The Collector's Edition Volume 1 (25 page)

M
ICHAEL
fought grimly against being completely thrown by the woman who stood before him. His first sight of her had been like a punch in the gut. Lauren Magee was everything Evan had said she was, and more-gorgeous, sexy, vibrant, vital, and that was before she had even opened her mouth and displayed the adept mind that could assess a situation, seize it and act positively to gain the result she wanted.

Tasha was now putty in her hands. Evan’s fears were demolished. It was perfectly plain he was tickled pink by the attention Lauren Magee was giving to both of them. And it was such clever attention, striking the right note of caring and liking for Tasha and a delightfully open camaraderie with Evan.

Michael had clutched at cynicism to reduce her effect on him. Lauren Magee was exerting control over her impact, exercising manipulative skills, showing she was a superior being who could handle anything and anyone. Not him, he had fiercely vowed as she had turned to encompass him in her powerful radiance. He knew her for what she was!

With every atom of his brain and will he had penetrated the deceptive mask of polite interest, denying the distraction of her stunning blue eyes,
seeking for the truth, scouring her soul for it. There had to be some trace of antagonism towards him, some sense of malicious triumph. She knew who he was now. She had to know what part she had played in ending his marriage.

Nothing! Nothing except a mesmerised wonder that tugged at his heart, making him feel like a marauding savage for not treating her tenderly. That had to be wrong. She was tricking him somehow.

He took hold of her hand, grasping it firmly, expecting at least a twinge of recoil. If she was true to her inner beliefs and judgments she had to react negatively to his touch. Yet her hand lay submissively in his, soft, delicately boned, seductively feminine, stirring sensations he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Still that clear luminosity in her eyes. Nothing to hide. But there had to be. Unless.

She didn’t know he was Roxanne’s ex-husband.

It seemed incredible to Michael that Lauren Magee was ignorant of the connection, yet it was the only answer that made sense of her total lack of any discernible rejection of him. Had Roxanne been so disaffected that she hadn’t bothered to identify him as the husband she sought advice about?

Keeping her precious maiden name of Kinsey might have muddied the tracks, or Roxanne could have assumed it was common knowledge she was married to Michael Timberlane. She had been proud to own him for the first year or two, though by the time Lauren Magee arrived in Sydney from
Melbourne, the shine had worn off that pride under the burden of trying to make their relationship gel in a workable fashion.

Easier for Roxanne to slide out of putting the effort in, Michael reflected cynically, and Lauren Magee had given her all the excuses to justify doing so. Yet she looked at him so innocently, so openly and honestly, waiting for him to write on the blank sheet that the meeting of strangers always offered, to give her a cue for what might develop between them from this moment, a moment cut free of any past and offering all the choices of possible futures.

He was tempted.

In any rational, objective sense, Lauren Magee was an anathema to him.

Yet he wanted her.

He wanted to empty her mind of all its clever reasoning and drive her insane with desire for him. He wanted to unpin the fiery mass of curls she had swirled into a topknot and see them spilling over a pillow in riotous abandonment. He wanted to tear off her sweater and fill his hands with the lush softness of those delectably rounded breasts that were thrusting so provocatively against the stretchy knit fabric.

And that sexy belt accentuating the feminine smallness of her waist and the sensual curve of her hips. He imagined stretching her white-skinned arms above her head, winding the wide black elastic around her wrists with the gold bow on top, holding her hands together so she couldn’t weave her female magic on him while he took his fill of her.

Lauren Magee, submitting to the man she had reviled, giving herself to him, her long, elegant legs wrapped around him in supplication, in need, wanting him. Oh, yes, that would be sweet vengeance. And ravishing her luscious mouth, purging it of all the unjust words she’d said against him, replacing them with the intensely satisfying sounds of cries and gasps of pleasure.

His loins tightened. His heart thudded with the violent force of the warring feelings she stirred. His body zinged with shots of adrenaline as his mind played through one scenario after another, all of them erotic, all of them feeding the highly aroused savage inside him.

It took all of Michael’s formidable willpower to clamp down on that rampant beast. Basic common sense insisted he play the civilised man. Fantasies were fantasies. Realities wiped out any chance of them happening anyway.

He might be a blank page to Lauren Magee right now, but the moment Roxanne turned up, he’d be history in her book. Roxanne would make certain of it. He only had a very limited time to play the game he had set out to play, getting in a few pointed shots that might just puncture Lauren Magee’s confidence in dabbling with other people’s lives.

It should be amusing to draw her out, to watch her natural response to him before Roxanne’s axe fell. And afterwards she would remember. Oh, yes, that keen, clever mind of Lauren Magee’s would remember everything said between them, spoken and unspoken.

Michael told himself he would be satisfied with that. The trick was to keep his mind focused on the desired result, the only result that was really open to him.

“I’
M IMPRESSED
.”

Michael Timberlane’s voice seemed to harmonise with the feelings he stirred, sliding to Lauren on a low, penetrating, intimate level.

“What by?” The words tripped from her tongue, breathless, husky, unconsidered, revealing how deeply she was caught in the thrall of possibilities pulsing between them.

“Your professionalism,” he answered.

Did he know intuitively what was important to her? Excitement tingled through a welling of intense pleasure. Lauren wished she knew more of him. Was he married?

“Thank you,” she returned warmly. “I do my best. As you do, by reputation.”

“There are some who would say my best falls short of their expectations. Haven’t you heard that, Ms. Magee?”

His hand slid away from hers. The withdrawal highlighted the unexpected formality of his address to her. Lauren felt confused. Why was he suddenly being off-putting?

“I’m sorry if you’ve been a target of ill will, Mr. Timberlane,” she said with a touch of sympathy. “People’s expectations are sometimes unrealistic.”

“And unreasonable,” he shot back.

She hesitated, uncertain of where he was coming from or leading to. Wayne and his unreasonable expectations flitted through her mind. Maybe Michael Timberlane was still smarting from some personal or professional contretemps. With someone at Global? Was that what had made him look so forbidding earlier?

Lauren fell back on one of Graham Parker’s pithy sayings, offering it with an ironic little smile. “Well, Mr. Timberlane, I guess into each life some rain must fall.”

“You being the rainmaker?”

She laughed and shook her head. “I like to think I spread sunshine.”

“The giver of light.” He nodded, his silvery eyes gleaming satisfaction. “Yes, that would be how you think of yourself.”

“And how do you think of yourself, Mr. Timberlane?”

He smiled, but it was a secretive, private smile, not an open, sharing one. “Oh, I’m the sword of justice, Ms. Magee.”

Definitely on some personal high horse, Lauren thought, wanting to pull him down from it. “Then I hope your balancing scales are in good order. Justice is so often blind,” she said, tilting at him.

“How true!” he agreed. “It’s unfortunate that so many people’s eyes aren’t open to both sides of a situation before making judgments.”

“Are yours?”

“I always look at the big picture, Ms. Magee.”

“Never missing a piece of the jigsaw, Mr. Timberlane?” she queried, niggled by his assumption of having all-seeing eyes. Nobody saweverything.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Evan broke in jocularly. “What’s all this Mr. and Ms.? We’re at a party, not a stuffy reception.”

“One must be careful not to assume too much these days, Evan,” Michael Timberlane answered his friend good-humouredly. “How do I know I’m not meeting a raging feminist who’ll take offence at inappropriate familiarity?”

Evan laughed. “I’d think it’s obvious Lauren isn’t a raging feminist.”

“Appearances can be deceptive.” Michael raised his eyebrows quizzically at Lauren. “Would you be so kind as to shed some light on the matter?”

Why did she have the sense he was playing out some secret agenda, toying with her, waiting to pounce if she didn’t keep on her toes?

“You have my permission to call me Lauren,” she said with a disarming smile, neatly sidestepping any argument about feminism.

“Then I shall not stand upon dignity,” he replied with mock gravity. “Please feel free to call me Michael.”

Lauren laughed at him. There was a certain spice to the game, a challenge. She couldn’t recall any man ever having put her quite so much on her mettle before, certainly not at first meeting.

“I’ve never liked Ms.,” Tasha remarked artlessly. “It sounds like a mosquito.”

“I think that’s spoken from the complacency of being a Mrs., Tasha,” Michael reproved lightly. “Lauren may feel differently.”

Another test, another nudge.

Tasha flushed, her brown eyes shining an apologetic appeal. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I guess it has its place.”

There was a fragile vulnerability, a simple innocence about Tasha Daniel that automatically touched Lauen’s protective instinct. She was not street-wise, and with Evan as her husband had probably never had the need to become so. In a way, Lauren envied that, never having to confront the darker games men and women played.

“It saves making a mistake with Miss or Mrs.,” she gently explained. “Like Mr., it doesn’t carry the label of being single or married.”

“Will you keep Ms. when you do marry?” Tasha asked curiously.

“That’s assuming she wants to marry,” Michael pointed out. “Many career women choose not to take on a commitment that could interfere with their life goals.”

“Oh, dear!” Tasha pulled a rueful grimace. “I’m really putting my foot in it, aren’t I?”

Lauren smiled to set her at ease again. “Being politically correct can be carried too far. I don’t mind your questions, Tasha. I’ve been married, and I was very happy to be a Mrs. then.”

Michael’s face jerked towards her. Surprise. Reappraisal. Lauren had a sense of factors being
shifted, energy zapping through him as his inner vision was rearranged.

“Now I’m divorced,” she went on matter-offactly, “the title of Miss is fine by me.”

Tasha looked pained. “Another broken marriage. Michael’s been through it, too. So sad.”

One revelation had bought another.

Michael Timberlane was divorced-single-free! The equation zipped through Lauren’s brain, and she didn’t feel sad at all. She felt as though wonderful fireworks were exploding in fabulous cascades of brilliant colour, lighting up a world that had been empty of dreams.

She was twenty-nine, looking down the barrel of thirty. Unattached, intriguing and attractive men like Michael Timberlane weren’t exactly thick on the ground. Attractive was far too weak a word, she swiftly corrected. He was dynamite. He had both her mind and body shaken to acute awareness of all sorts of exciting possibilities.

Hope was definitely not dead!

“No reason to be sad, Tasha,” Michael said. “It’s a matter of statistics in today’s society. Two out of three marriages end in divorce. You and Evan are the lucky ones. You should let us in on the secrets of your success.”

Tasha smiled and reached out her hand to her husband. “It’s wanting the same things,” she said with moving simplicity. “Isn’t it, Evan?”

“Yes,” he agreed, beaming his love at her as he took her hand and fondled it indulgently.

Lauren fought down an emotional lump in her throat. They were lucky to have found what they wanted in each other. She wondered what had gone wrong with Michael Timberlane’s marriage. Who had left whom, and why?

“I didn’t know you’d been married, Lauren,” Evan commented with a look of puzzlement at her.

She shrugged, inwardly recoiling from that bad time. “Does anyone like talking about their mistakes?”

Evan shook his head. “I can’t imagine why any man wouldn’t fight tooth and nail to keep you with him.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said, smiling to hide the bitter irony behind it. Wayne had certainly fought to keep her with him. Abusively. On a sudden wave of fear, she turned to Michael Timberlane and bluntly asked, “Did you fight to keep your wife?”

For one fleeting moment she saw a turbulent core of savagery flash through the windows of his soul. It sent a shiver down her spine. Then the silver screen of his extraordinarily compelling eyes clicked into place again, glistening with outward interest in her, reflecting nothing of what was within.

“It’s difficult to fight a saboteur,” he said with a sardonic twist. “The damage is done behind one’s back.”

He’d hate that, she thought.

“Besides, when the illusion of love and commitment has proven false, why fight to keep it?”
he went on. “I’m a great believer in facing realities and moving on.”

“Yes,” she agreed, elated that he shared her attitude and convictions.

But it was one thing to leave the experience behind, another to forget. She wondered what damage he carried, what his wife had been like, why she had taken a lover? The reference to a saboteur pointed to another man in her life, and infidelity certainly destroyed the illusion of love and commitment.

“Do let’s get off this painful subject,” Tasha pleaded. “I wish I hadn’t brought it up. This is a happy night.”

“Indeed it is!” Lauren quickly supported her, switching on a bright smile. She didn’t want this electric sense of anticipation tarnished by memories of relationships that had failed to bring the happiness they had initially promised. Determined not to brood on her past or Michael’s, she turned teasingly to Evan. “I’m looking forward to your speech. It’s your first public tryout, and I don’t expect you to disappoint.”

Evan pulled a doleful look. “Pressure, pressure. My editor said the same thing. My wife wants me to shine. Michael thinks I don’t need his applause.”

“I promise to clap if no one else does,” Michael interposed.

“It’s a wonderful speech,” Tasha declared. “I know, because he’s been rehearsing to me.”

“Such loyalty is the voice of love, my darling,” Evan said, almost purring. “And I appreciate it. I truly do.”

They bantered on in light party style. Waitresses circulated with fancy finger food, Melba toast with smoked salmon, fish cocktails, spicy chicken legs, mini croissants with savoury fillings. Both Evan and Tasha helped themselves liberally, enjoying the novelty. Lauren wondered if Michael’s stomach was in the same state as hers. Both of them declined everything offered.

“Dieting?” Michael asked at one point.

“No.” She looked directly into his eyes. “Are you?”

“No.”

There was a magnetic flash of unspoken but unmistakable recognition and understanding. Their hunger was for other things.

But would it be answered?

Lauren stayed at his side, wanting to know more of Michael Timberlane.

He-was charm itself to Tasha and obviously a supportive friend to Evan, yet for the most part, he remained a tantalising enigma to her. The sexual attraction was strong and mutual. Nothing else could explain the vibrant energy field being generated between them. But she’d felt an awareness akin to this with Wayne and knew it could be treacherous. Perhaps Michael had similar thoughts, reflecting on his experience with his ex-wife.

Was the control he was exerting simply caution on his part, or did it conceal something darker?
Was she flirting with danger? Was she willing to take a risk on pursuing this fascination with a stranger? Handsome men were usually spoilt men, she reminded herself, their egos too well fed from always getting their own way.

But Michael had shown consideration to Tasha.

Lauren found herself pushing caution aside and justifying the case for ignoring it altogether. For so long now she had trodden a safe path, and where had it led her? She was lonely. It was not a happy state, being lonely.

She wanted this excitement, this sense of being on the brink of something special. It was exhilarating. She felt so alive. She wanted to turn to Michael Timberlane and say,
Don’t hide from me,
but she wasn’t quite bold enough to do it. Besides, if he was the man for her, he would decide to involve himself further without any pushing.

She willed him to want to.

“Evan.” Beth Hayward, Evan’s editor, broke into their foursome. “They’re getting ready for the speeches.” She smiled at the glass in his hand. “Had enough drinks to fortify you?”

She was six years older than Lauren, a striking brunette, stylish and very much a woman of the world. She wore a long grey skirt and a cowl top in black and white and grey. It was a smart, fashionable, sophisticated outfit. Lauren glanced at Michael, sensing a sudden coiling of tension in him.

His face had hardened, wearing the same closed expression she had noted earlier when he had left
Beth with the Daniels to collect the table and chairs. Was there some conflict between them? They would have done business together many times, since Beth was a commissioning editor for Global.

“I feel warm and convivial but definitely not fuzzy,” Evan declared. “Where am I wanted?”

Beth nodded towards the bar. “Up that end of the room.” She smiled at Michael. “Perhaps you could bring a chair for Tasha, because they’ll probably go on for a while.”

“We’ll look after her comfort,” Lauren assured Evan, coupling herself with Michael.

Beth darted a sharply speculative look between Lauren and Michael, then frowned as though niggled by some problem. Her gaze fell on the gift packages, still lying on the table. “I see you’ve collected your souvenirs. Better not leave them behind,” she advised. “They’re all gone from the display table.”

“I’ll take them with me,” Tasha said, quickly gathering them up.

Beth looked directly at Lauren with a curious expression that seemed to convey some loaded meaning. “A pity Roxanne sprained her ankle this afternoon and couldn’t come to the party. Do you know-”

Crash! Broken glass and spilled wine scattered and splashed across the floor right next to Michael. A drinks tray had toppled from a waiter’s hand, and the people closest to the disaster area scuttled back with cries of shock and dismay at being spattered.

Michael wheeled and gestured an apologetic appeal at the hapless waiter. “I’m so sorry! Did I bump you?”

“Not to worry, sir. These things happen with a crowd.”

“Let me help.” He crouched to pick up the tray.

“No, please leave it, sir,” the waiter protested emphatically. “Staff will be here in a moment to do the necessary.”

“Damn! Red wine on my skirt!” Beth muttered in vexation. “Excuse me, I’m off to the powder room. Evan, don’t dally. It’s time to move.” She didn’t wait for him, frustration and impatience with the mishap getting the better of courtesy.

Michael straightened and pulled a rueful grimace. “Not my best party trick.”

“Well, it can’t be helped now,” Tasha said sympathetically. “Do go on, Evan. Michael and Lauren will see to me.”

“Front row seat,” Michael promised. He clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Off you toddle, and mind you do us proud.” He grinned, his face lighting up with undiluted good humour. “You can hold up the bar until you’re wanted for your party piece.”