Читать книгу No Holding Back - Kate Walker - Страница 6

SAFFRON pushed open the office door and sighed with relief when she saw that the room beyond was empty. Having come this far, she didn’t want to be put off by the sight of Owen’s elegant secretary, and she didn’t know what explanation she could have given that would have persuaded Stella not to buzz through to her employer to let him know that she was there. Everything would be spoiled if he had any warning of her presence.

And she didn’t want to risk the possibility that she might lose the impetus that had driven her so far, the wonderful, liberating rush of anger that had pushed away any thought of doubt or hesitation. She had nurtured that feeling ever since last night, since the moment it had become obvious that Owen was not going to turn up. Then, her mood had been so bad that simply recalling it now brought a red haze of fury up before her eyes, pushing her into action as, without bothering to knock, she flung open the door and marched into the office beyond.

‘You’ll know why I’m here!’

The man seated at the desk had his dark head bent, his attention directed at some notes that he was making on a pad in front of him, but Saffron barely spared him a glance. She wouldn’t have been able to see him too clearly anyway, that mist of anger blurring her vision so that he was just a dark, indecipherable shape. Her fingers shaking with the intensity of her feelings, she tugged at the buttons on her coat, vaguely aware of the fact that, surprised by her appearance, he had glanced up sharply.

‘You promised me a special night out——’

Her voice wasn’t pitched the way she had wanted it to be, pent up emotions making it too high and tight.

‘“Aspecial night for a special girl”, you said! I waited for you for over three hours——’

That was better. Now she sounded more confident, stronger altogether, the sort of woman people would take notice of.

‘But you couldn’t even be bothered to phone—to explain. Well, that’s your hard luck!’

She certainly had his attention now. His stillness, the way he sat upright, his hand still gripping the pen, told her that. But she couldn’t look him straight in the face or she would lose her nerve. The last button on her coat came undone and she drew a deep, gasping breath.

‘I just thought I’d let you know that this is what you turned down——’

As she spoke, she flung open the trenchcoat, revealing the skimpy scarlet silk basque, laced up the front in black, the matching provocatively small panties and the delicate, lacy web of a suspender belt that supported the sheerest of stockings on her long, slender legs which tapered down to bright scarlet leather sandals, their spiky heels giving her five feet eight a further impressive three inches.

In the stunned silence that followed her dramatic gesture, Saffron finally found that her eyes would focus at last, and she turned a half defiant, half teasing look on the man at the desk. Only to recoil in shocked horror as her eyes met the contemptuous, coolly assessing stare of a pair of light grey eyes—eyes that in their silvery paleness bore no resemblance to the bright blue gaze she had expected to see.

This wasn’t Owen! She had never even seen this man before in her life!

Frozen into panic-stricken immobility, Saffron could only watch, transfixed, her own brown eyes wide and shocked, as that narrow-eyed gaze slid slowly, deliberately downwards from her hotly burning cheeks. They lingered appreciatively on the amount of creamy flesh, the soft curves of her breasts exposed and enhanced by the ridiculous slivers of material, and on her dark hair, falling in wanton disarray around the pale skin of her shoulders.

‘Very nice,’ he said at last, his voice a smooth drawl, making Saffron think wildly of rich, dark honey oozing slowly over gravel. ‘Very nice, indeed. But, believe me, if I had been offered something so very tempting, then in no circumstances would I have been fool enough to turn it down.’

The mocking humour that threaded through that low, attractive voice was blended together with a warmly sensual note of appreciation, breaking into the trancelike state that had held Saffron frozen.

‘Why, you——!’ Words failed her, shock and disbelief forming a knot in her throat that threatened to choke her.

‘Oh, come on, honey——’ His smile was as slow and provocative as his voice. ‘If you don’t want the customers to be interested then you shouldn’t display the goods quite so attractively.’

‘Display—customers!’ Saffron exploded as the insulting implications of that taunt sank in. ‘I don’t want you——’

‘No?’ The amusement in the single syllable stung more than any harsher comment might have.

‘No! You’re—you’re not who I meant—you’re the wrong man entirely!’

‘Is that so? Well, I hate to disagree with you, but from where I’m sitting I’m the right man—and you——’

Those silvery eyes moved over her again, seeming to burn where they rested, so that Saffron’s pale skin glowed in fiery embarrassment.

‘You’re exactly what I’ve been looking for—so if you’ll just tell me your terms, I’m sure we’ll be able to come to some arrangement.’

‘Terms!’ Saffron spluttered, unable to believe that this was happening to her. ‘We will do no such thing! We——’

She broke off on a terrified gasp as the man dropped his pen on to the desk and straightened, as if about to get to his feet. The tiny movement shattered what little remained of her self-control, and whirling in panic she headed for the door, running as fast as she could towards the lift.

‘Wait! Please——’

The lift doors were just closing as Saffron reached them, but luckily her strangled squawk of near-panic caught the ears of the solitary female occupant, who reacted swiftly, obligingly pressing a firm finger on the ‘Door Hold’ button, halting them in their tracks. A couple of seconds later, with a metallic rattle, they jerked apart once more, allowing her to step inside.

‘Thanks!’

It came out on a choked gasp as, not daring to look behind her, she hurried into the compartment, huddling into the far corner and giving a deep sigh of relief as the doors slid closed again and the lift started to move smoothly downwards. If that man had followed her, then surely she’d got away from him now.

‘In a hurry?’ The other woman, someone she vaguely remembered from Richards’ last Christmas party, enquired smilingly.

‘You could say that!’ Saffron’s response was wry, her voice still shaking in a way that she prayed her companion would believe to be the result of her dash along the corridor and so not ask any awkward questions.

‘And those heels aren’t made to run in——’

‘They most definitely are not!’ she returned feelingly.

How she wished she could kick them off—her feet were killing her! But she was sure that if she did she would never get the damn things back on again. She had borrowed them from her friend and workmate Kate and, as well as being much higher than anything she normally wore, they were a very tight fit indeed—Kate being built on a much smaller scale than her tall, fine-boned friend.

Saffron pushed a disturbed hand through the tumbled mane of her shining dark brown hair, holding her coat closely fastened with the other, her lips twisting slightly as she recalled the way Kate had described the offending footwear, the words repeating inside her head with a worrying significance.

‘They’re real tart’s shoes,’ her friend had said, laughter lifting her voice. But now, remembering, Saffron felt no trace of her earlier amusement. If that was how that man might describe what she was wearing on her feetthen what words would he use to describe her?

‘Are you all right?’ Her companion had noticed her involuntary shudder, and was studying her more closely.

‘As a matter of fact, I think I’m going down with flu,’ Saffron improvised hastily. ‘That’s why I’m going home.’

She prayed that the explanation would cover any other betraying reactions she might be showing. She knew that her cheeks were brightly flushed, and that probably her brown eyes were overbright and glittering with reaction to the shock she had just had. The way she was clutching her coat to her must also look peculiar, to say the least, particularly in this well-heated building. That thought had her instinctively tightening her grip on the black trenchcoat. She had reacted automatically, not thinking straight enough to check that all the buttons were fastened, the belt securely tied. If it should gape open, this woman would get the shock of her life.

‘Bed’s probably the best place for you, then.’

Somehow Saffron managed a vague murmur that might have been agreement, her mind too busy with other, more troublesome matters. Thinking straight! She hadn’t been thinking at all, just reacting. All that had been in her head had been the need to get out of there fast, to hide her embarrassment, get away from those coolly mocking eyes, that hateful voice.

It was all Owen’s fault, she told herself furiously. If he hadn’t stood her up last night, then none of this would have happened. The bad temper that his neglect had sparked off in her had burned all through the night, not at all improved by a restless, unsatisfactory attempt at sleep. The fact that as the morning progressed it had become obvious that Owen wasn’t even going to bother to ring up and explain had been positively the last straw, finally causing the simmering volcano of fury inside her to boil up and spill over like red-hot lava.

‘I’m not going to put up with this, Kate!’ she had declared at last, slamming the phone down on yet another caller whom she had hoped might just be Owen, offering a very belated excuse for his non-appearance, but in fact had turned out to be an assistant at the laundry with a thoroughly mundane enquiry about the number of napkins and tablecloths they had sent in their usual Monday morning bundle of linen. ‘He’s just taking me for granted, and I won’t stand for it.’

‘Perhaps he was ill,’ Kate had suggested, her tone soothing.

But Saffron had refused to allow herself to be placated.

‘How ill do you have to be before you’re incapable of using a phone?’

‘My, you have got your knickers in a twist, haven’t you?’ Kate teased, studying her friend’s indignant face with a touch of amused curiosity. ‘This isn’t just about being stood up, is it? There’s more to it than that. I know you—and I haven’t seen you this worked up in a long time.’

‘I don’t like being taken for granted,’ Saffron muttered, not meeting Kate’s eyes. She wished the other girl didn’t know her quite so well—well enough to put her finger on an uncomfortable spot in her feelings.

‘And——?’ Kate prompted laughingly, but then the

flush of embarrassment that had shaded Saffron’s cheeks was replaced by a stronger, hotter colour, that could only be the result of deep embarrassment. ‘Saffy!’ she exclaimed in frank disbelief. ‘You didn’t!’

‘Didn’t what?’

‘Don’t stall me! You know perfectly well what I mean. You’ve been fretting over things for weeks, trying to make your mind up. So, confess—had you finally decided that last night was to have been the night?’

‘I don’t want to just drift any more, Kate. I’m ready for some sort of commitment. I want a future—I have been seeing him for over six months.’

‘But I never thought you saw him in the light of a grand passion. Poor Owen.’ Kate laughed. ‘All these months he’s been begging you to go to bed with him and getting nowhere, and when you finally decide to let him have his wicked way he doesn’t even turn up. No wonder you’re hopping mad.’

‘You should have seen me last night,’ Saffron put in, a touch of rueful amusement mingling with the quiver of anger in her words. ‘There I was, all done up like a dog’s dinner—little black dress, perfume, stockings and suspenders—the works. I even bought new underwear.’ The shake in her voice grew more pronounced.

‘Oh, Saffy——’

‘It was pure silk!’

Her anger was growing again, fighting against the tenuous grip she had on it. She had felt such a fool, sitting there, dressed up, made-up—keyed up—waiting for a man who didn’t come.

Kate’s whistle was long and low. ‘The sacrificial lamb! It’s a pity Owen doesn’t know just what he missed! You’ll have to find some way of getting that home to him.’

That was when the idea came to her, Saffron reflected as the lift by-passed the second floor. Her anger wouldn’t be appeased unless she did something about the way Owen had treated her, and Kate’s remark had given her the perfect way to show him how she felt.

‘Well, here we are.’

The voice of her companion broke into her thoughts, bringing her back to the present with an abruptness that, combined with the jerky movement of the lift as it came to a halt, almost knocked her off-balance, so that she fell back against the wall.

‘Are you OK?’

‘Fine——’

It was impossible to concentrate on what she was saying, all her attention directed towards the lift doors as they started to open. Was that man still upstairs in the office, or had he followed her? And if so, having missed the lift, had he come down the staircase after her?

She could just imagine those long legs—for such an impressive torso had to be matched by an equally powerful lower half—taking the stairs two or more at a time, matching or possibly even outstripping the speed of the lift in which she had travelled. So, was he, even now, prowling around the hall, waiting for her? The thought sent a shiver of apprehension sliding down her spine.

A hasty, cautious inspection of the reception area reassured her on that point—temporarily, at least. He wasn’t anywhere in sight, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t on his way down. He might appear at any moment, so she had better not take any risks. The sooner she was out of here the better.

‘How will you get home?’

‘I’ve got my car——’

Saffron was hurrying across the well-worn floor as she spoke, pulling open the door in a rush. A cold wind, touched with a hint of rain, sneaked around her as she stepped outside, making her shiver uncomfortably, painfully aware of how little she had on under the protective layer of the coat. That thought brought a rush of burning colour to her cheeks, something that clearly worried the other woman.

‘Are you sure you’re fit to drive? Perhaps I should ring upstairs for someone——’

‘No!’ If he thought she was still in the building, heaven alone knew how he might react. She couldn’t face him again; couldn’t look him in the eye. ‘I’ll be all righthonest—it’s not very far——’

‘Well, if you’re positive…’

She still sounded unconvinced, and Saffron had to fight hard not to scream at her in panic as, through the large plate glass doors, she saw the other lift open and a tall, masculine figure appear in the hall, looking round him a way that made her think unnervingly of a hunting tiger. She could almost imagine him scenting the air, breathing in the trace of her perfume…

‘I have to go——’

Reacting purely instinctively, she kicked off the crippling shoes—she would buy Kate another pair—and turned to run towards the spot where her car was parked. The wind seemed to have found every opening in her coat, sliding in at the neck, whipping around her hem, revealing far more than was comfortable to her already precarious peace of mind, but she was oblivious to the cold and discomfort of her bare feet on the tarmac, reaching her small Fiat with a sigh of relief.

It was as she slid into the driving-seat and pushed her wild, wind-blown dark hair back from her face that she saw the other car, the one that, blinded by her anger, she hadn’t noticed on her arrival at the factory. Sleek and powerful, and gleamingly expensive, its paintwork was a shining light grey, almost silver, reminding her disturbingly of the eyes of the man in the managing director’s office—eyes that had looked at her with such contempt at first. But then that expression had swiftly changed to something much more worrying.

The car was in the MD’s private space too, she now realised, struggling with the shake in her hand that made it difficult to insert her key in the ignition. It was parked in the spot that had previously been reserved solely for the use of Owen’s late father—a space which must now, by rights, belong to Owen himself. Which, logic told her, bringing with it a wave of nausea, meant that there was only one person it could belong to—and that made matters all the worse.

Perhaps if she had been more aware of her surroundings on her arrival, if she’d been thinking straighter, she would have noticed it then, and its elegantly alien presence might have made her pause to reconsider her plan of action. But the truth was that she had been blind to everything but that plan. In fact, she had actively encouraged her anger on the journey here, feeding the flames, so that she hadn’t even noticed that Owen’s car wasn’t even in the car park at all.

She hadn’t even paused to look around her, Saffron reflected, sighing with relief as the slightly untrustworthy engine caught, and she let the brake out with nervous haste, not even glancing behind to see if her pursuer had come out of the building. She only wanted to get out of here without any further confrontation with the owner of that sleek, powerful vehicle, she told herself. Her stomach twisted into tight, painful knots of apprehension as every sense became tensely alert, ears straining for the shout she expected as she headed for the exit; unwillingly she contrasted her speedy departure, like a dog with its tail between its legs, with her confident, even cocky arrival such a short time earlier.

Then, fired up with determination and anger, she had barely allowed herself time to park the car before she was out of it and striding towards the main entrance, her brisk, forceful movements mirroring the state of her thoughts.

‘Hey!’

The shout cut into her thoughts, sounding clearly even above the noise of the engine, and the car swerved dangerously as her hands clenched on the wheel. A swift, nervous glance in the rearview mirror confirmed her instinctive fear, her stomach twisting painfully as she saw the way that letting her mind wander had slowed her responses, stilling her foot on the accelerator. Alerted by the sound of the engine, her pursuer had come out of the building and was heading purposefully across the car park towards her.

‘Wait! I want to——’

The rest of his words were drowned in the roar of the car as, heedless of safety or concern for her elderly vehicle, she rammed her right foot down to the floor. She knew very well what he wanted—he had made that only too plain—and she had no intention of waiting around to endure any more of his blatantly lecherous remarks.

It was just as she swung out of the car park and on to the main road that she glanced back one last time and saw the way he had halted, bending to pick up something from the ground.

Kate’s shoes, she reflected ruefully, wondering if, as in the Cinderella story, he thought he might use them as evidence to track her down. The problem was, though, that he was no sort of Prince Charming—quite the opposite—and if he did turn out to be who she suspected then she would need more than just a fairy godmother to get her out of a very sticky situation.