The Collector's Edition Volume 1 (26 page)

Lauren couldn’t help staring at the startling transformation a wicked grin made to Michael Timberlane’s face. She had thought him handsome before, certainly enough to spark her interest at first sight of him. But the difference now was heart-stopping. A grin like that would cause any woman
considerable internal havoc. Lauren was no exception.

She vaguely heard Evan and Tasha exchange a few words, then Evan started weaving his way through the crowd and Michael turned to her, the grin still lurking, his silver eyes gleaming with some wild and reckless satisfaction that instantly encompassed her.

Her pulse kicked into a faster beat. Her mind throbbed with the knowledge he was going to ride the current that flowed between them. No more stand off. No pulling back. He had decided.

She felt the glow of a wild and reckless satisfaction grow inside herself. She had willed this from him.
So let it be,
she thought,
wherever it might lead.

She repressed the thought that it could be dangerous.

She didn’t wonder, Why now? What had changed from a few moments ago?

She made no connection whatsoever between Michael Timberlane’s decision and the accidental tipping over of a tray.

She forgot about Beth Hayward and whatever she was going to tell her about Roxanne.

She was brilliantly, vibrantly, idiotically happy!

M
ICHAEL
could barely tear his eyes away from her to make the coffee. Lauren Magee in his apartment, not wanting the night to end any more than he did. Not the Lauren of
Lauren says.
It was utterly absurd to even vaguely relate this woman to Roxanne’s ally in castrating men.

False impressions, lies. He shook his head, dismissing them all. The reality was this magical enchantress who offered him everything he’d ever dreamed of in a woman. Her openness delighted him. Her intelligence, her uninhibited sexuality, her honest expression and acceptance of her feelings made her incredibly special.

Maybe he should tell her about Roxanne, get it out of the way. But Lauren hadn’t brought up her ex-husband. Those marriages were mistakes. Neither of them had known what it could be like with the right person. As Lauren had said to Evan, nobody likes talking about their mistakes. Why waste time that could be better spent exploring what was happening between them?

“You are so lucky to have such a fantastic view! she said with a long, appreciative sigh.

Yes, he thought, looking at her drinking in the harbour vista through the floor-to-ceiling windows in his sunken living room. The opera house, the
bridge, the watercraft in and out of Circular Quay provided a feast of glittering spectacles, but she outshone them. Her shoes were off, her glorious hair unpinned, the seductive curves of her femininity silhouetted in soft lamplight, and he whimsically wondered if she’d ever been painted. He mentally ran through the artists he knew. Who could do her justice?

She turned to look at him behind the kitchen counter on the mezzanine level. “Are you terribly rich, Michael?” she asked.

No-one had ever asked that question quite so frankly. He grinned at her, amused by her total lack of artfulness. “Should I admit it or conceal it?”

“Are you wondering what effect your reply will have on me?”

“I suspect, none.”

She laughed. “I’m not here for your money. I said yes to your invitation before I even knew you drove a BMW. But such an expensive car and this apartment, both of which you seem to take for granted.”

“Does that offend you?”

“No.” She shrugged. “I just want to know about you.”

He pressed the plunger on the coffee grains as he considered how best to answer.

“Does it bother you, Michael?” she asked quietly.

“I guess rich is the wrong word. I have never felt rich. until tonight.” He met her gaze and spoke the truth as he knew it. “To be rich is to have things
of great value, Lauren. I’ve never valued wealth because I’ve had it all my life and it can’t give you what you really want.”

“Are we talking great wealth here?”

“Mmm…” He poured out the coffee, picked up the tray he’d set and carried it down to the living room. “Goes back to the last century. The Timberlanes were highly successful merchants. Owned ships and docking yards and auction houses. Lots of investments in city property and businesses.”

Lauren frowned. “But you’re not a high-profile family. I’ve never heard or read about you in that sense.”

“A very quiet establishment family,” he agreed. “Besides, I’m the only one left living in Australia. I have a brother who prefers Monaco and an aunt who has long been settled in Italy.”

She looked appalled. “What happened to the rest of your family?”

“Wealth does not prevent death.” He set the tray on a glass table. “Cream? Sugar?”

She helped herself. They settled on one of the leather chesterfields and she regarded him pensively. “Why a literary agent?”

“I like encouraging authors and getting their books published. They give a lot of pleasure to others.”

He would never have survived his boyhood without books and the escape they provided, not with any sanity, but he didn’t want to rake over those old nightmares. He didn’t want her sympathy.
He wanted her warmth, the total inner essence of Lauren Magee.

“Do you come from a large family?” he asked.

“Yes.” She laughed. “Five brothers and three sisters, plus innumerable aunts and uncles and cousins. You could say the Magees went forth and multiplied at a profligate rate. They all have big families.”

“Then you can count yourself as very rich, indeed.”

“Yes. Though I.” She checked herself. “Well, I’ll get to see them soon. I’m glad you’re not an idle playboy. I like my work, too.”

“Tell me how you got into it,” he invited, genuinely interested in knowing.

“Communication, public relations.”

She talked about the various jobs she’d held, moving up to publicist for a publisher. A natural progression, Michael thought, and pondered the one telling comment that her ex-husband had disliked her work. The man could not have really loved her. Anyone with eyes could see that Lauren lived and breathed the publicity mill. Using it as brilliantly as she obviously did was an expression of herself, her unique talents and abilities.

She was such a joy to watch, so vital, her eyes the blue of summer skies bathing him with sparkling sunshine, heating him with a simmering brew of desires he could barely contain. The right woman. Coming from a big family, she would be sure to want children herself. Beautiful breasts. Voluptuous
hips. Long, elegant, sexy legs. She could even match him dancing. Everything right.

The urge to reach out and pull her into full body contact with him made his hands itch. She had to feel the need, too. The coffee was cold in their cups, forgotten, untouched by either of them. If she wanted to leave, she would have said so by now. Was it assuming too much to want everything on the first night?

Let there be truth between us,
he thought with passionate intensity as he stood and took her hands, drawing her to her feet and into a loose embrace that didn’t demand or presume. Her eyes were wide, waiting for him to speak his mind, her body softly pliant, no resistance. The desire raging through him could not be denied.

“I want you, Lauren,” he said, his voice raw with urgency.

“Yes,” she answered with a soft expulsion of breath.

“Are you protected?”

“No.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

So direct, so honest in her desire for him. It almost blew Michael’s mind, as well as other strained parts of his anatomy. He lifted a hand to touch the softness of her cheek, trailed his fingers into the silken curls of her hair. Her lips parted invitingly. Her eyes swam with hopes and dreams.

“Not here,” he said gruffly, barely recognising his own voice. “Come all the way with me, Lauren.”

“Yes.”

He led her upstairs to his bedroom.

Her mouth was passion.

Her hair was erotic sensuality.

Her breasts were intoxicating.

Her hands were hypnotic pleasure.

Her legs were seductive silk.

And the inner essence of Lauren Magee…was ecstasy.

Michael loved her as he’d never loved a woman before, with unbridled passion, uninhibited fervour, wild exultation and the freedom-the amazingly sweet freedom-of fulfilling his every desire and meeting always the most exquisite response. Perfection. Bliss. Pleasure on a scale he had never imagined possible. And she gave it him. Lauren. The woman of his dreams.

It made up for everything else-the neglect of his parents who had never been there for him and his younger brother, Peter, even when they were alive; the oppression of his childhood under the cold domination of his grandmother; the loneliness of boarding school; the sense of not belonging at Oxford and Harvard; the alienation from his brother, who saw no point in working at anything; the bitter disillusionment of his marriage to Roxanne.

He should tell Lauren about Roxanne.

Tomorrow.

Tonight belonged to them. The future belonged to them. He could see it, taste it, feel it. And it was right.

T
HE
morning after. The phrase flitted through Lauren’s mind as she rode to work on the bus, and she almost laughed out loud at its connotations of shock and regrets and subsequent blues. None of it applied to how she felt.

It was as though her bloodstream was bubbling with joy. A sparkling zest for life sharpened all her senses. She was in love-madly, deliciously, wonderfully in love-and she didn’t regret one moment of the risks she had taken. Not one.

This time yesterday, if someone had told her she would meet a man, fall head over heels in love and go to bed with him, all on the same night, she would have responded to the prediction with outright disbelief. No chance. She wasn’t that kind of woman. She had her head on straight. Impulsive sexual adventures were not her style, never had been, never would be. Making love should be something special with someone special.

And it had been. Lauren closed her eyes and hugged the memory of all the marvellous sensations Michael had made her feel. He was a fantastic lover, wildly passionate, incredibly sensual, erotic and tender, powerful and playful. Lauren had never known a night like it. Wayne. But she wasn’t going to think about her ex-husband any more. Her
life had definitely taken an upward turn with Michael Timberlane.

She wondered if she should have woken him before leaving his apartment this morning. It had been tempting, just to share a last kiss, a last smile, the mutual knowledge of how incredibly magical their coming together had been. But he would have delayed her, and she’d barely had time enough to whiz to the house she shared at Chatswood, change her clothes for work and catch her usual bus to Artarmon. Besides, the note she had left him said it all.

The bus came to a ponderous halt. It was her stop. Lauren leapt from her seat and pushed quickly past the standing passengers to the opened door. She alighted on the sidewalk with a spring in her step and only just suppressed the urge to skip and twirl down the street to her office building.

Michael had danced her off her feet last night. He was the best. The very best. At everything! She was so lucky to have met him, lucky the attraction was mutual, lucky to be alive and sharing the world Michael Timberlane occupied.

A song started playing through her mind. It was “I Feel Pretty” from
West Side Story.
Only last week she’d seen the revival of the original stage production, currently showing at the Capital Theatre. She remembered the exhilaration coursing through Maria following her meeting with Tony, the high spirits that had fired the song with its lovely lilt of exhuberant happiness. It was precisely how Lauren felt.

She was still singing it in her head as she entered Global’s foyer and walked jauntily to the elevators. The receptionist, Sue Carroll, spotted her and called out, “Hey! That was some hot dancing last night, Lauren. How did you latch onto Michael Timberlane?”

“He was with Evan Daniel,” Lauren answered offhandedly, unwilling to feed Sue’s penchant for gossip.

“Of course. Your current project.” Sue’s smile was a twist of irony. “Well, the macho Michael sure surprised me, loosening up like that. The few times he’s come through here, you’d think he was encased in ice. Cold, forbidding and untouchable.”

His manner had undoubtedly piqued her. Sue enjoyed a bit of chitchat and loved to know everybody’s business. Apart from that, no attractive young woman, even married as Sue was, liked to be frozen out by a handsome man. With her chic pageboy bob and shiny brown eyes, pretty face and petite figure, Sue tended to court male attention and usually got it.

“Maybe the party atmosphere thawed him,” Lauren suggested tactfully as the elevator doors opened.

“Or something more basic.”

Lauren laughed off the dry comment and hurried into the compartment, waving to Sue while pressing the button for her floor and exulting with private certainty that it was she who had melted the ice. It was interesting, though, that Sue had been subjected to the forbidding look Lauren had observed
last night. Obviously Michael didn’t open up to many people, but when he did. Lauren breathed a sweet sigh of satisfaction. Dynamite!

She walked briskly from the elevator to her office, happy to return greetings from fellow workers but not encouraging any discourse about last night’s party. No-one would understand what had happened between herself and Michael, and she didn’t want to make light of it. There would inevitably be comments like Sue Carroll’s to field. For the moment, however, Lauren preferred to defer them.

Once in her office, she switched on her computer, collected the faxes that had come in and settled at her desk. Her inner happiness bubbled up again at the memory of Michael’s appreciation of her work. He knew how important good promotion was in launching a new book on the market. Far from denigrating or resenting or dismissing her job, as Wayne had, Michael had shown he would be right behind her in everything she tried to achieve.

To be able to talk freely about it, to share ideas with someone who was receptive and constructive in bouncing ideas back. that was sheer heaven to Lauren. It was wonderful to have books in common. For Michael, too, it was surely more pleasurable to be with a woman who comprehended what his business entailed.

Though there were plenty of women in the publishing industry who would be attuned to it. Like Beth Hayward. Recalling Michael’s tension at Beth’s approach last night, Lauren wondered if
there had been something between them. Not that it mattered now.

Having dismissed the speculation, Lauren skimmed through the faxes, noting replies that had to be made and appointments that had to be changed. She was updating her schedules when Graham Parker dropped by, bringing her a cup of coffee.

“Nursing a hangover?” he asked, looking somewhat seedy himself.

She smiled. “No, but thanks for the thought.”

He set her mug carefully on the desk then sagged slowly onto the spare chair, holding his own mug gingerly. “Oh, to be young and full of boundless energy,” he intoned.

“I take it you overindulged.”

“They were serving a very good red.”

Lauren knew his wife was to have met him at the party, so no doubt she had driven him home. “Well, so long as it was worth it,” she said, barely repressing outright amusement at his hangdog expression.

He gave her a doleful look. “I hope it was for you, too.”

“I’m not suffering,” she reminded him.

“You will. Believe me, you will.”

His conviction puzzled her. “How so?”

“I know Roxanne. The classic dog-in-the-manger attitude will click in the moment she hears.”

“Hears what?”

He frowned at her as though she was definitely thick in the head. “Correct me if I’m wrong, dear
girl, but were you not tripping the light fantastic with Michael Timberlane last night? Or should I say, exploring the modern boundaries of dirty dancing?”

Lauren grinned. “He’s certainly got rhythm.”

“Yes. My wife considered him as good as John Travolta. A high accolade, indeed, considering how many times she’s watched what she calls classic Travolta movies.”

The sardonic comment did not enlighten her. “So what point are you making, Graham?”

“Oh, far be it from me to question chemistry. If you want to get involved with Michael Timberlane, that’s entirely your business. I merely perceive the thunderclouds gathering on the horizon.” He sighed. “I guess I’m going to get rained on again.”

“Why should you?”

“Because Roxanne won’t like it, and she’ll pour out her umpteen million reasons, and as her closest associate, I’ll cop it more than you will. She might not have any use for her ex-husband, but I very much doubt she’ll take kindly to-”

“Her
ex-husband?
” Shock and incredulity billowed through Lauren’s mind.

“You didn’t know he was He Who Demandeth Too Much?” Graham was startled out of his air of bleak resignation.

“Michael Timberlane is Mikey the Monster?” Lauren squeaked, her voice rising uncontrollably as her mind fought to relate the man she had met last night to the husband who had made Roxanne
miserable. The two images simply did not mesh in any shape or form.

“The Dump Merchant,” Graham expounded, nodding gravely.

“How could she call him Mikey?” It was a cry of protest against what she didn’t want to accept.

“A need to diminish him. The guy is formidable. Roxanne couldn’t live up to him. Simple psychology,” Graham answered in his best pithy style.

“But.” Lauren floundered, shattered by her ignorance. “Her name is Kinsey.”

“Maiden name. It’s still Kinsey, even though she’s married again,” Graham pointed out. “Roxanne clings to it because it has status. Being from Melbourne, you’re probably not aware that generations of Kinseys have held high office in the New South Wales government. Kinsey equals power. Timberlane is also old establishment, but most of that family has died off. Not very useful for Roxanne, who got her job here because someone who knew someone.”

Lauren groaned, appalled that probably everyone on Global’s staff had been titillated by her social involvement with Roxanne’s ex-husband, doubly appalled that she could have been so completely misled by a man who, according to Roxanne, was every bit as soul-crushing as Wayne.

“Sorry.” Graham offered a rueful grimace. “I thought you were being brave.”

“Stupidly reckless, you mean.”

“Not necessarily. Horses for courses. You’re made of sterner stuff than Roxanne.”

“Not that stem.” Her eyes flashed bitter determination. “I’m through with fighting to be me. I don’t need another bout of it, thank you very much.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t take too much notice of Roxanne’s self-serving diatribes against him,” Graham said dryly. “She didn’t really want a man. She wanted a sugar daddy. And that’s precisely what she’s married now.”

Lauren was not consoled. The blissful confidence she’d had in her response to Michael Timberlane was in tatters. Gone were her buoyant spirits. Gone were her high hopes. Was she doomed to be attracted to the wrong kind of man? Perhaps it was Roxanne who had her head on straight, choosing a sugar daddy who was happy to give her everything she wanted in return for simply being herself with him.

Graham pushed himself up from the chair and gestured apologetically. “I didn’t mean to drop a bombshell on you, Lauren.”

“That’s okay. Best that I know,” she said flatly.

“One man’s meat is another man’s poison. Same with women. Forget Roxanne and go with your gut feeling,” he advised kindly, then gave her a crooked smile. “I can weather the storm in my department.”

“Thanks, Graham.” Her smile was wry. “Unfortunately, my experience tells me my gut feeling isn’t wonderfully trustworthy.”

“Up to you,” he said with a shrug, and left her to mull over the madness that had consumed her last night.

Or was it madness?

She was older, wiser now than she’d been in the dizzy days of being swept along by Wayne’s ardent courtship. Last night with Michael, she hadn’t overlooked any false notes or responses that grated on her sense of harmony with him. There had been none. That was what had been so marvellous about everything. All those hours together and every minute of it sheer pleasure, once he had made up his mind to take a chance with her.

She could understand his wariness about associating with anyone at Global, apart from what his business necessitated. Global was Roxanne’s stamping ground. Lauren acknowledged that she would certainly be reluctant to involve herself with anyone who worked with Wayne. Broken marriages did create conflict of interests areas.

It was little wonder he assumed a forbidding demeanour to anyone attached to Roxanne’s milieu. No doubt he had only gone to Global’s party out of friendship’s sake, to provide company for Tasha Daniel while Evan gave his speech. Lauren had to respect him for that gesture alone. He couldn’t have known beforehand that Roxanne wouldn’t be there.

Though he did know she was not about to turn up after Beth Hayward had mentioned Roxanne’s sprained ankle. Lauren remembered the sudden change in him, the casting aside of any inhibitions about showing he was attracted to her. Perhaps it was because the possible threat of Roxanne causing an unpleasant scene had been removed.

Lauren began to question Roxanne’s version of her ex-husband’s behaviour. Last night, when Michael had spoken of a saboteur, Lauren had assumed his ex-wife had taken a lover. If Roxanne had been unfaithful, there could be reason for him to demand an account of her time. Which had come first, the sense of oppression from Michael or the betrayal of his trust?

Lauren could well imagine Roxanne justifying her own behaviour by heaping blame on Michael. Probably the only way she could feel good about herself was by gaining sympathy for her course of action. When it came to the bottom line, Lauren readily conceded that Roxanne would never qualify as a bosom friend, whereas Michael could be the right man for her.

Hope dusted off the bleak desolation that had descended at Graham’s revelation, but the bubble of undiluted happiness did not bounce back. A sense of caution kept it tightly confined. Despite her intense desire to dismiss all Roxanne’s complaints against Michael, Lauren couldn’t quite do it. The seeds of doubt had too much fertile ground to feed on from the hurts and disillusionment that had ended her own marriage.

She would give her gut feeling a chance to prove correct. After last night, it would be cowardly not to. Graham was right. She had to trust her own judgment. It wouldn’t be fair to Michael otherwise.

Her telephone rang.

Satisfied she had sorted out her mind concerning Michael, Lauren focused her concentration on work
as she picked up the receiver. “Lauren Magee,” she said expectantly.

“Are you completely mad, Lauren?” Roxanne sounded peeved, pettish and sniping full bore.

“I beg your pardon.” Some dousing dignity was called for.

“I can’t believe you let Michael Timberlane sweep you off after all I’ve told you about him,” Roxanne raged.

“I’m sorry. I’ve never heard you mention Michael Timberlane, Roxanne.” And that was the cold, hard truth.