Loe raamatut: «To Marry Mcallister»
“If I lived somewhere like this I would never want to leave,” she breathed wonderingly.
“If you lived here, neither would I,” Brice answered huskily from just behind her. Far too close behind her, Sabina discovered as she swung around, finding herself almost pressed against his chest, becoming very still, her breathing shallow.
It was as if time was standing still as they looked at each other in the twilight, Brice’s face vividly clear to her, his eyes a sparkling emerald-green, the intimacy of his words lying heavily between them.
She should stop this, break the spell—except that was exactly what it felt like, as if she were bewitched, by both Brice and her surroundings….
She didn’t move, couldn’t move, clasping her hands together in front of her to stop them shaking. What was happening to her?
Three cousins of Scottish descent…they’re male, millionaires and marriageable!
Meet Logan, Fergus and Brice, three tall, dark, handsome men about town. They’ve made their millions in London, England, but their hearts belong to the heather-clad hills of their grandfather McDonald’s Scottish estate. Logan, Fergus and Brice are all very intriguing characters. Logan likes his life exactly as it is, and is determined not to change—even for a woman—until scatty, emotional Darcy turns his neatly ordered world upside down! Fergus is clever, witty, laid-back and determined to view things in his own particular way…until the adorably petite Chloe begs him to change his mind—she’s willing to pay any price to get him to agree! Finally, there’s Brice. Tough, resolute and determined, he’s accountable to no one…until blue-eyed beauty Sabina makes him think again!
Logan, Fergus and Brice are about to give up their keenly-fought-for bachelor status for three wonderful women—laugh, cry and read all about their trials and tribulations in their pursuit of love.
To Marry MCAllister
Carole Mortimer
MILLS & BOON
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CONTENTS
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
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER ONE
‘MCALLISTER, isn’t it?’
Brice tensed resentfully at this intrusion into his solitude. If one could be solitary in the midst of a party to celebrate a political victory!
Ordinary he wouldn’t have been at this party, but the youngest daughter of the newest Member of Parliament had married his cousin, Fergus, six months ago, and so all the family had been invited to Paul Hamilton’s house today to join in the celebrations at his re-election. It would have seemed churlish for Brice to have refused.
But he didn’t particularly care for being addressed by just his surname—it reminded him all too forcefully of his schooldays. Although it was the man’s tone of voice that irritated him the most: arrogance bordering on condescension!
He turned slowly, finding himself face to face with a man he knew he had never met before. Tall, blond hair silvered at the temples, probably aged in his mid-fifties, the hard handsomeness of the man’s face was totally in keeping with that arrogance Brice had already guessed at.
‘Brice McAllister, yes,’ he corrected the other man coolly.
‘Richard Latham.’ The other man thrust out his hand in greeting.
Richard Latham… Somehow Brice knew he recognised the name, if not the man…
He shook the other man’s hand briefly, deliberately not continuing the conversation. Never the most sociable of men, Brice considered he had done his bit today towards family relations, was only waiting for a lull in the proceedings so that he could take his leave.
‘You have absolutely no idea who I am, do you?’ The other man sounded amused at the idea rather than irritated.
Brice may not know who the other man was, but he did know what he was—the persistent type!
Latham, he had said his name was. The same surname as Paul Hamilton’s other son-in-law, his own cousin Fergus’s brother-in-law, which meant he was probably some sort of relative of the Hamilton family. But somehow Brice had a feeling that wasn’t what the other man meant.
He held back his sigh of impatience. It was almost seven o’clock now; he had been looking forward to being able to excuse himself shortly, on the pretext of having another appointment this evening. But now he would have to extricate himself from this unwanted conversation first.
‘I’m afraid not,’ he returned without apology; being accosted at a social gathering by a complete stranger wasn’t altogether unknown to him, but it certainly wasn’t something he enjoyed.
Although, he accepted, being an artist of some repute, that he had to show a certain social face. This man, with his unmistakable arrogance, just seemed to have set his teeth on edge from the start.
Richard Latham raised blond brows at the bluntness of the admission. ‘My secretary has contacted you twice during the last month, concerning a portrait of my fiancée I would like to commission from you.’
He was that Richard Latham! Multimillionaire, jet-setting businessman, the other man’s business interests ranging worldwide, his personal relationships with some of the world’s most beautiful women making newspaper headlines almost as much as his successful business ventures. Although Brice had no idea who the ‘fiancée’ he had just mentioned could be.
He shook his head. ‘As I explained in my letter, in reply to your secretary’s first enquiry, I’m afraid I don’t do portraits,’ he drawled politely. And he hadn’t felt the least inclination to explain that all over again in reply to the second letter he had received from this man’s secretary only a week later.
‘Not true,’ Richard Latham came back abruptly, blue eyes narrowed assessingly on Brice’s deliberately impassive expression. ‘I’ve seen the rather magnificent one you did of Darcy McKenzie.’
Brice smiled slightly. ‘Darcy happens to be my cousin-in-law. She is married to my cousin Logan.’
‘And?’ Richard Latham rasped frowningly.
Brice shrugged. ‘It was a one-off. A wedding gift.’
The other man gave an arrogant inclination of his head. ‘This is a gift too—to myself.’
And he was obviously a man, Brice acknowledged ruefully, who wasn’t used to hearing the word no—from anyone!
Well, Brice couldn’t help that, he simply did not paint portraits, had no inclination to paint a flattering likeness of the rich and the pampered, just so that they could hang it on one of the walls of their elegant homes and claim it was a ‘McAllister’.
‘I really am sorry—’ he began—only to come to an abrupt halt as the room suddenly fell silent, all attention on the woman who now stood in the doorway.
Sabina.
Brice had seen photographs the last few years of the world’s most famous model—he would have to have been blind not to have done. Hardly a day passed when she wasn’t photographed appearing in some fashion show or other, at a party, or public event. But none of those photographs had prepared Brice for the sheer perfection of her beauty, the creaminess of her skin against the short, shimmering silver dress she wore, her legs extremely long and shapely, her eyes a luminous blue, long hair the colour of ripe wheat reaching almost to her slender waist.
She wore absolutely no jewellery, but then she didn’t need to; it would merely be gilding the lily.
His attention returned to her eyes. Luminous, yes, with a black ring encircling the sky-blue of the iris. But there was something else there he picked up on as she looked about the room. A certain apprehension. Almost fear…?
Then a shutter came down over those amazing blue eyes, the emotion masked almost as quickly as Brice’s trained eye had recognised it, her smile confident now as she looked across the room in his direction.
‘Excuse me while I greet my fiancée,’ Richard Latham murmured mockingly before leaving Brice’s side to stride forcefully across the room to kiss Sabina warmly on the cheek, his arm moving possessively about her slender shoulders even as she smiled at him.
Brice realised as he watched the two of them that he had been wrong about the jewellery; on the third finger of Sabina’s left hand gleamed a huge heart-shaped diamond.
Sabina was the fiancée Richard Latham had referred to? The fiancée he wanted Brice to paint a portrait of…?
The one woman in the world, now that he had seen her in the flesh, that Brice knew he simply had to paint!
Oh, not because of her beauty, spectacular though it might be. No, it was that quickly masked emotion that intrigued Brice, that momentary glimpse of fear and vulnerability, that made Sabina more than just a beautiful woman.
It was an emotion he wanted to explore, if only on canvas…
‘Sorry I’m a little late.’ Sabina smiled warmly at Richard. ‘I’m afraid Andrew was being extremely difficult over fittings today.’ She grimaced as she lightly dismissed one of the top fashion designers of the day. Andrew might be at the top, but he had a volatile temper to go with it, which made him hell to work for.
‘You’re here now, that’s all that matters,’ Richard assured her lightly as he turned back into the room.
Sabina’s tension left her. How nice it was to have someone in her life who was never difficult over the demands of her career. In fact, it was the opposite where Richard was concerned; her famous face as she stood at his side was all that he wanted from her.
And, thankfully, the conversation seemed to have resumed in the room again now. Even after seven years as a top model, Sabina didn’t think she would ever get used to the way people stopped to stare at her wherever she went, had had to build up a veneer over the years to cover up the dismay she often felt at the effect her looks had on people.
The only place she seemed to get away from being recognised was when she went to one of her favourite hamburger restaurants. No one ever believed, with her willowy slenderness, that it could possibly be the model Sabina, dressed in denims and casual top, her hair hidden under a baseball cap, sitting there eating a hamburger with French fries! But, sceptical as some reporters were, claiming she lived on lettuce leaves and water to maintain her slender figure, she was actually one of those lucky people who could eat anything and never put on weight.
Although, she acknowledged a little sadly, she hadn’t dared to make one of those impromptu visits to eat one of her favourite foods for some time now. Six months, in fact…
‘I have someone I want you to meet, Sabina,’ Richard told her smoothly now. ‘And someone I want to meet you,’ he added with a certain amount of satisfaction.
Sabina looked at him enquiringly, but could read nothing from his expression as he guided her across the room to meet the man she had seen him talking to when she’d arrived.
The other man was tall, even taller than Richard’s six feet two inches, probably aged in his mid-thirties, dressed casually in blue denims teamed with a white tee shirt and black jacket, with over-long dark hair, and a face of austere handsomeness. But it was the green eyes in that face that caught and held Sabina’s attention, eyes of such perception they seemed to see right into the soul.
Sabina felt the return of her earlier apprehension run down the length of her spine; she didn’t want anyone, least of all this austere stranger, looking into her soul!
‘Brice, I would like you to meet my fiancée, Sabina. Sabina, this is Brice McAllister,’ Richard introduced lightly.
But again, unless Sabina was mistaken, Richard’s voice contained that element of satisfaction as he made the introductions.
She knew Richard was proud of the way she looked, but at this moment he seemed more so than usual.
She looked curiously at the other man. Brice McAllister. Should she know—? The artist! Brice McAllister, she knew, was one of the most sought-after artists in the world today. But that still didn’t explain Richard’s attitude towards the other man…
‘Mr McAllister,’ she greeted coolly.
‘Sabina.’ He nodded abruptly. ‘Do you have a surname?’ he added mockingly.
‘Smith,’ she supplied dryly. ‘But not many people know that. My mother’s more exotic choice of a first name was an effort to make up for the lack of imagination in my surname.’ And she, Sabina realised with a frown, was talking merely for the sake of it. And to a man who instinctively made her uneasy.
But she couldn’t seem to help it when those deep green eyes were looking at her so intently…
‘You’re Sabina. It’s enough,’ Richard put in with a certain amount of arrogance.
Did Richard sense it too, that deep intensity coming from that unblinking, emerald-green gaze?
Sabina felt that shiver once again down the length of her spine, moving slightly closer to Richard as she did so.
‘I promise not to tell a soul,’ Brice McAllister drawled playfully in answer to her earlier remark.
Although somehow it didn’t sound playful coming from this man. Neither was the mention of the ‘soul’ to Sabina—when she was sure this man could see straight into hers!
What would he see? she wondered. Warmth and kindness, she hoped. Humour and laughter, too. Loyalty and honour. Apprehension and fear—
No! She was careful to keep those emotions under lock and key. Although that wasn’t so easy to achieve when she was alone. Which was why she very rarely allowed herself to be alone with her thoughts any more…
‘Your fiancée and I were just discussing the possibility of my painting your portrait,’ Brice McAllister bit out evenly.
Sabina gave a perplexed frown as she turned to look at Richard. He hadn’t mentioned anything about having her portrait painted. And she already knew, from the little time she had spent in Brice McAllister’s brooding company, that he was the last man she wanted to spend time with!
‘I’m afraid Brice has just ruined my surprise.’ Richard laughed dismissively, giving her shoulders a warm squeeze before turning to look challengingly at the younger man. ‘You’ve decided you would like to paint Sabina’s portrait after all?’ he drawled mockingly.
Sabina looked at Brice McAllister, too, gathering from Richard’s comment that the question of painting her portrait hadn’t been as cut and dried as the artist had just implied it was…
If not, why had he changed his mind?
If he had…
Brice McAllister shrugged unconcernedly. ‘It’s a possibility,’ he replied noncommittally. ‘I would need to do a few preliminary sketches before making any definite decision.’ He grimaced. ‘But I should warn you now, I don’t do chocolate-box likenesses of people.’
The implication being that she had a chocolate-box beauty! Not exactly the most charming man she had ever met, Sabina acknowledged ruefully, although he was at least honest.
But maybe that was what he meant about not doing ‘chocolate-box’ likenesses of people, Sabina realised with a faint stirring of unease; he liked to capture what was inside the person as well as a physical likeness. Maybe her instinct had been right after all and he really could see into her soul…?
‘A “warts and all” man,’ Richard realised dryly. ‘Well, as you can clearly see, Sabina doesn’t have a single blemish.’ He looked at her proudly.
Sabina looked at Brice McAllister, only to look quickly away again as she saw the open derision in his expression at Richard’s obviously possessive praise. But the intensity of the artist’s attention on her didn’t seem to allow him to see Richard’s possession for exactly what it was: simply pride in ownership of an object of beauty.
‘I think you could be slightly biased, Richard,’ she told him huskily. ‘And I’m sure we must have taken up enough of Mr McAllister’s time for one evening…’ she added pointedly, wanting to get away from the intensity of that probing green gaze.
She didn’t like Brice McAllister, she decided. Something about the way he looked at her made her feel uncomfortable. And the sooner she and Richard distanced themselves from him, the better she would like it.
‘If I could just have your address and telephone number…’ Brice McAllister drawled questioningly. ‘Perhaps I can ring you, and we can sort out a time convenient to both of us for those sketches?’
Sabina swallowed hard, very reluctant for Brice McAllister to know any more about her than he already did.
‘That’s easy, they’re the same as mine,’ Richard informed Brice mockingly even as he took one of his personal cards from his wallet and handed it to the other man. ‘If neither Sabina nor I are at home when you call, my housekeeper can always take a message,’ he added lightly.
Sabina could feel the increased intensity of that dark green gaze now as Brice McAllister digested the knowledge of her living at Richard’s Mayfair home with him. His mouth had thinned disapprovingly, those green eyes cool as his gaze raked over her assessingly.
Sabina challengingly withstood the derision now obvious in Brice McAllister’s expression as he looked at her, although she had no control over the heated colour that had entered her cheeks.
Damn him, who did he think he was to stand there and make judgements about her behaviour? She was twenty-five years old, for goodness’ sake, quite old enough to make her own choices and decisions. Without being answerable to anyone but herself. And she was quite happy with her living arrangements, thank you!
If a little defensive…?
Maybe. But Brice McAllister didn’t know of the understanding she and Richard had come to when they’d become engaged several months ago, could have no idea that engagement was only a front, that their engagement was based on liking, not love. A protective shield for her from the fear she had lived with the last six months, in exchange for that object of beauty—herself!—that Richard wanted so badly in his life. And, strangely enough, she had realised over the last few months, that was all he wanted from her…
No doubt to a third person their arrangement would seem odd in the extreme, but it suited them. And it was certainly none of this man’s business!
‘I’ll call you,’ Brice McAllister drawled derisively, putting Richard’s card in the breast pocket of his jacket before giving a dismissive nod of his head. Leaving them, he strolled over to join a couple sitting in the corner of the room cooing over a very young baby.
‘Brice’s cousin, Logan McKenzie, and his lovely wife Darcy,’ Richard murmured softly at her side.
Sabina didn’t care who the other couple were, or what relationship they had to the arrogant Brice McAllister; she was just glad to have him gone. She could breathe easily again now!
In truth, she hadn’t even realised she had been holding her breath until he’d left them, and then she had been forced to take in a huge gulp of air—or expire!
One thing she did know—she had no intention of being at home if Brice McAllister should choose to telephone her.
And, in the meantime, she intended doing everything she could to persuade Richard into changing his mind about wanting Brice McAllister to paint her…
CHAPTER TWO
‘BUT I’m afraid Miss Sabina isn’t at home,’ Richard Latham’s housekeeper informed him for what had to be the half-dozenth time in a week.
Actually, Brice knew exactly how many times he had telephoned and been informed ‘Miss Sabina isn’t at home’. It was the fifth time, and his temper was verging on breaking-point. Mainly, he knew, because he was sure he was being given the run-around by the beautiful Sabina.
He had known by the expression on her face at Paul Hamilton’s house the previous week, when told that Richard wanted Brice to paint her portrait, that Sabina didn’t share that desire.
Which, if he were honest, only made Brice all the more determined to do it.
‘Thanks for your help,’ Brice answered the housekeeper distractedly, wondering where he went from here. Telephoning to make an appointment to sketch Sabina obviously wasn’t working!
‘I’ll tell Miss Sabina you rang,’ the woman informed him before ringing off.
A lot of good that would do him, Brice acknowledged impatiently as he replaced his own receiver. She had probably been informed of those other four calls he had made too—and, despite the fact that he had left his own telephone number, Sabina hadn’t returned any of them.
‘I would stay away from my Uncle Richard, if I were you,’ David Latham had informed him ruefully at the party last week once the other man and Sabina had left. ‘He’s a collector of priceless items—and he considers Sabina part of that collection. He also brings a whole new meaning to the phrase “black-sheep of the family”,’ David had added with a grimace.
Richard Latham wasn’t the one Brice was interested in. Although, as he was quickly learning, there seemed to be no other avenue to reach the beautiful Sabina…
For such an obviously public figure, she was actually quite reclusive, was never seen anywhere without the attentive Richard, or one of his employees, at her side.
Brice knew, because he had even attended a charity fashion show the previous weekend with his cousin Fergus, and his designer wife, Chloe, at which he’d known Sabina had been making an appearance. Only to have come up against the brick wall of what had appeared to be a bodyguard when he’d tried to go backstage after the show to talk to Sabina.
She hadn’t joined the champagne reception after the show either, and discreet enquiries had told Brice that Sabina had been whisked away in a private car immediately after her turn on the catwalk had been over.
Sabina brought a whole new meaning to the word elusive—and, quite frankly, Brice had had enough.
He was also pretty sure that Richard Latham would have no idea Sabina had been avoiding his calls; the other man had been so determined to have Brice paint Sabina.
It wasn’t too far to drive to Richard Latham’s Mayfair home, the single car in the driveway, a sporty Mercedes, telling him that someone was at home. At this particular moment it didn’t matter whether it was Richard Latham or Sabina—he intended getting that promised appointment from one of them!
He didn’t know why, but he had been slightly surprised the previous week when Richard Latham had informed him that he and Sabina shared a home—and presumably a bed? There was something untouchable about Sabina, an aloofness that held her apart from everyone around her. Obviously that didn’t include Richard Latham!
‘Yes?’
Brice had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t been aware of the door being opened to his ring on the bell, the elderly woman now looking up at him enquiringly obviously the housekeeper he had spoken to on the telephone over the last week.
‘I would like to see Sabina,’ Brice stated determinedly.
The woman raised dark brows. ‘Do you have an appointment?’
If he did, then he would have no reason to be here!
Brice bit back his anger with effort. After all, it wasn’t this woman he was angry with. ‘Could you just tell Sabina that Mr McAllister would like to see her?’ he rasped curtly.
‘McAllister?’ the woman repeated with a frown, giving a backward glance into the hallway behind her. ‘But aren’t you—?’
‘The man who has telephoned half a dozen times this last week to speak to Sabina? Yes, I am,’ Brice confirmed impatiently. ‘Now could you please tell Sabina that I’m here?’ He knew he wasn’t being very polite, that it wasn’t this woman’s fault Sabina was giving him the brush-off, but at the moment he was just in too foul a mood to be fobbed off any longer.
Because he was utterly convinced, after that slightly furtive glance back into the house by the housekeeper, that the sporty Mercedes in the driveway belonged to Sabina, that she had been at home earlier when he’d telephoned, as she was at home now. She was just choosing not to take his calls.
‘But—’
‘It’s all right, Mrs Clark,’ Sabina assured smoothly as the door opened wider and she suddenly appeared beside the housekeeper in the doorway. ‘Would you like to come through to the sitting-room, Mr McAllister?’ she invited coolly.
He nodded abruptly, afraid to speak for the moment—he might just say something he would later regret. Strange, he had never thought he had much of a temper, but this last week of having Sabina avoid him had certainly tried his patience.
She looked different again today, was wearing faded denims and a white cropped tee shirt, her long hair secured in a single braid down her spine, her face appearing bare of make-up. Brice had no idea how old she was, but at the moment she looked about eighteen!
‘You’ll have to excuse me, I’m afraid.’ She indicated her casual appearance with a grimace as she turned to face him once the two of them were alone in the sitting-room. ‘I’ve just got back from the gym.’
Brice raised dark, sceptical brows. ‘Just?’
She met his gaze unflinchingly. ‘Can I offer you some tea?’
‘No, thanks,’ he refused dryly. ‘I’ve telephoned you several times this last week,’ he added hardly.
Her gaze shifted slightly, no longer quite meeting his. ‘Have you?’ she returned uninterestedly.
Damn it, this really shouldn’t be this difficult. Richard Latham was the one who had come to him with this commission—Brice hadn’t even wanted to do it.
Until he’d seen Sabina…
‘You know damn well I have,’ he snapped impatiently.
She shrugged. ‘I’ve been so busy this week. A trip to Paris. Several shows here. A photographic session with—’
‘I’m not interested in what you’ve been doing, Sabina—only in why you’ve been avoiding my calls,’ he rasped harshly.
‘I’ve just told you—’
‘Nothing,’ he bit out tersely. ‘Even if you haven’t been here—’ of which he was highly sceptical ‘—I’m sure the efficient Mrs Clark has informed you of each and every one of my telephone calls.’
‘Perhaps,’ Sabina conceded noncommittally. ‘Are you sure I can’t offer you any tea?’
‘I’m absolutely positive,’ he bit out between clenched teeth. A neat whisky would go down very well at the moment, but as it was only four o’clock in the afternoon he would give that a miss too for the moment. But the coolness of this woman was enough to drive any man to drink! ‘Now, about that appointment—’
‘Please, do sit down,’ she invited lightly.
‘Thanks—I would rather stand,’ he grated harshly, this woman’s aloofness doing nothing to alleviate his temper.
Sabina shrugged off his refusal before sitting down in one of the armchairs. ‘Strange, but I was under the impression you were an artist of some repute?’ she murmured dryly.
Brice eyed her guardedly. ‘I am.’
‘Really?’ she mused derisively. ‘And do you usually go chasing after commissions in this way?’
She was meaning to be insulting—and she was succeeding, Brice feeling the tide of anger that swept over him.
But at the same time he questioned why she was trying to antagonise him into refusing to paint her portrait before walking out of here. Because he knew that was exactly what she was trying to do.
He drew in a deeply controlling breath. ‘Perhaps I will have that cup of tea, after all,’ he drawled, before making himself comfortable in the armchair opposite hers.
But his gaze didn’t leave the cool beauty of her face, meaning he missed none of the dismay at his words that she wasn’t quick enough to mask. And Brice knew, despite having invited him to have tea in the first place, that Sabina actually wanted him out of here as quickly as possible.
Because Richard Latham might return at any moment and put paid to any effort on her part to elude having Brice paint her portrait…?
‘I’m not in any hurry.’ He made himself more comfortable in the armchair.
‘Fine,’ Sabina bit out in clipped tones, standing up gracefully. ‘I’ll just go and speak to Mrs Clark.’
And also take time to compose herself, Brice easily guessed. He knew he wasn’t mistaken now, was absolutely sure that Sabina had no intention of letting him paint her portrait.
Why? What was it about him that she didn’t like? Although Brice was sure it wasn’t actually dislike he had seen in her eyes in that brief unguarded moment. It had been something approaching the fear he had sensed when he’d first seen her a week ago…
Sabina didn’t go straight to the kitchen, running up the stairs to her bedroom first to splash cold water on her heated cheeks.
It had never occurred to her, when she’d refused to take any of Brice’s telephone calls this last week, that he would actually come here!
But now she realised that perhaps it should have done; there was a ruthless determination about Brice McAllister that clearly stated he did not like to be thwarted. And never being available for his calls would definitely fall into that category in his eyes. Sabina now realised her mistake, knew that she should have taken one of his calls, if only to put him off coming here in person.
Well, it was too late now. Richard should be back within the hour, which meant she would have to hurry Brice McAllister through his tea, put up all sorts of obstacles to any immediate appointment to go to his studio, and then continue to cancel them thereafter.
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