Nick worries about you.’
‘Nick still thinks of me as the kid he used to protect and bully for my own good.’ Morna’s smile was wry, almost wistful. ‘I know I relied shamelessly on him, but I’m over that now.’
‘He thinks you’re mad to insist on donating Glen’s legacy to a charity,’ Nick’s wife said honestly. ‘And so do I. Glen knew he’d treated you badly.’
At twenty-one Morna had fallen head over heels, fathoms deep in love with Glen Spencer, Nick’s mentor and the owner of the advertising agency where he’d worked.
Glen had been her first—her only—lover, and she’d been—well, sinfully naïve. Certainly stupid! When he’d asked her to live with him she’d ignored Nick’s warnings and moved into his opulent apartment. And she’d been lyrically happy, smugly convinced that Glen loved her and that her fierce loyalty was returned.
And then he’d met Cathy, young and beautiful and vulnerable.
Five years of loyal love turned out to mean less than nothing; brutally pragmatic, Glen dismissed Morna from his bed and his life by dangling the offer of a fully paid course at a prestigious design institution half the world away.
She had swallowed her bitter pride to accept his conscience money, and as soon as she’d been out of the way he’d married Cathy with as much pomp and ceremony as he could command. But Morna had attacked his ego when she’d stubbornly treated the fees as a loan and repaid them, month by month.
Cathy had known none of this, nor that Glen’s ruthless rejection of Nick’s foster-sister had persuaded Nick to leave his fast-track career at the agency and strike out on his own in the crazy, dangerous, high-octane world of information technology. Glen had been the only person surprised when Nick’s cutting intelligence and business skills had catapulted him into huge wealth and international power.
Although Cathy had been married to Glen for four years before his untimely death in an accident, she still didn’t understand the way Glen’s mind had worked. In his will he’d left Morna the exact amount of the tuition fees, down to the last cent, throwing the money back at her in a final sneering insult.
With these thoughts churning through her head, Morna said to Cathy, ‘How did you know about the course fees? I suppose Nick told you.’
‘He told me you wouldn’t let him repay Glen, or lend you the money to do it. Instead you worked as a waitress in nightclubs to get it,’ Cathy said, distressed but determined.
‘Excellent tips in nightclubs,’ Morna said succinctly. ‘It wasn’t Nick’s problem. And I refuse to stay beholden to Glen.’
‘At least you used his legacy to set up your shop! But he’s dead, Morna—he has been for years. Why repay a dead man by donating most of your income to a charity?’
‘I only ever considered it to be a loan.’ Morna’s voice was cold and sharp, brittle as an icicle.
‘You’re too stiff-necked and principled for your own good,’ Cathy returned doggedly. ‘Nick would have been proud to stake you—’
‘I know.’ Morna’s voice gentled. ‘Cathy, I’m not going to sacrifice my independence to another man ever again—not even Nick. Using Glen’s legacy got the shop off the ground, but if I didn’t treat it as a loan I’d always feel—I’d feel that the five years I lived with him were a sort of prostitution. It wasn’t like that—not for me.’
Cathy’s face softened. ‘Of course it wasn’t,’ she agreed. ‘I do understand. It’s just—well, it seems such a waste—to scrimp and save when you don’t have to.’
‘What happened to his bequest to you?’
Cathy flushed. ‘I use it to support the hospital in Romit,’ she admitted.
‘So you use it for a hospital in the Coral Sea, and I use it for deprived children here.’ Morna’s voice gentled. ‘Don’t worry, and don’t let Nick worry. I’m managing.’
‘Oh, yes—buying your clothes from second-hand shops, driving around in a car that gives Nick a heart attack whenever he thinks about it, ploughing everything back into the shop—!’ Dismayed, Cathy caught herself up. ‘I’m sorry. I admire your determination to do what you think is right, but you can overdo independence.’
‘Don’t be sorry. I know you’d do anything to save Nick a moment’s worry.’
‘Of course I would,’ Cathy said briskly, ‘but I’m concerned for your sake too!’
‘At least admit I buy my clothes from exclusive charity shops,’ Morna said lightly.
Cathy smiled, but her blue eyes revealed a lingering anxiety. ‘OK, I’ll admit that. Not that it matters—you’d look good in a flour sack.’
‘I doubt it.’ A grin widened Morna’s mouth, but she sobered quickly. ‘It’s time we all forgot the past and concentrated on the present.’
‘That,’ Cathy murmured thoughtfully, looking past her, ‘would involve concentrating on Hawke Challenger. He’s headed this way.’
Morna swung around. He stopped beside her and smiled down, translucent jade-green eyes scanning Morna’s face.
Thank heavens for sunglasses!
‘Good to see you here, Cathy,’ he said, with a smile that sent zings of lightning through Morna’s body. Deep, controlled, his intriguing voice was textured by a lazy, untamed note.
Anticipation punched her in the solar plexus and bolted down her spine. It took every shred of will-power to summon a guarded smile as Cathy introduced them. Only good manners drove her to take off her sunglasses and smile briefly at him before retiring behind them again. And no way was she going to shake his hand.
CHAPTER TWO
MORNA VAUSE wasn’t traditionally beautiful.
Hawke decided that it didn’t matter—skin like warm ivory, eyes the colour of malt whisky and a silky black bob highlighted in dangerous red glints by the sun did enough for her.
And that didn’t include her lush, sulky mouth—a sensual incitement he’d watched transform from repose to gamine wickedness in a heady flash.
An interesting situation, Hawke thought; although these women appeared the best of friends, Cathy had once supplanted Morna in Glen Spencer’s affections. Hawke didn’t gossip, but he’d have had to live in a Trappist monastery to miss knowing that Spencer had flaunted his young trophy mistress until he’d dumped her for an even younger trophy wife.
And he hadn’t been close-lipped about the amount that exchange had cost him; Morna Vause had been handsomely rewarded for her years in his bed by the best tuition the world could offer in her chosen field, and a considerable legacy.
Clearly she knew how to manipulate the men in her life to her best advantage.
‘How do you do, Mr Challenger?’ Each word rang like silver, crisp and impersonal.
‘Hawke.’
Morna
