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«The Rich Man's Blackmailed Mistress» - Люси Монро

THE RICH MAN’S BLACKMAILED MISTRESS

‘I’m not sure I understand.’

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

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

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

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

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

‘What?’

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

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

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

Recent titles by the same author:

THE MEDITERRANEAN PRINCE’S CAPTIVE VIRGIN

HIS MAJESTY’S MISTRESS

VIRGIN BOUGHT AND PAID FOR

INNOCENT MISTRESS, ROYAL WIFE

THE RICH MAN’S BLACKMAILED MISTRESS

BY

ROBYN DONALD

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She thrust a photograph at her nephew. ‘Look.

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

‘Sable Jane Martin.’

‘Sable?’

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

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

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

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

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

‘That’s hardly her fault.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘A car?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And if Kain had learned anything in his life it was that everything, even his aunt’s affection, came with a price tag.

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

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

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

Definitely not Brent’s usual type.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Once a thief, always a thief…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I have.’

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

‘Is it going to win?’ Maire asked.

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

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

‘Black Sultan.’

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

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

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

Reluctantly, Sable turned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘No.’

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

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

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

‘Yes,’ she said neutrally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He said, ‘I gather you’re a model?’

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

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

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

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

‘There’s no need,’ she stated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kain said, ‘Right, let’s go.’

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

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

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

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

Her brows lifted. ‘Why?’

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

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