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The Determined Husband
Lee Wilkinson
Sera had been devastated when Keir Sutherlands became more interested in his career than in their wedding plans. Convinced he didn't love her any more, Sera knew she had to let Keir go…. Sera tried to make a new life for herself, but was thrown into turmoil when Keir returned and seemed determined to marry her after all.But did Keir love her, or was he simply driven by revenge?



“What is it you want?”
His smile wolfish, Keir replied, “You know quite well what I want, Sera.”
“Revenge, presumably.”
“Revenge, certainly. But there’s something I want a great deal more. You in my bed,” Keir told her.
“There are plenty of other women,” Sera insisted.
“It happens to be you I want.”
“I’ve already told you I’m not for sale to any man.”
“Then if money won’t do the trick, I’ll have to think of some other way to get you….”


There are times in a man’s life…
When only seduction will settle old scores!
Pick up our exciting new series of revenge-filled romances—they’re recommended and red-hot!
Coming soon:
The Marriage Demand
by Penny Jordan
Harlequin Presents
#2211

The Determined Husband
Lee Wilkinson





CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE
THE elevator descended smoothly and sighed to a halt. As the doors slid open, like a prisoner scenting freedom Sera stepped out and, her rubber-soled trainers squeaking a little on the marble floor, hurried across the Warburton Building’s impressive, chandelier-hung foyer.
At this very early hour it was deserted, but as she approached the smoked-glass doors, the blue-uniformed night-security guard appeared.
His seamed face breaking into a welcoming beam, he said, ‘Morning, Miss Reynolds,’ and decided, with fatherly concern, that she was still looking a mite thin and pale.
‘Morning, Bill. How’s your lumbago?’
‘Not as bad as it might be.’
He surveyed her navy and white track suit, her shiny nose, and the long, silky black hair caught up in a pony-tail. She looked no older than fifteen in that get-up, though he knew from a previous conversation that she was twenty four, the same age as his own Nancy.
‘Off for your usual run round the Park?’ he asked.
Sera, who was by no means an athlete, only walked or jogged gently according to her mood, but she answered pleasantly, ‘That’s right.’
‘Well, you’ve sure got a nice day for it.’
Bill was a creature of habit, and the same conversation took place each morning, the only difference being his last comment, which changed according to the weather.
He held open the side door for her, and she thanked him with a smile. She was a pretty little thing, he thought for the umpteenth time, and, unlike a lot of the tenants, she always managed a pleasant word and a cheerful smile, in spite of an ever-present air of sadness.
Outside it was cool and fresh, the sky a pale, innocent blue. Fifth Avenue lay as quiet as a sleeping babe in the after-dawn lull, undisturbed as yet by the bustle of the day.
In Central Park the green leafy trees looked newly washed, the flowers heavy with dew. Swirls of early morning mist hung over the grass like translucent ghosts lingering on after some spooky midnight gathering.
Taking her usual route, Sera began to walk at a good pace, enjoying the coolness of the air with its promise of a scorching day to come.
Other than a solitary jogger in the distance, she seemed to have the Park to herself. She liked the sensation of being alone. This was the only hour of the day when, free from the stifling atmosphere of Martin’s luxurious apartment, she felt truly at ease, unpressured, able to be herself.
That, apart from the much-needed exercise, was the reason she treasured these early morning outings. It was also the reason she kept them a secret from Martin.
Kathleen, his attractive, black-haired Irish nurse knew, but was sympathetic and said nothing.
Sera was truly grateful.
If Martin found out, she knew instinctively that he would find some way to put a stop to them. With a jealous possessiveness that amounted almost to paranoia, he wanted her by his side every minute of every hour of every day.
Though having the utmost sympathy with his bitterness and frustration at being in pain and confined to a wheelchair, and suffering for him vicariously, Sera was frayed.
She could only feel guiltily thankful when Kathleen occasionally relieved her of the burden by insisting that, after a morning of business, he should rest alone in his room for a couple of hours.
When that happened, still wanting her within call, he would turn to Sera and order peremptorily, ‘Don’t go out.’
‘No, I won’t,’ she’d assure him.
After the stick would come the carrot. ‘When I’ve had my afternoon therapy, we’ll take a drive.’
But she was weary of the specially adapted, air-conditioned limousine, of sitting when she would sooner have been walking, of having Martin beside her when she would rather have been alone…
Miserable and ashamed of herself, she broke off the disloyal thought. No doubt things would be a great deal easier when he was able fully to resume his business life.
Martin was a vigorous go-getter and found any kind of inactivity or restriction irksome, to say the least. His temper ready to flare at any moment, he had made a difficult, demanding patient, and even Kathleen’s imperturbable good humour had sometimes been stretched to the limit.
It had been a great fillip to him when, only a few days ago, his doctors had given him a positive progress report.
Though he might never be able to run a marathon or jump hurdles, and he would be left with a slight limp, in a matter of months he should be relatively free from pain and on his feet once more.
Normally a very sociable man, since the accident he’d hardly seen a soul, apart from his sister, Cheryl, and his brother-in-law, Roberto.
Hating the idea of people seeing him in what he termed ‘This damned contraption’, he wouldn’t go out—his only excursions had been afternoon drives in the car—and he’d refused to invite anyone to the apartment.
His thirty-third birthday, which fell on the following Saturday, would have gone unmarked. But bolstered by the good news, and encouraged by Cheryl, whose suggestion it was, he’d started to make plans for a weekend party at Pine Cove, his house in the Hamptons.
‘How many people were you thinking of inviting?’ Cheryl had asked.
‘Perhaps twenty or so to stay at the house—though we’ll need to warn Mrs Simpson—and some of the neighbours for the Saturday evening…’
‘Right. Roberto and I are having a break at Fiddler’s Cottage, so you can leave all the arrangements to me. I’ll talk to Mrs Simpson, phone or fax the invitations, and arrange for the caterers. We’ll need plenty of champagne. I think news like this calls for a celebration!’
As for Sera, the doctors’ verdict had been like some precious gift. She had been secretly terrified that Martin might never walk again, and her relief was so great that she had broken down and wept for joy.
The rather less than joyous reaction that had followed later had been a purely personal one. With the promise of an almost complete recovery, their wedding day had suddenly loomed so much closer.
Martin was already talking about early October as a possibility, and she felt as though a silken noose was tightening around her neck.
Sometimes, when she had temporarily escaped like this, Sera toyed with the idea of never going back.
But, of course, it wasn’t really an option.
Apart from her board and lodging, her job as Martin’s PA was an unpaid one. As though afraid she would leave him if she were independent, he never gave her any cash.
When, one day, she had pointed out quietly that there were certain small things she needed to buy, he’d said, ‘Buy anything you want, and charge it,’ which had effectively prevented her from buying anything but absolute necessities.
The mere fact that she had nowhere to go, and no money, wouldn’t have deterred her, but feeling morally bound to stay, she was as much a prisoner as if she’d been kept in chains…
The solitary jogger had long since disappeared and there wasn’t a soul in sight as, still busy with her thoughts, she reached the stand of trees and the side track she usually took.
As she rounded the corner, as though he had been lying in wait for her, a man’s tall dark figure suddenly appeared directly in her path. The sheer unexpectedness brought a startled cry to her lips.
‘It’s all right,’ he reassured her quickly, ‘there’s no need to be scared.’
That voice, low-pitched and with a suggestion of huskiness, was one she would have recognized anywhere, a voice she would have left her grave for; that lean, darkly handsome face, was one she had loved and would love until the day she died.
Fright was replaced by shock so great that a wave of dizziness assailed her. Her brain robbed of blood and her legs of strength, she thought for a moment that she was going to faint.
Apparently he thought so too, because strong hands shot out and gripped her upper arms, steadying and supporting her.
‘Keir!’ He was the same, yet not the same. A little leaner perhaps, but the same virile physique was there, the same powerful structure of chest and shoulder.
His hard face was the same, the firm jaw, the strong nose and high cheekbones, the cleft chin, yet beside that chiselled mouth were lines of pain and disillusionment.
His impact was the same, the same intense sexuality that had once caused Sera to respond with such ardent abandonment, but now that sexuality was leashed, guarded.
Looking into those dark blue eyes with their thick sooty lashes, she whispered dazedly, ‘What are you doing here?’
Indicating his black track suit and sweat band, he asked laconically, ‘What does it look as if I’m doing?’
He’d jogged in the past, she knew. Was that what had subconsciously given her the idea for her early morning outings?
‘B-but I thought you were living in England now,’ she stammered.
‘I decided it was high time I came back to see what was happening on the New York scene.’ Then with no change of tone, ‘So how is Rothwell?’
Wondering if he’d heard about the accident, she managed, ‘Martin is doing well.’
‘I heard Anglo American Finance made even bigger profits over this last year,’ Keir remarked sardonically.
Reaching for her left hand, he studied the magnificent half-hoop of diamonds she wore. ‘No wedding ring yet?’
‘No.’
‘Why not? Rothwell was mad about you.’
‘He still is,’ she replied flatly.
‘Then, why the delay? You were all set to marry him last summer.’ When she said nothing, he added caustically, ‘He must be worth a tidy few millions by now, which should make you very happy.’
Stiffly, she said, ‘I really don’t know what you’re getting at.’
‘Oh, come on!’
‘It doesn’t matter to me how many millions he has.’
‘There, now! And I thought it mattered very much.’
‘Well, you were wrong.’ Then helplessly she said, ‘I can’t understand what makes you think such a thing.’
‘Forgive me if I point out that it didn’t take you long to ditch me when someone with plenty of money came along.’
‘I did nothing of the kind,’ she denied angrily, and wondered how he could possibly blame her for the break-up. ‘I’ve told you, I don’t care about money.’
‘Despite that assurance I can’t help but believe things might have been different if I’d had any to spend on you.’
Gritting her teeth, she made to brush past him and walk on.
Keir turned and kept pace with her. ‘I guess we just met at the wrong moment. When I moved into that apartment Downtown, falling in love was the last thing on my mind…’
No matter what he said now, she knew he had never loved her.
‘I simply couldn’t afford to fall in love. I had neither the time nor the money to spare. But fate plays funny tricks.’
Looking straight ahead, she kept walking.
Glancing at her pale, set face, he went on, ‘I’d certainly never expected to bump into the woman of my dreams in a run-down apartment house…’
Sera’s stride faltered as memories rushed in to swamp her…

Brand-new to the States, she had been living in a single room on the top floor of an old Brownstone in Lower Manhattan, when one warm evening in late spring they had bumped into one another.
Literally.
Head bent and deep in thought, she had been making her way up the stairs, a brown paper carrier full of shopping clutched to her chest. At the same time a man had been coming down the next steep, uncarpeted flight of steps two at a time.
They reached the landing at the same instant, and a glancing blow from his shoulder made her drop her shopping and stagger back.
With great presence of mind he flung his arms around her to save her falling backwards, while various cartons and packages and a selection of fruit rolled and bounced gleefully down the steps.
Sera was five feet seven, but the man holding her was a good six feet and wide-shouldered. His beautiful, thickly lashed eyes were dark blue, his hair black, and with a tendency to curl.
He was dressed nicely, if casually, in stone-coloured jeans and an open-necked shirt. Lean-hipped, and carrying not an ounce of surplus weight, he looked like an athlete.
Tilting back her head, she focused on a tough, hard-boned face, with a cleft chin and a mouth that made butterflies dance in her stomach, and was suddenly breathless.
His dark eyes studied her flawless, heart-shaped face as he asked, ‘Are you all right?’ His voice was low-pitched and attractively husky.
Flustered, as much by his powerful sex appeal as by the narrowness of her escape, she answered a shade jerkily, ‘Yes, thanks to you.’
His white smile set her pulses racing and she found herself unable to take her eyes off that chiselled mouth.
‘Considering that I’m the one who almost knocked you flying in the first place, that’s a nice, forgiving sort of way of looking at it.’
Tearing her gaze away, she told herself crossly that, though she was a level-headed twenty-three-year-old, she was acting like some gauche schoolgirl.
Doing her best to sound casual, to hide the effect his nearness had on her, she managed lightly, ‘I’m a nice, forgiving sort of person. And, to be honest, it was partly my fault.’
‘Honest as well as forgiving,’ he mocked gently. ‘A woman in a million.’ Before she could think of a suitable rejoinder, he added, ‘And undeniably English.’
With unconscious pride, she told him, ‘I’m half American…’
A level black brow was raised in surprise. ‘I wouldn’t have guessed.’
‘Though I’d never been to the States until I got this chance to spend a year in the Wall Street branch of the company I work for.’
‘Which is?’
‘Anglo American Finance.’
‘I know them,’ he said at once. ‘In fact, I’ve had business dealings with Martin Rothwell, the man who virtually owns Anglo American… What do you actually do?’
‘I’m PA to Cheryl Rothwell, Mr Rothwell’s sister. I met her when she came over to the London office and, after she discovered I was half American, she offered me this opportunity.’
‘I see. So, which of your parents came from the States?’
‘My mother. She was born in Boston.’
‘Now, there’s a coincidence! So was mine.’
‘Oh… Then you are American? I couldn’t be sure from your accent.’
‘That’s probably because, like yourself, I’m half American and half English. I was born and brought up in New York, but educated at Oxford.
‘My paternal grandfather lives there, though our family originally came from Caithness.’
Just as he finished speaking, an orange, which had been balanced precariously on the edge of the top step, rolled off with a thump.
Glancing down, he said, ‘Though it’s much more fun standing here and holding you, I’d best rescue the shopping before it all ends up in the hall.’
As, bemused, she watched him deftly gather together the straying fruit and groceries, she knew that something special and momentous had happened to her.
Returning everything to the brown paper carrier, he remarked, ‘Not a great deal of damage done, except to the eggs. They’ll never be the same again.’
He looked ruefully at the damp, mangled package and added, ‘I hope you weren’t intending to have them for supper tonight?’
‘I was as a matter of fact.’
His eyes on her left hand, which was bare of rings, he queried, ‘Were you planning to eat alone?’
‘Yes,’ she admitted.
He clicked his tongue. ‘On a Friday night, with the weekend just beginning?’
A shade defensively, she explained, ‘I’ve only been in New York for a few days. I haven’t had a chance to make friends.’
Though most people liked her, her natural shyness compounded by her upbringing, meant that she had never found it very easy to make friends.
He smote his forehead and cried theatrically, ‘Poor little Annie! Alone and friendless in the big city!’
She was surprised into laughter by his clowning.
Gazing at her, fascinated, he exclaimed, ‘Twin dimples as well as beautiful green eyes. My two favourite things. Do you know, Annie, I’ve never met anyone with dimples and green eyes before.’
‘My name’s Sera,’ she told him. ‘Sera Reynolds.’
‘And I’m Keir Sutherlands.’
They shook hands gravely.
‘Well, Sera, after knocking you about and depriving you of your supper, the very least I can do is take you out for a pizza. What do you say?’
About to eagerly accept, she found herself recalling all the dire warnings her grandmother had dinned into her, and hesitated.
‘If you don’t like pizza we can have pasta instead.’
She half shook her head. ‘I love pizza.’
Watching her face, he suggested evenly, ‘But you’ve been warned about letting yourself be picked up by strange men?’
Her faint blush was answer enough.
He grinned. ‘I may be a little odd in some ways but I hardly think I qualify as strange.’
Mischievously, she said, ‘It might depend on one’s definition of strange, and I’m afraid I don’t know you well enough to judge.’
‘We could easily remedy that.’
‘Ah, but by then it might be too late.’
‘A good point. In that case, let me reassure you as to my intentions, my status, and my propensities…
‘I have no designs either on your purse or your person; I’m not married, or even mildly involved with anyone; and I’ve never been known to grow horns and a tail, or turn into a homicidal maniac, without warning.
‘On the other hand, if you prefer a more positive approach, we’re both Anglo-American, and I do live in the same building. Which means I count as a neighbour…’
‘I’m not sure the latter is entirely reassuring,’ she teased. ‘I imagine even the Boston Strangler must have been somebody’s neighbour.’
He pretended to be aggrieved. ‘Of course, if you don’t like the look of me, just say so. I may go and throw myself in the Hudson, but you’ve no need to feel any guilt…’
They were both enjoying the exchange, and she laughed. ‘That’s nice to know. I don’t stand up too well to guilt.’
Studying her face, the clear, long-lashed almond eyes, the straight nose, the wide, generous mouth and softly rounded chin, he asked, ‘How well do you stand up to a spot of friendly persuasion?’
‘Not too well,’ she admitted.
‘Then, supposing I was to say it would make me very happy if you would come and share a pizza with me?’
‘I can feel myself weakening.’
‘Thank the Lord for that!’ he exclaimed fervently. ‘Now, suppose we go and dump the shopping before we both die of hunger? Which floor do you live on?’
‘The top floor at the back. I have a bedsit.’
‘Here, it’s classed as one room apartment,’ he told her with a grin, adding, as they turned to climb the stairs together. ‘I live on the top at the front, so we really are neighbours.’
‘It’s a wonder we haven’t met before,’ she marvelled.
He shook his head. ‘It’s a wonder we’ve met now. You said you’d only lived here a few days. I haven’t been here much longer myself. In this kind of building people can live next door to each other and never meet at all, unless they happen to keep the same hours.
‘Normally I wouldn’t be around at this time, but a client I was taking out to dinner called at the last minute to say he couldn’t make it.
‘Feeling at a loose end, I decided to come back and change into something casual before grabbing a bite to eat.’
Smiling at her, he added, ‘I’m very glad I did.’

The first few weeks of being in love—and she was madly, head-over-heels in love—had been the most wonderful weeks of her life.
She had discovered that Keir was everything she had ever wanted in a man, and more. As well as being exciting, and physically attractive, he proved to be good-tempered and intelligent, sensitive and compassionate, with a spiky sense of humour and a love of life that was infectious.
He was also a workaholic: at his Wall Street office most evenings until gone nine, and a good part of every weekend.
In spite of such long business hours, he managed to see her for a short time almost every day. Sometimes in the early mornings they walked in the small park nearby. Other times they had late-night coffee together, either in his apartment or hers.
On weekends, if he could spare the time, they shared a simple meal and a bottle of wine.
One weekend, when they’d planned to take a short trip upstate, he said regretfully, ‘I’m sorry, honey, but I can’t make it after all. I have commitments both Saturday and Sunday.’
Faced with yet another lonely weekend, she protested, ‘Why do you have to put in such long hours?’
He answered carefully, ‘The real estate and property development business is a very demanding one.’
‘But surely no one normally works every evening and weekends as well?’
‘A great deal of my business is done socially rather than over a desk, and prospective clients expect me to be available for them twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.’
Taking her hand, he gave it a squeeze. ‘It won’t always be like this, I promise you. But at the moment I have no choice.’
Sighing, she accepted the inevitable and, with her usual good sense, agreed, ‘Then, I’ll just have to make the best of it.’
The following Saturday morning, he appeared unexpectedly at her door. Sounding jubilant, he said, ‘You know I’ve been having talks with your boss?’
Sera nodded. He’d mentioned the fact to her and, one day, she’d actually caught a glimpse of him disappearing into Martin Rothwell’s office.
‘Well, Rothwell has finally agreed to provide the rest of the financial backing I need to go ahead with a big, new development on Broadway.
‘On the strength of that, I’ve decided to play hookey for once. Let’s go and have some fun!’ He seized her hand.
‘B-but I need to get changed, and do something with my hair,’ she stammered.
His eyes running over her grey and white striped button-through dress, her flat-heeled sandals, and the black, silky hair tumbling round her shoulders, he said, ‘What you’ve got on will do fine. And I like your hair loose.’
‘Where are we going?’ she asked as he swept her down the stairs like a prairie wind.
‘We’re taking the subway to Coney Island.’

Though somewhat run-down and a mere ghost of its former self, colourful Coney Island, with its amusement arcades and fairground rides, was still amazingly alive and vibrant.
To Sera’s unjaded palate, the simple seaside pleasures it offered, and the sight of so many people having fun, were all she could have asked.
Eating hot dogs and sharing a big bag of fries and a can of cola, she and Keir strolled along the boardwalk enjoying the sunshine, the music, the smells and the ambience.
Noticing her sparkling eyes, he asked, ‘Does this kind of thing take you back to your childhood?’
Sera shook her head. ‘It’s the first time I’ve ever seen anything quite like this,’ she admitted.
His level black brows drew together in a frown. ‘Tell me about yourself… Apart from the fact that you work for Rothwell, your mother comes from Boston, and you were brought up in England, I know very little about you.’
Never one for talking about herself, she said, a touch awkwardly, ‘There’s not much to know. I’ve led a very dull life.’
‘Then, tell me all the dull bits, and I’ll try not to yawn.’
‘I’m sure you won’t be interested.’
‘And I’m sure I will,’ he disagreed firmly. ‘You’re an odd mixture of shyness and courage, of warmth and reticence. You like people, yet you tend to leave them alone. I can’t imagine you’re the sort to make bosom friends and confide in them…’
When, made even more uncomfortable by that shrewd summing up, she said nothing, he went on, ‘You have a great deal of quiet pride and, while you fail to condemn others, you’re very moral.’
‘You make me sound terribly stuffy,’ she protested.
‘Not at all. You’re exactly the sort of woman I’d always hoped to find…’
Her heart swelling, she caught her breath as he added, ‘And I want to know what made you that way. So, tell me about your childhood. Where were you brought up?’
‘In Sussex.’
‘What were your mother and father like?’
‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘I never really knew them. They died when I was only two.’
‘Tough,’ he said simply. ‘How did it happen?’
‘They left me with my paternal grandmother while they went to France on a skiing holiday. It was to have been a second honeymoon. They were killed in an avalanche the first day there.
‘Both my parents had been only children and, apart from my father’s mother, neither of them had any close relatives.’
‘So who brought you up?’
‘My grandmother. She didn’t want to be saddled with a child at her age, but she was a woman of strong principles and an even stronger sense of duty.
‘Nan had been widowed the previous year and there was very little money, so we lived in a kind of genteel poverty.
‘Though she was careful never to say so, I knew, in the way that children do know, that I was a burden to her.
‘She preferred her own company to that of a child, so I was always left very much to my own devices.’
‘But you had school friends?’
Her voice matter-of-fact, Sera said, ‘I wasn’t encouraged to make friends. Nan had always “kept herself to herself” as she put it, and didn’t see why I shouldn’t do the same.’
‘It must have been very lonely for you.’
‘I had some imaginary friends and, thanks to a kindergarten teacher who took an interest in me, I learnt to read at a very early age…’
Seeing the bleak look on Keir’s face and worried in case she’d given the wrong impression, Sera added hastily, ‘I don’t mean Nan was ever unkind to me, and she did everything she was able to do. She insisted on me going to university and, though I lived at home to save money, it was still a struggle to find the fares to travel.
‘When I graduated with a first class honours degree and went to work for Anglo American, she was as proud as a peacock and declared the struggle had been well worth it.’
‘What did she think of you coming to the States?’
‘She never knew. Nan was getting very old and infirm, and she died last winter. Otherwise I wouldn’t have left her.
‘Her death was one of the reasons I took the chance of a year in New York. The lease on the house was up, and there was nothing to keep me in England…’
For a while they walked in silence, each busy with their thoughts, while music and laughter, the noise of the amusements, and the shrill voices of children, flowed around them.
Then, their casual meal finished, they paused to wipe their greasy fingers on paper napkins, which they disposed of in the nearest litter bin, before strolling on.
Tucking her hand companionably through his arm, Keir asked, ‘Now which shall we sample first? The fairground or the aquarium?’
Just happy to be with him, she said, ‘I don’t mind in the slightest. It’s up to you.’
‘In that case, let’s go for all the fun of the fair.’
As though trying to make up for her colourless childhood, Keir pulled out all the stops and the rest of the day was packed with more pleasure and excitement than Sera had known in the whole of her life.
When, her face glowing, she thanked him, he said with an odd kind of tenderness, ‘At the moment you’re easy to please, my love.’
Hot, tired, and dusty, but completely happy, they were heading back to the subway when some jewellery being displayed by a street vendor caught Sera’s eye and she paused to take a second look.
The item that had attracted her attention was a narrow silver ring with an unusual chased design.
‘Seen something you fancy?’ Keir queried, reaching for his wallet.
If it had been anything but a ring, she might have told him. As it was…
Flushing a little, she shook her head and made to move on.
‘How about this as a memento?’ As though he had second sight, he reached to pick up the very ring she’d been looking at. ‘Try it on.’
When she hesitated, he took her left hand and slipped it on to her engagement finger. ‘That fits quite well.’
Turning to the vendor, who was sporting dreadlocks and a plaited headband, he asked, ‘How much?’
Moving a wad of gum from one side of his mouth to the other, the man weighed up Keir and, apparently deciding not to push it, suggested, ‘Twenty dollars?’
Keir nodded and the money changed hands.
As they walked away, Keir’s arm round Sera’s waist, he murmured, sotto voce, ‘It might be as well not to keep it on too long. It will probably turn your finger green.’
Lifting her hand to look at it, she said, ‘I’ll chance that.’
He gave her a squeeze. ‘One day, hopefully in the not too distant future, I’ll buy you something a great deal more expensive from Tiffany’s.’
A feeling of pure joy and thankfulness filled her. Keir loved her and wanted to marry her.
No matter what he bought her in the future, nothing could ever take the place of this ring and she would never be happier than she was at this moment…

CHAPTER TWO
IT WAS almost eleven o’clock when they reached the Brownstone and climbed the stairs. Sensing that he was about to leave her at her door and not wanting this magic day to end, Sera asked quickly, ‘Won’t you come in for a coffee?’
Looking into eyes unconsciously pleading, he agreed, ‘So long as it’s a quick one. I’ll need an early start in the morning to make up for today.’
She made two mugs of instant and they drank them sitting side by side on the couch that, with its brightly patterned duvet, was also a bed.
As soon as the mugs were empty he rose to go and Sera accompanied him to the door.
Until today, he had, intentionally it seemed, kept things very casual, a handclasp, a brotherly hug, a peck on the cheek.
Now, when he bent his dark head, with innocent boldness, she lifted her lips for his kiss. After the briefest of hesitations, his mouth brushed hers.
The lightest touch, but it proved to be as explosive as dropping a lighted match into a keg of gunpowder.
Without conscious volition, her lips parted beneath that light pressure and, making a sound almost like a groan, he gathered her into his arms and began to kiss her deeply.
Head whirling, she clung to him, while his hands started to move over her body, tracing her slim waist and the curve of her hip and buttock, before moving up to find the soft swell of her breast.
When those skilful fingers began to tease the sensitive nipple, she was shaken by shudders of delight and the kind of fierce desire she had never dreamt existed.
Knowing all about sex in theory, if not in fact, she had naively supposed that love and sex would go hand in hand to produce a mutual manageable pleasure. She had never visualized being swept away by such extremes of passion.
When, with a sudden urgency, he began to undo the buttons of her dress and the front fastening of her bra, she would have helped him, but her hands were shaking too much.
Tossing the garments aside, he stooped to nuzzle his face against her breasts, taking first one nipple into his mouth and then the other.
The pleasure was so pure, so exquisite, that she thought she could stand no more when, kneeling at her feet, he began to ease off her dainty briefs, kissing his way down her flat belly until he reached the tangle of black silky curls.
A kind of sensual overload made her give a little gasping cry.
Getting to his feet, he said thickly, ‘It’s all right, my love. It’s all right.’
Suddenly desperately afraid he was going to walk away and leave her, she threw her arms around his neck and, her mouth finding his and clinging to it, pressed herself against him.
For a split second he seemed to hold back. Then, to her utmost relief, he began to kiss her again. After a moment he stooped and, lifting her effortlessly in his arms, carried her back to the couch and laid her down on top of the duvet.
Her heart pounding, her mouth dry, she watched him strip off his own clothes and, when he came to her, she welcomed him with open arms.
In spite of his own urgency, he was a gentle, considerate lover, skilful and generous. He made her first experience of physical love a beautiful experience, one she knew she would always remember with wonder and delight.
When his dark head lay heavy on her breast, stroking his curly hair, she was filled with such love and tenderness, such joy, that, unable to contain so much emotion, her heart found an outlet in tears.
Her mood of ecstasy was so all-embracing that it had never occurred to her that Keir might not feel the same.
It took her completely by surprise when, lifting himself away, he said in a queer, shaken voice, ‘I’m sorry. I never meant this to happen, believe me…’ Then sharply, ‘Did I hurt you?’
‘No, of course not.’ She smiled at him tremulously.
‘Then, why are you crying?’
‘I’m just so happy. Please tell me you are. I couldn’t bear it if you were disappointed.’
‘Of course I’m happy.’ He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the palm, before saying soberly, ‘I just hope to goodness I can keep things that way.’
At that moment, still euphoric, she could think of no reason why they shouldn’t both be happy for the rest of their lives.
Swinging his feet to the floor, he sat on the edge of the couch, his dark head bent as though in thought.
She was admiring the elegant line of his spine, the clear, healthy skin, the width of his shoulders, when something about the tenseness of his neck muscles made her ask. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘I’m a damned fool.’ Swinging round to face her, he added with sudden violence, ‘You were a virgin…’
‘That’s true.’ Her lovely, humorous, self-derisive smile flashed out. ‘But being a virgin isn’t a crime. And I didn’t want to stay a virgin for ever.’
Heavily, without hope, he queried, ‘I take it you’re not protected?’
‘As a matter of fact, I am.’ Smiling a little at his astonished face, she said, ‘My doctor suggested I went on the pill for a minor hormone imbalance.’
She heard his sigh of unutterable relief.
Gently, she asked, ‘Would it have mattered so very much if I hadn’t been?’
‘Yes, it would,’ he answered shortly.
Sera was dismayed. ‘Then, you don’t like children?’
‘Of course I like children. But this is no time to be getting you pregnant.’
Perhaps not, as they weren’t married yet. But as they loved each other, it wouldn’t have been the end of the world.
Rising to his feet, he eased the light duvet free and pulled it over her. But instead of getting back into bed, as she’d hoped, he began to put on his clothes.
As he shrugged into his shirt, she asked, ‘Do you have to go?’
Keir heard the sudden desolation and, coming back to sit on the edge of the bed, he stroked her cheek with a gentle finger. ‘I’m afraid so.’
‘But why?’
‘Because I shouldn’t have let this happen. The time isn’t right. If it was just a casual affair, with no commitment on either side, it wouldn’t be a problem. But it isn’t. And it’s too soon.
‘At the moment I need every single minute, and every scrap of energy and concentration I can muster.’ Then, with a sigh he added, ‘I can only ask you to be patient.’
Sera nodded wordlessly. She could, and would, do anything Keir wanted her to do.
‘That’s my girl.’ He kissed the tip of her nose, switched off the light and, a second later, she heard the door close quietly behind him.
Lying staring blindly into the darkness, she thought long and deeply about Keir’s reaction to their lovemaking, while any remaining euphoria faded slowly away.
She couldn’t regret what had happened, it had been so beautiful, so right…
Only Keir hadn’t thought so; he hadn’t really wanted it to happen. And, with hindsight, she could see that he’d been a reluctant lover. She had sensed his attempt to hold back.
Afterwards he’d said he was happy, but his words had lacked conviction. Perhaps he’d only said it because she’d pressed him…
But he had wanted her. Inexperienced though she was, there had been no mistaking his hunger and need. And he did love her. She felt for the ring he’d placed on her finger, and was reassured.
All it amounted to, she told herself firmly, was that, with the amount of work he was trying to get done, there was no time at the present for a wife and a family.
As he himself had said, it was too soon.
But for a man who was as much of a workaholic as he was, would there ever be time?
No, she mustn’t think like that. If she was patient as he’d asked, surely everything would come right?

Sunday was a long, lonely day, and by ten-thirty that evening Sera had given up all hope of Keir coming. She had cleaned her teeth and put on a thin cotton nightdress, when there was the lightest of taps at the door.
Hurrying over, she threw it open.
‘Hi.’ He smiled at her. ‘I wondered if you might be asleep.’
Her relief and pleasure at seeing him was so great that, for a moment, she was speechless.
Then, because she couldn’t say all the things she felt, she asked mundanely, ‘Are you coming in for a coffee?’
He shook his head. ‘I just wanted to make sure you were all right.’
Anxious not to pressure him, she said brightly, ‘I’m fine.’
Her reward was a light kiss on the cheek. ‘Then, I’ll see you tomorrow morning at six-thirty. We’ll have a walk in the park, weather permitting. If it’s raining—’
Afraid of what he was going to say, she broke in hurriedly, ‘If it’s raining, I’ll cook you some breakfast.’
Grinning, he said, ‘When I say my prayers, I’ll pray for rain.’

Back on their former footing, snatching whatever time together he could manage, the next couple of weeks were happy ones for Sera.
Though Keir never made any attempt to make love to her, and kept the relationship light, there was a warmth about him, a caring that spoke volumes.
At odd times, when he looked at her, she saw desire flare in those long, heavy-lidded eyes.
Desire that lit an answering flame.
Had he made the slightest move, she would have gone to him willingly, eagerly. But, always with a will-power she could only marvel at, he beat it down.
The fact that he refused to take what she would happily have given, served only to deepen her feelings for him.
Love, as a poet once said, is hard to hide, and there was a glow about her that lit up the office.
Returning from a business trip, Cheryl Rothwell noticed that radiance, and remarked to her PA, ‘You look as if life’s giving you a treat.’ Then, shrewdly she added, ‘Which means a man. What’s his name?’
Taken by surprise, Sera found herself admitting, ‘Keir Sutherlands.’
‘Keir Sutherlands?’ Cheryl sounded startled, and none too pleased. ‘Some man!’
Though she smiled, Sera could sense the unspoken envy.
Her expression interested, Cheryl observed, ‘I met him a couple of weeks ago when Martin and he had some business to discuss…’
All at once she paused, her attention caught by the silver ring Sera wore. But after a moment’s scrutiny, clearly dismissing it as of no importance, she went on, ‘Though I wouldn’t call him film-star handsome, he’s an attractive devil, and his sex appeal hits you like a sock on the jaw.’
Then, sharply, she asked, ‘Where did you meet him? Was it here?’
‘No. He has an apartment next door to mine.’
Cheryl frowned. ‘What’s a man who owns Sutherlands doing living in some run-down apartment building?’
Sera, who had never considered the question, shook her head.
‘Do you know how long he’s lived there?’ Cheryl pursued.
‘Only for a short time, I gather.’
‘Odd… Perhaps I’ll ask him about it when he comes to the party on Thursday night…’
Anglo American did a great deal of corporate entertaining. Like Keir, Martin Rothwell considered that more opportunities presented themselves and more real business was done in a relaxed, social atmosphere than over an office desk.
Her light blue eyes on her PA’s face, Cheryl added casually, ‘I suppose you’ll be coming?’
Well aware that it wasn’t the answer the other woman was hoping for, Sera said steadily, ‘Yes, Keir said he’d take me.’
But, sounding more like herself, Cheryl exclaimed, ‘Lucky you! I can’t say I’m not jealous.’

When Keir finally knocked at Sera’s door on Thursday evening he was well over an hour late, and she had practically given him up.
Brushing his apology aside, she assured him, ‘It doesn’t matter. Honestly. Posh parties really aren’t my thing.’
‘How many have you been to?’
‘None,’ she admitted.
‘Then I’ll do my best to see you enjoy this one.’
He was looking devastatingly attractive in well-cut evening clothes and, knowing this gathering was certain to be a lavish affair, she asked a shade hesitantly, ‘Will I do?’
She had splashed out on a new dress, and with only a limited amount to spend had gone for simplicity, choosing a slim-fitting ankle-length sheath in muted shades of green and dull silver.
‘Not everyone can wear this kind of thing,’ the sales girl had remarked, ‘but you sure have the figure for it.’
Sera’s only reservation had been the scooped neckline, which revealed the soft swell of her breasts and more than a glimpse of cleavage.
She was wearing her only piece of jewellery, a long, thin, silver chain that looped twice. It had been her mother’s, and she had worn it ever since her grandmother had given it to her for her eighteenth birthday.
Keir’s glance travelling slowly over her, from her elegant knot of hair to her matching sandals. He raised her hand to his lips. ‘My love, you look enchanting,’ he said huskily.
Thrilled by the endearment, she asked, ‘You don’t think the neckline’s too daring?’
‘No…’ His eyes on the longest loop of the chain, which disappeared into her cleavage, he added ruefully, ‘Though it’s daring enough to raise my blood pressure several notches.’
Seeing the lick of flame in his dark blue eyes, she waited, hoping he would suggest staying at home. When he didn’t, she said prosaically, ‘If we’re going on the subway, I’d better get a coat.’
He shook his head. ‘You won’t need one. It’s a hot night, and all this finery calls for a taxi.’

When they reached the Plaza Hotel, off Fifth Avenue, the party was in full swing. People were standing in groups sipping champagne while they laughed and talked, and the air was filled with the scent of French perfume and the sweet smell of success.
Glancing around the large, handsome room at the assembled company, Sera saw that nearly all the women were dressed in top designer clothes and displaying enough precious stones to fill Aladdin’s cave. While the men, along with their immaculate evening clothes, wore that unmistakable air of confidence and authority that wealth brings.
Though knowing herself to be underdressed, with her off-the-peg sheath and simple chain, Sera held her head high. While Keir was by her side, she was well content.
She might be out of place in this glittering throng, but he certainly wasn’t.
He was a man who could, without effort, establish moral ascendancy over his peers, easily holding his own amongst the rich and powerful, and several covert glances told her that a lot of the women there envied her of her escort.
She found herself wishing that she could have fitted in better for his sake; she didn’t want him to feel ashamed of her.
As though guessing her feelings, he tucked her hand through his arm and, with calm assurance, led her over to their host and hostess.
Cheryl, her red-gold hair like a shining helmet, was wearing a dramatic dress of shimmering jade green. She had all the striking gauntness of a model, and there were diamonds around her neck and in her ears.
Her brother, looking relaxed and debonair, was impressive in immaculate evening clothes.
Though she had worked in the same set of offices for some weeks now, Sera had never actually met Martin Rothwell, only catching a distant glimpse of him from time to time.
She knew he was in his early thirties, a year younger than Cheryl, who had once playfully described him as ‘my baby brother’.
At close quarters he looked even younger and, seeing brother and sister standing together, Sera realized for the first time how very alike they were.
Both were tall and well-built, with the kind of red-gold hair that was often called ginger—though Cheryl’s was several shades darker than her brother’s. They both had pale blue eyes, the kind of skin that freckles easily, a short nose, and a long upper lip.
There, the resemblance ended.
Martin Rothwell had a rather heavy face with flat cheeks and a squarish jaw, while Cheryl’s face was a smooth oval with prominent cheekbones.
They were very good-looking in their own way, and Martin had the reputation of being a charmer where women were concerned.
‘Sutherlands, glad you could make it,’ he said expansively, and held out his hand.
Watching them together, Sera noticed that, though Keir was a good six feet and broad-shouldered, Martin was equally tall and considerably heavier.
The two men shook hands. Neither smiled.
‘You’ve met my sister, of course?’
‘Miss Rothwell,’ Keir murmured politely, taking the proffered hand.
‘Oh, Cheryl, please.’
Turning to her brother, whose light eyes were fixed on Sera’s exquisite face, Cheryl said, ‘I don’t think you’ve actually met Sera Reynolds, my new PA? Sera’s only been here a few weeks. She’s from the London branch.’
‘I can see I’ve been missing out.’ Taking her hand, Martin smiled at her and, all at once, Sera could see why he had that reputation for charm.
His clasp was cool and firm and he held her hand rather longer than was strictly necessary before releasing it.
By her side, she sensed rather than felt, Keir stiffen slightly, and saw by the gleam in Martin’s eye that he had noticed and was pleased by that instinctive reaction.
The men might do business together, she realized, but they were far from liking one another.
Smiling a little, Martin asked blandly, ‘So, how are you settling in, Sera?’
‘Quite well, I think.’
‘And you like New York?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘Have you had a chance to see much of it?’
Before Sera could answer, Cheryl gave her brother a swift, conspiratorial glance and, stepping forward, slid her hand through Keir’s arm.
‘If you can spare a few minutes, there’s someone I think you should meet. His name is Roberto Canelli. Though I only met him myself a few days ago, I happen to know he’s been looking for a suitable site to relocate his business.’
Turning to Sera, Keir asked, ‘I hope you don’t mind?’
Well aware that business was the be all and the end all of the evening, she answered valiantly, ‘No, of course not.’
He gave her a swift, grateful smile and promised, ‘I’ll try not to be too long.’
‘Canelli’s about to complete a deal with Bensons,’ Cheryl warned, ‘so if you have anything that might interest him, you’ll have to move fast…’
A moment later, feeling rather lost, Sera watched as they walked away and disappeared into the throng.
Cheryl was very tall for a woman, almost six feet in her high heels, and with their two heads close together, one so smooth and bright, the other so dark and curly, they made a handsome couple.
‘As you’ve just arrived, you won’t have eaten yet?’ Martin’s voice broke into Sera’s thoughts.
‘No,’ she admitted.
‘Then, while we get to know each other, shall we go and see what the buffet has to offer?’ A hand at her waist, he led her through to the adjoining room.
As she might have expected, the tables held an excellent and varied selection of food, while above the hum of conversation glasses clinked and champagne corks popped.
With a gallantry she found slightly embarrassing, Martin insisted on helping her to a selection of hors d’oeuvres before serving himself.
A lot of the top men from the world of finance were gathered by the buffet, standing in little groups of twos and threes, making new contacts and cementing old ones over smoked salmon canapés and glasses of vintage champagne.
While they ate, Martin pointed out several whose names were synonymous with wealth and power, and told her amusing anecdotes about each.
Sera was laughing at one of them when Keir appeared at her side. She turned to him eagerly.
His expression curiously tight, he told her, ‘Signor Canelli is interested in a site near SoHo that’s just recently come on the market. He’d like to take a look at it straight away, so Cheryl has kindly offered to drive us down there. Will you be all right?’
Her heart dropping like a lead weight, Sera said, ‘I’ll be fine.’ Then trying not to sound anxious, ‘Have you any idea how long you’ll be?’
‘It’ll depend on the traffic, I’m afraid.’ Giving her hand a squeeze, he assured her, ‘But I’ll be as quick as I can.’
‘If you don’t happen to make it back,’ Martin said smoothly, ‘I’ll see Sera gets home safely.’
‘Thank you, but I expect to be back.’ Keir’s voice was only just civil.
It was obvious that he wasn’t happy about leaving her with Martin Rothwell. But business came first.
His face set, he turned and walked away.
Treating the other man’s reappearance as an unwanted intrusion, Martin asked cheerfully, ‘Now then, where were we?’
For the next twenty minutes or so, while they stood by the buffet, he plied her with delicacies and, though he himself drank little, made sure her glass was kept topped up.
Giving her his undivided attention, he asked her a string of questions. Where did she live…? What did she like most about New York…? How did she think life in the States compared with life in England?
He seemed genuinely interested in her answers, and she found him surprisingly easy to talk to.
One of his comments made her ask, ‘Do you know England well?’
‘Fairly well. We have English ancestry and both Cheryl and I have spent some time over there. After leaving college I lived in London for almost three years…’
Despite his charm, he was known to be a hard-headed businessman, and Sera expected him to excuse himself as soon as the meal was over, rather than waste any more time on one of his own employees.
But, even when they’d finished eating and their coffee cups were empty, he remained by her side.
Aware that he would need to mingle with his guests, she put down her cup and said politely, ‘Thank you, Mr Rothwell, that was most enjoyable,’ and made to leave him.
‘Don’t go…’ he put a restraining hand on her arm ‘…and out of the office please call me Martin.’ Seeing the look on her face, he said teasingly, ‘Go on, try it. It’s not that difficult. Martin.’
‘Martin,’ she echoed uncertainly.
‘Not bad. All you need is a little more practice.’
His hand lingered on her arm as he queried, ‘As you’ve been in New York such a short time you can’t know many people here?’
‘No.’
‘Then let me introduce you to a few.’
‘I’m afraid I’m not really dressed for it.’
His pale blue eyes on her face, he said, ‘As far as I’m concerned, you’re quite perfect.’
Disconcerted, she stammered, ‘Th-thank you, but Keir might be back soon, and I—’
‘If he does turn up, I’ll reluctantly hand you over. Until then, let’s circulate.’
He offered her his arm and, feeling she had no option, she took it.
Uncomfortable at first, after a while and rather to her surprise, Sera began to relax and enjoy a novel experience.
On the arm of the big boss, she found herself being regarded with a kind of deference and respect that made her smile inwardly.
As they moved from group to group, pausing to talk to what Martin termed the ‘more interesting’ of his guests, he introduced her simply as ‘Miss Reynolds, an English colleague.’
When the conversation invariably turned to the current financial scene, with a flattering certainty that she knew what she was talking about, he drew her into each discussion, inviting her opinion and treating her as an equal.
It was heady stuff.
An evening she’d only looked forward to because Keir was taking her became stimulating and enjoyable, despite his continued absence.
Towards eleven, people began to drift away, and she found herself saying goodnight to Martin’s guests as though she was his hostess.
The party was coming to an end, with still no sign of either Cheryl or Keir. Oh, what on earth was keeping them? she wondered.
Apparently interpreting her anxious expression, Martin said, ‘It doesn’t look as if they’re going to get back.’
‘No.’ The monosyllable sounded forlorn, when she’d meant it to sound matter-of-fact.
‘In that case, I’ll be happy to see you home.’
Knowing he and his sister shared an apartment on Fifth Avenue, she refused hastily. ‘Thank you, but there’s really no need for you to go out of your way.’
As though she hadn’t spoken, he asked, ‘Where do you live?’
She told him, adding firmly, ‘I can easily get a taxi.’
‘I won’t hear of it. A promise is a promise. And you’ve been neglected enough for one night.’
Not by him, she hadn’t. Though she was a mere employee and he the host of a party thrown solely for business reasons, Martin had contrived to put her interests before business.
Whereas Keir…
Though she immediately snapped off the disloyal thought, a faint feeling of resentment was born.
A hand beneath her elbow, Martin queried, ‘Have you a wrap?’
She shook her head.
‘Then, let’s go.’
When she had been handed into his silver-grey, chauffeur-driven limousine, Martin climbed in beside her and asked, ‘Have you discovered New York by night?’
‘Not really.’ She had spent most evenings sitting in her room, waiting in case Keir might call.
‘Then you must see Times Square and the lights on Broadway.’
Sliding aside the glass panel, Martin gave the chauffeur her address, adding, ‘Drive down Broadway, will you, Carlson?’
To Sera, he explained, ‘Broadway follows an old Indian trail, so it’s the one street that mars Midtown Manhattan’s perfect grid system…’
During the journey he pointed out things of interest and talked easily, entertainingly, about the New York scene and the current musicals.
‘I take it you haven’t been to a Broadway production yet?’ he queried.
‘No, but I’m certainly hoping to. Is it difficult to get tickets?’
‘That depends on what you’d like to see.’
She named one of the latest shows, and was totally disconcerted when he said, ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Oh, but I—I didn’t mean—’
Leaning over, he put a finger to her lips. ‘I know you didn’t. But it will be my pleasure.’
When they reached the Brownstone on Quarles Street, Martin got out with her.
A quick glance at the top floor showed that Keir’s window was still dark. So he wasn’t home yet.
Remembering Cheryl’s obvious interest in him, Sera felt slightly uneasy. She had discovered almost at once that, where men were concerned, the redhead was unashamedly predatory…
She became aware that Martin was standing waiting and held out her hand, saying formally, ‘Thank you for everything. You’ve been more than kind.’
He took her hand and tucked it under his arm. ‘I’ll see you up.’
‘But I live on the top floor and there’s no lift.’
‘Do I look that decrepit?’ he asked quizzically.
‘Of course not, but there really isn’t any need.’
‘Let me be the judge of that.’
He accompanied her up the steps and, when she’d let herself in, followed her across the brown-linoleum-covered hall and up the five flights of stairs, where traces of the evening’s cooking smells—greens, onions, garlic, pastrami—still lingered on the hot, stale air.
Turning to glance at him, she saw his nose wrinkle. ‘How on earth do you manage in a place like this?’ he asked with distaste.
‘It’s not really so bad,’ she defended the Brownstone. ‘In fact, I’m quite enjoying living here.’
She refrained from adding that, when Keir was with her, it was as close to heaven as she was every likely to get.
‘Didn’t personnel give you any help?’ Martin questioned.
‘Yes. They went to a great deal of trouble.’
‘It doesn’t look like it to me. I’ll have to see if they can’t come up with something better.’
‘Prices in New York are high,’ she pointed out quietly. ‘I couldn’t afford anything better.’
For a moment he looked angry and she realized that, when he’d set his mind on something, he wasn’t used to being thwarted.
Then he shrugged and suggested with a smile, ‘In that case, you’ll have to try asking Cheryl for an increase in salary.’
When they reached her door, Sera thanked him again. ‘I really am very grateful for everything.’
His pale blue eyes on her face, he suggested, ‘In that case, there’s something you can do for me.’
Watching her freeze, he told her crisply, ‘No, it’s not what you’re thinking. When I do take you to bed, the last thing I’ll be looking for is gratitude, believe me.’
‘I—I’m sorry,’ she stammered, feeling foolish. ‘What is it you want me to do?’
‘Tomorrow I’m having lunch with Ralph Kessler and his wife. It’s part social and part business. Cheryl, who usually joins me on these occasions, is tied up.
‘I need someone with me who’s intelligent enough to cope with the business side if they both want to talk business, and pleasant enough to carry off the social side if Mrs Kessler just wants to talk. In other words, I’d like you to act as my hostess.’
‘I’d be happy to,’ she agreed, still kicking herself for her previous blunder. Then hesitantly she said, ‘But I really haven’t anything suitable to wear.’
He brushed that off as an excuse. ‘Don’t worry, wear anything. Oh, and don’t bother to go into the office in the morning. I’ll pick you up here at about eleven.’ Then coolly he said, ‘Goodnight, Sera.’
‘Goodnight,’ she answered and, in something of a daze, watched him turn and descend the stairs two at a time.
She had been subconsciously on her guard, half expecting him to try to kiss her, her instincts telling her that, despite knowing about Keir, he had more than a boss/employee relationship in mind.
But perhaps, lacking experience in such matters, she’d totally misread things?
Then recalling his, ‘When I do take you to bed…’ she knew her instincts had been right.
Well, it was only a business lunch she’d committed herself to and, from now on, she’d be doubly careful.
While she took off her make-up and cleaned her teeth in the tiny cramped bathroom, she listened for any sounds of Keir returning, but heard nothing.
When she finally donned her nightie and got into bed she left her light on, hoping that when he did come he would know she was awake, and knock.

CHAPTER THREE
WHEN Sera surfaced slowly, reluctantly, her light was still on, but made tawdry by the sunshine filtering through the curtains. She felt disturbed and anxious without knowing precisely why.
It took a minute for her head to clear enough to recall the previous night. It had been after two before she’d fallen into an exhausted sleep and, still, Keir hadn’t returned.
Glancing at the simple watch she wore on a plain black strap, she saw that it was almost ten-thirty, and Martin was coming to pick her up at eleven.
Stumbling out of bed, she pulled on her dressing gown and, leaving her own door slightly ajar, went to knock on Keir’s.
There was no answer. Had he been and gone? Or hadn’t he returned at all?
But even someone as dedicated as he didn’t work all night. So what had he been doing?
Unbidden, a picture of Cheryl’s striking face and body flashed into Sera’s mind.
With a sudden pang she remembered what Keir had said after they had made love. ‘If it was just a casual affair, with no commitment on either side, it wouldn’t be a problem…’
At the time she hadn’t thought about his words too closely, hadn’t envisaged that he might apply them in other ways.
He’d made no promises about being faithful to her, and she’d asked for none. She had simply thought that, if he loved her, everything would be all right.
But would it?
Cheryl had more than enough sex appeal to light up Broadway, and very few scruples. If she made it plain that she fancied him…well, Keir was a red-blooded man…
Heart-sick, Sera turned away from his door and hurried back to her own room to shower and get ready for when Martin arrived.
Catching sight of herself in the spotted mirror, Sera saw she looked pale and depressed, and made herself up with care before coiling her black silky hair into a smooth knot.
Having nothing more suitable, she put on a white blouse, a charcoal-grey skirt and jacket, and grey leather court shoes. She had just picked up her bag when there was a knock at the door.
Perhaps it was Keir.
She rushed to open it and was disappointed to find Martin standing there.
Seeing the light die out of her face, he asked shrewdly, ‘Were you expecting someone else?’
‘No.’
He quirked a sandy brow. ‘Then, you don’t like my tie?’
Making an effort, she answered lightly, ‘On the contrary, I love it.’
‘In that case, I may never change it.’
Watching twin dimples appear as she smiled, he asked, ‘Ready to go?’
Indicating her suit, she queried, ‘Will this do?’
He pursed his lips. ‘It’s smart, but too office-like for this kind of semi-social occasion.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t have anything more suitable.’
‘That can soon be remedied. We’ll stop off at Barron Conté.’
‘No,’ she said sharply.
His pale blue eyes turned cold. ‘We would be merely purchasing the right clothes for the job. If you were an office cleaner and the company supplied you with an overall, I take it you would have no objections?’
‘No, but—’
‘This is a matter of business. You’re doing a job for the company for which you’ll get paid and for which you need to be stylishly dressed. You don’t have to keep the clothes if you don’t want to.’
She bit her lip. Perhaps this kind of thing was the norm? Maybe she was making a fuss about nothing?
‘What do you say?’
‘Very well,’ she agreed unwillingly. ‘If there’s enough time.’
‘There’ll be plenty of time.’ He smiled his satisfaction. ‘We’re not meeting the Kesslers until one o’clock.’
If lunch wasn’t until one, why had he come to pick her up so early? Unless he’d had this in mind from the start?
Suddenly, recalling how last night he’d said ‘Don’t worry, wear anything’, she knew he had, and felt a sudden apprehension, a growing suspicion that she was being manipulated.
‘Buy whatever you need,’ Martin ordered when they reached Barron Conté and dropped Sera off, ‘and charge it to the company. Price is no object.’
Warily she asked, ‘But what kind of thing would be most suitable?’
‘I’ll leave that to your good taste. But get a complete outfit, including undies.’
Not on your life, she thought. Buying undies had an implication that was unacceptable. The only clothes and accessories she was prepared to buy were the ones that would be visible and were strictly necessary.
‘Now I’ve some business to see to. I’ll pick you up in about an hour,’ Martin added.

Some fifty minutes later, her own clothes packed in a black and gold striped box, Sera emerged from the famous Fifth Avenue store and climbed into the waiting limousine.
She was still dressed in a suit, but the cut, the design, and the raw silk made it a far cry from the one that she had been wearing.
His glance running over her, Martin said with undisguised admiration, ‘You look a million dollars…’
With the sheerest of stockings and a pair of handmade shoes, she felt a million dollars.
‘Though I’d prefer it if you didn’t wear this. It doesn’t go with the outfit.’ Before she could guess his intention, he picked up her left hand and, slipping off her ring, dropped it into his pocket.
Sera held out her hand, saying as levelly as possible, ‘I’d like my ring back, please.’
Seeing the angry sparkle in her green eyes, he retrieved the ring and dropped it into her waiting palm.
‘Thank you.’ She put it carefully into her purse.
‘Not an engagement ring, surely?’ he enquired.
‘A memento…’ Wasn’t that what Keir had called it? She had thought of it as an engagement ring but, looking back, she knew Keir hadn’t. All he’d said was, ‘It might be as well not to keep it on too long. It will probably turn your finger green.’

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