Wild Justice

by Liz Fielding

  He let her go, taking pleasure in the swing of her neat bottom beneath the short leather jacket, imagined those twin cheeks cupped in his hands as he pulled her hard against him. The strength of his desire for her took him by surprise and he caught his breath, swallowed.

  She had paused on a half landing to glance out of a tall stained-glass window. The winter sun filtered through the leaded panes, spattering the wall behind her with coloured light, turning her chestnut hair to dark copper and he felt the life force stir within him.

  He hadn't expected seducing Edward Beaumont's daughter to be difficult.

  It wasn't that he was especially conceited, but his enquiries had produced no evidence of a recent relationship and he knew that girls who lived in the shadow of a glamorous sister were usually grateful to be noticed. But he hadn't expected to enjoy it.

  The hair stirred on the nape of his neck as he realised that he was in danger of enjoying it too much.

  He refused to think about it. He had done his thinking. It was time to act and he took the stairs two at a time until he was standing behind her, but taking care not to actually touch her, so that could see what had caught her eye.

  A hundred yards or so away, where the formal gardens gave way to woodland, snowdrops had colonised the area beneath the trees. Drifts of delicate white flowers that sparkled in the thin sunshine.

  'Pretty, but not practical,' he chided, gently. 'And admiring the garden definitely comes under the heading of time wasting.'

  'Some things are never a waste of time.' She turned her head on her long neck to look up at him, her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted in unconscious invitation.

  He felt an almost overwhelming longing to kiss her, to taste her, to gather her up and feel her tremble against him. He restrained the urge with difficulty.

  He wanted her to fall in love. Making her wait would bring her into his arms all the quicker. The trick would be to keep a clear head.

  It was an exciting and oddly disturbing prospect.

  He smiled. 'Perhaps we could exchange notes on our favourite ways to waste time over lunch. In the meantime, enjoy your snowdrops. I'll check upstairs. It doesn't need two of us.'

  He looked. The bedrooms had a faded elegance that could only be the real thing, each one furnished by generations of occupants, each generation discarding this, adding that. But some pieces must have been bought when the house was new.

  In the master bedroom, the four-poster bed had sufficient gravitas to make even the most sceptical believe that it might have been slept in by the first Queen Elizabeth.

  A second suite, with its own luxurious bathroom and a small dressing room was similarly furnished, although in a lighter, more feminine style. It was all quite lovely and looking around Luke was saddened that such wonderful family home should be reduced to being let out on a short lease.

  'Luke?' He stirred as Fizz appeared in the doorway. 'Is everything all right? You were rather a long time. Does the shower work?'

  'It's fine.' He arranged his face into a smile and turned to face her. 'What do you think of this?' he asked, with a flourish towards the smaller four-poster. They both looked at it. 'It's entirely possible that Melanie will never forgive me if I deny her the chance to sleep in a genuine four-poster bed,' he prompted.

  'If you don't tell her, she'll never know. Besides, it's bit on the short side,' she said, disparagingly. He'd expected a bit more enthusiasm, but she barely glanced at the bed before looking at her watch. 'Have you seen enough, Luke? Time's getting on,' she said. Then he saw the faint flush that heated her cheeks and he smiled to himself, deep inside.

  She rather fancied the bed herself. He would do what he could to accommodate her.

  'I haven't looked downstairs yet, but I'll be quick, I promise. You must be hungry.'

  *****

  Twenty minutes later they pulled up outside a small inn high on the downs.

  'I thought you only wanted to rent something temporarily,' Fizz said, flicking at the list crossly. Luke Devlin seemed determined to waste the afternoon touring around the rest of the houses on the list, but right now she would have traded any amount of roast potatoes in return for her sandwich in the safety of her little office at the end of the pier.

  Except it was no longer safe.

  Luke Devlin had invaded it as surely as he had invaded the rest of her life. But she had had enough to hearing about what Melanie would like. The bed had been the final straw.

  'Winterbourne had absolutely everything you asked for. It might not be the easiest place on earth to run, but it has a housekeeper who will do it all for you.'

  'And it's own private beach.'

  He caught her eye. He was teasing again. 'A very small one, admittedly,' she said, stiffly.

  'You don't have to sell it to me, but I still think Melanie would rather have something close to town.'

  Melanie.

  'I told you, you should have brought her with you,' she said. 'If she'd seen it I'm sure she would have fallen in love with it.'

  'Like you,' he said, dryly. 'Although it would probably have been the four-poster bed that swayed it for her, not the gardens.'

  'Four-poster bed?' she queried, blankly, as if she hadn't even noticed it.

  The truth was that everything about the small Tudor manor house had been quite beautiful, the wood panelling glowing with the patina of centuries of caring hands as the sun had streamed through the windows in long raking beams.

  Their eyes met and Luke's brow rose so slightly that she might have imagined it. But she knew she hadn't.

  'It was beautiful,' she conceded.

  'Very picturesque,' he agreed. 'Even if it was on the small side.'

  'I meant the house.'

  'I suppose we could always go back and try it for size,' he suggested, thoughtfully. 'You're about the same height as Melanie.'

  Fizz turned quickly away and buried her head in her list to hide the slow-burn of anger that darkened her cheek-bones. The man had her at his mercy for heaven's sake. He didn't have to flirt with her as well, did he? Wasn't possession of a prize like Melanie Brett enough to satisfy his ego?

  'There's nothing else here that you will like,' she said, stubbornly.

  'You can convince me over lunch.' He climbed out of the car and opened the door for her.

  Lunch.

  Lunch would mean sitting opposite him with no possibility of escape for the next hour. And discussing the merits of four-poster beds did not seem to be a very sensible way of keeping her head.

  'A rather late lunch,' she said, glancing at her watch. 'I really should get back. I've a dozen things -'

  'Keeping me happy is your number one priority right now,' he reminded her, taking her elbow and easing her out of the car. The top of her head barely came to his chin.

  'You're not our sponsor yet,' she said, addressing his tie.

  He cupped her chin in the palm of his hand and tilted it until she was looking up into his eyes. 'You've found someone else?' he asked, the low, husky tone of his voice rippling through her, the intimate touch of his fingers scrambling the message systems that kept her body on an even keel.

  'When you're being so generous, Luke Devlin?' she offered, with a show of spirit she was far from feeling. 'Why would I be looking?'

  'Why indeed? But you are. Not that you're having much success. I don't imagine anyone in Broomhill is eager to throw that kind of money about at the moment. They are all waiting for the announcement of redundancies at Harries.'

  So, he had been checking up on her. She wondered how. Had he employed a private investigator? Tapped into her 'phone line? Planted a spy in the radio station itself? She would give a good deal to know. She'd like to use the same techniques on him.

  'Will there be many?' she asked. 'Redundancies, I mean?'

  'I'm not going to tell you that, Fizz.' He almost smiled. 'And I'm sure you didn't expect me to.'

  Of course she didn't. But if she didn't ask... 'News that Melanie is to join us will b
ring in the advertisers,' she reminded him.

  'How much extra business did you manage to drum up for this afternoon?'

  'Nearly five minutes. I didn't have a lot of time.'

  'Bank my cheque and you'll have all the time you need.'

  'Hadn't we better make it official, sign the agreement, first?' she asked.

  'Friday at twelve. Of course if you don't sign it, Melanie will not be joining you.'

  'Isn't that her decision?' she countered.

  'No.'

  Not maybe. Not perhaps. No.

  'I see.'

  'I'm glad you do.'

  Could he really be that ruthless? The answer was staring her in the face. There was no doubt about the determination in those dark eyes and a nervous tremor shot through her. But she made a fair stab at a careless shrug.

  'Why shouldn't I sign? As far as I can tell I'm getting the best of the deal.'

  'Then that's a very good reason to keep me happy, wouldn't you say? And Friday will be a very good day for both of us.'

  The provocative curve of his mouth was so close that for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her. The knowledge that she wanted him to kiss her, that he would almost certainly be able to read the desire in her eyes, was as chilling as a winter dip in the sea and she stepped sharply back from the warm touch of his fingers, his thumb brushing against the down on her cheek.

  Then as his brows rose slightly, she attempted a small laugh to cover her confusion.

  After all, with Melanie Brett to warm his bed, the idea of him kissing her was surely quite ridiculous.

  'Lunch you said?'

  He smiled slightly, as if satisfied with this evidence of her obedience and ushered her into the inn. The bar was low, beamed, very old.

  'I really must bring Mel here,' Luke said, as Fizz looked about her. 'She can't get enough of this old world stuff.'

  'I told you, she'd love Winterbourne Manor. It's even got a rambling rose growing round the front door. In the summer you'll be glad of its seclusion. And before you ask,' she hurried on, 'I don't know the estate agent and I shan't be asking for commission.'

  'Now you've got all that off your chest, what would you like to drink?' he asked.

  'A tonic water, please.'

  'Nothing in it? You're not driving.'

  'I'm working.'

  'Do you really find my company that difficult?' He seemed to take it personally and she was glad, because personally she found him extremely difficult to be with.

  'I had the feeling that you wanted it to be,' she said.

  'Then I really must make more of effort to put you at your ease,' he returned, the softness of his voice not entirely cloaking an altogether darker undercurrent. 'Especially since you're spending so much of your valuable time helping me.'

  'I didn't have a choice.' The colour rocketed to her cheeks as she realised how far she had allowed her personal feelings to intrude into what was, after all, a purely business arrangement. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean ...' She stopped. She didn't know what she meant, but she knew that an apology would only make things worse. 'The station doesn't run itself, Luke. I should be there.'

  'Should you? But that's your father's responsibility, surely?' Something about the way he said that made Fizz pause before denying it.

  It was true that it was her father's name on the franchise document. And Edward Beaumont had an office at the Winter Garden, far more opulent that her own little cubby-hole, from which he conducted his affairs with the help of a part-time secretary provided by the station in return for his appearances on Holiday Bay. It was an arrangement that suited them both very well.

  To the outside world, to all but a few of the station staff who had been with them from the beginning, Pavilion Radio was the brain-child of Edward Beaumont. After all, who in their right mind would have considered giving the franchise to a nineteen-year-old girl who was trying very hard to build herself a new life, a new career from the ruins of her dreams?

  'Your father is the franchise holder?' Luke persisted.

  Fizz felt that it was important to him and she was suddenly afraid that if he knew the station was her baby, not that of the well-respected Edward Beaumont, he might not be so keen to prop it up.

  'My father?' she repeated, staring into her glass.

  Say yes, Fizz, her subconscious prompted her. Say it quickly.

  It was nothing less than the truth, after all, but not the whole truth. She was the one who had seen the possibilities when her father had persuaded her to go along with him to the pier to see the renovation work, anything to get her out of the house and into the fresh air. To put some colour back into her pale cheeks.

  The town had been buzzing with the news that they were going to have a local radio station and suddenly the Pavilion, run-down, deserted, seemed to Fizz to be the perfect place.

  Seeing a spark of enthusiasm coming back to her face, Edward Beaumont had thankfully encouraged her, agreeing to lend his name to the scheme if she could raise the finance and prepare the bid. The finance had been the least of her problems.

  She and Claudia had inherited her mother's estate between them. Not so much for an actress who had been at the top of her profession for a long time. She had always been extravagant of course, spending a fortune on clothes and jewellery. And it had taken her nine expensive years to die after her accident. But it had been enough...

  Fizz stiffened. The jewellery. Safe in the bank. Half of it hers.

  Fizz realised that Luke was looking at her a little oddly, as if sensing her reluctance to confirm her father's role. She hadn't been happy that he had chosen this moment to push her out into the cold, hard world yet despite the problems she faced over the last few days there had been a growing reluctance in her to keep up the pretence.

  It had been her hard work that had made the station such a success and when it came up for renewal she would be glad to openly take the reins into her own hands. Assuming she wasn't swallowed up by some media monster first.

  No, she wouldn't allow that to happen. She would smile and sup with the devil first.

  She raised her eyes to meet those of her particular devil.

  'Why are you asking me, Luke? You seem to know everything about us, I'm sure you know the answer to your question as well as I do.'

  The lines of tension about his mouth visibly relaxed. 'Not everything. Why, for instance, didn't you join your illustrious family on the stage?'

  Fizz blinked quickly. No one had asked her that for so long that she had forgotten how much it hurt. 'I'm surprised you have to ask, Luke,' she managed, on a breathy little laugh. 'You were singularly unimpressed with my performance at your office.'

  'A little over the top,' he conceded, 'but full of passion. And you must have been tempted, after all you went to RADA.'

  She felt a stir of unease at this further evidence of his interest in her family. RADA had been a very long time ago. But her shrug was convincing enough. 'Everyone expected it. One of my father's few regrets in life is that he didn't have three daughters so we could play to his Lear.'

  Luke Devlin's head came up sharply, his eyes narrowing. Then he gave a little shrug. 'An interesting idea,' he said, dryly.

  'It wouldn't have worked. The truth of the matter is that I was not cut out for the stage.' He nodded and the fact that he accepted her word without question was a demonstration of how very good she could have been.

  'Shall we eat?'

  'Will they still serve us this late?' she asked, glancing towards the almost empty dining room.

  'I telephoned our order through from the car while you were still slavering over the garden.'

  'I was not slavering,' she objected. 'I have never slavered in my life.' She caught his eye and without warning a bubble of laughter escaped her lips. 'Well, perhaps, just the teeniest little slaver.' He had practically had to drag her away from an old herb garden she had spotted from the window and had gone in search of while he had taken a quick look through the ground floor. 'But
it wasn't just the garden. The whole house was wonderful.'

  'It should be lived in by a family who will care for it, not rented out like some anonymous apartment.'

  'It must be very different from your home in Australia,' she said, as he held a chair for her. 'Overlooking Sydney Harbour isn't it? All glass and steel?' she added, remembering something she had read in Jim's file.

  'You must have been reading some very old press cuttings,' he said, with the barest shrug. 'I sold that place four or five years ago.'

  'Old press cutting were all I could get my hands on,' she informed him. They were both toying with the cutlery, avoiding the other's eyes.

  'I prefer to conduct my personal drama on a private stage.'

  'Is that the reason you're so anxious to leave the Metropole?'

  He looked up then. 'Melanie has a rather higher profile than I can comfortably live with,' he agreed. 'Hoards of teenage girls camping on the doorstep is not my idea of fun.'

  She grinned. 'It could be worse.'

  'I can't think how.'

  'It could be hoards of teenage boys,' she said, then caught her breath. It was hardly tactful to point out that Melanie was young enough for teenage boys to find her desirable. But since meeting Luke Devlin her tact quotient had was become dangerously depleted. He didn't seem to notice however, but turned to smile at the waitress who had brought their food and Fizz had time to catch her breath while it was served. 'This is wonderful,' she said, tucking into a succulent slice of roast beef. It was infinitely safer than discussing his living arrangements.

  'You haven't been here before?'

  'Not for ages. I don't have too much time for eating out. The station takes every minute of the day.'

  'And night?'

  She looked up, surprised by the deep query in his voice. Why would he be interested in her personal life? 'We're a twenty-four hour a day station, Luke,' she reminded him.

  'That can't leave much time for a personal life.'

  'Not a lot.' And that suited her just fine.