‘How is he?’ The question was nearly inaudible, and behind it, she heard a car start up. He must be at an outside phone booth.
‘Worried. Upset ... I think ... surprised that you ran away.’ Why had he run, anyway?
Jem laughed shortly. ‘Of course he’s surprised. What would he know?’
‘He wants you back, Jem.’ She tried to make that a neutral statement, not to coax, but perhaps the words were too soft.
‘Sure he does,’ the boy said coldly. ‘He never starts a job unless he means to finish it and finish it right.’ His breath hissed in her ear. ‘What about Ralph? Is he okay?’
‘It sounds like your father’s doing his best with him,’ she said carefully, ‘but he’s not eating much. Maybe he’s missing you?’
‘Probably.’ The boy’s voice was glum. ‘Did he say what he’s feeding him?’
Jolian picked up a pen and began to doodle on the pad before her. ‘Well, as a matter of fact, Jem, he asked me to ask you what to give him.’ Crouching by a dish heaped with food, a fat, sullen cat began to take shape.
‘I wonder if he forgot to pour a little cream on his dry food?’ the boy murmured. ‘I thought he knew to do that ... You didn’t tell him where you were calling from, did you, Jolian?’ His voice sharpened suddenly.
‘No, Jem,’ Jolian shook her head, ‘I didn’t. Honest.’ She gave the cat a lashing tail and disgruntled whiskers. ‘Do you want me to remind him about the cream, and see how Ralph’s doing?’
There was quite a silence. Somewhere, at his end, a car honked. ‘Would you?’ he mumbled finally.
‘Sure, Jem. Want me to tell him anything else?’ She waited hopefully.
‘Jolian?’
‘Yes, Jem?’
‘You’re a sweetheart, Jolian, but it’s no use.’ He sounded closer to forty than fourteen, distantly amused by her transparency.
Jolian smiled wryly. He was a tough little son of a gun. ‘Well, I’m sure Ralph will appreciate the effort,’ she said lightly.
‘So do I.’
It was time to test the connection then. Her chair squeaked as she leaned forward. ‘Would you do me a favour, in that case, Jem?’
In the silence, she could feel him calculating the possibilities and perhaps his debt. ‘Okay,’ he said finally.
‘Would you call me next, week, Jem, Tuesday or Thursday afternoon, and just let me know how you’re doing?’
For a long minute, she waited for him to hang up on her. When he spoke again his voice was brittle. ‘I bet that’s part of the training, isn’t it, Jolian? How to answer the phone, how to sound like you really care about perfect strangers—’
‘Jem?’ she cut in softly.
‘Um?’
‘Don’t be a sap.’
The sound that jerked out of him might have been a laugh. ‘Okay, Jolian ... g’bye.’
Dial tone buzzing in her ear, she sat frowning at the far wall. ‘Okay, I won’t be a sap,’ or ‘okay, I’ll call you?’ ‘You blew it, you chump!’ she said aloud. She’d pushed too far, too fast. Still scowling, she hung up the phone. Blew it! She gave her chair an exasperated spin and glared at the miserable grey day as it rotated into view. What a rotten day to be young, alone, and unloved in the city. Rotten!
‘You all right in there?’ Katy called from her desk.
‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ The chair was slowing down and the office glided by in all its green-painted dinginess.
‘Well, your chair’s going round.’
‘Oh.’ Jolian grabbed the edge of the desk and stopped herself. ‘No, everything’s just—’ The phone rang out and Katy picked it up in the other room. ‘Peachy keen,’ Jolian muttered bitterly. She yanked open the shoulder bag on her desk and began to pull out tools and a small box. Might as well do something useful.
But she was too irritated to work. Jewellery-making called for patience, serenity, steady hands. No doubt that was why she preferred designing to construction. Jolian put the project down again and scowled at the cat doodle on the desk before her. So how was the son of a polecat, anyway? Her lips twitched and then curled upwards in a low, unwilling grin. She reached for the phone.
‘McKay Enterprises. May I help you?’ It was the receptionist with the air-conditioned voice again.
‘Yes, please. This is Jolian Michaels. Mr. McKay asked me to call him this afternoon.’
The elegant voice thawed perceptibly. ‘Oh, yes, Ms. Michaels, he mentioned you. Would you hold one moment, please?’
The moment turned into a minute, possibly two. Jolian picked up the ring of cast silver on her desk and squinted at it thoughtfully. It was a lost-wax casting, a process she’d not used much before. She was going to like it.
‘Miss Michaels?’ It was the receptionist again, warmly apologetic now. ‘Mr. McKay is on the line with another client. I gather it’s a bit of an emergency. Would you mind waiting a minute or so?’
‘Not at all.’ The phone went dead again and Jolian was left to wonder just what was an emergency in the life of Mr. McKay, if a missing son was not. She turned the ring in her hands. This was a private project, a Christmas present for her mother, but already it was giving her ideas ... She picked up the pen and began to sketch.
‘Miss Michaels?’
Jolian jumped as the receptionist came back on the line. ‘Yes?’ She glanced at her watch. Five minutes! The sketch before her was nearly complete, but this was getting to be a bit much.
‘Thank you for your patience. Mr. McKay will be just a few more minutes.’
‘That’s all right, I’ll—call back,’ she finished ruefully, but no one was listening. She was back on hold. Fuming, Jolian glanced at her watch. She’d give him just two more minutes. She studied her sketch and then looked back at her watch, waiting for the second hand to twitch round again. So what was important to this man?
‘Miss Michaels?’ The receptionist’s soothing tone warned her. ‘I’m really quite sorry, but Mr. McKay’s still on the other line. He asked me to take your message—it’s instructions for feeding a cat, isn’t it?’
So that was how much he cared! Jolian thought savagely. No wonder Jem couldn’t believe she honestly cared about him! She gave the brief feeding instructions in icy, clipped tones and prepared to hang up.
‘Jolian!’ The whisky-smooth voice of Jem’s father broke into her farewell. ‘Miss Howard, we’re nearly set and thank you very much,’ he said buoyantly. There was a click as the receptionist hung up. ‘Jolian, are you still there?’
Jolian picked up her pen and slashed a savage lightning bolt above the sulking cat. ‘Just ... barely,’ she managed through her teeth. And a fat lot he cared, either!
But Mr. McKay was making a long-winded and seemingly sincere apology, something about a factory burning down in Tennessee and the problem of getting quality products nowadays. Poor Jem. She sighed heavily.
‘Jolian?’ Mr. McKay stopped in mid-sentence. ‘Are you angry, by any chance?’
How could someone sound that warm and yet be so cold, so unfeeling? Jolian wondered bitterly. And was it her imagination, or was he possibly amused as well? ‘Angry? Now why should I be angry, Mr. McKay, just because the phone’s grown to my ear?’ she cooed. ‘I just love waiting.’
‘Then you know how I’ve felt these last two days, Jolian.’ His voice had changed again. All the warmth was gone. ‘With nothing to do but wait and wonder where my son is. Wonder if he’s warm, safe, has anything to eat. Wonder if a certain righteous little do-gooder will even bother to call me back at all.’
Righteous do-gooder! ‘Well, thanks!’ she said bitterly. ‘Your secretary has the feeding instructions for Ralph. There was no other message. Goodbye, Mr.—’
‘Jolian?’ There was a warning note to his voice which stopped her cold. ‘Jolian, this is the last time I’ll ask you ... nicely. Where is my son?’
Jolian sighed. ‘Mr. McKay, I can’t tell you. Not even if I knew.’
‘What city is he calling from? If I know that, I ca
n notify the police, hire detectives, put out posters, offer rewards ...’ There was a passionate conviction to his words, the conviction of the hard-driving businessman that all problems will yield tor the right combination of energy and money, even problems of the heart.
As if he could see her, Jolian shook her dark head. ‘Mr. McKay, I can’t tell you.’
He took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. ‘But you will, Jolian,’ he promised softly. ‘You will.’ There came a gentle click, and then the dial tone buzzed in her ear.
And what did he mean by that? An odd little shiver skated across her shoulders and, slowly, Jolian put the receiver down. She swung the chair around to stare out the bay windows. What a cold, raw, menacing afternoon, ‘You will.’ It has been a threat, no less than a promise. She shivered again and then laughed at herself. ‘First, Mr. McKay, you have to find me,’ she whispered defiantly.
CHAPTER TWO
Slow and damp as a slug, the afternoon crawled past. They took several calls. A girl with a dreadful cough called from Connecticut, wanting her mother in Maine to send her the bus fare home. The mother refused, and they referred the girl to a runaway shelter where she would find counselling and health care. A boy wanted his sister to know that he was all right and living with friends, not to worry. Katy answered the phone once, to hear nothing but sobs. Whoever it was tried to speak, couldn’t, and hung up, still sobbing. A dreary afternoon.
Katy’s favour turned out to be a plea that Jolian take the extra evening shift which Katy had signed up for a week ago. An emergency in the form of a certain rugby hunk had come up; she was invited to a movie tonight—and moaning loudly, Jolian agreed. Who was she to stand in the path of true love, after all? With any luck, she would finish the ring, and besides, no one waited for her tonight, if you didn’t count a certain undersized, loud-mouthed cat. A depressing afternoon.
The lights came on early down in the square below, smudging the dark pavement with gleaming colours, and a grateful Katy nipped out to buy Jolian some egg rolls before deserting her. It was blatant bribery, but Jolian ate them anyway. Katy’s replacement was an older woman whom Jolian didn’t know, and she didn’t talk much. They each worked at their own desks, the woman reading quietly, Jolian setting pearls into the ring with the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth.
Cars swished in the street below and somewhere a door slammed. Slow footsteps climbed the stairs.
‘Jolian?’
She jumped nervously and cramped fingers lost their grip on the ring. It landed in her lap and the pearl she had been fitting bounded away. She swore softly. ‘Yes, Ellen?’
She was standing in the aisle by the filing cabinets, purse in" hand. ‘I’ve got to run down the hall to the ladies’ room, dear. I won’t be too long.’
‘No problem, Ellen.’ Jolian looked down again quickly. The pearl didn’t seem to be in her lap, but then she hadn’t heard it fall. That meant it was probably in the remnant of shag rug under the desk rather than out on the age-splotched linoleum. Putting her feet down warily, she slid out of her chair and knelt behind the desk, her eyes combing the carpet.
‘Excuse me, is this ...’ A male voice out in the hallway rumbled, a question arid Jolian heard Ellen’s softer voice replying. But where had the beastly pearl got to? Stroking her fingers slowly through the worn shag, she crawled under the desk, wishing for a flashlight; it was dark under here.
The office door opened and the man’s voice came clearer now, low and smooth. ‘Yes, we’re old friends.’
Crouched on hands and knees, Jolian paused and lifted her head, frowning. Where had she heard that voice before?
‘Around to your left,’ Ellen called helpfully. Her footsteps clicked away down the hall and faded out of hearing, leaving a soft, deep silence—a listening silence. A silence broken suddenly by the door’s closing squeak. Jolian felt the hairs on the back of her neck stirring ... No, it couldn’t be ...
Slow, deliberate footsteps crossed the linoleum as she froze, her fingers digging into the carpet. They paused by the filing cabinets and in the stillness she could hear her heart pounding. How could McKay have—
On came the footsteps. Bending her head down slowly, she could see the light reflecting off dark leather with a soft gleam. Big feet.
They paused just inches from her face and she took a long, soft breath. He would be studying the desk now, staring down at her tools. Jolian heard his breath hiss—impatience, or—her eyes widened. Her chair, could it possibly still be rocking? Slowly, with infinite care, she turned her head to see.
Thank heavens, it wasn’t—Oh! Bolting upright, she cracked her head on the desk above as a hand found her ankle.
‘Jolian Michaels, I presume?’ Laughter lurked just beneath the smooth surface of that low voice. Hard fingers squeezed her gently and let go.
Stars ... She was really seeing stars ... Jolian shook her head quickly, and the stars turned to comets.
‘Will you be coming out, or shall I come in?’ the low voice enquired politely.
He was laughing. And it wasn’t stars she was seeing, Jolian decided, it was red. Teeth clenched, she crawled out and turned, still kneeling, to face him with frigid, dizzy deliberation.
He was tall. She had to tilt her head back to meet those dark eyes. One black eyebrow rose lazily and she saw the corner of his mouth twitch. ‘I haven’t played hide and seek in years,’ he said gravely.
It was hard to get the words out, her teeth were clamped so tight. ‘I lost something,’ she gritted at last.
The other corner of his mouth tilted up to make a faint smile. ‘Your nerve?’ he suggested helpfully, taking a step forward.
Under his foot, a tiny, distinct crunch sounded, and Jolian’s eyes widened. Not trusting herself to speak yet, she rose carefully and slid backwards into her chair. Stretching cramped legs out before her, she leaned back to gaze up at him, her fingers laced precisely over her flat stomach, her thick hair fanning out across her shoulders. ‘No, Mr. McKay,’ she drawled pleasantly, ‘I lost a pearl. The one you’re standing on.’
And it was worth every penny to see his dismay. For one moment the macho façade slipped as he balanced on one foot, scowling at the sole of his shoe, his brows drawn together in a dark line. For that second, Jolian had a glimpse of a gawky boy not yet grown into his treacherous feet. When he looked up again, it was gone. A man faced her, incredibly attractive, icily controlled, quite determined to regain control of this interview. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a wallet. ‘How much, Jolian?’
Her mocking smile widened. Priceless. Money solves everything, doesn’t it? ‘No charge, Mr. McKay. You came a long way to step on that pearl. It was my pleasure.’
‘How much?’ he repeated, his brows drawing together dangerously.
Slowly, still smiling, she shook her head again. She had his goat already; that was payment enough.
But the care with which he removed the bill from his wallet was an indication of rage, not irritation, she realised belatedly. And there was no place to retreat as he advanced upon her; she was leaning as far back in her chair as she could, already. Defiantly, she stared up at him, determined to call this bluff ... if bluff it was.
But something in her upturned face made him smile. ‘Ever eaten a hundred dollars before, Jolian?’ he asked gently. A large hand brought the folded bill up to her chin and he drew it in a slow, tickling caress along her jaw.
He would not scare her. He would not. Defiantly she held his gaze, then found herself held. She couldn’t break away from those dark eyes. They weren’t brown after all, but hazel—a dark green flecked with gold, deep and sardonic. She licked dry lips. ‘Is it unmarked?’ she asked shakily, speaking the words against the bill as he brushed it slowly across her lips. This wasn’t really happening, was it?
His smile slowly deepened. ‘Doubt it,’ he whispered.
The edge of the bill traced the underside of her full bottom lip and his thumb dragged slowly after it, warm, s
ubtly menacing. The pulse in her throat was hammering, making it hard to breathe, harder to swallow. ‘Stop it!’ she whispered, her eyes widening.
But the tip of the bill teased the curving line between her lips. Reaching up, she caught his wrist. It was hard and quite large, warm, the pulse racing. It carried her hand along as he feathered the bill across her throat. ‘Stop it!’
Green, gold, the eyes above her were coming closer. His smile would be wider now, she guessed, but she couldn’t look down to make sure. Green, gold, too close—she shut her eyes to shut him out, but he found her anyway, took her lips in the dark ...
So hot ... So gentle ... So slow ... It wasn’t what she’d expected at all. She had braced herself to meet a brutal kiss, a physical display of male supremacy, but he was more subtle than that. The warm lips which traced her mouth weren’t taking her kiss so much as finding it, finding it with a touch so sure and gentle that she responded without thought. Her lips parted and the kiss deepened slowly, inevitably ... irresistibly. There were many ways to dominate, weren’t there?
Beneath her, Jolian felt as if the chair were falling slowly, ever so slowly, backwards. In the dark, her grip tightened on his wrist, but still she was falling, pulling him with her in a slow-motion, free-falling backdive. Only the feel of those wandering, questioning, moving lips was real. And this was insane!
Her eyes flashed open as those lips freed her at last, and he was smiling. Naturally. Pushing off against his wrist, she slewed the chair around and glared out of the window. But the window was all reflection: wide-eyed, duped and dizzy girl in front of dark business suit enclosing lean, muscular, overwhelmingly male body.
She refused to look higher, to meet those eyes that would be gleaming down at her now in masculine triumph.
The reflection stirred, an arm lifted, and something fluttered down on to her knees. ‘And worth every penny,’ he said huskily.
From her lap, Benjamin Franklin stared up at her. Another self-satisfied, overbearing, masculine ... pig! She crunched his face and launched him over her shoulder.
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