CHAPTER ONE

by The Devil's Kiss (html)

  Warren's laughter cut into her thoughts. 'I can see the idea appeals to you. Graham had better watch out or you'll put him out of business.'

  Miranda smiled rather wistfully. 'It's a nice idea, but impossible, I'm afraid.'

  'Why? Nothing's impossible if you want it badly enough.'

  She gave him an odd look. 'That's your philos¬ophy, is it?'

  'Yes, I suppose it is. If I want something I go for it.'

  'And do you always get what you want?' she asked a little stiffly.

  'Usually, but there are exceptions, of course.'

  Miranda was very tempted to ask him what they were, but there was an amused look in his eyes that warned her not to. Instead she changed the subject, commenting on how good the meal had been.

  'I'm glad you enjoyed it.' He glanced at his watch. 'It's still early. Would you like to go on somewhere?'

  'Thanks, but no. I think I'd like to go home.'

  After the warmth of the pub, the winter air struck very cold. Miranda shivered and put up the collar of her coat. 'It's almost as cold as it was in York that night we...' She broke off abruptly as she realised what she was saying.

  Putting a hand on her shoulder, Warren said sardonically, 'For someone who says she wants to forget that night, it seems to be very much on your mind. Now why can that be, I wonder?'

  'Because I've never been so cold in my life,' Miranda responded at once. 'There certainly isn't any other reason to make it memorable!' And she tossed off his arm to go and walk to the car.

  On the drive back to her flat she became afraid that Warren might want to come in for a nightcap—if not for the whole night! After all, she'd been more than free with her body before; perhaps he expected the same again—especially as he'd offered her a job. That aspect of the offer hadn't occurred to her before, but now Miranda grew silent, ready to fling his offer back in his face if he prop¬ositioned her. When they reached her building, Warren stopped the car but didn't turn off the engine.

  'Would you like me to see you to your door?' 'No, thanks,' she answered crisply.

  'OK. See you on Monday morning,' he said casually.

  It was so utterly different from what Miranda had expected that she couldn't conceal her sur¬prised look.

  Warren gave her a grin that was heavy with irony. 'There are no strings attached to my offer, Miranda. And I know when I'm likely to have my head bitten off.' Leaning past her, he opened her door. 'Don't forget your things. Goodnight.'

  Feeling suddenly very reluctant to do so, Miranda got out of the car. Warren lifted a hand in farewell and immediately drove away, leaving her standing alone on the pavement.

  That weekend was one of very mixed feelings for Miranda. She couldn't make up her mind about anything. More than once she was on the point of calling up the clinic to arrange an abortion, the next she was trying to think of some kind of job she could plan round having a child. Several times, too, she made up her mind to phone Warren and tell him she wouldn't take his job after all, telling herself that being so close to him was stupid. But then she convinced herself that she could very easily keep him at a distance, and so changed her mind about that, too. Such indecisiveness both alarmed and angered her; she usually had no hesitation in making up her mind, and once made up always stuck to it. OK, sometimes her decisions had been wrong, but at least she'd made them!

  This is ridiculous! she thought, and put on her coat to go for a brisk walk by the river. The cold air helped to clear the woolliness out of her head and she realised that she was in danger of letting the night she had spent with Warren wreck her life. It had already done material harm to the career that she had been so carefully building up over the years. But there was still time to retrieve the situation, and it wouldn't be difficult to get another job. A great wave of relief swept through her as Miranda made up her mind at last. First thing on Monday she would make an appointment at the clinic, and then tell Warren that she had changed her mind about the job. Or, better still, tell him that she'd been offered a permanent position. That way she wouldn't have to see him again. And after the operation she would put this whole thing behind her and work at giving her life a new dimension.

  It was by far the best way; the only decision really. Miranda resolutely pushed all lingering traces of guilt aside. This was the twentieth century, for heaven's sake, and women had the right to choose what happened to their bodies. And a child had the right to be born into a stable, loving relationship, not be the product of one night's need for warmth and closeness between two people who hardly knew each other.

  Feeling much better now that she'd made the decision, Miranda turned to go home, but had come so far that it was easier to take the Docklands Light Railway for a couple of stops than walk. The railway was popular with people going to visit the Naval Museum at Greenwich, just across the river, and there were several family parties on the train when Miranda got on. Her eyes were immediately drawn to one woman, about her own age, who had a little girl of about four and was also holding a young baby that she'd taken out of one of the modern baby-buggies. As Miranda watched, the woman, her face absorbed, gently played with the baby, cooing at it and making it laugh, so that it waved its arms and its little hands caught at her hair. A look of love filled the woman's face; an intensely private look of pride and joy, of fierce possessiveness and lifelong devotion.

  That one look completely devastated Miranda; she could imagine herself holding her own child and knew that she would feel just as loving towards it. And what right had she to take the gift of life from a child, no matter what circumstances it was born in?

  When Miranda got home she was in a black mood of despair, knowing that whatever decision she finally came to it would be both right and wrong; it was definitely a no-win situation.

  The next morning Miranda took the Tube to Warren's office and was immediately impressed with his present accommodation and the efficiency of his staff. She felt a passing moment of embar¬rassment when she saw a couple of the people that she'd tried to headhunt from him, but she didn't have to wait long before she was shown into Warren's office. He greeted her briskly, without any show of familiarity. 'Morning, Miranda. Want a coffee while we talk?'

  'No, thanks.' She shook her head, afraid of feeling sick.

  'Let's get to work, then. I've written out a list of the areas where I want you to look and the type of accommodation I want. Ideally I'd like to stay on this side of London, and about this far out. But I think I'm well enough established now to go a little further from central London if necessary.

  Here, read the list and see if you can think of anything else.'

  Miranda slipped off her coat and sat in a chair by the window, her legs, in black woollen tights, a short skirt and boots, bent and crossed at the ankle, an unwittingly provocative1 pose. 'I notice that you've stipulated that you want adequate parking facilities, but space for a car park would add greatly to the cost of a building, especially near central London.'

  Warren shrugged. 'I know, but we have to have it. And there has to be space for visitors to park, as well.'

  'Do all your employees drive to work?' she enquired.

  'No, about fifty per cent, I should think.'

  'In that case we could work out the size of car park you need. And it might encourage some of them to travel by public transport if you chose a building near a Tube station.'

  'Good idea.' Warren gave her a nod of approval.

  'Look, why don't I hand you over to my office manager, Jonathan Carter? He'll know how many people come by car better than I do.'

  Miranda gave him a quick look and smiled. 'The real Jonathan Carter?'

  He grinned back at her. 'Yes, you'll get to meet the man himself this time.'

  For a moment there was a feeling of rapport between them. Warren straightened up from where he'd been half sitting on his desk. His eyes went over her and then he came across and gave her his hand to help her to her feet. They stood close to one another for an instant and Miranda could smell hi
s tangy morning aftershave. It smelt infinitely seductive and she was totally surprised by a wave of desire deep inside her, which was a crazy feeling to have at this time and in this place. She gave a little gasp under her breath and her eyes darkened. Perhaps he felt it, because Warren's hand tightened on hers, but so briefly that she wasn't sure that it had happened before he stepped back and said, 'I'll take you to meet Jonathan.'

  Miranda worked hard the next few days. She first did a lot of phoning from home and then, armed with a large-scale map, travelled round to visit dozens of estate agents, looking for likely prop¬erties. In between times, she continued to look for a new sales manager for Warren, and towards the end of the week went back to his office to see him.

  She had phoned to say she was coming and found him alone in his office, but speaking on the tele¬phone. He gave her a quick glance and waved her towards a chair, but then his eyes came back to her face and he lost concentration for a moment. 'Sorry, could you repeat that?' he asked the person on the line.

  He went on talking for several minutes while Miranda went and stood looking out of the full-length window. It had been snowing during the day but snow never lasted long in London, and the only signs of it were the slushy streets and a few patches that clung to roof-tops. Her mind went instantly back to the boat and she wondered how long it would be before she would see snow and not re¬member that night. Did snow babies feel the cold all their lives? she mused.

  Behind her, Warren finished his call, but he didn't speak at once. Then she heard him push his chair back and get up. Slowly she turned to face him, a report on her progress on her lips, but it died when she saw the deep frown in his eyes. 'You don't look well,' he said abruptly. 'You look tired and thin.'

  Immediately on the defensive, Miranda said sharply, 'Oh, thanks for the compliment!'

  'Have you been overdoing your diet?'

  'No!' Then she bit her lip. 'I'm fine. I've brought you the details of four people that I think you might be interested in approaching for your sales vacancy.'

  Going to his desk, she opened her briefcase and took out some papers, turned to hand them to him but found that Warren was watching her, his face set. Their eyes met for one searing instant before Miranda looked away, her heart thumping. With difficulty she said, 'Sorry. I'm OK. Really. Thanks for asking. I'm—just not sleeping terribly well, that's all.'

  Coming over to her, Warren took the papers but kept his eyes on her face. 'Missing Graham?'

  Her eyes showed her surprise; she'd hardly given Graham a thought. 'No, not at all.'

  'It must be the wheeling and dealing of commercial matchmaking, then.'

  She smiled at the aptness of the simile. 'Not when I've been busy on your behalf. Aren't you going to read the list?'

  'Later.' He put the papers aside. 'Will you have dinner with me tonight?'

  Her face tightened but apart from that Miranda showed no emotion as she said, 'Thanks, but I al¬ready have a date.'

  Warren's eyes came quickly up to her face. 'So soon after Graham?' he remarked drily.

  'I wasn't engaged to Graham,' Miranda pointed out. 'He wasn't the only man in my life.'

  'I see.' Warren continued to look at her intently for a few seconds, then said abruptly, 'Have you made any progress with finding a new building?'

  'I've seen a couple of places that might do, but neither of them have all the amenities that you specified, so I won't bother you with them yet.'

  'Fair enough. I'll go through your list of candidates tonight and let you know what I think to¬morrow.' He spoke dismissively and Miranda turned to go, but when she reached the door, he said, 'Miranda.'

  'Yes?' She looked at him expectantly.

  Coming over to her, Warren put his hand on her neck under her hair and traced his thumb down her cheek. A quiver ran through her before Miranda managed to control herself again. Looking into her face, he said, 'Won't you tell me what it is that keeps you awake at night?'

  Somehow she managed to laugh lightly. 'Yes, all right. The owner of the flat next to mine has let his young brother come to stay there while he's away, and the brother keeps having parties with rock music blaring out so loudly that the walls move to the beat. But luckily he's only there for another couple of days so then I'll be able to sleep.' She summoned up an almost pert smile. 'Why, what did you think—that I'd got a guilty conscience or something?' Putting up her hand, she pulled his down. 'Must rush; I have to get ready. It's a heavy date. Bye.'

  Reasonably confident that she'd convinced Warren that there was nothing wrong, Miranda went to the cinema and took in a film. It was important not to let him know that she was pregnant; Warren was the kind of man who would have definite views on the subject and she didn't want him trying to persuade her either way. No, not persuade; he would certainly try to coerce her into doing what he thought was best. But this was something that Miranda had to make up her own mind about. It occurred to her that, if he knew, Warren might feel that he had to ask her to marry him, or at least support her and the child. She shuddered at the thought; they were almost strangers, and, although she was attracted to him and had thought that she wanted to get to know him better, she realised now that it was too late. There was no way they could have an easy, growing relationship with this hanging over their heads. Unless she had an abortion. She could have the operation and then get to know Warren normally; he need never know.

  Desperately she tried to stop worrying about it. She had hoped that seeing the film would take her mind off her problem, and it was a good story which ordinarily she would have enjoyed, but her mind kept drifting back, and she was so tired that a couple of times she almost nodded off to sleep. This was silly! Getting to her feet, Miranda left the cinema and took a cab home.

  There was a message from Graham on her answerphone; he wanted to know what had hap-pened to Warren's file. He also informed her, in his stiffest voice, that she had a pay cheque to collect. Why can't he send it? she thought crossly, then realised that Graham would insist on handing it over himself so that he could make her grovel. Well, stuff the pay cheque; she wasn't that hard up. Then she sighed; if she went ahead and had the baby she would need every penny she had earned.

  Going into the kitchen, Miranda pulled open the fridge door with little enthusiasm; nothing appealed to her except a sardine and peanut butter sandwich. Lord, what a combination! Anyone would think she was preg—. She stopped short, perhaps truly realising for the first time that this wasn't some bad dream, she wasn't going to wake up and find that things were as they had been. Slowly she took out the ingredients and began to make the sandwich. The idea revolted her but she had to have it. The entrance hail buzzer sounded and she flipped it on, saying, 'Yes'?' before she'd looked in the monitor to see who it was. Then she froze when she saw it was Warren.

  'Hello, there. Mind if I come up?'

  Too startled to think of an excuse, Miranda said slowly, 'Er—yes, I suppose so.'

  He gave a tight smile at her grudging tone, 'How about pressing the door release, then?'

  Belatedly she did so, then went to her front door to open it in readiness for him, her mind chasing itself, trying to think why he'd come.

  'Good evening.' He came into the flat and looked about him in interest as she took his overcoat and hung it up.

  'Would you like a drink or are you in a hurry?' she asked pointedly.

  Warren grinned. 'Thanks, I've plenty of time. A gin and tonic, please.'

  She poured the drink for him, but made it a small one, then went into the kitchen to get some ice. Warren followed her and saw the sandwich makings. His eyes widened. 'Is that dinner?'

  'My date was cancelled,' Miranda improvised. 'He's—er—stuck in a traffic jam on the motorway. A ten-mile tail-back.'

  'Really? I didn't hear anything about it on the traffic news.'

  Miranda shot him a look under her lashes. 'You must have been listening to a different programme,' she said shortly. 'Here's your drink.'

  'Thank you.' His left
eyebrow rose when he saw how small it was. 'Aren't you having one?'

  'Of course. Why don't you take a seat in the sitting-room?'

  He wandered out obediently and Miranda poured herself a glass of Perrier water and hoped it looked like gin. Suddenly finding the idea of the sandwich abhorrent, she swept it all into the waste disposal and went to join him. She found Warren in the middle of the room, looking round.

  'You've done this place up exceedingly well. It's just right for you,' he said approvingly.

  Miranda glowed inwardly and smiled as she said a sincere, 'Thank you.' She had taken great pains with the decor of the flat and was rightly proud of it.

  'And the View, of course, is magnificent,' he re-marked, going to the big, arched, and uncurtained window.

  'Yes, that's what made me buy it.'

  She waited for him to say why he had come, but Warren didn't seem to be in any hurry, instead asking her how long she'd lived there and how she liked Docklands. Sitting down, he chatted with her easily, trying to draw her out. Miranda answered him warily at first, but he kept to innocuous stuff about her home and family, and her years at uni¬ versity, so that she began to relax, and asked him about himself in return. These were things she would want to know to tell his child, she thought—if she decided to keep it.

  The time went quickly, comfortably, and Miranda poured more drinks, making Warren's a normal size this time. His eyes crinkled at the corners but he didn't say anything. 'You haven't eaten your sandwich yet,' he reminded her.

  'I didn't fancy it after all.' Kicking off her boots, Miranda tucked her legs under her and leaned back against the settee, giving him a dreamy kind of look.

  'What are you thinking?' Warren asked lightly.

  'How strange it was, the way we met. That in the normal run of things we probably never would have.'

  'No.' Getting up, he came across and sat beside her, put his arm round her shoulders and drew her back against him.

  Miranda immediately resisted him, sitting up straight. 'Why did you come here tonight?' she demanded abruptly.