Accidental Bride

CHAPTER THREE

HOW her little sister had ended up in King’s bed concerned Clare. It wasn’t as though they frequented the same circles. King’s realm was a world unto itself. Even with her own lucrative transport company’s success, she couldn’t hope to come anywhere close to it.

The sort of wealth and position he’d built for himself were what dreams were made of. Clare let her gaze wander over his dark hair, his strong jawline, and the quirk of his lips. Surprisingly, he looked quite normal for a millionaire, apart from being aggravatingly handsome.

Meeting King made her goal of owning her entire company seem not so far-fetched. If this guy could do it she was certain she could, too. One day.

‘You may not know me. But I do know you.’ Clare laid her spoon in her empty bowl and met King’s stormy eyes. ‘I know your parents split up when you were ten and you spent the next eight years moving from one to the other while your mother searched for love. Your father was declared bankrupt in seventy-nine and eighty-six—when you were ten and seventeen respectively.’

Mark’s eyes flickered, and a shadow flashed across his features.

She suppressed a smile of satisfaction—the investigator had been worth the money. ‘You studied business economics overseas, then returned to invest your inheritance from your grandparents. Do I need to go on?’

‘So you’ve done your homework.’ His voice hardened. ‘Are you going to tell me what you’re after?’

‘No. But I’ll tell you this—’ She leant close to him, breathing in his spicy cologne. ‘We have mutual acquaintances.’

His eyes widened at her admission. ‘Ha, it was one of the guys, wasn’t it?’ He laughed, darting looks around the table. ‘Which one of you jokers is responsible?’

Two of the men cleared their throats, three others shrugged, and they all cast curious looks at King.

King snapped his attention back to her, his eyes smouldering.

Clare tried to smother a laugh at his confusion. She had him going. This was even better than she’d planned.

The waiters removed the empty bowls and King dodged around them to see her. ‘How long are you going to play this game?’

Clare waited until the table had been cleared, then she leant close to him again. ‘Are you bored with me already?’

‘Yes.’

But the fire in his eyes told her otherwise. ‘Oh, my.’ She patted his hand lightly. ‘You have it worse than I thought.’

‘What?’ King’s eyes were glued to where her hand covered his.

‘Boredom,’ she said knowingly, lifting her hand and placing it on her lap, still tingling from the contact. ‘You know you age prematurely if you’re bored? It can lead to depression and all sorts of mental conditions.’

‘Is that true?’

She allowed herself a smile. ‘No idea, but it sounded good.’ It was like dangling candy in front of a child. Too easy.

A waiter presented Clare with her entrée: a miniature risotto. It was shaped in an oval and topped with caramelised onions. She cast a casual glance around the table—the others had each received a mushroom and ham torte, garnished with snow pea shoots and long curls of carrot.

The touch of King’s hand on her thigh almost made her jump. Almost. She hadn’t expected it. For some silly reason she’d assumed she wouldn’t have to endure physical contact with him until later—much later. There was no doubt now that he was a fast mover.

His fingers stroked her skin, arousing every nerve in her leg, in her stomach, in her entire body. His hand was so warm, so firm and so maddening! He had probably swept her little sister away with his charms before she’d had a chance to think.

‘I hope you’re not bluffing, Miss…?’ His thumb massaged her muscle, working higher up her leg. ‘What the hell am I meant to call you?’

‘What do you want to call me?’ she said calmly. Clare steeled herself against the disturbing sensations his hand on her thigh caused through her body. She took a small bite of the rich rice dish, another of Paul’s, focusing on the meal rather than her body’s traitorous response to King.

‘How about Scarlet?’ Sasha offered. ‘From that old classic movie.’

‘But you’re in red, not me.’ Clare couldn’t help but notice the way Sasha touched King, lightly but possessively. Poor Sasha was laying herself open to King, as good as screaming Ready, willing and waiting. If she had any idea where his other hand was…

‘You’re right.’ Sasha chewed her bottom lip, running a hand absently up King’s arm, over his nicely built muscles and resting it on his shoulder.

‘How about the Black Widow?’ King’s hand reached the top of her split and traced the edge of the fabric with his fingertip.

Tingles of awareness shot to her toes. ‘I’m in black, but I’m no widow.’ Clare took another portion of the risotto and put it in her mouth as casually as she could manage, willing herself to chew and swallow without choking, without balking.

The need to slap his hand away was swamping her. How dared he treat her like this? With no respect for Sasha, no consideration for all the hearts he’d left behind him, cracked and bleeding.

Clare swallowed the lump of risotto, helping it down with several gulps of her wine. She looked dubiously at the small serving on her plate. She’d hoped to avoid as much conversation as manners allowed, but she figured having her mouth full wouldn’t last long as an excuse.

‘Never been married?’ King nodded and scooped his entrée into his mouth, looking as if he wanted to get the distraction out of the way as quickly as possible.

Clare took more of the deep red wine. How was she going to last an entire evening with King and his tenacity? She put more risotto in her mouth, then shook her head, cursing herself for not pacing her risotto to the questions she didn’t want to answer.

The smile on King’s face suggested he was pleased.

‘What about something from Shakespeare?’ Sasha glared at Clare as though she was loath to continue a conversation that didn’t revolve around herself, but beamed at King like a puppy wanting a reward.

‘Hmm, Lady Macbeth comes to mind.’ King’s voice was deep and husky, his hand caressing her bare skin with slow, sensual movements designed to muddle minds. ‘We’ll call you m’lady, then.’

Clare smiled, covering her disgust. It was all she could do to let him keep touching her leg without breaking his nose. After what he’d pulled on her sister…She gritted her teeth, swallowing the tirade of abuse that threatened to erupt.

After her dad had left Clare had looked after her little sister, Fiona, while their mother had worked three jobs. Even living with her mother’s widowed sister and her son hadn’t eased her mother’s burden. The debt her father had left behind had been painfully large.

Clare had pulled strings to get Fiona a job in her office when she’d left school early, unable to cope with the pressure. And she’d retired her mum as soon as her business had made enough to buy a home for her in the Dandenong Ranges. She should have sent Fiona up there too—protected her from the harsh realities of life and men like King.

‘Your meal, miss, with compliments from the chef.’ A waiter winked at her, then laid a plate in front of her. The rich aroma of the dish drifted upward. It was another of Paul’s—a vegetable lasagne with chilli, vegetables and tomato, topped with exotic cheeses.

She concentrated on eating, even though her stomach felt leaden with King’s eyes continually on her.

Clare was thankful he needed both hands to tackle his steak. His hand on her leg had been sending a steady stream of interference to her brain. And she needed all her wits about her if she was going to take this guy down.

King ate almost silently, only occasionally joining in the table’s conversation and twice responding to Sasha’s questions. On the whole, Clare supposed, he was mulling over the facts and trying to figure her out.

‘I know you’re around twenty-seven, twenty-eight,’ King stated coolly, pausing as dessert was served. ‘You’re in a high position in business, or you own your own. You’re well-off, you don’t live far away, and you haven’t had any serious relationships.’

Clare’s spoon stopped halfway to her pastry. She turned to him, her blood pounding in her ears. ‘How?’

King’s smile lit his entire face. ‘Your manner denotes leadership and the quality of your dress screams money. You came in a taxi because of those heels—you wouldn’t have been able to drive in them. And there isn’t a hint of an indentation or change in colour on any of your fingers, which means you haven’t worn a ring in a very long time. You don’t wear nail polish,’ he continued, sure of himself, ‘no fancy rings, only simple jewellery—I’d guess you’re a very capable, self-assured woman, not needing all those artificial adornments to enhance the package.’

Clare noticed Sasha pull her hands off the table and tuck them on her lap—her pink-painted nails a dead give-away of her supposed insecurities, if King was to be believed. Personally, she figured he was full of himself—a load of hot air polluting the planet.

King was certainly clever. She had to give him that. But there was no reason she had to pander to him. She stared at the sweet on her plate and took a corner and put it in her mouth. The sheets of buttered wafer-thin pastry were layered with nuts and soaked in a lemony orange-blossom-flavoured sugar and honey syrup. It was heavenly, but it didn’t help her brain come up with some clever retort. ‘I could have changed into my heels after I’d driven here…?’

Mark knew he was right. He had to be or she wouldn’t be looking so demure, being so quiet and intent on her dessert. And he was sure her cheeks had paled a fraction. It was the thrill of the hunt. She was right. He enjoyed a challenge and she was just the sort of challenge he wanted to indulge in at the moment. ‘So, do you need a ride home?’

‘Are you offering?’ his stranger asked, her voice lilting melodiously. She dabbed her full lips with her serviette, staring him directly in the eyes as though daring him to wipe the smile off her lips with his own.

The music resumed in the ballroom and people started drifting away from the tables. Mark, however, had no intention of going anywhere until he had some answers.

He noticed Sasha rising next to him. ‘I’m just going to powder my nose.’

Now was the time to interrogate this lady, to give him a fair chance at this challenge of hers. He could throw all decorum and manners to the wind and seriously terrorise her into the truth without concerning himself with the effect on young Sasha.

Clare rose.

He started. ‘Are you joining her?’

‘Yes.’ She offered him one of her dazzling smiles. ‘Will you miss me?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘I’ll be here.’ Working out what the hell she was up to. She certainly was astute—she knew she’d be vulnerable on her own.

The thought that she was some gold-digger had occurred to him. She knew enough about him to know exactly the sort of woman he’d be attracted to. But, hell. Whatever she wanted, however much she cost, the way things were going he’d be up for it—for a chance at taming her.

Mark couldn’t help but watch her. She didn’t look back. Sasha did, though, and Mark couldn’t decide whether his sister’s friend liked the woman or was going to have a go at chopping her off at the knees. Mark suspected that Sasha figured he was her territory, but she’d have no joy with his stranger. This was a woman who knew her mind.

Mark had to admit he felt more alive than he’d been for a long time. He liked this game. But he wasn’t going to stick to the rules. He hadn’t got to where he had by falling in with other people’s games. He moved his leg and slipped out her mobile phone from underneath.

Distracting her had been a delight. That split in that dress of hers was perfect. She’d been so soft, so smooth—her handbag and its contents had become almost inconsequential to her leg.

Mark rose and strode to a quiet alcove off the dining room. He turned the small red mobile in his hand. He hoped she’d used it for a personal call and not some weather report that would get him nowhere. But then, there was always the kitchen staff. He didn’t have a qualm in the world about striding in there and interrogating them as to how they’d known his mystery guest’s dietary requirements.

He flipped it open and pushed redial. A taxi company would be ideal to track down who’d driven her here and from where, but too easy. Mark smiled. The thrill of the hunt pounded through his veins in tune with the peal of the phone.

‘Hello?’ It was a shaky voice. A woman’s. ‘Is that you, Clare?’

He rolled the name around his mind. ‘Excelsior Hotel. Lost and Found. We’ve just had this phone handed in and we pride ourselves on service. We’d love to return it to the owner before they leave tonight. Would you be able to describe the owner? I’ve just pushed redial so you’ve spoken to them recently. The phone is small and red. Looks like a woman’s.’

‘It’ll be Clare’s.’ The woman cleared her throat. ‘Clare Harrison. She’s tall, has shoulder-length brown hair and blue eyes.’

Bingo! A swell of satisfaction rose in his chest. ‘Thank you. I’ll page her right away.’ He rang off, smiling. Clare Harrison. He had her now.

‘Isn’t that a woman’s mobile?’

Mark turned. John was so young and so naïve about the business world and all its shades of grey that became a way of life. ‘Yes—yes, it is.’

‘You look pleased, sir.’

‘Very pleased.’ Mark pressed the phone into John’s hand. ‘Hand this in to a waiter. Say you found it.’

‘Yes, sir.’ John looked dubiously at the phone and then at Mark.

‘Do we know a Clare Harrison? The name sounds familiar.’ And he was going to get a whole lot more familiar with the devilish woman.

‘Yes, sir.’

Mark snapped his head up. They did? How could they? He would never have forgotten her! ‘Well, who is she?’

John shuffled his feet. ‘She’s one of the owners of Trans-International. One of the smaller companies in the pipeline.’ John pulled at his tie. ‘Why?’

Mark tensed. Trans-Inter. Small and innocuous. Rising fast. A gem to add to his holdings. ‘I thought no one knew about our intentions for Trans-Inter?’

‘Nobody should, sir. Only a select group involved in researching and compiling the report. You’ve an appointment to see the other partner on Monday. He owns the majority of the company.’

‘I have, have I?’ Mark glared at John. ‘Under what name did you make our appointment?’ Mistakes weren’t to be tolerated. John was new, but Mark had made it very clear what he expected of him. If a sniff of his plans were known before he’d got his foot in the door with a partner he’d not only be fighting off the competition but the employees and the other partner…

‘Under Mark Johns, sir.’

Mark rubbed his jaw. A clever ruse, and not entirely untrue. John would be with him.

So, with that avenue ruled out, how had Miss Harrison found out? And what did she have planned for him? His mind went into overdrive. What would he do to save his business if the tables were turned? Anything! He couldn’t help feeling that whatever she had planned for him, he was up for it.

Clare Harrison was quite a woman. He would volley anything she could toss his way. And he was sure he’d enjoy the game.

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