Beaumont Brides Collection (Wild Justice, Wild Lady, Wild Fire)

by Liz Fielding

  ‘Melanie has no choice in the matter.’

  Who would want one?

  Her wits seemed to be wandering and she hauled them firmly back into line.

  Melanie Brett might have the manners of a well behaved schoolgirl but she was clearly a full blown woman if she could keep a man like Luke Devlin in thrall.

  ‘In that case I’m sure she’d prefer to look at the houses herself.’

  ‘That was the plan, but on consideration Mel is hopelessly romantic. She would yearn for an English cottage with thatch and roses around the door -’

  ‘And you are not romantic?’

  ‘Like you, Miss Beaumont, my taste runs more on the lines of practicality. And efficient heating,’ he added, throwing another disparaging glance about her office. ‘Presenting Melanie with a fait accompli will avoid any possibility of the sulks.’

  She dared to sulk?

  ‘But surely she should have some...’ Her voice petered out. It was obvious that Melanie’s taste, good, bad or indifferent did not interest him. Their relationship was undoubtedly on an altogether earthier plane.

  ‘Besides,’ he continued, as if she had not interrupted. ‘Thanks to you, Melanie is not available. She’s having a working lunch with Andy, which she will doubtless enjoy a very great deal more than an afternoon looking at houses, none of which are likely to live up to her expectations.’ He didn’t appear to be in the least concerned about that. ‘And being “the practical one”, you’ll make an excellent substitute.’

  ‘I’m afraid on this occasion you’ll have to excuse me, Mr Devlin.’ Fizz indicated her sandwich. ‘As you can see, I too, am having a working lunch.’

  ‘That’s not lunch,’ he said, regarding her sandwich with distaste. ‘And it has not escaped my notice, Miss Beaumont, that you are shivering. I think you should have something hot and nourishing to sustain you in this gulag of an office. I’ve booked a table at the Angel and as your reward for help in navigating me around Broomhill and offering your no doubt pithy views on the houses available, you are most welcome to join me.’

  It was true. She was shivering, although not with the cold, but he mustn’t know that. Fizz forced a little smile to her lips.

  ‘I’ve been threatening to buy some thermal underwear,’ she began, ‘perhaps it’s time I did.’ His finger flew to her lips, cool against her skin, playing havoc with her self-possession, raising her pulse so that she could feel it ticking at her throat, inducing the low, shaming ache...

  Was there such a thing as lust at first sight? She certainly didn’t find Luke Devlin in the least bit loveable.

  Sure now of her undivided attention he smiled. ‘Shall we try lunch before you do anything that drastic?’ The touch of his fingertip against the fullness of her lips somehow made protest seem impossible. But the moment he released her she tried.

  ‘I’m really too busy, Mr Devlin -’

  ‘Luke,’ he said, taking her ancient fleece-lined leather flying jacket from behind the door. He held it out, inviting her to slip her arms into the sleeves. But she had had enough of dancing to his tune like an obliging puppet. She ignored the jacket.

  ‘No, Mr Devlin. I’ll see you on Friday, as we arranged.’

  He arranged, she mentally corrected herself. She hadn’t had anything to do with it. For a moment, he remained quite still, the air between them taut as a tennis net. Then the door burst open.

  ‘Oh, sorry, Fizz. I didn’t know you had someone with you.’ Susie gave Luke Devlin a long, appreciative look, the kind of look that happily married women don’t feel the least need to hide. Immediately sensing an ally Luke Devlin smiled back.

  It was a real smile this time, the whole works, with the little pouches beneath the eyes that couldn’t be faked. Permafrost began melting as far away as Siberia.

  ‘Luke Devlin,’ he said, offering his hand as he introduced himself. ‘I’m trying to persuade Miss Beaumont to spare me a couple of hours of her time. I’ve even offered to throw in lunch, but she says she’s too busy,’ he said, shamelessly encouraging Susie to rat on her employer.

  Susie, her hand still held in his and always a sucker for a smile from a good looking man, duly ratted.

  ‘Nonsense,’ she said, before Fizz could stop her. ‘She could do with a good lunch and an afternoon off. She works too hard.’ She gave Fizz an outrageous wink as she leaned over her desk and put down the file containing the figures that Fizz had been waiting for. ‘Off you go. I can hold the fort here.’

  ‘I’ve an appointment at two-thirty,’ Fizz reminded her, pointedly.

  ‘I am perfectly capable of interviewing a cleaner,’ Susie said, treacherously.

  Devlin held out the coat. ‘Please, Miss Beaumont.’ Humility did not suit him and she was not in the least bit convinced. She knew the “please” was purely to impress Susie. ‘A couple of hours of your time is not much to ask. You know the area and I would value your opinion.’ A moment ago he had been demanding her company. Now, Fizz thought, butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. But she knew when she was beaten.

  ‘Very well, Mr Devlin. But I must be back by four. I’ve promised Melanie afternoon tea.’

  ‘Luke,’ he invited.

  ‘Luke,’ she repeated his name obediently.

  ‘Thank you, Felicity.’

  ‘Oh, grief, don’t call her that,’ Susie warned him as he settled the sheepskin about her shoulders. ‘She hates it. Call her Fizz.’

  ‘Haven’t you got some filing to do, Susie?’ She glanced pointedly at the heap of papers in the filing basket with a layer of dust on them. She didn’t wait for Susie’s pained expression, but opened the door and swept through.

  ‘Do you really prefer to be called Fizz?’ Luke asked as he followed her down the steep flight of stairs that led from her office to the public areas.

  ‘If we’re going to spend the next two hours together Miss Beaumont would be tedious.’

  ‘Why Fizz?’

  Fizz, bang. She wasn’t going to admit to that. ‘My sister couldn’t manage Felicity and it just stuck I suppose. Not without reason.

  ‘I see.’ He didn’t quite buy her explanation she could see and his look was thoughtful as he opened the huge glass door at the entrance for her.

  ‘Fizz!’ The receptionist waved her back, phone in hand. ‘Susie wants you.’

  She hesitated, but it might just be a reprieve. ‘Will you excuse me just a moment?’

  She walked back to the reception desk and took the telephone. ‘What is it, Susie?’

  ‘Look, I don’t really have to do this filing do I?’

  She thought for a moment. ‘No, Susie. On second thoughts filing isn’t nearly punishment enough. I think I’m going to have to fire you instead.’

  Susie chuckled. ‘I knew you fancied him. Have fun looking round other people’s houses. But do be careful in the bedrooms.’

  Fun? She glanced across to where Luke Devlin was waiting. An afternoon in his company was not her idea of fun. Luke Devlin burned bright and strong and in his presence she felt horribly like a moth flying too close to the flame.

  Then, furious at her own weakness Fizz fastened the zip of her flying jacket and tugged it up. What did it matter if she was singed a little, so long as Pavilion Radio was safe.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE day was bright, the very best kind of winter day, with a clear blue sky trailing thin, high, storm-teased clouds. The wind was whipping up white horses as the sea ran up to the beach and the pale sun gave just a hint of the promised warmth of spring.

  The weather had brought out locals, well-wrapped against the wind to promenade the pier and the restaurant appeared to be doing a brisk trade in early lunches.

  It was encouraging, an affirmation that she had made the right decision. Unfortunately success could not come quickly enough to stave off disaster if she refused to accept Luke Devlin’s sponsorship.

  ‘We could eat here,’ Fizz offered, pride pushing her to show him that she was not quite the commercia
l innocent he seemed to think her, to show him that she had made the right decision. Impress him.

  ‘You’d feel safer on home territory?’ He glanced down at her. ‘Why? Are you afraid to be alone with me?’

  Impress him? Who was she kidding? He was treating her like a silly girl six feet out of her depth without a life-belt.

  Afraid? Why wouldn’t she be? Anyone with a well-developed sense of self-preservation would be afraid of Luke Devlin. He was the shark in the water. And when a shark invited you to lunch he only laid one place at the table.

  But his threat wasn’t just to her business. It was on a deeper, more personal level. He had jolted her out of her quiet contentment and stolen her peace of mind. But she didn’t like him speculating about the state of her nerves, so she gave him a look that suggested bemusement.

  ‘I was merely being polite, Mr Devlin. Luke. Since you were looking for Melanie, I assumed it was her you wanted to take out to lunch?’

  ‘I did.’ His jaw tightened ominously. He might be a mind reader par excellence but he didn’t much like the tables being turned, Fizz thought. ‘But my plans didn’t include watching her steal your presenter’s heart.’

  ‘Will she do that?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Quite unwittingly of course.’ His glance flickered to the restaurant, but Melanie and Andy were not visible through windows etched with delicate line drawings of Victorian ladies promenading with their beaus.

  ‘And you don’t mind?’

  ‘Should I? I’m sure Mr Gilbert will survive. But I’ve seen her do it too many times to enjoy the spectacle.’

  With that he turned and strode along the pier. Fizz, quite shocked, remained rooted to the spot. Such a casual attitude bordered on the heartless; or was that bitten down emotion as close as Luke Devlin came to betraying his feelings?

  She shrugged. Maybe he was just so arrogant in his hold over the girl, the power that money had bought him, that he didn’t even consider the possibility of competition.

  Realising that she was not beside him, Luke stopped and walked back to her. She started as he took her hand.

  ‘You should be wearing gloves,’ he said. ‘It’s cold out here.’ She swallowed as he drew her hand into the warm crook of his overcoat, against the bulk of his body so that she was protected from the wind that ruffled his dark hair, looking back to the safety of the restaurant. ‘Don’t worry, Fizz, Andy will survive.’ Of course he would. He’d had years of practise. She wasn’t worried about Andy. ‘And so will you.’

  ‘Me? Why should I be worried?’

  ‘I can’t think.’ And under the sudden heat of his smile, with her hand firmly grasped in his long, warm fingers, Fizz discovered that she couldn’t think either, and quite unexpectedly she smiled back.

  *****

  As they approached the entrance to the pier Luke Devlin slowed. When he left his office his only concern had been to make sure that Melanie was safe. Out in the town, with no one to protect her if a crowd gathered, the situation could so easily get out of hand. He’d seen it happen once in Sydney. He’d left her for a moment and still remembered the fear as he’d had to fight through a mob to get back to her.

  He realised the moment he reached the pier that he had overreacted. Everyone was going about their business in an orderly fashion. There were no hysterical fans, no seething mass of reporters.

  He should have turned around and gone straight back to his office, he had more than enough work to keep him pinned behind his desk until evening. But Fizz Beaumont had taken him by surprise and he didn’t like that.

  Not one bit.

  It suggested he had underestimated her.

  He still wasn’t sure why he had insisted on her help in house hunting. He wasn’t even sure he wanted a house. It had never been part of his plan to stay in Broomhill Bay.

  He had acquired Harries at a ridiculous price, planning to redevelop the site, put up small industrial units where satellite companies could assemble electronic units manufactured cheaply in the Far East.

  Once the dirty work was done he and Melanie would shake the dust of Broomhill off their feet and never return.

  He glanced down at the girl beside him, breathless in her attempts to keep up with his long strides. She looked vital, full of life with her hair blowing about her face and the colour whipped into her face by her wind.

  He had thought, from the photographs he had seen of her, that she was a fragile little thing. But while there was a vulnerability about her, she had strength, too.

  If her secretary hadn’t come in at that moment, taking the ground from beneath her, he doubted if he would have moved her from her office. Not without resorting to some kind of threat. And he didn’t want to threaten her. He wanted her to trust him.

  But she didn’t.

  Which was odd, since he was going to considerable expense to make life easy for her. She turned and looked up at him and something inside him seemed to contract. Abruptly he stopped, looked back at the ocean.

  The oriental domes of the pavilion were sparkling white against the pale winter blue of the sky and the sea was broken by hundreds of tiny wave tops running before the wind. ‘I love the sea in winter,’ he said.

  She stopped looking at him and turned to face the sea. ‘You should try it when there’s a gale blowing,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t you feel vulnerable out there at the end of the pier?’

  She shrugged. ‘The Trust has spent a fortune strengthening the underpinnings, as well as restoring the deck and the pavilion. It’s a constant job to keep it up of course, but we’re safe enough at the moment.’ Her smile was slow, wide, oddly seductive. ‘At least from the weather. Now that Michael has retired to Portugal we’ll need another Trustee. As the chairman of the company that built the pier you do realise that you are almost duty bound to take his place?’

  Even when she was struggling, at her wit’s end, she couldn’t resist the temptation to provoke him. He liked that. Under other circumstances he realised he could like Fizz Beaumont very much indeed. It was an uncomfortable thought.

  But become a Trustee? It was a twist he hadn’t considered. Maybe he should, but he didn’t say so.

  Instead he favoured her with a look so dry that she could have sandpapered the deck with it, just to keep her on her toes, before turning her through the elegant arched entrance and onto the promenade where his car was attracting admiring glances from people arriving at the pier.

  He unlocked the door for her and she slid into the leather-scented interior.

  ‘Well, an Aston Martin. What a treat,’ she said, brightly.

  ‘Is it?’

  The weather, the scenery, his taste in cars. Maybe he should take his cue from her and stick to safe subjects. When she didn’t answer he turned and found himself confronted by a tormenting little smile and for a moment he had the feeling that he was walking on quicksand, that being with Fizz Beaumont was never going to be safe.

  ‘My heap has more rattles than a first born babe,’ she confessed, her smile deepening and he suffered the stomach-lurching sensation associated with taking a hump-back bridge too fast. ‘I don’t imagine this car rattles?’

  For a moment his eyes rested on the elderly E-type Jaguar parked alongside them. Old it might be, but it had been well cared for and was still very beautiful. ‘Your heap was a fine car in its day,’ he said. ‘Unfortunately its day was over twenty years ago.’

  ‘Twenty? That recent? You can be honest with me, Luke, I can take it. Don’t feel obliged to be kind.’

  The smile abruptly left his face. Kind? What did any Beaumont know about kindness?

  ‘I don’t feel obliged to be anything.’ She threw a startled glance in his direction and he cursed inwardly as he turned away to slide the key into the ignition. With an effort he forced his face into a smile before he looked back at her. ‘Certainly not kind to your car. Shall we go?’

  Fizz had almost felt the anger boiling up from somewhere deep inside the man.

  It
had only been for a moment, like the heat from an oven door opening and closing quickly. Now the smile was back in place and try as she might to see beyond the mask, the hard cheek-bones, hawkish flare of his nose, passionate line of his mouth gave her no clue as to his real feelings.

  But she knew she was right to distrust him.

  She would be wise to remember that Luke Devlin wasn’t about to sponsor Pavilion Radio out of the kindness of his heart. If it hadn’t been for the evidence that Melanie Brett was capable of stirring the passion damped down behind eyes dark as wet slate, Fizz would have considered it entirely possible that he didn’t have a heart.

  Or could it be that the girl was just another attractive acquisition for a man wealthy enough to indulge himself with expensive playthings?

  Like the car she was sitting in. Like the wrist watch he wore. Made from tough stainless steel, rather than gold, it would still cost enough to put down a deposit on a small house.

  And quite suddenly, although she could not have explained why, she pitied Melanie.

  She took a deep breath. ‘Right. If we’re going to the Angel for lunch, we should be able to look at some houses on the way. Have you got the details?’

  He took a sheet of paper from his breast pocket and handed it to her. ‘The estate agent gave me this. It lists everything available to rent, although I don’t suppose they’ll all be suitable.’

  ‘No. I don’t suppose they will.’ The list was still warm from his body and for just a moment she wanted to put it to her face to see if his scent had penetrated the paper. Then certain that she was going quite mad she snapped it open. ‘What exactly are you looking for?’

  ‘Something comfortable, easy to run, secluded, with a view of the sea,’ he said, waiting for her to scan it and suggest which direction they should take before pulling out into the traffic.

  ‘The sea view is easy,’ she said. ‘Any property of consequence in Broomhill Bay has a sea view.’ And he wouldn’t be looking for anything else. ‘As for the rest ...’ Fizz found a pen in her bag and proceeded to strike through two-thirds of the houses listed as totally unsuitable for a man of his means and a girl who would certainly require a considerable degree of privacy.