Wildfire Encounter

by Helen Bianchin

  Wildfire Encounter

  By

  Helen Bianchin

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  Harlequin Plus

  The door slammed shut at his kick.

  "Dios, what a termagant!" Rafael exclaimed.

  Sara felt her feet touch the floor, and she struggled against the hard grasp on her arm. "What did you expect? A simpering besotted fool?" Her eyes flashed green fire, and she threw him a look of such utter loathing that his breath was released in a long harsh sigh.

  "How dare you haul me up here like a… a…" words failed her.

  "I have a debt to collect." Rafael's icy drawl sent fear shivering along every nerve end.

  "And I'm it," she spat furiously. "A dispensable piece of merchandise, acquired for a specific purpose!"

  He gripped her chin, forcing it high. "Sweet Mother of God," he swore huskily. "Have you no conception of what you might invoke by such unbridled belligerence, child?"

  HELEN BIANCHIN

  is also the author of these Harlequin Presents

  271—THE VINES IN SPLENDOUR

  269—STORMY POSSESSION

  409—DEVIL IN COMMAND

  415—EDGE OF SPRING

  457—THE SAVAGE TOUCH

  and these Harlequin Romances

  2010—BEWILDERED HAVEN

  2084—AVENGING ANGEL

  2175—THE HILLS OF HOME

  2378—MASTER OF ULURU

  Harlequin Presents first edition September 1982

  ISBN 0-373-10527-4

  Original hardcover edition published in 1982

  by Mills & Boon Limited

  Copyright © 1982 by Helen Bianchin.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Sara cast a swift encompassing glance at the number of people mingling on the lawn, speculating that in all probability only ten were genuine bidders. The auction disposing the last of the late Blair Adams' assets was an event for the curiosity-seekers, providing an opportunity to wander at will about the home of a man whose tortured, guilt-stricken mind had led him to commit suicide only a matter of weeks before.

  That fateful phone call, followed by the presence of Blair's accountant and the news he had to impart, were indelibly imprinted in her brain. Her mother, the beautiful, vulnerable Selina, had retreated into a state of shock that seemed to increase as each sordid detail was revealed, and it was left to Sara to assume the mantle of control, sparing her mother all but the essential facts.

  A soundless sigh escaped Sara's lips. Within an hour the solid white-plastered structure and the spacious grounds surrounding it would be gone. Her home since birth, there were so many memories of happiness and laughter, the house itself so alive and receptive, so especially theirs, it seemed almost a crime that it should fall beneath the auctioneer's hammer and be passed to strangers.

  Out of the nightmarish events of the past few weeks one man's name had emerged to head the not inconsiderable list of creditors. Rafael Savalje; his business interests were known to be innumerable, his wealth garnered from vast holdings in real estate along Queensland's Gold Coast. Residing as he did in luxurious surroundings on one of the inner islands not far from Surfer's Paradise, much of his personal life remained an enigma. He entertained on occasion, attended charity functions, and his name had been linked with several socialites over the past five years. Information gleaned from business sources labelled him a ruthless entrepreneur whose financial acumen couldn't be faulted.

  'Sara, everyone is going inside.'

  Engrossed in her reverie, she had lost track of time, and anxiety clouded her expressive features as her gaze settled on the neatly-groomed woman at her side.

  'Mother, are you sure you want to go through with this?' For the umpteenth time she voiced the caution. 'It would be far less painful if we opted out of the whole affair and waited to hear the result through official channels.'

  A slight furrow of doubt creased Selina Adams' forehead. 'Darling, you're right—but I simply can't sit twiddling my thumbs elsewhere. I have to know, Sara.' A pleading note entered her voice. 'Surely you understand?'

  Oh God, what could she say? With a mixture of bravado and icy fatalism she summoned a bright smile, caught hold of her mother's elbow, managing through no mean feat to enfuse some enthusiasm as she bade, 'Let's go, then.'

  Resolve and an ironclad spirit were necessary to watch as prospective bidders picked over the items of furniture numbered in room lots, and Sara was forced to freeze her features into expressionless unconcern as the bidding progressed.

  She wanted to scream out that there had been some ghastly mistake, willing herself to believe it was part of a horrible nightmare from which she would awaken.

  Two hours later she stood pale and tense as bidding for the house itself rose to the figure set down as a reserve. A few minor items of furniture had passed to various buyers, but for the most part there was only one serious bidder.

  It was all over in a matter of minutes, and as the crowd began to disperse Sara roused herself sufficiently to view the room's occupants.

  Nothing prepared her for the shock she experienced at seeing none other than Rafael Savalje deep in conversation with a man many years his senior. He stood at the far side of the room on the edge of her peripheral vision, his hard rough-chiselled features stern and uncompromising. Almost as if he was aware of her scrutiny, his head lifted fractionally and dark eyes made a slow sweeping appraisal of the room, coming to a halt as they caught her gaze, and she experienced incredible rage at the analytical insolence evident.

  His photographs didn't do him justice, Sara conceded reluctantly. No celluloid print could reproduce the physical aura the man projected, nor capture the forceful vitality evident. Eyes as dark as ebony held pitiless disregard, above a mouth whose lips hinted at a ruthless sensuality. Even sheathed in expensive tailoring, his powerful frame emanated an air of leashed savagery that boded ill for anyone foolish enough to challenge him. 'I suppose we should leave.'

  Sara heard the words and turned slowly towards Selina. 'You go on ahead,' she bade quietly, resolve strengthening her purpose. 'There's something I have to take care of.'

  Minutes later she marvelled that fate had been so kind, For she didn't need to employ any subterfuge at all.

  'Mr Savalje.'

  There was no glimmer of recognition evident, only a chilling deference to her femininity.

  'Yes?'

  Now that she had gained his attention Sara launched into her attack. 'You do know who I am?' she demanded starkly, and saw his lips twist in expressive mocking cynicism.

  'Blair Adams' daughter,' he accorded imperturbably.

  'What are you doing here?' she demanded bleakly, and her fine green eyes deepened with anger. 'Was the chance to gloat too great to resist?'

  One eyebrow rose in sardonic indolence. 'I attended an auction,' he drawled. 'Is that considered a crime?'

  'You didn't bid,' she accused pithily.

  'An agent conducted the bidding on my behalf.' His tone was noncommittal and barely informative. It was evident he found her a nuisance, but little more bothersome than a fly he could brush into oblivion at will.

  'Haven't you enough property without acquiring this one?' Temper lent her eyes a fiery sparkle and brought a! flush to her cheeks. 'Why this house, Mr Savalje—if not to rub salt into the wound?'

  His eyes narrowed fractionally, then became hooded. 'You have an accusation to make, Miss Adams?' he queried silkily, and Sara retorted emotionally, 'This h
ouse was all my mother had left. Her whole life was spent here. Forcing her out is like severing a limb!'

  His expression didn't alter. 'You have my sympathy.'

  'Keep your sympathy!' she flung incautiously, becoming enraged at his apparent indifference. 'It's because of you that Blair is dead!'

  Dark eyes hardened measurably as they surveyed her, and she experienced a shiver of apprehension. 'I was not an instrument in your father's death, Miss Adams.'

  'Not physically,' Sara threw heatedly. A shudder of revulsion shook her slender form. 'My God, I can't begin to describe how much I detest you! I'm grate-fill Selina didn't recognise you,' she added with quiet vehemence. 'It would have been an unbearable humiliation.'

  Rafael Savalje's features were an enigmatic mask. 'Is there any point to this discussion?' 'After all you've done, you dare ask that?'

  'Casting feminine emotionalism aside, perhaps you'd care to elucidate?' he countered icily. 'I would caution against making any slanderous remarks you can't substantiate, or I may deem it necessary to sue.'

  His words temporarily robbed her of speech. 'You bastard!' she delivered shakily.

  A muscle tensed along his jaw, the only visible sign of anger. 'Have you finished, Miss Adams?'

  Sara lifted her head slightly, her eyes wide and clear as she met his gaze. 'You don't intimidate me, Mr Savalje. In fact, I feel sorry for you—a rich, lonely man with no compassion and little integrity. Are you instructing your daughter with the same values?' Genuine pity entered her voice. 'Poor little girl—I imagine she's surrounded with nannies and housekeepers who present her for inspection at allotted times to fit into your busy schedule.'

  'You appear to be inordinately well informed,' Rafael Savalje acknowledged, and she retorted with unaccustomed anger, 'If I could do anything to harm you, I would. Believe me,' she added at his faint humourless smile.

  'I stand in fear and trembling.'

  Her hand flew to his face in an involuntary movement that sounded loud in the stillness of the room. Terrible anger flared briefly in his dark eyes, then his lids drooped fractionally, successfully masking any expression.

  'Does that make you feel better?'

  The sardonic query succeeded in ruffling her composure, taking much of the fire from her victory. 'Much,' she declared succinctly, and turning away from him she walked stiffly from the room, leaving the house, by the front door and not deigning to look back until she reached the car. .

  'Darling, you were gone so long, I thought you must have come across a problem,' Selina began anxiously as Sara slipped in behind the wheel.

  She had—in human form! 'Nothing I couldn't handle,' she dismissed lightly, switching on the ignition. Putting the car into gear, she eased it forward into the steady stream of traffic. 'Shall we stop somewhere for coffee?' She didn't add, 'before going home'. The small apartment on the other side of the city was utilitarian and reasonably comfortable. Certainly it met their needs, but it didn't compare with the house they'd just left.

  'What a lovely idea,' Selina agreed. 'We can discuss my news.'

  Sara turned her head slightly. 'What news? Something you've been keeping from me?' she demanded in a light vein, her lips forming a faint smile.

  'Hardly, darling. I've only just received the proposition. But I think it's a good one, and something I'd enjoy doing.'

  'You've been offered a job?'

  'Yes,' Selina agreed with a gleam of satisfaction. 'Andrea Lucas has an opening for a saleswoman in her boutique. It pays well, and I love meeting people—you know that. And I do have a flair with clothes,' she added modestly.

  'You dress beautifully,' Sara complimented with utter sincerity. 'It sounds marvellous. When do you start?'

  'Would you believe tomorrow?' Selina gave a deprecatory laugh. 'I begin at eight-thirty, so we'll be able to travel into the city together.'

  A slight frown creased Sara's forehead. 'Not tomorrow, I'm afraid. I have to attend a seminar in Southport, and a parent—teachers' meeting in the evening.'

  'Of course,' Selina exclaimed. 'How could I have forgotten?' She spared her daughter a conciliatory smile. 'Never mind, darling, I'll simply catch a bus.' Her lips twisted a trifle ruefully. 'It's something I'll have to get used to.'

  Sara negotiated a set of traffic lights, then moved over to an inside lane that would ultimately lead them to a nearby parking building. 'You shall have the car tomorrow. John is taking his car, and I can get a lift with him.'

  It wasn't something she relished doing, for John Peterson had been a persistent admirer for several months, and the slightest encouragement would have him imagining she was prepared to offer more than casual friendship.

  At twenty-three, Sara had been teaching junior grades for three years, and it was something of an honour to have been selected to attend the seminar. One of the guest speakers was a visiting dignitary from America whose views on education were held in high esteem, and coupled with an expert in child psychology, the event showed every indication of being an interesting experience. Children, their welfare and education, were very dear to her heart, and her genuine enthusiasm had the effect of bringing out the best in her young charges.

  The following day dawned bright and clear with the promise of high humidity and stultifying heat. February was a bad month with the Coast receiving its highest rainfall, and the unpredictability of the weather tended to fray the most even of tempers.

  Sara rose early and took a refreshing shower, then searched her wardrobe for something cool yet casually elegant to wear. After a few minutes' deliberation she chose an emerald green dress, strapless, its blouson top gathered in at the waist with a pencil-slim skirt split to mid-thigh. With white high-heeled sandals it created the effect she desired, showing off her deep golden tan and enhancing her delicate curves. In deference to the heat she swept her blonde shoulder-length hair into a carefree chignon, then applied moisturiser, a light dusting of powder, some eye-shadow and mascara, electing to leave the application of lipstick until after she'd eaten.

  A critical glance revealed a mirrored image that was visually pleasing, although she had no pretensions about her own beauty. Her most striking feature was her face, its fine bone structure arresting, the skin smooth and clear, with widely-spaced eyes that were almost green with hazel and gold flecks. Her naturally blonde hair was thick and wavy, sun-streaked with gold highlights that added to an attractive whole.

  ' 'morning, darling. Did you sleep well?' Selina inquired from her seat at the table as Sara emerged into the small kitchen to prepare her customary breakfast of toast and coffee.

  'Like a top,' Sara assured her, moving over to bestow a customary kiss to her mother's brow. 'And you?'

  'The same,' the older woman responded smilingly, and Sara stifled a faint grimace. They were liars, both of them, intent on presenting a state of normalcy, aware that evidence of the tiniest crack would break down the careful foundations that were proving so hard to rebuild.

  'Any worthwhile news in the paper?' she questioned lightly as she poured her coffee, and Selina shook her head.

  'Nothing catastrophic. Rising inflation, rumbles among the unions, a threatened airline strike.'

  'The usual state of affairs,' Sara remarked with a faint smile. 'I'll try not to be too late in tonight, but it probably won't be much before eleven,' she warned as she bit into her toast.

  Selina nodded absently. 'What time is John calling for you?'

  'About eight. The seminar begins at nine.'

  'I wonder who bought the house,' Selina reflected wistfully. 'Did you see who the successful bidder was, darling?'.

  Sara endeavoured to keep her voice even. 'Yes—a stranger.' That was true enough, for until yesterday she hadn't set eyes on Rafael Savalje's agent.

  'It will take a few days before we hear from the lawyer,' Selina began with noted abstraction. 'I shan't really be able to relax until we know whether there's enough money to settle everything. There'll be fees too, I suppose,' she pursued worriedly, and
Sara leaned across the table and caught hold of her mother's hand.

  'Hey, it can't be too bad,' she consoled. 'Whatever the outcome, they won't put us in jail.' A light laugh tried to inject some humour, into the situation. 'We'll be accorded a time limit in which to pay off the amount outstanding.' She spread her hands wide. 'With both of us working, we can reduce any debt without too much effort.'

  Selina looked doubtful. 'Do you really think so?'

  'Of course,' Sara answered bravely. 'Do I look worried?'

  'Darling, you're too like Blair for your own good,' her mother told her with a shaky smile. 'He must have been stricken with anxiety for months, yet it never showed. Promise you'll be honest with me, Sara,' she begged. 'I really don't think I could bear to live with false pretences again.'

  'Promise,' Sara declared lightly, mentally crossing her fingers. Selina was born to be cossetted, sheltered from any of life's unpleasantries. A beautiful piece of Dresden, delicate and infinitely adored, she was no more equipped to cope with reality than a china figurine.

  Sara finished the last of her toast and drained her coffee, then standing to her feet she spared a glance at her watch. 'I must dash. If John arrives, tell him I won't be more than a few minutes.'

  A quick touch to her lips provided colour, then she located her briefcase and checked its contents, caught up her shoulderbag and returned to the kitchen, to find Selina and John engaged in polite conversation.

  'Shall we go?' she suggested coolly, meeting his open admiration with a faint smile before turning towards her mother. 'Have a nice day,' she bade warmly. 'I'll be thinking of you.'

  'Thank you, darling. You, too.'

  'I see you've come well prepared.'

  Sara slid into the passenger seat and placed her briefcase on to the back seat. 'It's easier to keep everything together,' she dismissed, reaching for the safety-belt and securing it.