Fire With Fire

‘Mr Harwood will see you now. Go up in the far lift,’ the receptionist directed in bored accents. Reminding herself that she was twenty-six years old and had just been offered the sort of job which ought to boost anyone’s self-confidence, Emma stepped into the lift and pressed the single button, hoping that the fluttering in her stomach was as a result of the upward surge of the lift rather than her own nervousness.

A secretary as elegant as the girl in the foyer was waiting for her; blonde hair immaculately in place.

‘This way please.’ She knocked briefly on a door and then held it open.

The room Emma walked into was enormous, with a panoramic view over the rooftops of London. The decor was almost austere; the rosewood desk huge; the Beber carpet underfoot a masculine blend of russets and browns.

‘Miss Court …’ He took advantage of her momentary consternation to ask mockingly, ‘I take it you did get the job? I shall look forward to seeing you on screen when the new programme goes out.’

She had recognised him instantly of course, but it had taken her several seconds to assimilate the fact that the man in the corridor of the television building and Drake Harwood were one and the same. Remembering his open sexual inspection of her, she felt her face burning with a mixture of tension and anger. He had obviously known then who she was. Tension sharpened her instincts. How had he known about the job though? She recalled the muted deference in her companion’s manner towards him and anxiety feathered along her nerves. If he wanted her to comment on the coincidence; on the fact that he knew about her new job, he was going to be disappointed. Exciting Fiona had called him, according to Camilla, and she could understand why. If ever a man exuded sexuality it was this one, she thought clinically. His hair was thick and dark, almost unruly as it grew low into his nape. Even seated he gave the impression of height and breadth. His suit was expensively tailored, discreetly dark and Saville Row, and yet it left an unmistakable impression of solid muscle and bone; a legacy from his early days working on building sites, she decided. His skin was olive toned and tanned, the bones shaping his face arrogantly masculine. Even without those green eyes she would have been wary of him. He was a man whose every movement revealed a raw pleasure in his masculinity; a man who would never consider a woman to be his equal, Emma thought drily.

‘Like what you see?’ His words left her in no doubt that he was aware of her scrutiny. Emma fought down the urge to snap back that she disliked everything about him, and said instead, ‘It’s always interesting to come face to face with the people one reads about in the press.’

‘Really?’ His eyebrows rose. ‘Surely you aren’t admitting that you succumb to hero-worship Miss Court. Somehow I can’t see you in that role.’

She wasn’t admitting anything of the sort and he knew it damn him. Angrily Emma suppressed an inclination to bite out that far from hero-worshipping, she was more likely to find herself criticising him, and reminded herself of the purpose of her appointment.

‘Quite a coincidence, our meeting twice in the one day.’

Emma had the distinct feel that he was toying with her in some way, playing a game which was giving him huge amusement and not a little masculine satisfaction.

‘They do happen.’ She was fighting to control her responses. Instinct told her she would need all her wits about her to match this man. ‘As you know from my letter, I wanted to discuss my sister with you. You may remember, she had a slight accident in your car.’

She had wanted to get him off the subject of her and on to the subject of Camilla and she had succeeded. His eyes sharpened, his eyebrows lifting tauntingly. ‘A slight accident? Is that how you describe theft and several thousand pounds worth of damage? Why hasn’t she come to see me herself?’

Not for the first time it crossed Emma’s mind that the whole thing might simply be a ploy to get to know Camilla better—on his own terms, with him calling the tune. He would demand that sort of relationship she guessed intuitively; he would derive satisfaction from knowing that he was the one in command. Well he might as well know from the start where he stood with Camilla.

‘She asked me to come because she doesn’t want her fiancé to know anything about what happened.’

If he was disappointed to learn that Camilla was engaged, he wasn’t showing it.

‘And what did happen?’ he asked softly. ‘I have wondered … The first I knew of anything was when the police rang me to say that my car had been involved in an accident. Quite a surprise, as you can imagine.’

‘Camilla attended one of your parties. It seems that she had rather too much to drink.’ She managed to say it quite calmly, but could not bring herself to look at him. ‘When she woke up in the morning and found herself in a strange bed, she panicked a little I’m afraid …’

‘She did? I wonder why,’ he mused sardonically. ‘I take it this strange bed contained no one other than herself?’

‘Not as far as I know.’ Let him make what he liked of that.

‘And this er … panic … motivated her into stealing my car.’

Stealing wasn’t the word Emma would have used, but she forced herself not to say so. ‘It was very early in the morning. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself by calling a taxi … I’m afraid she was in too much of a panic to think things through properly.’

‘Unlike her sister, who I’m sure never does anything without doing so.’ The way he said it, it wasn’t a compliment. ‘I take it this panic was on account of her fiancé. She doesn’t want him to know she spent the night at my house is that it? Seems an odd relationship to have with a prospective husband. Why is she marrying him?’

‘Because she loves him.’

His eyebrows really did rise then. ‘My, my, does she so … But not obviously to the extent of being able to tell him the truth.’

‘There are complications.’ Emma knew she sounded brusque. ‘They need not concern you. Camilla wanted me to ask you if you would be prepared to take instalment payments to cover the repairs to your car. She can’t afford to repay you in a lump sum. She simply doesn’t have that sort of money.’

‘But her fiancé does, presumably, otherwise she wouldn’t be marrying him.’

The cynicism in his voice prompted Emma to snap, ‘Yes he does, but naturally she wouldn’t want to ask him to lend her such a sum before they are married, if that’s what you were going to suggest. The repayments will include an interest element, if that’s what’s worrying you.’

‘No, it does not worry me Miss Court, since I’m not prepared to accept them.’ He got up and came towards her, surprisingly deft in his movements for such a tall man. ‘However, if your sister genuinely can’t repay me in cash, I am prepared to take another form of payment …’

He was watching her closely, and Emma burst out rashly, ‘If you think Camilla will agree to have sex with you in return for you dropping the charges, you’re way, way off course …’

‘And so are you,’ he told her smoothly, ‘the payment I was thinking of wasn’t so much your sister’s body in my bed, as yours… in my magazine.’

For a moment Emma genuinely thought she might faint. She looked at him, grey eyes dazed and disbelieving, hot colour running up under her skin as she realised he was perfectly serious.

‘Me? But … but I’m not a model, I don’t …’ She shook her head trying to sort out her muddled thoughts.

‘Don’t what,’ he mocked her, ‘take your clothes off for financial gain? But of course you don’t Miss Court, that’s what will make the fact that you’re featuring in the magazine such a sales booster. I’ve been looking for something to up our ratings, and you could be just the thing.’

He was prowling round her now, studying her, stripping the clothes from her body with a careless masculine arrogance that made her long to smack him.

‘Yes, I can see the captions now. Cool newsreader Emma Court, as you’ve never seen her before … except perhaps in dreams. It should make an extremely good feature.’

‘You must be mad!’

He laughed mirthlessly, ‘How predictable of you, somehow I had expected better. No, I’m far from mad Emma Court.’

‘You knew who I was this morning, didn’t you?’ she demanded furiously, remembering the way he had looked at her then, probably already anticipating this very moment.

He was coolly amused. ‘My dear girl, I knew everything there was to know about you ten minutes after I’d read your letter.’

Emma thought furiously. ‘Did you arrange for me to get that job …? Did you?’

He smiled infuriatingly, ‘How quick you are Emma, I like that in a woman, it saves so much tedious time wasting. What does it matter? You’ve got it haven’t you?’

‘And now you plan to use me to …’

‘I’m offering you what you came here for,’ he told her curtly, ‘if the terms of payment are unacceptable to you, you can always refuse …’

‘And if I do, you’ll sue Camilla?’

He shrugged. ‘Do I look like a man who’d let someone rob me of several thousand pounds and do nothing about it? Half the secret of being successful Emma Court is comprised of luck—pure and simple. I consider myself to be more lucky than most. The very day your letter arrived, I was trying to think of ways to boost the magazine’s circulation, bringing it a little more upmarket. I don’t know if you are aware of it, but a rival of mine has challenged me to beat his circulation figures.’

‘Yes, I am aware of it.’ Her response was terse. ‘But I can’t see how nude photographs of me …’

‘Of you, Emma Court, no,’ he agreed, interrupting swiftly, ‘but of you Emma Court, the new anchorwoman of “Newsview“, yes. On screen you project a very cool, remote image, Emma. I know, I’ve made it my business to watch you. A lot of men find that very … challenging. The fact that we are able to show them a different Emma …’

‘No!’ The denial burst past her lips before she could stop it, her eyes wide and haunted as she faced him. ‘I’d never agree to anything like that,’ she told him fiercely.

‘No?’ He picked up his telephone receiver. ‘Very well then, I’ll instruct my solicitors to continue with the charges against your sister and to ensure that they get as much media coverage as possible …’