‘He’s a world-class pig,’ snapped Lisa, her face darkening.
‘And what does he think of you?’ murmured Joanne, entertained.
Lisa showed her teeth. ‘I’m an out and out con artist and he doesn’t like my table manners.’
‘What?’ said Joanne, losing her amusement.
‘Not that much of a dreamboat, huh?’ said Lisa.
‘He must be out of his mind.’
‘No,’ said Lisa fair-mindedly, ‘I provoked him. He thought he could charm me and I—showed him he was wrong.’
Joanne nodded slowly. ‘I can see that you would.’ She gave Lisa a sudden, brilliant smile. ‘No man is ever going to charm you into losing your judgement, is he, pet?’
‘No,’ said Lisa.
She didn’t say, Not again. She did not need to.
She was reminded of the conversation next morning. Her mother, she thought, should see this.
‘You’ve nearly missed the chance to go on television,’ Rob told her as she came out of the mid-morning meeting. He was grinning. ‘Gary’s ready to stand in for you, though.’ He chuckled. ‘He’s gone out to get highlights in his hair.’
Lisa paused in the act of sitting down at her computer screen. ‘You’re joking.’
‘No. The TV crew will be here at twelve. Bet he tops up the tan as well.’ He raised his voice so the rest of the team could hear him. ‘Five to one Gary comes back browner than he went.’
There was a derisive chorus. The odds shortened and notes changed hands.
‘He’ll be ready to kill when he finds you’re back after all,’ said Rob with satisfaction.
He was right.
‘Of course, you’re the Head of Bond Trading,’ Gary said huffily. The television lights glinted on his newly lacquered hair. ‘You should do it.’
Lisa’s eyes danced. ‘But you’ve got yourself up so prettily,’ she said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Just that you’re a natural for the guru-to-camera bit,’ she told him soothingly. ‘You’ll do it much better than I would.’
This was greeted with raucous laughter. Gary flushed.
‘Just because you don’t take care of yourself,’ he said spitefully. ‘It’s not my fault you look a mess.’
Lisa stopped smiling. ‘Thank you for your style analysis.’
She sat down and turned her back on him. Gary shrugged, and went to talk to the television camera. Lisa ignored him, concentrating on the screen.
Rob peered over the top of his own screen. ‘Gary’s a prat,’ he offered eventually.
Lisa nodded, not answering.
Rob tried again. ‘Are you taking anyone to the Association dinner tomorrow?’
‘My mother and sister,’ Lisa said airily.
Rob looked dissatisfied. ‘If you need a man…’ he began.
His attempt at delicacy made Lisa wince. ‘I do not,’ she yelled, ‘need a man.’
From across the room, the US Dollar exchange dealers raised a cheer.
One of them called out, ‘Get your hands off her, Rob, you pathetic lecher. Don’t you know she’s one of the boys?’
In Sam Voss’s office, his visitor looked up, arrested.
Lisa didn’t know she was being watched. Her anger dissolved in laughter at their teasing.
‘Bunch of sexist pigs,’ she said peacefully.
Rob drew a relieved breath. ‘What happens at the dinner?’
‘Eat a lot, try not to drink too much in case I win. Listen to a lot of boring speeches. And, if I win, they hand over the statuary and I get my turn in the boring speech stakes. Oh, and I get to be kissed by God.’
Rob laughed. ‘Or God’s stand-in.’
The guest of honour at the Association’s dinner was a politician whose financial affairs were currently under investigation by the newspapers. The dealing room, highly entertained, was running a book on his chances of surviving long enough to present the awards.
‘They’ll have trouble getting anyone else at this short notice,’ said Lisa.
‘Oh, no problem. They’ll call Rent-a-Nob,’ said Rob.
‘Oh, wow,’ said Lisa cynically. ‘The honour of it. I can hardly bear it.’
The screens began to flicker again. All round the room people leaned forward, scanning the incoming message. Under cover of the preoccupation, Lisa looked over the top of the bank of screens in front of her.
‘Thanks, Rob,’ she said quietly.
Nikolai had used Lisa’s business card to good effect. The result was that he had decided further investigations would take longer than he had planned on. Certainly too long to stay in a hotel, however luxurious. Nikolai hated hotels.
So he had called some friends. By Monday morning he’d had the offer of a number of flats. By Monday lunchtime he had moved into one, courtesy of a geology professor whose mother had made her summer move to Scotland. It was old-fashioned, and further away from the Royal Geographical Society Library than he wanted, but it had the bonus of being just round the corner from Tatiana.
By Monday afternoon, responses to his other calls had started to come in.
‘Count Ivanov? Roger Maurice here. I edit Financial Monthly. I’ve been asked to give you a call.’
‘Really?’ said Nikolai without enthusiasm. He didn’t like journalists on principle.
‘I gather we might be able to help each other,’ said Roger Maurice. ‘You want to know about Lisa Romaine. Well, I’ve just done a piece on top tarts in the City. What do you want to know?’
Nikolai was taken aback. ‘She’s that well known?’
‘And successful.’
‘Good heavens.’
‘Not an entirely unsullied career path, I gather,’ said Roger Maurice delicately. ‘Good results. But sometimes a bit of a question mark over how she gets her promotion. I could give you some people to talk to. And in return…’
He explained.
Nikolai’s unseen smile was triumphant. Oh, he was going to show Lisa Romaine what it was like to cross a man who was not misled by big green eyes or afraid of political incorrectness. Some men were still masters of themselves. As she was going to learn to her cost.
Maurice read out some phone numbers. ‘And tomorrow night? Can we count on your help?’
‘I regard it as a debt of honour,’ Nikolai said.
He meant it.
Kit rang to say she wouldn’t be able to get to the presentation dinner at five o’clock. Lisa argued, but her sister was adamant. In the end Kit hung up on her. Lisa called her mother.
‘I’m sorry, love,’ said Joanne, who clearly already knew Kit’s decision. ‘I told you she’s been in a funny mood. I don’t think I’d better come either. I don’t want to leave her alone.’
Lisa didn’t say anything. Suddenly her pleasure in the evening dimmed.
‘What about leaving me alone?’ she muttered. But not so her mother could hear.
But Joanne picked up something. ‘Do you mind? Will it ruin your evening?’
Lisa suppressed a sigh. ‘No.’
Joanne didn’t hear the disappointment. She said hearteningly, ‘Have a wonderful time, then. And drink some champagne for me.’
‘I will.’
So Lisa went along with Rob after all. She hid her loneliness under outrageous earrings that brushed her shoulders and a velvet jacket borrowed from Sam’s secretary.
‘Just don’t take it off,’ said Angela, brushing lint off the lapels in the ladies’ cloakroom. ‘Your gear is great for dancing, but it will give the old boys a heart attack if they see all that flesh.’
Lisa turned this way and that in front of the mirror.
‘Is Sam coming?’ she asked casually.
Angela put the brush back on the vanity unit. She didn’t look at Lisa.
‘He bought a ticket.’
‘That’s not what I asked.’
‘I think there’s some sort of crisis at home,’ said poor Angela, torn between loyalty to her boss and sympathy for Lisa.
<
br /> Lisa tossed her blonde head. ‘You don’t have to dress it up for me,’ she said in a light, hard tone. ‘I knew he wouldn’t come. No boss. No family. Oh, well, Financial Monthly thinks I’m the greatest. What else can I want?’
She sashayed into the panelled hall, hung with portraits of aldermen and city company flags, like a woman bent on challenging all comers. Rob eyed her uneasily. He didn’t know this glittering, dangerous mood but he had a bad feeling about it.
He took a couple of glasses from a waiter’s tray and handed her one, looking round. The tall room was still half empty.
‘Quiet this year.’
Lisa’s green eyes narrowed like a cat’s seeking prey. She gave the slow grin that sent shivers up the spine of bosses and opponents alike. ‘Soon change that.’
Rob took a gulp of his drink. ‘What do you mean?’ he said, alarmed.
But she laughed and didn’t answer.
‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ he begged.
She raised her chin, and the light shone on her newly washed blonde cap of hair. Rob hardly noticed.
‘I mean it,’ he said urgently. ‘Don’t think Sam won’t find out, just because he isn’t here. All his cronies are. If you start dancing on tables they’ll all be on their mobiles.’
Lisa gave a private grin. Rob felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
Lisa—’ he began warningly.
‘OK. OK,’ she said impatiently. ‘No dancing on tables. At least,’ she added naughtily, ‘not here. Fancy going out later?’
Rob nodded, relieved. And then other people began to arrive and he and Lisa were separated by the crowd.
They didn’t get together again until they sat down for dinner. She seemed to have calmed down, he saw with relief. But then she picked up the programme. He felt her go utterly still.
‘What is it?’
Lisa looked up slowly. Her eyes were blank. Then it seemed to poor Rob that even as he looked at her she began to quiver, very, very gently, like grass in the wind before an earthquake.
‘Oh, dear,’ he said.
He looked round for something to account for this terrible rage.
The caterers had done their best to keep up with the cancellations at the Napier Kraus table. They had removed two covers, but Sam’s no-show had thrown them. As a result Lisa was sitting next to an empty chair. Worse, the place-card said ‘Kit Romaine’.
Rob palmed it swiftly. But Lisa’s shivering fury seemed to stem from something else entirely.
‘The guest of honour,’ she said between her teeth.
‘What?’
She could hardly get it out. ‘Oh, boy, have Rent-a-Nob come up with a lulu.’
Rob looked at the proceedings card in the middle of the table.
“‘Count Nikolai Ivanov”,’ he read. He looked up. ‘Who’s he?’
‘Count!’ Lisa was so angry she could barely speak.
Rob was none the wiser. One of their fellow diners leaned forward.
‘Explorer chap. Bit of a coup getting him. Especially at short notice.’
Lisa snorted.
‘No, really. He doesn’t usually do after-dinner speaking.’
‘All explorers do after-dinner speaking,’ said Lisa flatly. She had sat through a fair number of after-dinner speeches since she joined Napier Kraus. ‘They’re as bad as politicians. It’s all in support of the great cause of fundraising.’
Their companion chuckled. ‘Shouldn’t think an Ivanov needs to raise funds. Plenty of Swiss bank accounts there.’
For some reason the news seemed to make Lisa even more mad, Rob saw. She barely spoke during the course of the meal. Only when the guest speaker rose to his feet did she seem to come out of her black absorption. In fact she sat bolt upright, and turned a laser glare on him.
It must have felt like a flame-thrower, thought Rob with sympathy. Certainly Nikolai Ivanov seemed to be looking towards their table more often than he looked anywhere else. And when he announced that Lisa was the Trader of the Year and picked up her prize to present it—
Lisa got up and slipped off her jacket. Under the jacket she was wearing a low-backed, cropped silver top. In the staid atmosphere it made her look shockingly young. She tilted her gleaming head at Nikolai in silent challenge.
Nikolai stayed impassive. But he knew, as she did, that neither of them saw anyone else in the room. And as she turned to make her way round an intervening table he saw that the low back revealed a tattooed butterfly on the point of flight nestling below her left shoulderblade
Suddenly the duel between them was charged with something a lot more primitive. His pulse gave one great thud, like the impact of an axe on an anvil. And then he felt his blood begin to beat hot and hard. As Lisa prowled up the steps of the podium, like a cat on the hunt, she did not know it but she faced lust incarnate.
Nikolai remained impassive, though it was an effort. She was not going to see how strongly he needed to get his hands on her. Or not yet. Later, maybe.
He picked up the small statuette and gave her his blandest smile. Lisa’s eyes turned black with fury. ‘Congratulations,’ Nikolai said deliberately.
To Lisa’s outrage he reached out and took her unresponsive hand. As the room applauded, he shook it heartily.
‘I’m told this is very well deserved.’
‘Thank you.’ She sounded as if it would choke her.
Nikolai’s eyes gleamed. He gave her the statuette. Then, to Lisa’s blank astonishment, he put an arm round her and pulled her beside him to face the room.
A dart of electricity shot through her, so strong she gasped. She flinched away from him. But the dinner-jacketed arm was stronger than she’d expected. She was clamped ruthlessly to his side.
Lisa turned her head and glared. ‘Take your hands off me.’ She did not bother to lower her voice.
The continuing applause drowned her words. So only Nikolai heard. He began to enjoy himself. Although the thunder in his blood had not diminished with his arm round her, he realised that Lisa was too angry to recognise the condition he was in. Relaxing, he looked down at her.
‘Smile for the cameras,’ he said kindly.
Lisa could have screamed. But she held still while the photographer took a number of pictures. Then she made an acceptance speech so brief that the applause was genuinely appreciative. She turned her back and walked away from Nikolai without a second look.
Nikolai watched the butterfly on her shoulderblade. He made himself a silent promise. He was going to kiss that provocative tattoo. Preferably tonight.
Lisa didn’t see any of the faces as she walked away from the podium. Her whole body tingled as if she had walked into an electric fence. She felt stunned.
She would have felt better if she had seen the look in Nikolai’s eyes as he watched her. Rob, who did, was startled. He recognised naked hunger when he saw it.
So he was not surprised when, as the formal part of the evening finished and people began to circulate between tables, Nikolai made his way towards them. Rob touched Lisa on the arm.
She looked up. Nikolai was not looking at her as he made his way through the crowd. He was receiving compliments, answering questions, even—once—autographing a menu. But never, for a moment, did he halt his steady advance in her direction.
Lisa went very still.
‘Stick with me, Rob,’ she said in an urgent under-voice.
It was so unlike the Lisa he knew that Rob was startled. And then Nikolai was upon them.
‘Miss Romaine. How nice to see you again.’
It must have taken generations of aristocratic breeding to produce that particular tone, Lisa thought, raging. The courtesy was so false he didn’t try to disguise it.
It was like a game, and he was master of it. Well, she never turned down a dare. Her chin lifted.
‘You’re luckier than I am, then,’ she said, with calculated rudeness. ‘I hoped I’d seen the last of you.’
Rob winced. Nikolai smiled and ignored him.
‘Really? Hardly likely in the circumstances.’ And the look he gave her was almost caressing.
What circumstances? thought Rob. He scented potential embarrassment. It alarmed him. Exactly as Nikolai had intended it to.
Rob began to back away, murmuring excuses. Lisa didn’t notice. All her attention was on the enemy.
‘You mean you’ve got a reputation for hounding women?’ she challenged him, her jaw jutting.
‘I have a reputation for finishing what I start,’ he corrected gently.
‘You have not,’ said Lisa between her teeth, ‘started anything with me.’
He was unmoved. ‘I think we both know that’s not true.’
He pulled out Kit’s unused chair and swung the little gilt thing round as if it was no heavier than an umbrella. He sat astride it, his hands along the back, his chin on his hands. And looked at her.
Lisa could feel the interested eyes. Normally she didn’t care—or even notice—when people stared at her. But in this gathering, under this man’s blatant scrutiny, she felt uncomfortable. More than uncomfortable. And furious.
‘Nonsense,’ she said curtly.
His eyes crinkled up at the corners when he laughed.
‘Then why did you take this off?’
‘What?’
In silent answer he lifted the jacket half off the back of her chair with one long finger.
‘What?’
He let his eyes rest on her shadowed cleavage.
‘Were you reminding me that we still haven’t settled the matter of your bra size?’ he said, amused.
His eyes lifted. Lisa read challenge, and laughter, and—To her horror, she felt her face heat at the other things she saw in his face.
‘Don’t,’ she said involuntarily.
And was instantly furious with herself. How dared he do this to her? Oh, how dared he?
‘What are you doing after this?’ he murmured.
Lisa was too shaken by her own feelings to think of anything subtle. ‘None of your business,’ she snapped.
He smiled as if she had told him what he wanted to know. ‘I thought you weren’t the type to go home to bed,’ he said complacently. ‘Which club?’
The Millionaire Affair Page 7
