by Kitty French
“Yup.” Max held the box high. “I’ve done more than that. I’ve brought a solution to all your problems. Make me coffee and I’ll tell you.”
Hazzard Hall had been in Kathryn’s family for two hundred and fifty years, and she was just the latest of a long line of Hazzards tethered to the old wreck in the middle of the English countryside. People always thought the Hazzards owned Hazzard Hall when in fact the complete opposite was true. It owned them. The first Hazzards built it, and subsequent generations had added to it, until the money ran out and the situation reversed.
Her mother had died, abandoning her husband, her only child and the house years ago. Her father had sold off paintings, bronzes, and furniture in an attempt to stem the tide, but his efforts were hopeless. He’d died a broken man—but at least he died in his beloved house.
He’d been dead three months. Kathryn had a team of expensive lawyers calculating the bill she’d have to pay to the tax collectors and no money to pay it.
The house was a nightmare, but it had always been home. On returning from school, and later college, the house welcomed her within its walls. Hazzard was her home. Her castle. Her safe haven. She didn’t want to be the Hazzard who gave it all up. The one that sold out. And the fact that its roof was shot to hell meant she wouldn’t get anything near its true value if she put it on the market.
In the kitchen, Max sliced wedges off the thick chocolate cake she’d brought. “You need to chill out. You look like shit.”
“I feel like shit.” Kathryn sank onto the nearest chair in the kitchen. “I’m seriously considering getting drunk and staying that way for the foreseeable future.”
“Come on.” Max frowned. “That’s not like you.”
She’d always been a glass half full girl, but there was little point in being optimistic any longer. She was totally screwed. “The taxman cometh.” She tried to inject some humor into her tone, but failed miserably. “The roof is about to fall in, and my only hope for getting my hands on some cash is gone. If I don’t end up in prison for non-payment of taxes, can I come live with you?”
“What if I told you I have a solution to all your problems?” Max fixed her with a stare.
“I’d tell you to stop kidding around. And I’d add that you’re a bitch to wind me up when I’m at my lowest point.”
“I’m not kidding.” Max breathed out. She clutched her hands together. “I have a client who wants to use the house for one night. A client willing to pay a million to do so.”
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t make sense of the words her friend had spoken. Kathryn pressed the palm of her hand against her breastbone. “A million?”
Max nodded. “One million.”
“Pounds?”
“Dollars. The client saw Sex Lies and wants to re-enact it. For real. In Hazzard Hall.”
“Sex Lies?” She’d allowed the house to be used as a location for movies in the past, and a year ago, while her father was having treatment in a clinic in Switzerland, she’d let the house be the location for a film about a sex club in a country house. The director was a Hollywood great—a pretty twisted Hollywood great—but she’d needed the money for her father’s treatment.
“No-one was supposed to know where the film was shot.” She’d insisted on that. They’d never shown the house’s exterior, and made no mention of the location in the movie’s credits.
“They came direct to the location scout.” Max pointed at herself.
“So, let me get this straight.” The tips of Kathryn’s fingers tingled. A million dollars would get the taxman off her back and give her some money to repair the roof. “They want to use Hazzard Hall to make another film? And will pay a million dollars for a day’s shooting?”
Max shook her head. “They’re stinking rich, and they want to hold a sex party in your house. One night. One million bucks.”
“Fuck me.”
*****
Kathryn smoothed a hand over her black silk dress and inhaled deeply. She’d travelled up to London by train, but had splurged and taken a taxi to the exclusive London hotel, rather than the Underground. The spring day was warm, but the clouds bruised grey with threatened rain. Once she’d picked her jaw up from the floor at Max’s proposition, she’d been torn, buffeted with conflicting emotions. She’d justified the previous use of Hazzard by telling herself it was make believe. Just a film. But this would be different.
She needed money. A million dollars would make her problems disappear in an instant. But at what personal cost? Hazzard Hall was more than just a house. When she sat in the drawing room in front of the fire, layered decades of precious memories colored the air, enriching every single moment.
Generations of Hazzards had taken tea by the fire. Could she replace those with memories of half-naked strangers screwing on the camelback sofas?
Max had been sympathetic—up to a point. She’d urged Kathryn not to say no, not to reject the possibility of salvation because she couldn’t get past the slightly seedy nature of the transaction. “Your dad would have told you to consider every option to save Hazzard,” Max had said.
But Kathryn could bet he’d never been asked to prostitute his home.
So she hadn’t said yes, and she hadn’t said no. She hadn’t, in fact, said anything that she would allow Max to repeat to the client. She’d been waiting for the answer to drop out of the sky. She’d looked for it in all the usual places, her horoscope, analyzing her dreams with a what-does-it-mean-if-you-dream-of…website.
After a week, the client’s patience had run out. Max had called with an ultimatum. “The clients’ representative, Daniel Hunt, is flying in to London from New York on Friday. He wants to meet you.”
She really didn’t know what she was going to say to the mysterious Mr. Hunt, but had to make this meeting.
Kathryn pushed open the door to the luxury hotel and strode to the reception desk. While she waited for the receptionist to check in the couple ahead of her, she cast an eye around the opulent surroundings. There were a few people in the lobby, one, a tall, silver-haired gentleman who looked as though he was waiting for someone. God, could that be him?
She frowned. She hadn’t even considered that the group might be in their seventies. She couldn’t hold back a shudder as the man turned and smiled, or the relief that flooded her as she realized his attention was on the woman behind her.
Not him, then.
There were two other people in the lobby. One was a nervous blonde woman and the other a tall, dark man, dressed in a finely tailored slate-grey suit. He watched her intently.
He didn’t look like a typical London businessman; his hair was too long for that. She’d never really gone for guys with beards, but the dark dusting on his jawline was damned attractive. His skin was tanned and his eyes were glittering green emerald. He was classically handsome, with an edge. A dangerous edge. Maybe it was the prominent cheekbones, maybe the sensuous curve of his mouth, maybe the wide shoulders and narrow hips and the way he stood. Like a big cat, feigning a relaxed state, when in reality he was on the prowl, ready to pounce.
A good girl would turn away. Would act as though she hadn’t noticed the sexual interest evident in his eyes. She certainly wouldn’t encourage him.
She’d never been a good girl.
Kathryn’s nipples tightened against the black lace of her bra. She was safe. Here for a business meeting. It had been months since she’d last had a lover, but there was nothing wrong with window-shopping, was there?
She didn’t look away. She smiled slowly and intimately, let her eyes transmit the powerful message that she liked what she saw. When the meeting was over, if he was still here, maybe she’d let him buy her a drink.
The man’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, then an answering smile transformed his features from dangerous to deadly.
Her pulse was racing as she looked away and stepped up to the desk. “I’m here to see Mr. Hunt,” she said to the receptionist. “Could you call his room please?�
��
For more of Hazzard Blue, click HERE
Acknowledgments
As always I owe a debt of gratitude to my lovely friend and editor Charlie Hobson. I honestly wouldn't want to write these books without you, you push me to think deeper and work harder and my books are so much better for it. You're all-round fabulous!
Thanks also to Sarah Hansen at Okay Creations for the gorgeous cover, it's absolutely right for Genie and Abel's story.
A huge hi-five to all of the fabulous bloggers who always work so incredibly hard - thank you for your love of books, and for your unstinting support and encouragement. It means so much, I really am incredibly grateful.
Ditto my amazing Facebook and twitter buddies. As most of you know I've not had the best of years with my health, and you've all been so kind and patient and brilliant. It seemed at times as if this book would never actually come out, didn't it? Thank you for being there every day to talk about the small stuff that keeps my world turning.
Big love to the Minxes of Romance. I mean BIG. You guys are my writing family. Special love to Sally Clements for being a formatting whizzo.
Thanks also to my Bob bezzies for always being interested and cheering me on.
And last but never least, thank you to my own beloved people, my family. x
Table of Contents
Copyright
Other Books by Kitty French
About the Author
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Newsletter
A note from the author
Sample chapter from Hazzard Blue
Acknowledgements