Just one night, he’d told himself at the time.

To see how it would feel to make love to someone wholesome. Someone who blushed when you looked deep into her eyes. Someone whose attraction for him shocked her enough to make her resign.

Well, he’d found out what it was like—and, come the next morning, he hadn’t been able to let her go.

But now the time had come for him to do so.

Time to be cruel to be kind.

‘Please don’t start sounding like a wife, Amber,’ he said coldly.

About the Author

MIRANDA LEE is Australian, and lives near Sydney. Born and raised in the bush, she was boarding-school-educated, and briefly pursued a career in classical music, before moving to Sydney and embracing the world of computers. Happily married, with three daughters, she began writing when family commitments kept her at home. She likes to create stories that are believable, modern, fast-paced and sexy. Her interests include meaty sagas, doing word puzzles, gambling and going to the movies.

NOT A
MARRYING MAN

MIRANDA LEE

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

PROLOGUE

Excerpts from Amber Roberts’s diary during September of her twenty-fifth year.

Tuesday

What a tiresome day! Arrived at work to find that the hotel had been sold and the new owner would be visiting the premises mid-morning. He’s a British businessman called Warwick Kincaid. According to Jill, he’s a rather infamous entrepreneur with fingers in lots of pies and a reputation for not holding on to anything for long—his girlfriends as well as his many and varied commercial ventures. How she knew all that I have no idea. But then I’m not addicted to gossip mags the way Jill is. Naturally, everyone went into a flap, wondering if their jobs were safe. Not me so much since I’m not all that wrapped in mine. Though I don’t want to lose it just at the moment. Hard to save up a deposit on a house without a salary. Anyway, Warwick Kincaid never showed up in the end. Too busy, we were eventually told. Not sure if that’s good news or bad news. He’s supposed to reschedule for tomorrow.

Wednesday

Well, he showed up this time. Seriously wish he hadn’t. What can I say? He’s as up himself as I imagined. But younger. Late thirties, maybe forty. He’s also the best-looking man I’ve ever met. I couldn’t stop staring at him. He noticed of course. And he stared right back. I’ve never blushed so much in all my life. He didn’t stay all that long but he’s coming back tomorrow to talk to all the staff, one at a time, on a mission to find out why a stylish boutique hotel situated in one of the best areas of Sydney isn’t turning over a profit. His words, not mine. Jill said afterwards that he fancied me and that I should watch myself. I laughed and told her not to be so silly, that I was in love with Cory and no man, no matter how tall, dark and handsome—or rich—would get to even first base with me. But you know what? When Cory picked me up tonight, I looked at him and didn’t feel anything like the buzz I felt today when I looked at Warwick Kincaid. Later, I was relieved when Cory said he wanted an early night. It sounds crazy, but meeting Warwick Kincaid has made me wonder if I’m really in love with Cory. Maybe I’m just in love with the idea of getting married and having the house and family of my own that I’ve always wanted. It’s a worry all right. So’s the way I’ve been fussing over what I’ll wear tomorrow. I have a feeling I’m not going to sleep too well tonight. But I have to if I want to look beautiful in the morning. Oh, goodness, did I just think that? Maybe it would be better if I didn’t sleep. Must go now. Have to do my nails and put a treatment in my hair.

Thursday

I’m almost afraid to write down what happened today. Because if I do, it will become more real, more powerful, and even more disturbing. Not that anything really happened. I mean, he didn’t make a pass at me or anything like that. He just talked to me about the hotel, the same way he talked to everyone else. Seemed happy with my suggestion that the hotel needed some more in-house facilities like a gym and a restaurant. At least a lounge bar where guests could relax and have a drink. On the surface our conversation was strictly business, but all the while those piercing blue eyes of his never left mine. Not for a second. And it wasn’t just the way he stared at me. There was something else. I know it wasn’t just me. It wasn’t my imagination. Something was there, zapping back and forth across the desk that separated us. An electric charge that was both exciting and enervating. When our discussion was over and I had to stand up, I found that my legs had almost gone to jelly. Somehow I made it out of the office and back to the front desk where I slumped down into my chair. I felt faint. I still feel faint thinking about it. And all I’ve done this evening is think about it. My whole world has been tilted on its axis. How can I get engaged to Cory now when I know that I don’t love him? I mean, how could I love him but want to sleep with another man? And I do. I want to have sex with Warwick Kincaid. I can’t believe I just admitted that, but what’s the point of keeping a diary if you lie to it? So, yes, I want to sleep with Warwick Kincaid. But that isn’t love, is it? That’s just lust. Can you be in love with one man and in lust with another? Maybe you can. What do I know? I’ve never felt anything like this before. What I need is to talk to someone about it. Not with my girlfriends, though. They’re all silly as wet hens when it comes to the opposite sex. Not Mum, either. She’d be dead shocked. She thinks I’m a good girl. Which I thought I was too, till today. Maybe Aunt Kate. She’s seen a lot of life. I’ll ring Aunt Kate tomorrow and ask her. She’ll tell me how it is, warts and all. Yes, that’s what I’ll do.

Friday

Well, Warwick Kincaid came back again first thing this morning and totally ignored me, which I found to my disgust upset me terribly. I should have been grateful. Anyway, I was so annoyed with myself that by lunchtime I made the decision to resign. I knew I couldn’t work for that man a minute longer. I waited till he was heading for home at the end of the day before I handed him the letter of resignation that I’d typed up during my lunch hour. He read it straight away, then gave me the longest, most intense look. Of course I blushed again. Then he said fine, he accepted my resignation, after which he shocked me rigid by asking me out to dinner tonight. I know I should have said no. I know he’s the kind of man who wants pretty young girls like me for one thing, and one thing only. But I didn’t say no. I said yes. Because the shocking truth is that I want him for the same thing. I’m not in love with him. Heavens, I’m not sure I even like him. But I’m going to end up in bed with him tonight. I’d be a fool to think he’s going to feed me then bring me straight home. On top of that, I have an awful feeling that going to bed with Warwick Kincaid is going to change my life in ways that I can’t as yet imagine. There’s no point in ringing Aunt Kate now. She can’t help me. No one can. I feel like crying. This is not what I want but I can’t seem to help myself. Mum thinks I’m going out with Cory tonight so she won’t be worried if I don’t come home. I always stay at Cory’s place on a Friday night. At least I did the right thing by ringing Cory and breaking up with him. I told him that I’d met someone else and that I was sorry. He took the news rather well, I thought, which was of some comfort. But there’s no going back now. I’ve made my bed, so speak, and I’ll just have to lie in it …

CHAPTER ONE

July, ten months later …

AMBER’S teeth clenched hard in her jaw as she checked her phone for messages again. Still nothing from Warwick. She punched in his mobile number and was told for the umpteenth time that his phone was not available. She didn’t leave a message. There was no point. She’d already left three, each one sounding more frustrated than the last.

When she’d suggested a romantic dinner for two tonight rather than a restaurant meal, Warwick had promised to be home by seven-thirty. But then he’d messaged her shortly before six saying he’d been delayed and that he might be back a bit late, maybe by eight o’clock.

It was now almost nine and still there was no sign of him. No more messages, either.

‘Surely you have time to call me,’ Amber muttered under her breath as she returned to the kitchen, threw her cell phone onto the black granite counter-top, then switched off the oven in which the already overdone beef stroganoff had been keeping warm.

At least she hadn’t started cooking the rice. Maybe the meal was still salvageable. Though her own appetite had long gone.

Opening the oversized stainless-steel fridge, which never held all that much food—not much point when they rarely ate at home—Amber reached for the bottle of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc, which had become her favourite, and poured herself a glass. Carrying it with her and sipping at the same time, she made her way back through the dining room, grimacing as she passed the beautifully set table before heading for the balcony and the hopefully soothing effect of the water view.

Using her free hand, she slid open one of the glass doors that led out onto the huge curving balcony and that fronted the entire apartment, providing a spectacular view of Sydney Harbour. Unfortunately, it was freezing out there, the stiff breeze that came off the water quickly making a mess of Amber’s long hair. Grimacing, she turned and hurried back into the temperature-controlled interior, shutting the glass door behind her. She’d forgotten for a moment that it was winter, Warwick always keeping the apartment pleasantly warm.

Putting her wine glass down on one of the glass-topped side tables that flanked the white leather sofa, Amber made her way across the plushly furnished living room and into the vast expanse of the master bedroom. Her chest tightened as she took in the turned-down bed, the cream satin sheets and the scented candles she’d placed on the bedside tables, in anticipation of the evening ahead.

‘Bastard,’ she muttered, and marched on into the cream marble en suite bathroom where she took a brush out of the drawer on her side of the twin vanities and began attacking her ruffled hair with angry strokes.

It didn’t take her long to put order into her hair which was easily managed, being long and straight with a blunt-cut fringe.

Her ruffled emotions, however, were not so easily controlled.

Amber could still remember the first time she’d stood on this very spot, looking into this mirror, her blue eyes wide with excitement. It had been the night she’d gone to dinner with Warwick, the night her life had changed for ever.

He’d taken her to a five-star restaurant first, where he’d impressed her with the very best of food and wine, along with his highly entertaining conversation. It’d been impossible for a twenty-five-year-old girl who’d only left Australia for family holidays in Bali and Fiji not to be impressed with this man who’d been everywhere and done everything. Impossible not to be flattered by the fact that someone of his intelligence and status would choose to be with her: Amber Roberts, receptionist.

Afterwards, he’d brought her back here, without bothering to make any excuses, his intentions perfectly clear to Amber as they had been from the moment he’d asked her out.

She’d tried not to appear too blown away, either by his Italian sports car, or his multimillion-dollar Point Piper apartment, which he’d bought two weeks earlier, fully furnished. But she was an ordinary working-class girl who’d been brought up in the western suburbs of Sydney. She wasn’t used to this kind of luxury living. She certainly wasn’t used to this kind of man.

He hadn’t just swept her off her feet and into his bed that night. He’d taken possession of her with a power and a passion that had left her, not only reeling, but ready to say yes to anything he wanted.

But what he’d wanted had been slightly surprising. She’d feared, when she’d woken in his king-sized bed the following morning, that that might be that. She was sure it would be a case of hasta la vista, baby.

Instead, he’d pulled her to him, told her he was crazy about her and asked her to become his girlfriend. Not just in a casual relationship, either. He wanted her to move in with him, travel with him, be with him all the time. She wouldn’t be able to work, of course. She had to be ready to accompany him at a moment’s notice. He travelled quite a lot, both for business and pleasure.

She’d been about to blindly say yes when he’d qualified the terms of the relationship he was proposing.

‘Just so you don’t get the wrong idea,’ he’d added. ‘I don’t do marriage and children. And I don’t do for ever. I have a notoriously low boredom threshold. Twelve months is usually my limit when it comes to any woman. Though with you, my sweet lovely Amber, I just might make an exception. To be honest, you’re already one big exception. Up till now, I’ve never asked a woman to live with me. I dare say it’s going to cost me dearly in the end, but there’s something about you which I find totally irresistible. So what do you say, beautiful? Do you want to get aboard the Kincaid roller-coaster ride, or not?’

She should still have said no, despite the seductive flattery he’d included in what was really a totally appalling and extremely selfish proposition. But how did a girl say no to more of what she’d experienced the night before? Amber had never known such excitement, or such pleasure. There were things Warwick knew about lovemaking that had quite blown her away. He’d been able to turn her on and keep her that way for hours, reducing her to total mush.

So of course she’d said yes, and now here she was ten months later, still his live-in girlfriend. Or his mistress, as Aunt Kate had once caustically called her.

But for how much longer?

This was the third time lately, Amber conceded as she stared blankly into the vanity mirror, that Warwick had let her down. A couple of weeks ago, he’d cancelled a weekend getaway to the Hunter Valley that she’d been looking forward to, instead jetting off by himself to New Zealand with two of his business associates to go heliskiing, a high-risk, thrill-seeking, extremely dangerous sport that had recently cost other lives and that had left her worried sick all weekend. But his worst transgression, in her opinion, had been when he’d refused to accompany her to Aunt Kate’s funeral last week, claiming he’d had important business to attend to that day, then adding insult to injury by saying that the old duck hadn’t liked him and he hadn’t liked her, either!

Which was totally beside the point. Amber had been very fond of her aunt Kate and terribly upset by her aunt’s rather sudden death of a stroke. She’d only been seventy-two, hardly ancient.

It had been horrible, sitting in that church all by herself, then having to defend Warwick’s absence afterwards. Her relationship with him had already alienated her from her family to a degree. He’d only accompanied her to two family gatherings during the time they’d been together, Christmas Day at her parents’ house in Carlingford, and then last Easter, to a family barbecue at her aunt Kate’s place up at Wamberal Beach on the Central Coast.

And whilst he’d been quite polite to everyone, he’d somehow made it obvious—to her at least—that he’d been bored rigid. On both occasions they’d been the first to leave.

Amber’s two older brothers hadn’t pulled any punches last week when it had come to making forthright remarks about her wealthy lover not bothering to attend Aunt Kate’s funeral. Even Warwick’s lending to her of his flashy red Ferrari for the drive up to Wamberal hadn’t softened their disapproval over his absence.

And they’d been quite right. He should have gone with her. His claiming that he’d had important business to attend to that day had just been an excuse. If he’d cared about her at all, he would have made other arrangements and driven her to the funeral himself.

By the time Amber had arrived back home after the wake, she hadn’t been able to contain her emotions, telling Warwick exactly what she thought of his lack of sensitivity and support, before flouncing off to sleep in one of the two guest bedrooms.

She’d been half expecting him to come to the room and persuade her back into the master bedroom. But he hadn’t. In fact he hadn’t made love to her since, which was unusual. When Warwick wanted sex, he could be quite ruthless.

Clearly, he hadn’t wanted sex this past week. But she’d wanted him to want it. Wanted him to want her.

If she’d been a bolder type of girl, she would have attempted a seduction of her own. But playing the femme fatale was not Amber’s style. Although not exactly shy, she never made the first move—although she’d never needed to where Warwick was concerned: he had more than enough moves for both of them.

By now, an increasingly desperate Amber knew she would have to do something to allay her growing fears that he was definitely growing bored with her. Her suggestion this morning over breakfast of a candlelit dinner at home seemed to have gone down well, with Warwick giving her a long lingering kiss at the door before going off to attend to his latest property development.

Not a hotel this time. Warwick wasn’t interested in buying another Sydney hotel, despite his earlier acquisition now making a nice profit after he’d put in a gym and a lounge bar, as she’d suggested. This time he’d chosen a night club up at the Cross, a rather run-down, seedy establishment that had definitely seen better days. But Warwick had seen potential in its position and was currently making the place over into the kind of high-class club that would attract the rich and famous with its luxurious ambience, wonderful food and top entertainment. He’d consulted Amber quite a lot about the refurbishing, complimenting her often over her various suggestions. In truth, she was as excited by the project as he was and often accompanied him to the site.

Not this past week, however. He hadn’t offered to take her and she hadn’t asked. Even if he’d asked her today, she probably would have said no. She’d had other plans.

Amber had known it would take many hours to prepare for the evening ahead. She’d gone to the hairdresser first, after which she’d bought herself a new dress, something extra pretty and feminine. Then she’d had to shop for food, set the table, prepare the bedroom, and, finally, herself.

Oh, yes, Amber thought ruefully as her eyes cleared to rake over her reflection. She’d spent hours on herself, making sure that she looked exactly as Warwick liked her to look.

On the surface, her appearance hadn’t changed much since the first day they’d met. Her hairstyle was exactly the same, though she’d given in to Warwick’s request to have her honey colour lightened to a cool, creamy blonde. And it did look classier somehow. Her eyebrows were more finely plucked these days, and the makeup she now wore was extremely expensive, not from the supermarket ranges that she used to buy. Although she couldn’t see all that much difference, despite the time it took to apply everything. Maybe the lipsticks stayed on a little longer and the mascara was definitely waterproof.

Her figure was still basically the same, longer workouts in the gym ensuring that all the restaurant food she’d devoured over the past ten months hadn’t settled on her thighs or her stomach. Slightly taller than average, Amber had been blessed with a naturally slim body, yet enough curves to attract male attention.

Of course, her wardrobe had changed dramatically, Warwick insisting that she allow him to dress her the way a woman of her ‘exquisite beauty’ should be dressed. He always called her a woman, never a girl. She’d been powerless to resist his compliments—as she’d been powerless to resist him—and now had a walk-in robe full of designer clothes; something for every possible occasion.

Nothing too sexy, though. Warwick said that true sexiness was what was hidden, not what was displayed.

A shiver trickled down Amber’s spine when she thought about what was hidden under the softly feminine Orsini original she was wearing.

The long-awaited sound of her cell phone ringing had her throwing her hairbrush down and racing back out into the living room, where she thought she’d left it. But the sound wasn’t coming from there. Had she left the handset out on the balcony? She didn’t think she had.

And then she remembered.

‘The kitchen!’

Amber prayed for it to keep on ringing as she bolted for the kitchen, wishing that the rooms in this place weren’t quite so big.

At last she snatched the phone up into her hands, sweeping it up to her ear and saying, ‘Thank heavens you didn’t hang up,’ rather breathlessly at the same time.

‘Er … it’s Mum, Amber. Not … who you thought it was.’

Amber suppressed a groan of dismay. Thank goodness she had a call waiting facility or she’d go stark raving bonkers, having to talk to her mother when Warwick might be trying to contact her.

‘Hi, Mum,’ she said much more calmly than she was feeling. ‘What’s up? ‘

Her mother rarely rang her these days, their relationship having become strained since the day she’d announced that she’d quit her job, broken off with Cory and moved in with her billionaire boss.

Amber could well understand why her family didn’t approve of her actions and she’d finally given up trying to justify what she’d done. Because there was no justification. She couldn’t even use love as an excuse. There’d been no love back then, just lust. Though she preferred to think of it as passion—the kind of passion that was as powerful as it was impossible to describe, especially to your mother.

It had been quite a few months before Amber realised she’d actually fallen in love with Warwick. Up till then she’d been so blinded by her desire for the man that she’d been unaware of the deepening of her emotional attachment. The illumination of her true feelings had happened with all the suddenness and force of a bolt of lightning. They’d been staying at a resort in far North Queensland one weekend late last summer, when Warwick had decided to go bungee-jumping. She’d refused to participate herself but had gone along to watch, knowing it was better on her nerves to accompany Warwick on his thrill-seeking activities rather than stay behind and worry. Something had gone wrong with the length of the rope and his head had almost hit the rocks below. Amber had been absolutely horrified, both by his near miss and the realisation of her love.

Up till then, she’d convinced herself—perhaps as a form of self-protection—that she wouldn’t be heartbroken when her time with Warwick was up. After all, broken hearts were for people who truly loved each other. She’d told herself repeatedly that going back to the real world would be difficult, but she would survive.

Suddenly, with Warwick’s near-death experience, Amber saw what her life would be like without him. The wool was violently pulled from her eyes and she saw with painful clarity that she’d been fooling herself, big time.

She did love him. Not just truly, but madly and very very deeply.

But she certainly didn’t say as much to Warwick, who’d made it clear right from the start that love was no more on his agenda than marriage and children. Quietly, however, like any typical female, Amber had begun to harbour the hope that she might be the exception to that rule as well; that one day he’d discover that he’d fallen madly in love with her too and wanted to keep her for ever. But that hope was rapidly fading.

‘Something strange has happened regarding Kate’s will,’ her mother announced, cutting into her thoughts.

‘Oh? What? She left everything to Dad, didn’t she?’

Who else? Aunt Kate had been a spinster and Amber’s father’s only sibling.

‘She did in her old will. But it seemed she made a new will, witnessed by those two friends of hers. Max and Tara Richmond. You know who I mean, don’t you?’

‘Yes, of course.’ Amber had first met the Richmonds on Christmas day two years ago, when Christmas dinner had been held at Aunt Kate’s place.

Max Richmond was the owner of the Royale chain of international hotels, including the Regency Royale in Sydney, but had semi-retired to the Central Coast after his marriage. He and his wife were good friends of her Aunt Kate. They were a very glamorous-looking couple, with two amazingly well-behaved children: a darling little boy named Stevie and a very pretty blonde baby named Jasmine, who just sat in her stroller and smiled at everyone.

Amber recalled thinking on more than one occasion that they seemed the perfect family.

‘You may or may not have noticed,’ her mother said, ‘but the Richmonds weren’t at Kate’s funeral last week.’

‘No, I didn’t notice.’ She’d been too upset to notice anything much.

‘They were overseas at the time of Kate’s death and didn’t learn about it till they returned home yesterday. Anyway, to cut a long story short, they immediately got in touch with us to let us know that they were in possession of a new will, made just after Easter this year. In it, Kate has left her superannuation policy to your father, but her home and all its contents go to you.’

‘What? But that’s not right. I don’t deserve it!’

‘Whether you deserve it or not is not the point,’ her mother said archly. ‘Kate’s bed and breakfast is now legally yours.’

Amber blinked with shock. Her aunt’s B & B was situated a stone’s throw from Wamberal Beach, a much-sought-after location during the warmer months of the year. Any seaside town within a couple of hours’ drive from Sydney was never lacking for guests, especially during the school holidays. Aunt Kate had made a good living for herself over the years, though she’d wound the business down a lot lately, because of her age. She didn’t even have a website, relying on past customers and word of mouth for guests, plus the sign that stood at the entrance to her driveway. Even if it wasn’t a going concern as a B & B any more, the house would still be worth close to a million dollars.

‘How does Dad feel about this?’ Amber asked worriedly. ‘Is he upset?’

‘He was at first. Not because he wanted the place himself. As you know, we’ve done very well with our fencing business over the last few years and we’re not wanting for money. But we both thought Tom and Tim should have been included in Kate’s will. Yet when your father spoke to them, they said they didn’t mind at all. They actually seemed very pleased for you. They pointed out that they weren’t close to Kate the way you were. They didn’t visit her or love her the way you did. Of course, both my boys have very good jobs,’ her mother said proudly. ‘They don’t need a helping hand. Unlike you.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ Amber snapped, hurt by the pride that her mother always voiced in Tom and Tim. Doreen Roberts was one of those women who doted on her sons and largely ignored her only daughter. Amber’s father was just the same. It was no wonder her sole ambition in life had been to leave home and make a family of her own, one where the love was shared around equally.

‘We’re all worried about you, Amber, living with that heartless man. Kate was especially worried. I have a suspicion she knew she didn’t have long to live, and changed her will in your favour to throw you a lifeline, so to speak. At least you’ll have a home and a job when that man’s finished with you. Which, if he runs true to form, will be any day now.’

‘You don’t know that,’ Amber threw at her mother before she could think better of it.

‘That’s where you’re wrong, dear. I know quite a lot about Warwick Kincaid and none of it’s very complimentary. He might be successful in his business dealings, but his personal life is another matter. It’s a case of like father, like son.’

‘Meaning?’

‘His father was a notorious womaniser who hung himself after losing millions at a casino, according to the inquest.’

Amber was truly shocked. Warwick had told her that his father had died unexpectedly at fifty-one, but she’d just assumed it was from a heart attack or a stroke. He’d said nothing about suicide.

‘His wife divorced him soon after their only child was born,’ her mother rattled on, ‘the price of her freedom being that she had to give up custody of her son. At the time, James Kincaid was one of the richest bankers in England with lots of power and influence. It’s all there to read on the Internet if you ever want to look it up.’

‘I don’t have to, Mum. I know all about Warwick’s family background.’ Which was an exaggeration of the highest order. Warwick was a man who lived in the here and now. He rarely talked about his past life. Neither did he ask her about hers. He’d told her a few brief details just before Christmas last year when she’d enquired about his family. She did know about the divorce and that his mother—from whom Warwick remained estranged—was an actress of sorts. She knew his mother had never remarried, so he didn’t have any half-brothers or -sisters. She knew nothing of his father’s womanising, or his suicide.

‘Then you must know that your boyfriend’s a womaniser as well,’ her mother swept on waspishly. ‘With a mistress left behind in every country he’s lived in. It’s a different country each year: France, Spain, Italy, Turkey, Egypt, India, China, Vietnam … And now Australia. Next year he’ll probably hop over to New Zealand, then on to the Americas. He’s an adventurer, Amber. And a gambler, just like his father. Maybe not at cards or roulette, but with his life. He does dangerous things.’

‘Yes, I do know that, Mum,’ Amber said ruefully. Bungee-jumping and heli-skiing weren’t her lover’s only thrill-seeking activities. Warwick liked to drive fast cars and boats. He liked everything that smacked of speed and risk. ‘Please, can we stop this conversation right now? You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.’ Okay, so she hadn’t known the detailed itinerary of his past love life, but she’d been warned about his womanising reputation right from the start, both by Jill and Warwick himself.

‘And still, you stay with him,’ her mother said with incredulity in her voice.

‘I love him, Mum.’

It was the first time Amber had said the words out loud to anyone other than herself.

‘I very much doubt it,’ her mother snapped. ‘You’re just infatuated with his looks and his lifestyle.’

‘You’re wrong, Mum. I do love him,’ Amber insisted hotly. ‘And I won’t leave him. Not unless he asks me to.’

Her mother sighed. ‘There’s nothing more to be said on that subject, then. So what are you going to do about Kate’s place? You can’t just leave it empty indefinitely. You’ll have to do something with it.’

‘Could I rent it out, do you think? I mean … as a holiday house?’ She didn’t want to sell it. Not straight away.

‘I suppose so. But you’ll have to find yourself a reliable agent. And soon. Your father went up there last weekend and mowed the lawns and watered the garden but you can’t expect him to keep on doing that. The place is your responsibility now.’

Amber’s heart jumped when she heard the familiar sound of the front door being opened. Warwick was home at last. Thank heavens! She was beginning to worry that he might have had an accident.

‘Mum, I’m sorry, but I have to go now. I’ll come over tomorrow and pick up the keys. Will you be home?’

‘Yes. But only till twelve. I have a hairdressing appointment at twelve-thirty.’

‘I’ll be there before then. Bye.’

Amber tossed the phone back down on the granite counter-top and hurried out of the kitchen, her heart thudding behind her ribs in a maddening mixture of excitement and annoyance.

Just the sight of him tipped her emotions more towards excitement. Warwick was still the most handsome man she’d ever seen, with a strongly masculine face, a well-shaped head, sexy blue eyes, and an even sexier mouth. Combine that with a body to die for and an English accent that could cut glass and you had a man who’d give James Bond a run for his money. In fact, he would make an excellent James Bond in Amber’s opinion, his suave man-about-town façade hiding a ruthless inner core. He wasn’t totally heartless, as her mother had said. But he was extremely formidable.

It took courage to confront Warwick with anything, even his tardiness. Normally, Amber forgave his tendency to be late for things.

But not this time.

‘Where on earth have you been?’ she demanded to know. ‘You knew I was cooking a special dinner for us tonight. Why didn’t you call me? I left enough messages on that damned phone of yours!’

CHAPTER TWO

WARWICK closed the front door behind him, slipping the security chain into place before turning his attention back to his understandably upset girlfriend.

How exquisitely beautiful she looked in that glorious pink dress! Beautiful and desirable. Not that it was a sexy garment, by any means. There was no provocative décolletage on display. The neckline was modestly scooped, and the simple flowing style skimmed rather than clung to her curves, the handkerchief hemline reaching down past her knees.

But never before had a girl turned Warwick on the way Amber could—so damned effortlessly. She didn’t have to flirt, or do any of the boldly seductive things his previous women had done. She only had to be in the same room and his hormones jumped to attention.

Suddenly, Warwick wasn’t sure if he could continue with the plan he’d started putting into action recently, the one where he showed himself to be the ruthless man he actually was. Much easier to give up on that idea—however perversely noble it was—apologise profusely for being late and do what his body was urging him to do: ravish her all night long.

The temptation was powerful. But so—as Warwick kept discovering to his surprise—was his conscience. For some time now it had troubled him deeply. Thanks to that wretched aunt of Amber’s.

Of course, he himself had known right from the start that it had been wrong to take a girl like Amber to his bed. She’d been too young, too sweet and too sensitive.

But he just hadn’t been able to resist her. The chemistry between them had been electric, right from the first moment they’d set eyes on each other.

Just one night, he’d told himself at the time. To see how it would feel to make love to someone wholesome. Someone who blushed when you looked deep into her eyes; someone whose attraction for him shocked her enough to make her resign.

Well, he’d found out what it was like and, come the next morning, he hadn’t been able to let her go.

But now the time had come for him to do so.

Time to be cruel to be kind.

‘Please don’t start sounding like a wife, Amber,’ he said coldly as he strode into the room, loosening his tie and undoing the top button of his shirt as he headed for the built-in bar in the corner. ‘I texted you that I’d be late,’ he threw at her after selecting a glass and reaching for the whisky decanter. ‘For pity’s sake, woman, don’t nag.’

‘I … I don’t think it’s nagging to demand politeness,’ she returned in a small, almost crushed voice.

He should not have glanced up at her, not then. Not when her soft blue eyes looked so wounded.

Hell on earth, he couldn’t do this. Not tonight. That would be just too cruel.

‘You’re right,’ he said more gently. ‘Sorry, sweetheart. I’m a bit wound up. Had to sort out a few problems with one of the building contractors. That’s who I was with all this time,’ he lied. He’d actually been sitting in a bar in town all by himself, nursing a whisky for two long hours till he was rudely late. ‘What say I go shower and change into something more comfortable whilst you rustle up dinner?’ he suggested. ‘It’s not spoiled, is it?’

‘No.’ Immediately, her dulled eyes glowed with happiness, sending a dagger of guilt plunging into his own wretchedly dark heart.

Oh, Warwick, Warwick, he thought almost despairingly. How are you going to get yourself out of this mess? The girl loves you. Can’t you see that?

Yes, of course I can see it, came a frustrated voice from within.

It wasn’t the first time this realisation had jumped into Warwick’s head. That day he’d gone bunjee-jumping, for instance, when the damned rope had gone awry and he hadn’t been killed. More was the pity. Amber’s feelings had been written all over her face. She’d been trembling with shock and relief when he was brought back up, unharmed.

Unfortunately, being loved the way Amber loved him—with such sweet sincerity—was as powerful as the most addictive drug. Giving up the way she made him feel was going to take a massive act of will, one that Warwick didn’t think he was capable of this evening. Knowing she wanted him to make love to her after dinner was weakening his resolve to end their relationship.

Maybe it was time to tell her the truth about himself, to force Amber to face the fact that there was no future with him.

Could he do that? Should he?

Unfortunately, revealing his genetic flaw and all its appalling inevitabilities might not bring about the desired result. If Warwick had learned one thing about Amber’s character during the last ten months, it was that she was as compassionate as she was passionate. She would become visibly upset whenever she saw those ads about poor starving children, and could only be soothed when he promised to make regular donations to whatever charity was canvassing for help. Stories about neglected animals inevitably brought similar distress, as did reports on the news about more bombs killing innocent women and children in war-torn countries. Warwick had taken to putting a box of tissues at the ready by the sofa to mop up her tears.

Finding out what awaited her lover in the future might send her running, not in the other direction, but right into his arms.

It was a risk Warwick decided he could not take. He would have to find some other way to end their relationship.

‘Is that your glass of wine over there?’ He nodded towards the nearly full glass that was sitting on the side table next to the box of tissues.

‘Oh, yes, it is. I was having a drink earlier when I was waiting for you to come home.’

Another stab of guilt. Still, he was here now.

‘Bet I can guess what it is,’ he said. ‘A Sauvignon Blanc from the Marlborough region.’

She smiled as she walked over to pick up the glass. ‘You know me too well.’

Yes, he thought as he dropped a few cubes of ice in his glass then slurped in some whisky. I do. And you deserve better than me. You deserve a man who’ll marry you, give you children and grow old with you.

I can’t do any of those things.

Warwick scowled as he lifted the glass to his lips, irritated suddenly by his maudlin thoughts. What good did they do? He’d always been a realist, and the reality of his life was that he couldn’t offer Amber any more than he’d originally offered her.

But damn it all, surely the time she’d spent living with him hadn’t been totally wasted. She’d travelled a lot and learned a lot. She’d socialised with some of the world’s most successful people, been dressed by the world’s most fashionable designers, stayed in the world’s most luxurious resorts.

Some women would kill for what Amber had experienced during these past ten months.

Unfortunately, Amber wasn’t one of those women. Warwick knew she didn’t give a fig about any of those things. All she wanted was his love and his ring on her finger.

Not that she’d told him so. Not once.

Her aunt Kate had told him, last Easter at a family barbecue at her home that Amber had dragged him along to.

What an old tartar she’d been. But she’d obviously loved her niece and wanted to see her happy.

‘You do realise,’ Kate had snapped at him when Amber had left them to go to the bathroom, ‘that Amber was practically engaged when she met you. To a perfectly nice boy who would have given her the only things she’s wanted since she was knee high to a grasshopper: a loving husband and a family of her own. Two things you’ll never give her, Warwick Kincaid.’

The old dragon probably could have said a lot more but didn’t get the opportunity.

‘Shame on you,’ she’d hissed under her breath as Amber had walked back towards them.

That had been three months ago. Warwick hadn’t told Amber what her aunt had said. Hadn’t asked her about the man she’d been on the verge of marrying. He certainly hadn’t embraced the undeniable shame the woman’s forceful words had momentarily evoked. Instead, he’d gone on wallowing in Amber’s warmth and passion, telling himself that he hadn’t forced her to choose him over that other fellow. He’d never forced her to do a single thing. She had free will, didn’t she? She wanted to be with him.

But gradually, the shame had resurfaced. So had his conscience, something that he’d kept buried for a long time. In hindsight, his plan to stop acting like a besotted bridegroom and start showing his true colours had not been well thought out. He hadn’t anticipated the hurt that his abrupt change in behaviour would bring her. Hadn’t anticipated his own level of self-disgust.

Far better that the break be clean and swift.

When the time came, that was.

Her walking over and bending forward to pick up her glass of wine showed him that that time definitely wasn’t tonight, his flesh stirring as he imagined how she would look doing that without that dress on.

‘Dinner won’t be ready for at least fifteen minutes,’ she said as she straightened. ‘I haven’t cooked the rice yet.’

‘What are we having?’

‘Beef stroganoff.’ Her free hand lifted to push her long hair back from where it had fallen over one of her shoulders. ‘I wanted something plain for a change.’

Warwick’s flesh stiffened as he noted the telling outline of erect nipples under the pink silk. She was as frustrated as he was, by the look of things. Understandable considering there’d been no sex this past week, the longest time he’d abstained from touching her since their first night together. It had been damned difficult. But at the time he’d been on a mission to make her hate him; to make her give him the flick, instead of the other way around.

Now that that idea had been tossed out of the window, Warwick had no weapons against the desires that were, at this very moment, taking dark possession of him. Various erotic scenarios filled his mind, none of which involved waiting till after dinner to satisfy his already clamouring flesh. His hunger had nothing to do with food. It was primal and sexual and urgent.

‘I’ve changed my mind,’ he said abruptly.

‘About what?’

‘About eating.’

She looked confused. ‘You don’t want any dinner?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Then what do you want?’

‘I want you to take your dress off.’

Amber’s eyes flung wide. ‘What?’

Warwick appreciated that he’d never ordered her to take her clothes off for him. Not even in the bedroom. Why now? he wondered, even as he banished any qualms and surrendered to the temptation to exercise his sexual power over her.

‘You heard me,’ he said in a voice that was as hard as his erection.

‘But … but people might see me,’ she stammered. ‘From out on the water.’

‘Not up close,’ he countered. ‘Come now, Amber, you’ve nothing to be shy about. You have a glorious body. Do you need a little help, is that it?’

CHAPTER THREE

AMBER just stared at him.

What I need, she suddenly felt like screaming, is a little respect.

But no words came from her mouth—her rapidly drying mouth.

She stood there, rooted to the spot, as he started walking towards her, bringing his drink with him, lifting it to his lips and sipping it slowly. Their eyes met over the rim of the glass, his shocking her with their coldness. Or was that desire glittering in their ice-blue depths?

She couldn’t be sure. He’d run hot and cold ever since he’d come home, leaving her hopelessly bewildered.

Amber told herself to move. To do something, say something.

Anything!

But her tongue was as useless as her legs.

She remained frozen as he moved around behind her, a soft gasp breaking from her lips when he pushed aside her long curtain of hair, draping it over her left shoulder before bending his mouth to her exposed right ear.

But it wasn’t his lips that made her shiver. It was the fear of what she was about to allow … and enjoy.

‘Don’t,’ she heard herself whisper just as his tongue tip dipped into the shell of her ear.

‘Don’t what?’ he whispered a few seconds later.

‘Don’t do this to me … ‘

‘But you want me to,’ he murmured, and nibbled at her ear lobe. ‘This is what tonight was all about. Not food.’

‘No,’ she choked out. ‘Not … entirely.’

His laugh was low and sexy. ‘Yes. Entirely.’

She stiffened when he ran the zipper down past her waist, a shudder following when he stroked the cold glass he was holding down her spine.

‘You want this as much as I do,’ he said thickly as he pushed the sides of her dress off her shoulders.

It pooled around her feet in a silky pink puddle, leaving her wearing nothing but her pink high heels.

This wasn’t the first time she’d left off her underwear. But it was the first time she’d felt ashamed of having done so.

I’m exactly what Aunt Kate said I am, Amber accepted despairingly as she stood there, naked, before her wealthy lover’s gaze. Not a proper girlfriend or a much loved partner, but a mistress, a kept woman. Kept for nothing but her master’s sexual pleasure.

Her stomach contracted when he moved around to look at her from the front, her feelings of shame at war with those other wickedly powerful emotions he could so easily evoke. Not just desire but need—the need to be caressed, and kissed, and filled.

She closed her eyes, blotting out the way his glittering blue eyes were gobbling her up. Perversely, her not being able to see him only increased her awareness of her own appalling excitement. Every muscle in her body tensed up, waiting for his touch. Yearning for it. Dying for it.

His breath on the nape of her neck told her that he’d moved behind her again. He must have put his drink down too, both his hands free to slide up and down her arms, which immediately broke into goose bumps.

‘Do you have any idea what you do to me?’ he murmured as he pressed himself against her naked back, his mouth hovering just above her right ear.

‘No,’ came her shaky reply. She only knew what he did to her, and what he’d done. Reduced to this … this pitiful state where shame and pride were no match for the pleasure of his lovemaking.

Though this wasn’t lovemaking tonight. This was just sex—raw, unadulterated sex.

‘If I were a prince in the Middle Ages,’ he whispered as he took her hands and lifted them high above her head, ‘I would keep you … just like this … locked in a dungeon … with nothing to do but wait for me to come to you.’

She shuddered at the image he’d created.

Why it excited her so much she could not fathom. She should have been repulsed. Instead, she was shaking with excitement.

‘Would you like that?’ he demanded to know, his breathing growing heavier as he pressed himself even harder against her bare buttocks.

‘Yes,’ she choked out.

His naked groan betrayed a level of need possibly even greater than her own.

‘What on earth am I going to do with you?’ he growled.

Amber moaned, having reached that point where pride and shame had become totally irrelevant. She needed Warwick inside her, right then and there, regardless of the fact that she was standing in the middle of a well-lit, glass-walled living room, less than a hundred metres away from where boats full of tourists were enjoying evening dinner cruises on Sydney Harbour.

‘Please,’ she heard herself practically beg as she moved her legs wantonly apart.

Warwick heard the wild desperation in her voice, felt the uncontrollable excitement that had taken possession of her. He should have felt triumphant. Clever old Warwick, knowing exactly what buttons to press and words to say to seduce her into a state of total surrender.

Why, then, did he suddenly feel bitterly ashamed of himself?

The answer was obvious.

Because she loves you, you bastard. She’s not some cheap whore who doesn’t care what you do to her.

But even as he told himself all this Warwick was unzipping his trousers. His conscience kept screaming at him not to, but Amber wasn’t the only one who’d reached the point of no return.

He groaned as he slid into her, wallowing in the feel of her flesh enclosing his like a tightening fist. She made some sound, a moan perhaps, though not of pain, but of pleasure. It was impossible to stop now. With his right hand splayed firmly over her stomach, and his left cupping her right breast, he began to move his hips.

Not so fast, Warwick, he warned himself as his body immediately surged towards a decidedly premature release. His hips, however, refused to obey him. They jerked back and forth with an urgency that would not be denied, his outspread fingers pressing upwards on her belly, lifting her buttocks up higher against his abdomen, the angle affording him a deeper penetration.

Warwick grimaced as he felt the hot blood rushing along his veins. He was going to come! Hell on earth, he hadn’t come this fast in decades!

Amber’s suddenly shattering apart in his arms was a huge relief to his pride, allowing him to abandon what little control he had left.

He cried out, holding her tight against him as he ejaculated with the ferocity of an erupting volcano.

She shuddered with him, the contractions of her orgasm more intense, he thought, than ever before. The fantasy he’d painted about keeping her imprisoned in a dungeon had really turned her on. So much so that she’d forgotten who might be watching what they were up to.

You should do this more often, Warwick. Play erotic games with her.

Up till now he’d hardly touched the sides of what he’d learned over many years of hedonistic behaviour. There was so much more he could show her, and do with her.

The only question was … should he?

As much as Warwick was tempted by the thought of becoming Amber’s tutor in the erotic arts, he knew that the more imaginative and adventurous practices—whilst wildly exciting—carried a degree of danger; the danger of corruption.

The last thing he wanted to do was corrupt Amber. Pleasure her … yes. Satisfy her … yes. Corrupt her? No.

He would not destroy her basic innocence, he decided as he gently withdrew, then scooped her up into his arms. Such innocence was too precious. She was too precious.

He was going to miss her terribly, he thought as he carried her into the bedroom. But not tonight. For now she was still his.

He wouldn’t think about the future. Tonight was for nothing but pleasure.

Hers.

His.

But mostly hers.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.