“This is one of your buildings?”
He nodded. “Yes. This is my London hub. Most of my UK business is done here.”
“It looks like a—” She broke off and flushed. It wasn’t exactly polite to say that his design reminded her of confectionary.
“Like a what?” He grinned at her. “Go on. Be honest.”
“Like a candy twist.”
He nodded, pleased. “Do you like it?”
“Oh, yes!”
Looking gratified, he ushered her inside the sunlit lobby. “Does it remind you of your childhood?”
No. Thankfully.
She smiled. “It makes me think of light-hearted things. Even though it’s very modern, it feels almost nostalgic.”
“A candy twist was exactly what I wanted people to think of. I like a bit of whimsy in my buildings—something that makes people smile. At the same time, I like to create things that are beautiful, and I always think that curves and twists are. Most people are used to seeing buildings that are all straight lines, but they don’t have to be. Buildings can be more sensuous than that.”
“Yes…” He was right, now that she thought about it. When she reflected on some of her favourite buildings in the world—the Sydney Opera House, the Coliseum in Rome, the Burj Al Arab in Dubai—they were all curved, graceful constructions. She had never really mentioned architecture very much in her books, but perhaps she should put a spectacular place in her next story, have a building that became almost a character, influencing and shaping the lives of those who inhabited it.
They entered the building, walked across a vast sunlit atrium with its own tinkling fountain and entered a glass elevator which floated upwards in an impossibly smooth and silent manner. The view of London, with St. Paul’s Cathedral, Big Ben and the London Eye, with the sparkling river Thames running through it was spectacular.
She glanced uneasily at Mac, so secure and relaxed in the grand surroundings. Here he looked the epitome of the successful businessman, on top of his game with one of the most powerful cities in the world at his feet. Here, his power was almost tangible. He had made, and owned, this vast edifice, built on one of the most expensive bits of real-estate in the country.
She could see now that he was more powerful even than—
She cut off the thought sharply—she would not think of the past.
But she shouldn’t be here. The realisation was sudden, absolute and devastating. She shouldn’t be anywhere near a man like Mac, a man who had more resources and power at his disposal than she could dream of. She knew what powerful men were like…
She should never have agreed to come. She’d allowed herself to be blinded by her physical attraction to him and by an appeal to her better nature to help his sister. She hadn’t realised how much she was putting her trust in him until now. She swallowed hard, feeling the glass walls closing in on her.
Then the doors opened and she stepped out into the swirling wind and noise of a helicopter landing pad.
She was on the helicopter before she had time to work out what to do. Her hands shook as she fastened her belt, and Mac, who’d sat down beside her, cast her a quick, concerned glance.
He passed her a pair of headphones and put some on himself. “Holly,” he said, “are you all right? I never thought to ask if you were afraid of flying.”
She swallowed hard. It had all happened so quickly…too quickly. If she hadn’t been so discombobulated over that damned rat, then distracted by her own physical response to the man…
She hadn’t even let anyone know where she was going—not Melissa, not anyone. But Mac had told Jenna. Mac had told Jenna. She only had his word for it. What if he’d lied? Her stomach clenched, and she thought she might be sick.
At that moment, they rose into the air. Mac took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly, even as he called for a steward. A moment later, Holly found herself holding a glass of sparkling water with ice, lemon and mint.
She didn’t even know where they were going. She was travelling with a man who could easily make the Times 100 Top Richest Men in the UK list, to an unknown destination. All she did know was that there would be security there…and a sister.
But what if the security was to keep people in, rather than keep them out?
No. She was being ridiculous. Mac was a perfectly decent man, an internationally renowned man who’d been knighted, for goodness’ sake, and who’d done nothing, nothing at all, to make her think he was anything less than on the level.
Sweat beaded her brow. Memories that she was usually able to suppress hit her like hail—the tall, wired fences of the commune where she’d been born and raised, the guards, mocking and threatening, and the look of Anton Deveraux, the all-powerful cult leader and father figure, as he’d approached her, rabid desire in his eyes.
‘You’re nearly thirteen…’ he’d said, softly. ‘We’ll marry on your birthday.’
She’d been horrified and frightened, though not stupid enough to show it. She’d seen what he and his guards did to people who displeased him, though it didn’t happen very often. Most of the cult members, including her mother, had followed his every word with a slavish devotion. Instead, she’d pretended to be honoured and excited as he ravaged her mouth with his sloppy lips and slimy tongue.
She had begun desperate plans for her escape that very night. And now she was back with another horribly powerful alpha male, trapped in a helicopter, going to who-knew-where. She retched. She was going to be sick…
A brown paper bag was thrust into her hand. She leaned forward, breathing deeply, trying to fight back the nausea. She was shaking from head to toe. She couldn’t help it. Mac loomed over her, putting his hand on her back. She flinched away sharply and he quickly removed it. “We’re nearly there, Holly. Another five minutes…”
“Where… Where are we going?”
“Oh! Not far. The Isles of Scilly.”
Where the hell are they?
As if he’d read her thoughts, he said, “They’re only about twenty-five miles from mainland England. It’s a small archipelago, very pretty. The islands catch the edge of the Gulf Stream, so the climate is sub-tropical, and there are lots of spectacular tropical flowers and plants. The island we’re going to is called St. Arthelais. It’s lovely. I think you’ll like it.”
An island. She would be even more effectively trapped than she had been in the compound. But other people would live there. It wasn’t like with Anton. People wouldn’t be in thrall to Mac. She could always appeal to them for help if necessary. She took a cautious breath, trying to keep calm. She was over-reacting. There was no logical reason for her to feel threatened.
He continued to talk, and she knew he was trying to distract her. He was a nice man, a good man. She knew he was…if there was such a thing. Impatiently, she shook her head. Of course there was. He was. He was.
A few minutes later, the pilot announced they were landing, and they began to descend.
A short time later, they stood on the tarmac as the helicopter took off again. The landing pad was nothing more than a circle of concrete set into heather and gorse moorland. Beyond the drifts of purple and gold there were only sheer cliffs and the silver-shimmering sea.
Mac breathed in the salt-sea air and the green scent of ferns and heather, absorbing the soothing sounds of nature—the wind brushing through the grass, the cry of seagulls, the omnipresent low, thundering pulse of the ocean. And damn, he needed that soothing just now. He felt sick at the very thought of going home and facing Leonie, knowing he’d let her down, knowing he should never have left her.
As the helicopter departed, he took a bracing breath. This island was his favourite place on earth. Quiet and lovely with an almost tangible sense of peace, it always calmed him. He tried to draw it to him now, that sense of stillness and tranquillity, to ground himself against his anxieties.
He looked at Holly, again noting her pallor. Hopefully, now that she was out of the helicopter, she’d be all right. He’d
been taken aback at her reaction to the flight. She’d not shown any signs of nervousness before they got on board. Maybe it was just delayed reaction from the events of the morning or lack of sleep from the night before. Still, the warm, clear island air should help her stomach settle.
It was a beautiful evening, with mellow golden sunshine and a light, refreshing breeze. A gentle, reviving walk might help her regain her equilibrium—and might help him find his, too. He really needed to, before he spoke to his sister. He absolutely did not want to talk to her until he was sure he wouldn’t say anything to upset her even more.
“I…ah…took the liberty of asking the pilot to send a message to say we’d walk to the house. It’s not far, and I thought perhaps the fresh air would make you feel a bit better. I can arrange for a ride, though, if you prefer.”
But she shook her head. “Walking’s fine.”
They set off at a gentle pace, following a narrow gravel path up the incline of a small hill. Her head was bent as she concentrated on the uneven path, but he was concerned to see that she was still trembling.
“I hope you’ll like it here,” he said, easily. “This is my favourite place in the world.”
“You’re…uh…from here, originally?”
“No.” He paused as a beautiful pastel-blue butterfly with white edging fluttered past. “That’s an Adonis Blue,” he said, quietly. “They’re a rare breed. They need grasslands, and there aren’t so many of those about these days. You see the little yellow flowers?”
She looked out at the scrub grass, purple heather and clumps of tiny golden blossoms stretching out towards the sea. It was exquisitely beautiful. “Mmm-hmm.”
“It’s horseshoe vetch. That’s what they feed on.” He smiled. “That’s one of the reasons I like owning this island. I can make sure it remains unspoiled, a haven for wildlife.”
“Yes, I— Wait. You own this island?”
She seemed to stumble for a moment, and he put his arm around her tense shoulders to steady her. He felt a faint tremor and wondered with concern if she still felt nauseated. “Yes. It’s perfect for peace and privacy when the rat race of London and New York get too much.”
“That’s… That’s where you normally live?”
He shrugged. “Mostly. It’s where I own houses. I tend to travel a lot to wherever the work is.”
“I see.”
“So…how many people actually live here?”
He shrugged. “Oh, just us and our housekeeper Flora and her family. Her twin son and daughter are at university at the moment, but they come back during the holidays. A lot more people live on St. Mary’s, which is ten minutes away to the southwest—maybe a thousand or so.”
“So, there are only a handful of people living here?” she said faintly.
“Well…we often have visitors, but yes, usually.” They were almost at the top of the hill. “In a minute, you’ll have a great view of the islands.”
They crested the top of the slope, and Holly gasped. He wasn’t surprised. The view was one of the loveliest he’d ever seen—and he’d travelled extensively. From their vantage point, the whole of the island could be seen, tiny in comparison to the vast ocean surrounding it. On one side, pink and purple heather-covered moorland swept down to a natural bay and a small harbour, with a golden sliver of beach edged by turquoise and aquamarine sea. On the other lay some small fields, a cove with a beach and cliffs. Beyond lay the islands, mirage-like, ephemeral in a silver sea, and, more distantly, the Atlantic Ocean, stretching out to the far horizon.
“Oh!” Holly’s stunned exclamation satisfied him. He was surprised at how much he’d wanted her to like it. He glanced down at her. In the soft light, with the breeze sweeping soft strands of hair across her face, she was breathtakingly lovely. His stomach knotted with a sharp surge of desire.
He turned abruptly to look out at the rolling sea, the breakers foaming against the cliffs, and wished for what seemed like the thousandth time that things could be different, that she could be his. But there was way too much trouble in his life for her to be part of it, even if she’d wanted to be. The problem was, she was too damn appealing by half. He needed to keep his distance.
He stared at the moss-covered granite at his feet. A tiny, delicate purple and lemon dwarf pansy flowered from between the rocks. He swallowed. It was a rare flower—precious and endangered. In the whole of the Britain, it grew only on the Scilly Isles. And he could have crushed it so easily. One careless step and it would be gone. His stomach twisted. Life was like that—so fragile, so vulnerable, so exposed.
His parents had been taken, wiped out by the careless swerve of a drunk driver in one horrific moment. Leonie could have died at the hands of her kidnappers… And Holly too could be hurt, killed by some maniac who was maybe just warming up by sending her dead animals.
Desperation rose inside him and he forced it down. He didn’t know how to bear it, the weight of his fear. There seemed to be danger everywhere.
He shouldn’t be worrying about Holly. He had enough on his plate worrying about Leonie. Holly was not his to be caring about. She was just an acquaintance. A lover, an insidious voice inside him whispered. A one-time lover, he corrected himself, savagely.
He hadn’t felt so desolate since his parents had died. The sea and sky merged in endless blue to infinity. They would be there long after he and all his petty troubles were gone. But in the meantime, he needed to tread carefully, to shelter the precious flowers in his care.
He ran a rough hand through his hair, entirely unaware that Holly had been watching the expressions flicker across his face in painful clarity.
And for Holly, that watching had been a stunning revelation. As she’d stood at the top of the mount and seen just how utterly isolated they were, she’d experienced a sense of vulnerability that was unbearable to someone who had once escaped a situation of utter helplessness and sworn never to be put in that position again. She’d been ready to cut and run, to demand that he take her back to the mainland right now.
But then she’d seen his face. He’d looked at her, just for a fraction of a second, and she’d seen longing. Then he’d turned away from her, his body language speaking of defeat and despair. And his expression in profile? She swallowed. It was the look of a man with an unbearable emotional burden, not the look of one with too much power who was willing to use it against others.
She realised with a jolt that she had made him a monster in her mind. She’d focused only on the parts of him that she feared—his power, his wealth. She’d overlooked the part of him that was vulnerable—the man who needed help with his sister, who had responsibilities hand over fist but apparently no one to turn to for comfort.
She stepped forward and turned him to face her. He flinched at her touch on his arm but did as he was bid. His eyes remained firmly fixed to the ground and she was aware that his hands were balled into fists.
“Mac,” she said softly, “look at me.”
He raised his eyes to hers. What she saw there made her wince. That he was trying to hide his emotions was obvious. That he was failing, equally so. He was too upset, his distress too acute to conceal.
What was it that was hurting him like this? She thought for a moment, then she knew. “You’re worried about seeing Leonie?”
A nerve throbbed in his cheek. Partially. “Yes.”
She pressed a soft hand to his face. “She’s your sister and she loves you. If any wrong has been done”—which she highly doubted—“she’ll forgive you.”
He closed his eyes. “I don’t deserve forgiveness,” he said, hoarsely. “I should have known not to leave her.”
“I think you need to forgive yourself.” She spoke the words on instinct, without conscious thought, but winced at their bluntness.
“Yes, well, it’ll be a cold day in hell before that happens.”
He thrust his hands into his pockets. She hated to see him like this. Stepping forward, she wrapped her arms around him. “Mac, I know we’re
just friends, but—”
“You’re a kind woman, Holly,” he said, then without any hesitation, he bent his head to kiss her.
It was a kiss borne of need, of desperation, of distress. It should have been harsh and rough and brutal, but it wasn’t. Instead, Mac took her in his arms with unmistakeable reverence and kissed her with something akin to adoration.
As he lowered his head, Holly closed her eyes. He brushed his lips against hers, warm and tender. Her body quickened and she moved closer, pressing herself against him. The clean, fresh scent of cedar and the soft musk of his body made her shiver. The night before she had tasted him, had breathed that same scent as she came.
Her stomach knotted and desire swirled as she lost herself in the darkness of the kiss, the warmth, that strangely wonderful sense of two merged into one, belonging only with each other.
She stroked the back of his neck, the smooth softness of his hair, the warm, precious skin. She wanted him so much, wanted to comfort him and take away his pain…
A kiss is not enough. She had to stop. With an acute sense of loss, she stepped back.
Breathing deeply, she pulled herself together. With lust abating, she was able to think more clearly. That had been a mistake. She was glad she’d done it, for his sake, but kissing him was just too damn intense, too dangerous and too much of a temptation. She couldn’t let herself get any more drawn to him. The level of desire she was experiencing felt uncomfortably close to need. And she knew where that could lead. Hadn’t she seen it in her mother? Her mother had been hopelessly, helplessly dependent on Anton for her emotional happiness. Everything revolved around the subjugation of her needs and wants to his. A frown from him could cast her into a pit of despair for days. And the level of power that gave the man over her was terrifying.
Well, she might have some of her mother’s genes, but she refused ever to allow herself to succumb to what her mother had called ‘love’. No, she was an independent, emotionally liberated woman and no man, however attractive, was going to lure her into that kind of emotional oppression.
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