Книга - The Secret Father

The Secret Father
KIM LAWRENCE








“People know about your son?

Is it in the papers?”


“Not yet, but it will be. And you’re so surprised, aren’t you?” he sneered.

“You don’t think that I…” Lindy said in a strangled voice.“Sam, I didn’t…”

“Look me in the eyes and tell me that it wasn’t you.” He dragged his hand heavily through his hair.“Did you really think I kept silent about my son out of choice? Don’t you think I’d have loved to boast about him?”

Lindy swallowed the lump of emotion in her throat.“I’m so sorry, Sam. But I can’t be the only person who knows,” she said desperately.

“You’re the only one I don’t trust.”




The Secret Father

Kim Lawrence










www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

EPILOGUE




CHAPTER ONE


SAM ROURKE scanned the diners in the small restaurant. He recognised and exchanged nods with several members of the film crew relaxing over their food. There were three women sitting alone, and none of them bore any resemblance to the divine Lacey, but then that would have been too much to hope for.

He spoke softly to the proprietor, who had materialised as if by magic at his side, and discovered that the woman he was looking for was the only one of the three solitary females not looking at him. In fact she was probably the only person in the entire room—other than the crew members, in whom familiarity had bred a healthy contempt—not looking at him. Sam was too accustomed to attention to do more than subconsciously register the scrutiny.

He had to know every eye in the place was fixed on him, Lindy thought scornfully. She deliberately directed her own blue-eyed stare elsewhere. He positively struts, she decided, furtively taking in the long-legged lope. Her lips twisted in a small derisive smile as she twirled the stem of her frosted glass between her long, shapely fingers. He was lapping it up! She glanced at her watch and frowned; Hope was late, but then her sister’s unpunctuality was legendary.

‘Dr Lacey?’

Lindy started and found herself looking directly up into the face of Sam Rourke. Like most of the civilised world she’d seen his face in close up, enlarged to godlike proportions on the silver screen. A realist, she was quite prepared for a disappointment: make-up, lighting and a lot of hype could transform the most ordinary of creatures.

Sam Rourke was by no stretch of the imagination ordinary! In the flesh, the heavy-lidded eyes were just as startlingly sapphire-blue, the mobile lips just as sensually sculpted and the jawline just as square. His dark wavy hair was brushed back from the trademark widow’s peak and the cleft in his chin deepened as he met her critical stare.

‘Mr Rourke,’ she said, as though she were well used to meeting international superstars over her lunch. She was disgusted to find her nervous system had gone into instant shock when exposed to the undoubtedly high-octane charisma this man oozed. Happily this state of affairs did not show on her calm features. Her delicate colour didn’t fluctuate even a little as she smiled distantly.

‘Hope couldn’t make it.’ Without waiting to be invited, he took the seat opposite her. ‘She asked me to meet you and show you the way to the house.’

So, Sam Rourke knew the way to her sister’s house. How cosy. Lindy couldn’t help speculating just how well Hope, who was professionally known by her surname, Lacey, knew this man. She’d volunteered nothing about him beyond the basic fact that he was her director and co-star in the film they’d been shooting for the past two months here in Maine.

Lindy didn’t know whether to read anything into this unusual circumstance. Hope had a wicked tongue and usually she delighted in telling her sisters how disappointing the famous people she’d met were in real life. Perhaps she hadn’t found Sam Rourke disappointing. They would certainly make a striking pair, her beautiful sister and this man, and it was almost de rigueur for supermodels to be squired by actors or rock stars.

It wouldn’t do either of their careers any harm to be seen together. Lindy stifled this cynical and uncharitable thought. She might be a supermodel, but her sister Hope was curiously untouched by the more unpleasant aspects of the world she moved in; she was as warm and genuine as she had been the day she’d left their English village home.

‘I wouldn’t like to impose,’ she began firmly, not at all happy about the prospect of sharing her table with this larger-than-life individual. She’d made the mistake once of being seduced by a pretty face and these days it took more than a sinfully attractive smile to win her approval. If she was honest, men blessed in the looks department, at least this obviously, had to work extra hard to win her trust.

‘Then I’ll hint if you do,’ her companion replied swiftly, an expression of boredom that made her wince beginning to spread across his features. When people went to these sorts of lengths to treat him normally the conversation frequently became monosyllabic. ‘Have you ordered?’ He flicked a cursory glance at the menu. ‘The lobster’s great here, isn’t it, Albert?’ The maamp2;ˆtre d’ had materialised at his elbow. ‘We’ll have two.’

‘I’m allergic to shellfish.’

‘You’re not!’ He hit his forehead with the back of his hand and gestured to the waiter.

‘No, I’m not,’ she agreed sweetly. This man’s casual, bored attitude and the fact he had taken her co-operation for granted made her normally placid blood quietly simmer. ‘But I could be for all you know. I don’t recall asking you to eat with me. I don’t recall asking you to sit down.’

The famous blue eyes narrowed and he looked at her as if noticing her for the first time. English rose, Hope Lacey had said. No hothouse bloom certainly, but one of those pale pink, delicate things that grew in hedge-rows. Good-looking in a style he’d always found some-what colourless and bland. Nothing about her clothes or demeanour was intended to catch the eye, but she had a good figure from what he could see, and her bone structure was excellent. Her neck was singularly beautiful—long and graceful. He appreciatively let his eyes dwell on the slender curve for a moment.

‘I’m not big on formalities.’

‘I am,’ she said in a calm, unflustered way. ‘It saves confusion.’ I should have kept my mouth shut, she thought regretfully. She hadn’t much wanted to earn herself that rather cool appraisal from those famous blue eyes, but it really did irritate her the way he’d breezed in and taken over, all cool confidence and superficial charm. He was no doubt confident that his blatant sexiness would reduce any female with a pulse to a compliant idiot.

‘Shall we start again? I’m Sam Rourke and Hope asked me to meet you.’ For Hope’s sake he tried to keep his growing irritation from his voice. He didn’t think he’d done anything yet to justify this sort of antagonism.

‘I know who you are, Mr Rourke,’ Lindy said crisply. ‘As does everyone in the room. To be quite frank, this much curiosity would be disastrous for my digestion.’

It wouldn’t do his own much good either, he reflected wryly, but that obviously hadn’t occurred to this woman. If he’d planned to dine here, he’d have been seated in the small secluded alcove that gave him some degree of privacy. It was pretty obvious that his companion held the firm belief that he thrived in being the centre of attention. What the hell? Why disappoint the lady?

Sam turned his head with slow deliberation and gave a dazzling smile to a group of elderly ladies at the next table; they giggled like teenagers. Rick, a member of the crew who had worked with Sam on several occasions, witnessed the action from the opposite side of the room and spilled his soup down his trousers. Sam intercepted the amazed expression on the young man’s face and deliberately winked.

Rick blotted the damp patch on his denims and wondered what on earth Sam was up to. Despite the public perception of the man, Sam Rourke was a disarmingly modest and amazingly self-effacing guy in private. On numerous occasions he’d seen him go to some lengths to avoid the attentions of his legions of drooling fans.

The expression in Sam’s eyes as he returned his attention to Lindy was cynical. ‘You worry when they don’t notice you.’ He could see from the look of disgust in her eyes that the doctor felt a lot better having her suspicions confirmed. Why not give an audience what it wanted?

Lindy gave a fractional shrug; she had no idea that she’d witnessed anything out of the ordinary. ‘Just give me directions to the house and I’ll leave you to eat your lunch in peace. Hold on a moment, I’ve got a notebook in my bag,’ she said briskly, reaching for her leather shoulder-bag.

Sam leant back in his chair, his lips curving in a sardonic smile. ‘Do you have a problem?’ he drawled slowly.

‘Pardon…?’ she said, giving a reasonable impression of incomprehension. Was this the actor’s ego, she wondered scornfully, that needed to be universally worshipped? Was she supposed to stare at him with slavish devotion?

‘I’m just wondering whether to take this personally. Or do you freeze everyone at ten paces?’

Personally, she thought, maintaining a neutral expression. ‘I’ll ask for your autograph if that will help your anxiety attack,’ she offered helpfully. Heavens, she thought in alarm, why on earth did I say that? Isn’t it my role in life to apply soothing oil to troubled waters? Since when did I instigate hostility?

‘Now English reserve I can tolerate, Doctor, but that was plain nasty. Listen, I get the message, you don’t like me, but I gave my word to your sister that I’d see you safely to her place. I’m not about to give you directions, so the only way of finding the house is to stick with me. I suggest you put a brave face on it, honey.’

The easy endearment and the edge of mockery in his voice made her angry. ‘I’m not hungry,’ she insisted, ignoring the growling of her stomach.

‘You’ve just driven all the way from Boston; did I get that much right?’ He inclined his head as she nodded. ‘Then you need to eat; I need to eat. Logic sort of makes a pretty compelling case for us eating together.’

Put that way it was easy to see why he thought she was making a fuss about nothing. No doubt the average female would think finding herself dining with Sam Rourke was as good as winning the lottery. I am making a fuss about nothing, she thought, giving him a concessionary but tepid smile.

The lobster was, in fact, just as delicious as he had suggested and the portion so generous she couldn’t finish it. She pushed her plate away with a sigh. ‘I’m stuffed,’ she said with rueful honesty.

Sam gave a sudden laugh and the sound made heads turn, a fact he seemed oblivious of. ‘You sounded so like Hope,’ he explained as she looked questioningly at him.

‘We are sisters.’

‘It’d be easy to miss that.’

‘She is beautiful,’ Lindy agreed, without any trace of jealousy that her companion could detect. Lindy knew that she was hardly ugly, but competing with her sister was not something she’d ever considered. The Lacey triplets were as dissimilar in looks as they were in personality.

‘I wasn’t talking about physical similarity, or lack of it. I mean Hope is so warm and spontaneous…open.’

‘I don’t make a habit of gushing with total strangers, Mr Rourke,’ she said, her smile fading. Why not just call me a cold fish and be done with it? she thought indignantly.

‘You don’t even trickle, Dr Lacey,’ Sam Rourke commented drily. ‘But then, as I’m sure you’re going to point out, that is none of my business. I’m here to act as guide.’ He couldn’t have made it plainer that the whole thing had become something of a chore to him.

‘I’m sorry I’m not a scintillating dining companion,’ she observed waspishly. His criticism shouldn’t have mattered to her, but inexplicably it hurt.

‘I don’t often get this sort of antagonism from women,’ he remarked, leaning back in his chair and regarding her thoughtfully.

I just bet you don’t, she thought, her scorn reflected in the light blue depths of her almond-shaped eyes.

‘Guys, sure. ‘‘I never watch your sort of movie’’, is quite a common line. Then there’s the other sort who want to show I’m not such a tough guy off the screen…’

‘And are you?’

‘A flicker of interest?’ he mocked. ‘What happened to the ‘‘I’m totally unimpressed by the fact you’re a big star’’?’ He watched the faintest of flushes mount the smooth contours of her cheeks as his words found their mark. ‘To answer your question, I’m not into bar brawls, not even to impress a lady. Besides,’ he said, running a hand down the side of his jaw, ‘I couldn’t risk the face.’ The languid self-mockery in his tone made her look sharply into his densely blue eyes. She averted her gaze as swiftly as she could; he had the most extraordinarily penetrating stare.

‘I suppose it’s an occupational hazard, people confusing you with the characters you play. Even when they’re…’

‘Go on,’ he encouraged as she stopped abruptly, looking uncomfortable.

‘Even when they’re as two-dimensional and stereotyped as the ones you play.’ She lifted her chin and tried not to feel guilty for being so brutal. He had asked!

Sam sucked in his breath behind a display of even white teeth and looked a long way from being mortally wounded. ‘Ouch!’ he said, the last remnants of boredom vanishing from his expression. ‘Aren’t you guilty of judging me by the type of character I portray on the screen? You know, the one who snaps his fingers and has a tall, leggy blonde on his arm…’ He ought to feel guilty for winding her up, but it was irresistible.

‘In his bed, usually,’ she responded with a reluctant smile, recalling the last film she’d seen him in; seen quite a lot of him as she recalled. It was hard to look at his chest and not remember how well muscled those broad shoulders were. Then don’t look at his chest, she told herself crossly.

‘You admit it, then?’

Lindy lifted her slender shoulders fractionally and pursed her lips ruefully. Now that he’d said it, she couldn’t deny that her own instinctively aggressive reaction to him had been partially directed at the type of macho wonder man he generally played. Big-box-office roles, but not exactly stretching; that summed up Sam Rourke’s career.

‘It could be I’m a great actor,’ he suggested. ‘I can see you find that hard to believe.’ He gave a long-suffering sigh.

The lopsided smile was impossible not to respond to. ‘Do you mean you won’t act like an egocentric, narcissistic, shallow—?’

‘Now don’t go expecting miracles. I never make promises I can’t keep,’ he interrupted, holding up his hands to stem the flow. ‘I have unplumbed shallows. Shall we just say I won’t call you babe? It’ll be hard, but I’m a very amenable guy deep down.’

‘That’s a weight off my mind,’ she assured him solemnly, with an answering glimmer in her eyes. She’d seen Sam Rourke do humour, but that had been scripted. This dry, caustic wit was obviously the natural variety and she found it much more attractive than the slick, predictable banter.

It was gradually becoming obvious that, whilst the characters this man portrayed might arguably be two-dimensional, he was much more complex in the flesh. And distressingly perfect flesh it was too, she thought, pulling her glance from the sinewed strength of his forearms meshed with a fine covering of dark hair.

‘Better, Doctor, much better,’ he approved caustically. ‘You know, you’ve got to learn to relax around us glittering, famous types if you’re going to be part of the team.’

‘I suppose I will,’ she agreed doubtfully.

The offer of a job as medical advisor on the set of the film her sister was starring in had seemed like a heavensent opportunity. The doctor they’d had lined up had broken his leg and was in traction. They hadn’t begun shooting any of the scenes with medical content yet, Hope had assured her. It would be a breeze! Lindy had just resigned from her job as a senior house officer at a prestigious London hospital and had needed time to sort out where she was going from there. Now she was here, Lindy was beginning to regret the impulsiveness of her actions.

‘Won’t people resent the fact I got the job because I’m Hope’s sister?’ What am I doing here? she wondered, feeling suddenly very homesick.

‘Nepotism is one of the more savoury ways people get jobs in this business,’ Sam observed drily.

‘You’re not telling me the casting couch still exists, are you?’ she laughed.

‘Such sweet innocence,’ he mocked lightly. ‘I was thinking more along the lines of murder, extortion, blackmail; but the old-fashioned ways are still the best, or so I’m told.’

Looking doubtfully into his cynical blue eyes, she wasn’t sure whether he was joking. ‘It all seems very casual,’ she admitted.

Getting a job to her had entailed gruelling interviews and hard-won references, but here she was being offered a salary that made her blink, to do something which didn’t sound very strenuous.

‘I just got a phone call and a first-class ticket for Boston,’ she said.

‘Don’t look so worried,’ he advised with an amused smile. ‘I’ll make you work for your money. I’d assumed you were star-struck. Don’t explode!’ He raised a pacific hand. ‘But, that obviously not being the case, it must be a man that made you up sticks.’

‘A man?’ she enquired with discouraging hauteur. It occurred somewhat belatedly to her that Sam Rourke was her new boss and it might have been politic to take that into account before she’d started sniping at him. She might just regret her honesty in the near future.

‘Broken heart, love affair, that sort of thing. Though you don’t look the type to…’ Sam paused, weighing his words. Telling a woman, even one as self-contained as this one, that she didn’t look as if she had enough fire in her veins might not go down too well.

‘Make a fool of myself over a man?’

‘My thought exactly,’ he agreed with some relief.

‘I’m not,’ she said flatly. She had no intention of going over her reasons for leaving a job she’d loved. A man had certainly been involved—and love, too, if Simon Morgan was to be believed.

From the moment he’d taken over as consultant orthopaedic surgeon, he’d made his personal interest in his house officer obvious. He hadn’t got encouragement, but he hadn’t needed it. He was one of that breed of men to whom things had always come easily, and he hadn’t thought Rosalind Lacey was any different from anything else he’d wanted.

At first he’d taken her rejection to be part of a game—a game he was happy to play. When he’d discovered he’d been playing alone, things had got ugly and he’d made it quite obvious that the hospital wasn’t big enough for both of them. She could have fought—should have fought—but Lindy hadn’t had the stomach for a messy sexual harassment suit, which could have damaged her professional reputation even if she had won. America had been her way out of a classic catch-22 situation.

‘I admire confidence,’ Sam said softly.

The sceptical note in his voice, of a man who believed no woman was as invulnerable as she professed to be, irritated Lindy.

‘Shouldn’t we be making a move?’ she said, looking around the now half-empty room.

‘See you in the morning, Sam.’ Rick, who was a thin, gangling youth with a shock of carrot-red hair, chose that moment to make his exit via their table. He eyed Lindy curiously.

‘The new medico, Rick,’ Sam said in answer to the silent enquiry.

‘Pleased to meet you.’ A friendly smile beamed out as he sketched a bow and saluted her flamboyantly. ‘Don’t keep Sam up too late,’ he added over his shoulder. ‘Early start tomorrow, chief.’

‘An actor?’ Lindy asked.

‘Crew.’

‘He didn’t think we…you and I were together?’ she asked uncomfortably.

‘I shouldn’t think so,’ Sam said, signing the cheque as he rose from the table. ‘You’re not my type.’

‘How cruel of you to dash my girlish fantasies,’ she responded, taking a bracing breath to weather this casual insult and following him towards the door. He could certainly give as good as he got.

‘You should have locked the trunk,’ Sam remonstrated a few minutes later as he lifted her cases from the rental car in which she’d driven to Maine.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she asked sharply as he proceeded to place her luggage in the four-wheel drive parked next to her own car.

‘The studio’s arranged a car for you; it’s at the house. The hire firm are picking this one up.’ He got into his car and glanced pointedly at his watch.

Lindy swallowed this information and climbed up into the passenger seat beside him. After they’d been driving for a few minutes she asked, ‘Is it far?’

‘About twenty minutes.’ He turned off the highway onto a narrow, uneven dirt road. ‘Hope’s found a gem of a place.’

‘She said it’s right by the sea.’ Lindy tried to resurrect the optimism and anticipation she’d initially felt when she’d embarked on this adventure.

‘Owl Cove,’ Sam said.

‘Will she be working late?’

Sam flicked her a sideways glance. ‘There is no shooting today.’

‘But I thought you said…’

‘I said she couldn’t make it. I didn’t say why.’

There was some indefinable note in his voice that bothered Lindy. ‘Well, say why now, or is it some secret?’

‘Not the best kept secret in the world.’

‘Meaning?’ she said, with an edge in her voice reserved for people who bad-mouthed either of her sisters.

‘Forget it,’ Sam advised, shrugging his shoulders.

‘It’s a bit late for that. Has something happened to Hope…?’

Her hands—well kept, rather lovely hands, he noticed—fluttered as the note of anxiety crept into her voice. He noticed the gesture because all her movements up to that point had been very precise and controlled, just like the lady herself.

‘Nothing like that,’ he soothed swiftly. ‘The word is that Lloyd Elliot and Hope are an item.’

Lindy relaxed; so Hope was in love. ‘Well, I know he’s older than her…’ It had been a good ten years since Lloyd Elliot had starred in a film, but as a producer and director with half a dozen box-office hits under his belt his name was still very much public property.

‘And married—very married.’

Lindy went pale. ‘Hope wouldn’t have an affair with a married man.’

‘If you say so.’

‘I do say so!’ she rapped, glaring at his smug profile. ‘My sisters would never get involved with married men.’

‘I almost forgot, Hope did say you’re triplets,’ he said, half to himself. ‘This sort of thing does happen on film sets, you know. On average I’d say we see a divorce and a handful of illicit romances. It’s a very claustrophobic environment and film-set flings are not that unusual. It’s no big deal.

‘Here we are,’ he said soon after, swinging the car into a driveway that led to a white clapper-board, single-storey building surrounded by a deck that had a view of the rocky and secluded bay. The view was only enjoyed by a scattering of homes that lay clustered on the tree-covered slopes.

Any other time Lindy would have been enchanted by the place, but as she clambered from the high vehicle she was trembling with indignation and shock. That he could accuse her sister and then have the absolute gall to make an affair with a married man sound—how had he put it?—‘no big deal’!

His broad back was turned to her as he proceeded to pull her luggage from the back. ‘How dare you tar my sister with the same brush as yourself?’

The low intensity of her tone made Sam spin around. For a moment he was too stunned by the sudden change from calm serenity to ferocious anger to reply. He’d never been a contributor to the theory that cool women had an untapped core of fire, and he’d certainly never felt the urge to prove the case one way or the other.

Still waters looked a lot more interesting than he’d have thought possible. Sam ruthlessly extinguished the spark of interest. He couldn’t afford to explore any possibilities right now, at a time when his energies were totally committed to the task ahead. He didn’t need distractions; this was his first time out wearing the director’s cap and his role was a million miles away from the familiar format the public knew and loved.

He was charged up at the prospect of the months’ work ahead. Besides, this woman hadn’t even tried to hide the fact that she looked on him as a piece of beef cake and nothing else. It was something he was accustomed to, but her attitude really riled him. For some obscure reason he wanted to be around when Rosalind Lacey was forced to accept that he was more than a pretty face.

‘You asked, and I told you how it looks. They’re not being exactly discreet if you must know. If you want to believe your sister is as pure as the driven snow, that’s fine by me. I didn’t set out to bad-mouth either of them, but you’re bound to hear a lot cruder speculation before long,’ Sam warned her. ‘More to the point, so is Lloyd’s wife. You do know he’s married to Dallas?’ he said, with a hint of incredulity that anyone could be ignorant of this fact. The couple had a very well-documented relationship.

‘She’s a singer, isn’t she?’ Her summer-blue eyes had grown stormily grey as she glared angrily at him, and her angular jaw was set at an aggressive angle.

Sam shook his head incredulously. ‘You could say that,’ he agreed mockingly. ‘Dynamite Dallas, they call her, and when she hears of this little escapade I should think she’ll live up to her name.’ It occurred to him that this quiet, subdued creature could give even the tempestuous Dallas a run for her money when she lost her temper.

‘I don’t give a damn what they call her,’ Lindy snapped. ‘But if I hear anyone maligning my sister they’ll have me to answer to.’

Sam let out a soundless whistle as she stalked up to the front door, unwittingly giving him a view of her excellent rear in a close-fitting linen skirt. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he breathed, amused laughter rumbling in his chest as he tucked one case under his arm and followed her.

Inside, the house was much bigger than it had appeared. Pale walls, lots of exposed stone and gleaming wood floors scattered with vibrant rugs all conspired to cool her temper. The trembling that afflicted her limbs had subsided by the time she arrived at the Jacuzzi that was built into a covered deck overlooking a sandy horseshoe sweep and the sea beyond.

‘This is incredible.’

‘It is, isn’t it?’ a soft voice at her elbow agreed.

‘You scared me half to death!’ she accused, spinning around. She was already deeply regretting losing her temper in front of this man. Over the years she’d grown very adept at hiding her innermost feelings. The ability gave her an illusion of security. Suddenly she felt more vulnerable than she had done in years. Even the hateful Simon hadn’t succeeded in making her lose her dignity. ‘I thought you’d gone.’

‘As you see, I haven’t.’ His gaze was fixed on the distant horizon with an odd expression of longing.

‘Don’t let me keep you.’

‘I thought I’d have a shower.’

Lindy blinked. ‘You thought what?’

He stretched lazily, extending his back, making circular motions with his shoulders. The fabric of his shirt pulled taut, making Lindy conscious of the strength in his powerful body.

‘Shower,’ he elucidated helpfully. ‘It’s been a long day.’

‘You can’t…’ She was pretty certain that her sister’s hospitality didn’t extend this far; her own certainly didn’t. As far as Lindy was concerned, the sooner this man left her in peace the better! Her eyes widened as he calmly began unbuttoning his shirt. To her relief—damn it, she was relieved—he stopped halfway.

‘Didn’t Hope mention it? I’m her house guest.’

Lindy froze as, whistling, he casually strolled from the room. It couldn’t be true, she told herself. Share a roof with that wretched man—no way! Her total rejection of the idea left no room for mental negotiation of the situation. Heart pumping out adrenaline, she strode after him and pushed open the door from behind which she could hear sounds of activity.

‘I’m not staying here…’ she began hotly, barging into the room.

‘My bathroom in particular, or this house?’ he enquired with a deadpan expression. He didn’t appear in the least put out that he was standing there clad only in a pair of black boxer shorts. He kicked the trousers that lay at his feet to one side.

Lindy made a last-ditch attempt to recapture some of her legendary cool and failed miserably. She was staring, her eyes travelling upwards from his feet. She knew it, but was helpless to do anything else. He stretched up to switch on the shower and the muscles in his torso rippled.

On screen she’d seen he had a sexy, beautiful body, but the intimacy of a cinema was illusionary. In the flesh, quite literally, the basic earthiness of his appeal made a physical impact. From the spasm in her stomach and her dry, tight throat to the heavy, leaden sensation in her uncooperative limbs, she was transfixed by the spectacle.

‘Have you seen enough, or are you planning on joining me?’ The satiny quality of his deep voice had never been more apparent. ‘You do look as if you could do with cooling down,’ he observed. ‘If we’re going to be sharing a roof perhaps we should get the ground rules sorted out up front. It gives a guy a certain feeling of insecurity when even his bathroom isn’t private. I’ve had to deal with some determined fans in my time, but this is a first!’

It was the taunting quality in his voice that did it, made her react so childishly. The ‘you’re no different from all the others’ tone that made her hackles rise—and the disturbing possibility that there was the merest grain of truth in his words. The sponge was lying on the edge of the washbasin; she picked it up and lobbed it at his smirking face. Her aim was spot on: the saturated missile landed square in his face.

She wasn’t quite sure which one of them was more surprised by her action, but Sam was the first to recover. ‘Maybe this will cool you down.’ He redirected the angle of the shower head towards her and she let out a shriek as the water hit her. Blinded by the water, she closed her eyes and reached out blindly for a towel.

The grunt of pain came after she collided with a solid object. Out of the direct line of fire she wiped her face on the sleeve of her silk blouse. ‘Of all the stupid things,’ she squeaked. ‘Turn that thing off!’

It was at that point she saw the blood, drops of it on the tiled floor. Medically speaking, she knew that a little blood could look like a lot, but from a more personal viewpoint the sight made her stomach lurch. It wasn’t much more comforting when she looked at Sam. He was leaning against the wall, his hand raised to his nose, from which a steady flow of blood was seeping. He looked more bemused than distressed.

‘How…?’

‘You head-butted me,’ he informed her.

‘I didn’t mean…’ she began, her eyes widening in dismay. ‘I couldn’t see what I was doing.’

‘Hope mentioned nothing about homicidal tendencies. I seem to recall ‘‘quiet’’ was mentioned, and ‘‘needs bringing out of herself’’ featured somewhere in there.’

‘I feel guilty enough as it is,’ she said from between clenched teeth.

‘Good,’ he replied, his voice muffled by his hand.

She completed the job he’d begun and got completely drenched as she reached in the shower cubicle and turned off the water. ‘Let me see,’ she said, adopting a professional tone. She’d probably never felt less professional in her entire life, but now wasn’t the moment to ponder that circumstance. ‘I am a doctor.’

‘Trade can’t be so bad you have to go out assaulting innocent bystanders.’

‘You are not innocent,’ she said feelingly. ‘It doesn’t look too bad,’ she observed with some relief. ‘Hold it here, like so.’ She took his thumb and forefinger and demonstrated on her own nose where he should apply the pressure. ‘Not on me,’ she said, frustrated by his flippant attitude. She removed his fingers from her own small straight nose. ‘We could do with some ice and a first-aid kit.’

‘Speak for yourself. I could do with a drink; I’m in shock.’

‘If you were, which you’re not,’ she said, eyeing his healthy colour with a certain degree of resentment, ‘the last thing you’d need would be alcohol.’

‘Hope has a first-aid kit in the kitchen and the refrigerator’s there, too.’

Leaving a trail of wet footprints behind her, Lindy made her way to the galley kitchen which was divided from the living area by a peninsula of fitted cupboards.

‘Top cupboard on the right,’ said Sam, who had followed her.

‘Don’t release the pressure; you’re dripping everywhere,’ she censured.

‘Yes, Doctor,’ he said meekly.

Lindy gave him a sharp look; he was giving the impression of someone who was enjoying himself, which, unless he was seriously abnormal, couldn’t be the case!

She pulled out a stool, slipped off her sodden shoes and, hitching up her pencil skirt, climbed up to reach the cupboard. She turned around and found that Sam was taking full advantage of his clear view of her legs.

‘Disgusting!’ she said, and received an unrepentant grin.

She climbed down again. ‘Sit down; I can’t reach,’ she said brusquely. Sam complied and with gauze she cleaned the blood from his face, trying not to meet his eyes as she did so; it wasn’t easy. The skin didn’t look discoloured and she told him there probably wouldn’t be any bruising.

‘Lloyd will be—hell, can I let go now?’ He’d seen her lips twitch as his sexy drawl was reduced to an adenoidal mumble.

‘I think so,’ she agreed as the flow seemed to have been staunched.

‘As I was saying, Lloyd will be pleased. Me being unable to film could cost the production megabucks.’

‘I didn’t think of that,’ she said guiltily.

‘Before you viciously assaulted me.’

Lindy drew in an indignant breath. ‘You’re right,’ she said, slowly releasing it. ‘You are a good actor. Seriously, it was an accident. What is it now?’ she asked as he closed one eye, opened it and gave a deep sigh.

‘There’s something I think you should know…’

‘Well?’

‘Your shirt’s totally transparent when it’s wet.’

A moment’s blank incomprehension and then horror spread across her face as one glance down confirmed his statement. Why, today of all days, had she not worn a bra?

Solicitously he offered her a tea-towel. ‘This might cover the…er…dilemma.’

Glaring at him, she snatched at the lifeline. ‘You took your time to mention it.’

‘Would you believe I didn’t notice? No, I thought not. It took my mind off the pain.’ He leant his head back against the wall and gave an appreciative sigh. ‘You really have a great body.’

‘How dare…?’

‘Now don’t go all double standards on me, Doctor. You weren’t exactly displaying professional interest in my body back there. Don’t get embarrassed about it— I’m used to being treated like a sex object. Your mouth’s open,’ he observed gently, reaching forward to tilt her jaw upwards. ‘I was only making an honest evaluation. I have to say I thought I was pretty good at summing people up, but I was quite wrong with you. I know this is clichéd, but you really should get mad more often.’

‘Well, really,’ she said weakly. She knew sexual chemistry when she felt it; she’d felt it before with disastrous consequences. That fact alone ought to have made it easy to laugh away his glib nonsense. He was an actor; deceit was second nature to him; she had to get out of this situation—fast!

‘You hide behind that cool, classy exterior, but I don’t believe it any more, so why pretend? I much prefer you uncoordinated and clumsy—more human. You don’t need props.’ His voice was soothingly seductive as he pulled away the towel clutched to her bosom. ‘That’s a start.’ The unconfined sway of her breasts made his breath come faster.

Heat crawled over her skin where his eyes touched—caressed. ‘You should put some ice on your nose,’ she said, desperation creeping into her voice as, simultaneously, paralysis crept into her limbs.

It was a blur to her, but somehow she had straddled his lap, her skirt riding indecently high against her thighs, and her face was being held firmly between his hands. His lips were firm, cool and unalarming. With a small cry her arms went around his neck and she stopped being passive. It was as if he’d tapped into a source she hadn’t known was there—an elemental, fiery core.

It was Sam’s turn to look startled when they broke apart. ‘Wow!’ His flippancy didn’t have the ring of authenticity about it.

‘Lindy, we’re home!’ The lilting sound of her sister’s voice rang out as the kitchen door was flung open.

‘Timing is everything,’ Sam muttered under his breath.

‘I see you’ve met Sam.’ Dry as dust, Hope’s voice cut through the startled silence.

I’ll strangle her, Lindy decided. After I drown myself, she added silently. She glanced resentfully at the floor which still hadn’t opened up and swallowed her.

Hope and the man beside her slowly took in the scene before them and to Lindy it seemed to take them for ever. With each agonising second her feelings of self-disgust grew.

‘Nice afternoon, you two?’ Sam said, his tone betraying no evidence of discomfort.

‘Not as interesting as yours.’ The expression in the older man’s eyes made Lindy cringe inside. Her face froze and her spine straightened to attention. She slid off Sam’s knee, stopping his objection with one cold glance.

‘There was an accident,’ she said. I sound normal, she realised with amazement. ‘Mr Rourke…’

Sam snorted at her formality. ‘Dr Lacey,’ he said sardonically, ‘butted me in the face. Busted my nose.’

The humour faded dramatically from Lloyd’s face. For the first time he seemed to notice the evidence of bloodstains. ‘Hell-fire, Sam, have you any idea how much over budget we could be if you mess up your face?’ he demanded hotly. ‘The insurance premiums we pay because you insist on doing those damned stunts are astronomical as it is.’

Sam shot Lindy an ironic look before he replied. ‘The doctor assures me my beauty is undimmed.’

‘I can see a damned bruise. I swear I can,’ Lloyd insisted. ‘Put some ice on it, Sam,’ he said, reaching into a bowl Lindy had left on the counter.

‘I think I’ll go and freshen up,’ Lindy said.

‘I’ll come with you,’ Hope responded, and Lindy could see the speculation dancing in her sister’s eyes.

‘Don’t push it now,’ Lindy advised quietly as they left the room. To her relief, Hope took the hint. She knew she’d have to face the speculation and questions sooner or later, but right now it was going to be hard enough to justify her brazen behaviour to herself, let alone anyone else!




CHAPTER TWO


LINDY didn’t look up as her sister came in and lay on the patchwork counterpane of her bed. Hope lifted one long, tanned leg, revealed pleasingly in a pair of denim shorts, and examined her painted toenails silently.

‘Good journey?’ she said brightly.

Lindy knew this wasn’t the question she was longing to ask. What she really wanted to know was how her restrained sister had managed to end up on Sam Rourke’s lap in a passionate clinch after an extremely short acquaintance.

‘I’ve no idea how it happened,’ she said abruptly, glaring half-defiantly at Hope in the dressing-table mirror she was facing. She tapped ineffectually at her honey-blonde hair with a silver-backed brush and frowned at her reflection.

‘The journey or…?’ Hope raised her eyebrows dramatically.

‘Or…’ Lindy confirmed quickly, before her sister went into painful detail.

‘Well, if you’re going to go all spontaneous and passionate it might as well be with Sam. He is about as delicious as men get.’ She ran her tongue across her lips as if relishing the thought and swung herself upright, tucking one leg neatly underneath the other in the lotus position.

‘It wasn’t what it looked like. I don’t go for beef cake. People as obviously good-looking as him only exist in soaps—daytime soaps!’

‘Miss hoity-toity!’ Hope taunted. ‘Let your mind wander back a few minutes.’

Lindy covered her face with her hands and groaned. ‘Don’t!’ she pleaded, her bravado disintegrating. She spread her fingers and peeped out at her sister. ‘I can’t believe I…’ She shrugged her shoulders and her hands fell away from her face. ‘You know… It’s awful!’

‘Heavens, I’m supposed to be the tragedy queen of the family,’ said Hope. ‘Don’t tell me he’s got bad breath—I have some semi-lecherous scenes with the man.’

‘I’m surprised you haven’t been practising.’ Lindy bit her lip when, after a startled silence, her sister burst out laughing. ‘I’m glad you find this funny,’ Lindy snapped, spinning around on her stool. The idea of her gorgeous sister sampling the pleasures of Sam’s lips and heaven knew what else made her feel very bad-tempered. ‘Is he still here?’

‘Lloyd’s gone but, if you mean Sam, he’s staying here. I was going to surprise you.’

‘Oh, you did, Hope, you did. I made a total fool of myself.’

‘A few kisses!’ Hope shrugged. ‘It was just a few kisses, wasn’t it? All right, don’t blow a fuse,’ she said hastily. ‘Rigid principles are all well and good, but sometimes the best of us weaken given temptation.’

Lindy put aside her own problems for a moment as she recalled the insinuations Sam had made about Hope and the rather daunting man she had recently, if briefly, met. ‘Are you speaking from personal experience here?’

‘You and Sam did spend some time talking, then, before you ripped off his clothes.’

Lindy firmly put aside the startling image of Sam Rourke’s perfect frame. She wasn’t about to be diverted from her theme. The cautious expression she had seen briefly in her sister’s eyes had been enough to worry her.

‘I can’t think of any reason to undress a man who is capable of doing it for himself.’ She couldn’t let this assumption pass unchallenged.

‘I could enumerate them,’ her sister offered generously.

‘I think Sam didn’t want me to be taken by surprise by the gossip,’ Lindy said swiftly—too swiftly. It was faintly shocking to realise that her own brain was fertile enough to make any lesson from Hope on the subject redundant.

‘Sam’s no gossip,’ Hope acceded. ‘Unfortunately, he’s a minority of one. I’m not having an affair with Lloyd.’

Lindy met her sister’s eyes and gave a sigh of relief. ‘I’m glad; I’d hate for you to be hurt. I know how…’ Her voice thickened.

Hope came over and gave her a quick hug. ‘It was an awfully long time ago,’ she said softly, compassion in her eyes. ‘No matter how it looks, I’m not involved with Lloyd, at least not in that way.’

‘Do you think it’s wise to spend the day with him and fuel people’s speculation?’

Hope got to her feet. ‘People’s nasty minds are not my problem,’ she observed sharply.

Lindy didn’t think this was a very practical position to take, but she didn’t voice her doubts. ‘Perhaps they’ll think you’re having an affair with Sam—he is living here.’

‘He’s only stopping for a couple more days. He has a boat that he usually lives on. It’s down here, but it’s in dry dock having its keel hauled or whatever they do to boats. The hotels are overflowing with our lot and, besides, the poor lamb likes his privacy. Anyway, he’s a much better cook than I am.’

‘That’s no great recommendation,’ Lindy said, recalling some of her sister’s more spectacular culinary exploits. ‘Ducks have been known to sink when fed your soufflé.’

‘I’ll probably marry a chef,’ Hope said thoughtfully. ‘A tall one,’ she added with a chuckle as she ducked her head to avoid a low beam. ‘Do you like the room? Isn’t the place a find?’

‘It’s lovely, Hope. Or am I supposed to call you Lacey here?’

‘Don’t you dare! Is it going to be a problem for you with Sam here?’ she said, her expression growing serious. ‘I could ask him to find somewhere else.’

‘Don’t be silly.’ The last thing she wanted to do was play up the whole trivial incident. He was attractive and he’d kissed her—and she’d kissed him, a pedantic voice annoyingly added. She could share a roof with the man and show him how little she was affected by the experience. ‘It was a momentary aberration, that’s all.’

‘If you say so.’

‘I do,’ Lindy responded firmly, not much caring for the tone of her sister’s voice.



It turned out that Hope hadn’t exaggerated the dratted man’s culinary talents. She and Hope returned from a stroll along the beach later that evening to find the table set and delicious smells emanating from the galley kitchen.

‘That smell’s terrific, you lovely man, you.’ Hope peeled off the jacket she had worn against the evening chill, shook out her golden mane and threw her arms around Sam’s neck. She ritually kissed him on both cheeks and Lindy, watching, couldn’t believe that any man wouldn’t be bowled over by her warmth and vitality. ‘I might just keep you on.’

‘Sorry, honey, but my heart belongs to Jennifer.’

‘What a waste,’ she replied with a grin.

Lindy quietly took her place at the table and hoped her strong desire to ask about the identity of Jennifer was not as easy to detect as she suspected it was. Did Jennifer know he went around kissing perfect strangers?

‘Do you feel better after your rest, Rosalind?’ Sam asked as Hope helped herself to a generous portion of home-made pasta.

‘Much, thank you.’ Like a coward, she’d avoided contact with him earlier in the evening by pleading exhaustion—a cop-out, and he probably knew it. It had worked, though. She could now be perfectly objective about his smouldering sexuality.

She heaved a sigh. Who am I kidding? she thought. Seeing him now made her realise that pretending the incident earlier hadn’t happened just wasn’t feasible. It went against the grain, but she’d have to accept that for some inexplicable reason, and even though he symbolised the things she despised in men—the excessive good looks, the calculating charm—she was attracted to him in a basic sort of way. I’m damned if I’m going to act like some star-struck teenager, she decided, lifting her head and looking him firmly in the eye. Both eyes, actually—deep, mesmerising eyes.

She broke a bread roll and found her hands were trembling. ‘Hope tells me you have a boat.’

‘She’s having her hull shot-blasted, but she’ll be back on the water by the weekend. So you’ll be rid of me. That is what you want, isn’t it?’ The latter was said in a voice meant only for her ears, and Lindy sensed the confusion she was fighting was mirrored in her eyes.

‘You’ll have to get used to eating out, Lindy, or cook,’ Hope said with her mouth full. Her sister did everything with such enthusiasm and lack of inhibition that Lindy suddenly felt stilted and awkward by comparison. She was sure Sam must see the contrast. Why on earth should I care if he does? she wondered, angry at this bizarre preoccupation she had with the man.

‘You’ll have to come for a sail on Jennifer when the schedule permits.’ He caught Lindy’s flicker of comprehension. ‘You thought she was a woman, my Jennifer?’ He filled her glass with wine and leaned back in his chair. The candlelight shadowed the planes and hollows of his aesthetically sculpted face and left his eyes areas of mystery.

‘Named for a woman, it’s almost the same thing,’ she responded, realising how astute he was at interpreting the slightest nuance in body language.

‘Not one of mine. I never bothered changing the name when I got her ten years back. The longest relationship I’ve ever had with a female,’ he acknowledged with a lecherous grin.

Hope gave a laugh, accepting the gauntlet. ‘Hark at the sex symbol of our times,’ she teased. ‘‘‘Not one of mine.’’’

Rather to Lindy’s surprise, Sam seemed to appreciate Hope’s mockery. ‘Keeping the name means I don’t have to worry about changing the paintwork every time I part company with a lady.’

‘This boy isn’t as stupid as he looks,’ Hope said, impressed. ‘I’ll get it,’ she added as the phone shrilled.

‘How’s the nose?’ Lindy asked, quelling the panic that threatened as Hope disappeared.

‘Lloyd thinks it’ll be fine if we stick to my left profile.’

‘Seriously?’ she said, examining his perfect right profile.

‘Candlelight conceals all sorts of nasty things,’ he said, running his palm lightly over the candle in the middle of the table.

‘You shouldn’t play with fire,’ she warned sharply. She wanted to snatch his hand away from the flame, but she knew that touching Sam Rourke wasn’t a good idea. He’d awoken feelings inside her she’d thought had died for ever.

‘Life would be boring.’ His deep tone had never been more honeyed.

Lindy found she couldn’t pull her eyes away from his deceptively sleepy gaze. Heavy, sexy eyelids drooped over the steady glitter of his azure stare.

‘I like boring,’ she said firmly. Boring, safe and familiar—and Sam was none of those things.

‘Shame.’

‘I’ll have to love you and leave you.’

Lindy tore her stare from Sam to look with incomprehension at her sister, who had entered the room carrying an overnight bag over her shoulder. ‘Leave…where?’

‘I’ll explain later. Sam will show you where to go tomorrow.’

‘You’re not coming back tonight?’ I must have misunderstood, she thought in bewilderment.

‘Can’t stop, I’m in a hurry.’ Hope avoided her sister’s eyes.

Lindy sat in shock, listening a few moments later to the sound of a car engine being started. The sound disappeared and she expelled the breath she’d been holding.

‘This is bizarre,’ she said, half to herself. It was so unlike Hope to do something so inconsiderate. Leave her alone with— Her heart gave a triple beat as she shrank from this new situation. Slowly she turned to look at Sam.

‘I’ve been here the best part of a week and Hope’s only spent two nights at home.’ He gave the information slowly, his eyes gauging her reaction.

‘Meaning?’ Lindy said, with a dangerous inflection in her voice.

‘She’s your sister.’

‘She’s not having an affair.’ She was stubbornly defiant and confident that, whatever her sister was up to, it wasn’t that.

‘You asked her?’

‘I did.’

‘Fair enough, but I have to say she seems to be doing her best to disprove that statement.’

‘Hope wouldn’t run just because some man picks up the phone. That would be pathetic,’ she observed with distaste. ‘There has to be some other explanation,’ she reasoned.

‘That could be love,’ Sam suggested lightly. ‘Wouldn’t you do the same for the man you loved?’

‘In a pig’s eye!’

‘I believe you,’ he said thoughtfully, examining her flushed cheeks and indignant expression. ‘I take it you did a lot of running for someone unworthy of the exercise?’

‘When I was young and extremely foolish,’ she admitted stiffly. Inwardly, she was appalled that this man could see so much behind her unguarded words. What was she doing being unguarded? Hadn’t her defences been built to survive any assault? ‘I’d bore you with the salacious details but I’ve forgotten them.’

‘I doubt that— Don’t,’ he said, catching her wrist as she pushed back her chair to get up.

Lindy looked at the brown hand covering her narrow wrist and his fingers slowly unfurled. She could still feel the impression of his hand, like a brand on her skin. Shakily, her anger suddenly dispersing like hot air from a pricked balloon, she sat down.

‘I know my sister.’ Her eyes met his surprisingly compassionate ones.

‘There’s no point us arguing about it, is there?’ he said persuasively. ‘I like Hope, I like Lloyd. I’ve no axe to grind. Just remember family loyalties can take a back seat when passion gets involved.’

The warning was well meant, she could see that. She thought of Anna, married now to Adam, and knew he was right. Priorities did change. A year ago she would have told Anna about her problems at work, but now she hadn’t. ‘I wouldn’t like to see Hope get hurt.’

‘She’s a big girl and well able to take care of herself. All you can do is be there if she falls flat on her face.’

‘You could be right,’ she mused with a sigh.

‘Nine times out of ten.’

‘Don’t you take anything seriously?’ Part of her wanted to respond to the beguiling smile in his eyes. This weakness made her angry.

‘I think that’s a virtue,’ he declared. ‘You think it’s a fault,’ he added sadly. ‘Actually, I take my work seriously, although I try hard not to let it take over my life. That’s why you can relax about me…us. I’ve worked hard to get myself prepared for this role. I can’t even blame the director if I blow it—as he’s me! A bit like a fighter before a big fight, I’m saving myself.’

She could see the glimmer of sincerity behind his laid-back humour. This opportunity was obviously as important to him as Hope’s was to her.

‘You really are an egomaniac.’ He must consider me a total pushover—with good cause, she thought grimly.

‘Turn off the act, Rosalind. I think I’ll call you Rosalind—it’s a lovely name and it suits you.’

‘You’re the actor.’

‘I recognise talent when I see it, Rosalind. You’re so damned good, I believed in the cool, emotionless, tepid image that you’ve got off pat. You blew it pretty thoroughly, though. But don’t panic, I won’t tell the world that you’re passionate and—’

‘Sheer male fantasy!’ she interrupted, her voice a high-pitched squeak rather than the sneer it was meant to be.

‘Don’t remind me of fantasies, Rosalind, or I might just let you distract me, despite my schedule.’

‘Where in the schedule does sex come?’ she asked, irrationally piqued that he could apparently cope a lot better than she could with the spectre of lust. ‘Between therapy and your personal trainer?’

‘I find talking to friends just as effective and much cheaper than a therapist, and I know my body better than a stranger—we’ve been together thirty-one years. Success hasn’t meant I have to conform to a set standard of behaviour for Hollywood actors. It’s meant I have the freedom to do things my way.’

‘Then why, Mr Golden Box Office, have you got your knickers in a twist over this film? Or do you always take a vow of celibacy when you’re working?’

‘Firstly, I didn’t mean to imply I’d taken a vow of celibacy. I think a relationship with you might prove pretty distracting. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’d assumed you didn’t go in for one-night stands, or even steamy weekends?’ One dark brow quirked upwards towards his hairline and she flushed rosily.

‘I don’t!’

‘Neither, despite what you might read in the more lurid periodicals, do I. Although for you I might have been willing to compromise.

‘This film matters to me, Rosalind,’ he said more earnestly. ‘I’m typecast. I’m not griping about that; the business has been good to me. But I want a broader canvas. I’d every intention of financing this myself until Lloyd stepped in. He’s willing to take a risk on me—and it is a risk; make no mistake about that. As far as Joe Public’s concerned, I’m Sam Rourke playing Sam Rourke and everyone loves me. If I play not just a very unlovable character but one without a single redeeming feature, there’s a strong possibility they might not like it, even if I don’t fall flat on my face. When you’re at the top people are always waiting for you to fall. I’ve no intention of doing that.’

‘I can understand ambition and dedication,’ she said faintly. His open way of speaking was pretty shattering. Of course, this painful honesty could be part of a more devious ploy, but she didn’t think so.

He nodded. ‘This is the right time.’ Whatever doubts or fears he might have, he sounded superbly confident that he was up to the challenge. ‘But not for us…’

‘I wish you wouldn’t say things like that,’ she pleaded. The idea that Sam Rourke found her attractive was too much to cope with.

‘I think anything between us would be complicated, fraught with big emotional drama and angst.’

She had the best skin he’d ever seen, creamy pale with a sort of translucent quality, and eyes that could be stormily passionate one moment and cool and serene the next.

Sam’s observation had the effect of robbing Lindy momentarily of breath. ‘How fortunate you’ve decided to save us both from all that. I mean, I would naturally have been too weak to resist your fatal charm.’ He was the oddest mixture of self-deprecation and confidence she’d ever come across.

‘Ego the size of the prairie, that’s me,’ he agreed with a grin. ‘It must have been something pretty heavy to make a serious-minded lady like yourself step off the promotion treadmill,’ he said curiously. The action didn’t seem in keeping with the woman he’d met.

The sly turn of subject had her reeling off balance. ‘It’s only temporary. My boss made it clear that if I wasn’t prepared to sleep with him I could forget about extending my contract… I don’t know why I told you that,’ she said, expressing her amazement out loud. ‘I’ve only told Hope about the sordid details. I didn’t even tell Anna.’

‘Your other sister? Why not?’ He hadn’t visibly reacted to her admission at all and she felt extremely embarrassed about voicing it.

‘She’s married now, to Adam, who used to be my boss. If she’d told Adam he’d have been as mad as hell, and most likely he’d have done something about it.’ She gave a frown of irritation as Sam’s somewhat grim expression showed approval. ‘It was my problem and I didn’t want to be bailed out.’ She gave a dry laugh. ‘I could have asked Anna not to tell Adam, but no matter what she decides to keep secret from him the second he walks into a room she blurts everything out. It’s a sort of Pavlovian response.’ Lindy gave a smile of rueful affection.

‘Anna wouldn’t have approved of me resigning any more than Hope did. She’d have made an official complaint, no matter what the consequences to herself. As for Hope—’ she gave a small wry laugh ‘—she’d have delivered one of her famous left hooks. Me, what do I do? I run away, that’s what I do.’ She felt a surge of self-disgust.

Lindy raised her paper napkin to her face to blot the rush of weak tears that suddenly spilled down her cheeks. ‘God, I’m so pathetic!’ she wailed. With a fierce sniff and a gulp she stemmed the flow before it became an avalanche. ‘Don’t say anything sympathetic!’ she ordered gruffly. ‘Or I’ll start all over again.’ She hardly dared look at him to see what he made of her gratuitous confession. She certainly didn’t want him to think that she was angling for sympathy.

‘I wasn’t going to.’

‘You weren’t?’ Indignation shone through the tears in her eyes and she rubbed her nose furiously with bits of a tissue she’d shredded. It fell like confetti onto the table.

‘Wouldn’t that be pointless? You’d reject any advice or sympathy I gave you out of hand. You’re not even prepared to admit you’re emotionally vulnerable, so you can’t accept sympathy. You run away from situations that are out of your control, but then I’m sure you’re aware of that.’

‘What would you know?’ she snarled.

‘A mere man,’ he murmured, with a maliciously innocent smile. ‘The enemy? I’d say your self-esteem, or rather lack of it, is the enemy here.’

‘I suppose you’d think I was healthier if I had a love affair with myself, like you!’

‘I’m aware of my faults, but I don’t crucify myself over them. Be a little gentler with yourself, Rosalind.’

‘I thought you weren’t going to offer me any advice.’

‘And here I was thinking I was being subtle.’ He gave a sigh. ‘You’re too sharp for me, Rosalind.’

‘Will you stop calling me that?’ she said from between gritted teeth.

‘No,’ he replied, with a sunny good humour which she found quite impossible to combat or dent. ‘We might have decided to put lust off the agenda,’ he said with another sigh, ‘but I’m damned if I’m going to shorten such a lovely name.’

‘We?’ she said witheringly. ‘We! I seem to recall that being a unilateral decision.’ She went bright pink under the gleam kindled in the depths of his eyes. ‘Not that I have any problem with that,’ she added hastily. ‘But you were debating a purely fictitious scenario.’

‘Don’t underestimate how frustrating I’m finding this situation, Rosalind,’ Sam warned. ‘Or I might be tempted to make you eat those words.’

‘Oh, pooh! What role did you take that line from?’ she asked contemptuously. Let him shove that in his brash, egotistical pipe and choke on it!

‘You little…’ The handsome, smiling face dropped its guard for a moment, revealing an inner strength of feeling—of passionate intensity—that took her breath away. He turned in his seat at the head of the table until their knees clashed. Smoothing his thumbs along the curve of her angular jawbone, he took her face in his hands.

‘I don’t need cue-cards to cope with real life,’ he grated, looking not at all like the easygoing, humorous man he’d been moments before. ‘Are you afraid of me, Rosalind?’ His smile left his eyes cold and she shivered.

‘No,’ she breathed defiantly.

‘Maybe I’ve been lulling you into a false sense of security before I move in for the kill?’ His eyes were hypnotic and his sonorous tone intimidating.

She shook her head, the movement restricted by the grip of his long fingers.

‘Let’s hope I scare the cinema audiences more than I do you,’ he said, releasing her abruptly. A mocking smile spread over his face as he took in her expression of shock.

‘You…you were trying to…’ She wanted to take a swing at him and wipe away that smug, supercilious smirk. He’d been trying to scare her and he’d actually slipped into character. Of all the shallow, superficial monsters, he had to take the cake!

‘It was all wasted on you. You were totally unimpressed by my psychopathic aura of sinister threat, weren’t you?’

‘I was scared to death, you calculating beast, and you know it!’ she responded furiously. It was the fact that she hadn’t just been scared by his transformation, she’d been fascinated by it that worried her most.

‘Calculating?’ he said with an odd, strained expression. ‘I was just using what comes naturally to get me—us—out of a potentially explosive situation. I found myself with your face here.’ He carefully repositioned his fingers around her jaw, identifying the exact position from memory. ‘I knew exactly what I was going to do next, and at the last second I stopped myself by going into a diversionary routine. It’s amazing how women go for those mean, moody types who use them,’ he observed with a sour smile.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she asked warily.

‘I could see it in your face,’ he replied. ‘You were totally enthralled by Jack.’

‘Jack?’

‘Your friendly neighbourhood psychopath, Jack Callender, the character I’m playing.’

The name clicked with Lindy as she recalled the plot of one of her favourite thrillers. When Hope had told her she was starring in the film version of The Legacy, Lindy had originally assumed that Sam Rourke would be playing the nice hero, the only one capable of seeing that Dr Jack Callender was a nasty piece of work who killed off folk who got in the way of his plans.

Hope was playing the part of Jack Callender’s long-lost stepsister, who appeared to claim her share of their mother’s estate. After her private preview Lindy could more readily accept Sam’s casting against type.

If Sam could re-create the claustrophobic atmosphere of menace the author had created in the book, they’d be onto a winner. Having spent nearly three hundred pages praying for the heroine to escape from his homicidal clutches, Lindy, like all other readers, had been stunned when the heroine had turned out not to be the innocent victim, but a fake who wasn’t squeamish when it came to murder. The twist in the tale had been cunningly clever. It was certainly a meaty role for Hope.

‘If you’re implying I’m some sort of masochist who’s attracted by manipulative brutes, you couldn’t be more wrong,’ Lindy protested hotly.

‘Not consciously,’ he conceded, stroking a thumb down her cheek. ‘But women have this thing about danger.’

‘I think it’s you who has the problem,’ she returned tartly. ‘At least I don’t go around pretending to be someone I’m not.’

‘I have no personality crisis, Rosalind, but I think there’s a little bit of Jack’s dark side in us all,’ Sam said slowly. ‘I think you were a lot safer with him than me right now.’

‘Why?’ She hardly recognised her own voice. The expression on his face, a raw frustration, filled her with more fascination than his earlier performance had. Yet there was danger here too—danger in asking the question, danger in prolonging this situation. ‘What were you going to do that was so bad? Or don’t you have a personality of your own?’

He sucked in his breath and his chest rose. ‘You want to know what I was going to do?’ One hand slid to her shoulderblade and the other moved to the back of her head. ‘This.’

Whatever devil had possessed her to push him to this point she couldn’t imagine. She hadn’t known such a creature dwelt within her, but then she hadn’t known a kiss like this existed either. It set out to dominate and subdue and it did both, but more—much more.

There was no preliminary, just fierce, hard possession. His tongue sank into the warm, moist recess of her mouth hungrily. The whimper in her throat, the fine tremor that rippled through his powerful body were all elements of the total mind-numbing confusion.

‘Satisfied?’ he grated, his hand automatically going to loosen a non-existent tie at his throat. Discovering the open neck of his shirt, he scowled and muttered under his breath. He was genuinely shocked at his brief loss of control, and alarmed that this woman whom he scarcely knew had been the catalyst.

‘I asked for that,’ she said in a stunned voice.

‘Not a very politically correct statement, but you’ll get no arguments from me on that score,’ he said in a tone that showed clearly that the brief embrace, if such a wild, elemental thing could be so classified, had not improved his humour.

Like molten lava solidifying, her body was regaining its normal control. Her skin was tacky with sweat from the enormous burst of temperature, but her face had gone deathly pale.

‘Dear God,’ he said, looking at her stricken face. ‘That was unforgivable.’ He raked his fingers through his thatch of thick, jet-dark hair and looked abstracted.

‘It was only a kiss,’ she said absently.

He touched the corner of her mouth where the delicate membrane had broken and a faint smear of blood tinged her pale lips.

‘You chose the wrong time to start playing with fire,’ he said gently. ‘Go away, Rosalind, before I try to kiss you better.’

The ambiguity of her response shone briefly in her eyes, before she did exactly what he suggested and fled to her room.




CHAPTER THREE


LINDY stared at the sheaf of papers Sam pushed into her hands.

‘This is nonsense,’ she said slowly as she deciphered the printed gobbledygook. At first glance the characters’ names were the only things that made any sense to her.

‘So is medical jargon to me and the scriptwriter. Fill in the blanks with authentic terminology and Ned will make any adjustments. Is there something you don’t understand?’

Lindy compressed her lips and bit back a vitriolic retort. He had said she’d be working hard for her money, and he wasn’t wrong! She was used to unsociable hours, but she hadn’t expected to see the sun rise over the ocean on her way to work this morning.

A peremptory banging on her bedroom door had woken her at an ungodly hour. Sam had proceeded to inform her through an inch of wood that she had half an hour before he was off. This was the reason why she didn’t have a scrap of make-up on and her hair, which needed shampooing, was scraped back in a ponytail. She felt cross, tired, nervous and very ill-used. Where were sisters when you needed them? she wondered.

Sam Rourke was the most inconsiderate man she’d ever come across. To add insult to injury, he had scarcely appeared to notice her on the journey to the Gothic-looking mansion at which, it transpired, they were filming. A lot had been going on behind those spectacular eyes, but none of it involved her! That suited her just fine, she told herself. She had watched as Sam’s presence on the set had a similar effect to a bracing wind, and those who, like herself, felt sluggish were soon infected by the man’s vitality and enthusiasm.

‘Fine,’ he said, taking her silence as acquiescence. ‘I’ll look it over later.’ Lindy watched him stride away with a purposeful air and wished she knew what she was doing.

‘You look lost.’

Lindy turned to the owner of the sympathetic voice. ‘I’m moving in that direction,’ she admitted.

‘I’m Ned Stewart, the writer.’

Lindy smiled. He was being modest adding his job description. Like millions of others she was a fan of N.A. Stewart’s best-selling psychological thrillers. This was the first time that anyone had attempted to transfer his work to the big screen and Lindy, who had loved the book, would have hoped that the production would do it justice even if she hadn’t had a personal interest in the enterprise.

‘Lindy Lacey,’ she said, smiling warmly. With brown eyes, brown hair and a slow smile, he didn’t look like someone who could produce such dark menace on the printed page; he looked much too wholesome.

‘You shouldn’t worry about admitting you need help from Sam, Lindy Lacey. He’s very good at making tough concepts simple, and he’s no tyrant.’ He gave her a shrewd grin. ‘You’re a latecomer; it’s bound to take you a while to settle in. I’ve outlined the scene and what’s happening, who’s talking and for approximately how long. You just need to substitute suitable medical lingo. If you need a hand, just yell.’

Lindy didn’t yell. Several hours later she was curled up in a corner of Hope’s trailer, eating a plate of food and feeling cautiously pleased with the results of her efforts, when her sister came in. She didn’t notice Lindy at first. She sat down in front of the mirror and closed her eyes.

‘You look exhausted,’ Lindy said.

Hope started. ‘You’ve finally perfected the art of invisibility, I see.’ Her smile flashed out and the lines of strain around her eyes vanished.

‘Perhaps you should have earlier nights.’

‘There’s no need for painful subtlety, Lindy,’ Hope said wearily. ‘I’m not about to do anything to jeopardise this movie,’ she added firmly. ‘I want to be taken seriously as an actress, not someone who got the job because of her famous face and long legs. I’m on time and I don’t do tantrums.’

‘How did you get the job?’

‘You mean did I sleep with the producer? Or would it bother you more if it was the director?’

Anger flashed in her sister’s eyes, but Lindy didn’t back down; she stared calmly back. Something was clearly bothering Hope, who normally had a sunny disposition.

‘I meant, how did you get the job?’

‘If you must know, I did a test for a part in Shadow of Her Smile,’ Hope said more coolly, referring to the previous year’s summer box-office hit which Lloyd Elliot had produced and directed. ‘I didn’t get it, but Lloyd remembered me, and when he got involved in the project with Sam he mentioned my name. I did a test that blew Sam’s mind,’ she said with engaging frankness. ‘Before you say it, yes, I am grateful to Lloyd but not that grateful.’

‘Something’s going on.’

‘Just forget it, Lindy, forget it,’ Hope pleaded wearily.

Lindy sighed. What choice did she have? she thought, giving a philosophical shrug. ‘Is the food always this good?’ She pushed aside the empty plate before she got to her feet. The catering trailer appeared to produce vast quantities of food all day. ‘I’ll be the size of a house if I go on like this.’





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