Revenge By Seduction

‘I…I’m sorry.’

The deep, warmly resonant voice seemed to wash over her. ‘I’m not. You’re welcome. So far this has been the highlight of my day. You can drop into my arms any time you want.’

She was about to tell him resentfully that she was quite capable of standing on her own two feet, and that there was no need for him to clasp her so tightly, when she strained her head upwards and changed her mind. Strikingly handsome was the first thought that came to mind. Beneath dark, ironically tilted brows the eyes were a startling light grey, alive and sharply observant. It was a face which instantly evoked visions of romantic encounters under the starlit skies of far-off deserts. It was a face which would cause any woman’s heart to flutter nervously.

‘Are you hurt?’ he asked in concern.

The sound of that voice sent little shivers through her again, and she managed to shake her head. She could smell him in her nostrils. The faint hint of aftershave…the fresh, laundry smell of his blindingly white shirt.

The noise of the rush hour traffic dimmed in her ears and she was oblivious of the people jostling by to catch their buses home. She was alone with him in a pool of silence, struck dumb and absolutely smitten.

His eyes continued to stare down into hers, making her more dry-mouthed than ever. ‘With any luck that young thug will break a leg before he causes a serious accident,’ he remarked in annoyance.

At last she managed to say breathlessly, ‘Yes. It…it isn’t safe to walk the streets these days. Some people are so inconsiderate, aren’t they?’ Now that had been a really brilliant observation, hadn’t it? she thought. Why couldn’t she have thought of something witty, or at least more interesting to say? But it was hard to be cool and sophisticated when you were feeling hot and flustered. And he still hadn’t loosened his grip on her.

‘You look a little shaken and pale,’ he observed, then added in a voice which brooked no argument, ‘What you need is a brandy. Come on.’

Her lips opened in a half-hearted attempt to protest, but nothing came and she allowed herself to be led gently but firmly the few yards along the pavement to the nearest bar. It was not until she found herself being ushered into a seat at a secluded table in the lounge that she managed a nervous stammer. ‘I…I don’t like brandy. And I really don’t think…’

‘Whisky, then? I insist you have something.’ He eyed her paternally. ‘Purely for medicinal purposes only.’

She smiled weakly, overwhelmed by the charm and force of his personality. ‘All right, then. A small one. Glenlivet…and some mineral water, please.’ That was how the English tourists drank it at the harbour bar, much to the amusement of the locals, so it seemed the sophisticated thing to do.

He summoned a waiter, gave him the order, then sat down facing her. Reaching across the table, he introduced himself. ‘I’m Ryan Hind. And you are?’

‘Catriona McNeil,’ she murmured politely. His hand was firm and cool and sent a tingle up her arm.

He repeated her first name to himself softly, then smiled. ‘Very pretty. Suits you admirably.’

She was acutely aware of the way his sharp eyes were assessing her appearance, and the thought passed through her mind that a man like him would never have given her a second glance if he’d met her before Madge had taken her under her wing and given her some tips on style and fashion. It was Madge who supplied the clothes she wore, insisting that it had nothing to do with generosity and everything to do with the image of the shop.

At the moment she was wearing a loose-fitting pearl-grey jacket over a cream silk blouse, and her red hair had been groomed and styled to frame her face and fall in a languid curve to her shoulders.

His eyes continued to study her in a silence which she began to find more embarrassing by the second. Her wits seemed to be deserting her and her left leg had suddenly developed a nervous tremble. God knows what kind of impression she was making on him, she thought desperately. A half-witted schoolgirl could have done better.

‘It…it’s rather nice in here, isn’t it?’ she said, making a desperate stab at conversation. ‘I pass this place every day but it’s the first time I’ve ever been inside.’ Oh, God! If that was the best she could do she might be better keeping her mouth shut.

One dark eyebrow rose in obvious interest. ‘You live here in Chelsea, do you?’

‘Yes. Palmerston Court. It’s only a few minutes’ walk from here.’

He nodded. ‘I know it. A very exclusive and desirable property. I’ve been thinking of buying a flat there myself. I’m needing some place permanent. And you would definitely recommend it—as an investment, say?’

She was beginning to recover her scrambled wits. Could it really be possible that this gorgeous man was actually interested in her? It seemed unbelievable, and yet… She reviewed the past few minutes since they’d met. One moment she’d been strolling home, minding her own business, and the next she’d been thrust in-elegantly into his arms. It had been a highly unlikely start to a meaningful relationship, yet stranger things had happened. He could simply have smiled politely, released her and let her go without another word. But he hadn’t. He’d held her tightly, expressed concern, brought her here for a drink, asked her her name, paid her a compliment and found out where she lived. Now he was asking her advice! Oh, there was no doubt about it. This was Mr Right and no mistake. If this wasn’t love then why did she feel six inches off the ground?

He was still waiting for her answer and she gave a tentative self-conscious smile. ‘I don’t know much about property. You’d be better asking an expert.’

The suggestion brought a cynical smile to his lips. ‘There’s no such thing as an “expert” in the property business these days. I’ve always found that it pays to get your information from the people on the ground, as it were. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to show me over the place some time? Do you have a flatmate or…parents you’d have to ask?’

‘My parents live in Scotland,’ she said quickly, then added a little defensively, ‘I’m old enough to look after myself.’

He seemed amused. ‘I’m sure you are, Catriona. I admire a spirit of independence. So you live in London all by yourself, do you?’

At the moment, while Madge was on holiday, she did, and some devil within, urging her to project an image of maturity and self-reliance, made her keep silent about Madge. Thankfully she was spared the necessity of an outright spoken lie by the arrival of the waiter with their order.

Forestalling any further questions on that subject, she busied herself by daintily topping up her whisky from the bottle of mineral water.

The grey eyes watched her with amused interest, then he said with approval, ‘I’m impressed and pleased to see that you didn’t order some ghastly cocktail garnished with a paper umbrella. A nice malt whisky instead. You’re obviously a lady of discernment.’

The compliment gave her a warm glow. He said the nicest things…and with such sincerity. She was a lady. A lady of discernment, no less! And he had such lovely white teeth when he smiled. Oh, it was too much. He was bound to have a girlfriend somewhere. Quickly pushing that unwelcome thought aside, she raised her glass and sipped far more than she’d intended. Immediately she felt it go to her head. At least the water had quenched the fire of the spirit and she was mercifully spared the embarrassment of having a coughing fit.

‘Do you have many friends in Chelsea?’ he asked casually. ‘An attractive girl like you surely has a boyfriend or two.’

‘Oh, no,’ she assured him quickly. Perhaps too quickly. She paused and assumed an air of nonchalance. ‘At least nothing to write home about.’

‘So there’s no one special in your life?’

She shrugged. ‘Not really.’ Her heart was hammering away inside her chest.

‘London can be a very lonely place,’ he commented quietly. ‘You must have some kind of social life, surely?’

She didn’t want him getting the idea that she was some kind of stick-in-the-mud, a stay-at-home, so she said blithely, ‘Well, there’s the usual round of parties. You know what Chelsea is like. There’s always something going on.’

He grinned and seemed satisfied. Suddenly he glanced at the expensive gold watch on his wrist and she felt the stab of cold disappointment. He was going to finish his drink, make some excuse, then be on his way—and she’d never see him again. Was it because of something she’d said? Had he seen through her lies…even if they had just been little white ones?

What did a woman do at a moment like this? she asked herself desperately. Simply shrug off her disappointment? Console herself with the thought that he wasn’t meant to be the one, after all? Perhaps fate had someone else in mind for her, and that was a pity because she was quite willing to settle for him here and now. Given such a short acquaintance it might be foolish to imagine that she was hopelessly already in love, but how else could she explain this wild beating of her heart?

He still had that oddly penetrating and quizzical look in his eye when he asked suddenly, ‘Are you sure you’ve quite recovered, Catriona?’

She managed a bright smile. ‘Yes. I’m fine, thanks.’

‘Well, I’m glad to hear it.’ He gave a sigh of regret. ‘I’d love to sit here and chat all day and get to know you better, but I’m afraid I have to leave. I’m meeting a client back at my hotel in fifteen minutes.’

She knew it had been too good to be true. Somehow she contrived another cheerful smile. ‘Please don’t let me keep you from your work. You’ve been very kind and I appreciate it, Mr Hind.’

‘Good. Then perhaps you’d like to show that appreciation by having dinner with me this evening?’

She replaced her glass on the table, stared at it stupidly for a moment, then looked up to see if he was serious.

‘Th—this evening?’ she stammered.

‘In two hours’ time, to be exact,’ he said pleasantly. ‘But if that’s too short a notice for you I can arrange it for later.’

‘No!’ she said quickly. ‘I mean…I’m sure I can manage that.’

‘Good,’ he said briskly. Then with a devastating smile he added, ‘It’s been one of those days. Dinner with you will make up for everything.’

Her mind was racing ahead. What would she wear? Did she have anything remotely suitable for a dinner date?