Carole Mortimer - To Marry Mcallister

“If you lived here, neither would I,” Brice answered huskily from just behind her. Far too close behind her, Sabina discovered as she swung around, finding herself almost pressed against his chest, becoming very still, her breathing shallow.

It was as if time was standing still as they looked at each other in the twilight, Brice’s face vividly clear to her, his eyes a sparkling emerald-green, the intimacy of his words lying heavily between them.

She should stop this, break the spell—except that was exactly what it felt like, as if she were bewitched, by both Brice and her surroundings….

She didn’t move, couldn’t move, clasping her hands together in front of her to stop them shaking. What was happening to her?

Three cousins of Scottish descent…they’re male, millionaires and marriageable!

Meet Logan, Fergus and Brice, three tall, dark, handsome men about town. They’ve made their millions in London, England, but their hearts belong to the heather-clad hills of their grandfather McDonald’s Scottish estate. Logan, Fergus and Brice are all very intriguing characters. Logan likes his life exactly as it is, and is determined not to change—even for a woman—until scatty, emotional Darcy turns his neatly ordered world upside down! Fergus is clever, witty, laid-back and determined to view things in his own particular way…until the adorably petite Chloe begs him to change his mind—she’s willing to pay any price to get him to agree! Finally, there’s Brice. Tough, resolute and determined, he’s accountable to no one…until blue-eyed beauty Sabina makes him think again!

Logan, Fergus and Brice are about to give up their keenly-fought-for bachelor status for three wonderful women—laugh, cry and read all about their trials and tribulations in their pursuit of love.

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CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

‘MCALLISTER, isn’t it?’

Brice tensed resentfully at this intrusion into his solitude. If one could be solitary in the midst of a party to celebrate a political victory!

Ordinary he wouldn’t have been at this party, but the youngest daughter of the newest Member of Parliament had married his cousin, Fergus, six months ago, and so all the family had been invited to Paul Hamilton’s house today to join in the celebrations at his re-election. It would have seemed churlish for Brice to have refused.

But he didn’t particularly care for being addressed by just his surname—it reminded him all too forcefully of his schooldays. Although it was the man’s tone of voice that irritated him the most: arrogance bordering on condescension!

He turned slowly, finding himself face to face with a man he knew he had never met before. Tall, blond hair silvered at the temples, probably aged in his mid-fifties, the hard handsomeness of the man’s face was totally in keeping with that arrogance Brice had already guessed at.

‘Brice McAllister, yes,’ he corrected the other man coolly.

‘Richard Latham.’ The other man thrust out his hand in greeting.

Richard Latham… Somehow Brice knew he recognised the name, if not the man…

He shook the other man’s hand briefly, deliberately not continuing the conversation. Never the most sociable of men, Brice considered he had done his bit today towards family relations, was only waiting for a lull in the proceedings so that he could take his leave.

‘You have absolutely no idea who I am, do you?’ The other man sounded amused at the idea rather than irritated.

Brice may not know who the other man was, but he did know what he was—the persistent type!

Latham, he had said his name was. The same surname as Paul Hamilton’s other son-in-law, his own cousin Fergus’s brother-in-law, which meant he was probably some sort of relative of the Hamilton family. But somehow Brice had a feeling that wasn’t what the other man meant.

He held back his sigh of impatience. It was almost seven o’clock now; he had been looking forward to being able to excuse himself shortly, on the pretext of having another appointment this evening. But now he would have to extricate himself from this unwanted conversation first.

‘I’m afraid not,’ he returned without apology; being accosted at a social gathering by a complete stranger wasn’t altogether unknown to him, but it certainly wasn’t something he enjoyed.

Although, he accepted, being an artist of some repute, that he had to show a certain social face. This man, with his unmistakable arrogance, just seemed to have set his teeth on edge from the start.

Richard Latham raised blond brows at the bluntness of the admission. ‘My secretary has contacted you twice during the last month, concerning a portrait of my fiancée I would like to commission from you.’

He was that Richard Latham! Multimillionaire, jet-setting businessman, the other man’s business interests ranging worldwide, his personal relationships with some of the world’s most beautiful women making newspaper headlines almost as much as his successful business ventures. Although Brice had no idea who the ‘fiancée’ he had just mentioned could be.

He shook his head. ‘As I explained in my letter, in reply to your secretary’s first enquiry, I’m afraid I don’t do portraits,’ he drawled politely. And he hadn’t felt the least inclination to explain that all over again in reply to the second letter he had received from this man’s secretary only a week later.

‘Not true,’ Richard Latham came back abruptly, blue eyes narrowed assessingly on Brice’s deliberately impassive expression. ‘I’ve seen the rather magnificent one you did of Darcy McKenzie.’

Brice smiled slightly. ‘Darcy happens to be my cousin-in-law. She is married to my cousin Logan.’

‘And?’ Richard Latham rasped frowningly.

Brice shrugged. ‘It was a one-off. A wedding gift.’

The other man gave an arrogant inclination of his head. ‘This is a gift too—to myself.’

And he was obviously a man, Brice acknowledged ruefully, who wasn’t used to hearing the word no—from anyone!

Well, Brice couldn’t help that, he simply did not paint portraits, had no inclination to paint a flattering likeness of the rich and the pampered, just so that they could hang it on one of the walls of their elegant homes and claim it was a ‘McAllister’.