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Even his voice distracted her from what Mark was saying, her ears suddenly super-sensitive to the deep timbre of it as he made comments to Peter, comments that told her he was enjoying the show.
And why not?
No other city in the world had a more fabulous setting for such a night as this and the Sea Lion gave them a dress-circle view of everything. She was probably the only spectator wishing for the end of the fireworks. Only then would her brother lead Damien Wynter away and she’d be rid of this horribly acute awareness of him.
A crescendo of rockets built up to the fifteen-minute finale. A golden rain fell from the bridge and just below the centre of the arch, a huge red heart appeared, pulsing with graduations of light.
“The heart of Sydney,” she murmured appreciatively.
“The heart of love,” Mark breathed into her ear.
Which should have made her own heart beat with happiness, but her mind was too busy being sceptical about how much heart Damien Wynter had. No doubt he gave a sizeable slice of his wealth to charities, as a tax deduction, which didn’t actually mean caring. Did he care about anything beyond staking out his territory and increasing it at every opportunity—all he could get?
“That’s it for now,” Peter told him. “There’ll be a bigger show at midnight.”
“Hard to top that,” Damien commented. “Leaving the heart glowing is a nice touch.”
“Yes, it really stands out in the darkness,” Peter replied.
“A reminder to give,” Charlotte couldn’t resist tossing at them.
A mistake.
Damien Wynter’s dark eyes instantly locked onto hers, glittering with speculative interest. He smiled, slowly and sensually, his teeth so white, the old saying, all the better to bite you with, slid straight into Charlotte’s mind.
“Instead of to get?” he asked, provocatively raising her issue with him.
She tried to shrug it off, inwardly cursing herself for opening another conversation with him. “The two should go hand in hand, don’t you think?” she answered blandly.
“Yes, I do.” The quick agreement was instantly followed by a challenge. “Does that surprise you, Charlotte?”
Peter saved her from answering, chiming in with, “Damien gives an enormous amount to self-help development programs for Africa.”
It surprised her enough to ask, “Why Africa?”
“Have you been there?” Damien queried.
“No. I’ve always thought of Africa as a scary, violent place, best avoided.”
“Then let me take you. You’d be safe under my protection and you could see for yourself how I do my giving.”
A part of her actually wanted to. Dangerous curiosity, she told herself, and retreated to safe ground. “Thank you for the invitation but Mark and I are getting married in a couple of weeks…”
“And I understand you’re busy right now, but when it’s convenient…” He smiled at Mark. “Would touring Africa as my guest appeal?”
“Absolutely,” Mark rushed in, without discussing the choice with her.
They didn’t know the man. Why would Mark want to be his guest on a tour through Africa? It wasn’t on. Not with Damien Wynter. It felt wrong. Apart from anything else, no way could she feel comfortable in his company.
“You’d better take Damien down to the saloon if you’re playing poker with Dad, Peter,” she reminded her brother, wanting this encounter ended.
“Are you playing, Mark?” Damien asked, apparently happy to have her fiancé included in the poker party.
Charlotte resented the gambit to separate them as though she didn’t count. Mark wouldn’t desert her for some all male fun. Certainly not on the first New Year’s Eve they were spending together.
“Not my game, I’m afraid,” he said, which wasn’t as positive about remaining with her as she would have liked. In fact, Mark had sounded downright rueful over missing out.
Damien’s compelling dark eyes targeted her again. “What about you, Charlotte?”
The impertinence of the question left her momentarily speechless. As if she would when Mark couldn’t!
Peter laughed, clapping his friend on the back. “Believe me, Damien, you don’t want to play with Charlotte.”
“Oh? Why not?”
“Because she’ll take you. My sister is a killer player.”
His mouth formed a very sexy moue. His eyes, which hadn’t left hers for a second, simmered a sexy challenge. “I think I’d like the experience of being taken by your sister, Peter.”
Charlotte burned.
Damien Wynter wasn’t talking poker. He’d looked her over, decided he found her desirable, liked the spice that she was engaged to another man and supposedly unattainable, and was now laying out his line, dangling the bait of beating him at a game based on taking chances.
The outrageous arrogance of the man was insufferable. Her mind sizzled with ways to puncture his ego. Before she could come up with the perfect putdown, Mark intervened.
“You know, I’d like to watch that,” he said musingly. “Are spectators allowed at this game?”
Annoyance sharpened her tongue. “Mark, I don’t want to play. I want to be with you.”
“Mark can come and watch, Charlotte,” Peter put in, suddenly eager to oblige his friend’s whim. “He can sit right at your shoulder.”
“That’s not the same,” she shot at her brother.
“Truly, I would enjoy it, darling,” Mark pushed, smiling persuasively as he added, “It’s a part of your life that’s still a mystery to me. I’d like the chance to watch and understand what you were talking about…the percentages.”
“I thought we were going to dance,” she protested, hating his unwitting collusion with a man who would take her if the opportunity presented itself.
“We can dance any night,” he soothed.
“Course you can,” Peter said dismissively. “Come on, Charlotte. You know you love to play. It’s in your blood.”
The sense of being railroaded increased the angry tension Damien Wynter had evoked, and Peter sounded so like their father with his blood comment, she almost stamped her foot in exasperation. “It’s just a game, Peter. I can choose to play or not. I don’t need it in my life!”
“Sorry, darling,” Mark back-pedalled in concern. “Of course, it’s your choice.”
“But it would please all of us if you played,” Damien slid in silkily.
Painting her as a selfish spoilt brat if she refused.
Charlotte grimly took stock. Mark could watch a poker match on television if he was so keen to understand percentages. That seemed like a very specious argument to her. More likely, the drawcard for him was being with Peter and Damien Wynter—part of the privileged circle at her father’s poker game.
A nasty suspicion crawled around her mind. Was Mark using her as a stepping stone to where he wanted to be?
She didn’t want to think that. She didn’t want to but…why leap at the chance of being Damien’s guest in Africa?
Damn Damien Wynter! He’d already spoilt her night with Mark.
“All right! I’m in!” she decided, a reckless streak of belligerence prompting her to take on a straight out fight with the man who had stirred so much unwelcome turmoil inside her.
“Splendid!” Damien approved, grinning like a wolf seeing the jugular of his victim bared.
If luck is with me, it’s your blood that will be spilled, Charlotte thought viciously, turning a smile to Mark. “Let me know when you find it boring and I’ll surrender my chips,” she said, deliberately making it known she was indulging her fiancé, no one else.
Mark touched her cheek in a gentle salute of admiration, his eyes beaming warm pleasure at her. “My brave girl,” he murmured. “I suspect you’ll be swimming amongst sharks at this poker table but I’ll rescue you whenever you say the word.”
The tightness in Charlotte’s chest eased a little. Mark did love her. It was stupid to get worked up over a few little things that could be put down to natural curiosity. Damien Wynter somehow emanated a magnetism that was skewing her thoughts.
As she turned to her brother and said, “Lead on, Peter. We’ll follow you down to the saloon,” she caught Damien staring at Mark as though measuring him for deep, dark annihilation.
So much for wanting him as his guest in Africa! He’d probably feed Mark to the lions so he could have her to himself! That was what he was angling for. Was his pride wounded because she hadn’t instantly been smitten by him, worshipping at his feet for who and what he was, not to mention how much he was worth? Men like him always thought they could get any woman.
Not this one, she silently vowed, aiming the message straight at his back as Peter steered him away from the railing, heading for the lower saloon. Moreover, she wouldn’t engage in any contest with him at the poker table. He’d like nothing better than for her to take him on.
Thwarting him should be the plan, not trying to beat him. If he was betting on his cards, she’d withdraw from betting on her own, regardless of how promising they were. No blood spilled…no grounds for any future comeback.
Satisfied that she had worked out a sensible course—one that Damien Wynter wouldn’t like one bit—Charlotte felt calmer and considerably more confident of handling the situation without any heartburn.
Music started in the upper saloon just as they reached the top of the stairs. The DJ had put on a great upbeat track to get the guests into a dancing mood. Charlotte smiled ironically to herself as she recognised Nancy Sinatra’s voice belting out “I’ll Be Your Good-Time Girl”.
She might have lived up to that for Mark tonight, if he’d wanted to dance instead of watching a poker game.
But she was never going to live that role for Damien Wynter!
CHAPTER FOUR
DAMIEN had lost all trace of the jetlag he’d been suffering earlier. His whole body was buzzing with exhilaration. Pitting himself against someone else always gave him an adrenaline rush. That it was a woman this time made it more exciting, especially a woman as hard to get as Charlotte Ramsey.
Peter gave him an arch look as they descended the stairs together, asking in a low voice, “Do I detect a very determined personal interest in my sister?”
“Would you have a problem with my pursuing it?”
Brothers could be sticky about their younger sisters. Damien didn’t want to mess with the Ramsey family in any negative way. Peter was a good friend to have, both personally and professionally, and his father would make a very bad enemy. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to exercise any caution where getting Charlotte for himself was concerned.
A carefree grin answered him. “Won’t affect me in any way whatsoever. But be warned, my friend. Charlotte is one hell of a fighter.”
Damien grinned back. “That fires me up to win, Peter.”
“If you’re intent on winning, take nothing for granted,” came the swift advice. “I helped get her to the poker game for you but don’t think for a minute she’ll be easy pickings. She’d stand up to Dad any day of the week. Very strong-willed, my sister.”
Definitely no pushover. That was already evident to him. Which meant Mark Freedman must have worked hard at discovering the cracks in her armour, sliding through them to reach her heart and turn it his way. No doubt the prize was worth some intense work to a man who was greedy for the good life, and the pay-off wedding was only two weeks away.
“She shouldn’t be with Freedman,” Damien muttered.
“Not my cup of tea, either,” Peter ruefully agreed. “But he sweetens her life, Damien. And you’re not sugar.”
No, he wasn’t. And he wasn’t about to sugar-coat anything, either. There was no time for that. He had to act fast, change the parameters of Charlotte’s thinking, strike at the heart, not seduce his way in. Sweetness could cloy after a while and his instincts were telling him that tart was more to her natural taste.
“I’m banking on pepper and salt,” he said purposefully.
Peter chuckled. “Well, I’m a meat man, myself. Can’t do without pepper and salt. And come to think of it, Charlotte never was a sweet young thing, not even when she was sixteen.”
“How old is she now, Peter?”
“Thirty.” The twinkling blue eyes sobered as he went on in a more serious vein. “Two years younger than me and wanting to start a family of her own. I doubt she’ll swap a marriage she’s set on for a fling with you.”
“That marriage could turn sour very quickly once Freedman shows his true colours. He’s already slipped up twice tonight. Better she doesn’t enter into it, Peter.”
“I’m right with you on that, but…” He shrugged. “Not even Dad could talk her out of it.”
“She has to want out.”
“If you can make her want out, I’ll take my hat off to you, my friend.”
They reached the lower deck and Peter ushered him towards the saloon. Damien was glad they were in agreement over Charlotte’s future with Mark Freedman. Having children with the wrong man was a disaster, in his opinion, as was having children with the wrong woman. His instincts were telling him Charlotte Ramsey could be the right one for him. She wanted to start a family…no problem with that issue.
Marriage had not been on his immediate agenda. It was not something he could program since it depended on meeting a woman he wanted to marry. He was thirty-four years old and so far that feeling had been elusive. The relationships he had entered into had never lasted long, passion burning out when incompatibility made time together more irritating than exciting. He needed someone who could relate to his life…live it with him.
He was not about to turn aside from the possibility that Charlotte Ramsey was the one.
The poker saloon was all set ready for the game to begin; eight chairs spaced out around the large oval table, a spare place for the professional dealer to control the cards, betting chips distributed, her father’s special guests milling around, finishing off finger food and drinks before play started, though there were side tables placed behind the chairs to hold refreshments within easy reach.
As Charlotte entered with Mark, she saw Peter having a word with her father, whose sharp gaze instantly zeroed in on her. She was the only woman in the room and could very well be an unwelcome addition to the poker party. Damien Wynter could not tell her father to let her stay. No one told Lloyd Ramsey what to do. Nevertheless, having come, Charlotte didn’t want to be asked to leave. That would be slighting Mark.
Her arm tightened around Mark’s as her father cocked his head in consideration, listening to Peter who was undoubtedly explaining the situation he and his friend had engineered. Her nervous tension kicked into anger as she saw her father’s mouth twitch in amusement. This challenge by Damien Wynter was no joke. She wanted done with it as soon as possible. She kept her gaze trained on her father and brother, refusing to give the man from London the satisfaction of a glance his way.
“Charlotte, what an unexpected pleasure!” her father rolled out in welcome, his wide mouth breaking into the smile that invariably reminded people of a shark. The top of his head had gone bald some years ago and his high broad forehead, large nose and big white teeth, on top of his formidable physique, contributed to the impression of a fearsome predator. He turned to his aide-de-camp. “Two more chairs at the table.”
“I won’t be playing, sir,” Mark quickly put in.
The deferential “sir” grated on Charlotte. She didn’t want her husband-to-be kowtowing to her father, particularly not tonight in front of Damien Wynter.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to watch Charlotte play,” Mark went on, his ingratiating tone annoying her further. It did sound like sucking up.
“Fine!” her father approved, flashing his shark smile. “Though you might get an unwelcome insight into the woman you’re marrying.”
He was putting in the bite, not snubbing Mark but virtually accusing him of having a superficial view of his fiancée. Which wasn’t true. She was not just a lump of money to Mark. Though it did seem he was attracted to the life-style perks that marriage to her could bring.
“Oh, I think I know her fairly well,” he said with a warm assurance that should have removed her irritation. Except he didn’t know what was going on inside her right now—the absolutely perverse resentment that he wasn’t more like Damien Wynter, just taking everything in his stride as though it was his right to be wherever he wanted and have whatever he wanted.
