by Helen Brooks
'Could we drop the formality a little?' he asked abruptly as he continued to look down at her from his considerable height. 'We're probably going to be seeing a great deal of each other over the next two weeks, and 'Mr Vance' is already beginning to grate.'
'Oh.' She stared at him, taken aback.
'And as you are Frank's godchild I think I can trust you not to take advantage of any familiarity.' She thought that she caught a throb of amusement in the deep voice but his face was perfectly straight as he looked at her, his silver eyes narrowed on her upturned face.
'Yes…' She was flustered and it showed. 'Well, I have some costings here, Mr Vance—'
'Reece,' he interposed smoothly.
'Reece.' She knew that her pale, creamy skin was burning a bright red but there was nothing she could do about it. Unfortunately this annoying tendency to blush went hand in hand with the dark red hair her parents had blessed her with. 'I think…um… What I mean is—'
'I'll fetch the coffee and then we can talk.' He had left the room before she could react, and as the door closed behind him she sank against the soft leather back of the chair with a hard sigh.
This was ridiculous! She wasn't a young, skittish schoolgirl who couldn't string a sentence together, she was a mature businesswoman well able to cope with whatever came across her path. She put a hand to her chest, where her heart was thudding as though she'd done the four-minute mile. She had to pull herself together, she really did.
She opened her briefcase quickly and spread out some of the papers on the coffee-table by her side, her eyes skimming the neat columns of figures and detailed schedule. She had to convince him that Bennett and Bennett knew what they were about, and the first step was stringing a coherent sentence together!
She smoothed her smart grey skirt over her knees and pushed a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. She wouldn't be overawed by this man, she just wouldn't; there were plenty of people as rich and influential as he was after all.
But it wasn't exactly his wealth that she found so intimidating, was it?
She shut her mind to the little voice that probed annoyingly. Well, whatever it was, the job was all important, and if she wanted to get any sort of a reference from Reece Vance at the end of it she'd better remember exactly that.
He returned almost immediately with a tray holding a pot of fragrant coffee, two stylish mugs and a very large fruit-cake, along with milk, cream and sugar. 'How do you like your coffee?' He bent down at the other end of the coffee-table as he spoke, placing the tray on its polished surface, and she felt her nerves jump at his closeness.
'White, with cream and sugar.' The black eyebrows rose a little and she laughed apologetically. 'I know; not exactly healthy, but I like it that way. I'm a great believer in the old adage that a little of what you fancy does you good.'
'Oh, so am I,' he said gravely, with the merest inflexion in his voice which nevertheless sent the colour surging back into her face. What was it with him? she asked herself irritably. She could normally socialise with anyone—laugh, even flirt a little—but somehow Reece Vance had her nerves as taut as piano-wire.
Once settled with her coffee and an enormous slab of fruit-cake, she cleared her throat determinedly. 'I've got the main points dealt with in this lot—' she waved a hand at the papers by the tray '—but I was wondering about some of the details. Do you want us to do the flowers or has that been arranged separately? And what about—?'
'Drink your coffee first.' His voice was very deep— at least three or four decibels lower than the average male voice—and extremely attractive with a husky edge… She caught at her wayward thoughts, horrified at the way her mind was going, 'Then we'll go through the item? one by one so you'll know exactly what I require of you. From that point on you are on your own unless there are any technicalities that crop up in future days.' She nodded without speaking and took a big gulp of the hot liquid, hoping that it would soothe her jangled nerves.
'Barbara will be coming down this weekend on a flying visit,' he said after a moment or two of silence. 'I'd like you to meet her and show her the relevant details, if that's possible?'
'Of course.' She nodded at once. 'She doesn't live here, then?'
'No. My sister has her own flat in the City.' He smiled coolly. 'Her independence is everything to her—or was.'
'Oh.' She didn't know quite how to respond to that. 'And your parents…?'
'They have been dead a number of years.' It was said without any apparent emotion and her face straightened at the cold tone. She glanced up to find the silver-grey eyes tight on her face. 'My parents were…social animals,' he said calmly. 'My sister and I were sent away to boarding-schools as soon as we could toddle, and family life as you probably know it just didn't exist for us. Consequently I have no real feeling of loss at my patents' death and no wish to become a hypocrite and pretend one.'
'I wasn't criticising—'
'Yes, you were.' He eyed her grimly. 'Your face is very open, Miriam. I can call you Miriam?' She nodded helplessly, wanting to lower her eyes away from that hypnotic gaze but quite unable to do so. 'Very open and very innocent. Quite an unusual combination in this fast, modern age. Do you live by yourself?'
The sudden change of direction threw her, and she gazed at him silently for a moment before nodding slowly. 'Yes.' She didn't quite like the personal tone that the conversation was taking but couldn't have explained even to herself the reason for her unease. 'Mitch still lives with my mother at home, though. She likes having him there to worry over and he enjoys having his washing done and his meals ready on time, but I found that after a couple of years away fending for myself at college I needed my own space.'
'No flatmate?' he asked expressionlessly, his eyes wandering over the gleaming red of her hair that glowed in the light from the fire.
'Not exactly.' The unease intensified but the dark face portrayed nothing more than polite interest. 'It's not really a flat anyway, just a small bedsit, but it's in a nice house and we have fun.'
'We?'
'The others who live in the house,' she said awkwardly. 'There are five bedsits and we all share the bathroom and kitchen so it pays to get on.'
'It would do.' He seemed as though he was going to say more, but after a long moment of silence settled back in his chair abruptly.
She finished the coffee and struggled through the enormous piece of cake, feeling more uncomfortable than she had ever felt in her life—and it was all down to him, she thought silently. He made her feel gauche and young and stupid, and yet, today at least, he had been quite civil. But it was just his whole attitude. She studied him through her eyelashes as she finished the last of the cake. He was so cold and severe, so without warmth, and yet…
'Right.' As she set down her plate on the coffee-table the piercing silver gaze switched to her face. 'Let's get on with it.'
And get on with it they did. He ran his eyes down several columns of figures, his lips moving slightly as though he was checking the totals, but Miriam couldn't believe that he could work so fast until he pointed out an error, his voice terse.
He was calculating the figures more swiftly in his head than she had done on the calculator, she thought weakly as he continued to skim over her neat lists, making the odd alteration here and there and one or two suggestions that were spot on. They had finished within ten minutes, although she felt as if she had left her brains somewhere back on the first couple of pages.
'Excellent.' He gathered up the heap of papers and handed them across to her. 'When do you intend to begin work?'
'Monday?' she asked carefully. 'I thought I'd take advantage of the four freezers in the kitchens if that's all right; it seems silly not to. And although I understand the fresh flowers will need to be put in place on the actual morning I wondered if the silk displays could be done during the previous week? With such a short time span ahead it would help—'
'Fine, fine.' He waved an impatient hand, clearly irritated by the minor details, but
without the housekeeper being available it was essential that she got such factors clear at the outset, she thought determinedly. 'Anything else?' he asked abruptly.
'Would it be possible for me to familiarise myself with the kitchens now?' she asked quietly. 'I shall be bringing two assistants on Monday and I'd prefer to know where everything is.'
'Certainly.' He glanced at his watch as he spoke, his expression preoccupied, and as he strode from the room she trotted after him in much the same manner as the day before.
When they reached the big hall and began to cross it she felt a surge of rebellion as she followed the straight, hard figure in front of her—an illogical defiance against his cool command and authority.
She stopped abruptly, lifting her head to the magnificent, sculptured ceiling as she spoke. 'This hall seems tailormade for something as romantic as a wedding,' she said loudly, her eyes flickering to the broad body as it turned, and then back up to the ceiling again. 'Your sister is very lucky,' she continued a little breathlessly. 'She's going to have the sort of wedding every female dreams of.'
He eyed her for a long, sombre moment before replying, so her eyes were forced to drop to his face. The light streaming in from the tall, narrow windows either side of the building illuminated the thick black hair with a soft haze, and the hard grey eyes were narrowed against its brilliance as he took the few steps to her side. 'Satin and lace and orange blossoms?' he drawled cynically, his voice dark and sardonic. 'Something along those lines?'
'Sounds good to me.' She smiled, determined not to be intimidated.
'And you think such a beginning is important?' he asked mockingly.
'Important?' She stared up into his face, her nerves registering the sheer sensuality of the man at such close range. 'Not exactly important, I guess, but nice for those who can afford it.' The mocking curve to his mouth deepened and she stepped back a pace, her face straightening. 'What's the matter? Don't you agree?'
'Whether I agree or not is irrelevant,' he said slowly as his gaze wandered to her indignant mouth and then back to the angry violet eyes. 'The bare facts of the matter are that my sister is marrying a man she became engaged to after four weeks and has known for four months because she is suddenly, and quite irrationally, frightened of reaching middle age without the prospect of having children.'
His voice was deep and unemotional. 'She is not without charm and looks, has an extremely high IQ, which she uses to devastating effect in her job as a top lawyer, and yet, for some unfathomable reason, she has embarked on what can only be a major disaster for herself and the man in question. I'm sorry, Miriam, but I have no enthusiasm for this wedding and no intention of pretending I have.'
'Oh.' His words had stunned her, and with the silver-sharp eyes still holding hers her thought process was numbed considerably. She broke his gaze by sheer willpower, turning on her heel and pretending to glance round the beautiful empty hall as she struggled to get her thoughts in order. 'Then why are you spending so much money and making such a fuss?' she asked weakly.
'She is my sister.' There was an inflexion in the dark voice, the merest huskiness, that told her that he wasn't quite so detached about his sister as he would like her to believe.
'Are you sure it's true, what you've said?' she asked after a long moment had passed in absolute silence. 'I mean, how do you know—?'
'Barbara wouldn't acknowledge it but it is the truth.'
As she turned to face him again she saw that he appeared quite relaxed as he watched her, his arms folded over his chest and his muscled legs slightly apart. Relaxed and very formidable.
'I suppose it is inevitable, being twins, but I understand the way she thinks even when I don't agree with it. At thirty-five she has decided that the next stage in her life is a husband and children and made a coldblooded decision to that effect. Nevertheless, she is certainly more than old enough to make her own decisions and her own mistakes, but this… this is a mistake,' he finished grimly.
'But they might love each other—!'
'Oh, spare me,' he interrupted mockingly, a hard edge to his voice that belied the relaxed composure. 'Her ardent swain is a full ten years younger than Barbara, a sports fanatic who could double for any Mr Universe, and was, I understand, thrown out of school as soon as it was legally possible. The epitome of all brawn and no brain. Now, does that sound like a love match to you?'
She stared at him uncertainly.
'This ridiculous farce might have stood a chance if he was from a similar background, nearer her age, if they had a few shared interests at least—'
'I think you're being very narrow-minded.'
'What?'
'I think you're being very narrow-minded,' she repeated bravely as she watched the black brows draw together and the grey eyes take on a decidedly arctic chill. 'It's a well-known fact that opposites attract and they might be desperately in love, for all you know. Just because she wants children it doesn't mean she doesn't love her fiancé, does it? And age doesn't matter, not at all.'
'Really?' His lips curled derisively. 'And the fact that she is an extremely wealthy woman in her own right and he is nothing more than a beach-bum doesn't matter, either, I suppose?'
'Not if they really love each other.' She held the hard, cynical gaze without flinching as he laughed mockingly.
'Good grief, girl, are you real?' His tone was scathing, and as hot colour flooded her cheeks she would have given the world to walk up to him and hit him very hard across his coolly patronising face. 'Rose-coloured glasses might be understandable in children, but I would have thought you were way past such nonsense. From what I've told you any fool would be able to see—'
'I am not a fool, Mr Vance, even if it satisfies something in your male ego to treat me like one.' Goodbye, lovely, lovely job, she thought faintly as she spoke. Mitch would probably roast her alive but nothing, nothing in the world could have stopped her speaking her mind. 'Your sister clearly hasn't told you that any of what you suspect is true and it seems to me that you are judging her fiancé more on his humble status than anything else. You think he's after her money, is that it?' She stared at him angrily. 'Well, is it?'
'Partly.' He pivoted on his heel as he spoke. 'And now, Miss Bennett, would you like to continue doing the job you are going to be paid handsomely to do? You may allow yourself the indulgence of time-wasting but I do not.'
He had reached the end door before she could collect herself sufficiently to move, and then she scuttled after him in exactly the same manner which she had berated herself for earlier. He held open the door for her to pass, his face icy, and as she brushed past him, her shoulder touching the hard, masculine chest for the briefest moment, she felt the contact in every nerve of her body.
He stood in one corner of the huge kitchens while she opened cupboards and poked and prodded into odd corners, searching out this utensil and that without saying a word, but she was vitally conscious of his dark presence as he leant broodingly against one white wall, arms folded and eyes narrowed.
Well, he was the one who had started the conversation, she thought angrily as she closed the last of the cupboard doors and stood up to leave. What had he expected? That she'd just listen without offering an opinion of her own? Perhaps that was the sort of female he usually associated with. She glanced over at the big, tall body as she nodded brightly. 'All finished.' Yes, he was definitely the type of macho man who would expect his women to be of a certain mould—malleable and amiable.
'Where are you going now?' he asked abruptly. 'I've an appointment in the City this afternoon, so if you don't mind waiting for a few minutes while I change I can drop you off on my way.'
'There's no need,' she said quickly. 'I'm going back to the office but I can easily call a taxi. I don't want to put you to any trouble and—'
'Don't be ridiculous.' He moved across to the door and opened it, gesturing her through. 'You can wait in the drawing room; I won't be long.'
He wasn't. No more than five minutes or so
. But in that time her stomach had knotted itself into a tight mass at the thought of the proposed journey. It was a good fifteen minutes to the office from here and what on earth was she going to talk to him about in all that time? And how did one make conversation with a block of stone anyway?
She heard his hand at the door just in time to compose her features into a bright smile as he walked into the room, but in the next instant her heart was thudding desperately. The dark hair was slicked harshly back, the big body clothed in a dark grey suit topped by a heavy black overcoat which sat on the massive shoulders with brooding severity, and overall he looked dangerously attractive and utterly, totally, overwhelmingly male.
She gulped deep in her throat as the silver-grey gaze passed expressionlessly over her face. 'Ready? You'll have to direct me once we are off the dual carriageway; I'm not familiar with the address.'
'It's really very kind of you.' She could feel that with very little effort on her part she would begin to babble like a demented parrot if she wasn't careful, and as she followed him out into the hall he waved a hand towards the front door. 'I'll just bring the car round; you can wait on the steps.'
'Right.'
When the car appeared—an imposing and very beautiful pale gold Bentley—she forced herself to walk carefully down the steps. He had left the car at her approach to open her door, and now waited while she slid inside before shutting her door and returning to the driver's seat. The old-fashioned courtesy was unexpected and, she suspected, totally natural, but it didn't help the flutters in her stomach which his nearness produced as a faint whiff of expensive aftershave teased fleetingly at her nostrils.
'Seat belt on, please.' She jumped at the sound of his voice and then realised that she had been sitting like an idiot instead of fastening her seat belt—something she normally did automatically.
'Sorry.' She tried a small smile but he was concentrating on moving away and didn't glance at her again.
