'I didn't whisper in your ear; I didn't want to share this office with you! In fact, I'd be very happy to move out right now, if it's bothering you to have me here!'
'I didn't say it bothered me!' He turned those deep dark eyes on her and Caro began to feel oddly dizzy. 'If you ever start to bother me you'll soon know it, don't worry,' Gil drawled.
Caro had to look away, break the spell of that hypnotic stare before the room spun round in front of her eyes.
There was a long pause, then he said, 'At the moment, all I want is to be sure you won't mention, to your father, or anyone else, anything you overhear while you're in this office.'
'I resent the suggestion that I might,' she burst out, her head coming up again and her grey eyes flashing. 'I learnt discretion at a very early age. My father's business dealings are always secret; if so much as a whisper got nut, it could be disastrous and could cost us a great deal of money. I soon understood that I mustn't repeat anything I heard, and I assure you I never gossip, Mr Martell.'
'Then you're a very unusual woman,' he said with dry cynicism, turned away and walked to the door.
Caro watched the long, supple line of his back, the arrogant carriage of that black head. He moved with an almost animal grace, she thought, her mouth dry for some reason. He glanced back and at once she looked down at the desk again, breathing audibly—at least, to herself. He probably couldn't hear her. Or could he?
'See you later,' Gil said in an odd, soft voice, charged with something-!-amusement or threat, she couldn't be sure which.
She didn't answer and a second later the door closed. Caro leaned back in her chair, angry with herself for letting him get to her again. How on earth had it happened, this time? She had been angry with him one minute and breathless the next, and it was without rhyme or reason. She was going crazy; it was the only explanation.
He was always far too quick at noticing her reactions, too. That was even more worrying. You might almost think he could read her mind, and that made her shiver. Was he on her wavelength? Could he sense what was happening inside her? Or was it just that women were always reacting to him like that? The gossip columns certainly gave that impression; they seemed fascinated by Gil Martell's relationships with women, which were so much more interesting than his business dealings. She had been reading snippets about him ever since that fight in the nightclub. Past scandals had been resurrected, his old flames recalled—and there had been quite a few. If you could believe the gutter Press, Gil Martell was some sort of modern Don Juan.
Well, if he thought she was yet another female flipping over him, he was very wrong! Caro didn't know why she was having these odd symptoms whenever Gil was around, but it wasn't because she was falling for him, and if he imagined it was, she would soon put him right— and tell him a few home truths at the same time. The conceit of the man was maddening. Did he think he was irresistible? He probably did, for which her own sex was partly to blame. From all she had read about him in the papers, women had been chasing him since he left school, and not because he was wealthy. Gil Martell had sex appeal, and knew it, damn him.
She tried to get back to work, but she was so irritated, so uneasy, that she couldn't concentrate; she couldn't even sit still, she had to get up and walk about, mentally going over the various things she was dying to say to Gil Martell. After a few moments of disturbed prowling, she came to a standstill at the window, registering for the first time that the spring had finally begun, without her noticing until now. The sky was blue, the sun was shining, somewhere a bird was singing and the trees had broken into leaf. She struggled with the catch and opened the window to let in air which was warm on her skin, fragrant with the scent of flowers.
Perhaps that was why she was so edgy? she rather desperately thought, clutching at straws. It was spring making her restless, putting ideas into her head—but why ideas about a man she didn't even like? Perhaps it was simply that Gil Martell had happened to be the first man she'd seen while she was in this mood? Any man would have had the same effect. It just happened to have been Gil. And when her strange restlessness passed she would get over Gil Martell and wonder what she had ever seen in him.
Spring was deceptive and dangerous, she decided, taking her entranced gaze hurriedly away from the blue, seductive sky and glancing down into the grey, all too down to earth London street.
And that was how she saw them together, Gil and the Countess, on the pavement, talking, while a black London taxi waited, the driver leaning on his window and looking impatient. Caro couldn't see the woman's face, just her blonde hair and that slender figure in the white mink jacket and sleek black suit. Hadn't she been a model before she married the Earl of Jurby? She had that sort of body: skinny, flat, tall. Was that the sort of figure Gil Martell liked his women to have?
The Countess put a hand on Gil's arm and the scarlet of her nails gleamed like blood in the spring sunlight, then she stood on her toes to lean forward and kiss him on the mouth. Gil's hand came up to grip her shoulder.
Caro swung away from the window, her mouth tight. It looked as if the gossip had been accurate and they were lovers. There had been such intimacy in the way they had gazed into each other's eyes; that wasn't how friends looked at each other. The kiss had come as no surprise after that, but she couldn't stop seeing the other woman's red mouth, the way her hand had rested on his arm, the way he had caught hold of her.
Oh, yes, they had to be lovers. Not that it mattered a row of beans to her, of course. Why should it? Her own feelings about him were all moonshine, a spring fever which should soon be over. She marched back to her desk and sat down, trying to focus her mind on the accounts but waiting all the time to hear Gil return.
When he did come he let the door slam behind him and she jumped, her grey eyes flying wide open. He stared at her in surprise and she felt she had to explain her obvious shock.
'Oh... it's you...' she mumbled. 'Who did you think it was going to be?' Gil drily answered, going to his own desk and throwing himself into his chair with an impatient gesture. 'This is turning out to be one hell of a day, and all the complications start and end with women.'
'I'm sure you know how to deal with them!' muttered Caro, bending over her work and trying to look utterly engrossed in that. 'What?' he demanded irritably. 'What did you say?' 'Nothing,' she said, and wished it were true—she shouldn't talk to him at all, it would be much safer.
Gil Martell obviously agreed because he snarled, 'Good, then keep it that way! I'm in no mood to listen to comments from you.'
Caro shut her mouth firmly on what she wanted to shout back. She kept her eyes on the computer screen on which she was working and fed more facts and figures into it. A picture was already beginning to emerge, but it would be days before she could tell her father precisely what he needed to know.
Gil Martell made a series of brisk, matter-of-fact phone calls around the building, then left the office without a word. Caro was relieved to see him go. When he was there she couldn't stop being aware of him. It was infuriating. She had worked with men throughout her career without such a problem cropping up before, but suddenly when this one man was in the same room she felt her very skin prickling with uneasy awareness, and she did not like it.
She worked very late that evening. Gil Martell returned to his office just before seven o'clock, long after the store had closed and the vast majority of the sales assistants and clerical workers, including all her own team of accountants, had gone home; and stopped in his tracks, seeing her still there.
'You can't stay here any longer.' He frowned. 'The night security staff will be coming on duty in five minutes and they will expect the building to be empty. If you're here it will interfere with the automatic alarm system, which is due to come on at seven-thirty. It's too complicated to make exceptions, even for me, so you must leave.'
She leaned back in her chair, unconsciously massaging her neck with one hand, as she always did when she was getting tired. 'I wanted to finish this section
of the accounts before I broke off,' she protested, knowing she was not sorry to have to stop.
'It will just have to wait,' Gil impatiently said. He looked at his watch. 'You've been working since eight o'clock this morning—eleven hours! Do you get overtime?'
She laughed, relaxing briefly, her grey eyes amused by the idea. 'I'm one of the family, remember. I've never even thought of asking Dad for overtime.'
'I hope he pays you a good salary, then.'
'He pays me what he would pay anyone doing my job,' she said, immediately touchy, suspecting Gil was criticising her father, and ready to resent it.
'But no overtime,' he said drily.
'My father expects me to work the way he does—with a hundred per cent of his attention. If I were a clockwatcher, he'd be disappointed in me.'
His dark eyes were intent and thoughtful, unnervingly shrewd. 'And you'd hate to disappoint your father?'
She didn't answer. Gil Martell was taking too close an interest in her thought processes and Caro did not like It. He didn't press the matter. He came round the desk to stare at the screen of her computer; studying the immaculate rows of figures. His brows drew together, and she watched him, wondering if he hated to have her investigating his accounts as much as she disliked having him try to probe her mind. She had met this reaction in some businessmen before. They seemed to feel that having her look through their accounts was almost like having her strip them naked.
'This is all it means to you and your father, isn't it?' lie suddenly bit out, his eyes smouldering. 'Just accounts like these—figures in a ledger, profit and loss, the chance to make even more money than you have already. You make me so furious! It's time you realised that an old family business like mine means a damn sight
more than that.'
'I know,' Caro said wearily. 'Your family built the
business up from nothing, and you don't want it going
out of your hands---- '
'I wasn't going to say that,' Gil snapped. 'I'm talking about people, people who've often worked here for a whole lifetime; maybe they are the second or third generation in a family to work here—grandfather, father and son, mother and daughter, making a commitment to the store, like myself, like my father and grandfather before me.'
'Hardly the same, is it?' Caro drily asked him. 'After all, your family own the place, naturally you feel strongly about it, but your employees may not feel quite the same way. I'm sure they want to keep their jobs, but I doubt if they care much who runs the store, so long as they are still getting paid.'
'You think that's all they care about?' he retorted, his brows black above those angry eyes. 'Their pay-packet at the end of the month? You underestimate them. It isn't a question of loyalty to me, or my family. They have strong views about the way the store is managed because they really care about the store itself, they feel part of it, especially, of course, those who have been here for a number of years and hope to stay with us.'
'And, of course, you always ask their opinion before you take any decision?' Caro said with a sarcastic little smile.
'They're fully involved in policy-making,' he snapped. 'We have a management committee on which all departments are represented and they're very forthright with their comments and suggestions. Very helpful, too; they often come up with an idea we haven't even considered, and if it works they get a bonus. Our bonus scheme has been very popular. I instituted it when I took over. It was part of my attempt to turn the business around from loss to profit, involving the staff as much as possible.' He broke off, frowning, then said flatly, 'Some of the staff actually own shares they took instead of a cash bonus. We gave them that choice. The younger ones preferred cash, I found; it was those who had been with us for years who took shares. But if you want to know what they think, instead of feeding mathematics into your computer you should be coming round the store with me to meet some of them. Then maybe you would realise what a store like Westbrooks means in human terms.'
'I don't need to be told that!' Caro said, rather stunned by his outburst, but still resentful of the accusation of being strictly mercenary. 'I grew up in this business, just as much as you did. I know how vital the workforce is;
I ltd still gets Christmas cards from people who worked for him in our original family store up North, people lie's known most of his life and thinks of as friends, not employees. Whenever he's up there he calls in to have a chat with them. Dad taught me that you can't run a Business successfully unless your staff trust and like you.'
'You quote your father as if he were God,' Gil Martell mocked and she flushed, but at that moment, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow on the frosted glass of the office door, and stiffened, staring.
'There's somebody out there, listening to us!' she whispered and Gil looked quickly in that direction, frowning. A second later there was a knock on the door.
'Come in!' Gil called.
A uniformed security guard appeared in the doorway, nodding to them. 'Evening, Mr Martell. Miss.' His eyes were curious. 'Sorry to interrupt you, but the automatic system comes on in ten minutes, I'm afraid. If you're working late, I shall have to escort you out of the building when you go, remember.'
'We're going now, don't worry.' Gil glanced at Caro. 'Sign off your computer, will you, Miss Ramsgate?' he politely requested, leaving her no option but to do as he asked.
She obeyed in silence, carefully closed down her computer, and locked away all the material on the desk— documents, computer discs, ledgers—while the two men watched her. The guard then escorted them to the lift, along the silent corridor. Caro only then realised how empty the great building was, and how eerie it seemed at night with most of the lights dimmed and every little sound echoing along the maze of corridors.
She shivered as she stepped into the lift, and Gil gave her a narrow-eyed look. 'Cold? I'm not surprised, in that!' He let his gaze drift down over the charcoal-grey jersey dress and jacket she wore, making the back of her neck prickle with awareness. 'You look very good in it,' Gil drawled, his stare lingering on the way the jersey clung to her breasts, and she angrily felt heat stir inside her body. 'But it can't be very warm.'
It wasn't. She had wanted to look smart and efficient, and hadn't cared that the outfit was thin and lightweight. She certainly hadn't wanted to invite him to notice her figure, but of course she couldn't tell him that because to do so would be to admit that she was intensely conscious of having him stare at her. 'It was quite warm this morning!' she defended herself.
He shrugged. 'I know it's April but the weather is still treacherous. Well, once you're in your car you can put on the heating.'
That reminded her that she had intended to ring for a taxi before leaving the office tonight, and she made an irritated face. 'What now?' asked Gil, still watching her. 'I don't drive in, unless I come with my father,' she explained. 'I usually take the Underground, or go by bus. It simply isn't worth the hassle of taking a car, and our house is only ten minutes away from the office. Tonight I meant to call a cab, as I was working so late, but I forgot. Never mind, there are usually taxis cruising past.'
'I'll give you a lift home,' he offered at once, as she should have anticipated, but his tone was dry. Did he suspect she had been dropping hints? That idea made her furious.
'That's very kind,' she said coldly. 'But I'm certain to get a taxi at once.'
'Don't be stupid. Your house is on my route home,' he insisted. As they left the lift, he took her by the elbow and guided her firmly through the store to a private exit guarded by another of the security staff. Gil Martell nodded to him, smiled and said, 'Goodnight,' and then they walked through the open door, hearing the door being locked behind them before they had taken two steps across the pavement.
The gleaming black Rolls-Royce was parked right outside, waiting for him. Caro gave it a look, then stared anxiously up and down the street in search of a taxi. Typically, there wasn't one in sight, and she found herself a moment later being put into the front pass
enger seat.
They drove away northwards through London's brilliantly lit streets towards the quieter district of Regents Park, with its Georgian terraces and elegant gardens.
'Do up your seatbelt!' Gil ordered, drawing up at the traffic-lights in Baker Street a moment later. Caro had forgotten to do so in her state of nerves; she pulled the belt across her middle and tried to slot it into position, but her fingers were all thumbs and after watching her briefly Gil leant over to do it for her, his fingers brushing against hers. She stiffened as that lean, muscled body came so close that she picked up the male scent of his skin and felt his thigh touch her own. A wave of sexual awareness rose inside her and she shifted away from the contact with him. What was the matter with her?
He deftly clicked home the seatbelt, straightened, eyeing her with narrow observation and then appalled her by asking, 'Are you always this scared of men?' Hot colour rolled up her face. 'I'm not scared of you!' 'Then why do you jump about ten feet in the air every time I come too close?' 'I don't!'
He laughed and leaned towards her, and she couldn't stop herself tensing, moving further away, an agitated pulse beating in her throat, at her temples.
'No?' he drawled, his mouth curling with derision.
Caro stared straight ahead, fighting with panic. 'The lights have turned green!'
Gil laughed. 'What a relief! Saved by traffic-lights!' But he turned his attention to the road all the same, and the car smoothly rolled away.
Caro stared at the orange street lights on either side of them, her eyes dazzled by the brilliance. She was furious, both with herself and Gil Martell. She wasn't naive enough to imagine he was interested in her as a woman. She knew she wasn't sexually attractive; she had learnt that very early in her life, been bitterly convinced that the only reason a man might pursue her was for her father's money, especially a man like Gil Martell, who could pick and choose his women.
He fancied women like the Countess of Jurby— blonde, fashionable, skinny as boys. He had been teasing her, just now, using his sexual power as a weapon in this war against her and her father, and she had been stupid enough to let him see he could reach her. She had to do something about her spring fever in a hurry. She didn't know why Gil Martell affected her the way he did, but it had to stop at once.
The Threat of Love Page 6
