Harbour frontage. Tonight he’d cement his place and his future with the society that had resisted him for so long.
Already he could sense the change in the way he was perceived, by the constant string of congratulations he’d received from people who would have crossed the street to avoid him in the past, as he stood alongside Cameron Davenport waiting for the ladies to appear. In marrying Briar there was no way they could ignore his hold on the Sydney property industry any more. Now he had the Davenport seal of approval. Now there would be no stopping him.
How fortunate that a man so unskilled in the ways of his business should have had such a suitable daughter. For there was no one he’d rather cement his future with than Briar Davenport. She would make the perfect wife. The bonus was she would also make a pleasant bed-warmer. Siring children with her would be no hardship.
There was a stir amongst the crowd before everyone hushed and his eyes drifted upwards to where the two women stood at the top of the stairs, the older woman in plumage peacock-bold, the daughter so deathly pale as to render any other mere mortal invisible.
But not Briar. Her skin might be pale but her eyes shone like dream stones, amber and intense. And the dress might be colourless but it could not disguise the exquisitely feminine form beneath. A tiny waist that only accentuated the lushness of her breasts and hips, and legs that went forever and then some.
Briar. Like the rose that grew wild, spreading branches rambling, soon she would be clambering all over him. Already he could feel those long limbs wrapped around him, clinging to him, supported by him. Already he could hear her crying out, begging him for release. His body stirred in anticipation as the women slowly descended the wide staircase.
Oh, no, siring children with her would be no hardship at all.
The women reached the foot of the stairs. Carolyn took her husband’s arm. Diablo held out his hand for Briar and for the first time she looked at him.
Something jolted through her as their eyes connected, a prelude for the bolt of electricity that was unleashed when their hands touched. His dark eyes narrowed and regarded her strangely.
‘You look beautiful,’ he said. ‘Like a virgin sacrifice about to be tossed to the lions.’
How appropriate, she thought, though hardly willing to buy into that particular discussion. ‘And you,’ she replied, ‘look like the proverbial cat that got the cream.’
He drew her hand closer, pressing his mouth, warm and moist, to her skin while his eyes held hers. ‘Not yet; so far I only have the unopened package. But, I must confess, I’m looking forward to opening it up and then—’ his eyes narrowed and focused like dark torchlight ‘—and then sampling the treasure within.’
She dragged in air and turned her head away, suddenly too uncomfortable, too giddy, too hot. She didn’t need a mirror to tell her that there was plenty of colour in her cheeks now. Diablo’s words had achieved in an instant what the finest cosmetics in the world had failed to do.
Yet it wasn’t just his words heating her body. Her mother hadn’t been exaggerating. Tonight he looked magnificent in clothes that would have made a lesser man look ridiculous and yet on Diablo merely accentuated his masculine power. A snow-white shirt contrasted with his smooth olive skin and black fitted trousers that finished above hand-stitched leather boots. Over it all he wore a long black jacket with a Nehru collar that emphasized his long, lean length. With his hair tied back, all he needed was a gold hoop in his earlobe and he could have been a pirate out on the town celebrating his latest conquest.
And, if that wasn’t enough, just breathing the same air, laced with the heady tang of his aftershave, was like getting a shot of testosterone.
And damn him but somehow that scent was like a lure, snagging on her defences, tangling with her resistance. Purposefully she stiffened her spine. She would not be attracted to such a man. It couldn’t happen.
Someone—her father—made a toast and the room erupted into applause and congratulations. Briar made out not a word of it as she scanned the crowded ballroom without taking in a thing. She was too busy working out what to do next. They would have to talk—privately—and soon. Diablo had to be made to see under what terms she was prepared to marry him and that those terms in no way included him sampling anything!
‘Darling? Briar?’
It was hearing her name that brought her back and she turned to him, ready to protest that she was hardly his darling, but something in his eyes stopped her in her tracks.
‘Didn’t you hear the guests? They’re waiting for us to seal our betrothal with a kiss.’
And, before she could protest this latest indignity, that there was no way she would kiss him, least of all in front of two hundred people, his mouth was on hers and any protest was muffled, melted, by the sheer impact of his lips.
They were soft, she realised with surprise—soft but sure. He looked so powerful dressed as he was all in black, hard and unyielding, and yet his lips moved over hers with an elegance of movement and a grace that was as surprising as it was intoxicating.
Heat rolled through her in waves, a surging tide of warmth that crashed and foamed into her extremities and set her flesh to tingling and her protests all but forgotten. The room shrank around them until there was just this kiss, these sensations, this mouth, weaving magic on hers.
And then he lifted his mouth from hers and sounds and colour and people invaded her numbed senses once more. She blinked as the crowd cheered; she blinked as her state of daze sloughed away; she blinked as Diablo smiled back at her, success lining that passionate slash of mouth, as she realised what she’d done.
Dear God! She’d let Diablo Barrentes kiss her, in public. And his expression told her he was gloating about it. She lifted one hand, touched the back of it to lips that still hummed from his touch, but he stilled the movement, pulling her hand down within his.
‘You don’t wipe me away that easily.’
She didn’t doubt it, her mouth still full of the taste of him.
‘We have to talk,’ she croaked as her parents were absorbed into a circle of guests and a buzz of conversation went up all around them. ‘Tonight. In private.’
The spark in his eyes flared, one dark eyebrow lifted in surprise. ‘I did not expect you to be so accommodating quite so readily.’
Already rattled by his kiss, she was in no mood for his easy confidence.
‘We have to talk! We need to set down some ground rules for this arrangement.’
He took two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray, handing her one. ‘Oh? That sounds very important.’ He took a bored sip of his wine that told her he thought it sounded anything but. ‘In that case we will talk. But later.’ He took her free hand, surrounding it in his warmth, and headed into the ballroom. ‘First the happy couple must mingle with our guests seeing they’ve come especially to wish us well.’
‘You mean they’ve come to knit at my execution. They’re nothing but ghouls, wanting to witness the ultimate degradation of one of their own.’
He stopped dead and lowered his head to hers, his body close, his voice a clipped whisper in her ear. ‘You had a choice. You did not have to agree to this.’
‘I had
