Chapter One
CHAPTER ONE
‘H OW IS YOUR dear father? It’s been a while since we’ve seen him, and one hears things...’
Faye MacKenzie forced a bright smile in the face of this man and his cronies who had surrounded her before she could escape. She knew well that the solicitous question and their veneer of concern was just that—a very thin veneer—and that underneath it was a desire for any kind of hint that all was not well, and that her father was on the way out—of life and off the board of MacKenzie Enterprises, upon which he’d sat since his own father had died some forty years before.
‘Gentlemen, I will pass on your regards. My father is just fine—never better, in fact. And as for what you’ve heard... You’ll have to forgive my ignorance, because I am not privy to such things. And now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s someone I need to catch before they leave.’
Faye slipped through a gap in the circle of vultures around her and her smile faded, to be replaced by pursed lips and a set jaw. She snagged a full glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and ducked behind an exuberant plant on the edge of the ballroom, so she could take a break and absorb the fact that all was not well, and coming to this function in the centre of Manhattan this evening had proved her and her father’s suspicions right. People were talking.
She took a gulp of sparkling wine, hoping it might soothe her frayed nerves. A breeze skated over her skin and she looked behind her to see open doors leading out onto a terrace. Air... Air would be good.
She went outside and stood at the wall and tipped her head back for a moment, closing her eyes. The sounds behind her from the packed ballroom—people chatting, laughing, gossiping against the backdrop of classical music—fell away, to be replaced with the sounds of the city far below. A siren, a car horn.
Whenever she was home now, and not travelling for work, she spent most of her time with her father in their upstate family home in Westchester, so she usually enjoyed coming into the city as a diversion. But this evening the sounds of the city weren’t soothing. They were jarring. Because she knew she would have to go home and confirm her father’s worst fears.
She dropped her head back again, opened her eyes and looked out over the view of Manhattan’s glittering skyline unseeingly. Frustration mixed with anxiety churned in her gut again. Why had he been so foolish as to—?
‘Not enjoying the party? I can’t say I blame you.’
Faye went very still. A bizarre thought struck her—the fact that she knew exactly who had just spoken, even though she’d never met him face to face, close up. She’d seen him across the room earlier—it would have been hard to miss him, head and shoulders above everyone else, making her pulse trip with dismaying ease. Dismaying because it was such a cliché to be affected by one of the richest and most gorgeous men in the world as easily as if she was an innocent debutante.
She was no innocent debutante.
She took a breath and turned to the man who was standing beside her, looking at her. She had to tip her head back because he was well over a foot taller than her. And she wasn’t that small. He was far taller and broader up close, and it made her skin feel hot. He was solid. All muscle and bone.
He held out a hand. ‘Primo Holt. I don’t believe we’ve actually ever met?’
Faye might have laughed out loud. Anyone who didn’t know who this man was most likely didn’t have a pulse. But shock kept her from breaking into laughter. She almost wanted to look around them, to see if there was a camera crew capturing her reaction for some kind of a prank show. She might inhabit the same world as Primo Holt, but she was a lot further down the food chain.
She put out her own hand, but just before they made physical contact she had a strange sense that her life was going to be changed for ever the moment they touched. She didn’t have time to pooh-pooh the audacious thought before he was clasping her hand in his, and a powerful surge of electricity ignited her blood and made her skin prickle into goosebumps.
Faye couldn’t help the intake of shocked breath. She saw how his eyes widened a little, as if he too had felt it. They were beautiful eyes. Blue. Piercing and direct. They stood out against the tan of his skin and the stunning architecture of his face. Thick dark golden hair swept back from a broad brow. He really was ridiculously gorgeous—as if the gods had decided to bestow upon this man even more than his birthright of incredible wealth and fortune.
And yet any sense of beauty was diluted by a hard jaw and the sheer power field around him that was almost tangible. He was ridiculously masculine, in a world where most men were soft from privilege.
She struggled to make her brain function and somehow managed to say, ‘I’m Faye MacKenzie.’
His hand squeezed hers minutely before letting her go. ‘Yes, I know who you are.’
Faye instinctively brought her hand back into her chest, almost cradling it, as if to keep the sense of his hand holding hers for as long as possible. Dimly she wondered what on earth was wrong with her. She was behaving like a star-struck groupie.
She blinked and dropped her hand to her side. He was still there, but she felt marginally more in control of her reaction.
‘How can I help you?’
He frowned a little and his mouth tipped up, which only brought Faye’s attention there. Her belly did a swooping somersault. Mother. Of. God. The man’s mouth was pure sin. Sculpted and full and firm. And he was laughing at her. Teeth straight and white. He was quite literally an angel in human form. But he wasn’t a benign angel... She sensed that he could very much cause havoc.
Faye dragged her gaze back up. She bristled at the way he was affecting her so easily, making her take leave of her sanity and senses, and she seized it—anything to feel less unmoored by this man’s presence.
‘Is that amusing?’
His mouth straightened, but there was still a glint in his eye. ‘No, not at all, but actually there is something you can help me with.’
‘I find that a little unbelievable.’
Primo leaned against the wall beside Faye, supremely nonchalant. To be under this man’s laser-like gaze was beyond disconcerting. She felt very conscious of the fact that she wasn’t half as glittering as other women at the party. She wished she’d put on more make-up.
‘And why would that be?’ he asked. ‘Aren’t you one of the world’s foremost art experts?’
Her insides jolted. He knew what she did? She couldn’t help a small frisson of pleasure from the compliment. ‘I wouldn’t know about that, but it is my sphere of interest, yes.’
‘I’ve looked you up. You have an impressive list of satisfied clients and have brokered some of the biggest deals in the last decade.’
Now Faye felt embarrassed, and she ducked her head slightly. ‘It’s something I’m passionate about, which makes it easy to do it for a living.’
‘Passion certainly makes things more interesting, no?’
Faye looked at him. Was he...flirting with her? The expression on his face was inscrutable, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. An incendiary image of her and this man with naked limbs entwined flashed into her head before she could stop it. It left her even more disconcerted and breathless. Men didn’t have this kind of viscerally physical effect on her.
Clearly oblivious to her wayward imagination, Primo glanced behind them at the party and then back to her. ‘What would you say if I asked if you’d like to come for a drink with me?’
Faye’s heart thumped and she felt momentarily dizzy. Was Primo Holt, one of the world’s most eligible bachelors, really asking her out for a drink?
‘Not here,’ he added. ‘Somewhere close. I’d like to get your professional opinion on something.’
The dizziness subsided. It wasn’t a date. It was work-related. It wasn’t his fault that his every utterance sounded like something far more decadent and illicit. But a small rogue part of her pointed out that if it was entirely professional he’d have asked if she would meet him at his office, or during work hours. Not late at night. For a drink.
But maybe this was how he conducted business. How would she know? The man was famously discreet in his business and personal life. He’d never been linked with a woman long enough to cause speculation to mount, and the women he did get pictured with all seemed to be as discreet as him.
He was looking at her, waiting for an answer. Even though he’d said he wanted to discuss something, a giddy excitement gripped her. It scared her. Faye got asked out on dates. She even went on some. She even spent the night in some men’s beds. But rarely—and not for a long while.
‘You want to go for a drink to discuss something?’ It was as if she had to have it confirmed.
He nodded. ‘That is unless you need to stay at the party. We could arrange another time?’
Faye couldn’t see over Primo’s shoulder, but she didn’t need to to know what was behind him. More vultures circling to ask her about her father. And there was something else. An urge to seize this moment. Because she was intrigued and more than a little intoxicated by his interest. Even if it did turn out to be purely professional.
She racked her brains for when she might have heard anyone in the art world discuss working with him, but drew a blank. If Primo Holt wanted to work with her then it would be a massive feather in her cap. His family had an extensive private art collection that not many had ever seen. If she could persuade him to open it up, loan some works to galleries, it would be a massive coup.
So when she said, ‘No, I’m happy to leave now,’ she told herself that it was purely out of curiosity and for the potential professional connection. Not because he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen up close.
Primo was already taking a phone out of his pocket saying, ‘Good, I’ll instruct my driver to be ready. Meet you in the lobby in ten minutes? I just have to say goodbye to the host.’
Of course he did. Because he was Primo Holt and he was automatically a guest of honour. Unlike Faye, who the host would know of, but wouldn’t care less about if she ducked out early. With Primo Holt.
She must have nodded her assent, or said something, because she watched him walk back towards the party with a long-legged stride. Back broad. Classic tuxedo moulding to his body like a second skin. Long legs. Narrow waist.
She saw how the crowd parted to admit him, and then closed behind him again like a sea of adoring acolytes. She could see people looking at her, whispering, and suddenly she wanted to escape.
She made her way to the cloakroom and got the jacket that matched her dress—loose cape-style, with sleeves—and slipped it on. When she got to the lobby she didn’t have time to worry if Primo Holt might have changed his mind or come to his senses, because he was already waiting for her, wearing a long overcoat. He was intimidatingly suave.
He saw her and watched her walk towards him. Faye prayed she wouldn’t fall flat on her face and somehow managed not to. Primo put out a hand for her to precede him and she went out and down the steps, to be guided into the back of a sleek SUV with tinted windows.
It was early spring, and the air still had a nip, but she knew that wasn’t why her skin prickled. It was the man sliding into the back alongside her now, issuing instructions to the driver, who nodded, and then they were moving out smoothly into the night-time Manhattan traffic.
Faye was still too stunned to say anything, not really believing she was in the back of Primo Holt’s car being driven across town.
‘There’s a private club where we can have a drink without being bothered, is that okay?’
Faye turned to look at the man who seemed so huge on the other side of the car. His scent was crisp and unmistakably masculine. She nodded. ‘That sounds fine.’
Before long they were pulling to a stop outside a discreet building. She found that she liked the fact that he hadn’t tried to make superficial conversation to fill the time en route. She rarely met people who could sit in silence with such ease.
The driver opened her door and she got out. Once again Primo put out a hand to let her precede him to a doorway under an awning that opened as if by magic as she approached. She heard Primo address the suited man in the doorway in fluent French.
Then he said, ‘Marcel, I’d like you to meet Faye MacKenzie. I think we’ll just be having drinks—unless you’re hungry?’
Faye shook her head. The thought of trying to eat in this man’s company made her stomach flip-flop. ‘No, just drinks is fine.’
Their coats were taken. Faye guessed this was a private members’ club and maybe a guesthouse. It was sumptuously decorated with soft carpets, muted colours, hand-painted wallpaper, and luxurious drapes that were pulled back at the entrance to the bar. It had dimly lit booths and tables, around which sat at least a couple of A-listers whom Faye recognised.
They were directed to a booth near the far end of the bar, tucked away but with a view of the room. Faye sat down and Primo slid in from the other side.
Low music accompanied the murmur of chatter and laughter. It was decadent and ultra luxe. Discreet glamour. No wonder Primo Holt’s personal life was a well-kept mystery if this is where he conducted his liaisons.
Faye’s face grew warm under the soft lights. Who said this was a liaison? And since when was she so hungry for male attention? She’d been burned a long time ago with her first—and only—marriage, and she’d carved out a life for herself in which her independence was the most prized thing.
She hadn’t felt the need to follow a man in such a long time that it was only now she was realising she hadn’t even hesitated to acquiesce to his invitation. As if her brain had decamped and allowed her body to dictate her actions. She could tell herself it was purely professional curiosity, but she knew that wasn’t true.
A waiter approached the table. Primo looked at Faye. ‘What would you like?’
She said, ‘A classic gin martini—and some water, please.’
She hadn’t drunk much at all this evening, but this situation was too surreal. She felt she needed the alcohol, but at the same time wanted to maintain a clear head.
He ordered a whisky.
When the waiter left Faye forced herself to look at Primo Holt, even if it did feel like looking directly into sunlight. Her mind blanked and that was unnerving, because it wasn’t as if she wasn’t used to talking to VIPs.
As if hearing her thoughts he said, ‘I read about the deal you just negotiated for a Picasso for a client rumoured to be part of the British Royal Family.’
Faye couldn’t help but feel a little glow of pride. It had been a monumental deal. She inclined her head and said, ‘I can confirm it was a Picasso, but as for who my client was... I couldn’t possibly comment.’
‘Someone who knows how to be discreet? I like that.’
Faye felt more than a frisson this time. She had a sense that he wasn’t just talking about professional discretion. Right now, Primo Holt was managing to eclipse even royalty.
His hand went to his bow-tie and he made a small face as he said, ‘Do you mind? These infernal things always make me feel like I’m being strangled.’
Faye shook her head and watched wordlessly as long fingers undid his tie and he opened a top button, revealing the strong, bronzed column of his throat. It jogged her memory. Hadn’t his mother been a Brazilian supermodel?
He lifted his glass and said, ‘Cheers.’
Faye looked around. Her drink was on the table on an embossed coaster. She hadn’t even noticed the waiter’s return. Too busy ogling Primo Holt.
She lifted her glass and let it touch his. She echoed his cheers , then took a sip, relishing the slight burn of the alcohol. It gave her the courage to say, ‘I’m surprised you didn’t have a date with you.’
He put his own glass down and shook his head. ‘I was there alone. I’m not seeing anyone at the moment. Are you?’
The bluntness of his question took her by surprise. But she found she liked it. She shook her head. ‘No, I’m not with anyone right now.’
Hadn’t been for ages. But he didn’t need to know that. She struggled to remember the last time he’d been linked with someone. He always seemed to choose women who were intimidatingly beautiful and accomplished. Something Faye had obviously absorbed subliminally over the years.
‘It’s strange that we’ve never met face to face before,’ he noted. ‘When we’ve been present at many of the same events over the years.’
Faye bit back a wry smile. ‘That might be the case, but I don’t think we’re quite on the same...level.’
‘Your family name is about as old as mine.’
Faye shrugged. ‘Nevertheless, MacKenzie Enterprises is a minnow compared to Holt Industries.’
‘Smaller, maybe, but no less successful in its own right. How is your father, by the way? I’ve always had a lot of respect for him. He’s straight-talking.’
Faye pushed aside her niggling anxieties. ‘He’s fine. Slower now, but no less able.’
Her father had been involved in a car accident some years previously and had damaged his legs, so he was now confined to a wheelchair, or walking frame.
‘It’s just you and him?’
Faye nodded, wondering where this was going. ‘Yes. I’m an only child, and my mother passed away when I was still a teenager.’
‘I’m sorry...you were young to lose her.’
Faye shrugged minutely. ‘My father and I had each other.’
‘He never remarried?’
Faye shook her head. ‘No, he adored her. They were an urban legend...a love-match.’
‘You were lucky to have that. My parents were most definitely not a love-match, and my father has never been the paternal type.’
‘They divorced, didn’t they?’
Primo nodded. ‘When I was much younger. Our mother walked out the door one day and never came back. I’ve only seen her sporadically since then.’
Faye sucked in a breath at the easy way he’d revealed an undoubtedly traumatic incident in his life. ‘That’s tough.’
Primo seemed unconcerned. ‘It was a long time ago. I don’t like to dwell on the past. It holds us back.’
Faye took the hint.
Move on .
Emboldened by this frank exchange, she said, ‘I read that you have full control of your family business now.’
‘My father never really did care about the legacy. He just did his job and retired as soon as he could.’ Primo’s mouth twisted a little. ‘No problem with succession in our family.’
Faye frowned. ‘Don’t you have a brother?’ She vaguely recalled something about him walking away from the family business some years ago.
‘Yes, Quintano. But he’s never been interested in the family business—and he became even less so when he found out our father wasn’t his father.’
Faye had heard about this, but had never been sure how true it was. ‘He doesn’t live here, does he?’
‘No, he lives in Brazil with his wife and his son. And they had twin girls a few months ago.’
Faye felt a familiar clutch of pain down low in her abdomen. A mixture of emotion and the memory of the pain she’d suffered. ‘Do you see them much?’
A shadow crossed Primo’s face. The first time this evening she’d seen it.
He lifted his glass and said, ‘No.’ He took a sip of his drink.
Faye felt a little light-headed. They were discussing subjects that seemed awfully personal for a first conversation between relative strangers.
Afraid that she was getting lost in a little fantasy that this was a date, she said, ‘It’s very nice that you asked me here for a drink...but you mentioned needing my opinion on something?’
To her surprise, Primo suddenly looked a little abashed—if such a man could look abashed.
He said, ‘I have to admit that while I would be interested in your professional opinion, it’s not the primary reason I asked you here, which is for something along more personal lines.’
There was no mistaking the gleam of interest in his eyes now. There was a slow thump of Faye’s heart. ‘Oh?’ She couldn’t help asking. ‘I’m a little curious...why me?’
Why not one of the vastly younger and more beautiful women who had been at that function, simpering and pouting and looking for their next rich and powerful boyfriend?
Primo looked at her. ‘You’re a very beautiful woman.’
Faye didn’t like how those words made her insides fizz and jump like a young girl’s. She was too old for these games, and her impression of Primo so far was that he wasn’t a game-player.
Her gaze narrowed. ‘Thank you for the compliment, but we both know you could be sitting here with someone far more wide-eyed than me.’
Primo felt a surge of adrenalin go through him. This was why he wanted to marry Faye MacKenzie—precisely because she wasn’t some wide-eyed ingenue. And she was extraordinarily beautiful. Far more than he’d given her credit for. No wonder she’d been drawing looks at the party.
Her eyes were huge, and the most unusual shade of hazel, turning from gold to brown to green within a second. Finely drawn dark brows. Exquisite bone structure. But it was her mouth that had captivated Primo the minute he’d seen her up close. It was full. Lush. At odds with such a refined face. Hinting at a level of sensuality that was backed up by a refreshing earthiness he didn’t usually encounter in women from this milieu.
He shook his head slowly and said, ‘On the contrary, I knew I wanted to ask you for a drink before I introduced myself.’
He saw how she tensed slightly, drew back. ‘What does that mean?’
‘It means that I already knew I wanted to talk to you. To meet you.’
Primo knew instinctively that the only way to play it with this woman was to put his cards on the table. She wouldn’t appreciate games.
‘It’s quite simple. I would like you to consider marrying me.’
Those stunning eyes widened and Primo noticed how long her lashes were. She was shocked. Colour left her cheeks.
She said a little faintly, ‘Did I just hear you say...?’ She trailed off.
‘That I would like you to consider a marriage proposal? Yes, you did.’
She was visibly tense now. Primo had to curb a strange urge to touch her, as if to comfort her in some way. Reassure her.
She shook her head slowly, as if trying to clear it of something, and then she said, ‘That’s the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard. We don’t even know each other.’
‘Hence the reason why I wanted to meet you. To ascertain what I already suspected: that you and I have the potential to make a great match.’
The fact that his blood was humming with electricity and awareness only added to the sense of rightness. He wanted her. As he hadn’t wanted a woman in a long time. The soft golden lights turned her dark hair and pale skin lustrous. From a distance earlier, the elegantly simple dress had only hinted at the body underneath, but up close she was all woman, with tantalising curves.
But as he watched her he could see the shock fade and her jaw tighten. She said, ‘Thank you for the drink, Mr Holt, but if you’ve had your fun, I’m going to leave now.’
She turned away and started to move out of the booth. It took a second for Primo to realise she was really leaving. He was so unused to anyone walking away from him.
Something unfamiliar made his gut lurch. Was it...panic?
He cursed himself. He had misread this situation badly. He was usually a lot more suave than this.
Before he knew what he was doing, he’d put his hand on her arm and was saying, ‘Stop, please... I’m not making fun of you. This isn’t a joke.’