MILLS & BOON

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      CONTENTS

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER ONE

      JOSH PRENTICE lifted his head and looked blankly at his agent. ‘I’ve changed my mind.’ He accompanied his bombshell with a languid smile that made Alec Jordan want to tear out what little hair he had left.

      Josh wasn’t just his most successful client, he was also his friend, and Alec knew he didn’t have a languid bone in his well-built body. The older man regarded his friend’s long-limbed, athletically built frame for a moment with wistful resentment.

      ‘I’ve got a TV interview lined up for tomorrow night,’ he explained for the third time with tight-lipped patience. ‘The timing is perfect; your exhibition opens next week. The last interview you did after that art festival went down really well—apparently they love your cute French accent.’ He gritted his teeth as his lavish flattery failed to make any impact on the younger man. ‘I’ve already rescheduled once because of Liam’s birthday party.’ He was unable to keep the sense of misuse from his voice. This was all the thanks he got for busting his butt rearranging things for an infuriatingly dedicated single parent!

      ‘Thanks for the gift; Liam loved it.’

      Alec sighed, seeing no hint of concession in those hard grey eyes, eyes which rarely softened these days for anyone other than his son. He allowed his thoughts to drift longingly in the direction of hungry artists starving in attics—how much more malleable, he mused wistfully, they must be than the likes of Josh, who, to add insult to injury didn’t even have to rely on the healthy income from his chosen career—it went against nature for an artist to also have business acumen.

      ‘The flight to Paris is booked,’ he persisted stubbornly.

      ‘Then unbook it.’ Josh remained unmoved as, with a deep, agonised groan, his agent slumped theatrically into the opposite chair, his head in his hands.

      ‘Would it be too much to ask where you’re going if it’s not to Paris?’ Alec enquired in a muffled voice. ‘And don’t give me any guff about artistic temperament because we both know you don’t have any!’

      Josh’s lips quivered faintly at this hoarse accusation. ‘Actually I’m not entirely sure yet…’ He got to his feet and absent-mindedly tugged at the zip on his jacket, pulling the cloth taut across an impressive chest. He moved restlessly around the room before meeting Alec’s interrogative stare.

      His friend barely repressed the shudder that crawled up his spine at the detached, bone-chilling expression in those half-closed pale grey depths. Volcanic emotions, intense and fierce, were there simmering just below the surface. He hadn’t seen Josh look like this since just after Bridie’s death—during those bleak black days Josh had been totally consumed by a deep, smouldering rage and the only person brave or foolish enough to voluntarily expose himself to all that raw emotion had been his twin brother, Jake.

      ‘It depends…I’m following someone.’ Josh’s firm, wide, unmistakably sensual lips compressed into a grim line as he contemplated the task ahead.

      ‘Did you say f…following…?’

      ‘A woman…’ Josh tersely supplied, bringing to an abrupt halt his friend’s incredulous stuttering.

      ‘A woman!’ A slow, relieved smile spread across Alec’s face. At last—to hell with Paris, he decided magnanimously, this really was great news! ‘About time too,’ he boomed approvingly. It just wasn’t natural, a man like Josh living like a monk. If he had half as many offers…! It wasn’t as if anyone had expected the man to jump into bed with the first female who came along…but three years and he hadn’t even looked… ‘Why didn’t you say? Who is she?’

      ‘Flora Graham.’

      Alec gasped, his florid complexion growing pale. ‘You don’t mean the Flora Graham. The daughter of…the one who…?’

      Josh gave a wintry smile. ‘The one who killed my wife?’ He ignored Alec’s agonised clucking sounds of denial, and wondered why everyone seemed so anxious to make excuses for David Graham—everybody but him, that was. ‘The very same,’ he confirmed calmly.

      Alec, who’d half expected Josh to launch into a furious tirade at his own ill-advised protest, relaxed slightly. As unlikely pairings went, this one had him reeling.

      It had taken Josh a long time to come to terms with the fact the young wife he’d adored had died during childbirth. The wounds had been dramatically reopened when it had come to light earlier that year that the much-respected doctor, Sir David Graham, who had been Bridie’s obstetrician, was facing drug charges.

      Actually the more lurid charges, which, it transpired, had been instigated by evidence supplied by a disgruntled employer who had tried to blackmail the surgeon into supplying her and her shady friends with drugs, had eventually been dropped. This hadn’t stopped the media interest; the case had really caught their imagination.

      The response from the legal community to Josh’s accusations remained sympathetic but firm: their exhaustive enquiries hadn’t revealed proof that any of his patients had ever suffered because of Sir David’s problem. This attitude had exacerbated Josh’s burning feelings of injustice and fuelled his desire for revenge.

      Given