Sara Craven - Wicked Surrender - Ruthless Awakening / The Multi-Millionaire's Virgin Mistress / The Timber Baron's Virgin Bride

In view of his parting shot, she’d been half tempted to go to her stateroom and stay there, not venturing back on deck at all. But that might suggest she was disturbed by what he’d said, and she couldn’t afford that. She had to appear indifferent, even relaxed, if that was possible.

So she’d simply collected her sunglasses, and the book she’d intended for the journey back to Paddington, and she was now struggling to lose herself in it. The reviews had been good, and it was by an author she liked, but the story was failing to hold her.

Real life seems to keep intruding, she told herself, endeavouring not to glance at the bridge, where Diaz, his shirt discarded, was seated at the controls, and thankful for the designer shades concealing the direction of her gaze.

What’s wrong with me? she demanded silently. I’ve seen plenty of men in less than he’s wearing. Come to that, I’ve seen him in far less too, only I was too young to appreciate it. Even if I’ve never been able to forget… But would the image of him emerging from the water like some dark sea god be the one she would take with her into the approaching wilderness?

Or would their encounters of a few months ago prove more potent in the end? Become the ones to be treasured?

Like the moment when she’d glanced across the crowded room at the sponsors’ party and seen him there, unchanged and unmistakable after nearly five years, chatting to the Apex chairman and his wife.

She’d never really expected to see him again, so the shock of it had held her breathless, motionless for a moment, captive to all kinds of contradictory emotions. Then, obeying an imperative she’d barely understood but had known she might regret, she’d murmured an excuse to the group around her and begun to make her way towards him.

Halfway across the room, she had almost turned back.

I don’t know what to say, she’d thought. Or even how I should behave. Surprised—that goes without saying. But should I be pleased to see him, or strictly casual? Just stopping for a quick word in passing on my way out to find a cab?

She had still been undecided when Sir John Blenkinsop had noticed her approach.

‘Ah, delightful,’ he said heartily. ‘Diaz, you must allow me to introduce you to our star—the lovely girl who keeps the ratings for Castle Pride sky-high. Rhianna, my dear, this is Diaz Penvarnon, a valued client of Apex Insurance.’

There was an instant’s silence, then Diaz said pleasantly, ‘Actually, Sir John, Miss Carlow and I have already met. And delightful is certainly the word.’ His eyes skimmed her, taking in the white brocade coat-dress, knee-length, its lapels designed to show a definite but discreet amount of cleavage. Then he took her nerveless hand in his and bent to kiss her cheek, his lips warm and firm as they brushed her face.

‘Rhianna,’ he said as he straightened. ‘It’s been a long time.’

Say something—anything…

‘It has indeed. Too long.’ Her numb lips managed to return his smile. ‘I suppose this is one of your flying visits to the UK? Is it business or pleasure this time?’

‘The usual mix,’ he said. ‘And my plans are fluid at the moment.’ He paused. ‘I’ve just come back from Polkernick.’

‘Of course,’ she said over-brightly, as guilt kicked in, reminding her of all the reasons she had to avoid him, and why she should have resisted this and every other temptation he represented to her. ‘How—how is everyone?’

His grin was rueful. ‘Wedding fever has risen to epidemic proportions,’ he returned. ‘If ever I tie the knot it’s going to be at a register office very early in the morning. Guest list limited to two witnesses.’

‘Oh, your bride will soon change your mind about that,’ said Sir John. ‘Women like these full-dress affairs, you know.’

Diaz said gently, ‘Then I shall just have to persuade her.’ He indicated the empty glass Rhianna was holding. ‘May I get you another drink?’

‘Yes, you look after her, my boy.’ Sir John turned to his wife. ‘Marjorie, my dear, I see Clement Jackson has arrived. He’s bound to want a word, so shall we leave these two to catch up with each other?’

Rhianna stood, clawed by a mixture of excitement and uncertainty, as she waited for Diaz to return with the dry white wine she’d requested. I shouldn’t be doing this, she whispered inwardly. I should be making an excuse and easing myself out. But I can’t—I can’t…

‘Apparently Lord Byron said he woke up one morning and found himself famous,’ Diaz remarked, as he handed her the glass. ‘Was it like that for you?’

‘Far from it,’ she said. ‘Although it’s got trickier since. You become public property. People see me in their living rooms and think they know me.’

‘How very optimistic of them,’ Diaz said silkily. ‘But it’s good that you’ve prospered, Rhianna, after your precipitate exit from Polkernick. I was afraid the sight of me might put you to flight again.’

But I didn’t jump—I was pushed…

Aloud, she said coolly, ‘I think I’m a little more resilient these days.’

Am I? she thought. Am I—when the memory of you saying ‘I don’t take sweets from babies’ still has the power to tear me apart? When just by standing here like this I know I could be setting up such trouble for myself?

She swallowed. ‘I think Sir John’s trying to attract your attention. He has someone he wants you to meet.’ She sent him a brilliant smile. ‘Enjoy your time in London.’

She walked away and didn’t look back, her heart hammering painfully against her ribcage.

I’ve met him, she thought. I’ve spoken to him. And that’s the end of it. There’s no point in hoping, or wishing things could be different. Because that’s never been possible.

She was halfway down the wide sweep of marble stairs that led to Apex Insurance’s main foyer and the street, when she heard him speak her name.

She paused, her hand clenched painfully on the polished brass rail, then turned reluctantly.

He said evenly, ‘Clearly we don’t share the same definition of resilience, Rhianna, because here you are—running away again.’

‘Not at all.’ She lifted her chin. ‘This evening was work, not social. So I’ve made my token appearance, kept the sponsors happy, and now I’m going home as planned. Job done.’

‘Then change the plan,’ he said softly. ‘Have dinner with me instead.’

Her heart seemed to stop. ‘Heavens,’ she said lightly. ‘What is this—some bridge-building exercise?’

‘It’s a man asking a beautiful woman to spend a couple of hours in his company,’ Diaz returned. ‘Do we really need to analyse it so closely or so soon? Why not simply see where it takes us.’

To disaster, she thought. There can be nothing else. So just utter a few polite words of regret and keep going. That’s the wise—the sensible course. The only one possible.

She said, ‘But you’re clearly the guest of honour for Sir John. Won’t he be upset if you disappear?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Nor surprised either. So will you be my guest of honour instead?’

And she heard herself say, unbelievably, ‘Yes—I—I’d like that.’

Knowing, with mingled dread and anticipation, that she was speaking no more than the truth. That wisdom and common sense had counted for nothing the moment she’d seen him again. And that she was lost.

‘I saw you as soon as I walked in tonight,’ he said, as they faced each other across the candlelit table of the small Italian trattoria. ‘There’s only one head of hair like that in the entire universe. As soon as I’d finished being polite to my host I was going to come over to you.’