The Rich Man's Blackmailed Mistress. Robyn Donald

who said, ‘Oh, look, there’s Trina Porteous beckoning us over.’

      Grimly, Kain watched Brent’s new fling walk gracefully across the platform to take her place beside the other contestants competing for the best-dressed award.

      The information his security men had dug up would make Miss Butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-luscious-mouth feel very, very uncomfortable.

      And he’d have no hesitation at all in using it.

      Tiny hairs on the back of Sable’s neck lifted in a primitive reaction to danger. Her hand tightened around the dove-grey bag and her stomach contracted in a fight-or-flee response that startled her. For a moment her smile faltered before she forced herself to breathe slowly and the world righted itself again.

      Until she met an icy scrutiny across the crowd that sent her pulse shooting into warp speed. Kain Gerard—Brent’s cousin. And he knew who she was. A chilly emptiness expanded beneath her ribs.

      Applause from the crowd startled her until she realised that the next contestant had stepped up onto the dais. Relieved, she joined the polite clapping.

      But that level, intimidating gaze remained fixed on her. Her breath locked in her throat. Embarrassed at being singled out by Kain Gerard, she angled her chin upwards in automatic defiance. Brent’s cousin could project silent intimidation until the sun went down, but she wouldn’t allow him to frighten her.

      But that cold gaze made her so uneasy she had to fight a growing tension until the last contestant came onto the stage, a lovely nineteen-year-old blonde who was bound to win the contest with her bright, summery, carefree look.

      Sure enough she did, accepting her prize with a bubbly delight that reinforced the carnival atmosphere.

      ‘Well, we gave it our best,’ the elderly woman who’d designed Sable’s costume told her when the crowd had filtered away to get good places for the last race, the big one of the day.

      Sable smiled down at her. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t do your dress justice.’

      ‘My dear, you wore it superbly. Here they want young and innocent and fresh, a salute to summer. You are sophisticated and stylish and a little bit mysterious—the sort of woman I’m designing for. I didn’t expect to win, but even reaching the finals will be very good publicity for me.’

      She turned her head as someone came up behind Sable. ‘Hello, Kain,’ she said, a note of surprise colouring her tone. ‘I didn’t realise you were back from wherever you’ve been these past months. I suppose you’ve got a horse running in the Cup?’

      ‘I have.’

      Deep and cool, his voice held a note of unsparing authority that sent little shivers through Sable. She stiffened her spine and tried to look calm and controlled.

      ‘Is it going to win?’ Maire asked.

      ‘Of course,’ he said with such calm confidence that Sable wondered if he’d managed to fix the race.

      ‘What’s its name? I’ll go and put a bet on it before the tote closes.’

      ‘Black Sultan.’

      ‘Very appropriate,’ Maire said dryly. ‘Thanks so much.’

      He said, ‘You haven’t introduced us, Maire.’

      The older woman looked surprised. ‘Oh—sorry, I assumed you two would know each other.’

      Reluctantly, Sable turned.

      Her dark eyes clashed with glacial grey ones. Bludgeoned by sensation, a bewildering mixture of apprehension and violent awareness, she dragged in a swift breath. She’d seen pictures of Brent’s cousin, of course, and during the past few minutes she’d been uncomfortably aware of his coldly measuring gaze, but not even that had prepared her for the potent impact of his brand of male charisma.

      ‘Sable, this is Kain Gerard,’ her companion told her. ‘I’m sure I don’t have to tell you anything much about him—he turns up in the media quite often.’

      ‘Not of my own volition,’ he said crisply.

      ‘No one could call you a publicity hound,’ she conceded. ‘Kain, meet Sable Martin, who should have won the prize up there.’

      ‘Indeed she should.’ Kain’s tone produced an unfamiliar meltdown in Sable’s spine. He took the hand she automatically extended, his fingers closing around hers. ‘You were robbed.’

      ‘I don’t think so.’ His touch set off strident alarms within her. And when she spoke her voice was pitched too low and sounded far too breathy…too impressed.

      A little too hastily she added, ‘The winner was just what they were looking for—a holiday spirit. And she wore her clothes very well.’

      He said smoothly, ‘Do you plan to watch the next race?’

      Before Sable had a chance to come up with some excuse, her companion said, ‘Of course we do, but first I’m going to put a bet on your horse.’ Purposefully she started off towards the tote.

      ‘You’re not betting?’ Kain Gerard commented when Sable made no attempt to follow her.

      ‘No.’

      He said, ‘Let me stake you—barring accidents, my horse will win.’

      ‘It’s all right, thank you,’ she said, warily conscious of the interested glances they were attracting. ‘What about you? Don’t you want to put some money on your horse?’

      ‘I’ve already done that,’ he told her, flashing her a killer smile that curled her toes inside the impractical, beautiful shoes she was wearing. ‘Though as he’s the favourite, he won’t pay much.’ Without altering his tone he said, ‘You’re a friend of my cousin’s, I believe. Brent Gerard.’

      ‘Yes,’ she said neutrally.

      Brent had told her all about his older cousin, inadvertently revealing that his open admiration of Kain had a thread of chagrin running through it.

      Standing beside the man, every cell in her body humming, Sable could understand Brent’s reaction; it would take a very secure young man to keep his confidence intact against such formidable competition.

      Kain had been a billionaire before he reached thirty, Brent had told her enviously. ‘His parents left him a controlling stake in one of New Zealand’s most progressive companies as well as a hefty inheritance that gave him a damned good start on his quest for world domination.’ Then he’d given her a charmingly rueful smile. ‘But the real secret of his success is his drive and truly impressive brilliance, plus an uncanny knack for spotting trends.’

      He’d paused, then finished significantly, ‘And his ruthlessness. He’s a bad man to cross.’

      Wishing she’d gone with Maire, Sable pretended to examine the crowd. Instinct warned her that Brent had been right. Formidable determination was as much a part of Kain Gerard as his height and his broad shoulders and his arrogantly handsome face.

      No wonder he was a hit with women. Brent hadn’t been quite so open about that aspect of his cousin, but Sable had read some interesting gossip.

      And now she believed it all. He was—well, overwhelming was about the only word that came to mind. And although he seemed pleasant enough, his glance held more cool assessment than admiration.

      Feeling a chill, Sable glanced up to see if a cloud had swallowed the sun. No, the sky was as radiantly blue as it had been all day. She straightened her spine and matched Kain’s assessing gaze.

      He said, ‘I gather you’re a model?’

      If Brent had talked at all about her, Kain must know perfectly well that she wasn’t.

      ‘Far from it,’ she returned. ‘Maire’s established her new salon next to where I work, and when her model let her down she talked me into this because I’m almost