by Nina Blake
THE PRICE OF SEDUCTION
By Nina Blake
Copyright© Nina Blake 2013
All rights reserved
Chapter one
Chapter two
Chapter three
Chapter four
Chapter five
Chapter six
Chapter seven
Chapter eight
Chapter nine
Chapter ten
Chapter eleven
Chapter twelve
Chapter thirteen
Chapter one
“I’ll come and join you when I’m good and ready.”
Bree Baxter’s mouth fell open at the abruptness of his words.
She’d seen Conrad Savage’s picture in both the social and business pages of Sydney’s newspapers many times but photographs did nothing to capture the disdain she now saw in his eyes.
She forced a smile to her lips. “The photos will only take a few minutes.”
“They’ll have to wait.”
With short hair the colour of coal, skin naturally hued with olive and striking blue eyes rimmed by thick dark lashes, the thirty-four year old head of Eden Enterprises was certainly good looking. What’s more, he knew it.
Bree was certain those eyes had seduced many women but now he was using them as whips and she felt their sting as surely as if he’d struck her.
How could he talk to her so rudely when she’d politely asked him to join them?
“The others are outside by the car,” Bree said. “How am I supposed to explain to them that they’ll have to wait?”
He shot her a sly smile. “You’ll think of something.”
This part of the job should’ve been straightforward. She worked in public relations, had organised photo shoots before and dealt with her share of difficult clients.
But she couldn’t do a thing without his cooperation. They were his friends and colleagues waiting for him. It was his vintage Mercedes he’d donated for auction. And the newspapers wouldn’t be interested in the photos unless he was in them.
Furious, Bree spun around and left, his confident expression imprinted on her mind.
She strode down the entry hall towards the garden. Outside the main doors, the Governor, US Consul and a handful of other officials had gathered with their wives near the Mercedes convertible being auctioned.
The grounds of Worthington House were elegantly landscaped, magnificent in fact, however Bree was certain these people would rather be inside the ground floor staterooms enjoying the party.
The special guests had come for the thousand dollar a head charity dinner and were obliging her with promotional photographs. She could hardly tell them they’d have to wait because Conrad Savage couldn’t be bothered to join them. She’d have to distract them.
Bree spotted Stephanie Douglas at the edge of the crowd. At least there was one person here she could rely on.
“I can’t believe this,” Bree muttered under her breath.
“Is he coming?” Steph asked.
“Apparently not. He’s too busy at the moment.”
“What? The photographer’s waiting. The whole entourage is here.” Everything’s ready to go. You know as well as I do that the paper only wants the shots if he’s in them.”
Steph had a tendency to panic but she always came through with the goods in the end. Bree had known her long before she’d started working at the Sydney Chronicle.
“We’ll wing it,” Bree said. “Let’s get some small group shots first for the social section. Couples standing by the car, smiling. Make sure we get good ones of the French Ambassador and the US Consul.”
After briefing the photographer and distracting the group with the photo shoot, Bree joined Stephanie in a momentary breather as they leaned against one of the main building’s Gothic revival pillars.
“You didn’t get to talk to him, did you?” Steph asked.
Brewed screwed up her nose. “What? You mean about potential investments. Hardly.”
Since she was covering the Indi-Art ball tonight anyway, Steph’s boss had asked her to see if she could get a heads-up on the new mystery buyer of a million acre property in the north west of Australia. As if that sort of information was easy to come by until it was made public.
“I only snagged tickets for tonight because I told my boss I might get some leads on that,” she said.
“Good luck trying to get anything out of Conrad Savage. He’s not being very helpful. I don’t think he’s going to let any trade secrets slip.”
Turning her head towards the main entry, Bree saw the man in question heading their way and breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry though. He stopped in the doorway to continue his conversation with an elderly Aboriginal man.
Stephanie nodded in his direction. “He looks even better in real life than he does in the papers, don’t you think?”
“He’s not much good to me if he won’t join the others for this darned photo. He’s making this much harder than it needs to be.”
Not one to be subtle at the best of times, Steph stared at his broad masculine form in the distance. “Still, you have to admit he’s a hunk.”
“So what? It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Are you still smarting after Trevor?”
Bree didn’t answer right away. “It’s only been a couple of months.”
That wasn’t a lot of time in the scheme of things, not after two years together.
Her friend’s lips curled to a knowing smile. “No, but maybe it’s time you got back on that horse again.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.’ Bree nodded towards Conrad. “Not with him. He’s way too much like Trevor. He’s got the money, the successful business and the looks. I’ve had enough of men like that. I need someone more down to earth.”
“Number one, he’s not Trevor. Number two, from where I’m standing he looks pretty good.”
Bree raised her eyebrows. “It’s a shame you’re taken, then isn’t it?”
“But you’re not. He’s absolutely gorgeous. Come on, you’ve got to agree.”
She didn’t bother trying to deny it when it was so blatantly obvious. He must’ve been six foot two and his physique was striking to say the least. The men were all in black tie yet even in the uniform of the evening he stood out, his shoulders broad, his jacket following the contours of his muscular chest down to a slender waist and hips.
It was clear many women would consider him desirable but right now the only thing on Bree’s mind was convincing him to join the others for the photo shoot.
This was her first significant project in her new job, her big chance to prove herself and she wasn’t going to let some recalcitrant businessman ruin it for her.
She’d only been with Kelly Communications a month and her boss had made her expectations for the evening very clear. If the Inaugural Indi-Art Ball was anything less than the new hit of the Sydney social calendar, Bree’s neck was on the line.
Not that her boss’s expectations were any higher than her own. Bree had always been ambitious, always been driven to succeed and it had been that way for all of her twenty-eight years.
The other photos had been taken. The only one remaining was a group shot of Conrad Savage with the special guests who were growing restless, understandably so since they wanted to join the party inside.
Bree fidgeted with her necklace, something she only did when she was nervous. Time for action. She sucked in a deep breath and strode towards Conrad.
“Excuse me, Mr Savage,” she said, thinking how apt his name was.
“It’s Conrad.” He glanced at her briefly as he spoke. “I’m not going to call you Miss Baxter so you might as well dump the formality right away.”
If he wanted her to dump the politeness as well, that could also be done. With pleasure, no less.
She gritted her teeth, then plastered a polite smile to her face. “Would you please join us for a couple of photos. The others are ready to go back inside and I was hoping to get a group shot before they head off.”
Conrad grinned. “Of course, we wouldn’t want them to miss first course.”
At last, she had some cooperation from the man.
He turned to the elderly Indigenous man to whom he was speaking, said a few words and handed him a business card.
“Mate, you wanna talk to me, you gotta come and see me.” The Aboriginal man handed the card back. “Then we talk face to face like real men. I’m not calling anybody up.”
Conrad shook the man’s hand. “It’s a deal. I’ll come and see you another time.”
Bree couldn’t help but snigger. Conrad Savage was one the richest, most influential men in Australia yet this old guy wasn’t going to bend over backwards for him. Good on him. If only she could do the same.
Conrad glared at her. “Is something funny?”
“Not at all.” Bree slipped back into the polite smile. “I’m pleased we can get the photos now. I don’t mind that you listened to him rather than me.”
“That man has my respect.” He looked down his nose at Bree as they walked past Stephanie towards the Mercedes and the waiting officials. “Jimmy Simpson is probably the most renowned Aboriginal artist in Australia. There are art collectors and galleries across the world that would kill to buy his works. I’d have thought you’d have heard of him.”
“Of course I’ve heard of him,” Bree said. “Are you suggesting he might like to join us for the photos? A bit of free promotion perhaps.”
Conrad looked away from her. “Publicity is the last thing a man like him wants. He simply wants to paint in peace.”
This wasn’t going her way. First Conrad had kept her and everyone else waiting and now she was going to get a lecture on cultural differences and artistic sensibility.
“I can’t read your mind,” she said. “And I didn’t mean to offend anyone. I just need to get that group photo.”
Conrad stopped and stared. “Did you really think I wouldn’t oblige?”
Bree’s mouth fell open for the second time that evening. Yes, she wanted to shout. Yes, she thought a self important, pretentious person like him wasn’t going to help out by having his photo taken.
The look on her face told her he’d read her like a book. “You really didn’t think I was going to come over, did you?”
“I was having a bit of trouble trying to persuade you. That’s true.”
He looked her in the eye. “You haven’t answered my question. You didn’t think I was going to come over, did you?”
She tilted her head and considered him, knowing an incorrect response might well put the group shot she so desperately needed in jeopardy. It was all or nothing and she didn’t like to gamble at the best of times.
“No, I didn’t,” she said. “It looked to me like whatever you were doing was more important than the people you kept waiting.”
“You’re right.”
If the old fellow could speak to this man on his own terms, maybe she should try the same approach. Besides, she was getting fed up. She only wanted a photo. How hard could this be?
She planted her hands on her hips. “Is that because you think you’re so much more important than these people?”
Conrad laughed. “No, not me. Jimmy Simpson. He’s more genuine than anyone else around here. The man’s a genius. He’ll be remembered for generations and it was a privilege to speak to him.”
As they reached the Mercedes, Conrad walked into the arms of a tall, willowy blonde who planted a restrained kiss on his lips. Of course he had a date and naturally she had long blond hair, model good looks and a highly revealing black halter dress.
The woman glanced in Bree’s direction, gazed down her perfect nose and gave her the look. Bree didn’t receive the look very often but she darn well knew when she was getting it. Did this female really think she was so much better than her because of her appearance?
Bree was petite. A slim five foot four. Nothing wrong with that. That’s why high heels were invented, for times like this when you needed a little boost.
She didn’t need to put anyone else down to feel good and certainly wasn’t going to let some bimbo get the better of her, no matter what this other woman said or did.
Bree tossed her rich dark brown hair, her greatest asset, behind her shoulders and approached the photographer. The night wasn’t over and she had a job to do.
Watching Conrad through the corner of her eye as she spoke to the photographer, Bree couldn’t help but notice he had a certain presence about him. He didn’t need to speak to attract the attention of his peers but when he did talk, the group laughed at his jokes and positioned themselves for the photograph.
There was something about him that made people listen. He didn’t just work the crowd. He commanded it.
Yet she found it unnerving, a shiver shooting up her spine. It was as though he held power beyond that of good looks and wealth, beyond natural charisma.
She’d have to be on her guard against a man like him.
Bree quickly ensured the photographer got the group shot they needed, thanked everyone for their help and watched as Conrad and his socialite friends made their way back inside.
Stephanie sidled up to her as they ambled back towards the staterooms. “I bet you’re glad that’s done.”
Bree sighed. “It’s still a long way to go until the night’s over.”
* * *
As they prepared to be seated for dinner, Conrad Savage saw the efficient young public relations woman speaking to the master of ceremonies, probably briefing him about the evening’s work.
That woman was all work and no play. Not a desirable combination.
Her name didn’t suit her at all. Bree should be the name of a free spirit, someone with an easygoing nature, someone more like a summer breeze, whereas she was a hurricane.
Not that it made any difference to him. She wasn’t going to order him around and interrupt his conversation with Jimmy Simpson. The man was a creative recluse. Dealing with him wasn’t like scheduling in a dentist appointment or business meeting. They were privileged to have him there at all tonight.
Conrad had long been interested in Indigenous art and although he didn’t often have the opportunity to speak to the artists themselves, he was aware any discussions had to be on their terms.
Jimmy Simpson refused to allow himself to be slotted into the lifestyles of corporate white people. You couldn’t argue with that. He gave Australia the gift of his artwork and didn’t owe them anything more.
Yet Bree Baxter thought her promotional photographs were more important than an Australian icon. Had she seriously expected Conrad to drop everything and dump the fellow because he was elderly and his clothes fell well short of black tie? Not likely.
She’d dropped her veneer of professionalism briefly when she so bluntly confirmed she didn’t think he was going to oblige with a few photographs. She must have thought him extremely petty and, what’s more, she had the gall to tell him so.
That was one of the problems with being in a position like his. No one stated their true opinions and told it like it was. He was surrounded by ‘Yes Men’. And women too for that matter.
Women were always a problem. It didn’t help being wealthy either. In fact, money often complicated relationships, as if they weren’t complex enough as it was.
Like Amber. For a start, that was a strange name for a blonde. She’d invited herself along tonight and was alternately hanging off him and ignoring him. He had no idea where she was at the moment and didn’t particularly care.
He’d been taken in by sensual offers from attractive young women before – one in particular – and had paid the price. He wasn’t going to get caught out like tha
t again.
As they took their seats, Bree stepped down from the stage, the soft fabric of her skirt floating across her finely formed thighs. He had to admit she had a stunning figure.
The deep turquoise of her dress was the perfect colour for her pale complexion and dark hair. Plenty of women here tonight tried to look sexy by wearing tight clothes, showing off too much cleavage and exposing too much flesh.
Bree had done the opposite by wearing a dress with a fitted bodice and fine straps that showed off her slender figure. The skirt flowed over her hips and swept down to the floor. No splits, no tight skirt and not too much flesh exposed.
A matching chiffon scarf sat loosely across her collar bones, floating behind her as she walked. It was very Hollywood. Like a dark-haired Grace Kelly.
His eyes were still on Bree as she disappeared into the distance.
Finally, he looked around the room. Something had been done to change the mood of the grand ballroom. It was usually stuffy and formal whereas this event had quite a different feel about it. Perhaps it was the unusual table settings and creative centrepieces of native flora. They looked more like sculptures than flowers.
This was a large event with hundreds of guests so he’d been expecting what he called ‘wedding food’, plates that had been kept under the warmer too long and meals that were dried out. Instead he was pleasantly surprised. The food compared favourably with Sydney’s best and indeed with the finest meals he’d had around the world.
The man sitting beside him started up a conversation about property and investments. It was always business with some people. The bloke on the other side joined in, so Conrad leaned back to give them a chance to talk.
He tried hard not to look bored but these events were always so dull.
At least it was for a good cause. The money was going to several organisations, all of which would benefit Indigenous people. It would help Aboriginal school children from isolated areas who came to the city to study, and also give further support for those who were artistically inclined, funding the education of Australia’s talented future young artists.
Not everyone had the same chances he’d been given in life, though even for him not everything had gone to plan. He’d grown up with a loving family, attended expensive private schools and had the best that money could buy.
