by Helen Brooks
His harsh profile was disturbingly magnetic. He must have the women absolutely flocking after him, she thought weakly as the powerful car scrunched down the drive towards the far gates. That austere coolness was incredibly fascinating when combined with the aura of unlimited wealth and broodingly cold good looks; it would make any woman want to get underneath the dark, tanned skin and find out just what made this man tick. She caught at her thoughts with a shred of horror. No, it wouldn't. Not her, anyway. She must be stark staring mad even to consider—
'From what Frank tells me your little business is surviving quite well despite the economic climate.' The deep, husky voice at her side cut into her thoughts abruptly.
'You've obviously worked very hard over the last few years.'
'And how,' she answered, with more feeling than grammar.
'What made you decide to take on what was obviously going to be an uphill struggle?' he asked quietly. 'And at such a young age?'
She shrugged slowly. 'A number of things, really, but the main one was that both Mitch and I felt Dad would have wanted it that way. He'd worked for years to try and get the business off the ground; it had always been his dream for the family to have their own company, and we felt we had to at least try.'
'I see.' He spared her a swift glance before his eyes returned to the road ahead. 'You obviously loved your father very much.'
'He was a lovely man,' she said quietly, her expression introspective now. 'I can't ever remember Mum and him having a cross word although I suppose they must have done—probably when we were in bed.' She smiled to herself. 'They were always so protective of us; Mitch and I have been very lucky.'
'Yes, you have.' There was something, the merest shadow in the flat voice that swung her eyes to the grim profile, but she could read nothing in the harsh features to indicate what he was thinking. 'And your mother?' he asked expressionlessly. 'Does she work in the firm too?'
'Mum?' Miriam smiled at the thought. 'No way. She helps out at the odd function now and again when we need her, and is always available in an emergency, but she is no businesswoman. The house is full of dogs and cats—five dogs and six cats at the last count, although that has varied through my childhood—but she is a real homebody and we wouldn't change a hair of her head.'
'I see.' The sombre voice was thoughtful. 'You obviously had an idyllic childhood, Miriam; that explains—' He stopped abruptly.
'Explains?' she asked curiously.
'Explains your rather sunny attitude to life,' he answered shortly.
She stared at him in surprise, not at all sure if the comment was a criticism or a compliment but rather suspecting the former. 'You'd rather me be miserable, then?' she asked carefully after a long moment of silence.
'Not at all.' He shot a swift glance at her face and she saw the hard mouth curve slightly. 'And it wasn't meant in a derogatory way. If that's how it sounded I apologise. I'm sure your optimistic approach must have been a great asset to the business.'
'Sometimes.' She eyed him out of the corner of her eye. 'And sometimes not.' His smile deepened and she felt a ridiculous sense of achievement that she had actually made him smile, along with a dangerous weakness in her knees as the sensual pull of the man intensified. The sooner she was out of this car the better, she thought helplessly. She didn't exactly like him but… But he certainly had something and it wasn't doing her pulse rate any good.
'Mitch usually blames it on the nursery rhyme,' she said quickly into the silence, which had suddenly become charged with something she couldn't quite fathom. Something that was making little trickles of electricity flicker down her spine.
'I'm sorry?'
'You know.' She was speaking too quickly, but suddenly the close confines of the car were painfully intimate. ' 'Monday's child is fair of face' and so on.'
'I'm afraid I don't.' He shifted slightly and she was hotly aware of the hard bulk of him as the long legs readjusted their position. 'Nursery rhymes didn't play a part in my childhood, I'm afraid. They were an indulgence my parents did not approve of so my education is sadly lacking in that area.'
'Oh.' She stared at him, nonplussed. 'Well, it goes something like this, I think:
Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go,
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for its living,
But the child that is born on a Sunday
Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.'
'And you are?'
'I was born on a Sunday.'
'Ah…'
The rest of the journey was completed in virtual silence. She tried to make conversation once or twice but Reece seemed to have other things on his mind and answered in monosyllables discouraging further dialogue. They got to the office without any mishap although she got her lefts and rights mixed up once— something she had never done before, and which grated on her overwrought nerves like barbed wire.
'This is your home from home?' He glanced at the neat little office as they drew into the tiny square of car park.
'Yes.' She glanced at him uncertainly as he kept the engine running. 'Do you want to have a look round? I think—'
'Some other time.' He opened his door as he spoke and had moved round the bonnet before she could protest, opening her door for her and offering her his hand as she slid out of the car into the cold frosty air. His flesh was warm and firm and the contact seemed to shoot right down to her toes as she stood up, dwarfed by his great height.
She raised her head to make a polite farewell at the same moment as his glance moved from the building to the left of him and down to her face, and as their eyes held and locked she felt a sudden thudding in her chest. 'Your hair is like fire against the background of this grey sky,' he said softly as he continued to hold her hand in his. 'Warm and alive and glowing with passion. Axe you passionate, Miriam?'
'I…' She couldn't speak. The grey eyes, their darkness soft and warm, had lost their chill, and the metamorphosis was as frightening as it was unexpected. She had never thought a man's touch, the expression in his eyes could set her body trembling helplessly, but she was experiencing it right now, and mixed with the excitement was an overwhelming sense of his male power. He was devastatingly experienced, an accomplished man of the world, and she had never felt her naivety in the sexual realm so strongly as at this minute.
She had had a couple of boyfriends at college, but things had never progressed into anything beyond warm, prolonged kisses and the odd time of somewhat furtive fumbling, because she had always called a halt before any undue intimacy had begun. And, since taking on joint responsibility for her father's firm, every minute of the day and night had been accounted for simply to enable them to keep their heads above water—a fact that had grated on Mitch more strongly than her.
'I don't know,' she managed at last, and then was desperately humiliated at what the hesitant words had revealed to the darkly intent face in front of her.
'You don't know?' His amazement was the last straw, and as she pulled her hand jerkily from his, her cheeks flushing a deep, hot scarlet, she took a step backwards instinctively.
'No, I don't know,' she said tightly, her chin tilting upwards as she surveyed him with angry violet eyes, her mouth defiant. 'What's that, a crime?'
'I…' She wasn't to know that it was the first time that Reece Vance had been lost for words for a long, long time. All she knew was that he had guessed that she was a virgin. At the age of twenty-five. 'No, of course it isn't a crime,' he said softly after a long, tense moment had passed. It's—'
'Not for the want of opportunity,' she cut in tightly, her stance aggressive. 'I just don't happen to be one of those women who think it's necessary to seal every date in bed. All right?'
'It's fine by me, Miriam.' She thought that she detected a glimmer of amusement in the careful voice and glanced at him sharply—that r
eally would be the last straw—but the dark face was as straight as a die and his eyes were totally serious as they stared back into hers.
'Good.' She turned on her heel and stalked off to the office building, feeling an absolute idiot and hating him for it.
'I'll give you a call about the weekend,' he called after her, his voice so devoid of expression that it was an indictment in itself.
'What?' She swung round sharply.
'You were coming to the house to meet Barbara?' he reminded her urbanely. 'I would like her just to OK some of the details.'
'Fine, fine.' She took a deep breath and tried to speak as one should to an employer. 'No problem.'
'Goodbye, Miriam.' He was still standing just as she'd left him by the car, and now she couldn't quite fathom the look on his face. Was it regret, a dark ruefulness, disappointment? She caught herself sharply. Dammit, he'd got her imagining all sorts of things now. She just knew that Mitch should have handled this job; this man was way out of her league and she didn't like the way he made her feel—she didn't like it at all.
'Goodbye, Mr Vance.' The formality was deliberate, but beyond a slight raising of the dark eyebrows he made no comment, walking lazily round the magnificent car whose engine was still purring, and sliding into its interior with a brief wave of his hand.
'Damn, damn, damn…' As she watched him drive away she found that she was speaking through clenched teeth, her cheeks still burning with colour. She'd never been so embarrassed in all her life. She opened the office door and collapsed into her chair as she groaned out her humiliation. What a thing to say. She must have been mad, but somehow, standing so close to him like that, all lucid thought had left her head. She groaned again and put her hands up to her hot cheeks. What was he thinking? What was he thinking?
'It doesn't matter what he thinks,' she said out loud to the empty room. She wasn't ashamed of her virginity—she wasn't—so why should she care what a man like him thought about her? After the next two weeks she'd never see him again in her life so it didn't matter a jot, not a jot.
But the world in which he moved was populated with cool, sophisticated women who were the epitome of elegance and good taste. She shut her eyes tightly as her mind replayed their conversation over and over. He must think her so gauche, so without social repartee. She could have made a light, throw-away remark to defuse the situation, which had started with a compliment to herself, and the whole thing would have been taken care of in the nicest possible way. She opened her eyes and glared at the opposite wall.
Well, she hadn't done that, had she? And she wasn't sorry. Not a bit of it. She wouldn't play his sophisticated, cosmopolitan kind of games anyway—not that she'd get the chance again after this. The thought didn't help, and she found that she was grinding her teeth again.
'Oh, blow it…' She reached angrily for her briefcase, determined to start work, only to realise that she had left it, along with all the relevant papers, in the back of Reece's car, where he'd placed it after he'd helped her in.
'I don't believe this.' She sank back in the seat helplessly. She was destined to make a fool of herself in front of this man and it didn't bode well for the next two weeks. It didn't bode well at all.
CHAPTER THREE
'Miss Bennett?' As her head jerked up from the papers on the desk Miriam saw two bull-necked, stocky men standing in the doorway to the office.
It had been half an hour since Reece had left, and after deciding that he couldn't have noticed her briefcase when he'd returned to the car she had decided to stop crying over spilt milk and get on with the mountain of paperwork she'd been putting off for days. She could attack the Vance job tomorrow, when she'd retrieved the briefcase. Mitch and the others were out at a special reception in the City so she had at least three hours to work in peace, apart from the odd interruption of the phone.
'Yes?' She smiled politely even as the hairs on the back of her neck rose in protest. There was something menacing about these two, although she couldn't have described exactly what.
'Miriam Bennett, co-partner with Mitch Bennett of Bennett and Bennett?' It could have been a comedy routine, but there was nothing funny about the looks on the two men's faces as they moved to stand in front of her, their stance aggressive.
'Yes.' She wasn't smiling now. 'What can I do for you?'
'It's not what you can do for us, sweetheart, more a little matter of what you can do for Mr Gregory. You do remember Mr Gregory, I presume?' The one who seemed to be spokesman smiled thinly, showing blackened teeth stained with nicotine.
Miriam tried to keep the distaste out of her voice as she replied carefully, standing up as she did so, 'If you mean Mr Gregory of Tamer's Garage then yes, I do. My brother and I bought the firm's vans there just over a year ago.'
'That's right, sweetheart.' He nodded to the other man with a leering grin. 'I told you she would be co-operative, didn't I, Fergus? Now then…' He turned to her again. 'I believe Mr Gregory wrote to you a few days ago explaining the position you're now in, but you've been a very naughty girl; you haven't replied to him, have you?'
'I understand our solicitor has.' Miriam looked straight into the broad face as she spoke, squaring her shoulders. Bully boys. She might have guessed.
When Mitch had bought the two vans from Turner's she had thought the hire-purchase conditions a little steep, but Mitch had insisted that the vans were ideal for what they wanted and in good condition so she had gone along with the deal despite her misgivings.
And then a letter had arrived a few days ago declaring that they were behind with their repayments and informing them that the vehicles would be repossessed within the week. She had immediately questioned Mitch, who had shamefacedly drawn out of his coat pocket a stack of envelopes that he had forgotten to post the month before, but when she had phoned Turner's to explain the mistake the secretary had been less than helpful, insisting that the machinery to repossess had been set in motion and that there was nothing they could do about it.
Her solicitor had been more forthright.
'Turner's?' He had stared aghast at their faces and then back at the letter. 'You didn't go to Turners, Mitch? That man Gregory has had more brushes with the Old Bill than I've had hot dinners, and only just operates within the law now. Let's have your agreement.'
He had run cursory eyes over the paper and nodded with a deep sigh. 'He can do it—legally, that is—but it's a stinking agreement with the odds stacked in his favour. Do you realise that you only have to be one week late, according to this, and they can repossess? And you have to repay the rest of what you owe?'
'You're joking.' Miriam had turned to Mitch slowly. 'Didn't you read it, Mitch?'
'I read a sample agreement he had in the office, but it wasn't like tins one.' Mitch had raised tortured eyes to hers. 'And when I signed after the deal was agreed I just assumed everything was OK. I didn't check it.' He'd run a shaking hand over his face. 'So there's nothing we can do?'
'Certainly there is.' Their solicitor had brightened at Mitch's explanation. 'First thing, I'll send a letter explaining we're not happy with the repossession and why, and stating that if it goes to court you'll testify accordingly. Old Gregory might back down at that; he's trying to keep a low profile these days. If that doesn't work we'll think again.' He'd smiled comfortingly. 'He might decide you're two little fish who aren't worth the trouble you could cause and leave it at that.'
But he hadn't.
Miriam took a deep breath and spoke firmly. 'You know your boss pulled a fast one on my brother, don't you?'
'Nothing to do with us, sweetheart.' The man shrugged carelessly. 'We're here to pick up the vans.'
'You're not having them.' She glared at the pockmarked face furiously. 'My brother isn't here anyway.'
'All by yourself?' He turned to the other man again and smiled slowly. 'She's all by herself, Fergus; now ain't that a shame?'
The other man nodded, running his dark little eyes over Miriam's figure. 'For her, maybe.' His
eyes narrowed on her breasts before moving slowly upwards. 'Yeh, for her.'
'You don't frighten me,' Miriam lied tightly. 'Your Mr Gregory is a crook—'
'Now I'd watch your mouth, sweetheart, 'cos that's slander,' the first man cut in abruptly. 'An' Mr Gregory only wants what's legal. Your brother signed and he was over twenty-one; the rest's history.'
'We'll take it to court,' Miriam said angrily. 'Our solicitor said—'
'You don't want to take no notice of them solicitors, sweetheart.' Now the mean face was really nasty. 'And Mr Gregory don't like no courts and such like. If you behave you'll be all right; we'll leave you alone. You talk about courts, though, and we'll have to show you how things really are in the big, bad world. It'd be a shame if this lot was torched one night, wouldn't it…?' He sighed loudly. 'Or if that nice brother of yours had a little accident that left him in a wheelchair? Funny old world out there, love; you never know what's going to happen next.'
'Get out of here.' She was shaking, and furious with herself that they could see it.
'We'll just leave a little something on account first, to show you that we mean business.' As the one called Fergus moved towards her, his intention plain, she backed towards the wall, glancing at the first man appealingly.
He shook his head at her, laughing as his partner reached her side. 'He's an animal, sweetheart; I'd play along with him if I was you. No point in spoiling that pretty face of yours.'
'What the hell is going on in here?'
As the man nearest her spun round Miriam thought that she was going to faint with relief. She flew across the room to Reece's side and as his arm went automatically round her waist she saw that his hard face was dark with rage.
'I hope for your sake that what I saw when I walked in here can be explained,' he said tightly as his piercing grey eyes cut into the faces of the two men who had drawn together in front of the desk. 'But it had better be good.'
'Says who?' Fergus laughed sneeringly.
'Says me.' Reece thrust his car keys into Miriam's hand without looking at her. 'Go and get into the car while I teach these two gorillas some manners.'