Dark Encounter

by Susanna Firth

'You're very quick to condemn me,' he said. 'But you don't know me very well, do you?'

  'I don't need to know you any better. You have the same attitude to life. You want your own way at all costs and you don't care who you crush in order to get it.'

  'You make me sound very cold-blooded,' he commented.

  'Aren't you?'

  'I've been accused of ruthlessness on occasion,' he allowed. 'But I wouldn't say I had a reputation for being cold-blooded. Quite the contrary, in fact.'

  She knew without him elaborating on the point that he was referring to his dealings with women. The conversation was leading to decidedly dangerous ground. Kate began to wish she had kept her mouth shut and not tangled with him. 'I'd rather not discuss the matter, if you don't mind,' she said desperately.

  'I see. You prepare to abandon the battlefield when you're about to be proved wrong. How typically female!'

  'Nothing of the sort, I just felt that the argument was getting a little too personal, that's all,' she fenced, hoping to deflect him.

  'You mean,' he said calmly, 'that you're allowed to accuse me of being some domineering tyrant, straight out of Dickens, but I'm supposed to play the gentleman and not retaliate by telling you a few home truths. Well, it won't work with me. You picked the wrong man if you expected that kind of behaviour, Kate.' The amusement had vanished and there was a cruel note in his voice. She shivered, wondering what was coming next. 'You've as good as told me that I've no sympathy for anyone else's finer feelings, so you can hardly expect me to make an exception of you. Let's discuss him, shall we, this man who inspired such emotion? Who was he? Your boss? Your lover, perhaps?'

  She wished she could block the taunting sound of his voice from his ears. Why had she got herself into this mess? She had only herself to blame. Nicholas Blake had warned her he was a difficult man to cross and if she hadn't learnt her lesson last night she could well believe it now. He was right, of course: she should never have let her feelings get the better of her. What right had she to attack him in the way she had done? On the grounds of their short acquaintance she might claim to dislike him, but she couldn't base her dislike on any deep knowledge of the man. Apart from the fact that he had a remarkably short temper, particularly where she was concerned, she knew absolutely nothing about him. Just because Jeremy had hurt her badly there was no excuse for assuming every successful businessman to be the same type.

  He was watching her keenly. 'Had enough?' he asked her. Her face must have mirrored her thoughts. 'You're out of your depth, Kate, trying to take me on. You might as well admit it.'

  Admit that he had got the better of her? Never! But if she didn't he would pursue the subject. 'I don't usually get so carried away.' She gave a shaky laugh. 'I'm not used to such impassioned arguments so early in the day.' If he cared to take that as an apology he was welcome to do so, provided that he abandoned his latest line of questioning.

  'I'll agree with you there. I've never found the breakfast table the most suitable place for heated arguments.'

  'You prefer to settle them in the board-room?'

  He gave her a sudden smile, the lighter expression transforming his rather sombre face and inviting her to respond to him. This man could charm when it suited him, she conceded that. 'When I argue with a woman I always find that the bedroom is the best place to settle matters.'

  'I suppose you're usually successful there, too?' she asked, trying for a tone of sophisticated amusement.

  'Perhaps you'd like to sample the experience some time?'

  'Not particularly,' she said warily. 'I don't suppose either of us would enjoy the experiment.'

  'You underestimate yourself, Kate. I'm sure I'd find it most rewarding.'

  He had her at a loss again and he knew it. She searched for a witty reply and could only fight the temptation to throw the coffee pot at him. Grudgingly she accepted that when it came to this kind of verbal sparring he had the edge on her.

  Fortunately he seemed disposed to move on to slightly less personal ground. 'Your aunt tells me you're on holiday. It seems a strange time of year to visit this part of the country. Or do you dislike sharing it with the tourists?'

  She could have answered that his immaculate presence in the country was even stranger, but refrained. He was making an effort at small talk and anything was better than the exchange they had just been through. It was probably safer for both of them if she made an effort to be civil. 'I wanted to see Aunt Meg and this was as good a time as any to come. I'm a secretary and I'm between jobs at the moment.'

  'If your typing's anything like your driving, I'm not surprised,' he commented caustically. 'Were you sacked or made redundant?'

  'Neither. I resigned,' she told him haughtily, her good resolutions rapidly broken. What was it about him that made her react this way?

  'I hope you had a good reason. Jobs are scarce these days. It's usually wise to decide where you're heading before you walk out. You may find it's a cruel, hard world when you start looking for another job.'

  It had occurred to her to worry about finding another job, but she had pushed the thought to the back of her mind, determined to enjoy her visit to Aunt Meg before she considered the subject seriously. She had no intention of confiding her fears for the future to Nicholas Blake of all people. 'I'm an experienced secretary,' she said airily. 'I don't suppose I'll have much difficulty in getting another job.' She couldn't resist adding, 'The problem will be finding an employer I want to work for. There are so many high-handed, impossible bosses around.'

  If the gibe registered, he ignored it as she might have known he would. 'So that explains your spirited defence of my poor Miss Wilkins. Where did you work?'

  'Edwards Engineering.' She managed to say the name casually enough. 'You probably won't have heard of them. They're only a small firm—'

  'Yes, I know them,' he interrupted her. 'They've just merged with Markham's outfit, haven't they?'

  'You're very well informed.' Kate could not hide her surprise.

  'I make it my business to be,' he said. 'So you left Edwards Engineering for reasons of your own which, no doubt, you've no intention of revealing to me. What next?'

  'Why the sudden interest in my future prospects, Mr Blake?' If this restless question and answer session passed for his idea of pleasant small talk, Kate preferred the Spanish Inquisition any day. 'Are you thinking of offering me a job?' she asked sweetly.

  His gaze roved over her figure with insulting slowness before he chose to answer her. He could have been assessing a piece of prime beef on the hoof at a cattle market, thought Kate resentfully. 'I might be persuaded to find a use for you in some capacity or other.'

  'Indeed?' Her temper was beginning to rise again.

  'Yes. I suppose you've got other talents besides a vicious tongue and a sharp temper, although at present just what they might be escapes me.'

  'You can save your breath,' she seethed. 'I don't think you need to worry about employing my talents or lack of them in your service. I'd rather starve in the street than work for you!'

  He was unmoved by the outburst. 'Fine words. But if, as I suspect you will, you think better of that rather childish display of temper, you may still consider yourself free to get in touch with me.' He reached in his pocket and produced a business card which he tossed across the table to her. 'You never know, you might catch me in a philanthropic mood.' He pushed aside his chair and, his breakfast finished, prepared to get up.

  She picked up the square of cardboard and, without even stopping to consider the action, tore it in two and threw the pieces back at him. 'Does that make it quite clear what I think of your offer, Mr Blake?'

  'Perfectly.' His features were cold, his eyes narrowed as he looked at her and she sensed that, for once, his temper was being held firmly in check. 'I do hope you don't live to regret that action.'

  'I doubt it,' she said with an assurance she was far from feeling. 'I always follow my impulses. I find first reactions are usually the most reliable.'
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  'If I followed mine right now I'd be shaking you to within an inch of your life!'

  'What's stopping you?' she taunted, greatly daring.

  With one lithe movement he was on his feet and had rounded the table towards her, catching her and pinioning her hands behind her back before she had time to evade him.

  'Let me go!' She struggled, but his grasp on her tightened and against his hard strength she was helpless. She had tried him too far this time and she knew that she would pay the penalty for doing so.

  'Still crediting me with the instincts of a gentleman, Kate?' he asked her.

  'That's something I'd never do.' She lifted her head defiantly and gazed into his eyes, which were no longer cold, but as turbulent and angry as a grey, winter sea. Strangely mesmeric, they caught and held her glance.

  'You should have learnt by now not to push a man beyond the limits of his temper,' Nicholas Blake told her. 'But it appears that your education has been sadly neglected. It seems there's only one way of shutting you up.'

  Sensing what his next action would be, she renewed her efforts to escape. But it was no use. She gave a startled cry of protest as he pulled her closer to him, moulding her against the muscled hardness of his body. For an instant he paused, apparently savouring her complete helplessness. Then his mouth came down on hers with punishing intensity, cruel and utterly ruthless in its plundering, as he forced open her lips and probed the moist sweetness beyond with leisured expertise.

  As his mouth possessed hers she was conscious of a sudden primitive stirring of desire, an instinctive female response to the demands of a male. The fiery touch of his lips on hers roused her to a pitch she had never known before. She was hazily aware that this man was a past expert in the techniques of lovemaking. But this was no lover's kiss, given and returned in tenderness. It was a practised assault on her senses, intended deliberately to reduce her to absolute submission to his will.

  And it was succeeding. She could feel herself weakening and the fight going out of her. Her heightened perceptions were threatening to take her over completely and an inner voice was urging her to stop battling against him and give in. Suddenly she wanted to put her arms round him and draw the taut, strong body closer to her. She wanted to return his kiss with equal intensity and show him that her desire for him was as strong as his for her.

  She was fighting a losing battle, clinging desperately to the last rags of her self-control, when he released her. She took a step away from him and grasped the back of a chair for support, uncertain whether her legs would hold her up unaided.

  He was breathing heavily and his lean face still bore a furious expression. He studied her for a moment in silence, then commented angrily, as if the kiss had somehow been her fault, 'If it gives you any satisfaction you may as well know that you're the first woman in a long time to make me lose my temper so completely. Congratulate yourself. It's quite an achievement.'

  'Indeed? I can't think why,' she said sarcastically.

  'Blame your own behaviour for that. I did give you fair warning.'

  'My behaviour? You have the nerve to criticise my behaviour? It might be an idea for you to mend your own manners before you start finding fault with other people. You're absolutely primitive. Primitive as well as totally without principles!' She flung the words wildly at him, too furious to care about any possible retribution he might take.

  'There's an Indian proverb to the effect that he who pulls a tiger by the tail must prepare to face his wrath. It's a valuable lesson. Perhaps you'll remember it and put a guard on that rash tongue of yours in the future.'

  Instinctively she struck out at him, but he fended the blow neatly away and caught her hands in his. 'If you try that again I'll hit you back,' he cautioned her. 'You never accept that you're beaten, do you?'

  Reaction was setting in and the white heat of anger which had consumed her was replaced by a curiously shaky feeling. Hot tears welled up behind her eyes and she turned her head abruptly away from him, fighting them back. She would not give him the pleasure of knowing the effect that he had wrought upon her.

  'Kate?' Surely that couldn't be a note of concern in voice? 'Are you all right?'

  'No thanks to you. I hate you, Nicholas Blake!' she muttered on the verge of a sob and, with the tears she could no longer control streaming down her cheeks, she found the strength to tear herself from his grasp and run blindly for the door. It opened to admit Aunt Meg just as she reached it, but Kate brushed straight past her and into the hall beyond. Her aunt's puzzled cry followed her, but she did not stop. As she headed up the stairs she heard Nicholas Blake's voice raised in some kind of explanation without registering what he said. Let him come up with some plausible reason for upsetting her! She reached the sanctuary of her bedroom and shut and locked the door behind her. For a moment she leant against it, breathing heavily. Was anyone coming after her? No, Aunt Meg must have decided against coming to find out what was wrong. At last the pent-up emotions of the past week mingled with reaction to the scene in which she had just taken part overcame her and she stopped fighting them. Flinging herself down on the bed, she wept without restraint.

  No one disturbed her and it was some two hours later, when, lying in a crumpled heap, her damp handkerchief clutched in her hand, she finally roused herself at the sound of voices in the garden below. Unsteadily she got to her feet and went over to the window to peer out. Directly beneath her she could see Aunt Meg, accompanied by the tall, unmistakable figure of Nicholas Blake. He was carrying his bags to a small, obviously hired, car which was parked in the lane beside the house. He deposited the luggage in the boot, slammed it shut and turned, smiling, to shake Aunt Meg warmly by the hand before opening the door and settling in the driving seat. As he got into the car he turned and glanced quickly back towards the house and, although Kate was sure that the folds of the heavy curtain hid her from his view, she jumped back automatically from the window. The conceit of the man! Did he expect her to wave him on his way as if nothing had happened between them?

  The engine started up and she heard her aunt shout 'Goodbye' and return to the house. So he was gone at last. She heaved a heartfelt sigh of relief. The last twenty-four hours seemed to have endured for a lifetime. The easing of tension that she felt at his departure was almost physical, a sudden lifting of the depression that had gripped her. Instantly she was brighter and ready to face the world again. Ruefully she studied her reflection in the mirror of the dressing-table and pulled a face at herself. Her hair was an untidy tangle framing features blotched by tearstains and eyes that were red and puffy from crying. What a wreck she looked! Cautiously she unlocked the door and tiptoed to the bathroom to wash.

  Ten minutes later, looking considerably better, if still rather red-eyed, she made her way downstairs. What on earth could she say to Aunt Meg by way of explanation for her behaviour? That she had had a stand-up row with Nicholas Blake and, furious that he had got the better of her, had retreated to her room to indulge in a childish tantrum?

  That was the truth, she supposed, but there must be a better way of explaining matters.

  But when she found Aunt Meg in the kitchen and began a stumbling explanation of her strange behaviour, it seemed that it was unnecessary. Nicholas Blake, with typical arrogant control of the situation, had made her excuses for her.

  'I wanted to come up and see if there was anything I could do to help,' her aunt told her, 'but Mr Blake was most insistent that you needed complete rest by yourself. A friend of his has these blinding migraines, apparently, so he knew exactly what we ought to do. He said the attacks come very suddenly and often take a few hours to pass. Are you feeling better now?'

  'Lots better, thank you,' Kate assured her, feeling nothing but a total fraud.

  'I never knew you suffered from that sort of thing, dear. You used to be so healthy as a child. You must have been working too hard. They say stress brings these things on.'

  'That's true,' she agreed. The strain of attempting to outman
oeuvre Nicholas Blake was enough to try the most placid of persons, and she readily conceded that she was hardly that.

  'You must have a good rest while you're staying here,' her aunt was saying firmly. 'We can't have you going back to work in this condition.' She changed to another tack. 'Mr Blake was so charming, wasn't he? Such a pity you've missed saying goodbye to him. He was most concerned about you.'

  I'll bet, thought Kate cynically, but forced a polite response. 'Are all your summer visitors like him?' she asked in an attempt to divert her aunt, and succeeded. Much to her relief Aunt Meg dismissed her most recent visitor from her mind and launched into a seemingly endless flow of horror stories about the antics of her guests over the years.

  If only Kate could have forgotten him with equal ease! But it was not the case. His dark, arrogant features seemed indelibly stamped on her memory and haunted her dreams. It was a long time before she could contemplate her humiliation at his hands with anything remotely approaching composure. Yet as the days passed his image faded slightly, if not completely banished.

  Surprisingly the holiday, filled with nothing more exciting than housework, shopping, visits to Aunt Meg's friends in the village and long, brisk walks through the bare winter countryside, slipped by quickly. Kate, who for all her fine words to the contrary had wondered what on earth she would find to do besides brooding about Jeremy, discovered that she had hardly any time to think about her shattered love life. The busy yet still leisured pace of village life suited her far more than the frantic bustle to which she was accustomed.

  But after a fortnight she decided, despite her aunt's protests, that it was time that she got back to London and started job-hunting.

  'It's been a lovely break,' she said, when Aunt Meg pressed her to stay a while longer. 'But I'm a working girl with a living to earn. Or at least, I hope to be by this time next week,' she added laughingly.

  'Well, if you must go, you must and I won't try to stop you. But promise me you won't leave it so long before you visit me again.'

  'Try and keep me away from your home cooking!' Kate smiled.