by Sara Logan
Game of Hearts
By
Sara Logan
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
"Alex, What's the Matter with You?"
He had been dragging her around all morning. Didn't he understand that they weren't going to miss the games if they took their time?
"Stop complaining," he said irritably. "I'd heard that events in the South move at a snail's pace, and now I believe it." Then he looked at her, his attitude softening momentarily. "Do you mind very much if we change the subject?"
"That's what you always say. Whenever something isn't to your liking, you demand we change the subject."
"Maybe you'll like this subject better," he said, and pulled her into his arms.
SARA LOGAN loves nothing more than writing and is always thinking ahead to her next book. She has lived all over the U.S. and in several foreign countries as well, but she has a particular fascination with things Scottish, as readers of Game of Hearts will discover.
Dear Reader,
Silhouette Romances is an exciting new publishing series, dedicated to bringing you the very best in contemporary romantic fiction from the very finest writers. Our stories and our heroines will give you all you want from romantic fiction.
Also, you play an important part in our future plans for Silhouette Romances. We welcome any suggestions or comments on our books, which should be sent to the address below.
So enjoy this book and all the wonderful romances from Silhouette. They're for you!
Elaine Shelley
Silhouette Books
PO Box 703
Dunton Green
Sevenoaks
Kent
TN13 2YE
Copyright © 1982 by Sara Logan
First printing 1982
ISBN 0 340 32068 0
To the grandfathers,
Bob and Baxter
Chapter One
Rain beat furiously against the windshield of the taxi as it slowed to a complete stop, caught up in the noon traffic of downtown Charlotte, North Carolina. Christina used her wisp of a handkerchief to try to wipe her hands and face dry and ground her teeth in frustration. At the rate they were going she would never get to her lunch date! Of all days for her car to decide to give out, this had to be the most inconvenient. With the dead car and the rain she had considered calling Sandy and canceling the lunch, but a sense of urgency, of needing to know the truth, had driven her on. Rain or no rain, she could not spend the day and night in such agonizing uncertainty. Sandy would know the truth, and Christina would get it from her when they were face to face and evasions would not be possible. So, after calling the garage to come and do something with her car, Christina had called a taxi and left the offices of Lennox & Sons, Imports. She tried to ignore her growing physical discomfort and increasing tension as the taxi began to move again and threaded its way through the heavy traffic.
A swirling gust of rain blew down the street as she paid the driver and, wearing her raincoat over her head like a tent, dashed into the lobby of the towering office building. She removed the raincoat and sent a shower of water over the thick carpeting. There was little she could do to tidy herself until she reached the ladies' room on the same floor as the rooftop restaurant. She knew she was already terribly late, but she couldn't meet anyone in such a bedraggled condition.
Christina started down the wide corridor that led to the elevator and as she neared the corner she clearly heard the ping of the bell, indicating that the elevator had arrived at the lobby. She broke into a run and rounded the corner at a fast sprint.
The next few moments were ones of blurred impressions and confusion as she cannoned into a man, also hurrying toward the elevator, coming from the adjacent corridor. The impact left Christina breathless and off balance. She staggered. Strong hands caught and held her firmly against a broad chest as she fought to regain her breath. Still dazed, she leaned against him, aware of his steady heartbeat and the strength of the arms holding her. She realized that he towered above her slight five feet four inches. Before she could recover her wits fully, she was politely propped against the wall as the victim of her haste ran a cool, surveying gaze over her. Christina was acutely conscious of her wet blond hair escaping from its neat style and cascading wildly about her shoulders. She knew her face was damp and shiny, and, worst of all, her thin blue knit dress was plastered to her curves. The darkest pair of eyes she had ever encountered met and held her gaze, and she felt a warm blush rise to her cheeks.
"If you are quite recovered…" he murmured, his tone one of patient tolerance.
Christina mumbled something inaudible which he evidently took for consent. Then he turned his attention to the floor of the corridor, where both their possessions were scattered in a large circle. He silently picked up her raincoat and handed it to her before stooping down to retrieve her handbag. It had burst open on impact, and he collected her belongings and pushed them into the bag before returning it to her.
Christina stammered a thank you and, seeing him begin to pick up the folder of papers which had showered the dark carpet like a small blizzard, hastily knelt to scoop up the handful resting near her feet. As she bent over them water dripped from her wet curls and raincoat onto the papers, and she clearly heard his bitten-off exclamation as he firmly removed them from her grasp. He picked up the remaining papers as Christina watched in embarrassed silence; then he rose and glanced past her at the elevator. Ping! The little bell chimed again as the elevator door slid open, and with three long strides he had reached them and held them open.
"After you," he murmured, his deep voice betraying a slight, attractive accent, and she hurried forward.
"Thank you," she said and then told him her floor and watched his strong, tanned hand push the button. He was staggeringly tall. The dark gray business suit he wore set off his broad shoulders, and the light gray shirt emphasized the deep tan of his face. His dark hair was smoothly brushed down, an apparent natural tendency to curl firmly dealt with and reduced to a mere ripple over the ears. She noticed the firm, generous mouth and jaw. His chin leaned a bit toward the stubborn side and was divided by a deep cleft. He was an extraordinarily attractive man. He exuded magnetism, and she felt her own nerves tingle in awareness. She was also quick to catch the mocking gleam in those dark eyes, and she fought down rising irritation.
The elevator chimed again, the doors opened, and he held them for her with a strong hand. "Your floor," he said quietly, holding his folder of papers as if he expected her to knock them to the floor again.
Christina stepped out, turned to apologize again, and was in time to see the doors quietly close. The flush touched her cheeks once more as the indicator light showed that the elevator was going back down. It stopped three floors below, and Christina stamped off to the ladies' room by the restaurant in a growing temper. Either he didn't trust her to get to her floor safely without his assistance, or he wanted to be sure she was well out of his way before he left the elevator!
A glance in the mirror did little to soothe her ruffled feelings. Her blond hair was curling wildly around her face, making her look more like sixteen than twenty-three. The thin knit dress, plastered to her body, brought a gasp of horror to her lips. She shook out her dress, easing it away from her skin, and hoped the fast-drying knit would quickly regain its normal shape. A ruthless bout with comb and brush dealt with the disorder of her hair, and she dried her face and patted on fresh powder. Her blue eyes, really more nearly violet than plain blue, were
sparkling with temper and exasperation.
This was definitely not her day, she thought ruefully, shaking her raincoat and folding it over her arm. First the car, then the rain, then the slow taxi that had made her late, and, last of all, her encounter with that man! She couldn't understand why he had annoyed her so. He had not said one word about their abrupt encounter, yet she had been burningly conscious of the mockery in those dark eyes, of the amused quirk of his well-shaped lips. He had been perfectly polite, but she was left in no doubt of his opinion of women who didn't watch where they were going and were a hazard to anyone who got in their way.
Gathering her shattered dignity about her as best she could, Christina went into the large, airy restaurant, where she spotted her friend almost immediately.
"I'm sorry I'm late, Sandy," she said, dumping her raincoat and handbag on one of the empty chairs. "My car wouldn't start."
The smiling, plump girl shook her head. "It's all right. My boss is out of town, so I came in early this morning. No one will mind if I'm a few minutes late getting back. What a storm!" she added, glancing at Christina's wet hair and then to the two walls of clear glass that gave a splendid view of the city. "It's still pouring, I see."
After they had ordered, Sandy looked inquiringly at Christina. "When you called, you said you had something important to talk to me about, Chris. What's up?"
Christina stirred sugar into her coffee and frowned at it. "I stopped by the dry cleaner's on my way to work this morning, Sandy. Jackie Ellis was just coming out. She stopped to talk…"
"Gossip," Sandy interrupted good-naturedly.
Christina nodded. "Gossip… at least, I hope it's no more than mere gossip. She had a good bit to say about James," Christina went on steadily, watching her friend closely as she spoke. "She said it was a great pity that none of my friends would tell me that he's running around with Monica Norland."
Sandy's eyes fell before that level gaze and her hands played nervously with the silverware. "You know what a cat Jackie is! And she's always wanted James. She was dating him before you and he became engaged."
"I know that, Sandy. She hasn't liked me since," Christina admitted. "But that's not the point. I want to know if it's true. None of my friends have told me a thing, of course, and I have to know."
Christina's uneasiness grew as she watched Sandy squirm and show clear signs of discomfort. "Is it true, Sandy? She said James took Monica to the beach last weekend, and to his cottage at the lake the weekend before that. He told me he was going out of town on business. You and Tom were at the beach last weekend. Was James there with Monica?"
Sandy flushed slightly and avoided Christina's eyes. "He was at the beach, Chris," she finally admitted.
"With Monica?"
"With Monica," Sandy said miserably. "Chris, I don't know if he took her or just ran into her there! Tom and I were there with Tom's parents, and we only saw them once, on the beach one afternoon."
"Have you seen James with Monica before last weekend?"
Sandy looked more miserable than ever. "A few times, Chris. It doesn't have to mean anything, though; you know what a flirt James is! But you are getting married in August…"
"Perhaps," Christina said grimly, willing her hands not to tremble as she lifted her coffee cup. Somehow she had known it was true, but up until this moment she had hoped against hope she was wrong. "And I do know what a flirt he is. He always was. As for it not meaning anything, if he's been going around with her enough to create this much gossip, Sandy, and if he's stupid enough to take her to the beach where he knows he'll be seen by people who know us both, then I can't agree that it's nothing. Would you think it was 'nothing' if Tom started taking another girl out?"
Sandy had to admit she wouldn't. "What are you going to do?"
"I don't know, but I have to talk to him about it. I can't just pretend I don't know. Sandy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put you in such a spot, but you're my best friend and I had to know the truth."
"Well, Monica might be chasing him, Chris. She might be making sure she's at the beach when he is… and at the lake," Sandy suggested eagerly.
Christina shook her head. "He wasn't supposed to be at the beach; he was supposed to be in Raleigh on business. If he's as innocent as you suggest, why lie to me about it? He could have simply told me he was going to the beach instead of to Raleigh. I don't keep tabs on his movements or expect him to tell me every little thing. But he volunteered the information, Sandy. He called to tell me he'd be in Raleigh all weekend!"
Sandy was still frowning. "I don't understand it, Chris. He knew perfectly well that people who knew you both would be at the beach and at the lake. Surely he must have known that someone would tell you. Why take a chance on that? If he did take her out, why didn't he take her someplace where no one would see them? No one they knew, that is."
Christina just shrugged, but she knew James. He would do exactly as he pleased and rely on his charm to get him out of the consequences. He was very proficient at cajoling her into forgiving him, but this time he had gone too far. It wouldn't be easy to forgive him for this. It might even be impossible.
Sandy ate her lunch and Christina made an effort to eat hers as both girls pretended that everything was fine. Christina was thoughtful as she said goodbye to Sandy and caught the elevator back to the lobby. She had a dinner date with James tonight and she would have to talk to him about what was troubling her.
The rain was still pouring down as Christina went out the glass doors of the office building. She put the still wet raincoat over her head and looked around. Then she spotted a taxi. What wonderfully good luck! She sprinted across the sidewalk toward the cab, jerked open the door, and bounced into the back seat… and, to her acute astonishment, found herself on the lap of the man who had already been seated in the taxi.
"I say, if this is the famous Southern hospitality I've read about…" he commented just as Christina said, "Gosh, I'm sorry," and prepared to get out of the cab. Then her startled gaze met a familiar pair of cool dark eyes. The man in the elevator! It couldn't be, but it was. For no sensible reason she felt her temper rising.
"We do seem to be running into each other, don't we?" he said, his warm, strong arms encircling her, and then he moved over so that she was seated beside him but still turned so that she faced him. She tried to tear her eyes away from his searching gaze and was suddenly conscious that her damp dress had slid halfway up her thighs. Before she could move, he turned her slightly and placed a kiss on her upturned lips. After a second of complete surprise she found herself responding to those firm, warm lips. Ripples of feeling that she had never before experienced ran along her spine.
After a moment he drew his head away, and she looked up into merciless, laughing eyes. A wave of shame and anger swept over her.
"H-how dare you? Why, I'll have you know I'm engaged!"
He laughed and gently withdrew his arms. "'Engaging' is more like it," he teased.
"Oooh!" she sputtered futilely as she couldn't think of anything to say to that. She pushed the door of the cab open and slid out.
"Maybe we could share," he called, but by that time she was running wildly back toward the building.
"Beast," she muttered to herself, her lips still tingling from his kiss as she headed toward a telephone to call the taxi company. Her temper was scarcely cooled when she arrived back at her office to find that her grandfather had called and left an urgent message with her secretary.
"Nothing's the matter, is it, Maggie? He's not worse?"
"Oh, no, nothing like that. He called just after you left for lunch. He's made an appointment for you this afternoon at two thirty."
Christina hung up her dripping raincoat and frowned. "What type of appointment, Maggie? Who with?"
Maggie smiled. "He said it was with the owner of A.L. Stewart, Ltd., in Scotland. Mr. Alexander Stewart. Do you know him, Miss Lennox?"
"Not personally," Christina admitted. "We get all of our Scottish imports from A
. L. Stewart, though. What's the owner doing here?"
"I don't know; Mr. Lennox didn't say. Just that Mr. Stewart was in town and would be coming by the office at two thirty. You have an appointment with the buyer for that new import shop later today, too. Mr. Stewart is already here, waiting in your grandfather's office."
"Thanks, Maggie. Give me a minute to dry off and powder my nose, and then send him in."
Christina tidied her hair and face and wondered what Alexander Stewart was doing here in Charlotte. Lennox Imports handled most of the Scottish goods that went to stores in North Carolina and her grandfather had dealt with Stewart's for many years. Christina had heard of Alexander Stewart, of course, but she had not made any of the buying trips to Scotland so she had not met him. Well, he was a friend of her grandfather's, as well as a valued business contact, so she would do her best to welcome him to Charlotte.
That happy intention disappeared immediately when the head of Stewart's walked into her office a few minutes later. He stopped dead on the threshold, surveyed her with a sardonic gleam in his dark eyes, and then walked forward, holding out his hand.
"So, we meet again," he murmured, taking her hand and shaking it firmly. "I didn't realize you were Richard Lennox's granddaughter."
Christina swallowed angrily, meeting his amused glance with heightened color. It would be that man!
"Would it have made any difference if you had known who I was? Or do you usually go around kissing every girl you see?"
"Only those who leap into my lap and so patently ask to be kissed."
"You are the most…"
"Shall we drop the subject?" he asked. "If you had waited we could have shared the cab," he continued smoothly, taking the chair across from her.
Christina subdued her urge to retort that she would have walked all the way back in the rain before accepting help from him and quickly turned the conversation to business. "What are you doing in Charlotte, Mr. Stewart?" she asked crisply.
