War of Love

by Carole Mortimer

  Unfortunately, she wasn't quick enough!

  'As for you, Miss Jordan-----' his voice was raised slightly as he halted her departure '—I suggest you go and cover yourself up as soon as possible.'

  Her cheeks were fiery red as, after shooting him a look of resentment from flashing green eyes, she made good her escape.

  Henry was chuckling as he closed the door firmly behind them.

  Silke looked at him curiously, unable to see any­thing remotely funny about the situation.

  'No wonder there isn't a woman in Lyon's life at present,' he explained his humour as they walked towards the lift. 'I had always thought it was that he'd become so jaded because most of them were only after the Buchanan money and name. But on second thoughts I think it's because he frightens them all away!'

  Silke wasn't in the least interested in Lyon Buchanan's private life—or lack of it! As far as she was concerned, she never wanted to see the man again! And yet at the same time this elderly man's de­scription of Lyon's cynicism where women were con­cerned evoked a very lonely life for the younger man. Although looking at him, the stern handsomeness of his face, his lithe body beneath the tailored suit, Silke couldn't see him, jaded or not, being without some sort of female companionship in his life. And if he didn't have a woman in his life it was obviously of his own choosing, so she certainly shouldn't be feeling sorry for the man. My God, what did she have to feel sorry for Lyon Buchanan for? He was a man who had everything, looks, power, money. And if there was no woman in his life, as his uncle seemed to be claiming, then it had to be because he frightened them away!

  'Silke is a very unusual name, my dear,' Lyon Buchanan's uncle prompted softly as they made their descent in the lift.

  She shrugged dismissively. 'My mother chose it.' It wasn't something she had ever really questioned; it was just her given name.

  'It's very pretty.' Henry nodded, his expression thoughtful. 'Your mother must be an unusual woman... ?'

  'Unusual' described her mother exactly, Silke ac­knowledged ruefully. She hadn't met and married Silke's father until she was twenty-seven, and before that time she seemed to have travelled the world, doing all sorts of casual jobs, having no responsibilities except to support herself. Which she seemed to have done quite capably.

  Silke's father had been a rancher in Colorado, and the marriage between the two only seemed to have lasted long enough for them to have produced Silke, after which Silke's mother had gone off on her travels again, this time with Silke on her back. Silke's re­lationship with her father had been nil once they had left the ranch, Jack Jordan seeming to have washed his hands of both of them once the decision to go had been made.

  Silke's childhood had been a succession of tem­porary homes and schools, until at thirteen her father had died and left her a legacy that enabled her mother to send her to boarding school. It was the first settled home Silke had ever known, and despite missing her. wanderlust mother she had revelled in the stability she found there.

  As her mother had revelled in her new-found freedom, travelling more than ever, always one step ahead of being tied down to any one place, or person. How long this agency would last, Silke had no idea, although she had to admit her mother seemed to find the variety of running an agency like Jordan's Miracles exciting, and its success couldn't be doubted, having gained a very creditable reputation in the year it had been open.

  Silke couldn't help wondering if that would still be true after today's blunder!

  'Something like that,' Silke answered the elderly man non-committally. 'Look, thank you for the offer of a lift back to the agency.' She turned to him once they were on the ground floor of the department store. 'But-----'

  'But you only accepted to put my nephew firmly in his place,' Henry acknowledged ruefully, eyes twinkling sympathetically for the awkward situation she had found herself in—something Lyon Buchanan didn't seem to appreciate at all! But then, why should he? As far as he was concerned, dressed as she was, she had just dragged his store down to a level he found intolerable.

  A delicate blush darkened her cheeks at the elderly man's astuteness. 'I have to go and change into my own clothes before I leave, and-----'

  'As Lyon instructed?' Henry taunted softly.

  Her chin went up defensively. 'No, not as he in­structed! I have no wish to be seen out in public dressed like this either,' she added disgustedly.

  Henry looked at her appreciatively. 'I think it's rather—fetching.'

  She knew exactly what he thought, had been left in no doubt of that earlier. But his view of her ap­pearance just enhanced her desire to be back in the comfort of her own clothes. 'If you'll excuse me-----'

  'I'm going to wait for you, Silke,' he told her firmly.

  She frowned at his determined expression. 'I don't think—'

  'My car will be waiting outside for you, my dear.' The laughter had gone from his eyes now as the im­pression of a flirtatious elderly man was erased by the intensity of his expression.

  Silke looked at him frowningly. What a strange family these two men were; she couldn't work them out at all.

  But she did know that both of them were too fond of having their own way! This man's car might be 'waiting outside' for her, but she had no intention of getting into it. They were too arrogant by far, both uncle and nephew!

  She gave Henry a vaguely dismissive smile before disappearing off to the staff-rooms where she had left her own clothes when she had changed earlier.

  She had never been so glad to get back into her own familiar denims and black jumper neatly tucked in at her waist, brushing her hair loosely about her shoulders in a silver-blonde curtain. If Lyon Buchanan had imagined she actually liked wearing that awful bunny girl outfit...!

  The humour of the situation suddenly hit her, and she sat down on a chair in the staff-room as she suc­cumbed to the laughter, easily able to imagine Lyon Buchanan's apoplectic horror at finding a half-clothed woman cavorting around his store. My God, it was a wonder he hadn't been the one to have the heart attack!

  That particular part of it sobered her slightly. Henry Whoever-he-was—certainly not a Buchanan if his opinion of the Buchanan family was anything to go by!—really should go and see a doctor after collapsing in that way; she agreed with Lyon Buchanan over-----

  It was none of her business, she firmly admonished herself. Besides, she had no wish to agree with Lyon Buchanan over anything!

  The fact that she almost walked into the man himself as she came out of the staff-room did nothing to settle her already jangled nerves; the last thing she wanted was another verbal shredding from Lyon Buchanan before she could make good her escape! But as he looked at her blankly with those metallic grey eyes, she realised he hadn't even recognised her! Maybe he had taken more notice of the briefness of the bunny girl outfit than he liked to admit, after all!

  But as those grey eyes suddenly narrowed in rec­ognition, the sculpted mouth thinning, Silke knew she wasn't going to escape that easily. Damn!

  He came to an abrupt halt in front of her, still towering over her now that Silke was wearing flat black ankle boots. Not that it would have made a lot of difference if she were wearing the high-heeled shoes she had had on earlier; this man was at least a foot taller than her.

  'You seem shorter than I remember,' he suddenly bit out. 'Besides which, I didn't recognise you with your clothes on.'

  Silke gave an involuntary gasp at the outrageousness of the remark, looking about them self­consciously, knowing by the speculative smile being exchanged by two female shoppers a short distance away that the clear timbre of Lyon's voice had reached them, at least. 'Didn't recognise you with your clothes on', indeed! She hadn't got away with the defiance of accepting his uncle's offer of a lift, against this man's obvious wishes, as lightly as she had thought she had...!

  Her eyes flashed deeply green as she looked up at him, her hand tightly gripping the bag containing the costume that had caused her all this trouble in the first place. 'Height
doesn't seem to matter when you're lying horizontal, does it?' She smiled up at him sweetly, challenge in her eyes now.

  'Touche,' he drawled appreciatively, also aware of their audience, the two women having moved a little closer now on the pretext of looking at a rack of scarves near them, seemingly enthralled by the con­versation. 'Not in the least,' Lyon spoke loudly enough for the two women to hear again now. 'Shall we arrange a time for us to lie horizontal together again?'

  This conversation, as far as Silke was concerned, was getting totally out of control! And it was so un­expected from a man who, minutes ago, had seemed so icily remote that a raging fire wouldn't have melted that cold reserve. She was sure his uncle, a man who obviously knew him reasonably well, wouldn't be­lieve the humorous—albeit at her expense!—innu­endoes of the conversation. But it was at her expense, and there could be no doubting that Lyon Buchanan was enjoying putting her at a disadvantage.

  She moved closer to him, standing on tiptoe, giving the appearance of intimacy—very aware of their listening and watching audience. 'Actually-----' she spoke conspiratorially, but still loud enough for the two women to hear '—while I found our last—en­counter interesting, it isn't one I want to repeat!' She looked up at Lyon Buchanan triumphantly as she saw that the two women were now looking at him with open speculation, disappointment in their faces that a man who looked so virilely handsome should—ap­parently!—have been such a failure in bed. 'Just my personal opinion, of course,' Silke added with feigned apology, challenge returning to her eyes as she looked up at the now stony-faced Lyon Buchanan; he cer­tainly didn't like having the upper hand taken away from him!

  His mouth was a thin line. 'And it's such an ex­perienced opinion, isn't it?' he rasped contemptuously.

  She should have known he wouldn't let her get away with that one! 'Well, one doesn't like to boast...' she returned dismissively.

  He looked down at her coldly. 'In this day and age "one" would be insane to do so.'

  She might be in there fighting, but she was wise enough to know she wasn't about to win in this con­versation! Better to give up now, before she lost too badly... 'Well, if you'll excuse me,' she told him lightly, 'one of my other clients is waiting outside.' She gave him a falsely bright smile. 'If you should need the agency's services again, just give them a ring. But don't ask for me,' was her parting shot before she turned to give the now open-mouthed women a bright, meaningless smile on her way out of the store.

  She knew exactly the impression she had given with that last comment, of herself—and Lyon Buchanan. And it was him she had meant to hit out at. She didn't particularly care for herself, knew who she was, also what she was, and the opinion of two women she was never likely to see again was completely unimportant to her. Lyon Buchanan was the one who needed to be shown that she didn't consider herself one of his underlings whom he could browbeat with his damned arrogance, or a woman he could 'frighten away' with his rudeness.

  Arrogant. Self-opinionated. Chauvinistic. Silke had never met a man like him before!

  And she didn't want to meet him again either.

  Though there was no reason on this earth why she ever should!

  'Stop laughing, Mother.' Silke frowned across at her mother as she rocked back and forth in the leather chair behind her desk. 'God!' She gave an impatient sigh. 'I was worried sick you would be upset about annoying Buchanan himself, and instead you go off into hysterical laughter! I should have realised your warped sense of humour would find the situation funny!' She sat down dejectedly in the chair opposite her mother.

  Tina Jordan, an older version of Silke, sobered slightly, her mouth still twitching as she tried to contain her laughter, laughter that had convulsed her ever since Silke had told her what had happened to her after the discovery of the mistake over the rabbit outfit.

  'Sorry.' She chewed on her top lip in an effort to stop herself laughing again. 'It's just that I would have loved to have seen the look on Lyon Buchanan's face when he first saw you dressed up as a bunny girl and not the fluffy bunny he had been expecting!' Green eyes, so like Silke's, glittered with suppressed humour.

  'Believe me,' Silke groaned at the memory, 'you wouldn't!'

  Her mother sobered slightly. 'Maybe not,' she ac­knowledged drily. 'Doug Moore sounded under more than a little pressure when he telephoned a short time ago.'

  Remembering the grim determination on Lyon Buchanan's face as she hastily left his office, Silke thought 'more than a little pressure' was probably putting it mildly—very mildly! 'Well, I for one am not going back there, Mother,' she said firmly. 'You don't pay enough for me to put myself through clashing with Lyon Buchanan again.' She still shud­dered at the thought of her disastrous morning.

  'You don't have to go back,' her mother assured her with a shake of her head. 'Nadine's audition didn't go well this morning, so I've sent her along to Buchanan's.'

  Silke could hardly contain her relief. And then she berated herself for being such a coward. Who was Lyon Buchanan, anyway? Just a man. An arrogantly powerful one, yes, but still just a man.

  'What's he like?'

  She gave her mother a sharp look. She hadn't realised she was being watched, that her every ex­pression would give away her confused anger where Lyon Buchanan was concerned. And that would in­trigue her mother—the fact that Silke had reacted to Lyon Buchanan at all. Because she hadn't reacted to any man for almost a year. Since James. The man she had been dating for three years. The man who, on the eve of their wedding, had eloped with a girl he had only met the week before!

  Since that time, Silke had considered that men weren't worth bothering with, that she couldn't put her trust in any of them. Her mother had been telling her as much for years, but, like the naive idiot she had been, Silke had thought James was different. The two of them had been friends as much as anything else, so in effect she felt she had been let down not only by the man she loved but by her friend as well.

  'He's just a man, Mother,' she dismissed with a grimace, not wanting to give away the fact that he was probably unlike any other man she had ever met.

  'Yes, but-----' Her mother broke off the conver­sation as the office door opened, her smile one of polite enquiry as she turned towards what she hoped was a prospective client.

  But the smile froze on her lips, and the colour faded from her cheeks, her eyes wide.

  Silke frowned at this sudden change in her mother, turning towards the door herself, her frown deepening as she saw 'Uncle Henry' standing there. What on earth-----?

  'Hal...!' Her mother's voice was a strangulated croak.

  'Satin!' Henry returned with satisfaction, grey eyes glowing excitedly.

  Hal? Satin! Her mother's name was Tina, so—but what did it matter what her mother's name was, when it was perfectly obvious that Henry and her mother knew each other, and more than casually if her mother's stunned reaction was anything to go by, her mother standing up now, still very pale, and totally unable to tear her gaze away from Henry—Hal... ?

  And, as Silke looked at the two of them, she couldn't help wondering if it had been her likeness to her mother that had caused Henry's collapse earlier...

  CHAPTER THREE

  'Satin!' Henry cried protestingly as, much to Silke's amazement, her mother pushed her chair back and rushed from the room, a hunted look on her ravished face.

  And Silke was amazed—because, as far as she knew, her mother had never run from a situation in her life!

  Or maybe, just maybe, her mother had been running all her life... ?

  Silke had never quite looked at her mother's un­settled life in that way before, but in retrospect, with her mother's reaction to 'Hal', perhaps there was another reason than wanderlust for her mother having travelled so much in her life in the way that she had. It-----

  'I knew it,' Henry gasped from across the room. 'I thought—I hoped it might be true when I first saw you, Silke, but once you had told me your name-----!' He shook his head dazedly.

  'Satin'
and Silke...

  '—I just knew it had to be true,' Henry continued wonderingly—before promptly collapsing.

  For the second time that day!

  But this time Silke knew exactly what to do, getting one of the pills from the bottle in his breast pocket, forcing it into his mouth, down on her haunches beside him as she waited for the pill to begin to work.

  Except that this time he still looked ashen when he regained consciousness, though considering this was the second attack he had had in as many hours, that wasn't surprising. Besides, this time he had fallen too, albeit on to a carpeted floor.

  Silke smiled at him reassuringly as he blinked up at her dazedly. 'I'm going to call for an ambulance,' she told him gently, not wanting to alarm him further, but knowing he really should see a doctor this time.

  He swallowed hard, shaking his head. 'Call Lyon,' he bit out, in obvious pain still. 'He'll know what to do.'

  She didn't doubt for a moment that Lyon Buchanan would know exactly what to do! She also knew she shouldn't let her aversion to him influence her actions when this elderly man's health was at stake. But the very thought of seeing Lyon Buchanan again...!

  'Please call Lyon.' Henry looked up at her plead­ingly, grey eyes dull with pain.

  'Of course I will,' Silke instantly assured him, swallowing down her own aversion to seeing that hateful man again—so much for her being sure she would never have any reason to do so! And she had her mother's strange behaviour to deal with yet, too. 'But first, do you feel well enough to move over to the chair?' she prompted encouragingly.

  His eyes brightened slightly. 'Satin's chair?' he suggested hopefully.

  There was that ridiculous name for her mother again... Silke really had to find out the story behind that. But not yet. Right now she had something more important to deal with. 'If that's what you want,' she nodded agreement, helping Henry to his feet, holding his arm supportively as he swayed slightly.