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Temptation
Donna Hill
If Desire Can Be Had For The Asking…In the lavish San Francisco valley, Noelle Maxwell unveils her secret. Liaisons is the ultimate fantasy–a chic retreat where romantic dreams are yours for the right price. But Noelle has other secrets–a past in New Orleans, a marriage to a powerful man who fulfilled all but her deepest longings and a vow to uncover the truth behind his mysterious death. Yet the only man she can trust is a stranger whose explosive sexuality awakens desire–and fear.…Is Love Worth Any Price?From the moment the man calling himself Cole Richards meets his partner's beautiful widow, the stakes in a dangerous game rise even higher. But the closer he gets to Noelle's seductive flame, the more he risks being burned–and the more he must hide a shocking truth that could destroy the love he so passionately craves….
Temptation
Temptation
Donna Hill
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
Prologue
Fast.
The sleek bronze-toned Mercedes-Benz convertible sped down the black tarred San Francisco freeway. Jordan had purchased the car for her a year ago, to celebrate her twenty-seventh birthday and their fourth wedding anniversary. Just before…. Noelle shook her head and stepped on the gas. She wouldn’t think about it.
Faster. The turbo charged engine hurtled forward. Her honey-colored hair, fashioned after actress Halle Berry, whipped around her coppertoned face. Maybe if she drove faster she could make the memories rush past like the scenery that graced the precisely manicured lawns. Rush past the incompleteness that was her life, now that Jordan was dead.
She’d allowed herself to be totally transformed by the charismatic Jordan Maxwell. He’d taken a scrawny, uneducated girl from the New Orleans bayou and turned her into one of the most powerful women on the West Coast. She’d come so far from where she’d been, her past was almost a blur. She was in limbo. She could never go back, and the powers that be, would keep her from going forward.
Without thinking, she adjusted the black sunglasses on her nose. The simple gesture had become habitual. The designer accessory had become her signature for nearly a year.
Noelle didn’t wear the blacker than black glasses so much for sun, or to hide the tears that so frequently welled up in her eyes. She wore them more to camouflage the emptiness that had taken up residence in the dark brown orbs.
She couldn’t let them see the void or the fear that kept her walking the floors at night. There were too many jealous onlookers—so-called friends that couldn’t wait to see her fail. She knew that they snickered behind her back and that hurt her more than she’d ever let on. And no one was more outraged at her success than Trent Dixon.
Noelle rounded the hairpin turn with ease and recalled a conversation she’d stumbled upon at a party one night. It was not only amusing that Jordan hadn’t turned his company reins directly over to her, but expected, she’d overheard. Noelle was an heiress to an empire with no throne. Trent had been with Jordan when he’d hit his first big deal in the Sudan. Trent knew everything there was to know about the import-export business. Noelle supposed that it was only fitting that Trent be handed the reins. As far as she was concerned, Trent Dixon could take the company and go straight to hell.
She’d never had any interest in the import-export business and Jordan was fully aware of that fact. Her views and his remained in opposition throughout their marriage. Nonetheless, she’d continue to receive her share of the profits whether she took over or not. What she really wanted to sink her teeth into was the villa, Liaisons. The villa that Jordan had willed to her. She had plans for that. Big plans. She’d make a name for herself on her own terms, not on Jordan Maxwell’s coattails, and certainly not under the tutelage of Trent Dixon. He was the last person she wanted anything to do with.
Every time she thought about Trent Dixon she got a headache. Her body began to overheat and she couldn’t think straight. There was no way that she was looking forward to their impending meeting, since their long-distance phone conversations over the past year had been anything but cordial. They had been treading the thin line between chilly politeness and outright sarcasm. Anytime he called to advise her that her signature was required on a document, even over the scratchy phone connection, Noelle could practically taste his indignation all the way from the Sudan. But he would never know how deeply she despised him. There was nothing that he could ever say or do that would make her believe that he didn’t have something to do with Jordan’s death. And for that she’d never forgive him.
He was scheduled to arrive in the States in two weeks. She’d never met him face to face. For some strange reason the thought of his arrival made her nervous. Because of that, it was more important than ever that Liaisons be perfect when he arrived. There was no one better than Tempest Dailey to pull off that miracle. And she’d done precisely that. The gala opening of Liaisons was scheduled for the following evening.
Tempest and her husband Braxton were two people who had risen above the others and proven themselves to be true friends. Noelle couldn’t wait to see Tempest again.
Noelle stepped on the gas while smoothly cutting around a red Porsche. She checked the digital clock on the dash. Twenty minutes before Tempest’s plane was to arrive. If she kept up the 85 mph speed, she’d beat the plane with time to spare.
Chapter 1
The trill of soft music wafted across the warm San Francisco night. Hundreds of twinkling lights hung from the trees, the balustrades and windows, turning the enormous villa into a fairyland.
Noelle St. James-Maxwell breathed a sigh of contentment. Everything was exquisite. The caterers had laid out a fare fit for royalty. Every imaginable delicacy was there for the taking. She smiled in satisfaction as she regally strolled across the grounds, nodding and waving, greeting the guests, the curious, the envious.
Noelle couldn’t call any of them friends, she thought, ruefully, shaking hands with the president of NBC studios. She knew they’d all come to gawk, to pass their comments, stir more rumors and most of all, to see if the young widow of Jordan Maxwell had what it took to run his empire.
They wanted her to fail, she knew, smiling graciously at the arrival of Whitney and her superstar husband. The circle of elite associates that her late husband surrounded himself with were a tight-knit, cliquish group. They turned their noses up at any who were not one of them. Background, education and family trees were more important than personal substance. Noelle couldn’t count a friend among them. The group had yet to adjust to the fact that Jordan Maxwell, owner of one of the largest import-export companies in the U.S., a man who could have any woman he chose, had plucked a no-count waitress from the bowels of the Louisiana swampland and dropped her in their midst. They were still reeling from that indignity five years later.
Jordan had groomed her for a world that she had never fully adjusted to and was never accepted in. Liaisons was her first real attempt at anything independent of Jordan. The thought of failure terrified her, and failure would solidify every negative comment ever said about her. For that reason, she’d never let them see the loneliness or the fear that lived in her soul, visible only through her eyes. For now, the darkness would hide her secret.
But tonight was her success, she thought, shaking off the disturbing thoughts. Liaisons was the culmination of her dreams, a tribute to Jordan, and no one was going to ruin it. Not even Trent Dixon.
“Noelle! Noelle!”
She turned in the direction of the familiar voice, the smile she displayed being genuine for the first time in hours.
“Tempest.”
The two women embraced warmly, then quickly stepped back to assess the other.
“That dress is fabulous, girl,” Tempest enthused, admiring the silk sheath of champagne gold that seductively stroked Noelle’s notorious curves, reaching just above her slender ankles. The daring side split gave a teasing view of a perfect copper leg from ankle to hip.
Her soft creole accent floated through the air. “Merci. But of course you have outdone yourself, chère amie. Red was always your color.”
Tempest smiled at the compliment. With a wicked grin she asked, “What do you wear under something like that?”
Noelle smiled slyly, “Absolutely nothing.”
The two women laughed in unison, drawing the attention of one who stood apart from the growing crowd.
Quietly he watched the two beautiful women, but his attention was riveted on Noelle. He’d instantly recognized her. She was more magnificent than any newspaper clipping or photograph, he realized with a jolt that shot straight to his loins.
Her skin brought to mind the tangy taste of cinnamon. The silky head of chestnut hair, begged him to run his fingers through it. Her statuesque form screamed sensuality. Yet she had a presence that demanded respect. She was a woman who could make a man want to keep her in bed and never let her out. By just looking at her, the stirrings of arousal swept through him. He began to imagine what she would feel like moving beneath him.
Damn, man, what the hell are you doing? Fantasizing about making love to your best friend’s widow?
He took a quick sip of champagne. In all of the years that he’d worked with Jordan, he’d never met the woman who’d captured the icon’s heart. His years of work in the Sudan had kept him out of the States. Now he could see exactly why Jordan had remained so faithful even when he was away from home for months at a time.
Being home again was going to take some getting used to. Especially since he knew he was not welcome here. But he had a job to do. He’d taken an unbreakable oath and he would fulfill Jordan Maxwell’s wishes. His beautiful widow would just have to accept that.
As if reading his thoughts, Noelle slowly turned her gaze in his direction. The contact was electrifying. She felt hot and cold at once. His unwavering deep stare seemed to see right through her. The dark eyes were unreadable and she felt naked and vulnerable under their appraisal.
What he saw in her eyes shook him to the marrow of his bones. There in the depths of the nut brown eyes was a haunting loneliness, a well of vulnerability and a compelling pain that made him want to pull her into his arms and make her know that he would make everything right with her world.
Then, as quickly as the force had taken hold of them, the contact was broken when Noelle’s attention was diverted by Tempest.
“Noelle? Are you all right? You look like you’ve been hit by lightning,” Tempest said.
Noelle shook her head. “I’m…fine.” She passed off a weak smile at Tempest, whose eyes turned in the direction of Noelle’s gaze.
“Who-is-that?” Tempest asked, admiring the man who defined tall, dark and handsome and made her wish her own gorgeous husband was there to wrap herself around.
“I’m not sure,” Noelle answered slowly, noticing that her pulse was racing.
“Well, with the vibes that the two of you are giving off, I suggest you find out. Don’t you?”
“Maybe later,” Noelle answered absently, not trusting the rush of emotions that swirled within her. She expelled a breath. “Where’s Braxton?” she asked, needing to change the subject, while forcing calm into her voice.
“I was just thinking the same thing.” Tempest checked her watch. Briefly she scanned the blooming crowd, while noticing that the handsome stranger had not taken his eyes off Noelle.
Braxton was not in sight. Tempest frowned. Over the past few months, Braxton’s absences and late arrivals had become a bone of contention between them. “He should have been here by now. His flight was scheduled to arrive nearly an hour ago.”
“You know how those flights from Morocco can be, chère. They’re always delayed.”
“Hmm. You’re probably right. But in the meantime,” she added, lowering her gaze to the ground as she spoke, “cutie pie is coming this way.”
Noelle angled her head to see him coming toward them. For some inexplicable reason her heart thundered so forcefully she momentarily felt breathless. The closer he came the quicker her pulse galloped.
He didn’t just walk, Noelle realized with growing alarm. His every move sizzled, tossing electric sparks in his wake.
Raw was the word that leaped into her brain. Raw, animal sexuality poured from him like sweat after hours of erotic loving. She felt dizzy.
“Good evening ladies.” His mellow voice warmed Noelle like brandy in winter. Politely he inclined his head toward Tempest, who smiled knowingly.
“Listen, Noelle, I’m going inside to call the airport. Please excuse me,” she said to both. Without another glance she walked up the small incline toward the main entrance.
“I hope it wasn’t anything I said,” he quipped, flashing a smile that made Noelle’s insides quiver.
Smoothly she returned his smile. “I’m sure it wasn’t. She’s expecting her husband. It seems his plane has been delayed.”
“In that case, I feel better.” His smile stroked her. “At least about it not being my fault.” He made a small show of looking over the grounds, if only to take his mind temporarily off of the face and body that was making him lose his sense of perspective.
In profile, Noelle stole the chance to observe him up close. He had to be over 6’3”, she noted, as he stood head and shoulders above her 5’8” height plus heels. His hard muscular body told her that he took care of himself. He had a strong chiseled face of smooth sienna, a well-tended beard that outlined his rugged chin. His eyes were wide and dark, shadowed by thick black lashes and thicker brows. His full, sensuous lips promised unmeasurable pleasure.
He had a real GQ look. Even in semicasual attire he gave the impression of power and confidence. He wore a suit of navy linen, that hung loosely on his body, as was the fashion. He chose to wear a V-neck T-shirt of white silk. The low collar entreated her to run her fingers across his chest. She curled them into a fist to quell the urge.
He returned his attention back to her and her flesh warmed under his gaze, shooting flashes of liquid desire to her center. She felt the tips of her breasts ripen under his open perusal, which made her even more self-conscious.
