by Jan Colley
She raised an interested brow. “Left to your own devices?”
He shrugged. “My parents were hardly ever there. We had live-in nannies or caregivers. Dad traveled a lot, setting up the bank in the major centers. Mum was doing the same, building her chain of dancing clubs. We saw nothing of them through the week and even on weekends, after rugby or whatever, we’d be dragged around their respective empires to amuse ourselves while they worked.”
Jasmine had no idea his home life was like that. She knew Randall, his father, quite well and liked him, for all that he roared like a bear when anything went wrong.
Adam must have seen the concern in her face. “Don’t get me wrong, we had a good life. We wanted for nothing and we pretty much knew our parents loved us. We just didn’t share things as a family.”
Jasmine knew all about that. Being an only child—especially a female—meant her father tended to overlook her existence, although once Gill came along, she had no complaints.
Adam looked around the tavern and pointed out two tables with children in attendance. “Parenting has changed a lot since then. I’m sure our generation—or the next—will do much better.”
And he’ll probably never know, she thought sadly, gazing at him. Not if he didn’t intend on marrying for the next decade.
Adam scratched his head, looking perplexed. “I wonder if Nick decided to settle down and have a family because of the adoption thing.”
It was only a month ago that Nick had discovered he had been “adopted” by his parents when they believed they could not have children of their own. Adam had later come along to disprove the diagnosis.
“Are you so against marriage you can’t believe that other people actually want to do it?” Jasmine countered. “To share their lives with one special person and want to have children with that person?”
When he shot an interested, considering look at her, she really wished she hadn’t started this.
“I’m not against marriage and kids at all,” he said slowly. “But I’m going to make a hell of a lot better job of it than my folks. I won’t even consider it until I’m financially secure enough not to have to work all the time. My family will come first.”
Jasmine moistened suddenly dry lips. Since this was probably the end of the line for them anyway, she may as well ask. “And ten years is the benchmark?”
“I’m going global. Even if that only means say, five more countries after England, it’s still a year or two scoping each one out, setting up, tracking growth. There is no way I’d consider marriage while all that’s going on.”
Jasmine had her answer and told herself it was no more than she’d expected.
Nine
J asmine stared out at the dull shade of gray as they landed, remembering the gorgeous sunny day they had woken to in Vienna a few hours earlier. She tried to be happy, knowing this magical weekend was etched on her heart forever.
Adam had sent for a car and as the driver loaded the bags and they settled in the back, his cell phone rang. “Holiday over.” He sighed. “Welcome home.”
His expression lightened considerably a minute later when his business partner told him Stewart Cooper wanted to see him at his house at four o’clock.
“He wouldn’t want to see you unless his advisors had checked you out and he was interested,” Jasmine enthused.
Adam leaned forward and conversed with the driver. “I’ll drop you at my house.” He handed her a key. “I have a good feeling about this, and I want you there to celebrate.”
The car dropped her at his town house. “I’ll keep my fingers firmly crossed for you,” she told him as they kissed goodbye.
She let herself in and set her bag on the floor. Now she was alone, she indulged a girlish sort of high, waltzing around his lounge, reliving the wonderful memories of Vienna. The hotel. The ball. The music.
Adam.
She hoped his meeting went well and suspected he didn’t need her prayers. He would succeed in his endeavors, she had no doubt. He was so determined with all his goals mapped out and she knew he would reach every single one, even if just to rub his brother’s nose in it.
The music in her mind faded away and her steps slowed. He still had all his boxes to tick and no time for love. Could she handle this as a temporary relationship, feeling the way she did about him?
She wandered around the living room of his stylish three-bedroom town house in West Greenwich. She hadn’t expected the city playboy to have a garden and backyard. Then again, he was a Kiwi and if he was anything like the New Zealanders she knew, he’d have spent most of his childhood outdoors. Most Kiwi men were sports mad. Sure enough, when she peered down the length of his neatly cut lawn, she spied a set of cricket wickets jammed in the ground.
A city playboy. Hadn’t she been here before with Vincent? Light years apart in character but the lesson had been drummed into her. One woman was not enough.
She checked out his fridge. Adam obviously wasn’t a cook; it was a desert in there, although there was an open bottle of New Zealand chardonnay. Why not? She found a glass and poured, her organized mind listing the pros and cons of sleeping with Adam Thorne.
Sex. Wow. Double wow.
His generosity, vis-à-vis Vienna. The fun they had, a commodity sorely lacking in her life. He knew pretty much all of the bad stuff now, the sticky stuff that she never talked about to anyone. He was a great listener. Quick to make her feel special and admired. Pretty good dancer—and sexy with it. He would be returning to his home country in the not too distant future. And she liked his family.
She only had so many fingers, so turned her mind to the cons, but was interrupted by her phone.
It was Gill and she sounded stressed. “No, no, he’s fine,” she answered Jasmine’s worried inquiry after Nigel. “Well, not fine. Agitated. He wants to speak with you.”
Jasmine heaved a sigh of relief.
“I’m sorry, love, I’ve put my foot in it,” Gill continued in a low voice.
Apparently Stewart had called the estate, looking for her. In one of those quirks of fate, because he hardly ever answered the phone, Sir Nigel had today and learned that she’d gone to see her uncle. To him, it was a betrayal. To calm him down, Gill told him the purpose of Jane’s visit wasn’t to reunite the family or to go behind his back. It was about Adam’s business. “Now he’s worried that if you marry Adam, and Stewart goes into business with him, he will somehow manipulate Adam into handing over the estate to him one day.”
Jasmine pressed her fingers to her temple. Her plan to please her father before he passed away had backfired. Why had she lied? She sat down on the sofa and waited tensely for Gill to put her father on the phone.
A couple of hours later, she sat in the same chair. The house was in darkness and it was cool enough to make her shiver. She got stiffly to her feet, wrestling with remorse, longing, regrets.
“I’m dying,” her father had reminded her needlessly, several times. “It won’t be long now, less than a year.”
That “bastard”—his brother, Stewart—had taken his wife. He’d ruined all their lives. He’d get his hands on the estate via Adam and once he did, she and Gill would be tossed out like yesterday’s rubbish. “Beware his tentacles,” her father warned, when Jasmine murmured she was sure her uncle wouldn’t do that. “He wraps them around lovingly then he squeezes and never lets go. Look at your mother.”
Jasmine promised her father she wouldn’t contact her uncle again. At least, she thought, until after he’d passed away.
He then started on Adam’s womanizing ways, alluding to what he called “frequent” snippets in the papers about his conquests. He’d obviously been talking to Ian. “He’ll humiliate you just like Vincent did.”
Yes, she thought. He would. He was dangerous because of her escalating feelings for him. She’d already told him more about her life than she’d ever told anyone. She’d also given him more of her body than anyone else and had a feeling she was about to wrap up her heart
and hand it to him in a beribboned box.
Her father had finished by declaring that cancer or not, he would burn the estate to the ground before he’d let his brother get his hands on it.
Jasmine’s misery and guilt went bone-deep. She should have told her father the truth about the sham engagement. She’d so wanted him to be proud of her for once. But something stopped her, some stupid naïve little part of her held on to the hope that Adam would realize he loved her, too.
Two hours sitting in the dark, mulling it all over had clarified things. Who was she kidding? Her father was right, she would get hurt. Adam Thorne was not permanent. She wasn’t the one to turn his head, make him reevaluate his life. He loved his life as it was, the challenge of business, the fun, the competition. He would smash her heart into little pieces, and after the battering it had taken in her life, she didn’t think she could take any more.
Jasmine drained her glass and went to the writing desk in the corner of his living room. She switched the lamp on and found some writing paper. She would leave a note; it wasn’t as if he’d care. And then she’d go home and somehow find the courage to tell her father the truth about the fake engagement.
Adam tucked the bottle and his briefcase under his arm and put his key in the lock just as the door opened from the inside. Jasmine stood on the other side, her overcoat buttoned, a mustard-colored scarf coiled around her neck, one glove on. Her eyes were wide and surprised.
“Sorry I’m late, it went on longer than I expected, but—” he raised the bottle “—I’m hoping that champagne will get me off the hook.”
She lagged behind, saying nothing as he moved into the kitchen. Maybe she was just going out to get something to eat. Adam was tired but exhilarated and he couldn’t think of anyone he would rather celebrate with. “It’s freezing in here. Aren’t you going to ask me how it went?”
“How did it go?” she asked dutifully from halfway across the room.
“It’s a deal!” he declared, setting the bottle down on the bench.
Jasmine did smile, eventually, but it didn’t exactly light up the sky. “He’s with you then? That’s wonderful, Adam.”
He frowned. “That’s wonderful, Adam?” She wasn’t exactly jumping for joy. “I think we can do better than that, can’t we?” he chided, taking off his coat and tossing it over a bar stool. “You were the one who set things in motion, weren’t you?” Her uncle had been amiable but had gotten straight down to business and they didn’t discuss Jasmine. “Champagne?”
He noticed a piece of paper folded in half lying on the bench, but was distracted by the obvious effort Jasmine was making to widen her smile.
Something was off. He frowned down at the piece of paper. “What’s this?” he asked, turning to scoop two flutes from the cocktail shelf behind him. By the time he’d turned back, she’d sidled around to his side of the bench, her eyes on the paper.
Adam was closer. He set the two flutes and the bottle on top of the paper, then unhurriedly went about opening and pouring, wondering about the troubled expression on her face. He’d expected more excitement from her. Surely she knew how much having Stewart Cooper on board meant to him.
Keeping his eyes on her face, he handed her a glass and saluted her with his. “To the launch of Thorne-Hadlow Investments in the very near future,” he announced.
Jasmine raised her glass and touched it to his.
“First thing tomorrow, I’m going to start organizing the launch party. This show is on the road!”
Her eyes slid off his. Something was very definitely wrong. She hadn’t removed her coat. “Where were you off to just now?”
She swallowed. “I was—I have to get home.”
He thought of her father, his failing health. “Home the estate or home New Zealand?”
“Pembleton,” she replied listlessly. “My father found out I went to see Stewart. He is furious with me.”
Adam was instantly concerned. “I’m sorry. I’ll come with you, tell him it was all my fault.”
Jasmine gave a bleak smile. “He won’t listen, I’m afraid. He thinks if you go into business with Stewart, he’ll use you to get his hands on Pembleton after Father passes away.”
Now he was confused. “How would I do that?” He was obviously missing the big picture.
She studied the bubbles in her untouched glass. “After we’re married…”
Concerned, confused and now confounded. “After we’re married…?”
She didn’t seriously harbor hopes that this engagement would morph into a real one any time soon, did she? Adam thought she was fantastic. He’d enjoyed their weekend as much as she had and was already planning another, but marriage?
Her lips tightened. “That’s why I’m going. I have to put his mind at rest, come clean about the engagement.”
He relaxed a little. “You had me worried there for a moment.” He tugged on her scarf. “You can do that tomorrow.”
This was supposed to be a celebration and Adam had spent the last hour since leaving the meeting thinking of just how he wanted to celebrate. He knew one thing, he couldn’t get enough of this woman. “Take off your coat,” he ordered, “have some bubbles and let’s celebrate.” He leaned toward her and nuzzled at the side of her mouth.
Jasmine huffed out a breath and turned her head away. “No, I—Don’t, Adam.”
He was barely listening, intent on tasting her lips again. She smelled amazing, looked amazing. Being close to her put more bubbles in his blood than the very best French champagne. “I bet I could persuade you…”
Jasmine stepped back like a scalded cat, raising her palms at chest height between them. “No!”
The sharpness of her voice surprised both of them. Adam realized this went deeper than guilt about lying to her father.
He put his own glass down and noticed the piece of paper again, still under the bottle. “What’s this?” he asked, tapping it with his index finger.
Jasmine inhaled and held out her hand. “May I have it, please?”
Holding her gaze, he lifted the bottle and picked up the single sheet of paper. “Why?”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re here now.” She made a half-hearted grab for the paper but he moved it out of her reach.
“Let’s see…what sweet nothings…?” He opened the paper, an ominous feeling darkening his mood, and cleared his throat. “‘Adam,’” he read aloud, “‘Thank you for spending Christmas with me and for an unforgettable weekend. I loved every moment. No doubt I will see you in New Zealand from time to time.’” He sent a scathing look to her pink face. “‘Best, Jasmine.’”
Best? That was low. They’d spent the last two days being as intimate as two people could be, and he only warranted a “Best”?
She said nothing, her face a picture of guilt.
“Dumped by note,” he murmured, his quiet tone belying the anger starting to sizzle in his blood. “That’s classy.”
The expensive wine left a vinegary aftertaste. His satisfaction in landing the biggest defining achievement of his career ebbed away.
“I’m sorry,” Jasmine said quietly. “I had no idea what time you’d be back.”
“So you thought you’d just sneak away like a common thief.”
Being dumped was a novel experience for Adam. It stung, he decided. He didn’t like it. He thought he’d done everything to ensure she had a good time and this is how she repaid him. Worse, he was being dumped on what should have been one of the most satisfying nights of his life. “You’re really something, you know that?”
“You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”
Adam’s head went up and he glared at her. Maybe he deserved that at the start, the old “you owe me” flung back in his face. But what about Vienna? Not that he begrudged a single penny, but he’d paid handsomely for his demand. Her lack of appreciation angered him.
He inclined his head stiffly, his eyes sweeping her body. “On all fronts, yes.” He’d never had better. The sex was off-the
-planet sublime.
Jasmine sighed heavily. “Well, they were your words. You said you’d take what you wanted, and you did and it was—” her voice hitched and her eyes were strangely brilliant but Adam was wound too tight to care “—wonderful,” she continued. “Really wonderful.”
“I aim to please,” he bit out while at the same time, images of how she’d looked at the ball, in the gown he’d bought her, pummeled him. Especially the laughter and excitement and magic in her eyes.
Those eyes watched him now as if waiting for something. Did she think he was going to make her feel better about giving him the heave-ho, offer some platitude or other like, Hey, don’t worry about it, it was only sex, right?
She looked away and began to pull her gloves back on. “Adam, I hope we—you—”
“Can still be friends?” he asked with a lightness he didn’t feel. He raised his glass and tossed the contents back in one. “Sure, baby.”
His tone, the careless response to her question, the unintended sharp report of the base of the flute banging down on the bench between them, made her flinch. What did he care? It was a relief, really. Now that New Year was over, his focus needed to be on the business.
A good five seconds passed before she spoke again. “Please don’t tell Nick—everything.”
Her words slashed at his pride. So that was her primary concern, after her father. She didn’t want Nick to know his chaste personal assistant had gotten down and dirty with his disreputable brother. As if he’d want Nick, of all people, to know he’d been tossed aside by her. His brother had warned him repeatedly not to mess about with her feelings.
Who cared? He was off the hook. “Consider your debt paid in full.”
So much for celebrations. Adam topped his glass up as she closed the door behind her.
Ten
A dam, his partner, John, and their new receptionist sat in his corner office on the prestigious Docklands site. They were open for business but, far from being excited, Adam stifled a yawn. He’d been working twenty-hour days to get to this point, as well as organizing the launch party next week, unpacking here at the new offices, hiring staff and fielding calls.
