“You think sex will make it go away, Rosalie?”

Adam’s eyes glittered with a ferocity of feeling as he continued, “Is that why you came? Expecting to burn it off with a brief encounter?”

Rosalie could feel the heat of his body seeping into hers, arousing an acute awareness of the hard muscularity of his chest and thighs, and the powerful aggression that demanded she surrender to it. She couldn’t think.

“You couldn’t be more wrong, thinking the wanting is only physical,” he fiercely asserted. “But let’s test it, shall we? See how forgettable I am for you?”

The Bedroom Surrender
Emma Darcy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

THE large group of local children surging into the foyer of the hotel caught Adam Cazell’s attention first—something of a curiosity, given that this was the Raffles Hotel Le Royal, a mecca for wealthy tourists in Phnom Penh, and it was the cocktail hour. Adam paused on his way to the famous Elephant Bar to meet up with the rest of his party, amused by the chirpy excitement of the children, all dressed in long black pants and white tunics, regardless of gender.

Then he saw the woman who was shepherding them forward. She brought Adam to an absolute standstill, the sheer exquisite beauty of her catching the breath in his throat, punching his heart, wiping everything else from his mind.

Pale perfect skin, gleaming like pearl shell.

Long, liquid, shiny black hair, falling to below her waist.

Exotic eyes, black velvet, thickly fringed with long silky lashes, their almond shape tilting slightly up at the corners.

Finely arched brows that winged up at the ends, as well, accentuating the fine cast of her angled cheekbones.

A straight elegant nose, the slight flare of her nostrils balancing the lush sensuality of the sexiest mouth Adam had ever seen, full pink-red lips, stunningly delineated by texture, not by cosmetic gloss. She wore no make-up that he could see.

A natural work of art.

Not Cambodian like the children.

She was tall, slender, innately graceful, and what country she called home, what mixture of genes had created her, Adam could not even begin to guess. All he knew was he’d never seen anyone like her. She had no peer amongst all the beautiful women who’d sought his acquaintance, and being one of the few billionaires in the prime of his life, he’d met legions of them.

With all his concentrated brain-power, he willed her to look at him.

She didn’t.

She spoke to the children who gave her their rapt attention as though she were some goddess, commanding their reverent obeisance.

‘Good heavens!’ The surprised voice of his current companion, Tahlia Leaman, jangled in his ears as she hooked her arm around his. ‘Fancy seeing Rosalie James here!’

He’d left Tahlia in the bathroom, blow-drying her long blond hair—a tedious activity that always tried his patience. He glanced quickly at her now to see if she was looking at the woman with the children.

No doubt about where her gaze was trained. She raised her other arm in a wave. ‘Rosalie! Hi!’

The greeting evoked a frown, a quick look—the lustrous dark gaze skimming right past Adam—a rueful little smile, a nod of acknowledgment to Tahlia, and that was it, the briefest of interruptions to her communication with the children.

‘Must be doing her children’s charity thing,’ Tahlia commented, hugging Adam’s arm. ‘Come on, darling. The others are probably already waiting for us in the bar.’

It piqued him, not to be at least noticed by the woman. In most company he stood out as a big man, well over six feet tall, broad-shouldered, powerful physique, with a face most women considered attractive, wearing well for its thirty-eight years. A good head of hair, too, though the dark brown was liberally streaked with grey, adding to his somewhat distinguished persona. He wasn’t accustomed to being passed over by anyone!

‘Who is Rosalie James?’ he demanded of Tahlia, wanting some definitive tag on her.

It earned an incredulous look. ‘You don’t know?’

‘I wouldn’t ask if I knew,’ he said tersely, wanting information not gushy nonsense.

Tahlia rolled her eyes. ‘Only the queen of the catwalk for all the influential designers in Europe and the U.S.—the one model they all vie for to show off their star creations. The rest of us aren’t even in the running if Rosalie James is available.’

‘Is that a bitchy comment?’

Tahlia grimaced. ‘The plain truth. I can’t even be bitchy about her, though she does get the plum jobs. When she’s not modelling, she works her butt off for orphaned kids and I suspect most of what she earns gets funnelled to them, too. You rarely ever see her on the social circuit. She’s not into partying.’ Tahlia slanted him a knowing look. ‘Not your kind of woman, Adam.’

‘No,’ he agreed.

And they walked on to the bar.

But the image of Rosalie James lingered in his mind, indelibly printed there, a rarity that both annoyed and intrigued him. Why would such a beautiful woman spend all her leisure time do-gooding, not to mention pouring all she earned into it? What drove her?

Adam knew he was a born achiever. Building up successful businesses had always given him a buzz, though he grew bored with them once they were flying high. His latest challenge was getting a new airline off the ground and he was aiming to organise cheap flights to South-East Asia, scouting the possibilities while ostensibly on this pleasure trip.

To his mind, Cambodia had a lot to offer tourists. Here in Phnom Penh, the Royal Palace and the Silver Pagoda with its fabulous Buddhas—one encrusted with over nine thousand diamonds, another in Baccarat crystal—held so many unbelievable treasures, it was mind-boggling. And seeing Angkor Wat today—that amazing complex of temples built in the twelfth century—definitely one of the wonders of the world, well worth the trip.

He’d brought a few of his company executives and their women with him, and when he and Tahlia arrived in the Elephant Bar, they were there, still raving over what they’d seen at Angkor Wat. Adam left Tahlia with them and went to the bar to order drinks.

‘A group of children entered the hotel just now,’ he remarked to the barman. ‘What are they doing here?’

‘They’ve come to sing for the tour group having dinner around the swimming pool this evening. A raffle is being held out there, the proceeds to go to their orphanage. Their little concert is by way of a thank-you. Miss James organised it.’

‘You know this Miss James?’

The barman nodded and smiled. ‘The kids call her the angel. Sings like one, too. She does a lot of good here for the orphans.’

Adam frowned. The angel. He hadn’t seen her as some kind of ethereal being. Her impact on him had been very physical. Sensual. Sexual. Which made it all the more frustrating that she hadn’t been aware of his presence. No recognition of who he was, either. Not even when she had acknowledged Tahlia’s call had she bothered to show any curiosity about her fellow model’s escort.

What kind of woman didn’t notice such things?

Most of the women he knew were like butterflies, instinctively seeking the sweet nectar of money. Like Tahlia, a top-line model herself, happy to be along for the ride for as long as it lasted. He wasn’t particularly cynical about his wealth being a powerful drawcard, regarding it as the natural order of things. He enjoyed having the best-looking women in the world in his company, just as they enjoyed the high life he could provide.

It was something he took so much for granted that one more beautiful woman shouldn’t have mattered one way or another. Except…being ignored had got under his skin, especially being ignored when he’d wanted to impress as strongly as he’d been impressed. A passing vexation, he told himself. Rosalie James lived on a different planet to the one he occupied. Pursuing her would be absurd. Non-productive. Clearly in her world, do-gooding had priority over…sinful pleasures.

He tried to block her out of his mind, chatting to his executives about the viability of establishing a Saturn Airline service to Cambodia. But when they moved from the bar to go to the dining room, he heard the singing begin. Her voice—it had to be hers—was delivering the verse of a very melodic song in a clear pure tone, perfect pitch…angelic.

None of the recording artists he’d signed for Saturn Records in years gone by had ever come close to having a voice like that. It sent a shiver down his spine. Rosalie James could have been a star in the music world. Still could. With her looks, her talent…

Then the children came in on the chorus, singing with more gusto than musicality, belting out their words at the top of their voices, almost drowning hers out.

Forget her, Adam savagely told himself.

He’d sold off the record company to fund the airline.

There was absolutely no profit in forcing an acquaintance with Rosalie James, either on a personal or business level.

Six months later Adam Cazell saw her again.

And was once more transfixed by her beauty.

He was at the Met in New York. It was the opening night of Puccini’s Turandot. Adam was not a big fan of opera but he’d been hooked into attending this premiere—the proceeds to go to charity—by his latest lady, Sacha Rivken, who loved glittery theatrical events that promised lots of celebrities in the limelight. Their affair was new enough for it still to be a pleasure to indulge her.

Along with a festive party of jet-setting friends, they were seated in a corner box of the Grand Tier level of the famous Metropolitan Opera House, enjoying the buzzing atmosphere of a big night out. Sacha had positioned herself and Adam on the curve of the corner so she could more easily spot the most watchable people entering the two central boxes which directly faced the stage.

The far box was filled first. Sacha was speculating over who might occupy the adjoining box when the awaited party arrived and a jolt of recognition hit him.

Rosalie James…leading her companions into the front row of seats.

The liquid black hair was coiled around the top of her head, baring a long, pale, swanlike neck, around which hung a fabulous necklace of rubies and diamonds.

No sexless white tunic and black pants tonight. She wore a figure-hugging gown of dark red velvet—breasts, waist, hips, every feminine curve lovingly delineated to breathtaking effect. Little shoulder-cap sleeves swept into a low, heart-shaped neckline that revealed a tantalising hint of cleavage. Her carriage was regal. She looked regal. If she’d worn a tiara, she would have had people wondering what royal family had spawned her.

As she took the end seat, she smiled up at the man about to settle beside her—a big man, his physique every bit a match for Adam’s, tall, powerfully built, his face showing a similar mature age, silver strands sprinkled through his chestnut hair, and he was smiling back at her as though they were sharing some very warm, intimate moment.

Never in his life had Adam experienced jealousy, yet a violent black wave of it instantly crashed through him. If her escort could have been mentally zapped into irretrievable atoms, it would have been done in those few out of control seconds. She had given him space in her life—a man of the same physical mould as himself—and Adam felt cheated, wronged, every muscle in his body clenching in aggressive anger at this trick of Fate.

‘Oh! It’s Rosalie James!’ Sacha hissed exuberantly, delighted to have recognised the enigmatic top-line model. ‘And she’s wearing the show-stopper from this season’s Bellavanti collection. I bet it’s on loan for this premiere, getting more spotlight for the designer. And look at that necklace! On loan from Bergoff, for sure. Must be worth a fortune!’

Not money spent on herself then, Adam swiftly reasoned, nor gifts from a lover, which was a matter of some relief though he didn’t stop to examine the cause of this relief. ‘Who’s the guy with her?’ he grated out, wanting some firm identification, a name that could tell him more about her choice.

‘Don’t know. Quite a hunk, though. Very impressive.’

Which caused Adam’s jaw to tighten further.

‘James…is she related to the tenor who’s making his debut here tonight?’ the one opera buff in their party inquired.

Adam flicked open the glossy program he’d bought earlier. The starring tenor’s name was Zuang Chi James. ‘She’s not Chinese,’ he pointed out sardonically.

‘You haven’t read his bio, Adam,’ came the faintly mocking reply. ‘Zuang Chi was born in China but he was smuggled out to Australia by his family who wanted him to have the chance to develop his voice. He was officially adopted by a previous Australian ambassador to China and his wife, Edward and Hilary James. They found him teachers at the Sydney Conservatorium of Music where he won a scholarship to…’

‘Hey! Rosalie James is an Australian, too,’ Sacha chimed in excitedly. ‘You could be right about a connection.’

Australian? Was that her nationality? Richard stared at her, thinking there could be few more English names than Edward and Hilary, but Rosalie James didn’t look English-Australian. And the guy with the reddish hair next to her looked more like a huge marauding Scot. Her slim, elegant hand was swallowed up in his as the lights dimmed.

Adam suffered through the first act of the opera which was utterly meaningless to him. He couldn’t get his mind off Rosalie James and her escort, both of whom looked utterly enthralled by the action on the stage. She didn’t once glance in the direction of his box, his seat. Every time Zuang Chi James sang, she leaned forward, her body finely tensed, her focus entirely on the tenor as though she did have some extra personal interest in his performance. Was he her adopted brother? He certainly won the most applause from her.

But it was his debut at the Met, surely a milestone in any operatic singer’s career, and even Adam conceded he had a magnificent voice. Those facts alone could be eliciting her interest. After all, she sang like an angel herself, though without the resonant power of a trained classical singer. Finally, Adam remembered the proceeds from tonight’s premiere were to go to a charity.

That was why Rosalie James was here.

Do-gooding.

Probably most of the people in her box were connected to the charity, directors of the board or committed fund-raisers. Except she was altogether too cosy with the big man beside her for Adam to dismiss him as a charitable connection. The all too obvious rapport between them was like a thorn in his side, constantly irritating.

He was glad when the opera ended.

Supper at the Four Seasons was more his style.

Three months later their paths crossed again.

Unplanned.

Unexpected.

With the same stunning impact as before, but with one big difference. This time Adam was not accompanied by a woman. And Rosalie James was on her own.

It was a Sunday, midsummer in England. Adam left his London residence, looking forward to the pleasure of driving his Aston Martin into the country and collecting his daughter from Davenport Hall where she had spent the first week of her school holidays with her best friend, who happened to be the niece of the Earl of Stanthorpe.

Adam’s ex-wife was delighted with that connection to the British upper class. Sending their daughter to Roedean was pure status snobbery on Sarah’s part—a ridiculous reason in Adam’s mind, but it wasn’t a big enough issue to argue over. Besides, Cate seemed happy there, didn’t complain about anything.

She’d just turned thirteen, his one and only child from his one and only marriage, and a very bright spark, indeed. He was proud of her, always enjoyed her company when she spent time with him. They had fun together, the kind of adventurous fun her mother had never appreciated—going places, experiencing new things.

To Sarah, there was no place like England and she wasn’t happy anywhere else, a fact she made plain by divorcing him three years after they were married. She didn’t want to spend her life gallivanting around the world with him. She was now married to a member of parliament and was the perfect politician’s wife, do-gooding with the best of them for public brownie points.

Adam wished her well. There was no acrimony between them. The divorce settlement had been more than generous and he still paid for whatever Sarah wanted for Cate. Money, he’d found, bought a lot of harmony. He could have their daughter with him whenever he wanted. Having made time off from business commitments for Cate’s summer holidays, it somewhat niggled him that she had chosen to spend the first week of it with her best friend. Didn’t she have enough of Celeste’s company at school? Or was Davenport Hall a big attraction?

Having been invited there for lunch to meet Celeste’s family before whisking Cate away, Adam took particular notice of the place when he arrived, driving slowly through the gateway and down a long avenue of massive trees, their branches intertwining overhead to form a sun-dappled tunnel. He had the eerie feeling of being drawn into some time warp.

Cate had told him the hall was over four hundred years old and the thickness of the tree trunks suggested they were of the same age, yet the leaves were a light pretty green showing a bright continuance of life. At the end of the avenue the driveway circled around a massive stone fountain, water splashing and tumbling in endless cascades, a sparkling pleasure. Beyond it stood an impressive mansion, three storeys high, much of its walls covered by ivy.

The impression of solidity and permanence was strong. This had been the home of the Earls of Stanthorpe for half a millennium. Adam had no need of deep roots himself, but he could feel its attraction here, the sense of security that undoubtedly came with nothing ever changing. Did this place have some special magic to it that appealed to Cate? Or was she being over-influenced by Sarah’s values?

He was greeted at the front door by an old butler who’d probably served the family for decades. Having identified himself, Adam was ushered into a huge hallway, a wide strip of rich red carpet bisecting a floor of black and white tiles, a gallery of portraits on the walls, obviously depicting generations of earls. Adam instantly thought he wouldn’t want to carry the weight of all this heritage on his shoulders, tying him to the one place for life.

Yet when he was shown into a drawing room of magnificent proportions and furnished with rich elegance, he could understand the tug of possessions that made their own seductive claim. There were three groupings of sofas and chairs and tables, one directly in front of a massive marble fireplace. But no fire was lit or needed. Sunshine streamed through a bank of six windows at one end of the room where a man and woman rose from another sitting area, smiling their welcome.

‘Mr. Adam Cazell, m’lord,’ the butler announced.

The Earl of Stanthorpe was tall and lean, but with none of the rather effete air Adam associated with aristocracy. He had dark intelligent eyes and a strong grip to his hand. ‘Hugh Davenport,’ he said, inviting informality. ‘A pleasure to meet Cate’s father. This is my wife, Rebel.’

Curious name for a lady of the establishment, and she was certainly a distinctive one—a mass of curly black hair tumbling to her shoulders, bright hazel eyes, an unusual angular jawline, a warm, winning smile of perfect white teeth.

Adam smiled back at her as he retrieved his hand from the Earl’s and offered it to his hostess. ‘How do you do?’ A silly greeting, he’d always thought, but it seemed appropriate on this occasion.

‘I trust you had a pleasant trip down from London, Mr. Cazell?’

‘Adam.’

‘Thank you.’ Her smile widened to a grin. ‘I’ve learned to be a bit cautious about jumping in with first names here in England. I’m from Australia and old habits die hard.’

Rather intriguing to find a dyed-in-the-wool English earl married to an Australian. Was he a rebel, too?

‘Please join us,’ she went on, gesturing to a nearby armchair. ‘The children are out walking the dogs but they should be back any minute.’

She’d barely finished speaking when Cate burst into the room, throwing the double doors to it wide open. ‘Hi, Dad! Saw your car coming up the drive,’ she breathlessly informed.

Celeste was right on Cate’s heels, along with a couple of Yorkshire terriers. ‘We ran but you got here first, Mr. Cazell. Oh, do shut up, Fluffy and Buffy!’ This to the dogs who were yapping at Adam—a stranger on their territory.

Two small boys raced in past the girls and the dogs, coming to an abrupt and rather shy halt at seeing Cate’s father, eyeing him up and down before the older one—possibly all of five—commented with considerable awe, ‘He’s as big as Uncle Zachary, Mum.’

Rebel laughed at the remark.

Then in strolled Rosalie James.

She looked directly at him.

And all Adam’s instincts transmitted a wild belief that the time warp in the tunnel of trees had been spiralling him towards this moment.

CHAPTER TWO

SO THIS was Adam Cazell…Cate’s father…

As her nephew had just said, as big as Zachary Lee, but what of his heart? From listening to his daughter, Rosalie had formed the strong impression that Adam Cazell didn’t give enough of it to Cate, whose discontent with her home life was all too evident. Celeste thought her best friend’s father was fabulous, but that had more to do with her image of him as a daring billionaire businessman with enormous buying power.

A colourful man, Rosalie thought, if viewed from the perspective of his flamboyant achievements, but close up…

Then the big man’s gaze locked onto hers, jolting her with an emanation of power that squeezed her heart and sent a weird shiver down her spine. Silver grey eyes…like bullets…tearing through defences she had raised a long, long time ago. She stared back at him, helpless to do anything else, feeling his aggression weakening every bone in her body.

Hugh rescued her, moving to draw the boys forward and introduce them. ‘These are my sons, Geoffrey and Malcolm.’

It forced Adam Cazell to look at them and say something appropriate, giving Rosalie enough recovery time to be more on guard when her introduction came.

‘And this is Rebel’s sister, Rosalie James.’

Politeness demanded she touch his hand. He seized complete possession of hers, strong fingers wrapping around it, pressing a hot imprint that felt like a claim on her entire body—his for the taking.

Resistance burned in her mind.

Nobody took her. Nobody!

‘Her sister?’ The assault of his eyes was briefly halted by a flicker of surprise at the relationship. He glanced at Rebel, then back to Rosalie, frowning.

‘No likeness,’ she dryly interpreted.

Celeste piped up. ‘Everyone in Rebel’s family was adopted, Mr. Cazell. From all over the world. Rebel is the English one…’

‘And you?’ he asked Rosalie, his eyes as sharp as steel knives.

Every instinct screamed to deny him any private information. She sensed he would maul it unmercifully. ‘My life is my own, Mr. Cazell,’ she said with quiet dignity.

‘Adam,’ he insisted.

She denied him the familiarity. Give this man an inch and he’d take a mile, and Rosalie was not about to travel his road which she’d already judged to be totally centred on what he wanted. She tore her gaze from his to send a quelling message to her chatterbox niece.

‘Let’s give Cate the chance to talk to her father, Celeste. She hasn’t seen him for…how long has it been, Cate?’

It was a deliberate barb, aimed at hitting some paternal guilt. Frustratingly, his daughter defused it. ‘Oh, Dad will get around to me in his own good time,’ she answered off-handedly.

Surprisingly Adam Cazell laughed, released Rosalie’s hand and swung towards his daughter, spreading his arms invitingly. ‘I could do with a hug, Catie mine.’

Her young face lit up with joy in the openly affectionate invitation. She flew at him and he lifted her up and whirled her around. ‘Dad, I’m not a little kid anymore,’ she protested, mindful of her dignity in this company but loving his uninhibited pleasure in her nonetheless.

He set her down with a look of helpless dismay. ‘The terrible teens,’ he moaned. ‘You’re only one small step into it. Does everything have to change?’

She huffed an exasperated sigh at him. ‘You have to face the fact I’m growing up.’

‘Well, you can teach me about it over the holidays,’ he said with grand generosity.

‘Sure.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘A few weeks to pack it all in.’

The irony floated right past him. Or he chose to ignore it, smiling to dispel the slightly sour note. ‘So what have you two been doing this past week?’ A twinkling look at Celeste. ‘Shall we sit down and you can regale me with teenage girl things?’

Quite a charmer, Rosalie thought, watching Celeste’s eager response to the invitation. They all moved to the lounge setting near the windows. With the confidence of a charismatic king, Adam Cazell proceeded to court his daughter and the family whose guest she still was until after lunch.

Rosalie had chosen an armchair slightly apart from the rest of them, determined on observing rather than participating. She knew he was aware of her detachment and would undoubtedly try to breach it sooner or later, which would put her on her mettle again, but she felt safe enough to watch him for a while, and he was quite compellingly watchable.

The charm tempered an innate forcefulness that obviously fuelled everything he tackled, explaining why he succeeded in whatever he undertook in the business world. And he was attractive, as well. Not in any pretty playboy sense. His face was too rugged to be called classically handsome but its strong lines and angles had a very male appeal that Rosalie judged would automatically evoke a positive response in both men and women. Besides which, the rather unruly waves of his dark hair softened the craggy look, adding to his charm, making him appear approachable.

The boys certainly weren’t frightened of him.

More fascinated.

As they’d been by Zachary Lee.

The comparison niggled at Rosalie’s sense of rightness. Adam Cazell might have the same formidable height and breadth of chest and shoulder as her big brother, promising a strength that would be easy to lean on, but she was sure he was much more a taker by nature than a giver.

She rubbed at the hand he had taken, wanting to erase the lingering sense of his invasive power. He noticed the action and she instantly stopped it, not wanting him to have the satisfaction of knowing he’d left his touch on her.

She wasn’t sure if it was sex or ego driving him where she was concerned—maybe both. She’d been targeted by too many wealthy and influential men not to recognise that Adam Cazell fancied acquiring her, which, of course, was for the purpose of public show and sex on call until the gloss wore off and desire waned.

Usually such attention was water off a duck’s back to Rosalie. But there was something more intense, more personal, more threatening about Adam Cazell. As much as she wanted to dismiss him, it was like he’d burrowed under her skin and she couldn’t pry him out. Maybe if she watched him long enough, the disturbing effect of the man would fade.

Oddly enough, his daughter had made a strong impression on her, too. Cate was very bright, older than her years in reading people and where she stood with them. The occasional flash of cynicism in some of her comments had disturbed Rosalie, revealing knowledge bred by disappointment or disillusionment. Cate had grown armour she shouldn’t need to have at thirteen.

But a privileged background didn’t guarantee a happy upbringing. Celeste, who still looked angelic with her beautiful fair hair and big blue eyes, had been characterised by Hugh as ‘an evil seed,’ a monstrous child—expelled from one school after another for outrageous behaviour—before Rebel came into their lives and turned everything around for them. Rebel had seen Hugh’s orphaned niece as a lost child in desperate need of rescue and had barged straight into proving to Hugh how wrong he was in his reading of the situation.

Rosalie didn’t see Cate Cazell as being in need of rescue. She was a survivor, that one, probably with as strong a will as her father. She’d inherited his dark wavy hair, and the shape of his face—the high wide brow and the sharply delineated chisel chin, but her mouth was softer and her eyes were a warmer grey with a ring of amber around the irises. She was tall, too, though with a much more slender frame than her father. Rosalie imagined she’d be very striking when she grew up.

But for now, the girl did crave more of her father’s time and attention. And should have it, Rosalie thought, remembering how much it had meant to her to have Zachary Lee caring about her every thought and feeling, loving her, protecting her, making her feel safe and secure. Not alone.

Yes…that was how Cate felt…too much alone. Her family consisted of a socialising mother, too busy aiding and abetting her political husband’s career to actually listen to her daughter, a stepfather who was never there for her, a father who flew into and out of her life, handing out oodles of ice-cream, but not staying around long enough to realise that sweets weren’t enough. No wonder Cate liked being with Celeste’s family!

‘Rosalie…’

His voice sliding into her private reverie, kicking her heart into a faster beat…the silver bullet eyes trained on her again, commanding her attention.

‘I just remembered where I last saw you,’ he said with a musing little smile designed to tease her interest.

Modelling put her in the public eye. It was not remarkable that she had been seen somewhere by Adam Cazell, possibly accompanying one of his girlfriends to a fashion show. Was this another attempt to dig into her life?

‘The premiere of Turandot at the Met in New York,’ he went on, surprising her with the venue named.

‘You were there?’ Rebel leapt in delightedly. ‘You heard Zuang Chi sing?’

He nodded. ‘A magnificent voice.’

‘He’s our brother,’ Rebel claimed with pride. ‘We were all there for his premiere. The whole family. It was a marvellous night, wasn’t it, Rosalie?’

‘Yes.’

She hadn’t seen Adam Cazell at the opera and didn’t like the feeling he had watched her without her knowing. Though she had been more or less on public exhibit that night, paid to wear the dress and necklace for others to see and covet.

He leaned forward on his sofa like a big cat about to pounce. ‘Just how many are in your family, Rebel?’

She laughed. ‘Fourteen of us. Plus husbands and wives and our wonderful parents. We filled a whole box at the Met, didn’t we, darling?’ She smiled at Hugh in fond recollection.

‘We certainly did. Marvellous night,’ he echoed.

Adam nodded in agreement. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t make your acquaintance at the time. Must confess I only noticed Rosalie.’ His gaze sliced back to her, a wry little smile on his lips. ‘You were singularly spectacular.’

She returned his smile. ‘I was on parade.’

‘And the red-haired man you were with?’

‘Zachary Lee,’ Rebel happily supplied. ‘Our big brother.’

Satisfaction glinted in his eyes.

A possible competitor dismissed, Rosalie interpreted, thinking he had certainly noticed her escort, probably sizing him up and wondering how attached they were.

‘None of us are blood relations,’ she stated, feeling a strong urge to put a spoke in his wheel. ‘That’s why we don’t look alike.’

‘Uncle Zachary is the American one,’ Celeste informed him.

‘And the one we all look up to,’ Rosalie quickly slid in, not wanting Celeste to list off their multinational family, which she was clearly on the verge of doing. A change of subject was urgently needed. ‘Do you often attend the opera, Adam?’ she inquired. ‘No.’

‘It was a premiere,’ his daughter commented before he could add more. ‘Daddy’s girlfriends lu-u-uv premieres.’

‘Oh, come on, Catie,’ he chided good-naturedly. ‘I’ve taken you to a few, too. The Harry Potter film, the…’

‘Okay, okay.’ She held up her hands in mock defence. ‘He’s far more into pop music, Rosalie. You know…Saturn Records before he sold it off? He didn’t do classical stuff.’

‘Which doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it.’ Slightly more snappish on that reply.

‘I’ve never heard you play it,’ Cate argued.

‘You’re not with me all the time.’

Big blunder.

Cate’s face tightened. ‘You’re right, Dad. What do I get? Fifteen percent if I’m lucky? For all I know you could be playing opera all the time you don’t have me with you.’ She flashed a gritty look of apology at Rosalie. ‘Sorry. Shouldn’t have butted in. I can’t swear my father doesn’t like classical music.’

‘Never a good idea to speak for others,’ Rosalie tossed back with a sympathetic shrug.

Adam Cazell erased the frown evoked by Cate’s rather biting mockery, his sharply penetrating gaze targeting Rosalie again. ‘Actually, a good voice attracts my attention regardless of what is being sung.’

‘Then you must have enjoyed listening to Zuang Chi,’ she replied, wondering if and how he would respond to his daughter’s cry for more attention from him.

‘To you, as well.’

‘Me?’ What did he mean? Had she lost the thread of this conversation while thinking about Cate.

His eyes burned into hers. ‘I heard you sing at the Raffles Hotel Le Royal in Phnom Penh. You were leading a choir of orphans.’

Shock jammed her mind for several seconds. She struggled to take in the incredible coincidence of his actually being in the same place when… ‘That was…nine months ago.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You have a beautiful singing voice. Very pure in tone.’ His mouth quirked. ‘If I’d still been running Saturn Records, I might have tried to sign you up.’

‘Rosalie’s birth mother was a professional singer,’ Rebel remarked.

‘I’m not interested,’ she quickly cut in, shaking her head at her sister. ‘You know that.’

Rebel sighed. ‘It always seemed like a waste to me. Even Zuang Chi said…’

‘No! I don’t want to be in that world!’ The curt dismissal effectively silenced her sister. She turned back to Adam Cazell who was learning—already knew—too much about her for Rosalie’s comfort, digging, digging, digging. She turned the screw. ‘What were you doing in Phnom Penh, Adam?’

‘Scouting for my airline.’

His eyes mocked her evasive tactics.

Every muscle in her body tensed as she felt his intent to close in on her. Hunter…warrior…he embodied both those images in her mind, and for the first time in many many years, Rosalie felt vulnerable to a man.

Hugh’s old butler made a timely entrance, announcing, ‘Lunch is about to be served in the dining room, m’lord.’

‘Thank you, Brooks.’ Hugh stood up. ‘Girls, boys, Adam…’

He ushered them out, leaving the two sisters to trail after them, a move that had undoubtedly been orchestrated by some telling look from his wife. Rosalie sometimes wondered if the understanding between them was almost psychic. At least, she was momentarily relieved of Adam Cazell’s presence, but Rebel, of course, had something to say, linking arms with her for a confidential little chat.

‘He’s seriously aware of you, Rosalie. Totally captivated, I’d say,’ she murmured.

‘Rebel, I don’t care to be the ornament on any man’s arm.’

‘I’m not suggesting you should be. I just think it’s more than that. He’s really interested.’

‘He’s a playboy. You’ve heard Cate rattle off all his girlfriends.’

‘Well, maybe you should take off some time to play, too.’

Rosalie frowned at her sister. ‘Why are you selling him to me?’ Rebel had been a super saleswoman before she’d married Hugh and started a family.

A sigh. ‘I’m worried about Cate. You must have caught those touches of bitterness when she was speaking to her father. Maybe you could do some good there, Rosalie.’

‘Cate Cazell is not a lost child, Rebel. She’s strong enough to fight her own battles with her father. I thought she got in a couple of good jabs today.’

‘A parent can brush these things off, telling themselves the child is being moody, difficult. None so blind as those who don’t want to see, Rosalie. But you could make him see through your eyes. And he’d listen to you. It’s not right that Cate feels…abandoned.’

‘I don’t want to get involved with him.’

‘It needn’t be a heavy involvement.’

‘He’ll come onto me hard and fast. I know he will, given half a chance.’

‘But you’re so practised at holding men off.’

‘He’s different.’

‘Oh?’ Rebel looked fascinated.

Rosalie grimaced. ‘Don’t look at me like that. I know when something’s not safe. I know.’

A frown. ‘I thought you could handle anything. Sorry for pressing. It’s just…I am worried about Cate. She’s entering her teens. If she doesn’t get what she needs from her father…’

‘She does have a mother.’

‘Useless. Too full of her own life. It’s Adam she looks to. If he’s not there for her…’

‘Cate will manage in her own way.’

‘No. She’ll be at risk. If she feels let down and alone…getting into drugs is a very easy step.’

‘Why don’t you speak to Adam yourself about this?’

‘I’m not the one he wants to win.’

Their private chat ended on that line. They’d entered the dining room and the others were there waiting for them to come and sit down.

Adam Cazell’s gaze raked Rosalie from head to foot, making her extremely conscious of the strip of bare skin between her hipster jeans and the waist-length blue and white striped bandeau top she wore, her long hair loose over bare shoulders, her face bare of make-up. She felt her blood heating, her pale skin flushing.

She wanted to scream, ‘No! Look elsewhere, Adam Cazell.’

But he wasn’t going to.

Cate stood beside him, not impinging on his consciousness one bit. It didn’t occur to him that winning his daughter was more important than winning another woman.

Rebel was right.

She did have the power to make him listen to her if he had the ears to hear.

Maybe she could handle the risk…for Catie’s sake.

It shouldn’t take long to hammer the message home.

CHAPTER THREE

SUNDAY lunch at Davenport Hall was always held in the informal dining room and very much a family affair. Regardless of any guests and despite their young age, the boys sat up at the table with their parents, Geoffrey with an extra cushion on his chair, Malcolm with a booster seat on his. They were only five and three but had been thoroughly coached in good manners, and Celeste at thirteen, was very much the young lady.

It was a lovely, bright, inviting room. The furniture was white, the furnishings yellow, and long windows overlooked a rose garden in full summer bloom. The pristine white cloth on the oval table showed off the centrepiece bowl of yellow rosebuds, and yellow linen serviettes in silver holders added their splash of colour. Rosalie sat between the boys, directly across from Adam Cazell who was flanked by the girls, Rebel and Hugh at the two ends.

Adam looked totally bemused as he watched the boys remove their serviettes from the holders and spread them on their laps. No doubt, in the company he usually kept, little children were segregated from the adults, not part of his world at all. Welcome to a real family, Rosalie thought, and wondered if he’d learn anything from it.

The girls dominated the conversation, telling Adam about their last school term—teachers they liked or disliked, hockey matches, tattle about other girls in their class. He indulged their eager chatter, smiling, laughing, frowning quizzically in all the right places. It seemed effortless on his part—no act—no hint of condescension.

He was charming.

And very, very attractive.

Possibly putting himself out to be so because she was observing him.

He shared flashes of amusement with her but made no concerted attempt to engage her in personal conversation. Biding his time, she thought, probably hoping the happy casual atmosphere at the table would lower her guard enough to let him slide inside it later. Having been on the international model circuit since she was eighteen—eleven years now—Rosalie was too experienced with men of his ilk not to know how they made their moves.

When the first strike didn’t produce a warm response, set up more favourable circumstances and try a more subtle approach. Few gave up at the first knock-back. Most of them simply didn’t believe it. Why would any woman reject such a prize? Only to increase her value and force a chase. But the chase didn’t last long. If the desired result wasn’t fast in coming, there was always another beautiful woman for such men. Much better for the ego to be appreciated than feel defeated.

Adam Cazell’s next move came after lunch. Coffee had been served in the sitting room. The girls had gone upstairs to complete Cate’s packing for her departure. Rebel had taken Malcolm up to the nursery for an afternoon nap. Geoffrey was occupying Hugh’s attention.

Adam rose from his chair, saying, ‘Would you mind if I went for a stroll in your grounds, Hugh? Stretch my legs before driving back to London.’

‘Not at all.’ Being the thoughtful host he was, his head instantly swung to Rosalie. ‘Will you show Adam around?’ A rueful smile. ‘I doubt Geoffrey has the legs for two long walks.’

Trapped by courtesy.

A clever manouvre from Adam Cazell.

But she was safe in the grounds of Davenport Hall, Rosalie swiftly reasoned, pushing up from her chair to oblige her brother-in-law’s guest. And suddenly the silver-bullet eyes were dancing wickedly at her, jolting her confidence and quickening her pulse.

‘Is there a maze we can get lost in?’ he tossed at her.

‘No. But there’s a lake you could drown in,’ she flipped back at him.

He laughed, his face crinkling, turning up the wattage of his attraction. Rosalie felt her hands clenching in an instinctive need to fight the power that flowed so strongly from him. She had to make a conscious effort to relax her muscles, pretend she was unaffected.

‘We’ll go out the back way,’ she said, and led out into the hallway where he quickly stepped up beside her.

‘Are there canoes?’ he asked.

She arched an eyebrow at him. ‘Didn’t you say you wanted to stretch your legs?’

He grinned. ‘Canoeing is very physical. You could sit at the other end while I do all the work.’

‘The canoes are all one-seaters.’

‘You’re dashing my romantic dream. Here I am in an old-world setting, in the company of a beautiful woman…’

‘And you have a daughter who doesn’t want you to be distracted from her,’ Rosalie reminded him.

‘Ah! The carer of children’s needs. I guess this comes from having been orphaned yourself.’

He could turn on a pin. Of course, he had to have an agile and astute mind to be so successful at what he did, and his focus was all on her at the moment, driving to win. Somehow she had to force a refocussing if she was to achieve anything for Cate.

‘A child needs to feel someone cares enough to be there for them. Do you think your daughter feels that, Adam?’

‘At last she uses my name,’ he lightly mocked. ‘But does this mean she’s warming to me? No. She’s using it to emphasise the point that’s important to her.’

His accurate analysis made her respect his brain even more. She slanted him a challenging look. ‘You haven’t answered me.’

‘Nor have you, me, Rosalie James,’ he swiftly countered, his eyes stabbing her with that truth.

Tit for tat.

Having walked through the hall, they stepped out into the afternoon sunshine and started down the path that led to the ornamental lake. The lawns on either side of it were a lush green. Banks of rhododendrons lent spectacular colour. Waterlilies added their exotic charm. It was a very English scene, Rosalie thought, and knew Rebel had found her home here with Hugh.

She felt completely rootless, herself. No city or country had any special call on her heart. People, yes, but not a place. She wondered if the jet-setting Adam Cazell considered one place home. According to Cate he had residences in London, New York, Hong Kong, and on a Caribbean island. The latter was probably for some taxation alleviation.

‘Do you live here with your sister?’ he asked.

‘No. Just visiting this past week.’

‘Where do you call home?’

Rosalie shrugged. ‘Nowhere in particular. There are places I can stay whenever I want to.’

‘You must have a base from which you work.’

Trying to pin her down. Wanting to know where he could find her. Rosalie wasn’t about to make it easy for him though he was right. She had a base in London, the Mayfair apartment owned by Joel Faber, her sister Tiffany’s husband. Joel had insisted any one of the James family could use it whenever they wanted to. He’d appointed her the apartment-sitter, knowing full well where most of her money went and wanting to help her in her mission.

‘I don’t have many possessions,’ she said. ‘I have no need of them.’

‘Are you telling me they can be kept in a suitcase?’ he asked sceptically.

‘Just about.’ She threw him a taunting look. ‘I probably fly around the world as much as you do, Adam Cazell.’

‘Which gives us something in common.’

‘The difference is, I don’t have a daughter who’s left alone.’

‘Cate is not alone. She has her school, as Celeste does. Her mother and stepfather never leave England. She can be with them, call on them…’

‘They have other priorities,’ Rosalie cut in, shooting him a look that told him he should know that. ‘Just because they’re here does not mean they are readily available to her. Any more than you are.’

His mouth twisted sardonically. ‘You’re accusing me of neglect.’

‘I’m telling you how it is for her.’

‘You’ve known my daughter for what…all of one week? A bit presumptuous, don’t you think, Rosalie?’

‘I’m sure you’d like to believe that. Much easier to dismiss what I’m saying.’

His voice took on an edge of anger as he sought a reason for her argument. ‘She’s been playing poor little rich girl to you?’

‘No. Cate has too much pride for that.’

‘Then why are you attacking me?’ His eyes sliced at hers. ‘Is this your best form of defence?’

‘Defence against what?’

He halted. Since she was committed to being his companion on this walk, it forced her to pause and cast an inquiring glance at him. It was easier to ignore the power of the man while walking side by side but standing still, she immediately felt swamped by the intense energy force he emitted, and his strong air of command was reinforced by the blazing certainty in his eyes.

‘That’s not worthy of you, Rosalie James.’

Her heart missed a beat then leapt into a wild pounding. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she prevaricated.

‘If you’re trading truth, then don’t lie about what you’re feeling with me. It destroys your credibility.’

He was throwing down his gauntlet. Rosalie threw down hers. ‘Okay. You’d like my suitcase in your hall for a while. I prefer to pass on that.’

‘You can’t put what I want in a suitcase. I don’t care if you dress up or not.’

She raised her eyebrows mockingly. ‘No ornamental display?’

‘Irrelevant.’

‘Just the naked truth.’

His eyes derided her reading of him. ‘That I would like, but not in the limited sense you mean.’

A convulsive little shiver ran down her spine as she felt his purpose to invade far more than her body. Rosalie fiercely argued to herself that she was a curiosity to him, an enigma in his kind of world, and he’d teased himself into wanting to know what made her tick. She didn’t stop to examine what she felt towards him because it was too threatening to her peace of mind.

‘I don’t have time for you, Adam.’

‘Make time.’

The sheer magnetism of the man tugged at her. She’d felt nothing like this before with anyone. It was as though he was claiming her, and all her self-protective instincts rose to fight any surrender to his will.

‘You make time…for your daughter,’ she hurled back at him.

It did not hit any discernible mark. ‘I do,’ he replied, still maintaining an implacable concentration on her. ‘I take Cate with me during her school holidays. During term I send her postcards from wherever I am. She can call me on my mobile telephone whenever she likes.’

‘She’s been here for the first week of her summer holidays.’

‘Not because I failed to be available. It was her choice.’

‘And what does that choice say to you, Adam? What does your daughter get with Celeste’s family that she doesn’t get with you?’

‘Since you’re bursting to tell me…tell me.’

Rosalie paused, the challenge ringing in her ears, demanding truths that he could recognise, take on board. He was not as much at fault as she had assumed where Cate was concerned. Her mind flitted through all the silent criticisms she had made, trying to home in on the basic problem.

‘She’s flaunting it in your face, Adam.’

‘What?’

‘Secure ground that’s not going to change.’

He frowned, grimaced, made a gesture encompassing the grounds around them. ‘This is not my life. Any more than it’s yours. I can’t change who I am.’

‘She craves what Celeste has—a place to come home to, being an integral part of a family where children are a blessing not a nuisance to be accommodated.’

‘I have never treated Cate as a nuisance.’ Vehement denial.

‘What of your girlfriends? Cate mentioned a string of them. When you have your daughter with you, do you spend much time with her one on one, or is she an extra?’

Another frown. ‘She’s never seemed to mind when I’ve had a companion.’

‘What choice does she have but to fit in…if she wants to be with you?’

‘I take her wherever she wants to go. We have a lot of fun together.’

‘You entertain her.’

‘Something wrong with that?’ he rumbled as though barely holding back an explosion of frustration with her argument.

‘It’s froth and bubble, Adam. It doesn’t ease the loneliness inside. The sense of being a floating part of your life, not of any prime consideration, is eating away at Cate. If you really care about her, take her somewhere special these holidays—just the two of you—and get to know her as a person. She’s thirteen. She needs to feel someone loves her for who she is inside.’

He reined in the anger that had been simmering. His eyes scoured hers, searching for ulterior motives to attach to her diatribe against him. There were none. Rosalie stood her ground, waiting for his response, willing him to give her what she needed.

‘Why do you care so much?’ he asked gruffly.

‘Who will if I don’t?’

He shook his head. ‘Catie is not your business.’

‘Caring for children is my business, Adam.’

‘She’s not an orphan.’

‘She’s in need.’

He frowned, but he didn’t refute what she’d said, which might or might not be a step forward. His expression hardened and his narrowed eyes flashed a cynical look at her. ‘Who knows the person you are inside, Rosalie?’

‘My family.’

‘All fourteen of your brothers and sisters and the people who adopted you?’

‘Some more, some less. Overall we’re a very close-knit unit, supportive of each other.’

She was arguing Cate’s cause because Rebel had asked it of her, though she was sympathetic to it, as well. Oddly enough, she no longer felt so antagonistic towards Adam Cazell. He was not a bad father. Given the man he was and the life he led, he’d certainly made the effort to be a presence in his daughter’s life.

His mouth tilted into a wry little smile as he commented, ‘Then you’re very fortunate…in your family.’

He turned his head, gazing out over the lake, and she sensed his withdrawal from her. He stood a man apart, strongly self-contained, yet possibly he felt very alone on his pinnacle of singular achievement. She wondered about him, whether he’d had parents who’d made the time to know him, siblings who were brought up with him, sharing. What of his ex-wife, his girlfriends…had they ever touched his heart…his soul?

Observing him wrapped in his own thoughts, she was struck by the idea he’d always walked alone, knew nothing else. A man like him had few peers, and those that were would be in contest with him. That was the nature of the beast. As for the women in his life, had any of them seen past what he could give them? Huge wealth and the power that went with it might have been enough for them.

Perhaps she’d been blinded by it herself in making her judgment of him. Impulsively she stepped closer and touched his arm to bring him back from wherever he’d gone. ‘You and Cate could form a wonderful bond if you reached out to her,’ she pressed.

His biceps muscle tensed. His gaze fastened on hers, bypassing her plea with a piercing intensity that demanded something far more personal. ‘What of us?’ he shot out, his other hand lifting to grasp her arm.

It was like an electric jolt zapping through her.

Shocked, immobilised, mind jammed, Rosalie could only stare back at him.

‘Why trust Cate with me when you haven’t taken the time to know the person I am inside, Rosalie James?’

The words punched into her heart.

The need pulsing from him took her breath away.

Then something deep and alien to her stirred inside Rosalie, a sexual awakening that she had never expected to experience, a wanting to know this man in every sense, a yearning for the kind of love she knew existed between her sisters and the men they’d married. Yet even as she felt this, panic screamed into her mind, beating up the fearful thought—it’s not safe!

‘Da…ad!’ came the exasperated call from his daughter.

His jaw tightened. His eyes bit into hers with ruthless and relentless purpose. ‘Don’t think I’ll walk out of your life, Rosalie. We’ll meet again.’

She was left shaken to the core as he released her arm. Her own hand slid limply from his as he turned to face Cate who’d started down the path towards them and now stood waiting, her arms folded with an air of impatience. Or was it resentment that he’d gone off with yet another woman instead of waiting for her?

She’d seen them touching.

Rosalie struggled to block what Adam had said to her out of her mind…focus on the child who was no longer really a child. Her legs carried her automatically, keeping pace with Adam’s. They walked apart, but the sense of an inevitable link with him could not be broken.

They reached Cate.

Adam put an arm around his daughter’s shoulders and the stiffness instantly went out of them. He hugged her close, smiling, chatting, and she glowed up at him, loving his attention.

He didn’t speak to Rosalie again, not in any personal sense. He said a general goodbye to the family, thanking them for their hospitality. All of them trooped out to watch him and Cate drive away from Davenport Hall, the car moving slowly down the avenue of giant elms, as though being gradually drawn through a tunnel to a different time and place.

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