The Alpha Male

‘Very original, Penny,’ the mayor affirmed. ‘I don’t know where you creative people get all your ideas!’

Hippy Dave had helped with this one, though she could scarcely tell the mayor that; for the spectacular centrepiece was none other than the dead tree that he had brought to her workshop that morning.

Penny had attacked it with a saw borrowed from Miles Clampett, had trimmed it into a more elegant shape, then had decorated the bare branches with birds’ nests—each nest containing a brood of fluffy ‘chicks’—gold and silver ribbon and flower buds on the point of opening. Artfully lit with concealed highlighters, it looked stark and exciting.

‘I think you can count on my patronage next year,’ the mayor murmured into Penny’s ear as she left. ‘Well done, Penny!’

And thus, Penny smiled to herself, had the humblest of the mayor’s flock contributed to the banquet in no small way. She could almost forgive Hippy Dave.

Tara had finished setting out the posies. It was now over to the caterers and the master of ceremonies. She got ready to leave, winding her scarf around her slender throat. It had been a long, cold day, and she was looking forward to getting back to her own nest.

With a final word to Tara, she slipped out of the banquet hall—and straight into a pair of strong arms that closed possessively around her slim frame.

‘Not so fast,’ Ryan said.

‘What are you doing here?’ she gasped, looking up into his face.

‘Your partner suggested I take a look at your work,’ he said smoothly. ‘So here I am. Now, show me what you’ve done.’

She disengaged herself from his arms, her face still tight from the unwelcome shock. ‘It’s no big deal, Ryan. Look all you want. I’m going home.’

‘In a moment,’ he growled, catching her hand, his fingers twining possessively through hers. ‘I haven’t finished with you yet.’

‘Let me go!’ she hissed, trying not to make a scene in front of everybody.

But he was leading her remorselessly back to the table. ‘Very pretty,’ he said, his grey eyes taking everything in with that swift way he had. ‘Not very original, considering what you’re capable of—but pretty.’

‘It’s a mayor’s banquet, not a gathering of your glittering London friends,’ she retorted, stung by his faint praise. ‘They wanted pretty, not original.’

‘But I see you were unable to totally squelch your creative instincts,’ he said. ‘There is one authentic touch. That dead-tree arrangement is inspired.’

‘You like that, do you?’ she said drily.

‘Fledglings and flower buds on dead branches. Very symbolic.’ He was wearing a jacket cut from buttery Italian leather, which fitted him like a dream and smelled delicious. She remembered it well—she’d chosen it for him in Milan, and had given it to him for a birthday. She also remembered what had happened after that—how he’d draped the jacket around her slim, naked shoulders, how he’d made love to her wearing that, and nothing else. ‘There’s an empty space in the entrance of Northcote Hall. An arrangement like that would go very well there.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said sweetly, ‘that piece is a one-off. I don’t repeat myself.’

‘Then think of something else,’ he said, his chiselled mouth quirking in a slight smile. She had always found his mouth devastatingly attractive, with its combination of authority and sensuality. As if he’d read her thoughts like a book, he bent his dark head and kissed her on the lips. The contact was electric, and she flinched. ‘Sorry,’ he said ironically, ‘did that hurt?’

‘You’re trespassing,’ she warned him.

He looked her over, taking in her less than elegant work clothes with a wicked smile. ‘Yes, I can see that you have “no trespassers” written all over you. Where were you skipping off to when I met you?’

‘Home.’

‘Good. I’ll come with you.’

‘You can’t!’ she exclaimed.

‘Oh? Why not?’

‘Somebody’s waiting for me there!’

One eyebrow lifted disdainfully. ‘That yokel who was pawing you this morning?’

‘Ryan, don’t do this,’ she said in a low voice. ‘We have nothing to say to one another.’

‘On the contrary,’ he said firmly. ‘There’s a great deal to be said on both sides. We need to talk, Penny. And we’re going to talk, whether you like it or not. We can talk here, in front of the mayor and her councillors. Or we can go somewhere more private. If you won’t take me to your place, then I’ll take you to mine.’

One glance at his face told her he meant it. She was not prepared to let him take her off to some unknown destination, so there was no choice.

‘I live around the corner,’ she said, capitulating.

‘And nobody is waiting for you there?’

‘No.’

‘Good,’ he replied. ‘Let’s get moving.’

They walked out into the cold evening air. It was already starting to freeze again, and Penny’s breath made a white cloud around her lips.

‘Why are you keeping up this charade about Northcote Hall?’ she asked him. ‘You don’t need to. Ariadne isn’t here to be impressed.’

‘It’s no charade,’ he replied.

She glanced at him sharply. ‘You mean you really are staying there?’

‘When I finally found out where you were hiding, I asked my people to find me a suitable rental as close to you as possible. A suburban bungalow would hardly suit my needs.’

‘Oh, hardly,’ she echoed with sarcasm. ‘The great Ryan Wolfe in a lowly semi-detached? Perish the thought.’

‘I meant only that I need to entertain. You know that. The people I work with are wealthy. They are used to things that—what was the word you used? Glitter. Northcote was the obvious choice. It’s been standing empty. The owners are desperate to sell. They’re renting it to me at a reasonable rate on the principle, “try before you buy”.’

‘The same principle you applied to me,’ she said brightly as they rounded the corner. ‘You’re such a good businessman, my dear. And oh, goodness, it looks as if your dashing sports car is parked right outside my house. I didn’t really need to tell you where I lived, did I?’

‘Why did you hide from me for so long?’ he asked her. ‘You’ve wasted a year of our lives, Penny. Do you have any idea how much effort and heartache I’ve invested in finding you again?’

She made no reply. His silver-grey car was indeed parked outside her front door. She walked past it and opened up. Ryan followed her into the dark interior.

‘Have you bought this place?’ he demanded as she switched on the light in the tiny hall.

‘I’m renting it from Ariadne’s sister.’ She knelt by the hearth and lit the fire she had prepared that morning. Flames licked swiftly around the logs. ‘It’s at the opposite end of the social scale from your Northcote Hall, but otherwise it’s exactly the same. It’s been standing empty for years and the owner is desperate to sell.’

‘You’ve made it beautiful,’ he commented, looking around at her décor.

‘My usual little touches of camouflage,’ she shrugged. ‘When the rising damp meets the sagging roof, I’ll have to move out.’

Ryan walked around the cottage, like a panther stalking round a new domain. He was looking at the paintings hanging on the walls and the sculptures that disguised ugly corners. He did not need to ask whether the art works were by her—by now he knew her style well enough.