‘I’m not sure I understand.’

‘It’s quite simple,’ he said, leaning back in his chair and surveying her with hooded eyes. ‘I find you very attractive.’

His bluntness shocked and stirred her in equal measure. Beneath the lowered lids she discerned a glitter of desire.

An involuntary shiver—part fear, part keen anticipation that temporarily paralysed her thoughts—tightened her skin.

Kain examined her face, his cold eyes piercing and far too astute.

‘I think the best way to deal with the situation is for you and me to become lovers.’

‘What?’

He bent his head and kissed her startled mouth. It was a claim, open and demanding, and it smashed through her barriers with shaming ease. She had no chance to think, no time to do anything but surrender to a compelling hunger that battered down her instinctive resistance.

‘That’s not fake,’ he said, his voice rough. ‘Admit it, Sable—you want me every bit as much as I want you.’

Robyn Donald can’t remember not being able to read, and will be eternally grateful to the local farmers who carefully avoided her on a dusty country road as she read her way to and from school, transported to places and times far away from her small village in Northland, New Zealand. Growing up fed her habit; as well as training as a teacher, marrying and raising two children, she discovered the delights of romances and read them voraciously, especially enjoying the ones written by New Zealand writers. So much so that one day she decided to write one herself. Writing soon grew to be as much of a delight as reading—although infinitely more challenging—and when eventually her first book was accepted by Mills & Boon she felt she’d arrived home. She still lives in a small town in Northland, with her family close by, using the landscape as a setting for much of her work. Her life is enriched by the friends she’s made among writers and readers, and complicated by a determined Corgi called Buster, who is convinced that blackbirds are evil entities. Her greatest hobby is still reading, with travelling a very close second.

Recent titles by the same author:

THE MEDITERRANEAN PRINCE’S CAPTIVE VIRGIN

HIS MAJESTY’S MISTRESS

VIRGIN BOUGHT AND PAID FOR

INNOCENT MISTRESS, ROYAL WIFE

THE RICH MAN’S BLACKMAILED MISTRESS

BY

ROBYN DONALD

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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CHAPTER ONE

KAIN GERARD looked at his aunt with affection and exasperation. ‘Not again!’

She bridled. ‘It’s not Brent’s fault! He’s just—’

‘An idiot when it comes to women,’ Kain supplied more than a little tersely. ‘He falls violently in lust with the most unsuitable female in sight, showers her with gifts, promises her undying love, then wakes up one morning and realises he has nothing in common with her. Worse than that, she knows nothing about computers, which means he can’t even hold a conversation with her. So he dumps her and she goes off and wails tearfully—and lucratively—to the media.’

‘He just gets carried away,’ Brent’s mother protested weakly. ‘He doesn’t know what he really needs.’

Kain’s brows rose. ‘He seems to know exactly what he needs,’ he said in his driest voice. Big breasts, long legs and a wet-lipped simper—those were Brent’s criteria. ‘Temporarily, anyway. Why are you concerned this time?’

‘Kain, you—of all people!—know perfectly well he’s just had a very well-publicised payout on his internet firm—more than twenty million dollars.’ Amanda Gerard hesitated, before saying in a rush, ‘And she’s not his usual type. To start off with she’s older than he is, and she’s not a model or a game show hostess or a beauty contest winner.’

Kain’s black brows met in a frown. ‘So you think she’s after the money.’

‘Brent has a reputation for rather foolish generosity,’ his mother said unwillingly.

‘What evidence have you got that she’s a shark?’

Not for the first time Amanda Gerard decided it was positively sinful that as well has being brilliant and inordinately successful, Kain should look like something out of a fantasy—six foot three, shoulders big enough for a couple of women to cry on, and the sort of lean, potent vitality that stopped any woman’s breath.

Most men would have been more than content with that. But Kain also had perfect features, a mouth to send shivers down even her spine, and grey eyes that were a stunning contrast to olive skin and sable hair.

Brent was good-looking, but not even a doting mother’s bias would allow her to put him in Kain’s class.

She thrust a photograph at her nephew. ‘Look.’

She watched that sexy, sculpted mouth compress and his eyes narrow into ice chips as he scanned the image. Finally he looked up. ‘She’s definitely a change from Brent’s usual inamoratas. Who is she?’

‘Sable Jane Martin.’

‘Sable?’

‘Well, that’s what she calls herself.’ His aunt dismissed the pretentious name with a curled lip. ‘She’s at least five years older than Brent, and you’ll notice she isn’t hanging onto him or gazing worshipfully—or seductively—into his eyes,’ Amanda pointed out, adding, ‘And he speaks differently about her.’

‘So what is the problem?’ Kain was fond of the aunt who’d brought him up after his parents died, but he deplored her fierce, overprotective love for her only child.

He had no illusions about his cousin; Brent was spoilt. His open good looks—not to mention his assets—meant that most women succumbed to his laid-back approaches. Because he’d never had to work for a woman’s notice he’d probably been intrigued by the cool, touch-me-not air of the one in the photograph.

A little impatiently he said, ‘Perhaps this time he’s found a normal woman—one he can actually have a conversation with.’

‘Do you consider someone whose father was the town drunk normal?’

‘That’s hardly her fault.’

She grimaced. ‘I know that, but you have to admit she probably has serious issues.’

‘How do you know her father’s an alcoholic?’

‘He was—he’s dead now. She comes from Hawkes Bay, from a little town quite close to Blossom McFarlane, so I rang Bloss and asked her if she knew the girl.’

Kain concealed a smile. His aunt’s network of old school friends were affectionately known in the family as Amanda’s mafia. ‘And what did Blossom McFarlane tell you about her?’

His aunt gave him a suspicious glance. ‘Bloss not only knew her, she’d felt sorry for her when she was growing up, even admired her for her loyalty to her deadbeat father. After he died she worked for an elderly solicitor for a few months, but there was some scandal.’ His aunt hesitated, then said in a rush, ‘Bloss said it was all very hush-hush, but she thought it involved stealing.’

Kain didn’t like the sound of that. ‘By Sable Martin?’

‘Yes. Anyway, if she did steal anything she got off lightly. Nothing was ever done about it, but she left town under a cloud.’

Kain looked down at the woman standing beside Brent in the photograph, an enigmatic half-smile curling her lips. Unlike his cousin’s previous girlfriends Sable Jane Martin didn’t ooze sexuality, but Kain could see the attraction. That cool air was a challenge in itself; combine it with a sleekly elegant figure and a mouth that promised carnal delights galore, and Brent probably hadn’t stood a chance.

Echoing his thoughts, Amanda said bitterly, ‘Brent’s already spent the best part of thirty thousand dollars on her.’

‘A car?’

She paused, then made up her mind to tell him. ‘A diamond ring.’

And that, Kain decided, he liked even less. ‘Did he tell you that?’

‘Of course he didn’t. He must have bought it before he moved into that ridiculous penthouse, because the valuation documents came to my address.’

Mildly shocked, Kain asked, ‘And you opened the letter?’

‘I didn’t even look at the address,’ she told him indignantly. ‘Well, not until after I picked myself up off the floor!’

Kain leaned back in his chair. ‘So what do you want me to do?’

‘I thought you could get someone from your security branch to look into this Sable person,’ his aunt said, a little diffidently this time.

‘My security men are paid to look after my business interests, not my personal ones.’

‘I know, but in this case…’ Her voice trailed away.

Kain gave her a sardonic smile. ‘I’ll get them to check. As an employer I can’t approve of stealing.’

‘And I thought you might make a play for her,’ his aunt said in a rush.

‘There’s no one quite so ruthless as a devoted mother,’ Kain said cynically. ‘You must be seriously worried if you’re prepared to sacrifice Brent’s feelings as well as my time, my reputation, and his opinion of me.’

‘Since when have you cared about what Brent thinks of you?’ she shot back, flushing.

Actually, he valued his friendship with his cousin, but if this Sable Martin turned out to be a thief he was quite prepared to do what he could to protect Brent from any entanglement.

And if Kain had learned anything in his life it was that everything, even his aunt’s affection, came with a price tag. ‘I’ll get back to you.’

She wasn’t satisfied, but she knew when to stop pushing. Kain had given his word, and that meant it would be done. If there was anything at all suspicious in Sable Jane Martin’s past, he’d soon know.

Narrowing his eyes, Kain looked over the heads of the crowd. Auckland’s pre-Christmas racing carnival was in full swing; New Zealand’s summer had swept into town, and, as well as the graceful thoroughbreds, elegant women in exquisite clothes were parading for an extremely attractive prize.

Kain’s gaze homed in on the woman wearing a simple, superbly cut dress in soft dove-grey that contrasted with the pale purity of her skin and a black shimmer of hair beneath the frivolous hat. High heels emphasised long, glorious legs, and the silk clung to a narrow waist and curves that were alluring without being opulent. The only colour in the outfit was the true, vivid red of the lipstick that emphasised the woman’s sultry mouth.

Definitely not Brent’s usual type.

From just behind Kain a woman said, ‘That’s Maire Faris’s entry. It’s superb, but she won’t win.’

‘Too restrained,’ her companion agreed. ‘The judges always go for feathers and tulle and lots of overt glamour at these events. Who’s the model?’

Kain didn’t try to resist the temptation to eavesdrop. Although they were a few paces away from him the women’s voices—sharpened by a little too much of the freely available champagne—reached him clearly.

‘Mark Russell’s secretary. You know, the Russell Charitable Foundation.’

‘She looks far too decadent for such a worthy institution—well, stuffy is probably a better word for it.’

The woman was right; Sable Jane Martin certainly didn’t look as though she spent her days dealing with the poor and needy of the world.

‘Oh, well,’ the other woman said with a gurgle of laughter, ‘I suppose even such an upright, philanthropic citizen as Mark Russell likes something good to look at in the office.’

Indeed, Kain thought sardonically. Eyes narrowing, he scanned the face of the woman they were discussing. The demure outfit couldn’t mask a subtle, exotic sensuality that made the other women on the dais fade into the background.

Kain’s mouth thinned. Brent, he thought mordantly, you’re in real trouble with this one.

His security check had come up with a very nasty scandal. Like most workplace scandals it had been covered up, but Sable Jane Martin had been in it right up to her very pretty neck.

Once a thief, always a thief…

And blackmail was the most despicable of thefts, especially in this case. A man had killed himself because of it.

Somebody had to chisel Sable Jane Martin out of his too-impressionable cousin’s life before she got her greedy hands on his money and broke his heart.

Getting Brent out of the way had been reasonably easy; Kain had pulled strings to offer him the trip of a lifetime, crewing on a barquentine that was recreating a famous nineteenth century voyage of discovery. However, if things got brutal and basic, Kain knew his relationship with his cousin would take a battering.

Still, better a few months of tension between them than Brent being cheated of the money he’d earned over the past few years through damned hard work and the application of his intelligence.

‘She looks up for anything,’ the second woman remarked astutely. ‘But with great discretion. Perfect mistress material.’ Both women laughed. ‘Is she attached?’

‘Oh, yes, she’s moved in with young Brent Gerard,’ her companion said dryly.

Kain stiffened. This he hadn’t known—it must have happened just before Brent left.

‘Brent Gerard? One of the—oh, yes, I remember now, the kid who set up that internet company and has just sold it for gazillions to some big overseas corporation?’

To Kain’s company, actually. He was beginning to think that he should have stayed well out of it—although Brent had been ready to move on to something new.

‘Yes, that’s the one—Kain Gerard’s cousin.’

‘An excellent move on her part, but why doesn’t she aim higher? Kain’s unattached, and he’s worth billions, not a measly twenty or so million.’

Good thinking, Kain thought with distaste. He might suggest it to Sable Jane Martin. But a faint tinge of colour heated his sweeping cheekbones at the woman’s next words.

‘Besides, he looks like a god.’ Her voice dropped into a sexy purr. ‘I adore men who tower over me, especially when they’ve got olive skin and dark hair and pale, pale eyes that bore right into your soul and suggest all sorts of wickedly exciting things.’

With a sly laugh the first speaker said, ‘Well, for her I suppose it’s a case of better the millionaire in the hand than the billionaire in the bush. For all his brains Brent is easy pickings; his cousin is an entirely different kettle of fish.’

Whatever she was going to say next was stopped by her companion, who said, ‘Oh, look, there’s Trina Porteous beckoning us over.’

Grimly, Kain watched Brent’s new fling walk gracefully across the platform to take her place beside the other contestants competing for the best-dressed award.

The information his security men had dug up would make Miss Butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-luscious-mouth feel very, very uncomfortable.

And he’d have no hesitation at all in using it.

Tiny hairs on the back of Sable’s neck lifted in a primitive reaction to danger. Her hand tightened around the dove-grey bag and her stomach contracted in a fight-or-flee response that startled her. For a moment her smile faltered before she forced herself to breathe slowly and the world righted itself again.

Until she met an icy scrutiny across the crowd that sent her pulse shooting into warp speed. Kain Gerard—Brent’s cousin. And he knew who she was. A chilly emptiness expanded beneath her ribs.

Applause from the crowd startled her until she realised that the next contestant had stepped up onto the dais. Relieved, she joined the polite clapping.

But that level, intimidating gaze remained fixed on her. Her breath locked in her throat. Embarrassed at being singled out by Kain Gerard, she angled her chin upwards in automatic defiance. Brent’s cousin could project silent intimidation until the sun went down, but she wouldn’t allow him to frighten her.

But that cold gaze made her so uneasy she had to fight a growing tension until the last contestant came onto the stage, a lovely nineteen-year-old blonde who was bound to win the contest with her bright, summery, carefree look.

Sure enough she did, accepting her prize with a bubbly delight that reinforced the carnival atmosphere.

‘Well, we gave it our best,’ the elderly woman who’d designed Sable’s costume told her when the crowd had filtered away to get good places for the last race, the big one of the day.

Sable smiled down at her. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t do your dress justice.’

‘My dear, you wore it superbly. Here they want young and innocent and fresh, a salute to summer. You are sophisticated and stylish and a little bit mysterious—the sort of woman I’m designing for. I didn’t expect to win, but even reaching the finals will be very good publicity for me.’

She turned her head as someone came up behind Sable. ‘Hello, Kain,’ she said, a note of surprise colouring her tone. ‘I didn’t realise you were back from wherever you’ve been these past months. I suppose you’ve got a horse running in the Cup?’

‘I have.’

Deep and cool, his voice held a note of unsparing authority that sent little shivers through Sable. She stiffened her spine and tried to look calm and controlled.

‘Is it going to win?’ Maire asked.

‘Of course,’ he said with such calm confidence that Sable wondered if he’d managed to fix the race.

‘What’s its name? I’ll go and put a bet on it before the tote closes.’

‘Black Sultan.’

‘Very appropriate,’ Maire said dryly. ‘Thanks so much.’

He said, ‘You haven’t introduced us, Maire.’

The older woman looked surprised. ‘Oh—sorry, I assumed you two would know each other.’

Reluctantly, Sable turned.

Her dark eyes clashed with glacial grey ones. Bludgeoned by sensation, a bewildering mixture of apprehension and violent awareness, she dragged in a swift breath. She’d seen pictures of Brent’s cousin, of course, and during the past few minutes she’d been uncomfortably aware of his coldly measuring gaze, but not even that had prepared her for the potent impact of his brand of male charisma.

‘Sable, this is Kain Gerard,’ her companion told her. ‘I’m sure I don’t have to tell you anything much about him—he turns up in the media quite often.’

‘Not of my own volition,’ he said crisply.

‘No one could call you a publicity hound,’ she conceded. ‘Kain, meet Sable Martin, who should have won the prize up there.’

‘Indeed she should.’ Kain’s tone produced an unfamiliar meltdown in Sable’s spine. He took the hand she automatically extended, his fingers closing around hers. ‘You were robbed.’

‘I don’t think so.’ His touch set off strident alarms within her. And when she spoke her voice was pitched too low and sounded far too breathy…too impressed.

A little too hastily she added, ‘The winner was just what they were looking for—a holiday spirit. And she wore her clothes very well.’

He said smoothly, ‘Do you plan to watch the next race?’

Before Sable had a chance to come up with some excuse, her companion said, ‘Of course we do, but first I’m going to put a bet on your horse.’ Purposefully she started off towards the tote.

‘You’re not betting?’ Kain Gerard commented when Sable made no attempt to follow her.

‘No.’

He said, ‘Let me stake you—barring accidents, my horse will win.’

‘It’s all right, thank you,’ she said, warily conscious of the interested glances they were attracting. ‘What about you? Don’t you want to put some money on your horse?’

‘I’ve already done that,’ he told her, flashing her a killer smile that curled her toes inside the impractical, beautiful shoes she was wearing. ‘Though as he’s the favourite, he won’t pay much.’ Without altering his tone he said, ‘You’re a friend of my cousin’s, I believe. Brent Gerard.’

‘Yes,’ she said neutrally.

Brent had told her all about his older cousin, inadvertently revealing that his open admiration of Kain had a thread of chagrin running through it.

Standing beside the man, every cell in her body humming, Sable could understand Brent’s reaction; it would take a very secure young man to keep his confidence intact against such formidable competition.

Kain had been a billionaire before he reached thirty, Brent had told her enviously. ‘His parents left him a controlling stake in one of New Zealand’s most progressive companies as well as a hefty inheritance that gave him a damned good start on his quest for world domination.’ Then he’d given her a charmingly rueful smile. ‘But the real secret of his success is his drive and truly impressive brilliance, plus an uncanny knack for spotting trends.’

He’d paused, then finished significantly, ‘And his ruthlessness. He’s a bad man to cross.’

Wishing she’d gone with Maire, Sable pretended to examine the crowd. Instinct warned her that Brent had been right. Formidable determination was as much a part of Kain Gerard as his height and his broad shoulders and his arrogantly handsome face.

No wonder he was a hit with women. Brent hadn’t been quite so open about that aspect of his cousin, but Sable had read some interesting gossip.

And now she believed it all. He was—well, overwhelming was about the only word that came to mind. And although he seemed pleasant enough, his glance held more cool assessment than admiration.

Feeling a chill, Sable glanced up to see if a cloud had swallowed the sun. No, the sky was as radiantly blue as it had been all day. She straightened her spine and matched Kain’s assessing gaze.

He said, ‘I gather you’re a model?’

If Brent had talked at all about her, Kain must know perfectly well that she wasn’t.

‘Far from it,’ she returned. ‘Maire’s established her new salon next to where I work, and when her model let her down she talked me into this because I’m almost the same size and colouring.’ She gave him a carefully bland smile. ‘As soon as she gets back we’ll promenade around so more people can see the outfit.’

And then she was going. Apart from feeling absurdly conspicuous, her feet were killing her.

One black brow lifted, but all Kain said was, ‘I’ll stay until she returns.’

‘There’s no need,’ she stated.

He smiled down at her. Deep within Sable something shattered into a million pieces, each one piercing her with excitement. Shocked, she managed a pale smile in return, then looked away, hugely grateful to see Maire on her way back to them.

Once she’d reached them Kain said, ‘Why don’t you both come and watch the race with me on the lawn?’

Bristling, Sable thought it wasn’t so much a request as an order.

Her companion, however, beamed at him. ‘I’m surprised you’re not watching from the Presidential Club.’

He shrugged. ‘We can go there if you want to, but I thought you’d want every chance to show off that pretty dress. There won’t be any television cameras in the Club area.’

His gaze drifted down the dress, setting off alarms in every cell in Sable’s body. Not that there was anything sensuous about that inspection; she’d been the target of lustful looks often enough to recognise its complete lack of desire.

Yet she felt harried, hunted, the object of some careful plan. Telling herself not to be so stupid, she accompanied them.

Once on the lawn, Sable understood Maire’s rapid agreement. Everywhere she looked she met glances—some covert, some very open, but all intent on Kain Gerard and the two women he was escorting.

Although he nodded at people he knew, he didn’t stop. When a waiter appeared he suggested, ‘Champagne for you both?’

Maire accepted, but Sable said, ‘No, thank you.’

‘It’s hot. You’ll need something to cool you down,’ he said, and gave the waiter an order for two glasses of champagne and one of the Cup special.

When Sable opened her mouth to tell him she didn’t want anything alcoholic his lips curved again, and her heart flipped in her chest.

That smile was dangerous—and he knew its effect on women. He knew too much, she thought in rare confusion as her knees demanded she find a place to sit down.

He was too much—too much everything. Height always drew attention, but it wasn’t just his height or his dominant features and a mouth hinting at vast expertise that turned her bones to water. Kain exuded an aura of compelling power that was both a reassurance and a threat.

‘It’s non-alcoholic,’ he told her as the waiter returned with two flutes of champagne and a tall glass containing a concoction that looked deliciously refreshing. ‘Peach and strawberry fizz.’

‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly, irritated to discover it tasted as good as it looked.

Someone came up and greeted Maire, who excused herself to engage in animated conversation. Niggled by uncomfortable tension, Sable looked down at the track as the horses started to file out to the starting gate.

‘Which is yours?’ she asked to fill in the silence.

‘Number thirteen—the black,’ he said, and pointed him out.

Another splendid beast, she thought ironically, so fit its muscles were almost bursting through the sleek midnight hide. ‘Why are you so sure he’ll win?’

‘He’s at his peak now, and he has the best form. There’s always the chance of a mishap, of course, but he should lead them home.’

He did, to wild cheers that proclaimed he was a favourite with the crowd as well as the punters. In spite of herself Sable was caught up in the moment, clapping excitedly and turning to Kain when it was over, her face alight. ‘He’s fantastic, isn’t he? He just blitzed them! Where’s he racing next?’

Her heart gave an unexpected lurch when he looked down at her, and the joyful tumult seemed to die away into silence.

She tried to lower her lashes, to look away, but that enigmatic grey gaze locked her into some kind of stasis.

Before he could answer he was enveloped by a mob of laughing, chattering friends as well as journalists with photographers in tow.

Intensely relieved, Sable stood back a little, envying him the formidable assurance with which he accepted handshakes from the men and kisses from a variety of women. She felt oddly alone, disconnected from the brightly dressed crowd and the laughter; the sun seemed brassy and uncomfortable, the crowd noise too loud, too shrill.

So? she thought, sipping some more of her drink. In every way that matters you’ve been alone all your life. And you gave up wallowing in self-pity the day you left Hawkes Bay for Auckland.

But it was just as well she wasn’t likely to see much more of Kain Gerard.

Without looking at her he reached out and snagged her hand, drawing her to him as he said, ‘Come with me. I’m going to congratulate the jockey and the trainer.’

Sable tugged uselessly. She said in a low, angry voice, ‘I’m supposed to be showing off this dress.’

‘If you’re with Kain, you’re going to be in every photograph,’ Maire said brightly. ‘Away you go.’

Sable’s indignant glare clashed with coolly amused grey eyes. After a moment’s hesitation she gave in, allowing herself to be escorted through the press of people until the flash from a camera startled her into flinching.

Kain’s hand cupped her elbow more firmly. ‘Throw them a smile,’ he advised with an edge of cynicism in his deep voice. ‘That’s all you have to do—look elegant and confident. You can do that.’

Keeping her eyes fixed on the activity in the Birdcage, she forced a smile as she tossed off a reply. ‘I’ll have you know I have to suffer to get this elegant! These shoes are killers on the grass.’ Shoe porn, Maire had called the grey sandals with their vertigo-inducing heels.

He glanced down. Something flickered in his hard eyes, but his voice was bland when he said, ‘From a spectator’s viewpoint, the sight of your feet in them is definitely worth the pain.’

Why did it seem this conversation was being conducted on two levels—one with words, the other with the subtle shift of tone and emphasis and the silent language of movement and gesture?

To her relief someone caught his attention and he turned away from her. Reluctantly Sable had to admire the way he dealt with the journalists and photographers—his charm not hiding an uncompromising authority.

Eventually he left her to lead the horse around the enclosure in a lap of honour. Sable watched them stride out with matching masculine grace, the sun striking blue highlights from the horse’s glossy hide and from Kain’s head.

‘Two of a kind.’ Half-envious, half-humorous, the trainer echoed her thoughts from beside her.

Sable took in a deep breath, calling on her surface gloss of sophistication. Until then she’d been stumbling along like any green girl, but now, with Kain’s presence removed, she could regroup her forces.

‘Does the horse have grey eyes?’ she enquired, smiling to show she was joking.

He gave a snort of laughter. ‘No, but he’s a tough beast, and when he makes up his mind it’s damned hard to change it. And he’s honest; once he’s committed, he throws his heart into every race.’

‘What more could you want in a horse? Or a man?’ she returned lightly. ‘Isn’t it a glorious day?’

Kain and the horse headed back as the trainer smiled at her. ‘One of the best,’ he agreed, stepping out to take the reins from Kain’s lean hand.

Kain said, ‘Right, let’s go.’

They started to leave, only to have a photographer call, ‘One more, Kain.’

He turned his head and said coolly, ‘Of course,’ and before Sable could move out of range he scooped her against his lean body and held her, smiling down into her startled eyes and saying, ‘This one’s for the social pages. Relax and think of the publicity for Maire.’

Far too conscious of his strength against her, she felt herself stiffen. The chatter of the crowd dulled; inwardly cringing, she sensed avid eyes on them both.

‘Smile,’ he commanded quietly, the handsome face amused.

Her brows lifted. ‘Why?’

‘Because if you don’t everyone who sees this is going to think you’re besotted.’ And when she responded with a haughty glare he bent his head to say even more softly, ‘Perhaps I should kiss you.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘DON’T you dare,’ Sable hissed, but some wild emotion leapt into shocking life inside her. Kain’s arctic eyes narrowed, and she froze, her heart hammering.

The photographer’s voice jarred her back into reality. ‘Hey, that’s great! Thank you.’

The moment Kain’s arm relaxed Sable twisted away. Summoning a smile took all of her concentration, but there was no way to hide the lingering heat that burned her cheeks.

What the hell did Kain Gerard think he was playing at?

And why did he cause such novel turmoil inside her?

‘Maire should be pleased with that,’ he said with no visible sign of emotion.

Sable suppressed the urge to say that for someone who’d denied seeking publicity he’d almost courted it for the older woman. Instead she murmured, ‘You’re very kind to her.’

His mouth twisted. ‘She was a friend of my mother’s and I admire her entrepreneurial spirit.’

Well, she knew only too well how strong and tight the circle of influential people could be.

Maire came up, her slightly perplexed gaze going from one face to the other. ‘Thank you, Kain,’ she said swiftly. ‘You’ve been great. Are you ready to leave, Sable?’

‘Yes.’ Sable kept her voice level, hoping neither realised she felt as though she’d just been thrown a lifeline. Without letting her smile reach her eyes, she turned to Kain and said formally, ‘Thank you for an interesting experience.’

‘My pleasure entirely.’

His smooth, amused voice infuriated her.

Kain watched her walk gracefully away, only a certain rigidity to her slender body indicating that she was angry. She was looking down at the woman beside her with what seemed genuine interest.

Nice going, he thought, although threatening to kiss her in front of thousands of people and a media audience might not have been a good move.

But it had been worth it for that moment when she’d let her guard slip and he’d seen the heat kindle in her dark eyes. Like it or not—and he suspected she didn’t—she was very definitely aware of him.

So things were going his way. And he was, he thought with cold, controlled satisfaction, a much tougher challenge than Brent.

After changing into her own clothes, Sable refused Maire’s offer of a lift and walked off to catch a bus, her feet in their flat sandals fervently thanking her with each step. Smiling at the thought, she promised them that when she got home she’d soak them in something warm and soothing.

‘I think I like this look even more,’ Kain Gerard said from behind her.

She froze, her heart rate increasing madly. He smiled lazily down, but his grey eyes were hooded against the sun, and the smile held something she distrusted.

He commented, ‘Very cool, very…innocent.’

The cynical intonation to the last word made her angry.White happened to suit her and the dress was a favourite of hers. ‘That’s long out of date,’ she said, infusing the words with a faint scorn.

‘The dress?’ He swung into place beside her.

Sable thought seriously of telling him she didn’t want his company, only to give a mental shrug. The bus queue was no place for billionaires; he’d leave soon enough.

She replied, ‘The connection of white with chastity.’

Kain gave her an amused glance. Furious with herself, Sable pretended to examine a large purple car that was proceeding with stately dignity down the road. Stupid! Why hadn’t she just ignored his provocative remark?

Because he unnerved her so much it scrambled her brain, that’s why.

Kain said thoughtfully, ‘Perhaps I am old-fashioned.’

Her glance probably told him more than she wanted it to, for he sent her a bland smile.

‘That sounds rather sweet,’ she said kindly, then nodded in the direction of the buses. ‘I’m going this way, so goodbye.’

‘Aren’t you using Brent’s car?’

She felt a tightness in her chest. ‘No,’ she said shortly.

It had been a mistake to move into Brent’s apartment. But his offer of a place to stay while she found a new home had seemed a lifesaver. However, it hadn’t taken her long to realise he’d seen it as a step forwards in a relationship she’d been at pains to keep at a friendly level.

So she had to find new lodgings by the time he got back from his unexpected holiday.

Kain’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘I’ll give you a lift back.’

Turning her face away from his too-keen scrutiny, she shook her head firmly. ‘No, thank you,’ she said, and strode towards the waiting bus.

Kain watched the sun gleam across the ebony satin of her hair, its sleek chignon setting off her fine features and that wanton mouth, now firmly under control.

Playing it cool. Well, he’d expected that; she’d be stupid to ditch one prospect until she had the next one—the richer one—hooked and reeled in. A humourless smile curved his mouth as he walked towards the members’car park. He knew how this game went, and he’d enjoy playing it for a while.

‘Sable, who is that? Oh—my—God, he’s faaaabulous.’

‘Hang on,’ Sable said absently without taking her eyes from the computer screen. The boss’s daughter habitually spoke in italics, and fell in love with a new man every couple of days.

‘He’s coming here!’

‘Well, this is the reception area.’

Poppy’s voice dropped to a low whisper. ‘Oh, oh, oh, I know who he is.’

‘Hush, he might hear y—’ The word dried on her tongue when she looked up and saw Kain Gerard strolling towards her, breathtakingly masculine in a formal city suit.

Literally breathtaking; she had to force her lungs to drag in some air, and beneath her ribs her heart set up a wayward rhythm that echoed in her ears.

‘Sable,’ he said with a devastating half-smile. ‘How are you?’

Hearing Poppy take a swift indrawn breath, Sable hastily said, ‘Hello, Kain. Can I help you?’

‘You can show me the pictures that will be sold in the charity auction.’

The Russell Foundation held an annual art auction, and because one day she planned to work as an events manager, Sable always volunteered her services to organise the evening. This year it was to be held in the ballroom of a huge modern mansion, the perfect place to show off the avant-garde pictures and sculptures now waiting in the Foundation’s warehouse.

Her first impulse was to hand Kain over to Poppy, but the slight emphasis on the first word of his answer made her hesitate and look up at him. The moment her eyes met his warning gaze she realised he understood what she intended to do—and was warning her against it.

Poppy was young and untried enough to be hurt by rejection. And although the paintings and sculpture weren’t yet officially on exhibition, Kain Gerard knew—as Sable did—that no one would refuse to show them to him.

Money talks, she thought, unable to show her chagrin, and big money talks big.

Evenly, her voice aloof, Sable replied, ‘Yes, of course.’

Heart skipping into an uneven rhythm, she closed the computer and straightened up to walk towards him, glad that she’d worn a dress in the bold, clear red that gave colour to her pale skin and made her eyes dark and deep and—she hoped—impossible to read.

She was fiercely aware of Kain on a level so basic she had no command over it. Every cell seemed to recognise him, as though his touch had imprinted her for life.

And that ridiculous overreaction scared her.

‘Come this way,’ she said in her most modulated voice, hoping that he hadn’t noticed her tension.

Silently he surveyed the exhibition with an impassive face. This year the committee that oversaw the choice of artists had chosen those with postmodern credentials, and because the exhibition and auction gave them excellent publicity most had really let themselves go.

Sable kept her features controlled. Somehow, she didn’t think Kain would be impressed—unless he was buying an investment. You didn’t have to like investments.

He surprised her by asking, ‘What do you think of them?’

‘My opinion isn’t worth anything,’ she evaded.

‘You don’t like them.’

How had he noticed that? Uneasily she said, ‘I don’t know anything about this sort of art so my personal opinion means nothing. I can get an expert to discuss them with—’

He stopped her with a glance and a single word. ‘No.’

For the next half hour he strolled along the row of pictures, standing back occasionally to get a better view, looking more closely at others. Sable wondered just what was going on behind that handsome face.

Finally he said, ‘Tell me what you really think.’

Exasperated by his persistence, she returned shortly, ‘The only useful comments I could make would just be parroting what I’ve heard.’

‘I don’t want that—I want your opinion. You must have some idea—wasn’t your father an artist? Angus Martin? The Art Gallery has several of his pictures and one stunning watercolour.’

Touched—and made extremely cautious by the fact that he’d heard of her father—she said, ‘If you’ve seen it you’d know that he didn’t paint like this.’

‘But you must have heard him discuss art.’

Oh, yes, endless discussions that had degenerated into maudlin regrets that his skills no longer matched his vision, that he’d drunk away whatever talent he’d once had…

Faced with a determination that matched her own—and because Kain Gerard might be prepared to spend a lot of money on this very good cause—she said reluctantly, ‘I don’t understand the artists’ visions or their objectives, and I don’t know enough about art to relate to their techniques.’

‘Why does that annoy you?’

You annoy me, she thought, irritated with him and with herself for being so affected by him.

Shrugging, she returned lightly, ‘Because I feel as though I’m missing out on something—on some secret that others understand.’

He pinned her with a considering stare that lasted two seconds too long, then nodded. ‘Fair enough. Did you see our photograph in the newspaper?’

She’d very carefully avoided looking at the social pages. ‘No, I didn’t.’

His smile told her he didn’t believe her. ‘A pity. I’m afraid it won’t garner Maire Faris good publicity—the dress doesn’t show to advantage. However, her name is mentioned.’

Something in his tone made her uncomfortable. She said stiffly, ‘I’m glad.’

Fixing his gaze on a canvas that to Sable looked like a too-dramatic representation of a bad headache, he asked with casual interest, ‘Have you heard from Brent lately?’

‘No.’ She stole a glance at his profile, strong and commanding. Something very strange happened to her stomach—no, her heart.

Ignore it, she told herself sturdily, and said with brittle composure, ‘Apparently he’s not going to be able to contact anyone for a month or so. Rather ironic that a man whose life is focused on the internet should deliberately leave himself without access to it.’

‘I think he’s ready to go cold turkey for a while,’ Kain said. He delivered a low-wattage version of that killer smile. ‘Thank you for showing me around.’

She said formally, ‘I hope we’ll see you at the auction.’ He’d been invited; she’d have to check to see if he’d accepted.

‘Possibly.’

Her complete ignorance had probably blown any chance of a good sale, she thought with wry resignation and accompanied him back to the reception area.

Poppy looked up, her pretty face awed. With some surprise Sable noted the smile he bestowed on the younger girl. Friendly, appreciative, it showed none of the antagonism that seemed to underlie his attitude to her.

In response, Poppy blushed brilliantly, melting without any visible sign of resistance.

Afterwards Sable had to endure the younger woman’s sighing comments, relieved when lunchtime came—only to find herself being warned during the meal by Maire.

‘Kain’s nothing like his cousin,’ the older woman said, eyeing the huge muffin she’d chosen. ‘Brent’s a nice boy—bright too, and he obviously has a good business brain when it comes to the internet—but he doesn’t have Kain’s charisma.’

‘No,’ Sable agreed, touched in some secret part. She’d been on her own since she was seventeen, and the only womanly influence in her life had been her father’s neighbour Miss Popham, an elderly woman whose brisk, practical attitude hadn’t encouraged confidences.

Don’t go there, she thought and hurriedly transferred her attention back to Maire. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to fall for either of them.’

‘It’s not always that easy,’ the designer said shrewdly, ‘especially as you’re living with Brent.’

‘I’m not—I’m staying in his apartment until I find a suitable flat.’ Because it was important, she emphasised, ‘We aren’t lovers—or even possible lovers.’

Maire lifted incredulous brows.

Harried, Sable expanded, ‘He’s years younger than me, for heaven’s sake, and I feel positively ancient when I’m with him. We haven’t got that sort of relationship—haven’t even exchanged so much as a kiss!’

‘But he wants to,’ Maire said pragmatically.

Sable sighed. ‘It’s not going to happen. He knows that now.’

‘So why did you move in with him?’

Normally she wouldn’t have considered it, but one weekend while Sable was away her flatmate had held a party, a wild affair that had led to a wholesale trashing of the villa they shared.

Briefly she explained, and Maire tut-tutted. ‘Your name was on the lease, was it?’

‘Yes.’ It hadn’t surprised Sable when she and her repentant flatmate had been asked to leave, but she’d been horrified to discover that her landlady—an elderly widow—had let the insurance lapse.

Because, she’d informed Sable, she’d considered her to be a responsible person who’d look after the place. And perhaps because she’d just forgotten. Legally, of course, Sable wasn’t obliged to pay for the damage, but for her own peace of mind she needed to. The landlady had been kind to her, and she hated to leave with a stain on her conscience—already stained enough, she thought grimly. Repayment had emptied out her bank account and left her feeling intensely vulnerable.

Firmly changing the subject, she said, ‘As for Kain, he’s not the sort of man I’m comfortable with.’ She paused, then added with some irony, ‘I find him too overwhelming.’

‘You must be the only woman in New Zealand to feel that way.’ Maire sighed and slathered some butter on her muffin. ‘All right, I’ve had my say. If I remember anything of my far-distant youth, it’s how unwelcome advice can be.’

‘I didn’t mean to sound abrupt—’

Maire laughed. ‘You didn’t. I was just being meddlesome. I’ve known Kain since he was a kid and even then he was the most self-sufficient person I’ve ever come across. Just as well—he was only twelve when his parents were killed, and at eighteen he took over the family business because it was going under. He had to grow up really fast.’

Interested in spite of herself, Sable said, ‘He and Brent don’t seem to have anything in common.’

‘Pretty much nothing beyond brains and genes.’ She sighed. ‘I really, really wanted to get my hands on the woman young Brent was with last year. She had a great body and she was good-looking, but if she’d come to me I’d have steered her away from cleavage and clothes so tight you could see the pores of her skin under the fabric. Not that Brent seemed to mind,’ she said wryly, adding, ‘Kain, on the other hand, goes for class and intelligence and sophistication in his lovers.’

‘So who’s the present incumbent?’ Sable tried to make her voice only mildly interested.

‘Oh, he hasn’t lived with any of them.’ Maire shot her an amused glance. ‘And even though he must be ten or so years older than his cousin, he’s probably had fewer lovers than Brent. Their attitudes differ; Brent treats women like buying from a chain store, whereas Kain chooses a more select wardrobe from a designer.’

But he knew infinitely more about women than Brent, Sable thought, an inward shiver tightening her skin.

She stopped herself from asking more questions because she most emphatically was not interested in Kain Gerard’s love life.

‘Of course there was a six-month period when he and that film star—Jacie Dixon—were a very hot item. They kept it discreet and low-key, but the photos in the tabloids just about smoked off the pages.’

Sable hoped that her amused smile hid an ignoble pang of something that most emphatically was not envy. ‘I wouldn’t have picked you for a keen follower of the tabloids.’

‘I’m not, but my granddaughter is obsessed with celebrities.’ Her companion sighed again. ‘I know far more about the secret lives of Hollywood stars than I care to, believe me. Fiona’s a sucker for a good-looking man, and she has a secret stash of photos of Kain Gerard.’

‘Well, she’s got taste,’ Sable said lightly. ‘How old is she?’

‘Fourteen. Why?’

‘Because that sort of thing usually passes by the time they hit sixteen. It will be pop stars then.’

Maire gave her look, part horror, part resignation. ‘I hope not. At least Kain’s a good role model—no drugs, no run-ins with the cops, no drunken outings splashed across the newspapers, and a decent discretion in his affairs.’

Sable changed the subject, but later that night she wondered why Maire had felt it necessary to bring up the subject of Kain Gerard.

Surely she hadn’t discerned the surprising sensations he roused in Sable, that sharp, powerfully—and entirely—physical response that brought a rush of adrenaline to heighten her every sense?

Possibly; Maire was astute and one of the reasons she was a good designer was her instinctive understanding of people.

Grimacing, Sable put Kain Gerard out of her mind.

Later that week she dressed for the first display of the art, a warehouse affair to show appreciation for the artists, the committee who’d worked so hard, and the various patrons of the Foundation, not to mention the organisations that would benefit from the auction. The following morning the pictures would be transferred to the Browns’ mansion.

Mentally going over her list to make sure she’d left nothing undone, Sable slid into a pair of black trousers bought from a second-hand shop specialising in designer cast-offs. It was two years since they’d been a fashion item, but the cut was timeless and they fitted her perfectly.

No more clothes until she’d paid off the debt she owed to her landlady, she thought, getting into a collarless red shirt cut so that it hugged her body. Tiny silver buttons arrowed from her throat to her waist. The mock-coral arm cuff and her high-heeled boots repeated the colour of the shirt and her lipstick.

‘Too much of a muchness?’ she wondered, staring at her reflection.

Then she shrugged. What did she care? As she’d be on duty she didn’t want to look overdressed, but she certainly didn’t need to fade into the background either.

Poppy and her mother were checking the arrangements when she walked in. The younger woman came racing across.

‘You look terrific!’ she gushed, eyes darting to take everything in. ‘I really, really like the way you put your hair up—how does it stay so burnished and silky looking?’

‘Willpower.’ Sable grinned at her. ‘That’s a super dress. Love the necklace.’

Poppy grimaced. ‘Thanks, but I’d give anything to look as glam as you. I’m like Mum—doomed to prettiness.’

Laughing, Sable shook her head at her. ‘Millions of women and girls long for a similar fate.’

‘I’d give anything for style,’ Poppy said earnestly.

Her mother came over, gave Sable an assessing look that smoothed into approval and said, ‘Everything seems to be under control, Sable. Is there anything I can do to help?’

‘Just keep an eye on everyone and let me know if you see any problems.’

The older woman frowned, then hastily relaxed her face. ‘Mark’s afraid some of the artists might drink too much and start arguing. Remember the barney that erupted last year?’

Sable shrugged. ‘I’ll be alert, but it’s a help to have someone ready to move in on any argument that looks as though it might get out of hand. If you could keep an eye on anything that might erupt I’d be grateful. I find that introducing someone else—especially someone who looks as though they might be a buyer—usually stops people getting too passionate. It should be fine.’

It was. Everyone behaved themselves, the rich and the social made appropriate noises when confronted by the pictures they’d theoretically come to see, and as the evening was winding down a famous rugby front-row player, a figurehead for a prominent charity, astounded everyone by expounding with insight and appreciation on the use of symbolism in one of the more outrageous pictures.

‘Learning anything?’ a deep, dark voice said from behind Sable.

The tiny hairs on the back of her neck standing up straight, Sable drew in a quick breath and composed her expression. Only then did she turn her head to meet Kain Gerard’s darkly hooded eyes. In the stark black-and-white elegance of evening clothes he looked—utterly gorgeous…

How, in those supremely civilised clothes, tailored for him by a genius, did he also manage to emit a hard-edged aura of danger?

Her dancing heartbeat shocked her, but she met the cool challenge of his survey with slightly raised brows as she answered, ‘Somewhat to my surprise, yes.’

‘Guilty of stereotyping, Sable?’ He stretched her name, lengthening it into a lazy drawl that came close to a caress. Or a taunt…

Whatever, it did amazing things to her body, summoning a wildfire heat. ‘I’m afraid so,’ she said crisply. ‘In future I’ll remember that rugby players can be intelligent as well as athletic.’

‘Why Sable?’ When she stared at him he elaborated smoothly, ‘It’s an unusual name.’

‘When I was born I had a cap of black hair about the same length and texture as my father’s brushes. He decided to call me Sable.’ She noticed his empty hands and seized an opportunity to regroup her defences. ‘Let me get you a drink and something to eat.’

Kain looked around the room; within seconds a waiter materialised with a salver of champagne, followed immediately by another carrying a tray of delicious titbits.

Made even crosser by this indication of Kain’s innate presence, Sable decided to assert herself. ‘Do have some champagne. And if you like mushrooms, I can heartily recommend those stuffed ones.’

He said, ‘Thank you,’ and managed the acceptance of glass and mushroom with deftness. ‘How about you? Your glass is almost empty.’

Her father’s addiction had made Sable wary; she rarely drank more than one glass of wine. With a quick smile she said to the waiter, ‘Nothing, thank you.’

But the wretched man glanced at Kain, waiting for his short nod before moving away. Amused but resigned, she accepted that any good waiter would recognise an alpha male when he saw one!

And Kain was certainly a number one alpha.

‘How nice that you came,’ she said brightly. ‘Have you spoken to Mark—Mark Russell?’

‘I came to see you.’

Startled, she looked up. Although a smile curved that sculpted mouth, his pale eyes were burnished and unreadable. ‘Why?’ she asked bluntly.

‘Do you want it spelt out?’ he asked softly, his narrowed eyes holding hers.

Heat flared in the pit of her stomach when he finished, ‘Not here, I think. How much longer before you can get away?’

Many of the guests had already left, but quite a few were still busily networking. Excitement pulsing hotly through her, Sable tried and failed to catch Mark’s eye. ‘I don’t—not until everyone’s left.’

She sounded like a wimp, she thought despairingly, not a sophisticated woman who knew how to deal with men of his sort.

Except that she’d never come across another man with Kain’s particular combination of powerful personality and spectacular good looks.

‘I’m sure we can arrange something.’ Coolly he took her elbow and she found herself being shepherded across the room to where Mark stood talking to one of the artists.

‘Hey,’ she said, shaking off her unnatural obedience. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Saying thank you and goodbye.’ Kain’s voice was implacable, but he gave her a narrow smile that somehow invited complicity. ‘I have excellent manners,’ he told her serenely.

Amusement bubbled up. ‘Oh, really?’ she parried, adding on a challenging note, ‘Dragging women around by the arm isn’t polite in any etiquette book I’ve ever read.’

He grinned. Her stomach lurched, and to her chagrin she felt tingles of sensation scud down her spine, ending up as smouldering heat in the pit of her stomach.

‘Sometimes brute force is the only way to get what you want,’ he said, and nodded at Mark Russell.

Mark had already seen them coming towards him, his smile broadening when he recognised Kain.

What followed was a comedy, Sable thought, one in which she didn’t know her part.

Kain said easily, ‘Hello, Mark. I’m just about to snaffle Sable.’

Was that what he’d meant when he referred to brute force? It was about as subtle as a sledgehammer!

She said stiffly, ‘I don’t think you understand, Kain. I organised this evening—I don’t intend to leave until it’s over.’

The two men with her exchanged looks. Without missing a beat, Mark said, ‘And you’ve done it brilliantly, but everyone’s going now, and if anything comes up I’ll deal with it. Kain, have you met Tonia Guthrie?’

The artist, a thin, middle-aged woman with a narrow face and a furrowed forehead, looked irritated, but within a few seconds Kain’s unforced magnetism had won her over so completely that she blurted, ‘You know, I’m wishing I still did figure work! Have you ever posed? That superb bone structure would make for a magnificent portrait.’

He smiled. ‘No, and I’m afraid I have no interest in having my portrait painted, but I think that’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever had.’

The woman coloured, then laughed with him, clearly forgiving him for interrupting her talk with Mark.

Mark smiled benignly at them both. ‘Great to see you here, Kain. Are we going to have your company at the auction?’

‘I’m not sure, but there’s always a chance.’

‘I hope you can make it. Goodnight, Sable. And take tomorrow morning off—you’ve done a great job here, and you deserve it.’

‘Thank you,’ Sable said stiffly, furious with him for having his eyes fixed so firmly on the chance that Kain might buy one of the pictures that he’d sacrifice her.

Her thoughts were reinforced as they walked out to the door.

Kain said, ‘Stop steaming, Sable. Your boss sees a mark and naturally he wants to cement some sort of interest. He might run a charitable foundation, but it’s business and he needs the money to spend on the poor and voiceless.’

Instantly she flared into defence of her boss. ‘It’s very worthwhile—’

‘Of course it is.’ He looked down at her. ‘And he’s a damned good hustler.’

Outside in the sultry heat of an Auckland summer night, Sable ignored his words to say crisply, ‘Tell me what this is all about, please. Is Brent all right?’

‘Relax. Knowing Brent, he’ll be enjoying himself very much. I don’t know about you, but I haven’t eaten for about nine hours. Come and have dinner with me.’

As though in answer her stomach chose just that moment to remind her uncomfortably that she’d only managed to snatch a handful of blueberries for her lunch.

His lips twitched. ‘I suspected as much. There was something in the way you recommended those mushrooms that indicated a hollow inside you. I live by the Viaduct in a block with an excellent restaurant. Afterwards I’ll take you home—or if it suits you better I’ll order a taxi for you.’

Several more guests walked past them, their nods and smiles failing entirely to hide keen interest.

Sable hesitated, then mentally shrugged and gave in to curiosity. In spite of that urgent warning whisper from some primal instinct, eating dinner with him in a restaurant wouldn’t put her in any sort of danger. ‘Thank you—I am hungry.’

His apartment was in an art deco building that had once been a department store. Overlooking the harbour bridge and the Viaduct basin area with its waterfront restaurants and vibrant nightlife, the store had been rejuvenated with taste and flair—and a lot of money.

Kain indicated a bank of lifts, so the restaurant was upstairs, presumably to take advantage of the view. Sable noted the clever homage to the building’s age, and more period details graced the foyer once they reached their destination. Eyeing a splendid bronze nymph carrying a torch, she repressed a grin. Tonight’s featured artists would undoubtedly despise it, she thought cheerfully.

A niggle of apprehension made her tense when Kain took her arm and led her into a room—a large, superbly decorated living room.

After a swift, incredulous glance around she swung away from him, her face cold and still. ‘This is your apartment,’ she said icily, heading for the door.

He caught her arm, his fingers gripping just enough to stop her without bruising. ‘Don’t be so skittish. We need privacy.’

‘You might—I don’t,’ she shot back, anger sharpening her voice. ‘Let me go right now.’

‘Not until you’ve heard what I have to say.’

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