To Marry Mcallister

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.

But again, unless Sabina was mistaken, Richard’s voice contained that element of satisfaction as he made the introductions.

She knew Richard was proud of the way she looked, but at this moment he seemed more so than usual.

She looked curiously at the other man. Brice McAllister. Should she know—? The artist! Brice McAllister, she knew, was one of the most sought-after artists in the world today. But that still didn’t explain Richard’s attitude towards the other man…

‘Mr McAllister,’ she greeted coolly.

‘Sabina.’ He nodded abruptly. ‘Do you have a surname?’ he added mockingly.

‘Smith,’ she supplied dryly. ‘But not many people know that. My mother’s more exotic choice of a first name was an effort to make up for the lack of imagination in my surname.’ And she, Sabina realised with a frown, was talking merely for the sake of it. And to a man who instinctively made her uneasy.

But she couldn’t seem to help it when those deep green eyes were looking at her so intently…

‘You’re Sabina. It’s enough,’ Richard put in with a certain amount of arrogance.

Did Richard sense it too, that deep intensity coming from that unblinking, emerald-green gaze?

Sabina felt that shiver once again down the length of her spine, moving slightly closer to Richard as she did so.

‘I promise not to tell a soul,’ Brice McAllister drawled playfully in answer to her earlier remark.

Although somehow it didn’t sound playful coming from this man. Neither was the mention of the ‘soul’ to Sabina—when she was sure this man could see straight into hers!

What would he see? she wondered. Warmth and kindness, she hoped. Humour and laughter, too. Loyalty and honour. Apprehension and fear—

No! She was careful to keep those emotions under lock and key. Although that wasn’t so easy to achieve when she was alone. Which was why she very rarely allowed herself to be alone with her thoughts any more…

‘Your fiancée and I were just discussing the possibility of my painting your portrait,’ Brice McAllister bit out evenly.

Sabina gave a perplexed frown as she turned to look at Richard. He hadn’t mentioned anything about having her portrait painted. And she already knew, from the little time she had spent in Brice McAllister’s brooding company, that he was the last man she wanted to spend time with!

‘I’m afraid Brice has just ruined my surprise.’ Richard laughed dismissively, giving her shoulders a warm squeeze before turning to look challengingly at the younger man. ‘You’ve decided you would like to paint Sabina’s portrait after all?’ he drawled mockingly.

Sabina looked at Brice McAllister, too, gathering from Richard’s comment that the question of painting her portrait hadn’t been as cut and dried as the artist had just implied it was…

If not, why had he changed his mind?

If he had…

Brice McAllister shrugged unconcernedly. ‘It’s a possibility,’ he replied noncommittally. ‘I would need to do a few preliminary sketches before making any definite decision.’ He grimaced. ‘But I should warn you now, I don’t do chocolate-box likenesses of people.’