Anne Mather - Shattered Illusions

‘It is!’

Dominic’s jaw compressed, and the urge to ignore his scruples and take her in his arms almost overcame his common sense. But for all he was desperate to make love to her this wasn’t the time. He owed his father much more than a lousy twelve months’ grace.

‘Then why—?’

‘Look, we’ll have breakfast together, right?’ he interrupted her tersely. ‘It’s too early in the day to have a conversation like this. I’ll speak to Sophie while you go and put some clothes on. Besides, didn’t you tell me you’d be having breakfast with your new assistant? You can’t let her down.’

‘But you can let me down, it seems,’ retorted Catriona coldly, tightening the cord of her robe about her slim waist. ‘You’re a cruel bastard, Dom. Sometimes I wonder why I care about you so much.’

Dominic sighed. ‘Cat—’

‘Don’t say anything more.’ Catriona held up a quelling hand, and walked haughtily towards the door. ‘And don’t bother joining us for breakfast. As you say, my work—or in this case my assistant—must come first.’

Dominic grimaced as she disappeared, but although he was sure he would pay for it later he didn’t regret having made a stand. During the past twelve months, his relationship with Catriona had developed faster than even he could have imagined, and he knew it was time to slow it down.

It was strange—he could remember the first time he’d seen Catriona as if it were yesterday. He’d been fifteen years old at the time, home from school in Boston, spending his summer swimming and sailing, and loafing around the house.

He’d been used to being on his own in those days. His mother had been killed in a freak skiing accident when he was only six, and his father had coped with his grief by burying himself in his work. The publishing house in New York, which Dominic’s grandfather had founded, had kept him busy, and Lawrence Redding had never really learned how to delegate.

Catriona—Markham, as she was known then—had been a young author from England. She’d written a couple of rather poor detective novels that hadn’t found a publisher, and her agent had sent her latest manuscript to Goldman and Redding in New York in the hope of appealing to the lucrative American market.

Dominic didn’t know if his father had considered that first manuscript might be worthy of publication, or whether, on meeting her, he’d just been blinded by the woman’s beauty. In any event, six months later she’d become Mrs Lawrence Redding, and six months after that her first romantic historical novel had been published under the name of Catriona Redding.

He knew it had been his father’s influence which had first made her books so successful. With the promotion he’d given that first book and Catriona’s own personality sparkling on every talk-show nationwide, it would have been hard to fail. Dominic knew from his own experience that it wasn’t always the book itself that put it on the best-seller lists. But it had been the second and all the subsequent successes that had made Catriona Redding a household name. In writing romantic historicals she had found her niche, and each new title had attracted more and more readers.

It would have been ungracious not to admit that Goldman and Redding had benefited greatly from the alliance, but, as Catriona frequently said when she was interviewed, she owed her success to Larry for pointing her in the right direction. And, although towards the end of her husband’s life Catriona had often spoken of the possible advantages of writing for a larger publishing house, she had never actually deserted her husband’s firm.

His own reaction to acquiring a new stepmother was not something Dominic was particularly proud of. He’d always thought she was too young for his father, and, at sixteen, he’d just been beginning to explore his own sexuality. He could—and had—defended his attraction to her by pointing out her own culpability. For all she’d remained faithful to his father, she had done nothing to diffuse his fascination.

Indeed, he’d sometimes wondered what she would have done if he’d had less respect for his father. There was no doubt that she’d enjoyed flirting with him, and she’d begun to regard him as a permanent fixture in her life. Although she was about ten years older than he was, she’d always behaved as if they had more in common than she and his father, and only when Lawrence was present had she behaved as a stepmother should.

It had been easier when he’d gone away to college. Away from Catriona’s influence, he’d begun to notice other women, and when he was twenty-two he’d married the sister of one of his college friends. Mary Beth was sweet and gentle, everything Catriona was not, and although his parents had attended the wedding Catriona had soon made it plain that his wife was not welcome at Copperhead Bay.

She hadn’t said it in so many words, of course. It was still his father’s house, and Lawrence Redding had taken quite a shine to his new daughter-in-law. But Catriona had disliked Mary Beth on sight, and had lost no opportunity to belittle her. Or to show her hostility, Dominic conceded grimly, so that even Mary Beth was made aware of it, and had refused to go where she wasn’t wanted.

It had made things impossible for him—as it had been intended to do—but instead of blaming Catriona Dominic had blamed his wife. He’d convinced himself that she must have done something to offend his stepmother, and Mary Beth had eventually forced him to choose between his family and herself.

It had been no contest, he mused now, half-bitterly. His infatuation for his stepmother had been too strong, and Catriona, damn her, had known that from the start. Apart from anything else, she’d banked on the fact that he’d do nothing to hurt his father—even if he had drawn the line at being involved in the production of his stepmother’s books.

His father’s sudden death of a heart attack at the age of sixty-four had changed a lot of things. Not least the fact that Catriona was now free to do whatever she liked. Less than three months after his father’s funeral, she had let Dominic know that she knew how he had always felt about her, and that there was no reason now for her to deny the fact that she reciprocated his feelings. She’d said she’d always known that her marriage to Lawrence Redding had been a mistake, but that luckily she still had plenty of time to make amends.

But that had been too much, even for Dominic. Coming close on the heels of the unwelcome news that his father had expected him to take over as nominal head of Goldman and Redding, he had felt stifled. He had never wanted to work for his father’s firm, and although his feelings for Catriona hadn’t lessened they had altered. He still wanted her, of course he did. But he had no intention of abusing his father’s memory by bedding his widow almost before he was cold in his grave.

But the fact remained that, although Catriona had inherited the house on Bermuda, where she’d written all her best-sellers, and the bulk of his father’s personal fortune, Lawrence Redding had left the publishing company to his son. And although Dominic had trained as a lawyer, not an editor, and had been working for a successful firm of attorneys in Boston at the time of his father’s death, he’d felt obliged to resign his position and move to New York.

Which was probably the biggest mistake he’d ever made, he conceded now, pushing his hands back into his pockets and staring broodingly over the pool. With Catriona as his client—as well as his would-be lover—he was struggling. He knew as well as anyone that if he offended Catriona, and she found an alternative publisher, Goldman and Redding would suffer.

But what else could he have done, given the terms of his father’s last will and testament? Lawrence Redding had wanted him to take over the running of the company; he’d wanted him to produce Catriona’s books in his place. God, hadn’t he ever suspected how Dominic felt about her? Or was this his way of showing that the two of them had his blessing?