Fire Beneath the Ice

by Helen Brooks

  When she emerged from her room some fifteen minutes later Wolf was waiting for her, his eyes lazy as they wandered over the smart but feminine soft wool dress in pale cream, and ultra-slender high-heeled shoes in the same shade.

  She had chosen the outfit because the dress gave her poise and confidence and the shoes an extra two inches in height. She had the feeling she would need all the help she could get tonight. One look at his dark face confirmed the thought.

  "You look beautiful, Lydia," he said softly, 'but perhaps a more casual hairstyle? “he suggested blandly.

  She touched the tight knot at the back of her head that she had purposely strained every last hair into, and smiled brightly, her eyes expressionless.

  "I don't think so." She fiddled with the clasp of her bag so that she _could let her eyes drop from his--that clear blue gaze was a little disconcerting.

  "This is a working trip, after all."

  "Of course." There was something in his voice she couldn't quite place, but when she glanced at him quickly the hard, male face was cool and cynical, his eyes hooded.

  "Ever the perfect secretary. But you do allow yourself to eat, I trust?" He moved across and opened the door into the corridor, waving her through with a mocking flourish. As she passed she felt his hand on the clasp at the back of her head but was too late to do anything about it as her hair swung in a soft silky veil to frame her face and shoulders.

  "That's better." There was immense satisfaction in the arrogant male voice as he glanced down into her angry eyes.

  "Far more comfortable," he added lazily.

  "I thought you insisted that your employees dressed and behaved discreetly?" she said tightly, as the words he had spoken that day weeks ago came back to her.

  "I have nothing at all against your being discreet, Lydia." He smiled slowly.

  "Far from it." She glared at him in reply and the smile deepened.

  "But surely you understand part of being a good secretary is to keep your boss happy?" It was such an outrageous line that she couldn't formulate an adequately scathing rejoinder before the lift glided upwards and the doors opened, but as she walked past him, head held high, her eyes flashed fire.

  The dining-room appeared full as they entered, the tables all at a discreet distance from each other, with subdued lighting and beautiful furnishings adding to the general air of unashamed opulence. A waiter appeared as though by magic at Wolfs shoulder and seemed to know instantly who he was, ushering them both to a _perfectly positioned table for two in an elegant alcove where they could see everything but remain relatively unobserved themselves.

  "Could you bring us a bottle of my usual champagne?" As the waiter handed them two large, heavily embossed menus he nodded immediately, his face deferential.

  "There's one on ice now, Mr. Strade," he said quietly.

  Lydia saw him raise his hand to someone just outside her line of vision and within seconds an ice-bucket complete with vintage Bollinger was placed in front of them. She might have known. An expression of distaste nickered across her face for a brief moment.

  Was he treated with this ingratiating respect that bordered on reverence everywhere he went? No wonder the man's ego was jumbo-sized. She glanced up to find the vivid blue eyes tight on her face, their depths intuitive.

  "Don't frown," he said drily.

  She opened her mouth to protest that she wasn't, but then realised she was and shut it again abruptly.

  "And I can't help it if money talks, it's the way of the world." The hard gaze moved over her pink cheeks slowly.

  "With most people, that is... Now, what would you like to eat?" he asked smoothly.

  She glanced at the menu apprehensively. Was it going to be one of those ultra-sophisticated non-readable items in French? There were several languages, but thankfully English was one of them, and she was able to select the first and main course without any difficulty, which Wolf duly relayed to the waiter once he returned after a discreet interval. As he did so she glanced carefully round the room.

  It must cost a king's fortune to eat in a place like this if the clientele were anything to go by.

  "How was Hannah?"

  _Her eyes snapped back to his and she saw he was surveying her thoughtfully, his gaze narrowed.

  "Fine, thank you, she's very adaptable," she said carefully.

  "She seemed a plucky, sensible little kid on the night of the accident," he agreed quietly.

  "You must love her very much."

  "Yes, I do." She smiled warmly as she pictured her daughter's bright little face.

  "You were very good with her that night. Wolf, especially for a confirmed bachelor," she finished lightly, and then was suddenly conscious as she looked into his face that a mask of ice had frozen over the hard features.

  "My daughter was the same age when she was killed." The words hung in the air, stark and raw, and for a moment Lydia stared at him helplessly, her mouth half- open.

  "Wolf--' " It was a long time ago, Lydia, buried in the past now. "

  It didn't look as though it was buried, she thought with stunned horror as her wide eyes took in his taut mouth and haunted eyes.

  "My wife and daughter were involved in a car accident eight years ago and both killed instantly," he continued expressionlessly, his voice flat. "From that point on it seemed.. logical to concentrate on my work and keep emotional strings to the minimum."

  "I didn't know..." She tried to think of something comforting to say, something uplifting, but her mind was completely blank with the shock of what she had just heard. His wife was dead and they'd had a child?

  A child.

  "There is no reason why you should." He poured them both a glass of champagne as he spoke, his movements perfectly controlled and calm although

  Lydia knew, somehow, that despite appearances he wasn't feeling like that inside.

  "As I said, it was a long time ago." He smiled, but it didn't reach the beautiful blue eyes.

  "Life goes on."

  "I'm so sorry, Wolf." Her eyes were luminous with unshed tears; she actually felt the pain he must have suffered, and as he gazed into her white face he was completely still for a moment before gesturing abruptly, his voice suddenly harsh.

  "No need." He picked up her glass and placed it in her hand, his face suddenly closed and cold.

  "Have a sip of champagne, it's rather good."

  She drank automatically, the clean, cold, sparkling liquid barely registering on her senses as she struggled to absorb the enormity of what he had told her, and when she put down her glass she was surprised to find it was empty and that her head felt a little muzzy.

  Two glasses of sherry and now champagne on an empty stomach, she thought suddenly. She really mustn't drink another thing tonight.

  Wolfs revelation seemed to have robbed her mind of any normal conversation.

  She wanted to ask him a hundred questions, not one of which was possible, and to follow with light chit-chat after such a disclosure would have been the height of callous insensitivity. She stared at him now as she searched for something, anything, to say.

  He was sitting in apparent easy contemplation of his fellow diners, big body relaxed and lazy and his gaze indolent as it nicked round the massive, dimly lit room. He seemed at ease with himself and the world in general, but Lydia was beginning to understand that outward appearances were subtly misleading with this man. What went on behind that closed, shuttered mind was his business and his alone. He let very little of himself be seen. It was unnerving, to say the least.

  "I shouldn't have told you," he said suddenly.

  "What?" As the blue eyes fastened on her face she hadn't had time to school her expression into what he would want to see.

  "About Carrie and my wife--I shouldn't have told you." He shook his head slowly as he looked into the dark depths of her eyes.

  "It's upset you and now you feel sorry for me. Is that about right?" he asked grimly.

  She was aware she had to answer care
fully, very carefully, if he wasn't to clam up for good.

  "I'm sorry that someone as young as Hannah didn't have the chance to grow up," she said slowly, 'very sorry. I think if I feel grief for anyone it's for her. “She mustn't show him pity, he would abhor it, but it was hard when every soft female instinct in her body' wanted to comfort and reassure.

  He held her gaze for a long, considering moment before sighing softly as he leant back in his seat, his face suddenly open again.

  "That's exactly what tormented me," he said quietly, his eyes looking inward to something only he could see.

  "She had the whole of her life before her."

  "Perhaps she's spending it in a better place." His eyes moved to focus on her again, their sapphire light piercing.

  "Do you believe that?" he asked quietly.

  "Yes." She returned his look bravely, without wavering.

  "In the case of children, I do believe it."

  "I'd like to." His voice held unutterable sadness.

  As the waiter appeared at their side with the first course, the shutter came down again and she realised the brief moment of intimacy was over. As she ate the best prawn cocktail-she had ever tasted in her life she realised they hadn't discussed his wife at all, and yet he must have been devastated at her death too. How long had they been married? What was her name? What had she looked like? A thousand little questions buzzed at her mind but she resolutely forced them into her subconscious.

  At some time in the last few minutes Wolf had refilled her glass and again she took a sip almost automatically. He was such an enigma, this man. How could anyone, anyone at all, walk a solitary path through life? It was. unnatural.

  The trout, when it arrived, was excellent, served with baby new potatoes and a selection of vegetables that positively melted in the mouth but, delicious as the food was, Lydia found she was eating almost mechanically. The picture she had had of Wolf in her mind, the picture he had deliberately painted for her and everyone else, didn't fit with this new side to him and it unnerved her.

  She glanced across the table at him now and found he was watching her, his blue eyes piercingly fixed on her face.

  "Are you enjoying the meal?" He smiled lazily, but the sapphire depths shaded by their thick black lashes didn't flicker.

  "It's Scottish trout, of course."

  "It's wonderful." She smiled back carefully, her mind anywhere but on the food.

  "But I suppose you're used to eating like this all the time."

  "Is that what you suppose?" His voice wasn't unfriendly but definitely dry.

  "You see me as a high-flying socialite, is that it?"

  "No--' She stopped abruptly as she saw the glimmer of amusement in the dark face watching hers.

  "Not exactly," she finished weakly.

  "I have a house in London close to Hyde Park, with _a garden that persists in rebelling against all efforts to control it," he said quietly, his eyes slumberous now as they stroked over her pale skin.

  "My housekeeper lives in... with her husband," he added wickedly, as though she had voiced the suspicion that immediately sprang most unfairly to life.

  "The house is an indulgence for a man living alone, but I loathe flats and, contrary to your suppositions, I much prefer eating at home, although I have to admit I rarely get the chance. I have two dogs and two cats inherited from my married years, all of which are geriatrics with enough idiosyncrasies to fill a book. Anything else you'd like to know?" he added blandly.

  "I wasn't prying," she objected indignantly as hot colour flooded her face.

  "Weren't you?" He eyed her lazily.

  "How disappointing."

  She stared at him without speaking, for the simple reason that she couldn't think of a word to say.

  "I have a house in Madeira where I try to escape for at least a month every summer to recharge my batteries," he continued in the same quiet voice,

  'although unfortunately it does have a telephone which I am seriously thinking of having taken out. Last year was a series of interruptions.

  Every time I stretched out by the pool to take in a few rays, the damn thing went crazy. "

  "Oh..." The thought of him barely clothed made her hot. And weak.

  Definitely, deliciously weak.

  "And that's about it in a nutshell." He spread his hands wide and leant back in his chair as the waiter came to remove their plates.

  "Any surprises?" he asked expressionlessly.

  "Not really." She was lying. She had seen him in a smart bachelor flat that was elegant and impersonal and _never, never in her wildest dreams had she imagined him bothering with any pets.

  "What are the animals' names?"

  "The dogs are retrievers. Honey and Muffin, and the cats are Meenie and Mo.

  So there you are, you know it all now." He smiled dismissively.

  "And how about dessert? The strawberry pancakes are especially good."

  "Lovely, thank you." The change of subject was sudden and intentional and it hurt. His face was guarded now, his eyes hooded, and she sensed he regretted the brief intimacy had happened. She was just a ship that had passed, or was passing, in the night. She mustn't forget that.

  The rest of the evening passed in a haze of good food and light conversation, with Wolf acting as the perfect dinner companion, and although she knew it was an act, that he had deliberately set out to charm and entertain her on a superficial level, nevertheless she found she was enjoying herself immensely.

  He was devastatingly witty and unashamedly wicked, his sense of humour in perfect tune with hers. They sat for some time over coffee and brandy, the latter accepted by her without a qualm as the soft, rosy glow of the evening lowered all her de fences and it was with a real sense of loss that the realisation the evening had finished washed over her. She couldn't remember enjoying herself more.

  "Would you like more coffee in our suite?" Wolf asked quietly as he moved back her chair and took her arm as they left the restaurant, his hand firm and warm on her flesh.

  "Oh, no, thank you, I shall never get to sleep as it is," she answered dreamily, her face upraised to his as she replied, and her hair silky-soft and pale as it framed her flushed skin and sparkling eyes.

  "I have a perfect remedy for sleeplesness." The deep _voice was faintly mocking and definitely sensual, and as she met the narrowed eyes in which a small blue flame nickered her heart began to pound with a mixture of excitement and nervous anticipation.

  She wanted to sleep with him. The thought was both shocking and intoxicating. She remembered the embraces she had shared with Matthew in those years that seemed so long ago, the lukewarm intimacy and careful, gentle familiarity that had nevertheless produced Hannah, and imagined what lovemaking with Wolf would mean. The blood ran through her veins like liquid fire and she felt a tightness in her lower stomach that caused her to stumble slightly. The hard hand on her arm checked the movement instantly and he drew her protectively into his side as they entered the lift, his body supportive.

  "I forgot you don't drink;' His eyes smiled down at her but his mouth was sensual, and his lips lightly stroked her forehead as he folded her into his arms in the seclusion of the snug little box.

  "Do you still love him Lydia?" She froze as his voice murmured the words in her ear, but he moved her slightly from him so he could see her face and she saw his eyes were determined. "Do you?"

  "Not in the way you mean." It was the truth, and carried an unmistakable genuineness, but his mouth still tightened at her reply.

  "What the hell am I supposed to read into that?" he asked grimly, and then as she opened her mouth to tell him the whole of it, that she had been without Matthew for three years, that she was a widow, he put his finger on her lips and pulled her roughly against him again.

  "No, don't answer that. I'd rather not know."

  "But, Wolf--' _" I said no. “As he took her mouth it was almost as though there was pain in his desire, his lips hard against hers, savage even, but then, as the
lift drew smoothly to a halt and the doors opened, he lifted his head and scooped her into his arms, carrying her across the few feet of corridor and setting her down with one arm tightly round her waist as he unlocked the door.

  "Wolf--' " No--don't talk, don't think. For once just do what you want to do. "

  He drew her inside and immediately kissed her again, his hands running over her back in a soft feathery caress that brought a million nerve-endings into glorious life.