When a merciless billionaire meets a virgin beauty...

Can the beast be tamed?

Ruthless businessman Nikos Karellis won’t risk his company to save Jacquelyn Jones’s struggling bridal boutique. But he will give her the best night of her life! Discovering that Jacquelyn’s as pure as the white wedding dresses she designs, Nikos is intrigued... But returning to Greece together leaves him emotionally exposed and warring with past guilt. Could untouched Jacquelyn’s sensual surrender be this dark-hearted Greek’s redemption?

Indulge in this dramatic tale of seduction...

Unable to sit still without reading, BELLA FRANCES first found romantic fiction at the age of twelve, in between deadly dull knitting patterns and recipes in the pages of her grandmother’s magazines. An obsession was born! But it wasn’t until one long, hot summer, after completing her first degree in English Literature, that she fell upon the legends that are Mills & Boon books. She has occasionally lifted her head out of them since to do a range of jobs, including barmaid, financial adviser and teacher, as well as to practise—but never perfect—the art of motherhood on two now almost grown-up cherubs. Bella lives a very energetic life in the UK, but tries desperately to travel for pleasure at least once a month—strictly in the interests of research! Catch up with her on her website at www.bellafrancesauthor.com.

Also by Bella Frances

The Playboy of Argentina

The Consequence She Cannot Deny

The Tycoon’s Shock Heir

Claimed by a Billionaire miniseries

The Argentinian’s Virgin Conquest

The Italian’s Vengeful Seduction

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Redeemed by Her Innocence

Bella Frances

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08820-6

REDEEMED BY HER INNOCENCE

© 2019 Bella Frances

Published in Great Britain 2019

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

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

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

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Acknowledgements

With grateful thanks to Joyce Young,

By Storm, Glasgow and London, for her insights

into the world of wedding dress design.

For Graham Frize,

redeeming innocence wherever he goes.

Beautiful, sinful and wonderful friend.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Acknowledgments

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

NIKOS KARELLIS WALKED straight into the bridal suite of Maybury Hall, Wedding Venue of the Year, and slung his suit carrier down on the four-poster bed. So this is romance, he thought, frowning at the frills and flowers and buckets of girly fizz. He lifted a bottle, checked the vintage and slipped it back into the watery ice. He was a long way off celebrating yet. He’d travelled through eight time zones and three continents, and he needed something a bit harder to take the edge off.

Finally he saw what he wanted, tucked underneath a gilt mirror featuring chuckling cherubs—a tray with decanter, glasses and water jug. Perfect. He poured a generous measure, then he added a little more, skipped the water, and sank it, the burn and peaty fumes soothing as they slid down his throat.

Cheers, Martin, he thought, tipping his glass at the chandelier. At least his former brother-in-law’s taste in whisky was better than his taste in décor.

The bridal suite.

Of all the rooms in his flagship luxury hotel, Martin had chosen to put him up here. Maybe it was his idea of a joke, but it wasn’t a very funny one. Pretty much nothing about being married to Maria made him laugh any more.

Nikos reached for the decanter, pausing in the act of pouring a second. The temptation was strong, but clear-headed was the only way to be tonight, because tonight was the beginning of the end, the face-to-face to get it all out in the open. Whatever it was that Martin thought had been hidden away in Maria’s legacy, this was the night when they’d sort it out, because it was draining—and not just financially.

Despite what Martin’s lawyers and the Inland Revenue seemed to think, there were no hidden assets, no secret stash of cash, no offshore investments. She had drunk them all, or snorted them all. And that was that. It would be a hard story to tell her doting brother, but Nikos was damned sure he wasn’t going to leave anything out, because he’d had enough.

The tit-for-tat legal wrangling had gone on for too long so he’d done it the old-fashioned way; lifted the phone, and asked for a meeting. When Martin suggested this black-tie event in one of his chain of luxury hotels, Nikos didn’t hesitate. It was that or wait another six weeks until they’d even be on the same continent.

He could barely wait six more minutes now that he finally had the end in sight. Five years since Maria’s death—but it was only his wedding ring he’d tossed into the cool, blue Aegean; the pain and the memories had been much harder to shift.

Too late to stop himself, he touched his ring finger. Empty space, smooth skin. Even though House, his high-end chain of department stores, was now in the Forbes 100, with turnover almost hitting the four billion mark, that feeling of bare skin felt better than anything. It was the feeling of freedom. More than that, it was the cast-iron knowledge that he was on his own now. On his own, forging his path, no wife hanging off his arm, or around his neck, no damage to clean up after—just these final few crumbs and then he really was home free.

He filled up a fresh glass with water and walked to the window. The estate was impressive, immense, expanding off into horizons of oak trees and lawns, and willow-draped lakes. He could just see the roof of the lodge house he’d passed and the huge iron gates at the end of the road, where a car had just pulled up. Something about it made him strain forward to see better...

But just then a knock sounded on the door, and he turned.

‘I heard you’d arrived.’

Martin Lopez stood in the door and for a second they looked at each other. The same dark hair, dark eyes, sallow skin and high cheekbones as Maria—a look that he’d once found ravishing, irresistible, forging a love so strong he’d moved from delinquent eighteen-year-old biker to husband, in three years.

Looking back, which he had done all too often in the ten years they’d been together, it had been a predictable car crash of wrong place, wrong time. The minute he’d rescued her from the Bentley she’d wrapped around a lamp post on the side of the Sydney highway, they’d been inseparable—he was tennis coach, swimming coach, personal trainer, anything she could do to keep him in her life, and, after where he’d been, it had felt like arriving at the Promised Land.

Unfortunately some promises were very hard for Maria to keep.

‘Martin. Good to see you.’

He walked towards him, stretching out a hand, reading in the light press of Martin’s palm and the shifting of his gaze that he was on edge.

‘Nikos. I’m glad you came. It’s been a long time.’

‘Too long,’ said Nikos, holding the handshake a second longer, reassuring him that they were friends, no matter what had gone before.

‘Yes, and I wanted to get in touch, but it’s not been easy since Maria died.’

‘I guess not. Our lives have taken different directions.’

‘But we’ll always have her in common.’

‘I can’t deny that,’ said Nikos, staring hard at Martin, wondering what was really going on in his mind. He had done everything for the Lopez family; they were all set up for life. He had nothing left to give.

But something was eating the other man up. Martin dropped his gaze and turned back to the door.

‘Shall I show you around, before the guests start to arrive?’ he said, over his shoulder.

‘Absolutely,’ Nikos said, strolling out to the grand hallway, where the faces of various English rose aristocrats in grand gilt frames hung around the walls, no doubt wondering what the hell had happened to the old house now that the Lopez Hotel Group had transformed it.

‘Yes, it’s great to see you,’ Martin said, stepping alongside him now like a best buddy. ‘And I’m really grateful that you’ve agreed to present an award. We sold an extra fifty seats when it was announced yesterday.’

Nikos shrugged. ‘It’s no problem. I was on the way back from Sydney when I got the call.’

‘Visiting your mother? How is she?’

They were at the top of a wide sweep of carpeted stairs, no doubt a prime photo opportunity for the hundreds of brides who used Maybury Hall.

‘Ah, she’s OK. Thanks for asking. She doesn’t know me any more but she seems quite happy, and they look after her well.’

His monthly visits to Sydney were the one fixed item in his calendar. He knew they wouldn’t last for ever...

‘So how’s business?’ he asked, keen to change the subject.

They walked down the stairs, as staff carrying huge displays of flowers and cakes criss-crossed over the black-and-white floor beneath them.

‘I’m getting out soon,’ said Martin, with a mirthless laugh. ‘This is the last sponsorship I’m doing. I want to end on a high. The hotels are doing well, but the wedding industry’s being choked to death by overseas competition.’

‘China?’

Martin nodded. ‘It’s hitting the dress side worst of all. With the volume they can produce overseas, there’s just no profit margin for the little guy. Unless it’s high-end, bespoke, but even then it’s tough.’

‘People will always want to get married,’ said Nikos. People other than himself.

‘Yes, but it’s not what it was. Even the ones that have been on the go for years are feeling it. Another one of them is just about to hit the buffers, and it’s one of my old pals who once owned it. It’s his daughter’s now.’

They rounded the corner of the staircase and fell into step walking on through the lobby. All around, the paraphernalia of an industry built on hormones and fiction—love and marriage. A sham that left Nikos stone cold.

‘It’s a pity, because she is a lovely girl—at least she was last time I saw her. But she’s out of her depth.’

‘As in overinvested, or out of her depth because she doesn’t have the skill?’

‘A bit of both probably. Which makes it awkward. She’ll be here tonight and I’ve got a feeling she’s going to make a pitch. And I don’t have the heart to tell her she’s the problem.’

‘Yes, that’s a tough one,’ said Nikos, who had his own tough message to deliver to Martin, as soon as they got the chance to talk in private.

They turned the corner of the hall and stood on the threshold. Tables, heavy in white linen, spread off in all directions; the band at the side of the stage was tuning up a series of mismatched sounds.

Soon the movers and shakers of the wedding world would all be here to congratulate themselves on their achievements in this phony industry, and he, the man least likely to marry ever again, would be presenting one of them with a cube of etched Perspex that would wind up displayed on a shelf somewhere. The irony wasn’t lost on him.

Suddenly screens at either side of the stage flickered to life with images of Titian-haired brides in long flowing dresses running through fields of corn. That was it—he’d had enough.

‘So what’s the schedule?’ he asked, folding his arms and facing Martin. ‘Because we’ve got our own difficult conversation to have. And I want to make sure we’ve got enough time.’

‘As soon as this is over. I promise you.’

‘I’ll wait until ten. We talk from then until this thing is finished. And then I’m leaving, Martin. And I won’t be back.’

A shadow fell across Martin’s face. His eyes darted furtively down and back up.

‘I hear you,’ he said, stepping closer. ‘But it’s not just me who’s trying to get to the bottom of this. There are some people Maria was involved with that are very unhappy, Nikos. People that you know well.’

As if he’d felt a blow, Nikos flinched. Hair stood up on the back of his neck. Someone did a microphone check and a short burst of static screeched through the space.

‘People that you know well.’

He’d thought this was all dead. Buried, with his wife. But it wasn’t. It was still there, always there. Shadows that didn’t fade in the warm afternoon sunshine or fresh summer mornings. Dreadful, dark shadows that never went away, no matter where he went or what he did.

‘OK, Martin,’ he said, dredging up his words, like hauling on armour. He stood tall, he breathed deep, he squared his shoulders. There was no option; there was never any option. But his mother was safe, so nothing else mattered.

He looked at the other man. It wasn’t his fault. There was no one to blame but himself.

‘We’ll talk later,’ he said. ‘We’ll get this sorted. They won’t bother you.’

He patted Martin’s shoulder as he passed, and made his way through the tables, scattered like giant confetti on the ground.

* * *

Two miles east of Maybury Hall, in the pretty market town of Lower Linton, Jacquelyn Jones, owner of Ariana Bridal, was also getting ready to attend the Wedding Awards, and with almost the same mix of dread and trepidation.

As designer-in-chief of the bridalwear boutique that had occupied the same spot on the main street for the past fifty years, she could have been going to collect an award. Her father had managed to do just that, scooping five top awards in the past two decades, but that was before she had taken over from him, and before the business had stopped turning such healthy profits.

No, she was going there tonight to get money. Or she was going to die trying. Because if she didn’t, the whole thing was going to fall apart, one stitch at a time.

But first she had to get rid of Barbara, who had just slipped in through the courtyard garden as Jacquelyn had been closing up for the evening. With five husbands in the bag, she was the boutique’s best, but also nosiest, customer. No doubt she had scented blood, or at least the high anxiety that Jacquelyn was trying to conquer as she arranged a vase of white arum lilies.

‘So you’re definitely going to the Wedding Awards at Maybury Hall tonight? Even though that snake-in-the-grass Tim Brinley will be there? Good for you! You go and show them all. It’s disgraceful. He should be struck off, not getting a blooming award!’

‘You can’t be struck off for being unfaithful, Barbara,’ said Jacquelyn, though goodness knew she would have done a lot worse to her ex-fiancé. ‘And he deserves the award. He’s a good photographer.’

‘Tsk. You say that. But he owes everything to you and your connections. And it’s not going to be easy on you though, no matter how hard you try to put on a brave face. After what he did! The thought of everyone whispering behind your back...’

‘No one will be giving me a second’s thought. Nikos Karellis is going to be there so they’ll all be star-struck and googly-eyed over him.’

‘What? Nikos Karellis, owner of all those House department stores? The billionaire Greek god who is now conveniently unattached?’

‘I believe he’s Greek Australian, actually, though I really don’t see the big attraction. He’s not my cup of tea at all.’

‘Oh, Jacquelyn,’ said Barbara. ‘You mustn’t judge all men badly. Tim was cruel but there are plenty more fish in the sea and it’s time you started looking.’

‘This is an awards dinner, Barbara, not a singles bar.’ She twisted a lily to the side, stood back to examine it.

‘But Nikos Karellis—you might never get another chance! Think of the doors he could open for you! And you could do with some cheering up. You’ve not been yourself at all since Tim jilted you. It’s affecting the business. Everything’s got a bit shabby, if you don’t mind me saying.’

Jacquelyn kept her face fixed on the lilies even though she couldn’t see them, her eyes crushed closed in frustration and anger.

Barbara was right. She was completely right. And that it was so obvious was even worse. There was barely enough money to pay the machinists’ wages let alone invest in a refresh of the boutique. And all avenues to borrow money had closed. The bank wanted the previous loan repaid and capturing the interest of a financier had seemed impossible.

She knew they cast her as a silly girl playing at shops, not as a serious businesswoman. She was caught in a vicious circle of stiff competition, poor profits and higher costs, and she couldn’t seem to break free.

‘I don’t know what your parents were thinking disappearing off to the south of Spain, leaving you in charge here, after what happened. No wonder the place has run into difficulties.’

‘Mum’s rheumatics are what’s taken them to Spain,’ said Jacquelyn, ‘and the last thing they need is worrying that they need to come back here. If you’ll excuse me a moment...’

She stood up, scooped up the debris from the flowers and tossed it into the bin, then kept walking through into her studio, standing in the vale of light that flooded the space, desperate for a moment of calm.

But there was no escape, because right in front of her, spread out on her work desk, were the sketches she’d been poring over for the past two days. She swept them up, bundled them into a pile and bashed them off the top of the desk. They were rubbish. She knew they were, but she had lost all feel for designing fairy-tale dresses. She had lost her feel for fairy tales too. She needed practical things—like money—to hire someone who did.

‘Oh, don’t worry on that account,’ called Barbara from the kitchen. ‘I never mention a word about Ariana when I call. We keep it strictly social now. So much goes on in Lower Linton for such a tiny little town.’

And is regurgitated every Sunday on calls to Mum, thought Jacquelyn. Nothing went unnoticed or unreported. Nothing.

She looked up and saw Barbara position herself at the doorway.

‘Barbara, it was lovely of you to drop by, but don’t let me keep you. I’m sure you’ve got loads to do tonight.’

‘Yes, I am rather busy,’ said Barbara, narrowing her critical eyes as she wandered round the studio, like a detective in some third-rate TV show.

Jacquelyn wondered what clues she had left out and too late saw the piles of dirty teacups and balled-up handkerchiefs. Clues that might even find their way muttered into the hors-d’oeuvres of wherever Barbara dined tonight.

‘Well, I hope you show that Tim Brinley what he’s missing.’

Jacquelyn did her best to smile and tidied the scattered sketches into a pile. The inky sharp-limbed figure on top seemed to flinch as she was set down and Jacquelyn cursed the stress that was flowing through her, stress that was making it harder and harder to get these sketches right. And she had to get them right. She absolutely had to.

‘I bet Nikos Karellis would happily help out. He’s definitely got an eye for the ladies. If all else fails...’ Barbara’s voice trailed off as she raised a pencilled eyebrow and stared directly at Jacquelyn’s figure.

‘If “all else fails” what, Barbara? What are you trying to suggest? That I throw myself at a total stranger? Do you really think that’s my style?’

Behind her, the row of mannequins looked on like a jury of headless Greek goddesses. She’d been baited and caught, exposing herself as easily as if she’d taken out an ad in the front page of the Lower Linton Chronicle.

‘Darling, if it was your style you wouldn’t be in this mess,’ said Barbara as she lifted her clutch and re-formed her perfectly engineered face. ‘And if I were you I’d start getting ready now. You’re looking a bit puffy around the eyes. I’ll see myself out.’

And she did, sailing past in a haze of sickly sweet scent, on through the studio to the hallway, heels clicking on the stone steps and then out into the courtyard where they faded and were finally silenced by the dull thud of the wooden door.

Jacquelyn stood tight and tense until she finally heard the car roar off, then she let out a huge sigh and felt her eyes burn—again.

‘Stop it, stop it. Pull yourself together!’ she hissed through the hot self-pitying tears that had formed.

You knew this moment would come. Five years in charge and you let it all trickle through your fingers. Well, now it’s happened. And you’ve got one chance left to stop this before it’s too late.

She’d taken the once thriving family business and run it into the ground and had no one but herself to blame. She’d taken her eye off the ball, worried herself sick about things that turned out not to have been worth worrying about at all. Like a man. Like that stupid, stupid break-up, with that stupid, weak-willed man.

She sat down again, propped her elbows on the table and bowed her head.

Before her, the blank-faced sketches said nothing. She spread them out and stared at them. Any fool could see that there was something missing, something wrong. But she just didn’t seem to know how to get them right. She’d whittled it down from twenty to twelve to this final bundle of six.

When she’d showed them to Victor, the pattern cutter, he’d been gracious and complimentary, but she’d known he’d been faking it. She’d seen the confusion in his eyes. Another dud collection. Again?

Around the studio, light was sinking into a pale mauve sunset. Through the window she could see traffic on the main road out of town that led to London. Just two miles east sat Maybury Hall, where the Wedding Awards were being held tonight.

She was running out of time. She had to get going. Everyone else could gush over Nikos Karellis, but it was Dad’s friend Martin Lopez and his millions that she needed to see. She was going to approach him tonight and ask him to finance the business. She’d offer five per cent. Twenty per cent. Whatever it took.

Outside she heard a car prowl along the lane. Surely Barbara wasn’t back again...?

She jumped up and ran out through the studio and down the stairs, then burst out into the courtyard. She slid the bolt across the wooden door and leaned back against it, breathing a deep sigh. But there was no knock, no screeching voice, just the quiet sounds and sights of a summer evening: water bubbling over the giggling cherubs in the fountain and the sun-dappled flower beds, sleepy and still.

Peace. If only she could stand still and enjoy it—but that was half her problem. Instead of busying herself out in the world, she had shut herself away, hiding in the familiar silks and satins, and beads and crystals that hung in the boutique.

She looked through the French doors of the shop.

Fairy tales were made real in there. Women were made into princesses. Dreams came true.

Once upon a time she’d believed that. She absolutely had. Happy ever after was the only ever after there was.

How wrong she’d been. Happy ever after didn’t exist.

CHAPTER TWO

JACQUELYN STRETCHED HER SMILE and lifted a glass of champagne. She wouldn’t drink it but it was the perfect accessory, and gave her something to do with her hands.

She might be feeling as if she were dying but she knew how to put on a show. Her dress was a fairy tale. How could it possibly be anything else? Her blonde hair was tousled, in a knot held up with beads of fine crystals, silken and soft and sparkling.

Her gown was cerulean-blue satin. The chiffon bodice crossed over her chest and the skirt billowed out in the signature ‘Jones’ cut that flattered and flowed to the floor. Her long neck and elegant shoulders were shown to perfection with a single pearl droplet on a fine chain. Her make-up was just the perfect blend of colours and tones to hide and highlight, and her lips were glossily, naturally, plump and soft.

All in all she was a walking miracle, she thought to herself. It was amazing what a few tricks of the trade could do. But if she, with her know-how and connections, couldn’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear tonight, who could?

She pulled her lips into a superhappy smile as a camera flashed a photo of the table, and all the while she surreptitiously scanned the crowd. She would not crack an inch in front of anyone, in case it got back to Mum and Dad. She was on show, wearing the most flattering cut and colour of dress.

‘The best model you have is yourself,’ as Dad always said.

‘Don’t you get too big for your boots,’ said Mum.

Jacquelyn tried to straighten her shoulders, but they didn’t need straightening. She twisted her head a tiny bit to the left, to see if Martin was here yet, but not so much as to be too obvious. Not that it mattered. They’d all think she was showing off to Tim Brinley or, worse, pitching for Nikos Karellis. As if.

She had been flippant, blasé, when Dad had phoned her about the awards.

Of course she’d be fine with Tim being there. Life moved on. And she would have a chat with Nikos Karellis if she got the chance, and, yes, she remembered his friend Martin Lopez. She promised she’d make a point of saying hello to him. She could give him a cast-iron guarantee on that front.

She felt the smile slip from her face and tension creep across her brow, and checked herself, taking a tiny sip of champagne and putting the glass down as if she were having the most marvellous evening, chatting and gossiping with the people at her table.

‘I hear Nikos Karellis has arrived.’

‘Made quite a splash already. In the bridal suite but with no bride, of course.’

‘Ha-ha. I wonder who’ll be the second Mrs Karellis.’

‘I only just found out he was married to Maria Lopez. She was old enough to be his mother!’

‘I don’t think he’s looking for a mother now!’

‘I’d never heard of her before...’

‘Where have you been? I thought everyone knew that story!’

Jacquelyn knew. She’d known the story for years, since the morning at breakfast her father had put the newspaper down with a, ‘Good grief, you’ll never guess who’s died,’ and then proceeded to tell them the story of his friend Martin Lopez and his beautiful sister, who’d married a man fifteen years younger. Photographs of him carrying her coffin, grief painted onto such a handsome face, had filled the nation’s need for gossip for a day or so.

‘Poor man,’ her mother sighed, lifting the paper from her father’s hands.

‘Poor man, nothing. Rich man. He’s worth a fortune now,’ said her father.

‘He’s just lost his wife,’ her mother chided. ‘Money can’t take away that pain, no matter what you say. He must have really loved her. Just look at him.’

Jacquelyn sipped her tea. She knew what love was. Every fibre of her being pulsed with it for Tim, her childhood sweetheart. Love was going to school with him, listening to music. He was her best friend, boyfriend and soon-to-be husband.

Love was them agreeing to save themselves for their wedding night, no matter how tempting, because there was nothing more important than that. Their secret pact, their complicit agreement. Their bond of trust.

There was no other option. Because that was what good girls did. Although it was never shown in public, Nonna Ariana was sniffy about the girls who wore white when they should be wearing ivory.

‘If this is the most important day of their life, then they should act like it. It isn’t just a fancy dress, it’s real. They should know better, bringing shame on their families!’

So Jacquelyn was steadfast. She was determined. And Tim was too, because it was all going to be worth it. It was all leading to a rosy future. It was the rest of their lives. What did a few more months matter?

So no, Nikos Karellis had meant nothing to her then.

And unlike every other woman here, he meant nothing to her now. She wouldn’t waste a moment talking to someone whose interest in women was superficial.

It was Martin Lopez she needed to find, and fast. She couldn’t bear it if this whole night passed without a chance to give him her pitch.

‘It’s him. Here he is.’

She started, like a deer at the burst of a gun, but it was just the hotshot Australian that had entered.

‘Wow, isn’t he amazing?’

Despite herself, her head swivelled to the front of the stage to see.

Well, physically—there was no doubt about that. Was it the height of him, the breadth of his shoulders, or the gleaming white shirt and midnight-blue tux? Was it the short-cropped dark hair and dark stubble, the trademark tattoo that snaked from below his left ear and disappeared under the shirt collar?

Whatever, he was devilishly dark and handsome, and like every other woman in the room she found herself unable to stop staring. One by one, people crossed over to say hello, gushing and scraping before him—people that Jacquelyn knew to be supremely confident in business, acting star-struck and silly.

‘Are you coming over to meet him?’ said the woman next to her.

‘No, thank you. I don’t want to be caught in the crush of groupies,’ she said, a little unkindly.

‘Suit yourself,’ said her companion, and stood up.

Jacquelyn turned to watch her shimmy her way across the floor, still trying desperately to catch a glimpse of Martin, but the crowd around Nikos Karellis was thick now and totally obscured the table.

And then she saw him seated beside Nikos. He was older than she remembered. Streaks of silver in his dark hair, but still a handsome man, and, she hoped, still a gentleman.

Her stomach turned a somersault and her hands dampened. She tried to wipe them on the tablecloth discreetly as she stood up.

Please, please, please remember me, she thought, and began to make her way across the floor towards him.

* * *

Nikos’s patience had almost completely run dry. His smile was still fixed in place but he’d chatted and shaken hands with people all evening, in the bar and now here at the table. He hated the side effects of fame. The people who wanted to say hello were nice enough but they had no idea who he was—or where he’d come from. They were only seeing some airbrushed version of reality, as fake as the whole wedding industry itself.

He glanced down at Martin with a raised brow.

‘How much more of this?’ he said, leaning over.

Martin shrugged and smiled.

‘The awards start in five minutes. After that we’ll disappear off to my suite and talk properly.’

Nikos nodded and straightened up, trying to remember the name of the woman to his right who’d just introduced herself, but when he turned around, it wasn’t a plump old lady who was right in front of him, it was a beautiful young woman.

She was tall, toned and blonde, and with a practised sweep he took her all in—from the stunning cerulean-blue floor-length gown that held her feminine curves to perfection, and all the way up past the graceful curve of her shoulders, to the top of her elegant topknot.

She wasn’t overtly sexual, but something about the shape of her hips and the neat swell of her breasts made his body react violently. And he noted with some pleasure that he hadn’t felt such a reaction for a long time.

Suddenly the night was looking up, and even as he reached out his hand to shake hers, he made a mental calculation of how long he would be occupied with Martin before he could properly get to know her.

But she didn’t take his hand.

She didn’t even look in his direction. Instead she sailed right past him and stopped, as Martin looked up and got to his feet.

‘Jacquelyn. It is you! I saw you coming across the floor and I wondered if it was. I thought I might see you tonight.’

Jacquelyn? Nikos quickly noted her name and watched, wondering how this exchange was going to play out. By the warmth in the way Martin was leaning towards her, lingering as he kissed each proffered cheek, he was clearly fond of her. But he had to be at least twice her age...

And the way she was holding herself was interesting: she was transmitting anxiety, with her spine so rigid, shoulders tense; and that smile, beaming a bit too bright.

‘And this is my brother-in-law, Nikos Karellis. Nikos, Jacquelyn Jones—owner of Ariana Bridal. Her father Joseph and I were at school together.’

So, Martin really was old enough to be her father. That was helpful.

She turned her flawless face and keen blue eyes to Nikos. The smile she’d given Martin slipped slightly, he noted, and her spine tightened a notch more too. She blinked and with a long stretch of her arm she permitted her hand to be shaken.

Which he did and he read in that tense-fingered, quickly retracted handshake that he’d just been judged and dismissed. She didn’t like him.

Well, it did happen. Not often, but he wasn’t every woman’s cup of tea. Particularly the ones who thought they were a bit above him. Even with all his money, he never forgot where he’d come from. And nor, it seemed, did they.

He knew the type. They saw his tattoos, his warpaint as his mother called it. The sensual ones saw brutality and found it fascinating. The repressed ones didn’t get him. They saw brutality and found it disgusting.

The truth, of course, was that he had left brutal back in Sydney at the side of the road. Bikers were brutal; his dad was brutal. His entire childhood had been brutalised beyond what any of these lovely people could understand. They had no idea that his mother suffered brain injury as a result of a beating from his father. Or that he had run drugs for him as an after-school chore.

The fact was that he’d made it his life’s work to be free of every trace of violence and aggression. He’d severed ties with everyone except his mother, and poured millions into projects for delinquent kids.

So to be judged as ‘less than’ pressed his buttons, just a little.

He stood tall, squared his shoulders, one hand on his hip, in a gesture that called out her condescension.

‘Former brother-in-law. My wife passed away five years ago.’

She dropped her gaze completely, and when she swept her perfectly oval lids open again there was a tiny flash of recognition.

‘I’m sorry for your loss. I never met her but my father spoke about Maria. And you.’

Did he now? thought Nikos, his mind conjuring up an image of her baby blues widening over some story or other. Maria’s high jinks were always being reported on some media space. And the look on her face told him that she was remembering something of that sort right now.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I appreciate your kind words. And I’m very pleased to meet you. Are you up for an award tonight?’

The dart of her eyes down to her feet and the blush of pink that bloomed over her face told him all he needed to know on that front. He was beginning to remember the earlier conversation. Was this the woman who was bad in business?

‘No, I’m afraid not.’

‘Someone else’s turn, this year. But Ariana has won awards in the past, Jacquelyn, haven’t you?’ cut in Martin, gallantly.

‘Oh, yes, one or two. We’ve won Wedding Dress of the Year and been runners-up a few times.’

‘That’s quite an achievement,’ said Nikos. So the business was once at the top of its game. ‘And is this one of your own designs?’

Despite her slightly dismissive glance he stood back to view.

He had a practised eye. He was a retail giant, for heaven’s sake. House was the ‘stylish woman’s department store of choice’, built on his keen eye, and in one of the most rapid, successful expansions in retail in recent years, he’d taken on concessions in all other departments. So he had every professional right to cast his critical eye over the very seductive shape of Ms Ariana Bridal, even as she tried to shield herself with her long slim arms, twisting to the side, speaking the least subtle body language he’d ever witnessed.

Then she started staring over his shoulder, as if looking for someone better to talk to, even more clearly communicating, I’m not interested.

Didn’t she know that being not interested made her uniquely the most interesting person here?

‘Sorry, did you say you designed this yourself?’ he repeated quietly.

She turned, with a slightly irritated look on her face, which he found curiously seductive.

‘Not me, but this is our original design.’

‘Isn’t this the Jones cut?’ said Martin, whom Nikos was beginning to find more than mildly irritating himself.

‘Nonna Ariana’s, yes. Martin, I wonder if we might have a word,’ she said, lowering her voice as she turned to him now and took a step away from the table. Martin mirrored her and moved away too. She was clearly trying to cut Nikos out of the conversation. ‘Later on this evening? Would that be all right?’

Music started to play, people were taking their seats, Martin hesitated and Nikos raised his eyebrow, reminding him that he had a prior engagement.

‘Tonight? Oh, I’m not sure. It’s not ideal.’

‘Please, Martin. There’s something I want to discuss.’

The floor was emptying, people were taking their seats. They were beginning to look very conspicuous as the only three people still standing.

Jacquelyn knotted her fingers together as if she was praying. She looked truly anguished.

Martin looked at Nikos with a what can I do?

Nikos felt a tiny twinge of regret on her behalf but he had bigger things to worry about than a buttoned-up Englishwoman, no matter how attractive.

‘Ah, this could be tricky. I’ve got Nikos here as my guest.’

She turned to look at Nikos as if he was even more of a pariah than she’d first thought, as if he were personally responsible for the fact that her business was dying on its feet.

‘We’d better take our seats now. See you later, sweetheart,’ he said, with a wink.

* * *

Jacquelyn walked back to her table as if she were entirely made of wood and tried to take her seat with grace that seemed to have completely deserted her.

Had she blown it already? She reached for her glass, something to hold as she quickly replayed the meeting in her head. Martin seemed to have been friendly enough but he’d been totally eclipsed by Nikos Karellis. And no wonder. The man was completely unnerving. She’d never met anyone so—intense. So physical. He’d made her self-conscious, tongue-tied and totally put her off her stride.

She slipped a glance to the side to look at him as the band struck up and was met with him staring right back at her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up in an instant and she looked away.

All through the starter she could feel him staring and she absolutely would not look at him. Maybe he thought that she had gone over there to meet him? He probably thought that every woman was in love with him. He was so off the mark. She’d never let herself fall for a man like him. Anyway, she had one single mission here tonight, and it had nothing to do with love.

She turned again to tell him that with her eyes but he was talking intensely with the woman on his left. She watched as he listened to her, tilting his head towards her and smiling as the woman started flirting, throwing her head back when she laughed, playing with her hair, touching her chest and batting her eyelashes, all while Martin looked miserably at his salad.

She felt more and more desperate and in a haze of self-pity she began to cast around the room, looking for Tim. At the back of the hall she found him, his once boyish good looks now paunchy, his blonde hair thin.

He could have been her husband. They could have been sitting together at that table, waiting to collect awards, gossiping about how everyone was fawning over Nikos Karellis. At one point any other future would have been completely unimaginable.

Jacquelyn Jones not married to Tim Brinley? Don’t be ridiculous—it’s written in the stars...

But strangely enough she didn’t feel wistful. And she didn’t blame him for the mess of Ariana. She blamed herself. Funny how a crisis could put everything into perspective. And this was a crisis. For all she played it down with everyone, especially her parents, she was in a full-blown state of emergency.

She pushed the food about on her plate, unable to eat, and words seemed to stick in her mouth like cardboard. All she could focus on were the minutes ticking by and the location of Martin Lopez.

She sat through the tables being cleared, the lights being dimmed, and then the award hosts, two TV presenters she recognised from a breakfast show, arrived on stage to start the ceremony.

And then in a never-ending series of announcements and applause she sat through the awards, from Best Florist to Best Accessories, Best Cake to Best Make-Up, Best Venues to Best Stylist. When the Best Photographer names were called out, she prepared herself.

Suddenly there was the image of the winning photograph. A bride and groom on a horse. It was Tim’s—it had to be. He loved to ride and he loved to use the riding motif in his photographs. It looked so phoney to her now.

The compère boomed out his name.

As the crowd burst with applause, she lifted her hands from her lap and tapped them together briefly. Most people wouldn’t know what he’d done to her, but some of them would, and she couldn’t let herself down by acting so childishly.

She forced herself to watch him accept his award, and she realised then that there was nothing there now other than the memory of a man she’d once loved, an outline of something once vivid. A bare-branched tree in winter, once so full of leaves.

She had so much more to worry about now.

The final award was Best Wedding Dress, and to announce it Nikos Karellis bounded athletically to the stage.

‘He was her tennis coach,’ she heard the woman beside her whisper.

‘Ooh, he could coach me in anything he wanted,’ said someone else, and giggled.

Jacquelyn tried not to roll her eyes, but she couldn’t help looking closer, measuring his stature with her own innate sense of proportion. He was quite physically perfect. Exceptionally physically perfect. In the pit of her stomach something awoke, a swirl of longing, a primal feeling that tugged and shocked her, and she squirmed and moved in her seat. She looked around to see if anyone had noticed, but everyone’s face was turned to the stage, eyes wide with interest.

The finalists were announced. The winning dress displayed on the screen and then the flushed and jubilant face of the designer, a pretty brunette. Nikos delivered the glass trophy, kissed her warmly on each cheek and gave her an affectionate squeeze.

Nice, thought Jacquelyn.

She had barely had a peck on the cheek in the three years since Tim. She was never the most physical person, but she liked affection, as much as everyone else. She liked being held close; she liked her hair being stroked and all the intimacy that came with being with someone you cared for.

Another wave of self-pity washed over her.

Was she destined to be single her whole life? Would she ever meet someone else?

She looked around the room. She might not be the youngest person here, but she was almost certainly the only one who was still a virgin.

She wondered if anyone knew. Sometimes she felt as if she were wearing a sign. And sometimes, there were moments she wished she could just go out and find someone and have sex and be done with it.

Those months after Tim left she’d tortured herself thinking she’d been wrong, stupid, blindly falling in with Nonna’s views, not thinking for herself. She’d almost considered tracking him down to tell him she’d changed her mind. But he’d gone. And that was that. And now she was glad. She really was.

The ceremony was over. The audience was applauding. The final comments were being made. Some people had already started to move. The lights came up. She spun back round to see if Martin was still there, but he’d gone.

She threw down her napkin and pushed back her chair. It caught on the carpet. She struggled to right it as she looked up. Where on earth had he gone? Everyone was heading off to the bar, but where was Martin?

Panic gripped her. What if she lost sight of him? What if he disappeared and she couldn’t find him?

Then she saw him, heading off in the opposite direction. She picked up speed, almost stumbling over the parquet dance floor in her heels, desperate not to lose sight of him. But then suddenly from nowhere Tim appeared!

‘Jacquelyn, wait,’ he called, and he reached a hand around her arm.

She turned, confused, wondering what on earth to say.

The days she’d spent longing for the tiniest glimpse of him, five seconds of his time so that they could ‘work it out’. Yearning to see his face, feel his hands, just be in the same room as him, again.

Now all she felt was embarrassment. All she could think was that he was holding her back from the one thing she had come here to do.

‘I’ve got nothing to say to you,’ she said, tugging her arm away. His face, the one she had once thought handsome, twisted as if she had slapped him.

‘I know this isn’t the right time,’ he said, grabbing for her arm again, ‘but you have to know that I’m really sorry about the way I treated you. I’ve grown up, I’ve moved on...’

‘Look, I’m not interested.’

People were crowding at the opposite doors; thankfully no one seemed to be looking this direction. But he was right in front of her, blocking her view of the door to the hallway where Martin had disappeared.

‘I thought I could do it but what you wanted was unnatural, Jacquelyn,’ he whispered. ‘I’m a man. I have needs and you wouldn’t listen.’

‘We made a promise!’ she hissed. ‘You never once said that you couldn’t do it. Instead you just vanished! So you’ll have to live with that. Now let me go, I’m in a hurry.’

‘You made the promise for both of us. Your martyrdom is wasted, you know. That whole “pure as the driven snow” act is so last century.’

‘Look, get out of my way. I couldn’t care less what you think.’

She tried to step past him, but someone else was there.

‘Is everything OK here?’

A deep Australian drawl, a strong unflinching presence.

‘I’m trying to find Martin. Is he still here?’ she asked desperately, smoothing her hair. The last thing she wanted was him to hear any of this.

Nikos’s eyebrows were raised over dark eyes that flashed concern.

‘I need to see him.’

‘Yes, he’s here,’ he said, and he came towards her, reading the situation with a frown. Then he turned to Tim, bearing down on him with his six-foot stature.

‘Don’t you know any better than to crowd a woman?’ he said, stepping further into the space, his body telegraphing masculinity, strength, power, the like of which she’d never experienced before.

Tim’s face blanched and he took a step back.

‘Now look here. I’m a friend of Jacquelyn’s and I’m only trying to have a conversation.’

She looked at the two of them and a moment of clarity struck like a thunderbolt. Tim looked so short and plump and silly next to this man. What on earth had she seen in him? She had wasted so much time and tears, and now she was reduced to begging for crumbs from some rich man’s table when she should have been taking Ariana on to the next level?

She shook her head in despair. Where had she gone so badly wrong?

‘Tim, the only reason you’re here right now is because there are people here tonight who remember what you did, and you want me to say it’s OK. Well, it’s not OK. Nothing about it is OK. So why don’t you take your half-baked little excuse for an apology and your stupid plastic award and get out of my way?’

She turned to Nikos, whose eyes were wide. She’d shocked him too. Good.

‘I want to see Martin. Now. Where is he?’ she said.

A grin broke out across his face and he stepped to the side.

‘Come with me, I’ll take you to him.’

CHAPTER THREE

MARTIN’S SUITE WAS in the Duchess Wing, about a mile of plush velvet carpet to the east of the grand ballroom. They walked in complete silence along its length until the ornate double doors came into sight.

Nikos had the good sense not to say a word until they got there but he was weighing up what he’d just heard and it sounded nasty. Whatever the guy had done, breaking a promise sounded like the least of it. And accusing her of being a martyr. Nikos had met more than a few of those, but in his experience they tended to be the nice ones.

Maria had never played the martyr. Maria took what she wanted and what other people wanted too...

‘You all right?’ he asked, his hand on the doorknob. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

Jacquelyn looked up at him with eyes that told him she was still feeling some pain.

‘I’m fine,’ she replied. ‘Thank you.’

Nikos nodded and opened the door of Martin’s suite, ushering her in.

‘I found your friend Jacquelyn. She wants a word.’

Martin looked up, surprised. He was sitting at a fireplace filled with yet another giant arrangement of flowers.

‘Of course. If that’s OK with you, Nikos?’

Nikos stood back and watched her sail right past him and perch on the sofa opposite Martin. Her back was ramrod straight and she turned, flashing Nikos a look that might have said, thank you, but might as easily have said, beat it.

‘Yeah, sure. I was on my way to get my phone. I’ll be back in five. That long enough, do you think?’

Martin nodded vigorously. Jacquelyn didn’t move a muscle.

Nikos closed the door and walked back to his suite.

She was a force of nature, that one. The Ice Queen, but the way she’d blasted that guy was pure fire. It was impressive. And if she pitched like that to Martin he didn’t stand a chance.

Maybe he’d been too harsh on her. She was clearly passionate about her business, and good for her. If he’d been in tough times, the last thing he’d want to do was waste his precious time on small talk with a stranger.

He collected his phone and checked for messages and emails, frowning when he saw yet another one from his accountant, Mark, about the investigation into Maria’s missing assets. He had better get answers from Martin. This whole thing was getting more and more out of hand.

He rounded the corner of the hallway and paused. He put an ear to the door to see if they were still talking.

Martin’s deep voice was making reassuring noises; Jacquelyn seemed to be silent. He knocked on the door and walked in.

‘OK? All wrapped up?’

He didn’t have time to worry if it wasn’t. He had his own issues to deal with now.

‘Nikos. Great timing.’

Martin was facing Jacquelyn. They were both standing, but now Martin was the one who looked imploringly at him, and Jacquelyn’s eyes were bright with—hope?

‘I was just explaining to Jacquelyn that I’m retiring. She’s looking for an investor and I was trying to think of someone else who’d be a good fit. I don’t know if I mentioned but Ariana Bridal goes back quite a long way. They need to modernise, perhaps? Would that be right, Jacquelyn? And so maybe you or your connections would be a...better fit...?’

Nikos shook his head.

‘I’m not looking to invest in anything, Martin. I’m here to sort a problem.’

He held up his phone.

‘A problem that’s giving me a headache. While we were giving out awards, I’ve been getting more messages.’

‘I won’t take up much of your time, Mr Karellis.’

On a heartbeat Jacquelyn turned and walked towards him. She was breathtaking and he realised he was still standing holding his phone in the air. Quickly he pulled his arm down.

‘Time is what I don’t have. Martin?’ he said, meaning, Martin, what the hell are you thinking?

‘Maybe you could squeeze in five minutes with Jacquelyn before you go?’

‘I promise it won’t take longer than five minutes. Ten at the most. Martin understands. This is a business that has so much to offer. We go back decades and we’ve got great plans. We just need a break.’

Nikos looked at Martin, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders as if to say wouldn’t hurt.

With a sigh that he didn’t even know he was going to make, he breathed out an, ‘OK.’

‘Five minutes. If we get this sorted,’ he said to Martin. Then turning to Jacquelyn, ‘Wait in the bar and I’ll send someone.’

She nodded and smiled, and as she breezed past she stopped suddenly and grabbed his hand in both of hers. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘I guarantee you won’t regret it.’

He nodded gruffly, but the sensation of his coarse hand in her delicate fingers was sweet and soft and he was happy to linger there for a moment. He smiled, and she smiled back. Light seemed to sparkle in her eyes and her features lit up. The face of an angel.

She squeezed his hand and then let go and headed for the door, trailing behind her delicate scent.

He waited until she had gone and then closed the door. ‘What the hell’s going on, Martin?’ he said. ‘You know I’m under pressure here.’

‘You could have said no,’ said Martin, eyebrows raised.

‘Garbage. You set me up. There’s no way anyone could say no to that.’

‘She’s quite something, isn’t she?’

‘Hmmm,’ said Nikos, ‘but you do know that I won’t be giving her anything other than some hard home truths? I’m not getting mixed up in anything. Especially with a woman who just needs to stand in a corner and whistle and she’ll have men lying at her feet.’

‘She’s not like that at all. She’s from a very good family.’

‘That counts for nothing. Anyway, let’s get on with this. What’s going down? Why the year-long battle with your lawyers? Just what are you trying to prove?’

Martin stood with his back to the fireplace of flowers. The top of his greying head was visible in the ornate mirror. His face was cast in a sickly pallor, and he frowned and clasped his fingers. He was clearly agitated.

‘I’m not trying to prove or disprove anything. My back’s against the wall. All I know is that Maria had some investments. She was involved in something just before she died. I think it was illegal.’

Nikos nodded. No shocks so far...

‘I see. Do we have any clue as to what it was?’

He noticed Martin wringing his hands again.

‘Not exactly. She never confided in me—apart from the garbled message she left the night she died. And I think that’s what the police are following up too.’

Nikos turned away. The night she died...almost the worst night of his life.

He’d turned up at his villa in Greece and found his wife topless in the hot tub with his old man. The night her drug-taking and his old man’s drug-selling had combined in one fatal party. The night Nikos had walked away and never looked back, not even when she ran screaming after him.

No, he didn’t ever want to think about that night again, but it didn’t seem he had any choice.

‘That stuff about the drugs?’ he said quietly. ‘We both know she bought them from my dad.’

‘I think it’s more than that. I think he’s the one behind the other investments. At least, that’s what he’s telling me...’

Nikos looked up sharply.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve had some communication from him.’

Suddenly Martin’s sickly pallor and wringing hands made sense. Communicating with Arthur was never pleasant and Nikos had studiously avoided it for nearly twenty years. He blocked calls, emails, and every security guard knew his father’s face on sight. He’d left Australia to get away from him, and he was damned if he was going to let him into his life in any way, shape or form ever again.

‘OK. Out with it. What does he want?’

Martin cleared his throat.

‘He wants forty million dollars. He says that that night they both went fifty-fifty on some investment she’d bought into in Cayman. He transferred five million dollars and then she... Well, you know what happened.’

‘You don’t really believe that, do you?’

Martin turned and leaned his hands on the fireplace.

‘I don’t know what to believe. He says he gave her the money and the company has quadrupled in value. He says she invested it—and he works it out to be forty million that he says he’s owed.’

‘Owed?’

‘By you as her beneficiary. And if you won’t pay up—me.’

‘He’s insane. Did you tell him that she left nothing? Zero? That there is no estate—only trails of debt that lead in a hundred different directions. All I have is what I built myself and, trust me, I don’t have a spare forty million lying around. I’d have noticed if I did. What evidence does he have for any of this?’

Martin shrugged.

‘That’s all I know. But I’m guessing you’ll find out one way or another.’

Nikos laughed mirthlessly.

‘I wouldn’t give him forty cents, never mind forty million dollars. After what he did?’

He’d had enough of all this. He walked to the door, was there in three strides.

‘Is that all you’ve got to say?’ said Martin, still hooked around the fireplace.

Nikos turned. ‘What else is there? He’s a lowlife blackmailing piece of scum and if he thinks this is going to result in anything other than me hating him even more, he’s mistaken.’

He opened the door and then closed it again.

‘And I suggest you get yourself some better company to keep, Martin.’

He pulled the door closed and stood in the plush silent hallway, his heart thundering in his ears and his body primed for fight. He had to get a hold of himself or he’d rip someone’s head off. He had to throw everything he had at it. But the fact that it was his old man who had stoked it all to life wasn’t wasted on him. Everything he touched turned poisonous. Every goddamned time.

There would be some grain of truth in that cock-and-bull story because it was too crazy for there not to be. But he wasn’t leaving it up to chance. He was going to go back to the villa and go through the vault. The one place he’d avoided for years might be the one place he’d find what he was looking for.

He speed-dialled his accountant.

‘Mark,’ he said, ‘as soon as you get this I want you to check out every transfer that went into or out of Maria’s accounts around the time she died. I’m looking for an investment in a company registered in the Cayman Islands. It’s probably something that she’ll have buried so it might be hard to find. That’s all I have for now but I think this could be what’s behind the investigation and the letters from Martin Lopez’s solicitors.’

He clicked off the phone as a waiter walked past with a tray of drinks. Parties were still kicking off but he was in no mood to party. What he needed now was silence. And sleep.

He was jet-lagged and pumped with adrenalin, and there wasn’t enough whisky in the whole place to knock him under. He needed to stand in a hot shower and hit the sack.

He pushed open the door of his suite, stepping out of his trousers, removing his jacket, heaving at his tie and unbuttoning his shirt with fingers that even now still shook with rage.

In the shower he stood, water from all angles pummelling his back and legs and head. He had to cool it. Be cool. Rein it in, Nikos. Calm it.

He thought of his mother lying in her bed in the nursing home. He thought of her sweet smile in the photograph of them at the beach, and then he thought of the blank, unseeing eyes that had looked at him the day before.

Every step he took was for her. To make her proud, to make all her own suffering worthwhile. He wasn’t going to go under because of his father. He wasn’t going to let Arthur ruin his reputation or his fortune. He was going to fight back.

He turned off the jets of water and dried himself. There was a noise outside. He opened the bathroom door a crack and listened. Someone was battering on the door. Martin?

He walked through the room, kicking up his suit trousers and catching them in his right hand as he opened the door with his left.

But it wasn’t Martin. It was the blonde in the blue dress.

‘Hi,’ he said, confused. Then he slapped his forehead. ‘Damn. Sorry. You’ve been waiting in the bar to see me. I said I’d send for you.’

Her eyes opened like starbursts, falling from his face to his chest and the towel knotted at his hips.

‘Sorry, I was taking a shower.’

She stared at her feet, then down the hall, then at her feet. ‘I am so sorry. I really did not mean to disturb you. It was getting so late... I’ll go back and wait downstairs.’

‘What time is it?’ he said, trying to bury his impatience. This he could do without.

‘Um...’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know. My phone ran out of power.’

‘And I clearly don’t have a watch on,’ he said with a cynical chuckle.

She blushed furiously. She was very, very pretty when she blushed. She was very pretty, full stop. He could be in the mood to spend some time with her. That would be better than whisky at taking the edge off, for sure.

‘Come in. I’ll get some clothes on. We can chat now.’

He threw the door back and walked inside, tossing the trousers over a chair in the passing.

‘If you don’t mind, I’d rather not.’

He turned around, couldn’t hide his surprise, but she was staring at her feet, her hands clasped in front of her.

‘Much as I want to have a meeting with you, it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to come in while you’re undressed.’

He walked to the wardrobe and helped himself to a large white fluffy bathrobe, tied it at his waist.

‘Suit yourself,’ he said.

She looked up. Further along the hallway, noise bubbled out as a door opened. After-parties were probably taking place all over the hotel and she was too prudish to step over the threshold of his room?

‘I hope you understand,’ she said, taking another step back from the doorway. ‘I want to talk about my business—that’s all.’

He almost laughed out loud but when her face didn’t break into a smile, he realised she was completely serious. How about that? She’d secured a meeting with him, but only on her terms. And those terms were...refreshing.

‘Well, that’s fine by me—but I won’t be around for much longer if you still want that five minutes.’

‘Maybe I could come by tomorrow morning before you leave?’

That would be a no, he thought.

With his flight scheduled for ten thirty, he’d be out of here an hour earlier, and the thought of cramming anything else into his head right now was not appealing at all.

But she looked so young, so full of hope. Like a flower opening its petals at the first burst of sunshine. He didn’t really want to crush her, did he?

He nodded.

‘OK. Come for breakfast. Nine.’

The sweet joy that spread across her face was beautiful, like a child’s, and it was amazing how good that made him feel—for a second.

‘Thank you so much. I promise not to waste your time.’

‘We’ll see,’ he said.

But as he put his hand on the door and began to close it, his phone lit up. Mark. More bad news.

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