Книга - The Marriage Debt

The Marriage Debt
Daphne Clair


Shannon's career as a film director is gaining momentum and a new project offers the chance of becoming an international success. But the film will need millions of dollars in funding, and the only person Shannon knows with that kind of money is her estranged husband millionaire Devin Keynes.Devin agrees to fund Shannon's movie on one condition that she give their marriage another chance. She reluctantly accepts his offer. But this is just the start of Devin's plan: after bribery comes seduction!









“I want you, Shannon.”


Shannon stared, the significance of the words sinking in. “You don’t mean…” Surely he wasn’t suggesting what she thought he was.

Devon spoke in that same level, apparently reasonable tone. “I mean exactly what I said. Do you have a problem?”

It was a moment before her voice would work, and when it did it was higher and more shrill than she intended it to be. “Damn right I have a problem! You can’t ask me to agree to that!”

“I can ask you to do anything I please.” He thrust both hands into his pockets and rocked back slightly on his heels, his eyes focused on her face. “I can’t compel you to agree, of course. The choice is entirely yours.”







There are times in a man’s life…

when only seduction will settle old scores!

Pick up our exciting series of revenge-based

romances—they’re recommended and red-hot!

Available only from

Harlequin Presents







The Marriage Debt

Daphne Clair















CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE




CHAPTER ONE


‘DARLING Shannon! Congratulations. A great little film.’

Shannon Cleary turned from the group she was with to accept an enthusiastic kiss on her cheek. ‘Thanks, Lloyd. I hope you’ll say so in your review.’ Half the country read his column.

‘But of course, darling! I always said you’re one of New Zealand’s most promising young directors.’ His eyes shifted to somewhere beyond her. ‘Excuse me, there’s someone I must see…’ He patted her shoulder and disappeared into the crowd milling about the foyer of Auckland’s trendiest cinema.

Shannon’s escort, a hand at her waist, murmured in her ear, ‘Pretentious little hypodermic.’

Shannon laughed, but the laughter snagged in her throat when a few yards away a dark masculine head turned at the sound, and gleaming obsidian eyes under thick black lashes and resolute brows caught her gaze and held it.

Her own eyes widened and her heart made a weird convolution. Everything seemed suddenly sharper, painfully clear and bright, as if she were looking through a lens being brought into perfect focus.

She was conscious of the babble of voices, of Craig Sloane’s protective arm at her back, of the gilt-framed mirrors on the foyer walls reflecting the colours of women’s dresses, a flash of jewellery, and then a glimpse of her own face stark with shock—lips slightly parted, the green irises of her eyes almost obliterated by the darkened centres as she wrenched her gaze from the man who was looking at her with undiluted attention.

The reflection was blocked out as he moved toward her, and she concentrated on the immaculate white shirt he wore under a perfectly tailored jacket, until he stood in front of her and the well-remembered wine-dark voice said, ‘Shannon…’

Somehow the other people around melted away, all except Craig. His hand tightened on her waist, and she was thankful because her knees were threatening to buckle.

Forcing her expression to a wooden indifference, Shannon dredged up her voice from where it had retreated deep into her lungs. ‘Devin. What are you doing here?’

His brows lifted a fraction. ‘I came to see your film. Your first director’s credit on a full-length feature, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ Shannon’s voice was stiff. ‘I hope you enjoyed it.’

Straight black lashes flickered, his glance sharpening as though looking for a hidden meaning. Then he seemed to relax, one hand in a pocket of his trousers. The sculpted mouth moved in the barest semblance of a smile. ‘Very much.’ He paused, moved his appraising gaze to Craig and said coolly, ‘You were good too.’ Craig had filled the lead male role as a young city man lost in the bush and discovering his own inner strengths and weaknesses.

‘He did a superb job.’ Glad of the excuse to look away from Devin, Shannon turned a warm smile on Craig. ‘I’m lucky to have worked with him.’

Craig’s answering white-toothed smile and sparkling blue eyes showed his elated mood. ‘Thanks, hon.’ He bent and kissed her mouth, a friendly peck. ‘That’s mutual.’

Devin’s eyes had gone hard, with the glitter of polished steel. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me?’ he asked Shannon.

‘Craig,’ she said fatalistically, ‘this is Devin.’

‘Hi.’ Craig held out his hand, and after a moment Devin took it in a firm grip.

‘Devin Keynes,’ he said.

‘Keynes?’ Craig looked tentatively impressed.

‘Shannon’s husband.’ Devin threw a lightning glance at her.

‘Ex-husband,’ she immediately corrected.

Craig looked from her to Devin, obviously startled.

Devin ignored him. ‘I don’t recall getting a divorce.’

More sharply than she’d meant to, Shannon reminded him, ‘We’re not married anymore.’

‘The law says we are.’

‘That’s easily fixed.’ She wished she were tall enough not to have to look up to meet his eyes.

‘Do you have plans to remarry?’ he asked her, a deadly mockery lacing his voice.

Shannon hedged. ‘That’s not the point—’

A young woman with spiked flame-red hair and an assortment of rings decorating her ears, nose and eyebrows, bounced up, hugged Shannon and offered more congratulations. ‘I heard you’re doing a feature film of your own next?’

‘I hope to.’ She planned to produce and direct it herself, rather than waiting to be hired again by a bigger production company, but the financial backing she was negotiating had not so far materialised.

‘Good for you. I could be available in about six weeks if you need a production manager.’

‘Thanks,’ Shannon said, ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

Another woman appeared out of the crowd. Sleek, blond, her curvy figure encased in a sheath of shimmering silver. ‘Dev?’ She tucked a hand into Devin’s arm. ‘We’re on our way. The Borlands have invited us to supper.’ She gave Craig a dazzling smile and held out her free hand. ‘I’m Rachelle Todd. I loved you in the film.’

Craig grinned at her and modestly ducked his streaked-blond head.

Rachelle looked inquiringly at Shannon, and Devin introduced them, this time confining himself to names only. Rachelle made a vaguely complimentary comment on her directing skill before urging Devin away to join their party.

‘Ex-husband?’ Craig queried.

‘I don’t talk about it,’ Shannon said shortly. ‘And I don’t suppose he does either.’ It was no real secret, but she’d continued to work under her own name during their marriage, and deliberately not trumpeted her connection with a much more prominent one. The fact that she’d briefly been a member of one of New Zealand’s richest families wasn’t widely known.

‘Touchy subject?’ Craig’s hand squeezed her waist. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t spread it about.’

More people approached them, and Shannon tried to forget the unexpected encounter.



The film was received with mild to almost extravagant praise for the most part, although some reviewers ignored it, and one was scathing about the acting, the direction and the script, throwing Shannon into deep depression for several hours. Then she dug out the positive reviews that had preceded it and cheered herself up by re-reading them.

But the day her last hope for financing her own project fell through, she wanted to curl up in a corner and cry.

Instead she phoned Craig. ‘If you’re offered that TV part you auditioned for,’ she said, ‘you’d better take it.’

‘Someone else got it,’ he told her. ‘What’s happened?’

‘I’m not going to be able to make A Matter of Honour. At least not this year.’

‘Why?’

‘The money hasn’t come through after all. And I was so sure they couldn’t turn me down this time…’

Craig commiserated. ‘So we’re in the sugar pile.’ He sighed. ‘Tell you what, I’ll come round to your place, we’ll find a pub and drown our sorrows.’

In the event Craig did considerably more ‘drowning’ than Shannon, and leaned heavily on her shoulder as he escorted her somewhat unsteadily back to her tiny flat in the old inner-city suburb of Ponsonby.

Once there she tipped him onto the sofa in the living room where he fell instantly asleep, and Shannon took herself off to the bathroom and then bed.

In the morning she fed him toast and tea, sitting across the kitchen table from him as he squinted at her blearily.

‘How come you don’t look the way I feel?’ he demanded.

Shannon laughed. ‘I didn’t drink as much as you.’

‘We’re in the wrong business, you know that?’

‘You want to become a bank clerk?’

He cast her a look, not bothering to answer but going off on a tangent. ‘Your husband—’

‘Ex.’

‘Your ex-husband,’ Craig amended. ‘Is he one of the Keyneses that own half the printing firms in the country?’

‘His family does,’ Shannon acknowledged. ‘Devin made his own fortune out of digitised printing presses and copiers.’ His company sold them worldwide, and she knew he had interests in several other businesses.

‘Ah—fortune. That’s the operative word.’ Craig wagged a finger at her.

‘What?’ Shannon stared at him, deliberately obtuse. ‘If you’re thinking—’

‘I’m thinking that your husband—ex, whatever—might be a good bet for a backer.’

‘Uh-uh.’ Shannon shook her head.

‘You seem to be on reasonable terms with him.’

‘Brawling in public isn’t Devin’s style,’ nor hers, ‘but he wouldn’t dream of investing in any project of mine.’ She couldn’t imagine why he’d turned up at the premiere. Unless the blond and beautiful Rachelle had dragged him along.

‘Have you asked him?’

‘Of course not! I know he’d say no.’

Craig leaned forward. ‘Sometimes people surprise you. How long since you two separated?’

‘Three years. Why?’

‘People can change a lot in that time. I did hear that someone else is interested in the Duncan Hobbs trial.’

‘Who?’ Shannon demanded, dropping the knife she was using to butter toast. ‘That’s my story!’

‘History is anybody’s, Shan, you can’t copyright it. Jack Peterson’s supposed to be the director they have in mind.’

Peterson’s name was enough to have producers and investors scrambling for a piece of the action. ‘I don’t have a hope now of getting funding this year, and by next year it could be too late, if someone else gets in first.’

‘Why don’t you ask your husband?’ Craig urged. ‘After all, who else do you know with that kind of money?’

No one, of course. She stared back at him helplessly.

He got up from the table. ‘Do you have his number?’

Shannon shook her head. ‘I haven’t spoken to him for years—until the other night. What are you doing?’

He’d opened the telephone book on the shelf below the wall phone. ‘Looking him up.’

‘You’re crazy.’

‘Maybe.’ Craig’s roving finger stopped in the middle of a page. ‘This should be him.’

‘Craig!’ She pushed back her chair and got up, but he was already dialling.

Even as she snatched the receiver from his hand she heard faintly from the other end a deep, unmistakable voice say, ‘Keynes here.’ And then, ‘Hello?’

‘Go on!’ Craig took her hand and lifted it, pressing the receiver to her ear. ‘Ask him.’

‘Who is this?’ Devin’s voice was suddenly louder, imperative.

‘It’s me,’ she said. ‘Shannon.’

She thought he might have cut her off, the silence was so complete. ‘Shannon?’ he said at last. ‘What the hell’s going on?’ Craig was still close, trying to hear, only inches from her.

She grimaced at him. ‘Nothing.’ Craig made a fearsome face and growled in his throat.

Shannon couldn’t help laughing, a small, smothered sound. He mouthed ‘Go on!’ at her.

‘Um,’ she said into the phone, ‘I wondered if I could ask you something.’

‘Ask me what?’

When she didn’t immediately answer, her mind scrabbling for sensible words while instinct told her to hang up, Devin said impatiently, ‘I’m on my way to the airport. If this is important—’

‘No,’ she said hastily. ‘I mean, it’s very important to me, but if it’s a bad time…’ Blurting out the request wouldn’t do. He’d simply say no and that would be that. If she could only make him listen to her proposal there might be a slim chance of persuading him.

As she hesitated he said harshly, ‘I have better things to do than join in your games, Shannon.’

‘It isn’t a game!’ Did he think this was fun for her? ‘Maybe we could talk sometime?’ she suggested hurriedly. ‘After you get back from wherever you’re going?’

The line was silent again for a few seconds before he said, ‘Your timing was never all that good. I’ll be back tomorrow.’ He paused again. ‘We could have dinner if you like.’

‘Oh, I…th-thank you.’

Craig hissed, ‘What’s he saying?’

She covered the mouthpiece. ‘He’s inviting me to have dinner with him.’ Removing her hand, she tried to ignore Craig’s frantically nodding head.

Devin sounded markedly cool, but he was saying, ‘I’ll get my secretary to book us a table and I’ll pick you up around seven-thirty.’ He paused a moment, then rattled off her address as if he knew it by heart, ‘Is that right?’

‘Yes,’ she said, mechanically.

‘Now excuse me, or I’ll miss my flight.’

Shannon put the phone down in a daze. ‘I’m seeing him tomorrow night,’ she said.

‘Great!’ Craig grabbed her and planted a light kiss on her lips.

‘He’ll probably laugh in my face, and I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.’

‘Because of my fatal charm!’ He grinned at her. ‘Come on, hon. You never know, he might just say yes after all. And at least you’ll get a decent meal out of it.’



She got rid of Craig as soon as she could, then returned to the phone and began calling up contacts.

There were indeed rumours that another production team was sniffing about what she’d come to consider her story. By the time she prepared to meet Devin she was nervous and increasingly determined to give this idea, mad though it might be, her best shot.

After discarding three possible outfits she settled on faux silk pearl-grey pants and a black satin top with a short beaded jacket over it. Releasing her thick brown hair from its practical tied-back style, she brushed it to a sheen and let it wave about her shoulders.

When the doorbell rang she opened the door to Devin, a black satin bag clutched in her hand.

‘We have plenty of time,’ he told her. ‘Are you going to invite me in?’

Shannon stepped back reluctantly and he joined her in the narrow hallway, looking down at her for a second. His eyes took in the discreet make-up on her eyes and lips, and slipped over the rest of her. ‘Very nice,’ he said.

‘Thank you.’ She gestured at the darkened doorway behind him, and switched on the light.

He stopped in the centre of the Belgian rug, looking round with critical eyes.

Shannon had set the overstuffed pumpkin-coloured sofa against a cream wall that held a collection of funky little mirrors she’d picked up in second-hand shops and hung in a random pattern, each reflecting a tiny piece of the room. One deep armchair was covered in ruby-red fabric, the other in dark forest green. Scatter cushions on the chairs echoed the colours of the patterned rug and gave a touch of luxury.

Devin strolled to a set of shelves and picked up a Venetian glass rooster with an extravagant plumed tail of gold, green and blue tail feathers, and an erect red comb that matched the ruby chair. His hands followed the fluid contours of the glass. ‘You still have it.’

He had given it to her on their honeymoon, when she’d taken a fancy to it in an art shop. ‘I still like it,’ she said. ‘And it goes with the room.’

She recalled picking it up on some confused impulse and putting it with some clothes and books when she’d packed up her things, severed her relationship with Devin. Pulling it out later when she’d furnished her new home she’d wanted to weep, and debated hiding it away. But in some obscure way it had been a comfort during a bleak, lonely time, a tenuous link with a happier past.

Replacing the rooster, Devin turned and surveyed the small room again. His gaze lingered on a large abstract painting, inspecting the vibrant primary colours splashed on the canvas in bold strokes. He moved closer to read the artist’s name. ‘Expensive, isn’t he?’ he queried. ‘Though I could never see quite why.’

‘He gave me a special price.’ She had met the painter at a party in his studio that a friend took her along to, and had bought the painting on sight. She wasn’t surprised that Devin didn’t appreciate her taste. ‘Do you want a drink?’

‘No, thanks. I’ll have some wine at dinner.’

‘Well then…shall we go?’ He made her nervous, prowling around her home.

She switched off the living room light and he opened the front door for her. ‘Shall I turn off this light?’ he asked, his hand on the hall switch as she passed him in the doorway.

‘No.’ Descending the steps she said, ‘I leave it on when I’m out so I don’t come home to a darkened place.’

‘You live alone?’ He went ahead of her on the path and opened the door of his car, maroon and low-slung but roomy.

‘Yes,’ she said, sliding into the passenger seat.

Devin closed the door and came round to the other side. His sleeve brushed against her arm as he fastened his safety belt, and she felt a disconcerting frisson of awareness before he inserted the key in the ignition and the engine purred into life. ‘So who was with you yesterday morning?’ he asked as the car picked up speed.

‘You…knew there was someone?’

‘It was rather obvious.’ His voice was bleak and desert-dry.

She slanted a look at him, but the dim light fleetingly thrown by a street lamp didn’t help to define his expression, which was seldom simple to assess anyway. ‘It was Craig. Craig Sloane.’

For a few moments he drove in silence. Then, in a curiously detached tone, he said, ‘So you’re sleeping with your handsome leading man.’

‘I’m not sleeping with him!’ Before she could stop herself, she shot at him, ‘Are you sleeping with the divine Rachelle?’

He looked at her, then laughed as he returned his gaze to the road and the traffic. ‘Do you care?’

‘Of course not.’ A lie, she dismayingly discovered, almost suffocating with unreasoning jealousy.

Stupid, she told herself. For three years she’d managed to blot any thought of Devin with another woman out of her mind, tell herself it no longer concerned her.

Which it didn’t.

‘If you’re not lovers,’ he said, ‘what was Craig doing at your place?’

‘He used my sofa. He was a bit…under the weather.’

‘Drunk.’

‘Tipsy.’

‘Like I said.’

Shannon compressed her lips.

Devin swung the car around a corner. ‘And if he hadn’t been…’

Shannon shrugged. She didn’t need to justify herself to him, and objected to being cross-questioned.

Devin persisted. ‘Are you telling me you haven’t let him into your bed yet?’

‘I’m not telling you anything,’ she snapped. ‘My love life is none of your business.’

‘We’re married,’ he reminded her.

‘We are not married! We haven’t been for the last three years.’

‘Your choice.’

‘You forced me to choose!’

‘Is that how you see it?’ His scorn was patent.

‘There’s no point in going over all that again.’

He stopped for a traffic light and turned to look at her. ‘You’re right. Let’s leave the past where it is and move to the present. Does Craig know you’re out with me tonight?’

‘It was his idea.’

‘His idea?’

‘To phone you. I told him it wouldn’t do any good.’

‘You’ve lost me. Any good for whom?’

‘Can’t this wait until dinner?’ she asked. After all, the whole idea of having a meal together was so that they could talk, wasn’t it? In the comfort of a restaurant, with a good meal hopefully making him amenable to her request.

Someone tooted impatiently. The light had turned green.

‘Okay,’ Devin said on a tight, irritated note. Shannon wasn’t sure if he was addressing her or the aggressive driver behind them. He released the brake and the car glided forward.

After a while she asked, ‘How did you know where I live?’

‘It’s not a secret, is it? You’re in the phone book.’

‘No, it’s not a secret.’

‘Well, then…’ He shrugged as if the subject bored him, and for the rest of the journey into the central city he concentrated on his driving.

It wasn’t until they had ordered from the glossy menu in the expensive restaurant he’d chosen—or that his secretary had chosen for him—that he leaned his forearms on the linen tablecloth, looked across the wreath of flowers surrounding a squat gold candle in a glass bowl, and said, ‘So why did you phone me, Shannon? If not just to give your bedmate a bit of kinky titillation?’

Shannon clenched her fingers about her fork. ‘Craig is not my bedmate. And if he were, I wouldn’t have done a thing like that.’

Looking at her thoughtfully, he said, ‘No, I don’t suppose you would. Considering the company you keep you’re surprisingly straitlaced in some ways.’

‘Is that a complaint?’ she asked, stung. Had he found her a boring lover? ‘I’m sorry if I wasn’t up to your expectations.’

‘You know I had no complaints,’ he said. ‘I’ve never enjoyed such a…satisfactory relationship, as far as sex goes.’

‘Satisfactory,’ she repeated. ‘Oh, thank you.’

‘I’ve offended you,’ he said calmly, but there was a lurking amusement in his eyes. ‘You were all I had imagined, and more,’ he said. ‘You have a beautiful body that I still dream about, and you made love like an angel—a surprisingly shy and yet intriguingly sexy angel.’

‘Angels have no sex,’ Shannon rejoined. ‘They’re gender neutral.’

‘Let’s not be too literal.’ He paused before saying with unusual deliberation, his lowered voice sending an insidiously pleasurable sensation curling down her spine, ‘It was a transcendental spiritual experience making love with you, as well as a very pleasurable physical one.’

Transcendental? An extravagant word, especially from Devin. But one that just about described it, for her as well as for him.

Not transcendental enough to keep them together. Her heart seemed to swell under the influence of something painful pushing against its walls from the inside. ‘That’s very…flattering,’ she said, ‘but I’m sure you’ve had equally spiritual experiences with other women.’

His face became mask-like. ‘Cynicism is new for you,’ he said.

‘A pity I didn’t have it when we met.’ It might have helped armour her against what was to come.

For a split second she saw a blaze of anger in his eyes, and then the waiter brought wine and made a ritual of pouring, and by the time he’d gone Devin had assumed a bland expression that told her nothing about his feelings.

He lifted his glass to her silently and waited for her to raise hers before he drank.

Replacing his glass on the table, he asked, ‘Do you want to know about Rachelle?’

‘No.’

‘We find each other useful for social occasions,’ he said, ignoring her denial. ‘We’re not emotionally involved. She has a bad marriage behind her and isn’t interested in an intimate relationship.’

So was he patiently waiting for her to become interested? And if they weren’t emotionally involved, did that necessarily mean they weren’t having sex? Some people were able to separate the two.

Don’t go there. ‘I’m not interested in your…girlfriends,’ she told him.

‘Sure?’ His gaze searched her face.

‘Absolutely. This meeting isn’t about personal matters, Devin. I have a business proposition for you.’

‘Business?’ He leaned back in his chair, regarding her dispassionately.

It crossed her mind that if she’d worn something low-cut, clinging, seductive, she might have had a better chance at persuading him.

Immediately she dismissed the thought. As she’d just said, this was business, and seduction had no place in it.

‘So,’ he said, looking like a large, watchful animal, his eyes lynx-like and unblinking. ‘What do you want from me, Shannon?’

She breathed deeply, quickly, and passed her tongue briefly over her lips. ‘I need money,’ she said. Might as well spit it out and get it over with. ‘And I need it fast. You’re the only person I know who has the kind of money I’m looking for.’




CHAPTER TWO


‘I SEE.’ Devin straightened, and folded his arms, his face showing only guarded curiosity. ‘What is it? You’ve overspent and need a loan?’

‘Nothing like that. I have a proposition for you.’

His brows rose. ‘A proposition?’

‘A business proposal.’ She had to put a positive spin on this, convince him that he wouldn’t be throwing cash down the drain. Devin was as hard-headed about money as any other successful businessman, probably more than most. ‘It’s an investment opportunity.’

‘A film,’ he guessed, his resigned, slightly contemptuous tone implying that he didn’t think much of the idea. His eyes strayed to a neighbouring table where a party of a half dozen women were chattering and laughing.

Shannon leaned forward to catch his attention, trying to infuse all her passionate belief in the project into her voice, her eyes. ‘A special film. It could be a great film if I can raise the finance. An international success.’

Devin still looked sceptical.

‘New Zealand is hot at the box office right now,’ Shannon pressed.

‘Right up there with Hollywood?’ Devin queried dryly.

Brushing aside the sarcasm, Shannon launched into her carefully prepared background pitch about the growing worldwide film market.

The party at the next table had ordered several bottles of wine and were obviously celebrating something. Shannon had to raise her voice a little.

The waiter brought their meals and Shannon picked up her knife and fork, but kept talking. She had hardly touched the tender pork medallions in their golden apricot and orange sauce when Devin, halfway through his medium-rare pepper steak, raised a hand. ‘Eat your dinner,’ he ordered. ‘It’s a shame to let it spoil.’

Maybe she’d said too much. Devin liked good food and good wine and enjoyed savouring it. She should have remembered that. In business she knew he was incisive, practical, getting straight to the point, known as a fast worker. But paradoxically he took his pleasures in more leisurely fashion, giving time to appreciating scents, tastes, textures.

He had made love like that, as if there was all the time in the world to explore the soft inner skin of her elbow with a fingertip, tracing the faint path of a blue vein, to sift his fingers through her hair and admire the silky fan of it falling against the pillow, to inhale the perfume she’d dabbed behind her ear, his tongue finding the shallow groove, and to delight in looking at her naked body, his head propped on one hand while the other made tantalising patterns about her breasts, her navel, touching lightly, teasing until she raised her arms and pulled him fiercely to her, unable to bear the exquisite torment any longer.

‘What are you thinking about?’

His voice brought her back with a jerk to their surroundings. She realised she was sitting with her fork in her hand and probably a dreamy expression on her face. Hastily she lifted a piece of pork to her mouth, ducking her head as she cut another tender slice. ‘This sauce,’ she said. ‘It’s delicious.’

She must stop thinking that way, stop remembering. Their marriage was history now and they’d both come a long way.

She’d heard that Devin was spending a lot of time in America, after setting up a branch of his company there. After their split she’d consciously avoided places where she might expect to meet him, although she couldn’t escape the odd news item, the unexpected encounter with a photograph in some magazine picked up in a doctor’s waiting room, or an article about his company on the business pages of the daily paper.

She had hoped that when they did meet face to face she’d be able to confront him with indifference, their shared past a distant memory.

But one look at him and it had all come flooding back. The almost instant attraction of their first meeting, the golden-hazed weeks of his whirlwind courtship, their wedding day when the world was full of dazzling promise and they were certain their love would last forever and a day, despite the scarcely hidden dismay of his parents and family. The incredible pleasure of their lovemaking, and the way they’d seemed to be two halves of a whole, neither of them complete without the other.

And then the gradual disillusion and the pain of parting.

‘Dessert?’ Devin offered when she pushed away her plate.

Shannon shook her head, dispersing the memories. ‘Maybe some cheese.’

A burst of laughter from their neighbours drowned her voice and Devin frowned. ‘What?’

‘I’ll have the cheese board.’ Shannon didn’t share his surprising sweet tooth, but if he wanted something more she needed to be occupied rather than waiting for him to finish.

Devin ordered a chocolate mousse cake that came garnished with a generous swirl of whipped cream. He cut off a slice with a fork and offered it to Shannon.

Before she’d thought, she opened her mouth and allowed the morsel to slide onto her tongue. The achingly familiar, intimate gesture brought an unexpected sensation of tearing grief and regret. Appalled, she quickly swallowed the melting mouthful and grabbed at her wineglass, downing a gulp of red dessert wine to steady herself.

‘Don’t you like the cake?’ he asked her.

‘It’s fine,’ she answered huskily. ‘Very…rich.’

He took a piece himself, half closing his eyes as he savoured it. ‘Mmm,’ he murmured. ‘Superb.’

Shannon nibbled at bits of cheese while Devin finished the dessert. When he was done she pushed the board to him. ‘Help yourself.’

He had a sliver of New Zealand-made Edam and a small piece of Gruyère, then said, ‘Coffee?’ And as the hilarity at the next table reached a new pitch, ‘Or we could go back to my place and have it there.’

‘Your place?’

‘It’s not far.’ Watching her hesitate, he said with a touch of impatience, ‘You know me better than to imagine I’m luring you into my lair for nefarious purposes. And it’s a quieter place to talk than this.’

She had to agree with that. ‘I could give you coffee at my place,’ she offered reluctantly.

‘Mine’s closer. I’ll see you home later.’

Maybe he’d feel more kindly disposed to her plans if she fell in with his suggestion. Though why he’d made it she wasn’t sure. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘If that’s what you’d prefer.’ He looked amused at her acquiescence, and she wondered if he was bending her to his will simply because he could, knowing she wanted something from him. Devin liked to be in control of any situation.

After settling the bill he ushered her back to his car, and within five minutes he was driving into an underground garage below one of the city’s newer luxury residential buildings.

His apartment was on the fifth floor, and he guided her into a large room with a picture window giving a view of the Waitemata Harbour at night, all winking city lights reflected like shot satin in the dark water.

Shannon’s high heels sank into a slate-grey carpet, and Devin seated her on a deep couch covered in burgundy leather. Another couch and two matching burgundy chairs flanked a thick glass coffee table supported by hoops of burnished metal, and holding a striking bronze sculpture of an eagle with outspread wings.

‘I’ll get the coffee,’ Devin said, walking to a wide doorway through which she glimpsed pale grey tiles and a granite counter.

A functional kitchen, she guessed, designed for efficiency. There would be no hanging bunches of dried herbs, or potted fresh ones on the windowsill, no antique utensils decorating the walls, as there had been in the cramped cottage she’d fallen in love with when they’d been inspecting the brand-new, soulless new town house for sale next door.

After noticing her yearning across the fence at the colonial relic with the overgrown lawn and neglected shrubs, Devin had made the owners an offer they couldn’t refuse. An army of workers repaired the rusty guttering and worn boards, and modernised the kitchen and bathroom while Shannon had enlisted the help of an art director friend to bring the other rooms back to their quaint glory.

The place hadn’t been at all suitable for Devin’s lifestyle. Dinner parties had been necessarily small and intimate, and most of his business entertaining was conducted in restaurants, his office building or hired spaces.

After the break-up he’d lost no time, she guessed, in moving into this place.

Pale green walls showed off a couple of striking black-and-white photographs and a superrealist painting of a stream bed, every rounded rock and ripple in the water rendered with breathtaking precision, creating an irresistible urge to touch and check that it was only paint. Open glass doors led from the living room to a spacious formal dining room with a long table and high-backed chairs.

Everything looked elegant, expensive and impersonal.

Shannon ran her hand along a couple of rows of books on long shelves, finding biographies, history and true crime stories, a number of tomes dealing with economics and business practice, a pile of National Geographics and a few other magazines. She was back on the couch, leafing through the latest issue of Time, when Devin returned with two bulbous ceramic mugs and sank down beside her, handing her one.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Tell me what the film is about.’

She picked up her coffee, instinctively curving her palm about the warm, smooth shape of the mug. ‘Have you heard of the Duncan Hobbs trial,’ she asked, ‘here in Auckland in 1898?’

‘Should I have?’

‘It was briefly mentioned in a TV programme last year.’

He shook his head. ‘What did Duncan Hobbs do?’

‘He was supposed to have raped the sister of his best friend’s fiancée. The trial hinged on the evidence of his friend, the future brother-in-law of the victim.’

‘Was he an eye-witness?’

‘No, the evidence was mostly circumstantial. And not very consistent.’

‘So, is this a whodunit?’

‘A sort of did-he-do-it, anyway. But the point I’m more interested in is the personal dynamics—the change in the relationship between the engaged couple, the two sisters, and most of all the accused and his friend who was called on to testify…the choice he had to make as the key witness.’

Devin looked thoughtful. ‘Support his best friend, and maybe alienate his bride-to-be…?’

‘Exactly. It’s a fascinating, true mystery story, and great for film. But expensive—the historical costumes and props, and even finding and adapting the settings, all add to the costs.’

‘Couldn’t you update it?’

Shannon shook her head. ‘Attitudes have changed since then. They didn’t even have women on juries, and a rape victim was often blamed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or for leading a man on. There are all sorts of reasons why it wouldn’t work transferred to the twenty-first century.’

Devin leaned back a little. ‘You seem to be in a hurry. It’s not as though the story is topical.’

‘I have a draft script, most of my crew almost ready to go, and I thought I had backing in the bag, but at the last minute I missed out after all.’

‘How much do you need?’

When she told him, he didn’t blink or move, but it was a second or two before he spoke. ‘That’s a lot of money.’

It was an enormous amount to her, but he was accustomed to dealing with sums that sported mind-boggling numbers of noughts. ‘I don’t know where else I could find the finance at short notice. And it’s not actually a huge budget for a film.’ She rushed on in the face of his stony silence. ‘It isn’t a big story with a cast of thousands and lots of special effects, but it could be an award winner, and do well overseas. The thing is, if we don’t go into production soon the people I’ve lined up will have to take other work. Even Craig—’

‘Craig?’ A frown raked between his brows.

‘I want him to play the witness.’ And he wanted the part too. She was under no illusion that it was for her sake alone he’d pushed her into contacting Devin. She pulled several folded pages from her bag. ‘I know most of the names won’t mean much to you, but this is a short description of the project, with a list of potential cast and crew members and their credits. If you need me to explain anything…’

Devin nodded, and skimmed the pages while she watched, holding her breath.

Finally he looked up at her. ‘I take it you’ve explored every other avenue before coming to me.’

‘Everyone and anybody I could think of.’

‘You went to people who know about the film business and they all turned you down.’

Shannon said frankly, ‘I guess they weren’t willing to invest that kind of money in a director with only one feature credit to my name. But I’ve lots of experience with my own short films and several assistant director credits. If they’d give me the chance I can do this. Or if you would…’

‘A chance to the tune of millions of dollars.’

‘It’s a drop in the bucket to you!’

Devin laughed. ‘Quite a few drops, in fact.’ He stood up, strolled across the carpet and back, stopping within a few feet of her, regarding her with a disconcerting stare as if he wanted to see into her mind, her heart. ‘This really matters to you.’

‘I know you never thought much of my career, but it means a lot to me—’

‘That I do know,’ he said, ‘since it’s the reason you left me.’

‘Not the only reason.’ But she didn’t want to get into that argument. There were dangerous waters there with hidden shoals. ‘The thing is, will you help or am I wasting my time?’

‘That depends,’ he said, regarding her almost absently for a few seconds. A silky, ominous note in his voice, he said, ‘What are you offering me in return?’

A tremor ran through her. Warning bells were ringing somewhere deep inside her mind. ‘If it’s a success you could make a pretty good profit.’

‘A big if.’

Shannon couldn’t dispute that. But she guessed Devin would make certain that if anyone gained financially from the venture, he did.

She tilted her head at a defiant angle. ‘I can do it,’ she reiterated, trying to infuse all her certainty into the words.

‘You have great faith in yourself.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I do.’

Something complicated flickered across his face. ‘I remember those words,’ he said softly. ‘But it didn’t take you long to forget them.’

For a moment she was lost. Then she flushed. ‘That isn’t true! And it has nothing to do with this. We’re talking about a deal here, a business deal.’

‘You wouldn’t have come to me if we hadn’t had a personal relationship.’

She said fervently, ‘Believe me, if I’d known anyone else who could afford to help me I’d have gone to them first.’

A gleam entered the dark eyes. ‘So I’m a last resort.’

Had she offended him? Bad tactics. Trying to sound humble, she said, ‘Put that way, it sounds like an insult. I didn’t mean it to be. I just don’t like asking favours…of anyone.’

‘Especially me.’ His face as usual revealed little of what he was thinking.

‘I know we parted in anger, but after three years surely we can behave like civilised adults.’

Devin smiled, a slight, contained movement of his beautiful masculine mouth. ‘If you can, I can.’

‘Then will you think about this?’ Shannon hoped she didn’t sound as if she were begging. Trying for a more businesslike manner, she offered, ‘I can draw up a formal proposal if you like, draft a contract.’

‘I’d prefer my own lawyer to do that, I think.’

‘Then you will think about it?’ What the hell if she was begging? She would get down on her knees if necessary.

‘I don’t suppose you have any collateral to offer,’ he asked, ‘or guarantees?’

Shannon chewed on her lower lip. ‘No. I have a car, but my flat’s rented. I spent everything I had getting the script pulled together and hustling for grants or commercial backing.’

‘I see.’ He was looking at her in a speculative way that made her uneasy. Maybe he enjoyed watching her squirm.

‘Look,’ she said, ‘if you’re stringing me along I wish you’d just tell me it’s no go. I’ll find someone else…somehow.’

‘Don’t be so hasty. I haven’t said no.’

‘But you’re not saying yes!’

‘I need a little time to consider your…proposition. And maybe,’ he added slowly, ‘I have one of my own.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘How badly do you want this money?’

‘You know I’m desperate. You said so yourself.’

He seemed to be looking through her rather than at her. She wished she knew what he was thinking, but Devin had never been easy to read. His emotions were hidden behind his classic, slightly austere features.

At last he spoke. ‘I’ll give you the money, but there’s a condition.’

About to say, Anything! Shannon curbed the rash impulse. ‘As long as it’s not creative control over the project I can probably meet it.’

‘Oh, you can meet it all right. All you need to do is say yes.’

‘Yes to what? If you want your name in the credits I can bill you as co-producer if you like.’

A strange, unsettling smile lurked on his mouth. ‘Not that.’

Shannon shook her head. ‘Then what do you want?’

For a second or so he kept her on tenterhooks. Then he said, without any change in inflection, ‘I want you, Shannon.’




CHAPTER THREE


SHANNON stared, the significance of the words sinking in. ‘You don’t mean…’

Surely he wasn’t suggesting what she thought he was.

Devin said, in that same level, apparently reasonable tone, ‘I mean exactly what I said. Do you have a problem?’

It was a moment before her voice would work, and when it did it was higher and shriller than she’d intended it to be.

‘Damn right I have a problem! You can’t ask me to agree to that!’

‘I can ask you to do anything I please.’ He thrust both hands into his pockets and rocked back slightly on his heels, his eyes focused on her face. ‘I can’t compel you to agree, of course. The choice is entirely yours.’

She stood up, her knees shaking. ‘If this is a joke, you know what you can do with it.’

‘You surely know me better than that.’

She gathered up her bag, straightened and stared at him with angry, indignant eyes. ‘You can’t possibly expect me to treat this seriously.’

Devin shrugged. ‘Take it or leave it.’

Of course she couldn’t take it. Nobody in their right mind would accept such a barbarous bargain. ‘You know I won’t!’ she snapped.

‘What’s to stop you?’ His voice turning low and coaxing, he said, ‘I’ve missed you, Shannon. I’ve missed…this.’

He reached for her, in almost leisurely fashion, and to her later shame and despair she scarcely resisted when he drew her into his arms. One hand still clutching her purse, she instinctively raised her arms, checking herself before they went around him.

But when his mouth found hers, with a remembered confident persuasion, her heart tumbled over, and within moments her lips opened beneath his.

It was a kiss of surprising gentleness, seductive and slow but very thorough. Her eyes fluttered closed, the dancing harbour lights seeming imprinted on her lids, and she could have sworn the room was revolving in a sensuous waltz.

When Devin relinquished her mouth and she opened her eyes in a dazed stare, she saw him looking back at her with a questioning and grave expression. His eyes glittered and there was colour in his lean cheeks, the underlying bones appearing more prominent. ‘Looks like I’m not the only one.’

He brought his mouth down again to hers, but this time she pushed against him, trying to break free, very nearly in a panic.

Although he didn’t release his hold, his mouth lifted, his eyes burning. ‘You don’t hate me,’ he said, his voice like heated black satin. She could almost feel it brush over her skin—they were so close that his breath touched her still parted lips.

She whispered, her shocked eyes held by his mesmerising gaze, ‘I never said I hated you.’

She pulled away from him, trying to maintain some equilibrium. Devin let his hands drop from her waist, brushing over her hips before he let her go. ‘Would it be so hard to accept my condition?’

‘You really do mean it,’ she said in disbelief. ‘You’re offering me money in return for…for—’

‘For being with me again. It wouldn’t be too much of a hardship, would it?’ His expression was curiously watchful. ‘Why don’t you stay tonight?’

She moistened her lips. ‘You make it sound so easy.’

Devin inclined his head. ‘It’s very simple. You say yes, we…go to bed, make love. Just like old times.’

‘And tomorrow,’ she queried, her throat raw, ‘you’d give me a cheque? Payment for sex?’

He blinked, as if she’d shocked him. His eyes narrowed. ‘For one night? Your price is too high.’

‘One night or many, it makes no difference,’ she pointed out, her voice shaking. ‘Your…condition is unacceptable.’

‘You’ve misunderstood me.’

‘How?’ she demanded. He’d been pretty explicit, she thought.

‘I want more than sex. More than one night. I want you back in my life, Shannon. In my home. My bed.’

‘Why?’

Devin looked down for a moment as if she’d caught him unawares with the question. ‘Why?’ he repeated. Then, slowly, ‘Call it…a trial reconciliation.’

She looked around the coldly glossy designer-created apartment he called home now. He couldn’t be serious. Despite the devastatingly sexy kiss she couldn’t help suspecting some other motive than a sudden overwhelming desire to attempt a renewed relationship.

‘A trial?’ she repeated. ‘For how long?’

‘As long it takes…’

‘To make the film? It could be five or six months!’ She knew she sounded appalled.

A shadow of annoyance showed in his eyes. ‘That’s the deal,’ he said curtly. ‘Don’t pretend it would be so enormous a sacrifice.’ Arrogantly he added, ‘You still want me.’

She could hardly deny that. Not after the way she’d succumbed to his kiss.

‘You know I want your money,’ she said, fighting for some sort of equilibrium. ‘And you’re saying you’d be willing to give it to me if I agree to…sell myself to you?’ Her whole being revolted at the idea, and she had to question his motive. He’d had three years to suggest a revival of their marriage without resorting to a kind of extortion that was guaranteed to arouse her hostility.

‘You’re making it sound sordid,’ he said shortly.

‘You were the one who did that!’ she said with scorn. ‘I just want to make sure we both know what the terms are.’ Surely he could see that his blatant attempt at manipulation could only backfire—if he was genuinely interested in a reconciliation. ‘I assume,’ she said, in an attempt to make him see the enormity of his suggestion, ‘you’d have it written into the contract and signed by witnesses?’

He said stiffly, ‘This would be a private arrangement. Between the two of us.’

‘I don’t suppose it would stand up in court anyway.’

She shouldn’t even be discussing it. ‘I’d like to go home now,’ she said. ‘Maybe you could call me a taxi.’

‘I’ll take you.’ His tone was brusque and he didn’t move immediately, but when she turned toward the door he followed and opened it for her, blocking her way. ‘By the way,’ he said, ‘what happened to Duncan Hobbs?’

‘He was found guilty, though there was considerable public outrage about the verdict.’

‘So what do you think? Was he guilty?’

‘I don’t know. There are some strange gaps in the prosecution case.’

He nodded slightly, then stepped back, and as she passed him he said, ‘Think about my offer. You can phone me at the office during the day, or here anytime. If I’m not around leave a message and I’ll get back to you.’

They rode to her flat in silence and she bade him an almost inaudible goodnight, slipping into the lighted hallway and leaning against the closed door as she heard his footsteps recede down the short pathway and then the faint sound of his car driving away.

She could still feel Devin’s kiss on her lips, and his masculine scent was in her nostrils, lingering.

Imagination, she told herself, and walked to the bathroom, switched on the light and saw herself in the mirror over the basin. Her cheeks were delicately flushed, her eyes lustrous and the pupils large, dark, mysterious. Her mouth had lost the pink gloss she’d smoothed on before leaving, but her lips were red and full. She looked like a woman who had just left her lover.

Closing her eyes, she doused her face with cold water. How could he make her look like that with a single kiss? How could he make her heart beat faster, her blood run hot and swift in her veins, her whole being flood with longing?

She had got over the break-up of her marriage, gone on with her life, closed off the memories, except for those that surfaced in unguarded sleep.

The whole thing was impossible.

But, an insidious voice from deep within whispered, people do change. I’ve changed. Maybe he has too.

Not so much that he’d lost the ability to take advantage of any weakness in an opponent and move in for the kill.

They had parted bitterly and she’d assumed that Devin had cut his losses.

Yet tonight he’d said he wanted her back.

She dried her face and frowned at her reflection in the mirror. Could she believe that he’d simply missed her, and that seeing her again had triggered renewed feelings, perhaps as powerful and disturbing as those he’d aroused in her?

He hadn’t mentioned love, she recalled uneasily, hanging up the towel. He’d always found her sexually stimulating and still did, no doubt about that. Her skin tingled at the remembrance of the lambent flame in his eyes.

Had she really expected that he would give her money for nothing?

No, he’d have his pound of flesh. Her flesh.

Shannon shook herself. It would be a crazy situation to put herself in. Crazy. Only a masochist would do it.

And she was no masochist.

In the hour before sleep rescued her, and throughout next day, she couldn’t stop herself from going over and over the conversation. Couldn’t school her body to indifference at the memory of the unexpected kiss.

All the following week, in any moment she could spare from working on a TV commercial she been commissioned to direct, she revisited every avenue that she’d already exhausted of raising the money she needed, but even the modest success of Heart of the Wilderness wasn’t enough to open any doors, except for vague suggestions to resubmit her proposal the following year.

The commercial involved children, dogs and endless bars of chocolate. It paid the rent, but after five days Shannon was exhausted, never wanted to see another chocolate bar, and was less than enamoured of both children and dogs.

Anyway, children had long been on the list of things she preferred not to think about too much.

On Friday night she was lying propped against cushions on her couch, drinking coffee and poring over the script of her beloved project. As she scribbled notes on the pages, thinking about camera shots and angles, she had to wonder why she bothered. Odds were that the Hobbs story was going to be filmed by someone else, and her dream would die.

When the telephone rang she picked up the receiver listlessly and gave her name.

‘Shannon,’ said a deep, well-remembered voice.

Instantly all her senses were alert. She sat up. ‘Devin?’

‘How are you?’

‘I’m…fine.’

‘Are you alone?’

‘Yes.’ Why did he want to know?

‘I haven’t heard from you.’

‘No.’ There wasn’t much she could add to that. Once or twice she’d toyed with the idea of leaving a blunt, even rude, repudiation of his offer on the answer machine, and at other times she’d been tempted to tell him she’d accept any terms he cared to lay down. But her silence should have told him she had no intention of taking up his preposterous offer.

After a short pause he said, ‘Have you found a backer?’

‘No.’

‘Feel like going out for supper?’

‘I’m tired.’ True. ‘I’ve had a hectic week.’

‘Me too. I could bring a pizza and come round.’ His voice dropped into seduction mode. ‘Pepperoni, pineapple, black olives…’

He knew all her weaknesses. She hadn’t thought she was hungry, but now her mouth was watering.

While she was still trying to muster the will to say no, he said, ‘I’ll be there in about half an hour. And I promise not to keep you up late.’

He’d hung up before she could say anything more. She put down the phone and sat staring at the page on her lap without seeing it.

Maybe he’d had second thoughts about financing her film, decided to retract his outrageous terms.

Some hope, she told herself. More likely he still hoped to talk her into accepting them.

‘When they’re ice-skating in hell,’ she muttered.

It was only twenty-five minutes before the doorbell buzzed. The aroma of melted cheese met her nostrils as soon as she opened the door, bringing back memories of evenings when they’d sat side by side watching a film on TV while sharing a pizza and a bottle of wine.

He’d brought wine too, her favourite red. It was raining outside, a light, misty drizzle that dewed the wine bottle. Tiny sparklets of moisture glittered in Devon’s dark hair under the glow of the hall light.

He wore no jacket or tie with his blue shirt and dark trousers. Her eyes were level with the open neck of the shirt, and she could see the tiny pulse beating under lightly tanned skin. Her own pulses quickened.

She led him into the lounge before it occurred to her that it would have been safer to eat in the dining area in the kitchen. This room was far too cosy.

But he’d already placed the pizza and wine on the coffee table, beside the script. ‘A corkscrew?’ he enquired.

Shannon turned to the old oak sideboard and extracted a corkscrew, two wineglasses and a couple of plates. Pretty, flowered china plates that had once belonged to her grandmother, and that her mother had bequeathed to her.

Devin sat on the ruby-red armchair and deftly opened the bottle. As she resumed her seat on the sofa he poured the wine and placed a glass in front of Shannon, then lifted the lid of the box and slid a slice of pizza onto a plate.

Automatically Shannon tucked her bare feet under her on the couch before biting into the layers of cheese, extras and the doughy crust. ‘Mmm,’ she murmured as the concoction released its flavour onto her tongue.

Devin smiled, watching her. Then he took a bite of his own piece, picked up his glass and leaned back in the chair.

Shannon swallowed. ‘How did you know this is what I needed?’

‘I know a lot about you, Shannon.’

She supposed he did, superficially. But he had never shared her deepest feelings. He didn’t understand why she’d been compelled to end their marriage. Her clumsy efforts to explain had only made him angry.

He seemed mellower now, the anger dissipated by time.

Devin dusted crumbs from his hands. ‘A script?’ he asked, nodding at the open folder on the table. ‘The one you’re wanting finance for?’

‘Yes.’

‘May I?’

She nodded and he picked it up, taking another slice of pizza as he began reading.

Shannon let him do so in silence, watching as he put down his plate with the half-eaten slice on it and turned a page, apparently forgetting to finish the food.





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