LITMIR.BIZ

      CHAPTER ONE

      ADAM was shockingly late for his own engagement party. But worse than that was the reason for his lateness. He was thinking of another woman.

      In the middle of dressing, checking the fax and answering the ever-ringing phone, he’d knocked a photograph from his desk. It was in his hand and he was staring at it. His late wife. Stepdaughter Petra...and Trish.

      Slowly his tense, irritated expression evaporated. Their last moment together was one he’d never forget. His hand shook a little. The photo was replaced. Heavy gold cuff-links inserted. Then he was still.

      The phone and the fax demanded his attention but he was oblivious to them. In the middle of the room, he stood staring into space—and the past.

      He saw her turning to him, her face beautiful in its compassion, her lips treacherously parting over pure white teeth A feeling of profound emotion had swept over him, and an awe that he should know such a woman, speak to her, be near her...

      He had no idea what had happened, only that her soft cheek lay against his, the perfume of her hair overwhelming him till he had to bury his face in it, kiss her warm scalp and nuzzle his way down to the long, pure column of her neck. And, once he’d touched her, he’d been unable to hold back

      He could feel the peachy texture of her skin even now. The pliancy of her young and supple body. Breasts high and generous, pressing against his chest. The way she’d responded like an innocent, with the unleashed passion of a gypsy.

      And then he’d come to his senses.

      Suddenly his usual dynamic self again, he dealt rapidly with two calls then scanned the faxes and made notes in the margins for his secretary. He strode like a whirlwind through the foyer of the exclusive apartment building, and no one would have guessed from his decisive, assertive manner that he could still feel Trish’s body, warm and yielding against his hands.

      In a specially reserved suite in a London hotel, Trish was getting ready for the party. The invitation had been stuffed in her bag, out of sight.

      Adam and Louise.

      Four outfits were strewn on the bed and her damp palms bore witness to her nerves How did you greet a man who’d kissed you suddenly, without warning, fiercely claiming possession, his kisses bruising and burning and shocking you with their passion?

      Weak at the knees, she sank to the bed. She could see him when she closed her eyes. Feel his harsh breath heating her throat, and his mouth, his teeth and his tongue savaging every sensual inch.

      She lay back, her arms stretched above her head in glorious remembrance. There had been no preliminaries. No courtship. They hadn’t held hands, exchanged a goodnight kiss or progressed to cuddling on a second date. There hadn’t been any dates. It didn’t matter. That coming together had been instant, primal and inescapable.

      Her heart lurched with a sweet, hurting affection as she recalled how frantic and fumbling his normally capable and careful hands had been as they’d attempted to unpick the buttons of her shirt He’d wanted her to distraction. She’d felt giddy with power, thrilled to be the kind of woman who could create such havoc.

      Her whole body had been screaming for him, every part of her hot and molten and dominating her mind, a mind hopelessly incapable of any sane thought. Her eyes had pleaded with him to tear the clothes from her body and his so that she could feel his skin against hers, gently fasten her teeth on him, taste him, know what it was like to smell and lick that male flesh, to be totally and utterly abandoned for the first time in her life.

      ‘Trish,’ he’d groaned, barely audible.

      She’d known then that something was wrong. He had tensed throughout his body, every inch of him suddenly rigid. Pain had slashed silver paths across his dark eyes. Her hands had clutched at him.. and he’d pushed her away. Before she’d even been able to speak, croak, plead, he’d been stumbling from the room.

      ‘You look very nice.’

      Trish sat up guiltily as her friend appeared suddenly in the hotel room and shattered all her sinful memories. ‘You might have knocked!’ she complained, coming out of her reverie with reluctance.

      ‘I did, duckie.’

      Trish frowned. ‘I didn’t hear a thing!’

      ‘You were miles away,’ Petra said. ‘And you ought to lock your door.’

      ‘I keep forgetting,’ Trish admitted. ‘I’m not used to locking up. We never do, at home. Now you’re here, help me! Do I wear this, or my jeans, or fling myself down the lift shaft?’ she asked earnestly, turning to more immediate dramas.

      Petra put an arm around her friend. ‘Wear what you’ve got on. Honest, Trish, you do look nice.’

      Nice. What kind of compliment was that? Unfortunately, the mirror told her what Petra must be seeing: a decent, dull, unsophisticated woman. Someone who’d have difficulty even exciting a lecher who’d been marooned alone on a desert island for ten years’ She felt a surge of intense anger.

      ‘I don’t want nice! I want sensational!’ Trish

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