Cry Wolf

by Amanda Carpenter

  A stark silence fell over the room as they glared at each other and then, amazingly, Harper began to laugh out loud. His entire handsome face was vivid with the overwhelming charm of it, prompting Nikki to stare unabashedly.

  “What a surprise you are!” he exclaimed deeply. “I thought to pique you into the challenge, but I obviously overshot the mark by a mile. I am sorry, Nikki. I should have broached the subject with more sensitivity.”

  And how unlike him, considering his skill in dealing with Peter. What did that mean?

  He was insufferable, overbearing, and too damned gracious. She looked away as she jerked one shoulder in unwilling acknowledgement of the apology, because she still wanted to be angry with him and was failing dismally. Clothing rustled, a tiny almost soundless warning that prickled along her skin, as he approached.

  He put his hand underneath her chin and gently urged her to look at him. “Shall we try again?” he murmured, still with that smile which was so impossible to deny. “Nikki, I am visually jaded, and so bored that I can hardly remember why I first started buying art, but you have an exciting quality in your work that is as unpredictable as you are. Explore your world of potential. Challenge yourself like a new bird, and let me watch the first flight.”

  “Flattery,” she muttered, a shaky defence against the inexorable tug in his chocolate-rich eyes. At that moment she looked very vulnerable and uncertain, and completely unaware of how trustingly her chin rested in the hollow of his curled fingers.

  “Shall I try blackmail and bribery as well?” said Harper, his smile turning into a distinctly wicked grin. “Your Peter won’t get his account without it. And if you do agree, I’ll sit for you, if you like. But you must give me first option to buy the portrait.”

  “You’d be very good in the nude,” she murmured without thinking, and immediately her blue gaze turned stricken and she blushed a very deep red.

  “Thank you,” he purred as he let his fingers slide an inch along her jawline. “I’m so glad you think so. But that might call for even more—intense negotiation.”

  “I—I didn’t mean to suggest—” she stammered, appalled at the level of embarrassment she felt, at the crackle of electric sensation that shot from his warm hand down the length of her throat. “That—that is, I wouldn’t presume—”

  He laughed gently, and before she could pull away bent to place a swift kiss beside her mouth, then let her go. Nikki didn’t even have time to react. “I know what you did. You were judging me with the eyes of an artist. It was a compliment. So, we’re settled, then—one picture for me, one portrait for you, and one account for Peter. Now everybody’s happy.”

  “What?” she murmured, bemused by the speed with which he seemed to have tied her into the agreement.

  Had she agreed? She must have, or at least he thought she had, but what exactly had she said? Thus ran her confused thinking, and the eminently skilled negotiator in front of her well knew it. He didn’t give her a chance to recover, but went on smoothly, “It leads me to one other point: you do realise that your present situation won’t do?”

  “What?” she said again, blankly. “What present situation?”

  Harper’s eyebrows rose, and he looked rather surprised at her obtuseness. “Why, the state of your hands, of course. A two-week delay on the marketing material I need is not acceptable, but I think I have a solution. You would need to do research on all the different aspects of my business before you can come up with some ideas of your own. You can be doing that while you convalesce, but do you honestly think those cuts will heal properly without giving them the rest they need? Gordon did warn you to keep as inactive as possible, but that’s not going to happen while you stay on your own. Tell me, who did your hair and make-up today?”

  Nikki almost told him. She hesitated, mouth open, but said nothing as her obstinate gaze wavered and fell. Harper’s mouth compressed slightly as if he struggled to keep back a smile, and he went on briskly, “Well, there you have it. You can’t even wash your own hair properly without breaking your cuts open, let alone cook yourself decent meals. You’ll just have to come home with me.”

  By that time, Nikki reflected in the tiny corner of her reeling brain that was still capable of reflection, she was beginning to sound like a parrot as she practically shrieked, “What? But you can’t be serious—I couldn’t possibly—”

  “I am serious, and you can possibly. In fact you will,” he stated, in the most reasonable tone of voice while wearing a most determined expression. Coupled with his forceful features, it had all the effect of a bulldozer. “It’s an excellent idea. I’ll take you to my house in Oxfordshire. There’s loads of room and the gardens are lovely. You’ll enjoy it, and, what’s more important, you’ll be on hand to study everything of the business you need, and I can answer any questions you might have. That should cut down the delay as much as possible.”

  “Oxfordshire?” she gabbled, so tied up in knots that she could barely peek out of herself, let alone make any sense. “I thought you lived in London?”

  “No, I stay the week in London, for business reasons, and the weekends in Oxford.” Harper did let himself smile then, at the hectic flush along her high cheekbones and the palpable distress she tried so hard to disguise. “Things can get noisy in Oxford. You see, I have a six-year-old nephew in permanent residence, house staff tripping over themselves for something to do, and a mother who is a consistent Sunday visitor, aside from any possible weekend guests.”

  “Oh, a mother,” said Nikki ridiculously. She was behaving like such a fool; for God’s sake, why couldn’t she pull herself together?

  He gave her a very strange look. “Gordon comes out now and then, as well. So, you see, you wouldn’t lack for company; the staff can spoil you rotten, and your hands will heal much better. Oh, and if you’re worried about any lack of privacy with all that lot, don’t. There’s a spare room over the garage, quite big, complete with hotplate and bathroom, if you need to get away from everyone. What more could you want?”

  He was rushing her. Suddenly Nikki saw something else. For all his implication for an on-the-spot inspiration, he did not act as if he were surprised at his own proposal. He had come into Peter’s office with every intention of making the offer.

  The awareness calmed her obscurely. She replied steadily, “I could ask you why. Why make such an offer to someone you didn’t even know existed yesterday?”

  The blue eyes studied him, troubled, so terribly wary, instinctively tending towards disbelief and cynicism, like a stray pup that was more used to a kick and a curse rather than a gentle touch and a kind word. If he said anything even remotely altruistic, she would brand him a liar, and nothing would convince her to change her mind.

  A shadow like sadness flickered over the hard planes and angles of Harper’s face before his expression hardened into a ruthless, predatory glitter, and, like a bloodthirsty child who saw villains where before she had only been suspicious, Nikki shrank back with an inaudible gasp. He—the epitome of the British gentleman, drawling, reserved, urbane, so sophisticated in dress and manner—suddenly seemed barely human. She looked at him and remembered the violence of his hold on her when she had run into him last night, and remembered, too, how she had compared him to a wolf.

  “Let’s just say I protect my investments,” he said low in his throat, like a growl.

  Peter was no help whatsoever. Although he was only behaving in a predictable manner as they sat in his office after Harper had left, Nikki chose to see his attitude as a personal betrayal, for it gave her a chance to vent a confused spate of bitter feeling. She curled up in the chair in front of his desk, wincing as her wounded palms throbbed.

  “You just have to go; you have to,” Peter said emphatically. “He made it clear that it’s the one way we can keep his account, and in fact I’m only grateful he’s willing to wait for your hands to heal—for a little while there I wa
s afraid we’d lost him.”

  “I look to you for some moral support, and this is what I get!” she grumbled, grudgingly accepting the glass of Perrier he poured for her.

  “No,” contradicted Peter drily, “you’re looking to me to echo all your doubts and fears about this invitation from Harper Beaumont. Well, I won’t! It’s the most reasonable suggestion he could have made so you can start on the work as soon as possible. I confess, I envy you like mad. I’d give my eye-teeth for an invitation from him—most people would, and all you can do is complain about it! Honestly, I don’t know what you’re so worked up about. Aside from the sound business sense, it was a very considerate offer. Besides, even if you’re intimidated by him, didn’t he say he was hardly ever home?”

  “Yes,” she muttered reluctantly, feeling even more disgruntled than ever. She needed to set up all those doubts and fears: they were barriers against Harper and his invitation, for the man set off such a riotous confusion in her head that she didn’t know which way to turn. Her alarm bells were clanging deafeningly, setting off every instinct to dive for the nearest cover. But just as strong an impulse in the other direction was the urge to take him up on his offer, just for any chance she could get to satisfy this compulsive fascination he held for her.

  For the last ten years of her life Nikki had been content enough to label men as very odd creatures indeed, a Pandora’s box she had no intention of ever opening. Young men her own age were insipid by comparison to the level of sophistication she had grown up with.

  Her father had embodied the same powerful charisma that Harper had, and anyone who lived within the magic golden circle of his influence resided in Camelot until he had died and the enchanted air she had inhabited for the first twelve years of her life disintegrated.

  Her mother had grown addicted to powerful men and soon remarried, and her stepfather, too, had something of the magnetic touch, but something in Nikki rebelled at being sucked into the vortex of another person’s life. Her independence meant too much to her; she worked too hard to maintain it, and gained too much pleasure out of carving her livelihood for herself.

  What Harper awakened in her, she realised suddenly, was a deep distrust of herself. For every decent characteristic he showed, for every human foible, every rare gentleness, every apology, she gravitated towards him, understanding, sympathising, feeling a deep affinity for the part of himself he held in reserve from the rest of the world.

  But then a glimpse of his hard ruthlessness appeared, an iron hand in a velvet glove, and Nikki kicked up her heels to run away in a panic. But nothing happened. He didn’t threaten her; she cried wolf and the wolf wasn’t there.

  So which of her reactions should she operate on? Neither seemed appropriate, but she couldn’t let go of them both, even if Harper said he wouldn’t be at his Oxford home except for the weekends. For instance, just what was she supposed to feel now—disappointed at the prospect of his long absences, or relieved? And why couldn’t she shake off the imperative hold his invitation had on her?

  Part of her was angry as well, at how he had manoeuvred her into this extremely uncomfortable position. She was caught between a rock and a hard place; if she rejected his offer, then he would withdraw his account from Peter’s business, and she would have to contend with the inevitable strain that put on Peter’s and her relationship, especially as she couldn’t seem to offer any sound reason for the rejection. But if she accepted—well, that meant she would have to contend with Harper and all his disturbing nuances, even down to the inexplicable kiss that had taken place right in this very office.

  “So have you decided what you’re going to do?” asked Peter anxiously, watching her expressive, pointed face as her silence stretched for too long.

  “I don’t have to decide until noon tomorrow,” muttered Nikki as she shook her dark head in disgust. “That’s when he’s dropping by on his way out to Oxford, to see if I’ve made up my mind.”

  That was not the strict truth. Harper had said, just before stalking out of the door, that he was on his way out to Oxford tomorrow and would pick her up at noon, so be packed and ready. But the bristling, independent side to Nikki’s personality absolutely refused to acknowledge it as an order. At best he had simply assumed she would come, which was quite arrogant enough, and if she decided she wouldn’t go she just wouldn’t answer her front door.

  How rude of her. She couldn’t contemplate doing that, not while looking into Peter’s hopeful gaze. Oh, dear, why did Harper have to put her in such a quandary?

  Peter was saying, “If you do decide to go, you will give me a ring and let me know where I can contact you?”

  “Of course,” she said.

  “That’s it, then. What a wonderful coup we’ve managed today; I just know you’ll do the right thing.”

  She sighed heavily. “Look, I’d better go. I’ve a million and one things to do. And I am sorry about not being able to finish the other projects.”

  “Not to worry, love,” Peter said, then added slyly, “If you managed to procure Harper’s account, it more than makes up for everything.”

  Unfair, unfair, she said, but silently and without heat, for she wasn’t sure whether she meant Harper, Peter or herself.

  The day had worn on for too long; by the time she made her way home the Friday afternoon rush-hour had started and it seemed to take forever before she was letting herself into her small flat.

  She got a Chinese take-away and ate it ravenously, for she had missed lunch. Afterwards she washed the makeup off her face and cried weary tears as soapy water slid underneath the plastic bags she’d fastened at her wrists. It soaked into the bandages, stinging her cuts as painfully as if she’d sprinkled salt on to them.

  She had to strip off the wet dressings, an awkward and even more painful business, and as she had nothing else to use she re-dressed her hands with clean strips of linen.

  The next few weeks began to seem like an endless expanse of time, made dreary by a succession of small tasks which had, as a result of her injury, become tedious and drawn-out. House staff tripping over themselves for want of things to do? she thought sourly, yanking a long T-shirt on and crawling into bed. Well. She could allow them to look after her—just for a few weeks. Just until her hands were better. And she’d be doing Peter a favour.

  She could handle Harper, if she had to. Hadn’t she done so today? If he had manipulated her, she had done just as much to him, and could count it a triumph that she could procure on her own, albeit on Harper’s terms, such a valuable account for Peter’s company. Not only that, but she had negotiated for his portrait as well. They had each given in a little to get what they wanted.

  Besides, she wanted to know if Harper could be trusted—that quiet, wise man with the gentle hands who guarded himself behind those hard, watchful eyes. She wanted to find out if there was any decent substance behind the arrogance of the man who was bred to power. That was the simplest, deepest truth.

  The night’s rest did her good. Nikki was packed, and her suitcase waiting by the door when she went to the local tea shop for a leisurely breakfast of croissants with butter and strawberry jam, reading a weekend paper over several cups of coffee. Then she nipped into the nearest chemist for some cotton pads and gauze, and the pharmacist on duty was perfectly willing to help her clean and dress her wounds properly. She spent more time talking with the pharmacist than she had really meant to, so when she finally strolled back to her flat it was almost eleven-thirty.

  Though the English weather in May was still gusty and had not settled into a summertime pattern, her neighbourhood was in glorious bloom with daffodils, blossoming cherry trees and the first of the year’s rosebuds.

  Nikki was so busy admiring the lovingly tended, tiny city gardens that she almost didn’t notice the black Jaguar parked at the end of the little mews, and she certainly didn’t register the implications until she saw the tall grey-hai
red man who strolled towards her.

  Stupid surprise rattled crazily through her as she looked up into Harper’s quiet, smiling gaze—stupid because she had known he would be along any time now, surprise because he was dressed so casually in jeans and a Shetland sweater. He seemed like another person altogether. This was an entirely more comfortable, approachable man, outside of the environment she had mentally placed him in and yet in his element.

  “Oh, hello,” she said as she stared at him. “I didn’t expect you so soon.”

  The truth was, she didn’t expect this at all, and her image of him took a tiny, irrevocable shift. He reached for the plastic bag she carried that was full of her various purchases from the morning and she relinquished it automatically, as he said, “I thought I’d drop by a little early to see if you needed help with anything like taking out your rubbish.”

  A smile broke over her face. “Thank you,” she replied. “I was about to take out all the perishables from my refrigerator and do just that. I’m all packed, though.”

  Harper shortened his long, characteristically impatient stride and fell into step beside her, so tall in comparison with her slight figure, so lean yet muscled with an innate athletic power which gave his broad shoulders an aggressive depth. “Good,” he said deeply, sounding amused. “I’d half expected you to back out.”

  “I was half inclined to do so,” she confessed, fitting her key with some effort into the door. He reached out and forestalled her by putting his hands over hers and holding her still, so that her blue gaze flew to his in sharp, slightly anxious enquiry.

  “Nikki, have I ever given you reason to be afraid of me?” he asked, but in such a way that all possible threat was taken out of the question.