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The information his security men had dug up would make Miss Butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-luscious-mouth feel very, very uncomfortable.
And he’d have no hesitation at all in using it.
Tiny hairs on the back of Sable’s neck lifted in a primitive reaction to danger. Her hand tightened around the dove-grey bag and her stomach contracted in a fight-or-flee response that startled her. For a moment her smile faltered before she forced herself to breathe slowly and the world righted itself again.
Until she met an icy scrutiny across the crowd that sent her pulse shooting into warp speed. Kain Gerard—Brent’s cousin. And he knew who she was. A chilly emptiness expanded beneath her ribs.
Applause from the crowd startled her until she realised that the next contestant had stepped up onto the dais. Relieved, she joined the polite clapping.
But that level, intimidating gaze remained fixed on her. Her breath locked in her throat. Embarrassed at being singled out by Kain Gerard, she angled her chin upwards in automatic defiance. Brent’s cousin could project silent intimidation until the sun went down, but she wouldn’t allow him to frighten her.
But that cold gaze made her so uneasy she had to fight a growing tension until the last contestant came onto the stage, a lovely nineteen-year-old blonde who was bound to win the contest with her bright, summery, carefree look.
Sure enough she did, accepting her prize with a bubbly delight that reinforced the carnival atmosphere.
‘Well, we gave it our best,’ the elderly woman who’d designed Sable’s costume told her when the crowd had filtered away to get good places for the last race, the big one of the day.
Sable smiled down at her. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t do your dress justice.’
‘My dear, you wore it superbly. Here they want young and innocent and fresh, a salute to summer. You are sophisticated and stylish and a little bit mysterious—the sort of woman I’m designing for. I didn’t expect to win, but even reaching the finals will be very good publicity for me.’
She turned her head as someone came up behind Sable. ‘Hello, Kain,’ she said, a note of surprise colouring her tone. ‘I didn’t realise you were back from wherever you’ve been these past months. I suppose you’ve got a horse running in the Cup?’
‘I have.’
Deep and cool, his voice held a note of unsparing authority that sent little shivers through Sable. She stiffened her spine and tried to look calm and controlled.
‘Is it going to win?’ Maire asked.
‘Of course,’ he said with such calm confidence that Sable wondered if he’d managed to fix the race.
‘What’s its name? I’ll go and put a bet on it before the tote closes.’
‘Black Sultan.’
‘Very appropriate,’ Maire said dryly. ‘Thanks so much.’
He said, ‘You haven’t introduced us, Maire.’
The older woman looked surprised. ‘Oh—sorry, I assumed you two would know each other.’
Reluctantly, Sable turned.
Her dark eyes clashed with glacial grey ones. Bludgeoned by sensation, a bewildering mixture of apprehension and violent awareness, she dragged in a swift breath. She’d seen pictures of Brent’s cousin, of course, and during the past few minutes she’d been uncomfortably aware of his coldly measuring gaze, but not even that had prepared her for the potent impact of his brand of male charisma.
‘Sable, this is Kain Gerard,’ her companion told her. ‘I’m sure I don’t have to tell you anything much about him—he turns up in the media quite often.’
‘Not of my own volition,’ he said crisply.
‘No one could call you a publicity hound,’ she conceded. ‘Kain, meet Sable Martin, who should have won the prize up there.’
‘Indeed she should.’ Kain’s tone produced an unfamiliar meltdown in Sable’s spine. He took the hand she automatically extended, his fingers closing around hers. ‘You were robbed.’
‘I don’t think so.’ His touch set off strident alarms within her. And when she spoke her voice was pitched too low and sounded far too breathy…too impressed.
A little too hastily she added, ‘The winner was just what they were looking for—a holiday spirit. And she wore her clothes very well.’
He said smoothly, ‘Do you plan to watch the next race?’
Before Sable had a chance to come up with some excuse, her companion said, ‘Of course we do, but first I’m going to put a bet on your horse.’ Purposefully she started off towards the tote.
‘You’re not betting?’ Kain Gerard commented when Sable made no attempt to follow her.
‘No.’
He said, ‘Let me stake you—barring accidents, my horse will win.’
‘It’s all right, thank you,’ she said, warily conscious of the interested glances they were attracting. ‘What about you? Don’t you want to put some money on your horse?’
‘I’ve already done that,’ he told her, flashing her a killer smile that curled her toes inside the impractical, beautiful shoes she was wearing. ‘Though as he’s the favourite, he won’t pay much.’ Without altering his tone he said, ‘You’re a friend of my cousin’s, I believe. Brent Gerard.’
‘Yes,’ she said neutrally.
Brent had told her all about his older cousin, inadvertently revealing that his open admiration of Kain had a thread of chagrin running through it.
Standing beside the man, every cell in her body humming, Sable could understand Brent’s reaction; it would take a very secure young man to keep his confidence intact against such formidable competition.
Kain had been a billionaire before he reached thirty, Brent had told her enviously. ‘His parents left him a controlling stake in one of New Zealand’s most progressive companies as well as a hefty inheritance that gave him a damned good start on his quest for world domination.’ Then he’d given her a charmingly rueful smile. ‘But the real secret of his success is his drive and truly impressive brilliance, plus an uncanny knack for spotting trends.’
He’d paused, then finished significantly, ‘And his ruthlessness. He’s a bad man to cross.’
Wishing she’d gone with Maire, Sable pretended to examine the crowd. Instinct warned her that Brent had been right. Formidable determination was as much a part of Kain Gerard as his height and his broad shoulders and his arrogantly handsome face.
No wonder he was a hit with women. Brent hadn’t been quite so open about that aspect of his cousin, but Sable had read some interesting gossip.
And now she believed it all. He was—well, overwhelming was about the only word that came to mind. And although he seemed pleasant enough, his glance held more cool assessment than admiration.
Feeling a chill, Sable glanced up to see if a cloud had swallowed the sun. No, the sky was as radiantly blue as it had been all day. She straightened her spine and matched Kain’s assessing gaze.
He said, ‘I gather you’re a model?’
If Brent had talked at all about her, Kain must know perfectly well that she wasn’t.
‘Far from it,’ she returned. ‘Maire’s established her new salon next to where I work, and when her model let her down she talked me into this because I’m almost the same size and colouring.’ She gave him a carefully bland smile. ‘As soon as she gets back we’ll promenade around so more people can see the outfit.’
And then she was going. Apart from feeling absurdly conspicuous, her feet were killing her.
One black brow lifted, but all Kain said was, ‘I’ll stay until she returns.’
‘There’s no need,’ she stated.
He smiled down at her. Deep within Sable something shattered into a million pieces, each one piercing her with excitement. Shocked, she managed a pale smile in return, then looked away, hugely grateful to see Maire on her way back to them.
Once she’d reached them Kain said, ‘Why don’t you both come and watch the race with me on the lawn?’
Bristling, Sable thought it wasn’t so much a request as an order.
Her companion, however, beamed at him. ‘I’m surprised you’re not watching from the Presidential Club.’
He shrugged. ‘We can go there if you want to, but I thought you’d want every chance to show off that pretty dress. There won’t be any television cameras in the Club area.’
His gaze drifted down the dress, setting off alarms in every cell in Sable’s body. Not that there was anything sensuous about that inspection; she’d been the target of lustful looks often enough to recognise its complete lack of desire.
Yet she felt harried, hunted, the object of some careful plan. Telling herself not to be so stupid, she accompanied them.
Once on the lawn, Sable understood Maire’s rapid agreement. Everywhere she looked she met glances—some covert, some very open, but all intent on Kain Gerard and the two women he was escorting.
Although he nodded at people he knew, he didn’t stop. When a waiter appeared he suggested, ‘Champagne for you both?’
Maire accepted, but Sable said, ‘No, thank you.’
‘It’s hot. You’ll need something to cool you down,’ he said, and gave the waiter an order for two glasses of champagne and one of the Cup special.
When Sable opened her mouth to tell him she didn’t want anything alcoholic his lips curved again, and her heart flipped in her chest.
That smile was dangerous—and he knew its effect on women. He knew too much, she thought in rare confusion as her knees demanded she find a place to sit down.
He was too much—too much everything. Height always drew attention, but it wasn’t just his height or his dominant features and a mouth hinting at vast expertise that turned her bones to water. Kain exuded an aura of compelling power that was both a reassurance and a threat.
‘It’s non-alcoholic,’ he told her as the waiter returned with two flutes of champagne and a tall glass containing a concoction that looked deliciously refreshing. ‘Peach and strawberry fizz.’
‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly, irritated to discover it tasted as good as it looked.
Someone came up and greeted Maire, who excused herself to engage in animated conversation. Niggled by uncomfortable tension, Sable looked down at the track as the horses started to file out to the starting gate.
‘Which is yours?’ she asked to fill in the silence.
‘Number thirteen—the black,’ he said, and pointed him out.
Another splendid beast, she thought ironically, so fit its muscles were almost bursting through the sleek midnight hide. ‘Why are you so sure he’ll win?’
‘He’s at his peak now, and he has the best form. There’s always the chance of a mishap, of course, but he should lead them home.’
He did, to wild cheers that proclaimed he was a favourite with the crowd as well as the punters. In spite of herself Sable was caught up in the moment, clapping excitedly and turning to Kain when it was over, her face alight. ‘He’s fantastic, isn’t he? He just blitzed them! Where’s he racing next?’
Her heart gave an unexpected lurch when he looked down at her, and the joyful tumult seemed to die away into silence.
She tried to lower her lashes, to look away, but that enigmatic grey gaze locked her into some kind of stasis.
Before he could answer he was enveloped by a mob of laughing, chattering friends as well as journalists with photographers in tow.
Intensely relieved, Sable stood back a little, envying him the formidable assurance with which he accepted handshakes from the men and kisses from a variety of women. She felt oddly alone, disconnected from the brightly dressed crowd and the laughter; the sun seemed brassy and uncomfortable, the crowd noise too loud, too shrill.
So? she thought, sipping some more of her drink. In every way that matters you’ve been alone all your life. And you gave up wallowing in self-pity the day you left Hawkes Bay for Auckland.
But it was just as well she wasn’t likely to see much more of Kain Gerard.
Without looking at her he reached out and snagged her hand, drawing her to him as he said, ‘Come with me. I’m going to congratulate the jockey and the trainer.’
Sable tugged uselessly. She said in a low, angry voice, ‘I’m supposed to be showing off this dress.’
‘If you’re with Kain, you’re going to be in every photograph,’ Maire said brightly. ‘Away you go.’
Sable’s indignant glare clashed with coolly amused grey eyes. After a moment’s hesitation she gave in, allowing herself to be escorted through the press of people until the flash from a camera startled her into flinching.
Kain’s hand cupped her elbow more firmly. ‘Throw them a smile,’ he advised with an edge of cynicism in his deep voice. ‘That’s all you have to do—look elegant and confident. You can do that.’
Keeping her eyes fixed on the activity in the Birdcage, she forced a smile as she tossed off a reply. ‘I’ll have you know I have to suffer to get this elegant! These shoes are killers on the grass.’ Shoe porn, Maire had called the grey sandals with their vertigo-inducing heels.
He glanced down. Something flickered in his hard eyes, but his voice was bland when he said, ‘From a spectator’s viewpoint, the sight of your feet in them is definitely worth the pain.’
Why did it seem this conversation was being conducted on two levels—one with words, the other with the subtle shift of tone and emphasis and the silent language of movement and gesture?
To her relief someone caught his attention and he turned away from her. Reluctantly Sable had to admire the way he dealt with the journalists and photographers—his charm not hiding an uncompromising authority.
Eventually he left her to lead the horse around the enclosure in a lap of honour. Sable watched them stride out with matching masculine grace, the sun striking blue highlights from the horse’s glossy hide and from Kain’s head.
‘Two of a kind.’ Half-envious, half-humorous, the trainer echoed her thoughts from beside her.
Sable took in a deep breath, calling on her surface gloss of sophistication. Until then she’d been stumbling along like any green girl, but now, with Kain’s presence removed, she could regroup her forces.
‘Does the horse have grey eyes?’ she enquired, smiling to show she was joking.
He gave a snort of laughter. ‘No, but he’s a tough beast, and when he makes up his mind it’s damned hard to change it. And he’s honest; once he’s committed, he throws his heart into every race.’
‘What more could you want in a horse? Or a man?’ she returned lightly. ‘Isn’t it a glorious day?’
Kain and the horse headed back as the trainer smiled at her. ‘One of the best,’ he agreed, stepping out to take the reins from Kain’s lean hand.
Kain said, ‘Right, let’s go.’
They started to leave, only to have a photographer call, ‘One more, Kain.’
He turned his head and said coolly, ‘Of course,’ and before Sable could move out of range he scooped her against his lean body and held her, smiling down into her startled eyes and saying, ‘This one’s for the social pages. Relax and think of the publicity for Maire.’
Far too conscious of his strength against her, she felt herself stiffen. The chatter of the crowd dulled; inwardly cringing, she sensed avid eyes on them both.
‘Smile,’ he commanded quietly, the handsome face amused.
