Bundle of Brides

by Kay Thorpe

  A Bundle of Brides

  The Billion-Dollar Bride

  The Disobedient Bride

  The Sheikh’s Captive Bride

  Contents

  The Billion-Dollar Bride

  The Disobedient Bride

  The Sheikh’s Captive Bride

  The Billion-Dollar Bride

  by Kay Thorpe

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  SHE had imagined someone older. Ross Harlow was almost certainly no more than the mid-thirties. The bronzed, hard-boned features were surmounted by thick dark hair crisply styled. Six feet two, she calculated, and well-honed beneath the superbly cut suit.

  Grey eyes swept her from head to toe and back again, revealing little in the process. Gina pulled herself together to extend a hand in formal greeting—aware of a warm trickle down her back as long lean fingers closed briefly about hers.

  ‘How is…my grandfather?’ she asked.

  A muscle contracted along the firm jawline. ‘As well as can be expected, I guess.’ His glance took in the single leather suitcase on the trolley. ‘Is this everything?’

  ‘I wasn’t planning on staying long,’ she said. ‘I might not be here at all if my parents hadn’t urged me to come.’

  ‘Good of them.’

  Green eyes acquired a spark. ‘They’re good people.’

  His shrug was dismissive. ‘I’m sure. I’ve a car waiting.’

  He took the suitcase from the trolley, leaving the latter where it stood in the middle of the arrivals hall as he headed for the exits. Gina had to run to keep up with his lengthy stride. His attitude left a lot to be desired, though she could to a certain extent understand his feelings. She was more of a Harlow than he could ever be.

  The limousine parked in the ‘no waiting’ zone was long and black. A uniformed chauffeur got from the driving seat on their approach, and opened the rear door for her.

  Feeling distinctly queen-like, Gina slid onto soft cream leather, feet sinking into the thick carpeting. Not the type of transport she would have imagined a man as essentially masculine as Ross Harlow might favour, but then who was she to judge? This was a different world. A world way outside her experience.

  The chauffeur took her suitcase from Ross to put it in the boot, leaving him to slide into the rear seat beside her. He pressed some hidden switch, bringing a glass panel sliding smoothly up from between front and rear seats to cut them off from the driver.

  ‘I gather you’re adopted yourself,’ Gina said with some deliberation as they pulled out.

  The dark head inclined. ‘I was fourteen when my mother married Oliver, my sister nine. He gave us both his name.’

  ‘Your natural father didn’t object?’

  ‘My mother was widowed.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You don’t need to be. Oliver’s been a very good husband to her, and an excellent father to Roxanne and me.’

  ‘Better than to his own daughter,’ Gina felt moved to state. She shook her head as he made to speak. ‘I know she’s no longer alive. The letter he sent explained everything. It was his insistence that she gave me up at birth. His wife at the time—my grandmother—died the year after Jenny was killed on the road. He married your mother two years later.’

  Ross regarded her for a moment in silence, his expression curious. ‘You seem remarkably cool about it all.’

  ‘I don’t see any point in crying over something twenty-five years in the past,’ she returned. ‘My parents are wonderful people. I’ve had a very good life with them.’

  ‘Assuming you knew you were adopted before receiving Oliver’s letter, you must have wondered about your real parents.’

  ‘Occasionally,’ she admitted. ‘But never with any intention of looking them up. We moved to England when I was just a few months old, so I’d no memories to disturb me.’ She paused, collecting her thoughts. ‘The letter said nothing about the man who fathered me.’

  Ross lifted his shoulders. ‘It seems Jenny would never say who he was.’ His regard centred on her face beneath its crown of honey-blonde hair, appraising the deep green eyes, small straight nose and soft full mouth. ‘I saw a photograph once. You look very much like her.’

  There was no denying the pang that statement elicited. Gina shook off the momentary heartache. It was too late to go down that road. What was done was done. What she had to deal with was the present.

  ‘Did you know she’d once had a child?’ she asked.

  He shook his head. ‘The first I knew was when Oliver told me he’d contacted you.’

  ‘It must have been a real shock.’

  ‘It was all of that,’ he agreed drily.

  ‘I’m not here to make any claims, if that’s your concern,’ she said. ‘I’m more than satisfied with what I already have.’

  ‘I understand you own a boutique.’

  She turned a deaf ear to suspected disparagement. ‘Part own. Hardly on a par with the Harlow empire, but enough to keep me both occupied and solvent. I stayed in one of your hotels once,’ she added blandly. ‘Very nice.’

  Ross’s lips twitched. ‘We do our best. You’ll be staying at the house, of course.’

  ‘Your mother has no objection to that?’

  ‘None that I’m aware of.’

  ‘Do you live there too?’ she asked after a moment, and saw the faint smile come and go again.

  ‘I have the penthouse suite in our Beverly Hills concession.’

  ‘Some bachelor pad!’

  He gave her a quizzical glance. ‘What makes you think I’m unmarried?’

  ‘We spinsters have a sixth sense about such things.’

  This time the smile held a genuine if fleeting humour. ‘Never met anyone you fancied marrying?’

  ‘I prefer independence too,’ she returned. ‘For now, at any rate.’

  They had left the airport environs and were travelling along a multi-lane freeway, with the city spread out in all directions. Los Angeles. Her birthplace. Gina still found it hard to take in.

  ‘Where are we heading for?’ she asked.

  ‘Mullholland.’ Ross indicated the line of hills ahead. ‘Oliver prefers to live above the smog-line.’

  ‘You always call him by his name?’

  ‘It’s the way he wanted it. From me, at any rate. Roxanne calls him Dad.’

  ‘How did your sister take the news?’

  ‘Badly,’ he said. ‘She’s accustomed to being the baby of the family.’

  Gina did a swift calculation using the figures she’d been given a few minutes ago. Ross had to be thirty-four now, his sister twenty-nine. Some baby!

  ‘Married?’ she hazarded.

  ‘Divorced. A hazard in these parts.’

  ‘The reason you haven’t tried it yourself yet?’

  ‘Maybe a part of it.’ He studied her a moment, an unreadable expression in his eyes. ‘You’re not what I expected.’

  ‘Is that good news,’ she asked, ‘or bad?’

  His grin was unexpected. ‘I’ll take a raincheck.’

  Gina relaxed a little, glad to have the atmosphere lightened. Meeting her grandfather for the first time, knowing he was dying, wasn’t going to be easy, but she’d get through it. All he wanted, he’d said, was to see her before he died—to hear from her own lips that he was forgiven for what he’d done. She could give him that in the circumstance
s, even if it wasn’t entirely true.

  The Harlow residence was reached via a winding canyon road affording panoramic views at every bend. Double iron gates, electrically controlled, gave access to a drive and forecourt backed by a house big enough to house a dozen families. White stone walls glowed in the late-afternoon sunlight, outlined against a sky already deepening in hue. A riot of colour met the eyes in every direction.

  The chauffeur drove through an archway to bring the car to a stop before a bank of garages built into the hillside. A further archway revealed a wide, bow-fronted terrace affording another superb view over the city, marred only by the smog-line smudging the horizon.

  They entered the house via impressive double doors into a vast circular hall floored in marble. A beautifully wrought-iron staircase curved up one wall to an open gallery. The crystal chandelier dropping from a central support high up in the glass-roofed atrium was breathtaking in its size and beauty, the light from above sparking myriad colours.

  If the woman who appeared from one of the rooms leading off the hall was Elinor Harlow, she had to be in her mid-fifties at least, Gina reckoned, but it was a very well-preserved mid-fifties. Her dark hair was immaculate, her face beautifully made-up, her figure hourglass in an off-white gown that shouted designer wear.

  ‘It’s easy to see you’re Jenny’s daughter!’ she exclaimed. She came forward swiftly to take Gina’s hand in hers, her smile warm. ‘This means so much to my husband! He bitterly regrets the way he acted all those years ago. If you can find it in your heart to forgive him…’

  ‘I do,’ Gina assured her. ‘That’s why I’m here.’

  ‘Where is he?’ Ross asked.

  ‘Asleep at the moment.’ A cloud passed across her face. ‘He hasn’t been too good at all today.’

  ‘He’ll rally.’ Ross sounded confident about it. ‘He always does. In the meantime, Gina might like to freshen up.’

  ‘I’ll show you your room,’ Elinor offered. ‘Michael will bring your bags up.’

  ‘One bag,’ Ross put in. ‘Unlike some I could mention, this lady travels light.’

  His mother pulled a face at him. ‘I believe in covering all eventualities, darling. Who can ever tell what might be needed?’

  Gina followed her up the curving staircase, conscious of the grey eyes watching her climb. She was relieved to reach the gallery.

  ‘It’s a beautiful house,’ she commented. ‘And so huge!’

  Elinor laughed. ‘It’s considered on the smaller side by Mullholland standards. You should see the Gregory place further along the road. Now. that is really some size! It’s said Valentino once owned it.’ She opened a door. ‘Here you are. I hope you’ll be comfortable.’

  The bedroom was as large as Gina’s whole flat back home, the bed raised on a carpeted platform in the centre and draped in cream silk to match the window dressings, the furnishings exquisite.

  ‘I’m sure I shall,’ she said, controlling the urge to express further admiration. This was the way these people lived. Nothing unusual to them.

  ‘Dinner isn’t until eight,’ Elinor added, ‘but I can have something brought up to you if you’re hungry.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Gina assured her. ‘I ate on the plane. The first time I’ve travelled first class. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to settle for economy again!’ she added jokingly.

  ‘I doubt if you’ll ever have to,’ the older woman said easily. ‘Come on down when you’re ready. You’ll find us on the top terrace.’

  Gina bit her lip, suspecting that the remark might have been misconstrued. She wanted no financial reward for making this trip. She was here to offer some comfort to a dying man, nothing else.

  The en suite bathroom was a symphony in black and cream, the bath sunken and complete with jacuzzi, the walk-in shower cabinet walled with jets in addition to a vast overhead spray. She came back to the bedroom to find her suitcase laid ready on the stand at the foot of the bed, although she hadn’t heard anyone enter the room.

  The simple black dress she extracted to hang out was adaptable to any of the eventualities Elinor had mentioned. Not designer wear exactly, but capable of holding its own. Not that she had any desire to compete. She wanted no part of this world of theirs. In fact, the sooner she got back to her own world the better.

  Dropped on her right out of the blue, the letter from her grandfather had caused upheaval for both her and her parents. He’d had her traced, he’d said, because he couldn’t bear to go to his grave without making some attempt to right the wrong he had done her. She hadn’t wanted to come, but the nature of the plea had made it impossible to refuse outright.

  It was still only a little gone seven when she made her way downstairs again. With no sign of anyone to ask directions of, she chose one of the doors leading off from the hall, to find herself in what was obviously a formal dining room. The gleaming mahogany table was unset, the heavy silver candlesticks devoid of candles, the whole ambience one of occasional rather than general use.

  ‘Can I help you, ma’am?’ asked a voice at her back, and she turned to see a middle-aged man dressed in a conservative grey suit.

  ‘I’m looking for a way out to the upper terrace,’ she said. ‘I’m…’

  ‘I know who you are, ma’am.’ The tone was courteous, his expression neither friendly nor unfriendly. ‘If you’ll come this way.’

  Gina followed him a little uncertainly. The term of address he had used suggested a member of staff rather than family.

  ‘You are?’ she asked.

  ‘Alex, ma’am,’ he said without turning his head. ‘Mr Harlow senior’s personal aide.’

  He proffered no further information, and she was loath to ask him how her grandfather was. She had the impression that the man no more approved of her presence here than Ross Harlow himself. At least Elinor had extended a welcome.

  The house had been deliciously cool. Stepping out onto the wide span of the terrace was like stepping into a furnace, even this early in the year. She was thankful to see the umbrellas shading the tables and loungers set about the paved surface.

  Ross Harlow was seated alone at one of the former. He was minus his suit jacket, the sleeves of his cream shirt rolled to reveal tanned forearms. His feet were lifted to rest comfortably against a lower rail of one of the other chairs, one hand about to raise a glass to his lips.

  He got up when he saw her, surveying her appearance without comment. ‘How’s the jet lag?’

  ‘So far, not bad,’ Gina acknowledged. ‘Surprising, considering it must be close on three in the morning back home.’

  ‘It’s always best to try adjusting right away to the time,’ he said. ‘What would you like to drink?’

  ‘I’ll have a Kir, please.’

  Ross passed on the request to the man waiting by the wide glass doors through which they’d emerged. Staff demarcation lines didn’t appear to be strictly observed, Gina reflected. She took the seat Ross drew out for her, watching him from beneath her lashes as he regained his own seat. Seen in profile, his jawline was firm, a hint of implacability in its set.

  ‘Are you staying for dinner?’ she asked.

  ‘I am,’ he returned. ‘Mother should have told you we only bother dressing for formal occasions. Not that you don’t look delightful.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, refusing to be embarrassed about it. ‘As my mother would say, when in doubt opt for a compromise. I refrained from putting my hair up.’

  Humour briefly lit the grey eyes again. ‘You certainly inherited the Harlow quickness of tongue. I’ve never known Oliver stuck for an answer either.’

  ‘When do I get to see him?’ she asked.

  ‘In the morning. He doesn’t feel up to it tonight.’

  Brows drawn, it was a moment before she could put the question. ‘How long does he have?’

  The shrug was brief, eyes veiled. ‘A few weeks. Maybe more, maybe less. He’s a resilient character.’ His tone altered a fraction. ‘I hope you’re not plan
ning on hauling him over the coals when you do see him.’

  ‘Of course not.’ She controlled the urge to snap with an effort. ‘I told you before, it’s in the past. I’ll be on a flight home in a couple of days.’

  Ross studied her for a moment or two. ‘A hell of a way to come for a couple of days,’ he remarked at length.

  ‘I don’t see any point in hanging around. As I also told you, I’m not interested in collecting any dues. So far as I’m concerned, you can have it all!’

  His jaw tautened abruptly, mouth forming a harder line. ‘You think that’s all I care about?’

  ‘I think you’ve probably been groomed to consider yourself the natural successor to all this,’ she answered levelly. ‘It would only be human nature to resent any possible contender—especially when they’re dropped on you the way I’ve been.’

  ‘It’s beyond human nature to do what you’re supposedly proposing to do,’ came the clipped retort. ‘You’d have to be an idiot to take that line, and I reckon you’re far from it.’

  Gina gazed back at him with a coolness she was far from feeling. ‘Idiotic or not, it’s the truth.’

  ‘Is this a private fight, or can anyone join in?’ asked Elinor Harlow mildly, coming up unnoticed by either of them. ‘I must say, for two people who only met a few hours ago, you certainly didn’t waste any time getting to grips! Orally, at any rate,’ she added with a glimmer of a smile as her son turned a quelling look on her.

  She had changed her dress for another in lilac, Gina noted. Not exactly evening wear, but certainly no less dressy than her own. Ross was the odd one out, not her.

  Glancing back at him, she caught a derisive gleam in the grey eyes. That he didn’t believe a word she’d said was obvious. Well, he’d learn soon enough. Two days maximum, and she was out of here.

  He got up to pull out a chair for his mother, sitting down again as drinks arrived borne by a woman in her forties.