Untamed Lover

DEAR READER LETTER

By Sharon Kendrick

Dear Reader,

One hundred. Doesn’t matter how many times I say it, I still can’t believe that’s how many books I’ve written. It’s a fabulous feeling but more fabulous still is the news that Mills & Boon are issuing every single one of my backlist as digital titles. Wow. I can’t wait to share all my stories with you which are as vivid to me now as when I wrote them.

There’s BOUGHT FOR HER HUSBAND, with its outrageously macho Greek hero and A SCANDAL, A SECRET AND A BABY featuring a very sexy Tuscan. THE SHEIKH’S HEIR proved so popular with readers that it spent two weeks on the USA Today charts and…well, I could go on, but I’ll leave you to discover them for yourselves.

I remember the first line of my very first book: “So you’ve come to Australia looking for a husband?” Actually, the heroine had gone to Australia escape men, but guess what? She found a husband all the same! The man who inspired that book rang me up recently and when I told him I was beginning my 100^th story and couldn’t decide what to write, he said, “Why don’t you go back to where it all started?”

So I did. And that’s how A ROYAL VOW OF CONVENIENCE was born. It opens in beautiful Queensland and moves to England and New York. It’s about a runaway princess and the enigmatic billionaire who is infuriated by her, yet who winds up rescuing her. But then, she goes and rescues him… Wouldn’t you know it?

I’ll end by saying how very grateful I am to have a career I love, and to thank each and every one of you who has supported me along the way. You really are very dear readers.

Love,

Sharon xxx

Mills & Boon are proud to present a thrilling digital collection of all Sharon Kendrick’s novels and novellas for us to celebrate the publication of her amazing and awesome 100th book! Sharon is known worldwide for her likeable, spirited heroines and her gorgeous, utterly masculine heroes.

SHARON KENDRICK once won a national writing competition, describing her ideal date: being flown to an exotic island by a gorgeous and powerful man. Little did she realise that she’d just wandered into her dream job! Today she writes for Mills & Boon, featuring her often stubborn but always to-die-for heroes and the women who bring them to their knees. She believes that the best books are those you never want to end. Just like life…

Untamed Lover

Sharon Kendrick

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

Cover

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘I DON’T particularly want to talk about Liam,’ said Scarlett, forcing her voice to be cool only with a monumental effort. She pulled on a black silk stocking. ‘And certainly not on the night when I’m getting engaged to someone else.’

‘Don’t you?’ taunted Camilla softly. ‘But you were thinking about him just now, weren’t you? I could tell by the look on your face.’

Scarlett fixed a look of nonchalant bemusement onto her face; it was a familiar look and one which she had perfected—the bright mask she hid behind. Then she outstared Camilla—whom she’d known since they were three years old—just daring her to challenge her. ‘Thinking about Liam?’ she queried, even managing a throaty note of amusement. ‘Are you crazy?’

‘No, but you were. Crazy to—’

Scarlett had had enough. ‘Drop it, won’t you, Camilla? And do leave me in peace to get dressed—otherwise I’m going to be late for my own party.’

To her immense relief Camilla disappeared, and after she’d closed the door behind her Scarlett looked down at her hands, to discover that they were trembling. Could the very mention of his name still do that to her?

‘Damn Liam Rouse!’ she said huskily. ‘Damn him!’

She reached up and pulled her dress off the hanger. Outrageous, she thought as she stood in the clinging black basque looking at the brand-new gown. The perfect winter party dress—a long-sleeved, figure-hugging black velvet sheath, with a flirty and flouncy little overskirt in gold-spangled black tulle. The black echoed the darkness of her hair, and the gold of the spangles reflected the strange gold gleam of her eyes. Not her usual style at all.

She slithered into it and stood in front of the full-length mirror. I don’t look like me at all, she thought as she gazed back at the strangely glamorous and seductive creature. Even her hair looked completely different. Normally stubbornly straight, it usually spilled to just below her shoulders, but tonight it had been fashioned into great swirling waves by the village hairdresser. Beneath the heavy fringe the unusual clear amber, almost gold of her eyes glinted back at her.

I’d better go down and find Henry, she thought, when a movement from outside the uncurtained windows distracted her. Scarlett screwed her eyes up as she stared out into the blackness of the night at the sweeping grounds of Seymour House, her eyes lingering last on the massive oak, its bare branches heavy with snow. As she watched she thought she saw a shadow shift, and her heart accelerated with natural fear.

Was that a man standing there—as still and watchful as the tree itself?

Scarlett blinked and looked again, to see nothing but emptiness. There was no one there—of course there wasn’t! Who in their right mind would be standing under an oak tree on the coldest night of the year?

Remonstrating with herself for her jumpiness and her groundless fears, she left the bedroom and swept down the magnificent staircase to the entrance hall, where Henry, her fiancé, his already thinning caramel-coloured hair gleaming under the light from the chandelier, was just giving the butler his overcoat.

He looked up as she approached, and scratched the end of his nose as he often did in moments of—for him—extreme emotion.

I wish he wouldn’t do that with his nose, thought Scarlett, immediately feeling disloyal as she did so. She widened her lips in a smile. ‘Hello, Henry!’ she said brightly.

‘Good evening, Scarlett.’ He cleared his throat, as if he was about to make a speech. ‘I must say, my dear, that the gown you’re wearing looks very—fetching.’

‘It fetched an exorbitant price,’ remarked Scarlett. ‘I can tell you that much!’

Henry frowned. ‘Not exactly the most gracious way to receive a compliment, Scarlett.’

Scarlett sighed. ‘Sorry. It’s just that you don’t usually make them.’

‘Meaning that I should, I suppose?’

Meaning that she was surprised that Henry was going all romantic on her, when they both knew that romance did not figure very highly in their particular relationship. ‘No, of course not. Oh, Henry—don’t let’s quarrel. Especially not tonight.’

‘No.’ Henry stared down at her. ‘Speaking of which... Come with me,’ he said suddenly, and took her by the hand.

‘Why?’

‘You’ll see,’ he said mysteriously.

He didn’t say another word until he’d led her out onto the terrace, where the iridescent outline of an enormous moon tempted them with her promise.

Once there, he looked about, as though checking that the coast was clear, then he smiled as he put his hand in his pocket and drew out a small turquoise box, elaborately tied with a white ribbon.

Scarlett shivered.

‘Well? Aren’t you wondering what’s in here?’ he asked teasingly.

Scarlett played the game. She was good at playing games. ‘Tell me!’

Henry waggled a finger at her. ‘Patience! Patience!’ And he flipped the top off to reveal a mammoth diamond solitaire. It captured every ray of the moonlight and glittered there in all its cold, cold beauty.

As if she were observing it happening to someone else, Scarlett watched while Henry slipped the solitaire onto her left ring finger, but the ring was slightly too large, and the weighty stone slid underneath her finger, leaving just the plain gold band visible—like a wedding band...

Scarlett shivered again.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Henry easily. ‘I can have it altered first thing. I wanted it to be a surprise.’

‘It’s—absolutely beautiful,’ said Scarlett, slightly awestruck.

‘Why, thank you!’ And Henry pulled her into his arms and bent his head to kiss her.

It was just unfortunate that at precisely that moment Scarlett turned her head, certain that she’d heard a noise behind her, so that Henry missed her mouth completely and his kiss ended up on her left cheek.

He gave a self-conscious laugh, and planted a quick kiss on her mouth before drawing away. ‘Don’t worry, old girl,’ he said gruffly. ‘I won’t bother you too much about that sort of thing.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Messy, overrated business, in my opinion. Though, of course, we’ll have to think about producing an heir at some point.’

Scarlett stared at him, the full impact of his words hitting her like a dull blow. ‘That sort of thing.’ ‘Messy, overrated business.’ She swallowed. Sex with Henry. It was a subject she had found only too easy to ignore up until now. Because sex with anyone other than Liam was simply unimaginable. But after she and Henry were married...

‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Henry quickly. ‘I told you—I shan’t be a demanding sort of husband. Now—why don’t we go inside, find ourselves a glass of champagne and start showing your ring off?’

Feeling slightly ill, Scarlett allowed him to lead her back inside, and the first person they saw was her stepfather.

‘Evening, Sir Humphrey!’ said Henry enthusiastically. ‘Just bought the lady a bauble!’

‘Let’s see!’ Sir Humphrey peered down at Scarlett’s ring. ‘Nice size, Henry! Good investment. Where d’you get it?’

‘Tiffany’s, actually.’ Henry beamed. ‘As you suggested, Sir Humphrey.’

‘Good choice!’ said Sir Humphrey, and pumped Henry’s hand approvingly.

‘Like it, Scarlett?’

‘Adore it!’ she answered lightly as she looked up at her stepfather.

How old he was looking tonight, she thought suddenly. How lined his face seemed. His business, she knew, was in trouble. Although nothing had been said to her directly, she’d heard faint whispers that his company was not doing as well as it could be. The cold fingers of the recession had touched the Seymours too.

Even Scarlett had noticed of late that the roof of Seymour House was in need of repair. It was easy to see where economies could be made—Sir Humphrey was paying out far more on staff than he needed to, for example. But then again, since gaining his knighthood he had developed a certain sense of noblesse oblige. There wasn’t any way that he would dream of getting rid of staff. After all, what would the neighbours say?

Not for the first time, Scarlett wondered why her stepfather was going to all the expense of having a huge engagement party followed by a lavish wedding. When she’d asked him his reply had been quite emphatic.

‘Got to do things properly, Scarlett,’ he’d answered briskly.

Scarlett had wanted to wait until things started picking up a bit—weddings were so expensive—but Sir Humphrey had been adamant that it should take place as soon as possible.

‘I want to see you happy and settled,’ he’d said, a nerve twitching in the side of his cheek.

And Scarlett had allowed her mother—who doted on Sir Humphrey and would have done anything to fall in with his wishes—to gently persuade her to go ahead with the wedding.

Scarlett fastened her social smile to her lips as the guests started arriving in earnest. Wraps and jackets were pulled off to reveal shimmering dresses in jewel-bright colours, complemented by the sombre formality of the men’s black dinner jackets. The aristocracy were at play, and soon the party was in full swing.

First there was a supper of fresh salmon. Raspberries and strawberries were served for pudding, along with big bowls of golden clotted cream, then cheese platters, dotted with exotic fruits.

There was to be no engagement cake, nor speeches—it was too close to the wedding for that—but the large dining-room was cleared for dancing, and as Henry took Scarlett into his arms to start the dancing the guests began to applaud. It was a slow number, and they drifted around the floor.

‘Everything seems to be going splendidly.’ He smiled contentedly as they moved in time to the music.

Her golden eyes sparked back. ‘Don’t speak too soon—I’ll probably step on your toes in a minute!’

‘Are you never serious?’ he laughed.

‘Never!’ She smiled back. She’d learnt her lesson about being serious. If you were serious about things you got your heart broken; if you were flippant—you survived.

He dropped his hands from her waist as the music came to an end. ‘Look—your father is beckoning me. I’d better go and see what it is he wants. Go and circulate, darling.’

Scarlett watched him go, feeling suddenly deflated as she looked around the room at all the glittering dancers, a lot of whom were strangers to her. I feel as if I’m on the outside looking in, she thought suddenly. As though I don’t belong here. The way I’ve always felt in this house. The child with its nose pressed up against the lighted shop window.

Oh, stop being so ridiculous, she remonstrated with herself silently as she left the room and slipped quietly out onto the terrace for a breath of fresh air. That champagne has just made me maudlin, she thought crossly as she took a deep breath and inhaled the sweet scent of the winter-flowering jasmine.

She stood, silent and spellbound, oblivious to the cold as she gazed at the beautiful vista before her. The snow-covered grass was glitteringly silver, and high up in the sky the moon looked like a brilliant white discus, hurled there by some Olympian athlete, and as she watched a cloud obscured it completely.

Scarlett’s eyes narrowed as they accustomed themselves to the dimmer light, and she blinked as she saw a man’s figure standing at one end of the terrace. He was staring at her.

She felt her heart pound in shock as she registered the immense height of him, the formidable breadth of his shoulders. She shook her head in horror, as if expecting him just to disappear. But he did not disappear. Instead he began to walk towards her with a confident and cat-like stealth.

Scarlett blanched as the man grew closer. Her eyes took in the beautifully sculpted planes and angles of his face, the harsh slash of his mouth and the proud line of his jaw.

He was taller than anyone else at the party, and his shoulders would have put deep despair into the heart of any rugby scrum. His hair was black, as black as Scarlett’s, and his eyes, which she knew so well were blue, also looked black tonight. And his heart, she thought bitterly. He has a black heart too. The beautiful mouth was curved and twisted into its customary derisory smile as his eyes met Scarlett’s—and never left them.

For a second she shook her head a little, as if she had manufactured the image of Liam Rouse. For surely this could not be Liam—this man whose formal black jacket would have knocked spots off everyone else’s in the room? Surely not Liam—in a silk shirt as white as a soap-powder commercial, with a black bow-tie knotted around his elegant neck? Liam’s long legs would surely never have allowed themselves to be encased in the beautifully cut black trousers. Liam wore jeans. Nothing but jeans.

She stared up at him as he towered over her, momentarily shocked into disbelieving speechlessness. She saw his eyes glittering, like some living metal, and she had to reach out to grasp the balustrade which ran round the terrace.

Her heart pounded with unwilling excitement, and her mouth dried. It simply wasn’t fair, she thought desperately. He shouldn’t, shouldn’t still have this effect on her. Not after all this time. ‘Liam!’ she gasped as the vision of the man she had not seen for almost ten years swam in front of her eyes. And then she found herself saying inanely, ‘Is it really you?’

He gave a small, cynical smile. ‘Judge for yourself,’ came the deeply drawled reply, and totally without warning he pulled her into his arms and bent his head to kiss her.

At first she was so shocked by what was happening that she simply stood motionless in his arms, while his mouth claimed hers with arrogant possession.

And Liam’s kisses were like no others...

Oh, no! she thought helplessly, but nonetheless swayed against him as his mouth drove down on hers, her body quivering with shock as she realised just how blatantly he was kissing her. For his kiss was as deep and as insistent and intimate as if he were lying naked on top of her and actually making love to her.

He pulled her closer, then even closer... And to her absolute horror Scarlett found herself responding to him, her body starting to tingle and melt into the hard, muscle-packed frame which she had once known so intimately.

He knew so well what pleased her, she thought helplessly. She felt him lick a tiny circle around the inside of her mouth, and as she felt her breasts swelling and hardening in response she realised just what was happening to her. She wrenched herself out of his embrace, and he gave a low, mocking laugh.

‘Well?’ he said arrogantly. ‘Was that real enough for you? Or do I kiss like a ghost?’

She fought to get her breath back. ‘You kiss like the devil that you are!’ she fired back. ‘Now, get off our land, before I have you thrown off!’

‘Oh, Scarlett,’ he said mockingly. ‘No wifely concern? No, ‘‘Darling, where have you been all these long years?’’’

Scarlett stared into the face of the stranger who was as familiar to her as breathing—the man who had broken her heart into a million tiny pieces. ‘I don’t care where you’ve been,’ she retorted angrily. ‘You walked off and left me ten years ago without a word. Well, that was fine. But you’re history, Liam. And now I’m going inside to call the police to get you off our property—unless you’d like to go now, and quietly?’

He gave a short, completely humourless laugh and reached out to catch her wrist in an uncompromising hold. ‘Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong,’ he contradicted her, his voice as hard and as unmalleable as steel. ‘I’m not going anywhere—not until I’ve got what I came for.’

She heard the unswerving determination in the deep voice, and a deep foreboding chilled her. Liam at twenty had been pretty formidable. Liam ten years on was something else!

In a minute she would wake up from this nightmare, but until she did she might as well enter into this crazy conversation. ‘What the hell are you talking about? What have you come for?’ But her voice wavered just a little as she asked the question.

His eyes fastened with deliberate intent on the crimson gleam of her quivering mouth, and she saw his eyes briefly darken. ‘Why, you, of course, Scarlett. Didn’t you realise? I’ve come for you.’

‘Are you mad?’ she whispered.

His mouth was a hard, unremitting slash in the moonlight. ‘Are you going to come with me quietly?’

‘I’m not coming anywhere with you!’

He gave her a look of quietly controlled rage. ‘Oh, I think so, Scarlett. A word with my wife. In private.’

‘You are mad!’ she responded in disbelief. ‘I’m getting married to someone else! The divorce papers are through!’

He shook his head. ‘On the contrary. You’ve jumped the gun a little, my dear. The divorce papers are not complete. Admittedly, the decree nisi is through—but the absolute isn’t due for another five weeks.’ He gave a cold and cynical smile. ‘So legally, at least, you are still my wife, and I have a proposition to put to you. Now, are you coming quietly or not?’ he repeated.

The craziness of the last few minutes crystallised into one incredible and jarring fact.

Liam was back!

She found her voice again. ‘Coming? With you? You must be kidding! The last person on earth I’d ever go with is you—you no-good, low-down, rotten—!’

Again, he gave that cool, faintly cynical smile.

‘Oh, Scarlett,’ he said, shaking his head at her as he caught her wrist in a vice-like grip. ‘I should have known that you’d be awkward.’

‘Let go of me!’ she ordered. ‘Or I’ll scream the place down.’

‘Oh, dear,’ he murmured, almost conversationally. ‘I was hoping that we might be able to do this in a civilised manner. But then, I’d forgotten that legendary temper of yours.’

She tried to struggle, but it was no good. Even using her one free hand to flail at that impossibly hard chest was useless, and he bent down to scoop her underneath her knees and toss her over his shoulder, her head dangling down his back and his hand clasped possessively over the bare flesh of the backs of her thighs which lay above the line of her stocking-tops. He stroked one thigh with a long, lazy finger.

‘Mmm!’ he murmured, in a voice soft with sexual promise. ‘Nice!’

And then something unbelievable happened.

For one fleeting and betraying moment a spark of dormant humour bubbled up from deep within her, and somehow that ability of his to make her smile was in its own way far more damaging than his ability to wring a physical response from her. He was certainly the most unconventional man she’d ever met in her life! And she was back in his arms! But she quelled the betraying spark immediately as she remembered just what he’d done.

Liam had left her at the lowest point in her life, and for that she would never forgive him. ‘I hate you,’ she muttered into his back as he walked towards the drive.

‘And the feeling,’ he said, in a strangely bitter voice, ‘is entirely mutual.’