Strategy For Marriage

“We’re family, Mercedes,” he offered lightly when he didn’t feel lightly about family at all. He was head of a clan even if his immediate family had gone. His mother with her lover. They lived mostly in New York. His father and his uncle Sholto, Mercedes’ late husband, had been killed in a light plane crash five years ago. An event that made some people say the family was cursed. Maybe it was. It had had its fair share of tragedies. So in his late twenties he had become head of the family, head of the McKinnon pastoral empire, executor of the Family Trust. He took his responsibilities very seriously.

As Mercedes, in a very becoming silvery outfit, sailed off towards her guests he acknowledged he hadn’t told her he’d had his eye on Ms. Botticelli since she’d gatecrashed the reception. His well-honed instincts warned him that was the case but he didn’t want to put a blight on such a day by overreacting. He’d take his time. She’d done it in the cheekiest way possible. Two ushers were guarding the open double doors of the McKinnon mansion taking the wedding invitations from the guests and checking them against their lists when he spotted her arrival from the head of the gallery. He couldn’t look away. He who was very good at taking a woman’s beauty and aura in his stride. She was tall, even taller in high-heeled sandals. She wore a ravishingly pretty dress, a froth of chiffon, printed in a swirl of different greens. The crossover sleeveless bodice showed a tantalising glimpse of the curves of her breasts, the short ruffled skirt sprinkled with glittering little beads showed off her lovely long legs. High up on one shoulder was a huge rose made out of the same material sprinkled with brilliants like the skirt. It was an outfit only a beautiful young woman with a perfect figure and lots of self-confidence could wear without risking the dress overwhelming her.

So there she was. A long-stemmed mystery blonde, her hair drawn back from her face into a high knot, the rest of her mane cascading down her back to past her shoulder blades. The overhead chandelier, plus the last rays of sunshine, washed her in light, so she gave off a spectacular sparkle. Her skin, he could see clearly, was a smooth textured cream, blushed over the high cheekbones. There was a shallow cleft in her chin; her eyes even at this distance were a clear light green set at a faint slant as were her darkened brows. She looked excited, a beautiful young thing who inexplicably had no partner, so why did he get the odd feeling all the animation didn’t spell happy. Far from it. More like nerve-ridden. He moved further down the staircase feeling another hot surge of desire. It made him irrationally hostile even as it served to remind him he was human.

Who was she exactly? How did she fit in? He thought he knew all of Callista’s friends. God knows she and Mercedes had tried to match him up to quite a few, not even listening when he warned them off. He saw her make a little play of rummaging in her glittery purse for her invitation—but then she saw across the marble floored atrium someone she knew. Her face broke into a lovely infectious smile and she waved, calling a name. Instantly, tactfully, the ushers let the beautiful creature go in. Women like that were unmistakably Somebody. Anyone could see that. As a bit of play-acting it was darn near perfect.

Just as he suspected, she didn’t head towards anyone in particular. There was no one waiting for her. She walked right on, flashing iridescent glances around the elegant entrance hall massed with flowers. She hadn’t been at the church. No way he would have missed her. But she’d turned up at the reception. Interesting! It wasn’t a sit-down affair where guests were allotted seats at a table. That might have proved a mite difficult even for an enterprising young woman. Instead a sumptuous buffet had been arranged. It was to be served from the huge bridal marquees that had been erected in the three-acre garden. The dessert table alone Mercedes had told him was one hundred foot long. Mercedes had spared no expense to make this a great day for her only child.

Now they had a gatecrasher. Albeit a woman whose beauty had made the breath catch in his throat. That alone made him laugh and his laugh was deep with self-mockery. In his action-packed life he had no time for a woman who could keep a man in thrall. He had too much on his mind. Too much to do. This woman was Trouble. Moreover she was somehow connected to Josh Deakin, his cousin’s bridegroom of only a few hours. The ex-girlfriend immediately sprang to mind. An ex-girlfriend perhaps bent on some kind of disruption. No way! He had the sure feeling at some point he would have to hustle Ms. Botticelli out of the house. And that was quite a while before Mercedes had put voice to her own niggling concerns.

Christy, sick with nerves but too angry and upset to abort her mission, made it through the front door of the two-story McKinnon mansion. Her nerve was holding. It was a shocking breach of etiquette to gatecrash a wedding. On so many levels she deeply regretted it, but her ex-boyfriend, Josh, the man who had convinced her he loved her, deserved a good fright. She had no intention whatsoever of upsetting the bride, the McKinnon heiress. The bride was probably a young woman as gullible as herself. Josh, after all, was all charm on the surface. The only difference between her and the bride was around 15 million, not to mention what that fortunate young woman would eventually inherit from her mother, Mrs. Mercedes McKinnon, a woman of considerable substance and the widow of the late Sholto McKinnon, well-known pastoralist and philanthropist. While Josh had been courting his heiress, he’d also continued his ardent courtship of her. How many times had he told her he loved her? How many times had he brought up the subject of marriage? She’d seriously been considering entering into an engagement. Six months of having a lovely time together. Fun really. In retrospect no depth. It all came to a halt when by sheer chance she saw Josh kissing another woman outside the very law courts that figured so often in his fund of amusing stories. Josh was an up-and-coming lawyer. The young woman turned out to be today’s bride, Callista McKinnon, now Mrs. Josh Deakin. Even as Josh had been proclaiming his love for her, he’d been courting the heiress. Fate had played its hand. Mrs. Mercedes McKinnon, a favoured client of the prestigious law firm where Josh worked as an associate, came into the offices one day bringing her petite, pretty daughter, Callista. Josh was especially good with female clients so his boss allowed him in on proceedings. It had to be that very day Josh realized a golden opportunity had opened up for him. With a rich wife the world was his oyster. Josh was very ambitious. Money was important to him. Real money. Social position. Obviously he saw an instant rocketing up the ladder. She had never fully understood that side of Josh. Not that she had really known him at all. He was a liar for one. A traitor. A good actor who could excel in any number of parts. The very worst aspect was as he told her about his plans to marry Callista he spoke like a man who had come into a huge lottery win. A win they were both going to share. She’d have died before accepting that shocking lack of integrity. Josh Deakin, cad that he was, had earned himself this lesson. But she still couldn’t stop her nerves crackling.

Halfway across the gracious entrance hall, a perfect setting for valuable antiques and magnificent arrangements of fresh flowers, she became aware she was under close surveillance. She couldn’t fail to know by now her blond good looks attracted attention but the gaze that was concentrated on her didn’t send out any currents of admiration. It felt more like she was under an extremely daunting inspection. And found suspect. Her senses were so wired she was drawn to look upwards, searching out the origin of that magnetic beam.

Her green eyes widened in shock. Her gaze honed in a man standing at the curve of the elegant staircase, looking down at her with brilliant near-black eyes.

Ashe McKinnon.

It took her less than an instant to recognise him. He was even more damn-your-eyes handsome and arrogant than his photographs. After Josh had told her of his plan to marry into the McKinnon clan, she had felt upset enough to make it her business to find out what she could about them. And there was plenty. They were a pioneering dynasty. Cattle kings from colonial times who had generated great wealth. She’d seen photographs of the current McKinnon and his ancestral home in Channel Country South West Queensland. It was a magnificent homestead. There were photographs of him at different functions, including a brilliant action shot of him playing polo, arm thrown back for a full free swing. She’d know him anywhere. In fact the sight of him gave her the oddest sick thrill. He didn’t look a kind man. Far from it. He looked formidable. Certainly not the sort of man who’d tolerate having a gatecrasher at his cousin’s wedding.

Christy moved swiftly. All she wanted was the opportunity, however brief, to give Josh the fright of his life. The most she intended was to give him a little wave. Then she’d go home happy, or as happy as a girl could be when a man had humiliated her. She hadn’t written Ashe McKinnon into the scenario at all. A huge mistake. She had the shivery feeling he could catch up with her very soon. Christy made her way into the opulent living room, impressed despite herself at the decor and the magnificent artworks on the walls.

“A friend of the groom?” an attractive voice queried at her ear. She spun on her high heels relieved beyond words to see a tall red-haired young man beaming down at her, his bright blue eyes filled with the sort of admiring look she was used to.

She was safe for a while. She intended to stay until she had her little moment of revenge on Josh, and Ashe McKinnon, the big cattle baron, could go to hell.

Of course she had no difficulty easing herself in. Not with that intoxicating image. From the open glass doorway leading into the plant-filled solarium Ashe watched her, openly marvelling at her audacity. He saw all the bachelors in sight make their moves on her. He couldn’t believe his response. It angered him. He wanted to tell Jake Reid, a guy he’d known all his life, to take his big hands off her. Even the muscles in his shoulders tensed. This was so unlike him.

The solarium had been turned into a ballroom. Lots of couples had taken the floor to a plethora of styles that ranged from old-fashioned elegance to near gallops. He waited his moment, subtly keeping an eye on her, then he excused himself from the group around him.

“Pardon me.” He tapped his friend, Tim Westbury, on the shoulder. “I really ought to introduce myself to your partner.”

“Heck, Ashe, we were having such a good time.”

For a moment it looked like Tim was going to hang in there until he saw his expression.

“So I noticed. Goodbye, Tim.”

“Catch you later, Christy,” Tim called before he was swept away by his current girlfriend who eyed “Christy” balefully.

“Wonderful party.” He put his arm around her, a strange pleasure, and inhaled her fragrance, freesias spiked with something citrus.

“Wonderful,” she agreed, turning her face away, all poise when her heart was thumping with fright.

“Beautiful wedding ceremony.”

“It brought tears to my eyes.”

“Truly?”

“I never lie.”

“Perhaps you have on this occasion. I had the notion you weren’t at the church at all. Ashe McKinnon, by the way. I’m Callista’s cousin.”

She frowned slightly, her eyes as green as peridots. “You don’t look in the least alike.” It was hard not to be impressed by him. Aesthetically anyway. How best to describe him? All commanding male. A touch severe. Yet the kind of man women went wild over. Not her. She already knew he was too tough for her, but he did look wonderful in his formal morning suit, traditional grey with a very dashing burgundy silk cravat.

She knew from her partner, Tim, he had given the bride away. Head of the family and all that. He certainly looked the part. His height alone made him stand out. He was well over six feet, but lean, powerful. He made her feel small and at five-eight she was tall for a woman. She could feel the whipcord musculature in his arms and along his back. He was very strong.

Christy continued her abstract inspection. A deep permanent tan, not Josh’s beach boy stuff, Ashe’s was trademark Outback. He had lustrous black hair with a natural wave. If he let it grow a centimetre longer it would spring into curls. His eyes were really beautiful, brilliant like glittering whirlpools. She couldn’t see into them but he seemed to be looking right through her.

He wasn’t a sweet man. Or a man who would make a woman feel safe. He looked dangerous enough to be treated with caution. There was so much tension there. A hard impatience that was communicating itself to her. Then again he possessed a stand-apart elegance, very much in keeping with a glamorous member of the landed elite. No question about his pedigree. And he just knew about her. So what was he going to do, throw her out? For all he knew she could put up a struggle. Or maybe he had taken her measure. There was only one person she intended to embarrass and that was Josh.

He received her long scrutiny, totally unfazed. “I’m dying to know your name,” he prompted, dark voice sardonic.

“You have only to ask me. Christine Parker. My friends call me Christy.”

Her answer was gentle and low. Music. Another ace up her sleeve.

“Then I’ll call you Miss Parker. Are you a friend of the bridegroom, may I ask?” He slid his hand along her back with the surety she had a beautiful supple body.

“Now why does that sound like you’ve thrown out a challenge?” she parried.

“Possibly because you’re the sort of woman who responds to one.”

“I mean no harm, Mr. McKinnon. I want you to understand that.”

“I’m pleased to hear it.” He gave her a sardonic glance. “I can’t have you spoiling my cousin’s day.”

“I have no intention of doing anything like that,” she protested. “There’s no spite in my nature.”

“But you’re looking to upset Deakin?”

“Now you sound like you don’t care.” It was wonderful to be able to challenge him. There was something very dangerous about being close to this man. It gave her quite a jolt. In her altered state she compared it to shock therapy. Something was happening to her. She didn’t know what.

“My only concern is this reception goes off beautifully,” he said in a warning voice that left her flushed. “I’m devoted to my aunt and cousin.”

“Really?” All of a sudden Christy needed to lash out, her anger and humiliation festering. “From the look of you I wouldn’t have thought you had a tender bone in your body.”

“Play it cool, Miss Parker,” he said.

There was considerable heat between them. Christy realised with a sense of astonishment a lot of it was sexual. She wondered how that could possibly be when she still considered herself jilted by Josh. She could feel the imprint of this man’s hand right through the chiffon of her dress. It might have been pressed against her naked flesh. Her perceptions so long blunted by acute dismay were now razor-sharp. But then he was a striking, powerful, physical man, she reasoned, quite without the easy-going gentleness with which Josh had surrounded her.

Looking down at her telltale face, his expression tautened. “Let’s go,” he said abruptly. The tips of her breasts were giving him little shocks as they brushed up against him.

“Where?” She threw up her head, startled. His face was quite unreadable.

“Out into the garden,” he suggested curtly. “All the time we’ve been dancing Deakin has been staring over here. Even with his bride on his arm.”