An Irresistible Bachelor(5)

Her half sister.

The stunning blond was in a gown at a podium, addressing a crowd of the city's most influential people. According to the caption, the picture had been taken at the Hall Foundation's annual gala and Callie was shocked when she read the article. A killer had tried to attack Grace in her office and she'd been saved when her bodyguard had taken him down. Also, it appeared that her marriage to the Count von Sharone was over and her soon-to-be ex-husband was shopping around a tell-all book about her.

Focusing on the picture, Callie was glad she'd finally introduced herself to Grace and sorry that the woman's life was in such turmoil. After years of reading about her half sister in the society pages, Callie had never expected to meet her, but things changed when their father died. She'd become determined to see her next of kin up close. Just once.

Grace was Cornelius Woodward Hall's daughter. Callie was his dirty little secret. At birth, she'd been given Burke, her mother's name, and the lies that began with her first breath had followed her into adulthood, creating a wild disparity between the kind of life her half sister lived and the kind Callie struggled through. Despite the fact that Cornelius was worth close to a billion dollars, lavish financial support for his illegitimate daughter was out of the question. When he was alive, he could barely stand to be in the same room with her, as if she were too obvious a reminder of the double life he was leading. Anything that would have increased her profile was to be strictly avoided.

Although, even if he had wanted to be generous, such gestures probably wouldn't have been accepted. Her mother's pride had cut off much of what Cornelius had tried to give his lover over the years. Extravagant gifts to her went unopened. A fancy apartment was left uninhabited. The only thing she'd accepted was the payment for Callie's college and graduate school tuition.

And some jewelry that had ultimately helped to ease her death.

Callie read on. The article mentioned that at the gala's auction, Jackson Walker had purchased a portrait of his ancestor, Nathaniel Walker, the Revolutionary War hero.

Jackson Walker.

At the sight of the name, she felt like a blast of hot air had hit the back of her neck.

"Hey! Are you gonna buy that or do you want me to get you a chair?" the stand's owner barked at her.

Callie put the newspaper down and kept going.

She'd first learned about Jack Walker through the gossip columns years ago. He came from one of America's most famous families and had more money than most small countries. He was also too damn handsome for anyone's good. For years, he'd been a notorious bad boy and the tabloids had carried endless stories about his women. He'd tended to date models, actresses, and debutantes; usually more than one at a time. The ensuing catfights and his casual dismissal of jealous rages had probably moved more newspapers than the exploits of Bill Clinton and Jennifer Lopez put together.

Needless to say, it had been a surprise to meet him in person.

Evidently, he and Grace were friends and he looked like the kind of man Grace would know; everything about him was expensive. From his fine, tailored suit to his polished shoes to the leather briefcase he carried, he was from the world of privilege.

And in all his finery, he was precisely the kind of man she avoided.

Okay, maybe avoided was the wrong word, because billionaires didn't cross her path very often. But all that money, all that smooth confidence was a red flag. Her father had taught her everything she needed to know about rich men and little of it had been good.

But she had to admit Walker was attractive. Aside from his physical attributes, he spoke with the authority of someone used to being followed, in a voice that was seductive even when he was talking about nothing sexual. She could have listened to him speak for hours, his words enunciated with that aristocratic drawl, a signet ring flashing gold on his hand as he gestured.

And then there was the way he'd looked at her. He'd met her eyes directly and it was as if he'd really seen her. As someone who was used to being sidelined, it was nice to be noticed. Especially while standing next to a woman like Grace.

It had been another surprise when he'd offered her the job of conserving the portrait of his famous fore-bearer. He made the proposal even though he didn't yet own the painting, taking for granted he'd prevail in the auction. Considering the kind of money he had, she supposed no price would be too high for him.

But she'd walked away from the proposition, in spite of the fact that it was a plum job. It wasn't that she couldn't handle the project. She'd worked under some renowned conservationists during school and had tackled some very difficult restorations. The Copley, though dirty and in need of a cleaning, wasn't a big deal in terms of technical difficulty.