A Very Private Revenge
An intimate vendetta!Tamar had made it her business to find out all Jed Cannon's secrets. The notorious playboy had destroyed her cousin's happiness - and her reputation. Now Tamar was determined Jed must be made to pay. It was time to put her plan into action!Tamar intended to play Jed at his own game: seduce him, the publicly jilt him! But the more she flirted with him, the more she realized Jed wasn't the ruthless man he seemed. Maybe it wasn't really revenge she wanted after all… .
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“You don’t like me, Tamar. Why?”About the AuthorTitle PageCHAPTER ONECHAPTER TWOCHAPTER THREECHAPTER FOURCHAPTER FIVECHAPTER SIXCHAPTER SEVENCHAPTER EIGHTCHAPTER NINECopyright
“You don’t like me, Tamar. Why?”
“I never said that—”
“Oh, you’re attracted to me...physically,” Jed continued darkly, “but that’s all.” If he only knew. Tamar stared at him, her mouth dry. But he mustn’t guess, not ever, the way she felt about him.
“What have you heard about me that has filled you with such suspicion?”
Tamar continued to stare at him, her mind racing. “I don’t know. You...you’ve got something of a reputation, I suppose,” she managed at last, her voice shaking. She couldn’t tell him the truth.
“I can buy that.” He nodded soberly, moving closer. “And you aren’t prepared to look beyond the reputation, to give me a chance?”
HELEN BROOKS lives in Northamptonshire, England, and is married with three children. As she is a committed Christian, busy housewife and mother, her spare time is at a premium, but her hobbies include reading, swimming, gardening and walking her two energetic, inquisitive and very endearing young dogs. Her long-cherished aspiration to write became a reality when she put pen to paper on reaching the age of forty, and sent the result off to Harlequin Books.
HELEN BROOKS now concentrates on writing for Harlequin Presents>®, with highly emotional, poignant yet intense books we know you’ll love!
CHAPTER ONE
‘OH, YES, Miss McKinley, Mr Cannon is expecting you. If you wouldn’t mind taking a seat...?’
Jed Cannon’s secretary was exactly how Tamar had pictured her from her voice on the telephone, all cool, ice-blonde efficiency and stunning good looks, and as Tamar sank into the proffered chair she felt a nervous bubble of laughter rise in her throat, which she quashed immediately.
None of that, none of that. The little voice in her mind was strong and stern as Tamar watched the other woman glide into the inner sanctum after a reverent knock on Jed Cannon’s interconnecting door. You’ve come this far, you’ve cornered the wolf in its lair, don’t blow it now... But Miss Rice-Brown was so absolutely right for him, she really was, from the top of her ash-blonde bob to the tips of her Italian leather shoes...
‘Miss McKinley? Mr Cannon will see you now.’
Tamar didn’t have time to reflect further as she rose from the deep-cushioned pale cream chair and waded through the ankle-deep carpeting to the room beyond, passing the other woman in the doorway with a polite nod and smile.
‘Miss McKinley?’
The big male figure behind the massive walnut desk was broad-shouldered and dark; that was all Tamar took in initially, along with the fact that the deep, cold, clipped voice was formidable in itself.
‘Yes, how do you do, Mr Cannon?’ It was the opening she had rehearsed, and it came out like clockwork, respectful but reserved.
And then he stood up, holding out a hand as he said, ‘I understand you have some properties you think I might be interested in, Miss McKinley?’—and he came into focus. Oh, boy, did he come into focus...
‘I... I...’ Don’t lose it, Tamar, not now. ‘I think there are one or two in particular that would suit your requirements admirably, Mr Cannon,’ she said with a coolness she was far from feeling, shaking the big hand for as brief a moment as decorum would allow, and praying her initial hesitation hadn’t been picked up by those riveting silver-grey eyes.
She had to keep the businesslike approach sharp and crisp, but she just hadn’t expected him to be quite so—her mind balked at the word ‘handsome’ and substituted ‘overpowering’—in real life. His picture had captured none of the latent power of the man.
‘One or two?’ The voice was slightly husky, almost a gravelly texture evident in the slight accent she knew was from his American heritage, and it was very, very sexy, in a magnetic, toe-curling sort of way. It went hand in hand with the six-foot-plus frame, coldly handsome face and piercingly silver eyes. And those same eyes had flickered slightly as they took in her slim red-gold fragility and dark chocolate-brown eyes.
He was attracted to her. She had seen that same look in too many male eyes in the past to doubt its portent. And that was good, that was very, very good—exactly what she had planned when she had dressed with such care that morning. She loathed this man, hated and despised him, but he mustn’t know, not yet.
‘Yes, we never like to put our clients in a position where they have a choice of one.’ What would Jed Cannon say if he knew he was being hunted? Tamar asked herself with a touch of wry cynicism as she smiled coolly into the hard face. Here was a man with the world at his feet, figuratively speaking. A wealthy, powerful millionaire, who wore his women in the same way as he did his designer suits—to complement and enhance his own spectacular image.
He’d already had more women that she had had hot dinners, if only half the stories about him were true, and there was a queue a mile long to be the next female on his arm. Perhaps he expected her to fall in a little heap at his feet? Perhaps they all did? Anyway, she had to be careful. Very, very careful. She had to be different from all the rest.
