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“Close the door. I want to talk to you.”
Obediently, Serena did as she was told, looking up at Nick hotly through her lashes.
He walked toward her, and said deeply, “I don’t have much time. I want to sign this deal and get the wheels moving on it. But there’s an essential ingredient in the package that I don’t yet have.”
“I don’t understand,” she said huskily.
“Yes, you do,” he said thickly, watching her.
Nick suddenly lifted his strong hands to her face, making her gasp, staring up at him as he said under his breath, “You’re the essential ingredient, Lady Serena. You. That’s why I’ve asked you here now. I’m prepared to invest millions in Flaxton Manor—but only on one condition.” His blue eyes slipped to her mouth as he said, “That you agree to be my wife.”
SARAH HOLLAND was born in Kent and brought up in London, England. She began writing at eighteen because she loved the warmth and excitement of Harlequin. She has traveled the world, living in Hong Kong, the south of France and Holland. She attended a drama school, and was a nightclub singer and a songwriter. She now lives on the Isle of Man. Her hobbies are acting, singing, painting and psychology. She loves buying clothes, noisy dinner parties and being busy.
Ruthless Lover
Sarah Holland
Burke’s Peerage
With thanks to Kate Lonsdale and Susan Goddard
of Burke’s Peerage for their considerable help regarding title, inheritance and protocol.
SERENA slid out of her black silk négligé and laid it carelessly on the antique chair. The long black lace nightgown skimmed her slender body with sensual elegance. In the mirrored wardrobe, she saw her long red-gold hair fall seductively over one eye and smiled ruefully. Her looks had always been at odds with her background.
Slipping into bed, she yawned. It had been a long day. Outside, New York was in the grip of a heat wave, and lit up like a cosmopolitan dream. The city that never sleeps, she thought with a faint smile, and switched off the light.
It was midnight, and she drifted into a warm reverie. The duvet was as cosy as a nest. Sleep claimed her and she began to dream, as she so often did, in bright colours, seeing oils on canvas and faces from her past turned into swirls of blue, gold, red…
When the bedroom door opened at three a.m. she did not stir. When the powerful male body got into bed beside her she gave a slight sigh, turning towards him.
But when the long hands slid over her waist and drew her gently against him she began to stir, her dream changing from paints and canvas to flesh, as a figure in stark masculine colour came to life and began making love to her.
Serena’s red-gold head tilted back. A strong mouth closed over hers, hard fingers slid over her throat, invoking shivers, and she moaned involuntarily as the kiss forced her to respond, her slender body sliding against his, feeling the sweet, hot rush of desire as she encountered hard stomach, hair-roughened thighs, felt his strong hands slide forcefully down to her slim hips.
Her breath came faster; she was moaning, drowning in sensation as her hands moved up to his strong neck, fingers pushing into thick hair, her body arching in fierce arousal against his.
A rough sound of masculine desire echoed in the dark bedroom; strong hands swept up over her breast, and she gave a hoarse cry of excitement as she felt that mouth, that real mouth close over hers with insistent desire as his hands stroked her erect nipples.
Suddenly her brain flashed away from dreams and into reality. Her lids flickered open to see the stark silhouette of a man’s face, the glitter of blue eyes terrifying her.
‘No…!’ Serena struggled, eyes stretched wide with alarm, panic sending her into a frenzy as she kicked and fought the aggressor in her bed then leapt away with a hoarse cry, running for the door.
The bedside light was punched on by the intruder.
Serena turned, heart crashing at her breastbone, to see Nick sitting up in bed, watching her with a lazy, sardonic smile, his magnificent chest exposed by the loose dark red robe he wore.
For a second, she just stared at him. His black hair was tousled, his tough face filled with cynical mockery, his mouth a hard ruthless line.
‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded as rage flooded through her.
‘Trying to sleep,’ he drawled, running a hand through his black hair. ‘What are you doing here?’
Her green eyes flashed at him. ‘You’re not supposed to be in New York! I was told you’d be in Washington this week!’
‘There was a problem with the jet,’ he said flatly. ‘I was diverted to Kennedy. It was the middle of the night. What was I supposed to do—check into the Plaza?’
‘You like the Plaza!’ she said, struggling to get her chaotic emotions under control, horribly aware that she had responded like wildfire to his kiss and that he knew it.
He laughed sardonically. ‘I love the Plaza. But I have a perfectly good apartment here, and I don’t