Her life had taken a dramatic turn three years ago, but determination and hard work meant she now ran her own life, and her own business. Successfully.
That success meant she could afford to rent this apartment; it was completely open-plan, with polished wood floors, scatter rugs, antique furniture, and no television, because not only did she not have the time to watch it, but she didn’t like it either, her relaxation time spent listening to her extensive music collection, and reading the library of books that took up the whole of one wall. It was all completely, uniquely her own, and her idea of heaven on an evening off wasn’t to go out partying as she would once have done, but to sit and listen to one of her favourite classical music tapes while rereading one of her many books.
But somehow those last three messages on her answer machine seemed even to have invaded the peace and tranquillity of her home…
Much as she liked Felicity and felt sorry for the other woman, she simply couldn’t return that beseeching telephone call.
She just couldn’t…!
SHE was tired by the time she returned to her apartment at one o’clock the following morning. The dinner party had been a success, but the reason for her weariness was the disturbance in her personal life over the last twenty-four hours.
The answer machine was flashing repeatedly—one, two, three, four, five, six, she counted warily. How many of those calls would be from Gabriel Vaughan?
Or was she becoming paranoid? The man she had met the evening before did not look as if he had to chase after any woman, least of all one who cooked for other people for a living! And yet on the second of those last recorded messages he had said he would “try again later”!
Jane sighed. She was tired. It was late. And she wanted to go to bed. But would she be able to sleep, knowing that there were six messages on her machine that hadn’t been listened to?
Probably not, she conceded with impatient anger. She didn’t like this. Not one little bit. She deeply resented Gabriel Vaughan’s intrusion, but at the same time she was annoyed at her own reaction to it. She was not about to live in fear ever again. This was her home, damn it, her space, and Gabriel Vaughan was not welcome in it. He certainly wasn’t going to invade it.
She reached out and firmly pushed the “play” button on the answermachine.
“Hello, Jane, Richard Warner here. Felicity wanted me to call you. She’s been taken into hospital. The doctor thinks she may lose the baby. I—she— Thank you for all your help last night.” The message came to an abrupt end, Richard Warner obviously not knowing what else to say.
Because there was nothing else to say, Jane realised numbly. What had Gabriel Vaughan said to Richard, what had he done, to have created such—?
No!
She couldn’t become involved. She dared not risk—dared not risk— She just didn’t dare!
But Felicity had called her earlier today, feeling that in some way she needed Jane. And, from Richard’s call just now, the other woman had been proved right! Could Jane now just ignore this call for help? Or was it already too late…?
She couldn’t change anything even if she did return Richard’s call. What could she do? She would be the last person Gabriel Vaughan would listen to—even if she reversed her own decision about never wanting to speak to him again.
But what about Felicity…?
It was almost one-thirty in the morning now—too late to call either Richard or the hospital; she doubted the nurses on duty at the latter would volunteer any information about Felicity, anyway. She would go to bed, get a good night’s sleep, and try calling Richard in the morning. Maybe Felicity’s condition would be a little more positive by then.
Or maybe it wouldn’t.
She absently listened to the rest of her messages, curious now about the other five calls.
They were all business calls, not a single one in the transatlantic drawl she had quickly come to recognise—and dread—as being that of Gabriel Vaughan. And after those two calls this morning within an hour of each other his silence this evening did not reassure her. It unnerved her!
“SHE’S—stable—that’s how the doctor described her condition to me this morning,” Richard Warner told Jane in answer to her early morning telephone query about Felicity. “Whatever that means,” he added disgustedly.
“What happened, Richard?” Jane prompted abruptly.
This call was against her better judgement; it came completely from the softness of emotions that she must never allow to rule her a second time. But she couldn’t, she had decided in the clear light of day, simply ignore Felicity’s and Richard’s telephone calls.
“What do you think? Gabriel Vaughan is what happened!” Richard told her bitterly—and predictably!
Gabriel Vaughan seemed to just sail through life, sweeping away anything and anyone who should happen to stand in his way. And at the moment Richard Warner was in his way. Tomorrow, next week, next month, it would be someone else completely, any consequences that might follow Gabe’s actions either ignored or simply unknown to him.
“I would really rather not talk about it, Jane,” Richard added agitatedly. “At the moment my company is in chaos, my wife is in hospital—and just talking about Gabriel Vaughan makes my blood-pressure rise! I’ll tell Felicity you rang,” he added wearily. “And once again, thank you for all your help.” He rang off.
And a lot of good her help had done them, Jane sighed as she replaced her own receiver. Gabriel Vaughan had happened—who else…? What else? He was a man totally without—
Jane almost fell off her chair as the telephone beside her began to ring. Eight-fifteen. It was only eight-fifteen in the morning; she had deliberately telephoned Richard Warner this early so that she could speak to him before he either left for the office or the hospital. But she wasn’t even dressed yet herself, let alone taken her run; who on earth—?
Suddenly she knew exactly who. And, after her recent calls from the Warners, and her conversation with Richard just now, she was in exactly the right frame of mind to talk to him!
She snatched up the receiver. “Yes?” she snapped, all of her impatience evident in that single word.
“I didn’t get you out of bed, did I, Jane Smith?” Gabriel Vaughan returned in his mocking drawl.
Her hand tightened about the receiver. She had known it was him—it couldn’t have been anyone else, in the circumstances!—but even so she couldn’t help her instant recoil just at the sound of his voice.
She drew in a steadying breath. “No, Mr Vaughan,” she answered calmly, “you didn’t get me out of bed.” And, remembering what she had once been told about this man, she knew that he had probably already been up for hours, that he only needed three or four hours’ sleep a night.
“I didn’t—interrupt anything, did I?” he continued derisively.
“Only my first coffee of the morning,” she bit out tersely.
“How do you take it?”
“My coffee?” she returned, frowning.
“Your coffee,” he confirmed, laughter evident in his voice now.
“Black, no sugar,” she came back tautly—and then wished she hadn’t. In retrospect, she could think of only one reason why he would be interested in how she liked her first cup of coffee of the morning!
“I’ll make sure I remember that,” Gabriel Vaughan assured her huskily.
“I’m sure you didn’t call me to find out how I take my coffee,” Jane snapped, sure that he remembered most things.
Except that other her, it seemed.
But how long would that last? Three years on, and not only did she look different, she was different, but Gabriel Vaughan had a very good reason for remembering everything that had happened three years ago, leading her to believe that his memory lapse where she was concerned would not continue. She had no doubt there would be no flirtatious early morning telephone calls then!
“You’re wrong there, Jane Smith,” he murmured throatily now. “You see, I want to know everything abou
t you that there is to know—including how you take your coffee!”
Jane’s breath left her in a shaky sigh, her hand tightening painfully about the receiver. “I’m an extremely boring individual, I can assure you, Mr Vaughan,” she told him abruptly.
“Gabe,” he put in smoothly. “And I very much doubt that, Jane,” he added teasingly.
She didn’t care what he doubted. She worked, she went to bed, she ran, she shopped, she read, she worked, she went to bed Her life was structured, deliberately so. Routine, safe, uncomplicated. This man threatened complications she didn’t even want to think about!
“Are you aware that Felicity Warner is in hospital, in danger of losing her baby?” she attacked accusingly.
There was a slight pause on the other end of the telephone line. Very short, only a second or two, but Jane picked up on it anyway. To her surprise. Three years ago nothing had deterred this man. And she couldn’t really believe that had changed in any way.
“I wasn’t aware that Felicity was pregnant,” he finally rasped harshly.
“Would it have made any difference if you had known?” Jane scorned disgustedly, already knowing the answer to that question. Nothing distracted this man away from his purpose. And she couldn’t help feeling that he had been playing with the Warners by accepting their dinner invitation two evenings ago…!
“Any difference to what?” he returned in a silkily soft voice.
“Let’s not play games, Mr Vaughan.” She continued to be deliberately formal, despite his earlier invitation for her not to be. “You have business with Richard Warner, and that business appears to be affecting his wife’s health. And that of their unborn child,” she added shakily. “Don’t you think—?”
“I’m not sure you would like to hear what I think, Jane Smith,” Gabriel Vaughan bit out coldly.
“You’re right—I don’t,” she snapped tersely. “But I think it’s way past time someone told you about your lack of thought for the people lives you walk into and instantly dismantle! Your method of dealing with people leaves a lot to be desired, and—” She broke off abruptly, feeling the icy silence at the other end of the telephone line as it blasted its way in her direction. And at the same time she realised she had said too much…
“And just what do you know about my ‘method of dealing with people’, Jane Smith?” he prompted mildly—too mildly for comfort!
Too much. She had said too much! “You’re a public figure, Mr Vaughan.” She attempted to cover up her lapse.
“Not in England,” he rasped. “Not for several years,” he added harshly, all his previous lazy charm obliterated in cold anger.
“Strange; I’m sure I saw your photograph in my daily newspaper yesterday morning…” she came back pointedly; she had to try and salvage this conversation as best she could; she’d already been far too outspoken.
The last thing she wanted to do was increase this man’s interest in her! Ideally, she would like him to forget he had ever met someone called Jane Smith, but she would settle for disinterest—which wasn’t going to be achieved if she kept challenging him!
“Of course, that was a social thing,” she added lightly. “You were a guest at a party.”
“I’m a sociable person, Jane,” he drawled dryly. “Which was actually the reason for this call…”
He was going to ask her to cater a dinner party for him! There was no way she could work for or with this man. Absolutely no way!
“I’m very heavily booked at this time of year, Mr Vaughan,” she told him stiffly: Christmas was now only two weeks away. “My diary has been full for weeks, some of those bookings made months ago. However, I could recommend another catering firm who I’m sure would be only too pleased to—”
Gabriel Vaughan’s husky laugh cut in on her businesslike refusal. “You misunderstood me, Jane,” he murmured, that laugh still evident in his voice. “I was asking you to have dinner with me, not trying to book your services as a cook—impressive as they might be!”
Now it was Jane’s turn to fall silent. Not because she was angry, as Gabriel Vaughan had been minutes ago—where had that anger gone…? No, she was stunned. Gabriel Vaughan was asking her for a date. Impossible. He just didn’t realise how impossible that was.
“No,” she said abruptly.
“Just—no?” he said slowly, musingly. “You don’t even want a little time to think about it?”
She doubted too many women had to do that where this man was concerned; he was handsome, single, undoubtedly rich, sophisticated, witty—what more could any woman want?
All Jane knew was that she did not want Gabriel Vaughan!
“No,” she repeated sharply.
“Then I take it I was right earlier in assuming there’s someone else in your life,” he dismissed hardly, a chill edging his tone.
Jane frowned. When earlier in this conversation had he assumed there was already someone else in her life? They hadn’t even touched on the subject.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she snapped.
“It’s occurred to me, Jane, that you have an unhealthy interest—as far as Felicity goes—in Richard Warner’s affairs. And I don’t just mean his business ones!” he added harshly.
“You’re disgusting, Mr Vaughan,” Jane told him angrily. “Other women’s husbands have never held any appeal for me, either!” She deliberately threw his words to Felicity two evenings ago back in his face, then slammed down the receiver, immediately switching on the answer machine.
She didn’t think Gabriel Vaughan was the sort of man to ring a woman back when she had angrily terminated their telephone conversation, but on the off chance that he just might she had no intention of answering that call herself.
He had just implied she was having an affair with Richard Warner!
How dared he?
CHAPTER FOUR
“WE MEET again, my dear Jane Smith.”
Jane froze in the act of placing the freshly baked meringues onto the cooling tray, closing her eyes briefly, hoping this was only a nightmare. One that she would wake up from at any second!
But closing her eyes achieved nothing, because she could smell his aftershave now, and knew that when she turned Gabriel Vaughan was going to be standing only feet behind her. Could it only be coincidence that this was the second dinner party in a week that she had catered for where Gabriel Vaughan was a guest…?
She opened her eyes, straightening her shoulders before turning sharply to face him, her heart missing a beat as the total masculinity of him suddenly dominated the kitchen in which she had worked so harmoniously for the last four hours.
She was realising that he was a man who wore a black evening suit and white shirt with a nonchalance that totally belied the exclusive cut of the expensive material. He was vibrantly attractive, in a way that stated he didn’t give a damn how he looked, that he was totally confident of his own masculinity, the challenging glitter of those aqua-blue eyes daring anyone to question it.
To her dismay, Jane realised that was probably exactly what she had done two days ago when she had turned down his invitation to dinner!
She gave a cool inclination of her head. “You mentioned that you’re a sociable person,” she dismissed coldly.
“And you,” Gabe returned mockingly, “mentioned how busy you were for the next few weeks.” He shrugged. “The mountain came to Mohammed!”
Her eyes narrowed warily. Could this man possibly have—? No, she couldn’t believe he would go to the extreme of having himself invited to a dinner party she was catering simply so that he— Couldn’t she…? Hadn’t the hostess this evening telephoned her earlier this morning and apologetically explained that, if it wasn’t going to be too much of a problem for her, there would be two extra guests for dinner this evening. Was Gabriel Vaughan one of those guests…?
“I see,” she murmured noncommittally. “I hope you’re enjoying the meal, Mr Vaughan,” she added dismissively.
But Gabe wasn’t to
be dismissed, leaning back against one of the kitchen units, totally relaxed—at least, on the surface; he must have been as aware as she was that the last time the two of them had spoken she had slammed the telephone down on him!
“I am now,” he assured her huskily, looking at her admiringly. “That’s quite a temper you have there, Jane Smith.” There was an edge of admiration in his mocking tone as he too recalled the abrupt end of their telephone conversation two days ago.
Jane returned his gaze unblinkingly. “That was quite an accusation you made—Gabriel Vaughan,” she returned, undaunted.
He smiled. More of a grin really, deep grooves beside his mouth, teeth white against his tanned skin. “Richard wasn’t too happy about it, either,” he murmured with amusement.
Her eyes widened, the colour of rich sherry. “You repeated that—that ridiculous accusation to him?” she gasped disbelievingly.
“Mmm,” Gabe acknowledged ruefully, his gaze lightly mocking. “Tell me,” he continued consideringly, “what do you do for exercise?”
She shook her head, totally amazed at this man’s insulting conversation; he didn’t even try to be polite!
“I run, Mr Vaughan,” she snapped angrily. “And I really can’t believe you were so insensitive as to have repeated such an accusation to Richard, at a time like this—”
“Felicity is out of hospital, you know.” Gabe straightened, not as relaxed as he had been; in fact he looked slightly defensive, the challenging look back in his eyes.
As it happened, Jane did know—but she was surprised he did. She hadn’t actually gone in to see Felicity when she was in hospital, but she had telephoned the hospital to pass on her well wishes, and she had called Richard every day to check on his wife’s condition, relieved when she’d spoken to him this morning and heard that the doctor considered Felicity well enough to go home, the miscarriage in abeyance. For the moment. But surely if this man continued his hounding of Richard—and throwing out obscene accusations—that may not last…!
The Yuletide Engagement & A Yuletide Seduction Page 18