Into Temptation Read online

  Chapter One

  ‘Welcome to Le Grand Creux hotel, Mr Ward. I hope everything is to your satisfaction.’ The porter unlocked the door for him with an old-fashioned key, then took in his case and put it on the bed.

  Jack surveyed the suite. It certainly didn’t count among the most luxurious he’d ever stayed in – its décor was a little too rustic for his taste and it boasted only two rooms. But it had that certain unmistakable Guernsey island charm he was quickly coming to recognise: a subtle fusion of both French and British influences – and something else entirely of its own. And the view from the balcony out across the wide turquoise sweep of Havelet Bay was incomparable.

  Yes, he acknowledged silently, everything was entirely to his satisfaction. Which was just as well. For as of tomorrow he expected to be not only the owner of Le Grand Creux hotel, but its sister properties throughout the rest of the British Channel Islands too.

  ‘Thank you, yes,’ he told the man. ‘Would you please arrange for a gin and tonic to be sent up? A large one.’ He didn’t usually drink before six, but this was as good as a done deal. And a done deal – even if it was only a fairly inconsequential one like the De Garis Hotels group – demanded a celebratory drink. He dismissed the porter with a tip, then found his lawyer’s number on his smart phone.

  The man picked up almost immediately. ‘Jack. I’ve been waiting for your call. How are things looking?’

  ‘Hold fire on the deal for now Ben. I’m going to cut my offer by another hundred-thousand pounds.’

  ‘You’re what?’

  ‘You heard.’

  ‘But I don’t understand…’

  ‘It’s simple. Frank De Garis is sixty-three. He has no heirs, and he’s desperate to retire – his wife has probably got the round-the-world cruise booked already. I intend to call in to see him tomorrow and give him the news, just when he’s at his most vulnerable: when he thinks he’s home and dry.’

  ‘And what reason are you going to offer for this sudden downward revision?’

  ‘I’ll tell him my advisors have come up with some new caveat. That’s what I pay you for Ben. Go through the papers and find one, then put together a new offer. You’ve got until half-past nine tomorrow morning.’

  At the other end of the phone the lawyer laughed drily. ‘You’ve got some nerve Jack. I’ve got to hand it to you. The deal’s cheap already. I take it you’re not concerned you might be depleting old man De Garis’s retirement fund?’

  A grim smile passed across Jack’s dark features. ‘De Garis’s financial position is no concern of mine. There’s no room for sentiment in business, Ben. Not if you want to make money.’

  ‘No indeed,’ the lawyer agreed. ‘I’ll get on the case straight away.’

  Jack tossed the phone onto the bed, opened the French doors that led to the suite’s private balcony and sank gratefully into a sun lounger, stretching out his long legs, pushing his hair from his eyes. It was ink black – a trait inherited from his Spanish mother.

  No, there was no place for compassion in the cut-throat world of international hotels. Fairness naturally, but not soft-heartedness – his father had taught him that. And the principle had stood Jack in good stead ever since Adam Ward’s death six years earlier; had helped his son build up Ward Hotels from the solid domestic portfolio of luxury properties his father had left behind into an international, billion pound leisure business.

  He looked out across the glittering sea. Of course De Garis would agree to the lower offer. If Jack had learned anything in his thirty-two years it was how to put together a clever takeover deal, how to read a seller, know which way a man’s thoughts were turning even before he even knew it himself. He hadn’t put a foot wrong yet. No, where business deals were concerned – as with pretty much everything else – Jack Ward always got exactly what he wanted.

  And he wanted De Garis Hotels – this hotel, Le Grand Creux, in particular. A former eighteenth century manor house by the sea it had been sympathetically and tastefully converted. It exactly suited Ward Hotels’ up-market profile, and would fit very well into the small portfolio of Channel Island hotels his father had bought several years back. It was exactly what people wanted these days: a classy property with character in a unique part of the world. And Guernsey, Jersey and the other, smaller, Channel Islands were set for exponential growth. Though part of Britain, they lay just twenty miles off the coast of northern France, and had become the perfect short break destination, with their tiny winding country lanes, white sand beaches and rows of old granite houses.

  He closed his eyes and let the sun melt into his temples. This was his second time in Guernsey. The little island had been beautiful six weeks ago when he’d flown in for the day to put his plan to De Garis. But now summer had arrived in full force, and it was even lovelier still. Everywhere there was a profusion of flowers, and the air was filled with birdsong. Across the bay the tiny islets of Herm and Jethou, less than a couple of miles wide, shone gold-green in the July afternoon haze. And behind them, in the distance, slept the larger bulk of Sark island.

  Yes, it had been a good idea to come back and oversee the deal himself rather than pass it onto one of his underlings, as he would normally do with a smaller deal like this. He planned to combine the buyout with a little leisure time – something he hadn’t had any of for a very long time. He was tired; more tired than he could ever remember being. And that unnerved him – Jack Ward never got tired. He demanded the very highest standards from himself. He was renowned for his focus, his zeal, his energy, all of which seemed to flow forth in abundance from an unquenchable wellspring. He had never been able to abide weakness of any sort. He refused to accept excuses from anyone – least of all himself. And he didn’t mean to start now.

  He took a long breath of the slow, honeyed air. But a little break would hardly hurt. It had been exceptionally busy over the last few months, one acquisition following hot on the heels of another. Only a couple of days ago he’d returned from bedding in a major deal in the U.S., a hostile takeover of a portfolio of magnificent spa hotels stretching from New York to Los Angeles.

  In the distance a speedboat carved a perfect arc across the water, pulling a water-skier behind it. Further out a ferry was making for St Peter Port harbour. Everything was so peaceful. Yes, he thought, coming here had been a very good idea indeed. Just what he needed. A complete change of scene. He could conduct all his business affairs from here for the time being. He’d make it his temporary headquarters. A few weeks based out of Guernsey and he’d soon be back to normal.

  There was a knock on the door.

  ‘Come in.’

  A waitress appeared with a tray. ‘Your drink order, sir.’

  He looked up briefly. She was passably pretty, with dark hair clipped back in a rather brash gold clip and a skirt several centimetres too short. She eyed him blatantly, appraisingly, smiling an openly flirtatious smile. Jack’s brow furrowed. Ever since his father’s secretary had enthusiastically seduced him after a cocktail party at the tender age of sixteen he had been well aware of his hold over the opposite sex. Women’s reactions to him generally bored him nowadays. Brusquely he nodded his thanks.

  ‘Will there be anything else?’ the waitress smiled, her eyes darting briefly to the patch of smooth brown skin that his white open-necked shirt displayed.

  ‘No. Thank you.’

  He looked away, frowning, and she left.

  He took a long sip of his drink. She was just like every other woman he’d ever met: everything about her was too obvious. She reminded him of Cassie, the sleek, sable-haired model he’d been dating on and off for the past couple of months. Cassie was tall, and undeniably beautiful in a brittle, willowy sort of way. But there was something gratingly false about her
. When she’d started broaching the topic of ‘commitment’ he’d quickly and decisively broken it off, much to her dismay.

  Women always wanted commitment. But he belonged to no one. He took women on his own terms, or not at all. Perhaps he’d try to do without them up for a while, he thought now, his eyes following the slow, laboured path of the ferry – something that, admittedly, wouldn’t be easy, as his body seemed to crave sex as much as craved sleep and food. But they really took up quite an inordinate amount of time and effort.

  He sat for a while longer, then took a long shower then made his way downstairs. There was no need to contact De Garis again until tomorrow, so he had the rest of the afternoon to himself – an unimaginable luxury. He’d had his two-seater vintage sports car shipped over for his stay, and the little island was now his to explore.

  He went through the lobby, registering disinterestedly that there was some kind of business conference going on in the large function room on the left – and mentally resolving to ensure that the hotel’s old-fashioned key system was replaced with electronic cards once he took over. He took a map from a rack at the front desk, and turned to go – then stopped dead in his tracks.

  Behind one of the tables in the conference room, not twenty metres from where he stood, was a girl. A girl who was simply stunning. There was no other word for it.

  But not in a clear-cut way. That was the key thing. She had the most amazing hair, not quite red and not quite blonde, but some heavenly, shimmering concoction in between, caught up in a pony tail. Her face, partially hidden behind a pair of small, wire-framed glasses, was quite lovely: high, exquisitely drawn cheekbones, smooth skin and a sweet, unmade-up mouth. But she wasn’t quite perfect – and that was where her true beauty lay. Her nose, if he wasn’t mistaken, was a little too long. He wasn’t quite close enough to tell what colour her eyes were, but guessed they must be blue or green. She was neither tall nor short, but there was an undeniable curvaceousness to her body; the promise of full breasts under the simple, navy blue business suit she wore.

  She wasn’t wearing a ring, he noted.

  Was she aware of how beautiful she was? No, that was impossible, or she wouldn’t move like that, so entirely unselfconsciously – women who were aware of their own effect on men always betrayed the fact. He’d never seen anyone quite like her before. She seemed so self-contained, so composed…

  Suddenly he wanted to disturb that sweet composure; to disturb it very much indeed. And the force of the desire took him off guard. How would that hair feel, tumbling over his face? And that skin, under his hands?

  Who was she? Presumably she must work for the hotel. He hadn’t seen her the last time he’d been in Guernsey, but then that was hardly surprising: it had been only a flying visit.

  He noticed that some of the tables at the far end of the conference room were being packed away. ‘Is the conference over?’ he asked the woman behind the desk.

  ‘It finishes tonight sir. After the reception.’

  ‘Who’s that?’ He nodded towards the conference room.

  The receptionist craned her neck. ‘Oh, that’s Miss Dorey. Amber Dorey. Would you like to speak to her?’

  ‘No. No thank you.’ He turned and walked away. He would speak to her in his own good time. Amber. The name suited her: there was something quintessentially amber about her, something warm, golden and sensual. She would, of course, be at this reception. He smiled to himself. What better way to enjoy his short time in Guernsey than a quick, no-strings-attached fling?

  He suppressed an ironic grin. So much for his resolution to swear off women.

  ***

  Amber Dorey was trying hard not to get stressed. It was already nearly six o’clock, but the flowers for the tables still hadn’t arrived, and the band leader had phoned to say they’d be half an hour late. She still had to make copies of the final presentations for the conference delegates, and now to top it all the photocopier had broken down. And as if that weren’t enough, she somehow had to manage to find time to drive home and change into evening dress. Every time she tried to slip away, something else seemed to crop up.

  And the worst of it was, none of this was even her job. She was actually Frank De Garis’s company accountant, and to all intents and purposes his second in command. She was simply standing in for the conference manageress, who had phoned in sick at the last minute with suspected appendicitis. De Garis Hotels was such a small company that the senior employees often had to fill in for one another. Usually that sort of thing was fun, all adding to the appeal of what was already an interesting job. But when everything started to go wrong, like this, it really wasn’t much fun at all.

  ‘Will the presentation papers be much longer?’ A portly, middle-aged male delegate stopped in front of her desk, his expression dour. ‘I need to be somewhere else.’

  ‘I hope not,’ Amber smiled apologetically. ‘Unfortunately our photocopier has broken down. We’re waiting for the engineer to arrive, and if you’d just…’

  ‘Your photocopier’s broken down? What kind of second-rate outfit is this? Look, Miss whatever-your-name is, I haven’t got all day. I need those presentations, and I need them now.’

  Amber took a deep breath, and summoned up the chilliest, most no-nonsense smile in her repertoire – the one she generally reserved for suppliers who tried her patience. ‘My name’s Amber Dorey,’ she said coolly, ‘just like it says here on my name tag. If you’ll just wait here, sir, I’ll go and see if the engineer has arrived yet.’

  She hurried to the stationery room behind reception where the machine was kept, relishing the brief opportunity to get away from the hustle and bustle of the conference room. But there was no sign of the engineer. ‘Damn!’ she said out loud. ‘What the hell’s keeping him?’

  ‘Keeping whom?’ Janet Marquand, the hotel’s deputy manager, walked in and began to help herself to some envelopes.

  ‘The photocopier engineer,’ Amber sighed. ‘The bloody thing’s broken again.’

  ‘Oh for goodness’ sake,’ said Janet, ‘not again. He was only here yesterday. He said if it broke down again there was nothing more he could do. We need a new one. I’ve been onto Frank about it for ages.’

  ‘Please tell me you’re joking. Really? Now what am I going to do?’

  ‘Aren’t you supposed to be at the reception tonight? You’d better hurry up and get ready.’

  ‘I know. But I’ve got a whole pack of irate delegates still waiting for copies of this afternoon’s presentations, and if they don’t get them soon I think there’s going to be an insurrection.’ She wanted to kick herself. Why on earth hadn’t she thought to bring her evening clothes to the hotel and just change here?

  Janet smiled. ‘Don’t worry love, I’ll sort out your copies for you. My meeting’s just been cancelled. I can nip out and take them down the road to the wine dealer’s and copy them there. We’ve just given them a huge order, so they owe us a favour.’

  Amber’s heart leapt. ‘Oh Janet would you? That would be so kind. I promise I won’t be long.’

  ‘You take as long as you need. Are you bringing that nice fiancé of yours tonight? What’s his name again? Rory isn’t it?’

  Amber’s face fell. ‘Rory, yes. But he isn’t my fiancé any more. We broke up. I’m coming on my own.’

  Janet’s face fell now too. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, love. I had no idea.’ She shifted uncomfortably. ‘I hope I haven’t put my foot in it.’

  Amber forced a smile. ‘Of course not. It’s fine. Janet I just need to fill you in on a couple more things, then the delegates are all yours…’

  Two minutes later Amber hurried out to her car and set off home.

  Fine? Things were far from fine, she thought miserably. She still couldn’t get over the fact that Rory, her fiancé of several months’ duration had been cheating on her with another woman. And to add injury to the insult she had discovered them both in flagrante, in the rented flat she’d recently found for them, and which she’d us
ed up all her holiday entitlement on renovating to be their new home once they were married.

  The woman sitting on the floor astride Rory had had the thickest, darkest hair she’d ever seen. As she’d heard the noise from the door the woman had turned towards Amber, a brief look of triumph flashing in her black eyes. Then slowly and deliberately, she’d got up, picked up her clothes, and left.

  It was the expression on Rory’s face that had told Amber all she needed to know: that as far as he was concerned, it had been over for a long time. He’d looked neither shocked nor contrite. In fact he’d been eerily calm, almost as if he’d staged the event.

  ‘Amber,’ he’d begun, swinging his legs out from underneath the crumpled blanket. ‘I’m sorry you had to find out like this. But you know things haven’t been right between us for a while.’

  ‘Haven’t been right?’ she’d parroted, still clutching the package containing the new curtains she’d just bought to hang in the lounge. It felt as if all the oxygen were leaching out of the room, so that as much as she was sucking in air, she was slowly suffocating…

  ‘Yeah. We haven’t been so, so close lately.’

  ‘Close? What the hell do you mean?’ Her heart had been hammering like a pile driver, shock and disbelief curdling into her stomach like acid.

  Mechanically he’d begun putting on his clothes. ‘I just don’t feel as if you’ve been entirely invested in us, Amber,’ he’d said smoothly. ‘You’re always so busy with that bloody career of yours. I’m fed up with taking second place.’

  ‘What? But that’s outrageous!’ she’d cried, biting back tears, shock now beginning to turn into hurt – and indignation. ‘I’ve never put my job ahead of you. You’re the one who keeps wanting to put off the wedding, saying maybe we should wait. And now I can see why. Oh Rory, how… how could you?’

  ‘Sorry Amber.’ His face had been impassive, eyes detached.

  She remembered feeling for the solidness of the wall behind her, suddenly needing support. ‘Please go Rory. Please just go.’