Buch lesen: «Bound By Contract»

CHAPTER ONE

‘I NEVER believed in mermaids until this moment!’

She didn’t even open her eyes. The man with the silkily smooth voice was sure to be one of her uncle’s guests, and from the little she had seen of them since her arrival he wouldn’t be worth opening her eyes for!

She’d flown in from America only this afternoon; she was tired, jet-lagged, and desperate for sleep—which had proved impossible; her uncle had a houseful of guests for the weekend—noisy guests who seemed to invade most of the house.

She’d finally taken refuge in the swimming pool that took up half the basement of the house. Drifting on an airbed, she felt the warmth of the water relaxing her in a way that couldn’t be found in the main part of the house. The last thing she needed—or wanted—was to be found by one of her uncle’s guests!

‘No fish-tail,’ she murmured disparagingly as she wriggled her toes pointedly, still half asleep, her hands trailing in the warmth of the water. Her body looked youthfully slender in a turquoise-coloured bikini, while her long blonde hair trailed in the water behind her.

‘Mermaids don’t have fish-tails when on land,’ the man murmured mockingly.

‘But I’m in the water,’ she answered impatiently, keeping her face averted from the direction of his voice, wishing she’d never entered into the verbal exchange; perhaps if she had kept quiet he would have just gone away!

‘On the water,’ the man corrected her smoothly. ‘Tell me, is that accent for real, or are you just rehearsing for a part?’ he added derisively.

Her mouth tightened. She wanted some peace and quiet; surely the fact that she was down here alone made that more than obvious? And yet this man persisted in talking to her, even passing comment on her American accent. In fact, he was a damned nuisance!

‘Is that accent for real?’ she returned in a perfect imitation of his educated English accent. ‘Or are you just rehearsing for a part?’

‘Touché,’ he murmured appreciatively.

‘What makes you think I’m an actress?’ She felt drawn into asking, becoming intrigued in spite of herself.

‘Most, if not all, of Edgar’s guests this weekend are involved in the acting world,’ the man drawled.

‘Including yourself?’ she prompted lightly.

‘Including myself,’ he confirmed dryly.

She wasn’t impressed. Her mother had been full of dire warnings when she’d told her she wanted to be an actress, but one piece of her mother’s advice she had learnt to take to heart: never become involved with anyone else in the business!

It was something she had to admit she’d learnt the hard way, falling for one of the male leads in the first play she’d ever been in off-Broadway. What she hadn’t realised at the time was that his interest would last only as long as the run of the play—all of three weeks!—when he would then move on to the next play, the next gullible actress. She was still smarting from the experience. Of the man. And the folded play.

Which was why she’d taken one look at the guests here today and disappeared to the peace of the indoor swimming-pool; she could spend some time with Edgar once the other guests had gone. She still felt too emotionally raw to mix with the ‘beautiful people’ just yet!

She certainly hadn’t expected to have her privacy invaded in this way. But then, the man had said he was involved in acting, so he was sure to be full of—

God, she was still angry at Gerry for turning out to be every inch the bastard her mother had warned her that actors could be! She’d thought she was over it, but obviously not…

Perhaps it was time she took a look at this mystery man. Who knew? He might just be the answer to every woman’s prayer! Hell, she was becoming cynical on top of everything else!

‘Everything else’ was her disastrous love-affair with Gerry, and the fact that she was temporarily ‘resting’. That sounded so interesting, but all it really meant was that she was out of work—again. All she had to show for her time at drama school was one walk-on part in a film, and a play that had folded after only three weeks; she ‘rested’ more than she worked!

‘I shouldn’t fall asleep in there, if I were you,’ the man said mockingly, infuriatingly interrupting her solitude once again, letting her know that he hadn’t gone away, as she’d hoped he might.

‘Look, I thank you for your advice,’ she snapped sarcastically, ‘but I’ll do what the hell I—’ Her angry retort died on her lips as she finally turned her head to look at her tormenter. No! It couldn’t be! This man was— ‘You—! I—!’ Her shocked surprise was lost in a gurgle of water as, having now turned fully sideways to look at him, she totally lost her balance, falling into the water with a splash and a tangle of graceful limbs.

That man!

She knew him!

No, she didn’t know him! She just—

God, this water tasted awful. And she seemed to be swallowing most of the pool. It was—

She had to get to the surface. She was slowly sinking to the bottom, and—

Suddenly there was a movement of water beside her, the strength of an arm about her waist, and she was being pulled roughly to the surface.

She would have started to swim to the side then, but that arm remained about her like a steel band, turning her over on to her back as she was pulled over to the side of the pool, before being dumped unceremoniously on to the side.

Even as she opened her mouth to protest at this man’s rough handling of her she felt herself being rolled over on to her stomach, hands pounding against her back.

‘Stop it!’ she finally gasped, fighting for breath, her hands flying backwards as she tried to stop that painful pummelling. ‘You’re hurting me!’ she cried impotently.

‘Hurting you!’ he repeated harshly, turning her over on to her back, a knee at either side of her body as he straddled her, cold water dripping over her from his wet clothes. ‘I’d like to tan your backside!’ His face was contorted with anger. ‘Are you totally stupid, going into a pool alone when you can’t even swim? I take back what I said about the mermaid; you looked like a stranded whale just now!’

She opened her mouth to protest at this verbal attack, and then closed it again. This man looked ready to carry out his threat to smack her!

Which wasn’t surprising, when he’d obviously jumped into the water fully clothed in order to save her…!

No, she mustn’t laugh—or she had no doubt he would tan her backside! This wasn’t the time to see the funny side of this. That would have to come later!

‘How gracious of you,’ she drawled. ‘But, contrary to what you may think, I can swim—very well, as it happens.’ She had just been so surprised by the identity of this man that she’d forgotten to swim.

Gideon Byrne. Oscar-winning film director. She’d watched the awards on television herself the previous year, seen him as he’d gone up on to the stage to collect his award, heard his brief acceptance speech. Tall and dark, with metallic-grey eyes, he had a presence that would have been electric on stage or film, but he’d chosen to use his talent behind rather than in front of the camera, and was as far removed from her in the world of acting as the sun was from the moon—and she had been treating him as nothing more than an irritating intrusion!

‘Then I can only assume that on this occasion you lost your sense of direction—because you were heading for the bottom of the pool, not the top!’ he scorned disgustedly, finally moving off her to sit down at the side of the pool, pushing an agitated hand through the dark wetness of his hair.

She became aware of her own dishevelled appearance, her hair a blonde tangle about her shoulders and down her back, her bikini affording her little cover. But then, she hadn’t expected to see anyone. Or for anyone to see her!

She stood up in one fluid movement, moving to the lounger where she’d left her robe when she’d come down earlier. Pulling it on, she instantly felt warmer, and better able to deal with the situation.

‘I really am sorry, Mr Byrne,’ she began apologetically. ‘I—’

‘You know who I am?’ he snapped harshly as he turned to look at her with coldly accusing eyes.

‘Of course,’ she acknowledged smoothly. ‘Doesn’t everyone?’ she added lightly as he continued to glare at her.

She would have been decidedly out of touch in the acting world if she hadn’t recognised this man. After his success the previous year the newspapers had been full of photographs and articles about him. Admittedly he was usually scowling in those photographs, but—

Not so different from now, really, she realised ruefully. She’d thought at the time that he probably didn’t like having his photograph taken, that he was one of those directors who believed it was his work that was important, not his private life. But maybe it was just that he rarely smiled, after all…

‘Not that I’m aware,’ he dismissed coldly, standing up, giving her the full benefit of just how wet he actually was.

He was wearing black denims and a pale grey shirt—silk, if she weren’t mistaken—and both articles of clothing were clinging to him. And, while the wetness of that clothing revealed just how masculine he was, his shoulders wide and powerful, his stomach flat, his hips tapered, he must also be very uncomfortable. And all because he’d thought she was drowning!

‘You underestimate your fame, Mr Byrne,’ she answered lightly. ‘And I think perhaps you should get out of those wet clothes,’ she suggested, with a guilty grimace. ‘Before you catch pneumonia!’

‘Not very likely in this hot-house.’ But be began to unbutton his shirt anyway, revealing the dark hair that grew on his wide chest as he pulled the clinging material away from him and threw the dripping shirt down on to the tiled floor, before unbuttoning his denims, obviously with the intention of doing the same thing with them.

Much to her dismay! She might be twenty-two, and not a complete innocent where men were concerned, but she didn’t usually have complete strangers stripping off in front of her, either!

‘Er—I think Uncle Edgar left one of his robes in the changing room.’ She turned away awkwardly. ‘I’ll go and check for you.’ She moved hastily away, her cheeks hot with embarrassment, as Gideon Byrne continued to strip off his denims. Admittedly, he was wearing black briefs underneath, but there was no guarantee he wasn’t going to strip those off next…!

Gideon Byrne, she thought breathlessly as she hurried to the changing room, trying to remember exactly what it was she had read about him in the newspapers the previous year. Thirty-eight, dark brown hair, grey eyes, unmarried, only child of the long-dead actor John Byrne…

But none of those cold facts could have prepared her for the flesh-and-blood man. How could the newspapers possibly describe the aura of electric energy that surrounded the man, or the cynicism that coloured every word he spoke? They couldn’t. They hadn’t!

Well, at least she had found the perfect cure for jet-lag; one dose of Gideon Byrne, and all the tiredness from her journey had completely left her!

Uncle Edgar hadn’t mentioned that he had such a famous guest staying here when he’d met her at the airport earlier, or since her arrival at the house. If he had done, she might have been more prepared!

However, she was no more prepared for the sheer physical male beauty of his body when she returned with the robe—although, thankfully, he had kept the black briefs on!

She guessed he was well over six feet in height—as he seemed to tower over her five feet eight inches. His muscular body was deeply tanned; muscles rippled powerfully beneath his skin, and there was a fine sprinkling of dark hair over all of his body, becoming much thicker on the width of his chest. He was gorgeous!

‘Thanks.’

She stared at him blankly for several seconds, wondering if she had spoken those words out loud, realising she hadn’t as he held his hand out for the robe she carried.

‘Sorry,’ she muttered awkwardly, thrusting her hands into the pockets of her own towelling robe once he’d taken the one she was holding to pull on over his near-nakedness.

‘Uncle Edgar?’ He quirked dark brows at her questioningly as he tied the belt in place.

‘It’s an honorary title.’ She was relieved to talk of something normal after the impact this man had made on her senses, hoping she wasn’t making too big an idiot of herself. Although she thought she probably was! ‘My name is Madison McGuire,’ she told him lightly, holding out her hand. ‘Edgar Remington is my godfather.’

Gideon Byrne didn’t look impressed by this explanation; his mouth twisted scornfully as he touched her hand only lightly in return. Although it was enough for Madison to feel the thrill of electricity that ran up her arm. That aura didn’t just surround him, it went right through him!

‘Edgar is many things, to many people, but this is the first time I’ve heard him referred to as The Godfather!’ he drawled.

Madison gave him a look of amused reproval. ‘I doubt he would be flattered by that name!’

‘Probably not,’ Gideon Byrne accepted dryly. ‘But he’s a first-class manipulator nonetheless!’

She had known Edgar Remington all of her life. She knew him as a good friend of her parents, and also as her benevolent godfather, but she was aware there had to be another side to him, the side that headed one of the top film production companies in the world, and headed it well.

As a film director, perhaps that was the side of him that Gideon Byrne knew best…?

‘I wouldn’t know about that,’ Madison dismissed with a shrug; her very minor part in a film might have been in one produced by Edgar’s company, but even so she had had no contact with her uncle because of it, her almost non-existent role having been filmed on location in Scotland.

But what she did know was that dinner was going to be in an hour, and her hair was drying into tangles; she needed a shower and to wash her hair before the meal. She had half excused herself from attending dinner to Edgar earlier, saying she was too tired to be very good company for anyone, but after meeting this man she was wide awake. And hungry, she inwardly acknowledged.

‘Wouldn’t you?’

She gave Gideon a startled look, as much for the coldness of his tone as for the question itself. Was it her imagination, or was there an accusing edge to his voice? And, if so, what possible reason could this man have for feeling that way?

She gave a puzzled frown, shaking her head. ‘It’s getting late, Mr Byrne—’

‘Call me Gideon,’ he rasped harshly.

This man might be one of the most handsome men she’d ever set eyes on, but his manners certainly left a lot to be desired! And she’d always been led to believe Englishmen had the best manners in the world; obviously no one had acquainted Gideon Byrne with that fact!

She gave an acknowledging inclination of her head. ‘It was very kind of you to jump into the water to save me earlier.’

‘When you’ve known me a little longer—Madison, you’ll realise kindness is not part of my nature!’ he retorted harshly.

No, she didn’t think it would be; he came over as a hard, unyielding man, one who rarely smiled. And she very much doubted she would get to know him ‘a little longer’ their paths would never cross again after this weekend.

‘Besides,’ he added derisively, ‘according to you, you didn’t need saving!’

No, she hadn’t, but it had still been kind of him to jump into the pool fully clothed, no matter what he might say to the contrary. ‘If there’s any permanent damage to your clothes, please do let me know,’ she told him evenly. ‘I’ll be happy to replace them.’ She wasn’t quite sure how a silk shirt would stand up to the chemicals in the pool water!

‘Oh, don’t worry, you’ll hear from me if that’s the case,’ he rasped. ‘Tell me, is that the natural colour of your hair?’

‘What…?’ Madison was stunned by the abrupt change of subject—and the fact that the question didn’t just border on being rude; it was rude!

At the moment, her hair was the colour of dark honey, but once she had washed and dried it it would be the colour of ripe corn, long and straight almost down to her waist. And, yes, it was her natural colour. As was the green of her eyes. And the light golden tan of her skin. In fact, all of her was real!

‘You never can tell nowadays,’ Gideon Byrne added insultingly, making no apology for the very personal remark.

‘It’s natural,’ she answered him hardly, a perplexed frown marring her brow.

If she hadn’t known better, she would have said this man disliked her. But surely that couldn’t be so—the man didn’t even know her. Probably he was just annoyed with her because of his unnecessarily wet clothing?

He nodded abruptly. ‘I thought so.’

And…? But maybe there wasn’t an ‘and’ with this man. He might be one of the top film directors in the world, with an Oscar at home to prove it, but he was also one of the coldest, rudest men Madison had ever met…

And, thinking of cold, she was starting to shiver now, and was badly in need of that hot shower she’d promised herself a few minutes ago. ‘If you don’t mind, I think I would like to go upstairs and take a shower before dinner,’ she told him pleasantly.

He met her gaze challengingly. ‘And if I do mind?’ he drawled.

Madison didn’t so much as blink at his rudeness this time. ‘Then I’m still going upstairs to take a shower,’ she said bluntly. Maybe that was the only way to be with this man; politeness certainly didn’t seem to work!

To her surprise, he smiled. And it transformed his face from austere coldness to friendly warmth. Well…almost, she decided. Friendly was perhaps going too far! But he did look more approachable, Madison tried to convince herself. Not that she intended ‘approaching’ him; she was quite happy to just part on that one smile, sure that it was more than a lot of people got out of him.

‘Maybe you and I are going to get on after all, Madison McGuire,’ he murmured enigmatically.

She wasn’t sure she would go quite that far on the basis of one smile! Besides, there must be mere hours left of his visit—hardly long enough for them to need to ‘get on’…

‘If you say so,’ she acknowledged noncommittally. ‘Nice to have met you, Mr Byrne,’ she added politely before turning to leave.

‘Liar!’ came his softly taunting reply from behind her.

Madison paused, turning slowly back to face him. ‘I’m not in the habit of lying, Mr Byrne—’

‘I thought I told you to call me Gideon,’ he rasped harshly.

She frowned. ‘Perhaps you did—Mr Byrne,’ she felt stung into replying; really, the man was nothing but an arrogant bully! ‘But—’

‘We haven’t been formally introduced?’ he cut in derisively. ‘I think it’s a little late in our acquaintance for that; after all, I did attempt to save your life a short time ago!’

‘Attempt’ just about described it! If he hadn’t startled her in the way he had, she wouldn’t have fallen into the water in the first place!

‘I was about to say—but I really couldn’t be so familiar with a film director of your calibre,’ she finished forcefully. ‘But on second thoughts…! I’m not in the habit of lying— Gideon, and it hasn’t been nice meeting you at all!’ She turned on her heel and walked away, going up the stairs that led back to the main part of the house.

And, as she did so, she could swear she heard the sound of Gideon Byrne chuckling down in the pool-room.

Ridiculous. That man didn’t even know how to chuckle!

What a monumental pain in the—! She had never met anyone like him. Cold. Rude. Arrogant. If that was what being awarded an Oscar did for you, she hoped she never got one!

Not that she was ever likely to, she groaned inwardly, if she went around upsetting directors of Gideon Byrne’s calibre.

Oh, hell!

Best just to forget she had ever met him. With any luck, he would have left before dinner…

Gideon’s humour faded as soon as he heard the loud thud of the door closing behind her.

She had pluck; he would give her that. She was also incredibly beautiful, in exactly the way he had noticed on the screen last night as he’d sat watching the Tony Lawrence film.

He had immense respect for the other director, and as he hadn’t had the chance to see his new film yet he’d enjoyed watching it from a technical angle, anyway. But when the serving girl had walked across the screen it was as if he had been given an electric shock…!

He’d been looking for just such a girl for the last six months, seen dozens of would-be-hopefuls, but none of them were exactly what he wanted. When Madison McGuire had walked across the screen last night he’d known he had at last seen his Rosemary.

She was everything he wanted Rosemary to be: the delicately beautiful face of an angel, the deep green of her eyes as she looked briefly at the camera a bonus he hadn’t been expecting, her neck long and creamy, looking too fragile to support the weight of that long, corn-coloured hair, her body boyishly slender, her legs, he had discovered only minutes ago, long and coltish.