‘Whatever is going on in your mind, forget it! I won’t wear anything you select for me. I won’t accept any deliveries,’ she said, angry at the note of hysteria that had entered her voice.
His concentration returned briefly to her face as he awarded her a look of lazy challenge. He crossed the room to where she stood. Again the color rushed to her cheeks at the direction his eyes took.
‘I’m being too hasty again, I suppose, about your wardrobe. There’s plenty of time for you to come round.’
Despite the ominous sound of that statement, she drew her breath in with relief that she wasn’t going to be faced with an avalanche of clothing deliveries.
‘Sorry I was rough on you earlier about your dress.’
‘You were extremely rough on me.’
‘It isn’t that I don’t like it.’
‘You could have fooled me!’
‘It’s just that it’s the sort of dress that should be worn behind closed doors, for just one man’s appreciation.’
‘Yours?’ To her own disgust she couldn’t get the huskiness out of her voice or inject sufficient sarcasm into it.
‘It’s a thought. A most intriguing one. Regrettably, it’s not wise to mix business with pleasure.’
‘The only business here is monkey business.’
‘You surely didn’t take any notice of all that rubbish Luisa spouted, did you? You can’t possibly think my interest in you is personal!’
‘Mr. Farraday, when you look at me like this, I have trouble even breathing. So additional energy thought requires is completely beyond me.’ She suddenly realized how very gauche that admission was. Even though it was the truth, she couldn’t imagine what had made her say it.
‘You’re pulling my leg,’ he announced starkly.
She was glad that he hadn’t believed her. Moreover, seeing the line his thoughts were taking as something to expand upon, she deliberately faked a beguiling voice. ‘Why should I do that, Mr. Farraday?’
‘You’re a woman,’ he answered succinctly.
‘What sort of an answer is that?’
‘Women are headstrong creatures who sometimes bite off more than they can chew. In combat, they often fail to recognize a superior adversary.’
‘Even I, inferior being that I am, possess sufficient intelligence to know that you would be a most difficult man to take on.’
‘I’m pleased you realize that.’
The gleam in his eye told her that she’d better drop the taunting tone. Her top teeth played with her bottom lip. Then she queried seriously, ‘Do you honestly think I’m suitable to promote the product you’re about to launch?’
‘Would I be here if I didn’t?’ he countered.
That was what she was asking. She worded it another way. ‘Would you pit your judgment against that of Luisa Delmar?’
‘Not lightly. She’s a very astute woman, but this time she’s wrong.’
‘You’re that positive?’
‘Yes.’
She was human enough to feel flattered. Feminine curiosity pushed her to ask, ‘What qualities do I possess that make me qualified? What exactly is allure? You can’t see it or touch it. How can you define it?’
‘Not easily. It’s the fragrance of woman’s femininity, the essence of what every woman wants to be.’
‘It’s a perfume!’ she said in triumph, excited despite herself. ‘And you think I could help to sell it?’ She shook her head in dismay. What had gotten into her that she had asked that? She bit her lip, realizing that it was confession time. She had been wrong in letting things get this far. She ought to have owned up before now. She shouldn’t have allowed herself to be swept along by events, and it would serve her right if he were furious with her for wasting his time. ‘I don’t believe any of this is happening to me,’ she said forlornly.
He mistook her dismay for awe. ‘It won’t be roses all the way. It will mean sacrifices on your part. There’s something about you, whether you are aware of it or not, that will have to be subdued. Most regrettably, Luisa saw it.’
‘Saw what?’
‘It’s almost as if you’re two people: the sweet alluring Lindsay who’s perfect for the promotion barring that totally unsuitable dress; and the other Lindsay, the wild and wanton inner you. It could be just the chance combination of the dress and the casual, finger-tumbled style of your hair creating a false illusion. But then again it could be the inner you expressing a yearning to come out.’
Wild and wanton! Strange he’d said that. That same phrase had come to her own mind as she’d taken a last appraisal of herself in the mirror earlier.
‘Why the inner me?’ she contested. ‘Why can’t this be the real me, and the sweet and pure Lindsay a figment of your imagination, someone who doesn’t exist?’
‘She exists. She existed in every reaction you’ve had this evening. In every blush and every outraged cry.’
She looked away in vexation, unable to deny the remark.
‘You said pure.’ For the twelve-month period you’ll be promoting Delmar products, you must be purer than pure,’ Nick Farraday cautioned gravely, the thread of steel in his voice assuming it was all settled. ‘Your wardrobe will reflect the packaging of Allure. In public you’ll always wear combinations of white and gold. Men will fall under the spell of your allure; women will emulate you. They will copy the way you dress, have their hair styled as you do. Who knows, you could even set a new trend.’
‘I might, if I were foolish enough to agree. I can’t see myself, or any woman, for that matter, putting herself on ice for a year.’
A wry smile twisted his mouth. ‘Perhaps that would be too much to expect. If you feel the need to indulge the . . . er . . . inner woman, discretion would be the key word. The remuneration, the luxurious lifestyle you’ll lead, will more than make up for any lack you might feel.’ He extracted a card from his pocket. ‘Come to my office tomorrow morning and we’ll discuss details. I’m not sure how busy I’ll be, so phone first. All right?’
‘No, it’s not all right, Mr. Farraday. I’ve wasted too much of your time as it is; it would be unfair of me to let you go on. I’m not what I seem.’
‘And what dark secret are you hiding?’ he asked with deceptive lightness. His eyes moved slowly down over the revealing lines of her ill chosen dress.
When his eyes returned to her face she forced herself to counter the taunting twinkle in their intensely blue depths with cool determination. ‘I was at your suite this evening under false pretenses. I wanted to see your home, and you yourself, to be honest. You’re a famous figure, and I was curious. I never expected you to look at me, let alone single me out. Why you did, I’ll never know. The other five girls from the agency are at the top of their profession. All have considerable experience in commercial modeling, and three of them have had the added advantage of drama training. I have no experience in either field. I’m employed by the agency, but in a secretarial capacity.’
There! She’d managed it. She had hoped that he might see the absurdity of the situation. Finding no comfort in the grim set of his mouth, she switched her concentration to his eyes, but the glint she saw there was not humorous; rather; it was the dark taunting kind of humor that made her clench her hands until the knuckles turned white. She hoped this indication of her inner tension would go unnoticed and forced her expression to remain tranquil as she looked up at her tormentor. Why didn’t he say something?
At length, a tiny quirk at one corner broke the taut line of his mouth as he mocked, ‘What a horrendous crime. I wouldn’t have thought a reputable agency such as Jim Bourne claims to run would resort to such deception.’
He had to be baiting her! She had already decided by the looks he’d been giving her that he had a macabre sense of humor. Her offense wasn’t serious; all she had done was crash a party. But what if he objected to the idea of being duped, and this pained smile covered his inner fury?
‘Does Jim Bourne know, or did you come on your own?’
‘Decide? Is there any question that misrepresentation is dishonest?’ Nick Farraday inquired mildly.
‘In my view it depends on the circumstances. You were getting good value in the other five girls. I hope you won’t hold it against the agency?’ she said, a querying lilt in her tone.
‘Why should I? As long as the goods are produced, that’s all I ask.’
Why hadn’t she spoken up sooner? She had known what was in his mind practically from the beginning; known, but not really believed it. It was all so improbable. In the first place, she hadn’t seen any danger in going to his penthouse with the other girls, because she had thought there was no way she could compete with them. Even when he had sought her out, she hadn’t truly recognized her plight, thinking it only a matter of time before he saw how unsuitable she was, and lost interest in her.
Even though she had fought to resist his domination, she couldn’t say that she hadn’t been intrigued by the turn of events. She had been flattered, and had found an element of joy in basking in such an important man’s attention. But her brief moment of glory was fast turning into a nightmare.
She held tightly to the fact that Luisa Delmar had not been impressed, had in fact vetoed her most strongly. Surely that would be her salvation? Luisa Delmar must have retained some power, even though Nick Farraday had assumed full control of running the business.
All the same—even though she knew there was nothing to be afraid of—anxiety strained her tone as she said, ‘You can’t still want me!’
‘Are you asking me, or telling me?’
‘Well . . . I. . .’
‘One thing I can’t abide is someone telling me what I can or can’t want. That is something that I, and I alone, can know.’
‘I can’t understand what you see in me.’
‘Do you want me to tell you?’
‘No, I . . .’
But it was too late; he had already launched into an explanation. ‘You pack a lot of sex appeal in those luscious curves. And though that might be what catches the eye, it’s not the feature which holds an observer’s attention. You possess something indefinable, a radiance, the aura of womanly gentleness and purity. I’ve been looking for you for a long time, possibly longer than even I realize, because you have something I wasn’t even conscious of missing until I found you. And you wonder whether I want you or not. I want you!’
It wasn’t so much a statement as a declaration. She swallowed at the intensity of his tone, a flicker of something electric and sensual racing through her.
He reached out as if to touch her, then quickly thrust his hand into his trouser pocket. Was she disappointed when the impulse that had first motivated him wasn’t followed through? A certain weakness attacked her legs as she realized the crazy course her thoughts had taken. He was speaking generally, not airing the romantic, notions of his own heart. It wasn’t personal at all; it was strictly business. When he said he wanted her, he didn’t mean that he wanted her for himself; he wanted her to sell a product. That was his only interest in her.
‘I wouldn’t be any good,’ she said foolishly. ‘I’ve told you that I haven’t got a model’s training or poise or looks.’
‘If you mean you’re not like the five you hand-picked for me, I agree.’
‘Did you look at them? I’m surprised.’
‘Because I seemed to be concentrating on you?’ he inquired with deceptive gentleness.
‘Yes,’ she said unhappily, realizing the futility of a denial. No doubt he thought her highly conceited to think she was capable of capturing his awareness to the exclusion of everything else.
‘I don’t want a celluloid beauty. Even perfection, when mass-produced, can be boring. Those models you seem to think I ought to prefer are too predictable. Mechanized dolls programmed when to smile and how to pose their inadequate bodies.’
‘Inadequate?’ she queried.
‘Emaciated, then.’
‘How can you say that? Women spend fortunes and diet frantically to achieve what you’re now downplaying.’
‘Not exactly downplaying,’ he corrected. ‘One must admire dedication of any sort. But I’m not particularly impressed by it, either. How do you manage to keep in such . . . good shape?’ He paused long enough for his eyes to make another bold, all-encompassing sweep of her body.
She longed again to cover herself with her hands, but he was too ready to tease her, and she refused to act the complete ingenue. The taunting nonchalance of his glance rasped her nerve-ends. And yet she couldn’t be sure that his coolness wasn’t partly pretended, a cover for a possibly warmer nature. He might well be looking at her as a business asset, but could he completely divorce his business and personal interests?
He leaned his head to one side. ‘Aren’t you going to divulge your secret?’
‘I haven’t got one. I suppose I’m lucky in that my eating preferences tend toward the kind of food that nutritionists say is good for us. And I don’t exercise, as such, but if a place is within walking distance, I take a bus or a cab only when time is at a premium.’ As she spoke her brain was spinning dizzily in search for some way to resolve the decidedly unreal situation in which she found herself. Inspiration was a long time in coming, but then it hit her in a lightning flash. ‘I might not be photogenic.’
She knew by the dumbfounded look on his face that he hadn’t thought of that possibility, which to her was almost as surprising as being picked by him in the first place. Phil had always said that Nick Farraday’s brain was a memory bank of useful information, uncluttered by trivial facts, giving him an extraordinary ability to consider even the most minor details of a situation. And the possibility that she wasn’t photogenic could in no way be termed a minor point.
She recalled now other things she had learned from Phil. Nick Farraday had built a reputation for being imperturbable, of having that rare ability to detach himself from any situation—such a useful asset in business transactions. So it had been fanciful to imagine a personal component in his decision to employ her as one of his models.
Thoughts of Phil now filled her heart with pain. Her brother had idolized Nick Farraday, and in his own modest way had tried to pattern himself after Nick. To begin with, there was a fleeting physical resemblance between the two men. Even before meeting Nick Farraday, Lindsay had gleaned that much from Cathy, and she now saw with her own eyes that it was true. Then, too, Phil had had his hair cut in the same style as Nick Farraday’s. Lindsay had got her fair looks from her father, but Phil had inherited their mother’s dark color, and his hair had been almost as dark as Nick Farraday’s. Phil had also followed Nick’s mode of dress, though he hadn’t been able to buy as expensively. Lindsay had asked once if Nick Farraday minded. Cathy had replied that it was doubtful he noticed, and if he had, wasn’t copying someone supposed to be the highest form of flattery? Anyway, this idol, this supposed giant among men, had brought about her brother’s death.
A strange feeling overcame her, a fear that if she tangled with this potentially dangerous man history could well repeat itself, a fear that she could be inviting her own destruction.
Chapter Three
‘You’ve got to be photogenic,’ Nick Farraday stated with such conviction that Lindsay had to believe him. If he said something was so, then who would dare to deny him! ‘I’ll set up a session tomorrow. The number on the card I gave you will get you straight through to my secretary. Call her in the morning, and she’ll tell you when to report.’
‘This is pointless. What’s the use of going to all this trouble for nothing? Whether I’m photogenic or not is immaterial. You’ve got the wrong girl. I’m not interested. I like my job and my lifestyle, and I have no intention of changing either.’
‘Quite apart from the ethics of the situation, I’m firmly convinced that
other things will make you change your mind. I can promise you a fabulous year. The Allure girl will be seen in all the best places. You’ll have beautiful clothes, luxury living, travel . . .’
‘What do you mean by the ethics of the situation?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘I don’t like being conned, and that’s how I’d feel if you went on insisting that you aren’t available after implying by your presence this evening that you are.’
‘The goods aren’t for sale, Mr. Farraday.’
‘No? I send a lot of work Jim Bourne’s way.’
‘Exactly what are you threatening?’
‘I’m threatening nothing. Just stating a fact. If you choose to make more of it . . .’ His twisted smile came with an expressive lift of his hands.
‘Get out!’ she said.,
The flicker of surprise that pierced his eyes verged on anger. Few people dared to give Nick Farraday his marching orders. Lindsay’s own surprise was thus no less than his; but hers was tinged with apprehension.
‘That’s not a very sociable attitude to take,’ he said, looking round for the nearest seat, by chance her prized armchair, and lowering himself into it. ‘I take my coffee black.’
‘I must be getting absentminded. I can’t remember offering you any.’
Lindsay knew that, before she had so rudely told him to go, he’d been on the point of departing. Now she had gotten his back up; the stubborn set of his jaw was an annoying indication that only he would determine when to leave, and she was left to make the best of it.
He looked too comfortable in her big, overstuffed arm-chair. It flickered across her mind that he even looked right there, a chilling image. The chair accommodated his long frame, providing adequate resting places for his square, larger-than-average hands. She hadn’t bought the chair with a male occupancy in mind, at least not consciously, although she had a strong suspicion that if her subconscious had a voice it might have something different to say. But when she was brought home by a date, the chair had been a big factor in whether or not he was asked in. The picture her mind had flashed back each time had meant that not one of the stalwart hopefuls had ever been allowed through her door. So why did that chair now look hand-picked for Nick Farraday?
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