‘Not interested,’ she said instantly, with an emphatic shake of her head. ‘I’m not sitting in some claustrophobic booth all day with a pair of headphones on, while someone jabbers on and on in my ear about something boring—like grain quotas in the European Union.’
Conall failed to hide his smile. ‘I think you’ll find my proposal is a little more glamorous than that,’ he said.
‘Oh?’
She had perked up now and his smile died. Of course she had. Glamour was her lifeblood, wasn’t it?
‘I’m having a party,’ he said.
‘What kind of party?’
He picked up his brandy glass and took a sip. ‘A party ostensibly to celebrate the completion of my country house. There will be music, and dancing—but I’m also hoping to use the opportunity to sell a painting for someone who badly needs the money.’
‘I thought you’d decided that, with my lack of experience, I would be useless when it came to selling paintings.’
‘I’m not expecting you to sell the paintings,’ he said. ‘I just want you to be there as a sort of linguistic arm candy.’
‘What do you mean?’
He hesitated, wondering if her father would approve of the offer he was about to make to her. It would probably be more sensible to give her a lowly back-room job somewhere in his organisation— preferably as far away from him as possible. But Conall could see now that it would be as ineffective as trying to pass fish paste off as caviar, because Amber Carter wasn’t a back-room kind of woman. No way could someone like her ever fade into the background. So why not capitalise on the gifts she did have?
‘The painting in question is one of a pair,’ he said. ‘Two studies of the same woman by a man called Kristjan Wheeler—a contemporary of Picasso and an artist whose worth has increased enormously over the last decade. Both pictures went missing in the middle of the last century and only one has ever been found. That is the one I am trying to sell on behalf of my client, and...’
She looked at him as his words tailed away. ‘And?’
‘I believe the man who wants to buy the painting is in possession of the missing picture. Which means that the one I’m selling is part of a set, and naturally that makes it much more valuable.’
‘Can’t you just ask him outright whether he’s got it?’
He gave the flicker of a smile. ‘That’s not how negotiation works, Amber—and especially not with a man like this.’ He watched her closely. ‘You see, the prospective buyer is a prince.’
‘A prince?’
Conall watched as she sat bolt upright, her fingers tightening around her glass. Her lips had parted and he could see the moist gleam of her tongue. He thought she looked like a starving dog which had been allowed to roam freely around a kitchen and a quiver of distaste ran through him. He took another sip of his brandy. Had he really thought that the chemistry which sizzled between them was unique? Or was he naïvely pretending that she wasn’t like this with every man she came across, and the higher that man’s status and the fatter his wallet, the better?
And yet surely that would make her perfect for what he had in mind—didn’t they say that Luciano of Mardovia had a roving eye where women were concerned?
‘That’s right,’ he said, his eyes narrowing. ‘I want you to come to the party and be nice to him.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘How nice?’
The inference behind her question was clear and Conall felt a wave of disgust wash over him. ‘I’m not expecting you to have sex with him,’ he snapped. ‘Just chat to him. Dance with him. Charm him. I shouldn’t imagine you would find any of that difficult, given your track record. He will be accompanied by at least two of his aides and he will converse with them in any language except English. Just like you he speaks Italian, Greek and French and he certainly won’t be expecting a woman like you to be fluent in all three.’
A woman like you.
It was odd how hurtful Amber found his throwaway comment, especially when for a minute back then she had been lulled into a false sense of security. Secretly, she had enjoyed the way he’d turned up and taken her away so masterfully. He’d brought her here—to this club, which was the epitome of elegance and comfort—and she couldn’t deny that she was enjoying watching him sitting bathed in flickering firelight, while he sipped at his brandy. He was very easy on the eye.
But she needed to remember that for him she was just a burden. A problem to be dealt with and then disposed of. No point in starting to have fantasies about Conall Devlin.
‘So what you’re saying, in effect, is that you want me to spy on this Prince?’
He didn’t seem particularly bothered by her accusation, for he responded with nothing more than a faintly impatient sigh.
‘Don’t be so melodramatic, Amber. If I asked you to have a business meeting with a competitor, I would expect you to find out as much information as possible. So if the Prince should happen to comment to one of his aides in, say, Greek that the wine is atrocious, then it would be helpful to know that.’
A smile flickered over her lips. ‘You’re in the habit of serving atrocious wine, are you, Conall?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I’m thinking...no.’
‘Look, I’m not asking you to lie about your language skills, but there’s no need to advertise them. This is business. All I want is to get the best price possible for my client—and Luciano can certainly afford to pay the best price. So...’ His midnight gaze swept over her. ‘Do you think you can do it? Play hostess for me for an evening and stick to the Prince’s side like glue?’
Amber met his eyes. The food and the fire and the brandy had made her feel sleepy and safe and part of her wished she could hold on to this moment and not have to go and face the chill of the outside world. But Conall was clearly waiting for an answer to his question and the expression on his face suggested he wasn’t a man who enjoyed being kept waiting. And deep down she knew she could do something like this in her sleep. Go to some upmarket party and be charming? Child’s play.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I can do it.’
‘Good.’ He nodded as his cell phone gave a discreet little buzz and he flicked it a brief glance. ‘You’ll need to get down to my country house early on Saturday afternoon. Oh, and bring some party dresses with you.’ His eyes glittered. ‘I don’t imagine you’ll have too much trouble finding any of those in your wardrobe?’
‘No. Party dresses I have in abundance—and plenty of shoes to match.’
‘Just wear something halfway decent, will you?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know damned well what I mean.’ There was a pause. ‘I don’t want you flaunting your body and looking like a tramp.’
Amber swallowed, knowing that she should be outraged by such a statement, and yet something about the way he said it made her feel all...shivery. She forced her mind back to the practical. ‘So what time will I expect the car?’
‘The car?’ he repeated blankly.
‘The car which will be collecting me,’ she said, as if she were explaining the rules of a simple card game to a five-year-old.
There was a short silence before he tipped back his dark head and laughed, but when he looked at her again his eyes weren’t amused, they were stone cold. ‘You still don’t get it, do you, Amber?’ he said. ‘You may be about to deal with a prince, but you’re going to have to stop behaving like a princess. Because you’re not. You will catch the train like any other mortal. Speak to Serena and she’ll give you details of how to find the house. Oh, and I’ve got your wages from the nightclub in my pocket. I’ll give them to you in the car. I didn’t want to hand them over in here.’ His eyes glittered. ‘It could be a gesture open to misinterpretation.’
CHAPTER FIVE
AMBER HADN’T BEEN on a train
for years. Not since that time in Rome when her mother’s lover had confessed to having a pregnant wife who had just discovered their affair and was on the warpath. It had been bad enough having to flee the city leaving behind half their possessions, but the journey had been made worse by Sophie Carter’s increasingly hysterical sobs as she’d exclaimed loudly that she would be unable to live without Marco. It had been left to her daughter to try to placate her, to the accompaniment of tutting sounds from the other people in the carriage.
Amber sat back against the hard train seat and thought about the bizarre twists and turns of life which had brought her to this bumpy carriage which was hurtling through the English countryside towards Conall’s country home. She had been corralled into working for the Irish tycoon—the most infuriating and high-handed man she’d ever met.
And the fact that there didn’t seem any credible alternative had made her examine her lifestyle in a way which had left her feeling distinctly uncomfortable.
Yesterday she’d gone to the Devlin headquarters in Kensington for a briefing which hadn’t been brief at all. Serena had spent ages telling her boring things like making sure she kept her receipts so that she could submit a travel expenses form. Amber remembered blinking at Conall’s assistant with a mixture of amusement and irritation. Receipts! She had wanted to tell the lofty blonde that she didn’t do receipts, but at that moment the great man himself had walked into the building—a distracting image dressed in all black. Cue an infuriating rocketing of Amber’s pulse and the spectacle of various female members of staff cooing around him. And cue the uncomfortable realisation that she didn’t like seeing him surrounded by all those women.
His gaze had met hers.
‘I hope you’re behaving yourself, Amber?’
‘I’m doing my best,’ she’d replied from between gritted teeth.
‘I’m just talking Amber through the expenses procedure,’ Serena had explained.
‘And I’m sure she has been nothing but completely cooperative,’ Conall had murmured in response, but there had been a definite flicker of warning in the sapphire depths of his eyes.
She’d wanted to defy him then, because defiance was her default mechanism, yet for the first time in her life she had come up against someone who would not be swayed by her. And wasn’t that in some crazy way—reassuring?
Amber stared out of the train window, realising there was only an hour to go before her journey’s end and that she had better be prepared for her meeting with the Prince. Conall had suggested she find out as much about the royal as possible and so she had downloaded as much as she could find on the Internet and had printed it out. No harm in looking at it again. She pulled out the information sheets and began to doodle little drawings around the edge of one of the pages as she reread it.
She had been unprepared for the impact of Prince ‘Luc’ and his gorgeous Mediterranean island, when his photograph had first popped up on the screen. With his olive skin, bright blue eyes and thick tumble of black hair, he was as handsome as any Hollywood actor, but his looks left her completely cold. That in itself wasn’t unusual, because she’d met enough manipulating hunks through her mother to put her off handsome men for ever. What was infuriating was that she kept unfavourably comparing the Prince to Conall—and yet Conall wasn’t what you’d call good-looking. His jaw was dark and his nose had been broken at one point. And he had a hard, cold stare, which proved distractingly at odds with the way his fingers had brushed her skin as he’d wound his scarf around her neck at his club the other night...
The train juddered to a halt at Crewhurst station and Amber climbed out onto the platform, clutching her case, which contained some of her less-revealing dresses. Blinking, she looked around her and breathed in the fresh air, the bright spring day making her feel like an animal who’d spent the winter in hibernation and was emerging into sunshine for the first time. She sniffed at the air and the scent of something sweet. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been out of the city and in the middle of the countryside like this. Cotton-wool clouds scudded across an eggshell-blue sky and frilly yellow daffodils waved their trumpets in the light breeze.
She had been told to take a taxi, but the rank was empty and when she asked the old man in the ticket office when one might be available, he shook his head with the expression of someone who had just been asked to provide the whereabouts of the Holy Grail.
‘Can’t say. Driver’s gone off to take his wife shopping. It isn’t far to walk,’ he added helpfully, when she told him where she was headed.
Under normal circumstances Amber would have tapped her foot impatiently and demanded that someone find her a taxi—and quickly. But there was something about the scent of spring which felt keen and raw on her senses. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this alive and a sudden feeling of adventure washed over her. Her bag wasn’t particularly heavy. She was wearing sneakers with her skinny jeans, wasn’t she? And a soft silk shirt beneath her denim jacket.
After taking directions, she set off along a sun-dappled country road, walking past acid-green hedges which were bursting with new life. Overhead the sound of birdsong was almost deafening and London seemed an awfully long way away. She found herself thinking that Conall seemed to have his life pretty much sorted, with his successful business and his homes in London and the country. And she found herself wondering whether or not he had a girlfriend. Probably. Men like him always had girlfriends. Or wives. A wife who presumably could only speak English.
This thought produced an inexplicably painful punch to her heart and she glanced at her watch, calculating she must be about halfway there when she noticed that the sky had grown dark. Looking up, she saw a bank of pewter clouds massing overhead and increased her speed, but she hadn’t got much further down the lane when the first large splash of rain hit her and she wondered why she hadn’t stopped to consider the April showers which came out of nowhere this time of year.
Because usually you’re never far from a shop doorway and completely protected from the elements, that’s why.
Well, she certainly wasn’t protected now.
She was alone in the middle of a country lane while the rain had started lashing down with increasing intensity, until it was almost like walking through a tropical storm. She thought about ringing someone. Conall? No. She didn’t want another lecture on her general incompetence. And it was hardly the end of the world to get caught in an April shower, was it? Sometimes you had to accept what fate threw at you, and just suck it up.
Thoroughly soaked now, she increased her pace, her shirt clinging to her breasts like wet tissue paper and her jeans feeling heavy and uncomfortable as the wet denim rubbed against her legs. She didn’t hear the car at first and it wasn’t until she heard a loud beep that she turned around to see a low black car coming to a halt on the wet lane with a soft screech of tyres. The muscular silhouette behind the wheel was disturbingly familiar and as the electric window floated down she was confronted by the sight of Conall’s face and her heart missed a beat.
‘Conall—’
‘Get in,’ he said.
For a moment she was tempted to tell him that she’d rather walk in the pouring rain than get in a car driven by him. But that would be stupid—and wasn’t she trying her best to be a bit more sensible? She was cold and she was wet and she was headed for his house and the grown-up thing to do would be to thank him for stopping. Pulling open the passenger door, she threw her bag on the floor, beginning to shiver violently as she slid onto the passenger seat and slammed the car door shut.
‘This is getting to be something of a habit,’ he said grimly. ‘Do you think I have the words “rescue mission” permanently stamped on my forehead?’
His rudeness made her polite response disintegrate. ‘I didn’t ask you to rescue me.’
‘But you accepted my help soon enough, didn’t you?’
/> ‘Because even I’m not stubborn enough to throw up the chance of getting into a warm car! And now I s-suppose you’re going to ch-chastise me for getting wet.’ She began to shiver. ‘As if I have any control over the weather!’
‘I was going to chastise you for walking in the middle of the damned road and not paying any attention!’ he retorted. ‘If I’d been going any faster I could have run you over.’
Her teeth had started to chatter loudly and the way he was looking at her was making her feel... Beneath her sopping silk shirt, Amber’s heart began to hammer. She didn’t want to think about the way he was making her feel. How could that cold blue stare make her body spring into life like this? How could it make her feel as if her breasts were being pierced by tiny little needles and make a slow melting heat unfurl deep in her belly?
But he was tugging off his leather jacket and draping it impatiently over her shoulders and as his shadow fell over her Amber was suddenly aware of just how close he was. Coal-black lashes framed the gleaming sapphire eyes and his deeply shadowed jaw seemed to emphasise his own very potent brand of masculinity. An unfamiliar sense of longing began to bubble up inside her and she held her breath as she looked up into his face. For a split second she thought he might be about to kiss her. A second when his mouth was so close that all she needed to do was reach up and hook her hand behind his neck, and bring those lips down to meet hers. And in that same second she saw his eyes narrow. She thought...thought...
Did he read the longing in her eyes? Was that why he suddenly pulled away with a hard smile, as if he’d known exactly what was going through her head? Maybe he was able to make women desire him, even if they didn’t want to, just by giving them that intense and rather smouldering look. Instinctively, she hugged the coat closer, the leather feeling unbearably soft against her erect and sensitised nipples.
‘Do up your seat belt,’ he ordered, turning up the car’s heater full blast and glancing in his rear mirror before pulling away. ‘And talk me through the reason why you decided to walk from the station. It’s miles.’
The Billionaire's Defiant Acquisition Page 6