He left, assured he hadn’t shown his hand to anyone where Chloe Rollins was concerned. Nor would he until the time was right. A secret pleasure … the spice of anticipation … Max knew he would enjoy both as he waited.

Chloe could not relax. Her mind kept whirling around the idea of an independent life. It had shamed her this morning, revealing to Max and his lawyer how impossible it had been for her to strike out on her own. At eighteen, when she’d wanted to break free of her mother’s demands on her, the money that was supposed to have been put in a trust account over the years of her childhood and adolescence was simply not there.

Her mother had been in control of all her earnings and had used them as she’d seen fit; buying a home for them, spending it on whatever she’d decided was right for Chloe’s career, and right for her own as an agent to be reckoned with. With no funds and no training for anything else, her dream of independence had crumbled. She’d resigned herself to working as her mother directed, though insisting her financial share of any contract go straight into a bank account that only she could draw on.

She didn’t actually dislike the work. Having constructed dream worlds for herself ever since she was a child, it was easy to slip into whatever role a director wanted her to play, but sometimes she yearned for a real life—one where there was no pretence involved, no putting on a show, no expectation of her beyond being herself.

Without her mother and Tony constantly pushing her into whatever limelight could be arranged, she could make her own choices, as she had been doing since Maximilian Hart had stepped in and given her that freedom. The thought of his meeting with her mother this morning made her shudder. Being there would have been awful. She was glad he had given her the option of letting him handle it. But learning how to handle things herself from now on was a necessary step to complete independence.

The telephone rang.

It had to be him.

The hotel people had been instructed not to put any other caller through to this suite.

She hurried to the writing desk and snatched up the receiver, her heart pounding with apprehension over what had occurred with her mother. ‘Yes?’ spilled anxiously from her lips.

‘All done here,’ came the calm reply. ‘Your mother has been legally notified that she is no longer your agent. I’m on my way back to the hotel. Did you find something you liked amongst the selection of clothes sent up from the boutiques?’

So many questions were flooding her mind, it was difficult to focus on his enquiry. ‘Oh … oh, yes I did, thank you. The salespeople took the rest back. I’ve jotted down the prices of what I chose to keep so I can repay you when I have access to my bank account.’

‘No problem,’ he said dismissively. ‘I take it you’re now happily dressed and ready to appear in public.’

Panic hit. ‘How public?’ Were there reporters ready to pounce outside the hotel, firing questions about Laura and Tony?

‘Only lunch at the hotel, Chloe,’ he assured her. ‘I’ve booked a table for us at the Galaxy Restaurant. You’ll be quite safe there in my company.’

Safe and hopefully more relaxed with him in a public restaurant, Chloe thought in relief. Alone with him in this private suite made her feel tense and nervous, too aware of her vulnerability to his powerful magnetism. ‘Okay,’ she said quickly. ‘How did the meeting go?’

‘We’ll talk about it over lunch. Should be with you in half an hour. ‘Bye now.’

Half an hour …

She put the receiver down and walked into the luxurious ensuite bathroom to check her appearance. The decor of this hotel—The Southern Cross—was all done in white, silver and shades of blue, which Chloe found very attractive. Blue was her favourite colour and she’d been instantly drawn to the blue-and-white polka dot dress, which she was now wearing.

It was a lovely soft silk in a wraparound style, with a wide white leather belt fastened with studs, which were covered by a large leather button. She’d chosen white toe-peeper high heels to go with it, and a plain white clutch bag, which was also fastened with a button. To her it was a smart, classy outfit that would come in handy for many occasions and was well suited for lunch in the premier restaurant of this hotel.

She’d carried a mini hairbrush and a few make-up essentials in her evening bag last night, so had been able to look reasonably presentable at breakfast this morning. She refreshed her lipstick, gave her hair a few flicks with the brush and decided no-one would find anything to criticise about her appearance. Especially not her mother, who wouldn’t be there.

That thought lightened Chloe’s spirits as she wandered back to the living area of the executive suite. This was a new day for her, and for the first time she noticed it was a beautiful day outside. The hotel was situated along the walkway to the Sydney Opera House and the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Circular Quay, as well as giving a magnificent view of the great coathanger harbour bridge. The sky was a cloudless blue, the water was sparkling and Chloe idly watched the ferries gliding into the quay and out again.

Her pulse rate instantly quickened when she heard the door to the suite being opened. There seemed to be nothing she could do to counter or defend against the strong impact of Maximilian Hart. He strode into the living area and stopped dead at seeing her standing in front of the long windows. The wild thought came to her that she had made some kind of surprising impact on him. Which was probably absurd, but for a few moments of stillness, there seemed to be an electricity in the air, zapping between them, vibrating along every nerve in her body.

‘Mary …’

The name fell so softly from his lips, Chloe wondered if she’d heard correctly. ‘I beg your pardon?’

He shook his head, a bemused little smile curving his mouth. ‘You reminded me of someone.’

A woman he’d cared about? Chloe would have liked to ask about her, the momentary softness from him strongly piquing her curiosity, but almost instantly he shrugged it off and was the powerful man in charge again, walking purposefully towards her.

‘Nice dress,’ he said. ‘It suits you.’

She flushed at the compliment though there was really nothing to it, only a bit of warm approval, and he didn’t linger on it, moving straight to business as he handed her a sheet of paper.

‘This needs your signature. It gives permission to the removalist company to enter your apartment at Randwick, pack up all your personal possessions and transport them to the guest house on my property at Vaucluse. I’ll have it faxed to them once you’ve signed and they can get the job done this afternoon.’

It was all said in a matter-of-fact tone. Chloe took the sheet of paper, stared at it, tried to swallow the shock of the refuge he was offering. She wanted her things out of the apartment, needed a place to put them, but for it to be so closely connected to this man felt … dangerous. She hadn’t thought ahead, didn’t have an alternative plan to offer, yet….

‘There must be apartments to let.’ She raised anxious eyes to his. ‘I don’t feel comfortable about …’

‘I can’t guarantee your security anywhere else, Chloe.’ The dark eyes mocked her fear of him. ‘You won’t be living with me. The guest house is quite separate to the main residence. The important issue is protection against any harassment, and not only from your mother or Tony. Once this scandal breaks, the media will go into a feeding frenzy, which means the paparazzi dogging your every move. You will be completely protected on my property. Consider it a pro tem arrangement, while you think about how best to handle your future.’

Yes, she did need time to make a proper plan—one she could and would stick to—and knowing all too well the tenacity of her mother, the point about protection against harassment was very appealing. Tony, too, might try to change her mind. Besides, how would she escape the inevitable outcome of all this with reporters chasing her and paparazzi shoving cameras in her face if she was trying to manage on her own? There was so much threatening her bid for freedom and Max was holding out safety from all of it.

She heaved a sigh to relieve the tightness in her chest. It didn’t help. Another disturbing thought struck. ‘There could be talk about us if I do this. I mean … with me leaving Tony … being with you …’

He looked sardonically amused by the intimation they could be lovers. ‘I’ll make it perfectly clear you’re my guest, Chloe. I’m simply looking after the star of my show while she’s dealing with a traumatic episode in her life.’

Heat surged into her cheeks again. It had been absurd of her to feel any danger in going with him. He wasn’t about to use or abuse her. Besides, he was attached to another woman.

‘Shannah Lian might not like it,’ she blurted out.

He shrugged. ‘I can take care of my own business, Chloe.’

Of course he could. Take care of hers, too. She felt foolish for even questioning the situation when he had already taken all aspects of it into account. ‘Do you have a pen?’ she asked, deciding her best course was to accept his offer.

He handed her one. She moved over to the coffee table, signed the permission note, then passed the pen and paper back to him with a smile of gratitude. ‘It’s very good of you to do all this for me.’

His smile smacked of deep, personal satisfaction. ‘I’m a mover and shaker by nature. It pleases me to be of service to you.’

The white knight … except his eyes were dark and simmering with a pleasure that suddenly felt very sexual to Chloe. Her heart skipped a beat. Shockingly, her vaginal muscles clenched. It took an act of will to ignore this totally unwelcome physical arousal and divert her mind to something else.

‘After you’d gone this morning I looked through the newspaper,’ she babbled. ‘I thought there might be some mention of the … the scandal. When you went back to the Starlight Room, didn’t anyone say anything?’

‘I made sure the story didn’t break last night. I didn’t think you were up to handling a hounding by the media and you’re too exposed to it here in the hotel.’

Caring for her …

That was even more seductive than his physical magnetism. It was terribly difficult to keep any defences up against how he affected her.

‘The story won’t remain hidden,’ he went on. ‘Someone will talk. I simply bought enough time to set up a secure environment where no-one can gain access to you without your permission.’

She shook her head over how much care he had taken. It was extraordinary. But then he was extraordinary. The master player in action on her behalf.

‘Thank you,’ she said huskily, finding it difficult to even speak in a normal voice. She swallowed hard to work some moisture down her throat and ruefully added, ‘Despite what you tell people, it will cause gossip, you know, with me leaving Tony and staying at your place.’

He looked at her consideringly. ‘Will that worry you?’

She thought about it for several moments before answering, ‘No. It will probably lessen the humiliation of the scandal, do my pride good being linked to you.’ An ironic little smile accompanied the plain truth. ‘You’re a bigger fish than Tony.’

He laughed, his brilliant dark eyes lighting up with twinkles of amusement. ‘Let me know if you get the urge to fry me.’

‘Not much chance of that,’ she swiftly retorted, heat racing into her cheeks again. ‘You’ve never been caught.’

‘Nor likely to be. I think most people would call me a shark.’ He cocked a challenging eyebrow at her. ‘You could try casting a net around me.’

It struck her that was precisely what he was doing, casting a net of security around her with ruthless efficiency. ‘I don’t have your power.’

‘Not mine, but you do have power, Chloe,’ he said on a more serious note. ‘A different kind. It tugs at people. Even me.’

The self-mocking glint in his eyes told her that the white knight role was out of character for him. His true nature was that of a shark, always on the hunt, going after whatever attracted him, taking however many bites he wanted out of it, then cruising off, looking for other appealing prey to satisfy him. There wasn’t a net that could hold this man. She’d always thought him intimidating, dangerous, powerful, and that impression was still very much in force.

However, it gave her a weird little thrill to know she tugged at something in him, too. Her mind shied away from the thought it was sexual. She was still married and he had Shannah Lian. It was probably more an arousal of sympathy that he didn’t usually feel. Anyway, it made her feel less of an image he liked on the screen and more of a person he cared about.

‘Well, whatever I have that tugs at you, I’m very grateful for it,’ she said. ‘You’ve provided me with an escape I couldn’t have managed myself.’

‘I hope it leads to a happier future.’ He smiled, holding out his arm for her to take. ‘Let’s go and enjoy lunch.’

She grabbed her clutch bag from the coffee table and linked her arm to his, determined not to worry about his motives for helping her. ‘What about the fax to the removalist company?’ she reminded him, wanting her personal belongings out of the Randwick apartment and in her own possession as soon as possible.

‘I’ll hand it to the executive butler on this floor before we go down to the restaurant, instruct him to have it sent immediately.’

Chloe felt giddy with the thought that separation from her mother and Tony was being cemented in less than a day and she hadn’t even had to face any fights over it. She hugged the arm of the man who had done this for her as they walked out of the hotel suite together, thinking how lucky she was to have a shark on her side, patrolling the waters around her, keeping bad things away.

Her whole body tingled at being in such close physical contact with him but it wasn’t a tingle of fear or alarm, more one of excitement, pleasure in being attached to the power that had affected her freedom. She was acutely aware of the muscular strength of his arm, the whole male strength of him appealing to her female instincts, stirring a wish that he could always be at her side.

Which was totally unrealistic.

And weak, Chloe sternly told herself.

She had to learn to be strong on her own.

But right now, it felt amazingly good to be with Maximilian Hart.

CHAPTER FOUR

HILL House—a simple name for what was almost a historical mansion at Vaucluse. It had been built by Arthur Hill, an Australian shipping magnate who’d made a fortune early in the last century, and it had been lived in by his descendants until the last member of his family had died three years ago. There’d been a lot of publicity about it when it was put up for auction—photographs in magazines, a potted history of the Hill family, proceeds of the sale to go to various charities. Maximilian Hart had outbid everyone else for it.

At the time, it was generally assumed he’d bought it as another investment, which he’d sell when the market would give him a huge profit. After all, why would a jet-setting bachelor want to live in a mansion? Penthouse apartments would be more his style. Yet so far he had kept it and lived in it.

Maybe it was the privacy that appealed to him, Chloe thought, looking at the high brick wall enclosing the property as Max operated a remote control device that opened the huge iron gates facing them. They swung apart and he drove his black Audi coupe into the driveway to the house, pressing more buttons on the device to relock the gates.

While she had been quite relaxed over lunch in the hotel restaurant, sitting beside him in his car on the way to an indefinite stay on his property had made her feel nervous again. So much proximity with Maximilian Hart was a rather daunting prospect. His kind and generous consideration of her needs could not be faulted, yet her instincts kept sensing an undertow that was pulling her into dangerous waters with him, especially when they were alone together.

The man was sexual dynamite. He stirred feelings and thoughts that were terribly inappropriate. As the gates clicked shut behind them, closing out the rest of Sydney—her mother, Tony and anyone else who might hassle her—Chloe could only hope the guest house Max had offered her was not somehow full of his powerful charisma … like his car.

The driveway was paved with grey stones. It bisected perfectly manicured green lawns. Some spectacular trees had been planted artistically along the wall and towards the side of the house—like a lovely frame for the house itself. There were no gardens to distract the eye from it.

The three-storey redbrick mansion was quite stunning in its beautiful symmetry. The wings at either end featured white gables. The main entrance in the middle also had a white gable held up by Doric columns. The long white many-paned windows on the second storey were perfectly aligned with the attic windows protruding from the grey roof. On the ground floor there were rows of matching glass doors that surely flooded the rooms behind them with sunlight.

Chloe instantly fell in love with Hill House. If she could have afforded to buy it she would have without hesitation. Envy and curiosity drove her to ask, ‘Why did you buy this place, Max?’

He flicked her a sharp glance, making a swift assessment of her reaction to the house, then smiled to himself as he answered, ‘It called to me.’

His words surprised her, yet she completely understood the feeling behind them. ‘You don’t intend to sell it then?’

‘Never.’

The need to know more about him prompted her to ask, ‘Why does it call to you?’

‘Everything about it pleases me. It welcomes me home every time I come through the gates.’

The deep satisfaction in his voice vibrated through her mind, stirring the memory of an article written about his rise from rags to riches. He’d been brought up by a single mother who’d died of a drug overdose when he was sixteen. Where he’d lived with her and under what conditions was not mentioned, but Chloe thought it likely he’d never had a sense of home in those early formative years.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she murmured appreciatively. ‘I can feel what you mean about welcoming. It makes you want to be drawn into it.’

‘And stay there,’ he said dryly. ‘I virtually inherited the butler, the cook and the gardener from Miss Elizabeth, the last member of the Hill family. Although they had bequests from her will and could have retired on what they were given, they didn’t want to leave. It was home to them, too.’

It was a curious arrangement for a man who undoubtedly made his own choices. ‘Are you glad you kept them on?’

‘Yes. They belong here. In a strange kind of way, they’ve become family. The three E’s.’ He flashed her a grin. ‘Edgar is the butler. His wife, Elaine, is the cook. Eric is the head gardener. They have their own live-in apartments on the top floor. Eric hires help as he needs it and both Edgar and Elaine supervise the cleaners who come in. They run the place to such a standard of perfection I’d be a fool to hire anyone else.’

He parked the Audi in the wide stone-paved courtyard in front of the house, switched off the engine and turned to her. ‘You’ll be meeting Edgar in a moment. He likes to be very formal but you’ll find him friendly. He’ll show you to the guest house and give you a rundown on how everything works.’

It was a relief to know he would not be accompanying her there. She gave him a grateful smile. ‘Thank you again for coming to my rescue.’

‘No problem,’ he answered dismissively.

Even as he escorted her to the gabled porch, the front door was opened by a tall, slightly portly man who held himself with straight-backed dignity. He was dressed in a black suit, grey-and-white striped shirt with white collar and cuffs and a grey silk tie. His hair was iron-grey, his eyes a light blue, his face surprisingly smooth for a man who looked to be about sixty. Possibly he didn’t smile much, Chloe thought, preferring to carry an air of gravitas.

‘Good afternoon, sir,’ he intoned with a nod of respect.

‘Edgar, this is Miss Chloe Rollins.’

She received a half-bow. ‘A pleasure to welcome you to Hill House, Miss Rollins.’

‘Thank you,’ she replied, smiling warmly at him.

‘I’ll garage the car, then I’ll be in the library, Edgar. Some business I have to do,’ Max informed him. ‘You’ll take care of Miss Rollins?’

‘Of course, sir.’ He moved his arm in a slow gracious wave. ‘If you’ll accompany me, Miss Rollins, I’ll escort you to the guest house.’

A wonderful butler, Chloe thought, as she fell into step beside him, walking down a wide hallway dominated by a magnificent staircase that curved up to a balcony on the second floor—wonderful for making an entrance to greet incoming guests. The floor and stairs were carpeted in jade green bordered by a pattern of gold scrolls. The walls were panelled in western red cedar, matching the banister. The effect was very rich but not ostentatiously so.

There were paintings on the walls—framed in gold and seemingly all of birds—but Chloe didn’t have time for more than a glance at them. They bypassed the staircase and she realised the hallway bisected the mansion and they were walking towards a set of double doors at the end of it, the upper half of them pannelled in a gloriously colourful pattern of parrots in stained glass. Other doors on either side of them were closed and Chloe would have loved to know what kind of rooms were behind them but didn’t feel free to ask, given that she wasn’t a guest in the mansion.

Edgar ushered her outside to a stunning terrace running the length of the house. The other three sides of it were semi-enclosed by an arched white pergola held up by the same Doric columns supporting the gable over the front doors. In the centre of the terrace was a sparkling swimming pool.

Luxurious green vines grew over the pergola providing shade for sun-loungers and tables and chairs made of white iron lace, and pots of flowers provided vivid colour at the foot of every column. The terrace itself was paved with slate, which had streaks of blue and green in what was mostly grey. Beyond it and through the open arches was a spectacular view of the harbour.

‘The guest house is situated on the next terrace,’ Edgar informed her, leading the way around the pool to the far left-hand corner of the pergola. ‘It used to be the children’s house in the old days.’

‘The children’s house?’ Chloe quizzed. ‘Didn’t they live in the mansion?’

‘Oh, yes, but they played down here during the day, supervised by their nanny. It was convenient for giving them lunch and snacks, putting the little ones down for afternoon naps. Miss Elizabeth said they loved having a place of their own. She kept it just the way it was until she died, often coming down here to relive memories of happy times.’

‘Is it still the same?’ She wanted it to be, charmed by the idea of a children’s play house.

Edgar actually allowed himself a benevolent little smile at her eagerness. ‘Not quite, no, though Mr Hart did retain the cottage style when he had it refurbished. The old pot-belly stove, the doll house, the bookshelves and the games cupboards still remain in the living room, with the addition of a television set and a DVD player. However, the kitchenette and bathroom had to be modernised. I’m sure you’ll find it very comfortable, Miss Rollins.’

She sighed, wishing she could have seen it—felt it—in its original state, yet understanding the need for some modern conveniences in a guest house.

A flight of stone steps led down to the playground terrace—lush green lawn edged by a thickly grown hedge. The house was at one end of it—red brick with white windows and doors, just like the mansion in miniature. As they descended the steps, Chloe saw there was another terrace below this one, ending in a rock wall, which obviously formed a breakwater against encroachment from the harbour. A wharf ran out from it and beside the wharf was a boathouse.

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