She gave him her innocence...

Now she’ll be his convenient bride!

Wherever ruthless billionaire Ethan Devereux goes, the press follow. So when he discovers the astonishing night he shared with talented actress Merida ended in pregnancy, he moves fast to contain the scandal. Suddenly Merida lands the biggest role of her career—playing the part of the loving Mrs. Devereux. But she knows the real challenge is pretending she can walk away from their electric chemistry...

Feel the chemistry in this pregnancy romance!

CAROL MARINELLI recently filled in a form asking for her job title. Thrilled to be able to put down her answer, she put ‘writer’. Then it asked what Carol did for relaxation, and she put down the truth—‘writing’. The third question asked for her hobbies. Well, not wanting to look obsessed, she crossed her fingers and answered ‘swimming’—but, given that the chlorine in the pool does terrible things to her highlights, I’m sure you can guess the real answer!

Also by Carol Marinelli

Their Secret Royal Baby

Their One Night Baby

Claiming His Hidden Heir

Billionaires & One-Night Heirs miniseries

The Innocent’s Secret Baby

Bound by the Sultan’s Baby

Sicilian’s Baby of Shame

Ruthless Royal Sheikhs miniseries

Captive for the Sheikh’s Pleasure

Christmas Bride for the Sheikh

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

The Innocent’s Shock Pregnancy

Carol Marinelli

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07269-4

THE INNOCENT’S SHOCK PREGNANCY

© 2018 Carol Marinelli

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

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

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

‘MERIDA! THANK GOODNESS you’re here!’

Reece was clearly relieved as Merida stepped into the smart Fifth Avenue gallery.

A spring shower had chased her from the subway and, having dashed out of her apartment at short notice to get there, Merida hadn’t brought an umbrella. Her long red curls were looking particularly wild, but there should be time to sort them before he arrived, she thought.

Merida Cartwright’s smile was so bright and engaging no one would guess that stepping in at the last moment to give some VIP a private tour of the gallery was the very last thing she wanted to be doing this evening.

While she might be a gallery assistant by day, Merida was an actress by night—and also by heart. From England, she had come to New York with Broadway in mind and had given herself a year to make it.

Now, ten months in, her time and her savings were fast running out.

She needed money, and although she had an important audition tomorrow, and would prefer to be in her tiny apartment preparing for it, she smiled. ‘It’s honestly not a problem, Reece.’

‘I had just started to lock up when Helene called.’

‘Helene?’

‘Ethan Devereux’s PA. I can’t believe that he’s coming to visit the gallery and I shan’t be here to show him around.’

‘It will be fine.’ Reece was highly strung and Merida did her best to calm him. ‘What time is your flight?’

‘At nine. If I’m going to make it then I have to leave soon.’

Reece made no move to go, though. Instead he fussed over details.

‘You’ve read through the manual I sent you on the amulets?’

‘Of course I have.’ Merida nodded as she undid the belt of her trench coat. In fact, she had been the one who had set up the amulet display.

‘This has to go well, Merida. I tried to suggest to Helene that he visit the gallery once I’m back from Egypt, but she was adamant that he wanted to see the display tonight. It would be madness to turn down a Devereux. One bad word from him and we’re sunk.’

‘Really?’ Merida frowned. ‘Just who is he?’

Reece let out a disbelieving laugh, but then righted himself. ‘Of course—at times I forget you’re from England and won’t have grown up being fed every detail of the Devereux family’s lives. Basically, the Devereux family are our landlords, darling.’

‘They own the building?’

‘They own half of the East Side and more besides. They’re NYC royalty. There’s the father—Jobe—and his two sons, Ethan and Abe. And all are utter bastards...’

‘That’s not nice.’

‘They’re not nice,’ Reece countered. ‘Oh, poor Elizabeth...’

‘Who?’

‘Elizabeth Devereux—Jobe’s wife. Well, second wife, and mother to his sons. She was an absolute angel, and for a while they were almost a happy family.’ Reece needlessly checked the door to make sure they were alone. ‘Apparently she found out Jobe was having another affair.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Usually Elizabeth turned a blind eye, but rumour has it that this particular time it was with the nanny.’

‘They broke up?’

‘No, she fled to the Caribbean to heal, the poor thing, and died in a water-skiing accident. Since then the Devereux men have reeled from one scandal to the next. Don’t let Ethan’s unquestionable good looks dazzle you—he’d happily crush you in the palm of his hand.’

Merida winced.

‘Now, there’s champagne on ice. Pop the cork as soon as you see his car. I’ve had hors d’oeuvres from Barnaby’s sent over...’

‘How many guests is he bringing?’ Merida checked.

‘I’m not sure. Probably it’s just his latest, so I’ve set up for two. I had a quick look online, to try and find out who she might be, but I got lost in the quagmire so you’ll just have to wing it. Oh, and Gemma’s brought you in one of her dresses to wear. It’s out the back.’

‘Pardon?’ Merida’s green eyes narrowed. She was unsure if she’d heard that right. Reece had never told her what to wear before.

‘It’s just a simple black dress. And Gemma’s also loaned you some pearls.’

‘What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?’

Merida had on a gorgeous Buchanan tartan kilt. It was possibly a little short, but she had on black tights and suede boots and it was topped with a simple black jumper. It went well with her colouring and was her favourite outfit—one that she usually saved for auditions. But, given the important guest, she had made an extra effort this evening.

‘You look fabulous,’ Reece attempted. ‘Merida, you always do. But while for the most part I’m happy to overlook your little eccentricities, with Ethan Devereux descending...’

‘Eccentricities?’ Merida frowned.

But Reece refused to be drawn and quickly changed the subject. ‘Look, I really do appreciate this, Merida,’ he said as he pulled up the handle on his suitcase. ‘I’m sure there is some guy who hates me for calling you in to work tonight.’

Merida gave a non-committal smile. She had decided long ago that she would not be discussing her love-life with Reece. Or rather the absolute lack of it.

‘And once Ethan’s gone,’ Reece said as he went through the door, ‘would you mind updating the website? Clint didn’t get around to it.’

‘Sure.’

Finally Reece was outside, chatting to Vince, the doorman-cum-security guard, as he hailed down a cab.

With fifteen minutes to prepare for the VIP guest’s arrival, Merida slipped out to the back.

Unlike the gallery, which was all large open spaces, muted colours and plush fabrics, the back area was adorned with brown peeling paint and was terribly cramped.

There in the tiny staffroom, wrapped in plastic and hanging from the door, was a black dress, with a small pouch dangling from it, containing a single row of pearls.

Gemma had also left a pair of black stiletto shoes, and Merida’s jaw gritted. They clearly didn’t dare risk leaving even footwear to her! Reece could be so catty at times—but Merida needed the job far too much to protest.

She slipped the little black number on. It was a halter-neck, and Gemma hadn’t taken into consideration the fact that Merida might not have a suitable bra. There was no choice but to go without—though thankfully Merida wasn’t particularly well-endowed in that department.

Her make-up was the same as always—a touch of mascara to darken her fair lashes and bring out the green of her eyes, and a dash of blusher to brighten her pale skin. The only lipstick she had with her was a coral one, and she put a slick on, then stepped back and checked her reflection.

It looked rather dour—though there was far too much flesh on show to call it a funereal outfit, Merida thought. She looked like one of those greeters at an exclusive club or restaurant.

Except for the hair.

Merida would need a week to attain sleek sophistication in that department, so she ran some serum through the ends and then tied it so that it hung in a thick, low ponytail.

It would just have to do.

She headed out to the main gallery and cast a knowing eye over the displays, then clipped down the stairs to the amulets, just to check all was in order.

The lights were on a sensor, and the walls that led to the stunning exhibition were lined in very deep violet velvet. It gave the impression of entering another world.

Of course Reece would have ensured everything was immaculate for Mr Devereux, but she wanted to check for herself.

The amulets twinkled beguilingly. The next time she returned it would be with keys, so their guest could hold some of the choice pieces.

Happy that all was in order, Merida headed up to the main gallery and took her place on a high stool behind the desk. She tried to let go of the feeling of indignation Reece had left her with.

Eccentricities!

While acting might be her real passion, Merida worked hard at the gallery. Far harder than the manager, Clint, who thought only of commission and clearly hadn’t been available this evening.

She was still smarting when an expensive black car pulled up outside. As the chauffeur got out she stepped down from the stool, popped the champagne and started to pour.

And then she glanced up.

A handmade leather shoe on the end of a suited leg was her first glimpse of him. Then he stepped out of the car and she saw his tall frame and immaculate suit. From his confident stance, Mr Devereux certainly looked as if he owned the street that he stood in.

She felt the coolness of champagne on her hand as the liquid fizzed over and stopped pouring. While she should have mopped up the mess, instead Merida chose to steal a moment and gaze upon his beauty while she had the chance.

Colour had not been on the artist’s palette when this masterpiece had been created. His skin was pale, while his hair was as black as a raven’s wing. As he turned his face and his eyes squinted in the late-afternoon sun she saw him in profile—and he was pure masculine elegance.

His absolute beauty flustered Merida.

Unusually so.

Stunning, elegant visitors regularly graced the gallery. At times the rich and famous did too.

He was more than that, though—only there wasn’t time to examine her thoughts...or rather the feelings this man stimulated in her.

With a hand-towel she blotted the tray and topped up the glass, and then poured another for any guest he might have brought. She looked outside, expecting a gorgeous beauty to have emerged from the car and flocked to his side.

But he walked towards the gallery alone.

Though she’d been warned about his good looks, nothing had prepared her for her reaction to them. Merida found that her lips were pressed together and her fingers dug into her palms. She unfurled them and smoothed the skirt of the dress, glad to have had a couple of minutes’ warning of his magnificence in which to gather herself. But as the door opened and he stepped in, and she saw him without the barrier of glass, there came a knockout blow to her senses that had her internally reeling.

His eyes went straight to hers. They did not roam her body—he was too suave for that—and yet she felt a tingle on her skin as if they had.

‘Mr Devereux...’ Merida cleared her throat and drew on her acting skills as she grappled to find a more poised persona and fought not to blush as she extended her hand. ‘It’s lovely to meet you. I’m Merida Cartwright.’

‘Merida.’ His voice was rich and deep as he repeated her name and then said his. ‘Ethan.’ He invited her to use first-name terms as he briefly shook her hand.

Oh, his touch might have been fleeting, yet his brief grip was firm, his skin warm enough to shoot out tiny volts. Like touching fire, the feeling intensified after contact, and Merida had to resist examining her fingers for a mark as she continued her introduction.

‘I’m the gallery assistant...’

‘Assistant?’ Ethan checked abruptly, and the question in his tone told her that he had expected something better.

‘Yes.’ Merida swallowed. ‘Reece would have loved to be here to take you around himself, but he’s off to Egypt tonight.’

Ethan Devereux was less than impressed. Even at impossibly short notice he expected to be accommodated, and the fact that they had only managed to produce an assistant to show him around did not impress one bit.

Sheikh Prince Khalid of Al-Zahan—the owner of the amulets—was a personal friend and business colleague of Ethan’s. They went way back, and had met years ago when studying at Columbia. Over dinner last night in Al-Zahan, Khalid had explained that he was worried that there were issues with the gallery to which he had loaned the royal collection. His sources stated that the staff were ill-informed, the tours somewhat rushed, and that patrons were steered towards the items that had the potential to earn most commission.

Khalid had asked Ethan to discreetly check things out.

Ethan had pointed out the fact that nothing he did in New York City went unnoticed. But still, he had agreed to drop in at short notice and hopefully get a handle on what was going on. The fact that it was a mere assistant here to greet him scored the gallery its first black mark.

The fact that she was beautiful did not erase it.

‘Before I take you through would you care for a drink...?’ Merida offered.

‘Let’s just get started, shall we?’

He was brusque. Restless and impatient.

And he ignored the nibbles too.

Few did.

Merida had long since observed that at private viewings—even if guests staggered into the gallery after a three-course dinner—still most would sample the delicacies that had been laid on.

But Ethan Devereux didn’t feel the need to partake in a free glass of champagne or caviar-laden blinis and succulent chocolate-dipped fruits.

He, Merida decided there and then, had no fear of missing out.

‘Well, as I said, Reece is currently headed to Egypt. There he’ll meet with Aziza...’ Merida explained as they walked over to the first display. ‘She’s the designer of these exquisite dolls’ houses.’

Shoot me now, Ethan thought.

Having found out that his father was unwell, and would tomorrow be undergoing surgery, Ethan had flown from Al-Zahan to Dubai and then home—albeit on his own luxury jet. Still, he did not want to be looking at dolls’ houses—even if the walls were lined with hieroglyphics in gold.

Perhaps he should have some champagne—but that would only prolong things. He was running on empty and the jet-lag was really kicking in. He just wanted to cut the chatter and get to the amulets. But in order to glean as much as he could about the running of this gallery for Khalid he let her prattle on.

Well, not prattle, he conceded. Her voice was pleasant, in fact—prim and English—and her words were delivered with a throaty husk that made the topic almost bearable.

‘These dolls’ houses were kept for religious purposes,’ Merida explained. ‘They were never meant to be used as toys—certainly not for playing mummies and daddies.’

He didn’t smile at her tiny well-worn joke, and even though he listened quietly she could tell that he was as bored as a three-year-old in church as they moved on.

They came to an exquisite silk rug—made, Merida explained, by Bedouin artisans using the vase weave technique.

‘Ubaid, who oversees the making of every intricate piece, is a fierce protector of the craft.’

She started to explain about the natural dyes and the intricate patterns, and the endless hours that went in to creating such a masterpiece, but Ethan cut in.

‘Next.’

Ethan Philistine Devereux, she silently named him.

He certainly wasn’t the first dismissive or bored client that Merida had taken through the gallery. Often people came to private viewings under silent sufferance—perhaps sent by their place of work or as a bored partner tagging along. And then there was the type who just had to have been and seen.

Yet he was alone—and it was he himself who had insisted on this viewing.

Merida ploughed on, but his impatience was palpable. So, as she showed him a jewellery exhibit, she toned down the details somewhat. Perhaps not enough, though, because as she showed him a ring Ethan yawned.

And not discreetly.

‘Excuse me,’ Ethan said.

He knew he was being rude, but he was genuinely exhausted. It certainly wasn’t her fault that he had zero interest.

Or rather, zero interest in the displays.

The gallery assistant really was gorgeous.

Gorgeous.

There was an uptight quality to her that rather intrigued him, and something told him that despite her confident demeanour she was not quite as together as she seemed.

Her eyes were a deep mossy green, and as the tour progressed he noted how they repeatedly refused to hold his gaze.

She was slender, and her limbs were pale, with a dusting of pale freckles that had him wondering where the subtle golden trail led.

And as for that hair... It was like two of his favourite things—amber and cognac combined—and he tried to picture it free of its confines.

‘And now to my favourite display.’

She smiled an enigmatic smile that made him wonder. Ethan could usually read women exceptionally well, and yet he could not quite read her.

‘Which is...?’ Ethan asked.

‘The Amulets of Al-Zahan. We’re extremely fortunate to have them on loan to us.’

‘How long are they here for?’

‘We’ve got them for three more months,’ Merida said. ‘Although we’re hoping that can be extended. This way, please.’

Merida touched the switch that would turn on the lighting for the display and gestured with her head for him to head down the stairs.

‘After you,’ Ethan said.

For the first time—the only time—Merida wondered as to the merits of manners, for she found herself wishing that he had gone first.

The simple walk that she had made on so many occasions suddenly felt an impossible task. The velvet walls were too close, the lighting too dim, and she was utterly aware of him walking behind her.

The sensual darkness was for effect, of course. But it was having more of an effect on her than him.

Merida had undertaken the pinning of the velvet to the walls herself—the aim being to create a sort of portal...a sense of entering another time. However, she had never, as she’d stood on a stepladder and created this soft space, envisaged how it might feel to descend the stairs with a man like Ethan.

She trod more carefully than usual. She was nervous. Not so much aware that she might slip, more that if she did then it would be he who would steady her.

Merida had never reacted to anyone with such force. In fact she had never responded to a man in such a way.

She had wanted to. And she had tried on occasion—going along with a kiss while awaiting desire.

But it had never arrived and there had never been more than a kiss.

Merida had decided that her unwillingness must somehow be her fault—that there was something she was missing in her genes, or that her parents’ bitter divorce and its aftermath had left her too mistrusting to let down her guard.

Oh, she could fake it for an audience. On stage, she could put on a sensual display indeed.

In fact, she was acting now—pretending that she had it all together and that he did not move her so.

Yet when the weekend came around, and she was back on stage where she felt she belonged, Merida knew she would draw on how it had felt to be so close to him.

In the real world, though, Merida was new to these feelings.

New to all this.

CHAPTER TWO

AS MERIDA STEPPED out of the draped tunnel and into the semi-dark space, which twinkled with jewels, she found herself a little breathless.

There were no windows, no signs of the outside world to orientate oneself. The subtle bergamot and woody notes of Ethan Devereux’s cologne were richer as she moved to where he stood, staring into the first display.

Merida cleared her throat and broke the heavy silence.

‘These are the Amulets of Al-Zahan.’

Ethan had expected jewellery, or ancient carved tokens, but instead there was an array of gemstones, embedded in rocks, still in their original form. Each was a mini-galaxy in itself, and, far from being bored, he had rarely been so entranced as Merida started to tell their tale.

‘The collection and its history was a passion of the late Queen Dalila of Al-Zahan. Right up to her death, some twenty years ago, she was still unearthing long-forgotten treasures.’

‘How did she die?’ Ethan asked.

‘In childbirth. I believe it was her fourth child...’ She faltered a little over a detail she did not know. ‘I can check.’

‘No need.’

Merida wasn’t so sure. She felt as if she were being tested.

‘On her marriage, she was given this amulet...’

In the first display cabinet was an intricate knot of emerald and ore. Beautifully lit, it turned slowly, and Ethan gazed upon it for a considerable time. The stone was practically bursting out of the ore.

‘Amulets are a gift of potential,’ Merida explained.

‘Potential for what?’

‘Marriages were, and still are, arranged in Al-Zahan. The amulets celebrate a future love, and also promote fertility. It is said that they are a gift of possibilities not yet fulfilled. To cut and polish the stone would reveal too many secrets.’

He seemed interested now, Merida thought as they moved on.

‘The next amulet is Lapis Lazuli. Lapis was, and still is, ground to create a pigment for ultramarine—the colour used in Van Gogh’s Starry Night painting. When the then Sheikha Princess was studying here in Manhattan she saw the painting on display. It is said it was the recollection of the painting that started her on a mission to find the missing amulets.’

‘And did she find many?’

‘Indeed.’ Merida nodded. ‘At the time of her death she had made significant inroads—though of course there are many gaps.’

‘And she studied here?’ Ethan checked, more than interested now.

‘Yes—at Columbia.’

It was the same college where Khalid and Ethan had met. He had known that the amulets belonged to Khalid’s family, but he had not known that the late Queen had studied at Columbia too. It struck Ethan that he had learned more about the enigmatic Khalid from a stranger than from the man himself. He was more than intrigued as Merida spoke on.

‘Princess Dalila returned to Al-Zahan to marry. However, her fondness for New York City was the reason that her son, Sheikh Khalid, agreed to the amulets being displayed here.’

Ethan moved on—but not out of boredom this time, more out of interest. He stood peering into the next display. Embedded within a large, egg-shaped piece of marble was a ruby.

‘This one is my favourite,’ Merida admitted.

She took out some black gloves and handed him a pair, then, as she put on her own gloves, Merida told him its story.

‘Three hundred years ago in Al-Zahan there was a secret wedding,’ she explained, and Ethan found he was drawing nearer to hear her low voice, as if she were sharing a secret only with him. ‘Due to feuding between the two families there was no amulet given. Peace was finally restored, but after two years, when there were still no signs of a baby, it was decided that this was the reason. The Sheikh King, desperate for the lineage to continue, asked that the best stones be excavated. It took three years until what he considered a suitable offering was found.’

‘It’s stunning,’ Ethan said, and so was the voice that told the tale.

She handed the large stone to him; he weighed it in his hand and then held it between finger and thumb, bringing it nearer to his eyes to examine it more closely.

‘Careful,’ Merida said, and drew on yet another of her well-worn lines. ‘It ensures fertility.’

‘For a hen, perhaps,’ Ethan mused.

That tiny glint of humour made her smile. It reached her eyes, and they shone as beguiling as any amulet, and there was a single perfect moment when he forgot his hellish day.

Hellish because he should be in Dubai, finally kicking back, but instead would be heading to the hospital soon, where his father had been admitted in advance of some exploratory surgery that morning.

Ethan knew no more than that.

In an hour or so he would glean what he could, but for a moment or two he forgot the troubles awaiting him in the world outside. For now he focused on her smoky voice and the history of this beautiful stone, said to promote both love and fertility—two things he did not want.

‘And did it work?’ Ethan asked, handing the amulet back to her.

Merida nodded. ‘Yes, the Sheikha Princess went on to have the first set of royal twins.’

The tour continued to its conclusion and, having seen and held some more amulets, Ethan handed the final piece to her and watched as she carefully replaced it in the display.

‘The amulets really are beautiful—though it’s all fairy tales of course.’

‘I’m not so sure,’ Merida said. ‘All the marriages attached to these amulets were seemingly happy ones.’

‘The Queen died in childbirth,’ Ethan pointed out.

‘They don’t promise eternal life.’ Merida smiled. ‘I still think there’s something rather magical about them.’

‘Well, we’ll have to agree to disagree on that point.’

Ethan didn’t believe in love. Full stop.

But as for lust? Absolutely.

He was almost tempted to tell her now that he knew Khalid—that the Sheikh was, in fact, himself a twin. Though only to prolong the discussion. To talk with her some more.

‘How long have you worked at the gallery?’ he asked as they headed back up the stairs.

‘Almost a year.’

Merida certainly wasn’t going to admit that she had been hauled in this afternoon at the last moment, but as they came out from the tunnel she did admit that this wasn’t her full-time job.

‘Though I only work here part-time.’

‘More of a hobby, then?’ he asked, or rather assumed, for he was more than used to women whose daddies found them a ‘little job’ until a suitable husband came along.

‘Not quite,’ Merida said, and gave him a tight smile without elaborating further.

Ethan Devereux was here to see the gallery, not hear her life story.

They walked past the displays where he had stood bored, and then came back to the desk. Of course she offered him a drink once more, and waved a hand over the nibbles.

Again, he declined.

‘Do you have any more questions?’ Merida asked, just as she always did, and yet it felt a little different this time. The beguiling, sensual air surrounding the amulet display seemed still to cling, and she found that she held her breath as she awaited his response.

‘Just one...’ Ethan said.

He saw her blink rapidly, and rather thought that she’d guessed what his question was.

Dinner.

And it should be as seamless as that—because for Ethan it always was.

Yet he hesitated, and did not know why.

It wasn’t the fact that he had to head to the hospital that halted him from asking. He could offer to pick her up in an hour.

Yet he didn’t.

Instead he reminded himself he was here for Khalid.

‘The rugs,’ he said. ‘If I were to order one, how long would it take to make?’

‘It would depend on the size.’

‘One like that.’

Merida should be dancing on the spot at the unexpected chance of earning some commission. A commissioned rug was worth a fortune, and she should be engaging him and wowing him with details. Yet all she could think of was dinner. Or rather, the lack of it.

Which was just as well, given Reece’s warning that he would crush her in the palm of his hand.

Yet Merida suddenly wanted to experience the feel of his palm more than she had wanted anything before in her life.

Except Broadway, which she had dreamed of all her life.

Ethan Devereux, whom she had only just met, suddenly came a very close second.

Merida stood there, trying to unscramble her mind so she could answer his question as to how long a commissioned rug would take to make.

‘I would think around eighteen months.’

‘What if I wanted it sooner?’

‘Ubaid has many artisans. If they were focused on one piece, perhaps a year...’

‘And what if I wanted it sooner than that?’ he pushed.

‘I’m afraid it would take time. Patience.’

Reece might never forgive her, but instead of promising limitless artisans, all devoted to pleasing this man who could name his price, she told him instead that he would have to wait.

Only they weren’t talking about rugs. She was quite sure of that.

And so was he.

‘I don’t have patience,’ Ethan said, and the words were delivered with a slight snap, for he knew now why he hadn’t invited her to dinner.

For it would be just dinner.

And then another dinner.

No, he did not have the patience for that.

He wanted to know how she tasted rather than where she was from and what she was like.

And so, instead of pushing, he ended the encounter.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘thank you for the tour. It’s been interesting.’

Unexpectedly so. And in unexpected ways, he thought.

Merida saw him to the door and then stood, her smile fixed, as they shook hands again, but for a dangerous second longer than the first time.

She did not glance down at his hands but she could feel each of his fingers, long and slender, as they closed around hers. And she breathed through her mouth, rather than her nose, for the scent of him had her wanting to draw closer.

‘It was a pleasure to meet you,’ Merida said through lips that did not want to talk. It was as if they yearned to meet his.

She wanted to return to the dark velvet space from which they had so recently emerged.

What the hell was happening to her?

‘Thank you for visiting,’ Merida said calmly, when Get out, get out, get out was what she wanted to scream. Only her acting experience allowed composure to reign on her features.

He didn’t say thank you again.

And he didn’t wish her a good evening.

Ethan Devereux simply left.

And he left behind a vortex within her.

She watched the doorman farewell him, and the driver open his car door, and as he disappeared inside Merida learned that she could breathe again.

The devil had left the building.

CHAPTER THREE

HIS DRIVER TOOK him the short distance to the hospital, and to a rear entrance so that he would not be seen arriving.

This must not get out.

Tomorrow morning Jobe Devereux was having a minor planned procedure, but that very knowledge would be enough to spook their shareholders.

Ethan was concerned enough to have flown home.

His PA, Helene, had given him directions and Ethan took the elevator up to the private wing.

His father might as well be in his office, Ethan thought as he knocked on his door and walked in.

Abe was there, and so too was Maurice, their head of PR.

‘Ethan!’ His father, sitting in a leather chair, looked surprised to see him. ‘What can I do for you?’

Do for him?

There was no real welcome, and no invitation to take a seat. Their relationship had long been a strained one—perhaps because they were incredibly alike, and not just in looks.

The Devereux men were all private, but they all had an intrinsic licentious edge.

His father, though, had done nothing in his life to curb it.

‘I came to see you.’ Ethan did his best to keep his voice even. ‘And to see if there was anything I could do to help.’

‘Oh, it’s no big deal,’ Jobe said. ‘I’ll be back in the office on Monday.’

‘How was Dubai?’ Abe asked as he closed his laptop, clearly just about to leave. ‘Did you look at the hotel site?’

‘I did.’ Ethan nodded. ‘But I was thinking...’ He paused. Ethan was rather more interested in the potential of Al-Zahan, but decided now wasn’t the time to talk about it. ‘Helene’s writing up the report.’

‘Good,’ Abe said. ‘Maurice and I are going to get dinner—are you coming?’

Ethan shook his head. ‘I’ve already eaten.’

He hadn’t actually eaten since the plane, and that had been several hours ago, but Ethan simply wasn’t in the mood for more business talk, and with Maurice and Abe that was all it would be.

Once he was alone with his father it was somewhat awkward.

While it might look like a plush office or a hotel room, Ethan could now see the room held subtly placed equipment, and the antiseptic in the air gave it a slight nauseating edge.

‘Where’s Chantelle?’

Ethan didn’t generally enquire about the whereabouts of his father’s latest lover, but five minutes into his visit the conversation had already run out.

‘We broke up.’

‘When?’

‘Do I ask you about your love life?’ Jobe barked.

‘No, but only because I don’t have one,’ Ethan said.

He had a sex life, and fully intended to keep it at that. He’d seen the damage relationships caused. His father’s marital history was on par with Henry VIII’s. Well, minus the beheadings and with the added fact that not one of Jobe’s marriages had survived.

But there had been plenty of divorces.

And his mother had died.

Ethan could not forgive his father for that.

Not her death. More the circumstances.

Ethan had been five when she’d died, but he had been ten, maybe eleven, when he’d finally decided to find out for himself if the rumours about his father having an affair with their nanny were true.

Sure enough, the papers at the time had spoken of a huge argument, and Elizabeth Devereux leaving home sobbing and heading for JFK.

He’d looked at endless photos of the happy family they had once been and had confronted his father.

‘You had everything and you ruined it. Is that why Meghan left?’ he’d asked.

Jobe had sat silently nursing a drink as his youngest son had raged. Only as he’d stormed off had he called out.

‘Ethan! Get back here!’

‘Go to hell!’ He had run upstairs, taking down one of family pictures that hung on the wall and throwing it at him. ‘I hate you for what you did.’

It had never been spoken of again. The picture had been rehung, and to this day remained in its place on the wall, and still they avoided any topics of the personal kind.

But now, given his father was having surgery, Ethan tried.

‘So, what’s happening tomorrow?’

Ethan wanted specifics. But Jobe refused to give them.

‘It’s just a minor procedure.’ His father shrugged. ‘Exploratory.’

‘Can’t they just do a scan or something?’

‘Oh, so you went to med school now?’

‘I’m just saying I don’t understand what you’re going to theatre for.’

‘That’s what we’re finding out.’

They went in ever-widening circles, talking about everything and nothing and getting nowhere fast.

‘I’m going down at eight in the morning and I’ll be back up here by nine. I wanted to stay home the night before the op, but Prof Jacobs insisted I came in.’

‘Because had you been at home you would have ignored his instructions to have only a light supper and forgo your nightcap,’ Ethan said.

‘True,’ Jobe admitted. ‘Look, if you really want to do something for me then you can attend the Carmody function.’

If Ethan hadn’t known already that something was seriously wrong with his father, he knew it then. The Carmody function had been an annual feature on his father’s calendar for as long as Ethan could recall. Amongst the many pictures on the walls of his father’s home was one of his parents standing on the red carpet there.

The ball was more than two weeks away. For his father to be pulling out now sent a shiver of dread down Ethan’s spine. Not that he showed it. Instead, he agreed to attend in his father’s place.

‘You’ll need a date to take with you,’ Jobe huffed.

‘I’m sure that can be arranged.’ There was nothing left to say. ‘I’ll come and see you in the morning.’

‘No, don’t,’ Jobe warned. ‘The damn press is on to me. I’m sure of it.’

‘On to what?’ Ethan challenged.

For a moment near identical black eyes met, but Jobe wasn’t about to open up to anyone.

‘Just carry on as normal. The professor will let one of you boys know when I’m back from the OR.’

Boys.

His father still referred to him and Abe as boys, when they were thirty and thirty-four respectively, but there was no affection in the term. If anything, it was said dismissively.

With the duty visit done, Ethan walked through the private wing and towards the elevator, turning right with little thought even though he’d never been there before.

Then he halted.

Ethan had been there before.

Shards of memory felt as if they were working their way to the surface of his brain as he stood waiting for the elevator. He looked down the corridor and could almost see himself—five years old and dressed in his new school uniform, accompanied by his new nanny and walking beside Abe as they headed out from a waiting room to go and visit their mother.

To say goodbye.

He took the elevator, trying to banish the memory, yet as he stepped out into the brightly lit foyer he recalled it again. The press had been waiting outside, but their instructions that day had been different from usual—Don’t wave or smile. Look sad.

Who had told a couple of kids that? Ethan thought as he walked quickly to the waiting car. Who the hell had told them how to act, how to react, on the day their mother died?

His long stride halted as the answer came to him—the new nanny had.

His driver was waiting, but Ethan dismissed him. He wanted to walk—to get rid of the hospital scent which still filled his nostrils.

Suddenly, twenty-five years on, he was back to that day and the utter bewilderment he’d felt.

The grief.

And the guilt—oh, yes, the guilt.

Because he hadn’t missed his mother as everyone had assumed he must.

Meghan.

It was his nanny, Meghan, he had missed at that time.

* * *

The gallery website was a constant thorn in Merida’s side.

Clint had been supposed to update it before he’d headed off to an art fair, though of course he hadn’t.

And with Reece being away Merida needed to change the opening times advertised there. Especially as she wouldn’t be here tomorrow morning because of her audition.

It was for a prime-time television show and, while excited, Merida was incredibly nervous about it. She had to get the part. Although theatre was her passion, Merida desperately needed credits to her name—and as well as that she loved the show. It would be a huge boost for her résumé as well, and who knew what doors it might open?

So she updated the opening and closing times on the website, and a few other things, and then, instead of clicking off and closing down the computer, Merida couldn’t resist looking Ethan up.

God, he was beautiful.

His dark, slightly hooded eyes were so brooding, and in every photo she saw, that mouth utterly refused to smile.

Just as it had refused to smile with her.

For a moment she let herself wonder how it might feel to be in the path of his gentler gaze.

Merida drank the glass of champagne that Ethan hadn’t wanted and nibbled on the caviar blinis he’d declined as she gazed upon his image.

Then she ate dark-chocolate-covered blueberries and read about the man who quite simply intrigued her.

Reece had been right. His life was a quagmire indeed—and Ethan Devereux’s playboy status was well-documented. His older brother Abe’s was too, although he seemed to have settled down a touch of late. As for his father...

Goodness!

It would seem that all the Devereux men dated and discarded with ease. It was Ethan she wanted to find out more about. Yet they all seemed inextricably linked.

Merida clicked on a recent news article: Twenty-Five Years On.

There was a photo of the Devereux men in dark suits and ties at what appeared to be a memorial service. Merida read that a quarter-century ago his mother had been involved in an accident in the Caribbean. She had been flown back to New York, but had died two days later.

The country had mourned—particularly here in New York City—and there had been accusations against her husband.

Merida topped up her glass as she read about the rumours that Jobe Devereux had been embroiled in a salacious affair, rumoured to be with the nanny, and that that was the reason poor Elizabeth had fled.

Merida raised her eyebrows.

Certainly if she found out her husband was sleeping with the nanny she’d be kicking him out, rather than running off.

Still, it made good reading.

There were photos of the two Devereux children, accompanied by nannies, arriving at the hospital to say goodbye.

How awful, Merida thought, but how riveting!

So engrossed was she that she barely looked up when the gallery door opened.

‘We’re actually closed,’ Merida said—and then promptly wanted to die when she turned. Because there were few things more embarrassing than looking up to see the object of your desire at the very same time you were looking him up online.

He now had on a long dark coat, worn open over his suit. There was an emergency button under the desk and Merida was rather tempted to push it. Not because she felt threatened—not in the least. Just because every cell in her body had moved to high alert.

‘Hi,’ Merida said, and probably undid all the changes she had made to the website as she frantically clicked the mouse in an attempt to delete him from the screen. ‘Did you forget something?’

‘You know I did.’

Merida swallowed, and though she could have cast her eyes around for his keys, or a forgotten tablet, or anything else that might have forced his return, deep down she knew what he was about to ask.

And he didn’t disappoint. ‘How about dinner?’

There were many reasons that she should say no to his offer. Merida had been warned about his reputation—not just by his terrible press, but also by Reece. And possibly the hairs that stood up on her bare arms should have served as another reason to decline.

Yet that shiver was borne of awareness rather than nervousness, Merida was certain.

He made her aware of her own body.

Ethan Devereux reminded her, without a word or even a gaze in that direction, that she was not wearing a bra, because suddenly her small breasts felt tight and heavy, and her legs, even though she was sitting, felt weak.

He made her want to throw caution to the wind and say yes.

‘I have to close up first.’

‘Of course.’

Her legs felt as if they might give way as she stepped down from the stool.

Everything that she usually did so easily suddenly felt new and unfamiliar.

From walking to breathing, she had to focus anew over and over again.

She tidied up the gallery as he wandered around, looking again at the exhibitions.

‘I’ll go and get changed,’ Merida said, but he gave a brief shake of his head.

‘No need.’

In the tiny staffroom Merida wondered if Gemma would mind if the little black dress and pearls were taken out for the night. Surely any woman would understand?

Merida re-tied her hair and then topped up her lipstick. She placed her kilt, jumper and boots in her bag and slipped on her trench coat. When she came out of the staffroom he had given up on the exhibits and was scrolling through his phone.

She did her usual walk-around, and Ethan said he’d wait outside as she finished up.

In fact, aware that she was somewhat distracted by the six feet two of testosterone waiting for her, Merida took extra care, turning off the computer and lights and then setting the alarm and locking up with diligence.

When the gallery was secured, she stepped onto the chilly street and turned—and there he was.

Merida wished there was a code that might secure her heart.

She stood watching the most beautiful man on the most beautiful street lounging against the wall, and then he turned to walk towards her, his long coat flapping behind him in the breeze.

‘There’s something else that I forgot,’ Ethan said.

‘Oh?’

She cast her mind again to keys and laptops, whatever it was that she might have locked up in the gallery, and it took a second for her to register to what he was referring.

It wasn’t just asking her to dinner that he’d forgotten. Ethan had omitted a kiss.

On a night that was turning a bit chilly, and under a sky that was being painted a dusky rose, the setting was photo-perfect.

Merida wanted to capture the dusk of the park, the yellow of the taxis—how the world appeared in the seconds before he kissed her. She would be kissed here, Merida realised, and this moment would be seared in her memory for life.

He cupped her face in her hands and she stared deep into his eyes. While there was not a fleck of colour that she could perceive in his gaze, there was depth and complexity and hues from another realm.

He was perfect.

And so was his kiss.

His lips were firm, yet with traces of tenderness. She wanted to keep her eyes open, just to capture each second, yet there was no chance of that, for his kiss was so exquisite that her eyes closed, so that she could fully sink into its measured bliss.

He pulled her closer, and she was wrapped in the warmth of his arms as the cool spring air between them evaporated. His tongue was warm, and tasted like a cocktail designed solely for her. She felt dizzy, yet steady in the capture of his embrace, and when he kissed her harder the roughness of his jaw and the smoky notes of his cologne inflamed her.

She kissed him back with an ardour that had been missing in every other kiss and in her every imagining to date.

And then—cruelly, but necessarily—before they edged towards the indecent, he tore his mouth away.

He had started their date with a kiss.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘GOOD EVENING, MR DEVEREUX,’ the doorman greeted him. ‘Madam.’

They walked through the sumptuous foyer of a luxurious hotel that was filled with columns of flowers and beautiful people milling about.

He was greeted everywhere by name, and clearly that name did not require a prior booking.

Merida was relieved of her coat and bag at the restaurant, and the maître d’ led them to a table, beautifully set for two.

The restaurant was stunning, with an old-fashioned New York elegance, subtle music and a dance floor. Beside the windows there were candelabras, taller than Ethan, and even with the huge chandelier that sparkled above the dance floor the lighting was subdued enough that there was a shroud of intimacy as they took their seats.

Merida was nervous. Far more nervous than she dared to let on. So she breathed her way through their seating, and then the pouring of champagne, and pretended she was seated at a table onstage, because it was easier than the reality of sitting opposite him.

The first thing he did was switch off his phone, and that small gesture told her they would not be interrupted.

‘Well, here we are,’ Ethan said and they clinked glasses. ‘It’s good to be back.’

‘Back?’ Merida checked. ‘D you come here a lot, then?’

‘I meant back in New York. I’ve been away for a few weeks.’

‘On holiday?’ Merida asked, but he gave a small shake of his head.

‘Work,’ Ethan said. It always was.

The food was delectable, but it wasn’t the hors d’oeuvres Merida had consumed that killed her appetite, it was the overwhelming presence of him. He didn’t put her at instant ease; instead he kept her on a delicious edge.

Merida chose a burnt butter and sage ravioli, and Ethan ordered steak. She noted that the waiter didn’t ask how he would like it done. He already knew.

It was the tiniest detail, yet it served as a reminder for Merida that this was not new to him as it was to her.

‘So you’ve been at the gallery for nearly a year?’ Ethan prompted, as if their earlier conversation was still left unfinished.

‘For ten months,’ Merida said. ‘As I said, I’m just there part-time. I’m actually an actress.’

Ethan looked over, his dark eyes narrowing a fraction. He had dated more than a few actresses in his time, and was generally suspicious of them. Most wanted to hook their rising star into his or milk their fifteen minutes of fame when things ended between them.

As they inevitably did.

‘It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be,’ Merida admitted. ‘I wasn’t getting very far back home, so I decided to try my luck here.’

‘Home being England?’ he checked.

‘Yes.’ Merida nodded. ‘London. Although, as my father pointed out, if I can’t get work in London then why should New York be any different?’

Ethan raised an eyebrow. Her father didn’t sound particularly encouraging, but he made no comment, just listened.

‘Still, it’s the dream. Right now I’ve got a small part in an even smaller production.’

‘What’s it called?’

‘Near Miss.’

He gave a shake of his head, to indicate that he’d never heard of it. ‘And what part do you play?’

‘Arrow,’ Merida said, and then clarified a touch. ‘I’m an arrow. And I keep missing my mark.’

‘Are you dressed as an arrow?’

‘No. I’m dressed from head to toe in black. I wear a black leotard and tights and a long black wig.’

He looked at her lovely red hair and, although he knew little about acting or costumes, he was an expert at opinions. ‘I think they might have missed an opportunity there.’

‘Meaning?’

‘I’d have thought that a red-headed arrow would be more telling.’

‘The lead wears a red wig.’ Merida smiled. ‘The arrow is more like her shadow self. A smaller part.’

‘But a very important one,’ Ethan said. ‘Though of course I may be somewhat biased.’

Merida’s hand shook a little as she took a sip of water. He was so subtle, so sparing with his words, that his suggestion of bias towards her had come from left field.

Ethan made her his sole focus, and that was rare. He made it clear there was nowhere else he wanted to be, Merida thought as their meals arrived. There was no feeling that he would soon have to dash, as her parents often did when she called. Reece too, come to that. And there was no looking over his shoulder to check who might appear, as so many in the acting world did.

‘Do you miss your family?’

‘Sometimes.’ Merida nodded again. ‘My parents are divorced, and both have remarried...’ Her voice trailed off and she didn’t elaborate.

Ethan wanted her to. It was rare that he wanted to know more about any woman he would soon bed.

And bed her he would.

That decision had been made when he had dismissed his driver and walked back towards the gallery.

At first he had thought he had left it too late, as the gallery had appeared closed, but on looking in he had seen her sitting at the high desk.

She was beautiful.

Nothing like the coiffed, sophisticated beauties he usually dated. Her riot of hair and that full mouth entranced him almost as much as those bewitching green eyes. Yes, he wanted to know more about her—but it was not just for that reason alone he decided to share a part of himself.

He wanted to talk.

Tonight he would kill for normality, to be able to admit to another person from where he had just come. To speak, as anyone else would, when they were worried about a family member.

But that type of conversation was off-limits when you were a Devereux.

And so he spoke of the past—of things that were more freely known.

‘I know all about divorce,’ he said. ‘My father’s been married a few times. Once before my mother died and twice since.’

‘Do you ever see your stepmothers?’

‘God, no,’ Ethan said, and gave a little shudder at the thought. ‘All those marriages, apart from my parents’, were pretty short-lived.’

‘So you didn’t get close to any of them?’

‘Not at all.’ Ethan shook his head and gave a small mirthless laugh. ‘I don’t think they were ever love-matches. It was more financial bliss those women were seeking. Mind you, I can hardly blame them. My father just wanted a wife on his arm for functions. He was never home.’

‘Who brought you up, then?’

‘Draconian nannies,’ Ethan said, and then he halted, realising he had said far more than he usually would. He turned the conversation back to Merida. ‘How old were you when your parents divorced?’

‘I was ten when they broke up, and they spent the next two years fighting over shared access of me.’

‘You were popular, then?’ He gave a light tease, but she didn’t smile.

‘I don’t think either of them actually wanted shared care—they just didn’t want to give in to the other.’

There was still hurt there when she thought back to that time. Although she felt silly sometimes, when she heard what others had gone through—like Ethan, who had not only lost his mother but then had to endure an endless parade of stepmothers.

He watched her fall silent and put down her cutlery. She stared at it for a moment, silently, but when the waiter came and asked if everything was okay she turned and gave a bright smile.

‘Amazing, thank you.’

The mask was back.

Ethan read women very easily. In fact, he read most people with ease.

He just couldn’t quite read Merida.

She was friendly, and appeared confident, yet there was a vulnerability to her that he could not place. It was more that he sensed it rather than saw it.

‘Did either of your parents have more children?’ Ethan asked.

‘Yes.’ Merida’s smile remained. ‘My father had a son and my mother a daughter.’

‘Are you close to them?’

‘I see them when I can, and I babysit,’ she said, not really answering the question.

‘Babysit?’ He frowned. ‘How old are the children?’

‘Oh, they’re ten and eleven now. I mean, I used to take them to their sports clubs and such, when I was able. You know...if their parents couldn’t manage it.’

‘I expect it’s been nice having a break, then.’

‘I don’t mind doing it—when I can, of course. I don’t want them to miss out on stuff.’

‘Such as...?’’

‘Activities.’

‘Did you?’

Oh, please don’t ask me this, Merida thought.

She did not want to go there and ruin a perfectly lovely night, but it felt as if he’d suddenly skipped the niceties and gone straight to the jugular.

It was just a question, she told herself.

But a pertinent one.

‘It’s really not that big a deal,’ Merida said.

‘Then you won’t mind sharing.’

‘Of course not. I got cast in a big West End theatre production,’ Merida finally said. ‘When I was twelve. It was huge. Of course they were very strict about performing hours for children, and really you needed to have your parents completely on board. At first they were really encouraging,’ Merida said, and then an edge came into her voice. ‘I’m certain that was more for the courts, though.’

Oh, she did mind sharing this, and fought to find a more relaxed tone.

‘The rehearsals were for six weeks, and at first either my mum or dad was always there to pick me up. But then it got more difficult. Dad had a new job, and my mum and I moved quite a distance away...’

‘You had to let it go?’

Merida nodded. She didn’t go into detail—how much it had hurt to let go of the part she had coveted and worked so hard for. How lost and confused she had felt when, once joint custody had finally been awarded, when the war was over in a tie, Merida hadn’t felt particularly wanted by either of her parents.

That would be a bit much for a first date.

And then she qualified that thought, not really sure if this could be classified as a date.

As the waiter cleared their plates all Merida knew was that here was where she wanted to be—even if she found him daunting. Only it wasn’t his wealth or his financial prowess that daunted her, and it wasn’t even his reputation with women.

It was this.

How much she liked him.

His utter ability to make the world disappear.

They could be sitting in a late-night diner eating burgers and she would feel exactly as she did now—connected.

She was telling Ethan things she had only ever told her closest friend, Naomi.

‘How much longer are you in New York?’ Ethan asked.

‘That depends,’ Merida said, and then admitted the truth. ‘I’m nearing desperation if I want to stay here.’

She didn’t want to bring the night down with cold facts. But, as much as she loved performing in Near Miss, it paid just a tiny stipend, and her work at the gallery covered little more than the rent.

Although there was still hope.

‘I’ve got an audition tomorrow morning, for a part on a prime-time television show.’

‘What part?’

‘You won’t laugh?’

‘I rarely do.’

‘A hooker,’ Merida said. ‘And a corpse. Although you might not believe it, playing a corpse does involve acting.’

He didn’t laugh, but he did smile.

And when he did, while looking in her eyes, even as she went to return it Merida faltered, because it made her toes curl beneath the table. How, she wondered, could he move her so with just a slight shift in that sulky mouth? It was as if he’d reached inside her and effortlessly turned up an inner flame.

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