She was fully occupied for the next twenty minutes with introductions and ensuring that all the guests were supplied with drinks and canapés. Her initial duties completed, she helped herself to a mineral water and surveyed the room, which was beginning to reverberate with bright, brittle voices. How she loathed all this, inwardly despising herself as she mouthed the expected, insincere platitudes to those around her. To the young ambitious men with their carefully selected girlfriends and fiancées, to the other men with chic, bejewelled women on their arms, who had already achieved success and status. But at what cost to their wives and families? Mike pondered.
Her attention fell on a smooth-faced middle-aged man, his arm draped around a curvaceous brunette. She frowned. She'd liked his wife, a sensible, unpretentious woman who had finally decided that she no longer wanted to play second fiddle to a balance sheet and a succession of young mistresses.
Mike glided towards him, smiling sweetly. 'How's Mary?' she enquired innocently. 'And the girls? Susan must be nineteen by now.' About the same age as the young woman by his side.
She felt a brief, transitory satisfaction as she witnessed the discomfort on his face and then shame engulfed her. She watched him move hurriedly away from her, appalled by her childish conduct. Her father would be furious if he ever learned that she'd deliberately contrived to embarrass one of his business associates. What right did she have to judge someone else, anyway? Would she ever learn to control that impulsiveness—an impulsiveness that she nearly always came to regret later on?
'Ever considered applying for the Diplomatic Service?'
She swung round, disconcerted to find Luke Duncan studying her with inscrutable dark eyes. How long had he been standing there eavesdropping? she wondered disdainfully.
'No. Unfortunately I don't possess your innate subtlety and tact,' she murmured icily. She started to move away when someone inadvertently pushed her from behind, and she was propelled forwards. Strong, male fingers closed over her bare arm to steady her.
'Clumsy idiot. Are you all right?'
'Perfectly, Mr Duncan, thank you,' Mike said haughtily. No, she wasn't all right. Her throat felt tight and her legs were shaky. In order to make himself heard over the steadily increasing noise level, he'd bent his head down towards her. The stubborn line of his jaw was on a level with her eyes, the straight, decisive mouth a few inches higher. The scent of expensive male aftershave assailed her senses. Memories of last night curdled and erupted in her head.
'May I have my arm back?' she said lightly, her casual tone giving no indication of that quite illogical upsurge of panic. She felt the pressure of his fingers ease as he relaxed his hold, and, thankfully, she made her escape.
She forced herself to mingle with the other guests, smiling brightly, bluffing with practised ease when she couldn't recall someone's name, dutifully admiring the other women's gowns. She deliberately gave Luke Duncan a wide berth, some sixth sense seeming to alert her to his whereabouts, even when he wasn't in direct vision. At the moment, he was facing her across the room, surrounded by people yet curiously apart from them, present physically, but mentally isolated, an expression of utter world-weariness in his eyes. Mike felt a mounting annoyance. If he was so bored, why had he bothered to accept her father's invitation? He could at least pretend to enjoy himself.
Even more irritating was the fact that his remoteness and air of indifference seemed to send out a direct challenge to virtually every woman in the room to be the one he noticed. In a room full of wealthy, successful, good-looking men, it was he who drew and held female eyes. Usually it was Daniel Harrington who commanded all the attention on such occasions, but tonight he had been well and truly usurped. No wonder Luke Duncan was so impossibly arrogant and self-assured, Mike thought with a viciousness that startled her. He didn't even have to try and be amusing or pleasant—he just stood there, cold and aloof, and women were drawn to him like mindless moths.
She wasn't unduly surprised to find that Christina had managed to seat herself next to him at the dinner table. She herself was at one end of the rectangular table opposite her father and, from her vantage-point, she had a clear view of all the diners.
Christina, she observed with a mixture of exasperation and amusement, was smiling up at Luke Duncan with wide, flirtatious eyes, seemingly determined to gain and keep his attention. As the soup dishes were whisked efficiently away amid murmurs of appreciation, Christina placed a small, soft hand on his arm and murmured something in his ear. Transfixed, Mike watched in disbelief as Luke Duncan threw back his head and laughed. His whole face was transformed, the lines of cynicism erased, his teeth white and even against the tan of his skin, his eyes crinkling at the corners, appearing blue instead of that chilling grey. He was smiling down at Christina now, looking more relaxed than Mike had ever seen him, an expression of amusement etched on his face. How on earth had her half-sister managed to break through that icy reserve? Mike wondered incredulously. She was caught completely off guard as Luke Duncan abruptly turned his head towards her, as if sensing her scrutiny. The smile vanished from his lips. For one imperceptible second, Mike's eyes were locked into his, and as she stared into the deep, dark unfathomable depths she felt an inexplicable frisson of unease and foreboding crawl across her skin.
'Thank you very much, sir. Goodnight.'
Mike stood by her father's side on the wide front doorstep, watching as the last of their guests departed. Judging from the lateness of the hour, the evening had been a success.
'Bright young man, that. He'll go a long way.' Daniel Harrington commented as he shut the front door. 'You could do a lot worse than Philip Dawson, Michaelia. I'll invite him over to lunch one Sunday.'
Mike smiled vaguely, too weary to argue, wondering if her father would ever give up parading his idea of eligible, suitable young men before her as if she were at a public auction. If—and it was a very big if—she ever did decide to marry, it would be to someone as far removed as possible from any of the men who had been present here tonight. It would be to a man who respected her as an individual and an equal, to a man who didn't regard marriage as little more than one more strategic career move, the acquisition of yet another asset in the form of a resident hostess and mother of future heirs. Mike shook herself mentally. Why was she thinking about marriage, even in the abstract? The very last thing she wanted to complicate her life at the moment was an involvement of any kind—let alone a husband.
'I'm just going to check everything's all right in the kitchen, and then I'm off to bed,' she murmured. 'Goodnight, Daddy.' She supposed that she ought to have returned to the drawing-room to wish Luke Duncan a courteous goodnight too, she thought a few moments later as, stifling a yawn, she made her way upstairs. Still, she doubted that he would notice the admission.
'Mike, wait for me.'
She paused on the landing as Christina came bounding up the stairs behind her.
'Guess what?' she whispered hoarsely, her face aglow with excitement. 'Luke's asked me to go to a concert with him tomorrow night.'
Mike blinked, pushing her door open. 'A pop concert?' she said doubtfully, fully acquainted with Christina's taste in music, but unable to imagine Luke Duncan attendant at such a venue.
'Course not. It's some orchestra or other. At the Albert Hal!.' Christina followed her into the sitting-room.
'But you don't know anything about classical music.' Mike kicked off her shoes with relief.
'I like the 1812 Overture,' Christina said defensively, 'and ...' she searched for inspiration '...that tune Torvil and Dean used to skate to.'
'Ravel's Bolero,' Mike put in helpfully, going into her bedroom and starting to remove her make-up with cold cream.
'Mmm.' Christina danced in after her. 'What dress shall I wear? That new black one, I think. And I'll put my hair up, too.' She heaved a dreamy sigh. 'He's so wonderful, those gorgeous eyes... Did you know he's got an apartment in Paris and Geneva as well as New York? And a house in --'
'Chrissy,'
Mike cut in, sensing that if she didn't make a firm stand this was going to develop into a long session, and the thought of staying up half the night, hearing Luke Duncan's virtues being extolled, was enough to make her wince. 'I really must get some sleep.'
'The trouble with you, Mike, is that you've become utterly boring. You're not interested in anything but that stupid airline.' Christina flounced from the room and slammed the door shut behind her.
Mike pulled a rueful face, not unduly concerned by the exit, accustomed to Christina's minor tantrums by now. Had she become boring...? So boring that Luke Duncan found her younger half-sister's company infinitely more entertaining than her own? That line of thought was ridiculous. The only interest she wanted Luke Duncan to evince in her was a purely professional one. She frowned. Christina had been right to a degree, though. Kingston Air did occupy a great deal of her thoughts at present. But then she'd always had a tendency to be single-minded, even as a child, throwing herself body and soul into whatever currently occupied her interest. Mechanically she finished her preparations for bed and slipped in between the sheets, switched off the bedside lamp and stared up into the darkness. Wasn't that fundamental characteristic partly the reason why she'd deliberately shied away from any emotional involvements in her life? Because deep down she had the uneasy suspicion that if she ever did fall in love it would be with the same single-mindedness that she did everything else, and the idea of her personal happiness being totally dependent on one man was intolerable?
She turned over and pummelled her pillow into a more comfortable shape, but, tired as she was, sleep perversely continued to elude her. Her mind was too active, retracing the events of the day with depressing clarity. Christina and Luke Duncan... their linked names kept whirling around in her head. She flicked her eyes open again. Luke Duncan was far too old for Christina, not merely in years, but in experience.
Despite her contrived air of sophistication and worldliness, Christina was the product of a strict, single-sex boarding-school and Daniel Harrington's rigid, hypocritical double standards. Her conversation might revolve around men, but her actual experience of them was virtually nil. With her immature, romantic notions of love, she would be an easy prey to a man like Luke Duncan. Mike's hands clenched into fists under the bedclothes. If he hurt Christina in any way, she'd... Do what exactly? She started to grin. She didn't normally have this propensity for melodrama! Why did she feel so disturbed and wound up inside? Luke Duncan was only taking Christina to a concert, for goodness' sake. The unwanted image of a pair of dark, unsmiling eyes swept into her head and with great determination she began to think of endless sheep jumping over a five-barred gate.
The insistent peal of the alarm clock summoned Mike to wakefulness as the first rays of dawn filtered into the bedroom. Bleary-eyed, she scrambled out of bed and padded towards the bathroom, emerged a short time later and dressed rapidly in a pair of faded jeans and an old sweatshirt, pulling a pair of dark green overalls over the top. She brushed her dishevelled hair absently, quickly removed the nail polish she'd forgotten the night before, and crept quietly from the room and down the stairs, careful not to disturb the remainder of the somnolent household.
She could smell the aroma of grilled bacon as she reached the hall and sighed. Despite her repeated assertions that she was quite capable of getting her own breakfast when she was on early shift, Cook still insisted on rising to prepare it.
She pushed open the door of the small breakfast-room that adjoined the kitchen and faltered at the unexpected sight of the dark-haired figure sitting behind the round table, sipping a cup of tea. What was Luke Duncan doing up at this hour? Mike wondered irritably, never at her best in the morning. She absorbed the black tracksuit he was wearing and her mouth curled disdainfully. He was probably one of those nauseating individuals who ran a couple of marathons before breakfast, rounding it off with a strenuous work-out in the gym. He certainly looked strong and fit enough to do so, she admitted reluctantly, surveying the long, muscular frame.
'Morning,' she grunted, moving into the room.
He turned his head, his gaze moving slowly over the mop of unruly copper curls, the freckled face devoid of all make-up, and rested on the shapeless, ill-fitting overalls that couldn't quite conceal the feminine lines beneath.
'I'm going to work,' Mike said shortly, forestalling any caustic comments on her appearance, refusing to admit to that increasing regret that she hadn't at least applied a touch of lip gloss.
'Really?' He raised a dark eyebrow. 'Dressed like that?'
She looked at him calmly. 'I'm a licensed aircraft engineer.' The knowledge that she'd actually managed to disconcert the powerful, assured Luke Duncan was immensely satisfying. He'd had no idea at all, she realised, glimpsing the astonishment in his eyes. But then why should he? She'd deliberately chosen not to tell him for reasons she couldn't wholly understand, and her father most certainly wouldn't have enlightened him. Daniel Harrington preferred as few people as possible to know that, despite his fierce opposition, his eldest daughter had elected for a career which necessitated spending her working life clad in unflattering overalls with grease and oil all over her hands.
She poured herself a cup of tea and smiled her thanks as Cook appeared with a laden plate and set it before her, conscious all the while of Luke Duncan watching her intently.
'And does your mechanical expertise extend to hire cars?' he enquired conversationally as soon as they were alone again.
Mike swallowed a piece of grilled tomato. So he'd finally put two and two together. 'Hire cars?' she repeated innocently, meeting the grey eyes evenly.
'Damsel in shining armour,' he murmured thoughtfully.
Mike frowned. 'How many letters?' She badly wanted to burst out laughing and it took every ounce of self-discipline to keep her face straight.
'Nine. Begins with M and ends in A.' There was the suspicion of a grin at the corners of the straight mouth, a glint of amusement in the dark eyes, and Mike felt her stomach dip, the sheer force of his attraction gripping her without any warning.
'Give up?' He rose to his feet and moved around the table.
Her breakfast forgotten, Mike's whole attention was concentrated on the figure looming over her. She dared not look directly into his face until she'd regained her composure and instead found her gaze resting on the unsettling expanse of tanned skin, liberally covered with fine dark hairs, revealed at the open neck of his tracksuit.
'Shall I give you a clue?' Stooping, he placed a firm hand under her chin, and slowly and deliberately lowered his head down towards her. Violently, Mike jerked back her chair, recoiling from the touch of that hard, fierce, expert mouth against her own.
'So it was you!' Mocking grey eyes surveyed her flushed, agitated face with ill-disguised satisfaction. 'You weren't driving the Porsche,' he added thoughtfully, moving away from her and returning to his chair.
'No.' How immensely flattering to know that the car would have made a more lasting impression on him than she had done. 'I'd borrowed the Mini from the garage where the Porsche was being serviced.' She didn't want to talk about the subject any longer, didn't even want to think about it. Deliberately she resumed eating her breakfast, feeling as if every mouthful would choke her, but determined that Luke wouldn't suspect just how rattled she felt. When had she started thinking of him by his first name?
'I assume by his silence on the matter that your father isn't too enthralled with the fact that you make a living as a grease monkey?'
Mike flung down her knife and fork, gold flecks sparkling in her hazel eyes as she surveyed the figure leaning back casually in his chair. 'A grease monkey?' she flared. 'It takes longer to train an aircraft engineer than a pilot. I'm hardly a...' She stopped as she saw the expression on his face. He had quite deliberately been trying to provoke her—and he had succeeded, she admitted with a reluctant grin. 'No, he isn't,' she murmured, answering his question. Why had she never noticed before just how sensuous was the line of that firmly c
hiselled mouth? And why did that thought have to occur to her now of all times?
'And his opposition made you ever more determined to go ahead with it?' He quirked a dark eyebrow at her.
She was disconcerted by his astuteness. 'Partly,' she admitted. She had served her long apprenticeship with a major airline at Heathrow and there had been numerous times, particularly during the first arduous year, when she'd been tempted to chuck it all in, but pride had kept her going, the thought of having to admit failure, not just to her father but also to Matthew, the only person who had ever supported and encouraged her, inconceivable.
'And now you've decided to be equally stubborn about Kingston Air?'
Mike raised her head and gazed at him serenely. She wasn't going to bite this time.
'Why don't you just give up?' If she was stubborn, she had met her match in this man, she thought wryly. 'I made my decision a month ago when I handed in my notice at work. I'm hardly going to change my mind at this stage. So why don't you simply accept that you'll never have complete control of the airline?'
He leant back even further in his chair, linked his hands behind his dark head and surveyed her with narrowed eyes.
'Of course there is one option left. I could always ask you to marry me.'
CHAPTER THREE
'You could,' Mike agreed evenly, placing her knife and fork together on her plate.
'Imagine the damage to my male ego if you rejected me though,' Luke continued gravely.
'Doesn't bear thinking about,' she retorted drily, desperately trying not to burst into laughter. The idea of anyone or anything managing to even superficially scratch—let alone dent—Luke Duncan's ego was ludicrous. As ludicrous as this present conversation. 'I gather you're fully acquainted with the terms of my grandfather's will.'
'In the event of your marriage, half your shares in Kingston Air are to be transferred to your husband,' he summarised succinctly and frowned thoughtfully. 'I wonder what prompted Matthew to add such an extraordinary codicil.'
An Unequal Partnership Page 4