by Anne Mather
‘At least you acknowledge that we’ve got a relationship and this isn’t just some hot and fast one-night stand,’ he said in a low voice. ‘My name’s Hytner. Kyle Hytner. Feel better now?’
Somehow the name rang a bell, but she didn’t for the life of her know why.
‘Did you begrudge telling me? I didn’t know it was supposed to be a big secret.’ Bewildered by his evasive attitude, Megan frowned.
‘It’s not a big secret. It’s just a name. You’re reading far too much into the whole damn thing. Come and eat. At least one kind of appetite will be satisfied, if nothing else.’
He had disappeared through the door, his long stride propelling him down the garden path, before Megan had gathered enough wits to will herself to move.
She was typing out a long, complicated and essentially boring letter to some influential banking CEO in Manhattan whom Lindsay was trying desperately to impress, when the ringing telephone beside her interrupted her already wavering concentration. Staring blankly at her computer screen, she automatically picked up the receiver and sighed.
She was thinking about the painting she’d begun in Kyle’s studio, eager to implement some of the techniques he had suggested, her hands itching to pick up a brush and take up where she left off. Right now she wished vehemently that she was anywhere else but here in this soulless air-conditioned office, which had become even harder to endure since she had met Kyle. At least before she could only guess at what she might be missing, but now she knew. Now she knew. And the reality was almost too much to bear. He’d shown her a way out of this half-life she’d been living, a way out that made her want to grab onto it and hang on for dear life.
A frisson of excitement throbbed through her as she spoke into the phone.
‘Megan Brand. Can I help you?’
‘Oh…I can think of at least a hundred ways…maybe more.’
At the sound of Kyle’s unnervingly sexy tones Megan all but melted into a puddle on her seat. Rebelliously, this morning she’d decided to wear her long hair loose, and now she scooped the heavy fall of black silk off the back of her neck as heat unexpectedly drenched her.
‘You shouldn’t be speaking like that to me at the office,’ she admonished breathlessly, then craned her neck to check if any of her colleagues were observing her. Thankfully, none were.
Outside her own little partitioned enclave everyone else seemed preoccupied with work. Computers rule OK. The atmosphere was dense with the silent ticking of human brain cells pitting their wits against machines. One could be forgiven for imagining that none of these people had a life outside of the office. It was a frightening thought, and suddenly Megan didn’t want to relegate her own life to such paucity of pleasure. In fact, she was beginning to despise herself for putting up with it when she could be doing so much more…if only she had the courage.
‘I like speaking to you like this,’ Kyle insisted, his deeply mellow tones reverberating through Megan like a thousand little pinpricks of electricity.
She glanced nervously across at Lindsay’s door. Thankfully it remained helpfully closed. ‘Our conversation might be being recorded,’ she whispered.
‘Big Brother, huh?’
Megan heard the smile as well as the irreverence in his voice, and found herself grinning helplessly in spite of the caution that had been so ingrained in her.
‘I know it sounds ridiculous, but sometimes they do what they call “random checks”. Just to make sure we’re all busy little worker ants and not wasting valuable working time when we could be making all the shareholders more money.’
‘Then let’s give them something worth recording, shall we?’ Kyle suggested provocatively.
Before Megan realised exactly what he had in mind, he proceeded to tell her in the most graphic terms imaginable just what he’d like to do to her when he saw her next. Something about removing her clothes with his teeth, tying her wrists to the bed with silk scarves, massaging oil into her skin, and finally pleasuring her so hard and so hot that she’d go wild in his arms—cry out and beg him never to stop…
By the time he’d finished Megan was hot and flustered from the inside out. Sitting at her desk, desperately trying to salvage her composure, she knew she was a million miles away from the sensible and conservative Megan Brand. Now she knew why sex lines were such big business. If Kyle ever decided to branch out into something else, as far as Megan was concerned he had the perfect career all ready and waiting.
‘Have I turned you on?’ he asked silkily into the phone.
Megan automatically brought her hand up to her chest in a half-conscious defensive gesture, catching her breath when she involuntarily stroked it across her exquisitely sensitised nipples. Beneath her skirt her thighs were sticky and damp. Had he turned her on? If he continued in the way he’d begun she’d soon be demonstrating an aptitude for a new career herself.
‘It’s very, very naughty of you to do this to me when I’m at work.’ Lowering her voice, she cupped her hand around the receiver to ensure she wasn’t heard by anyone else except him. A colleague two desks away glanced up and smiled, then continued tapping on her keyboard as though the smile had never happened. Megan felt the tension in her stomach disperse a little.
To her consternation, Kyle laughed at her remark. His rich cultured tones rolled over the telephone line, raising gooseflesh all over her. ‘Sweetheart, I can be a hell of a lot naughtier…want to try me?’
Megan gulped. ‘No, Kyle don’t! Please…You’ll get me fired!’
‘Good,’ he replied emphatically. ‘You’re completely wasting your time in that glass coffin.’
‘I have to earn my living.’ It sounded lame even to her own ears.
‘Then earn it through your painting. In the meantime, I’ll look after you.’
Megan rubbed her fingers hard against her forehead and sighed. He wasn’t serious? Her heart dropped like an anchor being thrown into the sea at the idea that he might be. The last thing in the world she would contemplate doing was walking away from her job and letting Kyle keep her. She’d barely known him for five minutes, for goodness’ sake. Even if they did fit together like the two missing pieces of a jigsaw. Surely he could see how reckless and irresponsible that would be? It was one thing striking sparks off each other every time they were alone together, quite another letting him bear the financial burden of her welfare.
‘I don’t want you to look after me.’
‘I want to do what I can to help. Believe me when I tell you it wouldn’t be a sacrifice, Megan.’
‘That’s not the point! I put myself in a vulnerable position before, with Nick. I don’t want to make the same mistake twice. The cost is just too high.’
Now it was his turn to sigh. Megan imagined him raking his long fingers through his already mussed hair, his expression falling somewhere between fierce and frustrated. But even so, on this occasion she would stand firm. Too much was at stake if she didn’t…
‘There’d be no strings, Megan. I only want to help you realise your dream. Everything would be at your disposal: studio, equipment, my help whenever you wanted it. There’s nothing I want in return.’
Except you. The words came unbidden into Kyle’s head, like a visitor unannounced. His heart accelerated a little. He wanted her all right. He’d been roaming round the house like a caged lion since she’d left last night. There was nothing else he could put his mind to but Megan. There was no peace or solace to be found even in his work. He’d picked up his pencil to sketch more times than he cared to remember, but to little avail. He’d stretched a canvas in preparation to paint, but in the end left it alone. He’d done nothing. Accomplished nothing. All he’d ended up with was a colossal headache because his mind was set on a one-way track that he couldn’t get off.
As soon as he got the chance he was going to tell her how he felt. To hell with her knowing he had wealth and fame. He’d just have to take the chance it wouldn’t put her off or intimidate her—wouldn’t make her retreat back
into that steel shell she’d so painstakingly wrapped around herself…
‘It’s a very generous offer, Kyle—’
‘But?’
‘You know I can’t possibly accept it. It wouldn’t be fair.’
‘Personal integrity is a wonderful thing, Megan, but in your case I’d say it was somewhat overrated. Everyone needs a little help every now and then. There’s no shame in that. I’m a wealthy man and I can easily take care of us both. You can paint to your heart’s content and I’ll be on hand whenever you want as your personal tutor. Does that really sound so terrible?’
‘It sounds wonderful.’ Megan’s hand was damp around the receiver where she was gripping it so hard.
Just at that moment her boss’s door swung open and Lindsay breezed purposefully through the outer office to Megan’s desk, her heady, almost overpowering scent, like roses past their bloom, ominously stirring the air between the two women. On the older woman’s nose, her fashionable black-rimmed glasses were perched schoolmarm-like, her hair escaping uncharacteristically in fine blonde wisps from its severe chignon. There was a letter in her hand, which she unceremoniously slapped down on the desk in front of Megan, oblivious to the fact that her assistant was on the phone.
‘What sounds wonderful?’ she demanded, a scowl hardly adding to her looks. ‘I trust that’s not a personal conversation you’re conducting during work time?’
Megan stared at the other woman, rage bubbling up inside her at the sheer injustice of such an unwarranted remark. Lindsay made it sound as though Megan spent most of her time on personal calls—a premise that was so far from the truth it was almost laughable. Almost. Because right now Megan didn’t see the humour. All she saw was an embittered, totally self-absorbed woman with apparently not the slightest notion of respect for her fellow human beings—unless, of course, they were superior to her in the bank hierarchy. Otherwise she plainly thought good manners were outmoded and unnecessary.
‘It is a personal call, as a matter of fact,’ Megan replied as coolly as she could. Then, nervously running her tongue over her top lip, she continued, ‘And I’d like to finish it.’
Lindsay’s face reddened, and she made a sound like a kettle blowing off steam. One hand clenched into a fist by her side, the other picked up the letter and gripped it as if she wished it were Megan’s throat.
‘Come into my office right now! This blatant insubordination has gone far enough, Miss Brand!’
Insubordination? Megan almost choked. The woman was behaving like some petulant prima donna in a dramatic production instead of a professional career-woman in a responsible managerial position.
The only response Megan considered such behaviour deserved was to ignore it. Swivelling in her chair, she lifted the receiver to continue. ‘Kyle? I’m sorry about that. I—’
It was snatched from her hand. Before she could do anything about it, Lindsay bellowed into the phone.
‘Who is this? For your information this is a professional office, and my secretary cannot afford to have her time wasted with personal telephone calls when she clearly should be working!’
‘Lindsay! Give me the phone!’
Megan stared aghast as Lindsay’s face grew even redder with emotion. She could only guess at what Kyle must be thinking! It really didn’t bear contemplation, and suddenly Megan knew without question what she had to do. What she should have done a long time ago if only she’d had the guts.
‘I said give me the damn phone!’ Tearing it out of the other woman’s hands, she glared furiously at Lindsay, no longer intimidated by a boss who had long ago lost any right to her respect. ‘As of now I no longer work for you! I’m going to finish my telephone call, then empty my desk and leave. It’s something I should have done years ago, but I gave away my power—first to my husband and then to people like you, Lindsay. People who don’t give a fig for other people’s feelings just so long as they get what they want. All I can say is that you must be one very unhappy woman to be so mean-spirited. I actually feel sorry for you, but unfortunately not sorry enough to stay.’ With that, Megan turned her back.
‘Sorry about that.’ She glanced briefly down at her watch as her heart pounded like a hammer. ‘Can you meet me downstairs in about half an hour?’
‘You resigned.’ Kyle sounded incredulous.
Megan swirled round at the slamming of Lindsay’s door, her face flushed with a new kind of exhilaration she’d never experienced before. ‘Yes. Isn’t it wonderful?’
Chapter Ten
KYLE threw his shaving gear into his tan leather holdall on the bed, pausing when he saw the photograph he carried with him wherever he went in the world nestling amongst his clothes. Reaching in, he withdrew it, his expression fiercely concentrated as he stared down at the beautiful face he missed not seeing every day.
Yvette.
She’d been twenty-five when she died in a horrific car accident, Kyle just eighteen when he’d heard the news that had made him even more resolved to make art his life. If you have a dream, his sister used to say, you should be prepared to move heaven and earth to fulfil it. There were no half-measures where dreams were concerned. No half-shades.
Yvette had lived life as if she meant it. As if she’d known she would have only a brief stay on this earth. Because she had been beautiful and intelligent and vivacious, men had tried to pin her down in their fascination to possess her, but it had been like trying to capture moonlight or the sparkle in a brook…impossible. Kyle gazed into her beguiling fine-boned face, at the smooth intelligent brows, the twinkle in her tawny almond-shaped eyes that seemed to reflect her belief that life was far too precious to remain serious for long and felt the loss anew. She’d lit up all their lives: their mother’s, his, and even his taciturn, workaholic father’s.
Briefly running his finger across the shiny creased surface of the photograph, Kyle laid it carefully back inside the holdall, deliberately covering it with a sweater so he could tear himself away from her memory and get on with what he had to do. But as he continued packing he wondered what his beloved sister would have made of Megan.
Yvette would have loved her unreservedly, he was sure. His sister had had a generous heart. It was what had made her choose nursing as a career and become a voluntary worker for the Samaritans in her spare time—anything that would bring comfort to the distressed and wounded of this world. It wouldn’t have taken her long to recognise a kindred spirit in the woman who had turned his own life upside down, the woman who had him considering a future that so far had not been even the smallest part of his plan.
Impatience shooting through his veins, he cursed softly beneath his breath. He couldn’t wait to see Megan again. He should never have let her out of his sight. What if she changed her mind about going away with him?
The phone rang just as he was zipping up his holdall.
‘Kyle?’
‘Megan.’ Kyle’s heartbeat accelerated as a shot of pure adrenaline pulsed through him. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing’s wrong.’
The tremor in her soft voice betrayed her. Kyle’s first thought was that her leg was paining her, or worse. Panic stopped him from asking her directly.
‘I thought we agreed that I’d pick you up at four?’ He glanced speculatively down at the diver’s watch circling his bronzed wrist, then edgily raked his fingers through his hair.
‘I haven’t changed my mind, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m looking forward to going away for a while.’ Megan took pains to reassure him. ‘It’s just that…it’s just that when I got home there was a letter for me. A letter from Nick.’
At the mention of her feckless ex-husband Kyle’s expression darkened, like a stormcloud passing across the sun.
‘If he’s threatening you in any way I’ll—’
‘No, Kyle. He’s not threatening me. He…he’s sent me a banker’s draft for my share of the house.’
Kyle’s relief was palpable. He dropped down onto the bed and rubbed his hand
round his jaw. ‘I’m glad to hear it. It’s bloody well the least he could do.’ It was good to know that his little talk with Nick Brand had produced the desired effect. Now all the bastard had to do was never show his face around Megan again and Kyle would be happy.
‘I just—I just wanted to let you know.’ Her voice went all wobbly again, making him clutch the receiver a little tighter, feeling an inexplicable knot in his stomach that wouldn’t go away.
‘I was half afraid you’d changed your mind and weren’t coming,’ he admitted, gravel-voiced.
‘I wouldn’t do that. I’ve almost finished packing. I’ll expect you around four, then, shall I?’
Kyle couldn’t prevent the smile that broke free as he got to his feet again.
‘Kyle! At last!’
Christa MacKenzie maneuvered her generous frame round a reception desk littered with scraps of paper, pencils, a half-eaten chocolate bar and an unfinished cup of tea, to greet the striking specimen of manhood who’d just stepped inside the charming old-fashioned lobby of her small hotel.
Embracing him in a flurry of exotic perfume, generous flesh and jangling bracelets, she placed two loud smacking kisses on either side of his smooth, recently shaven face.
‘Hmm, nice…’ She appreciatively sniffed the fresh clean tang of his aftershave. ‘I’ve been watching the clock since this morning. You’re an hour late and I’ve been worrying myself stupid. I almost thought you weren’t coming.’
‘We got held up in traffic. How are you, Christa? You look wonderful.’ Kyle dropped his holdall onto the thick royal blue carpet, delivering a smile of such dazzling efficacy that Christa actually blushed like a schoolgirl.
She’d been one of his favourite life models. The two of them had clicked at their very first meeting, when the blonde had stepped in to replace a girl who’d let him down at the last minute. He’d barely been able to teach at first, because she’d had him laughing so hard with her ribald comments and quaint little anecdotes on life.
