‘What are you afraid of, Alice?’ Jeremy asked, frowning as his eyes searched hers.

‘Maybe I’m afraid of myself,’ she replied.

‘You think too much. Time to just feel, Alice, and to have fun.’

‘Fun?’ she echoed. When had she ever had fun with a man?

He smiled. ‘Clearly fun is a concept you’re unfamiliar with. Let me teach you, Alice. I’m an expert at the art of fun.’

‘I don’t doubt it.’

‘You’re going to come to dinner with me tomorrow night, aren’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she said, sick of arguing with herself over this.

‘Good. I’ll ring you tomorrow and we’ll make definite plans.’

With that, he turned and left her, flushed and frustrated, on the doorstep. She watched him walk away and get into the back of his car without a backward glance.

A shaken Alice let herself in the front door. She walked slowly along the hall and into her bedroom, where she climbed into bed and lay awake for hours, thinking about Jeremy, and tomorrow night, and fun.

By ‘fun’ he obviously meant sex.

Even whilst she wanted to, the idea of actually doing it at long last was overwhelmingly nerve-racking. How would he react when he found out she was a virgin?

Rich, Ruthless and Renowned

Billionaires secure their brides!

International tycoons Sergio, Alex and Jeremy were best friends at college. Bonded by their shared passion for business—and bedding beautiful women!—they formed The Bachelors’ Club, which had only two goals:

1 Live life to the full.

2 Become billionaires in their own right!

But now, with the dotted line signed for the sale of their multibillion-dollar wine empire, there’s one final thing left for each of the bachelors to accomplish: securing a bride!

The trilogy begins with Sergio’s story in

The Italian's Ruthless Seduction

Continues with Alex’s story in

The Billionaire’s Ruthless Affair

And concludes with Jeremy’s story in

The Playboy’s Ruthless Pursuit

The Playboy’s Ruthless Pursuit
Miranda Lee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Born and raised in the Australian bush, MIRANDA LEE was boarding-school-educated, and briefly pursued a career in classical music before moving to Sydney and embracing the world of computers. Happily married, with three daughters, she began writing when family commitments kept her at home. She likes to create stories that are believable, modern, fast-paced and sexy. Her interests include meaty sagas, doing word puzzles, gambling and going to the movies.

MILLS & BOON

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To my husband, Tony, for always being there.

Contents

COVER

INTRODUCTION

Rich, Ruthless and Renowned

TITLE PAGE

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

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

EPILOGUE

EXTRACT

COPYRIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

I SHOULD BE HAPPIER, Jeremy thought as he leant back in his office chair and put his feet up on his large leather-topped desk. My life is pretty well perfect. I’m as healthy as a horse, filthy rich and blessedly single. On top of that, I’m no longer Chief Investment Consultant at the London branch of the Barker-Whittle banking empire. What a relief!

Working for his over-achieving father had not been Jeremy’s idea of a fun occupation. Unfortunately, he’d been darned good at his job. Despite the accolades and the generous bonuses he’d earned over the years, he much preferred being his own boss. Jeremy had used some of his recently acquired wealth to buy an ailing publishing firm, which he was turning into a rather surprising success. Perverse, considering it was an accidental purchase.

Jeremy’s initial aim when launching out on his own had been to go into the property development business, his first purchase last year a town house in one of Mayfair’s best streets. But the publishing company leasing the building had proved difficult to deal with, the owner stubbornly insisting on staying put till his lease ran out. So Jeremy had made an offer that he couldn’t refuse, thereby solving the problem, his intention having been to relocate his new business to cheaper premises whilst he renovated and converted the slightly run-down property into three luxury apartments.

But things hadn’t worked out that way. He’d found himself liking the people who worked at Mayfair Books, all of whom were naturally worried about losing their jobs. He also liked the rooms the way they were. Slightly shabby, yes, but full of character and charm, with lots of wood-panelled walls and antique furniture. It had been clear from talking to the employees and looking at their sales figures, however, that the business itself had desperately needed updating. Whilst Jeremy had known next to nothing about the modern publishing industry, he was an intelligent and well-connected man, with loads of business contacts, one of which headed the marketing division of a rather famous London publisher.

So here he was, almost a year later, heading Barker Books, having changed the name along with the company’s fortunes. They’d actually made a profit during the last quarter. He even got up every morning and happily went into his office these days, unlike his time at the bank when he’d conducted most of his business over the phone.

So work wasn’t the reason for this odd feeling of discontent.

Jeremy knew it wasn’t his love life, either. That was sailing along as usual, though, since buying the book business, his focus had been more on work than women.

Not that he felt sexually frustrated. He didn’t. Jeremy had no trouble finding willing ladies to accompany him to the many social occasions he was constantly invited to. A man of his status and wealth was a prized guest. His partner du jour invariably accompanied him back to his bed for the night, despite Jeremy always making it clear that dating him was never going to lead to a ring on her finger. He didn’t do love or, God forbid, marriage. Thankfully, most of them were good with that, because he didn’t do broken hearts, either.

When the reason for his discontent continued to elude Jeremy, he was forced to give the matter deeper thought, something he usually tried to avoid at all costs. He’d never seen the benefit of self-analysis, or counselling. It had never done his older brothers any good. Jeremy knew exactly why he was the way he was. He didn’t need a shrink to tell him that his aversion to love and marriage stemmed from his parents’ constant divorcing and remarrying. That, plus their abandoning him to boarding school when he was just eight, where he’d been bullied endlessly.

He hated thinking about those years, so he didn’t, his mind swiftly moving on to happier times. He’d thoroughly enjoyed his years at University in London, finally using his excellent brain to its full capacity. His results had thrilled his maternal grandmother, who’d promptly made him her heir, on the condition he went on to study at Oxford. Which he had, his generous private income—Gran had passed away shortly after he enrolled—providing him with the kind of lifestyle to which he’d quickly become addicted. He’d done sufficient study to easily pass his exams but, generally speaking, fun had been the order of the day, Jeremy carousing to a level that might have become a problem if he hadn’t acquired two slightly more sensible friends.

Thinking of Sergio and Alex sent Jeremy’s gaze to the photo of the three of them that was sitting on his desk. Harriet had taken it on the day Sergio had married his one-time stepsister in July last year, Sergio having asked both Alex and himself to be his best men. The wedding had taken place on the shores of Lake Como, in the grounds of a magnificent villa. Whilst no longer worried that Bella might be a chip off her fortune-hunting mother’s block, Jeremy wasn’t convinced the marriage would last. Love never lasted, did it? Still, there was nothing he could do about that. It was a shame, though, how little he saw of his best friend these days. Of both his best friends. He had seen them at Alex’s wedding to Harriet in Australia back in February, but only briefly. Jeremy really missed the days when they’d all lived in London and got together regularly, back when they’d still all been bachelors and hadn’t become billionaires.

Hadn’t been thirty-five, either. That had been the kiss of death, their all turning thirty-five last year. That, and the super sale of their WOW wine bar franchise to an American equity company. Suddenly, everything had changed, with the Bachelor Club they’d formed back at Oxford no longer relevant. Maybe their friendship was no longer relevant, either.

With a sigh, Jeremy scraped his feet off his desk. They hit the floor with a thud, the sound echoing the hollow feeling inside his heart. Leaning forward, he picked up the photo, frowning as he studied the three faces smiling back at him.

Jeremy didn’t envy his friends and their marriages, but he hated the thought that he would hardly ever see them from now on. Their priorities would be their wives and their families, not him. He would become old news, someone whom they recalled with vague fondness when they glanced through their photo albums every decade or so.

‘Who’s that man, Dad?’ he imagined Alex’s son asking. Harriet was expecting a boy.

‘Oh, that’s Jeremy. A chap I knew once. We went to Oxford together. He was the best man at our wedding. Gosh. Haven’t seen him for years.’

Jeremy scowled as he slammed the photo face down on the desk and snatched up his phone.

‘Damn it all, I’m not going to let that happen,’ he ground out as he retrieved Alex’s number.

Realising it would be the middle of the night in Australia—not nice to call at such an hour—Jeremy sent an email volunteering himself for godfather duty when the time came. That done, he righted the photo, placed it back in its pride of place and settled down to have a look at their current sales figures. Finding the file on his laptop, he clicked it open but didn’t get far before there was a rapid tap-tap-tap on his door.

‘Come in, Madge,’ he said.

Madge entered as briskly as she did everything. In her mid-fifties, Madge was a thin, plain woman with cropped grey hair, piercing blue eyes and a schoolmarm manner. Jeremy had hired her soon after buying the business, the previous owner’s secretary having quit in a huff over the new owner’s high-handed tactics. Jeremy had been impressed with Madge’s no-nonsense attitude, plus her knowledge of the publishing industry. He liked her enormously, and the affection was mutual.

‘We have a problem,’ she said straight away.

‘Which is?’

‘Kenneth Jacobs can’t be the auctioneer at tonight’s charity auction. He has a terrible head cold. I could hardly understand him on the phone just now.’

‘I see,’ Jeremy said, not actually seeing at all. He knew who Kenneth Jacobs was; hard not to, since he was Jeremy’s only best-selling author, having come with the deal when he’d bought the business. Kenneth wrote the grizzliest of murder mysteries, which had a huge fan base but whose forty-plus books hadn’t been marketed properly. Despite knowing this, Kenneth hadn’t left the publisher who’d given him his start. A crusty old bachelor, Kenneth was lazy when it came to business matters. Once Jeremy had taken the helm, he’d republished Kenneth’s entire back list, with new covers, and put them all out as e-Books.

‘What charity auction?’ Jeremy asked, having gained the impression that he was supposed to already know.

Madge rolled her eyes. ‘Truly. Just as well you have me to organise things around here. It’s not easy working for a man who has a short-term memory loss.’

‘I’ll have you know I have a photographic memory,’ Jeremy said defensively whilst his mind scrambled to remember what it was he’d forgotten.

‘In that case I’ll photograph everything for you in the future instead of telling you,’ Madge said with her usual caustic wit.

As much as Jeremy often enjoyed Madge’s dry sense of humour, on this occasion his patience was wearing a little thin.

‘Do that, Madge. But for now I would appreciate it if you’d explain about this charity auction one more time, then tell me exactly how I’m supposed to fix the problem of Kenneth having a head cold.’ Though by now he had a pretty good idea. Jeremy wasn’t always the most intuitive of men, but he wasn’t thick, either.

Madge expelled one of her exasperated sighs. ‘I would have thought that the words charity auction were self-explanatory. But that’s beside the point. You told me after the last charity dinner you went to that I wasn’t to accept any more invitations to such dos. You said you’d rather slash your wrists than sit through another of those dinners where the food was below par and the speakers intolerably boring. You said you were happy to donate to whatever cause was going but you’d given up being a masochist when you stopped working for your father. You said that—’

‘Yes, yes,’ Jeremy broke in firmly. ‘I get the picture. But that last dinner was just a meal followed by speeches, not something as interesting as an auction. Now, if you don’t mind, please fill me in on the relevant details and stop with the ancient history lesson.’

Madge looked as close to sheepish as he’d ever seen her. ‘Right. Well, it’s being held in the ballroom of the Chelsea Hotel, and it’s to raise funds for the women’s refuges in the inner-city area. There’s a sit-down dinner before the auction, which I’m assured will have quality food and which should raise a good sum of money since it costs a small fortune per head. I gather the place is going to be full of society’s finest. Kenneth was to be the auctioneer, the last prize being the privilege of the winning bidder having their name used as a character in his next book. It’s been done before, of course, by other authors. But never by Kenneth. The poor fellow is quite disappointed, as well as worried about letting Alice down. She’s the girl who’s organised everything. Anyway, I told him that you would do it in his stead.’

Jeremy pretended to look displeased. ‘Oh, you did, did you?’

For a split second, a worried frown formed on Madge’s high forehead. But then she smiled.

‘You’re just joking, right?’

Jeremy grinned.

Madge flushed with relief and pleasure. She adored Jeremy, envying his mother for having such a warm and wonderful son. He might be a devil where the ladies were concerned—or so she’d been told—but he was a good man and a great boss. Smart, sensible and surprisingly sensitive. She didn’t doubt that one day he’d fall in love and settle down.

‘You are a teaser,’ she said. ‘Now, do you want me to ring Alice and tell her you’ll do the job as auctioneer? Or do you want to ring her yourself?’

‘What do you think, Madge?’

This was another thing she liked about her boss. He often asked her opinion. And usually took it.

‘I think you should ring her yourself,’ she said. ‘It would put her mind at rest. She seemed rather stressed. I gained the impression she was new at this job.’

‘Right,’ he replied, nodding. ‘You’d better get me her number, then.’

Madge already had it in hand, of course.

‘You are a very devious woman,’ he said as she gave it to him.

‘And you are a very sweet man,’ she returned with a smug smile before turning and leaving him to it.

Jeremy found himself smiling as he keyed Alice’s number into his phone.

‘Alice Waterhouse,’ she answered immediately, her voice crisp and very businesslike, its cut-glass accent betraying an education at one of those private girls’ schools that turned out girls who invariably worked in jobs such as PR or fund-raising for charities before marrying someone suitable to their class.

Jeremy wasn’t overly keen on girls from privileged backgrounds, which was rather hypocritical of him, given his own background. There’d been a time when he hadn’t cared about such things. If a girl was pretty and keen on him, then he didn’t give their character—or their upbringing—much thought. He bedded without bias or prejudice. But nowadays, he found the girls he dated who’d been born rich were seriously boring, both in bed and out. He disliked their innate sense of entitlement, plus their need to be constantly complimented and entertained. Perhaps it was the attraction of opposites, but there was something very appealing about girls who had to work for their living, who didn’t have the fall-back position of Daddy’s money.

He imagined that the plummy-voiced Alice Waterhouse was just such a daddy’s girl.

‘Jeremy Barker-Whittle,’ he replied, well aware that whilst his own voice wasn’t overly toffee-nosed, it was deep and rich and, yes, impressive. Alex and Sergio used to tell him he could have made a fortune on the radio. People who first met him over the phone were often surprised by the reality of him in the flesh. They clearly expected someone older, and possibly more rotund, with a big chest and stomach. Like an opera singer.

People did make the wrong assumptions at times.

He wondered if he was wrong about Alice Waterhouse. Then decided he wasn’t.

‘I’m the publisher of Kenneth Jacobs’s books,’ he informed her. ‘It seems I’m to be your stand-in auctioneer tonight.’

‘Oh, that’s wonderful,’ she said, not gushing but obviously relieved. ‘Madge said you might do it. I have to confess I was beginning to panic. Thank you so much.’

Against his better judgment, Jeremy found himself warming to her.

‘It’s my pleasure,’ he said. ‘Truly.’ Jeremy had always fancied himself a bit of a showman. He would actually enjoy playing auctioneer tonight.

‘You can bring a partner, if you wish,’ Alice offered. ‘I allocated two places for Mr Jacobs at the main dining table. He said he didn’t have anyone to bring so I was going to sit with him.’

‘I won’t be bringing anyone with me, either,’ Jeremy admitted. He might have brought Ellen, a lawyer he dated on and off, and whose company he enjoyed. But she was overseas in Washington, working, at the moment. ‘I’m a crusty old bachelor too,’ he added, amused by this description of himself. ‘So perhaps you would do me the honour of sitting next to me at dinner tonight.’

‘That would be my pleasure,’ she returned.

‘I presume it’s black tie?’

‘Yes, it is. Is that a problem?’

Jeremy smiled wryly. ‘No. No problem.’ If there was one thing for which Jeremy could be relied upon it was to show up at social functions, properly attired. He loved fashion, and took pride in his appearance. His wardrobe held a wide array of clothes from casual to formal. His dinner suits were the best money could buy, the one he’d worn to Sergio’s wedding made by one of the top tailors in Milan. He’d wear that one tonight.

When she started thanking him again, he cut her short by asking when and where they could meet up tonight. Once he had the details in hand, he said goodbye, hung up then called out to Madge.

She popped her head through the door straight away.

‘Everything settled?’ she asked.

‘Fine. Just tell me one thing. Have you actually met this Alice?’

‘No. I only talked to her over the phone.’

‘So what PR company does she work for?’

Madge looked puzzled. ‘She doesn’t. I mean...didn’t I tell you? She works as a counsellor at a couple of the women’s refuges.’

‘No, Madge, you didn’t mention that.’

‘Sorry. Bit flustered today. Anyway, Alice explained when she first rang that they couldn’t afford the fees of professional fund-raisers so she was doing it all herself. Not an easy job, I can assure you.’

‘No,’ Jeremy said thoughtfully. Damn, but he hated it when he was wrong about someone. He supposed it wasn’t impossible that the daughters of wealthy men could be born with social consciences, plus the desire to make a difference to those less fortunate than themselves. But in his experience, it was rare.

Jeremy was impressed, and resolved to do everything in his power to make tonight’s auction a success.

‘I’d better get back to work,’ he said, but his mind remained elsewhere. He was definitely looking forward to finding out tonight all about the enigmatic and intriguing Alice Waterhouse.

CHAPTER TWO

‘THANK YOU FOR lending me this lovely cocktail dress, Fiona,’ Alice said as she inspected herself in the cheval mirror. The dress was black and sleek and strapless, with a matching coat that would protect her from the chill night air till she could get inside the air-conditioned hotel. Despite summer being just over a month away, London was in the grip of a cold snap.

‘My pleasure,’ her flatmate replied, the words reminding Alice of the conversation she’d had earlier today with Kenneth Jacobs’s publisher. What a nice man he was. And what a lovely voice. He would make a much better auctioneer than Mr Jacobs.

‘I seriously wish I was going to your do tonight instead of having dinner with Alistair’s parents,’ Fiona added. ‘But it’s his mother’s birthday...’ Her voice trailed off as she shrugged resignedly. ‘Never a good idea to get on the wrong foot with one’s future mother-in-law.’

‘I would imagine not,’ Alice agreed, glad that she’d never have to worry about such matters. No way was she ever going to get married.

‘You look lovely,’ Fiona said. ‘I wish I had your figure. And your height. And your hair.’

Alice was taken aback by the compliments, thinking there wasn’t anything special about her figure, though she did have nice hair, naturally blonde and easy to style. As for her height, she wasn’t that tall. Just under five eight. Admittedly, Fiona was on the short side. Despite that, she was a strikingly attractive girl with thick dark hair, big brown eyes and the kind of voluptuous body that men lusted after. Not that Alice wanted to be lusted after. It was the last thing she wanted.

‘That dress looks much better on you than it did on me,’ Fiona went on. ‘When I wore it, my boobs spilled out over the top. I had men gawking at them all night. Alistair said I was never to wear it again, so if you want it, sweetie, it’s yours.’

Alice hated the way Fiona called her sweetie, as if she were a kid when in fact they were both the same age. She also didn’t want to be treated as if she were still the girl who’d first come to London and shown up, broke, on the doorstep. Still, it was an understandable hangover from when Alice had first come to London and shown up, broke, on the doorstep of Fiona’s flat, mainly because she was the closest thing to a friend that Alice had ever had at boarding school. Not that they moved in the same circles, but they did share crushes on the same movie stars. Alice had only known Fiona’s address because Fiona had told everyone at school when her billionaire father had presented her with the keys of a Kensington flat for her eighteenth birthday.

To give Fiona credit, she’d taken Alice in and let her have a room, rent-free, till Alice had been able to earn some money. Then, when Alice had said she would be moving out a few weeks later, Fiona had begged her to stay, saying she enjoyed her company. Over the seven years they’d lived together, they’d become quite close, sharing confidences the way girls did. Fiona understood why Alice was anti-men, but she still hadn’t given up hope that one day Alice would meet a man she could trust—and love.

‘Did I tell you that Kenneth Jacobs pulled out of doing the auctioneer job at the last minute?’ Alice said as Fiona sprayed her with perfume. ‘He came down with a head cold.’

‘Oh, no!’ Fiona exclaimed. ‘What did you do?’

‘I panicked at first.’

Fiona laughed. ‘You? Panic? Never! You would have sorted something out.’

Fiona’s blind faith in her organisational skills amused Alice. Still, anyone would seem cool, calm and collected in comparison with Fiona, who could be quite scatter-brained. And very messy. It crossed Alice’s mind that Fiona might have originally asked her to stay because she did most of the housework.

‘I was lucky. Kenneth put me onto this lovely lady at Barker Books and before I knew it, the owner of the company rang me back and offered to take Mr Jacobs’s place.’

‘That was lucky.’

‘You’ve no idea how lucky. He has this absolutely gorgeous voice. He’s going to make a great auctioneer. Now no more of that perfume, Fiona. I have to get my things together. The cab I ordered will be here any second. I’ve made arrangements to meet Mr Barker-Whittle in the foyer of the hotel at seven.’

‘What?’

‘I said I—’

‘I know what you said,’ Fiona broke in sharply. ‘I hope we’re not talking about Jeremy Barker-Whittle here.’

Alice frowned. ‘Yes. That’s how he introduced himself. Why? What’s the matter with him?’

‘He’s just one of the most infamous playboys in London—that’s what’s the matter with him. Handsome as the devil, with more charm than any man has a right to. My sister dated him once for about five minutes, and she hasn’t stopped raving about him ever since. She claims that after being with Jeremy no other man could possibly compare. Lord, but I’d never have lent you that sexy dress if I knew who you’d be sitting next to tonight.’

Whilst momentarily thrown by this news, Alice also felt peeved that Fiona would think for a moment she would fall victim to some playboy’s dubious charms. Surely she knew her better than that. Now that she’d been warned about Mr Barker-Whittle, he had not a hope in Hades of snaring her interest, no matter how handsome and charming he was. And he was charming, she conceded, thinking of how much she’d liked him over the phone. And yes, he was a right royal devil, calling himself a crusty old bachelor like that!

‘Forewarned is forearmed, Fiona,’ she pointed out. ‘Now that I know he’s a player, I will be on guard against any attempt by him to seduce me. Though you, of all people, should know I am immune to men of his type.’

Even as she said the words, Alice knew she was lying. She’d always found handsome devils attractive. In the movies mostly, but also in real life. There was something wickedly appealing about good-looking men of a certain reputation. She’d gone out with one once, and it had cost her dearly. Whilst still not totally immune to finding such men attractive, she felt confident she had learned her lesson. It was a pity, however, that her stand-in auctioneer was coming alone. Still, if Jeremy Barker-Whittle decided after meeting her that she would provide him with some after-auction entertainment, then he was sadly mistaken.

‘But I don’t get it,’ Fiona said. ‘Jeremy’s in banking, not books.’

‘Well, he’s in books now,’ Alice said ruefully whilst wishing that he weren’t. What a pity Kenneth had to come down with a cold.

‘Strange,’ Fiona mused. ‘Still, I suppose he can afford to be in anything he wants to be in. The Barker-Whittle family is seriously loaded. They’ve been in merchant banking forever.’

‘You seem to know a lot about them.’

‘Yes, well, as I said, Melody became obsessed with the man for a while and made it her business to find out everything she could.’

‘Anything else I should know about him before tonight?’ Alice asked.

‘Not really. Just don’t believe a word the silver-tongued scoundrel says. And don’t go agreeing to go out with him.’

Alice almost laughed. As if.

‘That’ll be my cab,’ she said when her phone pinged. ‘Now you have a nice time tonight, Fiona, and don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Jeremy Barker-Whittle won’t even get to first base.’

Fiona didn’t look so sure. Alice recalled her friend’s worried expression when she walked into the foyer of the hotel a couple of minutes past seven. Fiona had a right to be worried, came the instant stomach-tightening thought.

Jeremy Barker-Whittle was already there, sitting on one of the guest sofas, talking to someone on his phone. She knew it was him, despite the presence of several other males in the foyer. None of them, however, was wearing a black dinner suit. And none fitted the image she’d already formed in her mind of what one of London’s most infamous playboys would look like. When Fiona had been talking about him, Alice had automatically pictured one of her favourite movie stars who’d made his reputation by playing rich bad boys. Jeremy Barker-Whittle was almost a dead ringer. Very handsome with an elegance to his face and clothes that could not be feigned. He had money written all over him, the kind of man whom other men envied and women craved.

Alice didn’t crave him, but his looks certainly set her heart racing. She scooped in a deep breath, glad that he hadn’t noticed her yet. It gave her the opportunity to gather her wits and her defences. And to look him over without being observed. His mid-brown hair was slightly wavy; it fell from a side part to his collar, a single lock flopping sexily across his high forehead. His nose was strong and straight and his eyes a sparkling blue. Yes, they actually sparkled. At least they did when he glanced up and spied her standing there, looking at him. He immediately put his phone away and stood up, smiling as he came over to her, bringing her attention to his mouth, with its sensual lower lip and dazzlingly white teeth. Now her stomach did a little flip-flop, reminding her starkly of her vulnerability to men who looked perfect but invariably were not.

‘Please tell me that you’re Alice,’ he said with that incredible voice of his. Like rich dark chocolate, it actually made her name sound sexy. Which was a minor miracle. She’d always hated her name, thinking it girlish and old-fashioned.

It was difficult not to respond to his practised charm, but she managed to control herself, tapping into the reserved façade that she always used around men of his ilk.

‘I am,’ she admitted coolly, having resisted the unwise impulse to smile back at him. ‘And I presume you’re Mr Barker-Whittle?’

CHAPTER THREE

WHOA! THOUGHT JEREMY. He wasn’t used to women being this cool to him, especially women who looked like Alice. It rattled him for a moment. But only a moment, his mind searching for some reason why she might be in a negative frame of mind where he was concerned. All he could think of was the way he’d described himself as a crusty old bachelor. Maybe she didn’t like being deceived. She’d been warm enough to him over the phone, whereas now she was all ice.

The corner of his mouth twisted at his own pun on her name. Alice. All ice. Very funny, Jeremy. Now see if you can use some of the infamous Barker-Whittle charm to warm up Miss Ice Princess a bit, or the evening ahead is not going to be as enjoyable as you anticipated.

Which was a shame, given that he was partial to slender, cool-looking blondes, especially ones with gorgeous blue eyes and mouths just made for sin.

‘Please, call me Jeremy,’ he insisted as he subtly looked her up and down. ‘No one calls me Mr Barker-Whittle, not even Madge. Especially not Madge,’ he added with a laugh. ‘By the way, Madge said that we should offer two character names to auction off, not just one,’ he invented. ‘If that’s all right with you.’

‘What? Oh, yes. Yes. That would be...great. Thank you.’

He’d thrown her a little, which was exactly what he’d wanted to do. For a split second she was the Alice he’d talked to on the phone. Sweet and grateful. But then that chilly mask slipped back into place.

Not that Jeremy was giving up. He had all evening to accomplish the thawing of Alice. If nothing else, he would enjoy the challenge. After all, it wasn’t every day that a member of the opposite sex challenged him, especially single ones. He’d duly noted the lack of rings on either hand, a sure sign that she was neither married nor engaged. Of course, that didn’t mean she didn’t have a boyfriend or a partner. Though surely any boyfriend or partner worth his salt would have accompanied her here tonight. If one existed and he’d made a deliberate choice not to come, then the fool deserved to lose out. On second thought, however, Jeremy doubted there was some man waiting in the wings. That air of touch-me-not that she had about her would not encourage the average modern male.

Jeremy smiled wryly at the knowledge that he was far from average, or in the slightest deterred in his pursuit of the gorgeous Alice. She’d sparked curiosity in him from the first moment he’d heard that cut-glass voice of hers. Now that he’d met her, his curiosity was joined by desire, Jeremy resolving not to rest till she agreed to go out with him.

‘You were going to show me the layout in the ballroom,’ he reminded her. ‘But first, let me take your coat...’

* * *

Panic churned in Alice’s stomach at the thought of taking her coat off, of exposing more of herself to this man’s far too sexy gaze. If he thought she hadn’t noticed the way he’d looked her over, he was sadly mistaken. Alice knew men found her attractive. It was a burden most blondes with nice figures and pretty faces had to put up with. Fortunately, these days, she didn’t attract too much male attention, always going to work with her hair pulled back, no make-up on and wearing jeans. Tonight, however, she was looking her very best. Silently, she cursed Fiona for lending her this revealing dress, plus spraying her with all that expensive perfume. The make-up she only had herself to blame for. But at the time, she hadn’t known she’d be spending the evening in the company of a man who could make her want to be different from the woman she’d become.

At least she’d put her hair up, though not into its usual scraped-back ponytail. It was fashioned into a sleek sophisticated bun, worn slightly on one side, the latest style for formal occasions. Still, better than it being down. Pity about the dangling diamanté earrings she’d chosen to wear, however, and which swung against her bare neck when she walked. Alice contemplated telling him she would keep her coat on but he was already moving behind her and, really, she could hardly go all night with a calf-length coat flapping around her legs. Without glancing over her shoulder at him, she reached up to push the coat back off her shoulders—it wasn’t the kind that had buttons—sucking in sharply when she felt his fingertips brush over the nape of her neck. A shiver ricocheted down her spine as the coat slid down her arms, presumably into his waiting hands. She was too shaken to turn and look. Too shocked.

What kind of power did this man have to make her feel like this? So swiftly and so surely. Alice had felt sexual attraction before; she hadn’t always been so wary of it. She’d found the thought of sex fascinating from the time puberty hit, spending a lot of her teenage years indulging in romantic fantasies over various handsome actors. Then there’d been that charmer at college, the tall dark and handsome one she’d been attracted to despite everything, the one who’d convinced her he returned her feelings. And so she’d agreed to go out with him. More fool her!

But the attraction she’d felt on that occasion paled into insignificance compared to this highly charged feeling that was currently sweeping through Alice. It was madness, this urge she had to throw caution to the winds, to forget all the lessons she’d learned about men, to ignore Fiona’s warnings and just let Jeremy Barker-Whittle have his wicked way with her. Which, of course, was what he wanted to do. He was a playboy, wasn’t he? That was what playboys did.

But not with me, Alice decided as she marshalled all her willpower. Not tonight. Not ever.

‘I’ll just go over and check this in,’ he said smoothly after she turned to finally look at him. ‘Then we can proceed.’

He walked the same way he did everything, she noted ruefully. With style and casual elegance. Nothing hurried. Nothing awkward. Far too soon he was walking back towards her, this time his gaze openly admiring.

‘Nothing beats a little black dress, does it?’ he said as he took her elbow and steered her over to the bank of lifts. ‘The concierge informed me that the ballroom is on the first floor,’ he added, before she could ask what in hell he was doing. Not that she would have phrased it like that.

Still, she extricated her arm from his hold as soon as possible, sending him a look that held the silent but definite message that he was to keep his hands to himself. No way was she going to let him take control of the evening. Or of her. No way!

* * *

Jeremy resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. But truly, she was like a heroine out of a Victorian romance novel. Not that he’d read any, but he could imagine what such a woman would be like. All prissy and uptight, looking down her nose at men, especially ones who dared put a finger on her virginal flesh.

Alice would have been perfect for such a role, except for three factors. First, that dress. Strapless and very fitted, it gave him a clear picture of what she would look like naked. Very nice indeed, with high firm breasts, an athletically flat stomach, a deliciously small waist, long shapely legs and just enough hip and bottom for stroking. Second was the way she’d stared at him when she’d first arrived. That was not the stare of some prissy virgin. Her eyes had fairly ogled him, betraying that she’d found him as sexually attractive as he found her.

And then there was the way her whole body had quivered when his hand had brushed the back of her neck. It had been quite accidental. Jeremy wasn’t in the habit of indulging in sly, lecherous touching. He never needed to. That Alice had reacted in such a way had been very telling. The woman who’d wrenched out of his hold just now should have whirled around and glared her disapproval. But she hadn’t.

During the short ride up to the first floor in the lift, Jeremy concluded that Alice Waterhouse was nothing but a fraud. Her Ice Princess act with him was just that. An act. What was behind this pretence, he had no idea. But he aimed to find out.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE BALLROOM WAS INDEED, Alice already knew, on the first floor. She’d been there earlier today, checking that everything was being set up according to her instructions. She’d also taken personal responsibility for putting the name cards in place, having paid great attention to the guests’ wishes when it came to seating. Each card also doubled as an auction number, being T-shaped, with the guest’s name on the front and their number on the back.

Alice exited the lift first, anxious not to give Jeremy the opening to take her arm once more. She hated having to be rude, but she would be, if she had to. And she would have to if he kept manhandling her, his touch doing things to her body that didn’t bear thinking about.

‘It’s just along here,’ she said, and hurried down the carpeted corridor.

He kept up with her easily, his stride almost twice one of hers. Of course, he was a good six inches taller than she was, with long legs. Plus she couldn’t walk all that fast in four-inch heels and a short, tight skirt.

The corridor eventually opened out into a larger space where a couple of staff members were putting the finishing touches to a bar area along one wall.

‘Pre-dinner drinks are scheduled from seven-thirty onwards,’ Alice said crisply as she walked over and pulled open one of the closed double doors that led into the ballroom, her eyes finally forced to meet those of her companion. ‘The official time for the dinner to start is eight-thirty. I asked you to be here at seven so that you would have time to read through the list of items to be auctioned, and to discuss how you might want to proceed.’

‘Proceed?’ he echoed in that wonderfully rich voice of his, stepping forward to hold the door open for her.

Alice smothered a sigh. Trust him to have gallant manners. She supposed it was part of his seductive armoury to play the gentleman with women. No doubt he would pull out chairs and hold taxi doors open. And always wear a condom.

Alice only just managed not to gasp at this last thought. Where in heaven’s name had that come from? Okay, so she found Jeremy Barker-Whittle attractive. Any woman would. He was drop-dead gorgeous. But finding him attractive was a far cry from thinking about having sex with him. Yet, as her gaze dropped from his beautiful blue eyes to his wickedly sexy mouth, she couldn’t help wonder what it would be like to go to bed with him. He must be good at it, she reasoned, if Fiona’s sister hadn’t stopped raving about him. She’d met Fiona’s sister, who was a real party girl. She’d sleep with anything in trousers, according to Fiona. So Melody must have slept with Jeremy.

‘Cat got your tongue?’ he said with a wry smile.

Alice blinked, swallowed, then shot him a small, stiff smile. ‘Sorry. I had this sudden awful thought which distracted me.’

‘Anything I should know about?’

‘Not at all,’ she said, thankful that she wasn’t a blusher these days. She had been once, but not any longer. Working in women’s refuges had toughened her up considerably. ‘I’ve been a little OCD about the seating arrangements for dinner and it suddenly occurred to me that I might have made a mistake on one table.’ Lord, but she was better at lying than she would ever have imagined. ‘Still, nothing that can’t be rectified,’ she went on. ‘Now, what I meant by how to proceed is do you want to have the whole auction after dinner, or sell off a few items between courses?’

‘Definitely sell off a few items between courses. It will keep the guests in a buying mood. And stop them from getting bored.’

‘I agree. Right. Follow me.’

* * *

Jeremy followed her into the ballroom, appreciating the sight of her satin-encased derrière much more than her still less than warm demeanour. The ice in her voice and eyes might have melted a little but there was still a long way to go before he could confidently engage her in a conversation that might satisfy his curiosity over her, as well as give him an opening to ask her out. Still, he had several hours in which to achieve his goal.

Alice led him between a myriad of circular tables, each one set to a high standard with white linen tablecloths, silver cutlery, crystal glasses and beautifully appointed name cards placed at each setting. Every table had a number in the centre, which no doubt had been emailed to the guests so that they knew where to head on entering. That was what had happened at the last charity dinner Jeremy had been to, the one that had bored him to tears.

He already knew that this evening’s dinner would not bore him in the slightest. In fact, Jeremy was looking forward to every intriguing second.

‘It all looks splendid,’ he complimented in Alice’s wake.

She didn’t stop or turn around, just said a cool, ‘Yes, it does...’ over her shoulder.

Jeremy frowned, wondering exactly what was bugging the lovely Miss Waterhouse. Surely she didn’t act like this with every man she met. Was it him personally, or something else? Maybe she’d had a row with someone. The missing boyfriend perhaps?

‘You organised all this by yourself?’ he threw after her.

‘Most of it,’ she tossed back at him. ‘The hotel staff were very helpful, of course.’

They arrived at the stage, which ran across the far end of the ballroom and which could be used for many purposes. Concerts. Award nights. Presentations. Whatever. Tonight it was set up with a podium in the middle, a microphone attached. There was a long wooden table behind it, which held an array of objects and a laptop computer, open, at one end. Clearly, this was where Alice would be standing, handing him items and jotting down the numbers of the winning bidder.

A man wouldn’t want to be of a nervous disposition, Jeremy thought as he glanced up at the podium. Fortunately, he wasn’t. But he wondered how Jacobs would have coped. Not that he knew the man well. Kenneth could be a secret exhibitionist for all he knew. Lazy did not mean shy.

There were three flights of steps, which led up onto the stage. One at each end and one in the middle. Alice stopped at the base of the one in the middle and finally turned to face him. She looked a little flushed in the face, but her eyes remained cool.

‘I left the list of items for sale on the podium,’ she told him. ‘Perhaps you could have a look at them whilst I go check that seating.’

‘Okay,’ he agreed, and watched as she wound her way back through the tables, not stopping till she reached the one nearest the door, at which point he shrugged and made his way up onto the stage.

The list of items was extensive and varied. Sporting and entertainment memorabilia. Several dinners for two at five-star restaurants. A family weekend at a B&B in Weymouth. A short holiday for two in Spain. Premiere seats to a rock concert. Return flights to various European capitals. An oil painting of the Duchess of Cambridge by an up-and-coming London artist. Last but not least was the privilege of having Kenneth use a person’s name—amend that to two—in his next thriller.

Jeremy didn’t take long to scan the list, replacing it on the podium before taking a moment to inspect the wooden gavel, even giving it a practice bang, which echoed through the cavernous room and had several waiters lifting their heads for a moment. Not Alice, however, who was already no longer at the table near the doors. Jeremy wondered if that had just been an excuse not to remain in his company longer than strictly necessary. His teeth clenched in his jaw as he made his way down from the stage and headed for the exit. Frankly, he was beginning to feel slightly peeved. And confused. What was it about him that she didn’t like? He wasn’t used to women not liking him. He certainly wasn’t used to being given the cold shoulder.

Jeremy soon saw that Alice wasn’t outside in the pre-dinner drinks area, either. People had begun to arrive, but it wasn’t crowded enough for him not to spot her. Creamy blonde hair like hers did stand out.

‘Jeremy Barker-Whittle!’ a male voice boomed out from just behind his shoulder. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’

Jeremy turned with some reluctance to face the owner of that voice. George Peterson had been a client of his when he’d been an investment consultant. The owner of several car yards, he had entrusted Jeremy with building his considerable savings into an early retirement portfolio. Fortunately, Jeremy had obliged. George was in his late fifties, his wife around the same age, Jeremy liking the fact that George hadn’t traded his wife in for a younger model as most self-made men seemed to do at some stage.

George beamed at him. ‘I was talking to Mandy here about you the other day, wasn’t I, love? I said whatever am I going to do now that Jeremy’s no longer looking after my money? I got so nervous last month that I cashed in all my stocks and shares and put them in the bank.’

‘Not such a bad move, George. Things are very volatile at the moment. Still, your money’s not going to grow much sitting in the bank. Perhaps you should think about buying property.’

‘See, what did I tell you, love? Jeremy’s always got his finger on the pulse. So what are you up to these days, lad? Got a proper girlfriend yet or are you still playing the field?’

It was ironic that Alice came into view right at that moment, smiling and chatting with people as she worked the room, a glass of champagne in her right hand. Their eyes met and Jeremy smiled at her, at which point George’s ruddy face swivelled round to see what he was smiling at.

‘Very nice,’ George said, thankfully in a low voice. ‘Is she your date for tonight?’

‘No,’ Jeremy admitted. ‘She’s the lady who’s organised this do. Her name’s Alice Waterhouse. Alice!’ he called out, and beckoned her over. ‘Come and meet some very good friends of mine,’ he added, smiling at the thought that she could hardly avoid him now.

‘I know Alice,’ Mandy piped up. ‘I spoke to her on the phone when I first got her email about tonight. When I told her how much a fan I was of Kenneth Jacobs’s books, she said she’d put me on the same table as him.’

* * *

Alice plastered a smile on her face and went to meet Jeremy’s very good friends.

Jeremy introduced them, Alice quickly remembering her phone conversation with Mandy.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said straight away, glad to be able to direct her conversation towards anyone but the very annoying Jeremy, who continued to smile at her in that smug fashion, as though they had some kind of secret relationship going on. ‘Mr Jacobs can’t be here tonight. He’s got a dreadful cold. We’re still auctioning off his prize, though. His publisher here has very kindly agreed to do the auctioneering honours tonight.’ With that, she served Jeremy with a saccharine smile that didn’t touch her eyes.

‘What?’ George’s eyes widened with surprise. ‘Is she talking about you, Jeremy?’

‘She is indeed.’

‘When did you become a publisher?’

‘Shortly after I left banking.’

‘Is there money in it?’

‘Probably not,’ Jeremy said drily. ‘But as they say in the classics, it’s not always about the money.’

George guffawed. ‘That’s a good one. A Barker-Whittle saying it’s not about the money.’

Alice noticed that Jeremy’s eyes stopped sparkling for a split second. Not that she cared.

A waiter with a tray of drinks paused next to their group, offering them flutes of champagne or orange juice. They all selected champagne, all except Alice who already had a glass, which she was not actually drinking. She couldn’t afford to get tipsy, not if she had to deal with lover boy all night. Her vain attempt to avoid him till dinner hadn’t worked, she conceded with a degree of frustration.

‘I really should mingle,’ Alice said. ‘I’ll see you all at dinner, since we’re on the same table.’

‘How lovely!’ Mandy gushed.

‘I’ll mingle with you,’ Jeremy offered immediately.

‘No need to do that,’ Alice blurted out in alarm. ‘You should stay and look after your friends.’

‘We don’t need looking after, little lady,’ George retorted. ‘Off you go, both of you.’

The conspiratorial smirk he sent Jeremy did not escape Alice’s notice. Lord knew what he’d said to the man.

‘Why did George look at you like that?’ she asked bluntly as she made her way through the milling crowd, Jeremy at her side.

‘Like what?’

She ground to a halt and glared up at him. ‘Like he was secretly playing matchmaker.’

‘Can’t say that I noticed.’

Alice sighed in exasperation.

‘George is a bit of a romantic,’ he added. ‘Take no notice of him.’

She was struggling to find something to say when Jeremy was claimed by another couple who knew him, this time some television executive and his wife. And that was how it went for the next forty minutes, lots of other guests vying for his attention as if he were some kind of celebrity, all of them assuming she was his girlfriend, something he occasionally didn’t deny. Not that that stopped the women from flirting with him. Neither did it stop her feeling ridiculously, irrationally jealous.

Irritated and confused, Alice had difficulty maintaining her usual calm demeanour. Finally, the urge to snap something rather rude at an over-made-up blonde whose false eyelashes were in danger of falling off she was fluttering them so much, almost overwhelmed Alice. Sucking in a deep, gathering breath, she turned to Jeremy, smiling up at him in a somewhat brittle fashion. ‘Sorry, Jeremy, but I must visit the ladies’ room before the evening begins. I’ll see you later at the table. Ours is table number one.’

The relief she felt at exiting his presence was enormous. But the sight of her over-bright eyes in the powder-room mirror was both telling and worrying. Be careful, Alice, she warned herself. Be very, very careful.

CHAPTER FIVE

JEREMY FOUND GEORGE and his wife before entering the ballroom at twenty-five minutes past eight, chatting away with them as they made their way to table one, which was right at the front of the room near the stage. Alice was nowhere to be seen, her continued absence frustrating him. Never one to beat a dead horse, Jeremy began to accept that perhaps Alice actually wasn’t attracted to him. But if that was the case, why had she reacted negatively a couple of times to women flirting with him? And she had. Oh, yes. He’d glimpsed definite irritation in her body language, especially when that blonde had started giving him gooey-eyed looks.

Jeremy was thinking about the reasons for Alice cutting and running when she suddenly walked out onto the stage, making her way slowly towards the podium. How magnificent she looked up there, he thought, unable to take his eyes off her. Like a young Audrey Hepburn, though with blonde hair. Talk about class! Once in position at the podium she turned on the microphone and tapped it a couple of times, bringing relative quiet to the buzzing ballroom. Once everyone was seated, she cast a wide smile around the room and began to speak in that well-educated, crystal-clear voice of hers.

‘Welcome, everyone,’ she began. ‘First, I must thank you all for coming here tonight and supporting a cause that is dear to my heart. It is unfortunate that women’s refuges are necessary in our supposedly civilised and enlightened world, but that is sadly the case. Some of you might not know this, but I work as a counsellor at a few of the inner-city refuges, and I know personally that they are all struggling to make ends meet, plus to cope with the number of women asking for help. We desperately need more refuges. More case workers. More counsellors. Of course, that all means more money, some of which we hope to raise tonight through your kindness and generosity. So please...dig deep. Trust me when I say that whatever you donate will make a huge difference to those women who have nowhere to go and no one to turn to. They need your help. Thank you.’

When Alice stopped speaking, the whole room erupted with clapping, Jeremy feeling immensely proud of her, and quite moved. What a speech! What a woman! Politicians could take a leaf out of her book when it came to inspiring people. If he hadn’t been doing the auctioneering job, Jeremy would have been tempted to bid for every single item himself, making sure that the very best price would be achieved before the gavel came down. As it was, he vowed to give the charity a hefty donation of his own at the end of the night. Who knew? Maybe the gesture would make her agree to go out with him. Because he was still going to ask her, wasn’t he? Nothing was surer in his mind.

When Alice sat down at the table, everyone spoke to her at once, congratulating her on her lovely words and assuring her that they would all dig deep. Jeremy couldn’t get a word in edgewise. As soon as he could, he leant a little closer to her and said quietly, ‘That was a seriously impressive speech, Alice. You could do fund-raising for a career, if you wanted to.’

* * *

Alice stiffened at the way her body responded to that deeply masculine voice of his, plus the warmth of his breath against her ear. Her stomach tightened, and so did her nipples, something which had never happened to her before. It was quite frightening, but also insidiously beguiling. She ached to turn to him and give him a real smile, one which told him how desperately she wanted to give in to the erotically charged spell that she suspected he was capable of casting over her. If she let him.

But to do so was to dance with the devil, the devil being men who had no conscience or morals. She’d seen first-hand what such men could do to a woman. Okay, so maybe Jeremy wasn’t as bad as her sister’s abusive bully of a husband. Or that vile creep she’d gone out with from college. But he was still a serial womaniser who wanted a woman for one thing and one thing only. Admittedly, since meeting him, her own traitorous mind had been filled with that same thing. Clearly, Jeremy was a Casanova extraordinaire who didn’t have to lift a finger to make women swoon. His elegant looks and his natural charm did it for him. And yes, that wonderfully sexy voice of his.

Despite being sorely tempted, Alice refused to become just another of this playboy’s conquests. So she schooled her face into a polite smile before turning her head to answer him. Unfortunately, she hadn’t anticipated just how close Jeremy’s face was. Barely centimetres separated their noses, their eyes, their mouths...

Her smile froze in place as she stared at his lips, hating herself for wondering what it would be like to be kissed by them. But she wondered just the same. And she wanted. Oh, yes, she wanted. For a long moment she almost surrendered to the crazed urge to close the gap between them. But at the last second she pulled herself together. And he, thank God, leant back into his chair.

‘I couldn’t be a professional fund-raiser,’ she said with her usual cool reserve. ‘I don’t like asking anyone for money. At least this way people get something in exchange for their donation. I’ve been assured the food and wine will be good, but of course there won’t be much choice. It’s a set menu, with only two dishes in each course, served alternatively so that people can swap if they want to. That’s the only way the staff could cope with so many meals.’

‘It looks good to me,’ Jeremy remarked as the starters arrived at their table.

Alice was glad that she had something to concentrate on other than her crazy feelings. She glanced over at Jeremy’s plate—scallops cooked in a white wine sauce—then down at her own, which was a stir-fried beef dish served on Asian greens. Alice heaved a sigh of relief when everyone at the table tucked in without swapping, all of them seemingly pleased with the food. And with the wine, red or white being offered by the constantly circling waiters. Each table already had jugs of iced water and freshly squeezed orange juice if people didn’t drink alcohol. Mandy, who was on her right, chose the white, as did Alice. Not that she had any intention of drinking much.

‘Eat up,’ Jeremy said when she just sat there with her fork in her hand, and her mind still elsewhere. ‘I love a woman who enjoys her food.’

Alice rolled her eyes at him. ‘I get the impression that you love all women.’

He just smiled, not seeming in any way offended. ‘You could be right there. They are definitely the nicer sex.’

‘With the emphasis on the sex part,’ she retorted, thinking to herself that she was insane to start this kind of tit-for-tat conversation.

He gave her a searching look. ‘You don’t like men much, do you? Or is it just me?’

Guilt consumed her at the realisation of how rude she had been when in truth he had done nothing wrong. Everything had been in her overheated imagination, plus her overheated libido.

‘I do apologise,’ she said sincerely. ‘I’m not normally this rude. It’s been a long and difficult day. I do like you. Honestly. I appreciate your coming tonight and being my auctioneer. It’s just that...’

‘What?’

She closed her eyes and shook her head. Impossible to explain the situation without being rude again.

‘Nothing,’ she added, opening her eyes and throwing him a wan smile. ‘I’m a little tired.’

‘You don’t look tired,’ he said. ‘You look beautiful.’

Oh, Lord. He was like the Chinese water torture. ‘Please don’t,’ she said with a low groan.

‘Please don’t what? Tell you that I think you’re wonderful? I’d like to ask you out, Alice. To dinner, with me paying next time.’

Alice could not believe how tempted she was to just say yes. Yes, yes, please take me out to dinner then take me back to bed. It shocked her, the strength of that temptation, not to mention her desire. Fiona had been so right about Jeremy. He was seriously dangerous.

‘Thank you for asking me,’ she answered. ‘I’m flattered. But my answer has to be no.’

His eyes narrowed as they scanned her face. ‘Why is that, might I ask? You just said you liked me.’

‘Do I have to give you a reason? Maybe I already have a boyfriend.’

‘Do you?’

‘No,’ she said, lifting her glass of white wine to her lips. So much for her decision not to drink. But Lord, this man would drive any woman to drink.

‘Girlfriend?’

Her startled gasp sent wine splashing over the rim of her glass.

With the speed of a quarter horse jumping out of the stalls, Jeremy whipped the snow-white handkerchief out of his breast pocket and dabbed at where the wine had run down her chin and throat, heading for her cleavage.

‘Don’t do that,’ she snapped, even as her arms broke out into goosebumps.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he countered as he continued to mop up the wine.

Both George and Mandy said something but she wasn’t listening, her focus solely on where that infernal handkerchief was straying, down towards her bullet-like nipples.

Just before he reached them, his hand stopped and he put the handkerchief away. Alice was not sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

‘So what’s your real reason for refusing to go out with me?’ he asked her quietly as she snatched up her fork and attempted to finish her starter. ‘And I’d like the truth, please.’

She swallowed one meagre mouthful before putting the fork down. ‘If you must know, it’s because of your reputation.’

He looked bemused. ‘And what reputation is that?’

‘Come now, Jeremy, you must know what people say about you. You’re a playboy.’

‘Oh, is that all?’ he said, and laughed. ‘And that’s your only reason?’

She blinked at him. ‘You don’t think that’s a good enough reason?’

‘I’ve never come across it before.’

She just stared at him, thinking that she had never come across someone quite like him before, either. He was arrogant, yes, but with a wonderfully easy-going manner, which was both disarming and seriously seductive.

‘I would imagine that not many women would say no to you, Jeremy,’ she said truthfully. ‘But I am. Please don’t make a big deal about it. I’m not interested in wasting time on a man who thinks dating is a game and women are interchangeable.’

‘I couldn’t imagine ever thinking you were interchangeable, Alice. I can see that you are absolutely unique.’

‘Why? Because I’m saying no to you?’

When he smiled she wanted to slap him. And kiss him. And say yes to him.

Her shoulders straightened as they did whenever life put her back against the wall.

‘It’s time for us to go auction off a few things,’ she said coolly, and stood up.

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