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Darkness Into Light
Carole Mortimer
Carole Mortimer is one of Mills & Boon’s best loved Modern Romance authors. With nearly 200 books published and a career spanning 35 years, Mills & Boon are thrilled to present her complete works available to download for the very first time! Rediscover old favourites - and find new ones! - in this fabulous collection…Propositioned by the billionaire…Danny doesn’t know the man she’s flirting with is actually her new boss, wealthy tycoon Pierce Sutherland! Now a man’s career is on the line and it’s all Danny’s fault. Yet brooding Pierce has a proposition for her: if she spends the weekend in his bed, he’ll let the man keep his job…But innocent Danny is looking for emotional intimacy—as well as sinful seduction!—and after the tragic death of his wife, Pierce is wary of ever taking a chance again…
Darkness into Light
Carole Mortimer
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#u59bb6835-5979-554a-bb2c-495937465376)
Title Page (#ub765b821-2734-5309-8d0a-8c006dca634a)
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u04c26252-f2ea-5fc9-885a-fda7573fd33c)
‘WHAT do you think you’re doing?’
Danny looked blankly at the man who had stepped out of the night shadows, sure that above the din she was making she had heard him ask that question. And yet she couldn’t have done; it must surely be obvious what she was doing, the lawn-mower moving smoothly in front of her, the sweet smell of newly cut grass fresh in the air.
His appearance in her garden surprised her even more, his wide chest and shoulders bare, the dark hair there disappearing in a vee over the taut stomach and down beneath body-hugging black underwear, his long legs and feet bare too. She had no idea where he had come from and thought she should be the one to be asking that question. She was in her own private garden, mowing her own lawn, and this almost naked man had invaded that privacy.
She suddenly realised how very much alone she was here, her nearest neighbour up at the main house, and as she rarely saw anyone from there since Henry Sutherland had bought the house and grounds and moved in with his entourage she didn’t think she would get any help from England’s answer to Howard Hughes! Her denim cut-offs and halter-necked yellow top were little covering for her generous curves, and she sought the man’s face in the darkness, hoping to read his intent there.
What did he look like? What was he thinking? Who was he?
‘I said—–’ he repeated, raising his voice.
‘I heard what you said,’ Danny assured him as she switched off the motor to the mower, wiping her hands down her denim-clad thighs. ‘But I think you have that the wrong way around.’ She looked at him with eyes that glowed the colour of deep sherry. ‘What are you doing here?’
The man stepped forward into the light streaming from the lounge window of her cottage behind them, and Danny caught her breath at the raw savage beauty of that harshly lean face. Dark, slightly overlong hair fell forward over his forehead, his eyes a curious light colour, neither blue nor grey, but somewhere in between, his nose a harsh slash, his mouth thinned in a straight line, deep grooves etched beside his nose and mouth. He looked coldly arrogant, and somehow Danny knew he offered no threat to her, that those icy eyes could never deepen with the emotion it would take to physically attack her, that his power was all of the will rather than the body.
‘I suppose you do realise it’s after eleven o’clock at night?’
Her eyes widened at the question; it had been the last thing she had expected. She was as aware of the time as she was of what she was doing!
‘And that mower is damned noisy,’ he added hardly at her lack of response.
Her brows knit together. ‘What does that have to do with you?’
His mouth thinned. ‘It’s a still summer’s night, the sound carries.’
‘Well I—Oh dear.’ Contrition darkened the brown glow of her eyes. ‘Could it be heard at the main house?’ she asked with dread.
‘Would you care?’ He derided her lack of concern so far in the conversation.
‘Well, I wouldn’t want to disturb Howard Hughes—sorry, I meant Mr Sutherland.’ She blushed at the slip.
‘You consider him a recluse?’ The man frowned.
Danny shrugged. ‘Well, I can’t think of any other name for a man who lives behind a ten-foot wall most of the time, has a couple of guard-dogs patrolling the grounds, surrounds himself with numerous bodyguards—can you?’ She quirked mischievous brows at him a shade darker than her straight red-gold hair, now secured in a single braid to just below her shoulders.
The man’s mouth twisted. ‘When you put it that way, no. And to answer your other question, I was at the main house when I heard the mower.’
‘Oh dear.’ She chewed on her bottom lip, her expression suddenly brightening. ‘He isn’t there, is he?’ She grinned her relief. ‘I remember I heard the helicopter leave earlier.’ She had been most disgusted when part of the grounds of the main house had been taken and turned into a helicopter-pad for the new owner, the comings and goings of the machine a noisy irritant. Old Mrs Prendergast, the previous owner, would turn over in her grave if she knew what they had done to her precious manor house. ‘Where’s he gone this time?’ Danny asked interestedly.
‘You have yet to tell me what you’re doing mowing the lawn at this ungodly hour.’ The man sounded more irritated than ever.
‘I always mow the lawn when I’m upset,’ she confided. ‘I think better then, you see.’
Grey eyes snapped with impatience. ‘And couldn’t you have done this thinking at a more reasonable time?’
‘I didn’t know at a more reasonable time that I had something to think about,’ she explained. ‘I need to think now, and it never used to disturb Mrs Prendergast. Although that could have been because she was as deaf as a post,’ she added thoughtfully.
‘I see.’ The beautifully moulded lips twitched as if in humour, although no smile actually materialised. ‘Well, I’m not, and it was disturbing the swim I was taking.’
‘Swimming!’ she said with some relief. ‘You’re wearing swimming trunks!’
‘Well, of course I … What did you think I was wearing?’ he asked drily. ‘No,’ he drawled. ‘Don’t answer that.’ He looked over at the cottage. ‘Doesn’t the mower disturb your grandfather?’
‘I hope not.’ She looked surprised. ‘He’s been dead ten years!’
The man looked taken aback. ‘But I understood this was the head-gardener’s cottage.’
Danny grinned at his perplexity. ‘You understood correct.’ She nodded.
‘Then he’s your father?’
‘Nope,’ she laughed lightly. ‘I live here alone.’
‘But you can’t be Danny Martin.’ He shook his head in denial of that fact.
She frowned at his emphatic tone. ‘Why can’t I?’
‘Because I’ve seen him about the grounds,’ the man said tersely. ‘He’s about seventy years old, with grey hair, and a stooped back!’
‘Zacky Boone.’ She instantly recognised him by the description. ‘And you would have a stooped back, too, if you had been gardening as long as he has!’
‘You’re the head-gardener?’ He still didn’t look convinced.
‘Third generation,’ she assured him proudly. ‘Dad had no boys, you see, and as I was the oldest girl I was the natural choice to take over from him when he retired.’
‘I don’t see anything natural about the choice.’ His steely gaze raked over her critically. ‘Wasn’t there something else you would rather have been doing?’
‘Wasn’t there something else you would rather have been doing than watching over Henry Sutherland?’ she instantly came back. ‘It can’t take a lot of intelligence to be a bodyguard.’ She had decided as they spoke that was what he had to be, the height and breadth of him, the muscular physique seeming to imply as much. ‘You don’t look as if you’re just brawn and muscle with nothing up top,’ she observed.
‘Thank you,’ he accepted with dry sarcasm. ‘But I can assure you that the bodyguards employed here don’t have“nothing up top” either,’ he told her grimly. ‘They’re very intelligent men, with the quick senses to match.’
‘Oops.’ She grimaced at his anger. ‘I didn’t mean to step on anyone’s toes.’
‘You haven’t stepped on mine,’ he assured her abruptly. ‘I don’t happen to be a bodyguard.’
‘Oh?’
‘My name is Sutherland—Pierce Sutherland—–’
‘Oh God, not another one.’ She gave him an angry glare.
Grey-blue eyes clouded with puzzlement. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘So you should be,’ she said crossly.
He looked more confused than ever. ‘What have I done?’
‘Nothing! But—–’
‘Thank God for that,’ he drawled mockingly.
‘But your cousin Nigel has.’ She glared at him again. ‘At least, I presume he’s your cousin.’
The assessing grey-blue eyes swept over her slender body, lingering on the fullness of her breasts before going down to her flat stomach. ‘I can’t see any evidence of it,’ he taunted.
For the first time that she could remember she blushed, she, Danielle Erica Martin, who never blushed. She had chosen to enter a profession consisting mainly of men, had been the only female in her class at college with twenty—–five men, and during that time she had become immune to personal remarks and innuendoes; she had had to or walk around with a permanent blush. But this remark, made by a complete stranger, was a little too personal to ignore.
‘I didn’t mean to me.’ She shot Pierce Sutherland a resentful glare. This was serious, damn it. ‘He’s seducing my sister Cheryl into breaking her engagement to the boy she’s been in love with since she was fifteen years old!’ she told him indignantly.
Dark brows met over grey-blue eyes. ‘Doesn’t the lady have to be willing for that?’
‘Not when she’s faced with a charming, good-looking, intelligent man who seemingly has an unending supply of money at his disposal with which to grant her every wish!’
‘Hm,’ he murmured. ‘I see your point; your sister has become a mercenary.’
‘No! Are you sure your name is Sutherland?’ She eyed him suspiciously.
This time there was definitely a twitch to the firm lips. ‘Which family trait am I lacking in?’
Well, the first she hadn’t known him long enough to judge, the second couldn’t be doubted, not when he was almost-naked not ten feet away from her, the fourth she would take on trust because of his name; it was difficult to tell a person’s wealth when their only clothing was a pair of brief swimming trunks! It was the third trait she doubted.
‘Cheryl is not a mercenary,’ she defended indignantly. ‘She’s just momentarily infatuated with this Nigel’s seeming ability to do exactly what he wants to do.’ A mercenary, in fact. She had called her sister that only this evening when Cheryl telephoned to tell her of the feelings she had for Nigel Patrick, the son of Henry Sutherland’s sister, and how she was thinking of breaking her engagement to Gary because of him.
Cheryl and Gary had been going out together for almost five years, it would break his heart if Cheryl left him now. It would break Cheryl’s, too, when she came to her senses. The best Danny had been able to do was to persuade her sister to wait a little longer before discussing it with Gary. Her sister’s ready agreement to the suggestion showed her that Cheryl wasn’t as sure about her feelings for Nigel as she pretended to be.
‘And what did you decide had to be done about them as you mowed the lawn?’
‘At this ungodly hour,’ she finished with a grin.
‘Exactly,’ Pierce drawled.
‘Well, I have two options open to me at the moment,’ she related thoughtfully. ‘I can either let it run its course—which is a bad idea. Or I can try to show Nigel in a bad light, you know two-timing Cheryl or something like that.’ She was eager to know his opinion on the latter; he must know his cousin better than she did.
‘That isn’t a good idea either.’ Pierce shook his head mockingly. ‘Nigel may be family, and consequently my opinion’s slightly biased, but if he’s seeing your sister you can be sure she’s the only woman he’s seeing; he never concentrates on more than one woman at a time.’
‘Then how about past scandals?’
‘There aren’t any.’
‘A playboy?’
‘He works at least nine hours a day, often six days a week, as the head of accounts for all Sutherland interests; that doesn’t leave him a lot of time to do anything!’
‘Bad habits?’ She was getting desperate now.
Pierce shook his head. ‘I don’t know of any.’
‘There must be something wrong with him!’ she wailed protestingly. ‘Everyone has at least one fault.’
‘I believe he used to pull little girls’ braids as a boy,’ Pierce taunted, looking pointedly at Danny’s.
‘Very funny.’ She glared at him.
‘What’s your fault?’ He raised dark brows.
‘I talk to strange men who are wearing only bathing trunks at almost twelve o’clock at night!’
For a moment there was only silence, and then he began to laugh, a rich deep sound that was well worth waiting for. ‘And mine is that I listen to the problems of the head-gardener who has a body like Raquel Welch at twelve o’clock at night!’
