Her Tycoon Lover

by Sandra Field

  As if to confirm this, Scrivener came down the steps to meet them.

  His heavy face, and the grizzled, crinkly hair brushed straight back from his forehead, were tolerably familiar. But this time, dressed informally in lightweight fawn trousers and a white open-necked shirt, he looked younger than she recalled, and somewhat less intimidating.

  Even so, that powerful face, with its large, hooked nose and sensual mouth, sent a shiver down her spine.

  ‘Gallagher…How are you? Nice to see you again.’ He clapped Gray on the shoulder with a surprising show of bonhomie.

  ‘Miss Ferris…’ His hooded eyes lingering on her face, he lifted her hand to his lips in a gesture that, on a lesser man, might have appeared overdone. ‘I’m pleased you could come.’

  A glint in his eye, Gray said, ‘Rebecca wouldn’t have missed it for the world, would you, darling?’

  Scrivener glanced at him sharply, before turning to escort them inside.

  The large room, and the terrace beyond, seemed to be full of people standing in little groups, laughing and talking, all with glasses in their hands.

  Along with their designer party clothes and Californian tans, they sported the unmistakable aura that success and money brought in their wake. Yet there was an atmosphere of informal friendliness that was very pleasant and welcoming.

  A stunning blonde, dressed in gold harem trousers and a bra-top, detached herself from the crowd and, making a beeline for Gray, took his arm.

  ‘Hi! You must be Gray Gallagher. I’m Sue Collins, Jeff’s sister, and the unofficial hostess.

  ‘First of all, there’s a senator here dying to meet you! Then I’ll get you a drink and introduce you to the rest of the crowd.’

  A second later, in one of the neatest manoeuvres Rebecca had ever witnessed, Gray was whisked away.

  Finding herself left with Andrew Scrivener, she said the first thing that came into her head. ‘I didn’t realise you were travelling to the west coast quite so soon.’

  Those obsidian eyes, set deep beneath almost black brows, looked straight into hers. ‘Some business I considered urgent came up,’ he said smoothly, ‘so I changed my plans and flew in yesterday.’

  Flustered by their almost hypnotic quality, she dragged her gaze away and, indicating the party going on around them, asked, ‘How on earth did you manage to arrange all this in so short a time?’

  ‘My manager, Jeff Collins, said if I didn’t mind the whole thing being simple and informal, he and his sister would make all the arrangements, and he would do the barbecuing. So I left them to it.

  ‘Now, how about a drink?’

  Already regretting coming, she answered, ‘Yes, please, I’d love one.’

  Spreading a hand across the small of her back in what could only be described as a proprietary manner, he ushered her through the open French windows and onto the terrace.

  An almost full moon, silver and ethereal-looking, was rising above the trees, and the air was fragrant with the scent of flowering shrubs and woodsmoke from the big barbecue.

  A couple of well-stocked trestle tables covered with white cloths made up the bar, while a little way away two more stood empty, waiting for the food.

  As her host had said, it was all quite informal, and guests drifted up to help themselves to whatever drink they fancied. Most of them, she noticed, were choosing wine.

  ‘Now then, what would you like, Rebecca? I may call you Rebecca?’

  Forcing a smile, she replied politely, ‘Of course,’ just as Gray, with Sue Collins in close pursuit, appeared by their sides.

  Ignoring them, Scrivener said, ‘And do call me Andrew. So what’s it to be?’

  About to say lemonade, she changed her mind. ‘I’ll have a glass of wine, if I may, please…’

  ‘Andrew…’ Scrivener prompted.

  ‘Andrew,’ she echoed obediently, avoiding Gray’s mocking eyes.

  ‘I can recommend the Cabernet Sauvignon,’ he told her and proceeded to fill two glasses.

  Gray chose a non-alcoholic drink on the grounds that he was driving, and then, accompanied by Scrivener and Sue Collins, they began to circulate.

  As though to make his intentions abundantly clear, Scrivener always managed to put his bulk between Rebecca and Gray, and while he introduced her to a variety of people he curved his hand around her slim waist and left it there.

  Though she was made uncomfortable by such close proximity, his touch was so light and easy that she could find no valid reason to object.

  Deciding to ignore it as best she could, she did her utmost to concentrate on the interesting people she was meeting.

  Though a lot of the guests were in the wine trade as growers or shippers, mingled with them was a world-famous author, the US senator that Sue Collins had mentioned earlier, and an ex-president.

  There was also, causing a flutter of excitement among the ladies, a Hollywood director and a handsome male star, who were filming in the area.

  Occasionally, caught up in separate conversations, the pairs moved from group to group at different times. But, despite all Sue Collins’ efforts, Gray never left Rebecca’s side for long, while Scrivener never left it at all.

  Only when the ex-president came up and murmured, ‘I’d like a word in your ear, Andrew,’ did he reluctantly excuse himself and move away.

  ‘Judging by our Andrew’s manner,’ Gray said in an undertone, ‘you’re home and dry…’

  His cynical words hurt, and she bit her lip as he went on, ‘I feel I ought to offer my congratulations, but I see my watchdog homing in.’

  Almost as tall as he was, and curvaceous to the point where her bosom appeared to be inadequately restrained by the low-cut bra-top she was wearing, Sue Collins slipped a hand through his arm, and pressed herself against him.

  ‘I need a big, strong man.’ She fluttered her eyelashes at him. Getting no response, she pursued, ‘Jeff’s busy at the moment, so will you be a sweetie and bring up some more wine for me?’

  ‘Certainly.’ Gray gave Rebecca a droll look and allowed himself to be led away.

  A moment later there was the dull boom of a gong being struck, and a shout of, ‘Come and get it!’

  Huge oval platters piled with steaks and chicken, sausages and ribs, corn on the cob and vegetable brochettes appeared on the empty tables along with rolls, various salads, plates, cutlery and napkins.

  The guests milled about, helping themselves to food and topping up their drinks. Then while some stood around in little groups eating and talking, others sat on various chairs and loungers, or perched on the low wall surrounding the terrace.

  Seeing Andrew Scrivener coming back, Rebecca glanced around anxiously. She could see no sign of Gray, and though she hated his cynicism she wanted him there as protection.

  Looking pleased to see her alone, Scrivener said, ‘I’m sorry to have had to leave you, my dear.’

  She found her voice and assured him, ‘That’s quite all right.’

  ‘Now, suppose we get something to eat while it’s good and hot? What would you like?’

  When he had filled two plates with chicken and salad, and refilled their glasses, indicating a table and two chairs set beneath one of the old cedar trees, he suggested, ‘Let’s get away from the crowd.’

  Remembering Gray’s warning, she hesitated. Had this been planned?

  But they wouldn’t be alone, she reassured herself, they weren’t that far away from the house, and there were plenty of people within sight.

  All the same, she followed reluctantly as he led the way down the terrace steps and across the smooth green lawn.

  As he pulled out a chair for her, she felt a cowardly urge to turn and run. But she was just being foolish, she told herself sternly, sitting down. If he showed any signs of doing anything she objected to, she could simply get up and walk away.

  In the event, he behaved like a perfect gentleman, and while they ate, at his most charismatic, he talked easily about music and a series of symphony con
certs he’d been to.

  Deciding that, no doubt influenced by Gray, she must have been imagining some ulterior motive, she relaxed somewhat.

  Even so, not wholly comfortable, she was wondering how soon she could suggest that they rejoin the others, when he queried casually, ‘Do you like the Napa Valley?’

  ‘Very much, what little I’ve seen of it.’

  He nodded his approval. ‘The west-coast climate suits me and, as I’ve every intention of living out here for at least part of the year, I’m having a house built.’

  She could vaguely recall that the night they had dined together in Boston he’d mentioned it.

  ‘Close to here?’ she asked, for something to say.

  ‘Just the other side of the garden, where the hill starts to climb. It’s as good as finished, and they’ll be starting on the pool next week. Come and take a look. I’d like to know what you think.’

  Getting to his feet, he added with rather touching pride, ‘I drew up the plans myself.’

  Reluctant to appear churlish, she rose.

  Even then, if he had touched her in any way, she would have made some excuse not to go, but he merely waited for her, smiling.

  He was a big man, as tall as Gray, and heavily built. Very aware of his bulk looming by her side, she accompanied him along an unpaved path that skirted the garden.

  It was a bright, moonlit night, the air still and balmy, the sky a deep, cloudless blue pricked with stars. A beautiful night for romance.

  Only Gray didn’t believe in romance.

  She wondered what he and Sue Collins were doing, then wished she hadn’t as a picture of the blonde’s ample cleavage flashed into her mind.

  ‘How is the holiday going?’ Andrew Scrivener’s voice broke into her thoughts.

  ‘Very well,’ she answered evenly.

  After a moment, he went on, ‘When we met in Boston you said you were still carrying a torch for young Beaumont, and the relationship between you and Gallagher was quite platonic.’

  When she said nothing, he went on, ‘I thought he might have managed to change your mind.’

  Carefully avoiding his eyes, she asked, ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Two reasons. Where before you were merely beautiful, now you look alive…glowing…’

  ‘I can explain that,’ she said lightly. ‘I’ve started to catch the sun.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that kind of glow. You look fulfilled. Like a woman who’s quite recently been made love to. Can you explain that?’

  For one mad moment she considered telling him the truth, but even to end his pursuit—if that was what it was—she couldn’t bring herself to admit she’d been such a fool.

  Shaking her head, she suggested, ‘Perhaps you’ve had too many glasses of wine?’ Then hastily, ‘But you said two reasons.’

  ‘Gallagher’s Cerberus act.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘The way he’s been guarding you. He’s scarcely left your side, and when he has he’s never taken his eyes off you. He appears to be as jealous as hell.’

  ‘He certainly has no reason to be,’ she said with perfect truth.

  ‘I’m delighted to hear it.’

  There was so much satisfaction in his voice that she felt a quiver of alarm.

  They were quite a way from the house now and there wasn’t a soul in sight. She could still hear the music faintly, but it only served to make her feel even more isolated.

  Wishing she had had more sense than to come, she began a shade desperately, ‘It’s further than I expected. If Gray’s waiting to go home, he’ll wonder where I’ve got to.’

  Scrivener laughed. ‘If I know Sue Collins, he’ll have his hands full. In any case we’re almost there. You’ll see it any second.’

  They reached a gap in the trees, and there it was in front of them, a sprawling, split-level place built into the hillside.

  For some reason she had expected it to be soulless and ultra-modern, all sharp angles and straight lines. Instead it was colour-washed and harmonious, with long, arched windows and a covered balcony that gave it a charming old-fashioned look.

  Though the moonlight leached away the colours, leaving everything an eerie silvery blue, she could tell that in daylight it would be quite vibrant.

  ‘Why, it’s lovely!’ she exclaimed, momentarily forgetting her apprehension.

  He looked pleased by her enthusiasm. ‘I’m glad you like it. Let me show you the inside.’

  ‘No!’ Then more moderately, ‘No, thank you. Some other time perhaps.’ In broad daylight with at least one other person present. ‘Gray didn’t want to be too late starting back,’ she lied.

  ‘Very well,’ he gave in gracefully. ‘Some other time. But I’d like you to see it. I think you’ll be impressed. It has some unusual features.’

  ‘And you were able to design it all yourself?’

  ‘When I was young, I trained as an architect. I wanted to create something lasting and beautiful.’

  Seeing a sensitive side that she hadn’t realised existed, for the first time she found something to like about him.

  ‘Now it’s merely a hobby I enjoy, along with music. Of course, I still have what amounts to a passion for beautiful things. Especially women.

  ‘Though it takes more than mere beauty to touch my heart these days. I’ve had three wives, all of them beautiful, all of them with brains, but somehow it hasn’t worked.

  ‘None of them have had the qualities I’ve been hoping to find in a woman.’

  Wary of the turn the conversation was taking, Rebecca began to walk determinedly back the way they had come, and of necessity Scrivener followed her.

  ‘As well as being sexually attractive,’ he pursued, ‘I want my next wife to be honest, to have strength of character and a maternal streak, as well as a certain je ne sais quoi that sets her apart from other women.’

  As they reached the edge of the trees he stopped abruptly and, gripping her upper arms, turned her to face him.

  ‘After we met in London all those months ago, I found myself thinking about you, unable to get you out of my mind. I was convinced that, as well as brains and beauty, you had almost everything I’d ever wanted in a woman.

  ‘I learnt as much as I could about your background and family life, and I was about to try to arrange another meeting, when I heard a whisper that you were engaged to young Beaumont…It was something of a blow.

  ‘Seeing you again in Boston was not only a surprise but also a great pleasure, and when you said you would like children it confirmed my earlier impression that you’re just the woman I’ve been looking for.

  ‘I’m not a young man any longer and I can’t afford to let the grass grow under my feet, so I’m taking this opportunity to ask you to marry me, Rebecca.’

  Though she had been apprehensive, half waiting for something to happen, now it had, she was stunned and speechless, totally unprepared.

  As she stood as though turned to ivory in the moonlight his grip tightened and, drawing her close, he bent to kiss her.

  Coming to life, she cried, ‘No, don’t!’

  His hold slackened a little, and she pulled away as far as his grip on her upper arms would allow. ‘I can’t marry you. I don’t love you.’

  ‘I don’t expect you to love me,’ he said decisively. ‘I’m well aware that you’re still carrying a torch for young Beaumont, but now he’s no longer on the scene to complicate matters—’

  ‘I could never marry a man I didn’t love,’ she burst out agitatedly.

  ‘It doesn’t matter a great deal whether you love me or not, so long as you make me the kind of wife I need. In return I’ll give you everything you could possibly want. I’m good in bed, I can keep you happy and satisfied, take the best care of our children…’

  As she began to shake her head, he went on, ‘I’m a very rich man. I can provide the kind of lifestyle some women would kill for—’

  ‘I don’t want to marry you,’ she broke in urge
ntly, ‘and I certainly don’t want your money.’

  ‘Don’t you want what it could buy? Think! If you had unlimited money, what would you choose? Diamonds? Pearls? Mink? A yacht?’

  ‘I don’t want any of those,’ she cried hoarsely.

  His black eyes on her face, he persisted, ‘There must be something you’ve dreamt of owning? Something you’d give your eye-teeth for?’

  ‘Only one thing…Elmslee Manor. My family home.’

  ‘Is it on the market?’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘Then consider it yours. I’ll give you the deeds on the day you marry me.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re saying. It would cost a small fortune.’

  ‘I have a large fortune. If it happens to be already sold I’ll offer the buyer more. Double if necessary. Everyone has a price.’

  Looking him straight in the eye, she said clearly, ‘I don’t.’

  His grip tightened and he dragged her against his big, heavy body, crushing her to him. ‘Damn it, Rebecca, don’t play games with me. You’re what I want, and I intend to have you.’

  ‘No! Let me go!’

  But, holding her easily in spite of her struggles, he gripped her chin with a powerful hand and an instant later his hot, wet mouth was covering hers, the fierceness of his kiss stopping her breath and forcing her head back.

  It was her worst nightmare come true.

  Then suddenly he was plucked away from her as though he was a lightweight and sent staggering backwards. ‘Perhaps you didn’t hear the lady say no?’ Gray’s voice, though quiet, was full of menace.

  Regaining his balance, Scrivener snarled, ‘What the hell has it to do with you?’

  ‘Rebecca happens to be my guest,’ Gray said, putting an arm around her waist, ‘and as such I feel responsible for her.’

  ‘She’s not a child.’

  ‘As I don’t have you down as a child molester, she’d no doubt be safer if she was.’

  ‘Damn it, man, I wasn’t molesting her. I’ve just asked her to marry me.’

  ‘Yes, I heard. I also heard her refuse.’

  ‘She may change her mind.’

  ‘I very much doubt it.’

  Rebecca had stood mute and frozen, listening to the two men, then all at once, reaction setting in, a wave of nausea washed over her and she began to tremble violently.