A Very Private Revenge. HELEN BROOKS

to bring the mountain to Mohammed,’ she prevaricated quietly, trying a sweeter smile this time. It worked.

      ‘Well, no matter.’ He smiled back, and she had to admit the effect was devastating. The harsh, masculine face mellowed, the ice-grey eyes crinkled and the whiteness of his perfect teeth would have done credit to any toothpaste commercial. And it left her cold. She was determined it would leave her cold. Her rapid heartbeat, the sudden dryness in her mouth, the rush of blood in her veins—it was all to be expected in the circumstances, and was due purely to the increased adrenalin pumping through her system.

      There was a great deal hanging on this meeting, more than Jed Cannon would ever know. She had to get him interested now, she might not get another chance, and she had researched her intended quarry very carefully over the last few months.

      ‘I understand it is the property, rather than the specific area, which is of prime importance?’ Tamar asked steadily, consulting the fat file on her lap before steeling herself to meet those strangely beautiful eyes again. She had seen people with grey eyes before, but never with the mercurial silver tint this man’s had, and his thick black lashes and black eyebrows threw the brilliant gaze into even more prominence, making it quite unnerving.

      ‘Uh-huh.’ Again the faintest trace of an American accent was there—due to his living and working in the States for some years after he left university, the dossier in her brain reminded her.

      Born and educated in England—only the very best of public schools followed by Oxford, of course, for the great Jed Cannon—of an American mother and English father, he had one sibling—a younger sister—who was now his only close relative, his father having died when Jed was at university, and his mother just two years later. The facts were seared on her brain. He had inherited a considerable fortune at the tender age of twenty-four—the same age she was now—and in the ten years since then had gone on to carve out a name for himself in the world of finance, rising through the ranks of lesser mortals with meteor-like swiftness. Of course his money had talked...

      She caught the thought as soon as it formed, a stab of honesty killing it stone-dead. No, that wasn’t fair, and she knew it Fortunes were won and lost all the time in the world in which Jed Cannon lived, and, although his wealth might have given him a safety net in the beginning, it was his own ruthless flair and determination that had made him into a multimillionaire at the age of thirty-four. And if anyone was ruthless, Jed Cannon was...

      ‘And you want absolute privacy, plenty of ground, definitely not a flat or an apartment?’ Tamar continued evenly, moving her head just the slightest, so the red-gold mass of curls which just brushed her shoulders in a gleaming cascade of colour would catch the light.

      She normally wore her hair pulled back in a severe knot for work, or in a high but sedate ponytail if she didn’t have any clients to see—male interest could be distracting and annoying, or even downright dangerous when she was showing prospective buyers round the more isolated properties—but this wasn’t a normal situation. And Jed Cannon definitely wasn’t your average bright-eyed and bushy-tailed man either.

      ‘You have been very thorough, Miss McKinley.’

      You’ll never know. His voice had carried a shadow of wry complacency, and Tamar knew why. He had noticed her movement with the hair, and thought she was out to secure more than just his interest in a property. Which she was. But she knew better than to make it too easy for him.

      He only had to reach out his hand and pick up the telephone, and any number of beautiful, willing females would be panting at the leash. But he was going to have to work hard for the pleasure of her company, if he did but know it.

      ‘Thoroughness is our trademark at Taylor and Taylor, and of course the firm is excellent at procuring what the client wants.’ It was typical soft soap, but he mustn’t even begin to suspect that her research on him resembled a dissertation.

      ‘I’m sure it is.’ Again the note of cynicism was there—he knew, and he knew she knew, that her employers were any one of a number of mediocre estate agents dotted about the London area.

      ‘Perhaps you would like to glance at these three properties first?’ Tamar asked brightly, passing some papers across the desk and making sure their hands didn’t touch in the process.

      He had big hands—capable hands—she thought musingly, keeping her gaze trained on the desk and not on his face as he looked at the first of the folders she had handed to him. Fingernails cut short and immaculately clean, no rings, fingers long and surprisingly artistic...

      She didn’t like where her thoughts were leading, and raised her head abruptly despite her previous decision that he mustn’t think she was ogling him. He probably wasn’t in the slightest bit artistic, she told herself firmly. In fact she would bet her bottom dollar he wasn’t.

      His eyelashes were far too generous for a man—she knew girls who would kill for such thick, long lashes—and the chiselled cheekbones and hard, strong mouth formed an interesting contrast... This time she jerked her eyes away to the file on her lap, pretending to sort through the remaining paperwork as she waited for him to finish, and furious with herself when she found that her hands were trembling.

      ‘I actually like all three.’ He raised his head and looked straight at her as he spoke.

      He was hiding it well, but he was surprised, she thought intuitively—as well he might be. He’d never know what it had cost to get those properties on their books in the last few weeks. For the first time in her life she had employed the sort of strong-arm tactics she despised in others, and she wasn’t proud of it. But needs must, and business was business after all. And she had known exactly what to go for—the months of patient research on Jed Cannon had finally paid off, and in a manner she’d never hoped for. Talk about a gift from the gods...

      ‘That’s good, Mr Cannon.’ She was aware the silver eyes had narrowed at her cool lack of emotion, and allowed the most formal of smiles to brush her lips before she continued, ‘Viewing can be arranged at your convenience, of course.’

      ‘It needs to be soon; I’m already seeing a couple of other places this week,’ he said immediately, standing as he spoke, and moving round the enormous desk to sit on one corner as he handed her the papers. ‘We’ll try the top one first That one has something about it I particularly like.’

      ‘Certainly.’ Her voice wasn’t as crisp as she would have wished it to be, mainly because of the overall height and breadth of him now he was so close, and the way his pose brought the suit trousers tight over fiercely masculine hips. She didn’t like him, she could never be attracted to a loathsome low-life like Jed Cannon, but...he’d got something. Much as she hated to admit it. Call it charisma, male magnetism, sheer old-fashioned pulling power—he had got it

      ‘Tell me a bit about each property and the present owners—advantages and disadvantages, how soon they can move out, that type of thing,’ he said smoothly, watching her as she made some notes in her appointment book. ‘Is there anyone who is locked into a chain, for example?’

      He made no effort to return to the chair behind the desk after she’d handed the property particulars back to him, holding the papers in one hand as he viewed her from his casual stance, his eyes glittering and metallic in the sunlight streaming in through the big plate-glass window at the side of them.

      Don’t gabble, don’t gabble. Tamar forced herself to speak concisely and clearly as she outlined information about each of the houses he had looked at, but she couldn’t do anything about the colour staining her cheeks, much as she would have liked to. Unfortunately the tendency to blush went hand in hand with her red hair, and had been the bane of her life for as long as she could remember. It was useless to tell herself that this intimidating attitude was one he had honed to perfection in the course of his life, that all her data on this man screamed ruthlessness and power obsession, that he was a megalomaniac of the first order.

      She knew it all—in her head—but that didn’t help much when she was face-to-face with the living reality. Nevertheless, she got through her little discourse without disgracing herself, finishing