Australia's Maverick Millionaire

Australia's Maverick Millionaire Margaret Way The heiress and the hell-raiser!Clio Templeton has loved Josh Hart since she was nine years old and he saved her cousin from drowning. She’s never forgotten how his cheek felt beneath her lips as she rewarded him with a kiss. Years later Josh’s cheek still burns with the memory.He has returned to the town that wrote him off as a bad seed – and the one woman who saw the bravery beneath his bravado. But the small town has a long memory and he can’t risk the darkness of his past extinguishing the shining light of its sweetheart… Welcome to the intensely emotional world of Margaret Way where rugged, brooding bachelors meet their match in the burning heart of Australia … Praise for the author “Margaret Way delivers … vividly written, dramatic stories.” —RT Book Reviews “With climactic scenes, dramatic imagery and bold characters, Margaret Way makes the Outback come alive …” —RT Book Reviews “Your early life was hard, Josh. I could never know how hard. But these days as a highly successful businessman you’ve gained a reputation for honesty and integrity. You always were smarter than the rest of us,” she added drolly. “You learn a lot of skills in juvenile detention,” he told her very bluntly. “How to beat someone up?” His blue eyes were like missiles programmed to make a direct hit. “Now, why aren’t I shocked? You’ve been reading up on my files, Clio.” “No, no!” Rapidly she shook her head. Not that she hadn’t wanted to. “So who was it? Your dad? Your father would love me to disappear overnight. Why is that, do you suppose?” he asked, knowing full well the answer. “He thinks there’s a worrying connection between the two of us. A bond that was forged years ago.” “Wasn’t it?” he asked, without missing a beat. “I was your hero for a day.” She waited for a moment, not even certain what to say. From that day on Josh Hart had found a place in her heart and mind. “What I thought of you hasn’t changed, Josh. You cover up what you feel. I cover up what I feel. It’s safer that way.” “For whom, exactly?” he asked flatly. “Your family? The entire community? I’m still the bad boy in town. That won’t change.” About the Author MARGARET WAY, a definite Leo, was born and raised in the subtropical River City of Brisbane, capital of the Sunshine State of Queensland. A Conservatorium-trained pianist, teacher, accompanist and vocal coach, she found her musical career came to an unexpected end when she took up writing—initially as a fun thing to do. She currently lives in a harbourside apartment at beautiful Raby Bay, a thirty-minute drive from the state capital, where she loves dining alfresco on her plant-filled balcony, overlooking a translucent green marina filled with all manner of pleasure craft: from motor cruisers costing millions of dollars, and big, graceful yachts with carved masts standing tall against the cloudless blue sky, to little bay runabouts. No one and nothing is in a mad rush, and she finds the laid-back village atmosphere very conducive to her writing. With well over one hundred books to her credit, she still believes her best is yet to come. Australia’s Maverick Millionaire Margaret Way www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) PROLOGUE Now CLIO was having the dream that had haunted her for years. One half of her was held prisoner by it; the other half was struggling to break free. Eventually she awoke in a sweat, her legs bound by the tangle of bedclothes. She kicked the top sheet away, rolled onto her back, trying to ease her breathing. Her heart was beating so hard and fast it was making her ears pound. Fourteen years since her little cousin Ella, strapped into her stroller, had plunged headlong into Paradise Lagoon but it might have been yesterday her memories were so vivid. Everyone had back alleys in their subconscious: hers had stored away the near tragedy, so it could rerun it at frequent intervals. Sometimes she thought her memories would never recede into shadow—the breathless terror of that day, the sheer disbelief that such a thing could happen, most of all the paralysing panic. Aunt Lisa, now mother of three bright and beautiful teenagers, including Ella, of course, still had her dark moments of recrimination and guilt. She often said she would never forgive herself for her momentary lapse when she’d forgotten to apply the brake to baby Ella’s stroller. It would have been a life-shattering disaster if it hadn’t been for Josh Hart, the bad boy of the town, who paradoxically had looked like a golden-haired archangel. Josh Hart had a tragic history that had caused many compassionate souls to turn a blind eye to his many misdemeanours, which had been pretty well a daily occurrence. His mother from all accounts had died of a drug overdose when he was five. His father’s identity was unknown. Joshua had been taken into care, eventually becoming a foster-child who had been shunted from one home to another, arriving in the town less than a year before the Ella incident to live with a distant relative of his mother’s, a kindly widow of sixty who’d had little chance of controlling him and had eventually given up. Josh had run wild for much of the time; shoplifting anything that took his eye, flouting authority at every turn, taking joy rides in fancy cars—there wasn’t a thing he didn’t seem to know about motors or locks—yet amazingly had never damaged let alone crashed said cars. Once he’d taken a high-powered speedboat from the marina in Moon Bay, returning it after a thirty-minute spin. In between times he’d managed a couple of days a week at school, smarter than all the rest of the kids put together. Only if there were defining moments in life when one showed what one was really made of, Josh Hart at age thirteen had shown it that day. Displaying remarkable bravery, he had saved Ella’s life without a single thought for his own safety. Even then he had thrilled and frightened Clio. Nothing had changed. He still thrilled and frightened her. Only these days he was an admired and respected entrepreneur with a law degree, first-class honours, hanging on his office wall, courtesy of her own grandfather who had made it all possible. Then The day had begun brilliantly. It had been the start of the long Christmas vacation and the tropical North had been on the verge of the Wet. Troppo time, as it was known, but the arrival of the monsoon had also coincided with a prodigal paradise. Nature had shown itself at its most glorious and extravagant best. The vast tropical landscape had budded, swelled then burst into flamboyant flower accompanied by scents so sweet and aromatic they had filled the immediate world. The great crimson arches of the poincianas had lent welcome shade while colouring the air. The tulip trees had broken out their lovely orange cups, and the cassias had spilled yellow blossom in a wide circle beneath them. It was like being caught in a spell. It was Aunt Lisa who decided they would go on a picnic. “What do you think, Paradise Lagoon?” Where else? Aunt Lisa had chosen the town’s most beautiful cool haven, a lush, park-like reserve dominated by a deep emerald lake with its gorgeous mantle of a thousand tropical waterlilies, all blue and all planted by her family, recognized experts on waterlilies and all manner of tropical plants. There was the Whitaker with its gigantic lavender blue blossoms and bright yellow stamens; the Trickett, a Campanula blue and her dead grandmother’s favourite; the star-shaped Astraea that held its lovely head so high above the water the flowers could be seen from quite a distance. Even the low stone wall topped by tall wrought-iron railings was a living glory with bridal white bougainvillea in foaming extravagance vying with the lagoon’s glorious lilies. They set off happily in Aunt Lisa’s car, feeling not a shadow of concern, when one of the town’s characters, named Snowy, and quite a drinker, claimed to have spotted a “saltie” at the far end of the lagoon a few weeks back. “Watch out for that fella now,” Snowy had warned in the pub, brandishing his schooner aloft. “Plenty big enough. Round six metres, I reckon.” That had raised a few laughs. Most people thought what Snowy had seen was a thick forward floating log, although his claim was checked out as a matter of course. This was crocodile country after all. Anywhere north of the Tropic of Capricorn was. People lived with their crocodiles. The trick was never to venture into a crocodile’s territory. Australia’s salt-water crocodile was one of the largest reptiles in the world. Crocs would take anything that strayed too near the water—humans, cattle, even big buffaloes, horses, dogs; anything in the water, turtles being a delicacy. Only a crocodile had never been sighted in Paradise Lagoon for more than a decade. Back then a young Japanese tourist who’d had far too much to drink had decided on a midnight swim despite the warning signs in several languages, including Japanese, and his equally intoxicated mate shouting at him not to be a fool. The mate had got it right. A crocodile had been lying in wait for just such a heaven-sent opportunity. It had snaffled up the hapless young man, subjecting him to the death roll before stashing him away at the bottom of the lagoon until such time as it was ready to feast. That tragic event had horrified the town. The crocodile, although a protected species, had been shot dead and the lagoon trawled in case it had had a mate. No mate had been found. The town breathed a huge collective sigh of relief. Everyone knew the Wet was breeding time. The female crocodile, much smaller than the male, laid her eggs, some 40 to 60, along the banks of rivers, billabongs and lagoons. No human or animal had been taken in the intervening years and no nests spotted anywhere amid the density of the aquatic reeds and grasses. Still, there was perpetual vigilance. Crocs had been known to come with surprising speed across land in search of more congenial lagoons. The town loved its parkland but no one swam in the lagoon. That was strictly forbidden. No local was that much of a fool anyway. Most people had swimming pools. Paradise Lagoon was a favourite picnicking spot. There was a special playground for the little ones and excellent barbeque areas with dining rotundas adjacent for family occasions. Bicycle paths. Walking paths. Children under the age of twelve who entered the parkland had to be under the supervision of an adult, though the danger of going near the water was drummed into children as toddlers. Even little kids heeded the message. Crocodiles were not friendly. Crocodiles ate people. Not a problem for them. They were with Aunt Lisa. So there was Lisa, baby Ella, herself and her best friend, Tulip, both of them nine years old, in the same class at school. Up until that day she had enjoyed an idyllic childhood, the privileged and adored only child of Lyle and Allegra Templeton. The Templetons were the richest family in the entire North. Her grandfather, Leo Templeton, had as a young man inherited a pastoral fortune worth millions. Leo’s father and his father before him had built up the Templeton fortune with sheep and cattle; Leo Templeton had taken it to new heights as a result of his own Midas touch and clever diversification. The family now controlled multiple enterprises, all of them highly successful. Her parents were the town’s most popular young couple. She, as her grandfather always claimed, was the jewel in the Templeton crown. “Not a girl alive who can touch you!” Of course he was biased in the extreme. But she was liked by everyone and she felt she would have been even if her name hadn’t been Templeton. They picnicked on the delicious food Aunt Lisa had packed into her state-of-the-art picnic basket—little chicken and mushroom pies, scotch eggs, ham quiche or sandwiches, washed down with cold sparkling apple juice followed by some lovely, fudgy brownies if they had room. They did. Baby Ella, eighteen months old, sat happily in her stroller, staring adoringly at her mother with her radiant blue eyes. Afterwards Clio and Tulip lay back on the grass, eyes closed, talking about all the things nine year old girls talked about—school friends, movies, pop idols, the new bike Tulip had graduated to, her ballet lessons. Aunt Lisa casually read a book, Ella gurgled her pleasure in the beautiful day. Before they returned home they took a leisurely walk around the park, admiring the brilliantly plumaged parrots and lorikeets that thronged the trees. At one point Aunt Lisa’s mobile rang. She and Tulip continued on walking while Aunt Lisa turned away to answer her phone. That’s when it happened. The stroller with a plump, wriggling toddler in it moved slowly but very worryingly off the path. Without its brake applied, it began a slow downward slide over the grass, picking up speed so its progress eventually turned into a freewheeling hurtle. A tree or a shrub might have stopped its progress, but there were none in the way. The slope was not significant yet the stroller with Ella in it was taking a dead straight path to the water, covering the not-inconsiderable distance to the lagoon in heart-shaking seconds, before plunging into the deep emerald depths and disappearing out of sight. Aunt Lisa, turning back in alarm, dropped her mobile, screaming her unspeakable terror. Some residents said afterwards they heard her screams half a mile away. Tulip, heart in her mouth, fainted, her slight body swooping to the grass. Clio stood paralysed, knowing when her limbs unlocked she would have to take a header into the lagoon to save Ella. She was a good swimmer, but like everyone else she had never ventured into the lagoon, said to be fathomless at the centre. But this was a life-and-death situation. She gathered herself, mumbling a prayer, only at that precise moment, out of nowhere, a tall, athletic boy with a thick shock of hair that glinted gold in the sun suddenly materialized. He was moving as fleetly as a young lion loping down the grassy slope before diving so cleanly into the lagoon scarcely a ripple broke the surface. People were charging across the reserve now, not quite knowing what was happening but ready to offer any help that was needed. No one was ever free of the fear of crocodiles. Everyone knew Aunt Lisa. She was a Templeton after all. Everyone knew about adorable Baby Ella. But where was Ella? They had the answer in moments. A roar of relief split the air as Josh’s golden head, dripping water and green gunk, broke the glassy surface. He had one arm firmly wrapped around Ella. Thank you, thank you, thank you, God. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Josh. It was her turn now to race down the slope. She was fully prepared to dive in to help Josh, only he shouted at her fiercely to stay back that mortified tears sprang to her eyes. A woman, an off-duty nurse, took charge of Ella, checking her before putting her into her frantic mother’s arms. Next the nurse attended to Tulip, who had come round. She was sitting up, but was ghastly pale. Two strong men were on hand to pull Joshua out of the water, though his expression registered he was fully capable of getting out himself. That was the moment an elderly woman screamed and they all became aware a terrible weapon of destruction was coming at speed from the far end of the lagoon, its infamous notches of eyes and nostrils just visible above the waterline. The crocodile was nowhere as big as Snowy had claimed, probably a female, but it could have taken boy and little girl with no trouble at all. Josh Hart fell back panting onto the grass, golden arms and legs spread-eagled. She had never in her life spoken more than two words to him but Clio found herself dropping onto the grass beside him. “Did you know the croc was there?” she asked, not daring to touch his tanned, outflung arm. His fine nostrils flared. “Don’t be stupid, little girl.” He turned his golden-blond head to stare at her, blue eyes ablaze. “There are always crocs around. Snowy did warn you complacent idiots,” he added, adult-like scathing judgement plain on his beautiful, utterly superior face. He might try all he liked to be wicked. She knew he would never pull it off with her. “But the council men checked,” she offered in protest. When had they checked? “Well, they got it wrong, didn’t they?” His brilliant eyes burned into her. “It’s my little cousin, Ella, you saved.” “I know.” His answer was short and dismissive. She flushed at the hostility he gave off in waves. Did he hate her? “You’re Clio Templeton, aren’t you?” he said unexpectedly. “The town’s little sweetheart, its princess.” His sarcastic tone was no proof against her eternal gratitude. “And you’re a hero,” she said simply. Then, greatly daring, she bent to kiss his cheek. “I’ll never forget what you did today, Josh Hart.” A look of intense wariness and some other emotion she couldn’t quite catch came into his dazzling blue eyes. “Yes, you will.” “Never!” She stood up, nine years old, long slender legs, tall for her age, her gleaming sable hair cascading down her back, admiration in her huge dark eyes. “I know a lot of things they say about you are true, Josh Hart, but you’re brave. I’m proud to know you.” He laughed, such a strange laugh. “Hush now, princess,” he said, and one-armed himself to his feet. “They’re calling for you.” Afterwards Clio felt as though lightning had been crackling all around them. She was destined to feel it every time she laid eyes on him. CHAPTER ONE WHEN did falling in love begin? Josh pondered as he drove through the starry night. When one was thirteen years old and a beautiful little girl with long gypsy dark hair and huge lustrous dark eyes bent down to kiss his cheek? When he’d had to swallow painfully hard against a great welling spring of barely remembered emotion? When he’d caught a dazzling glimpse of happiness, a meaning, and a purpose in life? No one outside his tragic mother had ever kissed him or moved his heart. But Clio Templeton had pulled him out of his deep emotional void that unforgettable day. In a way it had transformed him. Made up for a lot of the deprivation he had suffered. Only nine years old but little Clio Templeton had penetrated a shield so thick and strong he had thought no one could get through it. That was until she’d put her rosebud mouth very gently to his water-slicked cheek. Clio Templeton, the only person in the world to make a breakthrough in the harrowing years since his mother had left him. He didn’t believe to this day his mother had overdosed deliberately. She had loved him. And he had loved her. They had been two against the world. He had no idea who his father was, a callous man at any rate. Maybe he could go the same way. He had to physically resemble the man who had fathered him, because his mother, Carol, had been dark haired, hazel eyed and petite of stature. Whoever his biological father had been, his mother had never revealed his name. And this was the man who had destroyed her dreams, then her life, leaving him a desolate orphan. So that was his history. His mother had died. He had been left alive with all chance of normal life slipped away. He had been left to cope with life from age five. Total incomprehension. Grief. Loneliness. Extreme isolation. They had even renamed him, picking someone from the Bible. His given name had sounded too foreign. With the years came the terrible anger. He had seethed with it. Not burying it deep. It had all been there on show. As he had grown, his body had become solid muscle. He had eventually shot up to six-three. A formidable height. A formidable body. Back then he might have been a young lion escaped from the zoo. So that was God’s great plan for him, was it? he had reasoned. A probable life in prison? He no longer believed in a God. Why would he? Shunted from one home to another, juvenile detention, he had seen it all, some of it much too shocking to speak of. He’d had to rise above his past, every rotten episode. But the monumental effort had made him depressingly hard, separating him from other people. No chinks in his armour. He knew a lot of the good people in the town backed off him. They didn’t have the understanding to realize what he’d been through. Probably wouldn’t believe it anyway. They after all had led charmed lives. The tropical town of Templeton was as physically beautiful and prosperous as anywhere in the Promised Land. By the time he arrived at the Templeton mansion, the cul-de-sac that fronted the estate and the sweeping driveway was parked with luxury cars, the most expensive of them all belonging to Jimmy Crowley. Hell, Crowley was only a year older than he was. The car would have suited rich Granddaddy Crowley better, the old scoundrel, raw, ugly, powerful, but Jimmy was struggling to get across that he too could also become a man of substance. He had to be because Jimmy, along with his family, had convinced themselves Clio Templeton was Jimmy’s. Who else could it be but the most beautiful girl in the world? God knew, Josh didn’t disagree with that. When he climbed out of his metallic grey Porsche, the scented summer air wrapped around him—frangipani, oleander, gardenia, the rich white ginger blossom and the king jasmine. He found himself gasping with the sheer pleasure of taking in the mingled fragrances. Just about every beautiful tropical flower and plant was represented in the gardens. There was no shortage of space. The Templeton mansion occupied twenty acres of prime real estate even the Templetons would be hard pressed to buy these days. The splendour of the gardens was known state wide. They were opened to the public from time to time. Leo’s mother had had constructed a huge eight-acre manmade fresh-water lake—no crocs to cause concern—with an amazing waterfall spilling over extraordinary big boulders that had been found in the area or brought in. The water supply came from a dam sited well away from the house. No one looking at the lake would ever know it was artificial. The verges were surrounded by luxuriant natural grasses and bullrushes, huge stands of the pure white arum lily, Japanese water iris and groves of tree ferns. The lake was a focal point for the magnificent grounds. He looked towards the house. The scale of the place over the years had become little short of heroic. There was a certain absurdity to that, seeing that these days only two people, Leo and his granddaughter, lived there. Leo’s wife, Margaret, had died ten or more years back. The long-time housekeeper, Meg Palmer, and her husband, Tom, Leo’s man Friday, had their own very comfortable and private bungalow in the grounds. The mansion lit up was a sight to take the breath away—vast, white, tropical colonial style with touches of South East Asia that were evident in the fine timber fretwork that was featured throughout the grand residence. The festive season was coming on. Leo liked to entertain. In no time it would be Christmas, with the Templeton big annual Christmas Eve party, not that Christmas meant anything to Josh. He had no one. There had been women in his life, of course. Sex eased many tensions but real emotion evaded him. There was no woman he had wanted to allow into his daily life; no one could thaw his heart or navigate his quiet but perilous moods. Sometimes he thought he had no choice but to remain forever a loner. He knew it could happen. One hundred of the town’s richest and most influential citizens had been invited to tonight’s party. It was to raise more funds for neonatal equipment, which didn’t come cheap. The Templetons had actually put up most of the money for the town’s highly accredited hospital. Guests were naturally expected to plunge their hands deep into their pockets. The usual sumptuous buffet would be provided. Leo had insisted he come, though he would have refused had it been anyone else, with the only exception the exquisite Clio. Not that Clio would have invited him. He and Clio were to stay a safe distance from one another. He had got the message early. Clio was the princess. He was the pauper. Consequently they had not been allowed to grow in any way closer, though he often saw her when he visited Leo. His visits were not so frequent these days. He had reached the point early in life when he was already a millionaire a satisfying number of times over. These days he was the property man. Real estate made fortunes more than anything else short of mining and he had interests in that. The North had been enjoying a tremendous building boom. He had made the most of it, buying up broken-down properties, putting up lucrative apartments, office blocks and a new shopping mall. Leo had financed him at the beginning. He had paid Leo back with interest. Leo Templeton had made a better life possible for him. He was acutely aware how much he owed Leo, who had stepped in after the “baby Ella” incident to take on a trusteeship, a milder form of guardianship, of him. But Leo’s granddaughter was too rare a creature to be tainted by his squalid past. Whatever residual feeling remained from that day years ago, both hid it so deep it might never be allowed to surface. Clio had lived with her grandfather since Lyle Templeton, Clio’s father, had remarried a few years back. Clio’s mother had been killed in a yachting catastrophe when two yachts had collided at sea. Clio had been seventeen at the time, devastated by her loss and the bizarre way it had happened. They had been as close as mother and daughter could be. There was no rapport whatever with the second Mrs. Templeton. Keeley Templeton was many years younger than Lyle, no great beauty like Clio’s mother Allegra, with her aristocratic Italian background, but she had turned herself into a glamour girl with an endless flow of small talk that was good for such functions. Inside the mansion, the entrance hall, big enough to park several cars, was filled with people who had gone through the receiving formalities and were making their way into the reception rooms. Josh was one of the last to arrive, just as he planned. Leo, still a fine, handsome man but looking frailer every time he saw him, was standing with his beautiful granddaughter, receiving their guests as they arrived. How easy it was to see Clio had been born to wealth and privilege and a mix of only the best genes. Her mother had been a member of a patrician Florentine family. Lyle Templeton had met Allegra when he had been visiting Italy as part of his Grand Tour. Their meeting place, the iconic Uffizi, where both of them had been contemplating Botticelli’s “The Birth of Venus”. Allegra at that time had been a very promising art student and a highly cultured young woman. She had spoken English. He’d had no Italian but they had fallen madly in love. On sight. The classic coup de foudre. Scarred as he was within, Josh knew that could happen. The sight of Clio Templeton even as a nine-year-old was graven into his mind. “Good to see you, Josh!” Leo beamed as the two men shook hands. Leo’s pleasure was so obvious that quite a few people stopped in the middle of their conversations to wonder why the patrician Leo Templeton had taken this tall, stunningly handsome but definitely edgy young man under his wing. He might have been a gatecrasher such was their disapproval, albeit carefully hidden. No one dared to put that disapproval on plain view. No one wished to offend Leo, of course. No one wanted to offend the likes of Josh Hart. Now they were facing each other. “Good evening, Josh.” Clio addressed him in her charming voice. “How are you, Clio?” His eyes consumed her. That was the best part of his blue eyes. They burned, or so he’d been told, but they gave away no hint of his inner emotions. That’s what made him a brilliant poker player. “I’m very well, thank you.” She tilted her lovely oval face up to him. She had beautifully marked eyebrows, her dark eyes huge. She looked exquisite, the ideal model for a fine painting. He had learned from Leo that her mother had called her Clio after the subject of one of Allegra’s favourite paintings, Vermeer’s The Allegory of Painting depicting the Muse of History, Clio. With that in mind he had actually taken a side trip from Rome to Vienna to check out the painting in the museum where it was held. All in all he had spent a lot of time in art museums at home and abroad. He had made it his business to educate himself way beyond his Law-Commerce Degree, which Leo had made possible, cramming so much into a few short years, vast amounts of learning and knowledge. It amused him that he was something of a natural scholar. But the beautiful Clio was to be no part of his life. He was excluded from the Templeton ranks. Tonight she was wearing a long satin dress in a colour that beggared description. It was neither green nor gold but a blend of the two. The plaited straps that held the bodice were knotted over her collarbone. There was another knot beneath the discreetly plunging neckline; a wide black sash showed off her narrow waist. Her wonderful sable hair was arranged with the classic centre parting and drawn back from her honey-skinned face into intricate loops. Three-tiered pendant earrings swung from her ears. He thought the stones were citrine, mandarin garnet and amethyst, probably Bulgari. She looked ravishing, a sheen all over her. Did the excitement in her presence ever go away? He wanted no other woman but her. The one woman he couldn’t have. He had only just moved from the receiving line into the living room that was so richly and elegantly furnished it could have featured in Architectural Digest when Keeley Templeton broke away from her group to come towards him with a show of enthusiasm that put him right on edge. “Josh!” Her smile held the usual sexual come-on. “This is a surprise!” She laughed, going so far as to attempt to draw him into a hug, only he took her hand, holding it down firmly to her side. “I don’t think so, Keeley.” There was a warning grate in his voice. “Your husband is over there. He mightn’t like it.” “Probably not,” she sighed. “But you do look wonderful, Josh. I’ve never seen a man look better in a dinner jacket. Terrific line and cut, and I especially love white dinner jackets in the summer.” “And you look quite exceptionally dolled up,” he remarked very dryly, his eyes a startlingly blue in the golden tan of his face. “Don’t you like it?” She looked down at herself, then made a little face. She was wearing a short, strapless red dress sewn with crystals all over the bodice. It had cost the earth, and it showed off her legs, which were good. “Why don’t you come join us?” she invited, glancing back to where her husband and a group of friends were in conversation. “You must want a drink.” Josh looked over her bright chestnut head with its fashionable blonde streaks, taking note of the people in the room. Many an overt stare shifted immediately when he focused on them. He knew he had a jittery effect on a lot of people. “Why is that?” he asked. “Why must I want a drink?” Keeley gave a playful moan. Josh Hart fascinated her. She knew for a fact he fascinated every woman in town. The guy was drop-dead sexy and incredibly handsome, though strange to say he appeared uncaring about it. “I guess that’s what I love about you, Josh.” She knew her near-uncontrollable lust for him was leaving her wide open to trouble. “You’re so difficult.” “You’re sure you don’t mean I don’t play games, Keeley?” He was getting ready to walk away from her. He knew Keeley was attracted to him. Big time. She wasn’t doing terribly well at hiding it. He knew perfectly well people had affairs in the town; quite a few here tonight, even standing in the same group as if they were all good pals. The hypocrisy of it all! Keeley was married, and to Clio’s father, who was a fine-looking man, if a real snob. That alone should have given her pause and made her behave. Probably she’d already had a drink or two. Lyle Templeton was, in fact, watching their exchange with an eagled-eyed intensity just short of a glare, his tanned cheeks turning red at what could have been construed as a public humiliation. “God, I wish you would,” Keeley leaned closer towards him, helpless beneath the force of attraction he exuded. “Unless you want me to stomp hard on your pretty toes, you’d better walk away, Keeley,” he warned. No use playing the gentleman with Keeley. “I definitely don’t want trouble.” “As if you couldn’t handle it!” She gave him a conspiratorial wink, a little unsteady on her expensive red and black stilettos. Reluctantly he put a steadying hand to her elbow. “Walk away now, Keeley.” “Why, when I find it so much more exciting talking to you? Why don’t you like me, Josh?” she crooned, her expression utterly exposed. “Is it because people are watching?” “Don’t be such a fool,” he bit out, the muscles along his sculpted jaw clenching. This wasn’t a staged performance. Keeley really did find him thrilling, God help her. Across the room Clio saw Josh’s blue eyes start to smoulder and burn. She knew he had long since learned how to withhold any powerful bouts of anger but she could see he was turning edgy. It was there in his frozen stance, the rigid set of his chiselled jaw. She was something of an expert on Josh’s body language. Even the squaring of his wide shoulders was ominous. Keeley was being sickeningly indiscreet, making a fool of her father. Soon everyone would know how infatuated she was with Josh. That presented a whole raft of complications. The attraction concerned her greatly, though she understood Josh’s magnetic pull. With Keeley’s short scarlet dress and her palpable air of excitement, she gave the impression she was about to explode. Since Keeley had married her father she had started to dress up to the nines. In some ways she had become a different person, assuming a softer, more polished appearance. Clio realized with a shiver of apprehension there was the potential for disaster here. Keeley was two people. The first, her father’s wife; the other, a woman, Clio suspected, who had a largely unfulfilled sexual appetite. And that appetite was for Josh. Keeley had chosen her father for his money and the position it afforded her. The marriage wasn’t working out. Should anyone be surprised? Only Clio and her grandfather knew Keeley had claimed to have fallen pregnant before the marriage. Unintentionally, of course. Her grandfather had urged a DNA test, proving paternity. Her father wanted no part of that. The child was his. He would take full responsibility. Only the child turned out to be either a secret miscarriage or a phantom pregnancy. Keeley Bradley had been no inexperienced young woman. She had been in her late twenties at the time of the marriage, a trail of lovers behind her. After her mother had drowned, her father, hitherto so happy, had turned into a sad, solitary man, who would forever mourn the loss of his wife. He had broken down at the funeral, sobbing out his wish to have drowned with her. But here had been a man of forty-five, in the prime of life. After a decent period of time, he had been advised by everyone who cared for him to try to move on. Allegra was gone. He had the rest of his life to live out. His response? “Move on? I don’t know what that means, Clio. I’m lost in limbo with little hope of getting out.” Much as her father loved her, Clio knew she was no replacement for her mother. No one was. Ironically Keeley Bradley had entered their lives at her father’s 50th birthday party, given by Leo for a small group of family and close friends. Keeley had gained entry by virtue of partnering Clio’s playboy cousin, Peter, when his previous date had had to cancel with a migraine. Keeley was a very provocative young woman and she had looked on serious wealth for the first time. She had gone after Lyle with the full force of her sexuality. Her father in the end was only human. Women could and did use sex as a weapon. Keeley had brought her father down. Her movements so flowing they hid all sense of urgency, Clio skirted various groups with a smile and a few words, arriving at Josh’s side within seconds. She placed her hand on the sleeve of his white dinner jacket, feeling the hard musculature beneath the cloth. “Excuse me, won’t you?” She glanced at her stepmother, who stared back at her with a battery of expressions, dislike predominating. “I wonder if I could speak to you for a moment, Josh?” He felt a certain degree of contempt for himself as sensations crashed around inside his chest. She had only put her hand on his arm yet it had much the same effect as a charge of electricity. Apart from the kiss on his cheek he had received from her a lifetime ago, this was the first time she had actually touched him, albeit through his dinner jacket. You’re one pathetic guy! Yet his response couldn’t have emerged from a smoother or more in-control mouth. “Why, of course.” He knew Clio did everything graciously, but he saw her sudden appearance for what it was. Diplomatic intervention. Clio had the art of creating a serene atmosphere in her grandfather’s mansion. And she was nobody’s fool. She had very accurately deduced how he was feeling, how her stepmother was looking for a bit of dangerous sex on the side. Apparently he qualified. It was Clio’s job to keep watch. She led him through one of the sets of doors into the cooling, star-studded night. The French doors opened out onto a wide covered verandah with a polished teak floor. Beyond that, the broad floodlit terrace with acres and acres of magnificent tropical gardens before them were also illuminated. The rhythmic splash of the waterfall into the lake carried clearly on the night air. A caressing breeze blew, bringing with it the intoxicating scent of gardenias. As Clio moved she signalled one of the young uniformed waiters who brought out champagne on a silver tray to them. “Have one, please, Josh,” she said, as far away from him as the stars in the sky. “I don’t suppose it’s your drink of choice?” He removed a frosted flute from the tray, passed it to her, felt the shock waves all over again as her fingers fleetingly touched his. “Drink of choice? There’s not much I don’t like in the way of alcohol, Clio, except maybe rum. Red wine I very much like. Champagne, especially when it’s French, like now,” he commented dryly, on the Bollinger. “It’s the only white wine I really like. I’m not one of the Chardonnay set.” “Good. Neither am I. So drink it.” “Yes, my lady.” “Don’t do that, Josh,” she begged. No one could call Josh an easy person. He had such an edge. “Well, you are far, far above me, aren’t you?” he said with a faint taunt, thinking he was living proof that a strong man could be held in thrall by a woman. She gave him a long look out of her lustrous dark eyes. “You’ve come a long way since you were a boy, Josh. False modesty must sound ridiculous even to yourself. My grandfather thinks the world of you. He gets prouder and prouder every day. You’re a big success story, Josh. You’re the sort of grandson Leo wanted but never got.” “He got someone far better. He got you.” She shrugged her bare shoulders. Her skin was a lovely even honey gold, showing her Italian heritage. “He loves me as I love him. But I’m a woman. Men like my grandfather needed sons, grandsons. Leo believes men are unquestionably the natural-born leaders. Sons take over and carry on the family businesses. They build on already amassed fortunes.” “There are plenty of brilliant businesswomen,” Josh freely acknowledged. “I’ve met a few over the last couple of years, as sharp as tacks.” “You’re a different breed, Josh,” she sighed. “And you’re young.” Josh was only twenty-eight, though he appeared older he had such presence. “So what are you saying here, Clio? You have issues?” “Of course I do,” she said. “But you’re an associate in Templeton & Company. One day you’ll make full partner.” “And be assured of a sizzling career? I don’t think so. Much as my grandfather and my father love me, they want to keep me away from all unpleasantness, as if I’m a little girl. I handle the genteel side of business. Wills, conveyancing, minor disputes, that sort of thing.” He knew it was true. “Still, I understand their motivation. In a way. You’re very precious to them. Jimmy is not up to the mark?” “Jimmy tries. He’s a very different person from his father,” she said, taking a sip of champagne as though she needed a pause. “So Vince Crowley is the pick of the bunch? How bright is that? Second rate?” “You’re not an avid fan of the Crowleys?” He looked intently into her beautiful face. “And you are? You’d need at least a category-five cyclone to put wind beneath Jimmy’s sails.” “I suppose.” She had to laugh. “And all the Crowleys think Leo’s beautiful granddaughter is within reach.” His loathing of the very idea momentarily got the better of him. “Wishful thinking, I’d say. You’re taking a quantum leap, aren’t you, Josh? Our rules of engagement have hitherto prohibited much in the way of personal remarks.” “Your decision, wasn’t it?” he answered sardonically. “Did it seem like that to you?” It hadn’t been her decision at all. Her father only a few years back had gone so far as to forbid her to get anywhere near Josh Hart. He’s a very damaged young man. And dangerous. I’ve read his case file. It was on Dad’s desk. Did you know he beat one of his minders to a pulp? He probably deserved it, she had said at the time. That hadn’t gone down well with her father, who seemed truly fearful of any connection between her and Josh. It was bad enough for her father that Leo had become Josh’s mentor. Clio suspected her father, whether he realized it or not, was jealous of Leo’s affection and high regard for that problematic young man. “Well?” she repeated, “did it seem like that to you?” “Very much so.” Josh’s eyes seemed fixed on a distance far beyond the present. “That’s how screwed up our lives have been,” she sighed. He stared at her, the master of deadpan, yet he felt consternation underneath. “Am I supposed to make a comment on that?” “Why not? You’re allowed to. Your early life was hard, Josh, I could never know how hard, but these days as a highly successful businessman you’ve gained a reputation for honesty and integrity. You always were smarter than the rest of us,” she added drolly. “You learn a lot of skills in juvenile detention,” he told her very bluntly. “How to beat someone up?” His blue eyes were like missiles programmed to make a direct hit. “Now why aren’t I shocked? You’ve been reading my files, Clio.” “No, no!” Rapidly she shook her head. Not that she hadn’t wanted to. “That would be a massive infringement of privacy. Leo definitely wouldn’t have approved.” “So who was it, your dad? Your father would love me to disappear overnight. Why is that, do you suppose?” he asked, knowing the answer full well. “General over-protectiveness. Even when you know someone loves you, you don’t want them to watch your every move. Dad hated it when I moved out. But I couldn’t live with Keeley. I dislike her intensely and the feeling is mutual. As for Dad, he thinks there’s a worrying connection between the two of us. A bond that was forged years ago.” “Wasn’t it?” he asked, without missing a beat. “I was your hero for a day.” She waited for a moment, not even certain what to say. From that day on Josh had found a place in her heart and mind. “What I thought of you hasn’t changed, Josh. You cover up what you feel. I cover up what I feel. It’s safer that way.” “For whom, exactly?” he asked flatly. “Your family, the entire community. I’m still the bad boy in town. That won’t change.” “It won’t if you don’t let it.” “Get real, Clio!” he scoffed. “Anyway, I’m in no rush to reassure people I don’t have any respect for or interest in. Maybe you can tell me why Jimmy Crowley always looks like the cat that’s got the cream?” “Sheer bravado!” she said. “Poor Jimmy has grown up terrified of his grandfather and his father.” “At least he shows some smarts. Old Paddy is an out-and-out villain.” Josh voiced his contempt. “As for Vince, he’s Mr Nice Guy in public—just look at the way he’s acting back there in the house. All buffed up, big white smile, dense hair, rocking back on his evening shoes, the extravagant bonhomie! I’m certain he’s a very different character at home. Susan Crowley with all the forced smiles. Poor woman can’t open her mouth without his consent.” “Tell me about it,” she said, hesitating a moment. “I haven’t spoken to anyone about this, but Susan has approached me to represent her in a divorce action.” Josh snapped to full attention “What? How can you do that, Clio? Vince is a full partner in the law firm. You’re an associate. Major conflict of interest surely?” “I’m thinking of going out on my own.” His broad forehead knotted. “You’re serious?” “About time,” she said briefly. “I’m only an ornament where I am.” He couldn’t argue with that. “And you’ve discussed this with Leo?” She couldn’t have. Everyone in the town knew Leo had his beautiful granddaughter on a pedestal. Untouchable. Far from harm’s way. “No.” She faced him directly. The exterior lights gilded her flawless skin and added lustre to the fabric of her lovely gown. ‘You’re the first to know. I’m discussing it with you because I trust you, because you’ve seen so much of life, so much cruelty both hidden and on show, you would know where I’m coming from. I suspect Susan Crowley has endured hell.” “I believe you.” Josh jammed his hands in his trouser pockets so he couldn’t reach for her. All his feelings for her, deep and romantic as they were, had to be kept under wraps. “What I don’t get is she has a son to defend her. What sort of a gutless wonder is he? No one would have hurt my mother with me there.” Clio shook her head. “I’m sure he doesn’t physically abuse her.” “You can’t know that. But I suppose he’s not that stupid,” Josh gritted out. “There are all kinds of abuse. Susan Crowley’s kind would probably be mental and emotional abuse. Crowley is one of those men who have to have total sway over the women in their lives.” “Exactly.” Josh lowered his resonant voice. “Leo will never agree,” he warned her. “Would that I were a grandson!” Clio raised her slender hands, palms up. A gesture of frustration. “I’m just so happy you’re not!” The words sprang from his mouth. She turned to stare at him out of her lustrous dark eyes. “Do you mean that, Josh, or was that the sort of answer men come up with?” He shrugged. “Make what you will of it.” “Now, don’t get angry with me, Josh.” She surrendered to her own sublimated longings. She touched his arm as if in conciliation. “Please don’t equate me with other guys you know, Clio,” he said, staring down at her elegant, long-fingered hand. “You’re a beautiful, clever woman, a smart, skilful lawyer. You’re the one with the empty words. You wouldn’t want to be a man.” “Of course I don’t,” she admitted, removing her hand. “I’m only pointing out that in my family it would make things so much easier if I were. Both Leo and Dad were against me studying law. An arts degree would have done nicely. It’s okay for you, Leo’s brilliant prot?g?e. Not all that suitable for Leo’s clever granddaughter. It’s no secret I don’t need to work. I could devote myself to charitable work and good deeds. The only trouble is I want and need to use my brain. I need to make my own money, live my own life. Find personal fulfilment.” “You won’t find it with Jimmy Crowley.” The heat and energy level between them was rising. To an onlooker, and there were plenty, they were a study in contrasts: Clio, a beautiful young woman with her warm Mediterranean colouring; Josh, the very picture of the classic blue-eyed blond alpha man. “Don’t push it, Josh,” Clio said. It was her turn to warn him. “I apologise. You could leave town,” he suggested, his blue eyes trained on her. She threw up her dark head so impetuously her pendant earrings danced, flashing lights across her cheeks. “Do you honestly think I haven’t thought about it? I used to all the time. But I can’t leave Leo right now. He’s been diagnosed with a heart condition. You know about that?” “I do,” Josh confirmed. “Leo has told me about his heart condition. Not serious, he said. As a matter of fact, being Leo, he laughed if off as if he was going to live for ever.” “My mother’s life came to an end when she was only forty-one,” Clio offered in a soft, melancholy voice. “I’ll never come to terms with it. I adored my mother. No one could ever take her place. In that way I’m exactly like Dad.” “At least you had her that long.” Josh was battling his own fume of emotions, not the least of it his dangerous desire for a fascinating but unobtainable woman. She could feel the hot flush that mounted to her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Josh. That was really insensitive. I wasn’t thinking for a moment. I know what a rotten time you’ve had.” “The fact is you don’t, Clio,” he corrected her tersely, “and I’m not about to tell you.” They were surrounded by people laughing, talking, light classical music being piped through the house, but they might have been quite alone on a desert island. Josh looked out over the magnificent illuminated tropical gardens. “Your world has been safe. My world was damned scary—sinister might be a better word.” She studied the handsome profile presented to her. He was almost painfully handsome. “You would never dream of sharing your experiences with someone who wanted only to help you?” she asked gently, though she knew it might be folly. “Are we talking professional help here, Clio?” He swung his gleaming gold head back to her, gazing down his perfectly straight nose. “I had all that. One shrink called me a master manipulator. I think I was about ten at the time. Anyway, let’s get off me,” he said edgily. “You don’t want me to get to know you, Josh?” she dared ask. Was he any different from the boy who had ordered her so harshly to go away? “Clio, there are things about me I don’t wish you to hear. All right?” Of a sudden she realized that for Josh that might qualify as an appeal. She held up her hands in surrender. “I get the message. Let’s get back to me and my world. Dad is desperately unhappy. He should never have married Keeley. They have nothing in common. Not that any woman wouldn’t have had a battle as the second Mrs Templeton. So you tell me, Josh. Should I turn my back on my family when they need me and go forge another life for myself maybe thousands of miles away, like Sydney or Melbourne? I have my great-aunts and many contacts there.” “So you’re stuck for the time being,” he conceded. Leo and her father weren’t the only ones who couldn’t bear to lose sight and sound of her. “Why doesn’t your father divorce Keeley? He must know she only married him for his money.” “Dad doesn’t believe in divorce.” She felt racked by pity. “He thinks it’s better to live with a woman who doesn’t love him?” Josh asked, never in any danger of being attracted to the over-sexed Keeley with the practised throaty laugh. “That’s a character flaw he can live with?” “Apparently,” Clio admitted with an effort. “I know I’m risking making you angry again, Josh, but …” Such a glitter came into his eyes. “Then don’t risk it, Clio,” he said. “So you’re going to saddle me with the worry. You don’t want me to say it.” “Are you actually making judgements about my moral responses?” “No, no I’m just thinking about consequences.” “So you’ve appointed yourself watchdog?” He looked incredibly superior. Unyielding. No vulnerability there. “I suppose I should apologize.” “You should,” he said tautly. “Come down off your pedestal, Clio. I wouldn’t take up with your stepmother if she were the last woman on earth.” She felt a wash of remorse. “Only Keeley has taken it into her head there’s some attraction there.” “Really?” His handsome mouth twisted. His blue eyes blazed. She knew she was flirting with danger. He was giving fair warning. Anger was coming off his lean powerful body in waves. “I’m sorry, Josh. I don’t want to have words with you. I must go.” She made to turn away to go back into the house, only to her stupendous shock he spun her around, pulling her to him in one supremely smooth, controlling gesture. “Josh!” Totally thrown off her guard, Clio felt a great coursing of blood through her body. Every sense reeled. His mouth so swiftly and completely took hers it burned up every ounce of resistance. She was flooded with excitement, robbed of all breath, all strength, willpower. Her mouth had a life of its own. It was responding to such a voluptuous invasion as if she had no other choice. Her surrender was total. Truth was, he had captured her to the core of her being. She was gasping when he released her, losing an astonishing sense of the security and rightness she had felt with her body pressed against his. Was it possible she had chosen Joshua Hart above all others all those years ago? “Maybe that will take care of Keeley for you and the rest of your guests,” he bit out, furious with himself for losing it. Only Clio Templeton could have robbed him of his armour. Only Clio had the woman magic to lead him on. That humbling piece of knowledge stuck in his throat. He didn’t want a woman to possess him, to turn him into some sort of a slave. He hated losing the cool order he had imposed on himself and his life. As physically strong as he was, his heart was fluttering in his chest and there was a roaring in his ears. He stood there, aware they had created a rivetting spectacle. It would have taken everyone by surprise, indeed shock. Some of the guests were standing stunned yet Clio, with her beautiful head held high, walked back very calmly into the grand living room and didn’t look back. CHAPTER TWO IT WAS close on a fortnight later before Josh called in on his mentor. Gossip in the town had been rife after the incident with Clio at the gala function. People talked endlessly and breathlessly at dinner parties, in the streets, over back fences. One kiss, it seemed, had created a sensation. All allowances had been made for Clio. He was the one who had overstepped the mark. Big time. Certainly he had acted under compulsion and paid for it. He couldn’t get that kiss out of his mind. The best strategy seemed to him to stay away from the house. Meg Palmer, the housekeeper, greeted him at the door. “Josh!” She embraced him briefly, then let him go. Never pushed it. It saddened her greatly to know Josh Hart as a boy had had little contact with warmth and affection and the gentling effect of a woman’s touch. Meg was a short, sturdy woman of robust good health, with twinkling hazel eyes and a shock of soft iron-grey curls. “How’s business?” She looked him up and down with pleasure. She well remembered how desperately unhappy and out of control Josh had been as a boy. But hadn’t he grown! These days he was a man of achievements. Meg felt as proud of Josh as his mentor, Leo, did. “I do the best I can, Meg.” Josh bestowed on her one of his beautiful white smiles. He rarely smiled, which was a pity, but he had a dry sense of humour. “How’s Leo today?” No rhetorical question. He was waiting on the answer. “Really looking forward to your visit,” she assured him. “He’s in the study, waiting. Feel like a cup of coffee?” “You’ve baked your chocolate brownies?” “I have indeed.” She caught him by the arm. “You and Miss Clio made up yet?” He responded with wry humour, not the cold anger most people would have elicited. “Meg you know damned well Clio and I aren’t at any place where we make up.” “I know nothing of the kind.” Meg searched his eyes. “You’re as good as anyone. Better!” “Ah, Meg,” he groaned. “Not everyone is like you.” “Too true!” Meg laughed to lighten things up. “Trust me, Josh,” she added very gently as he moved off to the study. Meg had heard all the gossip about that sizzling kiss but she had the good sense not to mention it. Josh gave her a backward wave, but didn’t answer. At sixty, Meg still believed in fairy-tales. Approaching his seventh-fifth year, up until fairly recent times Leo Templeton could easily have passed for a man ten years younger. Now there were visible signs of ageing, worsening osteoporosis and general ill health. It hurt Josh to bear witness to Leo’s decline. Leo may have slowed down physically, but nothing was going to slow his brain. Leo turned from looking out through the open French doors that led onto the rose garden to greet his prot?g?e. “Josh, my boy!” “Please don’t get up.” Josh moved towards the regal silver-haired man. He put his hands on the back of Leo’s big swivel armchair, pushing it back in front of his desk. Obviously Leo hadn’t experienced the full heat of the gossip or he had elected to ignore it as a bizarre aberration. His manner was the same as ever. Leo’s study was a huge room, dominated by walls of floor-to-ceiling bookcases containing a vast assortment of literature—law books galore, biographies, histories, great fiction, popular fiction, the best in crime, courtroom dramas, thrillers. You name it, Leo had it in his bookcases. He knew because he had borrowed very many a book. There was a burgundy leather sofa and a pair of matching leather armchairs; a good-sized coffee table where Meg could set out tea, coffee and accompaniments. “Thank you, Josh. I’m so pleased to see you. I’ve been missing our conversations. There was some talk you were out of town?” In truth Leo felt near starved of the stimulation he felt in his prot?g?e’s company. Of course he knew better than anyone of the bond between Clio and Josh but he had long since acted on it. Much as he admired Josh, his chances of ever getting close to his beautiful granddaughter were very slim indeed. Regretfully, he couldn’t countenance Josh Hart as a suitor for all his brilliance. He knew nothing of Josh’s bloodline—the single mother’s drug overdose was bad, father unknown, no history—so he had to be rejected. “Just scouting around,” Josh said, taking his usual armchair facing his mentor. “So what’s in the briefcase?” Leo’s lined face was alight with interest. Josh and his endeavours were keeping him alive. Josh began to unzip the large black case. “I have some plans here for Aquarius.” He named the beautiful tropical island Leo had bought many years before. “We did talk briefly about it some months back, remember?’ Leo nodded. “I had a notion this was coming.” Josh was always brimming with ideas, projects, plans. He was immensely talented and energetic. Just like he himself had once been. Every last one of the young man’s projects for which he, as Josh’s mentor, had laid out a lot of capital had paid off big time. So young to be so successful! So young to make a sizeable fortune! Josh reminded him of himself. He had long since faced the fact his son, Lyle, who stood to inherit, so much didn’t have a head for business. Sometimes it didn’t work out so well for heirs when their forebears were the ones who had made all the money. While Leo ruminated, Josh was busy pulling out maps, blueprints, architectural drawings, floor plans. He set them on the desk. “I think it’s time for a resort complex on the island, Leo. A resort where guests can swim, sail, scuba dive, snorkel in protected waters. I have an architectural sketch here for a marina and yacht club I’d like to show you. People could sail over from the mainland and drop anchor. The other side of the island would house solar water-purification facilities among other things. We could build a splendid villa for the use of the family plus other luxury villas hidden away in the grounds for well-heeled overseas tourists.” “Not a bit ambitious?” Leo questioned, chewing at his bottom lip. “I don’t think so, Leo. Hear me out. I’ve done all the figures, checked out government requirements. But I do need your interest and approval. It’s your island after all. But, as we agreed, it’s just sitting there. If you don’t think it advisable at this time, the project will go on hold. Until you do!” Josh suddenly laughed. Such an attractive sound, Leo thought. Josh had taken a long time to let down his guard. But eventually it had happened. Their minds met. At least their business minds. “Then come round and spread it all out before me.” Leo began to clear papers from his massive mahogany desk, shoving them into a drawer. “You won’t regret this, Leo.” Josh was already on his feet, a number of wound-up rolls in his hands. Driving towards the family home, Lyle Templeton thought it had been years since he’d had a real conversation with his father. He intended to have that conversation tonight. Not that there had been any estrangement as such, but things had been very different after his beloved Allegra’s tragic death. Allegra had been the glue that had held father and son together. Leo had made no effort to hide the fact he disliked and distrusted Keeley right from the beginning. He had been very much against the marriage, openly questioning whether his son was, in fact, the father of Keeley’s mystery baby. Now no one would ever know. Keeley had lost the child. Either she was one of the world’s finest actresses or she had suffered genuine grief. As had he. So he had not only lost a second child, he had lost his beloved Clio. Clio had simply not wanted to stay in the house with Keeley. She had gone to live with Leo, who had welcomed her with wide-open arms. It was as though Allegra had returned. Of late his father’s health had been on the decline. They all saw that. The threat to family had come not from Keeley, who didn’t rate, but from the youngster, Josh Hart. Leo had sponsored the boy’s education, private school through university, doling out huge sums of money to partner the young entrepreneur Hart eventually became. Not that Hart wasn’t brilliant—he hadn’t put a foot wrong—but Lyle truly felt he had been relegated to third place in his father’s life. Josh Hart had his father’s ear, and mind, worse, his heart. Not him. His father didn’t need him any more. He had Josh Hart. And another terrible worry had taken hold. For years hostile to the young man, hostility had increased to a pervading fear. Hart had ambitions to take his beautiful daughter. Hart was dangerous. He always had been. Bad blood. Hart’s Porsche was parked in the drive. He’d been reliably told Hart was looking at some property further north. Lyle would have found out he was back had he rung ahead to say he was coming, but he had wanted his visit to be in the nature of a pleasant surprise. Hart had beaten him to it. Thank God Clio wasn’t at home. One night a month she had dinner with Lisa and the family. Lisa was another one blind to any character flaws in Josh Hart. She thought the world of him. Hart had saved baby Ella’s life. To his surprise Lyle found the front door open. He called, “Hello,” but received no reply. He stood for a few minutes, frowning. He fully expected Mrs Palmer to rush to the entrance, an apology on her lips. She really should have been on hand. He moved further down the hall, becoming aware of raised voices. They were coming from his father’s study. Both voices were recognisable. Something was the matter. He was abruptly furious. Joshua Hart was in the house. The very idea put him on extreme edge. When he arrived outside the open study door, he was shocked to see his father lying flat on the floor, his striped blue and white cotton shirt open. Hart was on his knees, leaning over him, pressing down on Leo’s chest with both hands. Mrs Palmer was standing nearby, her face ashen, her hands clasped as if in prayer. “What the devil is going on here?” Anger engulfed him. He was shouting, he was so perturbed. Losing Allegra had almost sent him stark raving mad, now his father? No one answered him. He may not have been there. “Is Dad having a heart attack?” Belatedly Mrs Palmer found her voice. “I’m so sorry, Mr Lyle. I’ve called the emergency number. Paramedics are on the way.” “So what the hell is Hart doing? Shouldn’t he be leaving my father well alone until they arrive?” “Mr Leo was unconscious,” Meg Palmer explained, feeling acute pity for Lyle. “He wasn’t breathing. Josh has the training. CPR is a lifesaving technique. Think about it, now, Mr Lyle.” Lyle Templeton looked like he wanted to order Josh out of the house. “I’m thinking about what caused it,” Lyle choked. “Did Dad and Hart get into some kind of an argument? What are all those rolls on Dad’s desk? They look like architectural drawings to me. One of Hart’s schemes, trying to involve my father.” “That’s the ambulance now, Meg.” Hart looked up from exhaling breath into Leo’s slack mouth. He ignored Lyle entirely. “I’ll let them in.” “The damned door is open,” Lyle exploded. “I need some explanations here.” He wasn’t about to get one from Josh Hart. Clio took the call on her mobile, even though they had started dinner. It had to be an emergency. It was her father, telling her to return home immediately. “It’s your grandfather,” he said, breaking into a harsh sob. Then he hung up without another word. She made it home in record time, risking being caught for speeding. Leo had been taken ill. That much was certain. She arrived at the mansion just as the ambulance, presumably with Leo on board, turned out onto the road. For one mad moment she considered flagging them down and then thought better of it. Gravel spewed from the tyres as she pulled right to the base of the short fight of steps that led to the house. Her father met her at the door, anger in his voice such as she had never heard before. “Hart is here.” “Yes, I saw his Porsche.” She wasn’t aware Josh was back in town. Josh moved around a lot, scouting out land for future development. There was the possibility too he had wanted to stay clear of all the gossip that had engulfed them. Who could blame him? “Tell me quickly. What’s happened? I almost ran into the ambulance.” Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/margaret-way/australia-s-maverick-millionaire-39899322/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.