She wished impotently for any number of things. but most of all she wished that Dane Sutherland had never re-entered her life, looking for a good cause to appease his conscience.
She had not realised until now just how vulnerable she still was when it came to him. As vulnerable, it seemed, as she had been years before when she had nurtured her hopeless, childish infatuation. She lay on the bed and relived that roller coaster of emotion that had plagued her in her adolescence. Had she really outgrown all that, she wondered, or had she just fondly imagined that she had?
It seemed useless to ponder about it, just as it was useless to try and pretend that nothing had happened between them. The only thing she could do would be to convince him that it had meant nothing to her—nothing at all.
If he said nothing to her, then she would not volunteer an apology as she had the last time. She would just remain silent and take her cue from him. If he mentioned it, she would admit that she had been attracted to him and would laugh it off lightly. He would understand that. Men understood simple things like physical desire; they appreciated the concept of abandoning all common sense when confronted by naked animal attraction.
She would never let him see that what she had felt had been much more than a brief lapse into passion. She closed her eyes and tried not to see it herself, but the idea, once implanted, had taken root, and when she finally fell asleep not long before dawn she had already reached the awful conclusion that what she felt for him now reached far beyond the tidy limits of infatuation. She was in love with him. In love with the one man she had once convinced herself that she hated.
Suzanne got up sluggishly the following morning, and the revelation, which she had hoped the night before, in a muddle-headed way, would fade in the same fashion as a nightmare fades on waking, was as stark as it had been then.
She was in love with Dane Sutherland. She was in love with a man who had briefly lost his senses and allowed himself to be drawn to a woman whom he still saw as a child, because she had been dressed provocatively.
She approached the kitchen with great hesitation and was sick with relief when she read the note on the table, the strong black writing telling her that he had been called away on business and wouldn’t be back until the middle of the week.
What business? Angela business, perhaps?
Suzanne so successfully convinced herself that, wherever he was, he was in the company of the other woman that it was a shock to see her, efficient, cool-faced and as immaculately dressed as usual, at the office on the Monday morning.
Angela’s office door, which was normally shut, was open, so that she could see anyone walking by, and Suzanne had a sinking feeling that she had been waiting—waiting for her to pass. Like a barracuda waiting to make a kill.
Suzanne looked in, because ignoring the open door and the pert blonde sitting eagle-eyed behind her desk would have been even more obvious, and nodded.
‘Could you come in here, please?’ Angela didn’t bother to get out from behind the desk, nor did she attempt to disguise the hostility in her voice, and Suzanne reluctantly walked into the room, only shutting the door because she was told and not from choice.
‘I expect you know what I want to talk to you about.’
Suzanne sat down, crossed her legs and looked at the other woman warily. ‘Not really,’ she said uncomfortably.
‘Now, now,’ Angela said with a reptilian smile, ‘you don’t really expect me to believe that you’re that stupid, do you?’
‘If this has to do with Saturday night...’
‘This has everything to do with Saturday night. I’ll pass over the way you made a complete fool of yourself, preening and posing in that pathetic fancy dress you wore, for reasons which I can’t begin to understand. Did you think that that was the only way that you would be able to attract a man like Dane?’ She leant forward and Suzanne was immeasurably grateful for the desk separating them.
‘I don’t think that this is the right place to be having this sort of discussion,’ she began, which, judging from Angela’s reaction, was the last thing she should have said.
‘I am in charge of this office,’ she said with such hatred in her voice that Suzanne was silenced. ‘You are little more than a charity case handed to me by Dane. Although, I suppose you have forgotten that little fact.’
‘No, I am very much aware that he was kind enough to provide me...’ Another mistake, she realised too late. She shouldn’t have said anything at all.
‘Yes, he was very kind, too kind, because kindness wasn’t enough for you, was it? When did you decide that you wanted more than just a job and a roof over your head? When did you decide that because you knew him in the past that would be a good starting point to getting to know him a bit better—more than a bit better?’
‘I never decided any such thing!’ She could see dismissal staring her in the face, but she couldn’t do a thing about it.
‘You can stop lying right now!’ Angela banged her fist down on the desk and her cup of coffee rattled in its saucer from the impact. ‘You took one look at Dane and thought that you would be able to worm your way into his affections because he was stupid enough to feel sorry for you!’
‘How dare you accuse me of something like that?’ Suzanne’s face was white, but even as she said it she knew the answer. Angela had dared because that was the only mode of behaviour that she could understand, because it was what she would have done herself. The question of love would never have entered her mind. Angela, Suzanne saw, wasn’t in love with Dane Sutherland. She wanted him and all the things that he carried with him: his money, his style, his power. She wanted to bask in his reflected glory.
‘Because it’s the truth! I can see straight through you and I have done ever since I laid eyes on that innocent, lost-little-girl look. What did it feel like when you realised that you weren’t going to get anywhere with him? When you realised that he just isn’t attracted to lost little girls?’
She paused after that, and Suzanne wondered whether that was a question in search of an answer.
‘Dane Sutherland wants a woman,’ Angela spat out, her face distorted with ugly emotion. ‘He doesn’t want a child!’
‘In that case, why are you overreacting to the situation? What have you got to fear from me, since he could never be attracted to me in a month of Sundays?’ Sure dismissal now, she thought. Out on my ear, probably without the pay packet that’s due to me.
‘Is that when you decided that the only way to get him would be to dress like a tart?’
That stung. It brought a red flush to Suzanne’s cheeks, and she could see the other woman looking at her with narrow-eyed comprehension.
‘That just isn’t true!’
‘Do you imagine that because he made a pass at you in a kitchen, when he was in no fit state, you now have what you want?’
‘We weren’t...’ Suzanne began, faltering and then taking a deep breath because she just couldn’t continue with the lie that they had not been doing anything.
‘You will never get what you want. Dane may have been attracted to you because you crooked your finger—and what man wouldn’t take what’s offered on a plate?—but you’re nothing to him. Do you understand? Dane and I understand one another. And I intend to have him.’
Suzanne stood up. She was surprised that she hadn’t been given the sack. Perhaps refusing to sit silent and be insulted by one’s boss wasn’t a sackable offence. Perhaps, and this only came to her late, when she was back at her desk and trying to get stuck into her work, Angela couldn’t sack her, even though she desperately wanted to. Perhaps her hands were tied.
Angela wanted Dane; she intended, she had said, to have him. There was nothing going on. Yet.
Suzanne shivered. Somewhere in that beautiful head a screw was loose, and that, more than anything else, made Angela a dangerous foe.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SUZANNE, didn’t see Dane until the end of the week. She had waited with a sense of sick anticipation
for him to return on the Wednesday evening, and had gone to bed at ten o’clock with a feeling of disappointment, which she’d told herself was not an appropriate thing to feel. Not when she had made her mind up to be as distant with him as possible.
So on the Thursday, when there was no sign of him, she cheerfully told herself that she was not at all disappointed but rather relieved, in fact. She went to bed with a book, fell asleep with it on her stomach with the side-light still on, and promptly had a very vivid dream which involved her, Dane and Angela in some nightmarish triangle, the details of which she could hardly remember when she awoke in the morning.
It was only a matter of accident when she did see him the following day. She had just finished washing up the one dish from her supper and was about to retire to bed when she heard the front door open and close, and despite her gay self-assurances that the lapse had restored all of her self-control she felt her stomach go into a tight knot, and every muscle in her body turned rigid.
She hurriedly left the kitchen and confronted him head-on. He was rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and if her sudden appearance in his path had taken him by surprise he gave no indication of it. He continued doing what he was doing, not looking at her after the first glance, and after flirting with the idea of heading off to her bedroom she said politely, ‘How did your trip go?’
He looked at her more fully this time. ‘Good. Very good. More than worth the months of effort that have been put into this particular deal. At long last, things are beginning to fall into place. America, little Suzie, was an interlude. You’re always so curious about it. Let me just say that, as things are turning out, my self-imposed exile will have been worth it.’ He smiled slowly, without amusement, then said, changing the subject and striding into the kitchen, ‘Any coffee lying about?’
‘Is it to do with Martha?’ she asked, off the top of her head, and he shot her a speculative look.
‘Oh, yes,’ he said softly, ‘it’s to do with Martha. Now, back to my question. Any coffee?’
‘Hot, freshly brewed and waiting to be poured into a cup? Surprisingly enough, no.’ He had, his face showed, already said enough on the subject of Martha, and she was still too sensitive after what had happened between them to prod him further.
He laughed with his back to her. ‘And could I persuade you to make me one?’
‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ Suzanne said thoughtfully, relieved that he hadn’t mentioned that dreadful episode, and more than prepared to have their relationship return to its normal, politely friendly basis. ‘But, if you’re making, you could make one for me as well.’
And ten minutes later she found herself sitting at the kitchen table opposite him, cradling a mug of coffee in her hands. It felt dangerously domestic to be sitting here with him, wearing her oldest clothes and no make-up at all, and listening to him talk to her.
He told her about New York, amused because she hung onto every word. He described it with dry wit, telling her about places she had only ever heard of, because holidays abroad had been as inaccessible as trips to the moon. Her father would never have been able to afford a holiday to America, of all places, and hearing Dane talk about it gave her a vicarious thrill. There was no more mention of his stepmother or of what his dealings had to do with her.
‘You’re doing a very dangerous thing sitting there,’ he said, shooting her a crooked smile and looking at her in that way that he had—as though he could see right into the core of her.
‘What’s that?’
‘You’re stroking my ego with your attentiveness.’ He leant forward with his elbows on the table, in the same way as she was sitting staring at him. ‘Didn’t your father ever tell you that such attention can be very disturbing?’
‘No.’ Should she take him seriously? The question threw her into a turmoil of confusion. ‘Of course he didn’t. He was embarrassed enough telling me about the birds and the bees when I was fourteen. Of course, I already knew all about that.’
‘Of course.’ There was amusement in the depths of his grey eyes.
‘From friends.’
‘Indeed.’
‘Stop staring at me like that,’ she said, clearing her throat and risking a direct look at his face. He hadn’t shaved. There was a dark shadow along his jawline which she only now noticed.
‘I’ve discovered that I rather like staring at you.’
She gave a nervous laugh and stood up.
‘Where are you going?’ he asked. ‘Have I embarrassed you?’ He stood up with her and she could hear the amusement in his voice.
Her whole body was tingling and she had to force her legs to move in the direction of the door.
‘To bed,’ she said with her back to him, in what she hoped was a carefree voice. ‘And no, you haven’t.’
Lying, she was finding out, was becoming something of a habit as far as he was concerned. Every time he asked her a personal question, in fact.
‘What a good idea,’ he said lazily, following her out of the kitchen. ‘And I’m glad to hear it, even though I suspect you’re lying.’ He gave a deep-throated chuckle.
‘You have a hugely inflated ego,’ she told him, aware that he was following her and wondering what exactly he proposed to do when they arrived at her bedroom door. He hadn’t entered her bedroom once since she had moved in, and she couldn’t see him doing it now, whatever peculiar, flirtatious mood he seemed to be in. ‘Why do you think that every word you say sends me into a dither?’
‘Because that transparent face of yours gives you away every time.’
They reached the door and she stood with her back to it and looked at him. ‘I do not get into a dither every time you speak to me,’ she told him evenly. ‘You do not qualify as some dark, disturbing stranger who’s swept into my life on a white stallion. I’ve known you off and on for longer than I care to remember. You just need to put a brake on your imagination.’
There, that sounded remarkably well controlled. Articulate, even. It irritated her that that half-smile was still playing on his lips, but she reasoned that he would be the last person in the world to admit to having made an error of judgement when it came to someone else’s character.
‘I shall have a good talking to with my hugely inflated ego tonight.’ He grinned.
‘I realise that you’re probably accustomed to women throwing themselves at you every time you put one foot forward, but please don’t cast me in the same role.’
‘Not even after what happened after the party?’
There was a tense little silence and Suzanne felt behind her back for the doorknob.
‘I would rather not mention that at all.’
‘I’m sure you wouldn’t,’ he agreed.
He wasn’t smiling any longer, which was even more disturbing because now there was no screen over the lazy, blatant sexuality in his grey eyes.
She turned the doorknob and slipped inside the bedroom, which instantly made her feel safer.
‘You’re not ending this conversation yet, are you, Suzie? Just when it’s getting started?’
She felt her heart give a bit of a lurch, but her voice was steady enough when she replied. ‘I’m tired. It’s been a long week.’
That, at any rate, was the truth. Angela had not descended on her with any more accusations, but Suzanne had still found herself keeping a cautious watch on the door to her office, waiting for it to open and reveal ‘the vampire’ in all her glory.
She hadn’t told Robert anything of their conversation, but he had gleaned from her expression on her return to her desk that all was not right, and the vampire description had been his. Since then he had brought in several bulbs of garlic, which he had distributed in the pot plants, much to Suzanne’s amusement.
She decided that Dane would not relish the thought of his top executive, whose abilities he doubtless admired even if her physique didn’t enter into the equation, being elevated to the position of the Evil One.
‘Hasn’t it, though?’ He wasn’t budg
ing and eventually she began to close the bedroom door.
She wasn’t expecting him to push it open and stride past her into the room, which was what he did. She stared at him open-mouthed and asked him what he thought he was doing, to which, naturally, he had the perfect reply.
‘Inspecting what you’ve done with the room.’ He was looking around him, noting the various bits and pieces which she had excavated from storage and now displayed on the mantelpiece of the fireplace and on the window-ledges: framed photographs, a few ornaments, most of which were tasteless in the extreme—cheap souvenirs of day trips to places like Bournemouth and Brighton—but which held a great deal of sentimental value.
‘I haven’t done anything with it,’ she said, keeping her position near the door, her arms folded.
‘It looks more lived in than the bedsit did from what I saw of it.’ He paused in front of a photo of her father and her, taken years before in happier times.
‘I’ve brought out more of my personal things.’
He moved on from the photo and stopped in front of a Mexican ornament which she had found in a charity shop and bought for her father for his birthday a decade ago. He held it, looked at it, and she waited patiently by the door, wondering how much more lingering he intended to do in the bedroom.
‘If you want to do anything more dramatic with the room,’ he said suddenly, ‘then by all means feel free.’ He waved his hand vaguely to encompass the bedroom. ‘It’s somewhat on the bland side.’
‘Oh, it suits me the way it is!’ Suzanne exclaimed, shocked. What did he mean by anything more dramatic? Black walls and striped window-sills? ‘I’m not a dramatic person. I would feel uncomfortable in a dramatic room.’
He was watching her closely as she spoke, and now he strolled slowly towards her. Since she was standing close to the door, she hoped that this signalled his exit, but he stopped in front of her and eventually she said brusquely, ‘You’re on your way out, I take it? The door’s right there.’
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