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      THE BLACKMAIL BARGAIN

      by

      Robyn Donald

      Robyn Donald can’t remember not being able to read, and will be eternally grateful to the local farmers who carefully avoided her on a dusty country road as she read her way to and from school, transported to places and times far away from her small village in Northland, New Zealand. Growing up fed her habit; as well as training as a teacher, marrying and raising two children, she discovered the delights of romances and read them voraciously, especially enjoying the ones written by New Zealand writers. So much so, that one day she decided to write one herself. Writing soon grew to be as much of a delight as reading – although infinitely more challenging – and when eventually her first book was accepted by Mills & Boon she felt she’d arrived home. She still lives in a small town in Northland with her family close by, using the landscape as a setting for much of her work. Her life is enriched by the friends she’s made among writers and readers, and complicated by a determined corgi called Buster who is convinced that blackbirds are evil entities. Her greatest hobby is still reading, with travelling a very close second.

       Don’t miss Robyn Donald’s exciting new novel, Rich, Ruthless and Secretly Royal, available in September 2009 from Mills & Boon^® Modern™.

      PROLOGUE

      HARD blue eyes narrowing, Curt McIntosh surveyed his sister. ‘All right, you’ve hedged enough. Tell me straight, is Ian having an affair with this Peta Grey?’

      Gillian flushed. ‘Don’t you look down your nose at me like that! You remind me of Dad when anyone dares to contradict him—high-handed, intolerant and dictatorial!’

      His voice stripped of everything but the authority that underpinned its deep tone, Curt stated, ‘Nothing you say is convincing in itself. Do you have proof that Ian is sleeping with this woman, or is he just being a good neighbour?’

      One glance upwards blocked Gillian’s first impetuous response. Not a muscle had moved in Curt’s formidable face, compelling in its bold, predatory beauty, but she chose her words carefully. ‘I shouldn’t have said that—about Dad.’

      ‘It doesn’t matter.’ He pinned her with a steely gaze. ‘And you’re still avoiding the subject.’

      She flounced around to stare at the view outside his office window. In summer Auckland was thick with jacaranda trees, and the one in the Domain over the busy city road was an airy dome of lilac-purple. Its beauty did nothing to relieve the sick turmoil inside her.

      With a spurt of defiance she exclaimed, ‘Peta! What a ridiculous name for a girl! I’ll bet her father wanted a son.’ She gnawed on her lip before finally admitting, ‘I know Ian’s not just being a good neighbour. There’s something else between them.’

      Her brother’s straight black brow shot up. ‘What?’

      ‘Awareness,’ she retorted, temper flashing for a second.

      ‘Is this the intuition women are so famous for,’ he said drily, ‘or is your fear based on something concrete?’

      Gillian reined in her anger. It wasn’t fair; she was four years older than Curt’s thirty-two, but the extra years had counted for nothing since he’d turned fifteen and shot up to well over six feet. Those extra inches had given him an edge that his intelligence and tough ruthlessness had honed into a formidable weapon. Although most of the time he was an affectionate brother, when he went into intimidation mode she took notice.

      She said unsteadily, ‘You might not know much about love, Curt, but don’t try to convince me you don’t understand sizzle! You were only sixteen when you seduced my best friend, and you haven’t been wasting any time since then—’

      Shrugging, he broke in, ‘Is that all you’ve got to go on? An awareness of sizzle?’

      She flushed at the satirical note in his words and shook her head.

      Dispassionately he said, ‘It happens, Gillian. It’s the way men are; we see a beautiful woman and the hormones begin to stir. An honourable man doesn’t follow it up if he’s already committed. I’ve always believed Ian to be honourable.’

      ‘Oh, how you testosterone brigade stick together!’ She forced herself to be calm because he distrusted emotional outbursts. Eventually she said in a more temperate voice, ‘Curt, I’m Ian’s wife. I love him, and I know him very well. Trust me, whatever it is that Ian feels for Peta Grey it’s more than a quick, easily forgotten flash of lust. I’d accept that if she was gorgeous, but she’s not. She’s not even pretty.’

      ‘Then what are you worrying about?’ Curt demanded, adding with cool logic, ‘Ian’s not likely to throw everything away on a plain woman. What does Peta Grey look like?’

      ‘She’s striking,’ Gillian admitted resentfully, ‘if you like tall, broad-shouldered, strong women. And that’s one of the reasons I’m worried—she’s not Ian’s type at all. The only times I’ve ever seen her in anything smarter than a T-shirt and jeans and gumboots have been when we’ve invited the neighbours around for drinks or a barbecue. She scrubs up pretty well then, but she’s so…so rural. All she can talk about is her stock and the measly few hectares she calls a farm.’

      She paused, then added with bleak honesty, ‘Which is more than Ian and I seem to have to talk about now.’

      Curt examined her closely. Small and slight, his sister breathed urban sophistication; on her own ground she’d hold all the weapons. ‘So what does Ian see in her?’

      Eyes glittering with frustrated tears, Gillian snapped, ‘She’s tall, and I imagine her mouth and green eyes make her sexy in a kind of earthy, land-girl way. Apart from that she’s got lovely skin, brown hair usually dragged off her face and tied with string in a ponytail, and a reasonably good figure.’

      Curt inspected his sister from the top of her expertly cut hair to the slim Italian shoes on her narrow feet. ‘She doesn’t sound like competition. Why