Charade of the Heart

by Cathy Williams

  ‘Does that bother you?’

  ‘No!’ she lied, snapping shut her typing pad. ‘Why should it? And I thought you disapproved of my squandering my working time by chatting? I thought you made it clear that I was paid to come in here and work?’ She stared pointedly at her closed typing pad. ‘This conversation hardly falls into the category of work, does it?’

  He ignored her outburst. ‘Roger’s not your type.’

  ‘How would you know?’ She was beginning to feel hysterical and trapped at this turn in the conversation. How dared he just sit there and act as though he had any kind of control over her life, when he had discarded her without a backward glance? Arrogant, she thought. Hadn’t I always known that?

  ‘You’d eat him alive,’ Marcos was informing her casually. ‘Does he know that underneath that cool little exterior there’s a wildcat with a tongue like a razor?’

  Beth stood up abruptly. ‘I don’t have to stay here and listen to any more of this,’ she remarked tightly.

  Marcos shrugged, his expression unreadable.

  ‘Off you go to do your typing and plan your romantic little evening with him, then. Don’t forget, though, that the office party is tomorrow evening, and I’ll expect you to be there.’

  Beth stared at him blankly. She had forgotten that office party completely. It had been one of those affairs arranged months ago, and with everything that had been going on it had slipped her mind totally.

  ‘So,’ he murmured, reading her expression, ‘just don’t go making any arrangements.’

  ‘I won’t,’ she snapped, then added with a wicked sense of pleasure, ‘Not that it makes much difference. Roger can come to the party with me, can’t he?’ She flashed him a bright smile. ‘So if you’ll excuse me I’ll just go and start my typing and plan my little romantic evening with him, and, while I’m about it, I’ll also plan my romantic little evening tomorrow night as well. After all, office parties can lead to all sorts of things, can’t they?’

  She turned and walked towards the door, her head held high, half expecting him to summon her back in that peremptory tone of his, but he didn’t.

  She closed the door quietly behind her and exhaled a long breath.

  How much longer could she stand working for him? Just when she thought that things could not get more unbearable they did. I should walk out, she thought, and take the consequences. Except…except life without Marcos around, even a Marcos who could reduce her to tears, was no life at all. Wasn’t that why she had been prepared to remain here and work out her notice?

  She left work promptly at five-thirty. There had been no more accusations or innuendoes. In fact he had not made any more personal remarks to her for the remainder of the day, his eyes only flicking cursorily over her as she got ready to leave.

  She staggered home after delays on the Underground, and spent at least an hour bathing and dressing very carefully. She was determined to have a good time with Roger if it killed her in the process. She was also determined not to think of Marcos at all. In fact, she had devised what she considered a pretty effective way of dealing with the problem. Every time that dark image began creeping into her thoughts, she would immediately focus all her attention on an imaginary scene on a beach somewhere until she felt that the image had safely receded into the background.

  It didn’t work, of course. Charming though Roger was throughout the evening, her mind insisted on throwing up graphic images of Marcos at the least expected moments, and there was nothing that she could do about it.

  Roger, at any rate, had been thoughtful enough not to mention him at all until they had arrived back at her flat.

  ‘Did it work?’ he asked curiously and Beth grimaced.

  ‘It was a stupid idea,’ she said ruefully, not bothering to feign ignorance.

  ‘Well, there’s always tomorrow night.’

  ‘Tomorrow night?’

  ‘The office party.’

  ‘Whoa!’ Beth laughed and raised one restraining hand. ‘No high jinks at the office party!’

  ‘Would I?’ Roger grinned impishly at her and looked offended.

  But his little scheme gave her a nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach. He might not realise that playing games with Marcos was a dangerous pastime, but she did. Marcos had a unique set of rules for himself and could be quite ruthless if anyone infringed them.

  She spent the next day counting the minutes until it was time to leave, guiltily realising that she was actually looking forward to the party because it meant that she would be provided with an extra opportunity to be in his presence.

  With a lot of nagging from Laura, she finally gave in to her sister’s choice of dress for the party. A jade-green affair that looked several sizes too small.

  ‘Go to that party and stand out,’ her sister had instructed her firmly. ‘Make a show of pretending that you’re on top of everything.’

  Beth had eyed the outfit sceptically. ‘In that dress, I’ll look as though I want to be on top of everyone,’ she had commented wryly.

  But she had given in, and, she had to admit to herself, it didn’t look half bad. It was shoulderless and hugged her body, finishing just above the knees. She stepped into a pair of high-heeled black shoes, brushed her hair until it gleamed in a straight curtain just below her chin, and battered her eyelashes coyly when Laura shrieked in glee at her creation.

  Roger was as enthusiastic as well, and by the time they arrived at the London hotel which had been booked for the party Beth was feeling distinctly buoyant.

  The place was already teeming with people. Most of the faces she either knew or else recognised, and she happily allowed herself to be absorbed in the throng, conscious of the stares she was receiving from some of her male colleagues.

  It was always an eye-opener to see people out of their work clothes, and she knew that some of them were looking at her in a new light, asking themselves whether this was the same soberly dressed, efficient secretary on the top floor. Many of them were new and had only seen Beth, not Laura.

  ‘You’re the belle of the ball,’ Roger whispered to her when they found themselves alone together by the bar. ‘What I want to know is, where is the big man himself? Shouldn’t he be here by now? In fact, he should have been the first person here!’

  ‘Since when has Marcos ever conformed to rules?’ Beth asked lightly.

  She had already found herself scanning the room for him, much to her irritation, relieved and disappointed at the same time when she did not see him anywhere.

  She was about to order a drink at the bar when she heard Roger murmur at her shoulder, ‘About time,’ and she swung around automatically, spotting him instantly at the door to the salon.

  He stood out in any crowd, but tonight he looked superb. He was in evening dress, and the impeccable black cut made him seem taller than usual, his shoulders broader. He was chatting to one of the other managing directors, his eyes cool and watchful even though his lips were curved in a smile at what was being said, and Beth felt her breath catch in her throat.

  She watched him compulsively as he turned to the door, obviously waiting for someone else, and she saw Angela Fordyce enter, dressed in a black dress that screamed expense.

  ‘The other woman?’ Roger enquired at her shoulder and Beth nodded.

  She told herself sternly that she was not in competition, but she felt a thread of jealousy surge through her veins and she had to look away.

  ‘You’re far more interesting-looking than she is,’ he assured her comfortingly, and Beth laughed.

  ‘That’s a questionable compliment, but thank you anyway.’

  She gulped down some of her drink, and made a big effort to listen to what Roger was saying to her. She made an even bigger effort not to indulge in her stupid need to scour the room for Marcos’s dark, handsome face.

  It was difficult but she succeeded. Her natural instinct had always been to keep her emotions to herself, and for once it stood her in good stead. By the end of the evenin
g she could have individually counted Roger’s eyelashes, but she didn’t mind because she had succeeded in ignoring Marcos’s presence completely.

  Around her, the music, which had started some while ago, was blaring out. Roger had taken her hand and was leading her to the dance-floor. It was not where she wanted to be. Marcos was there, with Angela, and she wanted to be as far away from them as was physically possible in the room. Annoyed with herself, she eyed them covertly across the shadowy crowds of people. Her eyes locked with Marcos’s and she felt her heart skip a beat.

  When the music came to an end and she realised that he was walking towards her, her mouth went dry and she turned frantically towards Roger.

  ‘Shall we get ourselves another drink?’ she asked, taking him by his elbow.

  ‘You wait here,’ he instructed. ‘I’ll get something for you. What will you have? More of the same?’

  ‘No,’ Beth said hurriedly. ‘Yes. I mean, I’ll come with you.’

  Marcos was approaching her and she just wanted to escape, even though she knew that she was reacting like a silly schoolgirl. After all, she could hardly avoid him for the rest of the evening, however much she would have wanted to. It would look highly odd to say the least.

  But she couldn’t face him. Not yet. Maybe after another drink.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Roger was saying, immune to her pleading look. ‘Pointless both of us battling our way through this crowd. No, you save our spot on the dance-floor and I’ll only be a minute.’

  She watched helplessly as he was eaten up by the people, spinning around when she heard Marcos’s voice behind her.

  ‘Care to dance?’ he asked softly, as the music began. Another damned slow number, as luck would have it.

  Up close he looked even more devastatingly sexy than he had from a distance.

  Beth dragged a smile to her lips and shrugged.

  ‘I’ve had more enthusiastic responses to an invitation to dance,’ he drawled, enfolding her in his arms until she felt as though she was gong to faint.

  She had slept with this man, knew every inch of his body, and, right now, her own body was reacting just as it always had when it was close to his.

  Under the stretchy knit of her dress, her breasts felt painfully sore, and she knew that as they rubbed against the stiff material of his dinner-jacket the nipples were hardening in response to his nearness.

  ‘Perhaps you ought to find a more enthusiastic partner,’ she replied tightly, and his body stiffened.

  ‘No doubt you can’t wait to get back to Roger,’ Marcos responded in a hard voice, ‘but what would people think if the entire evening passed and the boss didn’t once dance with his secretary?’

  ‘Since when have you ever cared what people thought?’ Beth pointed out. ‘And, since you claim to be so concerned by other people’s opinions, what will Angela think?’

  He laughed under his breath. ‘You’re right. I don’t care what people think.’

  He pressed her harder against him and a quiver of alarm shot through her.

  She didn’t want him to suspect what kind of response she was having to him. Let him think that she couldn’t wait to return to Roger’s arms. If he thought that, then it afforded her some protection, because she wouldn’t put it past him to play a cruel little game of arousing her, only to smile mockingly and walk away.

  ‘Well, I happen to care a great deal what Roger thinks,’ she informed him in as controlled a voice as she could muster. She glanced around for Roger who, as luck would have it, was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Do you?’ Marcos’s voice was lazy, but with an edge of something which Beth couldn’t quite recognise. ‘Why? Have you slept with him?’

  ‘What?’ She pulled back and met his black eyes.

  ‘I asked whether you’re lovers.’

  How nice if I could lie to that one, Beth thought resentfully, but that would have been taking the game one step too far.

  ‘That doesn’t deserve an answer,’ Beth said tautly.

  ‘You haven’t,’ Marcos said with a note of satisfaction in his voice, and she could have hit him. He was looking down at her and she stoutly refused to meet those dark, sexy eyes. ‘Enjoying the party?’ he asked lazily, one hand moving to the nape of her neck, the feel of his fingers making the fine hair stand on end.

  ‘It’s very nice,’ Beth remarked, holding on to the control in her voice with effort. ‘The food was very good, as was the company,’ she added pointedly. ‘Everyone seems to be having a good time.’ That’s it, she thought. Keep it polite and you won’t run into any difficulties.

  ‘Don’t they?’ he murmured into her hair. ‘And who do you think is going to end up in bed with whom?’

  His words brought a heated flush to her cheeks. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea,’ she said evenly.

  ‘Jane and that accountant chap, I think,’ Marcos mused. Beth didn’t answer, but she inwardly agreed with him. The two had been inseparable since they arrived and it had crossed her mind that at least Jane had had the sense to do what she herself had found so difficult. Namely, cure herself of her addiction to Marcos.

  She shrugged. ‘Is that the point of office parties?’ she eventually asked.

  ‘As you informed me, they can lead to anything,’ he said softly, ‘but not with you and Roger, I don’t think. Even though you’ve spent the entire evening with him. Don’t you know that one of the duties of a good secretary is to socialise at these types of things?’

  ‘Please don’t start lecturing to me on the fact that you’re paying me to do my duty. I happen to enjoy Roger’s company.’

  ‘And I thought that you were avoiding me,’ Marcos whispered, amusement in his voice.

  What was this all leading to? Beth worried. Had he been drinking?

  ‘You were wrong, then, weren’t you?’

  ‘Was I? I’ve been looking at the two of you. Body language is so interesting, don’t you agree? I would have said that, out of this entire lot of people here, you and Roger are the least likely to end up in bed together, however much you try to convince me that it’s a possibility. You haven’t slept with him, and you won’t. And we both know why, don’t we?’

  The music seemed suddenly very loud and Marcos’s grip on her was stifling.

  She tried to hang on to her self-control, reassured herself that she could handle whatever little innuendoes he threw at her, but she could feel her heart thudding in her chest and her skin had broken out in a fine perspiration.

  ‘You don’t expect an answer to that question, do you?’ she asked tightly, when the silence between them threatened to overwhelm her. It infuriated her that he felt himself authorised to make sweeping statements about her sex life. No doubt he wanted her to admit that she was still deeply attracted to him, that no, Roger meant nothing to her. He wanted to hear everything he said confirmed, so that he could torture her with Angela at his leisure, secure in the knowledge that his method of extracting revenge for what she had done was working.

  Body language, she thought acidly. Looking at the body language that had been going on between Marcos and Angela left her in no doubt that bed was their final destination.

  ‘No,’ he said lazily, ‘I don’t, as a matter of fact. You would only be confirming the obvious, because it’s me you still want. It’s written all over you.’

  ‘How dare you?’ Beth whispered impotently. The song was drawing to an end, and she pulled away from him, her eyes stinging with anger and humiliation.

  Roger was weaving his way back to her, drinks in his hands, and she turned to him with the enormous relief of someone lost at sea who suddenly spied a ship on the horizon.

  ‘Thank you for the dance,’ she said through stiff lips, turning away before he could suspect what his amusing little observations had done to her.

  She walked blindly towards Roger, her body shaking with emotion.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, concerned. He held out the drink for her, but Beth shook her head violently.
She didn’t want a drink; that wouldn’t cure anything at all. What she wanted was to get away, far away. It dawned on her that there was no point in torturing herself any longer. She would flee back to Cambridge and try to rebuild the shattered pieces of her life. Tomorrow. She would no longer give him the satisfaction of playing his amusing little games at her expense.

  ‘I don’t feel terribly well,’ she whispered, pulling him a little to one side. ‘You stay. I can take a taxi back.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ he said stoically. ‘I’m your escort. Besides, who knows what I would get up to if you weren’t chaperoning me?’ She could see that he was puzzled at her behaviour, but he wasn’t asking any questions, and for that she was grateful.

  He took her hand and they threaded their way towards the exit with as little fuss as possible.

  In her head she was already wondering what time the earliest train out of London was. Whatever time it was, she would be on it, even if it meant leaving half her clothes unpacked.

  They were ready to leave when a soft voice said beside her, ‘Going somewhere?’

  ‘Marcos!’ Roger grinned and Marcos ignored him, staring at Beth instead. She could almost hear his brain clicking away, working out the reason for her sudden departure.

  ‘Home,’ she replied coolly. ‘I have a bit of a headache.’

  ‘That was kind of sudden, wasn’t it?’ Marcos murmured. ‘You seemed all right a moment ago when we were dancing.’

  ‘These things do come on suddenly.’ Was it her imagination, or was there a hint of smugness in his voice? All of a sudden, she just felt horribly tired.

  ‘Come on, Roger.’ She linked her fingers through his and turned to walk away, when Marcos’s hand gripped her arm like a vice.

  ‘Not so fast,’ he said tautly.

  ‘Let me go!’ Beth snapped, furious now at his arrogance. Haven’t you had enough of your cat-and-mouse game with me? she wanted to scream.

  Roger was looking awkwardly at them both and Marcos turned to him with a snarl.