Wedding-Night Baby

by Kim Lawrence

  ‘My marriage and my personal life are none of your business.’ A thin white line of rage outlined his sculpted lips and she found herself unable to drag her eyes from the detail.

  ‘Did you have it in mind when you hired an escort?’ He met her stormy glare with a smile of smooth contempt. ‘Ending up in a hotel room to satisfy the appetites that sleeping with men old enough to be your father can’t assuage? ’

  Callum was containing his anger with enormous difficulty. He’d planned to conduct this interview with cold disdain but seeing her again had made him forget everything except the fact that he’d allowed crude, sexual hunger to override his prime rule never to let his emotions get out of control. He’d actually reached a point where he’d convinced himself she wasn’t the hard, conniving little tramp he’d taken her for.

  In retrospect, he could see he’d only believed what he’d wanted to believe to justify his own weakness. Waking up to find a cold place beside him in the bed had revealed all too clearly how shallow her involvement had been! He’d let his libido take over from logic and he couldn’t forgive the weakness or the cause of it.

  He’d been going to order her off the premises, but the moment she’d suggested she go he’d instantly decided to do just the opposite. He’d make her time as uncomfortable as was in his power. The next time he was going to be the one doing the walking out.

  After the sound of her hand striking his face there was only the noise of her own laboured breathing in the room.

  After a second Callum raised his hand experimentally to his jaw and touched the reddened patch. ‘Don’t try that again.’ The sound of divine retribution was in his voice.

  ‘I hope never to be in the same room as you again, so hopefully the opportunity won’t arise.’ Her voice shook as much as her body.

  ‘So the fierce dedication to Mallory’s expires once the boss is not blinded by your little act. Nice to know Oliver’s confidence in you was so totally misplaced. Inside your head,’ he continued, stepping forward and unexpectedly pressing his hands to either side of her skull, ‘are details that could mean the difference between prosperity and liquidation.’

  Her head in a vice-like grip, Georgina had no option but to meet his challenging stare head-on. The pugnacious expression in her eyes glazed over as the sexual charge of his nearness began to make itself felt above the antagonism and conflict. The ripples of warm, insidious heat curling across her nerve-endings were as terrifying as they were hypnotic.

  ‘I think you’re overstating matters.’ If it was true—and, knowing how unorthodox Oliver had been, it was just possible, she conceded—could she walk out on him? The firm had meant everything to Oliver, and after the opportunities he’d given her didn’t she owe him something? Could she let his life’s work vanish? ’‘You’re not appealing to my better nature, are you? I thought I didn’t have one.’ The bitterness in her voice made his expression grow sardonic.

  He released her so swiftly that she almost lost her balance. He picked an envelope up off the desk and shook it in front of her nose. ‘If you leave us in the lurch you’ll effectively be making this little lot worth a fraction of its value.’

  She stared at him blankly.

  ‘I suppose you don’t know what’s in here?’ His lip curled scornfully as he sat against the desk, his long legs spread out before him, feet braced in the inches-deep Aubusson carpet. Her confused expression seemed to irritate him. ‘As you know, you weren’t mentioned in the will.’

  ‘I never expected to be—’

  ‘However—’ his interruption sliced through her protest ‘—I was charged to deliver this bequest personally—and I place the emphasis on personally—to you. Unorthodox, but very Oliver.’

  She stared at the brown paper package and instinctively placed her hands behind her back. ‘I don’t know—’ she began half-fearfully before the explosive sound from his throat cut her off. ‘Humour me and tell me what’s in it.’

  ‘Oliver valued your services to the tune of one hundred grand’s worth of shares.’

  ‘That’s not p-possible.’

  ‘I love the husky little catch; despite my better judgement I want to kiss the hurt better.’

  Still frozen with disbelief, she raised her eyes from the envelope to his face. The angry contempt on it seemed aimed at himself—a fact that only increased her confusion.

  ‘If you want it, come and get it,’ he said suddenly, and the rush of words had less of an authoritative ring to them. There was challenge, but there was also husky appeal.

  ‘I don’t want it.’

  ‘But I want you.’ The words emerged through a fog of anger. To her spinning head he seemed to move in slow motion as he reached out a hand and she saw her own clasped within it. She didn’t try to resist the pressure that drew her closer until she stood within the V of his thighs. She was face to face with him at this level. Her face contorted in near agony as the exquisite torture of the intimate contact and instant knowledge of his desire lanced through her body.

  Memories she’d spent the last two days trying to file away in rational order flamed into violent life; hunger she’d vowed never to experience again soared like a bird. The vows were doubly important now but she still couldn’t catch hold of them. Her body ached and throbbed. He was not the casual stranger who was enticingly attractive, he was a dangerous, devious monster with no discernible morals, and she had to remember that constantly.

  The thick lashes of his heavy eyelids threw a shadow across his high cheekbones and she longed to touch his face, trace the contours.

  ‘You actually look rather sexy in specs,’ he said, calmly removing her glasses. At least, he sounded calm, yet she could feel the faint tremor in his fingertips as they brushed her skin. ‘But I object to seeing all that glorious hair confined. ’

  ‘You can’t do that.’ It came out very shakily, and she wasn’t at all surprised when he smiled and confidently began pulling out hairpins and lining them up on the desk.

  Do something, Georgina! she screamed at herself furiously. The pliancy pervading her was the most severe form of bondage ever devised; few things could feel more addictive than the muscled barriers of his thighs. She struggled futilely against the delicious sensations aroused by his fingers faintly touching her neck.

  ‘I’m sure we can have a mutually beneficial arrangement whilst our professional paths are entwined,’ he mused as he watched several gleaming strands slip over her shoulder.

  The pragmatic words were like a slap in the face and with a startled gasp of horror she pulled away, the slumbrous expression dying from her eyes. ‘Briefly entwined,’ she spat out, and relief flooded through her. The voice that had emerged from her lips was confident and strong, not that of a quivering wreck at all. After everything that had happened she’d still been about to Her mind shut off the pathway she’d been skipping along seconds earlier; some things didn’t bear thinking about!

  ‘You are going to safeguard your investment, then,’ he said, slowly getting to his feet. Apart from a brief flicker of rage that vanished almost the same instant she imagined she saw it, his equilibrium seemed untouched by her recovery.

  Let him think what he liked; anything she was about to do was for Oliver and the company that he had loved like the son he’d never had, not for the money that Callum imagined he could buy her with. More fool him! she thought scornfully.

  ‘I’ll work my notice, certainly.’

  ‘I thought you might.’ The dryness made her wince.

  ‘It must be comforting to be omnipotent,’ she observed. ‘Let me make it quite plain that whilst I work with you—’ she deliberately emphasised the word ‘—I won’t tolerate any sexual harassment.’ The flicker of icy blue contempt in his eyes made her cheeks grow hot. ‘The only way you got into my bed once was by pretending to be what you weren’t. I thought you were a nice, harmless hunk and I needed comfort. Now I know you are a malicious, devious, unscrupulous rodent, and I’m never going to be that vulnerable! ’ />
  ‘I’m aware you’re the sort of female incapable of sustaining an emotional relationship; it could be we have that much in common,’ he observed wryly. ‘Perhaps that’s why you make me so mad. I see all the things in you I despise most about myself. However, under the circumstances it seems a waste of resources not to explore the mutual hunger we seem to have ignited.’

  ‘Smoulder’ had only been a word until she’d seen his eyes, she thought, riveted by the expression in the restless blue gaze. A black hole had replaced the pit of her belly and she was tempted to let the warm sensations writhing there envelop her. ‘Despise about yourself?’ She made a scornful sound. ‘Strange. I had the impression you were rather pleased with yourself; you ooze self-satisfaction from every pore.’

  She took a step backwards as she read retribution in the glitter in his eyes. One step further away and a myopic fog blurred the alarming vision. ‘If you want to keep me sweet, Mr Stewart, you’d better be nice. I don’t mean that nice,’ she added hastily as she anticipated the gleam in his eyes. ‘I’ll tell you all I know about Oliver’s deals and soothe worried clients; in return I want you to keep your distance.’

  Surprisingly he gave a shrug. ‘It might be best that way, but you’d do well to remember that ours is a relationship of mutual convenience.’ The spurt of irrational pique that coursed through her made her chew on her lower lip as she struggled to keep her expression blank. ‘I want to get away from Britain as soon as possible,’ he said consideringly. ‘Distractions would probably just hold things up.’

  ‘You’re going back to Australia?’

  ‘Not immediately. I’ve acquired a property in France—the Languedoc, to be more accurate.’

  ‘To farm?’ she said, her eyes widening with surprise. I know nothing about him, she realised. He might even be married! The thought made her go cold with horror.

  ‘My brother is the farmer, or grazier, as we term it back home. I make wine, Georgina.’

  ‘You do?’ She knew about as much about the popular Australian wines that were flooding the home market as anyone else of her acquaintance, which wasn’t a lot. ‘You’re going to France to learn their techniques?’

  He walked past her to the door, his demeanour dismissive enough to make her stiffen.

  ‘I’m going to teach them our techniques,’ he corrected her. ‘Introducing new grape varieties and combining them will produce top-class products.’ Despite his grim air she sensed the enthusiasm in his voice.

  ‘I’m sure they’ll be suitably appreciative,’ she remarked, sweeping past him as he held open the door.

  She ignored Mary’s look of startled enquiry and was about to leave the small outer office when Callum appeared once more. ‘I believe this is yours,’ he observed, holding out the manila envelope. ‘And these.’ The hair-grips were dropped into her upturned palm. He proceeded to slide her spectacles back onto her nose. His features slid into focus as she blinked.

  The bubble of righteous indignation into which she had crawled burst the instant she felt the blind force of primal attraction claw its way into her body. For an instant she froze under the impact of this brutal assault of her senses. To make matters worse she saw the flare of understanding in the eyes—understanding with no accompanying warmth; it was almost clinical and certainly calculating. Having her weakness recognised was the final humiliation!

  She made some inarticulate sound and fled, aware of what Mary must be thinking of her hair streaming down her back. If executives were prepared to turn cartwheels for him, what must she think mere PAs were willing to do? Georgina, you’ve already done it, she told herself, a bubble of hysteria rising in her throat. And look what it’s landed you in. She hardly noticed the odd looks that followed her precipitate flight along the densely carpeted corridors.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘WORKING BREAKFAST’ was the way the memo had termed it, but so far Georgina hadn’t eaten anything. She replaced her coffee-cup on its saucer very carefully as she calmed herself to reply to the aggressive question of Simon May, the most logical successor to Oliver’s position.

  He was good-looking, in a florid sort of way, and until she’d seen him in the same room as Callum he’d seemed the epitome of cool self-assurance. Now his desire to score points had made him utter several snide and childish comments that had earned him a calculating appraisal from the man in charge.

  She had been set to fend off Callum’s disparaging remarks but it was Simon’s attitude throughout the meeting that was patronising to the point of being overtly offensive.

  ‘I’m sorry you find the overall campaign too simplistic, but it was what Oliver intended to deliver,’ she said earnestly, trying not to react defensively. The client they were discussing was an airline which was one of Mallory’s major customers.

  ‘So you say.’ This time he didn’t bother to disguise his disdain.

  ‘You are calling Miss Campion a liar?’ The question was casually voiced. Of the eight people present Callum had said the least. The few comments he’d made had been searching and acute; he might know little about advertising but he obviously had an astute brain and he managed to cut through woolly statements and reveal the flaws with insulting ease. He had certainly been listening——critically, she was sure—to the way she was handling the resentful questions from the senior men present.

  ‘I’m saying that basing our strategy on the say-so of a jumped-up clerk would be suicidal. We only have her word that Oliver intended any of this.’

  ‘What reason would she have for lying?’ Callum asked, his glance flicking to her taut profile. She was aware of the scrutiny and he knew she was, but her expression didn’t flinch. He couldn’t help but admire the sort of control she was displaying.

  ‘And, perhaps more importantly, what alternative do you have in mind?’ His voice was soft, but had an edge of authority that made the other man’s eye contact waver. ‘You and the gentlemen here represent approximately forty-three per cent of the company’s accounts. Oliver was personally responsible for the remainder; how do you intend to persuade that fifty-plus per cent not to defect? None of you earned my uncle’s confidence. Why should I give you mine?’

  The calm presentation of the facts made Simon May’s colour fluctuate dramatically. ‘If I might say so, with all respect, sir, you have no experience of this business. It’s difficult for an outsider to see—’

  ‘I can see you’re allowing personal animosity and ambition to blind you to the most important problem at hand. Your first loyalty should be to the shareholders, who will be the first to suffer if this agency is torn apart by internal wrangling. Take it from me, Simon, that Miss Campion has every reason to do her utmost to ensure this firm remains a strong, viable enterprise.’

  He smiled thinly, his voice sandpaper-dry, and met her apprehensive glare momentarily before his attention shifted once more to the men present.

  Georgina watched with a jumble of conflicting emotions as Callum effortlessly dominated the proceedings. Would he be vindictive enough to reveal the legacy to them? If he did she knew there would be no possibility of her creating any sort of working relationship with the other senior executives.

  ‘You will all acquaint yourselves with the details Miss Champion is able to provide. Contact with clients will be initiated by her as she is familiar with them.’

  ‘She’s just a...’ Simon May’s rather protuberant eyes looked about to leave their sockets and Georgina felt a surge of uncharitable glee. Still, she thought gloomily, he’d have the last laugh when he realised he’d already got his wish—because she was out of Mallory’s. She knew none of this was in any way a personal campaign to defend her, but it felt strange hearing her cause being espoused by Callum of all people. Simon would be delighted if he knew that the new boss despised her even more than he did, she thought cynically.

  She’d dealt with Simon’s amorous campaign clumsily, she thought as she intercepted his malevolent, accusing glare. There had been witnesses when she had given him
an acerbic put-down and every snigger he had suffered afterwards had been another nail in her coffin as far as he was concerned. She really ought to have made allowances for the fragility of the male ego, she decided wryly.

  ‘Are you going to enlighten us as to what Miss Campion is?’ Callum enquired with a lift of his eyebrows.

  ‘She has been deliberately obstructive in the past,’ Simon blustered after a brief, taut silence. ‘It takes an account manager to understand the intricacies at this level—teamwork. She’s never been part of any team.’ Several people nodded their agreement. Though their working backgrounds were dissimilar they all had an impressive academic education to fall back on—one she couldn’t match. To do their job required a mixture of artistic inspiration, commercial proficiency and the edge required to stay at the top in a highly competitive field.

  She stifled a surge of uncertainty. Oliver believed in me, she told herself firmly. She refused to be made to appear inadequate in front of Callum. It was no concern of hers if he considered her morals to be non-existent, but she was damned if she was going to let him think she was incompetent.

  ‘If you’d like to speak to the TV production people, I know that Oliver approached them informally concerning the campaign. They can confirm the bare bones of what I’m telling you.’

  Georgina wasn’t about to let any one of them intimidate her; she knew she was capable of doing the job Oliver had trained her for. Intuitively she knew that Callum would have admired Simon more if he’d favoured the more forthright approach rather than skirting around the issue. She knew to her cost that he wasn’t tentative about voicing his own opinions!

  ‘Oliver wasn’t a team player either,’ Callum interjected, much to her surprise.

  ‘You can hardly equate a typist in a short skirt with Oliver Mallory,’ Simon complained derisively.