Rendezvous With Revenge
Miranda Lee
He'd planned his revenge… Ethan Grant seemed to have no place in his life for women, except as expensive playthings. So Abby shouldn't have been surprised when Ethan, her boss, offered to pay her to attend a conference with him - and demanded that she pretend to be his lover!There were plenty of shocks in store during that weekend. Suddenly, Ethan wanted Abby in his bed for real. But it also became clear that he had another date on his mind, too - with an old flame… . Was Abby just a pawn in his game of vengeance?
Letter to Reader (#ue95876ff-6b06-558e-9870-baffbf3fabd9)Title Page (#u1fd62f89-79cb-563a-87fe-a62c93d41f27)CHAPTER ONE (#u6afd08f1-44b2-598f-aaa6-6562390fbdb8)CHAPTER TWO (#u920a73da-0f97-5286-81c2-5247efb55332)CHAPTER THREE (#u3ca490fc-86b1-5b0d-9026-883f05434c26)CHAPTER FOUR (#ufd0a3cc5-c214-5b4f-ab56-5812ad24aec3)CHAPTER FIVE (#u749e85af-8c5e-522b-a577-fdde78ac14b4)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Happy 25th birthday, Harlequin Presents, May the next 25 years be as much fun!
Love as always
Carde Martines
Dear Reader,
How nice to have the opportunity for a personal word. For we are kindred spirits, you and I. We both like to lose ourselves in the unique world of romance fiction. Where else can we be sure of “happily ever after,” despite the seemingly insurmountable problems our hero and heroine are confronted with? Yet we do so enjoy their struggles, their conflicts and especially their passion. Passion for life, and for each other. Harlequin Presents
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Miranda Lee
Miranda Lee
Rendezvous With Revenge
Miranda Lee
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHAPTER ONE
‘WHAT do you mean, you’re not going? Oh, Ethan, you promised! You’ve been working non-stop now for nearly two years without a holiday. If you don’t take a break soon, you’ll crack up!’
‘And you call going to this type of medical conference having a break?’ came the scathing reply. ‘They inflict you with the most dreary lectures for the first half of each day, then expect you to come out of your boredominduced coma and socialise for the second half.’
‘Which is exactly what you need.’
‘What? To be bored to death?’
‘In a way. But I was thinking more of the socialising. What on earth is Evelyn going to say when you tell her?’
‘Evelyn is the reason I’m not going.’
Abby grimaced from where she was sitting at the reception desk, trying to get on with her work and not listen to the private conversation which was unfortunately coming loud and clear from Doctor Grant’s surgery.
If only Sylvia had closed the darned door properly, I wouldn’t be in this embarrassing position, Abby thought disgruntledly.
‘Explain yourself, Ethan,’ came Sylvia’s imperative demand.
‘What’s there to explain? I simply decided I didn’t want to take Evelyn. Since this style of conference has been designed around couples, and I didn’t want to stand out like a shag on a rock, I’ve decided not to go at all.’
‘But why have you decided not to take Evelyn, for heaven’s sake?’
‘For reasons which I should have anticipated when I asked her in the first place. Evelyn’s no different from any other woman I’ve been fool enough to become involved with over the past few years. After a couple of months they start fancying that our relationship—such as it is—should develop into something deeper.’
‘Oh, how shocking of them!’
Abby winced at the caustic tone in Sylvia’s voice. Not that Abby was on Dr Grant’s side. Sylvia’s brother was a cold devil at the best of times—something his older sister obviously knew only too well!
‘Spare me the sarcasm, Sis,’ he drawled. ‘I never promised Evelyn anything more than the odd night here and there. She claimed that was all she wanted too, after her divorce came through last year, but she was lying. I should have known my requesting three whole days and nights of her company would be simultaneously equated with my feelings for her having miraculously blossomed into love, with a proposal of marriage imminent.’
‘Silly girl,’ Sylvia mocked drily. ‘Though it might be fairer if you had a warning tattooed on that oh, so handsome forehead of yours, Ethan: ALLERGIC TO LOVE AND MARRIAGE!’
‘Not allergic, Sylvia. Wary. As I am of all beautiful women like Evelyn. Most don’t have love on their minds when they look to marriage, only money and position.’
Sylvia’s sigh echoed through the quiet rooms. ‘You still haven’t gotten over her, have you?’
‘Who?’
‘You know very well who. Vanessa Whatsername.’
‘I really do not wish to discuss the past, Sylvia. Neither do I wish to discuss my decision not to go to the conference. Now, if you don’t mind, I still have a few letters to dictate here for Miss Richmond to type up before she leaves.’
Abby’s eyebrows rose in a sardonic arch. Six months she’d worked for Ethan Grant and he still called her ‘Miss Richmond’. Not that she really cared. It suited her fine to keep the disgustingly handsome orthopaedic surgeon at a safe distance. Romance was not on her agenda this year.
Or any other year, came the added bitter thought. She’d had enough of romance to last her a lifetime!
Still, his cold indifference to her as a living, breathing human being did niggle a little occasionally. He’d never asked her one single question about herself during the last six months. Not one.
Abby smiled ruefully as she recalled their first meeting. He’d been sitting behind his desk with his head down when Sylvia had ushered her in for an introduction.
Apparently, he’d given his sister a free hand in hiring someone to take over from her on a Friday—Sylvia having decided that after years of slavery to Ethan as both his housekeeper and full-time receptionist she wanted Fridays off. Her dear brother’s only instruction had been that she was to train her Friday replacement thoroughly so that there would be no hiccups in her absence.
Abby wasn’t sure what she’d expected after having met Sylvia. Someone older, she supposed. And less...striking. Sylvia was around fifty, plump, pale and rather plain. So when Ethan Grant had lifted his darkly handsome head and set his startlingly blue eyes on her, she’d blinked her shock for a few seconds.
Her involuntary surprise at his unexpected good looks, plus his age—late thirties at the most—had not gone unnoticed, a scornful coldness sweeping over those arrogantly handsome features, setting their chiselled beauty into a forbidding concrete.
‘How do you do, Miss Richmond,’ he’d said with a frozen formality which had never changed, not once in six months.
Abby found his chilly aloofness almost amusing at times. What had he thought during those first moments of their meeting? That she’d been bowled over by his brooding sex appeal? Did he believe that she might be harbouring a hidden passion for him, and that if he gave her an inch she would take more than a mile?
God, it would take more than tall, dark and handsome to bewitch her these days. Her experience with Dillon had taught her well. Oh, yes, the dear doctor had made her silly female heart flutter for a split second, but that was all. She’d quickly learnt to control any further involuntary sexual responses when she looked at him; just as she’d quickly learnt what kind of man lay behind his smouldering good looks.
He was a machine, not a man. A cold-blooded, cold-hearted robot who worked eighteen-hour days, operating at not one or two, but three hospitals. He even operated on a Saturday occasionally, if his lists for that week were too long to be fitted in to his Monday, Wednesday and Friday morning operating schedules.
Abby sometimes wondered why his patients set such store by him. It had to be because of his skill, not his bedside manner. He had consultations every Friday afternoon while she was there, giving her plenty of opportunity to study his personality, and she’d never seen him so much as smile at a patient. He would come out of his rooms and call each successive one in with that same sphinx-like expression on his face.
They were just cases to him, Abby accepted finally, not people. She wouldn’t mind betting that he had never become emotionally involved with a single person he’d operated on.
Obviously, he never became emotionally involved with anyone, from what she’d just heard.
‘There’s no use bullying me about it, Sylvia,’ he was saying in a vaguely bored tone. ‘I’m not going and that’s final.’
‘Then more fool you! Any other man would just find someone else to take.’
‘Such as whom?’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Sylvia was beginning to sound very irritable. ‘You could hire yourself one of those escorts, I suppose.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. One of my closest colleagues will be there with his wife. Do you honestly think I would show up with an amateur call-girl on my arm?’
‘How would they ever know?’
‘I’d know,’ he bit out.
‘Are you telling me you’ve finally developed scruples where women and sex are concerned? Frankly, I think it’s a perfectly splendid idea, and perfectly suited to your requirements. For the right fee you’d get exactly what you want from a woman and no more,’ Sylvia threw at him tartly. ‘You certainly wouldn’t have to worry about her having designs on you afterwards either. You’d know right from the start that she was only screwing you for your money!’
Abby’s eyebrows shot up ceilingwards. Sylvia must really be mad to resort to such an unladylike expression. Still, it was rather good to hear Sylvia get the better of her pain of a brother for once. Clearly he was rendered speechless by her acid barbs, if the sudden silence was anything to go by.
‘Aren’t you going to say anything more, Ethan?’ Sylvia demanded after a short while. ‘Don’t you dare just ignore me. I won’t have it, do you hear?’
‘And I won’t have you telling me how to run my private life,’ her brother returned in an ominously cold voice. ‘Now, go home and leave me be. I have work to do.’
Abby knew that tone of voice. And clearly so did Sylvia, who emerged from the room looking defeated. Closing the door distractedly behind her, she began walking slowly across the empty waiting room with a genuinely troubled look on her face. She seemed totally unaware of Abby’s presence behind the desk, so deep in thought was she.
Abby’s clearing her throat brought her head up with a startled gasp. ‘Oh, my goodness, Abby! I forgot you were still here.’
‘Would you like a cup of tea, Sylvia?’ Abby offered. ‘You seem a little... upset.’
Sylvia sighed. ‘No, thanks, but thanks for offering. You’re a sweet girl. I’d better go home and get dinner started. It’s time you went home too, isn’t it? It’s after five.’
‘Dr Grant hasn’t finished dictating today’s letters. I’ll have to stay back till I’ve typed them up. You know how particular he is about that.’
‘What a slave-driver that man is! Make sure you put down the overtime.’
‘Oh, I will; don’t you worry.’
Sylvia gave her a sharp glance. ‘Are you having money problems, Abby?’
‘I’m always having money problems.’ The money she earned from her one day here plus her weekend waitressing job was just enough to make ends meet, with nothing left over for emergencies or luxuries.
‘No luck getting a permanent position yet?’
‘Unfortunately no.’ Despite spending every spare second and cent having her résumé photocopied and sending it off in answer to every suitable job advertisement. The local unemployment office was getting sick of the sight of her, as well.
‘I don’t understand that at all. I would have thought some big flashy company would have snapped up a good-looking girl like you for their front desk.’
Abby just shrugged. She didn’t want to tell Sylvia the probable reason that her application was passed over most of the time. They obviously took one look at where she’d taken her secretarial course and immediately put her résumé aside.
Sylvia had never asked for a written or detailed application, naively hiring Abby on just a telephone call and one short personal interview, blindly believing her when she’d said she’d been overseas on a working holiday for a few years and had no recent employment history in Australia.
Abby had not liked lying to her—she’d taken to Sylvia straight away—but poverty did rather make one desperate. She took some comfort from the fact that the glowing personal reference she’d been able to supply had been the genuine article and not a forgery. Dear Miss Blanchford... Abby was so grateful to her.
‘I did get one interview earlier this week,’ she admitted, cringing inside as she recalled the smarmy manner of the man who’d interviewed her. No way would she take that job, even if it was offered to her.
‘Oh? Who with?’
‘A small car-repair company in Alexandria.’
Sylvia’s nose wrinkled. ‘Surely you could do better than that.’
‘I was hoping to, but times are tough.’
‘I’ll ask Ethan to find out if any doctor he knows requires a full-time receptionist,’ Sylvia said kindly. ‘Not that I want you to go. I’m really going to miss you. Ethan will too. He just doesn’t know what a gem we found in you. You’re always so willing to work back. Most pretty young things would be out of here like a shot on a Friday night.’
‘I’m not that young, Sylvia.’
‘Which is another thing I don’t understand—how you got to be twenty-five years old without some lucky man snapping you up as well.’
‘I guess I’m just not the type men snap up,’ Abby said, smiling wryly as she glanced up at Sylvia. Her smile faded when she found that Ethan had come out of his rooms and was standing in the middle of the waiting room watching her, a drily cynical amusement in his cold blue eyes.
You’re right there, darling, they seemed to say. You’re the type men take to bed, not to the altar.
Resentment at his ongoing and unjustified assessment of her character sent her nostrils flaring and her heart thudding angrily. Who in hell did he think he was, judging her like that, and on such superficial evidence?
Abby was well aware that she hadn’t been behind the door when God gave out looks. But she’d never been a flaunter of her various feminine attributes, or a flirt. And she had only had one lover in her life!
Admittedly she’d dressed and acted a bit more provocatively during her months as Dillon’s girlfriend—he’d liked her in tight tops and short skirts and skimpy bikinis, and she’d been too besotted to deny him anything. He hadn’t minded other men looking at her either, had seemed to enjoy their wanting what he had.
But nowadays she played down her sex appeal, using no make-up and wearing her long honey-brown hair in a simple plait most of the time. She never highlighted her full mouth with lipstick and did her best to keep her smiles to a minimum after her sleazy landlord had told her that her cool grey eyes took on a ‘come hither’ sparkle whenever she smiled.
‘Is there something I can do for you, Doctor?’ she asked, congratulating herself on the coolly delivered question.
He arched a cooler eyebrow back at her. ‘Just three letters to type, thank you, Miss Richmond. After that, you can go home.’
Sylvia made an exasperated sound. ‘For goodness’ sake, when are you two going to start calling each other by your first names?’
When hell freezes over, Abby thought tartly.
‘Miss Richmond would not appreciate my being familiar with her—would you, Miss Richmond?’
Their eyes clashed and Abby saw the mockery in his. She decided that two could play that game. ‘I think a certain decorum is called for during surgery hours. Of course, if Dr Grant wants me to call him Ethan after hours, then he only has to say so.’ Her steely gaze was drily challenging, but it didn’t faze the robot one bit.
‘I think we’ll keep the status quo for now,’ he countered without turning a hair. ‘Shouldn’t you be off, Sylvia? It’s getting late.’
Exasperation was written all over his sister. ‘One day, Ethan,’ she muttered as she stalked out, banging the door behind her.
Abby hoped that she’d be around to see this unlikely comeuppance. But she doubted it. Ethan Grant couldn’t be emotionally hurt because he didn’t feel.
Or did he?
Sylvia’s earlier accusation that he was still getting over some woman named Vanessa popped back into Abby’s head. She stared at him, wondering if that could explain his attitude towards her. Had he been jilted once by some pretty young woman? Was she still embittered years later?
Abby could appreciate how that might happen. She herself knew that it would be many years before she got over what Dillon had done to her. But she’d never attributed such sensitivity to the male sex, and especially not to a man like Ethan Grant, who didn’t seem to have a sensitive bone in his body.
‘Do I have a pimple on my nose, Miss Richmond?’ Ethan Grant asked archly. ‘You’re staring at me.’
‘Sorry, Doctor. I wasn’t really staring at you. I was off in another world.’
‘Not a pleasant one, by the look on your face.’
‘No,’ she agreed drily. Memories of Dillon and what he’d done never inspired her to do the Highland Fling.
‘You’re not the most communicative female, are you?’ he said, a flash of irritation crossing his normally impassive face. ‘Here. Make sure you post all the letters on your way home,’ he said as he handed over the small tape recorder, then whirled to stride back into his room, his white coat flapping rather angrily around his legs.
Abby stared after him with rounded eyes, aware that she’d just seen Ethan Grant not quite his usual, coolly composed self.
What had disturbed his equilibrium? she puzzled. His earlier argument with Sylvia? Surely not his discovering that his latest ladyfriend wanted more of him than the occasional dinner date. He’d been coldly contemptuous about that.
No, it had been something to do with her. Probably her staring at him. He hadn’t liked that one bit. He also hadn’t liked her not revealing what lay behind her preoccupation.
Well, that’s too bad, Abby thought caustically as she settled down behind her computer to begin typing up the letters.
She hadn’t typed more than a heading when a bitter smile tugged at her mouth. God, she could just imagine Ethan Grant’s reaction if she’d told him she was thinking about her bastard of an ex-boyfriend, and how his betrayal had sent her to prison for four years—four long, hard, soul-destroying years.
Abby didn’t think that what had happened to the dear doctor via the hands of that Vanessa woman would match what Dillon had put her through. If anyone had the right to be bitter and wary about the opposite sex, it was Abigail Rose-Maree Richmond!
CHAPTER TWO
ABBY was just beginning the second letter when she remembered the other letter—the one she’d forgotten to give to Ethan.
All the mail had been delivered extra late that day, after Dr Grant had started seeing patients. Not that he ever opened the mail himself, unless it was marked ‘Confidential’ or ‘Private’.
Such an occurrence was rare. Most letters sent to the surgery were either cheques for unpaid accounts, general enquiries from other doctors, or advertising mail from various pharmaceutical and medical companies. But there was one letter that Friday which Abby thought the doctor might want to see personally.
It was from the Bungarla private hotel where the medical conference was being held—a notice about a last-minute change of lecturer. It seemed that one of the Sydney surgeons listed to lecture was unavailable, and was being replaced by world-famous neurosurgeon Dr Philip Ballistrat.
Abby appreciated that Ethan probably wouldn’t care less about it, now that he’d decided not to go, but since she wasn’t supposed to know about that she thought she’d better take it in to him.
Sighing, she pressed pause on the tape recorder, picked up the envelope in question and rose to make her way across the waiting room floor. She stopped in front of the closed door, glancing down to check that all the buttons on her white blouse were safely done up before smoothing the pleated black skirt down over her hips.
Abby didn’t want a repeat of the unfortunate incident a couple of weeks back when, unbeknownst to her, one of the small pearl buttons on her blouse had popped open, giving anyone who had looked at her chest at an angle an eyeful of lace-encased breasts.
‘It seems one of your buttons has lost its battle against your womanly shape, Miss Richmond,’ Ethan had pointed out in a softly mocking voice as he’d bent to pick up his next patient’s file from the tray beside her. ‘Perhaps larger buttons are called for in future? Or even a bigger sized blouse?’
Abby had been thankful that he’d turned away before her embarrassment had time to blossom into a full-blown blush. Which it had—her mortification increased by the way her breasts had immediately seemed to swell further, straining against her bra and her blouse, making her fumbling attempt to do up the tiny button all the more difficult.
It was the only time Ethan Grant had managed to get under her skin—sexually speaking—and she wasn’t about to let it happen again. So Abby was disturbed to find that when she knocked on the door, her hand was shaking. There was also an instant gathering of butterflies in the pit of her stomach.
Her scowl reflected her feelings. To have Ethan Grant reduce her to nervy state was irritating in the extreme.
‘Do come in, Miss Richmond,’ came the laconic invitation.
Gritting her teeth, Abby opened the door and went in, calmed by the knowledge that her private agitation was just that. Private. The man seated behind his desk would never guess from her calm demeanour and cool gaze that she was anything but totally indifferent, both to his personage and his looks.
‘Yes, what is it?’ he asked peremptorily on glancing up.
She stepped forward and deposited the envelope on the leather-topped desk. ‘A letter for you, Doctor. It’s from the people running the conference next week, letting you know about a last-minute change of lecturer. I thought you might like to have a look at it but I forgot to give it to you earlier. Sorry.’
He picked up the envelope and tossed it straight into the waste-paper basket in the corner. ‘I’ve decided not to go to that,’ he said brusquely.
The movement of light and shadow across his face showed dark rings of exhaustion under his beautiful blue eyes, and despite knowing that it was all self-inflicted Abby felt marginally sorry for him.
‘What a pity,’ she said, deciding to do her bit to get the damned fool to go. Love him or hate him, he was a good doctor and he really did need a break. ‘They’ve been able to get Dr Philip Ballistrat in place of one of the lesser lights,’ she said encouragingly. ‘I would have thought you’d like to hear him talk. He’s very famous, isn’t he?’
Abby was taken aback by Ethan’s response to her news. He remained frozen in his seat for several seconds, his normally phlegmatic blue eyes betraying... what? Surprise? Astonishment? Surely not shock! What was so shocking about what she’d just told him?
Abby was even more taken aback when any surprise was swiftly replaced by an icy smile which sent an oddly erotic shiver running down her spine.
‘Well, well, well,’ he drawled. ‘Who would have believed that? You’re quite right, Miss Richmond. I certainly wouldn’t like to miss the opportunity of hearing such a renowned surgeon.’
He swivelled round in his black leather chair, slid over to the corner, lifted the envelope back out of the basket then slid back again. ‘Thank you for bringing it to my attention. You’ve no idea how disappointed I would have been to have found out afterwards he’d been there and I’d missed him.’
‘So you’re going after all?’ she asked hopefully, thinking how happy Sylvia would be.
‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
Abby almost clapped her pleasure.
‘Thafs some smile, Miss Richmond. I take it you won’t mind my being absent next Friday?’
Was it his sardonic remark, or the intensity of his gaze on her mouth which rattled her? Whatever, her smile faded immediately, although her heart began pounding behind her ribs and she found herself staring back at his mouth and wondering how it would feel upon hers.
Abby could hardly believe her train of thought. Lord, she didn’t even like the man. Yet here she was, fantasising about his making love to her.
Self-disgust made her stiffen inside. She straightened to her full five feet nine inches and delivered a cool look across the desk. ‘It makes no difference to me, Dr Grant, whether you’re here or not.’
His laugh was as cold as his eyes. ‘No. I can see that. Which is just as well, I suppose. That way you’ll be able to give the proposition I’m about to make a totally unbiased consideration.’
‘P-proposition? What proposition?’
‘Don’t look so alarmed, Miss Richmond. I’m not about to ask you to do anything immoral or criminal. I am, however, in an awkward situation where this conference-cum-holiday is concerned. It’s for couples, you see, and the ladyfriend I was going to take can’t make it.’
Abby was taken aback by the smooth delivery of the lie. Funny. As much as she didn’t like Ethan Grant, she’d never thought of him as a liar. It just showed that one should never underestimate the deviousness of the male sex.
‘That was the main reason I’d decided not to go,’ he continued coolly. ‘Because it would be embarrassing and awkward to show up alone. Actually, my sweet sister suggested I hire a professional escort instead, but I’m sure you can appreciate that’s not to my taste. However, it occurred to me just now that perhaps I could persuade you to accompany me.
‘For a price, of course,’ he added, before Abby could do more than blink her shock. ‘I don’t expect you to do it for nothing. Sylvia mentioned once that you work as a waitress on the weekend. I would naturally compensate you for any lost wages, with quite a bonus thrown in. So what do you say, Miss Richmond? Do you think you might be interested?’
What do I say?
Abby stared at him while she battled to control her simmering fury. I’d say not for all the tea in China, you presumptuous, patronising bastard. I’d say stick it in your ear. I’d say up yours. I wouldn’t spend one hour alone with you, let alone three days and three nights!
‘I’m sorry, I can’t,’ was what she actually said, congratulating herself on her silkily smooth voice.
‘The boyfriend would object, I take it?’
‘No. I don’t have a boyfriend,’ she said.
‘Surprising,’ he drawled. ‘Why, then?’
‘I wasn’t able to work last weekend because of a tummy bug. If I let my employer at the café down again this weekend I’ll lose my job there, and I simply can’t afford that.’ She couldn’t afford to lose this job either, which was why she was being so diplomatic. She’d have just loved to tell the dear doctor exactly what he could do with his proposition.
‘How much do you earn in one weekend?’
‘Why?’
He sighed. ‘Just answer the question, please, Miss Richmond.’
‘One hundred and twenty dollars, plus tips.’
‘I see. How long would it take for you to get another similar job, if you lost that one?’
‘What? Oh, I...I couldn’t say exactly. Sometimes you can be lucky, but it could take weeks and weeks.’
‘Three months tops, would you say?’
‘Y-yes.’ What was he getting at? Why didn’t he just let the matter drop? She wasn’t going to say yes, no matter how much he offered her.
He picked up a small calculator lying on his desk. ‘Thirteen weeks times one-twenty equals one thousand, five hundred and sixty dollars,’ he calculated aloud. ‘I would assume a girl like you would get plenty of tips, so I’ll up it to two thousand dollars—up front and in advance. What do you say to that, Abby? Not bad pay for three days’ work. More than enough to make ends meet till you get another job.’
His use of her first name did not escape Abby, and it sealed his fate even more than his demeaning offer. ‘I’m sorry, but I must refuse again, Dr Grant. I’m simply not a good enough actress for the part. I think Sylvia’s right. I think you should hire yourself a professional.’
‘But I don’t want a professional, Abby,’ he returned coolly. ‘I want you.’
She just stared at him, her mouth going dry. My God, if she didn’t know him better, she might think that he really meant that.
‘Maybe I should clarify that last statement,’ he went on drily, a single eyebrow lifting at her obvious surprise. ‘The reason I said I wanted you specifically is because I know that underneath your oh, so cool politeness you can’t stand a bar of me. I have no wish to have to fire you afterwards because you’ve stupidly fallen in love with me. On top of that, I would imagine that in the right clothes you could be quite lovely. Yes...’ His eyes drifted down from her face to the swell of her breasts. ‘Quite lovely.’
Abby didn’t know which part of his speech infuriated her the most. Certainly the condescending and lukewarm ‘quite lovely’ kept going round and round in her head. My God, if she set her mind to it, she could knock this supercilious devil’s eyes out!
‘Aren’t you afraid my underlying dislike might show through?’ she asked through gritted teeth.
‘No. I have great faith in the acting ability of women. Besides, I never take out females who fawn all over me. Of course, under the circumstances, I will only expect you to pretend to be a friend, not my live-in lover. Consequently I will change the booking to twin rooms.’
Abby only just managed to hide her contempt. So Evelyn had been expected to sleep with him during this little jaunt, play the part of his wife without ever expecting to get the part for real.
Charming.
For all Dillon’s subsequent betrayal, he’d at least been prepared to pull out all the stops in winning her heart before expecting her to become his lover. Nothing had been too much trouble—flowers, chocolates, candlelit dinners. He’d swept her off to bed with sweet words ringing in her ears and promises of forever. Whereas Ethan Grant promised his women nothing...except a cold-blooded, machine-like performance between the sheets.
Why, then, did Abby find herself suddenly wanting to experience that machine-like performance? Why, for pity’s sake? It went against everything she’d ever believed about herself.
Heat rushed into her cheeks at the appalling thoughts which sprang into her mind.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, flustered now. ‘It... it’s quite out of the question. I simply can’t.’
‘There’s no such word as can’t,’ he bit out. ‘So what’s the problem, then? I would have thought two thousand dollars would have smoothed over any antagonism you felt towards me. Believe it or not, I can be quite personable company when I want to be. Look, don’t say no straight away. Think it over and give me a ring at home on Sunday night around eight. Sylvia will be out, so you needn’t worry about any awkwardness there.’
Abby decided that it would be much easier to refuse for the second and last time over the telephone. It was hard to sound convincing when one was blushing and stammering. And when underneath one was insanely tempted to say yes. My God, she must be going mad!
‘All right,’ she agreed shakily.
When the beginnings of a smug smile pulled at her employer’s disdainful mouth, Abby’s heart immediately stopped its stupid fluttering. He believed she’d say yes, that the money he’d offered would override any qualms she might have.
Abby’s heart hardened further as she recognised that he might even suspect that underneath her surface hostility she was sexually attracted to him. This last suspicion closed the door on the subject. Nothing on earth would ever make her say yes now. Nothing!
CHAPTER THREE
NOTHING, as it turned out, except fate, and an old lady’s heartbreak.
The first nail in Abby’s coffin came the next day, when she quit her waitressing job after the boss pawed at her bottom one time too many. Then, on that same Saturday night, some rotten thug broke in and burgled Miss Blanchford’s room. The poor old thing was so distressed that Abby spent the whole of Sunday trying to comfort her.
‘It’ll be all right, Miss Blanchford,’ Abby soothed, after the police had finally left at around four in the afternoon. They were sitting in Miss Blanchford’s room, which was the biggest and best in the ancient old boarding bouse, its large window overlooking the rather ramshackle front garden. Unfortunately, it had been this same window which had given the thief easy entry into the downstairs room.
Miss Blanchford shook her head as two big tears trickled down her wrinkled cheeks. ‘All gone,’ she said with a strangled sob. ‘Five years’ savings. All gone.’
Abby bit her bottom lip to stop herself from crying as well. The poor old thing. But, oh...if only she’d put her money in the bank, instead of in a biscuit tin under her bed.
The police thought the thief was probably someone who’d once lived in the same boarding house and had learnt about Miss Blanchford’s distrust of banks—not an uncommon thing with survivors of the great Depression. Unfortunately, the police also thought there was little hope of finding the perpetrator and recovering the money, although they hadn’t said as much to Miss Blanchford. Abby had insisted on that. The poor old love was upset enough as it was.
The real tragedy was that the money had been to buy an electric wheelchair. Miss Blanchford was suffering a degenerative muscular disease which was making it harder and harder for her to get around in her handpropelled chair.
‘What am I going to do, Abby?’ the old lady cried. ‘I don’t want to go into one of those government nursing homes. But soon I won’t be able to manage on my own. If I don’t have my independence, I’d rather be dead.’
‘Now you stop talking like that,’ Abby reprimanded, but gently. ‘The police’ll get your money back for you; don’t you worry.’
‘No, they won’t. It’s gone. I’m a silly old fool for keeping it in that tin.’
‘Now stop that. It won’t help, crying over spilt milk. I have this gut feeling your money will show up. Give them a few days.’ Abby had a gut feeling all right. Her stomach was already churning with the acceptance of what she was going to do to get Miss Blanchford that money.
‘The man was coming to show me a chair next Wednesday. He said it was one of the best second-hand electric chairs he’d come across. And only three thousand dollars. New ones cost a lot more, you know.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Abby said, her thoughts whirling along with her stomach. If Ethan Grant was willing to pay two thousand for her company, might he pay more? Three thousand, perhaps? ‘Up front and in advance’, he’d promised. If he agreed to her counter-proposal, she’d be able to give Miss Blanchford the money before Wednesday.
Of course, she would tell her that the police had recovered the money. Her old ballet teacher was very proud and would never accept charity. On top of that, she might ask Abby some sticky questions about where the money had come from.
‘Come now, Miss Blanchford,’ Abby urged. ‘Dry your tears. The woman who put me through my paces at the bar would not succumb to self-pity. Neither would she despair so quickly. Give the police a chance. And promise me you won’t cancel that man coming on Wednesday.’
‘All right, Abby.’ The old lady found a watery smile from somewhere. ‘Whatever would I do without you?’
‘You’d do just fine, like always,’ Abby reassured her old friend. Privately, however, she wasn’t so sure. The once seemingly indestructible old lady was looking very frail today.
‘I still can’t get over my good fortune in your coming to live here. You’re so good to me, Abby. Reading to me and playing cards with me. You’re not going to move out after you get a full-time job, are you? I know this is not the nicest place in the world...’
Nice! It was a dump—the old house crumbling around them. But it was cheap, and only a short train ride from the city centre. She’d been given the address by a cellmate, and had hoped that she wouldn’t need it. She’d hoped to be able to live at home.
But when she’d arrived at the house the day she’d been let out of prison six months earlier, there had been a message from her father saying that she was not welcome there, though he’d magnanimously said that she could take her personal belongings. She’d been so upset, however, that she’d left the house without taking anything, relying instead on the clothes she’d brought from prison.
The decrepit old boarding house had come as a bit of a shock to begin with, but not as much of a shock as the inhabitant of the downstairs front room.
Miss Blanchford had taught Abby ballet from the age of three till Abby had been shipped off to a private boarding school during her twelfth year. She hadn’t seen her dance teacher since then, but had never forgotten her, having always admired her staunch sense of selfdiscipline. She probably had Miss Blanchford to thank for instilling in her enough strength of character to sustain her during her dark days in prison.
It seemed that Miss Blanchford had never forgotten Abby either, her face lighting up with pleasure once she recognised her old pupil. She and Abby had talked for ages, and Abby had told her everything that had happened to her in the intervening years. It had been wonderful to find a sympathetic ear and a shoulder to cry on.
Miss Blanchford’s friendship meant the world to Abby, and she could not bear to see the old lady so unhappy. She vowed to do whatever was necessary to get her the money she needed for that wheelchair. She leant forward and patted the old lady’s knees. They felt very thin and bony through the crocheted rug.
‘Now, don’t you go worrying,’ she said softly. ‘If I ever move then you’ll come with me. And we’re going to get you that wheelchair, come hell or high water!’
At eight that evening, Abby set about putting her mouth where her vows were. She walked down to the telephone booth on the corner and dialled Ethan Grant’s home number. It killed her to lower her pride this way, but, given that there was no viable alternative, Abby resolved to do it with style—priority number one being that her lordly employer never twig onto her unfortunate weakness in finding him attractive.
‘Ethan Grant speaking,’ he answered coolly, and another of those erotic shivers rippled down Abby’s spine. Damn, but he did have an incredibly sensual voice, once one was attuned to it.
‘Abigail Richmond here, Dr Grant,’ she said as soon as she’d gathered herself.
‘Ah yes, Miss Richmond. I’ve been expecting your call.’
Abby hoped that her counter-proposal would wipe some of the smugness out of that sexy damned voice.
‘I’ve thought about your offer, Dr Grant,’ she said in a marvellously matter-of-fact tone, ‘and I’ve decided I should be able to accommodate you...’ She paused just long enough for his male ego to swell further before adding, ‘For a price, that is.’
His sharply indrawn breath rasped down the line, followed by a few seconds of taut silence.
‘I’ve already offered you two thousand dollars,’ he resumed at last, not a trace of sexiness left in his voice. It was as cold as an arctic blizzard. ‘I would have thought that more than sufficed for the job.’
‘I’m sorry, but it doesn’t.’
‘I see,’ he grated out, with a derisive edge added to the chilly reproach. ‘How much would be enough, then?’
‘Three thousand.’
‘That’s one thousand a day!’
‘That’s my price, Dr Grant. Take it or leave it.’
His laughter surprised then unnerved her. ‘Oh, I’ll take it, Miss Richmond, but only on one condition.’
‘And what condition is that?’
‘I don’t have to change the room booking. Frankly, for reasons which I have no intention of explaining, I would prefer to pretend we were lovers, not just friends. Naturally I do not expect you to sleep in the same bed with me. I will make sure our room has a convertible sofa which will guarantee separate sleeping arrangements.’
‘And if I say no?’
‘Then you say no, and I’ll make other arrangements.’
Abby only had to think of Miss Blanchford’s despairing depression to know that she would never say no. But she detested Ethan Grant for manoeuvring her into a corner like this.
Still, there was no point in prolonging the agony. It would only add to her humiliation. Better to agree immediately, letting him think that she wasn’t at all fazed by this change.
‘All right,’ she said with a superbly blithe offhandedness. ‘I appreciate that for three thousand you can call the shots. But I want it all up front and in advance, as you promised.’
Once again, Ethan fell silent on the other end.
Had she surprised him? Shocked him, even?
Too bad. This was business—the business of healing an old lady’s heart and giving her back a reason to live. She had no sympathy for Ethan Grant’s feelings. Any man who offered money for a woman’s company got what he deserved. Which was nothing.
‘I’ll send you the money by courier tomorrow,’ he said in a faintly sneering tone. Clearly she hadn’t surprised him at all, Abby realised. She’d acted exactly as he expected women of her ilk to act—like a mercenary-minded bitch!
‘Cash, please,’ she snapped, goaded into speaking sharply by a fierce inner fury. Couldn’t he see that he was the more contemptuous person, for offering her money in the first place?
‘Naturally.’
Abby scooped in then let out a shuddering sigh. It was done and couldn’t be undone. God, but she wished that she didn’t feel so low. Anyone would think that she’d just hired herself out body and soul for life, instead of just her companionship for three miserable days.
‘I suppose we should get down to details while we’ve got the opportunity,’ he said abruptly. ‘I don’t want Sylvia to know anything. This is just between you and me. As far as my sister is concerned, I’ll be going to this conference on my own. You must give me your word on that, Abby.’
Abby was thrown for a moment by this second use of her first name. Till she accepted that he could hardly keep calling her Miss Richmond. She wasn’t about to argue about Sylvia not knowing either. Really, the whole situation was a tad tawdry.
And slightly mystifying.
She wondered why Ethan was so keen to have his colleagues believe his companion was his lover. Did he have a reputation as a stud to uphold? Or did he have some other secret reason for such a pretence?
Something—some feminine instinct—rang a warning bell at the back of her mind. There was more to this than met the eye...
But Abby could not allow herself to be swayed by worries and qualms of such an indefinite nature. Three thousand dollars beckoned. Three thousand very real, very vital dollars. Ethan’s motivation for such a sham was his business. All she had to do was collect the money then play the appropriate part.
Maybe what she was really worrying about was how difficult playing that part might be. She hoped she wouldn’t make a fool of herself and betray her own secret. Despite not liking Ethan Grant one little iota on a personality basis, she could not think about him any more without thinking of making love with him.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘FIRST things first,’ Ethan continued abruptly. ‘Your clothes.’
‘My clothes?’ she repeated blankly, her mind still back on her perturbing weakness for the man.
‘You do own something other than that black skirt and white blouse you wear every Friday, don’t you?’
Abby thought of all the designer clothes hanging up in her wardrobe at home in Killara. They wouldn’t really have dated, being timeless classical styles. She didn’t doubt they would still be there either. She would have no trouble getting them if she went during the day, when her father was at the office.
‘Actually, I have quite an extensive wardrobe,’ she replied coolly, resenting both the criticism and scepticism built into his question.
‘Yes, but what type of clothes?’ he countered derisively. ‘You must appreciate any lady friend of mine will be expected to be well dressed. Nothing cheap or flashy.’
‘I am never cheap or flashy.’
‘You’re certainly not cheap, I’ll give you that,’ he muttered drily. ‘And other than one wayward button, you haven’t been flashy either. So far,’ he added cynically. ‘But I wouldn’t like any nasty little surprises once we get down to the hotel. Which reminds me—there’s nothing in your past or present which would preclude you taking this job, is there?’
One very good reason catapulted into Abby’s mind and she gulped. Surely there wouldn’t be anyone at this conference who knew about her trial or her sentence? It had not been in any of the papers. Her father hadn’t been prepared to help her with a decent lawyer, but he had used his influence to suppress any publicity.
‘Such as what?’ she asked, guilt making her sharp.
‘God only knows. You haven’t graced the centrefold of any of the better known men’s magazines, have you? Or any of the lesser ones, for that matter. I’m well aware that Sylvia hired you without checking into your background too extensively. I didn’t come down in the last shower, Abby. When a girl’s hard up for money and has a figure as good as yours, she might be talked into doing things not too savoury.’
Any guilt disappeared as Abby almost blew a gasket. Not too savoury! What in hell did he think she was doing now, going away with him? Lord, who did he think he was, looking down his nose at her when he was the one paying for her dubious companionship? As for her figure... She was fed up with him equating her lush curves with loose morals.
‘I’ve never done a thing I’m ashamed of, Dr Grant,’ she said with cold dignity. Till now, that is, she added silently. ‘Believe me when I say I will do you proud as your...er... girlfriend. You won’t have cause to complain.’
‘Mmm. That’s to be seen, isn’t it? By the way, can you play tennis at all?’
‘Yes, but I...’
‘You don’t have to be proficient,’ he cut in dismissively. ‘Adequate will do. I suppose it’s too much to ask if you can play golf as well?’
His patronising tone made Abby seethe. She’d only been going to say that she didn’t have a racket.
If I ever get him on a tennis-court or a golf-course... she vowed blackly. Thank you, Father, for all those holidays filled with never-ending lessons. You did do something for me after all.
‘Actually, I do play golf. A little,’ she added, not wanting to give the enemy advance warning.
‘You’ve surprised me, Miss Richmond. I would have thought your talents lay elsewhere than on the sporting field.’
Abby decided to ignore that remark. He would keep. ‘I wish you’d make up your mind what you’re going to call me,’ she said waspishly. ‘One minute it’s Abby, and then we’re back to Miss Richmond.’
‘You’re quite right. But I don’t feel altogether comfortable calling you Abby. Shall we compromise and make it Abigail?’
‘Whatever you wish. You’re the boss. Just so long as I know where I stand and what to expect. Speaking of what to expect, I’m not going to get any nasty little surprises when we get to the hotel, am I?’
The silence on the line was electric for a few seconds. Abby had no doubts now that Ethan had some hidden agenda at this conference, and it was beginning to niggle her.
‘Meaning?’ he asked coldly.
Meaning what are you up to, you conniving devil? she wanted to say. What is making you pay three thousand dollars to have me there as your pretend lover?
‘Meaning you wouldn’t be the first man I’ve come across who was a wolf in gentleman’s clothing,’ she tossed back instead. ‘I don’t want to have to fight you off every night.’
He laughed drily. ‘How beautifully blunt you can be, Abigail. I rather admire it. Actually, I rather admire you. You are a girl of rare spirit and a quite tantalisingly enigmatic character. On top of that, you’ve never resorted to the manipulative ploys an attractive female in your position might be tempted to use. But, no... you don’t have to worry about fighting me off. Rape has never appealed to me, and seducing you is not part of my plan.’
‘What plan?’ Abby just had to say, not believing his back-handed compliments for one moment. He despised her for some reason, and had never bothered to hide that fact. Maybe he despised all females with a bust size over AA?
‘That, my dear Abigail,’ he drawled, ‘is none of your business.’
And that, my dear Doctor, is an evasion.
But she didn’t say it. It really wasn’t a wise course of action to persist, not if she wanted that three thousand dollars.
‘Fair enough, Doctor. You can keep your little secret.’
‘Ethan.’
‘What?’
‘Call me Ethan.’
‘Oh... oh, yes, I suppose I’ll have to. I hope I’ll remember.’
‘Have a practice right now, then. Say yes, Ethan. No, Ethan. Three bags full, Ethan.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘Say it,’ he bit out.
Abby quivered deep inside at his darkly forceful tone.
‘Y-yes, Ethan,’ she started hesitantly. Then, ‘No, Ethan,’ much more firmly, followed by, ‘Three bags full, Ethan,’ in a dry, challenging tone.
‘See?’ he scorned. ‘You didn’t have any trouble at all. Though perhaps you could practise putting a little more warmth into my name between now and Friday. Say it the way you just did in the presence of others and they’ll think you want to kill me, not kiss me.’
Well, they’d be wrong, she thought ruefully. She wanted to do both. Kill him and kiss him. Damn, but she was actually enjoying sparring with him this way. It had a decidedly sexual edge to it. Abby was hotly aware that her pulse had started racing and that her cheeks were quite flushed with an unbidden excitement. Thank the Lord they were on the phone and be couldn’t see her.
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she said, surprised by her cool tone. Heavens, she was a much better actress than she’d realised. Who knew? Maybe she might just be able to pull this fiasco off without getting her fingers burnt. If she started getting too hot and bothered over the sexy surgeon, she would simply remember Dillon. Thinking of that bastard always had a chilling effect. If that failed, she would concentrate on a simple survival. Now that she’d lost her weekend job, she needed her Friday job more than ever.
‘Tell me the agenda for Friday,’ she said in a businesslike tone. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘We’re supposed to arrive at Bungarla some time between three and five. I’m still operating on the Friday morning, and I do have a patient who’s travelling down from the country to see me that day as well. I told her to meet me at my rooms at one.’
‘Do you want me to come in as usual, then?’
‘No. That’s not necessary. Be at the surgery by one-thirty. I should be finished by then. I’m told the trip down to Bungarla shouldn’t take any more than two hours.’
‘What do you think I should wear for the trip down?’
‘Something casual, but smart. It’ll be pretty cool down that way of an evening in the autumn, so pop in a jacket as well. And don’t forget to pack suitable clothes for tennis and golf. Oh, and throw in a swimsuit. According to the brochure they sent, there’s a heated pool.’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘Don’t be cheeky.’
She’d be more than cheeky if she went swimming wearing the bikini Dillon had picked out for her five years ago. Abby had gone up a size since then, especially in her bust. It must have been all that lovely fatty prison food. Or the free doughnuts and cappuccinos she’d been stuffing herself with every weekend at the café, so that she didn’t have to spend so much money on food.
She would literally have to starve herself between now and Friday if she wanted her old clothes to fit her properly, but at least she’d already made a good start. She hadn’t eaten a darned thing all day!
‘Abigail?’
‘Yes?’
‘Oh, nothing. Is there anything else you want to ask?’
‘Do you have my address to send the money to tomorrow?’
His sigh sounded irritable. ‘I’m glad you’ve still got your priorities right. Yes, I have your address. You’ll have the money, in cash, by three at the latest. Is that satisfactory?’
‘Quite.’
‘And I’ll expect my money’s worth in return.’
‘You’ll get what you paid for. And nothing more.’
‘I’m glad to hear that, Abigail,’ he drawled. ‘Because that’s exactly what I am paying for. Nothing more. No complications and no consequences. See you Friday. And don’t be late!’ he snapped, then hung up.
Abby glared down into the dead receiver, her heart thudding angrily. At least, she hoped that it was with anger. Friday seemed a long way off, but it would come round all too quickly, she feared.
It did, dawning cool and sunny, a beautiful autumn day. The week, which usually dragged when she spent it searching fruitlessly for a full-time job, had simply flown. Any spare minute had been taken up with alterations to her clothes. Hems had been taken up or down, and seams let out where possible.
‘Tell me again the name of the place you’re off to, dear?’ Miss Blanchford asked as she watched Abby packing the freshly washed and pressed garments.
‘Bungarla,’ she replied, smiling as the old lady manoeuvred the chair closer with a small movement of the joy-stick-style steering. In just two short days she’d become a real expert, whizzing up and down the hallway and rarely bumping into anyone any more. Seeing her so happy made the sacrifice of the coming weekend worthwhile. ‘It’s a private hotel just outside of Bowral.’
‘And what exactly is it you have to do there?’
Abby swallowed. ‘Just secretarial work. Dr Grant wants me to take notes on all the lectures he’ll be attending.’ No way could she tell the old darling the truth. She would simply die, then demand that Abby give Ethan back the money and not go. Which would be a little difficult when it was already in the wheelchair company’s bank account.
‘And you need all these lovely clothes just for that?’ came her frowning enquiry.
Abby tried not to look guilty. She laughed, and hoped that it didn’t sound too false. ‘No, of course not. There will be some socialising in the evenings. You wouldn’t want me to look dowdy in front of all those high-flying doctors and their wives, would you?’
‘You could never look dowdy, Abby.’ Sharp grey eyes latched on to the heightened colour gathering in Abby’s cheeks. ‘This is all on the up and up, dear, isn’t it? I mean... this boss of yours... he’s not the type to expect you to be anything more than his secretary, is he?’
‘Good heavens, no! Dr Grant’s not like that at all.’
‘I thought you told me he was very handsome. And quite young.’
‘Well, yes, he is.’
‘In that case he’s like that, believe me, dear. I’ve been around long enough to know that all handsome young men are like that. Unless he’s queer, of course. He’s not queer, is he?’
‘No,’ Abby choked out. ‘No, I’m sure he’s not. But there’s no need for you to worry. He doesn’t fancy me at all. Certainly not in that way.’ Which was just as well, given her unbidden excitement over the coming weekend.
‘What makes you say that? Why wouldn’t he fancy you? You’re a very fanciable girl. And you’re going to look stunning in that dress you have there.’
Abby stared down at the coffee-coloured lace gown that she was carefully folding into the case. ‘I might not wear this one. It’s a little tight.’
Actually, most of the clothes she’d collected from home last Monday had been a little tight to begin with. She’d been largely able to correct this problem by letting out seams, but that had been impossible with the lace dress—all the seams being overlocked, with not a centimetre left to spare. She was only bringing the dress because she thought she might fit into it by the last evening—if she swam up and down the pool Ethan had mentioned for a hundred or so laps every day. The colour did look well on her, and it was a dress she’d always felt good in.
Good?
Her conscience pricked and Abby had to admit that that particular dress had never exactly made her feel good. Sexy was closer to the mark. On the one occasion she’d worn it for Dillon he hadn’t been able to wait to tear it off her at the end of the night.
She wondered what Ethan would say if and when he saw her in that particular dress, with her hair done up, full make-up on and her diamond and pearl choker around her throat. Seducing her might not be part of his original plan, but it might just come into his mind...if she put it there.
‘Abby...’
Abby started, then glanced up from her suitcase, aware that her pulse was racing uncomfortably. What wicked thoughts that man put into her mind! ‘Yes?’ she said a little shakily.
‘You’re not in love with Dr Grant, are you?’ Miss Blanchford asked worriedly.
‘Lord, no!’ Maybe a little in lust, she conceded with considerable understatement. But not in love. No way. The very idea was appalling!
‘Telephone for you, Abby!’ someone called along the hallway. ‘Hop to it. Chap says he’s only got a minute.’
Abby couldn’t think who it could possibly be. No one ever rang her here. She didn’t think she’d ever given the number to anyone. Her only friends since getting out of prison were Miss Blanchford and the other boarders.
She was hurrying along to where the ‘in only’ telephone sat on a solid table near the front door when she realised that she’d given Sylvia this number, which meant that Ethan would know it as well.
Her stomach tightened as she picked up the receiver, and her hello was taut.
‘Ethan here, Abigail. I’m in between operations, so can’t spare long.’
‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ Her heart was already sinking at the thought that he was calling the whole thing off. Abby found her dismay highly disturbing, because it wasn’t the money she was worrying about all of a sudden but the thought that she would not, after all, get the opportunity to display herself for Ethan in that damned dress!
‘Nothing’s wrong,’ he returned crisply. ‘But I was concerned over how you were going to get into town carrying luggage. I know you usually take the train and walk the couple of blocks from Martin Place when coming to work.’
‘How on earth do you know that?’ she asked, taken back.
His laugh was droll. ‘You’ve no idea the amount of useless information Sylvia relays to me about her precious Miss Richmond. I assume your cash fee arrived without any mishap last Monday?’
‘What? Oh, yes, thank you.’
‘Then use some of it to take a taxi.’
‘But I can’t!’
‘What do you mean, you can’t?’ he demanded impatiently. ‘Good God, don’t tell me you’ve already spent it all? The whole three thousand?’
‘Afraid so,’ she admitted, her lips twitching. In a way it was funny, the false things he kept thinking about her. Now she was not only a mercenary gold-digger, but a wicked spendthrift as well.
He muttered something under his breath which turned her amusement to annoyance. She hadn’t quite picked up the exact expression he’d used, but it hadn’t sounded at all complimentary.
‘I won’t be late,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t have that much luggage. Only one suitcase.’
‘I told you I wanted you to be well dressed!’
‘I will be well dressed. Very.’
‘Courtesy of my three thousand dollars, I dare say,’ he growled. ‘Still, I shouldn’t complain. You only get what you pay for in this world. I wanted a good-looking, well-groomed woman on my arm this weekend and they never come cheap. But I’m also paying for no hitches, so do me a favour and catch a taxi anyway. Do you have enough money for the fare if I faithfully promise to reimburse every single cent when you get here?’ he asked caustically.
‘Yes.’ Just.
‘Then do that. See you no later than one-thirty.’
He hung up on her again, leaving Abby disturbed and frowning. All thoughts of coffee-coloured dresses and seduction had slipped from her mind, replaced by a renewed curiosity over what this weekend was really all about. What on earth was Ethan up to that he didn’t care how much he paid to get what he wanted?
Her resigned sigh reflected the reality of the situation. Ethan was not about to tell her, even if she asked him straight out. He was paying for non-involvement.
And isn’t that what you want too? she asked herself. Non-involvement. This ridiculous one-sided sexual attraction is best ignored, not fuelled by wearing sexy dresses and thinking sexy thoughts.
The coffee-coloured number, Abby decided sensibly, would stay safely behind.
But when she got back to her room, Miss Blanchford had finished packing for her, and the lace dress was already under several layers of clothes. With the old lady’s intuitive grey eyes upon her, she was not about to wrench the offending garment from the depths of the case, though she staunchly vowed not to wear the darned thing. She didn’t trust herself in it.
Just do what you’ve been paid to do, Abby, love, came the voice of reason as she snapped the case shut. Nothing more. Nothing less.
If she did that, and minded her own business, then the only real danger Abby could see was that she might say or do something which would lose her her one remaining job—which would be disastrous for her present depressing financial balance of fifty-five whole dollars in her bank account, plus approximately thirty dollars in her purse.
Well, you’ll just have to make sure you don’t say or do anything stupid, came her stern self-advice. Stay cool, calm and collected. Don’t resort to too much sarcasm, however provoked. And don’t, for pity’s sake, start drooling over the man—even if he stands before you stark naked in all his masculine glory.
Abby’s stomach clenched down hard at this last thought. Of course, she had no real idea how Ethan Grant would look naked. Maybe he was all pale and flabby underneath his clothes. Maybe his broad-shouldered, slim-hipped, flat-stomached shape was all an illusion, created by the superbly tailored suits he always wore.
And maybe pigs might fly, Abby decided ruefully. Ethan worked too damned hard to be flabby. As for being pale... the man had a naturally olive skin, his colouring as dark as a gypsy.
No, he would look gorgeous naked. Of that she was sure. Gorgeous and sexy and all man.
‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’ Miss Blanchford asked Abby as she swung the tan leather suitcase off the bed.
‘Have I? What?’
‘This,’ the old lady said, and produced from her lap the most beautiful perfume dispenser Abby had ever seen. It was made of rose cut glass, and had a pink satin puffer with a silver tassel hanging from it.
‘Oh, Miss Blanchford!’ Abby exclaimed, tears pricking her eyes as the old lady pressed it into her hand.
‘It’s full of Chanel No. 5. A man-friend gave it to me a couple of years back, but the exotic scent didn’t seem to suit an old spinster like me. However, I think on you, my dear, it might just turn a few gentlemen’s heads.’
Abby was both touched and tortured by the gift. For she knew that there was only one man’s head she would want to turn this weekend. Yet his was the last one she could afford to!
CHAPTER FIVE
THE taxi driver let Abby off outside the tall building which housed Ethan’s rooms, dumping her case on the pavement before speeding off into the heavy city traffic. The fare had come to twenty-two dollars, which left her precisely eight dollars and a few cents in her purse.
Abby sighed, then glanced at her watch. Only ten past one. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she picked up her suitcase and forged through the revolving glass doors into the foyer. Her stomach still began to churn as she made her way across the coolly tiled floor and over to the bank of lifts. She dropped the heavy suitcase, hitched her matching tan leather carry-all further up her shoulder, and pressed the ‘up’ button.
The doors opened immediately on an empty lift. Abby picked up her case and was about to step inside when something halted her.
It was a voice in her head.
Don’t go, it said. Run!
Run? But how could she? She’d been paid—up front and in advance. Ethan knew her address. And she was almost broke. There was nowhere to run to.
The rather irrational fear subsided as Abby rode the lift up to the second floor. Really, what on earth was there to be afraid of, other than her own silly sexual feelings for the man?
It wasn’t as though Ethan lusted after her. It was a one-way thing, and easily hidden. Lord, she’d hidden it for nearly six months, hadn’t she? She would simply go on doing more of the same for the next few days.
Of course, she couldn’t help being a bit nervous about the coming weekend away itself. It had been some years since Abby had mixed socially with the type of people who would be at this conference. Still, she had been well brought up, with all the advantages excessive wealth could provide, and she didn’t think that she would embarrass herself or Ethan.
Her education had been excellent, with the right grammar, manners and etiquette being ground into her from the earliest days. Not even four years in prison had tarnished that style and elegance which seemed unconsciously to cling to girls of her background and upbringing, though she’d certainly learnt to stand up for herself, and to speak bluntly when necessary—not always in the most ladylike language.
She could well understand Ethan’s ambivalence where her character was concerned. Most of the time she was the polished, refined creature her many nannies and teachers had created, but occasionally the tough survivor she’d had to become in prison would emerge, bringing out a feral cat-like creature, who could snap and snarl with the best of them.
Abby took some comfort from this new ‘survivor’ aspect of her personality. She could always rely upon it to protect her—emotionally as well as physically. It called a spade a spade and made her see things as they really were, shielding her from that other idealistic and romantic fool who had once resided within herself—the one who’d fallen madly and blindly in love with a handsome creep like Dillon; the one who’d always steadfastly believed that she had to be in love with a man to enjoy sex with him.
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