Carole Mortimer Romance Collection

God, she was going to start giggling over the ridiculousness of the situation in a minute, the humour of the whole thing finally getting to her. And Lyon Buchanan didn’t look as if he would be impressed by that at all!

He was looking down at her with those cold grey eyes again now. ‘I’ll have your agency called and let them know my decision. When I’ve made one,’ he added pointedly.

And for the moment she would have to be satisfied with that, his tone clearly stated. Oh, well, she had tried; she certainly wasn’t going to grovel to this man—not even for the sake of her mother’s agency.

‘And you ought to go and see your doctor.’ Lyon Buchanan was talking to his uncle now as the older man turned to leave.

Henry looked irritated by the instruction. ‘Don’t fuss, Lyon,’ he dismissed impatiently. ‘As you so rightly said, it was just a question of “one bunny girl too many”!’ his humour returned, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he looked at Silke.

‘Nevertheless, I intend calling Peter Carruthers and making an appointment for you,’ his nephew told him determinedly.

Silke could see that Henry didn’t like the younger man’s arrogance one little bit—did any of them?—but he didn’t attempt to argue with him any further. She couldn’t help wondering if many people ever had during this man’s thirty-five or thirty-six years, or if that could be the reason he seemed to be a law unto himself?

‘Not you, Doug,’ Lyon Buchanan rasped now as his personnel manager would have followed them from the room. ‘I don’t believe we have finished our conversation.’

Silke felt sorry for Doug Moore—but that didn’t stop her hurrying from the room as Henry held the door open for her; she didn’t want again to become the focus of Lyon Buchanan’s displeasure.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t quick enough!

‘As for you, Miss Jordan—’ his voice was raised slightly as he halted her departure ‘—I suggest you go and cover yourself up as soon as possible.’

Her cheeks were fiery red as, after shooting him a look of resentment from flashing green eyes, she made good her escape.

Henry was chuckling as he closed the door firmly behind them.

Silke looked at him curiously, unable to see anything remotely funny about the situation.

‘No wonder there isn’t a woman in Lyon’s life at present,’ he explained his humour as they walked towards the lift. ‘I had always thought it was that he’d become so jaded because most of them were only after the Buchanan money and name. But on second thoughts I think it’s because he frightens them all away!’

Silke wasn’t in the least interested in Lyon Buchanan’s private life—or lack of it! As far as she was concerned, she never wanted to see the man again! And yet at the same time this elderly man’s description of Lyon’s cynicism where women were concerned evoked a very lonely life for the younger man. Although looking at him, the stern handsomeness of his face, his lithe body beneath the tailored suit, Silke couldn’t see him, jaded or not, being without some sort of female companionship in his life. And if he didn’t have a woman in his life it was obviously of his own choosing, so she certainly shouldn’t be feeling sorry for the man. My God, what did she have to feel sorry for Lyon Buchanan for? He was a man who had everything, looks, power, money. And if there was no woman in his life, as his uncle seemed to be claiming, then it had to be because he frightened them away!

‘Silke is a very unusual name, my dear,’ Lyon Buchanan’s uncle prompted softly as they made their descent in the lift.

She shrugged dismissively. ‘My mother chose it.’ It wasn’t something she had ever really questioned; it was just her given name.

‘It’s very pretty.’ Henry nodded, his expression thoughtful. ‘Your mother must be an unusual woman...?’

‘Unusual’ described her mother exactly, Silke acknowledged ruefully. She hadn’t met and married Silke’s father until she was twenty-seven, and before that time she seemed to have travelled the world, doing all sorts of casual jobs, having no responsibilities except to support herself. Which she seemed to have done quite capably.

Silke’s father had been a rancher in Colorado, and the marriage between the two only seemed to have lasted long enough for them to have produced Silke, after which Silke’s mother had gone off on her travels again, this time with Silke on her back. Silke’s relationship with her father had been nil once they had left the ranch, Jack Jordan seeming to have washed his hands of both of them once the decision to go had been made.

Silke’s childhood had been a succession of temporary homes and schools, until at thirteen her father had died and left her a legacy that enabled her mother to send her to boarding school. It was the first settled home Silke had ever known, and despite missing her wanderlust mother she had revelled in the stability she found there.

As her mother had revelled in her new-found freedom, travelling more than ever, always one step ahead of being tied down to any one place, or person. How long this agency would last, Silke had no idea, although she had to admit her mother seemed to find the variety of running an agency like Jordan’s Miracles exciting, and its success couldn’t be doubted, having gained a very creditable reputation in the year it had been open.

Silke couldn’t help wondering if that would still be true after today’s blunder!

‘Something like that,’ Silke answered the elderly man non-committally. ‘Look, thank you for the offer of a lift back to the agency.’ She turned to him once they were on the ground floor of the department store. ‘But—’

‘But you only accepted to put my nephew firmly in his place,’ Henry acknowledged ruefully, eyes twinkling sympathetically for the awkward situation she had found herself in—something Lyon Buchanan didn’t seem to appreciate at all! But then, why should he? As far as he was concerned, dressed as she was, she had just dragged his store down to a level he found intolerable.

A delicate blush darkened her cheeks at the elderly man’s astuteness. ‘I have to go and change into my own clothes before I leave, and—’

‘As Lyon instructed?’ Henry taunted softly.

Her chin went up defensively. ‘No, not as he instructed! I have no wish to be seen out in public dressed like this either,’ she added disgustedly.

Henry looked at her appreciatively. ‘I think it’s rather—fetching.’

She knew exactly what he thought, had been left in no doubt of that earlier. But his view of her appearance just enhanced her desire to be back in the comfort of her own clothes. ‘If you’ll excuse me—’

‘I’m going to wait for you, Silke,’ he told her firmly.

She frowned at his determined expression. ‘I don’t think—’

‘My car will be waiting outside for you, my dear.’ The laughter had gone from his eyes now as the impression of a flirtatious elderly man was erased by the intensity of his expression.

Silke looked at him frowningly. What a strange family these two men were; she couldn’t work them out at all.

But she did know that both of them were too fond of having their own way! This man’s car might be ‘waiting outside’ for her, but she had no intention of getting into it. They were too arrogant by far, both uncle and nephew!

She gave Henry a vaguely dismissive smile before disappearing off to the staff-rooms where she had left her own clothes when she had changed earlier.

She had never been so glad to get back into her own familiar denims and black jumper neatly tucked in at her waist, brushing her hair loosely about her shoulders in a silver-blonde curtain. If Lyon Buchanan had imagined she actually liked wearing that awful bunny girl outfit...!

The humour of the situation suddenly hit her, and she sat down on a chair in the staff-room as she succumbed to the laughter, easily able to imagine Lyon Buchanan’s apoplectic horror at finding a half-clothed woman cavorting around his store. My God, it was a wonder he hadn’t been the one to have the heart attack!

That particular part of it sobered her slightly. Henry Whoever-he-was—certainly not a Buchanan if his opinion of the Buchanan family was anything to go by!—really should go and see a doctor after collapsing in that way; she agreed with Lyon Buchanan over—

It was none of her business, she firmly admonished herself. Besides, she had no wish to agree with Lyon Buchanan over anything!

The fact that she almost walked into the man himself as she came out of the staff-room did nothing to settle her already jangled nerves; the last thing she wanted was another verbal shredding from Lyon Buchanan before she could make good her escape! But as he looked at her blankly with those metallic grey eyes, she realised he hadn’t even recognised her! Maybe he had taken more notice of the briefness of the bunny girl outfit than he liked to admit, after all!

But as those grey eyes suddenly narrowed in recognition, the sculpted mouth thinning, Silke knew she wasn’t going to escape that easily. Damn!

He came to an abrupt halt in front of her, still towering over her now that Silke was wearing flat black ankle boots. Not that it would have made a lot of difference if she were wearing the high-heeled shoes she had had on earlier; this man was at least a foot taller than her.

‘You seem shorter than I remember,’ he suddenly bit out. ‘Besides which, I didn’t recognise you with your clothes on.’

Silke gave an involuntary gasp at the outrageousness of the remark, looking about them self-consciously, knowing by the speculative smile being exchanged by two female shoppers a short distance away that the clear timbre of Lyon’s voice had reached them, at least. ‘Didn’t recognise you with your clothes on’, indeed! She hadn’t got away with the defiance of accepting his uncle’s offer of a lift, against this man’s obvious wishes, as lightly as she had thought she had...!

Her eyes flashed deeply green as she looked up at him, her hand tightly gripping the bag containing the costume that had caused her all this trouble in the first place. ‘Height doesn’t seem to matter when you’re lying horizontal, does it?’ She smiled up at him sweetly, challenge in her eyes now.

‘Touché,’ he drawled appreciatively, also aware of their audience, the two women having moved a little closer now on the pretext of looking at a rack of scarves near them, seemingly enthralled by the conversation. ‘Not in the least,’ Lyon spoke loudly enough for the two women to hear again now. ‘Shall we arrange a time for us to lie horizontal together again?’

This conversation, as far as Silke was concerned, was getting totally out of control! And it was so unexpected from a man who, minutes ago, had seemed so icily remote that a raging fire wouldn’t have melted that cold reserve. She was sure his uncle, a man who obviously knew him reasonably well, wouldn’t believe the humorous—albeit at her expense!—innuendoes of the conversation. But it was at her expense, and there could be no doubting that Lyon Buchanan was enjoying putting her at a disadvantage.

She moved closer to him, standing on tiptoe, giving the appearance of intimacy—very aware of their listening and watching audience. ‘Actually—’ she spoke conspiratorially, but still loud enough for the two women to hear ‘—while I found our last—encounter interesting, it isn’t one I want to repeat!’ She looked up at Lyon Buchanan triumphantly as she saw that the two women were now looking at him with open speculation, disappointment in their faces that a man who looked so virilely handsome should—apparently!—have been such a failure in bed. ‘Just my personal opinion, of course,’ Silke added with feigned apology, challenge returning to her eyes as she looked up at the now stony-faced Lyon Buchanan; he certainly didn’t like having the upper hand taken away from him!