Beaumont Brides Collection (Wild Justice, Wild Lady, Wild Fire)

by Liz Fielding

  ‘How is your brother?’ she asked, so sweetly that she could have been trickled out of a spoon.

  ‘You haven’t seen him since the party?’ She didn’t bother to dignify that with an answer. ‘It was Tom who suggested I should employ you on a regular basis, you know. You made quite an impression on him.’

  ‘It wasn’t me. It was the hangover cure I gave him.’ She moved towards the hi-fi.

  ‘Don’t turn it off.’

  ‘It disturbed you.’

  ‘No, Melanie. You disturbed me.’ Rather more than she realized, although why, he couldn’t have said.

  If she had gone out of her way to look unattractive she couldn’t have made a better job of it. Even the possibility of a decent figure was muffled by the awful uniform she wore. Only her eyes danced and shimmered, promising more. Much more.

  And she had the kind of mouth that could give a man seriously sinful ideas.

  But since she didn’t use so much as a trace of lipstick that clearly wasn’t her intent. Which begged the question - if he reacted like that when she wasn’t trying...

  He stopped. Some questions were better left unasked. Some answers a man was better off not knowing.

  ‘Rustle me up some breakfast and I’ll forgive you,’ he said, briskly, turning away.

  ‘Breakfast? It’s two o’clock in the afternoon.’

  ‘For you, maybe. I’ve flown to Chicago and back in the last twenty-four hours and it plays hell with the body clock.’

  ‘And I woke you. I’m really sorry.’ Sorry that she hadn’t got stuck in with the vacuum cleaner the minute she arrived and made a class job of it. ‘Shall I bring it up on a tray?’

  The temptation to say yes, for her insolence, and then to tumble her down on the bed, remove that ghastly uniform and discover for himself what had so excited Tom, flickered at the back of his mind. There was something secret about her that seemed to challenge him and the idea of Miss Melanie Devlin on a tray was suddenly very tempting.

  But he had learned not to complicate his life and an affair with a valued employee was a recipe for disaster. It was bound to end in tears and a parting of the ways. A good secretary, or a good cleaner, was worth a lot more than fleeting sexual satisfaction.

  Caro might not be a warm human being, but the ground rules of their relationship were clearly laid out. It couldn’t last forever, eventually all women needed more than he was able to give them. He had learned that with pain and heartache and bitter regret.

  For the time being, however, the relationship suited him, suited her and he wasn’t about to make a fool of himself over a pair of lips that promised the earth. The earth was something he’d made a conscious decision to do without.

  Yet as he glanced down at Mel, purely to remind himself of the unflattering black trousers flapping around her legs, the revolting sweatshirt that could have been designed specifically to keep lustful clients at bay, he was swept by a hollow ache for something forever lost.

  Then he realized she was still waiting for an answer. ‘No, don’t bother. I’m awake now. I’ll take a shower and be down by the time it’s ready.’

  As Melanie bent to gather up the newspaper she had dropped, the headline that had first caught her attention seemed leapt out at her.

  WOLFE SLAUGHTERS ANOTHER CORPORATE LAMB.

  It was a crass headline, but she sympathised with whoever had been on the receiving end of Jack Wolfe’s mauling. Whenever she encountered him she ended up feeling rather like a neat little row of frilled lamb cutlets herself.

  “Tested his bedsprings” indeed. Maybe she should complain to Mrs Graham about sexual harassment. She pulled at face as she picked up the kettle and took it to the sink.

  Fat chance of any help from that quarter. Janet Graham, she had quickly realized, would do anything to keep Jack Wolfe happy. Complaints about him wouldn’t be tolerated. In fact, Mel had the feeling that Mrs Graham would happily leap at the chance of getting rid of her if she could do it without offending her most favoured client.

  Well, she wasn’t in the business of making Mrs Graham happy.

  She smiled as she turned off the tap and plugged in the kettle. On the contrary. If things went according to plan, she was shortly going to make Mrs Graham very angry indeed. She could hardly wait.

  She was still smiling when she took a packet of bacon from the fridge and using a small knife stuck the point into the plastic and began to slit it open.

  ‘There isn’t any soap.’

  As she swung around the knife slipped and jabbed into the base of the thumb and she let out one single, but telling expletive. ‘Did you have to creep up on me like that?’ she demanded.

  He regarded her thoughtfully. ‘You should take something for your nerves, Mel.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with my nerves. It’s just-’ She stopped before she said something stupid.

  ‘It’s just what?’

  You. It’s just you. Can’t you see that? Apparently he couldn’t because when she didn’t answer he simply shrugged.

  ‘Try taking some vitamin B. Here, let me look at that.’

  ‘There’s no need,’ she said, through gritted teeth, backing away. But the counter top dug into her back and she had no escape as he took her hand, steering her across to a bank of drawers where the first aid box was kept.

  Vitamin B? It would take a heck of a lot more than vitamin B to calm the butterflies stampeding across her abdomen, Melanie thought. It would take, at the very least, a long contemplative trek across the foothills of the Himalayas. Years and years of navel gazing at the feet of some guru. Or at the very least on some deserted beach.

  It was what she should have done instead of listening to Richard. Maybe it wasn’t too late. The minute she got out of here she’d go straight to the travel agent and put ten thousand miles between them. It would be a whole lot safer than a single layer of black silk that wasn’t tied with any particular determination about his naked body.

  Except that she had already embarked on another plan, one that couldn’t be abandoned just because she was having a little trouble keeping her hormones in check.

  ‘I can manage,’ she said, tugging at her hand. ‘It’s nothing. Really.’

  ‘Be still,’ he said, dabbing the small nick with an antiseptic wipe. You can’t be too careful.’ You could, if careful meant being touched by Jack Wolfe. ‘Here, help me open this.’

  He held the individually wrapped band aid in his free hand. To do what he wanted, she would have to brace her hand against his. They were standing very close and, as the sharp antiseptic smell faded, she was aware of the scent of his skin.

  That special warm-from-bed scent shared by lovers. Intimate, arousing. Probably.

  From somewhere, deep inside she heard her hormones groan.

  Her eyes were level with his throat and Melanie discovered that she did not need to touch him to know just how it would feel to rub her face against the dark shadow of his beard.

  It was as if her body was in some way sensitized to his. She simply had to look at his throat and she could anticipate the texture of his skin, the rasp of the stubble, exactly how his hair would feel as the tips of her fingers slid through it. And it was a two way connection.

  She knew exactly how his fingers would feel against her face, her shoulders, her breasts. They puckered invitingly beneath the thick, muffling cloth of her sweatshirt as if his touch were real and not just inside her head. She wanted that touch so much that it hurt.

  As if he sensed her quickening, the way the air seemed to stir, thickly, around them, Jack turned his head to look down into her face. For a moment nothing happened and then, it appeared to Melanie, the cold steel of his eyes seemed to soften, melt to quicksilver. And she decided there was nothing wrong with her nerves. Only with her muscles. They seemed to be dissolving, very slowly.

  ‘For God’s sake take it,’ Jack grated. Oh, yes, he felt it too! She heard the reluctant sexual bite in his voice. She might be in imminent danger of los
ing her senses, but she was not alone. ‘Melanie!’

  She quickly caught the corner of the wrapper and ripped it down, dropping the paper and tugging the band aid free. Minimal contact. But the damage had already been done.

  The dull ache that had invaded her abdomen might be strange and new, but she didn’t need telling that there was only one man who could ease it. Or what it would take.

  ‘I can manage,’ she protested.

  He didn’t bother to argue with her. He momentarily released her hand and taking the dressing from her, peeled back the protective stickers. A tiny crimson spot of blood had oozed from the wound and for a moment he seemed transfixed by it. Then he wiped it away with the pad of his thumb before bending to touch the spot with his lips, kissing it better before sticking the dressing down, as if to seal forever the spot where his mouth had touched her.

  ‘There,’ he said. ‘All better.’ As if she was a child. But as he straightened she realized that he wasn’t smiling at all, but was suddenly very still and that if she didn’t move, say something to stop him, he would kiss her mouth. In a very adult way.

  And she knew she couldn’t let that happen no matter how much she wanted it. For him it would be a quick tumble with a girl who just happened to be handy.

  He didn’t want her.

  He didn’t know her.

  ‘There’s soap...’ she said, stepping back somewhat abruptly. ‘In the cupboard in the bathroom.’ Her voice was shaking horribly. ‘I put it there on Monday.’

  ‘Soap?’ His whole body stiffened.

  ‘You were looking for soap.’

  It was a moment before he spoke. ‘Yes. So I was.’

  ‘I’ll get your breakfast.’ She made a move towards the cooker but he was still holding her hand and as she moved his grip tightened.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said, no, Melanie.’ He dropped her hand. ‘Forget it. Go home. Have the afternoon on me. I won’t tell Mrs Graham if you don’t.’

  ‘But what about...?’ She was going to argue? Was she mad? A lamb didn’t argue with a wolf. Not when the wolf was hungry. She gathered herself. ‘Yes. Of course. I’m sorry I disturbed you.’

  She was half way to the door when he said, ‘Where did the daisies come from?’

  ‘Daisies?’ Then she remembered. ‘Oh, an old gentleman I did a job for this morning picked them from his garden for me. I won’t be home until late and it seemed a shame to let them die. I hope you don’t mind giving them a home.’

  Home until late? Was she going straight out after work? Who with? He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head as if to clear it.

  ‘They won’t eat much.’

  After she had gone, Jack Wolfe walked slowly back upstairs, peeled off his dressing gown and stepped into the shower, letting the sharp needles of water pound at him. It was a long time since he’d felt the need of a cold shower and, in the event, the effect was negligible.

  *****

  ‘Fizz! I didn’t expect you so soon.’ Melanie had just been going out when the doorbell rang. ‘Have you brought it?’

  Fizz held up a thick manila envelope. ‘As requested.’

  Mel peered out in to the hall. ‘Didn’t you bring Juliet with you?’

  ‘No, I told Luke I had to come up to town for a dental check-up, so he’s babysitting. I thought it would keep him busy.’ She tilted her head to one side. ‘I got the impression that you didn’t want Luke to know about this. Or did I misunderstand you?’

  ‘You weren’t wrong. Not that I don’t want to see him, it’s just - well...’

  ‘You’re up to something you don’t want him to know about. It’s all right, Mel, I do understand.’ Fizz noticed her jacket. ‘I’ve come at a bad time, you’re just going out.’

  ‘No, I was just dashing to the shops, anytime will do.’ Just as well she hadn’t just been dashing to work, although it might have been fun to see how long it would have taken her sister to penetrate her disguise. She shrugged out of her jacket and flung it over a chair. ‘Would you like some coffee?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘Come on through to the kitchen, while I make it.’ Fizz perched on a stool while Mel filled the kettle. ‘How is everyone? Any news from Beau and Diana?’ she asked, politely.

  ‘None whatever beyond the fact that they are cruising somewhere in the Caribbean.’

  ‘And Luke?’

  ‘Ah. About Luke. I feel that I should warn you that Luke has decided that since you haven’t gone away he is going to throw a surprise party for your twenty-first.’

  ‘But he gave me one for my eighteenth, Fizz.’

  ‘A surprise party?’

  ‘No, just a fairly simple, straightforward affair, thank heavens.’ If three hundred people in Sydney’s finest hotel could be considered straightforward, or simple. ‘I hate surprise parties. It’s all right for men, but just imagine if you hadn’t had your hair done? Or your nail polish was chipped?’ She tucked her uncharacteristically short and unpolished nails out of sight.

  But Fizz was smiling sympathetically. ‘My feelings precisely. Don’t worry I’ll give you plenty of warning. Unless of course you’re planning to go away before then?’

  ‘Well do you know, Fizz, I have been giving serious consideration to a trek through the foothills of the Himalayas.’ Her sister laughed. ‘No, honestly. Then I had a long lie down in a quiet room and eventually the feeling passed.’ She turned away to get a couple of mugs from the cupboard. ‘The threat of a surprise party might be all it takes to revive my plans.’

  ‘I sympathise, honestly, but I know he misses you. Everyone misses you.’

  ‘Good heavens, it’s only been a few weeks. I would have come down to Winterbourne but I really have been busy.’

  ‘So I gather.’ She put her hand on the thick manila envelope she had laid on the breakfast bar beside her. ‘Are you going to tell me exactly what you’ve been busy at?’

  ‘Is that the information about the crèche that Luke set up in the Enterprise Park?’ Mel replied, avoiding the question.

  ‘Yes, everything you asked for. I got his secretary to copy it when Luke was out of the office. Don’t worry I didn’t tell her it was for you.’ She paused. ‘What’s all the interest?’ She gave Melanie a long look. ‘Are you thinking of booking a place?’

  ‘Booking a place?’ Fizz raised her brows a fraction and Mel blushed as she realized what her sister was suggesting. ‘Oh, for goodness sake, Fizz,’ she protested.

  ‘I just wondered.’ She gave an innocent little shrug. ‘It’s not unheard of.’ She hid a smile with difficulty. ‘You said you’ve been busy. It isn’t beyond the bounds of possibility that “busy” involved a man.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Since her last meeting with Jack Wolfe it seemed a very long way beyond.

  Fizz, sensing she’d strayed inadvertently into dangerous waters, backed off. ‘So, what’s the sudden interest in crèches?’ she asked.

  ‘My interest is purely practical. I want to know how to go about starting one.’

  ‘Starting one?’ Fizz nearly fell off her stool. ‘Where? For whom?’

  ‘Is it difficult, Fizz? Are there lots of regulations? Can we get a grant to help with the start-up costs?’

  ‘Whoa! Hold on there. One question at a time. And who is “we”?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  Fizz regarded her thoughtfully. ‘You know, maybe Luke is the best person for you to talk to about this after all. He’s had on-hands experience, knows all the snags. I’ll ask him to call in next time he’s in town, shall I?’ She picked up the envelope, made a move to leave.

  ‘Fizz Devlin don’t you dare move from that stool!’ Then, with a certain reserve. ‘I really would rather Luke didn’t know I’d asked about this.’

  ‘Oh?’ Fizz put down her coffee cup. ‘You know I’m sure I noticed a bottle of wine in your fridge. Shall we open it and you can tell me just what it is you’re up to, little sister?’

&
nbsp; ‘Up to?’ Mel flushed.

  ‘Mmmm. Up to. As in...’ - Fizz slid of the stool and headed for the fridge, turning as she opened the door - ‘...up to.’ She took the bottle of wine from the fridge and set about opening it. ‘No rush. In your own time. Or, of course,’ she went on, idly, ‘as I said, Luke would be happy to drop by...’

  ‘Fizz!’ Mel begged. ‘You wouldn’t! Please!’

  ‘Glasses?’ Mel opened a cupboard and took out two wine glasses. ‘Do you have any cheese? I suddenly feel quite peckish.’ And Fizz settled herself back on the kitchen stool and waited.

  Mel took some cheese from the fridge, fetched the biscuit tin and then took a deep breath before turning round to face her sister. ‘I’ve got a job, Fizz.’

  ‘Really? I thought you’d turned down the sitcom?’

  ‘What sitcom?’ Melanie enquired softly and it was Fizz’s turn to colour.

  ‘Oh, dear. That was careless of me.’

  ‘Very.’

  ‘Well, you know Luke. He likes to keep his finger on the pulse.’

  ‘I know.’ And heaven help her if he found out what she was doing. But it was vital that he didn’t interfere now, not when she had come up with this marvellous plan. ‘I don’t want him to know a thing about this, Fizz. It’s important to me. It’s not anything to do with the theatre, you see. It’s just an ordinary job.’

  Fizz looked doubtful. ‘Luke said you were thinking of doing something ordinary -’

  ‘Yes, well I’m doing it. I’m working as a cleaner if you must know.’ Fizz opened her mouth to say something, thought better of it and closed it again. ‘Oh, for goodness sake stop looking at me like that and pour out the wine. I’ll tell all.’

  And she did.

  At least a slightly abridged version of her job that somehow entirely omitted to mention Jack Wolfe. Just in case Fizz had heard the name, she reasoned. After all, Luke was something of a City heavy-weight himself. He would certainly know of him, have seen those awful headlines.