It had been held in the stately home of a belted earl, and the tickets alone had cost the guests a fantastic amount of money. The proceedings had culminated in an auction, the prizes varying from a cruise in a luxury yacht to the tie of a member of the royal family. Lena had allowed herself to be talked into offering herself as a dinner companion for the evening, and had been amazed at the money a simple date with a top fashion model had engendered. Her fame, such as it was, she had acquired more by accident than design.
As a nineteen-year-old living in Paris at her friend Anna's home and attending art college, she had met Claude, the father of Anna's boyfriend Alain. When Claude had suggested she model for him she had laughed. She was the right height at five-nine, but she was also full-breasted. Claude had dismissed her objections with a wave of his hand. Apparently the stick-like figures of bygone years were no longer fashionable and it was perfectly all right for a model to have a bust these days.
The idea of earning some money of her own, instead of being completely dependent on her father until she left college, appealed to her. To Lena's amazement, by the time she had completed her college course her face had appeared on the cover of Vogue.
When Claude had branched out from haute couture into lingerie, it was Lena's face and figure that had appeared in all the magazines and hoardings, clad in a white basque, briefs, garter belt, and stockings. That had been her one mistake in an otherwise very enjoyable career. She had never dreamed the picture would have such impact, and before she knew it she was voted the official pin-up for the French navy, and was described as the sexiest thing on two legs.
She still
modelled high fashion and in the past year she had graced the cover of Vogue several times, but to her chagrin the celebrity status she had achieved worldwide was mostly due to that one pin-up picture, and she bitterly regretted ever allowing Claude to talk her into it. Now she was newsworthy and she did not much like it.
She had expected the charity gala to be her last public appearance; at twenty-two, she was ready to get back to her first love—design. No one except Claude was aware of the fact, and she could not blame him for milking her last appearance for all it was worth as the charity concerned was very dear to his heart. But it did not stop her feeling angry towards him. She knew she was being unfair. But it was Claude's fault she had ended up in this car with the last man in the world she wanted to be with.
She squirmed uncomfortably on the plush leather seat, casting a furious glance at her silent companion, and she longed to knock the smug grin off his handsome face.
Lena had taken part in the auction because of Anna, the daughter of a French diplomat; she had been Lena's friend from her first day at boarding-school. She had nicknamed the lanky Kathleen 'Lena', and had been there for Katy when her naive dream of marriage and happily ever after had collapsed round her head at the tender age of eighteen. Later it had been Anna's suggestion she use the name Lena in her modelling career.
It still seemed too incredible to believe that the petite dark-haired laughing girl was no more. Lena had been bridesmaid at her wedding, and godmother to her daughter. But a short twelve months previous Anna had gone in to hospital for a few simple tests for anaemia, and within four months was dead. A shadow of sorrow darkened Lena's expressive green eyes as for a moment she was lost in the past. With a start she heard her name called.
'Lena Lawrence, darling of the masses, sophisticated lady, struck dumb. You disappoint me, Lena.'
She turned a blistering glance on the man beside her. 'I have nothing to say to you, except get lost!'
'Tut, tut, whatever happened to sweet little biddable Katy?'
She took a deep breath, reminding herself she was a sophisticated successful woman, not a mutely adoring teenager. 'She grew up,' she said coldly.
When she had been persuaded to offer herself on a dinner date for charity, never in her wildest dreams or worst nightmares had she envisaged ending up with Jake Granton... He had hurt her terribly once, and she had never forgiven him, or forgotten...Unfortunately he still had the power to hurt her; his masculine aura was like
a force field sucking her in. She recognised that she was aware of the man with every fibre of her being, and deplored the fact.
She remembered her relief when the bidding had finally stopped at an incredible three thousand pounds, offered by an elderly gentleman near the back of the room. She had congratulated him personally and been doubly relieved when she had heard as she'd walked away the old man mention that another person was coming. The date had been for either one or two people and Lena had much preferred the idea of dining out with a couple. The man had said it was for someone else, and she, in her hurry to leave, had obviously misheard him.
'Well, isn't this nice? Quite like old times,' and Lena nearly jumped out of the seat as a strong brown hand curved over her knee.
With an angry shove she removed his hand from her knee. 'Hardly,' she snapped. 'I don't remember you ever taking me out for the evening, and certainly not to dinner in a white Rolls.' Her caustic reply was a brave attempt to mask her furiously beating heart. Her knee still tingled where he had touched her, and she was disgusted with her own reaction.
'No, I didn't; an oversight on my part,' he said reflectively. 'But if I had would it have made you accept my proposal, Lena?' He did not wait for her answer. 'I think not. You are a very sensual woman and, if half the rumours about you are true, you like variety. I was a fool to imagine you would commit yourself to one man, but not any more. So tonight we will enjoy each other, hmm? No strings attached.'
'No.' She turned slightly in her seat to face him, no trace of the turmoil he had caused visible in her cool expression.
Jake Granton was supposedly a friend of her father's, and also a shareholder in Meldenton China, her family's company. She had considered the possibility that she might have to face Jake Granton again once she took up employment in the family firm, but she had convinced herself the likelihood was remote. Jake's father had died a couple of years ago and Jake had inherited Granton Holdings. The dividend from his Meldenton China shares were a mere drop in the ocean to a man of his wealth.
She considered herself mature enough to treat him with cool civility. Unfortunately, meeting him unexpectedly and as Lena Lawrence, model, she felt at a terrible disadvantage.
'I don't know why you did this, Jake,' she continued, and with gathering confidence she added, 'but there is absolutely no point in our spending the evening together. I'll tell the chauffeur to turn around and take you home, and don't worry, I will refund your three thousand pounds.'
. She was proud of her steady voice as she casually dismissed the evening as a mistake, but inside she was quaking in case he didn't accept her offer. The date was supposed to be from eight until two, dinner and dancing, and there was no way she wanted to spend that long in this man's company. She did not dare...
She studied him surreptitiously beneath her thick lashes. It was two years since the last time they had met and that had ended in a furious row. She did some quick mental arithmetic: he must be thirty-four now, but from what she could see of him he had not developed an ounce of fat on his tall muscular frame.
His straight black hair, worn slightly longer than was the present fashion, was parted at the side and swept casually back off his broad forehead. His perfectly arched brows shaded deep-set dark brown, almost black eyes, fringed with thick curling lashes, a legacy from his Italian mother. His nose was straight, but at the moment, she realised, his nostrils were flaring dangerously wide over a sensuous mouth that was tight with anger.
'No. I was stupid enough to allow you to dismiss me twice in the past, but not this time.'
Her eyes widened at the icy anger in his tone. His dark gaze caught and held hers, and she was powerless to break the contact.
'You, L-e-n-a L-a-w-rence,' he drawled her professional name as if it were a dirty word, 'are going to entertain me for the next few hours. I have paid dearly for the privilege.' His full lips curved in a cynical grin. 'Tell me, is five hundred an hour the going rate nowadays?'