by Lynne Graham
‘Let me see the ring,’ Tia urged, stretching out a bejewelled hand weighted with diamonds. ‘Oh, I love it.’
‘You haven’t got a finger free for another diamond,’ Luke told his wife drily. ‘How long do we have to stay at this party?’
‘A couple of hours?’ Tia gave him a pleading look of appeal.
‘It’ll be really boring,’ Luke forecast moodily, his lower lip coming out in a petulant pout.
Beside her Navarre stiffened and Tia looked as though she might be about to burst into tears. Navarre asked Tia’s husband about his upcoming European tour with his rock group, the moment of tension ebbed and shortly afterwards they arrived at the glitzy hotel where the party was being held. Tia was mobbed by paparazzi outside the hotel and lingered to give an impromptu interview to a TV presenter. Tawny was startled when Navarre stepped slightly behind her to pose for a photo, mentioning her name and their supposed engagement with the relaxed assurance of a man who might have known her for years rather than mere days. It occurred to her that he was quite an actor in his own right, able to conceal his essential indifference to her behind a convincing façade as though she were indeed precious to him. While he spoke the warmth of his tall, strong physique burned down her slender spine like a taunting lick of flame and the faint scent of some expensive cologne underscored by clean, husky masculinity filled her nostrils and suddenly her body was going haywire with awareness, breasts swelling, legs trembling as she remembered that earth-shattering kiss.
One freakin’ kiss, Tawny thought with furious resentment, and she had fallen apart at the seams. He hadn’t even made a pass at her. She had to be fair, he wasn’t the pawing type, indeed he never laid a finger on her without good reason, but even so, when he got close, every skin cell in her body leapt and dived as if she were a dizzy teenager in the grip of her first crush.
‘Are you always this tense?’ Navarre enquired.
‘Only around you,’ she told him, knowing that there was more than one way to read that reply.
Trailing adoring hangers-on like a vibrant kite followed by fluttering ribbons, Tia surged up to them as soon as they entered the function room and complained that Luke had already taken off and abandoned her.
‘He hates these things,’ she complained ruefully as Navarre immediately took on the task of ushering her to her prominently placed table.
Tia was very much what Tawny would have expected of a beautiful international star. She had to have constant attention and wasn’t too fussy about how she went about getting it. She was very familiar with Navarre, touching his arm continually as she talked, smiling sexily up at him, employing every weapon in the considerable armoury of her beauty to keep him by her side and hold his interest. A proper fiancée, Tawny reflected wryly, would have wanted to shoot Tia and bury her deep.
‘You should tell him you don’t like it,’ Luke whispered mockingly in Tawny’s ear, making her jump because she had not realised he had come to stand beside her.
‘I’ve got no complaints. Your wife is the life and soul of the party,’ Tawny answered lightly, as if she were quite unconcerned when in fact she had felt invisible in Tia’s radius.
‘No, she likes handsome men around her,’ Luke Convery contradicted, watching the Italian blonde hold court at her table surrounded by attentive males, his demeanour a resentful combination of admiration and annoyance. As if he was determined to defy that view he draped an arm round Tawny’s taut shoulders and she stiffened in surprise.
Across the room, Navarre’s glittering green gaze narrowed to rest on Tawny, watching her lift her face to look up into Luke Convery’s eyes and suddenly laugh. They looked remarkably intimate, he noted in surprise. How had that happened between virtual strangers? Or was the luscious redhead a quick study when it came to impressing rich and famous men? Anger broke like a river bursting its banks through Navarre’s usual rock-solid self-discipline and he vaulted upright to take immediate action.
‘You should try staying by Tia’s side,’ Tawny was saying warily to Luke Convery.
‘Been there, done that. It doesn’t work but you might have more luck with that angle.’ The musician shot her a challenging appraisal from brooding dark eyes. ‘If you’re engaged to the guy, why are you letting Tia take over?’
Reminded of her role, Tawny flushed and headed off to the cloakroom to escape the awkward exchange. How was she supposed to react when a household name with a face that could have given Helen of Troy a run for her money was flirting like mad with her supposed fiancé? When she returned to the party, she was taken aback to see Navarre poised near the doors, evidently awaiting her reappearance. When he saw her, he immediately frowned and jerked his arrogant head to urge her over to him.
‘What have you been doing? Where have you been?’ he demanded curtly.
Resenting his attitude, Tawny rolled her eyes. ‘I was in the cloakroom, trying to discreetly avoid coming between you and the object of your affections.’
He followed her meaningful sidewise glance in the direction of Tia Castelli’s table and his strong jawline clenched as though Tawny had insulted him. His eyes narrowed to rake over her with scorn. ‘Drôle d’excuse … what an excuse! Tia and I are old friends, nothing more. But I saw you giggling with Convery—’
‘What do you mean by you “saw” me with Luke?’ Tawny pressed hotly, hostile to both his intonation and his attitude. ‘And I’m not the giggly type.’
Navarre flattened his wide sensual mouth into a forbidding line. ‘We are supposed to be newly engaged. You are not here to amuse yourself. Stay by my side.’
‘As long as you appreciate that I’m only doing it for the money,’ Tawny shot back at him in an angry hiss, her face stiff with chagrin at his criticism of her behaviour.
‘I’m unlikely to forget the fact that I’m paying for the pleasure of your company,’ he retorted crushingly. ‘That’s a first for me!’
‘You do surprise me.’ Hot pink adorning her cheeks at that cutting retaliation, Tawny stuck to him like glue for the rest of the party. He circulated, one arm attached to Tawny as he made a point of introducing her as his future wife.
Tawny played up to the label, clinging to his arm, smiling up at him, laughing slavishly at the mildest joke or story and generally behaving as if he were the centre of her world. And for what he was paying for the show, she told herself ruefully, he deserved to be.
‘Did you have to behave like a bimbo?’ Navarre growled as she climbed back into the limousine at the end of the evening, shoulders drooping as exhaustion threatened to claim her.
‘In this scenario it works. As you said yourself, if we seem unsuited, nobody will be surprised when the engagement only lasts for five minutes,’ Tawny retorted, thoroughly irritated at receiving yet more vilification from his corner. Could she do nothing right in his eyes? What exactly did he want from her? ‘Personally, I think I put in a pretty good performance.’
A silence that implied he had been less than impressed stretched between them all the way back to the hotel. In the lift he stabbed the button for a lower floor. ‘Elise has offered to share her room with you tonight so that you don’t have to use the sofa again,’ he informed her glacially. ‘I believe she already has had your belongings moved for your convenience.’
Relief filled Tawny as she stepped out of the lift and found the tall blonde bodyguard waiting to greet her. With Elise, she could take off her fancy glad rags, climb into her pjs and relax, which was exactly what she was most longing to do at that instant.
Navarre absorbed the alacrity of Tawny’s departure from the lift, frowning at the strangely appealing sound of the giggling she had said she didn’t do trilling down the corridor just before the lift doors closed again. He had never had a woman walk away from him before without a word or a glance and his eyes momentarily flashed as though someone had lit a fire behind them. He could not accuse Tawny Baxter of attempting to ensnare him, but he recalled the manner in which she had melted into that kiss and smiled
, ego soothed. It was not a very nice smile.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘OH … my … goodness!’ Tawny squealed in Navarre’s ear as she squashed her face up against the window of the helicopter to get a better view of the medieval fortress they were flying over, a sixteenth-century tower house complete with a Victorian gothic extension. It was late afternoon. ‘It’s a castle, a real castle! Are we really going to be staying there?’
‘Oui,’ Navarre confirmed drily.
‘You are so spoilt!’ Tawny exclaimed loudly, winning Jacques’s startled scrutiny from the front seat as she turned briefly to shoot his employer a reproachful look. ‘You’re going to be staying in a genuine castle and you’re not even excited! Not even a little bit excited?’
‘You’re excited enough for both of us,’ Navarre countered. His attention was commanded against his will by the vibrant glow of her heart-shaped face and the anticipation writ large there, eyes starry, lush peachy mouth showing a glimpse of small white teeth. Adults rarely demonstrated that much enthusiasm for anything and, to a man who kept all emotion under strict lock and key, there was something ridiculously appealing about her complete lack of inhibition.
The helicopter, which had carried them north from their private flight to Edinburgh and lunch at a smart hotel there, landed in a paddock within full view of the castle. Navarre sprang out in advance of Tawny and then swung round to lift her out. ‘I could’ve managed!’ she told him pointedly, smoothing down her clothing as though he had rumpled her.
‘Not without a step in that skirt,’ Navarre traded with all the superiority of a male accustomed to disembarking from such craft with a woman in tow.
Tawny had slept like a log the night before in the room she had shared with Elise. Similar in age, the two young women had chattered over a late supper, exchanging innocuous facts about friends and families.
‘The boss warned me that I had to be sure to feed you!’ Elise had teased, watching, impressed, as Tawny demolished a plate of sandwiches.
Now she was in the Scottish Highlands for the weekend but Navarre had only divulged their destination after he had invited her to join him for breakfast in his suite that morning, when he had also filled her in on a few useful facts about their hosts.
Tawny was rather nervous at the prospect of meeting Sam and Catrina Coulter. Sam was the extremely wealthy owner of the Coulter Centax Corporation. Catrina, whom Navarre had admitted was an ex, was Sam’s second, much younger wife and formerly a very successful English model. The couple had no children but Sam had had a son by his first marriage, who had died prematurely in an accident.
‘So is this where Sam and Catrina live all the year round?’ Tawny asked curiously as they walked towards the Range Rover awaiting them. ‘It must be pretty desolate in winter.’
‘They don’t own Strathmore Castle, they’re renting it for the season,’ Navarre told her wryly. ‘Sam’s very into shooting and fishing.’
Sam Coulter was in his sixties, a trim bespectacled man with grey hair and a keen gaze. Catrina, a beautiful brunette with big brown eyes and an aggressively bright smile, towered over her empire building husband, who made up for what he lacked in height with his large personality. Refreshments were served before the fire in the atmospheric Great Hall that had walls studded with a display of medieval weaponry, fabulous early oak furniture and a tartan carpet. Catrina made a big thing out of cooing over Tawny’s engagement ring and tucked a friendly hand into the younger woman’s arm to lead her upstairs, but there was neither true warmth nor sincerity in her manner. Only when Catrina left Navarre and Tawny in the same room did it occur to Tawny that they were expected to occupy the same bed.
‘We’re supposed to share?’ she whispered within seconds of the door closing behind their hostess.
‘What else would you expect?’
Unfortunately Tawny had not thought about the possibility. Now she scanned the room. There was no sofa, nothing other than the four-poster bed for the two of them to sleep on, and something akin to panic gripped her. ‘You could say you snore and keep me awake and—’
‘You’re not that naive. We must share the bed. It is only for two nights,’ Navarre drawled.
‘I’m shy about sharing beds,’ Tawny warned him.
Navarre studied her, intently. ‘I’m not,’ he told her without hesitation, flashing her a wickedly amused smile.
A painful flush lit Tawny’s complexion. But the mesmerising charm of his smile at that instant knocked her sideways and her susceptible heart went boom-boom-boom inside her ribcage. ‘I really don’t want to share a room with you.’
‘You must have expected this set-up,’ Navarre said very drily. ‘Engaged couples rarely sleep in separate beds these days.’
It was a fair point and Tawny winced in acknowledgement. ‘I didn’t think about it.’
‘We’re stuck with the arrangement,’ Navarre countered in a tone of finality. ‘Or is this a ploy aimed at demanding more money from me? Is that what lies behind these antiquated protests?’
Tawny froze in astonishment, affronted by the suggestion. ‘No, it darned well is not! How dare you suggest that? I just haven’t shared a bed with a guy before—’
Navarre quirked a sardonic black brow. ‘What? Never? I don’t believe you.’
‘Well, I don’t care what you believe. You may sleep around but I never have!’ Tawny slung back at him in furious self-defence.
‘I didn’t accuse you of sleeping around,’ Navarre pointed out, his innate reserve and censure never more evident than in his hard gaze and the tough stubborn set of his strong jawline. ‘Nor will I accept you throwing such impertinent remarks at me.’
‘Point taken but I’ve always believed in calling a spade a spade and exclusive you’re not!’ Tawny responded, her temper still raw from the idea that he could think she was using the need to share a bed as an excuse to demand more money from him.
‘Tonight we’re sharing that bed, ma petite.’ Navarre dealt her an intimidating appraisal, inviting her disagreement.
Tawny opened the case sited on the trunk at the foot of the bed to extract the outfit she had decided to wear for dinner. She loathed his conviction that she was unscrupulous and mercenary but she saw no point in getting into an argument with him. Navarre would probably fight tooth and claw to the death just to come out the winner. A row might be overheard and he would have reason to complain if anything happened to mar their pretence of being a happy couple.
‘And by the way, I am exclusive with a woman for the duration of our time together.’
Bending over the case, Tawny reckoned that that would impose no great sacrifice on a man famous for never staying long with one woman and she murmured flatly, ‘None of my business.’
Navarre breathed in slow and deep while on another level he drank in the intoxicating glimpses of slim, shapely thigh visible through the split in the back of her skirt. She straightened to shed her cardigan. Hunger uncoiled inside him. Every time she awakened his libido the effects got stronger, he acknowledged grimly, noting the way her bright rippling curls snaked down her slender spine, somehow drawing his attention to the fact that the top she wore was gossamer thin and revealed the pale delicate bra that encased her dainty breasts. Merde alors, he was behaving like a schoolboy salivating for his first glimpse of naked female flesh!
The chosen outfit draped over her arm, Tawny moved towards the wardrobe to hang the garment and as she did so she collided with Navarre’s intent gaze. It was as if all the oxygen in her lungs were sucked out at once. Her heart went thud and she stilled in surprise as she recognised the sexual heat of that brutally masculine appraisal. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she told him gruffly.
Navarre reached for her. ‘I can’t help it,’ he purred.
‘Yes, you can,’ she countered shakily, longing with every fibre of her rebellious being to be drawn closer to him while her brain screamed at her to slap him down and go into retreat. But there was something incredibly flat
tering about such a look of desire on a handsome man’s face. Navarre had the ability to make her feel impossibly feminine and seductive, two qualities that she had never thought she possessed.
One hand resting on her hip, Navarre skimmed the knuckles of the other gently down the side of her face. ‘You’re beautiful, ma petite.’
Tawny had never seen herself as beautiful before and that single word had a hypnotic effect on her so that she looked up at him with shining ice-blue eyes. Teased for having red hair at school, she had grown into a sporty tomboy who lacked the curves required to attract the opposite sex. Boys had become her mates rather than her boyfriends, many of them using her as a step closer to her then best friend, a curvy little blonde. Curvy and blonde had become Tawny’s yardstick of beauty and what Navarre Cazier could see in her was invisible to her own eyes.
Indecent warmth shimmied through Tawny from the caressing touch of his fingers and she wanted to lean into his hand, get closer on every level while that tightening sensation low in her body filled her with a sharp, deep craving. Struggling to control that dangerous sense of weakness, Tawny froze, torn between stepping closer and stepping back. While she was in the midst of that mental fight, Navarre bent his arrogant dark head and kissed her.
And it wasn’t like that first teasing, tender kiss in London, it was a kiss full of an unashamed passion that shot through her bloodstream like an adrenalin rush. One kiss was nowhere near enough either. As his hungry, demanding mouth moved urgently on hers her fingers delved into his luxuriant black hair to hold him to her and she felt light-headed. His tongue delved and unleashed such acute hunger inside her that she gasped and instinctively pushed her taut, aching breasts into the inflexible wall of his broad chest. Gathering her closer, his hand splayed across her hips and she was instantly aware of the hard thrust of his erection. Her knees went weak as a dark tingling heat spread through her lower body in urgent response to his arousal.
