A Ruthless Passion

A Ruthless Passion
Robyn Donald

“Cancel the wedding now.”

Nick struggled to leash the ruthless passion that clamored through every cell in his body, urging him to pick her up and carry her into the bedroom and there lay claim to her. “Cat, you can’t marry Glen,” he said steadily, pouring his considerable power to persuade into his deep voice. “Cancel the wedding—I’ll help you with the arrangements. It will be difficult, but we’ll cope.”

He almost had her. He could feel her hunger, feel her urge to surrender. She closed her eyes; when her lashes lifted the blue irises were smooth and opaque as enamel. “I don’t know what this—thing—is between us, but it can’t mean anything, because I don’t know you. I do know Glen, and I not only love him, I respect him.”

His demons unleashed by three sleepless nights and intense, aching frustration, Nick kissed her startled mouth.

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If you loved A Ruthless Passion, you can read all about Morna’s story in Robyn Donald’s follow-up:

The Temptress of Tarika Bay #2336

Coming next month from Harlequin Presents

Robyn Donald

A Ruthless Passion

Passion

Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

PROLOGUE

NICK waited in the foyer of the hotel until Glen and Mrs Courtald had left for their appointment with the lawyer. He despised subterfuge, but what he had to say to Cat was too important to risk any interruption—especially not from her mother or fiancé.

When he knocked on the suite door he noted with an odd remoteness that his pulse-rate was up. And when he heard her call, ‘Coming,’ in the low, husky voice she’d grow into when she’d learned what sex was all about, his gut clenched and a charge of male hunger hit him with the force of a bomb.

The door opened. Cat’s smoky blue eyes widened; colour surged through her exquisite skin before draining away. Her fingers tightened on the veil she’d been trying on—short and fluffy as befitted an eighteen-year-old bride.

‘N-Nick,’ she said unevenly. ‘This is a surprise.’

‘Ask me in,’ he said tersely.

She hesitated, then stepped back. ‘You’ve missed Glen—he and my mother have just gone.’

‘I didn’t come to see them,’ he said, walking into the suite Glen had reserved for the girl he was marrying the following day—the best hotel in Auckland, as befitted the bride of one of New Zealand’s top advertising men.

Its impersonal opulence should have overshadowed such a small person, yet in spite of her youth and her fragility Cat stood very erect, the ridiculous veil still perched on hair the polished red-brown of a chestnut, and although he sensed her unease, her gaze was direct and steady. ‘What do you want?’ she asked quietly.

Nick had had erotic dreams about that hair, and her slender body, and that ripe mouth, still innocent in spite of her engagement to his friend. Glen was being very careful with her, apparently content to wait until they were married before consummating their relationship.

Clamping down on a bitter, raw jealousy that astonished and infuriated him, Nick said bluntly, ‘Have you thought what marriage to Glen will involve?’

‘I might be only eighteen,’ she returned with a cool dignity he found both maddening and provocative, ‘but I’m not a total idiot. Yes, I know what marriage involves. I watch television, read newspapers and magazines and books, go to films, talk to people.’ She paused before adding with delicate sarcasm, ‘And my parents were married.’

Did she know that his hadn’t been? Possibly; Glen might have told her. ‘What people have you talked to? The pupils at that expensive boarding school you graduated from at the end of last year? What do they know?’

With a spark of temper she retorted, ‘As much as any kid who grows up on the streets, actually. Just because they come from a different socio-economic group doesn’t mean that the same problems don’t affect them.’ Small face hot with dismay, she went on swiftly, ‘I’m sorry—I didn’t mean that you—’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he interrupted. ‘I did grow up on the streets, but I’m talking about the realities of life as a very rich man’s trophy wife.’

Her cheeks stung as though he’d hit them. ‘I thought a trophy wife was someone who took the place of the real wife. Glen hasn’t dumped anyone for me.’

Nick bit back his first, lethal response. It was no use dragging in Morna’s private tragedy; besides, technically Cat was correct. Glen had never offered to marry the woman who’d been his lover for the past five years.

Instead, he said relentlessly, ‘Glen is going to expect you to run his house, to plan dinners, to organise parties, to meet and charm clients. Can you do that?’

‘I can try,’ she said, adding on a note of uncertainty that wrung his heart, ‘My mother will help me.’