Unchained Destinies

‘Try a charge like that and my lawyers will expose your background and your case will fall through,’ he said contemptuously.

‘I’m not trying it,’ she said, calmly taking one ladder at a time to the corridor outside.

Vigadó moved further into the room. ‘Then what the hell are you playing at?’ he asked with exasperation steaming from every word.

Mariann grinned to herself. She’d successfully captured his attention. Tycoons hated mysteries and they had to be in control. ‘I’m not playing. It’s not a game to me. I’m trying to make a livelihood,’ she said, weaving elements of truth into her answer. How could this be a game, when her job as editor depended on it? ‘I care passionately about my work. I’m just starting out and I need to get more experience—’

‘You will,’ he drawled. ‘With a body like that, you will, I can assure you.’

She ignored his taunt. ‘You have no reason to break the contract,’ she said with dignity. ‘We’ve worked darn hard, hour after hour without proper breaks, to get the job done fast. My arms ache, I’ve been inhaling paint fumes so I feel nauseous, I’ve spilled paint all over me and I’m fed up with your bad-tempered behaviour just because you turn up earlier than expected yet you want everything to be perfect!’ She risked an indignant glare. ‘Oh, no. Neither I nor the firm will be suing you!’

‘No?’ he prompted, his brows drawn together in puzzled lines.

‘No. you’ll be suing me,’ she said simply. And she picked up her Thermos flask and sandwiches with a purposeful air.

‘Wait a minute! I’m riveted, Tell me why and maybe we can short-circuit this proposed court appearance,’ he said drily.

‘Well, I’ll be telling my story to a newspaper, of course!’ she said, wide-eyed and artless.

‘You’ll what? Which story?’ He’d taken two quick strides and caught her beneath her armpits, lifting her in the air till she was Devel with his thunderous face. ‘Which story?’ he snarled.

‘Put me down and I’ll tell you!’ she gasped. ‘Unless you want a Thermos and a packet of cheese and pickle smashed over your head!’

‘Your hand wouldn’t get that far,’ he growled, but dumped her roughly on the floor nevertheless. ‘Speak.’

She stood her ground, whereas she would have preferred to move back from the alarmingly angry rise of his expanded chest. ‘I’d tell them the story I’ve just told you. How hard I’ve tried to please their home-grown whiz-kid’s imperious demands, slaving my fingers to the bone, going without sleep—’ She caught a malevolen flicker in his eyes and hastily scrapped the rest of her litany. ‘Basically, I’m going to appeal to the Hungarian people’s sense of fair play, and their empathy with people who work long hours, and tell them how badly you treat your employees—’

His hands stayed her. ‘Oh, no. I won’t let you do that. There are enough lies flying around about me as it is. I’m impressed,’ he said slowly. ‘No wonder you landed the job.’ Mariann kept her eyes lowered and held her breath. ‘What a clever woman you are! You do know how to get what you want,’ he murmured, tucking blonde strands behind her ear. ‘That kind of perseverance and dedication deserves some kind of reward.’

‘Oh!’ He was weakening! ‘You’re so right! I am relieved you see it my way at last!’ she cried happily, deciding to flatter him. ‘I knew there was a decent heart inside that ruthless exterior—’

‘Please,’ he protested mockingly. ‘You’ll ruin my reputation for tyranny.’

‘I won’t tell,’ she grinned. ‘And…I’ll do my best—’

“I’ll make sure you will,’ he said softly and smiled a thin, unnervingly venomous smile as though he meant to examine every inch of paintwork and pronounce judgement on it. ‘I can well imagine that you’re very good at your job. You can understand my suspicion. You’re the most unlikely-looking decorator I’ve ever seen.’

‘I know. It’s the outfit, isn’t it?’ she said innocently, catching his glance wandering hungrily over her bare legs again. The sultry expression in his dark eyes suggested he wanted to work his way up from her feet, tasting every inch of skin. She quivered and quickly suppressed the deliciously curling sensation that had come with that thought.

‘And your reason for dressing like that is…?’

‘Sweat!’ she said, hoping to kill all thoughts of sex— her own thoughts as well as his—with her bombshell directness. ‘If I don’t strip off the layers, I get overheated. Your offices are awfully hot with the central heating turned up all day and it’s too bitter outside to open the windows. I like fresh air. I’m a country girl myself, you see.’

‘Is that so?’ he stated flatly. ‘I had no idea the East End of London was considered to be the country.’

She gazed at him in consternation and then recovered herself. ‘It isn’t. My family live in Devon,’ she explained hastily. ‘Dad retired there.’

‘Is that how you got the job at Kastély Huszár?’ he queried in a tone of mild curiosity. ‘The English manager comes from Devon, I believe.’

She blinked. ‘Yes,’ she admitted, wondering what Vigadó would do if he knew ‘the English manager’ was her brother John! ‘You have to use all the contacts you can,’ she said disarmingly.

‘No doubt you’ve made some worthwhile contacts with my staff too,’ he purred.

‘Well, you see me here, so I suppose I did. So we can carry on working?’ she said, checking, just to be sure.

‘Shall we say…I would like you to turn up tomorrow?’ he replied carefully.

‘Oh! Wonderful! Th-ta!’ she cried in delight.

‘Not dressed like that, though,’ he drawled. ‘I’m sure my staff would be delighted if you clambered up and down ladders in those clothes, but I’d prefer them to keep their eyes and minds on their work.’

‘OK. I’ll wear overalls,’ she assured him earnestly. ‘I won’t even sing. Can’t say fairer than that!’

‘I was surprised to hear singing,’ he mused. ‘Most people only sing in the bath.’

Something in his tone brought a warm curling glow to her insides. She knew enough about men to realise that he’d look fabulous nude, the water gleaming on those pass and biceps…Her muscles tensed at the disturbing and tantalising image of soap-suds gliding down his narrow hips and she ruefully gathered up her hysterical hormones and confined them to barracks again.

‘I sing in the bath too. Got to keep our plastic ducks amused, haven’t we?’ She grinned, but her voice was creakier than it should be.

His slow glance sent unwanted shock-waves up and down her spine. ‘I prefer something a little more tactile,’ he replied huskily.

Several hormones went AWOL again. ‘Uh-huh. Loofahs.’ She nodded sagely and was rewarded with a flash of amusement in his dark eyes.

‘I do believe,’ he murmured softly, ‘that my jet-lag has suddenly vanished.’

‘Well, isn’t that nice?’ she cried merrily and then her brows drew together in a dark line. ‘Did you say jetlag?’ she queried in surprise. ‘Don’t whiz-kids fly Concorde?’

‘Naturally. But back-to-back meetings in Sydney, Hong Kong and New York take their toll nevertheless.’

Her hazel eyes were filled with well-simulated awe. ‘I’ve never talked to a tycoon like you before, she said in admiration, her mind working furiously. He’d relaxed a little and seemed willing to talk at last. She was more than willing to listen while she finished clearing away because she might break down the barriers between them. ‘Here. Have some coffee. A cheese and pickle sandwich,’ she offered, generously passing him the remains of her lunch before ferrying the equipment back into the room. ‘And tell me what you do at these meetings,’ she said earnestly as she did so. ‘Do you talk about sales figures and thump the table and gee people up?’

Declining the food, he hesitated before answering and, hoping to encourage him, she adopted an attitude of fascinated attention. ‘Mainly we were talking about authors,’ he replied casually.

Her body tensed with excitement. ‘Gosh! Isn’t that thrilling? It’s one heck of a glamorous world. I read historical novels,’ she told him eagerly, deliberately not choosing to mention the subject she was most interested in. ‘Do you do those?’

‘We “do” everything.’ His dark eyes flickered. ‘Travel books, reference, mystery and suspense, romance… sagas…’

To Mariann, there seemed to be an increasing tension between them, a waiting, as if each of them was assessing the other, circling, throwing a wary punch or two. And she knew she dared not pursue the avenue he’d left open to her. Every fibre of her being might be directed towards tracing saga-writer Mary O’Brien but this wasn’t the way to do it. She’d have to be patient till tomorrow.

‘Must make your eyes tired,’ she said sympathetically, ‘doin’ all that readin’. He smiled faintly. ‘Speaking of tired, my mum said I should never outstay my welcome so I’d better get my things on.’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ He shut the door and she was left gazing at its heavy panels, feeling a sense of anticlimax. It had all been easy after all. Too easy? Her brow furrowed in anxiety.

Trudging through the snow back to the Budapest Hilton a short distance away, she mentally reviewed her position. She thought she’d allayed his suspicions, but wasn’t sure. In the morning, she’d have to ask her two fellow decorators not to refer to the fact that she was ‘Viggy’s’ girl.

Despite her predicament, she had to smile. This was the kind of crazy, impossible situation she loved as a challenge to her ingenuity—though several times she’d felt she’d been sailing a little close to the wind!

Lionel rang her and she told him what had happened. ‘The next night, I’ll get that address if I have to set the office on fire and stay on to ransack the cabinet while the flames are leaping about my ears’ she joked.