She might not be the Jezebel he thought she was, but women like Lily Wild always knew what they were about.

He’d had enough of the simmering tension between them, and knew just how to kill it dead.

‘Okay, that’s it,’ he said softly, placing his empty glass on the antique sideboard with deliberate care. ‘I’m giving you fair warning. I’m sick of the tension between us—and the reason for it. You’ve got exactly three seconds to get moving before I take up what we started six years ago—and this time there’ll be no stopping. You’re not seventeen any more, and there’s no secretary to interrupt like yesterday. This time we’re on our own, and I’m not of a mind to stop at one kiss—and neither, I suspect, are you.’

SCANDAL IN THE SPOTLIGHT

The truth is more shocking than the headline!

Named and most definitely shamed, these media darlings have learnt the hard way that the press always love a scandal!

Having a devastatingly gorgeous man on their arm only adds fuel to the media frenzy. Especially when the attraction between them burns hotter and brighter than a paparazzo’s flashbulb…

About the Author

From as far back as she can remember MICHELLE CONDER dreamed of being a writer. She penned the first chapter of a romance novel just out of high school, but it took much study, many (varied) jobs, one ultra-understanding husband and three very patient children before she finally sat down to turn that dream into a reality.

Michelle lives in Australia, and when she isn’t busy plotting she loves to read, ride horses, travel and practise yoga.

This is Michelle Conder’s first novel for Mills & Boon® Modern™ Romance!

Girl Behind the
Scandalous
Reputation
Michelle Conder

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For Paul, who always takes the kids—even when it means missing a surf—for my kids, who so graciously accept when Mummy is busy, for Laurel, who tirelessly reads my dodgy first drafts, and for Mum, who is always there when I need her most.

And for Flo for her keen insights and endless encouragement.

Thank you all.

CHAPTER ONE

‘IS THIS your idea of a joke, Jordana?’ Tristan Garrett turned away from the view of the Thames outside his tenth-storey office window to stare incredulously at his baby sister. She sat in one of the navy tub chairs on the visitors’ side of his desk, legs crossed, immaculately groomed, and looking not at all like a crazy person sailing three sheets to the wind—as she sounded.

‘As if I would joke about something so serious!’ Jordana exclaimed, gazing at him, her jade-green eyes, the exact shade of his own, wide and etched with worry. ‘I know it sounds unbelievable but it’s true, and we have to help her.’

Actually, her story didn’t sound unbelievable at all, but Tristan knew his sanguine sister had a tendency to see goodness in people when there was none to see at all.

He turned back to stare at the pedestrians lining the Thames and better able to enjoy the September sunshine than he was. He couldn’t stand seeing his sister so upset, and he cursed the so-called friend who was responsible for putting these fresh tears in her eyes.

When she came to stand beside him he slung his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. What could he say to placate her? That the friend she wanted to help wasn’t worth it? That anyone stupid enough to try and smuggle drugs out of Thailand deserved to get caught?

Normally he would help his sister in a heartbeat, but no way was he getting involved in this fiasco—and nor was she. He gave her an affectionate squeeze, but he didn’t try to contain the edge of steel in his voice when he spoke. ‘Jo, this is not your problem and you are not getting involved.’

‘I—’

Tristan held up his hand to cut off her immediate objection, his solid-gold cufflinks glinting in the downlights. ‘If what you say is true then the girl made her bed and she’ll have to lie in it. And may I remind you that you’re eight days away from the wedding of the year. Not only will Oliver not want you getting involved, but I doubt the Prince of Greece will want to sit beside a known drug-user—no matter how beautiful.’

Jordana’s mouth tightened. ‘Oliver will want me to do what’s right,’ she objected. ‘And I don’t care what my wedding guests think. I’m going to help Lily and that’s that.’

Tristan shook his head. ‘Why would you risk it?’

‘She’s my best friend and I promised I would.’

That surprised him. He’d thought their friendship had died down years ago. But if that was the case then why was Lily to be maid of honour at Jo’s wedding? Maid of honour to his best man! And why hadn’t he thought to ask that question two weeks earlier, when he’d found out Lily was coming to the wedding?

He frowned, but decided to push that issue aside for the more pressing problem at hand. ‘When did you speak to her?’

‘I didn’t. A customs officer called on her behalf. Lily wanted to let me know why she couldn’t meet me, and—Oh, Tristan, if we don’t help her she’ll probably go to jail.’

Tristan pushed back the thick lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead and made a mental note to book a haircut.

Much as he didn’t want to, he could see that he needed to get tough with his sister. ‘Which is probably the best place for her.’ He scowled. ‘She’ll be able to get help there.’

‘You don’t mean that!’

Didn’t he? He didn’t know. But what he did know was that his morning had been a lot better before Jordana had rushed into his office, bringing to mind a girl he’d rather strip from it altogether.

Honey Blossom Lily Wild.

Currently voted one of the sexiest women on the planet, and a talented actress to boot. He didn’t follow films but he’d seen her first one—some art-house twaddle made by a precocious upstart of a director about the end of the world. Tristan couldn’t remember the plot. What man could? It had Lily naked, save for a white oversized singlet and a pair of cotton panties masquerading as shorts, in almost every scene. The movie had signified to him that as a culture they were heading backwards—and people like Lily Wild were half the reason for that.

He and his father had tolerated the girls’ teenage friendship because it had made Jordana happy—and neither man would ever have jeopardised that—but Tristan had disliked Lily on sight when he’d first come across her as a gangly fourteen-year-old, hiding drugs under his sister’s dormitory mattress. She’d been haughty beyond her years that day, and if he had his time again he’d suggest his sister be relocated to another boarding school quick-smart.

Tristan heaved a sigh and returned to the smooth curve of his walnut desk, stroking his computer mouse to get rid of the screen saver. ‘Jo, I’m busy. I have an important meeting in half an hour. I’m sorry, but I can’t help.’

‘Tristan, I know you have a thing about drug-users, but Lily is innocent.’

‘And you know this how, exactly?’ he queried, deciding that humouring his sister might expedite her leaving.

‘Because I know Lily, and I know she doesn’t take drugs. She hates them.’

Tristan raised an eyebrow. Was his sister for real?

‘Have you conveniently forgotten the fallout from your eighteenth birthday party? How I caught her hiding a joint when she was fourteen? Not to mention the various press photos of her completely wasted in between.’

Jordana frowned and shook her head. ‘Most of those photos were fakes. Lily’s been hounded by the press her whole life because of who her parents were—and, anyway, she’s far too sensible and level-headed to get involved in something as destructive as drugs.’

‘And that would be why there was the scandal at your eighteenth? Because Lily is so level-headed?’

Jordana glanced at the ceiling before returning resigned eyes to his. ‘Tristan, that night was so not what it seemed. One dodgy photo—’

‘One dodgy photo?’ he all but shouted. ‘One dodgy photo that could have destroyed your reputation if I hadn’t intervened!’

‘You mean if you hadn’t made Lily take the blame!’

‘Lily was to blame!’ Tristan could feel the old anger of six years ago welling up inside him. But it wasn’t like him to let his temper override common sense and he controlled it with effort. ‘Maybe if I had contacted her stepfather when I caught her with marijuana the first time she wouldn’t be in the colossal mess she is now.’

Jordana briefly lowered her eyes before meeting his again. ‘Tristan, you’ve never let me properly explain about any of this. What if the marijuana you found Lily hiding when we were fourteen wasn’t hers? Would you be so disappointed if it was mine?’

Tristan expelled a breath. He really didn’t have time for this. He got up and rounded his desk to enfold Jordana in his arms. He knew what she was trying to do and he loved her for it—even if the little bimbo she was trying to protect didn’t deserve her loyalty.

‘I know you’re trying to take the blame for her, Jo. You’ve always protected her. But the fact still remains that she’s trouble. She always has been. Surely her stepfather or stepsisters can help her?’

Jordana sniffed against his chest and pushed away a little. ‘They’ve never been very close, and anyway I think they’re holidaying in France. Please, Tristan! The officer I spoke to this morning said she might be deported back to Thailand. And, no matter what you think, I can’t let that happen.’

Tristan swore under his breath. He had to admit he didn’t want to imagine the gorgeous Lily Wild wasting away in a Thai prison cell either. ‘Jo, my specialty is corporate law, and this will fall under the criminal jurisdiction.’

‘But surely you can do something!’ she implored.

Tristan released his sister and stalked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows again.

Unwelcome images of Lily as he’d last seen her crowded in and he forcibly held them back. She had been intruding on his thoughts and dreams for years now, but more so of late. Ever since Jordana had mentioned she was coming to the wedding, in fact, and to say that he resented her for it was putting it mildly.

He closed his eyes, the better to control the physical reaction he always seemed to have when he pictured her, but that only made it worse. Now he could not only visualise her, he could almost scent her as well.

Jordana touched his arm, and for a split second he imagined it was Lily.

Tristan muttered another curse under his breath. ‘Jo, forget Lily Wild and concentrate on your wedding,’ he growled, feeling like a heel when his sister flinched back from him.

‘If Lily’s not going to be there I might not even have a wedding.’

‘Now you’re being melodramatic.’

‘And you’re being horrible. Lily’s been unfairly targeted…’

‘Jordana, the woman wasn’t targeted. She was caught red-handed!’

Jordana looked at him with the kind of pain he hadn’t seen in her eyes since the day they had buried their mother. He’d vowed then that he’d do anything to protect her in the future and safeguard her happiness, and wasn’t what he was doing now the opposite?

But what she was asking was impossible…

‘Tristan, I know you hate drugs because of Mum, but Lily isn’t like that. And you usually jump at the chance to help a worthy cause.’

Tristan stared at Jordana. Her words brought back memories of the past he’d much rather leave dead and buried. And maybe it was somewhat illogical but he blamed Lily for that as well—because without her latest antics he wouldn’t be having this conversation with his sister at all!

He turned back to face Jo and unclenched his jaw. ‘Jordana, the key word in this situation is worthy. And as far as I’m concerned a drug-addicted actress who has hit the skids does not a worthy cause make.’

Jordana stared at him as if he’d just kicked a dog, and in that instant Tristan knew he was defeated. No way could he let his sister think so badly of him—and on top of that an image of Lily in a Thai prison cell kept swimming into his consciousness and twisting his gut.

He shook his head. ‘This is a big mistake,’ he warned, ignoring the little glow of relief he felt when Jordana’s face lit up with unconcealed gratitude. ‘And don’t look at me like that. I might not be able to do anything. It’s not like she shoplifted a bar of soap from the local chemist.’

‘Oh, Tristan, you are the best brother in the world. Shall I wait and come with you?’ Jordana was so happy she was practically singing.

Tristan looked up blankly, his mind already turning over to how he would approach the problem. When her words sank in his eyebrows shot skywards. ‘Absolutely not.’ The last thing he needed was his interfering sister getting in the way. ‘I’ll call you when I know something. Now, go. Do wedding stuff, or something, and leave me to sort through this mess you’re so determined to get us in the middle of.’

He barely registered it when she kissed his cheek and let herself out of his office, already issuing orders down the phone to his secretary. ‘Kate, reschedule all my meetings for the afternoon and tell Stuart Macintyre I want him in my office five minutes ago.’

He eased back in his chair and blew out a breath.

Was he completely crazy to get involved with this?

Lily Wild was trouble, and if seeing her bent over his father’s prized nineteenth-century Dickens desk snorting cocaine at Jo’s eighteenth party wasn’t proof enough of that, then surely her attempt to smuggle drugs through Heathrow today was.

Not that Lily had ever admitted to taking drugs the night of his sister’s party. She’d just given him a phoney, imperious smile that had incited his temper to boiling and after that he hadn’t wanted to hear any excuses. Why bother? In his experience all users were supposedly as innocent as Carmelite nuns.

And what had made him even more irate was that earlier that night Lily had looked at him with those violet-coloured doe eyes of hers as if he was the only man in the world for her. And, fool that he was, he’d very nearly bought it!

Up until that point she had been nothing more than an irritation, occasionally taking his sister to her stepfather’s industry parties when they were too young, and running away from him whenever he had come across her at the family estate during school holidays.

But she hadn’t run away from him at the party. Quite the opposite in fact.

Forget it, he told himself severely as his mind zeroed in on the potent memory of how he had danced with her that night. Touched her. Kissed her.

The realisation that he’d very nearly lost control with her still rankled. But she had tasted pure and sweet, and so hot and…

Tristan shook his head and swore violently. Instead of reliving a moment that should never have happened in the first place he should be remembering how he had come upon her in his father’s private study with a group of social misfits, his beloved sister, and about half a kilo of cocaine.

It had taken ten minutes to have Security dispense with everyone but his sister, and twenty-four hours to shut down the internet photos of Jordana that had been taken on a guest’s mobile phone.

The taste of Lily, unfortunately, had taken a little longer to shift.

Lily Wild squirmed uncomfortably on the hard metal chair she had been sitting in for the last four hours and seventeen minutes and wondered when this nightmare she was trapped in would end. She was presently alone in a small featureless room that would make any director on a cop show proud.

Earlier today she had been equal parts nervous and excited at the prospect of returning to England, her home, for the first time in six years.

She had been lined up at border control for ages, and had just made it to the passport-check booth when the official behind the partition had directed her to a row of officers with sniffer dogs. She hadn’t been concerned as she’d seen she was just one of many being checked over. Instead her mind had been on Jordana, hoping she would like the wedding present she’d bought for her and Oliver in Thailand, and also on how much she was looking forward to her long-overdue break.

Then one of the attending officers had lifted a medium-sized plastic bag out of her tote and asked if it belonged to her. She honestly hadn’t been able to remember.

‘I don’t know,’ she’d answered.

‘Then you’ll have to step this way.’ He’d indicated a long, over-bright hallway and sweat had immediately prickled on her palms—like the heat rash she’d once developed while filming in Brazil.

Now, looking around the small featureless room, she wondered where the two customs officials had gone. Not that she missed them—particularly the smarmy younger one, who spoke almost exclusively to her chest and threatened to deport her to Thailand if she didn’t start co-operating.

Which was a laugh in itself, because all she had done since they’d detained her was co-operate!

Yes, the multicoloured tote bag was hers. No, she hadn’t left it unattended at any time. Yes, a friend had been in her hotel room the night she’d packed. No, she didn’t think he’d gone near her personal belongings. And doubly no, the small plastic vials filled with ecstasy and cocaine were not hers! She’d nearly had a heart attack at the question, sure they must have made a mistake.

‘No mistake, ma’am,’ the nicer of the two officials had said, and the prickle of sweat had made its way to her armpits and dripped down the back of her neck like a leaky tap.

They’d then questioned her for hours about her movements at Suvarnabhumi Airport and her reasons for being in Thailand until she was completely exhausted and couldn’t remember what she’d told them. They’d left after that. No doubt to confer with those watching behind the two-way mirror.

Lily knew they suspected Jonah Loft, one of the guys working on the film she had just wrapped, but only because he had been in her room just before she had left for the airport. She felt terrible for him.

She had met Jonah at the New York rehabilitation centre she volunteered at, and it wouldn’t take the authorities long to discover that he had once had a drug problem.

Fortunately he was over that now, but Lily knew from her work with addicts that if anything could set off a relapse it was people not believing in them. Which was why Lily had got him a job on the film in the first place. She had wanted to give him a second chance, but she supposed when they found out she had been the instigator of having him work on the film it would reflect badly on both of them.

And yet she knew he wouldn’t have done this to her. He’d been too grateful—and hopeful of staying clean.

Lily sighed. Four hours and twenty-eight minutes.

Her bottom was numb and she stretched in the chair, wondering if she was allowed to get up and walk around. So far she hadn’t, and her thigh muscles felt as if they had been petrified. She rubbed her temples to try and ease her aching head.

She hoped Jordana had been contacted so she wouldn’t be concerned about why she hadn’t made it through the arrival gate. Though, as to that, Jo would likely be more worried if she did know what was holding her up. Lily just prayed she didn’t contact her overbearing brother for help.

The last thing she needed was the deliciously gorgeous but painfully autocratic Tristan Garrett finding out about her predicament. She knew he was supposed to be one of the best lawyers alive, but Lily had only ever had acrimonious dealings with Tristan—apart from ten unbelievably magic minutes on a dance floor at Jordana’s eighteenth birthday party. Lily knew he hated the sight of her now.

He’d devastated her—first by kissing her in a way that had transported her to another world, and then by ignoring her for the rest of the night as if she hadn’t even existed. As if they hadn’t just kissed like soul mates…

And just when she’d thought her teenage heart couldn’t break any more he’d come across her in his father’s study trying to clean up a private party Jordana should never have been involved in, and jumped completely to the wrong conclusion.

He’d blamed Lily—and her ‘kind’—and thrown her out of his home. In hindsight she supposed she should have been thankful that he’d taken the time to organise his chauffer to drive her the two hours back to London, but she hadn’t been. She’d been crushed—and so had her stupid girlhood fantasy that he just might be the love of her life.

Looking back now, she couldn’t imagine what had possessed her even to think that in the first place. They were from different worlds and she knew he had never approved of her. Had always been as disgusted as she was herself at her being the only offspring of two notoriously drugged-out hippy celebrities who had died—in flagrante—of a drug overdose.

Not that she’d ever let him see that. She did have some pride—not to mention her late father’s wise words running through her head.

‘Never let ‘em know you care, Honeybee,’ he’d always said. Of course he’d been referring mostly to rock music reviews, but she had never forgotten. And it had held her in good stead when she’d had to face down more than her fair share of speculation and scandal, thanks to her parents and, sometimes, to her own actions.

The hard scrape of the metal door snapped Lily back to the present and she glanced up as the smarmy customs official swaggered back into the room, a condescending smile expanding his fleshy lips.

He sat opposite her and cocked an eyebrow. ‘You are one lucky lady, Miss Wild,’ he said in his heavy cockney brogue. ‘It seems you’re to be released.’

Lily stared at him impassively, blinking against the harsh fluorescent light and giving nothing away as to how she was feeling.

The official sprawled back in the chair and rhythmically tapped the table with what looked like a typed report, staring at her chest. Men like him—men who thought that because she was blonde and had a nice face and reasonable body shape she was easy—were a dime a dozen.

This guy was a marine wannabe, with a flat-top haircut that, instead of adding an air of menace, made him look as if he should be in the circus. But even if he’d had the polish of some latter-day Prince Charming, Lily wouldn’t have been interested. She might make movies about love and happy-ever-after but she wasn’t interested in the fairy tale for herself. Not after her mother’s experiences with Johnny Wild, and the humiliating sting of Tristan’s rejection of her all those years ago.

‘That’s right,’ Marine-man finally sneered when she remained silent. ‘You celebrities always seem to know someone who knows someone, and then it’s all peaches an’ cream again. Personally, I would ‘ave sent you back to Thailand to face the music. But lucky for you it ain’t up to me.’

And thank heavens for that, Lily thought, trying not to react to his leering scrutiny.

‘Sign these.’ He shoved the stapled document across the table at her, all business for once.

‘What is it?’

‘Conditions of your release.’

Release? She really was being released? Heart thudding, and as if in slow motion, Lily took the sheets of paper, not daring to believe it was true. She bent forward, letting her long wavy hair swing forward to shield her face from his prying eyes. She was shaking so badly the words appeared blurry on the page.

When the door scraped open a second time she didn’t bother to look up, assuming it was the other official, returning to oversee her signature. Then a prickly sensation raised the hairs on the back of her neck, and a deeply masculine and very annoyed voice shattered her concentration and stole the breath from her lungs.

‘You’ll find it’s all in order, Honey, so just sign the damned release so we can get out of here.’

Lily squeezed her eyes shut and felt the throbbing in her head escalate. She’d recognise that chocolate-covered voice anywhere, and waited for the dots to clear behind her eyes before peering up to confirm that not only was her nightmare of a day not over, but it had just taken a distinct turn for the worst.

Fortunately Jordana had received the message about her delay, but unfortunately she’d done exactly what Lily had feared: she’d gone to her big brother for help.

CHAPTER TWO

LORD Garrett, Viscount Hadley, the future twelfth Duke of Greythorn, stood before her, with enough tension emanating from his body to fire a rocket to the moon.

‘Tristan,’ she breathed unnecessarily, her mind at once accepting that he was the most sublimely handsome male she had ever seen and rejecting that fact at the same time. He seemed taller and more powerful than she remembered, his lean, muscular physique highlighted by the precise cut of his tailor-made charcoal suit.

His chestnut hair was long, and lent him an untamed appeal he really didn’t need, framing his olive complexion, flawlessly chiselled jaw and aristocratic nose to perfection. Her gaze skimmed up over the masculine curve of his lips and settled on cold, pale green eyes ringed with grey that were boldly assessing her in return.

His wide-legged no-nonsense stance set her heartbeat racing, and without thinking she snuck out her tongue to moisten lips that felt dryer than the paper she held between her fingers.

His eyes narrowed as they followed the movement, and Lily quickly cast her eyes downwards.

She pinched the bridge of her nose to ease the flash of pain that hammered behind her eyes, and blinked uncomprehendingly when a Mont Blanc pen was thrust in front of her face.

‘Hurry up, Honey. I don’t have all day.’

Lily wanted to remind him that she preferred Lily, but her throat was so tight she could barely swallow, let alone speak.

She grabbed the pen, flinching as her clumsy fingers collided with his, and scrawled her signature next to where he stabbed at the paper. Before she knew it the pages were whisked away, Tristan had grabbed her tote bag from Marine-man and he was ushering her out through the door with a firm guiding hand in the small of her back.

Lily stiffened away from the contact and rubbed her arms. He was well over six feet and seemed to dwarf her own five-foot-ten frame.

‘If you’re cold you should try wearing more clothing,’ he snapped, hard eyes raking her body as if she were a foul piece of garbage.

Lily looked down at her white T-shirt, black leggings and black ballet flats.

‘Ever heard of a bra, Honey?’ His voice was silky, condescending, and Lily felt her breasts tighten as his gaze rested a little too long on her chest, her nipples firming against the fabric in a way she’d do anything to stop.

Lily was taken aback by his hostility, and it was all she could do not to cross her arms protectively over her body. She really wasn’t up to dealing with any more animosity right now.

But she didn’t say that. Instead she stared at the Windsor knot of his red tie and rubbed at the goosebumps that dotted her arms.

Tristan muttered something under his breath, shrugged out of his jacket, and draped it around her shoulders. She wanted to tell him she was fine, but before she could say anything he reached for her upper arm and propelled her down the long corridor, his clean, masculine scent blanketing her mind like a thick fog.

Tension bunched her stiff muscles, but she could hardly tell him to slow down when all she wanted to do was get as far away from the airport as possible. When he paused at the entrance to the duty-free hall Lily glanced up, feeling like an errant schoolgirl being dragged around by an enraged parent.

She tried to loosen his grip, put some distance between them, but he ignored her attempt, tightening his hold before marching her through the throng of passengers. It reminded her of a couple of occasions in the past when he’d stormed into nightclubs and goose-stepped herself and Jordana out. It had been mostly at her stepfather Frank Murphy’s parties, and in hindsight Tristan had done the right thing making them leave at their age, but at the time Lily had been hopping mad.

She noticed the large steel doors leading to the arrivals hall and breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully Jordana was waiting on the other side, and once through Lily could thank Tristan for his help and bid him farewell until the wedding.

Her nerves were shot, but the relief that washed through her at the thought of freedom was suddenly cut short as Tristan veered left and led her into one of the small, dimly lit bars that lined the cavernous concourse.

The bar was long and narrow, with booths lining one wall and a polished wooden bar with red padded bar stools along the other. Except for two business types, deep in conversation, and an elderly gent who looked as if he might tumble into his early-afternoon schooner, the place was empty.

Lily waited to find out what they were doing, and was surprised when Tristan ordered two whiskys, watching as he glared at the bartender, whose eyes had lingered a little too long in her direction.

As soon as he’d moved off to get their drinks Tristan turned to her, and Lily nearly recoiled at the feral anger icing his eyes.

‘What the hell are you doing back in my sister’s life?’ he demanded, his voice harsh as he lowered it so only she could hear.

Lily did recoil then and stared at him mutely.

Six years just seemed to evaporate before her eyes, and they might have been standing in his father’s study again, where he’d accused her of something she hadn’t done and called her a cheap slut.

Lily’s eyes fell to his sensual mouth, now flattened into a thin line, and she quickly lowered them down the thick column of his tanned neck to rest once again on his silk tie. Looking at his mouth brought that devastating kiss to mind. She instantly reminded herself of his equally devastating rejection of her in an attempt to marshal her body’s unexpected leap of excitement. How could she still feel so quivery over someone who had treated her so appallingly?

Tristan’s tense silence seemed to envelop her, and she realised he was still waiting for her to respond to his rude question.

In all her mental imaginings of how this meeting between them would go this had not featured.

In one scenario she’d imagined they might be able to put the past behind them and become friends. Laugh over her silly teenage crush and his mistaken belief that she had set up the private party that had been splashed all over the internet. In that particular daydream she had raised her hand and said, Please—don’t give it another thought. It’s over. It’s in the past.

But she didn’t think that would play so well in this situation, and stupidly—so it now seemed—she had forgotten to prepare the whole busted-for-drugs-at-Heathrow scenario.

How remiss of her!

Now she had to ad lib, using a brain that wanted to drool over him like a beginner art student viewing her first Rodin nude.

Only she was no longer an impressionable girl caught in the throes of her first crush, Lily reminded herself firmly. She was a mature woman in charge of her own life. And wasn’t one of her goals on this trip to meet Tristan as an equal? To look at him, talk to him, and put the juvenile attraction that had plagued her so often in the company of other men to bed? Metaphorically speaking, of course.

‘I was invited to the wedding,’ she said as politely as possible, given that his harsh question had evoked exactly the opposite response.

‘And what an error of judgement that was,’ he sneered, ‘I can’t imagine what my sister was thinking.’

Lily frowned and glanced at the bartender, pouring whisky into two glasses, so that she wouldn’t have to look at Tristan. Perhaps the best thing at this point would be to apologise for inconveniencing him and leave quick-smart.

She watched as Tristan picked up his glass and swallowed down the contents with a slight flick of his wrist; his brows drawing together when she made no attempt to do the same.

‘Drink it. You look like you need it.’

‘What I need is a soft bed,’ she murmured, only realising how he’d taken her innocent comment when his eyebrows arched.

‘If that’s an invitation you can forget it,’ he dismissed.

Invitation!

Lily expelled a rushed breath, and then inhaled just as hastily, wishing she hadn’t as Tristan’s virile and somehow familiar scent wound its way into her sinuses. She felt the shock of it curl through her body and suddenly felt too warm.

Her heart rate picked up, and before she could change the direction of her thoughts she was back at the kiss she had been trying so hard not to think about.

He’d been lean and muscle-packed where she’d pressed against him, impossibly hard, and hot colour stole into her face as she remembered her youthful eagerness in his embrace. Lord, perhaps she had even instigated it! How mortifying…Especially in light of the fact that she couldn’t recall any other man’s kisses quite so readily.

Calling herself every type of fool for indulging in such useless memories, she swiftly removed his jacket and handed it back to him.

Then she sat her tote bag on the stool behind her and pulled out her favourite oversized black knit cardigan. She put it on. Found her black-and-white Yankees baseball cap and pulled that on too. Turning back, she couldn’t see much beyond Tristan’s broad shoulders, but the last thing she wanted was to be stopped on the way out by fans or—heaven forbid—any lurking paparazzi.

She noticed his condescending glance and decided to ignore it.

She was getting more and more agitated by her own memories and his snippy attitude. Logically she knew he had every reason to be put out, but she hadn’t done anything wrong. Would it really hurt him to be civil? After all, it wasn’t as if he had just been interrogated for hours on end over something he hadn’t done!

Lily tried to smile as she hoisted her bag onto her shoulder. ‘So, anyway, thanks for helping today. I can see that you didn’t really want to, but I appreciate it all the same.’

‘I don’t give a toss what you appreciate,’ he grated. ‘I can’t believe you would have the gall to try something like this, given your history. What were you thinking? That you could go braless and swish that golden mane around and no one would care what you had in your bag?’

Lily’s eyes flew to his. Did he seriously think she was guilty?

‘Of course I wasn’t thinking that!’

‘Well, whatever you were thinking it didn’t work.’

‘How dare you?’ Lily felt angry tears spring into her eyes at the injustice of his comment and blinked them back. ‘I didn’t know that stuff was in my bag, and I’ve already told you these are my travel clothes and I look perfectly respectable.’

His eyebrows arched. ‘That’s debatable. But I suppose I should be thankful you’re not displaying as much skin as you usually do on your billboards.’

Lily didn’t pretend to misunderstand him. Movie billboards were often more provocative than they needed to be, and most of her fellow actresses found it just as frustrating as she did.

Not that Tristan would believe that. It was clear he still thought the worst of her, just as he always had, and the sooner she was on her way the better.

She looked up to suggest exactly that, but was startled when he leaned in close, invading her space.

‘Tell me, little Honey Blossom, have you ever been in a movie that required you to actually keep your clothes on?’

Lily bristled. She hadn’t been called Honey Blossom since she was seven, and she’d been fully clothed in all but her first film. ‘My name is Lily, as you well know, and your comments are not only insulting and incorrect, but completely outrageous.’

He cast her a bored smile and Lily’s blood boiled. Of all the rude, insensitive—

‘Just finish the damned drink, would you? I have work to do.’

Lily felt so tense her toes curled into her boots until they hurt. Enough was enough. Thankful or not, she didn’t have to put up with his offensive remarks.

‘I don’t want your damned drink,’ she returned icily, angling her chin and readjusting her cap. ‘And I don’t need your odious presence in my life for a second longer. Thank you for your assistance with my…unfortunate incident, but don’t bother coming to say hello at the wedding. I assure you I won’t be in the least offended.’

Lily gripped her bag tightly, and would have marched out with her head held high if Tristan hadn’t made a slight move to block her.

She hesitated and looked at him uneasily.

‘Pretty speech,’ he drawled, ‘but your unfortunate incident has landed you in my custody, and I give the orders now—not you.’

Lily’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Your custody?’ She nearly laughed at the thought.

He evidently didn’t like her response, because he leaned in even closer, his voice deadly soft. ‘What? Did you think I would just ignore the conditions of your release and let you waltz out of here by yourself? You don’t know me very well if you did.’

Lily edged back and felt the bar stool behind her thighs, a tremor of unease bumping down her spine. She hadn’t read the release form at all, and had a feeling she was about to regret that.

‘I didn’t read it,’ she admitted, sucking on the soft flesh of her upper lip—a nervous childhood gesture she’d never been able to master.

Tristan frowned down at her, and then must have realised she was serious because he had the gall to laugh. ‘You’re kidding.’

‘I’m glad you find it funny,’ she snapped, staring him down when his grim smile turned into a snarl.

‘Now, funny is probably the last thing I think about this situation—and here’s why. You just signed documents that place you under my protective custody until you’re either released—’ his tone implied that was about as likely as buying property on another planet ‘—or charged with possession of narcotics.’

Lily felt dizzy and leaned heavily on the bar stool at her back. ‘I don’t understand…’ She shook her head.

‘What? You thought the evidence might up and magically disappear? I’m good, Honey, but I’m not that good.’

‘No.’ She waved her hand in front of her and briefly closed her eyes. ‘The custody bit.’

‘It’s a form of house arrest.’

‘I didn’t know.’

‘Now you do. And now I’m ready to leave.’

‘No!’ Her hand hovered between them and her voice quavered. ‘Wait. Please. I…What does that mean, exactly?’

He looked at her as if she was a simpleton. ‘It means that we’re stuck with each other 24/7 for the foreseeable future, that’s what it means.’

Lily blinked. 24/7 with this gorgeous, angry man…? No way. She pressed her fingertips to her aching forehead and ordered herself to think. Surely there was another solution.

‘I can’t stay with you!’ She blurted out before her thoughts were properly in order.

His eyes sparkled into hers, as hard as polished gemstones. ‘Believe me, the thought couldn’t be more abhorrent to you than it is to me.’

‘But you should have told me!’

‘You should have read the paperwork,’ he dismissed.

He was right, and she hated that. Only it was because of him that she hadn’t read it in the first place.

‘You crowded me and told me to hurry.’

‘So now it’s my fault?’ he snapped.

‘I wasn’t blaming you.’ She swiped a hand across her brow. This was terrible. ‘But if you had warned me about what I was signing I wouldn’t have done so!’

He went still, his over-long tawny mane and square jaw giving the impression of a fully grown male lion that had just scented danger.

‘Warned you?’

Too late Lily realised he’d taken her comment as an insult.

‘And what exactly would you have done, hmm? Do tell.’

Lily pressed her lips together at his snide tone and tried not to notice how imposing he was, with his hands on his hips drawing his shoulders even wider. If she’d thought he hated her six years ago it was nothing compared to the contempt he clearly felt for her now.

And she wasn’t so much looking to put the past behind her any more as she was in burying it in a six-foot-deep hole! ‘I—I would have looked for an alternative,’ she stuttered. ‘Brainstormed other options.’

‘Brainstormed other options?’ He snorted and shook his head, as if the very notion was ludicrous. ‘We’re not in a movie rehearsal now, Honey!’

Lily’s heart thudded heavily in her chest. If he called her Honey one more time she might actually hit him. She took a deep, steadying breath and tried to remember that he felt he had a right to be angry, and that maybe, if their situations were reversed, she would feel the same way.

No, she wouldn’t. She’d be too worried for the other person to treat them so—so…indignantly.

‘Listen—’ she began, only to have her words cut off when he pushed off his bar stool and crowded her back against her own.

‘No. You listen,’ he bit out softly. ‘You don’t have a choice here. You’re no longer in charge. I am. And if you don’t like it I’ll give you another option. It’s called a prison cell. You want it—it’s back that way.’ He jerked his chin towards the entrance of the bar, his eyes never leaving hers.

Lily blanched. Lord, he was arrogant.

‘I didn’t do it,’ she enunciated, trying to keep her voice low.

‘Tell it to the judge, sweetheart, because I’m not interested in hearing your protestations of innocence.’

‘Don’t patronise me, Tristan. I’m not a child.’

‘Then stop acting like one.’

‘Damn you, I have rights.’

‘No, you had rights.’ His tone was soft, but merciless. ‘You gave up those rights the minute you waltzed through Heathrow carrying a bag full of narcotics. Your rights belong to me now, and when I say jump I expect you to ask how high.’

Lily froze. He had some nerve. ‘In your dreams,’ she scoffed, now just as angry as he was.

CHAPTER THREE

NO, TRISTAN thought disgustedly, when he dreamt of her she was not jumping up and down; she was usually naked, her lithe body spread out over his bed, and her soft mouth was begging him to take her. But this was no dream, and right now making love to her couldn’t be further from his mind.

Kissing that insolent curl from her luscious mouth—now, that was closer. But completely giving in to the insane desire that still uncomfortably rode his back—no. Not in this lifetime.

Not that he was at all surprised to find himself still attracted to her. Hell, she looked even better now than she had six years ago—if that was actually possible.

Even the bartender was having trouble keeping his distance—and not just because he’d probably recognised her face. Tristan doubted he’d be ogling any other actress with his tongue hanging out of his mouth, and there were many far more worthy of a second glance than this sexy little troublemaker.

No, the bartender was staring because Lily Wild looked like every man’s secret fantasy come to life—even with those dark smudges beneath those wide purple eyes. But she damned well wasn’t his. Not this time.

He should have just said no to Jordana, he realised distractedly. Should have made up a story about how it couldn’t be done.

But he had too much integrity to lie, and in the end a close friend who specialised in criminal law had pulled a rabbit from a hat and here they were. But only by the grace of some clapped-out piece of nineteenth-century legislation that he would recommend be amended at the next parliamentary sitting.

‘Did you hear me, Tristan?’ she prompted, her glorious eyes flashing with unconcealed irritation. ‘I won’t let you bully me like you did once before.’

Tristan cast her the withering glance that he usually reserved for the seediest of his courtroom opponents.

Oh, he’d heard her all right, but she had no choice in the matter, and the sooner she got that through her thick, beautiful skull the better.

‘Don’t push me, Lily,’ he grated warningly, and saw her teeth clench.

Her hands were fisted by her sides and he knew she probably wanted to thump him. Despite himself he admired her temerity. Most women in her position—hell, most men—would be grovelling or backing away, or both. Instead this little spitfire was arguing the toss, as if she might actually choose jail over him.

‘Then don’t push me!’ she returned hotly.

He looked at her and tried to remind himself that he was a first-rate lawyer who never let emotion govern his actions. ‘You signed the contract. Deal with it,’ he said curtly.

She slapped her hands on her hips, the movement dragging her oversized cardigan open and bringing his attention back to her full, unbound breasts. ‘I told you—I didn’t know what I was signing,’ she declared, as if that might actually make a difference.

Yeah, yeah—just as she didn’t know how the drugs ended up in her bag. He had yet to come across a criminal who actually admitted any form of guilt, and her vehement denial was boringly predictable.

He noticed that the two businessmen who earlier had been deep in conversation were now stealing surreptitious glances at her. Not that he couldn’t appreciate what they were looking at: tousled pearl-blond hair, soft, kissable lips, a mouthwatering silhouette, and legs that went all the way into next week.

They’d looked even longer coming down his parents’ staircase at Jo’s eighteenth party, in a tiny dress and designer heels. And just like that he was back at Hillesden Abbey, the family estate, at the precise moment she had approached him.

‘Hey, wanna dance?’ she’d invited, standing before him in a silver mini-dress that clung in all the right places, hip cocked, bee-stung pout covered in war paint.

He’d declined, of course. Just looking at her had stirred up a dark lust inside him that, at seventeen, she had been way too young to handle.

‘But you danced with Jordana,’ she’d complained, fluttering ridiculously long eyelashes like a woman on the make. ‘And the girl with the blue dress.’

‘That’s right.’ His friend Gabriel had elbowed him. ‘You did.’

‘So? What about it?’ Lily had shifted her weight to her other hip, her dress riding up just that tiny bit more, head tilted in artful provocation.

He’d been about to refuse again, but Gabriel had interrupted and said he’d dance with her if Tristan wouldn’t, and for some reason that had got his back up.

He’d thrown his friend a baleful glare before focusing on Lily. ‘Let’s go.’

She’d smiled her now famous million dollar smile at Gabriel and Tristan had gritted his teeth and followed her onto the dance floor.

As if on cue the music had turned dreamy and he’d almost changed his mind. Then she’d turned that million dollar number his way, stepped into his arms, and he’d no longer had a mind to change.

‘It’s a great party, isn’t it?’ she’d murmured.

‘Yes,’ he’d agreed.

‘This is nice,’ she’d prompted.

‘Yes,’ he’d agreed.

‘Are you having a good time?’

Not any more; not with his self-control unravelling with each breathy little question.

He remembered he’d been so focused on not pulling her in close that he failed to notice when she had moved in on him. Then he’d felt the slide of her bare thigh between his jean-clad legs and the thrust of her pert breasts against the wall of his chest and self-control had become a foreign concept.

His hand had tightened on her hip to push her back, but she’d gripped his shoulder and looked at him with such unguarded innocence his heart had skipped a beat, and almost of its own accord his hand had slid around to the sweet indentation at the small of her back.

Her breath had hitched and when she’d stumbled he’d caught her against him. Her body had instantly moulded to his as if she was unable to hold herself upright. And he’d been unable to hide his physical reaction from her. His body had been gripped in a fever of desire: heart pounding, body aching and warning bells clanging so loudly in his head it was a wonder he’d been able to think at all.

He’d stupidly danced her into a secluded corner, with every intention of reprimanding her and telling her he didn’t do girls barely out of nappies, but she’d quivered in the circle of his arms, lips delicately parted, and he’d fused his mouth with hers before he’d even known what he was about.

The bolt of pure heat that had hit his groin at the contact had almost unmanned him.

Before he’d known it he’d had one hand tangled in her golden mane, the other curved over her bottom and his tongue deep in her mouth, his lips demanding a response she had been more than happy to give.

He’d completely lost all sense of where he was, and hours could have flown by before a hand had circumspectly tapped him on the shoulder.

Thomas, the family butler, had stood behind him, seemingly mesmerised by the imported mirror balls suspended above the dance floor.

Apparently his father required his presence most urgently.

For a second Lily’s dazed disappointment had only been outweighed by his own. Then he’d realised what he’d nearly done and been appalled at himself. She was his little sister’s friend, and the erotic images playing through his mind were highly inappropriate.

He remembered he’d abruptly released her and curtly told her not to bother him again, that he wasn’t interested in babies. And then she’d punished him by attaching herself to some Armani suit for the rest of the night like ivy on a brick wall.

One of the businessmen hooted a laugh, and the sound broke Tristan’s unwanted reverie.

He closed his eyes briefly to recompose himself, and then made the mistake of glancing into the mirror behind the bar—where his gaze collided with Lily’s.

For a split second something hot and primal arced between them, and then the pink tip of her tongue snuck out to douse her full lower lip and just like that he was hard again.

Damn. Had she done that on purpose? Had she known what he’d been thinking about?

He blinked slowly and turned his gaze as hard as his groin. He wasn’t an idiot, and he wasn’t going to let her use that come-hither look she’d probably learned in the cradle to manipulate him. The sooner she figured that out, the better for the both of them.

‘I don’t care what you did or didn’t know. You signed the forms and now we’re leaving.’

‘Wait.’ She put her hand out to touch him and then snatched it back just as quickly.

His jaw clenched. ‘What now?’

‘We need to sort this out.’

He picked his jacket up off the stool and shrugged into it. ‘It’s sorted. I’m in charge. You’re not. So let’s go.’

‘Look, I know you’re angry—’

‘Is that what I am?’ he mocked.

‘But,’ she continued determinedly, ‘I didn’t know I had that…stuff in my bag.’ Her voice was barely above a whisper. ‘And I’m not going with you until I know what happens next.’

Tristan glanced at the ceiling, hoping some divine force would penetrate it and put him out of his misery. He knew she had a headache. He’d known the minute he’d seen her. And now she was giving him one.

‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ he groaned.

‘No, I’m not. I mean it, Tristan; I won’t let you push me around like you did six years ago. Back then—’

‘Oh, cut the theatrics, Honey. There’s no camera to turn it on for here.’

‘Lily.’

He stared at her for a beat.

‘And I’m not—’

Tristan glared at her and cut her off. ‘You think I like this any more than you do? You think I didn’t rack my brain to come up with an alternative? I have just involved a good friend of mine to get you out of this mess and all you can do is act the injured innocent. You broke the law, not me, so stop behaving like I’m the bad guy here.’

Lily seemed to lose a little steam over that. ‘A friend?’ she whispered.

‘What? You thought I could just stroll up here myself and demand your release? I’m flattered you think I have that much power.’

Tristan glanced around the bar and saw that more passengers had entered. They were getting far more attention than he was comfortable with.

‘He won’t go to the press, will he?’ she asked.

Tristan shook his head. ‘So typical of you to be worried about yourself.’

‘I wasn’t worrying about myself,’ she snapped. ‘I was thinking about how this might impact Jordana’s wedding if it gets out.’

‘A bit late to think about that now. But, no, he won’t say anything. He has discretion and integrity—words you’d need to look up in a dictionary to learn the meaning of.’ He shook his head at the improbability of the whole situation. ‘For God’s sake, it’s not as if you couldn’t get a fix here if you were so desperate.’

She looked at him from under her cap. ‘Whatever happened to being innocent in this country until proven guilty?’

‘Being caught with drugs in your bag sort of makes that a moot point,’ he scoffed.

Lily’s chin jutted forward. ‘Aren’t lawyers supposed to be a little more objective with their clients?’

‘I’m not your lawyer.’

‘What are you, then? My white knight?’

A muscle ticked in his jaw. ‘I’m doing Jordana a favour.’

‘Ah, yes. The big brother routine,’ she mocked. ‘I seem to recall you really enjoy that. It must have made you feel valued—rescuing Jordana from my disreputable company all those years ago.’

She wrapped her arms around her torso in a defensive gesture that pinched something inside him, but he refused to soften towards her. He had no respect for people who created a demand for drugs and hurt those around them by using, and all today had done was confirm his father’s view that Lily Wild was bad news just waiting to happen.

‘It’s just a pity I didn’t nip your friendship in the bud sooner. I could have saved my family a lot of embarrassment.’

That seemed to take the wind out of her sails and he almost felt bad when her shoulders slumped.

‘So what happens now? Where will I be staying?’ she asked.

Tristan pulled a wad of notes from his pocket and threw some on the bar. ‘We’ll discuss the ground rules later.’

‘I’d like to talk about them now.’

He turned to her, what little patience he’d started with completely gone. ‘If I have to pick you up and cart you out of here I will,’ he warned softly.

Her eyes widened. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

Tristan crowded her back against the bar stool again. ‘Try me.’

She inhaled a shaky breath and put her hand up between them. ‘Don’t touch me.’

Touch her? He hadn’t really intended to, but now, as his gaze swept down her curvy body, he realised that he wanted to. Badly. He wanted to push aside that cardigan, slide his hand around her waist and pull her up against him until there was no sign of daylight between them. Until she melted into him as she had done six years ago.

‘Then co-operate,’ he snarled, crowding even closer and perversely enjoying her agitated backwards movement. It wouldn’t hurt her to be a little afraid of him. Might make sure she kept her distance this time.

‘I’m trying to.’

Her eyes flashed, and the leather creaked as she shifted as far back on the stool as she could, her monstrosity of a bag perched on her lap between them.

Tristan leaned forward and hooked his foot on her bar stool, jerking it forward so she was forced back into his space. He caught her off guard, and his bicep flexed as she threw her hand out to balance herself. Her breath caught and her eyes flew to his.

‘No, you’re not. You’re trying to bug me.’ He watched as colour winged into her face, his eyes narrowing as she snatched her hand back from his arm. ‘And it’s working.’

She raised her chin. ‘I don’t like your controlling attitude.’

He stilled, and their eyes locked in a battle of wills: hers bright and belligerent, his surprised but determined. His nostrils flared as he breathed her in deep. She smelled of roses and springtime and he had to fight the instinct to keep inhaling her.

They were so close he could see the flawless, luminescent quality of her skin—a gift from her Nordic heritage—and her thick, sooty lashes, as long as a spider’s legs, nearly touching her arched brow. His eyes turned hot before he was able to blank them out, and her breath stalled as she caught the heat.

He stopped breathing himself and felt the blood throb powerfully through his body. For a split second he forgot what they were doing here. Time stood still. But before he could wrap his hand around her slender neck and bring her mouth to his she blinked and lowered her eyes.

Tristan exhaled, his anger all the stronger because of the unwanted sexual tension that lay between them like a living thing.

‘Do you really think I care?’ he snapped. ‘When I first heard you were coming to Jo’s wedding I didn’t even intend to say hello. Now I find that hello is the least of my problems, and I can assure you I will not spend the next eight days arguing every single point with you. So if—’

‘Fine.’ She cupped her hand over her forehead and winced.

He knew what she meant, but he was insulted by her attitude and wanted to hear her say it.

‘Fine what? Fine, you want to come with me? Or fine, you want me to take you back to Customs?’

She raised her head and he waited. The smudges under her eyes looked darker, and her skin had lost even more colour.

‘Oh, to hell with it.’ He straightened and held his hand out to her. She took it, without argument, and he realised that the shock of the morning was finally starting to set in—or maybe she’d been in shock the whole time.

Her fingers were icy in his, and he shrugged out of his jacket once again and pulled it around her. She squirmed as if to push it off, and her eyes jerked to his when he grabbed her upper arms and dragged her close.

‘Co-operate,’ he growled, pleased when she stilled.

‘You never say please.’ She sniffed.

Hell, she was still trying to call the shots. He kept his eyes locked on hers, because if they dropped to her mouth he knew he’d taste her. He was hard and he was angry, and the adrenaline pumping through his veins was pushing his self-control to its outer limits.

‘Please,’ he grated after a long, tense pause. ‘Now, can you walk?’

‘Of course.’ She gripped her bag and swayed when he released his hold on her.

He knew it would be a mistake on so many levels, but before he could think twice he scooped her into his arms and strode out of the bar.

She started against him, but he’d had enough. ‘Don’t say a goddamned word and don’t look around. The last thing I need is for someone else to recognise you.’

And just like that she relaxed and turned her head into his shoulder, her sweet scent filling his every breath.

The cool breeze was a welcome relief as he exited the terminal and headed down the rank of dark cars until he found Bert.

His chauffer nodded and held the rear door open, but just as Tristan was about to toss Lily inside she laid the flat of her hand against his chest and looked up through sleepy eyes.

‘My luggage…’ she murmured.

Tristan’s chest contracted against the hot brand of her touch.

‘Taken care of,’ he growled, wishing the unbearable physical attraction he still felt for this woman could be just as easily dealt with.

CHAPTER FOUR

LILY collapsed back against the luxuriant leather car seat and closed her eyes, trying to equalise her pounding heart rate. Her head hurt and she felt shivery all over. She didn’t know if it was remembering her previous attraction to Tristan that had brought it screaming to the fore, or the man himself, but she was unable to deny the sweet feeling of desire that had pooled low in her pelvis when he’d held her in his arms and looked at her as if he wanted to kiss her.

Kiss her? Ha! Shake her, more like it. Especially given how much he still disliked her.

As she did him.

Actually, now that she thought about it, her physical response was probably due to emotional tiredness and stress making her super-sensitive to her surroundings and nothing to do with Tristan at all. How could it be when he immediately assumed that she was guilty? When he clearly thought she was lower than dirt?

His cold arrogance fired her blood and made her want to fall back on all her juvenile responses to criticism. Responses that had seen her play up to the negative attention her celebrity lineage provoked by flipping the press the bird, wearing either provocative or grungy clothing, depending on her mood, and pretending she was drunk when she wasn’t.

Nowadays she preferred to ignore any bad press or unfair comparisons with her parents’ hedonistic lifestyles, and just live her life according to her own expectations rather than other people’s. It worked better, to a certain extent, although she knew she’d never truly be able to outrun the shadow of who her parents had been.

Hanny Forsberg, her mother, had arrived in England poor and beautiful and on Page Three before she had found a place to live, and Johnny Wild, her father, had been a rough Norfolk lad with a raw musical talent and a hunger for success and women in equal measure.

Both had thrived on their fame and the attention it engendered, and after Lily was born they had just added her to their lifestyle—palming her off on whichever one wasn’t working and treating her like a fashion accessory long before it had become hip to do so.

The camera flashes and constant attention had scared her as a child, and even now Lily hated that she always felt as if she was living under the sullied banner of her parents’ combined notoriety. But none of that had been enough to put her off when her own creativity and natural talent had led her down the acting career path. Lily just tried as best she could to take roles that didn’t immediately provoke comparisons between herself and her parents—though as to that she could play a cross-dressing homosexual male and probably still be compared to her mother!

Sighing heavily, and wishing that one of her directors was going to call ‘cut’ on a day from hell, Lily turned to stare out at the passing landscape she hadn’t seen for so long.

Unfortunately the rows of shop fronts and Victorian terraces soon made her head throb, and she was forced to close her eyes and listen to the sound of Tristan texting on his smartphone instead. A thousand questions were winging through her mind—none of which, she knew, Tristan would feel inclined to answer.

For a moment she contemplated pulling the script she had promised to read from her bag, but that would no doubt make the headache worse so she left it there.

No great hardship, since she didn’t want to read it anyway. She had no interest in starring in a theatrical production about her parents, no matter how talented the writer-director was.

She’d nearly scoffed out loud at the notion.

As if she’d feed the gossipmongers and provoke more annoying comparisons to her mother by actually playing her in a drama. Lord, she’d never hear the end of it. The only reason she was pretending to consider the idea was a favour to a friend.

Her mouth twisted as she imagined the look on Tristan’s face if he knew about the role. No doubt he’d think her perfect to play a lost, drug-addled model craving love and attention from a man who had probably put the word playboy in the dictionary.

In fact it was ironic, really, that the only man Lily had ever thought herself to be in love with was almost as big a playboy as her father! Not that she’d fully comprehended Tristan’s reputation as a seventeen-year-old. Back then she’d known only that women fell for him like pebbles tossed into a pond, but she hadn’t given it much thought.

Now she was almost glad that he’d rejected her gauche overtures, because if he hadn’t she’d surely have become just another notch on his bedpost. And if she was anything like her mother that would have meant she’d have fallen for him all the harder.

Lily removed her cap and rubbed her forehead, glancing briefly at Tristan, slashing his red pen through a document he was reading. If she tried to interrupt him now to discuss her house arrest he’d no doubt bite her head off. Still…

‘I take it you won’t be put out if I don’t feel up to making conversation right now?’ she queried innocuously, smiling brightly when he looked at her as if she had two heads. ‘Thought not,’ she mumbled.

Suddenly she was feeling drained, and not up to fighting with him anyway, so it was a good thing he’d ignored her taunt. A taunt she shouldn’t have made in the first place. Never prod a sleeping tiger…wasn’t that the adage? Especially when you were in the same cage as him!

Lily leaned back against the plush leather headrest and closed her eyes. The manly scent from Tristan’s jacket imbued her with a delicious and oddly peaceful lassitude, and she tried to pretend none of this was happening.

Cheeky minx! She knew he didn’t want to talk. He couldn’t have made it any plainer. He slashed another line through the report he was reading and realised he’d marked up the wrong section. Damn her.

She sighed, and he wondered if she knew the effect she was having on his concentration, but when he glanced up it was to find she’d fallen asleep.

She looked so fragile, swamped in his jacket, her blonde hair spilling over the dark fabric like a silvery web.

He knew when he got it back it would smell like something from his late mother’s garden, and made a mental note to have his housekeeper immediately launder it. Then he realised the direction of his thoughts and frowned.

He was supposed to be focused on work. Not contemplating Lily and her hurt expression when he’d cut off her attempts to explain her situation earlier.

He didn’t want to get caught up in her lies, and he had taken the view that the less she said the better for both of them. She had a way of getting under his skin, and for an insanely brief moment back in the bar, when her eyes had teared up, he’d wanted to reach out and tell her that everything would be all right. Which was ridiculous.

It wasn’t his job to fix her situation. His job—if you could call it that—was to keep her out of trouble until Jordana’s wedding and find out any relevant information that might lead to her—or someone else’s—arrest.

It was not to make friends with her, or to make empty promises. And it certainly wasn’t to kiss her as he had wanted to do. He shook his head. Maybe he really had taken leave of his senses getting involved with this. Stuart, the friend and colleague who had helped him find the loophole in the law that had placed her into his custody, had seemed to think so.

‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Chief?’ he’d asked, after the deal had been sealed.

‘When have you ever needed to ask me that?’

His friend had raised an eyebrow at his surly tone and Tristan had known what was coming.

‘Never. But if she’s guilty and people question your involvement it could ruin your legal career. Not to mention drag your family name through the mud again.’

‘I know what I’m doing,’ he’d said. But he didn’t. Not really.

What he did know was that he was still as strongly attracted to her as he had been six years ago. Not that he was going to do anything about it. He would never get involved with a drug-user.

His mother had been one—although not a recreational user, like Lily and her ilk. His mother had taken a plethora of prescription meds for everything from dieting to depression, but the effect was the same: personality changes, mood swings, and eventually death when she had driven her car into a tree.

She had never been an easy woman to love. A shop girl with her eye on the big prize, she had married his father for his title and, from what Tristan could tell, had spent most of their life together complaining on the one hand that he worked too hard and on the other that the Abbey was too old for her tastes. His father had done his best, but in the end it hadn’t been enough, and she’d left after a blazing row Tristan still wished he hadn’t overheard. His father had been gutted, and for a while lost to his children, and Tristan had vowed then that he would never fall that deeply under a woman’s spell.

He expelled a harsh breath. He was thirty-two years old and in the prime of his life. He had an international law firm and a property portfolio that spanned four continents, good friends and enough money to last several lifetimes—even with the amount he gave away to charity. His personal life had become a little mundane lately, it was true, but he didn’t really know what to do about that.

Jordana thought it was because he chose unsuitable women most of the time, and if he did date someone ‘worthy’ he ended the relationship before it began. Which was true enough. Experience had taught him that after a certain time a woman started expecting more from a man. Started wanting to talk about love and commitment. And after one particularly virulent model had sold her story to the tabloids he had made sure his affairs remained short and sweet. Very sweet and very short.

He knew he’d probably marry one day, because it was expected, but love wouldn’t play a part in his choice of a wife. When he was ready—if he ever was—he’d choose someone from his world, who understood the demands of his lifestyle. Someone logical and pragmatic like he was.

Lily made a noise in her sleep and Tristan flicked a glance at her, wincing as her head dropped sideways and butted up against the glass window. Someone the opposite of this woman.

She whimpered and jerked upright in her sleep, but didn’t waken, and Tristan watched the cycle start to repeat itself. That couldn’t be good for her headache.

Not that he cared. He didn’t. She was the reason memories from the past were crowding in and clouding his normally clear thinking, and he resented the hell out of her for it.

But just as her head was about to bump the window again he cursed and moved to her side, to move her along the seat. She flopped against his shoulder and snuggled into his arm, her silky hair brushing against his cheek, giving him pause. He felt the warmth of her breath through his shirt and went still when she made a soft, almost purring sound in the back of her throat; his traitorous body responded predictably.

If he were to move back to his side now she might wake up and, frankly, he could do without her peppering him with the questions he’d seen hovering on her lips while he’d been trying to work.

She made another pained whimper and he looked down to see a frown marring her pale forehead.

Oh, for the love of God.

He blew out a breath and lifted his free hand to her hairline, stroked her brow. The frown eased instantly from her forehead and transferred to his own. If he wasn’t careful this whole situation could get seriously out of hand. He could just feel it.

Five minutes. He’d give her five minutes and then he’d move. Get back to the waiting e-mails on his smartphone.

Twenty minutes later, just as he was about to ease his fingers from her tangled tresses, his chauffeur announced that the car had stopped. Well, of course he’d noticed.

‘Drive us to the rear entrance, Bert,’ he said, trying to rouse Lily. She rubbed her soft cheek against his palm in such a trusting gesture his chest tightened.

God, she really was a stunning woman.

How could someone born looking like she did throw it all away on drugs? He knew she must have struggled, losing both her parents at a young age, but still—they all had their crosses to bear. What made some people rise above the cards life dealt them while others sank into the mire?

According to Jordana, Lily was sensible, reserved and down to earth. Yeah, and he was the Wizard of Oz.

‘You okay, Boss?’ Bert asked, concern shadowing his voice.

Great. He hadn’t noticed the car had pulled up again. He had to stop thinking of Lily as a desirable woman before it was no longer important that he neither liked nor respected her.

‘Never better.’ He exhaled, manoeuvring himself out of the car and effortlessly lifting the comatose woman into his arms. She stirred, but instantly resettled against him. No doubt a combination of shock and jet lag was laying her out cold.

A security guard opened the glass-plated door to his building, looking for all the world as if there was nothing out of place in his boss carrying an unconscious woman towards the service lift.

‘Nice afternoon, sir.’

Tristan grunted in return, flexing his arms under Lily’s dead weight.

He exited the lift and strode towards his office throwing a ‘don’t ask’ look at his ever-efficient secretary as she hurried around her desk to push his door open for him.

‘Hold all my calls,’ he instructed Kate, before kicking the door closed with his heel.

He tumbled Lily gently down onto the white leather sofa in his office and she immediately curled into a fetal position, pulling his jacket more tightly around her body while she slept.

Scratch laundering it, he thought. He’d just throw the bloody thing away.

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