A Very Private Revenge

A Very Private Revenge
HELEN BROOKS

An intimate vendetta!Tamar had made it her business to find out all Jed Cannon's secrets. The notorious playboy had destroyed her cousin's happiness - and her reputation. Now Tamar was determined Jed must be made to pay. It was time to put her plan into action!Tamar intended to play Jed at his own game: seduce him, the publicly jilt him! But the more she flirted with him, the more she realized Jed wasn't the ruthless man he seemed. Maybe it wasn't really revenge she wanted after all… .

“You don’t like me, Tamar. Why?” (#u4c89e595-a32b-5c27-9dd4-3dd27bd8adc3)About the Author (#u5f8f3315-a8d8-59fe-9353-d3168f3cb4c7)Title Page (#u60a21dac-7678-5d87-9a1e-f3ae7c3a0c85)CHAPTER ONE (#u34a1f4e7-80ca-5834-abc0-8ab84d189990)CHAPTER TWO (#uff8fcd66-fdaa-50be-a578-a570a66e3f98)CHAPTER THREE (#uebaa7296-bb3b-5ca4-a716-76bbd9d92e46)CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

“You don’t like me, Tamar. Why?”

“I never said that—”

“Oh, you’re attracted to me...physically,” Jed continued darkly, “but that’s all.” If he only knew. Tamar stared at him, her mouth dry. But he mustn’t guess, not ever, the way she felt about him.

“What have you heard about me that has filled you with such suspicion?”

Tamar continued to stare at him, her mind racing. “I don’t know. You...you’ve got something of a reputation, I suppose,” she managed at last, her voice shaking. She couldn’t tell him the truth.

“I can buy that.” He nodded soberly, moving closer. “And you aren’t prepared to look beyond the reputation, to give me a chance?”

HELEN BROOKS lives in Northamptonshire, England, and is married with three children. As she is a committed Christian, busy housewife and mother, her spare time is at a premium, but her hobbies include reading, swimming, gardening and walking her two energetic, inquisitive and very endearing young dogs. Her long-cherished aspiration to write became a reality when she put pen to paper on reaching the age of forty, and sent the result off to Harlequin Books.

HELEN BROOKS now concentrates on writing for Harlequin Presents

, with highly emotional, poignant yet intense books we know you’ll love!

A Very Private Revenge

Helen Brooks

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CHAPTER ONE

‘OH, YES, Miss McKinley, Mr Cannon is expecting you. If you wouldn’t mind taking a seat...?’

Jed Cannon’s secretary was exactly how Tamar had pictured her from her voice on the telephone, all cool, ice-blonde efficiency and stunning good looks, and as Tamar sank into the proffered chair she felt a nervous bubble of laughter rise in her throat, which she quashed immediately.

None of that, none of that. The little voice in her mind was strong and stern as Tamar watched the other woman glide into the inner sanctum after a reverent knock on Jed Cannon’s interconnecting door. You’ve come this far, you’ve cornered the wolf in its lair, don’t blow it now... But Miss Rice-Brown was so absolutely right for him, she really was, from the top of her ash-blonde bob to the tips of her Italian leather shoes...

‘Miss McKinley? Mr Cannon will see you now.’

Tamar didn’t have time to reflect further as she rose from the deep-cushioned pale cream chair and waded through the ankle-deep carpeting to the room beyond, passing the other woman in the doorway with a polite nod and smile.

‘Miss McKinley?’

The big male figure behind the massive walnut desk was broad-shouldered and dark; that was all Tamar took in initially, along with the fact that the deep, cold, clipped voice was formidable in itself.

‘Yes, how do you do, Mr Cannon?’ It was the opening she had rehearsed, and it came out like clockwork, respectful but reserved.

And then he stood up, holding out a hand as he said, ‘I understand you have some properties you think I might be interested in, Miss McKinley?’—and he came into focus. Oh, boy, did he come into focus...

‘I... I...’ Don’t lose it, Tamar, not now. ‘I think there are one or two in particular that would suit your requirements admirably, Mr Cannon,’ she said with a coolness she was far from feeling, shaking the big hand for as brief a moment as decorum would allow, and praying her initial hesitation hadn’t been picked up by those riveting silver-grey eyes.

She had to keep the businesslike approach sharp and crisp, but she just hadn’t expected him to be quite so—her mind balked at the word ‘handsome’ and substituted ‘overpowering’—in real life. His picture had captured none of the latent power of the man.

‘One or two?’ The voice was slightly husky, almost a gravelly texture evident in the slight accent she knew was from his American heritage, and it was very, very sexy, in a magnetic, toe-curling sort of way. It went hand in hand with the six-foot-plus frame, coldly handsome face and piercingly silver eyes. And those same eyes had flickered slightly as they took in her slim red-gold fragility and dark chocolate-brown eyes.

He was attracted to her. She had seen that same look in too many male eyes in the past to doubt its portent. And that was good, that was very, very good—exactly what she had planned when she had dressed with such care that morning. She loathed this man, hated and despised him, but he mustn’t know, not yet.

‘Yes, we never like to put our clients in a position where they have a choice of one.’ What would Jed Cannon say if he knew he was being hunted? Tamar asked herself with a touch of wry cynicism as she smiled coolly into the hard face. Here was a man with the world at his feet, figuratively speaking. A wealthy, powerful millionaire, who wore his women in the same way as he did his designer suits—to complement and enhance his own spectacular image.

He’d already had more women that she had had hot dinners, if only half the stories about him were true, and there was a queue a mile long to be the next female on his arm. Perhaps he expected her to fall in a little heap at his feet? Perhaps they all did? Anyway, she had to be careful. Very, very careful. She had to be different from all the rest.

‘Please, do sit down, Miss McKinley. Can I offer you a cup of coffee?’ He didn’t offer everyone coffee, she knew that, in fact she knew enough about Jed Cannon to fill a book...

‘No, thank you.’ She kept the smile in place as she took the chair he indicated, knowing that once she lowered her head his eyes would be sweeping all over her hair, her face, her body. ‘I have another appointment that is somewhat pressing when I leave here.’

Nice touch, that, Tamar, she told herself as she raised her head with the words and noticed them register in his eyes. He wasn’t used to women refusing anything from him.

‘I see.’ He hadn’t liked it, she just knew he hadn’t liked it, but you would never have known from the smooth, even tone of voice and polite face. Oh, he was good at what he did—you had to give him that. She could see how he’d risen from relative obscurity to where he was now in just ten years. ‘Well, I’m interested in what you have to offer, of course’—he sat down opposite her and she noticed how his lean, muscled frame caused the massive executive chair to shrink—‘but how did Taylor and Taylor know I was looking for a property in the London area? I wasn’t aware you were one of the estate agents my secretary contacted.’

You know dam well we weren’t. ‘We thought it appropriate to bring the mountain to Mohammed,’ she prevaricated quietly, trying a sweeter smile this time. It worked.

‘Well, no matter.’ He smiled back, and she had to admit the effect was devastating. The harsh, masculine face mellowed, the ice-grey eyes crinkled and the whiteness of his perfect teeth would have done credit to any toothpaste commercial. And it left her cold. She was determined it would leave her cold. Her rapid heartbeat, the sudden dryness in her mouth, the rush of blood in her veins—it was all to be expected in the circumstances, and was due purely to the increased adrenalin pumping through her system.

There was a great deal hanging on this meeting, more than Jed Cannon would ever know. She had to get him interested now, she might not get another chance, and she had researched her intended quarry very carefully over the last few months.

‘I understand it is the property, rather than the specific area, which is of prime importance?’ Tamar asked steadily, consulting the fat file on her lap before steeling herself to meet those strangely beautiful eyes again. She had seen people with grey eyes before, but never with the mercurial silver tint this man’s had, and his thick black lashes and black eyebrows threw the brilliant gaze into even more prominence, making it quite unnerving.

‘Uh-huh.’ Again the faintest trace of an American accent was there—due to his living and working in the States for some years after he left university, the dossier in her brain reminded her.

Born and educated in England—only the very best of public schools followed by Oxford, of course, for the great Jed Cannon—of an American mother and English father, he had one sibling—a younger sister—who was now his only close relative, his father having died when Jed was at university, and his mother just two years later. The facts were seared on her brain. He had inherited a considerable fortune at the tender age of twenty-four—the same age she was now—and in the ten years since then had gone on to carve out a name for himself in the world of finance, rising through the ranks of lesser mortals with meteor-like swiftness. Of course his money had talked...

She caught the thought as soon as it formed, a stab of honesty killing it stone-dead. No, that wasn’t fair, and she knew it Fortunes were won and lost all the time in the world in which Jed Cannon lived, and, although his wealth might have given him a safety net in the beginning, it was his own ruthless flair and determination that had made him into a multimillionaire at the age of thirty-four. And if anyone was ruthless, Jed Cannon was...

‘And you want absolute privacy, plenty of ground, definitely not a flat or an apartment?’ Tamar continued evenly, moving her head just the slightest, so the red-gold mass of curls which just brushed her shoulders in a gleaming cascade of colour would catch the light.

She normally wore her hair pulled back in a severe knot for work, or in a high but sedate ponytail if she didn’t have any clients to see—male interest could be distracting and annoying, or even downright dangerous when she was showing prospective buyers round the more isolated properties—but this wasn’t a normal situation. And Jed Cannon definitely wasn’t your average bright-eyed and bushy-tailed man either.

‘You have been very thorough, Miss McKinley.’

You’ll never know. His voice had carried a shadow of wry complacency, and Tamar knew why. He had noticed her movement with the hair, and thought she was out to secure more than just his interest in a property. Which she was. But she knew better than to make it too easy for him.

He only had to reach out his hand and pick up the telephone, and any number of beautiful, willing females would be panting at the leash. But he was going to have to work hard for the pleasure of her company, if he did but know it.

‘Thoroughness is our trademark at Taylor and Taylor, and of course the firm is excellent at procuring what the client wants.’ It was typical soft soap, but he mustn’t even begin to suspect that her research on him resembled a dissertation.

‘I’m sure it is.’ Again the note of cynicism was there—he knew, and he knew she knew, that her employers were any one of a number of mediocre estate agents dotted about the London area.

‘Perhaps you would like to glance at these three properties first?’ Tamar asked brightly, passing some papers across the desk and making sure their hands didn’t touch in the process.