'Oh, come on,' he said impatiently. 'What's the matter? You're interested in me. I can see that plainly enough. What's holding you back?'
Trapped against the wall and imprisoned in her own feelings too, she could only lash out at him. 'You must be one of the most arrogant men I've ever had the misfortune to encounter!' she hissed in sudden fury. 'Do you push yourself at your employees like this all the time? By what God-ordained right do you force yourself on people when they don't want you?'
He looked shocked for a moment, then, instead of allowing his own voice to rise like hers, his innate politeness took over. 'I wouldn't dream of forcing myself on you? as you put it, if you hadn't given me some hint that you rather welcomed my attentions,' he said stoically. 'You might be able to dictate the words you utter but you don't have the same control over your body language, your eyes, your --' he spread his hands '—whatever...
Rachel, I'm not such an insensitive clod I can't tell you felt the same thing I felt a moment ago.'
'What thing?' she argued, truculently, bunching her hands. 'I haven't a clue what you're talking about.'
'No, of course not,' he returned sarcastically. 'Come off it, Rachel You're running scared. Don't ask me why...' He faltered as a sudden thought entered his head and his voice softened as he asked cautiously, 'You haven't been molested at some time, have you? Is that what's wrong?'
She raised her eyes heavenwards. 'You've certainly got an overheated imagination—for a businessman,' she added as insultingly as she could.
'That's not all that's overheated,' he rejoined half to himself, 'as you might at any moment discover!' He gazed down at her in exasperation. 'You think I'm arrogant. I think you're infuriating. Does that make us quits? Can we start from there?'
'Look, I'm already about ten minutes late --' she broke in, trying to edge out of range.
'To hell with that --' he countered.
'It's just not fair on the others,' she pointed out. 'We have to work as a team.'
He spread his hands in a gesture of surrender. 'OK. I hadn't thought of it like that.' Then he moved closer, taking her by surprise and gripping both shoulders with such sudden force that she felt her knees buckle. His lips were hovering just above her own as he glared down into her face and she noticed the slight laugh-lines on either side of his mouth. But he wasn't laughing now. His lips, full, sensual—made, she thought traitorously, for kissing—were clamped together in two firm lines and his eyes were storm-blue.
'Rachel the Rejector,' he ground out, then his fingers tightened round her shoulderbones and his lips twitched at the corners. 'I should give you a good shaking, or, better, a spanking, just to show you who's really boss,' he told her.
To forestall any such thing she retorted, 'You may be boss of the store—but you're not boss of me, Mr Elliot Priest --!'
'So there!' he finished for her. 'That's telling me!' He gave the warm chuckle deep in his throat that attracted her so much. 'I'm not giving in. So there to you, too! Now get along, otherwise I shall have to fire you for unpunctuality.'
'I wouldn't put it past you!' She slid out of his grasp, knees still trembling, a part of her wanting to remain in his arms even as she forced herself away, but her eyes darkened as they refused to leave his. 'If anything's said, I hope you'll be gentleman enough to explain to my supervisor why I'm so late!' she challenged.
'I'll also try to explain why you're looking so very hot and bothered, Miss Jackson,' he called after her.
'It's not on your account!' she sparked back untruthfully.
He came after her and the hair on the back of her neck prickled as she wondered how dangerously close he was getting. She increased her speed, and when she reached the staff-room door she couldn't help turning to see how near he was. He was almost on top of her.
Their eyes met and he gave her a high-powered smile. 'Quite a little fighter, aren't you, Miss Jackson? Better and better. I like nothing more than a good scrap!' With that he swept on towards the stairs and, contrary to his own earlier advice to her, disappeared up them three at a time.
With a sigh like a steam engine she pushed open the door. And to think the day had only just begun!
CHAPTER THREE
The club was fuller than it had been on previous nights and, when Ray's head man showed Lulu and her two escorts to their reserved table near the front, people turned to identify the group who were getting preferential treatment. Rachel didn't linger after making sure they were all right, but went straight through to her dressing-room.
She was nervous and annoyed and not a little apprehensive. As if that morning's encounter with Elliot Priest hadn't been bad enough, Lulu had told her something else that had set her nerves jangling. Just as she was leaving the store that evening, Lulu had told her, Mr Priest had come up to her. He had asked if Rachel had already left. When Lulu said she had, he'd looked disappointed, and, feeling rather sorry for him, she had jokingly mentioned where they were going that night.
'What did he say to that?' asked Rachel, leaning forward across the table at the cafe where they had arranged to meet before going on to the club.
'He said --' and here Lulu gave a pussycat smile '—he wouldn't be surprised if he didn't look in himself some time.'
'Some time? That could mean anything. Next week even.'
'Or later tonight? At least that's how I understood him!'
'I hope not,' muttered Rachel crossly. The thought of those laser-bright eyes glittering at her from out of the darkness while she got herself into the mood to sing was unnerving. Then she lifted her head. 'What did he have to say about my singing there?' She couldn't imagine his reaction to that.
Lulu shrugged. 'I didn't have time to tell him. He went whizzing off at once.'
'I expect he was just saying he'd come along to be polite, the way people do,' she suggested. 'He's the nightclub type though, isn't he?'
Wondering if he would in fact turn up, she tried to take a grip on herself as she got ready to go on stage. Her self-confidence was something that came and went. Right now she was feeling small and helpless. It was partly stage fright, but the thought that Elliot Priest might be in the audience made it ten times worse.
It was with shaking fingers that she applied her make-up, then slithered into the silver tube of her dress. Then she stepped into high-heeled silver sandals and surveyed the effect in the dressing-mirror. Ray was right, she did need the hairpiece with this outfit. It was the final exotic touch.
Lifting it carefully, she placed it on her head to conceal her own pale hair. At once she was transformed into a woman of mystery. Zia seemed real, and plain Rachel existed no more. Her self-confidence rose at once. Zia was someone to hide behind. By the time she appeared in the spotlight Rachel had been relegated to a pile of street clothes in the dressing-room and Zia strutted the stage with the audience in the palm of her hand.
Afterwards she was almost too tired to go out and join her party of supporters, but politeness forced her to see that she must. Ray made an eggnog and brought it to her dressing-room. 'When are you going to give up that day job of yours?' he asked, noting her pale face now that the stage make-up had been removed.
'Soon, Ray. But I daren't burn all my bridges just yet.'
'Sensible not to give up a good, steady job. But one day you're going to have to.' He turned to go, 'By the way, you sent back a bottle of champagne last night. No need to worry, you know. I'll protect you. You can see me as a father-figure and I'd vouch for Henry any day. He's a most eligible bachelor.'
'Ray,' she half smiled, 'you know how I feel.'
'He's in again tonight.' Ray gave a chuckle. 'Shall I tell him no again?'
Rachel had taken the place of Zia now. She glanced at her pale peaches and cream reflection in the mirror, her hair its usual unglamorous shade of mouse, 'Does he want to see Zia?'
'Of course he does.' , 'Then you'll have to tell him she's already left.'
Ray got her drift and chuckled again. 'I see what you mean. And at least he won't feel slig
hted. You going out to join your friends?'
She nodded, stifling a yawn. Her only hope was they wouldn't want to stay too late.
Her appearance on the other side of the footlights went unobserved except for one or two heads that turned to appreciate her natural beauty. She supposed she did look very different and was glad she could move about incognito. Only her own group knew she was the girl who had held centre stage no more than half an hour ago.
'You were sensational, love!' It was Lulu. The two men added their agreement. 'And I'm delighted our own little contribution helped.' She was referring to the silver wig from out of the display window. 'Tomorrow's late-night shopping. But afterwards we'll take you up to the evening-wear department and find you some more fantastic gear.'
'I can't spend too much,' Rachel murmured, weak from tiredness and the thought of having possibly to combat Lulu's over-enthusiasm.
Suddenly Lulu leaned forward and touched her on the arm. 'Look, over there by the door,' she whispered. 'He's come after all!'
Rachel peered through the haze of blue smoke to where Lulu was pointing. The figure of a man in a dinner-jacket was visible in the open doorway, the light of the foyer behind him. There was no mistaking that silhouette.
'Elliot Priest,' hissed Lulu when she saw Rachel frown. 'He said he'd come but when he didn't show up I was beginning to think you were right and he didn't mean it after all.'
'Has he just arrived?' she asked.
'Looks like it.'
Rachel felt a wave of relief. Why did it matter if Elliot Priest had witnessed her performance as the sultry, seductive Zia? She didn't know. But she knew she was relieved he hadn't seen her performance.
She soon found herself in conversation with Derek, Lulu's brother, but out of the corner of her eye she was conscious of Elliot's every move at a nearby table. He had caught sight of the group of them near the front as soon as he came in and she felt his eyes on her face as he raised his glass in a salute. Politeness forced her to respond. Later he came over.
'So did you arrive in time to hear Zia sing?' asked Lulu brightly.
'Zia? Who on earth is that? Some exotic snake-dancer?' he quipped.
'Well, actually --' she continued.
'Just a third-rate cabaret singer,' broke in Rachel bitingly. 'Hardly your cup of tea I would have thought, Mr Priest.' She flashed a warning glance around the surprised group then turned a challenging look on Elliot.
'I must admit my taste runs to opera rather than cabaret,' he agreed looking straight at her. 'So how about a dance?'
'That doesn't follow,' she began weakly, but he was standing beside her chair and without creating a scene she had no option but to accept the hand he held out.
What she wanted to say to him once they were out of earshot was already prepared in her mind, but the instant his body touched her own she felt hopelessly tongue-tied. It was as if he sapped her will just by looking at her.
'Still fighting me?' he murmured in her ear. 'Why bother? This is heaven, isn't it? We two and the night and the music.'
'You sound like a bad novel!' she exclaimed.
'When emotion runs high, cliché comes into its own. Like a patient waking up in hospital and uttering the immortal words, "Where am I?" The point isn't whether it's cliché but whether it's genuine.'
'I thought we were supposed to be dancing?'
His hands ran up then down, covering her spine in a warm glow. 'Is that what you call it? It seems more like making love.'
'Elliot, stop it.' She tried to draw back.
'I can't.'
'You're not trying!'
'I know. I'd rather go on doing this forever— and maybe one or two other things as well. Like me to show you what I mean later?'
'You're playing with me!' The Rachel side of her, the girl with little confidence, was longing to ask him what he imagined he was doing making a play for a girl like her, when, as nephew of the chairman, he must be used to any number of spoilt little rich girls who knew their way around and would be able to field his advances, or not, with much more expertise than she could. 'I'm not your type,' she blurted.
'What is my type?' He pressed his lips against the side of her head.
'Girls who have everything,' she said firmly, 'and can handle men like you!'
'Wrong,' he smiled, lifting his lips and looking down at her with a smile that sent warning shivers down her back. ' You 're my type, Rachel Jackson— sweet, innocent Rachel!'
She was silent. And after a long pause he said, 'And I'm not playing with you. I suspect you simply haven't met many men like me.'
The smoochy number they were swaying to ended just then and the trio struck up with a medley of rock 'n' roll oldies. Elliot led her to the side of the floor.
'I'd like to talk to you but the decibel level is a little high. Any suggestions as to what we might do?'
She shook her head, glancing across to where Lulu and her boyfriend were sitting.
'Your escort seems to have found another partner,' he informed her, observing the direction of her glance, 'Are you bothered?'
'Of course not. He's Lulu's brother and this is the first time we've met --' She broke off when she saw the smile of satisfaction on Elliot's face.
'Good,' he replied succinctly. 'I wouldn't like a fight on my hands.' And before she could comment he went on, 'Let's meet as soon as we can tomorrow. Where do you usually have lunch?'
She was lip-reading. Lost in the tiny movements that allowed words to form as if they were weaving some enchantment over her. 'Sorry?' she asked, leaning closer, her eyes still on his lips.
'That's better.' He looped his arms around her waist. 'Stay close. Let's not bother to talk.'
'But what did you say?' she asked, trying to still the dizzying sensation of his touch beneath an air of practicality.
'I asked where you usually had lunch.'
'Oh.' She paused. 'In the staff rest-room, of course.'
'Sandwiches in the staff rest-room,' he breathed. 'Wonderful. I wish I could join you --'
'Elliot, no!'
He laughed aloud at the horrified look she gave him. 'Then meet me somewhere else. Somewhere,' he added, 'where you won't be ashamed to be seen with me.'
'Hardly ashamed,' she corrected. 'I just don't want to become a subject of gossip.' She averted her head.
'Tomorrow, then.' He pressed his lips against the side of her hair, taking advantage of the darkness, as the house lights went down and the resident comic took the stage, to press a burning kiss against the side of her mouth.
Rachel pretended to be interested in the rather way-out jokes that had the, rest of the audience in stitches, but all she really wanted to do was escape. The magic spell of Elliot's touch had bound her thoughts so tightly she couldn't work out what was happening to her. She had never felt such wild emotions before. They didn't make sense.
Crawling home at three in the morning, she was very glad Ros hadn't been at the club. By now she would have been pointing out how attractive Elliot was and how, in her own view, 'people need people', and she would have blown the whole thing up into a 'serious relationship'—something it could never be. Elliot was a flirt, out for a good time, and for some obscure reason best known to himself he seemed to imagine he could have one with her! Well, he would soon get a rude awakening, for an affair with such a heart-breaker was the last thing she intended.
She slid into bed. She had agreed to a lunch date. Nothing more.
* * *
The morning dragged. She redressed one of the windows three times. It wouldn't go right. The models were supposed to look graceful, elegant, full of respose. Instead two of them seemed to be involved in some particularly angry argument while the third looked on with an expression of detached scorn.
'They won't sell clothes looking like that,' she said to Lulu when she came down with the accessories.
'Something on your mind?'
'Why should there be?'
'Just looking at what you've made the mo
dels do.'
'I haven't made them do it. They just seem to go that way.'
'It's your unconscious coming to the surface. Conflicts, conflicts. I read a book about it. It's like children playing with dolls to get rid of deep-seated emotional problems.'
'You're very clever this morning, Lu.'
'It's from spending the evening with my brother. He brings it out in me like a rash. Where do you want this gear? I can't put it out yet if you're going to change their positions.' She dumped it in a corner of the window. 'Let me know when you're ready and I'll come back.'
Rachel struggled on but the final result seemed little better. She wondered if Lulu was right. But she had no problems, emotional or otherwise. Her life couldn't be more straightforward. Even as she sat eating her sandwiches in the staff rest-room as usual she could tell herself quite confidently that she had no problems at all.
'Coffee, anyone?' It was one of the girls from Haberdashery.
'I'll do it.' Rachel got up. She was feeling restless. Anything was better than just sitting. 'I must be overworking,' she said to no one in particular. 'I can't concentrate.' She knocked over a pile of mugs, breaking one. He had said lunch. Now it was twenty to two. She'd been right about him all along.
She poured boiling water into six mugs and started to hand them round when one of the juniors from the perfume counter came in. 'There you are, Rachel. There's a message for you to go up to heaven.'
'Heaven?' By that the girl meant the seventh floor. Rachel went hot and cold all over. But the girl's next words were like a cold douche.
'It was from Hilda's secretary,' she added.
'What's old Hilda want with you?' Lulu puzzled.
'Probably about that window this morning,' muttered Rachel, reddening as she realised that this was more likely than the wayward thought that had instantly and shamingly careered through her head. Of course he'd been playing games, despite his denial. He'd had no intention of inviting a mere employee to lunch. He had probably just wanted to see what she'd say. She swallowed her coffee and went out.
The lift brought her smoothly to the seventh floor and she stepped out on to the deep blue carpet like a swimmer setting out across a strange sea. But she had only reached the halfway point when she felt a hand on her elbow. She spun round straight into Elliot's arms.
Steps to Heaven Page 4