The Bedroom Surrender. Emma Darcy

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      She wasn’t sure if it was sex or ego driving him where she was concerned—maybe both. She’d been targeted by too many wealthy and influential men not to recognise that Adam Cazell fancied acquiring her, which, of course, was for the purpose of public show and sex on call until the gloss wore off and desire waned.

      Usually such attention was water off a duck’s back to Rosalie. But there was something more intense, more personal, more threatening about Adam Cazell. As much as she wanted to dismiss him, it was like he’d burrowed under her skin and she couldn’t pry him out. Maybe if she watched him long enough, the disturbing effect of the man would fade.

      Oddly enough, his daughter had made a strong impression on her, too. Cate was very bright, older than her years in reading people and where she stood with them. The occasional flash of cynicism in some of her comments had disturbed Rosalie, revealing knowledge bred by disappointment or disillusionment. Cate had grown armour she shouldn’t need to have at thirteen.

      But a privileged background didn’t guarantee a happy upbringing. Celeste, who still looked angelic with her beautiful fair hair and big blue eyes, had been characterised by Hugh as ‘an evil seed,’ a monstrous child—expelled from one school after another for outrageous behaviour—before Rebel came into their lives and turned everything around for them. Rebel had seen Hugh’s orphaned niece as a lost child in desperate need of rescue and had barged straight into proving to Hugh how wrong he was in his reading of the situation.

      Rosalie didn’t see Cate Cazell as being in need of rescue. She was a survivor, that one, probably with as strong a will as her father. She’d inherited his dark wavy hair, and the shape of his face—the high wide brow and the sharply delineated chisel chin, but her mouth was softer and her eyes were a warmer grey with a ring of amber around the irises. She was tall, too, though with a much more slender frame than her father. Rosalie imagined she’d be very striking when she grew up.

      But for now, the girl did crave more of her father’s time and attention. And should have it, Rosalie thought, remembering how much it had meant to her to have Zachary Lee caring about her every thought and feeling, loving her, protecting her, making her feel safe and secure. Not alone.

      Yes…that was how Cate felt…too much alone. Her family consisted of a socialising mother, too busy aiding and abetting her political husband’s career to actually listen to her daughter, a stepfather who was never there for her, a father who flew into and out of her life, handing out oodles of ice-cream, but not staying around long enough to realise that sweets weren’t enough. No wonder Cate liked being with Celeste’s family!

      ‘Rosalie…’

      His voice sliding into her private reverie, kicking her heart into a faster beat…the silver bullet eyes trained on her again, commanding her attention.

      ‘I just remembered where I last saw you,’ he said with a musing little smile designed to tease her interest.

      Modelling put her in the public eye. It was not remarkable that she had been seen somewhere by Adam Cazell, possibly accompanying one of his girlfriends to a fashion show. Was this another attempt to dig into her life?

      ‘The premiere of Turandot at the Met in New York,’ he went on, surprising her with the venue named.

      ‘You were there?’ Rebel leapt in delightedly. ‘You heard Zuang Chi sing?’

      He nodded. ‘A magnificent voice.’

      ‘He’s our brother,’ Rebel claimed with pride. ‘We were all there for his premiere. The whole family. It was a marvellous night, wasn’t it, Rosalie?’

      ‘Yes.’

      She hadn’t seen Adam Cazell at the opera and didn’t like the feeling he had watched her without her knowing. Though she had been more or less on public exhibit that night, paid to wear the dress and necklace for others to see and covet.

      He leaned forward on his sofa like a big cat about to pounce. ‘Just how many are in your family, Rebel?’

      She laughed. ‘Fourteen of us. Plus husbands and wives and our wonderful parents. We filled a whole box at the Met, didn’t we, darling?’ She smiled at Hugh in fond recollection.

      ‘We certainly did. Marvellous night,’ he echoed.

      Adam nodded in agreement. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t make your acquaintance at the time. Must confess I only noticed Rosalie.’ His gaze sliced back to her, a wry little smile on his lips. ‘You were singularly spectacular.’

      She returned his smile. ‘I was on parade.’

      ‘And the red-haired man you were with?’

      ‘Zachary Lee,’ Rebel happily supplied. ‘Our big brother.’

      Satisfaction glinted in his eyes.

      A possible competitor dismissed, Rosalie interpreted, thinking he had certainly noticed her escort, probably sizing him up and wondering how attached they were.

      ‘None of us are blood relations,’ she stated, feeling a strong urge to put a spoke in his wheel. ‘That’s why we don’t look alike.’

      ‘Uncle Zachary is the American one,’ Celeste informed him.

      ‘And the one we all look up to,’ Rosalie quickly slid in, not wanting Celeste to list off their multinational family, which she was clearly on the verge of doing. A change of subject was urgently needed. ‘Do you often attend the opera, Adam?’ she inquired. ‘No.’

      ‘It was a premiere,’ his daughter commented before he could add more. ‘Daddy’s girlfriends lu-u-uv premieres.’

      ‘Oh, come on, Catie,’ he chided good-naturedly. ‘I’ve taken you to a few, too. The Harry Potter film, the…’

      ‘Okay, okay.’ She held up her hands in mock defence. ‘He’s far more into pop music, Rosalie. You know…Saturn Records before he sold it off? He didn’t do classical stuff.’

      ‘Which doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it.’ Slightly more snappish on that reply.

      ‘I’ve never heard you play it,’ Cate argued.

      ‘You’re not with me all the time.’

      Big blunder.

      Cate’s face tightened. ‘You’re right, Dad. What do I get? Fifteen percent if I’m lucky? For all I know you could be playing opera all the time you don’t have me with you.’ She flashed a gritty look of apology at Rosalie. ‘Sorry. Shouldn’t have butted in. I can’t swear my father doesn’t like classical music.’

      ‘Never a good idea to speak for others,’ Rosalie tossed back with a sympathetic shrug.

      Adam Cazell erased the frown evoked by Cate’s rather biting mockery, his sharply penetrating gaze targeting Rosalie again. ‘Actually, a good voice attracts my attention regardless of what is being sung.’

      ‘Then you must have enjoyed listening to Zuang Chi,’ she replied, wondering if and how he would respond to his daughter’s cry for more attention from him.

      ‘To you, as well.’

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