PROLOGUE

      ‘I JUST don’t understand you, Miles,’ Annabel said in an aggrieved tone.

      True, Miles thought. Though to be fair, he didn’t understand himself, either. Most men would be more than content with his lot. He seemed to have it all. Money. Position. Power. Not to mention a beautiful and elegant fiancée. A lady, no less.

      Their wedding was to have taken place in just over four months’ time. In June.

      But not now.

      Miles had broken his engagement to Annabel last night as kindly as he could. He’d had to confess, of course, that he did not love her. It was the truth, after all.

      Luckily, the invitations had not yet been sent out, though they had been printed. And Annabel had unfortunately already ordered her wedding gown. He’d offered to compensate her family for any financial loss. He’d also told Annabel to keep the ring—a generous gesture, since it had set him back twenty thousand pounds.

      Annabel hadn’t quibbled about that, he noticed. Miles didn’t think she would. She came from an aristocratic family, complete with mansions and titles, but little cash.

      He’d thought the matter had been settled till Annabel had shown up in his office this morning, demanding not further compensation, but further explanation. It seemed she was not going to give up being Mrs. Miles MacMillan lightly.

      ‘Is all this something to do with your father having left control of the family company to Max?’ she asked impatiently. ‘Is that why you’re running off to Australia on the pretext of overseeing the new branch out there instead of taking over the position of vice-president here in London? Because your pride’s been hurt by your older brother wielding the whip hand, so to speak?’

      Miles’s smile was wry as he turned from where he’d been staring blankly out at the rain. What an apt turn of phrase where Max was concerned! His brother did have some peculiar private practices. But no one was supposed to know that. Publicly, he was a perfect English gentleman, complete with stiff upper lip and impeccable manners.

      ‘No, that’s not it at all,’ he said. ‘Max is welcome to the running of the company. Father chose rightly in giving him the job. He’s not only better suited, but it’s what he’s always desperately wanted.’

      ‘And what do you desperately want, Miles?’ came the caustic question. ‘Or don’t you desperately want anything?’

      An image flashed into his mind—of a woman, a witch of a woman with black hair and black eyes, the palest of skins and the reddest of mouths. Blood red. He could see her now, sashaying towards him across that crowded room, her floaty black dress swirling about her long, long legs, its semitransparent material hiding not an inch of her slender yet sensual curves.

      The memory must have projected something into his face, for suddenly Annabel gasped, then glared, her peaches and cream complexion flushing angrily.

      ‘Dear God, it’s another woman, isn’t it?’ She bit the words out. ‘You fell in love with some colonial bitch while you were out in Australia on business last year. That’s why you’ve tossed me over, to run back to the arms of some leather-skinned blonde bimbo who probably spends all of her life on Bondi Beach in a bikini!’

      Miles was startled by Annabel’s viciousness. Plus her capacity for jealousy. Or was it just hurt pride?

      There was no doubt Lady Annabel Swanson was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met. And he’d met a good few in his thirty-three years. Far more beautiful than a certain outrageous creature he hadn’t been able to get out of his head, no matter what he’d done.

      ‘That’s not so, Annabel,’ he said with some of the superb British control his public school education had managed to finally beat into him. ‘There is a woman ... yes. But I have not fallen in love with her. I’m beginning to doubt I’m capable of falling in love at all,’ he said truthfully enough. ‘If I was going to fall in love, don’t you think I would have fallen in love with you?’

      Annabel preened at this, and Miles felt a right hypocrite. More and more he could see her type would never capture his heart, or even retain his desire. She was far too snobbish, far too ambitious and far too mercenary. -

      As for her performance in bed... she was also far too fond of showers for his liking. He never did relish the feeling that she couldn’t wait to wash him from her oh so perfectly painted, powdered and perfumed body. Frankly, he could not bear the thought of touching her ever again.

      He