Читать книгу Revenge By Seduction - Alex Ryder, Alex Ryder - Страница 7

WHEN the flat was cleaned and tidied to her personal satisfaction Catriona peeked into Madge’s room. Madge was snoring gently, and, careful not to disturb her, Catriona closed the door quietly. Then she put on her coat and locked the flat door as she went out.

The shop was only a ten-minute walk away. Since it was Sunday, a day usually spent lounging around and resting, Catriona was dressed informally in jeans and a loose white cotton sweater. And in spite of the ache in her heart she also wore her usual air of friendliness as she exchanged good mornings with the regulars she was beginning to recognise. Old Nellie who ran the florist shop next door to the boutique was busy setting up her usual brilliant display on the pavement outside and she ordered a bunch of flowers, telling Nellie she’d pick them up when she was finished.

She made herself a cup of coffee, then, arming herself with a stock sheet from the cubby-hole which served as an office, she began checking the inventory in the rear stock room.

The jaunty, carefree smile which she’d worn on the way here had merely been a front. Now that she was alone the mask had slipped, and there was a hard bitterness in her eyes and the downturn of her mouth.

She tried her best, but ten minutes later she felt like giving up. At any other time stock-taking was a chore she could breeze through in half an hour, but this morning she was finding it impossible to concentrate. Her mind just wasn’t on the job. It was too preoccupied with dark feelings of betrayal and seething anger.

How could she have been so stupid as to fall for that black-hearted devil? So the McNeils could look after themselves, could they? Well, here was one who obviously couldn’t. Had she surrendered herself to him so willingly because beneath all her pride she was nothing more than a gullible Highland peasant girl who still believed in the folk tales of her race? Tales about magic and dark lovers and old women who could foretell the future. Had she wanted to believe that Ryan Hind was the man she was destined to marry? Was that the reason she had so carelessly fallen in love with him? Had she been her own worst enemy?

The seemingly random hand of fate which had brought them together had been in the shape of a young teenage tearaway causing chaos and posing a threat to life and limb as he’d hurtled along the pavement on a pair of rollerblades.

Catriona had managed to leap out of his way just in time to save herself from being knocked flat. It had been more of a sideways stagger, but the end result had been a collision with the tall stranger who’d just emerged from the estate agent’s office.

‘Oops!’ she’d gasped, the breath almost knocked out of her. His arms had held her securely and she’d stammered an apology to the knot of his silk tie, which had been all she could see of him at the time.

‘I…I’m sorry.’

The deep, warmly resonant voice seemed to wash over her. ‘I’m not. You’re welcome. So far this has been the highlight of my day. You can drop into my arms any time you want.’

She was about to tell him resentfully that she was quite capable of standing on her own two feet, and that there was no need for him to clasp her so tightly, when she strained her head upwards and changed her mind. Strikingly handsome was the first thought that came to mind. Beneath dark, ironically tilted brows the eyes were a startling light grey, alive and sharply observant. It was a face which instantly evoked visions of romantic encounters under the starlit skies of far-off deserts. It was a face which would cause any woman’s heart to flutter nervously.

‘Are you hurt?’ he asked in concern.

The sound of that voice sent little shivers through her again, and she managed to shake her head. She could smell him in her nostrils. The faint hint of aftershave…the fresh, laundry smell of his blindingly white shirt.

The noise of the rush hour traffic dimmed in her ears and she was oblivious of the people jostling by to catch their buses home. She was alone with him in a pool of silence, struck dumb and absolutely smitten.

His eyes continued to stare down into hers, making her more dry-mouthed than ever. ‘With any luck that young thug will break a leg before he causes a serious accident,’ he remarked in annoyance.

At last she managed to say breathlessly, ‘Yes. It…it isn’t safe to walk the streets these days. Some people are so inconsiderate, aren’t they?’ Now that had been a really brilliant observation, hadn’t it? she thought. Why couldn’t she have thought of something witty, or at least more interesting to say? But it was hard to be cool and sophisticated when you were feeling hot and flustered. And he still hadn’t loosened his grip on her.

‘You look a little shaken and pale,’ he observed, then added in a voice which brooked no argument, ‘What you need is a brandy. Come on.’

Her lips opened in a half-hearted attempt to protest, but nothing came and she allowed herself to be led gently but firmly the few yards along the pavement to the nearest bar. It was not until she found herself being ushered into a seat at a secluded table in the lounge that she managed a nervous stammer. ‘I…I don’t like brandy. And I really don’t think…’

‘Whisky, then? I insist you have something.’ He eyed her paternally. ‘Purely for medicinal purposes only.’

She smiled weakly, overwhelmed by the charm and force of his personality. ‘All right, then. A small one. Glenlivet…and some mineral water, please.’ That was how the English tourists drank it at the harbour bar, much to the amusement of the locals, so it seemed the sophisticated thing to do.

He summoned a waiter, gave him the order, then sat down facing her. Reaching across the table, he introduced himself. ‘I’m Ryan Hind. And you are?’

‘Catriona McNeil,’ she murmured politely. His hand was firm and cool and sent a tingle up her arm.

He repeated her first name to himself softly, then smiled. ‘Very pretty. Suits you admirably.’

She was acutely aware of the way his sharp eyes were assessing her appearance, and the thought passed through her mind that a man like him would never have given her a second glance if he’d met her before Madge had taken her under her wing and given her some tips on style and fashion. It was Madge who supplied the clothes she wore, insisting that it had nothing to do with generosity and everything to do with the image of the shop.

At the moment she was wearing a loose-fitting pearl-grey jacket over a cream silk blouse, and her red hair had been groomed and styled to frame her face and fall in a languid curve to her shoulders.

His eyes continued to study her in a silence which she began to find more embarrassing by the second. Her wits seemed to be deserting her and her left leg had suddenly developed a nervous tremble. God knows what kind of impression she was making on him, she thought desperately. A half-witted schoolgirl could have done better.

‘It…it’s rather nice in here, isn’t it?’ she said, making a desperate stab at conversation. ‘I pass this place every day but it’s the first time I’ve ever been inside.’ Oh, God! If that was the best she could do she might be better keeping her mouth shut.

One dark eyebrow rose in obvious interest. ‘You live here in Chelsea, do you?’

‘Yes. Palmerston Court. It’s only a few minutes’ walk from here.’

He nodded. ‘I know it. A very exclusive and desirable property. I’ve been thinking of buying a flat there myself. I’m needing some place permanent. And you would definitely recommend it—as an investment, say?’

She was beginning to recover her scrambled wits. Could it really be possible that this gorgeous man was actually interested in her? It seemed unbelievable, and yet… She reviewed the past few minutes since they’d met. One moment she’d been strolling home, minding her own business, and the next she’d been thrust in-elegantly into his arms. It had been a highly unlikely start to a meaningful relationship, yet stranger things had happened. He could simply have smiled politely, released her and let her go without another word. But he hadn’t. He’d held her tightly, expressed concern, brought her here for a drink, asked her her name, paid her a compliment and found out where she lived. Now he was asking her advice! Oh, there was no doubt about it. This was Mr Right and no mistake. If this wasn’t love then why did she feel six inches off the ground?

He was still waiting for her answer and she gave a tentative self-conscious smile. ‘I don’t know much about property. You’d be better asking an expert.’

The suggestion brought a cynical smile to his lips. ‘There’s no such thing as an “expert” in the property business these days. I’ve always found that it pays to get your information from the people on the ground, as it were. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to show me over the place some time? Do you have a flatmate or…parents you’d have to ask?’

‘My parents live in Scotland,’ she said quickly, then added a little defensively, ‘I’m old enough to look after myself.’

He seemed amused. ‘I’m sure you are, Catriona. I admire a spirit of independence. So you live in London all by yourself, do you?’

At the moment, while Madge was on holiday, she did, and some devil within, urging her to project an image of maturity and self-reliance, made her keep silent about Madge. Thankfully she was spared the necessity of an outright spoken lie by the arrival of the waiter with their order.

Forestalling any further questions on that subject, she busied herself by daintily topping up her whisky from the bottle of mineral water.

The grey eyes watched her with amused interest, then he said with approval, ‘I’m impressed and pleased to see that you didn’t order some ghastly cocktail garnished with a paper umbrella. A nice malt whisky instead. You’re obviously a lady of discernment.’

The compliment gave her a warm glow. He said the nicest things…and with such sincerity. She was a lady. A lady of discernment, no less! And he had such lovely white teeth when he smiled. Oh, it was too much. He was bound to have a girlfriend somewhere. Quickly pushing that unwelcome thought aside, she raised her glass and sipped far more than she’d intended. Immediately she felt it go to her head. At least the water had quenched the fire of the spirit and she was mercifully spared the embarrassment of having a coughing fit.

‘Do you have many friends in Chelsea?’ he asked casually. ‘An attractive girl like you surely has a boyfriend or two.’

‘Oh, no,’ she assured him quickly. Perhaps too quickly. She paused and assumed an air of nonchalance. ‘At least nothing to write home about.’

‘So there’s no one special in your life?’

She shrugged. ‘Not really.’ Her heart was hammering away inside her chest.

‘London can be a very lonely place,’ he commented quietly. ‘You must have some kind of social life, surely?’

She didn’t want him getting the idea that she was some kind of stick-in-the-mud, a stay-at-home, so she said blithely, ‘Well, there’s the usual round of parties. You know what Chelsea is like. There’s always something going on.’

He grinned and seemed satisfied. Suddenly he glanced at the expensive gold watch on his wrist and she felt the stab of cold disappointment. He was going to finish his drink, make some excuse, then be on his way—and she’d never see him again. Was it because of something she’d said? Had he seen through her lies…even if they had just been little white ones?

What did a woman do at a moment like this? she asked herself desperately. Simply shrug off her disappointment? Console herself with the thought that he wasn’t meant to be the one, after all? Perhaps fate had someone else in mind for her, and that was a pity because she was quite willing to settle for him here and now. Given such a short acquaintance it might be foolish to imagine that she was hopelessly already in love, but how else could she explain this wild beating of her heart?

He still had that oddly penetrating and quizzical look in his eye when he asked suddenly, ‘Are you sure you’ve quite recovered, Catriona?’

She managed a bright smile. ‘Yes. I’m fine, thanks.’

‘Well, I’m glad to hear it.’ He gave a sigh of regret. ‘I’d love to sit here and chat all day and get to know you better, but I’m afraid I have to leave. I’m meeting a client back at my hotel in fifteen minutes.’

She knew it had been too good to be true. Somehow she contrived another cheerful smile. ‘Please don’t let me keep you from your work. You’ve been very kind and I appreciate it, Mr Hind.’

‘Good. Then perhaps you’d like to show that appreciation by having dinner with me this evening?’

She replaced her glass on the table, stared at it stupidly for a moment, then looked up to see if he was serious.

‘Th—this evening?’ she stammered.

‘In two hours’ time, to be exact,’ he said pleasantly. ‘But if that’s too short a notice for you I can arrange it for later.’

‘No!’ she said quickly. ‘I mean…I’m sure I can manage that.’

‘Good,’ he said briskly. Then with a devastating smile he added, ‘It’s been one of those days. Dinner with you will make up for everything.’

Her mind was racing ahead. What would she wear? Did she have anything remotely suitable for a dinner date?

‘I’ll leave the choice to you, Catriona,’ he said gallantly. ‘I usually dine at Cardini’s but perhaps you’d prefer French…or Italian?’

‘Cardini’s will do fine, Mr Hind,’ she answered lightly. She had no idea what Cardini’s was like, but if a man with his grooming and style ate there regularly it was sure to be first rate. He’d probably be wearing a dinner jacket and bow tie, and God knows what she was going to wear but she’d think of something.

He flashed another smile. ‘Enough of the Mr Hind. Call me Ryan.’

She hoped she didn’t look as flushed as she felt when she smiled back. ‘Very well…Ryan.’ Seeing him glance at his watch again, she hurriedly finished her drink then said, ‘I, too, will have to be going.’

His hand claimed her arm lightly as he escorted her outside. At the doorway he paused. ‘I’ll send a car to pick you up at seven-thirty. Will that be all right, Catriona?’

‘Yes…’ Her voice had gone husky with excitement. ‘I…I’ll tell the security man in the foyer to look out for it.’

He smiled again, then turned, and she watched him stride off. For a moment she simply stood there, hardly daring to believe what had happened. Something was bound to go wrong. He’d change his mind. She’d get all dressed up and sit waiting for a car which would never show up.

But then again perhaps he really did mean it, and he would send a car, and she’d damn well better be ready just in case. But what was she going to wear?

With a sudden flash of inspiration she hurried back to the shop and let herself in. Telling herself that Madge would understand, she made straight for the reject corner in the stock room.

She found the dress she wanted and held it at arm’s length, then swallowed nervously. Would she dare wear this? Strapless, in pale green Chinese silk, it carried a top designer name and a price tag that would have bought a good second-hand car.

To the casual observer it was a sublime creation and worth every penny, but to eagle-eyed Madge who’d spotted the tiny imperfection in the hemline, it was worthless. As in all such cases she’d immediately got in touch with her supplier, who invariably told Madge to get rid of the items in any way she saw fit. Madge usually donated them to the charity shops in the East End. It tickled her sense of humour to think of some poor old cleaning lady going to work in a five-hundred-pound coat she’d bought for next to nothing.

Catriona found a matching silk stole, then she wrapped them up, let herself out of the shop and rushed back to the flat.

The internal phone buzzed at seven-thirty precisely. She answered it breathlessly, then rushed over to the window and saw the long black limousine drawn up in the forecourt below. Then, breathing deeply to calm herself, she took one last look at herself in the mirror.

When she’d first tried on the dress she’d eyed her reflection in despair. She’d never have the nerve to go out in this! She couldn’t wear a bra—not that that was a problem with the way it clung to her figure—but the amount of flesh and cleavage on display could only be justified in front of a husband or doctor. But it certainly looked stunning. She’d turned this way and that, getting used to the idea.

Now she completed the outfit with the stole and one of Madge’s coats, borrowed for the occasion, then took the lift down to the foyer where Charlie, the security man, had to look twice before grinning and wishing her a pleasant evening.

In the back of the chauffeur-driven car she glanced at herself in the vanity mirror. Although she wore no make-up except for a touch of lipstick, her colour was high. It was nerves, she told herself. High as a kite. She’d have to relax.

She’d have to try and be smart and sophisticated, like the women who came into the shop. They drawled their words and called everyone ‘dahling’ and…well, perhaps she needn’t go that far…they had what she supposed was style.

Could she carry it off or was she going to blow it? Was she just going to sit throughout the evening overawed and tongue-tied until he got bored to death with her company?

She scowled at her reflection, then felt gooseflesh on her neck as she imagined she heard the voice of Morag whispering in her ear— ‘I’ve never met a McNeil yet who’s afraid of a challenge.’ She blinked and drew a deep breath. Voices in her head? That was all she needed! Still, Morag had been right. This was a challenge, and win or lose she was going to give it her best shot.

The traffic in the West End was in its usual state of chaos, but soon enough the limousine drew up outside the restaurant. The chauffeur opened the rear door for her and as she stepped on to the pavement the restaurant doorman came over and tipped his hat. ‘Miss McNeil?’

‘Yes?’

‘Mr Hind is expecting you.’

He led her into the foyer, where a cloakroom attendant took charge of her coat and stole, then on into the restaurant proper, where the dignified head waiter took charge and escorted her through the length of the room towards a table in a quiet, exclusive corner.

Her stomach began to flutter nervously as she took in her surroundings. The hushed, refined dignity of the place was almost intimidating. Silver, gleaming under candlelight…the subdued murmur of conversation…the discreet clink of bottles against wine glasses…the plush Victorian decor…

Suddenly there he was, resplendent in dinner jacket, just as she’d imagined. He rose to his feet with a welcoming smile. ‘Catriona.’ He looked her over with approval. ‘You look stunning in that dress!’

‘Thank you,’ she murmured, glowing inwardly at the compliment. Encouraged by his reaction, she smiled as she sat down. ‘I’m glad you like it. It was a problem making up my mind what to wear. I only decided on this at the last moment.’ Oh, you wicked little liar! she thought. She could hardly believe she’d said that.

The waiter handed her a menu but she brushed it aside. ‘I’ll leave the choice to you, Ryan. What would you recommend?’

His mouth twitched in humorous acknowledgement of her faith in his judgement and he said promptly, ‘Duck in orange sauce. It’s the chef’s speciality.’ When the waiter had gone with the order he continued, ‘I took the liberty of ordering a decent wine before you arrived. If it’s too dry for your liking I’ll have them bring something else.’

She wouldn’t have cared if it was cold bathwater, she thought as she watched him pour a glass. Raising it to her mouth, she took a delicate sip, savoured it for a moment, then nodded and dabbed daintily at her lips with her napkin. ‘Very nice,’ she murmured. ‘Just the way I like it.’ Would you just listen to her? She, who wouldn’t know the difference between claret and cooking sherry!

She took comfort from the fact that she wasn’t really deceiving him. It was just that since she’d accepted his invitation she was obligated to see that she didn’t spoil his evening. She had to make an effort to make herself sound agreeable and interesting. And it was working! She could tell by the way those eyes of his seldom left her face.

There was one sticky moment, when he asked her whereabouts in Scotland her parents lived.

‘Oh, you’ll never have heard of it,’ she said casually. ‘It’s called Kindarroch. In the Western Highlands. Nothing much goes on up there.’

‘And that’s why you decided to come and live in London?’ he suggested with an understanding smile. ‘You certainly don’t look like one of the hunting, shooting and fishing set. I somehow can’t see you tramping over the estate in gumboots with the Labrador at your heels.’

Estate, she thought? Who’d mentioned anything about an estate? Still, if he wanted to believe that she was one of the minor Scottish aristocracy that was fine by her. When they got to know each other better they’d laugh about it together. But it only went to prove that she seemed to have ‘style’ after all.

He had lovely hands, she thought as she watched him refill her glass. Well-formed and well-manicured, sensitive, yet strong and competent-looking. He had a thick gold ring set with a ruby on his little finger.

There was something else she was beginning to notice about him, and that was the aura of power and unspoken authority evident in the relaxed way he conducted himself. His mere presence seemed to dominate the room. The hovering waiters were always ready with a fresh bottle or a clean napkin at his slightest gesture. And she doubted if there was a woman in the place who didn’t keep glancing towards him.

Looking back on it now, she still wasn’t clear how she’d ended up back in his hotel suite. It was true that the wine had gone to her head, but she remembered agreeing enthusiastically with him when he’d said that the night was still young and that it would be a pity to end their new-found friendship when the meal was over. It had been words to that effect, anyway, but the undeniable fact was that she had been out of her depth and completely under his spell. She’d been captivated…enthralled…enraptured… And the thought of the consequences had never entered her head.

It had only been when they were in his spacious, luxurious lounge, and he’d removed his jacket and tie and invited her to kick off her shoes and make herself comfortable, that she’d had the first stirrings of doubt about the situation she’d landed herself in.

Well, it was too late now, wasn’t it? she’d thought. And, anyway, the man was a gentleman—anyone could see that. If he became over-amorous she would make it quite clear to him that she wasn’t that kind of girl and he wouldn’t push the matter. He’d probably respect her all the more, wouldn’t he?

As he’d poured a couple of drinks at the built-in bar he’d pressed a remote control. The lights had dimmed and soft music came from hidden speakers. Looking around, she hadn’t failed to be impressed by the size and sheer luxury of the place.

‘Do you always stay in hotels like this?’ she asked with a frown. ‘It must be terribly expensive. Wouldn’t it be cheaper to have a flat of your own?’

‘Cheaper, yes,’ he agreed. ‘But not nearly so convenient.’ He handed her a glass, then raised his hand to stroke and feel the soft texture of her hair. ‘A man only needs a house if he feels the desire to put down roots, Catriona. But that only happens if he’s lucky enough to find a very special woman. Some woman to share his life and his dreams of raising a family.’

The backs of his fingers were lightly brushing the soft, tender skin of her neck and the glass trembled in her hand. ‘I…I’m sure you will, Ryan,’ she said with the breath catching in her throat. She suddenly needed to sit down…badly…but his eyes were holding her with an enervating magnetism.

‘Yes…’ he breathed softly. ‘Perhaps I already have, Catriona. I was giving up hope until now.’

‘W-were you?’

‘Why do you think I asked you about the flats in Palmerston Court?’

She gulped. ‘As…as an investment, you said…’

He smiled at her innocence. ‘Let’s just say that the instant fate thrust you into my arms I knew my dreams hadn’t been in vain.’ He gently removed the drink from her shaking hand and placed it beside his own on the coffee table, then he took her by the shoulders and looked down into the depths of her wide blue eyes.

Her mind was a chaotic mess of emotions. Was he truly telling her that she was that ‘special’ woman? Well, why not? Love at first sight was a fact of life, wasn’t it? It might be the stuff of romantic dreams and fairy tales but it did happen. It had happened to her, so why shouldn’t it happen to him? Those impossibly clear and luminous grey eyes were filling her vision now, and all sense of critical judgement was swamped by her desire to believe him.

His voice was suddenly low and husky with desire. ‘You’re a very beautiful woman, Catriona. I’ve never seen lips that look so kissable and tempting as yours. They have the power to drive a man into mad impulsiveness.’

His arms pulled her closer until she was crushed against him, so hard she could feel the strong, steady and relentless beat in his chest, then her own heart skipped and began to race as his mouth slowly descended on hers. The contact of warm, sweet and yielding flesh drove every thought from her mind and she abandoned herself to the thrill of his sensual provocation. A low moan bubbled in her throat as his tongue parted her lips, exposing her to a hitherto unknown and unguessed at height of passion.

The kiss left her dazed and breathless, and she rested her head against his shoulder, seeking time to recover. He kept holding her in the imprisoning embrace of his arms, then he began nuzzling at her ear with his lips.

In a hoarse whisper he said, ‘I’d be less than a man if I didn’t confess and tell you that there is nothing in this world I want more than to make love to you, darling. No woman has ever made me feel this way before. You have a beauty I can’t resist. I want to make wonderful love to you, Catriona. I want to give you all I have to offer. We can give each other so much pleasure and happiness. I want to possess you and never, ever let you go.’

She closed her eyes tightly and bit down on her already swollen lip. How could she reject that passionate plea from the heart or ignore the promise in his words? Could she allow her old-fashioned conscience to stand in the way of an honestly declared love?

The choice was simple. She could tearfully refuse, grab her coat and scamper to safety like a timid rabbit, or she could be mature about this and do what every throbbing and aching nerve in her body was demanding.

She felt the slight tug as he undid the zip at her back, and as the silk dress slid down over her slim body to fall in a whisper at her feet she turned her face upwards, seeking his lips once again, certain in the belief that all this had been written in the stars.