Chapter One.

A cacophony of sound blared through the apartment. Ring, pause, and repeat, in an endless loop. Someone was leaning on the doorbell, then taking a brief break and stabbing it repeatedly, like a woodp.e.c.k.e.r having an epileptic fit.

Daniel Hunt crawled out of bed. His employer paid the rent on the New York crash pad he used for stopovers, and no-one ever visited. The ringing was accompanied by a couple of good thumps on the door-it sounded like a crazy person was trying to get in.

He flexed his fingers and formed a fist, then ripped the door open with his other hand. "What?" He was yelling. d.a.m.n sure his hair was standing up all over like a wild man. Dressed in a pair of black silk boxers and nothing else.

Cain took a step back.

"Jesus." His eyes were wide. "Cool it, man."

Daniel blinked. "What the h.e.l.l are you doing here?" His brother was based in San Jose; he'd never visited the New York crash pad. "How did you even know I'm in the country?" Daniel turned away from his brother and stalked into the kitchen in search of coffee.

Cain scampered along behind, like an over-exited puppy. "Sergei's a.s.sistant. She told me you'd be here, and gave me directions." He spoke fast, the words chasing each other out. "I've got news, I've got awesome news. You won't believe it but..."

Daniel swirled around and stuck his hand over Cain's mouth. "I'm tired." He spoke slowly, deliberately. "I've had four hours sleep, and I can't take you being all enthusiastic." He ladled as much sarcasm as he could into the last word. "Whatever it is, let me get caffeinated first." He took his hand away.

Cain's mouth opened.

"Na-" Daniel threatened him with the hand again, and Cain's mouth snapped closed.

Cain pointed across the room. "Turn on the TV." His eyes pleaded.

"Fine." Daniel picked up the remote and turned the TV on. "What channel?"

"Any channel." Cain was wigging as if he needed to pee. Moving from foot to foot the way he used to do when he was an excited kid.

Daniel punched in the news channel. Cain pointed at the breaking news ticker along the bottom of the screen.

SOCIAL MEDIA GIANT PAYS FIFTY MILLION DOLLARS FOR SIXTY PERCENT SHARE OF 'BIGTALK'

"Forgive me for waking you up now?"

There was nothing to eat in the apartment so they went out for breakfast. Cain had always been green-s.h.i.t, even at twenty-six, he was just a kid. A geeky kid at that. Daniel didn't understand the fixation with social media, but as his wide-eyed brother explained that the new social network he and his friend Ben had developed was growing at a rate of half a million new subscribers a day, he realized he should have paid more attention, because people were paying attention to his little brother now. A lot of people. Cain and Ben were like chum thrown into the ocean behind a fishing boat and the sharks were circling.

"My phone has been ringing off the hook since the deal broke," Cain said. "You wouldn't believe the people who have called me."

Daniel arched an eyebrow.

"Women." Cain's face was pink and his eyes were over bright. "Women never call me."

"What women?"

"Every girl I chased in high school. And college. Remember Jenny Merino? She called this morning."

Daniel had spent more than one night in Jenny Merino's bed back when he was a teenager. She was five years older than his little brother and had been one of the hottest girls in school. She'd never shown the slightest interest in Cain, but money changed everything, especially when stacked up in multi-million piles.

He examined at Cain with narrowed eyes. "Isn't she married?"

"She told me she's been separated for six months. She rang to congratulate me and to ask if I'd like to meet up for a drink."

Neither of the Hunt brothers had any guidance in their lives. Money, but no guidance. Daniel's hands clenched into fists as the memory of their father intruded. He'd failed Cain once; it was inconceivable that he'd let anyone use his brother now. He resisted the urge to comment, and returned to the matter at hand. "You need an expert guiding you with the money, helping you to manage it."

"I know." Cain ordered another coffee. "We have a few candidates lined up, but you know what you always say about me-that people take advantage?" He chewed on a piece of bacon. "Well, I know that's true. And Ben's no better. We focus on the software, on the company. I don't want to have to deal with all the other stuff. We need a real tough, take-no-s.h.i.t guy who we know is on our side. But one who can navigate in the business world without coming over as an a.s.shole."

"Any idea who?" Daniel was unsettled at the thought of Cain being controlled by some shark in a suit. The temptation of being in charge of so much money was bound to corrupt even the most honorable candidate.

Daniel rubbed a hand over the soft, longer-than-stubble-and-just-about-a-beard on his jaw. He would only trust one guy with the job-himself. His two-year contract piloting Sergei Romanoff's private plane around the world was almost at an end. Sergei had been pushing Daniel to extend the contract-but he was loath to do so. He'd already worked for Sergei longer than he'd ever worked for anyone before. He hated being tied down.

"How about me?"

The relieved light in Cain's eyes confirmed Daniel's suspicions.

"Do you think you might do it?" Cain smiled like a Labrador lying in the sunshine. "That's why I'm here. Ben and I agreed you'd be the perfect person, the perfect buffer between us and everyone else."

"I'm not a money man, you'd have to hire a manager too," Daniel warned.

"We would." Cain nodded. "And you could oversee things. You're the only person I know who won't be influenced by any of this craziness-you'll give us good advice and keep us from being ripped off. We'll pay you an awesome salary."

"My contract with Sergei still has a couple of weeks to run."

"But after that..." Desperate hope was written in Cain's eyes. Hope that Daniel couldn't possibly deny. He couldn't abandon his brother to someone who was motivated purely by money-had to rise to the challenge. He was the only person who would have Cain's welfare as their primary concern.

"I'll talk to him today, see if I can get out of the contract early," Daniel said. "So what are you going to do to celebrate?"

Cain grinned. "We sat up all night talking about that. Top of the list is a total reenactment of our favorite movie."

There was a f.u.c.king rip in the Aubesson.

Kathryn Hazzard got down on her hands and knees and brought her nose to within an inch of the antique carpet. She traced the broken threads with the tip of her index finger. The carpet was impossible to keep in perfect condition, and it was natural that a carpet that had stayed in the same position for two hundred and fifty years would suffer some wear and tear, but the rip was in a position that got a fair bit of traffic. It would need repair.

She puffed out a frustrated breath. And that meant she'd have to pay a specialist conservator to do the work on-site. A very expensive conservator. Yet another job to add to the horribly-expensive-but-necessary-repairs list. A list that grew by the day. A list she had no hope of getting on top of. Not for the first time, she wished that this old house wasn't her responsibility. That she could just break the bonds of time and family that tethered her, sell the thing and be done with it.

"Why are you waving your a.s.s in the air?" A familiar voice from the doorway.

Kathryn glanced over her shoulder, and smiled. "Rip in the carpet." She sat back on her heels, as her best friend, Maxine Goode walked over. "Help me up, will you?"

Maxine gazed at the rip as she extended a hand. "It's not a very bad one."

"Bad enough. I'll have to get it fixed." Kathryn brushed her knees as she stood. "I'm glad to see you." She hugged her friend close. "I can't take any more s.h.i.t today."

"What's happened?"

"The painting didn't sell." Nerves roiled in Kathryn's gut. "And as it's appeared in an auction, it's burned for at least six months. The architect's report came in on the roof, and it's worse than I ever imagined-he says if work isn't done in the next couple of months we could be looking at a collapse." She eyed at the white box Max carried. "So I hope to h.e.l.l you brought chocolate cake."

"Yup." Max held the box high. "I've done more than that. I've brought a solution to all your problems. Make me coffee and I'll tell you."

Hazzard Hall had been in Kathryn's family for two hundred and fifty years, and she was just the latest of a long line of Hazzards tethered to the old wreck in the middle of the English countryside. People always thought the Hazzards owned Hazzard Hall when in fact the complete opposite was true. It owned them. The first Hazzards built it, and subsequent generations had added to it, until the money ran out and the situation reversed.

Her mother had died, abandoning her husband, her only child and the house years ago. Her father had sold off paintings, bronzes, and furniture in an attempt to stem the tide, but his efforts were hopeless. He'd died a broken man-but at least he died in his beloved house.

He'd been dead three months. Kathryn had a team of expensive lawyers calculating the bill she'd have to pay to the tax collectors and no money to pay it.

The house was a nightmare, but it had always been home. On returning from school, and later college, the house welcomed her within its walls. Hazzard was her home. Her castle. Her safe haven. She didn't want to be the Hazzard who gave it all up. The one that sold out. And the fact that its roof was shot to h.e.l.l meant she wouldn't get anything near its true value if she put it on the market.

In the kitchen, Max sliced wedges off the thick chocolate cake she'd brought. "You need to chill out. You look like s.h.i.t."

"I feel like s.h.i.t." Kathryn sank onto the nearest chair in the kitchen. "I'm seriously considering getting drunk and staying that way for the foreseeable future."

"Come on." Max frowned. "That's not like you."

She'd always been a gla.s.s half full girl, but there was little point in being optimistic any longer. She was totally screwed. "The taxman cometh." She tried to inject some humor into her tone, but failed miserably. "The roof is about to fall in, and my only hope for getting my hands on some cash is gone. If I don't end up in prison for non-payment of taxes, can I come live with you?"

"What if I told you I have a solution to all your problems?" Max fixed her with a stare.

"I'd tell you to stop kidding around. And I'd add that you're a b.i.t.c.h to wind me up when I'm at my lowest point."

"I'm not kidding." Max breathed out. She clutched her hands together. "I have a client who wants to use the house for one night. A client willing to pay a million to do so."

She couldn't breathe. Couldn't make sense of the words her friend had spoken. Kathryn pressed the palm of her hand against her breastbone. "A million?"

Max nodded. "One million."

"Pounds?"

"Dollars. The client saw s.e.x Lies and wants to re-enact it. For real. In Hazzard Hall."

"s.e.x Lies?" She'd allowed the house to be used as a location for movies in the past, and a year ago, while her father was having treatment in a clinic in Switzerland, she'd let the house be the location for a film about a s.e.x club in a country house. The director was a Hollywood great-a pretty twisted Hollywood great-but she'd needed the money for her father's treatment.

"No-one was supposed to know where the film was shot." She'd insisted on that. They'd never shown the house's exterior, and made no mention of the location in the movie's credits.

"They came direct to the location scout." Max pointed at herself.

"So, let me get this straight." The tips of Kathryn's fingers tingled. A million dollars would get the taxman off her back and give her some money to repair the roof. "They want to use Hazzard Hall to make another film? And will pay a million dollars for a day's shooting?"

Max shook her head. "They're stinking rich, and they want to hold a s.e.x party in your house. One night. One million bucks."

"f.u.c.k me."

Kathryn smoothed a hand over her black silk dress and inhaled deeply. She'd travelled up to London by train, but had splurged and taken a taxi to the exclusive London hotel, rather than the Underground. The spring day was warm, but the clouds bruised grey with threatened rain. Once she'd picked her jaw up from the floor at Max's proposition, she'd been torn, buffeted with conflicting emotions. She'd justified the previous use of Hazzard by telling herself it was make believe. Just a film. But this would be different.

She needed money. A million dollars would make her problems disappear in an instant. But at what personal cost? Hazzard Hall was more than just a house. When she sat in the drawing room in front of the fire, layered decades of precious memories colored the air, enriching every single moment.

Generations of Hazzards had taken tea by the fire. Could she replace those with memories of half-naked strangers s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g on the camelback sofas?

Max had been sympathetic-up to a point. She'd urged Kathryn not to say no, not to reject the possibility of salvation because she couldn't get past the slightly seedy nature of the transaction. "Your dad would have told you to consider every option to save Hazzard," Max had said.

But Kathryn could bet he'd never been asked to prost.i.tute his home.

So she hadn't said yes, and she hadn't said no. She hadn't, in fact, said anything that she would allow Max to repeat to the client. She'd been waiting for the answer to drop out of the sky. She'd looked for it in all the usual places, her horoscope, a.n.a.lyzing her dreams with a what-does-it-mean-if-you-dream-of...website.

After a week, the client's patience had run out. Max had called with an ultimatum. "The clients' representative, Daniel Hunt, is flying in to London from New York on Friday. He wants to meet you."

She really didn't know what she was going to say to the mysterious Mr. Hunt, but had to make this meeting.

Kathryn pushed open the door to the luxury hotel and strode to the reception desk. While she waited for the receptionist to check in the couple ahead of her, she cast an eye around the opulent surroundings. There were a few people in the lobby, one, a tall, silver-haired gentleman who looked as though he was waiting for someone. G.o.d, could that be him?

She frowned. She hadn't even considered that the group might be in their seventies. She couldn't hold back a shudder as the man turned and smiled, or the relief that flooded her as she realized his attention was on the woman behind her.

Not him, then.

There were two other people in the lobby. One was a nervous blonde woman and the other a tall, dark man, dressed in a finely tailored slate-grey suit. He watched her intently.

He didn't look like a typical London businessman; his hair was too long for that. She'd never really gone for guys with beards, but the dark dusting on his jawline was d.a.m.ned attractive. His skin was tanned and his eyes were glittering green emerald. He was cla.s.sically handsome, with an edge. A dangerous edge. Maybe it was the prominent cheekbones, maybe the sensuous curve of his mouth, maybe the wide shoulders and narrow hips and the way he stood. Like a big cat, feigning a relaxed state, when in reality he was on the prowl, ready to pounce.

A good girl would turn away. Would act as though she hadn't noticed the s.e.xual interest evident in his eyes. She certainly wouldn't encourage him.

She'd never been a good girl.

Kathryn's nipples tightened against the black lace of her bra. She was safe. Here for a business meeting. It had been months since she'd last had a lover, but there was nothing wrong with window-shopping, was there?

She didn't look away. She smiled slowly and intimately, let her eyes transmit the powerful message that she liked what she saw. When the meeting was over, if he was still here, maybe she'd let him buy her a drink.

The man's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, then an answering smile transformed his features from dangerous to deadly.

Her pulse was racing as she looked away and stepped up to the desk. "I'm here to see Mr. Hunt," she said to the receptionist. "Could you call his room please?"

For more of Hazzard Blue, click HERE.

Acknowledgments.

As always I owe a debt of grat.i.tude to my lovely friend and editor Charlie Hobson. I honestly wouldn't want to write these books without you, you push me to think deeper and work harder and my books are so much better for it. You're all-round fabulous!

Thanks also to Sarah Hansen at Okay Creations for the gorgeous cover, it's absolutely right for Genie and Abel's story.

A huge hi-five to all of the fabulous bloggers who always work so incredibly hard - thank you for your love of books, and for your unstinting support and encouragement. It means so much, I really am incredibly grateful.