The Blackmailed Bridegroom - Miranda Lee

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for having settled lower and wider apart on her chest, and there wasn’t an in-your-face cleavage filling the deep V-neckline. There were no ugly bra lines, either, to mar the way the silky top smoothly outlined her bust before falling loosely to her hips. The trousers had a similar cut, fitting snugly around her hips before falling straight down to her ankles in softer folds. It was a very wearable and comfortable outfit which would fit a wide variety of occasions. She really must remember to take it with her when she next left.

      Whenever that would be…

      Paige hadn’t just lost the roof over her head last night. She’d lost her clothes as well. Which was a pity. She’d spent quite a bit putting together a decent work wardrobe to go with her new career direction.

      If only she’d dared go back into Jed’s bedroom and get her set of keys before sneaking out of the place. If she had, she’d be able to slip into the building—and the apartment—while Jed was at work.

      Paige sighed. She could hardly see herself showing up while Jed was home, and politely asking permission to come up and get the rest of her clothes. Better she cut her losses and just disappeared.

      Maybe it was time to head interstate. Maybe up north to Queensland, where there were plenty of holiday resorts, and plenty of jobs going for an attractive girl with a wide range of working experience.

      A move to Queensland, however, would require money for her fare and some new clothes. She had some savings, but would need every cent to set herself up in a flat. Bond money and such. Her father would give her money if she asked, Paige knew. He might even resume putting that obscene monthly allowance into her bank account, if she begged.

      Frankly, she was tempted. All she had to do was eat humble pie and tell her father he was the greatest.

      But then she would have nothing left, would she? No self-respect. No independence. No pride.

      She had to find some other way out of the hell-hole she’d dug for herself this time. Maybe she could stay here for a while, and get a job which had a uniform and gradually put together a wardrobe. She supposed she could bear Evelyn and her father for a few weeks. And at least she had one decent interview outfit!

      Paige stripped off again and headed for the bathroom. Time to have a long, relaxing bath. Time to pretend she hadn’t totally stuffed up her life once more. Time to transport herself to a world where the man she was with would never dream of raising his hand to her, where the rings on her left hand spoke of love and commitment, and the babies they made together would never know the hurt and unhappiness which had marred her own childhood.

      When at her lowest, Paige always kept herself sane by wallowing in just such a fantasy world. So she lay there for ages beneath the lavender-scented bubble bath she’d found in the vanity and conjured up old faces, old dreams, and old desires. Time flew by, and if, eventually, tears rolled down Paige’s cheeks, her soul had still been strangely soothed by her imaginings.

      At five to eight that evening, Paige carried her softened and perfumed body slowly down the huge sweeping staircase, crossed the cavernous foyer, with its domed, chandeliered ceiling, and entered the huge living area which led into the smaller and more elegant room where her father always had pre-dinner drinks. He did this for half an hour before every meal, regardless of whether he had visitors or not. Paige never joined him, partly because she didn’t like to drink on an empty stomach, but mainly because she didn’t like to give her father the opportunity to hurt her. When he drank, he developed a sarcastic tongue.

      Given that it was a Monday, Paige assumed he would be alone. So when she opened the door which led into the drawing room she was startled to see that wasn’t the case at all.

      No…startled did not adequately describe her reaction to the sight of an elegantly attired Antonio, sitting in one of the armchairs which flanked the fireplace, a crystal flute of champagne in his hands. Stunned better described her instant state of mind. Stunned and sickened.

      Antonio was the last man in the world she wanted to see again, especially tonight, with the mark of another man’s contempt for her glowering angrily on her cheekbone.

      CHAPTER THREE

      FOR a few fraught, fragile moments, Paige just stared at Antonio. Hard not to when the sight of him had always made her heart hammer madly against her ribs.

      This time was no different, except that her head began whirling angrily at the same time. Why hadn’t Evelyn warned her Antonio would be here for dinner? She must have known he was coming.

      The answer was obvious, and cruel.

      Because she didn’t want you to be prepared. She wanted you to stumble in here and make a fool of yourself, as you always do in Antonio’s presence.

      Paige knew there wasn’t anything that happened around Fortune Hall which Evelyn wasn’t privy to. What the housekeeper didn’t come to know by virtue of her position she found out through slyness and stealth. Over the years, Paige had caught the woman eavesdropping more than once, especially on the telephone. Her omission to mention Antonio’s presence at dinner could only have had a malicious intent, which meant the hateful woman was aware of Paige’s feelings for Antonio.

      Pride came to the rescue, as did some hard-won experience. Maybe she was getting used to handling the emotional devastation seeing Antonio always caused her. Or was it that at last she was beginning to grow up?

      ‘Why, hello, Antonio,’ she said casually as she strolled into the room and over towards the drinks cabinet in the corner. ‘You startled me there for a moment. No one said anything about you being here tonight. You’re looking well,’ she added, somewhat tongue-in-cheek. Well was not a word one would use to describe Antonio. It was far too insipid for his brand of raw physical impact.

      Tonight, he was looking exceptionally sexy all in black, his fine woollen suit given a casual look by being teamed with a black crew-necked top rather than his usual shirt and tie. The outfit seemed to intensify his dark colouring and brooding sex appeal, a fact which certainly didn’t escape Paige’s poor, pathetic heart.

      ‘I was thinking the same of you, actually,’ he returned silkily. ‘Considering…’

      She laughed, sliding a mocking glance over her shoulder at him. ‘You mean for someone who’s boyfriend has just beaten her up?’ Paige had found over the last few years that being mealy-mouthed and defensive around Fortune Hall only brought more looks and lectures on the way she was living her life. Better to face any sticky situation head-on, with a suitably defiant fac¸ade.

      ‘Paige, for pity’s sake!’ her father protested.

      ‘Pity, Father?’ she scoffed as she swept the bottle of champagne from the ice bucket and poured herself a glass. Suddenly, drinking on an empty stomach was not only desirable but imperative!

      ‘Now that’s a word I’ve not heard often in this house,’ she muttered, and turned back round, the crystal flute cupped firmly in her hands, her knuckles white in the effort to stop them from shaking. ‘So what have you been drinking to with this very expensive champagne? I can’t imagine its your health. You’ll both still be taking the television world by storm when I’m six foot under.’

      Her gaze swept over the two men, who stared back at her with perfect poker faces, telling her nothing, and everything. ‘Oh, I see,’ she said drily. ‘It’s a secret, is it? Something to do with business. Something silly little girls like me couldn’t possibly understand, or shouldn’t know.’

      Paige was surprised to see her spiked sarcasm brought a wry smile to Antonio’s beautifully shaped mouth. ‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘I’m sure your father wouldn’t mind your knowing.’

      Did Antonio see the warning glance her father shot him? If he did, he ignored it.

      ‘We’re celebrating a forthcoming and hopefully desirable merger,’ he went on smoothly, his black eyes glittering with some secret amusement. Or was it suppressed anger? One could never quite tell with Antonio. ‘Unfortunately, negotiations are at too early and too delicate

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