Stormy Rapture

by Margaret Pargeter

  With angry impatience she thrust such disturbing thoughts from her mind, choosing to ignore his remarks about her hair as she picked up the last of her paraphernalia and followed him into his inner sanctum. "It's not my fault that you aren't in a good mood this morning, surely?" With the angry lift of her chin she found it easier to meet his coldly critical stare.

  "Point taken," he conceded dryly, his expression changing subtly as his eyes mocked her feeble retaliation. He waited until she swept past him, then softly closed the door. The gentle closing of that door ought to have warned her that his mood was still far from pleasant, but at that moment Liza was still riding high on a wave of pure indignation. Rather heavily he pulled out a chair, not pausing until she sat down. His own chair creaked ominously as he settled his weight upon it. "I was in a bad mood," he admitted, "when I arrived."

  "Then it wasn't because of me and Bill?"

  "Oh, that!" With a scarcely complimentary snort he shrugged Bill aside. "No, he wasn't exactly the fly in the ointment, dear Liza, although we might have a word about him later. Not now. No, as a matter of fact I've had a particularly successful weekend, and so, I'm led to believe, have you."

  "How do you mean?" Her eyes widened, her voice scarcely above a whisper. So much had happened over the weekend, but nothing which he could possibly have known about.

  He leant forward across the desk, his hands only inches away from her own as they rested on the smooth leather surface. He stared at her intently. "I had lunch today," he said smoothly, "with a girl called Laura Tenson. I believe you know her?"

  "Laura Tenson!" Liza swallowed hard, and her hands left the desk to press against her stomach. She might have known that something like this would happen. But not so soon, not like this. Sprung so suddenly, there was no time to erect any form of defence. Silently she nodded, her eyes held helplessly by the glitter of his.

  "She told me," he continued relentlessly, "you were hawking pictures around her father's store on Saturday. I didn't want to believe her, but it seems possible that it's true?"

  Liza wetted her dry lips with her tongue, turning away from his devastating scrutiny, her throat a churning mass of sensation. None of this was any of his business. Then, in the space of seconds, it seemed that it was, and she didn't know what to say to him. She clung, not knowing what else to do, to a sudden flicker of anger. "I wasn't hawking pictures, as you so delicately put it! Laura Tenson had no right to say so. I might have known that she'd be one of your particular friends!"

  "Shut up!" His furious exclamation cracked across the desk. "Kindly remember that you're only my secretary, which doesn't give you licence to criticize my friends."

  "But she," Liza spluttered, almost choking, "she is allowed to criticize yours! Aren't I supposed to be your cousin?"

  "Supposed to be… Yes, that's a good point. And something which I'm going into when I can find the time to investigate thoroughly." His tones splintered with menace as he watched her face. "Miss Tenson wasn't talking about you in any personal sense. She just said how nice it had been to meet you, and that she hoped your mission had been successful. But me, my dear Liza, I want to know right now what it's all about?"

  Stubbornly, Liza didn't reply. There was no reason, she assured herself, why she should. And a problem when ignored sometimes went away. It was merely a question of keeping one's balance. Yet after only a few seconds she found it impossible to remain silent. The thought of Simon and this woman having lunch together was too painful for further contemplation. "You shouldn't be so keen to listen to everything you hear," she almost snapped. "Laura Ten-son had no business even to say that much."

  "Just leave Laura Tenson out of it, will you!"

  "She told me she was lonely because you were in London." Liza's dark blue eyes swung to his again, daring him to deny it.

  "Liza, will you shut up. I'm not interested in what she said."

  "But you are! You're just repeating it, throwing it at me…"

  Outside the sky had suddenly darkened and there came a threatening rumble of thunder. The heat of the day had until now been oppressive, and, glancing through the window, Liza noticed the first spatter of drops against the pane. Soon it would develop into a steady downpour with the hint of more thunder to come. An involuntary shudder shook her slender body. She didn't mind storms, but not when they involved thunder and lightning. But more terrifying than a storm was the possibility that Simon should guess that inside she was positively quaking with fear. Nothing which she couldn't control, but the effort was always more than devitalizing. Her fingers clung nervously to the edge of the desk, the knuckles white.

  Simon's eyes narrowed on those knuckles with the wrong interpretation before moving relentlessly back to her face. He ignored her brief protest. "You practically begged the saleswoman to take those pictures. Deny that if you can."

  "She wouldn't have done if they hadn't been good enough, and I certainly didn't have to beg." Her face flamed at the implication.

  He raised his eyebrows but did not insist. "That's beside the point. What it all boils down to is that you're short of money."

  "No, I'm not," she began.

  "You'll take a rise in salary!" His dark eyes smouldered. His voice held the grey ring of steel, blending with the darkness outside, disregarding her half uttered protest.

  In the distance thunder rumbled. Liza flinched as a flicker of lightning flashed overhead. She must try to escape before the storm broke properly and she disgraced herself.

  "Not frightened, are you?" He was studying her through half closed eyes, assessing her reactions, and she flushed again, uncomfortably. He was perceptive enough to have noticed her aversion.

  "Of course not!" She drew a deep breath, steadying her jumping nerves.

  "Then let's get back to your salary."

  "I don't want any more salary, Simon." She was incensed, her voice coming oddly strung. Why should he be so persistent? All this over something so trivial as selling a picture! Why should it matter to him what she did or where she should go? It could only be that he valued Laura Tenson's good opinion, and that a relative of his by demeaning herself thus had definitely lowered his standing in Laura's eyes. Not possibly, a small voice whispered; he just wasn't that sort of a man. But because it was the only explanation she could think of she clung to it, going back to their former conversation tensely. "My mother has painted and sold her work for years. She's very good. The store was to be a new venture, but nothing to be ashamed of."

  He gave her another long enigmatical look. "There's some mystery here, and I intend to get to the bottom of it. My intuition, dear Liza, has never let me down yet. If a woman has something to sell, and she's happy about it, she usually sees to the matter herself. She doesn't send little girls about her business."

  "I'm not a little girl!"

  He ignored this. "Didn't Silas leave her anything at all? There was nothing in the will, but he could have made other arrangements."

  "I've told you before, there was nothing."

  "You told me that he didn't pay you extra on the side. I didn't mention your mother."

  Liza blinked, frowning uncertainly, unable to remember exactly what she had said. This man, it seemed, could so easily trip her up. Annoyed, and not a little uneasy, she retorted stiffly, "I can't see any point in this discussion, Simon. My mother's affairs needn't concern you. We've talked about the will previously, and now it appears you want to know if we've extracted money by other methods."

  As soon as the words were out an apprehensive chill crept over her. She had not meant to sound so blunt. She looked at him with a blank expression, fearing some instant reprisal.

  Simon laughed unpleasantly, cynically amused. "Trying to help you, Liza, is rather like battering one's head against a stone wall, but this I will add. In future if your mother wants to sell things, then, so far as I'm concerned, she's very welcome to try. But not you, my dear Liza. Certainly not you." There was an almost savage undercurrent to his words and Liza shivered a
s she stared back at him, perplexed, and then as his meaning dawned, flushed scarlet.

  "You have no right to dictate to me," she stammered, jumping to her feet. "The reputation of the firm doesn't surely rely on my conventional conduct, and I'm not a child to be coaxed one minute and scolded the next."

  His face hardened, and Liza felt a gathering constriction around her heart, a secret fear that she had impulsively said too much. Perhaps she would have been wiser to have pretended to accept his advice without seeking to withstand him. By submitting verbally her pride might have been dented, but otherwise she might have remained intact, not torn by conflicting emotions as she was now.

  "I'm going," she choked, unable to bear his narrowed stare any longer. "It's long past time!" A statement borne out by the sound of staff cars departing from the compound below. Then, suddenly, as she turned, lightning flashed, a vivid, jaggedly flaming spearhead of relentless shooting colour which lit the room, followed almost immediately by a deafening roll of thunder. A storm of some proportion, directly overhead, supported in its devastating efforts by rain which pounded with torrential force against the window.

  Liza stopped helplessly, transfixed in her tracks, unable to move, her hands going over her face to conceal her trembling lips, held stationary by a fear older than Eve, as elemental as the earth itself.

  She wasn't aware that Simon had left his desk, moved to her side, until she felt his hands on her shoulders, drawing her back against him, turning her slowly, deliberately until her face was hidden against his chest. "So you are frightened! You're such an independent little creature, I scarcely thought it possible." His voice, though strung with mockery, was soft, and there was tenderness in the arms which enclosed her body like steel bands. The low moan which escaped her lips was only half conscious.

  Outside, the storm raged about them, darkening the summer evening to almost winter proportions although the heat still persisted. Liza shivered in his arms, slowly becoming aware of them about her, yet terrified still by the incessant flashes of light. She was conscious however of his hand at her nape, of strange little thrills running down her spine as he loosened her tortured hair with practised fingers, releasing the silky flow of it until it fell free over her shoulders.

  "There," he said, his voice deceptively soothing, as his hand moved, brushing the heavy strands back from her fore-head, completing the motion. "That might release a little tension if nothing else. If you try to relax you might feel better."

  "Please let me go. You don't have to hold me," Vaguely through her terror Liza realized she should be struggling, some instinct warning her he was no safer than the storm. This man was dangerous, magnetically so, and she had no wish to become involved with him, however tempting the prospect. Any momentary bliss she might find in his arms could only lead to permanent unhappiness. Yet it was so hard to protest. He possessed a virile masculinity that produced from her an unwilling response.

  He relaxed his hold, but only slightly, his hands continuing to move caressingly over her shoulders and back, causing her nerves to tingle. "Be still," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. "You're a strange young woman. It seems I must either be kissing you or putting you across my knee, in a manner of speaking. Which do you prefer?"

  "Neither." Her voice came on a faint gasp, a pulse in her throat beating too unevenly as she tried to pull away from him. Thunder still rolled frighteningly, but Simon she knew was the greater menace. Yet the great black-purple clouds moving across the window took a heavy toll on her courage, and her fingers clung to his jacket unconsciously.

  "I'll get you a drink. Maybe as a third alternative you'll accept it."

  "No, no!" Her heart was beating frantically inside her, like a small trapped bird trying to escape. There was only one thing she longed for, a terrible longing which must pass before he should guess. Crushed up against his strong frame she felt oddly secure, safe from the elemental fury outside but too vulnerable to the primitive urges within.

  He looked down at her still, smooth face, the faint flush of nervous excitement on her cheekbones, his eyes lingering on the seductive curve of her mouth, the fine beads of perspiration touching her sensitive upper lip. "You need an anti-dote, dear Liza. I'm trying to be gentle, but you're leaving the choice to me. It's too much of a temptation for any man, yet you don't respond to careful handling. Shock tactics, I think it has to be."

  He put a hand under her chin and brought her face around, bending his head, kissing her with a kind of restrained hunger, holding her mouth with a pressure which, though light, brought an instant response from her own. She scarcely moved as his mouth slid over her face, touching her closed eyes, finding the slight hollow in her cheek, her throat. There was a stillness which was exciting, irresistible, almost frightening in its intensity, like floating irrevocably downwards in water of a depth unknown.

  His hands slid slowly down below her waist, drawing her closer, the heat of his body mingling with the heat in the room, intensifying the feeling of unreality as his mouth sought hers again softly, teasing her unsteady lips, feeling their convulsive trembling beneath his skilful expertise. The thunderstorm receded, the lightning was only within her, the elements outside not capable of such havoc as this. Slowly the pressure of his lips deepened, then eased again as he played with her, a maestro, it seemed, in the delicate art of seduction.

  Slowly and reluctantly he held her away from him, a little, not much, his eyes, as always when he had her in his arms, curiously watchful, not willing that she should escape entirely the consequences of arousing him like this. "Have you ever had an affair with a man, Liza?" he asked softly. His hands, hurting on her arms, belied the casual ring of his voice, although she wasn't aware of it. "There's a lot I can guess, but in many ways you're a bit of an enigma."

  With an effort Liza tried to collect her scattered senses, to lift eyelids heavy with the invisible weight of her emotions. Shock tactics number two, she supposed, staring up at him blankly. He obviously thought her promiscuous and was just checking to make sure his impressions were correct.

  Only a peculiar numbness kept her from jerking furiously from his arms. "If you've done your research properly I expect you know the answer to that one," she managed at last, her hesitation, she realized, not exactly proving her innocence.

  There was a pause when she thought he was going to say more. To probe further, hoping to wring from her some clearer admission of guilt, some confession by which to justify his own behaviour. Her quietness, she thought, puzzled him, and for a moment longer he looked down at her steadily, his dark eyes speculative, and when he spoke light mockery replaced the former timbre of his voice. "A good secretary, Liza, is supposed to furnish all the information."

  Liza shook her head stubbornly as she fought for control. "Sometimes she doesn't want to."

  His eyes sharpened as he continued to hold her, to stare at her intently, his hand going once again to caress her hot cheek. She tried to smile, longing desperately for a cool sophistication, but his face seemed to be wavering mistily and she knew she was uncomfortably near tears.

  "I'm not very good at choosing either a time or place," he muttered wryly. "I must be slipping. Next time I might make sure that the time and place is more suitable. You don't dislike me, Liza, of that I'm sure."

  Liza started, drawn uneasily from her lethargy. There was a deep unfathomable look in his eyes that quickened her pulses and aroused a strange curling sensation in her breast. It appeared he had drawn his own conclusions regarding the depth of her experience, and, in spite of the heat and her erratically beating heart, she shivered. There would not be, if she had anything to do with it, a next time. His intentions seemed clear. They had been from the beginning if only she had had the sense to see it, and he was too dangerously attractive not to be sure of getting his own way. When he had talked of bargains, was this what he had had in mind? In her innocence she had imagined he had referred to her continuing competence in the office, not her responsiveness to his arrogant m
ale charm.

  This latter Liza viewed with an almost physical tremor of fear, knowing well that she couldn't rely on her usual good sense once he had her in his arms. Before there could be any chance of a repeat performance she must find a way of leaving Redfords—permanently. In the meantime it might be better to do nothing which could arouse his suspicions.

  Carefully, with rather a dazed glance towards the window, she withdrew from his arms. "The storm has passed now, Simon, apart from the rain. Perhaps," she forced a slight laughter, "shock tactics really work, but now I think I'll get home."

  "I'll take you." His eyes still brooded over her, but he allowed her to escape, a frown replacing his sober contemplation as he glanced swiftly at his watch. "I have a dinner appointment, but I can drop you off. Otherwise you're going to get very wet."

  Although it was still raining when Simon left her, Liza didn't mind. The thunder had gone along with the lightning and there was nothing to be afraid of in the soft summer rain. A fear of storms seemed to have been with her as long as she could remember. Her mother used to tell her that it must be because once, when Liza was a baby, they had been caught in a semi-tropical storm in Australia, where storms could reach gigantic proportions, and Liza had been nearly drowned. From that time on, from a child of two, Liza had screamed whenever thunder rolled or lightning flashed. It was only as she had grown older than she'd learnt to control her fear, although never to subdue it completely. This afternoon in Simon Redford's arms she'd experienced the first immunity she had ever known, or was it, she wondered despairingly, that she had been overtaken by an emotion stronger than fear?