The Rich Man's Blackmailed Mistress Read online

  She looked around and nodded. In a voice she hoped sounded brisk and businesslike, she said, ‘Yes, perfect for buses.’

  The interior was as beautiful as the exterior, but Sable concentrated on not staring too obviously. Although many old houses were gloomy, this one had been skilfully renovated at some stage to let in the light, and it was furnished with a magnificent mixture of old and new pieces.

  The art was magnificent too. No postmodernism, she noted with an inward irony, just an eclectic collection of masterpieces, some by minor artists—and some, she thought as her gaze lingered on the proud, passionate face of a woman dressed in full Victorian regalia, by definitely major talents.

  An ancestor, no doubt about it; that unknown woman and Kain shared the same arrogantly aristocratic bone structure.

  Kain took her into a large room that opened out onto a wide veranda. ‘I suggest you serve the cocktails and canapés here. People can come in through those French doors and then take their drinks out into the marquee for the actual auction. And serving food here in the salon will be easier for the caterers.’

  He was taking over, she realised, and without even thinking about it. That authority was as essential a part of him as the arrogant jut of his jaw and the strong features that made him the most handsome man she’d ever met.

  A quiver of heat in the pit of her stomach warned her not to go there. Speaking a little too quickly, she asked, ‘What’s your kitchen like? Sometimes it’s simpler for the caterers to set up a mobile canteen.’

  ‘You’d better inspect it.’

  Again that amused note in his voice, a note she understood when saw the kitchen. No ordinary farm kitchen this, she realised. The homestead kitchen had been set up for cooking for crowds.

  ‘There’ll be no problem here,’ she agreed, her gaze ranging past a vast and very modern range to an industrial-size dishwasher. ‘It’s perfect. I imagine you have plenty of water.’

  ‘We do. Come and see where the marquee will go.’

  Natural, inborn authority was all very well, she thought mutinously, but the marquee would go where she wanted it.

  Nevertheless, she turned to follow him, only to find he hadn’t moved. Although she tried to pull her step, nothing could stop her from cannoning into him. Stunned, she dropped her briefcase, groped for it wildly, and found herself lurching too close to a fall.

  He hauled her upright. She thought she heard him say something above the thunder of her pulse. And then his arms tightened. She looked up.

  And every instinct shrieked a warning—run!

  Except for the more basic need that held her mesmerised, her eyes widening as they took in the smoky grey of his. He smiled and lowered his head. Unable to think, Sable let her lashes drift down.

  She expected the same sort of kiss as that first one—devouring, challenging—but this one settled so lightly on her mouth she barely felt it beyond an extra warmth, a slow, sinfully decadent caress of lips against lips, so tantalising she had to fight the urge to let herself give free rein to the hunger building inside her.

  In spite of the turmoil of fears and commands that tore her mind, her body knew very well where it wanted to be—locked in Kain’s arms, his faint, intensely erotic scent homing straight to hidden receptors in her brain.

  Breathlessly she waited for something—though she didn’t know what.

  ‘Sable.’ Her name against her mouth caressed her ears, his deep voice roughened by an exciting hint of raw passion.

  Her heart jumped at the subtly erotic way he spoke, and jumped again when he commanded, ‘Say my name.’

  It seemed far too intimate a gesture, a kind of surrender Sable wasn’t ready to make.

  If only she could think straight she’d know why. Alarmed, she opened her eyes and met his, their arctic frigidity banished by the intense flame of arousal.

  A clamour of desire fountained up through her, ferociously sweeping away every commonsense thought in its heady passage. She should refuse, or taunt him by calling him Mr Gerard…

  But need burned hard and hot and fierce in her, a powerful hunger more compelling than her cowardice. Yielding, she said huskily, ‘Kain.’

  However, because some weakly sane part of her didn’t want him to realise how this teasing seduction stripped away her defences, she added, ‘Gerard.’

  Watching his name play on her lips, he laughed softly. ‘My name has never looked so good.’

  And then he kissed her again.

  Every coherent thought disappeared in the raw response his kiss summoned, so removed from any previous experience that Sable capitulated without a pang of fear or concern. Lost in a turmoil of carnal craving, she dimly recognised she’d never felt safer—as though nothing in the world could touch her when she was in Kain’s arms.

  Until he stiffened and lifted his head, releasing her. Dazed by the sudden coldness of space between them, she stared mutely up at him, but he was looking over her head.

  So quietly only she could have heard him, he said, ‘Someone’s coming.’

  She stepped back, almost tripping over her briefcase, and hastily bent to pick it up, cravenly grateful for something to do that would get her even for a moment out of his scrutiny.

  From behind, a pleasant middle-aged female voice said, ‘Oh—sorry, Kain. I didn’t realise you were in here.’

  ‘Miss Martin is checking out the kitchen,’ he said smoothly.

  Sable straightened up, hoping to heaven that any extra colour in her face would be attributed to bending. She met a pair of blue eyes, direct and interested, and a warm smile.

  ‘Sable, this is Helen Dawson,’ Kain continued. ‘Helen, this is Sable Martin, the events planner for the art auction. She thought the caterers might prefer to bring a mobile canteen here, so I brought her in to show her they don’t need to.’

  ‘We can deal with caterers,’ his housekeeper said with conviction.

  ‘I can see that.’ Yes, her voice sounded quite normal—well, at least to someone who didn’t know her very well.

  She just hoped her mouth didn’t reveal that it had been soundly kissed—and kissing—a few seconds ago. Colouring slightly, she told her heart to slow down and added wryly, ‘I’ve seen commercial kitchens that were less well-equipped than this one.’

  ‘Homestead kitchens were built to be ready for anything,’ the housekeeper said crisply. ‘Although nowadays we no longer kill all our own meat, and we have to give away most of the fruit and vegetables because there isn’t a family in the homestead to eat the produce.’ She grinned at her employer. ‘Kain’s got a good appetite, but he’s just not here enough.’

  Teasingly Kain said, ‘Helen is dying for the day she can cook for ten again as a regular thing.’

  ‘Ten?’ Sable laughed ruefully. ‘The foster home I lived in for a year could have done with someone like you.’

  The housekeeper looked startled, then thoughtful. ‘I’m sure,’ she said, ‘but they probably couldn’t afford me.’

  She and Sable exchanged glances, and Sable felt that she’d found an ally.

  With a quick nod the housekeeper said, ‘Is there anything you’d like to know?’

  Sable took out her notes. ‘If we could go through these,’ she suggested.

  To her relief Kain left them to it. Half an hour later, convinced that the housekeeper was not only competent but actively helpful, Sable closed her notebook. ‘Thanks a lot. I’m feeling much better about everything now.’

  ‘I suppose a cancellation so close to the date is every event planner’s nightmare,’ the housekeeper observed.

  ‘One of them.’ She gave another smile. ‘I’m actually moonlighting at this. I work for the Russell Foundation as a PA in my real life.’

  ‘Which do you prefer?’

  Sable said thoughtfully, ‘I like working for the Foundation—it’s satisfying in a moral way.’ That sounded pretentious so she hurried on, ‘But I must confess that in spite of the numerous hassles this is much more creative. I really
enjoy it.’

  ‘Like the difference between a good plain dinner for a family and a gourmet dinner of ten courses for foodies.’ The housekeeper nodded. ‘I wouldn’t like to have to do either all the time, but I do like a challenge. So does Kain. Right from the time he was born.’

  It sounded like a warning, one Sable instinctively understood. Hoping that the warmth over her cheekbones wasn’t too obvious, she said cheerfully, ‘At the moment the only challenge I’m interested in is providing such a great evening that the punters will spend all the money they can afford on the art.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll do that.’ The older woman looked past her. ‘I think we’ve got everything organised here, Kain.’

  ‘Good.’ His voice was without inflection. ‘Sable, you’d better come and check out the rest of the place.’

  A cool undernote to his words sent a chill down her spine. The air seemed heavy with warnings right now, Sable thought, knowing she was overreacting. She knew why; when she was with Kain Gerard her every sense was honed and more acute as though he set off subliminal alarms in her.

  He took her back to the salon and out through the wall of French doors onto the verandah, a long, wide, covered area that led down onto a lawn.

  ‘The marquee will be set up here,’ he said, indicating.

  After a rapid inspection of the perfect sward of grass bordered by an exotic mix of subtropical and native plantings, Sable nodded. ‘Yes, this is ideal. How do you want the guests corralled?’

  ‘Do you think that’s necessary?’

  She shrugged. ‘We don’t want them wandering off and getting so interested in your fabulous gardens—or each other—that they forget they’re here to spend money.’

  ‘Of course not,’ he said cynically. ‘Are you always so single-minded?’

  ‘I’m paid to be,’ she told him, her voice cool and verging on the abrupt.

  Let him think what he liked—sure, she’d never lived in the death-dealing poverty that the Foundation clients overseas suffered daily, but she knew what life was like for those on the bottom of the heap. It wouldn’t hurt over-wealthy status-seekers to dig deeply into their pockets.

  ‘And I’m sure you try to give good value.’

  She met that assessing gaze with brittle composure. ‘It doesn’t pay to short-change the people I make a living from.’

  He gave a short laugh. ‘Honest too.’

  Sable hoped he hadn’t noticed her flinch. He’d never know just how much those casual words hurt! Burying ugly memories, she said, ‘Naturally. Now, about marking off the grounds—a length of white-painted picket fencing would look appropriate here and could be fixed to the trellis of that archway, stopping access to the rest of the garden. There will be security, of course.’

  ‘I’ll use my own,’ he said.

  Startled, she said, ‘But I’ve already organised the firm we always use—’

  ‘Cancel them,’ he said indifferently.

  She said, ‘We’ve signed a contract—’

  Kain’s eyes were as cold as the depths of space. ‘Then pay them, but I’m using my own security men.’ And when she started a further protest he said quietly, ‘This is not negotiable, Sable.’

  He had her in a cleft stick and he knew it. With the auction only a week away she hadn’t a chance of finding another venue as suitable as this.

  Although she was seething, she gave in with as much grace as she could muster. ‘If it’s so important to you, then all right.’

  ‘I won’t charge you, and I assume you’ve only paid a deposit to the firm you use. This way there’ll be more money for the Foundation beneficiaries. And my men will take their orders from me,’ he ended coolly.

  Everything in Sable rebelled at his tone, but she nodded. ‘Do you want me to organise the picket fence?’

  ‘No, I’ll do that.’

  Directing a false, meaningless smile at his chin, she made a production of closing the notebook she’d been using. ‘Right, I think I’ve got everything I need. Now, if you don’t mind I’d like to go back to Auckland so I can start ringing people.’

  ‘I suggest we have lunch first,’ he said. ‘Helen has prepared a meal for us in the gazebo.’

  Something had changed. Kain had changed.

  No, she was fantasising. She didn’t know him well enough to be able to see behind the handsome mask of his features.

  Yet her stomach performed an odd little lurch. Concentrate, she ordered her body. Try focusing on how downright arrogant he is. Did he get off on ordering people about? Probably.

  But the memory of those kisses burned through her, daring her to enjoy this time with him, to take up the challenge he presented—to see what he’d be like as a lover.

  Common sense warned Sable that though he’d be superb, in the end she’d get badly hurt. Tonelessly she said, ‘How kind. Thank you.’

  The gazebo was modern, and overlooked a crescent of beach as white as a quarter moon. It was utterly beautiful and empty of people—no public access here, Sable realised, letting her eyes skim an elegant yacht moored in the bay.

  How the very, very, very rich lived, she thought snidely, and turned to inspect the gazebo, set up for relaxed entertaining with luxurious loungers and a long table that hinted at many guests. Someone—the housekeeper?—had collected flowers and arranged them in a huge white conch shell that set off burnished petals shimmering in the passionate colours of high summer.

  Kain said, ‘If you’d like to wash your hands there’s a cloakroom here.’

  And sure enough, to one side was a very luxurious changing shed and shower for swimmers, so they wouldn’t track sand into that opulent house.

  She glanced at herself in the mirror and almost gasped. Her mouth was red and soft, her skin glowing, and her eyes as dark and hot as coals—a dead giveaway. Heedless of her carefully applied cosmetics, she splashed her skin with coldwater, closing her eyes as she blotted it dry and tried to summon the most calming thoughts she could.

  It didn’t work. She opened her eyes and stared defiantly at her reflection. OK, so she’d been completely and shamefully stupid. Instinct told her that in spite of Kain’s arrogance, if she’d demanded he stop kissing her, he would have.

  But for the first time in her life she’d actually experienced desire, so she’d let him. Not only allowed it to happen, she thought, more colour heating her skin, she’d co-operated with humiliating enthusiasm.

  And now he knew for certain that she wanted him.

  She set her jaw and looked her reflection straight in the eye.

  It wasn’t ever going to happen again. She’d make sure he understood that from now on any relationship between them would be purely professional. And if he didn’t get the unspoken message she’d tell him with as much starchy assurance as she could summon.

  But first she had to get through this lunch. The thought of eating with him closed her throat.

  So where’s that professional attitude? she taunted her reflection, and held her head high, stiffening her shoulders as she turned to walk back to Kain.

  She would not be intimidated by him or his wealth or his social position. Or by the fact that when he looked at her, touched her, she went up in flames of lust.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  AFIRE with determination, Sable strode out of the changing room. In that exquisite folly of a gazebo a meal had appeared on the table—a superb summer lunch of courgette flowers puffed out by a stuffing, and mussels, served with fresh home-baked rolls still warm from the oven, plus a salad.

  ‘Wine?’ Kain asked.

  ‘No, thank you.’ But she was surprised when he didn’t pour himself a glass. Brightly she said, ‘This looks delicious.’

  ‘Helen was a bit worried in case you didn’t eat seafood, but I remembered that last night you chose scallops for dinner.’

  The fact that he’d remembered made her oddly uneasy. ‘I like all seafood,’ she said neutrally, and steered the conversation towards the auction.

  Th
rough lunch—which tasted as good as it looked—her unease increased. She was sure there’d been a subtle but discernible shift in his attitude towards her. His reservation, tinged with an all-too-human male awareness, had morphed into something more intimidating.

  And telling herself that she was imagining things didn’t help.

  Not that she cared what he thought of her, she decided stoutly, accepting a slice of succulent peach pie. Just for the hell of it she topped it with some of the whipped cream Kain passed to her. She needed all the support she could get.

  But when they’d finished eating and she was enjoying the tea she’d asked for instead of the coffee he was drinking, he said without preamble, ‘Now, tell me why you left your first job.’

  At first Sable didn’t—couldn’t—believe she’d heard what he’d said. ‘What?’ she asked blankly, fighting for control.

  He was watching her with relentless eyes behind those astonishing lashes. ‘After you left school, you were given an office job by an elderly solicitor. However, you left in a hurry and under a cloud.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ she said tonelessly, clasping her hands in her lap as sick horror washed over her.

  One black brow revealed his disbelief. ‘So what happened?’

  Humiliated, she held her head high and met cold grey eyes with a direct challenge. ‘The job was purely temporary—Mr Frensham knew I planned to go on to study for a business degree. Which I did.’

  ‘After you’d seduced his grandson. As insurance, I suppose, in case Frensham found out what you’d done.’ A sardonic smile hardened his face even further. ‘The grandson must have felt a total idiot when you dumped him. Apparently he was a broken man.’

  Sable fought back the debilitating feeling of being tainted, the shattering knowledge that he’d sent someone to check up on her, someone who’d snooped around, stirring up gossip again.

  That had to explain the subtle change in him; while she’d been conferring with Helen Dawson, he must have—what? Taken a telephone call from a firm of private detectives?