Desert Moon Read online

  “Why you...!”

  About the Author

  Books by Jennifer Taylor

  Title Page

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  Copyright

  “Why you...!”

  Natalie’s hand raced through the air, but before. it could land a stinging slap on Flynn’s cheek, he caught her wrist.

  “I think I warned you not to do that, Natalie. You might not enjoy the consequences, although I would!” His gaze dropped to her mouth and stayed there in a look she could feel in every cell of her body, before abruptly he tossed her hand away. “Let’s go. We’ve wasted enough time.”

  Jennifer Taylor was bom in Liverpool, England, and still lives in the northwest, several miles outside of the city. Books have always been a passion of hers, so it seemed natural to choose a library career—a wise decision as the library was where she met her husband, Bill. Twenty years and two children later they are still happily married and she is still working in the library, with the added bonus that she has discovered how challenging and enjoyable writing romantic fiction can be!

  Books by Jennifer Taylor

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  Desert Moon

  Jennifer Taylor

  TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

  AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

  STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN

  MADRID • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

  CHAPTER ONE

  WHAT a day!

  Flynn O’Rourke poured himself a generous measure of Scotch then loosened his tie as he walked over to the sofa and slumped down on the cushions. He took a deep swallow of the liquor and closed his eyes while he let it trickle down his throat and burn away the edges of his frustration.

  It was hard to believe that so much could go wrong. He’d been on his way to the airport in Rome when the call had come through. He’d turned right around and gone back then spent the next few hours sorting out the mess before he could even think of leaving again. But the vacation he’d promised himself was out of the question now. Some might see what had happened as a run of bad luck, but Flynn didn’t believe in luck, either good or bad. There was someone behind it all. He had his suspicions but that was all they were as yet. What he needed was the evidence to back them up, and while part of him shied away from what he might uncover it had to be done.

  Flynn raised his glass again, rolling twelve-year-old Scotch over his palate while he savoured its smoothness as he looked round the immaculate room. The flat wasn’t his taste, too regimented and orderly, but he couldn’t fault Marcus Cole’s choice of whisky. It had been a gamble coming here but Marcus had readily offered him the use of his flat while he was away when Flynn had turned up on his doorstep after flying back from Rome. He’d accepted without question what Flynn had told him about his own place being uninhabitable, thanks to a neighbour who’d gone away and left the bath running. Now Flynn intended to make the most of the opportunity.

  He raised his glass again then realised it was almost empty. He got up and poured another couple of fingers of best malt into the heavy cut-crystal and sipped it more slowly. Whisky like this deserved to be savoured and accorded due respect, not bolted back like cheap bar-room bourbon. The trouble was he’d been living out of a suitcase for so long now that he’d almost forgotten what it was like to enjoy a few home comforts, a touch of refinement. His own small service flat was purely basic, a place to sleep when he was in England, which wasn’t very often. Staying here could serve a dual purpose, give him chance to reacquaint himself with life how it should be lived. Try hard enough, and enlist the help of a drop of good malt, and it was possible to find a silver lining to any dark cloud!

  Cradling the glass in one hand, Flynn walked to the state-of-the-art music system housed in one of the ceiling-high black ash units which ran the length of the large room. He rolled a drop more Scotch over his tongue as he riffled through the neat stack of CDs, smiling sardonically as he found Black Sabbath cheek by jowl with Brahms. Who would have thought that Marcus was into heavy metal? It didn’t seem to fit the sophisticated criminal lawyer image, but there again, how much did one ever really know about people you did business with?

  He set the glass down as he switched on the player then slid the silvery disc into its slot, but before he could press the button to start it playing the telephone rang. Impatiently, Flynn glanced across the room before he heard the answering machine cut in to take the call. Touching a finger to the play button, he went back to the sofa and stretched out as the first few chords of ‘Paranoid’ hit the air.

  ‘Marcus, it’s me, Natalie. Oh, I wish you were home. I hate talking to this machine but I’m absolutely desperate ! You just have to help me!’

  The woman paused as though marshalling her thoughts and Flynn eased himself up against the back of the sofa, both the drink and the throbbing beat of the music forgotten as his attention centred on the sweetly husky tones once more issuing from the machine.

  ‘Remember me telling you about that account I was chasing, the really big one? Well, I think I’ve got it. The trouble is Damian Renshaw, who owns the company. He appears to be finding it difficult to understand that my only role is to ensure that the advertising campaign runs smoothly!’ There was a trace of exasperation in the woman’s voice now. ‘He seems to think that I should be offering a more personal service to him at least, and while I want the contract there are limits beyond which I am not prepared to go. And Damian Renshaw isn’t within a million miles of them!

  ‘But that, hopefully, is where you come in, Marcus. Damian is taking a party to the opera tonight and has invited me along. I should go just to keep him sweet but I want to make it clear that the only relationship I’m interested in with him is a business one. I...’ The woman, Natalie, paused, then rushed on so fast that Flynn frowned as he tried to follow the flow of words. ‘I told Damian that I would be bringing a friend along, a very dear friend, and left him to make up his own mind what that meant! So please, please, Marcus, you have to come! I know it’s a huge imposition to ask you like this at the very last moment but I’m desperate and I know you won’t let me down.

  ‘If you could come along and just do your best to convince Damian he’s wasting his time then I shall be eternally grateful. This account is worth a fortune and it could make a huge difference to my career, so...’ The woman ran through all the details as to where Marcus should meet her then said goodbye and hung up.

  Flynn swirled the half-forgotten whisky round the glass, a faint smile playing around his mouth as he wondered if the unknown Natalie was as gorgeous as that sexy, smoky voice of hers.

  He set the glass down on a side-table, ignoring the black coaster placed there precisely for such an event, and got up to walk over to the phone and press the replay button so that he could listen to the message again, savouring, in much the same way as he had savoured that first mouthful of Scotch, the seductive softness of Natalie’s tones before a few salient points struck him sharply.

  The woman had left no call-back number where Marcus could reach her, probably because he knew it and because s
he was confident that he would do as she asked. Add that to what she had said and it left Flynn in little doubt that Natalie knew Marcus extremely well. Interesting!

  Walking back to the sofa, Flynn sank down again and closed his eyes, letting the music throb and pound his senses, yet it couldn’t quite dispel the idea which was forming at the back of his mind...

  Where was he?

  Natalie Walters pushed back the sleeve of her black moiré silk cocktail suit and shot another anxious look at the large-faced, strictly utilitarian watch strapped to her slender wrist. There were less than ten minutes left before the start of the first act and even now people were drifting inside to take their seats. Where on earth was Marcus?

  The glass doors opened to admit another late-comer but it took only a split-second for her eyes to sweep over the man who’d just come in before she dismissed him, although she must have been one of the few women in the foyer who did so. Tall, lean and blond, and almost sinfully handsome, he drew the eyes of every red-blooded woman the right side of sixty, plus the eyes of those who’d passed that mark several years before! Natalie had no trouble in turning her gaze away, however, for the simple reason that the man wasn’t Marcus.

  ‘Seems your friend is a trifle late, Natalie, darling. Are you sure he is coming?’

  Natalie fixed a smile to lips which wanted to clamp together in a mean line, curbing the faint feeling of revulsion she always experienced around Damian Renshaw. It wasn’t something she could explain because there was nothing about his appearance to warrant it. Touching forty, smoothly urbane, just a shade too corpulent thanks to good living and a dislike of exercise, Damian was considered one of the world’s most eligible bachelors. He bad inherited the huge Renshaw cosmetic house from his father five years ago and since then rarely been seen without a beautiful woman hanging on his arm. Natalie, however, failed to share their interest in him. Bidding for this contract to promote the new Renshaw perfume would have been a whole lot simpler if Damian hadn’t decided that she should be part of the package. She’d tried to explain to her boss back at the agency what the problem was but he had been unsympathetic. In these days of recession contracts were hard to come by, especially lucrative ones like this. Natalie would just have to sort it out by herself while not antagonising Renshaw.

  ‘Penny for them, sweetness.’ Damian touched her hand, bending closer to smile at her. ‘You aren’t worried that your friend might not come, are you?’ He stroked his fingers over the back of her hand again, his smile increasing in meaning as he stared straight into her eyes. ‘Don’t be. I shall be only too pleased to escort you tonight, Natalie.’

  Surreptitiously, Natalie drew her hand away, resisting the urge to rub it against her skirt to erase the feel of Damian’s slightly moist fingers from her skin. ‘That’s very kind of you, Damian, but I’m sure there won’t be any need. Perhaps he has been held up en route. You know what the traffic can be like.’

  ‘Of course. But my offer still stands, Natalie...’

  ‘Natalie! Sorry I’m so late, honey. Were you starting to worry I wouldn’t make it?’ There was a deep laugh then Natalie found herself being swung round and clamped against a hard body while unmistakably male lips captured hers in a kiss which could only be classed as expert!

  For a moment she stood immobile, stunned by what had happened and, if she was honest, by the feel of the man’s mouth on hers, then suddenly came to her senses. She pushed against the man’s chest, feeling the hardness of muscle under the smooth white silk shirt, the rigidity of flesh honed to perfection, as she glared up into a pair of laughing sea-green eyes.

  ‘I really don’t—’

  ‘Don’t think this is the time or the place for me to kiss you?’ The man laughed again, the sound rumbling deeply in his chest so that she could feel the tremors it aroused in her fingertips. Instinctively she curled her fingers into her palms and pushed him harder, succeeding in making a few inches of space between their bodies this time.

  ‘Look, I have no idea what you think you are—’

  The stranger pressed a long finger to her lips, effectively cutting off the heated flow of words as he looked over her head to wink conspiratorially at Damian, who was standing stiffly watching the exchange. ‘Has quite a temper when she gets going. It’s one of the things I love most about her. You must be Damian Renshaw, of course. I’m delighted to meet you. Natalie has told me about you and this contract she’s been working on.’

  The man set Natalie slightly away from him as he held his hand out to Damian, although he didn’t let her go completely. Natalie drew a shuddery disbelieving breath. This couldn’t be happening! She couldn’t be standing here in the middle of the Opera House in the arms of a total stranger who seemed to know not only who she was but what she did for a living!

  She closed her eyes then opened them slowly again but it made no difference. The man was still there, one hard arm looped easily around her shoulders, his blond head gleaming in the light from the chandeliers, his staggeringly handsome face set into lines of urbane charm which somehow she knew was completely false. He was the man who had come in through the doors before, the one who had drawn all those lustful female eyes. Well, as far as she was concerned they were welcome to him!

  She sucked in a deep breath but once again the stranger seemed to second-guess her intentions. He bent and dropped a silencing kiss on her parted lips then slid his mouth to her ear in a gesture which to anyone watching must have looked purely affectionate but which had a deeper significance.

  ‘I heard the message you left for Marcus. I decided you needed some help, so let me do my knight errant act, sweet, without any of those protests I can see you’re dying to make.’

  Natalie gasped. What did he mean, he’d heard the message she’d left? And why on earth should he imagine she wanted his help? However, before she could gather her scattered wits, Damian said stiffly, ‘Well, I am pleased that you could make it, Mr...?’

  ‘O’Rourke, Flynn O’Rourke. Don’t tell me Natalie has been keeping me such a secret. I know we didn’t intend for news of our relationship to get out, but...!’ The man laughed again, hugging a speechless Natalie to his side so that her breast was crushed against the hard wall of his chest. She counted to ten... slowly, wanting the words to be perfect when they finally left her mouth. How dared he imply that he... that she... that they...? Oh!

  She counted again, striving for control, but by the time she felt she’d achieved it Damian was nowhere in sight. There was just her and the man standing in the middle of the foyer and every scrap of control evaporated under the force of her anger.

  ‘Just what do you think you are playing at? Why have you come? And how dare you kiss me like that?’

  Flynn stepped back, staring calmly down at her in a way which made Natalie itch to do something dreadful like slap him. She tossed her long black hair over her shoulders, her black eyes sparkling with temper as she felt colour sweep under her flawless pale olive skin. Her mother had been Italian, a fiery woman who’d felt deeply about most things, but Natalie had always prided herself on the fact that she seemed to have escaped the Latin temperament while inheriting Sofia’s beauty. However, perhaps she had been just a shade too complacent. She had never felt so furiously angry before and it was all thanks to him, Flynn O’Rourke—if that really was his name!

  ‘It seemed the best thing to do at the time, Natalie. And I must confess it was no hardship slipping into the role of your admirer.’

  There was cool amusement in that deep voice and Natalie took a step towards him. ‘If I was meant to feel flattered then I’m afraid you’ll be sadly disappointed to hear that I’m not. Frankly, Mr O’Rourke, I—’

  He cut her off with a smile on his lips which mirrored the amusement she’d heard in his voice. ‘Better make that Flynn. I imagine that Renshaw will find it odd, in the circumstances, if you keep calling me Mr O’Rourke.’

  ‘There are no circumstances! I don’t believe this. Just what does it take to get throu
gh to you that I didn’t invite you here to start poking your nose into my affairs?’ Natalie’s temper had reached boiling-point, seething and bubbling, so that she took another step towards the infuriating man.

  ‘But surely that is the object of all this?’ Flynn arched an elegant golden brow, his smile never wavering even in the face of her anger. ‘That Damian Renshaw should think you’re having an affair so that he’ll keep his hot hands to himself?’

  ‘But not with you! Can’t you understand that?’ Natalie snapped.

  Flynn folded his arms across his chest, studying Natalie calmly. ‘Of course, but unfortunately Marcus couldn’t be here so I decided to take his place.’

  ‘What do you mean, he couldn’t be here? Why not? Did he send you?’

  Flynn shook his head. ‘Not exactly. He’s gone away, so when I heard your message I decided to come along and help out instead. I take it you didn’t know he would be going anywhere?’

  ‘I... no.’ Natalie looked away, afraid of what he might see in her face. Marcus had made no mention of going away last time they had spoken. On the contrary, his last words to her had been that they must have a serious talk soon. She’d spent hours mulling that over, savouring the thought of what he might want to talk about! Now it came as a doubly bitter blow to learn that Marcus had gone away without letting her know first. It made a mockery of all the tender little hopes and aspirations she’d been nurturing since that conversation.

  ‘I realise it must have surprised you to have me turning up, but surely it makes little difference so long as Renshaw gets the message? After all, that’s the real point of the exercise, isn’t it?’ Flynn glanced round, ignoring Natalie’s outraged gasp as he slid a hand under her elbow to steer her towards the door leading into the auditorium.