“So you really need a wife, a hostess?”

She turned an inquiring face to him, unnerved by something in his expression. “Would you care to discuss it with me?”

“What would be the point?” she answered flippantly, but she shook inside. “I told you. I’m off marriage as a topic of discussion. For a long time.”

“What a challenge!” The self-assurance in his black eyes brushed that claim aside. “Do you know how good you look?” He reached out and touched the back of her neck.

For Christy the cobalt blue sky tilted. She experienced a blind rush of sexuality….

“Margaret Way uses colorful characterization and

descriptive prowess to make love and the

Australian Outback blossom brilliantly.”

—Romantic Times on The Carradine Brand

“…climactic scenes, dramatic imagery

and bold characters, Margaret Way

makes the Outback come alive…”

—Romantic Times on A Wife at Kimbara

A wedding dilemma:

What should a sexy, successful bachelor do if he’s too busy making millions to find a wife? Or if he finds the perfect woman, and just has to strike a bridal bargain…

The perfect proposal:

The solution? For better, for worse, these grooms

have decided to sign, seal and deliver the ultimate

marriage contract…to secure a bride!

Will these paper marriages blossom into wedded bliss?

Look out for our next CONTRACT BRIDES novel

in Harlequin Romance®:

Bride by Design (#3720)

by

Leigh Michaels

Strategy for Marriage
Margaret Way

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

Deakin-McKinnon Wedding

Reception—McKinnon Riverside Mansion

Brisbane, Queensland

“ASHE, darling, who is that girl?” The blonde in the exquisite green dress?” Mercedes, his aunt by marriage and mother of the bride, dug him in the ribs, a worried frown on her brow.

“You mean Ms. Botticelli?” His answer, even to his ears, was sardonic. “I’ve been wondering the same thing.” In fact he’d begun to marvel at just the amount of attention he was giving that particular young woman and was amazed at the unprecedented thrust of sexual desire she aroused in him. He’d grown cynical, really cynical, about a woman’s beauty and her ability to hold a man spellbound. Beautiful women in the style of this blonde reminded him of his runaway mother. The mother he’d hated and ached for since she’d abandoned him and his father when he was ten years old.

“No one on our side seems to know her,” Mercedes whispered with genuine concern, her fingers fidgeting with her extremely valuable string of 19 mm Australian South Sea pearls, the finest in the world. “That is to say everyone I’ve asked. Oh for heaven’s sake why am I worried?” She gave a false little laugh. “It’s not as though she isn’t beautiful and well behaved but I mean it’s fairly obvious our dear Josh seems to know her even if he’s not going anywhere near her. Would you mind awfully, darling, getting some idea of who exactly she is?”

The fact was he’d been about to make his move. For one thing “our dear Josh” was the bridegroom. A possible ex-girlfriend didn’t help. “No problem, Mercedes.” He smiled down at her. “Leave it to me.” He was extremely fond of Mercedes, and his quiet little cousin, Callista, who looked as radiant as she could ever look on this day of days. Sad to say he hadn’t taken to her new husband, Josh Deakin. In his most suspicious moments, which were frequent, he was a suspicious person, he thought Deakin the male equivalent of the proverbial gold-digger. At one time he’d very nearly said so, worried Deakin was only after Callista’s money. The problem was Mercedes was very taken with him and Callista was clearly head over heels in love. She wouldn’t have listened. She’d have dug in her heels. Although Callista dearly loved her mother, at twenty-nine she was anxious to escape the nest, get married and set up her own home. This was a fairytale wedding he’d been told. Who believed in fairytales? Certainly not him, though he had to admit Ms. Botticelli looked magical.

Mercedes’ rich contralto brought him out of his reverie. “Everything is going marvellously,” she said as though at any moment all could change. “The last thing we need is for something—um-um—” She stared across the crowded room at the beautiful blonde, seeking the right word.

“Don’t fret. I told you I’d handle it,” he soothed, hoping to God it wasn’t already all too late. But if Deakin imagined Mercedes and Callista didn’t have someone looking out for them, he’d better think again.

“You’re my great support, Ashe,” Mercedes told him fondly. “I’m afraid I lean on you for so much.”

“We’re family, Mercedes,” he offered lightly when he didn’t feel lightly about family at all. He was head of a clan even if his immediate family had gone. His mother with her lover. They lived mostly in New York. His father and his uncle Sholto, Mercedes’ late husband, had been killed in a light plane crash five years ago. An event that made some people say the family was cursed. Maybe it was. It had had its fair share of tragedies. So in his late twenties he had become head of the family, head of the McKinnon pastoral empire, executor of the Family Trust. He took his responsibilities very seriously.

As Mercedes, in a very becoming silvery outfit, sailed off towards her guests he acknowledged he hadn’t told her he’d had his eye on Ms. Botticelli since she’d gatecrashed the reception. His well-honed instincts warned him that was the case but he didn’t want to put a blight on such a day by overreacting. He’d take his time. She’d done it in the cheekiest way possible. Two ushers were guarding the open double doors of the McKinnon mansion taking the wedding invitations from the guests and checking them against their lists when he spotted her arrival from the head of the gallery. He couldn’t look away. He who was very good at taking a woman’s beauty and aura in his stride. She was tall, even taller in high-heeled sandals. She wore a ravishingly pretty dress, a froth of chiffon, printed in a swirl of different greens. The crossover sleeveless bodice showed a tantalising glimpse of the curves of her breasts, the short ruffled skirt sprinkled with glittering little beads showed off her lovely long legs. High up on one shoulder was a huge rose made out of the same material sprinkled with brilliants like the skirt. It was an outfit only a beautiful young woman with a perfect figure and lots of self-confidence could wear without risking the dress overwhelming her.

So there she was. A long-stemmed mystery blonde, her hair drawn back from her face into a high knot, the rest of her mane cascading down her back to past her shoulder blades. The overhead chandelier, plus the last rays of sunshine, washed her in light, so she gave off a spectacular sparkle. Her skin, he could see clearly, was a smooth textured cream, blushed over the high cheekbones. There was a shallow cleft in her chin; her eyes even at this distance were a clear light green set at a faint slant as were her darkened brows. She looked excited, a beautiful young thing who inexplicably had no partner, so why did he get the odd feeling all the animation didn’t spell happy. Far from it. More like nerve-ridden. He moved further down the staircase feeling another hot surge of desire. It made him irrationally hostile even as it served to remind him he was human.

Who was she exactly? How did she fit in? He thought he knew all of Callista’s friends. God knows she and Mercedes had tried to match him up to quite a few, not even listening when he warned them off. He saw her make a little play of rummaging in her glittery purse for her invitation—but then she saw across the marble floored atrium someone she knew. Her face broke into a lovely infectious smile and she waved, calling a name. Instantly, tactfully, the ushers let the beautiful creature go in. Women like that were unmistakably Somebody. Anyone could see that. As a bit of play-acting it was darn near perfect.

Just as he suspected, she didn’t head towards anyone in particular. There was no one waiting for her. She walked right on, flashing iridescent glances around the elegant entrance hall massed with flowers. She hadn’t been at the church. No way he would have missed her. But she’d turned up at the reception. Interesting! It wasn’t a sit-down affair where guests were allotted seats at a table. That might have proved a mite difficult even for an enterprising young woman. Instead a sumptuous buffet had been arranged. It was to be served from the huge bridal marquees that had been erected in the three-acre garden. The dessert table alone Mercedes had told him was one hundred foot long. Mercedes had spared no expense to make this a great day for her only child.

Now they had a gatecrasher. Albeit a woman whose beauty had made the breath catch in his throat. That alone made him laugh and his laugh was deep with self-mockery. In his action-packed life he had no time for a woman who could keep a man in thrall. He had too much on his mind. Too much to do. This woman was Trouble. Moreover she was somehow connected to Josh Deakin, his cousin’s bridegroom of only a few hours. The ex-girlfriend immediately sprang to mind. An ex-girlfriend perhaps bent on some kind of disruption. No way! He had the sure feeling at some point he would have to hustle Ms. Botticelli out of the house. And that was quite a while before Mercedes had put voice to her own niggling concerns.

Christy, sick with nerves but too angry and upset to abort her mission, made it through the front door of the two-story McKinnon mansion. Her nerve was holding. It was a shocking breach of etiquette to gatecrash a wedding. On so many levels she deeply regretted it, but her ex-boyfriend, Josh, the man who had convinced her he loved her, deserved a good fright. She had no intention whatsoever of upsetting the bride, the McKinnon heiress. The bride was probably a young woman as gullible as herself. Josh, after all, was all charm on the surface. The only difference between her and the bride was around 15 million, not to mention what that fortunate young woman would eventually inherit from her mother, Mrs. Mercedes McKinnon, a woman of considerable substance and the widow of the late Sholto McKinnon, well-known pastoralist and philanthropist. While Josh had been courting his heiress, he’d also continued his ardent courtship of her. How many times had he told her he loved her? How many times had he brought up the subject of marriage? She’d seriously been considering entering into an engagement. Six months of having a lovely time together. Fun really. In retrospect no depth. It all came to a halt when by sheer chance she saw Josh kissing another woman outside the very law courts that figured so often in his fund of amusing stories. Josh was an up-and-coming lawyer. The young woman turned out to be today’s bride, Callista McKinnon, now Mrs. Josh Deakin. Even as Josh had been proclaiming his love for her, he’d been courting the heiress. Fate had played its hand. Mrs. Mercedes McKinnon, a favoured client of the prestigious law firm where Josh worked as an associate, came into the offices one day bringing her petite, pretty daughter, Callista. Josh was especially good with female clients so his boss allowed him in on proceedings. It had to be that very day Josh realized a golden opportunity had opened up for him. With a rich wife the world was his oyster. Josh was very ambitious. Money was important to him. Real money. Social position. Obviously he saw an instant rocketing up the ladder. She had never fully understood that side of Josh. Not that she had really known him at all. He was a liar for one. A traitor. A good actor who could excel in any number of parts. The very worst aspect was as he told her about his plans to marry Callista he spoke like a man who had come into a huge lottery win. A win they were both going to share. She’d have died before accepting that shocking lack of integrity. Josh Deakin, cad that he was, had earned himself this lesson. But she still couldn’t stop her nerves crackling.

Halfway across the gracious entrance hall, a perfect setting for valuable antiques and magnificent arrangements of fresh flowers, she became aware she was under close surveillance. She couldn’t fail to know by now her blond good looks attracted attention but the gaze that was concentrated on her didn’t send out any currents of admiration. It felt more like she was under an extremely daunting inspection. And found suspect. Her senses were so wired she was drawn to look upwards, searching out the origin of that magnetic beam.

Her green eyes widened in shock. Her gaze honed in a man standing at the curve of the elegant staircase, looking down at her with brilliant near-black eyes.

Ashe McKinnon.

It took her less than an instant to recognise him. He was even more damn-your-eyes handsome and arrogant than his photographs. After Josh had told her of his plan to marry into the McKinnon clan, she had felt upset enough to make it her business to find out what she could about them. And there was plenty. They were a pioneering dynasty. Cattle kings from colonial times who had generated great wealth. She’d seen photographs of the current McKinnon and his ancestral home in Channel Country South West Queensland. It was a magnificent homestead. There were photographs of him at different functions, including a brilliant action shot of him playing polo, arm thrown back for a full free swing. She’d know him anywhere. In fact the sight of him gave her the oddest sick thrill. He didn’t look a kind man. Far from it. He looked formidable. Certainly not the sort of man who’d tolerate having a gatecrasher at his cousin’s wedding.

Christy moved swiftly. All she wanted was the opportunity, however brief, to give Josh the fright of his life. The most she intended was to give him a little wave. Then she’d go home happy, or as happy as a girl could be when a man had humiliated her. She hadn’t written Ashe McKinnon into the scenario at all. A huge mistake. She had the shivery feeling he could catch up with her very soon. Christy made her way into the opulent living room, impressed despite herself at the decor and the magnificent artworks on the walls.

“A friend of the groom?” an attractive voice queried at her ear. She spun on her high heels relieved beyond words to see a tall red-haired young man beaming down at her, his bright blue eyes filled with the sort of admiring look she was used to.

She was safe for a while. She intended to stay until she had her little moment of revenge on Josh, and Ashe McKinnon, the big cattle baron, could go to hell.

Of course she had no difficulty easing herself in. Not with that intoxicating image. From the open glass doorway leading into the plant-filled solarium Ashe watched her, openly marvelling at her audacity. He saw all the bachelors in sight make their moves on her. He couldn’t believe his response. It angered him. He wanted to tell Jake Reid, a guy he’d known all his life, to take his big hands off her. Even the muscles in his shoulders tensed. This was so unlike him.

The solarium had been turned into a ballroom. Lots of couples had taken the floor to a plethora of styles that ranged from old-fashioned elegance to near gallops. He waited his moment, subtly keeping an eye on her, then he excused himself from the group around him.

“Pardon me.” He tapped his friend, Tim Westbury, on the shoulder. “I really ought to introduce myself to your partner.”

“Heck, Ashe, we were having such a good time.”

For a moment it looked like Tim was going to hang in there until he saw his expression.

“So I noticed. Goodbye, Tim.”

“Catch you later, Christy,” Tim called before he was swept away by his current girlfriend who eyed “Christy” balefully.

“Wonderful party.” He put his arm around her, a strange pleasure, and inhaled her fragrance, freesias spiked with something citrus.

“Wonderful,” she agreed, turning her face away, all poise when her heart was thumping with fright.

“Beautiful wedding ceremony.”

“It brought tears to my eyes.”

“Truly?”

“I never lie.”

“Perhaps you have on this occasion. I had the notion you weren’t at the church at all. Ashe McKinnon, by the way. I’m Callista’s cousin.”

She frowned slightly, her eyes as green as peridots. “You don’t look in the least alike.” It was hard not to be impressed by him. Aesthetically anyway. How best to describe him? All commanding male. A touch severe. Yet the kind of man women went wild over. Not her. She already knew he was too tough for her, but he did look wonderful in his formal morning suit, traditional grey with a very dashing burgundy silk cravat.

She knew from her partner, Tim, he had given the bride away. Head of the family and all that. He certainly looked the part. His height alone made him stand out. He was well over six feet, but lean, powerful. He made her feel small and at five-eight she was tall for a woman. She could feel the whipcord musculature in his arms and along his back. He was very strong.

Christy continued her abstract inspection. A deep permanent tan, not Josh’s beach boy stuff, Ashe’s was trademark Outback. He had lustrous black hair with a natural wave. If he let it grow a centimetre longer it would spring into curls. His eyes were really beautiful, brilliant like glittering whirlpools. She couldn’t see into them but he seemed to be looking right through her.

He wasn’t a sweet man. Or a man who would make a woman feel safe. He looked dangerous enough to be treated with caution. There was so much tension there. A hard impatience that was communicating itself to her. Then again he possessed a stand-apart elegance, very much in keeping with a glamorous member of the landed elite. No question about his pedigree. And he just knew about her. So what was he going to do, throw her out? For all he knew she could put up a struggle. Or maybe he had taken her measure. There was only one person she intended to embarrass and that was Josh.

He received her long scrutiny, totally unfazed. “I’m dying to know your name,” he prompted, dark voice sardonic.

“You have only to ask me. Christine Parker. My friends call me Christy.”

Her answer was gentle and low. Music. Another ace up her sleeve.

“Then I’ll call you Miss Parker. Are you a friend of the bridegroom, may I ask?” He slid his hand along her back with the surety she had a beautiful supple body.

“Now why does that sound like you’ve thrown out a challenge?” she parried.

“Possibly because you’re the sort of woman who responds to one.”

“I mean no harm, Mr. McKinnon. I want you to understand that.”

“I’m pleased to hear it.” He gave her a sardonic glance. “I can’t have you spoiling my cousin’s day.”

“I have no intention of doing anything like that,” she protested. “There’s no spite in my nature.”

“But you’re looking to upset Deakin?”

“Now you sound like you don’t care.” It was wonderful to be able to challenge him. There was something very dangerous about being close to this man. It gave her quite a jolt. In her altered state she compared it to shock therapy. Something was happening to her. She didn’t know what.

“My only concern is this reception goes off beautifully,” he said in a warning voice that left her flushed. “I’m devoted to my aunt and cousin.”

“Really?” All of a sudden Christy needed to lash out, her anger and humiliation festering. “From the look of you I wouldn’t have thought you had a tender bone in your body.”

“Play it cool, Miss Parker,” he said.

There was considerable heat between them. Christy realised with a sense of astonishment a lot of it was sexual. She wondered how that could possibly be when she still considered herself jilted by Josh. She could feel the imprint of this man’s hand right through the chiffon of her dress. It might have been pressed against her naked flesh. Her perceptions so long blunted by acute dismay were now razor-sharp. But then he was a striking, powerful, physical man, she reasoned, quite without the easy-going gentleness with which Josh had surrounded her.

Looking down at her telltale face, his expression tautened. “Let’s go,” he said abruptly. The tips of her breasts were giving him little shocks as they brushed up against him.

“Where?” She threw up her head, startled. His face was quite unreadable.

“Out into the garden,” he suggested curtly. “All the time we’ve been dancing Deakin has been staring over here. Even with his bride on his arm.”

“Pay no attention,” she said. But she hoped Josh was staring. He looked so deeply familiar she thought she couldn’t bear the whole situation. Callista looked so nice. She deserved to be happy. Christy’s instinct told her it wouldn’t be for long. Not with Josh. Josh wasn’t good enough. Josh’s only real fondness was for money. But Callista on her big day looked radiant in her beautiful ecru satin gown that glimmered with thousands of seed pearls. Her billowy floor-length organza veil was held off her small face by an exquisite diamond-and-pearl diadem that looked like a family heirloom.

After all that she knew, Christy still wished perversely things could have been different. That Josh could have been different from the man he really was.

“How well did you know him?” Ashe McKinnon asked her, his dark face taking on an aspect of contempt.

“I don’t think you want to listen.”

“Try me,” he clipped off.

“It’s all in the past. Another dimension.” She needed a huge breathing space from this man.

“It’d better be.” With one hand he lifted her face and turned his black gaze on her.

“What do you want to do, crush me?” She envied him his masculine strength. The hard detachment.

Instantly he eased his grip. What did he want with her? To pick her up and carry her off? To make love to her until she couldn’t even remember who Deakin was?

“Are you suggesting I could be that physical?”

“I could feel your anger.” Yet something about him was giving her a deep, languorous feeling. It was like being engulfed in the black velvet of night. What was she doing twisting and turning in this stranger’s arms? He was so totally different from Josh. With a powerful magnetism that reached through her pain. Moreover he was controlling her, pulling her closer.

“So are you going to tell me exactly why you are here? I’m certain you have no invitation.”

“I let it get away from me.” She glanced at him briefly, her lashes shadowing her eyes. “It flew into the air and blew away.” There was no comfort in this man, only astonishing heat. She kept seeing Josh and his bride out of the corner of her eye. Hurt spasmed through her. “Kiss me,” she ordered before she started to cry.

He shook her a little. “Because you want to make him jealous? Look at me.” He was going to kiss her before the night was over. He had never wanted to kiss a woman more in his life. This beautiful creature who was electric for another man. A man who had his cousin lovingly tucked into his shoulder. “You little fool,” Ashe muttered, lowering his dark head protectively over her. “There’s no way, no way, you can get him back.”

“I don’t want him back. I don’t!” She knew it was true but she couldn’t get herself together almost overnight.

“Is that a prayer?”

Her mouth was trembling beneath his brooding regard. “Could we go outside?”

“Why not? We’re leaving a lot of burning curiosity behind.”

It was not to be. Callista called to her cousin from across the room.

“Ashe!” No one had told Callista who the beautiful blond girl in the green dress was. She was extravagantly lovely to Callista’s eyes. The dress! She could never wear a dress like that. And Ashe? What was he doing with her? The two of them looked somehow torched. As if no one else in the world mattered.

Beside Callista, Josh gave a wry little exclamation. “What with all this talking I’m getting dry in the throat. I think I’ll get myself a drink. Could I get you anything, my darling?”

Callista gave him her sweet smile. “Oh, Joshua, please stay and meet Ashe’s new girlfriend. I must say I’m surprised. But then Ashe is the best of anyone at surprises.”

“I don’t know…” Josh’s mouth was indeed dry and his heart was thundering. Christy was always such a lady but he knew what angry women could do.

“Please, darling, for me.” Callista caught her bridegroom’s hand.

“I can’t do this,” Christy confessed to Ashe McKinnon as they crossed the floor.

“You can. I’ll see you through.” He took her hand and held it firmly.

“Who am I?” This wasn’t what she intended at all. “Who am I supposed to be?”

“You should have thought of that.” His reply was a little harsh. “You’re my deepest secret.”

“You mean you asked me?” She was drowning in confusion.

“Who else? I’m not going to risk Callista’s being badly hurt. Do you think you can smile?” He eyed her critically.

“Of course I can smile, you arrogant man.” A storm of outraged pride blew up in her. He had calluses on his palm. McKinnon the cattle baron. High power—high voltage. She had an hysterical desire to run from him.

“Would you just look at Deakin?” he said suddenly in a hard gritty voice. “My bet is he was trying to make a break for it but Callista stopped him.”

Even devastated by Josh’s betrayal, Christy could scarcely blame him.

“So what’s the play?” she asked through small clenched teeth. It was almost as though she’d known this man in another life, but she had no time to dwell on that.

“We’ll play it by ear,” he told her, giving her, quite out the blue, the sexiest smile.

It was so amazing it put the adrenalin back into her.

And hey! Josh had the frozen look of a rabbit caught in a hunter’s sights. Callista, the triumphant bride, was looking from her to her cousin as if she didn’t know what was going on. Up close Christy realised Callista was older than she had supposed. Late rather than early twenties. Probably her trust fund paid out at age thirty. The evidence was Josh couldn’t wait.

“You look absolutely lovely and so happy, Callista,” Ashe told his cousin in a surprisingly calm voice. “I hope nothing ever changes that.” He slid his arm smoothly around Christy’s waist, drawing her forward. “I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Christy Parker. She wasn’t on the guest list because I didn’t know she’d be back from L.A.”

Josh, aware he had escaped some terrible danger, fell into his role of loving bridegroom, the expression on his face growing in confidence. “We know one another, don’t we?” he asked Christy, quite unforgivably, giving Christy a smile for which one really needed sunglasses. “You’re with Whitelaw Promotions, aren’t you?”

It was her moment to bring him down. To give him instant payback. Instead she nodded coolly. “That’s right. I think I know you, too.”

Josh prepared himself again for an onslaught. It didn’t come. “So tell me, how is Zack?” he asked in the nicest friendly fashion. He referred to Christy’s boss and the head of the public relations company.

“Fine.” She couldn’t possibly slip into casual mode. She was far too upset. “It’s been a beautiful wedding, Callista.” She turned her attention to the bride. “I wish you every happiness.” Amazingly she was able to say it.

“Thank you so much…Christy…” Callista finally got her voice going. “Wherever did you meet Ashe?” She looked avid to know.

“Well…”

“It’s a long story,” Ashe McKinnon said, locking Christy of the shining beauty to him, aware of her turmoil. She was as jumpy as a cat.

“A story worth listening to, I’ll bet.” Josh’s glance lingered long on Christy.

“Christy’s not talking.” Ashe’s vibrant voice was saturated in what sounded very much like sarcasm. “See you later, you two. I know how much you both want to be together.”

“Dear God!” Christy murmured almost inaudibly as they moved off. “I don’t normally drink but I feel like one now.”

“You did very well,” he assured her. “It was plain to me you wanted to slap him.”

“Whereas you didn’t?” Whatever this man said, he fired her. “I thought you came dangerously near to cutting.”

“I’m surprised you said that,” he drawled. “But then you don’t know me. If I’d been really cutting Deakin wouldn’t be standing. ‘Don’t I know you’?” He aped Josh’s lighter tones then they hardened. “Only the fact Callista is my cousin and she’s wearing a wedding dress stopped me from asking him to step outside.”

“I can’t imagine he could stand up to your flailing fists.” She shuddered. Josh would be no match for this cattle baron. He didn’t have that sort of invincible masculinity. In fact, she considered very belatedly, Josh was soft.

“My dear girl, I’d drop him in one.” He signalled to one of the fleet of uniformed waiters who hurried to his side. “Thank you,” he said gracefully, taking two glasses of champagne from the silver tray.

“I should go now,” Christy said quite sadly as he passed a flute to her.

“My dear, you should be thrown out,” Ashe quipped, not liking this beautiful witch’s misery.

“I don’t belong here.”

“I entirely agree with you, but you’re not going anywhere. Not yet. Come.” He took her arm. Held her captive. “Let’s leave all these good people to their exuberant high spirits. I expect you’re hungry?”

“No.” She shook her head, fighting for her dignity.

“I promise you you will be. Enough money has been spent on the food and drink at this reception to feed the entire Outback for a year.”

As they made their way out to the marquee society photographers got in the way. Flashes went off, capturing the two of them strolling along like a pair of lovers. Ashe McKinnon didn’t stop to supply Christy’s name. He didn’t have to, Christy thought shakily. At least one photographer knew exactly who she was since he’d photographed her at various functions a few times before. Without question a photograph of her with Ashe McKinnon at her side would appear in Vogue, or whatever magazine had the rights. No matter what, Christy held her shoulders back and her head high.

The food was indeed so sumptuous many of the guests stood gawking in awe before they finally moved in to sample the endless dishes. Ice sculptures in the form of larger-than-life swans decorated the tables, which were festooned with white flowers and trails of ivy down the centre. Billows of white tulle and satin ribbons decorated the tented ceilings with thousands of fresh white flowers including masses of white orchids flown in from Thailand. Christy had already seen the six-foot-high wedding cake, which dominated the twenty-foot-long Georgian dining room table. Obviously the happy couple were to cut the cake in the house. She hoped to be long gone by then. Why hadn’t the cattle baron thrown her out? He was a strange perverse man.

Instead he made her eat something. “Go on,” he urged. “Everyone is looking at you. Isn’t that too priceless? Of course you’re the most beautiful woman here, though I expect you still want to change places with Callista?”

She was aghast at his little cruelties. “What a pig you are. Cochon!”

“But of course you speak French,” he joked. “Anyway I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” He bent his glistening dark head over hers, a study in ebony and gold, as though he was whispering endearments.

“No need to overdo it,” she said sharply, struck again by the beauty of his eyes. Why did men have such wonderful eyelashes?

“I’m doing what I want to do. It’s even possible I’ve fallen madly in love with you.”

“And pray have you?” She could barely conceal her inner rage.

“No. We’re co-conspirators that’s all. And I’m damned if I know why. Our paths will probably never cross again.”

“Amen to that,” she flashed. This wasn’t a man you sashayed around. He was a big, powerful tough man. The sort of man she disliked.

“You don’t see me as eligible?” he mocked. “They tell me I am.”

“Why not with all that money,” she returned bleakly. Wasn’t that how it went with Josh.

“You have such command of diplomacy. I’m sure you weren’t always that cynical.”

“I was not.” There was a headache behind her eyes.

“You’re thinking about Deakin, aren’t you?” he abruptly accused, the muscles of his face tautening.

“It’s hard not to when I’ve turned up at his wedding,” she managed painfully.

“And when did you decide to do that?” He was determined to know.

“At precisely half past eleven last night,” she replied.

“What we call a snap decision? More champagne? There’s a choice. Moet or Bollinger?”

“Wouldn’t it have been cheaper, even smarter, to buy domestic?” she asked tartly, swallowing a morsel of Russian caviar.

“Mercedes thinks our champagne styles lack French subtlety.”

“She should go to more wine tastings. Even the experts have been known to be fooled.”

Inevitably other guests surged up to speak to Ashe. He appeared to be known and “adored” by everyone on the bride’s side, but needless to say none of the super-rich knew her. She only occasionally moved into their world at charity functions. But he introduced her to all his friends who turned searching but approving eyes on her. It was about time Ashe got married, they said with sly glances at her, never guessing she was wincing inside. As urbanely as Ashe McKinnon was handling all this, she just knew there was a dark side to the cattle baron. He was allowing this charade to go on to prevent a scandal. She was determined to get away from him, at the same time filled with the weird notion she couldn’t even if she tried. But her moment came. The best-looking of the bridesmaids, four in all, all dressed alike in shades of blue moire silk, determinedly took hold of his arm.

“Ashe, darling, why are you being so cruel to me…?”

Christy waited for no more. She fled across the lawn, keeping to the shadows and away from the main reception rooms, heading eastwards. If she got lost he would have to send a search party. She’d have really strange memories of all this. They’d probably stay with her all her life.

Just when she thought she was safe, a man’s hand suddenly reached for her, drawing her back into a large dimly lit room that looked like a man’s study. She had an impression of walls of books, glass cases bearing sporting trophies, paintings of winning racehorses, a desk and chairs.

“Christy!” Josh was staring down at her, soft floppy hair nearly falling into his eyes.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, I don’t want to speak to you.” She gritted her teeth.

“Take it quietly, darling,” he begged. “God, I thought the bloody cattle baron had abducted you.”

“He’ll be coming to look for me pretty soon,” Christy warned, wanting nothing more than to have Ashe McKinnon explode into the room.

“You don’t know him, do you?’ Josh asked as if he guessed her pitiful secret.

“Pretty soon we’re going to get engaged,” Christy said briskly, wanting to see how he took it.

The generous mouth dropped open. “Be serious.”

“I am being serious,” she managed.

“You’re not!” Now he gloated. “You don’t know him. He doesn’t come to the city that often. He has a cattle empire to run.”

“I know!” Christy flaunted the knowledge. “He’s very rich.”

“You don’t care about riches.”

“I do now. It’s ironic, isn’t it? I’d say he has even more millions than your wife and mother-in-law put together.”

“You’re bitter, aren’t you?” Josh accused her, his hazel eyes raking her face and body.

“Get a grip, Josh,” she said, green eyes narrowing in contempt. “It’s okay you married your Callista. There’s a big wide world out there full of gorgeous men. Ashe McKinnon would have to be right up there at the top.”

“You weren’t on the wedding list,” Josh pointed out aggressively. “You’re a fake, Christy. You don’t know him at all.” But on his own wedding day Josh’s voice cracked with jealousy.

“How would you know?” Christy was finding his behaviour abominable. “It’s been weeks since I laid eyes on you. Now if you don’t mind I want to leave.”

“When you’re McKinnon’s date?” He challenged her to stop.

“I mean leave this room. You have me bailed up.” She stared at him in disgust, willing him out of the way.

“No one will come in here, Christy,” he said as if to reassure her.

“Oh, please. You’d better hope and pray not Ashe McKinnon. You could wind up dead. He’s very protective of his cousin.”

“I can handle Callista.” He smiled tightly. “I had to talk to you, Christy. I have to see you later.”

“Later?” Her eyes flashed angrily even while her voice rose in sheer disbelief. “Later you’re supposed to be on your honeymoon. Not renewing our relationship.”

“How I wish it was you,” he admitted in a tone of deepest regret.

“Go to hell.” She prised her fingers from his arm. “And I hope you stay there.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” he groaned, his eyes curiously glazed. “I love you. You love me. Nothing can change that.” He reached, as though this time she would surrender and go into his arms.

Instead the tall, powerful figure of Ashe McKinnon appeared in the open doorway. He fairly lunged into the room, looking as daunting as the devil, just as dangerous, and probably just as unlawful.

“This has to be the most stupid thing you’ve ever done, Deakin,” he rasped, eyes like black diamonds. “Get away from him.” He turned on Christy, grinding out the order.

Giving orders was a tendency in dangerous creatures, she thought, instantly obeying.

“Hasn’t it crossed your arrogant mind that’s what I’m trying to do?” The decided edge in her voice matched his own.

“I told you to stay with me,” he reminded her, not taking his eyes off the errant bridegroom who had taken cover of sorts behind an armchair.

“And you really thought I was going to obey? What sort of woman do you think I am?” Christy fired, embarrassed beyond words.

“An idiot to begin with,” he informed her shortly. “Come over here to me.”

She knew better than to rile him further.

“What are we going to do with you, Deakin?” Ashe felt like slamming Callista’s brand-new husband against a wall. “My family is very important to me.” And in all honesty he was seething at the sight of Miss Parker near wrapped in Deakin’s arms.

“It wasn’t what you think.” The panic-stricken Josh assumed a look of deep apology. Tangling with the cattle baron would be like tangling with a charging rhino. “It’s the same old story. You must know it, Ashe.” His mobile features took on a man-to-man expression. “Christy and I had a little fling but when I told her it was over she wouldn’t let go. Women are like that.”

She had never known this man, Christy thought, gazing at him with a mixture of dismay and pain.

“You really think I’m going to swallow that?” Ashe near choked, he was so angry. He couldn’t, absolutely couldn’t, relate to this guy. What in the name of God did Callista and this girl, Christy, see in him? He was ninety-five per cent toxic waste.

“It’s true.” Christy picked that moment to be utterly selfless. Not for Josh. Sometime in the future Josh would get his comeuppance. But for Callista. She had no desire to hurt Callista. Callista was just another woman who thought herself deeply in love with a man she couldn’t see clearly. “I came here to tempt him.”

“What rot!” Ashe bridled afresh. “About as good as it gets.” He studied Christy with contemptuous eyes. “You’re trying to save his worthless skin.”

“Your cousin Callista doesn’t deserve this. She’s the innocent party. I owe her something. The question I ask myself now is why did you, astute old you, let her marry him?”

Ashe’s dynamic face mirrored his frustration. “The fact is Callista is nearly thirty years old.” He rounded on Christy, his anger abruptly abating when he saw how pale she was. Her eyes were enormous, a dead give-away she was deeply disturbed.

“Get the hell out of here, Deakin,” Ashe ordered, his voice cracking like a whip. “Your playing around with other women ends today. If I hear one word…!”

“I’m going to be the best husband ever,” Josh proclaimed like a professional con man, looking Ashe in the eyes.

“You’d better be, my man.” Ashe nodded, his expression grim.

“I love Callista,” Josh poured it on while Ashe McKinnon threw back his dark head and roared.

“I have grave misgivings about that. You’re dirt.”

The rest of Josh’s words dried up. Hastily he crossed to the door, pausing a moment from its relative safety. “As far as I’m concerned Christy is the culprit here. Ex-girlfriends aren’t supposed to gatecrash a man’s wedding.”

Ashe swore beneath his breath in a near ecstasy of anger. “Get out of here.” The attitude of his body suggesting a panther about to spring into action.

Josh wasn’t entirely insane. With one last aggrieved look he took to his heels.

“Not his finest hour,” pronounced Ashe in disgust.

When the time came—by now time had no meaning for Christy—for the happy couple to leave on the first leg of their honeymoon—an overnight stay in the honeymoon suite of a leading hotel before jetting off for three weeks in Thailand—the guests had assembled on the grand sweep of front lawn of the McKinnon mansion to wave them off.

Callista, as pretty as a picture in her pink going-away outfit, turned to throw her bouquet. A surprisingly high sweep. Christy, battling with the illusion she was trapped in a dream, made no move to catch it. She felt quite naturally it was inappropriate as well as the fact she had gone off weddings. She didn’t even make a playful gesture of reaching up as all four bridesmaids were doing, but in earnest. The bouquet simply descending gracefully but in a mesmerizing way, twirling and twirling a lovely posy of perfect pink and white roses threaded with traceries of green.

The bridesmaids were running forward, palms up, fingers steepled, each one determined to catch this wonderful forecast. I’m next! Their faces were bright with excitement and anticipatory pleasure.

Me. Me. Let it be me.

But life is full of disappointments and preordained events. Callista’s bouquet fell with a soft fragrant weight into Christy’s nerveless hands.

She saw the muscles along Ashe McKinnon’s clean-cut jaw tighten cynically before two of the women guests grasped her in affectionate camaraderie and kissed her on either cheek.

“Lucky girl!” They batted speculative glances at Ashe. God, wasn’t he a drop-dead hunk!

And why not? Ashe had scarcely left her side. Mercedes had berated him fondly for trying to fool her. Everyone seemed to think she was the new woman in Ashe McKinnon’s life. An irony not lost on either of them.

And so it was that Christy and Ashe McKinnon left the wedding together. Christy heading into very deep waters indeed.

CHAPTER TWO

FROM nowhere a chauffeured limousine appeared. At least there were some pluses to being rich. Christy stepped into the back seat. After a moment Ashe McKinnon joined her.

In the silence that followed, Christy stared out the window, devastated by the whole day.

“Silly me, I’ve forgotten where you live,” he said in an ironic tone.

She surveyed him gravely, her faith in life shattered, yet it was he who had rescued her from a very bad situation.

“Goodness me, and you were thinking of moving in. Number 10 Downing Street.” At least that was a world away.

“My dear girl they’ve changed the locks.” His black gaze fell on her lovely face, desire lapping in his blood.

“Then I suggest you try 121 Shelly Beach Road.”

He lowered the partition window to give instructions to the chauffeur.

“I feel ashamed of myself,” Christy confessed after a few unhappy minutes of studying the stars. “Really ashamed.”

“Perhaps you ought to be put in prison,” he suggested in a mocking voice.

“It wasn’t that serious, was it?” She looked back at him. Why was she with this man?

“You do this for a living, gatecrashing receptions?”

“I couldn’t face seeing Josh marry your cousin. How petite she is! Doll-size.”

“Up until recently I thought she had a woman-sized brain. As for you, you have to get on with your life.” He didn’t want her mourning Deakin. Not for one minute.

“I don’t want to even think about it for at least forty-eight hours. I had maybe one too many glasses of champagne,” she apologised.

“That’s perfectly understandable. It’s also the reason why I hired the limousine. I couldn’t drive you myself. Not only do I not keep a car in the city but I’m well over the limit. Three glasses of anything is surely not enough to celebrate a wedding? Even an insufferable one.”

“I should have known better.” Christy gave a bruised sigh.

“Indeed you should.” His tone used up a lot of censure.

“You’ve never made a mistake in your life I suppose?” Christy pressed back exhaustedly against the plush upholstery.

“I think I hate the way you say that. All my ex-girlfriends speak to me.”

“I bet you gave them a hard time,” Christy answered. He wouldn’t lie to them. If anything he was too much upfront. “I know some women go in for excitement and danger. It must make them feel more alive. It’s my professional judgment that you’re a dangerous man.”

“All it might take is a little getting to know me.” He flung out an arm and drew her close to him. His desire for her was blocking out his usual tight control. And he wanted to comfort her. All of a sudden she seemed very vulnerable.

Christy allowed her head to come to rest against his shoulder. “You know you’re not my keeper.” But he was very masterful.

“I am for this evening.” He brushed a few glinting golden strands of hair from her cheek. “To be honest, I’m concerned you might go after them.”

She came upright in despair. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

“I sincerely hope so.” He didn’t sound impressed. “Your ex-boyfriend and my cousin have only this very evening exchanged their marriage vows.”

“And good luck to them,” Christy exclaimed disjointedly. She felt so overwrought she couldn’t even begin to describe her emotions. “I do know one thing. I wouldn’t want to marry a man like you.” She withdrew the ruffled hem of her short skirt away from his trousered knee.

“I hope you weren’t counting on my asking you?” He didn’t bother to control the mockery. Who the hell did she think she was? A goddess?

“Getting married is the last thing I want to do,” Christy said with the sombre gravity of the betrayed. “Marriages in most cases don’t seem to work out. I know any number of couples who have split up.”

“Not counting you and Josh?” He smiled grimly.

“When I think of you a word comes to mind,” Christy said in exasperation. Didn’t he know she was badly hurt?

“Please don’t say it,” he joked. “I detest hearing rough words on a woman’s tongue. As it happens, I’m not a great one for marriage either. It’s something men have to do to get heirs.”

She felt the shock. “What a rotten thing to say.”

He was silent for a while. “Being betrayed isn’t just a woman’s area. Wives and mothers have been known to abandon the marital home leaving devastation behind them. Women don’t have a great deal of difficulty stamping on a man’s heart.”

Christy was taken aback by the degree of passion in his voice. “You’re beginning to sound like a misogynist.”

“Sometimes I think I am.” He revealed a white twisted smile. “A reflection of my background perhaps. But to get back to you, Christy Parker, you could be a whole lot unhappier as an old maid.”

“Don’t use that term,” she protested. “I’m a feminist, I don’t like it. I’m sick of all the words men have thought up to label women.”

“You don’t think they deserve a lot of them?” he asked with strong sarcasm.

“Women don’t need men,” Christy said, sexual antagonism thick between them. “I suppose they might need them for an occasional bout of sex.”

To her complete surprise given the tension between them, he burst out laughing. It was a very engaging sound. There were some things about him she managed to find wildly attractive. In desperation, not knowing what else to do in the presence of this complex man, Christy closed her eyes. Men of his type were new to her. He was too physically and verbally powerful. She was having such difficulty adjusting to everything that was happening. In a few short hours she’d gone from jilted woman and gatecrasher, to the new woman in Ashe McKinnon the cattle baron’s life.

But then it was only play-acting.

Thank God.

“Wakey, wakey,” a man’s voice breathed seductively in her ear.

“Wh-a-at?” Christy started to say dazedly. “I surely didn’t doze off?” She felt such confusion, disorientation, staring up into his fathomless dark eyes.

“You must have. You didn’t notice when I kissed you.”

“You didn’t kiss me.” She was absolutely certain she would have registered it. On the Richter scale. She understood already, miserable as she was, Ashe McKinnon was that sort of man.

“No, I didn’t,” he drawled. “I imagined I kissed you.”

“Oh…” She was reduced to silence.

Seemingly like magic they were outside her apartment block, the surrounding well-kept gardens giving off the scent of gardenia and frangipani. Above her head the Southern Cross was a dazzling presence. It appeared to be right over the spot where she was standing. A billion stars gleamed. It was a heavenly night, velvety and fragrant. It made her feel very very sad. She even yawned. Ashe McKinnon and the chauffeur, however, had their two heads bent together.

What were they planning? Whatever Ashe said the chauffeur threw back his head and laughed. Men! They bonded in minutes. A moment more and the chauffeur got back behind the wheel, saluted briefly before he pulled away from the kerb, then did a U-turn back in the direction of the city.

“Well which is it?” Ashe joined her, so tall he towered over her. “The penthouse?” He tilted his dark head back, staring up at the twenty floors of the high-rise building.

“Don’t be stupid. I can’t afford the penthouse,” she said feeling a rush of something like panic, “neither do I recall asking you in.”

“But my dear Miss Parker, it’s totally expected under these circumstances. You need someone to look after you.”

“Not you, Mr. McKinnon. I’m in no doubt of that. Most decidedly not you.”

“That’s okay.” He answered casually as if he wanted no part of that agenda either. “As it turns out I have plenty of women fighting over me.”

“Men who ooze money generally do.”

“Ouch, that was nasty.” He made a mock attempt to defend himself. “Come on, Miss Parker. For all you may have deserved it, you’ve had a bad day.” He made a grab for her hand and momentarily defeated she let him take it again, curiously responding to the feel of those calluses against her smooth skin.

“Well if you’re coming in for a while, come,” she said, her voice carrying strain. “I want to get this damned dress off.” It reminded her too bitterly of the wedding. Of wasted time. Failure.

He glanced down at her golden head for a moment then looked away. She’d created a sensation tonight. Ms. Bottecelli the gatecrasher. “Don’t you think you’re being rather forward?” he mocked.

She scarcely heard. “I can’t stand it.” There was nothing left to her but to mourn. Parting with ex-boyfriends was never easy even if they were hollow men. “I’ll never give my heart again. I’ll lock it away someplace inside me. I’ll never give my trust.”

“Oh stop feeling so sorry for yourself,” he advised, not without pity. “You’re young. You’re beautiful. So you let yourself get involved with a villain, there are good guys out there. Next time,” he added bluntly, “you might be a better judge. Callista spent more quality time choosing her wedding gown than her groom.”

Whereas Josh the freeloader had instantly chosen a young woman with money to burn.

They never spoke in the lift. He looked marvellous, she thought somewhere between detachment and admiration. A prince among men. Josh couldn’t hold a candle to him for looks or presence. Anything for that matter. If she was going to be fair. Not that Ashe McKinnon was the sort of man she should have fallen in love with. Men like that threw out such a challenge. One she preferred not to take on. Besides he was out of her league and he didn’t believe in marriage either. A man like that would expect his bride to sign a watertight pre-nuptial contract.

Thinking about it, it only made common sense.

Christy reached out and dislodged the pink confetti on his shoulders thinking he’d probably look as wonderful in his working gear—akubra, bush shirt and jeans, riding boots on his feet—as a morning suit. Groovy. Really groovy. That’s what her friend, Montana, would say. On the scale of one to ten Ashe McKinnon had to rate an eleven. She dwelt quietly on his physical attributes so as not to think about Josh. Josh would be labelled “unfit” beside this man.

“So what’s the verdict?” His eyes glinted.

“Sorry?” They stepped out of the lift together, Christy indicating with a little flourish of her arm her apartment was the one to the far right.

“I’m surprised you haven’t noticed my gold tooth.”

“You have a gold tooth?” She stood stock-still and stared at him in horrified amazement.

“No I haven’t, but if I had I’m sure you would have noticed it. Do you usually eyeball men so closely?”

“I know you look spectacular, but I was looking through you.”

“Here, give me that.” She was fumbling, something she never did, but her fingers were nerveless, so he took the key off her, turning the dead lock and standing back while she preceded him into her one-bedroom but decidedly up-market apartment. She would spend the rest of her life paying it off but it was an excellent investment.

Inside almost total darkness. He put out a hand and found the panel of light switches.

“How did you do that?” She pushed back her hair.

“What?” He gazed down at her with a puzzled expression.

“Find the lights so easily? I’ve never thought they were terribly well placed.”

“I have X-ray vision. I’ve spent my life learning how to see in the dark.”

“Ah the pleasures of being a cattle baron,” she sighed. “Won’t you sit down? I have to get out of this dress. Won’t be a moment. Then we’ll have coffee.”

“Take your time,” he said very dryly.

“What’s so funny?” Christy turned back to ask.

“Oh life in the fast lane. Do you mind if I take off my cravat?”

“Go ahead.” She met those eyes and had the extraordinary sensation something was cutting off her breath. “I’m not coming back in a negligee if that’s what you’re thinking. I intend to burn this dress.”

“When I thought you should wear it forever,” he said suavely. “I like your abode. Did you do the decorating yourself?”

“Right down to painting the walls. By myself. Now I think about it, Josh always had an excuse to avoid anything like physical hard work.”

“You call painting a few walls hard work?” he called after her, his tone caustic.

Josh. Josh. Josh Deakin was out of her life.

“By the time I was finished I was burned out.”

Left alone Ashe wandered casually around the open-plan living-dining room. His study at home was bigger in area so he took small steps unless he powered into the sliding-glass doors that led out onto a small balcony. He went to the doors, opened them and stepped out to take a look at the view. Or city people called it a view. God, he could never live in the city, he thought for perhaps the millionth time. He could never be contained. But this was nice for what it was. A successful working girl’s pad.

He wondered, with a surge of anger that could get him into trouble, whether Deakin had lived with her. Slept with her. Had his morning cup of coffee with her. He hoped not, picturing it but not wanting to.

The decor was entirely feminine yet a man would feel comfortable here. She had great taste, sensibility. Even unhappy she’d filled the place with flowers. He liked that. He liked the books she read. Lots of books. She would love the extensive library he had inherited with many important first editions and historical documents. His was one of the great pioneering families. He liked the prints on the walls. An oil painting of her. Very good. He understood the artist had been in love with her. It showed. He liked how everything was very clean, very neat. Orderly. She’d make a fine wife, he thought with a kind of dark amusement when in reality he was appalled she wanted Callista’s brand-new husband. Yet when was the last time he’d found a woman so damned intriguing? Never was the answer. It left him feeling vaguely shell-shocked.

Finally he got his silk cravat undone and placed it on a side table. There was a glass bowl filled with beautifully perfumed yellow roses on it and a silver-framed photograph of her and he presumed her parents. She bore a strong resemblance to the woman, so youthful-looking she might have been an older sister but he knew she wasn’t. The man was good-looking, too, rugged, with a look of character. For some reason he thought them landed people. Maybe they owned a farm of some sort. Living on the land was character building in his experience.

Ashe sank down into an armchair with apple green upholstery; spring colours dominated the room, awaiting the drama of her return. He was starting to wonder what the hell he thought he was doing? He wasn’t the man to be swept away by a woman’s very obvious charms. Correction: he hadn’t been up to date. There was her beauty and the rest, the way she talked, the way she moved, but he realised he was getting too big a charge out of being with her.

He wanted her. The thought stunned him. He’d only just met her, under the worst possible circumstances, yet he wanted this woman. He supposed it was the way he lived his life. He was always making instant decisions. Big decisions. But he was never, couldn’t afford to be, reckless. This was madness. So ill-advised. How could he possibly want a woman who was tearing herself to pieces over another man? A man moreover he already despised. Worse, married to his cousin. He knew better than anyone what happened to a man who let himself fall very deeply in love. It was like handing over one’s soul. His mother had cheated on his father long before she finally left him. He couldn’t get her treachery out of his head. More than twenty years later. His father was the finest man he had ever known. He had never grown another emotional layer of skin to enable him to remarry. His mother right up to the day he died had been enshrined in his father’s memory. If it had been him…if it had been him…

“Oh dear, what’s the matter?” Coming back into the room Christy gave him an alarmed glance. He looked positively daunting, the expression on his face dark and brooding.

“Nothing.” He emptied his mind of all violence. “Do come further in and let me see you. Didn’t change your mind? No negligee?” He spoke flippantly, trying to kill desire.

“You’re a complete stranger.” Just as coolly she answered his banter. She’d put on the first thing that came to hand, a pink-embroidered shirt over white cotton jeans. “Would you like coffee?”

“Coffee, the instant cure. Not the instant kind, I hope? You wouldn’t by chance have any single malt whisky?”

Her face froze as memories floated up. “I let Josh have all his liquor back. I’m not much of a drinker. There is however a bottle of Tia Maria. It goes exactly with coffee.”

“Tia Maria it is,” he answered rather shortly, outraged anew by her feelings for Deakin. “It’s not exactly what I planned but it will do. Strong, black coffee, no sugar. Do you need a hand?”

“There’s not the space for you. How tall are you anyway?”

“If I remember correctly just over six-three. Are they your parents over there?” He inclined his head towards the photograph.

“Yes.” She came back into the living room, her beautiful face breaking into a smile. “I miss them terribly.”

“Where are they?”

“I grew up on a sheep and lavender farm in Victoria. My parents are still there. They’ll never leave. They adore country life and one another.”

“You’re an only child?” He stared at her with brooding eyes.

“Sad to say yes. My mother had a lot of trouble having me. My father couldn’t have borne to lose her. That put paid to a bigger family. But I was never spoilt. I was never of the over-protective one-child syndrome. In fact I ran wild.”

“So you’re a country girl?”

“Does that put me up a notch?” She heard the approval in his voice.

“Indeed yes. When I marry—”

“To great applause,” she cut in dryly.

“My wife will have to understand what living in the Outback means.” His vibrant voice cracked right down the line.

“You look extremely sober when you say that,” she commented.

“It’s a top requirement.” He didn’t bare his soul to her. He didn’t say his mother had been a beautiful social butterfly. A city girl, born and bred. In fact the last woman his father should have married. The last woman to mother a child. It was a miracle she had stayed so long. She had missed—expected to miss—his tenth birthday. There had been no celebration. His charming extravagant mother had run away. She was an adulteress, goddamn it. Love wouldn’t stand between him and a successful marriage.

She brought him a hot steaming cup of excellent coffee along with a small crystal glass containing a dollop of liqueur.

“What are you having?”

“Aspirin.” She couldn’t disguise how she felt.

“Go back and get some coffee. Put a lot of milk in it,” he ordered.

“You’re the boss.” She walked back into the kitchen and popped a small jug of milk into the microwave. “I bet you’re the boss even when you’re asleep?”

“Of course I’m the boss. That’s my job. So what next, Miss Parker?” he asked, quietly surveying her.

“As in?” Wearily she rubbed the faint cleft in her chin, taking a seat opposite him.

“Plans for the future. You realise you’re going to have to cut Josh Deakin out of your life? End of story.”

“Obviously you haven’t read my character correctly.” She didn’t know how it had happened but she desperately wanted him to approve of her.

“Not every ex-girlfriend turns up uninvited at a wedding.”

“Go on, rub it in.”

“I have to. I’m excessively biased in favour of my cousin.”

“She’s a lucky girl.” Christy gave a mournful sigh.

There was a little droop to her lovely mouth. It made him want to kiss it hard. A little punishment without hurting her. “Anyway if you’re a good girl and say your prayers, Mr. Right will come along.”

“Mr. Right?” Her beautiful green eyes were distant. “What makes men Mr. Right all of a sudden? I don’t even want to talk about Mr. Right and marriage. I’m in denial.”

“I recognise that. I can even understand how you feel being burned. The fact is I’m wary of marriage myself.” He said this with considerable self-mockery.

“Pray tell why is that? You don’t look like you’d be wary of anything.”

“I’ve seen a lot of men lose their good judgment over a woman,” he remarked cynically.

“Well you couldn’t possibly say that only applies to men. Right now I’m feeling love is a four-letter word. And it definitely doesn’t last. Well it did—it does—for my parents. But they’re different.”

“You’re thinking you don’t stand a chance?” He gave a quiet, ironic laugh. “What about arranged marriages?” he asked. “Plenty of precedent for those. This head over heels bit doesn’t always come off.”

“You can’t be saying you’d seriously consider marrying a woman who doesn’t love you?” He took her breath away.

“And one I don’t love either. I’ve no time for mad primitive urges, all that sweep a woman up and carry her off sort of stuff. One can learn to love, certainly. And, of course there must be trust and respect, mutual commitment and the same goals.”

“Anything else?” She kept her eyes on him.

“Ideally she’ll be good-looking, warm, compassionate, love kids, smart and able to take on a full partnership in the McKinnon operation. At least have input. I don’t want any trophy wife.”

“And one who would never be unfaithful?”

The brilliant black eyes turned glacial. “Why did you say that?” His handsome face tautened.

She took a little rapid breath. “I see it hit a nerve? You’re certainly looking at me as though I’m not to be trusted.”

“Women as beautiful as you mightn’t make the safest wife,” he retorted.

“Really?” Colour flared into her face. “You’re a real woman hater, aren’t you?”

“I’m just very much against divorce.” He sounded deadly serious.

Christy half rose, anything but at ease with him. “More coffee?”

“No this is fine. You’re not going to cry, are you? You’ve been very emotional all night.”

“No I am not going to cry,” she told him a little fiercely. “Dammit I don’t understand men. You could have any woman you liked. That bridesmaid you were talking to? Did you happen to notice she’s madly in love with you? And there were at least a dozen others sick with disappointment you had me hanging off your arm. Is it possible beneath that formidable exterior you’re scared of women? Do you look like a panther when you’re really a puppy?”

He surveyed her coolly. “I can’t believe you said that. It’s just that I want a lot, Christy. For one so recently jilted, you have a great deal to say.”

The phone rang out, saving Christy an answer. They both jumped, so intense was the atmosphere between them. Christy went to answer it. Who could be ringing her this time of night? Her mind sprang, instantly, anxiously, to her parents. Accidents happened on farms. Nerves tightening she spoke into the mouthpiece. “Christy here.”

Silence at the other end then a man’s voice so low she would have had to ask him to speak up only the voice was too familiar. “Christy, Christy, don’t hang up.”

Her heart contracted. Shock. Sick anger. Utter disbelief.

“Please…hear me out.”

“You’re kidding. You’ve got to be kidding!” The words burst from her before she could swallow them back. What sort of life form was he?

“Who is it?” Ashe McKinnon was on his feet. “Deakin?” His voice was hard.

She hung up immediately. “Don’t be ludicrous. Wrong number. They were after a woman named Paderewski or Popadiamantris or someone.”

He clicked his tongue disgustedly. “I can think of a few other things you might be but a good liar isn’t one of them. We all know who Paderewski was and Papadiamantris to the best of my knowledge was a Greek writer. That was Deakin. Where in hell is he speaking from, the hotel? I’ll go round.”

That thoroughly panicked her. “I tell you, it was a wrong number.”

The phone rang again but Ashe saved her the trouble of answering it. “McKinnon,” he thundered. Straight from the Oval Office.

The very last thing Josh would have been counting on, Christy thought, secretly thrilled. Ashe McKinnon in her apartment. If McKinnon hadn’t looked like he wanted to lynch someone she might have been able to laugh.

He hung up, obviously having frightened the caller off. “If Deakin were here right now he’d have to be hospitalised. It was him, wasn’t it?” He drilled her with his brilliant stare.

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Christy found herself imploring. Usually the people she dealt with were easy to handle. Not the cattle baron. No way. “It was the wrong number. I get lots of them.”

He stared at her without a flicker of belief. “As an attempt at protecting your ex-boyfriend that was pitiful.”

So it was, but the whole situation was highly explosive. And she was the cause of it. She should never have gatecrashed the wedding, no matter how badly Josh had treated her. “All right, then, I’m protecting Callista.” She refused point-blank to be intimidated. “From you as much as him. Do you want to get back into town and punch him out? For all your talk of cool, common sense, you’re a passionate man.” She put out a hand and tentatively touched him. Much as a brave or alternatively stupid person would attempt to soothe a big cat. “Please relax. Settle down.” But settling down didn’t appear to be on the agenda.

“They’re supposed to be on their goddamn honeymoon and he’s ringing you?” he retorted in amazement. “It’s enough to make anyone reel.”

“It’s been done before.” She borrowed some of his own cynicism. “Men ringing their mistresses and old girlfriends from the honeymoon suite. A crime of the heart. But it happens. The thing is you haven’t got the right impression of me.”

“So educate me,” he challenged, looking down that fine, straight nose at her.

“I can scarcely expect you to listen, you’re so judgmental, but I don’t, repeat, don’t, fool around with married men. As far as I’m concerned, they’re off-limits.”

“Fine words,” he bit off edgily, his expression so infuriating, before she knew it, Christy’s hand was in midair, carrying all the weight of her unhappiness behind it. He caught it, arresting her fiery reaction. “Now there’s a first,” he said in very dangerous tones, as she stood there swaying. “No one has ever taken a swing at me before, much less a woman. I want to believe you, Christy Parker, but I have to say I’m absolutely rattled.”

“Can’t you appreciate it’s the way I feel myself.” She concentrated hard on rubbing her wrist. He hadn’t hurt her applying just enough force to stop the blow but he had rendered her trembling. God knows what was at the heart of it. “This has been a dreadful day. A knock-out sort of day. I really should go to bed. Right now. This minute.”

His brilliant eyes suddenly sparkled with black humour. “Maybe I should stick around in case you decide to call Deakin back?”

Pure melancholy was taking hold of her. “I can’t believe how cruel you are,” she murmured. “Not that I care. After tonight I’ll never see you again.”

He was aware how violently he wanted to change that. “You don’t believe that any more than I do.”

It was said in such a disturbing voice, with the irony she was becoming used to and something less identifiable. Whatever it was it sent shock waves through her. Feelings very hard to deal with on this day of days.

“I’ll speak to you tomorrow.” He sounded perfectly calm, even calculating.

“About what?” she asked bewilderedly, trying to find some clue in the unreadable depths of his eyes.

“Oh we’ll go someplace,” he tossed off carelessly. “I don’t have to be back home until the end of the week.” Not true but what the hell! He marvelled at how completely his focus had changed. “You need something to shake you out of your misery. You didn’t love Deakin. No one could love anyone without a soul.”

Soulless most of all. “I thought I loved him,” Christy said, horrified when she felt tears well into her eyes. She couldn’t cry in front of this man. She saw him as… Oh, God, what did she see him as? “You talk about a soul.” She blinked back the tears furiously. “I can’t even trust my own heart.”