Midsummer Man Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Legal Page

  Book Description

  Trademark Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

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  About the Author

  MIDSUMMER MAN

  ZELAH ROBERTS

  Midsummer Man

  ISBN # 978-1-83943-502-7

  ©Copyright Zelah Roberts 2021

  Cover Art by Louisa Maggio ©Copyright June 2021

  Interior text design by Claire Siemaszkiewicz

  Totally Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2021 by Totally Bound Publishing, United Kingdom.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorised copies.

  Totally Bound Publishing is an imprint of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book”.

  Hostages of fate…rescued by love.

  Holly Mason’s past has left her with many things—a powerful need for independence and self-reliance, enduring memories of pain and fear…and an intense dislike of alpha males.

  Billionaire Sir Mac Sinclair has been wounded by the betrayal of his fiancée and overpowered by his own ultra-protective alpha-male instincts after his sister is kidnapped. He has no time for romance.

  But when Mac meets Holly at the beautiful Midsummer Ball, fate intervenes. The irresistible, timeless magic of midsummer seduces them into stealing one stunning, secret night of passion together.

  But one night is not enough… When danger threatens, Mac and Holly are forced back together. Can they confront the traumas of the past and learn to trust each other to overcome the dangers of the present?

  Trademark Acknowledgements

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Outlander: Sony Pictures Television, Diana Gabaldon

  Hermès: Hermès International Corporation France

  Cinderella: Disney Enterprises Inc.

  To His Coy Mistress: Andrew Marvell

  Amaretto: Illva Saronno S.P.A. Corporation

  Baileys Irish Cream: R&A Bailey and Company

  Golden Globes: Hollywood Foreign Press Association Corporation

  Bafta: British Academy of Film and Television Arts

  Tresco Abbey Gardens: Tresco Estate

  Valhalla Figureheads Museum: Tresco Estate

  Harry Potter: J.K. Rowling

  Monopoly: Hasbro Inc.

  Scrabble: Hasbro Inc.

  The Prism: Prism Hotels and Resorts

  Lindisfarne Mead: St. Aiden’s Winery

  Unchained Melody: Alex North, Hy Zaret

  Star Castle Hotel: Mr. Robert Francis

  Chapter One

  Renwick Castle stood high on the hill above the Wyvern Valley, its tranquil beauty bestowing an elegant timelessness upon the idyllic landscape of rolling cornfields and quaint villages below. Gilded flags fluttered from crenelated battlements in the golden afternoon sun and the vibrant ruby, emerald and sapphire stained-glass windows glowed like jewels, refracting dancing rainbows onto ancient stone floors. In the courtyard of the ancient keep, the blush-pink petals of apple blossom trees, caressed from their branches by the breeze, danced on the warm summer air like confetti.

  In the grand ballroom of the castle, now an extremely elegant five-star hotel, two women, Holly Mason and Melissa Turner, were working in parallel, placing perfumed rose-pink charity auction lists and donation envelopes on tables already festooned with glittering silverware and sparkling candelabras entwined with ivy and white roses.

  Tonight was a night they had been working towards for months. It was the night upon which all their hopes as the trustees of the charity ‘Help the Homeless’, rested—the night when most of the funds the charity needed for the coming year would be raised. Tonight was the night of the Help the Homeless Midsummer Ball.

  Holly set down yet another envelope, then glanced up as her friend Melissa cleared her throat. “So,” Melissa asked, “did you try the rose-petal bath-pourri, then?”

  Holly looked at her friend curiously. Melissa had given her the lovely bath set for her birthday, with strict and rather mysterious instructions that she should use it the night before the ball. “I did,” she confirmed, “as instructed. It was absolutely fabulous. The rose petals were floating on the water and the scent was out of this world. But I still don’t understand why I had to use it last night, exactly.”

  Melissa looked smug. “I knew you’d do it. I bet Simon a jasmine-scented back massage that you would.”

  Holly choked back a laugh. Her recently married friend was still in the honeymoon phase of her relationship with her beloved Simon. “Why jasmine, specifically?”

  “Holly! Don’t you know that jasmine is supposed to stimulate your libido?”

  “Ah- no. Can’t say that I did. But really… Your libido needs stimulating?”

  Melissa gave her a sheepish look. “Well, no. In all honesty, if it got any more stimulated, I’d probably die. But what a way to go!”

  Holly rolled her eyes. Her friend was incorrigible. “Well, naturally I’m delighted to have earned you a jasmine-scented back rub, but you still haven’t told me why I had to use my bubble bath last night.”

  They moved to another table and began distributing auction lists. “Ah, yes…that. Well, this castle has been here nearly a thousand years. And for every single one of them, it has celebrated the magic of midsummer, the longest day of the year and the time when the veil between this world and the next is at its thinnest.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Melissa threw out a dramatic arm. “Powerful forces are abroad on midsummer’s night. And in this castle, they are amplified—soaked into the very fabric of this building.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Oh, believe me. It is.”

  “So, what do these powerful forces want with me, pray tell?”

  Melissa looked at her triumphantly. “Well, you sprinkled rose-petals last night, didn’t you?”

  “Yes—”

  “Well
, the legend says that if you sprinkle rose petals on Midsummer’s Eve, you’ll meet the man of your dreams the next night. And that means, you’ll meet him tonight!”

  Holly put down her envelopes and looked at her friend in frank disbelief. “Really? The man of my dreams? It’s going to bring to life Jamie from Outlander, is it?”

  Melissa rolled her eyes. “There are good men in the real world, too, you know.”

  Holly shook her head, amused. In her considered opinion, the only good men were fictional ones. “Melissa, you know I love you,” she began, wryly, “but I don’t want a man. I like my life the way it is.”

  Damn right she did. She’d worked hard to get to where she was today, and now she was reaping the rewards of her labours. Her life was safe, settled and interesting, exactly the way she liked it. The last thing she wanted was some wretched man messing it all up.

  Melissa looked at her sympathetically. “Holly, I know you had that awful stalker a couple of years ago. But you can’t judge all men by one obsessive fan.”

  “Of course not.”

  “And I know Taylor wasn’t the best boyfriend you could have wished for. You were just unlucky he turned out to be such an absolute—”

  Holly raised a hasty hand. “I know. They’re not all like him. Some of them are worse!”

  “Oh, Holly, come on. That’s not fair! Look at Simon.”

  It was true. Her friend really had found one of those mythical creatures—a good man. Mild-mannered, gentle and fathoms deep in love with his adorable wife, Simon was a gentleman of the first order. But a man like that would never want a woman as hard as she was, with a background like hers. “Okay, okay. I know. Granted, your Simon is lovely, and I’m sure there are other wonderful men out there—but not for me. I’m not in the market for any midsummer magic.”

  For a moment, a wispy cloud drifted over the sun and the room shadowed. Holly set down another auction list with careful precision. “Anyway, I’m too busy. I’m up to my neck in work.”

  “Work won’t keep you warm at night. You won’t get to the end of your life and wish you’d done more work.”

  Holly looked drily at her friend. “I won’t get to the end of my life and wish I’d done more men, either.”

  “Oh, honestly, Holly—”

  At that moment, Melissa’s phone beeped, signalling a text message. Melissa glanced at the screen and a delighted smile spread over her face.

  “It’s Sadika. You’ll never guess who she’s just sold a last-minute ticket to?”

  “Who?”

  “Sir Mac Sinclair!”

  Holly raised her eyebrows. Sir Mac Sinclair was known to practically anyone with a pulse in the UK, even her, and she was no follower of the lives of the rich and famous. As the billionaire owner of one of the most prestigious building companies in the country, he was lauded for successfully and sympathetically restoring some of Britain’s most valuable and beloved historic buildings. As a qualified architect, he had also created some new structures which, with their fluid, sensuous silhouettes and environmentally friendly designs, were now considered modern classics. But he was also infamous for his obsessive need for privacy. He rarely appeared in public and declined all television interviews, which made it all the more surprising that he was coming to such a high-profile event.

  Not only that, but tickets for the ball had sold out months ago, and he must have paid through the nose to get hold of one at the last minute. Sadika, who was responsible for selling tickets and organising the seating plan, must be tearing her hair out trying to slot him in at one of the tables.

  Holly scowled. Although she was pleased that the charity had received more money, she hated the fact that the rich could have it all their own way, could casually buy into an event at the last minute without a by-your-leave.

  “Well, great. That should get us some more publicity. Hopefully, he’ll spend a fortune and we’ll all be happy.”

  “True.” Melissa’s voice filled with excitement. “But more than that, this guy is hot. I mean, seriously hot. Oh, he’d be perfect for you!”

  “Oh, right. Because I’m so hot myself.”

  “You are!” Melissa clapped her hands together, her eyes speculative. “You’d make the most amazing couple—”

  “Oh, don’t do me any favours. The last thing I need is some arrogant megalomaniac billionaire who loves nothing more than his own reflection!”

  Melissa’s face softened. “Give in, Holly. It’s fate. You’ve sprinkled the rose petals, so you might as well accept it. True love’s a comin’ for you.”

  Holly shook her head. “No. No way. You know what the difference between true love and herpes is, right?”

  “No…”

  “Herpes lasts forever.”

  * * * *

  Later that evening she sat in that same ballroom with its fabulous, stuccoed ceiling and fruit trees adorned with white lights at every mullioned window. She was dressed in a slender silver ballgown that shimmered in the candlelight, her chestnut hair in an artful topknot, and waited to be called up to the charity auction by the compere, Jack De Vere.

  Her stomach was in knots at the thought of going up on the stage, and at that moment, she half-wished she’d never had that fateful conversation with Melissa just before Christmas six months previously.

  She’d been deeply mired in the plot of her seventh Wayfarer Chronicles book when her friend had called round.

  ‘So, how’s the writing going?’ Melissa had asked, casually.

  ‘Not bad,’ Holly had told her, as they’d sat drinking coffee in the warm, cosy kitchen. Outside, snow had been falling in soft, dreamy drifts, covering the lawn and the overhanging trees with a delicate, satin-smooth mantle. “Drake and Isabella are now on board a pirate ship bound for the West Indies. When they get there, she’s going to be kidnapped and Drake’s going to go after her with the help of a disgraced English captain and a servant girl who turns out to be a runaway heiress. But in the meantime, Isabella is going to escape with the help of two slaves…”

  Melissa had shaken her head in disbelief. ‘I don’t know how you do it,’ she’d said. ‘All those characters… How on earth do you keep up with them all?’

  ‘It’s easy. The characters are real to me, so real that I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Drake walked through that door right now…’

  ‘Oh, I wish,’ Melissa had replied so fervently that Holly laughed. Drake was such a swoon-worthy hero that fans had created a Facebook fan page devoted to him, and Holly regularly received requests for details such as his birthday, his favourite food and his sexual position of choice. Such questions had increased in volume exponentially over the last year as the first of her books had been televised, to great acclaim. Her book sales had rocketed, and there was talk of reissuing some of her earlier stories. Her publishing company, recognising that they had a major coup on their hands, had even ended up licensing the rights to create merchandise around the stories, and the first mugs, coasters, notebooks, pens and candles were already on the shelves.

  ‘You know,’ Melissa had said slowly, ‘have you ever considered auctioning off a character in one of your books?’

  Holly had looked at her quizzically. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, offer to name a character in one of your books after the auction winner. That definitely would be a prize that money couldn’t buy!’

  ‘You really think that would fly?’ she’d asked doubtfully.

  Melissa had clasped a dramatic hand to her forehead. ‘You bet your bottom dollar I do! I bet there are millions of fans out there who’d give an arm and a leg to be immortalised alongside Drake and Isabella. And the publicity for an auction lot like that would be through the roof! Can you imagine? Everyone would know about the Midsummer Ball and Help the Homeless!’

  Her friend had been absolutely right. In fact, the subsequent furore had been greater than either of them could ever have imagined. Holly had been invited onto radio and television shows to discuss t
he auction and the charity. Newspapers, magazines and websites had run articles, and one mega-famous film star had been quoted as saying he would give his left testicle to be featured in a Wayfarer Chronicle. Holly had wondered cynically how much he considered his left testicle to be worth, but she had noticed that he was on the list of ticket holders for tonight. Hopefully, he’d put his money where his…mouth was.

  The trustees had decided to leave her auction lot as the grand finale, and Jack, the compere, was currently working his way through the others. The auction publicity had prompted several well-known companies and public figures to offer donations, and so it was possible to bid on all sorts of items, including a week for two on a luxury yacht in the Bahamas, a signed football from a world-famous team and executive tickets with a backstage pass to a sold-out tour of a famous British boy-band.

  The atmosphere was electric as Jack joked and cajoled his ebullient audience into higher and higher bids. Every winning bid drew a round of laughter and applause. The champagne had flowed with abandon since the event had begun and had been followed by a delicious summery meal featuring fresh salmon and strawberries.

  “Now come on, ladies. This fabulous pure silk Hermès scarf is named after the messenger of the gods…and you’ll look like a goddess wearing it, especially if you’re wearing nothing else. Gentlemen, take note. Give your lady a delivery she’ll never forget!”

  Holly suppressed a wince, hoping she would not be the target of any equally smutty innuendos. But given that her books did involve some powerful sex scenes, she thought it unlikely that the compere would be able to resist the temptation.

  “The lovely lady with the excellent taste at the back, six hundred… Do I hear seven…?”

  “I think that man was a pirate in a previous life.”

  The rich masculine voice, with the deep consistency of rich, dark molasses, disturbed Holly’s concentration. She turned in time to see a man slide into the seat next to her.