Page 1 of His Loving Deception

CHAPTER ONE

He’d lied to her.

The picture in the newspaper was grainy, but she would know the intense stare of those black rimmed eyes anywhere.

Cassandra’s startled gaze flew to the man sitting opposite her, his large frame reclined with total ease as he drank his black coffee and dealt with the morning’s emails. She swallowed her herbal tea jerkily, startling as the boiling liquid burned the roof of her mouth.

“I just remembered something.” Her soft, accented voice was shaking a little with anxiety. Her tongue felt thick in her suddenly dry mouth.

Liar! She wanted to shout at him, as her eyes met his querying glance and then dropped away. The impassive set of his expression suddenly made her seethe with rage. The arrogantly attractive features, framed by a tanned face, that had once set her heart racing with need now inspired a much darker emotion.

“I promised I’d help a friend with, er, something. I have to go.” She stood and strode purposefully away from the dining table, her elegant legs moving quickly.

A frown creased the corners of his mouth as he folded his newspaper and laid it carefully on the marble table top. Benedict Savarin had made his billions from scratch, and he’d honed his intuition into a sharp instrument along the way. Something felt amiss.

“I’ll drive you.” Firm. In control. His words cut through the air.

“No!” Her rejection was harsh, and she forced herself to soften it with a manufactured smile in his general direction. She had to get away. Everything depended on not being discovered. Her heart was pounding with the pain of his betrayal, and the knowledge of how close she’d come to being caught. This man she loved with all of her heart had lied to her. Tricked her. Fooled her into loving him. But to what end? For what purpose? What had he hoped to achieve? Her brain was exploding with questions that she had no way of answering. She took a deep steadying breath, forced herself to play her hand smartly. “You’re too busy, surely. I like the walk. It isn’t far.”

“Kate,” the commanding timbre of his voice still had the power to melt her bones with longing. “Is everything okay?”

She nodded. It will be when I get out of here. “Yes. Fine. I’ll see you later.” She was almost at the door, free from the sudden captivity of his penthouse apartment.

Her hands weren’t quite steady as she wrenched open the front door, and she fumbled the latch so that it slammed shut noisily behind her. She jumped, her overwrought nerves in shreds.

She pressed the lift button impatiently and then hit it again when it didn’t arrive.

“Kate,” Ben was behind her, his too-handsome face showing traces of amusement. She’d used the fake name for four years, but coming from him, now, it made her skin prickle with goosebumps. He knew it was a fake name, that’s why. He knew every damned thing about her and had done all along. “You don’t seem okay. Why don’t you come back inside?”

She dredged a bright smile up from somewhere deep inside, plastered it on her face with effort. “I’m fine, truly. I’ll call you later,” She promised, with no intention of doing any such thing. The lift pinged open and she stepped inside before he could touch her. She couldn’t bear that. Not now. Not anymore.

She pretended to search for something in the canvas handbag she’d slung over her shoulder so that she didn’t have to look at him. The realisation that he’d played her for a fool stung more than anything she’d ever felt before. And that was saying something. The doors slammed shut with a metallic sound, and she sighed with relief.

It was only just beginning though.

She had to run. And fast. Before he could realise that she’d found out who he really was, and what he was doing in Sydney. Three months he’d been lying to her. Three heavenly, blissful, sensual months. She couldn’t think about that now or she’d crumble into a million pieces. Focus on escape.

The foyer of the harbour front high rise was deserted, with the exception of Frank, the kindly old doorman. He was wiry like a coat hanger, six foot tall, and at least eighty years old. What he was supposed to provide in the way of security was a mystery to Cass, but apparently he’d been with the building since it had been built. She gave him a wave as she slid her sunglasses on to hide her distraught eyes.

She should never have let her guard down, she berated herself as she hailed a passing cab. For four years she’d been able to keep her exact whereabouts a secret, by being very careful. She’d sent vague emails loaded with misinformation to her father. Though she had come of age three years ago, she had not accessed her trust fund even once. Everyone she met here in Australia knew her by her assumed name, Kate Harris. She couldn’t afford to be discovered, for discovery may very well equate to prison.

But now, she’d gone and fallen in love with the one man who could ruin everything.

She swallowed down the knot of tears in her throat. Getting upset about it wasn’t going to achieve anything. There’d be time for sadness later, when she’d found somewhere to hide. For now, she had to work out what she was going to do, and where she was going to go.

The taxi pulled up outside the small block of flats she’d moved into two years earlier. The complex was secure, which had appealed to her, and the group of university students she’d moved in with had become the best friends a girl on the run could want. There was Ryan, the computer science engineer who lived in some sort of high-tech gizmo world much of the time. He was awkward with people, but incredibly genuine, and Cass had warmed to him immediately. Timothy was the opposite, at least in looks and confidence. A sports science graduate training to become a school physical education teacher, he was confident, outgoing, brash, and had the body and face of a male model. His girlfriend Cherie was how Cass had come to live with them. They’d studied together at university and had been firm friends from day one.

The thought of Cherie and the others finding out about her whole other life filled Cassandra with dread. She had very good reasons for running as she had, but she couldn’t tell a soul what had motivated the sudden disappearance. That was a secret that would go with her to the grave.

Cass threw the cab driver a couple of bank notes and didn’t bother to wait for the change. She took the steps two at a time and pushed into the apartment, grunting as the door met an unknown resistance. A pair of Cherie’s heels had been kicked off just inside and one leather toe was lodged beneath the door. Such a small detail, but this, and a million other domestic normalities, were what she would mourn most when she was gone.

Despite the fact it was the middle of the morning, all three of her flatmates were home. Such was the life of university students, she thought wryly.

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She called out a hurried greeting to them, but didn’t stop. She had to pack. Now.

* * *

Benedict rubbed the stubble on his square jaw, distractedly staring out at the Harbour Bridge. Cass had an unorthodox way about her, it was true. It was one of the things that had first drawn him to her, three months ago. Back then, he hadn’t known who she was, and how they were connected. But there’d been something there. An invisible pull, an overwhelming attraction. He bit the corner of his toast, mulling over that chance meeting.

She’d been working as a waitress; he’d been a guest at a high-profile function on the steps of the Sydney Opera House. How ludicrous it was for Cassandra to have come to the other side of the world to serve prawn toasts and spring rolls to people too spoiled to know how to tie their own shoes, he thought, a smile on his face as he remembered how beautiful she’d been that evening. Despite the number of women decked out in designer gowns, Cass had stolen the show, with her long blonde hair, honey coloured skin and eyes the colour of the Mediterranean Sea. Benedict Savarin was a man who always, always got what he wanted, and he’d wanted Cass from the first second he’d seen her.

Looking back, he’d suspected who she was even then. Something about those wide set almond eyes had haunted him for years, since her disappearance, but he had ignored his gut. He hadn’t wanted to spoil the warmth that had flooded through him at first meeting her. Their connection was electric. She was enchanting. He had been selfish and let his need to possess her override what his behaviour ought to have been. Even now, three months later, he hadn’t made the phone call to alert his cousin that Cassandra had been located.

It went without saying that they could have no future. Knowing what he did about her, he shouldn’t even want one. Though it was wrong on so many levels, he couldn’t give her up yet. She was like a drug to him. A delightful, sexy, intoxicating drug. He leaned back in the leather dining chair and groaned as he remembered the passionate night they’d just shared. He’d made his first million before he was twenty one, and before thirty, he was a billionaire. Even without his wealth, bedding women had always been an easy sport for him. He took care to choose partners who were as little interested in commitment as he was, and he enjoyed the purely physical connection.

Yes, he’d known many beautiful women, but Cassandra was different. He frowned a little. She was a liar, and unfathomably selfish, though she’d never been anything other than perfection itself with him. How many people had been suckered in by her act in the past? Benedict Savarin was not going to be another one of them. He didn’t quite know why’d he’d let their affair go so far, but it would have to stop, and soon. What he knew her to be capable of was everything he despised – dishonesty, disloyalty and unkindness. Again, he thought of her beautiful face, bewitchingly poised above his as they’d made love only hours before, and his stomach tightened. He would miss her. Hell, he’d ache for the rest of his life, knowing she was out there somewhere and he couldn’t possess her. But the woman he had been falling in lust with was not the real her at all, was it? It was all an act, and he knew that beyond a doubt.

His mobile phone vibrated noisily against the table, jarring his thoughts, and he answered it abruptly. It was a journalist calling for comment on the article in that morning’s paper.

“Which paper?” He frowned, more interested in how the reporter had got a hold of his private mobile number. He gazed across at the pile of unread broadsheets spread over the table.

She named the most reputable national paper. “Front page of the business section.” The journalist’s tone was clipped, no-nonsense.

Suspicion unfurled unpleasantly in his mind as he stepped over to the newspaper Cass had discarded in such a state. He flicked through the pages intently and froze as he reached the business section. The picture in the centre was impossible to miss. He had forgotten all about those photographers who’d toured the site. He’d been late for a date with Cass and all he’d been able to think about was getting the press commitments out of the way so that he could see her again.

A grainy version of his own face stared back at him from the fold line of the paper and he felt a wave of realisation wash over him.

She had seen this. His name, his full name, was clearly printed beneath the photograph. The logo of his company was emblazoned across his yellow hard hat. “Hell,” he muttered.

“Do you have a comment, Benedict, on what tearing down a hundred year old building will mean for the area?” The journalist seized the perceived opening created by his shocked silence.

“Call my press office,” he bit out, scanning the article with distaste. His mind worked quickly, jumping from the photograph, to Cassandra’s abrupt departure. She knew he knew. The situation was in danger of spinning out of his control, and he would not let that happen. As the journalist was about to disconnect the call, “Hang on a minute. Do you write society pieces?”

“Society pieces?” The woman asked, her interest piqued.

“You know. Gossip. About celebrities.” He clarified, sinking back into his seat and staring out at the water, unseeing. He wasn’t proud of what he was about to do, but his choices had been limited by this unpredictable chain of events.

When Benedict arrived at Cassandra’s apartment only twenty minutes after disconnecting the call, a handful of paparazzi had already set up outside the security gate.

“Hey, do you live here?” One of the assembled photographers in a backwards turned baseball cap accosted him as Benedict went to swipe the security card Cass had given him over a month ago.

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