The Dominant Male

Cover Page

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

Copyright

“Won’t you sitdown, Mr…?”

“Stone,” he said softly, and smiled as he sank down into the chair opposite her, his powerful body making her nerves quiver as he put his hands behind his strong dark head, leaning back, watching her from below hooded eyelids. “Gabriel Stone.”

“An unusual name,” Rhiannon said conversationally. “Although deeply classical.”

“One of the four archangels. Gabriel, Raphael, Michael and Hod. A divine quartet. Untouched by sin.” His blue eyes glittered. “Unlike me.”

“Ah, yes. ‘Angel by name, sinner by nature.’ Where did I read that?”

SARAH HOLLAND

was born in Kent and brought up in London. She began writing at eighteen because she loved the warmth and excitement of Harlequin books. She has traveled the world, living in Hong Kong, the south of France and Holland. She attended a drama school, and was a nightclub singer and a songwriter. She now lives on the Isle of Man. Her hobbies are acting, singing, painting and psychology. She loves buying clothes, noisy dinner parties and being busy.

The Dominant Male

Sarah Holland

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Alejandro Carillo de Albornoz

CHAPTER ONE

RHIANNON attracted attention just by walking across the lawns.

Dressed in scarlet and gold, as a wild, dark-haired gyspy, she was not only ravishing but rather out of place among the respectable and wealthy guests.

Kohl made her green eyes smoulder, her midriff was bare, and she wore gold bells in her ears, around her neck, on her wrists and around her slender, scented ankles.

She looked like an exotic, seductive slave.

And suddenly she sensed a man watching her.

Her green eyes flicked to him, a dark, sidelong look from below her sooty lashes. A quiver of excitement and fear ran through her, as though she knew he would one day command her life, fill her senses and be the centre of her world.

Fanciful stuff…but he was gorgeous.

Tall, very tall, with jet-black hair and steel-blue eyes which dazzled her with their life-force and inner power. His smile was clever, knowing and admiring. His mouth was very tough. So was his hard-boned, cynical-looking face.

In fact, he had an air of absolute power about him that was formidable, and made every pulse in her body jump to attention.

As their eyes met her step faltered.

She felt her heart flutter in brief, wild response, staring at every inch of him as he stood watching her, a glass of champagne in one hand, silver cuff-links gleaming at strong, dark-haired wrists, his powerful body impeccably dressed in an expensive black suit.

A sense of déjà vu washed over her in hot-cold waves, and the dazzling green of her eyes seemed the only emotion-filled part of her otherwise still face.

Suddenly the spell shattered.

A little girl in a red dress was being chased by a naughty boy with a water pistol. The girl hurtled into Rhiannon, then ran off shrieking with laughter, ribbons flying.

‘Hey!’ Rhiannon laughed as the boy squirted his water pistol at her.

He rat-a-tat-tatted her as though his blue plastic pistol were a machine-gun and then hurtled after his quarry, who was rapidly disappearing behind the drinks marquee.

Smiling affectionately, Rhiannon turned, saw the gorgeous stranger still watching her, and gave him a haughty look. Who did he think he was anyway? Staring at her as though she were a champagne truffle in a shop window…

Turning her back on his laser-blue stare, she told herself that dangerous, exciting men were all very well, but twenty-four-hour-a-day love and friendship were far more important

She walked towards the vast mansion with its white stone unicorns and long red walls. Music came from the indoor swimming pool and elegant guests stood in the slender windows, where white lace curtains fluttered softly in the warm breeze, drinking champagne as they discussed the forthcoming raffle.

And there was Bobby, standing by the white pillars and statues around the pool, drinking orange juice, for he never touched alcohol, and talking to a group of kindly elderly women.

He turned and saw her. A calm smile touched his face. He spoke briefly to the women, who smiled and nodded understandingly, then walked across towards Rhiannon.

At once she turned, hot green eyes staring across to that man, the dark, powerful man by the lake. He was still watching her. She decided to make a show of her relationship with Bobby just to teach him not to stare at her.

‘Darling!’ Bobby lumbered up and kissed her chastely on the cheek. ‘What brings you out here? I thought you were busy telling fortunes and having your palm crossed with silver.’

‘I wanted to see you.’

‘Splendid!’

‘I wanted a kiss!’

‘Gosh!’

‘Anything wrong with that, my darling Bobby?’ Rhiannon twined her slender jewelled wrists around his neck, deeply aware of the blue-eyed man still watching.

‘Nothing wrong with it at all!’ said Bobby, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

She kissed his mouth softly, lingeringly. He was a tall, thickset man. He looked more like a farmer than an executive. He dressed as he lived: traditionally, conventionally, quietly, understatedly.

And he hated public show.

That was why his neck was going brick-red as Rhiannon kissed him in front of all these people.

‘Darling,’ he said under his breath, ‘do please keep your passions under control! What on earth will the ladies from the committee think?’

‘That we’re in love, engaged to be married and—’

‘And thoroughly scandalous!’ He gently disentangled her arms from around his neck. ‘Come along, now. Behave!’

She felt herself redden hotly, aware of the dark stranger watching them, a cynical smile on his tough mouth. He had seen the rejection and it had told him all he needed to know. Rhiannon could have kicked herself for being so stupid. What on earth had made her think Bobby would let her kiss him like that in public? They might have been engaged for a year after seeing each other for four, but that didn’t mean that the stable, reliable, down-to-earth Bobby would change just for her to show some insolent stranger that she was already spoken for.

Bobby frowned, seeing the hot colour in her face, the embarrassed way she lowered her lashes, and interpreted it correctly.

‘We’re here to raise money for a good cause,’ he reminded her gently. ‘Speaking of which—how are you doing with your particular sideshow efforts?’

‘Oh…’ She leapt on the change of subject with relief. ‘Six hundred pounds in all, so far.’

‘Goodness!’ He was astonished. ‘Just for reading tarot cards?’

‘One woman gave me a pound, another gave me a cheque for two hundred,’ Rhiannon shrugged tense shoulders, still deeply aware of the dark stranger’s eyes. ‘That’s the way it happens with charity events.’

‘Two hundred quid just for reading tarot cards!’ Bobby whistled. ‘Perhaps you should take it up professionally!’

She laughed. ‘And give up the day job? Not in a million years!’

Rhiannon was a top advertising executive. The creative director of Solomon Associates, no less, and one of the most powerful advertising forces in London. She had gone into Solomon’s straight from art college at twenty-one, and over the last five years had carved herself a career that was the pride and joy of her family, who were still living in their little country village in Hampshire.

But today she was ‘Rhiannon the Welsh Witch’, telling fortunes in a little Romany tent in the grounds of Courtney Manor, raising funds for her favourite children’s charity.

‘Still, you’re making lots of money here.’ Bobby took her arm, walking with her towards the drinks marquee. ‘And I’m not surprised. There are so many wealthy people here.’

‘There always are at these charity events. I’m surprised they don’t just write it boldly on the invitations—

“DO NOT ATTEND WITHOUT YOUR CHEQUEBOOK”.’

‘And he’s got the biggest chequebook of all,’ Bobby said, glancing across the lawns.

‘Who has?’

‘Him. The very tall man over there.’

Her eyes followed his glance until she realised with a thudding heart that he was talking about her stranger—the tall, dark man with the fierce blue eyes and cynical face.

Prickling, she said, ‘I suppose he’s some kind of wealthy…’ Her voice trailed off as her mind suddenly rearranged those powerful features into a newspaper photograph, a magazine cover, a face on the television news.

‘Don’t you recognise him? He’s—’

‘Gabriel Stone,’ she whispered, breathless.

As though her soft voice had reached his ears, Gabriel Stone looked up at that moment, and as those blue eyes met hers her body jerked with electrifying sexual attraction.

‘Is that who he is?’ Flustered and off balance, she clung to Bobby’s solid, boring, safe arm. ‘I did wonder. Gabriel Stone…’ She could barely think properly.

‘Charismatic swine, isn’t he?’ Bobby murmured. ‘All that power, of course.’

‘No doubt he’s earned it…’

‘I read the other day that he’s just bought a small island in the Pacific’

‘I’m sure it’s not too small to cope with his private jet.’

Darling—do you mind terribly that I’m not in that league?’

She stared at him in amazement. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. We’ve both got enough money to see us through, and that’s all that matters. Why on earth should you think I’d be-’

‘Just a thought.’ He took her left hand, lifted it to his mouth and kissed the diamond solitaire that gleamed on her finger.

Gabriel Stone’s eyes narrowed sharply. His powerful body seemed to tense. Rhiannon’s heart skipped rapid beats and her eyes darted to his hard face. She felt quivers of excitement and fear run through her, and thought, Stop staring at me!

‘So when are we going to tie the knot?’ Bobby asked teasingly.

‘Soon as you like,’ she heard her own off-balance voice say. ‘How about next week?’

Bobby gaped like a goldfish, then stammered: ‘Wh-wh-what?’

She could have kicked herself. It was the first time in the year since they had got engaged that she’d said anything like that. Normally she played marriage down, pleaded career problems, begged for more time, sometimes even told him she wasn’t so sure any more.

So what on earth had made her suddenly say they could get married as soon as he liked?

‘Well, Rhiannon…’ Bobby began anxiously. ‘You know I love you dearly, but marriage so soon…I mean, I had anticipated longer…I mean, I—’

‘Don’t worry, it was just a joke!’ She laughed it off whilst wondering two things: a. why they were both intent on delaying their marriage for eternity and b. why she had been so determined to show Gabriel Stone that she belonged to Bobby.

‘Just a joke!’ Rhiannon said again, and looked quickly at her watch. ‘Heavens, is that the time? I’d better get back to work…’

He didn’t try to stop her as she moved away from him, and she was sure it was because he was relieved not to have to discuss marriage again. He just watched her walk away…

Another pair of eyes watched her too. Gabriel Stone’s. Go away! her mind shouted silently. Don’t look at me. Keep away from me. I don’t even know you.

But her pulses leapt with excitement and she felt aware of every inch of her skin: her bared midriff, the sway of her hips, the curve of her breasts, her buttocks and the soft feel of the grass beneath her naked jewelled toes.

Once inside her tent, she breathed deeply, angrily aware of her feeling of deep excitement, just because he had looked at her with those ruthless eyes.

What’s the matter with you? she demanded. First you turn to jelly just because he looks at you. Then you try to seduce Bobby publicly just to annoy him. Then you actually consider marrying earlier than planned just because—because of what?

Some dark-haired stranger with sex appeal?

This is madness, she decided. I need to dispel this clamouring for great passion with dangerous, ruthless strangers. And the best way is with white magic.

Smiling to herself, she sank down into her Welsh Witch chair, with its carved black faces both beautiful and terrifying. A golden lamp hung overhead and the table gleamed with purpole silk and gold coins. Incense burned, filling the air with its sweet smoke, and the walls were hung with silk scarves in scarlet, blue, indigo and gold. Tarot cards were spread out on the table where she had left them.

Quickly she shuffled the pack, eyes closed and red lips murmuring her wish. ‘I wish to remain engaged to Bobby for another year, then marry him, live happily ever after…’ Her green eyes darkened with memories as she added, ‘And never again fall helplessly in love with a man who can make me lose my head…’

The cards were ready. She sensed it, began to spread them in the Celtic cross, and as each card turned she felt more and more afraid of the reading.

The Ace of Cups signifying marriage, blocked by The King of Swords, signifying a ruthless and powerful man. In the immediate future, the Seven of Wands, signifying a fight between two men.

‘Rubbish!’ she muttered, refusing to believe it as she finished the spread. ‘Hocus-pocus! Mumbo-jumbo! Jiggery-pokery!’

The last card was The Lovers.

She went into shock.

For a long time she stared at it, her heart thudding violently. It was five years since she’d got that card. Five years of recovery. Five years of loving Bobby. Five years of safety since Jack…

Jack…

Just the memory of him made something in her heart resist. It was like looking back on another life, a previous incarnation, as though the woman she had been when she loved Jack was someone else entirely, not her, not Rhiannon Windmorr.

She had been slavishly devoted to him, following him around like a puppy, gazing at him adoringly with besotted green eyes and doing anything he’d asked her, as though he were her master and she his slave—a situation that had continued until she’d lost her self-respect.

But that was all over now. She had recovered, moved on, picked herself up and found a way to rebuild her shattered self-esteem, had met Bobby, loved him as a friend, and now she was—oh, yes, she was—going to marry him and live happily ever after. Most of all, she was never again going to be in danger from her own fierce, slavish desire.

The warm breeze softly rang the bellchimes.

Her green eyes flashed up to the entrance of the tent.

Gabriel Stone filled the doorway, his broad shoulders blocking the sunlight outside, his height and power dominating both the silken little marquee and Rhiannon’s mind.

In silence, they looked at one another.

Excitement blazed in Rhiannon’s green eyes. He saw it and smiled, as though he already knew she was his to control, as though he had known it, just as she had, the moment their eyes first met.

‘What do you want?’ Rhiannon’s taut voice demanded.

‘You,’ he murmured with a ruthless glint in his blue eyes.

Breathless, she just stared at him, speechless because he had been so incredibly direct.

‘You,’ he said again softly, and moved further inside. ‘I want you…to tell my future.’

She watched him, eyes as green as a witch’s cat’s.

‘You can do that, can’t you?’ he drawled smokily. ‘Tell my future? Shuffle the cards and let me know what exquisite surprises fate has in store for me?’

‘Yes,’ she said, trying to pretend this was a normal client, a normal reading. ‘Won’t you sit down, Mr…?’

‘Stone,’ he said softly, and smiled as he sank down in the chair opposite her, his powerful body making her nerves quiver as he put his hands behind his strong dark head, leaning back, watching her from below hooded eyelids. ‘Gabriel Stone.’

‘An unusual name,’ she said conversationally, shuffling the cards. ‘Although deeply classical.’

‘One of the four archangels. Gabriel, Raphael, Michael and Hod. A divine quartet. Untouched by sin.’ His blue eyes glittered. ‘Unlike me.’

‘Ah, yes. “Angel by name, sinner by nature”. Where did I read that?’

‘Life magazine. Last year.’

Her pulses raced as she studied him in the dusky gold lamplight. He wasn’t remotely unrepentant. And he did have the face of a sinner. Hard and cynical, with every wicked thought etched at the corners of those steel-blue eyes, forever recorded, all his misdeeds and wrongdoings there for all to see.

He was so desirable…

‘Here.’ She warily handed him the cards. ‘Shuffle them and think of your question.’

He smiled as he took them, let his long, strong fingers brush hers and seemed aware of the leap of her pulses at his touch. But he said nothing and shuffled the cards deftly.

‘You’re supposed to close your eyes,’ Rhiannon informed him. ‘To better focus on your question.’

‘I am focusing on my question. It’s sitting right in front of me.’

Breathless for a second, she stared, then said, ‘You can’t ask a question about me!’

‘Why not?’ He put the cards down, caressed them with one long, lazy finger in a manner that made her breathless.

‘Because I said so! I’m not here to indulge the passing fancies of men like you! I’m here to raise money for charity, and if you can’t think of a more appropriate question—’

‘Money for charity?’ His strong hand lifted to the inside pocket of his expensive black jacket, and the light fell on the silk lining gleaming richly, on the Savile Row label embroidered in silver. ‘I think I can make it worth your while to do as I ask.’

‘I very much doubt it! I can’t be bought! By you or anybody else! And I’ve had just about enough of your—’

‘Shall we say…’ he withdrew his chequebook and a silver pen ‘…One thousand pounds?’

Her jaw dropped. ‘What…?’

‘For charity, of course,’ he murmured, and began to write with bold, black self-assured style, a personal cheque from Gabriel Stone for one thousand pounds sterling. ‘I’ll make it payable to the charity shall I?’

She stared in speechless amazement as he continued to write, but her only thought was, I knew his handwriting would look like that. So confident, leaning to the right, big bold strokes, and a signature that spoke of a powerful personality and a healthy ego.

‘Such good work,’ he drawled softly, tearing the cheque out and handing it to her with a cynical, lazy smile. ‘One must contribute as much as one can.’

Rhiannon took the cheque, warring with herself briefly but humbly aware that she must think of all the lost, hungry, homeless, helpless children it would benefit—and not of how it grated on her to be bought by this man.

‘Thank you,’ she said eventually, putting the cheque in her cash-box. ‘That’s a very generous contribution. Very kind of you…’

‘Think nothing of it.’ He arched arrogant black brows at her, his face tough. ‘Now read the cards for me.’

It was a command, an order, and the formidable look on his face as he gave it made her tense with excitement, hating herself for being unable to resist responding completely to his will, his authority, his dark desire to control.

Rhiannon picked up the cards. ‘What is your question?’

‘What lies in the future for us?’ he said insolently.

‘There is no us!’

‘Let’s see whether the cards agree with you.’

With a mutinous expression she began turning over the cards, using the Celtic cross again—so much simpler than other readings, so much more direct.

‘The King of Swords,’ she heard her shocked, husky voice say as she stared down at it, then looked warily up at Gabriel Stone’s formidable face.

‘That’s me, is it?’ he drawled coolly. ‘Where are you?’

Rhiannon turned the next card over and caught her breath audibly.

‘What is it?’ He frowned, leaning forward to study the card.

‘Nothing!’ she said thickly, because she wasn’t going to let him know that his reading so far was the exact reversal of her own, just moments earlier. Where her happiness with Bobby had been blocked by Gabriel Stone, Gabriel Stone’s desire for her was blocked by her engagement to Bobby. It was so uncanny that she had to suppress the desire to dash the cards from the silken table.

And as she turned the rest over she began to tremble at what they predicted.

Herself as The High Priestess, his ultimate goal.

Gabriel as The Devil, chaining naked prisoners to his throne.

And the last and most terrifying card of all—The Lovers.

‘Ah…’ murmured Gabriel Stone with a smile of cool satisfaction. ‘The Lovers. I did rather expect that card to come up. Didn’t you?’

‘No!’ she snapped hotly, and slammed the cards down on the table, ‘And it doesn’t refer to me, so don’t get any ideas or—’

‘But if my question was about you, surely the cards are telling us we will be lovers?’

‘Mr Stone,’ she said thickly, ‘I am engaged to another man.’

‘I know. I asked around. You’ve been with him for some years.’

‘And I assure you I have every intention of staying with him for many more! I am marrying him.’

‘Don’t worry. I won’t let that stand in my way.’ He smiled slowly as he saw her shocked expression. ‘Did you think I would?’

‘Well, out of common decency—’

‘I don’t care about common decency. It’s me you want, not him.’

‘I beg your pardon! What on earth makes you think I want anything to do with you?’

‘The way you look at me.’

‘And how do I look at you?’

‘As though you’re afraid of me.’

She fell abruptly silent, her heart thudding hard enough to be heard while through her body ran silvery tremors of desire.

‘But you’re attracted to me too—aren’t you, Rhiannon? And excited by me.’ His eyes were hypnotic. ‘Don’t worry, the feeling is more than mutual. Only difference is—I’m not afraid of you. Quite the reverse. Truth is…I like the fear I see in your eyes. I like to see you looking helplessly feminine. It makes me want to make love to you.’

Her breath caught audibly. ‘Mr Stone, I don’t remember ever being spoken to like this in my life. Not only do I not like it, but I won’t put up with it. I am engaged to be married. I’m faithful to—’

‘Does he make love to you?’ In the dim lighting he watched her red lips part in silent shock. ‘Clearly not.’ His eyes were ruthless. ‘I could see the lack of passion on his side from a distance. And the pipe-and-slippers mentality in his face.’

‘I like his “pipe-and-slippers mentality”!’

‘Then why were you seductive with him at first? Why did you let him stop you when you were trying to kiss him? You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. But that fiancé of yours didn’t want to know. What’s the matter with him? If you were my woman and you twined yourself around me like that, I’d drag you off into the bushes and give you what you so obviously want.’

‘This conversation is unacceptable!’ Shooting to her feet, she stood there in trembling silence for a moment.

He smiled and stood up too, moving around the little table with absolute self-assurance, his body as masculine and threatening as that of a dark pagan god. ‘The truth is unacceptable, is it?’