An Innocent Affair

“Have you no shame at all?”

“My conscience is quite clear, thank you, Alex,” Hope replied crisply.

“Do you like playing games with people?” His icy glare impaled her.

“A girl’s got to amuse herself.”

“Is that what you were doing with me?”

The flicker in Alex’s hooded eyes made Hope feel uneasy, but she wasn’t going to backpedal now. “Well, I’ve got to do something for the next month, and I do find older men so attractive,” she confided with her best come-hither smile.

Alex reached out to her, and glimpsed shock in her wide blue eyes before he kissed her….

Wanted: three husbands for three sisters!

Anna, Lindy and Hope—triplet sisters and the best, the closest, of friends. Physically, these three women may look alike, but their personalities are very different! Anna is lively and vivacious, Lindy is the practical one and Hope sparkles with style and sophistication.

But they have one thing in common: each sister is about to meet a man she will tantalize, torment and finally tame! And when these spirited women find true love, they’ll become the most beautiful triplet brides….

Turn the page to enjoy the third Lacey sister’s story as Hope meets her match!

An Innocent Affair
Kim Lawrence

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

‘AUNT Beth didn’t cry at all.’ There was implied criticism in the soft voice. ‘I always cry at weddings.’

Hope didn’t think the lace-edged handkerchief her fellow guest shook gently would have been much serious use. On closer scrutiny she couldn’t detect any tell-tale smears in the smooth, matt make-up.

‘Including your own, I expect.’ She regretted the dry comment the moment she made it; the shaky condition of her cousin’s marriage was well known. The trouble was she didn’t like Tricia and never had; she was shallow, pretentious and totally lacking in spontaneity. Being in her company solidly for the past half-hour had worn her tolerance level down.

‘Roger is in Geneva; he has business there.’ The brittle defences were clearly on show. ‘I miss him, but I don’t expect you to understand about the special closeness marriage brings.’

Hope let the insult wash over her; she’d weathered worse over the past weeks. Besides, this time she’d deserved a reprimand. You’re a cow, Hope Lacey, Hope told herself with disgust. Roger’s ‘business’ was a ten-years-younger version of his wife, and everyone knew it. Two bright patches of colour had emerged on her cousin’s cheeks.

‘Then we’ll have to take lots of pictures to show Roger how gorgeous you look, won’t we?’ she said, her generous personality reasserting itself. ‘Smile,’ she instructed brightly. ‘Anna has instructed me to point this thing at everything that moves. She insists that the official photos never give an accurate impression of any occasion. Too cosmetic.’

‘Anna always has been a bit odd.’

Hope bit back the instinctive scathing retort that hovered on her tongue. ‘Well, she certainly has appalling timing. Fancy giving birth to twins twelve hours before your sister gets married.’

Hope knew that Anna’s absence had been the one cloud on Lindy’s horizon today. The triplets had a close relationship, and on today of all days Rosalind had wanted them all to be together.

‘Twins!’ Tricia shuddered, and from her expression Hope instinctively knew she was about to receive a detailed history of her cousin’s own labour.

‘Well, it’s less dramatic than triplets.’ Hope heroically fixed an interested expression on her face as Tricia launched into a detailed account. She found it hard to keep the glazed look from her eyes.

The story she was hearing didn’t do much for her own maternal instincts, such as they were! It could be I’m meant to be a maiden aunt, she reflected. Her smile faltered. Tricia hadn’t even got to the part where her waters broke yet. This might be a long haul! Look on it as penance for that catty remark, Hope, she told herself severely. Poor Tricia. Considering how many women she knew who, like Tricia, were hanging on for grim death to the shreds of miserable marriages, she wondered that the institution was so popular.

Twenty minutes later Hope had her long silk skirts in one hand and a fortifying glass of champagne in the other. She was heading towards the small marquee set on her parents’ lawn from where the foot-tapping music emanated.

Her attention was diverted before she’d reached her destination. He wasn’t the tallest figure standing in the small group, but he was easily the most arresting. As he began to speak, using his hands to emphasise a point—no wide, sweeping gestures for this man; his hands inscribed economic, precise gestures in the air—Hope pulled the camera from around her neck and began clicking.

When he turned his head and looked directly at her, for once Hope’s poise deserted her. She turned quickly away, guilty as a child caught spying on her elders.

Great move, she silently cursed, trying to ram the lens cap back onto the camera. ‘Damn thing!’ She bent down on the damp ground, trying to recapture the item.

‘Can I help?’

They both reached for the lens cover at the same instant, and her fingers touched the tips of a much stronger pair of hands. Hands that matched the powerful image of the man, with neatly manicured square fingernails. The hands of an artisan and not a philosopher. It was the impression of immense strength Alex Matheson emanated that had first caught her attention. She fleetingly imagined the intense vitality he exuded had transferred itself along the nerve-endings in her fingertips.

‘Thank you.’ She turned her hand palm-up to receive the cap. ‘It doesn’t belong to me,’ she explained with a warm smile.

There was none of the immediate recognition on his face that Hope was accustomed to. She was one of an elite band of international supermodels, and her face made her public property. Strangers always made a big thing of identifying her, and after the unpleasant media coverage she’d received just lately there couldn’t be many people in the country who didn’t know who she was. At least he wasn’t condemning her out of hand, the way a lot of strangers did, which disposed Hope to think well of him.

‘It’s a good camera.’ His deep voice had a gravelly, husky quality which was incredibly attractive. They straightened up in unison.

‘And idiot-proof, or so Adam says. Adam’s my brother-in-law, or one of them. I’ve got two now.’ This notion was still novel enough to make her grin.

‘I know Adam.’

‘Of course you do.’ It was a small community, and as the main employer in the area Alex was bound to know most people. Adam and he no doubt moved in the same social circles. ‘Anna had the twins in the early hours of the morning. Boys. She didn’t want announcements or anything today. She insists this is Lindy’s day. Lindy and Sam stopped by at the hospital on their way from the church; that’s why they were late.’

Alex nodded. ‘I had heard about the babies. You’re cold,’ he said as she shivered. ‘Shall we go inside?’ He turned towards the farmhouse rather than the marquee, but Hope didn’t demur; there was no competition when it came to the comparative attractions of the music and Alex Matheson! He was fascinating with a capital F.

‘I’m wearing my thermal underwear under this, but if anyone asks you to be a bridesmaid in winter have your excuses ready.’

‘I think that scenario is unlikely, but thanks for the advice. Tell me, are you really?’

The warmth enfolded her like a warm blanket as they walked into the farmhouse. Or was it the warmth and interest in his grey eyes? He had a peculiarly direct way of looking at a person, which could be vaguely unsettling, but Hope rather liked it. The less energetically inclined were clustered in groups in the unpretentious ground-floor rooms of her parents’ eighteenth-century farmhouse. The wedding was an intentionally small, intimate occasion with an emphasis on informality.

‘Am I really what?’

Alex’s eyes briefly touched the long line of her thighs outlined by the rose-coloured clinging fabric. He tried to picture long johns underneath the fine layer and found his mental picture kept shifting to frivolous lace and shimmering satin.

‘Wearing thermal underwear?’ He delivered the line straight-faced, but she liked the lick of humour in his eyes. It was refreshing to meet a man who wasn’t over-awed by her reputation, or at least one who was interested. He was interested, wasn’t he? A bizarre thought suddenly occurred to her…

‘Do you know who I am? Oh, God, that sounds awful.’ She winced. ‘I mean, people—men—tend to treat me…’ She struggled in vain to explain what she meant. How did a girl say that a lot of the nice men were too scared to approach her, and that the sort of men who wanted her as a trophy left her cold, without sounding wildly conceited?

‘Like a goddess?’ he interjected smoothly. The humour was more pronounced now. ‘Understandable.’

His grey eyes made a slow but comprehensive journey from her toes to the tip of her gleaming head. He looked as if he approved of what he saw. That in itself wasn’t unusual—most men did like looking at Hope—it was the fact she wanted him to like what he saw that made the experience strange.

‘But not very desirable.’ He was interested. A hiccough of excitement made her heartbeat kick up another gear. She was well accustomed to meeting interesting and important people, but there was something about this man that put him in a league of his own.

‘I’m not being reprimanded for not showing due reverence, then?’

Hope chuckled, a warm rich sound. She stopped abruptly, a frown wrinkling her brow. ‘I don’t quite remember—you’re not married, are you?’ Size sevens straight in the mouth, Hope—nice touch!

Alex didn’t seem to find her direct approach undesirable. ‘Not even slightly.’ There was the faintest of quivers around his firm rather delicious mouth.

‘Good. Can we be friends?’

Hope Lacey, he decided, blinking, had a smile that could stop a charging rhino in its tracks. She really is enchanting, and I’m a push-over, he concluded wryly.

‘Friends’ had a nice, uncomplicated sound, but the feelings this man was arousing within her were far from simple. ‘The last time I met you I probably called you Mr Matheson.’

Alex winced; he’d been trying to forget that. ‘You did.’ He doubted they’d ever exchanged more than a passing greeting. There had been very little common ground between a man in his late twenties and a teenager. If he recalled Hope at all it was as one of the coltish daughters of his neighbours, Beth and Charlie Lacey.

‘I was in my teens then, and you were?’ He had the sort of face that was impossible to give an age too. His body certainly showed no signs of wear and tear!

‘I’m forty now—next week, actually.’

He was a man who got directly to the point, Hope noted appreciatively. There was quite a lot to appreciate about him. He wasn’t pretty, more arresting, she concluded. His features were strong and angular, his high cheekbones had a Slavic cast and his jaw was square and firm. His Roman nose had obviously been broken at some point, but Hope found she didn’t disapprove of this irregularity.

‘I’m twenty-seven. It’s amazing how time has diminished the age-gap.’

‘Has it?’ His lips compressed in a cynical smile and Hope noticed with interest that though his upper lip was firm, his bottom lip was altogether more sensually full.

‘Certainly,’ she replied confidently. ‘Unless you still want me to call you Mr Matheson?’

‘Call me Alex. But it won’t do anything to lessen the age-gap. And shall I call you Lacey?’

‘That’s a professional thing; my friends call me Hope.’ Someone murmured an apology and Alex moved aside to let them pass. He had the sort of shoulders that could single-handedly block most hallways; they were massive, as was his chest, and it made him seem taller than he actually was.

She stood five-eleven in her bare feet, and nose to nose, as they were now, she could look him directly in the eye. Alex put one hand out to brace himself against the wall as the guests moved past. This close, his physical presence was literally overwhelming.

‘I bet you can’t buy a suit off the peg.’ She closed her eyes and allowed herself a small groan. ‘I’m not always so personal.’ She’d spoken in response to a surge of unexpected panic that had attacked her.

‘You can be as personal as you like with me, Hope. I like directness. You’re right. I have my clothes made to measure.’

He had to shave twice a day too, she realised, noticing the shadow across his jaw. She was gripped by a sudden and frighteningly strong urge to sink her fingers into his lush dark hair.

‘This is silly,’ she breathed with a frown.

‘And dangerous,’ he agreed drily.

Hope stared in a dazed fashion into his eyes. As she watched, the pupil expanded until it almost met the dark rim that surrounded his grey iris. Her eyes slid slowly to his mouth…she licked her dry lips nervously. It ought to be illegal for one man to have this much earthy sex appeal.

‘You too?’ She was amazed he’d replied to her soft self-recrimination.

The lines bracketing his strong mouth deepened as he smiled a little grimly in response. His expression remained enigmatic. She instinctively recognised that he wasn’t the sort of person who permitted his emotions to rise close to the surface.

‘Your halo’s crooked.’ He inclined his head towards her corn-coloured hair.

The puzzlement vanished from her face as her fingers touched the coronet of dried rosebuds that was wound into the Pre-Raphaelite curls her hair had been teased into. The tiny village church had been lovingly decorated with garlands of the same pink roses, bound together with lichen and rosemary on a base of rich, rosy velvet.

‘It was a lovely service,’ she remarked dreamily. ‘Lindy looked beautiful.’

‘I suppose she did.’

‘Suppose!’ she echoed indignantly.

‘I was looking at you. You looked like a glowing Botticelli angel.’

This was unexpected enough to take her breath away. He wasn’t the sort of man she would have associated with flowery compliments. ‘I’m no angel.’

‘No,’ he agreed in that slow, deliberate manner of his. ‘That would be boring. I can’t abide being bored, even by an angel.’

‘Looks don’t compensate for lack of character, then?’

‘You’ve got both.’ He spoke calmly, as if he were simply stating the obvious.

‘Some people take convincing.’

‘I’m a quick learner.’

‘Talking to you makes a person dizzy,’ she gasped. ‘Are you always so personal?’

‘I’ll do the weather and the economy if you prefer.’

‘How about what a lovely wedding it was?’

‘I don’t like weddings, but, as such occasions go, this wasn’t too bad. Tell me, how did you manage to keep the affair secret? I thought when the likes of Sam Rourke married, the press from every continent would be camped on the doorstep.’

‘Sam’s very good at laying false trails,’ she said, smiling affectionately when she thought of her new brother-in-law. Sam was an actor of international repute, and millions of women would shed a tear, or several, when they learned he’d married. ‘Also, the invitations weren’t sent out until Wednesday, and they listed the groom as “Patrick S. Rourke,” which happens to be his other name. I’m surprised a busy man like you could drop everything and come at such short notice.’

‘I had nothing else planned. I got back from Saudi yesterday. It was good of your parents to invite me.’ He didn’t add he’d had every intention of putting in the briefest of appearances.

‘You weathered the recession, then?’ Alex Matheson’s firm built distinctive handmade cars. The unapologetically nostalgic lines of the sports cars were instantly recognisable and they were much sought after.

‘Happily, yes.’ He could afford to be confident; there was a five-year waiting list for each of the three models they produced. ‘And how long are you home for, Hope?’

It could be the quiet, firm responses of the couple in the church had softened his brain. Better for them both if she was off to some exotic fashion shoot before they responded to this attraction. Whichever way you looked at it, Hope Lacey was too young for him, Alex reflected.

He’d half expected to be disillusioned when he spoke to her. If he was honest, he’d wanted to be. A healthy dose of reality had seemed the perfect cure for the fascination that had hit him the instant she’d walked into the church. Far from curing him, he found the reality attractive; she was surprisingly natural and mature. Warm, funny— He pulled himself up short. The list could get tiresomely long.

‘I’m at home for the next month.’

Fate wasn’t going to do him any favours! Alex noted the small, smug smile that curved her beautiful lips. Well, she had every right to be confident about her ability to bewitch a man, he silently conceded.

‘Resting?’ One winged dark brow rose teasingly.

‘Well, it’s always a temptation to do everything you’re offered, but you reach the point when you realise there isn’t much point burning out just to bank every available dollar. I’m a bit more discriminating these days.’

‘You can afford to be.’

Hope didn’t dispute this. Modelling had made her financially secure. ‘I’ve been lucky and I work hard. This film might be a new start for me.’ It was a month since she’d finished the round of TV and radio chat shows to promote the film. She was excited and apprehensive about the American premiere soon.

‘You play opposite Sam Rourke?’

Hope nodded. ‘I introduced Lindy to him, so if anything goes wrong in Eden they’ll blame me, no doubt. Come on, let’s get some champagne before it’s all gone.’ She touched his arm lightly and he followed her into the kitchen.

‘Hope, dear, there you are.’ Beth Lacey, her hands deep in a sink of soapy water, smiled at her daughter. ‘Hello, Alex. I hope you’re having a good time?’

‘I’m being well looked after.’

‘Do you mind washing a few glasses for me, Hope? We had a major breakage. I should really remind Lindy she ought to be getting changed.’

‘Sure, off you go, Mum.’

Hope tied an incongruous striped apron over her bridesmaid dress. ‘The spare bubbly’s in the dairy,’ she told Alex. ‘Third door along,’ she added, inclining her head towards the passageway behind him. She immersed her hands in the water and gave a sigh. ‘Why is it your nose always itches when you haven’t got a spare hand?’ she complained.

‘Let me,’ he offered. Before Hope realised what he was about to do Alex leant over and rubbed the tip of her straight nose, which fell somewhere in between the cute and aquiline categories. ‘Better?’

Hope gave a hoarse grunt of assent. I’m staring so hard I’m probably cross-eyed, she decided ruefully. He smells awfully good…she appreciatively breathed in the spicy, faintly lemony scent of his cologne mingled with the musky, masculine odour of his warm body. If she could distil what this man did to her quivering stomach muscles, she’d be a very rich alchemist. Yes, alchemy had the right ring to it. There was certainly something mystically marvellous about the way she was feeling. Come clean, Hope, she reprimanded herself. Earthy and raw was much closer to the truth!

His hand dropped away, but not completely. His thumb ran slowly across the cushiony softness of her slightly parted lips. ‘You’re no plastic clone.’

This peculiar comment enabled Hope to pull free from the strangely hypnotic haze that made her loath to withdraw from the light contact.

‘Is that your idea of a compliment?’ His hand still hadn’t fallen away completely; now the palm of his hand rested ever so lightly against the curve of her jaw. ‘Because if so…’

‘You know what I mean—the sort of blond bimbo-types that they churn out, all teeth and silicone.’

Hope gave a shout of laughter. ‘That’s a bad case of stereotypes you’ve got there. There’s room at the top for variety and individuality. In fact, I think both are essential.’ She flicked soapsuds at him.

Her action seemed to startle him. Perhaps Alex Matheson wasn’t the sort of man people laughed at or teased? He met the humour shining in her blue eyes and his immense shoulders visibly relaxed.

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know much about acting or modelling.’

‘You just know what you like?’ she suggested, tongue firmly in her cheek.

‘And what I don’t like. To tell you the honest truth, the idea of silicone…bits gives me the creeps,’ he confessed. This sent Hope into a fresh spate of giggles.

‘You’re so…so quaint,’ she gasped, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes.

Alex paused in the act of mopping the soapy suds from his sleek hair and gaped at her. ‘Quaint?’ he repeated in a strange tone.

‘In the nicest possible way,’ she assured him kindly.

‘I’m relieved.’

‘Actually, for models, too much up top can be a nuisance,’ she confided. ‘Clothes hang better on an androgynous frame.’

‘You’re not androgynous.’ His eyes dwelt fleetingly on the ample proof of this statement.

‘I’m not the waif type,’ she agreed. ‘I’m meant to be the athletic, wholesome, sexy type,’ she explained, very matter-of-factly.

‘And are you?’

‘I play a mean game of tennis,’ she replied selectively.

Her caution brought a grin to his face, making him appear younger and less severe. He really ought to grin more often, she decided appreciatively. ‘Perhaps we could play some time?’

Hope could field sexual innuendo with the best of them, but to her amazement she felt the colour creep inexorably up her neck until her face was aflame.

‘I expect you like to win?’

Alex withdrew his fascinated gaze from her crimson cheeks with difficulty. ‘Doesn’t everyone?’ Her veneer of sophistication was much thinner than he’d imagined.

‘I don’t possess the killer instinct.’

‘You think I do?’

Hope placed the last glass on the draining board and shook the moisture off her hands. ‘If I say yes, you’ll accuse me of stereotyping you as the hard-nosed businessman—ruthless and incapable of compassion.’ As she spoke it struck her forcibly how very easily he could be slotted into that category. It wasn’t just that he was physically formidable; the stamp of authority went gene-deep in him. He was a man accustomed to making what he wanted to happen occur.

He saw the flicker of uncertainty cross her face. ‘I draw the line at homicide.’

‘That’s a comfort.’

‘It would seem I’m woefully uneducated about your life.’

‘Don’t worry, I don’t know much about building cars.’

‘We could exchange information and improve our general knowledge,’ he suggested silkily.

‘Are we talking a date?’ A cautious smile trembled on her lips. It was scary how much his reply meant to her.

‘Tryst, assignation, rendezvous…’ She was mature for her age, and there was nothing artificial about this girl—woman, he firmly corrected himself. The need to justify his response was strong.

‘I’d like that.’ She sounded cool and collected, having firmly quashed the inclination to jump on the table and dance.

‘Good.’ The gleam of ruthlessness in his grey eyes, the one that bothered her, was back. ‘Where did you say the champagne was?’

‘How did it go, Hope?’ Charlie managed to get a quiet moment alone with his daughter once the guests had begun to disperse.

‘Better than I expected.’

‘You’ll be yesterday’s news before long,’ he comforted her.

Hope nodded. She’d managed to be philosophical about the gossip that followed in her wake at the moment.

The whole world thought she was having an affair with Lloyd Elliot, the producer of the film she’d just starred in. She’d read countless articles about how she’d heartlessly broken up his marriage. Her motivation, so said the general consensus, had been to further her career. Lloyd’s estranged wife, the tempestuous singer Dallas, had given some very moving ‘brave victim’ interviews. If Hope hadn’t known she and Lloyd had been living separate lives for years, she’d have been touched herself!

When Hope had agreed to divert public attention from the real new love of Lloyd’s life, she hadn’t realised just how much that decision was going to affect her and her family. It was too late to wonder, with hindsight, whether her decision might have been different if she had known. But her family knew the truth, and before long, when Lloyd went public about the real object of his affections, so would everyone else.

‘It’ll be a relief,’ she admitted to her father. ‘You certainly get to know who your real friends are. And today wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be, unless I’m getting over the paranoia.’

‘It seemed you were making a new friend.’

‘Someone doesn’t miss much,’ Hope responded drily; the casual tone didn’t fool her for a second.

‘Your mother did happen to mention that you had Alex Matheson in tow.’

‘I wouldn’t phrase it quite like that. He’s an interesting man.’

‘Not an easy man to get to know, though—aloof… He’s never really gotten involved in village life. I’ve known him since he was a boy, and he always supports local charities and fund-raisers very generously, but…’ He frowned, trying to put into words his doubts about Alex Matheson. Women were strange creatures, they probably found the fact the man was something of an enigma attractive.

Hope was torn between irritation and exasperated affection. Sometimes her parents forgot how long she’d been out in the big bad world.

‘So, he’s a private person. At least he didn’t treat me like some sort of scarlet woman! There’s no need to look so worried, Dad. I’m not about to do anything stupid.’ Am I? she silently asked herself. Wasn’t there something very appealing about doing something very stupid with Alex Matheson?

Charlie Lacey enfolded his daughter in a bear-like hug. ‘I know you’re a sensible girl,’ he said gruffly.

Am I? Hope wondered, recalling with a shiver the smouldering expression in Alex’s eyes as he’d left.