by Marsh, Susan
She broke off in time to realise his lean, harsh face had stiffened. ‘I’m relieved to hear it,’ he said drily, ‘since the feeling is mutual. In fact, your total unsuitability is one of your greatest assets. People will expect me to dump you in five minutes, and I will.’
‘Oh.’ She cast him a glance through her lashes. It was a revelation to discover that a tall, dark sexy super-supremo could be so sensitive. But with his temper, it seemed prudent to humour him a little. ‘Well, if I agreed, what exactly would you expect me to do?’
He shrugged, and gave his cognac a bored swirl. ‘Just walk into the luncheon with me. Hang around. Act—like a girlfriend.’ He sounded so offhand, it hardly seemed like much of a request. ‘You aren’t committed to anyone, are you?’ His eyes fell on her ringless hands.
Committed. Deep down inside her something lurched. Even after more than a year words like that could still throw her.
It was hard to fall from prospective bride straight back into bright, chirpy single. Perhaps because she still saw Steve at work. She knew, though, it probably wasn’t fair to blame him altogether. A young man like him—of course he’d been daunted. He came from a big family and had no concept of how close she and Gran were. Then when Gran had changed overnight from her clever, funny and invincible self and turned into a frail elderly lady, he’d been jealous of the time Cate had had to spend with her.
As always she tried to thrust away thoughts of the scene with Steve the night Gran had been admitted to hospital for tests. His casual words across the hospital bed, devastating for her, near fatal for Gran.
Her own whispered responses, so defensive and emotional.
Gran had been out of it, so they’d thought, but not far enough out.
Her mind shied away from the choking guilt and fear she’d felt when Gran had clutched at her hand and gone into seizure. Why, oh, why hadn’t she put an end to the scene at once? She should never have allowed Steve anywhere near Gran.
He’d apologised later. Grovelled, in fact. Promised the earth if she’d take him back. Even Gran had urged her to relent. But she never would. A strong, instinctive part of her had known that if a man truly loved a woman, he cared for the people she loved.
She clenched her cognac glass. She’d learned from the love experience. A man expected a woman to devote herself exclusively to him. Give up her own interests. Spend all her weekends at the football, or her evenings watching sport on television, or playing pool with his beer-swilling friends. Until Gran had had her heart bypass and was safe and well, there could be no new love for Cate Summerfield, even if she did ever want to chance that stony road again.
‘Well?’
Tom Russell’s voice roused her, his black brows bristling with impatience.
‘No, no,’ she assured him. ‘Not—currently.’
What was she hiding? Tom wondered, scanning her face with a cynical gaze. ‘You don’t sound very sure.’
‘Of course I’m sure,’ she snapped.
‘Ah. Then you’ll do it.’ He raised his glass to his lips and his lashes flickered down.
Cate eyed the determined line of his handsome jaw, and wondered how many people in his life had ever given him opposition.
She wrinkled her brow. ‘I suppose I could do it, so long as it doesn’t get out. I’m not sure how my grandmother or the people at work would take it.’
There was a second of stunned silence, then he gave a sharp little laugh. ‘Are you saying you’d be ashamed to—be with me?’
‘Not ashamed, exactly.’ His face was picture of bemusement, and she felt some remorse. Naturally he saw himself as a highly desirable property. With people like Olivia West throwing themselves at him from all directions, it was only to be expected. ‘It’s not you, so much as—’ She made a vague gesture and mumbled, ‘You know. What you represent.’
Struggling to find his way through shifting mists of unreality, Tom scoured her face for signs of teasing. But her big sea-green eyes held only earnestness, and, goddammit, he realised with a deep inner shock, something that looked like pity. When had he, Tom Russell, ever inspired pity?
He stared at her for long seconds with narrowed eyes. ‘Then we’d better make sure your family and friends never find out. I would hate to embarrass you.’
Cate bit her lip, aware of having been less than tactful. ‘It’s not just a case of embarrassment. It’s whether my friends would believe I could be seduced—even temporarily by your—’ she waved her glass ‘—your wealth, and all that. And that brings me to—something else I need to get straight.’ She took another swallow to bolster her courage, and her voice deepened. ‘I hope you mean this purely as a business arrangement, and you’re not hoping to whizz me off afterwards to some sleazy downtown hotel room.’
A muscle twitched in his lean, smooth-shaven cheek, and his eyes glittered with a dangerous intensity. After a second he said, ‘I’m asking you because, rightly or wrongly, you were on the spot, and I may as well make the most of a bloody annoying situation. As for whether I could seduce you with my wealth … or that I might be planning some afternoon …’ He shook his head while he wrestled with the disgraceful concept. Then he tossed off the rest of his cognac and gazed at her with derisive amusement. ‘I need someone to act the part. And that’s all you’ll be required to do, sweetheart. Act.’
‘Well, if you’re sure. So long as it’s only acting. And as long as you honour your part of the deal and don’t leak the story without me.’
He hissed in an incredulous breath. ‘For some reason,’ he exclaimed when he could find the words, ‘the people I do business with believe they can trust my word.’
She arched her brows. ‘Maybe they’re birds of a similar feather.’
Tom experienced a further shock. What did she think he was—some shoddy used-car salesman? What had he ever done to this woman to earn such distrust? A blistering retort rose to his tongue, but he managed to control it, realising it was far more likely to be the things his father was reputed to have done.
‘Look,’ he said, with an attempt at smoothness, ‘we’ll just have to trust each other, won’t we? I’ll be trusting you to act convincingly enough to persuade Devlin—’
‘Is that Olivia’s husband?’
‘That’s correct—Malcolm Devlin—that we’re together. Do you think you can do it?’
Cate sank back into the plush luxury. Could she? It would be a huge risk, a leap into the unknown, but it would give her a fabulous inside view of a society party. She might even get a feature article out of it, once the embargo was lifted. Although …
She let her gaze flicker over his lean, tall sexiness. She would need to take care. He was so damnably attractive, he might talk her into anything.
She gave a shrug. ‘I suppose I could give it a go. ‘
His eyes gleamed. ‘So …’ He held out an imperious hand. ‘Do we have a deal?’
Too late she realised that touching him was a mistake. It was like putting her hand in the fire. His lean, strong hand closed around hers and sparked that blood-stirring electric frisson along her arm she’d thought never to know again, while at the exact same instant some fiery turbulence disturbed the cool grey surface of his irises.
Oh, God. Her insides plunged into chaos. She withdrew her singed hand with what she hoped looked like some sort of poise, and turned to the window in a confused pretence of looking out, her face and neck swamped with heat while her heart galloped for the finish of the Sydney marathon. All at once her black suit felt stifling.
They’d been winding their way through some swank residential streets lined with trees in spring blossom, when the limo took a sudden turn down towards the harbour foreshore. The marina at Rushcutters Bay hoved into view, home to the big, glossy cruisers belonging to the wealthiest of the Sydney yachting set.
They turned off to draw up before the entrance of a white building perched on the edge of the water. The undisclosed location, she realised. With extreme misgivings she viewed the insignia ov
er its entrance—‘The Cruising Yacht Club of Australia’.
Not the usual haunt of her social circle. What had she let herself in for?
The driver, a huge burly man with enormous hands who looked like a nightclub bouncer, climbed out, opened her door and stood to attention.
With her throat suddenly dry, she turned to Tom. ‘Shouldn’t we discuss the logistics of this?’
‘What’s to discuss?’
‘Well …’ She clung to the seat, unwilling to leave the comparative safety of the car.
‘Go on, go on,’ he chivvied. ‘Don’t keep poor Timmins waiting.’
She swallowed, and murmuring an apology to the massive Timmins, stepped out, to stand unarmed and defenceless before gang headquarters of the Clarion’s sworn enemies.
CHAPTER FOUR
TOM RUSSELL got out of the car, slung a brisk arm about Cate’s shoulders and urged her towards the glass entrance doors. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
‘But …’ She tried to hang back, but he swept her inexorably forward. ‘Shouldn’t we work out what we’re going to say? Shouldn’t we get our story straight? Like how we met, and all that?’
He raised his brows. ‘You aren’t feeling nervous, are you, Cate?’
‘Don’t be silly.’ She made her voice far firmer than she felt. ‘Why would I be nervous?’
‘Relax.’ There was a grim twist to his mouth. ‘There’ll be no need to tell anyone anything. One look at you will be enough.’
The doors slid open, and as she moved forwards into the foyer she felt his fingers at the nape of her neck. With a quick tug he slipped off her hair ribbon.
‘What are you doing?’ she cried, reaching to retrieve it. But she was too late. The full mass of her hair tumbled over her shoulders and down her back. Tom Russell slipped the ribbon into his pocket and surveyed her, satisfaction in his gaze.
‘There, that’s better. Now try not to talk. In fact, it would be a good idea if you avoid my stepsisters and their mothers. And for God’s sake don’t tell anyone you’re a reporter. If anyone tries to question you, move away from them.’
‘But I’m sure you’ll want me to at least greet your family members. Otherwise, won’t it seem rude?’
His frown darkened. ‘We’re not here for any bloody garden party.’
Behind the reception desk on the other side of the foyer hung a large framed picture of towering waves poised to crash down on a team of grinning sailors leaning backwards off the edge of a yacht. It made Cate seasick just to look at them.
She was orienting herself to the place when Olivia West bustled in from somewhere in the interior of the building. Olivia stopped short when she saw them, her glance flicking from one to the other. A curious expression stole over her face.
‘Oh, Tom.’ After a moment she moved forward, and greeted Tom as if for the first time that day with an extravagant buffing of cheeks.
‘Well, well. What do you know?’ she muttered with a little sideways glance at Cate. She looked quickly about the foyer, then her eyes lit on a door to the left of the reception desk. She strode over and peered in. ‘Good. Come in here where we can talk. We want to use this room,’ she bawled to the receptionist, who seemed nonplussed, possibly wondering why he was being shouted at at such close range.
Frowning, Tom Russell glanced at his watch, then with an impatient gesture followed Olivia into the room. Cate hesitated a moment too long and the door closed in her face, to be opened again almost immediately. Tom motioned her inside with a testy growl, ‘Come on, come on.’
The room was a small, light office, lined with glass cases filled with trophies, and more pictures of intrepid yachtsmen cresting dangerous seas.
Olivia stalked to centre floor and whirled about to give Cate a hard, cold stare. She tilted a sardonic eyebrow at Tom. ‘I see you wasted no time. Nothing could surprise me about what a man is capable of, but, I must admit, even I’m left breathless.’
Tom introduced them, but although Olivia’s greeting was polite enough, her examination of Cate was super-critical.
‘Yes, yes, I see.’ She nodded, circling her. ‘She might do. But that hair colour is way too obvious. Where did you get it, darling? Some ghastly place in the suburbs? You’ll really have to get her some clothes, Tom, if you want to convince people.’
Cate flushed with annoyance as Tom Russell stood back to make his own assessment. ‘Do you think so?’ He put his head on one side to sweep a narrowed glance down to her ankles and up again. ‘Still …’ His cool, amused gaze locked with Cate’s and her indignation flared. ‘It might be best if you stay in the background until we can get you up to speed. People will only have to see us together once or twice to get the picture.’
Cate opened her mouth to retort, but Olivia interposed herself between them. She coaxed Tom a little aside and whispered, although Cate’s smarting ears could pick up every word, ‘But can she talk, darling? You know, if she’s not a tiny bit educated, no one will believe it after Sandra.’
Tom Russell’s black brows snapped together. A rebuke gathered in the air like a storm, until he glanced at Cate. Then his stern, sexy mouth relaxed. A reluctant smile crept into his eyes. ‘The trouble is not whether she can talk …’
Olivia threw Cate a stony, narrow look, and placed a black-gloved hand on Tom’s arm, positioning herself to give him an excellent view of her bosom. ‘I’d love to stay for you, Thomas, but I’m afraid it’s better I leave.’ She added in a confiding voice, ‘Malcolm’s insisted on coming, and he’s in a dangerous mood. I can’t even bear being in the same room with him.’ As if Cate were two paddocks away, she tossed, with a light, charming laugh, ‘You’d better make it good, Dolly. We expect to get our money’s worth.’
Cate’s anger surged, but she held onto her temper. This was not the moment to offer herself as a rich woman’s floor-wipe. She could admire Olivia’s chutzpah, but didn’t Cate Summerfield have her own distinctive brand?
Olivia needed to learn respect for the younger woman.
Cate smiled at the tabloid diva with angelic innocence and shrugged a shoulder. ‘Certainly, ma’am. How about something like this?’
She flashed Tom a provocative glance and swept down her lashes. With a small seductive smile, she thrust a hip forward and sashayed over to him like some voluptuous sex siren. She stood as close as she dared, her body almost touching his.
She heard Olivia’s sharp intake of breath, then the room grew still. Tom Russell seemed to freeze, as if his very nerve fibres had skidded to a halt.
Conscious of the blood pounding in her ears, Cate lifted her hand and lightly speared a tentative finger into the hard abdomen above his belt buckle.
He hardly appeared to breathe.
Pulsingly aware of the raw, masculine chest beneath the fine fabrics, she walked her fingers up his tie, then in mock feminine possession made a pretence of adjusting his shirt collar. She slid a languorous glance up at him through her lashes, then her lungs seized. His grey eyes clashed with hers, alight and blazingly sensual.
Unsmiling, he held her gaze for one breathless, scorching second, then in a swift, slick movement snaked his arms around her.
‘Or this?’ he said.
Before her shocked heart could slot back into its place he pressed his mouth to hers. She had little doubt it was calculated, but after the first stunned impact her lips sprang to tingling life as an electric charge vibrated through his big, lean body, and communicated itself to her like a primeval lightning bolt.
His charged fingers traced the length of her spine to her nape, then she felt him convulsively clench a handful of her hair in his fist. The conviction in that ruthless grasp was so electrifying, so risky, exhilaration flared in her blood like wildfire. Somehow the blaze must have infected him too, for he deepened the kiss to sizzling, sexual possession.
Her breasts swelled helplessly as the tip of his tongue slipped between her fiery lips to taste their inner softness. The sensation of his flicking tongue tantali
sing those tender tissues was so delicious and arousing, she was hardly aware of Olivia’s outraged voice behind her and the snap of the door closing.
Drowning in their mingled breaths, intoxicated by the taste of him, the friction of his hard chest pressing her breasts, Cate was mesmerised, drunk on the sensual pleasures of his mouth, his knowing fingers and hard, muscled frame.
His hands surged to explore the curve of her hips, and her skin thrilled with a wild craving for more.
More of his lips. More of his clever hands. Beneath his increasingly bold caresses, her inflamed nipples and the intimate place between her thighs burned for his touch.
Suddenly she felt the hard evidence of his arousal push against her, then all too abruptly he broke the kiss and thrust her away from him.
She stared at him in shocked, panting upheaval. Naked lust flamed in the darkened eyes devouring her face, then he turned sharply from her.
Dragged from her swoon state, hot, flushed and dishevelled, her heart storming, she took moments to orient herself as rude reality flooded in and doused her fever. At least they were alone, she noticed with some relief.
She glanced confusedly at Tom’s rigid back. His wide shoulders were set and tense, the hands at his sides balled into fists. Clearly he’d been as affected as she was. Tom Russell. Tom Russell and her.
Tom half turned and flicked her a glance that barely touched her. His grey eyes were forbidding, his face harsh and shuttered. When he spoke, there was nothing romantic about his tone.
‘In case you’ve forgotten, today I am supposed to be honouring my dead father’s memory.’ Though his deep voice was quiet, its clipped tone cut her like a blade. ‘I know how low your opinion of him was, but do you really think this is the day to be taking some slutty advantage of this situation? Have you any scruples?’
When the words sank through she gasped, ‘Oh, that’s—that is just—!’ Her incoherent hands were fluttering at the injustice, her breasts rising and falling with indignation. ‘Look, I didn’t—it was you. I didn’t want you to kiss me.’
