Sleeping Partners

by Helen Brooks

  ‘Running away…again?’ The pause was just long enough to bring the colour which had begun to recede from her cheeks surging back with renewed vigour.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ she said with icy dignity, her voice at direct variance with her fiery skin. Horrible, horrible man!

  ‘If you had known I would be here tonight you wouldn’t have come.’ It was a statement, not a question.

  You’ve never said a truer word, she thought. ‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ she returned scathingly. ‘How could your whereabouts be of any possible interest to me one way or the other?’

  He hadn’t liked that. Robyn was immensely gratified to see his mouth tighten, but the black scowl was a little unnerving and grasping the bottles she made for the door. Enough was enough.

  ‘You’re an angel.’ As she entered the lounge where the others were draped about talking and laughing, a couple of the women dancing languidly to the music, Cassie took the bottles from her, glancing interestedly over her shoulder. ‘Where’s Clay?’

  ‘How would I know?’ Robyn said offhandedly. ‘Bathroom perhaps?’ Her tone made it quite clear she couldn’t care less.

  ‘Robyn, make an effort please,’ Cassie hissed quietly. ‘That’s not too much to ask, is it? He’s—’

  What he was Robyn never found out as the next moment Clay walked in the room and Cassie fluttered over to him, insisting on replenishing his glass and then—to Robyn’s horror—drawing him over to Robyn as she said loudly, ‘You know you two have so much in common when you think about it, both with your own businesses and so on. You’re both workaholics, you know,’ and she giggled in a most un-Cassie-like way.

  ‘Clay and I have nothing in common, Cass.’ It was out before she could stop it, his narrowed eyes and cold face hitting a multitude of nerves, and she hastily qualified the retort with, ‘Clay is a millionaire with a network of businesses that stretch from here to Timbuktu, and I’m a one-man-band in Kensington. You really can’t compare the two.’

  ‘Timbuktu is a town in central Mali on the River Niger, and to my knowledge I have no business connections there,’ Clay said pleasantly, his voice conversational and his eyes deadly, ‘and I am sure your company is every bit as important to you as mine are to me. I think that is what your sister was getting at.’

  She knew what Cassie was getting at but she couldn’t very well say so, Robyn thought helplessly, knowing she had been put in her place by an expert. She glared at him, hating him for making her feel such an ungracious, churlish boor, and then as Cassie shifted uncomfortably at the side of them Robyn tried to straighten her face into a more acceptable expression.

  ‘Robyn works too hard, Clay.’ Cassie was clearly in ‘in for a penny, in for a pound’ mode. ‘I know she’s trying to build the business up but nothing is worth killing yourself for. Of course it doesn’t help that her bank manager is less than far-sighted,’ she finished with all the delicacy of a charging bull-elephant.

  Dinner party or no dinner party, this was finale time. ‘Excuse me.’ Robyn’s voice was throbbing with outrage as she nodded at Clay, taking Cassie’s arm in a vise-like grip as she did so and hauling her sister out of the room before anyone could say another word.

  She didn’t let go until the pair of them were safely in the kitchen with the door shut behind them, and then she pushed her sister onto one of the breakfast stools with the command of, ‘Sit,’ her face flushed and her brown eyes sparking.

  ‘Robyn, please, just let me explain—’

  ‘Not another word, Cass.’ She was angry, so angry her voice choked before she took a deep breath and continued. ‘You’ve gone too far and you know it, don’t you? If I had wanted my private business broadcast to all and sundry I would have said so. Everything I tell you is in confidence, and you knew—you knew—Clay was the last person I’d want to confide in. I couldn’t have made it plainer the other day,’ she finished vehemently.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Cassie didn’t look at her and her voice was meek.

  ‘Sorry isn’t enough, Cass. You tricked me into coming tonight too. You didn’t even give me the chance of refusing when you knew Guy’s brother wasn’t going to make it. Well, I’m going now and I tell you it’ll be a long time before I forgive you for this. I mean it!’ Robyn’s voice was high with outrage.

  Cassie had always been unsquashable and pregnancy had only served to make her more serene. She raised her eyes now, her voice placid and her face composed as she said, ‘He would be perfect for what you need, Robyn. His own businesses are so vast he wouldn’t meddle or get involved with yours, but with just a fraction of what he’s worth backing you you’d never look back. And he’s a friend of the family. It’s ideal.’

  ‘He’s a friend of yours and Guys, Cass, let’s get that straight. I don’t know him; I don’t want to know him and if I ever see him again in all my life it’ll be too soon!’

  They both heard the knock on the kitchen door and spun round to face it, and it dawned on Robyn—Cassie too, by the look on her face—that the person outside must have heard every word of that last statement because Robyn’s voice had not been moderate.

  Robyn knew who it would be before the door opened and Clay’s dark cool voice spoke. It went with the whole miserable evening somehow. She prepared herself for the explosion.

  ‘Do I take it this is a bad moment?’ He was speaking directly to Cassie; Robyn might not have existed. ‘Guy asked me to tell you that May and her husband are leaving; babysitter deadlines.’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes, of course. I must… Yes.’ If Clay hadn’t had a grain of intelligence Cassie’s flustered voice and scarlet face would have alerted him to the fact that he just might have heard something personally detrimental.

  But Clay was intelligent, formidably so, Robyn thought miserably as she watched her sister skuttle out of the room as though the devil himself was at her heels. But the devil wasn’t following Cass, he was here with her, she acknowledged silently, as icy eyes drilled into her. ‘So…’ It was grim. ‘I see the spoilt brat is still a spoilt brat?’

  ‘What?’ She couldn’t believe her ears. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I should imagine you will rise to the top of the tree with very little effort,’ the devastatingly cold voice continued gratingly. ‘Ignoring anything you don’t want to acknowledge, bulldozing your way through without a thought of anyone else or any higher concepts—the business world will just love you, Robyn. Do you use that delectable body as well as your brain to get what you want? You started early, I should know that, so—’

  Nothing in the world could have stopped her lashing out at him and it caught him completely off guard. His head snapped back with the force of her hand across his face and for a moment there was complete stillness in the kitchen, the sound of voices and music from outside unbearably normal in what was suddenly a terribly abnormal world.

  Robyn was shaking now, her dark brown eyes enormous in her chalk-white face. She could see her hand print forming on one tanned cheek, the red lines a reproach in themselves, and she stared at him, shocked beyond measure at what she had done. She had never, in all her life, struck anyone, and for it to be Clay Lincoln! And at Guy’s birthday party!

  And then she backed away as Clay came forwards without saying a word, his face frightening. ‘Don’t…don’t you dare hit me. I’ll call for someone—’

  ‘Hit you?’ It stopped him in his tracks. He swore, softly but vehemently and with enough force to scare her further. ‘Is that the sort of man you think I am? The sort who strikes women?’

  ‘I don’t know what sort of man you are.’

  ‘Really?’ It was deadly. ‘And yet you’ve been insufferable all evening. Care to tell me why?’ he asked cuttingly.

  She had backed as far as she could go, the edge of the sink pressing into her lower back, but she still drew herself up as she said, ‘Me, insufferable? Me?’

  ‘Oh, don’t tell me!’ He folded muscled arms over his broad chest. ‘I’m the one who’s been aching
to pick a fight. Right?’

  ‘I—I haven’t wanted to pick a fight, merely…’ Her voice trailed away. How could you explain the unexplainable?

  ‘Yes?’ He was eyeing her with complete and utter disdain.

  She set her jaw, the old defiance which had been severely shaken coming to her aid. ‘I don’t have to explain anything to you,’ she stated tightly. ‘Not a thing!’

  ‘Wrong.’ He was watching her with unrelenting eyes, and then something in his expression changed as he added, thoughtfully now, ‘You don’t add up, Miss Brett, and I don’t like that. I remember a somewhat precocious teenager, bright, undeniably lovely, but fresh, eager, alive. There wasn’t a trace of sourness or scepticism there, so what happened?’

  You. You happened. You blew my word apart and you don’t have the faintest inkling, do you? From his comment labelling her precocious and a spoilt brat as a teenager, he’d obviously put his own interpretation on that night years ago. He’d imagined she’d been trying out her new-found womanhood on any available man, was that it? That he had been the luck of the draw on which to cut her puppy teeth? Whereas in reality…

  And that crack about using her body to get what she wanted! He had made it quite plain how he viewed her now as well. He was hateful, loathsome. How ever could she have imagined herself in love with him? She must have been stark staring mad!

  ‘Cass will be concerned if I don’t get back to the others,’ she said stiffly, ‘so if you’ve quite finished?’

  ‘I haven’t even started,’ he said softly, but he stood aside for her to pass him, his dark face unfathomable.

  If she had been thinking straight she might have known he wouldn’t just let her leave, not after all that had transpired, but her head was a whirl and hot emotion sat in the place where common sense normally dwelt.

  She swept past him, only to find herself swung round by hard male fingers on her wrist and then she was in his arms before she realised what was happening.

  ‘Let go of—’ The rest of her words were smothered by his mouth on hers and for a heart-stopping second she was too surprised and bewildered to react. And then she struggled fiercely, fighting him with all her strength. It had about as much impact as a moth fluttering against a brick wall.

  It was a challenging kiss, severe almost, a kiss that dared her to relax and enjoy it, and it was a kiss by an expert. That much registered on Robyn’s spinning senses. He felt hard and sure against her softness and the smell of him spun intoxicatingly in her head, bringing her skin alive from the tips of her toes to the crown of her head.

  His name was whispering deep inside her and that frightened her as much as the sensations he was drawing forth so effortlessly. Clay was the last person in the world she should want to make love to her and shockingly—humiliatingly—that was exactly what she did want. Which made her…what? The answer to that gave her the strength to jerk away with a suddenness that took him by surprise.

  ‘I hate you.’ It was raw and low and she was trembling.

  ‘Do you?’ He looked back at her, his silver eyes glittering slightly. ‘Why such a strong emotion, Robyn?’ he asked tauntingly.

  She blinked a little. He was tying her up in knots and she was letting him; this was completely the wrong way to handle a man like Clay Lincoln. She knew that; she dealt with all types in her work including hard-bitten journalists who would sell their own mother for a story, so why had her normal cool, distant façade got blown to smithereens? What was it about this man?

  ‘I don’t appreciate being mauled about for a start,’ she bit out tightly, praying the trembling in the pit of her stomach wouldn’t communicate itself through her voice.

  ‘Mauled?’ He gave a soft, mocking laugh as he stepped back a pace, the crystal eyes pinning her to the spot. ‘I don’t think so, Robyn.’

  His impossibly light eyes reflected his contempt of the statement and his aggressive handsomeness, his utter surety in himself, was galling. For a moment Robyn had the insane impulse to throw a paddy and shout and scream, anything, to get under that tanned skin, but the knowledge that she would be acting like the spoilt brat he’d accused her of being was restraint enough.

  ‘You may not think so but that is what I call it when a man forces himself on a woman,’ she said icily. ‘I neither asked for or wanted you to kiss me.’

  ‘True.’ And he had the absolute affront to smile. ‘But you enjoyed it when I did. I’ve kissed enough women in my time to know that. I had wondered all night what you’d taste like and now I know.’

  She didn’t believe this man! She glared at him, bristling with fury, her fingers itching to hit him again. What an incredibly colossal ego. But she was not going to give him the satisfaction of losing her temper again. She drew herself up to her full five feet nine inches and stared straight into the silver-blue orbs, her voice dripping with scorn as she said, ‘You need to think I enjoyed it; that’s quite a different thing. If it makes you happy, dream on, Mr Lincoln.’

  Her tone of voice did not amuse him, that much was obvious, but before he could respond the door to the kitchen opened again and Cassie breezed in, her voice bright as she said, ‘You two still in here? I told you you’d have plenty in common, didn’t I? You wouldn’t carry the ice bucket through for me, would you, Clay?’ she added as she opened the freezer door and extracted a bag of ice cubes to refill the huge silver ice bucket she had brought in with her from the lounge.

  ‘Sure thing.’ It was cool and relaxed, insultingly so.

  Sure thing. Robyn stood for a moment more after the other two had walked through to the lounge. And did he think she was a sure thing too? Like all the women who flocked to his dark aura? Thought he only had to click his fingers, no doubt.

  Think again, Clay Lincoln. She drew her lips together, her brown eyes narrowing. This was one man she wouldn’t touch with a barge pole. And she was out of here, right now.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘SO HOW was the dinner party last night? Cassie serve up salmonella along with the main course, or is there another reason why you look like you ought to be in bed this morning?’ Drew’s voice was light but her baby-blue eyes were anxious as she surveyed Robin’s white face.

  ‘I’m fine, Drew.’ Robyn had just opened the door to her assistant and now she stood aside, waving Drew in as she said, ‘The coffee pot’s on.’

  ‘Robyn, you look awful.’ Never one to beat about the bush Drew turned to face her after Robyn had shut the door. ‘Go back to bed, I can manage here.’

  That was ridiculous and they both knew it. They had a product launch for a cosmetic company the next day and Robyn had fought off some powerful competition to acquire it. Everything had to be faultless and flawless; she had promised a polished launch with maximum flair and that meant working until late evening as it was, and then a six o’clock start on Monday morning.

  ‘I’m all right, really.’ Robyn managed a fairly normal smile in spite of the fact she hadn’t slept a wink all night and had been downstairs at her desk by five. ‘I just didn’t sleep well, that’s all,’ she added with a fair attempt at nonchalance.

  ‘Have you eaten breakfast?’ And at Robyn’s shake of the head Drew scolded, ‘And I bet you were up at the crack of dawn too! Honestly, Robyn, sometimes I think you haven’t got the sense you were born with. You can’t work like you do and skip meals. I’ll make some toast and you’ll sit and eat it before you do anything else.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’ But Robyn was laughing now. This was the other side of Drew that few people saw—the fussy, motherly side—and it was a complete antithesis to the dizzy, frivolous image the attractive blonde normally projected. But then, who knew what anyone else was really like? Robyn thought soberly as Drew bustled off upstairs. Certainly Clay didn’t have the faintest idea what or who she was.

  And then she caught herself angrily. No more thinking about Clay Lincoln! She’d wasted all the night hours fretting and walking the floor, and who cared what he thought about her anyway. He’d labelled
her an empty-headed, amorous little flirt at sixteen who’d been ready and willing to jump into bed with any male, and now she’d risen to a sour, ruthless-minded business woman who wasn’t averse to using her body to get what she wanted.

  She ground her teeth, furious with herself because it still rankled. Because it shouldn’t matter. He was nothing. Nothing.

  She had left Cass’s immediately after the episode in the kitchen, pleading a headache, and she hadn’t looked at Clay once, not even when she had said goodbye. Even then she had kept her gaze somewhere behind his left ear.

  But somehow—and this was the worst thing of all—she couldn’t get the memory of what that kiss had done to her out of her head and her senses. She touched her lips unconsciously, her eyes wide and unseeing. How could she have responded like that to a man she loathed and detested? He was dangerous. He was so, so dangerous. And unprincipled. And base. And—

  She was saved from further reflection by Drew calling down to say she was fixing scrambled eggs on toast and Robyn must come now, not a minute, not a second later.

  The two women worked non-stop for the rest of the day with just a ten-minute break at lunch for sandwiches and more coffee, and after Robyn had waved Drew off at just gone five o’clock she continued at her desk until her brain was as scrambled as the eggs at breakfast and the sky was pitch black outside.

  After a long hot bath which she had to vacate when she found herself sliding under the water, having fallen fast asleep, Robyn took a mug of hot chocolate and a plate of her favourite shortbread biscuits to bed with her, snuggling down under the duvet as soon as she’d finished after setting her alarm clock for five the next morning. The early start was essential with all she had to do.

  She was asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow and woke just before the alarm the next morning, her mind focused on the launch, and the hard work of the day before paying dividends with the facts and figures she had at her fingertips.