“Have you no shame at all?”

“My conscience is quite clear, thank you, Alex,” Hope replied crisply.

“Do you like playing games with people?” His icy glare impaled her.

“A girl’s got to amuse herself.”

“Is that what you were doing with me?”

The flicker in Alex’s hooded eyes made Hope feel uneasy, but she wasn’t going to backpedal now. “Well, I’ve got to do something for the next month, and I do find older men so attractive,” she confided with her best come-hither smile.

Alex reached out to her, and glimpsed shock in her wide blue eyes before he kissed her….

Wanted: three husbands for three sisters!

Anna, Lindy and Hope—triplet sisters and the best, the closest, of friends. Physically, these three women may look alike, but their personalities are very different! Anna is lively and vivacious, Lindy is the practical one and Hope sparkles with style and sophistication.

But they have one thing in common: each sister is about to meet a man she will tantalize, torment and finally tame! And when these spirited women find true love, they’ll become the most beautiful triplet brides….

Turn the page to enjoy the third Lacey sister’s story as Hope meets her match!

An Innocent Affair
Kim Lawrence

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

‘AUNT Beth didn’t cry at all.’ There was implied criticism in the soft voice. ‘I always cry at weddings.’

Hope didn’t think the lace-edged handkerchief her fellow guest shook gently would have been much serious use. On closer scrutiny she couldn’t detect any tell-tale smears in the smooth, matt make-up.

‘Including your own, I expect.’ She regretted the dry comment the moment she made it; the shaky condition of her cousin’s marriage was well known. The trouble was she didn’t like Tricia and never had; she was shallow, pretentious and totally lacking in spontaneity. Being in her company solidly for the past half-hour had worn her tolerance level down.

‘Roger is in Geneva; he has business there.’ The brittle defences were clearly on show. ‘I miss him, but I don’t expect you to understand about the special closeness marriage brings.’

Hope let the insult wash over her; she’d weathered worse over the past weeks. Besides, this time she’d deserved a reprimand. You’re a cow, Hope Lacey, Hope told herself with disgust. Roger’s ‘business’ was a ten-years-younger version of his wife, and everyone knew it. Two bright patches of colour had emerged on her cousin’s cheeks.

‘Then we’ll have to take lots of pictures to show Roger how gorgeous you look, won’t we?’ she said, her generous personality reasserting itself. ‘Smile,’ she instructed brightly. ‘Anna has instructed me to point this thing at everything that moves. She insists that the official photos never give an accurate impression of any occasion. Too cosmetic.’

‘Anna always has been a bit odd.’

Hope bit back the instinctive scathing retort that hovered on her tongue. ‘Well, she certainly has appalling timing. Fancy giving birth to twins twelve hours before your sister gets married.’

Hope knew that Anna’s absence had been the one cloud on Lindy’s horizon today. The triplets had a close relationship, and on today of all days Rosalind had wanted them all to be together.

‘Twins!’ Tricia shuddered, and from her expression Hope instinctively knew she was about to receive a detailed history of her cousin’s own labour.

‘Well, it’s less dramatic than triplets.’ Hope heroically fixed an interested expression on her face as Tricia launched into a detailed account. She found it hard to keep the glazed look from her eyes.

The story she was hearing didn’t do much for her own maternal instincts, such as they were! It could be I’m meant to be a maiden aunt, she reflected. Her smile faltered. Tricia hadn’t even got to the part where her waters broke yet. This might be a long haul! Look on it as penance for that catty remark, Hope, she told herself severely. Poor Tricia. Considering how many women she knew who, like Tricia, were hanging on for grim death to the shreds of miserable marriages, she wondered that the institution was so popular.

Twenty minutes later Hope had her long silk skirts in one hand and a fortifying glass of champagne in the other. She was heading towards the small marquee set on her parents’ lawn from where the foot-tapping music emanated.

Her attention was diverted before she’d reached her destination. He wasn’t the tallest figure standing in the small group, but he was easily the most arresting. As he began to speak, using his hands to emphasise a point—no wide, sweeping gestures for this man; his hands inscribed economic, precise gestures in the air—Hope pulled the camera from around her neck and began clicking.

When he turned his head and looked directly at her, for once Hope’s poise deserted her. She turned quickly away, guilty as a child caught spying on her elders.

Great move, she silently cursed, trying to ram the lens cap back onto the camera. ‘Damn thing!’ She bent down on the damp ground, trying to recapture the item.

‘Can I help?’

They both reached for the lens cover at the same instant, and her fingers touched the tips of a much stronger pair of hands. Hands that matched the powerful image of the man, with neatly manicured square fingernails. The hands of an artisan and not a philosopher. It was the impression of immense strength Alex Matheson emanated that had first caught her attention. She fleetingly imagined the intense vitality he exuded had transferred itself along the nerve-endings in her fingertips.

‘Thank you.’ She turned her hand palm-up to receive the cap. ‘It doesn’t belong to me,’ she explained with a warm smile.

There was none of the immediate recognition on his face that Hope was accustomed to. She was one of an elite band of international supermodels, and her face made her public property. Strangers always made a big thing of identifying her, and after the unpleasant media coverage she’d received just lately there couldn’t be many people in the country who didn’t know who she was. At least he wasn’t condemning her out of hand, the way a lot of strangers did, which disposed Hope to think well of him.

‘It’s a good camera.’ His deep voice had a gravelly, husky quality which was incredibly attractive. They straightened up in unison.

‘And idiot-proof, or so Adam says. Adam’s my brother-in-law, or one of them. I’ve got two now.’ This notion was still novel enough to make her grin.

‘I know Adam.’

‘Of course you do.’ It was a small community, and as the main employer in the area Alex was bound to know most people. Adam and he no doubt moved in the same social circles. ‘Anna had the twins in the early hours of the morning. Boys. She didn’t want announcements or anything today. She insists this is Lindy’s day. Lindy and Sam stopped by at the hospital on their way from the church; that’s why they were late.’

Alex nodded. ‘I had heard about the babies. You’re cold,’ he said as she shivered. ‘Shall we go inside?’ He turned towards the farmhouse rather than the marquee, but Hope didn’t demur; there was no competition when it came to the comparative attractions of the music and Alex Matheson! He was fascinating with a capital F.

‘I’m wearing my thermal underwear under this, but if anyone asks you to be a bridesmaid in winter have your excuses ready.’

‘I think that scenario is unlikely, but thanks for the advice. Tell me, are you really?’

The warmth enfolded her like a warm blanket as they walked into the farmhouse. Or was it the warmth and interest in his grey eyes? He had a peculiarly direct way of looking at a person, which could be vaguely unsettling, but Hope rather liked it. The less energetically inclined were clustered in groups in the unpretentious ground-floor rooms of her parents’ eighteenth-century farmhouse. The wedding was an intentionally small, intimate occasion with an emphasis on informality.

‘Am I really what?’

Alex’s eyes briefly touched the long line of her thighs outlined by the rose-coloured clinging fabric. He tried to picture long johns underneath the fine layer and found his mental picture kept shifting to frivolous lace and shimmering satin.

‘Wearing thermal underwear?’ He delivered the line straight-faced, but she liked the lick of humour in his eyes. It was refreshing to meet a man who wasn’t over-awed by her reputation, or at least one who was interested. He was interested, wasn’t he? A bizarre thought suddenly occurred to her…

‘Do you know who I am? Oh, God, that sounds awful.’ She winced. ‘I mean, people—men—tend to treat me…’ She struggled in vain to explain what she meant. How did a girl say that a lot of the nice men were too scared to approach her, and that the sort of men who wanted her as a trophy left her cold, without sounding wildly conceited?

‘Like a goddess?’ he interjected smoothly. The humour was more pronounced now. ‘Understandable.’

His grey eyes made a slow but comprehensive journey from her toes to the tip of her gleaming head. He looked as if he approved of what he saw. That in itself wasn’t unusual—most men did like looking at Hope—it was the fact she wanted him to like what he saw that made the experience strange.

‘But not very desirable.’ He was interested. A hiccough of excitement made her heartbeat kick up another gear. She was well accustomed to meeting interesting and important people, but there was something about this man that put him in a league of his own.

‘I’m not being reprimanded for not showing due reverence, then?’

Hope chuckled, a warm rich sound. She stopped abruptly, a frown wrinkling her brow. ‘I don’t quite remember—you’re not married, are you?’ Size sevens straight in the mouth, Hope—nice touch!

Alex didn’t seem to find her direct approach undesirable. ‘Not even slightly.’ There was the faintest of quivers around his firm rather delicious mouth.

‘Good. Can we be friends?’

Hope Lacey, he decided, blinking, had a smile that could stop a charging rhino in its tracks. She really is enchanting, and I’m a push-over, he concluded wryly.

‘Friends’ had a nice, uncomplicated sound, but the feelings this man was arousing within her were far from simple. ‘The last time I met you I probably called you Mr Matheson.’

Alex winced; he’d been trying to forget that. ‘You did.’ He doubted they’d ever exchanged more than a passing greeting. There had been very little common ground between a man in his late twenties and a teenager. If he recalled Hope at all it was as one of the coltish daughters of his neighbours, Beth and Charlie Lacey.

‘I was in my teens then, and you were?’ He had the sort of face that was impossible to give an age too. His body certainly showed no signs of wear and tear!

‘I’m forty now—next week, actually.’

He was a man who got directly to the point, Hope noted appreciatively. There was quite a lot to appreciate about him. He wasn’t pretty, more arresting, she concluded. His features were strong and angular, his high cheekbones had a Slavic cast and his jaw was square and firm. His Roman nose had obviously been broken at some point, but Hope found she didn’t disapprove of this irregularity.

‘I’m twenty-seven. It’s amazing how time has diminished the age-gap.’

‘Has it?’ His lips compressed in a cynical smile and Hope noticed with interest that though his upper lip was firm, his bottom lip was altogether more sensually full.

‘Certainly,’ she replied confidently. ‘Unless you still want me to call you Mr Matheson?’

‘Call me Alex. But it won’t do anything to lessen the age-gap. And shall I call you Lacey?’

‘That’s a professional thing; my friends call me Hope.’ Someone murmured an apology and Alex moved aside to let them pass. He had the sort of shoulders that could single-handedly block most hallways; they were massive, as was his chest, and it made him seem taller than he actually was.

She stood five-eleven in her bare feet, and nose to nose, as they were now, she could look him directly in the eye. Alex put one hand out to brace himself against the wall as the guests moved past. This close, his physical presence was literally overwhelming.

‘I bet you can’t buy a suit off the peg.’ She closed her eyes and allowed herself a small groan. ‘I’m not always so personal.’ She’d spoken in response to a surge of unexpected panic that had attacked her.

‘You can be as personal as you like with me, Hope. I like directness. You’re right. I have my clothes made to measure.’

He had to shave twice a day too, she realised, noticing the shadow across his jaw. She was gripped by a sudden and frighteningly strong urge to sink her fingers into his lush dark hair.

‘This is silly,’ she breathed with a frown.

‘And dangerous,’ he agreed drily.

Hope stared in a dazed fashion into his eyes. As she watched, the pupil expanded until it almost met the dark rim that surrounded his grey iris. Her eyes slid slowly to his mouth…she licked her dry lips nervously. It ought to be illegal for one man to have this much earthy sex appeal.

‘You too?’ She was amazed he’d replied to her soft self-recrimination.

The lines bracketing his strong mouth deepened as he smiled a little grimly in response. His expression remained enigmatic. She instinctively recognised that he wasn’t the sort of person who permitted his emotions to rise close to the surface.

‘Your halo’s crooked.’ He inclined his head towards her corn-coloured hair.

The puzzlement vanished from her face as her fingers touched the coronet of dried rosebuds that was wound into the Pre-Raphaelite curls her hair had been teased into. The tiny village church had been lovingly decorated with garlands of the same pink roses, bound together with lichen and rosemary on a base of rich, rosy velvet.

‘It was a lovely service,’ she remarked dreamily. ‘Lindy looked beautiful.’

‘I suppose she did.’

‘Suppose!’ she echoed indignantly.

‘I was looking at you. You looked like a glowing Botticelli angel.’

This was unexpected enough to take her breath away. He wasn’t the sort of man she would have associated with flowery compliments. ‘I’m no angel.’

‘No,’ he agreed in that slow, deliberate manner of his. ‘That would be boring. I can’t abide being bored, even by an angel.’

‘Looks don’t compensate for lack of character, then?’

‘You’ve got both.’ He spoke calmly, as if he were simply stating the obvious.

‘Some people take convincing.’

‘I’m a quick learner.’

‘Talking to you makes a person dizzy,’ she gasped. ‘Are you always so personal?’

‘I’ll do the weather and the economy if you prefer.’

‘How about what a lovely wedding it was?’

‘I don’t like weddings, but, as such occasions go, this wasn’t too bad. Tell me, how did you manage to keep the affair secret? I thought when the likes of Sam Rourke married, the press from every continent would be camped on the doorstep.’

‘Sam’s very good at laying false trails,’ she said, smiling affectionately when she thought of her new brother-in-law. Sam was an actor of international repute, and millions of women would shed a tear, or several, when they learned he’d married. ‘Also, the invitations weren’t sent out until Wednesday, and they listed the groom as “Patrick S. Rourke,” which happens to be his other name. I’m surprised a busy man like you could drop everything and come at such short notice.’

‘I had nothing else planned. I got back from Saudi yesterday. It was good of your parents to invite me.’ He didn’t add he’d had every intention of putting in the briefest of appearances.

‘You weathered the recession, then?’ Alex Matheson’s firm built distinctive handmade cars. The unapologetically nostalgic lines of the sports cars were instantly recognisable and they were much sought after.

‘Happily, yes.’ He could afford to be confident; there was a five-year waiting list for each of the three models they produced. ‘And how long are you home for, Hope?’

It could be the quiet, firm responses of the couple in the church had softened his brain. Better for them both if she was off to some exotic fashion shoot before they responded to this attraction. Whichever way you looked at it, Hope Lacey was too young for him, Alex reflected.

He’d half expected to be disillusioned when he spoke to her. If he was honest, he’d wanted to be. A healthy dose of reality had seemed the perfect cure for the fascination that had hit him the instant she’d walked into the church. Far from curing him, he found the reality attractive; she was surprisingly natural and mature. Warm, funny— He pulled himself up short. The list could get tiresomely long.

‘I’m at home for the next month.’

Fate wasn’t going to do him any favours! Alex noted the small, smug smile that curved her beautiful lips. Well, she had every right to be confident about her ability to bewitch a man, he silently conceded.

‘Resting?’ One winged dark brow rose teasingly.

‘Well, it’s always a temptation to do everything you’re offered, but you reach the point when you realise there isn’t much point burning out just to bank every available dollar. I’m a bit more discriminating these days.’

‘You can afford to be.’

Hope didn’t dispute this. Modelling had made her financially secure. ‘I’ve been lucky and I work hard. This film might be a new start for me.’ It was a month since she’d finished the round of TV and radio chat shows to promote the film. She was excited and apprehensive about the American premiere soon.

‘You play opposite Sam Rourke?’

Hope nodded. ‘I introduced Lindy to him, so if anything goes wrong in Eden they’ll blame me, no doubt. Come on, let’s get some champagne before it’s all gone.’ She touched his arm lightly and he followed her into the kitchen.

‘Hope, dear, there you are.’ Beth Lacey, her hands deep in a sink of soapy water, smiled at her daughter. ‘Hello, Alex. I hope you’re having a good time?’

‘I’m being well looked after.’

‘Do you mind washing a few glasses for me, Hope? We had a major breakage. I should really remind Lindy she ought to be getting changed.’

‘Sure, off you go, Mum.’

Hope tied an incongruous striped apron over her bridesmaid dress. ‘The spare bubbly’s in the dairy,’ she told Alex. ‘Third door along,’ she added, inclining her head towards the passageway behind him. She immersed her hands in the water and gave a sigh. ‘Why is it your nose always itches when you haven’t got a spare hand?’ she complained.

‘Let me,’ he offered. Before Hope realised what he was about to do Alex leant over and rubbed the tip of her straight nose, which fell somewhere in between the cute and aquiline categories. ‘Better?’

Hope gave a hoarse grunt of assent. I’m staring so hard I’m probably cross-eyed, she decided ruefully. He smells awfully good…she appreciatively breathed in the spicy, faintly lemony scent of his cologne mingled with the musky, masculine odour of his warm body. If she could distil what this man did to her quivering stomach muscles, she’d be a very rich alchemist. Yes, alchemy had the right ring to it. There was certainly something mystically marvellous about the way she was feeling. Come clean, Hope, she reprimanded herself. Earthy and raw was much closer to the truth!

His hand dropped away, but not completely. His thumb ran slowly across the cushiony softness of her slightly parted lips. ‘You’re no plastic clone.’

This peculiar comment enabled Hope to pull free from the strangely hypnotic haze that made her loath to withdraw from the light contact.

‘Is that your idea of a compliment?’ His hand still hadn’t fallen away completely; now the palm of his hand rested ever so lightly against the curve of her jaw. ‘Because if so…’

‘You know what I mean—the sort of blond bimbo-types that they churn out, all teeth and silicone.’

Hope gave a shout of laughter. ‘That’s a bad case of stereotypes you’ve got there. There’s room at the top for variety and individuality. In fact, I think both are essential.’ She flicked soapsuds at him.

Her action seemed to startle him. Perhaps Alex Matheson wasn’t the sort of man people laughed at or teased? He met the humour shining in her blue eyes and his immense shoulders visibly relaxed.

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know much about acting or modelling.’

‘You just know what you like?’ she suggested, tongue firmly in her cheek.

‘And what I don’t like. To tell you the honest truth, the idea of silicone…bits gives me the creeps,’ he confessed. This sent Hope into a fresh spate of giggles.

‘You’re so…so quaint,’ she gasped, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes.

Alex paused in the act of mopping the soapy suds from his sleek hair and gaped at her. ‘Quaint?’ he repeated in a strange tone.

‘In the nicest possible way,’ she assured him kindly.

‘I’m relieved.’

‘Actually, for models, too much up top can be a nuisance,’ she confided. ‘Clothes hang better on an androgynous frame.’

‘You’re not androgynous.’ His eyes dwelt fleetingly on the ample proof of this statement.

‘I’m not the waif type,’ she agreed. ‘I’m meant to be the athletic, wholesome, sexy type,’ she explained, very matter-of-factly.

‘And are you?’

‘I play a mean game of tennis,’ she replied selectively.

Her caution brought a grin to his face, making him appear younger and less severe. He really ought to grin more often, she decided appreciatively. ‘Perhaps we could play some time?’

Hope could field sexual innuendo with the best of them, but to her amazement she felt the colour creep inexorably up her neck until her face was aflame.

‘I expect you like to win?’

Alex withdrew his fascinated gaze from her crimson cheeks with difficulty. ‘Doesn’t everyone?’ Her veneer of sophistication was much thinner than he’d imagined.

‘I don’t possess the killer instinct.’

‘You think I do?’

Hope placed the last glass on the draining board and shook the moisture off her hands. ‘If I say yes, you’ll accuse me of stereotyping you as the hard-nosed businessman—ruthless and incapable of compassion.’ As she spoke it struck her forcibly how very easily he could be slotted into that category. It wasn’t just that he was physically formidable; the stamp of authority went gene-deep in him. He was a man accustomed to making what he wanted to happen occur.

He saw the flicker of uncertainty cross her face. ‘I draw the line at homicide.’

‘That’s a comfort.’

‘It would seem I’m woefully uneducated about your life.’

‘Don’t worry, I don’t know much about building cars.’

‘We could exchange information and improve our general knowledge,’ he suggested silkily.

‘Are we talking a date?’ A cautious smile trembled on her lips. It was scary how much his reply meant to her.

‘Tryst, assignation, rendezvous…’ She was mature for her age, and there was nothing artificial about this girl—woman, he firmly corrected himself. The need to justify his response was strong.

‘I’d like that.’ She sounded cool and collected, having firmly quashed the inclination to jump on the table and dance.

‘Good.’ The gleam of ruthlessness in his grey eyes, the one that bothered her, was back. ‘Where did you say the champagne was?’

‘How did it go, Hope?’ Charlie managed to get a quiet moment alone with his daughter once the guests had begun to disperse.

‘Better than I expected.’

‘You’ll be yesterday’s news before long,’ he comforted her.

Hope nodded. She’d managed to be philosophical about the gossip that followed in her wake at the moment.

The whole world thought she was having an affair with Lloyd Elliot, the producer of the film she’d just starred in. She’d read countless articles about how she’d heartlessly broken up his marriage. Her motivation, so said the general consensus, had been to further her career. Lloyd’s estranged wife, the tempestuous singer Dallas, had given some very moving ‘brave victim’ interviews. If Hope hadn’t known she and Lloyd had been living separate lives for years, she’d have been touched herself!

When Hope had agreed to divert public attention from the real new love of Lloyd’s life, she hadn’t realised just how much that decision was going to affect her and her family. It was too late to wonder, with hindsight, whether her decision might have been different if she had known. But her family knew the truth, and before long, when Lloyd went public about the real object of his affections, so would everyone else.

‘It’ll be a relief,’ she admitted to her father. ‘You certainly get to know who your real friends are. And today wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be, unless I’m getting over the paranoia.’

‘It seemed you were making a new friend.’

‘Someone doesn’t miss much,’ Hope responded drily; the casual tone didn’t fool her for a second.

‘Your mother did happen to mention that you had Alex Matheson in tow.’

‘I wouldn’t phrase it quite like that. He’s an interesting man.’

‘Not an easy man to get to know, though—aloof… He’s never really gotten involved in village life. I’ve known him since he was a boy, and he always supports local charities and fund-raisers very generously, but…’ He frowned, trying to put into words his doubts about Alex Matheson. Women were strange creatures, they probably found the fact the man was something of an enigma attractive.

Hope was torn between irritation and exasperated affection. Sometimes her parents forgot how long she’d been out in the big bad world.

‘So, he’s a private person. At least he didn’t treat me like some sort of scarlet woman! There’s no need to look so worried, Dad. I’m not about to do anything stupid.’ Am I? she silently asked herself. Wasn’t there something very appealing about doing something very stupid with Alex Matheson?

Charlie Lacey enfolded his daughter in a bear-like hug. ‘I know you’re a sensible girl,’ he said gruffly.

Am I? Hope wondered, recalling with a shiver the smouldering expression in Alex’s eyes as he’d left.

CHAPTER TWO

THE curls that had escaped the fat plait Hope had tied her hair in were tugged this way and that in the gusting winds. Her light waterproof jacket cut out the worst of it, but her nose felt distinctly pink as she strode sure-footedly over the hillside.

Bishop’s Crag was a well-known landmark; it was the highest point for several miles around. She knew the spot well, but it had been years since she’d been here. She paused to get her breath and inhaled deeply. She’d forgotten how beautiful her home county was. She was surprised to see a light dusting of early snow on this high ground.

Alex Matheson was different; she had to give him that! No romantic candlelight to sweep a girl off her feet for him. Possibly this was some sort of endurance test he put all his prospective girlfriends through. The thought made her grin. Then a shaft of shock swept through her as she recognised the direction her thoughts had been taking her.

She didn’t have boyfriends. At least she hadn’t in a long time. There had been the brief, intense involvement with Hugh Gilmour, her first agent, but that had been short-lived. Since then she hadn’t felt the need, or desire, to become involved with any man. She’d made a few good friends within the industry, and some of them were men, but she’d never felt inclined to push friendship farther.

‘Boyfriend.’ The wind tugged the word from her lips. No, she shook her head, there was nothing vaguely boyish about Alex; he was all man.

She was about to continue when a flicker of movement on the periphery of her vision caught her attention. To her left, on higher ground, just below a clump of trees, their skeletal winter frames permanently bent by the constant buffeting of high winds, he stood—a solitary figure who would never be bent by any storm.

She automatically followed the skyward direction of his stare. A dark dot appeared to fall quite literally from the sky before wheeling at an impossible angle and skimming the ground. It landed on Alex’s outstretched arm.

Awed by this primal display of aerobatics, Hope waved to the solitary figure. He didn’t respond, but she put this down to the fact he was handling the bird on his wrist.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you had a hawk?’ she panted as she finally reached his side. Hope’s cheeks were glowing from her exertion. Her fascinated eyes touched the bird on his gauntleted hand before she smiled at the man.

‘She’s a falcon.’ There had been more warmth in the beady, unblinking stare of the bird of prey.

She didn’t need to be psychic to experience a premonition of dread. The wind ruffled and tugged at his thick hair, but his face was as hard as the rock he was balanced upon. He looked as much at home in the bleak landscape as his bird. He extended his arm and the creature took flight.

‘Aren’t you afraid she won’t come back?’

‘She occasionally absconds, but she always comes back to me.’ With a minute alteration of his features he managed to imply that the concept of such faithfulness was beyond Hope’s grasp.

‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’ All those romantic scenarios she’d built up in her head were disintegrating under the ruthless glare of reality. It was ironic that she’d smiled stoically through the mud-slinging of the past few weeks and now all this man had to do was flare a nostril and she felt her blood pressure rising and her heart bleeding!

‘Why should anything be wrong, Hope?’

His sarcastic drawl made her feel helpless and angry. The last dregs of her bubbling anticipation drained away under the cold glare of his eyes.

‘That’s what I’d like to know. And will you get down off that damned crag? It’s impossible to talk to someone who’s looming over me,’ she responded, exasperated and dismayed by his peculiar attitude. Could this be the same man she had spoken to yesterday? ‘If you’re having second thoughts, fine—but is there any need to freeze me out?’

Looking at her glowing, apparently innocent face brought a sneer to his lips. He jumped down from the rocky crag with one lithe movement.

This display of agility in such a big man took Hope by surprise. If she’d imagined he would be less intimidating at eye level she soon discovered her mistake—controlled fury was the only way to describe the expression on his face. Her bewilderment and confusion were snowballing.

Over his shoulder she saw the falcon drop onto a small bird, probably a pigeon. Her imagination conjured up cruel talons tearing into the fragile frame of its prey. She shuddered. They made a good pair, man and bird. If he’d had talons she could readily imagine him sinking them into her.

‘Why did you ask me if I was married?’

‘Because I don’t…’ Her voice suddenly trailed off. Things slipped unpleasantly into place. ‘You hadn’t read any of the articles about—’

‘About you and your married lover. A fact you took full advantage of,’ he observed derisively. ‘I did tell you I’d been out of the country.’

‘That’s me—never let an opportunity to snare a poor, defenceless male pass me by. Of course, it would have been more satisfying if you’d had a wife and ten children.’ She spat the words from between clenched teeth.

To think I was impressed he hadn’t been influenced by the scurrilous tales! To think I thought he was warm and interesting! The fact that he was still the most virile male she’d ever met only intensified her disappointment. ‘An invalid mother would have been icing on the cake.’ Flippancy covered the pain of having her eyes opened to his true personality.

‘I can’t abide fakes,’ he responded in an austere manner that made her temper climb to new heights.

‘I can’t abide sanctimonious bores!’

‘Your family must have been going through hell.’

‘Thanks to nasty-minded creeps like you, they probably still are!’

‘Don’t try to transfer the guilt you feel to me, Hope. I suppose it’s something that you’re still capable of feeling guilt…’

‘And still capable of wrapping a sucker like you around my little finger.’ She’d hit the nail right on the head there; she could see it from the flash of rage in his eyes. That was all his outrage was about: he didn’t like the idea his judgement could be flawed. The great Alex Matheson didn’t get taken for a ride by anyone!

‘I’m sure you’ve had a great deal of practice; you’re very professional.’

She gasped, as if the slow, deliberate drawl had been a blow. The sound of her open palm as it struck the side of his face was like a whip-crack. ‘Oh, God, look what you made me do!’ She barely had time to shriek the words before the bird streaked past her face. Alex knocked her to the ground and the creature sped away.

He squatted beside her as she raised her head and groaned. ‘It’s only a superficial scratch. You were lucky.’

Her fingers curled in the mossy soil. ‘Break out the champagne to celebrate,’ she croaked. She gave a whimper and her head dropped once more. A sheen of cold perspiration covered her pale skin and beaded along her upper lip. She battled to overcome the waves of nausea.

‘There won’t be a scar.’ She flinched back as he touched the side of her cheek. ‘It barely broke the skin.’

‘It’s not that.’ She took several deep breaths and prayed she wouldn’t disgrace herself totally. ‘I’m going to throw up and it’s all your fault.’ This was always the aftermath of a brief flash of blind rage, this humiliating physical helplessness.

At least he had the sense to give her some privacy. As creeps went, he was fairly sensitive. A few minutes later she got to her feet and climbed the rocky outcrop he was sitting upon.

‘Are you pregnant?’ That made her lose her footing. Arms windmilling wildly, she managed not to fall, though that could hardly be more humiliating than losing her breakfast in front of him.

‘I’d hardly be blaming you if I was, would I?’ she responded, choosing a flattish piece of ground to sit upon, not too close to him. She felt the slight welt where the bird’s claws had grazed her face. She took out a tissue and spat on it. ‘Didn’t I read somewhere that saliva’s antiseptic?’ she wondered out loud. She dabbed the material to her face, blotting the small droplets of blood.

‘She thought you were attacking me. She’s very sensitive.’

And I’m a block of wood! God, he’s priceless! ‘I was, and no matter what anyone tells you my temper has been wildly exaggerated.’ She couldn’t help the hint of defensiveness creeping into her voice. The family joke about her left hook had worn pretty thin years ago, and she’d worked really hard to control her more instinctual responses. It wasn’t as if she liked losing her temper; it made her sick—physically sick afterwards. She was still shaking with reaction.

‘Under the circumstances I’m not going to disagree with you. I’d like to keep my other cheek intact.’

‘I’ve never hit anyone smaller than me.’

‘That must certainly reduce your field.’

‘That’s a cheap crack. I thought you had more class.’

‘And you’d know all about class, I suppose?’ He moved closer in time to see the flash of anger in her eyes. The absence of colour in her cheeks emphasised the brilliance of their blue. If he’d wanted to he could have counted the number of freckles that were scattered over the bridge of her nose. Make-up on a face like hers really would be a case of gilding the lily. ‘And if you’re thinking of taking another swing at me, I warn you I’m not into meek acceptance.’

That makes two of us, she thought, narrowing her eyes and lifting her chin. ‘I’m sorry I hit you.’ The words emerged with the utmost reluctance. ‘But you deserved it!’ She couldn’t prevent the heartfelt postscript. She was proud of the fact she’d tamed her temper, and she didn’t like being reminded that at times she could still lose control. ‘I haven’t hit anyone in…’

‘Hours?’

This ironic suggestion made her teeth gouge painful inroads into her full lower lip. ‘Years,’ she responded with icy dignity. She could still recall the occasion when the stupidity of losing her cool had been brought home to her pretty sharply.

When she and her sisters had come across those yobs threatening to drop the puppy off the bridge into the river, their taunts had made her see red. While she’d been giving the ringleader a bloody nose Anna had been jumping off the bridge into a raging torrent after the puppy and Lindy had been racing downstream to rescue them both. She supposed the incident, which could so easily have ended in tragedy, said quite a lot about their different personalities.

‘At least you’re ashamed of your latest escapade.’

‘Hitting you?’ ‘Ashamed’ was pitching a bit strong.

‘Breaking up a marriage.’

‘Oh, that,’ she said airily. She flicked him a sideways glance—yes, he looked as if he had a particularly unpleasant taste in his mouth. Thinking about his stern mouth made her stomach lurch. It was hard to forget she’d wondered what his lips would feel like, how he’d taste… She willed the flood of warmth that began low in her belly not to spread its heat to her trembling limbs. The last thing she needed right now was her brain to be befuddled by that sort of thing!

Well, I’d as soon be hung for a sheep as a lamb, and if he wants a scarlet woman, who am I to disappoint him? One thing she wasn’t going to be was a penitent sinner who could be redeemed by the marvellous Mr Matheson.

‘Lloyd’s not a child; he’s quite capable of making his own decisions. I think,’ she mused thoughtfully, ‘you’ll find he’s very grateful to me.’ And he’s got reason to be, she silently added.

‘Did his wife send you a thank-you card?’ He regarded her with fastidious distaste.

‘Not exactly.’ Hope winced at the memory of her last encounter with Lloyd’s famous wife. Dallas had brought along several busloads of the press to record her public humiliation. Apparently the publicity had done the sales of her latest album no harm at all, but Hope didn’t imagine she’d receive the credit for that. She chuckled softly at the idea.

‘Have you no shame at all?’ His face was dark with disgust. ‘You find it all a joke?’ he asked with incredulous disgust. ‘Are you really that self-centred and selfish?’

‘Which question shall I answer first?’ she puzzled, finger on the small cleft in her chin. ‘Or were they all rhetorical?’ How was I ever attracted to this man? she wondered. He’s narrow-minded and petty! The mocking smile slid from her face, leaving an expression of scornful contempt. ‘My conscience is quite clear, thank you, Alex,’ she said crisply.

The way his knuckles turned white strangely fascinated her. To look at his face you’d never guess he wants to strangle me, she thought. She was quite familiar with the urge to lash out, but she was confident that he was far too controlled to give in to the impulse to strangle her, or even the one to kiss her. This sudden startling insight made her eyes widen suddenly. The fact that he’d decided she wasn’t worthy of his notice didn’t stop him from lusting after her. And Alex Matheson was a man who prided himself on being in control of his emotions.

‘Do you like playing games with people?’ His icy glare impaled her.

‘A girl’s got to amuse herself.’ The nerve in his taut jaw did a triple backflip at that one.

‘Is that what you were doing with me?’ The flicker in his hooded eyes made Hope feel uneasy, but she wasn’t going to back pedal now.

She tilted her head, as if giving the idea serious consideration. It would be a small revenge for the insults Alex Matheson had heaped upon her.

‘Well I’ve got to do something for the next month, and I do find older men, with that air of authority, so attractive. I’m quite willing to sacrifice youthful stamina for…’ she gave a delicate laugh ‘…competence. I like experienced men,’ she confided, with her best come-hither smile. ‘But this isn’t Hollywood, is it?’ she murmured regretfully. ‘If you’d been married it wouldn’t really have been worth the hassle.’

To think he’d thought her untainted by the life she’d led. To think he’d been enchanted by her open warmth and transparent sincerity! The throbbing in his temples reached new heights. In a different frame of mind Alex would undoubtedly have paused to reflect on the contradictory nature of Hope’s responses. But Alex didn’t pause; he reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders. He glimpsed shock and dismay in her wide blue eyes before he kissed her.

The pressure of his mouth bent her body back until her head touched the springy moss-covered ground. His hands moved from her shoulders to frame her face, effectively immobilising it. Not that Hope had any thoughts of fighting; she had no thoughts at all. The only information that filtered into her brain concerned simple things, like smell, texture and taste. The smell of the leather gauntlet on his right hand, the wool of his sweater and the citrusy spice of the masculine fragrance he used. The texture of his firm mouth, the sensation as his tongue thrust into the recesses of her mouth and the taste of him… Now she knew. Now she’d never be able to forget it.

It stopped just as suddenly as it had begun. The weak sunlight that his head had blotted out filtered through the transparent thinness of her closed eyelids. She listened to the echo of her own heartbeat.

‘Say something,’ he said thickly. ‘At least look at me.’ If he hadn’t been able to see her chest rising and falling he wouldn’t have known she was alive. Her hair was spread around her face, a rich golden frame. The permanent indentation between his eyes deepened as he stared down at her.

A smile tugged the corners of her mouth. ‘How can I refuse an offer like that? Or was it an order? Don’t look so surprised, Alex. What did you expect? Hysteria? I’ve been kissed before…’ Not like that, never like that. Her nervous system had shut down, unable to accept the messages being fed it. ‘Admittedly with more finesse…’ To her surprise he perceptibly flinched. He flexed his massive shoulders and his glance slid momentarily from her face.

She was no weakling, but Alex hadn’t needed to use more than a fraction of the strength in that awesome upper body to immobilise her. And all the time she’d been aware of the staggering strength he held in check. She hadn’t just been aware of it—she’d been deeply excited by it. Alien emotions churned in her belly.

‘We’re quits,’ he observed flatly.

‘Given the choice, I’d have taken a slapped face.’ A dull red spread over the hard contours of his cheekbones and she felt a surge of satisfaction. ‘Though I’m sure you’re not the sort of man who’d strike a female.’ Her voice was laced with sarcasm.

‘I’m sorry I lacked finesse,’ he bit back.

Sprawling here, she felt rather vulnerable, but she didn’t want to risk moving until she had full control over her limbs again. ‘It was a bit naive of me to expect subtlety from someone like you. I don’t expect imagination is your strong point—’ With a yelp of alarm she closed her eyes. He moved with amazing fluidity for someone of his build.

When she risked opening one eye he was kneeling beside her. The muscles of her abdomen clenched in anticipation of sitting upright. They relaxed instantaneously as he ran the tip of one callused forefinger experimentally down the side of her cheek. Each microscopic downy hair on her smooth skin danced in response. A sound escaped her lips as the air fled from her lungs in one gasp.

‘I never did know when to stop,’ she croaked. ‘I’m sure you’re as subtle as hell.’

‘For an elderly male with limited reserves of stamina?’ he suggested silkily.

‘Can’t you take a joke?’ He was removing the thick padded gauntlet from his hand. A girl who got turned on by looking at a man’s hands was in serious trouble, she reflected wildly.

‘Creativity takes many shapes and forms.’ He lowered himself on one elbow and brushed the tangled curls from her brow. ‘I may be colour-blind…’

‘How fascinating,’ she replied in a high-pitched voice. ‘Colour-blind.’ He’d tugged the zip of her waterproof jacket far enough down to give his mouth access to the base of her throat. ‘This is silly.’

Her words emerged as a breathy gasp rather than a sharp reprimand. She dug her fingers into his rich pelt of hair in order to jerk his head away, but the warm lash of his tongue against the pulse-spot made her fingers curl against his scalp in a manner more intended to hold him against her than repel him.

The open-mouthed assaults on her neck tore a series of soft, guttural moans from Hope’s throat. Alex lowered his body as he moved higher, until by the time he was at eye level with her they lay thigh to thigh, chest to chest on the sloping ground.

‘It must be difficult for someone used to delicate refinement to be exposed to such crude clumsiness.’ The rasp of his voice was close to her ear. His lips grazed the same orifice and sent electrical tremors down to the tip of her curling toes.

Her blue eyes were swimming as she met his hard gaze; her stare was hazy and unfocused. This was torture; each soft, arousing salute was agony. How could so little make her crave so much? He hadn’t even touched her body, but she was pierced by a desire so intense she could hardly breathe.

Handicapped by inarticulate frustration and raw need, her first move in response wasn’t loaded with finesse. She raised her head a little, dug her fingers hard into his scalp and pressed her lips, chastely closed, to his mouth.

She was breathing fast and hard when she lifted her mouth from his. Grey eyes clashed with blue.

‘I want…’ Emotion clogged her throat.

‘A bit of rough?’ The suggestion was as hard as the calculating expression in his eyes.

For a second she couldn’t believe what she’d heard. Being plunged into ice was remarkably sobering. She bit down on her lower lip to stop the hurt cry escaping the confines of her throat. She drew her knees protectively up to her chest and rolled over onto her side. Though her knees were shaking, she managed to get to her feet gracefully.

If she’d looked back he’d have been able to see the tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks, so she didn’t look back.

‘She’s invited who?’

Beth Lacey didn’t appear to notice her daughter’s horrified expression.

‘Alex Matheson, dear, to make up the numbers. Mind you, he and Adam get on quite well, I believe. They play tennis together, you know.’

‘I didn’t know,’ Hope replied faintly.

‘I did mention to Anna that you and he got on really well at the wedding. Shall I do a lemon tart, or be really naughty and risk the chocolate meringue?’ She waited expectantly and gave an impatient sigh when her daughter regarded her blankly. ‘I told you, we’re bringing the pudding. Anna’s got enough on her hands without entertaining, but you know Anna, once she’s made up her mind. At least she’s limiting it to family—and Alex, of course.’

And Alex!

Hope nodded. She knew Anna. She knew Anna well enough to know she couldn’t ask her to retract the invitation to Alex without having the whole humiliating tale exposed. Hope wasn’t ready for that; she was still feeling far too raw about the whole painful incident. There was only one thing for it.

‘Sorry, Mum, I’ve got to go out,’ she said, levering her tall frame from the saggy armchair.

‘Where to?’

Hand on the doorhandle, Hope smiled vaguely. ‘I won’t be long. I’ll borrow your car.’

It took her less time than it ought to reach Matheson Motors on the edge of the small market town. She parked her mother’s old banger amongst less rusty cars and walked confidently up to the entrance. No one watching her long-legged elegant stride could have guessed how close to open panic she was. Only her sisters knew that she only whistled when she was petrified, and they weren’t here.

The girl in Reception looked up and visibly did a double take. ‘Miss Lacey,’ she gasped, her eyes widening. ‘Can I help you?’ she added hopefully, regaining some of her professional poise.

‘I’d like to see Alex.’ A famous face did have some compensations, especially when you wanted to bluff your way into somewhere you had no right to be.

‘Mr Matheson…’ Doubt crossed the other girl’s face. ‘Do you have an appointment?’

‘It’s a surprise.’

‘Well, I don’t think… He’s quite strict about…’

‘Actually,’ Hope said, leaning forward in a confidential manner, ‘I’m meant to be having dinner with him tonight, but I’m going to have to cry off. So I thought I’d take him for an early lunch to compensate.’

‘For his birthday? I see. Oh, well, in that case…’

Alex’s PA turned out to be male, quite a young, attractive male, who wasn’t totally immune to her charms. She’d have liked to think it was her famous smile and winning manner that had allowed her to enter the inner sanctum which he so jealously guarded, but it was obvious she’d only got this far because Alex had given his permission.

Panic closed in as the door shut behind her. Pride made it imperative that she didn’t show her uncertainty.

She needn’t have worried; for all the interest Alex showed in her she might as well have been standing there stark naked. She couldn’t have felt more vulnerable if she had been!

He continued to peel off a set of navy overalls, underneath which he wore a pristine white shirt and silk tie. He lifted the dark grey jacket missing from his ensemble from the back of his chair and slipped it on. The shadow of body hair was visible through the thin fabric of his shirt, as was the suggestion of musculature. Hope’s throat grew painfully dry as she tried not to notice these facts.

‘You’ve got a hands-on management style, I see,’ she said, her eyes flicking to the discarded utilitarian overalls.

‘I’m a hands-on sort of guy.’

The innuendo made the colour flare in her cheeks. ‘I expect you know why I’m here.’

‘I’m not nearly so perceptive as you appear to think.’

‘The dinner party.’ She didn’t want to play games with him. She wasn’t capable of playing games with him. Just being in the same room as him was making her aware of how deeply he’d managed to unnerve her.

‘Ah, the dinner party.’ He lowered himself into the deeply padded leather swivel chair behind the massive desk which dominated the room. No, she mentally corrected herself, it was Alex who dominated the room—this room and any other room he was in.

‘Don’t go.’

‘Pardon? I’m forgetting my manners—won’t you have a seat?’

‘You can’t forget what you’ve never had,’ she snapped back. ‘And I’m not staying long enough to sit down. Don’t think I enjoy being in your company.’

‘If that is so, why are you here?’ he enquired imperturbably. He watched her with a narrow-eyed silver stare that made her shiver.

‘I just wanted to ask you to be reasonable. I’m sure you don’t want to spend an evening in my company any more than I want to spend an evening in yours.’

‘If you didn’t want to see me, why come here?’

‘I’ve already told you—’

‘Ever heard of the telephone?’ he interrupted cryptically.

Hope’s mouth opened and closed several times before her voice returned. ‘I didn’t think of that.’

‘Of course you didn’t…’ he drawled.

The hateful knowing look in his eyes made her want to scream. ‘If you think I used this as a pretext to see you,’ she returned scornfully, ‘you couldn’t be more wrong!’

‘Now there’s an interesting idea,’ he mused, resting his chin on his steepled fingers.

She couldn’t look at his hands without imagining… Hope took a deep, steadying breath. I will not lose my temper, she repeated slowly to herself. I won’t! ‘Are you going to come?’ She sounded calm and reasonable.

‘I could hardly refuse after they’ve asked me to be godfather to little Joe.’

‘They haven’t.’ She closed her eyes and pushed back the wing of hair that flopped in her eyes. ‘They’ve asked me to be his godmother.’

‘Isn’t that nice?’ His teeth were as white and even as your average wolf’s.

‘You’re enjoying this!’ she accused.

For the first time he looked less than indolent as his body stiffened in the chair. ‘Far from it,’ he snapped. ‘But I’m not going to offend friends just because they have the misfortune to be related to a shallow little trollop like you! Sorry,’ he corrected, looking her up and down slowly, ‘cancel the “little”…’

‘I’m wasting my time here.’ She turned on her heel and strode from the office. ‘How do I get out of here?’ she asked the surprised-looking PA.

‘First left and take the lift. If you’re in a hurry…?’

‘I am.’

‘You could go through the factory floor, turn right and down the stairs.’

Hope was blind to the eyes that followed her across the factory floor. Matheson cars were strictly low-tech, at least as far as their construction went, so there was no robot technology—just a dedicated, highly trained workforce. She didn’t even register the warning cry as the ground disappeared beneath her.

At moments like this a girl with any sense would faint, she thought. Hope waited for the blackness to enfold her and block out the excruciating pain, but it didn’t. Someone flicked a switch and the inspection pit was illuminated by brilliant light. Hope showed extreme restraint and moaned softly in reply to several anxious enquiries.

‘Get the boss.’

Get an ambulance, she wanted to scream. Instead she fainted, for the first time in her life.

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