'Cat, are you crying?' He sounded incredulous at the idea.
Was she crying? Yes, she could taste the tears on her top lip, although she hadn't been aware of them falling. Why shouldn't she cry when her heart was breaking into little pieces!
'Cat, open the door,' he encouraged now, persuasively. 'There's no need for this, Cat,' he cajoled softly. 'Would it help if I told, you nothing happened between us last night? That I didn't even touch you until this morning?'
Hope flared in her over-bright green eyes, and then it faded, leaving her looking more miserable than ever. 'Not when it isn't the truth,' she said dully.
'But it is,' he insisted firmly. 'I was damned angry this morning when I let you think we had made love. Open the door, Cat, and we'll talk.'
Why on earth was he so obsessed with her unlocking the door? What did he—no, he couldn't think that! God, if she were the type to commit suicide she would have done it years ago, and over a much more worthwhile man than Caleb Steele.
She straightened, her head back proudly. 'I'll be out as soon as I've showered. Would you please order me a taxi so that I can leave immediately?'
For a moment that was silence on the other side of the door. 'Very well,' he bit out coldly, no longer so close to the door. 'The hysterics are over, I take it? he derided.
She stiffened. 'You can rest assured that I don't intend using your razor to cut my wrists!'
'That might be a little difficult,' he drawled. 'I use an electric shaver!'
Cat bristled indignantly at his mockery. 'I could always used it as a saw!'
A soft throaty chuckle answered her anger. Your name does fit, Cat,' he murmured admiringly. 'You spit and claw right back, don't you?'
'I thought you already knew that,' she reminded bitterly.
'I told you,' he said softly. 'I didn't make love to you last night.'
Was he telling the truth? She didn't know. But she desperately needed to believe that he was, slowly unlocking and opening the door, looking up at him anxiously, coal-black eyes staring straight back at her. And she could read nothing from them, years of deliberately shielding his emotions making that impossible. Cat continued to stare back at him.
'You were already in my bed when I got home,' Caleb Steele told her briskly. 'And by that time I was too damned tired to care who I shared my bed with!'
Cat's face drained of colour, leaving two deep green pools of bewildered hurt.
'How the hell old are you that it shocks you out of your mind to even think of sharing a bed with a man?' He scowled at the accusation in her expression.
'Old enough,' she muttered.
'For what?' He turned away disgustedly, his hands thrust into the pockets of his trousers, pulling the material taut across his thighs.
'For whatever,' she returned sharply.
'Eighteen isn't old enough for whatever!' he rasped, scowling heavily. 'Is there anyone that's going to be worried by your non-appearance last night?' he suddenly frowned.
She thought of Vikki, and then as quickly dismissed her friend and flatmate. Vikki would probably be gleefully lying in wait for her when she got home, demanding to know all the details, had been urging her for years to take a lover.
'You mean like a father or brother?' She arched honey-blonde brows at him.
His mouth was tight. 'Or a husband?'
Her laugh was brittle. 'God, yes, I could be married, couldn't I?' she said hardly.
'Are you?' Black eyes were narrowed, as if he didn't like the idea of sharing a bed with a married woman, under any circumstances.
'No,' she assured him flatly. 'Nor engaged, nor seeing anyone seriously. I don't have a brother and my parents live in Cornwall, so you needn't worry about Daddy coming after you with a shotgun!'
'Is that a possibility?' Caleb Steele asked slowly.
'Not if it's true that we didn't make love.' There was a question in the statement.
'And if it isn't true?' he grated.
She shrugged. 'Then my father is old-fashioned enough to want his grandchild to have a father. But you were telling the truth when you said we didn't make love, weren't you?' Anxiety darkened her eyes, although her expression remained bland.
He considered her for long, timeless minutes before nodding abruptly. 'I'd been in a meeting for over forty-eight hours; I have union trouble.' There was a resigned twist to his mouth. 'But yesterday was Luke's birthday—'
'It was?' Cat gasped; it hadn't been like any other birthday party she had ever gone to!
'It was,' he nodded, giving an impatient sigh as he watched her continually hitch the sheet over her breasts in an effort to keep it in place, turning with leashed energy to push open one of the mirrored doors to his wall-length wardrobe, searching inside.
'Do you have a mirror fetish?' Cat burst out impetuously, fascinated by the way there were mirrors everywhere, even on two walls in the adjoining bathroom; it had come as something of a shock to see the tousled reflection of herself across the width of the luxurious room, the sunken Jacuzzi meaning she had an unhindered full-length view of herself!
He turned briefly to give her a dismissive glance. 'If you're expecting me to say they were already in the house when I moved in you're going to be disappointed,' he drawled, taking out a dark brown robe. 'Here, put this on.' He held it out to her.
She gratefully took the robe, then looked down awkwardly at the sheet, wondering how she was going to go from one to the other and still maintain her modesty.
'Let's not go through that again,' Caleb Steele whipped the sheet from around her body, holding out the robe for her to put her arms into. 'You were naked when I climbed into bed next to you last night, and you didn't even have the sheet on you when I woke up this morning!' he dismissed impatiently.
'That isn't the point,' a red-faced Cat snapped, quickly turning to put her arms into the robe.
'Because you're awake now?' he mocked. 'There,' he murmured softly. 'That's why I like mirrors.'
She froze, slowly turning her head to look at him, but he was staring up at the ceiling, and with the heated colour darkening her cheeks she reluctantly followed his gaze.
She had her arms thrust into the sleeves of the robe but he hadn't yet put the material in place about her shoulders, her back arched, her breasts thrust out invitingly. The reflection reminded her all too forcibly that earlier she had issued a similar invitation—and that he had accepted!
She pulled the robe about her in hurried movements, her cheeks burning as she tied the belt about her slender waist, the thigh-length robe reaching down past her knees, the sleeves falling down over her hands as she straightened her arms.
'Let me.' Caleb Steele moved to turn up the sleeves, treating her with all the resigned patience of an adult dealing with a recalcitrant child. 'I could snap you in half and not even know I'd done it,' he murmured as if to himself.
'I'd know you had done it,' she told him with feeling.
The coal-black eyes became even darker, the cynical light going out of them to be replaced by a surprising warmth, before that stern mouth actually curved into a grin, deep grooves etched into his cheeks, his teeth very white against his tanned flesh.
Cat's eyes widened like a surprised feline. 'Why do you hide all that dental work?' she once again spoke without thinking first. 'I mean, you rarely smile,' she tried to amend, grimacing her embarrassment as she knew she had failed.
This time he laughed outright, a rich deep sound, roughness once again cloaked in velvet. 'Like everyone else I laugh when something amuses me.' He still smiled. 'And I'll have you know that these teeth are all my own, and they're the genuine uncapped variety!'
She stared at him in fascination, amazed at the difference his smile made. He looked almost handsome! And years younger, not quite so much as if every minute of his thirty-nine years had been spent amassing the power and money that made him the dangerous man he was.
'Cat?'
She suddenly realised he was no longer smiling, but eyeing her watc
hfully as she openly stared at him. 'I can see that now,' she rushed into speech. 'One of the front ones is a little crooked.'
He nodded. 'If you were a guest at my son's party last night why didn't you know it was his nineteenth birthday?' he asked icily.
This man would have been lethal as a courtroom lawyer, would have held the judge and jury mesmerised by the way he never missed even the slightest irregularity!
'He didn't tell me,' she answered truthfully.
'If you're a friend—'
'I told you, I'm only an acquaintance.' She bit her lip. 'I—I went to the party last night because I wanted to meet you,' she revealed, knowing honesty had to prevail now.
His eyes glazed over, his nostrils flaring, his mouth a thin angry line. 'So it was all an act,' he said disgustedly. 'The surprise, the dismay, the shock, he added impatiently. 'When I didn't show at the party you decided to wait for me, in my bed!' He began to pace the room, shaking his head as he looked at her. 'You ought to get an Oscar for the act you just put on in the bathroom,' he grated. 'I actually did feel a first-class heel for lying to you!'
'Because you are!' Her eyes flashed. It was cruel to make me believe we had—we had been lovers. Everything I told you was the truth, my drinks were doctored, and I have no idea how I came to be in your bed—'
'For God's sake don't start crying again!' he rasped as the tears began to fall. 'We'll get to the bottom of this once and for all,' he bit out, picking up the receiver to dial. 'Luke?' he barked in the mouthpiece. 'Get in here,' he ordered as coldly as he had earlier told his son to leave. 'And make sure your story is a good one!' he advised threateningly before slamming down the receiver to once again pace the room.
For all the notice he took of Cat as they waited for the arrival of his son she might as well not have been here.
'Do you always talk to him that way?' she finally asked curiously.
His head snapped back, his hands thrust into his trouser pockets again. 'What way?'
She shrugged. 'Like one of the hired help,' she frowned.
His mouth twisted. 'If I spoke to Norm in that way he would leave.'
'Your son doesn't have the same prerogative,' she drawled.
'But he does,' Caleb Steele corrected in a hard voice. 'He's his own man.'
Man sounded a little hopeful for the immature boy she had witnessed at the party last night, his youth obvious in the way he drank too much, laughed too loud, and was too familiar with a woman five years his senior. She doubted Caleb Steele had ever been that young, had been married and on his way to becoming a father at the same age.
'Let me put that another way,' he drawled, seeming to guess her thoughts. 'Luke is independently wealthy from money given to him by his mother, and at nineteen he's over the age of consent.' He shrugged broad shoulders. 'If he doesn't like the way I talk to him he's free to set up on his own.'
The underlying friction of the father towards his son was unmistakable. But considering the amount of newsworthy trouble Luke Steele had been in over the last couple of years perhaps that was understandable. She had found the younger man to be totally brash and rude. And, secretly, she couldn't forgive his witnessing those moments of intimacy she had shared with his father earlier!
'Don't look so worried, little cat,' Caleb murmured throatily. 'We won't come to blows over you.'
If they did she had no doubt who would be the victor. And she had a feeling Caleb Steele didn't either, despite the fact that he was twice his son's age. She also knew he didn't give a damn how she felt, that he once again believed the worst of her.
'Do you get a lot of women throwing themselves at you?' she frowned.
Black eyes narrowed to steely slits. 'I've never actually had a woman I don't know waiting for me in my own bed before,' he bit out.
'I—'
'Come in, Luke,' he called out to his son as a knock sounded on the door.
Physically father and son were very alike, although Luke's eyes were a deep blue. They both possessed that rugged attraction rather than handsomeness, but maturity had given Caleb that cynical light in his eyes where Luke displayed only recklessness. And in contrast to .Caleb's tailored shirt and trousers Luke looked the height of casualness in faded denims and a loose sweater. The bravado in his stance was directed at both his father and Cat.
He nodded in recognition of her, his insolence barely contained. 'Miss Howard,' he drawled. 'So nice of you to have stayed the night.' In contrast to his father's American drawl his English accent sounded very precise—and insulting.
Cat knew that after the break-up of his father's marriage the boy had gone to live with his grandfather before being sent to school in England. The fact that the two even spoke with a different accent made them even less like father and son.
'Did I have any choice?' she returned tartly.
He gave a careless shrug. 'You didn't look as if you wanted one earlier.'
Colour heightened her cheeks. 'You—'
'Luke, what the hell is going on?' His father's voice cracked between them like a whip. 'Do you know anything about Cat being in my bed?'
Luke shrugged again. 'Only what I saw this morning—'
'You know a lot more than—'
'Cat, I'm trying to find out what happened,' Caleb cut in coldly.
'Well you won't do that from your son,' she snapped, glaring at the younger man.
'Luke will tell me the truth.' His voice brooked no argument—or deception.
'I wish I had your faith,' she muttered. 'So far, in our very short acquaintance, your son has shown himself to be anything but truthful!' she challenged.
Luke Steele didn't even blink an eyelid, 'I would doubt you have been completely honest with my father either,' he sounded confident. 'Otherwise there would be no need for this conversation.'
Cat shot him a resentful glare. 'I have told your father everything I know about last night. Unfortunately, he doesn't believe me,' she added disgustedly.
'Maybe you would like to tell me what you know, Luke.' It was phrased as an invitation, but there was no doubt in anyone's mind that it was an order.
'I think there's only one thing about Miss Howard that you will really be interested in.' Luke spoke again in that confident voice, as if, despite everything., he was sure he had the upper hand.
Cat tensed warily, sensing danger.
'Oh?' his father prompted guardedly.
'Cat is a reporter,' Luke announced in a bored voice. 'The one that's been asking to be introduced to Grandpop the last three months.'
If Cat had thought Caleb Steele's eyes were chilly before then she learnt a new meaning to the word at that moment, the black orbs as hard as pebbles and cold as ice! Luke was right, knowing she was a reporter did seem to be the only thing his father was interested in now.
'You're that C. Howard?' he bit out with icy accusation.
He made her sound—and feel—like some sort of low life that had accidentally wandered into his pampered world, as if just being in the same room with her contaminated him!
He turned furious eyes on his son. 'If you knew who she was, what was she doing at your party?'
Luke looked taken aback by the attack, as if he had expected that little fact to be overlooked by his father's anger at finding her here at all. 'I—well—she's been making a pest of herself, and so I thought—'
'I haven't been making a pest of myself,' she disclaimed indignantly. 'All of my letters to this family have been polite, the telephone calls, too.'
'All twenty-one of them,' Caleb Steele acknowledged in a hard voice. 'Oh yes,' he confirmed softly at her startled look. 'I'm well aware of the amount of times you've called, and the reason for them.'
'Then—'
'And you must be aware that they could be called harassment,' he added coldly.
'Nothing of the sort,' she dismissed impatiently. 'I always took no for an answer, and it was the only way I could contact you when you refused to even acknowledge my letters.'
'The mere
fact that I didn't acknowledge them should have been answer enough!'
She had known that, of course; she would have had to have been patently insensitive not to have done! But she wasn't the type of reporter that liked to write because of someone else's unhappiness or misfortune. She had discovered that long ago, and she never sent anything to print without first talking to the people involved, and also getting their OK on what she had written before sending it in. There was already too much misery in the world without having it constantly emblazoned across the front page of newspapers. Faint-hearted, some of her colleagues had called her in the early days, but she had felt comforted by the fact that she did at least have a heart of some sort! And that was the reason she couldn't in all conscience do the chapter in her book on Lucien Steele and his wife without talking to him first.
'I only wanted to meet your father, talk to him for a while,' she pleaded her case. 'I told you, I'm writing a book—'
'My mother has been dead nearly thirty years,' Caleb Steele scorned. 'Most people today haven't even heard of her, let alone that she was married to Lucien Steele!'
'You know that isn't true,' she protested at that blatant lie about Sonia Harrison, one of the screen-goddesses of the forties and fifties. 'They had a season of her films on only last summer!'
He sighed, his gaze steely. 'She's still old news,' he dismissed.
'My publisher doesn't happen to think so.' She shook her head.
'So write your book,' he invited harshly. 'You don't need my permission to do that. But make sure you only write the facts, because as soon as the book is published I intend to have my lawyers go over what you've written about my parents with a fine toothcomb!'
She had already guessed that. If only she could make him understand that she had no intention of writing anything defamatory about either of his parents. 'Look, I know that because of the fact that your father is into his seventies now there was a rumour a couple of years ago that he no longer writes his own books, but—'
A harsh laugh interrupted her. 'My father is more lucid at seventy-four than a lot of men are at half his age!' Caleb Steele scorned. 'The whole idea was ridiculous from the first.'
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