JACQUELINE BAIRD - The Billionaire's Blackmailed Bride

‘Emily.’ He raised his head, and lifted her hands from their death-like grip around his neck. ‘Emily, we have to go.’

She looked dazedly up at him, then down at his hands holding hers. Had she really flung her arms around him and clung like a limpet? And suddenly the heat of arousal became the heat of embarrassment.

‘What did you do that for?’ she asked.

‘I believe in getting the first kiss over with quickly, instead of wondering all evening, and to be blunt you have kept me waiting a week already.’ He grinned.

‘I’m surprised you persisted.’ She grinned back, suddenly feeling wonderful, all her doubts and fears about Anton wiped out by his kiss.

‘I surprised myself. I am of the W.C. Fields train of thought. If at first you don’t succeed, try, try, and then give up—there is no point in being a damn fool about it. Usually two approaches with no response and I move on. But in your case I made an exception. You should be flattered.’

Emily chuckled. ‘You are impossibly arrogant, Anton.’

‘Yes, but you like me.’ He grinned and started the car.

The restaurant was exclusive, the food superb and Anton the perfect dinner companion. His conversation was witty and gradually she relaxed. He told her he spent a lot of time travelling between his head office in New York, and the subsidiaries in Sydney, London and Athens, where he had an island villa within commuting distance by helicopter. But he tried to spend the winter months on his estate in Peru.

Without being aware of it, Emily was already half in love with him by the time he took her home.

‘Admit it, Emily, you enjoyed yourself tonight,’ Anton prompted as he stopped the car outside her home and turned to look at her. ‘I am not quite the ogre you thought, hmm?’ And he slid an arm around her shoulders. howAnton

‘I concede you really are very civilized and, yes, I did enjoy myself.’ The champagne she had consumed making her ever so slightly tipsy, she smiled up at him and added, ‘But you are still arrogant.’

‘Maybe, but will you allow me to take you out again tomorrow night?’ he asked formally, but there was nothing formal about the sensual gleam in the black depths of the eyes that held hers as he drew her close.

‘Yes,’ she murmured, and watched in helpless anticipation as his dark head bent and his wide mouth covered hers.

The second kiss was even better than the first and she leant into him with bone-melting enthusiasm, her arms eagerly wrapping around his neck. She felt his great body tense, felt the brush of one hand against the fabric covering her breast as he deepened the kiss, his tongue searching her mouth with a skilful eroticism that sent shuddering sensations of pure pleasure coursing hotly through her slender body.

She inhaled the unique masculine scent of him, trembled with wild excitement at the pleasure of his kiss, a kiss so deep, so passionate, she never wanted to come up for air. When his fingers closed around the strap of her dress she quivered, but made no objection as he peeled the fabric down over her braless breasts.

He raised his head and she didn’t understand his husky words as he palmed her breast, his long fingers grazing over the rosy tip. Her whole body jerked and her head fell back as he lowered his head and his mouth closed over an exposed nipple. Fierce sensations lanced from her breasts to her loins, moisture pooling between her thighs. She groaned out loud as with tongue and teeth he teased her rigid nipples, until she was a quivering mass of heated sensations she had never experienced before, never believed existed until now.

She threaded her hands through his dark hair, and held him to her aching body, wanting more. She felt the gentle trail of his strong hand sliding beneath her skirt, stroking up the silken smoothness of her thigh, felt his long fingers trace the thin strip of lace between her legs. Involuntarily her legs parted and one long finger edged beneath her panties.

‘My God!’ Anton exclaimed, rearing back. ‘What the hell am I doing?’

She stared up at him, her body sprawled back against the seat in total abandonment, her blue eyes glittering wildly and her pale skin flushed with the heat of arousal at the hands of a man for the first time in her twenty-four years. Quickly he smoothed her skirt down over her thighs and hauled her up in the seat, slipping the straps of her dress back over her shoulder, and placing her wrap carefully around her, folding it over her still-tingling breasts.

‘That’s better,’ he said, his dark eyes suddenly shadowed.

Emily’s body still pulsed with sensation, but slowly it dawned on her Anton was no way near as affected.

‘Sorry, Emily, I never meant to take things so far in the car of all places.’ He smoothed a few tendrils of hair from her brow. ‘Damn it to hell, I promised your brother I would look after you.’ He swore.

That did get through to Emily. ‘You promised my brother…’ she exclaimed. ‘You mean Tom had the nerve… I’ll kill him.’ She could not believe her own brother, and her embarrassment at her helpless capitulation to Anton was overtaken by her anger at Tom. ‘He seems to forget I am a grown woman and perfectly able to look after myself.’

‘I’m sure you are,’ Anton agreed. ‘But right now you better get indoors, before I lose control completely,’ he added with a self-derisory grimace as he got out of the car and walked around to open the passenger door. He slipped an arm around her waist and led her to the imposing front door of her home. ‘I won’t come in, I don’t dare.’ Dropping a swift kiss on the top of her head, he added, ‘I’ll call you in the morning.’ He waited as Emily, her head in a whirl of chaotic emotions—embarrassment, anger and, most telling of all, frustration—found her key, opened the door and walked in.

CHAPTER THREE

THE weeks that followed were like a fairy tale to Emily. She was head over heels in love with Anton Diaz. The love she had thought she had felt for Nigel was nothing compared to how Anton made her feel. There was no point in denying it. She only had to hear his deep, melodious accented voice to go weak at the knees, and when he touched her excitement buzzed through every nerve in her body. She wanted him in ways she had never dreamed of before, but now kept her hot and restless in bed at night.

Thinking about that first night now, four weeks later, as she sat in front of the dressing mirror applying her make-up, ignited a slow-burning heat in the pit of Emily’s stomach. But then that was something that pretty much happened every time she thought of Anton these days. A secretive smile curved her full lips as she ran a brush through her hair and rose to her feet.

Anton had been in New York for almost a week, and she ached to see him again. In fact she ached for him, because for some reason there had been no repeat of that first steamy episode except in her head.

They had enjoyed themselves over a few dinners and a trip to the theatre. She had accompanied him on several high-profile social occasions that included his business acquaintances, and the one time they had attended a film première he had quite proudly confirmed to the waiting photographers that they were an item.

But it was their relationship on the sexual front that puzzled Emily. Innocent though she was, she knew deep in her heart she wanted him with every fibre of her being. Given his reputation, she knew the best she could hope for was an affair, and she had confidently expected to be invited to his London penthouse. Within a week of meeting him, she had prepared for their relationship to progress to the physical, but it had not advanced at all. On the contrary, Anton had never even suggested taking her to his apartment, and made a point of drawing back after a kiss or two, while she was left aching for more…

Still, perhaps after a six-day separation tomorrow night would be the night, she thought as she clipped the diamond studs in her ears and stood back to view her reflection. But first she had to get through tonight. A family party for her uncle Sir Clive Deveral’s birthday.

Her mother’s brother was a bachelor and it was a bit of a tradition that he dined with them all on his birthday before heading off later to his club and his old navy mates to reminisce and get drunk. She had made a determined effort to dress up for her uncle because she knew he really appreciated glamorous women.

He had told her so when, in his own bumbling way, he had tried to comfort her after her disastrous engagement. He had confided that years ago he had lost his fiancée to another man, but he had soon got over it; with so many glamorous women to choose from he preferred to play the field. Then realizing what he had said, he had exclaimed, ‘Not that I mean you should play the field. Heaven forbid. I simply meant there are plenty more fish in the sea,’ and made her laugh.

He was a real sweetie and Emily adored him. She had spent many a school holiday at his home, Deveral Hall in Lincolnshire, or at his rather dilapidated villa in Corfu. When her childhood dreams of being a ballerina were dashed by her increasing height it was her uncle who had taught her never to waste time hankering after things that she could not change and move on. Then he had got her interested in archaeology and sailing and swimming in the warm waters off the Greek island and had been instrumental in her decision to be a marine archaeologist.

She smiled at her image in the mirror. The dress she wore was a strapless silver lamé that clung to every inch of her body like a second skin to end six inches above her knees. She had left her long hair loose and she was wearing ridiculously high-heeled diamanté sandals that showed off her legs to the max.

Emily was still smiling to herself as she walked down the stairs to join the family for pre-dinner drinks. Her uncle would love her outfit—he was always telling her that the latest generation of men on the Fairfax side of the family needed shocking out of their staid conservatism once in a while. For that reason he always turned up at any family dinner in a velvet dinner jacket and outrageous waistcoats. The rest of the family would probably have a fit.

She reached the bottom of the stairs and headed towards the sound of talk and laughter coming from the drawing room, and then turned again as the doorbell rang.

‘I’ll get it, Mindy,’ she said as the flustered housekeeper popped out of the kitchen.

She opened the door and her mouth fell open with shock. ‘Anton, what are you doing here? I thought you weren’t due back until tomorrow.’

‘Obviously I got back not a minute too soon.’ His dark eyes glittered with some fierce emotion as they swept over her. ‘You look unbelievable, though I find it hard to believe you dressed like that for an evening at home. Who is my competition?’ he demanded, his dark eyes narrowing with anger on her face. Then without a word he hauled her into his arms and covered her mouth with his own in a hard possessive kiss that knocked the breath from her body.

When he finally allowed her to breathe again she looked up into his burning black eyes. ‘What was that for?’ she gasped.

‘To remind you, you are mine. Now who is he?’

‘You’re jealous—you think I am going out with another man,’ Emily prompted, ridiculously delighted, and, lifting a finger, she stroked the firm line of his jaw. ‘You have no need to be, Anton. There is no other man, and we are having a birthday party for my uncle,’ she explained, a broad smile curving her slightly swollen lips. ‘Come and join us. You will make the dinner table up to an even number.’ And she watched as what looked surprisingly like a blush stained his high cheekbones.