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What a cold-blooded bastard!
As Russell pushed open the heavy front doors and stepped into the cavernous foyer of the house, a surprising sound met his ears.
Singing.
Startled, he stood stock-still and listened.
Yes. Someone was singing somewhere upstairs—a woman.
Russell frowned. Could it be a radio, perhaps left playing by the cleaning service which the bank said had serviced the place yesterday?
No, it wasn’t a radio, he quickly deduced, the voice having no instrumental backing.
Someone was in his house, someone who shouldn’t be there. And they were upstairs, singing.
Russell knew exactly who it was.
A squatter.
It was a scenario not unfamiliar to him.
People would be amazed at how often empty homes were squatted in, even ones as lavish as this. It didn’t matter how much security you had, how high the walls were or how many locks you had—these street-smart scroungers found a way in.
Russell planned his course of action as he made his way quietly up the curving staircase to the first floor.
Often there was a whole group of them, usually junkies. Sometimes, however, it was just some runaway looking for a place to sleep. Or to shower.
He suspected this might be the latter.
When Russell reached the first landing, he could hear the faint hiss of water running as well as the singing. It sounded as if she was in the shower. He moved across the wide, carpeted landing to the door straight in front of him. Very carefully, he turned the knob and popped his head in.
No, not in here, Russell quickly deduced.
He shook his head as he glanced around what had to be the master bedroom. Power certainly hadn’t stinted on the decor. Even if the French-style furniture was reproduction, it must still have cost a packet. So had the movie-size television screen built into the wall opposite the foot of the bed.
Russell’s eyebrows lifted. Maybe twenty million was a bargain price for this place. The contents alone were worth a small fortune. It must have hurt Power to leave it all behind.
He sure as hell hoped so.
It pained him that Power would probably never know who had bought his house. It pained him even more that he would never be able to have a more personal revenge on the man.
Maybe he would gain some more satisfaction when he actually moved in, which he fully intended to do tomorrow.
But, first, he had to turf out his unwelcome guest.
Shutting the door, he moved along the corridor to his left where he popped his head in the next door.
It was another bedroom, very pretty and very feminine.
The queen-sized bed had obviously been slept in, the gold satin quilt thrown back, the pillows crumpled.
The sound of water running was definitely louder in there, though the singing had suddenly stopped. Slipping inside, Russell made his way silently across the room, noting the bundle of cheap-looking clothes thrown carelessly on the floor next to the bed.
He shook his head at the sight. The hide of this woman!
When he reached what he presumed was the bathroom door he considered knocking first, but decided against giving this bold interloper any warning.
Too bad if she was stark naked, he decided angrily as he reached for the door knob. Squatters didn’t deserve any consideration or respect.
Without thinking of the possible consequences of his actions, Russell turned the knob and pushed open the door.
CHAPTER THREE
SHE was naked, with the kind of body which took a man’s breath away: tall and slender, with long legs, perfect breasts and a pert but curvy little bottom.
She didn’t notice him standing there, her eyes squeezed tightly shut as she vigorously shampooed her long, fair hair.
Russell made no move to make his presence known to her. He was way too busy admiring the view. Yet he’d never been the kind of man to openly ogle women, or to salivate over centrefolds.
But he was on the verge of salivating now, not to mention succumbing to an increasingly forbidden fantasy.
Perhaps he’d been too long without a woman…
On the whole, Russell didn’t find his mainly celibate lifestyle too much of a hardship. Working twenty-four-seven absorbed his energies to a large degree. But at least once a month his male hormones would rebel.
Despite not being traditionally handsome, Russell never had any trouble attracting women, especially when he put himself in an environment conducive to seduction. Sydney nightclubs always had a plethora of beautiful young things who were only too willing and eager to accommodate him, first on the dance floor and then in his bed.
Possibly, some of these girls had hoped things would progress beyond the kind of brief, strictly sexual liaisons Russell indulged in, despite his always having made it clear right from the start that it wouldn’t.
And it never did. Relationships were definitely not on Russell’s agenda. Never had been, never would be. Something had happened to his heart after his father’s death: it had lost the capacity to love and to trust. His heart had become hard, he knew.
However, another part of Russell’s body was hard at this precise moment.
Frustration raged as he continued to look at the naked nymph in the shower. Frustration, plus the wickedest of temptations.
When her hands lifted to smooth her soapy hair back from her forehead, she tipped her face up into the spray, turning it this way and that.
Russell’s fascinated gaze fastened on her face. She was beautiful, with delicate features and clear skin. Of course, he couldn’t see her eyes, which remained tightly shut. But it seemed impossible that Mother Nature could have fashioned a creature so lovely, then given her ugly eyes.
No, they would be beautiful, like the rest of her.
Once she opened them, however, and saw him standing there, staring at her, all hell would break loose. She would probably scream the place down.
I should have called the police and not burst in here, Russell realised with hindsight.
Experience had taught him that squatters and runaways were extremely wily. If he called the police now, he wouldn’t put it past this girl to concoct some story that he’d invited her here. She might even cry rape. And they just might believe her, given her looks.
Russell did the only thing he could, under the circumstances. He backed out of the room, shutting the door very quietly behind him. There he waited till the shower was turned off and sufficient time had passed for her to have dried and dressed herself.
Then he did the right thing.
He knocked.
‘Who is it?’ the girl called out.
‘More to the point, who are you?’ he challenged.
‘Nicole Power,’ she called back.
‘Who?’ Had he heard right? Had she really said she was Nicole Power? Surely not!
‘Nicole Power,’ she repeated.
Shock rendered Russell speechless.
Nicole Power! Of all people! Of all women!
He hadn’t recognised her. Not without her clothes on, and not without her eyes open.
Even worse was the fact that he’d fancied her. No, that was an understatement. He’d lusted after her, with a force that was as blind as it was almost overpowering.
For a moment back there in that bathroom, when he’d believed she was a penniless runaway, he’d imagined making her an offer that was as wrong as it was wickedly exciting.
‘You can stay,’ he’d envisaged himself saying, ‘but you’ll have to move into the master bedroom. And you’re never to cover that beautiful body of yours with clothes.’
A quite irrational fury fuelled his tongue.
‘Aren’t you aware that your father no longer owns this house?’ he snapped. ‘You have no right to be here. No right at all.’ And no right to make me want to seduce you!
‘Look, I can explain,’ she said in a lilting voice which was as attractive as her singing, ‘but it’s rather difficult talking through the door.’
‘Then come out and explain,’ Russell commanded gruffly.
‘I can’t. I don’t have any clothes with me. And I’m not coming out wrapped in a towel!’
Russell grimaced. Little did she know but he’d seen her in a lot less.
It was no wonder he hadn’t recognised her, he supposed. He’d never seen Power’s daughter in the flesh before, so to speak, only a few times on the TV news, hosting one of her never-ending birthday parties. Her twenty-first a few years ago had been so obscenely expensive that it had received extensive coverage. Admittedly, she hadn’t been on the TV lately. He did recall seeing her on the news about six months ago, going to the première of a movie, sashaying up the red carpet, dressed up to the nines and with not a hair out of place as she’d flashed her pearly whites for photographers.
He’d always thought her the ultimate rich bitch, groomed within an inch of her life. He’d also cynically believed that nothing about her skin-deep beauty was real, especially her long blonde hair. He’d imagined she was a product of a good plastic surgeon and an expert hairdresser.
Now he knew that she was a natural beauty and a natural blonde, courtesy of that small triangle of fair curls he’d glimpsed between her legs.
Damn! He had to stop thinking about things like that.
‘What say I meet you downstairs in ten minutes’ time?’ she suggested through the door.
A sensible suggestion, but it irritated him all the same. This whole scenario irritated him.
‘Make it five,’ he countered sharply, before whirling on his heel and heading for the door.
CHAPTER FOUR
NICOLE gritted her teeth, any embarrassment she’d been suffering from swiftly replaced by annoyance. She might not have any right to be here, but he had no right to be rude, whoever he was. There certainly wasn’t any need to treat her like some criminal, not once he’d discovered who she was.
Nicole wished she’d insisted on knowing who he was.
A security guard perhaps?
He’d sounded like a security guard. He certainly hadn’t been a gentleman.
When a peek into her bedroom showed that he’d left, Nicole set about finding something to wear. Not the wrap-around skirt and top she’d worn on the plane. Or any of the crushed clothes in her backpack.
She would have to select something from the wardrobe she’d left behind.
There was a lot to choose from in the walk-in wardrobe. Nicole shook her head when she saw that some of the items still had their price tags on them. All of them carried designer labels too, and most of them were on the glamorous side. Not the kind of thing she wore these days.
Jeans would have to do, she decided. Jeans and a simple black T-shirt.
Both were designer pieces but at least they didn’t look it!
The five-minute limit she’d been given was fast approaching by the time she found some clean underwear and got herself dressed. She would have to hurry, since it was imperative she not antagonise the man waiting for her downstairs. The last thing she needed was for him to demand she leave without giving her the opportunity to do what she’d flown back to Sydney to do.
As Nicole quickly wound her damp hair up into a loose knot on top of her head, she regretted not having packed up everything she wanted the moment she’d arrived this morning. That way, she’d have been long gone by now. Unfortunately, when her flight had touched down at Mascot at six this morning, she’d been totally wrecked. She hadn’t slept a wink all night because of a crying baby in the seat behind her. So when she’d let herself into the deserted house—which didn’t even have a For Sale sign outside of it—sleep had beckoned. She’d stripped off and dived straight into the bed which had been hers since the age of nine. It hadn’t occurred to her that anyone might come and find her here.
Now she was in the awkward position of having to ask the grump downstairs for a favour. Her name—which had once opened doors to her—was not going to be an asset, either. The name of Power was probably mud around Sydney these days.
With a sigh, Nicole slipped her bare feet into a pair of black mules and made her way reluctantly to the door.
She heard him before she saw him, marching back and forth across the marble-floored foyer, his heavy footsteps echoing through the house. As Nicole crossed the carpeted landing which led to the curving staircase, she began picturing an overweight fellow in his fifties with a power complex. So the sight of a tall, dark-haired, well-built man in his mid-to-late thirties came as a surprise, as did the clothes he was wearing.
Nicole might have reached the stage when an expensive wardrobe had lost its appeal for her, but she still recognised top-quality clothes when she saw them. This man’s navy-blue suit was definitely not off-the-peg. Aside from the faint sheen on the material, which shouted a mohair blend, the single-breasted jacket was superbly tailored, with not a wrinkle where the sleeves met the presumably padded shoulders.
For surely they couldn’t be his real shoulders, Nicole thought a touch cynically as she started walking down the stairs. Men who wore suits like that were rarely renowned for their physical fitness.
David had looked extremely well built in all of his business suits. But he’d not been quite so impressive once he’d undressed.
Nicole grimaced. She was always doing that nowadays, finding things to criticise about her ex-fiancé. Yet once she’d thought him fantastic. More fool her!
Suddenly, the man downstairs stopped that infernal pacing and glanced up.
For the first time during the last four months, Nicole was grateful for something her stepfather had once given her—a modelling and deportment course which had also concentrated on self-control and discipline.
She’d never needed both of those things more than at the moment when this man’s eyes met hers.
Blue, they were. Not a bright or a brilliant blue, but an icy blue, about the same colour as his shirt.
It wasn’t the colour of his eyes which rattled her, however, but the intense dislike she glimpsed in their chilly depths.
For a split second her step faltered, but then she continued on down the stairs, smiling at him and pretending he wasn’t looking at her as if she was his worst enemy.
All the while she was wondering why he was so antagonistic towards her, as well as who he might be.
She’d presumed, when she’d first seen his expensive business suit, that he’d been sent from the bank that had repossessed the house. Now that she could see him better, however, she changed her mind on that score.
He didn’t look like a banker. His thick, wavy black hair was worn too long for that career, just reaching his collar at the back. There was also something decidedly unconservative about his roughly hewn features. If she wasn’t mistaken his nose had been broken at some stage. And there was the hint of a five-o’clock shadow around his strongly squared jaw line.
Put him in less elegant clothes, and one would have thought he did something physical for a living. Physical and dangerous.
A prize fighter, maybe. Or a pirate.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ she apologised politely as she reached the bottom step.
Russell almost laughed. She wasn’t sorry about anything.
Females like her thought the world was their oyster. Of course, being rich and beautiful was a powerful combination. Though possibly, now that her doting father’s financial situation had changed, she would have to rely more on her beauty.
It irked Russell that he found her just as attractive with her clothes on, though that image of her in the nude wasn’t far from his mind. It also irked him that she looked fantastic without any of the artifices that were rich bitches’ stock-in-trade.
Not a single scrap of make-up adorned her lovely face, not to mention her even more lovely green eyes.
Hadn’t he known they’d be beautiful?
Of course, they were her mother’s eyes.
He stared hard at her and tried to see what she’d inherited from her father, beside her natural air of self-containment.
‘And you are?’ she asked coolly as she stretched out her right hand towards him.
‘McClain,’ he ground out, steeling himself as he shook her hand. Touching her in any way, shape or form could be hazardous, so he kept any contact as brief as possible. ‘Russell McClain.’
‘That name rings a bell,’ she said, a delicate frown creasing her forehead. ‘Have we met before?’
‘No.’
‘I didn’t think so,’ she mused aloud. ‘But…’ The frown abruptly disappeared, replaced by a smile which twisted Russell’s gut into a terrible knot. ‘I know who you are now,’ she said with a flash of recognition. ‘You’re the McClain on all those For Sale signs around Sydney. You’re McClain Real Estate.’
‘That’s me,’ he admitted.
‘So you’ve been hired to sell the house.’
‘No.’
She looked taken aback. ‘I don’t understand. If you’re not here as a real-estate agent, then why are you here?’
‘I’m here, Ms Power,’ he said, his mouth curving in anticipation of his moment of triumph, ‘not to sell this house, but to take possession of it. As of an hour ago, it’s mine, along with all its contents.’
Once again, he was denied satisfaction. Because she didn’t look devastated. Just surprised.
‘Goodness! That was quick. Did you get a bargain?’
‘I paid the market price,’ he said somewhat stiffly. Why wasn’t she more upset?
The answer was obvious: because she already knew about the bank’s repossession and probable fire-sale. Why? Because she was still in touch with her doting father.
‘Mmm,’ she said. ‘I would have thought the bank might have auctioned it. But no matter. My only concern is removing my personal things.’
‘Why didn’t you remove them before this?’ he asked abruptly.
‘I would have if I’d known the situation. But I didn’t. I’ve been overseas for the last few months. Although once Mum contacted me and told me what had happened, I flew back straight away. My plane got in first thing this morning. I honestly didn’t think it would cause any trouble if I came here to collect my things. I didn’t mean to stay long, but I was so wrecked after the flight that I couldn’t resist a sleep.’
‘I see,’ he bit out. Now he knew why she hadn’t been in the news lately. She’d been overseas. Probably staying in various playgrounds of the rich and famous: St Moritz, the French Riviera, maybe the Greek islands? Her skin had that warm, honey colour which indicated a life of leisure in the sun.
‘Look, it won’t take me too long to pack what I want,’ she went on hurriedly. ‘I promise I won’t take anything I shouldn’t. The household silver is safe, I can assure you,’ she finished with another of those gut-twisting smiles.
Damn it all, what was it about this creature which entranced him so?
He wanted to hate her, but he was finding it darned difficult.
Russell vowed to try harder.
‘You obviously still have a set of house keys,’ he pointed out sharply.
‘I promise to leave them behind. We could arrange a hiding place.’
‘I don’t think so, Ms Power. I’ll stay till you go. That way you can hand them to me personally.’
Her shrug showed the first trace of irritation. ‘If you insist.’
‘I insist.’
‘It could take me quite a while,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to contact a girlfriend and get her to bring over her car. I have a lot of clothes and only a couple of suitcases.’
‘That’s all right. I’ll wait.’
Her very pretty mouth tightened. ‘You’re being ridiculous, do you know that?’
‘I’m being careful.’
‘I only want what is rightfully mine.’
‘So do I. I’ve paid twenty million dollars for the privilege.’
‘Twenty million! Wow! And there I was thinking you were a greedy opportunist.’
Russell drew himself up to his full six feet three inches.
‘I don’t take advantage of other people’s misfortunes,’ he said, stung by her remark.
‘In that case you should appreciate my situation more,’ she said. ‘And be a little more accommodating. I mean, you’re not moving in here right this second, are you?’
‘No.’
‘Then what’s your problem?’ she threw at him, green eyes flashing. ‘Surely you don’t think I’m going to strip the place bare.’
‘I have no idea what you might do, Ms Power. I don’t know you.’
Her hands found her hips. ‘Then why do you dislike me so much?’
‘I don’t,’ he lied.
‘Huh! I can always tell when someone doesn’t like me, and you don’t like me, Mr McClain.’
‘You’re imagining things,’ he said.
‘If I am, then goodness knows how you got to be such a success at your job. I always thought real-estate salesmen were experts in charm. You seem to have left yours at the front door.’
Russell’s smile was wry. ‘Aah, but I’m not trying to sell you anything, Ms Power.’
‘Oh for pity’s sake, call me Nicole.’
‘If you insist.’
‘I insist.’ Her hands fell from her hips as an exasperated sigh escaped her lips. ‘Look, I appreciate you must have had a shock, finding someone in your new house, especially not knowing who I was. After all, you didn’t know it was me, did you?’
‘No,’ he replied, his mind once again going back to the sight of her in that shower. His body began recalling that sight, too.
Russell cleared his throat and did up his suit jacket. ‘I thought you were a squatter,’ he admitted.
‘And once you found out I wasn’t?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You still weren’t happy. When I came downstairs you glared at me like I was some kind of vermin.’
That’s because I wanted you, naked again, and under me. For hours on end.
I still do.
The discomfort of his ongoing arousal made Russell brutally aware that to stay in her provocative company any longer than necessary was masochistic in the extreme. He had to get out of here, and soon.
‘Now you really are imagining things,’ he said. ‘But you’re right,’ he added with one of those warm, winning smiles he reserved for his female clients. ‘I am being rather ridiculous about this. So please…take your time packing your things, and stay another night, if you need to. You can drop the keys in at the Bondi branch of McClain Real Estate any time tomorrow.’
She seemed stunned by his sudden turnaround.
Russell took her speechless moment as his cue to depart.
‘Goodbye, Ms Power,’ he said with a small nod of his head. ‘It’s been a pleasure meeting you.’
CHAPTER FIVE
‘I STILL don’t know what it was that I said or did which changed his mind,’ Nicole told Kara as they carried yet another load of clothes down to Kara’s car.
It was eleven o’clock the next morning, Nicole having taken up Russell McClain’s offer to stay another night.
‘He went from being hostile to helpful in one second flat,’ she went on. ‘And then he called meeting me a pleasure! I tell you, I’ve never been so bamboozled in all my life.’
Kara gave her a knowing look. ‘You fancied him, didn’t you?’
‘You have to be joking! He was the rudest man I’ve ever met.’
‘Yep,’ Kara said, totally unruffled by her best friend’s denial. ‘You fancied him.’
Nicole sighed. ‘I shouldn’t have.’ But Kara was right. Underneath the natural antagonism she felt at the way he’d treated her, she had fancied him.
Maybe she had a secret yen for the dark and dangerous type. Or for men with cold eyes and a personality to match.
But now Nicole realised that she hadn’t been fooled by his switch from chilly to charming, just confused.
‘Was he very good-looking?’ Kara asked as they trudged upstairs again for the umpteenth time.
‘You wouldn’t have thought so,’ she told her petite and slightly plump friend, who always went for the pretty-boy type. ‘Too tall and too macho for you.’