a billionaire before he reached thirty, Brent had told her enviously. ‘His parents left him a controlling stake in one of New Zealand’s most progressive companies as well as a hefty inheritance that gave him a damned good start on his quest for world domination.’ Then he’d given her a charmingly rueful smile. ‘But the real secret of his success is his drive and truly impressive brilliance, plus an uncanny knack for spotting trends.’
He’d paused, then finished significantly, ‘And his ruthlessness. He’s a bad man to cross.’
Wishing she’d gone with Maire, Sable pretended to examine the crowd. Instinct warned her that Brent had been right. Formidable determination was as much a part of Kain Gerard as his height and his broad shoulders and his arrogantly handsome face.
No wonder he was a hit with women. Brent hadn’t been quite so open about that aspect of his cousin, but Sable had read some interesting gossip.
And now she believed it all. He was—well, overwhelming was about the only word that came to mind. And although he seemed pleasant enough, his glance held more cool assessment than admiration.
Feeling a chill, Sable glanced up to see if a cloud had swallowed the sun. No, the sky was as radiantly blue as it had been all day. She straightened her spine and matched Kain’s assessing gaze.
He said, ‘I gather you’re a model?’
If Brent had talked at all about her, Kain must know perfectly well that she wasn’t.
‘Far from it,’ she returned. ‘Maire’s established her new salon next to where I work, and when her model let her down she talked me into this because I’m almost the same size and colouring.’ She gave him a carefully bland smile. ‘As soon as she gets back we’ll promenade around so more people can see the outfit.’
And then she was going. Apart from feeling absurdly conspicuous, her feet were killing her.
One black brow lifted, but all Kain said was, ‘I’ll stay until she returns.’
‘There’s no need,’ she stated.
He smiled down at her. Deep within Sable something shattered into a million pieces, each one piercing her with excitement. Shocked, she managed a pale smile in return, then looked away, hugely grateful to see Maire on her way back to them.
Once she’d reached them Kain said, ‘Why don’t you both come and watch the race with me on the lawn?’
Bristling, Sable thought it wasn’t so much a request as an order.
Her companion, however, beamed at him. ‘I’m surprised you’re not watching from the Presidential Club.’
He shrugged. ‘We can go there if you want to, but I thought you’d want every chance to show off that pretty dress. There won’t be any television cameras in the Club area.’
His gaze drifted down the dress, setting off alarms in every cell in Sable’s body. Not that there was anything sensuous about that inspection; she’d been the target of lustful looks often enough to recognise its complete lack of desire.
Yet she felt harried, hunted, the object of some careful plan. Telling herself not to be so stupid, she accompanied them.
Once on the lawn, Sable understood Maire’s rapid agreement. Everywhere she looked she met glances—some covert, some very open, but all intent on Kain Gerard and the two women he was escorting.
Although he nodded at people he knew, he didn’t stop. When a waiter appeared he suggested, ‘Champagne for you both?’
Maire accepted, but Sable said, ‘No, thank you.’
‘It’s hot. You’ll need something to cool you down,’ he said, and gave the waiter an order for two glasses of champagne and one of the Cup special.
When Sable opened her mouth to tell him she didn’t want anything alcoholic his lips curved again, and her heart flipped in her chest.
That smile was dangerous—and he knew its effect on women. He knew too much, she thought in rare confusion as her knees demanded she find a place to sit down.
He was too much—too much everything. Height always drew attention, but it wasn’t just his height or his dominant features and a mouth hinting at vast expertise that turned her bones to water. Kain exuded an aura of compelling power that was both a reassurance and a threat.
‘It’s non-alcoholic,’ he told her as the waiter returned with two flutes of champagne and a tall glass containing a concoction that looked deliciously refreshing. ‘Peach and strawberry fizz.’
‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly, irritated to discover it tasted as good as it looked.
Someone came up and greeted Maire, who excused herself to engage in animated conversation. Niggled by uncomfortable tension, Sable looked down at the track as the horses started to file out to the starting gate.
‘Which is yours?’ she asked to fill in the silence.
‘Number thirteen—the black,’ he said, and pointed him out.
Another splendid beast, she thought ironically, so fit its muscles were almost bursting through the sleek midnight hide. ‘Why are you so sure he’ll win?’
‘He’s at his peak now, and he has the best form. There’s always the chance of a mishap, of course, but he should lead them home.’
He did, to wild cheers that proclaimed he was a favourite with the crowd as well as the punters. In spite of herself Sable was caught up in the moment, clapping excitedly and turning to Kain when it was over, her face alight. ‘He’s fantastic, isn’t he? He just blitzed them! Where’s he racing next?’
Her heart gave an unexpected lurch when he looked down at her, and the joyful tumult seemed to die away into silence.
She tried to lower her lashes, to look away, but that enigmatic grey gaze locked her into some kind of stasis.
Before he could answer he was enveloped by a mob of laughing, chattering friends as well as journalists with photographers in tow.
Intensely relieved, Sable stood back a little, envying him the formidable assurance with which he accepted handshakes from the men and kisses from a variety of women. She felt oddly alone, disconnected from the brightly dressed crowd and the laughter; the sun seemed brassy and uncomfortable, the crowd noise too loud, too shrill.
So? she thought, sipping some more of her drink. In every way that matters you’ve been alone all your life. And you gave up wallowing in self-pity the day you left Hawkes Bay for Auckland.
But it was just as well she wasn’t likely to see much more of Kain Gerard.
Without looking at her he reached out and snagged her hand, drawing her to him as he said, ‘Come with me. I’m going to congratulate the jockey and the trainer.’
Sable tugged uselessly. She said in a low, angry voice, ‘I’m supposed to be showing off this dress.’
‘If you’re with Kain, you’re going to be in every photograph,’ Maire said brightly. ‘Away you go.’
Sable’s
