Into Temptation Page 10

  That had been his last time in Spain. He had never had the heart to return.

  Jack took a mouthful of his whisky now, and felt the sour liquid briefly burn down his throat. It had been as if it was happening all over again: the careering black horse, the accident – and then Amber lying suddenly lifeless on the ground.

  His mind had been a hideous, disbelieving blank as he leapt out of the carriage and ran to where she lay. Her face had been unbearably like his mother’s: pinched and white, the pool of blood slowly forming behind her head; the beautiful, bright eyes – green, not black this time – half hidden by unstirring lids. In that awful, soul-killing moment, he had been convinced that Amber, too, was dead.

  And then she’d made a sound – little more than a fluttering intake of breath – and he had never been so grateful for anything in his life.

  And he had suddenly known, in that moment, that she meant more to him than any other woman had meant before: which was a great deal, as no woman had ever meant anything before. No woman had ever managed to break through the cast-iron shell that had been erected around his heart that fateful day in Spain.

  She had looked so fragile, not quite grown-up, lying propped up in bed, her sweet, heart-shaped face still pale but beginning to suffuse with gentle colour, her sage-green eyes soft and grave, and that amazing hair, spread down over the pillow, like an aura of spun gold around her head. He shouldn’t have kissed her like that, but he hadn’t been able to help himself.

  The memories of the night with her crowded back into his mind – the image of her body beneath his on the beach, on his bed, naked in his hotel room, her hair spread over another pillow as he took her again and again, never able to sate himself. His body stirred at the thought.

  The whisky relaxing him, he allowed, for the first time, an examination of his tangled feelings. What was it that she meant to him?

  She was without doubt the most beguiling woman he’d ever met. The most naturally beautiful, the most intoxicating – the most damn frustrating. Yes, admit it, her barely-disguised antipathy to him made him want her even more, had made him set up this visit to Sark in the hope – no, the need to seduce her again. No woman said “No” to Jack Ward, especially not a woman he wanted as much as Amber Dorey. He didn’t play these subtle cat and mouse games with just anyone. She answered something dark, carnal and distinctly male inside him.

  But he couldn’t deny what he had felt when he looked at her impossibly still body on the ground. No, it was more than sex, more than the desire for a few nights of passion.

  But how much more? Could it be… could it possibly, conceivably be that he was falling in love with her?

  No! Jack flattened the thought before it could even draw breath, and curl upwards into life.

  No.

  There was no woman for him. They all disappointed him, bored him, in the end. All of them, without exception, he found wanting. In the end they were all the same – like Penelope Bushell-Smith, or Mrs Adam Ward, as she had become now. Oh yes, she’d wasted no time at all getting what she wanted – just a few months after his mother’s death she’d held the expensive, fashionable society wedding she’d always longed for.

  And she hadn’t been about to share her new life or her husband’s affections with a thirteen-year-old boy. She’d persuaded her husband to take his son out of his London day school and have him sent to boarding school in Scotland. There he’d remained for the next six years, seeing his father for little more than a few weeks a year.

  But despite it all he still loved his father – and respected him too; had to believe that in spite of everything that had happened his father still loved him back, that he was simply so bewitched by his new wife that it rendered him unable to think of anything else.

  But it was hard. The only way to deal with it had been to put it to the back of his mind and get on with his studies, prove to his father that he was worthy to take up his role as his number two, and heir-apparent. Which he’d done, crowning his glittering academic career with a double first. And when he finally joined his father’s company he proved himself all over again, introducing innovative new ways of doing deals and pulling in the major funding that allowed Ward Hotels to expand its network overseas. If his father was unable to demonstrate love, he was at least able to give his son recognition, and Jack relished it, esteeming his father in turn as a shrewd, principled businessman who had a lot to teach him.

  When Adam Ward died from a sudden, massive stroke it had been an enormous shock. But then, after the death of his mother nothing could ever hurt in quite the same way again. He had long ago got used to being self-sufficient and self-contained, to picking himself up and dusting himself off. After his father’s death he had simply picked himself up one more time, taking over at the helm of Ward Hotels, refocussing himself on the future, and submerging himself completely in work – with an ever-changing array of eager women as a distraction.

  Jack drained the rest of his glass. What extraordinarily bad luck that Cassie had called at the precise moment that Amber had been there in his office to answer the phone. The woman was truly unhinged – and proving very hard to shake off. He’d already told her it was over, and he’d gone below deck on the boat to tell her once again, very forcefully, the moment he’d learned from Amber what Cassie had done. This time, with any luck, the message would get through.

  He smoothed a hand through his thick, black hair. Despite her obvious animosity towards him, Amber had responded to his kiss, earlier, in her room. He knew it with every fibre of his being. Things like that couldn’t be faked. What did it mean? What was going on? Did she hate him or desire him? Or both?

  Only time would tell. And meanwhile this strange obsession of his for her would run its course soon enough. He would enjoy it while it lasted. He had three weeks.

  Chapter Eight

  Amber finished cleaning her teeth and looked at reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her first day back at work beckoned. She was still a little pale, but several days spent quietly away from the office had done her a power of good. Her stitches were healing nicely, and she was ready to face the world again. To face him.

  Except that he wouldn’t be there. He’d been called to New York on urgent business, and hadn’t let anyone know when he’d be back.

  She stepped into the shower. Four days since she’d last seen him, and who knew how many more until she saw him again? How was she going to bear it?

  She stood and let the water run over her face, as if it could cleanse her mind too, as well as her body. What on earth was she doing? What was she thinking? She was falling for Jack Ward, falling for him in a big way. It was no longer possible to refute it. Every time she closed her eyes she saw that handsome, aloof face, those coolly assessing eyes – eyes which several days earlier, had been filled with concern, for her. Whenever she woke her first thought was of him, the feel of his mouth, the touch of his hands, firing her body into unbelievably intense life.

  What had happened to girl she used to be? The sober, sensible Amber who went out to work every day and diligently did her job, her mind utterly focussed on the task ahead, who never gave more than a second thought to what she wore, whose life was predictable and ordered?

  That Amber had disappeared the night that Jack Ward walked into her life. Now it was difficult to think of anything but him.

  Not even Rory, the man she’d planned to marry, had obsessed her like Jack did. She hadn’t thought of him minute-to-minute, ached every night for his touch. Even Rory’s treachery, though it had been painful as hell at the time, had been something she’d been able to compartmentalise, parcel up and put away to the back of her mind. But Jack seemed to permeate everything…

  It wouldn’t do. Wouldn’t do at all. Just look at what he was, for goodness’ sake. He’d shamelessly seduced her while concealing his true identity. And all along he had a girlfriend in London. And she was pretty sure he would have tried to seduce her again in Sark, if it hadn’t been for the accident.


  And worst of all, he owned Ward Hotels. Ward Hotels. His father had cheated hers of his livelihood and contributed to his untimely death. And, impossibly, insufferably arrogant, he refused to countenance for a moment that his father might have done anything wrong.

  She turned off the tap. She knew all this. And yet still she yearned for him. Oh God, was there any hope for her at all? She went back to her room, where she carefully blow-dried her hair, applied a little make-up and put in the contact lenses she’d now taken to wearing. Then she put on one of the new outfits she’d gone out to buy with Jessica the previous day – a light cashmere cream suit that flattered her figure and set off her colouring.

  Just two-and-a-half weeks and she would be free. Free of Ward Hotels and free of him. Once she didn’t have to see him, interact with him on a regular basis, life would surely return to normal, and her mind to other things – wouldn’t it?

  And at least things were looking up on the job front. Fran Mahy had called to tell her that a potentially interesting position for a deputy finance director had come up in one of the island’s larger hotel groups, and that she was going to set up an interview.

  She padded down the stairs to the kitchen, where Jessica was standing with the coffee pot in hand.

  ‘You’re just in time,’ her sister smiled. ‘Want some?’

  ‘Mmmm, yes please,’ said Amber, helping herself to cereal.

  ‘I see you took my advice,’ said Jessica.

  ‘And what advice would that be?’ Amber pulled out a chair.

  ‘To wash Rory out of your hair. The new suit looks great. You look great. Positively blooming in fact.’ She took a sip of coffee, her pretty features forming into a knowing smile. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Pardon me?’

  ‘Who is he? The man who’s brought about this incredible transformation in my sister from duckling to swan, who’s put the sparkle back in her eye. You can’t tell me there isn’t a man, Amber – I wasn’t born yesterday. Come on: details!’

  Amber swallowed her toast with difficulty, guilt twisting painfully in the pit of her stomach. ‘There… there isn’t a man. I don’t know what you mean.’

  Jessica raised her perfectly-plucked eyebrows in a silent gesture of utter scepticism.

  ‘Really,’ Amber continued, her face growing hot, ‘there isn’t. Well… That is… no one important, at any rate. No one… permanent.’

  Jessica grinned and got to her feet. ‘Still early days is it? Well I suppose I can’t blame you for being coy.’ She slid into her coat, and made for the door. ‘I have to go. But good for you Amber, good for you!’

  Amber sat, not touching her coffee or cereal. Was it that obvious that it was written all over her face? Good grief, what on earth would her family think if they were to find out the truth? Working for the enemy was one thing – but sleeping with him?

  She must be strong. Get through these last couple of weeks as best she could, get out and – hard as it would be – excise Jack Ward forever from her mind.

  She drove to the office – where she discovered an expensive bouquet of beautiful white and yellow flowers on her desk. Attached was a card bearing the simple message: ‘Hope you’re feeling better. Jack’.

  She breathed in the scent: fabulously fragrant cream roses, lilies, delicate orchids and sweet, Guernsey-grown freesias. Jack Ward’s taste, she was learning, was impeccable.

  She turned on her computer, and watched as her e-mail inbox immediately began to fill with messages – mostly from Jack; apparently her sick leave was very much over. It would take forever to work through all the tasks he had set her. Still, she relished hard work, and it would help her take her mind off things. She began to trawl through the various messages, consisting of requests for data and hurriedly-fired off instructions. And then she came to a quite different kind of message entirely:

  We’re visiting the De Garis hotel in Jersey on Thursday. Plan on staying the night – and bring something to wear for the evening. There’s to be a small, black-tie dinner, a sort of welcome to Ward Hotels for the De Garis executives. I expect to get back from New York some time early that evening. See you there. Jack.

  Thursday was tomorrow! A night in Jersey with Jack! Her heart drummed wildly. But immediately she set about trying to calm herself. No, it would be a night where absolutely nothing would happen; during which she would be perfectly polite and perfectly professional, and that was all. There would be no re-run of that night on the beach.

  She began to work on a request from Jack for her to go through some details in the accounts of Les Crêtes restaurant – which it now looked as if he was seriously contemplating buying – when Karen knocked on her door. She entered without waiting for a response, looking distinctly flustered.

  ‘Sorry to bother you Amber,’ she began, two distinct spots of colour high on her cheeks, but there’s some woman here, asking for Jack. I told her he isn’t here, but she doesn’t seem to believe me. She’s insisting on seeing someone “in charge”. What shall I do Amber, I…’

  Before Karen could utter another word, a woman pushed past into Amber’s office, the sort of woman whose age it was impossible to gauge, but who might have been anything between thirty and forty-five. She was very pretty, with small, neat features: wide hazel eyes picked out in cleverly-applied, if rather heavy make-up, a tiny, up-tilted nose, light caramel hair swept up behind her head and red lips – the shade matching exactly the perfectly-cut, Chanel-style two-piece she was wearing. She literally glittered with expensive jewellery. She held out one slim, red-nailed claw – its middle finger bedecked with a large pink diamond ring. Amber briefly, confusedly shook the proffered hand.

  ‘Nell Fitzpatrick,’ drawled the woman. ‘I apologise for bursting in like this but I need to see someone in charge. This woman,’ she said, nodding stiffly towards Karen, ‘was being officious.’ She narrowed her eyes and carefully scrutinised Amber, quickly sizing up her outfit and her face. ‘Are you in charge?’

  ‘Well in Mr Ward’s absence, I suppose you could say that. It’s all right Karen.’ Amber signalled that she would handle it the situation, and the secretary left. ‘Please sit down Ms Fitzpatrick. I’m Amber Dorey, Mr Ward’s accountant. How may I help?’

  The woman took out a slim brown cigarette, and made to light it with what looked like a solid gold lighter.

  ‘Oh, I’m afraid I don’t allow smoking in my office,’ Amber smiled.

  The woman pursed her lips disapprovingly, and dropped the lighter and cigarette back into her bag.

  ‘You can help me, Ms Dorey, by telling me where Jack Ward is. I need to speak to him. Urgently. On personal business.’

  ‘He’s in New York. He won’t be back until late Thursday.’

  ‘Thursday? I can’t wait until Thursday,’ Nell Fitzpatrick snapped, crossing her shapely legs. Her skin, Amber noticed, was almost entirely free of wrinkles. And when she talked, her face was almost expressionless. ‘It’s simply impossible,’ she persisted. ‘I need to speak to him now. Immediately.’

  ‘You could try him in New York. Do you have the number?’

  ‘I have all his numbers. But he won’t take my calls.’ She drummed her blood red nails impatiently on Amber’s desk. ‘I flew over here specifically to see him. I hear he’s hiding out over here these days. Is that not the case?’

  A distinctly uncomfortable feeling was beginning to slide into Amber’s stomach. Who on earth was this woman, and – more to the point – what was her relationship with Jack?

  ‘Well yes,’ said Amber guardedly, ‘he’s based here in Guernsey for the moment. That’s no secret. But he was called away on business. Is there… is there anything I can help you with?’

  The woman laughed, a high-pitched, mocking laugh that jarred on Amber’s nerves. ‘Not unless you’re in a position to write me out a personal cheque for one hundred and fifty thousand pounds.’

  Amber frowned. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand…’

  ‘Alimony, my dear Ms Dorey.
Jack owes me two months’ alimony.’

  Amber’s pulse lurched. Her mind struggled to take in what the woman had said. Alimony? So… so Jack had been married to this woman? ‘Oh,’ she said, with difficulty. ‘I see. Well no, I can’t help you with that, you’re right.’

  ‘I really don’t want to have to call in my lawyers,’ Nell Fitzpatrick continued, getting to her feet and stalking over to the window. ‘It would be so very tiresome. But I’m prepared to go down that road if I have to.’ She leant forward, catching her reflection in the glass, and checked her make-up. ‘All I want is what’s owed to me. Jack Ward is the lowest kind, Ms Dorey. They really don’t come any worse.’ She turned. ‘You tell him, when you next speak to him, that Nell dropped by. And that I’m not going to stand for his games a moment longer.’

  ‘I’ll tell him you were here. Of course.’

  Nell Fitzpatrick folded her slim arms, and studied Amber critically for several seconds. ‘You’ve gone dreadfully pale, Ms Dorey,’ she said slowly, ‘almost as if you’d seen a ghost. Why is that…?’ Then suddenly she clapped her hands with a triumphant yelp. ‘Why – oh my goodness, of course – you’re in love with him! And I’ve just shattered all your illusions! How terribly sweet: the little Guernsey accountant in love with her big bad boss. Does he even know?’ And then, in a conspiratorial, mocking half-whisper, she added: ‘Or is it your dark secret?’

  Amber felt the blood rush to her face, anger rising inside on a hot, sweeping floodtide. She got to her feet, indicating that the interview was over. ‘As I said, Ms Fitzpatrick, I’ll mention to Mr Ward that you dropped by.’

  Nell Fitzpatrick stayed immobile, leaning lazily against the window, a sardonic smile sitting heavily on her fine-boned features.