by Margaret Way
“You cook?” One brow lifted.
“Why look so surprised?” Her gaze was challenging.
He gave a near-Gallic shrug. “Well...”
“I know. You thought I’d be useless in the kitchen. Well, I have to tell you I’m a good cook. I devour cookbooks. I love cooking programmes. I love that French guy. I make a wicked chocolate-truffle tart. I used to do most of the cooking at the flat. My girlfriends were happy to leave it to me. Jeff used to love my cheesecake. My mother never touched sweets—the figure, you know? Needless to say, she never cooked. They dine out just about every night. Roxanne is actually anorexic, which is worrying. She pushes food round and round her plate. It’s something to see.”
“It would be,” he agreed, glad she had concerns about her mother’s health no matter their difficult relationship. “How do you get on with your stepfather?” He made a searching assessment of her expression.
Her eyes shot to his face. “Oh, hey, I don’t talk about Jeff, Damon. Not even with you.”
His handsome features tautened. “He never laid a finger on you? I saw the two of you together at the house, remember?”
“Is that why you charged over?” She let out a gasp. “You thought I was frightened?”
“Not frightened—you were surrounded by people—but he had his arms wrapped right around you. You’re small.”
Carol sat back. “Gosh, I’m glad you didn’t say short. You gave Jeff quite a fright.”
“I meant to.” His disapproval of Jeff Emmett was evident. “Now here comes the waiter. I just hope the macaroons are as good as yours.”
Carol laughed in delight. He had thought she was scared. His reaction had been immediate. “Maybe you should tell the chef he has plenty of competition out here.”
* * *
They walked companionably to the entrance of her apartment building. Damon intended to see her right to her door. One of the wealthiest women in the city had been the recent focus of attention for a male stalker who had turned out to be an ex-groundsman at her country retreat. He had even been admitted to her building dressed as a maintenance man.
“You don’t have to come up, Damon,” she said
“I will, all the same.” No one was loitering in the street. No one was watching from a parked car. He hated the fact that she was now a target as the Chancellor heiress. It wouldn’t be possible to miss her, with her ruby-red hair, porcelain skin and the graceful ballerina’s body. She had told him she had studied ballet from age six to sixteen.
“Somewhere for my mother to dump me. It just so happened I loved it. How did I get in this position, Damon?” she asked.
He took her elbow. “Your grandfather obviously thought you could handle it.”
“With a lot of help.”
“You’ve got it, Carol.” Damon pressed the buttons for both lifts.
“But—”
“No buts. I’ll see you to your door.”
After a moment one lift door opened, but as they went to step in a tall, gangly young man around nineteen or twenty—jeans, blue T-shirt, shock of blond hair—charged from the back of the lift, mobile glued to his ear. He looked angry and upset, red in the face.
“Watch it!” Carol gasped. He had headed right for her, preoccupied, fair head down.
“Sorry, babe, an emergency.” He glanced up. He had taken the short cut between Carol and Damon, not intending to but clipping Carol’s arm and shoulder rather hard. She staggered on her high heels and Damon caught her, slipping a strong arm around her waist. She gave a convulsive swallow, her whole body suddenly pulsing with sensation. It was an extraordinary feeling to be held close to his body—no day dreaming, the real thing—her body pressed against his. She could only stand perfectly still taking little in and out breaths through her open mouth. Her flesh seemed to be burning through the silk satin of her dress. Her legs had lost so much of their strength she felt she just might slide to her knees. Only he held her. How crazy to think it, but she had a feeling she had come home! She wanted to stay there forever.
The sheer folly of it!
Damon also had a good grip on the tearaway. “Are you going to apologize for that?” he rasped.
“What the hell? You’re holding me up, man. Don’t start, right?” The young man took a good look at Damon, then decided on the spot to ditch all bravado. The demand eased off into a plea.
“I’ll do more than that.” Damon released Carol so he could get a better grip on the agitated young man.
“Look, I’m sorry, man. I didn’t hurt her.”
“I need you to say that to her. What’s your name?”
The young man gave Carol a look that suddenly sparked with interest. He made a whistling sound. “Ooh, call me pretty! You’re our very own little heiress. Aren’t you—you know?—Carol Chancellor?”
“Apparently.” With her own age groups, Carol was immensely sure of herself.
But Damon felt a rush of anger. “What are you doing here? Fill me in. I’m ready enough to call the police.”
The young man tore his eyes away from Carol. “You’ve gotta be jokin’ man?”
“Try me.” Damon snapped.
“Look, my dad and his girlfriend live here, okay? Understand that upsets me. He’s Steve Prescott. You know, the developer? He makes tons of money. I can give you some, if you like. I’m Gary.”
“Don’t much like your manners, Gary.”
Suddenly Carol recognized the young man. “It’s all right, Damon. I’ve seen Gary before. His father has one of the penthouses.”
Gary’s expression brightened. He offered his hand to Carol. “Pleased to meet you.”
Carol consented to having her hand shaken. “How do you do?”
“You’re even prettier than your photographs.”
“How nice of you to say that.”
“No problem.” He turned to Damon. “Now you know who I am, can I go? I have to check in at home. I had to deliver a parcel from Mum to dear old Dad. I hope it blows up in his face.”
No good feelings there, Carol thought.
“Take it slow, Gary,” Damon advised. “You can get into trouble making statements like that.”
“So he hurts Mum and he doesn’t get hurt, is that it?”
Carol spoke up. She knew all about dysfunctional families. “Give it time, Gary. I guarantee your parents’ separation won’t last long.”
Gary looked down at her in amazement. “You reckon?”
Carol had seen the girlfriend at least a dozen times: an airhead and a gold-digger. “That’s my opinion. Trust a woman’s instinct.”
“You don’t have to sell that to me,” Gary said fervently. “Mum was the first, not the last, to know Dad had started playing around. Look, how about we have coffee sometime?” he suggested. “Get better acquainted. I’m surprised I haven’t run into you before now.”
“Literally.”
“Ouch! I’ve moved back in with Mum. We’re in the book.” He named an exclusive street and a suburb.
“I’ll think about it,” Carol said.
“Great! I’d really like that. Can I go now, boss?” He shot a look at the tall, looming Damon.
“This time you walk away,” Damon only half joked.
At her door Damon asked, “Want me to look around? It will only take a minute.”
She stared up at him, suddenly all breathlessness. “You know I’m safe, Damon.”
Yet it seemed to him she had lost a little colour. He shouldn’t have done it, but he couldn’t help himself. You could call him a victim of her beautiful blue eyes. Just looking into them was like diving into a crystal-clear lagoon. He drew a finger a little way down her satin-smooth cheek. “I’m here. Might as well.” Unnerved by his own susceptibility. he made his tone brisk. Briskness wasn’t easy to project when he felt anything but.
“O—kay.” The word was slowed by the flickers of excitement that raced through Carol at the rate of knots. She could heat the pulse of her heart. All because he had very lightl
y stroked her skin. This was insane. She felt shame. She didn’t want him to see her excitement. She hated the very thought of making a fool of herself. She’d die if she embarrassed him. She had so much poise, so much self-confidence with the boys she knew. Damon was something else again. She was so aware of him, it was right to feel fear.
She stood motionless in the living room while Damon made a quick check. He even checked over the rear balcony.
“All clear. You feel safe here, don’t you, Carol?” His dark eyes found hers.
She could have said, I feel safe with you around, instead she said, “Safe as a girl can be. We’ve all been a bit unnerved by Anne Nesbitt’s stalker getting into her very secure apartment building.”
Damon nodded. “Well, he’s been caught.” A slight pause. “Don’t have coffee with the Prescott boy. Don’t encourage him.” He said it as though the thought worried him.
“What’s this, Damon?” She was glad of the opportunity to offer a light taunt. “You’re telling me what I can and can’t do?”
“No, never that. But whatever you do, just be careful. There will be plenty out to exploit any weakness they could find in you. You know that.” She was an extremely bright and capable, but so young. “I don’t want you to get into the middle of the Prescott family’s split-up. I happen to know it’s been messy. Why did you tell Gary his father’s straying might be short-lived?”
Carol shrugged. “Just a gut feeling. I’ve seen Steven Prescott’s girlfriend. Queen of the sexpots, probably wondrously brainless. Might take him a while, but I’ve been told he’s nobody’s fool.”
“Middle-age crisis,” Damon said. “Men don’t like to feel they’re getting old, older, whatever.”
“Would you cheat on your wife, Damon?”
He gave her a long look, before answering slowly. “I need to get myself a wife first, Carol. But I like to think I’m a man who would honour his wife and his vows.”
“And you haven’t found the right woman?” My God, what rapture for the right woman.
Was it her imagination or was there an odd stillness in the air? “Would you like to know I’ve found a possibility?” His dark gaze was quite unreadable.
“Not Amber Coleman, I hope?” That escaped her.
“Now now, Carol.” There was a sardonic glint in his brilliant eyes.
She bit her bottom lip. “Sorry. I should have backed off.”
“Amber and I are friends. Anyway, I’m in no rush to get married.”
“She is.” God, her tongue really was running away from her.
He walked to the door, an absolutely beautiful man. “I must go. I really enjoyed this evening, Carol. I hope you did, too.”
She followed him up, feeling doll-like in the presence of his height. “You know I did. Thank you so much, Damon.”
“It was my pleasure.” He dipped his dark head and very quickly kissed her cheek. “Good night now. I’ll ring you when I’ve gone through all your grandfather’s papers. He’s laid everything out on the line for you. Lew Hoffman wants to meet with you—your grandfather trusted him implicitly. He’s the new chairman and CEO, as you know. Lew’s a good man, very highly regarded. When you turn twenty-one you should take your place on the various boards. Marion Ellory is looking after the arts foundation. You will have to meet with her—no hurry. She knows what she’s about.”
“I have so much to learn.”
“Happily, you’ve got a first-class brain. You’re well informed and you have good instincts. That’s a lot, I’d say.”
Just a compliment, but it made her heart sing. “I want the Chancellor fortune used, Damon. I want to change people’s lives. I would like to add to my grandfather’s charitable foundations.”
He noted the seriousness of her expression. “I see no problem with that. You really do want to be part of it, don’t you?”
“I’m certainly not going to sit back and lead a useless life,” she told him. “My grandfather obviously expected me to shoulder responsibility. My father would have stepped into my grandfather’s shoes. Now, there’s only me. I must be like my father because I’m not in the least like my mother. She lives for the social world, the right functions, the right parties.”
He gave a slight grimace. “You’ll have to give the right parties along the way, Carol. You won’t be able to avoid it or live a normal life. You’re young, beautiful, clever, very rich. Formidable assets. Some people would say you’ve got it all.”
“Not me,” Carol said and meant it. “I’d like to lead a normal life. Then there’s the sad fact too much money does bad things to people and their lives. You know all about my family. Their dark side. How they treated me. God knows what they have in store for me. Troy has left messages for me. I don’t answer.”
“What exactly is he up to?” Damon heard himself asking too sharply.
“He knows. I don’t. I might not have acted that way but I was shocked when he tried to come on to me. He’s my cousin, for pity’s sake.”
“If he bothers you, you know where I am.”
“I think I can handle it, Damon. You’re doing enough already. I intend to keep my feet firmly on the ground. You have to trust me. I trust you. The giving and taking of it is important to me.”
His eyes involuntarily moved to her lovely mouth. He couldn’t look too long. His gaze shifted. “To me, too. That’s what I wanted to hear, Carol. Sleep tight. I’ll be in touch. If you have concerns about anything—any doubts, any fears—ring me. It doesn’t matter what time.”
“What if it’s inconvenient?” she asked and gave a little laugh. She was loath to think of him in bed with some beautiful girl.
“Then, too,” he said.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE RUN UP to Christmas was hectic. She had long talks with all of her key people, almost family style, with everyone gathered around a conference table and coffee, sandwiches and Danish pastries were brought to them. Just as she had studied hard to get good results with her end-of-year exams, she now turned her attention to finding out as much as she could about The Chancellor Group and the several foundations her grandfather had caused to be set up. Her grandfather had been bred to big business. Her father and Uncle Maurice, as well. She had not. She did, however, have a good business brain, even better than she had supposed. Enough to impress her mentors, anyway. She really wanted to be effective. She had been given duties, big responsibilities, even if she had to remind herself of that from time to time when she was force-feeding herself a wealth of information that threatened to choke her.
Her task was huge, but it was a great comfort to her to know she had a powerhouse of support.
To take a little pressure off her and offer some benefits, Damon suggested she might like to visit the gym where he worked out. The owner, an ex-heavyweight boxer, Bill Keegan, was a friend. He would look after her.
“He’s a great guy.”
“I’ve heard of him,” Carol said. Jeff had been a big boxing fan. “You can’t be expecting me to lay into him?” she joked.
Damon’s answer was serious and to the point. “I believe every woman should be taught basic rules of self-defence, Carol.” It was a dangerous world out there. He didn’t stress that. But Carol, in her current position with so much media attention, could find herself a target for some loose cannon or someone seeking to snatch her bag. All right, she had security. He had seen to that. But he knew she found a bodyguard irksome. She was naturally adventurous. She could take risks. She had already, he had been advised, which was not unexpected. She didn’t need to know how to throw punches. But naturally light on her feet, she could learn how to score points, allow herself enough time for flight.
At first Carol didn’t know what to make of Damon’s suggestion. She didn’t think she would have much chance against just about any male. Men used their physical superiority to threaten and terrorise. Her friend Tracey had had plenty of experience of that. Tarik thankfully was out of the picture. A bit of a surprise there; Trace could be sadly wea
k.
Damon had taken her along to meet his friend, Bill Keegan, who had greeted her with a big smile.
“Don’t you laugh at me,” she said as he took in her size and weight, his bushy eyebrows raised.
“Would I dare?” He threw up huge hands. “Look, Ms Chancellor—”
“Carol, please.”
“I can help you, Carol,” he replied. “I can even show you how to throw a man. It’s not as hard as it sounds. Damon here is my friend. He’s a damned good boxer. No one as yet has managed to break his nose. I can show you easy moves at first. Then, if you stay focused, we can move on. You’re small, but you can still be an effective opponent. More women should come to me, then they wouldn’t be so vulnerable.”
His expression lightened. “Had a little lady come to me not so long back! Her husband used to pound her when he felt like it. Eventually she decided she had to learn to fight back. They’ve since split up, I’m happy to say. That was after she managed to inflict certain damage, all swingin’ elbows and fists and a good solid knee.” He laughed, well pleased.
In the end, she stayed well over an hour, talking to Bill, who had a fund of funny stories, while observing Damon going through his paces out of the corner of her eye. Stripped to a navy singlet and navy boxing shorts, he looked jaw-droppingly virile, his bronze skin gilded with sweat from the heat of his workout.
After that, she found herself looking forward to her twice-a-week sessions, fitting her timetable to Damon’s. Damon and Bill were right. She did feel more confident about handling herself, should she ever come under attack. She knew the communal car park in the basement of her building was as secure as could be, with lots of light and security cameras. But there were blind spots. She always cast her eye over the car park as she entered it, checking who was about. Car parks weren’t the best places.
Gary Prescott had left some twenty-odd notes in her mail box. They all asked the same thing: Would she have coffee with him? The first note assured her he was harmless. Note ten informed her his father’s girlfriend had moved out. Carol had thought she might have. She hadn’t seen her around and Prescott’s girlfriend had been hard to miss. Gary went on to tell her his father hadn’t returned home but he was hopeful his parents could work it out. His dad wasn’t really a bad guy. Married guys got into trouble all the time.
