Читать книгу No Holding Back - Kate Walker - Страница 7

‘FOR God’s sake, Saffron—how many times do I have to apologise?’

Owen pushed impatient hands through his hair—hair that was not quite as dark as that of the man in the MD’s office, Saffron noted inconsequentially. His had been black as a raven’s wing where Owen’s was just a deep brown. That should have warned her, but she’d been too angry to think straight, and after all she had been expecting Owen to be there—hadn’t anticipated the possibility of anyone else being in the office.

‘Saffy, are you listening? I said I’m sorry.’

He didn’t sound penitent, Saffron reflected privately. If anything, he was quite the opposite—almost aggressive, in fact.

‘We had a date, Owen. I bought a new dress——’

The words dried in her throat as the thought of just what else she’d bought slid into her mind, bringing with it an all too vivid picture of the scarlet wisps of silk that she had pushed firmly to the bottom of the washingbasket. She doubted that she could ever wear them again when just the thought of putting them on awoke uncomfortable memories of the scene in the office, the sensual amusement in that appalling man’s voice. In fact, she didn’t know what had possessed her to buy them in the first place. They were a million miles away from the sort of thing she normally chose.

‘I waited for hours.’

‘I know.’ Owen sounded positively snappish now. ‘But I promised you dinner at Le Figaro and——’ an airy wave of his hand indicated their elegant surroundings ‘—I’m keeping my promise.’

‘Twenty-four hours late!’

Saffron couldn’t bite back the retort. Owen was the one who had stood her up, and yet he was behaving as if she was the offender. If he’d kept the date as arranged, she would never have gone to his office in a temper and made such a spectacle of herself.

‘Saff, you know how important this takeover is to me! I couldn’t keep our date yesterday because the big man turned up without warning.’

‘The big man?’

Saffron fought hard to keep her voice under control, but the rising tide of colour in her cheeks was a different matter. Try as she might, she couldn’t avoid the logical connection that her mind was making between Owen’s words and the hateful character she had encountered in the MD’s office. She had suspected this, had known that there wasn’t really a hope that she could be wrong, but to hear it confirmed by Owen was almost more than she could cope with right now.

‘Niall Forrester himself. Oh, come on, Saff! Where have you been for the past month? Niall Forrester owns Forrester Leisure, and Forrester Leisure——’

‘Is considering buying Richards’ Rockets—I know that.’

She knew only too well that Owen, whose interests lay in a very different direction, had been delighted when the huge international corporation had shown an interest in the small, rather rundown family business that he had inherited from his father six months before.

‘After all, you’ve talked about nothing else all month.’

She found it impossible to erase the tartness from her voice, but, well-launched on his major preoccupation, Owen seemed oblivious to the sharpness of her tone.

‘So, you’ll understand that when Niall Forrester himself rang to say he was coming up to Kirkham to look at the factory I just had to be there to meet him—and take him out to dinner in the evening. He kept me busy, I can tell you. He wanted to know everything there was to know—I didn’t have time to think——’

Or to ring and explain, Saffron reflected with a touch of asperity. But at the forefront of her mind was a more pressing worry.

‘And this Niall Forrester—the “big man”——’

The description fitted. Even sitting down, he had looked decidedly impressive, and the width of the straight, powerful shoulders under the immaculately fitted navy suit had been evidence of a formidable physique that, if she had had her wits about her, she should have known could not possibly have belonged to Owen.

‘Where is he now?’

‘Back in London, I expect. He said he’d seen all he wanted to see at the factory.’

Hastily Saffron tried to convert the choking sensation that had assailed her into an innocuous cough. Niall Forrester had seen everything he wanted and more! But at least it seemed that she could relax about one thing. Obviously, whatever his feelings about her appearance in the MD’s office, Forrester had said nothing about it to Owen. Of course, he wouldn’t know her name, but he could have asked the receptionist. If he’d described her, Beth would have known who he meant. The colour flooding her cheeks deepened hotly at the thought of just how he might have described her.

‘You’re not exactly chatty, Saff!’ Owen sounded decidedly peeved. ‘Is this because you haven’t forgiven me for last night? You’re not going to sulk all evening, are you?’

‘I’m not sulking!’

Saffron was indignant. Clearly Owen thought that he had apologised, but to her mind it seemed that what he’d really done was bring home to her the way that she came in second place in his life, after his business interests. From being angry about the way he had stood her up, she was now forced to wonder whether in fact his non-appearance last night had been a lucky escape in some ways. After the decision about their relationship that she had come to, only so recently, it was disturbing, to say the least, to find that her attitude towards him had shifted ground.

In fact, ever since Owen had appeared at her flat, she had been seeing him in a very different light. It was more than just annoyance at the way he had stood her up, though obviously that had a lot to do with it. Suddenly almost everything he said seemed to irritate her.

‘I’ve—just got something on my mind. I’d planned on working on the accounts this evening. Things are really getting a bit tight, and——’

‘Oh, they’ll keep until tomorrow. After all, a tiny business like yours can’t have many real problemsnothing compared to the white elephant of a factory my father left me lumbered with. I mean—who wants to buy fireworks nowadays?’

Once more he was launched on his own concerns. Listening to him, Saffron had to bite down hard on her lower lip in order to keep back an angry response. Owen had always had a tendency to be like this, but somehow tonight it seemed much more infuriating than usual. Was she just feeling unsettled after the disturbing meeting at the factory that morning, or did it go deeper than that?

At that moment her thought processes stopped dead, because in the second that she had looked away, needing to distract herself from Owen’s soliloquy and the urge to tell him to shut up, her attention had been drawn to a flurry of activity at the entrance to the restaurant and then, unbelievingly, inexorably, to the tall figure of the man who had just come in.

She recognised him immediately. There was no mistaking that jet-black gleaming hair, the straight, firm shoulders, the arrogant, upright carriage that had impressed her even when he was sitting down. Seen on his feet like this, that dark, sleek head towering inches above the head waiter—who, recognising intuitively the innate self-assurance and air of power that only a great deal of money could buy, was buzzing around him like a bee around an open honey-pot—he was even more imposing, a forceful, vital figure of a man who would always be noticed the moment he walked into a room. Even through the haze of shock that clouded her brain she was well aware of the fact that hers weren’t the only pair of female eyes that had noted his arrival—noted it and lingered in frank appreciation.

‘Forrester!’

Dimly, with a sense of terrible inevitability, she heard Owen’s exclamation confirm her earlier fears, depriving her of any possible weakly lingering hope that she might have been mistaken about the identity of the man in the managing director’s office.

‘But I thought he’d gone back to London.’ Her voice was an uncomfortable croak as she struggled to believe that this was actually happening, that he could be here—now. If he saw them—saw her——

‘So did I. Something must have kept him. Hey, Forrester! Niall!’

To Saffron’s horror, Owen was out of his seat, waving a hand to attract the other man’s attention.

‘I’ll ask him to join us—you should meet him. Forrester—over here!’

‘Owen!’ Saffron whispered through clenched teeth, but it was too late. Owen’s actions had drawn Niall Forrester’s gaze, those unforgettable light grey eyes narrowing slightly as they focused on his face from across the room.

He was not at all pleased at being accosted in this way, Saffron realised, seeing with a twist of apprehension the way that his dark brows drew together sharply, indicating an annoyed response that had her shrinking down in her chair, fearful of that cold-eyed scrutiny being turned on her too. Perhaps he would ignore Owen, take a table at the far side of the room.

‘Over here!’ Owen tried again, beckoning ostentatiously, in the same moment that Saffron realised just how ridiculous she was being, hiding away like this, as if she was some small, hunted animal.

With an angry reproof to herself, she straightened up again, and then immediately wished she hadn’t as the slight movement caught Niall Forrester’s attention, and with a sinking heart she saw his expression change swiftly. Even from this distance she could see the fierce, almost predatory gleam of triumph that lit up those pale eyes, turning them to silver and making all the nerves in the pit of her stomach twist into tight, painful knots of panic. It was all that she could do to remain in her seat, only suppressing the urge to push back her chair and run with a supreme effort.

But he was coming towards them now, his stride as determined and purposeful as his expression, and with a bitter sense of despair she knew that there was no way she could avoid the confrontation that was approaching as swiftly and inexorably as the darkness that was gathering outside. If she did run, she had no doubt that he would come after her, would catch up with her without any difficulty. And that that would result in a scene even worse than the one she now anticipated with such dread, she acknowledged miserably, wiping suddenly damp palms nervously on her napkin, convinced that the diners at the next table must hear how heavily her heart was pounding.

‘Richards. Good evening——’

The sound of that smooth, attractive voice was like a blow to Saffron’s head, the single phrase reverberating over and over in her disturbed thoughts. She had only heard perhaps ninety-five or a hundred words in those deep, slightly husky tones, and yet she felt as if every note of it, every shaded inflexion was etched into her brain in red-hot strokes.

‘Would you like to join us?’ Owen was totally oblivious to Saffron’s discomfiture. ‘It’s no fun dining alone.’

‘Thank you—I’d appreciate that.’

The smoothness of Niall Forrester’s tone made Saffron blink hard in shock. Had she been seeing things a moment earlier? Or had her own nervousness made her misinterpret his expression? Certainly, there was no sign of the cold-eyed look she had seen on his face; now he was all affable approachability, oozing social ease from every pore.

‘I’d anticipated a solitary meal, so some company would be welcome.’

The words were directed at Owen, but Saffron had caught the swift flicker of a glance in her direction, a look that left her in no doubt that he was only too well aware of her presence.

He was even more impressive standing up. She had tried to convince herself that the image she had created of him in her mind had been exaggerated, blown up out of all proportion by her own feelings about their meeting, but now she had to admit that, if anything, she had erred on the side of moderation. He had changed his clothes, but the dark suit he now wore was every bit as sleek and expensive as the first one, its superbly tailored lines clinging to a lean but strongly muscled frame, and under the fine material his waist and hips had the slimness of an athlete, showing that he kept himsef very fit. Standing beside Owen like this, he made the other man, who was a good six feet in his socks, look slight and underweight. And those eyes! Saffron kept her own gaze firmly fixed on her plate for fear of meeting the silver intensity of Niali Forrester’s scrutiny.

‘Won’t you introduce me to your charming companion?’

Hastily Saffron tried to impose some control over her expression as Owen, belatedly recalling her presence at the table, turned in her direction.

‘Of course—this is Saffron Ruane. Saffy, this is Niall Forrester. I told you about his interest in Dad’s factory.’

‘I remember.’

She managed a small, tight smile, feeling as if her face might actually crack if she tried any more, and, because courtesy demanded it, she held out her hand in greeting. It was taken in a warm, firm grasp that folded around her fingers, enclosing them in a way that in any other person would have inspired confidence and trust. To her consternation, this time it had exactly the opposite effect. She felt as if a live electric wire had coiled around her fingers, sending burning shockwaves pulsing across her palm and along every nerve in her arm so that it was all she could do not to snatch her hand away again with a cry of distress.

And in the moment that his broad, strong hand closed over hers she found herself looking into those clear, steel-grey eyes, her gaze held transfixed, held with such magnetic force that for a second or two she felt physically dizzy and actually swayed slightly in her seat, knowing that if she had been standing her legs would have given way beneath her and she would have fallen to the floor.

‘Miss Ruane——’ A slight inclination of his dark head acknowledged her, nothing about his expression or demeanour giving any indication that he recognised her. ‘I hope you don’t think that I’m intruding?’

The act of polite concern, nothing more, was nearperfect, almost too much so, and if she hadn’t been so excruciatingly aware of the circumstances of their previous meeting, Saffron knew that she wouldn’t have been able to fault it.

‘Not at all——’ What else could she say? ‘Won’t you sit down?’

Saffron took the opportunity to remove her hand from his with a rush of relief, turning the movement into a gesture towards the empty chair opposite in order to cover the rather abrupt way in which she snatched her fingers away, unable to bear his touch any longer.

Or was she worrying unnecessarily? she couldn’t help but wonder, as Niall seated himself. After all, he had only seen her for a very few minutes in the office—and she very much doubted that, for the most of them, his attention had been concentrated on her face! The memory of just what had held his interest had her reaching for her glass and taking a hasty gulp of her wine, hoping that its cool sharpness would halt the rush of colour to her cheeks, and she was grateful for the appearance of the waiter at Niall’s side, providing a welcome distraction from her betraying response.

She might have known that Niall Forrester would attract such prompt and almost obsequious service, she reflected wryly, seeing the waiter’s overly polite concern. He was the sort of man who emananted an aura of power and control—and he looked as if he would tip generously, she added with a touch of cynicism, recalling just how long she and Owen had had to wait before anyone came to take their order.

‘I’ll pass on the starter, then we’ll all be at the same stage.’ Clearly, Niall had noted their almost empty plates. ‘And bring another bottle of wine.’

‘Oh, but——’

Saffron had been about to protest that Owen was driving, and that she had no head for anything other than a couple of glasses, but even as she spoke Niall forestalled her, lifting their original bottle of wine from its ice-bucket and refilling their half-empty glasses.

‘Thank you,’ she was obliged to murmur, struggling against an impulse to lift her glass and fling its expensive contents in his face.

‘Not at all,’ he responded smoothly. ‘In fact, I’d like you to consider yourselves my guests tonight—my thanks for a most interesting day at the factory.’

Was she being unduly sensitive? Saffron couldn’t help wondering. Or had there been a worrying emphasis on that ‘interesting’, turning it into something that made her shift uncomfortably in her seat?

‘It was my pleasure.’

Owen tried to match the other man’s easy assurance but only managed to sound oily and insincere, and the way he had to lean forward as he spoke in order to make his presence felt made Saffron aware of the way that, while his remarks had seemed to have been aimed at them both, Niall had concentrated that silvery gaze on her face alone, making her feel like the selected victim, deliberately singled out by a ruthless predator.

‘I must admit that I’m surprised to see you here tonight.’ She forced the words out, determined not to let him see how much he worried her. ‘I thought you’d be over halfway back to London by now.’

‘That was my original intention, but I changed my mind and decided to stay overnight—do some sightseeing.’

‘Sightseeing? In Kirkham?’ Saffron didn’t bother to hide her scepticism.

‘Oh, you’d be surprised,’ Niall returned, with a smile that made every nerve in her body tense uneasily. It wasn’t humour that lit those pale eyes from within, but a hint of taunting triumph, that made her think worryingly of a hunting cat sitting patiently outside a mousehole, waiting for the unwary rodent to venture out. ‘For a sleepy little Northern town, this place has some unexpected attractions…’

That silvery gaze slid deliberately to her face, and Saffron’s breath caught in her throat as she saw that the mocking glint had brightened but not warmed those light eyes, so that they glittered with the brilliance of ice in the sun.

‘Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Ruane?’

As he spoke he looked straight into her eyes, that smile making a mockery of her earlier foolish hope that perhaps he hadn’t recognised her. He was playing with her, well aware of her discomfort; he was enjoying watching her squirm.

‘Oh, Saffy isn’t a local girl,’ Owen put in cheerfully. ‘She only came to live in Kirkham a couple of years ago.’

‘That’s a pity.’ The cool grey eyes never left Saffron’s troubled brown ones. ‘I had rather hoped that you might be able to show me around.’

His tone was dangerously soft, worryingly gentle, making Saffron think uncomfortably of the cat she had compared him to earlier—the soft fur of its paws concealing the powerful, tearing claws.

‘I was sure that you were the sort of girl who knows the best places to go for a special night out.’

A special night out. This time there was no mistaking the subtle deepening of his drawling tones on those words, forcing her to recall how she had used them herself only a few hours before. And the implication behind what he had said was painfully clear too, to anyone who had seen the insultingly knowing smile on his face when he had spoken of customers and terms. She could have little doubt as to what sort of nights out were in his disgusting mind.

‘On the contrary,’ she returned sharply. ‘I’m very much a stay-at-home, Mr Forrester. Not at all a clubsand-pubs sort of woman.’

‘That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,’ he disconcerted her by saying.

‘Well, if it’s night-life you want——’ Owen put in, anxious, Saffron knew, to give a plug to the night-club he hoped to buy a half-share in.

‘Not really.’ Niall barely spared him a glance. ‘Look, Richards, is that a friend of yours?’ A nod of his dark head indicated a table on the other side of the room, where a man Saffron vaguely recognised was waving to gain Owen’s attention. ‘Hadn’t you better see what he wants?’

He didn’t even watch Owen leave, instead concentrating all his attention on Saffron, continuing the conversation as if the interruption had never happened.

‘I can assure you that I wouldn’t think of hiding you away in some smoky, dimly lit club. A beauty such as yours should be seen in the full light of day.’

Saffron’s soft mouth parted on a gasp of astonishment, both at the arrogance of his dismissal of Owen and at the outrageous compliment.

‘Are you trying to flirt with me, Mr Forrester?’

His smile was a challenge, the intent gaze of those steely eyes seeming to draw her to him like some irresistible magnet, holding her transfixed, unable to look away.

‘On the contrary—flirting is a frivolous occupation, meant only light-heartedly. I am deadly serious——’

That voice would charm the birds out of the trees, Saffron thought hazily. Low and huskily sensual, it was pitched so as to make her feel as if she was the only woman in the room—in the world—and his words were for her alone. And it was working!

In spite of her determination to resist, fired by the knowledge of the low opinion he really had of her, it seemed as if her surroundings, the buzz of conversation from the other diners, had all faded from her awareness, blending into a multi-coloured blur, so that all she was aware of was a pair of hypnotic grey eyes and a silkily seductive voice.

‘You must know that you are an exceptionally lovely woman—such dark hair and eyes, and a face like a Madonna.’

‘Oh, really!’ With an effort Saffron struggled to break free of the hypnotic hold he had on her. ‘Now you’re exaggerating!’

She felt desperately out of her depth. It was as if she had been floating lazily on a sunlit sea and had suddenly realised that the shore was much further away than she had thought, with the current growing ominously rougher. The concentration of his gaze, the intensity of that huskily seductive voice, were more suited to the intimacy of a bedroom than this public place. As her mind made the connection between the man before her and the thought of the sensual surroundings of a bedroom her thoughts reeled, the image working on them like some powerfully intoxicating cocktail.

‘I never exaggerate.’

Niall Forrester dismissed her protest with the same casual indifference he might have used to flick away a fly that had come too near his face, and the gleam that lit deep in his eyes told her that he was well aware of her struggle to break away from the hold he seemed to have on her. That hold was as delicate as a spider’s web and yet as powerful as if she were actually confined by steel cables. The rational part of her mind was screaming at her that all she had to do was look away, look at someone else, but she found it impossible to move.

‘And in your case I have no need to. Though I have to admit…’

A tiny flicker of his eyes, downwards over the simple navy dress she wore, and a slight deepening of that smile, curling his mouth up at the corners, acted as a danger signal, warning Saffron that she wouldn’t Hke what was to come.

‘That that particular shade of blue you’re wearing is not perhaps the most flattering to someone of your dramatic colouring. I would have thought that something warmer—perhaps red…’

He caught the flare of apprehension in her eyes and the smile grew, becoming tauntingly triumphant as Saffron’s start of shock betrayed her awareness of the direction in which he was heading.

‘Scarlet, possibly.’ He drew the first word out so that it was a softly sensual sound on his tongue, almost a caress in itself. ‘Yes, I can see you in scarlet—something in silk——’

‘Oh, please!’ Saffron put in hastily, loading her tone with sarcasm. She’d had enough of this cat-and-mouse act; it was time to fight back. ‘You have to be joking! I only ever wore scarlet silk once—never again!’

She gave a carefully delicate shudder of distaste, dark brown eyes meeting silver, hers burning with defiance, her chin lifting challengingly.

‘It was a dreadful mistake—one I have no intention of repeating—ever.’

The deliberate emphasis on the final word was like a verbal throwing down of a gauntlet in front of Niall, an attempt to throw him off-balance, but to Saffron’s annoyance he didn’t react in the way she had anticipated. If anything, her challenge seemed to have amused rather than disconcerted him, and that smile grew in a way that she found positively hateful.

‘I can’t believe that. I can picture you in scarlet——’

The gleam in those pale eyes told her just how he was picturing her, and it took all Saffron’s self-control not to react to the almost lascivious pleasure that was so clearly stamped on the hard-boned features before her. Her fingers itched to lash out and wipe it from his face and she had to clamp them together tightly in her lap in order not to give in to the impulse.

‘And, in my opinion, it wouldn’t be any sort of a mistake at all.’

‘Really?’ Using every ounce of acting ability she possessed, Saffron injected the word with an icy hauteur. ‘Well, I’m afraid that you’re never likely to see me in any such thing.’

After this, she wouldn’t be able to bear to wear the scarlet silk underwear ever again. She would sooner die! Even just to see it would remind her unbearably of the look in his eyes, that hateful smile, his voice…

‘So, we’ll just have to agree to differ on this.’

She knew that by defying him like this she was risking his anger, possibly even the fact that he might call her bluff and tell Owen everything, but she couldn’t stop herself. She had to stand up to him, give as good as she got.

For a carefully timed moment he kept her hanging, waiting for his response, then, just at the point where she thought that she would scream if he didn’t say something, he lifted his broad shoulders in a nonchalant shrug.

‘So we will,’ he said easily, adding in a tone so soft that only she could hear, ‘For now.’

At that moment the waiter appeared with their meal, Owen returning to the table at the same time, and Saffron welcomed the interruption thankfully as a chance to gather her thoughts and try to cling on to the shattered remains of her composure. She knew exactly what Niall Forrester was up to. He had made it only too plain that he appreciated—and enjoyed—the possibilities of some rather nasty emotional blackmail, was well aware of how uncomfortable she would be at the prospect of Owen finding out about the fact that they had already met—and in what circumstances!

The problem was that he couldn’t be more wrong. In the same second that she had considered the possibility of Niall telling Owen everything, she had realised just how little it worried her. All through the evening—in fact, ever since Owen had stood her up—she had had second, and third—even fourth thoughts about their relationship, and now she knew that there no longer was a relationship to worry about. She didn’t care if Owen found out—and yet she still felt threatened. And that was what really worried her.

Earlier she had thought of Niall Forrester as a cat sitting outside a mousehole, and now she could be in no doubt as to just who was his prey. This particular sleek, dark-coated feline clearly had all the patience in the world when it came to hunting, and he wanted her to know that he was prepared to play a waiting game, showing no sign of pouncing until she put herself in a position of weakness by venturing too far outside the safety of her hiding place.

The problem was that she didn’t know quite what she was hiding from. It wasn’t any threat of exposure to Owen, however embarrassing that might be, instead it was something much more specific to Niall himself. Simply by existing, by awakening this unwilling, unwelcome response in her, he seemed to threaten her security, her peace of mind. It was as if she were one of the fireworks produced in Owen’s factory, and someone had placed a lighted match to her own personal fuse. That fuse was burning worryingly swiftly, and she had the frightening feeling that in a very short space of time something was going to blow up right in her face.