“If I lived somewhere like this I would never want to leave,” she breathed wonderingly.

“If you lived here, neither would I,” Brice answered huskily from just behind her. Far too close behind her, Sabina discovered as she swung around, finding herself almost pressed against his chest, becoming very still, her breathing shallow.

It was as if time was standing still as they looked at each other in the twilight, Brice’s face vividly clear to her, his eyes a sparkling emerald-green, the intimacy of his words lying heavily between them.

She should stop this, break the spell—except that was exactly what it felt like, as if she were bewitched, by both Brice and her surroundings….

She didn’t move, couldn’t move, clasping her hands together in front of her to stop them shaking. What was happening to her?

Three cousins of Scottish descent…they’re male, millionaires and marriageable!

Meet Logan, Fergus and Brice, three tall, dark, handsome men about town. They’ve made their millions in London, England, but their hearts belong to the heather-clad hills of their grandfather McDonald’s Scottish estate. Logan, Fergus and Brice are all very intriguing characters. Logan likes his life exactly as it is, and is determined not to change—even for a woman—until scatty, emotional Darcy turns his neatly ordered world upside down! Fergus is clever, witty, laid-back and determined to view things in his own particular way…until the adorably petite Chloe begs him to change his mind—she’s willing to pay any price to get him to agree! Finally, there’s Brice. Tough, resolute and determined, he’s accountable to no one…until blue-eyed beauty Sabina makes him think again!

Logan, Fergus and Brice are about to give up their keenly-fought-for bachelor status for three wonderful women—laugh, cry and read all about their trials and tribulations in their pursuit of love.

To Marry MCAllister
Carole Mortimer

MILLS & BOON

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

‘MCALLISTER, isn’t it?’

Brice tensed resentfully at this intrusion into his solitude. If one could be solitary in the midst of a party to celebrate a political victory!

Ordinary he wouldn’t have been at this party, but the youngest daughter of the newest Member of Parliament had married his cousin, Fergus, six months ago, and so all the family had been invited to Paul Hamilton’s house today to join in the celebrations at his re-election. It would have seemed churlish for Brice to have refused.

But he didn’t particularly care for being addressed by just his surname—it reminded him all too forcefully of his schooldays. Although it was the man’s tone of voice that irritated him the most: arrogance bordering on condescension!

He turned slowly, finding himself face to face with a man he knew he had never met before. Tall, blond hair silvered at the temples, probably aged in his mid-fifties, the hard handsomeness of the man’s face was totally in keeping with that arrogance Brice had already guessed at.

‘Brice McAllister, yes,’ he corrected the other man coolly.

‘Richard Latham.’ The other man thrust out his hand in greeting.

Richard Latham… Somehow Brice knew he recognised the name, if not the man…

He shook the other man’s hand briefly, deliberately not continuing the conversation. Never the most sociable of men, Brice considered he had done his bit today towards family relations, was only waiting for a lull in the proceedings so that he could take his leave.

‘You have absolutely no idea who I am, do you?’ The other man sounded amused at the idea rather than irritated.

Brice may not know who the other man was, but he did know what he was—the persistent type!

Latham, he had said his name was. The same surname as Paul Hamilton’s other son-in-law, his own cousin Fergus’s brother-in-law, which meant he was probably some sort of relative of the Hamilton family. But somehow Brice had a feeling that wasn’t what the other man meant.

He held back his sigh of impatience. It was almost seven o’clock now; he had been looking forward to being able to excuse himself shortly, on the pretext of having another appointment this evening. But now he would have to extricate himself from this unwanted conversation first.

‘I’m afraid not,’ he returned without apology; being accosted at a social gathering by a complete stranger wasn’t altogether unknown to him, but it certainly wasn’t something he enjoyed.

Although, he accepted, being an artist of some repute, that he had to show a certain social face. This man, with his unmistakable arrogance, just seemed to have set his teeth on edge from the start.

Richard Latham raised blond brows at the bluntness of the admission. ‘My secretary has contacted you twice during the last month, concerning a portrait of my fiancée I would like to commission from you.’

He was that Richard Latham! Multimillionaire, jet-setting businessman, the other man’s business interests ranging worldwide, his personal relationships with some of the world’s most beautiful women making newspaper headlines almost as much as his successful business ventures. Although Brice had no idea who the ‘fiancée’ he had just mentioned could be.

He shook his head. ‘As I explained in my letter, in reply to your secretary’s first enquiry, I’m afraid I don’t do portraits,’ he drawled politely. And he hadn’t felt the least inclination to explain that all over again in reply to the second letter he had received from this man’s secretary only a week later.

‘Not true,’ Richard Latham came back abruptly, blue eyes narrowed assessingly on Brice’s deliberately impassive expression. ‘I’ve seen the rather magnificent one you did of Darcy McKenzie.’

Brice smiled slightly. ‘Darcy happens to be my cousin-in-law. She is married to my cousin Logan.’

‘And?’ Richard Latham rasped frowningly.

Brice shrugged. ‘It was a one-off. A wedding gift.’

The other man gave an arrogant inclination of his head. ‘This is a gift too—to myself.’

And he was obviously a man, Brice acknowledged ruefully, who wasn’t used to hearing the word no—from anyone!

Well, Brice couldn’t help that, he simply did not paint portraits, had no inclination to paint a flattering likeness of the rich and the pampered, just so that they could hang it on one of the walls of their elegant homes and claim it was a ‘McAllister’.

‘I really am sorry—’ he began—only to come to an abrupt halt as the room suddenly fell silent, all attention on the woman who now stood in the doorway.

Sabina.

Brice had seen photographs the last few years of the world’s most famous model—he would have to have been blind not to have done. Hardly a day passed when she wasn’t photographed appearing in some fashion show or other, at a party, or public event. But none of those photographs had prepared Brice for the sheer perfection of her beauty, the creaminess of her skin against the short, shimmering silver dress she wore, her legs extremely long and shapely, her eyes a luminous blue, long hair the colour of ripe wheat reaching almost to her slender waist.

She wore absolutely no jewellery, but then she didn’t need to; it would merely be gilding the lily.

His attention returned to her eyes. Luminous, yes, with a black ring encircling the sky-blue of the iris. But there was something else there he picked up on as she looked about the room. A certain apprehension. Almost fear…?

Then a shutter came down over those amazing blue eyes, the emotion masked almost as quickly as Brice’s trained eye had recognised it, her smile confident now as she looked across the room in his direction.

‘Excuse me while I greet my fiancée,’ Richard Latham murmured mockingly before leaving Brice’s side to stride forcefully across the room to kiss Sabina warmly on the cheek, his arm moving possessively about her slender shoulders even as she smiled at him.

Brice realised as he watched the two of them that he had been wrong about the jewellery; on the third finger of Sabina’s left hand gleamed a huge heart-shaped diamond.

Sabina was the fiancée Richard Latham had referred to? The fiancée he wanted Brice to paint a portrait of…?

The one woman in the world, now that he had seen her in the flesh, that Brice knew he simply had to paint!

Oh, not because of her beauty, spectacular though it might be. No, it was that quickly masked emotion that intrigued Brice, that momentary glimpse of fear and vulnerability, that made Sabina more than just a beautiful woman.

It was an emotion he wanted to explore, if only on canvas…

‘Sorry I’m a little late.’ Sabina smiled warmly at Richard. ‘I’m afraid Andrew was being extremely difficult over fittings today.’ She grimaced as she lightly dismissed one of the top fashion designers of the day. Andrew might be at the top, but he had a volatile temper to go with it, which made him hell to work for.

‘You’re here now, that’s all that matters,’ Richard assured her lightly as he turned back into the room.

Sabina’s tension left her. How nice it was to have someone in her life who was never difficult over the demands of her career. In fact, it was the opposite where Richard was concerned; her famous face as she stood at his side was all that he wanted from her.

And, thankfully, the conversation seemed to have resumed in the room again now. Even after seven years as a top model, Sabina didn’t think she would ever get used to the way people stopped to stare at her wherever she went, had had to build up a veneer over the years to cover up the dismay she often felt at the effect her looks had on people.

The only place she seemed to get away from being recognised was when she went to one of her favourite hamburger restaurants. No one ever believed, with her willowy slenderness, that it could possibly be the model Sabina, dressed in denims and casual top, her hair hidden under a baseball cap, sitting there eating a hamburger with French fries! But, sceptical as some reporters were, claiming she lived on lettuce leaves and water to maintain her slender figure, she was actually one of those lucky people who could eat anything and never put on weight.

Although, she acknowledged a little sadly, she hadn’t dared to make one of those impromptu visits to eat one of her favourite foods for some time now. Six months, in fact…

‘I have someone I want you to meet, Sabina,’ Richard told her smoothly now. ‘And someone I want to meet you,’ he added with a certain amount of satisfaction.

Sabina looked at him enquiringly, but could read nothing from his expression as he guided her across the room to meet the man she had seen him talking to when she’d arrived.

The other man was tall, even taller than Richard’s six feet two inches, probably aged in his mid-thirties, dressed casually in blue denims teamed with a white tee shirt and black jacket, with over-long dark hair, and a face of austere handsomeness. But it was the green eyes in that face that caught and held Sabina’s attention, eyes of such perception they seemed to see right into the soul.

Sabina felt the return of her earlier apprehension run down the length of her spine; she didn’t want anyone, least of all this austere stranger, looking into her soul!

‘Brice, I would like you to meet my fiancée, Sabina. Sabina, this is Brice McAllister,’ Richard introduced lightly.

But again, unless Sabina was mistaken, Richard’s voice contained that element of satisfaction as he made the introductions.

She knew Richard was proud of the way she looked, but at this moment he seemed more so than usual.

She looked curiously at the other man. Brice McAllister. Should she know—? The artist! Brice McAllister, she knew, was one of the most sought-after artists in the world today. But that still didn’t explain Richard’s attitude towards the other man…

‘Mr McAllister,’ she greeted coolly.

‘Sabina.’ He nodded abruptly. ‘Do you have a surname?’ he added mockingly.

‘Smith,’ she supplied dryly. ‘But not many people know that. My mother’s more exotic choice of a first name was an effort to make up for the lack of imagination in my surname.’ And she, Sabina realised with a frown, was talking merely for the sake of it. And to a man who instinctively made her uneasy.

But she couldn’t seem to help it when those deep green eyes were looking at her so intently…

‘You’re Sabina. It’s enough,’ Richard put in with a certain amount of arrogance.

Did Richard sense it too, that deep intensity coming from that unblinking, emerald-green gaze?

Sabina felt that shiver once again down the length of her spine, moving slightly closer to Richard as she did so.

‘I promise not to tell a soul,’ Brice McAllister drawled playfully in answer to her earlier remark.

Although somehow it didn’t sound playful coming from this man. Neither was the mention of the ‘soul’ to Sabina—when she was sure this man could see straight into hers!

What would he see? she wondered. Warmth and kindness, she hoped. Humour and laughter, too. Loyalty and honour. Apprehension and fear—

No! She was careful to keep those emotions under lock and key. Although that wasn’t so easy to achieve when she was alone. Which was why she very rarely allowed herself to be alone with her thoughts any more…

‘Your fiancée and I were just discussing the possibility of my painting your portrait,’ Brice McAllister bit out evenly.

Sabina gave a perplexed frown as she turned to look at Richard. He hadn’t mentioned anything about having her portrait painted. And she already knew, from the little time she had spent in Brice McAllister’s brooding company, that he was the last man she wanted to spend time with!

‘I’m afraid Brice has just ruined my surprise.’ Richard laughed dismissively, giving her shoulders a warm squeeze before turning to look challengingly at the younger man. ‘You’ve decided you would like to paint Sabina’s portrait after all?’ he drawled mockingly.

Sabina looked at Brice McAllister, too, gathering from Richard’s comment that the question of painting her portrait hadn’t been as cut and dried as the artist had just implied it was…

If not, why had he changed his mind?

If he had…

Brice McAllister shrugged unconcernedly. ‘It’s a possibility,’ he replied noncommittally. ‘I would need to do a few preliminary sketches before making any definite decision.’ He grimaced. ‘But I should warn you now, I don’t do chocolate-box likenesses of people.’

The implication being that she had a chocolate-box beauty! Not exactly the most charming man she had ever met, Sabina acknowledged ruefully, although he was at least honest.

But maybe that was what he meant about not doing ‘chocolate-box’ likenesses of people, Sabina realised with a faint stirring of unease; he liked to capture what was inside the person as well as a physical likeness. Maybe her instinct had been right after all and he really could see into her soul…?

‘A “warts and all” man,’ Richard realised dryly. ‘Well, as you can clearly see, Sabina doesn’t have a single blemish.’ He looked at her proudly.

Sabina looked at Brice McAllister, only to look quickly away again as she saw the open derision in his expression at Richard’s obviously possessive praise. But the intensity of the artist’s attention on her didn’t seem to allow him to see Richard’s possession for exactly what it was: simply pride in ownership of an object of beauty.

‘I think you could be slightly biased, Richard,’ she told him huskily. ‘And I’m sure we must have taken up enough of Mr McAllister’s time for one evening…’ she added pointedly, wanting to get away from the intensity of that probing green gaze.

She didn’t like Brice McAllister, she decided. Something about the way he looked at her made her feel uncomfortable. And the sooner she and Richard distanced themselves from him, the better she would like it.

‘If I could just have your address and telephone number…’ Brice McAllister drawled questioningly. ‘Perhaps I can ring you, and we can sort out a time convenient to both of us for those sketches?’

Sabina swallowed hard, very reluctant for Brice McAllister to know any more about her than he already did.

‘That’s easy, they’re the same as mine,’ Richard informed Brice mockingly even as he took one of his personal cards from his wallet and handed it to the other man. ‘If neither Sabina nor I are at home when you call, my housekeeper can always take a message,’ he added lightly.

Sabina could feel the increased intensity of that dark green gaze now as Brice McAllister digested the knowledge of her living at Richard’s Mayfair home with him. His mouth had thinned disapprovingly, those green eyes cool as his gaze raked over her assessingly.

Sabina challengingly withstood the derision now obvious in Brice McAllister’s expression as he looked at her, although she had no control over the heated colour that had entered her cheeks.

Damn him, who did he think he was to stand there and make judgements about her behaviour? She was twenty-five years old, for goodness’ sake, quite old enough to make her own choices and decisions. Without being answerable to anyone but herself. And she was quite happy with her living arrangements, thank you!

If a little defensive…?

Maybe. But Brice McAllister didn’t know of the understanding she and Richard had come to when they’d become engaged several months ago, could have no idea that engagement was only a front, that their engagement was based on liking, not love. A protective shield for her from the fear she had lived with the last six months, in exchange for that object of beauty—herself!—that Richard wanted so badly in his life. And, strangely enough, she had realised over the last few months, that was all he wanted from her…

No doubt to a third person their arrangement would seem odd in the extreme, but it suited them. And it was certainly none of this man’s business!

‘I’ll call you,’ Brice McAllister drawled derisively, putting Richard’s card in the breast pocket of his jacket before giving a dismissive nod of his head. Leaving them, he strolled over to join a couple sitting in the corner of the room cooing over a very young baby.

‘Brice’s cousin, Logan McKenzie, and his lovely wife Darcy,’ Richard murmured softly at her side.

Sabina didn’t care who the other couple were, or what relationship they had to the arrogant Brice McAllister; she was just glad to have him gone. She could breathe easily again now!

In truth, she hadn’t even realised she had been holding her breath until he’d left them, and then she had been forced to take in a huge gulp of air—or expire!

One thing she did know—she had no intention of being at home if Brice McAllister should choose to telephone her.

And, in the meantime, she intended doing everything she could to persuade Richard into changing his mind about wanting Brice McAllister to paint her…

CHAPTER TWO

‘BUT I’m afraid Miss Sabina isn’t at home,’ Richard Latham’s housekeeper informed him for what had to be the half-dozenth time in a week.

Actually, Brice knew exactly how many times he had telephoned and been informed ‘Miss Sabina isn’t at home’. It was the fifth time, and his temper was verging on breaking-point. Mainly, he knew, because he was sure he was being given the run-around by the beautiful Sabina.

He had known by the expression on her face at Paul Hamilton’s house the previous week, when told that Richard wanted Brice to paint her portrait, that Sabina didn’t share that desire.

Which, if he were honest, only made Brice all the more determined to do it.

‘Thanks for your help,’ Brice answered the housekeeper distractedly, wondering where he went from here. Telephoning to make an appointment to sketch Sabina obviously wasn’t working!

‘I’ll tell Miss Sabina you rang,’ the woman informed him before ringing off.

A lot of good that would do him, Brice acknowledged impatiently as he replaced his own receiver. She had probably been informed of those other four calls he had made too—and, despite the fact that he had left his own telephone number, Sabina hadn’t returned any of them.

‘I would stay away from my Uncle Richard, if I were you,’ David Latham had informed him ruefully at the party last week once the other man and Sabina had left. ‘He’s a collector of priceless items—and he considers Sabina part of that collection. He also brings a whole new meaning to the phrase “black-sheep of the family”,’ David had added with a grimace.

Richard Latham wasn’t the one Brice was interested in. Although, as he was quickly learning, there seemed to be no other avenue to reach the beautiful Sabina…

For such an obviously public figure, she was actually quite reclusive, was never seen anywhere without the attentive Richard, or one of his employees, at her side.

Brice knew, because he had even attended a charity fashion show the previous weekend with his cousin Fergus, and his designer wife, Chloe, at which he’d known Sabina had been making an appearance. Only to have come up against the brick wall of what had appeared to be a bodyguard when he’d tried to go backstage after the show to talk to Sabina.

She hadn’t joined the champagne reception after the show either, and discreet enquiries had told Brice that Sabina had been whisked away in a private car immediately after her turn on the catwalk had been over.

Sabina brought a whole new meaning to the word elusive—and, quite frankly, Brice had had enough.

He was also pretty sure that Richard Latham would have no idea Sabina had been avoiding his calls; the other man had been so determined to have Brice paint Sabina.

It wasn’t too far to drive to Richard Latham’s Mayfair home, the single car in the driveway, a sporty Mercedes, telling him that someone was at home. At this particular moment it didn’t matter whether it was Richard Latham or Sabina—he intended getting that promised appointment from one of them!

He didn’t know why, but he had been slightly surprised the previous week when Richard Latham had informed him that he and Sabina shared a home—and presumably a bed? There was something untouchable about Sabina, an aloofness that held her apart from everyone around her. Obviously that didn’t include Richard Latham!

‘Yes?’

Brice had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t been aware of the door being opened to his ring on the bell, the elderly woman now looking up at him enquiringly obviously the housekeeper he had spoken to on the telephone over the last week.

‘I would like to see Sabina,’ Brice stated determinedly.

The woman raised dark brows. ‘Do you have an appointment?’

If he did, then he would have no reason to be here!

Brice bit back his anger with effort. After all, it wasn’t this woman he was angry with. ‘Could you just tell Sabina that Mr McAllister would like to see her?’ he rasped curtly.

‘McAllister?’ the woman repeated with a frown, giving a backward glance into the hallway behind her. ‘But aren’t you—?’

‘The man who has telephoned half a dozen times this last week to speak to Sabina? Yes, I am,’ Brice confirmed impatiently. ‘Now could you please tell Sabina that I’m here?’ He knew he wasn’t being very polite, that it wasn’t this woman’s fault Sabina was giving him the brush-off, but at the moment he was just in too foul a mood to be fobbed off any longer.

Because he was utterly convinced, after that slightly furtive glance back into the house by the housekeeper, that the sporty Mercedes in the driveway belonged to Sabina, that she had been at home earlier when he’d telephoned, as she was at home now. She was just choosing not to take his calls.

‘But—’

‘It’s all right, Mrs Clark,’ Sabina assured smoothly as the door opened wider and she suddenly appeared beside the housekeeper in the doorway. ‘Would you like to come through to the sitting-room, Mr McAllister?’ she invited coolly.

He nodded abruptly, afraid to speak for the moment—he might just say something he would later regret. Strange, he had never thought he had much of a temper, but this last week of having Sabina avoid him had certainly tried his patience.

She looked different again today, was wearing faded denims and a white cropped tee shirt, her long hair secured in a single braid down her spine, her face appearing bare of make-up. Brice had no idea how old she was, but at the moment she looked about eighteen!

‘You’ll have to excuse me, I’m afraid.’ She indicated her casual appearance with a grimace as she turned to face him once the two of them were alone in the sitting-room. ‘I’ve just got back from the gym.’

Brice raised dark, sceptical brows. ‘Just?’

She met his gaze unflinchingly. ‘Can I offer you some tea?’

‘No, thanks,’ he refused dryly. ‘I’ve telephoned you several times this last week,’ he added hardly.

Her gaze shifted slightly, no longer quite meeting his. ‘Have you?’ she returned uninterestedly.

Damn it, this really shouldn’t be this difficult. Richard Latham was the one who had come to him with this commission—Brice hadn’t even wanted to do it.

Until he’d seen Sabina…

‘You know damn well I have,’ he snapped impatiently.

She shrugged. ‘I’ve been so busy this week. A trip to Paris. Several shows here. A photographic session with—’

‘I’m not interested in what you’ve been doing, Sabina—only in why you’ve been avoiding my calls,’ he rasped harshly.

‘I’ve just told you—’

‘Nothing,’ he bit out tersely. ‘Even if you haven’t been here—’ of which he was highly sceptical ‘—I’m sure the efficient Mrs Clark has informed you of each and every one of my telephone calls.’

‘Perhaps,’ Sabina conceded noncommittally. ‘Are you sure I can’t offer you any tea?’

‘I’m absolutely positive,’ he bit out between clenched teeth. A neat whisky would go down very well at the moment, but as it was only four o’clock in the afternoon he would give that a miss too for the moment. But the coolness of this woman was enough to drive any man to drink! ‘Now, about that appointment—’

‘Please, do sit down,’ she invited lightly.

‘Thanks—I would rather stand,’ he grated harshly, this woman’s aloofness doing nothing to alleviate his temper.

Sabina shrugged off his refusal before sitting down in one of the armchairs. ‘Strange, but I was under the impression you were an artist of some repute?’ she murmured dryly.

Brice eyed her guardedly. ‘I am.’

‘Really?’ she mused derisively. ‘And do you usually go chasing after commissions in this way?’

She was meaning to be insulting—and she was succeeding, Brice feeling the tide of anger that swept over him.

But at the same time he questioned why she was trying to antagonise him into refusing to paint her portrait before walking out of here. Because he knew that was exactly what she was trying to do.

He drew in a deeply controlling breath. ‘Perhaps I will have that cup of tea, after all,’ he drawled, before making himself comfortable in the armchair opposite hers.

But his gaze didn’t leave the cool beauty of her face, meaning he missed none of the dismay at his words that she wasn’t quick enough to mask. And Brice knew, despite having invited him to have tea in the first place, that Sabina actually wanted him out of here as quickly as possible.

Because Richard Latham might return at any moment and put paid to any effort on her part to elude having Brice paint her portrait…?

‘I’m not in any hurry.’ He made himself more comfortable in the armchair.

‘Fine,’ Sabina bit out in clipped tones, standing up gracefully. ‘I’ll just go and speak to Mrs Clark.’

And also take time to compose herself, Brice easily guessed. He knew he wasn’t mistaken now, was absolutely sure that Sabina had no intention of letting him paint her portrait.

Why? What was it about him that she didn’t like? Although Brice was sure it wasn’t actually dislike he had seen in her eyes in that brief unguarded moment. It had been something approaching the fear he had sensed when he’d first seen her a week ago…

Sabina didn’t go straight to the kitchen, running up the stairs to her bedroom first to splash cold water on her heated cheeks.

It had never occurred to her, when she’d refused to take any of Brice’s telephone calls this last week, that he would actually come here!

But now she realised that perhaps it should have done; there was a ruthless determination about Brice McAllister that clearly stated he did not like to be thwarted. And never being available for his calls would definitely fall into that category in his eyes. Sabina now realised her mistake, knew that she should have taken one of his calls, if only to put him off coming here in person.

Well, it was too late now. Richard should be back within the hour, which meant she would have to hurry Brice McAllister through his tea, put up all sorts of obstacles to any immediate appointment to go to his studio, and then continue to cancel them thereafter.

Because she was even more convinced by this second meeting with him that she did not want Brice McAllister to paint her. She knew that he was every bit as good an artist as he had been proclaimed, and she also knew the reason that he was so good; Brice McAllister was exactly what she had thought him to be last week. He was a soul-searcher.

Those green eyes saw beyond the layers of social façade, past the protective barriers, straight into the soul, and deep into the real emotions that made a person exactly what they were, and what had made them that way. What had changed her from being happily sociable into a woman who now put up a protective barrier she was determined no one would penetrate?

‘Tea will be through in a moment,’ she announced lightly a few minutes later when she rejoined him in the sitting-room. ‘Richard tells me that you have painted a rather magnificent portrait of your cousin’s wife, Darcy McKenzie?’ she prompted politely as she sat down.

He nodded abruptly. ‘So I’ve been told.’

Sabina gave a bright, meaningless smile. ‘I think he’s hoping you will do as magnificent a one of me.’

Brice McAllister looked across at her with narrowed eyes. ‘And what do you hope, Sabina?’ he drawled.

He didn’t really need to ask her that. Sabina was sure he already knew exactly what she hoped—that he wouldn’t paint her at all, that he would just go away, and leave her with her barrier intact…

‘The same thing, of course,’ she returned smoothly, meeting that continuous probing gaze with a completely blank one of her own.

‘Of course,’ Brice finally echoed dryly. ‘I—’

‘Ah, tea.’ Sabina turned to smile at Mrs Clark as she came into the room, the tray she carried, as Sabina had instructed the housekeeper a few minutes ago, containing just the tea; she did not intend offering Brice McAllister cake as well and delaying his departure by even a few minutes!

‘No sugar for me, thanks,’ Brice McAllister murmured as the housekeeper left the room and Sabina sat forward to pour milk and tea into the cups.

‘Sweet enough already’ didn’t quite apply to this man, Sabina acknowledged wryly. Tough, determined, slightly arrogant, very insightful, but Brice McAllister was definitely not ‘sweet’!

‘You seem quite at home here,’ he drawled mockingly.

Despite being caught slightly off guard by the abruptness of the statement, Sabina managed to continue to calmly pour her own tea into the cup. ‘Why shouldn’t I? It is my home,’ she returned coolly, once again sensing that disapproval of the fact that she lived here with Richard.

Which was slightly old-fashioned coming from a man who was probably only aged in his mid-thirties. Or perhaps it was the age difference between herself and Richard that Brice McAllister disapproved of…?

‘So when are you free to sit for some sketches for me?’ he prompted suddenly.

She shook her head regretfully as she sat back to drink her tea. ‘I have a very busy schedule for the next few months—’

‘I’m sure you must have an hour free somewhere,’ he challenged, his mouth twisted derisively.

An hour, yes, possibly even the odd day here and there. But she didn’t wish to give any of that time to Brice McAllister.

‘Possibly,’ she dismissed. ‘But even I deserve some time off for rest and relaxation.’

‘Sitting in a chair while I sketch you is not exactly going to tire you,’ he returned dryly.

No—but trying to keep that blank wall in her eyes for an hour or so, shutting his probing gaze out of her inner self, definitely would!

She shrugged. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have my diary available at the moment, but as soon as I do I’ll check it over and give you a call,’ she added dismissively, having noted that his teacup was now empty.

He raised dark brows, making no effort to stand up in preparation of leaving. ‘Tomorrow is Saturday—surely you aren’t busy all over the weekend too?’

Sabina held in her frustrated anger with effort. This man wasn’t just determined, he was dogged!

He was also, she was slowly coming to realise, all the more intent on doing those sketches because he sensed her own reluctance not to have him do them.

She shook her head with feigned regret. ‘I’m afraid Richard and I are away this weekend,’ she was able to tell him with complete honesty. And some satisfaction, she admitted inwardly.

At least, she was allowed to feel that way for a few very brief moments—because she then became aware of the sound of Richard’s car outside in the driveway!

Usually she was more than pleased to see him, feeling safer when he was around, but today her heart sank at the realisation that he was home. Because Richard, she knew, despite gentle hints from her this last week that she really didn’t want her portrait painted, was very determined that it would be done. And he was equally determined that the artist of that portrait would be Brice McAllister.

‘Pity,’ Brice drawled, obviously not in the least convinced by her excuse.

He also wasn’t yet aware that Richard had arrived home, and Sabina schooled her features into one of cool politeness so that Brice McAllister shouldn’t see how dismayed she felt at having the two men meet again. Something she had desperately been trying to avoid!

Brice sighed. ‘I wonder—’

‘Sabina? Are you—?’ Richard had come straight into the sitting-room on entering the house, coming to an abrupt halt as he saw Sabina wasn’t alone, his gaze narrowing as he took in Brice McAllister’s presence in the room, the used cups on the low table clearly stating that he had been here for some time.

‘Richard!’ Sabina stood up immediately to cross the room to her fiancé’s side, linking her arm warmly with his as she smiled at him. ‘Mr McAllister called round for tea,’ she dismissed with a lightness she was far from feeling.

Brice hadn’t exactly ‘called around for tea’, that had been merely incidental; he had really come here in order to corner her into making a definite appointment for those sketches!

Sabina looked across at him now, wondering exactly what he was going to say to Richard about his reason for being here.

Would he tell Richard of his five unacknowledged telephone calls this past week? Yes, she did know exactly how many times he had telephoned, had instructed the loyal Mrs Clark to repeatedly tell him she wasn’t at home!

Would he now tell Richard of her evasive tactics?

She gave an inward groan just at the thought of it, having no doubts that Richard would not be pleased that she had deliberately been avoiding Brice McAllister this last week. Richard would also, once they were alone, want to know the reason for it. She could hardly tell him that she had done it because she didn’t want Brice McAllister looking into her soul…!

‘I called round in person to apologise for not getting in touch with either of you this last week.’ Brice McAllister was speaking smoothly now. ‘I’ve been rather busy, I’m afraid. But that’s still no excuse for my tardiness.’ He grimaced.

Sabina could only stare across at him disbelievingly. He had been rather busy…? His tardiness…? He was the one apologising…? When she had been the one who—

‘That’s quite all right,’ Richard accepted lightly, the tension relaxing from his body at the other man’s explanation. ‘Is everything sorted out now?’ He looked at the two of them enquiringly.

Sabina looked at Brice for guidance on this one, still stunned by the way he had smoothed over the situation with a few brief—if totally inaccurate—words.

Had they sorted everything out now?

More to the point, why had Brice McAllister lied just now? Only she could benefit from such a misconception—and, as she was only too well aware, she had done nothing in their acquaintance so far to merit such gallantry. As Brice, up to that point, had done nothing to show he was capable of such an emotion!

He looked at her enquiringly. ‘I believe so,’ he drawled pointedly.

That was why he had lied—so that she had no choice but to make a firm appointment to go and see him. But, in the circumstances, it was probably the least that she owed him…

‘Richard, I was just explaining to Mr McAllister—’

‘Brice,’ he put in dryly.

‘To Brice,’ she corrected after a slightly irritated glance in his direction; she did not want to be on a first-name basis with this man, intended keeping him very firmly at arm’s length. Further, if she could manage it! ‘That I have the afternoon free on Tuesday,’ she admitted reluctantly.

‘And I was just complimenting Sabina on having such a good memory,’ Brice McAllister drawled. ‘I always have to consult my diary before making appointments,’ he added pointedly, that green gaze mocking her.

Sabina shot him a glaring look. Damn him, how dared he mock her when he knew she couldn’t defend herself? Probably for exactly that reason! After all, there had to be some recompense for letting her off the hook so nobly!

‘Three o’clock on Tuesday afternoon, then.’ He nodded abruptly, obviously tiring of the game he was playing, anxious to be gone now as he took a card out of the pocket of his jacket.

Much as he had obviously enjoyed the game, damn him, Sabina inwardly acknowledged frustratedly. But what choice did she have now…?

‘Fine,’ she agreed abruptly, taking the card with his address printed on it, wishing she could somehow misplace it before next Tuesday. But at the same time knowing it would do her no good even if she did; that appointment might as well be set in stone as far as Richard was concerned!

Richard nodded. ‘I have a meeting that afternoon, I’m afraid, Sabina, but I’ll have Clive accompany you,’ he assured her smilingly.

‘Clive?’ Brice McAllister repeated slowly. ‘I have to tell you now, unlike Sabina, I do not like an audience while I work,’ he bit out harshly.

Richard laughed dismissively. ‘Clive is completely unobtrusive, I can assure you. But if it bothers you,’ he added cajolingly as the other man still scowled, ‘he can wait outside in the car.’

Brice nodded abruptly. ‘It bothers me.’

No more than it bothered Sabina to think of spending that hour alone with him at his studio!

CHAPTER THREE

‘WHAT do you know about the model Sabina?’

‘Aha!’ Chloe said with satisfaction as she put down her knife and fork to look across the luncheon table to Brice. ‘I told Fergus, after you accompanied us to the fashion show last Saturday that there was something going on. So much for inviting me out to lunch to cheer me up while Fergus is away in Manchester at a book-signing!’ she added teasingly.

Brice loved his cousin’s wife dearly, looked on her as the younger sister he had never had, but sometimes…!

‘There’s nothing “going on”, Chloe,’ he told her dryly. ‘I’m going to paint the woman. I just thought I should know something about her before I did.’

‘Oh.’ Chloe couldn’t hide her disappointment at this explanation.

Brice gave a rueful shake of his head at her deflated expression. ‘Just because you and Fergus are rapturously happy together—even more so since you knew about the expected baby—does not mean everyone else around you has to be in love too!’

‘But wouldn’t it be nice if you were?’ Chloe came back undaunted.

‘She’s an engaged woman, Chloe,’ he dismissed with amusement.

‘But they don’t seem in any hurry to get married,’ she replied instantly. ‘And Richard Latham is so much older than Sabina…’

Brice was all too well aware of that already…

‘Nice’ wasn’t exactly how he would have described the possibility of his falling in love. But he knew that his two cousins, Logan and Fergus, had found true love in the last year, and that they—and their wives!—would like nothing better than for Brice to join them in their obviously happy state. The only problem that he could see was that he hadn’t yet found the woman that he could fall in love with!

The model Sabina certainly wasn’t her. She was beautiful, yes. And from their meeting last Friday he knew that she was also completely natural and unaffected. He was also intrigued by her, found her engagement to a man so much her senior slightly odd, as he found the way she had the equivalent to a ‘minder’ accompany her wherever she went; because he had no doubt that the man Clive who would be driving her to his studio this afternoon was exactly that, no matter what guise he might otherwise be appearing under.

What Brice really wanted to know was, in view of David Latham’s view of his uncle, was Sabina being protected on Richard’s behalf, as a collector of priceless objects, or for some other reason…?

Which was why he had wondered, with Chloe being a fashion designer herself, with her own connections in the design and model world, if she knew anything about Sabina that might answer some of his questions for him. But the last thing he wanted was for Chloe to think he had a personal interest in Sabina!

‘How is Fergus’s latest book doing?’ He decided to change the subject for a while; they could always come back to Sabina later.

‘Number one in the hardback best-seller list after only two weeks,’ Chloe told him with obvious pride. ‘Have you read it?’

‘Not yet.’ He resumed eating his meal, knowing that he had successfully diverted Chloe’s attention from possible wedding bells on his behalf. ‘It’s set in the fashion-designer world, isn’t it?’

It was the perfect way to distract Chloe from the subject of Sabina, and for the next fifteen minutes they talked of Fergus’s successful new book, then went on to discuss Chloe’s father’s return to politics, and now the government.

Anything but the beautiful model Sabina!

Because, as he’d talked to Chloe about everything else under the sun but Sabina, Brice had come to the realisation that his interest in her was personal!

She was deliberately cool and aloof, put up a barrier between herself and others—with the obvious exception of Richard Latham. And yet at the same time there was a vulnerability about her that seemed to be completely inexplicable.

Sabina was the world’s top model, very beautiful, very much in demand, and very highly paid. Her earnings had to equal those of the highest paid actress in Hollywood. Which meant she had the money to be and do whatever she pleased. And yet…

It was that ‘and yet’ that intrigued Brice, that had him thinking about Sabina even when he wasn’t aware he was doing it. He was becoming obsessed with her, he realised.

But this afternoon he hoped to go some way to solving the enigma that was Sabina Smith!

‘Thanks for lunch, Brice.’ Chloe reached up to kiss him on the cheek as they parted outside the restaurant. ‘And good luck with Sabina this afternoon,’ she added mischievously.

Brice gave a rueful shake of his head as he drove back to his home; he had no doubts that by this evening the whole family would know he had questioned Chloe concerning Sabina!

He arrived back at the house in plenty of time for their three o’clock appointment. But three o’clock came and went, with no sign of Sabina.

She wasn’t coming, damn it. After four days’ wait, after all that anticipation, she wasn’t coming!

Brice could feel the anger starting to build up inside him, having no doubt that Sabina had done this deliberately. He—

The doorbell rang.

It was three twenty-five, there had been no call to say she would be arriving late, but nevertheless Brice knew it was her. He schooled his features into showing none of his previous anger; that was probably what she expected, so she wouldn’t get it!

‘I’m so sorry I’m late,’ Sabina was apologising profusely even as his housekeeper showed her into the studio a few minutes later. ‘I had a photographic session for a magazine this morning, and, although they promised me faithfully that I would be finished by two o’clock, it ran over, and I—’

‘You’re here now,’ Brice firmly cut into her lengthy explanation. Because he was sure, even from their brief acquaintance, that Sabina was not the effusive type, that she would never use half a dozen words when one would do. Which probably meant she was making this up as she went along! ‘Have you had lunch?’

She blinked at this sudden change of subject. ‘No…’

‘Then can I offer you a sandwich or something?’ He looked enquiringly at his housekeeper even as he made the offer.

‘No, really,’ Sabina refused before Mrs Potter could answer. ‘I’ll have something later,’ she dismissed.

‘Tea or coffee, then?’ Brice offered smoothly.

God, she looked beautiful today, the clinging blue Lycra tee shirt, the same colour as her eyes, clinging in all the right places, as did the body-hugging black trousers she wore with it, her hair loose again today, a shining gold curtain down the length of her spine. Brice’s fingers itched to take up paper and pencil and begin his sketches.

Sabina looked set to refuse again, and then obviously thought better of it. ‘A coffee would be very nice, thank you.’ She smiled warmly at the housekeeper.

‘And how about Clive?’ Brice couldn’t resist asking, sure that the ‘chauffeur’ was even now sitting outside waiting to drive Sabina back to the home she shared with Richard Latham. As he had no doubt sat outside and waited for Sabina while she’d been in her photographic session this morning! ‘Would he like a coffee too, do you think?’ he added derisively.

Sabina’s gaze narrowed as she looked across at him for several long, silent seconds. ‘No, I’m sure Clive will be fine,’ she finally answered slowly. ‘I hope I’m not putting you to too much trouble,’ she added warmly to the housekeeper.

Brice could see, as Mrs Potter left the studio with a smile on her face, that Sabina’s apparently guileless charm had obviously worked its magic on her; he had no doubt that there would be more than a cup of coffee on the tray the housekeeper brought back in a few minutes.

‘Where do you want me?’

Now there was a leading question if ever he had heard one, Brice acknowledged derisively, sure that most men wouldn’t care ‘where’ with Sabina, as long as they had her!

Brice’s outward expression remained impassive. ‘The couch, I think,’ he answered consideringly. ‘To start with. I’m really not sure what I’m going to do with this yet,’ he added frowningly. How could he possibly do justice to such a beauty as Sabina’s…?

There was no doubting her surface beauty, but there was so much more to her than that, a naturalness that owed nothing to powder and paint, an inner Sabina that he needed to reach too. And he was determined, no matter what barriers she might choose to put up, that he would reach that Sabina!

Sabina moved to sit on the couch, the May sun shining in brightly through the windows that made up one complete wall of Brice McAllister’s studio. The garden outside was a blaze of spring flowers, and just the sight of that mixture of bright blossoms lightened Sabina’s spirit.

‘Do you do the gardening yourself?’ she asked interestedly.

‘Sorry?’

She turned back to look at Brice McAllister, only to find he was already engrossed in the sketch-pad resting on his knee as he sat across the room from her. ‘I didn’t realise you had already started,’ she murmured slightly resentfully, knowing she had been caught off guard as she’d looked out at the beauty of the garden.

‘Only roughly,’ he dismissed, giving her his full attention now, looking very relaxed in blue denims and a black tee shirt. ‘And yes, I look after the garden myself, It’s often a welcome relief after being in my studio for hours. Do you garden?’

Her expression became wistful. ‘I used to.’

‘Before pressures of work made it impossible,’ Brice McAllister guessed lightly.

A shutter came down over her eyes. ‘Something like that,’ she answered noncommittally.

The fact that she no longer gardened had nothing to do with work commitments, and everything to do with the fact that she no longer lived alone in her little cottage. But she was not about to explain that to Brice McAllister.

She was only here at all today under protest, because last Friday she had been given no choice but to agree to the appointment. Part of her knew that she probably also owed Brice a thank-you for not telling Richard how she had been avoiding his phone calls all week. But there was something inside her that wouldn’t let her say the words…

“‘Something like that”?’ Brice repeated softly.

Sabina shifted uncomfortably. ‘I’m not sure I’m going to be any good at this; I’m simply not good at sitting still.’ She grimaced.

He nodded. ‘Stand up and move around if you prefer it; I’m not sure sitting down is the right pose for you anyway,’ he added frowningly.

Sabina wondered as she stood up to move restlessly about the room exactly what pose he did think was right for her?

Brice McAllister’s studio was a cluttered and yet somehow orderly room, canvases stacked against the walls, paints, pencils, paper, all neatly stored on open shelves, with the minimum amount of furniture; just the chair he sat in, a large, paint-daubed table, and the couch Sabina had been sitting on.

‘Here we are.’ Mrs Potter came back in with a laden tray, putting it down on the table, sandwiches and a fruit cake also on the tray.

‘Thank you,’ Sabina told the other woman warmly.

‘Help yourself,’ Brice McAllister invited dryly once his housekeeper had left the room.

She poured the tea into two cups before helping herself to one of the chicken sandwiches; she hadn’t thought she was hungry, but one bite of the delicious sandwich told her that she was.

‘Do you often miss out on lunch?’ Brice McAllister watched her with brooding eyes.

Sabina shrugged. ‘Sometimes. But I usually make up for it later,’ she assured him dryly. ‘I don’t starve myself, if that’s what you’re thinking; I’m naturally like this.’ She indicated the slenderness of her figure.

‘And very nice it is too.’ He nodded. ‘When’s the wedding?’

Sabina blinked at the sudden change of subject. ‘Sorry…?’

‘Richard implied your portrait is a wedding present to himself.’ Brice shrugged. ‘I was merely wondering how soon I have to finish it,’ he added derisively.

She frowned. ‘I think you must have misunderstood him.’ It had never even been discussed between them that their ‘understanding’ might lead to marriage…

‘No?’ He raised dark brows. ‘Richard gave me the impression it was imminent.’

‘Did he?’ she returned evenly, equally sure he must have misunderstood Richard.

‘I thought so,’ Brice continued determinedly. ‘There’s rather a large difference in your ages, isn’t there?’

Her cheeks flushed resentfully. What business was it of this man if there was an age difference between herself and her fiancé? Absolutely none, came the unqualified answer!

‘Spring and autumn,’ Brice added derisively.

Her mouth twisted. ‘At twenty-five I’m hardly spring—summer would be more appropriate,’ she bit out shortly. ‘And surely age is irrelevant in this day and age?’ she added challengingly.

‘Is it?’ he returned softly.

Sabina frowned across at him, more disturbed by what he had said than she cared to admit. She and Richard were friends, nothing more; Brice must have misunderstood Richard! Mustn’t he…?

‘I thought I came here so you could sketch me, Mr McAllister—not question me about my personal life!’ she snapped agitatedly.

‘The name is Brice,’ he told her smoothly.

‘I prefer Mr McAllister,’ she said tautly. What she really preferred was to keep this man very much at a distance!

He gave an unperturbed shrug. ‘Whatever. Could you stand over by the fireplace?’ he bit out curtly, once again frowning down at his sketch-pad.

Almost as if that very personal conversation had never taken place, Sabina fumed inwardly as she moved to stand beside the unlit fireplace.

‘Yes,’ Brice breathed his satisfaction with the pose. ‘The clothes are all wrong, of course—not that you don’t look lovely in them,’ he added as she raised her brows. ‘They just aren’t right for the way I want to paint you.’

‘And what way is that?’ Sabina rasped impatiently.

He didn’t answer her, frowning across the room at her in between making rapid strokes with his pencil on the pad in front of him.

Sabina remained standing exactly as she was, recognising that transfixed look from some of her photographic sessions; a master was at work, and for the moment she, as a person, did not exist.

Which was fine with her. She was here under protest, and the last thing she wanted was any more personal conversations with Brice McAllister while she was here. Especially of the kind they had just had.

‘Will there have to be much of this?’ she finally felt compelled to ask him an hour later. The fireplace was really rather nice, but after looking at it for the last hour she definitely knew it didn’t hold much scope for the imagination!

Brice looked up at her frowningly, his thoughts obviously still engrossed in his sketching. ‘Much of what?’

‘These sittings—or, in this case, standings,’ she added wryly. ‘Will I need to do many of them?’

He put the sketch-pad down on the table beside him, flexing stiff shoulder muscles as he did so.

He really was a very handsome man, Sabina acknowledged grudgingly. Those dark, brooding good looks were almost Byronic, that over-long dark hair giving him a rakishly gypsy appearance. Although Sabina was sure the romantic Byron had never quite had that totally assessing male look in his eyes. Deep green eyes that even now were trying to look past her façade of politeness to the inner Sabina!

‘Why?’ he finally drawled softly.

She shrugged. ‘As I’ve already explained, I’m—’

‘Rather busy,’ he finished derisively. ‘Yes, you have explained that. Several times, as I recall,’ he added mockingly before picking up his cup and drinking the now cold tea in one swallow. ‘The question is, why are you so busy?’ He looked at her with narrowed eyes. ‘As I understand it, you’ve been one of the top models in the world—if not the top model in the world,’ he allowed mockingly, ‘for the last five years. Why do you need to keep working at the pace that you do?’

Because work stopped her from thinking, from remembering, meant she was too tired at night to do anything more than fall into bed and go to sleep!

But none of those thoughts betrayed themselves in the calmness of her expression. ‘So that I remain one of the top models in the world,’ she replied dryly.

Brice pursed his mouth. ‘And is that important to you?’

Her cheeks became flushed at the mockery in his tone. ‘Is it important to you to be one of the world’s most sought-after artists?’ she returned caustically, deeply resenting the slight condescension towards her career that she sensed in his tone.

Okay, so it didn’t need great intelligence to initially become a model, just the right look, and a certain amount of luck, but it certainly took more than those things to remain one. She worked hard at what she did, never gave less than her best, and she deeply resented his implication that it should be otherwise. She had always regarded herself as something of an artist too, in her own way.

‘Touché,’ he allowed dryly. ‘I just can’t imagine doing what you do, day in and day out.’ He shrugged.

Sabina narrowed cornflower-blue eyes on him. ‘Are you meaning to be insulting, Mr McAllister, or does it just come naturally?’ she said slowly.

He grinned unabashedly. ‘A little of both, probably.’

She shook her head, incredulous at his arrogance. ‘You just don’t care, do you?’ she murmured slowly.

He looked puzzled. ‘About what?’

‘About anything,’ she realised in wonder.

How she wished she still had that tolerantly amused outlook to life, that she could laugh at herself as well as other people. But she knew that she didn’t. That she never would have again, thanks to—

No, she wouldn’t think of that. Couldn’t think of that.

‘I think it’s time I was going,’ she decided abruptly, glancing pointedly at the gold watch on her wrist. An engagement present from Richard. That, and his diamond engagement ring, were the only two pieces of jewellery she ever wore.

Brice McAllister was watching her consideringly, head tilted slightly to one side, green gaze narrowed speculatively. ‘Why?’ he finally challenged.

It was a challenge Sabina easily picked up on. And chose to ignore. ‘Because I have somewhere else to go,’ she told him determinedly.

‘Home to Richard?’ he taunted softly, standing up slowly, his sheer size totally dominating the room.

Sabina took a step back, suddenly finding the room oppressively small. She also found herself backed up against the unlit fireplace.

Brice walked slowly towards her, his narrowed gaze not leaving her face. He stopped about a foot away, that gaze searching now as he continued to look at her.

For the second time since she had met him Sabina found she couldn’t breathe.

This close to, she could feel the male warmth of him, could smell the slight tang of the aftershave he wore, could see every pore and hair on the darkness of his skin. But it was none of those things that constricted her breathing. She knew it was his sheer physical closeness that did that.

She swallowed convulsively. ‘I really do have to go,’ she told him breathlessly.

Brice looked at her steadily. ‘So what’s stopping you?’ he prompted huskily.

Her legs, for one thing. They refused to move. In fact, she felt so weak at the knees they were only just succeeding in supporting her. She felt like a mesmerised rabbit caught on the road in the glare of car headlights, incapable of movement, even in the face of such obvious danger.

And Brice McAllister, as she had half guessed on their very first meeting, been even more convinced of it at their second, was exactly that—dangerous!

She moistened suddenly dry lips. ‘If you would just move out of my way…?’

He stepped slightly to one side. ‘Be my guest,’ he invited softly.

Sabina forced her legs to move, quickly, determinedly, crossing to the door, putting as much distance between herself and Brice McAllister as was possible in the confines of the studio.

‘I’ll call you.’

Sabina turned sharply as he spoke, her trembling hand already on the door-handle. ‘Excuse me?’

Brice raised dark brows, his mouth twisted in mocking amusement. ‘I said, I’ll call you. For your next sitting,’ he explained derisively as she still looked totally blank.

Get a grip, Sabina, she ordered herself sternly. What had really happened just now—Brice McAllister had stood what she considered was too close to her? So what? And yet she knew that wasn’t really all that had happened, that there had been a frisson of awareness between the two of them that she wished weren’t there…

‘Perhaps you would do me the courtesy of taking my call this time?’ Brice prompted confidently.

Colour darkened her cheeks at his certainty she had no choice but to do exactly that. ‘If I happen to be at home,’ she bit out harshly.

He shrugged. ‘If you aren’t, I’m sure that Richard and I can sort out a time between the two of us,’ he drawled softly.

Sabina’s eyes narrowed. ‘Contrary to what you may have assumed otherwise, Mr McAllister—I make my own appointments,’ she snapped coldly.

Once again he gave that humourless smile. ‘That wasn’t my impression at our last meeting.’

Because at the time she had been at the disadvantage of not wanting him to tell Richard she had been avoiding his telephone calls for the past week!

She looked at him consideringly for several long seconds. ‘You know, Mr McAllister,’ she finally said softly, ‘I really don’t give a damn what was or wasn’t your impression at our last meeting,’ she told him scornfully. ‘In fact, nothing about you is of the least interest to me,’ she added scathingly.

He raised dark brows. ‘No?’

‘No!’ she confirmed hardly. ‘Goodbye, Mr McAllister.’ She wrenched the door open.

‘Au revoir, surely, Sabina…?’ he taunted softly.

Sabina didn’t even turn and acknowledge the obvious challenge, striding briskly out of the room, closing the front door softly behind her as she left.

It wasn’t until she was safely ensconced in the back seat of the car, Clive driving back to Richard’s house, that she allowed free rein to her feelings.

She didn’t like the way Brice McAllister looked at her. Didn’t like the way he had of talking to her on a very personal level. Didn’t like him near her. In fact, she just didn’t like him!

And she had no idea how she was going to achieve it, but she had no intention of being alone with Brice in his studio ever again!

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