How long’s it been since your divorce?
‘Nearly four months.’
‘So the wound’s still raw?’
Lara nodded. She didn’t look at him, didn’t want to see any compassion in his eyes; she was thinking back to the day she’d declared to her school friends that it was her ambition to marry a rich man.
The youngest of five children, brought up by a single parent, Lara had sworn that she was never going to get into that same situation. She had known what poverty was like, how her mother had struggled to make ends meets. It wasn’t for her.
She’d stayed on at school to get her A levels then had found a job with a PR company, and it was here that she had set her sights on Roger Lennox.
Roger had owned the company. He’d had pots of money and wasn’t bad-looking either. The trouble was, he’d known it. He’d had every nubile female employee drooling over him, and he’d lapped it up. Lara had known that she would have to do something outstanding to make him notice her.
Her opportunity had come one day when she’d been crossing the car park and had seen her employer sitting in his low-slung silver convertible. ‘Goodnight, Mr Lennox,’ she called cheerfully.
‘Oh, er, goodnight.’ He looked up abstractedly. His car, for some reason, didn’t want to start. He was both embarrassed and angry—and so would she have been if she’d bought such an expensive car and it failed her.
She turned back to him. ‘Can I help?’
Roger had blond hair and blue eyes and was slightly overweight, but his charm made people forget it. He was like a Greek god, some of the girls claimed. Those blue eyes looked at her now scornfully. ‘You’re a woman.’
‘It doesn’t mean I don’t know anything about engines.’ Lara tossed back. Being the only girl in a family of boys she had spent a good part of her life watching them pull cars apart and put them back together, helping whenever they’d let her. She knew as much as any man about the way a car’s engine worked.
Roger Lennox frowned. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Of course I am. Open your bonnet.’ She didn’t dare to think that he would, but amazingly he did as she asked, although his frown deepened and she could see that he wasn’t sure it was wise.
And when he got out to inspect what she was doing, when one thigh brushed against hers, Lara felt the full impact of his sexuality. It was what every girl in the building fantasised over. ‘You sure you know what you’re doing?’ he asked.
‘I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t.’ She tried to sound nonchalant but it was difficult. He was attractive without a doubt, and he did quicken her heartbeats, but more importantly he was part of her strategy and her hands trembled as she checked that everything was as it should be. ‘Would you like to try it again?’ she asked huskily, mentally crossing her fingers that it would start. She wanted to make an impression, not a fool of herself.
The engine sprang into life at the first turn of the key. Roger Lennox looked at her disbelievingly as she appeared from behind the bonnet. ‘What did you do?’ It was clear he had never tinkered with a car engine in his life.
Lara shrugged. ‘The distributor lead had worked loose.’
‘I’m impressed. I didn’t know women knew about these things. Let me give you a lift home, it’s the least I can do.’
Triumph welled in her. She couldn’t have orchestrated this any better if she’d tried. She dropped the bonnet, wiped her hands on a tissue, and slid into the seat beside him.
‘Where are you?’ Bryce Kellerman’s deep voice broke into her thoughts.
Sitting beside another man. Ruining my life.
Roger Lennox had sent her flowers the next day, causing a furore in the office. It had been good manners, or so she told herself, to go and thank him. One thing had led to another. Before long he’d asked her out. They got married eight weeks later.
She had achieved her dream.
‘I was thinking about Roger,’ she said quietly, ‘about the day I met him.’
‘Ah!’ It was as though he saw everything.
‘I thought I’d met the man of my dreams.’
‘Love at first sight?’
Hardly, when it was Roger’s bank balance she’d been interested in, but she wasn’t admitting that. It was too embarrassing by far. She’d heard the saying that money didn’t buy happiness, hadn’t believed it, but now knew it was true. She’d made a foolish mistake. ‘I thought so,’ she answered weakly.
‘So what went wrong?’
Still more questions. If she wasn’t careful he’d end up hearing her life story. She’d never met a man who showed this much interest. She lifted her shoulders. ‘This and that. Actually he was a control freak.’ And that was putting it mildly. Roger had ruled her life.
‘And I can see that you’re not the type of girl who likes to be controlled,’ he said with a measured smile. ‘In my opinion no one should have their spirits repressed. I would never do that, especially to a woman. I like them feisty.’
And Lara Lennox was most definitely feisty. Bryce loved the way her eyes shot daggers, the proud tilt of her beautiful face, the way her tantalising body stiffened and rejected him.
He wanted to break through those defences; he wanted to show her that not all men were the same. At least her husband hadn’t repressed her altogether. She’d had enough strength to get out of a marriage that wasn’t working.
When Helen had invited him to this party he hadn’t been sure that he’d wanted to meet her niece. Helen was an inveterate matchmaker: she’d been trying for years to find him a wife, and he was tired of her game.
If and when he ever married he wanted the girl to be of his own choosing. He wanted to make quite sure that she wasn’t interested in him for all the wrong reasons. He’d had a few near misses; he’d allowed himself to be fooled by a pretty face and a willing body; he’d even almost married on one occasion, only finding out in the nick of time what she was like. He was beginning to wonder whether all women were the same: whether a rich, successful husband was their prime target in life.
This girl sitting beside him was the most intriguing he’d met in a long time. Maybe it was because she was so anti-men that he found her challenging. Maybe because she was so hauntingly beautiful. And he hadn’t been lying when he’d said her skin was like the petals of an English rose.
He wanted to touch, to stroke, to feel its silken, velvety texture. The sun had never burnt it; it had never felt the incredible heat that could do so much damage here in Australia.
‘Tell me,’ she said now, ‘have you ever been married?’
He didn’t want to talk about himself; he wanted to talk about her. He wanted to find out everything. Helen had been vague, and even Lara seemed disinclined to give much away. ‘No,’ he answered. ‘I’ve never found the right girl.’
‘Really?’
