Beaumont Brides Collection (Wild Justice, Wild Lady, Wild Fire)

by Liz Fielding

  Melanie swallowed. She had not imagined the electricity. His touch was like summer lightning, wild fire that ran between them and as he continued to hold onto her hand, his eyes too seem to heat from within.

  They were not, as she had first thought, a steely grey, but flecked with warm gold lights that seemed to bore into her very soul and for a moment she was certain that he felt the same charge of excitement. Then steeply hooded lids came down, cloaking his feelings.

  ‘Guard it with your life, Melanie.’

  The key was warm from his body, but his hands were cool. Long, slender fingers wrapped around her warm hand and the warmer key. Hidden layers of heat, like the hidden layers of meaning she sensed behind everything he said. Or was that everything she said? Whichever it was it was horribly disturbing and she wanted it to stop.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be careful with it.’ And she pulled her hand away but it was shaking so much that she had to stuff it into her overall pocket so that he shouldn’t see.

  Careful.

  The word mocked her. No girl would abandon the pampered life she was used to on some ridiculous whim to clean up after a man like Jack Wolfe. Not if she was careful.

  ‘Good.’ And he turned to the alarm control. ‘I’ll just show you how the alarm system works.’

  ‘That would be a good idea.’ Alarm. Warning. Red light.

  Layers and layers of meaning she thought as she watched while he demonstrated the alarm system.

  ‘Well, you picked that up quickly enough,’ he said, after she had demonstrated her mastery of the system a few minutes later.

  Considering her inability to concentrate it was perhaps as well that it was the same model as the one installed in her own apartment so that all she had had to memorise was the number. But she didn’t say so. It seemed unlikely that the average cleaner, or out-of-work actress, would have a state of the art security system fitted to her home.

  Nevertheless, she resented the suggestion that her quickness was surprising.

  ‘Just because I’m cleaning for a living, it doesn’t follow that I have sawdust for brains.’

  He glanced back over his shoulder at her, a frown creasing his forehead. ‘I don’t recall suggesting that you had. Some people just seem to find these things tricky. Caro has had the police out three or four times setting this off by mistake.’ And for just a moment their gaze intersected the same space, colliding in a conspiracy of thought that excluded Caro. It was as if their minds had touched, like a spark leaping a gap to complete an electrical circuit.

  And it wasn’t just their minds. Mel was standing close enough to identify the brand of soap he had used in the shower, close enough to touch the skin drawn tight across the hard knuckles of his hand still raised to the alarm.

  For a moment she couldn’t breathe as her chest tightened and something altogether strange happened around her midriff, an odd kind of melting that seemed to go right on down, weakening her thighs, sapping their will to hold her. This time she was the one to drop her lashes, desperate to block out the intensity of that look.

  Without warning he peeled away from her, putting the width of the room between them.

  ‘Caroline,’ he snapped, as he gathered his briefcase from the table, ‘if you want a lift into town you’ll have to come now.’

  *****

  Caroline’s mindless chatter normally washed over him. Today it seemed as irritating as a buzz saw and it was with relief that he dropped her at her gym. But his temper improved dramatically once he reached his office.

  ‘Are you sure about this, Mike? It couldn’t just be coincidence?’

  Mike Palmer had been Jack’s CEO for a long time and he understood his caution. ‘You’re always telling me that there’s no such thing as coincidence in business. I didn’t believe he’d do it, but he’s taken the bait, Jack. Now all you’ve got to do is play the line a little and then you can reel him in.’

  ‘You make it sound easy. He’s hooked, maybe, but Tamblin’s been playing this game for a long time. He’ll be away at the first suggestion of a trap. But it’s a pity about young Latham.’ He crossed to the window, watched the clown working the afternoon crowd. ‘I feel responsible.’

  Mike joined him. ‘You’re not, Jack. If he’d behaved reasonably when his father’s company was taken over instead of trying to cause trouble…’ He shrugged. ‘But then, he always was a drama queen. He should have stuck to what he knew.’

  ‘I know, but he’s young and he’s hurting. And he’s in bad company.’

  ‘He went looking for it, Jack. He deserves everything that’s coming to him.’

  Jack looked at him, sideways. ‘Have a care, Mike, you’re beginning to sound as callous as me.’

  ‘I’ve been listening to you long enough. Some of it was bound to rub off eventually.’ He nodded down at the square. ‘The only reason he’s down there now is so that he can keep a watch on who comes and goes from your office. If you hadn’t, by chance, seen him getting into Greg Tamblin’s car...’

  ‘I know, I know. Two people with an agenda in the same place the same time - a chance in a million.’

  The same kind of chance that dictates a man should have a heart attack and fall against the wheel of his car sending it straight for a bus queue when, for a hundred yards in either direction the pavement is empty.

  He watched the clown for a few more seconds before turning away and crossing to his desk.

  ‘You’re right. Why would they bother with caution. Latham must have watched me being driven away from the office before he called Tamblin to hand over the latest information he’d found in my waste bin. He couldn’t have anticipated a bomb alert with the streets closed off, or that I would decide to walk back to the office. Chance,’ he said, bleakly, ‘unlike coincidence, is a force I believe in.’

  ‘You’ve never left anything to chance in your life.’

  ‘No?’ Not in business, perhaps. Business was too important to be left in the lap of the gods. ‘Well, let’s not this time. I think it’s time to throw our shark a red herring, we wouldn’t want him to think it was too easy, would we? He might get suspicious.’ He touched the intercom. ‘Mary? Get hold of Gus Jameson for me, will you. I feel an urgent need for an island holiday.’ He grinned at Mike. ‘Or was that a holiday island?’

  *****

  ‘Greg?’

  ‘What is it, Richard? I’m busy right now.’

  ‘Not too busy to hear this. I’ve had an extraordinary piece of luck.’

  ‘Really. Not too extraordinary I hope. I distrust luck that seems too fortuitous.’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t all luck. I had to work quite hard to get a result, but the thing is a girl I know is working for Jack Wolfe. Cleaning his apartment.’

  ‘Well, that is certainly interesting. Just how well do you know her?’

  ‘Well enough,’ he said, his voice laughing for the telephone, while his face remained totally impassive. ‘I just thought you’d like to know that if the need arises I’ll be able to get into Wolfe’s apartment.’

  *****

  A few mornings later Sharon took a detour on the way to their first job. ‘Where are we going?’ Melanie asked, surprised. Their time sheets were cut to the bone and even a quick stop to buy a bag of potatoes was asking for trouble.

  ‘We’re going to pick up Paddy’s kids from her mother-in-law.’ She said it aggressively, daring Melanie to make a fuss.

  Paddy looked uncomfortable. ‘I’m sorry, Mel but she’s got a hospital appointment today and can’t take care of them.’

  ‘Don’t apologise to her,’ Sharon said, angrily. ‘She doesn’t know what day of the week it is.’

  ‘When I left home this morning it was Thursday,’ Melanie said, mildly before turning to Paddy. ‘What’s the matter with your mother-in-law?’

  ‘She needs a hip replacement. She’s been waiting months for an appointment to see the specialist. Heaven help me when she gets a date for the operation.’

  ‘Couldn’t yo
u find a child-minder?’

  ‘What planet do you live on, girl?’ Sharon was clearly in no mood to take prisoners this morning.

  ‘Don’t tease her, Shar. She doesn’t understand.’

  She? Girl? Whatever had happened to the two good-hearted women she worked with. ‘Hey, Paddy, Sharon I’m here. Talk to me, tell me what’s going on. Maybe I can help.’

  ‘You? What could you do?’

  ‘Unless I know the problem, nothing.’

  ‘Look, there’d be no point in working if we had to pay a child-minder,’ Sharon said. ‘We just don’t earn enough, okay?’

  ‘I was only-’

  Paddy touched her arm. ‘Don’t worry about it, Mel. It’s not your problem.’

  But it was clearly a problem for Paddy, a big problem. She was chewing her lower lip to shreds. ‘But if your mother-in-law is having a hip-replacement she’ll be out of action for weeks, months...’

  ‘I’ll sort something out. But today is difficult. It was short notice and there just wasn’t anybody I could ask. Just don’t say anything back in the office. All right?’

  ‘Why not? If Mrs Graham knew about your problems maybe she could do something to help. You can’t be the only one who has difficulties with child care.’

  ‘The only thing Mrs Graham would do,’ Sharon interjected, ‘is give Paddy the push. She’s already been warned once about bringing the children to work. And one warning is all you get.’

  Mel was shocked. ‘You mean Mrs Graham has threatened to dismiss her?’

  Sharon, realising that Melanie was so innocent it was almost painful, turned to Paddy with a grin. ‘Did Mrs Graham threaten to dismiss you, darling?’ she asked, in mocking mimicry of Mel’s perfectly rounded vowels.

  Mel wasn’t offended; she knew she was out of her depth in this situation. ‘Is she crazy? You both work like heroes. She couldn’t afford to let you go.’

  ‘She hasn’t a clue, has she?’ Paddy said, indulgently.

  ‘Shouldn’t be allowed out by herself,’ Sharon agreed. Melanie looked from one to the other.

  ‘The girl before you had two children,’ Paddy continued, more gently. ‘One of them was taken ill at school and she had to leave a job and take her home. Her cards were waiting for her next morning.’

  ‘But that’s monstrous. You’ve got rights.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Sure,’ Sharon said. ‘Wash your mouth out with soap before you go back to the office, girl. Janet Graham can smell dirty words like “rights” on your breath.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  JACK Wolfe stirred at the sound of a key in the lock. Caroline. He stifled a groan. Jetlagged and bone-weary from crossing the Atlantic three times in ten days, the idea of entertaining Caroline did nothing to revive him.

  If she had been the kind of woman content to slip quietly into bed beside him, a warm, comforting body against his while he drifted in and out of sleep, he would have welcomed her presence. Just how unwelcome her presence was right now would have shocked her. It came as something of a surprise to him.

  Beautiful, sophisticated, emotionally cool, Caroline had seemed until recently, his ideal lover. She had no use for meaningless declarations of love. She would much rather have a simple diamond pendant. And diamonds were so simple to give.

  However he preferred a time and place of his own choosing, especially when, as on this occasion, he hadn’t had the time for an expedition to a jewellery store. He hoped the consolation of a week in the Caribbean would be sufficient recompense.

  He rolled over and waited for her to bound up the stairs. Bound? Not quite the right word to describe the way Caro moved. Except perhaps when there was the prospect of some little treasure.

  Well, she was beautiful and a man had to pay for his pleasures, one way or another.

  But she didn’t bound, or even glide gracefully up the stairs. Instead she went into the kitchen and drew some water. He frowned. Miss Caroline Hickey made a virtue out of her lack of domesticity, a virtue he tended to encourage.

  There were small noises from the living room as if she were moving about. He drew his brows together trying to work out what they could be. Then the strains of the Mozart Clarinet Concerto filled the room.

  Caroline? Playing classical music?

  Curiouser and curiouser. Wide awake now, he eased himself off the bed, wrapped a dressing gown about him and leaned against the polished rail, wondering what else she might do that was totally out of character.

  Pour herself a large glass of Scotch, perhaps? Make a cheese and pickle sandwich?

  No. Nor had she been making coffee. The water had been used to fill a tall jug with a bunch of bright yellow daisies which now stood on a low table behind the sofa. They looked perfect, a vivid splash of colour against the dark, heavy wood, the stark whiteness of the walls. Well, anything Caro did would make a perfect statement. But somehow he didn’t associate her with a flower as simple as the daisy.

  A single spray of black orchids was more her style. And if he was any judge of human nature, she would expect to be the one on the receiving end.

  Somewhat unnerved by this apparent shift in her values, he leaned over the rail to see what else she might be doing to surprise him and suddenly the yellow daisies made perfect sense. It was Wednesday. And it wasn’t Caro, but his very own Cinderella who had disturbed him, wandering around his apartment totally unaware that she was being observed.

  He watched as she twitched the curtains into place, gathered up the things he had abandoned when everything had gone ballistic in Chicago and he’d had to chase across the Atlantic at a moment’s notice. A heavy glass, the brandy evaporated and sticky in the bottom, a book face down on the table where he had left it when the phone had rung late on Monday night.

  She had her back to him, yet he knew she had turned the book over, was reading the blurb on the back. Then she flicked it open. Her spiky brown hair was tucked up into her cap and as she lowered her head to read, he was suddenly intimately acquainted with the smooth line of her neck as it curved into her nape.

  The skin was smooth and white and his hand seemed to tingle with anticipation as, in his mind, his fingers stroked its sweet length before cupping it and turning her towards him so that her head fell back and thick dark lashes drifted down over her eyes as she offered her soft mouth to him.

  His body stirred at the picture his mind was offering.

  Dark lashes? Soft mouth? Where on earth had those images come from? His jet-lag must be worse than he thought.

  Unaware that she was observed, or the effect she was having on her observer, she continued to read, so deeply engrossed in his book that for a moment he wondered if she might decide to stretch out on the sofa, put her feet up and settle down for the afternoon. The possibility of catching her out made him smile.

  But no, after a moment she gave a little sigh, closed the book with obvious regret and put it away on the bookshelf. Then she saw the newspaper, folded back to the article featuring his latest corporate clean-up and thrown down on the sofa with his overnight bag.

  It was a distorted view of what had happened to the company, dwelling on the pain rather than emphasising the gain. Typical of Greg Tamblin’s sneering style.

  He was used to it and normally he didn’t care, or at least not enough to do anything about it. But as Melanie picked it up and saw the headline, his smile faded. He didn’t want her reading a piece of scurrilous journalism and taking it at face value.

  ‘I like the daisies, Miss Devlin,’ he said. ‘Where did they come from? Your garden?’

  Melanie, believing herself to be quite alone and deep in contemplation of the article about Jack Wolfe, jumped spectacularly.

  The paper flew out of her hands and landed in a mess at her feet and her heart, always in a bit of a dither when she let herself into Jack Wolfe’s apartment - desperately hoping that he wouldn’t be there, then disappointed when she got her wish - made up it’s mind and behaved like a high speed lift in a hurry to reach the penthouse.<
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  Jack Wolfe, leaning against the polished chrome rail of the mezzanine, all black silk dressing gown and bare legs, was enough to make any girl break out in a dither.

  ‘I’m sorry, did I startle you?’ he enquired, with just a touch of malicious humour.

  ‘Startle me?’ she exclaimed. ‘You could have given me a heart attack.’

  He gave her a cool, provoking look. It conveyed, without words, that in his opinion that such an event was unlikely this side of a thousand years. ‘I thought I heard the kettle,’ he said. ‘Is there any chance of a cup of tea?’

  ‘Well, you thought wrong,’ she declared, indignantly. ‘But if you’d like to make that an order?’

  ‘Consider it done,’ he snapped, irritated that she was always on the defensive, always hiding herself from him. Even now, the baseball cap shadowed her face.

  Why on earth did she have to wear the ghastly thing the whole time? But as she crossed the living room, she suddenly stopped and looked up and he thought he saw a flicker of concern cross her features.

  ‘Are you sick?’ she asked.

  ‘Sick?’

  She gestured vaguely at the rare disorder and said, ‘You’re not usually in bed at this time of day.’

  ‘Not usually,’ he agreed. ‘At least, not during working hours.’ And he discovered that he enjoyed the pink flush that darkened her cheeks as it suddenly occurred to her that there might be a quite different reason why he was in bed in the middle of the afternoon.

  ‘Is that one cup of tea?’ she enquired, tartly.

  ‘Unless you’d care to join me? It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve tested my bed springs in the line of work, would it?’

  Christ! What on earth had made him say that?

  Her lips parted on a little gasp of outrage and he waited for the torrent of abuse he had almost certainly provoked. Certainly deserved.

  Her self-control was impressive although why she should bother when he deserved everything she might throw at him, verbal and physical, intrigued him. Impressive, but not easy.

  Her fingers were curled up into tight little fists while she struggled to keep her tongue between her teeth. But he was right about the mouth. Soft, full lips. When had he noticed them? His memory, as if it had been waiting for just such a query, immediately supplied the moment. He had been showing her how the alarm worked and she had looked up at him...