Jared's Love-Child

“You should have seen her,” Jared muttered. “It looked like she’d slept in her suit for a week and her hair was—”

“Bifocals,” Benson interrupted, clapping Jared on the arm.

Jared bit his tongue. Bad enough that Devon had made a fool of him; he didn’t need his father rubbing it in. But he’d get even, he thought, if it took him the rest of the day. Devon had used her sexuality—not to mention that blue dress—to get at him; he just might use his own sexuality in revenge. God knows enough women had made it clear how attractive he was.

He would show Devon Fraser she shouldn’t play with fire. And what enormous pleasure that would give him.

“You’re very quiet, Jared,” Alicia said provocatively.

Jared gave himself a mental shake, pasted a smile on his face, and with impeccable good manners congratulated his new stepmother and his father on their marriage. An ordinary observer couldn’t have faulted him. But Devon, attuned to him in a way that disconcerted her, could see the stiffness in his shoulders and hear the reservations in his voice. He was playing to the audience. And he didn’t mean a word of it.

The four of them then formed an impromptu receiving line. The faces passed in front of Devon in a blur, Jared’s manners irreproachable as he said, time after time, “May I introduce Alicia’s daughter to you?…Miss Devon Fraser.”

Aunt Bessie stood out from the crowd. Aunt Bessie was wearing orange shantung and a lime-green hat; her fingers were so cluttered with diamonds Devon was amazed she’d been able to play any notes at all, right or wrong. She kissed her nephew and said in a piercing voice, “Time you got yourself hitched, Jared. You’re not getting any younger.”

“You married Uncle Leonard instead of waiting for me,” Jared said. “It broke my heart.”

Aunt Bessie chuckled, looking from him to Devon. “Now this young lady looks like she’d be your match,” she remarked. “You must be Alicia’s daughter.”

“I’m Devon, yes.”

“Don’t let him fool you with that big-businessman act. Heart of gold.” She gave another raucous chuckle. “Pockets full of gold, too. You after his money?”

Devon said crisply, “I’m not after him at all. Despite your recommendation.”

“That’s what you need, Jared, a woman who’ll stick up for herself.” Jared’s aunt leaned toward Devon. “Too many of ’em let him walk all over them. Not good for him.”

“Aunt Bessie,” Jared said, “you’re holding up the line.”

“I’ll talk to you later, dear,” Aunt Bessie said, squeezing Devon’s fingers meaningfully. Then, with some determination, she waddled off toward the nearest tray of champagne.

Not if I can help it, thought Devon, and smiled at the next guest, whose name totally escaped her. She had the beginnings of a headache and a whole bottle of champagne was starting to seem like a very viable option.

Then a female voice said warmly, “Darling—I’m so sorry I missed you before the wedding.”

Devon blinked as the owner of the voice pulled Jared’s head down and kissed him explicitly on the lips. Ownership, Devon thought intuitively. A public display of ownership, that’s what this kiss is all about.

So why wasn’t she feeling relieved that Jared Holt was already spoken for?

CHAPTER THREE

THE woman kissing Jared was dainty, the kind of female who always made Devon feel outsized. She was also extremely chic, with a porcelain complexion and a cap of gleaming black hair; her pale pink raw silk suit screamed Paris.

Jared wasn’t exactly fighting her off. When he did raise his head, he had frosted pink lipstick on his mouth. A mouth, Devon thought unwillingly, that was both strongly and sensually carved. A very masculine mouth.

He said unhurriedly, “Hello, Lise…I was with Dad before the wedding, figured he needed the moral support. May I introduce the bride’s daughter, Devon Fraser? Devon, this is my friend Lise Lamont, from Manhattan. Lise is a Broadway actress.”

Lise had pale blue eyes, her least attractive feature. They didn’t look enthralled at meeting Devon. Devon said politely, “How do you do, Miss Lamont? I believe I saw you in the last Stan Niall play…a challenging role that you more than fulfilled.”

Lise inclined her head regally. “Thank you. Jared was a great support to me during that run.” She gave a delicate shudder. “I thought it would never end—you were so good to me, darling.”

So Jared and Lise went back a while. And Devon happened to know that Holt Incorporated had its headquarters in New York. Unquestionably Lise was staking her claim to Jared. Hands off, Devon. That was the message.

Two could play that game, thought Devon, and said casually, “I’m glad I managed to squeeze in a visit to the theater for your play—I was between trips to Argentina and South Africa.” I have, in other words, more important things to do with my life than keep my hands on or off Jared Holt.

Lise’s smile never faltered. “You must try and attend Marguerite Hammlin’s new play. I was fortunate enough to get the lead—an extraordinarily powerful part.” She let her fingers linger on Jared’s sleeve. “I’ll see you after the dinner, darling.”

In a wave of expensive perfume she drifted away. Two more army colonels and a couple of horse breeders followed, and then at the very end of the line a lanky, bespectacled young man with intelligent gray eyes, who was wearing a suit that badly needed pressing. “Hi, Jared, good to see you. It was snowing in Nanasivik this morning so the Twin Otter was late…I only just arrived.” He smiled at Devon. “You must be Alicia’s daughter…you’re very like your mother.”

Jared said stiffly, “Devon, this is Patrick Kendall, my cousin. Aunt Bessie’s son.”

Devon warmed to him instantly. “What were you doing on Baffin Island, Patrick?”

“I’m a geologist—I was taking core samples in the area.”

“I was there just a month ago,” Devon said, explaining some of the ramifications of her job.

Patrick’s questions were as intelligent as his eyes, and it was Jared who interrupted them. “Aunt Bessie’s waving at you, Patrick—shouldn’t you say hello to her?”

“Guess I’d better…I’ll catch you after dinner, Devon.”

The receiving line was done. Devon’s feet were killing her. She rested her weight on one foot and wriggled her sore toes. “I like your cousin,” she said, glancing up at Jared. “By the way, your actress friend left lipstick on you.”

“Patrick’s okay. Although he’ll never be anything but a two-bit geologist.”

“He strikes me as a happy man,” Devon said coldly.

“Hasn’t got two cents to rub together.”

“Let’s get something straight, Jared,” she announced. “It’s very obvious to me that you’re obsessed with money. I am not, repeat not, after even a single dollar that belongs to you. I prefer to earn my own money.”

Jared fished a white handkerchief from his pocket. “Wipe the lipstick off, would you?”

He didn’t believe her. Although briefly Devon thought of refusing his request, there was a glint in his eye that told her he’d think her a coward were she to refuse. She took the smooth white linen and rubbed Aunt Bessie’s smear of tangerine from his cheek and then Lise’s more refined pale pink from his mouth, all the while keeping thought and feeling under rigid control. Jared stood very still, watching her. When she’d finished, he said, “There’s none of your lipstick on me.”

“Nor will there be.”

“Seems a pity.” He took the handkerchief from her, captured her fingers in his and raised them to his lips, kissing them slowly, one by one.

Devon’s heart seemed to stop beating. The heat of his mouth burned through all her defences; his downbent head made him seem momentarily vulnerable. She didn’t think she’d ever been the recipient of so seductive or unexpected a gesture.

Like an ambush, desire snaked through her, fierce and compelling. Her body swayed toward him, her ill-fated bouquet dropping to the floor so that she could rest her hand on his black hair, finding it, as she had expected, thick and silky to the touch. As an ache of primal need blossomed deep inside her, her surroundings fell away, leaving only her and Jared in the world. Seducer and seduced.

He straightened, let go of her hand and said coolly, “So you’re as willing as the rest of them…I don’t know why I should be surprised.”

It was as if he’d slapped her in the face. Feeling the crimson of humiliation creep up her cheeks, Devon said tautly, “It’s all a game to you, isn’t it?”

A game called revenge, he thought grimly. “Just like that dress was a game.”