Kitabı oxu: «The Pleasure King's Bride»

The Pleasure King’s Bride

Emma Darcy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

Cover

Back Cover Text

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

A MAN in a suit!

No-one wore a suit in Broome, especially not on a Sunday afternoon.

A surge of fear shot Christabel upright from the waist-deep water she’d been swimming in. She needed a better view of the man who was crossing the park above the beach, wearing a suit!

Was it one of them?

Had they tracked her down?

Before she could get a good look at him, his path took him behind the amenities block. She waited, her heart thumping wildly from the shock of being faced with the possibility that she had been found, despite all her precautions.

Six months she’d been here...perhaps, too long...long enough for her to start feeling safe...which was always a mistake. Stupid to ever feel safe from them, with so much at stake. Though there had seemed a very real chance of it, being so far away from everything that mattered to them, camped in this outpost of civilisation on the coastal edge of the great Australian outback.

Broome—a raggle-taggle, multicultural township that had grown up around the pearling industry when people still dived for pearl shell and died of the bends—was at the other end of the earth from the money men in Europe. Its history and tropical location, high on the west coast of the Kimberly region, attracted tourists, but no-one wore a suit here, not locals nor visitors. The heat alone demanded a minimum of clothing.

There he was again—just a glimpse of him crossing the open space between the amenities block and the cafe. His head was turned back towards the car park, making it impossible to identify him, but the suit said a lot to Christabel.

This was someone unprepared for the tropical climate.

Someone in too big a hurry to change his attire.

Someone who was heading purposefully for the caravan park that adjoined the beach area.

And Alicia had gone back to the caravan to fetch cans of cold drinks!

Sheer panic drove Christabel’s legs to wade through the water in frantic haste. She ran through the shallows and along the damp sand, which gave her firmer footing until she could reach the rocky outcrop that led up to the camping reserve. If it was one of them, come to get Alicia, come to snatch her back to that other life...

No-o-o-o!

Christabel’s mind burnt with fierce resolution as she leapt from rock to rock, every muscle tensing as she raced to fight for her daughter, determined on keeping her free from the nightmare world the money men would insist on constructing and maintaining. She would not let them take Alicia back to Europe. Never! Her daughter was safe here. If they’d just leave them alone...let them lead a normal life...

Onto the grassy bank of the reserve, her heart pumping, feet pounding, her long wet hair whipping around her. People she’d come to know from neighbouring caravans called out, startled by her hurtling haste, but she couldn’t pause, couldn’t reply. First and foremost she had to reach Alicia before the man in the suit found her. Did he know where to look, which caravan they lived in? She couldn’t see him but he had to be here somewhere.

Close now...she put on a last spurt, jumping over tent ropes and pegs, finally rounding the back of her van and...stopping dead.

He was there—the man in the suit—talking to her daughter, but he wasn’t one of them.

It was Jared—her employer here in Broome, Jared King—nothing whatsoever to do with them!

And if she acknowledged the deep down truth, he was the main reason she’d stayed in this place, longer than she should have.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, frowning over her obvious state of agitation.

She leant against the side of the van, shaky with relief, one hand pressed to her wildly thumping heart, the other raking back the wet tangle of hair from her face. The dark, waist-length tresses undoubtedly looked like straggling ropes, the usual flow of waves in horrible kinks. It was embarrassing, having him see her like this, ungroomed, hopelessly discomposed and too nakedly vulnerable to successfully hide what had to stay hidden.

“Why were you running, Mummy?”

Having caught her breath, Christabel aimed what she hoped was a reassuring smile at her five-year-old daughter. “I thought you’d got lost.”

Alicia huffed her indignation. “As if I would.”

There she was, a delightful imp of a child, her lovely little face framed by a halo of brown curls, no fear at all in the big amber eyes, no shadow of repression hanging over her. Christabel was amazed at the happy self-assurance her daughter had developed here, in this Broome caravan park, and she was deeply grateful it was still in place.

“You were gone a long time and I was dying for a drink,” Christabel offered in appeasement, conscious that Jared King was studying her quizzically and wishing he hadn’t witnessed her fear. He was disturbingly perceptive at times and she simply couldn’t afford to give too much away. Once people knew who she was, who her daughter was, everything changed.

“I’ve got them, see?” Alicia held up a string bag containing two cans of drinks. “I was on my way back...”

“I guess I should apologise for delaying her,” Jared chimed in, holding up the can in his hand. “Alicia very kindly got me a cold drink, too.”

“Why are you wearing a suit?” The accusatory words shot out of Christabel’s mouth before she could stop them.

Another quizzical, more weighing look from Jared. In fact, his coat was off now, slung over one shoulder, and he’d loosened his tie and rolled up his shirt sleeves. The strong raw maleness that seemed to emanate from all three King brothers was coming at her in waves, making her acutely aware of being a woman.

“I mean it’s so hot,” she gabbled. “Ridiculous to be walking around dressed like that. No wonder you wanted a drink.”

A slow, ironic smile. “I must admit I’d rather be in a swimsuit.” His eyes gliding over her appreciatively.

It wasn’t a leer. Jared King wasn’t the leering type. But she could feel his pleasure in seeing her like this, every curve hugged and outlined by the sleek yellow maillot, still wet from her swim, and his pleasure always did funny things to her, evoking a foolish happiness that muddled her mind and stirring physical reactions that left her miserably unsettled.

Her breasts were tingling right now, a shivery excitement running up and down her spine, her stomach turning mushy. If only he wasn’t so handsome, so insidiously attractive to her in so many ways...

“Actually, I was driving home from the airport,” he went on.

Of course! He was due home from his business trip to Hong Kong. She just hadn’t connected the suit to Jared, but he would wear one to deal with the Chinese, commanding their respect on all levels. The pearl King, they called him, because he headed the pearling industry his family owned, but secretly Christabel had dubbed him the pleasure King. It was something in his eyes, a warm, caressing sensuality...

“Then I remembered my mother was away...”

His mother—Elizabeth King, of the sharp intelligence and shrewd judgment, a woman who’d lived too much and seen too much for Christabel to ever feel comfortable in her company.

“...no-one to talk to, wind down with...”

Making himself sound lonely, but there was never any need for Jared King to be lonely, not a man like him. Or was he subtly tapping at her loneliness?

“...and I wondered if you might like to share my dinner and hear about your designs, the ones I took with me to Hong Kong.”

His smile held a whimsical appeal, and there was a mocking challenge in his eyes over the bait he attached to the personal invitation. He didn’t believe it would make any difference, but since she’d consistently refused to be with him in anything but a business situation, he was trying that angle...just to see her response to it.

“Did they like my jewellery?” she asked, feeling a surge of pride in the designs Jared had given her a free hand to create, and unable to deny her curiosity was piqued.

“Dinner?”

So tempting...strange how a man who always moved with such graceful elegance could exude so much male animal sexuality. He was tall and beautifully proportioned. His almost black hair tended to droop in a soft endearing wave over his forehead, but there was nothing really soft about his strongly boned face, except his rather full lower lip, lending his mouth the same sensual look she often caught in his dark brown eyes...eyes that were simmering at her now with promises of pleasure.

Christabel scooped in a deep breath, wishing she could indulge the desires he stirred in her. “No doubt you’ll tell me everything at work tomorrow,” she answered flatly.

“I was hoping for a pleasant evening together.”

The tug to accept what he offered was stronger than ever. But he would want too much, she told herself for the umpteenth time. Jared King was not the kind of man who would ever settle for less than everything he aimed for. Behind his quiet, affable demeanor was a will of steel she’d sensed many times.

“Vikki Chan invariably cooks a splendid homecoming dinner for me,” he remarked persuasively, dropping in the fact that his Chinese housekeeper would be in the house—the sense of a chaperone. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. In fact, her steamed fish is superb, well worth tasting.”

Food wasn’t the point, and he knew it.

“I like Chinese cooking,” Alicia piped up.

Jared instantly dropped her a charming smile. “What’s your favourite dish?”

“Honey prawns,” came the decisive reply.

“Very tasty,” he agreed with relish. “I’m sure Vikki would do some for you if your mother would like to bring you with her to my place for dinner this evening.”

That was a hit below the belt, involving her daughter directly in the invitation. He’d never done it before and Christabel churned with resentment at the unfair ploy as both of them turned their gaze expectantly to her, Alicia’s expression artlessly pleased at the promise of a treat.

“Can we go, Mummy?”

“I don’t think so,” she answered tersely.

The curt refusal bewildered her daughter, prompting the question, “Why not?”

“Yes...why not?” Jared echoed, maintaining a pleasantly invitational tone.

Christabel glared at him, hating the dilemma he put her in. “Alicia eats early. She’s in bed at eight o’clock.”

“No problem.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost five now. If you come at six...”

“Stop it, Jared!” she burst out.

Slowly he raised his gaze to hers again and there was nothing the least bit affable in his eyes. They burned with the need to rip away every barrier she put up between them. They seared her soul with a truth she could not deny, the sure knowledge of the attraction she felt...the same attraction he felt.

“Some things can’t be stopped, Christabel,” he said quietly.

And she had no answer to that starkly honest statement.

Tension gripped her entire body as she fought the deeply personal needs he evoked. She wanted this man. She wanted to experience all of him so badly, it was like being torn in two, the rational part of her mind insisting an intimate involvement with him would spill over to an attachment with Alicia and the money men would never allow it, not in the long run, so it could only end in wretched torment.

Jared made one of his graceful gestures, the long artistic fingers opening in a curve of giving as he softly added, “Of course, the choice is yours.”

What would it be like to have those fingers caressing her, making her feel loved and cherished and precious to him? Her stomach clenched in a savage desire to know how it would be...the pleasure King making love to her...to have this, just for herself, for at least a little time. Her heart drummed a vehement plea to make her own choice—a choice that shut out every other factor that had ruled her life for so many years.

“I’d like to go, Mummy.”

And why shouldn’t she? Christabel thought fiercely, looking at her daughter with an aching well of love. Why shouldn’t Alicia enjoy the company of a man who didn’t see her as a pawn in a monstrous web of greed? To add something more normal to their life here in Broome...why not?

“Then we shall go,” she answered decisively, defying all the gremlins that rode on her shoulders.

Alicia clapped her hands in delight and lifted a gleeful face to Jared. “Honey prawns,” she archly reminded him.

He laughed at her, his whole body visibly relaxing as he assured her, “I never go back on promises. Honey prawns there shall be.”

“And chocolate chip ice-cream?”

“Alicia!” Christabel chided.

“I was just asking, Mummy,” came the hasty justification.

“You know it’s not good manners.”

A doleful sigh. “Sorry.”

Christabel sighed, too, afraid she was committing an act of utter madness on an impulse she would inevitably regret, yet when she lifted her gaze to Jared’s and saw the happy warmth in his eyes, she couldn’t bring herself to care about the consequences of her decision.

“Six-thirty would suit us better,” she said, wanting time to dry her hair, time to feel all a woman’s anticipation in the indulgence of getting ready for an evening with a man who truly wanted only her, not her connection to obscene wealth.

“Fine by me.” He smiled the words, a smile that curled Christabel’s toes.

“Thank you.” Her voice came out husky, furred by emotions rushing free from the strictures of years of discipline.

“My pleasure,” he replied, then transferred his smile to Alicia. “Chocolate chip?”

Her hands flew up into a fervent wish grasp. “Please?”

“I’ll get some on my way home.”

“Oh, thank you!”

He lifted his hand in a farewell salute to both of them, then strolled away with the air of a man who had come and conquered and the world was now his oyster.

Except it wasn’t, Christabel thought ruefully. Only this little bit of the world belonged to Jared King. She remembered her visit to the great outback cattle station owned by his family, a vast land holding on the other side of the Kimberly from Broome. King’s Eden, it was called. She’d been amongst the contingent of the family’s employees in the pearl industry, invited to Nathan King’s wedding, which had been an eerily soul-stirring ceremony, initiated by Aborigines playing didgeridoos.

She was glad she’d gone, glad she’d experienced such a unique insight into the traditions of the outback and the feeling of an ancient, timeless heritage that was tied to the land. Not the wealth made from it. The land itself. King’s Eden.

Would she prove to be a serpent in Jared’s Eden? The carrier of evil that would poison his piece of paradise?

Sooner or later they would come—the powerful men in suits—and they’d destroy the normality of the life she’d established here, destroy whatever natural connections she’d made with people.

Christabel shivered.

Some things can’t be stopped.

Jared’s words...but they applied to much more than their feelings for each other. Still, for a little while...a defiant recklessness surged over the torturous fears...she would have what she wanted. And so would Jared.

It was his choice, too.

CHAPTER TWO

FEAR...because he’d been wearing a suit.

Jared mulled over that information as he drove back to the main shopping area to buy the chocolate chip ice-cream. It was another piece of the jigsaw he’d been fitting together ever since he’d met Christabel Valdez. The more he thought about it, the more it felt like a key piece.

His unexpected apparel had represented some kind of threat to her peace of mind. Was the suit simply an image that evoked bad memories, or was there more to it than that, a fear of someone who always wore suits turning up in her life again?

Jared didn’t care for this last thought. Yet perhaps it tied in with her living in a caravan, a mobile trailer home she could take with her if she felt the need to move at a moment’s notice. On the other hand, many people enjoyed the sense of a nomadic life that a caravan allowed. Not everyone wanted to put down roots in one place. Impossible to really know Christabel’s truth until she chose to reveal it herself.

It wasn’t the done thing to pry into the background of people who came to work in the Australian out-back. There could be many reasons for dropping out of more sophisticated centres of civilisation. It might be as simple as a wish for a change of lifestyle, a need for space, a desire to experience something different...in which case they usually told you so. But there were those who stayed silent, wanting to shed what they’d left behind...and that was their personal and private business, to be respected as such.

Christabel projected the first attitude but gave out so little of her past, Jared had concluded she wanted to shut the door on it. What had been tantalising, and intensely frustrating to him, was her stance of keeping everyone, including him, at arm’s length, as though she couldn’t bring herself to trust a close relationship, however much she might want it.

And she did want it with him.

Jared’s fingers curled more tightly around the driving wheel as triumphant excitement coursed through him. At last he’d broken through her resistance. She’d given in. Though why now...he shook his head. It didn’t matter.

Perhaps it was the realisation that her fear—whatever its cause—was unfounded with him. If so, all the better. He didn’t want fear to play any part in their relationship. He’d sort that out soon enough, now he had the chance to get close to her, closer than he ever had before in five long months of laying subtle siege to her defences.

Christabel...

He smiled on a wave of sheer exhilaration as he rolled the lovely lilt of her name through his mind...a name he’d thought might haunt him all his days, accompanied by a vision of eyes that glittered like gold in moments of fierce emotion and darkened to a simmering, sensual amber in moments of pleasure.

A woman with the heart of a tiger, he’d often thought, imagining her stretched out on his bed, lazily slumbrous, yet with those eyes inviting dangerous play, her satin-smooth olive skin gleaming, the rich abundance of her glorious long hair spreading silkily across pillows, the soft, perfect femininity of her body calling to everything male in him, a beautiful exotic mystery.

A haunting name, a haunting image...and all this time it had seemed the reality of her might remain forever elusive.

No more.

Tonight she would be within his reach.

Tonight...

It took considerable effort to bank down the passion she stirred in him and concentrate on practical details. Even his fingers were tingling as he activated the car phone and pressed his home number.

“Vikki here,” came the familiar sing-song voice.

“Visitors for dinner, Vikki. Christabel Valdez and her daughter.” It gave him intense pleasure to say that.

“Ah! So you win. I said to your mother, Jared will win. He does not know how to lose, that boy. He keeps at it until he wins.”

He laughed. Vikki Chan had been with the family all his life, cook and housekeeper to his widowed grandfather, staying on to maintain the old Picard home for his mother after Angus Picard’s death. It wasn’t the least bit surprising she knew of his interest in Christabel. Jared suspected she knew everything that went on in Broome from her many long-established grapevines. Besides, his mother was in the habit of confiding worries to her.

“I’m about to pick up the ice-cream her daughter likes,” he informed. “I also promised Alicia honey prawns...”

“No problem. I shall call and have the best green prawns delivered. Also more fish. Is fish all right for your Christabel?”

His Christabel...he hoped. “I’m sure it will be perfect. They’ll be arriving early. Six-thirty. Alicia goes to bed at eight.”

“I will take care of the little one. A bedroom near mine.”

“They may not stay beyond eight, Vikki.” He couldn’t assume too much, given the hot flare of resentment from Christabel when he had used Alicia to press the invitation. In fact, the giving in may not extend anywhere near as far as he wanted.

“I shall work it so you have time alone with her, Jared,” came the arch reply. “I have not lost my touch with children. And I very much doubt you have lost your touch for winning.”

Her confidence set him smiling again. “You’re a wicked old woman, Vikki Chan.”

He heard her cackling with delighted amusement as she disconnected to make other calls and imagined her wizened little face creased into a myriad happy wrinkles and her black eyes asparkle with plots and plans.

Vikki Chan would never say how old she was. Probably in her eighties, Jared guessed, though still incredibly spry and full of a zest for life. She’d be on the telephone right now to her seafood supplier, demanding the very best and threatening terrible fates if it wasn’t delivered. The pencil she invariably poked through the bun that kept her scraggly grey hair under tight control would be down in her hand, making notes no one else could read.

Chinese, she said, but Jared had learnt to speak and read Chinese proficiently and he could never decipher what she wrote. It gave Vikki an enormously smug pleasure to keep her little secrets, while worming out everyone else’s. Though not even she had managed to learn anything about Christabel beyond what Jared had learnt himself.

Which wasn’t much.

She knew Amsterdam. A conversation on diamonds had dropped that fact. Singapore was another piece of the jigsaw, perhaps simply a stopover on her way to Australia. Wherever she had learnt it, she had an extensive knowledge of jewellery and a keen appreciation of how it was valued.

He parked the car in Carnarvon Street, crossed the road to Cocos Ice Cream Parlour, bought two individual tubs of chocolate chip for good measure since Christabel might like it, too, plus several cones in case licking was preferred to spooning.

From there it was a short drive up to the bluff where the old Picard home overlooked Roebuck Bay. Prime position, Jared always thought appreciatively, though the house itself was not a particularly impressive place, just a big, rather ramshackle wooden building, surrounded on three sides by wide verandas that could be shuttered against inclement weather.

Still, it held a lot of history for his mother and it was large enough to accommodate the whole family with space to spare whenever his brothers came to Broome. Tonight it was going to accommodate Christabel Valdez and her daughter, for as long as they were willing to stay. As long as he could make it, Jared privately vowed as he headed inside to the kitchen with the ice-cream supplies.

Vikki was chopping vegetables at her workbench. “Everything okay?” he asked, crossing to the freezer.

“Of course.” She eyed him critically. “You look very hot, shirt sticking to your back. You need a shower and a shave.”

Having put the ice-cream away, he placed the cones on the bench and shot Vikki a teasing grin. “I think I can remember to brush my teeth.”

Unabashed, she returned an arch look. “That cologne you have...it is very nice. Definitely a subtle come-on.”

“I’m glad you approve my choice. Been sniffing it, have you?”

She humphed. “You need all the help you can get to make the most of this night.”

“Not artificial help. It won’t impress Christabel one bit. Nothing has...not who I am or what I am or any material advantages she could get from me.”

“Maybe...maybe not. I’m thinking a clever woman doles out a long rope for a man to hang himself with. You are a prize, Jared, and it occurs to me no other woman has ever tied you up this firmly.”

He shook his head. “She doesn’t see me as a prize. That’s not where it’s at.”

She raised derisive eyes. “The executive head of Picard Pearls? A man with his own custom-fitted Learjet? One of the Kings of the Kimberly?”

“It’s all irrelevant to her. I’d know if it wasn’t. I’m not a fool, Vikki.”

“Men in love can be blind.”

“Not that blind.”

There was a loud rap on the back door. “Ah, the prawns and the fish!” Vikki made a shooing gesture as she moved to answer the summons. “Go off with you, Jared. And if you want my opinion, if your Christabel doesn’t know you are a prize, she is a fool.”

Not a fool, Jared thought, leaving the kitchen to go to the suite of rooms he’d made his. Christabel operated on values that had nothing to do with wealth. That had been clear to him from the beginning, and her independent stance had remained consistent ever since. This was a woman who thought for herself, acted for herself and was wary of allowing any outside influence into her life.

He dumped his briefcase in his home office, stripped off in his bedroom and moved automatically towards showering and shaving, his mind occupied with memories....

* * *

The necklace...looking up from the paperwork on his desk and seeing it around his secretary’s throat...

“Where did you get that piece of jewellery?”

“Oh, sorry!” A fluster of guilty embarrassment. “I know I should be wearing pearls...”

“It’s all right. I just want to know. The design is very striking.” Artistic, elegant, cleverly leading the eye to the enamelled pieces it featured.

“Yes. I love it and couldn’t resist buying it.”

“Where from?”

“At the Town Beach markets on Friday night.”

“The markets?” It was not market goods. It was class. High class!

“Yes. Usually there’s only cheap, fairly tacky stuff, but there was this rather small collection of really super costume jewellery on the stall that sells velvet jewellery bags. I would have bought more but this was seventy dollars.”

“Locally made?”

“Well, the person who made it is a newcomer, though she’s been here a while now. Lives in the caravan park. Very exotic-looking. Comes from Brazil, someone said.”

Exotic...he’d imagined some over made up woman in a multicoloured floating garment...yet that design had tugged him into reconnoitring the market stalls at Town Beach the following Friday evening.

His first sight of her...like a magnet pulling him, his heart hammering, pulse racing. She’d been chatting to her co-stall holder. Had she felt him coming? Her head turned sharply. Their eyes met. An instant sexual awareness. Electric. How long had it lasted? Several seconds? Then she stiffened as though suddenly alert to danger, and her lashes swept down, shutting him out.

The abrupt switch off paused Jared in his tracks. It was wrong, unnatural. He sensed a shielding that was determined on blocking him out, and the urge to fight it welled up in him. She didn’t know him, he realised, and he didn’t know her. He tempered his more aggressive instincts, listening to the one warning him that storming defences was not a winning move.

He slowed his approach and made a casual study of the jewellery on the trestle table she stood behind. Each piece, to his eye, was a unique design, displaying a creative artistry he found almost as exciting as the woman. Part of her, he thought, an intrinsic part of heart, soul and mind woven into patterns and fashioned with exquisite taste. He couldn’t resist touching them.

“You made these?”

Her lashes lifted. “Yes.” She stood very still, her eyes alert, reminding him of a cat’s, watching what his next move would be.

He smiled. “Your own designs?”

“Yes.” No smile in response. A waiting tension emanating from her. “Are you interested in buying?”

She wanted him gone, which seemed so perverse it intrigued Jared even more. “You must have had training,” he remarked.

She shrugged. “I am now self-employed. Do you wish to buy?”

“You come from Brazil, I’m told. Perhaps you worked with H. Stern in Rio de Janeiro?”

More tension. A flat-eyed stare. “Why are you inquiring about me? Who are you?”

“Jared King. I head the Picard Pearl Company here in Broome. I’ve been looking for someone. Someone special. You...I think.”

A flare of alarm...recoil in her eyes.

The personal element was backfiring on him. He instantly slid into business. “I want a unique range of jewellery designed, featuring our pearls. I think you might be the right person to do it.”

No hesitation, not the slightest pause or flicker of interest. “I am not the person you want, Mr. King.”

“I think I should be the judge of what I want,” he dryly returned.

“And I the judge of what I want,” came the sharp retort.