Fire Beneath The Ice
HELEN BROOKS
He wanted passion, not commitment! Lydia's new boss was a powerfully charismatic man. But Lydia dared not surrender to the dangerously sweet attraction she felt toward Wolf Strade… . He might be icy cool on the outside, but he was all fire and passion underneath - just a little too hot to handle!And Wolf made it clear that love and marriage didn't feature on his agenda, whereas Lydia had her tiny daughter, Hannah, to think of. But still she couldn't get Wolf out of her mind. Should she try and melt the icy barrier around Wolf's heart… and, if so, how?"Helen Brooks pens a suberb story with rich characters, sparkling interplay and a riveting emotional conflict." - Romantic Times
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u8a1fad24-4ca6-5fdc-903d-f4d9e3098a7f)
Excerpt (#ud60a1fa8-649e-5a37-a935-30421d5219cd)
About the Author (#u59b51bcf-1dd9-5c75-a8d8-ef20fe366529)
Title Page (#u4d42d34d-c9c1-50fa-b068-7bf2c9882a9e)
Chapter One (#ue22c0304-2400-574d-bb4d-ab48caf65ecb)
Chapter Two (#ud78c414f-2235-5a2b-b6ab-4ffc0172c31e)
Chapter Three (#u083d061f-ab0a-5b33-8225-c6a67a03641e)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“I thought blondes were supposed to be cool and unemotional.”
Wolf studied Lydia’s angry face with a superior frown.
“Mr. Strade, I—” She stopped abruptly as hot color flooded her pale, creamy skin.
“The name’s Wolf.”
Lydia glared at him. For some strange reason her body was determined to be aroused by a man she both disliked and disapproved of. But he was so cold, so self-contained. Didn’t anything touch him?
HELEN BROOKS lives in Northamptonshire, England, and is married with three children. As she is a committed Christian, busy housewife and mother, her spare time is at a premium but her hobbies include reading, swimming, gardening and walking her two energetic, inquisitive and very endearing young dogs. Her long-cherished aspiration to write became a reality when she put pen to paper on reaching the age of forty, and sent the result off to Harlequin Mills & Boon.
Look out for THE PRICE OF A WIFE by Helen Brooks in October (#1914), as part of our From Here to Paternity promotion.
Fire Beneath The Ice
Helen Brooks
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_f03bd37b-990a-5f2b-a214-d1345b3ad542)
‘I HOPE you haven’t got me another empty-headed little bimbo out there, Connoly, who is more interested in a chip in her nail varnish than getting on with the damn job.’
‘Mr Strade—’
‘I told you my requirements last night and I meant what I said. Grey hair, middle-aged, with nothing less than a first-class typing speed and skirts down to her ankles, OK?’
‘Please, Mr Strade——’
Lydia found her mouth had fallen open in a little O of shocked surprise as she stood waiting in the outer office where Mr Connoly had positioned her thirty seconds before. He had smiled at her apologetically before scuttling into the inner sanctum of the chairman and managing director of Strade Engineering, motioning for her to stay where she was until he returned. He had obviously intended to shut the door, but it had opened the merest crack after he had closed it and now the conversation of the two men inside was clearly audible.
‘You changed the agency?’ the hard masculine voice continued grimly.
‘Yes, Mr Strade.’ She could just imagine Mr Connoly’s thin, nervous face trying to smile. ‘Of course. But you must understand that itwas such short notice that most of their employees were already in a position.’
‘And that means?’
‘This lady is extremely capable, I do assure you, and I’m sure she will meet all your work requirements admirably.’ The nervous squeak wouldn’t have convinced Lydia, and clearly Mr Strade was of the same opinion.
‘She isn’t a blonde-haired bombshell, is she?’ the harsh voice asked tightly. ‘It’s going to be another few months before Mrs Havers comes back after this damn maternity leave, and already I’ve endured two females who were a darn sight more interested in the size of my bank balance than doing the job they were hired for. Short skirts and fluttering eyelashes have their time and place, but my office is not one of them. Are you sure this one isn’t on the make?’
Enough was enough. The flood of anger that burnt hotly through Lydia’s pale, creamy skin brought her small chin militantly upwards and made her deep brown eyes shoot sparks. Who on earth did this creep think he was? Robert Redford and Richard Gere rolled into one? She had pushed open the door and stepped into the huge plush room beyond before she had time to consider what she was going to say.
‘Do excuse the interruption, gentlemen,’ she said coolly, her eyes sweeping in magnificent disdain over the two men standing by the far window, ‘but in view of your conversation, I hardly think there is any point in my waiting any longer. I’ll see myself out.’ The sunlight streaming in through the panoramic plate glass held the two men in silhouette, although one was clearly taller and broader than the other and it was to this figure that she addressed the last remark. ‘Do have a good day, Mr Strade,’ she finished with acid sweetness as she turned to leave.
‘Stay exactly where you are.’ She didn’t even think about disobeying him; there was something in the deep voice that demanded and received acquiescence, although her chin raised itself another notch as she swung round to face the two men again. As they moved from the window and into focus she was aware of two thoughts striking her simultaneously, both of which were acutely unwelcome in the circumstances. One was that the tall figure just in front of Mr Connoly was hopping mad, if the scowl on his dark face was anything to go by, and the other? The other was that he was the most attractive man she had seen for a long time. She hadn’t been far wrong with the Robert Redford and Richard Gere comparison, she thought weakly as he came to a halt just in front of her, his six-foot frame seeming to dwarf her slim, petite five feet four.
‘Yes?’ She raised her eyes to meet the arctic blue of his, her face straight. He had been rude, incredibly, unforgivably rude, and if he thought she was going to crawl now he’d soon find out differently.
‘What the hell do you mean by bursting into my office uninvited?’ he asked cuttingly, his eyes moving to her ash-blonde hair, secured in a neat and demure French plait at the back of her head, with more than a touch of resigned contempt in the blue gaze.
‘Blonde-haired bombshell’. The words spoken with such raw harshness came back to her. Well, she had blonde hair, that much was for sure, and she’d die before she apologised for the fact, especially to a male chauvinist pig like this one.
‘Don’t be so ridiculous, Mr Strade,’ she said coolly, blessing the impulse that had made her wear her best suit that morning instead of the usual blouse and pencilslim skirt she favoured. The expensive material and beautiful cut of the suit always made her feel good, and she had felt, after the agency had rung, that she might need something of a boost if she was stepping into the domain of such an illustrious and well-known mogul as Strade of Strade Engineering. Little had she known then how right she was! ‘I did not burst into your office, as you are well aware. The door was open and I had been asked to wait just outside, where every word of your conversation with Mr Connoly was received loud and clear. In view of the fact that I only qualify on one of the requirements you laid out in such graphic detail, I assumed there was no point in my continuing to wait.’
‘And that is?’ he asked coldly. The frown had died now, to be replaced by an expression of almost blank coolness.
‘My typing speed.’ It was hard work to keep her gaze from faltering from the rapier-sharp eyes, but she was determined to hang on in there. ‘My hair is blonde, I am twenty-seven years of age and my skirt—’ she glanced down for just a second to the tapered material that finished just below her knees ‘—is not ankle-length,’ she finished tightly.
‘No…’ His eyes had followed hers and lingered for just a second on the length of slender leg encased in gossamer-thin stockings the skirt exposed. ‘No, it isn’t.’ As the icy gaze met hers again she found it hard to stop a shiver from showing. There was a coldness in his eyes, his whole face, that was positively raw in its bleakness, turning the high, chiselled cheekbones and square, hard jaw into stone. He had to be the most detached, unapproachable man she had ever met in her whole life. And the two girls before her had made a pass at this block of ice? She’d like to shake their hands for sheer nerve.
‘Goodbye, then, Mr Strade.’ She hadn’t even begun to turn this time when the frosty voice rang out again.
‘I do the hiring and firing, and as yet I am not aware that either applies. You came for an interview and my time is valuable and not to be wasted. Sit down, Miss…?’
‘I’d rather not.’ She didn’t know where this aplomb was coming from—perhaps the chill that was emanating from him was affecting her, because in all fairness she should feel grossly intimidated, but instead her cheeks were burning with rage. ‘And it’s Worth, Mrs Worth,’ she finished with cold emphasis.
‘You’re married?’ The relief on his face was transparent and added to Lydia’s sense of outrage. What did he expect her to do, for goodness’ sake? Leap over the desk and rip off his trousers at the slightest encouragement? The man’s ego was jumbo-sized.
‘Yes, but I really don’t think——’
‘Please sit down, Mrs Worth.’ The transformation was sudden and breathtaking. What had been a block of stone metamorphosed instantly into the secretary’s ideal of the perfect boss—smiling, handsome and exuding benevolence. ‘We seem to have got off on the wrong foot, for which I accept the blame entirely.’
It was a twenty-four-carat smile, she had to give him that, Lydia thought weakly as she felt herself persuaded into the large, easy seat opposite the magnificent shiny desk in gleaming walnut. Mr Connoly still continued to hover anxiously at his managing director’s side, his mild, watery eyes begging her to be reasonable.
‘Could we put this unfortunate episode aside and begin anew?’ The vivid blue eyes fastened on her again and she realised with a little jolt that they were still as hard as iron. She had read somewhere that the eyes were considered windows to the soul in some cultures, and if that were the case…The shiver returned tenfold. ‘I don’t know how much Mr Connoly has told you about the position, but my very able and efficient secretary is at present on maternity leave.’ The harsh twist to his mouth as he spoke revealed his opinion of the poor woman’s amazing audacity more eloquently than any words could have done. ‘The agency we were with until yesterday provided…unsuitable replacements, and I do not have the time or the inclination to continue along that particular avenue.’ His scathing comments on her predecessors returned with renewed vigour and she nodded non-committally as her mind raced.
‘I want a secretary for the next few months who is prepared to work hard and be flexible when the occasion warrants it,’ he continued coldly. ‘Mrs Havers was forced to leave a month early due to some unforeseen difficulties, so I have been left in rather a vulnerable position, and I don’t like that, Mrs Worth.’ His smile was ironic. ‘I don’t like that at all.’ She glanced again at the firm, cruel mouth and ruthless, handsome face and nodded mentally. She could believe that, very definitely. She didn’t smile back.
‘For the right person, the rewards will match the dedication I require,’ he said quietly, after waiting a moment for her to speak, ‘but you understand this is not a nineto-five job.’
As Mr Connoly opened his mouth to speak, the other man glanced at him, motioning towards the door with a hard flick of his wrist. ‘Coffee, I think, Ted? Perhaps you’d organise that?’ he asked coldly.
‘Certainly, certainly.’ Mr Connoly fairly scampered across the room and out of the door, clearly glad to be out of a potentially difficult situation.
‘Mr Strade, I don’t think——’
He cut across her voice as though he hadn’t heard her, his tone reasonable, but with that underlying thread of steel that made her hackles rise. ‘The salary is not the usual agency rate, but if you accept the position you will earn every penny.’ He mentioned a figure that made her eyes widen and her mouth open slightly before she closed it with a little snap. With that amount guaranteed even for two or three months, she could afford to redecorate Hannah’s bedroom, turning it from a nursery into a little girl’s room, and perhaps even lash out on a new carpet for the lounge—the other was threadbare. And definitely those outstanding bills wouldn’t keep her awake any longer at night. But to work in close contact with this man each and every day? Could she endure it?
‘Of course, you may feel that, with family commitments, you couldn’t accept such a post if it was offered.’
‘I’m sorry?’ She raised her head from mental calculations of gas, electricity and water bills, realising she hadn’t heard a word he’d said in the last thirty seconds.
‘Your husband,’ he said patiently, his face expressionless. ‘Perhaps he would object to you working late or having to take off at short notice for a couple of days? It is not unusual for me to have to visit my subsidiaries at an hour’s notice and, as I have branches in Scotland, Wales, Manchester and Ireland, it often necessitates an overnight stay. Some husbands would find this unacceptable.’
Now was the moment to tell him. She stared across the desk into the austere face opposite her, but images of pink frilly curtains and flowery bedspreads and Hannah’s little face came between. If she told him she was a widow, she would be out of the door before she could say Jack Robinson, she thought frantically. He would think she was available, or at least that she thought he was available, she corrected mentally. And she knew that he was the last person on this earth she could harbour any romantic inclinations for, so where was the harm in a little unspoken deceit? And she wouldn’t actually lie, not really. And she needed that money, desperately. The mortgage had been paid off after Matthew’s death but the old, draughty terraced house ate gas and electricity, and the last three years had been an uphill struggle to survive on what she could earn. If her mother, herself a widow, hadn’t insisted on helping out as unpaid child-minder, financial waters would have closed over her head more than once…
‘Mrs Worth?’ Now the hard, deep voice was clearly impatient. ‘Would your husband find unsocial hours unacceptable?’ he asked tightly.
‘No.’ She raised her head and stared him straight in the eye. ‘No, he wouldn’t,’ she answered firmly.
‘Good.’ He settled back on the corner of the desk where he was perched, looking down at her. ‘Then perhaps this might be the time for a short test of your skills. You do do shorthand as well as audio-typing?’
‘Yes.’ She slipped a hand down to her bag and brought out notebook and pencil. ‘When you’re ready.’
Half an hour later, as she presented a neatly typed, well-set out report in front of him, he glanced up from his desk, his eyes narrowed. ‘Sit down, Mrs Worth.’ He flicked through the pages quickly and nodded slowly. ‘Excellent. The job is yours if you want it.’
‘I…’ Did she want it? She glanced down at his lowered head, noticing the gleam of red in his black hair—virile, thick, strong hair. Her stomach muscles clenched in an involuntary spasm she was at a loss to understand. No, she was suddenly quite sure she didn’t want the job if it entailed being close to this man for a few hours every day, but she did want the money, No, not want, need. ‘Well?’ The icy blue gaze was suddenly fixed on her flushed face and she took a deep silent breath as she struggled for composure.
‘Thank you, Mr Strade,’ she said levelly. ‘I would like the job, please.’
‘Good.’ His eyes lowered to the papers on his desk that he had been studying when she had entered the room from the secretary’s office just beyond. ‘Go and get yourself a cup of coffee and a sandwich and make any phone calls you think necessary; you’ll be working late tonight. I’ve a hell of a lot of work to catch up on.’
He hadn’t asked if she had any children, she thought bemusedly as she left the room. Hadn’t it occurred to him?
She had just reached the desk in the outer office when the buzzer on the intercom sounded stridently, making her jump a mile. ‘Yes?’ As she flicked the switch she was annoyed to find her voice a little breathless.
‘I forgot to ask.’ His voice was uncompromisingly severe. ‘Are there any little Worths?’ She knew what he wanted her answer to be, and it would be easy to lie, but somehow she couldn’t deny Hannah’s presence in her life, even if it meant losing this golden opportunity for the pair of them to get on their feet.
‘Yes.’ She kept her voice steady and clear. ‘I have a daughter aged three, Mr Strade.’
‘Oh.’ She could tell he had expected a denial. ‘You have an understanding child-minder?’ he asked coolly.
‘Hannah is looked after by my mother when I’m at work, and she is very flexible. The hours will be no problem.’ She could feel her heart thudding as she waited for his reply. Suddenly the amount of money he was offering was desperately important. ‘She’s a widow and likes the company,’ she added quietly.
‘Be back in the office by twelve, Mrs Worth.’ The flick of a switch signalled the end of their conversation and she stared at the closed door of his office as her heartbeat returned to normal. He really was the original ice-man but…She sank down on the upholstered typist’s chair at the smart desk as her thoughts raced on. He had given her a chance and she was honest enough to admit that quite a few men in his position would have hesitated in taking on a secretary with a young daughter in tow, however temporary the position, in view of the travelling and long hours the job entailed.
She was back in the outer office within half an hour of leaving it, after a brief explanatory phone call to her mother, who responded with maternal encouragement, after which Lydia gulped a hasty cup of coffee in the splendid canteen and decided against one of the delicious meals on offer. She bought a pack of ham sand-wiches to eat later—she was far too nervous to eat anything now in spite of having skipped breakfast once the agency rang—and returned to the thickly carpeted, hushed opulence of the top floor. The grandeur of the huge building had begun to get through to her, and the fact that she was working for a multimillionaire who could buy and sell half of London if he so chose was more than a little awe-inspiring.
It wasn’t that she didn’t think she could handle the job, she thought feverishly as she opened the drawers of her desk to familiarise herself with the contents, it was just…Just what? she asked herself irritably. What on earth was the matter with her? Since Matthew’s untimely death from undiagnosed genetic heart disease just a few weeks after Hannah was born, she had kept both herself and her tiny daughter, as well as running a home and coming to terms with the emotional package of grief and anger her loss had entailed. So why was she letting an ice-cold individual like Mr Strade get to her? It was ridiculous. She was ridiculous! She nodded mentally and took a few deep, calming breaths as she forced her heartbeat to behave. She was mature and sensible and perfectly in control of her emotions and her life, not some giddy schoolgirl with no responsibilities and no brain.
‘You’re back already?’ She came out of her reverie abruptly as a cool voice spoke from the doorway, and raised her eyes to meet the direct blue gaze trained on her face. ‘Ready for work?’
‘Of course, Mr Strade.’ She smiled mechanically as she tried to keep her nervousness from showing. She could understand why those girls before her could have been initially attracted to him—he really was an absolute dish—but surely within ten minutes of meeting him those ice-blue eyes would have frozen over even the most ardent female heart? She had never met a less approachable man in her life.
‘Wolf.’
‘What?’ She forgot to be polite as she stared at him open-mouthed.
‘We are going to be working in close contact for a ridiculous number of hours a day, so I suggest we drop the formality,’ he said coolly. ‘I understand your first name is Lydia?’ She nodded weakly. ‘And mine is Wolf.’
‘It is…?’ She really wasn’t handling this very well, she thought miserably as she watched the hard mouth tighten at her reaction. It was perfectly clear he had had this conversation more times than he would have liked in his life, but with a Christian name like that it was hardly surprising! She stared at him as she tried to pull herself together. And when added to his appearance and whole demeanour——
‘My father was a wild-life expert involved in an expedition studying the Canadian timber-wolf at the time of my birth,’ he said coldly, after a few uncomfortable seconds had ticked by. ‘Unfortunately he thought the name rather apt for his baby son and my mother did little to dissuade him.’
‘Oh.’ She blinked tensely. ‘You haven’t got a middle name, have you?’ she asked tactlessly.
A glimmer of a smile touched the hard mouth for an instant as he turned away. ‘Fortunately, no. I hardly dare think what that would have been. Now, if you’d care to bring your notebook…?’
What an incredibly stupid thing to say, Lydia, she berated herself fiercely as she followed him into the massive office a moment later. The little incident had been a perfect opportunity to impress him with her diplomacy and discreet delicacy, and all she had managed was, ‘You haven’t got a middle name, have you?’ She cringed mentally.
‘Do stop looking so tragic.’
‘What?’ For the second time in as many minutes, he took her completely by surprise and it showed.
‘In spite of my name, I really don’t eat little girls for breakfast, especially when they look like you,’ he added surprisingly as the shuttered gaze passed remotely over her clear, creamy, translucent skin in which the dark brown of her heavily lashed eyes stood out in startling contrast to the ash-blonde of her hair. ‘Your colouring is most unusual.’
‘It’s natural.’ She raised a defensive hand to her hair, sensing criticism as her mind flew back to the remarks he had made on her predecessors.
‘I’m sure it is,’ he said gravely, without a glimmer of amusement in either his face or voice, although she felt, somehow, that that was exactly what he was feeling. ‘Now, do you think you could relax a little? We’ve one hell of an afternoon in front of us and it would be a great help if you could ease up a little.’
She nodded tightly as anger replaced the nerves. He really did have the most colossal cheek! She wouldn’t be feeling like this if he had been halfway to normal. Something of what she was thinking must have shown on her face because the quirk to his mouth was definitely wry as he lowered his gaze to the papers on his desk. ‘Right, then, if you are ready?’
She was conscious, somewhere towards evening, of being utterly astounded at the speed and energy with which Wolf Strade devoured the workload in front of him, despite a hundred and one interruptions every two minutes and numerous telephone calls for which she, at least, was pathetically grateful. It gave her a chance to check her frantic shorthand and get her thoughts in order for the next barrage.
The September evening was growing dark outside when she walked dazedly from his office a few hours after entering it, with a small list of several items of correspondence he needed typing before she left. She sat down at her desk with a weary little plop and flexed her aching hand gently. He was some sort of a machine! She stared across at the closed door separating them, aware that her head was pounding, and a distinct feeling of nausea was reminding her that she hadn’t eaten all day. Well, she had no time now: it was going to be at least another two hours before she could leave——
‘Lydia?’ The box on her desk crackled as it spoke her name abruptly. ‘Order us both coffee and sandwiches and take a break for half an hour. You’re no good to me looking like you did when you left this room.’
‘I’m fine.’ She glared at the inoffensive intercom as Wolf’s last words made her cheeks burn. ‘I can——’
‘Do as you are told.’ The tone was uncompromising. ‘I rarely make suggestions—that was an order, in case you didn’t recognise it.’ Both the harshness of the deep voice and the authoritative arrogance made her hands clench at her sides as she struggled for composure, but it was a good few seconds before she could bring herself to reply. How was she going to stand working for this megalomaniac for five or six days, let alone five or six months?
‘Very good, Mr Strade.’ The use of his surname was deliberate and there was a blank silence for a moment before he spoke again.
‘Did you come by car this morning?’ he asked coldly.
She nearly said ‘What?’ for the third time that day and checked herself just in time. ‘No, I didn’t,’ she said abruptly. ‘I travelled by tube—it’s not far.’
‘Then when we’re finished here you order a taxi. The name of the firm we use is under T in Mrs Havers’s address-book in the left-hand drawer of the desk, and you charge to the firm’s account, OK?’
‘There’s really no need——’
The deep, long-drawn out sigh cut short her protest. ‘I might have known.’ His voice was laconic and extremely sarcastic. ‘Here was I thinking I’d found the perfect substitute secretary—pleasant to look at, highly efficient and utterly devoid of fanciful ideas.’ By that she supposed he meant that with a husband and child in evidence he was safe, she thought furiously. ‘But unless I’m very much mistaken, there is a strong streak of stubbornness in you, Mrs Lydia Worth. Would you really prefer to wander about London on your own late at night when you can be safely transported to your door?’
‘I don’t intend to wander anywhere,’ she retorted tightly, ‘but I am more than capable of getting home——’
‘Order the taxi ten minutes before you think you’ve finished,’ he said sharply, ‘and I don’t want to hear another word on the subject.’ She heard him mutter something rude a moment before the click of the intercom signalled the conversation was at an end.
She wasn’t going to be able to stand this. She shut her eyes for a second before lifting the internal phone to call down to the canteen for the coffee and sandwiches. He had to be the epitome of all the qualities she most disliked in the male of the species, he really did. It wasn’t so much what he said but the way he said it most of the time—arrogance was far too weak a word to cover such cold, aggressive hostility. Was he like this all the time?
She was pondering exactly the same uncomfortable thought later that night as she lay in the peace and tran-quillity of her bedroom with her head spinning from the impressions of the day. She had finished the work he wanted just before eight, presenting the neat pile of typewritten pages to him in fear and trepidation and waiting by the side of his desk while he checked them through.
‘Excellent.’ He had raised piercing blue eyes to the soft brown of hers. ‘I can see we are going to get along fine, Lydia, despite a few hiccups. Have you ordered the taxi?’ She had nodded reluctantly and his mouth had twitched as he lowered his eyes to his desk again. ‘Good. Well I suggest you scoot off home to that husband of yours and reassure him that this won’t happen every night. Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight.’ She had just reached the door when his voice had spoken her name again.
‘And, Lydia?’ She had turned to face him, her eyes apprehensive. ‘You really have done a magnificent job today, thank you.’ And then he had smiled, really smiled, and she had almost reeled from the shock of it, from the transformation it had wrought on his whole face.
Had he smiled at those other girls like that? she asked herself as she flexed her toes in the warmth from the electric blanket—it was almost October now and had been a particularly cold autumn. If so, she could under-stand why they had been smitten. Not that it affected her like that, she assured herself hastily, definitely not. She knew what he was really like—cold, aloof, hard and quite inexorable, but nevertheless…The softening of the austere classical features would cause any female’s heart to give a little jump.
Thank goodness she was immune. She nodded to herself firmly. He was pleased with her because she did her job well and was guaranteed not to get any romantic ideas about him. Well, that suited her just fine. She didn’t need any complications in her life at the moment. Hannah more than filled any spare time she had. She turned over in the big double bed and pounded her pillow into shape with unnecessary vigour.
There had been the odd suitor since Matthew died, but none had remotely stirred her blood or her heart and she had never repeated any of the dates more than once. Perhaps she would never marry again, never find a man to replace Matthew? She shut her eyes and let her thoughts roam where they would.
She had known Matthew forever: they had grown up next door to each other from babies and she couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been going out with him. Marriage had been a natural progression. He was as familiar to her as her own skin, and life had been comfortable, peaceful and relaxed with him—no big highs, no desperate lows. Perfect. She curled into a little ball in the warmth of the bed. Their lovemaking had been gentle and infrequent, but that had suited both of them. They had been busy with their separate careers. She didn’t believe in the sort of mindless passion one read about in books, anyway. She smiled whimsically in the darkness. Such emotion was a figment of writers’ imaginations, poetic licence, and if it became a reality would probably prove to be unbearably uncomfortable.
The last three years had been a hard struggle, she reflected quietly, and painful at times, but she had managed to get through by her own determination and fortitude, finding within herself a tenacity she hadn’t known she possessed. She had still been a child in many ways when Matthew died, protected and cocooned by circumstances and his love, but she had had to grow up very suddenly, and now her hard-won independence was precious, very precious.
She straightened in the bed, fingering her wedding-band as her thoughts wandered on. It hadn’t occurred to her for a long time to take it off—in a way it was a solid link with Matthew that time couldn’t erase—but when a friend had hinted she ought to think about doing that very thing, she had been shocked and horrified. Hannah deserved all her time and love for the next few years. Her daughter had been cruelly robbed of her natural father and no one, no one, could replace a father’s love. She had seen too many situations where the children of a first marriage were subtly pushed aside as a new baby made an appearance. No. She wouldn’t betray Matthew’s memory or Hannah’s trust by giving her anything less than her whole heart. Besides…She twisted restlessly in the bed. She had got used to being alone, to making her own decisions, she had. And everyone got lonely at times, even people who had been happily married for years.
No, everything was fine in her world, just fine. It didn’t occur to her that this was the first time she had ever had to assure herself of the fact, which was probably just as well because sleep was a long time in coming. A certain hard, masculine face, with eyes the colour of a winter sky, kept getting annoyingly in the way.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_f15dbc3d-d146-5fa8-b1b6-4f7ee2bdadeb)
LYDIA awoke very early the next morning, aware that she had been dreaming but unable to remember what about But it had been a disturbing dream. She flicked her long blonde hair out of her eyes and glanced at the tiny alarm next to the bed. Five o’clock. Even Hannah wasn’t stirring yet. She padded through to the small bedroom next to hers and stared down at the delicate baby face of her tiny daughter. She had been asleep when Lydia had got home the night before. She said a quick mental prayer for staunch grandmothers who insisted baby-sitting was a joy, but she had missed the night-time routine of bath and then story in bed with Hannah. She wished she could see more of Matthew in the minute features, but they were all her own. Everyone commented on the remarkable likeness between mother and daughter.
Within an hour, the instant Hannah opened huge, liquid brown eyes, in fact, the small house was a hive of activity, the normal morning routine of breakfast, shower and dressing taking all Lydia’s concentration.
‘You didn’t kiss me night-night, Mummy.’ Hannah’s face was reproachful as she spooned cornflakes into her rosebud mouth. ‘Gamma told the story all wrong.’
‘Did she, darling?’ Lydia stroked the top of the silky blonde head lovingly. ‘You didn’t tell her that, did you?’
‘Course not.’ Hannah was a true diplomat even at three. ‘Are you going to pick me up from nursery today?’
‘I doubt it, sweetheart.’ Lydia knelt down by the breakfast stool and cupped the heart-shaped face in her hands. ‘Did Grandma tell you about my job?’
‘Uh-huh.’ Hannah was distinctly disenchanted. ‘But I want you to pick me up.’
‘Well, this job is a bit different from my usual ones,’ Lydia said carefully. ‘The man I work for needs me to work much longer hours sometimes, but he is going to give me a lot of money if I do that. How about if we think of a new bedroom for you? You could choose the curtains and quilt and everything, even a new carpet if you want.’
‘Really?’ Hannah planted a swift milky kiss on her cheek. ‘Can I have Pretty Pony, Mummy? Sophie has.’ Sophie was her best friend at nursery and the two were inseparable most of the time.
‘I should think so.’ Lydia rose to look down at the small face smilingly. ‘But you must promise to be good for Grandma when she picks you up and brings you home, even if I’m very late. I’ve only got the job for a little while, so we need to get as much money as we can for your room, don’t we?’
‘Yep.’ Hannah obviously realised she was on to a good thing. ‘Gamma says I’m her little angel,’ she continued, fishing for praise which Lydia dutifully gave. ‘Little angel’ was pushing things a bit far, but then she had never wanted a placid child anyway.
She was in her office at just before nine after dropping Hannah off at the nursery, which unfortunately was in the opposite direction to the Strade office-block, and found Wolf was already at his desk, his black head bent over a long report as she tapped nervously at the inter-connecting door. ‘Come in, Lydia, don’t stand on ceremony.’ He didn’t raise his head as he spoke and she wondered for an instant if he was telepathic as well. ‘You can get straight on with that dictation from yesterday,’ he said, after making a few notes in the margin before raising his head. ‘I have an appointment at the other end of the city in an hour, so you should have a relatively undisturbed day.’ He didn’t smile.
The fine silk shirt he wore exactly matched the clear sapphire-blue of his eyes, she thought inconsequentially as she smiled and nodded her reply before leaving the room, and his aftershave——She caught her thoughts abruptly, annoyed at the way they were heading. His aftershave was aftershave, that was all, she told herself sharply as she sat down at her desk and pulled out her notebook. He had probably paid a fortune to get the sort of reaction her senses had made when the sensual, intoxicatingly masculine fragrance had reached her nose.
She worked steadily for the next half-hour, pausing as he left to take a note of where he could be reached, her face bland and polite as he rapped out the telephone number and name of the firm, his face preoccupied and his voice remote.
There were several interruptions during the morning, but none she couldn’t handle, and after snatching a quick meal in the canteen at lunchtime she continued to work her way through the pages of dictation until three, when a courteous knock at her outer door interrupted her as she had almost completed the notes.
‘Come in.’ The polite smile on her face widened as the tall, good-looking man who had poked his head round the door spoke her name in surprise.
‘Lydia? What on earth are you doing here?’
‘Mike!’ She felt inordinately pleased to see a friendly face in the huge, overwhelmingly decorous estab-lishment. ‘How nice to see you. I’d completely forgotten you work here.’
‘You’re not working for Wolf, are you?’ He came fully into the room and walked over to her desk, his eyes bright with interest. Mike Wilson was the husband of one of her oldest friends, Anna, who had been a tower of strength to her when Matthew died, often arriving unannounced when she was feeling at her lowest pitch to whisk her out to lunch and provide a rock-like shoulder to cry on. Lydia didn’t know Mike that well—usually the two women met during the day when the agency didn’t have any work for Lydia, or at the weekend when Mike was playing his endless rounds of golf—but whenever they had met, Mike had seemed warm and pleasant, if slightly effusive.
‘Temping.’ She smiled up at him ruefully. ‘The agency dropped me in the deep end this time, straight to the top.’
‘I rather think that’s a contradiction in terms, but I know what you mean.’ Mike grinned sympathetically. ‘Bit of a slave-driver, isn’t he, from what I’ve heard?’
‘I don’t know really, I’ve only been here a day or so.’ A little alarm bell, deep in the recess of her mind, tolled warningly. There had been something in his face, she couldn’t quite define what, that had made the words more than what they seemed at face value and, ridiculously, she felt a surge of defensive loyalty to Wolf without knowing why.
‘Well, this is a nice surprise.’ He wandered round the side of her desk as he spoke, glancing idly at the papers lying on the top of it as he smiled down at her. ‘Wait till I tell Anna.’
‘How is she? I haven’t seen her for a couple of weeks,’ Lydia said uncomfortably, feeling she should cover the detailed report on an important contract that she had just completed and printed, but knowing that it would look as though she suspected him of being nosy.
‘Fine, fine. You know Anna, nothing gets her down.’ He gestured towards the door of Wolf’s office, still with his eyes on her desk. ‘I presume the great man is elsewhere?’
‘Yes.’ To her relief he moved round the front of the desk again and bent down with his elbows resting on the wood as he spoke quietly.
‘Well, that being the case, could I make a suggestion, Lydia? Wolf is a little…difficult about his personal secretary fraternising with the mere workers.’ There it was again, that faint caustic note. ‘The reputable Mrs Havers was a positive iceberg. Have you met her?’ Lydia shook her head silently. ‘Well, you haven’t missed anything,’ he continued with a faint grin. ‘Anyway, it might be better for you if Wolf doesn’t know we’re old friends. He wouldn’t like it, and as you’ll only be around for a short time it seems silly to make waves, don’t you think?’
‘Well, I——’
‘It might make things a bit uncomfortable for me too,’ Mike continued quietly. ‘You never know how Wolf is going to jump on things like this.’
‘Well, of course I don’t want to do anything that might reflect on you, Mike,’ Lydia said quickly. ‘It’s just that it seems…unnecessary.’
‘It isn’t, believe me.’ He smiled quietly. ‘Well, do we have a deal, then?’
‘Well, I can’t see it matters one way or the other; so I suppose it’s all right,’ she said hesitantly.
‘Good girl.’ His smile widened. ‘And how about you and that delightful little daughter of yours coming to Sunday lunch soon? I haven’t seen her in months. I’ll get Anna to ring you, shall I?’
‘That would be nice, thank you.’ She forced a smile.
‘And don’t forget, not a word about our little secret.’ He leant across and kissed her lightly as he had done several times in the past, a social gesture, nothing more.
‘Good afternoon.’
If the ceiling had suddenly fallen in on her Lydia couldn’t have reacted more violently. She shot out of her chair, hand to mouth, as she stared at Wolf’s dark countenance in the doorway. It was clear he had heard, and seen, more than enough. ‘I—I didn’t know you were back,’ she stammered, aware she had gone a brilliant red.
‘Obviously.’ He eyed Mike coldly. ‘I presume you are in these offices for a reason, Mike?’
Mike had recovered far more quickly than she had, thrusting his hands casually in his pockets as he faced Wolf with an easy grin. ‘Just wanted a word with you about the figures for Kingston,’ he said calmly, ‘if it’s convenient?’
‘Perhaps later.’ Wolf’s narrowed gaze brushed Lydia’s hot face before he gestured to the finished work on her desk. ‘Bring that in, would you? I’ll glance through it before I do anything else. I want some of those letters to go off tonight.’ His voice was infinitely cold, and she shivered as she glanced at Mike before gathering the files together. ‘I’ll ring you if I have time today, Mike.’ It was a dismissal, and Mike went without another word, not even glancing in Lydia’s direction as he left.
She followed Wolf into his office and placed the work on his desk. ‘You’ve been busy.’ He was looking at the pile of correspondence as he spoke, but she felt the words were the proverbial two-edged sword and remained silent. ‘Sit down, Lydia.’
She sank into the chair facing his desk as he seated himself without taking his eyes off her troubled face. ‘I didn’t know you knew my financial director,’ he said slowly, his voice expressionless but as cold as ice. ‘You didn’t mention it.’
She stared at him helplessly. What on earth was the matter with the man? Why did it matter to him who she knew anyway? ‘I…’ There was something so chilling in his face that it was freezing her thoughts. ‘I didn’t know I had to,’ she said weakly, his aggressiveness making her feel twice as guilty as she did already.
‘How long have you known him?’
This was ridiculous, she thought frantically. Pull yourself together, Lydia, explain you are a friend of Anna’s, talk to the man. But she couldn’t. Those ice-blue eyes were totally unnerving and, when she thought back to how the little tableau in the office must have seemed, embarrassment sent its red fingers all over her face. ‘I don’t know…’ She tried desperately to think of how long Anna and Mike had been married. ‘I think——’
‘No matter.’ He straightened suddenly in his chair as though he had just come to a decision, and she stared at him, alarmed.
‘Do you often wear your hair loose for the office?’ he asked coldly as his gaze moved to the soft, silky locks lying in a shining veil across her shoulders.
‘My hair?’ She raised an unconscious hand to her head as she stared back at him. What had her hair to do with this?
‘I prefer it tied back in the sort of style you wore yesterday,’ he said coolly. ‘As my secretary you have a certain reputation to maintain, and a neat, unassuming appearance gives the sort of impression I like in my staff. There are always men who are inclined to stand and waste time by the desk of a pretty woman, given the slightest encouragement’
She really couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She stared at him open-mouthed as she wondered if what she had heard was what he had really said. ‘Exactly what are you saying?’ she asked, after a moment of stunned silence.
‘I’m saying that I would prefer a more discreet hairstyle,’ he said calmly as he picked up the phone that had begun to ring on his desk and gestured for her to leave. ‘If you don’t mind.’
There was nothing she could do but leave him to take the call, but as she returned to her own office her wits returned along with a flood of hot colour in her face. The cheek of it. The absolute cheek of it! Once that call ended she would tell him that she did mind, she minded very much, the arrogant, overbearing——
‘Could I leave this with you for Mr Strade, please?’ She came out of her silent fury to see one of the office juniors timidly holding out a large sealed envelope. ‘It’s from Mr Collins in Personnel.’
‘Of course.’ Lydia smiled at the nervous girl, who couldn’t have been a day over sixteen, as she took a deep, silent breath. When that call ended, Wolf Strade, when it ended…But half an hour later she was still waiting, by which time her anger had cooled, along with her face, and reason had asserted itself. This was a golden opportunity to get on her feet financially, and if she had to put up with this unpleasant, unreasonable male chauvinist pig as the cloud on which the silver lining was placed, then so be it.
But surely he didn’t expect to choose her clothes and her hairstyle, did he? Even the reputable Mrs Havers couldn’t have tolerated that, surely? She sat back in the chair with a puzzled little sigh. She didn’t understand a thing about this man and, worse still, she didn’t under-stand how he could get under her skin so badly. She had worked for more than a few awkward types in the last three years, but the most she had felt in the past was minor irritation accompanied occasionally by silent contempt for their crassness. But Wolf Strade…He was different. Totally different. And she had a good few months to get through yet. Could she do it? She frowned. Of course.
She thought of Hannah’s bright little face as they had chatted about a Pretty Pony beanbag to match the rest of her proposed new bedroom, and sighed resignedly. But it wasn’t going to be easy. She had the feeling Wolf Strade didn’t like her much, even if he appreciated her attributes as a secretary. Still—she glared across at the closed door as a tiny flame of anger reignited—he shouldn’t have given her the job, should he? She was blowed if she was going to be bullied into altering either her manner or her appearance to suit that pompous swine.
Nevertheless, the next morning she found herself fixing her long hair into a loose knot on the back of her head even as she told herself it was simply because it was less trouble that way. Wolf made no comment when she knocked and opened the door of his office to announce her arrival, wondering as she did so if he lived at the office. He was always around when she left at night and immersed in work when she arrived. She had been right. He was a machine.
‘Could you work on these tapes before you do anything else?’ he commanded abruptly as he handed her two audio-tapes from his desk. ‘It’s a report involving some complex financial data and I want it done immediately. And make sure you get the numbers right,’ he added tersely.
‘Of course, Mr Strade.’ The tone and the name were a cold rebuke, and he raised his head abruptly to meet the dark, angry gleam in her eyes.
They stared at each other for a good thirty seconds before he surprised her utterly by leaning back in his chair and running his hand across his eyes with a weary gesture that spoke of utter exhaustion. ‘I’m sorry, I sounded very rude.’ The icy blue eyes were a little dazed, she realised suddenly, almost as though he hadn’t slept. ‘I’ve been here all night working on this damn mess. Why I employ an accounts department and do the work myself, I’ll never know…’
‘You’ve been here all night?’ She saw the shirt was the same one he had worn the day before, but definitely the worse for wear, and the black stubble on his square chin made her heart give a solid little kick against her breasts before she could control it.
‘Crazy, eh?’ His smile was very boyish and rueful, and again her heart jerked uncomfortably. ‘The graveyards are full of guys like me who can’t let go of a problem until they’ve beaten it.’
‘Or it beats them,’ she added quietly.
‘Yeah, maybe.’ He settled back in the big black leather chair, stretching his hands above his head in a way that brought the muscled wall of his chest into stark prominence against the blue silk of his shirt. Some time during the night he had undone his tie and opened the first few buttons of his shirt, and now the sight of the dark, rough body-hair that covered his chest made her hands damp and her throat dry. What is the matter with me? she asked herself in disbelief. This wasn’t sexual attraction, was it? She didn’t fancy Wolf Strade of all people…did she? ‘How about a strong cup of coffee, and then maybe I’ll grab a couple of hours’ sleep on the couch before the meeting at eleven?’
‘Weak tea would be better if you’re going to sleep,’ she answered automatically as her gaze flicked to the large studio couch in a shadowed corner of the huge room. She didn’t want to be here when he lay down on that thing. She didn’t even try to analyse why.
‘I said coffee.’ The cold authority was back in his voice but she didn’t mind; that other Wolf was too dangerous to contemplate. ‘And strong,’ he added warningly.
‘Coming up.’
Thankfully he was still sitting in the chair when she returned with the coffee a few minutes later, and she hurried out of the room after depositing the cup in front of him without speaking, her cheeks flushed.
At a quarter to eleven she was just contemplating gathering every scrap of courage she possessed and venturing into his office to wake him, when the connecting door opened and he stood framed in the doorway, blinking a little in the harsh artificial light overhead. ‘If anyone arrives early, sit them down out here until I buzz,’ he said abruptly, his eyes red-rimmed. ‘I’m just going for a wash and brush-up.’
‘Where?’ she squeaked nervously, having visions of her room filled to overflowing with irate managers as they waited and waited.
‘The washroom next door.’ He glanced at her in surprise. ‘Didn’t you know it was there for your use too? I keep a change of clothes in there for emergencies— you can do the same if you wish.’
‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ she said stiffly, ‘and how could I know it was there if you didn’t see fit to tell me?’
‘By using your initiative?’he suggested coolly.
‘My initiative?’ All thoughts of Hannah’s bedroom faded into insignificance. ‘In the three days since I’ve worked for you I haven’t had time to breathe, let alone go exploring this block of concrete.’ She glared at him angrily. ‘It’s got nothing at all to do with initiative, Mr Strade.’
‘I thought blondes were supposed to be cool and unemotional,’ he said drily, studying her angry face with a superior frown. ‘Are you like this with your husband?’
‘Mr Strade, I——’ She stopped abruptly as hot colour flooded her pale, creamy skin in a hectic flush. She couldn’t ever remember having a cross word with Matthew. Life had been a flat, tranquil sea with him, with the days stretching out before them, calm and untroubled. In fact, until she had met Wolf Strade, she could have sworn on oath that she had the mildest of tempers.
‘And the name’s Wolf.’ His voice disappeared as he stepped through the doorway, and as she sank back in her seat she was aware of feeling slightly disloyal to Matthew’s memory without understanding why. She stared at her wedding-ring for a long painful moment and then turned resolutely to the word processor and began to work. These fluttery feelings of excitement and agitation were a direct result of her nerves coping with the unusual sensations of anger and irritation, that was all. That was all. And in view of the self-opinionated, downright arbitrary despot she had been thrust into contact with, it wasn’t surprising either. She had never met anyone, male or female, who could make her so mad so quickly by doing so little. He was so cold, so self-contained. Didn’t anything touch him?
At five to eleven he reappeared in the doorway restored to his usual immaculate self, black hair slicked back, face shaven and a fresh grey silk shirt replacing the blue of the day before. He looked gorgeous. She held his glance with a cold composure that was the best piece of acting she had ever done, and listened as he gave her a list of tiles he needed for the meeting. As she deposited them on his desk two minutes later she caught a whiff of his aftershave and despised herself for the way her stomach clenched in an involuntary response, but she was honest enough to admit there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. For some strange reason her body was determined to be aroused by a man she both disliked and disapproved of. Did he know? She glanced at his bent head as he checked through the files, and her heart thudded against her chest. She would die if he did. Just die.
‘Right.’ As he raised his head she saw his face was preoccupied and distant, the ice-blue eyes cold and hooded as they met hers. ‘I’d like you to sit in on this one, Lydia, and take notes, OK?’ She nodded quietly as a rush of relief made her light-headed. He didn’t know, and she would have to make darn sure he never suspected even for a second if she wanted to keep her job. Thank goodness she had said she was married; it would probably never even cross his mind that she was attracted to him in a physical sense. ‘Record anything Mike Wilson says, incidentally.’ He paused, and the handsome, cruel face hardened into stone. ‘No matter how obtuse. OK?’ He was watching her very closely and she felt a little shiver flicker down her spine.
‘Why?’ she asked carefully.
He shrugged slowly. ‘You’ll know soon enough, if my suspicions are right.’ He lowered his head in dismissal.
At exactly eleven o’clock her office filled as though by magic, and as she ushered the group of men through she reflected, with wry uncomfortable humour, that Wolf had certainly got them well-trained. As the meeting progressed she didn’t understand half of what she took down, but dutifully recorded everything in case she missed something vital.
It was a long day and an arduous one and, as she put the minutes of the meeting on Wolf’s desk at just after six, she was conscious of an illogical, and quite unreasonable, sense of injustice that he should still appear cool and razor-sharp whereas she was visibly wilting.
‘Your friend has been on the take.’ It took a second for the words to register, spoken as they were in such a casual tone.
‘Mike? No.’ She raised shocked eyes to his. ‘What are you going to do?’ She somehow knew instantly it was true.
‘It has already been done.’ She looked away, her mouth unconsciously tightening at the flinty hardness in his face. ‘You refuse any requests for references and refer any queries concerning him directly to me.’
‘You’ve sacked him?’ she asked with a horrified gasp.
‘Too damn true.’ He was flicking through the work she had just given him as he spoke, his head lowered. ‘He’ll be lucky if he gets a job sweeping the roads after I’ve finished with him.’
‘But surely——?’ She stopped abruptly as the ice-blue gaze switched to her face. This was awful, awful—poor Anna.
‘Yes?’ His tone was not encouraging.
‘If it wasn’t actually illegal…?’ Her voice trailed away at the darkness in his face. ‘I mean——’
‘I know what you mean.’ He shook his head tightly as he settled back in his chair, the razor-sharp eyes hard on her face. ‘And, no, it wasn’t “actually” illegal, not at this stage, but it would have been.’ He eyed her grimly. ‘You think I ought to have let the thing progress until I could throw a court case at him?’
‘Of course not.’ She flushed slightly at the hard scrutiny. ‘But have you asked him why he did it?’
‘I’m not interested in why,’ he said coldly. ‘He lied to me, that was his first big mistake, and then he thought an abject apology and a great deal of grovelling could extricate him from his foolishness. That was his second error of judgement.’ He moved forward in the chair and lowered his gaze to the papers again. ‘I won’t tolerate being lied to, Lydia. I never have.’
‘Oh.’ She was glad he was looking downwards and missed the sudden surge of hot, guilty colour into her cheeks. ‘Well, if there’s nothing else, I’ll say goodnight.’
‘Wait a moment and I’ll give you a lift home,’ he said casually, still with his eyes on the papers in front of him. ‘I’m dog-tired and enough is enough. The rest of this will wait’
‘There’s no need.’ She spoke so hastily that the words came out in a breathless rush. ‘I don’t want to take you out of your way and——’
‘Get your coat.’ It was as though she hadn’t spoken.
‘I…’ She thought frantically for a cast-iron excuse to refuse the lift, but nothing came to mind, and as she stood hesitating in front of him he swept the papers into a neat pile and raised his head, his eyes blank.
‘Well, go on,’ he said irritably as he moved from the desk towards the coat-stand in the corner of the room. ‘I haven’t got all night.’
She hesitated for one more moment and then turned quickly and sped into the outer office, her thoughts in turmoil. She didn’t want a lift with him, she didn’t, she thought, panic-stricken as she slipped into her coat and checked the word processor was switched off. How was she going to make conversation with this iceberg of a man on the way home, and what if he expected to be asked in? He wouldn’t, though, of course he wouldn’t— would he…? She shut her eyes for a moment and prayed for calm. But if he did, she could say her husband was at work, or away, or something. Her eyes snapped open as he appeared in the doorway, his big black overcoat and heavy, dark briefcase adding to the image of formidable imperiousness.
Why had she started this? she asked herself desperately. Why had she lied? A tremor raced through her as she remembered his face when he had spoken of Mike Wilson’s deceit. She should have come out in the open, made her position as a widow clear, and then the ball would have been in his court. And she hadn’t explained properly about Mike either.
‘Ready?’ He waved a dismissive hand towards the door and followed her out into the corridor, his face remote and withdrawn and his body straight. She glanced at him carefully as the lift took them swiftly downwards. She knew why she had lied. It was there in the almost tangible signals of dissociation his body was sending to hers, the total repudiation of any involvement, however slight, on a personal level. He wanted an efficient machine in his office. That was all. If she had said she was in effect single again…She nodded to herself mentally. She had done the only thing possible in the circum-stances. And of course he wouldn’t want to come in for coffee—one didn’t fraternise with machines, after all.
‘You seem to be settling in very well.’
It was as she opened her mouth to reply to the obviously forced cool pleasantry that the lift shuddered to a halt between floors, the momentary imbalance of the big box shaking her off her feet and throwing her against the solid bulk of his chest. His arms opened automatically to receive her as he in turn stumbled against the wall of the lift, and for a breath-stopping moment she was aware of being held in his arms, her face lifted up to his, for all the world like two lovers about to kiss as the lights flickered and dimmed.
‘Are you all right?’ Afterwards she realised he hadn’t reacted as she would have imagined by pushing her impatiently, or even distastefully, away. In fact his arms tightened fractionally as he looked down into her frightened upturned face, in which the darkness of her eyes stood out like two velvet pools. ‘Don’t worry, lifts have a habit of playing silly devils,’ he reassured her softly.
‘Do they?’ She tried to smile but the combination of her fear of plunging to her death trapped in this little metal box and, more especially, his closeness was making her feel as helpless as a child. Although certainly her body was reacting in a way that was definitely not child-like, she countered wryly as she carefully eased herself away from him. He was holding her loosely now, his hands under her elbows, but the smell and feel of him were all around her and they were…unsettling. And thrilling. Undeniably thrilling.
‘You haven’t hurt yourself?’ For a split second she considered saying yes so that he would hold her a little longer, but that impulse alone was enough to shock her out of his hold as she shook her head, moving back a pace quickly.
What on earth’s the matter with me? she asked herself weakly as he moved across the few feet of space and pressed the emergency button, his movements cool and controlled and his face expressionless. Is it sexual frustration? She shut her eyes briefly and prayed for the trembling that had taken over her limbs to still. But she didn’t even have a sex drive, did she? Or not until three days ago, anyway.
‘Claustrophobia.’
‘What?’ She opened startled eyes to see his face inches from her own again, and the next moment he had taken her into his arms, stroking her face comfortingly as he held her close against him.
‘The panic you’re feeling,’ he said softly, his voice deep and low. He had seen her trembling and put it down to claustrophobia? She said a mental thank you to her guardian angel. ‘It’s perfectly natural and you’ll be out of here in a few minutes. Just relax and let me take the load—you’re doing fine.’
This wasn’t helping, it definitely wasn’t helping, she thought weakly as he enfolded her into him, wrapping his overcoat round her as he held her next to his heart. He thought she was scared to death but, instead of the biting scorn she would have expected, he was displaying a tenderness that was alarming. She was immensely glad a few seconds later when the emergency button buzzed loudly and the small intercom next to it crackled out the security guard’s voice. ‘Hello? Is anyone in there?’
‘Rogers?’ Wolf moved across to answer and Lydia leant limply against the wall of the lift, her heart thudding as she watched him. ‘My secretary and I are in here. What the hell’s happening?’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Strade,’ the male voice answered promptly, ‘but there’s some sort of a power-cut that’s affected all this side of the road. I understand it’s being dealt with as quickly as possible, but I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do at the moment.’
‘Brilliant.’ He glanced across at her quickly before speaking again. ‘Any idea how long before we’re out?’
‘Not long, sir.’ There was a brief pause while they heard him talking to someone else. ‘About twenty minutes or so at the most.’
‘Right, keep me informed.’
As he turned to face her fully again she spoke quickly in case he thought he had to continue the role of comforter. ‘I’m fine now, really.’ She smiled brightly. ‘It was just the suddenness of it all.’
‘Good.’ He clearly thought she was just trying to be brave, because the expression of gentle concern that was so surprising on the harsh features didn’t lessen. ‘Well, we may as well make ourselves comfortable while we wait. I suggest you take off your coat—it’s already getting a little warm in here.’
‘Right.’ As she shrugged the jacket off her shoulders he moved quickly and drew it down her arms, his light touch burning her flesh as his fingers briefly made contact.
‘Sit on this.’ He made his own coat into a large cushion, crouching down as he plumped it into shape. As she sat down on the wad of material he gestured at his tie. ‘Do you mind?’ he asked mildly. ‘I don’t like these things at the best of times.’
‘Of course not.’ He stood up again, for which she was supremely grateful. The way the material of his trousers had moulded to his thighs had caused her breathing a few problems. He unbuttoned his jacket, revealing the grey silk shirt tucked into the flat waistband of his trousers, and then loosened his tie, undoing the first few buttons of his shirt. Somehow, in the close confines of the small lift, the action was painfully intimate, but for the life of her she couldn’t draw her eyes away from his broad shoulders and muscled chest, the dark body-hair beneath the shirt causing hot colour to surge into her cheeks. Was he hairy all over? She shut her eyes against the thought.
‘OK?’ Her eyes snapped open to see him sitting against the opposite wall, his narrowed gaze fixed on her face. ‘You look hot.’
‘No, I’m absolutely fine.’ She smiled brightly.
As she brushed a wisp of hair from her cheek his eyes followed the action, his gaze resting on the smooth blondeness of her hair. ‘How did you come to get such unusual colouring?’ he asked suddenly. ‘Your hair is so fair and yet your eyes are almost black.’
‘I don’t know.’ She tried for a casual smile—that piercing gaze was more than a little unnerving. ‘Some errant gene, I suppose, but it must be a strong one. Hannah, my daughter, is exactly the same. Everyone says she is a carbon copy of me.’
‘Do they?’ There was something in his expression she couldn’t read and it unnerved her still more. ‘Your husband is a very lucky man to have two beautiful females to love,’ he said, after a few strangely tense seconds had ticked by.
Lydia’s stomach clenched and she looked away quickly, her eyes downcast. How could she reply to that? She took a long, hidden breath and prayed for calm. ‘How long have we been in here now?’ she asked tensely.
‘About ten minutes.’ He didn’t glance at his watch as he spoke; his gaze never left her face. ‘Shut your eyes a moment and try to relax,’ he added gently. ‘Take a few deep breaths and regulate your breathing.’ He thought there was a danger of her hyperventilating? Lydia thought weakly. How right he was, but not for the reason he imagined! Nevertheless, she did as he instructed, leaning back against the wall of the lift and shutting her eyes tight as she folded her arms protectively over her breasts. The dim light from the emergency batteries in the lift’s back-up system produced a dull charcoal glow against her closed eyelids, and after a few seconds she heard Wolf’s briefcase snap open and the rustle of papers.
He was going to work now? She opened incredulous eyes to see him crouched over a long report, a slight frown wrinkling his brow as he peered at the small figures in the shadowy gloom. He was unbelievable, quite unbelievable. Didn’t he ever stop working? She smiled bemusedly.
‘What?’ She hadn’t been aware that the blue eyes had flicked upwards, but now saw they were trained on her face.
‘I’m sorry?’ She was flustered and it showed.
‘You were smiling, a Mona Lisa smile if I may say so,’ he added softly. ‘Why?’
‘Oh, nothing, it was just——’ She stopped abruptly as she wondered if she dared tell him. Oh, blow it, he had asked, after all. ‘I was wondering if you ever stop working,’ she said quietly, ‘that’s all.’
‘Do I detect a note of disapproval?’ he asked smoothly as he crouched back on his heels, the position emphasising strong muscled legs and hard inner thighs.
‘Not really.’ She smiled with what she hoped came across as cool composure. ‘I’m sure it needs your sort of dedication to stay at the top in this business——’
‘You’re right,’ he interrupted expressionlessly, ‘it does.’ He stood up slowly, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed as he looked down at her. ‘But that is only part of it. I like what I do, that’s the bottom line.’
‘Yes…’ She shook her head slowly. ‘But incidents like the Mike Wilson thing, don’t they bother you at all?’
‘Mike Wilson has been dealt with before he could do any damage,’ he said coldly, ‘and, more importantly, has been seen to be dealt with. He will serve as a timely example of what happens if anyone is stupid enough to try and cross me, so, if anything, I have gained, not lost, from the episode. That being the case, why should it bother me?’
She stared at him silently, shocked by the blatant ruthlessness his words revealed. ‘But he has a wife and child,’ she murmured, after a pregnant pause. ‘You said yourself he’ll never get another job——’
‘That is his concern, not mine.’ The handsome face was stony now. ‘He had an excellent and extremely wellpaid position with me, which he chose to put in jeopardy through his own greed. He has lived an executive life-style for several years, complete with large house, private schooling for his boy, all the trappings wealth brings, and that has been on the salary I have paid him. If you are asking me to feel guilty, forget it. I don’t.’ He eyed her grimly. ‘Besides which, the Mike Wilsons of this world always get by,’ he finished brusquely.
He was right. She had to admit there was more than a grain of truth in what he said, and he had had the option of giving Mike enough rope to hang himself but decided against it, and yet…She too rose, very slowly, to stand looking at him across the few feet of space. Did he have to be so cold, so remote, so untouched by it all? She doubted if he had any normal feelings at all or, if there were a few, they were deeply encased in solid ice.
‘I can understand what you are saying but——’ She stopped abruptly, not quite knowing how to continue. This was her boss, when all was said and done, her bread and butter, so to speak.
‘But?’ His expression was cynical and cold, and suddenly Lydia knew he was totally aware of her feelings about the matter and they didn’t bother him an iota. He was a man who would always do exactly what he thought was right in any situation in which he found himself, and to hell with the rest of the world. Her own mouth hardened, but even as she opened it to speak the security guard’s voice crackled over the intercom again.
‘Mr Strade?’
‘Yes?’ Wolf’s voice was clipped.
‘Any minute now, sir. Are you all right in there?’
‘Fine, Rogers.’ He bent, stuffing the papers back in his briefcase, and gesturing to her coat by her feet. ‘I suggest you put that back on,’ he said calmly as he reached across for his own. ‘No doubt it’ll strike cold once we’re out of this sauna.’
At the same moment that the lights flooded back on the lift began to move, but in the same instant it jerked violently, throwing Lydia off her feet for the second time that night as it stopped again. And this time she was frightened, petrifyingly so. ‘Wolf?’ He had caught her as she fell, the momentum of her body and the bending position he had been in sending him to his knees and now she lay across his lap, her face uplifted and hair fanning out across his arm as the knot came loose. There was one split second, as she looked up into the hard, masculine face above her own, when she knew what was about to happen and felt the blood pound through her veins, her body beginning to quiver in anticipation. His eyes were bright and glittering as they stared down into the velvet brown depths of hers, the desire she could read so plainly in his dark face hot and hard and incredibly sensual.
He was going to kiss her. The thought exploded into her mind, and now little tremors of helpless excitement reached her toes and curled the small pads into the soles of her feet as she envisaged his mouth on hers. She could feel his heart pounding against the solid wall of his chest and the expensive, heady, totally masculine smell of him pervaded every nerve and tissue.
She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted it more than she had ever wanted anything in her life and, strangely, the thought didn’t seem shocking as his arms tightened and his eyes narrowed into brilliant blue slits.
Wolf. She was never sure even afterwards if she said his name out loud or just breathed it in her soul as a silent, helpless plea, but just as she thought his dark head would lower to hers, that she would know what it was like to be kissed by this fierce, powerful, cold man, he moved her from him, his face stiffening with unconcealed disgust and his body rigid with control.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_7af561a4-2a92-511b-9f86-32e60062cb16)
As THE intercom coughed and spluttered, the sound seemed to explode into the deathly quiet of the tiny box and then Rogers’s gruff voice spoke, his tone concerned. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Strade, there seems to have been a minor hiccup. The circuit-breakers have tripped out due to their normal mode being broken, but it won’t take me above five minutes to re-set them. Are you and the lady all right, sir?’
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