Sarah Holland - Extreme Provocation

Extreme Provocation

Sarah Holland

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

LUCY stepped out of the taxi into the warm night air. Looking up at Marlborough’s, the exclusive London casino, she shivered, drawing her white lace shawl closer around her bare shoulders.

There was nothing else for it. She had to go into this imposing place and get her father. He had already spent most of her grandfather’s fortune since inheriting it. If Lucy couldn’t stop him, he would gamble himself into bankruptcy and ruin.

Marlborough’s was a private gambling club for the very rich. A doorman in smart livery demanded her name and proof of her identity.

‘Lucy Winslow,’ she said haughtily, handing him her passport. ‘My father is Gerald Winslow.’

He tilted his cap and motioned for the doors to be opened.

She swept in, head held high. Luxury surrounded her in the cream-gold foyer with its high ceiling and crystal chandeliers. Gazing around, she felt suddenly very young and nave, not sure where to go. Where were the gaming rooms? What did one do?

Suddenly she sensed someone watching her. With a start, she looked up, green eyes huge.

A man stood on the luxurious stairs, one hand on a gold banister. He was very tall with broad shoulders and long legs. He wore a black suit, impeccably cut, a dark red silk tie and a tight black waistcoat.

‘Feeling lost?’ he asked, and his voice was excitingly smoky.

Her pulses leapt. ‘No. I was looking for someone.’

The man walked coolly down the stairs. ‘Anyone in particular?’

‘My father,’ she said, staring at his face as he stepped into the light, seeing the jagged scar on his hard-boned cheek, the cynical blue eyes and the firm, ruthless mouth.

‘What’s his name?’ A frown drew black brows together.

‘Gerald Winslow,’ she said, lifting her blonde head with pride.

‘I know him,’ he said slowly. ‘Come with me.’ He opened the door with one very powerful hand. She noticed dark hairs on the back of that hand, white cuffs at his wrist, and the glimpse of a black Rolex watch.

Stepping into the casino, Lucy was dazzled by the expensive gleam of low-lighting on roulette tables, blackjack tables, pontoon and punto banco and the glitter of silver chips, gold chips, scarlet chips, all clattering down polished chutes.

The door swung shut as the dark stranger stepped in beside her. ‘This way...’ His strong hand moved to the small of her back, propelling her across the luxurious, imposing gaming rooms.

Heads lifted as they passed. Women eyed the stranger admiringly, one sultry brunette even licking her red lips as she watched him stride with cool arrogance past her, his face expressionless.

He led her to a set of doors and opened one. Lucy looked into the baccarat room and saw her father. ‘Oh! There he is!’ She moved forwards.

‘You can’t go in.’ The man blocked her path.

Lucy’s green eyes sparkled up at him. ‘But I can see him. He’s the one in the—’

‘I know which one he is,’ he drawled coolly, ‘but I’m not letting you in. Not in that dress.’ The blue eyes moved to her body with ruthless sexual appraisal, stripping her of the cream silk evening gown that skimmed her full breasts and tiny waist and rounded hips. ‘You’d cause a riot,’ he murmured insolently.

Hot colour flooded her face. ‘You’re impertinent,’ she said tautly. ‘Mr...?’

He smiled slowly and did not reply.

Lucy’s mouth tightened. ‘I came here to see my father, and I must insist you let me through.’

‘You can see him when he’s finished playing.’ He closed the door and took her bare arm in a cool hand, propelling her away from the room.

Lucy tried to pull away from him. ‘What do you think you’re doing? Let me go at once!’

‘I’ll leave word with the floor manager,’ he drawled coolly, continuing to stride across the luxurious casino with her. ‘He’ll send your father to me when the game is over.’ He looked down with narrowed eyes, adding, ‘Don’t cause a scene.’

‘I’m not,’ she said tensely. ‘But I don’t know you and I don’t like the way you’re ordering me around.’

‘No need for alarm,’ he said flatly. ‘You’re perfectly safe.’

She gave an angry laugh. ‘If I’m perfectly safe, why are you trying to take me somewhere?’

‘Because I can see you’re not used to casino life,’ he said coolly, and halted, looking down at her with those unnerving blue eyes. ‘I thought you’d prefer a cup of coffee in a quiet room.’

Hesitating, her eyes darted over his tough face. ‘What sort of quiet room?’

‘My office,’ he said.

Lucy studied him for a moment, the idea appealing to her. She felt out of her depth in this sophisticated atmosphere. However exclusive, there was an edge to the scent of money that was excitingly sinful.

‘You work here?’ she asked at length.

A smile touched the sardonic mouth. ‘Oh, yes...’ His long-fingered hand pressured her with the merest touch. ‘This way...’

With misgivings, Lucy allowed him to lead her behind the tables. One or two of the men in dark suits who worked behind the tables tried to approach the man. He waved a strong hand of dismissal at them, his face and eyes hard as he strode past with Lucy.

She wondered who he was. He had an air of power and authority. His clothes were impeccably cut. He was obviously very rich. Her eyes scanned his tough face in a sidelong glance. Was he the manager?

‘In here,’ he said, unlocking a large cream door with a round gold handle and ushering her in.

Lucy moved inside, her pale silvery hair brushing faintly against the man’s powerful chest. The door closed with a cool click. Lucy spun, watching him warily through her long fair lashes. Now that she was alone with him in this quiet, civilised room, he seemed even more dangerous.

‘Coffee, then?’ he asked, strolling coolly towards her.

‘Thank you, that would be nice.’

He smiled, and moved to the mahogany desk which, she noticed with surprise, was a French antique. It had exquisite carved legs, the wood rich and deeply polished.

‘Two coffees in my office,’ he said into the telephone, then punched out another number. ‘Send Winslow to me when he’s finished playing. Yes...my office.’ He replaced the receiver. His blue eyes flashed to her face. ‘Sit down,’ he said softly, gesturing to a long, deep red couch behind her.

Lucy sank down on to it. As she crossed her long slim legs with a swish of silk, his eyes moved assessingly over them. He was unsmiling.

He watched her for a moment, then strolled coolly to the front of the desk and perched on it, his black jacket falling back, exposing the lean power of his body beneath the black waistcoat.

‘So you’re Gerald Winslow’s daughter?’

‘Yes.’ Lucy watched him through her lashes.

‘Are you his only daughter?’ His tone was cool, conversational, belying the danger in those ruthless blue eyes as they moved slowly over her, undressing her.

‘His only child,’ she said, equally conversational, although her pulses were leaping with awareness. ‘My mother died when I was four. My father never remarried.’

A frown touched his brow. ‘He brought you up alone?’

‘Not really.’ She laughed lightly. ‘There was my grandfather, too.’

‘Ah, yes...’ The blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘Sir Charles. I remember him. He came here once, with your father. An impressive man. Sharp with cards, too.’ He smiled with lazy amusement. ‘Made mincemeat of my dealers, if I remember rightly, and walked off with over ten thousand pounds in cash.’