Читать книгу A Woman Accused - Сандра Мартон, Sandra Marton - Страница 5

DAMN Edward Archer to hell! She barely knew the man with eyes like winter ice, and yet he’d managed to reduce her, a self-assured woman, to the shy, awkward girl she’d been years ago.

The knowledge, lodged like a stone in her breast, was enough to steal some of the pleasure from Ria’s ‘gift’. But as the days passed, Olivia was too busy to dwell on anything as insignificant as an encounter with a rude bully.

There were meetings with lawyers and with accountants, with real estate agents and painters and plasterers, and one memorable half-hour with Monsieur Pierre during which he first accused her of being an untalented, ungrateful upstart—and then all but got on his knees and begged her to accept a huge rise and stay on in his employ.

It was that acknowledgement of her worth that convinced her that leaving Interiors by Pierre and opening her own shop was the right thing to do.

It all came together quickly. Olivia fell in love with a narrow, four-storey town house on a tree-lined Manhattan street. She took a deep breath, put down a chunk of Charles’s loan, and the place was hers. The top floor became a small but comfortable flat that put an end to years of living in a cramped bed-sitter. The lower three levels were transformed into a design studio and showrooms that had, until now, only been a dream.

And that was what she named her shop: Olivia’s Dream.

She designed every square inch of it herself, so that it wasn’t only the showroom that had flash and dash, which was the way it had been at Pierre’s. He had been big on dazzling the customers, but he hadn’t cared a damn for his designers.

‘Life in the salt mines,’ Dulcie Chambers, who’d worked with Olivia, had said of their cramped, rather grim studio. They’d both tried to make the place more cheerful, but potted geraniums and framed prints had not been able to do the impossible.

‘When I have my own place,’ Dulcie had said wistfully, ‘it’ll be a million feet square, with wall-to-wall windows and hundred-foot ceilings.’

Olivia had smiled archly. ‘When I have mine,’ she’d said, ‘it’ll be a zillion feet square, with thousand-foot ceilings. I won’t have any walls at all, I’ll just have glass, glass, and more glass. How’s that sound?’

‘Like heaven,’ the other girl had sighed—and now, thanks to Ria and Charles, it had all come true.

Well, perhaps not quite all, Olivia thought, smiling a little as she looked up from her drafting table. The room on the second floor in which she and Dulcie worked now—the other girl had leaped at Olivia’s job offer—was a bit shy of being a zillion feet square and a thousand feet high. But it was big and bright and filled with cheerful colours, and, if it wasn’t a zillion square feet, it was as close to it as the architect could manage.

‘Are you happy, Livvie?’ Ria had asked just yesterday, when the two friends had met at the Plaza for drinks after Olivia’s Dream had closed for the day.

Olivia had smiled. ‘Do you really need to ask?’ she’d said, and Ria had beamed with delight.

And she was happy, Olivia thought as she picked up her sketch-pad, pushed back her stool, and walked slowly to the window. Most of the time—and, if there were occasional shadows and misgivings, she could hardly mention them to Ria.

Charles had been a perfect gentleman in the weeks since he’d offered to back her financially. He’d never given her a moment’s reason to regret her decision to accept his loan. Nevertheless, she couldn’t escape the feeling that the Charles she did business with and the Charles who was courting Ria were in some ways different men. And why was Ria so intent on keeping her relationship with him a secret?

Because Charles’s lawyers had advised it, until his divorce was final, Ria said. And then, she’d added with a sigh, and then there were her parents.

‘You know how they are, Livvie.’

Olivia did, all too well. The Bascombs had always treated her pleasantly, but they’d never quite let her forget that she was their housekeeper’s ward and living in their house on sufferance.

‘You mean,’ she’d said after a moment, ‘that they’re a bit conservative.’

Ria had sighed. ‘Stuffy and uptight’s a better way to describe it. If I tell them about Charles, they’ll go crazy. They’ll say he’s too old for me, they’ll be horrified that he’s still married...’

‘Maybe you ought to think about those things, too,’ Olivia had said gently.

‘Come on, Livvie, you’ve come to know him. Why, he’s got more energy than some men half his age. As for his marriage—I’ve told you, it’s been unhappy for years.’

‘Still, all this—this subterfuge is—is—’

‘—is necessary,’ Ria had said firmly. ‘Until his divorce is final, anyway, and then we’ll go to Vegas and get married and then present my parents with a—what do you call it?—a fait accompli.’

It sounded more like sneaking around to Olivia, but she’d known better than to put Ria on the defensive.

‘I just don’t want to see you get hurt,’ she’d said instead, and Ria had smiled as she reached across the table and took hold of Olivia’s hand.

‘I know,’ she’d whispered. ‘Oh, Livvie, I’m so glad we’re close again,’ she’d said. ‘I’ve missed you.’

They weren’t close again, not really, but Olivia hadn’t the heart to say it to the girl who’d once been as much sister as best friend. Instead, she’d smiled and grasped Ria’s hand tightly.

‘Me, too,’ she’d said, and that had ended the conversation.

And then there was Edward Archer. Olivia caught her bottom lip between her teeth. It was crazy, but the ugly run-in with him had never been far from her thoughts, as if her mind had only been waiting for her to have time to think about something other than architectural plans and structural sketches to relive those awful moments in the restaurant.

And that was ridiculous. The incident had occurred almost a month ago, and she hadn’t seen him since.

Why, then, was she remembering it? Without warning, there’d be the image of him, standing close to her. She’d see the tall, leanly muscled body, the eyes that had danced with sexual appraisal when he’d tried to pick her up and had later damned her with sexual contempt. Edward Archer had given her a look that had clearly said, If I wanted you, I could have you, I could subdue you and make you cry your need for me into the darkness...

Her body flooded with the heat of humiliation, and Olivia leaned her forehead against the cool window-pane.

Years ago, she’d stepped off a kerb on a rainy night into the path of a sports car just as the light went green. She’d heard the angry roar of the engine as it revved—and then, almost too late, the driver had seen her and hadn’t released the clutch pedal. But that frightening sense of something powerful, something held under taut control just waiting to be unleashed, had left a lasting impact.

Confronting Edward Archer had been like that. Despite the elegant cut of his suit and the scent of expensive cologne, there’d been an animal edge to him. Instinct warned her he’d been holding himself in tight control. It was as if she’d glimpsed the expert assassin that lurked just beneath the civilised exterior of any well-groomed house cat. It had been in the feel of his hand clamping down on her arm, in the hint of dark stubble barely visible on skin tautly drawn over the hard bones in his face.

She caught her breath. What would it feel like, that shadowy stubble, moving lightly against a woman’s tender flesh? Rough, slightly abrasive, as his mouth traced a path down her throat, across her shoulders, across her breasts...

‘Olivia?’ The sketch-pad fell from her hands as she spun around. Dulcie stood in the open doorway, her fair hair a bright nimbus around her freckled face. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’

Olivia swallowed. ‘That’s OK. I was—I—I was trying to come up with a design for those draperies we’ve been...’ Her voice faded as she bent and picked up the pad. ‘And getting nowhere,’ she said briskly. ‘Is it my turn to be salesgirl?’

‘No, I’m still the lucky one.’ Dulcie’s brows rose. ‘Actually, someone’s asking for you.’

‘A customer?’ Olivia said. All thoughts of Edward Archer faded away at the prospect. Each new order was still something of an event.

‘No. I don’t think so.’

‘Ah, well.’ Olivia sighed dramatically. ‘I wonder what permit I’m missing this time, although heaven only knows what could possibly be left. Department of Health, Department of Taxation, Department of Labour...what more could any man want of me?’

‘A great deal—unless he were a damned fool.’

Olivia’s heartbeat stuttered. ‘Olivia?’ Dulcie said, but Olivia was already twisting towards the sound of that softly insinuating voice.

Edward Archer stood lounging in the studio’s open doorway, his navy suit jacket open over a cream shirt and dark silk tie, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his trousers so that the fabric drew tautly across his thighs. He smiled when he saw Olivia’s eyes widen in shock, his mouth tilting up at one corner to give an even more suggestive twist to his words.

Olivia didn’t hesitate. ‘How dare you come here?’

His smile became a lazy grin. ‘That’s a hell of a way to greet a client.’ His gaze swept over her with slow insolence, moving down the beige linen suit she’d designed herself to the Charles Jourdan pumps picked up on sale last spring, returning at last to her face. ‘Or has old Charlie supplied you with all the “clients” a girl could possibly handle?’

Olivia’s face coloured. He was doing it again, here on her own territory.

‘I wouldn’t count on old Charlie for very much, Olivia.’ He stepped away from the door-frame, moved into the room, and strolled the length of it, pausing every few feet to glance at the sketches tacked on the walls. ‘Actually,’ he said after a moment, his voice very soft, almost silken, ‘I wouldn’t count on old Charlie at all, if I were you.’

Damn the man! Olivia gave herself a mental shake, then drew herself up. ‘You’re not welcome here, Mr Archer,’ she said in a cold voice.

It was as if she hadn’t spoken. He didn’t even glance at her. Instead, he paused at the windows that looked down on the town house’s tiny garden.

‘Nice. Very nice.’ He swung towards her and gave her a smile that was all even white teeth. ‘Who’d have thought such a transparent ploy would work, Olivia? Telling old Charlie you couldn’t accept whatever he was offering that day, convincing him you didn’t want his money—’

‘Get out!’ She took a step forward. ‘Do you hear me, Mr Archer? You get out of my office this minute!’

‘I guess he upped the ante, hmm?’ Archer leaned back against the window ledge and folded his arms across his chest. ‘Hell, Charlie always was an old fool for...’ His eyes moved over her again, very slowly and very deliberately, and she had to fight against the terrible desire to cover herself with her hands. ‘Although this time I can almost understand why.’

Dulcie cleared her throat. ‘Olivia? Shall I—shall I do something?’ She looked from Edward Archer to her employer. ‘I mean, do you want me to—to call somebody, or—or...?’

‘You can show this—this “gentleman” out, Dulcie.’

Archer’s smile faded. ‘I’m not leaving.’

Dulcie shifted closer to Olivia. ‘What do you want me to do?’ she whispered.

Edward Archer answered before Olivia could speak. ‘She wants you to go out and close the door after you,’ he said softly. His eyes locked with Olivia’s. ‘Isn’t that right, Miss Harris?’

‘No,’ Olivia said quickly, almost breathlessly. ‘Don’t—don’t go, Dulcie.’

Hearing the pathetic tremor in her own voice made her flinch. How dared he do this to her? She belonged here, not he. It was he who was the outsider.

The realisation gave her strength.

‘If you have something to say to me, Mr Archer,’ she said coolly, ‘you’d better get to it.’

‘Tell her to go.’ He jerked his head towards Dulcie, who was still gaping. He was all business now; something about the look in his eyes and the set to his mouth sent a chill up Olivia’s spine. ‘You and I have things to discuss, Miss Harris. I suggest we deal with them in private.’

‘Olivia? Should I—should I call the cops?’

Edward Archer, in the hands of the police! Oh, but the thought was tempting! But calling them would be a foolish indulgence, and Olivia knew it. Olivia’s Dream was on a quiet street; she’d spent a small fortune on discreet advertisements in The Times and a handful of pricey magazines, but one visit from a police car with its lights flashing and its siren wailing would bring down the kind of publicity her business might never live down.

Besides, every instinct warned that she should hear him out. There was a grim determination about him now; whatever had brought him here would have to be dealt with.

‘No, Dulcie,’ she said quietly, ‘that won’t be necessary. You just go on down to the showroom.’ It was hard to smile, but she managed. ‘We don’t want to miss any clients, do we?’

The girl’s mouth tightened. ‘I’m going to stay right outside the door,’ she said with a meaningful glower in Edward’s direction. ‘You call and I’ll come running.’

Olivia waited until the door swung shut. She looked down at her watch and then at Edward Archer.

‘You have one minute,’ she said coldly.

A muscle twitched in his jaw. ‘This is going to take a hell of a lot longer than that.’

‘One minute, Mr Archer. And so far, you’ve wasted almost five seconds.’

‘You’ve got your act together since we last met.’ She looked up. He was watching her narrowly, his eyes cool and assessing. ‘The Lady of the Manor thing, I mean. Very nicely done. I’m impressed.’

‘Nine seconds gone, Mr Archer.’

His lips drew back from his teeth. ‘And then what? Will you throw me out?’

‘Thirty-nine seconds left, and counting down,’ she said as she walked to her corner desk. She bent and riffled through the papers strewn across it. What did he want? Damn it all, what did he want?

‘Because we both know you won’t be able to do that.’ She went very still as she felt him come up behind her. His breath ruffled her hair. ‘I can overpower you,’ he said softly. ‘I can do whatever I want with you, Olivia, and we both know it.’

She felt her heart begin to race. One one thousand, she thought, two one thousand, three...

When she was certain she could face him without trembling, she turned around.

‘Does trying to intimidate me make you feel good?’ she asked quietly.

His mouth twisted. ‘You know damned well that isn’t what I was doing.’

‘Because if that’s how you get your kicks, Mr Archer...’

She caught her breath as his hands clasped her shoulders. His fingers were hard on her flesh; she felt their touch in the marrow of her bones. His eyes swept over her face and fastened on her mouth.

‘Have you thought about me?’ he asked.

‘No,’ she said quickly. Too quickly; even she knew that.

His hand rose and lightly encircled the nape of her neck, the fingers sifting into the loose knot of silken hair pinned at the back of her head. She felt strands of it fall free and drift to her shoulders.

‘I’ve been thinking about you, Olivia.’

His voice was soft, like the caress of his fingers against her skin. She felt herself sway a little, just a little, as if his stroking fingers were mesmerising her.

‘Actually,’ she said, ‘I have thought about you, Mr Archer. I’ve had nightmares that you might turn up in my life again and be even more rude than you were the last time.’

He smiled. ‘I think about you at night, when I lie in my bed.’ His voice grew soft and rough with promise. ‘I imagine you naked, in my arms, your hair spread like a dark cloud across my pillow.’

Her heart gave an unsteady thump as she tried to break away from him. ‘You have no right—’

‘I remember the smell of you, and I wonder what you taste like.’ She gasped as he drew her closer. ‘You wonder too, Olivia. I can see it in your eyes, feel it in the way your body heats under my hand.’

‘You’re crazy,’ she said. Her voice was cool, so cool. But her skin felt hot and flushed.

‘Sometimes I can almost hear you cry out my name as I touch you.’

A picture flashed into her mind. She saw herself in his arms, trembling under his caresses, straining towards him in the heat of desire, and an emotion she could not identify raced through her blood.

‘Never,’ she hissed, ‘not in the next million years. Not if you were the last...’

His hands fell away from her so suddenly that she fell back against the desk.

‘Be careful what you say, darling.’ His voice had gone as cold as his eyes. ‘You can never tell when you may just need the last man on earth.’

Olivia raised her hands to the back of her head. They shook as she tried to smooth back her hair and re-pin it.

‘I’d never need anything from you,’ she said in a shaky voice. ‘Not as long as I have—’

‘Sweet old Charlie.’ An ugly smile twisted across his mouth. ‘What a touching sentiment, Olivia.’

Not as long as I have two hands to work with, she’d been going to say. But why should she defend herself to Edward Archer? Her chin rose in defiance.

‘It is, isn’t it?’ she said evenly. ‘And now, Mr Archer, if you’ll get to the reason you came here—’

‘Sweet old Charlie is dead.’

The words were bluntly delivered. Olivia smiled uncertainly. ‘What did you say?’

His eyes fixed on her face. ‘You heard me, sweetheart. Charlie is dead. Kaput. He’s history.’

Olivia blinked. Dead? No, that was impossible. She had seen Charles just last night, only for a few minutes when he’d come to pick Ria up at the Plaza after they’d had their drinks, and he’d been fine, just fine.

He laughed unpleasantly. ‘Hell, at least old Charlie died a happy man.’

‘Charles Wright?’ she said stupidly.

Edward’s lip curled. ‘The late Charles Wright, my dear. How many other Charlies are there in your life? Maybe we ought to give ‘em numbers. Charlie One, Charlie Two—’

Dead. Charles was dead. Ria, she thought, oh, Ria...

‘Is he really dead?’ she whispered.

‘Dead as the dodo bird.’

Her eyes swept the hard, stony face before her. ‘How can you talk that way? Don’t you have any feelings?’

‘Why should I? Nobody will mourn the bastard.’

Ria’s face swam before her. ‘Somebody will,’ Olivia said softly, and she bent her head and put her hands to her eyes.

Edward Archer gave a muffled oath. ‘If I live to be a thousand, I’ll never understand what makes a woman cry!’ His arms went around her, drawing her into a hard, unyielding embrace.

The shock drove the colour back into her face. Olivia slapped her hands against his chest.

‘Let go of me!’

‘I suppose a Victorian swoon comes next,’ he said grimly as he stalked to the door.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I—’

He threw the door open and stepped into the hall. Dulcie’s startled gasp was sharp as a gunshot.

‘Miss Harris isn’t feeling well,’ Edward said tightly. ‘Where can she lie down?’

‘Olivia? Olivia, what’s he done to you? Do you want me to call the police now? Or an ambulance? Do you need an ambulance? Oh, Olivia...’

‘I’m fine, Dulcie. Dammit, Mr Archer—’

‘I asked you a question, girl!’ Edward’s voice was harsh. ‘Where can Miss Harris lie down?’

Dulcie pointed a trembling finger. ‘Upstairs,’ she said. ‘Olivia, shall I—?’

But he had already moved past Dulcie, shouldering her aside as he half carried Olivia up the narrow staircase that led to her flat.

‘Would you please let go of me?’ she demanded. ‘You’re making a fool of yourself, Mr Archer. I don’t need your help. I don’t want your help. Do you hear me?’

He ignored her protests, shouldered open the door, and stepped into her living-room.

‘Where is your bedroom?’ he demanded.

Not the bedroom. The last place she wanted this man was in her bedroom. Olivia’s head might still be spinning, but she hadn’t lost the power to think straight.

‘The sofa’s fine,’ she said quickly.

He crossed the tiny room in a few strides and deposited her on the velvet-covered Empire sofa, then stood back and stared down at her, his face grim.

‘Where do you keep your brandy?’

‘Look, I don’t need brandy.’

‘Where is it?’

She threw up her hands. ‘I don’t have any.’

‘Cognac, then. Whiskey. Where is it?’

‘There’s nothing in the house.’

‘Hell, woman, you must have something on hand. What did Wright drink when he visited you?’

Her eyes fixed on his. There was absolutely no expression on his face, but the contempt in his voice was like a slap.

‘He didn’t,’ she said coldly.

‘Didn’t drink?’ One dark brow angled upwards. ‘That’s hard to believe. Old Charlie liked his liquor—almost as much as he liked his women.’

‘He didn’t visit me. And I resent you—’

‘Don’t give me that. He was in and out of this place.’

Olivia folded her arms across her chest. ‘He visited the shop,’ she said, even more coldly. ‘Never my flat—not that it’s any of your business.’

Edward’s lips drew back from his teeth. ‘Yeah. Right. Why would he, when he’d set up that nice little love nest for you over on Sutton Place?’

‘What?’

‘Come on, sweetheart, don’t push your luck. You put on a pretty good act, I’ll grant you that. But the show’s over.’ He strode across the room and into the efficiency kitchen. She could hear cabinet doors slamming and the tinkle of glass. ‘Here,’ he said, coming back to her with a glass of something red in his outstretched hand. ‘Drink it down.’

‘What is it?’ Olivia’s nose wrinkled as he pushed the glass under her nose. ‘Ugh,’ she said, ‘I don’t want that. It’s—’

‘It’s cheap wine,’ he said. ‘Not Wright’s taste at all, but it’ll do the job. Go on, drink it.’

‘It’s cooking wine. And I told you, I don’t need—’

‘Drink,’ he growled. His eyes flashed at her. ‘Or must I hold your nose and pour it in?’

She stared at him, her eyes locking with his. Lord, how she despised this man! He would do it, she was certain, he’d hold her still and feed the noxious stuff into her unless she did as he demanded. He was strong. And intimidating. And very sure of himself, and she didn’t want to take him on again, not now. All she wanted right this minute was to get Edward Archer out of her home so she could contact Ria and comfort her.

She reached out, snatched the glass from him and tossed down the bitter liquid. Her shoulders lifted, her throat convulsed, and she coughed explosively.

‘There,’ she gasped, ‘are you satisfied now?’

He said nothing for a long moment, only watched her with that same empty expression on his face, his eyes hooded and unreadable. A little shudder went through her as she thought how he seemed to fill, even overwhelm, her small living-room.

He reached out and took the glass from her fingers. ‘Hell, it’s not every day you learn your benefactor’s dead.’

Olivia’s eyes narrowed. ‘Charles Wright was a good man,’ she said.

‘Especially to you, sweetheart.’ His teeth glinted in a quick grin. ‘Hey, I can understand getting hysterical when you’ve suffered such a terrible loss.’

‘I hate to spoil this moment of drama for you, Mr Archer,’ she said coldly, ‘but I was not hysterical.’

He shrugged lazily. ‘Whatever you say, sweetheart.’

She rose to her feet. ‘Goodbye, Mr Archer. I wish I could say it had been nice to see you again, but—’

He shook his head as he leaned back against the wall. ‘I’m not leaving yet, Miss Harris,’ he said, his formal tone mimicking hers.

‘Yes, you are. We’ve nothing more to discuss.’

‘We’ve plenty to discuss.’ He cocked his head to the side and smiled again. ‘For instance, what did you do to old Charlie to kill him?’

The blood rushed from her face. ‘What?’

Edward laughed and held up his hand. ‘Let me rephrase that. What little tricks did you introduce him to last night, hmm?’ His smile faded. ‘It must have been something pretty cute to have done him in. Charlie was used to keeping fast company, but then I suppose a woman like you knows some things that can take a man as close to heaven as they do to hell.’

Olivia stared at him. ‘Are you suggesting—are you trying to insinuate that I—that Charles and I were—that we were...?’

‘I’m not insinuating anything.’ Edward moved quickly; he was across the narrow room and standing next to her before she had time to react. ‘I saw him, Olivia.’ His voice was soft, silken, and filled with menace. ‘I saw him in that big, silk-sheeted bed, I saw the imprint your head had left on the pillow beside his, I saw the bit of black lace you left tossed on the floor—’

‘I don’t have to listen to this nonsense,’ Olivia began as she started past him.

Edward’s hand closed tightly on her shoulder. ‘It’s too bad you weren’t with him when he breathed his last, Miss Harris. After all, your lover—’

‘Damn you!’ Angry tears rose in her eyes as she twisted unsuccessfully in his grasp. ‘He wasn’t my lover!’

He pulled her to him. ‘No?’

‘No! He was—’

He was Ria’s lover, she’d almost said. But no one knew that, and how could she name Ria without speaking to her first? Besides, neither she nor Ria owed this man any explanations. He was related to Charles’s wife, Ria had said, and his only interest in Charles was in finding a way to get his hands on the family fortune. Well, she could see that for herself now. Edward Archer didn’t give a damn about Charles’s death. Whatever he was angry about, it wasn’t because Charles Wright was no more.

‘I don’t owe you any explanations,’ she said stiffly.

He laughed. ‘No. I suppose you don’t.’ He stepped closer to her. ‘But you might want to be a little nicer to me, baby, considering that you’ve lost your bread and butter.’

Olivia twisted against his hand. ‘I don’t have to be anything to you! You’ve no right to—’

‘I have every right,’ he said in a silken whisper. ‘You’d better be a hell of a lot nicer to me.’ She cried out as his arms went around her and he pulled her against the hardness of his long, powerful body. ‘You’re going to have bills to pay, sweetheart, and I control the estate.’ He shifted her in his arms so that she was off balance; her weight fell against him and he smiled lazily at the feel of her body against his. ‘You’ll have to give up the flat in Sutton Place, of course.’

‘You’re insane! I don’t have a—’

‘But this place is pretty cosy. I might just let you keep it, and that pretty little design studio you play around in.’

‘Get out!’ she panted as she struggled to break free. ‘Damn you to hell, Edward Archer, get—’

‘Assuming you’re as nice to me as you were to old Charlie,’ he whispered, and then his mouth dropped to hers.

He was strong, as strong as she had known he would be. His arms imprisoned her, made her captive to the heat of his body. She cried out and tried to turn away from him.

‘I can be as generous as he was,’ he whispered against her mouth. He caught her head in his hands and held her so she couldn’t get away. ‘And I can make you happy in bed. We both know that.’

‘You bastard!’

‘Hell, we can make each other happy in bed,’ he said thickly, and he bent to her and kissed her again.

It was the same way he’d kissed her the first time, it was an angry, overpowering kiss meant to remind her of who was in charge and of what he thought of her, and it sent rage rocketing through her.

‘I hate you,’ she whispered fiercely.

Edward went very still. ‘Do you?’ he whispered, and suddenly there was a subtle change in the way he was holding her. His arms were just as hard, his embrace as unyielding. His body burned against hers with the same urgency. But there was a strange kind of longing in the way he held her. His kiss changed, too. It gentled, asked instead of demanded, gave instead of took.

‘Olivia,’ he whispered, and with a little sob of defeat she lifted her arms and wound them tightly around his neck. She pressed herself to him, wanting the feel of him imprinted on her breasts, on her belly, wanting to feel the silken darkness of his hair under her caressing hand, to feel the heat of his mouth on hers.

He thrust her from him so suddenly that she almost fell. Her lashes lifted; she stared into his face, watching as his eyes went from sea-dark to ice.

‘You see?’ he said. ‘It would be terrific.’ His mouth twisted. ‘But I’m not really sure I want to take another man’s leavings.’

She didn’t hesitate. Her hand came up and she hit him, hard, across the cheek. The crack of flesh against flesh was like the crack of lightning, and echoed through the small room. The look that flashed across Edward’s face was ominous, but Olivia was past caring.

‘You bastard,’ she said in a choked whisper. ‘You can’t come into my home and treat me like this! Just who in hell do you think you are?’

His smile was slow and lazy, as if she’d finally asked him the only question worth an answer, and he seemed to take an eternity before he answered.

‘I thought you knew,’ he said softly. ‘I’m Charles Wright’s stepson.’

She stared at him in disbelief. ‘You’re not. You’re a relative of his w...’

‘I’m his stepson, Miss Harris. And I’m here to see to it that you don’t keep one cent of what rightly belongs to my mother.’

‘Your—your mother? But Charles was divorcing her.’

He laughed. ‘Did he tell you that, too? Hell, it must have been his favourite bedtime tale.’ The laughter fled his face. ‘Listen and listen well, baby, because I’m only going to say this once before I let my attorneys do the talking.’ One arm swept out in a gesture that took in everything: the flat, the floors beneath, and, Olivia knew, her very existence. ‘You’re not going to keep any of it. Not this place, not the apartment leased in your name on Sutton Place—’

‘What apartment?’

‘You’re going to lose it all, Miss Harris. My lawyers and I will see to that. So maybe you’d better shine up your shoes and go for a stroll. Pick a good spot, baby, and with any luck you might be able to find another sucker to replace good old Charlie.’

Olivia wrapped her arms around herself. ‘Get out,’ she whispered, ‘you—you...’

His teeth glinted in a quick smile. ‘The lady’s finally at a loss for words.’ Turning, he reached for the doorknob. ‘Not to worry, darling. Talk isn’t what you’re best at anyway.’

She took a step towards him. ‘Get out of my house!’

‘Enjoy it while you can.’ He laughed softly. ‘It won’t be yours much longer.’

The door opened, then slammed shut, and Olivia was finally, mercifully, alone.