Charade Of The Heart

‘Here at last. In my office. Now.’

She swivelled around to see him vanishing back into his room, and her head began to throb with nerves.

One day into this, and already things weren’t going to plan. He was not supposed to be here today. He was supposed to spend most of his time out of the country. In fact, from what Laura had told her, he was supposed to be in Paris and Geneva until the end of the week. At least. So what on earth was he doing here?

She licked her lips nervously and wished that she had listened to her good sense and laughed her sister right out of town.

He was standing by the window waiting for her, his body negligently leaning against the sill, one hand thrust into his trouser-pocket.

The difference between the man in front of her and the one she had conjured up was so vast that she looked away in confusion.

Marcos Adrino was tall and, far from having a paunch, he had not a spare ounce of fat to be seen. In fact, he had the body of a superbly tuned athlete, broad-shouldered and lean-hipped. A body that looked powerful, even though it was covered by an expensively tailored charcoal-grey suit.

Beth cleared her throat and looked at him, taking in the hard, clever lines of his face, the black hair, the dark, penetrating eyes, the curve of his mouth.

Pull yourself together, girl, she told herself. You’re the sensible one, remember?

He was staring at her through narrowed eyes.

‘Sit down,’ he ordered abruptly.

Beth edged over to the chair and sat down, lowering her eyes to her shorthand pad, making an effort to steady her hand.

It wouldn’t do to look ill-at-ease. She got the feeling that this man picked up things like that, processed them through his shrewd brain, and always came up with the right answer.

He remained standing where he was and she looked up at him with a bright smile.

‘I didn’t expect you,’ she said in a businesslike voice.

‘I dare say you didn’t,’ he drawled.

‘Successful trip?’

‘It would have been, if I hadn’t been privy to certain rumours circulating.’

‘Rumours?’

She managed a weak smile.

‘Rumour number one has it that you’ve been shirking your responsibilities here,’ he said coldly. ‘I don’t pay you to waltz into this office any time you feel like it.’

Beth gathered her wits together. This wasn’t a dictating session at all. She should have guessed that the minute she saw that forbidding expression on his face.

‘I didn’t realise that I had been,’ she ventured.

‘Really.’ He moved over to his chair and sat in it, inclining back, his hands clasped behind his head. ‘In that case, you don’t seem to be aware of the time you’re supposed to get here. I can assure you that it’s not ten o’clock.’

His voice was smooth and razor-sharp, and Beth looked at him with dislike. She had been spot-on when she had read arrogance behind her sister’s description of her boss. It was stamped all over him, but she was damned if he was going to stamp it all over her.

‘If I’ve been late on a couple of occasions,’ she said coolly, ‘than I apologise. It won’t happen again.’

‘It had better not. You’ve exhausted your first chance with me. Next time it happens and you don’t provide an acceptable excuse, you’re out. Understand?’

Beth swallowed her anger.

‘And what excuse would you consider acceptable?’ she asked with interest, forgetting that she was supposed to be holding on to her sister’s job and not kissing it sweet goodbye through the window. ‘Death, perhaps?’

Marcos’s mouth narrowed to a thin line.

‘Nor do I pay you to give me lip, is that clear?’ He stared at her and Beth defiantly met his gaze.

‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered, fiddling with her pad.

This man was more than merely uncomfortable to be around. He was unbearable, and if Laura had been around she would quite happily have strangled her on the spot.

‘Have you prepared the groundwork on the St Lucian project?’ he asked, changing the subject.

He was trying to catch her out. Beth could sense it instinctively and she thanked her lucky stars that Laura had filled her in on all the details of the major jobs he was working on.

The St Lucian project involved an immense lot of work concerning the construction of an exclusive complex in St Lucia, the sort of complex that catered for the sort of people who never associated holidays with cost.

‘Yes,’ she responded calmly. ‘The groundwork’s all been covered and an appointment with the Minister of Tourism is scheduled for next week.’

It felt good to reel off the right answer. Marcos Adrino would have had no hesitation in reducing her to the size of a pea had she not been able to meet his question with an adequate response.

She got the feeling that he had no compunction when it came to eliminating dead wood from his company. Or, for that matter, from his life. She considered what her sister had told her about his private affairs, about the women who were drawn to him like iron filings to a magnet. Now, seeing him, she realised that he was the kind of man who treated women as disposable playthings. Men, she thought, she could well do without, and this breed of man was particularly on the objectionable list.

‘I do feel, however,’ she said, throwing in her own opinion on what Laura had told her about the project, ‘that more care should be taken to involve the visitors into the island life. A fabulous complex is one thing, but it can be enhanced by easy access to the local customs.’

‘You have opinions now, have you?’ he asked softly. ‘And since when has your efficiency extended beyond my orders?’

Beth didn’t answer. She would have to remember to act in character, and Laura would never have volunteered such an observation without being asked.

‘Is that all?’ she murmured, preparing to leave. ‘Sir?’

‘The name is Marcos,’ he answered easily, ‘use it. You always have. And no, as a matter of fact, that’s not all. Not by a long shot.’

Beth waited and the silence built around her like an electric field.

He had something else to say, and, from the sound of this particular brand of silence, whatever it was it wasn’t pleasant.

CHAPTER TWO

NEVER IN HER ENTIRE LIFE had Beth felt so acutely ill at ease. And the worst part was, Marcos Adrino wasn’t at all embarrassed at her discomfort. He continued to stare at her, those black eyes taking in absolutely everything, until she felt like jumping up from the chair and begging for forgiveness for whatever the hell it was she was supposed to have done, because he still hadn’t said.

He would have made a great interrogator, she thought. He certainly had the ability to fill his silences with unspoken threat.

‘I’ve been hearing other, slightly more distasteful rumours about you,’ he broke the silence, but there was still a dangerous softness to his voice. He idly picked up the silver letter-opener from his desk, running the edge along his finger with caressing delicacy.