Jared's Love-Child

by Sandra Field

  “Your good looks, remember? The packaging. You look rather familiar to me…although I can’t place you. Have you ever done any modeling?”

  “I have not!”

  She’d gotten to him. Hurray, hurray. Taking her time going up the stairs, gazing at all the portraits of the race-horses for which Benson Holt was famous, Devon said pleasantly, “What beautiful creatures…perhaps you work for your father in the stables, Mr. Holt?”

  He bit off the words. “No. I don’t.”

  Score two. “Then what do you do?”

  “Try and keep fortune hunters away from him. At which I’ve obviously screwed up.” He led her into a separate wing and pushed open a white-panelled door. “Your mother’s in the end room, this one’s yours. They both have private bathrooms.”

  Before Devon could protest he’d walked in and was putting her case down by the bed. She didn’t want him in here. She didn’t want him anywhere near her or a bed or any combination of the two. She said amiably, “Do try and smile for the cameras, won’t you? Unless you want all the wedding albums to show you sulking like a little boy who didn’t get his own way.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” Jared said softly. “I don’t like it.”

  Her breath caught in her throat and her heart gave an uneasy lurch. From the very first she’d thought him dangerous. And she’d been right. But something in her refused to back down, no matter how intimidating he was. Devon said, “How interesting…I also hate being ordered around. Something else we have in common.”

  “Unfortunately we’re going to have far too much in common. I can’t imagine you’ll like being my stepsister any more than I’ll enjoy being your stepbrother. Thanksgiving and Christmas in the same house. Family birthdays. On and on it goes.” He gave her a wolfish grin. “You and I will be tied together once this marriage takes place—one more reason you should have missed your plane.”

  She said steadily, “My job—I’m a lawyer who negotiates mining rights—requires I spend a large part of the year out of the country. You might be available for every family birthday that comes along. I won’t be.”

  Jared reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear; as his hand streaked her neck with fire, it took every ounce of Devon’s control to keep her face immobile. He said smoothly, “Talking of wedding photos, I hope you’re planning on doing something with your hair in the next forty minutes. But don’t keep us waiting, will you, Miss Fraser? That’s the bride’s prerogative.”

  He strode across the carpet and shut the door very quietly behind him. Devon dropped the plastic carrier on her bed and took half a dozen long, steadying breaths. The room seemed bigger without him. Bigger and emptier. Then a tap came at the door and she jumped as though a gun had gone off in her ear. “Yes?” she quavered.

  “Darling, is that you?”

  “Come in, Mother,” Devon said, and braced herself.

  “Jared told me you’d arrived. I’ve been so worried, I thought you weren’t going to make it in time, and I really need your support—Jared looks at me as though I’m the original scarlet woman, quite frankly he terrifies me. I can’t imagine how Benson fathered him…darling, you’re not even dressed!”

  “That’s because I’ve only just arrived,” Devon said, and kissed her mother’s exquisitely made-up cheek and looked her up and down. “You look lovely,” she said truthfully.

  “I didn’t want to wear white—not really suitable. Do I really look all right?” And anxiously Alicia tweaked at the long skirt of her cream-colored silk dress.

  For once Alicia had avoided the frills, lace and beadwork that were her normal adornment. The dress was elegant, and her hairdo equally restrained. It was five months since Devon had seen her, at which time Benson Holt had simply been a name Alicia had dropped into the conversation rather more often than was necessary. For the first time wondering if Benson had brought about other changes, Devon said, “It’s a wonderful dress! Show me your ring.”

  With a shyness that Devon scarcely thought appropriate, considering this was her mother’s fifth engagement ring, Alicia held out her left hand. The diamond blazed in its ornate setting. Devon had never been fond of diamonds; their cold glitter never looked anything other than mercenary to her. “I hope you’ll be very happy,” she said.

  Alicia gave a hunted look at her gold watch. “The ceremony begins in thirty-five minutes.”

  “Then you’d better get out of here and let me get ready,” Devon said, smiling. “I’m sorry I’m so late. You know I’d originally planned to be here for last night’s rehearsal dinner—but between Yemen and here it was one delay after another.”

  “I had to sit between Benson and Jared.” Alicia gave a shudder of pure nerves. “Do you know what he did three days ago? Jared, I mean. He tried to buy me off.”

  “He what?”

  “He offered me a great deal of money to call off the wedding. And I can’t even tell Benson; Jared is his only son, after all.”

  “How dare he do that?”

  “He’d dare anything. He’s the head of Holt Incorporated. Millions of dollars, darling. Millions. He didn’t make those by pussyfooting around.”

  Devon’s jaw dropped. “Jared Holt runs Holt Incorporated?”

  “He doesn’t just run it. He owns it. He’s made a fortune; he’s fifty times richer than Benson.”

  Holt Incorporated involved chains of resorts the world over, some of which Devon had stayed in, a fleet of cruise ships, several commodity conglomerates and an outstandingly successful computer company. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Devon croaked.

  With some of her normal spirit Alicia said, “Long distance? From Borneo and Papua New Guinea and all those other places you’re always going to? I’ve got better things to talk about than Jared Holt.”

  Devon sat down on the bed and said with a gurgle of laughter, “Guess what? I asked him if he worked in his father’s stables.”

  “Darling, you didn’t!”

  “And before that I wanted to know if he’d ever done any modeling.”

  Alicia groaned. “Oh, no…how could you?”

  “Very easily. He’s the rudest and most arrogant man I’ve ever met in my entire life. And I’ve met a few.”

  Alicia gave a little shiver. “You don’t want to cross him. He’d make a bad enemy, Devon.”

  Her mother only called her Devon when she meant business. “I’m not scared of Jared Holt,” Devon said, not altogether accurately. “But I am scared of arriving half an hour late at that charming arbour I saw set up in the garden. Out, Mother. I’ve got to get ready.”

  Alicia gave her a quick, fervent hug. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, and clicked the door shut behind her.

  Wishing she could feel the same way, Devon unzipped her case, shook out one of the two dresses, and headed for the shower.

  CHAPTER TWO

  AT ONE minute to six Alicia tapped on Devon’s door. “Are you ready, darling?”

  Devon was standing in front of the full-length mirror outlining her mouth in Luscious Pink. “Come in, Mother. Two seconds more,” she called, and swiftly filled in the outline. Then she inserted long drop earrings made of Australian opals, deeply blue and iridescent.

  “I’m a nervous wreck,” Alicia babbled. “I know this is my fifth wedding, but I truly love Benson and I really want this one to last forever. For all of us to be one happy family. Do you think I should marry him, Devon, or do you think I’m making another terrible mistake?”

  As Devon had yet to meet Benson, she could scarcely answer this question. Although if Benson was anything like Jared, her mother was making the biggest mistake of her marital career. And “one happy family” was sure to be a pipe dream. Christmas with Jared Holt? Devon would rather die. “Of course you’ll be happy,” she said soothingly, seeing with a twinge of compassion that her mother’s lips were quivering. Briefly she tucked Alicia’s arm in hers and said, gazing at their joint reflections in the mirror, “Come on, Ma, let’s go kn
ock ’em out.”

  “The flowers are on the table in the hall…we do look rather nice, don’t we?” Alicia said naively.

  “Nice” wasn’t the effect Devon had been aiming for. Her dress, a long shimmer of turquoise Thai silk, was artfully simple, its neckline cut so that it cupped her breasts, its slim-fitting skirt slit to the knee. Another opal nestled in her cleavage; her shoes were thin-strapped sandals with very high heels. She’d piled her hair on her head, a few curls casually caressing her neck and her cheeks. “We’re gorgeous,” Devon said. “And don’t you dare let Jared Holt ruin your wedding day; he’s not worth it.”

  “I won’t,” Alicia said, and gave her daughter a militant smile. “I’m learning a few things, Devon. I told Benson I wouldn’t promise to obey, I was too old for that. He just laughed and said he didn’t want a doormat for a wife. He’s a very nice man; you’ll like him.”

  The romantic Italian, the British aristocrat and the Texas oilman, husbands two, three and four, had all been introduced to Devon in a similar manner; Alicia always wanted her daughter to like the prospective groom. Devon said diplomatically, “I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

  The flowers were clusters of pale orchids and the photographer was waiting for them. Feeling her heart begin to beat uncomfortably fast, Devon picked up the smaller of the two bouquets and smiled obediently into the camera. Then she walked down the stairs at her mother’s side. As they reached the bottom step, Alicia said, “I did ask you to give me away, darling, didn’t I?”

  Devon almost tripped over the faded Ushak runner on the hall floor. “Nope.”

  “Benson’s brother-in-law was to have done it. But he had an operation for varicose veins two weeks ago. The only other choice was Jared. Please say you’ll do it, Devon!”

  Allow that cynical, overbearing creep to escort her mother up the aisle? No way. “Sure I will,” said Devon.

  After they’d emerged into the sunshine on the front step, the photographer took several shots of them gazing in a heartfelt manner into their bouquets. Devon in the meantime was sneaking peaks at the set-up. White awnings stretched between the trees, providing shade from the sun. Baskets of mock-orange, roses and delphiniums flanked the array of wicker chairs where the guests were seated, and the soft ripple of harp music fell over their chatter.

  Finally the photographer was satisfied. As Alicia and Devon approached the chairs, the harpist drew one last chord from her instrument and fell silent. From an organ near the white flower-bedecked altar came the first notes of the wedding processional. It was being played, Devon noticed abstractedly, with very little regard for either rhythm or accuracy.

  Alicia whispered, “That’s Benson’s sister at the organ. She insisted. Benson didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Oh, Devon, I’m so nervous. I should never have agreed to marry him. Why do I keep getting married? I’m not young, like you; I should know better.”

  “Come on, Mother, it’s too late now. So let’s do it in style,” Devon said, took her mother’s hand and drew it through her arm, and then struggled to establish some kind of accord between their steps and the music. It wasn’t easy. But it did take her mind off the array of guests, the waiting clergyman, and the two men standing in front of the altar. Benson, the groom, and Jared, his son. Both had their backs to the two women pacing up the green carpet that had been laid over the grass.

  Benson was shorter than his son and had a well-groomed crop of gray hair. As the organ hit a sharp instead of a flat, he turned, saw Alicia walking toward him and smiled at her. He wasn’t as handsome as Jared and his waist had a comfortable thickness. He looked human, thought Devon. Unlike Jared. And his smile was both loving and kind. Also unlike Jared.

  Kindness was right up there on Devon’s list of virtues. She had long ago decided you couldn’t fake it.

  Well, she thought, how interesting. And not at all what I was expecting. She whispered into her mother’s ear, “I think you picked a good ’un, Mother,” and was rewarded with a watery and grateful smile from Alicia.

  The organ emitted an uncertain twiddle, then managed to land on a chord that was loud, triumphant and startlingly off-key. Devon shuddered. And finally Jared turned his head.

  He didn’t even look at Alicia. His gaze went straight to Alicia’s daughter, and for a most satisfactory moment that she knew she wasn’t imagining Devon saw blank shock rigidify every muscle of his face. She lowered her lids demurely, as befitted a woman with very little experience. A woman whose packaging, to quote him, didn’t warrant a second look. Then she allowed the most innocent of smiles to play on her lips.

  But when she looked up, her smile was directed solely at Benson.

  Right up until the last minute, Jared had thought he’d have to give Alicia away: a duty he would have performed punctiliously and with genuine loathing. But as he and Benson had left the house via the conservatory, his father had said, “Alicia’s going to ask Devon to give her away. So you’re off the hook.”

  Annoyed with himself for having made his distaste for the task so obvious, Jared said shortly, “I met her. The daughter, I mean. She’s not what I’d expected. She’s tall and frumpy with a tongue like a chainsaw.”

  “Really? Alicia showed me a photo—I thought she was very pretty.”

  “A good photographer can make a rose out of a cactus.”

  Benson said abruptly, “Have you got the ring?”

  “Yes, Dad—you’ve asked me that twice already.”

  “There’s Martin, waving at us. Time to take our places.”

  Martin was the butler; his signal meant that Alicia was ready. Jared glanced at his watch. Seven minutes past six. Devon Fraser was remarkably prompt. For a woman.

  He followed his father under the shade of the awning, nodded at the clergyman and studiously avoided looking at the guests. Lise was presumably somewhere in that crush. She’d cajoled him for an invitation, and he’d made the mistake of sending her one. He was going to have to decide what to do about Lise, he thought, and winced as Aunt Bessie attacked the portable organ with her usual gusto and total disregard for the printed score. If he, Jared, were ever foolish enough to get married—a stupid proposition; he had no intention of allowing himself to be tied for life to one woman—he’d get married on his yacht. Aunt Bessie suffered from seasickness. Aunt Bessie wouldn’t set foot on anything remotely resembling the deck of a ship.

  From the corner of his eye he saw his father turn and smile at his prospective bride. He was about to become her fifth husband. Anger coiled tight in Jared’s gut. He’d done his best to talk his father out of this ill-advised wedding, and then he’d tried a little judicious bribery of Alicia. Neither of which had worked. Even though he’d offered Alicia a very considerable sum.

  She could get more from a divorce settlement; that, he was sure, had been her reasoning.

  He was damned if he was going to smile at Alicia. At least the clergyman had insisted the photographer keep his distance during the ceremony. So if he, Jared, didn’t feel like smiling at anyone, he didn’t have to.

  Devon Fraser had claimed he was sulking because he hadn’t gotten his own way. Had he ever known a woman to get so quickly and so thoroughly under his skin?

  Another of Aunt Bessie’s chords screeched along his nerves. Surely Alicia and her daughter were nearly at the altar—they could have walked from Central Park to the Bronx by now. Fighting down his impatience, Jared looked around to check on their progress.

  A tall woman in a shimmer of turquoise was walking toward him, looking straight at him, her head held high.

  Her beauty slammed into his chest as though he’d been punched, hard, on the breastbone.

  Her hair was heaped on her head, and shone like ripe wheat, baring the slim line of her throat. Her shoulders rose from her dress in impossibly elegant curves; the swell of her breasts made his heart thud as though he’d dropped a twenty-kilo weight. Ripe breasts. Full breasts. Voluptuous breasts, their pale sheen like the petals of the orchids she wa
s carrying. In her cleavage a blue stone shot sparks of fire.

  Her hips swayed gracefully as she walked; under the gleaming silk skirt her legs seemed to go on forever.

  But it was her eyes that held him. Those exquisitely wide-spaced eyes that had so disconcerted him when he’d pulled off her sunglasses on the front step. He’d been expecting mousy brown, or light gray. Anything but irises the brilliant blue of a tropical sea. Eyes he could drown in.

  As his groin tightened involuntarily, Jared knew with every fiber of his being that he wouldn’t rest until he had Devon Fraser in his bed. Until he possessed her in the most primitive of ways.

  This was the woman whose packaging he’d derided? The woman he’d labelled a frump? Was he losing his marbles?

  With a faraway part of his brain, the only part that still seemed to be functioning, Jared suddenly realized that Devon was fully aware of the effect she was having on him, and that his response had pleased her enormously. Then she dropped her lids, the smallest of smiles playing on the soft pink curves of her mouth.

  A kissable mouth. A deliciously seductive mouth.

  Damn you, Devon Fraser, Jared thought vengefully. You took me in with your high-necked blouse and your rumpled suit and your washed-out cheeks. Took me in but good. But you won’t do it again. Not twice in one day.

  Because I’m going to teach you a lesson. I don’t know how yet. But I’ll figure out something.

  I don’t like being jerked around by a woman. Made to look like a fool. I don’t like that at all. Before this farce of a wedding’s over, you’re going to wish you hadn’t done it.

  With a small jolt he realized the clergyman was clearing his throat, and that the four of them were now neatly lined up in front of all the guests. Pay attention, Jared. Forget Devon Fraser, at least for the next few minutes. You’re supposed to be the best man.

  May the best man win.

  He didn’t know where that line had come from. But he did know he meant it as far as Devon was concerned. She might have won the first round. She wasn’t going to win the second. He was going to get his revenge one way or another.