The Man Who Broke Hearts

The Man Who Broke Hearts
Stephanie Howard

The rake's revenge?They had worked together before, but then it was Justin who had taken Tina's love, casually tossed it aside and moved on to his next conquest. Now she was back in his employ, and Justin was treating her as if she were guilty of betraying him! He was also intent on revenge. Yet she was the injured party! Something just didn't add up. Tina was determined to find out what, and maybe, in the process, win the love of the man she had always wanted.

“So, you’re trying to control me, are you?” (#ua731d9cc-864b-58cd-be3f-f26518fb28b2)About the Author (#u997288ac-9b70-568e-800e-0d166108e0d8)Title Page (#ub59233d7-92b4-54ed-abd8-03ad1cc1ce9e)CHAPTER ONE (#u42cecf7f-aaac-5b41-b386-5802a9b96991)CHAPTER TWO (#u5b6b9c91-f2be-5032-828d-54981af74862)CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

“So, you’re trying to control me, are you?”

Tuna glared at him and continued. “Well, maybe I don’t want to be controlled.”

Justin smiled an evasive smile, quite untouched by the scathing note in Tina’s voice.

“No, you never did. That’s what makes it so enjoyable. I’m really looking forward to having you back in my employ.”

“You mean back in your power! You’re going to torment me and make my life a misery!”

“Sounds good to me.” Justin let his gaze drift over her. “I always did enjoy tormenting you!”

There was something intensely sexual about the way he said it. And Tina found herself utterly powerless to stop herself from responding.

Stephanle Howard was born and brought up in Dundee, Scotland, and educated at the London School of Economics. For ten years she worked as a journalist in London on a variety of British women’s magazines, among them Woman’s Own, and later, was editor of the now defunct Honey. She has spent many years living and working abroad—in Italy, Malaysia, the Philippines and in the Middle East.

The Man Who Broke Hearts

Stephanie Howard

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CHAPTER ONE

‘GOOD heavens! I’m so sorry! That was my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going.’

As she spoke, Tina didn’t even glance at her victim—the man she’d just collided with somewhat violently as she’d hurried across the conference-room full of noisy fellow-journalists. All her attention was fixed on the glass of champagne cocktail which had very nearly been sent flying out of her hand—and most of whose contents were now dripping down her arm.

But then her victim spoke.

‘No need to apologise. It seems to me you’ve come off worst.’

In an instant Tina had forgotten about her impromptu shower. The unexpected sound of that deep velvety voice had instantly rooted her to the spot. A great deal of time had passed since she’d last heard it, but it was not a voice she was ever likely to forget. Her heart hammering, she looked up into Justin Marlowe’s face.

‘Like I said,’ he repeated, smiling, ‘you seem to have come off worst.’

‘Yes, I do.’

It was the only response Tina could manage. She could barely stand for the rush of emotion that poured through her at the sight of that arrogant Greek god face. Suddenly, there was a tempest raging inside her. Suddenly, she was finding it difficult to breathe.

‘Are you OK? You look a little stunned. You haven’t hurt yourself, I trust?’

‘No. I’m OK. Just a little stunned, as you say. That was quite a nasty collision.’

Tina was amazed, and relieved, at how composed and cool she sounded. She hadn’t spoken to Justin Marlowe or been this close to him for three years—for, though she’d seen him from time to time at other receptions like this one, neither had ever even so much as acknowledged the other’s presence. And now she was right next to him, looking into those iron-grey eyes of his that she had believed no longer had the power to affect her, and she was tumbling into an abyss of pain and confusion. In an instant her blood had turned to knives in her veins.

‘I seem to have made a bit of a mess.’

Her fingers tight around her wine glass, she tore her gaze from his and glanced down, only half seeingly, at the wet splashes on her silk blouse. He was right. She had definitely come off worst in their encounter. There wasn’t a mark on his immaculate navy suit. But then, she thought wryly, wasn’t that always the case? Didn’t she always come off worst in her encounters with Justin Marlowe?

That thought was like a splash of cold water in her face. It pulled her up abruptly. Why was she reacting so foolishly? Justin Marlowe was nothing but a cold-hearted bastard. The only emotion he should be capable of inspiring in her was dislike.

‘Here. Take this.’ He had reached into his trouser pocket and was pulling out a folded, spotlessly white handkerchief. He held it out to her, then, before she could protest, he had taken her wine glass and handed it to a passing waiter. ‘You can use it to mop up the worst of the damage.’

Tina’s foolishness had all fled in a flickering instant to be replaced by a quick keen sense of irritation. Who the devil did he think he was, taking over in this fashion? She felt tempted to tell him what to do with his handkerchief. But she let common sense prevail. She rather needed to mop up and she knew she had no tissues in her bag.

So she took the proffered handkerchief, murmuring a curt, ‘Thank you,’ as she did so. Then, looking up into his face again, she observed in a cutting tone, ‘Whatever would I have done if you hadn’t been here?’

‘Well, you wouldn’t have bumped into me, so you wouldn’t have needed my assistance.’

Justin eyed her with those dark eyes of his that could burn holes in paper, his tone amused and lightly mocking. His gaze skimmed over her, over the long blonde hair that fell past her shoulders in platinum ripples, over the tall, model-like figure dressed in cream blouse and matching skirt, to settle on her eyes, the perfect blue of a Ming vase, which currently looked back at him with an expression as cold as porcelain.

‘But don’t worry, it’s always a pleasure to bump into a lovely young lady.’

It was a throwaway line. Barely even a compliment. He was simply spelling out to her how he thought of her these days—unemotionally, distantly, as ‘a lovely young lady’. It meant nothing to him that once they had been lovers.

It meant nothing to her either. Tina detached her gaze from his and dabbed at her wet hand with the folded handkerchief. The only thing that mattered was how much she hated him.

‘So, where were you off to in such a hurry that you ended up ploughing straight into me?’ As Tina. glanced up at him again, Justin smiled amusedly. ‘One thing’s for sure—I know you didn’t bump into me on purpose.’

That was true enough. As he had avoided her over the years, so Tina, equally assiduously, had avoided him. And, to be truthful, she hadn’t even known he was here today. He must have only recently arrived at the reception.

Before she could answer, he added, ‘One minute you were speaking to your friends, and the next you were heading towards me like a bulldozer.’

‘Not heading towards you. I thought I saw someone I wanted to speak to. At the last minute I realised it wasn’t her at all.’

So, Tina was thinking, he was watching me, was he? There was something a little disquieting about that.

Justin was continuing, ‘I suppose you know lots of people here.’ He cast a quick glance round the room in which they were standing—the conference hall of one of London’s top hotels that was currently playing host to a big press reception. ‘After all, you’re someone pretty important these days. No less than the features editor of Scope.’

‘Oh, not so important. Not nearly as important as yourself.’

One perfectly shaped eyebrow lifted over one porcelain-blue eye. Did he think he could mock her and get away with it? Tina wondered. Well, he was wrong if he did. No one did that any more. In the three years since their parting she had grown a little more worldly, a little more sophisticated, a little more smart. These days, with perfect poise, she could hold her own with anyone. And she could certainly hold her own with a skunk like Justin Marlowe.

Tina continued, a light, mocking smile on her lips, ‘You, after all, are the owner of JM Publishing. You must own or be on the point of taking over most of the newspapers and magazines represented in this room.’

‘Not quite.’ Justin smiled sardonically. ‘Only forty per cent. But don’t worry, I’m working on the others.’

Tina did not smile back. He hasn’t changed, she reflected. Still the same old overbearing self-assurance. Once, she had found that side of him exciting. She’d been stimulated and charmed by his unstoppable dynamism. But in the end she’d discovered it was really just pure selfishness. Justin Marlowe cared for no one but himself.

He hadn’t changed much in the looks department either. Now that that moment of foolish turmoil had receded and she was able to look him straight in the face, Tina could see that he was just the same as ever. Perhaps there were a few more lines around the long-lashed dark grey eyes and in the corners of the passionate, well-shaped mouth—as one would expect of a man of thirty-six. But his features were still as arrestingly handsome as ever and the hair that he wore casually swept back from his forehead was still as glossily black as a raven’s wing.

Still beautiful on the outside, she thought, and rotten to the core underneath.