‘I don’t want a full-time relationship, Draco, and I’m not into one-night stands.’ A bit late to remember that, Eve.

‘Believe me, one night with you would not be nearly enough for any man. Most men will say anything to get you into bed.’

‘But you’re different, I suppose?’ Eve asked.

‘As a matter of fact I am. I am exactly the sort of man you need.’

‘Is that meant to be a turn-on?’ She had no idea if this arrogant pronouncement was intended to arouse her, but it did.

‘Think about it. I can give you great sex—and it was great—with no strings, no emotional upheaval. Just satisfying sex.’

‘That sounds …’

‘Perfect?’

‘Immoral!’

Draco’s husky laughter rang out. ‘Stay with me long enough, angel, and I will corrupt you; you do have a body made for sin.’

Though lacking much authentic Welsh blood—she comes from English/Irish stock—KIM LAWRENCE was born and brought up in North Wales. She returned there when she married, and her sons were both born on Anglesey, an island off the coast. Though not isolated, Anglesey is a little off the beaten track, but lively Dublin, which Kim loves, is only a short ferry-ride away.

Today they live on the farm her husband was brought up on. Welsh is the first language of many people in this area and Kim’s husband and sons are all bilingual—she is having a lot of fun, not to mention a few headaches, trying to learn the language!

With small children, the unsocial hours of nursing didn’t look attractive—so, encouraged by a husband who thinks she can do anything she sets her mind to, Kim tried her hand at writing. Always a keen Mills & Boon® reader, it seemed natural for her to write a romance novel—now she can’t imagine doing anything else.

She is a keen gardener and cook and enjoys running—often on the beach. Living on an island the sea is never very far away. She is usually accompanied by her Jack Russell, Sprout—don’t ask … it’s a long story!

One Night With Morelli
Kim Lawrence

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Massive thanks to my editor Kathryn

for being so elastic with the deadline on this one!

Contents

Cover

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

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

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

SHE HATED BEING late and she was—very.

Her jaw ached with tension. Obviously it served no purpose to get stressed about stuff you couldn’t control, like fog at airports, traffic jams or—no, dropping in at the office had been completely avoidable and a major mistake, but it was human nature and she couldn’t help it.

Weaving her way neatly in and out of the crowds still wearing her sensible long-haul-flight shoes, Eve flicked open her phone. She was studying the screen, her fingers flying, when a sharp tug almost pulled her off her feet.

Instinct rather than good sense made her grip tighten around the holdall slung over her shoulder. The tussle was short but the thief who grunted and swore at length at her had size on his side; although he was skinny, he was wiry and tall and he easily escaped with her bag.

‘Help… Thief!’

Dozens must have heard her anguished cry but nobody reacted until the tall hooded youth—a stereotype if there ever was one—who was shouldering his way through the crowd clutching her bag hit one pedestrian who did not move aside.

She saw the thief bounce off this immovable object and hit the pavement face down before crowds hid him and her bag from view.

She missed the thief shaking his head as he looked up, a snarl on his thin, acne-marked face aimed at the man at whose feet he lay sprawled. The snarl melted abruptly and was replaced by a flash of fear as he released the bag handle as though it were alight and, lurching to his feet, ran away.

Draco sighed. If he weren’t already very late he might have chased the culprit but he was, so instead he bent to pick up the stolen bag, which immediately opened, disgorging its contents at his feet and all over the pavement.

Draco blinked. In his thirty-three years he’d seen a lot and few things had the power to surprise him any more. In fact, only that very morning he’d asked himself if he was in a rut—the trouble with ruts was you didn’t always recognise you were in one—but standing ankle-deep in ladies’ underwear—wildly sexy lingerie, to be precise—most definitely surprised him.

Now that, he thought, was something that didn’t happen every day of the week—at least not to him.

One dark mobile brow elevated, and with a half-smile tugging his sensually sculpted lips upwards he bent forward and hooked a bra from the top of the silky heap. Silk, and a shocking-pink tartan, it was definitely a statement and, if he was any judge, a D cup.

Under his breath he read the hand-sewn label along one seam.

‘Eve’s Temptation.’ It was catchy and the name rang a faint bell.

Had Rachel had something similar in a more subdued colour? He sighed. While he missed the great sex, if he was honest—and he generally was—he didn’t miss Rachel herself, and he had no regrets about his decision to terminate their short and, he had assumed, mutually satisfactory arrangement.

Only she had crossed the line. It had started with the ‘we’ and ‘us’ comments—we could stop off at my parents’, my sister has offered us her ski lodge as it’ll be empty at New Year. Draco blamed himself for allowing it to pass as long as he had, but in his defence the sex had been very good indeed.

Things had finally come to a head a couple of months ago when she had accidentally bumped into him in the middle of an exclusive department store on one of the rare occasions when he was able to spend some quality time with his daughter.

It wasn’t her appallingly obvious efforts to ingratiate herself with Josie that had stuck in Draco’s mind; it was his daughter’s comment on the way home.

‘Don’t be too brutal will you, Dad, when you dump her?’

The worried expression in her eyes had made him realise that he’d become complacent, he’d allowed the once clearly defined lines between his home life and the other aspects of his life to blur. It was more important to keep that protective wall around his home life now that Josie was getting older than it ever had been.

The day he had looked at his baby and realised that her mother wasn’t coming back he had sworn that this desertion would not affect her; he would protect her, give her security. He had made some inevitable mistakes along the way but at least he hadn’t allowed her to form attachments with the women he had enjoyed fleeting liaisons with over the years and risk being hurt when they too left.

‘Nice,’ he murmured, running his thumb over the fine butter-soft silk.

‘That’s mine.’ Eve’s determined gaze was fixed on the pink tartan bra that she hoped was going to be next season’s best-seller.

‘You’re Eve?’

‘Yes.’ The response was automatic. She could, if she’d wanted, have claimed ownership of, not just the name, but the bra and the brand of which she was justifiably proud, though there was a strong possibility that, as on numerous previous occasions, the information would be received with scepticism.

She understood why: it was all about appearances and she simply didn’t look the part of a successful businesswoman, let alone one who was the founder of a successful underwear company that had based its brand on glamour with a quirky edge that not only looked good but was comfortable to wear.

‘It was very brave of you to stop that thief running away with my bag. I hope he didn’t hurt you.’ Her smile faded dramatically as she looked up into the face of the man who was holding her sample. ‘I’m very…’ She cleared her throat and swallowed, her tongue uncomfortably glued to the roof of her mouth.

There were several other equally disturbing accompanying symptoms, and it was so totally unexpected that it took her a few heart-racing moments to put a name to the frantic heart-pounding, uncontrolled heat rush and visceral clutch that dug into her stomach and tightened like a fist. Even the fine invisible hair on her forearms was tingling in response to what this man exuded, which was—give it a name, Evie, and move on, she told herself sternly—raw sex!

Either that or this was a much less publicised symptom of jet lag!

‘Grateful.’ For small mercies—I didn’t drool, she added silently, refusing to contemplate the mortifying possibility that she had been standing there with her mouth open for more than a few seconds.

Now that she was able to study his face with the objectivity she prided herself on, Eve could see that, though her first impressions were right—he was quite remarkably good–looking; maybe the most good-looking man she’d ever seen up close—it wasn’t his face or athletic body that had caused her nervous system to go into meltdown, it was the aura of raw sexuality that he exuded like a force field.

That made sense, because obvious good looks didn’t do it for her—they never had—and his were very, very obvious! It wasn’t that she had anything against cheekbones you could cut yourself on, classic square firm jawlines, overtly sensual lips or eyelashes that long—actually the crazily long and spiky eyelashes framing deep-set liquid dark eyes were kind of nice—it was just that Eve had always liked a face with character belonging to men who spent less time looking in the mirror than she did. And of course being a man he didn’t have to worry about the thin white scar beside his mouth. It didn’t matter that the likelihood was he’d done it doing something as mundane as falling off his bike as a kid; it added to the air of brooding danger and mystery he exuded.

The thought of being considered a hero for just standing still and letting the thief bump into him drew an ironic smile. ‘I’ll survive.’

Well, his ego would at least—it could obviously withstand a force-ten gale. The uncharacteristically uncharitable thought brought a furrow to her brow but for some reason just looking at him made her skin prickle with antagonism.

Draco gave up the D cup and studied the claimant, a breathless pink-faced female who snatched it from his fingers. The bra couldn’t be hers as she was definitely not a D cup. Actually, he was pretty sure she was not wearing a bra at all, and there was a definite chill in the air—well, this was London; when wasn’t there? His interested glance drifted and lingered on her small but pert breasts heaving dramatically beneath the loose white shirt she wore.

Eve, catching the direction of his stare, felt her colour deepen even though she knew she was being a bit paranoid. Nothing could be less revealing than her shirt; anything tighter rubbed the small scar below her shoulder blade that was still a little tender.

‘Thank you.’ She struggled to inject some warmth into her response and, just to be on the safe side, fastened her jacket, taking care not to put too much pressure on her shoulder. By next week it ought to be healed enough for her to be able to wear a bra again.

‘You’re actually called Eve?’ His curious gaze roamed over her heart-shaped face. If the original Eve had possessed a mouth that lush and inviting he for one would have cut Adam some slack.

‘Let me guess—you’re Adam.’ She sighed as though it was a tired line she’d heard often.

‘No, I’m Draco, but you can call me Adam if you want to.’

‘A lovely offer but I doubt we’ll ever be on first-name terms.’ She thanked him again, crammed the last camisole into the bag and snapped it closed then, after tilting a nod in his direction, hurried away.

He’s not watching, Eve, so why the hip swaying? she berated herself crossly.

He was watching.

* * *

Frazer Campbell, a meticulous man, reached the bottom of the page, readjusted his half-moon specs and began at the top of the page again. Draco’s jaw clenched as he struggled to control his impatience.

‘I am assuming this is an empty threat?’ he asked.

The letter, though sprinkled with pseudo-legal phrases, was written by hand, the writing his ex-wife’s, the wording definitely not… Draco strongly suspected that she had received some help with it, and even without the headed notepaper it didn’t take a genius to figure out who from. His ex-wife’s fiancé, Edward Weston, had got his seat in Parliament on the family value ticket—so it wasn’t hard to see where he was coming from. Selling yourself to the British public as a defender of family values was tough when your future bride had played a very peripheral role in her own daughter’s life.

Draco didn’t personally know the man, though he’d heard him called a joke on more than one occasion and maybe, if the subject he had chosen to poke his nose into had been any other, he might have been laughing—but he wasn’t.

One thing he absolutely did not joke about was his daughter’s welfare.

Frazer, older by several years than the man who was pacing the room restless as a caged panther in the enclosed space, smoothed the paper with the flat of his hand as he laid it back on his desk—it had landed there in an angry, crumpled ball.

‘It’s not really a threat as such, is it?’ Edward Weston came across as pompous but he wasn’t a total idiot and anyone who threatened Draco would have to be; the wealthy London-based Italian entrepreneur was famous for many things but turning the other cheek was not one of them! Frazer counted himself lucky to call Draco friend—you tended to bond pretty quickly with someone you got buried in an avalanche with—but if he hadn’t been, Draco’s reputation alone would have made him someone Frazer would have avoided.

The comment earned him a flash from Draco’s dark eyes.

‘Do you want to hear what I think or what you want to hear?’ Frazer’s shaggy brows twitched into a straight line as he noticed for the first time what his friend was wearing: full morning suit. ‘Your wedding?’ he asked cautiously.

‘Marriage!’ The single word made the speaker’s opinion of that institution quite clear, it dripped with such acid scorn.

‘Shame—if you were married it would be a perfect solution to the problem. There would be no question of your daughter not having…’ he paused to consult the letter and read out loud ‘…“a stable female influence in her life”.’ Frazer smiled at his own joke while Draco, his dark eyes glinting not with laughter but with cynicism, lowered his long, lean frame into a chair on the opposite side of the desk.

‘I’d sooner move my mother in.’ The other man laughed; he had met Veronica Morelli. ‘You make a mistake,’ Draco continued, ‘and you don’t repeat it, unless of course you’re a total fool.’

Frazer, who was blissfully happy in his second marriage, did not take offence. ‘Do you think it’s safe to come to a fool for expensive legal advice?’

Draco gave a tight grin that deepened the lines radiating from his deep-set eyes and briefly lent warmth and humour to the dark depths. ‘There are exceptions to every rule,’ he conceded. ‘And I’m coming to you as a trusted friend—I couldn’t afford what you charge.’

The older man snorted. Draco Morelli had been born to wealth and privilege, he could have sat back and enjoyed what he had inherited, but he was a natural entrepreneur and to his Italian family’s occasional bemusement over the last ten years he had made a series of financial investments that had made his name a byword for success in financial circles.

Under his smile was iron resolve. Draco’s short-lived marriage had been by anyone’s standards a total disaster but it had given him the daughter he adored so he could never regret it—but to deliberately take that route again…?

It was not going to happen.

He had affairs, just not love affairs. He did not dress things up and recognised that for him sex was simply a basic need; he had proved over and over again that the emotional element was not necessary. It required no effort on his part to maintain an emotional buffer—there were even occasions when he did not much like the women who shared his bed. What did require some effort on his part was keeping his daughter, now a scarily mature and impressively grounded thirteen, as ignorant as possible of his affairs.

‘She’s talking custody rights or at least Edward is.’ His ex’s latest was a very unlikely choice for a woman who normally went for men considerably her junior. It was hard to think of a more unlikely couple and Draco doubted it would last despite the ostentatious rock on Clare’s finger, but if he was wrong—well, good luck to them.

But he wasn’t going to allow his daughter to have her life thrown into turmoil because Clare had discovered her inner earth mother—not on his watch!

‘I am fond of Clare—let’s face it, it’s hard not to be fond of Clare,’ her ex-husband conceded. ‘But I wouldn’t trust her to take care of a cat, let alone a teenager. Can you imagine it…?’ He shook his dark head, grimacing at the mental image.

When they handed out the responsibility gene Clare was out of the room. Josie had been three months old when his ex had gone out for a facial and manicure and not come back. Left effectively a single parent at twenty, Draco had had to learn some new skills very quickly—he still was learning.

Fatherhood was a constant challenge, as was resisting his mother’s interference. When he’d told the grieving widow that she needed a new challenge in her life, he certainly hadn’t intended that challenge to be him! When Veronica Morelli wasn’t turning up on his doorstep without warning with large suitcases she was trying to set him up with suitable women—the marrying kind.

‘She’s asking for joint custody, Draco, and she is the girl’s mother.’ Frazer held up a hand to stem the eruption his comment invited and continued calmly. ‘But, no, given the circumstances and her history I don’t think there is any prospect of any court coming down on her side, even if it got that far and she did marry Edward Weston. It’s not as if she doesn’t have access, very reasonable access, already to Josie.’

Draco nodded. No matter what her faults were, his ex-wife was Josie’s mother and she was in her own way fond of her only child. Clare’s fondness meant months could go by and their daughter would have no contact beyond the occasional text or email from her mother, then she would appear loaded with gifts and was for a time a doting mother, until something else caught her interest.

Draco’s objectivity when he thought of his ex-wife was still tinged with cynicism but the corrosive anger had long since gone. He was even able to recognise that it had always been aimed more at himself than Clare, and with some justification when you considered the stubborn sentimentalism masquerading as love that had made him go through with a marriage that had had impending disaster written all over it.

‘So you don’t think I have anything to worry about?’ he asked.

‘I’m a lawyer, Draco—in my world there is always something to worry about.’

‘Sure, I might walk under a bus.’ He glanced at his watch and got to his feet, brushing an invisible speck from the perfectly tailored pale grey jacket. Actually, he was catching a helicopter rather than a bus to the wedding of Charlie Latimer; he found weddings depressing, and boring, but Josie was very excited about dressing up and he was making an effort for her sake.

‘Is it true that Latimer is marrying his cook?’

‘I haven’t a clue.’ Draco, who had less liking for gossip than he did weddings, replied honestly while he thought of a pink tartan bra and a pair of big green eyes…

On his way down in the elevator he thought some more about the bra’s owner, and he was so involved in the mental images that there was a twenty-second delay before he noticed that the lift door had opened.

Focus, Draco… He did not for a second doubt his ability to do just that; it was a case of prioritising and he was good at that. It had been this ability that had got him past the first few weeks and months after Clare had walked out. He could have carried on being bitter, twisted and generally wallowing in a morass of self-pity; he could have allowed himself to be defined by that failure.

But he hadn’t.

After that reminder, keeping his libido on a leash was relatively simple and he told himself that Green Eyes was definitely not his type. Still, there had been something about her…

‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’

Draco placed a steadying hand on the arm of the young woman who had not so accidentally collided with him. Blonde and stunning, she was his type.

His smile was automatic and lacking a spontaneity that the recipient appeared not to notice. Standing on one foot, she had grabbed his arm for support. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

‘I wasn’t looking where I was going. It’s these heels.’

She rotated one shapely ankle, inviting him to look, and Draco, being polite, did.

‘I don’t know if you remember…?’ The eyelashes did some overtime and the pout was good but he’d seen better, he mused. Now, if Green Eyes ever decided to pout, those lips would have given her a natural advantage. ‘But we met at the charity gala last month.’

‘Of course,’ Draco lied. There had been many attractive women there and good manners plus boredom meant he had probably flirted with a few. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’m pushed for time—’ His grimace was a product of impatience but the recipient chose to interpret it as regret.

‘Shame, but you’ve got my number and I’d love to take you up on that offer of dinner.’ Before Draco could even pretend to recall any such offer, let alone extend or retract it, the blonde suddenly stopped, her eyes widening at him as she waved her hand wildly at a figure about to cross the road.

‘Eve!’ she shrieked, forgetting the sexy purr.

Eve heaved a sigh and, pasting a smile on her face, turned without enthusiasm.

She had spotted them fifty yards back, hardly surprising as the couple who were standing at the entrance to the underground car park where she had left her car were drawing attention the way only beautiful people did. Eve had nothing against beautiful people in general—her best friend was one, after all. She didn’t even envy them their head-turning good looks because being the focus of attention everywhere you went was the stuff her nightmares were made of. It was just that this man…talk about bad luck…and talk about a stereotype!

It had been no shock to see him with the blonde—just a massive shock to bump into him again. As status symbols went, an underwear model on your arm was right up there with a big flash fuel-guzzling car, for alpha men like her father. But, to be perfectly fair, this man wasn’t her father and she was making judgements like this because…?

Because of the liquid ache low in her pelvis, because a man who had barely brushed her life had finally given her the faintest inkling of the sort of irrational attraction that her own mother must have experienced in order to make her forget the principles she had instilled in her own daughter and have an affair with a married man.

Keep it in proportion, Eve. It’s been a tough week and it isn’t over yet, she reminded herself as she averted her gaze from the long scarlet nails that were possessively stroking his sleeve.

Her heart was thudding so hard that she could hardly hear her response to the woman almost as famous for her rich and famous boyfriends as she was for her perfect body. If he was Sabrina’s latest that made him rich…well, that explained the arrogant air of smug assurance that really got under her skin and, as for famous, well…these days who wasn’t? Even she could type her name into a search engine and have pages appear.

‘Hello, Sabrina.’ She acknowledged the tall stranger from earlier with an unsmiling nod while she struggled against the effects of his brain-mushing charisma.

‘Eve, it’s so good to see you.’ Eve got a whiff of heavy perfume as the air either side of her face was kissed. ‘And perfect timing too. I can tell you in person…’ The dramatic pause stretched a little too long before her announcement. ‘I’m available.’

Eve always hated the feeling of walking into a conversation halfway through. Was she meant to know what the woman was talking about…?

Draco watched the expression on Eve’s face; it was clear she didn’t have a clue what the blonde was talking about. He fought a laugh with more success than he had fought the gut kick of lust he had no defence against when he had recognised the petite figure who, unless he was mistaken, had been about to make good an escape.

Draco wasn’t used to women who crossed the road to avoid him—they did the reverse occasionally—and he wondered what he’d done to make her look down her elegant little nose at him. His ego remained intact—it was pretty robust most of the time—but his interest was piqued. What would it take to melt that stern disapproval into uncritical adoration? He was setting his sights too high, he realised; he didn’t want adoration from her, just a smile. Although adoration might be nice after a long night getting to know her better…?

‘You are?’ Eve asked Sabrina.

‘Yes, but my agent said he is still waiting for a call back from your office about the new campaign…so-o-o exciting. He said something about you not using models this time.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘But I told him it’s obvious you think I’m still committed to the supermarket people, but the thing is I decided to call it a day with them as they were just going so down market and not the sort of thing I want to be associated with at all.’

‘Sorry, Sabrina, but I’ve been out of the country so the agency has been doing all the recruiting.’

‘But you’ll have the final say…right?’

Eve was tempted to say she’d be in touch but her innate sense of honesty won out. It would be unfair to string the other girl along. ‘Actually your agent had it right; we’re not using models, just real women…not that you’re not real, but you’re not ordinary. What I mean is—’

‘She means, Sabrina, that normal women can never aspire to looking like you do.’

Had anyone else made the intervention Eve might have felt grateful, but instead she found herself biting back a childish retort of Don’t tell me what I mean.

‘You’re so sweet.’ Sabrina pressed a soft kiss on his lean cheek.

Eve rolled her eyes and thought perleeze just as, above the model’s head, the dark eyes found her own. His sleek ebony brows lifted and he smiled, the sort of smile that she imagined a fox might produce when contemplating a defenceless chick.

Eve narrowed her eyes and lifted her chin in silent challenge. She was not defenceless or stupid enough to smile at a man who could flirt with one woman while another was kissing him!

As she pulled away the model’s complacent expression faded. ‘But isn’t that the idea? They all think if they buy the product they will look like me,’ she said, looking confused.

Eve heaved a sigh. She had neither the time nor the inclination to explain herself to this woman whom she ungenerously stigmatised as totally self-centred. Her eyes slid of their own volition to her tall, arrogant companion…not a case of opposites attracting in their case, she decided waspishly, but like meeting like. ‘Sorry, but I must run…lovely to bump into you…’ She could hear the insincerity in her voice but didn’t hang around to see if anyone else had. Head down, she headed for the entrance to the underground car park.

The brief encounter had left her feeling… She laughed, the sound echoing around the concrete shell, and shook her head. If there was ever a moment when she was allowed to feel weird it was today! Ignoring the fact her hand was still shaking, she fished her key ring out of her bag.

She had enough to deal with today without analysing the skin-tingling effect of a sexy stranger who represented pretty much everything she despised in a man. She was jet-lagged, facing the prospect of biting her tongue while her mother threw away her life and freedom and—she rubbed her shoulder and grimaced—she’d just had minor surgery. She was definitely permitted a little weird.

* * *

‘I’m curious, why do you keep running away from me?’

Eve started violently, nearly losing her grip on her keys as she spun around. How on earth could someone that big make so little sound? He was standing a few feet away just beyond a sleek gleaming monster that was the motoring equivalent of him. If she cared about cars she would probably know what it was, but she didn’t so in her head she simply grouped it under the heading of look at me I have loads of money.

She lifted her chin. ‘There are laws against stalking.’ She knew perfectly well that none of the adrenaline pumping through her body was the result of fear…which was too worrying to think about just now.

‘And quite right too; speaking from experience it can be—’

Her hoot of derision cut him off. ‘God, it must be so tough being irresistible to the opposite sex.’ She only just stopped herself hastily adding she was not one of that number, but then actions always spoke louder than words and she hoped she was channelling contempt and not lust. There was no way in the world that he could know about the shameful heat at the juncture of her thighs.

‘I’m flattered—’

‘Not my intention.’ She sounded breathless, and she definitely felt breathless as she fought to hold onto her defiance in the face of the suggestion of a smile her retort had produced.

She didn’t know him.

She disliked him.

She had never felt such a strong reaction to a man. Ever.

‘Relax, cara, this is my car.’ He pressed his key fob and the monster’s lights flashed.

Calling herself every kind of a fool—sure, you’re so irresistible every drop-dead gorgeous man has to follow you, she thought scathingly—she wrenched her own car door open.

‘Would you like dinner sometime?’

Draco was almost as surprised to hear himself make the offer as she looked to hear it. It had been an uncharacteristic impulse kicked into life by the sight of her getting in that car and the knowledge he would never see her again.

‘Well, it seems like such a waste…all this…’ his long fingers moved in an expressive gesture that encompassed the space between them ‘…chemistry.’

Draco felt satisfied with this explanation for his uncharacteristically impulsive behaviour. She looked—he studied the small heart-shaped face lifted to him—less so.

The soft flush that covered her skin and the angry sparkle in her luminous green eyes made him tip his head in a nod of approval. There was passion there. He knew he’d been right about the chemistry.

‘I’m assuming it’s an ego thing with you…you have to have every woman your willing slave.’

He adopted a thoughtful expression as though considering the charge, then slowly shook his head. ‘Slave suggests passive,’ he purred, staring at her mouth with an expression that made her stomach quiver with a mixture of anger and lust she refused to acknowledge. ‘I find passive boring.’

‘Well, I find men who have massive egos boring!’ she jeered, and slid onto the driver’s seat. ‘And there is no chemistry,’ she yelled, before slamming the car door.

She could hear the sound of his low throaty laughter above the metallic scream as she crunched the gears before finding reverse.

CHAPTER TWO

THE TWO YOUNG women who stood waiting in the bedroom were both in their mid-twenties but there the similarity ended.

The girl who sat on the edge of the four-poster, one slim ankle crossed over the other, was an elegant, tall, blue-eyed blonde. The other one, who had spent the last five minutes prowling restlessly up and down the room, her heels making angry tapping sounds on the age-darkened polished boards, was neither tall nor blonde, and, even though the two women were dressed identically, she was somehow not elegant.

She was five three without heels and had chestnut-brown hair. Making no concession to the occasion—the dress was enough—she wore it as she always did: scraped into the heavy knot on her slender neck. It was not a style statement, though it did reveal the length of her neck and the delicate angle of her rounded jaw, just convenient. When exposed to even a sniff of moisture it fell into a mass of uncontrollable kinky waves and Eve liked control in all aspects of her life.

There had been a period when she had struggled to emulate her friend Hannah’s effortless elegance, but no matter how hard she tried it just didn’t happen. She always ended up looking as though she were dressing up in her mother’s clothes. Gradually Eve had found her own style or—as an exasperated Hannah put it—uniform, which was a little unfair. Not all Eve’s trouser suits were black—some were navy—and who had time to shop anyhow when they had a business to run? You couldn’t afford to relax in this competitive world.

‘Ouch!’ She tripped over the skirt of her duck-egg-blue silk bridesmaid dress and banged her knee on the window seat. The pain made her green eyes film with tears.

‘Well, if you’d come to a fitting it wouldn’t be too long.’ Harriet gave an affectionate smile and shook her head. The frantic last-minute pinning meant that Eve’s dress had a sort of waist but the neckline of the fitted bodice still had a tendency to gape and slip down a couple of inches if Eve moved too quickly—and Eve moved quickly a lot. Her friend was never still mentally or physically, and just watching her made Hannah feel tired.

Eve gave another hitch accompanied by a hiss of exasperation. If she’d been more naturally blessed in the boob department it wouldn’t be a problem, but even with the tissues tucked into the strapless bra that was chafing the partially healed scar on her shoulder blade she was one cup size short of keeping the bodice up.

On the plus side, while she was focusing on not exposing herself she wasn’t thinking about her mother throwing herself away on a man who didn’t deserve her! The furrow in danger of becoming permanent in her wide brow deepened because, impending wardrobe malfunction or not, she was thinking about it and had been ever since her mother had rung excited as a schoolgirl with the glad tidings. A week was not a long time but Eve had prayed her mother would come to her senses.

She hadn’t.

‘The measurements you sent must have been way off. Sarah said you’ve lost weight since she saw you last,’ Hannah commented.

Eve felt a stab of guilt that intensified when Hannah made excuses for her.

‘I know Australia is a long way to come for a fitting.’

‘I didn’t go there to avoid my mother!’ Eve protested.

‘I never thought you did.’

Until now, thought Eve, wishing she could keep her big mouth shut. ‘I don’t see what all the big hurry is for anyhow.’ The way Hannah was looking at her made Eve frown. ‘Well, do you?’

Hannah pressed a protective hand to her stomach, reflecting on how odd it was that Eve, who was super smart and intuitive in so many ways, could not have at least suspected. She had often felt a little intimidated by her friend’s quick brain and focused drive, but for all her ability there were times when Eve couldn’t see what was right under her nose and this was one of those occasions. Hannah swiftly changed the subject; now was probably not the time to voice her suspicions.

‘Well, you made it back in time, which is the main thing. I’d have loved you to be at my wedding too,’ Hannah added wistfully.

‘I didn’t get an invite.’

‘I barely made it there myself.’

‘Fine, be mysterious,’ Eve grumbled, thinking that whatever the full story behind her friend’s marriage to the Prince of Surana she had never seen Hannah looking happier or more beautiful—she was positively glowing.

‘But you must be happy, Evie; this is what we have always wanted. For us to finally be a family.’

Eve swallowed the retort on the tip of her tongue.

She could hardly say to the man’s daughter your dad is a sad loser and I never wanted him to marry my mum. I wanted her to wake up to the fact he was using her and end the sordid, secret affair.

She had no idea what had happened to make Charles Latimer, not only acknowledge the long-term affair with his cook after years of hiding it, but propose to her and then invite half the world to the wedding. She glanced out of the window at the sound of another helicopter coming in to land—another VIP, she thought sourly. Charles Latimer certainly moved in glittering circles.

Her jaw set as she turned away. ‘What’s keeping her?’ As far as Eve was concerned it was a disaster!

When the silence stretched Hannah’s expression grew anxious. ‘It’s very romantic.’

Eve’s brows lifted. ‘You think?’

‘You know, I agree with you totally that Dad has behaved very selfishly over the years to Sarah, but your mum is the best thing that has happened to him,’ Hannah said earnestly. ‘I’m just glad he’s woken up to it. I can’t wait for Sarah to be my mum.’

‘She’s a good mum to have,’ Eve said, a lump forming in her throat as she thought of all the sacrifices her single mum had made over the years. She deserved the best and she was getting Charlie Latimer. Eve’s small hands tightened into fists, her nails inscribing half-moons into her palms. ‘I think she already thinks of you as a daughter.’

‘I hope so.’ Hannah’s blue eyes filled with emotional tears, which she blinked to clear as the door to the interconnecting room opened to reveal the bride.

Her face almost as white as the dress she was wearing, Sarah Curtis stood for a moment framed in the doorway before taking a step and almost immediately grabbing onto a table to steady herself. Reacting faster than Eve, Hannah was on her feet in an instant, her beautiful face creased in lines of concern as she rushed to supply a steadying hand to the older woman.

‘Are you all right, Sarah?’

Eve blinked. She wasn’t seeing her mother’s pale face as she was transfixed by the miles and miles of tulle her mother was wearing. The first sight of the outfit on its hanger earlier had rendered her literally speechless and it had been left to Hannah to make the necessary congratulatory noises. Somehow she had managed to sound totally sincere.

Hannah had to be a better actress than she had previously thought because the get-up was quite memorably awful and—what was worse—inappropriate. Eve didn’t know what had possessed her mother to suddenly decide to channel her inner princess!

Sarah gave a wan smile. ‘All I need is a bit of blusher.’

Hannah threw her a knowing look, her hands on her hips, and the older woman sighed heavily, suddenly looking sheepish. ‘All right, I wasn’t planning to tell you girls till later because I’m not quite twelve weeks yet and—’

It had to weigh a ton, Eve thought, sizing up the intricate beading on the mile-long train that was many a girl’s dream. But not hers; she had never dreamed of wearing such an elaborate get-up. Did that make her weird? If so she was glad, she decided defiantly! How did a woman in her forties think that it was in any way appropriate to wear a white meringue wedding dress?

She dragged her gaze upwards just as Hannah, looking totally regal in her beautifully fitting dress—actually she was a princess for real these days, a fact that Eve still hadn’t got her head around—walked over and hugged her mother. Both women were crying, to Eve’s confusion. Had her mum finally realised that the dress was a disaster?

‘You could always ditch the train,’ Eve suggested, trying to remain practical and upbeat for her mother’s sake. She knew she just had to suck it up today and be there for her mum in the future when things went sour with Charles, as they inevitably would.

Sarah, sniffing, laughed. ‘I wish it were that simple. I didn’t have any morning sickness at all with you, darling, but this time…’ She rolled her eyes and accepted the glass of water that Hannah passed her.

Playing mental catch–up, Eve blinked. Morning sickness…? She must have misheard. You only got morning sickness when you were…pregnant!

A stunned vacant expression clouding her green eyes, she felt herself hit a mental brick wall. The impact made her mind go blank and she sat down with a gentle thud on the window seat. Paler even than her mother, she sat there not even breathing until finally her chest lifted in a long shuddering sigh and her lashes swept down in a concealing curtain. She stared at her hands and waited for the dull metronome thud in her ears to subside, but it didn’t.

‘There, that’s better—all you needed was a bit of colour.’

A hand absently rubbing the nape of her neck, Eve looked up as her friend applied a finishing flick of blusher to the older woman’s cheeks.

‘You’re p-pregnant, Mum. H-how?’ Two sets of raised eyebrows turned her way and Eve blushed. She was regressing; she no longer stuttered or blushed. ‘Well, I suppose that explains it.’

‘Explains what, Eve?’ Sarah asked.

Eve shook her head and thought why the rich scumbag Charlie Latimer had suddenly decided, not only to make his secret affair with his cook public knowledge, but to marry the woman who had been his mistress. It didn’t involve a sudden attack of respect or love for Sarah; it was all about the possibility of an heir.

Not that Hannah looked as though she minded the possibility of being disinherited—her friend looked delighted.

‘I knew it,’ Hannah said smugly as she dabbed the moisture from around her soon-to-be stepmother’s eyes. ‘Whoever invented waterproof mascara deserves a medal—not that you’d know about that, Eve.’ She flashed her friend, who had been blessed with naturally thick dark lashes that required no embellishment, an envious smile before turning back to Sarah. ‘I said to Kamel last night that I thought you might be but he said that just because I’m—’ She stopped and covered her mouth with her hand. ‘I wasn’t meant to say anything until Kamel has told his uncle because of all this protocol. You won’t breathe a word, will you…?’

‘Oh, Hannah, darling, Kamel must be thrilled!’ Sarah’s waterproof mascara was once again being put to the test as she reached up to hug Hannah.

‘We both are, but Kamel is acting as though I’m made of glass. He won’t let me do a thing, and the man is driving me crazy,’ Hannah confided with a laugh.

The expression in her friend’s eyes when she said her husband’s name made Eve look away feeling uncomfortable, almost as though she had intruded. Eve was prepared to like the prince her friend had married because he was clearly as potty about Hannah as she was about him, but the cynic in her wondered how long the honeymoon period would last.

‘You’re both having babies.’ Eve was still playing mental catch-up.

Looking mistily ecstatic, Sarah clapped her hands. ‘Isn’t that incredible? Our family is growing, girls.’

‘A real family,’ Hannah chimed in.

Eve cleared her throat. It was obviously her turn to respond, but what to say…? She managed a faint and unimaginative, ‘Incredible.’

She’d moved a long way on since she had lain awake at night wishing she had a real family. Eve had pretty quickly realised that not having a father, at least not one willing to acknowledge she existed, was actually a blessing, not a curse. Unlike the majority of her classmates she had been spared the trauma of seeing her parents going through an ugly divorce or separation.

Her mum had not even had boyfriends until she came to work for Hannah’s father. Hannah had caught on much sooner than Eve and she had been more concerned by the secrecy than the relationship itself.

For Eve, it hadn’t just been the secrecy, it had been everything, and the longer the affair had lasted, the deeper her anger had grown as she’d watched helpless to do anything while her mother allowed history to repeat itself as she had become what amounted to the plaything of man who treated her like the hired help in front of his rich and powerful friends.

Charles Latimer might not be married but in every other way he was her own father—a selfish loser who used and humiliated her mum. Of course, back then Sarah had been a young impressionable student on her first holiday job—easy pickings for her unscrupulous rich employer.

What Eve could not understand was how her mother could let it happen again when she was now an independent, intelligent woman. How could she allow herself to be used and humiliated like this…? Where were her pride and self-respect?

Did Mum realise that he was only marrying her because of the baby? Eve wondered. Well, at least he was one step up the evolutionary scale of slime from her own father, whose contribution when he had learnt of her had been to write a signed note that included the words get rid of it.

Eve had never told her mum she had found the note while searching for her birth certificate, and she’d never let on she knew the identity of her father. Instead she had carefully folded it and put it back in the box that held her birth certificate.

‘Having a baby at your age…’ She sensed rather than saw Hannah’s look of warning. ‘Not that you’re old, obviously.’

Her mother managed a wan smile at the retrieval. ‘Always the soul of tact, Evie.’

Eve watched as Hannah and her mum exchanged a look. She didn’t resent the rapport that her mum and her friend had but, though she rarely acknowledged it, there were occasions when she did envy it. Eve was her daughter but Hannah was a kindred spirit.

‘I just meant…’ She paused and thought, What did you mean? ‘Couldn’t it be dangerous…for you, and the baby?’ But not for Charlie Latimer. Eve felt the anger and resentment she had always felt towards the man deepen so that they lay like an icy block behind her breastbone.

‘Loads of women in their forties have babies these days, Evie.’ Hannah proceeded to tick off a list of well-known celebrities Sarah’s age and older who had given birth recently.

‘And I’ll have a lot more support than I did last time around; your father has been marvellous, Hannah.’

Too little too late, Eve thought, before the guilt kicked in; it always did when she thought about all the things her mum had given up to be a single parent. She finally deserved some happiness but was she likely to find it with Charlie Latimer…?

Eve clenched her jaw. No, her mum deserved more—she deserved better after all the sacrifices she had made.

Wanting to give her mum the things she deserved had been behind Eve’s choice to reject the prestigious university scholarship she’d been offered and instead start her own firm. It hadn’t been easy. All the banks had turned the inexperienced eighteen-year-old away and in the end it had been a charitable trust set up to promote youth enterprise that had been convinced by her business plan and the rest, as they said, was history. Nowadays she was held up as one of the trust’s success stories, and regularly mentored young aspiring entrepreneurs and helped raise funds.

It had been a year ago that Eve had been able to go to her mother and triumphantly tell her she didn’t need to work for Charles Latimer, and that she, Eve, was able to support her while she did what she wanted: a university course, open her own restaurant…anything.

Good plan with one problem. It turned out her mum was already doing what she wanted: she wanted to waste her talents, to slave away for a man like Charles Latimer. Eve had been angry, hurt and frustrated. She knew that a distance had formed between them since that day. She had let it form.

Sarah’s green eyes filled again as she scanned her daughter’s face and asked anxiously, ‘You’re all right with this, aren’t you, Eve?’

‘I’m really happy for you, Mum,’ she said quietly, thinking, If that man hurts you I’ll make him wish he had never been born.

Maybe she was a better actress than she thought, or maybe her mum just wanted to believe the lie, but either way Sarah visibly relaxed.

CHAPTER THREE

THOUGH THE LAWN had been rigged out with a positive village of canvas to house the reception, the ceremony itself was being held in the timbered great hall of Brent Manor, Charles’s country estate. The guests, entertained by a string quartet, were seated in semi-circular rows around a central aisle and the dramatic staircase was lit up to give everyone a good view of the bridal party as they made their big entrance.

The warm-up act was followed by a well-known soprano, who belted out a couple of numbers that reduced some people to tears. For Draco it felt like a visit to the cinema when the trailers went on for so long you forgot what you’d actually come to see.

Finally the wedding march started, but his sigh of relief earned him a poke in the ribs from his daughter, so he dutifully turned his head to watch the slow progression of the wedding party down the staircase. His interest was initially directed towards the tall bridesmaid who was the new wife of his friend Kamel.

Draco studied her as she walked past the row where he sat. Beautiful, he thought as his attention drifted for a moment to the second bridesmaid, who up to this point had been blocked from his view by the statuesque blonde.

He experienced a jolt of shock closely followed by an even stronger jolt of lust as he identified the slender creature as this morning’s green-eyed Eve! While he did not believe in fate or karma or even coincidence, Draco did believe in not wasting opportunities.

She made Draco think of the Degas he had purchased several years ago: the big-eyed delicate-featured dancer in it possessed the same ethereal quality. Not that there was anything balletic about this woman’s hunched shoulders and the expression in her wide-spaced eyes was less dreamy and more abject misery. As his glance lingered he realised that there was nothing joyous in any aspect of her body language, including the smile painted onto her face.

As she drew level with him he could almost feel the tension rolling off her in waves. In the hollow at the base of her white throat—she had quite beautiful collarbones, he mused—a pulse throbbed. It wasn’t just tension rolling off her, he realised; it was a level of misery you would have expected to see at a funeral, not a wedding!

At the precise moment she drew level with him Draco got a glimpse of something else you didn’t expect to see at a wedding! It happened so quickly that if he hadn’t been staring at her he’d have missed it, and she handled the dilemma rather well. Without skipping a beat or looking to left or right she grabbed the bodice of her dress before it slithered all the way down to her waist so it was a bit of a blur, but he got a glimpse of a white lacy strapless bra through which he saw the faint pink outline of nipples and a birthmark shaped like a moon high on the left side of her ribcage.

As the service went on he found himself staring, not at the bride and groom, but at Eve… Was that really her name or a marketing tool? He was curious about her misery but a lot more interested in seeing that birthmark again… The white lace was pretty but in his head she was wearing pink tartan silk. He had felt instant attractions to women before but never one as consuming as that he felt when he looked at this woman.

His eyes didn’t leave her all the way through the ceremony. Then, as the procession led by the jubilant happy couple returned down the aisle, she was briefly hidden from sight by the bride and groom. Draco, who had struggled to leave his cynicism behind, had time to think, I give them a couple of months, before he saw her come into view once more. Unlike the new Princess of Surana, who was smiling at every familiar face she saw, his bridesmaid was staring fixedly ahead. She radiated a sultry sexiness that he could almost taste.

She had actually walked right past him, when she suddenly turned her head. Their collision of eyes had such an impact that for a split second he stopped breathing and she stopped walking. The air whistled through his flared nostrils as he exhaled slowly, and watched the colour wash over her skin.

His wink brought a flash of anger to her dark-framed emerald eyes but did not lessen the tension in the muscles around his mouth and eyes… The hunger he was feeling was no laughing matter.

* * *

Once she’d accepted it was really happening, Eve just wanted it to be over. For the most part she managed to blank out the actual ceremony. There had been that wardrobe malfunction but she was pretty confident that no one had noticed. The eyes that hadn’t been on the bride had been on the beautiful Princess of Surana, but just to be on the safe side straight afterwards she had slipped away below stairs—no guests here, just the caterers who had not made use of the big old-fashioned pantry—to stuff a few more tissues in her bra. Going braless in this dress had not been an option so she had to grin and bear the discomfort it caused her shoulder. Well, it was better than baring her all, which she almost had done!

She stayed in the pantry as long as she could without risking her absence being noticed; the dress dilemma hadn’t been the only reason she had taken some time out. A memory of winking dark eyes came into her head and crossly she pushed it away, refusing to give him space in her head—refusing to give him the satisfaction. No man had ever looked at her with such earthy speculation and then to wink as though they shared some sort of secret…or was it that he thought she was a joke? She had maintained an air of cool disdain but inside Eve hadn’t felt at all cool!

She had no clue who he was—and she wasn’t interested enough to find out, she decided loftily. The guest list was as glittery as was to be expected when the groom was as wealthy and well connected as Charles Latimer, though in true lord-of-the-manor style he had invited all the estate workers and their families, among them a few girls she went to school with. She made no attempt to avoid them but neither did she speak to them.

A minor miracle—helped along by her resisting the temptation of the freely flowing champagne, as alcohol had a way of loosening her tongue—Eve managed to make it through the speeches while maintaining her assigned role of happy daughter of the bride.

By the time the bride and groom took to the floor for their first dance the knot of misery in her chest was a weight so heavy she felt as though it were crushing her, and her face muscles literally ached from the effort of looking pleased and proud while inside she was screaming no!

As the applause died away and the other guests began to drift onto the floor she pretended not to see Prince Kamel heading her way—the poor man nudged into doing his duty by Hannah, no doubt—and headed for one of the flower-filled temporary ladies’ rooms. The last thing she needed was a sympathy dance!

But what about a sympathy something else…? For some reason the face of one guest popped into her head along with the maverick shameful thought, which she couldn’t even blame on alcohol. She gave her bodice a defiant hitch and gritted her teeth, banishing the blatantly sexual features to some dark dusty corner of her mind.

The bathroom was empty—well, she was due a break! Filling a basin with water, she stood there staring at her reflection. What she saw did not improve her mood in the slightest. It had been drizzling when they had transferred from the house to the marquee complex that had been erected on the west lawn for the reception so her hair was no longer sleek. It had frizzed and the strands that had escaped around her hairline had turned into tight corkscrew curls.

She sighed. ‘Maybe I should invest in a wig?’ Great, now she was talking to herself. She propped her elbows on the counter top and leaned in close so that her breath fogged the mirror. Standing there with her eyes closed, she patted her hair down as best she could with water, and listened to the soft gurgle as she pulled out the plug and the water drained away.

If she’d had to make a list of the five worst days of her life this one would have been right up there. It was the keeping it in that made everything worse. She’d had to smile through the knowledge that her mother was throwing herself away on a man who was not worthy of her, a man Eve despised, while looking as if she were dressed in a curtain and to top it all that man was here watching it happen.

Now what were the chances of that? It was like some horrible cosmic conspiracy! She had turned her head because she had literally felt his eyes on her, which was crazy. But she hadn’t been hallucinating; he really was there.

It had been the burst of energising adrenaline resulting from that brief contact and that wink that had got her through the photo shoot, but any benefits had been cancelled out by the fact that every time she had glimpsed him since then he’d been staring at her.

He was rude, he was arrogant and she determinedly ignored him, which was not as easy as it sounded when even across the room and separated by dozens of other people she was painfully conscious of the primitive sexual aura he exuded that had struck her dumb earlier that day. It wasn’t just his height or undeniable physical presence that made him stand out among the other men present, it was that rawness, the hint of danger he possessed.

It seemed crazy to Eve that some women were actually attracted by danger, that the whole bad-boy thing turned them on, but not being one of them she went out of her way to avoid him instead.

She opened her eyes and gave her reflection a stern look. ‘Come on, Eve, this will all be a memory tomorrow.’ Consciously straightening her shoulders, but not so much that it made her bodice slip down—she’d got the hang of it now—she headed for the door.

She had pushed it open a crack when she heard a voice she knew all too well. She peered furtively through the crack, knowing it wasn’t one person, it was all three. They always had hunted in a pack and it seemed they still did.

The bullies from her school days no longer wielded the power over her that had made her life a misery but the thought of going out there and facing them right now… No, there were limits to how much ‘suck it up and smile’ she had left in her—a school reunion with the three witches was just too much to ask of anyone.

Lifting her skirt, she ran for one of the cubicles, closing it just before the three women who like herself had had parents who worked on the estate came in.

‘I just love that lippy, Louise.’

There was a clatter as make-up was emptied onto the counter top.

‘So Hannah bagged a prince, lucky cow…’

There were murmurs of agreement.

‘He’s gorgeous, but I think she’s put on weight.’

‘Oh, definitely.’

‘Look who’s talking.’

In the cubicle Eve covered her lower face with her hand, not just to protect herself from the cloud of perfume that was drifting her way, but to stifle a gurgle of laughter. She wasn’t surprised that her friend inspired jealousy but fat…! Hannah was perfect and everyone knew it.

‘She’s welcome to her prince—it’s the hot Italian one I fancy. Now he is fit…with those eyes and that mouth.’

You’re obsessed, Eve chided herself. Just because the man is dark, why assume they are talking about him? Italian? Actually, one of the things that had struck her about him had been his Mediterranean colouring… Her green eyes glazed over as she conjured his voice in her head, hearing the slight husk in his deep, sexy drawl, but no accent.

‘Is he Italian?’

‘Have you never heard of Draco Morelli? Where have you been living?’ came the pitying response. ‘Honestly, Paula, I sometimes wonder what planet you live on. He’s a multibillionaire or something, on all the richest lists.’

‘So he’s loaded? Better and better. Shame about the scar…but I suppose it isn’t that bad.’

‘Married?’

Someone giggled. Eve didn’t know who by this point as their voices had blended into one high-pitched whine that grated on her nerves. At least one thing was cleared up: there was no longer any question mark over who they were talking about. Once they mentioned the scar she knew that the man the trio were discussing was the one whose stares she had been trying to ignore all day.

‘Does it matter?’

The careless response made Eve’s lips purse in a silent moue of distaste.

Marriage might not be something she personally aspired to, but if you were going to take vows—and she knew at least two of the women outside her cubicle door were wearing wedding bands—you stayed faithful to those vows.

If not, then what was the point?

She wasn’t surprised, given he moved in the same circles as her new stepfather, that this—what had they called him? Morelli—had money, but, unlike the trio who were discussing him as though he were a piece of prime juicy steak they contemplated eating, Eve was not impressed.

You could recognise the quality of good tailoring without admiring the person who wore it! Her birth father had money and status and he was a total sleaze. Eve admired talent and intelligence, and there had certainly been intelligence in the dark-eyed stare that had followed her all day, but it had been the sexual challenge in them that had made her stomach muscles quiver.

‘A definite plus,’ someone admitted. Maybe Emma? Eve speculated. ‘But I wouldn’t throw him out of bed if he was broke. Imagine him stripped and ready for action…’

During the general laughter and crude comments that followed Eve found herself responding with a mixture of indignation and distaste… It wasn’t so much that someone had hijacked her secret fantasy, although that was bad enough, it was that she’d been forced to admit she’d had one, that she had pictured a total stranger naked and sprawled on a bed that bore more than a passing resemblance to her own!

So you wondered what he looked like naked, Eve, big deal, she told herself. Did you think you were the only woman whose creative juices were switched on by his sexual charge?

‘He’s been staring at me all day, can’t take his eyes off me. Have you noticed?’ Louise boasted.

Eve’s nostrils flared as she hung onto her temper. So he’d been eyeing up all the women—what a sleaze! It was just as well she hadn’t felt special…well, not much. She could genuinely say she hadn’t wanted his attention, but it was one thing not to want it and another to know he pulled the same tired trick with every woman in the room!

‘You mean he came on to you? When?’

‘I wrote my number on his hand.’

‘No…how much have you had to drink? What if your Rob had seen?’

‘What did he say?’

‘He just looked at me and I went shivery! He’s got the most incredible eyes… Then he said…’

‘What? What did he say, Louise?’

The dramatic pause had not just her friends, but Eve in her hiding place, on tenterhooks.

‘I could tell by the way he’s been looking at me that he wants me. You always can…’

‘Yes, but what did he say?’

‘He said he had an excellent memory and if he wanted to remember a number he would, and then…’

‘What? What did he do then?’

‘Then he wiped it off!’

Louise had clearly decided this was encouraging. Her cronies, a lot less under her thumb than in the old days, were less sure. The subsequent squabble continued until they found a subject that they all agreed on—they were united in their contempt of the wedding.

‘I think in this day and age when people are losing their jobs and everything this sort of lavish display is totally insensitive.’

So why did you come? mouthed Eve from her hiding place. Someone seemed to hear her silent question.

‘Yeah, but the champagne is good.’

‘She’s only the cook.’

‘But good-looking. I wouldn’t mind looking half as good as E-E-Eve’s mum when I’m her age.’

‘You’ve got to hand it to E-E-Eve’s mum—she got her man in the end. My mum says they’ve been at it for years.’

With a militant light in her eyes, Eve reached for the door handle. No one, but no one, was about to bad-mouth her mother when she was around and get away with it.

‘What about E-E-Evie? What does she think she looks like?’

Eve’s hand fell away as she listened to the cruel malicious laughter. It brought the memories flooding back and for a moment she was the misfit stigmatised as a swot and taunted for her stutter.

‘And that hair!’

‘And the eyebrows, and she’s still flat as a pancake, talk about molehills… Do you think she still stutters?’

‘I don’t know. The snooty cow walked straight past me and acted like I wasn’t there. Well, whatever money she is supposed to have made I think that it’s exaggerated as she hasn’t spent any on make-up. I was right all along—she’s definitely a lesbian.’

‘You only have to look at her.’

‘Definitely.’

‘To think we got detention for saying it at school! The girl has no sense of humour.’ There was the sound of rustling and another blast of hairspray before someone said, ‘That’s my mascara.’ The sound of the door opening and then, ‘She was always full of herself, looking down her nose at us, the little swot.’

Old insults and she’d heard them all before.

The door to the ladies’ room closed with a dull clunk and the room fell silent, but Eve stayed inside the cubicle giving them another few minutes just to be on the safe side and let the tears dry.

She lifted a hand to her damp face… How crazy was that? She had sworn that they would not make her cry again, that the bullies who had made her life a misery had long ago lost their power to hurt her.

So why are you hiding in the loo, Eve?

Because she had nothing to prove.

‘I’m not hiding.’ She was about to slide the latch when a soft reply made her jump.

‘I know but it’s all right—they’ve gone.’

The kind voice didn’t belong to any of the three faces from the past.

The only person in the otherwise empty ladies’ room was a young girl. Even in her flat ballet pumps she was several inches taller than Eve and slender. The encouraging smile she gave when Eve stepped out lit a face that had perfect features.

Eve could feel the girl’s warm brown eyes as she walked across to the washbasin. ‘Are you all right?’

Eve smiled at the girl’s mirror reflection and turned the tap, allowing the warm water to flow over her hands.

‘Fine, thanks,’ she lied, mortified to hear the wobble in her voice. This was crazy; she was a hard-headed businesswoman, so why was she fighting the sudden and utterly uncharacteristic urge to unburden herself?

The girl continued to look troubled. ‘Are you sure?’

What a nice girl. She reminded Eve a little of Hannah at the same age. Not in colouring, as the teenager had raven-black hair, golden-tinged skin and liquid brown eyes, but in the confidence and innate grace that would set her apart from her contemporaries. Eve nodded and the girl walked towards the door.

Her hand was on the handle when she stopped and turned back, her expression earnest. ‘My dad,’ she began hesitantly. ‘Well, he says you shouldn’t let them get to you, or at least not let them see they get to you. It’s the pack instinct—bullies react to the scent of fear, but underneath they’re insecure and cowards.’

‘Sounds like you have a good dad.’

‘I do.’ A grin flashed that made her look much younger all of a sudden. ‘But he’s not perfect.’ The grin appeared again. ‘Though he thinks he is.’

The girl’s grin was contagious.

‘Do you mind me asking…? Are you…?’

For the first time that day Eve felt the urge to laugh. She swallowed the tickle of hysteria in her throat, horrified to feel tears pricking her eyelids. ‘A lesbian?’ Eve finished for her.

‘It’s fine if you are,’ the girl said.

The kid was so sweet, so kind, the contrast with the women’s malice so profound that Eve felt the tears press hotly against her eyelids. She blinked hard and stretched a hand to lean heavily on the wall.

The mental exercise she’d employed to lock her emotions in a neat box required energy, and Eve’s reserves were severely depleted. If she could have played the scene again she wouldn’t have hidden but old habits once learnt were damned hard to break.

‘No, I’m not.’ The sob when it came emerged from somewhere deep inside her. Eve did not immediately associate it with herself, then another came and another…as all the emotions she had kept under tight control that day suddenly shook loose.

‘Stay there. I’ll get someone.’

‘I’m f-fine…’ Eve hiccoughed but the girl had vanished.

CHAPTER FOUR

EVE DIDN’T REALLY expect the girl to return at all but she did, and with the last person in the world she would have expected to see in a ladies’ room.

Draco Morelli was the wise father— Oh, my God!

Eve backed away waving a warding hand as she fought to swallow a gulping sob. ‘Go away!’

Draco made a swift assessment. ‘Keep an eye on the door, Josie, and don’t let anyone come in.’

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