Wynter.
He didn’t look English. He didn’t look like anyone she’d ever met. The man was stunningly handsome—movie star handsome—like a smoothly dangerous Latin lover, an aristocratic Spaniard with his dark olive skin, black hair and eyes so dark, they looked black, too—black and brilliant with sparkling speculation as they bored straight into hers, giving her heart an almighty jolt.
Her toes started to curl. The man was sexual dynamite. He was as tall as Peter but there was more of a lean grace to his perfectly proportioned physique, which was casually displayed in a collarless white shirt and tailored black jeans. There was a supple, animal quality about his body that gave Charlotte the feeling he was all primed to pounce and right at this moment, she was his target.
Her spine tingled with a weird little frisson of excitement. Shock at her response to his sexual magnetism kicked her mind into savage common sense. Damien Wynter was the kind of man who would make any woman feel like this. It wasn’t special to her. But for one treacherous moment, she wished Mark had the same power.
Her father’s large hand on the pit of her back, pushing her forward to greet their guest, snapped her out of her stunned bunny state. She plastered a smile on her face, hoping it covered her embarrassment at being caught up in his initial physical impact. Looks weren’t everything, not by a long shot.
“Damien, it’s my very great pleasure to introduce you to my daughter, Charlotte,” her father said with far more warmth than he’d ever shown to Mark.
Which raised her hackles.
“It’s a very great pleasure to meet you, Charlotte,” the man responded in kind, stepping forward and offering his hand.
She took it out of automatic politeness and was shocked anew by the electric contact of his strong fingers encasing hers. It rattled her into gushing speech. “Peter has spoken of you. I’m sure he’ll see you enjoy your visit to Australia.”
The dark eyes engaged hers with very personal intensity. Heart-squeezing intensity. “I’m glad I came.”
For you.
He didn’t say those words but she felt them. And the pressure of his hand reinforced the totally unwelcome connection he was pushing.
“I’m sorry I can’t stay and chat but I’m really short of time and I’ve got some urgent business with Dad,” she rushed out, forcibly releasing her hand as she turned to her father. “Could we go to the library?”
Her father waved to Charles who had brought in the traymobile. “Can’t it wait until we’ve had coffee?”
“Please, Dad. I’ve come all the way out here and I’ve got to get back…”
“All right, all right,” he grumbled. “I’ll be back,” he threw at Peter and Damien.
“Please excuse us,” Charlotte added with a swift, apologetic glance at both men, not quite meeting the dark gaze, which she felt boring into her back as she made her escape.
Damien Wynter was undoubtedly a well-practised womaniser, she fiercely told herself.
Not worth a second thought.
Damien watched her go, his mind buzzing with exciting possibilities.
“She’s taken,” Peter said dryly.
It snapped Damien’s attention back to him. “What do you mean…taken?”
“Getting married. The wedding is only two weeks away.”
Shock was chased by a sense of disbelief. He hadn’t imagined it. Charlotte Ramsey had connected with him. She shouldn’t be taken by some other man. He shot a probing look at Peter. “Do you like her fiancé?”
The roll of eyes expressed contempt. “He’s a smarmy fortune-hunter, but no one can make Charlotte see it.”
Aggression pumped through Damien. One way or another he’d make her see it. “Will they be at the party on the yacht tonight?” he asked.
Peter gave him a speculative look, then shook his head. “They’ll be there but you don’t know Charlotte, Damien. She’s got her mind set on marrying Mark Freedman and believe me, my sister is very, very strong-minded. Rocking the boat is not on, my friend.”
Rock it he would if he could, was Damien’s instant reaction, but he shrugged and turned the conversation to another topic, choosing not to pursue his interest in Peter’s sister too openly at this point.
Tonight he intended to know much more of Charlotte Ramsey and if he liked what he learnt, nothing was going to stop him from acting on his interest.
“So what’s this urgent business?” her father growled as he shut the library door behind them. “You were downright rude to Damien Wynter, giving him short shrift like that.”
The criticism stung, especially when the approval he’d denied Mark had been so quickly given to Peter’s friend. Her carefully rehearsed words flew out of her mind. She turned on him, hot accusation leaping off her tongue. “Not as rude as you were to Mark on Christmas day, snubbing him when he was only trying to…”
“He was sucking up to me,” her father cut in angrily. “I hate people sucking up to me. Damn it, Charlotte! Couldn’t you see that for yourself?” He threw up his hands in disgust. “When are you going to come to your senses? Damien Wynter is the kind of man you should be marrying and you don’t even give him two cents of your time.”
Resentment burned through her. Damien Wynter had used the two cents, coming onto her so fast she was still disturbed by it. “I’m marrying Mark, Dad,” she grated out through her teeth. “And I don’t want you snubbing him tonight.”
“Then keep him out of my way,” her father snapped, scything the air with his hand in dismissive contempt.
Her chin lifted in defiant challenge. “You want me out of your way, too, Dad? Is that the way it’s going to be?”
His face went red with furious frustration. His hand lifted, stabbing a finger at her. “I’ve told you before and I’ll tell again. Get Freedman to sign a prenuptial agreement. If you do that, I promise I’ll tolerate the man for your sake, Charlotte. That’s the best I can do. Don’t try my patience with you any further.”
He swung on his heel and marched out of the library, slamming the door behind him.
Charlotte found herself trembling from the force of his anger. She had believed her father would come around to being reasonably pleasant to Mark. It was only a matter of time, once she’d proved how happy she was in the relationship. But now she was frightened that wasn’t going to happen. Not ever.
Even if she pushed Mark to sign a prenup—which she didn’t want to do—would it make any real difference to her father’s attitude towards him?
She hated this. Hated it. And she hated Damien Wynter for coming here and setting up a comparison for her father to throw at her. Of course he won automatic approval. He was one of them—born to wealth and his whole life driven by accumulating more of it. She didn’t want to be the dutiful social wife to a man like that, which was why she’d chosen Mark.
But she didn’t feel happy as she left the Palm Beach mansion.
She felt torn by a multitude of needs, which couldn’t all be answered.
DAMIEN WYNTER…
Charlotte shot mental bolts of rejection at the man emerging from the limousine, straightening up beside her brother, actually topping Peter’s formidable height by an inch or two. He looked even more striking in a formal black dinner suit and she had no doubt that every woman at this party would be eyeing him over tonight. Which was fine, as long as he focussed on them and not on her.