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CHAPTER TWO

SEATED at the circular dining table in a conference room of an exclusive London hotel, Willow wished she could just get up and walk out. Unfortunately her publishing company had insisted she attend. Her third novel, A Class Act Murder, had been nominated for the Crime Writer’s Prize, and Willow stood a good chance of winning.

More importantly, an appointment had been arranged at five this evening for Willow to meet American producer, Ben Carlavitch, to discuss the proposal of buying the film rights to the book. If by some miracle Willow won the prize it would ensure she got a much better deal.

Three days ago, Willow had been thrilled when Louise, her editor, had informed her about meeting Carlavitch. It had meant staying in London overnight, but excitedly she had agreed. However, Willow was now beginning to wish she hadn’t bothered.

She glanced around the room full of intense literary people, and felt hopelessly out of place. She had left school at eighteen and had become a writer more by accident than design. She loved reading, especially crime novels, and at the age of twenty she had decided to try to write one. Now, seven years and three books later, she found herself, much against her better judgement, in the spotlight.

The award winner was to be announced after lunch, and Willow wished it were over and done with. She felt pretty certain that she had no hope of winning; the other five nominees were all well-established crime writers.

But two hours later Willow walked out of the conference room in a daze. She had won. Her acceptance speech was a blur. She had immediately called her son, Stephen, on her editor’s mobile and told him the news before being swamped with people wishing to congratulate her.

She still felt weak at the knees with excitement and was grateful for the steadying hand of her editor on her arm as they approached the lift.

‘We have to meet our MD and company lawyer in Reception, and then across town to meet Carlavitch. He is really enthusiastic about your book,’ Louise said, grinning happily. ‘Especially after you winning the award, the publicity will boost our bargaining power immensely. You have it made, Willow. Carlavitch is leaving for Los Angeles later tonight, so we have to make the most of this opportunity, and hopefully secure the deal.’

‘What is going on?’ Theo Kadros asked the hotel manager as a reporter and cameramen he recognised from the national press hurriedly crossed the foyer. ‘You know the company policy: no reporters are allowed to hassle the celebrity guests,’ he said curtly.

Theo, as the owner of a multinational company that dealt with property worldwide, including a string of exclusive hotels, had arrived in London this morning on business. As always he was in the process of making a quick inspection of the hotel lobby. Experience had taught him that the unheralded visit gave him a much better idea of how his hotels were being run.

The manager’s smile slipped a little. ‘Strictly speaking the person in question was not a celebrity when she booked in; no one had ever heard of her. We are hosting the Crime Writer’s Prize ceremony lunch, and all the excitement is because the author J. W. Paxton has been announced the winner.’

‘Good choice. I read his latest book and thought it was excellent. However, I would hardly have thought the ceremony warranted attention by the national press. It must be a slow news day,’ Theo responded.

‘Maybe, but then you obviously have not seen J. W. Paxton.’ The manager chuckled, his glance swinging to the lift doors opening at the mezzanine level. ‘Here he comes now, but he is a she—and what a she! She could double as a model any day. Willow Blain is her real name, apparently.’ And he chuckled again.

On hearing Willow’s name Theo stiffened and glanced across the crowded foyer to the lift. His dark eyes blazed for a moment, then narrowed on the woman who slowly stepped out. He would recognise that face anywhere. Willow, the woman who had haunted his dreams for nine long years. Now to see her in the flesh again shocked Theo rigid. A sudden anger, fierce and primitive, had him instantly stepping forward, but then just as quickly he stopped himself and stepped back.

He had charged like a bull at the gate the first time he’d met Willow, and lived to regret it. Theo had learned never to make the same mistake twice. His unfinished business with the lovely Willow was private and very personal—he could wait…

Casually leaning back against a marble pillar, he studied her with hot dark eyes. The years had been good to her; she had barely changed at all. Her figure a little fuller perhaps, but she was still sex on legs. The eager faces of the male reporter and photographer proved it, he thought angrily as his glance skidded over them.

The fact that she was a successful crime writer surprised him, and then with a wry smile he thought again. Emma had called her The Mole, not just because of her name, but because she was quiet and always had her head buried in a book. Perhaps it was not that unusual that she would choose to write, but as a man—now that was unusual.

The book he had read, A Class Act Murder, had appealed to him because the plot had been strong and had tested the intelligence of the reader. The writing style of the author was full of vigour and passion. The passion of Willow he could personally vouch for, and as for the intrigue, well, she had certainly fooled him the first time they had met.

For a moment the sudden camera flash blinded Willow and she was completely unaware of the tall, dark-haired man’s silent scrutiny of her as she exited the lift.

‘What was that for?’ she asked Louise, blinking furiously. ‘I thought the man at the lunch was the official photographer from the Crime Writers’ Review.’

Louise chuckled. ‘Yes, but the fact that J. W. Paxton is actually a woman, and the fact that Carlavitch is interested in buying the film rights, make it a much bigger story. Obviously, the news has already reached the nationals.’ Louise grinned up at Willow. ‘And let’s face it, Willow, you are pretty gorgeous.’

‘I wish I’d stayed a man,’ Willow muttered darkly, walking by Louise’s side towards the shallow flight of stairs that led down to the reception.

‘Hold it there, Willow,’ the photographer shouted, and the two women halted a couple of steps from the foyer.

Straightening her slender shoulders, Willow flicked a tendril of black hair from her cheek and tried to appear relaxed. She wished she had not left the jacket that matched the mint-green dress she was wearing in her room. She was suddenly terribly conscious that the heart-shaped neckline revealed more of the upper curve of her breasts than she was happy with. The rest of the dress fitted smoothly over her shapely figure but the skirt ended two inches too far above her knee for Willow’s liking. Living in Devon, and, until recently, undecided whether to attend the awards ceremony, it was the best thing she’d been able to find to wear at the last minute.

Her hair had started the day severely tied back with a matching silk scarf but had now begun to escape, tendrils softly curling around her face and her elegant neck. Hot and flushed from the excitement and the attention, she still managed to stand tall and face the numerous questions the reporter fired at her.

Louise raised her voice. ‘Right, that is enough, gentlemen, we have a very important meeting at five so—’

‘One more shot, Willow, please,’ the photographer shouted. ‘How about this time with your hair loose and leaning forward over the stair rail, with a hand on your hip?’ he suggested with a cheeky grin.

Willow blushed scarlet and, laughing, said, ‘No way.’ She was a writer not a pin-up and her initial pleasure in actually winning the award was now fast diminishing. It suddenly dawned on her that it probably wasn’t the best idea in the world to have her picture featured in the national press. One never knew who might see it, and she valued her privacy above all else. She lifted her hand and brushed past the pushy photographer, and froze.

A head taller than every other man in the hotel, he wore a pale grey suit that fitted his broad shoulders to perfection and loosely followed the line of his great torso. He moved with a lithe grace for such a big man, and he was moving towards her… Theo Kadros… She could hardly believe her own eyes. Frozen in shock, she simply stared. A ghost from the past—but unfortunately all too real. It was Theo.

His black hair was streaked with silver now and if anything he was more stunningly handsome, more powerfully masculine than she had ever allowed herself to remember. His eyes gleamed black as night and were fringed with thick curling lashes that any woman would kill for. Willow now noticed that his eyes were fixed on her, with a disturbing intensity. She silently groaned. Seeing Theo again was all she needed at this point to turn what little shred of delight she had in winning the award to dust. But even so she could not tear her eyes away from his. It was a replay of the first time they’d met—she was dumbstruck.

‘I think Miss Blain has answered enough of your questions.’ Theo’s strong hand quickly curved around her elbow, and Willow found herself being marched across the foyer and straight into a large office.

‘You.’ Willow finally found her voice, and glanced wildly around—they were in the manager’s office! ‘We can’t come in here,’ she said inanely.

‘We can when I own the hotel,’ Theo Kadros declared arrogantly. Turning to the startled manager, he said, ‘Get out there and get rid of those two news hounds. Reassure Miss Blain’s publisher that she won’t be a minute, and shut the door behind you when you leave.’

‘No,’ Willow said shakily. This could not be happening to her. Wide blue eyes fixed in horror now on his hard, handsome face, she felt a slither of fear slowly trickling down her spine.

She had convinced herself over the past nine years that she would never see Theo Kadros again. Now standing in front of him she wondered what the odds were of them bumping into each other like this. Probably astronomical! This had to be the most disastrous coincidence of all time, and instantly Willow realised the consequences could be catastrophic.

It was so unfair; at her moment of triumph, Theo Kadros had appeared like a spectre at the feast. What kind of rotten luck was that? she silently screamed. Tearing her gaze from his, she looked around her, terrified he would see the fear and turmoil she knew must be reflected in her eyes.

At their first meeting she had taken one look at him and been utterly entranced by his masculine beauty. Even now, looking back, she inwardly cringed with embarrassment at how very young and innocent she had been.

It had been an unhappy time in her life. Her mother and father had both been in the Foreign Office. Her father had died in an accident in Africa when she was a baby and she did not really remember him. But her mother had continued with her career in the Foreign Office. Willow had spent most of her childhood with her grandmother in Devon. During the holidays Willow would visit her mother at whichever embassy she was attached to, and at the age of twelve she had been sent to boarding-school.

Unfortunately Willow’s grandmother had died three months before her eighteenth birthday, and she had been on her way to spend the summer holiday with her mother in India. Alone in London for the first time, and supposedly protected by close friends of her mum, she had been no match for the sophisticated seduction skills of Theo Kadros.

With her only experience of life garnered from books, and her head stuffed full of romantic teenage fantasies, Willow had been instantly mesmerised by the wondrous gleam in his deep dark eyes. And for the first time in her life she had suffered the full force of a man’s overwhelming sensual attraction and had been totally captivated. It had been no contest—Willow had surrendered on the spot. She’d fallen head over heels in love with him, and then fallen into bed with him, and had spent a dream-like night making wild, passionate love.

No, not love, sex… Willow instantly amended. She had discovered the true meaning of her Quaker grandmother’s many dire warnings about men and sex and their lack of respect the morning after.

Like a besotted fool she had believed Theo when he’d asked her to spend the weekend with him, so they could get to know each other better. She had watched him fall asleep and then returned to her room and packed. Later, feeling every inch a real woman, she had slipped downstairs to ring her mother to tell her of her change of plan. Her head had been full of love and happy ever after. But before she’d had a chance to call the telephone in the hall had rang.

Politely answering, she had listened in numb disbelief as a woman called Dianne had asked to speak to her boyfriend, Theo Kadros. Shocked into answering honestly, Willow had said he was still in bed asleep. The woman had hesitated for a moment, and then laughed, saying, ‘He is probably tired because I kept him up till dawn the night before. Don’t bother waking him; I am flying over today, and I want him rested for tonight.’ She had then instructed Willow to inform Theo as soon as possible that his fiancée had called.

Anna had appeared as Willow had slowly replaced the receiver, and had asked who had called. Willow had told her that it was Theo’s fiancée, and had had the horrible truth confirmed when Anna had replied, ‘Dianne, you mean.’

Even then Willow had not wanted to believe what she’d been hearing. She had hated herself but she hadn’t been able to help questioning Anna. She had asked her if Theo had known Dianne very long, and had been mortified when Anna had informed her about a year, which was a record for her brother. Anna had explained that this was probably because Dianne was prepared to put up with his playboy lifestyle, but had added that their dad had been grumbling lately that it was time Theo settled down.

The final nail in the coffin for Willow had been when Anna had confirmed that Theo had just flown in late last night after visiting Dianne in New York. Willow had not needed to hear any more. She’d realised what a complete and utter fool she had been, and half an hour later she had been in a taxi heading for the airport.

Now, nine years later, she looked back up into his darkly attractive face and her blue eyes clashed with gleaming black. For a moment the breath left her lungs as she realised he was watching her with cold, almost angry scrutiny. Even so, she could not prevent the sudden acceleration of her pulse rate and the sick twist of sensual hunger that tied her stomach in knots.

‘What exactly do you think you are doing?’ she asked in a voice that was not quite steady. Hating the ease with which he had affected her all over again, Willow took a couple of steps back.

‘Rescuing an old friend.’ His dark eyes narrowed on her pale face. ‘Unless of course you want to pose some more for those two randy men out there.’ He paused, one dark brow arched sardonically. ‘Topless, maybe?’ His heavy-lidded eyes raked slowly over her, taking in the top of her head, lingering for a moment on the unchanged beauty of her face and down further, hesitating briefly on the creamy curve of her breasts revealed by the low neckline of her dress. ‘As I remember, Willow, you certainly have the figure for it.’

She battled back the blush that threatened at his blatant masculine appraisal. But she could do nothing except pray that he would not notice the sudden tightening of her nipples against the soft fabric of her dress. ‘I didn’t need rescuing,’ she said, aiming for a firmness she did not feel. ‘I am perfectly capable of looking after myself, thank you. Now, if you will excuse me… I have a meeting to attend.’

‘Yes, I heard, with Ben Carlavitch, no less. But first allow me to congratulate you on winning the award. I have read your latest book and thoroughly enjoyed the deviousness of the mind that wrote it. You have certainly done well for yourself.’ His dark eyes gleamed appreciatively down into hers, and his firm male mouth curved and softened in a slight smile. ‘But then I always knew you had hidden talents,’ he drawled silkily.

With maturity Willow had attained a certain degree of sophistication, and she did not deign to acknowledge his obvious innuendo. Theo Kadros was a conceited, arrogant devil. She had once looked up the meaning of his name, Theodore—Gift of God, and if ever a man thought he was God’s gift it was Theo. Always larger than life, he was a handsome, dynamic man, self-assured to a degree that intimidated most people. Willow knew that she was no exception, but she had no intention of letting him see her fear.

‘Thank you,’ she said coolly, bravely holding his gaze.

She had read about him over the years; it had been unavoidable. He was incredibly wealthy and had inherited the family business on the death of his father a few years ago. Typically Theo had gone on to quadruple the size of the company. He was feared and respected in equal degrees by the business world, a ruthless, powerful man who had his fingers in many pies. It was just her appalling bad luck that one of the pies happened to be the very hotel she was booked into for the night.

‘I am glad you enjoyed the book,’ she continued steadily. ‘But now, if you will excuse me.’ She turned and headed for the door. Meeting Theo Kadros again was her worst nightmare, and she had to get away fast.

‘Of course, you have a meeting,’ Theo said smoothly, and moved quickly to open the door, but put a restraining hand on her arm. ‘But later, perhaps you would care to join me for dinner?’ He paused and added softly, ‘Willow?’

The sound of her name on his tongue and his long fingers curved around her bare flesh set every nerve in her body quivering in a sensual response. Mortified at her instant reaction to this man, and calling on every bit of self-control she possessed, she lifted her chin and looked up into his hard face. ‘Thank you for the invitation, Theo, but I am afraid I must refuse.’

Theo studied her, his attention wandering from the barely constrained mass of her silken black hair to her brilliant blue eyes. As he watched her he saw the flicker of fear in their sparkling depths. ‘You have a husband who might object?’ he asked abruptly. Perhaps she was afraid of arousing her partner’s jealousy? Theo could understand that. If she were his woman he would not let her out of his sight.

‘No…’ Willow said without thinking. Then cursed herself for being so honest. Theo had given her the perfect opportunity for her never to see him again and in her panic she had blown it. ‘But—’ She was going to say she had made other arrangements but never got the chance.

‘Good, then there is nothing to stop you joining me.’

The arrogance of the man was astounding. As long as she wasn’t married it was okay; he had not changed one iota. ‘But what about you?’ she asked coolly. ‘I am sure I read somewhere that you are married. Won’t your wife have something to say about you dining with another woman?’

She knew he had married Dianne. It had been in the press a few months after Willow had last seen him. A year or so later there had been a huge article in an international magazine about Dianne and the villa her husband had built for her in Greece.

‘I doubt it,’ Theo answered. ‘We were divorced years ago.’

Dianne had probably found out what a two-timing louse he was, Willow thought dryly.

‘So what do you say, Willow? We are both free and single, so there is nothing to stop us spending the evening together. We can catch up on old times.’

‘Sorry.’ She tried a brief smile and explained, ‘But I have already arranged to have dinner with my editor, so no, thank you.’ She reached again for the door handle.

‘Then as we are both staying in the same hotel, you must at least join me for a drink later, or I will begin to think that I have upset you in some way,’ Theo drawled in his deep dark voice. ‘Yet, as I recall, we parted with a handshake nine years ago.’

Was she imagining the steely threat present in his soft drawl? She was about to bite back with an angry refusal but thought perhaps it would be wiser to agree. Willow’s long lashes lowered slightly over her eyes, masking her expression. One drink and a brief friendly chat before retiring for the night. How hard could that be? She did not dare take the chance of arousing his suspicions. She was returning to Devon in the morning and would never see Theo again. ‘Yes, okay, if you are still here when I get back, I’ll have a drink with you. But don’t spoil your evening waiting for me.’ And with this Willow turned and left the office.

Ben Carlavitch was a very handsome man, but to Willow, ensconced in his suite with her publisher, the lawyer and Louise, he could have looked like Quasimodo and she still would not have noticed. She barely registered what was being discussed, and answered yes to everything, heaving a sigh of relief when the rest got down to discussing money. Her mind was in turmoil. Theo Kadros hadn’t changed much in nine years, except he looked harder and more cynical than she remembered him. He was right, they had parted with a handshake, but even now Willow could recall the fierce self-control it had taken to dismiss the man from her life.

Dear God! Thinking about it now, she could not believe she had ever been that young or that naive. The morning after sleeping with Theo she had answered the telephone and all her romantic dreams had gone crashing to the ground. The man whose bed she had just left had been engaged to be married to someone else. He was an unscrupulous fiend; even his own sister had said he was a playboy.

A few hours later, still in a blessedly merciful state of numb shock, Willow had been sitting in the departure lounge at Heathrow Airport waiting for the boarding announcement for her flight. The flight had already been delayed, and Willow had been anxious to get to her mother, and put the shameful events of the previous night behind her. Briefly closing her eyes, she had wondered how she could have been so stupid.

‘Willow.’

Her eyes flew open in shock. Theo Kadros was standing in front of her like some dark avenging angel, and she was struck again by his sheer magnetism. But now, in the harsh light of day, the dream-like picture she had of the teasing, tender lover was blasted into oblivion by the ruthless, dynamic power of the man towering over her.

Horrified, she leapt to her feet. She must have been crazy to even think for a minute that a sophisticated man like Theo Kadros could be interested in her for anything but a one-night stand. He was way out of her league, and the bitter realisation gave her the strength to face him. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked in a cool, polite voice.

A wry smile curved Willow’s full lips as she remembered the look of dismay on Theo’s face as his gaze had roamed over her from the top of her head to her toes. She had dressed for comfort for the long-haul flight, in plain white cotton drawstring trousers and a baggy blue Her hair had been scraped back in two plaits and her face scrubbed free of make-up, and she’d known she’d looked nothing like the glamorous, scantily clad girl he had met the night before.

‘I could say… where are we going for the weekend?’ he drawled mockingly. ‘But then again…’ his dark eyes narrowed angrily on her pale face ‘… perhaps I just came to wish you a happy eighteenth birthday.’

Still in shock, Willow ignored his comment about the weekend and thanked him politely, much to her own amazement.

Stony-faced, he demanded to know why she’d never told him she was so young. She responded petulantly with, You never asked, and he grunted like a wounded bear. He then demanded to know why she had lied to him and let him think she was the new student in the house. Again she told him with quiet reason, ‘You asked me if I was staying and I was.’

With his temper rising to boiling point, he pointed out that he would never have slept with her if he had known how young she was, or that she was a virgin. Embarrassed, Willow told him to keep his voice down. Then with a sudden flash of inspiration she informed him that she had simply planned it as something to do when she came of age, adding that she’d thought an older man would be better as he was likely to be more experienced.

His rage barely contained, he demanded how she could treat the loss of her innocence so lightly. He tried to persuade her to keep in touch with him, by telephone or letter, and suggested they meet up again in India, anywhere. When that didn’t work he demanded curtly that she keep in touch with him just in case there were any repercussions from the night they had spent together.

Not once did he mention his fiancée, and it was left to Willow to angrily point out, ‘Really, Theo, I think you are overdoing it a bit. I bet you didn’t say that to the woman who shared your bed the night before me.’ She caught the flash of something very much like guilt in his eyes, and knew Dianne had told the truth. Then, with a casualness that pleased her battered heart, she told him he had nothing to worry about, pointing out that he had used protection and that there was always the morning-after pill, implying she had taken one.

At that he stiffened and took a hasty step back, his dark eyes hard and blank. ‘Well, then, you are right, there is obviously nothing more to be said.’ He made a throw-away gesture with his hand palm up. ‘Except I am glad I could be of service,’ he drawled mockingly.

At that moment her flight was finally called. ‘My flight… No hard feelings, Theo,’ she said with a cool smile and took his hand and shook it.

Surprised, he looked at her hand holding his, and then slowly unwound his strong fingers. ‘Have a nice life, Willow.’ And then he left.

‘So what do you think, Willow? Are you agreed?’

Blinking back to the present at just the right time, Willow still couldn’t face the anguish she had suffered after Theo had left her that day. ‘Yes.’ She looked up across the table into the shrewd grey eyes of Ben Carlavitch.

You haven’t been listening to anything that has been said.’ His handsome face turned into a rueful smile. ‘A bit dampening to a Hollywood mogul’s ego.’ He grinned.

She grinned back. He really was a very attractive man, and about thirty-five, she guessed. ‘Yes, I did,’ she lied. ‘And if my publisher is happy, then so am I.’

‘Whoever he is, he is a very lucky man,’ he said with a wry smile. ‘I just hope he appreciates you. If not, give me a call.’