her livelihood to a group of unknown talents. Charming and professional as they all seemed, how could she know whether their dancing and mime would enhance her costumes or make them look ridiculous? The trembling became a violent shaking. Lauren gasped for breath. Suddenly the cabin seemed to close in on her, to be airless. Catching up her coat, Lauren left the room, locking the door behind her, and made her way up to the deck.
It was dark and windy, and at first she thought she was alone. She walked quickly to the rail and grasped its comforting hardness with shaking hands. She forced herself to breathe deeply, desperately seeking to absorb the tranquility promised by the vast, quiet ocean and the clear moonlight.
And then she became aware of a human presence behind her, felt it with a sharp alertness, an immediate sensory perception that struck into her consciousness like a dazzling light. The first assault was to her sense of smell. A tantalizing mixture of spice and the musky redolence of a man’s clean, warm body drifted to her nostrils. Next, there was the moisture of breath against her neck, and the heat radiating from a large body close to her back. Her own skin, in spite of her coat, was cold in the night air; the contrast between her chill and this new warmth was disturbing. Lauren stood very still. She had never been so sharply aware of another person in her life. She turned slowly to face whoever was standing behind her.
She found herself face to face with the man whom Dani had accosted as they were boarding, the man whose mocking smile had taken note of her exasperation at the model’s behavior. Instead of the blazer, he was now wearing a beautiful, form-fitting dinner jacket with a soft white shirt and black tie. He was taller than she remembered, and loomed over her with his powerful chest and shoulders, his dark head bent toward her as he stared at her. The moonlight turned his eyes to liquid silver.
And then his voice sounded in her ears, deep and dark like the ocean depths, but warmer, warmer . . . a husky voice, as erotic as the rasp of black velvet against the fingertips.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Rose? Can I help you?”
Lauren caught her breath, then held her voice steady as she answered, “Thank you, no, I’m fine. I was . . . feeling a little tired, but it’s not surprising, really. I haven’t slept in over thirty-six hours.” She tried for an easy, casual laugh. “Jet lag?”
“Not enough proper food to eat and too much responsibility, wouldn’t you say?” he answered, astonishing her.
That touch of condescending male chauvinism was just the stimulation Lauren so desperately needed. Her head lifted and she stared up into the dark face above her. “I’ve been carrying a fairly heavy load of responsibility for a number of years now, Mr.—?” she waited with an intense curiosity she didn’t understand to hear him name himself.
But he threw her off balance again when, instead of giving her his name, he said abruptly, “With, of course, the help of Mr. Herbert Masen.”
“Herbert?” Lauren’s voice broke into scornful laughter. “All Herbert does is complicate the issue. He’s determined I’ll—” She broke off, unwilling to share any more of her private concerns with this man, even if he did seem to know a surprising amount about her affairs. Better to confront him at once, she decided. “Just who are you? And how do you happen to know so much about me?”
“I’ve been listening to your Mr. Masen in the bar for the last hour. He told me he is willing to marry you in spite of the mess you are making of your fashion presentation. Then you will sell your boutique and the rights to your designer clothes, after which you both plan to laze away the rest of your lives following the jet set from one resort to another. With you footing the bills.”
Lauren’s scorn was evident in her voice. “You think I’ve agreed to that repulsive little scenario?”
“Well,” the man drawled insolently, “One would hope not, of course. But I have noticed that you can’t control your models.”
Lauren set her jaw against an angry retort. In a moment, she said quietly, “I’ve controlled my employees and marketed my designs successfully for ten years. Perhaps both you and your drinking buddy have something to learn about me. Now if you’ll excuse me—” She tried to