by Helen Brooks
She found herself fumbling with the key as she locked the door to the office, vitally aware of the tall figure waiting for her by the front door of the building, and once they emerged into the busy street and he took her elbow it was all she could do not to pull away. ‘The car’s over here.’ He guided her across the pavement full of lunchtime shoppers towards a long, sleek Bentley parked on double yellow lines, a uniformed chauffeur sitting impassively in the front seat.
Once in the leather-clad interior Kay had a brief tussle with her skirt before sitting as primly as it would allow. Why hadn’t she noticed how short it was at Caroline’s wedding? she asked herself as a mortifyingly large expanse of nylon-clad flesh made itself known. Probably because Mitchell Grey wasn’t at the nuptials was the answer to that, she admitted irritably.
‘Relax, Kay.’
The shock of hearing her name spoken by the richly dark voice brought her head swinging round to meet his gaze, and she saw the silver-blue eyes were narrowed thoughtfully on her face.
‘I beg your pardon?’ She tried for icy hauteur but the effect was ruined by her breathlessness. He was close, very close in the confines of the car, and like once before the subtle sexy aftershave he wore had her pulse rate flying.
‘You’re tense, keyed up,’ he said soothingly, ‘and there is no need to be, really. Look, would it help if I came clean and admitted right now that there is no business proposition? That this is intended to be just a nice meal in comfortable surroundings where we can chat and get to know each other a little?’
Would it help? Would it—? ‘Stop the car!’
‘I’m sorry?’
Even if it had been possible for so ruthless and attractive a man to look innocent, his mild response to her yelp of outrage wouldn’t have deceived her. She glared at him, her face flushed and her mouth set, and it was incredibly galling to see he wasn’t in the least ashamed of himself.
‘I said, stop the car,’ Kay ground out through clenched teeth.
‘All in good time.’ And he had the effrontery to try a smile that she supposed he imagined made him irresistible. ‘I want to explain first. You had clearly made up your mind that you didn’t want to see me again—’
‘How right you are,’ she snarled softly.
‘And so all this deception is entirely your fault,’ he continued silkily.
‘My fault?’
‘Of course.’ He had settled back in the seat as he’d spoken and he was so obviously enjoying her discomfiture that Kay would have slapped him if she’d dared. But she didn’t. Much as she hated to admit it to herself.
‘Now look, Mr Grey, I don’t know what sort of game you think you are playing but you’ve picked the wrong girl,’ she said with acid sharpness. ‘I don’t like the caveman approach, if that’s what you’re thinking, and frankly I find your attitude offensive. I want out of this car and right now.’ She fumbled with the handle but wasn’t surprised to find the door was locked.
‘Aren’t you overreacting a little?’ he asked mildly. ‘All I want to do is to take you to lunch.’
This couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t really be locked in a car with a virtual stranger being taken to goodness knew where. She took the last thought a step further when she said, ‘My mother knows I have a luncheon engagement with you today, Mr Grey, as well as my brother.’
‘I should hope so. It would be very unwise not to inform at least one person of your whereabouts in this day and age in which we live,’ he said smoothly.
The dark head had turned to look out of the window a few moments before but now he turned back to face her, one dark eyebrow quirked mockingly as he added, ‘We’re here. Now try to act your age and pretend you are a cool and contained businesswoman being brought out to lunch by a male colleague, okay? That will save us both any embarrassment.’
Embarrassment? She couldn’t imagine Mitchell Grey ever suffering that emotion in the whole of his life. There was arrogance, and then there was this man, and she didn’t even have a word to describe him. Not one she could repeat in civilised company, anyway. If anyone needed taking down a peg or two it was him.
She glanced out of the window of the car as it drew to a stop outside a restaurant she had heard about but never entered—mainly because the cost of a meal there would necessitate taking out a second mortgage—and it was in that moment the idea occurred to her. She glanced at the big dark figure next to her and found his gaze was on her face, a disturbing gleam at the back of his eyes. What was he thinking? What did he expect her to do right at this moment? She rather suspected he was prepared for the fact that she might turn tail and march off, and she really wouldn’t put it past him to manhandle her into the building, awkward though it would be for both of them.
He was a control freak if ever she’d met one—and she had, first hand, she thought tightly as Perry’s face flashed across the screen of her mind for a second. But she wasn’t going to put up with this, not for a moment. Her starry-eyed devotion to Perry had nearly ruined her life and the days had long since gone when she would allow a man to dictate to her.
It had been an uphill struggle for months when, after her father had died and her mother had needed her, she had come back to Romford, leaving her London flat and taking out a mortgage on the tiny house they now all lived in. Her salary had not allowed her to take on more than a small, two-bedroomed place, and even then Ivy Cottage had been dilapidated and in need of renovation. But the 1920’s former ale house had had an endearing air about it, the two bedrooms overlooking what once had been a pretty garden filled with topiary, flower borders, a rockery and even an original brick well, but on their first visit to view had resembled a miniature jungle.
Her father’s bad investments had meant her mother had brought nothing to the kitty, but gradually, with lots of help from Peter and his friends, they had repaired and painted and made good, transforming shabby into chic. Now the panelled front door of Ivy Cottage opened into a beamed sitting room with an open fireplace, which was cosy and charming, the kitchen-diner adequate for their needs, although Kay had to admit there wasn’t room to swing a cat when Peter and his family came round for a meal. But with the twins in one bedroom and Kay and her mother sharing the other, they were happy, and the garden had proved to be a little oasis all year round. Most of all, though, the move back to Romford had saved her mother from slipping into the nervous breakdown the doctor had said was imminent. Leonora had had to take on the care of the twins during the day while Kay worked—nursery fees now being out of the question—and being wanted and useful again, as well as having her daughter and grandchildren with her permanently, had been the stimulant the older woman had needed.
It had been a fight to survive for a while after Perry had gone, but she had not only survived but managed to provide a secure home for the girls and her mother as well as establishing what was now a thriving little business, Kay thought as she climbed out of the car, ignoring Mitchell Grey’s outstretched hand. There was no way she was being walked over by this arrogant brute of a man, and he was going to learn that the hard way very soon. She was self-governing now, independent.
She walked ahead of him into the restaurant, a strange prickly sensation running up and down her spine as they paused just within the doors and he took her elbow, speaking to the head waiter who had flown to their side. ‘Ah, Angelo. You have my table ready?’
‘Of course, Mr Grey.’
The man didn’t actually bow them to the small discreet table set at an angle where they could see but not be on view, but the obsequiousness was enough to set Kay’s teeth further on edge. If people were like this with Mitchell Grey no wonder the man’s ego was inflated to jumbo size!
‘Would you like a cocktail while you look at the menu?’ The wine waiter had appeared at their side the moment they’d been seated. ‘I can recommend the Smouldering Liaison,’ Mitchell Grey said, blandly enough but Kay had noticed the lingering amusement curling his mouth.
‘Cocktails in the lunch h
our?’ She raised what she hoped were coldly disapproving eyebrows.
‘I’m not driving.’ He settled back in his seat, pulling his tie loose and undoing the first couple of buttons of his shirt as he spoke. ‘Are you?’
Kay cleared her dry throat. His powerful masculinity was all the more flagrant for its casual unconsciousness and she didn’t like the way her body had reacted to what was a perfectly normal action on his part. ‘No,’ she admitted coolly. Peter and Tom were handling the driving for today, and although Peter had picked her up in one of the vans that morning she had planned to take a taxi for the short ride home, knowing her brother would be late back. ‘But I like to be alert in the afternoon.’
‘I’m sure you do.’
Four small words, but he managed to make them sound insulting, Kay thought angrily. She bit back on the hot words burning her tongue, glancing at the cocktail menu again. Perhaps she would have a drink at that, she decided. She needed a spot of Dutch courage if she was going to carry out her idea to put Mitchell Grey in his place.
“I’ll have a Sweet Revenge, please,’ she said primly, choosing the cocktail purely for its name rather than the mix of coconut rum, gin, tequila and banana essence it contained.
He whistled slowly through his teeth. ‘Are you sure? It has a kick like a mule.’
‘Revenge always has.’ She smiled sweetly. She wanted him to remember what she’d chosen for a long, long time.
He shrugged broad shoulders. ‘A Sweet Revenge for the lady,’ he said lazily to the waiter, ‘and I’ll have a Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing.’
Except in this case it was definitely a wolf in wolf’s clothing, Kay thought, staring at the hard, rugged profile in the moment before he turned his head and looked at her again. And she certainly wasn’t Little Red Riding Hood.
‘How long are you going to be annoyed with me?’ he asked her softly after a couple of seconds had ticked by.
She forced herself not to lower her gaze although the ice-blue eyes with their silver hue were piercing. ‘You think I should be grateful you tricked me into having lunch with you?’
‘Not exactly.’ His eyes glinted at her and she knew he wasn’t taking any of this seriously. It was more galling than words could express. ‘But surely there are worse crimes than taking a beautiful woman out to eat?’
‘You insinuated you had work for my firm.’ If he thought he could sweet talk her he had another think coming. Beautiful woman indeed! Kay refused to acknowledge her accelerating pulse.
‘But you’d already told me you had more work than you knew what to do with so I didn’t think you’d mind too much.’ He smiled. Kay did not. ‘Added to which I had tried the honest approach first only to be shot down in flames. You left me with no other option,’ he cajoled silkily.
This was a ridiculous conversation. She stared coldly at him, willing her fluttering heart to behave. His smoky warm voice and the sexy curve to his mouth were part of a blatant seduction programme, that was as clear as the nose on his face. Probably he’d tried this approach before and it had worked like a dream; she didn’t think he got turned down too often. In fact it was very probable he had never got turned down before. It just showed you were never too old for a new experience, she told herself with secret relish.
The waiter arrived with their cocktails before she had a chance to say anything, the head waiter popping up like a genie out of a bottle a moment later with two elaborate and heavily embossed menus. ‘The lobster and scallops with caviare garnish is highly recommended today, Mr Grey,’ he murmured smoothly. ‘Or perhaps the black leg chicken with wild mushrooms and asparagus? I’ll leave you to contemplate for a few moments.’
‘Thank you, Angelo. And could we have a bottle of that rather pleasant Moët et Chandon I had last time, the rosé? You do like rosé champagne?’ he added, turning to Kay as he spoke the last words.
‘I drink little else,’ she replied with a brittle smile. If he thought he could buy her with a bottle of good champagne he was even more arrogant than she’d supposed.
The head waiter bustled off, after a somewhat nervous glance in Kay’s direction, and she hastily took a sip of her creamy yellow cocktail. It was okay until it hit the back of her throat, and then the delicious taste was superseded by eye-watering heat. He hadn’t exaggerated the kick of the mule bit, Kay was forced to acknowledge, and then—aware of a quietly amused gaze trained on her face—she forced herself to take another sip. It wasn’t so bad now she was prepared for it, and she didn’t glance directly across the table until the moisture in her eyes had subsided and she was fully in control of herself.
‘Delicious,’ she said serenely.
‘I’m glad you like it,’ he returned gravely.
Sarcastic swine. Kay made a great play of studying the menu. She felt hot and flustered and she was determined not to let it show. She was going to be dignified and icy to the end or die in the attempt.
The head waiter did his rabbit-out-of-a-hat trick in the next instant, seemingly materialising out of thin air and taking their order with profuse delight. As he glided away Kay glanced round the softly lighted, elegant surroundings, the low hum of gentle conversation and the general air of affluence suiting the bon viveur diners perfectly.
It would be better if she ate her first course before putting her plan into action; it would lull him into a false sense of security and have more effect in the long run. So… Conversation. She had to at least appear to have accepted the status quo.
‘Mr Grey—’
‘Mitchell, please,’ he reproved her gently.
Kay nodded stiffly. ‘Mitchell,’ she continued evenly, ‘I really don’t see why it was so important I accepted a dinner invitation with you. I should imagine there are any number of women who would be only too pleased to accompany you.’
He settled himself further into his chair, finishing his cocktail and placing the empty glass on the table before he said, ‘Possibly.’ And if he were truthful he would have added that he didn’t understand fully why he had pursued what was obviously a non-starter either. He prided himself on being a very rational and judicious man; irrationalism was not an option. So what was it about this slender woman with her mop of hair and freckles that had got under his skin? Much as he hated to admit it, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind for more than a few minutes at a time since he’d set eyes on her.
Kay stared at him. Possibly—was that all he was going to say on the matter? He met her gaze, his eyes crystal-sharp and unblinking, his sensual mouth curved cynically.
‘But you didn’t feel inclined to take advantage of their services?’ she asked with deliberate innuendo.
He smiled lazily. ‘Are you casting aspersions on my ability to acquire a woman, Kay? I can assure you I have never needed to pay for one.’
‘I didn’t think for a minute you had.’ And she hadn’t—it had just been rather a cheap jibe to annoy him, she admitted silently, not liking herself. She wouldn’t have dreamt of behaving like this normally; it was all his fault!
‘Good.’ He looked at her quietly for a moment. ‘Tell me a little about yourself.’
‘I thought I already had.’ She forced a quick smile. ‘It’s your turn, surely? How would your CV read?’
‘Well, let’s see.’ The wine waiter appeared with the champagne in an ice bucket. Mitchell waited until all the formalities of tasting and such were out of the way and they were alone again before he continued, ‘Name, Mitchell Charles Grey. Age, thirty-five. Marital status, single, Mother, Irish, Father, English, both died in a car crash when I was fifteen. I started my own company at the age of twenty by investing all my inheritance in it along with a whopping great bank loan, and by the age of thirty had branched out to include premises in Southampton, Portsmouth and Plymouth. Anything else you’d like to know?’
Masses, and she didn’t like that, Kay acknowledged, a sudden tightness in her chest. She didn’t want to be interested in this man, not in any way. ‘You’re very successfu
l,’ she prevaricated carefully.
He nodded. False modesty was obviously not one of his failings.
‘And happy?’ she added evenly.
‘Happy?’ He didn’t answer immediately, his eyes narrowing. ‘Happiness is such a fragile emotion, don’t you think? And not one I believe in, to be honest.’
‘No?’ She couldn’t help it, she had to know more. ‘So what do you believe in?’
‘Hard work, determination, wealth, success. The first two giving rise to the latter when combined with that magical element called luck.’
‘Right.’ She finished her cocktail and hoped the waiter would bring the watercress soufflé and wholemead bread she’d ordered for her starter very soon. She was feeling distinctly light-headed. She looked at her glass of sparkling champagne and knew she didn’t dare try even a sip until she’d eaten something. ‘So you’re a self-made man who enjoys his autonomy. Would that be a fair summing up?’ she asked calmly.
‘I dare say.’ His brow crinkled into a quizzical ruffle. ‘How about you? Are you a self-made woman who enjoys her autonomy?’
Self-made woman was on the grand side for her little tuppenny enterprise compared with Grey Cargo International, but Kay didn’t feel inclined to point that out right now. She nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘And is there a current boyfriend lurking in the background somewhere?’ he asked casually.
That would be the day. She’d had one or two dates in the last three years but only when she’d made it absolutely clear it was on a friends-only basis. Apart from the fact that she had no intention of introducing the odd ‘uncle’ to the twins, she simply didn’t want to ever get heavily involved with a man again, or at least not for the foreseeable future. Maybe when the twins were grown up and off her hands she might consider a relationship if the right man came along, but he would have to understand that the whole marriage thing, even a for-ever type commitment, was out of the question. She had gone there and done that, she had the mental and emotional scars to prove it. She would never give anyone power over her like that again.