JACQUELINE BAIRD - The Billionaire's Blackmailed Bride

But why would they be? he thought cynically. The company was over a hundred and sixty years old and they had never had to fight to make a living or to be accepted by their peers.

‘Anton, darling, what are you thinking?’

He disliked the question, though he had heard it often enough and experience had taught him where women were concerned it was best ignored or answered with a white lie. Exasperated, he looked down at the woman in his arms. ‘The latest figure on the Dow Jones—nothing that would interest you.’

‘My figure is the only one you should be thinking of,’ she responded with a pout, plastering herself to him.

‘Save the flirting for your husband. I’m immune,’ he said bluntly. Eloise was very beautiful, but she did nothing for him except remind him of his sister. That was why he had helped her out of a bad situation twelve years ago in Lima when her manager at the time had signed her up for what was undeniably a porn movie. He got her out of the contract and found her a reputable manager and they had been friends ever since. She was married to a close friend of his and yet given the chance she wasn’t above trying to seduce him.

He supposed it was his own fault in a way because once, a decade ago, he had succumbed to her charms one night, though he had very quickly realized he had made a big mistake. Their friendship had survived, and now it was a game she played whenever they met, and he could not entirely blame her. He should have got tough with her long since.

Eloise was her husband’s responsibility now. He had to stop pandering to her constant whims this time to hold her hand while she auditioned for a lead in a West End musical. Actually it had been no hardship because he was staying in London a lot more than he had at first anticipated. He had Fairfax Engineering firmly in his sights… He almost felt sorry for the son and daughter; they were young and no competition for him.

He thought of the report he had got from the investigator some months ago. The only photo of the daughter was of a woman standing on a deserted beach with the ocean behind her, wearing a baseball cap that masked her eyes, an oversized shirt and combat trousers. There had been no point of reference to say if she was tall or short, fat or thin.

He had been surprised when he saw her seated at the table. The photo had not done her justice. A ridiculous horned headband held back a shinning mane of blonde hair that fell smooth as silk down past her shoulder blades. Whether the colour was natural or dyed he didn’t know, but it looked good. She had the peaches and cream complexion of a stereotypical English rose with magnificent big blue eyes, a full-lipped wide mouth and her breasts looked just about perfect. As for the rest he could not tell, average height maybe. But as a connoisseur of women he would reserve judgement until he saw her standing up. She could quite possibly have a big behind and short stumpy legs. Not that it concerned him; he wasn’t going there. The fact she was a Fairfax was a huge turnoff; he wouldn’t touch her if she were the last woman in the world.

Charles Fairfax had married the Honourable Sara Deveral in what had been the society wedding of the year twenty-six years ago. His wife had borne him a son nine months later, Tom, and a daughter, Emily, a year after that. The perfect family…

Emily Fairfax had led a charmed life. She had the best of everything. A loving family, a good education, a career of sorts as a freelance archaeologist, and she moved in London society with a confidence that was bred in the bone. The likes of Charles Fairfax were big on breeding, and the thought brought back the bitter resentment that had simmered within him since the death of his mother.

‘I don’t believe it.’ Eloise tilted back her head and Anton glanced down at her. ‘Max is actually dancing the tango…’

Anton was diverted from his sombre thoughts and followed his partner’s gaze, his dark eyes widening in shock and something more as they settled on his Head of Security and erstwhile bodyguard, though Max, at fifty, was more of a friend than anything else. He hadn’t registered the band was playing the tango.

When Anton had a woman in his arms he held her close and naturally moved to the rhythm of the music, the steps not important. But Max was old school and was dancing the tango with all the passion and arrogance of a real aficionado. Incredibly his partner was with him every step of the way.

His eyes narrowed, absorbing the picture she presented. Emily Fairfax was stunning, and the only reason Anton had thought she was average height was instantly apparent. She had fantastically long legs in proportion to her height, a round tight behind, narrow waist and high firm breasts. The red suit was glued to her like a second skin leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination and as Max swung her around Anton doubted there was a man in the room who wasn’t watching her. Her blonde hair swung around her shoulders in a shimmering cloud as she moved. And what a mover… An instant pleasurable though inconvenient sensation stirred in Anton’s loins.

‘Don’t they look ridiculous?’ Eloise tugged on his neck. ‘No one dances like that these days.’

‘What…? Yes…’ he lied, for once less than his suave self, while silently conceding the pair looked superb, and the majority of people on the floor had stopped to watch. Max dipped Emily low over his arm, her hair touching the floor as the music drew to a close. Anton saw Emily grin as Max lifted her upright and then burst out laughing as the applause echoed around the ballroom.

The woman was not afraid of making an exhibition of herself, and, given the fire and passion in the way she danced, she was definitely no innocent. Such passion could not be confined solely to the dance floor; he recalled that she had been engaged once, according to the report he had read, and there had probably been quite a few men since.

Suddenly, having decided he would not touch her if she were the last woman on earth, Anton was imagining her long, lithesome naked body under his, and it took all his self-control to rein in his rampant libido—something that hadn’t happened to him in years.

Deep in thought, he frowned as he led Eloise back to the table. He had set out to destroy Fairfax Engineering, everything Charles Fairfax owned, but he had to concede it was going to take him some time. But now an alternative scenario, a way to hedge his bet on gaining control of the company, formed in his Machiavellian mind. The solution he reached had a perfect poetic justice to it that made his firm lips twist in a brief, decidedly sinister smile.

Marriage had never appealed to him before, but he was thirty-seven, an ideal time to take a wife and produce an heir to inherit his fortune. He bred horses in Peru, and at least physically Emily Fairfax was good breeding stock, he assessed sardonically. As for her morals, he wasn’t bothered about the past men in her life, with what he had on her family, she would dance to his tune and disruption to his life would be minimal. He frowned again; maybe Emily Fairfax had a man in her life now. Not that he was afraid of competition—he never had any trouble getting any woman he wanted. With his incredible wealth his problem was the reverse: fighting them off. And Emily had no partner with her tonight, which left him a clear field.

‘Thank you, Max.’ Emily was still smiling as her dancing partner held out her chair for her. ‘I really enjoyed that,’ she said as she sat down.

‘It is good to see the fortune the parents spent on sending us both to dancing classes wasn’t completely wasted,’ Tom said, grinning as he and Helen sat down.

‘The lessons were certainly wasted on you,’ Helen quipped. ‘I don’t think my feet will ever recover.’

Lisa piped up with, ‘Join the club—after forty years of marriage and countless attempts at dancing James still has two left feet.’

Emily laughed at the friendly banter between her family and friends, unaware that the other couple had returned to the table.

CHAPTER TWO

IT WAS a shock when into the cheerful atmosphere Anton Diaz laid a hand on Emily’s arm and asked her for the next dance.

She wanted to refuse, but, glancing at Max, she saw he had taken Eloise’s hand and was obviously going to dance with her. The hostile look the other woman gave Anton said louder than words she wasn’t delighted at the change of partner.

‘Go on, Emily,’ Tom encouraged. ‘You know you love dancing.’ He grinned. ‘And if our wives are to be believed James and I are useless. Anton is your only chance.’

‘Thanks, brother.’ Emily snorted and reluctantly accepted and rose to her feet.

Anton gave her a wry smile. ‘Your brother lacks a little subtlety,’ he drawled as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. ‘But I am not complaining if it gets you in my arms.’

Then, rather than taking her arm, he placed his own very firmly around her waist, his strong hand curving over her hipbone as he urged her towards the dance floor. His touch was much too personal and his great body much too close for Emily’s comfort and it only got worse…

As soon as they reached the dance floor he turned her to face him, his arm tightening around her waist as he drew her closer, and at that moment the band began playing a dreamy ballad. She stiffened in his hold, determined to resist a sudden inexplicable desire to collapse against him as he took her hand and linked his fingers with hers and cradled it against his broad chest.

‘You surprised me, Emily,’ he said, his dark eyes seeking hers. ‘You dance the tango superbly—I was quite envious of Max,’ he admitted. ‘Though to be honest, dancing is not one of my talents. I could not tango to save my life. I am more a shuffle-to-the-music man,’ he said with a self-effacing grin that lightened his saturnine features, making him look somewhat approachable. ‘So I hope you won’t be disappointed,’ he concluded with a querying arch of one black brow.

Disappointed… It was a rare occurrence for Emily to dance with a man she had literally to look up to and it turned out to be frighteningly seductive. He fitted her perfectly and, enveloped in his arms, the black cloak enfolding her created an added intimacy. Disappointment was not an emotion troubling Emily, though a host of others were. With his long leg subtly easing between hers as he turned her slowly to the romantic music, her pulse raced, her heart pounded and every nerve end in her body was screaming with tension as she battled to retain control of her wayward body. The damn latex suit was no help; it simply emphasized every brush of his muscular body against hers. And she seriously doubted Anton Diaz had ever disappointed a woman in his life. Certainly not the lovely Eloise, and the thought cooled her helpless reaction to him enough for her to respond.

‘Oh, I think not,’ she said with blunt honesty. She knew she was reasonably attractive and she had been hit on by many men over the years, but since her failed engagement she had learnt to put men off with no trouble. ‘I also think, Mr Diaz, a man of your wealth and power is perfectly well aware of his talents and exploits them quite ruthlessly for his own ends.’ Anton might make her heart beat faster—her and the rest of the female population—but she had no intention of falling for his charm. ‘As I’m sure the tabloids and your friend Eloise could confirm,’ she ended dryly.

‘Ah, Emily, you have been listening to gossip. What was it? I was brought up in a brothel surrounded by willing women,’ he mocked. ‘Sorry to disappoint, but it is not true, though my grandmother did own one,’ he admitted, ‘and it is a poor reflection on the male of the species that she made rather a lot of money. Enough to send her daughter to the best school in the country and on to a finishing school in Switzerland.’