A Bad Enemy
A Bad Enemy
Sara Craven
Mills & Boon proudly presents THE SARA CRAVEN COLLECTION. Sara’s powerful and passionate romances have captivated and thrilled readers all over the world for five decades making her an international bestseller.he wanted the impossible–his love!Learning that her grandfather was critically ill was a severe shock for Lisle. Then she discovered that he planned to give Jake Allard control of their family business and arrange a marriage between her and Jake!It would never work–Jake detested her. And yet he was willing to give the marriage a chance for convenience sake. "I want your social acumen and your body," he'd said.But Lisle wanted more–she wanted his love. And that seemed to be reserved for another woman!
A Bad Enemy
Sara Craven
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Former journalist SARA CRAVEN published her first novel ‘Garden of Dreams’ for Mills & Boon in 1975. Apart from her writing (naturally!) her passions include reading, bridge, Italian cities, Greek islands, the French language and countryside, and her rescue Jack Russell/cross Button. She has appeared on several TV quiz shows and in 1997 became UK TV Mastermind champion. She lives near her family in Warwickshire – Shakespeare country.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
COVER (#u28a072b4-62ad-547b-9133-ee6529a16560)
TITLE PAGE (#ue036930a-d8c4-5880-a3b4-e432e7fd2d84)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#ufc94812d-e483-556f-ae85-b82655c70f67)
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
ENDPAGE (#litres_trial_promo)
COPYRIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ue885cf81-97b1-5822-9665-485ebaad1f1f)
‘WONDERFUL party, darling,’ the man said. He was smiling owlishly and slurring his words, and Lisle wondered without interest who he was. A friend of Janie’s, perhaps. Certainly no one she knew.
‘Thank you.’ She gave him an absent smile and tried to move past him down the passage to the kitchen. ‘It’s not a wonderful party,’ she thought. ‘It’s a lousy party, and I’m bored out of my skull. I wish they’d all go.’
She was amazed to hear herself. She was the girl who enjoyed life to the full, who only needed a few hours’ sleep, whose pace never slackened.
‘I’m starting to believe my own publicity,’ she thought ruefully.
‘Where are you goin’?’ The man seized her arm, his face plaintive. His fingers felt warm and clammy on her skin, and she had to repress a shiver of distaste.
She tried to detach herself, but he hung on. ‘To get some more ice.’ She kept her voice cool and equable, because she didn’t know who he was. Someone had once made a semi-drunken pass at her at a party, and she’d administered a crushing snub and a slapped face, only to discover when taxed on the matter by a furious Gerard that he had been an important client, and she had just lost Harlow Bannerman a contract that they had wanted. Since then, she had learned to handle the casual fondling, the innuendoes and sometimes blatant propositioning with imperturbable charm. As Gerard had pointed out, it was part of her job.
‘Don’ leave me,’ the man said, and winked at her. ‘I’ve been trying to get you alone all evening.’
She doubted that. The truth was probably that he had seen her slip out of the room and followed, fancying his chances, and now he was blocking the way to the kitchen and leering.
She groaned inwardly, and at the same moment the doorbell pealed loudly. Saved by the bell, she told herself drily, inwardly blessing the late arrival.
She threw the front door open, smiling with determined gaiety, but the man on the threshold didn’t smile back. In fact the expression on his face was almost one of contempt, which was ridiculous considering he was a complete stranger to her.
Lisle wondered for a moment if he was a new neighbour coming to complain about possible noise, because he wasn’t a party guest, or even a hopeful gatecrasher. Instinct told her that.
He said, ‘Miss Bannerman?’
She went on smiling. ‘Yes?’
A dark forbidding face, she thought, the features harshly marked, with a firm-lipped mouth and a nose which had quite evidently been broken at some time in its career, but attractive nonetheless.
He said, ‘Perhaps we could have a private word—preferably out of earshot of that—bear-garden.’ He waved towards the muted roar of the party.
‘Oh dear.’ Lisle raised her eyebrows. ‘So who are you? The police—the bailiffs—the Inland Revenue?—because whoever you are, I think you’ve got the wrong person.’
He shook his head, the wintry grey eyes going impassively over her, taking in every detail of the expensive black dress from the low neckline to the skirt slit as far as her thigh.
‘I don’t think so.’ There was a sudden burst of noisy laughter from the living room, and he glanced towards the half-closed door, his mouth twisting. ‘And how will this ultimately feature in the Harlow Bannerman accounts?’ he asked. ‘As entertaining clients?’
‘My God!’ Lisle struck a pose of exaggerated horror. ‘It is the Inland Revenue!’ The owlish man released his grip on her arm and slid back to the party, leaving them alone in the narrow hall, watching each other warily.
She said, ‘All joking apart, would you mind telling me who you are, and what you want?’
‘In privacy—yes.’ He walked past her unhurriedly, down the passage, away from the din of the party. ‘In here, perhaps.’ He opened a door.
‘And perhaps not,’ Lisle said indignantly. ‘That happens to be my bedroom.’
He said grimly, ‘Spare me the coy protests, Miss Bannerman, they don’t go with your clothes. I assure you I’m not in the mood, and even if I were, you overestimate your charms where I’m concerned.’
The breath caught in her throat. She said slowly, ‘I—think I’ve just been—insulted. Will you leave now, or must I have you thrown out?’
‘You have to have me thrown,’ he said at once. ‘And before you do perhaps I should tell you that your grandfather was taken ill this afternoon, and is asking for you. He isn’t expected to live.’
She made a muffled sound and sank down on the bed, pressing her hand against her mouth, her green eyes widening in shocked incredulity.
She exclaimed, ‘This afternoon? But why has no one been in touch—why wasn’t I told before?’
‘You could have been,’ he said, ‘if you entertained less, or left your phone on the hook more. I’ve been trying to make contact for several hours. In the end I decided it would be easier to come in person and fetch you myself.’
‘Breaking the news to me gently en route,’ she said in a shaky breath.
‘You’re tough, Miss Bannerman. You can take it.’ But the grim note in his voice told her it would make little difference to him whether she could or not.
‘Who are you?’ she demanded.
‘Jake Allard,’ he said. ‘You may or may not have heard of me.’
She’d heard of him all right, but she’d never bargained for meeting him, and the shock of it drove the breath out of her body for a moment. Gerard had confidently insisted that he was no longer a threat, but here, in the confined space of her bedroom, he seemed about as threatening as it was possible to get.
‘You seem lost for words,’ he observed, after a pause. ‘How about “I thought you were in the States"?’
Her lips parted to deny all knowledge of him, or interest in him or his movements, and then closed again.
‘Very wise.’ He sounded faintly amused for the first time. ‘I wouldn’t have believed you. I’m sure that brother of yours has been keeping you well up to date on the whole situation.’
Not, she thought, if you’re here when he thinks you’re in America.
It was over a year since Gerard had first mentioned Jake Allard’s name. At that time, he had been no more than a cloud no bigger than a man’s hand on the Harlow Bannerman horizon, but in the months which followed, he had assumed ever larger and more ominous proportions.
‘He wants the company,’ Gerard had stated flatly. Allard International have a small electronics subsidiary of their own, and he wants to expand it. We have the know-how that he needs, but he doesn’t want to pay for it. He knows that we’ve been badly hit by the recession and he reckons if he waits long enough he can pick us up for peanuts. That’s of course if Grandfather doesn’t invite him to join the Board anyway.’
Lisle had given him a swift anxious glance. ‘You think that’s likely?’
‘I wish I didn’t.’ Gerard lit a cigarette and puffed at it edgily. ‘But when I got back from Rome last week, Oliver Grayson told me they were practically living in each other’s pockets.’ He added furiously, ‘He seemed delighted.’
Oliver Grayson would, of course. He had all the respect in the world for their grandfather Murray Bannerman, who had built the company up from nothing, and he had been close to their father too, but he had never made any secret of the fact that he felt it was time the family control over the firm ran out, and that Gerard would achieve his ambition of becoming managing director, and ultimately, the chairman only over his dead body. A solution which would suit Gerard perfectly well, Lisle thought drily.
Oliver Grayson wouldn’t altogether object if Harlow Bannerman became part of the expanding Allard empire. He must have been desperately disappointed when all the talk in the financial papers of takeovers and mergers quietly died away, and Gerard announced that Jake Allard had gone to the States to open a new research laboratory, adding with satisfaction that there had been a slight rise in the value of Harlow Bannerman shares.
Now Lisle looked at Jake Allard, her face expression-less.
‘I take it that you’ve been at the Priory.’
‘A private visit, at your grandfather’s invitation.’ He gave her a faint smile. ‘So, if you’re trying to pin the blame for this latest attack on to me, forget it. You know as well as I do what a sick man he’s been, and I’d say that your brother’s machinations, and your increasingly public performances haven’t done a great deal to contribute to his well-being.’ He eyed her levelly for a moment. ‘So now perhaps you could get a move on, unless being stubborn and obstructive is a trait you share with your brother.’
Lisle opened one of the fitted cupboards which ran the length of one wall, dragged out a weekend case, and began to hurl things into it, almost at random. She was trying to keep her temper under control, to concentrate on the thought of her grandfather and her concern for him.
Because he had always been the rock in her life. Her mother had died when she was born, and as her father had been a charming lightweight who had preferred travelling the world, selling Harlow Bannerman, rather than providing a stable home background for two growing children, Lisle and Gerard had been brought up instead at the Priory, under Murray Bannerman’s aegis.
But now the rock was crumbling, and she felt the stirrings of a blind panic within her. She retrieved a scent spray from the dressing table and in the mirror she saw Jake Allard reflected, watching her, the grey eyes icily inimical, and the panic grew.
She said, ‘Does Gerard know?’
‘He seems to have disappeared,’ he drawled. ‘I’ve set Grayson on to look for him, but perhaps you can help us trace him. I imagine he’s on one of his expense account forays after someone else’s wife.’
She raised her eyebrows scornfully. ‘A puritan, Mr Allard? How unusual!’
‘In your circle, without a doubt.’ His hard mouth twisted. ‘But I’m no puritan, sweetheart, so don’t push your luck. I’m quite prepared to believe that you share your brother’s alleycat standards.’
Lisle was holding her hairbrush. It was a heavy one, silver-backed, and she threw it at him with all her strength. He dodged without haste, and fielded it neatly to her chagrin.
‘Red hair and a temper to match,’ he said softly. ‘Well, control it when I’m around, Miss Bannerman, or I shall take this brush and apply it hard to a portion-of your spoiled anatomy. Do I make myself clear?’
‘More than clear.’ Her rounded breasts were rising and falling stormily, but most of her anger was directed at herself. She should have stayed cool, not allowed him to get at her, or at least let him know that he had done so. She swallowed, steadying her breathing deliberately. ‘I’m going to change now, so perhaps you’d leave the room.’
He lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. ‘If you feel it’s necessary.’ His gaze slid mercilessly down her body. ‘That dress, after all, leaves little to the imagination.’
‘But fortunately,’ she snapped, ‘not everyone has your brand of imagination!’
The door was flung open, and Janie appeared on a little breeze of resentment. ‘I thought you were supposed to be getting more ice. Alan’s drink is practically coming to the boil. …’ She stopped dead. ‘Oh dear,’ she went on after a well-judged pause. ‘I appear to be interrupting something. Lisle darling, you really should learn to lock your door.’
‘You’re interrupting nothing,’ Lisle said wearily, noticing Janie’s eyes bright with malicious interest. She was used to Janie. Jake Allard wasn’t, and she knew that crack about the locked door would have been noted and filed away for future reference. ‘I’m sorry about the ice. As it happens, I’ve got to break up the party. I’m going away for a few days.’
‘Now that is fast work!’ Janie’s incredibly long mascaraed lashes were fluttering as if they’d been caught in a gale. ‘Not that I blame you, darling, not for one moment.’ She sent Jake Allard one of her deliberately provocative sexy looks, and he laughed suddenly, the harsh lines of his face softening into genuine amusement.
When he wasn’t being a bastard, he could be diabolically attractive, Lisle realised wonderingly.
She said quietly, ‘Janie, Grandfather’s dying.’
For a second her flatmate’s face wore an expression of almost ludicrous astonishment. ‘But he can’t be, darling! He’s Murray Bannerman. He’s immortal—everyone knows that.’ In one of her mercurial changes of mood, she was sober suddenly, taking control. ‘You look ghastly. I’ll finish your case.’ She looked at Jake Allard. ‘Perhaps you’d get Lisle a drink. She looks as if she could do with a brandy. And yourself, of course.’
‘Not now, thanks. I’ve a long drive ahead.’ He went out, closing the door behind him.
Janie swept up a handful of underwear and tucked it into the corner of the case. ‘Who was that?’
‘Jake Allard.’ Lisle was feeling limp again. She sat down on the dressing stool.
‘My God! No wonder his face seemed familiar.’
‘You know him?’
‘Graham does.’ That was her boss. ‘And I’ve seen the odd blurred pic in the financial pages. According to all reports, he’s dynamite, and not only in the boardroom.’
Lisle grimaced slightly. ‘That doesn’t altogether surprise me.’
Janie folded Lisle’s nightdress with exaggerated care. ‘Does the fact that he’s here mean that the deal is on again with Harlow Bannerman?’
‘I don’t know.’ Lisle shook her head slowly. ‘I dare not think. Everything’s happening too fast—and Gerard’s vanished.’
‘You don’t know where he is?’ Janie’s eyes were on her face.
Lisle shrugged. ‘I could make an educated guess.’ Barbados, she thought. That was where Gerard would be, with Carla Foxton. Mrs Carla Foxton. A wave of irrational anger at Jake Allard swept over her. God damn him, he had a reputation of his own, so what right had he to sit in judgment on anyone else?
‘Then I’d get him back if I were you. This is not a good time for him to be missing, believe me.’ Janie was unwontedly sober, and Lisle bit her lip.
‘Is it that bad?’ She tried for lightness of tone, and didn’t quite make it.
‘It could be.’ Janie gave a little shake of her head. ‘I’m sure Gerard would rather be here, fighting, than coming back to salvage what he can from the wreckage. For that’s all there’d be, and you can ask Graham if you don’t believe me.’
‘Oh, I believe you,’ Lisle said bitterly. ‘I believe you only too well. The Allard man looks capable of anything.’
‘And in this case appearances aren’t deceptive,’ Janie said grimly. ‘According to all reports, he’s fought his way single-handed up a very steep ladder, and you don’t do that these days without stepping on a number of faces.’
‘By the look of him, he’s also been trodden on in his time,’ Lisle said caustically. ‘I’d like to shake the hand of the man who did it.’
‘I don’t recommend it.’ Janie shot her a minatory glance. ‘My advice is to forget that you don’t find him the flavour of the month—particularly if he’s going to be a force to be reckoned with in Harlow Bannerman. Graham says that Jake Allard can be a good friend—but a very bad enemy.’
‘Indeed?’ Lisle had discarded the black dress by now, and was pulling a cashmere sweater over her head to match the olive green corded jeans. She tugged the sweater into place, and raked her fingers carelessly through the heavy waves of copper hair, pushing it back into shape. ‘Well, perhaps he’ll discover the same can be said of me.’ She cast a swift glance over the contents of the case and remembered her toilet bag from the bathroom. ‘He doesn’t frighten me,’ she flung over her shoulder as she went to the door.
Jake Allard was coming down the passage, glass in hand. There was no way he couldn’t have heard her last remark, and his teeth glinted momentarily in a faint, hard smile as he held the glass out to her.
‘Your brandy, Miss Bannerman, or perhaps the need for it has passed.’
She said curtly, ‘Yes, it has,’ and went on down the passage to the bathroom.
It was unoccupied, and obeying an impulse she hardly understood, she closed the door behind her, and shot the small bolt, shutting herself in away from the rest of the world. There was a mixture of exotic scents in the warm air, and several of the towels lay damp and crumpled on the floor. Automatically she retrieved them, straightening them and returning them to the heated handrail. There were mirrors everywhere and she seemed to catch sight of herself in them all, a myriad reflections of Lisle, two bright spots of colour in her pale face, her green eyes glittering like a cat’s.
She’d spoken brave words, but they had been a lie. Of course she was frightened, with a deep gut-wrenching panic which was totally outside her experience. She felt as if every prop and stay to her security were being knocked away one by one, and there was nothing she could do to prevent it.
She sank down on the high-backed wicker chair and tried to think, to reason out everything which had happened in the past hour.
Grandfather, she had been told, could be dying, but then his doctors had written him off before, and been wrong. As Janie had said, Murray Bannerman was immortal. He didn’t believe in illness, or particularly in safeguarding his health against the march of time either.
‘If you lived as these damned medicos want you to, you might as well be dead,’ he had growled testily more than once.
The doctors grumbled too about his refusal to follow their advice, his frankly avowed aversion to hospitals, They complained it was impossible to give him the treatment he needed, but Lisle knew that secretly they admired his stubbornness and his fighting spirit.
She tried to imagine life without him—Harlow Bannerman without him, and the exhilarating boardroom battles he had always enjoyed. She had often felt he secretly relished the covert sniping between Gerard and Oliver Grayson, but she had never until then doubted for a moment whose side he would be on if ever the chips were down.
Now she was not so sure.
Jake Allard at the Priory—on a private visit. And just what discussions had gone on under the shelter of that privacy? she wondered desperately. It was surely beyond coincidence that all this should have taken place when Gerard was safely out of the way, so what could her grandfather have been thinking of?
She would have to telephone Gerard somehow, get him back into the country before it was too late.
He’d covered his tracks well if Jake Allard had failed to find him, she thought, but it was hardly surprising. Harry Foxton wasn’t over-jealous, or particularly suspicious, but he was no fool either, and any hint that Gerard and Carla were enjoying a break from a damp English autumn on the same Caribbean island would set all kinds of alarm bells ringing. Few men with very attractive wives trusted Gerard, she was forced to admit.
But it wasn’t altogether his fault, she thought loyally. Since childhood, he had always been too–good-looking and possessed of far too much charm for his own good. His hair was darker than hers—a kind of rich chestnut, and his eyes were bluer, and he had the look of a young Renaissance prince. Women had begun drooling over him in his pram, and almost before he had left adolescence the admiring looks had become frankly speculative. It was like letting a child loose in a sweetshop, Lisle thought ruefully. And so far he had shown no sign of surfeit ….
She sighed. She knew the fact that Gerard had laughed to scorn any idea that he should settle down and give some thought to the next generation of Bannermans had distressed her grandfather. Murray Bannerman believed in the family, and the stability of marriage. He had said openly that a wife and child might give Gerard the sense of responsibility he so often seemed to lack, and yet at the same time he usually greeted the rumour of some new romantic adventure by his grandson with a muttered, ‘The young dog!’ and a hoarse chuckle.
Lisle’s attitude to Gerard’s constant affairs fell a long way short of approval, but he was her older brother, and although there was now no trace of the hero-worship with which she had regarded him when they were much younger, she loved him and made mental excuses for his faults, even when his selfishness and lack of consideration impinged upon herself.
And if there was to be a battle between him and Jake Allard for the control of Harlow Bannerman, she would be fighting at Gerard’s side all the way, she told herself angrily.
Someone rattled the bathroom door and retreated with a muffled curse, and Lisle started to her feet, seizing her brown quilted bag and filling it rapidly with essential toilet items. She wondered how long she would be staying at the Priory. Until. … Her mind closed down, refusing to admit the rest of the thought.
Her only comfort as she unbolted the door and went slowly back to the bedroom was that Murray was a fighter too.
Janie was alone when she went in, and she looked at her, a mute question in her eyes.
‘He’s gone to get his car.’ She zipped the case shut and held it out to Lisle. ‘You’ll need a jacket or something.’
‘Yes.’ She had a new one, dark brown supple suede with a deep fur trim on the collar and cuffs, and now seemed as good a time as any to wear it. She needed the reassurance that something new, expensive and glamorous could give her.
She swung her bag over her shoulder, draped the coat over her arm and picked up her case. Janie followed her out of the room and along to the front door. Lisle gave her a taut smile.
‘Perhaps you should get back to our guests,’ she said, ‘before they drink us dry and start wrecking the place.’
Janie nodded, biting her lip. She said gently, ‘Take it easy, love. Remember what I said.’
‘I’m not likely to forget it,’ Lisle said ruefully.
As she pushed open the glass door and emerged on to the street, the car pulled up at the kerbside, and Jake Allard got out. He opened the passenger door, and stood impassively, waiting for her to cross the pavement to his side, the slight chill of the breeze ruffling the thick blackness of his hair.
Lisle had to force herself to move. She felt drained of strength so that walking became almost an effort of will alone. The only thing which kept her from falling down was the sure and certain knowledge of who would pick her up again, because, crazily, the prospect of being touched by him was suddenly the worst threat of all.
When he reached for her case, to stow it in the boot, she pretended she hadn’t seen the gesture, and put it down on the pavement in front of him instead. She was so uptight that even an accidental brush of fingers could well make her fall apart.
The car was capacious, the front seats well spaced, but when he closed her door and came round to take his place behind the wheel, she felt claustrophobic. She lifted a hand and eased the high collar of her sweater away from her tight throat, making herself breathe deeply.
Jake Allard gave her a frowning glance. ‘You should have had that brandy,’ he said curtly. ‘There’s a flask in the glove compartment.’
‘I’m fine,’ she said off the top of her voice, then added, ‘Thank you.’
‘You look like hell,’ he informed her brutally. ‘What good is it going to do Murray to see you like this? Or is he used to it?’
Lisle set her teeth. ‘If we could just go?’
She’d hoped, childishly, that he would turn out to be a lousy driver, flashy, aggressive and impatient with other motorists, but of course, he was none of those things. Of course. She sat, hating him, across London, glad to be able to build on her anger because it kept the anxiety at bay.
He didn’t say much. Once he asked her if she had any preference as to the route they took, and later, if she wanted some music.
She said, ‘The quickest, preferably,’ to the first question, and, ‘Yes, please,’ to the second. Otherwise there was silence, only faintly disguised by the music.
In other circumstances, in other company she would have enjoyed the tapes. They were obviously of his own devising, and expertly done, and she couldn’t fault the choices he’d made either, although she wasn’t familiar with them all. Jack Jones, she recognised, and Carly Simon and Judy Tzuke. With any other man, that could have been a talking point, the first tentative stage in an acquaintance that might or might not develop into a relationship. But not with this man.
Every word he had said to her, every look he had given her was etched on her mind, and the acid had bitten deep.
Darkness had closed around them, and the street lights dwindled as the roads narrowed into lanes.
Lisle sat up suddenly, peering around her. ‘This isn’t the way to the Priory.’
‘He isn’t at the Priory,’ he said shortly. ‘He’s in intensive care in hospital.’
Lisle’s hand stole to her lips, stifling a sharp sound of distress. She said, ‘He hates—machines.’
‘So I gathered.’ His tone was dry. ‘But this time it wasn’t up to him to decide. And considering it was a matter of life and death, it was probably just as well.’
She said sharply, ‘If Murray is going to die, which I don’t necessarily accept, then he’d rather it was with dignity in his own bed than strapped up to some—electronic miracle.’
‘And if the electronic miracle were to live up to its name and save him—how would you feel then?’
She sank back in her seat, biting her lip. In a low voice she said, ‘He’s an old man, and this isn’t the first attack he’s had. I don’t think I—believe in miracles.’
‘I’d be interested to know what beliefs you do hold, if any,’ said Jake Allard. ‘But that can wait. In the meantime, perhaps you could control your most obvious doubts, especially in front of Murray.’
‘Of course I will!’ she said indignantly. ‘What do you take me for?’ As soon as the words were spoken, she could have kicked herself.
She didn’t have to look at him to know he was smiling.
‘Another point for discussion at a later date, Miss Bannerman.’
Her hands clenched in her lap, the nails curling involuntarily into her palms. Was it possible that Murray could trust this man, like him—even tolerate him?
She saw the lights of the hospital in the distance with a strong feeling of relief. She would soon be rid of him, she thought. No doubt he had come to fetch her to Murray’s bedside out of consideration for the older man, but as Murray’s collapse had necessarily curtailed the discussions they had been having, there was no reason for him to linger, as she was prepared to make more than clear.
As the car turned in between the tall gates, she said, ‘I’d be grateful if you could drop me at the main entrance.’
‘I hate to pass up a novelty like your gratitude,’ he said. ‘But I’m afraid I can’t do as you request. I’m putting the car in the car park, and then we’re going in to see Murray together.’
Her voice shook with temper. ‘Forgive me, but aren’t you taking this togetherness thing a little too far? I’m sure you—intend to be kind,’ she added with heavy irony, ‘but from here on in, I’m sure Murray would prefer to see only members of his immediate family.’
‘Namely you and your brother, whenever he turns up.’ Jake Allard swung the car deftly into a spot between two other vehicles, and braked.
‘As a matter of fact, yes.’
He shook his head, as he switched off the lights and the ignition, and pocketed the keys. ‘I’m afraid it isn’t as simple as that, Miss Bannerman. There are other factors to be taken into account.’
‘Such as your overweening desire for control of Harlow Bannerman,’ Lisle asked sarcastically. ‘You can hardly badger Murray with business propositions now.’
‘I never did,’ he said flatly. ‘All the initial approaches have been made by him. Whatever your brother may choose to think, it’s Harlow Bannerman that needs Allard International at this juncture, and not the other way round. You’re a member of the company, Miss Bannerman, and a shareholder, presumably. Don’t you ever look at reports and balance sheets? I recommend that you do so, and in the near future. It could be instructive.’
She fumbled for the door catch, and the door swung open.
‘I don’t want to hear any more of this,’ she said, as she got out. ‘I’m going to see my grandfather. He’s all I need to know about right now.’
She had long legs and she strode out, hoping that he would take the hint and stay where he was, but when she reached the electronically operated sliding doors to the main foyer, he was beside her.
Lisle turned to him, her face frozen. ‘This is getting ridiculous.’
‘I quite agree,’ he said grimly. ‘Perhaps before you go rushing off in all directions to intensive care, you might care to listen to me for a moment. There’s something you ought to know.’
She looked up into the harshly unsmiling face, her green eyes widening. ‘There are—other complications? He can’t—oh God, he can’t be—dead already, and you haven’t told me?’
‘Of course not. But you’re right that there are complications—although it’s true to say that Murray is causing them, not suffering from them.’
Lisle felt unutterably weary. She slid a hand round the nape of her neck, freeing her heavy fall of copper hair from the confines of her coat collar.
‘All the complications seem to be in your head, Mr Allard. Could you explain more clearly, if you must, and a damned sight more quickly.’
‘Last time I gave you bad news, Miss Bannerman, you complained because I didn’t break it to you gently.’
‘Oh, I’m not listening to any more of this!’ Lisle turned away impatiently, but he detained her, taking her arm, not gently, and pulling her round to face him.
‘Yes, you are,’ he grated. ‘You’re going to listen, you spoiled little bitch, so that if Murray is conscious and able to speak, you’ll be able to tell him what he wants to hear.’
‘That I’m delighted he’s apparently selling out to you?’ Lisle demanded, green eyes sparkling. ‘The words would choke me.’
‘Then chew them well,’ he came back at her, his mouth twisting. ‘Because it’s no business deal he wants you to approve. What Murray’s waiting to hear is that I’ve asked you to marry me—and that you’ve agreed.’
CHAPTER TWO (#ue885cf81-97b1-5822-9665-485ebaad1f1f)
THERE was a long screaming silence.
At last, Lisle said huskily, ‘You—cannot be serious.’
Jake Allard said with a kind of weary impatience, ‘Is it likely I’d be joking—about such a thing—and at a time like this?’
She looked at him blankly. ‘But Murray couldn’t—he wouldn’t. …’
‘Wrong on both counts, I’m afraid.’ The grey eyes flickered over her, then still holding her arm Jake began to propel her towards some of the tan leather benches, placed back to back in the main reception area. He said abruptly, ‘Sit down. I’m going to phone up to the unit and see if they’re ready for us.’
Lisle was thankful to feel the solid support of the bench under her. Her mouth was dry and she was shaking from head to foot. She found herself thinking with sudden mocking clarity that if she collapsed, at least it would be in the right place. She placed her folded hands on her knees, and sat staring at them, noticing almost detachedly the white knuckles, the strained grip of the slender fingers. She felt shattered. Incapable of assimilating what Jake had said, or rationalising it.
It seemed a very long time before Jake came back, but she knew that in reality it was only a few minutes. She looked up at his dark face, mentally bracing herself for more bad news, more shocks, but his cool, guarded expression gave nothing away.
‘Sister says fifteen minutes. We’ll go to the cafeteria and wait there.’
She didn’t even think of protesting. She went with him across the foyer to the lifts. An elderly man holding a bunch of flowers, a youth, barely out of his teens by the look of him, with his arm tenderly round the shoulders of a massively pregnant girl were already waiting. As the lift began its upward journey, Lisle found her gaze straying constantly to the young couple. The girl’s left hand with its wide golden band lay protectively over her distended abdomen, and although she was clearly nervous, she was smiling up at her husband, her eyes bright with excitement and happiness.
Marriage, Lisle thought numbly, the ultimate partnership. Sharing a life, sharing a bed, conceiving a child in mutual passion, caring for it together ….
She glanced at Jake and found him watching her with such irony that her face was flooded with sudden, burning colour.
The cafeteria was a dazzle of bright lights, stainless steel, and red formica-topped tables with matching plastic seats. The coffee was surprisingly good and came in thick white institutional cups. Lisle refused anything to eat, but Jake bought a round of cheese sandwiches and ate them with every evidence of enjoyment. When he had finished, he pushed the plate away and looked at her.
‘For God’s sake stop staring at me as if you expect to be leapt upon at any moment,’ he said. ‘I promise you nothing could be further from my mind.’
‘I wasn’t!’ Lisle denied indignantly. ‘But you can’t expect to—to spring things on me like that and expect me to take it in my stride.’
‘I suppose not.’ He gave her a long, considering glance. ‘Well, Miss Bannerman, I think we’d better talk—or may I call you Lisle, seeing that we’re practically engaged.’
‘We are not engaged!’ Lisle returned her cup to its saucer with a bang that even put that sturdy china at risk. ‘I’d rather die!’
‘Death before dishonour?’ The firm lips curved in frank amusement. ‘That’s a curiously old-fashioned viewpoint.’
‘I don’t give a damn how old-fashioned it is,’ she said shortly. ‘Arranged marriages aren’t exactly eighties-style either.’
‘I don’t think the Asian community among us would necessarily agree with you.’ Jake’s tone was deceptively mild. ‘And they have our galloping divorce rate to back them up too. But that’s by the way—what I really want to get across to you is that you’re not to give Murray a blow-by-blow account of your true opinion of me, my manners, morals or anything else which occurs to you. This scheme of his to marry us to each other is dear to his heart, and you’re not going to upset him by dismissing it out of hand.’
Lisle sat up very straight on the uncomfortable plastic chair. ‘You’re not suggesting that I should—go along with it?’
‘Why not?’ He gave her a level look. ‘I’m prepared to—and I have just as little taste for you as you have for me, darling. But although you probably don’t know it, Murray and I go a long way back. He was good to me when I was starting up, and gave me a lot of help and advice. I owe him, in other words, and I think you do too, lady, if your expensive flat, your pretty clothes and your sinecure at Harlow Bannerman are anything to go by, not to mention the unlimited expense account you and your brother have been running.’
‘You have been busy,’ Lisle commented, a bright spot of colour in each cheek.
The grey eyes hardened with contempt. ‘It’s time someone was, sweetheart, otherwise your private gravy train could come off the rails for good. Your grandfather has decided I’m the right man for the job, and my appointment as managing director will be confirmed by the board early next week.’
‘Not if Gerard and I have anything to do with it,’ she said furiously.
‘Gerard will find himself isolated,’ he said curtly. ‘Perhaps you’ve forgotten that your voting shares in the company are under your grandfather’s control until you’re twenty-five, and he’s already signed a proxy supporting my appointment.’ He paused, then added with heavy emphasis, ‘And he’s selling me his own block of shares, so I won’t just be running the company, trying to get it back on its feet again, I’ll be controlling it too.’
Lisle drew a deep uneven breath. ‘You—you took advantage of a sick old man. …’
He gave a derisive laugh. ‘You’d better not let Murray hear you say that. He was in top form when he made our deal, and if you don’t believe me ask Oliver Grayson.’
‘That—Judas?’
He shrugged. ‘On the contrary, I found him a good man. I think we’re going to work well together.’
Lisle gripped the edge of the table, fighting for self-control. ‘I don’t believe a word of this. Grandfather would never sell his shares to you. He’s always been adamant that they should remain in the family.’
And as far as he’s concerned, they will,’ he said calmly. ‘But through his granddaughter and her husband, rather than his grandson as he’d intended. Gerard’s unfailing record of unreliability and self-interest has caught up with him at last, I’m afraid. He knew that I was moving in, and he could have stayed and fought for his place in the sun. But no. As soon as he thought the danger was averted, he just cleared out, and that kind of failure in judgment can be fatal when you’re trying to run a company in times like these.’
Lisle sat as if she had been turned to stone.
‘Of course,’ Jake went on, ‘you might have been able to warn him, if you’d shown your face in the office for the past ten days, but your attendance record is one of the poorest I’ve seen. Your department head is loyal to the Bannerman name. He said you were working on a promotion for the Salzburg Fair at home, but he didn’t speak with any real conviction. I suppose the poor guy has never dared tell you that real public relations work isn’t merely acting as some kind of high class call-girl at your brother’s behest.’
She said hoarsely, ‘You—bastard! How dare you. …’
‘I dare more than that,’ he said flatly. ‘I might not even complain if it had all paid off—if the intimate dinners for potential customers, the drunken thrashes at your flat, the weekends on the boat had produced a full order book. But even you must know that’s not the case. And yet you’ve a lovely face, and an enticing body, so what went wrong? Perhaps your heart wasn’t in your work.’
Lisle felt sick with rage and shame. That he, or anyone else, could think such things made her feel utterly degraded, even though there was no reason for it. She’d never been overwhelmed with enthusiasm for acting as Gerard’s hostess, but she played the role he had chosen for her to the best of her ability, learning to recognise the gleam in the eye which suggested that one of the guests might be getting the wrong idea, and distance herself with charm yet finality, because it was Harlow Bannerman she was selling, and not, under any circumstances, herself.
Yes, she had allowed Gerard to use the flat for parties, but then as Harlow Bannerman were subsidising the rent, she had felt she could hardly refuse. But she had attended few of them herself, usually spending the night with friends. And since Janie had moved in with her, she had been able to use that as an excuse for Gerard to go elsewhere, because there had been disturbing indications that some of the entertainments he gave were by no means as conventional or innocent as he claimed.
Gerard had often laughed at her, complaining that she was a prude, and perhaps she was. Uneasily she recalled again the slapped face incident, and his subsequent fury, and there had been other occasions when his attitude had switched from amusement to exasperation, when he had exerted none too subtle pressure on her to ‘relax’, to be ‘nicer’ to certain clients. At times they had come close to quarrelling about it, but not seriously, because she couldn’t believe that he meant it seriously.
But now suddenly she was no longer so sure. The fact that her own motives and behaviour had been so totally misunderstood was making her question Gerard’s for the first time, and shed a new and disturbing light on his half grumbling, half amused accusations of prudishness.
She swallowed, steadying her hurried breathing. ‘You have no right to say these things to me! What do you imagine my grandfather would think if he could hear you?’
‘Murray hasn’t been living in a vacuum for the past year or two,’ he said. ‘I don’t think he suffers from many illusions, even about you. Love isn’t always blind, you know. He probably wants to get you married off before some real disaster occurs. And as our paths hadn’t crossed, I expect he hoped I wouldn’t have heard of the reputation you were so busily garnering for yourself.’
Reputation, Lisle thought. If it wasn’t so appalling, it would be almost funny. Because Gerard’s accusations weren’t so far from the truth. She couldn’t explain it. It might be some kind of mental revulsion against her brother’s inveterate womanising, it might be that she had never met a man who appealed to her sufficiently, or even because of some basic unsuspected flaw deep within her personality, but she was still, at twenty-three, a virgin.
The coffee was cold now, and bitter, but even so she doubted if she could have lifted the cup without betraying how she was shaking. Jake was watching her closely—waiting for a confession, or some attempt at self-justification, she wondered furiously. Well, he’d wait for ever! she told herself, avoiding his intent gaze.
He said coolly, ‘It’s time we were going up to the ward. Sister was noncommittal but not particularly optimistic when I spoke to her, but he’s conscious, and when he sees us together there’ll be just one thing on his mind. Can I take it as read that you won’t contradict me if I tell him we’ve just become engaged?’
She moistened dry lips. ‘Will he believe it—as we’ve only just met?’
He shrugged one shoulder. ‘If we were trying to convince him it was a love match, probably not. But as all three of us know the score, I think it will be a great relief to him that we’re not wasting any time.’
‘That’s putting it mildly.’ Lisle threaded the strap of her bag through her fingers. She managed an unsteady laugh. ‘Just what am I being rushed into?’
‘Well, certainly not marriage,’ he drawled. ‘I have no plans in that direction, and if I had they wouldn’t include you, my dear Miss Bannerman. This is a pretence engagement, the sole purpose of which is to put your grandfather’s mind at rest and reassure him about your future when he’s no longer here to worry about you. So don’t indulge in any fantasies that I’ve been swept away by your undoubted charms.’ He stood up, and once again she was made unwillingly aware of his height, and the sheer domination of his personality. She had met a lot of successful men, but few of them had an iota of his undoubted physical attraction, and most of them by his age—mid-thirties, she judged— were already married and settled with families.
She walked silently beside him towards the lift, and still in silence rode up to the next floor where the intensive care unit was established.
It was like something out of a space odyssey, she thought uneasily, looking around her.
Sister in her sexless white gown was briskly reassuring. ‘He’s doing as well as can be expected, that’s all I can say,’ she told them in her office. She gave a rich chuckle. ‘He’s certainly a bonny fighter, but he’s been getting himself dangerously over-excited. He’s been giving my young nurses hell because they wouldn’t bring him a telephone trolley—the very idea! I had to speak severely to him,’ she added tranquilly.
Lisle managed a wavering smile in return. She was sitting in a chair facing Sister’s desk, and Jake was perched on the arm of it. She was acutely conscious of the warmth of his body near hers, and it had been all she could do not to draw away when he sat down so close to her.
Jake said calmly, ‘I hope the good news we have for him won’t have an adverse effect.’
‘Anything that will stop him worrying so much can only do good.’ Sister paused. ‘Am I to take it that congratulations are in order?’
With a shock, Lisle felt Jake’s hand cover hers, then lift it to his lips. It was only the briefest caress, but her flesh felt as if it had been seared with a brand.
‘You’ve guessed our secret, Sister,’ Jake said softly. He looked down into Lisle’s startled face, his lips smiling tenderly, but his grey eyes brilliant with mockery. ‘As we’re making no announcement yet, darling, we’re going to have to try and hide our feelings for each other, at least in public.’
Through frozen lips, she managed, ‘Yes.’
He bent towards her, and for one paralysed moment she thought he was going to kiss her on the mouth, and every nerve in her body reacted in tension. His touch on her hand had been ordeal enough, but to feel his lips on hers, caressing, exploring, parting, would be unendurable.
And he knew that quite well. Still holding her panic-stricken gaze with his, he drew back, his smile hardening sardonically. ‘Shall we go and see Murray, my sweet?’
Sister bustled out and they were left to follow.
Lisle’s lips moved. ‘I don’t think I can go through with this.’
Jake rose. ‘Oh yes, you bloody well can.’ He took her arms, hauling her bodily out of her seat. ‘Everyone is capable of one selfless act, and this is going to be yours. Murray is going to rest with a tranquil mind tonight because he knows that what he cares most about in the world—Harlow Bannerman and you—are both in safe hands. So smile, darling. Pretend I’m an important customer or that poor devil who was pawing you when I arrived at the flat.’
She said dazedly, ‘Who. …?’ and saw the contempt flare again in his face.
He said half under his breath, ‘No, I suppose you can’t even remember his name. God help any guy who falls hard for you, you little bitch. Now look happy, and remember it’s not for me, it’s for Murray.’
But she was hard put to it to retain any semblance of cheerfulness when she stood by her grandfather’s bed. She had never really understood what people meant when they talked about shadows of their former selves, but she knew now, because what seemed to be lying there was just a shadow of the man she loved. She sank her teeth into the softness of her inner lip as Murray Bannerman muttered something and opened his eyes. They had always been fiercely, intensely blue, but now that fire seemed muted, and his voice no more than a gruff whisper.
‘Darling girl—so you came. And Jake. That’s good. Good.’
She was amazed to hear how normal her voice sounded. ‘Of course we’re here. Don’t try to talk. Everything’s going to be fine.’
‘Fine,’ he repeated, and the faded eyes sought hers in a kind of entreaty. ‘You and Jake.’
‘Yes,’ she said, her tone firming. ‘He—he spoke to me about it, and although it was—rather a shock, I can see it would be best—for the company and for everyone, so I’ve agreed. I will marry him.’
The moment she’d spoken, she wished she hadn’t used those particular words. At this moment, and in the presence of a man who could be dying, they savoured too closely of some kind of oath, the precursor to some future ritual where she and Jake would be made one, and she shivered suddenly.
Jake said, ‘I’m going to take her away now, Murray, take her home, and let you get some rest. But we’ll be back in the morning. Sleep well.’
Lisle felt the pressure of his hand on her arm, and turned away, fighting sudden blinding tears. He looked so frail, she thought in agony. What guarantee was there that he would see another morning, or know that they would return to share it with him?
She knew Jake was watching her, his dark brows drawn together in a frown of genuine concern, and as they walked to the lift, she fought a superhuman battle for control of her emotions and won. She hated him. She wanted nothing from him, especially his compassion.
They reached the ground floor and the doors opened silently, Jake standing aside to allow her to precede him.
Lisle said rapidly, ‘There’s a public telephone over there. Would you mind calling me a taxi, please.’
‘There’s no need for that,’ he said brusquely. ‘You’re coming with me.’
‘Oh, please!’ Just for a moment her tone veered towards slight hysteria. ‘How far do we have to carry this farce? Grandfather can’t see us now, or know that we’ve gone our separate ways.’
His brows lifted. ‘I was looking at the situation rather more practically. As we’re both going to the Priory, one vehicle is surely quite sufficient.’
She looked at him stupidly, his words registering in some distant recess of her mind. ‘You—you’re staying at the Priory?’
‘I told you I was staying there,’ he said impatiently.
‘I’d forgotten.’ She gave herself a mental shake. ‘Not that it matters. I can go to a hotel.’
‘Like hell you can,’ he said grimly. ‘The Petersons are expecting you, and your old room has been prepared. What am I to tell them if you don’t turn up? That your aversion to me is so great you can’t face spending a night or two under the same roof?’
‘You’re the one with the instant solutions to everyone’s problems,’ she shot at him. ‘You think of something.’
‘I already have,’ he returned. ‘You’re coming to the Priory with me, if it means I have to kick your charming backside every step of the way to the car.’
Lisle was going to say, ‘You wouldn’t dare,’ but the words shrivelled in her throat as she realised there was very little if anything that Jake Allard wouldn’t dare.
‘Very wise,’ he approved sardonically, reading her sudden silence with perfect accuracy. ‘What a tragedy you weren’t the man of the family. You have an infinitely better nose for danger than Gerard has. Now come on. Mrs Peterson promised she’d have supper waiting for us whatever time we got there.’
‘Oh, I’m sure she’s had her orders,’ Lisle said scornfully. ‘But don’t you think you’re being a little premature—coming on like the master of all you survey? You’re not in the driving seat yet.’
‘Perhaps not,’ he said silkily. ‘But when I am, my copper-haired vixen, you’re going to be the first one to know.’
Lisle tossed her head angrily, and giving him a look in which frustrated rebellion and sheer venom were mixed about equally, went ahead of him into the darkness.
The Priory was only a few miles’ drive away, and as the car drew up on the gravelled sweep in front of the house, Lisle could see the massive double doors already opening to reveal Mrs Peterson’s anxious figure in the stream of light from the hall.
‘Oh, Miss Lisle!’ Mrs Peterson’s arms clasped her to her ample bosom. ‘What a homecoming for you, my dear! But he’ll get over it, don’t you fret. He’ll see us all out, I shouldn’t wonder.’
Lisle smiled faintly as she kissed the plump cheek. ‘Sister says he’s a bonny fighter, Petey.’
‘Hasn’t he always been?’ Mrs Peterson smiled at Jake. ‘Good evening, sir, and thank you for bringing her. I’ve laid supper in the small dining room—it’s cosier for two. I’ll go and see to the soup while Peterson takes Miss Lisle’s case up to her room.’
Lisle had been about to intervene, and say she couldn’t eat a thing and would prefer to go straight to her room, but at the mention of soup, hunger betrayed her. She knew Petey’s soups of old, made from bone and marrow stock and thick with fresh vegetables. Even Jake’s presence across the table couldn’t take the edge off such delights, she thought, realising how empty she was. No wonder, really. All she’d consumed since a light lunch had been a gin and tonic, a few canapés, and a cup of coffee at the hospital.
She washed and tidied her hair in the downstairs cloakroom, but left her face innocent of make-up. The last thing she wanted was Jake Allard to think she was employing any deliberate arts to attract him.
When she went into the drawing room, he was standing in front of the log fire, whisky and soda in hand. He said, ‘May I get you something?’
‘The perfect host,’ she said on a jeering note. ‘No, thanks.’ Alcohol might help her to relax, she thought, but it was more important to keep all her wits about her.
He said, ‘You have a very beautiful home.’
‘Indeed I have,’ she agreed. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t persuaded Grandfather to sell it to you, along with everything else.’
Jake looked amused. ‘I still might.’
‘No, you won’t,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘The Priory comes to me in Grandfather’s will. Gerard gets his collection of pictures, the London flat and half the money. He showed us both when he drew the will up a few years ago.’
His brows rose in mocking acknowledgment. ‘Very businesslike. And how reassuring to know exactly where you stand.’
‘Indeed it is.’ Lisle drew a deep breath. ‘And I hope I don’t have to inherit for at least ten years, if not twenty.’
The mockery was wiped away. He said soberly, ‘I wouldn’t count on it, Lisle.’
‘Don’t say that.’ She shook her head in violent negation.
‘Like you, I hope he lives for ever,’ he said quietly. ‘But we need to be realistic.’
She didn’t want realism. She wanted the comfort and reassurance that her grandfather had represented since she was a small child. Without him, she thought confusedly, she would be totally bereft. If the worst did happen, she would leave London and come to live here in the house she loved. Her inheritance should ensure an adequate income, and she could live within it as long as she wasn’t extravagant. She wouldn’t really regret the loss of her job in the public relations department at Harlow Bannerman. She hadn’t been a roaring success there, although she’d often felt she might have been if she’d only been given a chance. But nothing exacting, nothing that might stretch her mind and get the best out of her had ever come her way. The Bannerman name had always been there like a barrier. They had treated her like an unpredictable toddler, treading warily round her, and feeding her the odd unimportant sweet to keep her quiet. They had written her off as useless before she had even got there, she thought resentfully, and no one had ever bothered to discover what her capabilities were since.
She thought, without surprise, that it was probably from the PR department that the rumours about her sexual favours to customers had first emanated. She couldn’t pretend that she was the flavour of the month with many of her colleagues. In fact, she heard herself described as ‘Lady Muck’ on more than one occasion when they thought she was out of the way. At the time, it had hurt, but she had made herself laugh it off. She was Lisle Bannerman, and nothing they could say could touch her.
Only now she knew differently. Mud had been thrown, and some of it had stuck as it had a habit of doing. The kind of things which had been said about her, the kind of implications which had been drawn from her behaviour made her feel unclean, and the thought that some of these vile rumours had found their way back to her grandfather and distressed him was intolerable. Yet he had never uttered one word of warning or reproach, she thought numbly.
Mrs Peterson’s soup was everything she had remembered and more, and the cold roast chicken which followed was accompanied by a salad made infinitely more exciting by a selection of exotic ingredients. Jake asked for cheese to follow, but Lisle succumbed to the blatant temptation of a slice of home-made treacle tart, accompanied by thickly whipped cream.
Afterwards, Mrs Peterson deposited a tray of coffee in the drawing room and wished them goodnight.
Lisle poured the coffee, conscious of a feeling of awkwardness. Supper had been easier than she anticipated, with Mrs Peterson bustling in and out, making sure they were enjoying their food, and that they had everything they needed.
But now they had been left almost pointedly alone, and it made Lisle uneasy.
Jake on the other hand looked perfectly at ease. He had removed his jacket and slung it over the back of the big leather chesterfield and loosened his tie, and now he was leaning back, waiting for his coffee.
She handed him his cup, almost slopping it into the saucer in her haste, then got up to add another log to the already adequate fire, and fussily adjust one of the ornaments on the mantelpiece.
Jake gave her a bored look. ‘Relax, for God’s sake,’ he told her. ‘Rape is not imminent.’
‘I never imagined it was,’ she snapped, re-seating herself behind the coffee tray, and adding cream to her own cup.
Jake grinned suddenly. It made him look younger, and even more attractive, and Lisle decided she preferred him scowling. ‘Then you should have,’ he said. ‘After all, we have the perfect set-up—a flickering fire, a beautiful girl, and damn all on television.’
In spite of loathing him, she felt her lips quiver. ‘Aren’t you the flatterer!’
‘Not usually,’ he said. He drank his coffee, and set the cup down on a table near his seat with a deliberation that she found slightly unnerving. He looked at her, and she thought confusedly that the lamplight had softened the colour of his eyes to silver. He held out his hand, and his voice was very gentle suddenly. ‘Come here.’
And the shattering thing was that it would have been the easiest thing in the world to have got out of that chair and gone to him. It was unbelievable that she could feel that way, but she did. He was her enemy, and she hated him. He had insulted her and outraged all her feelings ever since he had walked into her life, and yet she remembered the way his mouth had scorched her hand, and knew that, in his arms, her whole body could turn to living flame.
And remembered too, just in time, that he thought she was the worst kind of tramp.
She said huskily, ‘I’ll see you in hell first.’
‘Heaven might be more enjoyable,’ he suggested, but she could hear the cynical note. He thought she was just playing hard to get, and that sooner rather than later she would let him make love to her.
She rose to her feet with a faint smile. ‘Heaven?’ she queried. ‘Now you’re flattering yourself, Mr Allard. I’ll leave you to your fantasies, and go to bed. Alone.’
‘What a waste,’ he said softly. ‘You wouldn’t be disappointed. I’m sure my performance would reach the standard you’ve come to expect.’
‘A personal guarantee,’ she marvelled. ‘Now there’s a novelty! But I’m still not tempted. Goodnight.’
‘One thing I would guarantee.’ His voice was silky. ‘That—come the dawn—at least you’d remember my bloody name. There’s another novelty.’
Lisle, walked to the door, nerves jumping at every step, in case he came after her. Because in spite of everything that had happened, she wasn’t sure how she would react if he touched her, seriously wanted her. She hoped she would kick and bite and scratch to be free, behave like the vixen he’d called her, but she wasn’t issuing any guarantees at all, and she knew she wouldn’t feel safe until she was safely up in her room behind a door which, for the first time in her life, she would lock.
CHAPTER THREE (#ue885cf81-97b1-5822-9665-485ebaad1f1f)
LISLE woke with a start in the pitch dark, remembering she had forgotten to telephone Gerard. Well, not forgotten, simply had no opportunity to do so without Jake guessing what she was up to. And she didn’t want him to know. She wanted to be able to speak to Gerard in perfect privacy without Jake being able to overhear so much as a word.
Not for the first time, she sighed over Murray’s intransigence on the subject of phone extensions in bedrooms. He thought they were immoral, a blatant temptation to people to be idle and run up enormous bills at the same time.
‘A telephone’s place is in the library,’ he said. ‘Let people make their calls at a civilised hour or not at all.’
The middle of the night was hardly a civilised time, Lisle thought ruefully, but it was all that was available.
She had fallen asleep at once, behind that safely locked door, so she hadn’t heard Jake pass her room on his way to bed, but he would be sound asleep by now.
She sighed as she pushed back the covers and reached reluctantly for her robe. The first thing she would have to do was go to Gerard’s own room, find his address book, and hope that Carla Foxton’s Barbados villa was in it. If that address book ever fell into the wrong hands, it would probably be grounds for a dozen divorces, she thought as she padded softly across the carpet to the door. She stood for a moment on the landing, listening intently, but the house was at peace, not a light showing anywhere.
She found the address book in Gerard’s bureau, and slid it into the pocket of her robe, before beginning the journey downstairs.
The drawing room door was open when she reached the hall, and she could see the remaining embers of the logs still glowing red in the wide hearth. She wondered if Jake had remembered to set the spark guard in front of the fire, and decided she would see to it on the way back.
She closed the library door behind her noiselessly, and switched on the light, blinking for a few seconds at the sudden glare. Murray’s big desk was set in the window recess, and the telephone was perched on one corner of it, trim scarlet lines looking strangely out of place among the antiques and rubbed leather which surrounded it.
After some initial difficulty in dialling, she managed to get through to the villa. The phone rang for a long time, and she was just about to give it up as a bad job, when the receiver was lifted and a woman’s voice said, ‘Yes?’
Lisle spoke politely, ‘Good evening, Mrs Foxton. I wonder if I could speak to Gerard Bannerman.’
Silence crackled at her. Then, ‘Who is this?’
‘I’m his sister, Lisle. We met once, actually, at the Hargreaves’ dinner party.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Carla Foxton’s voice conveyed complete indifference. ‘Well, what makes you think Gerard’s here, Miss Bannerman?’
Lisle prayed for patience. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m not sure where he is, Mrs Foxton. I hoped you might be able to help me. You see, there’s rather a crisis here. My grandfather has had a severe heart attack, and I feel Gerard should come back immediately, for a number of reasons.’ She paused, but there was no response from the other woman. ‘So, if you do happen to know where he is, perhaps you could pass on a message for me.’
Another lengthy pause, then Carla Foxton said curtly, ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ And rang off.
Lisle sighed as she replaced her own receiver more slowly. It occurred to her that really she liked very few of Gerard’s women, and Carla Foxton probably least of all. She was petite, black-haired and beautiful in a voluptuous way which spoke of the Latin-American blood in her recent ancestry, and Gerard had been frankly besotted with her for several months. Carla was some fifteen years younger than her wealthy indulgent husband, and although Gerard was undoubtedly more to her taste as a lover, their affair had been carried on fairly discreetly. Carla much preferred to have the best of both worlds, and was shrewd enough to ensure that she did so. Lisle could understand her caution on the phone, but not the lack of humanity she had displayed.
Dispiritedly, she walked to the door, and stepped out into the hall, pausing as her hand reached for the switch to plunge the library back into its former peaceful darkness.
‘Walking in your sleep?’ Jake asked.
She nearly screamed, her hand flying to her mouth just in time to stifle the sound, so that it emerged instead as a kind of strangled squeak.
He was lounging in the doorway to the drawing room, his hand clasped round a tumbler of whisky. His head was thrown back slightly, and the grey eyes were narrowed as he looked at her.
Lisle said faintly, ‘You—you startled me.’
‘You startled me,’ he returned pleasantly. ‘When I saw you go past the door, I thought for a moment you were the resident ghost.’ A faint appreciative smile twisted the corners of his mouth. ‘But if you were, of course, I’d be able to see right through you, instead of merely through that pretty nonsense you’re wearing.’
Lisle realised with embarrassed dismay that, standing in the strong light streaming from the room behind her, she was providing him with a frank revelation of the outline of her body through the thin nightdress and robe. Hastily her hand moved to the switch again, snapping it to the ‘off’ position.
‘What are you doing down here?’ she asked. Apart from a couple of extra buttons unfastened on his shirt, he was dressed exactly as when she had left him. It didn’t seem as if he’d been to bed at all.
‘Thinking,’ he said. ‘And drinking.’ He held up the tumbler of whisky in a kind of mocking salute.
‘You find alcohol aids your thought processes?’
‘I find that sometimes it blocks them out altogether, which can be equally useful. May I ask, in return, what you’re doing down here?’
‘I—I couldn’t sleep,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Worrying about Grandfather, I suppose.’ She gestured towards the doorway behind her. ‘I came down to get a book.’
He looked past her into the shadowed room with its tier upon tier of booklined shelves, then back to her empty hands. He began to laugh.
‘But you couldn’t find one. Or have you read them all before?’
She glared at him. ‘Only I decided I’d rather have some hot milk instead. I was just going to get it.’
‘Hot milk,’ he said softly. ‘How very girlish. May I recommend my own personal anodyne instead?’
‘Whisky, I suppose.’ Lisle pulled a small, jeering face.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Not whisky.’ And his eyes slid down her body from head to foot, assessing her in a slow deliberate sensual scrutiny, which left her oddly breathless and as vulnerable as if it had been his hands which had stripped her and left her naked beneath his hungry gaze.
She said on a little gasp, ‘You’re disgusting!’
‘And you’re a hypocrite,’ he said derisively. ‘You know what to expect when you flaunt yourself in front of a man with hardly a stitch on. And I’m not interested in your fables about books and hot milk either. There’s a very good reason why we should both be roaming the house at two in the morning suffering from insomnia, and I’m sure I don’t have to spell it out to you.’
She swallowed. ‘It isn’t what you think. …’
‘As I’ve already told you, I’ve stopped thinking.’ Jake put the glass down on the huge carved chest which stood against the wall next to him. ‘I suggest you do the same. Just let your feelings take over. We may not like each other, Lisle, but I’m ready to bet any money that we have a common meeting ground just the same.’
He walked towards her, watching her, missing nothing, she thought desperately as she tried to steady her breathing, to control the hurry of her small breasts under the lace bodice of her nightdress.
He touched her face, his thumb caressing the soft curve of her cheek, his fingers discovering the delicacy of her jawline.
He said quietly, ‘If it’s any consolation, I never intended this to happen either.’
He took her quite gently into his arms, not kissing her, just holding her against the hard, lean length of him, and deep within her a pang of desire began a crescendo into real pain.
She was bewildered by it. It was too new to her experience, too sharp, and too urgent for her to know how to deal with it, although in some dim recess of her mind, something told her that she should pull away now while she still had some will to do so.
She knew by the pressure of Jake’s body against hers that he was deeply and hotly aroused, and in the past she had always found that faintly disturbing, even alarming. Evidence, she had thought, of passions and emotions which seemed to pass her by, and which she had no wish to share.
Now, suddenly, it was exciting to know that she was wanted, and she evinced no kind of protest as his hands slid down her body to her slender hips, moulding her against him, because she knew that she wanted to be even closer still.
His hands moved on her without haste, his fingers stroking her body through the thin nightdress, the silky material creating a sweet erotic friction against her skin. She was silent, eyes closed, within the circle of his arms, conscious only of this new sensual clamour in her blood, the uneven race of her pulse.
A few hours before, the thought of his kiss had filled her with tension, but now, when his hand gently cupped her throat, tipping her head back slightly so that his mouth could find hers, she reached for him with blind eagerness, like a parched flower thirsting for rain. His lips were warm and incredibly sensuous, demanding and winning an equally passionate response from her. Her hands locked behind his dark head, she felt her senses swim, her body melt in quivering eagerness.
Still kissing her, Jake slid an arm beneath her knees, lifting her bodily off the floor, then carried her across the hall to the warm shadows of the drawing room.
He knelt, lowering her gently to the huge fur rug spread in front of the fire, sliding the robe from her shoulders as he did so. The breath caught in her throat as she looked up at him, saw the grey eyes glittering suddenly, and hungrily intent. With the first sign of impatience he had shown, he pushed down the straps of her nightgown, baring the small rounded breasts, and Lisle gasped, lifting her hands instinctively to cover herself.
His fingers gripped her wrists, tugging her hands away. He said in a low voice, ‘You’re too beautiful to hide yourself. Let me look at you. I want to see every perfect inch.’
He freed her arms, and pulled the nightdress down from her body. In an agony of shyness, Lisle closed her eyes as she felt the soft silk slither away. There was little light in the room, but she’d never been naked in front of a man before, and it was a shattering experience for her, the cool reserve, which had always been her safeguard, broken in pieces.
Jake kissed her deeply and hotly, the aching thrust of his lips against hers exciting her feverishly. His hands closed on her breasts, his fingertips stroking their sensitive peaks, and she gave a little husky moan, her mind blanking out at a point between desire and panic.
He pulled away from her, and she knew by his movements, from the small telltale rustling noises, that he was taking his clothes off. When he took her in his arms again, the point of no return would have been reached, she knew, and it wouldn’t be long after that before he was aware of her woeful lack of experience, and a long inward shudder gripped her as she wondered weakly what his reaction would be, recognising the fact that he could well be angry. After all, a willing woman was what he wanted, was expecting. A frightened virgin would make a poor substitute.
His lips brushed her eyelids. ‘Falling asleep?’ he sounded mocking. ‘You can’t be shy.’
Can’t I? she thought, her body thrilling involuntarily at the touch of his skin against hers.
‘Open your eyes,’ he ordered huskily. ‘You won’t be turned to stone.’ His hand moved down her body, moulding and tracing every supple fluent line as if he was learning her by heart, and she swallowed, her breath thickening as his fingers lingered intimately on her thigh, their subtle pressure luring her to a new and devastating submission. He was kissing her body, his mouth moving slowly and pleasurably on her skin, his head dark as night against her whiteness. She was dissolving in waves of delight, poised on the edge of yielding totally, letting those diabolically experienced hands explore her in any way he wished.
The sudden violent thresh of the telephone bell was like the shock of an electric current, a whiplash across her senses. Jake swore, levering himself away from her, the swift dark anger in his face turning to ruefulness as he looked down at her.
‘I’ll have to answer that before the Petersons do.’
Dry-mouthed, Lisle said, ‘Their room is in another wing. They won’t hear. …’
He drew a finger over her lips, silencing her. ‘You realise that it might be the hospital,’ he said quietly, and was gone.
She put her hands over her eyes, wanting to die of shame. No, she thought, it hadn’t occurred to her, because she’d been lost to all sense of reality, aware only of the devastation of this physical arousal he had created in her.
She sat up shivering, feeling bleak and cold, reaching for her crumpled nightdress and dragging it over her head, guilt and shame warring inside her.
How could she have behaved like this? she wondered desperately. In a matter of hours after their first meeting, Jake had made her act like the slut he believed her to be, and she would never forgive herself. Grandfather could be dying, and she had let a man she didn’t even like strip and touch her and kiss her, without lifting a finger to stop him.
She huddled on her robe, and sat hugging her knees, staring with empty eyes at the charred logs in the wide grate as she waited for Jake to come back.
He said from the doorway, ‘It’s Gerard. Returning the call you made to him earlier.’
Lisle got up stiffly, not daring to look at him, and fled to the library.
‘What’s he doing there?’ Gerard demanded instantly, without even the preamble of a greeting.
‘Taking over the company, unless you can stop him. What do you think?’ Lisle retorted.
He cursed viciously. ‘I’ll get the next plane out. Thank God Carla gave me your message, although it was touch and go,’ he added on a unmistakable note of satisfaction. ‘I don’t think she altogether believed you’re my sister. She was actually jealous!’
Lisle felt a little sick. ‘I’m not really interested in the emotional games you and your women friends play,’ she said tautly. ‘Aren’t you going to ask about Grandfather?’
‘Just how sick is he?’ he asked sharply. ‘What guarantee is there that I’m going to be in time?’
‘None at all,’ Lisle’s voice was crisp. ‘Thanks for caring.’
He sighed. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean it like that, sweetie. I’m just in a bit of a state, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting this—any of it.’
‘Nor was I.’ Lisle’s tone was still short. ‘Can I tell Grandfather that you’re on your way when we go and see him tomorrow—today?’ she corrected herself hurriedly.
‘Of course,’ Gerard said slowly. ‘Lisle—when you said “we” …’
‘That’s exactly what I meant.’ She was aware that Jake was standing in the doorway watching her, buttoning his shirt and stuffing it into the waistband of his slacks as he did so.
‘You keep that bastard away from Grandfather, do you hear!’ Gerard snapped with angry emphasis.
Lisle smiled bitterly. ‘If only it was as simple as that. Just get here as soon as you can.’ She put the receiver back on the rest and turned to face Jake with spurious calm.
He looked back at her with an angry disgust he did not bother to conceal. ‘I’d fogotten the telephone was in the library,’ he said half to himself. ‘That’s why you were in there, of course, summoning the cavalry to come galloping to the rescue.’ His mouth curled. ‘But you picked up the cue I gave you quite brilliantly, darling. When the world of public relations has nothing more to offer you, which should be soon, you might try the stage. A certain class of production, of course. All that romantic trembling, the modestly averted eyes as you take your clothes off, would be a riot with the dirty raincoat brigade.’
She shrugged elaborately, not daring to meet his hostile gaze directly. ‘It left you cold, naturally.’
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Sara Craven
Mills & Boon proudly presents THE SARA CRAVEN COLLECTION. Sara’s powerful and passionate romances have captivated and thrilled readers all over the world for five decades making her an international bestseller.he wanted the impossible–his love!Learning that her grandfather was critically ill was a severe shock for Lisle. Then she discovered that he planned to give Jake Allard control of their family business and arrange a marriage between her and Jake!It would never work–Jake detested her. And yet he was willing to give the marriage a chance for convenience sake. "I want your social acumen and your body," he'd said.But Lisle wanted more–she wanted his love. And that seemed to be reserved for another woman!
A Bad Enemy
Sara Craven
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Former journalist SARA CRAVEN published her first novel ‘Garden of Dreams’ for Mills & Boon in 1975. Apart from her writing (naturally!) her passions include reading, bridge, Italian cities, Greek islands, the French language and countryside, and her rescue Jack Russell/cross Button. She has appeared on several TV quiz shows and in 1997 became UK TV Mastermind champion. She lives near her family in Warwickshire – Shakespeare country.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
COVER (#u28a072b4-62ad-547b-9133-ee6529a16560)
TITLE PAGE (#ue036930a-d8c4-5880-a3b4-e432e7fd2d84)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#ufc94812d-e483-556f-ae85-b82655c70f67)
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
ENDPAGE (#litres_trial_promo)
COPYRIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ue885cf81-97b1-5822-9665-485ebaad1f1f)
‘WONDERFUL party, darling,’ the man said. He was smiling owlishly and slurring his words, and Lisle wondered without interest who he was. A friend of Janie’s, perhaps. Certainly no one she knew.
‘Thank you.’ She gave him an absent smile and tried to move past him down the passage to the kitchen. ‘It’s not a wonderful party,’ she thought. ‘It’s a lousy party, and I’m bored out of my skull. I wish they’d all go.’
She was amazed to hear herself. She was the girl who enjoyed life to the full, who only needed a few hours’ sleep, whose pace never slackened.
‘I’m starting to believe my own publicity,’ she thought ruefully.
‘Where are you goin’?’ The man seized her arm, his face plaintive. His fingers felt warm and clammy on her skin, and she had to repress a shiver of distaste.
She tried to detach herself, but he hung on. ‘To get some more ice.’ She kept her voice cool and equable, because she didn’t know who he was. Someone had once made a semi-drunken pass at her at a party, and she’d administered a crushing snub and a slapped face, only to discover when taxed on the matter by a furious Gerard that he had been an important client, and she had just lost Harlow Bannerman a contract that they had wanted. Since then, she had learned to handle the casual fondling, the innuendoes and sometimes blatant propositioning with imperturbable charm. As Gerard had pointed out, it was part of her job.
‘Don’ leave me,’ the man said, and winked at her. ‘I’ve been trying to get you alone all evening.’
She doubted that. The truth was probably that he had seen her slip out of the room and followed, fancying his chances, and now he was blocking the way to the kitchen and leering.
She groaned inwardly, and at the same moment the doorbell pealed loudly. Saved by the bell, she told herself drily, inwardly blessing the late arrival.
She threw the front door open, smiling with determined gaiety, but the man on the threshold didn’t smile back. In fact the expression on his face was almost one of contempt, which was ridiculous considering he was a complete stranger to her.
Lisle wondered for a moment if he was a new neighbour coming to complain about possible noise, because he wasn’t a party guest, or even a hopeful gatecrasher. Instinct told her that.
He said, ‘Miss Bannerman?’
She went on smiling. ‘Yes?’
A dark forbidding face, she thought, the features harshly marked, with a firm-lipped mouth and a nose which had quite evidently been broken at some time in its career, but attractive nonetheless.
He said, ‘Perhaps we could have a private word—preferably out of earshot of that—bear-garden.’ He waved towards the muted roar of the party.
‘Oh dear.’ Lisle raised her eyebrows. ‘So who are you? The police—the bailiffs—the Inland Revenue?—because whoever you are, I think you’ve got the wrong person.’
He shook his head, the wintry grey eyes going impassively over her, taking in every detail of the expensive black dress from the low neckline to the skirt slit as far as her thigh.
‘I don’t think so.’ There was a sudden burst of noisy laughter from the living room, and he glanced towards the half-closed door, his mouth twisting. ‘And how will this ultimately feature in the Harlow Bannerman accounts?’ he asked. ‘As entertaining clients?’
‘My God!’ Lisle struck a pose of exaggerated horror. ‘It is the Inland Revenue!’ The owlish man released his grip on her arm and slid back to the party, leaving them alone in the narrow hall, watching each other warily.
She said, ‘All joking apart, would you mind telling me who you are, and what you want?’
‘In privacy—yes.’ He walked past her unhurriedly, down the passage, away from the din of the party. ‘In here, perhaps.’ He opened a door.
‘And perhaps not,’ Lisle said indignantly. ‘That happens to be my bedroom.’
He said grimly, ‘Spare me the coy protests, Miss Bannerman, they don’t go with your clothes. I assure you I’m not in the mood, and even if I were, you overestimate your charms where I’m concerned.’
The breath caught in her throat. She said slowly, ‘I—think I’ve just been—insulted. Will you leave now, or must I have you thrown out?’
‘You have to have me thrown,’ he said at once. ‘And before you do perhaps I should tell you that your grandfather was taken ill this afternoon, and is asking for you. He isn’t expected to live.’
She made a muffled sound and sank down on the bed, pressing her hand against her mouth, her green eyes widening in shocked incredulity.
She exclaimed, ‘This afternoon? But why has no one been in touch—why wasn’t I told before?’
‘You could have been,’ he said, ‘if you entertained less, or left your phone on the hook more. I’ve been trying to make contact for several hours. In the end I decided it would be easier to come in person and fetch you myself.’
‘Breaking the news to me gently en route,’ she said in a shaky breath.
‘You’re tough, Miss Bannerman. You can take it.’ But the grim note in his voice told her it would make little difference to him whether she could or not.
‘Who are you?’ she demanded.
‘Jake Allard,’ he said. ‘You may or may not have heard of me.’
She’d heard of him all right, but she’d never bargained for meeting him, and the shock of it drove the breath out of her body for a moment. Gerard had confidently insisted that he was no longer a threat, but here, in the confined space of her bedroom, he seemed about as threatening as it was possible to get.
‘You seem lost for words,’ he observed, after a pause. ‘How about “I thought you were in the States"?’
Her lips parted to deny all knowledge of him, or interest in him or his movements, and then closed again.
‘Very wise.’ He sounded faintly amused for the first time. ‘I wouldn’t have believed you. I’m sure that brother of yours has been keeping you well up to date on the whole situation.’
Not, she thought, if you’re here when he thinks you’re in America.
It was over a year since Gerard had first mentioned Jake Allard’s name. At that time, he had been no more than a cloud no bigger than a man’s hand on the Harlow Bannerman horizon, but in the months which followed, he had assumed ever larger and more ominous proportions.
‘He wants the company,’ Gerard had stated flatly. Allard International have a small electronics subsidiary of their own, and he wants to expand it. We have the know-how that he needs, but he doesn’t want to pay for it. He knows that we’ve been badly hit by the recession and he reckons if he waits long enough he can pick us up for peanuts. That’s of course if Grandfather doesn’t invite him to join the Board anyway.’
Lisle had given him a swift anxious glance. ‘You think that’s likely?’
‘I wish I didn’t.’ Gerard lit a cigarette and puffed at it edgily. ‘But when I got back from Rome last week, Oliver Grayson told me they were practically living in each other’s pockets.’ He added furiously, ‘He seemed delighted.’
Oliver Grayson would, of course. He had all the respect in the world for their grandfather Murray Bannerman, who had built the company up from nothing, and he had been close to their father too, but he had never made any secret of the fact that he felt it was time the family control over the firm ran out, and that Gerard would achieve his ambition of becoming managing director, and ultimately, the chairman only over his dead body. A solution which would suit Gerard perfectly well, Lisle thought drily.
Oliver Grayson wouldn’t altogether object if Harlow Bannerman became part of the expanding Allard empire. He must have been desperately disappointed when all the talk in the financial papers of takeovers and mergers quietly died away, and Gerard announced that Jake Allard had gone to the States to open a new research laboratory, adding with satisfaction that there had been a slight rise in the value of Harlow Bannerman shares.
Now Lisle looked at Jake Allard, her face expression-less.
‘I take it that you’ve been at the Priory.’
‘A private visit, at your grandfather’s invitation.’ He gave her a faint smile. ‘So, if you’re trying to pin the blame for this latest attack on to me, forget it. You know as well as I do what a sick man he’s been, and I’d say that your brother’s machinations, and your increasingly public performances haven’t done a great deal to contribute to his well-being.’ He eyed her levelly for a moment. ‘So now perhaps you could get a move on, unless being stubborn and obstructive is a trait you share with your brother.’
Lisle opened one of the fitted cupboards which ran the length of one wall, dragged out a weekend case, and began to hurl things into it, almost at random. She was trying to keep her temper under control, to concentrate on the thought of her grandfather and her concern for him.
Because he had always been the rock in her life. Her mother had died when she was born, and as her father had been a charming lightweight who had preferred travelling the world, selling Harlow Bannerman, rather than providing a stable home background for two growing children, Lisle and Gerard had been brought up instead at the Priory, under Murray Bannerman’s aegis.
But now the rock was crumbling, and she felt the stirrings of a blind panic within her. She retrieved a scent spray from the dressing table and in the mirror she saw Jake Allard reflected, watching her, the grey eyes icily inimical, and the panic grew.
She said, ‘Does Gerard know?’
‘He seems to have disappeared,’ he drawled. ‘I’ve set Grayson on to look for him, but perhaps you can help us trace him. I imagine he’s on one of his expense account forays after someone else’s wife.’
She raised her eyebrows scornfully. ‘A puritan, Mr Allard? How unusual!’
‘In your circle, without a doubt.’ His hard mouth twisted. ‘But I’m no puritan, sweetheart, so don’t push your luck. I’m quite prepared to believe that you share your brother’s alleycat standards.’
Lisle was holding her hairbrush. It was a heavy one, silver-backed, and she threw it at him with all her strength. He dodged without haste, and fielded it neatly to her chagrin.
‘Red hair and a temper to match,’ he said softly. ‘Well, control it when I’m around, Miss Bannerman, or I shall take this brush and apply it hard to a portion-of your spoiled anatomy. Do I make myself clear?’
‘More than clear.’ Her rounded breasts were rising and falling stormily, but most of her anger was directed at herself. She should have stayed cool, not allowed him to get at her, or at least let him know that he had done so. She swallowed, steadying her breathing deliberately. ‘I’m going to change now, so perhaps you’d leave the room.’
He lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. ‘If you feel it’s necessary.’ His gaze slid mercilessly down her body. ‘That dress, after all, leaves little to the imagination.’
‘But fortunately,’ she snapped, ‘not everyone has your brand of imagination!’
The door was flung open, and Janie appeared on a little breeze of resentment. ‘I thought you were supposed to be getting more ice. Alan’s drink is practically coming to the boil. …’ She stopped dead. ‘Oh dear,’ she went on after a well-judged pause. ‘I appear to be interrupting something. Lisle darling, you really should learn to lock your door.’
‘You’re interrupting nothing,’ Lisle said wearily, noticing Janie’s eyes bright with malicious interest. She was used to Janie. Jake Allard wasn’t, and she knew that crack about the locked door would have been noted and filed away for future reference. ‘I’m sorry about the ice. As it happens, I’ve got to break up the party. I’m going away for a few days.’
‘Now that is fast work!’ Janie’s incredibly long mascaraed lashes were fluttering as if they’d been caught in a gale. ‘Not that I blame you, darling, not for one moment.’ She sent Jake Allard one of her deliberately provocative sexy looks, and he laughed suddenly, the harsh lines of his face softening into genuine amusement.
When he wasn’t being a bastard, he could be diabolically attractive, Lisle realised wonderingly.
She said quietly, ‘Janie, Grandfather’s dying.’
For a second her flatmate’s face wore an expression of almost ludicrous astonishment. ‘But he can’t be, darling! He’s Murray Bannerman. He’s immortal—everyone knows that.’ In one of her mercurial changes of mood, she was sober suddenly, taking control. ‘You look ghastly. I’ll finish your case.’ She looked at Jake Allard. ‘Perhaps you’d get Lisle a drink. She looks as if she could do with a brandy. And yourself, of course.’
‘Not now, thanks. I’ve a long drive ahead.’ He went out, closing the door behind him.
Janie swept up a handful of underwear and tucked it into the corner of the case. ‘Who was that?’
‘Jake Allard.’ Lisle was feeling limp again. She sat down on the dressing stool.
‘My God! No wonder his face seemed familiar.’
‘You know him?’
‘Graham does.’ That was her boss. ‘And I’ve seen the odd blurred pic in the financial pages. According to all reports, he’s dynamite, and not only in the boardroom.’
Lisle grimaced slightly. ‘That doesn’t altogether surprise me.’
Janie folded Lisle’s nightdress with exaggerated care. ‘Does the fact that he’s here mean that the deal is on again with Harlow Bannerman?’
‘I don’t know.’ Lisle shook her head slowly. ‘I dare not think. Everything’s happening too fast—and Gerard’s vanished.’
‘You don’t know where he is?’ Janie’s eyes were on her face.
Lisle shrugged. ‘I could make an educated guess.’ Barbados, she thought. That was where Gerard would be, with Carla Foxton. Mrs Carla Foxton. A wave of irrational anger at Jake Allard swept over her. God damn him, he had a reputation of his own, so what right had he to sit in judgment on anyone else?
‘Then I’d get him back if I were you. This is not a good time for him to be missing, believe me.’ Janie was unwontedly sober, and Lisle bit her lip.
‘Is it that bad?’ She tried for lightness of tone, and didn’t quite make it.
‘It could be.’ Janie gave a little shake of her head. ‘I’m sure Gerard would rather be here, fighting, than coming back to salvage what he can from the wreckage. For that’s all there’d be, and you can ask Graham if you don’t believe me.’
‘Oh, I believe you,’ Lisle said bitterly. ‘I believe you only too well. The Allard man looks capable of anything.’
‘And in this case appearances aren’t deceptive,’ Janie said grimly. ‘According to all reports, he’s fought his way single-handed up a very steep ladder, and you don’t do that these days without stepping on a number of faces.’
‘By the look of him, he’s also been trodden on in his time,’ Lisle said caustically. ‘I’d like to shake the hand of the man who did it.’
‘I don’t recommend it.’ Janie shot her a minatory glance. ‘My advice is to forget that you don’t find him the flavour of the month—particularly if he’s going to be a force to be reckoned with in Harlow Bannerman. Graham says that Jake Allard can be a good friend—but a very bad enemy.’
‘Indeed?’ Lisle had discarded the black dress by now, and was pulling a cashmere sweater over her head to match the olive green corded jeans. She tugged the sweater into place, and raked her fingers carelessly through the heavy waves of copper hair, pushing it back into shape. ‘Well, perhaps he’ll discover the same can be said of me.’ She cast a swift glance over the contents of the case and remembered her toilet bag from the bathroom. ‘He doesn’t frighten me,’ she flung over her shoulder as she went to the door.
Jake Allard was coming down the passage, glass in hand. There was no way he couldn’t have heard her last remark, and his teeth glinted momentarily in a faint, hard smile as he held the glass out to her.
‘Your brandy, Miss Bannerman, or perhaps the need for it has passed.’
She said curtly, ‘Yes, it has,’ and went on down the passage to the bathroom.
It was unoccupied, and obeying an impulse she hardly understood, she closed the door behind her, and shot the small bolt, shutting herself in away from the rest of the world. There was a mixture of exotic scents in the warm air, and several of the towels lay damp and crumpled on the floor. Automatically she retrieved them, straightening them and returning them to the heated handrail. There were mirrors everywhere and she seemed to catch sight of herself in them all, a myriad reflections of Lisle, two bright spots of colour in her pale face, her green eyes glittering like a cat’s.
She’d spoken brave words, but they had been a lie. Of course she was frightened, with a deep gut-wrenching panic which was totally outside her experience. She felt as if every prop and stay to her security were being knocked away one by one, and there was nothing she could do to prevent it.
She sank down on the high-backed wicker chair and tried to think, to reason out everything which had happened in the past hour.
Grandfather, she had been told, could be dying, but then his doctors had written him off before, and been wrong. As Janie had said, Murray Bannerman was immortal. He didn’t believe in illness, or particularly in safeguarding his health against the march of time either.
‘If you lived as these damned medicos want you to, you might as well be dead,’ he had growled testily more than once.
The doctors grumbled too about his refusal to follow their advice, his frankly avowed aversion to hospitals, They complained it was impossible to give him the treatment he needed, but Lisle knew that secretly they admired his stubbornness and his fighting spirit.
She tried to imagine life without him—Harlow Bannerman without him, and the exhilarating boardroom battles he had always enjoyed. She had often felt he secretly relished the covert sniping between Gerard and Oliver Grayson, but she had never until then doubted for a moment whose side he would be on if ever the chips were down.
Now she was not so sure.
Jake Allard at the Priory—on a private visit. And just what discussions had gone on under the shelter of that privacy? she wondered desperately. It was surely beyond coincidence that all this should have taken place when Gerard was safely out of the way, so what could her grandfather have been thinking of?
She would have to telephone Gerard somehow, get him back into the country before it was too late.
He’d covered his tracks well if Jake Allard had failed to find him, she thought, but it was hardly surprising. Harry Foxton wasn’t over-jealous, or particularly suspicious, but he was no fool either, and any hint that Gerard and Carla were enjoying a break from a damp English autumn on the same Caribbean island would set all kinds of alarm bells ringing. Few men with very attractive wives trusted Gerard, she was forced to admit.
But it wasn’t altogether his fault, she thought loyally. Since childhood, he had always been too–good-looking and possessed of far too much charm for his own good. His hair was darker than hers—a kind of rich chestnut, and his eyes were bluer, and he had the look of a young Renaissance prince. Women had begun drooling over him in his pram, and almost before he had left adolescence the admiring looks had become frankly speculative. It was like letting a child loose in a sweetshop, Lisle thought ruefully. And so far he had shown no sign of surfeit ….
She sighed. She knew the fact that Gerard had laughed to scorn any idea that he should settle down and give some thought to the next generation of Bannermans had distressed her grandfather. Murray Bannerman believed in the family, and the stability of marriage. He had said openly that a wife and child might give Gerard the sense of responsibility he so often seemed to lack, and yet at the same time he usually greeted the rumour of some new romantic adventure by his grandson with a muttered, ‘The young dog!’ and a hoarse chuckle.
Lisle’s attitude to Gerard’s constant affairs fell a long way short of approval, but he was her older brother, and although there was now no trace of the hero-worship with which she had regarded him when they were much younger, she loved him and made mental excuses for his faults, even when his selfishness and lack of consideration impinged upon herself.
And if there was to be a battle between him and Jake Allard for the control of Harlow Bannerman, she would be fighting at Gerard’s side all the way, she told herself angrily.
Someone rattled the bathroom door and retreated with a muffled curse, and Lisle started to her feet, seizing her brown quilted bag and filling it rapidly with essential toilet items. She wondered how long she would be staying at the Priory. Until. … Her mind closed down, refusing to admit the rest of the thought.
Her only comfort as she unbolted the door and went slowly back to the bedroom was that Murray was a fighter too.
Janie was alone when she went in, and she looked at her, a mute question in her eyes.
‘He’s gone to get his car.’ She zipped the case shut and held it out to Lisle. ‘You’ll need a jacket or something.’
‘Yes.’ She had a new one, dark brown supple suede with a deep fur trim on the collar and cuffs, and now seemed as good a time as any to wear it. She needed the reassurance that something new, expensive and glamorous could give her.
She swung her bag over her shoulder, draped the coat over her arm and picked up her case. Janie followed her out of the room and along to the front door. Lisle gave her a taut smile.
‘Perhaps you should get back to our guests,’ she said, ‘before they drink us dry and start wrecking the place.’
Janie nodded, biting her lip. She said gently, ‘Take it easy, love. Remember what I said.’
‘I’m not likely to forget it,’ Lisle said ruefully.
As she pushed open the glass door and emerged on to the street, the car pulled up at the kerbside, and Jake Allard got out. He opened the passenger door, and stood impassively, waiting for her to cross the pavement to his side, the slight chill of the breeze ruffling the thick blackness of his hair.
Lisle had to force herself to move. She felt drained of strength so that walking became almost an effort of will alone. The only thing which kept her from falling down was the sure and certain knowledge of who would pick her up again, because, crazily, the prospect of being touched by him was suddenly the worst threat of all.
When he reached for her case, to stow it in the boot, she pretended she hadn’t seen the gesture, and put it down on the pavement in front of him instead. She was so uptight that even an accidental brush of fingers could well make her fall apart.
The car was capacious, the front seats well spaced, but when he closed her door and came round to take his place behind the wheel, she felt claustrophobic. She lifted a hand and eased the high collar of her sweater away from her tight throat, making herself breathe deeply.
Jake Allard gave her a frowning glance. ‘You should have had that brandy,’ he said curtly. ‘There’s a flask in the glove compartment.’
‘I’m fine,’ she said off the top of her voice, then added, ‘Thank you.’
‘You look like hell,’ he informed her brutally. ‘What good is it going to do Murray to see you like this? Or is he used to it?’
Lisle set her teeth. ‘If we could just go?’
She’d hoped, childishly, that he would turn out to be a lousy driver, flashy, aggressive and impatient with other motorists, but of course, he was none of those things. Of course. She sat, hating him, across London, glad to be able to build on her anger because it kept the anxiety at bay.
He didn’t say much. Once he asked her if she had any preference as to the route they took, and later, if she wanted some music.
She said, ‘The quickest, preferably,’ to the first question, and, ‘Yes, please,’ to the second. Otherwise there was silence, only faintly disguised by the music.
In other circumstances, in other company she would have enjoyed the tapes. They were obviously of his own devising, and expertly done, and she couldn’t fault the choices he’d made either, although she wasn’t familiar with them all. Jack Jones, she recognised, and Carly Simon and Judy Tzuke. With any other man, that could have been a talking point, the first tentative stage in an acquaintance that might or might not develop into a relationship. But not with this man.
Every word he had said to her, every look he had given her was etched on her mind, and the acid had bitten deep.
Darkness had closed around them, and the street lights dwindled as the roads narrowed into lanes.
Lisle sat up suddenly, peering around her. ‘This isn’t the way to the Priory.’
‘He isn’t at the Priory,’ he said shortly. ‘He’s in intensive care in hospital.’
Lisle’s hand stole to her lips, stifling a sharp sound of distress. She said, ‘He hates—machines.’
‘So I gathered.’ His tone was dry. ‘But this time it wasn’t up to him to decide. And considering it was a matter of life and death, it was probably just as well.’
She said sharply, ‘If Murray is going to die, which I don’t necessarily accept, then he’d rather it was with dignity in his own bed than strapped up to some—electronic miracle.’
‘And if the electronic miracle were to live up to its name and save him—how would you feel then?’
She sank back in her seat, biting her lip. In a low voice she said, ‘He’s an old man, and this isn’t the first attack he’s had. I don’t think I—believe in miracles.’
‘I’d be interested to know what beliefs you do hold, if any,’ said Jake Allard. ‘But that can wait. In the meantime, perhaps you could control your most obvious doubts, especially in front of Murray.’
‘Of course I will!’ she said indignantly. ‘What do you take me for?’ As soon as the words were spoken, she could have kicked herself.
She didn’t have to look at him to know he was smiling.
‘Another point for discussion at a later date, Miss Bannerman.’
Her hands clenched in her lap, the nails curling involuntarily into her palms. Was it possible that Murray could trust this man, like him—even tolerate him?
She saw the lights of the hospital in the distance with a strong feeling of relief. She would soon be rid of him, she thought. No doubt he had come to fetch her to Murray’s bedside out of consideration for the older man, but as Murray’s collapse had necessarily curtailed the discussions they had been having, there was no reason for him to linger, as she was prepared to make more than clear.
As the car turned in between the tall gates, she said, ‘I’d be grateful if you could drop me at the main entrance.’
‘I hate to pass up a novelty like your gratitude,’ he said. ‘But I’m afraid I can’t do as you request. I’m putting the car in the car park, and then we’re going in to see Murray together.’
Her voice shook with temper. ‘Forgive me, but aren’t you taking this togetherness thing a little too far? I’m sure you—intend to be kind,’ she added with heavy irony, ‘but from here on in, I’m sure Murray would prefer to see only members of his immediate family.’
‘Namely you and your brother, whenever he turns up.’ Jake Allard swung the car deftly into a spot between two other vehicles, and braked.
‘As a matter of fact, yes.’
He shook his head, as he switched off the lights and the ignition, and pocketed the keys. ‘I’m afraid it isn’t as simple as that, Miss Bannerman. There are other factors to be taken into account.’
‘Such as your overweening desire for control of Harlow Bannerman,’ Lisle asked sarcastically. ‘You can hardly badger Murray with business propositions now.’
‘I never did,’ he said flatly. ‘All the initial approaches have been made by him. Whatever your brother may choose to think, it’s Harlow Bannerman that needs Allard International at this juncture, and not the other way round. You’re a member of the company, Miss Bannerman, and a shareholder, presumably. Don’t you ever look at reports and balance sheets? I recommend that you do so, and in the near future. It could be instructive.’
She fumbled for the door catch, and the door swung open.
‘I don’t want to hear any more of this,’ she said, as she got out. ‘I’m going to see my grandfather. He’s all I need to know about right now.’
She had long legs and she strode out, hoping that he would take the hint and stay where he was, but when she reached the electronically operated sliding doors to the main foyer, he was beside her.
Lisle turned to him, her face frozen. ‘This is getting ridiculous.’
‘I quite agree,’ he said grimly. ‘Perhaps before you go rushing off in all directions to intensive care, you might care to listen to me for a moment. There’s something you ought to know.’
She looked up into the harshly unsmiling face, her green eyes widening. ‘There are—other complications? He can’t—oh God, he can’t be—dead already, and you haven’t told me?’
‘Of course not. But you’re right that there are complications—although it’s true to say that Murray is causing them, not suffering from them.’
Lisle felt unutterably weary. She slid a hand round the nape of her neck, freeing her heavy fall of copper hair from the confines of her coat collar.
‘All the complications seem to be in your head, Mr Allard. Could you explain more clearly, if you must, and a damned sight more quickly.’
‘Last time I gave you bad news, Miss Bannerman, you complained because I didn’t break it to you gently.’
‘Oh, I’m not listening to any more of this!’ Lisle turned away impatiently, but he detained her, taking her arm, not gently, and pulling her round to face him.
‘Yes, you are,’ he grated. ‘You’re going to listen, you spoiled little bitch, so that if Murray is conscious and able to speak, you’ll be able to tell him what he wants to hear.’
‘That I’m delighted he’s apparently selling out to you?’ Lisle demanded, green eyes sparkling. ‘The words would choke me.’
‘Then chew them well,’ he came back at her, his mouth twisting. ‘Because it’s no business deal he wants you to approve. What Murray’s waiting to hear is that I’ve asked you to marry me—and that you’ve agreed.’
CHAPTER TWO (#ue885cf81-97b1-5822-9665-485ebaad1f1f)
THERE was a long screaming silence.
At last, Lisle said huskily, ‘You—cannot be serious.’
Jake Allard said with a kind of weary impatience, ‘Is it likely I’d be joking—about such a thing—and at a time like this?’
She looked at him blankly. ‘But Murray couldn’t—he wouldn’t. …’
‘Wrong on both counts, I’m afraid.’ The grey eyes flickered over her, then still holding her arm Jake began to propel her towards some of the tan leather benches, placed back to back in the main reception area. He said abruptly, ‘Sit down. I’m going to phone up to the unit and see if they’re ready for us.’
Lisle was thankful to feel the solid support of the bench under her. Her mouth was dry and she was shaking from head to foot. She found herself thinking with sudden mocking clarity that if she collapsed, at least it would be in the right place. She placed her folded hands on her knees, and sat staring at them, noticing almost detachedly the white knuckles, the strained grip of the slender fingers. She felt shattered. Incapable of assimilating what Jake had said, or rationalising it.
It seemed a very long time before Jake came back, but she knew that in reality it was only a few minutes. She looked up at his dark face, mentally bracing herself for more bad news, more shocks, but his cool, guarded expression gave nothing away.
‘Sister says fifteen minutes. We’ll go to the cafeteria and wait there.’
She didn’t even think of protesting. She went with him across the foyer to the lifts. An elderly man holding a bunch of flowers, a youth, barely out of his teens by the look of him, with his arm tenderly round the shoulders of a massively pregnant girl were already waiting. As the lift began its upward journey, Lisle found her gaze straying constantly to the young couple. The girl’s left hand with its wide golden band lay protectively over her distended abdomen, and although she was clearly nervous, she was smiling up at her husband, her eyes bright with excitement and happiness.
Marriage, Lisle thought numbly, the ultimate partnership. Sharing a life, sharing a bed, conceiving a child in mutual passion, caring for it together ….
She glanced at Jake and found him watching her with such irony that her face was flooded with sudden, burning colour.
The cafeteria was a dazzle of bright lights, stainless steel, and red formica-topped tables with matching plastic seats. The coffee was surprisingly good and came in thick white institutional cups. Lisle refused anything to eat, but Jake bought a round of cheese sandwiches and ate them with every evidence of enjoyment. When he had finished, he pushed the plate away and looked at her.
‘For God’s sake stop staring at me as if you expect to be leapt upon at any moment,’ he said. ‘I promise you nothing could be further from my mind.’
‘I wasn’t!’ Lisle denied indignantly. ‘But you can’t expect to—to spring things on me like that and expect me to take it in my stride.’
‘I suppose not.’ He gave her a long, considering glance. ‘Well, Miss Bannerman, I think we’d better talk—or may I call you Lisle, seeing that we’re practically engaged.’
‘We are not engaged!’ Lisle returned her cup to its saucer with a bang that even put that sturdy china at risk. ‘I’d rather die!’
‘Death before dishonour?’ The firm lips curved in frank amusement. ‘That’s a curiously old-fashioned viewpoint.’
‘I don’t give a damn how old-fashioned it is,’ she said shortly. ‘Arranged marriages aren’t exactly eighties-style either.’
‘I don’t think the Asian community among us would necessarily agree with you.’ Jake’s tone was deceptively mild. ‘And they have our galloping divorce rate to back them up too. But that’s by the way—what I really want to get across to you is that you’re not to give Murray a blow-by-blow account of your true opinion of me, my manners, morals or anything else which occurs to you. This scheme of his to marry us to each other is dear to his heart, and you’re not going to upset him by dismissing it out of hand.’
Lisle sat up very straight on the uncomfortable plastic chair. ‘You’re not suggesting that I should—go along with it?’
‘Why not?’ He gave her a level look. ‘I’m prepared to—and I have just as little taste for you as you have for me, darling. But although you probably don’t know it, Murray and I go a long way back. He was good to me when I was starting up, and gave me a lot of help and advice. I owe him, in other words, and I think you do too, lady, if your expensive flat, your pretty clothes and your sinecure at Harlow Bannerman are anything to go by, not to mention the unlimited expense account you and your brother have been running.’
‘You have been busy,’ Lisle commented, a bright spot of colour in each cheek.
The grey eyes hardened with contempt. ‘It’s time someone was, sweetheart, otherwise your private gravy train could come off the rails for good. Your grandfather has decided I’m the right man for the job, and my appointment as managing director will be confirmed by the board early next week.’
‘Not if Gerard and I have anything to do with it,’ she said furiously.
‘Gerard will find himself isolated,’ he said curtly. ‘Perhaps you’ve forgotten that your voting shares in the company are under your grandfather’s control until you’re twenty-five, and he’s already signed a proxy supporting my appointment.’ He paused, then added with heavy emphasis, ‘And he’s selling me his own block of shares, so I won’t just be running the company, trying to get it back on its feet again, I’ll be controlling it too.’
Lisle drew a deep uneven breath. ‘You—you took advantage of a sick old man. …’
He gave a derisive laugh. ‘You’d better not let Murray hear you say that. He was in top form when he made our deal, and if you don’t believe me ask Oliver Grayson.’
‘That—Judas?’
He shrugged. ‘On the contrary, I found him a good man. I think we’re going to work well together.’
Lisle gripped the edge of the table, fighting for self-control. ‘I don’t believe a word of this. Grandfather would never sell his shares to you. He’s always been adamant that they should remain in the family.’
And as far as he’s concerned, they will,’ he said calmly. ‘But through his granddaughter and her husband, rather than his grandson as he’d intended. Gerard’s unfailing record of unreliability and self-interest has caught up with him at last, I’m afraid. He knew that I was moving in, and he could have stayed and fought for his place in the sun. But no. As soon as he thought the danger was averted, he just cleared out, and that kind of failure in judgment can be fatal when you’re trying to run a company in times like these.’
Lisle sat as if she had been turned to stone.
‘Of course,’ Jake went on, ‘you might have been able to warn him, if you’d shown your face in the office for the past ten days, but your attendance record is one of the poorest I’ve seen. Your department head is loyal to the Bannerman name. He said you were working on a promotion for the Salzburg Fair at home, but he didn’t speak with any real conviction. I suppose the poor guy has never dared tell you that real public relations work isn’t merely acting as some kind of high class call-girl at your brother’s behest.’
She said hoarsely, ‘You—bastard! How dare you. …’
‘I dare more than that,’ he said flatly. ‘I might not even complain if it had all paid off—if the intimate dinners for potential customers, the drunken thrashes at your flat, the weekends on the boat had produced a full order book. But even you must know that’s not the case. And yet you’ve a lovely face, and an enticing body, so what went wrong? Perhaps your heart wasn’t in your work.’
Lisle felt sick with rage and shame. That he, or anyone else, could think such things made her feel utterly degraded, even though there was no reason for it. She’d never been overwhelmed with enthusiasm for acting as Gerard’s hostess, but she played the role he had chosen for her to the best of her ability, learning to recognise the gleam in the eye which suggested that one of the guests might be getting the wrong idea, and distance herself with charm yet finality, because it was Harlow Bannerman she was selling, and not, under any circumstances, herself.
Yes, she had allowed Gerard to use the flat for parties, but then as Harlow Bannerman were subsidising the rent, she had felt she could hardly refuse. But she had attended few of them herself, usually spending the night with friends. And since Janie had moved in with her, she had been able to use that as an excuse for Gerard to go elsewhere, because there had been disturbing indications that some of the entertainments he gave were by no means as conventional or innocent as he claimed.
Gerard had often laughed at her, complaining that she was a prude, and perhaps she was. Uneasily she recalled again the slapped face incident, and his subsequent fury, and there had been other occasions when his attitude had switched from amusement to exasperation, when he had exerted none too subtle pressure on her to ‘relax’, to be ‘nicer’ to certain clients. At times they had come close to quarrelling about it, but not seriously, because she couldn’t believe that he meant it seriously.
But now suddenly she was no longer so sure. The fact that her own motives and behaviour had been so totally misunderstood was making her question Gerard’s for the first time, and shed a new and disturbing light on his half grumbling, half amused accusations of prudishness.
She swallowed, steadying her hurried breathing. ‘You have no right to say these things to me! What do you imagine my grandfather would think if he could hear you?’
‘Murray hasn’t been living in a vacuum for the past year or two,’ he said. ‘I don’t think he suffers from many illusions, even about you. Love isn’t always blind, you know. He probably wants to get you married off before some real disaster occurs. And as our paths hadn’t crossed, I expect he hoped I wouldn’t have heard of the reputation you were so busily garnering for yourself.’
Reputation, Lisle thought. If it wasn’t so appalling, it would be almost funny. Because Gerard’s accusations weren’t so far from the truth. She couldn’t explain it. It might be some kind of mental revulsion against her brother’s inveterate womanising, it might be that she had never met a man who appealed to her sufficiently, or even because of some basic unsuspected flaw deep within her personality, but she was still, at twenty-three, a virgin.
The coffee was cold now, and bitter, but even so she doubted if she could have lifted the cup without betraying how she was shaking. Jake was watching her closely—waiting for a confession, or some attempt at self-justification, she wondered furiously. Well, he’d wait for ever! she told herself, avoiding his intent gaze.
He said coolly, ‘It’s time we were going up to the ward. Sister was noncommittal but not particularly optimistic when I spoke to her, but he’s conscious, and when he sees us together there’ll be just one thing on his mind. Can I take it as read that you won’t contradict me if I tell him we’ve just become engaged?’
She moistened dry lips. ‘Will he believe it—as we’ve only just met?’
He shrugged one shoulder. ‘If we were trying to convince him it was a love match, probably not. But as all three of us know the score, I think it will be a great relief to him that we’re not wasting any time.’
‘That’s putting it mildly.’ Lisle threaded the strap of her bag through her fingers. She managed an unsteady laugh. ‘Just what am I being rushed into?’
‘Well, certainly not marriage,’ he drawled. ‘I have no plans in that direction, and if I had they wouldn’t include you, my dear Miss Bannerman. This is a pretence engagement, the sole purpose of which is to put your grandfather’s mind at rest and reassure him about your future when he’s no longer here to worry about you. So don’t indulge in any fantasies that I’ve been swept away by your undoubted charms.’ He stood up, and once again she was made unwillingly aware of his height, and the sheer domination of his personality. She had met a lot of successful men, but few of them had an iota of his undoubted physical attraction, and most of them by his age—mid-thirties, she judged— were already married and settled with families.
She walked silently beside him towards the lift, and still in silence rode up to the next floor where the intensive care unit was established.
It was like something out of a space odyssey, she thought uneasily, looking around her.
Sister in her sexless white gown was briskly reassuring. ‘He’s doing as well as can be expected, that’s all I can say,’ she told them in her office. She gave a rich chuckle. ‘He’s certainly a bonny fighter, but he’s been getting himself dangerously over-excited. He’s been giving my young nurses hell because they wouldn’t bring him a telephone trolley—the very idea! I had to speak severely to him,’ she added tranquilly.
Lisle managed a wavering smile in return. She was sitting in a chair facing Sister’s desk, and Jake was perched on the arm of it. She was acutely conscious of the warmth of his body near hers, and it had been all she could do not to draw away when he sat down so close to her.
Jake said calmly, ‘I hope the good news we have for him won’t have an adverse effect.’
‘Anything that will stop him worrying so much can only do good.’ Sister paused. ‘Am I to take it that congratulations are in order?’
With a shock, Lisle felt Jake’s hand cover hers, then lift it to his lips. It was only the briefest caress, but her flesh felt as if it had been seared with a brand.
‘You’ve guessed our secret, Sister,’ Jake said softly. He looked down into Lisle’s startled face, his lips smiling tenderly, but his grey eyes brilliant with mockery. ‘As we’re making no announcement yet, darling, we’re going to have to try and hide our feelings for each other, at least in public.’
Through frozen lips, she managed, ‘Yes.’
He bent towards her, and for one paralysed moment she thought he was going to kiss her on the mouth, and every nerve in her body reacted in tension. His touch on her hand had been ordeal enough, but to feel his lips on hers, caressing, exploring, parting, would be unendurable.
And he knew that quite well. Still holding her panic-stricken gaze with his, he drew back, his smile hardening sardonically. ‘Shall we go and see Murray, my sweet?’
Sister bustled out and they were left to follow.
Lisle’s lips moved. ‘I don’t think I can go through with this.’
Jake rose. ‘Oh yes, you bloody well can.’ He took her arms, hauling her bodily out of her seat. ‘Everyone is capable of one selfless act, and this is going to be yours. Murray is going to rest with a tranquil mind tonight because he knows that what he cares most about in the world—Harlow Bannerman and you—are both in safe hands. So smile, darling. Pretend I’m an important customer or that poor devil who was pawing you when I arrived at the flat.’
She said dazedly, ‘Who. …?’ and saw the contempt flare again in his face.
He said half under his breath, ‘No, I suppose you can’t even remember his name. God help any guy who falls hard for you, you little bitch. Now look happy, and remember it’s not for me, it’s for Murray.’
But she was hard put to it to retain any semblance of cheerfulness when she stood by her grandfather’s bed. She had never really understood what people meant when they talked about shadows of their former selves, but she knew now, because what seemed to be lying there was just a shadow of the man she loved. She sank her teeth into the softness of her inner lip as Murray Bannerman muttered something and opened his eyes. They had always been fiercely, intensely blue, but now that fire seemed muted, and his voice no more than a gruff whisper.
‘Darling girl—so you came. And Jake. That’s good. Good.’
She was amazed to hear how normal her voice sounded. ‘Of course we’re here. Don’t try to talk. Everything’s going to be fine.’
‘Fine,’ he repeated, and the faded eyes sought hers in a kind of entreaty. ‘You and Jake.’
‘Yes,’ she said, her tone firming. ‘He—he spoke to me about it, and although it was—rather a shock, I can see it would be best—for the company and for everyone, so I’ve agreed. I will marry him.’
The moment she’d spoken, she wished she hadn’t used those particular words. At this moment, and in the presence of a man who could be dying, they savoured too closely of some kind of oath, the precursor to some future ritual where she and Jake would be made one, and she shivered suddenly.
Jake said, ‘I’m going to take her away now, Murray, take her home, and let you get some rest. But we’ll be back in the morning. Sleep well.’
Lisle felt the pressure of his hand on her arm, and turned away, fighting sudden blinding tears. He looked so frail, she thought in agony. What guarantee was there that he would see another morning, or know that they would return to share it with him?
She knew Jake was watching her, his dark brows drawn together in a frown of genuine concern, and as they walked to the lift, she fought a superhuman battle for control of her emotions and won. She hated him. She wanted nothing from him, especially his compassion.
They reached the ground floor and the doors opened silently, Jake standing aside to allow her to precede him.
Lisle said rapidly, ‘There’s a public telephone over there. Would you mind calling me a taxi, please.’
‘There’s no need for that,’ he said brusquely. ‘You’re coming with me.’
‘Oh, please!’ Just for a moment her tone veered towards slight hysteria. ‘How far do we have to carry this farce? Grandfather can’t see us now, or know that we’ve gone our separate ways.’
His brows lifted. ‘I was looking at the situation rather more practically. As we’re both going to the Priory, one vehicle is surely quite sufficient.’
She looked at him stupidly, his words registering in some distant recess of her mind. ‘You—you’re staying at the Priory?’
‘I told you I was staying there,’ he said impatiently.
‘I’d forgotten.’ She gave herself a mental shake. ‘Not that it matters. I can go to a hotel.’
‘Like hell you can,’ he said grimly. ‘The Petersons are expecting you, and your old room has been prepared. What am I to tell them if you don’t turn up? That your aversion to me is so great you can’t face spending a night or two under the same roof?’
‘You’re the one with the instant solutions to everyone’s problems,’ she shot at him. ‘You think of something.’
‘I already have,’ he returned. ‘You’re coming to the Priory with me, if it means I have to kick your charming backside every step of the way to the car.’
Lisle was going to say, ‘You wouldn’t dare,’ but the words shrivelled in her throat as she realised there was very little if anything that Jake Allard wouldn’t dare.
‘Very wise,’ he approved sardonically, reading her sudden silence with perfect accuracy. ‘What a tragedy you weren’t the man of the family. You have an infinitely better nose for danger than Gerard has. Now come on. Mrs Peterson promised she’d have supper waiting for us whatever time we got there.’
‘Oh, I’m sure she’s had her orders,’ Lisle said scornfully. ‘But don’t you think you’re being a little premature—coming on like the master of all you survey? You’re not in the driving seat yet.’
‘Perhaps not,’ he said silkily. ‘But when I am, my copper-haired vixen, you’re going to be the first one to know.’
Lisle tossed her head angrily, and giving him a look in which frustrated rebellion and sheer venom were mixed about equally, went ahead of him into the darkness.
The Priory was only a few miles’ drive away, and as the car drew up on the gravelled sweep in front of the house, Lisle could see the massive double doors already opening to reveal Mrs Peterson’s anxious figure in the stream of light from the hall.
‘Oh, Miss Lisle!’ Mrs Peterson’s arms clasped her to her ample bosom. ‘What a homecoming for you, my dear! But he’ll get over it, don’t you fret. He’ll see us all out, I shouldn’t wonder.’
Lisle smiled faintly as she kissed the plump cheek. ‘Sister says he’s a bonny fighter, Petey.’
‘Hasn’t he always been?’ Mrs Peterson smiled at Jake. ‘Good evening, sir, and thank you for bringing her. I’ve laid supper in the small dining room—it’s cosier for two. I’ll go and see to the soup while Peterson takes Miss Lisle’s case up to her room.’
Lisle had been about to intervene, and say she couldn’t eat a thing and would prefer to go straight to her room, but at the mention of soup, hunger betrayed her. She knew Petey’s soups of old, made from bone and marrow stock and thick with fresh vegetables. Even Jake’s presence across the table couldn’t take the edge off such delights, she thought, realising how empty she was. No wonder, really. All she’d consumed since a light lunch had been a gin and tonic, a few canapés, and a cup of coffee at the hospital.
She washed and tidied her hair in the downstairs cloakroom, but left her face innocent of make-up. The last thing she wanted was Jake Allard to think she was employing any deliberate arts to attract him.
When she went into the drawing room, he was standing in front of the log fire, whisky and soda in hand. He said, ‘May I get you something?’
‘The perfect host,’ she said on a jeering note. ‘No, thanks.’ Alcohol might help her to relax, she thought, but it was more important to keep all her wits about her.
He said, ‘You have a very beautiful home.’
‘Indeed I have,’ she agreed. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t persuaded Grandfather to sell it to you, along with everything else.’
Jake looked amused. ‘I still might.’
‘No, you won’t,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘The Priory comes to me in Grandfather’s will. Gerard gets his collection of pictures, the London flat and half the money. He showed us both when he drew the will up a few years ago.’
His brows rose in mocking acknowledgment. ‘Very businesslike. And how reassuring to know exactly where you stand.’
‘Indeed it is.’ Lisle drew a deep breath. ‘And I hope I don’t have to inherit for at least ten years, if not twenty.’
The mockery was wiped away. He said soberly, ‘I wouldn’t count on it, Lisle.’
‘Don’t say that.’ She shook her head in violent negation.
‘Like you, I hope he lives for ever,’ he said quietly. ‘But we need to be realistic.’
She didn’t want realism. She wanted the comfort and reassurance that her grandfather had represented since she was a small child. Without him, she thought confusedly, she would be totally bereft. If the worst did happen, she would leave London and come to live here in the house she loved. Her inheritance should ensure an adequate income, and she could live within it as long as she wasn’t extravagant. She wouldn’t really regret the loss of her job in the public relations department at Harlow Bannerman. She hadn’t been a roaring success there, although she’d often felt she might have been if she’d only been given a chance. But nothing exacting, nothing that might stretch her mind and get the best out of her had ever come her way. The Bannerman name had always been there like a barrier. They had treated her like an unpredictable toddler, treading warily round her, and feeding her the odd unimportant sweet to keep her quiet. They had written her off as useless before she had even got there, she thought resentfully, and no one had ever bothered to discover what her capabilities were since.
She thought, without surprise, that it was probably from the PR department that the rumours about her sexual favours to customers had first emanated. She couldn’t pretend that she was the flavour of the month with many of her colleagues. In fact, she heard herself described as ‘Lady Muck’ on more than one occasion when they thought she was out of the way. At the time, it had hurt, but she had made herself laugh it off. She was Lisle Bannerman, and nothing they could say could touch her.
Only now she knew differently. Mud had been thrown, and some of it had stuck as it had a habit of doing. The kind of things which had been said about her, the kind of implications which had been drawn from her behaviour made her feel unclean, and the thought that some of these vile rumours had found their way back to her grandfather and distressed him was intolerable. Yet he had never uttered one word of warning or reproach, she thought numbly.
Mrs Peterson’s soup was everything she had remembered and more, and the cold roast chicken which followed was accompanied by a salad made infinitely more exciting by a selection of exotic ingredients. Jake asked for cheese to follow, but Lisle succumbed to the blatant temptation of a slice of home-made treacle tart, accompanied by thickly whipped cream.
Afterwards, Mrs Peterson deposited a tray of coffee in the drawing room and wished them goodnight.
Lisle poured the coffee, conscious of a feeling of awkwardness. Supper had been easier than she anticipated, with Mrs Peterson bustling in and out, making sure they were enjoying their food, and that they had everything they needed.
But now they had been left almost pointedly alone, and it made Lisle uneasy.
Jake on the other hand looked perfectly at ease. He had removed his jacket and slung it over the back of the big leather chesterfield and loosened his tie, and now he was leaning back, waiting for his coffee.
She handed him his cup, almost slopping it into the saucer in her haste, then got up to add another log to the already adequate fire, and fussily adjust one of the ornaments on the mantelpiece.
Jake gave her a bored look. ‘Relax, for God’s sake,’ he told her. ‘Rape is not imminent.’
‘I never imagined it was,’ she snapped, re-seating herself behind the coffee tray, and adding cream to her own cup.
Jake grinned suddenly. It made him look younger, and even more attractive, and Lisle decided she preferred him scowling. ‘Then you should have,’ he said. ‘After all, we have the perfect set-up—a flickering fire, a beautiful girl, and damn all on television.’
In spite of loathing him, she felt her lips quiver. ‘Aren’t you the flatterer!’
‘Not usually,’ he said. He drank his coffee, and set the cup down on a table near his seat with a deliberation that she found slightly unnerving. He looked at her, and she thought confusedly that the lamplight had softened the colour of his eyes to silver. He held out his hand, and his voice was very gentle suddenly. ‘Come here.’
And the shattering thing was that it would have been the easiest thing in the world to have got out of that chair and gone to him. It was unbelievable that she could feel that way, but she did. He was her enemy, and she hated him. He had insulted her and outraged all her feelings ever since he had walked into her life, and yet she remembered the way his mouth had scorched her hand, and knew that, in his arms, her whole body could turn to living flame.
And remembered too, just in time, that he thought she was the worst kind of tramp.
She said huskily, ‘I’ll see you in hell first.’
‘Heaven might be more enjoyable,’ he suggested, but she could hear the cynical note. He thought she was just playing hard to get, and that sooner rather than later she would let him make love to her.
She rose to her feet with a faint smile. ‘Heaven?’ she queried. ‘Now you’re flattering yourself, Mr Allard. I’ll leave you to your fantasies, and go to bed. Alone.’
‘What a waste,’ he said softly. ‘You wouldn’t be disappointed. I’m sure my performance would reach the standard you’ve come to expect.’
‘A personal guarantee,’ she marvelled. ‘Now there’s a novelty! But I’m still not tempted. Goodnight.’
‘One thing I would guarantee.’ His voice was silky. ‘That—come the dawn—at least you’d remember my bloody name. There’s another novelty.’
Lisle, walked to the door, nerves jumping at every step, in case he came after her. Because in spite of everything that had happened, she wasn’t sure how she would react if he touched her, seriously wanted her. She hoped she would kick and bite and scratch to be free, behave like the vixen he’d called her, but she wasn’t issuing any guarantees at all, and she knew she wouldn’t feel safe until she was safely up in her room behind a door which, for the first time in her life, she would lock.
CHAPTER THREE (#ue885cf81-97b1-5822-9665-485ebaad1f1f)
LISLE woke with a start in the pitch dark, remembering she had forgotten to telephone Gerard. Well, not forgotten, simply had no opportunity to do so without Jake guessing what she was up to. And she didn’t want him to know. She wanted to be able to speak to Gerard in perfect privacy without Jake being able to overhear so much as a word.
Not for the first time, she sighed over Murray’s intransigence on the subject of phone extensions in bedrooms. He thought they were immoral, a blatant temptation to people to be idle and run up enormous bills at the same time.
‘A telephone’s place is in the library,’ he said. ‘Let people make their calls at a civilised hour or not at all.’
The middle of the night was hardly a civilised time, Lisle thought ruefully, but it was all that was available.
She had fallen asleep at once, behind that safely locked door, so she hadn’t heard Jake pass her room on his way to bed, but he would be sound asleep by now.
She sighed as she pushed back the covers and reached reluctantly for her robe. The first thing she would have to do was go to Gerard’s own room, find his address book, and hope that Carla Foxton’s Barbados villa was in it. If that address book ever fell into the wrong hands, it would probably be grounds for a dozen divorces, she thought as she padded softly across the carpet to the door. She stood for a moment on the landing, listening intently, but the house was at peace, not a light showing anywhere.
She found the address book in Gerard’s bureau, and slid it into the pocket of her robe, before beginning the journey downstairs.
The drawing room door was open when she reached the hall, and she could see the remaining embers of the logs still glowing red in the wide hearth. She wondered if Jake had remembered to set the spark guard in front of the fire, and decided she would see to it on the way back.
She closed the library door behind her noiselessly, and switched on the light, blinking for a few seconds at the sudden glare. Murray’s big desk was set in the window recess, and the telephone was perched on one corner of it, trim scarlet lines looking strangely out of place among the antiques and rubbed leather which surrounded it.
After some initial difficulty in dialling, she managed to get through to the villa. The phone rang for a long time, and she was just about to give it up as a bad job, when the receiver was lifted and a woman’s voice said, ‘Yes?’
Lisle spoke politely, ‘Good evening, Mrs Foxton. I wonder if I could speak to Gerard Bannerman.’
Silence crackled at her. Then, ‘Who is this?’
‘I’m his sister, Lisle. We met once, actually, at the Hargreaves’ dinner party.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Carla Foxton’s voice conveyed complete indifference. ‘Well, what makes you think Gerard’s here, Miss Bannerman?’
Lisle prayed for patience. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m not sure where he is, Mrs Foxton. I hoped you might be able to help me. You see, there’s rather a crisis here. My grandfather has had a severe heart attack, and I feel Gerard should come back immediately, for a number of reasons.’ She paused, but there was no response from the other woman. ‘So, if you do happen to know where he is, perhaps you could pass on a message for me.’
Another lengthy pause, then Carla Foxton said curtly, ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ And rang off.
Lisle sighed as she replaced her own receiver more slowly. It occurred to her that really she liked very few of Gerard’s women, and Carla Foxton probably least of all. She was petite, black-haired and beautiful in a voluptuous way which spoke of the Latin-American blood in her recent ancestry, and Gerard had been frankly besotted with her for several months. Carla was some fifteen years younger than her wealthy indulgent husband, and although Gerard was undoubtedly more to her taste as a lover, their affair had been carried on fairly discreetly. Carla much preferred to have the best of both worlds, and was shrewd enough to ensure that she did so. Lisle could understand her caution on the phone, but not the lack of humanity she had displayed.
Dispiritedly, she walked to the door, and stepped out into the hall, pausing as her hand reached for the switch to plunge the library back into its former peaceful darkness.
‘Walking in your sleep?’ Jake asked.
She nearly screamed, her hand flying to her mouth just in time to stifle the sound, so that it emerged instead as a kind of strangled squeak.
He was lounging in the doorway to the drawing room, his hand clasped round a tumbler of whisky. His head was thrown back slightly, and the grey eyes were narrowed as he looked at her.
Lisle said faintly, ‘You—you startled me.’
‘You startled me,’ he returned pleasantly. ‘When I saw you go past the door, I thought for a moment you were the resident ghost.’ A faint appreciative smile twisted the corners of his mouth. ‘But if you were, of course, I’d be able to see right through you, instead of merely through that pretty nonsense you’re wearing.’
Lisle realised with embarrassed dismay that, standing in the strong light streaming from the room behind her, she was providing him with a frank revelation of the outline of her body through the thin nightdress and robe. Hastily her hand moved to the switch again, snapping it to the ‘off’ position.
‘What are you doing down here?’ she asked. Apart from a couple of extra buttons unfastened on his shirt, he was dressed exactly as when she had left him. It didn’t seem as if he’d been to bed at all.
‘Thinking,’ he said. ‘And drinking.’ He held up the tumbler of whisky in a kind of mocking salute.
‘You find alcohol aids your thought processes?’
‘I find that sometimes it blocks them out altogether, which can be equally useful. May I ask, in return, what you’re doing down here?’
‘I—I couldn’t sleep,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Worrying about Grandfather, I suppose.’ She gestured towards the doorway behind her. ‘I came down to get a book.’
He looked past her into the shadowed room with its tier upon tier of booklined shelves, then back to her empty hands. He began to laugh.
‘But you couldn’t find one. Or have you read them all before?’
She glared at him. ‘Only I decided I’d rather have some hot milk instead. I was just going to get it.’
‘Hot milk,’ he said softly. ‘How very girlish. May I recommend my own personal anodyne instead?’
‘Whisky, I suppose.’ Lisle pulled a small, jeering face.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Not whisky.’ And his eyes slid down her body from head to foot, assessing her in a slow deliberate sensual scrutiny, which left her oddly breathless and as vulnerable as if it had been his hands which had stripped her and left her naked beneath his hungry gaze.
She said on a little gasp, ‘You’re disgusting!’
‘And you’re a hypocrite,’ he said derisively. ‘You know what to expect when you flaunt yourself in front of a man with hardly a stitch on. And I’m not interested in your fables about books and hot milk either. There’s a very good reason why we should both be roaming the house at two in the morning suffering from insomnia, and I’m sure I don’t have to spell it out to you.’
She swallowed. ‘It isn’t what you think. …’
‘As I’ve already told you, I’ve stopped thinking.’ Jake put the glass down on the huge carved chest which stood against the wall next to him. ‘I suggest you do the same. Just let your feelings take over. We may not like each other, Lisle, but I’m ready to bet any money that we have a common meeting ground just the same.’
He walked towards her, watching her, missing nothing, she thought desperately as she tried to steady her breathing, to control the hurry of her small breasts under the lace bodice of her nightdress.
He touched her face, his thumb caressing the soft curve of her cheek, his fingers discovering the delicacy of her jawline.
He said quietly, ‘If it’s any consolation, I never intended this to happen either.’
He took her quite gently into his arms, not kissing her, just holding her against the hard, lean length of him, and deep within her a pang of desire began a crescendo into real pain.
She was bewildered by it. It was too new to her experience, too sharp, and too urgent for her to know how to deal with it, although in some dim recess of her mind, something told her that she should pull away now while she still had some will to do so.
She knew by the pressure of Jake’s body against hers that he was deeply and hotly aroused, and in the past she had always found that faintly disturbing, even alarming. Evidence, she had thought, of passions and emotions which seemed to pass her by, and which she had no wish to share.
Now, suddenly, it was exciting to know that she was wanted, and she evinced no kind of protest as his hands slid down her body to her slender hips, moulding her against him, because she knew that she wanted to be even closer still.
His hands moved on her without haste, his fingers stroking her body through the thin nightdress, the silky material creating a sweet erotic friction against her skin. She was silent, eyes closed, within the circle of his arms, conscious only of this new sensual clamour in her blood, the uneven race of her pulse.
A few hours before, the thought of his kiss had filled her with tension, but now, when his hand gently cupped her throat, tipping her head back slightly so that his mouth could find hers, she reached for him with blind eagerness, like a parched flower thirsting for rain. His lips were warm and incredibly sensuous, demanding and winning an equally passionate response from her. Her hands locked behind his dark head, she felt her senses swim, her body melt in quivering eagerness.
Still kissing her, Jake slid an arm beneath her knees, lifting her bodily off the floor, then carried her across the hall to the warm shadows of the drawing room.
He knelt, lowering her gently to the huge fur rug spread in front of the fire, sliding the robe from her shoulders as he did so. The breath caught in her throat as she looked up at him, saw the grey eyes glittering suddenly, and hungrily intent. With the first sign of impatience he had shown, he pushed down the straps of her nightgown, baring the small rounded breasts, and Lisle gasped, lifting her hands instinctively to cover herself.
His fingers gripped her wrists, tugging her hands away. He said in a low voice, ‘You’re too beautiful to hide yourself. Let me look at you. I want to see every perfect inch.’
He freed her arms, and pulled the nightdress down from her body. In an agony of shyness, Lisle closed her eyes as she felt the soft silk slither away. There was little light in the room, but she’d never been naked in front of a man before, and it was a shattering experience for her, the cool reserve, which had always been her safeguard, broken in pieces.
Jake kissed her deeply and hotly, the aching thrust of his lips against hers exciting her feverishly. His hands closed on her breasts, his fingertips stroking their sensitive peaks, and she gave a little husky moan, her mind blanking out at a point between desire and panic.
He pulled away from her, and she knew by his movements, from the small telltale rustling noises, that he was taking his clothes off. When he took her in his arms again, the point of no return would have been reached, she knew, and it wouldn’t be long after that before he was aware of her woeful lack of experience, and a long inward shudder gripped her as she wondered weakly what his reaction would be, recognising the fact that he could well be angry. After all, a willing woman was what he wanted, was expecting. A frightened virgin would make a poor substitute.
His lips brushed her eyelids. ‘Falling asleep?’ he sounded mocking. ‘You can’t be shy.’
Can’t I? she thought, her body thrilling involuntarily at the touch of his skin against hers.
‘Open your eyes,’ he ordered huskily. ‘You won’t be turned to stone.’ His hand moved down her body, moulding and tracing every supple fluent line as if he was learning her by heart, and she swallowed, her breath thickening as his fingers lingered intimately on her thigh, their subtle pressure luring her to a new and devastating submission. He was kissing her body, his mouth moving slowly and pleasurably on her skin, his head dark as night against her whiteness. She was dissolving in waves of delight, poised on the edge of yielding totally, letting those diabolically experienced hands explore her in any way he wished.
The sudden violent thresh of the telephone bell was like the shock of an electric current, a whiplash across her senses. Jake swore, levering himself away from her, the swift dark anger in his face turning to ruefulness as he looked down at her.
‘I’ll have to answer that before the Petersons do.’
Dry-mouthed, Lisle said, ‘Their room is in another wing. They won’t hear. …’
He drew a finger over her lips, silencing her. ‘You realise that it might be the hospital,’ he said quietly, and was gone.
She put her hands over her eyes, wanting to die of shame. No, she thought, it hadn’t occurred to her, because she’d been lost to all sense of reality, aware only of the devastation of this physical arousal he had created in her.
She sat up shivering, feeling bleak and cold, reaching for her crumpled nightdress and dragging it over her head, guilt and shame warring inside her.
How could she have behaved like this? she wondered desperately. In a matter of hours after their first meeting, Jake had made her act like the slut he believed her to be, and she would never forgive herself. Grandfather could be dying, and she had let a man she didn’t even like strip and touch her and kiss her, without lifting a finger to stop him.
She huddled on her robe, and sat hugging her knees, staring with empty eyes at the charred logs in the wide grate as she waited for Jake to come back.
He said from the doorway, ‘It’s Gerard. Returning the call you made to him earlier.’
Lisle got up stiffly, not daring to look at him, and fled to the library.
‘What’s he doing there?’ Gerard demanded instantly, without even the preamble of a greeting.
‘Taking over the company, unless you can stop him. What do you think?’ Lisle retorted.
He cursed viciously. ‘I’ll get the next plane out. Thank God Carla gave me your message, although it was touch and go,’ he added on a unmistakable note of satisfaction. ‘I don’t think she altogether believed you’re my sister. She was actually jealous!’
Lisle felt a little sick. ‘I’m not really interested in the emotional games you and your women friends play,’ she said tautly. ‘Aren’t you going to ask about Grandfather?’
‘Just how sick is he?’ he asked sharply. ‘What guarantee is there that I’m going to be in time?’
‘None at all,’ Lisle’s voice was crisp. ‘Thanks for caring.’
He sighed. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean it like that, sweetie. I’m just in a bit of a state, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting this—any of it.’
‘Nor was I.’ Lisle’s tone was still short. ‘Can I tell Grandfather that you’re on your way when we go and see him tomorrow—today?’ she corrected herself hurriedly.
‘Of course,’ Gerard said slowly. ‘Lisle—when you said “we” …’
‘That’s exactly what I meant.’ She was aware that Jake was standing in the doorway watching her, buttoning his shirt and stuffing it into the waistband of his slacks as he did so.
‘You keep that bastard away from Grandfather, do you hear!’ Gerard snapped with angry emphasis.
Lisle smiled bitterly. ‘If only it was as simple as that. Just get here as soon as you can.’ She put the receiver back on the rest and turned to face Jake with spurious calm.
He looked back at her with an angry disgust he did not bother to conceal. ‘I’d fogotten the telephone was in the library,’ he said half to himself. ‘That’s why you were in there, of course, summoning the cavalry to come galloping to the rescue.’ His mouth curled. ‘But you picked up the cue I gave you quite brilliantly, darling. When the world of public relations has nothing more to offer you, which should be soon, you might try the stage. A certain class of production, of course. All that romantic trembling, the modestly averted eyes as you take your clothes off, would be a riot with the dirty raincoat brigade.’
She shrugged elaborately, not daring to meet his hostile gaze directly. ‘It left you cold, naturally.’
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Сара Крейвен
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Mills & Boon proudly presents THE SARA CRAVEN COLLECTION. Sara’s powerful and passionate romances have captivated and thrilled readers all over the world for five decades making her an international bestseller.he wanted the impossible–his love!Learning that her grandfather was critically ill was a severe shock for Lisle. Then she discovered that he planned to give Jake Allard control of their family business and arrange a marriage between her and Jake!It would never work–Jake detested her. And yet he was willing to give the marriage a chance for convenience sake. «I want your social acumen and your body,» he′d said.But Lisle wanted more–she wanted his love. And that seemed to be reserved for another woman!