The Reluctant Fiancee

“You can’t force me to stay here. You have no right.” About the Author Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN Copyright

“You can’t force me to stay here. You have no right.”

“You are not leaving here,” Leo interrupted.

“I brought you here to protect you, and that is what I am going to do.”

“Protect me?” she protested. “Is that what you call it? Invading a girl’s bedroom—”

“Be careful what you say, Phoebe,” he cut in ruthlessly, “or I will be forced to remind you just how willing a bed partner you were.” His hand touched her cheek and stroked back to tangle in her hair. “And you will be again.”

JACQUELINE BAIRD began writing as a hobby when her family objected to the smell of her oil painting, and immediately became hooked on romance. She loves traveling, and worked her way around the world from Europe to the Americas and Australia, returning to marry her teenage sweetheart. Jacqueline and husband Jim live in Northumbria, England, and they have two grown sons.

The Reluctant Fiancee

Jacqueline Baird

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

BEA looked around the crowded room, her full lips twitching in a wry grimace. Music blared from two amplifiers, gyrating bodies were everywhere and the flashing lights were giving her a headache. She should be enjoying herself; after all she was in her living room! It was her twenty-first birthday party! Her friends!

She turned her back on the crowd and stared out of the tall Georgian window to the blackness beyond. Bea lifted a fluted champagne glass to her mouth and took a sip of the bubbly. It was as flat as she felt. It was futile to worry, she knew, but she did not seem to be able to help it.

Tomorrow she was travelling down to London, and on Monday she would start work as a junior partner in the firm of Stephen-Gregoris, an import and export firm started forty years ago by her late father, John Stephen, and his greek Cypriot friend, Nick Gregoris. But it wasn’t the thought of work that bothered her, or the fact that the firm had diversified into other areas. No, her real worry was that she would have to meet Leon Gregoris again.

Leon Gregoris was the chairman and managing director, and a despot to boot, as she knew from past experience... Also, until today, he had been the trustee of her thirty per cent share of the business, left to her by her father.

As a child Bea had considered Leon a friend, even though he was fourteen years older than her. But that had ended when her father had died. For the last three years any communication between them had been strictly business, conducted through lawyers and the occasional telephone call.

An orphan at seventeen, Bea had stayed on in the home she had shared with her father in Northumbria. Her mother had died when she was a baby and it was her honorary aunty Lil and her uncle Bob who had looked after her.

They still did. A fond smile curved Bea’s full lips. She was going to miss the elderly couple when she was in London. She had never really had to take care of herself before. While attending the University of Newcastle upon Tyne she had simply travelled in every day. Now she was the proud recipient of a first-class degree in Maths and Accountancy, and on Monday she would take her place in her father’s firm!

A frown creased her smooth brow. Leon Gregoris was the only fly in the ointment; she cringed at the thought of seeing him, not at all sure of her ability to face up to him.

For heaven’s sake! Was she a woman? Or a wimp? She shook her head dismissively. She was bright, intelligent, and no longer the naive eighteen-year-old girl she had been when she had last seen Leon, in love with the idea of love.

‘Humph!’ she snorted, disgusted with the memory of her much younger, gullible self. ‘You’re a fool, Bea. You have nothing to worry about.’ she told herself firmly, and, lifting her glass, she took another large swallow of champagne, unaware she had spoken out loud.

‘If you say so, Phoebe, darling. Far be it from me to disagree with a lady.’

The deep melodious voice made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She would have known that voice anywhere. Her hand tightened, white-knuckled, on the stem of her glass. It couldn’t be! She raised her eyes and stared at the couple reflected in the window pane.

Her own reflection showed a young woman of average height with straight silver-blonde hair and pale, bare shoulders. She wore a silver Spandex sheath dress that clung to the soft curves of firm breasts and on down to fit like a second skin over feminine hips, ending mid-thigh and exposing long, shapely legs.

All the colour left Bea’s face. The picture she presented was almost ghostly, but there was nothing ghostlike about the tall, dark man hovering behind her. Warlock, more like! she thought grimly. Wide shoulders seemed to shadow her. The harsh, handsome features had not changed a jot, she realised, swallowing hard. Too long black wavy hair, and even blacker piercing eyes. Slowly turning around to face him, she silently added, And an even blacker heart...

‘You, Leon,’ she murmured, finally finding her voice and hating the way it quavered. She tilted her head back and looked up into his tanned, attractive face. He was watching her, laughter lighting his dark eyes. He knew damn well he had shocked her rigid. ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded curtly. ‘I didn’t invite you.’

‘An oversight on your part, Phoebe, but I forgive you.’ he drawled mockingly. ‘You know I wouldn’t miss your twenty-first birthday for the world.’

He was the only person who ever called her Phoebe, and she hated it. She opened her mouth to tell him as much, but never got the chance. Two large hands settled on her naked shoulders and a firm male mouth descended on her parted lips.

Whatever she had been about to say vanished from her mind at the first touch of his mouth on hers. She closed her eyes.

Bea knew she should resist, and lifted her free hand to press against the hard wall of his chest, but for some reason her fingers spread out instead, over the soft silk of his shirt.

It was Leon who broke the kiss, murmuring against her mouth, ‘Happy birthday, darling.’ Then, lifting his head and staring down into her flushed, beautiful face, he winked...

‘The chemistry is still fizzing, Phoebe, which is more than can be said for the glass of champagne you’re clutching with such tenacity.’ And, taking the glass from her unresisting hand, he placed it on the windowsill. ‘I’ll get you another. Come on.’ Capturing her hand, he added, ‘Let’s get out of here and into the study, where we can talk.’

Bea shook her head to clear her brain. He was doing it again, exactly as he had years ago. Mesmerising her, poor fool, with a kiss, and then ordering her about. That was Leon’s modus operandi and she would do well to remember it.

‘No, thank you, I’ve had quite enough to drink.’ She snatched her hand free. ‘And as for talking we can discuss all we need to at our meeting on Monday.’ She was proud of her ability to speak firmly to Leon for once, and, bravely meeting his narrowed gaze, she added for good measure, ‘But if you would like a drink please help yourself. The bar is in the dining room. You know the way.’ Half turning, she would have walked past him, but Leon’s hand closed around her upper arm, halting her in her stride.

‘Not so fast, Phoebe.’

She fought down the tingling sensation the large hand curved around her flesh aroused, and looked up into his face. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, I have guests. I must mingle.’

Black eyes raked her from head to toe in a blatant sexual appraisal, lingering for a moment on the shadowy cleavage cupped in silver Spandex before returning to her face. ‘Mingling with you was actually what I had in mind. How about it, Phoebe?’ Leon asked with deliberate provocation, his long fingers caressing the bare skin of her arm. ‘Interested?’

Bea looked at the man towering over her and recognised the sensual amusement glittering in his eyes. Leon hadn’t changed in three years. He was still as devastatingly attractive as ever, and he knew it. It was there in his arrogant stance, an animal magnetism he exuded without even trying. Add wealth, power and sophistication, and he was a lethal cocktail to any member of the female species.

Tonight he was wearing a conservative business suit, dark navy, with a plain white silk shirt and a muted blue and red striped tie. His jacket was open and pleated trousers hung comfortably on his lean hips. For a second she wondered why he was dressed that way at almost midnight on a Saturday night, at a party he had not been invited to. But she refrained from asking. She simply wanted him out of her house.

‘Will I do?’ Leon asked, arching one dark eyebrow enquiringly, fully aware that she had been studying him. Bea could feel hot colour flood her cheeks, and was not sure if it was from anger or embarrassment.

‘Does your silence mean you’re considering my offer, Phoebe, darling?’ he teased huskily.

His deep voice was awfully close to her ear, and, jerking her arm free from his hold, she shot back scathingly, ‘Still the incorrigible flirt, Leon. I pity your poor wife and...family.’ For some reason she could not bring herself to say ‘child’. ‘How they tolerate your many escapades I can’t imagine,’ she added, trying for a flippant note, horrified to realise that his touch, his closeness, still had the power to make her go weak at the knees. But there was no way she was going to let him see it. Never again...

He straightened to his full height and stepped back. ‘My family, if you can call it a family, is fine. My stepmother and stepsister live in California, and I rarely see them unless they want something.’ He stared down at her with eyes as black as jet, all trace of amusement gone. ‘As for a wife, you should know the answer to that better than most,’ he opined cynically.

‘Sorry, I haven’t kept up with your private affairs,’ she said, drawling out the last word deliberately.

Bea’s blue eyes, filled with contempt, flicked up over the hard planes of his face, his smooth, tanned skin, the faint shadow of his square jaw; she saw the sheer animal strength of him, and more. He was furiously angry, but hiding it well. Deciding discretion was called for, unless she wanted a fight in a room full of people, Bea added with a calm she was far from feeling, ‘It takes me all my time to keep up to date on our business partnership. Your personal life is your own. Forget I mentioned it.’

‘Forget?’ Leon smiled, a cynical twist of his hard lips. ‘How could I forget, when the nearest I ever got to falling into the matrimonial trap was the abortive engagement you and I shared for a few idyllic months, my sweet Phoebe?’

Idyllic! My eye, she thought bitterly, and, looking anywhere but at Leon, she realised a good percentage of her guests were watching them with avid curiosity. Damn the man! ‘I don’t know what you want to discuss that can’t wait until Monday, but you were right; the study would be better.’

‘There now, Phoebe.’ A large arm fell across her shoulders and urged her through the press of bodies towards the door. ‘I knew you would see it my way in the end.’

Once in the relative peace of the elegant oak-panelled hall, Bea shrugged off Leon’s guiding arm. ‘I do know where the study is. This is my home.’ She mocked him, walking towards the large door to the rear of the sweeping staircase with Leon a step behind her.

‘True, but the bird is about to fly the nest at last.’ He sighed, with a hint of irritation in his deep voice. ‘Which is why we need to talk about your entrance into the wider world of London, and work.’

Bea glanced up at his handsome face; he looked older. A few lines crinkled at the corners of his black eyes, and more bracketed his sensuous mouth. And was that grey she spied in the thick black hair swept back behind his ear? Yet he could still have wowed the whole of the feminine population. Inexplicably she felt a sudden tenderness sweep through her for the man—after all, he had been a good friend once. Maybe they could be friends again.

Leon’s long arm reached over her head and pushed open the panelled study door. He stood aside for her to enter. Bea walked in and breathed deeply. She loved this room, and even after all this time she still imagined the spirit of her father lingered in the air. It was a library-cum-study—a room where the man of the house could relax.

‘I always loved this room,’ Leon remarked, glancing about him appreciatively, and then, closing and locking the heavy door behind him, he gestured towards the sofa. ‘Sit down.’

Bea seated herself stiffly on the edge of the sofa and tried not to look as nervous as she felt. ‘So what is it that’s so vital it can’t wait until Monday?’ she said in a rush. Suddenly being alone in a locked room with Leon seemed vaguely threatening. Bea watched as he strolled past her to lean one arm on the mantelpiece, tall, elegant and completely at ease, while her own nerves were stretched to breaking point.

‘You are extraordinarily like your mother,’ he remarked, ignoring her question, his glance flicking to fix intently upon her. His dark eyes slid over her with the sensual thoroughness of a professional womaniser. ‘You have grown into an incredibly attractive woman, but then I always knew you would.’

‘Really, Leon, if you’ve brought me in here to practise your chat-up lines, forget it... I’m immune to your brand of charm,’ she lied, with a hint of mockery in her voice. ‘Been there, done that, worn the tee-shirt.’

‘Not strictly true, darling. I never actually did it with you,’ he shot back, his sensuous mouth curved in a mocking smile. ‘But who knows? I might oblige you some time, if you ask me nicely.’

Bea’s colour deepened at the sexist comment, but she said nothing. Leon was the most extraordinary man she had ever known. He made no secret of what he wanted from a woman and yet he had them queuing up to share his bed. But she was determined not to be added to his long list of conquests. She’d had a lucky escape three years ago, and she needed to keep reminding herself of the fact.

‘I’ll take your silence as a compliment and live in hope,’ Leon chuckled, and, after straightening up, in two lithe strides he was beside her. ‘You’re right, of course. I really do not have time for flirtation at the minute.’ Dropping onto a sofa, he half turned to face her, suddenly all business. ‘The company jet is waiting for me at Newcastle airport. I have to be in New York tomorrow, hence the detour to see you.’

Bea stared at him. ‘You’re incredible.’ She shook her head in amazement.

‘I know, Phoebe,’ he drawled, with an element of seduction in his deep voice. He couldn’t help himself, Bea thought wryly, fighting to suppress a grin.

‘But enough about me. It is you we have to concentrate on. I will not be in the London office for at least the next two weeks, which presents me with something of a dilemma. I did want to be there for your first day with the company, but it is simply not possible. However, I have talked to Tom Jordan and everything is organised for your arrival. But first...’ Slipping his hand into his inside jacket pocket, he withdrew a document and a pen. ‘The reason for my whistlestop visit. Your official entry into the adult world.’ Placing the parchment paper on her knee, he indicated where she was to sign. ‘As of midnight tonight my trusteeship ends and you are the outright owner of thirty per cent of the company. Free and clear.’

‘Oh! I see.’ Taking the pen, she scribbled her signature where he indicated. So he had not called simply because it was her birthday, and now the conservative suit made sense. For a brief moment Bea felt a swift stab of something very like disappointment. She quickly dismissed the notion. Good heavens! It was a relief, surely, that she would not have to be around Leon. Hadn’t she been dreading the thought of meeting him only half an hour ago? But as he continued speaking her relief was overtaken by a rising anger.

‘I have arranged with Tom Jordan, the manager of the London office, for you to start work as an assistant to his PA, Margot. You’ll like her, she’s a great woman, and she knows almost as much as Tom about the workings of the office. Another plus—she also has an apartment in the same building where your father used to live when he was in town. I take it you will be using your father’s apartment? So you will not be alone at all. You’ll have a friend—’

‘Wait just a minute,’ Bea interrupted angrily. At another time she might have found the startled expression in his dark eyes amusing, but right now she was too furious. ‘As of now I own a large slice of Stephen-Gregoris.’ Shoving the document back at him to emphasise her point, she continued, ‘And as such I have no intention of starting work as an assistant to somebody else’s personal assistant. I have not spent the last three years of my life studying to end up as some office junior. I am no longer the little girl you knew. I am an intelligent woman who intends to take an active part in my late father’s company. Junior partner, yes... Anything else, I don’t want to know.’

Her blue eyes, glittering with anger, flicked over his impassive countenance, and then wildly around the room. ‘Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Mr Leon Gregoris,’ she quipped, probably because her glance had caught her father’s pipestand, she realised. And instantly she wished she could take the childish words back. But she could not believe the cheek of the man... No discussion, no asking her opinion—typical Leon. Do this! Live there! Have this friend!

‘So the kitten has developed claws,’ Leon said softly, and, slipping the document into his pocket, he turned more fully to face her. But his eyes narrowed to slits of anger when he saw her furious blue gaze resting on him. ‘Damn it, Phoebe, don’t be so stupid. There is no way a girl of twenty-one, however brilliant, can walk into a company as a partner. I run the business, and I have made you a wealthy woman in the process. Content yourself with that. In fact you don’t need to work at all. But, if you must, it has got to be the way I say.’

‘No way,’ she spat back.

His hands snaked out and tightened around her slender wrists, and she felt the pressure of his fingers biting into her flesh. Her pulse raced, but with anger, not passion, she told herself. She looked into his hard face and recognised the resolute expression there, but she refused to be intimidated by it.

‘My way. Understand?’ he said tersely.

‘Oh, yes, I understand very well, Leon. Keep little Phoebe in her place or she’s out of the business altogether. So you can remain the absolute dictator, the tyrant you have always been. My God! You were even prepared to marry me once, simply to keep your all-powerful position, until I wised up to what you were after.’ As soon as the words left her mouth she knew she had gone too far.

His black eyes widened in astonishment, and then narrowed in anger as the import of what she had said registered in his astute brain. ‘You little bitch!’ he exclaimed. ‘At last the truth is coming out. You broke our engagement not because I was too old—your desertion had nothing to do with my age,’ Leon snarled, and, jerking at her hands, he dragged her across his lap. ‘You actually thought I was trying to control your share of the company. You simply did not trust me.’

He’d got that right! Bea thought, and almost laughed at the incredulous expression in his dark eyes. But her own position was far from safe, so she bit down any response.

‘My God, I should give you the good hiding you deserve. But, as you were at pains to point out, you’re a woman now.’ Twisting her around, he pushed her flat on her back on the sofa. ‘A more adult punishment is called for.’

Confusion replaced her earlier anger and she could hear the thunder of her own heartbeat. She saw his expression as he bent over her. ‘No!’ she cried, and then his face became a twisted blur as his hand tangled in her long hair and his hard mouth fastened on hers in a long, grinding kiss.

Bea fought against him with all the strength she possessed. Her small hands pushed at his mighty shoulders, and when that had no effect she dug her fingers into the nape of his neck. He retaliated by rearing back. With his free hand he grasped the front of her dress, and in a second it was down around her waist and his band was clasping one firm breast.

She gasped, and, taking full advantage of her parted lips, his mouth covered hers again, his tongue plunging into its sweet, dark cavern. His full weight came down on top of her and long fingers nipped the perfect bud of her breast, teasing it into hard, pulsing life. Electric sensations shuddered through her even as she bucked beneath him, trying to throw him off. But she was no match for his superior size and strength, and, worse, when his kisses changed to a tempting fiery passion, she was helpless to resist.

His mouth never left hers but his hands were everywhere, stroking, teasing, tormenting. His muscled leg moved over her thigh and she felt the full pressure of his masculine arousal hard against her flesh... Her flesh!

Her passion-dulled mind came alive to what was happening. The lamé dress was now little more than a belt around her waist, and alarm returned to give her the motivation to fight. She lifted her hand and deliberately raked her long nails down the side of his face.

‘What the hell—?’ As he reared back she took her chance and slid from under him onto the floor. She didn’t care what she looked like, and, struggling to her knees, she hauled up the front of her dress, then stood up and tugged down the skirt.

She backed away from where he sat rubbing his hand against his cheek. Her breasts heaving and her face flushed, she watched him warily. He looked down in amazement at the blood on his hand, and then back up to fix Bea with glittering black eyes.

‘You little vixen. You drew blood!’

‘Serves you right—you attacked me.’ She had no idea how aroused or how young she looked to the seated man, or how beautiful. She was still reeling from the totally unexpected explosion of passion between them, and her own shameful reaction to Leon.

For a long moment they simply stared at each other, the sexual tension in the air almost tangible.

Leon finally broke the contact. He looked down at the floor and said quietly, ‘Yes, I did, and I apologise.’

Bea’s bewildered blue eyes searched his handsome face; Leon apologising was unheard of. ‘You apologise?’ she queried, as if she didn’t believe what she was hearing.

‘Yes, a hundred times over.’ He glanced at her with a look in his eyes that she could not fathom. ‘I am a lot older than you and I should have more control. But in all the years we have known each other it never once entered my head that you did not trust me.’

Bea, for some unknown reason, found it hard to look him in the eye. Yet he had made no attempt to deny her accusation. So why did she feel ashamed? It was Leon who should be ashamed, for having tried to trick a grieving teenager. But she doubted he knew the meaning of the word ‘ashamed’. Leon moved through life supremely confident of his own abilities, a ruthless predator, cutthroat in business, overpowering the opposition with arrogant ease. And, Bea realised, he was just as ruthless in his private life.

He shrugged his broad shoulders, dismissing the question of trust, and ran his hands through his dishevelled hair, sweeping it back from his brow. ‘Also, Phoebe, I should have explained in more detail your position in the company.’ He glanced at the slim gold Rolex on his wrist and grimaced.