Heartless Stranger

By Elizabeth Duke

"No woman will ever mean anything to Trent Corbin "

Sandra knew about the tragedy that had claimed the lives of those dearest to Trent Corbin. But although her compassionate heart ached for him, she could never forget that he was her father's enemy.

Yet, as an unexpected guest in his home, Sandra found herself bewildered by her deep attraction toward this suave, powerful stranger. Could she teach him to love again or would the barriers of mistrust stand between them forever?

"Ms. Duke captivates readers with intense passion, a strong emotional conflict and endearing characters."
Romantic Times

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Jul 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781460872291

Elizabeth Duke

Elizabeth Duke aka Vivienne Wallington was born in Adelaide, South Australia, but has lived in Melbourne all her married life. She trained as a librarian and has worked in many different types of libraries, but she was always secretly writing. Her first published book was a children's novel, after which she successfully tried her hand at romance writing. She has since given up her work as a librarian to write romance full-time. When she isn't writing or reading, she loves to travel with her husband John, either within Australia or overseas, gathering inspiration and background material for future romances. She and John have a married son and daughter, who now have children of their own.  

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

TRENT CORBIN’S silver-grey eyes glittered with the light of battle as his black Mercedes swept up the final slope before the long downward sweep into Kaoga Bay.

Only minutes now to the headland. Corbin land ... or it would be soon. All his. Only one man was stopping him now.

The ocean lay to his left, beyond the curtain of eucalypts, the sea an intense blue in the May sunshine. There was no doubt about it—this quiet section of the New South Wales coastline was an untapped gold-mine. If he could only get his tourist resort off the ground and lure more people to come here... Damn it, the place was half dead. It needed waking up a bit.

He let out a muffled oath as an oncoming truck roared over the brow of the hill, forcing him to swerve into the rutted edge of the road.

‘Take up the whole road, why don’t you?’ he bellowed, scowling at the driver as the truck roared past. He was still frowning as he swung the Mercedes back on to the road and swept over the hill.

Too late he saw the cyclist in his path.

Slamming on the brakes, he yanked the wheel round in a last-ditch effort to avoid hitting the bike full-on. A second before the car nicked the packed pannier attached to the rear wheel, he saw the cyclist’s head whip round, had a fleeting glimpse of eyes widening in horror under the head-hugging white helmet. Then the bike was spinning off the road into a ditch, its rider landing in a heap of tangled arms and legs in the tufty dry grass.

Trent swore. He swung the car off the road and was out almost before he’d brought it to a stop.

The cyclist was lying face down in the grass, not moving.

‘Hell, I’ve killed him!’ Trent groaned, only to quench, quickly and coldly, the prickling sensation of dread that rose at the same time, the way he quenched any weakness he perceived in himself. Going weak at the knees wasn’t going to help.

Cursing all cyclists, he stooped over the limp figure. The muted earthy colours of the cyclist’s drill shirt, knee-length shorts and long thick socks merged into the brown grass. The cyclist’s white helmet, however, gleamed like a beacon in the sunlight. It was still firmly in place, Trent noted, so hopefully no serious damage had been done.

Sliding one arm beneath the cyclist’s head, he began to remove the helmet carefully. The limp figure stirred, and groaned. Trent hissed out his breath in relief. The lad was only stunned! As he gently eased off the helmet, two things happened simultaneously: a tumble of silky golden hair spilt over his fingers, and a pair of the bluest eyes he had ever seen, unusually long and almond-shaped, looked up at him.

Trent felt something wrench inside him.

‘You’re a girl,’ was all he could say, but already an icy coldness was closing over his heart, bringing a granite-hardness to his strong-jawed face.

The girl sat up, wriggling out of his arms, shaking off his hand.

‘And you’re a maniac-speeding like that over the brow of a hill!’

She was all right, obviously! ‘I was well within the country speed limit,’ he bit back, with visions of a tedious court case ahead if he made any rash admissions. ‘You were wobbling all over the bloody road.’

He sat back on his heels and blew out a sigh. Why was he snapping her head off? She was probably suffering from shock, and possible unseen injuries as well. But, damn it all, he couldn’t seem to help himself.

‘I wasn’t all over the road.’ The blue eyes sprayed sparks. ‘And I wasn’t wobbling. You were far too close to the edge when you came over the hill.’

‘I concede I was well over to the left, thanks to that truck nearly running me off the road. But if you’d been watching out as you should have been and swung away I would never have hit you.’ It was stupid, and he knew it, but some demon was driving him on, driving him to lash out at her.

‘You gave me no time to swerve off the road,’ was her snappish retort.

‘Didn’t you hear me coming up behind you?’

‘How could I with the din that truck was making? And with that on.’ She glared at the helmet he’d dropped in the grass.

‘And look at what you’re wearing,’ he said scathingly. ‘How the hell was I supposed to see you when you’re wearing colours that merge in with the road? I thought cyclists were meant to wear bright colours.’

She heaved a sigh and let her head droop, her silky hair falling over her face. ‘I didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that I was a female, did I?’

A beam of sunlight caught the top of her head, almost blinding him with a dazzle of gold. His insides jerked. In swift rejection he rasped, ‘You succeeded in not drawing attention to yourself at all. You merged in so well that you ceased to exist!’

‘Pardon me for being alive!’ She tossed back her head, the silky hair rippling with lustrous gold lights.

‘I take it you’re all right, then?’ he asked belatedly and not particularly graciously.

‘I’m fine, thank you.’ There was dignity in the tilt of her small but very determined chin. Then she caught sight of the mangled remains of her bicycle. ‘Oh, no! Look what you’ve done!’

He grimaced as he followed her gaze. Oh, great, he thought. Now she will sue me.

‘I’ll have it repaired for you,’ he bit out coldly. ‘Or if it’s beyond repair I’ll buy you a new one.’

She looked up at him. ‘You will?’

Again those extraordinary blue eyes threatened his composure... but only for a second.

‘I’ve just said I will,’ he said curtly.

She bit her lip. Soft, well-shaped lips, he noted, finding his gaze riveted to them, finding them almost as disturbing as her eyes. Lips, he thought, made for kissing...

Oh, hell! As he blanked out the enticing image in icy self-disgust, he saw the lips moving, forming into words.

‘You realise it’s a specialist touring bike? I doubt if you’ll be likely to find a bicycle shop anywhere around here—certainly not a specialist bike shop.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll arrange it.’ He heard the grating harshness in his voice and tried to moderate it. ‘Where are you from? You’re obviously not a local.’ He indicated the packed pannier fixed to the rear of the twisted bicycle.

‘No, I’m from Sydney.’ She tried to get up, and sank back with a moan, her face screwed up in pain as she reached down to massage her ankle. ‘Darn it! I must have sprained the damned thing! I hope I haven’t broken any bones.’

She felt it tentatively all around, through the thick sock. ‘It’s swollen ... but I don’t think it’s broken. No ... I’m sure it’s not.’

Curiosity got the better of him. ‘You’re a nurse?’

She shook her head. ‘I’ve... done some first aid.’ She obviously had no intention of enlightening him further. ‘Oh, this is simply great!’ she moaned. ‘No bike, and now this!’ Her soft hair slid over her face as she reached down to rub her ankle gently. ‘Maybe if I just rest it for a minute...’ She sighed in frustration. ‘Would you mind...?’ She glanced doubtfully up at him through the shiny gold strands.

‘Go ahead.’ He kept his tone dispassionate as he squatted down beside her. ‘You mean to tell me you’ve ridden all the way down here from Sydney? On your own?’ Speculation, tinged with disbelief, narrowed his eyes.

‘Well,’ she shrugged, ‘I did catch a train to get out of the central city area. You know what Sydney traffic’s like.’

‘But still ... even from the outskirts it’s nearly two hundred kilometres.’

‘So? I haven’t done it all in a day! I’ve stayed overnight at caravan parks, and spent some time looking around.’

‘And you’ve struck no trouble?’ Why, he wondered, did he have the feeling she was lying to him? Or at least keeping something back? It wasn’t her answers so much. More a gut feeling. An atmosphere. And shouldn’t she be more deeply tanned after days on the open road?

The small chin lifted. It had an attractive cleft in it, Trent noted. She had an equally attractive jawline, and a throat that made him want to slide his fingers down its silky slenderness. A real beauty, he mused. No wonder she tries to hide behind those baggy, colourless clothes and that head-hugging helmet. But what the hell is she doing down here, out on the open road all alone, miles from her home?

Was she running away from something? Or...somebody?

‘I’ve struck no trouble at all.’ A warning light glinted in the girl’s eyes as she met his gaze.

‘Good for you,’ Trent drawled. This girl, he thought, with a reluctant stir of admiration, has pluck. She knows how to look after herself. Or she thinks she does. It might be challenging to find out.

He must have smiled unknowingly, because she tensed, watching him suspiciously, the warning vibes growing stronger.

‘A friend was coming with me,’ she told him crisply, ‘but had to pull out at the last minute. It was a bit late to ask anyone else, and to postpone it would have wasted my holiday leave. I only have three weeks, and I’ve already used up part of one.’

‘Male or female?’ he asked idly.

‘Sorry?’

‘Your friend.’

She flushed. ‘Does it matter?’ And then, as if deciding that was too provocative a question to throw at an unknown male in a remote place like this, she rapped, ‘I don’t see that it’s any of your business!’

He arched an eyebrow at her. ‘Sorry. Just curious.’ She’s mad at herself for flushing, he thought in secret amusement. Interesting...

‘Darn this ankle!’ She leaned down to resume her rubbing. ‘It’s not getting any better. It needs some ice.’ She glanced down the hill. ‘At least I’m near a town. Kaoga Bay, isn’t it? I saw it on my map. Could you drop me off there as you pass through? I intended resting up there anyway for a day or two.’

‘Sure. But I’m not passing through. I’m heading there myself.’

‘You are?’ Her eyes narrowed as she took in his white business shirt and tie. ‘I thought it was just a holiday place. You don’t look as if you’re on holiday.’

‘I’m not. I have a house there that I work from when I’m not in Sydney.’

He saw the tip of her tongue flick over the soft lips. At the same time he was conscious of a sudden chill in the air—or did the chill come from her eyes? She doesn’t trust me, he thought, amused. Or is she as wary as this with all strangers who offer her a lift in their car?

‘Look,’ he said, ‘I’m not planning to run off with you. I’m heading for my home on the headland on the other side of the town. Cross my heart. I’m using Kaoga Bay as my main base at present. I have plans for the town. For the headland, to be precise.’

The vibes were stronger now. Didn’t she believe him? He heaved a sigh. ‘Look, if you want proof that I’ve a house there, I can get my wallet and show you. It’s in my coat in the back of the car. The Corbins have owned land in Kaoga Bay for close to a century. I spent all my holidays there as a child. My parents retired there. My father died recently and I’ve come back to settle things... and deal with a few other matters.’

‘The Corbins?’ the girl echoed. There was an odd inflexion, a brittleness in her voice. So... she knew the name. His mouth took on a thin, sardonic twist, a mocking light flicking into his eyes.

‘Trent Corbin,’ he spelt out so that she’d be in no doubt.

Her only reaction this time was the merest flicker in the blue eyes. But her very stillness spoke volumes.

‘I see my notoriety has preceded me,’ he said drily.

She leaned down to massage her ankle. To avoid his eye? he wondered. ‘Most people who live in Sydney know the name Trent Corbin,’ she said with an indifferent shrug. ‘You only have to pick up a newspaper or watch TV. Your name’s always popping up on current-affairs shows... in the business pages...at some function or other.’

There was no expression in her voice...none. Whether she was repulsed, impressed, or simply not interested, she was being careful not to show it.

Her lack of reaction intrigued him. It was unusual. Most people reacted strongly and openly when his name was mentioned. Reactions of hatred, jealousy, suspicion... he was familiar with them all. Even open attack. He thrived on it, relishing a good fight. He was equally familiar with the crawlers and the self-seekers, bowing and scraping to a sickening degree. Few were indifferent.

Was she as indifferent as she made out?

‘So...’ he put a question mark in his voice‘... you’re aware of my...business dealings?’

She met him eye to eye. ‘I’m aware that you’re a big property investor...or developer, or whatever you call yourself. You built the Corbin complex in Sydney, didn’t you? Exclusive shops and million-dollar apartments for those who can afford them.’

Ah, he thought, his lip curling, so she’s not as indifferent as she’s trying to make out. ‘You take a keen interest in business matters, Miss...?’

She ignored his invitation to supply her name. ‘Only when I’m hit over the head with them,’ she flung back. ‘The papers are forever slapping you in the eye with Trent Corbin’s latest glittering proposal: sketch plans, photographs, whatever.’

‘If people didn’t want them I wouldn’t build them,’ he pointed out, cynicism hardening his voice.

‘Why don’t you build something that people really need, like nursing homes, or shelters for the homeless, or housing estates for the elderly, or——?’

‘I do those too,’ he cut in, ‘only they don’t make such a splash in the media.’

‘Well...’ She paused, then rallied. ‘I dare say those things are profitable too.’

He leaned back on his heels. ‘Do you have some personal hang-up about property developers, Miss—look, what is your name?’ he asked irritably. ‘Or do you have a hang-up about revealing your name to strangers?’

She glared at him. Even angry, he mused, she was a real stunner. Those blue eyes of hers were dynamite.

‘My name’s Sandra,’ she said, adding after a moment’s hesitation, ‘Sandra Wyatt.’

‘Well, Sandra, do you have a hang-up about developers? Or is it monetary success in general?’

‘Neither!’ she snapped. ‘Why should I care if you want to make your money the way you do, regardless of the——?’

‘Regardless of...what?’ he rasped as she caught back the rest.

‘Of who you hurt in the process!’ she burst out. ‘The people you shove aside when you build your shopping centres and your luxury apartment buildings.’

‘It’s called progress, Sandra. The people I shove aside, as you so eloquently put it, are more than adequately compensated.’ He heard the cynicism in his voice and made no attempt to tone it down. ‘A lot of people are only too happy for a developer to come along and offer them a pot of gold. They’d never get the same price from anyone else.’

‘What about the ones who don’t want to sell?’

‘Oh, I’ve found they can usually be persuaded. Money and greed are powerful persuaders.’

The girl’s smooth brow furrowed. ‘And what about the ones who aren’t persuaded by money or greed?’

He jerked a shoulder. ‘I’ve yet to meet one. With some people it takes a little time and patience. Some hold out deliberately for a higher price. But they come round in the end. Sometimes it costs you a bit more than you’d like... but that’s the name of the game.’

‘There must be some who can’t be bought!’

‘Oh, most people have their price...or some other chink in their armour. Gentle reasoning sometimes does the trick...explaining the project and what it will mean for the community, appealing to their community spirit... that sort of thing.’

‘Gentle reasoning...or threats?’ she asked quietly.

‘I don’t resort to threats, Sandra.’

She arched an eyebrow at him. ‘What about the case that was in the papers last year? That poor old man who said you were planning to build your shopping complex regardless of whether he sold his house to you or not? You threatened to build around his house...’

‘That was a bluff to find out how serious he was about staying put.’

‘But he was serious. I