Expecting the Playboy's Heir

‘No! It’s over between us, Nick. I mean that. And I won’t change my mind.’

‘Oh, yes, you will,’ he told her softly. ‘You know that, and so do I.’

He was bending his head towards her and in another heartbeat he would be kissing her. Panic and guilt invaded her. The last time he had kissed her had been under a tropical moon in the garden of the luxury hotel where they had met, and where she had assumed they would become lovers. But by the end of the holiday Lucy had been the one Nick had declared he loved. Lucy had been the one he had married. Lucy was his wife. And one of her two closest friends. No way was she going to betray that friendship. Every marriage went through a bad patch.

Somehow she managed to wrench herself away from Nick, but she had barely taken a couple of steps when she felt hard male fingers gripping her arm.

‘No, Nick. I meant what I said,’ she said sharply, without bothering to turn her head.

‘Did you? He certainly didn’t seem to think so—and neither do I!’

‘Silas!’

Her whole body went into shock as she stared up in consternation at the man holding on to her.

‘How—?’ she began, only to be cut off with ruthless efficiency.

‘How much did I overhear? All of it,’ he told her succinctly. ‘How long has it been going on?’

‘Nothing is going on!’

The look he gave her—ice-blue eyes narrowed, cynicism tightening his mouth, even the angle of his head as he turned it toward her—reflected his disbelief. She could feel the old familiar mix of anger and antipathy taking hold of her.

‘It’s true,’ she insisted. ‘I met Nick before he met Lucy, and the relationship he was referring to was that relationship—not that it’s any of your business.’

‘A relationship he obviously now believes you want to resume,’ Silas said silkily.

‘Well, he believes wrong. Because I don’t.’

The way he was looking at her was driving up her own anger. They’d never got on, not really. She only tolerated him because of Gramps, whose title and land he would one day inherit.

In Gramps’s shoes, she doubted that she would have been able to take to her heart so warmly this American outsider who, by virtue of being descended in the male line from Gramps’s younger brother, would one day inherit his title and land. But then she did not possess her grandfather’s sanguine outlook on life.

‘But you do want him.’

It was a taunt rather than a question.

‘No!’ she said furiously. ‘Nick is married to Lucy. And she is my best friend.’

‘I know that. But I also know that if you want what you’re saying you do, you’ll make damn sure he knows that you aren’t available.’

Julia had had enough. ‘By doing what, exactly?’ she demanded angrily.

Silas gave the kind of shrug that only very tall, very muscular, very male men could give. And, as always, being forced to recognise his maleness triggered a frisson of awareness inside her that hiked up her antipathy towards him. He had no right to be so damn sexy. It was somehow all wrong that a man who aggravated her as much as Silas did should possess the kind of physique and looks that made grown women react like hormone-controlled teenagers.

‘By doing whatever it takes. Either by giving up your job—’

‘I won’t do that,’ Julia interrupted him irritably. ‘Especially as Lucy’s already lost Carly, now that she’s married to Ricardo and expecting a baby. I can’t leave as well.’

‘—or by making sure Blayne knows you aren’t available.’

‘I’ve already told him that I’m not.’

‘But, as he can quite plainly see, you are. On the other hand, if there were another man in your life…’

‘But there isn’t.’

‘So find one who’s willing to pretend to be there for long enough to get Nick Blayne to back off.’

‘What? Like who?’

‘Like me.’

‘What?’ Julia shook her head in violent denial. ‘You? No. No way! Ever. Absolutely not. Anyway, everyone knows that we loathe one another.’

‘It isn’t unheard of for couples to discover that what they thought was love is really loathing, so why shouldn’t we have made the discovery the other way around?’

‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Do you really expect me to agree to pretend that you and I are in a relationship?’

‘I thought you said you wanted to protect Lucy’s marriage.’

‘I do, but not by offering myself up as a sacrifice for you to devour.’

‘Very bacchanalian imagery. Although I confess the thought of you offering yourself up…’

‘I wouldn’t. Not to you. Not ever.’

‘But you would to Nick Blayne?’

‘No!’

‘So prove it.’

Julia glared at him.

‘Just what is this all about, Silas? What’s in it for you?’ she demanded trenchantly. ‘And what on earth are you doing here, anyway? You hate this kind of thing.’

‘I’m here because you’re here.’ Another shrug, more lazily dismissive this time, and the movement of powerful shoulders beneath the linen suit jacket unbelievably and very much unwantedly conjured up images of just such a pair of male shoulders naked, and gleaming in the morning sunlight as their owner arched his equally naked and male body over her own.

Silas naked?

Such an image might not be legally or even morally taboo, but it was certainly not the way she was used to thinking about him. Was this the kind of thing that happened when you were in your mid-twenties and your sex life was an arid desert, refreshed only by watching reruns of Sex and the City and determinedly refusing to study the ads in the back of glossy magazines for purveyors of sex toys?

‘Oh, yes. Of course,’ she agreed wryly, hurriedly banishing her unexpectedly erotic mental images.

But before she could ask him why he was really there, he told her coolly, ‘You should wear a hat in this heat. Your face is burning.’

Maybe it was, but the heat it was giving off hadn’t been caused by the sun, Julia admitted to herself.