Out of Hours Her Ruthless Boss
Ruthless Boss, Hired Wife
Kate Hewitt
Unworldly Secretary, Untamed Greek
Kim Lawrence
Her Ruthless Italian Boss
Christina Hollis

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Ruthless Boss, Hired Wife

About the Author

Dedication

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

EPILOGUE

Unworldly Secretary, Untamed Greek

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Her Ruthless Italian Boss

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

Copyright

Ruthless Boss, Hired Wife

KATE HEWITT discovered her first Mills & Boon ® romance on a trip to England when she was thirteen and she’s continued to read them ever since. She wrote her first story at the age of five, simply because her older brother had written one and she thought she could do it too. That story was one sentence long—fortunately they’ve become a bit more detailed as she’s grown older. She has written plays, short stories, and magazine serials for many years, but writing romance remains her first love. Besides writing, she enjoys reading, travelling and learning to knit. After marrying the man of her dreams—her older brother’s childhood friend—she lived in England for six years and now resides in Connecticut with her husband, her five young children and an overly affectionate golden retriever.

Kate loves to hear from readers—you can contact her through her website, www.kate-hewitt.com.

For Caroline and Ellen, the two spunkiest heroines I know

CHAPTER ONE

CORMAC DOUGLAS needed a wife. Tomorrow. Irritation and impatience thrummed through him in time with the drumming of his fingers on his desk. Outside, the crenellated turrets of Edinburgh Castle were shrouded in a thick and gloomy October fog.

He needed a wife. How? Who?

The women he knew were not wife material. Beauties to be seduced or aspiring socialites to be avoided. No one who would be suitable to act as his wife, weekend engagement only.

No one he could entice, bribe or blackmail. Bend to his will.

His narrowed hazel gaze scanned his office—a large, spare room on the top floor of a restored building on Cowgate. He’d gutted the place when he’d bought it five years ago, turned the old, poky rooms into a wide-open space filled with light and exposed brick.

Normally the sight of the office he owned and the memories it banished gave him a satisfaction that replaced his usual restless discontent.

Now it just seemed to mock him. He had the perfect commission, ripe for the taking, meant to be his, and he wouldn’t get it unless he had a wife.

The conversation a few days ago with an architect colleague replayed in his mind.

‘The Hassells finally want to develop a resort in Sint Rimbert,’ Eric had said. ‘Something eco-friendly and luxurious, aimed particularly at families.’

‘Families,’ Cormac repeated without any intonation.

‘Yes, they claim it’s a needed niche in the market—luxury for the little ones.’ He chuckled. ‘It’s a plum commission.’

‘Indeed.’

‘I’d go for it myself, but they want to start work in the new year and I’m already booked.’ He paused, laughing ruefully. ‘I’m also out of the running for another reason—I’m not married.’

‘Married?’ Cormac’s voice turned sharp. ‘What the hell does that have to do with anything?’

‘Apparently the Hassells are a close-knit family. They want someone dependable to design this resort, with family values, seeing as it’s a family resort. Preferably a married man. Of course, that’s just the word on the street—they’d never say as much officially.’

‘Of course.’ Cormac injected a dry note into his voice. ‘Presumably that’s why I haven’t heard of it.’

‘Exactly,’ Eric agreed, laughing. ‘You’re not on the short-list, Cormac.’

‘Not yet.’

‘What are you thinking of? A trip to Gretna Green?’

Cormac knew Eric was joking so he chuckled along with him. ‘Not a bad idea.’

‘You know your own reputation,’ Eric said with a careless laugh. ‘But I didn’t think you were quite that ruthless.’

After the telephone call Cormac had spent a long time staring out at the gloomy skies, the crawl of cars intent on avoiding the traffic of the Old Town.

He imagined the short-list Jan Hassell would have compiled: smug married architects with their happy home lives and uninspired designs.

It was absurd that the Hassells wanted a married man to design the resort. Family values had no effect—at least no positive effect—on one’s work. He should know. His work was his life, his breath. And as for family…

He stifled a curse, one hand balling into a frustrated fist. He wanted that commission. It was a fantastic opportunity, but it was more than that. It was a chance to prove who he was…and who he wasn’t.

He was the best man for the job, could be the best man if given the chance, if he grabbed it.

He wasn’t married.

A few hours after the call from Eric, Cormac had made some calls of his own and finally connected with Jan Hassell. After faxing his CV and some designs to Jan, he’d been invited to a weekend house party on Sint Rimbert, along with two other architects. It was a stone’s throw from complete success and now all he needed was a wife on his arm, an ornament to prove he had all those damn family values.

To get the commission.

To seize it.

He glanced at some letters on his desk which his secretary had left for him to sign and irritably pulled them towards him. He was just scrawling his name on the bottom of the first page when he stopped. Smiled.

Considered.

He had the perfect idea. The perfect wife.

She just didn’t know it yet.

‘I’m glad you’re doing so well, Dani,’ Lizzie said into the phone. She swallowed past the lump which had risen suddenly—stupidly—in her throat. It was ridiculous to feel sad. Dani was happy, enjoying life at university, doing all the things an eighteen-year-old should do.

This was what she’d always wanted for her sister. Always.

There was a low rumble of male laughter from the end of the line and Dani said, ‘I ought to go, some friends are coming over…’

‘It’s only five o’clock,’ Lizzie found herself protesting, aware of the prissy censure in her voice.

‘It’s Thursday, Lizzie!’ Dani laughed. ‘Weekends at university always start early.’Another male laugh sounded in the background and she asked a bit guiltily, ‘Do you have plans for the weekend? Your first weekend alone!’

‘Yes.’ Lizzie tried to inject some enthusiasm into her voice and failed. ‘Yes, I’m going to…’ Her mind went blank. Read a book. Take a bath. Go to bed.

‘Paint the town red?’ If there was any mockery in Dani’s voice, it was gentle, but it still stung. ‘You should go for it, Lizzie. You’ve spent too much of your life looking after me as it is. Seize life! Or at least a man.’ She giggled. ‘Anyway, someone’s calling me, so I’d better go…’ Giggling again, at someone other than Lizzie, she hung up the phone.

Seize life. Dani’s reckless advice rang in Lizzie’s ears as she replaced the receiver. It was easy for her sister to seize things; she was carefree, young, thoughtless. She didn’t have responsibilities, concerns, bills weighing her down.

Lizzie sighed. She didn’t want to think badly of Dani. Hadn’t she worked so hard—sacrificed her own dreams—so Dani could have hers?

And now she had them. Lizzie knew she should be thrilled. And she was. She was.

Determinedly, she rose from her desk. Perhaps she would paint the town, if not red, then a light pink. She could go to a wine bar on Rose Street, see if anyone from work was going…There was an associate architect she vaguely fancied—John something. Of course, he didn’t even know her name.

No one did.

And even as these plans half-formed in her mind, Lizzie knew she would never carry them out. Didn’t know how. Didn’t dare.

Sighing, she reached for her handbag. She’d make sure her boss didn’t need anything else from her tonight and then she’d go home. Alone. Lonely.

As always.

She knocked lightly on Cormac Douglas’s door.

‘Come in.’

The barked-out command made Lizzie stiffen slightly. Cormac Douglas was in the Edinburgh office for only one week out of four, and she found she preferred the other three. His terse commands were taken better by e-mail or a short note left on her desk than face to face.

Lizzie pushed the door open. ‘Mr Douglas? I was just going to head out unless you need me…?’

Cormac stood by the window, hands shoved deep into his trouser pockets, his gaze studying the grey cityscape stretched out before him. ‘Need you?’ he repeated as if considering the question. He turned to face her, his eyes sweeping her form in a strangely assessing way. ‘As a matter of fact, I do.’

‘All right.’ Lizzie waited for instructions. She was used to staying late when Cormac was in town, although she’d finished all the work he’d given her. Something must have come up.

‘Do you have a current passport?’ he asked, and Lizzie blinked, nonplussed.

‘Yes…’

‘Good.’ He paused and Lizzie had the feeling he was considering what to say. An odd thought, since Cormac Douglas was the kind of man who always knew what to say. ‘I have a business engagement,’ he finally explained tersely, ‘and I need a secretary to accompany me.’

‘Very well.’ Lizzie nodded, as if this was something she’d done before. In the two years she’d worked for Douglas Architectural Designs, she’d never accompanied Cormac anywhere, not even to a local work site. He preferred to do things on his own. Besides, he was more likely to take one of his assistants from the London office with him than Lizzie, a plain, parochial Edinburgh girl. ‘Where are we going?’

‘We leave for the Dutch Antilles tomorrow evening and return on Monday. It’s a very important commission.’ He paused, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed in concentration. ‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’ Lizzie’s mind was spinning, although she strove to look unruffled. The Dutch Antilles…If her geography wasn’t too far off, that was in the Caribbean and at least eight hours by plane. If Cormac was travelling that far simply to court a commission, it had to be serious. And so did she.

She swallowed, heard the audible gulp, and forced herself to meet Cormac’s harsh gaze.

‘Is there anything I can do to arrange the travel?’

‘Yes, book the tickets.’ He pushed a piece of paper across the desk. ‘The information’s there. I’ll be out of the office tomorrow, so I’ll meet you at the airport, first-class lounge. Just text me the relevant information.’

Lizzie nodded, used to such terse commands. She picked up the paper and scanned the few scrawled details.

She could hardly pump Cormac for information, or ask him what kind of clothes she should bring. Or why he had chosen to bring her.

She swallowed down her curiosity and smiled stiffly. ‘Is that all?’

His gaze swept over her once more and a strange sardonic smile curved his mouth. Lizzie had the eerie feeling she’d somehow done something that Cormac had expected…and it was a disappointment.

‘That’s it,’ he said and, sitting down at his desk, turned back to his work, dismissing her from both his presence and his mind.

Lizzie slipped silently from the room.

Back at her desk she sank into her chair, her knees weak.

She was going to the Caribbean. She pictured white sandy beaches, tropical forests, tropical drinks. People, laughter, sultry breezes. For a moment she allowed a thrill to trickle through her like quicksilver, awakening nerves, dreams, even desires she hadn’t known she still had.

Who knew what could happen? Who she might meet?

She had plans for this weekend. Big ones.

After making the necessary travel arrangements, Lizzie got up and shrugged on her coat.

She was going to the Caribbean…with Cormac Douglas.

For a moment she paused, her coat halfway on, as she considered what a trip with her boss would be like. Together on a plane, in a hotel, on the beach.

Would Cormac soften in a new, more relaxed environment? Or would he be just as tense and short with her as always?

She pictured him for a moment, tried to imagine his face in a smile rather than a scowl, eyes crinkled with laughter rather than narrowed in scorn. It was virtually impossible. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Cormac Douglas smile—a kind smile rather than something born of contempt or cold-blooded business acumen.

She gave herself a mental shake; she had no place imagining what Cormac would be like. It didn’t matter. All he wanted her for was to take notes, carry papers. And do it well.

And yet…the Caribbean. With Cormac. Another thrill racked her like a shiver—illicit, dangerous. Real.

A fine misting drizzle was falling when Lizzie left work, heading into the busy nightlife of the Old Town.

A few of the other secretaries from the office had invited her out when she’d first started working there, but she’d never been able to go because of Dani.

Now they no longer asked.

Lizzie shrugged this off; caring for Dani was enough, had always been enough.

Except now she was gone.

The last three days had been strange, still, silent. Lizzie accepted it with pragmatic determination, told herself she needed time to develop her own friends and pastimes, things she’d never had time to have before. Time to find a life.

And it would start by jet-setting off to the Caribbean.

A giggle escaped her, a breathless sound of pure feminine fun.

Three days in Sint Rimbert…Anything seemed possible. She was doing what Dani had told her to do. Seizing life.

Even if she had to go with Cormac Douglas, at least she would be getting out, meeting people, having a bit of an adventure.

It was a start…of something.

She left the lights, misty through the rain, of Princes Street and headed towards her house in Stockbridge, a short walk from Edinburgh’s Old Town.

The Georgian town house was in an area that had become affluent and cosmopolitan, and as always Lizzie was aware how shabby and run-down her house looked among the others—a weed among roses. It needed new windows, a coat of paint and a dozen other things, as well. None of them were within her budget, but it was home, a house full of memories she wanted to keep.

She unlocked the door and pushed it open, entering the dim hallway. As she had been since Dani’s departure, Lizzie was conscious of the silence, the emptiness, the blank spaces.

‘Empty nest syndrome at twenty-eight,’ she murmured, annoyed with herself. Defiantly she turned on the radio in the kitchen, glanced in the cupboards to see what she could make for a meal and then headed upstairs to change.

He had a wife. Cormac knew he would have to tread carefully. It was a delicate business, maintaining a deceit.

Still, he thought he knew how to play his secretary. Intimidation was the key to someone like her. He shook his head in contemptuous dismissal.

Miss Chandler was one of those unfortunate people in life whose only purpose was to be used.

Use or be used.

Cormac chose the former. Always.

Despite the satisfaction he felt at obtaining his so-called wife, he also felt a restless surging, an uneasy energy pulsing through him. There were too many variables, possibilities. Not everything was under his control. Yet.

Would his secretary be convincing as his wife? He hadn’t told her just what was required of her; he’d do it on the plane when there was no exit. No escape.

His mouth curved in a knowing smile. He didn’t think she’d balk, but if necessary he could offer her money. No one turned down cold, hard cash.

God knew she could probably use a little extra, even though he considered the salaries he offered to his staff to be generous enough. She wore the same black suit to work every day, clearly something inexpensive off the high street. With her lack of makeup and pale, neat hair, she could certainly use a makeover, or at least some good advice.

Makeover…The word, the thought stilled him. He pictured her showing up tomorrow with a cheap suitcase full of plain, inexpensive little outfits. A secretary’s clothes. Not a wife’s.

Not his wife’s.

A possibility he hadn’t considered. It would be dealt with. Now.

With a muffled curse, he grabbed his coat and headed outside.

She’d turned the radio up loud so at first she didn’t hear the knocking. Not until it become a fierce, methodical pounding.

Lizzie put down the chopping knife, turned down the radio and headed for the door with her heart leaping into her throat.

Who knocked like that? Police or drunks came to mind. She peered out of the hall’s narrow windowpane and gasped in surprise when she saw who it was.

She had her answer. Cormac Douglas knocked like that.

What on earth was he doing here? She’d never seen him outside the office…or the tabloid newspapers.

Taking a deep breath, she ran a hand over her hair, which tumbled loosely over her shoulders, and opened the door.

‘Mr Douglas?’ She eyed him uncertainly, for he looked as grim as ever, his forehead drawn into a frown, his eyebrows an unyielding scowl. He was still a handsome man, she acknowledged, as she had since the first day he’d hired her. Tall, his chocolate-brown hair misted with rain, clear hazel eyes glinting with impatience, his cheekbones high and chiselled, slashed with colour.

‘I need to speak with you. May I come in?’

She nodded, conscious suddenly of her own mussed hair, the jeans and white T-shirt she’d changed into. She touched her cheek and realised a dab of tomato sauce had smeared there.

‘Yes, of course.’

The hall of her parents’ house was long, narrow and high, yet Cormac seemed to fill the gloomy space. He glanced around, and Lizzie knew he was taking in the old, shabby furnishings.

Just then she heard a sizzling sound from the kitchen and, with a murmured excuse, hurried to it.

The tomato sauce was bubbling ominously on the stove and she lowered the gas flame before turning around.

She gave a little gasp of surprise; Cormac stood in the doorway, taking in the pathetic little scene in one cursory sweep of his contemptuous gaze.

Lizzie found herself flushing. She could just imagine what Cormac was thinking. Thursday night and she was home alone, making a sad little meal for one, the radio her only company.

‘I’m sorry. I was just making some dinner,’ she explained stiltedly. Jazz music played tinnily from the radio and she snapped it off. ‘Do you…do you want some?’

Cormac simply stared, raising one eyebrow in silent, scornful disbelief. Lizzie bit her lip, flushing again. Of course he must already have dinner arrangements at some chic restaurant, a far cry from here. From her.

According to the tabloids—as well as the voicemail messages that were occasionally left on the office machine—she knew he was with a different woman nearly every time he was seen, usually at a nightclub or high-class restaurant.

So why was he with her tonight? Here?

‘Sorry,’ she muttered, not really sure why she was apologising. ‘Anyway…may I take your coat?’

Cormac was still looking at her, sizing her up in a way she wasn’t used to. Lizzie tried not to fidget. He’d never really looked at her before, she realised. She was simply someone to bring papers, answer telephones. Now he was watching her, eyes narrowed, seeming as if he was deciding whether she passed or failed.

Passed or failed what?

His hands were thrust deep into his pockets and the shoulders of his overcoat were damp, his hair mussed from the rain.

‘All right.’ He shrugged his coat off and handed it to her. ‘Put that away and then I need to talk to you.’

Lizzie nodded stiffly, feeling like a maid in her own home. She went to hang his coat in the hall. A faint tang of cedar and soap wafted from it and Lizzie felt a strange tingling in her chest, a tightening she didn’t really like or understand.

She didn’t know this man, she realised. At all. And she had no idea what he was doing here. What could he possibly want to talk about?

Back in the kitchen, Cormac stood in the same place. He was completely still yet he radiated energy, impatience.

His hard hazel gaze snapped back to her with a cold, precise determination as soon as she entered the kitchen.

‘I forgot to mention some salient details regarding our trip.’ He paused, raking his fingers through his damp hair. ‘I’m travelling to Sint Rimbert to court an important commission. Jan Hassell, who owns most of the island, has finally decided to build a luxury resort. It’s important to him, of course, that the architect he chooses presents the right…appearance.’ He paused, looking at her as if he expected a reply, but Lizzie was baffled.

‘Yes, I see,’ she said after a moment, although she didn’t really.

Cormac let out an impatient breath. ‘Do you? Then perhaps you realise that I can’t have a secretary who gets her clothes from the rag basket.’

Colour surged into Lizzie’s face. It was galling to realise that he didn’t think she possessed the proper clothes for such a trip. Even worse was the realisation that undoubtedly she didn’t. She swallowed. ‘Perhaps you could tell me what I need to bring,’ she said with as much dignity as she could muster.

Cormac shook his head. ‘I can guarantee, sweetheart, that you don’t have it.’

Lizzie lifted her chin. He’d never called her sweetheart before, and she didn’t like the casual, callous endearment. ‘If I’m not stylish enough for you,’ she said shortly, ‘there are other secretaries from the Edinburgh office who could oblige you.’

‘I’m sure there are,’ Cormac returned, ‘but I want you.’

He spoke flatly, yet Lizzie felt a frisson of awareness, excitement, at his words. I want you.

Because of your typing speed, idiot, she told herself. And obviously not her style or appearance. Anyway, she reminded herself, the last thing she wanted was a man like Cormac Douglas to turn his attention towards her. Working for him was difficult enough.

‘Well, then,’ she finally said, a brisk note entering her voice, ‘I’ll do my best to look smart. Was there anything else you needed to discuss with me, Mr Douglas?’

‘You should call me Cormac,’ he replied abruptly, and Lizzie simply stared.

‘Why?’ she asked after a moment, and he gave her a cool look which spoke volumes about what he thought of her audacity in questioning him.

‘Because I said so.’

‘Fine.’ She swallowed any indignation she felt. It was pointless. Cormac Douglas was her boss and he could do what he liked. Even in her own house. ‘Is that all?’ she finally got out in a voice of strangled politeness.

‘No.’ Cormac continued to stare at her, his gaze narrowed and uncomfortably assessing. On the stove the pot of tomato sauce bubbled resentfully.

After a moment he sighed impatiently and, without another word, he turned on his heel and headed for the stairs.

Lizzie’s mouth dropped open. ‘Just where do you think you’re going?’

‘Upstairs.’

She followed him up the steep, narrow stairs, unable to believe that he was invading her home, her privacy, in such a blatant and unapologetic way. Yet why should she be surprised? She knew well enough how Cormac Douglas operated. She’d just never been on the receiving end of it before.

She’d never been important enough to merit more than a single scornful glance and a few barked-out instructions. Now her clothes, her home, her whole self were up for scrutiny.

Why?

Cormac strode down the hallway, poking in a few bedrooms, mostly unused and shrouded in dust-sheets.

‘This place is a mausoleum,’ he remarked with casual disdain as he closed the door to her parents’ old bedroom. ‘Why do you live here?’

‘This is my home,’ Lizzie snapped. Her voice wavered and she stood in front of him, blocking his way down the hall towards her bedroom. ‘What are you doing here, Cormac? Besides being unbelievably nosy and rude.’ A disconnected part of her brain could hardly credit that she was speaking this way to her boss. Another part was surprisingly glad. She glared at him.

‘Seeing if you have appropriate clothes,’ Cormac replied. ‘Now, move.’

He elbowed past her none too gently and Lizzie was forced to follow, grinding her teeth as Cormac strode into her bedroom and looked around.

Her bed was rumpled and unmade, her pyjamas still on the floor, along with a discarded bra and blouse. The stack of paperback romances by the bed suddenly seemed revealing, although of what Lizzie couldn’t even say.

She didn’t want Cormac here, looking over the detritus, the dross of her life. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.

It was incredibly uncomfortable.

He glanced around once, taking in every salient detail with narrowed eyes, a smile of complete contempt curling one lip, before he strode to her wardrobe and flung open the doors.

Lizzie watched with a growing sense of incredulity, irritation and shame as he thumbed through her paltry rack of clothes, mostly sensible skirts and dresses, a few different blouses to go with her black suit. There had never been any need for anything else.

‘As I thought,’ he said with an aggravating note of cruel satisfaction. ‘Nothing remotely suitable.’

‘I’m your secretary,’ Lizzie snapped. ‘I hardly think you’ll lose this commission because I’m not dressed like—like one of your tarty girlfriends!’

Cormac swivelled slowly to face her, light beginning to gleam in his eyes. ‘What would you know about my girlfriends, tarty or otherwise?’

Lizzie swallowed and shrugged defiantly. ‘Only what I see in the tabloids.’

He laughed softly. ‘You believe that tripe? You read it?’

‘You do it,’ Lizzie snapped back, goaded beyond all sense of caution.

‘Do I?’ He took a step forward, his voice dangerously soft. ‘Is that what you’re after?’

‘What I’m after,’ Lizzie replied, her voice turning slightly shrill with desperation, ‘is getting you out of my bedroom and my house. You may be my boss, but you don’t have any rights in here.’

‘I wouldn’t want any,’ he scoffed, and too late Lizzie realised how it had sounded. Bedroom rights. Sexual rights. With a small smile, he bent down and hooked the strap of her discarded bra on his little finger, dangling it in front of her. ‘A bit too small for my taste.’

She flushed, thought of threatening a sexual harassment suit and knew she never would. ‘Please leave,’ she said in a voice that was entirely too weak and wavery, and realised with a stab of mortification that there were actually tears in her eyes. She was pathetic. Cormac certainly thought so.

‘Gladly,’ he informed her, ‘but you’re coming with me.’

Lizzie blinked. The threat of tears had thankfully receded, leaving only bafflement. ‘Coming with you? Why?’

‘You don’t have the proper clothes,’ Cormac said as if speaking to an idiot, ‘so we’ll have to get you some.’

‘I don’t want—’

‘This isn’t about what you want, Miss Chandler. It’s about what I want. Get that straight right now.’

Lizzie bit hard on her lip. She couldn’t afford to dig in her heels now, not over something like this. She needed her job, her salary, especially now Dani was at university, requiring fees, living costs, books and a bit to enjoy herself with. Lizzie couldn’t afford to antagonise Cormac Douglas, especially not over a few outfits.

‘Fine,’ she finally said, her voice clipped. ‘I assume you’re footing the bill?’

He smiled. It made her insides curl unpleasantly. ‘Of course. You couldn’t afford a pair of panties from the place we’re going.’

‘I wouldn’t want any,’ Lizzie snapped, but he’d already walked out of the bedroom, no doubt expecting her to follow, trotting at his heels.

CHAPTER TWO

LIZZIE sat stiffly on a cream leather sofa while Cormac spoke in a hushed voice to the sales assistant at the expensive boutique he’d brought her to on Princes Street.

What kind of man inspired the respect, awe and, most likely, fear that kept an exclusive boutique open for its only customer at eight o’clock at night?

The answer was right in front of her, in the arrogant, authoritative stance and the assessingly dismissive look Cormac shot her before turning back to the assistant.

‘Don’t let her choose her own clothes. She wouldn’t know what to pick.’

Lizzie pressed her lips together and gazed blindly out of the rain-smeared window. He was right; she wouldn’t know what to pick. But he didn’t have to tell the assistant that, and certainly not in that tone.

On the taxi ride to the boutique, she’d made the decision not to get angry at Cormac’s rude and arrogant ways. She just wouldn’t care.

He was known as ruthless and cold, she reminded herself; he was indifferent to the point of rudeness. He was also respected because of his incredible talent and building designs.

Right now those designs didn’t seem to matter very much.

‘All right, miss.’ The assistant, a sleek woman in a grey silk suit, came forward, smiling briskly. ‘Mr Douglas would like you to be outfitted for the weekend. Will you come this way?’

With a jerky nod, refusing to look at Cormac, Lizzie followed the assistant into the inner room of the boutique.

‘I’m Claire,’ the woman called over her shoulder as she began pulling clothes from the racks. ‘You’ll need at least two evening dresses, some casual wear, a swimming costume…’ The list went on, washing over Lizzie in an incomprehensible tide of sound.

She’d never spent much time or money on clothes, never had the inclination or interest, not to mention the means. Now she reached out and stroked a cocktail dress of crimson silk, the material sliding through her fingers like water.

Why was Cormac doing this? Surely, surely as his secretary she didn’t need clothes like this, no matter how promising or prominent this commission could be.

Did he feel sorry for her? Impossible. Embarrassed for her? By her? Lizzie considered it, but decided Cormac Douglas didn’t have enough sensitivity towards anyone to feel such an emotion.

So why? Because she knew, more than anything, that Cormac didn’t do anything unless there was something in it for him.

‘Miss Chandler?’ Claire indicated the sumptuous changing room and, with a little apologetic smile, Lizzie entered.

An hour later she was trying on the last outfit, a slinky silver evening dress with skinny straps that poured over her slight curves like liquid moonlight.

Lizzie smoothed the elegant material over her hips, amazed at the transformation. Her pale blond hair fell to her shoulders in a soft cloud, and her eyes were wide and luminous. It looked, she thought ruefully, as if the dress were too big for her, even though it fitted perfectly. She looked overawed by the glamour, and she was.

Just what was Cormac trying to turn her into? Because it wasn’t working.

What kind of woman did he want her to be this weekend…and why?

Perhaps she was paranoid to be so suspicious, yet she couldn’t shake the unreality of the situation…the impossibility.

‘Gorgeous,’ Claire murmured, and gestured her to leave the dressing room. ‘Mr Douglas will want to see this.’

‘I don’t think—’ Lizzie began, but Claire was already pulling her hand, and from the corner of her eye she saw Cormac stand up, alert and ready, lips pressed together in a firm, hard line.

She stood in the middle of the room, conscious of the way the dress clung to her body and swirled about her feet, leaving very little to the imagination…to Cormac’s imagination.

He surveyed her from top to toe, his hazel eyes darkening, his face expressionless.

‘Good,’ he said after a moment. ‘Add it to the rest.’

With a nod, he dismissed her. Feeling like a show pony, Lizzie retreated to the dressing room and peeled off the evening gown, adding it to the heap of clothes that had to cost at least several thousand pounds piled next to her.

‘I’ll just take these to the front,’ Claire said, and Lizzie felt she had to protest.

‘I don’t really need…’ she began, and Claire shook her head.

‘Mr Douglas said you might protest, but he was very firm, Miss Chandler. He wants you to be properly outfitted.’

‘Does he?’ Lizzie muttered, yanking her jeans back on. ‘And what Mr Douglas wants, Mr Douglas gets.’

‘That’s right.’

With a little yelp Lizzie whirled around and saw Cormac standing in the doorway of the dressing room.

‘What are you doing here?’ she cried.

‘Telling you to hurry up.’ He braced one hand against the wall, his glinting eyes sweeping over her, his mouth curving in a knowing smile that brought colour rushing to Lizzie’s face.

And not just to her face…Lizzie felt her body react to that assessing gaze, felt her breasts, clad only in a greying, worn bra, tighten and swell. She’d never been looked at in this way by a man—any man—and certainly not by a man like Cormac.

She didn’t like it. Her body might react, treacherous and helpless, but her mind and heart rebelled against the assessing way his eyes raked over her, a mocking little smile playing about his mouth.

She put her hands on her hips and lifted her chin. ‘Had a good look?’

She thought she saw a flicker of surprise in Cormac’s eyes before he smiled coolly. ‘Not much to see.’ He turned away before she could reply, and Lizzie put on her shirt with shaking fingers.

Outside the boutique, a pile of boxes and bags at their feet, Cormac hailed a taxi.

Rain still misted down, as soft as a caress, but cold on Lizzie’s face. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said as the driver loaded her parcels into the car. ‘Make sure you bring all of that. I want you dressed properly.’

‘So you’ve said.’ Lizzie realised she should probably say thank-you, as he’d spent a rather indecent amount of money on her, but somehow she couldn’t get herself to form the words. She hadn’t wanted the clothes, and he was too overbearing and obnoxious for her to feel any proper gratitude.

The boxes were loaded, the driver waiting, and still, Cormac paused. ‘That silver evening dress,’ he finally said, his voice gruff. ‘Wear that the last night.’

Lizzie opened her mouth to reply, her mind blank. Nothing came out.

‘See you at the airport.’ Without waiting for a response, he turned away and began walking down the street.

Lizzie watched him go, saw the rain dampen his coat and his hair, and wondered yet again just what kind of man he was…and what she was letting herself in for this weekend.

Lizzie was breathless and flushed when she finally checked in and made her way to the first-class lounge at the airport.

Cormac, the lady at the register had informed her, had checked in half an hour earlier.

Lizzie gritted her teeth. If she hadn’t had all those ridiculous bags, filled with clothes she couldn’t possibly need, she might have made better time.

‘You’re late.’ Cormac looked up from his sheaf of papers, frowning, as Lizzie made her way into the lounge.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said stiffly. ‘I’m not used to travelling with so much luggage.’

Cormac turned back to his papers. ‘I doubt you’re used to travelling at all,’ he replied, and Lizzie opened her mouth to retort something stinging, but closed it without even framing a response.

What could she say? It was true, and she could hardly argue with her boss anyway. Still, she wished he wasn’t right. She wished he didn’t know it.

She sank into the seat across from him, conscious of the outfit she wore—slim-fitting black trousers and a cranberry silk blouse, unbuttoned at the throat. She’d pulled her hair back with a clip and fine wisps fell about her flushed face. So much for looking smart.

Cormac lifted his eyes, let his gaze travel slowly over her, from her tousled hair to the pair of black leather pumps that pinched her feet. Lizzie tried not to squirm.

‘You should have had your hair cut,’ he remarked, and then turned back to his work.

Stung, Lizzie replied, ‘If you wanted me to have a complete makeover, you should have given me a bit more warning. As it is, I have no idea why the Hassells will be analysing your secretary!’

He continued to scan the papers as he replied, ‘I think I’ve already explained to you what kind of impression I—we—need to make.’

‘And you’re afraid a bad hair day is going to make or break the deal?’ Lizzie jibed, only to fall silent at Cormac’s icy look.

‘Nothing will break this deal,’ he said in a tone that was ominous in its finality. ‘Nothing.’

‘Perhaps you could tell me a little bit more about what to expect, then,’ Lizzie said after a moment. The freezing look in Cormac’s eyes thawed only slightly and she tried for a conversational tone. ‘Will there be other guests?’

‘Later,’ he replied, and she knew she was dismissed.

Sinking back into her seat, she gazed around the lounge, the deep leather armchairs seating a variety of well-heeled travellers. Even in her shiny new outfit, Lizzie felt like an outsider. A misfit. She’d never even been on an aeroplane before.

She turned her attention back to Cormac, sneaked a peep at him from beneath her lashes. He was deeply absorbed in his work, his eyes downcast, his own lashes, thick and dark, sweeping and softening the harsh planes of his face.

He was a harsh man, Lizzie thought, and felt, for the first time, a rush of curiosity about what—or who—had made him the way he was.

Ruthless, ambitious, unfeeling. Cold. The tabloids had used every damning word, delighting in Cormac’s reviled reputation. The women—starlets and socialites alike—flocked to him, to the bad boy they mistakenly thought they could tame.

Now Lizzie wondered why. Why are you the way you are?

Everyone had a past, a story. She thought of her own—her parents’ death ten years ago, Dani’s dependence. The life she’d made for herself, caring for Dani, providing her younger sister with every opportunity and affection.

She’d rung Dani to explain about the weekend, only to have her sister blithely assure her that Lizzie could do whatever she wanted, Dani was already busy with her own life.

Lizzie knew it was ridiculous to feel hurt. Rejected. Yet she did. She was glad Dani was so happy at university. She was thrilled.

She knew she was.

It just didn’t feel that way right now.

Cormac looked up. ‘They’re boarding first class.’

He stood up, putting his papers back in his attaché case. Lizzie saw a glimpse of sketches, strong pencil lines that didn’t look like the usual architectural blueprints, but they were slipped out of sight before she could guess what they were.

Clutching her handbag, she followed Cormac into the queue. They’d already been assigned seats and the airline attendants were cloyingly deferential as they led Cormac to two sumptuous reclining seats in soft grey leather.

Lizzie followed behind, feeling out of place and yet helplessly giddy at the blatant luxury. The feelings intensified when they sat down and an attendant offered them champagne and a crystal bowl full of strawberries.

Lizzie took the flute awkwardly, rotated the fragile crystal stem between her slick fingers. ‘Some service.’

‘First class,’ Cormac dismissed, and pushed his glass away, untouched.

Lizzie took a cautious sip. She hadn’t had champagne in years, not since before her parents had died, and then only a sip or two on Hogmanay or birthdays. Now the bubbles tickled her throat and her nose, made her feel a bit dizzy.

Or was it just the total unreality of the situation, sitting in first class, sipping champagne with Cormac Douglas?

Cormac was staring broodingly out of the window, the bare, brown fields and leafless trees stark against a slate-grey sky. Lizzie put her champagne flute down and glanced around at the other first-class passengers settling themselves.

A polished woman in designer denim shot her a look of pure envy and, startled, Lizzie realised the woman must think she and Cormac were a couple.

Lovers.

She glanced back at her boss, still lost in his own thoughts. His face was in profile and she could see the strong, clean line of his jaw. She was close enough even to see the glint of gold stubble on his chin, the way his close-cropped brown hair was streaked by the sun.

She turned away abruptly.

Soon the rest of the passengers were settled and the plane began to taxi towards the runway. Lizzie leaned back in her seat, her nerves beginning a sudden, frantic flutter in her middle.

Cormac saw her fingers curl around the armrest and raised one eyebrow. ‘Are you nervous?’

‘A bit,’ she admitted unwillingly. ‘I’ve never flown before.’

‘But you had a passport.’

‘I went to Paris by train once.’ As an escort for Dani’s fifth form field trip, but she let Cormac think what he liked.

Apparently he didn’t think much for he raised his eyebrows and murmured, ‘I see.’

Soon the plane was lifting into a steely sky and Lizzie felt her stomach dip. Once the craft levelled out, she felt more relaxed and her fingers loosened on the armrest.

Above the clouds, the sky was a deep, clear purple, a cloak of twilight, smooth and soft. Lizzie let out a little sigh.

The attendant came to take drink orders and she asked for an orange juice. Cormac asked for the same.

Once the attendant had moved on, he turned to her, eyes suddenly flinty and cold. His mouth was set and a furrow was in the middle of his forehead. ‘We need to talk.’

Lizzie set her orange juice down. ‘Okay.’

‘Your role in this weekend’s meetings is…important.’

Lizzie raised her eyebrows, bemused. Shorthand and shuffling papers was important? ‘I understand,’ she began carefully, feeling he required some response, ‘that you want to put forth an impeccable—’

‘Do you know anything about the Hassells?’ he demanded, cutting her off, and Lizzie shrugged.

‘Only what you’ve told me. They own an island in the Dutch Antilles, and they finally want to build a resort there.’

His mouth thinned and he reached down to extract a newspaper clipping from his attaché case. ‘Read that.’

Lizzie took the clipping with cautious curiosity. The Hassells: A Family, A Dynasty the headline read. The article described the family, a Dutch dynasty that had lived on Sint Rimbert for over a hundred years. She read about Jan Hassell, his wife, Hilda, and their three sons, all entrepreneurs in various cities across the globe.

The family was focused on developing the local economy, keeping the island eco-friendly and retaining ‘the family values the Hassells have cherished for a century’. The write-up was glowing indeed, and she looked up to see Cormac scowling at her.

‘Now do you understand?’

She didn’t. ‘They seem like a nice family,’ she said as she handed back the clipping. Not the type of people to care about whether a secretary wore designer clothes, either, although she bit her tongue to stop herself from voicing that thought aloud.

‘Family values,’ Cormac said, glancing down at the article. His voice was a sneer.

His face was dark, as if a storm had gathered in his thoughts. Lizzie struggled for something to say to lighten the mood. ‘They’re clearly not in it just for the money,’ she ventured. The article had described the Hassells’ decision to build a resort—‘a way of sharing the beauty of our island with the world.’A bit saccharine, perhaps, but a pretty sentiment nonetheless.

‘Everyone’s in it for the money,’ Cormac said flatly. He glanced over at her, his expression now alarmingly neutral. ‘The Hassells want an architect with family values, as well,’ he continued. ‘They’ve invited three architects to this weekend—the short-list—including me. As far as I can tell, they want everyone sitting round playing Happy Families and singing campfire songs.’

Lizzie stared at him, wondering what was coming next. Cormac Douglas was about as far from family values as a man could get.

‘They invited you to Sint Rimbert,’ she repeated hesitantly, trying to make sense of what he was telling her. ‘So whatever they think about family values…’

‘They invited me,’ Cormac interjected, ‘because I told them I was newly married and looking forward to having a family.’

Lizzie’s mouth dropped open. ‘But…that’s not true…’

‘It is,’ he replied with a faint feral smile, ‘for the purposes of this weekend.’

Lizzie blinked. Her stomach dipped, dropped. She wanted to make sense of what Cormac was saying, yet she had the odd feeling that if she put two and two together she’d get about twenty. Cormac was gazing at her steadily, coldly, his expression like a vice on her mind. Her soul.

‘So…how…?’ She shook her head, licked her lips. Her mouth was dry and she took a sip of orange juice. It felt like acid coating her throat. ‘What are you trying to tell me?’ she finally asked, and her voice came out in little more than a scratchy whisper.

‘I’m telling you,’ Cormac replied with icy precision, ‘that this weekend you’re not my secretary. You’re my wife.’

CHAPTER THREE

FOR one tantalising second the word conjured images in Lizzie’s mind she had no business thinking of. Wife. Entwined fingers, tangled limbs. Marriage, love. Sex.

She blinked. ‘Your wife?’ she repeated. ‘But…how?’ She shook her head. ‘You mean, pretend?’

His mouth curved into a smile she didn’t like and his eyes remained cold. ‘Did you think I was asking you for real?’

‘You mean, lie?’ Lizzie clarified. The realisation of what he was asking her to do rolled through her in sickening waves. ‘Deceive the people you want to work for so you can get your blasted commission?’

Cormac looked unruffled. ‘I suppose that’s not putting too fine a point on it,’ he agreed with deceptive mildness.

It was all making sense now—the reason he’d asked her to accompany him so suddenly, the importance of looking the part with cases of designer clothes. Even his request to call him by his first name. All part of a deception. A lie.

Lizzie looked away, closed her eyes.

It was impossible. It was wrong. She couldn’t pretend to be Cormac’s wife—she didn’t like him, didn’t even know him. Pulling off such a charade would be ludicrous; she wouldn’t be able to keep it up for a minute, even if she wanted to…

For a moment Lizzie pictured what such an act would require. Shared looks, jokes, bodies, beds.

A thrill darted through her, tempting, treacherous. She couldn’t…wouldn’t…want to…

She glanced back at him, saw him lounging comfortably in his seat, an expression of arrogant amusement in his eyes as if he’d witnessed her entire thought process.

Perhaps he had.

She licked her lips. ‘Even if I agreed—which I’m not—how would it actually work? You’re famous, Cormac.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘Notorious. If Jan Hassell is interested in hiring you, he will have researched your background. All it would take is one search on the Internet to come up with a dozen stories that refute these so-called family values of yours.’The photos in the tabloids waltzed before her eyes—Cormac with his arm around his latest glamorous conquest, usually replaced within twenty-four hours.

Cormac smiled. ‘I’m a reformed man.’

She laughed shortly. ‘You’d have to be a pretty good actor to pull that off.’

He leaned forward, eyes glittering, his voice a whisper, a promise. ‘I am.’

Lizzie leaned back into her seat. He was too close, too dangerous, too much. In that moment, she had no doubt Cormac could pull such a feat off—and she couldn’t.

Couldn’t risk it.

Could she?

‘I can’t.’ She spoke sharply, too sharply, and saw Cormac smile. He knew too much, saw too much. She shook her head. ‘It’s wrong. It’s immoral.’

‘You think so?’ He stretched his legs out, took a sip of orange juice. ‘Actually, you’ll find that what the Hassells are doing is wrong. If not immoral, then at least some shade of illegal.’

‘What do you mean?’

He raised one eyebrow. ‘Discrimination, Chandler. What if I were gay? Or a widower? They’d be discriminating against me by insisting I be married.’

‘But you’re not gay,’ she snapped, and he inclined his head in acknowledgement.

‘Of course not, but the principle remains the same, don’t you think?’

She shook her head in mute, instinctive denial. She didn’t want things twisted. She didn’t want to think. ‘It’s still a deception.’

‘Yes. But for a good reason.’

‘It doesn’t matter—’

‘You’re right.’ Cormac cut her off smoothly. He was still relaxed, smiling even, while she was clutching her chair as if it would keep her grounded. Safe.

Which it wouldn’t. The whole world was spinning, reeling.

‘What matters,’ he continued, ‘is the resort. The design. And I’ll build a spectacular resort—you know that.’ It wasn’t a question, and Lizzie didn’t bother answering it.

Yes. She knew. Once upon a time, she’d had artistic ambitions of her own. She’d seen Cormac’s designs and, while she was no architect, she recognised good work. Brilliant work. ‘The Hassells must have some reason for wanting a married architect,’ Lizzie insisted. She heard the weakness, the doubt in her own voice. So did Cormac.

‘Probably,’ he agreed. ‘I just don’t care what it is.’

‘How would you expect to pull it off? You don’t even know me…’

‘I know enough.’

‘Do you even know my first name?’ Lizzie asked, cutting him off. A bubble of laughter verging on hysteria rose in her throat; she swallowed it down. ‘How on earth do you see yourself acting as my reformed, loving husband when you don’t even know my name?’ She shook her head, still too stunned to be scared. ‘The whole idea is ludicrous!’

Cormac cocked his head, gazed at her for a moment with hard, thoughtful eyes. Then he smiled.

Normally when Cormac smiled, it was a cold, sardonic curving of his mobile mouth.

Now it was something tender, promising, sensual. His eyes flicked over her slim form with heavy-lidded intent, his mouth curved—curved knowingly, lovingly—and something unfurled in Lizzie’s middle and spiralled upwards, taking over her heart, her mind.

Her will.

‘No…’ she whispered, and she didn’t even know what she was protesting against except that look and what it meant. What it promised.

And she didn’t even understand what that was.

Cormac leaned forward, brushed his knuckles across her cheek. The simple touch sent that spiralling emotion hurtling through her body—every limb, every bone and muscle—until she sagged against her seat.

‘Yes,’ he murmured languorously.

Lizzie shook herself, watched as he moved closer, his lips hovering inches from hers. His lashes swept downward, hiding those cruel eyes, and his lips brushed her ear. ‘Yes,’ he whispered again, and she shivered. Shuddered.

She felt him shift back, realised she’d closed her eyes, let her head fall back.

She was so pathetic. And he knew.

‘I think,’ he said in a voice laced with cool amusement, ‘you’ll find I’m a good enough actor. We’ll pull it off.’

‘You might be good enough,’ Lizzie choked, ‘but I’m not.’

Cormac paused. Smiled. ‘Perhaps,’ he said softly, ‘you don’t need to act.’

Shame and fury scorched her soul, her face. She drew in a desperate breath.

Cormac leaned forward as a flight attendant approached them. ‘Could we have some more champagne? We’ve just been married and we’re celebrating.’

Lizzie jerked, saw the flight attendant coo at Cormac. ‘Of course, sir.’ She glanced briefly at Lizzie, seemed unimpressed and turned away.

Cormac sat back in his seat and smiled. Smirked.

‘You shouldn’t have said that,’ Lizzie said. Her heart was still thudding against her ribs, adrenalin pouring through her, turning her weak. She had been so weak. For a moment—a second—she’d been transfixed by Cormac. Cormac. The man who had not had a single kind word, glance or even thought for her.

She was disgusted with herself. ‘I haven’t agreed to anything yet and I don’t plan to. Even if you’re perfectly capable of convincing the Hassells that we’re married,’ she told him, grateful that her voice didn’t shake, ‘that you’re in love with me, I won’t agree. I won’t.’ She sounded petulant. A smile flickered over Cormac’s face and was gone.

‘Yes, you will.’ He spoke calmly, conversationally. As if he had no doubt. Sickeningly, Lizzie realised that he probably didn’t.

She gave a little laugh of disbelief; it trembled on the air. ‘What are you going to do?’ she asked. ‘Threaten to fire me? Somehow I don’t think that would hold up in a court of law.’

‘Are you saying you’d sue me?’ Cormac murmured, and Lizzie flushed. She didn’t know if she had the stamina to suffer through a lawsuit, the time and money it would cost. The publicity, the shame.

‘Are you saying,’ she countered, her voice shaking enough now for both of them to notice, ‘that you’d blackmail me?’

‘Here you are, sir.’ The flight attendant returned with two flutes of fizzy champagne, smiling sycophantically at Cormac, who returned it with a quick, playful grin that blazed along Lizzie’s nerve-endings even though it wasn’t directed at her.

She’d never been affected by this man before. Hadn’t remotely expected it. Didn’t like it.

The attendant left and Cormac pushed his drink to the side. He eyed her thoughtfully, as if she were a puzzle to be completed, a problem to be sorted. ‘Blackmail is a dirty word,’ he said after a moment. ‘Not one I prefer to use.’

‘A rose by any other name…’ Lizzie quoted, and he chuckled.

‘Is it blackmail, Chandler, to buy you clothes? To take you to a luxurious villa in the Caribbean, all expenses paid?’ He leaned forward. ‘Or would people—the press—consider it a bribe? An accepted bribe.’

She stilled, her eyes widening in dawning realisation. ‘You’re saying no one would believe me if I told them you were blackmailing me?’

‘I think they’d be more likely to believe that you were a spurned lover. Imagine the press, sweetheart. The tremendously bad press.’

‘Don’t call me sweetheart,’ Lizzie snapped, and he shrugged.

She looked away, tried to quell the roiling nausea that his words had caused.

Suddenly she saw it all in a different, dreadful light. Against Cormac’s calm confidence, she would be a hopeless, helpless wreck. Even if she managed to stammer a defence, no one would believe her. No one would even want to.

The press would be merciless, relishing the scandal. She would be judged, condemned as some sort of cheap gold-digger. Her career would be ruined.

So would Cormac’s.

She turned back to him. ‘Even if telling the truth ruined me, it would ruin you, too. Everyone would know you’d asked me to pretend—you’ve already told the Hassells you’re married!’ Her eyes narrowed and she gathered the courage to hiss, ‘Somehow I think you have a lot more to lose than I do.’

He steepled his fingers under his chin, eyebrows raised. ‘Do I?’

‘You seem to want this commission rather a lot. Why is that?’

He shrugged, even as Lizzie saw a flicker of something—desolation? determination?—in his eyes before it was gone. ‘It’s important to me. A challenge.’ He gazed at her calmly, his eyes now hard and bright, and yet something in that brief flicker had snagged Lizzie’s curiosity. Her sympathy. She knew he wasn’t telling the truth—the whole truth.

But what was the truth? She had no way of discovering it, no way of knowing.

‘Still,’ she pressed, ‘you’re taking a huge risk just for one commission. Your entire career could go up in flames! Even if I agree, someone else might discover the truth…’ She shook her head slowly as she considered the implications. ‘And even if this weekend was a success, there would be other times. You’d be working on the design for this resort for a year at least. How would you explain the fact that you’re not married any more?’

He shrugged. ‘A divorce? A separation? Perhaps I’d simply say you were at home, waiting for me.’ He smiled, although there was an intense, icy light in his eyes that made Lizzie want to shiver.

‘The press would get wind of it…’

‘The Hassells are never in the British press,’ Cormac dismissed. ‘And I’m the only British architect on this weekend. Nobody from England even knows I’m going.’

‘But they’ll find out when you receive the commission,’ Lizzie argued, and Cormac leaned forward.

‘Does that mean you’re agreeing?’ he murmured with sleepy languor.

Lizzie stiffened. ‘Do I really have much choice?’ It hadn’t taken long to realise just how cornered she truly was. Cormac had coldly, calculatingly built the evidence against her. He’d waited until they were on the plane before telling her—there was no escape without shaming them both.

‘You could tell Hassell when we land,’ Cormac offered. ‘I expect he’d believe you. All those family values…’ He waved a hand in contemptuous dismissal. ‘They must count for something when it comes to a damsel in distress.’

‘Yes, and then what? He’ll send us both back on the very next plane, and no doubt tell the press what you’ve done. Your career would be ruined, and so would mine. And you know how rabid tabloid journalists can be. They’d be sniffing around me…around…’ She stopped abruptly and looked away.

‘Around your sister?’ Cormac finished, and Lizzie jerked back to face him.

‘What do you know about my sister?’

‘You’ve been taking care of her for ten years or so, since your parents died,’ Cormac replied calmly. ‘She’s what? Eighteen? Impressionable, probably. I imagine that so much publicity could go to her head quite quickly.’ He smiled.

Lizzie swallowed, tasted bile. She could just about face her own career—her own life—being ruined. But not Dani’s. Nothing could happen to Dani.

She hadn’t spent the last ten years saving and sacrificing to have Dani’s chances at a better life shot to hell…and all because of Cormac.

Cormac. This was all his fault…and there was nothing she could do about it.

‘How do you know so much?’ she demanded in a furious, frightened whisper, and he shrugged.

‘Most of it is on your CV.’

‘So is my name!’ She felt like scratching that arrogant, indulgent smile right off his mouth.

‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘but that information isn’t important to me.’

‘It should be, if you want to pretend to be my husband!’ She’d raised her voice and in one quick, quiet movement Cormac grabbed her wrist, encased her hand in his like a vice. He pressed her fingers against her own mouth in a movement that was almost tender, except for the look in his eyes.

His eyes were cold. Freezing, dangerous. Dead.

‘Careful, Chandler,’ he whispered. ‘You don’t really want to give the game away now, do you?’

‘Yes, I do,’ she choked. She wrenched her hand out of his grasp. ‘You’re such a—’

‘Now, now,’ he murmured, smiling, although his eyes were still cold, still frighteningly flat. Lizzie choked back her words, her fear.

A flight attendant passed, glancing at them curiously.

She probably thought this was a lovers’ spat, Lizzie thought. A little tiff. If it weren’t quite so horrible, it would have been funny.

Except Lizzie did not feel like laughing.

‘Why?’ she asked, and it came out in a wretched whisper. ‘Why are you doing this? It’s only one commission. And it’s such a risk—you could be ruining both of our lives.’

Her head drooped and she pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, willed the tears and despair back.

Cormac was silent. ‘If you make it through this weekend,’ he finally told her, his voice soft, ‘I’ll pay you double your normal salary for the rest of the year. I’ll make sure you never receive a word of bad press—even if it all comes out.’

Lizzie looked up bleakly. ‘How can you make sure of that?’

‘I can. Trust me, Chandler. I don’t take foolish risks.’

‘This seems pretty foolish to me,’ she retorted, and he smiled.

‘Yes, and foolhardy…and a little bit interesting, don’t you think?’ He leaned forward, his lids lowering, his lashes sweeping the bronzed planes of his face. His breath feathered her hair, her cheek. ‘A bit intriguing, perhaps…’ he murmured, a provocative, questioning lilt to his voice.

Lizzie stared at him, amazed by his sudden transformation. Transfixed by it. ‘No,’ she denied—a matter of instinct. Protection. No.

‘It could be an adventure,’ Cormac continued, his voice turning silkily persuasive. ‘For both of us.’ His eyes glittered and again she saw that flicker, as if something had been stripped away or dropped into place. She didn’t know which.

What was it? It was a shadow, a veil, and yet it also revealed. Revealed the man beneath the hard veneer of calculated charm—if there was one.

‘An adventure? I don’t…’ Lizzie’s breath hitched as she dragged it into her lungs ‘…see how.’

Cormac raised his eyebrows, a smile played about his mouth. His lips were both sculpted and soft…and close. Very close. To her.

‘Don’t you?’ he murmured. He raised one hand to her cheek and twined her hair through his fingers. With each sleepy spiral of his hand he ticked off a point. ‘You’ll be in the Caribbean, in a beautiful villa. Wined and dined with a trunkful of designer clothes at your disposal—clothes which cost a small fortune. Petted, pampered. What woman wouldn’t enjoy that?’

Lizzie swallowed. What woman, indeed? She wanted to say she wouldn’t, insist that she couldn’t be bought so easily, and yet…

There was truth in his words.

Some bizarre, yearning part of her wanted this. Not the clothes, perhaps, or the food or any of the luxuries Cormac thought would entice her.

She wanted the thrill. The adventure, the intimacy. She’d had precious little in her life so far. The last ten years had been a desert of devotion to her sister.

She wanted excitement…and she wanted it with Cormac.

Cormac—the boss she barely knew, who had no interest in knowing her. Yet who was now looking at her, his eyes glittering, a smile of tempting, sensuous promise stealing over his features, softening them…

Stop. Stop.

This was Cormac. This was wrong.

‘What about you?’ she whispered, hating the need and weakness in her voice. ‘How would it be an adventure for you?’

His smile deepened and he dipped closer so his lips touched her ear, sent delicious shivers straight to her soul.

‘Why,’ he whispered, ‘because I’d be with you.’ His lips hovered by her ear, making the little hairs on the nape of her neck quiver with awareness. Awareness of him, awareness of need. Need of him. She’d never needed anyone. Not like this. Never like this.

How had she not missed it? How had she managed without?

The adrenalin, the adventure, they were an addiction. She felt alive, more alive than she’d ever felt before, every nerve and sense twanging with delicious awareness.

And yet it was wrong…

Wonderfully wrong.

‘So?’ Cormac breathed, his lips still close to her ear. ‘What’s your answer…Lizzie?’

He’d known her name. The whole time, she realised, he’d known her name. And somehow, stupidly, that made a difference. That made it almost safe.

She closed her eyes, took in a breath, felt it fill her lungs, felt herself go dizzy. Dizzy, scared and wonderfully excited.

Nothing like this had ever happened to her…and nothing ever would again.

Seize life.

Seize it.

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll do it.’

She felt Cormac’s smile, his lips touched her neck in the barest of kisses. ‘I can’t wait,’ he murmured, and sat back in his seat.

She couldn’t even look at him. Cormac smiled to himself, shaking his head slightly at her ridiculous naïveté, her unbelievable innocence. She was embarrassed by the barest brush of a kiss…He wondered if she were a virgin.

She was twenty-eight years old. Surely not. That, he mused, would really be just too pathetic.

Yet it could also prove to be interesting…

Ever since seeing her in that silver gown—and then afterwards in her worn-out bra and jeans—he’d considered whether he would sleep with her. Seduce her. It would be easy, really, all too revoltingly simple, as his brief taste on the plane journey had already proved. A few whispered words, a little caress, and she’d fallen into his hands like softened clay, ready to be shaped to his own desire. His own purpose. He usually liked a bit more of a challenge.

Still…seduction had its uses. A Lizzie who believed herself in love might be more pliable than one who was simply going along because she’d been coerced.

On the other hand, a Lizzie who felt she’d been ruthlessly seduced could be dangerous. Unpredictable.

He’d have to be cautious. Lizzie Chandler needed careful handling.

He gazed out of the window, the stretch of inky sky merely a canvas for the resort he was going to design. The commission he would seize.

The people he would prove wrong.

Lizzie had asked him why this particular commission was so important to him; Cormac hadn’t realised just how much it mattered until the question had been voiced aloud.

No one would tell him what he could or couldn’t do. No one would tell him he wasn’t good enough, worthy enough for anything.

Not any more.

He was in charge, in control of his own destiny—and of hers.

He had Lizzie Chandler in the palm of his hand and that was exactly where he wanted her.

CHAPTER FOUR

AS SOON as their dinners had been cleared—beef fillet and truffle-studded potatoes—Cormac turned brisk and businesslike.

After the few terrifying moments when he’d been so soft, so seductive, Lizzie was grateful for the change.

Brisk she could handle. Businesslike she could do.

‘So…’ Cormac turned to her. The flight attendant had left them with a pot of coffee, two delicate cups and a plate of petit fours. Cormac pushed the sweets aside and took a sip of strong black coffee. He hadn’t touched any alcohol during dinner, Lizzie had noticed, and he’d eaten lightly, despite the many rich offerings.

He was, she realised, a man of incredible restraint. Control. Which made what had happened before—the teasing, tempting breath of a kiss—all the more worrisome. He was just flirting with her, teasing her as a form of amusement. Intimidation. He’d obviously seen how affected she was, just as she’d realised how affected he wasn’t.

‘We need to get our stories straight,’ he said now. He took a sip of coffee before reaching for some papers from his attaché case. ‘If you’re telling Hassell we met at a wine bar and I say we met at work…’ he glanced up briefly, eyes lighting with rare humour ‘…even the most trusting of saints would start to wonder.’

Lizzie nodded. She stirred a spoonful of sugar into her coffee and thought of the silly films she’d seen where just that scenario had occurred. Then had it been funny; now it was frightening.

No matter how exciting it might be, they both still had so much to lose.

‘You’ve thought of a story?’ she asked, nodding at the papers.

‘Best to keep to the truth as much as possible. Then we’re less likely to trip ourselves up. Now, the facts.’ He gave her a glimmer of a smile before he began the recitation. ‘We’ve been married six weeks. You’ve always worked for me, and one day…’

Suddenly Lizzie couldn’t help herself. It was a game and she wanted to play. Flirt, even if just for pretend. She wanted to have fun. To seize life. ‘One day,’ she interrupted, smiling with coy promise, ‘I walked into your office with some letters for you to sign and you just realised.’ Cormac glanced at her, eyebrow raised in amused query. Lizzie gave a breathy, delighted sigh. ‘You looked into my eyes…’ she leaned forward and fluttered her lashes ‘…and realised that your life had been so cold, so empty, so meaningless without me. Didn’t you?’

She dared to trail her fingers along his cheek, revelling in the rough stubble, the tick in his jaw. ‘It was so sudden, of course. I never thought my boss would be interested in me for one second…But you insisted on taking me out to dinner, and the rest…’ she shrugged, gave a little laugh ‘…is history. Isn’t it, darling?’ She sat back, smiling triumphantly even though her heart was beating a bit too hard.

She’d meant to take her hand away from his cheek, but he was too fast. He grabbed it, held it to his lips as his eyes roamed, caressed her face. ‘That’s just how it happened, sweetheart. I’ll never forget the moment I realised how hopelessly I’d fallen in love with you.’ He kissed the tip of her finger, nibbled on the sensitive pad. Lizzie gasped. Aloud. He smiled and continued nibbling. ‘And you,’ he murmured in a lower, more seductive voice like the slide of silk on skin, ‘fell rather hopelessly in love with me.’ He was sucking her fingers, his tongue flicking along her skin, her nerve-endings, his teeth tenderly biting into her flesh, filling her with craven need. Desire. His mouth curved into a smile that was all too knowing, and amusement lit his eyes.

She’d been playing a game and she had the feeling she’d just lost.

With one last brush against his lips, he dropped her hand into her lap. ‘Don’t lay it on too thick, Chandler, or they’ll really start to wonder.’ He turned back to his papers, completely unruffled, while Lizzie sagged against the seat.

Lord help her. What the hell had she got herself into?

Somehow she managed to get through the next half hour as Cormac droned on about the basics of what they needed to know. She felt frozen, numb. Afraid.

She wasn’t sure she could do this after all. At that moment she was more afraid of Cormac than the press. More fearful for her body—her heart—than her career or reputation.

She’d had no idea she would react this way to Cormac, to his touch, his look; she was leaning into it, craving it. Craving him. Adventure was one thing; abandon was quite another. Her mind danced with possibilities she had no business entertaining.

This was a charade, she told herself fiercely, not the real thing.

Never the real thing.

Help.

Cormac irritably tapped his pen against the sheaf of papers. ‘You haven’t been listening to a word, have you?’

‘Sorry.’ She flinched guiltily. ‘It’s just so much to take in.’

He capped the pen and gestured to the flight attendant to take their empty coffee cups. ‘I don’t suppose it really matters,’ he said with a shrug. ‘No one will be expecting a deceit, so no one will be looking for one.’

‘No one will think it strange that you’ve only been married for six weeks?’

‘Coincidence rather than convenience,’ he replied with a shrug. ‘People will expect a newly-wed couple, newly in love, and I don’t think it will take much to convince them that’s what they’re seeing.’ He paused, his gaze dipping down to her fingers—the fingers he’d touched. Tasted. ‘I’m rather confident of your acting abilities.’

Lizzie tried for a laugh; it came out like a wheeze. ‘At least it’s only for a few days.’

‘A few memorable days,’ Cormac agreed. His smile turned languourous, his gaze heavy-lidded. All intentional, Lizzie knew, and yet she wasn’t immune. She felt her stomach clench, prepare for an assault of the senses, the flood of damning desire. Cormac’s smile deepened. ‘Who knows what might happen?’

The cabin lights flickered and dimmed. Cormac leaned over, his arm brushing her breasts—intentional again, Lizzie was sure—and he eased her chair into a reclining position.

Prone, supine before him, Lizzie clutched the armrests. Hated feeling vulnerable.

‘Sweet dreams, Chandler,’ he whispered. Lizzie lay there and watched as he adjusted his own seat, settled a pillow under his head and promptly fell asleep.

If only it were so easy for her. She lay in the dark, her eyes wide-open, her body thrumming with fear, excitement and unfulfilled desire.

It was a heady mix.

‘We’ll be arriving in Bonaire in just under forty minutes.’

Lizzie tilted her seat forward, her eyes gritty from lack of sleep, although she’d finally fallen into a restless doze only to be jerked awake by the bright Caribbean sunlight streaming through the window and the chirpy voice of the flight attendant as she pushed the breakfast cart down the aisle.

Her damp hands curled around the metal buckle of her seat belt. Next to her, Cormac sat relaxed, calm, smiling.

Her husband.

She smiled, a small stretching of her lips. In little over half an hour they would exit in Bonaire, take a small chartered plane to Sint Rimbert and the charade would begin.

She would be Cormac’s wife. A thrill of terror rippled through her in an icy wave.

She couldn’t eat any of the breakfast, although Cormac was calmly drinking a cup of strong black coffee. Once the dishes had been cleared away, they prepared for landing.

‘Here.’ Cormac pressed something cool and hard into her palm; Lizzie looked down and saw it was a wedding ring. Platinum. Expensive.

‘I can’t…’ she began, shaking her head. Cormac curled her fingers around the ring.

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘you can.’

Lizzie slipped the ring on with numb fingers. It was a little too big, although not enough for anyone to notice.

She was the only one who would notice, who would care. Who would realise how wrong it felt.

It was too late for regrets, she knew. Far too late for second thoughts. She’d agreed, she’d let Cormac seduce her with his words, his touch, his promise.

Who knows what might happen?

Nothing, Lizzie told herself fiercely now. Absolutely nothing.

It was too dangerous. Too tempting.

The plane landed with a bump.

Cormac stood up, slinging his attaché case over his shoulder. He handed Lizzie her handbag and she started in surprise.

‘Here you are, sweetheart,’ he said, and she stiffened. He smiled over her head at the flight attendant who’d been ogling him for the entire journey. ‘She’s always forgetting her things on aeroplanes.’

The attendant tittered, and Lizzie’s cheeks burned. ‘Ridiculing me to the staff before we’ve even stepped off the plane?’ she hissed. ‘What a loving husband you are…darling.’

‘Just teasing,’ he murmured, but she saw a new flintiness in his eyes and realised she’d scored a direct hit. Pretending to be a loving husband—a loving anything—was going to be difficult for Cormac.

Perhaps as difficult as it was proving to be for her.

A young pilot, smiling and speaking with a Dutch accent, met them as they stepped off the plane. The next half hour was a blur of customs, the glare of the hot sun reflecting off the tin roofs of the airport and giving Lizzie a headache. She barely had time to take in their surroundings before they were on a tiny plane, Cormac relaxed next to her, Lizzie’s hand clutching the rail.

It felt as if they were flying a kite.

The pilot grinned at her. ‘It’s small, but it’s perfectly safe.’

Right. She thought of all the accidents she’d read about in the papers that had occurred with planes like these.

This wasn’t part of the deal.

What deal? Lizzie asked herself. There was no deal. Cormac might have let her pretend there was a deal, asked her permission, but it was a joke. A farce.

There was simply Cormac’s will and her submission to it.

Why had she not realised that before? Had she actually believed she’d had some choice?

She closed her eyes. Cormac patted her hand, a caress that felt like a warning.

‘She’s just a bit nervous…and tired.’ She opened her eyes to see him wink at the pilot, who grinned. Lizzie gritted her teeth.

‘There’s Sint Rimbert now.’ The pilot pointed out of the window and Lizzie craned her neck to see.

Below them, the sea sparkled like a jewel and nestled in its aquamarine folds was a pristine island, magnificent and unspoiled.

For a moment Lizzie forgot the man next to her, and the role he was requiring her to play, and sucked in an awed breath.

A densely forested mountain rose majestically in the centre of the tiny island, framed by a curve of smooth, white sand, the clear azure sea stretching to an endless horizon.

A few buildings nestled against the mountain—cottages in pastel colours with shutters open to the tropical breeze.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she murmured.

‘Sint Rimbert is the jewel of the Caribbean,’ the pilot stated. ‘Untouched by crass tourism…and it will remain that way.’There was a warning in his voice and Cormac smiled easily.

‘Absolutely. And the Hassells are more than generous to even consider sharing this piece of paradise with anyone.’

The pilot nodded in agreement and said no more as he began his descent to the island.

The landing strip was a bare brown line of dirt, barely noticeable in its stunning surroundings.

As they stepped off the plane, the air enfolded her in a balmy caress, heavy with the sweet scent of frangipani. The sky above them was a soft, hazy blue, fleecy clouds scudding across its surface.

Lizzie breathed in the warm tropical air, felt it fill her lungs with a fizz of excitement and hope. As long as she could keep her cool—with Cormac as much as with everyone else—she’d be okay.

She could even enjoy this. Maybe.

She wanted to. She wanted to have a weekend to remember.

She might never get the chance again.

A man—short, balding and in his sixties—strode forward. ‘Mr Douglas! We are so pleased! So pleased!’ He stuck out his hand for Cormac to shake and Lizzie’s heart constricted. This had to be Jan Hassell, the man they were deceiving.

Stop it, she commanded herself. She was in too deep now; it was too late to feel guilty.

Hassell turned to her, beaming as he pumped her hand. ‘And this must be your wife…’ He paused, forehead wrinkling, and Cormac interjected smoothly.

‘Elizabeth. But I call her Lizzie.’ He spoke the name as if it were an endearment, smiling at her, his gaze a teasing caress.

Refusing to be baited or belittled, Lizzie smiled back, laced her slick fingers with Cormac’s. ‘Please call me Lizzie, as well,’ she murmured, shooting Cormac a coy smile. ‘Everyone does, although Cormac likes to think it’s his pet name for me.’

Jan clapped his hand in delight. ‘But you are so in love! You will have to tell me all about it. My wife, Hilda, will want to know how it all came about.’

More people to deceive. Lizzie hushed the whisper of her conscience. ‘Oh, that’s girl talk,’ she said with a little laugh. ‘Hilda and I will have to chat…I’ll tell her all of Cormac’s secrets.’ She smiled and Jan beamed. ‘I’m sure you two have a story, as well!’

‘Oh, we do,’ Jan assured her with a wink. ‘Now, you must be tired. Your things have been brought to my car…Come, follow me.’

He turned and headed towards a four-by-four parked near some scrub.

Cormac put his arm around her shoulders—heavy, warm, a warning. ‘Come on, sweetheart,’ he said easily, but his hand squeezed her shoulder. He murmured in a low voice, ‘Don’t lay it on with a trowel, Chandler. It’s a bit nauseating.’

‘I can believe that,’ she replied in an angry undertone. ‘Acting like you’re in love has to be completely foreign to you! Do you love anything but your precious designs?’ Smiling again, she laid her head against his shoulder, felt the tension in his muscles, in her own.

Every petty victory cost her something, as well.

Their luggage stowed in the back, Jan opened the rear door for them to enter.

Lizzie clambered in, hoping that Cormac would sit in the front with Jan.

He did not. He climbed in next to her, his large, muscular thigh pressed against hers, his arm around her shoulders once more, drawing her tightly to his side. She could smell his scent—the tang of soap and cedar and something indefinitely masculine, as well.

Jan beamed at them approvingly before taking the driver’s seat. As the Jeep left the airstrip, he told them a bit about the island.

‘As you know, Cormac, from our discussion, Sint Rimbert is a small island. There is only one village and a population of less than six hundred. We have a flying doctor, two shops and a post office. That is all.’ Jan spoke proudly and Lizzie guessed he was glad he’d held out against tawdry tourism for so long.

‘Taking the decision to build a resort was difficult,’ he continued as he drove the Jeep along a tarmac road, the thick foliage so close to the car that Lizzie could have reached out and grasped a fern or palm. She saw coconut and banana trees and even the curious, wizened face of a green monkey perched among the branches.

‘It is very important to us that the resort won’t disturb the local population,’ Jan said, ‘or the environment any more than necessary. This is not simply a money-making operation for us.’

‘Of course not,’ Cormac agreed. ‘And I am grateful that you have preserved this paradise for us. It would be my pleasure—as well as my duty—to continue to preserve it for those fortunate enough to visit.’ His voice was smooth and assured without being sycophantic.

He knew how to deal with someone like Jan, Lizzie thought with a tinge of reluctant admiration. How to manipulate him—just as he was manipulating her.

The thought was unwelcome for it held the bitter gall of truth. Her emotions and senses might be quivering with awakened awareness, but Cormac Douglas felt nothing for her. She was a prop, simply to be used. Only to be used.

And she’d better not forget it.

Jan turned the Jeep into a private drive, large wooden gates open to the road.

Lizzie’s eyes widened at the luxurious surroundings. The road wound through the thick tropical forest before it gave way to landscaped gardens bursting with colour and scent.

Jan drove the Jeep over a little wooden bridge, a still, glassy pond covered in lily pads below.

The road curved close to the sea before revealing a large circular drive and a low rambling villa that seemed to stretch endlessly into the distance, a maze of white stucco and terracotta roof tiles.

‘Onze Parel,’ he said fondly as he stopped the Jeep and gazed fondly at his home. ‘Our Pearl. My great-grandfather named it, and truly it has been a pearl beyond price.’

‘Your family has been on this island for a hundred years?’ Lizzie queried, feeling both curious and a need to say something.

‘Yes. It was sparsely populated before that, mostly with convicts and pirates. Then my great-grandfather received part of the island from Queen Wilhelmina of the Netherlands, as payment for services in the Boer War. He improved the harbour so that ships could land safely—part of the reason Sint Rimbert has been so scarcely populated—and built a plantation.’ He smiled sadly. ‘It was a sugar plantation, built inland, but the house burned down in the nineteen seventies and the plantation dwindled. We built this villa soon after.’

Lizzie nodded. She was fascinated by the history, yet she also wondered if the building of the resort had more financial motivation than Jan Hassell had let on.

‘Come,’ he said, ‘and Hilda will show you to your rooms. You will want to rest before dinner.’

Cormac climbed out of the Jeep, holding his hand out for Lizzie to grasp as she stepped down. She took it as a matter of course and wasn’t prepared for the jolt of sensation that shot up her arm and down to her toes when Cormac’s cool, dry fingers encased her own.

He glanced at her, eyes dark, sardonic. Knowing.

He knew too damn much.

She dropped his hand and strode towards the villa.

Wide wooden doors opened to a tiled foyer and lounge, decorated more for comfort and practicality than to impress. Still, it impressed Lizzie. The windows were open, the wooden shutters thrown wide to an open-air corridor that led to the bedrooms. Only metres away Lizzie could see a strip of white sand and the jewel-toned sea.

‘Welcome, welcome.’ Jan’s wife, Hilda, entered the room. Like Jan, she was short and plump, her white hair elegantly coiffed. She wore loose, flowing trousers and a white silk blouse and she looked cool and comfortable and happy for them to be in her home.

Lizzie’s sense of discomfort and guilt at deceiving these people returned with a sharp pang. As if he knew, Cormac reached out and clasped her hand, twining her fingers with his as she had done earlier. It was an intimate, proprietary gesture and Hilda saw it and smiled.

As Cormac had known she would.

‘You must be tired,’ she said, still smiling. ‘Let me show you your room.’

Room. Not rooms. And no doubt with one bed. Of course they would be sharing a room; they would most likely be sharing a bed. Lizzie had been dimly aware of this earlier, but now it came to her with nauseating force as Hilda led them down the corridor, hibiscus and orchids spilling from pots, their sweet fragrance heavy on the air, making Lizzie’s stomach roil all the more.

Hilda opened a mahogany door and Lizzie took in the room—a wide wooden bed with linen sheets the centrepiece. The tiled floor was scattered with colourful woven rugs and the windows had only shutters, like the rest of the house, now thrown open to the sea.

‘I hope you will be comfortable,’ Hilda murmured. ‘Your bags will be here shortly. Dinner is at eight; we like to gather in the lounge at seven. But please, rest. Enjoy.’ She left them quietly, amidst their murmured thanks, and the door closed with a soft click.

‘Not bad.’ Cormac strode to the window, loosening his tie. Lizzie sank on to the bed. She felt exhausted, strung out. She trembled with tension.

‘I can’t do this.’

‘You just did.’

‘I’ll never be able to keep it up all weekend,’ she protested vainly, for Cormac simply raised his eyebrows.

‘You don’t really have any choice,’ he stated coolly, ‘do you?’

He’d loosened his tie and now he tossed it on to a chair. ‘Just enjoy yourself,’ he continued. ‘I plan to.’ His fingers went to his shirt, but Lizzie’s mind was buzzing too much to notice.

Had he meant that he would enjoy himself or enjoy her? Somehow she had the feeling he wanted her to wonder.

‘There must be a hundred women in Edinburgh who you could have asked to do this,’ she said. ‘They would have been glad to. Why me?’

He paused, eyeing her thoughtfully. ‘I thought it would be simpler.’

‘Simpler!’ Lizzie gave a bark of laughter. Nothing about this weekend felt simple. ‘How?’

‘Because we haven’t slept together,’ Cormac explained with a little smile. ‘Yet.’

Lizzie was left staring, gaping at him, the breath robbed from her lungs, her brain…

‘Close your mouth, Chandler,’ Cormac said, laughter lacing his voice. ‘There are flies in the Caribbean. Big ones.’

‘We’re not…’

‘No,’ he agreed, the laughter replaced with a thoughtful smile, ‘we’re not.’

Yet. Did Cormac actually want to sleep with her? Have an affair…Flirting was one thing, but this…

This was dangerous. This was scary.

Lizzie knew she was innocent—more innocent than Cormac even realised. What she didn’t know was how to handle this situation. How to handle Cormac. She laughed tonelessly. Cormac wasn’t the kind of man to be handled.

If anyone was going to be handled, it was her. She was so out of her depth, she was drowning.

And Cormac was the only one who could save her.

He watched her now, smiling faintly, and Lizzie hated the way he seemed to know what she was thinking, as if her thoughts and fears—not to mention her desires—flashed across her face in neon lights.

Maybe they did.

She rose from the bed, unzipped her suitcase and began to hang up the clothes Cormac had bought her. She needed to be busy. She needed to stop thinking so much. Imagining so much. Cormac. Her and Cormac.

Stop.

‘You can always do that later,’ Cormac said mildly, and Lizzie shook her head.

‘The clothes will get wrinkled.’

‘There are servants here, you know.’ His voice was lazy, low and rumbling. Lizzie shook her head again; she felt like a marionette.

‘I don’t want to make a fuss.’

‘No,’ he murmured, ‘you never do.’

A flash of agonised awareness jolted her, made her realise afresh just how expertly Cormac had judged her. Played her.

‘Do you use everybody?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice conversational. ‘Or just me?’

Cormac was silent for a moment; she concentrated on the clothes. ‘Everybody,’ he said after a moment. ‘So don’t take it personally.’

She gritted her teeth, guarded herself against the little stab of hurt. ‘Oh, I won’t.’

Cormac strode towards her, plucked the garment she’d balled uselessly in her hand. ‘Talk about wrinkles.’ He smoothed it out; it was a filmy silk negligee.

Lizzie snatched it back. ‘I’m not wearing that,’ she warned him. ‘I only brought it because you told me to.’

‘Good girl.’ His smile was so mocking it made her want to scream. To slap his face.

Then she noticed he had no shirt on. His chest was smooth and brown, taut with muscle. Just a glimpse of the flat plane of his stomach had Lizzie swallowing and gulping and desperate for air.

‘Where is your shirt?’ she demanded shrilly.

‘On the floor.’ He raised one eyebrow. ‘We’ve been flying all night and I’m tired. I’m going to sleep. You should, too.’

She shook her head. ‘Cormac, don’t…don’t try to intimidate me.’

‘I thought I was trying to undress.’

They amounted to the same thing, but she wasn’t going to say it. He knew, anyway. Somehow she found the strength to drag her gaze to his face which, even though it was sardonic and knowing, was safer. ‘We need to lay some ground rules.’

‘Such as?’

‘You wear clothes in my presence,’ Lizzie snapped, ‘for starters.’

‘Wouldn’t it be easier,’ Cormac countered, ‘to just get used to each other’s bodies? People are bound to notice if we blush and stammer every time we catch a little glimpse of skin.’

Lizzie knew only one of them would be blushing or stammering. She ran her hands through her hair and let out a frustrated sigh that half turned into a yelp. ‘I wish I’d never agreed to this!’

‘But you did,’ Cormac replied, unruffled, taking off his belt, ‘and now you’re just getting cold feet.’ He tossed the belt onto a chair and began to unbutton his trousers.

Lizzie flung out a hand. ‘Don’t.’

‘Chandler, you’re being ridiculous.’ He sounded annoyed. ‘Stop being a prude and get undressed. Didn’t you realise it would be like this when you agreed?’

‘I thought you’d be a gentleman!’

His voice turned hard. ‘Then I suppose you were mistaken.’

Lizzie’s eyes were squeezed shut but she heard the whisper of sliding fabric and knew he’d undressed. She heard him move to the bed, and opened one eye to glimpse a broad, muscled back tapering to narrow hips and, fortunately, a pair of boxers.

He was wearing underwear. Thank God.

‘You can stand there all afternoon if you’d like,’ Cormac informed her, ‘but I’m going to sleep.’

It only took Lizzie a few seconds to realise how ridiculous she really was being. Every shocked gasp and prudish look gave Cormac more weapons to use against her. More power.

She took in a shuddering breath, not caring if he heard, and resumed unpacking. Despite her resolve, she wasn’t quite ready to get into that bed.

Cormac’s breathing was deep and even before she finally decided to change into her own pyjamas—ones she’d brought from home—faded, comfortable and baggy. She glanced at him one last time to make sure he was asleep before she quickly slipped out of her clothes, grateful for the soft, cool cotton against her skin.

Lizzie moved to the bed and lifted the sheet. She glimpsed Cormac’s midriff, a whorl of hair leading to the waistband of his boxers, and jerked her glance away.

The sheets were cool and smooth, but Lizzie felt as if she were on fire. She lay there, stiff and straight, painfully, achingly aware of Cormac’s relaxed body next to hers.

She shifted on to her side away from him, curled up into a protective little ball.

She heard Cormac stir, felt his breath against her skin. ‘I like your pyjamas,’ he whispered, ‘but I’d like you better naked.’ She felt rather than saw his smile and he tucked the sheet over her shoulder, laughter lacing his voice. ‘Sleep well, Chandler.’

CHAPTER FIVE

LIZZIE lay there, tense, thrumming, angry and afraid. Sleep felt very far away.

Yet she must have drifted off, for what seemed like only minutes later she was blinking sleep out of her eyes as Cormac exited the bathroom. His hair was wet and slicked back from his forehead, his eyes bright in his work-tanned face.

‘Did you know you snore?’ he asked with a wicked smile as he pulled on a crisp white button-down shirt.

‘I didn’t realise I had fallen asleep…’ Lizzie mumbled, brushing a tangle of hair from her eyes.

‘For nearly three hours. It’s time to get ready for dinner.’

What with the jet lag and flying time, Lizzie felt completely disorientated. She didn’t like the way Cormac gazed down at her, mocking laughter in his eyes, his whole body bursting with health, energy and determination.

He jerked his head towards a chair, where Lizzie saw he’d laid out some clothes. Her clothes.

‘I want you to wear that dress tonight.’

She saw it was a simple green sundress with a white floral pattern and a halter-neck.

‘I am capable of dressing myself, you know,’ she snapped, but he simply ignored her.

He continued dressing, buttoning his shirt as he spoke. ‘I talked to Jan while you were asleep and there’s been a slight change of plan.’

‘Oh?’ Alarm prickled, nerves roiled. Change was not good.

‘One of the architects on the short-list had to bow out.’ He glanced at her; his smile had an air of triumph. ‘His child was ill and had to be hospitalised. So you see where those family values get you.’

Lizzie didn’t bother to reply. She knew any protest she made would be ridiculed. Reviled. Cormac Douglas was not a family man, which made this charade all the more difficult. Painful.

Ludicrous.

‘So how does that affect us?’ she finally asked.

‘Jan picked another architect to replace him. An Englishman—Geoffrey Stears.’ He paused, selected his tie and knotted it. ‘I know him.’

Lizzie remembered what he’d said, how no one would know them. Of course, pulling this charade off would be so much easier with strangers. But if this Geoffrey Stears knew him…knew his reputation…

He might also realise he wasn’t actually married. He might leak that information to Hassell, to the press.

‘But doesn’t that change everything?’ she asked. ‘If this Stears knows you…’

‘Getting scared, Chandler?’ he mocked. ‘I knew you’d be easy to intimidate when I chose you, but I have to admit your frightened little virgin act is getting rather annoying. Unless you are actually a virgin?’ He raised his eyebrows, the question in his eyes turning to a feral gleam before he continued. ‘It’s too late to back out, Chandler, so stop having second thoughts. There’s nothing you can do. I’ve made sure of that.’

Lizzie’s fingers bunched the sheet. ‘How?’

‘Or perhaps I should say you’ve made sure of that. You’ve played the game long enough for no one to believe you.’ His teeth flashed in a smile. ‘Your credibility is ruined.’

‘I could still…’ Lizzie began, and Cormac chuckled.

‘Walk out of this room and tell Jan what you’ve been up to? Tell him how you’ve been tricked?’ He pitched his voice in a contemptuous mimicry of her own. ‘“I’ll tell her all of Cormac’s secrets.”’ He gave a little laugh, a mockery of her own, before he shook his head. ‘Tell Jan you’ve been deceived and he’ll throw you out the front door. You’re the deceiver, sweetheart, not the deceived, and you chose that role. So get used to it.’

‘So now you’re blackmailing me,’ she stated flatly.

He shrugged. ‘Call it what you will. I did what I had to to ensure your agreement. And you wanted it, Chandler. You liked the idea.’

Lizzie bit back a retort. What could she say except the truth? And she didn’t particularly want to admit to it.

‘Back out now,’ Cormac continued, ‘and you’ll still suffer the indignity, the shame, or worse. Think about what that means for you…and your sister.’

Lizzie swallowed. The press loved Cormac. Loved to loathe him. News of his duplicity would be a carrion feast to them, and no one even remotely involved would be untouched.

The tabloids would circle her, devour her, then abandon her. Dani was eighteen, impressionable as Cormac had said, maybe even a little scatty. The results, Lizzie knew, could be disastrous. And Cormac must have known…must have guessed, at least.

‘Don’t threaten me,’ she warned, knowing he didn’t even have to. She was already so completely under his control.

There was nothing she could do. And Cormac knew it. Had always known it.

Had planned it that way.

‘Like I said,’ he murmured, ‘enjoy it. Not many secretaries get a chance to live the high life in the Caribbean.’ His eyes lingered on hers, flaring with possibility, with suggestion.

Lizzie felt an answering flicker in her own core.

She wanted this. Him. The excitement, the possibility. Even though it frightened her, he frightened her. Even though she didn’t want anything to actually happen. Did she?

She didn’t know anything any more. She was so, so out of her depth.

And he knew.

He had always known.

She looked away.

‘You’d never say anything, anyway,’ Cormac said after a moment, watching her with a little smile. ‘And why should you? Such a fuss…for what? Besides…’ he shrugged into his suit jacket ‘…you don’t like to make a fuss.’

‘I feel like making a fuss right now,’ Lizzie retorted. ‘A big one.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Sounds interesting.’

She flushed. ‘Not everything has to be—’

‘Oh, but it does,’ he assured her. His eyes danced. She hated how she amused him. It made her feel so little. So unimportant.

‘I may be attracted to you, Cormac,’ she said quietly, her face heating, her heart beating, even though she knew it had to be said. She had to say it. ‘But that’s all it is. And I don’t intend to act upon it.’

‘Are you trying to convince me,’ he murmured, ‘or yourself?’

‘I’m convincing you,’ she snapped.

‘I’m not convinced.’

Suddenly she couldn’t stand his complete arrogance, his unerring belief that she could be so easily known. So easily controlled.

‘Maybe Jan isn’t convinced, either,’ she said recklessly. ‘I could still tell him how you’ve blackmailed me. You waited until I was on the plane before you revealed your plans. I’m your secretary and you intimidated me.’ She widened her eyes, fluttered her eyelashes. ‘I didn’t know what to do, I was so frightened…’ Her voice was a breathy whisper and Cormac’s face hardened, blanked dangerously.

Still, fuelled by a new, heady sense of power, Lizzie continued. ‘Somehow I think a man like him would believe me…empathise with me. Who knows, he might insist my name be kept out of the press! You’d be the only one hurt.’

‘Is that so?’ In one easy movement Cormac grabbed her hands, pulled her to him so her breasts collided with his chest, her thighs melded into his. She could feel every part of him pressed against her, hard against soft, experience matched with innocence.

His fingers laced with hers so that he pulled her even closer. Her breasts were now flattened against his chest, her belly and thighs and everything in between pressed against his. Even in her surprise and alarm, she felt the treacherous stirring of desire.

She’d never been so close to a man before.

She forced herself to meet his eyes—bright, sharp, cruel. He looked down at her, smiled with a parody of tenderness that made Lizzie’s blood freeze.

‘Somehow, sweetheart,’ he whispered, his lips scant inches from hers, his breath feathering her face, ‘I think you’d be the one getting hurt. Don’t think you can play my game. Don’t think you can ever use me.’ His voice was soft. Soft and dangerous. Lizzie tasted fear.

‘But you’re using me,’ she pointed out, her voice shaking. ‘Just like you use everyone.’ She tried to step away from him and, after a moment, his hands still easily encircling her wrists, he released her.

‘Exactly.’ He smiled. ‘Let it go, Chandler. Just enjoy this weekend. I told you, it could be fun. Let’s have fun.’ His voice had turned to a caress, one she shrugged off.

‘Fun? When you’re virtually blackmailing me? You have a sick idea of what fun is, Cormac.’

He slipped his watch on, a tasteful sports design, clearly expensive. ‘Blackmail’s really a bit strong, don’t you think? I might have waited until the plane to inform you of our plans, but you agreed. You said yes.’

‘I never would have, if I’d known—’

‘Known what?’ Cormac took a step towards her. She could smell the cedar tang of his aftershave and tried not to breathe deeply. Even though she wanted to. Even now. ‘Known what there’d be between us? What you’d be tempted to do? To want?’

There was challenge and knowledge in his voice and she didn’t like, either. ‘I’m not going to do anything,’ Lizzie said, her eyes downcast. She wouldn’t look at him. Didn’t want to.

Couldn’t.

‘Good.’ With two lean, strong fingers he touched her chin, tilted it upwards to meet his own mocking gaze. ‘As long as you understand what this is about, Lizzie. It’s not about blackmail. It’s about power. I’m in control, and as long as you realise that, we’re sorted. Understood?’

Impatience and irritation chased across his implacable features and Lizzie was conscious of a hollow, empty sensation, as if all her determination and defiance had leaked out.

It’s about power. His. Only his.

She sagged, and suddenly she didn’t care any more. Didn’t care about the weekend, didn’t care about him.

It was too hard, too tense, too humiliating and too much.

She just wanted this to be over, and it hadn’t even begun.

She jerked her head away from his hand. ‘Understood.’

She knew any threat of resistance or exposure was just that—a threat. Empty. She couldn’t risk the shame and publicity telling the truth would bring. She didn’t dare.

Cormac, she realised, had the power to make her life hell. And Dani’s, too. And he would have no compunction in doing just that.

He might even enjoy it.

She turned to get dressed, stripping off her pyjamas, heedless of Cormac watching. Suddenly it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

Cormac watched her for a moment, the pyjamas slithering to her feet, before he cursed under his breath and thrust her dress into her arms. ‘Go ahead, use the bathroom.’

He turned away and Lizzie watched as he raked a hand through his hair, his back to her.

Bemused, she took her dress and underwear into the bathroom. She needed the space, the privacy, if only for a moment.

Inside the bathroom, she took a deep breath and ran a basin of cold water. Splashing her face, she forced herself to gather her scattered thoughts and concentrate.

She would not let him intimidate or control her. It was so hard—he was hard—but she had to stand up to him. She had to be strong.

Because, if she were weak, Cormac would take advantage. Every advantage. Easily.

Lizzie swallowed, resolve tightening in her middle. She could do this. She had to.

Dressed, her hair tumbled artfully about her shoulders, with a slick of make-up to help her feel better, Lizzie felt ready to face the world. To face Cormac.

She’d been shocked by his cruel statement of facts, his cold certainty that she was trapped. Shocked and even a bit hurt by the evidence of Cormac’s brutal manipulation, his indifferent admission to such calculating coldness. Yet she realised he’d been warning her. This is who I am. That, in itself, was a kindness.

A warning she wouldn’t forget.

‘Well,’ she murmured to her reflection, ‘you wanted to seize life, you wanted the adventure. Here it is.’ Smiling ruefully, she turned away.

‘So,’ she said briskly when she returned to their bedroom, ‘do you think this Stears is a threat? To us?’

Cormac glanced at her, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. ‘No one is a threat,’ he stated flatly, ‘to me.’

‘Oh, stop being so arrogant!’ Lizzie exclaimed. ‘If there’s a possibility of exposure, I need to know.’

‘There isn’t,’ he informed her, ‘as long as you continue to play your role.’

‘I will,’ she promised, an edge to her voice. ‘No more second thoughts.’

‘Good.’

If only she had some hold over him, Lizzie thought morosely as she slipped on a simple pendant, the only jewellery she had. Cormac had forgotten the little detail of jewellery, though it hardly mattered.

If she had some leverage, she would feel more in control. Less afraid. Then she might even enjoy this wretched weekend.

The trouble was, she had nothing. No power, no control. Cormac held all the cards…and he knew it.

‘So how are you going to explain your marriage to this Stears?’ she asked when they were ready to leave the room.

Cormac shrugged. ‘I’ll tell him the same story as everyone else.’ He glanced at her sharply. ‘And don’t, for the love of God, compensate by acting like some doting idiot. Stears knows I’d never marry someone like that.’

‘Who would you marry?’ Lizzie asked on impulse, and he gave her a dark look.

‘Remember,’ he warned, ‘I’m not a family man. I’m just playing one.’ Tucking her arm into his, he smiled. ‘Ready, sweetheart?’

Lizzie tried to smile. It felt like bending cardboard. ‘Ready.’

The sun was just beginning to set, turning the horizon a deep pink, the sea streaked with orange below.

It was a stunning sight and Lizzie paused in the corridor on the way to the lounge, Cormac coming to a halt next to her.

She breathed in the sea air, fresh and fragrant, a lover’s caress. She could hear the lap of the waves against the shore, the gentle clanking of two rowing boats tied to a weathered dock.

A brightly coloured bird skimmed above the water before flying into the vivid horizon.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she murmured.

‘Yes, and this time next year, five hundred more people will be able to enjoy it.’

She glanced at him, saw the hard line of his clenched jaw, the way he gazed out at the sea as if it were another world to conquer.

‘Do you think of everything in terms of your buildings?’ she asked, and he turned to stare at her.

‘Of course.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s an obsession with you.’

He gave a hard smile. ‘A calling.’ From the lounge there was a trill of feminine laughter and he took her elbow. ‘Come on, they’re waiting.’

Lizzie took a deep breath, steeled herself to begin the performance. At least she looked the part.

The sundress she wore clung to her curves before flaring out around her calves. It was simple, yet obviously expensive and well made. She even enjoyed the sensual pleasure of wearing it, something she was unaccustomed to. At least it was one thing she could enjoy this weekend.

She glanced at Cormac. He wore a suit in tan silk, the excellent cut and exquisite fabric moulding to his lithe, muscular frame. With his bronzed skin and eyes as bright as jade, he looked stunning, beautiful, his movements lithe and filled with an easy power.

As they entered the lounge, Lizzie was conscious of the conversation dying down and three couples turning to look expectantly at the new arrivals.

Jan rose and went to greet them. ‘Cormac, Elizabeth! Come and meet our other guests.’

Lizzie smiled, aware of Cormac’s hand on her elbow, his body next to hers, his strength and his heat. Everyone was looking at them as if they were a couple. As if they were in love.

Because, she reminded herself, for all intents and purposes, they were.

‘I’m Dan White. I’ve heard about your work.’A friendly looking man with a wide smile and an American accent shook Cormac’s hand and kissed Lizzie’s cheek. He introduced his wife, Wendy, an attractive brunette who was quite obviously pregnant.

Lizzie took in her bump, Dan’s protective arm around her waist, and realised how forced their own charade must seem. Standing in front of her was the real thing.

‘Good to see you, Cormac.’A tall, lithe man uncoiled himself from the sofa to smile lazily at the pair of them before offering Cormac a rather limp handshake. His dark, sharp eyes took in Lizzie. ‘Funny, I never heard that you’d married.’

‘We kept it secret,’ Cormac replied smoothly. His hand snaked around Lizzie’s waist, drew her closer to him, her breasts brushing his chest. ‘Didn’t we, darling?’

‘We did,’ Lizzie agreed, and then surprised herself by giving a low, throaty chuckle. ‘You know what Cormac’s reputation was like, obviously, so I’m sure you can understand why we wanted to keep our heads down for a bit.’

‘Indeed.’ Geoffrey looked at her appraisingly, and Lizzie forced herself to smile back with a breezy confidence she was far from feeling. ‘This is my wife, Lara.’ He gestured to the woman next to him—blonde, feline and elegant, with a hardened glamour. She smiled, although there was no warmth in her eyes.

‘Good to see you again, Cormac.’

Lizzie felt a frisson of alarm that bordered on panic as she saw Lara smile at Cormac with all too intimate a knowledge. Her grey eyes glimmered with seductive promise, and Lizzie knew these two had history.

Sexual history.

The thought both frightened her—a woman like this would sense a fake, a virgin—and, absurdly, stabbed her with jealousy.

She couldn’t be envious of Lara. She wasn’t actually Cormac’s wife. She didn’t even like him. At all. Yet the feeling was there—real, raw. Ridiculous.

‘May I fetch you a drink?’ Jan enquired, and Lizzie asked for an orange juice. Cormac had the same and she was reminded again of how he didn’t seem to drink alcohol.

The next half hour was a blur of chit-chat and Lizzie was relieved to fade into the background as the men talked about architecture. Hilda chatted cozily with Wendy about pregnancy and babies and, after a short reprieve of silence, Lizzie found herself face to face with a smirking Lara.

‘So, how long have you and Cormac known each other?’

‘I’ve been working for him for two years,’ Lizzie replied, mindful of Cormac’s warning to stick to the truth as much as possible.

‘And then you just fell in love?’The sneer in Lara’s voice was obvious, as was the disbelief.

‘Pretty much.’ Lizzie took a gulp of orange juice.

‘Really.’ Lara sipped her own drink. ‘Cormac never seemed the marrying type to me.’

‘You know him well?’ Lizzie didn’t want to hear the answer, but she knew Lara would volunteer the information in one way or another.

‘Oh, yes.’ Lara laughed, a rich, knowing chuckle. ‘Cormac and I go way back. Before Geoffrey,’ she added with heavy emphasis. The meaning couldn’t have been clearer.

‘You had an affair, I suppose,’ Lizzie said after a moment, and was gratified to see Lara look both surprised and discomfited. ‘I know all about his women,’ she confided, shaking her hair back over her shoulders. ‘Not their names, of course, but I’d have to have had blinkers on not to know that Cormac is popular with the ladies.’ She glanced over at him—confident, relaxed, deep in discussion with Jan—and felt her heart twist. Was he manipulating him, too? Of course he was. Just as he’d manipulated her.

She smiled back at Lara, a smile of knowledge, of power, of confidence. Nothing she felt at the moment. ‘I suppose he was just looking for the right woman, wasn’t he?’ she said. ‘And now he’s found her.’

Lara’s eyes were like pewter as she stood up. ‘I suppose he has,’ she said coolly, and turned away.

Lizzie took another sip of orange juice. She felt dizzy, strange, and she wasn’t even drinking alcohol. She thought of the words she’d spoken to Lara, almost wished them to be true.

He changed…for me.

Ha!

Cormac was never going to change, and she didn’t even want him to. She hated him. Almost.

Except right now, glancing over at him as he talked to Jan, she wondered. She wondered just what drove him, what had flickered in his eyes like desperation, what made him…him.

Who was he?

No one you want to know, she told herself grimly, and turned to smile cheerily at Hilda.

She wasn’t what he had expected. The realisation both surprised and annoyed him. He didn’t like variables. Uncertainties.

He made sure he never had any.

Yet Lizzie, Cormac acknowledged with a faint frown, was just that. Unpredictable. One minute she was nervous, timid, easily controlled. The next she resisted, fought back, bared her tiny claws.

She was like a baby tiger, a kitten, trying to fight against the leader of the pack. At least, he thought, she was learning that with him she couldn’t win.

Still, she required careful handling.

He turned back to Jan, tried to focus on his lengthy lecture about the island’s history, the need to preserve it.

He knew all this already, had researched Sint Rimbert and the Hassell family so he could practically recite it all himself.

He prided himself on being meticulous.

Yet he hadn’t been meticulous about Lizzie. He hadn’t known her well enough to realise how she would disturb him, how he would desire her.

That had been a surprise—pleasant, but unexpected. He’d never considered Lizzie Chandler in a sexual way until he’d seen her in that grubby bra, looking defiant and vulnerable and strangely sexy.

Seduction was a weapon. Cormac used it well. It was an enjoyable line of attack, but he would have to choose his moment carefully. He had a feeling that Lizzie was perfectly capable of ruining everything simply because she thought her feelings had been hurt.

Idly Cormac found himself remembering how soft, how silky her hair had been, twined between his fingers. He wondered if her waist was as slender as it seemed, so that his own two hands could span it. If her breasts would fill his palm, and if her skin was as smooth and golden all over as it was in the parts he could see.

Lust, pure and simple. He had to be careful.

Someone laughed and Cormac turned to see Dan talking to Jan. Jan clearly approved of the American, the devotion he poured on with saccharine adoration.

Dan was playing the part, Cormac thought, and playing it well. He’d dismissed Stears as a second-rater, and one who wasn’t bothering to charm Jan. Even his wife looked sulky and bored. But the Whites—they were a threat.

Cormac watched as Dan rested a loving hand on his wife’s bump and she clasped her own hand over his. It was a simple, intimate gesture, barely noticeable, and yet the very carelessness of it made him realise how artificial his relationship with Lizzie really was.

They didn’t touch each other with careless spontaneity, easy affection. Every movement was calculated, tense.

Fake.

If Hassell didn’t guess, he had a feeling Stears would, and then he’d whisper it into Jan’s ear. Even though he didn’t think Hassell would believe such poison, he didn’t care for the man to have doubts…especially when he planned to tell him later of their divorce.

It would be easy enough for a man like Hassell to change his mind, wriggle out of the contract. Make a mess.

Cormac took a sip of his drink, wondered again why it mattered so much. Why he’d taken this risk. He could have let it go. He’d let other commissions pass.

But not this one.

‘So, congratulations are in order, it would seem,’ Geoffrey murmured, moving to sit next to Cormac. ‘Funny how quickly you married.’

‘When you know, you know,’ Cormac replied blandly.

‘Exactly.’ Geoffrey smiled, and Cormac almost laughed to think how someone like Stears could actually believe he had some kind of power. ‘And I think I know.’

‘You’re losing me, Stears.’ He spoke in a bored drawl.

‘I wonder,’ Geoffrey mused, ‘if I searched in public records for your marriage licence, what would I find?’

‘I’d love to see you explain such detective work to Jan,’ Cormac replied. ‘Forget about it, Stears.’

‘I’m not going to stand by and watch a man like you get this commission,’ Stears hissed.

Cormac swivelled to regard him with cold, blank eyes. ‘A man like me?’ he queried politely.

Geoffrey smirked. ‘You’ve clawed your way to the top, haven’t you, Douglas? You still bear the scars. I know people are impressed with your designs, your drive, but you don’t belong. You never did and you never will.’

Cormac gave a slight shake of his head. ‘People are looking, Geoffrey. I think you might want to calm yourself.’

‘You’d do anything to get a commission,’ Stears continued in a low, vicious voice. ‘And I for one am going to make damn sure you don’t get it.’ He moved away on the pretext of refreshing his drink and Cormac watched him go, his lips tightening in resolve.

Geoffrey didn’t scare him; the man didn’t even bother him. But he was a variable that needed to be considered.

He glanced at Lizzie, chatting now with Hilda, watched as her slender fingers brushed at a wisp of hair. She smiled, and he felt a tightening in his gut.

He knew a way to silence Stears and his own stirrings. Glancing at Dan and Wendy, he knew he and Lizzie couldn’t fake the real thing.

They could have the real thing.

Or close to it.

He could seduce her.

It might be just what was needed to seal this deal. Lizzie in his thrall, in his arms, would convince Hassell like nothing else could.

He smiled, suddenly looking forward to the evening a great deal more.

CHAPTER SIX

BY THE time dinner was announced Lizzie’s nerves were starting to fray. The game was getting old. Every innocent question and remark sent her lurching upright, nerves jangling, heart beating desperately.

She was tired, hungry, out of sorts. She wanted to let her guard down, release the tension. Stop acting.

Yet she couldn’t.

Cormac moved next to her as they entered the dining room, putting his arm around her waist, curving her to him.

‘Not too much longer, sweetheart,’ he murmured. ‘You’re doing well.’

‘Don’t patronise me,’ she said under her breath, and he chuckled as if she’d said something amusing.

‘The correct response is thank you.’ He moved off to find his seat, and Hilda directed Lizzie to hers. She saw with a sinking heart that she was between Wendy and Geoffrey, and Cormac was next to Lara. Neither good options, both fraught with danger.

‘The beach is so lovely here,’ Cormac said as everyone began eating the first course, ‘with a nice, shallow sandy bottom. Is the whole island so fortunate?’

Jan smiled. ‘No, the north shore is rocky and quite impossible. The south side is lovely, though…’ He paused. ‘Where the resort shall be built.’ There was a fleeting look of sadness in Jan’s eyes and Lizzie wondered again about the reasons behind building the resort.

She glanced down at her starter, a warm asparagus salad with Gouda cheese. It was delicious, yet she felt so queasy and out of sorts that each mouthful was hard to swallow.

Geoffrey noticed and murmured silkily in her ear, ‘Not feeling yourself, Elizabeth?’

She glanced at him sharply. ‘The jet lag has thrown my appetite off.’

‘Pity.’ He smiled, but his eyes were as sharp as a pair of scissors. ‘Funny,’ he continued after a moment, ‘that I never heard of Cormac’s nuptials. The architecture world is rather small in Great Britain.’

Lizzie felt a cold, plunging sensation in the pit of her stomach; she tasted bile. ‘As I think I’ve said, we’ve been wanting to keep it quiet.’

‘Very quiet.’

‘Yes.’ She took a bite of salad and realised it was a mistake when it stuck in her throat. Coughing, she gulped from her glass of water, conscious of Geoffrey’s amused gaze.

‘It’s just rather convenient,’ he said in a voice meant only for Lizzie’s ears, ‘that Cormac Douglas would suddenly get married mere weeks before this commission was announced. Don’t you think?’

She shrugged. ‘Coincidence, more than convenience, I would say. Besides, it’s not official that the Hassells require a married architect.’

‘We all know the truth…don’t we?’ The double entendre was too much to bear. Lizzie turned back to her salad.

Geoffrey watched her, his eyes glittering with thinly disguised malice. ‘Are you very much in love?’

Despite her best intentions to remain calm, Lizzie could feel a humiliating flush steal across her cheeks and stain the delicate skin of her throat. ‘Yes, of course we are,’ she replied, but by the look of satisfaction in Geoffrey’s steely eyes she hadn’t convinced him in the least.

‘Geoffrey, stop hassling my wife,’ Cormac called lazily across the table. He smiled to take the sting from his words and Lizzie looked up, startled. ‘I know she’s beautiful but she’s mine.’ His eyes fastened on Lizzie and she felt the shocking onslaught of his possessive gaze as if he’d reached across the table and touched her. Undressed her.

‘My, my,’ Jan said. He sounded pleased. ‘Consider yourself warned, Geoffrey.’ Lara flushed.

The moment passed, the conversation moved on, and yet Lizzie still glanced at Cormac—his harsh, angular profile, the way he leaned back lazily in his chair—and wondered just how much he was acting.

I know she’s beautiful… Did he actually believe that? Could she trust anything he did, said? Was anything real?

No. It wasn’t.

It just felt like it sometimes.

The appetiser was cleared and the first course—Piska Kora, a dish of red snapper with garlic and lime—presented. Geoffrey, fortunately, was talking to Dan on his other side, and Lizzie tried to make polite conversation with Wendy.

Her mind whirled, however, spinning with new, unwelcome possibilities. It was obvious that Geoffrey was suspicious. It wouldn’t take much for his suspicions to turn into cold, hard fact…and what then?

Both she and Cormac would be exposed. Ruined.

Lizzie toyed with her fish, unable to actually take a mouthful. Suddenly she was well and truly frightened. Frightened of discovery, of shame, of ruin.

She should have stepped off that plane and spat out the truth. Jan would have believed her then, but she’d been so intrigued by Cormac’s proposition, enticed by the excitement. Cormac had used that, played her mercilessly.

And she had let him.

This situation was her own fault.

Nothing was real…except for that. The fear. The danger.

‘Elizabeth, you haven’t eaten. Are you well?’ Hilda’s question was of gentle concern, but it caused everyone at the table to glance at Lizzie’s untouched plate, and Cormac gave her a quick, knowing look.

‘I’m sorry…my appetite is a bit off,’ Lizzie said. ‘But it looks delicious,’ she added lamely, flushing yet again.

‘Perhaps the dessert will tempt you,’ Hilda said with a smile. ‘But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll feel better tomorrow.’

Lizzie nodded and smiled, knowing she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t feel better until she was safely back in Edinburgh, back in her own home, her own job, her own role.

Bolo di Kashupete, a sweet cashew cake, followed the fish, and Lizzie forced herself to take a few mouthfuls. She had drunk half a glass of the rich dessert wine and found it had clouded her head and made her dizzy.

A mistake, she realised, as another wave of jet lag crashed over her. She couldn’t afford too many more.

‘Our gardens are lovely in the moonlight,’ Jan said after they’d had their coffee. ‘Perhaps the ladies would like to take a stroll? There is a bit of business we must discuss,’ he addressed the men, and Lizzie knew they’d been kindly dismissed.

Wendy pleaded fatigue and excused herself to bed, leaving Lizzie to stroll the landscaped walks with Lara and Hilda.

The sea was only a stone’s throw away, yet it felt as if they were in a separate world amidst the gravel paths twisting through tropical plants and flowers, the sweet scent of orchids and hibiscus heavy on the balmy air.

The night was alive with the sounds of the island, the raucous call of a macaw, the scamper of geckos and the frantic fluttering of dragonflies.

‘You must love it here,’ Lizzie said, and Hilda smiled.

‘It’s home. It always has been.’

‘Do you think the resort will change it very much?’ Lizzie couldn’t help but ask.

‘I hope not. To tell the truth, we have considered this resort because we cannot sustain the island’s economy on our own without tourists. Ever since the sugar plantation failed, we’ve needed a new source of income.’ Hilda sighed. ‘It is our hope that a small, environmentally friendly resort will both help the islanders and allow others to enjoy what we’ve been blessed with…without changing things too much.’

And provide them with some needed income, Lizzie thought. You did what you had to do to get by, she knew. To make it through, to survive.

Wasn’t that what she was doing now? Trying desperately to survive, to come out of this weekend unscathed, unsullied?

If only she could.

‘Tell me about your wedding, Elizabeth,’ Hilda said brightly. ‘Cormac mentioned how quickly you were married—so romantic! Was it a big wedding?’

‘No, very small,’ Lizzie said quietly, conscious of Lara’s silent, speculative glance. ‘Just a few friends and family.’

‘Very nice,’ Hilda agreed. ‘And you are hoping for children?’

Lizzie remembered what Cormac had said about starting a family. It was impossible to imagine. ‘Oh, yes,’ she lied. ‘In time, of course.’

‘Of course, of course.’ Hilda’s eyes were bright even in the moonlit darkness. ‘All in good time.’

‘What about you, Lara?’ Lizzie asked. She was desperate to change the subject. ‘How long have you and Geoffrey been married?’

‘Six months,’ Lara said in a bored voice. ‘But it seems like for ever.’ She laughed, a rather nasty sound, and Hilda looked uncomfortable.

What a strange group they were, Lizzie thought. Hilda had been happily married for forty years, Lara unhappily married, it seemed, for just a few months, and she not married at all.

‘What about your sons, Hilda?’ she asked. ‘They’re all married?’

‘No, sadly.’ Hilda frowned for a moment. ‘They’re all living abroad, pursuing careers. It’s one of the reasons…’ She paused, shrugged. ‘Perhaps one day. It happened for Cormac, it can happen for them.’

Lizzie nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The guilt was overwhelming and she fought to ignore it. There was no point in allowing herself to be swamped in misery, despair.

The rambling path they’d been walking on ended in a little square, a fountain burbling in the middle. The moon cast a sliver of silver on the scene, illuminating the still figure of a man on a bench.

With an indrawn breath Lizzie realised it was Cormac. Alone.

‘What a lovely spot for a couple to sit,’ Hilda murmured. ‘Lara, let me show you our wild orchids…’The older woman led Lara away, leaving Lizzie alone with Cormac.

‘That wasn’t very subtle,’ she said with a little laugh, and Cormac looked up, his eyes glinting in the darkness.

‘We’re newly-weds. We need some time alone.’ He spoke cynically, a darkness in his voice and, Lizzie guessed, in his soul—a darkness beneath that light, charming exterior, that easy confidence. A darkness she couldn’t understand or penetrate.

She glanced around uneasily, conscious that Lara and perhaps even Geoffrey could be lurking in the shadows, listening. She moved closer to Cormac, sat next to him on the bench.

‘Cormac,’ she said in a low voice, ‘Geoffrey suspects. He told me as much at dinner.’

‘Is that why you couldn’t eat a bite? You were as pale as a ghost.’

‘I don’t want to be discovered,’ Lizzie hissed. ‘You, of all people, know what’s at stake.’

‘Yes, I do,’ Cormac replied calmly. ‘Nothing is going to ruin this deal, Chandler. I’ll make sure of that.’

‘How?’

‘I can handle Stears.’ Cormac’s tone was so coldly dismissive that Lizzie felt like shivering, despite the sultry night air.

They were silent, the gentle lapping of waves a shushing sound in the distance, the chirrup of insects loud in the stillness of the evening.

‘You could have told me about Lara,’ Lizzie whispered after a moment. When Cormac didn’t bother answering, she felt compelled to ask, ‘You had an affair with her, didn’t you?’

He shrugged. ‘So?’

‘You could have warned me!’

‘It wasn’t relevant.’

‘Wasn’t relevant?’ Lizzie’s voice rose and, when Cormac raised one cynical eyebrow, she strove to lower it. ‘Cormac, she’s slept with you. She…she knows you in a way I…’

Too late, Lizzie realised this was not a good conversation to have—not now, not with Cormac, not when he leaned towards her and said softly, ‘In a way you want to, Chandler?’

‘In a way I don’t,’ she snapped. ‘All I’m saying is a woman who’s been with a certain man can tell when another woman…hasn’t.’

‘We could remedy the situation, you know.’

Lizzie stiffened. He wasn’t actually…suggesting…they…She swallowed. ‘Very funny.’

‘I didn’t realise I was being amusing.’

She glanced at him, saw the glimmer of a smile in the darkness and wished she could see more of his face. Even then she wouldn’t know what he was thinking.

‘You don’t want to sleep with me,’ she began, and she heard his soft chuckle.

‘Actually, I do. Can’t you tell I desire you?’

‘No…you’re just playing with me. Flirting.’ Suddenly she desperately wanted that to be true. And didn’t want it to be true. She didn’t know what she wanted.

‘Flirting usually leads to something else,’ Cormac murmured in a low, languorous voice. ‘Something more.’

‘That isn’t a very good idea, though,’ Lizzie protested weakly, ‘considering…’

‘Actually, I think it’s a very good idea.’

Lizzie swallowed, scooted a bit further away on the bench. He was teasing her, toying with her. He had to be. She just didn’t know how to handle it. ‘How did the meeting go tonight?’ she asked in a desperately blatant attempt to change the subject.

Cormac smiled, amused. ‘Dan White is a strong contender,’ he admitted with a shrug. ‘Hassell is so thrilled he’s having a child, and White’s like a big, friendly dog, jumping all over the place, licking and slobbering.’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘Hassell has made this weekend not about the designs, but about who we are.’

Lizzie regarded him quietly. ‘And you don’t want him to see who you really are,’ she said.

Cormac’s expression sharpened, his mouth twisting sardonically before he shrugged. ‘Of course not, sweetheart.’

‘Don’t—’

‘Shh.’ Suddenly his whole face softened into a smile, a sexy smile that had sudden need flooding through Lizzie’s limbs even as her mind spun in confusion.

He reached up, tangled a hand in the silken strands of hair blowing against her cheek and drew her closer to him.

‘Shh,’ he said again, and kissed her.

The feel of his lips—hard, unyielding, and yet so achingly tender—sent every thought spinning from Lizzie’s brain. A part of her knew—had known, anyway—that someone must be watching for Cormac to do this. Yet, even as her brain acknowledged that fact, the rest of her body kicked into gear, flamed into desire.

Cormac’s lips caressed her own, his hand drifting from her cheek to her throat and then to her breast, his fingers expertly, easily teasing her.

Lizzie gasped against his mouth, felt his smile. She’d never been touched like this, and even though she knew it was a performance—a charade—she could not keep herself from reacting.

Wanting. More.

Her arms wound around his neck, fingers lost in the crispness of his hair. She felt herself lean forward to press her breasts against the wonderful hardness of his chest.

Even in the softened haze of feeling she realised that someone must be watching this blatant, brazen display and she stiffened in shame.

She pulled away, jerking herself out of Cormac’s arms, and looked around.

No one was there.

She glanced at Cormac. He was leaning back against the bench, a smile playing about his lips—the lips she’d just kissed. She could still feel the soft, salty taste of him on her tongue. In her mouth.

‘There’s no one,’ she said, and he shrugged.

‘I thought someone was coming.’

Lizzie’s eyes narrowed. ‘Did you really?’

He grinned. ‘No.’

Lizzie shook her head. ‘Don’t play with me, Cormac.’

‘But it’s fun to play.’ He rose from the bench in one lithe, lazy movement, reached for her hand. ‘Come on, Chandler. Time for bed.’

Woodenly she took his hand and didn’t even resist when he kept hold of it, all the way back to the bedroom. Her mind was spinning—spinning from Cormac’s kiss.

And the revelation that would have been obvious to a woman with any experience—any woman but her.

He wanted her. Wanted. Her.

Her.

Why, Lizzie wondered numbly, was that so amazing? So flattering? Cormac had most likely slept with hundreds of women. She was just one more.

No. She would not let herself be notched up. She wouldn’t…couldn’t…

Except it—he—was so hard to resist.

It felt wonderful to be wanted.

Back in the room, Lizzie stood by the door while Cormac began to undress, unself-conscious as always. The shutters had been closed, the bed turned down, the soft light from a lamp casting shadows on the tiled floor.

Lizzie watched him shrug off his shirt, the desire from their kiss still pulsing through her. She leaned against the door, one hand on the knob as if she would flee from the room, from what she was feeling.

‘Going somewhere?’ Cormac asked, one eyebrow raised. He was bare-chested, his hands at his belt buckle.

Lizzie closed her eyes, then snapped them open. ‘No…but we need to talk.’

‘All right. Talk.’

‘I’m not going to sleep with you, Cormac.’ Lizzie blushed, lifted her chin. Cormac simply waited, his hands still at his buckle. ‘I can’t do this. I can’t pretend that far.’

His gaze travelled over her slowly, resting on her still aching breasts. His mouth curved in a knowing smile. ‘I don’t think you were pretending all that much.’

Lizzie’s blush intensified; her whole body felt hot. ‘You’re right, I wasn’t,’ she agreed. ‘Before this weekend, I never gave you a thought that way, but now…’ She shrugged. ‘I’ve come to realise I’m attracted to you. As you well know. And,’ she added defiantly, ‘you are to me.’

‘Yes, I am. As I told you before.’ He walked towards her and Lizzie’s hand tightened on the doorknob.

‘Don’t.’

‘Don’t what?’

‘Don’t come closer.’

He paused, took a little step. ‘What are you scared of, Lizzie? Me? Or yourself?’

‘Both,’ she admitted in a raw whisper, and he spread his hands wide.

‘I won’t hurt you.’

Lizzie choked on a laugh of pure disbelief. ‘Cormac, all you’ll do is hurt me.’

‘It would feel very nice at the time,’ he murmured. His eyes raked over her slowly, purposefully, his mouth curling into a smile of seductive promise.

Lizzie shook her head, knowing she was convincing herself as much as him. ‘I’m not into casual affairs. I’m not that…’

‘Sort of girl?’ he finished. ‘But I’m sure you could become one.’ He paused. ‘Who knows what could happen, if we give it a chance?’

‘Are you saying we might actually have a relationship?’ Lizzie said in a voice ringing with disbelief…and damning hope.

Cormac shrugged. He took another step closer and his fingers trailed temptingly down her bare arm. ‘I’m saying let’s see what happens.’

‘I don’t want to.’

He laughed—a rich, indulgent sound. ‘Yes, you do.’

Lizzie closed her eyes. ‘You could seduce me, Cormac. I know you could. I…I find you hard to resist,’ she admitted painfully, her face on fire. ‘But I’m asking you not to. I’d hate myself in the morning…and I’d hate you. That can hardly be good for your commission.’

He stilled, then smiled, letting his fingers skim across her shoulder, over her breast, his smile deepening as he felt her react. He tilted her chin, met her tortured gaze with light, laughing eyes. ‘Let me know if you change your mind.’

‘I won’t.’

He brushed her lips in a kiss that still managed to sear her soul. ‘You keep telling yourself that, Chandler. Maybe one day you’ll come to believe it.’

He dropped his hand and, as if released from a prison, Lizzie stumbled backwards. She grabbed her pyjamas, clutching them to her chest as she escaped into the bathroom to change.

She would keep telling herself that, she thought fiercely. It was the only way to make sure it stayed true.

Cormac stretched in bed and laced his fingers behind his head. His pose was relaxed, calculatingly so, yet a restlessness surged through his body.

A restlessness caused by both desire and dissatisfaction.

Lizzie wanted him. He knew that. And he wanted her…more than he’d care to admit.

It had started as a challenge; it had become a need.

If only she weren’t so innocent…so damn moral, clinging to her virtue like some outraged virgin…She couldn’t actually be a virgin, though. Could she? In this day and age? At twentyeight?

She came out of the bathroom, dressed in her pathetic, shabby pyjamas, and he found his lips twitching as he asked, ‘Hey, Chandler. Are you a virgin?’

Lizzie stiffened, betraying colour flooding her face. A twenty-eight-year-old virgin. No wonder she was playing so shy.

‘Even if I weren’t, I wouldn’t sleep with you,’ she said in a strangled voice, her chin held high, and he felt a reluctant flicker of admiration for her spirit.

‘But think how I could introduce you to the pleasures of the flesh,’ he murmured enticingly, just to see her flush intensify. ‘The pleasures of love.’

She threw him a hard, heated look. ‘But there’s no love involved, is there, Cormac?’

He leaned back against the pillows, eyeing her thoughtfully. ‘That’s what you want, is it? What are you going to do, wait until marriage?’

‘Maybe I will.’ Lizzie lifted her chin. ‘Or at least wait until I meet a man who loves and respects me,’ she finished with cold dignity. ‘You do neither.’ She slipped into bed, her back to him, a sad, hunched little form.

Cormac leaned over and tucked the sheet around her shoulder. ‘But you still want me,’ he whispered, and she stiffened under his fingers.

‘It means nothing.’

‘We’ll see about that.’ He dropped a kiss on the nape of her neck, felt the shudder run through her body, and smiled.

Cormac lay in the darkness, listening to the soft sounds of their breathing. His body still throbbed and ached from the kiss they’d already shared, from the knowledge of her body, inches from his, tense and still. He could smell her scent, lemony shampoo and something else that was just pure Lizzie.

Pure lust.

He hadn’t felt such desire—need—for a woman in a long time. Perhaps ever.

He thought of what she wanted…Love. Respect. His mouth twisted in sardonic acknowledgement. He supposed he could give her that.

If Lizzie were in love with him, Jan would never doubt they were a happy couple. Stears would stop his innuendoes, as well.

The commission would be his…and what an enjoyable way to achieve it.

His mind flicked over the possibilities, the problems. Lizzie would have to believe he was in love with her…for how long? How much? He needed to be believable. She could never suspect.

It was a risk, a challenge—the rush he craved. And now it was a need.

He smiled. He wanted her; he would have her, willing, in his arms.

Soon.

Lizzie sighed, and he could tell by her easy breathing that she was asleep. Knowing such respite was hours away for himself, he rolled quietly out of bed.

He took his sketchbook and pencils from his suitcase and, sitting in a chair opposite the bed, stared hard at the still, sleeping figure before he bent his head and began to draw.

CHAPTER SEVEN

SUNLIGHT was slanting in wide beams on the floor when Lizzie awoke. She lay still for a moment, listening to the gentle whoosh of the sea only metres from their bedroom, the call of a macaw and the rustle of the palms in the breeze.

She glanced over at Cormac and tensed, expecting to see him awake and gazing at her with that sardonic knowledge in those glinting hazel eyes.

Instead she found him asleep, and she shifted carefully on her side so she could study him.

He was a beautiful man. In sleep, his face was softened, relaxed, his thick lashes sweeping his cheeks, his mouth, usually pulled into a frown or a scowl, now softened into a half smile. His hair was mussed like a boy’s. He had the beginnings of a cowlick, and it made her smile.

What had Cormac been like as a boy? She pictured him in a private-school uniform, prissy and pampered. It was hard to imagine. Perhaps his parents had sent him away to boarding school. That innate arrogance, the expectation of obedience came, she thought, from money. Money and power.

Her gaze slid downward. His chest was bare, pure sculpted muscle tapering to slim hips and powerful thighs, hidden only by a thin sheet.

He wore boxers, but she could still see evidence of his manhood and it ignited a traitorous heat inside her, just by looking.

What about touching…

She lifted a hand, stopped. She’d been about to touch his chest…to caress him.

Had she no shame? No self-control?

Then his eyes opened.

Suddenly Lizzie was aware of how close she was, her face inches from his, her hand poised above his chest. She dropped it back on to the sheet.

Cormac watched her, his eyes the colour of moss, clouded with sleep. Then the sleep cleared and was replaced with awareness.

Attraction.

They stared at each other, neither speaking, and Lizzie was conscious of how her body responded to just that look, her blood heating as if he’d stroked her with his hands instead of with his eyes.

Her hair fell forward, brushing against his bare chest, and Lizzie heard his breath hitch.

Still, neither of them spoke, neither of them moved.

She felt trapped by his gaze—trapped, tortured, tempted.

In a weekend of utter falseness, this felt amazingly real.

A bird called raucously outside and the shutter banged in the breeze.

The moment was broken. Lizzie saw it in the coolness that stole into his eyes, the knowing smile curving that mobile mouth.

‘Had a good look?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ Lizzie said.

‘Change your mind?’

‘No.’ She gave a knowing smile of her own. ‘You snore.’

He chuckled disbelievingly and shook his head. ‘No one’s told me that before.’

‘I didn’t think your women stayed the night,’ Lizzie threw back, and he stilled.

‘No, they don’t.’ He paused thoughtfully, although something—not sleep—clouded his eyes once more. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever shared a bed with another person for the whole night before.’

‘Me, neither,’ Lizzie admitted, and he chuckled.

‘That I believe, my little virgin.’

She scooted off the bed and busied herself pulling clothes from the cupboard. ‘What are we doing today?’

‘Jan and Hilda are taking us over to the building site. We’ll talk shop while you ladies gossip, and then we’ll all head to the beach for an afternoon of sun, sand and surf. Tomorrow Jan wants to see our formal presentations.’

‘I really am just here as arm candy,’ Lizzie said with a shake of her head. ‘Whatever anyone says about family values.’

‘Delicious arm candy, at that,’ Cormac said. Somehow he’d sneaked up behind her while she’d been selecting her clothes and now he murmured in her ear, ‘If only I could have a taste.’

‘Don’t,’ she snapped, and he laughed.

‘You’re so easy to rile, Chandler. It almost takes the fun away.’

She turned around, one eyebrow raised. ‘Almost?’

He grinned, suddenly looking boyish and uncomplicated. If only. ‘Almost, but not quite.’

Lizzie grabbed the rest of her clothes and headed into the bathroom. She didn’t like Cormac when he was charming. Didn’t trust him. At his most enticing, he was also the most dangerous.

No, Lizzie realised, she did like him at his most charming—or even just a bit charming—and that was the problem. It would be so easy to succumb to temptation. To desire.

She climbed into the shower, let the hot water stream over her and imagined what that would be like. Feel like.

What would Cormac be like as a lover? Would he be commanding, authoritative, taking control with skilled, knowing hands? Or would he be tender, gentle, awakening her responses with a supreme confidence that didn’t need him to be in control?

Lizzie shook her head, suppressed a shudder. She had no business wondering about Cormac, what he was like as a lover, who he really was. Not if she wanted to keep herself—body and soul—safe.

Yet she was curious. Curious about sex, curious about Cormac. Curious about Cormac as a lover…and as a man. What had made him the way he was? What would change him?

‘The trouble with you,’ she told her reflection in the mirror as she towelled herself dry, ‘is that you’ve had no one to care about since Dani left. You’re just lonely and you want someone to fix.’

The realisation sobered her. Saddened her, too. For the last ten years she’d given her life to her younger sister, had poured her emotions and her soul into Dani’s well-being. She knew it was what her parents would have wanted, and she’d been happy to do it.

But now Dani—carefree, laughing Dani—was gone, happily tucked away at university, and at twenty-eight Lizzie was left wondering what to do with the rest of her life.

Whatever happened, the rest of her life, her personal life, would have nothing to do with Cormac, she told herself sternly. So her mind and heart and treacherous body had all better remember that.

She dressed quickly in white capris and a pale pink blouse—sleeveless, cool and elegantly simple. Since they’d be outside for most of the day, she caught her hair up in a loose bun, wisps curling around her face.

Back in the bedroom, she saw that Cormac had changed into khaki trousers and a dark green shirt that matched his eyes, deepening them to the colour of the jungle.

‘Don’t forget your swimming costume,’ he said, and Lizzie mentally cringed at the thought of the jade bikini the boutique assistant had chosen for her—two tiny scraps of shiny material and a bit of string. Suddenly the thought of Cormac—never mind anyone else—seeing her in it made her feel horribly exposed and vulnerable.

Reluctantly, she fished the costume out of her suitcase and packed it in a canvas bag with some sun-cream and a hat.

Outside the villa, two Jeeps had been brought around the drive to take them all to the building site. Hilda and Jan were in the first one, and Lizzie saw Geoffrey and Lara snag the back seats of their hosts’ Jeep, no doubt in an attempt to ingratiate themselves with the Hassells.

Dan offered to drive the second Jeep, as he was familiar with driving on the right-hand side of the road, and Cormac graciously agreed.

Lizzie managed a smile as he slid into the backseat next to her, his arm going round her shoulders in an easy, thoughtless manner that she knew had to be cunningly calculated.

She wanted it to be real. The realisation hurt. She’d known this weekend would be dangerous. Cormac would be dangerous.

She hadn’t realised she would be dangerous. Her body, her heart. Her mind, her soul. Unbending, unfurling. Wanting. More.

Wanting what she’d never had.

‘Careful, Chandler,’ Cormac murmured in her ear, his breath feathering her cheek. ‘You’re not looking very happy with me right now.’

Wendy glanced back at them, smiling, and Lizzie forced herself to smile back and pat Cormac’s thigh in a perfunctory way.

Cormac trapped her hand with his own and kept it there, splayed on his thigh, too high on his leg for her comfort. She averted her head, unable to stomach the indecent intimacy.

Dan drove the Jeep out of the villa’s landscaped grounds, following Jan along a paved track that cut through the dense jungle. Lizzie could hear the chattering of monkeys and macaws even over the sound of the engine.

After a quarter of an hour, they broke through the dense foliage and came to a rocky outcrop high over the water. Lizzie took in an awed breath, for the sight of the Caribbean shimmering with sunlight to the horizon was still stunning to her.

Cormac heard the little indrawn breath and slanted her a knowing smile. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ he said softly, and for once Lizzie felt he wasn’t mocking her.

He even released her fingers and she dropped her hand into her own lap, feeling strangely, stupidly bereft.

They parked the Jeeps where the paved track ended in a pile of dirt and Jan led the party across the rocks to a flattened area that had already been set up with a table sheltered from the blazing sun by a tent.

Lizzie could feel Cormac’s tension, his energy and excitement as the men sat down to discuss blueprints, dreams and designs.

Hilda led the women down a path through the rocks to a strip of white sandy beach below, and Lizzie saw that a separate vehicle had brought all the amenities for a relaxed day at the beach.

Spread out among folding chairs and towels, sheltered by beach umbrellas, Lizzie tried to relax and enjoy the sun and sand. She felt as if she were drawn as tight as a bow string, every sense and nerve on alert.

‘They won’t be long,’ Hilda said with a smile. ‘Jan has already seen all the blueprints, you know. This weekend was simply a way of meeting the men behind the designs. That’s what is important to us.’

And who was the man behind the design? Lizzie wondered. What front would he present to Jan? She’d no doubt he had something worked out, a façade to maintain. Had he ever shown who he really was to anyone? Had he ever been that vulnerable?

The idea was laughable.

Lizzie glanced around. Lara had already stretched out on a towel, glistening with suntan oil, in a bikini that made Lizzie’s own skimpy one look modest in comparison.

In contrast, Wendy was sitting on a folding chair, one hand on her bump, looking hot and uncomfortable.

Lizzie smiled at her. ‘Can I fetch you a drink?’

Wendy smiled gratefully. ‘Water would be great.’

Lizzie found a bottle of water in one of the coolers and handed it to Wendy. ‘A bit hot, isn’t it,’ she said sympathetically, and Wendy nodded.

‘Yes. Dan didn’t want me to come, as I’m only two months from my due date, but I insisted. This commission is so important to him. He’s been struggling in a large firm, and this could really be his chance to break out.’ She bit her lip. ‘Of course, I’m sure it’s important to Cormac, too…and to Geoffrey…’

‘I’m sure every one of our husbands could design an amazing resort,’ Lizzie said a bit lamely, for she was conscious of another fresh pang of guilt.

If Cormac hadn’t insisted on his own way—and finding his own wife—men like Dan White, good, steady, honest men, would have a better chance at gaining such a prestigious commission.

If she hadn’t agreed…

She was as much to blame as Cormac. No matter what he’d threatened her with, she could have said something. Done something.

She’d simply wanted an adventure too much.

And now she’d had enough, even as she wanted more. There was a part of her that longed to run back to safety, to the shelter of her former life. And another part—a treacherous, tempting part—wanted this. A life. Cormac.

She smiled again at Wendy and returned to her seat, trying to involve herself in Hilda’s cheerful conversation about the resort and its plans.

The words washed over her, soothing sounds, no more than white noise. Her mind buzzed with questions. Questions about herself, about what she wanted.

Cormac.

What was she thinking? What did she want?

Change your mind?

No.

Finally, the men left the rocky outcrop. Lizzie watched Cormac walk over to her, smiling easily although his eyes looked blank, preoccupied.

‘How was it?’ she asked in a murmur. She glanced at Geoffrey, who was looking sulky, and Dan, who greeted Wendy with more concern than he’d ever shown about winning the commission.

‘Fine.’ Cormac raked a hand through his hair. ‘Jan likes my ideas, but Stears keeps making remarks and I can tell they’re starting to hit home.’

‘He knows, doesn’t he?’ Lizzie said, fear plunging icily in her middle.

‘Of course he knows. He can’t prove anything, though.’ His eyes rested on Lizzie for a moment and she felt their warmth, a radiant heat that matched the sun.

They both burned.

‘We’ll just have to be more convincing,’ he said lazily. He pulled her towards him and she was too surprised to resist as he gave her a quick kiss. She knew it was calculated, a staged gesture, but it didn’t feel like it.

For one blazing moment she was conscious only of his lips on hers, hard and warm. He pulled away and there was no mocking laughter in his eyes, no sardonic knowledge. ‘Why don’t you get your swimming costume on?’ he suggested, and Lizzie opened her mouth to protest.

‘We’ll go snorkelling,’ Cormac continued. ‘The fish are amazing here.’

A treacherous thrill shot through her. She wanted to spend time with Cormac, she realised. She wanted to have fun. ‘I’m not a strong swimmer,’ she began, and he smiled, laced her fingers with his and drew her in for another kiss.

‘I’ll keep you safe.’

‘Cormac…’ Lizzie shook her head. She knew this wasn’t real, it couldn’t be real. He was just acting. Yet, she realised faintly, everyone was chatting or changing. No one was watching them. There was no audience.

There was just them.

Why was he doing it, then?

‘All right,’ she said, and gave him a quick, uncertain smile before she fetched her swimming costume and ducked into one of the tents set up for the purpose of changing.

She emerged a few minutes later, resisting the urge to cover herself as Cormac looked across at her, his eyes sweeping over, then resting on her body, heat and awareness flaring in their depths.

She joined the others, wrapping a towel around her waist as a sarong. She needed some coverage, some armour.

It did little good, however, for she was as aware of Cormac as he was of her. He’d taken off his shirt and wore a pair of navy blue swimming shorts, and even though she’d seen as much of his body before, she couldn’t quite keep her eyes off him, taking in the hard contours of his chest, the tanned forearms resting on tapered hips, the long, powerful legs.

Every inch of him brown, beautiful, perfect.

Jan was advising everyone on the best areas to dive and snorkel, a pile of masks and flippers near his feet.

‘Careful over by the rocks,’ he warned, ‘there’s a bit of an undertow. Nothing too dangerous, but you should be cautious, especially if you’re not a strong swimmer.’

First, however, they ate. Staff had set up a delicious repast on a folding table and everyone helped themselves to fresh conch salad, warm bread and sliced mango and guava.

The tropical tastes were new and tangy on her tongue and Lizzie dug in with gusto, the sun warm on her shoulders, the breeze caressing her face.

She saw Cormac watching her, a strange, speculative look on his face, and she wondered what he was thinking…feeling.

A few days ago she wouldn’t have cared. She would have said Cormac Douglas didn’t feel much of anything.

Now she wondered. What?

Lizzie turned back to her plate of food.

‘Care to snorkel, Elizabeth?’ Geoffrey had moved next to her when she wasn’t looking and now stood above where she was seated, his cynical gaze resting on her cleavage. ‘Lara’s not interested so perhaps I could show you some of the marine sights.’

The last thing Lizzie wanted to do was spend any time alone, anywhere, with Geoffrey, so she felt only relief when Cormac walked over and replied smoothly, ‘Actually, Lizzie and I are planning to snorkel together. That quality time, you know, is so important to couples.’

Lizzie nearly choked on a disbelieving laugh. Cormac talking about couples and quality time was too ludicrous to be believed.

And, by the looks of it, Geoffrey didn’t believe it, for his cynical smile widened and he raised his eyebrows.

‘Indeed.’

Cormac laced his fingers with Lizzie’s. ‘Tend to your own wife, Stears,’ he said pleasantly, and drew Lizzie towards the beach.

‘You shouldn’t antagonise him,’ Lizzie said in a low voice.

‘I wasn’t.’ Cormac sounded supremely unconcerned and, Lizzie thought, rather arrogantly so. Didn’t he realise what a danger—a threat—Geoffrey was?

‘Geoffrey already suspects,’ she said in a furious whisper. ‘If he mentions something to Jan, we could both—’

‘Jan will never listen to the likes of him,’ Cormac said dismissively. He bent down to sort through the pile of snorkelling gear. ‘The problem with Geoffrey is he thinks he can get what he wants by sneering and looking down his nose at everyone. I’ve seen it before. He’s lost more than one commission to me, you know.’

‘Is that why he’s out for your blood?’ Lizzie asked with a touch of acid, ‘or is it because you’ve slept with his wife?’

Cormac only chuckled. ‘Jealous, Chandler?’

‘Not on your life,’ she snapped, too quickly.

Cormac shrugged. ‘I’m not worried about Stears, at any rate. He’s too stupid to realise how you play someone like Hassell.’ He stood up, a mask dangling from his fingers. ‘Here, this should do nicely for you.’

Lizzie stared at him, suddenly feeling icy cold despite the blazing sun on her body. How you play someone like Hassell. The words echoed in her mind, reminding her that, whatever she thought—believed, hoped—Cormac didn’t care about anyone. He played people…was playing her.

Don’t ever forget it.

She shook her head. ‘Is everyone just a pawn to be used to you?’

He cocked his head, his eyes vivid and alert, yet with a certain hardness to his face, his mouth. ‘What do you think?’ he asked.

Lizzie was compelled to admit, ‘I don’t know. I was beginning to think…to wonder…’

He stared at her and Lizzie saw irritation flicker in his eyes. He thrust the mask at her. ‘Try this on.’ He turned away to sort through the rest of the gear and Lizzie was left to slip the mask on—just one more layer hiding her from the rest of the party…and the man before her.

A few minutes later they stood at the edge of the sea, Lizzie feeling both absurd and nervous in her snorkelling gear.

‘I’m not much of a swimmer,’ she reminded Cormac, nudging the gentle waves dubiously with one flippered foot.

‘Then we’ll just stick close by the shore.’ He reached a hand out, tugging on her fingers as a smile tugged on his mouth—and Lizzie’s heartstrings. ‘Come on, Chandler. I promised I’ll keep you safe.’

She bristled even as she moved forward, reluctantly and inexorably pulled towards him.

‘Why should I trust you?’ she muttered, and his deepening smile went right through her soul.

‘Because you can.’

It wasn’t a reason. It wasn’t even close to a reason, considering how he’d lied, cheated and manipulated his way this far.

Yet somehow it was enough.

The sea water was as warm as a bath as Cormac led her in, the waves lapping at her legs, the sand soft without being squishy between her toes. They’d only gone a few feet, the water just at Lizzie’s waist, when he said, ‘Look down.’

Lizzie did…and gasped. A rainbow coloured fish darted between her feet. Another silver fish, banded with black, slipped between her and Cormac. Lizzie laughed aloud in sheer amazement.

‘I’ve never seen anything like…’ she began, and Cormac tugged on her hands once more.

‘Come with me.’

And Lizzie came, slipping into the water, following Cormac’s lithe, powerful body as he sliced through the sea, his hand still firm on hers, keeping her safe just as he’d promised.

It took Lizzie a moment to accustom herself to keeping her face in the water, breathing through the snorkelling tube, but once she was she found herself transfixed by the underwater world opening below her and the man who pointed out each colourful fish, swimming confidently next to her, never letting her go.

She didn’t want him to. She wanted this moment to last for ever—the easy intimacy, the sun warm on her back, its light dancing on the surface of the sea, a dazzling rainbow of blues and greens.

She wanted it to last for ever, even as she wanted more.

Why not? a voice whispered in her mind, her heart. A treacherous, tempting little voice. Why not? You’ve had so little love in your life, so little affection. Maybe it wouldn’t be love with Cormac, maybe it wouldn’t even be close, but it would be something.

Something she’d never had.

Something she wanted.

They swam all the way down the reef, amazed at the fish, anemones and other small sea creatures, taking turns to point at each new discovery.

Finally they stopped waist-deep at a rocky outcrop out of view of the beach and the others. ‘We should take a break,’ Cormac said, slipping his mask and tube down around his neck. ‘We’ve been at it for over an hour. You’ll get tired out if you’re not used to swimming.’

Lizzie slipped her own mask down. ‘It’s been amazing. I’ve never seen anything like this before.’ She glanced at him, water glistening on his bare chest, tiny droplets clinging to his closely cropped hair, even his eyelashes. His eyes were bright in his tanned face.

‘I suppose you’re used to places like this,’ she said.

He quirked one eyebrow. ‘What makes you think that?’

She shrugged. ‘The tabloids, I suppose. They’re always going on about your jet-setting lifestyle.’

‘Ah, I see.’

‘Where did you grow up?’ Lizzie asked impulsively. She wanted to know more about this man, more than the flickers and glimmers she’d glimpsed so far…or thought she’d glimpsed. She wanted to know about the man Cormac hid, the man underneath who was careful to leave no clues, no hints about who he really was, what he really thought. That man.

Cormac glanced at her for a moment, his expression thoughtful. ‘Edinburgh,’ he finally said.

‘You did?’ She was surprised.

‘Yes, actually…’ He paused. ‘I lived in the house on Cowgate that’s now my office. For a while.’ He gave a little shrug and Lizzie watched something dark and fathomless flicker across his face like a shadow. A memory.

‘But…’ She trailed off. Twenty or thirty years ago, Cowgate had been a depressed section of Edinburgh, little more than a slum. Was that where Cormac had grown up? It was far from the life of luxury and privilege she’d always imagined.

A fish, as bright as a gold coin, darted between them. Lizzie laughed aloud. ‘It’s lovely!’

‘Yes, it is,’ Cormac agreed, but he was looking right at her and suddenly Lizzie was conscious of everything—the sun, as bright as a diamond in a brilliant blue sky, sparkling on the water, the water lapping gently against their nearly bare bodies and the closeness of Cormac, less than a foot away, water beading on a chest brown from the sun. How did he get so brown, Lizzie wondered hazily, living in Scotland?

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Cormac said with a little laugh, ‘unless you’re planning to do something about it.’

Lizzie realised she’d been gazing at him openly, hungrily, and she couldn’t help herself.

‘Like what?’ she challenged, but it came out in little more than a breathy whisper.

‘Like coming over and kissing me.’ He reached out and tangled his fingers in the wet strands of her hair. ‘I want you, Lizzie.’

‘I want you, too.’ She was dizzy, heady with the newfound power of her own desirability. Suddenly she realised what leverage she had, the control she could exert over Cormac.

It was herself.

Her body.

He wanted her…and it was about the only thing he wanted that was in her control to keep or give.

Or was it? she wondered as he pulled her closer and she didn’t even try to resist. Didn’t know how. Couldn’t even think of it.

Didn’t want to.

‘Then come here,’ he murmured, ‘and show me.’

In a trance of need, she moved towards him—it was so easy in the water—until her breasts, barely covered in the skimpy bikini, brushed his chest.

‘Do you know what you’re doing?’ he asked. He glanced down at her, amusement quirking his mouth, desire darkening his eyes. She heard his breath hitch and smiled.

‘You know I don’t,’ she said, and kissed him.

Perhaps she’d only meant to brush his lips, but Cormac wouldn’t let her get away with that. He pulled her to him, his hands lost in her hair, her body slick and wet against his. She slipped against him in the water until somehow she found her legs wrapped around his hips, his arousal pressing her in her most intimate place, a sensation she’d never felt…and she wanted more.

More. It was a flood of feeling, an overwhelming tide of need that scattered her senses and left her only aware of Cormac, his body, his mouth and hands and the need.

The incredible need. For him.

She pressed towards him and gasped as he responded. The water and their swimming costumes seemed very little barrier and something in her astonished response must have alerted Cormac for he pulled away with a muffled curse.

‘This isn’t…Come with me.’

Wordlessly Lizzie took his hand, followed him through the shallows, around the rocks, to a stretch of private, pristine beach.

In the distance Lizzie thought she heard a trill of feminine laughter, but it could have been the call of a bird.

Cormac kicked off his flippers, threw his mask to the ground, and numbly, hazily, Lizzie did the same.

The moment stretched between them endlessly, and yet it only lasted a second.

‘Come here.’

Obediently, she came, stood before him. If there had been a choice, she didn’t know when she’d made it. Perhaps there never had really been one at all.

He gave a smile of pure primal satisfaction before he took her in his arms and lowered his head to hers.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THIS was how he wanted her. Slender, glistening, perfect, her lips full and parted, ready to be kissed, her body open, willing, ready.

He smiled as he kissed her.

Her lips were soft, sweet, warm and hungry. She kissed him back with an inexpert passion that seared his soul and fired his blood.

Her hands stroked his chest, funny little strokes that weren’t meant to arouse or entice. She was simply exploring.

But it worked. It worked very well.

Cormac lay her in the sand, warm from the sun and damp from their bodies. He wanted to be careful, calculated about what he was doing. This needed to be right. She had to feel…treasured.

He untied her bikini top and let it fall away to reveal pert, perfect, pink-tipped breasts.

She smiled shyly. ‘Am I too small?’

‘You’re perfect,’ he murmured, and brushed his lips against her breast, then found he wanted more. She moaned, her fists clenched in his damp hair, pulling her towards him.

‘Cormac…’

Everything was new to her, wondrous and thrilling. He lifted his head, smiled and moved to the other breast. She arched towards him and he let his hand slide across her stomach to finger the top of her bikini briefs.

She tensed slightly, surprised as his fingers slid underneath the slippery material.

He kept his hand still, waiting for her to agree, to surrender as he knew she would.

After a moment her legs, taut with tension, relaxed, and she parted for him, letting his hand slide under her briefs to the very core of her, gasping as he stroked her with clever, knowing fingers.

‘Cormac…’ She moved, writhed, a stranger to the exquisite sensation she was feeling…he was feeling, watching her. It pleased him to pleasure her.

It was a new feeling.

Somewhere someone laughed, and he realised that even in this secluded cove there were people nearby. So did Lizzie, by the way her body stiffened and her eyes widened.

They stared at each other for a moment, Lizzie wide-eyed and searching, before the moment was broken, the wonderment lost.

Cormac rolled off her, his back on the hard sand, breathing heavily.

Lizzie was fumbling with her bikini strings, trying to make herself decent.

Around a tumble of rocks, two figures emerged. From a distance, Cormac saw it was Wendy and Dan.

Dammit.

‘Hey, you two!’ Wendy called out cheerfully. She glanced at their appearances, still rumpled, both of them stretched out on the sand, and blushed. ‘Did we interrupt some private time?’

‘Wendy,’ Dan admonished. He grinned. ‘They’re newly-weds, remember?’

‘Oh, of course. This could practically count as your honeymoon!’

Cormac chuckled dryly, ran his fingers through his sandy hair and smiled. ‘We’re planning a honeymoon eventually,’ he said, ‘but in the meantime, this will do.’

He glanced at Lizzie, saw her face was white and blank, and mentally cursed. The seduction he’d so carefully planned was shot to pieces. Now he had no idea how she might react.

‘How do you feel the weekend’s going, Cormac?’ Dan asked. ‘From what I can tell, Hassell has his eye mostly on you.’

‘It’s anyone’s game still,’ Cormac replied neutrally. He wanted them gone, wanted to take Lizzie back into his arms and make her believe in him again.

He wanted to repair the damage.

‘Let the best man win, right?’ Dan said with a wry smile. ‘The best architect.’

‘Exactly,’ Cormac agreed with a small smile.

Dan glanced at Lizzie, who hadn’t spoken yet. She was still sitting there, one hand fiddling with her bikini string, her eyes wide and dark.

‘You look like you’ve had a bit too much sun, Elizabeth,’ he ventured. ‘Are you two heading back? I convinced Wendy to try snorkeling—I think we’ll swim back to the beach. Everyone will be returning to the villa soon.’

Cormac paused. There was no point picking up where they’d left off—Lizzie was too shocked. Too embarrassed. He’d have to wait till tonight, in their room. More comfortable anyway, he decided as he brushed some sand from his shoulders. Then there would be no interruptions, nothing to keep them from each other.

Nothing to keep him from gaining her trust, her love, and enjoying it. Using it.

‘Yes, we’ll go back with you,’ he said.

Nodding, Dan and Wendy waded into the shallows. Cormac turned to Lizzie.

‘Come on, sweetheart,’ he said, keeping his voice gentle. ‘You do look like you’ve had too much sun.’

She gave him an odd look. ‘You think so?’ He held out his hand to help her up and she shrugged it aside. ‘I’ll stay here.’

Cormac bit back his impatience. ‘You heard Dan. Everyone’s getting ready to go back to the villa.’

She looked at him, a new coldness in her eyes. ‘I’ll walk.’

‘Lizzie…’ he warned, and she shook her head.

‘No, Cormac, don’t. Don’t control me. Not now.’ She stood up, brushed the sand from her legs. ‘I’ll see you back at the beach.’

Without waiting for his response, she headed down the stretch of empty sand, her pace resolute, her shoulders thrown back.

Cormac cursed aloud. He should follow her, he supposed, make sure she didn’t do something stupid like get lost or burst into tears.

Still, he didn’t want to create a scene. He had no idea how she would react now, what she might do because she was hurt, furious or just plain frustrated.

This could, he realised savagely, cost him the commission.

But he was still going to seduce her. Tonight.

The sun was low in the sky, casting a golden sheen on the calm surface of the sea, when Lizzie finally found her way back to the makeshift camp. She hadn’t realised how jagged the coastline was; walking had taken far longer than swimming would have.

She’d kept her mind blank, filled with the white noise around her, the soothing rush of waves on to sand, the call of seabirds, the rustling of the palm trees that fringed the beach.

It was easier to concentrate on those sounds than the memories which jangled and clamoured within her, desperate to be heard.

The memory of Cormac’s lips on hers, his hands on her…

No. Her hands went up to her face and, despite her best intentions, the memories came anyway, rushed over her in an endless tide of regret and wonder.

She couldn’t believe…

No.

Cormac. With Cormac.

She’d expected to feel desire, lust. But she’d felt tenderness, emotion, need.

And he hadn’t felt anything.

Why couldn’t it be uncomplicated? Why couldn’t she be uncomplicated?

Why couldn’t she give Cormac her body while keeping her heart?

She knew there was no feeling on his side. No matter how much she hoped or wondered. If he felt anything for her, it was casual, careless affection. Fleeting and fuelled by lust.

That was all it was.

Could it be enough? For her?

Was she willing to accept so little, simply because it was more than she’d ever had?

Lizzie shook her head. No. She wanted more, wanted what she’d told Cormac. Love. Respect. Marriage, even.

Nothing he was prepared to give her. Nothing she should want from him.

And yet…

She wanted him.

She didn’t trust him. And she didn’t trust herself.

Yet the want, the need, the hunger was still there, even as she knew that an affair with Cormac would lead only to more hunger, more need that could not be satisfied. Not by Cormac.

He wasn’t interested in loving her. He didn’t even respect her. And marriage was out of the question.

So where did that leave her? Nowhere, Lizzie realised with a grim smile, except exactly where Cormac wanted her…in the palm of his hand. Literally.

Cormac saw her as she approached the camp, and there was a look of thunderous fury on his face as he strode towards her, grabbing her by the shoulders and giving her a little shake before he kissed her hard on the mouth.

‘Where were you? We’ve all been half mad with worry, thinking you were lost or dead—’

‘I told you I would walk,’ Lizzie said stiffly, her mouth bruised from his kiss. ‘I didn’t think you’d care.’

‘I didn’t think it would take you so long,’ he retorted. ‘I had visions of you trying to swim back, being caught in the undertow.’ He sounded both accusing and anguished, and over his shoulder Lizzie saw Hilda smiling in concern, Jan looking worried.

Of course. This was part of Cormac’s charade. He’d given her her cue, and was undoubtedly waiting for her response.

‘I’m sorry, darling,’ she said, and he relaxed a bit. ‘I didn’t realise you’d worry so much.’ Or at all. ‘Forgive me?’

‘You’ll just have to make it up to me later.’ He gave her a wolfish smile and, taking her hand, led her towards the waiting vehicles.

Lizzie closed her eyes and let him lead her. For a moment she’d thought he hadn’t been acting. For a moment it had felt real.

Never. Never.

The ride back to the villa was quiet save for the chattering and whirring of birds and bugs as twilight gave way to a cloak of velvety darkness.

By the time they arrived, everyone was tired from a day in the sun, and Hilda arranged for trays to be brought privately to the rooms.

She patted Lizzie’s cheek in farewell. ‘We’ll see you at breakfast. All couples have their quarrels, no?’ Behind Hilda, Lizzie saw Jan frown at Cormac.

The afternoon had cost him, she supposed, in credibility. God knew it had cost her something, too.

Lizzie managed to smile rather weakly at Hilda. She was not looking forward to enforced quarters with Cormac all evening.

Back in the room, he said tersely, ‘Do you realise how dangerous that stunt you pulled was? Jan kept making remarks about how easily I’d managed to lose my wife, and Stears jumped in, saying maybe I’d never had her in the first place.’

Lizzie shrugged. ‘You obviously made up for it with that little display of husbandly concern. Jan and Hilda looked thrilled.’

He paused. ‘Yes, that was rather good, wasn’t it?’ He ran a hand through his hair and gestured towards the bathroom. ‘You can have the shower first.’ He paused again and Lizzie glanced at him, saw him frowning. ‘Then we should talk.’

She nodded, surprised and a bit wary, before gathering her things and heading for the blessed oblivion of a hot shower.

Standing under a jet of scalding water, she wondered what Cormac wanted to talk about. No doubt he was afraid she’d read something into the afternoon, something that obviously wasn’t there. She understood the afternoon had been about lust, and lust only. She didn’t need a lecture.

Yet the realisation hurt. It was stupid, because she’d known all along and yet it still hurt. She hurt.

What would have happened, she wondered, if Wendy and Dan hadn’t disturbed them? Would Cormac have taken her right there, on the hard sand?

Would she have let him?

Would she have been able to resist?

After her shower, she put on a simple shift dress in loose cotton. She exited the bathroom, combing her fingers through her damp hair, and Cormac didn’t say a word as he moved past her to take his own shower.

There was a light knock on the door and a member of staff from the kitchen brought in a tray of food.

‘Thank you,’ Lizzie murmured, and glanced down at the makings of a delicious meal—a chicken dish fragrant with cloves and banana, cornflour pancakes and a fresh fruit salad. For dessert there was coconut cream pie.

She decided to wait for Cormac to eat, even though she dreaded seeing him, talking to him. She could still hear the sounds of the shower and suddenly the room seemed too small, too hot and confined.

Lizzie threw open the shutters and gulped in a breath of fresh sea air, tangy with salt and heavy with the fragrance of frangipani and orchids.

The windows of their room looked directly out onto the beach and, without even thinking about what she was doing, Lizzie swung her legs over the low sill, landed in a flower bed and took the few short steps to the sand.

She felt better out there, under a cool night sky, the air as soft and heavy as velvet. She heard the rustle of palms in the breeze, the lap of the waves and the sound of laughter from another bedroom.

She sat down on the sand, cool and hard in the darkness, and drew her knees up to her chest, her chin resting on top.

She didn’t know how long she sat like that, her mind blessedly blank, but eventually she heard the creak of the shutters and then the sound of Cormac swinging himself over and walking across the sand.

‘What are you doing out here?’

‘Being by myself,’ she replied, and heard him sigh.

‘Chandler…’

‘People might be able to hear,’ she warned him in a low, terse voice.

‘Lizzie.’ Somehow her name on his tongue sounded so intimate. He sat down next to her, his arms resting on his knees. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

Lizzie turned and looked at him, surprised and wary. She couldn’t see much of him in the moonlight, no more than the gleam of his eyes and teeth.

‘What for?’

‘For what happened earlier,’ Cormac said.

She stiffened, shrugged. ‘Sorry? That’s not exactly a compliment.’

‘It wasn’t meant to be.’ He lifted his hand as if to touch her, then dropped it. ‘I took advantage of you,’ he began heavily, ‘and I shouldn’t have.’

Lizzie stared at him suspiciously. ‘This doesn’t sound like you.’

He shrugged lightly. ‘I’m not a monster…am I?’

‘Sometimes I wonder,’ she mumbled, and he stretched his legs out on the sand.

‘I can’t really blame you for thinking that, can I?’ he said with a sigh. ‘I dragged you into this. I didn’t give you much choice.’

Lizzie raised her eyebrows. ‘Don’t tell me you’re feeling sorry for that!’

He was silent for a long moment. ‘No…’ he finally said, his voice little more than a breath. ‘Not exactly.’ He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, let his fingers trail down her cheek.

Lizzie tried not to tremble. Not to lean into his hand. Not to show him how much she wanted him.

He already knew, anyway.

He dropped his hand, gave an awkward little smile. ‘Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I’ll stop.’

‘Stop?’ she repeated, and realised she sounded disappointed. ‘Stop what, exactly?’

‘Trying to get you into my bed.’ He gave a little laugh. ‘I want you, Lizzie. I want to make love to you. But I won’t. I know you want…you need more from me.’ He paused, and there was a tender uncertainty in his voice that made her mouth dry and her heart ache with both need and hurt. ‘I just don’t know if I can give it.’

She’d never expected this from him, and only now she realised how much she’d wanted it. Wanted him, his honesty and his kindness. Wanted someone looking at her, listening to her. Loving her. ‘Thank you for being truthful with me,’ she said after a long moment.

He inclined his head in silent acknowledgement. ‘Shall we eat?’

She nodded, and he stood up, reaching a hand out to help her up. This time she took it.

Her mind spun as they headed back to the room. He helped her over the window ledge, smiled briefly with a selfdeprecating humour that seemed entirely at odds with his careless arrogance.

Who was this man?

The real man?

The man underneath. She’d seen glimpses of him, flickers of something real. Something warm and vibrant. She realised now how much she wanted to believe there was more to Cormac than the ambition and the affairs. More than manipulation.

She wanted to believe in this.

She helped herself to the meal, then sat on the edge of the bed, her legs tucked under her.

Cormac sat in the chair opposite and dug in with gusto.

‘This is delicious,’ she murmured, trying to think of something to say, wanting to break the silence that had sprung between them, a silence of uncertainty, of possibility.

Cormac nodded in agreement. ‘Tell me about yourself,’ he said.

Lizzie looked up at him with an expression of patent surprise. ‘Do you really want to know?’ she asked, and he gave a little laugh.

‘Actually, yes. I’ve worked with you for two years. I should know a little about you.’

Lizzie raised her eyebrows, still sceptical. Still afraid. Yet hoping…

Hoping so much.

‘I thought it was your policy not to know,’ she said, and shrugged. ‘Besides, there isn’t much to tell. You’ve already gathered the facts from my CV. My life has consisted of working for you and taking care of my sister. End of story.’

‘What about your parents?’

‘They died in a car accident ten years ago.’

‘When you were eighteen,’ Cormac clarified, and she nodded.

‘Yes…Dani was eight. She was an unexpected addition to our family.’

Cormac took another bite of chicken, chewed thoughtfully. ‘So what did you do when that happened?’

He actually sounded interested, Lizzie thought with disbelief. Caring. As if he wanted to know her as a person, and not just a willing body. ‘I got my secretarial qualifications,’ she said. ‘Then I went to work for an architectural firm, Simon and Lester. Then I started working for you.’

‘Was there no money when your parents died?’ he asked. ‘A life-insurance policy of some sort?’

‘A small one,’ Lizzie replied. ‘Enough to take my course, and pay off the mortgage on the house. Then I needed to work.’

‘It must have been very hard,’ he said quietly. ‘Going it alone.’

Lizzie stopped, her fork halfway to her mouth, her eyes suddenly, stupidly filled with tears. Why was he so understanding now? Why was he saying all the right things, when she wanted to keep her distance, keep herself safe…now?

Why?

Could she trust it?

‘Yes,’ she said, her voice little more than a whisper. ‘It was.’

‘Had you been planning to go to university?’ Cormac asked. ‘Eighteen…You must have given up your place if you were.’

‘Yes,’ Lizzie said, her throat raw and aching, ‘I did.’ How had he guessed? How did he know?

Cormac gazed at her for a moment, and there was an understanding in his eyes that Lizzie had never seen before. ‘What were you going to study?’

‘Graphic design.’

He nodded slowly, and they didn’t speak for a few minutes. Lizzie concentrated on her food. Cormac’s gently probing questions had brought back the old sorrow, regret for lost dreams. Yet she’d done the right thing. There had never been any question of that.

‘I suppose there were no relatives to help out?’ Cormac surmised. ‘Or to take Dani?’

‘No one was going to take Dani from me,’ Lizzie said sharply. ‘And anyway there wasn’t anyone. My parents were elderly; they had Dani and me late in life. Our only relative is a rather dotty aunt we see on occasion.’

‘So it was just you,’ Cormac concluded quietly, and his tone made Lizzie want to fidget. He sounded as if he understood something about herself that she could only guess at.

‘Me and Dani,’ she corrected, and he nodded.

‘Except now Dani’s at university and it really is just you.’

She blinked, and then blinked again, horrified to find herself near tears. She opened her mouth to say something bright and brisk about new opportunities and second chances, but nothing came out.

Nothing at all.

‘You’ve done very well,’ Cormac said gently, ‘haven’t you? Even if no one has ever told you so.’

Lizzie tried to smile. She tried, but she didn’t quite make it. She stared down at her half-finished plate instead. Don’t, she thought. Don’t act as if you understand me, as if you like me, if you don’t mean it.

Don’t.

Don’t stop.

She’d never had someone who understood, someone who sympathised. She’d never had someone get close. And now Cormac was here, saying all the right things, doing the right things…but was he feeling the right things?

Did it even matter?

‘Why don’t you sell the house?’ Cormac suggested in a brisker tone. ‘Perhaps you held on to it when Dani was around, for stability, but now…you’re an attractive woman. A young, attractive woman. There’s a whole life in front of you.’

‘It doesn’t always feel that way.’ She got up from the bed and dumped her plate back on the tray. She couldn’t bear it if he felt sorry for her. She couldn’t stand pity, not when she wanted something deeper.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’

‘You just spoke the truth,’ she said when she trusted herself to speak. She turned around, looked at him. He was sitting in the chair, his plate on his knees, a look of quiet, thoughtful compassion on his face that was just about her undoing.

‘Cormac…’ she began, and he waited. She licked her lips, tried again. ‘Cormac…’

‘Yes?’ His voice was tender, filled with unspoken promise. Lizzie looked at him, the set of his shoulders, the way his mouth quirked in a smile, his steady gaze.

Who was this man? And what she did want from him?

She wanted something more, and yet something less. She wanted to feel, and not to think. To be touched if not loved. To just be…with him.

She wanted out. She wanted in. She laughed shakily, spread her hands out in plaintive appeal. ‘You’ve said you’d stop, and I don’t want you to.’

There. It was said. She stood there, quivering, waiting. Wondering. Wanting.

He cocked his head, eyed her thoughtfully. ‘You don’t want an affair.’

‘Maybe I do.’ And more than that, but it was a start. A start of something. Wasn’t it?

‘You’d get hurt.’ He paused, and then said quietly, like a confession, ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

Lizzie’s heart squeezed, expanded. ‘You won’t.’

He pushed his plate aside, shook his head. ‘Lizzie…’ She didn’t know whether it was a plea to stop or begin, and suddenly she didn’t care.

‘Don’t. Don’t tell me no when all weekend you’ve been wanting yes. Don’t change your mind.’ Her voice broke, and she sucked in a desperate breath. ‘You’ve said you want me. I want you. I want to feel…’ She shook her head, not willing to admit the truth.

She wanted to feel loved. Loved.

Cormac leaned forward. ‘I just don’t want there to be any regrets,’ he said.

‘There won’t be.’

‘I don’t…’ He raked a hand through his hair. ‘Lizzie, I don’t know how much I can offer you…the things you’ve said you want.’

‘Love?’ she asked in a wavering voice, and he lowered his head.

‘I just don’t know.’ He lifted his gaze, gave her the ghost of a smile. ‘We could just see what happens.’

Hope buoyed her lighter than air. ‘We could,’ she agreed.

She took a step towards him and stopped. That was as far as she could go. She needed him, wanted him to take control. To show her what to do.

‘I’m rather new at this,’ she said when the silence had stretched on too long, and Cormac gazed at her with dark, fathomless eyes.

‘I’ll show you,’ he said, and moved towards her.

They stood facing each other, inches apart, quivering with awareness. Hesitantly Lizzie smoothed her hands over his chest. She felt the bump of his heartbeat against her palm.

‘You see what you do to me,’ he murmured, and a little laugh of surprise escaped her. His hand caught in her hair.

‘Lizzie…’

‘Show me.’

In one fluid movement he pulled her dress over her head; she stood there, naked, her skin washed in the soft glow of the lamp. Cormac’s eyes roamed over her body slowly, taking in the small, neat breasts, the dark blond curls between her thighs, the fact that she was trembling.

Lizzie could feel herself shake; she was afraid. Even now. Especially now.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he said softly. He shrugged off his shirt and trousers; in a moment he was naked. Lizzie’s eyes widened at the sight of him—bare, bold, beautiful.

Hers. For now.

Easily, effortlessly, he scooped her into his arms, brought her to the bed and laid her down gently.

‘You’re sure this is what you want?’ he asked, and she nodded.

Yes.

He stretched beside her, his hands skimming her skin, teasing, toying, but she wanted more. More. She wanted deep, tight, hot, close.

More.

‘Cormac…’

‘We have time, Chandler,’ he said with a little smile. ‘Lots of time.’

His hand drifted lower, to the apex of her thighs. He cupped her breasts in his hands, kissed her navel. Moved lower. She shuddered.

He was wicked with his tongue—wicked and wonderful. She gasped as he touched her, tasted her where no one had ever been before, the very centre of her, melting with sensation…

She’d never felt so much before—piercing, painful, too much to bear. Too wonderful.

And yet…

‘Cormac…’

‘Yes.’ She felt him smile against her middle.

‘Look at me.’

He paused, and then Cormac kissed her again, deeper, his tongue so knowing, so clever…

She arched instinctively, her hands threaded through his hair. ‘Cormac,’ she gasped, ‘I want to see you. I want to see your eyes.’

He stilled for only a second. Then, as if he hadn’t heard her, he began his delicious onslaught again. She couldn’t keep the waves of pleasure from racking her, a sweet torment she didn’t want to stop.

But she wanted to see his eyes. She didn’t know why, only felt. Felt it with an instinct, a deeper need than even what her body craved.

She pulled on his shoulders and, with a little laugh, he kissed his way upwards, his head bent, his face averted.

‘Cormac…’

‘Just let yourself enjoy it, Lizzie,’ he murmured, his hand drifting down once more, gently stroking her. ‘Let yourself go.’

Her body was desperate for release, but her mind resisted. So did her heart.

And still, she felt herself reaching the edge, teetering on it, her body opening, her breath hitching, her fingers clenching, everything straining towards that point…

‘Cormac,’ she gasped, ‘Please…’

Then a phone rang.

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