Читать книгу Past Passion - Пенни Джордан, Penny Jordan - Страница 7

‘OF COURSE I’m not interested in her, sweetheart... How can you even think it?’

Nicola froze. She had recognised Jonathon’s voice instantly, and the shock of hearing him speaking to someone else in that soft, caressing voice she thought he kept specially for her, the shock of hearing him addressing someone else as ‘sweetheart’, held her rigid where she was, the copy paper the head of the typing pool had sent her to get clasped tensely in her arms as she stood rooted to the spot.

Jonathon was standing in the corridor, just outside the stationery-room. Obviously he had no idea she was in here, but Susan Hodges knew... She must have known because she had been there when Mrs Ellis told Nicola to come and get the copy paper.

‘Well, you’ve been taking her out,’ she heard Susan saying now.

‘Only because you weren’t available, my sweet. Oh, come on, honestly now. Can you really imagine that I’d be interested in someone as sexless and boring as that dull little prude? Heavens, she doesn’t even know how to kiss properly... Not like you!’

Nicola heard the sound of laughter, followed by the unmistakable sound of two people kissing.

She felt both sick and angry at the same time, so desperately unhappy that she had to clench her fists to stop herself from crying, and so furiously angry both with Jonathon and with herself that if she had had to confront him right now she would probably have hit him.

How stupid she had been to believe that Jonathon actually liked her, respected her, loved her, when in reality he and Susan Hodges... Susan Hodges, the office bimbo, the pretty, pouting blonde who always wore her clothes just that little bit too tight, who always seemed to giggle just that little bit too loudly and for too long.

If anyone had told her that Jonathon was involved with Susan she would have denied it instantly and immediately, claiming that Susan simply wasn’t Jonathon’s type.

How naïve she had been.

‘So you won’t be taking little Miss Prim and Proper to the party tonight, then, will you?’ she heard Susan saying to Jonathon.

He laughed.

‘Hardly. I bet you’ve got something spectacular to wear, haven’t you, Susie? Something stunning and sexy...?’

‘You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?’ Susie replied provocatively, adding, ‘Of course, you could always come round to my place and have a private view...’

They were both laughing as they moved off down the corridor. Inside the stationery-room, Nicola remained frozen with misery.

It was true that Jonathon had not specifically invited her to partner him at tonight’s party to celebrate his father’s birthday, but she had assumed...had believed... She had even bought herself a new dress for the occasion. She had bought it at the weekend, having enlisted the advice and support of her mother, anxiously determined that Jonathon shouldn’t be ashamed of her.

The dress in question was prettily understated, in dark blue velvet with a neat round collar and long sleeves, and suddenly, bitterly she knew that in it she would look just as sexless and boring as Jonathon had claimed she was. Tears blurred her eyes. She felt sick with shock and a bitter, burning rage, possessed by a need to show Jonathon—to show everyone—that she was not the dull, boring person they obviously all believed her to be, that she could be just as exciting...just as glamorous...just as desirable as the Susans of this world.

* * *

LATER she was to wonder if she had been overcome by some kind of mental instability to have reacted the way she had; certainly she had never done anything like it before, and nor was she likely to do so afterwards.

All she could think was that the pain of knowing what Jonathon really thought about her, the trauma of coming down off her cloud and crashing painfully hard back to reality, had mentally unhinged her in some sort of way.

The celebration of the fiftieth birthday of the firm’s main partner was a major event within the small City firm. A room had been hired at a very grand city-centre hotel for the occasion. There was to be a buffet meal followed by dancing and, although she had tried not to show it, Nicola had been nervously excited about the event ever since Jonathon had started taking her out.

Both his parents would be there, of course, and his sisters, and in her cloud-cuckoo dream-world she had somehow or other envisaged herself being introduced to them...sitting with them...being accepted by them as Jonathon’s girlfriend. Now abruptly she was realising how idiotic those daydreams had been and, in some sort of confused way, she didn’t know now whether she hated Jonathon or loved him. All she did know was that she was determined to show him just how wrong his cruel comments had been, just how desirable she could be... Much, much more desirable than the likes of Susan Hodges.

All the staff were being given the afternoon off in order to prepare for the party. It was almost lunchtime now and, just as soon as she was sure that Jonathon and Susan were out of earshot, Nicola emerged from the stationery-room and hurried back to the typing pool with the copy paper.

For what was left of the morning Nicola’s thoughts were very far from her work. She was mentally busy making plans, taking decisions and, just as soon as she was able to do so, she collected her coat and hurried out into the street.

The firm’s offices were right in the centre of the City, in the banking and business area, within easy walking distance of the shops.

Thanks to the prudent teachings of her parents, Nicola already had a healthy bank-account balance, and luckily when she’d come out this morning she had brought her cheque book with her.

There was a hot, burning sensation in her chest, a fiery, driving sense of determination motivating her, pushing her... Without giving herself time to hesitate, she rushed into the very modern hairdressing salon which had recently opened close to the office.

It wasn’t a bit like the hairdressers at home—no pink, no frills, the décor all stark greys and blacks, the walls adorned with huge, blown-up, unrecognisable photographs which she presumed were of hairstyles.

The receptionist behind the desk had very short, very shocking pink hair, and a supercilious stare.

Before she could change her mind, Nicola told her what she wanted. Ten minutes later she was confronting the stylist, who was asking her thoughtfully, ‘You are really sure about this...?’

Nicola could feel herself starting to bristle, sensitively knowing what he was really saying—that he couldn’t see someone as dull and boring as her sporting such a modern, innovative hairstyle...

‘If you can’t do it...’ she challenged.

He frowned at her.

‘Oh, I can do it, it’s just that it is a radical change.’ He gave her an odd look, and said quietly, ‘Look, it’s none of my business...but you really do have very pretty hair. A little bit old-fashioned maybe—straight hair isn’t really in right now—but to have it all permed...’

Nicola gritted her teeth. She knew exactly what she wanted and she was determined to have it. She remembered seeing the photograph in the salon window on her way to work a few days ago. In it the model, dark-haired like herself, had sported a mass of tumbled, wild curls that had given her—even to Nicola’s innocent eyes—a sexuality that virtually hit the onlooker between the eyes. No girl...no woman with that kind of hairstyle could ever, ever be described as dull, boring...and certainly not as sexless.

‘I want it,’ she told the stylist desperately.

Three hours later, staring at her transformed reflection in the mirror, she felt her heart sink. She scarcely recognised herself, and as for what her parents would say... Was her face really so tiny, so small that it looked swamped by the heavy mass of her hair, its volume virtually trebled by the intensity of the perm?

The stylist was watching her gravely, but she refused to let him see how shocked and dismayed she felt.

Gravely she studied her reflection, ignoring the pallor of her face and the hugeness of her eyes.

Equally gravely she paid the bill and collected her coat.

Once out in the street she felt oddly queasy and light-headed, but she ignored this feeling, heading for one of the nearby department stores.

The girl in charge of the trendy make-up counter she headed for pursed her lips and studied her critically when she told her what she wanted.

‘Red lipstick...yes, definitely red lipstick...with your mouth it will look terrific. The look this year is for pale skin, so you’re in luck, but we’ll have to do something to bring out your eyes.’

Half an hour later, Nicola emerged from her hands and fought against the impulse to run her tongue over her lips and lick off the gooey lipstick that felt as though it was plastered on them inches thick.

As she caught sight of herself in a nearby mirror, she did a double-take, barely recognising the wild-haired creature with the dark eyes and glossy, pouting mouth as herself.

Sexless was she? she asked herself grimly as she took the escalator up to the clothes department.

Firmly she ignored the section where she would normally have shopped, heading instead for the store’s more ‘way-out’ clothes.

‘Minis are back in,’ the assistant told her when she explained she wanted a dress for a party. And she was lucky enough to have the legs to take them...and the figure to wear the stretchy, clingy number in eye-popping purple crêpe, which she assured Nicola was an absolute must for any girl hoping to be taken seriously as socially acceptable among her peers.

It was the same angry wave of bitterness and pain that had carried her into the hairdressers that carried her back to the flat armed with her new purchases and her new image, determined to prove to Jonathon just how wrong about her he was.

When she got back she discovered that she had the flat to herself.

Her shopping had taken rather longer than she had anticipated, and all she had time for now was a very quick shower and a bite of food.

Despite all her care, the bath seemed to leave her hair looking even more wild and tangled than it had done when she’d first left the salon.

She eyed it uncertainly, wondering if perhaps the perm hadn’t been just a little bit too much of a change, and then sternly forced herself to remember Jonathan’s cruel condemnation of her. No one looking at her now would consider her sexless, would they? She looked...and looked... A little uncomfortably, she decided she wasn’t quite sure what she looked like, other than it wasn’t really herself...

It took her a good hour and several unsuccessful attempts before she managed to reproduce something approaching the sales girl’s artistically applied make-up. The blue kohl pencil certainly did make her eyes appear an extraordinary colour, but she still wasn’t sure that quite so much lipstick—

Sternly reminding herself of what this was all about, she ignored her own feelings of discomfort and struggled into her new dress.

It was odd how something so insubstantial could make her slender body appear positively voluptuous, even if she wasn’t quite sure that purple really was her colour.

There, she was ready.

Even the driver of the taxi she had booked to take her to the party did a double-take when she opened the door. She lifted her head a little higher and gave him what she hoped was a cool stare.

Just wait until Jonathon saw her. So he thought she was dull, did he? Dull and boring and sexless... Well, tonight she was going to make him regret every single one of those unkind criticisms.

It was only when she was paying off the taxi driver outside the hotel and seeing her fellow employees arrive in groups, even worse, couples, that she realised that the very best way to show Jonathon just how wrong he was about her would be for her to turn up at the party with another man... But the problem was that she didn’t know any other men—not here in the city—and certainly none of her male friends at home could hold a candle physically to Jonathon.

He was so very good-looking, so very sophisticated, so very charming... A charm that meant nothing—nothing at all, she reminded herself bitterly, ignoring the startled look of recognition from one of the other girls from the typing pool who was approaching the main doors to the hotel just as she stepped towards them.

‘Nicola? It is you, isn’t it? Heavens! Is that...is that a wig?’ she asked Nicola uncertainly.

‘No, it’s a perm,’ Nicola told her shortly.

She had never particularly liked Lisa. She was another blonde like Susan Hodges. Nicola’s chin tilted defiantly as she saw the way the other girl was studying her appearance. Her male companion was staring at her as well, Nicola recognised, and he was staring at her in a manner with which she was not familiar. It made her feel both uncomfortable and uneasy, but she ignored these feelings, concentrating instead on the cruelty of the words she had overheard earlier in the day.

The foyer of the hotel was busy with people coming and going. A board just to one side of the reception desk had written up on it which functions were taking place in which suites, and it was easy for Nicola to find her way to the suite where their own party was taking place.

In point of fact she was familiar with the layout of the hotel, having eaten there and attended several functions with her parents over the years.

The gloomy dimness of the room made her blink a little when she first entered it. Individual tables had been set up around the small dance-floor, and she quickly headed for one occupied by some of the other girls from the typing pool.

All of them commented on the change in her appearance, but only one of them was unkind enough to remark that she was surprised to see her turning up on her own.

‘I thought you’d be coming with Jonathon,’ she added pointedly.

Now Nicola was glad of the gloom. She turned her head away and shrugged her shoulders, feigning nonchalant uninterest.

But uninterest was the last thing she actually felt when Jonathon walked in with Susie on his arm.

The two of them seemed to take a long time to walk across the room. Jonathon never even looked in her direction, Nicola noticed dispiritedly, but Susie certainly did, her eyes widening a little as she took in Nicola’s altered appearance.

Let her stare, Nicola thought defiantly, giving her head a bitter little toss. Let them both stare...

She was determined that, before tonight was over, she was going to make Jonathon eat his words, although it was becoming increasingly obvious to her that if she was actually to achieve this objective what she really needed was to have some other man paying attention to her, making it plain that he did not consider her either dull or sexless... And not just any man... It would have to be a very special kind of man, the kind of man who—

Her eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat as she stared at the man who had just walked into the room.

Unlike the other male guests, who were all wearing formal suits, this man was dressed casually, his soft blue shirt open at the throat, his jeans clinging to his thighs.

‘Wow! Just look at that!’ one of the other girls at the table giggled appreciatively. ‘I wonder where he’s come from...’

‘Who knows? But one thing’s for sure... He won’t be staying long—not dressed like that.’

‘Wanna bet?’ another of the girls commented drily. ‘He just happens to be one of our most important clients. I knew he’d been invited, but I don’t think anyone actually thought he’d come...’

Behind her the girls were giggling and chattering excitedly about the newcomer’s good looks, but Nicola wasn’t paying very much attention.

A waiter came round with a tray of champagne cocktails. Although normally she didn’t drink, Nicola took one, and gulped thirstily at it.

The champagne tickled the back of her throat and made her cough a little, but the delicious warm feeling that spread through her stomach after she had emptied her glass was undeniably pleasant.

She felt better, too...stronger, more confident, more determined than ever to show Jonathon just how wrong he was about her.

That she also felt decidedly wobbly when she stood up to accept a second cocktail from another waiter was something she decided to ignore.

It was just nerves, she told herself firmly. Just nerves... After all, no one, not even someone who never drank, could get drunk on two champagne cocktails—could they?

One of the girls got up and announced that she was going to the bar. She asked Nicola what she wanted to drink and, unsure of what to ask for, Nicola quickly repeated the order given by the girl sitting next to her, although not entirely sure what a ‘VAT’ might be.

When the drinks arrived, the odd, oily after-taste of hers was a little strange, but nevertheless good manners made her empty her glass.

Jonathon and Susie weren’t sitting with his parents, she noticed woozily as she searched the room for them. Jonathon was in fact talking to the man in jeans while Susie simpered up to him, batting her eyelashes and smiling. He was, Nicola recognised dreamily, far, far better looking than Jonathon. He was also far, far more masculine than Jonathon, and a tiny, delicious tremor of sensation suddenly and very shockingly ran through her at the thought of being held against that hard, male chest, of being touched by those very male hands.

Without even thinking about what she was doing, she got to her feet, ignoring the muzzy, dizzying sensation in her head and the odd weakness in her legs.

She walked unsteadily across the floor, and as she approached their table she saw the way Susie clutched possessively at Jonathon’s arm, her eyes widening, her scarlet nails digging into his jacket.

Jonathon had seen her now. She saw the shock register in his eyes as he looked at her, and immediately a pleasurable rush of warmth and triumph ran through her stomach. She gave him a pouting smile...the kind of smile she had seen Susie use so often, and then she tossed her head, so that her wild mane of curls bounced everywhere. The motion of tossing her head had, she realised uncomfortably, made her feel rather sick.

‘Hi, Jonathon.’ She ignored Susie, closing the gap between Jonathon and herself so that she could look up into the jeans-clad stranger’s face. ‘Would you like to dance?’

She could see the shock in Jonathon’s face...hear the outrage in Susie’s gasp, but she didn’t care—why should she? She was going to show Jonathon just how wrong he was about her; she was going to show him that she was desirable, sexy...that men did want her.

The man was looking at her now, an extremely odd expression in his eyes. For a moment, as he studied her, they hardened and became so cold that she actually flinched, tears threatening to blur her own eyes as through the fog of alcohol and misery engulfing her she realised that, despite all her efforts, he did not find her attractive—that he was in fact going to reject her. She put a defensive hand up to her face, and started to move back from him, her cheeks flushing with guilt and humiliation. However, before she could move away his hands came out and circled her wrist, stopping her. She stared at it in confusion. She had never realised that it would be possible for a man to hold her so lightly and yet so securely. He wasn’t exerting the slightest bit of pressure on her skin, and yet she knew that if she tried to pull away those lean fingers would tighten around her bones like manacles.

Shocked awareness cleared the drink-induced fuzziness from her eyes as they focused on his and saw the relentless, determined glittering in their grey depths. Too stupefied to resist, she stayed where she was, bewilderment following shock as she wondered why she felt as though she had suddenly stepped off the edge of the earth.

Was it the champagne cocktails? She pressed her free hand to her stomach uneasily as she heard her captor saying coolly to Jonathon,

‘Please excuse us. It seems the lady wants to dance...’

Despite the fact that she could hear no trace of irony of emphasis in his voice, she still flushed at the sound of the word ‘lady’.

‘Ladies’ did not dress the way she was dressed tonight...they did not wear the kind of make-up she was wearing, and they certainly did not approach strange men and ask them to dance.

She half hesitated, nervously conscious of a tremor of doubt churning her stomach, of a desire to escape not just from her captor, but from the entire situation she had created, and then she looked at Jonathon and saw the transfixed way in which he was regarding her, and saw also in his eyes a look of mingled anger and caution. He was annoyed because she was dancing with someone else, she recognised immediately, and not only was he angry, he was also afraid of saying so—afraid of challenging this man standing at her side for the right to dance with her.

He was, she realised on a fierce thrill of awareness, if not jealous, then certainly resentful of the other man’s presence at her side.

It was working, she recognised shakily. It was actually working...her hair, her clothes, her make-up were not, after all, the disaster she had begun to think; they could not be, could they, if they were making Jonathon see her as a desirable woman—as someone he did not wish to see dancing with another man.

Elation filled her. She turned to her captor and gave him a dazzling smile. His eyes widened again before his glance flicked away from her to Jonathon and then back again.

‘See you soon,’ she heard him saying to Jonathon, and then, somehow or other, without her being too sure how it had happened, she was on the small dance-floor and in his arms, swaying against him in time to the slow, hypnotic beat of the music.

In fact the way he was holding her felt so comforting and safe, and the pleasant heat coming off his body made her feel so warm, that she was almost tempted to close her eyes and... She gave a small, cat-like yawn, and half stumbled as she missed a step. Instantly the arms holding her tightened.

‘I think the proper place for you right now is bed, not a dance-floor,’ she heard him saying in her ear.

Muzzily she lifted her head from his shoulder and stared at him. It had happened, she had been right. Men didn’t care about the sort of person you were...only how you looked. It had to be true, otherwise why was this man, who had never set eyes on her before tonight, telling her that he wanted to go to bed with her, when, in all the months she had been working in the typing pool, only Jonathon had even asked her out, and then he had not made any real sexual overtures to her? And she knew why. Because he thought her sexless and boring... Well, if he had just heard what he—this man—had said to her, he wouldn’t think so...

Triumph filled her blood with a warm, singing heat which, mixed with the alcohol she had consumed, had an electrifying effect on her perceptions and reactions.

Recklessly ignoring the inner voice warning her to be careful, she stopped dancing and looked up at him.

‘Well, if that’s what you want,’ she told him breathlessly, ‘and if you’re sure you don’t mind leaving so soon...’

‘Leaving?’

Nicola frowned at the sharpness in his tone, her eyes clouded and puzzled as she looked at him.

‘Do you live very far out of the city?’ she asked him politely. ‘Only I do have to be at work in the morning, and...’

‘Nicola, why don’t you come and join me and Susie...?’

Her frown deepened as she realised that the music had stopped and that Jonathon was standing next to them. She hadn’t even seen him leave his table, never mind walk across the floor. Without even knowing she was doing it, as he reached out to touch her she drew back from him, instinctively pressing herself closer to her companion.

Since she was looking at Jonathon, she was unaware of the quick frown that touched the other man’s face as he watched the small tableau being played out in front of him.

A drunken teenager, offering him her body, was the very last thing he wanted right now. And, for all her make-up and that impossible hair, she looked as though she was little more than a baby. If he left her here in her present state, though, he’d be leaving her to the mercy of Jonathon or another of his type. His mouth twisted cynically. She might be a little idiot, but she definitely didn’t deserve that.

‘Too late, I’m afraid, Jonathon,’ he interrupted smoothly. ‘I’m afraid that Nicki and I were just about to leave...’

Nicola gave him a startled glance. He had called her Nicki... Only her family and friends at home did that—and saying that they were leaving... There was no need now—not now that Jonathon was here and wanted her—but, before she could say anything, those lean fingers were gripping her arm, and somehow or other she discovered that she had been turned around and had her back to Jonathon, and that she was being escorted very firmly across the floor.

‘Do you have a coat?’ she was asked when they reached the door.

She shook her head in bemusement.

‘Pity...’ she thought she heard him saying wryly as he glanced down at her dress.

‘Jonathon,’ she protested huskily, trying to turn round.

‘Forget him. He’s not the one for you,’ she was told firmly. ‘Now come on, let’s get out of here.’

A tiny shock of fear ran through her. He was obviously impatient to make love to her... Her body suddenly went very cold. What was she doing leaving with this strange man? What if...?

But if she went back now without him, Jonathon would know that he was right—that she was dull, and—and boring...and sexless.

Her captor took her down to the underground car park, still holding on to her arm as he unlocked the door to a sleek Jaguar convertible, almost bundling her into it, and then fastening the seatbelt around her and closing the door before going round to the driver’s side and getting in beside her.

The car smelled luxuriously of leather, and something else—something alien and exciting. It took her several seconds to realise that the smell was him... When she did, she flushed and shivered, causing him to frown at her and demand,

‘Look here, you’re not going to be sick are you? Because if you are...’

She shook her head.

It was true that she did feel slightly queasy, and that her head did ache dreadfully, but she was most certainly not going to be sick. What she really wanted to do, she acknowledged, as he drove out of the car park and into the dark city streets, was to go to sleep.

No sooner had the thought formed than she was leaning her head back against the head-rest and closing her eyes.

‘Right, now, if you just tell me where you live...’

Silence. Matt frowned and turned his attention from the road to his passenger, his frown deepening as he recognised that she was deeply and completely asleep. That she was, in fact, sleeping like the child she was. How much had she had to drink? Enough to make her a danger both to herself and to others. If he had had any sense he would have left her where she was. Someone there would have made sure she got home safely; or would they?

He had an early flight in the morning, and she really was an additional problem he didn’t need. The trouble was, though, that he had an over-developed sense of responsibility. He suspected it came of having three younger sisters.

Grimacing to himself, he acknowledged that it really was too late to turn the car round and dump her back at the party, especially with a wolf like Jonathon Hendry cruising around. The easiest thing he could do would be to take her home with him, put her to bed in the spare bedroom, and then evict her first thing in the morning before he left for New York, when hopefully she would have sobered up enough to realise how potentially self-destructive her behaviour had been.

He made one more attempt to wake her up, knowing before he did so that he was wasting his time. It was true, she did open her eyes and focus vaguely on him, but they closed again before he could even say one word, and he could tell from the way her body slumped against him that she was already deeply asleep once again.