coming from or leading to. Wayne and his unreasonable expectations flitted through her mind. Maybe Michael Timberlane was still smarting from some personal or professional contretemps. With someone at Global? Was that what had made him look so forbidding earlier?

Lauren fell back on one of Graham Parker’s pithy sayings, offering it with an ironic little smile. “Well, Mr. Timberlane, I guess into each life some rain must fall.”

“You being the rainmaker?”

She laughed and shook her head. “I like to think I spread sunshine.”

“The giver of light.” He nodded, his silvery eyes gleaming satisfaction. “Yes, that would be how you think of yourself.”

“And how do you think of yourself, Mr. Timberlane?”

He smiled, but it was a secretive, private smile, not an open, sharing one. “Oh, I’m the sword of justice, Ms. Magee.”

Definitely on some personal high horse, Lauren thought, wanting to pull him down from it. “Then I hope your balancing scales are in good order. Justice is so often blind,” she said, tilting at him.

“How true!” he agreed. “It’s unfortunate that so many people’s eyes aren’t open to both sides of a situation before making judgments.”

“Are yours?”

“I always look at the big picture, Ms. Magee.”

“Never missing a piece of the jigsaw, Mr. Timberlane?” she queried, niggled by his assumption of having all-seeing eyes. Nobody saweverything.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Evan broke in jocularly. “What’s all this Mr. and Ms.? We’re at a party, not a stuffy reception.”

“One must be careful not to assume too much these days, Evan,” Michael Timberlane answered his friend good-humouredly. “How do I know I’m not meeting a raging feminist who’ll take offence at inappropriate familiarity?”

Evan laughed. “I’d think it’s obvious Lauren isn’t a raging feminist.”

“Appearances can be deceptive.” Michael raised his eyebrows quizzically at Lauren. “Would you be so kind as to shed some light on the matter?”

Why did she have the sense he was playing out some secret agenda, toying with her, waiting to pounce if she didn’t keep on her toes?

“You have my permission to call me Lauren,” she said with a disarming smile, neatly sidestepping any argument about feminism.

“Then I shall not stand upon dignity,” he replied with mock gravity. “Please feel free to call me Michael.”

Lauren laughed at him. There was a certain spice to the game, a challenge. She couldn’t recall any man ever having put her quite so much on her mettle before, certainly not at first meeting.

“I’ve never liked Ms.,” Tasha remarked artlessly. “It sounds like a mosquito.”

“I think that’s spoken from the complacency of being a Mrs., Tasha,” Michael reproved lightly. “Lauren may feel differently.”

Another test, another nudge.

Tasha flushed, her brown eyes shining an apologetic appeal. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I guess it has its place.”

There was a fragile vulnerability, a simple innocence about Tasha Daniel that automatically touched Lauen’s protective instinct. She was not street-wise, and with Evan as her husband had probably never had the need to become so. In a way, Lauren envied that, never having to confront the darker games men and women played.

“It saves making a mistake with Miss or Mrs.,” she gently explained. “Like Mr., it doesn’t carry the label of being single or married.”

“Will you keep Ms. when you do marry?” Tasha asked curiously.

“That’s assuming she wants to marry,” Michael pointed out. “Many career women choose not to take on a commitment that could interfere with their life goals.”

“Oh, dear!” Tasha pulled a rueful grimace. “I’m really putting my foot in it, aren’t I?”

Lauren smiled to set her at ease again. “Being politically correct can be carried too far. I don’t mind your questions, Tasha. I’ve been married, and I was very happy to be a Mrs. then.”

Michael’s face jerked towards her. Surprise. Reappraisal. Lauren had a sense of factors being shifted, energy zapping through him as his inner vision was rearranged.

“Now I’m divorced,” she went on matter-offactly, “the title of Miss is fine by me.”

Tasha looked pained. “Another broken marriage. Michael’s been through it, too. So sad.”

One revelation had bought another.

Michael Timberlane was divorced-single-free! The equation zipped through Lauren’s brain, and she didn’t feel sad at all. She felt as though wonderful fireworks were exploding in fabulous cascades of brilliant colour, lighting up a world that had been empty of dreams.

She was twenty-nine, looking down the barrel of thirty. Unattached, intriguing and attractive men like Michael Timberlane weren’t exactly thick on the ground. Attractive was far too weak a word, she swiftly corrected. He was dynamite. He had both her mind and body shaken to acute awareness of all sorts of exciting possibilities.

Hope was definitely not dead!

“No reason to be sad, Tasha,” Michael said. “It’s a matter of statistics in today’s society. Two out of three marriages end in divorce. You and Evan are the lucky ones. You should let us in on the secrets of your success.”

Tasha smiled and reached out her hand to her husband. “It’s wanting the same things,” she said with moving simplicity. “Isn’t it, Evan?”

“Yes,” he agreed, beaming his love at her as he took her hand and fondled it indulgently.

Lauren fought down an emotional lump in her throat. They were lucky to have found what they wanted in each other. She wondered what had gone wrong with Michael Timberlane’s marriage. Who had left whom, and why?

“I didn’t know you’d been married, Lauren,” Evan commented with a look of puzzlement at her.

She shrugged, inwardly recoiling from that bad time. “Does anyone like talking about their mistakes?”

Evan shook his head. “I can’t imagine why any man wouldn’t fight tooth and nail to keep you with him.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said, smiling to hide the bitter irony behind it. Wayne had certainly fought to keep her with him. Abusively. On a sudden wave of fear, she turned to Michael Timberlane and bluntly asked, “Did you fight to keep your wife?”

For one fleeting moment she saw a turbulent core of savagery flash through the windows of his soul. It sent a shiver down her spine. Then the silver screen of his extraordinarily compelling eyes clicked into place again, glistening with outward interest in her, reflecting nothing of what was within.

“It’s difficult to fight a saboteur,” he said with a sardonic twist. “The damage is done behind one’s back.”

He’d hate that, she thought.

“Besides, when the illusion of love and commitment has proven false, why fight to keep it?” he went on. “I’m a great believer in facing realities and moving on.”

“Yes,” she agreed, elated that he shared her attitude and convictions.

But it was one thing to leave the experience behind, another to forget. She wondered what damage he carried, what his wife had been like, why she had taken a lover? The reference to a saboteur pointed to another man in her life, and infidelity certainly destroyed the illusion of love and commitment.

“Do let’s get off this painful subject,” Tasha pleaded. “I wish I hadn’t brought it up. This is a happy night.”

“Indeed it is!” Lauren quickly supported her, switching on a bright smile. She didn’t want this electric sense of anticipation tarnished by memories of relationships that had failed to bring the happiness they had initially promised. Determined not to brood on her past or Michael’s, she turned teasingly to Evan. “I’m looking forward to your speech. It’s your first public tryout, and I don’t expect you to disappoint.”

Evan pulled a doleful look. “Pressure, pressure. My editor said the same thing. My wife wants me to shine. Michael thinks I don’t need his applause.”

“I promise to clap if no one else does,” Michael interposed.

“It’s a wonderful speech,” Tasha declared. “I know, because he’s been rehearsing to me.”

“Such loyalty is the voice of love, my darling,” Evan said, almost purring. “And I appreciate it. I truly do.”

They bantered on in light party style. Waitresses circulated with fancy finger food, Melba toast with smoked salmon, fish cocktails, spicy chicken legs, mini croissants with savoury fillings. Both Evan and Tasha helped themselves liberally, enjoying the novelty. Lauren wondered if Michael’s stomach was in the same state as hers. Both of them declined everything offered.

“Dieting?” Michael asked at one point.

“No.” She looked directly into his eyes. “Are you?”

“No.”

There was a magnetic flash of unspoken but unmistakable recognition and understanding. Their hunger was for other things.

But would it be answered?

Lauren stayed at his side, wanting to know more of Michael Timberlane.

He-was charm itself to Tasha and obviously a supportive friend to Evan, yet for the most part, he remained a tantalising enigma to her. The sexual attraction was strong and mutual. Nothing else could explain the vibrant energy field being generated between them. But she’d felt an awareness akin to this with Wayne and knew it could be treacherous. Perhaps Michael had similar thoughts, reflecting on his experience with his ex-wife.

Was the control he was exerting simply caution on his part, or did it conceal something darker? Was she flirting with danger? Was she willing to take a risk on pursuing this fascination with a stranger? Handsome men were usually spoilt men, she reminded herself, their egos too well fed from always getting their own way.

But Michael had shown consideration to Tasha.

Lauren found herself pushing caution aside and justifying the case for ignoring it altogether. For so long now she had trodden a safe path, and where had it led her? She was lonely. It was not a happy state, being lonely.

She wanted this excitement, this sense of being on the brink of something special. It was exhilarating. She felt so alive. She wanted to turn to Michael Timberlane and say, Don’t hide from me, but she wasn’t quite bold enough to do it. Besides, if he was the man for her, he would decide to involve himself further without any pushing.

She willed him to want to.

“Evan.” Beth Hayward, Evan’s editor, broke into their foursome. “They’re getting ready for the speeches.” She smiled at the glass in his hand. “Had enough drinks to fortify you?”

She was six years older than Lauren, a striking brunette, stylish and very much a woman of the world. She wore a long grey skirt and a cowl top in black and white and grey. It was a smart, fashionable, sophisticated outfit. Lauren glanced at Michael, sensing a sudden coiling of tension in him.

His face had hardened, wearing the same closed expression she had noted earlier when he had left Beth with the Daniels to collect the table and chairs. Was there some conflict between them? They would have done business together many times, since Beth was a commissioning editor for Global.

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