Читать книгу Elusive Obsession - Кэрол Мортимер, Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 6

‘I’VE dressed some brides in my time, Di——’ Joanna lovingly arranged the ivory-coloured veil for what must have been the dozenth time ‘—but you look—you look——’ Words seemed to fail the twice-married and twice-divorced cynic.

‘Fantastic!’ Cally told her without hesitation as she burst into the room and heard the latter part of their conversation.

‘Absolutely beautiful.’ Joanna, perfectly capable of talking for herself, drily chose her own description. ‘Of course, the gown could have something to do with it…!’

‘It has everything to do with it.’ Diana finally spoke from behind the sheer ivory-coloured veil with its beautifully arranged teardrop pearls draping her forehead. ‘Charles is going to be delighted,’ she said with husky confidence, squeezing the older woman’s arms reassuringly.

‘He had better be!’ Joanna told her fiercely as she still fussed over the veil, seeking absolute perfection in its shimmering length that cascaded to the base of Diana’s spine, her hair shimmering like gold beneath the whole length of it. ‘I’ve had nightmares about the next few moments!’

‘You had better get out there, Di,’ Cally advised warningly. ‘Before Charles is reduced to a quivering wreck!’

‘And why shouldn’t he be?’ Joanna said with a certain amount of relish. ‘After the week he’s just given me, I feel like one!’

With a wryly affectionate smile for the older woman Diana glided over to the door in the ivory satin gown, the tiny teardrop pearls on her forehead the only adornment on both the veil and the gown, the simplistic lines of the latter outlining the perfection of her uptilted breasts, slender length of waist, and gently curving hips. It was a gown of sheer genius, a masterpiece.

‘Oh, my God, I almost forgot to tell you in the excitement!’ Cally hurried over to her, stunningly beautiful herself in a shimmering gold gown. ‘The mystery guest has at last arrived,’ she told Diana breathlessly. ‘It’s Reece Falcon!’ The announcement was made with a triumphant note for the effect the man’s identity was sure to have.

But Cally couldn’t know just how much of an effect it had had on the woman so thankfully hidden behind the shimmering veil. Her cheeks paled, green eyes glazed with forbidden memories, her mouth suddenly dry.

‘He’s Chris’s father,’ Cally encouraged as she received no obvious response from Diana. ‘Christopher Falcon,’ she enlarged frustratedly as she still had no reply. ‘The man who has been sending you red roses all week and generally making a pest of himself!’

Diana swallowed hard, fighting to regain control. It had just been the shock, the suddenness—— She had known she would have to face him again one day, but she had hoped it would be by her design, not like this, not today; she hadn’t even realised he had been sent an invitation. But perhaps he hadn’t, not in the normal way; Charles would have been sure to tell her of such an important guest. No, Reece Falcon had arranged this at the last minute; he was the sort of man who, when he decided he wanted something, made sure he got it. Getting himself invited here today would have been easy for a man like him.

Cally still looked deflated by her lack of reaction. ‘Diana——’

‘Will you stop delaying the girl?’ Joanna cut in desperately. ‘I can hear Charles building up to the finale now. God knows what he will do if Diana is late with her entrance——!’

‘Heaven forbid the bride should be late,’ Diana returned drily, fully in command of her emotions again now. Reece Falcon was just a man, with chinks in his arrogant armour like any other; hadn’t she managed to find one of them? Wasn’t that the reason he was here today? But there was nothing he could do to her, absolutely nothing he could do that would touch her either mentally or physically.

‘There won’t be a dry eye in the house,’ Joanna predicted. Even cynically hardened as she was, she was obviously moved by the delicate perfection of the bride who stood before her.

Diana gave her a grateful smile before stepping proudly from the room, she could hear the expectant murmur of voices in the main room as she took her place in readiness for presenting herself to them, professionalism taking over as she stepped out on to the catwalk right on cue, barely aware of the awed gasps of admiration as she began her slow walk—just the way Charles had told her he wanted it done!—down the raised platform. Silence fell over the entire room as she did so, even the effervescent Charles, the designer-genius of the gown, having nothing further to say after he had announced the ‘Divine Bride’.

All week, at this Paris fashion show, Diana had been showing Charles’s ‘Divine Collection’ exclusively. For she was Divine.

It had all started out as a gimmick thought up by her agent and herself when she first took up modelling four years ago: the Divine Diana. But as her career took off she had simply become known as Divine to her colleagues and the public alike. This exclusive collection named after her was as much an accolade to her own success as it was to Charles’s brilliance as a designer. This wedding gown, her final appearance for the week, was to be her—and obviously Charles’s—pièce de résistance.

And from the stunned reaction of the audience, as they gazed up at her with wide-eyed wonder, it was having the desired effect.

But now, at this moment in time, Diana was interested in one reaction only to her appearance—that of the man seated in the chair in the centre of the row at the very end of the catwalk—a chair, placed between a beautiful redhead on one side and a lovely blonde on the other, that had, until a very short time ago, remained mockingly empty. Model after model, as they came backstage for another quick change, had exclaimed over this unusual fact as the show progressed. It was unheard of for a seat to remain empty in this way at the Paris Fashion Show. And right there, at the end of the catwalk, it had been so glaringly obvious to them all.

But the seat, as Cally had stated, was empty no longer, was now occupied by a man whose very size seemed to dwarf those around him.

It was him. Reece Falcon. Or just Falcon, as he was generally known. A bird of prey. How apt.

And Diana knew that today she was the focus of that narrowed silver gaze. Not admiringly, as with the rest of the audience, but with cold, raking assessment, chilling contempt stamped on every arrogant line of his harshly chiselled face.

The veil she wore acted as a shield, gauzy admittedly, but it nevertheless meant she could look out, while no one—including this silver-eyed devil—could look in. It was all the reprieve she needed after learning of his unexpected presence here today. She knew why he was here, of course, had known this moment would have to arrive eventually. That chink in his armour…

The photographs she had seen of him didn’t in any way do him justice, could in no way tell of the power he emanated as he sat there so still and totally knowing. The lightweight hand-made suit he wore did nothing to tame the sheer animal savagery of the man, and neither did the cream silk shirt and neatly knotted tie at the base of his throat, all of them the trappings of civilisation worn by a man who lived by his own rules and not those dictated to him.

Dark hair that seemed inclined to curl was kept neatly cut to his perfectly shaped head, equally dark brows winging arrogantly over those narrowed silver-coloured eyes, the latter taking on a slightly luminous quality against the dark tan of his skin. His nose looked as if it might have been broken at some time in his life—probably by one of his many enemies, Diana dismissed with contempt—appearing almost hawklike with that slight bump in its bridge, further enhancing his Falcon reputation, no doubt. His mouth was thin and unsmiling, his jaw square and challenging as his head tilted back in that steady assessment. A bird of prey, in fact.

But she had no intention of being his next victim!

As Charles had instructed, she glided to a halt at the end of the catwalk, pausing for effect, all eyes riveted on her now, before slowly raising slender silver-tipped fingers and lifting the veil back from her face.

As Charles had predicted, spontaneous applause filled the room as the full effect of her youthful beauty in the magnificently simple gown became apparent, several women openly crying at the simplistic perfection she presented.

Reece Falcon, Diana noticed, remained unsmiling, showing no emotion whatsoever, although that luminous glitter of his eyes seemed to have taken on a mesmerising quality.

Diana wasn’t in the least conceited about the way she looked, had no illusions about her pale ‘English Rose’ beauty; after all, for the last four years her face and her body had been her fortune, and the photographers and designers left her in no doubt about the fact that she would only be popular for as long as those looks lasted.

Her golden hair, naturally wavy, reached to the base of her spine, framing a face that was hauntingly lovely; green always-distant eyes flecked with gold were surrounded by thick dark lashes, her nose was short and straight, her lips full and sensual, her chin small and pointed, her skin as pale and creamy as magnolia. She had an almost Pre-Raphaelite beauty, an unworldliness that made her much in demand both for modelling and photographic sessions.

But she might as well have been a block of misshapen wood for all the impression she had made on Reece Falcon!

A cold lack of emotion remained in that silver-eyed gaze as she moved first to one side of the T-shaped dais and then the other to show the full effect of the gracefully flowing lines of the back of the gown, her hair glistening like gold against the ivory veil.

Diana held her features composed in the dreamily distant way Charles had wanted from her, her hands steepled together almost in prayer as she walked, the long ivory sleeves ending in a point that reached the knuckle of the third finger of each hand. She had the look of a proudly sacrificial bride.

The silence began to be broken now as some of the women in the audience began to whisper together excitedly, overcome by the majestic beauty.

Diana knew her composure must have slipped slightly as the beautiful redhead sitting to the left of Reece Falcon turned to him and murmured softly, the blue-eyed gaze remaining fixed on Diana as she did so.

The woman had been here from the beginning of the show, but when she laid a slender scarlet-tipped hand on Reece Falcon’s arm as she spoke to him, an act that implied intimacy between them, it was obvious the two of them knew each other very well.

It was the first indication Diana had had that Reece Falcon wasn’t here alone.

It should mean nothing to her, did mean nothing, and yet—— Reece Falcon had had a string of women in his life since his divorce ten years ago, and it was unlikely this one would be any more significant than any of them had been, yet she hadn’t realised he was involved with anyone at the moment…

Before she began that long slow walk back up the catwalk, to the sound of thunderous applause now, she found herself giving the other woman a more searching look. She wasn’t as young as Diana had first thought; she looked to be in her mid to late thirties—very close to Reece Falcon’s own age of thirty-nine—although the professionally artful use of make-up made her initially appear more youthful. Small and delicately made, and expensively dressed in designer-label clothes that Diana instantly recognised as such, the woman was obviously the sophisticated socialite Reece Falcon usually involved himself with. Beautiful as the woman was, she only held half of Reece Falcon’s attention as she spoke to him, the other half being firmly fixed on Diana, and so she doubted the other woman would figure any more prominently in his life than any of those others had over the years.

Diana couldn’t help the slightly contemptuous twist to her lips as she turned to begin the walk back, whatever slight wavering of confidence she had momentarily known disappearing completely as those silver eyes continued to glare up at her; whatever place the beautiful redhead had in his life, she couldn’t completely divert his attention away from Diana!

The congratulations, once she reached the changing-room, from Joanna and the other models, passed over her head as if she was in a dream as she stepped out of the wedding gown to reveal that she wore only skin-coloured panties beneath, her breasts full and rosy-tipped, her body more slender unclothed than it had appeared in the exquisite clothes she had been modelling all week, her legs long and slim, each movement she made unknowingly graceful, her hair at last revealed in all its long shimmering glory as Joanna carefully removed the delicacy of the pure lace veil.

Diana’s attention was held by the bouquet of roses that lay on a table in the corner of the room—today’s offering from Chris, the card attached to them having remained unopened as they had arrived during the rush and bustle of the half an hour before the show began. She had felt no urgency to open the envelope and read the card inside because she had thought it would be the same as the others during the week; two simple words—‘Marry me’. But perhaps this time she had been wrong; surely Chris knew his father was here, in Paris?

She hastily pulled on her robe over her near-nakedness, tying the belt securely about her waist even as she crossed the room to the roses, taking the card from the small white envelope and reading the message there. Those same two words still featured, but underneath, as if added later, was another message. It read, ‘The Falcon is on the hunt.’ They both knew the Falcon was his father. If only she had taken the time to read this card, she would at least have had some warning that Reece Falcon might be here in Paris, if nothing else. She had to accept that he probably knew something of her relationship with Chris too; the fact that he was here, tonight, was surely more than just a coincidence. It would more than explain that glitter-eyed look!

‘Coming to the party?’ Cally appeared at her side, unashamedly attempting to read the card that Diana slowly crushed in her hand, shrugging dismissively at the movement, the babble of voices continuing behind them, everyone obviously relieved that the evening had gone as well as it had and that the week of hard work was over.

With a tiny half-smile of apology, Diana shook her head in the negative. It had been a rhetorical question on Cally’s part anyway; both of them already knew that she wouldn’t go with the others to the huge party being thrown for them all.

‘I thought not,’ Cally grinned with an unoffended shrug. ‘Back to the hotel,’ she guessed, ‘a good night’s sleep. And then back to England on the first available flight in the morning,’ she said knowingly.

Diana’s smile widened at this totally correct assessment of her plans for the next twelve hours, the unguarded smile instantly revealing exactly how young she really was, the heavy make-up she had been wearing for modelling all evening tending to add years as well as the required sophistication.

‘Am I so predictable?’ She shook her head ruefully.

‘I shouldn’t worry about it,’ Cally shrugged dismissively. ‘It only adds to the elusiveness of the Divine Diana image.’

In part, it was only an image, one she had deliberately cultivated over the years. But the truth of the matter was that she didn’t really have any interest in the social side of her profession; she earned her living as a model, but she didn’t feel that meant she had to be on show the whole time.

And so she did her work, a professional to her fingertips, always on time for assignments, never subjecting the people she was working with or for to moods or temper-tantrums, while at the same time keeping her private life very private indeed. Which wasn’t as difficult as it sounded—not when she didn’t go out to the usual round of clubs and restaurants that her colleagues frequented, and so gave the Press no food for gossip. And people rarely connected the young woman shopping in the local supermarket, or walking in the park, with the glamorous model Divine who often adorned their newspapers in one exotically lovely gown or another. It seemed, with her glorious cascade of hair confined at her nape or in a single plait down the length of her spine, her face free of make-up, and barely looking her twenty-one years, that she bore no resemblance then to the beautiful model Divine.

She returned Cally’s smile now. ‘A good night’s sleep sounds a very welcome idea at the moment!’ She was thoroughly exhausted from the hectic pace of the last week, and finding Reece Falcon sitting in the audience for her very last entrance of the week had been much more traumatic on her nerves—and her energy level—than she cared to admit.

But she went in search of Charles before leaving, knowing he would be caught up in the crush of people who wanted to congratulate him on the success of his designs; Charles enjoyed this adulation almost as much as he did putting the collection together in the first place.

Diana almost turned and left without talking to him at all when she saw who he was talking to; Reece Falcon!

Her desire for flight before she was seen was instinctive, self-protective—and, she decided with inner anger at herself, totally cowardly.

‘Ah, Diana!’ Charles smiled warmly as the congratulations she was receiving caught his attention, and he reached out a hand to draw her to his side, his arm moving about the slender width of her shoulders; he was several inches taller than Diana, for all her height. ‘We were just talking about you,’ he told her with satisfaction.

She tensed inwardly even as she compared the two men. The two were of a similar age, but Charles was tall, slender and blond, filled with a nervous energy that was evident in the way he found it difficult to stand still for any amount of time, constantly moving his hands as he talked, tapping those same hands rhythmically against his thighs when he wasn’t. The other man, in sharp contrast, was very dark in colouring, and even taller than Charles, with a big, powerful body that nevertheless gave the impression of not having a superfluous ounce of flesh on its frame. And he was possessed of a stillness that was, in itself, more powerful than mere strength could ever be.

Diana assessed him coolly before turning her attention back to Charles; the flush of success was still on his cheeks. ‘Oh, yes?’ she prompted huskily.

‘Not you exactly.’ It was the other man who answered her softly spoken query—and at the sound of his voice Diana knew a sickening thud in the bottom of her stomach. ‘We were discussing the wedding gown you modelled.’

She turned to him sharply, frowning. ‘The wedding gown…?’

‘Yes,’ Charles confirmed slowly, although he looked at the other man somewhat quizzically. ‘Although we hadn’t quite got around to discussing your interest in it…?’

‘I want it,’ Reece Falcon stated with simple fact, never doubting for a moment that the gown would be his.

Diana still watched him with puzzled green eyes, not in the least surprised by his self-assurance that he would get what he wanted; this man always got what he wanted. What she was surprised about was what he actually wanted this time. The wedding gown. Why on earth——?

‘Well, that’s marvellous!’ Charles told him with obvious pleasure, his arm falling away from Diana’s shoulders in his enthusiasm. ‘I had no idea!’ He reached out and shook the other man’s hand. ‘I would be delighted to design a wedding gown for you—well, not for you personally, of course.’ He gave a laugh at his own little joke.

Diana had no doubts as to the reason why Charles was so delighted at the prospect of designing a wedding gown exclusively for the Falcon family: the wedding gown would be photographed and shown all over the world, would earn its designer worldwide publicity and prestige.

But the fact that there was to be a wedding at all filled Diana with misgivings.

Silver clashed with green as she found her gaze meeting Reece Falcon’s head-on for the first time, something akin to an electric shock passing through her body at the force she encountered there, a barely leashed energy behind the outward calm. He returned her gaze coldly, challengingly—almost as if he knew what she was thinking, feeling. Impossible. He couldn’t possibly know!

The original Ice Maiden, Reece realised with mocking amusement. He had met many women in his life—too damned many, he acknowledged grimly—some of them, although not many, as coldly distant as this particular one. But none of them had been as young or possessed of such a removed air as this model Divine.

He was curious in spite of himself, and thought now that he should perhaps have taken the trouble to find out a little more about her before coming here, other than the fact that she was being disruptive to his plans for his son. Now that he had seen her for himself, and could see how beautiful but strangely elusive she was, he realised why Chris was so fascinated by the young woman that he had risked even Reece’s anger to continue seeing her.

This young woman could be trouble with a capital T. Good God, there was no could about it!

He broke their gaze with easy dismissal, turning back to Charles Oxley, knowing a momentary satisfaction as he did so that the other man was no longer touching this exquisitely lovely creature—although he knew that none of that pleasure would be obvious in his expression; years of schooling his features and learning to hide his innermost thoughts and emotions meant that he now did it automatically. Until a few minutes ago when Diana joined them he had wondered at Oxley’s sexual inclinations, but the way the other man looked at the model he was left in no doubt. Or was it just that this woman-child was so exotically lovely that no man could look at her without appreciating her understated sensuality…?

‘I don’t want a gown designed, Charles,’ he drawled dismissively. ‘I want the one I saw tonight.’

Charles frowned. ‘The one…? But—I think the bride should see it first before making any decision, don’t you?’ he attempted to cajole. ‘It may not be—what she wants for herself. I would be pleased to set a time when we can all get together to discuss what you would like,’ he added lightly, obviously not wanting to offend by refusing the wedding gown Divine had modelled earlier.

Reece knew exactly why the other man was prevaricating, could appreciate Charles Oxley’s reluctance to let a woman wear a gown, wedding or otherwise, that he wasn’t absolutely positive would look right on her and at the same time be a credit to his undoubted reputation as a designer. At the same time that he could appreciate the other man’s feelings, however, he also knew that he wanted the gown!

‘She’s seen it,’ he told the other man drily. ‘She likes it. It’s what she wants.’ And what that particular lady wanted, she got!

This time there was no mistaking a reaction in the model Divine as she stood at Charles Oxley’s side. She didn’t move, and her facial expression—strangely, for one so young—remained perfectly controlled. And yet Reece knew his words had disturbed her; he could feel the tension in her.

Tension was the very least of what this young woman should feel; she was responsible for trying to thwart his plans for Chris. A fact he intended rectifying at the first opportunity.

Although he had to admit, if Chris had to choose a woman to have a passionate fling with, he had better taste than Reece would have given him credit for. This young model Divine wasn’t at all what he had been expecting when he’d heard of the relationship. Although she must only be a year or so older than Chris’s twenty, at the same time she gave the impression that she was much older than that; there was also a vulnerability about her that he knew she tried to hide by her very elusiveness. A strange combination. Interesting. Intriguing…He already knew he meant to learn more about her.

He didn’t question the fact that he found attractive the young girl his own son had told him he wanted to marry. Chris would get over the infatuation, hopefully learn from it, and there was little in Reece’s own life that he denied himself once he had established in his own mind that he wanted it. And everyone, he had learnt with increasing cynicism, had their price. With Chris, this particular young lady’s price appeared to have been marriage. But then, it was standard practice, in any deal, to ask for more than you actually expected to get. It was time Chris, as much as this young girl, learnt that!

‘I’m flattered, Mr Falcon,’ Charles began tentatively, ‘that the bride should like that particular gown so much——’

‘Don’t be,’ Reece drawled. ‘This particular lady is used to getting what she wants.’ Every time. And she was a beautiful, maddening bundle of provocation. He pitied—and envied—any man who tried to tame her.

Oxley still looked dismayed at the way the conversation was going, obviously searching for that narrow line between being polite to what he appreciated was a prestigious customer, and yet at the same time standing by his own professional reputation. ‘But if we could just——’

‘Charles—I’m sorry to interrupt.’ A slightly breathless lady in her early forties bore determinedly down on them, looking at Reece briefly, chewing on her bottom lip as she recognised him instantly. ‘Edgar Poole is looking for you,’ she told Charles awkwardly.

Reece was well aware of who Edgar Poole was; he had done business with the successful entrepreneur several times in the past, and had actually gone into a couple of deals with him too. Successfully, of course. They both played to win. And Edgar’s young and lovely wife would be the reason the other man was here at all today. Reece could appreciate Oxley’s dilemma now in not knowing whether he should continue his conversation with him—one that he was finding it difficult to deal with—or go and see Edgar and the lovely Caryn, who might be more agreeable to deal with.

Reece decided, on this occasion, to take pity on him, inwardly admitting that he felt slightly distracted himself, but for quite a different reason. ‘I’ll give you a call within the next few days, Charles,’ he drawled mockingly. ‘But I won’t change my mind about the wedding gown,’ he warned him. ‘And believe me,’ he added derisively, ‘neither will the bride!’

The bride. Every time she was mentioned Diana felt her nerves jangle. She had had no idea… In all the weeks she had known Chris, not once had he mentioned that his father was contemplating marriage. In fact, for years now, Reece Falcon had been avoiding that very state. Not that there hadn’t been numerous women wanting to change his mind about that, but the man himself had just been determined he wasn’t going to make that sort of commitment to any woman ever again.

But now that Diana was aware of the impending marriage she didn’t doubt who the intended bride was to be; she had a vivid memory, as she walked down the catwalk in the wedding gown earlier, of a red-tipped hand resting proprietorially on Reece Falcon’s arm as the beautiful redhead sitting beside him engaged him in conversation while her gaze remained firmly fixed on Diana wearing the gown.

From what Diana remembered about the other woman—and she wished now she had taken more notice of her!—Charles was right to feel concerned about the advisability of Reece Falcon’s bride wearing that particular gown; the redhead had looked too short to be able to carry off the beautiful simplicity of the long flowing lines of the gown.

Diana found now, as she turned back to look at Reece Falcon as Charles hurried off with Joanna at his side, that her own gaze was on a level with the aquiline nose with that intriguing bump at its bridge. At the same time she also realised the two of them, for all that the room was crowded with people, were effectively alone. And now that she had learnt of his marriage she needed time to sit down and consider what effect that had on her own plans.

She gave him a politely dismissively smile. ‘If you’ll excuse me——’

‘No,’ he told her evenly, effortlessly.

Her lashes fluttered uncertainly as she looked at him, momentarily disconcerted. ‘I’m sorry,’ she finally shook her head. ‘I——’

‘Are you?’ he rasped, eyes narrowed to silver slits.

She frowned now, unsure of the change of mood. ‘I meant——’

‘I know what you meant, Divine.’ His mouth twisted with scorn for her professional name. ‘I happen to think, having now met you, that you’re probably enjoying yourself.’

Diana met his gaze unflinchingly. ‘If I didn’t enjoy my work, Mr Falcon, then I wouldn’t do it any more.’

Dark brows rose mockingly. ‘From what I hear of the fees top-class models—and I include you, obviously, in that category,’ he drawled, acknowledging the slight inclination of her head, at the compliment, with one of his own, ‘command nowadays, that would be a little foolish, don’t you think?’

Her mouth firmed, eyes flashing slightly at the taunt. ‘Some things are more important than money, Mr Falcon——’ She broke off in stunned defence as he began to laugh at the comment, not a soft chuckle, but loud mocking laughter that had people all around the room turning to look at them curiously, a soft buzz of conversation instantly following as the two of them were recognised.

How dared he laugh at her? Just because he made money, and the power that money could buy him—power and money being the gods in his life—that was no reason to judge everyone else by the same cynicism.

He was shaking his head ruefully as the laughter died away, somehow appearing younger with his face relaxed in humour. ‘Where on earth did Chris find you?’ he mused disbelievingly.

She drew in a sharp breath as understanding dawned. ‘Ah,’ she nodded.

‘Penny finally dropped, has it?’ Reece Falcon taunted, his gaze sweeping over her disparagingly. ‘You’ve been playing games with my son, Divine——’

‘Diana,’ she snapped irritably. ‘My name is Diana,’ she explained challengingly as he looked at her with raised brows.

‘I thought Divine was a bloody silly name for any parent to have saddled a child with!’ He shook his head self-derisively. ‘But I take it Chris insists on calling you by it,’ he added knowingly.

Chris thought her professional name was romantic. He also enjoyed being seen with someone as publically known as Divine was. She had only been out with Chris to public places half a dozen times, but on a couple of those occasions they had been spotted together by the Press, and several questioning comments had appeared in the gossip columns concerning the two of them following that. It wasn’t so surprising, then, that Reece Falcon had finally got to hear about their relationship—in fact, it was what she had been hoping for! She just wished she had had a little more warning…

‘Chris is different,’ she told his father huskily, meeting the narrowed silver gaze with steady challenge.

‘Oh, yes,’ Reece Falcon acknowledged sharply. ‘He’s very different. The main way in which he differs from other people is that he’s my son——’

‘We all have disadvantages in our lives, Mr Falcon,’ Diana told him with contempt. ‘It’s just a question of trying to overcome them as best we can!’

For a moment he looked stunned by the quick viciousness of her attack, as if he very rarely came across such obvious antagonism directed towards him, and never from a woman. But as his initial surprise turned to deepening curiosity, his gaze searching now on the beauty of her face with its two bright spots of colour in otherwise pale cheeks indicating the anger she still felt, she knew that he found her outspoken attitude towards him intriguing in spite of himself.

‘So it is,’ he finally drawled appreciatively. ‘But you must realise, Diana, that the two of us have to talk——’

‘Not at all,’ she dismissed firmly, half turning as if to leave, and almost gasping out loud as Reece Falcon’s fingers clasped about her wrist to stop her from moving away. As it was she couldn’t stop the way her eyes widened, or the way they shadowed to a deep emeraldgreen. ‘Let go of my arm, Mr Falcon,’ she instructed with careful control, her voice barely above a whisper now, although she knew by the way his gaze narrowed on her consideringly that he had heard every word she said. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to do what she asked!

He shook his head finally, his fingers still like steel bands about her flesh. ‘Not until you agree that we have to talk.’

Her breathing felt as if it were coming in short, painful gasps, she felt cold and shivery despite the heat of the room, and her skin seemed to burn where he touched her—and at that moment she knew she wanted to agree to anything to get him to release her. But ultimately she knew she wouldn’t—couldn’t do that; that she would never show any sign of weakness towards this man.

Instead she looked at him coldly. ‘If you don’t release my arm, Mr Falcon, I’m going to start screaming,’ she told him with calm indifference. Inside she was just so relieved that she was managing to sound as controlled as she normally did—when in reality she really did feel like screaming! ‘And when I scream it will be—— Thank you,’ she accepted coolly as he slowly released her wrist as he saw she meant every word she said. ‘The truth of the matter is, Mr Falcon,’ she continued pleasantly, as if she hadn’t just directly challenged the man—and won!—‘that I’m very tired just now, and I actually intend going back to my hotel for a bath and a long sleep——’

‘Which hotel?’ he demanded quickly, his voice an angry rasp, all his earlier amusement—at her expense—having faded.

‘George the Fifth,’ she supplied without hesitation, having no reason to feel threatened; she had no intention of talking to this man anywhere tonight—she really did feel very tired after the gruelling week she had just had. And talking to this man at all wasn’t helping her exhaustion; in fact her nerves felt stretched to breaking-point. ‘But——’

‘Diana, you forgot to take these with you!’ Cally called out, hurrying over with the bouquet of red roses Diana had left in the changing-room, and pausing to give Reece Falcon an encouraging smile once she had handed the flowers over to Diana, although she hastily made her excuses and left again when he just returned her gaze coldly.

Diana held on to the bouquet of roses. ‘That wasn’t very kind,’ she told Reece Falcon critically, knowing she wouldn’t really have expected anything else from him!

‘“Kind” isn’t a word that I’ve heard often to describe me,’ he acknowledged derisively. ‘From my son?’ He looked at the roses with narrowed eyes.

Her arms tightened about the flowers defensively. ‘Yes.’

He nodded, as if he had never doubted it. ‘Then I’ll call at your hotel tomorrow morning and we can have breakfast together. Unless——’ his mouth twisted mockingly ‘—you’re one of those models who live on lettuce leaves and black coffee?’ He arched dark brows questioningly.

She knew that some of her friends did have a problem keeping their weight down, although she thought a diet of lettuce leaves was probably a slight exaggeration; it didn’t surprise her at all that Reece Falcon should be totally familiar with the problem some models had—no doubt he had been involved with more than one of them in the past!

‘One of the things I’ve enjoyed most about being in Paris,’ she drawled, ‘has been my fresh croissants and creamy coffee for breakfast,’ smoothly answering his derision.

He gave an acknowledging inclination of his head. ‘In that case, I’ll be at your hotel for breakfast at eight-thirty. Too early for you?’ he challenged.

She shook her head coolly. ‘Perfect.’ Because by that time she would no longer be at the hotel but at the airport, waiting for her flight home!

‘Tomorrow morning, then.’ Reece Falcon nodded abruptly before striding confidently away.

Because he didn’t doubt, as he had decided it would be so, that the two of them would be sitting down to breakfast together in the morning at eight-thirty!

Arrogant.

Self-centred.

Autocratic.

No wonder Chris found him just too much to try to live up to.

Well, if Reece Falcon thought that she was impressed by his arrogance he was sadly mistaken! Now that she had met the man, actually spoken to him, she disliked him even more intensely than she had before.

And she had already hated with vehemence the man who had ruined her father, made his life so unbearable that he had been left with no alternative but to take his own life…!