by Kim Lawrence
He categorised the immediate impression she projected as elegance, poise and sex...
Her attention was on the man speaking to her, so Zach had the opportunity to prolong his study of her. She stood sideways on, presenting him with her profile as she nodded gravely at something the other man was saying, eyelashes that made him think of butterfly wings fluttering against her soft, rounded, slightly flushed cheeks. It was a pretty whimsical analogy for him.
Stick to the facts, Zach, suggested the voice in his head.
He did, silently describing what he saw.
Her profile was clear cut, almost delicate. There was the suggestion of a tilt on the end of her nose, her brow high and wide. The fey creature in the snapshot had a face framed by a cloud of ebony hair; this elegant young woman’s hair was drawn smoothly back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck to fall like a slither of silk between her shoulder blades almost to waist level. Dark and cloud-like in the photos, in real life it was a rich warm brown, interspersed with warm toffee streaks.
The slight tilt of her head emphasised the slender length of her swan-like dancer’s neck; the same grace was echoed in her slim curves and long limbs, beautifully framed by the simplicity of the figure-skimming calf-length dress. The length of her shapely legs was further emphasised by a pair of high, spiky heels.
‘I’ll leave you.’
‘Leave?’ Kat echoed.
Zach registered the soft musicality of her voice as her feathery brows lifted in enquiry, then, the moment he had been anticipating, she turned her head. Yes, her eyes really were that impossible colour, a rich deep amber, the tilt at the corners creating an exotic slant and lending her beautiful face a memorable quality.
Kat had been aware of the man in the periphery of her vision, sitting at the head of the long table. Up to that point, good manners had prevented her from responding to her curiosity and looking while her escort was speaking.
She did so now, just as the figure was rising to his feet.
The first thing she had noticed about her escort was his expensive tailoring, his plummy accent and old-school tie. This man was equally perfectly tailored—minus the old-school tie. His was silk and narrow, dark against the pale of his shirt. But what he wore was irrelevant alongside the impression of raw male power that hit her with the force of a sledgehammer.
She actually swayed!
He made the massive room suddenly seem a lot smaller; in fact, she experienced a wave of claustrophobia along with a cowardly impulse to beg her escort to wait for her.
You’re not a wimp, Kat, or a quitter. Appearances and first impressions, she reminded herself, were invariably misleading. She’d found the first man’s air of sleek, well-tailored affluence and accent off-putting initially, and yet now, a few floors up, he appeared cosy and benevolent. In a few minutes this dark stranger might seem cosy too. Her dark-lashed gaze moved in an assessing covert sweep from his feet to the top of his sleek dark head. Or maybe not!
Unless you considered large sleek predators cosy, and there was something of the jungle cat about him, in the way he moved with the fluid grace, the restless vitality you sensed beneath the stillness that a feral creature might feel in an enclosed space.
Aware she was in danger of overreacting and allowing her imagination to run riot, she huffed out a steadying breath between her stiff lips.
‘Good morning.’ She gave her best businesslike smile, aiming for a blend of warm but impersonal.
Easier said than done, when there were so many conflicting emotions jostling for supremacy in her head. Not to mention the fluttery pit of her stomach. She had no idea what she had been expecting, but it hadn’t been this, or him!
She never rushed to judgement. She prided herself on her ability not to judge by appearances, so the rush of antagonism she had felt the moment his dark eyes had locked on hers was bewildering—and it hadn’t gone away.
Her heart was racing, and it wasn’t the only thing that had sped up. Everything had, including her perceptions, which were heightened to an extraordinary, almost painful degree, though they were focused less on the room with its background scent of leather and wood and more on the man who dominated with such effortless ease.
She had taken in everything about him in that first stunned ten seconds. The man stood several inches over six feet, and inside the elegant suit his build was lean yet athletic, with broad shoulders that were balanced perfectly by long, long legs. The strong column of his neck was the same deep shade of gold as his face, the warm and vibrant colour of his skin emphasised by the contrasting paleness of his shirt.
He was sinfully good-looking, if your taste ran to perfect. Such uncompromising masculinity attached to perfect symmetry, hard angles and carved planes, a wide mouth that was disturbingly sensual and the dark-as-night eyes framed by incredible jet lashes set under dark, strongly delineated brows.
There was no reaction to the smile she somehow kept pasted in place. She told herself to keep it together as she struggled to make the mental adjustments required.
‘Oh, God!’ It wasn’t the pain in her knee when she hit the chair leg that made her cry out, it was the sight of the carefully arranged contents of the folder she carried sliding to the floor. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered as she bent to pick up the scattered papers, jamming them haphazardly into the folder.
Walk, think and string two syllables together, Kat. It’s not exactly multitasking! It’s all on your phone so it’s not a disaster!
Cheeks hot, she straightened up. Forget old-school tie, this was who she was dealing with. Fine. Except, of course, it wasn’t fine; she was making an impression, but not the intended one. Having gathered the papers, she promptly dropped them again. She bit her tongue literally to stop herself blurting a very unladylike curse.
* * *
Zach watched her silky hair fall over one shoulder as she fumbled for the scattered papers. The action drew attention to the curve of her behind, and as the soft, silky dark material of her dress stretched tight so did his nerve endings.
He could not recall the last time he had needed to fight his way through a fog of blind lust. If Alekis had had a window into his mind at that moment he might have doubted casting him in the role of protector and mentor. Or maybe not. There was some sense in it. Who better to guard the fluffy chick than a fox? Always supposing the fox in question could keep his own baser instincts in check.
Not that this creature was fluffy, she was more silky-smooth. Smooth all over?
Calming down this illicit line of distracting speculation, he let the silence stretch. It was amazing how many people felt the need to fill a silence, saying things that revealed more than a myriad searching questions.
Unfortunately, and uncomfortably on this occasion, in a moment of role reversal his own mind felt the need to fill the silence.
Alekis trusted him. The question was, did he trust himself?
The moment of self-doubt passed; even taking the trust issue with Alekis out of the equation, the logic of keeping the personal and professional separate remained inescapable.
‘Won’t you take a seat?’
She responded to the offer with relief; her knees were literally shaking. ‘Thank you.’ At least the table between them meant she was not obliged to offer her hand. Instead, she tipped her head and smiled. ‘I’m Kat.’
‘Take a seat, Katina.’ He watched the surprise flare in her amazing eyes and slide into wariness before she brought her lashes down enough to veil her expression momentarily.
The use of her full name, which no one ever used, threw her slightly. Well, actually, more than slightly.
He couldn’t know it, but the last person to call her that had been her mother.
For many years Kat had believed that while she could hear her mother’s voice in her head, her mother was not gone...she was coming back. Nowadays the childhood conviction was gone an
d so was her mother’s voice. The memory might be lost but she did know that her name on her mother’s lips had not sounded anything like it did when this man rolled his tongue around the syllables.
‘Th-thank you,’ she stuttered. Recovering from the shaky moment, she gathered her poise around herself, protective-blanket style. ‘Just Kat is fine,’ she added finally, taking the seat he had gestured towards and reflecting that it wasn’t at all fine.
Though she was normally all for informality, she would have been much happier with a formal, distant Miss...or Ms or maybe even, hey, you. It wasn’t just her physical distance she felt the need to keep from this man. His dark gaze seemed able to penetrate her very soul.
She forced herself to forget his disturbing mouth, equally disturbing eyes, the almost explosive quality he projected, and move past the weird inexplicable antagonism. She was here to make a pitch, and save the precious resource that the community was in danger of losing. This was not about her—she just had to stay focused on the prize.
All great advice in theory, but in reality, with those eyes drilling into her like lasers... Were lasers cold? She pushed away the thought and tried to dampen the stream of random thoughts that kept popping into her head down to a slow trickle.
Reminding herself that a lot of people were relying on her helped; the fact she was distracted by the muscle that was clenching and unclenching in his lean cheek did not.
‘Water?’
Repressing the impulse to ask him if he had anything stronger, she shook her head.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, thinking, If only!
Nervous was actually how she was feeling and this man was probably wondering why the hell she was here.
She cleared her throat. ‘I’m sure you have a lot of questions?’
His dark brows lifted; there was nothing feigned about his surprised reaction. ‘I would have thought you’d have a lot of questions.’
True, she did. She gave voice to the first one that popped into her head. ‘What do I call you?’
It wasn’t really a change of expression, but his heavy eyelids flickered and left her with the distinct impression this wasn’t the sort of question he had anticipated. She took a deep breath and tried again.
‘It really doesn’t matter to us who you represent—when I say it doesn’t matter I don’t mean... We would never accept anything from a...an...illegitimate source—obviously.’
‘Obviously,’ Zach said, realising for the first time that she wasn’t wondering why she was there, because she thought she knew.
He was intrigued.
His eyes slid to her plump lips. Intrigued had a much better ring to it than fascinated.
‘Not that you look like a criminal or anything,’ she hastened to assure him.
His lips twitched. ‘Would you like to see character references...?’
She chose to ignore the sarcasm while observing that even when his mouth smiled his eyes remained as expressionless and hard as black glass. There was no warmth there at all. She found herself wondering what warmed that chill, and then gathered her wandering thoughts back to the moment and her reason for being here, which wasn’t thinking about his eyes, or, for that matter, any other part of his dauntingly perfect body.
‘We are just grateful that you are willing to consider contributing.’
‘We?’
She flushed and refused to be put off by his sardonic tone. ‘This we...’ Kat pulled the folder from her bag and pointed to the logo on the cover. ‘The Hinsdale project and family refuge. Dame Laura...’ she put a gentle emphasis on the title; it was hard to tell sometimes but some people were impressed by such things, not that she had to pretend pride or enthusiasm as she told him ‘...began it back in the sixties when there was just the one house, a mid-terrace, a two-up two-down. It was all a bit basic.’
‘And now?’
‘We have extended into the houses both sides, the entire row, and can take thirty-five women at any one time, depending, obviously, on the number of children. In the eighties the chapel across the road came up for sale and we bought it. Now it houses the nursery and crèche, which is available for women when they have moved out. It also contains a drop-in centre, which provides legal help and so forth. Dame Laura was personally involved, right up to her death.’
Had her own mother found Hinsdale, or a similar place, both their lives might have been very different.
Zach watched the wave of sadness flicker across her expressive face. Letting this interview play out a little longer might be on shaky ground morally, but practically it would provide a swifter insight into this woman whom he was meant to be babysitting.
‘And what is your role?’ Zach was experiencing a strange reluctance to abandon his mental image of a person so damaged they never looked at anything other than their own self-interest—a person, in short, much like himself.
The frown that came with the unbidden flicker of self-awareness faded as he watched her beautiful face light up with a glow of conviction and resolution as she leaned forward in her seat, losing the nervousness as she answered proudly.
‘I run the refuge, along with a great team, many of whom are volunteers, as was I initially. I began by volunteering at the crèche when I was at school, and after I left I was offered a salaried position. I like to think Dame Laura would have been proud of what we have achieved.’ Kat had met the redoubtable lady once; she had been frail but as sharp as a tack and totally inspirational. ‘Her legacy lives on.’ Embarrassed, Kat swallowed the emotional lump in her throat and reminded herself that there was a fine line between enthusiasm and looking a little unhinged. ‘We have a dedicated staff and, as I said, so many volunteers. We are part of the community and don’t turn anyone away.’
‘That must make forward planning difficult.’
‘We build in flexibility—’
He felt a twinge of admiration that, despite the starry-eyed enthusiasm, she was not so naive that she didn’t know how to sidestep a difficult answer.
‘Is that possible fiscally?’
‘Obviously in the present financial climate—’
‘How much do you need?’
The hard note of cold cynicism in his interruption made her blink, then rush to reassure. ‘Oh, please, don’t think for one moment we are expecting you to cover the total shortfall.’
‘As negotiating tactics go, that, Kat...’ the way he drawled her name made the fine hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end ‘...was not good—it was bad. It was abysmal.’
Her expression stiffened and grew defensive. ‘I came here under the impression that you wanted to contribute to the refuge.’ She struggled to contain the antagonism that sparkled in her eyes as she planted her hands on the table and leaned in. ‘Look, if this is about me... There are other people who could do my job. The important thing is the work.’
‘Do you think everything is about you?’
Kat felt her face flush. ‘Of course not, it just felt...feels as if you find me...’
‘So you are saying you’d sacrifice yourself to save this place?’
She swallowed, wondering if that was what it was going to take. Obviously it was a price she would be willing to pay, but only as a last resort. Crawl and grovel if that’s what he wants, Kat. She heaved a deep sigh and managed an almost smile.
‘You don’t like me, fine.’ Because I really don’t like you.
Zach watched the internal struggle reflected on her face. This was a woman who should never play poker. As a born risk-taker, he enjoyed that form of relaxation.
She left a space for him to deny the claim.
He didn’t.
‘But, please,’ she begged, ‘don’t allow that to influence your decision. I am one person easy to replace, but there is a dedicated staff who work incredibly hard.’ Breathing hard, she waited for a response, the slightest hint of so
ftening, but there was none.
Her chin went up; she was in nothing-to-lose territory.
She flicked to the first page of the thin folder, except the first page was now somewhere in the middle so it took her a few moments to locate it. ‘I have the facts and figures; the average stay of a client is...’ With a sigh she turned the page of figures over. It wasn’t the right one. ‘The average doesn’t matter. Everyone who comes is different and we try to cater to their individual needs. The woman who is my deputy first arrived as a client. She was in an abusive relationship...’
A nerve along his jaw quivered. ‘Her partner hit her?’
The hairs on the nape of her neck lifted in response to the danger in his deceptively soft question. Underneath the beautiful tailoring she sensed something dangerous, almost feral, about this man. A shiver traced a sticky path up her spine as she struggled to break contact with his dark eyes.
‘No, he didn’t.’ He hadn’t needed to. He had isolated Sue from her family and friends and had controlled every aspect of her life before she’d finally left. Even her thoughts had not been her own. ‘It’s not always about violence. Sometimes the abuse is emotional,’ she said quietly. ‘But she now works for us full-time, is a fantastic mum and was voted onto the local council. The refuge has helped so many and it will again in future, the cash-flow situation is—’
Her own earnest flow was stemmed by his upheld hand. ‘I am sure your cause is very worthy, but that is not why you were invited here.’
‘I don’t understand...’
‘I had never heard of your refuge, or your Dame Laura.’
As his words sank in, the throb of anger in her head got louder; her voice became correspondingly softer. ‘Then why the hell am I here?’
It was an indulgence, but he took a moment to enjoy the flashing amber eyes that viewed him with utter contempt.
