Читать книгу Carole Mortimer Romance Collection - Кэрол Мортимер, Carole Mortimer - Страница 8

LYON BUCHANAN’S mouth twisted derisively as Silke continued to gape up at him. ‘Don’t try and tell me the news has come as a surprise to you,’ he snapped contemptuously. ‘You must have done something to encourage Henry to think along those lines.’

She shook her head dazedly. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘No?’ Lyon said scathingly. ‘Henry has lived for sixty-seven years without contemplating marriage to any woman, and yet after meeting you this morning he suddenly decides to take the plunge; forgive me, Silke, if I find your shock a little hard to believe!’

She was starting to come out of the shock now, and as she did, she knew that Lyon had made an error of some sort. Most unusual for him, she was sure! But she had seen the way Henry looked at her mother earlier, her mother’s reaction to seeing him, knew that there had once been—possibly still was, if her mother’s flight at the mere sight of Henry was anything to go by!—some very strong emotion between the older couple. In fact...

‘What exactly did your uncle say?’ she prompted guardedly.

Lyon’s nostrils flared angrily. ‘I told you—’

‘I said exactly,’ Silke reminded him quietly, her mind racing.

He drew in a harsh breath. ‘Henry was slightly groggy by the time I managed to talk to him; Peter had given him something to help him relax. But Henry made a point of telling me he was going to marry you as soon as he’s out of hospital,’ his voice rose angrily again over the last.

‘Not me,’ Silke told him firmly, frowning, positive now Henry hadn’t been talking about her. Just what sort of relationship had Henry and her mother had in the past for Henry to have made such a statement to his nephew?

‘Of course it was you, damn it!’ Lyon looked as if he were about to explode. ‘You—’

‘Satin,’ Silke said with certainty, preoccupied with thoughts of her mother and Henry. ‘I’m sure Henry told you he was going to marry Satin.’ She looked at him enquiringly.

‘Silke, Satin, it’s the same thing; I told you, he was groggy when I spoke to him,’ Lyon dismissed impatiently.

Not too groggy to know exactly who he was talking about—and what he wanted! My God, her mother had some explaining to do!

‘You’re wrong, Mr Buchanan,’ Silke shook her head ruefully. ‘It isn’t the same thing at all. And I’m sure when your uncle feels less—groggy he’ll tell you that himself.’

‘And I’m telling you that I have no intention of letting a little gold-digger like you marry my uncle!’ he bit out contemptuously.

Silke frowned up at him. He really was the most insulting—! ‘And just exactly what right do you think you have to tell anyone who they should or shouldn’t marry?’ she scorned. ‘From the little I’ve seen of you, you wouldn’t know love if it jumped up and bit you on the nose!’ She was breathing hard in her agitation. What right did he have to call her a gold-digger? He didn’t even know her. Or her mother. Which, if she wasn’t mistaken, was going to be more to the point—because she was sure it was her mother Henry had decided he was going to marry. And she was no more a gold-digger than Silke was.

Lyon’s face might have been carved out of granite, his mouth a thin, angry line. ‘You aren’t trying to tell me you love my uncle?’ he derided harshly.

‘Not yet,’ she answered vaguely. But if what she suspected were to become fact, she had a feeling she was going to be put in a position where she could possibly learn to love him as a stepfather. If Henry ever persuaded her mother to stop running. And Silke was positive he was going to have a damn good try at doing exactly that!

‘But you might be able to force yourself,’ Lyon rasped with contempt. ‘Taking into account his bank balance—and his obvious ill-health. After all, the chances are, with his heart complaint, that you wouldn’t have to be married to him for too long before he—’

Silke had never hit anyone in her life before. Until that moment. And there was no thought behind it now either, just an instinctive response to the insult Lyon was making to both her and Henry. Just who did this man think he was? How dared he say those things about her after knowing her for so brief a time?

But if she thought she was angry then, her emotions were mild in comparison with his; his face was deathly white, a nerve pulsing in one rigidly clenched cheek, the red marks where her fingers had made contact standing out lividly against that abnormal paleness. But as usual it was his eyes that were most expressive, glittering dangerously, almost silver in their intensity.

Silke stared up at him wordlessly, shocked by her own actions as much as by his reaction to it.

‘You’re going to regret you ever did that,’ he finally ground out between clenched, perfectly even white teeth.

She didn’t doubt it, had realised that the moment her hand made contact with that hard cheek! But there was no way she was going to stand by and let this man insult her—and his uncle!—in the way he had been doing.

‘Goodbye, Mr Buchanan,’ she told him with as much dignity as she could muster, turning away to join the milling crowd, people that had only been momentarily diverted in their hurry to get home by the scene taking place on the pavement between the tall, autocratic man and the slender, blonde-haired young woman.

As she walked away, Silke half expected those steely fingers to grasp her once again. But as she took each step further away from Lyon Buchanan and it didn’t happen, she began to breathe again, resisting the impulse to turn and look back at him to see exactly what he had done after she walked away, whether he had gone back to his car or was still standing on the pavement where she had left him. No doubt he had roared off in the other direction in his powerful car, thoughts of revenge already forming in his calculating mind!

Silke realised she was trembling with reaction. God, that man was—well, he just was! She had never met anyone like him before. And she hoped she never did again!

* * *

Her mother hadn’t, as it turned out, run very far. Silke knew, by the lights blazing in her mother’s apartment as she approached the prestigious building, that her mother was definitely at home. It was something, at least.

The fact that her mother was in the kitchen baking bread wasn’t a good sign; it was her mother’s other escape. All through her haphazard childhood Silke could remember the smell of baking bread whenever her mother had hit another disaster in her life—and there had been many!

It was obvious, from the slightly red-rimmed green eyes as their gazes met across the kitchen, that her mother had been crying. A lot, from her make-up-less cheeks; her mother was always perfectly groomed and made-up.

She abruptly broke off her fierce pummelling of the dough to frown at the distress clearly written on Silke’s pale face. ‘What happened?’ she asked heavily.

Too much for her to be able to tell it all! She couldn’t believe it was only just over eight hours since she had gone, under protest, to take up her position in the confectionery department of Buchanan’s; it seemed as if a lifetime had passed since Lyon Buchanan had verbally ripped into her before dragging her up to his office.

But Lyon Buchanan wouldn’t be where her mother’s interest lay...

‘Henry Winter collapsed after you ran out of the office this after—steady!’ Silke warned concernedly as her mother swayed slightly, her face going even paler.

Silke hurried to pull out a chair from the kitchen table, sitting her mother down in it before moving to sit in the chair opposite, looking across at her worriedly; there could be no doubting her mother’s distress at the news.

Her mother moistened dry lips. ‘Is he—is he—?’

‘He’s in a private clinic,’ Silke reassured gently. She had never seen her mother shaken like this; there must have been something very special between her mother and Henry Winter for her to be reacting like this. ‘I’m going to telephone later to see if he’s—’

‘Just tell me where it is.’ Her mother stood up abruptly, already taking off her apron before moving to wash her flour-covered hands.

Silke frowned at her. ‘But a short time ago you ran away from the man—’

‘Just tell me, Silke,’ her mother repeated sharply, her face more pale and strained than ever. ‘Today wasn’t the first time I ran away from Hal,’ she added stiltedly. ‘I think, this time—in the circumstances—I owe him an explanation.’ She looked pained at the thought.

Silke had guessed some of what might have occurred between the older couple in the past, and ‘in the circumstances’ maybe it would be fairer to Henry Winter not to tell her mother he wasn’t in any immediate danger; she knew too well herself how far and how ably her mother could run when she set her mind to it. Henry would never find her!

So instead she told her mother exactly where the clinic was, assuring her she would clear away the mess she had been making when Silke arrived.

‘But if you run into the nephew—beware!’ she thought it prudent to advise her mother as she left, remembering all too clearly her own run-ins with Lyon Buchanan. ‘He’s very protective of his uncle,’ she added by way of explanation—although she knew that wasn’t strictly the truth; Lyon Buchanan had an arrogant disdain about him that owed nothing to family loyalty.

‘So he damn well should be,’ her mother replied scathingly. ‘I’ll call you if I’m going to be late,’ she added dismissively.

Silke looked after her mother frowningly; just what had she meant by that parting comment concerning Lyon Buchanan? No doubt her mother would tell her soon enough, and in her own time, if she chose to, as she always had.

One thing Silke did know—Lyon Buchanan wasn’t going to like it that a member of her family—Satin, no less!—was visiting his uncle...!

* * *

It was a long evening for Silke, sitting alone in the flat, wondering exactly what her mother was doing at the clinic all this time. Obviously the older couple had found a lot to talk about, but, even so, she wouldn’t have thought Henry was in any condition to discuss anything too emotional.

When her mother still hadn’t returned by the next morning Silke went into the agency and opened up for the day, leaving the secretary to deal with things while she went to the clinic herself, her curiosity getting the better of her now. And if anything had happened to Henry, from her mother’s reaction to seeing him again after all these years, Silke didn’t like to think what condition her mother was going to be in.

‘Your mother is in Mr Winter’s room, Miss Jordan,’ the receptionist told her in answer to her query. ‘Down the corridor, first door on the left,’ she directed with a smile.

Silke had only to step into the room, see the truckle-bed set up in one corner as close as possible to the hospital bed where Henry lay, to know exactly where her mother had spent the night. In fact, her mother now sat in a chair beside Henry’s bed, her hand firmly clasped in the elderly man’s, a look of such utter contentment on both their faces as they gazed at each other that it told its own story; whatever differences this couple had had in the past, they were now very definitely behind them. Lyon Buchanan was going to be incensed all over again. If he had ever calmed down!

‘Silke!’ Her mother turned to her with a glowing smile. ‘Darling, I’m sorry I didn’t ring you last night, but—’

‘It’s perfectly all right, Mother,’ she assured her with a smile of her own. ‘From the look of you, you had other things on your mind. Hello, Henry.’ She turned to the relaxed man lying in the bed, relieved to see how much better he looked. ‘How are you?’

‘As soon as they discharge me from here, well on my way to becoming your stepfather,’ he told her wryly, that twinkle back in his eyes.

‘Hal!’ her mother gasped, a becoming blush heating her cheeks as she looked awkwardly across at Silke.

‘We agreed that we’ve already wasted enough years,’ her fiancé told her sternly. ‘I want you to make all the arrangements so that the ceremony can take place as soon as I leave here. How do you feel about that, Silke?’

He looked almost as arrogant as his nephew at that moment. But only almost—no one could be quite as arrogant as Lyon Buchanan, in Silke’s opinion! Although it gave her a glimpse of what Henry must have been like as a younger man. It made her doubly curious as to how her mother could have managed to run away from him in the first place.

‘I feel fine about it,’ Silke told him with a shrug.

‘I’ve told your mother about my shocking behaviour towards you yesterday.’ Henry looked a little shame-faced.

Silke nodded, crossing the room to join them. ‘Warned her she’ll be marrying a lecher, have you?’ she teased lightly, knowing that her mother was strong enough to curb any such tendencies. And Henry had only been having a little fun, after all—albeit at her expense!

He gave a rueful grin. ‘All that’s going to change now I have your mother back in my life,’ he assured.

Silke laughed softly. ‘I’m sure it is,’ she said with certainty. ‘And while I might think it’s wonderful that you’ve sorted out your differences and decided to get married, I know someone else who won’t be so happy about it.’ She raised pointed brows at Henry.

‘Lyon!’ he said with feeling.

‘Exactly.’ She grimaced.

Henry’s mouth tightened determinedly. ‘I’ll deal with Lyon,’ he told them forcefully.

After Lyon’s reaction yesterday to believing Silke was the one who was about to marry his uncle, she didn’t think he would be any more enamoured of the idea of her mother doing so. But if Henry thought he could ‘deal’ with him... She just hoped her mother didn’t get mown down in the crossfire!

‘We’ll deal with him together,’ her mother spoke up firmly, the determined glitter in her eyes immediately dispelling any doubts Silke might have had about her mother’s being able to stand up to Lyon—her mother looked like a Sherman tank about to do battle with the enemy!

In fact, her mother’s next words confirmed that that was exactly how she felt about it. ‘After all, he’s only a Buchanan,’ she said hardly.

Again there was that edge to her mother’s voice when talking about Lyon Buchanan, and Silke couldn’t help wondering if he had somehow been involved in the past break-up of the older couple. Although Silke didn’t remember Henry Winter being one of the men her mother had been involved with when she was with her as a child, and, if her mother’s and Henry’s relationship had been before Silke was even born, then Lyon would only have been a child himself, surely making it unlikely that he could have any serious effect on two adults? No doubt she would get the full story from her mother—when she could manage to drag herself away from Henry’s side!—and until then Silke knew she would just have to be patient where her own curiosity was concerned.

She straightened. ‘I’ll get back to the agency,’ she told her mother, smiling affectionately as her mother reluctantly made to rise. ‘I think you can take one day off, Mummy; after all, it isn’t every day you become engaged!’ And she had never seen her mother look so happy.

Her mother was even blushing like a schoolgirl as she stood up to hug Silke. ‘I’ll explain it all to you later, darling. I promise.’

As Silke went back to the office she knew it wasn’t her the other couple should feel apprehensive about explaining things to, that Lyon was going to be the one they should be wary of, despite Henry’s determination where his nephew was concerned.

It also dawned on her—horrifically!—that there was no longer any chance of her never seeing Lyon again, that once her mother married Henry Lyon would somehow be related to her. What a dreadful prospect!

‘There’s someone waiting in the office to see you,’ the agency secretary told Silke as soon as she walked in through the doorway.

‘Someone to see—’ Silke broke off her puzzled question as she guessed from Jackie’s flustered expression exactly who her visitor was; who else would be arrogant enough to demand admission to her mother’s private office! ‘Lyon Buchanan!’ she said with feeling.

Jackie looked even more agitated. ‘I don’t know who he is, he didn’t deign to give a name, but he’s arrogant as Old Nick! I told him you wouldn’t be back until later, but he insisted on waiting for you. I—’

‘Don’t worry about it, Jackie,’ Silke soothed distractedly, glancing towards the closed inner office door, behind which she was sure Lyon Buchanan lay—sat—in wait for her. ‘I quite understand your dilemma; Old Nick has nothing on this man!’ She paused near the inner office door. ‘And if one or both of us isn’t out of this office in five minutes, then I want you to call the police—because we’re probably murdering each other! Only joking, Jackie,’ she assured with a rueful smile as the other girl looked more worried than ever. ‘As far as I’m aware, he isn’t physically violent.’ It wasn’t necessary when you were verbally capable of demolishing someone!

He wasn’t sitting at all when Silke entered the office, but standing in front of the window, the weak March sunlight behind him clearly outlining the powerful strength of his body, the darkness of his hair taking on a silvery sheen, his hands—those hands she had to avoid looking at because their beauty totally belied the arrogant hardness of the rest of this man—thrust into the pockets of his tailored trousers. Thank God!

As he stepped forward out of the sunlight his face was thrown into sharp profile, those grey eyes taking on a silver intensity. Silke had no idea why he had returned so quickly after their heated exchange yesterday, but he certainly didn’t look as if he was about to offer her an apology for his behaviour!

In fact, his next words confirmed it. ‘So you’ve finally managed to drag yourself away from my uncle’s side?’ he taunted.

Silke drew in a long, controlling breath; instantly losing her temper with this man wasn’t going to help the situation. If only he didn’t have the ability to make her do that so easily! ‘Mr Buchanan,’ she greeted calmly, closing the door firmly behind her, relieved that she was at least dressed in a businesslike way this morning, her black suit complemented by an emerald-green blouse that made her eyes appear greener than ever, her hair a silky blonde cloud down past her shoulders. ‘What can I do for you this morning?’ She pointedly took her seat behind her mother’s desk, forcing him to move away from the window to the other side of the desk if he wanted to look at her while they talked.

His mouth twisted at her brisk, businesslike tone. ‘It’s not what you can do for me, but what I can do for you,’ he misquoted drily.

Silke quirked blonde brows enquiringly. What was the man talking about now?

He sat on the side of the desk, bringing him dangerously close to Silke, his hands out of his pockets now—a fact Silke took care to avoid looking at. ‘How much do you want, Silke?’

She frowned. ‘You’ll receive the agency account when the bills go out at the end of the month—’

‘I’m talking about you, Silke,’ he cut in harshly. ‘How much do you want to get out of my uncle’s life?’

Maybe her joking advice to Jackie about calling the police wasn’t such a joke after all; Silke felt like doing Lyon a physical injury at that moment! How dared he offer her money in that way? My God, arrogance didn’t even begin to describe this man!

‘Don’t look so outraged,’ he drawled tauntingly. ‘This way you get the money but no aged husband.’

Silke was shaking so badly at this further insult from this man that she had to grip the edge of the desk so that he shouldn’t see the visible trembling of her hands. No doubt Henry was right, and Lyon’s own experiences with women pursuing his wealth rather than him had tempered his own outlook on life, but it didn’t give him the right to judge her by those other women’s standards.

‘Name your price, Silke—and then we’ll negotiate something a little more reasonable,’ he ground out forcefully, looking down at her coldly.

She swallowed hard, breathing deeply. ‘You couldn’t afford me, Mr Buchanan—’

‘I don’t want you!’ He stood up abruptly, moving sharply away from the desk.

Silke looked at him frowningly, at the nerve pulsing in his cheek, his tightly clenched jaw. ‘Don’t you?’ she finally said slowly, knowing even as she said it that he did want her, that Lyon was physically attracted to her himself!

It was there in the angry flare in his eyes, the thinning of his tautly held mouth, the way his hands were clenched at his sides. She had thought him cold and arrogant, but she could suddenly see a raw, pulsating passion in the dark grey of his eyes. He didn’t want to want her, but he most certainly did!

‘You little—!’ He moved too fast for her, Silke being still dazed by her own realisation, and before she could even offer a word of protest he had pulled her up out of her chair and into the hardness of his arms, his mouth coming down on hers with forceful intensity.

Maybe the physical attraction had been there between them from the moment they met, burning just below the surface of their antagonism, but the moment their mouths fused together it was like Guy Fawkes Night and the Fourth of July all rolled into one, sensations coursing through Silke like she had never known before, every part of her feeling alive, singing with heated desire.

Lyon’s mouth moved against hers savagely, leaving no room for anything but response, Silke clinging to the broad width of his shoulders, revelling in his hands roaming restlessly across her back as he moulded her body to the lean length of his, her breasts crushed against his chest, her nipples taut and thrusting with urgent need.

And then his hands—those incredible hands; she could picture how they would look against her back, and she quivered at their lean strength against her—those hands gentled to a caress, moving beneath her jacket to touch her through the silky material of her blouse, his mouth becoming less savage, moving slowly against hers now, the tip of his tongue lightly caressing their softness before dipping inside the moistness of her mouth.

Silke felt as if her senses had been invaded: feel, taste, touch, Lyon’s body feeling hard and demanding against her, the tautness of his hips provoking an excitement within her she could barely contain. And as one of those hands touched the sensitive tip of her breast she could only gasp in wonder. Lyon took advantage of her fully parted lips to thrust his tongue further into the warm cavern of her mouth, possessing her fully.

She knew that if Lyon hadn’t been holding her so tightly she would have fallen to the carpeted floor at his feet, her legs feeling shaky, her body hot, engulfed in flame, her hands clinging to the broad width of his shoulders. She wanted him as much as he wanted her!

It was impossible to believe! She had met this man only yesterday, had felt antagonism towards him from the first, hadn’t so much as looked at another man since James had let her down so badly, and now this—! Lyon Buchanan, of all people. She didn’t want to want this man either!

‘What—?’ Lyon looked slightly dazed as Silke pulled abruptly away from him. ‘Silke...?’ He frowned down at her darkly.

She backed away from him, her eyes deep green pools of pain, her hands clasped tightly behind her back so that he couldn’t see their trembling. This man already had a power over her she wouldn’t have believed possible, and she had no intention of letting him see how deeply she had been affected by his kisses, his touch, his... Oh, God, she had to get him away from here, from her!

‘I think you should leave, Lyon.’ God, was that huskily uncertain voice really hers? ‘Now,’ she added hardly.

He had recovered more quickly than her, his eyes coldly assessing as he looked down at her, a derisive twist to his lips. ‘We haven’t finished our negotiations—or have we...?’ he added mockingly. ‘I don’t think my uncle would take too kindly to knowing that I could have had you here in this office this morning if I had wanted to. Do you?’ He arched mocking brows.

She didn’t doubt that Lyon would have taken great pleasure in telling Henry exactly that! And, if she had been the one about to marry his uncle, how destructive that would have been. But she wasn’t, and, far from wanting to correct him on that assumption, she now looked forward to letting him find out the truth for himself. Arrogant, arrogant... She couldn’t think of an expletive strong enough to call this man!

Her head went back proudly, her eyes flashing warningly. ‘I think I’ll risk Henry’s reaction,’ she challenged.

Lyon’s eyes narrowed ominously. ‘Are you that confident of his infatuation for you?’ he rasped.

Silke gave him a pitying look. ‘I’m that confident of the fact that he’s a man, and that you’re a—’

‘Careful,’ he warned, dangerously soft.

She shook her head derisively—as much towards herself as him; how could she have responded to such a man? He was everything she despised in a man: arrogant, self-assured to the point of condescension—in fact, too damned sure of his own power!

‘I’m sure you’re perfectly aware of my opinion of you,’ she scorned.

His mouth twisted. ‘It wasn’t so apparent a few minutes ago,’ he drawled challengingly.

This man used every weapon at his disposal! ‘Do you know what I hope, Lyon?’ There was no way she could continue to call him Mr Buchanan after the intimacy they had just shared. And they had shared it. She didn’t know what excuses he was making to himself for his own part in what had happened, but she hadn’t imagined his response to her. ‘I hope,’ she continued as he raised his brows questioningly at her, ‘that I can actually be there at the moment of your humiliation. Because it’s going to come,’ she assured him firmly.

‘I think you have that the wrong way round,’ he derided.

She met his scornful gaze unflinchingly. ‘We’ll see,’ she said softly.

‘We will see.’ He nodded abruptly, suddenly seeming to tire of the game, and straightened. ‘But be warned, Silke,’ he paused at the door to add. ‘I rarely, if ever, lose.’

She already knew that, didn’t need to be told, but this time there was no doubt he was going to lose. For her mother’s sake. Her mother deserved the happiness Silke had seen in her face this morning as she sat with the man she loved. And nothing this man said or did was going to spoil that. Even if Silke had to take this man on personally to achieve that.

She shrugged. ‘As I said, we’ll see, Lyon.’

He scowled. ‘Why are you being so damned stubborn over this, Silke?’ he rasped.

‘Why are you?’ she returned challengingly.

‘Because I can’t believe you want to marry Henry. You don’t even know him!’ Lyon frowned darkly.

She shook her head. ‘And you don’t know me, Lyon. Not in any way that counts,’ she added as he ran his gaze pointedly over the length of her body. God, even that sent a shiver of desire running down her spine. This had to stop! She didn’t even like this man. And she had always believed that that was necessary in order to feel attracted towards a person. But this man had disproved that in a matter of seconds! ‘I’m not getting out of Henry’s life, Lyon,’ she told him with certainty, sure that her mother and Henry would marry each other, and when that happened Henry would be her stepfather, and so very much in her life.

Lyon’s mouth thinned ominously. ‘In that case, “let battle commence”,’ he ground out harshly.

She gave an inclination of her head. ‘By all means. Are you going to see Henry now?’

He stiffened. ‘And if I am?’

‘I thought I might come with you.’ She picked up her handbag, ready to leave with him.

‘Prepared to defend yourself?’ he derided mockingly.

She shook her head confidently. ‘I don’t need to do that.’ As he was quickly going to find out once he saw her mother at the clinic with Henry! ‘Believe me, Lyon, your actions just now are more despicable than anything I’m guilty of. You’re the one who attempted to make love to the woman you believe is about to marry your uncle. How do you think Henry will feel about that?’ she taunted.

‘He’ll get over it,’ he bit out confidently.

‘Will he?’ She raised mocking brows, preceding him from the office as he held the door open for her with a confident flourish.

This man was going to get exactly what he deserved when they got to the clinic. Arrogant, arrogant—man!

She refused to even allow herself to think of the fact that part of the reason she was so determined to see Lyon get his come-uppance was because she was still shaken by her own response to him...

* * *

‘Frightened I might get my version in first of what happened this morning?’ Lyon taunted as Silke sat beside him in the silver Mercedes on the drive to the clinic.

‘Not at all,’ she returned smoothly, relishing in the luxurious upholstery of the seat. ‘I never drive in town, so this saves me the taxi fare!’ She looked across at him with suppressed laughter in her eyes.

Lyon glanced at her briefly, frowning as he saw that laughter. ‘You know,’ he said slowly, ‘I can’t work you out.’

That must be a first for him! ‘No?’ She raised mocking brows. ‘Maybe if you stopped looking for things that aren’t there...’

‘Oh, they’re there, Silke.’ His eyes narrowed on the road ahead. ‘Your behaviour with Henry proves that.’

Her ‘behaviour’ with Henry was all in his imagination. Admittedly, going on what he had so far witnessed between herself and his uncle, and his uncle’s subsequent claim that he was going to marry Satin, a name so similar to Silke’s, even that mistake was understandable, so perhaps he felt he had reason to believe the things he did about her. But if Lyon had been a different sort of man, not so quick to judge, to arrogantly presume, then maybe someone would have corrected his wrong assumptions by now.

Although that moment wasn’t far off now. Silke could hardly wait!

‘You have the look of a contented cat about to partake of a bowl of cream,’ Lyon suddenly barked harshly.

She hadn’t realised she had given her feelings away so openly. Although that was exactly how she felt! There couldn’t have been many occasions in this man’s life when he had been bested, but this was definitely going to be one of them. And it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving person!

Lyon watched her with narrowed eyes as she climbed out of the car to accompany him into the clinic, but Silke just met that searching scrutiny with bland indifference. She could wait for her moment of triumph.

The receptionist’s comment of, ‘Nice to see you again, Miss Jordan,’ was received by a scowl from Lyon. Obviously he thought the receptionist was referring to Silke’s having spent the previous night in Henry’s room.

God, she hoped her mother hadn’t left to go home and freshen up since Silke was here earlier; that would ruin everything!

She hadn’t! Her mother was still sitting in the chair beside Henry’s bed when Silke entered with Lyon, the older couple deep in conversation, unaware of their presence for several moments, so deeply engrossed were they with each other. It gave Silke the time to appraise her mother, to look at her as Lyon must now be doing. The similarity between the two women was unmistakable, her mother’s hair as long and blonde as Silke’s own, although her mother’s was neatly secured at her nape. The bone-structure of their faces was the same, her mother’s face animated as she talked to the man she had found again after years of being apart, her green eyes alight with happiness, both women small and slender; their relationship had to be obvious!

‘My God...!’ Lyon breathed slowly at her side. ‘There are two of you!’

Silke looked at him with challengingly raised brows. ‘Let me introduce my mother to you, Lyon,’ she said smoothly. ‘Tina Jordan. But I believe you may know of her as Satin,’ she added tauntingly.

Lyon’s stunned expression, as he looked from one woman to the other in open disbelief, was everything Silke had hoped it would be!