A Woman Accused

‘Tell her to go.’ He jerked his head towards Dulcie, who was still gaping. He was all business now; something about the look in his eyes and the set to his mouth sent a chill up Olivia’s spine. ‘You and I have things to discuss, Miss Harris. I suggest we deal with them in private.’

‘Olivia? Should I—should I call the cops?’

Edward Archer, in the hands of the police! Oh, but the thought was tempting! But calling them would be a foolish indulgence, and Olivia knew it. Olivia’s Dream was on a quiet street; she’d spent a small fortune on discreet advertisements in The Times and a handful of pricey magazines, but one visit from a police car with its lights flashing and its siren wailing would bring down the kind of publicity her business might never live down.

Besides, every instinct warned that she should hear him out. There was a grim determination about him now; whatever had brought him here would have to be dealt with.

‘No, Dulcie,’ she said quietly, ‘that won’t be necessary. You just go on down to the showroom.’ It was hard to smile, but she managed. ‘We don’t want to miss any clients, do we?’

The girl’s mouth tightened. ‘I’m going to stay right outside the door,’ she said with a meaningful glower in Edward’s direction. ‘You call and I’ll come running.’

Olivia waited until the door swung shut. She looked down at her watch and then at Edward Archer.

‘You have one minute,’ she said coldly.

A muscle twitched in his jaw. ‘This is going to take a hell of a lot longer than that.’

‘One minute, Mr Archer. And so far, you’ve wasted almost five seconds.’

‘You’ve got your act together since we last met.’ She looked up. He was watching her narrowly, his eyes cool and assessing. ‘The Lady of the Manor thing, I mean. Very nicely done. I’m impressed.’

‘Nine seconds gone, Mr Archer.’

His lips drew back from his teeth. ‘And then what? Will you throw me out?’

‘Thirty-nine seconds left, and counting down,’ she said as she walked to her corner desk. She bent and riffled through the papers strewn across it. What did he want? Damn it all, what did he want?

‘Because we both know you won’t be able to do that.’ She went very still as she felt him come up behind her. His breath ruffled her hair. ‘I can overpower you,’ he said softly. ‘I can do whatever I want with you, Olivia, and we both know it.’

She felt her heart begin to race. One one thousand, she thought, two one thousand, three...

When she was certain she could face him without trembling, she turned around.

‘Does trying to intimidate me make you feel good?’ she asked quietly.

His mouth twisted. ‘You know damned well that isn’t what I was doing.’

‘Because if that’s how you get your kicks, Mr Archer...’

She caught her breath as his hands clasped her shoulders. His fingers were hard on her flesh; she felt their touch in the marrow of her bones. His eyes swept over her face and fastened on her mouth.

‘Have you thought about me?’ he asked.

‘No,’ she said quickly. Too quickly; even she knew that.

His hand rose and lightly encircled the nape of her neck, the fingers sifting into the loose knot of silken hair pinned at the back of her head. She felt strands of it fall free and drift to her shoulders.

‘I’ve been thinking about you, Olivia.’

His voice was soft, like the caress of his fingers against her skin. She felt herself sway a little, just a little, as if his stroking fingers were mesmerising her.

‘Actually,’ she said, ‘I have thought about you, Mr Archer. I’ve had nightmares that you might turn up in my life again and be even more rude than you were the last time.’

He smiled. ‘I think about you at night, when I lie in my bed.’ His voice grew soft and rough with promise. ‘I imagine you naked, in my arms, your hair spread like a dark cloud across my pillow.’

Her heart gave an unsteady thump as she tried to break away from him. ‘You have no right—’

‘I remember the smell of you, and I wonder what you taste like.’ She gasped as he drew her closer. ‘You wonder too, Olivia. I can see it in your eyes, feel it in the way your body heats under my hand.’

‘You’re crazy,’ she said. Her voice was cool, so cool. But her skin felt hot and flushed.

‘Sometimes I can almost hear you cry out my name as I touch you.’

A picture flashed into her mind. She saw herself in his arms, trembling under his caresses, straining towards him in the heat of desire, and an emotion she could not identify raced through her blood.

‘Never,’ she hissed, ‘not in the next million years. Not if you were the last...’

His hands fell away from her so suddenly that she fell back against the desk.

‘Be careful what you say, darling.’ His voice had gone as cold as his eyes. ‘You can never tell when you may just need the last man on earth.’

Olivia raised her hands to the back of her head. They shook as she tried to smooth back her hair and re-pin it.

‘I’d never need anything from you,’ she said in a shaky voice. ‘Not as long as I have—’

‘Sweet old Charlie.’ An ugly smile twisted across his mouth. ‘What a touching sentiment, Olivia.’

Not as long as I have two hands to work with, she’d been going to say. But why should she defend herself to Edward Archer? Her chin rose in defiance.

‘It is, isn’t it?’ she said evenly. ‘And now, Mr Archer, if you’ll get to the reason you came here—’

‘Sweet old Charlie is dead.’

The words were bluntly delivered. Olivia smiled uncertainly. ‘What did you say?’

His eyes fixed on her face. ‘You heard me, sweetheart. Charlie is dead. Kaput. He’s history.’

Olivia blinked. Dead? No, that was impossible. She had seen Charles just last night, only for a few minutes when he’d come to pick Ria up at the Plaza after they’d had their drinks, and he’d been fine, just fine.

He laughed unpleasantly. ‘Hell, at least old Charlie died a happy man.’

‘Charles Wright?’ she said stupidly.

Edward’s lip curled. ‘The late Charles Wright, my dear. How many other Charlies are there in your life? Maybe we ought to give ‘em numbers. Charlie One, Charlie Two—’

Dead. Charles was dead. Ria, she thought, oh, Ria...

‘Is he really dead?’ she whispered.