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‘Well, I’m not easily charmed.’ Sabrina smiled. ‘Now, will you go to Nice tomorrow and see your wife?’
He shook his head. ‘I will be seeing you tomorrow. Ten o’clock sharp.’ He moved away then before she had time to argue the point further.
She watched him go with a mixture of impatience and affection. He had to be the most pigheaded, stubborn man that she had ever come across. He had probably accepted Marc’s offer to run her home just so that she didn’t get the chance to try and change his mind.
She watched him stop and talk with his stepson on the way out of the door. She had always thought that Garth was a powerfully built man, yet next to Marc Kingsley’s lean, broad-shouldered frame he looked almost small.
For a moment she racked her brain to remember any information that Garth had given her on his stepson.
He was a successful man, a wealthy industrialist who spent most of his time in Paris but also had a home in Surrey. She knew that his mother Nadine was French and that his father had been English. They were the only facts that she could call to mind. With a sigh she got to her feet and went over to join them. Somehow she had the feeling that she needed to know much more about Marc Kingsley in order to step very warily around him.
Did he have to watch her like that? she wondered angrily as she moved nearer to them. His eyes were raking over her slim figure in the pencil-straight skirt and jade blouse as if he were assessing how much she would fetch on the open market.
‘Ready?’ he asked abruptly as she reached his side.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. It was very strange, but this man seemed capable of stirring up her temper without even saying anything. Just one look from those eyes seemed to increase her temperature rapidly.
The darkness outside was a relief. It was a few minutes’ respite from Marc Kingsley’s probing eyes, a few minutes to compose herself. A bright red Porsche drew up beside them and the car-park attendant got out and handed Marc the keys.
Her eyes ran disdainfully over the sleek lines of the red Porsche. Nothing subdued for Mr Kingsley, she thought wryly. His taste in women was probably the same as his taste in cars. He would like them flashy and elegant.
He surprised her by opening the passenger door for her before going around to the other side. At least the man had some manners.
She frowned. What on earth was the matter with her? It wasn’t like her to be so aggressive, especially towards a perfect stranger. The man was doing her a favour by taking her home and here she was tearing him to shreds. In fact ever since he had first looked down at her she had been on the defensive—it was most unlike her.
She watched him as he secured his seatbelt and then started the powerful engine. His face was lit for a moment by the street-light as he turned towards her. It looked all planes and angles in the half-light, emphasising just how ruggedly attractive he was. For a crazy second her heart seemed to dip downwards and thud like a sledgehammer against her chest.
‘Aren’t you going to put on your seatbelt?’ he enquired lazily.
‘Oh... yes.’ For some reason her fingers felt like thumbs as she struggled awkwardly with the belt.
‘Here, let me do it.’ He leaned across and took it from her hands with a brisk impatient movement. Inadvertently his fingers brushed against the silk of her blouse as he pulled it across her, the soft touch sending a million sensory nerve-endings throbbing into life.
‘There.’ The belt slotted firmly into place and he was swinging the car out into the stream of traffic, the large hands looking strong and capable on the wheel.
Sabrina swallowed hard and looked away from him out through the window. She felt confused and angry with herself. She was twenty-five years of age and had been out with plenty of men in the past, but none of them had made her body respond the way it had done just now from a mere casual contact. Marc Kingsley was having a very strange effect on her. She was undeniably attracted to him, just as every woman who ever came into contact with him would probably be. But there was something else. He inflamed her senses. Angered her, excited her, frightened her. She couldn’t understand how a total stranger could arouse such emotions.
She tried to switch her thoughts away from him as they drove down busy roads through the heart of London. It was a magical city at night, she thought idly, with all the beautiful buildings illuminated by a warm orange glow against the velvet darkness of the sky.
Marc was pulling up outside her apartment in Kensington before she realised that he had driven her straight to her door without having to ask where she lived.
She turned to him with a frown. ‘How did you know my address?’
‘Garth told me before he left.’
‘Oh, I see.’
Marc turned off the engine and the sudden silence seemed heavy and oppressive. The only sound that filled Sabrina’s ears was the wild thud of her heartbeats.
‘Well, thank you for the lift home,’ she said a trifle breathlessly, reaching for the door-handle.
‘Aren’t you going to invite me in for coffee?’ he asked silkily.
She hesitated, taken back by the request. ‘Well, I...yes—yes, of course.’ Hell, she was babbling like a teenager. What on earth was wrong with her?
He stood behind her as she opened her front door and she was annoyed to find that her hand shook as she tried to get the key in the lock.
‘Do you need some help?’
His drily amused voice flustered her even more.
‘No, thank you.’ Thankfully the door swung open and Sabrina led the way into the elegant hallway.
The apartment was very large and decorated in a stylishly modern way. Crystal lights illuminated warm peach walls and highlighted the thick beige carpet that ran through each room.
‘Nice apartment,’ Marc remarked as his eyes moved over the lounge with its large cream leather suite and the modern pictures that lent vibrant splashes of colour to the room. ‘Working for Garth must pay well.’
Sabrina’s eyebrow lifted at such a remark. Really, who did the man think he was? It was none of his business where her money came from.
She decided not to answer such a remark but instead waved him towards the settee. ‘Make yourself comfortable,’ she said stiffly. ‘I’ll just put the kettle on.’
Instead of going into the lounge, however, he followed her into the kitchen.
She flicked a disgruntled glance at him as he leaned nonchalantly against the marble worktops to watch her fill the kettle.
‘The view’s better in here,’ he drawled lazily as he caught her eye, and then his gaze moved slowly from her neat ankles up over her long legs and curving body.
She felt her body heat start to rise at that look, and she turned away impatiently to open the cupboards and get out some china cups and saucers. Why did he keep looking at her like that?
‘So why did you give up working for my stepfather, Sabrina?’ he asked casually.
Her fingers slipped on the bone-china cup she had been reaching for and she watched in horror as it fell with a crashing sound on to the tiled floor. ‘Damn!’ Her dismayed voice sounded loud in the silence.
He bent to help her pick up the pieces. ‘Shame,’ he murmured as he turned the end of the cup over. ‘Royal Doulton as well—a very expensive piece.’
She glared at him. ‘What are you anyway, a tax inspector?’ she asked stiffly. ‘You’ve done nothing but make references to how expensive things are.’
He looked at her with raised eyebrows. ‘Have I? I’m sorry... things of beauty just fascinate me.’ As he spoke his eyes moved over her face searchingly.
She bit down heavily on her lower lip and her blue eyes clouded with tears. ‘No...I’m sorry.’ She got up quickly and went to wrap the slivers of china in paper before putting them in the bin. ‘I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. It’s just... well, that tea service had sentimental memories. It was my mother’s.’ She didn’t turn to face him as she spoke—she was desperately trying to collect her emotions. It was so silly to be upset about something as small as a teacup, but it had brought thoughts of her mother vividly to her mind.
‘You’ll have to forgive me.’ She forced a smile to her lips and turned to face him. ‘My mother died a couple of months ago and I’m not fully myself yet.’
‘That’s understandable.’ His voice was surprisingly gentle, his eyes sympathetic now as they lingered on her bright, shimmering eyes. ‘Why don’t I make the coffee?’ he suggested with a smile. ‘You sit down for a moment.’
‘No... really.’ She tried to protest but he had already drawn out one of the kitchen chairs for her and was busy getting more cups out of the cupboard. It seemed futile to argue so she sat and watched him.
It seemed very strange to have such an attractive man in her kitchen making her coffee. He looked very out of place in the pretty kitchen. He was so suave and debonair in the immaculately cut suit, and yet so very masculine. Marc Kingsley just seemed to ooze sex appeal.
‘Do you take milk and sugar?’ he asked, interrupting her thoughts and making her jump.
‘No.’ She shook her head.
‘We have something in common.’ He smiled warmly at her as he placed the coffee in front of her.
They had more than he knew in common, she thought suddenly. ‘Would you prefer to sit in the lounge? It’s more comfortable,’ she said as he sat down opposite her.
‘No, I’m fine.’ He stretched out his long legs and reached for his cup. His hands looked very large against the delicate china, she noticed absently.
‘Well, I must say that I’m very glad that I decided to go in search of Garth tonight,’ he said suddenly.
She looked up at him with questioning eyes.
‘Otherwise we might never have met,’ he enlightened her softly.
She tried to will herself not to blush at that remark and laughed. ‘Garth told me to beware of your famous charm.’
‘Did he now?’ For just a second there was that undercurrent of steel in his tone again. Then he smiled. ‘Well, you have the advantage. He has never mentioned you to me.’
She sipped her coffee. ‘Well, when you are a private secretary you tend to learn a few things about your boss’s family now and then,’ she said lightly.
‘I suppose you do.’ He put his cup down. ‘You were about to tell me why you stopped working for Garth.’
‘Was I?’ She frowned for a moment. ‘You know, you really ask a lot of questions, Mr Kingsley.’ She held his gaze for a moment.
‘That’s because I’m very interested in you,’ he drawled huskily. ‘And the name’s Marc.’
Sabrina’s blood-pressure seemed to roar in her ears at that. ‘I’m flattered.’ Was Marc Kingsley really interested in her? Sabrina’s heart thudded wildly at the thought. ‘I’m flattered,’ she said again, trying very hard to keep a coolness in her voice. She was completely at a loss for what to say next.
‘Good.’ He smiled. ‘So how about having lunch with me tomorrow?’
The question was so smoothly asked that it took Sabrina’s mind a moment to assimilate it. Marc Kingsley was asking her for a date! For one wild moment she was tempted to say yes. Then she remembered Garth. For his sake it would be prudent to keep her distance from Marc Kingsley; the connection was too close. Anyway, Garth was taking her out tomorrow.
‘I’m sorry——’ she shook her head regretfully ‘—but I can’t.’
‘Am I stepping on someone else’s toes?’ he asked, his gaze never wavering from the bright blue of her eyes.
‘Well...’ She hesitated, unsure which was the best way to get out of this. If she said no, Marc might just suggest another date; if she said yes, he might ask her who her boyfriend was. ‘I have a date tomorrow,’ she said at last.
‘So how about the day after?’ he persisted.
She shook her head. ‘I... I can’t, Marc. I’m involved with someone else and it wouldn’t be fair.’
‘Lucky man,’ he drawled softly. ‘Well——’ he finished his coffee and stood up ‘—I suppose I should be going.’
She suppressed the immediate feeling of disappointment. Given different circumstances she would have loved to see this man again. There was something about him that was quite fascinating. ‘Thank you for the lift,’ she said politely as she stood up to walk with him to the door.
He smiled. Then quite suddenly he reached across and touched her face. ‘You know, I never take no for an answer ... it goes against the grain.’
‘Don’t you?’ Her voice sounded as breathless as she felt.
‘Certainly not.’ His finger trailed softly across the smooth skin of her cheekbone. ‘I’ll be seeing you soon, Sabrina Harrington,’ he promised decisively.
She watched him walk away from her with a pounding heart. Her skin seemed to burn where he had touched her. For one wild moment she was ecstatic that he would ask her out again. Then as he closed the front door behind him reality set in.
She couldn’t get involved with Marc Kingsley. It would be sheer folly. She turned to clear the table and then turned out the lights with a sigh. What would Marc think if he knew the truth? she wondered suddenly. Would he still be so keen to pursue her if he knew she was Garth Fraiser’s illegitimate daughter? The question taunted her as she made her way to her bedroom. Of course she would never have an answer; that was a secret she had to guard very close to her heart.
CHAPTER TWO
GARTH collected Sabrina promptly at ten the next morning and they drove out to the countryside in his Aston Martin.
It was a beautiful day. Sunshine played over the fresh green of the fields. The trees were knotted with buds ready to burst forward at any time and daffodils brightened the verges of the road.
Sabrina felt her spirits lift. Winter had been particularly grim for her and the promise of warmer, brighter days ahead was wonderful. It was like coming out of a long, dark tunnel into golden light.
She turned to Garth with a smile. ‘So where are we going? You’re being very mysterious.’
‘Well...’ He hesitated. ‘I thought it would be a good idea to bring you out to my house for lunch.’
‘Oh!’ She frowned. Somehow it didn’t seem right to go to his home, not when Nadine knew nothing about her; it seemed devious somehow. ‘What about your housekeeper? Won’t she think it’s funny that I’m having lunch with you?’
‘Don’t worry about Sadie; she’ll just think that you are coming to take notes. I’ve told her I’m having a working lunch.’ He smiled reassuringly at her. ‘I’ve decided we need to have a good heart-to-heart talk and the only place we won’t be interrupted is in my study.’
He was probably right. They did need to talk. It had been a hell of a shock to find out that Garth Fraiser was her father, especially when her mother had led her to believe that her father was dead. She still found it hard to comprehend.
She had spotted the advertisement for the job as Garth’s private secretary in a newspaper—or rather her mother had drawn her attention to it. It had been ideal, exactly what she had been looking for, and she had gone for an interview with high hopes. She’d known her qualifications were good and so were her references, but she’d also known that competition for the job would be stiff. She had been ecstatic when she’d got the job.
Working for Garth had been exhausting at times but she had enjoyed every moment of it. He had worked her hard but he had always been fair with her and she had respected him greatly.
Then just a few months ago when her mother had died in a tragic motorway accident, leaving Sabrina devastated, Garth had been wonderful. He had given her as much time off as she needed in order to sort things out. He had been kind and sympathetic and had even offered to help her with the arrangements for the funeral. At the time she had thought it was exceptionally kind of him, and she had been touched by his generosity, but she had never for one moment suspected the truth.
It had been two weeks after Lucy Harrington’s death that she’d discovered her diaries. It was then that she’d discovered that her mother had known Garth Fraiser years ago. That the two had in fact attended the same university and later they had both worked in the same law firm before Garth had got involved in politics. This had puzzled her intensely. Why hadn’t her mother mentioned that she knew her boss? Why the secrecy?
She had sat down to read the rest of the diaries with avid curiosity. What she had discovered had changed her whole life and she had been angry, bitterly angry that her mother had lied to her, that Garth had deceived her. Had he only given her the job as his secretary because of who she was? That question had haunted and humiliated her, and her first move had been to quit her job and to tell Garth Fraiser exactly what she thought of him.
Now her anger and her shock had cooled and she could feel sorrow at the situation, sympathy for her mother and for Garth. Lord, it was all such a mess. She pushed a hand through her hair in a distraught gesture. If only her mother had told her the truth... if only.
‘Damn!’ Garth pulled the car to a standstill at the gateway to a large Victorian house.
‘What is it?’ Sabrina’s gaze darted from her father to the house in front of them. Even as she asked the question she noticed the bright red Porsche parked on the gravel drive.
‘Marc’s here,’ Garth answered flatly.
Sabrina’s heart seemed to take up a rapid nervous tattoo immediately. ‘What should we do?’
With a sigh Garth started the car forward again. ‘Brazen it out,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll tell him you’ve come to do some important work for me. With a bit of luck he won’t stay.’ He grinned at her then. ‘Actually there is a stack of work you could do for me. I really miss you at the office, Brina; your replacement isn’t half as efficient.’
‘I’m sure you’re just being kind,’ Sabrina said lightly. ‘But thank you.’
