‘What can I do for you, Miss Sherwood?’ he drawled, ignoring his own chair to remain standing behind the expanse of his desk. ‘Are you after some financial advice?’
Emily worked even harder on her smile, resenting him even more for not sitting down and giving her craning neck a rest.
‘I was hoping we could have a talk about your aunt—’
‘No.’ His single word was delivered both adamantly and sharply.
Emily took a calming breath and tried again. ‘But what if you were the main collaborator on the biography?’ she asked. ‘I’d only write what you wanted me to write. You’d have total control.’
Damien’s hawk-like eyes pierced her blue gaze.
‘I told you before, I have no intention of revealing information about my aunt to anyone, and most particularly not to you.’
Emily clenched her hands in her lap, desperately fighting the desire to slam them down on his desk in frustration. She was certain he could tell she was losing her cool and it made her all the more determined not to do so. All the same, her nails had imprinted themselves in her palms by the time she trusted herself to speak once more.
‘But wouldn’t it be better for someone like me to work closely with the family, to present the public with the truth, rather than allow the constant speculation to continue?’ She forced herself to meet and hold his hard gaze. ‘The various rumours that have circulated about her disappearance after her last performance haven’t been all that flattering.’
There was a lengthy pause before he came from behind his desk in two easy strides and stood before her. Emily shifted in her seat, her throat threatening to close over as she had to crane her neck even further to hold his gaze.
‘Just how closely are you prepared to work with my family?’ he asked in a voice as smooth as velvet.
Emily swallowed. ‘I…really want to do this book. I’m prepared to do whatever it takes.’
One of his brows rose speculatively. ‘How very intriguing. I don’t think I’ve met anyone quite so passionate about their work before.’ His dark gaze followed the path of her nervous tongue, snaking out to moisten her dry lips. ‘It makes me wonder if all that passion could have some other, more pleasurable outlet.’
Emily could feel the warmth of his body within inches of hers. She’d only have to lift one of her damp hands from under her thighs where she’d trapped them to touch him. Her stomach hollowed at the thought of those hard thighs touching hers, that strong mouth commandeering hers, those masculine hands touching her in places she secretly ached to be touched…
‘I…I think it’s time I left,’ she croaked, getting to her feet with no trace of her usual grace and ease of movement. On the way up her foot caught the edge of the chair-leg and pitched her forward awkwardly. He caught her easily, steadying her in the strong band of his arms, his warm, minty breath caressing her startled face.
‘What’s the hurry, Miss Sherwood? Or perhaps I should call you Emily, since you’re so keen on getting up close and personal with my family?’
Emily tensed as she felt his hands slide down her arms to grasp both of hers in his. She felt the brush of his thighs against hers and her breathing quickened in spite of her earlier determination to maintain a cool composure in his disturbing presence.
‘Let me go,’ she said, wishing she didn’t sound quite so breathless.
She felt his hands tighten fractionally on hers.
‘But I thought you wanted to get close to us Margates?’ he taunted, pulling her even closer into his body. ‘Really close.’
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ she said, and tried to remove herself from his iron grasp, but his hold, though unbruising, was very firm.
‘I’m disappointed. I thought you had more spirit.’
‘I’ve got more sense than to allow you to—’
‘Allow me to what? Kiss you?’ His eyes caught her defiant ones. ‘Or what if I were to take it one step further?’
‘I’ll scream,’ she warned. ‘And I’ll report you for assault. You have no right to hold me against my will like this, and I—‘
His mouth closed over her tirade and her instant response to his lips on hers betrayed her even further. Her mouth opened under the pressure of his searching tongue as his hard thighs ground against the softness of hers. His tongue explored her mouth at a leisurely pace, and although a part of her knew she should be clawing at his face to stop him her hands had somehow found their way around his neck instead, and embedded themselves into the thick pelt of his dark hair just above his collar.
He let her go abruptly and she almost fell, clutching at the edge of his desk for support.
‘I can see why Danny’s so taken with you,’ he said, putting her from him. ‘But I’m not going to fall for your undoubted charms and spill the beans quite so readily as my brother.’
‘You’re not close, are you?’ she observed.
‘You know what they say—you can choose your friends but not your relatives.’
‘Yes, I do know that.’
He must have sensed something in her tone, for his penetrating gaze captured hers once more.
‘Family loyalty is very important to me. I will do anything to maintain it.’
‘I’m sure that’s very admirable.’
‘You probably have no idea how far I’d go to protect my aunt.’
‘I think I’m getting the picture,’ she answered. ‘You’ve shown absolutely no scruples so far.’
He surveyed her face for a long moment.
‘Is this how you usually go about interviewing people for your books? Apart from those you sleep with first?’ His tone dripped with sarcasm as his dark brown eyes ran over her suggestively.
She lifted her chin defiantly, her eyes flashing.
‘I assume you’re referring to your brother?’
‘I’m sure he won’t be the only one, but, yes, I was referring to him.’
‘Your brother has been a fount of information,’ she lied.
Damien’s mouth twisted.
‘No doubt he has, given the temptation.’ His eyes slid to her breasts and took their time returning to her face. Emily’s spine went rigid with anger and her hands tightened into fists at her sides.
‘Mr Margate—’ she fought her temper back under con-trol ‘—I am researching an accurate biography on your aunt’s life. As I in no way wish to alienate her relatives I was hoping I could interview members of her family in order to present the public with an authentic account of both her personal and professional life. If you don’t cooperate then I’ll have to resort to other means.’
‘Why bother coming to me? Why not do what you people usually do and make it up as you go?’
‘I don’t work like that,’ she said. ‘I believe in telling it as it is. That’s why I want this to be an authentic account. Your aunt was—I mean is—a special person and—’
‘My aunt is no longer public property,’ he said implacably. ‘You might think bedding my younger brother gives you automatic licence to document everything to do with the Margate name, but I’m afraid you’re sadly mistaken.’
‘When did you last see your aunt?’ she asked.
‘That’s none of your business. Now get out.’
‘But surely—’
‘I said get out, Miss Sherwood, and I meant it.’
Emily drew in a deep breath, her colour high.
‘Mr Margate, I don’t wish to cause trouble, but I—’
‘Get the hell out of here. Do you hear me?’
Emily turned and slammed the door behind her, her legs shaking in reaction. She fumed at her own cowardice all the way down in the lift. She berated herself for not standing up to him, for not calling his bluff, but somehow he’d made her feel so pathetic. She’d felt like a mangy cat scrambling for crumbs at his feet. How was she to write this book without help from Rose’s nearest relatives? Rose had never married, never had children. Damien and Danny were her only living relatives since their father, her brother D
onald, had died.
Emily didn’t want to speculate. She didn’t want to rely on innuendo or gossip. She wanted to write the truth about a woman the public had loved and still missed. She didn’t want a repeat of Tyson’s Trial. She didn’t want to fail this time. She couldn’t fail this time.
Danny called her at lunchtime. Emily had her arms full of washing and had to balance the phone against her chin to speak to him.
‘I’m sorry about last night,’ he said. ‘How did the cocktail party go?’
‘Fine.’ She grimaced as her pink g-string fell to the floor. ‘I won an award for Going For Vote. Your brother was very…’
‘Damien?’ Danny blurted. ‘Was he there?’
Emily frowned as a hand-towel joined her g-string at her feet.
‘Didn’t you ask him to fill in for you?’
‘The last thing my brother would do is help me,’ Danny said bitterly. ‘I wonder what he’s up to?’
‘Yes, well, that’s exactly the same question I was wanting to ask you,’ Emily said.
‘I was going to tell you—’ Danny began.
‘Before or after we had sex?’
‘You must think I’m an absolute cad.’
‘Suffice it to say I had noticed the family likeness.’
‘So, you’ve had dealings with Damien, then?’ His tone was dry.
‘You could call it that.’
‘I hope he wasn’t too hard on you. He can be a little protective of Rose.’
‘A little protective?’ Emily gave a snort of derisive laughter which sent two more articles of clothing to the floor. ‘Anyone would think he was her son, the way he carries on—’
There was silence at the end of the line.
Emily stared at the pile of clean washing on the floor in front of her, their tumbled disarray not unlike the thoughts in her head.
‘Danny? Is that possible? Could Damien be Rose’s own son?’ she asked, clutching the telephone with both hands.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Emily—you know Rose never married.’
‘That’s not what I asked. Could Damien be her son? A child from a relationship in her past?’
‘Damien’s my older brother. He’s four years older than me, and even though he doesn’t necessarily look like me he’s very much like my father.’
‘But you don’t get on, do you?’
‘Lots of brothers don’t get along. It doesn’t mean they’re not related.’
‘But haven’t you ever wondered? I mean, Damien being so different from you. You told me several times that he and your parents were often at loggerheads.’
‘You told me the same thing yourself—that’s just Damien. He’s got a chip on his shoulder, that’s all. If I were you I’d give him a wide berth. He doesn’t always play by the rules and I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt.’
‘I’m touched by your concern for my feelings,’ she said with heavy irony.
‘Emily, I really am sorry about last night, but Louise and I go back a long way.’
‘All the same, you could’ve told me yourself. It wasn’t very pleasant having your brother there to gloat over my dismissal.’
‘You’re not dismissed. Can’t we still be friends?’
‘That depends a little on your brother.’
‘What do you mean?’
A vision of Damien’s threatening expression crowded her mind.
‘Never mind. I’ll talk to you later. I’ve got things to do.’
Emily gathered up the fallen clothes and dumped them on the nearest sofa. She went to her research file to look for the collection of Margate family photographs Danny had given her to copy. Laying them around her on the floor, she inspected each of them once more.
There were numerous ones of the infant Danny, his platinum hair standing on end as he frolicked in the shallows of the surf, or chased after a shaggy-looking dog with a ball. However, the photographs containing Damien seemed to be an afterthought. He always seemed to be to one side of the camera focus. Was it a coincidence? Or was it a deliberate attempt to shut the dark and brooding boy out of the family centre?
There was a larger photograph of the boys’ father, Donald Margate, tall and austere-looking as he gazed out over the top of his shining car. Emily could see Damien’s likeness in the breadth of shoulders and sooty hair. Their mother, Cora, had a flowered scarf tied around her ashblonde hair, her pretty face wistful. As Emily searched back through each of the photographs she came to realise with an uneasy feeling that the only time Cora Margate smiled was when she was looking at her younger son, Danny. Why hadn’t she seen all this before?
Emily put the photos to one side and considered her next move. She had a week before she signed the preliminary contract with her publisher. A week before Damien Margate’s threats could be activated. A week to find out the truth.
Clarice phoned her half an hour later with four engage-ments for her in as many hours.
‘You’re being interviewed first thing Monday for the breakfast show,’ she said gleefully. ‘After that it’s straight to the radio studio at NMDA. Then there’s a morning tea meeting with the editor of Writers’ Review and after that an interview with Nadine Brereton and Damien Margate.’
‘What?’ Emily gasped.
‘Nadine Brereton—you know, from that current affairs programme on pay TV. She wants to—’
‘I know who Nadine is,’ Emily said agitatedly. ‘But why Damien Margate?’
‘I thought you’d be thrilled. What a coup this is! The nephew of Rose has finally agreed to an interview.’
‘But I’ve had numerous interviews with Danny—’
‘I know, my love, but he’s just a boy compared to Damien Margate. He’s the one with the inside information on Rose’s whereabouts. He’s the one you should’ve been setting your sights on, not that perfidious little playboy who doesn’t know when to keep either his lips or his zip shut.’
Emily grimaced at the bald truth of Clarice’s observation. Danny Margate was shallow and self-absorbed. Damien, however, was something else. She wasn’t sure she could handle him. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to try. What if he told the interviewer of his plans to sue? What if her editor heard the interview? How could she stop him from destroying her publicly?
‘Tell me the times—I’ll be there,’ she said to Clarice, rummaging for a pen and paper. She jotted down the en-gagements and rang off, assuring her agent-cum-publicist that she’d be there with bells on, even though deep inside her courage was slipping alarmingly.
She dressed with care for the morning programme. Her hair was neatly styled into a slick French chignon and her subtle make-up was perfect. Her slim-fitting suit was hardly designer, but its shell-pink suited her colouring and, with a string of pearls and matching earrings, it would have to do. She faced the male interviewer with feigned confidence as he asked her about her research for Rose’s Cupboard, even announcing the various outlets where she’d be present signing her other two books. But once the bright lights of the cameras moved off her face she couldn’t wait to escape.
‘Well done.’ Clarice beamed. ‘I liked the way you hes-itated over the question about Damien Margate, and the delicate blush was perfect.’
‘I wasn’t blushing.’ Emily rounded on her in irritation. ‘Those damn camera lights are hot as hell.’
Clarice smiled, her eyes sparkling.
‘Come on,’ she said, taking Emily’s arm. ‘We’ve got to get to NMDA before nine and the traffic’s horrendous.’
Emily followed in her wake, her legs starting to tremble at the thought that in less than two hours she was going to have to face Damien Margate in person.
Chapter Four
AFTER Emily finished the radio interview, which barely lasted three minutes and was in her opinion a complete waste of time, she joined Clarice in the foyer of the Regent Hotel near the Rocks. Clarice had already ordered her a lime and soda, and pushed it towards her when she sat at the table.
‘Nadine telephon
ed to say she’ll be a few minutes late. She’s organised to interview you and Damien in one of the hotel suites upstairs.’
Emily felt uncomfortable at the implied intimacy of such an arrangement. A hotel suite? She and Damien Margate?
Clarice checked the diamond-studded watch on her wrist. ‘He’s late.’
‘He’s not late,’ Emily said, picking up her drink. ‘He’s tactical.’
Clarice’s eyebrows rose. ‘You know him intimately, then?’
Emily shook her head. ‘No, but I know how his type works. He’s a power freak. It wouldn’t do for him to be here early, pacing the joint, at everyone else’s mercy. He’ll come at the last minute as if it’s him that’s conducting the interview, not Nadine Brereton.’
Clarice took a deep, reflective sip of her gin and tonic.
‘You really should’ve been a crime writer, darling. You’re so good at reading people.’
‘Not all people.’ Emily pushed her drink to one side. ‘But there’s something about Damien Margate that intrigues me.’
‘He is rather sexy. Tall, dark and brooding,’ Clarice mused.
Emily flicked a fiery glance at her agent. ‘He’s a stuck-up pig. I wouldn’t give him the time of day if I had a choice—’
Clarice suddenly got to her feet and extended a rose-tipped hand to someone just beyond Emily’s left shoulder. ‘Mr Margate! How good of you to join us.’
Emily wished the floor would open and swallow her, but seemingly the architects responsible for the plush interior of the Sydney Regent had not adequately prepared for such contingencies. The floor under her feet remained resolutely stable. However, the hand she reluctantly offered trembled as she extended it towards him.
‘Mr Margate,’ she said, forcing herself to meet his eyes.
‘Miss Sherwood.’ He nodded, his dark gaze raking her mercilessly as his hand swallowed hers.
‘Nadine won’t be a moment,’ Clarice gushed. ‘She’s setting up a suite for you both.’
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