by Lucy Gordon;Sarah Morgan;Robyn Donald;Lucy Monroe;Lee Wilkinson;Kate Walker
Although they were a very happy couple, Narelle and Markus were fiercely competitive; lately, some inspired marketing had boosted Narelle’s fashion salon to new heights.
‘I see,’ Hope said. ‘And if she wins?’
‘Paris for the collections,’ he said dismally. Then he’d leaned forward and persevered, ‘Hope, if you wear the necklace I know we can sell it. Someone’ll want it.’
It seemed that he’d been right. Fastened into an outrageously sexy dress created by an avant garde couturier in Sydney, her hair done as a favour by the top hairdresser on the Sunshine Coast, her face made up by the local expert, Hope had already given three people the name of Markus’s shop, and with as much grace as she could muster had dealt with a variety of men who’d ogled her without any attempt at subtlety.
Not, she thought bitterly, that she looked at all subtle; the flimsy silver wire that was supposed to hold the dress together—and on—wasn’t up to the job. The superb Italian sandals with their elegant, ridiculous heels were as provocative as footwear could be. And the necklace shouted its presence. She should charge Markus danger and inconvenience money.
If she managed to sell the wretched thing she was going to earn every cent of the commission.
And here came another middle-aged inconvenience, leering at her with the sort of smile that proclaimed his thoughts as clearly as a poster.
‘Well, well, well, you’re a pretty little parcel,’ he said thickly. He’d drunk just enough to slip the reins on his control.
Keeping her voice cool, Hope stepped back. ‘What a novel compliment.’
A female voice from behind him called him. He hesitated, then gave Hope another ogling smile before turning. A thin blonde woman, exquisitely dressed, surveyed Hope with scornfully raised eyebrows before grasping his arm with the speed of long practice; talking quickly, she inserted both of them into a group a few paces away.
As well as danger and inconvenience money, Hope decided vengefully, she’d charge Markus disdain money. He’d end up without any profit at all.
‘You’re supposed to protect me,’ she muttered at the security guard.
‘Lady, I’m here to make sure no one snatches the jewels, and he didn’t have his hands anywhere near your neck,’ he said, grinning. ‘Anyway, you’re more than capable of looking after yourself.’
She gave him a haughty glare and turned, only to find herself staring up into Keir’s harshly cut features. The impact of those arctic eyes snatched her breath away and sent her heart into a frenzy.
Not that he was looking at her. No, he was drilling the security guard with a narrowed, intent stare while he said pleasantly, ‘Introduce your friend, Hope.’
The bodyguard blurted, ‘I’m no friend of hers, mate. I’m here to make sure no one takes off with the jewellery.’ He pronounced it ‘joolery’. ‘Or the dress,’ he added. ‘That’s not hers either.’
Hope could have killed him, especially when Keir made a leisurely inspection of the dress, lingering on the expanses of skin it revealed. Heat flickered up from her breasts, setting fire to her throat and face, turning inward to melt her bones, but she faced him with lifted chin and a taunting little smile.
Keir said thoughtfully, ‘I have no intention of removing either.’
The guard eyed him with caution, but felt honour-bound to point out, ‘You’d say that anyway.’
Hope repressed a gulp of laughter.
Markus Bravo came striding up. ‘Everything all right?’ he asked, drawing himself up to his full five foot seven.
‘Yes.’ Keir spoke indolently, not trying to hide the warning note beneath the word.
Embarrassed, Hope saw the moment her boss realised who he was speaking to; strutting wariness was replaced by an eager cupidity that made her feel ill. Did Keir’s bank account mean that he dealt with this sort of servility every day?
Serves him right, she thought stoutly.
‘Enjoying yourself, Mr Carmichael?’ her boss asked, beaming as he tried to urge Hope forward. ‘Have you met my assistant Hope Sanderson, a New Zealander like yourself?’
‘Hope and I have known each other for years,’ Keir said, a humourless smile just touching his mouth at Markus’s astonished reaction to that bit of information.
‘A very long time ago,’ Hope said in her most wooden tone.
Nothing could shake Keir’s aloof, cynical self-sufficiency. The security guard—in lurk mode a few steps away—was doing his best not to be impressed. Balked by Hope’s stubborn refusal to move closer to Keir, Markus was now trying to edge her beneath the chandelier, so that the lights could pick up the diamonds around her throat, his reproachful glare indicating that any assistant of his who knew a billionaire should have been steering said billionaire towards the shop instead of hiding the information.
As exposed as the fairy on a Christmas tree, Hope allowed herself to be positioned beneath the shimmering crystals. That was, after all, why she was there.
‘So you know each other!’ Markus almost simpered. ‘Well, New Zealand’s a tiny country—I suppose everyone knows everyone else.’ Summoning what he probably thought was another benign smile, he went on with a transparent lack of truth, ‘Oh, the Princess has just waved at me! I must go—wonderful to meet you, Mr Carmichael. I do hope you enjoy your stay in our lovely little town.’ Still beaming, he abandoned them for a woman with improbable hair the same colour as her pink dress.
Black brows met for a moment above Keir’s cool eyes. ‘The Princess?’ he asked.
‘I think she used to be the fourth wife of a minor member of some exiled Balkan royal family,’ Hope explained. ‘When the fifth wife took her place she couldn’t be persuaded to give up the title.’
You couldn’t call his look contemptuous; it was more the sardonic understanding of a man who expects nothing from anyone. For some strange reason it both exasperated Hope and made her profoundly sorry for him.
Obscurely compelled to defend the woman, Hope said, ‘It’s an innocent delusion.’
Keir’s lashes drooped. ‘Delusions are never innocent.’
Although the bodyguard had melted into the crowd as inconspicuously as someone with a neck wider than his head could, he wasn’t too far away. Coward, Hope thought, but didn’t blame him. Keir Carmichael was more than intimidating. Tension pulled her nerves, tightened her muscles until her spine stiffened.
‘Hello there,’ a male voice said loudly from behind. Groping hands ran across her shoulder and a blast of alcoholscented breath met her nostrils as the voice asked, ‘How much are you charging for this gorgeous thing, then?’
In a voice soft and menacing as the hiss of lightning across a thunder-dark sky, Keir ordered, ‘Get your hands off her.’
Chapter Three
THE intruder jerked away, and Hope was left standing alone in a cold, echoing cone of emptiness until Keir’s lean, elegant hand closed with shocking power around her arm.
She was appalled at the comfort she gained from his hard warmth and primal strength. But infinitely more dangerous was her violent physical reaction—like being enveloped in a firestorm of mindless sensation where nothing counted except her body’s fierce response to his heat and sexual potency.
Above the string quartet and the babble of conversation that hadn’t really died she heard the other man’s voice, startled and a little truculent.
‘It’s all right, mate, I didn’t mean the lady any harm. My old friend Markus told me the necklace was for sale, and I thought I’d take a look at it.’ He spoke with a hybrid Australian-American accent.
The film star, Harry Forsayth? Hope drew in a deep breath, but before she could answer Keir said in an even voice, ‘You can look.’ His expression finished the warning—But don’t touch.
‘Yeah, OK, no problems.’ The other man sounded disconcerted.
And no wonder. Although Keir hadn’t raised his voice, it was charged with a taut warning. The bodyguard had appeared just behind the film star, and people were beginning to turn
and stare.
Hope tore herself away from the painful pleasure of Keir’s support and said, ‘I’m sorry, it was just that you startled me.’
‘Hey, wouldn’t want to do that. I’m the one who’s sorry.’ Relief coloured the film star’s voice and he deliberately exaggerated the last word.
Harry Forsayth was more handsome than any man had a right to be, yet beside Keir he dwindled into a dim imitation. Once certain of Hope’s attention, he dropped his eyelid in a lazy wink, clearly expecting a dazzled response.
Unstirred, she said in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘That’s all right.’
‘Perhaps I’ll come and see Markus at the shop,’ Harry Forsayth said, frowning slightly as his eyes left her face and travelled to that of the man beside her. He gave Keir a man-to-man nod. ‘No offence, mate, I didn’t know she was taken.’
The smile vanished from Hope’s face. Outraged, she noticed the bodyguard’s respectful look when Keir replied with hard assurance, ‘In future it might be a good idea to find out first.’
A dinner-jacketed man—a professional minder judging by his ready-for-anything expression—shouldered his way through the crowd.
Harry looked at him, then stuck out his hand to Keir. ‘Been nice meeting you,’ he said. After they’d shaken he looked across at Hope and subjected her to a slow, significant, completely unimportant smile. ‘Nice meeting you,’ he repeated, and left them.
Aware of the covert glances, the hum of speculative conversation, Hope struggled to regain her composure with all the grace of a warrior scrambling into an ill-fitting suit of armour.
‘I gather this is your boss’s idea of a good marketing ploy,’ Keir observed in a tone cold enough to sink the Titanic without need of an iceberg.
Hope shrugged, remembering too late her suicidal dress. Grimly clutching the wandering material against her breasts in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner, she said, ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.’
‘Possibly.’ Wintry eyes slid with incandescent effect over her exposed skin. ‘However, he chose the wrong clothes. No one is looking at that necklace; they’re too busy wondering if you’re for sale. And with good reason—that thing reveals every asset you have.’
His voice didn’t alter, but his contempt cut as sharply as if he’d shouted it at her.
Grateful for the layers of cosmetics so skilfully applied, Hope took a deep breath, forcing her anger into studied formality. Eyes glittering, she tried to sting in her turn. ‘Thanks for the compliment, although I like to believe that I have more than physical assets. And I’m not—and never have been—for sale.’
A muscle flicked in Keir’s strong jawline; tanned skin tightened across high, arrogant cheekbones, and fierce control thinned his mouth. ‘Then I’m surprised you agreed to make such an exhibition of yourself,’ he said with silky, damning precision.
Colour flared through her skin. After a slashing, furious glare she turned away.
His hand curved around the fragile bones of her shoulder, stopping her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘That was uncalled for.’
When Hope pulled away he released her, leaving the unseen imprint of his fingers burning into her flesh. ‘I don’t plan to dignify it with an answer,’ she returned sweetly.
His eyes acknowledged the hit. ‘Your eyes still shoot sparks when you’re angry,’ he murmured.
Controlling a flagrant urge to slap his amused face, she relaxed her tense fingers and said with syrupy enthusiasm, ‘Did you know that eyes don’t change, either in colour or expression? It’s the movement of the little muscles in our faces that make them appear to. So although mine may look as though they spit sparks, it’s just an illusion.’
She surprised a laugh out of him. ‘Like so much else,’ he said. His expression changed as his pale gaze came to rest with disturbing intensity on her mouth. For a moment he looked predatory, pagan. ‘What about your mouth, Hope? Do tiny muscles make it soften and ripen when I look at it? Or is it telling me that you’re wanting me to kiss you as much as I want to kiss you?’
‘No!’ she exclaimed, folding her lips into a straight line that banished any softness.
A missed opportunity, she realised instantly. She should have flirted with him then, fluttered her lashes at him, made it plain that she wanted him. Trying to salvage something, she said, ‘And you have too much control to…’
The words faded into nothingness when he touched her bottom lip with his thumb, running it lightly, tantalisingly along the margin between mouth and skin.
Hope’s heart threatened to crash through her ribs. Mutely she stared into the silvery depths of his eyes and saw hunger there, a lick of cold fire that burned into her heart and her body.
Fortunately a waitress, blonde hair bouncing around her shoulders, offered a tray of champagne. ‘A drink, madam?’ she asked, watching Keir’s hand drop to his side. Her swift glance at Hope said, You lucky thing!
Hope accepted a glass, hiding behind its fragile protection while the waitress turned to Keir. Hope watched with a connoisseur’s eye as the woman was treated to his smile. Flushing, she croaked, ‘A glass of champagne, sir?’
What would it be like to know you had that effect on most people you met? No wonder Keir’s confidence was bone-deep.
‘No, thank you,’ he said, and waited until the waitress had wobbled away before continuing, ‘Your touching faith in my control is baseless; beauty is the most powerful weapon in the whole armoury between the sexes, and I’m far from immune to it. You were dangerously lovely when I first knew you; you’re even more so now that you’ve grown up, golden and rich and exotic, a peach for plucking.’
The sensation scorching through every cell in her body was fed by his tone, by the twist of his chiselled mouth and the way he looked at her; for an exhilarating, terrifying second Hope read naked desire in his face.
She drew in a sharp breath, only to make another wild grab at the wretched dress as it began to slither downwards again. Keir’s lashes drooped.
Tartly Hope said, ‘You make me sound like fruit past its use-by date.’
His mouth twitched. ‘You don’t need to manufacture defences, Hope. I’m not pressuring you.’
Silence—taut, echoing—stretched between them. Lifting her head, she asked thinly, ‘Why did you come to Noosa?’
‘To see you, of course.’
He was a very good liar. Thin-lipped, Hope dragged her gaze away and caught Markus staring at her, his brows meeting above his splendid nose.
She said tersely, ‘A likely story. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to mingle. Perhaps you should, too. There must be plenty of people here who’d love to talk to you. You should take what profit you can from the evening.’
Keir’s mouth compressed; he said in a voice that came too close to being bored, ‘Unfortunately I have another appointment.’ Above a quick, ruthless smile, thick lashes screened his eyes. ‘I’ll leave you to continue selling. Goodnight.’
She clamped her teeth together as he turned and padded away with the swift, lithe grace she’d never forgotten. Hope turned to the security guard, who’d reappeared like a determined beetle.
He said aggrievedly, ‘There’s no need to glower at me like that. It’s not my fault if you’ve had a fight with your boyfriend.’
‘He’s not my boyfriend.’
‘Looked like it from where I was,’ he muttered.
Keir’s departure left her wrung out yet elated, like a swordsman who’d fought a worthy opponent and lost. In the barren years since that volatile excitement had last ripped through her life, she’d tried desperately to forget the spell Keir cast when he smiled at her, when he touched her, when his voice deepened on her name.
Perhaps she was addicted to dominant men. Perhaps she was co-dependent, or whatever the latest term was. Perhaps her childhood had imprinted her with an unhealthy need…
No, she’d met plenty of other arrogant men—the world was full of them—and they’d all left her completely c
old. Only Keir had such a devastating effect on her.
Well, she was going to deal with that.
What ‘other appointment’ did Keir have?
After another hour, during which Hope, the jewels and the dress paraded the room, Markus finally decided to call an end to the farce. Thankfully, she went back to the shop with him and the bodyguard, took off the diamonds, shed the dress in the workaday restroom and resumed her own clothes, a T-shirt and trousers in tawny cotton.
‘Do you want a lift home?’ Markus asked her as he locked the shop—already, she could see, anticipating the pleasure of telling his wife that Harry Forsayth was probably going to buy the necklace.
‘No, thanks. It’s only a couple of kilometres, and I could do with some fresh air.’
He nodded. ‘See you tomorrow—oh, it’s your day off, isn’t it? Enjoy it, then.’
His car purred away, closely followed by the bodyguard’s, and Hope began to walk along the elegant, leafy street that backed Noosa’s famous Main Beach.
Hastings Street hummed day and night; restaurants and bars and cafés buzzed with conversation, and people strolled the well-lit pavement eyeing the clothes in the expensive boutiques, enjoying the simple pleasure of being there. Lights shone in the windows of hotels and apartments, and the sound of laughter almost covered the dry rustle of windtossed palm fronds.
Hope sniffed at the freshness of greenery and salt air, enjoying it after the mingled scents of expensive perfumes and aftershaves, of cosmetics and alcohol that had marked the reception.
A man coming in the opposite direction smiled at her; Hope nodded back, but kept her expression serious and her feet moving.
Nevertheless he stopped as he said, ‘Great evening, isn’t it?’
‘Lovely,’ she replied, and walked briskly by.
After a few unfortunate experiences she’d learned to surround herself with invisible barriers; even against the men she knew wanted more than the casual friendliness which was all she seemed able to give them. Chloe’s brother Stewart had been a mistake; she’d liked him so much, only to hurt him when she hadn’t been able to respond to his caresses.
