The Abby Green Modern Collection. Эбби Грин

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      She was wearing a slip. That was all. He’d seen more clothes on a lap dancer. It didn’t suit her pale colouring. The rich red hair was pinned up, making his fingers itch to take it down. A curious burning disappointment licked through his veins as he realised that, even in the cheapest outfit, she still had the power to ignite forceful desire in his body. The tingling awareness of which was making itself very apparent. And something else licked through him too. Self-derision. For a brief moment, before he had found out who she was, or what was going on, he had thought…He tried to stop his thoughts going in that direction. But his mind refused to obey.

      When he had first met her, something deep and hidden and unknown had been touched. He had been shaken out of his usual cynical inertia. She had looked at him that first time with such sweet shyness and had then smiled. That smile had captured self-deprecation at her response, the current of sexual awareness running between them and something so intangible…but so innocently feminine, that he’d felt a lurch of surprise. He was used to women smiling at him, but usually with such blatant calculation that his blood ran cold.

      His mouth thinned as he followed her through the dining room; he was aware of the openly admiring glances she was getting, the sexy sway of her hips, and his eyes, like theirs, were drawn to the scrap of lace and silk that was barely decent. To see her tonight, with her intentions so disappointingly obvious, he wondered again how he could ever have thought he’d been surprised…or that she wasn’t exactly the same as every other woman.

      He knew with confident arrogance that she wanted him. She had felt the same immediate impact on first sight—he knew that. But she probably turned it on for everyone, no distinction being made.

      She was nothing more than a mediocre actress, but yet…and he hated the admission, she’d almost fooled him, got under his guard. He’d never had a lapse in his attention before now, keeping corporations going in every major city from Tokyo to London. He knew the minutiae of every single one of them, his control legendary and fear-inducing among his competition. A skill that would not let her or her family undermine that control, even now, when they thought they had him. The fools.

      He focused on the facts.

      She was here to take him to bed, to seduce him and distract him. To act as the honey trap. One of the oldest tricks in the book. If he wasn’t mistaken, he was sure he’d seen the distinctive shape of a key in her pocket as he’d taken her coat. Was it a key to a hotel room there? The disgust rose like bile.

      But two could play at that game; he was here to seduce her too. A little luxury he was affording himself, the spoils of war. Because this was war. Since he’d felt that punch to his gut on first sight, had then discovered what their little game was, the way she’d so blatantly been put on display for him…he’d been determined to sample what was on offer.

      They reached the table.

      Maggie walked to the other side and faced him with a look of almost, for a fleeting moment…unbelievable trepidation on her face. He mentally shook his head. Hell, she was good. He’d never seen anything like the level of her guile. He reasserted his cool mental clarity, ignored the ache in his loins. The slow burning fire that would be sated.

      She would soon know just how dismally their machinations had failed. Then he would take his revenge on her family. And then he would be free of this all-consuming desire that held him in its grip.

      By the end of the night she would never…ever forget him or want to cross his path again.