CHAPTER ONE
‘MCALLISTER, isn’t it?’
Brice tensed resentfully at this intrusion into his solitude. If one could be solitary in the midst of a party to celebrate a political victory!
Ordinary he wouldn’t have been at this party, but the youngest daughter of the newest Member of Parliament had married his cousin, Fergus, six months ago, and so all the family had been invited to Paul Hamilton’s house today to join in the celebrations at his re-election. It would have seemed churlish for Brice to have refused.
But he didn’t particularly care for being addressed by just his surname—it reminded him all too forcefully of his schooldays. Although it was the man’s tone of voice that irritated him the most: arrogance bordering on condescension!
He turned slowly, finding himself face to face with a man he knew he had never met before. Tall, blond hair silvered at the temples, probably aged in his mid-fifties, the hard handsomeness of the man’s face was totally in keeping with that arrogance Brice had already guessed at.
‘Brice McAllister, yes,’ he corrected the other man coolly.
‘Richard Latham.’ The other man thrust out his hand in greeting.
Richard Latham… Somehow Brice knew he recognised the name, if not the man…
He shook the other man’s hand briefly, deliberately not continuing the conversation. Never the most sociable of men, Brice considered he had done his bit today towards family relations, was only waiting for a lull in the proceedings so that he could take his leave.
‘You have absolutely no idea who I am, do you?’ The other man sounded amused at the idea rather than irritated.
Brice may not know who the other man was, but he did know what he was—the persistent type!
Latham, he had said his name was. The same surname as Paul Hamilton’s other son-in-law, his own cousin Fergus’s brother-in-law, which meant he was probably some sort of relative of the Hamilton family. But somehow Brice had a feeling that wasn’t what the other man meant.
He held back his sigh of impatience. It was almost seven o’clock now; he had been looking forward to being able to excuse himself shortly, on the pretext of having another appointment this evening. But now he would have to extricate himself from this unwanted conversation first.
‘I’m afraid not,’ he returned without apology; being accosted at a social gathering by a complete stranger wasn’t altogether unknown to him, but it certainly wasn’t something he enjoyed.
Although, he accepted, being an artist of some repute, that he had to show a certain social face. This man, with his unmistakable arrogance, just seemed to have set his teeth on edge from the start.
Richard Latham raised blond brows at the bluntness of the admission. ‘My secretary has contacted you twice during the last month, concerning a portrait of my fiancée I would like to commission from you.’
He was that Richard Latham! Multimillionaire, jet-setting businessman, the other man’s business interests ranging worldwide, his personal relationships with some of the world’s most beautiful women making newspaper headlines almost as much as his successful business ventures. Although Brice had no idea who the ‘fiancée’ he had just mentioned could be.
He shook his head. ‘As I explained in my letter, in reply to your secretary’s first enquiry, I’m afraid I don’t do portraits,’ he drawled politely. And he hadn’t felt the least inclination to explain that all over again in reply to the second letter he had received from this man’s secretary only a week later.
‘Not true,’ Richard Latham came back abruptly, blue eyes narrowed assessingly on Brice’s deliberately impassive expression. ‘I’ve seen the rather magnificent one you did of Darcy McKenzie.’
Brice smiled slightly. ‘Darcy happens to be my cousin-in-law. She is married to my cousin Logan.’
‘And?’ Richard Latham rasped frowningly.
Brice shrugged. ‘It was a one-off. A wedding gift.’
The other man gave an arrogant inclination of his head. ‘This is a gift too—to myself.’
And he was obviously a man, Brice acknowledged ruefully, who wasn’t used to hearing the word no—from anyone!
Well, Brice couldn’t help that, he simply did not paint portraits, had no inclination to paint a flattering likeness of the rich and the pampered, just so that they could hang it on one of the walls of their elegant homes and claim it was a ‘McAllister’.
‘I really am sorry—’ he began—only to come to an abrupt halt as the room suddenly fell silent, all attention on the woman who now stood in the doorway.
Sabina.
Brice had seen photographs the last few years of the world’s most famous model—he would have to have been blind not to have done. Hardly a day passed when she wasn’t photographed appearing in some fashion show or other, at a party, or public event. But none of those photographs had prepared Brice for the sheer perfection of her beauty, the creaminess of her skin against the short, shimmering silver dress she wore, her legs extremely long and shapely, her eyes a luminous blue, long hair the colour of ripe wheat reaching almost to her slender waist.
She wore absolutely no jewellery, but then she didn’t need to; it would merely be gilding the lily.
His attention returned to her eyes. Luminous, yes, with a black ring encircling the sky-blue of the iris. But there was something else there he picked up on as she looked about the room. A certain apprehension. Almost fear…?
Then a shutter came down over those amazing blue eyes, the emotion masked almost as quickly as Brice’s trained eye had recognised it, her smile confident now as she looked across the room in his direction.
‘Excuse me while I greet my fiancée,’ Richard Latham murmured mockingly before leaving Brice’s side to stride forcefully across the room to kiss Sabina warmly on the cheek, his arm moving possessively about her slender shoulders even as she smiled at him.
Brice realised as he watched the two of them that he had been wrong about the jewellery; on the third finger of Sabina’s left hand gleamed a huge heart-shaped diamond.
Sabina was the fiancée Richard Latham had referred to? The fiancée he wanted Brice to paint a portrait of…?
The one woman in the world, now that he had seen her in the flesh, that Brice knew he simply had to paint!
Oh, not because of her beauty, spectacular though it might be. No, it was that quickly masked emotion that intrigued Brice, that momentary glimpse of fear and vulnerability, that made Sabina more than just a beautiful woman.
It was an emotion he wanted to explore, if only on canvas…
‘Sorry I’m a little late.’ Sabina smiled warmly at Richard. ‘I’m afraid Andrew was being extremely difficult over fittings today.’ She grimaced as she lightly dismissed one of the top fashion designers of the day. Andrew might be at the top, but he had a volatile temper to go with it, which made him hell to work for.
‘You’re here now, that’s all that matters,’ Richard assured her lightly as he turned back into the room.
Sabina’s tension left her. How nice it was to have someone in her life who was never difficult over the demands of her career. In fact, it was the opposite where Richard was concerned; her famous face as she stood at his side was all that he wanted from her.
And, thankfully, the conversation seemed to have resumed in the room again now. Even after seven years as a top model, Sabina didn’t think she would ever get used to the way people stopped to stare at her wherever she went, had had to build up a veneer over the years to cover up the dismay she often felt at the effect her looks had on people.
The only place she seemed to get away from being recognised was when she went to one of her favourite hamburger restaurants. No one ever believed, with her willowy slenderness, that it could possibly be the model Sabina, dressed in denims and casual top, her hair hidden under a baseball cap, sitting there eating a hamburger with French fries! But, sceptical as some reporters were, claiming she lived on lettuce leaves and water to maintain her slender figure, she was actually one of those lucky people who could eat anything and never put on weight.
Although, she acknowledged a little sadly, she hadn’t dared to make one of those impromptu visits to eat one of her favourite foods for some time now. Six months, in fact…
‘I have someone I want you to meet, Sabina,’ Richard told her smoothly now. ‘And someone I want to meet you,’ he added with a certain amount of satisfaction.
Sabina looked at him enquiringly, but could read nothing from his expression as he guided her across the room to meet the man she had seen him talking to when she’d arrived.
The other man was tall, even taller than Richard’s six feet two inches, probably aged in his mid-thirties, dressed casually in blue denims teamed with a white tee shirt and black jacket, with over-long dark hair, and a face of austere handsomeness. But it was the green eyes in that face that caught and held Sabina’s attention, eyes of such perception they seemed to see right into the soul.
Sabina felt the return of her earlier apprehension run down the length of her spine; she didn’t want anyone, least of all this austere stranger, looking into her soul!
‘Brice, I would like you to meet my fiancée, Sabina. Sabina, this is Brice McAllister,’ Richard introduced lightly.