The Rich Man's Blackmailed Mistress

That smile was dangerous—and he knew its effect on women. He knew too much, she thought in rare confusion as her knees demanded she find a place to sit down.

He was too much—too much everything. Height always drew attention, but it wasn’t just his height or his dominant features and a mouth hinting at vast expertise that turned her bones to water. Kain exuded an aura of compelling power that was both a reassurance and a threat.

‘It’s non-alcoholic,’ he told her as the waiter returned with two flutes of champagne and a tall glass containing a concoction that looked deliciously refreshing. ‘Peach and strawberry fizz.’

‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly, irritated to discover it tasted as good as it looked.

Someone came up and greeted Maire, who excused herself to engage in animated conversation. Niggled by uncomfortable tension, Sable looked down at the track as the horses started to file out to the starting gate.

‘Which is yours?’ she asked to fill in the silence.

‘Number thirteen—the black,’ he said, and pointed him out.

Another splendid beast, she thought ironically, so fit its muscles were almost bursting through the sleek midnight hide. ‘Why are you so sure he’ll win?’

‘He’s at his peak now, and he has the best form. There’s always the chance of a mishap, of course, but he should lead them home.’

He did, to wild cheers that proclaimed he was a favourite with the crowd as well as the punters. In spite of herself Sable was caught up in the moment, clapping excitedly and turning to Kain when it was over, her face alight. ‘He’s fantastic, isn’t he? He just blitzed them! Where’s he racing next?’

Her heart gave an unexpected lurch when he looked down at her, and the joyful tumult seemed to die away into silence.

She tried to lower her lashes, to look away, but that enigmatic grey gaze locked her into some kind of stasis.

Before he could answer he was enveloped by a mob of laughing, chattering friends as well as journalists with photographers in tow.

Intensely relieved, Sable stood back a little, envying him the formidable assurance with which he accepted handshakes from the men and kisses from a variety of women. She felt oddly alone, disconnected from the brightly dressed crowd and the laughter; the sun seemed brassy and uncomfortable, the crowd noise too loud, too shrill.

So? she thought, sipping some more of her drink. In every way that matters you’ve been alone all your life. And you gave up wallowing in self-pity the day you left Hawkes Bay for Auckland.

But it was just as well she wasn’t likely to see much more of Kain Gerard.

Without looking at her he reached out and snagged her hand, drawing her to him as he said, ‘Come with me. I’m going to congratulate the jockey and the trainer.’

Sable tugged uselessly. She said in a low, angry voice, ‘I’m supposed to be showing off this dress.’

‘If you’re with Kain, you’re going to be in every photograph,’ Maire said brightly. ‘Away you go.’

Sable’s indignant glare clashed with coolly amused grey eyes. After a moment’s hesitation she gave in, allowing herself to be escorted through the press of people until the flash from a camera startled her into flinching.

Kain’s hand cupped her elbow more firmly. ‘Throw them a smile,’ he advised with an edge of cynicism in his deep voice. ‘That’s all you have to do—look elegant and confident. You can do that.’

Keeping her eyes fixed on the activity in the Birdcage, she forced a smile as she tossed off a reply. ‘I’ll have you know I have to suffer to get this elegant! These shoes are killers on the grass.’ Shoe porn, Maire had called the grey sandals with their vertigo-inducing heels.

He glanced down. Something flickered in his hard eyes, but his voice was bland when he said, ‘From a spectator’s viewpoint, the sight of your feet in them is definitely worth the pain.’

Why did it seem this conversation was being conducted on two levels—one with words, the other with the subtle shift of tone and emphasis and the silent language of movement and gesture?

To her relief someone caught his attention and he turned away from her. Reluctantly Sable had to admire the way he dealt with the journalists and photographers—his charm not hiding an uncompromising authority.

Eventually he left her to lead the horse around the enclosure in a lap of honour. Sable watched them stride out with matching masculine grace, the sun striking blue highlights from the horse’s glossy hide and from Kain’s head.

‘Two of a kind.’ Half-envious, half-humorous, the trainer echoed her thoughts from beside her.

Sable took in a deep breath, calling on her surface gloss of sophistication. Until then she’d been stumbling along like any green girl, but now, with Kain’s presence removed, she could regroup her forces.

‘Does the horse have grey eyes?’ she enquired, smiling to show she was joking.

He gave a snort of laughter. ‘No, but he’s a tough beast, and when he makes up his mind it’s damned hard to change it. And he’s honest; once he’s committed, he throws his heart into every race.’

‘What more could you want in a horse? Or a man?’ she returned lightly. ‘Isn’t it a glorious day?’

Kain and the horse headed back as the trainer smiled at her. ‘One of the best,’ he agreed, stepping out to take the reins from Kain’s lean hand.

Kain said, ‘Right, let’s go.’

They started to leave, only to have a photographer call, ‘One more, Kain.’

He turned his head and said coolly, ‘Of course,’ and before Sable could move out of range he scooped her against his lean body and held her, smiling down into her startled eyes and saying, ‘This one’s for the social pages. Relax and think of the publicity for Maire.’

Far too conscious of his strength against her, she felt herself stiffen. The chatter of the crowd dulled; inwardly cringing, she sensed avid eyes on them both.

‘Smile,’ he commanded quietly, the handsome face amused.

Her brows lifted. ‘Why?’

‘Because if you don’t everyone who sees this is going to think you’re besotted.’ And when she responded with a haughty glare he bent his head to say even more softly, ‘Perhaps I should kiss you.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘DON’T you dare,’ Sable hissed, but some wild emotion leapt into shocking life inside her. Kain’s arctic eyes narrowed, and she froze, her heart hammering.

The photographer’s voice jarred her back into reality. ‘Hey, that’s great! Thank you.’

The moment Kain’s arm relaxed Sable twisted away. Summoning a smile took all of her concentration, but there was no way to hide the lingering heat that burned her cheeks.

What the hell did Kain Gerard think he was playing at?

And why did he cause such novel turmoil inside her?

‘Maire should be pleased with that,’ he said with no visible sign of emotion.

Sable suppressed the urge to say that for someone who’d denied seeking publicity he’d almost courted it for the older woman. Instead she murmured, ‘You’re very kind to her.’

His mouth twisted. ‘She was a friend of my mother’s and I admire her entrepreneurial spirit.’

Well, she knew only too well how strong and tight the circle of influential people could be.

Maire came up, her slightly perplexed gaze going from one face to the other. ‘Thank you, Kain,’ she said swiftly. ‘You’ve been great. Are you ready to leave, Sable?’

‘Yes.’ Sable kept her voice level, hoping neither realised she felt as though she’d just been thrown a lifeline. Without letting her smile reach her eyes, she turned to Kain and said formally, ‘Thank you for an interesting experience.’

‘My pleasure entirely.’

His smooth, amused voice infuriated her.

Kain watched her walk gracefully away, only a certain rigidity to her slender body indicating that she was angry. She was looking down at the woman beside her with what seemed genuine interest.

Nice going, he thought, although threatening to kiss her in front of thousands of people and a media audience might not have been a good move.

But it had been worth it for that moment when she’d let her guard slip and he’d seen the heat kindle in her dark eyes. Like it or not—and he suspected she didn’t—she was very definitely aware of him.

So things were going his way. And he was, he thought with cold, controlled satisfaction, a much tougher challenge than Brent.

After changing into her own clothes, Sable refused Maire’s offer of a lift and walked off to catch a bus, her feet in their flat sandals fervently thanking her with each step. Smiling at the thought, she promised them that when she got home she’d soak them in something warm and soothing.

‘I think I like this look even more,’ Kain Gerard said from behind her.

She froze, her heart rate increasing madly. He smiled lazily down, but his grey eyes were hooded against the sun, and the smile held something she distrusted.

He commented, ‘Very cool, very…innocent.’

The cynical intonation to the last word made her angry.White happened to suit her and the dress was a favourite of hers. ‘That’s long out of date,’ she said, infusing the words with a faint scorn.

‘The dress?’ He swung into place beside her.

Sable thought seriously of telling him she didn’t want his company, only to give a mental shrug. The bus queue was no place for billionaires; he’d leave soon enough.

She replied, ‘The connection of white with chastity.’

Kain gave her an amused glance. Furious with herself, Sable pretended to examine a large purple car that was proceeding with stately dignity down the road. Stupid! Why hadn’t she just ignored his provocative remark?

Because he unnerved her so much it scrambled her brain, that’s why.

Kain said thoughtfully, ‘Perhaps I am old-fashioned.’

Her glance probably told him more than she wanted it to, for he sent her a bland smile.

‘That sounds rather sweet,’ she said kindly, then nodded in the direction of the buses. ‘I’m going this way, so goodbye.’

‘Aren’t you using Brent’s car?’

She felt a tightness in her chest. ‘No,’ she said shortly.

It had been a mistake to move into Brent’s apartment. But his offer of a place to stay while she found a new home had seemed a lifesaver. However, it hadn’t taken her long to realise he’d seen it as a step forwards in a relationship she’d been at pains to keep at a friendly level.

So she had to find new lodgings by the time he got back from his unexpected holiday.

Kain’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘I’ll give you a lift back.’

Turning her face away from his too-keen scrutiny, she shook her head firmly. ‘No, thank you,’ she said, and strode towards the waiting bus.

Kain watched the sun gleam across the ebony satin of her hair, its sleek chignon setting off her fine features and that wanton mouth, now firmly under control.

Playing it cool. Well, he’d expected that; she’d be stupid to ditch one prospect until she had the next one—the richer one—hooked and reeled in. A humourless smile curved his mouth as he walked towards the members’car park. He knew how this game went, and he’d enjoy playing it for a while.

‘Sable, who is that? Oh—my—God, he’s faaaabulous.’

‘Hang on,’ Sable said absently without taking her eyes from the computer screen. The boss’s daughter habitually spoke in italics, and fell in love with a new man every couple of days.

‘He’s coming here!’

‘Well, this is the reception area.’

Poppy’s voice dropped to a low whisper. ‘Oh, oh, oh, I know who he is.’

‘Hush, he might hear y—’ The word dried on her tongue when she looked up and saw Kain Gerard strolling towards her, breathtakingly masculine in a formal city suit.

Literally breathtaking; she had to force her lungs to drag in some air, and beneath her ribs her heart set up a wayward rhythm that echoed in her ears.

‘Sable,’ he said with a devastating half-smile. ‘How are you?’

Hearing Poppy take a swift indrawn breath, Sable hastily said, ‘Hello, Kain. Can I help you?’

‘You can show me the pictures that will be sold in the charity auction.’

The Russell Foundation held an annual art auction, and because one day she planned to work as an events manager, Sable always volunteered her services to organise the evening. This year it was to be held in the ballroom of a huge modern mansion, the perfect place to show off the avant-garde pictures and sculptures now waiting in the Foundation’s warehouse.

Her first impulse was to hand Kain over to Poppy, but the slight emphasis on the first word of his answer made her hesitate and look up at him. The moment her eyes met his warning gaze she realised he understood what she intended to do—and was warning her against it.

Poppy was young and untried enough to be hurt by rejection. And although the paintings and sculpture weren’t yet officially on exhibition, Kain Gerard knew—as Sable did—that no one would refuse to show them to him.

Money talks, she thought, unable to show her chagrin, and big money talks big.

Evenly, her voice aloof, Sable replied, ‘Yes, of course.’

Heart skipping into an uneven rhythm, she closed the computer and straightened up to walk towards him, glad that she’d worn a dress in the bold, clear red that gave colour to her pale skin and made her eyes dark and deep and—she hoped—impossible to read.

She was fiercely aware of Kain on a level so basic she had no command over it. Every cell seemed to recognise him, as though his touch had imprinted her for life.

And that ridiculous overreaction scared her.

‘Come this way,’ she said in her most modulated voice, hoping that he hadn’t noticed her tension.

Silently he surveyed the exhibition with an impassive face. This year the committee that oversaw the choice of artists had chosen those with postmodern credentials, and because the exhibition and auction gave them excellent publicity most had really let themselves go.

Sable kept her features controlled. Somehow, she didn’t think Kain would be impressed—unless he was buying an investment. You didn’t have to like investments.

He surprised her by asking, ‘What do you think of them?’

‘My opinion isn’t worth anything,’ she evaded.

‘You don’t like them.’

How had he noticed that? Uneasily she said, ‘I don’t know anything about this sort of art so my personal opinion means nothing. I can get an expert to discuss them with—’

He stopped her with a glance and a single word. ‘No.’

For the next half hour he strolled along the row of pictures, standing back occasionally to get a better view, looking more closely at others. Sable wondered just what was going on behind that handsome face.

Finally he said, ‘Tell me what you really think.’

Exasperated by his persistence, she returned shortly, ‘The only useful comments I could make would just be parroting what I’ve heard.’

‘I don’t want that—I want your opinion. You must have some idea—wasn’t your father an artist? Angus Martin? The Art Gallery has several of his pictures and one stunning watercolour.’

Touched—and made extremely cautious by the fact that he’d heard of her father—she said, ‘If you’ve seen it you’d know that he didn’t paint like this.’

‘But you must have heard him discuss art.’

Oh, yes, endless discussions that had degenerated into maudlin regrets that his skills no longer matched his vision, that he’d drunk away whatever talent he’d once had…

Faced with a determination that matched her own—and because Kain Gerard might be prepared to spend a lot of money on this very good cause—she said reluctantly, ‘I don’t understand the artists’ visions or their objectives, and I don’t know enough about art to relate to their techniques.’

‘Why does that annoy you?’

You annoy me, she thought, irritated with him and with herself for being so affected by him.

Shrugging, she returned lightly, ‘Because I feel as though I’m missing out on something—on some secret that others understand.’

He pinned her with a considering stare that lasted two seconds too long, then nodded. ‘Fair enough. Did you see our photograph in the newspaper?’

She’d very carefully avoided looking at the social pages. ‘No, I didn’t.’

His smile told her he didn’t believe her. ‘A pity. I’m afraid it won’t garner Maire Faris good publicity—the dress doesn’t show to advantage. However, her name is mentioned.’

Something in his tone made her uncomfortable. She said stiffly, ‘I’m glad.’

Fixing his gaze on a canvas that to Sable looked like a too-dramatic representation of a bad headache, he asked with casual interest, ‘Have you heard from Brent lately?’

‘No.’ She stole a glance at his profile, strong and commanding. Something very strange happened to her stomach—no, her heart.

Ignore it, she told herself sturdily, and said with brittle composure, ‘Apparently he’s not going to be able to contact anyone for a month or so. Rather ironic that a man whose life is focused on the internet should deliberately leave himself without access to it.’

‘I think he’s ready to go cold turkey for a while,’ Kain said. He delivered a low-wattage version of that killer smile. ‘Thank you for showing me around.’

She said formally, ‘I hope we’ll see you at the auction.’ He’d been invited; she’d have to check to see if he’d accepted.

‘Possibly.’

Her complete ignorance had probably blown any chance of a good sale, she thought with wry resignation and accompanied him back to the reception area.

Poppy looked up, her pretty face awed. With some surprise Sable noted the smile he bestowed on the younger girl. Friendly, appreciative, it showed none of the antagonism that seemed to underlie his attitude to her.

In response, Poppy blushed brilliantly, melting without any visible sign of resistance.

Afterwards Sable had to endure the younger woman’s sighing comments, relieved when lunchtime came—only to find herself being warned during the meal by Maire.

‘Kain’s nothing like his cousin,’ the older woman said, eyeing the huge muffin she’d chosen. ‘Brent’s a nice boy—bright too, and he obviously has a good business brain when it comes to the internet—but he doesn’t have Kain’s charisma.’

‘No,’ Sable agreed, touched in some secret part. She’d been on her own since she was seventeen, and the only womanly influence in her life had been her father’s neighbour Miss Popham, an elderly woman whose brisk, practical attitude hadn’t encouraged confidences.

Don’t go there, she thought and hurriedly transferred her attention back to Maire. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to fall for either of them.’

‘It’s not always that easy,’ the designer said shrewdly, ‘especially as you’re living with Brent.’

‘I’m not—I’m staying in his apartment until I find a suitable flat.’ Because it was important, she emphasised, ‘We aren’t lovers—or even possible lovers.’

Maire lifted incredulous brows.

Harried, Sable expanded, ‘He’s years younger than me, for heaven’s sake, and I feel positively ancient when I’m with him. We haven’t got that sort of relationship—haven’t even exchanged so much as a kiss!’

‘But he wants to,’ Maire said pragmatically.

Sable sighed. ‘It’s not going to happen. He knows that now.’

‘So why did you move in with him?’

Normally she wouldn’t have considered it, but one weekend while Sable was away her flatmate had held a party, a wild affair that had led to a wholesale trashing of the villa they shared.

Briefly she explained, and Maire tut-tutted. ‘Your name was on the lease, was it?’

‘Yes.’ It hadn’t surprised Sable when she and her repentant flatmate had been asked to leave, but she’d been horrified to discover that her landlady—an elderly widow—had let the insurance lapse.

Because, she’d informed Sable, she’d considered her to be a responsible person who’d look after the place. And perhaps because she’d just forgotten. Legally, of course, Sable wasn’t obliged to pay for the damage, but for her own peace of mind she needed to. The landlady had been kind to her, and she hated to leave with a stain on her conscience—already stained enough, she thought grimly. Repayment had emptied out her bank account and left her feeling intensely vulnerable.

Firmly changing the subject, she said, ‘As for Kain, he’s not the sort of man I’m comfortable with.’ She paused, then added with some irony, ‘I find him too overwhelming.’

‘You must be the only woman in New Zealand to feel that way.’ Maire sighed and slathered some butter on her muffin. ‘All right, I’ve had my say. If I remember anything of my far-distant youth, it’s how unwelcome advice can be.’

‘I didn’t mean to sound abrupt—’

Maire laughed. ‘You didn’t. I was just being meddlesome. I’ve known Kain since he was a kid and even then he was the most self-sufficient person I’ve ever come across. Just as well—he was only twelve when his parents were killed, and at eighteen he took over the family business because it was going under. He had to grow up really fast.’

Interested in spite of herself, Sable said, ‘He and Brent don’t seem to have anything in common.’

‘Pretty much nothing beyond brains and genes.’ She sighed. ‘I really, really wanted to get my hands on the woman young Brent was with last year. She had a great body and she was good-looking, but if she’d come to me I’d have steered her away from cleavage and clothes so tight you could see the pores of her skin under the fabric. Not that Brent seemed to mind,’ she said wryly, adding, ‘Kain, on the other hand, goes for class and intelligence and sophistication in his lovers.’

‘So who’s the present incumbent?’ Sable tried to make her voice only mildly interested.

‘Oh, he hasn’t lived with any of them.’ Maire shot her an amused glance. ‘And even though he must be ten or so years older than his cousin, he’s probably had fewer lovers than Brent. Their attitudes differ; Brent treats women like buying from a chain store, whereas Kain chooses a more select wardrobe from a designer.’

But he knew infinitely more about women than Brent, Sable thought, an inward shiver tightening her skin.

She stopped herself from asking more questions because she most emphatically was not interested in Kain Gerard’s love life.

‘Of course there was a six-month period when he and that film star—Jacie Dixon—were a very hot item. They kept it discreet and low-key, but the photos in the tabloids just about smoked off the pages.’

Sable hoped that her amused smile hid an ignoble pang of something that most emphatically was not envy. ‘I wouldn’t have picked you for a keen follower of the tabloids.’

‘I’m not, but my granddaughter is obsessed with celebrities.’ Her companion sighed again. ‘I know far more about the secret lives of Hollywood stars than I care to, believe me. Fiona’s a sucker for a good-looking man, and she has a secret stash of photos of Kain Gerard.’

‘Well, she’s got taste,’ Sable said lightly. ‘How old is she?’

‘Fourteen. Why?’

‘Because that sort of thing usually passes by the time they hit sixteen. It will be pop stars then.’

Maire gave her look, part horror, part resignation. ‘I hope not. At least Kain’s a good role model—no drugs, no run-ins with the cops, no drunken outings splashed across the newspapers, and a decent discretion in his affairs.’

Sable changed the subject, but later that night she wondered why Maire had felt it necessary to bring up the subject of Kain Gerard.

Surely she hadn’t discerned the surprising sensations he roused in Sable, that sharp, powerfully—and entirely—physical response that brought a rush of adrenaline to heighten her every sense?

Possibly; Maire was astute and one of the reasons she was a good designer was her instinctive understanding of people.

Grimacing, Sable put Kain Gerard out of her mind.