'I work for a living,' Cassandra reminded him furiously. 'I'm not dependent on my father, and I certainly don't ask him to support me!'
'No?' Jared's eyebrows rose gently. 'Who provided the capital, when you started up your business?'
'Well—my father said I might as well borrow it from him as from the bank,' she said, a defensive note creeping into her voice. 'I don't see anything wrong with that,' she added staunchly.
'That rather depends. Did you pay him back?'
This time, a definite hint of colour crept into her face. 'I wanted to. But he refused to take it.'
'I see.' Somehow, that short comment from Jared made her feel about two inches high. It was a new sensation for her, and not one that she liked at all. 'How about your office?' he probed relentlessly. 'It's in a very fashionable part of London. The rent must be sky-high.'
She lifted her head defiantly. 'A friend of my father's owns the office block. He wasn't using those couple of rooms, so he let me have them at a reduced rent until he could find a permanent tenant.'
'And in eighteen months, he still hasn't found anyone who wants a small suite of offices in such a prime site? You really have been very fortunate, Miss Cassandra Gregory,' he mocked gently.
'Yes, I have,' she said stiffly. How dared this man insinuate that it had been anything else?
'One last thing,' Jared went on in a conversational tone. 'Your flat—did you buy it yourself?'
'It was a twenty-first birthday present,' Cassandra got out through gritted teeth.
'From your father?' It was a question that didn't need answering, and Cassandra stood there with her lips clenched tightly shut.
'All right, so my father paid for my flat. And maybe I did have a helping hand when I first set up my business. But I worked damned hard!' she defended herself fiercely. 'Most of what I achieved, I did on my own. And I won't let you—or anyone else—say that I didn't.'
'I'm not trying to run down what you've achieved,' replied Jared, 'I'm simply pointing out that it would have taken you far longer, and you would have had to work very much harder, if you hadn't been financed by Gregory money and had all the advantages of your father's business—and social-connections.'
That last gibe really hit home. For a long time, Cassandra had stubbornly closed her mind to the fact that a lot—in fact, most—of her early commissions had come from her father's friends and business acquaintances. She had told herself that she had earned them through her own right, that they hadn't come to her solely because she was her father's daughter. But now Jared Sinclair was making exactly that accusation, bringing all the old doubts flooding back into her mind again.
'I've had enough of this!' she muttered angrily. 'I'm going back to my room.'
'Not hungry any more?' he taunted her, catching and holding her gaze until she felt the colour flare up in her face again. 'It's strange how the truth can so often take away your appetite.'
'It's got nothing to do with anything you've said,' she snapped back at him. 'It's just that it would choke me if I had to eat your food!'
And, with that, she whirled round and stalked out of the kitchen. She didn't go back to her bedroom, though. She knew it would only remind her of how she had been locked in last night, and she would get angry all over again. Instead, she headed for the drawing-room. As soon as she walked in, though, without any warning, memories of yesterday evening surged into her mind. All she could seem to think of was the way Jared had kissed her. No one had ever kissed her so impersonally. And yet her reaction had been far from impersonal. Even now, she could feel that odd weakness in her legs as she remembered exactly how those cool, firm lips had felt against hers.
'Damn!' she muttered to herself, in fierce irritation. 'Isn't there a room in this house that doesn't remind me of Jared Sinclair?'
In the end, she made her way to the main hall. Even with the sun shining, it was a cold, cheerless room. The stone-flagged floor still radiated a definite chill, the lack of furniture added to the general atmosphere of discomfort, and its only real asset was the view from the windows. As from the drawing-room, there was a magnificent panorama of glittering water and dappled mountain slopes. With the sun approaching its midday peak, the colours glowed even more brightly, forcing Cassandra to acknowledge the grandeur of the scene.
After a while, she found she could at last stop thinking about Jared Sinclair. Instead, her thoughts began to wander back to her father. Although she would never have admitted it to Jared in a million years, she knew there were a lot of things about the relationship between herself and her father that bothered her—and had made her feel uneasy for quite some time. The main problem, she admitted with a frown, was his total possessiveness. He seemed unable to accept that she was an adult now, with her own life to lead, and a strong need to be completely independent. Rarely a day went by when he didn't either ring her, or perhaps even call by in person. He had fiercely disapproved of every boyfriend she had ever had—not that any of them had ever turned into serious relationships—and had seemed far happier when she was concentrating on her work, too busy to bother with men.
Cassandra gave a small sigh. She had to admit there were often times when she felt completely stifled. It was one reason why she had insisted on moving out of the family home when she was twenty-one. She still flinched when she remembered the awful rows there had been over that. For once, though, she had stood her ground, and in the end they had reached a compromise. He would let her go as long as he could buy the flat for her—and he had insisted that it had to be somewhere not too far away.
Sometimes—and rather guiltily—she thought his attitude was a little unnatural. On the other hand, there was a perfectly logical explanation for it. Her mother had died when Cassandra was very young, and since her father hadn't remarried, and had no close relatives, she supposed she was the only real family he had, the one constant factor in his life. His little girl, who was always there, no matter what happened. Only, she wasn't a little girl any longer—
Her thoughts moved away from the problems of her personal relationship with her father, and fixed instead on the extraordinary accusations Jared had made against him. They had to be lies, of course, she told herself staunchly. Yet Jared had sounded so certain. And surely no one would go through with this incredible abduction unless he had a very good reason? Cassandra shook her head. The more she thought about it, the more confused she became. Just stick to basic facts, she ordered herself. Her father definitely wasn't a crook. This whole situation had come about because Jared Sinclair was obviously unstable.
Determined to stick to her own version of events, she marched out of the hall and back to the kitchen. To her relief, Jared was no longer there. Poking around in the cupboards, she found there was plenty of food, and she guessed Jared had been out earlier that morning to fetch in supplies. She cooked herself an enormous lunch and ate it, and when she went to wash up she found hot water gushing out of the tap.
'So he's found time to light the boiler,' she muttered to herself. 'How about the electricity?' She tried the light switch, and the single bulb suspended in the middle of the kitchen immediately lit up. 'He has had a busy morning. This place is practically civilised now.'
She decided it was a pity the same thing couldn't be said for Jared himself. Anyway, where was he? She didn't much like it when he was around, but for some reason she felt edgy when he was out of sight for too long.
A quick exploration of the ground floor revealed that he was in the drawing-room. As Cassandra peered round the door, she was a little astonished to find him sprawled out in the armchair, sound asleep.
In fact, he didn't look particularly well. There wasn't a lot of colour in his face, and there were definite dark smudges under his eyes. Cassandra remembered the coughing she had heard in the night, but easily pushed aside any stirrings of sympathy. She hoped he was coming down with a streaming cold! With luck, it would be a real stinker, sore throat, coughing and sneezing, a bright red nose—the lot!
> Then something else occurred to her. If he was asleep, then he wouldn't hear if she left. All she had to do was to creep out, and— She gave a grimace.
And what? Walk umpteen miles in her totally impractical, high-heeled shoes? He would be awake and coming after her before she had gone any distance. Her eyes became thoughtful. What she really needed were the keys to his car. But where did he keep them?
Carefully, she looked all around the drawing-room. Then she gave a frustrated sigh. Obviously not in here. In his bedroom? It was possible, she supposed. It was far more likely that he kept them with him, though. That way, he could be certain she would never be able to get her hands on them.
She studied his sleeping figure thoughtfully. He was wearing jeans, a thick jumper, and a leather jacket. If he kept them in his jacket pocket, she might just be able to get them out. Providing she was careful, of course, and he wasn't a very light sleeper.
She knew it was risky, but what the hell? What did she have to lose?
Kicking off her high-heeled shoes that clicked so loudly on the floor, she tiptoed towards him. In a few seconds, she was right beside his chair, and he still hadn't stirred. Gingerly, she sank to her knees beside him. If the keys were in his jeans, she would never be able to fish them out without waking him. He would have to sleep like a log not to feel her probing fingers. But if they were in his jacket, she might just manage it.
Holding her breath, she let her fingers creep towards him; then she was actually touching the leather jacket. Please don't let my hands shake, she prayed. Inch by inch, her fingers crept inside, reaching down to the very bottom of his pocket. Then she caught her breath. She was sure she could feel something metallic—
A second later, Jared's hand slid up and smoothly locked itself around her wrist.
'My dear Miss Gregory, whatever are you looking for?' he murmured.
The blood hurtled into Cassandra's face and she tried to whip her hand away, but Jared's grip was too tight.
'I told you last night that I wasn't interested in you,' Jared mocked softly. 'I didn't realise that I was the one who was in danger of being seduced.'
'If you think that I—' she spluttered.
'What else can I think?' he said suavely. 'Not when I wake up and discover that you find me so irresistible that you can't keep your hands off me.'
'I was after your car keys!' she yelled at him. 'And you damned well know that!'
Jared gave an exaggerated sigh. 'How disappointing. I thought that we might be in for a very interesting afternoon.'
She shot a look of pure loathing at him. 'You are a snake! A slug! A worm!'
For the first time since they had met, a shadow of a genuine smile touched the hard corners of his mouth. 'And you're very different from the rather elegant and sophisticated girl who arrived here with me yesterday afternoon. More like a fishwife, in fact,' he said cheerfully. 'And I'm not so sure that it isn't an improvement. I always prefer it when people act naturally.'
'Then perhaps you'll enjoy this!' she got out through gritted teeth, and with her free hand she took a hefty swipe at him.
He stopped the clumsy blow easily, catching hold of her other wrist and not letting go. With both her wrists in his strong grip, she couldn't do much except squirm helplessly. After a while she went still again, realising it was quite useless to try and break free.
Jared's silver gaze looked down at her contemplatively. His face was only inches away, and this close it looked even more—disturbing, she thought with an unexpected shiver. It gave so little away, revealing nothing of his true feelings or his intentions.
'This is the sort of situation that gives rise to all sorts of possibilities,' he said musingly. 'A beautiful girl. And a man who's been celibate for rather longer than he intended—'
Alarm instantly flickered in Cassandra's eyes. She tried to hide it, but was sure he had seen it.
'Of course, I do realise what's expected of me in this sort of situation,' Jared went on in that same thoughtful tone. 'I should kiss that rather delectable mouth of yours. Perhaps bend my head a little further and explore those very perfect breasts. And who knows?' he continued, his gaze returning to hers and locking on to her eyes with almost hypnotic force. 'You may find you like it. Perhaps even want me to go further—'
No, she whispered. At least, that was what she meant to say. But, somehow, the word never came out, not even in a strangled mutter.
Jared smiled again, and this time it was the cold, unpleasant smile that she remembered so well. She had the awful feeling that he could see right inside her head and knew exactly what was going on there.
An instant later, he released her wrists. It was so unexpected that for several seconds she stayed exactly where she was, as if still locked in his hands.
'Sometimes, I wish I could be bothered with these games, that I could get some pleasure from them again. But I can't. Go away, Cassandra Gregory,' he said, his voice suddenly sounding very tired. 'You're gorgeous, but you're beginning to bore me.'
The insult wasn't deliberate, she was sure of that. He was simply speaking the truth. That didn't make it any easier to take, though. She wasn't used to being rejected out of hand, and she found herself deeply resenting it.
She was just about to flash back a scorching reply when she suddenly stopped herself. What on earth was she doing? She ought to be grateful this man wasn't interested in her, instead of instantly bristling at his dismissive attitude.
'If you find me that boring, why don't you just let me go?' she said rather curtly.
'Because I don't want to. Not yet. God knows, there are few enough pleasures left in my life. And one of them is looking at you, and knowing that right now Randolph Gregory is working himself up into a cold sweat, wondering where the hell you are, tormenting himself with the thought of what might have happened to you.'
'Sadist!' she hissed at him.
He didn't seem in the least disturbed by her accusation. Cassandra was beginning to wonder if there was anything that could touch this man; if there was any way of reaching him and making him see that what he was doing wasn't the act of a rational human being.
She decided to try a new tack. 'If your life's as meaningless as you say, then perhaps it's time you did something about it,' she challenged. 'I can't stand people who sit around moping and moaning, and won't do anything to help themselves.'
Jared's gaze flicked over her, bland and unemotional. 'My life is the way it is because of other people,' he said at last. 'There isn't anything I can do about that. And I can't change a single part of what has happened.'
'Can't? Or don't want to?' Cassandra accused scornfully. 'Perhaps it's easier to sit back and say, well, I've had a rough time, so that's a good excuse for opting out of things.'
'Perhaps it is,' he agreed offhandedly.
When he didn't say anything more, Cassandra stared at him in total exasperation. Trying to drag a genuine response out of this man was harder than running up Mount Everest on bare feet!
She turned away and was about to stalk out of the room, but at the last moment swung back and confronted him again.
'What exactly am I meant to do while I'm here?' she demanded. 'You might be perfectly content to laze around all day, just eating and sleeping, but I'm bored! I'm used to working, to being occupied. I don't like being idle.'
Jared shrugged. 'There are books, records—you might find something you like. Or if you fancy something more energetic, try going for a walk.'
'In these?' she said sarcastically, retrieving the high-heeled shoes that she had earlier kicked off.
'It's not my fault if vanity made you dress entirely inappropriately for this part of the country.'
'I thought I was coming to a civilised household, where I'd be staying just long enough to decide if I wanted to take on the job of planning the redecoration and modernisation,' she reminded him with a black scowl. 'I didn't know I was being hauled off to the wilds by some savage, and kept here against my will.'
'
Life's full of little surprises, isn't it?' murmured Jared. Then he rather pointedly closed his eyes, and Cassandra got the hint. She was boring him again. He wanted her to go.
Well, she was happy enough to comply. Being in the same room as Jared Sinclair for more than a few minutes was enough to give anyone high blood-pressure!
The sun was still shining outside, and on impulse she left the house and walked down the path. When she reached the road, she looked wistfully in both directions. If only a car would come whizzing by. She could jump out in the road and stop it, and be away from here before Jared had time to lever his idle bones out of that chair.
Then she gave a grimace. There was virtually no hope of that happening. This road led only to Glenveil, and the unoccupied cottage a little further along. The only people ever likely to come this way were holiday-makers who had got completely lost, and there weren't many tourists in this part of the world this late in the year.
The impulse to get away from there was so strong, though, that she actually contemplated trying to walk to the nearest house, no matter how many miles away it might be. She even took a few steps, but almost at once the blisters on her feet began to rub painfully against her tight-fitting shoes.
'Drat!' she muttered. With dragging reluctance, she turned back to the house.
She had to admit that, like the loch and mountains, Glenveil looked better in the sunshine. The stonework was still dark, but at least it had lost its downright gloomy appearance. Cassandra ran a critical eye over it. If Jared would knock down that clutter of outbuildings, that would improve things even more. The house might look almost handsome.
Although she had slightly revised her opinion of it, she still didn't want to go back inside. It wasn't the house that was causing the faint ripple of goose-pimples over her skin, though. It was the thought of its owner. She didn't understand him and she couldn't get through to him. It was a new experience for her—usually, she could read male minds only too easily, and knew exactly what they were thinking. If she had some inkling of what was going on inside Jared's head, she might have felt less on edge.
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