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Return Engagement
Carole Mortimer
Lightning that Lingers Cyn was certain that Harcourt wedding would finally launch her bridal consulting and catering business.But anticipation turned to shock when she met the groom - Wolf Thornton, the man she'd once intended to marry. Clearly, the upcoming union was not a match made in heaven.And if Wolf could still kiss her with such passion, then he had no right to marry Rebecca Harcourt at all! But how far could Cyn go to assuage her own burning needs?



Return Engagement
Carole Mortimer


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Matthew Timothy Mortimer
I’m so proud you’re my son.

CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#u15914f4d-848b-5263-8d4b-78bad2250c01)
CHAPTER TWO (#ucf29ab43-b0f6-5e3b-babe-3082d67974fa)
CHAPTER THREE (#u2d3924d8-3727-5a8c-9d5c-713cd01335ff)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE
‘TOUCHES of Lady Chatterley, do you think?’ Janie giggled.
Cyn made a slight acknowledging movement of the remark, although her attention was still held by the scene they were unwittingly witnessing.
They had been shown into this small reception-room only seconds ago by the rather haughty butler, while he left them to go off in search of Rebecca Harcourt, the young mistress of the house.
Cyn only hoped the young lady out in the garden wasn’t her—otherwise their journey here could have been a wasted one!
She and Janie had driven into town especially to see the Harcourts, and had been suitably impressed by the house from the outside. The grounds the house stood in alone were almost as big as the park across which the house actually faced. Grand old houses like this one weren’t so unusual in London, but the amount of ground attached to it was, Cyn was sure, given the expense of property in London and its immediate vicinity.
It was because of the size of the grounds that the Harcourts needed the gardener at all, she would say. And what a gardener—a tall golden god of a man, about twenty-five, his skin bronzed from the amount of time he obviously worked outside, although that colour was more likely to be simply weather-worn, considering it was only April and, what watery sun there was did not actually contain much heat just yet.
He had been working on one of the extensive borders outside when Cyn and Janie were shown into the reception-room, obviously absorbed in his work. He had seemed to remain so, when a young girl of about twenty crossed the landscaped lawn several feet away from him to enter the wooden-structure gazebo that stood in one corner of the garden facing away from the house. But seconds later he had straightened, glanced casually about him, before he too went into the gazebo.
Hence Janie’s teasing remark! The girl who had crossed the garden, seemingly unaware of the gardener working there, hadn’t looked like a maid, or anyone else who worked in the house for that matter. Her blaze of red hair was expertly styled, her make-up perfectly applied, the suit she was wearing designer-label, if Cyn wasn’t mistaken.
God, she hoped it wasn’t Rebecca Harcourt...! Because Cyn very much doubted that that Adonis of a gardener was her intended bridegroom.
Gerald Harcourt had actually been the one to make the appointment for Cyn to come here today, claiming his motherless daughter needed help organising her wedding, which was to take place in August. And organising weddings, and dealing with all the problems that seemed to bring along with it, was what Cyn did in her business, Perfect Bliss.
The idea for such a scheme had come to her out of the blue one day. Being stuck in yet another dead-end job, working for a particularly temperamental catering boss who often threw temper tantrums while they were actually working, was not what Cyn wanted to do with the rest of her life. The problem was, she didn’t know what she did want to do either. She had gone through a long list of jobs the last few years—hotel receptionist, helper in a florist’s, assistant in a bridal shop for a very short time too, all mixed up with waitressing jobs, plus training to be a printer at one stage, a job she knew she definitely wasn’t cut out for after she had printed hundreds of posters inviting people to a Trafalgar Balls; her boss had been absolutely furious, and she could think of a few sailors who probably wouldn’t have been too happy either! Needless to say, it had been a short-lived training.
Most of her jobs had been, but after a rather traumatic evening, where she had been helping her boss cater at a private dinner party in a gentleman’s apartment, and his female guest had turned out to be the boss’s own wife out for an evening of fun while her husband was working, Cyn had decided it was time for her and that particular job to part company. Especially when her boss had started throwing knives about the apartment; Cyn had decided there and then that he wasn’t temperamental, just mental!
Unemployed again, she had sat down, briefly—she still had to pay the rent and the bills!—and thought over her career assets. Taken separately, they had seemed a bit haphazard, but when she put them all together...!
And so Perfect Bliss had emerged from the debris, the ‘complete wedding’ agency, designed to take away all the wear and tear—or did she mean tears?—from the bride and her family. Not that it had been an overnight success. After three years she still kept the agency ticking over with the occasional dinner party, but she had enough bookings for weddings not to take on too many other commitments. She had merely been waiting for the ‘big one’, as Janie called it, the society wedding that would get her name in those circles, where she hoped her agency might become fashionable once it was seen what a good job she did.
The Harcourt wedding was supposed to be that big break...!
Gerald Harcourt, a man in his early forties, had been a guest at one of the weddings Cyn had organised last weekend on Easter Saturday—a small affair in the country, and the bride was the daughter of a business friend, Gerald Harcourt had explained when he spoke to her during the wedding reception. He had been most impressed when he learnt that Cyn had organised the wedding, with the bride’s requirements in mind, from the printing of the invitations to the perfect colour of the wedding bouquet—a bouquet he had somehow managed to catch when the bride threw it into the wedding crowd before departing on the honeymoon Cyn had also booked for the happy couple.
The bouquet disposed of, given to one of the bridesmaids accompanied by a charming smile, Gerald had questioned Cyn about Perfect Bliss, explaining that his own daughter, his only child, was being married later in the year, and, as his wife had died more than a dozen years ago, Rebecca was finding the whole thing rather a headache on her own. Cyn had been only too happy to talk to him as she helped clear away after the reception. She found his tall, distinguished looks, dark hair lightly sprinkled with grey at the temples, blue eyes warm in a face that was maturely handsome, his body still fit and lean in the dark three-piece suit he had worn for the wedding, more than passingly attractive. She found the idea of organising his daughter’s wedding, the ‘society wedding’ she had been seeking, even more attractive, and she was more than willing to drive up from her little office in Feltham—she couldn’t afford London rents on business property—to the Harcourt home and talk to the daughter in person at a time to be arranged once Gerald had spoken to Rebecca.
But if that girl in the garden was Rebecca Harcourt, Cyn had a feeling Gerald was going to be in for a nasty surprise concerning this wedding. Not to mention the bridegroom! Not that anyone had, so far. Like most grooms, he seemed to be remaining well out of the headache of organising the actual wedding.
Even as Cyn stood there watching, the gazebo door opened once again and the girl emerged, but from her distressed state she was obviously in floods of tears, giving one last anxious look in the direction of the gazebo before rushing across the garden towards the house.
Not a happy bride!
Cyn turned away with a sigh, more than ever convinced that her journey here today had been a wasted one. If— She looked across the room as the door opened to admit, not Rebecca Harcourt, but Gerald himself.
‘My dear Cyn!’ he greeted her warmly, giving her one of his welcoming smiles. He was dressed in a dark business suit today and looking very lean and handsome. ‘I’m so sorry you’ve been kept waiting,’ he said regretfully as he crossed the room to her side, ‘but we seem to be having a little difficulty locating Rebecca.’ This last was added with a frown.
Cyn knocked Janie’s arm as she sensed that her young assistant had been about to blab Rebecca’s presence in the garden; unless she was very much mistaken, Rebecca Harcourt wouldn’t want her father to know she had been anywhere near the garden—or the young and handsome gardener! She might be wrong, of course, but somehow she doubted it.
‘That’s perfectly all right,’ she returned smoothly. ‘We were just admiring your home.’ In fact, she hadn’t taken too much notice of it since they had come inside and she had seen the formal elegance of the rooms, the antique furniture, the original paintings on the walls; all the trappings of wealth that people like the Harcourts took so much for granted. It was all very nice, but it wasn’t for Cyn.
Gerald looked pleased by her comment, looking about him appreciatively. He was obviously a man who enjoyed what his wealth could give him. ‘We like it,’ he dismissed. ‘Did you— ?’
‘Aren’t you going to introduce us, Gerald?’ interrupted a silkily soft voice.
A voice Cyn instantly recognised!
But it couldn’t be. Not here. Why here? came her next unbidden question, as she knew she wasn’t mistaken, that she would know that voice anywhere.
Wolf Thornton’s voice...
She couldn’t move. She did try, but not one single muscle in her body seemed to be obeying her at the moment. Her feet felt like lead weights rooted to the carpeted floor, her body so still and tense that she might have been a statue. She knew her face was as pale as alabaster, so she might almost have been one!
Her head was held at a taut angle, her eyes riveted to a spot above the fireplace, and she tried to remember what she was wearing today. What she was wearing? What difference did that make? Wolf Thornton was standing somewhere behind her, and she doubted if he was going to be any more pleased to see her than she was to see him.
Would he have changed? Had she? It was seven years since she had last seen him; of course she had changed! Her hair was no longer that cascade of moonlight silver-blond it had been when she was twenty, but styled to her shoulders in a feathered cut that was easier to manage, and the violet-blue eyes were no longer so naïve and unaware. Her even features were the same, of course—the slightly too short nose, the wide smiling mouth, the small pointed chin that could still lift defensively. And she still wore some of the clothes she had owned seven years ago. She couldn’t afford to replace them, so she knew she hadn’t put on any weight! Did Wolf still look the same? She was still too stunned to be able to turn and look—too frightened of what she would see in his face, too, when he saw it was her!
‘Glad you could make it,’ Gerald was greeting the other man now. ‘I’ve only just got in from the office myself. Although it’s just as well we decided to meet here after all; Rebecca seems to have done one of her disappearing acts again,’ he added indulgently.
‘She’ll turn up,’ the other man dismissed smoothly. ‘She always does.’
Oh, God, that voice. Cyn shivered in reaction, feeling waves of sheer terror coursing through her now. The last time she had seen Wolf Thornton she had made it perfectly clear exactly what she thought of him, and she had no reason to believe that the intervening years—she had had no contact with him during that time—had done anything to soften his feelings towards her.
How could this be happening to her? Of course, Wolf ran Thornton Industries, and Gerald Harcourt ran his own company, which was just as powerfully successful; so why shouldn’t the two businessmen be friends? But why had the two men had to meet today, and here of all places?
She could see Janie looking at her curiously now—when the girl could tear her gaze away from the man standing over by the door, that was! Wolf still had that animal magnetism that was so attractive to women, Cyn saw with dismay.
It was that realisation that finally broke the spell for her; Wolf always had been able to draw the women to him, and it had been something he took full advantage of.
She turned determinedly, that pointed chin at a defensive angle, her breath catching in her throat as she looked at Wolf for the first time in seven years. He hadn’t changed; that dark blond hair was still too long to be fashionable, several straight tendrils falling over his forehead, his golden-brown eyes surrounded by the longest dark lashes Cyn had ever seen on a man or a woman, his nose long and straight, his mouth— His mouth wasn’t the same, she realised with a frown. In the past his mouth had been a sensual invitation, the lower lip fuller than the top one, but now it was a thin slash of cynicism, looking as if he rarely smiled, the lines beside his nose and mouth not caused by laughter but by a harshness that seemed to underline all his features, Cyn realised as she looked closer at him, his eyes not a warm golden-brown at all, but as hard and unyielding as the gold they resembled.
And they became harder still as he seemed to sense her gaze on him and looked across at her, an instant flare of recognition in his expression, his mouth thinning even more as his jaw tightened, his eyes narrowed to steely slits as he straightened challengingly. Whereas in the past he had seemed possessed of a timeless quality, a natural enthusiasm that made it difficult to pinpoint his age, today he looked every one of his thirty-five years.
Cyn swallowed hard. She had never felt more like fleeing in her life before—fleeing for her life! There had been a time in her life when she feared Wolf might actually kill her.
‘Gerald—?’ Wolf’s control never wavered as he turned pointedly to the other man, still obviously waiting for that introduction.
As if he didn’t know exactly who she was! She refused to believe he had forgotten her. He might have wished he could, but she knew from his reaction a moment ago, when he first looked at her, that he certainly hadn’t.
‘Sorry, Wolf,’ the older man smiled easily, completely unaware of any tension in the room. ‘This is Lucynda Smith, of Perfect Bliss,’ he explained lightly. ‘Although it’s Cyn to her friends, she assures me,’ he added teasingly.
Wolf didn’t look as if he found anything in the least amusing about her name, or her! And the speculative look he gave the other man seemed to question just how much of a ‘friend’ of hers Gerald considered himself to be.
It was an interesting question; as well as asking Cyn to call here when they had spoken on Saturday, Gerald had also invited her out to dinner. The first she had been only too happy to organise, the latter she had said they would talk about further when they met again. She hadn’t envisaged Wolf Thornton also being present when that happened. In fact, she had always pushed firmly from her mind any thoughts that she and Wolf would ever meet again!
‘And this is my assistant, Janie Harrison,’ she put in firmly.
Janie looked grateful for the recognition, although for all the notice Wolf took of her Cyn might as well have saved her breath—although Gerald, charmingly polite as ever, acknowledged the girl with a welcoming smile. Janie blushed furiously. Her hair was not the rich auburn of Rebecca Harcourt but that ginger-blond that usually accompanied excessively pale skin. Poor Janie looked much younger than her eighteen years in her girlish pleasure at being in the company of two such presentable men.
Wolf Thornton wasn’t presentable, Cyn thought slightly resentfully; his ignoring of Janie, in order to continue looking at her with that chilling intensity, bordered on rudeness. Not that Janie looked too concerned; she was obviously as much in awe of this man, who looked so much like his name implied—fierce and untameable!—as she was attracted to him!
‘Miss Smith?’ Wolf said softly in answer to Gerald’s introduction.
Colour warmed her cheeks at his unspoken implication. She knew to what he was referring, of course; the last time they had met it had looked as if she was about to marry Roger Collins.
‘A case of “always the bridesmaid, never the bride,” I’m afraid,’ she returned lightly, meeting his gaze with an effort now.
Why was he continuing to behave as if the two of them had never met before? Why didn’t he just tell Gerald Harcourt that he knew exactly what her friends called her—her enemies too?
If he was surprised at her never having been married after all, then he didn’t show it. ‘Then forgive me for asking,’ he rasped in a completely unapologetic voice. ‘But if that’s the case, by what experience do you claim to be able to organise other brides’ weddings for them, especially one like Rebecca’s?’
He was meaning to be insulting—and he succeeded! He knew very well about her own working-class background, the distaste she had for so-called ‘society’, and he was taunting her with that knowledge.
‘Oh, come on, Wolf,’ Gerald dismissed lightly, still unaware of the undercurrents to the conversation taking place between Cyn and Wolf. ‘You don’t have to have been knocked over by a bus to know what the consequences will be. In my mind there isn’t much difference between getting married and being run over,’ he explained with a rueful grimace as everyone turned to look at him because of the simile he had used. ‘Both knock you off your feet and leave you completely disorientated!’
‘I hope none of my brides ever gets to talk to you on the subject.’ Cyn shook her head, unable to hold back a smile. ‘Otherwise I’d be out of a job!’
‘Talking of that job...’ Gerald frowned now. ‘I’ll go and have another look for Rebecca,’ he told them absently before leaving the room.
Cyn had never been so grateful for Janie’s pleading to come with her that morning than she was at this moment. Otherwise she would have been left alone in the room with Wolf. And by the time Gerald returned the room could have been reduced to bloody carnage. No, that was an exaggeration. Wolf didn’t look as if he had ever needed to be physically violent; he could probably fatally wound with the rapier-sharpness of his tongue when crossed, reduce an adversary to a quaking mass with the coldness of his gaze.
The silence that descended on the room after Gerald’s departure was oppressive—or was it only Cyn who saw it that way? She chanced a glance at Wolf and saw he was still watching her with those coldly narrowed eyes, and quickly looked away again. Janie, sweet, kind Janie, who could calm the mother of the bride with so little fuss it was hardly noticeable that there had ever been anything to calm, was gazing at Wolf with an infatuated glow in her pale green eyes.
Cyn felt angry on her behalf for the way in which Wolf didn’t even acknowledge that adoration, even though he must be aware of it: Janie was a little too obvious for him not to be! No doubt he was used to having girls finding him attractive, but that was no reason for him to be so damned blasé about it!
She wasn’t used to seeing him quite so formally dressed as he was today. His dark three-piece suit and snowy white shirt were austere in their impeccable tailoring; a grey silk tie was knotted severely at his throat. He wore no jewellery; he had always deplored the use of it by men, and his only adornment was a plain gold watch strapped to his left wrist above one long sensitive hand. His hands, Cyn saw with a fascination of her own, were just the same, long and artistic, nevertheless as strong as a vice when they needed to be, the nails kept deliberately short.
Wolfram James Thornton. She had expected to hear more of the name over the last seven years, but the only thing she had heard it used in connection with was Thornton Industries. The business section of the newspapers often carried articles about the rapidly expanding company; it seemed the family business had prospered under his guidance. Strange, she had never thought of Wolf as a businessman. But then seven years ago he hadn’t been...
‘So—Cyn, wasn’t it?’ he drawled hardly, challengingly, ‘you’re going to wave your magic wand and make this wedding perfect for Rebecca?’
Her cheeks felt warm at the insult behind his taunt. ‘I hope so, yes,’ she confirmed tautly.
He strode further into the room, at once dominating the intimacy of his surroundings. ‘A flowing white gown, a cake with little cupids decorating it, a horse and carriage to drive the bride and groom from the church to the wedding reception?’
Cyn paled as he used his words like sharp barbs to wound her; he hadn’t forgotten a thing! She drew in a shaky breath. ‘The latter might be a little difficult to organise in the middle of London,’ she dismissed sharply, her hands clenched so tightly she could feel her nails digging into her palms.
‘I’m sure it could be arranged—if that’s what the bride would really like,’ Wolf returned harshly.
She swallowed hard, deliberately turning away from the cold implacability of his face to look at Janie. ‘I seem to have forgotten to bring my notebook in with me—do you think you could go out to the van and get it for me?’ she requested warmly—the notebook in question feeling as if it were burning a hole through her handbag into her hip as she told the lie!
But this barbed conversation with Wolf, of which no one else seemed aware, just couldn’t continue. Much as she hated the idea, if he was a very good friend of the Harcourt family, a frequent visitor to the house, maybe she should just withdraw from being involved in this wedding at all. She could save herself an awful lot of work if she established that fact right now!
‘Of course,’ Janie agreed readily, shooting Wolf a longing look as she sidled past him and then out of the door.
‘Well...Cyn-to-your-friends,’ Wolf grated contemptuously as soon as they were alone, his golden gaze raking over her with slow insult, ‘just how long have you been a “friend” of Gerald’s?’
She drew in a sharp breath at the deliberate provocation of the remark. ‘I—’
‘It can’t have been for very long,’ Wolf added scathingly. ‘He only dropped his last mistress a matter of weeks ago.’
‘I’m not his mistress!’ Cyn hissed the denial, wondering if these heated spots of colour—through anger this time—were going to remain a fixture in her cheeks while she spoke to this hateful man. ‘We only met for the first time on Saturday!’
Wolf’s mouth twisted derisively, those lines grooved into his cheeks intensifying. ‘No, possibly you can’t be classed as a mistress yet; give it another few weeks or so! But don’t give yourself any false hopes where he’s concerned; you heard Gerald’s views on marriage,’ he added harshly.
She gave a weary sigh. ‘I don’t have any “false hopes”, or indeed hopes of any other kind, where Gerald Harcourt is concerned; I barely know the man.’ She shook her head dismissively.
‘It’s obvious he has more in mind than just a business arrangement between the two of you,’ Wolf rasped coldly, his eyes narrowed speculatively.
Taking into account that initial dinner invitation she had received from Gerald, he was no doubt right. But even if he was, it was none of his business if she and Gerald Harcourt should choose to go out together. Or if, indeed, they should become lovers. Just because he was a friend of Gerald’s, there was no reason for him—
‘It will never happen, Cyn,’ Wolf told her softly, his sharp gaze easily able to read her resentful thoughts. ‘Believe me.’
Her head went back challengingly—rather like a kitten putting itself up against a wolf! Wolf was tall and masculine, well over six feet in height, whereas she was barely five feet in her bare feet, not much more than that in the flat shoes she wore with black tailored trousers and matching jacket, the purple blouse she wore beneath the jacket making her eyes look almost the same colour. She looked tiny and slender, nothing like the twenty-seven she actually was—and this man was trying to intimidate her. Well, he wasn’t going to succeed!
‘My relationship—or otherwise—with Gerald is none of your concern,’ she told him waspishly, her eyes flashing.
‘I would make it so, Cyn,’ he assured her softly, warningly.
She frowned across at him, that frown deepening at the stark bitterness in that harshly hewn face. ‘You have no right, Wolf,’ she choked. ‘No right at all!’
‘I have every right, damn you!’ he began fiercely, his eyes glittering deeply gold as he took a threatening step towards her. ‘You—’
‘I couldn’t find it, Cyn,’ a slightly breathless Janie came back into the room at that moment, her face slightly flushed from her exertions. ‘I looked in the back of the van as well as the front and I—’
‘I found the notebook, Janie,’ Cyn told her guiltily, knowing she had wasted Janie’s time, as well as her own, trying to talk to Wolf alone in these circumstances; the differences between Wolf and herself were too deeply embedded to be dealt with in a few minutes of private conversation between them. ‘I realised it was in my bag after all almost as soon as you’d left the room, but by that time it was too late to stop you. I’m sorry about that,’ she smiled apologetically at the other girl, although to her credit, Janie didn’t look in the least put out; she was preoccupied once again gazing up enchanted at Wolf!
And he was looking at Cyn with such a look of intense dislike that a shiver of apprehension ran the length of her spine. They might not have resolved anything by their conversation just now, the intensity of his gaze seemed to say, but then the conversation was far from over. Oh, God!
Cyn turned gratefully towards the door as it opened to readmit Gerald, closely followed by the errant Rebecca. Cyn’s relief turned to dismay as she realised it was the girl from the garden...
All signs of recent tears had been completely erased by the subtle use of make-up. Rebecca Harcourt was even more beautiful close to like this, her skin flawless, her features smooth and even. And if there was a lingering anxiety in the deep blue of her eyes, Cyn felt sure she was the only one aware of it.
‘I’m so sorry I kept you waiting.’ Rebecca’s voice was huskily low—from those recent tears, or naturally so, Cyn couldn’t be sure. ‘I didn’t realise you were here,’ she added awkwardly.
But, to Cyn’s puzzlement, the remarks weren’t being made to her. Rebecca was looking up at Wolf as she crossed the room to his side.
‘Hello, darling.’ Rebecca reached up to kiss him lightly on the lips. ‘I’m so glad you could get away from the office so we could both talk to Miss Smith about the arrangements for the wedding.’ Now she turned towards Cyn, smiling a welcome.
Cyn just stared. She couldn’t have made a response even if she had wanted to. Wolf was Rebecca’s bridegroom...?
‘You know, I suddenly realised after I’d gone off in search of Rebecca,’ Gerald spoke ruefully, ‘that I never did get around to introducing Wolf to you, Cyn.’ He squeezed her arm apologetically for his oversight. ‘This is Wolf Thornton, my daughter’s fiancé.’
Wolf was the bridegroom!

CHAPTER TWO
‘SOME people have all the luck,’ Janie sighed at Cyn’s side as they made the drive back to the office a short time later.
‘Hmm?’ Cyn answered distractedly, still too shaken to even try to guess to what Janie was alluding; she had just spent almost an hour going through what arrangements the ‘happy couple’ would like for their August wedding, with Wolf being as objectionable as he could be without making it look like yet another personal attack on her. Or perhaps he was always like that nowadays? She hadn’t thought of that.
‘Rebecca Thornton,’ Janie enlightened her with another sigh. ‘It doesn’t seem fair that she has a gorgeous father like that and a sexy fiancé most women would kill for!’
Cyn couldn’t help her half-smile. ‘I don’t think having a good-looking father counts,’ she said ruefully.
‘Perhaps not,’ the other girl conceded with a dismissive shrug. ‘But Wolf Thornton is something else!’
Oh, he was ‘something else’ all right, Cyn acknowledged inwardly; although exactly what he was, she wasn’t about to regale Janie with!
‘I wonder where the gardener fits into all this?’ Janie added thoughtfully.
Cyn sobered; she had been wondering the same thing. They certainly hadn’t imagined the intensity of the encounter between Rebecca and the young gardener, on Rebecca’s part at least; they hadn’t actually seen the young man emerge from the gazebo, Gerald’s arrival in the small sitting-room distracting their attention from the garden at that moment. But it was safe to assume, from the little they had seen, that the gardener did ‘fit in’ somewhere!
If it had been anyone else but Wolf who was the bridegroom in this job, Cyn probably wouldn’t have given it another thought; after all, it was none of her business whom the bride chose to meet, in the open or otherwise. All that concerned her was that the bride turned up on the wedding-day, and that all the arrangements ran as smoothly as they were supposed to. But the bridegroom was Wolf—
God, she could still hardly believe that! Rebecca was twenty at a guess—younger, not older, if anything, and Wolf was already thirty-five, a mature, experienced thirty-five at that; why on earth was he marrying a girl almost young enough to be his daughter? More to the point, why was Rebecca marrying him, when at the same time she was having assignations with young gardeners at her father’s home! Cyn didn’t doubt that Wolf would be furiously angry if he should ever find out about that. Not that she, for one, intended telling him, but perhaps Rebecca should...?
She had watched the engaged couple when she didn’t think she was being observed herself; they seemed to get on well enough, although hardly in a lover-like way, Wolf treating Rebecca with the same indulgence her father did, Rebecca slightly in awe of him as she deferred to him over every decision. Even over where she should buy her wedding-dress! Cyn certainly wouldn’t have consulted him—
What was she thinking of? This was Rebecca’s marriage to Wolf, a relationship she could already see was in serious trouble. Although perhaps not. How did she know what arrangement Rebecca and Wolf had for after their wedding? Wolf was a stranger to her now, bearing little resemblance to the man she had known—thought she had known?—seven years ago, so perhaps he and Rebecca were going to have the sort of relationship where they both had other friends, lovers, as well as each other.
It was somehow a depressing thought to have about a marriage that hadn’t even begun yet.
Whatever, the last hour had been one of the most traumatic of Cyn’s life. She had been constantly on edge in case Wolf should finally say something that would reveal to the Harcourts that the two of them had met before, which would be very embarrassing when they had behaved like strangers from the outset. Embarrassing for Wolf too, but, as she knew from experience, he didn’t give a damn what people thought of him, and it would be a way of scoring off her.
And the longer the meeting carried on, without him saying something, the more tense and agitated Cyn had become. Especially as Wolf had seemed to become more and more relaxed as he obviously—to her—enjoyed her growing discomfort, that golden-brown gaze never far from her flushed face. Damn him!
And as she and Janie had taken their leave, she had known from Wolf’s expression that this wasn’t the last she was going to see of him for another seven years, that, whatever the outcome of this wedding, he would make sure of that!
‘Perhaps he doesn’t fit in at all.’ Janie gave a dismissive shrug at Cyn’s lack of a verbal response. ‘After all, what woman in her right mind would even look at another man when she was going to marry someone like Wolf Thornton?’
Cyn gave a pained wince; what woman, indeed! How naïve poor Janie still was at eighteen; she hadn’t yet realised that there was much more to choosing a life’s partner than the way he looked. But the important question was, had Rebecca Harcourt realised it, now that it was almost too late and she was due to marry in a few months’ time? Almost...? It was too late, with Wolf as the bridegroom!
She determinedly put the Harcourt-Thornton wedding from her mind once they got back to the office; she had a business to run, and she wouldn’t be able to do that effectively if she allowed herself to think of Wolf. She had spent seven years not thinking about him, and, while it hadn’t always been easy, she had somehow managed to get on with her life. He had no right disrupting things for her in this way when she was on the brink of finally making a breakthrough with her business. The unfortunate factor was that Wolf’s wedding to Rebecca Harcourt was going to be instrumental in helping her achieve that breakthrough!
She picked the receiver up automatically when the telephone rang a short time after their return, although she immediately tensed when the caller identified herself as Rebecca Harcourt.
‘What can I do for you, Miss Harcourt?’ she enquired with polite distance. She usually made a point of getting on friendly terms with all the brides she dealt with. She had found from experience that it made things better all round if the two of them could talk easily together, but that wasn’t going to be easy for her with this girl, not when Wolf was the man Rebecca intended marrying!
‘Rebecca, please,’ the girl requested a little breathlessly. ‘And what you can do for me is—well—’
‘Yes?’ Cyn prompted when she realised Rebecca seemed to be having difficulty finishing what she wanted to say. ‘If it’s that you’ve decided you don’t want to use my agency after all, please don’t worry that I’ll be offended,’ she added lightly—in the circumstances, she would be relieved if this turned out to be the case! ‘I realise that perhaps your father put you in a position where—’
‘Oh, it isn’t that,’ Rebecca hastened to reassure her. ‘I’m sure that your help with things is going to be invaluable,’ she accepted distractedly. ‘I just—’ She broke off awkwardly.
‘Yes?’ Cyn urged again, more gently this time, sensing the girl’s strain. And what was the point of her being distant with Rebecca? It wasn’t the girl’s fault that she was marrying Wolf, of all people!
‘I— Could you—?’
Oh, dear! Cyn had a feeling that the meeting Rebecca had had with the gardener in the gazebo was going to be important after all!
‘Everything’s going too fast.’ Rebecca finally seemed to find the right words, sounding relieved as she did. ‘I’m sure I’m not the first bride you’ve found to have a touch of pre-wedding nerves,’ she attempted to dismiss lightly. ‘I just—well, I want you to slow down on the arrangements for a bit,’ she added brightly, obviously feeling more confident now. ‘There’s no rush, and—’
‘The wedding date is only four months away,’ Cyn reminded her quietly.
‘Well, yes. But— Well—’
‘How about if just the two of us got together for a chat?’ Cyn took pity on her. As Rebecca said, she was accustomed to dealing with last-minute jitters, but four months away could hardly be called ‘last-minute.’ Besides, she had a feeling this was so much more serious than that.
‘Oh, yes,’ Rebecca agreed gratefully. ‘That would be marvellous. I could—try to explain, then.’
Cyn doubted that very much. She had a feeling Rebecca was trying to deny the truth even to herself. ‘How about if I come back to the house tomorrow, and we can—?’
‘Oh, not here!’ Rebecca cut in sharply. ‘What I mean is,’ she forced her voice to sound lightly dismissive, ‘why don’t we have lunch together somewhere, at least make the meeting enjoyable?’
And as far away from her father and Wolf as possible, Cyn would hazard a guess. ‘That’s fine with me,’ she accepted. ‘How about—?’ She broke off abruptly as her office door swung open without warning, staring up at Wolf as he stood so arrogantly in the doorway. Her hand tightened instinctively round the telephone receiver, the colour draining from her cheeks even as she felt her mouth go dry.
Although why she was so disconcerted she didn’t know. She had known earlier that there was no way Wolf was meekly going to accept her reappearance into his life, after an absence of seven years, without making her well aware of his displeasure, for all that he had remained so outwardly calm while they were both still at the Harcourts’. Meekly? Wolf had never accepted anything meekly in his life!
No, what was making this second meeting with him in one day so awkward for Cyn was that, for all the other girl’s bravado as to her reason for calling, Cyn could almost guarantee that Wolf was the last person Rebecca would want to know about this telephone call. And as they were still connected, and Cyn had no way of letting the other girl know of her fiancé’s arrival without at the same time alerting Wolf to the identity of the person on the other end of the line, Cyn wasn’t quite sure what to do next!
She watched Wolf as he came fully into the office, closing the door firmly behind him, standing across the room to look at her with haughty disdain as he waited for her to end the call. As end it she surely must. And as quickly as possible.
‘Lunch sounds fine,’ she somehow managed to answer Rebecca, although she could hear the strain in her own voice as she tried to sound normal. ‘Perhaps you could name a restaurant that would be convenient for both of us?’ she added lightly, all the time watching Wolf as he moved about the office now, occasionally picking things up to examine them before discarding them again, as if he had had no real interest in them in the first place. As, indeed, he probably hadn’t. She had bridal books, printers’ books, schedules, all littered about the gaily decorated office, its pink and cream wallpaper and paint applied by Cyn herself; she hadn’t been able to afford to pay a professional after putting down her first years’ rent on the office itself! The disdainful twist of Wolf’s harshly etched lips seemed to say he was well aware of the amateurish attempt she had made at decorating. He turned back to her now, dark blond brows raised pointedly as she still remained on the telephone.
Cyn would gladly end the call, if Rebecca would just name a restaurant. The sooner she got this meeting with Wolf over and done with the better. And after it, her meeting with Rebecca would probably be superfluous anyway: Wolf hadn’t said so at the time, but Cyn was sure she was the last person he wanted involved in the organisation of his wedding to Rebecca.
Thank goodness Janie had gone out for a late lunch on their return, otherwise her assistant would have been agog with curiosity as to the reason for Wolf Thornton calling on Cyn here after they had so recently spoken at his fiancé’s house. Cyn certainly had no intention of explaining to the girl that there were certain things Wolf would like to say to her that he wouldn’t want anyone else to be witness to!
‘How about the Ritz?’ Rebecca finally suggested after what seemed to Cyn like an extraordinarily long time. It probably wasn’t, but with Wolf still prowling around the room, it certainly seemed that way!
And the Ritz was hardly ‘convenient to both of them,’ or indeed within Cyn’s budget, but as this was to be a business meeting it would have to go on expenses; she certainly couldn’t waste the time—or, indeed, give away Rebecca’s identity—by suggesting somewhere else.
‘Fine,’ she accepted tersely. ‘Twelve-thirty tomorrow,’ she ended the call, putting the receiver down abruptly before turning to look at Wolf where he had moved around behind her now, studying the wall-chart she had of future bookings for the services of Perfect Bliss. Several dinner parties were also booked down during the more barren weeks.
He turned to her abruptly now, his golden-brown gaze rapier-sharp as it raked over her contemptuously, making Cyn very aware of the slightly windswept appearance of her silver-blond hair as it fell in soft waves to her shoulders, the colour made to look even lighter against the dark violet of her blouse. Her lips, she knew, would be bare of lip-gloss too, as she had just drunk the mug of coffee she had made to tide herself over until she went out for her own lunch once Janie returned.
This wasn’t how she had wanted to see Wolf again, but then she hadn’t been expecting to see him again so soon. She should have remembered that Wolf always did the unexpected.
Her jaw rose defensively as she deliberately met the cold disdain of his gaze. ‘What are you doing here, Wolf?’ she challenged, her voice—thank goodness—not showing by so much as a quiver how much his presence here unnerved her. And unnerve her it did. The two of them were completely alone here, with not much chance of an early reprieve for Cyn.
His mouth twisted, accentuating those deep grooves in his cheeks. ‘You surely didn’t think our conversation was over?’ he drawled derisively, giving her a pitying look now for her naïveté.
She drew in a ragged breath. ‘Which conversation would that be, Wolf?’ She arched blond brows questioningly. ‘The one from this morning—or the one from seven years ago?’
If she had thought he looked harshly remote before then now he looked positively icy, his eyes hard gold orbs, his mouth a thin slash of anger, his jaw clenched at an aggressive angle.
‘The two are surely connected?’ he bit out through clenched teeth, as if it was taking every effort of will on his part to stop himself from physically hauling her out of the chair, lifting her completely off her feet, and shaking her until her teeth rattled.
Cyn forced herself to remain seated, when what she really wanted to do was jump out of the chair and run, just run and run, until she was sure this man couldn’t catch her. But as she knew from experience, if Wolf really wanted to catch up with someone then he would.
So instead of running she gave a dismissive movement of her head. ‘I don’t see how,’ she shrugged, her fingers white as she held tightly on to the pen she had been using to work with when Rebecca’s call came in.
Wolf’s eyes narrowed on the pale defiance of her face. ‘Was that Gerald on the phone just now, arranging to have lunch with you tomorrow?’
The change of subject was so totally unexpected that for a moment Cyn was taken aback at the sudden twist, then a resentful flush darkened her cheeks. ‘Whether it was or it wasn’t is none of your business, Wolf,’ she told him as she finally stood up—not that it gave her much of an advantage, as Wolf still overshadowed her by more than a foot. But at least she was mobile now if the need to run should become a necessity! ‘I can have lunch with whoever I damn well please,’ she added defiantly. She was sure it wouldn’t even occur to him that it was Rebecca Harcourt who had arranged to meet her for lunch tomorrow. And she had no intention of telling him that little fact either!
One of his hands moved so fast that Cyn was barely aware of the movement, although she couldn’t mistake his grasp on her wrist as his long fingers curled about her tender flesh like steel bands. Just as she couldn’t mistake the warm flush that suddenly emanated through her body at the touch of those long tapered fingers, which she knew could caress with such tenderness, move over the soft curves of her body with such—
No! She hadn’t thought about Wolf in that way for seven years, hadn’t allowed herself that luxury, and to do so now, when he was about to marry another woman, was sheer madness!
‘Let go of me, Wolf,’ she instructed tautly, unable to look into the dark tormented beauty of his face, staring down at the spot where his flesh touched hers, his hand so dark against her much paler skin.
Again long-denied memories came flooding back to pain her, and, with a strength she hadn’t known she was capable of, she wrenched her arm out of his grasp, the pain this caused her a physical one rather than an emotional one. And she could deal with the physical pain so much more easily than the emotional one this man had once inflicted on her; she knew that the bruises on her skin would fade, that the inner ones never would.
‘How is your family, Wolf?’ she asked with disdain, her expression one of challenge.
His eyes glazed over coldly. ‘Family?’ he repeated, dangerously soft. ‘There’s only my mother and Barbara now.’
Only his mother and Barbara? There didn’t need to be anyone else; the pair were formidable enough on their own!
Cyn gave an acknowledging inclination of her head. ‘And how are they?’
His mouth twisted. ‘Do you really care?’
No, she didn’t care in the least, but at least the mention of the two of them had diverted his attention away from the source of that telephone call he had just interrupted. ‘No,’ she answered truthfully, unflinching as the dangerous glitter deepened in his eyes, remembering all too well the dislike the other two women had for her, and the way, in the past, they had never lost an opportunity to show that dislike. She was sure they would be no more interested in her well-being now than she was in theirs! Although, to be fair, it had always been Claudia Thornton who had disapproved of her the most, being totally against her son’s relationship with Cyn. Barbara had represented a different sort of threat completely.... Did she still? If she did, then Cyn had more reason to pity Rebecca than she had originally thought.
‘I didn’t think so,’ Wolf rasped now, the suppressed anger in his body a tangible thing, his very stillness unsettling.
Cyn gave a weary sigh. ‘What do you want here, Wolf? Rehashing the past isn’t going to help anyone. It’s your future you should be concentrating on,’ she added with a frown, her thoughts once again on the strange behaviour of Rebecca Harcourt this morning, and the even more enigmatic telephone call she had received from the other girl a short time ago.
Wolf was watching her closely, that amber gaze narrowed coldly. ‘And just what do you mean by that?’ he finally prompted softly.
Cyn had no intention of betraying Rebecca, and shrugged dismissively. ‘Do you love Rebecca Harcourt?’
He drew in a harsh breath. ‘What the hell do my feelings for Rebecca have to do with you?’
A lot more than any friendship she might have with Gerald Harcourt had to do with him! Wolf seemed to think he could walk back into her life after seven years, albeit unknowingly, and demand all sorts of things from her, but she wasn’t to be allowed the same privilege where he was concerned!
‘Feelings, Wolf?’ she scoffed with derision. ‘I don’t believe you have any for Rebecca.’ She shook her head. ‘At least, not the sort of feelings you should have towards the woman you intend making your wife,’ she frowned.
Wolf moved now, crossing the room with soundless footsteps, to stand only inches in front of her, his very proximity intimidating—as it was meant to be. ‘And what would you know about that, Cyn?’ he scorned forcefully. ‘What the hell did you ever know—or care!—about the way I felt?’
That was unfair—totally unfair. For a few weeks, a few precious weeks that had affected the rest of Cyn’s life, she had thought she knew this man—and his emotions—very well. The fact that that belief had been proved incorrect couldn’t take that away from her. And she was sure—dammit, she knew—that Wolf wasn’t in love with Rebecca! So why was he marrying her? Why had he never married Barbara, as she had thought he eventually would?
Cyn looked up at Wolf now, a sheen of tears blurring her vision of him, blunting all the sharp edges and angles to his face, briefly giving him the appearance of the man she had known all those years ago, a man who, although confident of himself and his own abilities, certainly hadn’t been possessed of the hard arrogance this almost-stranger portrayed.
And then she blinked, erasing the tears—and that erroneous impression of Wolf being at all the approachable man she had once known. Before her stood a man whose face was lined with bitterness, a sharp dissatisfaction about the thin line of his once sensual mouth, his eyes no longer like liquid gold but hard and unyielding. Perhaps he had always been this way, and she had just been too infatuated to realise?
No! She couldn’t, wouldn’t, believe that, because that would make a mockery of all she had once felt for him. And it had been so important in her life.
She drew herself up defensively. ‘We aren’t discussing me, Wolf,’ she told him briskly. ‘Why are you marrying Rebecca?’ She looked at him intently.
His mouth twisted, his hands thrust into his trouser pockets now, his suit jacket pushed back carelessly, revealing the flatness of his stomach beneath the fitted waistcoat. Wolf had always been slim, but now he was whipcord so, muscles rippling beneath taut skin. ‘Why do you think I’m marrying her?’ he returned softly, his mouth twisted mockingly.
Cyn was about to dismiss her right to ‘think’ anything about his relationship with Rebecca, and then she stopped, remembering Wolf’s easy familiarity with Gerald Harcourt, the obvious friendship between the two men. And she knew exactly why Wolf was marrying the young girl, and also why Rebecca had agreed to marry him.
‘A business arrangement,’ she said with obvious disgust. ‘My God, Wolf,’ she looked at him pityingly, ‘what happened to you?’ She shook her head dazedly.
His eyes were icy slits. ‘Happened to me?’ he repeated with cold menace.
Cyn stared at him as if she had never seen him before—as, indeed, she was sure she never had known this man. ‘Is this what you’ve become, Wolf, a hard-nosed businessman like Alex—?’
‘Leave Alex out of this!’ Wolf cut in harshly, no longer relaxed, his hands clenched into fists at his sides now. ‘He’s dead.’
She knew his brother was dead, had still been in Wolf’s life when the helicopter Alex had liked to fly himself, to get him to and from business meetings all over the country, had crashed in fog over the Cumbrian mountains, killing both Alex and his assistant instantly. But just because Alex had died it didn’t alter the fact that Wolf had hated the cut-and-thrust of Alex’s business world as he built up the family empire, that it had made Wolf shudder just to think of being involved in that world himself. And now, it appeared, he wasn’t just involved in it; he had become more of a cold-hearted bastard than Alex had ever been!
‘You can’t marry Rebecca because it makes good business sense, Wolf—’
‘Who says I can’t? You?’ he challenged scornfully. ‘You bailed out of my life at the first sign that things might be tough for a while, so don’t—’
‘That isn’t true!’ Cyn gasped incredulously. ‘I didn’t have any choice. You—’
‘Yes?’ he grated viciously. ‘I what? Wouldn’t be able to give you the attention you wanted after Alex died so suddenly?’ he dismissed contemptuously. ‘I thought you’d understand how it had to be.’ He shook his head disgustedly. ‘But you didn’t leave me with that erroneous belief for long, did you! Oh, no, you decided then was the perfect time to tell me you were seeing Collins again.’ His eyes glittered now with remembered anger at the disclosure. ‘If you ever stopped seeing him,’ he added harshly.
‘And just what do you mean by that?’ she demanded, heated colour darkening her cheeks.
Wolf made a dismissive movement with his hands. ‘You were involved with Collins before I met you. We were—close, ourselves, only a few weeks; it’s only natural to assume that— ‘
‘I was continuing to see Roger at the same time I was telling you I loved you!’ she finished accusingly, her eyes gleaming deeply violet. ‘Credit me with a few more morals than you had yourself, Wolf,’ she scorned with distaste.
His eyes narrowed to amber slits. ‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning—’ Cyn broke off with a heavy sigh. She wasn’t in the least disconcerted by the obvious danger of his chilling anger—at least, not much!—it was just that she couldn’t see the point, now of all times, of raking up the painful events of the past. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ She shook her head dismissively.
‘Obviously it does.’ His eyes were still narrowed. ‘Otherwise you wouldn’t have made the remark at all.’ His hands moved to grasp the tops of her arms as he held her securely in front of him.
Not that he needed to have bothered to have held her so tightly; her legs had gone too weak, at the first touch of his hands, to support her moving away!
‘Tell me what you meant, Cyn,’ he said abruptly. ‘I’m not leaving here until you do.’
She gazed up at him with pained eyes. God, she had once loved this man so much, had been willing to do anything for him—except the one thing he had demanded of her, she remembered heavily. Roger had tried to warn her, when she first went out with Wolf, had told her that people of Wolf Thornton’s class lived by a different set of rules from them. Only she had been too much in love, even then, to want to listen to those warnings. It had been a reluctance she had paid for a long time after Wolf was completely out of her life!
He was so close to her now, the warmth of his breath gently stirring the wispy blond fringe of hair on her forehead, the smell of his aftershave, a light woodsy smell, along with that masculine smell that was pure Wolf, filling her senses, making further thought impossible for the moment.
Or resistance, as she felt herself being slowly drawn towards the hard strength of his chest, the long length of his legs already pressed against hers.
‘Cyn...!’ he groaned low in his throat, the sound almost primeval, his arms moving about her now like steel bands as he drew her into the seductive warmth of his body.
It was as if the years since Wolf last held her like this had never been, her lips parting instinctively for the depth of his kiss, the onslaught fierce and demanding, his lips grinding down on hers, his hands roving restlessly down the length of her spine before coming to rest possessively against her hips, holding her against the taut arousal of his own body.
Wolf wanted her! As much as he ever had, Cyn realised dazedly. But even as she knew the truth of that she felt her own quivering response to the now languid caress of his lips against hers, tasting her, the tip of his tongue brailling every centimetre of her lips before dipping fleetingly into the hot, moist cavern beneath. Again. And again. Those flickering caresses were driving her into a frenzy of need for something deeper, her legs felt weak as she clung to the broad strength of his shoulders, her fingers unknowingly digging into the hard flesh there.
She trembled against him as his lips left hers now to travel the length of her throat, moving moistly against the throbbing column there, and her breath caught in her throat, her head falling back weakly against her shoulders.
This couldn’t be happening, was totally wrong, she knew in her more sane moments, and yet there was no way she could bring a halt to these caresses. Her whole being was crying out in need for the only man she had ever wanted in this way.
Wolf raised his head slowly, looking down at her, his eyes flowing liquid gold now, a nerve pulsing against the full sensuality of his mouth, the warmth of his hands burning through the silky material of Cyn’s blouse as he still held her against him.
Her tongue flickered out to moisten lips that had gone suddenly dry at the passionate intensity of that amber gaze, her breath leaving her in a shuddering sigh as she saw the way Wolf’s eyes darkened at her unknowingly provocative movement. ‘Wolf, I—’ She broke off with a disbelieving groan as the telephone on her desk began to ring intrusively.
She didn’t want to answer the call; she wanted to find out what emotion, if any, had motivated Wolf into kissing her in the way that he had. The passionate intensity of his kisses had been unmistakable, as had been her own instinctive response. But even as she looked up at him, to form her question, he was pushing her away from him, a hard savagery to the lips that had moved against her so sensually only seconds earlier.
He moved away from her with abrupt movements. ‘Answer the damn thing!’ he instructed harshly, glaring. ‘After all,’ his mouth twisted, ‘it might be some poor bride wanting to run away from her wedding, and everything connected with it—including the bridegroom!’
Cyn’s cheeks flushed as she remembered her conversation with Rebecca Harcourt such a short time ago. If ever a bride looked poised to run, it had been her!
And if the Wolf Cyn had seen today—those kisses apart!—was the one Rebecca knew, then Cyn didn’t blame her for feeling that way!
She reached automatically for the telephone receiver, all the time her puzzled gaze resting on Wolf as he stood so remote across the room, staring out of the window down on to the street below now. The office was situated above a bakery in the small shopping precinct. There were some days when the smell of baking permeating from the shop below could drive Cyn wild with hunger, but, despite the fact that it was almost two-thirty and she hadn’t even had lunch yet, today was not one of those days! And she doubted that Wolf was actually seeing any of the shopping scene below him either. Unless he had grown more heartless than she had imagined—because she still felt like a quivering wreck after the kisses they had shared!
‘Hello, Cyn,’ greeted a warm, masculine voice after she had put the receiver up to her ear and given the name of the agency. ‘You shot off earlier before I had a chance to make definite plans to meet you for that dinner you promised me,’ he added reprovingly.
Gerald Harcourt! Cyn shot a self-conscious glance across the room at Wolf. Of all the people who could have called her now...!
As if becoming aware of her tension, Wolf slowly turned to look at her, that amber gaze deeply probing on her suddenly pale face. ‘What is it?’ He frowned suspiciously.
Cyn swallowed hard. This was awful, just awful! She didn’t know what to do.
‘Cyn?’ Gerald prompted with a puzzled voice as he received no response to his teasingly made statement. ‘Have I called at a bad time?’ he guessed astutely.
A bad time! It couldn’t have been any worse. She swallowed hard. ‘Not really,’ she lied. ‘And dinner would be lovely.’ She deliberately didn’t look at Wolf as she accepted the invitation; if she hadn’t accepted it, she would have just prolonged the conversation, and with Wolf in the room, his expression now thunderous, that was the last thing she wanted to do. ‘Could you pick me up at eight o’clock?’ she continued to speak briskly to Gerald. ‘There’s a rather good Italian restaurant quite near here we could go to. Unless you would rather not have pasta?’ Who cared whether or not he cared for pasta? She just wanted to get this conversation over with as quickly as possible. Because if she didn’t, she had a feeling Wolf was going to explode!
‘Pasta sounds marvellous,’ Gerald agreed quickly, obviously pleased at his speedy success when he had surely been envisaging having to persuade her into accepting his invitation.
Cyn quickly gave him her address, all the time keeping a wary eye on Wolf, and ringing off as soon as she was able without appearing rude to Gerald.
Wolf hadn’t moved from his position in front of the window, and yet he seemed to have grown, become even more intimidating—if that were possible! Cyn stood beside her desk, her hands clasped self-consciously together in front of her, watching him warily. Both of them were silent, Cyn because she simply didn’t know what to say, Wolf, she was sure, because he had too much to say!
‘Gerald?’ he finally accused knowingly.
‘Yes,’ she replied unnecessarily; the flush that had instantly darkened her cheeks had been confirmation enough.
Wolf’s mouth tightened ominously. ‘And you’re having dinner with him tonight.’
Her chin rose in an instinctively defensive movement. ‘Yes,’ she abruptly acknowledged the statement.
He shook his head, his mouth turned back scornfully. ‘You asked me a short time ago what happened to me,’ he bit out derisively. ‘I can tell you in one word what happened to me, Cyn,’ he rasped harshly. ‘You happened to me! You with your silver hair, violet-blue eyes, and such an expression of innocence I was totally fooled seven years ago. But not again, Cyn.’ He marched purposefully over to the door and wrenched it open. ‘Never again!’ He slammed the door so forcefully after his exit that the whole room seemed to vibrate in reaction.
Cyn finally gave in to the weakness in her legs and sat down heavily in her chair behind the desk.
‘Never again’, Wolf had said. And yet his kisses such a short time ago, in this very room, made a lie of that claim. In fact, if Wolf could kiss her with such passion then he had no right marrying Rebecca Harcourt at all!

CHAPTER THREE
IN THE ordinary course of events, she and Wolf would never have met at all. In fact, it might have been better for everyone concerned if they never had!
Cyn had been working as one of the evening receptionists at Thornton’s, the exclusive hotel the family owned in the centre of London—the same hotel Rebecca and Wolf were due to hold their wedding reception at in August, which was why they knew there would be no problem with that particular booking!
There had been a lot of day as well as night-time staff on duty that particular evening; Alex Thornton and his wife were hosting a sixtieth birthday party for his mother, Claudia, in the main function-room. Despite the fact that this was posted up on the notice-board as the guests entered the hotel, Cyn had spent the majority of the beginning of the evening directing people to the appropriate room. Not that she had seen any of the family themselves; they had been escorted into the party by the manager himself. By ten-fifteen, Cyn had been sure all the guests had to be present by now, and settled down at her computer console to complete some of the paperwork that seemed to go along with the job and which she hadn’t had time to deal with earlier, while several of the other girls on duty took a well-earned break; they had all been working extremely hard today to make sure everything ran smoothly for the Thornton party. Cyn had been quite happy to wait for her own break. Besides, she knew she wasn’t going to be too popular if the couple in Room 217 weren’t even officially registered, let alone their preference for morning newspapers logged in!
‘What did that computer ever do to you?’ queried a deeply amused voice.
Cyn looked up from her frowning concentration on the VDU, her eyes widening as she took in the appearance of the man leaning so casually over the top of the desk as he watched her struggling to squash a lengthy home address of one of the guests into the totally inadequate space given for this very purpose by the supposedly foolproof computer program; obviously they hadn’t considered people coming from Russia when they devised the program. But one look at this man and she didn’t care whether the address was legible enough, after her pruning, for the guest to be billed for any extras discovered after his departure or not. This man was gorgeous!
Tall—he had to be, to be able to lean this far over the top of the reception-desk!—with over-long blond hair that persisted in falling forward over his high intelligent forehead, eyes the colour of warm amber looking at Cyn with deepening amusement as she continued to stare at him, his features striking rather than what could strictly be called handsome, everything slightly larger than life, his cheekbones high, his nose slightly bent, as if it might have been broken at some time, his mouth— Oh, God, that mouth...!
Cyn stood up slowly, crossing to stand on the other side of the desk from him. ‘Machines and I don’t get on,’ she dismissed with a rueful shrug. ‘Can I help you?’ she offered politely, although from the look of his black evening suit and snowy white shirt, his black bow-tie spoiling the immaculate effect slightly, being not quite straight, as if he had tied it in a hurry, he was yet another guest for the Thornton party. She couldn’t help wondering if one of the other girls would know who this particular guest was. There was a list, of course, for security reasons, but that seemed to have been put to one side earlier as they were swamped with queries about the party. Cyn gave it a sideways glance as it lay on the desk by her hand, but there were so many names not crossed off that it would be impossible to know who this man was. Unless she asked him. And she couldn’t do that—much as she longed to!
‘I hope so,’ he grimaced. ‘I’m afraid I’m a little late, you see, and—’
‘The Thornton party,’ she nodded understandingly. ‘Well, I shouldn’t worry too much about being late, if I were you; there are so many people crushed into that room that I doubt if anyone has noticed your absence!’ Although if she had asked this man to a party, even if there were three hundred other guests invited, she would still have noticed his absence.
His grimace deepened. ‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that if I were you!’ He shook his head.
Ah, she thought, there was obviously a woman involved, a woman who, like her, would be well aware of his absence. A woman he obviously didn’t want to hurt, otherwise he wouldn’t have been here at all, Cyn would hazard a guess. For some reason that knowledge made her feel slightly depressed.
‘I’d forgotten it was tonight at all, you see,’ the man frowned, completely unaware of Cyn’s disappointed thoughts. ‘Until about half an hour ago. I must have made the quickest change in history, and— What is it?’ He frowned as he saw she was slowly nodding at his words.
Her cheeks felt slightly warm as she blushed slightly. ‘I was—well, I was just thinking that that accounts for it,’ she admitted awkwardly.
Dark blond brows rose. ‘Accounts for what?’ he said slowly.
It was hardly her place to tell one of the hotel guests he was less than immaculately dressed! ‘I— Well— You see—’
He frowned down at his own appearance as he realised this was what seemed to be causing her embarrassment. ‘Hell, I haven’t put odd socks on again, have I?—no, that can’t be it,’ he ruefully answered his own suggestion. ‘You can’t see as far down as my feet. All right,’ he sighed, ‘what is it? Blood on my shirt collar? Shaving foam in my ears? Blood on my shirt collar and shaving foam in my ears?’ he groaned desperately.
Cyn was laughing by this time; she couldn’t help it. Because from his self-derisive attitude to the suggestion that he might have done any one—or all three!—of those things, she had a feeling that he had been guilty of all three of them on at least one occasion! ‘None of those things,’ she assured him, still smiling. ‘Although your bow-tie is less than perfect,’ she told him with a rueful grimace.
He put up a self-conscious hand to the offending item, a long, sensitive-looking hand, the fingers long and tapered. ‘I never was any good with the damned things,’ he muttered, looking up. ‘I don’t suppose you...?’
Cyn frowned her puzzlement. ‘I what?’
‘You can’t be any worse at tying bow-ties than I am,’ he decided firmly, leaning forward over the desk once again. ‘Have a go,’ he suggested, thrusting his chin forward to allow her better access to the tie at his throat.
She stared at him in dismay for several seconds. She couldn’t just go around rearranging guests’ dress! There was sure to be a rule about it somewhere in the contract she had signed to work here at all, and as she had only been here a matter of weeks—
‘Well?’ He muttered with his jaw clenched, obviously tiring of the unnatural pose. ‘I could get a stiff neck if I have to hold my chin up much longer, and end up walking about like this all evening. Then I’ll really be popular!’
With the woman at the Thorntons’ party who was waiting for his arrival. But what was she worrying about? Cyn derided herself; she was never likely to see this man again, so what difference did it make to her who was waiting for him in that function-room!
‘OK,’ she sighed heavily, leaning forward to untie the bow so that she could start from scratch. From the look of the crushed material the rather sad-looking bow she had just undone had been far from his own first attempt this evening!
His proximity, necessarily so if she were to arrange the bow-tie at all, was more than a little unnerving! So much so that she made a complete mess of the bow herself the first time she tried. But the man was so close to her she could see the pores of his skin, the black flecks in those strange amber-coloured eyes, feel the warmth of his breath against her cheeks. How could she possibly be expected to concentrate?
‘Not so easy, is it?’ he said with satisfaction as she started again, luckily seeming to have no idea it was he himself who was making this so difficult for her.
‘Mmm,’ Cyn acknowledged as she frowned her attention on the bow-tie, her tongue sticking out between her teeth preventing her from making further conversation as she tried her best to concentrate on tying the bow rather than on the sensual magnetism of the man she was tying it on.
He gave a sudden throaty chuckle. ‘Anyone finding us like this could be forgiven for completely misinterpreting the situation— I was only joking!’ he protested as she moved sharply away, thrusting her hands behind her back as if they had been stung. ‘You can’t leave me half dressed like this!’ he groaned as he put a hand up and found the bow was still incomplete.
He was hardly ‘half dressed’, Cyn protested silently—although the suggestion did bring some rather vivid imaginings to mind, predominantly a situation where he actually could be ‘half dressed’!
‘Come here,’ she instructed impatiently, pulling him forward by the bow, her fingers moving deftly now, irritated with herself for indulging in such daydreams; this man might be slightly disorganised, but he was still someone important enough to be a guest at the Thornton party, and, as such, completely out of her league. ‘There!’ she patted the newly tied bow-tie with satisfaction. ‘You—’
‘Wolf, what on earth are you doing?’ demanded an incredulous voice.
Cyn reacted with dismay to the sound of that intrusive voice, sure she was going to be in trouble now over the incident with the man she had now learnt was called Wolf—Wolf...! What sort of a name was that, for goodness’ sake? He didn’t look in the least perturbed by the interruption, giving her a rueful grimace before turning to face the woman who had called out to him.
‘Enquiring where the party is, of course, Barbara,’ he drawled easily. ‘How’s it all going?’ He strolled across the reception area to join her.

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