The Master Player

The white knight…except his eyes were dark and simmering with a pleasure that suddenly felt very sexual to Chloe. Her heart skipped a beat. Shockingly, her vaginal muscles clenched. It took an act of will to ignore this totally unwelcome physical arousal and divert her mind to something else.

‘After you’d gone this morning I looked through the newspaper,’ she babbled. ‘I thought there might be some mention of the…the scandal. When you went back to the Starlight Room, didn’t anyone say anything?’

‘I made sure the story didn’t break last night. I didn’t think you were up to handling a hounding by the media and you’re too exposed to it here in the hotel.’

Caring for her…

That was even more seductive than his physical magnetism. It was terribly difficult to keep any defences up against how he affected her.

‘The story won’t remain hidden,’ he went on. ‘Someone will talk. I simply bought enough time to set up a secure environment where no-one can gain access to you without your permission.’

She shook her head over how much care he had taken. It was extraordinary. But then he was extraordinary. The master player in action on her behalf.

‘Thank you,’ she said huskily, finding it difficult to even speak in a normal voice. She swallowed hard to work some moisture down her throat and ruefully added, ‘Despite what you tell people, it will cause gossip, you know, with me leaving Tony and staying at your place.’

He looked at her consideringly. ‘Will that worry you?’

She thought about it for several moments before answering, ‘No. It will probably lessen the humiliation of the scandal, do my pride good being linked to you.’ An ironic little smile accompanied the plain truth. ‘You’re a bigger fish than Tony.’

He laughed, his brilliant dark eyes lighting up with twinkles of amusement. ‘Let me know if you get the urge to fry me.’

‘Not much chance of that,’ she swiftly retorted, heat racing into her cheeks again. ‘You’ve never been caught.’

‘Nor likely to be. I think most people would call me a shark.’ He cocked a challenging eyebrow at her. ‘You could try casting a net around me.’

It struck her that was precisely what he was doing, casting a net of security around her with ruthless efficiency. ‘I don’t have your power.’

‘Not mine, but you do have power, Chloe,’ he said on a more serious note. ‘A different kind. It tugs at people. Even me.’

The self-mocking glint in his eyes told her that the white knight role was out of character for him. His true nature was that of a shark, always on the hunt, going after whatever attracted him, taking however many bites he wanted out of it, then cruising off, looking for other appealing prey to satisfy him. There wasn’t a net that could hold this man. She’d always thought him intimidating, dangerous, powerful, and that impression was still very much in force.

However, it gave her a weird little thrill to know she tugged at something in him, too. Her mind shied away from the thought it was sexual. She was still married and he had Shannah Lian. It was probably more an arousal of sympathy that he didn’t usually feel. Anyway, it made her feel less of an image he liked on the screen and more of a person he cared about.

‘Well, whatever I have that tugs at you, I’m very grateful for it,’ she said. ‘You’ve provided me with an escape I couldn’t have managed myself.’

‘I hope it leads to a happier future.’ He smiled, holding out his arm for her to take. ‘Let’s go and enjoy lunch.’

She grabbed her clutch bag from the coffee table and linked her arm to his, determined not to worry about his motives for helping her. ‘What about the fax to the removalist company?’ she reminded him, wanting her personal belongings out of the Randwick apartment and in her own possession as soon as possible.

‘I’ll hand it to the executive butler on this floor before we go down to the restaurant, instruct him to have it sent immediately.’

Chloe felt giddy with the thought that separation from her mother and Tony was being cemented in less than a day and she hadn’t even had to face any fights over it. She hugged the arm of the man who had done this for her as they walked out of the hotel suite together, thinking how lucky she was to have a shark on her side, patrolling the waters around her, keeping bad things away.

Her whole body tingled at being in such close physical contact with him but it wasn’t a tingle of fear or alarm, more one of excitement, pleasure in being attached to the power that had affected her freedom. She was acutely aware of the muscular strength of his arm, the whole male strength of him appealing to her female instincts, stirring a wish that he could always be at her side.

Which was totally unrealistic.

And weak, Chloe sternly told herself.

She had to learn to be strong on her own.

But right now, it felt amazingly good to be with Maximilian Hart.

CHAPTER FOUR

HILL House—a simple name for what was almost a historical mansion at Vaucluse. It had been built by Arthur Hill, an Australian shipping magnate who’d made a fortune early in the last century, and it had been lived in by his descendants until the last member of his family had died three years ago. There’d been a lot of publicity about it when it was put up for auction—photographs in magazines, a potted history of the Hill family, proceeds of the sale to go to various charities. Maximilian Hart had outbid everyone else for it.

At the time, it was generally assumed he’d bought it as another investment, which he’d sell when the market would give him a huge profit. After all, why would a jet-setting bachelor want to live in a mansion? Penthouse apartments would be more his style. Yet so far he had kept it and lived in it.

Maybe it was the privacy that appealed to him, Chloe thought, looking at the high brick wall enclosing the property as Max operated a remote control device that opened the huge iron gates facing them. They swung apart and he drove his black Audi coupe into the driveway to the house, pressing more buttons on the device to relock the gates.

While she had been quite relaxed over lunch in the hotel restaurant, sitting beside him in his car on the way to an indefinite stay on his property had made her feel nervous again. So much proximity with Maximilian Hart was a rather daunting prospect. His kind and generous consideration of her needs could not be faulted, yet her instincts kept sensing an undertow that was pulling her into dangerous waters with him, especially when they were alone together.

The man was sexual dynamite. He stirred feelings and thoughts that were terribly inappropriate. As the gates clicked shut behind them, closing out the rest of Sydney—her mother, Tony and anyone else who might hassle her—Chloe could only hope the guest house Max had offered her was not somehow full of his powerful charisma…like his car.

The driveway was paved with grey stones. It bisected perfectly manicured green lawns. Some spectacular trees had been planted artistically along the wall and towards the side of the house—like a lovely frame for the house itself. There were no gardens to distract the eye from it.

The three-storey redbrick mansion was quite stunning in its beautiful symmetry. The wings at either end featured white gables. The main entrance in the middle also had a white gable held up by Doric columns. The long white many-paned windows on the second storey were perfectly aligned with the attic windows protruding from the grey roof. On the ground floor there were rows of matching glass doors that surely flooded the rooms behind them with sunlight.

Chloe instantly fell in love with Hill House. If she could have afforded to buy it she would have without hesitation. Envy and curiosity drove her to ask, ‘Why did you buy this place, Max?’

He flicked her a sharp glance, making a swift assessment of her reaction to the house, then smiled to himself as he answered, ‘It called to me.’

His words surprised her, yet she completely understood the feeling behind them. ‘You don’t intend to sell it then?’

‘Never.’

The need to know more about him prompted her to ask, ‘Why does it call to you?’

‘Everything about it pleases me. It welcomes me home every time I come through the gates.’

The deep satisfaction in his voice vibrated through her mind, stirring the memory of an article written about his rise from rags to riches. He’d been brought up by a single mother who’d died of a drug overdose when he was sixteen. Where he’d lived with her and under what conditions was not mentioned, but Chloe thought it likely he’d never had a sense of home in those early formative years.