by Lucy Gordon;Sarah Morgan;Robyn Donald;Lucy Monroe;Lee Wilkinson;Kate Walker
‘To find out how rattled he was.’ His face was sardonic, a cold mask that showed no mercy. ‘When he offered you as a sweetener I knew he was desperate and that I’d won.’
Smiling with acid derision, Hope said, ‘Why didn’t you tell me this when we met again? I gave you plenty of opportunities.’
‘I’m not a mind-reader,’ he returned caustically. ‘I didn’t know you’d eavesdropped on a private conversation, so I failed entirely to pick up the clues. As for telling you—not only do you believe that I’d accept such an infamous bargain, but you think I’d hurt and humiliate you with the sordid details of your stepfather’s behaviour!’ Grimly derisive, he finished, ‘You don’t think much of me, do you, Hope?’
His tone stung like a whiplash. Although everything in her longed to believe that he was incapable of betraying her, she said in a soft, bitter tone, ‘Even then I knew that a man like you couldn’t be interested in a girl straight from school.’
‘You had no idea what sort of man I was,’ Keir told her contemptuously.
‘I found out.’ She went on with judicious insolence, ‘Ambitious, ruthless, charming, sexy—far too much for me to handle. So why did you ask me out, Keir, if it wasn’t to keep an eye on my father?’
‘I asked you out because you were the most enchanting girl I’d ever met.’ A dark emotion licked beneath the words, like flames running along a seam of coal deep underground.
Hope flinched, a violent longing hammering through her. A yacht slipped around the end of a peninsula and headed south, white sails gleaming in the sunlight, an image of freedom.
‘Enchanting—and far too young.’ His voice was coldly cynical. ‘In Noosa I thought you’d grown up, but I was wrong. You’re still locked in the past.’
Switching her gaze from the beach and the limitless stretch of ultramarine sea to the marble and raw silk opulence of the suite, Hope winced at the energy and determination in his dangerous face.
She had been such a fool! What she’d misread as desperation to exorcise an old passion had been desire’s treacherous bait. Now they were both imprisoned in a trap fashioned of duty and obligation.
‘Perhaps,’ she admitted, fighting a wave of exhaustion. ‘I know I behaved stupidly. Offering you a relationship when I’m not able to sustain one.’ He didn’t respond, and eventually she muttered, ‘I’m sorry.’
Keir got up and took a step towards her, then stopped as she backed away. In a voice that was detached and steady he said, ‘We’ve both made mistakes. Now that we’re aware of them, surely we can leave them behind, put the past where it belongs.’
‘You can never leave the past behind,’ she said, suddenly empty of all emotion. ‘It doesn’t matter, anyway. You’re right—what’s done is done, and the baby is more important than my poor, smarting, little adolescent heart. I know this whole situation must be a huge nuisance for you, but we’ll have to make the best of it.’
He scanned her face. ‘You’re exhausted,’ he said roughly. ‘Go and lie down. I’ll have a meal sent up and you can eat it in bed.’
‘I’m not sick,’ she said with automatic defensiveness.
A glitter in his smile warned her that he’d reached the end of his patience. ‘Humour me,’ he said between his teeth, and when she still didn’t move he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.
Hope stiffened in the strong, protective cage of his arms. ‘I do dislike men who use their strength against women,’ she said in a voice she strove to hold steady against the thunder of her pulses and the fireflow of sensation gathering deep in the pit of her stomach.
‘You were swaying on your feet,’ he said without apology, and deposited her on the huge bed. This time his smile was laced with a rueful charm that stabbed her in the heart. ‘Stop fighting me, Hope. It can’t be good for you, and I’m sure it’s not good for the baby. Relax. And try to believe that I’m nothing like James Sanderson.’
She watched him go, appalled at her need to believe him. In too many ways he reminded her of the man who’d used her as a bargaining tool.
Yet her father had been arrogant and arbitrary, victim of a pathological need to control, whereas Keir’s natural authority was disciplined and directed by his intelligence.
He was certainly strong-willed, she thought as she stood up and walked into the bathroom, but there was a difference between Keir’s hard integrity and her father’s lust to dominate.
Her heart told her that Keir was incapable of the sort of ritual humiliation forced on her mother. She frowned solemnly at her reflection, admitting that, although she longed to, she dared not trust her judgement, clouded as it was by this obsessive passion she didn’t seem to be able to sate or dismiss.
Hope had expected it to be raining when they arrived in Auckland; however, the sleek private jet flew in over a city lit by the sun, its two harbours gleaming like beaten silver surrounded by farmlands of glowing, vivid green, the suburbs bright-roofed and fresh beneath a canopy of trees.
‘I’d forgotten how lovely it is,’ she said quietly.
Keir lifted an eyebrow. ‘It’s one of the most beautiful settings in the world.’
‘I know.’ Her voice trailed off. Perhaps today’s sun was an omen…
Or perhaps not. Keir had retreated behind a façade of impeccable politeness and reserve. She’d followed suit, so they’d been moving around each other with the meticulous care and watchfulness of two duellers in a bout to the death.
There were distinct advantages to being the companion of a very rich man. Travelling with Keir was comfortable and efficient and quick. After a speedy trip through Customs a car met them, long and luxurious; the driver loaded the luggage in the boot while Keir put Hope into the front seat.
‘All right?’ he asked with one penetrating glance at her.
‘Yes, thank you.’
A few minutes later they were heading north on the motorway. ‘Do you drive?’ he asked.
Hope nodded, covering a small yawn with her hand.
‘Do you have any preferences for a make of car?’
She closed her mouth so firmly her teeth clicked. ‘You don’t need to buy me a car.’
‘Without one you’ll be stuck at home all day.’ He accelerated to pass a truck. ‘Even if you don’t drive to Auckland you’ll want to go into the village occasionally, and I won’t always be there to take you.’
Fretfully she muttered, ‘I don’t expect anyone to chauffeur me around.’
‘I’ll see about a car. You’ll need a safe one, suitable for a baby.’
Hope nodded. ‘Of course,’ she said, wondering why she felt so—empty.
He gave her a swift, narrow glance. ‘Sleep if you want to. It will take us forty minutes or so to get home.’
Now that she could give in to the tiredness, she didn’t feel like sleeping. To fill the silence, she asked, ‘How often do you travel for business?’
‘About a week or so out of every month. Sometimes more, sometimes less.’
Those weeks away would be much-needed respites for her. Her vulnerability scared her—she didn’t want to depend on this man, yet once he’d turned up again she’d agreed to almost everything he’d decided. And pregnancy was no excuse, even though her mind had turned to mush and her energy had seeped away.
‘Tell me about your work,’ she said.
‘It’s work,’ he said. ‘Fascinating to me, but not of much interest to anyone else.’
‘That sounds,’ she said mildly, not attempting to hide the thread of steel through her words, ‘as though you think I should mind my own business.’
‘I don’t want to bore you.’
‘I don’t bore easily.’ It was impossible, she thought with a clutch of panic, to imagine being bored by Keir.
His shoulders lifting in a slight shrug, he began to talk about people he’d met, situations he’d found himself in. As befitted a banker he was discreet—no names and in some cases not even places—but he told a good story, using dry wit and a sharp
turn of phrase to render the people and occasions vivid and memorable.
Hope was laughing about a hectic experience in South America involving gauchos, interminable barbecues, and an attempt to throw a weapon consisting of balls suspended from cords, when he turned the wheel and the car left the main highway and ducked down a narrow gravel road. Her amusement died, leaving her cold and apprehensive. She pulled her upper lip between her teeth, then released it, looking straight ahead.
About ten minutes later Keir nodded to the left. ‘There’s Te Matataa.’
Hope drew a deep sighing breath. The road had twisted along a spine of hills that sloped down to a wide valley. On a low rise above the valley floor stood a proud Victorian house, serene and gracious. Double-storeyed, its verandahs embellished with wooden lace, it stood in wide lawns surrounded by huge, old trees.
Cattle lifted their heads as the car purred past them on a sealed drive, then went back to grazing in paddocks so green they made her blink. The gullies were thick with secondgrowth bush.
‘You can see Auckland on the horizon,’ Hope said wonderingly, ‘yet this looks a million miles away.’
‘It feels like it, too.’ Keir drove over a cattle-stop. In a voice that was easy and pleasant he went on, ‘If you’re not happy here there’s an apartment in Auckland, or I’ll buy you a house wherever you want.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Hope said quietly.
‘I want to know if you aren’t.’ It wasn’t a question. Although he tempered the tone of his voice, she was abruptly and unpleasantly reminded that this man ran a huge organisation.
In Noosa she’d almost been able to forget Keir Carmichael, billionaire; he’d simply been the man she’d once loved. Being whisked back to New Zealand forced her to accept that she was carrying the child of a man who wielded vast power—and accepted the equally vast responsibility that went with it.
For a moment her heart quailed; stiffening her backbone, she smiled and said firmly, ‘You should know me well enough by now to realise that I’ll complain loudly and frequently.’
‘Good.’ The car came to a halt beside another, smaller one beside the front steps.
Keir unclipped his seatbelt and leaned towards her. Hope froze, ensnared by the polished clarity of his gaze. With a sudden feral urgency he lifted her chin and kissed her.
‘Welcome home,’ he murmured, his voice slightly thickened, and kissed her again until she shivered with a sensual languor that turned her eyes slumbrous and her mouth soft and tender.
When he lifted his head she whispered in a strangled voice, ‘We decided we wouldn’t—’
‘There’s no reason for anyone to know that we’re not normal lovers,’ he said in a cool, deliberate tone, and opened the car door.
How strange that he should need to appease some inner demon by making sure that no one suspected their relationship to be a farce.
They were met at the front door by a thin woman with unlikely red hair who said briskly, ‘Hello, Keir. You have a visitor.’ Her lack of expression indicated an equal lack of welcome.
For a moment Hope thought that the housekeeper was referring to her, and her heart sank.
Keir ignored a shadowy figure behind the older woman and said, ‘Maria, this is Hope Sanderson.’ All potent male charisma, intent and sexual, he smiled at Hope.
Hope held out her hand and after a moment’s hesitation it was taken. As they shook hands the person behind the housekeeper said serenely, ‘Keir, it’s about time you came home. All hell is breaking out in the stockmarkets.’
The moment Hope heard the creamy, feminine, alert voice, she bristled. What was Aline doing here—did she make a habit of ambushing Keir in his own house? Then realisation struck. Of course, Keir had recognised the car and reacted with ruthless speed, kissing Hope stupid.
He said calmly, ‘Aline, you know Hope, of course.’
Hope said, ‘Hello.’
Her compassion was tested when Aline gave her a swift, dismissive smile. ‘Visiting New Zealand for a while, Hope?’
‘Hope is staying with me,’ Keir interposed, his tone perfectly pleasant if you discounted the flinty undernote.
With another smile, Aline murmured, ‘Do enjoy your visit.’ Her tone just stopped short of insinuating while you can.
‘I plan to make sure she does,’ Keir said.
Aline’s patrician face went blank before lightening in a pretty laugh. ‘Oh, dear, and I have to interrupt your homecoming with business! I’m afraid it won’t wait, Keir; we have a problem that’s going to get much, much worse overnight if we don’t tackle it immediately.’
The panelled hall was huge and rather dark, with an ornate flight of stairs rising to the second storey. Hope felt disconnected, almost disassociated, as though she inhabited a different reality. The familiar scent of lavender and beeswax reminded her poignantly of her grandmother’s home.
From outside the wide front door came the housekeeper’s voice, busy directing someone called Johnno to take care with the bags.
Keir took Hope’s elbow. ‘All right,’ he said pleasantly, ‘I’ll see you in the office in a few minutes.’
With a smile that cooled as it travelled from Keir to Hope, Aline said, ‘Yes, of course,’ and turned to walk away from them, her back and shoulders erect.
Again Hope felt an unwilling stab of compassion.
Keir waited until they’d reached the top of the stairs before saying, ‘I’m sorry about that.’ He pushed a door open.
‘I’m sorry for her.’ To give herself something to do, Hope looked around the bedroom.
‘Even when she was as rude to you as she dared to be?’
Startled, she looked up, meeting eyes as cold and clear as a frosty night. Furious because a stark twist of jealousy overrode her sympathy for Aline’s personal tragedy, she snapped, ‘Did you see her face?’
‘Yes,’ he said briefly. ‘I know you want some explanation—’
‘It’s none of my business,’ Hope interrupted.
He paused—it was impossible to think of Keir hesitating—then said deliberately, ‘Even if I loved her—and I don’t—I’d want a real, live woman in my life, not one who’s determined to remain another man’s widow in all the most important ways.’
No wonder he’d done his best to persuade her to marry him; marriage—any sort of marriage—would be his best shield against Aline’s determination. Hope swallowed words that had suddenly developed thorns and nodded.
A warm light from the windows picked out the thrusting, arrogantly defined framework of his face, the width of his shoulders, the lean, sinewy strength and beauty of his hands. Hope’s heart turned over. Aline might still be in love with her dead husband, but she’d have to be dead herself not to respond to Keir’s male potency!
‘Don’t worry about her,’ Keir said abruptly. Frowning, he looked around the large room with its heavily draped French windows opening out onto a wooden verandah. ‘I’d forgotten how old-fashioned this is. Do you want to check out the other bedrooms? You might feel more comfortable in one of them.’
‘This is lovely.’ Because neither words nor voice sounded enthusiastic, she added with more force, ‘Thank you.’
Mouth tightening, he gave her a glinting look. ‘Do something for me.’
‘What?’
‘Stop thanking me,’ he said with a raw, barely suppressed violence that took her completely by surprise.
Her stomach clenching unpleasantly, she nodded.
He said, ‘Do you want someone to unpack for you?’
‘No.’ The word almost exploded into the quiet air, sounding naked without the conventional thanks. Deliberately, Hope tacked on, ‘I’ve told you over and over that I’m not sick.’
His brows snapped together, but he nodded and left without saying any more.
Hope sank down on the bed and stared sightlessly at a pretty watercolour on the wall, its amateur status proclaimed by shaky perspective. She knew that this house had been in Keir’s family for five gen
erations; it spoke of a settled, stable life.
The walls clamped around her, stifling her. She jumped at a sharp knock, then took in three deep breaths and opened the door. Keir strode in with her luggage.
‘All right?’ he said, dumping the pack onto a convenient stool and setting the box containing her computer on the floor beside it.
Hope gave him a hard look. ‘I’ll stop thanking you if you stop asking me if I’m all right,’ she said crisply.
It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, but that rare smile broke through, swamping her in charm. ‘It’s a deal.’
His choice of words—deliberate, she realised as her eyes met his challenging ones—eased a little of the bitterness she’d been harbouring for the past four years. For a moment she hesitated, then held out her hand. ‘It’s a deal,’ she agreed.
His grip was strong and sure and warm, and as she unpacked she wondered if it had lingered a little longer than necessary.
Half an hour later Hope closed the dressing room door on the last of her clothes. They looked as out of place as her small selection of cosmetics and toiletries in the opulent bathroom with its sophisticated Art Deco fittings.
This lovely old homestead was made for elegant, expensive, exclusive people, not a newly pregnant woman who’d learned to make economy an art form.
Confidence lurching dangerously, she looked out of the window. Both cars had gone. Setting her jaw, she emerged from the sanctuary of the bedroom, almost tiptoeing along the corridor.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ she muttered, setting her heels down firmly.
But it took a considerable amount of courage to walk down the stairs. Once in the hall, she gazed around at the collection made by various members of Keir’s family—photographs, some dimly painted heraldic shields, a splendid set of shelves displaying china, its mellow colours and charming designs hinting at a great age.
When the hair on her neck lifted she swung around, and there was Keir with a tray. ‘My great-grandmother’s pride and joy,’ he said with a probing look. ‘Come into the morning room and have something to drink.’