CONTENTS

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHAPTER ONE

      JAKE saw Aline Connor the moment he walked into the drawing-room. Heat and desire hit him like a blow, bringing his body alive and nearly overpowering his confident self-possession.

      How the hell, he thought with savage self-mockery, did she do that to him? Witchcraft?

      He’d had a pig of a week, culminating in a delayed, turbulent flight from Canada to New Zealand the previous night, yet one glance and he knew he’d have travelled ten times as far to see her.

      ‘Ah, there’s the guest of honour,’ cooed Lauren Penn, who’d pulled up outside the old Victorian villa at the same time as Jake, and strolled in with him. ‘She’s such a little darling, isn’t she? Wasn’t she good in the church—not a murmur as the vicar splashed her forehead! I think she’s inherited Keir’s massive self-assurance, lucky little girl.’

      An undercurrent in her voice caught Jake’s attention. Meeting his swift scrutiny with a sideways glance and a challenging smile, she used the doorway as an excuse to brush against him. Perfume, overtly erotic, rose in a clinging, cloying cloud; neither it nor the swift friction of skin against skin when she touched his hand affected Jake.

      He’d grown cynical since he’d begun to appear in the eligible bachelor lists; certain women—those whose main aim in life was to fascinate a rich man into marriage—had targeted him. Although some had inspired casual desire, it had been nothing like the violent, elemental hunger he felt whenever he looked at Aline—or whenever he thought of her, or heard her, or touched her…

      It had to be witchcraft, a spell spun by a black-haired, blue-eyed witch with a voice like cool music and skin so silkily transparent he wondered whether it would show bruises after making love.

      His mouth curled sardonically. In spite of her aloofness and reserve, he’d sensed a reluctant, involuntary response, but it clear as hell irked her, and it certainly wasn’t anything as strong as the basic need that clawed through him.

      Not that Aline’s aloofness was personal; she didn’t target anyone. Lauren Penn displayed more overt welcome in one smile than Aline showed in her whole graceful, elegant body. Yet from the moment he’d seen her he’d wanted her with a raw, consuming hunger that had nothing to do with logic or intelligence. Until then always able to control his passions, it angered and astonished him that he couldn’t do it now.

      Lauren sent him another melting glance and murmured, ‘They look such a happy group, don’t they? Aline cuddling baby Emma while Hope sits proudly by. Hope strikes me as the possessive sort, so all those rumours about Aline being Keir’s lover can’t be true.’

      It wasn’t the first time Jake had heard that particular suggestion, although usually as innuendo. It had angered him previously; it enraged him now. He liked Lauren, and if he hadn’t heard a feverish note buried in her brittle words he wouldn’t have bothered to silence his cutting response.

      Something was clearly going on. It concerned Aline—and that meant it concerned him.

      Lauren’s gaze was fixed on Aline. Without waiting for an answer she drawled, ‘Aline’s cold-blooded enough to swap passion for friendship if it worked to her advantage, but I don’t think Hope would welcome her husband’s discarded lover as a friend.’

      One of the reasons Jake hated the insinuation was that he suspected it had some basis; he’d sensed a certain tension between Keir Carmichael and his tall, exquisite executive, but he knew men—whatever had happened in the past, Keir wasn’t interested in Aline now. Although his face made granite look expressive, he couldn’t hide the way he felt about his wife.

      Just as well, Jake thought with cold purposefulness. If he’d wanted Aline, Carmichael would have had a fight on his hands.

      ‘Champagne, madam? Sir?’ a waiter offered smoothly.

      ‘Oh, lovely—perfect for such a glorious day,’ Lauren accepted eagerly, her hand shaking as she took the glass. She raised it to Jake. ‘I love spring—all those new beginnings make you glad to be alive, don’t they?’

      Every sense alert, Jake took a glass too, listening with half an ear as she delivered a rapid, amusing commentary on several other guests, infuriated when he caught himself glancing above her head at the woman who haunted him.

      Poised, slender body disposed on a big sofa, patrician face alight, Aline Connor smiled at the baby in her lap. For the past two months she’d been negotiating with him on behalf of Keir Carmichael’s merchant bank, displaying an intelligence sharp enough to keep Jake on his toes, disciplined enough to almost convince him of her indifference. Almost…

      Beside her, Keir Carmichael’s glowing wife, the mother of the baby, said something that set both women laughing. Laughing with them, the baby reached out chubby fingers to pat Aline’s cheek. She caught the little hand and kissed it.

      A shaft of pure sensation stabbed Jake with ferocious impact.

      From beside him Lauren said with brittle intensity, ‘I’m surprised to see Emma so happy in Aline’s lap. I know Aline doesn’t like children—she refused to have any when she was married to Mike, and he really wanted them.’

      Jake had good instincts, and by now they were on full alert.

      He lifted an intimidating eyebrow and glanced down at the woman beside him. She held her glass to her mouth like a shield; above the rim, her eyes were shiny and opaque.

      Neutrally he said, ‘I hadn’t realised you knew them both so well.’

      Her shoulders sketched a shrug. ‘Aline was in my class at school.’ Deepening her voice to add emphasis to her next words, she went on, ‘She was the classic nerd—a skinny, conceited kid who never forgot to do her homework and scored top marks year after year until she took them for granted. I was the class clown and she despised me.’ Lauren directed a wry look upwards, making clever use of long