Sarah Holland - The Dominant Male

Bobby frowned, seeing the hot colour in her face, the embarrassed way she lowered her lashes, and interpreted it correctly.

‘We’re here to raise money for a good cause,’ he reminded her gently. ‘Speaking of which—how are you doing with your particular sideshow efforts?’

‘Oh…’ She leapt on the change of subject with relief. ‘Six hundred pounds in all, so far.’

‘Goodness!’ He was astonished. ‘Just for reading tarot cards?’

‘One woman gave me a pound, another gave me a cheque for two hundred,’ Rhiannon shrugged tense shoulders, still deeply aware of the dark stranger’s eyes. ‘That’s the way it happens with charity events.’

‘Two hundred quid just for reading tarot cards!’ Bobby whistled. ‘Perhaps you should take it up professionally!’

She laughed. ‘And give up the day job? Not in a million years!’

Rhiannon was a top advertising executive. The creative director of Solomon Associates, no less, and one of the most powerful advertising forces in London. She had gone into Solomon’s straight from art college at twenty-one, and over the last five years had carved herself a career that was the pride and joy of her family, who were still living in their little country village in Hampshire.

But today she was ‘Rhiannon the Welsh Witch’, telling fortunes in a little Romany tent in the grounds of Courtney Manor, raising funds for her favourite children’s charity.

‘Still, you’re making lots of money here.’ Bobby took her arm, walking with her towards the drinks marquee. ‘And I’m not surprised. There are so many wealthy people here.’

‘There always are at these charity events. I’m surprised they don’t just write it boldly on the invitations—

“DO NOT ATTEND WITHOUT YOUR CHEQUEBOOK”.’

‘And he’s got the biggest chequebook of all,’ Bobby said, glancing across the lawns.

‘Who has?’

‘Him. The very tall man over there.’

Her eyes followed his glance until she realised with a thudding heart that he was talking about her stranger—the tall, dark man with the fierce blue eyes and cynical face.

Prickling, she said, ‘I suppose he’s some kind of wealthy…’ Her voice trailed off as her mind suddenly rearranged those powerful features into a newspaper photograph, a magazine cover, a face on the television news.

‘Don’t you recognise him? He’s—’

‘Gabriel Stone,’ she whispered, breathless.

As though her soft voice had reached his ears, Gabriel Stone looked up at that moment, and as those blue eyes met hers her body jerked with electrifying sexual attraction.

‘Is that who he is?’ Flustered and off balance, she clung to Bobby’s solid, boring, safe arm. ‘I did wonder. Gabriel Stone…’ She could barely think properly.

‘Charismatic swine, isn’t he?’ Bobby murmured. ‘All that power, of course.’

‘No doubt he’s earned it…’

‘I read the other day that he’s just bought a small island in the Pacific’

‘I’m sure it’s not too small to cope with his private jet.’

Darling—do you mind terribly that I’m not in that league?’

She stared at him in amazement. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. We’ve both got enough money to see us through, and that’s all that matters. Why on earth should you think I’d be-’

‘Just a thought.’ He took her left hand, lifted it to his mouth and kissed the diamond solitaire that gleamed on her finger.

Gabriel Stone’s eyes narrowed sharply. His powerful body seemed to tense. Rhiannon’s heart skipped rapid beats and her eyes darted to his hard face. She felt quivers of excitement and fear run through her, and thought, Stop staring at me!

‘So when are we going to tie the knot?’ Bobby asked teasingly.

‘Soon as you like,’ she heard her own off-balance voice say. ‘How about next week?’

Bobby gaped like a goldfish, then stammered: ‘Wh-wh-what?’

She could have kicked herself. It was the first time in the year since they had got engaged that she’d said anything like that. Normally she played marriage down, pleaded career problems, begged for more time, sometimes even told him she wasn’t so sure any more.

So what on earth had made her suddenly say they could get married as soon as he liked?

‘Well, Rhiannon…’ Bobby began anxiously. ‘You know I love you dearly, but marriage so soon…I mean, I had anticipated longer…I mean, I—’

‘Don’t worry, it was just a joke!’ She laughed it off whilst wondering two things: a. why they were both intent on delaying their marriage for eternity and b. why she had been so determined to show Gabriel Stone that she belonged to Bobby.

‘Just a joke!’ Rhiannon said again, and looked quickly at her watch. ‘Heavens, is that the time? I’d better get back to work…’

He didn’t try to stop her as she moved away from him, and she was sure it was because he was relieved not to have to discuss marriage again. He just watched her walk away…

Another pair of eyes watched her too. Gabriel Stone’s. Go away! her mind shouted silently. Don’t look at me. Keep away from me. I don’t even know you.

But her pulses leapt with excitement and she felt aware of every inch of her skin: her bared midriff, the sway of her hips, the curve of her breasts, her buttocks and the soft feel of the grass beneath her naked jewelled toes.

Once inside her tent, she breathed deeply, angrily aware of her feeling of deep excitement, just because he had looked at her with those ruthless eyes.

What’s the matter with you? she demanded. First you turn to jelly just because he looks at you. Then you try to seduce Bobby publicly just to annoy him. Then you actually consider marrying earlier than planned just because—because of what?

Some dark-haired stranger with sex appeal?

This is madness, she decided. I need to dispel this clamouring for great passion with dangerous, ruthless strangers. And the best way is with white magic.

Smiling to herself, she sank down into her Welsh Witch chair, with its carved black faces both beautiful and terrifying. A golden lamp hung overhead and the table gleamed with purpole silk and gold coins. Incense burned, filling the air with its sweet smoke, and the walls were hung with silk scarves in scarlet, blue, indigo and gold. Tarot cards were spread out on the table where she had left them.

Quickly she shuffled the pack, eyes closed and red lips murmuring her wish. ‘I wish to remain engaged to Bobby for another year, then marry him, live happily ever after…’ Her green eyes darkened with memories as she added, ‘And never again fall helplessly in love with a man who can make me lose my head…’

The cards were ready. She sensed it, began to spread them in the Celtic cross, and as each card turned she felt more and more afraid of the reading.

The Ace of Cups signifying marriage, blocked by The King of Swords, signifying a ruthless and powerful man. In the immediate future, the Seven of Wands, signifying a fight between two men.

‘Rubbish!’ she muttered, refusing to believe it as she finished the spread. ‘Hocus-pocus! Mumbo-jumbo! Jiggery-pokery!’

The last card was The Lovers.

She went into shock.

For a long time she stared at it, her heart thudding violently. It was five years since she’d got that card. Five years of recovery. Five years of loving Bobby. Five years of safety since Jack…

Jack…

Just the memory of him made something in her heart resist. It was like looking back on another life, a previous incarnation, as though the woman she had been when she loved Jack was someone else entirely, not her, not Rhiannon Windmorr.

She had been slavishly devoted to him, following him around like a puppy, gazing at him adoringly with besotted green eyes and doing anything he’d asked her, as though he were her master and she his slave—a situation that had continued until she’d lost her self-respect.