Книга - Past Passion

Past Passion
PENNY JORDAN


Too close…At eighteen, Nicola had made a terrible mistake and eight years later is still punishing herself for her folly. But her shameful secret comes full circle when Matt Hunt walks back into her life as her new boss. Not that Matt recognizes the assured, controlled businesswoman as the girl who had shared his bed for one brief night.Her dread of discovery attacks her frail self-control. But so does Nicola's consuming need for the man who has haunted her dreams for so long. What will she do when Matt, inevitably, recognizes her…?







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PENNY JORDAN

Phenomenally successful author of more than two hundred books with sales of over a hundred million copies!

Penny Jordan's novels are loved by millions of readers all around the word in many different languages. Mills & Boon are proud to have published one hundred and eighty-seven novels and novellas written by Penny Jordan, who was a reader favourite right from her very first novel through to her last.

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Penny Jordan is one of Mills & Boon's most popular authors. Sadly, Penny died from cancer on 31st December 2011, aged sixty-five. She leaves an outstanding legacy, having sold over a hundred million books around the world. She wrote a total of one hundred and eighty-seven novels for Mills & Boon, including the phenomenally successful A Perfect Family, To Love, Honour & Betray, The Perfect Sinner and Power Play, which hit the Sunday Times and New York Times bestseller lists. Loved for her distinctive voice, her success was in part because she continually broke boundaries and evolved her writing to keep up with readers’ changing tastes. Publishers Weekly said about Jordan ‘Women everywhere will find pieces of themselves in Jordan's characters’ and this perhaps explains her enduring appeal.

Although Penny was born in Preston, Lancashire and spent her childhood there, she moved to Cheshire as a teenager and continued to live there for the rest of her life. Following the death of her husband, she moved to the small traditional Cheshire market town on which she based her much-loved Crighton books.

Penny was a member and supporter of the Romantic Novelists’ Association and the Romance Writers of America—two organisations dedicated to providing support for both published and yet-to-be-published authors. Her significant contribution to women's fiction was recognised in 2011, when the Romantic Novelists’ Association presented Penny with a Lifetime Achievement Award.




Past Passion

Penny Jordan







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




CHAPTER ONE


AS NICOLA climbed out of her small car, she smoothed down the skirt of her neat suit before glancing anxiously towards the offices.

It was ten to nine, and the car park was almost full; today the new owner of the company would be making his first official appearance. Nicola had been on holiday when the shockingly unexpected negotiations for the take-over of her employers had taken place, but her workmates had been full of gossip about what had gone on.

It was well known locally that Alan Hardy, the owner of the small building firm, had virtually lost interest in the business following the tragic death of his son, but no one had expected that he would sell out to someone from outside the area, to someone, moreover, to whom apparently the acquisition of their small local company was merely another addition to his growing business empire.

Her own job was safe enough, or so she had been assured. She had worked for Alan as his secretary-cum-PA ever since she had returned from the city over eight years ago, and very much enjoyed her work, even though lately she had found herself having to double-check almost everything her boss gave her to do.

Some of the staff were angered by the way Alan had kept the take-over a secret from them; she herself had known nothing of what was going on but, instead of anger, she felt sympathy both for Alan and for his wife, Mary.

The death of their son in a car accident had destroyed their lives and their hopes for the future. It was only natural that Alan should have lost heart...lost interest in the business.

She sighed faintly to herself. She had been feeling reasonably confident about her ability to work in harmony with her prospective new boss, whom she had been informed would probably put a manager in charge of the day-to-day running of the firm, only actually visiting them himself once a week, so that in effect she would be working for the manager he appointed; but over the weekend, Gordon, her boyfriend, had expressed unflattering doubts about her suitability as the right kind of secretary for a high-flying entrepreneur.

His comments had made her angry, but she had suppressed her feelings. Gordon was the kind of man who had a rather old-fashioned attitude towards women. Nicola blamed his mother for that. She was one of those women who, while appearing to be helpless and clinging, was in fact extremely manipulative and domineering.

Depressingly, she was beginning to be conscious more and more these days that the time she spent with Gordon often left her feeling irritated and at odds with him.

They had known each other almost all their lives, although it was only in the last two years that they had started seeing one another on a regular basis.

At Christmas, Gordon had made noises about them considering getting engaged, but she had avoided the issue.

The trouble was that living in such a small community made it difficult for a single woman to enjoy a varied social life without the addition of a male partner.

Single women over the age of twenty-five and under the age of thirty were looked upon with a certain degree of suspicion by some of the local die-hards.

Nicola had her women friends, of course—girls she had been at school with who had since married and produced families—and, if she was honest, she preferred the fun she had in their company to the often dull dates she had with Gordon.

Her mother had already commented rather drily that a lifetime of Gordon might seem a very long time indeed, and Nicola was inclined to agree with her, but Gordon represented respectability and old-fashioned morality, and she had her own reasons for believing that she needed those attributes in her life—that Gordon, no matter how dull and boring he might be, no matter how difficult she might find it to get on with his mother, was someone she was very, very lucky to have in her life.

As she walked towards the office-block, pleasantly acknowledging the ‘good mornings’ of the men in the yard, while ignoring the way they looked at her legs, she reflected uncomfortably that, like her clothes, her relationship with Gordon was part of her life—not because it gave her pleasure but because it made her feel safe.

She was well past the men now, but just as she was about to open the door to her office-block she heard one of them laughing.

Immediately her face flushed. She had no idea what might have provoked their laughter; it might not even have been her, but the instant she heard it she wanted to run...to hide herself away somewhere.

It was ridiculous, this burden she carried, which she could never allow herself to put down, and all because of one mistake, one silly adolescent error of judgement... It didn’t matter how many times she tried to reason with herself that that one mistake did not mean she had to punish herself for the rest of her life; she had never been able to put it out of her mind and ignore it.

In her moments of deepest despair and misery she even wondered if it might not be worthwhile trying to talk to someone about it; but then the old, familiar panic would come back, and she would remember how hard she had worked to make sure that no one, but no one knew what she had done, how hard she had worked to make sure that no one, especially no man who looked at her, could ever, ever possibly think of her as the kind of woman who...

She realised as she hurried towards her office that she was actually physically trembling.

Of all days, why on earth did she have to pick today to start worrying about the past? Today she needed to be at her most alert, her most efficient, her most impressive. The one thing she had heard about the new man was that there was no room in his organisation for the unproductive or uncommitted worker. He had very high standards, apparently, and expected those who worked for him to match them.

Needless to say there had already been a ground swell of mutterings among the workforce about the potential havoc he could wreak.

Nicola didn’t need anyone to tell her that the firm wasn’t very productive, that its profits were very, very small indeed; or that its workforce was not efficiently deployed...that the foreman in charge of the men often turned a blind eye to certain malpractices which were expensive to his employers. The only reason they were still in business was really because in this rural area they were the only reasonably large builders around.

Their small market town served a large country area, and until very recently there had simply not been the business potential to attract any competition.

Now, though, things were changing; people were moving into the area and buying up old property, empty farms and barns, and Nicola suspected that, if they had not been taken over, a rival firm would soon have set up in business, putting them into liquidation.

Many of the other employees, though, either failed to accept or did not want to accept this, and consequently the fact that the firm had been taken over was a cause of much resentment.

The new man had been described to Nicola as ‘full of himself, a real townee, smart as paint’.

Only a couple of her co-employees had had anything good to say for him; one of them was her assistant, a pretty eighteen-year-old fresh out of college, who had told her enthusiastically that Mr Hunt was really good-looking for someone so old, and that, if it wasn’t for her Danny, she might have quite fancied him.

Nicola had laughed a little at this. She knew from what Alan had told her that Matthew Hunt was, in fact, not yet thirty-five years old.

Not just what one would expect, was how Alan had described him. ‘A shrewd businessman, but unconventional...’

He certainly was shrewd. Her own father had confirmed that. He was in banking in the City, preferring to commute to and from his office rather than to live somewhere more urban, and it had been he who had filled Nicola in with all the background details of her new employer’s professional life. Not much was known about his private life other than the fact that he wasn’t married.

One of her own married friends had teased her about this, remarking, ‘Well, he can only be an improvement on Gordon. Heavens, Nicki, love! He’s so boring it just isn’t true. I mean, these days we all know that there’s more to a good and enduring relationship than world-shattering, exciting sex. Real reliability is one thing, but Gordon is another. And as for his mother...’

Nicola had been forced to laugh. Anna wasn’t known for her tactfulness, and tended to say what she thought. Nicola hadn’t been offended; she knew that her friend meant well although, as far as she was concerned, the idea of her new boss as a possible source of new romance in her life was completely out of the question.

And anyway, from what she had heard about him, he was the kind of man who no doubt liked the women he dated to be of the high-profile, physically attractive type, which she most certainly was not.

As she hurried into the cloakroom, she gave her reflection a hasty, disapproving glance in the small mirror.

She wasn’t very tall, five feet four, with a slender frame, delicate wrist and ankle bones. From her mother she had inherited her fine pale skin and her dark hair, and from her father her surprisingly deep blue eyes.

It was an unusual combination, and one which, together with the delicacy of her facial bone-structure and the soft, feminine fullness of her mouth, earned her second and even third glances from appreciative males.

Those members of the male sex who knew her, though, soon learned that the apparent sensuality of her face and figure were not borne out by her manner.

‘Repressed’ was how some of the more unkind ones described her, generally after their advances had been rebuffed. Others, less critical and without a wounded ego to add malice to their comments, said she was rather quiet and withdrawn.

Nicola knew quite well what men thought of her. She didn’t mind, though; in fact, she preferred them to think of her as prim and unavailable...

Once things had been different. Once she— She swallowed hard, snatching up her bag and heading for the door. It was five to nine and she had far more important things to worry about than the past.

* * *

LATER SHE WAS to wonder if she might not in some odd way have been touched by precognition—by an awareness that logic and reason had refused to allow her to entertain... But that was later, when it was much, much too late for her to take evasive action...for her to listen to the warnings the airwaves were carrying to her.

Although all the legal requirements of handing over the business had now been satisfied, Alan, her boss, was actually physically handing over control to Matthew Hunt this morning.

There was going to be a small, brief ceremony when he introduced him to the rest of the staff, and this ceremony was scheduled for ten o’clock.

It had been her suggestion, and one which had caused Alan to ponder and consider before agreeing that it would perhaps be a good idea.

When she opened the door to the small office she shared with Evie, the younger girl was already seated at the switchboard. She smiled warmly at Nicola when she walked in and, jerking her head towards the inner door, told her, ‘Alan arrived a few moments ago. He doesn’t look too good. I offered to make him a cup of coffee, but he refused.’

Unlike her, Evie was wearing a brilliantly coloured T-shirt teamed with a pair of equally bright shorts. Her blonde hair was caught up on the top of her head in a cluster of untidy curls, and the bright fuchsia plastic earrings she was wearing clashed horrendously with her scarlet lipstick.

The two of them could not have presented more of a contrast, Nicola recognised wryly.

Evie at eighteen looked as bright and colourful as a parrot, while she, at twenty-six, in her plain navy suit, her crisp white blouse, her neat beige tights and navy pumps, her hair cut in a classic shiny bob, looked as dull and plain as—as a secretary ought to look, she told herself firmly, ignoring the faint lowering of her spirits that comparing herself with Evie suddenly brought her.

‘He hasn’t arrived yet,’ Evie told her conspiratorially. ‘I wonder what kind of car he drives... Something big and posh, you can bet—probably sporty, too. He’s certainly going to perk this place up a bit... Danny was saying last night that we’ll see some action now.’

Danny, Evie’s boyfriend, worked for the firm as well, as a trainee carpenter. His clothes were almost as colourful as Evie’s, although, like her, he was an enthusiastic and hard worker.

Collecting the post, and pouring Alan a cup of coffee from the jug which Evie had just made, Nicola walked through into her boss’s office.

Her heart sank as she saw him. These last two years since his son’s death had taken their toll. He looked what he was—a man who had lost all purpose and motivation in his life. Nicola also suspected that he had begun to drink more than was good for him. There was a drawer in his desk which was always kept locked, and sometimes when she walked into the room there was a sour sharp smell of alcohol on the air.

She felt heartsore for him, only able to guess at how it must feel to have suffered that kind of tragedy.

Tom, his son, had been twenty-two years old and just on the point of leaving university. He had been an intelligent and well-liked young man, and the accident which had killed him had been so meaningless that it was no wonder Alan was even now unable to accept what had happened.

The driver of the other car had been drinking...had crossed the centre of the road, to plough right into Tom’s car, killing both Tom and himself outright. There was no easy way for any parent to accept something like that, and now the business which should have been passed on to Tom had been sold to someone else.

‘I’ve called a meeting of the workforce for ten o’clock,’ Nicola reminded her boss as she put down his coffee in front of him.

‘Luckily the men are all working locally on the house in Duke Street, and although we’re paying them for it I’ve arranged that they will take an early lunch-hour to attend the meeting...’

The contract for renovation of a house just outside the town centre, work they were doing for a local estate agency which was moving from its existing modern premises to this much older and far more attractive property, carried stiff penalty clauses for failure to meet time requirements. Privately Nicola thought that, in view of the notorious tardiness of their foreman, the penalty clauses were going to make the contract unprofitable to them, and suspected that in accepting it Alan was betraying just another indication of how Tom’s death had affected him. When she had first come to work for him, he had had his finger firmly on the pulse of the business, with everything under his control. Now things were different, and she often found she was gently having to point out to him various pitfalls in the contracts they took on, almost to the point where she was often the one redrafting the contracts to make sure that they were actually going to be profitable to them.

The only place which could accommodate all of the firm’s employees was an empty storage shed adjacent to the office-block, and it was here that the staff were going to gather to officially meet their new boss.

From the window of her office, Nicola had a clear view of the yard and of everyone who came and went in it, and so at ten to ten, when a battered looking Land Rover was driven noisily into the yard, she gave vent to a small sigh of exasperation.

A potential client, much as his or her business was needed, was not someone who could be properly dealt with right now, with their new owner about to arrive at any moment.

The Land Rover was mud-splashed and had at one time or another been involved in some kind of minor accident. It looked very much like any local farmer’s vehicle.

It stopped right in front of the office-block and the driver got out.

He was tall, with broad shoulders encased in a windbreaker jacket, his jeans dusty and well-fitting, a pair of battered trainers on his feet. His hair was thick and dark, not black, more a rich, warm brown, growing a bit too low into his collar. His hand, she saw as he slammed the Land Rover door, was brown from constant exposure to the elements.

And then he turned his head, and in doing so caused Nicola’s entire world to turn upside-down, her body frozen with shock, her entire life-force numbed by the sight of him.

No. It wasn’t possible...it couldn’t be possible. It was a mistake. She was wrong... It couldn’t possibly be the same man. After all, it was all of eight years ago...and she had only seen him then in the half-light, and only on that one occasion...

But it was him. She knew there was no mistake...knew there could be no way she would ever make a mistake about a thing like that. And besides, she hadn’t only recognised him with her eyes, but with her senses as well, each one of them reacting betrayingly to him...each one of them remembering. She shuddered inwardly, wanting to close her eyes, wanting to block out his image, odd, panicky flashes of memory swamping her...

Men when drunk did not make careful or considerate lovers—that was received opinion. They were careless, thoughtless, unskilled and lacking in awareness of their partner’s needs or wants. That was what one always heard, but he—this man—had been different...had left her—

She shuddered again, causing Evie to stare anxiously at her and ask, ‘Are you OK? You’ve gone dreadfully pale.’ She came over to Nicola’s desk, and then, as her attention was caught by what was going on outside, commented excitedly, ‘That’s him... The new boss... Matthew Hunt. He’s arrived then... You’d better warn Alan.’

Matthew Hunt? This was Matthew Hunt? Nicola had to grab hold of her desk to keep her knees from buckling beneath her. Impossible! It couldn’t be. It must not be. Matthew Hunt. Her new boss. The same man who...

She swallowed hard as the full horror of the situation hit her, her mind in complete turmoil as she sought frantically for something to hold on to, something to stop her from drowning in her own terror.

What if he recognised her? What if he...? But no. That was impossible... He had only seen her the once, her hair had been longer then, and she had just had that dreadful disaster of a perm which had left her looking like something out of a horror film. She closed her eyes, shuddering deeply, trying not to remember how she had looked that night...the dress she had worn, bought in a fierce, reckless mood of defiant misery...the make-up she had put on...the way she had behaved... No. He wouldn’t recognise her. Her own parents wouldn’t have recognised her...

Her heartbeat was returning to normal, her body still tense, wary. She could hear Evie excitedly telling Alan that Matthew Hunt had arrived. Any minute now he would be walking into the office—his office. When he did she must be ready...prepared. She must—

She took a deep breath. The office door opened and he stood there, looking at her.

It shocked through her, as he studied her, how familiar everything about him was, right down to the piercingly intelligent way he was watching her...just as though he was somehow not quite a part of the general run of the human race...as though somehow he was elevated from it... superior.

She remembered how she had noticed that about him that night—that and, of course, his spectacular good looks, his very obvious maleness...

‘Miss Linton?’

It was a statement, not a question, and she responded to it automatically, saying a little shakily, ‘Yes, I’m Nicola Linton, Mr Hunt.’

The smile he gave her wasn’t kind or warm.

‘Make it Matt,’ he told her coolly. ‘Outdated lip-service to respect, when it’s sycophantic and not genuine, isn’t something which appeals to me...’

His comment shocked her out of her personal terror, making Nicola stare and frown.

He hadn’t recognised her, she knew that, but it was evident from his manner towards her that he was not well-disposed to her. Her eyelashes flickered defensively; she knew she was not popular with the male workforce, who made fun of her behind her back and laughed about her primness, but better that than— She swallowed hard. This man was going to be her boss. Unless she gave up her job, which she did not want to do, she was going to have to find a way of getting on with him. Jobs weren’t easy to come by out here, and she had no wish to commute to the city, and certainly no wish to move there. Whatever had caused his antipathy towards her, it certainly wasn’t the past... She was safe from that horror, at least.

As she made some inane comment, she was aware of being in a state of intense shock, of speaking and moving automatically, as a means of defence, while really all she longed to do was to turn tail and run just as far and as fast as she could from the man watching her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alan coming out of his office. Evie beamed enthusiastically at Matthew Hunt, who gave her a surprisingly warm smile.

A sensation unlike anything she had ever experienced before seemed to pierce right through Nicola. It was like being stabbed, and she almost gasped out loud with the shock of it. To her disbelief she realised that the obstruction clogging her throat felt like a hard ball of tears... Tears, when she hadn’t cried since—since she was eighteen years old... Evie’s age. But at Evie’s age she hadn’t had one tenth of her confidence, her belief in herself as a woman...a person, even.

She turned away, blinking rapidly, clenching her hands and gritting her teeth as she willed herself to control her stupid reaction.

Tears because a man treated her with coolness and uninterest while smiling warmly and appreciatively on Evie... Why, for heaven’s sake? Especially when the man in question was this man. Hadn’t she learnt anything from the past? Hadn’t all these years of living with the burden of her own guilt taught her anything—anything at all?

‘It’s almost ten o’clock. I believe we have a meeting to attend... I want to keep it as short as possible. There’s a good deal of work to be done, and I’ve got a meeting in the City this afternoon...’

Silently Nicola walked towards the door. Her legs felt horribly weak, her head as though it were stuffed with cotton wool. As she reached the door, Matthew Hunt opened it for her. She made to walk past him, her body tensing, the fine hairs on her skin standing up on end as she drew closer to him. He was watching her closely. She could feel tiny beads of perspiration breaking out on her skin, but she refused to give in to the dangerous urge to turn her head and look back at him just to make sure that she was right that he hadn’t realised... recognised... And then mercifully she was through the door, with Evie behind her, Evie’s high heels clattering on the wooden floor.

All through the meeting she found it impossible to concentrate on what was going on.

Matthew Hunt, their new boss!

Even now she could hardly take it in. Matthew Hunt, their new boss, was the same man who...

‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ Evie pressed her. ‘You still look dreadfully pale.’

‘I’m fine,’ Nicola lied hollowly. ‘Just fine...’

* * *

SHE SAID MUCH the same thing to her mother later in the day when she returned home from work and was asked how her first meeting with her new boss had gone.

It wasn’t true, of course. All day she had been desperately conscious of the fact that Matthew Hunt was watching her, assessing her. She felt anything but fine. She suspected, from the questions he had subjected her to during the day, that he believed she had taken far too much of the day-to-day running of the firm on to her own shoulders, and he had given her the impression that under his control the company would be very, very differently run.

She could have explained to him that it had not been any desire for self-glorification or self-importance that had motivated her; that she had acted simply out of compassion and concern—but pride had kept her silent. Pride and a certain bitter stubbornness... He had misjudged her once before, and now he was doing the same thing again, and it made not one bit of difference that on both occasions, for different reasons, she was really the one who had been responsible for his misconceptions.

A new manager would be appointed to take over the running of the company by the end of the week, he had told her; until then, Alan would remain in charge in an advisory capacity.

Matthew had only stayed a handful of hours but, by the time he had left, Nicola had felt as wrung out and exhausted as though she had worked intensively and without sleep for a full week.

There was no doubt that professionally he was both dynamic and very, very well-informed. She could understand after listening to him just why he was so successful, but his success, his dynamism, weren’t the root cause of her tension.

And she could hardly tell her mother just what it was about him that disturbed her so much.

‘Oh, by the way, Gordon rang. He said to tell you that he had to cancel tonight. Apparently his mother isn’t feeling too well.’

Heroically her mother managed to keep her voice light and uncritical, but Nicola already knew her parents’ opinion of Gordon and her relationship with him. They had been going to play tennis this evening, but she was not sorry their date was cancelled.

‘I think I’ll have an early night,’ she told her mother wanly. ‘I feel rather tired.’

‘A good long walk would do you more good than an early night... Too much sleep can cause depression,’ her mother told her firmly.

Nicola managed a weak smile. Her mother was always forthright and open in her comments—unlike Gordon’s mother, who was exactly the opposite.

‘Maybe you’re right,’ she agreed.

‘I am, and what’s more you can take that fat, lazy dog with you,’ she told Nicola.

Both of them looked at the placid labrador warming herself in front of the Aga.

Nicola laughed again.

‘I see. It’s not me who needs the walk, it’s Honey...’

‘It will do you both good,’ her mother reiterated firmly.

* * *

A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER, leaning on a gate studying the pastoral view in front of her, Nicola reflected that, while physically the walk might have done her good, mentally... She glanced down to where Honey was lying at her feet.

Until today she had thought she had put it all behind her; that the past was the past and that she was safe from it. Now she knew she was wrong.

It had been at her own insistence that she had left home to work in the city and to share a flat with three other girls from college. Her parents had thought her too young, but had given way when she’d pointed out that at eighteen she was legally an adult.

She had found a job with a firm of City architects; she had been the youngest girl there. She had felt shy and out of place with the other girls, who were all in their twenties and who to her seemed so sophisticated and worldly... And then she had met Jonathon.

Jonathon was the son of the firm’s head partner. He was being groomed to take over his father’s position. He was twenty-six years old, tall, fair-haired, all smooth charm. She had been dazzled by him...awed and bemused, and of course she had fallen in love.

Naïvely she had believed he had fallen in love too, and then had come the fateful day she had overheard the conversation which had changed the whole course of her life.

Nicola closed her eyes and gave a deep shudder.

In front of her the peaceful view had faded, and once again she was standing in the small, dusty stationery-room at Mathieson and Hendry.




CHAPTER TWO


‘OF COURSE I’m not interested in her, sweetheart... How can you even think it?’

Nicola froze. She had recognised Jonathon’s voice instantly, and the shock of hearing him speaking to someone else in that soft, caressing voice she thought he kept specially for her, the shock of hearing him addressing someone else as ‘sweetheart’, held her rigid where she was, the copy paper the head of the typing pool had sent her to get clasped tensely in her arms as she stood rooted to the spot.

Jonathon was standing in the corridor, just outside the stationery-room. Obviously he had no idea she was in here, but Susan Hodges knew... She must have known because she had been there when Mrs Ellis told Nicola to come and get the copy paper.

‘Well, you’ve been taking her out,’ she heard Susan saying now.

‘Only because you weren’t available, my sweet. Oh, come on, honestly now. Can you really imagine that I’d be interested in someone as sexless and boring as that dull little prude? Heavens, she doesn’t even know how to kiss properly... Not like you!’

Nicola heard the sound of laughter, followed by the unmistakable sound of two people kissing.

She felt both sick and angry at the same time, so desperately unhappy that she had to clench her fists to stop herself from crying, and so furiously angry both with Jonathon and with herself that if she had had to confront him right now she would probably have hit him.

How stupid she had been to believe that Jonathon actually liked her, respected her, loved her, when in reality he and Susan Hodges... Susan Hodges, the office bimbo, the pretty, pouting blonde who always wore her clothes just that little bit too tight, who always seemed to giggle just that little bit too loudly and for too long.

If anyone had told her that Jonathon was involved with Susan she would have denied it instantly and immediately, claiming that Susan simply wasn’t Jonathon’s type.

How naïve she had been.

‘So you won’t be taking little Miss Prim and Proper to the party tonight, then, will you?’ she heard Susan saying to Jonathon.

He laughed.

‘Hardly. I bet you’ve got something spectacular to wear, haven’t you, Susie? Something stunning and sexy...?’

‘You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?’ Susie replied provocatively, adding, ‘Of course, you could always come round to my place and have a private view...’

They were both laughing as they moved off down the corridor. Inside the stationery-room, Nicola remained frozen with misery.

It was true that Jonathon had not specifically invited her to partner him at tonight’s party to celebrate his father’s birthday, but she had assumed...had believed... She had even bought herself a new dress for the occasion. She had bought it at the weekend, having enlisted the advice and support of her mother, anxiously determined that Jonathon shouldn’t be ashamed of her.

The dress in question was prettily understated, in dark blue velvet with a neat round collar and long sleeves, and suddenly, bitterly she knew that in it she would look just as sexless and boring as Jonathon had claimed she was. Tears blurred her eyes. She felt sick with shock and a bitter, burning rage, possessed by a need to show Jonathon—to show everyone—that she was not the dull, boring person they obviously all believed her to be, that she could be just as exciting...just as glamorous...just as desirable as the Susans of this world.

* * *

LATER she was to wonder if she had been overcome by some kind of mental instability to have reacted the way she had; certainly she had never done anything like it before, and nor was she likely to do so afterwards.

All she could think was that the pain of knowing what Jonathon really thought about her, the trauma of coming down off her cloud and crashing painfully hard back to reality, had mentally unhinged her in some sort of way.

The celebration of the fiftieth birthday of the firm’s main partner was a major event within the small City firm. A room had been hired at a very grand city-centre hotel for the occasion. There was to be a buffet meal followed by dancing and, although she had tried not to show it, Nicola had been nervously excited about the event ever since Jonathon had started taking her out.

Both his parents would be there, of course, and his sisters, and in her cloud-cuckoo dream-world she had somehow or other envisaged herself being introduced to them...sitting with them...being accepted by them as Jonathon’s girlfriend. Now abruptly she was realising how idiotic those daydreams had been and, in some sort of confused way, she didn’t know now whether she hated Jonathon or loved him. All she did know was that she was determined to show him just how wrong his cruel comments had been, just how desirable she could be... Much, much more desirable than the likes of Susan Hodges.

All the staff were being given the afternoon off in order to prepare for the party. It was almost lunchtime now and, just as soon as she was sure that Jonathon and Susan were out of earshot, Nicola emerged from the stationery-room and hurried back to the typing pool with the copy paper.

For what was left of the morning Nicola’s thoughts were very far from her work. She was mentally busy making plans, taking decisions and, just as soon as she was able to do so, she collected her coat and hurried out into the street.

The firm’s offices were right in the centre of the City, in the banking and business area, within easy walking distance of the shops.

Thanks to the prudent teachings of her parents, Nicola already had a healthy bank-account balance, and luckily when she’d come out this morning she had brought her cheque book with her.

There was a hot, burning sensation in her chest, a fiery, driving sense of determination motivating her, pushing her... Without giving herself time to hesitate, she rushed into the very modern hairdressing salon which had recently opened close to the office.

It wasn’t a bit like the hairdressers at home—no pink, no frills, the décor all stark greys and blacks, the walls adorned with huge, blown-up, unrecognisable photographs which she presumed were of hairstyles.

The receptionist behind the desk had very short, very shocking pink hair, and a supercilious stare.

Before she could change her mind, Nicola told her what she wanted. Ten minutes later she was confronting the stylist, who was asking her thoughtfully, ‘You are really sure about this...?’

Nicola could feel herself starting to bristle, sensitively knowing what he was really saying—that he couldn’t see someone as dull and boring as her sporting such a modern, innovative hairstyle...

‘If you can’t do it...’ she challenged.

He frowned at her.

‘Oh, I can do it, it’s just that it is a radical change.’ He gave her an odd look, and said quietly, ‘Look, it’s none of my business...but you really do have very pretty hair. A little bit old-fashioned maybe—straight hair isn’t really in right now—but to have it all permed...’

Nicola gritted her teeth. She knew exactly what she wanted and she was determined to have it. She remembered seeing the photograph in the salon window on her way to work a few days ago. In it the model, dark-haired like herself, had sported a mass of tumbled, wild curls that had given her—even to Nicola’s innocent eyes—a sexuality that virtually hit the onlooker between the eyes. No girl...no woman with that kind of hairstyle could ever, ever be described as dull, boring...and certainly not as sexless.

‘I want it,’ she told the stylist desperately.

Three hours later, staring at her transformed reflection in the mirror, she felt her heart sink. She scarcely recognised herself, and as for what her parents would say... Was her face really so tiny, so small that it looked swamped by the heavy mass of her hair, its volume virtually trebled by the intensity of the perm?

The stylist was watching her gravely, but she refused to let him see how shocked and dismayed she felt.

Gravely she studied her reflection, ignoring the pallor of her face and the hugeness of her eyes.

Equally gravely she paid the bill and collected her coat.

Once out in the street she felt oddly queasy and light-headed, but she ignored this feeling, heading for one of the nearby department stores.

The girl in charge of the trendy make-up counter she headed for pursed her lips and studied her critically when she told her what she wanted.

‘Red lipstick...yes, definitely red lipstick...with your mouth it will look terrific. The look this year is for pale skin, so you’re in luck, but we’ll have to do something to bring out your eyes.’

Half an hour later, Nicola emerged from her hands and fought against the impulse to run her tongue over her lips and lick off the gooey lipstick that felt as though it was plastered on them inches thick.

As she caught sight of herself in a nearby mirror, she did a double-take, barely recognising the wild-haired creature with the dark eyes and glossy, pouting mouth as herself.

Sexless was she? she asked herself grimly as she took the escalator up to the clothes department.

Firmly she ignored the section where she would normally have shopped, heading instead for the store’s more ‘way-out’ clothes.

‘Minis are back in,’ the assistant told her when she explained she wanted a dress for a party. And she was lucky enough to have the legs to take them...and the figure to wear the stretchy, clingy number in eye-popping purple crêpe, which she assured Nicola was an absolute must for any girl hoping to be taken seriously as socially acceptable among her peers.

It was the same angry wave of bitterness and pain that had carried her into the hairdressers that carried her back to the flat armed with her new purchases and her new image, determined to prove to Jonathon just how wrong about her he was.

When she got back she discovered that she had the flat to herself.

Her shopping had taken rather longer than she had anticipated, and all she had time for now was a very quick shower and a bite of food.

Despite all her care, the bath seemed to leave her hair looking even more wild and tangled than it had done when she’d first left the salon.

She eyed it uncertainly, wondering if perhaps the perm hadn’t been just a little bit too much of a change, and then sternly forced herself to remember Jonathan’s cruel condemnation of her. No one looking at her now would consider her sexless, would they? She looked...and looked... A little uncomfortably, she decided she wasn’t quite sure what she looked like, other than it wasn’t really herself...

It took her a good hour and several unsuccessful attempts before she managed to reproduce something approaching the sales girl’s artistically applied make-up. The blue kohl pencil certainly did make her eyes appear an extraordinary colour, but she still wasn’t sure that quite so much lipstick—

Sternly reminding herself of what this was all about, she ignored her own feelings of discomfort and struggled into her new dress.

It was odd how something so insubstantial could make her slender body appear positively voluptuous, even if she wasn’t quite sure that purple really was her colour.

There, she was ready.

Even the driver of the taxi she had booked to take her to the party did a double-take when she opened the door. She lifted her head a little higher and gave him what she hoped was a cool stare.

Just wait until Jonathon saw her. So he thought she was dull, did he? Dull and boring and sexless... Well, tonight she was going to make him regret every single one of those unkind criticisms.

It was only when she was paying off the taxi driver outside the hotel and seeing her fellow employees arrive in groups, even worse, couples, that she realised that the very best way to show Jonathon just how wrong he was about her would be for her to turn up at the party with another man... But the problem was that she didn’t know any other men—not here in the city—and certainly none of her male friends at home could hold a candle physically to Jonathon.

He was so very good-looking, so very sophisticated, so very charming... A charm that meant nothing—nothing at all, she reminded herself bitterly, ignoring the startled look of recognition from one of the other girls from the typing pool who was approaching the main doors to the hotel just as she stepped towards them.

‘Nicola? It is you, isn’t it? Heavens! Is that...is that a wig?’ she asked Nicola uncertainly.

‘No, it’s a perm,’ Nicola told her shortly.

She had never particularly liked Lisa. She was another blonde like Susan Hodges. Nicola’s chin tilted defiantly as she saw the way the other girl was studying her appearance. Her male companion was staring at her as well, Nicola recognised, and he was staring at her in a manner with which she was not familiar. It made her feel both uncomfortable and uneasy, but she ignored these feelings, concentrating instead on the cruelty of the words she had overheard earlier in the day.

The foyer of the hotel was busy with people coming and going. A board just to one side of the reception desk had written up on it which functions were taking place in which suites, and it was easy for Nicola to find her way to the suite where their own party was taking place.

In point of fact she was familiar with the layout of the hotel, having eaten there and attended several functions with her parents over the years.

The gloomy dimness of the room made her blink a little when she first entered it. Individual tables had been set up around the small dance-floor, and she quickly headed for one occupied by some of the other girls from the typing pool.

All of them commented on the change in her appearance, but only one of them was unkind enough to remark that she was surprised to see her turning up on her own.

‘I thought you’d be coming with Jonathon,’ she added pointedly.

Now Nicola was glad of the gloom. She turned her head away and shrugged her shoulders, feigning nonchalant uninterest.

But uninterest was the last thing she actually felt when Jonathon walked in with Susie on his arm.

The two of them seemed to take a long time to walk across the room. Jonathon never even looked in her direction, Nicola noticed dispiritedly, but Susie certainly did, her eyes widening a little as she took in Nicola’s altered appearance.

Let her stare, Nicola thought defiantly, giving her head a bitter little toss. Let them both stare...

She was determined that, before tonight was over, she was going to make Jonathon eat his words, although it was becoming increasingly obvious to her that if she was actually to achieve this objective what she really needed was to have some other man paying attention to her, making it plain that he did not consider her either dull or sexless... And not just any man... It would have to be a very special kind of man, the kind of man who—

Her eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat as she stared at the man who had just walked into the room.

Unlike the other male guests, who were all wearing formal suits, this man was dressed casually, his soft blue shirt open at the throat, his jeans clinging to his thighs.

‘Wow! Just look at that!’ one of the other girls at the table giggled appreciatively. ‘I wonder where he’s come from...’

‘Who knows? But one thing’s for sure... He won’t be staying long—not dressed like that.’

‘Wanna bet?’ another of the girls commented drily. ‘He just happens to be one of our most important clients. I knew he’d been invited, but I don’t think anyone actually thought he’d come...’

Behind her the girls were giggling and chattering excitedly about the newcomer’s good looks, but Nicola wasn’t paying very much attention.

A waiter came round with a tray of champagne cocktails. Although normally she didn’t drink, Nicola took one, and gulped thirstily at it.

The champagne tickled the back of her throat and made her cough a little, but the delicious warm feeling that spread through her stomach after she had emptied her glass was undeniably pleasant.

She felt better, too...stronger, more confident, more determined than ever to show Jonathon just how wrong he was about her.

That she also felt decidedly wobbly when she stood up to accept a second cocktail from another waiter was something she decided to ignore.

It was just nerves, she told herself firmly. Just nerves... After all, no one, not even someone who never drank, could get drunk on two champagne cocktails—could they?

One of the girls got up and announced that she was going to the bar. She asked Nicola what she wanted to drink and, unsure of what to ask for, Nicola quickly repeated the order given by the girl sitting next to her, although not entirely sure what a ‘VAT’ might be.

When the drinks arrived, the odd, oily after-taste of hers was a little strange, but nevertheless good manners made her empty her glass.

Jonathon and Susie weren’t sitting with his parents, she noticed woozily as she searched the room for them. Jonathon was in fact talking to the man in jeans while Susie simpered up to him, batting her eyelashes and smiling. He was, Nicola recognised dreamily, far, far better looking than Jonathon. He was also far, far more masculine than Jonathon, and a tiny, delicious tremor of sensation suddenly and very shockingly ran through her at the thought of being held against that hard, male chest, of being touched by those very male hands.

Without even thinking about what she was doing, she got to her feet, ignoring the muzzy, dizzying sensation in her head and the odd weakness in her legs.

She walked unsteadily across the floor, and as she approached their table she saw the way Susie clutched possessively at Jonathon’s arm, her eyes widening, her scarlet nails digging into his jacket.

Jonathon had seen her now. She saw the shock register in his eyes as he looked at her, and immediately a pleasurable rush of warmth and triumph ran through her stomach. She gave him a pouting smile...the kind of smile she had seen Susie use so often, and then she tossed her head, so that her wild mane of curls bounced everywhere. The motion of tossing her head had, she realised uncomfortably, made her feel rather sick.

‘Hi, Jonathon.’ She ignored Susie, closing the gap between Jonathon and herself so that she could look up into the jeans-clad stranger’s face. ‘Would you like to dance?’

She could see the shock in Jonathon’s face...hear the outrage in Susie’s gasp, but she didn’t care—why should she? She was going to show Jonathon just how wrong he was about her; she was going to show him that she was desirable, sexy...that men did want her.

The man was looking at her now, an extremely odd expression in his eyes. For a moment, as he studied her, they hardened and became so cold that she actually flinched, tears threatening to blur her own eyes as through the fog of alcohol and misery engulfing her she realised that, despite all her efforts, he did not find her attractive—that he was in fact going to reject her. She put a defensive hand up to her face, and started to move back from him, her cheeks flushing with guilt and humiliation. However, before she could move away his hands came out and circled her wrist, stopping her. She stared at it in confusion. She had never realised that it would be possible for a man to hold her so lightly and yet so securely. He wasn’t exerting the slightest bit of pressure on her skin, and yet she knew that if she tried to pull away those lean fingers would tighten around her bones like manacles.

Shocked awareness cleared the drink-induced fuzziness from her eyes as they focused on his and saw the relentless, determined glittering in their grey depths. Too stupefied to resist, she stayed where she was, bewilderment following shock as she wondered why she felt as though she had suddenly stepped off the edge of the earth.

Was it the champagne cocktails? She pressed her free hand to her stomach uneasily as she heard her captor saying coolly to Jonathon,

‘Please excuse us. It seems the lady wants to dance...’

Despite the fact that she could hear no trace of irony of emphasis in his voice, she still flushed at the sound of the word ‘lady’.

‘Ladies’ did not dress the way she was dressed tonight...they did not wear the kind of make-up she was wearing, and they certainly did not approach strange men and ask them to dance.

She half hesitated, nervously conscious of a tremor of doubt churning her stomach, of a desire to escape not just from her captor, but from the entire situation she had created, and then she looked at Jonathon and saw the transfixed way in which he was regarding her, and saw also in his eyes a look of mingled anger and caution. He was annoyed because she was dancing with someone else, she recognised immediately, and not only was he angry, he was also afraid of saying so—afraid of challenging this man standing at her side for the right to dance with her.

He was, she realised on a fierce thrill of awareness, if not jealous, then certainly resentful of the other man’s presence at her side.

It was working, she recognised shakily. It was actually working...her hair, her clothes, her make-up were not, after all, the disaster she had begun to think; they could not be, could they, if they were making Jonathon see her as a desirable woman—as someone he did not wish to see dancing with another man.

Elation filled her. She turned to her captor and gave him a dazzling smile. His eyes widened again before his glance flicked away from her to Jonathon and then back again.

‘See you soon,’ she heard him saying to Jonathon, and then, somehow or other, without her being too sure how it had happened, she was on the small dance-floor and in his arms, swaying against him in time to the slow, hypnotic beat of the music.

In fact the way he was holding her felt so comforting and safe, and the pleasant heat coming off his body made her feel so warm, that she was almost tempted to close her eyes and... She gave a small, cat-like yawn, and half stumbled as she missed a step. Instantly the arms holding her tightened.

‘I think the proper place for you right now is bed, not a dance-floor,’ she heard him saying in her ear.

Muzzily she lifted her head from his shoulder and stared at him. It had happened, she had been right. Men didn’t care about the sort of person you were...only how you looked. It had to be true, otherwise why was this man, who had never set eyes on her before tonight, telling her that he wanted to go to bed with her, when, in all the months she had been working in the typing pool, only Jonathon had even asked her out, and then he had not made any real sexual overtures to her? And she knew why. Because he thought her sexless and boring... Well, if he had just heard what he—this man—had said to her, he wouldn’t think so...

Triumph filled her blood with a warm, singing heat which, mixed with the alcohol she had consumed, had an electrifying effect on her perceptions and reactions.

Recklessly ignoring the inner voice warning her to be careful, she stopped dancing and looked up at him.

‘Well, if that’s what you want,’ she told him breathlessly, ‘and if you’re sure you don’t mind leaving so soon...’

‘Leaving?’

Nicola frowned at the sharpness in his tone, her eyes clouded and puzzled as she looked at him.

‘Do you live very far out of the city?’ she asked him politely. ‘Only I do have to be at work in the morning, and...’

‘Nicola, why don’t you come and join me and Susie...?’

Her frown deepened as she realised that the music had stopped and that Jonathon was standing next to them. She hadn’t even seen him leave his table, never mind walk across the floor. Without even knowing she was doing it, as he reached out to touch her she drew back from him, instinctively pressing herself closer to her companion.

Since she was looking at Jonathon, she was unaware of the quick frown that touched the other man’s face as he watched the small tableau being played out in front of him.

A drunken teenager, offering him her body, was the very last thing he wanted right now. And, for all her make-up and that impossible hair, she looked as though she was little more than a baby. If he left her here in her present state, though, he’d be leaving her to the mercy of Jonathon or another of his type. His mouth twisted cynically. She might be a little idiot, but she definitely didn’t deserve that.

‘Too late, I’m afraid, Jonathon,’ he interrupted smoothly. ‘I’m afraid that Nicki and I were just about to leave...’

Nicola gave him a startled glance. He had called her Nicki... Only her family and friends at home did that—and saying that they were leaving... There was no need now—not now that Jonathon was here and wanted her—but, before she could say anything, those lean fingers were gripping her arm, and somehow or other she discovered that she had been turned around and had her back to Jonathon, and that she was being escorted very firmly across the floor.

‘Do you have a coat?’ she was asked when they reached the door.

She shook her head in bemusement.

‘Pity...’ she thought she heard him saying wryly as he glanced down at her dress.

‘Jonathon,’ she protested huskily, trying to turn round.

‘Forget him. He’s not the one for you,’ she was told firmly. ‘Now come on, let’s get out of here.’

A tiny shock of fear ran through her. He was obviously impatient to make love to her... Her body suddenly went very cold. What was she doing leaving with this strange man? What if...?

But if she went back now without him, Jonathon would know that he was right—that she was dull, and—and boring...and sexless.

Her captor took her down to the underground car park, still holding on to her arm as he unlocked the door to a sleek Jaguar convertible, almost bundling her into it, and then fastening the seatbelt around her and closing the door before going round to the driver’s side and getting in beside her.

The car smelled luxuriously of leather, and something else—something alien and exciting. It took her several seconds to realise that the smell was him... When she did, she flushed and shivered, causing him to frown at her and demand,

‘Look here, you’re not going to be sick are you? Because if you are...’

She shook her head.

It was true that she did feel slightly queasy, and that her head did ache dreadfully, but she was most certainly not going to be sick. What she really wanted to do, she acknowledged, as he drove out of the car park and into the dark city streets, was to go to sleep.

No sooner had the thought formed than she was leaning her head back against the head-rest and closing her eyes.

‘Right, now, if you just tell me where you live...’

Silence. Matt frowned and turned his attention from the road to his passenger, his frown deepening as he recognised that she was deeply and completely asleep. That she was, in fact, sleeping like the child she was. How much had she had to drink? Enough to make her a danger both to herself and to others. If he had had any sense he would have left her where she was. Someone there would have made sure she got home safely; or would they?

He had an early flight in the morning, and she really was an additional problem he didn’t need. The trouble was, though, that he had an over-developed sense of responsibility. He suspected it came of having three younger sisters.

Grimacing to himself, he acknowledged that it really was too late to turn the car round and dump her back at the party, especially with a wolf like Jonathon Hendry cruising around. The easiest thing he could do would be to take her home with him, put her to bed in the spare bedroom, and then evict her first thing in the morning before he left for New York, when hopefully she would have sobered up enough to realise how potentially self-destructive her behaviour had been.

He made one more attempt to wake her up, knowing before he did so that he was wasting his time. It was true, she did open her eyes and focus vaguely on him, but they closed again before he could even say one word, and he could tell from the way her body slumped against him that she was already deeply asleep once again.




CHAPTER THREE


NICOLA opened her eyes and stared anxiously around the unfamiliar bedroom.

It was decorated in shades of grey and white, with a plain Roman blind at the window. The bed she was in was large, the bedding white and crisp, the duvet grey and white striped. She knew immediately that this was not a woman’s bedroom, and panic shot through her; she struggled to sit up and then gasped in fresh shock as she realised that all she was wearing was her briefs.

She had no idea where she was or why. The last thing she could remember was being at Jonathon’s father’s birthday party. She had been dancing with someone... Someone. Her body stiffened, frantic stabs of enlightening memory piercing the grey fog that covered the previous evening’s events.

She remembered drinking the champagne cocktails, seeing Jonathon with Susie... seeing him—

She groaned out loud and then shuddered. What on earth had she done? What had he, the strange man she had left the party with, done?

She shuddered again. She wasn’t that naïve. There could have been only one reason she was here in his bed this morning. The facts were self-evident.

There was a terrible wrench of nausea in the pit of her stomach, an ache in her head that made her feel as though someone had kicked it; and yet surprisingly there was nothing else—no unfamiliar aches, no real awareness that last night she had crossed the final frontier that separated the child from the woman...no memories of the man who had been her lover, other than those she had of the events preceding their departure from the party.

As she sat tensely in the middle of the large bed, trying to overcome both her physical nausea and her mental and emotional self-disgust, the bedroom door suddenly opened.

In the daylight he seemed even larger than she remembered. He had obviously just had a shower, because his hair was slicked back and still wet, his skin still showing faint traces of moisture. He had a towel wrapped around his hips. His body was hard and muscular, a shockingly masculine dark arrowing of hair bisecting his torso.

He was, she saw, carrying a mug of something hot, but as soon as he approached the bed she instinctively shrank back from him, clutching at the bedclothes and watching him with terrified eyes.

‘So you’re awake... Just as well since I have to leave in half an hour. I’ll drop you off on my way to the airport. I’ve brought you some tea. If you want any aspirin, there are some in the bathroom cabinet.’

He was so matter of fact, so casual... She could feel her own face starting to burn as he sat down on the edge of the bed and it depressed beneath his weight.

She could smell the sharp lemon freshness of his soap, see the smooth sheen of his jaw where he had just shaved. His skin looked firm and tanned, the sight of his body making her tremble and then shudder as she tried not to think about last night, about how he must have—

‘If you want to be sick...’

She shook her head, biting her bottom lip in an agony of self-mortification. He was so obviously used to this sort of thing, while she...

There was a mirror on the wall opposite the bed. She caught sight of their reflections in it. No wonder he had thought she might be going to be sick, her face looked so pale, an unpleasant shade of greeny-white. She frowned, suddenly realising something, her fingers touching her bare face.

As though he realised what she was thinking, he told her drily, ‘I washed it off.’

She went from white to red and shuddered, all too conscious of everything else he must have done while she had been too drunk to be aware of it.

Revulsion rose up inside her, not just for herself but for him as well.

How could he...how could any man make love to a woman while she virtually had no awareness of what was going on? But then, men weren’t like women...men were different, dangerous, and if she was honest with herself she had encouraged him to think—to believe...

She had started to tremble. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him reaching towards her. Immediately she arched her back to avoid him, her eyes betraying her feelings.

Matt frowned. Surely the little idiot didn’t actually think he had...? He wasn’t sure whether to give her a good telling off or burst out laughing. Did she really honestly think...? He remembered how small she had felt when he’d carried her in from the car...how trustingly she had snuggled up against him. How vulnerable she had felt when he stripped off that appalling dress and then her tights, before washing her face clean of her make-up and tucking her up in his spare room. He had, in fact, treated her as matter-of-factly as though she had been one of his sisters, and now she was looking at him as though he was a potential rapist.





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