Читать книгу Mistress to the Merciless Millionaire - Эбби Грин, ABBY GREEN - Страница 7

One month later. Four Seasons Hotel, downtown San Francisco

KATE felt even more like a piece of meat than usual, yet she clamped down on her churlish thoughts and pasted on her best professional smile as the bidding continued. The smack of the gavel beside her made her flinch minutely. The fact that the gavel was being wielded by a well-known A-list Hollywood actor was not making the experience any easier. Despite her years of experience as a top model, she was still acutely uncomfortable under scrutiny, but she had learnt to disguise it well.

‘Twenty-five thousand. Twenty-five thousand dollars to the gentleman here in the front. Am I bid any higher?’

Kate held her breath. The man under the spotlight with the unctuous grin was a well-known Greek shipping magnate. He was old, short, fat and bald, and his beady obsidian eyes were devouring Kate as he practically licked his lips. For a second she felt intensely vulnerable and alone, standing here under the lights. A shudder went through her. If someone else didn’t—

‘Ah! We’ve a bidder in the back—thirty thousand dollars from the new arrival.’

A rush of relief flooded Kate and she tried to strain to see past the glaring spotlights to identify who the new bidder was. It appeared as if the ballroom lighting technicians were trying to find him too, with the spotlight lurching from coiffed person to coiffed person, all of whom laughed and waved it away. The bidder seemed determined to remain anonymous. Well, Kate comforted herself, whoever it was couldn’t be any worse a prospect to kiss in front of all these people than Stavros Stephanides.

‘And now Mr Stephanides here in the front is bidding forty thousand dollars…things are getting interesting! Come on, folks, let’s see how deep your pockets are. How can you turn down a chance to kiss this lovely lady and donate generously to charity?’

Kate’s stomach fell again at Stephanides’ obvious determination—but then the actor spied movement in the shadows at the back. ‘Fifty thousand dollars to the mysterious new bidder. Sir, won’t you come forward and reveal yourself?’

No one came forward, though, and inexplicably the hairs rose on the back of Kate’s neck. Then she saw the look of almost comic indignation on Stephanides’ face as he swivelled around to see who his competitor was. The Greek’s expression visibly darkened when someone leant low to speak in his ear. He’d obviously just been informed as to the identity of the mysterious fellow bidder. With an audible splutter Stephanides upped the ante by raising the bidding in a leap to one hundred thousand dollars. Kate held in her gasp at the extortionate amount, but her smile was faltering.

She became aware of the ripple of hushed whispers and a distinct frisson of excitement coming from the back; whoever this person was, he was creating quite a buzz. And then whoever it was also calmly raised their bid—to a cool two hundred thousand dollars. It didn’t look as if her ordeal was going to end anytime soon.

Tiarnan Quinn wasn’t used to grand, showy gestures. His very name was the epitome of discretion. Discretion in everything: his wealth; his work; his life, and most definitely in his affairs. He had a ten-year-old daughter. He didn’t live like a monk, but neither did he parade his carefully selected lovers through the tabloids in the manner so beloved of other men in his position: a divorced heterosexual multi-billionaire male in the prime of his life.

None of his lovers had ever kissed and told. He made sure that any ex-partner was so well compensated she would never feel the need to break his trust. He always got out before any messy confrontations, and he always kept his private life very private. None of his lovers ever met his daughter because he had no intention of marrying ever again, and to introduce them to Rosalie would be to invite a level of intimacy that was reserved solely for his family: his daughter, sister and mother.

His lovers provided him with relief. Nothing more, nothing less.

And yet here he was now, bidding publicly, albeit discreetly for the moment, in the name of charity, for a kiss with Kate Lancaster—one of the most photographed women in the world. Because something in his mind and body was chafing, and for the first time in a long time he was thinking discretion be damned. He wanted this woman with a hunger he’d denied for too long. A hunger he’d only recently given himself permission fully to acknowledge and to believe it could be sated.

And it had been a long time building—years. He could see now that it had been building with a stealthy insidiousness into a subconscious need that was now very conscious—a burning necessity. His mouth twisted; those years hadn’t exactly been uneventful or allowed much time for contemplation. A shortlived marriage and an acrimonious divorce, not to mention becoming a single parent, had taken up a large part of that time. If he’d had the luxury of time on his hands he might have realised a lot sooner—He halted his thoughts. No matter. He was here now.

His attention came back to Kate, focused on Kate, and he had the uncanny sensation of being in the right place at the right time. It was a sensation he usually associated with business, not something more emotional. He corrected himself; this wasn’t about emotion. It was desire. Unfulfilled desire.

Perhaps it was because he’d finally allowed himself to think of it again—that moment ten years ago—but it was as if the floodgates had opened on a dam. It had been little more than a kiss, and yet it was engraved more hotly onto his memory than anything he’d experienced before or after. It had taken all of his will-power and restraint to pull away from her that night. Since then Kate had been strictly off-limits to him for myriad reasons: because that incendiary moment had shaken him up a lot more than he cared to admit; because she’d been so young and his little sister’s best friend.

He remembered the way her startlingly blue eyes had stared directly into his, as if she’d been able to see all the way into his soul. As if she’d wanted him to see all the way into hers. She’d looked at him like that again only a few weeks ago. And it had taken huge restraint for him to allow Kate to retreat back into her shell, to ignore his intense desire. Until now, when he knew he could get her on her own, could explore for himself if what he’d seen meant what he thought it did.

His sister’s wedding had sparked off this burgeoning need, this awareness. He hadn’t been thrown into such close proximity to Kate for years. But all through the ceremony and subsequent reception she’d held him back with that cool, frosty distance of hers. It was like being subjected to a chilly wind whistling over a deserted moor. He’d always been aware of it—yet that day, for the first time in years, it had rankled. His interest had been piqued. Why was she always so cool, distant?

Admittedly they had a history that up until now he’d been quite happy not to unearth. He knew on some level that that night ten years ago had marked a turning point for him, and perhaps it was one of the reasons he’d found it so easy to relegate Kate to a place he had no desire to re-explore. Her studied indifference over the years had served to keep a lid on those disturbing memories.

And yet he knew he couldn’t deny the fact that he’d always been aware of her—aware of how she’d blossomed from a slightly gauche teenager into a stunningly assured and beautiful woman.

He’d thought he had that awareness and desire under control, but one night some years ago a girl had bumped into him in the street: blonde, caked in make-up, and wearing an outfit that was only a hair’s breadth away from a stripper’s. The feel of her body slamming into him, her huge blue eyes looking straight up into his, had scrambled his brain and fired his libido so badly that he’d sent his date home that night with some pathetic excuse and hadn’t been able to look at another woman for weeks—turned on by a girl in a tarty French maid’s outfit because she’d borne some resemblance to—

Tiarnan halted his wayward thoughts right there. He chafed at the resurgence of something so minor he’d thought long forgotten—and at the implication that Kate had occupied a bigger place in his mind than he’d admitted to himself. He reassured himself that he’d had his own concerns keeping him more than occupied—and lovers who’d been only too warm and willing, making it easy to shut out the frosty indifference of one woman. Seeing Kate just once or twice a year had hardly been conducive to stoking the embers of a latent desire.

But just a few weeks ago…at the baptism…she’d turned and looked at him and that cool façade had dropped for the first time. She’d looked at him with such naked blatant need in those fathomless blue depths that he’d felt as if a truck had just slammed into him. For the first time Tiarnan had seen the heat of her passion under that all too cool surface. It was a heat he hadn’t seen since that night, when it had combusted all around them. It could have ended so differently if he hadn’t found a thread of control to cling onto.

In one instant, with one look, Tiarnan had been flung back in time, and all attempts to keep her off limits had been made redundant. It was almost as if he’d been put to sleep after that night, and now, with a roaring, urgent sucking-in of oxygen, he was brought back to painful, aching life.

She’d clammed up again after a few moments, but it had been enough of a crack in her armour…

Blood heated and flowed thick through his veins as he took her in now. She was dressed in a dark pink silk cocktail dress, strapless, showing off the delicate line of her shoulders and collarbone, her graceful neck. Her long, luxuriant blonde hair—her trademark—hung in loose waves over her shoulders, a simple side parting framing her face. And even though he was right at the back of the room those huge blue eyes stood out. Her soft rose-pink lips were full, the firm line of her jaw and straight nose transforming banal prettiness into something much more formidable. True beauty. There was fragility in the lines of her body, and yet a sexy lushness that would have an effect on every man in that room—something Tiarnan was very aware of. Uncomfortably so.

He felt a proprietorial urge to go and sweep her off that stage and out of everyone’s sight. It only firmed his resolve, strengthened his sense of right.

His eyes drifted down with leisurely and very male appreciation, taking in slender shapely legs, it was clear why she’d become one of the most sought-after models in the world. She was, quite simply, perfect. She’d become a darling of the catwalks despite their predilection for a more emaciated figure; she was the face of a well-known lingerie company among countless other campaigns. Her cool, under-the-surface sensuality meant that people sometimes described her as cold. But the problem was he knew she wasn’t.

He had the personal experience to know that she was very, very hot.

Why had he waited so long for this?

Tiarnan clamped down on looking again at what had made him suppress his desire for so long—apart from the obvious reasons. He dismissed the rogue notion that rose unbidden and unwelcome that she’d once touched something deep within him. It must have been an illusion, borne up by the fact that they’d shared a moment in time, imbuing the experience with an enigmatic quality.

She’d displayed a self-possession at the age of eighteen that had stunned him slightly. He had to remind himself that he’d overestimated her naivety. She’d known exactly what she’d been doing then, and she was a grown woman now. Tiarnan’s body tightened in anticipation. She was a woman of the world—the kind of woman he could seduce. She was no longer an innocent…A sharp pain lanced him briefly. It felt awfully like regret, and Tiarnan crushed it back down. He didn’t do regret. He would not let her exert this sensual hold over him. He would not let her bring him back in time and reduce him to a mass of seething, frustrated desire with one look because of a kiss! He would seduce her and sate this lust that had been burning for too long under the surface. It was time to bring it out into the open.

All he could think about was how urgently he wanted to taste her again, touch her. She had once tried to seduce him. Now it was his turn. And this time they wouldn’t stop at a kiss.

His attention came back to the proceedings. He saw Stephanides bid again. He had no intention of letting that man anywhere near Kate’s lush mouth. But the Greek was stubborn and out to prove a point—especially now that he’d been informed who it was bidding against him. He and Stephanides were old adversaries. Tiarnan casually made another bid, oblivious to the gasps and looks directed at him, oblivious to the whispers that came from nearby as people speculated if it was really him.

People’s idle speculation and chatter was of little interest to him. What was of interest was Kate Lancaster, as she stood there now, with her huge doe eyes staring straight at him but not seeing him. She would—soon enough.

Stavros Stephanides finally admitted defeat with a terse shake of his head. A sense of triumph filled Tiarnan and it was heady. He hadn’t felt the sensation in a long time because triumph invariably came all too easily. With no idea as to how much he’d finally bid for a kiss with Kate, and not in the slightest bit fazed, he stepped out of the shadows and strode forward to collect his prize. Not just the kiss he was now due, but so much more. And he would collect—until he was sated and Kate Lancaster no longer exerted this mysterious pull over his every sense.

Kate simply didn’t believe her eyes at first. It couldn’t be. It just could not be Tiarnan Quinn striding powerfully through the seated awed crowd towards her, looking as dark and gorgeous as she’d ever seen him in a tuxedo. Her face flamed guiltily; he’d been inhabiting her dreams for weeks—and a lot longer—jeered a taunting voice, which she ignored. Only the previous night she’d woken shaken and very hot after a dream so erotic that she was sure it must be her rampant imagination conjuring him up now.

Fervently hoping that it was just her imagination, she took him in: the formidable build—broad shoulders, narrow hips and long legs—the loose-limbed athletic grace that hinted at his love for sports, his abhorrence of the gym. His hair was inky black, cut short, and with a slight silvering at the temples that gave him an air of sober maturity and distinction. As if he even needed it. Kate knew his darkly olive skin came from his Spanish mother. She felt weak inside, and hot.

His face was uncompromising and hard. A strong jaw and proud profile saved it from being too prettily handsome. He was intensely male—more intensely male than any man she’d ever met. Years and maturity had added to his strength, filled out his form, and it was all hard-packed muscle. But his most arresting feature was his eyes—the strongest physical hint of Celtic lineage courtesy of his Irish father. Icy blue and utterly direct. Every time he looked at her she felt as though he saw all the way through her, saw through the paltry defences she put up against him. She tried so hard to project a professional front around him, maintain her distance, knowing that if he ever came near her he’d see in an instant how tenuous her control was.

And he had. The memory sickened her. Just a month ago, at Molly’s christening, he’d caught her in that unguarded moment when her naked desire for him had been painfully evident. It had been just a look, but it had been enough. He’d seen it, and ever since then she’d been having those dreams. Because she thought she’d seen a mirror of reaction in his eyes. And yet she had to be wrong. She wasn’t his type—she might have been for a brief moment, a long time ago, but it had been an aberration.

A dart of familiar pain gripped her momentarily. She knew she wasn’t his type because she’d seen one of his incredibly soignée girlfriends at close quarters, the memory of which made her burn with embarrassment even now. She’d been out with a group of girlfriends, visiting her in New York from Dublin, celebrating a hen night. Kate, very reluctantly, had been dressed in a French maid’s outfit, complete with obligatory fishnet tights and sparkly feather duster, when she’d walked slap-bang into Tiarnan as he’d been emerging from an exclusive Madison Avenue restaurant, an arm protectively around a petite dark-haired beauty.

Kate had felt about sixteen and fled, praying that he hadn’t recognised her. And then, to add insult to injury, one of her friends had chosen that moment to relieve the contents of her stomach in a gutter nearby…She’d never forget the look on Tiarnan’s face, or his date’s, just before they’d disappeared into the darkened interior of a waiting chauffeur-driven car.

Bitter frustration at her weak and pathetic response to him burned her inside. Would his hold over her never diminish? And now she was imagining him here, walking towards her, up the steps. Coming closer. Desperation made her feel panicky. When would the world right itself and the real person be revealed? Someone else. Someone who wasn’t Tiarnan Quinn.

She was barely aware of the Hollywood actor speaking in awed tones beside her, but when he said the name Tiarnan Quinn everything seemed to zoom into focus and Kate’s heart stopped altogether. Reaction set in. It was him—and he was now on the stage, coming closer and closer, his eyes narrowed and intent on her.

Kate’s instinct where this man was concerned was always to run, as far and as fast as possible. And yet here and now she couldn’t. She was caught off guard, like a deer in the headlights. And alongside the very perverse wish that she could be facing anyone else—even sleazy Stephanides—was the familiar yearning, burning feeling she got whenever this man came near.

‘Kate.’ His voice was deep, achingly familiar, and it impacted on her somewhere vulnerable inside, where she felt her pulse jump and her heart start again. ‘Fancy meeting you here.’

Somehow she found her voice—a voice. ‘Tiarnan…that was you?’

He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. Kate had the strongest sensation that she’d been running from this man for a long time and now it was over. But in actual fact he’d caught her a long time ago. A wicked coil of something hot snaked through her belly even as she clamped down desperately on every emotion and any outward sign of his effect on her.

With a smooth move she didn’t see coming, Tiarnan came close and put his hands around her waist, thumbs disturbingly close to the undersides of her breasts. His touch was so shocking after years of avoiding any contact beyond the most perfunctory that she automatically put her hands out to steady herself, and found herself clasping his upper arms. Powerful muscles were evident underneath the expensive cloth of his suit. Her belly melted and she looked up helplessly, still stunned to be facing him like this. Shock was rendering her usual defences around him useless.

He was so tall; he’d always been one of the few men that she had to look up to, even in the highest of heels. He towered over her now, making her feel small, delicate. She was aware of every slow second passing, aware of their breaths, but she knew rationally that things were happening in real time, and that no one was aware of the undercurrents flowing between them. At least she hoped they weren’t.

‘I believe you owe me a kiss?’

This was said lightly, but Tiarnan’s grip on her waist was warm and firm, warning her not to try and run or shirk her duty. She nodded, feeling utterly bewildered; what else could she do in front of the wealthiest, most powerful people in San Francisco? How much had he paid in the end? She’d forgotten already. But it had been a shockingly high amount. Half a million dollars? She had the very strong feeling that he was claiming far more than a kiss, and that coil of heat burned fiercer within her.

He pulled her closer, until their bodies were almost touching, and all Kate could feel was that heat—within her and around her. It climbed up her chest and into her face as Tiarnan’s head lowered. Overwhelmed at being ambushed like this, and feeling very bewildered, Kate fluttered her eyes closed as the man she’d failed so abysmally to erase from her memory banks pressed his firm, sensual mouth against hers. It had been ten years since they’d kissed like this, and suddenly Kate was eighteen again, pressing her lips ardently against his…

Kate put a shaky finger to her mouth, which still felt sensitive. As kisses went it had been chaste enough, fleeting enough, but the effect had been pure devastation. She’d been hurtled back in time and Pandora’s Box was now wide open. A flare of guilt assailed her; she’d fled the thronged ballroom as soon as she’d had the chance.

They’d been grabbed for photos with the press pack behind the stage straight after Tiarnan had claimed his kiss. Dizzy with the after-effects, she’d stood there smiling inanely. His hand had been warm on her elbow, his presence overwhelming. It was still a complete mystery to her as to why he was here at all, but she hadn’t even had the wherewithal to stick around and make small talk. She’d run. Exactly like that night in New York on the street.

Bitter recrimination burned her. She was falling apart every time she saw him now, and if she’d not already made an ass of herself in France, mooning at him like a lovesick groupie, then tonight would certainly have him wondering what on earth was wrong with her. How was it possible that instead of growing immune to him she was growing ever more aware of him? Where was the law of physics in that?

She’d fled, not really thinking about where she was going, and now she realised that she was in the hotel bar, with its floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing a glittering view of downtown San Francisco in all its night-time vibrancy. The sound of a siren wailing somewhere nearby failed to root her in reality. The bar was blissfully dark and quiet. A pianist played soothing jazz in the corner. Kate took a seat at a table by the window. After a few minutes someone approached her. She looked up, thinking it would be the waiter, but it was a stranger—a man. He was wearing a suit and looked a little the worse for wear.

‘Excuse me, but me and my buddies—’ he gestured behind him to two other men in crumpled suits at the bar, who waved cheerfully ‘—we’re all agreed that you’re the prettiest woman we’ve ever seen. Can we buy you a drink?’

Kate smiled tightly, her nerve ends jangling. ‘Thanks, really…but if you don’t mind I’m happy to get my own drink.’

He swayed unsteadily, with a look of affront on his face, before lurching back to his friends. Then she saw one of the other men make a move towards her, as if taking up the baton. She cursed her impulse to come here, and turned her face resolutely to the window, hoping that would deter him.

She heard a movement, a deep voice, and then a looming dark shape materialised in the glass. She looked up and saw the face of her dreams reflected above her own. Disembodied. Throat dry, she looked round and up. Tiarnan stood there, looking straight at her, eyes like blue shards of ice against his dark skin. Her heart leapt; her palms dampened.

A waitress appeared next to him, and when she asked if they’d like a drink Tiarnan just looked at Kate and said, ‘Two Irish whiskeys?’

Kate nodded helplessly, and watched as Tiarnan took the seat opposite her, undoing his bow tie as he did so and opening the top button on his shirt with easy insouciance. His voice, that distinctive accent with its unmistakable Irish roots, affected her somewhere deep inside. It was a connection they shared—both being half Irish and brought up in Ireland.

He jerked his head back towards the men sitting at the bar. ‘You could have sent me packing too. They must be devastated.’

A dart of irritation and anger sparked through Kate at Tiarnan, for being here and upsetting her equilibrium. Her voice came out tight. ‘I know you. I don’t know them.’

His brow quirked. A hint of a smile played around his mouth. Kate felt very exposed in her strapless dress. Her breasts felt full against the bodice. She strove for calm, to be polite, urbane. This was her best friend’s brother, that was all. They’d bumped into each other. That was all. On the surface of things. She wouldn’t think about what was happening under the surface, the minefield of history that lay buried there. She smiled, but it felt brittle.

‘What brings you to San Francisco, Tiarnan?’

Tiarnan’s eyes narrowed. He could see very well that Kate was retreating into that cool shell he knew so well. The shell that for years had deflected his attention, made him believe she didn’t desire him. But he knew better now, and he saw the pulse under the pale skin of her neck beat hectically even as she projected a front so glacial he could swear the temperature had dropped a few degrees.

He fought the urge to say, You, and instead drawled, ‘Business. Sorcha mentioned you were here for the annual Buchanen Cancer benefit.’ He shrugged easily deciding not to divulge the fact that he’d specifically booked into the same hotel as her. ‘I’m staying here too, so I thought I’d come look for you. It would appear that I found you just in time.’

A vision of being kissed and groped by Stavros Stephanides came back into Kate’s head. She lowered her head slightly. Some hair slipped forward over her shoulder. She longed for something to cover herself up, and berated herself for not going straight to her room. What had compelled her to come here? She forced herself to look up. She couldn’t go anywhere now.

‘Yes. I never thanked you for that.’ And then curiosity got the better of her. ‘How much did you pay in the end?’

‘You don’t remember?

Kate burned as she shook her head, knowing very well why she didn’t remember.

He seemed to savour his words. ‘Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. And worth every cent.’

It would be. Tiarnan watched her reaction, the shock on her beautiful face, those amazing blue eyes framed with the longest black lashes. Saw the way the candlelight flickered over her satin smooth skin, the slope of her shoulders, the swell of her breasts above the dress. His body hardened and Tiarnan shifted, uncomfortably aware that he wasn’t used to women having such an immediate effect on him. He enjoyed always being in control, and yet he could already feel that control becoming a little shaky, elusive…Sitting here with Kate now, the thrill of anticipation was headier than anything he’d felt in a long time.

He’d paid over half a million dollars, just like that. The amount staggered Kate, and yet she knew to Tiarnan it was like small change. That was a fraction of what he gave to charity every year.

‘At least it’s for a good cause,’ she said a little shakily.

The waitress arrived then, with two glasses. She placed napkins down, and then the drinks, and left.

Tiarnan reached out a strong, long-fingered hand and raised his glass towards her, an enigmatic gleam in his eyes. ‘A very good cause.’

Kate raised her glass too and clinked it off his. She had the very disturbing impression that they weren’t talking about the same thing. Just then his fingers touched hers, and a memory flashed into her head: her arms wrapped tight around his neck, tongues touching and tasting. Tiarnan’s hands moving to her buttocks, pulling her in tight so she could feel the thrillingly hard ridge of his arousal. She could almost hear their heartbeats, slow and heavy, then picking up pace, drowning out their breathing—

Kate jerked her hand back so quickly that some of her drink slopped out of the glass. Her skin felt stretched tight, hot. She couldn’t believe this was happening. It was like her worst nightmare and her most fervent dream.

She took a quick sip, all the while watching Tiarnan as he watched her, hoping that he couldn’t read the turmoil in her head, in her chest. The whiskey trickled like liquid velvet down her throat. She wasn’t used to this, that was all. Tiarnan didn’t seek her out. She only ever saw him with Sorcha, or when lots of people were around. When Sorcha had lived with her in New York and Tiarnan had called round or invited them out to dinner Kate had always made an excuse, always made sure she wasn’t there as much as possible.

But facing him now…that kiss earlier…She was helpless to escape the images threatening to burst through the walls she’d placed around them. Tiarnan leant back, stretching out his long legs, cradling his glass as if this were completely normal, as if they met like this all the time. The latent strength in his body was like a tangible thing.

Kate had to close her eyes for a second as she battled against a vision of him pulling back from kissing her, breathing harshly—

‘So, Kate, how have you been?’

Her eyes snapped open. What was wrong with her? Normally she managed to keep all this under control, but it was almost as if some silent communication was going on that she knew nothing about—something subversive that she was not in control of, messing with her head. She’d never been so tense. But she told herself she could do this—do the small-talk thing. And after this drink she’d make her excuses and get up and walk away—not see Tiarnan for another few months, or even a year if she was lucky.

So she nodded her head and smiled her most professional smile, injecting breeziness into her voice. ‘Fine. Great! Wasn’t Molly’s christening just gorgeous? I can’t believe how big she is already. Sorcha and Romain are so happy. Have you seen them since? I’ve been crazy busy. I had to go to South America straight after the baptism. I got back a few days ago and I flew in tonight for the benefit—’

She took a deep, audibly shaky breath, intending to keep going with her monologue, thinking Just talk fast and get out of here even faster, when Tiarnan leant forward and said with quiet emphasis, ‘Kate—stop.’