She Devil

The third book in the Sexy Little Secrets trilogy reunites old flames April and Jamie ten years after their mysterious split. Jamie’s demanding answers—and after a little persuasion, April might just give him some...

It’s been ten years since April Darlington-Hume broke my heart—ten painful years of not knowing why she ran off. But after a very raunchy chance encounter with her at a fund-raiser, I finally had an opportunity to find out what had happened all those years ago. So I came up with a proposal that I knew an ambitious businesswoman like her couldn’t resist.

I’ve agreed to sell her my father’s company, if she admits I’m the only man who’s ever given her real pleasure. And I’m happy to show her what she’s been missing between the sheets all this time. Once I’ve driven her wild with lust, she’ll let her guard down enough for me to tease out her secret from ten years ago.

But it’s hard to be cold and calculating when we’re alone together. Every time we toy with each other, it only reminds me that beneath our scorching desire, there was always a deeper connection that burned even hotter...

Sexy. Passionate. Bold. Discover Harlequin DARE, a new line of fun, edgy and sexually explicit romances for the fearless female.

Formerly a video and radio producer, CHRISTY McKELLEN now spends her time writing provocative, passionate, seductive romance. When she’s not writing she can be found enjoying life with her husband and three children, walking for pleasure, and researching other people’s deepest secrets and desires. Christy loves to hear from readers. You can get hold of her at christymckellen.com.

She Devil

Christy McKellen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08707-0

SHE DEVIL

© 2019 Christy McKellen

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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This book is dedicated to my incredibly talented

editor, Vic Britton, whose encouragement, support and

insight has brought out the best in my stories and in

me as a writer.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

April

SEX ISN’T ABOUT love and connection; it’s about power and control.

That’s what I’ve come to realise over the last ten years.

Yes, okay, I accept that it can also be used for the purposes of procreation and continuing a lineage—or, in my father’s case, providing an heir to his vast business empire—and I know that some people even think they’re doing it for fun but, take it from me, sex is just a tool we use to manipulate each other.

And, yes, it is true what people say about me—and when I say people I’m specifically talking about Jamie De Montfort here—I am a total and utter bitch.

Because I’ve had to be.

‘Hard as nails’ is one of the things I hear people say about me behind my back.

I like that.

Nails are useful items—essential, even. Structures would fall down without them.

‘As cold as a polar bear’s arsehole’—that one I’m not quite so keen on.

But I wouldn’t have risen to the position of Chief Operating Officer at DH Worldwide, my father’s aforementioned multinational corporation, if I hadn’t developed the ability to ignore what people say about me.

Except this time when I say people I don’t mean Jamie De Montfort because I’ve always been uncomfortably aware of what he thinks of me. Let’s just say that ever since my mother died and I was forced to step into her role as matriarch of the family—much to my sister Maya’s disgust—my relationship with Jamie has been on less than friendly terms.

Because it’s had to be.

I’ve never been able to tell him exactly why I finished our eighteen-month relationship during our third year at St Andrew’s University, so he’s chosen to think the very worst of me—and to make sure everyone knows it too.

But that’s okay. It’s had to be. For both our sakes.

If I told him why I’d been forced to do what I did it would destroy him—and me too.

Because I loved him.

But not any more. Not after the way he’s treated me since then.

Unfortunately we end up running in the same social circles a lot nowadays and he never misses an opportunity to let me know exactly how little respect he has for me now.

Like he did last night, for example.

Except in the end, last night turned out to be completely different from all the other times. In fact, thinking back, I can hardly believe it happened now. It feels more like a dream—or perhaps a nightmare, depending on how you choose to interpret it.

I’d gone to a charity fundraiser that my business associate’s wife had organised to raise money for a children’s charity that’s very close to her heart, having agreed to attend at the last minute after a meeting in Rome had fallen through and I’d found myself without anything to do that evening.

Which is why I had no idea that Jamie De Montfort was compèring the event.

As a world-famous former tennis champion, securing him as the host was quite a coup, and it was clear from the reaction to his obsequious, crowd-pleasing performance there was going to be a lot of money dropping into the charity’s coffers that evening.

At least from my seat near the back of the room I was able to observe him without feeling the usual compulsion to turn away.

I grudgingly have to admit he was looking good. Very good, in fact. His athletic physique was very much in evidence, despite being encased in a dinner jacket. He’s always had a great body, even in his early twenties, when I knew him best. And by ‘knew him’ I mean when I’d seen him naked on a regular basis.

Prohibiting my body from reacting to those memories, I attempted to study him with a dispassionate eye. He’d grown his strawberry-blond hair a little longer since the last time I’d seen him a few months previously so it curled around his collar at the nape of his neck and fell in tousled strands over his forehead. It reminded me of the way he used to wear it when we were dating, when he’d had to push his fringe out of his striking blue eyes whenever he’d turned to look at me. That simple idiosyncrasy had never failed to conjure a need in me that I’ve never been able to explain in words.

His strong jawline was very much in evidence that night too, because he was clean-shaven for once, seemingly taking a break from the designer stubble he’s famously sported in the ads he’s starred in for his own line of men’s sports clothing.

He’s always been demonstrably aware of how attractive he is, so it doesn’t surprise me at all that he has no qualms about using his looks for monetary gain.

The self-important narcissist.

I think that’s why he was so incredulous—and unreasonably malicious—when I called a halt to our relationship. He couldn’t believe I’d had the nerve to dump someone as outstanding as him.

But dump him I did. And I don’t regret that decision. Even now, ten years later. Especially when I see him flirting shamelessly with every single woman in the room, even the women I know he’s already talked into his bed—including some of my friends, I might add—but still treating me like the scum of the earth.

But I don’t care any more.

I really don’t.

Ironically, it happened to be that exact thought that was racing round my mind when the person sitting to my left—who I think was one of the organiser’s good friends—leaned over to me and whispered, ‘Did you hear about Jamie De Montfort’s father, Cliff?’

Just the mention of that name sent a shiver of unease through me.

‘No,’ I managed to reply, even though my mouth felt like someone had just filled it with rocks.

My dinner companion shook her head sadly, her eyes wide with compassionate dismay. ‘He had another heart attack and passed away a few days ago. Jamie was devastated, apparently, but he was determined to still come and host tonight.’ She nodded towards where Jamie stood proudly on stage, shaking the hand of the director of the children’s charity as everybody clapped. ‘That man is the definition of a true hero,’ she shouted above the sound of the applause, admiration shining in her eyes.

A thin smile was all I could manage as blood thumped in my temple and my stomach did sickening somersaults.

So Cliff was dead. And Jamie had still turned up for this gig. I couldn’t quite get my head around that. Jamie had idolised his father and, even though I had no kind feelings towards him any more, I understood how much he must be hurting right then. The news brought back a flood of painful memories from when my mother had died after a skiing incident, swiftly moving on to remind me of the dread and fear I’d felt when I heard that my own father had been in a near-fatal car accident only a month ago.

Yes, I knew exactly how he felt.

Frighteningly alone.

Especially because he was now the only De Montfort left. The last of his kind.

A wave of something like nostalgia crashed through me—undoubtedly in response to my own tormenting memories—and I had to excuse myself and stumble out of the room to drag some air back into my lungs. I meant to go towards the bathrooms, but there appeared to be a stream of other women doing the same thing ahead of me, so instead I diverted to a nearby office, which was mercifully empty. I didn’t bother switching on the light and strode straight over to the window, cracking it open so that the cool evening air rushed over my heated face.

My heart was pounding like I’d just run a mile at full pelt and my whole body hummed with agitation.

Cliff was dead.

I wondered whether my father had heard and if so why he hadn’t told me.

I jumped as the door to the room opened behind me, flooding it with light from the corridor.

I blinked at the outline of the tall, broad-shouldered man who stood in the doorway, instinctively knowing who it was even before my eyes adjusted and I was able to make out the familiar features of his face.

‘Good evening, Jamie,’ I said with as much indifference as I could muster. I didn’t want him to see me in this weakened state, and I knew if I gave anything away he’d jump on it immediately. I hoped, once he realised it was me alone in there, he’d just turn and walk away.

But it was not to be.

‘April, fancy finding you here skulking in the dark.’

Irritation clawed up my spine at the disparagement I heard in his tone.

‘I’m just taking a moment out. It’s so hot in there,’ I said blandly, keeping any emotion out of my voice so he had nothing to comment on, hoping he’d soon get bored and go away.

But of course he didn’t. This was Jamie, after all. The man who never passed up an opportunity to torture me.

Instead, he closed the door behind him, throwing the room back into shadow, and walked over to where I stood stiffly by the window.

Right at that moment I was immensely grateful for both the darkness and the cold breeze.

‘Is there a reason you chose to do it in my dressing room?’ he asked, the streetlight from outside casting his face into light relief.

‘I thought it was an empty office. I didn’t realise it was your room,’ I countered, aware of my face flushing with embarrassment at my unlucky faux pas.

‘Is that right?’ he replied, his scepticism clear.

There was an awkward pause as I tried to think of something to distract his attention away from my obvious discomfort.

‘I was sorry to hear about you father passing away,’ I said, deciding I might as well tackle the subject head on. No doubt it would come up at some point soon anyway. Jamie already thought my family was responsible for everything bad that had happened to his father and would no doubt try to pin this heart attack on us as well.

If only he knew the truth...

The air in the room had become very still, and I thought I caught a flash of pain cross his face, but in the semi-light I couldn’t be sure. My stomach still swooped at the thought. Jamie hadn’t shown me any real emotion—apart from anger—for years.

‘You heard about that, huh?’ he said eventually.

‘Yes, just now at dinner. I was surprised I hadn’t heard about it sooner.’

He shucked off his jacket and tossed it onto the back of an office chair that was tucked under a nearby desk. ‘No, well, my father didn’t want his death spread around like gossip. He’d had enough of that shit, thanks to your family.’

I had a lot of trouble biting my tongue at that, but somehow I managed it, despite the usual resentment building inside me. He’d have a very different attitude if he knew how much I’d done to protect both Cliff and him from gossip. And worse.

‘Speaking of which, I hear your father’s been spending time in hospital himself recently,’ Jamie went on, tugging undone his bow tie and popping open the top button of his shirt.

‘Yes, he was there for a week or so, but he’s back at home now recuperating,’ I said stiffly, trying not to think about how distractingly arousing it was to witness him messing up his neat formal attire.

‘You mean he’s actually taking some time off work? I thought I’d never see the day.’

I forcibly had to restrain myself from crossing my arms. ‘He’s not well enough to be back in the office yet and probably won’t be for a few months. He’s in constant pain and the painkillers he’s taking make his head too fuzzy for him to concentrate for long periods of time.’

Jamie nodded, his hair falling into his eyes. I watched him push it away from his forehead and my disloyal pussy gave a throb in response.

‘So he’s taking a break from terrorising his employees? That must be a relief for them all.’ He tilted his head, his gaze boring into mine. ‘Or have you muscled straight in to take over that role?’ The hostility emanating from him made my whole body prickle with an edgy, disturbing tension.

‘I’m acting CEO at the moment, if that’s what you mean, but I’d like to think I’m a fair and approachable boss.’

He snorted. ‘Approachable? You?’

And there it was, the inevitable slide into insulting me. Even though I’d been preparing myself for it, it still stung. I blinked hard, banishing the hot tears that pressed at the back of my eyes. No way was I showing him an emotional reaction. He’d only use it against me.

He took a step closer and I had to steel myself not to take a pace away, especially when his familiar musky scent hit my senses, making my head reel and my body pulse with an unwelcome carnal ache.

‘How does it feel to finally be allowed to stand on your own two feet without Daddy calling all the shots?’ he murmured, his bright-blue eyes searching mine, clearly looking for weakness in me.

Which I was not about to show him.

I let out a withering sigh and rolled my eyes. He might have just lost his father but that didn’t give him the right to be so vile.

‘You don’t change, do you? Still reeling out the same old, tired lines.’

‘Well, if you ever manage to do something new that was even vaguely worthy of my attention instead of being so fucking boring and soulless, I’ll finally be able to change my repertoire,’ he bit back.

Despite my resolve not to react to his contempt, I still flinched at that.

For one breathless moment I thought I saw something like regret pass across his face, but I wasn’t prepared to hang around and find out. I was too afraid my insouciant front might completely crumble, so instead I pushed back my shoulders and said, ‘Well, Jamie, it was predictably unpleasant seeing you again. If those are all the snide remarks you have for me this time, I think I’ll be leaving now. I don’t want to keep you from your doting audience. I know how much you need to be adored.’

‘April. Wait...’

As I turned away I saw him reach out as if to try and stop me leaving but, instead of his hand landing squarely on my arm, his fingers caught the thin spaghetti-strap of my dress. In my determination to get away from him I was moving too fast to give him a chance to untangle himself and I felt a sharp tug, then the strap give way on one side of the dress and slither down my back.

I sucked in a breath of agitation and turned back to glare at him.

‘Oops.’ The twitch of a smile at the edge of his mouth was more than I could stand.

‘This is a five-thousand-pound, custom made, Eva Verdano dress!’ I yelped, anger and frustration at his unapologetic amusement making my voice unsteady.

‘It’s not as if you can’t get Daddy to stump up for another one,’ he said with a condescending flick of his eyebrow.

‘I can afford to buy my own clothes, you arrogant prick,’ I couldn’t help but retort, despite hating the fact I was rising to his goading, ‘Because I happen to be one of the highest paid businesswomen in the country.’ I pointed a shaky finger at him. ‘And before you try and say Daddy just handed me the job I’ll have you know I worked my arse off to be where I am today!’

‘Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, if it makes you feel better,’ he growled back.

And that was it. I’d had enough of him. A blistering anger rose through me and without thinking I reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled with all my strength. The material must have had a high silk content because the top four buttons easily tore away, leaving his shirt gaping open and giving me a spectacular view of his muscular chest.

Neither of us reacted at first, both of us too shocked by what I’d done. Then, before I had chance to stop him, Jamie reached out and grasped the front of my dress and did the same thing to me, tearing a deep valley down the front of it and exposing my breasts, which unfortunately I’d chosen not to encase in a bra that evening so as not to ruin the line of my outfit.

I let out a low scream of frustration, not just because he’d totally ruined my beautiful dress, but because I was now completely exposed to his mocking gaze.

Through the red haze that descended over my eyes, I saw him lift a hand in apology. ‘Shit, April, sorry, I didn’t—’

But I didn’t want to hear it. I was way past trying to make any kind of peace with him. I wanted to hurt him, like he’d hurt me. Repeatedly. For years. But the words wouldn’t come. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say that would penetrate that thick hide of his so, in the absence of a better idea, I pulled back my arm and slapped him hard across the face.

The violent sound of it rang around the small room, but somehow still failed to penetrate my rational consciousness. I seemed to be in some sort of incensed rage that incrementally had been building for years, so I simply swung my arm back again and attempted to repeat what I’d just done.

This time he was too quick for me and managed to grab my wrist before my hand made contact with his cheek again. He gripped me tightly, staring into my eyes and shaking his head in silent warning. But I wasn’t having it. I wasn’t going to let him subdue me. So I raised my free arm and swung that towards the other side of his face.

He seemed to be anticipating this, though, and managed to grab hold of that one as well then twist us round and pin me against the window, holding both of my wrists in his large hands, effectively confining my wrath.

‘Stop!’ he ordered me as anger and something that looked suspiciously like desire flashed in his eyes.

We were both breathing hard now, the sound of it loud and raw in the otherwise silent room.

I should have felt scared and defenceless, alone with him and physically overpowered like this.

But I wasn’t afraid. In fact, I felt weirdly jubilant.

I had the strangest urge to push him as far as I could, just to see what he’d do. I wanted to force him to act, force him to the very edge of his comfort zone, and perhaps even past it. To make him feel as off-balance as I did right then. I was determined not to be the only one fighting to stay in control.

‘What are you gonna do now, huh?’ I growled at him. ‘Now you have me trapped here, half-naked and vulnerable.’

I stared into those striking eyes of his, hyper-aware of my bare breasts rising and falling only centimetres away from his own exposed chest. My nipples were rock-hard and felt super-sensitised and I was intensely conscious that it wasn’t just the cold breeze that was responsible.

Something flickered in his eyes and they appeared to grow darker as his pupils dilated.

It suddenly felt as if we were on the cusp of something—something new and dangerous.

And my whole body ached for it.

But to my frustration he loosened his grip on my wrists and backed away from me, his handsome face drawn into a deep scowl but his eyes still betraying a heated longing.