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War Of Love
Carole Mortimer
A Battle Royal? Lyon Buchanan was the man who had just about everything - looks, power, sex appeal, money. Was there a woman in his life, though? And, if not, had he frightened them all away?Silke reckoned that Lyon wouldn't know love if it jumped up and bit him on the nose… but maybe it was just about to. Because Silke was made of strong stuff and would give as good as she got!



War of Love
Carole Mortimer


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#ue325b358-c987-55c4-b55f-db51ac1ef30f)
CHAPTER TWO (#uc62a8909-d44a-5138-81bb-d8950894b046)
CHAPTER THREE (#uad8778ea-66f1-5fad-ace6-055ddace6644)
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)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE
IF ONE more opportunistic male used the excuse of patting the fluffy white tail on her bottom as a means of touching her, Silke knew she was going to scream!
The adolescent schoolboys had been bad enough, a small group of them taking much delight in tormenting her as they wandered around the store as a way of filling in time during their school holidays; Silke was positive that none of them could actually afford to buy anything in the prestigious store Buchanan’s, and she had seen the store detective, under the guise of a customer, eyeing them cautiously too. Although he hadn’t made any move to stop them when they had taunted Silke!
Just as he hadn’t blown his cover when an old man had approached her a few minutes ago. Perhaps he had considered that Silke, after dealing with the schoolboys herself, was more than capable of dealing with him too. And she certainly had. She didn’t care that the elderly man had twinkling grey eyes and a friendly smile; the way he had patted her bottom had been altogether too friendly, and had earned him a verbal rebuke of the most cutting kind!
Of course, she knew the way she was dressed was sure to provoke attention, had expected a few ribald jokes, but the familiarity was something else entirely. God, no wonder Nadine had decided she had something more important to do today; she had probably known exactly what this job was going to be like!
As it was, Silke intended having a word with her mother about the sort of—
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
Silke spun round at the sound of that harshly accusing male voice—as quickly as she could in these stupid high-heeled shoes that went with the rest of this ridiculous costume. Whoever had chosen this bunny outfit had obviously opted for the overtly sexual rather than the cuddly, fluffy kind, and Silke was feeling very conspicuous with her long legs encased in silky black tights, and wearing a brief black bathing costume whose only similarity to a rabbit was the fluffy white pom-pom on her bottom. At least the fluffy white head with its long ears and face-mask had the advantage of covering up all of her hair and most of her face; she would hate anyone actually to recognise her wearing this costume!
And as she turned to face the owner of that grating voice she was glad of at least that amount of anonymity—because the thunderous-looking man who owned that more than cutting voice was looking—glaring!—straight at her! And, as far as she was aware, she had never seen him before. She would have remembered someone like him; he wasn’t a man anyone was likely to forget in a hurry. Or slowly, either, for that matter...
He was taller than average, well over six feet, Silke would guess judging from the way he towered over her, his black hair styled severely short, thick black brows over the coldest grey eyes Silke had ever seen, and the handsomeness of the rest of his face—a long, straight nose and sculpted lips over a squarely aggressive jaw—was marred by the fierce anger of his expression. And it was directed straight at her!
Nevertheless, Silke found herself glancing over her shoulder to see if she could be mistaken in thinking she was the object of his anger, instantly knowing that she wasn’t; for the moment there was a lull in the amount of people entering this section of this prestigious department store—and she was the only person in sight!
But, before she could reluctantly turn back to face the irate man, she felt the top of one of her arms clasped in a tight grip, the tray she held unbalancing precariously. ‘Careful, I’m—’
‘Move!’ that harshly irritated voice said economically, and Silke almost fell over in those ridiculously high heels as she was dragged across the department store in the direction of the lift, in full view of everyone.
Which was remarkable in itself; none of the people shopping, or indeed the staff, seemed to be taking the slightest bit of notice of the woman in the bunny costume being physically manhandled in front of their eyes by a fiercely angry man—in fact, on closer inspection, the staff seemed to be looking the other way! Of course, they were a superior lot, Silke had quickly discovered, looking down at the interloper in their midst dressed in the revealing bunny costume. But, even so, she would have thought at least one of them might have shown a little concern for her being abducted by a complete stranger in front of them!
‘Inside,’ the man at Silke’s side ordered grimly when she looked around desperately as the lift doors opened silently in front of them. Not that the instruction was really necessary; with that vice-like grip on her arm there wasn’t much chance of her going anywhere but where this man decided that she should!
Unless she decided to scream. Her mother had assured her that she had a singing voice that would stop traffic in its tracks, so a scream should surely achieve a similar effect. Not that she had ever put the singing to the test before either, but—
‘The top, Charlie,’ the man at her side tersely instructed the lift attendant.
That stopped Silke in her tracks. The top floor...? That was where all the executive offices of this store were housed, where all the executives of the exclusive Buchanan stores had their offices...
Silke slowly turned to look at the man who stood so rigidly disapproving at her side, the scream in her throat dying to a strangled whimper. What could she have done wrong during her brief time on duty to have aroused the attention of one of the higher echelons of Buchanan’s? She didn’t think she had done—
Oh, God—the elderly man, the one she had given a verbal dressing-down a short time ago—he couldn’t have complained about her behaviour, could he? His eyes had twinkled admiringly even after her verbal rebuke, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t thought better of the whole thing and complained to the management. Considering his behaviour, she should have been the one complaining! But that probably wasn’t the way the management of Buchanan’s would see it; they claimed that their staff were always polite and helpful; that, above all, ‘the customer was always right’. In this case it probably wouldn’t help for her to point out that she wasn’t strictly one of their employees. In fact, in some ways, it was worse that she wasn’t; her mother had been thrilled to get the call from Buchanan’s personnel department, and would be mortified if Silke had blotted her agency’s copy-book during their first job for them!
Silke looked up at the man she now knew to be one of Buchanan’s executives with beseeching green eyes. ‘If this has something to do with that elderly man earlier—’
‘Thanks, Charlie.’ As the lift doors opened he once again spoke to the lift attendant—once again ignoring Silke, except to pull her out of the lift this time, glancing down fiercely at her feet as she stumbled yet again in the high-heeled shoes. ‘If you can’t walk in the damned things, then for God’s sake take them off!’ he barked disgustedly.
Deep colour heated her cheeks, her mouth opening with a sharp rejoinder for his arrogance—until she realised the lift doors were still open, and ‘Charlie’ was watching them with avid interest. And Silke wasn’t about to provide any more of a floor show for him or anyone else, so she reached down with as much dignity as she could muster, to remove the offending—painful!—shoes.
The relief she felt at their removal was quickly forgotten as the man at her side gave a contemptuous snort. ‘Good God, girl, just how tall are you?’
Except that he was obviously an executive of the Buchanan group of world-exclusive stores, Silke still didn’t know who this man was, but even the little she did know about him didn’t give him the right to be personally offensive about her lack of height. She knew she was short—it had been the bane of her youth to realise she had stopped growing at only five feet tall—and she had told her mother she was going to look ridiculous dressed up as a bunny girl; most of the ones she had seen or read about were about six feet tall! But her mother had insisted that her lack of height would just give her a cute and cuddly look. If this man’s reaction was anything to go by, it was the last thing she looked; he couldn’t have been this offensive to someone who looked ‘cute and cuddly’!
Silke stuck her chin out defensively, instantly realising how futile the action was; this man couldn’t even see her chin behind the stupid rabbit mask, let alone that she was outraged.
‘Tall enough!’ she snapped, at once impatient with the stupidity of her words as much as with the ridiculous costume she was wearing. Tall enough for what? she thought self-disgustedly.
The man she had addressed the remark to obviously thought her retort was ridiculous too as he looked scornfully down his haughty nose at her!
Anything else she might have added in her defence was forgotten as she realised they were standing outside the personnel manager’s office. She had been sent up to Doug Moore’s office this morning when she had reported for work, and despite this arrogant man’s familiarity as he marched straight past the secretary in the outer office without so much as the politeness of acknowledging her existence, and into the personnel manager’s office itself, Silke knew that this man certainly wasn’t Doug Moore. Doug was a tall slender man, with slightly over-long blond hair, and a manner that was more than a little flirtatious.
A man Silke had known without a doubt she could deal with. Which was more than could be said for this other man! Although that wasn’t to say she wasn’t going to try...
But at the moment he was far from impressed by the fact that Doug Moore wasn’t in his office, turning abruptly on his well-shod heel to go back into the outer office, Silke still firmly clasped at his side, to speak to the now open-mouthed secretary.
‘Find Doug and send him to my office,’ he barked without preamble, not even pausing on his way out of the room to see if the poor woman had acknowledged his instruction.
And no wonder; it had been in the form of a royal command, Silke thought disgustedly, not in the least surprised, when she chanced to glance back, to see that the secretary had already picked up the telephone, obviously calling round in search of her boss. As ordered.
Really, this man, whoever he was, thought he was a one-man army, his orders to be obeyed without question. And, quite frankly, Silke had had enough.
‘Look, I don’t know who you are,’ she told him exasperatedly, attempting to pull out of his grasp, failing miserably, only succeeding in bruising her arm even further as his fingers merely tightened their vice-like grip. She was still being pulled unceremoniously down the luxuriously carpeted hallway towards what she supposed was this man’s own office. She took a deep, controlling breath, determined not to appear to be intimidated by this man. Even if she was! ‘But—’
‘No, you don’t, do you?’ the man bit out grimly, grey eyes narrowed ominously. ‘But I know who you are. Or at least what you’re supposed to be.’ He sounded angry again now. ‘You fall far short of requirements!’
She had told her mother herself that she was far too short and slight to be a bunny girl, but there was no need for this man to be continually insulting about her lack of assets!
‘Now look,’ she spluttered again, intending to tell him exactly what she thought of his opinion. And what he could do with it!
‘I have.’ As if to prove his point, he gave another disparaging glance down the slender length of her body in the revealing outfit. ‘And so has every customer who entered the store this morning! Are you Doug’s latest girlfriend, is that it?’ he scorned, sculptured mouth twisted derisively. ‘It’s difficult to tell what you look like under that ridiculous rabbit head, but I suppose you could be pretty. And I know Doug’s tastes run to the youthfully nubile, so I suppose it’s possible that could be the explanation. It isn’t an acceptable one. To me,’ he added harshly. ‘But it’s the only one I can think of for the moment.’
Silke was once again rendered speechless; the arrogance of the man! ‘Could be pretty’! ‘Youthfully nubile’! The chauvinistic— And then she remembered what she was—or rather, wasn’t!—wearing, and knew there was really no defence she could offer to this man’s scorn when she gave every appearance of being a half-dressed bunny girl!
She barely had time to register the comfort of the next outer office he dragged her through, without stopping, before entering the even plusher office beyond—obviously his own—before she spotted the elderly man of earlier sitting in one of the leather armchairs that faced the imposing desk, the hazy smoke from the cigar he was puffing on with enjoyment filling the room. Silke’s nose—behind the rabbit mask—wrinkled with distaste at the foul-smelling weed.
But at least she had her explanation now; this old man had complained about her verbal rebuke earlier. She couldn’t help wondering what explanation he had given for having earned such a rebuke; she doubted he had told the other man of the way he had touched her bottom with such familiarity.
‘I took the liberty of helping myself to one of your cigars—oh, I say, Lyon.’ The older man’s eyes widened with enjoyment as he spotted Silke at Lyon’s side—what a name! And yet somehow it fitted the man’s fierceness exactly. ‘I know I said she was an appealing little thing, plenty of fire, but you didn’t have to bring her up here to meet—’
‘Shut up, Uncle Henry,’ the man who still held Silke rasped wearily. ‘Sit,’ he instructed her curtly, nodding in the direction of the second chair that faced the opulence of the brown leather-topped mahogany desk, around which he now moved to sit in yet another leather chair, a swivel one this time, leaning forward once he had done so, resting his arms on the leather top, his narrowed, steely gaze fixed on her steadily.
Uncle Henry! So she had made the mistake of actually snapping indignantly at this man’s uncle. That explained a lot. Perhaps she should have realised before now that the two of them were related; they both had those unusual grey eyes, and they were both arrogant enough in their own way! ‘Uncle Henry’ had touched her earlier as if he had a perfect right to do so, and his nephew had dragged her up here without explanation just as if he had as much right. God, what a family!
‘No need to take that tone with me, Lyon,’ Uncle Henry told him without rancour. ‘I’ve told you before, it has little effect when I’ve looked after you since you were a baby; bounced you on my knee, held you when you cried, wiped your nose for you, changed your—’
‘That last claim is definitely a figment of your imagination, Uncle Henry,’ the younger man cut in harshly. ‘You employed a nanny for that particular task. In fact—’ his mouth twisted scornfully—did it ever do anything else? Silke wondered, looking at him ‘—I don’t remember too much of the “knee-bouncing” either; you were always too busy following your own interests!’
His uncle looked unconcerned. ‘Businesses don’t run themselves.’ He shrugged.
‘I wasn’t referring to those sorts of interests,’ Lyon told him drily.
The older man grinned, grey eyes—eyes the same colour as his nephew’s, but oh, so different in expression!—twinkling merrily. ‘So many beautiful women in the world, and so few years to enjoy them! You should try it some time, Lyon; it might make all the difference—’
‘That’s enough, Henry!’ the younger man snapped tautly, eyes glacial now as he turned his attention back to Silke.
Which she instantly wished he hadn’t. She had been finding the two men’s confrontation enlightening to say the least, but it certainly hadn’t improved Lyon’s temper—and it was now directed back at her!
Well, if he had brought her up here, as she suspected he had, to reprimand her for her behaviour towards his uncle earlier, then he could go ahead and do it—and after he had, she would tell him exactly what a dirty old man she thought his uncle to be. And from the brief conversation between the two men just now, that shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise to him! In fact, attack was her best defence, and she would get in her opinion of his uncle before he could even start on her.
‘I don’t know what your uncle has told you happened downstairs earlier, but—’
‘I thought I told you to sit,’ Lyon observed softly—too softly, dangerously so—completely ignoring her words. Again.
Which Silke was becoming more than a little tired of! ‘I may be wearing this ridiculous bunny outfit—’ her eyes flashed deeply green behind the mask ‘—but underneath this I’m a person, not an animal to be ordered about!’ She was breathing deeply in her agitation.
‘I’m glad you agree that what you’re wearing is—inappropriate,’ he rasped drily, again ignoring what she had really said. ‘If you would care to remove—’
‘I don’t care to remove anything!’ she cut in frustratedly. ‘And if you can’t control the way your uncle behaves towards women, no matter what they are wearing, then I suggest you keep him away from them. Preferably far away!’ she snapped, looking from him to his mildly surprised uncle, before once again turning back to the younger man. ‘The few sharp words I said to him earlier were well deserved, and I would do it again given the same circumstances.’ She glared pointedly at the older man.
Lyon was now looking at his uncle too. ‘Circumstances?’ he prompted softly, dark brows raised questioningly.
The older man looked a little uncomfortable now. ‘Well, as I said, Lyon, she’s an appealing little thing.’ He moved his hands dismissively, once again billowing smoke around the room from the half-smoked cigar he still held.
‘And, being the old rogue that you are, you couldn’t resist the appeal!’ his nephew realised, shaking his head disgustedly. ‘God, Henry, you really are—’ He broke off abruptly as the intercom buzzed on his desk. ‘Yes?’ he rasped impatiently into the innocent machine.
‘Mr Moore to see you, Mr Buchanan,’ came the disembodied voice of his secretary.
Silke missed the rest of the conversation, staring at the man who sat so confidently across the desk from her, at last beginning to realise exactly why he was so confident. Mr Buchanan! This man, the man who had forcibly dragged her into the lift and up to the executive floor of the department store, was a Buchanan.
My God, and not just any Buchanan, from the way he had behaved towards her from the first and the deference with which the staff had treated him, but Buchanan himself, the owner of the store! Unless he was the son; she had thought the owner of the Buchanan group was someone called Charles Buchanan. Although this man’s uncle had said he had effectively been Lyon Buchanan’s guardian since he was a baby, so... None of this really made any difference to the fact that this man was a Buchanan. And the man she had verbally rebuked earlier was his uncle!
She didn’t need any further telling to sit down; she almost fell into the waiting chair. What a mess! And her mother...! Oh, God, what her mother was going to say about this she just didn’t like to think.
Silke turned dazedly as the office door opened behind them to admit Doug Moore.
‘Ah, Doug, so glad you could join us at last,’ he told the other man silkily now, getting slowly to his feet, instantly putting his personnel manager at a disadvantage with his superior height—if he needed any added advantage. His position as owner of the store already more than gave him that!
The younger man looked puzzled by his employer’s obvious displeasure—obvious, despite the pleasantness of his tone; there was an air of menace about Lyon Buchanan that was unmistakable. ‘I was down in Ladies’ Fashions when I got your message—’
‘A pity you didn’t pay Confectionery a visit some time this morning,’ Lyon Buchanan told him icily. ‘Would you like to tell me what that is?’
‘That’ was Silke!
She had recovered enough from the shock of realising exactly who this man was to look up to see what Lyon Buchanan was talking about, only to discover he was looking directly at her. She was ‘that’. Her shock was replaced by indignation as she realised he was once again talking about her as if she weren’t a person, with feelings, but an object to be discussed. And she didn’t care who he was, he still had no right—
‘Good God!’ Doug Moore, the man who had been perfectly charming to her earlier this morning when they met—probably because of his penchant for ‘pretty, youthful nubiles’—was now looking at her with something approaching horror. ‘I—my God...!’ he said again, weakly this time, looking in need of a chair himself now. Except that there wasn’t another one available!
‘A bunny girl, Doug,’ Lyon Buchanan rasped with feeling. ‘You employed a damned bunny girl in a costume so revealing that every lecher within a hundred miles made a beeline for her.’ He looked pointedly at his uncle. ‘A bunny girl,’ he repeated again, as if he could still hardly believe it, ‘to give away our line of chocolate Easter bunnies. When it should have been a cute fluffy rabbit children would find appealing!’
At last Silke was being given an insight into exactly why she had been dragged off the shop floor and up here to the office of Lyon Buchanan himself—and it had nothing to do with what she had said to his uncle Henry! She had wondered at his puzzlement earlier concerning her accusations towards his uncle; now she knew it was because he had had no idea of the verbal encounter between his Uncle Henry and herself; the way his uncle had informed him she was dressed appeared to be the problem!
‘Forgive me if I’m wrong, Doug,’ Lyon Buchanan continued smoothly—his tone saying he knew damn well he wasn’t the one in the wrong, that he rarely, if ever, was! ‘But I thought we had agreed, during the meeting concerning this particular promotion, that we would contact an agency and take on someone who would—’
‘Wear a cute, fluffy bunny costume while giving away the chocolates,’ Doug Moore finished weakly, staring at Silke in the revealing costume as if he still couldn’t quite believe his eyes. ‘I don’t understand how the mistake could have happened—’
‘Oh, you admit there’s been a mistake?’ his employer prompted with raised brows, still supremely confident in the mistake’s not being of his making.
Just as Silke was. But she wasn’t sure it was completely Doug Moore’s either; the instructions her mother had received had been ambiguous to say the least—a simple request for a girl in a bunny costume to promote a line at the store. And when Silke had reported to Doug Moore this morning she hadn’t been in costume, had changed in the staff-room later, so neither of them had realised then that the mistake had been made. And that appeared to be what this was: a genuine mistake, brought about through lack of information on both sides.
Although from the look of increasing anger on Lyon Buchanan’s face he wasn’t going to be satisfied with that explanation! But it was the truth, so what more could any of them say?
‘Buchanan’s has a reputation to uphold,’ he told his personnel manager icily. ‘And I don’t believe having a barely clothed bunny girl in fishnet tights parading around the store is quite the image—’
‘I’m not wearing fishnet tights!’ Silke cut in indignantly as she stood up; she had drawn the line at that part of the costume that had been supplied to her, preferring to wear her own sheer black tights. Not much of an improvement, she knew, when the entire length of her legs was visible, but it was better than those awful things that had arrived with the rented costume.
Lyon Buchanan looked down the long length of his autocratic nose at her. ‘In that case, you have a series of holes in the tights you are wearing, which is just as bad—’
‘What can you expect?’ Silke demanded indignantly, her cheeks burning hotly from where she had looked down and realised he was right about the holes in her tights; there were at least half a dozen in the right leg, and another two on the left. And she hated ladders or holes in her tights, usually carried a spare pair around with her when she was out; but there was nowhere in the briefness of this costume that she could have put a spare pair of tights. ‘After the way you manhandled me earlier—’
‘Really, Lyon,’ his uncle drawled drily, eyes twinkling merrily once again. ‘It’s good to realise you have more than the stuffy Buchanan blood running through your veins after all; that you found the young lady’s charms equally—’
‘Don’t be more ridiculous than you normally are, Henry,’ Lyon Buchanan cut in impatiently.
‘Exactly,’ Silke snapped, equally unimpressed with the idea of this man’s making any overt moves where she was concerned; she thought he was the most insufferable man she had ever met! ‘I realise—now—that there has been some sort of mix-up concerning the sort of bunny costume you wanted—’
‘Oh, you realise it too, do you?’ Lyon Buchanan turned to her harshly. ‘Well, I’m—for God’s sake take that ridiculous head off; I refuse to carry on a conversation with a girl wearing a bunny girl costume and a rabbit’s head with buck teeth!’
He didn’t have to point out how stupid the white fluffy rabbit head looked, with its long floppy ears, a nose that twitched when she talked, and the unrealistically long front teeth. He didn’t have to, but it was just like this man—she had quickly come to realise!—to do so!
Her face flushed with embarrassment as much as with anger, Silke reached up to release the Velcro at the back of the mask, bending her head down to peel the fluffy mask away, shaking her hair back over her shoulders as she finally looked at the three men completely as herself, Silke Jordan, her silver-blonde hair long and straight to her shoulderblades, green eyes surrounded by thick dark lashes, her nose small and straight, her mouth full and pink, her chin pointed.
The admiration she had seen on Doug Moore’s face this morning returned to his eyes, and even Lyon Buchanan was looking at her with a certain amount of male assessment now. But it was the reaction of Uncle Henry—Silke didn’t know what else to call him; there certainly hadn’t been any opportunity for introductions!—that took them all by surprise. He took one look at Silke—and instantly collapsed back in his chair, clutching the left side of his chest, dropping the stub of his cigar on the carpeted floor as he did so!

CHAPTER TWO
SILKE had had some reactions in the past to the way she looked, the largeness of emerald-green eyes and her full pouting mouth having caused emotions from mild interest to outright lechery, depending on the man’s taste in women. But she had never before known a man collapse just at the sight of her face!
The three people in the room still standing took several seconds to realise exactly what had happened, and then—predictably—Lyon Buchanan was the first to move.
‘What the hell—?’ He quickly reached his uncle’s side, his earlier disparagement of the older man completely belied by the concern now etched into his face, grim lines beside his nose and mouth as he moved to loosen his uncle’s tie and release the top button of his shirt. ‘Henry!’ he prompted determinedly. ‘Uncle Henry!’ he urged again when he received no response, reaching for his uncle’s jacket now.
‘I don’t think you should move him.’ Silke put out the cigar before going down on her haunches beside the two men.
Grey eyes were turned on her like rapiers. ‘I wasn’t going to!’ Lyon Buchanan rasped harshly. ‘I was looking for these.’ He held up a bottle of pills he had taken from the inside pocket of his uncle’s jacket. ‘Put one of these under your tongue, Henry,’ he instructed the elderly man firmly, and his uncle roused himself enough to take the pill into his mouth, the room becoming deathly still as they waited for the pill to take effect.
Pained grey eyes finally blinked open, the older man focusing on Lyon with effort. ‘I—what happened?’ his uncle said groggily as he began to straighten in the chair, his recovery rapid now.
Lyon Buchanan moved back slightly, the concern that had etched his face minutes before replaced by his usual cynicism. ‘One bunny girl too many, I believe,’ he drawled derisively, giving Silke a scathing look, his worry about his uncle’s health—and Silke wasn’t sure now whether or not she had imagined it!—completely gone.
And, in fact, his uncle did look completely recovered, the colour back in his cheeks, only the merriment in his eyes slightly dulled. His expression was apologetic as he once again looked at Silke. ‘Sorry about that, my dear. I—I was just—surprised, when I saw you.’ He gave a rueful grimace at what he now seemed to feel was an embarrassing incident.
‘You don’t usually react that way to a beautiful woman,’ Lyon Buchanan drawled mockingly, moving to sit back behind his imposing desk. ‘Perhaps age is finally catching up with you after all!’
‘Don’t you believe it, boy,’ his uncle rallied with some of his earlier spirit. ‘And don’t be too hard on this young lady either.’ He turned to give Silke a conspiratorial smile. ‘There has obviously been a genuine mistake made. And if I had realised my coming up here to congratulate you on finally moving out of the stuffy Buchanan mould by introducing a lovely bunny girl into the store would result in this young lady’s being hauled over the coals in the way that she has been, I would have kept my mouth shut.’ He reached out and clasped Silke’s hand. ‘I’m sorry, my dear, but I don’t know your name...?’
Silke ignored Lyon Buchanan’s scathing snort at his uncle’s familiarity in holding her hand in this way, although she was ridiculous standing here in her bunny girl costume, big holes in her tights, holding the hand of a man she had considered a lecherous old devil until a short time ago.
In fact he probably still was, she decided, removing her hand to place it behind her back together with the other one. ‘Silke,’ she supplied huskily. ‘Silke Jordan.’
‘Is that for real, or a stage name?’
Her eyes flashed as she looked across at Lyon Buchanan, her pointed chin raised defensively. ‘It’s for real,’ she snapped, stung by his derisive tone. ‘I don’t have a “stage name”.’
He shrugged unconcernedly. ‘I thought most of the people who worked for agencies like yours were out-of-work actors or actresses?’
And it was obvious what opinion he held of people in that profession! Really, ‘stuffy’ didn’t even begin to describe this man. He looked conservative through and through, from his short-styled hair and tailored dark suit to his plain black leather shoes. The only thing that saved him from being a complete pompous ass, in Silke’s eyes, was that he was so damned good-looking—arrogantly so, of course, but even that would hold a certain attraction for some women. Not Silke; she wasn’t interested in any man at the moment, and hadn’t been for some time. And it was obvious that Lyon Buchanan was completely unimpressed with her too, still looking at her as if she were some sort of oddity that had wandered into his ordered—stuffy!—existence. As no doubt she was. Not that she had ever thought of herself as an oddity; but to Lyon Buchanan she probably was!
And he was right about the people who worked for her mother’s agency; most of them were actors and actresses momentarily ‘resting’. Nadine had managed to get an audition this morning, which was the reason she had cried off this assignment at the last minute. The very last minute, calling in at the agency on her way to the audition to tell Silke’s mother she couldn’t be at Buchanan’s today.
And as Silke had been there talking to her mother... And as Buchanan’s was an important new account... Besides, the bunny girl outfit was Silke’s size! As far as her mother had been concerned, no further argument was necessary!
‘Most of them are,’ she confirmed Lyon Buchanan’s statement distantly.
Grey eyes narrowed on her in cold assessment. ‘But not you?’ Lyon Buchanan finally said softly.
‘No, not me,’ she told him dismissively—unwilling to tell him exactly what sort of an ‘out-of-work’ she actually was.
Besides, she wasn’t out of work, she was a self-employed jewellery designer, who just hadn’t managed to sell any of her designs lately!
His mouth twisted derisively. ‘You do this sort of thing because you like it?’
Her cheeks became flushed at his insulting tone. ‘As your uncle has so rightly pointed out, there has been a genuine mistake concerning the sort of bunny costume you wanted.’ She deliberately didn’t answer his challenging remark. ‘If you will give me an hour to get back to the agency, I will make sure you are supplied with the cuddly fluffy kind.’ And she had no intention of being inside the costume herself; had no intention of coming anywhere near Buchanan’s—or Lyon Buchanan himself!—ever again! She couldn’t afford the prices in a store like this anyway, had only ever window-shopped in the past when she had come in. She could easily forgo that particular pleasure for the certainty of never having to see Lyon Buchanan again!
‘I don’t believe we have yet ascertained just exactly whose “genuine mistake” it was,’ Lyon Buchanan said hardly, shooting his personnel manager a hard, questioning look.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Lyon.’ His uncle stood up impatiently, a short, dapper man who bore little resemblance to his nephew in build—or manner. ‘That really isn’t important now. Allow me to drive you wherever you need to go, my dear,’ he offered Silke smoothly.
She deliberately avoided looking at Lyon Buchanan as she sensed the scorn emanating from him across the room at her. ‘It’s very kind of you—’
‘My uncle is rarely kind—unless he has an ulterior motive,’ Lyon Buchanan cut in derisively now.
‘Thank you, I would appreciate that,’ Silke firmly accepted the offer she had had every intention of refusing until Lyon Buchanan’s scathing intervention.
Did the man never stop? Of course, he probably knew his uncle better than she did, but even so she was quite capable of deciding for herself whether or not she was prepared to accept a lift from him; she didn’t need the younger man’s derisive interference. The fact that she now agreed to Uncle Henry’s offer of a lift—she really must find out his full name!—didn’t really matter; she could easily get out of that once they had left this office.
Lyon Buchanan was now looking at her speculatively, as if he now suspected her motives in accepting the older man’s offer. He would! He was a suspicious individual. Arrogant in the extreme. But he was also the owner of Buchanan’s. And when she got back to the agency she would have to explain exactly how they had upset this powerful man. Silke didn’t doubt for one moment that her mother’s agency would never be used again by this man. Unless...
Swallowing her pride, she turned to the owner of Buchanan’s with a bright, meaningless smile. ‘Someone will return from the agency this afternoon when an—appropriate costume has been acquired.’ Her pride wasn’t dampened enough for her not to resist reminding him of the description he had given earlier for her present costume!
But considering she had actually been hired to hand out free chocolate Easter bunnies to bright-eyed, expectant children, it was probably the only description that fitted!
God, she was going to start giggling over the ridiculousness of the situation in a minute, the humour of the whole thing finally getting to her. And Lyon Buchanan didn’t look as if he would be impressed by that at all!
He was looking down at her with those cold grey eyes again now. ‘I’ll have your agency called and let them know my decision. When I’ve made one,’ he added pointedly.
And for the moment she would have to be satisfied with that, his tone clearly stated. Oh, well, she had tried; she certainly wasn’t going to grovel to this man—not even for the sake of her mother’s agency.
‘And you ought to go and see your doctor.’ Lyon Buchanan was talking to his uncle now as the older man turned to leave.
Henry looked irritated by the instruction. ‘Don’t fuss, Lyon,’ he dismissed impatiently. ‘As you so rightly said, it was just a question of “one bunny girl too many”!’ his humour returned, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he looked at Silke.
‘Nevertheless, I intend calling Peter Carruthers and making an appointment for you,’ his nephew told him determinedly.
Silke could see that Henry didn’t like the younger man’s arrogance one little bit—did any of them?—but he didn’t attempt to argue with him any further. She couldn’t help wondering if many people ever had during this man’s thirty-five or thirty-six years, or if that could be the reason he seemed to be a law unto himself?
‘Not you, Doug,’ Lyon Buchanan rasped now as his personnel manager would have followed them from the room. ‘I don’t believe we have finished our conversation.’
Silke felt sorry for Doug Moore—but that didn’t stop her hurrying from the room as Henry held the door open for her; she didn’t want again to become the focus of Lyon Buchanan’s displeasure.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t quick enough!
‘As for you, Miss Jordan—’ his voice was raised slightly as he halted her departure ‘—I suggest you go and cover yourself up as soon as possible.’
Her cheeks were fiery red as, after shooting him a look of resentment from flashing green eyes, she made good her escape.
Henry was chuckling as he closed the door firmly behind them.
Silke looked at him curiously, unable to see anything remotely funny about the situation.
‘No wonder there isn’t a woman in Lyon’s life at present,’ he explained his humour as they walked towards the lift. ‘I had always thought it was that he’d become so jaded because most of them were only after the Buchanan money and name. But on second thoughts I think it’s because he frightens them all away!’
Silke wasn’t in the least interested in Lyon Buchanan’s private life—or lack of it! As far as she was concerned, she never wanted to see the man again! And yet at the same time this elderly man’s description of Lyon’s cynicism where women were concerned evoked a very lonely life for the younger man. Although looking at him, the stern handsomeness of his face, his lithe body beneath the tailored suit, Silke couldn’t see him, jaded or not, being without some sort of female companionship in his life. And if he didn’t have a woman in his life it was obviously of his own choosing, so she certainly shouldn’t be feeling sorry for the man. My God, what did she have to feel sorry for Lyon Buchanan for? He was a man who had everything, looks, power, money. And if there was no woman in his life, as his uncle seemed to be claiming, then it had to be because he frightened them away!
‘Silke is a very unusual name, my dear,’ Lyon Buchanan’s uncle prompted softly as they made their descent in the lift.
She shrugged dismissively. ‘My mother chose it.’ It wasn’t something she had ever really questioned; it was just her given name.
‘It’s very pretty.’ Henry nodded, his expression thoughtful. ‘Your mother must be an unusual woman...?’
‘Unusual’ described her mother exactly, Silke acknowledged ruefully. She hadn’t met and married Silke’s father until she was twenty-seven, and before that time she seemed to have travelled the world, doing all sorts of casual jobs, having no responsibilities except to support herself. Which she seemed to have done quite capably.
Silke’s father had been a rancher in Colorado, and the marriage between the two only seemed to have lasted long enough for them to have produced Silke, after which Silke’s mother had gone off on her travels again, this time with Silke on her back. Silke’s relationship with her father had been nil once they had left the ranch, Jack Jordan seeming to have washed his hands of both of them once the decision to go had been made.
Silke’s childhood had been a succession of temporary homes and schools, until at thirteen her father had died and left her a legacy that enabled her mother to send her to boarding school. It was the first settled home Silke had ever known, and despite missing her wanderlust mother she had revelled in the stability she found there.
As her mother had revelled in her new-found freedom, travelling more than ever, always one step ahead of being tied down to any one place, or person. How long this agency would last, Silke had no idea, although she had to admit her mother seemed to find the variety of running an agency like Jordan’s Miracles exciting, and its success couldn’t be doubted, having gained a very creditable reputation in the year it had been open.
Silke couldn’t help wondering if that would still be true after today’s blunder!
‘Something like that,’ Silke answered the elderly man non-committally. ‘Look, thank you for the offer of a lift back to the agency.’ She turned to him once they were on the ground floor of the department store. ‘But—’
‘But you only accepted to put my nephew firmly in his place,’ Henry acknowledged ruefully, eyes twinkling sympathetically for the awkward situation she had found herself in—something Lyon Buchanan didn’t seem to appreciate at all! But then, why should he? As far as he was concerned, dressed as she was, she had just dragged his store down to a level he found intolerable.
A delicate blush darkened her cheeks at the elderly man’s astuteness. ‘I have to go and change into my own clothes before I leave, and—’
‘As Lyon instructed?’ Henry taunted softly.
Her chin went up defensively. ‘No, not as he instructed! I have no wish to be seen out in public dressed like this either,’ she added disgustedly.
Henry looked at her appreciatively. ‘I think it’s rather—fetching.’
She knew exactly what he thought, had been left in no doubt of that earlier. But his view of her appearance just enhanced her desire to be back in the comfort of her own clothes. ‘If you’ll excuse me—’
‘I’m going to wait for you, Silke,’ he told her firmly.
She frowned at his determined expression. ‘I don’t think—’
‘My car will be waiting outside for you, my dear.’ The laughter had gone from his eyes now as the impression of a flirtatious elderly man was erased by the intensity of his expression.
Silke looked at him frowningly. What a strange family these two men were; she couldn’t work them out at all.
But she did know that both of them were too fond of having their own way! This man’s car might be ‘waiting outside’ for her, but she had no intention of getting into it. They were too arrogant by far, both uncle and nephew!
She gave Henry a vaguely dismissive smile before disappearing off to the staff-rooms where she had left her own clothes when she had changed earlier.
She had never been so glad to get back into her own familiar denims and black jumper neatly tucked in at her waist, brushing her hair loosely about her shoulders in a silver-blonde curtain. If Lyon Buchanan had imagined she actually liked wearing that awful bunny girl outfit...!
The humour of the situation suddenly hit her, and she sat down on a chair in the staff-room as she succumbed to the laughter, easily able to imagine Lyon Buchanan’s apoplectic horror at finding a half-clothed woman cavorting around his store. My God, it was a wonder he hadn’t been the one to have the heart attack!
That particular part of it sobered her slightly. Henry Whoever-he-was—certainly not a Buchanan if his opinion of the Buchanan family was anything to go by!—really should go and see a doctor after collapsing in that way; she agreed with Lyon Buchanan over—
It was none of her business, she firmly admonished herself. Besides, she had no wish to agree with Lyon Buchanan over anything!
The fact that she almost walked into the man himself as she came out of the staff-room did nothing to settle her already jangled nerves; the last thing she wanted was another verbal shredding from Lyon Buchanan before she could make good her escape! But as he looked at her blankly with those metallic grey eyes, she realised he hadn’t even recognised her! Maybe he had taken more notice of the briefness of the bunny girl outfit than he liked to admit, after all!
But as those grey eyes suddenly narrowed in recognition, the sculpted mouth thinning, Silke knew she wasn’t going to escape that easily. Damn!
He came to an abrupt halt in front of her, still towering over her now that Silke was wearing flat black ankle boots. Not that it would have made a lot of difference if she were wearing the high-heeled shoes she had had on earlier; this man was at least a foot taller than her.
‘You seem shorter than I remember,’ he suddenly bit out. ‘Besides which, I didn’t recognise you with your clothes on.’
Silke gave an involuntary gasp at the outrageousness of the remark, looking about them self-consciously, knowing by the speculative smile being exchanged by two female shoppers a short distance away that the clear timbre of Lyon’s voice had reached them, at least. ‘Didn’t recognise you with your clothes on’, indeed! She hadn’t got away with the defiance of accepting his uncle’s offer of a lift, against this man’s obvious wishes, as lightly as she had thought she had...!
Her eyes flashed deeply green as she looked up at him, her hand tightly gripping the bag containing the costume that had caused her all this trouble in the first place. ‘Height doesn’t seem to matter when you’re lying horizontal, does it?’ She smiled up at him sweetly, challenge in her eyes now.
‘Touché,’ he drawled appreciatively, also aware of their audience, the two women having moved a little closer now on the pretext of looking at a rack of scarves near them, seemingly enthralled by the conversation. ‘Not in the least,’ Lyon spoke loudly enough for the two women to hear again now. ‘Shall we arrange a time for us to lie horizontal together again?’
This conversation, as far as Silke was concerned, was getting totally out of control! And it was so unexpected from a man who, minutes ago, had seemed so icily remote that a raging fire wouldn’t have melted that cold reserve. She was sure his uncle, a man who obviously knew him reasonably well, wouldn’t believe the humorous—albeit at her expense!—innuendoes of the conversation. But it was at her expense, and there could be no doubting that Lyon Buchanan was enjoying putting her at a disadvantage.
She moved closer to him, standing on tiptoe, giving the appearance of intimacy—very aware of their listening and watching audience. ‘Actually—’ she spoke conspiratorially, but still loud enough for the two women to hear ‘—while I found our last—encounter interesting, it isn’t one I want to repeat!’ She looked up at Lyon Buchanan triumphantly as she saw that the two women were now looking at him with open speculation, disappointment in their faces that a man who looked so virilely handsome should—apparently!—have been such a failure in bed. ‘Just my personal opinion, of course,’ Silke added with feigned apology, challenge returning to her eyes as she looked up at the now stony-faced Lyon Buchanan; he certainly didn’t like having the upper hand taken away from him!
His mouth was a thin line. ‘And it’s such an experienced opinion, isn’t it?’ he rasped contemptuously.
She should have known he wouldn’t let her get away with that one! ‘Well, one doesn’t like to boast...’ she returned dismissively.
He looked down at her coldly. ‘In this day and age “one” would be insane to do so.’
She might be in there fighting, but she was wise enough to know she wasn’t about to win in this conversation! Better to give up now, before she lost too badly... ‘Well, if you’ll excuse me,’ she told him lightly, ‘one of my other clients is waiting outside.’ She gave him a falsely bright smile. ‘If you should need the agency’s services again, just give them a ring. But don’t ask for me,’ was her parting shot before she turned to give the now open-mouthed women a bright, meaningless smile on her way out of the store.
She knew exactly the impression she had given with that last comment, of herself—and Lyon Buchanan. And it was him she had meant to hit out at. She didn’t particularly care for herself, knew who she was, also what she was, and the opinion of two women she was never likely to see again was completely unimportant to her. Lyon Buchanan was the one who needed to be shown that she didn’t consider herself one of his underlings whom he could browbeat with his damned arrogance, or a woman he could ‘frighten away’ with his rudeness.
Arrogant. Self-opinionated. Chauvinistic. Silke had never met a man like him before!
And she didn’t want to meet him again either.
Though there was no reason on this earth why she ever should!
* * *
‘Stop laughing, Mother.’ Silke frowned across at her mother as she rocked back and forth in the leather chair behind her desk. ‘God!’ She gave an impatient sigh. ‘I was worried sick you would be upset about annoying Buchanan himself, and instead you go off into hysterical laughter! I should have realised your warped sense of humour would find the situation funny!’ She sat down dejectedly in the chair opposite her mother.
Tina Jordan, an older version of Silke, sobered slightly, her mouth still twitching as she tried to contain her laughter, laughter that had convulsed her ever since Silke had told her what had happened to her after the discovery of the mistake over the rabbit outfit.
‘Sorry.’ She chewed on her top lip in an effort to stop herself laughing again. ‘It’s just that I would have loved to have seen the look on Lyon Buchanan’s face when he first saw you dressed up as a bunny girl and not the fluffy bunny he had been expecting!’ Green eyes, so like Silke’s, glittered with suppressed humour.
‘Believe me,’ Silke groaned at the memory, ‘you wouldn’t!’
Her mother sobered slightly. ‘Maybe not,’ she acknowledged drily. ‘Doug Moore sounded under more than a little pressure when he telephoned a short time ago.’
Remembering the grim determination on Lyon Buchanan’s face as she hastily left his office, Silke thought ‘more than a little pressure’ was probably putting it mildly—very mildly! ‘Well, I for one am not going back there, Mother,’ she said firmly. ‘You don’t pay enough for me to put myself through clashing with Lyon Buchanan again.’ She still shuddered at the thought of her disastrous morning.
‘You don’t have to go back,’ her mother assured her with a shake of her head. ‘Nadine’s audition didn’t go well this morning, so I’ve sent her along to Buchanan’s.’
Silke could hardly contain her relief. And then she berated herself for being such a coward. Who was Lyon Buchanan, anyway? Just a man. An arrogantly powerful one, yes, but still just a man.
‘What’s he like?’
She gave her mother a sharp look. She hadn’t realised she was being watched, that her every expression would give away her confused anger where Lyon Buchanan was concerned. And that would intrigue her mother—the fact that Silke had reacted to Lyon Buchanan at all. Because she hadn’t reacted to any man for almost a year. Since James. The man she had been dating for three years. The man who, on the eve of their wedding, had eloped with a girl he had only met the week before!
Since that time, Silke had considered that men weren’t worth bothering with, that she couldn’t put her trust in any of them. Her mother had been telling her as much for years, but, like the naïve idiot she had been, Silke had thought James was different. The two of them had been friends as much as anything else, so in effect she felt she had been let down not only by the man she loved but by her friend as well.
‘He’s just a man, Mother,’ she dismissed with a grimace, not wanting to give away the fact that he was probably unlike any other man she had ever met.
‘Yes, but—’ Her mother broke off the conversation as the office door opened, her smile one of polite enquiry as she turned towards what she hoped was a prospective client.
But the smile froze on her lips, and the colour faded from her cheeks, her eyes wide.
Silke frowned at this sudden change in her mother, turning towards the door herself, her frown deepening as she saw ‘Uncle Henry’ standing there. What on earth—?
‘Hal...!’ Her mother’s voice was a strangulated croak.
‘Satin!’ Henry returned with satisfaction, grey eyes glowing excitedly.
Hal? Satin! Her mother’s name was Tina, so—but what did it matter what her mother’s name was, when it was perfectly obvious that Henry and her mother knew each other, and more than casually if her mother’s stunned reaction was anything to go by, her mother standing up now, still very pale, and totally unable to tear her gaze away from Henry—Hal...?
And, as Silke looked at the two of them, she couldn’t help wondering if it had been her likeness to her mother that had caused Henry’s collapse earlier...

CHAPTER THREE
‘SATIN!’ Henry cried protestingly as, much to Silke’s amazement, her mother pushed her chair back and rushed from the room, a hunted look on her ravished face.
And Silke was amazed—because, as far as she knew, her mother had never run from a situation in her life!
Or maybe, just maybe, her mother had been running all her life...?
Silke had never quite looked at her mother’s unsettled life in that way before, but in retrospect, with her mother’s reaction to ‘Hal’, perhaps there was another reason than wanderlust for her mother having travelled so much in her life in the way that she had. It—
‘I knew it,’ Henry gasped from across the room. ‘I thought—I hoped it might be true when I first saw you, Silke, but once you had told me your name—!’ He shook his head dazedly.
‘Satin’ and Silke...
‘—I just knew it had to be true,’ Henry continued wonderingly—before promptly collapsing.
For the second time that day!
But this time Silke knew exactly what to do, getting one of the pills from the bottle in his breast pocket, forcing it into his mouth, down on her haunches beside him as she waited for the pill to begin to work.
Except that this time he still looked ashen when he regained consciousness, though considering this was the second attack he had had in as many hours, that wasn’t surprising. Besides, this time he had fallen too, albeit on to a carpeted floor.
Silke smiled at him reassuringly as he blinked up at her dazedly. ‘I’m going to call for an ambulance,’ she told him gently, not wanting to alarm him further, but knowing he really should see a doctor this time.
He swallowed hard, shaking his head. ‘Call Lyon,’ he bit out, in obvious pain still. ‘He’ll know what to do.’
She didn’t doubt for a moment that Lyon Buchanan would know exactly what to do! She also knew she shouldn’t let her aversion to him influence her actions when this elderly man’s health was at stake. But the very thought of seeing Lyon Buchanan again...!
‘Please call Lyon.’ Henry looked up at her pleadingly, grey eyes dull with pain.
‘Of course I will,’ Silke instantly assured him, swallowing down her own aversion to seeing that hateful man again—so much for her being sure she would never have any reason to do so! And she had her mother’s strange behaviour to deal with yet, too. ‘But first, do you feel well enough to move over to the chair?’ she prompted encouragingly.
His eyes brightened slightly. ‘Satin’s chair?’ he suggested hopefully.
There was that ridiculous name for her mother again... Silke really had to find out the story behind that. But not yet. Right now she had something more important to deal with. ‘If that’s what you want,’ she nodded agreement, helping Henry to his feet, holding his arm supportively as he swayed slightly.
The look of supreme satisfaction on the face of the elderly man as he sat in the chair Silke’s mother had so recently fled from—to where?—was almost painful to see, Henry relaxing back in the leather chair with a relieved sigh, his eyes closed, his thoughts goodness knew where. Silke intended finding out exactly where as soon as she could find her mother—if she hadn’t done one of her flits again. And, knowing her mother as well as she did, Silke wouldn’t put that past her, either!
But for the moment she put thoughts of her mother to the back of her mind, concentrating on what she had to do here and now—and that was telephone Lyon Buchanan!
The telephone number of Buchanan’s was in the file on her mother’s desk, the switchboard immediately putting her call through to Lyon Buchanan’s secretary.
‘Could I ask the reason for the call?’ the woman asked warily once Silke had identified herself.
She wouldn’t put it past Lyon Buchanan to have instructed his secretary to vet any calls from Jordan’s Miracles! ‘It’s personal,’ she snapped unhelpfully, feeling immediately guilty for allowing her resentment towards Lyon Buchanan to affect her response as she glanced across the room and saw how pale and haggard Henry still looked. ‘I have to talk to Mr Buchanan immediately,’ she added more urgently.
There was a click, a short pause—very short!—and then the arrogantly sure voice Silke recognised only too well came on the line. ‘I thought we had concluded our earlier—conversation, Miss Jordan,’ Lyon Buchanan drawled contemptuously.
Silke still cringed when she thought of that double-edged conversation, wishing now that she had never engaged in such a futile verbal battle with this particular man. It had been an act of bravado on her part, not to say childish, and it made talking to him now all the more difficult. ‘It’s Henry,’ she said without preamble—she still didn’t know the surname of the elderly man, and at the moment he didn’t look capable of telling it to her. ‘He’s collapsed again, and—’
‘My God,’ Lyon Buchanan exploded. ‘What have you done to him now?’
Her cheeks burned with indignation. ‘I haven’t done anything to him!’ Henry was actually asleep at the moment. ‘He—’
‘Where are you?’ Lyon Buchanan interrupted harshly.
‘At the agency. But—’
‘I’m on my way,’ he told her coldly. ‘Just don’t do anything else to him before I get there!’ He slammed his receiver down, the noise resounding in Silke’s ear.
Silke slammed her own receiver down too—and then glanced guiltily at Henry. But he continued to sleep—thank goodness.
Just what did the Lyon think she had ‘done’ to his uncle? Remembering the conversation they had had earlier, she could make a pretty accurate guess. My God, the arrogance of the man; did he really think that because she had denied being an out-of-work actress her other line of business had to be...? He did think that, she was sure of it from his tone of voice just now. He probably believed his uncle had collapsed again because they had been— Arrogant, arrogant swine!
She could not remember ever feeling this angry in her life before, not even once she had got over the initial pain of James’s defection on the eve of their wedding. And it was an anger that didn’t lessen as the time ticked by!
‘You look just like your mother when you’re angry, my dear.’
Silke looked sharply across the room at Henry, a blush darkening her cheeks now as she realised he had woken up and had obviously been watching her for some time.
She drew in a deeply controlling breath. ‘I probably feel like her when I’m angry too!’ she told him with feeling.
‘Lyon has that effect on people,’ he nodded, sobering slightly, a little colour having returned to his cheeks after his ten-minute nap. ‘I remember I used to make your mother angry a lot,’ he said heavily. ‘Do you think she’ll come back?’ He looked longingly towards the door where her mother had so recently fled.
Silke sighed as she moved to his side, offering no objection as he lightly clasped her hand as he had the last time. ‘I’m really not sure,’ she answered him honestly. ‘My mother has always been a law unto herself.’ She grimaced as she remembered the chaotic years of her early childhood, when she had never been quite sure what her mother might do.
Henry gave a half-smile. ‘I remember that too,’ he nodded.
Despite the fact that she realised how ill this man was, Silke’s curiosity momentarily got the better of her. ‘How—?’ She broke off abruptly as the office door burst open without warning, her initial hope that it might be her mother immediately dashed as Lyon Buchanan strode purposefully into the room.
He came to an abrupt halt just inside the door, taking in the scene with one cold glance, his narrowed gaze raking scathingly over Silke’s hand so cosily enfolded in his uncle’s much larger one.
Silke’s initial reaction was to pull her hand sharply away, but at the first sign that she was about to do that Henry’s hand tightened its grip. She looked down at him, knowing by his determined expression that he wasn’t about to release her without a fuss. And that she could do without!
Instead she turned her frustrated anger on Lyon Buchanan—he was the reason for it anyway! ‘What did you do?’ she said scathingly. ‘Fly here?’ She returned his gaze as challengingly as he was now looking at her.
‘Almost,’ he bit out grimly, his attention turning to his uncle, although the older man was obviously slightly recovered now. ‘When are you going to realise you’re nearly seventy years old?’ Lyon said impatiently.
‘Sixty-seven, boy,’ his uncle returned with some of his earlier spirit. ‘And don’t worry, I’ve just decided I’m going to be around for a lot more years yet.’ His softened gaze rested on Silke after he had made this statement.
Lyon Buchanan’s hard gaze returned to her too, a sharp questioning in those icy eyes as he took in the blush that seemed to be becoming a permanent fixture in Silke’s usually creamy cheeks. ‘Indeed?’ he finally bit out tersely. ‘Well, I think we should get you to Peter Carruthers and let him decide that, don’t you?’ he said scathingly. ‘Can you walk, or shall I—?’
‘I can walk,’ his uncle assured him firmly. ‘And I want Silke to come with me.’
Now it was Silke’s turn to look at him sharply. She was worried about him herself, and, much as she would have hated having to contact Lyon Buchanan again, she had intended telephoning him later to assure herself that his uncle was indeed OK. But she hadn’t considered actually going along with Henry to see his doctor!
‘Now that I’ve found you, I’m not going to let you out of my sight again until we’ve talked further. I’m sure you can guess why,’ Henry told her ruefully.
Because of her mother. ‘Satin’ had run away, but he had no intention of letting her daughter escape as easily. And if Silke was honest she was more than a little curious to know more about ‘Hal’ and ‘Satin’ herself!
But she could see from Lyon Buchanan’s furious expression, and the angry glitter in his eyes, that he had completely misread the situation—and that he didn’t like his conclusions one little bit! Well, Silke didn’t give a damn how he felt about it; she would accompany Henry!
‘Of course I’ll come with you.’ She squeezed the elderly man’s hand reassuringly. No matter how much Lyon Buchanan might hate it!
And as they helped Henry out of the office and down to Lyon Buchanan’s car—parked illegally on double yellow lines; what else?—it was obvious how much he did hate Silke’s presence there, his eyes glittering down coldly at her as they stood either side of Henry to help him down the stairs and out into the street. And his face was set in grimly disapproving lines as Henry insisted he wanted Silke to sit beside him in the back of the silver Mercedes.
‘You’ll have more room to make yourself comfortable if Miss Jordan sits in the front next to me,’ he told his uncle harshly, somehow managing to infuse a wealth of contempt into the ‘Miss Jordan’.
Making Silke feel like kicking him up the seat of his tailored trousers! In fact, the temptation was so strong that she had to turn her attention firmly to Henry to actually stop herself carrying out the action. ‘I think, in this case, your nephew is probably right,’ she told the elderly man gently, seeing an answering humour in Henry’s eyes as his lips twitched in appreciation of her insertion of ‘in this case’. But, as far as she was concerned, Lyon Buchanan was wrong about most other things; he was a man who made assumptions and then acted upon them. ‘It isn’t far, is it?’ she prompted the arrogant man as she climbed into the passenger seat, concerned at how white Henry now looked as he slumped down in the back seat.

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