That Devil Love

by Lee Wilkinson

  Knowing it gave him a kick, made him feel manly to cosset her, she unfastened her safety belt and waited until he opened her door and helped her alight.

  As she stepped out on to the pavement a stylish silver BMW, which had been cruising a couple of cars behind them, drew up in a patch of shadow outside the block opposite.

  Having crossed Fairfield’s narrow, open frontage with its pair of leafless weeping willows, she opened the door while Stephen hovered by her elbow, his burgundy silk evening scarf hanging loosely around his neck.

  Politeness forcing her, she asked, ‘Would you like a quick coffee?’

  ‘Love one,’ he accepted cheerfully.

  Ashamed, because she’d been hoping he would refuse, she switched on the light and led the way into a pastel-walled living-room which held the minimum of modern furniture.

  In no mood for him to linger, she made a single mug of instant coffee, strong and milky and sweet, just how he liked it, and carried it through.

  He looked surprised. ‘Aren’t you having one?’

  ‘When I’m headachy, coffee only makes it worse. I’ll have some cocoa when I go to bed.’ And please let it be soon, she prayed silently.

  Patting the empty place beside him, he invited, ‘Why don’t you come and sit by me and relax for a while? It isn’t eleven yet.’

  Carefully, she said, ‘I know it’s not late, but I’m feeling rotten…’

  ‘I’m sorry… I wasn’t thinking.’ He downed his coffee in a few gulps and, scrambling hurriedly to his feet, made for the door. ‘I’m nothing but a stupid oaf.’

  ‘You’re a dear.’ In the open doorway she stood on tiptoe to touch her lips to his cheek.

  His ears turning bright red, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her with clumsy fervour.

  Though awkward, his kiss wasn’t unpleasant, and she stood quietly in his embrace for a few seconds before gently freeing herself.

  ‘I’ll call you some time tomorrow,’ he promised, and shambled to his car.

  With the utmost relief, Annis closed the door and locked up.

  Wanting only the oblivion of sleep, she hurried to get ready for bed, trying not to think of Zan Power. But, filling her mind with an overwhelming hatred, his powerful presence was there, all invasive, his darkly handsome face printed indelibly on her retinas.

  As it had been since the first moment she’d set eyes on him more than three years ago.

  Then he’d been responsible for destroying almost everything she’d held dear.

  For months she’d been obsessed with thoughts of him and, harbouring a fierce need for revenge, had wanted him to suffer as he’d caused her and her family to suffer.

  Her anger, her bitter animosity towards the man she’d caught only the one fleeting glimpse of had been so strong, so all-consuming, that it had taken her a long time to wake up to the fact that if she allowed such feelings to go on he’d end up destroying her too.

  Making a valiant effort, she’d pushed him to the back of her mind, caused his image to fade, started to win the struggle to put the past behind her.

  Until tonight.

  Coming face to face with him again out of the blue had brought all the old torment and bitterness flooding back. Undone, in a split-second, everything she’d achieved in the preceding months.

  It had also brought her a new and frightening anxiety. Was his stated intention to own her just some macho game? Or had she reason to feel afraid, menaced?

  Her head was aching to such an extent that it was difficult to think clearly. But surely in the cold light of day his threat would just seem ridiculous?

  She was brushing out the heavy silk hair which fell almost to her waist, gripping the brush until her knuckles showed white, when the doorbell pealed, startling her.

  The thought that maybe Linda had gone into labour and Richard needed her to look after the twins sent her hurrying into the living-room.

  Though surely he’d have rung her?

  As she hesitated, she spotted Stephen’s burgundy scarf lying on the settee, and picked it up with an exasperated sigh. The light was still on so he would know she wasn’t yet in bed. Though why on earth he’d bothered to come back for it…!

  A quick glance through the central peephole proved her conjecture right, providing a glimpse of white evening shirt-front and black bow-tie.

  She pressed up the catch and unfastened the safety chain, but what she’d been about to say died on her lips as, shock exploding inside her, she gaped at the man filling her threshold.

  Before she could make any attempt to collect her scattered wits he’d walked past her as if he owned the place and closed the door behind him.

  Looming tall and decidedly dangerous, those amazing green-gold eyes with their thick sooty lashes fixed on her, Zan Power dominated the small room.

  Tossing the scarf aside, she asked jerkily, ‘What are you doing here? What do you want?’

  His eyes holding hers, he smiled without answering. The irresistible allure of that smile and the certain knowledge that what he wanted was her threw her totally.

  Panic-stricken, she cried, ‘Get out! Go on, get out before I call the police.’

  Raising narrow black brows, he stood aside so she could get to the phone. ‘Call them, by all means. But what will you tell them? How will you justify such an extreme course of action?’

  She stood, trembling in every limb, while her common sense told her she had lost her head and behaved stupidly, given him an added advantage.

  Somehow she reined in the runaway panic and, slowly unclenching her hands, admitted, ‘I’m afraid I over-reacted. But you took me by surprise.’

  When he made no comment, just continued to stand and look at her, she added awkwardly, ‘It’s getting late and I was about to go to bed.’

  She wished she hadn’t said that when his eyes travelled assessingly over her fine Victorian-style cotton nightdress with its long sleeves and high neck, the smooth hair tumbling down her back like pale silk, the bare feet.

  His inspection completed, he smiled mockingly. ‘Don’t worry, you’re quite decent.’ Then, briskly, ‘I want to talk to you.’

  Zan Power’s voice, clear and low-pitched, with that very faint accent which lent it such devilish charm, sent shivers running up and down her spine.

  Pressing slim fingers to her throbbing temples, she waited.

  He indicated a chair. ‘Won’t you sit down?’ It was an order in spite of the polite phrasing.

  Clearly he intended the tête-à-tête…confrontation…whatever, to be on his terms.

  Recognising the futility of trying to oppose him, she sat down, deliberately choosing a different chair.

  Amusement flickered briefly in the tawny eyes, before he queried, ‘Where do you keep your aspirin?’

  She was surprised into answering, ‘In the bathroom cabinet.’

  ‘You haven’t taken any?’

  ‘No.’

  Without a word he disappeared through the partly open door to return a few moments later with half a tumbler of water and two round white tablets, which he transferred from his palm to hers.

  ‘I can tell by the tension in your neck and shoulders that you’ve got a headache.’ Handing her the tumbler, he continued with wry humour, ‘I could get rid of it with a few minutes’ massage, but after your earlier reaction I hesitate to lay a finger on you, even for therapeutic purposes.’

  Thank God for that, she thought fervently, swallowing the tablets. She couldn’t bear the thought of him touching her.

  For more than one reason.

  Despite her hatred of him, like some beautiful but deadly snake he fascinated and attracted her. If he touched her…kissed her…she might be caught body and soul in his coils, unable to free herself ever again from that dark enchantment.

  She shuddered.

  Taking a grip on sanity, she pushed the fanciful notion away and told herself scathingly not to be an idiot.

  ‘Do you mind if I sit down?’ Without waiting f
or an answer, he took a seat opposite.

  Unnerved afresh by his calm deliberation, the way his gaze never left her face, she said, ‘You wanted to talk to me?’ Then, with a sudden jolt, ‘How did you know where I lived?’

  Coolly he admitted, ‘I followed Leighton’s car.’

  In her mind’s eye she saw the sleek silver BMW glide out of the traffic stream and draw up opposite.

  ‘So far as I’m aware it’s not a criminal offence,’ he added sarcastically.

  Biting her lip, knowing she had to keep her composure, she said levelly, ‘Perhaps you’ll tell me why you went to so much trouble?’

  ‘For several reasons.’ He slipped a hand into his pocket.

  As she gazed at him he reached over and clasped her right wrist, making her jump convulsively. ‘I wanted to return this.’

  Looking down at the gold bracelet he’d snapped on like a handcuff, she stammered, ‘Th-thank you. I hadn’t realised I’d lost it.’

  ‘You didn’t lose it,’ he admitted coolly. ‘I took it from your wrist.’

  ‘Did you learn how to do that in the back streets of Piraeus?’ The question was out before she could prevent it.

  Just for a moment he looked nettled, then the anger was swiftly masked. ‘I did, as a matter of fact. But though I and my brothers and sisters often went barefoot, our parents managed to feed us and keep a roof over our heads without the necessity for stealing.’

  Staring at him with eyes that had turned darker and cloudy, she asked, ‘Why did you take my bracelet?’ In spite of all her efforts her voice shook a little. ‘You must have had a reason?’

  ‘Oh, I had. Depending on the situation, I decided I might need an entrée, some legitimate excuse for knocking at your door.

  ‘You see, I couldn’t rest until I knew how things stood between you and Leighton. If he’d driven straight off, I would have let things ride until tomorrow, but when he came in with you I began to wonder if I’d been wrong in my assumption that you were no more than friends.

  ‘Just as I was about to come over and break up whatever was going on, the door opened…’ His voice soft but lethal, Zan added, ‘When I saw him kiss you, I could have cheerfully broken his neck.’

  Fear once again stifling her, she jumped up.

  With one cat-supple movement he was on his feet and standing over her, his dark face only inches away from her own. ‘I meant what I said, Annis. From now on I intend to be the only man in your life.’

  ‘If you think after all you’ve…’ Abruptly she halted the rush of bitter words, biting her inner lip until the lesser pain made the larger more bearable.

  The past was best left alone. Nothing she, or Zan Power, for that matter, could do or say would alter a thing.

  When she had herself under control, she carried on with icy composure, ‘You don’t seem to understand. There’s no way I’d ever get to even like you.’

  ‘I don’t want you to like me. Liking is such an insipid, bloodless emotion. I want you to want me. To be as crazy for me as I am for you.’

  Her heart racing with suffocating speed, she protested, ‘You’re quite mad.’

  ‘I might be at that,’ he admitted. ‘But it’s such a wonderful, exhilarating madness that I never want it to end.’

  His voice roughened by passion, he went on, ‘I can’t wait to have you in my arms, in my bed, in my life…’

  Then more quietly, ‘But I won’t try to rush you. I’ll give you time to get used to the idea. All I want at the moment is a promise that from now on you won’t see any other man.’

  Meeting him again out of the blue was a strange enough coincidence, but that he should feel so strongly about her was incredible, almost unbelievable.

  Yet she had to believe it. By some cruel twist of fate this man who had torn her whole world apart was back in her life and, apparently obsessed by her, intending to stay.

  Somehow she had to find a way of getting rid of him now. Tonight. Before this madness had time to grow and flourish.

  ‘I can’t give you any such promise.’ She tried to speak calmly, decisively. ‘Apart from any other consideration, you were wrong in your assumption that Stephen and I are just friends. We’ve been lovers for some time now.’

  Zan’s olive-skinned face seemed to pale, the skin tightening over the strong bone-structure, as though her declaration was a knife she’d stabbed him with.

  With a short, sharp sigh he echoed her earlier thought. ‘Well, I can’t alter what’s happened in the past… But from now on you’re mine. Don’t ever forget that, Annis.’

  Running his fingers into her silken hair, he took her face between his palms, and bent his dark head. His lips were firm and sure on her mouth, light, yet completely possessive.

  She was still standing rooted to the spot when the latch clicked behind him.

  Faintly she heard a door slam, an engine start, and his car draw away. But it was a long time before, moving like some zombie, she went to lock up and reset the safety-chain.

  That fleeting kiss had shocked her to the core. Rocked her world. Nothing would ever be quite the same again.

  Totally exhausted, she crept straight off to bed and fell asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow. But, though she slept, it was a shallow, restless sleep, haunted by a darkly arrogant face that both repelled and attracted her.

  She awoke heavy-eyed and unrefreshed, that same face still effortlessly dominating her mind. Making all her hatred and anger surface. Bringing all the previous night’s fear flooding back in a tide.

  But she must try to keep a sense of proportion, she reminded herself sharply. Zan Power couldn’t make her do anything she didn’t want to do.

  And perhaps he was already having second thoughts? After flaring up, his sudden passion might have flickered out, like a fire lit in the wrong place.

  The best thing, maybe the only thing she could do was carry on as if nothing untoward had occurred, as if he hadn’t turned her whole world upside down yet again, and see what happened.

  Dressed in a smart charcoal suit and crisp white blouse, lightly made-up, her hair in its usual smooth chignon, she was almost ready to leave for work when the doorbell chimed.

  Expecting the postman, she went to answer.

  A young sandy-haired man wearing a green coat with ‘Jay’s, Florist’ embroidered in red on the lapel said a cheerful, ‘Good morning,’ and, handing her a huge bouquet, went off whistling, despite the cold, grey day.

  The long-stemmed, dark red roses, scented and velvety, were exquisite. Hot-house blooms like those must have cost a king’s ransom, Annis thought dazedly. Stephen, bless him, had got carried away.

  Nestling among the glossy leaves was a small envelope. Opening it, she took out the slip of pasteboard. Written in a strong black scrawl on the gilt-edged card was one word. Zan.

  Shock held her rigid for a moment, then, tearing the card in two, she dropped the pieces in the waste-paper basket as if they were stinging nettles.

  Unable to bring herself to destroy the roses, after a moment’s thought she picked up the bouquet and headed for the door once more.

  Mrs Neilson, her middle-aged neighbour, was just getting about again after an operation, and Annis knocked most days to enquire if any shopping was needed.

  None was this morning, but at the sight of the flowers Mrs Neilson’s drawn face lit up. ‘My dear, they’re beautiful!’ she exclaimed. ‘How very kind of you.’

  Wishing she could dispose of Zan Power as easily, Annis walked to the Tube station, girding her loins to face what a strange premonition warned her was going to be a fraught day.

  CHAPTER TWO

  JOINING the Friday morning rush, Annis caught a train to Oxford Circus then hurried the few blocks to her Regent Street office, a cramped first-floor room from which she ran Help, her own small temp business.

  She employed ten women of diverse ages from varied walks of life, each with the willingness and ability to do several different jobs.

 
Requests for secretarial, nursing, housekeeping, cooking and catering help were the most common. But she and her staff could, and did, fill a variety of other roles.

  Having unlocked the narrow, slightly shabby street door squeezed between a boutique and a video shop, she climbed the uncarpeted stairs and let herself into her office. Two wooden chairs and a desk were its only furnishings.

  As she switched off the answering machine and hung her stone-coloured mac on a hook behind the door, the phone started to chirp.

  A woman’s businesslike voice identified herself as being from, ‘Blair Electronics. Mr Blair’s personal assistant…’ and requested immediate help in the form of a competent secretary for the managing director.

  Adding, ‘I was advised to ask for a Miss Warrener, if she’s available.’

  ‘I’m Miss Warrener,’ Annis said, and, a frown tugging at her well-marked brows, queried, ‘But surely I haven’t worked for you before?’

  ‘No, but I understand you were highly recommended by the sales manager of one of our subsidiaries.’

  ‘How long will you need my help for?’

  ‘Miss Winton will be away for a month.’

  All the details having been settled, Annis jotted down the address and promised, ‘I’ll be with you inside an hour.’

  In a little over forty-five minutes, she was climbing the steps to the Marylebone office block which housed the electronics firm.

  At the desk in the foyer she stopped to give her name and state her business.

  ‘Turn right, then left,’ the frizzy-haired receptionist told her, ‘and you’ll find the MD’s office at the end of the main corridor. Go straight in, Miss Warrener. You’re expected.’

  Her heels sinking into the luxurious carpet, Annis made her way down the wide corridor. When she reached the unmarked door at the end, she knocked and walked in, as instructed.

  Just inside the threshold she stopped short, feeling as though she’d received a punch in the solar plexus, as she saw the powerfully attractive face of the man sitting behind the leather-topped desk.