The Tycoon's Scandalous Proposition. Miranda Lee

Maddie’s sister.’

      ‘Older sister?’

      ‘Older? Yeah. God, doesn’t Maddie look incredible?’ he exclaimed, clearly awed by the beauty of his bride, who remained standing at the top of the staircase, all eyes on her.

      Not Blake’s, however. He’d had his fill of Barbie doll blondes—especially those manufactured in Hollywood by plastic surgeons and ambitious mamas. His eyes were all for the bridesmaid, with her natural-looking figure and lovely but oh, so sad eyes.

      Her chin lifted as she took her first step along the makeshift aisle, her focus straight ahead during what seemed to be a very difficult journey for her. She didn’t look at him, or at Lachlan, or at any of the guests. She seemed frozen now—a robot with no feelings on show any more. But that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

      Smile, sweetheart, came the sudden wish from deep inside Blake. Don’t let the world see that you’re hurting. Don’t give people the chance to hurt you further.

      And they would if she let them. People could be cruel—especially once they’d sensed weakness. Fortunately, no one was looking at her. All eyes were still on the beaming bride, who was now approaching the bottom of the staircase. The music changed to ‘Isn’t She Beautiful?’ Which the bride was. Even Blake had to agree that Maddie was drop-dead gorgeous. But such beauty was often only surface-deep, he’d found, the same way Lachlan’s was.

      The same way Claudia’s was...

      The thought didn’t hurt him the way it once had. But that didn’t mean he’d forgotten the lessons his one and only marriage had taught him.

      The main one was, Don’t, for pity’s sake, believe anything that ambitious young actresses do or say to you. Sleep with them, by all means, but don’t fall for their flattery or their brilliant fakery. And never marry one. Lord, no.

      In truth, marriage was not for him—even with a non-ambitious non-actress. Not yet, anyway. Aside from his scepticism over the lasting power of romantic love, he wasn’t good husband material. He was way too obsessed with making movies, working seven days a week, often twenty hours a day. What time did that leave for a wife, let alone children?

      Maybe when he was forty he might consider both. But he was only just thirty-two. Plenty of years left to think about such things.

      Meanwhile, his attention returned to the attractive but bleak-looking bridesmaid.

      Damn. She looked as if she was going to cry now. Her bottom lip was definitely quivering, accompanied by a flash of true panic in her eyes. Clearly she didn’t want to cry. Just in time she got control of herself, her nostrils flaring as she sucked in another deep, desperate breath.

      Blake wondered what on earth was going on in that girl’s mind. He knew that women often cried at weddings, but they were usually tears of happiness. He could be wrong, he supposed, but he was absolutely certain that whatever she was thinking they weren’t happy thoughts!

      Maybe this Kate knew what sort of man her kid sister was marrying—knew that he was a player. Maybe she feared for Maddie’s future happiness. Well, she had a right to be scared on that particular score! Not that he could be a hundred percent positive that was the reason behind her grim face. He could only guess.

      In actual fact Blake often found himself speculating on the various emotions he noted on the faces of perfect strangers. He was a people-watcher—an essential talent for a writer-cum-movie-maker. After all, motivations and emotional conflicts were the backbone of all storytelling.

      His gaze returned to Kate’s stiffly held face and robotic walk. At last she reached the end of the aisle, flashing him a frowning glance before moving sideways to her left, where no one could see her face except the celebrant. And he was busy ogling the bride. Now all Blake could see was her profile. Her head and shoulders drooped for a split second, then lifted abruptly, the muscles in her throat standing out as she once again took rigid control of herself.

      His heart went out to her. As did his admiration. Whatever was bothering the bride’s sister, she was a brave soul. Brave, but still rather fragile.

      When the posy of flowers she was holding began to shake Blake determined not to let the evening end before he found out what was upsetting her so much. He could be charming when he wanted to be. And quite good at getting people to open up. Yes, he would worm the truth out of her. Women did love to confide. And hopefully, sooner rather than later, he would bring a smile to her face.

      He imagined she would be quite lovely if she smiled. Already Blake found her attractive. And intriguing. And extremely desirable.

      Much more desirable than the Barbie doll bride.

       CHAPTER TWO

      KATE GRITTED HER TEETH, still stunned at how much she was hating this, how sick she felt to her stomach. Yet she’d known for ages that this day was coming. She’d had plenty of time to prepare herself mentally. All to no avail, it seemed.

      She clasped her bouquet even tighter and willed her mind to go blank. But her mind refused to obey. It whirled on and on, tormenting her. Torturing her.

      Because today was the end of the line, wasn’t it?

      The end of all her hopes and dreams where Lachlan was concerned. Today the man she loved would marry her sister. And that would be that. No more stupidly hoping that he might wake up one morning and realise Maddie wasn’t right for him and that she was a much more suitable wife. No more fantasising—as she had during their three years studying together at NIDA—that he might finally see her as a potential girlfriend and not just as his good mate and acting buddy.

      There was nothing worse, she realised, than the death of hope.

      Kate sighed, stiffening when she realised just how loud that sigh had been. As much as she was wretched to her core, she’d determined earlier today not to let anyone—particularly Maddie—suspect the truth. And she’d managed—’til the moment that sickening music had started up and she’d had to step into the spotlight on those stairs. At which point she’d frozen, the sheer futility of her feelings washing through her.

      She knew she should have smiled but she simply hadn’t been able to. Not that it had mattered. No one had been looking at her. No one except the man standing next to Lachlan. Blake Randall, the best man.

      He had kept on looking at her. And frowning at her. Wondering, probably, why she looked so forlorn.

      Kate would have liked to tell him why—would have liked to scream that if it hadn’t been for him all their lives would have taken a different course and she wouldn’t be standing here today, having her heart broken.

       A slight exaggeration, Kate. Your heart was broken last Christmas, when you optimistically brought Lachlan home for dinner.

      They’d both just graduated from NIDA, and Lachlan’s parents had gone away on a Christmas cruise. Plus he’d been between girlfriends at the time. Which hadn’t happened too often. She’d thought it was her chance to snare his sexual interest. And it had seemed at first that she had. Lachlan had actually flirted with her in the car during their drive from his flat at Bondi to her parents’ home at Strathfield.

      But all that had changed the moment he’d met her very beautiful and very vivacious blonde sister.

      Something had died in Kate when she’d seen how quickly and easily Maddie had captured Lachlan’s sexual interest. By the end of Christmas dinner Maddie’s almost-fiancé had been firmly dispensed with and she’d gone off with Lachlan, moving in with him the very next day.

      So, in reality, Kate had had ten months to get over her broken heart. Ten long, soul-destroying months during which her own acting career had stalled and she’d been reduced to working weekends in a local deli whilst going to endless auditions during the week.

      If