Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Copyright

“Niall, what part of ‘no‘ did you not understand?”

The coolness of Saffron’s tone got through to him, and she saw a dark scowl cross his face.

“The word ‘no’ I understand perfectly,” he declared harshly. “What I can’t get my head around is why you’re using it when you don’t really mean it.”

Then, as she gasped in shock and fury at the arrogance of his words, he shrugged his broad shoulders dismissively and shook his dark head.

“But you did, and so I’ll just have to accept that you obviously don’t know your own mind as well as I do mine. All right, Saffron—I can wait.”

KATE WALKER

was born in Nottinghamshire, England, but because she grew up in Yorkshire she has always felt that her roots were there. She met her husband at university and she originally worked as a children’s librarian, but after the birth of her son she returned to her old childhood love of writing. When she’s not working, she divides her time between her family, their three cats and her interests of embroidery, antiques, film and theater, and, of course, reading.

No Holding Back
Kate Walker

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

SAFFRON pushed open the office door and sighed with relief when she saw that the room beyond was empty. Having come this far, she didn’t want to be put off by the sight of Owen’s elegant secretary, and she didn’t know what explanation she could have given that would have persuaded Stella not to buzz through to her employer to let him know that she was there. Everything would be spoiled if he had any warning of her presence.

And she didn’t want to risk the possibility that she might lose the impetus that had driven her so far, the wonderful, liberating rush of anger that had pushed away any thought of doubt or hesitation. She had nurtured that feeling ever since last night, since the moment it had become obvious that Owen was not going to turn up. Then, her mood had been so bad that simply recalling it now brought a red haze of fury up before her eyes, pushing her into action as, without bothering to knock, she flung open the door and marched into the office beyond.

‘You’ll know why I’m here!’

The man seated at the desk had his dark head bent, his attention directed at some notes that he was making on a pad in front of him, but Saffron barely spared him a glance. She wouldn’t have been able to see him too clearly anyway, that mist of anger blurring her vision so that he was just a dark, indecipherable shape. Her fingers shaking with the intensity of her feelings, she tugged at the buttons on her coat, vaguely aware of the fact that, surprised by her appearance, he had glanced up sharply.

‘You promised me a special night out——’

Her voice wasn’t pitched the way she had wanted it to be, pent up emotions making it too high and tight.

‘“Aspecial night for a special girl”, you said! I waited for you for over three hours——’

That was better. Now she sounded more confident, stronger altogether, the sort of woman people would take notice of.

‘But you couldn’t even be bothered to phone—to explain. Well, that’s your hard luck!’

She certainly had his attention now. His stillness, the way he sat upright, his hand still gripping the pen, told her that. But she couldn’t look him straight in the face or she would lose her nerve. The last button on her coat came undone and she drew a deep, gasping breath.

‘I just thought I’d let you know that this is what you turned down——’

As she spoke, she flung open the trenchcoat, revealing the skimpy scarlet silk basque, laced up the front in black, the matching provocatively small panties and the delicate, lacy web of a suspender belt that supported the sheerest of stockings on her long, slender legs which tapered down to bright scarlet leather sandals, their spiky heels giving her five feet eight a further impressive three inches.

In the stunned silence that followed her dramatic gesture, Saffron finally found that her eyes would focus at last, and she turned a half defiant, half teasing look on the man at the desk. Only to recoil in shocked horror as her eyes met the contemptuous, coolly assessing stare of a pair of light grey eyes—eyes that in their silvery paleness bore no resemblance to the bright blue gaze she had expected to see.

This wasn’t Owen! She had never even seen this man before in her life!

Frozen into panic-stricken immobility, Saffron could only watch, transfixed, her own brown eyes wide and shocked, as that narrow-eyed gaze slid slowly, deliberately downwards from her hotly burning cheeks. They lingered appreciatively on the amount of creamy flesh, the soft curves of her breasts exposed and enhanced by the ridiculous slivers of material, and on her dark hair, falling in wanton disarray around the pale skin of her shoulders.

‘Very nice,’ he said at last, his voice a smooth drawl, making Saffron think wildly of rich, dark honey oozing slowly over gravel. ‘Very nice, indeed. But, believe me, if I had been offered something so very tempting, then in no circumstances would I have been fool enough to turn it down.’

The mocking humour that threaded through that low, attractive voice was blended together with a warmly sensual note of appreciation, breaking into the trancelike state that had held Saffron frozen.

‘Why, you——!’ Words failed her, shock and disbelief forming a knot in her throat that threatened to choke her.

‘Oh, come on, honey——’ His smile was as slow and provocative as his voice. ‘If you don’t want the customers to be interested then you shouldn’t display the goods quite so attractively.’

‘Display—customers!’ Saffron exploded as the insulting implications of that taunt sank in. ‘I don’t want you——’

‘No?’ The amusement in the single syllable stung more than any harsher comment might have.

‘No! You’re—you’re not who I meant—you’re the wrong man entirely!’

‘Is that so? Well, I hate to disagree with you, but from where I’m sitting I’m the right man—and you——’

Those silvery eyes moved over her again, seeming to burn where they rested, so that Saffron’s pale skin glowed in fiery embarrassment.

‘You’re exactly what I’ve been looking for—so if you’ll just tell me your terms, I’m sure we’ll be able to come to some arrangement.’

‘Terms!’ Saffron spluttered, unable to believe that this was happening to her. ‘We will do no such thing! We——’

She broke off on a terrified gasp as the man dropped his pen on to the desk and straightened, as if about to get to his feet. The tiny movement shattered what little remained of her self-control, and whirling in panic she headed for the door, running as fast as she could towards the lift.

‘Wait! Please——’

The lift doors were just closing as Saffron reached them, but luckily her strangled squawk of near-panic caught the ears of the solitary female occupant, who reacted swiftly, obligingly pressing a firm finger on the ‘Door Hold’ button, halting them in their tracks. A couple of seconds later, with a metallic rattle, they jerked apart once more, allowing her to step inside.

‘Thanks!’

It came out on a choked gasp as, not daring to look behind her, she hurried into the compartment, huddling into the far corner and giving a deep sigh of relief as the doors slid closed again and the lift started to move smoothly downwards. If that man had followed her, then surely she’d got away from him now.

‘In a hurry?’ The other woman, someone she vaguely remembered from Richards’ last Christmas party, enquired smilingly.

‘You could say that!’ Saffron’s response was wry, her voice still shaking in a way that she prayed her companion would believe to be the result of her dash along the corridor and so not ask any awkward questions.

‘And those heels aren’t made to run in——’

‘They most definitely are not!’ she returned feelingly.

How she wished she could kick them off—her feet were killing her! But she was sure that if she did she would never get the damn things back on again. She had borrowed them from her friend and workmate Kate and, as well as being much higher than anything she normally wore, they were a very tight fit indeed—Kate being built on a much smaller scale than her tall, fine-boned friend.

Saffron pushed a disturbed hand through the tumbled mane of her shining dark brown hair, holding her coat closely fastened with the other, her lips twisting slightly as she recalled the way Kate had described the offending footwear, the words repeating inside her head with a worrying significance.

‘They’re real tart’s shoes,’ her friend had said, laughter lifting her voice. But now, remembering, Saffron felt no trace of her earlier amusement. If that was how that man might describe what she was wearing on her feetthen what words would he use to describe her?

‘Are you all right?’ Her companion had noticed her involuntary shudder, and was studying her more closely.

‘As a matter of fact, I think I’m going down with flu,’ Saffron improvised hastily. ‘That’s why I’m going home.’

She prayed that the explanation would cover any other betraying reactions she might be showing. She knew that her cheeks were brightly flushed, and that probably her brown eyes were overbright and glittering with reaction to the shock she had just had. The way she was clutching her coat to her must also look peculiar, to say the least, particularly in this well-heated building. That thought had her instinctively tightening her grip on the black trenchcoat. She had reacted automatically, not thinking straight enough to check that all the buttons were fastened, the belt securely tied. If it should gape open, this woman would get the shock of her life.

‘Bed’s probably the best place for you, then.’

Somehow Saffron managed a vague murmur that might have been agreement, her mind too busy with other, more troublesome matters. Thinking straight! She hadn’t been thinking at all, just reacting. All that had been in her head had been the need to get out of there fast, to hide her embarrassment, get away from those coolly mocking eyes, that hateful voice.

It was all Owen’s fault, she told herself furiously. If he hadn’t stood her up last night, then none of this would have happened. The bad temper that his neglect had sparked off in her had burned all through the night, not at all improved by a restless, unsatisfactory attempt at sleep. The fact that as the morning progressed it had become obvious that Owen wasn’t even going to bother to ring up and explain had been positively the last straw, finally causing the simmering volcano of fury inside her to boil up and spill over like red-hot lava.

‘I’m not going to put up with this, Kate!’ she had declared at last, slamming the phone down on yet another caller whom she had hoped might just be Owen, offering a very belated excuse for his non-appearance, but in fact had turned out to be an assistant at the laundry with a thoroughly mundane enquiry about the number of napkins and tablecloths they had sent in their usual Monday morning bundle of linen. ‘He’s just taking me for granted, and I won’t stand for it.’

‘Perhaps he was ill,’ Kate had suggested, her tone soothing.

But Saffron had refused to allow herself to be placated.

‘How ill do you have to be before you’re incapable of using a phone?’

‘My, you have got your knickers in a twist, haven’t you?’ Kate teased, studying her friend’s indignant face with a touch of amused curiosity. ‘This isn’t just about being stood up, is it? There’s more to it than that. I know you—and I haven’t seen you this worked up in a long time.’

‘I don’t like being taken for granted,’ Saffron muttered, not meeting Kate’s eyes. She wished the other girl didn’t know her quite so well—well enough to put her finger on an uncomfortable spot in her feelings.

‘And——?’ Kate prompted laughingly, but then the

flush of embarrassment that had shaded Saffron’s cheeks was replaced by a stronger, hotter colour, that could only be the result of deep embarrassment. ‘Saffy!’ she exclaimed in frank disbelief. ‘You didn’t!’

‘Didn’t what?’

‘Don’t stall me! You know perfectly well what I mean. You’ve been fretting over things for weeks, trying to make your mind up. So, confess—had you finally decided that last night was to have been the night?’

‘I don’t want to just drift any more, Kate. I’m ready for some sort of commitment. I want a future—I have been seeing him for over six months.’

‘But I never thought you saw him in the light of a grand passion. Poor Owen.’ Kate laughed. ‘All these months he’s been begging you to go to bed with him and getting nowhere, and when you finally decide to let him have his wicked way he doesn’t even turn up. No wonder you’re hopping mad.’

‘You should have seen me last night,’ Saffron put in, a touch of rueful amusement mingling with the quiver of anger in her words. ‘There I was, all done up like a dog’s dinner—little black dress, perfume, stockings and suspenders—the works. I even bought new underwear.’ The shake in her voice grew more pronounced.

‘Oh, Saffy——’

‘It was pure silk!’

Her anger was growing again, fighting against the tenuous grip she had on it. She had felt such a fool, sitting there, dressed up, made-up—keyed up—waiting for a man who didn’t come.

Kate’s whistle was long and low. ‘The sacrificial lamb! It’s a pity Owen doesn’t know just what he missed! You’ll have to find some way of getting that home to him.’

That was when the idea came to her, Saffron reflected as the lift by-passed the second floor. Her anger wouldn’t be appeased unless she did something about the way Owen had treated her, and Kate’s remark had given her the perfect way to show him how she felt.

‘Well, here we are.’

The voice of her companion broke into her thoughts, bringing her back to the present with an abruptness that, combined with the jerky movement of the lift as it came to a halt, almost knocked her off-balance, so that she fell back against the wall.

‘Are you OK?’

‘Fine——’

It was impossible to concentrate on what she was saying, all her attention directed towards the lift doors as they started to open. Was that man still upstairs in the office, or had he followed her? And if so, having missed the lift, had he come down the staircase after her?

She could just imagine those long legs—for such an impressive torso had to be matched by an equally powerful lower half—taking the stairs two or more at a time, matching or possibly even outstripping the speed of the lift in which she had travelled. So, was he, even now, prowling around the hall, waiting for her? The thought sent a shiver of apprehension sliding down her spine.

A hasty, cautious inspection of the reception area reassured her on that point—temporarily, at least. He wasn’t anywhere in sight, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t on his way down. He might appear at any moment, so she had better not take any risks. The sooner she was out of here the better.

‘How will you get home?’

‘I’ve got my car——’

Saffron was hurrying across the well-worn floor as she spoke, pulling open the door in a rush. A cold wind, touched with a hint of rain, sneaked around her as she stepped outside, making her shiver uncomfortably, painfully aware of how little she had on under the protective layer of the coat. That thought brought a rush of burning colour to her cheeks, something that clearly worried the other woman.

‘Are you sure you’re fit to drive? Perhaps I should ring upstairs for someone——’

‘No!’ If he thought she was still in the building, heaven alone knew how he might react. She couldn’t face him again; couldn’t look him in the eye. ‘I’ll be all righthonest—it’s not very far——’

‘Well, if you’re positive…’

She still sounded unconvinced, and Saffron had to fight hard not to scream at her in panic as, through the large plate glass doors, she saw the other lift open and a tall, masculine figure appear in the hall, looking round him a way that made her think unnervingly of a hunting tiger. She could almost imagine him scenting the air, breathing in the trace of her perfume…

‘I have to go——’

Reacting purely instinctively, she kicked off the crippling shoes—she would buy Kate another pair—and turned to run towards the spot where her car was parked. The wind seemed to have found every opening in her coat, sliding in at the neck, whipping around her hem, revealing far more than was comfortable to her already precarious peace of mind, but she was oblivious to the cold and discomfort of her bare feet on the tarmac, reaching her small Fiat with a sigh of relief.

It was as she slid into the driving-seat and pushed her wild, wind-blown dark hair back from her face that she saw the other car, the one that, blinded by her anger, she hadn’t noticed on her arrival at the factory. Sleek and powerful, and gleamingly expensive, its paintwork was a shining light grey, almost silver, reminding her disturbingly of the eyes of the man in the managing director’s office—eyes that had looked at her with such contempt at first. But then that expression had swiftly changed to something much more worrying.

The car was in the MD’s private space too, she now realised, struggling with the shake in her hand that made it difficult to insert her key in the ignition. It was parked in the spot that had previously been reserved solely for the use of Owen’s late father—a space which must now, by rights, belong to Owen himself. Which, logic told her, bringing with it a wave of nausea, meant that there was only one person it could belong to—and that made matters all the worse.

Perhaps if she had been more aware of her surroundings on her arrival, if she’d been thinking straighter, she would have noticed it then, and its elegantly alien presence might have made her pause to reconsider her plan of action. But the truth was that she had been blind to everything but that plan. In fact, she had actively encouraged her anger on the journey here, feeding the flames, so that she hadn’t even noticed that Owen’s car wasn’t even in the car park at all.

She hadn’t even paused to look around her, Saffron reflected, sighing with relief as the slightly untrustworthy engine caught, and she let the brake out with nervous haste, not even glancing behind to see if her pursuer had come out of the building. She only wanted to get out of here without any further confrontation with the owner of that sleek, powerful vehicle, she told herself. Her stomach twisted into tight, painful knots of apprehension as every sense became tensely alert, ears straining for the shout she expected as she headed for the exit; unwillingly she contrasted her speedy departure, like a dog with its tail between its legs, with her confident, even cocky arrival such a short time earlier.

Then, fired up with determination and anger, she had barely allowed herself time to park the car before she was out of it and striding towards the main entrance, her brisk, forceful movements mirroring the state of her thoughts.

‘Hey!’

The shout cut into her thoughts, sounding clearly even above the noise of the engine, and the car swerved dangerously as her hands clenched on the wheel. A swift, nervous glance in the rearview mirror confirmed her instinctive fear, her stomach twisting painfully as she saw the way that letting her mind wander had slowed her responses, stilling her foot on the accelerator. Alerted by the sound of the engine, her pursuer had come out of the building and was heading purposefully across the car park towards her.

‘Wait! I want to——’

The rest of his words were drowned in the roar of the car as, heedless of safety or concern for her elderly vehicle, she rammed her right foot down to the floor. She knew very well what he wanted—he had made that only too plain—and she had no intention of waiting around to endure any more of his blatantly lecherous remarks.

It was just as she swung out of the car park and on to the main road that she glanced back one last time and saw the way he had halted, bending to pick up something from the ground.

Kate’s shoes, she reflected ruefully, wondering if, as in the Cinderella story, he thought he might use them as evidence to track her down. The problem was, though, that he was no sort of Prince Charming—quite the opposite—and if he did turn out to be who she suspected then she would need more than just a fairy godmother to get her out of a very sticky situation.

CHAPTER TWO

‘FOR God’s sake, Saffron—how many times do I have to apologise?’

Owen pushed impatient hands through his hair—hair that was not quite as dark as that of the man in the MD’s office, Saffron noted inconsequentially. His had been black as a raven’s wing where Owen’s was just a deep brown. That should have warned her, but she’d been too angry to think straight, and after all she had been expecting Owen to be there—hadn’t anticipated the possibility of anyone else being in the office.

‘Saffy, are you listening? I said I’m sorry.’

He didn’t sound penitent, Saffron reflected privately. If anything, he was quite the opposite—almost aggressive, in fact.

‘We had a date, Owen. I bought a new dress——’

The words dried in her throat as the thought of just what else she’d bought slid into her mind, bringing with it an all too vivid picture of the scarlet wisps of silk that she had pushed firmly to the bottom of the washingbasket. She doubted that she could ever wear them again when just the thought of putting them on awoke uncomfortable memories of the scene in the office, the sensual amusement in that appalling man’s voice. In fact, she didn’t know what had possessed her to buy them in the first place. They were a million miles away from the sort of thing she normally chose.

‘I waited for hours.’

‘I know.’ Owen sounded positively snappish now. ‘But I promised you dinner at Le Figaro and——’ an airy wave of his hand indicated their elegant surroundings ‘—I’m keeping my promise.’

‘Twenty-four hours late!’

Saffron couldn’t bite back the retort. Owen was the one who had stood her up, and yet he was behaving as if she was the offender. If he’d kept the date as arranged, she would never have gone to his office in a temper and made such a spectacle of herself.

‘Saff, you know how important this takeover is to me! I couldn’t keep our date yesterday because the big man turned up without warning.’

‘The big man?’

Saffron fought hard to keep her voice under control, but the rising tide of colour in her cheeks was a different matter. Try as she might, she couldn’t avoid the logical connection that her mind was making between Owen’s words and the hateful character she had encountered in the MD’s office. She had suspected this, had known that there wasn’t really a hope that she could be wrong, but to hear it confirmed by Owen was almost more than she could cope with right now.

‘Niall Forrester himself. Oh, come on, Saff! Where have you been for the past month? Niall Forrester owns Forrester Leisure, and Forrester Leisure——’

‘Is considering buying Richards’ Rockets—I know that.’

She knew only too well that Owen, whose interests lay in a very different direction, had been delighted when the huge international corporation had shown an interest in the small, rather rundown family business that he had inherited from his father six months before.

‘After all, you’ve talked about nothing else all month.’

She found it impossible to erase the tartness from her voice, but, well-launched on his major preoccupation, Owen seemed oblivious to the sharpness of her tone.

‘So, you’ll understand that when Niall Forrester himself rang to say he was coming up to Kirkham to look at the factory I just had to be there to meet him—and take him out to dinner in the evening. He kept me busy, I can tell you. He wanted to know everything there was to know—I didn’t have time to think——’

Or to ring and explain, Saffron reflected with a touch of asperity. But at the forefront of her mind was a more pressing worry.

‘And this Niall Forrester—the “big man”——’

The description fitted. Even sitting down, he had looked decidedly impressive, and the width of the straight, powerful shoulders under the immaculately fitted navy suit had been evidence of a formidable physique that, if she had had her wits about her, she should have known could not possibly have belonged to Owen.

‘Where is he now?’

‘Back in London, I expect. He said he’d seen all he wanted to see at the factory.’

Hastily Saffron tried to convert the choking sensation that had assailed her into an innocuous cough. Niall Forrester had seen everything he wanted and more! But at least it seemed that she could relax about one thing. Obviously, whatever his feelings about her appearance in the MD’s office, Forrester had said nothing about it to Owen. Of course, he wouldn’t know her name, but he could have asked the receptionist. If he’d described her, Beth would have known who he meant. The colour flooding her cheeks deepened hotly at the thought of just how he might have described her.

‘You’re not exactly chatty, Saff!’ Owen sounded decidedly peeved. ‘Is this because you haven’t forgiven me for last night? You’re not going to sulk all evening, are you?’

‘I’m not sulking!’

Saffron was indignant. Clearly Owen thought that he had apologised, but to her mind it seemed that what he’d really done was bring home to her the way that she came in second place in his life, after his business interests. From being angry about the way he had stood her up, she was now forced to wonder whether in fact his non-appearance last night had been a lucky escape in some ways. After the decision about their relationship that she had come to, only so recently, it was disturbing, to say the least, to find that her attitude towards him had shifted ground.

In fact, ever since Owen had appeared at her flat, she had been seeing him in a very different light. It was more than just annoyance at the way he had stood her up, though obviously that had a lot to do with it. Suddenly almost everything he said seemed to irritate her.

‘I’ve—just got something on my mind. I’d planned on working on the accounts this evening. Things are really getting a bit tight, and——’

‘Oh, they’ll keep until tomorrow. After all, a tiny business like yours can’t have many real problemsnothing compared to the white elephant of a factory my father left me lumbered with. I mean—who wants to buy fireworks nowadays?’

Once more he was launched on his own concerns. Listening to him, Saffron had to bite down hard on her lower lip in order to keep back an angry response. Owen had always had a tendency to be like this, but somehow tonight it seemed much more infuriating than usual. Was she just feeling unsettled after the disturbing meeting at the factory that morning, or did it go deeper than that?

At that moment her thought processes stopped dead, because in the second that she had looked away, needing to distract herself from Owen’s soliloquy and the urge to tell him to shut up, her attention had been drawn to a flurry of activity at the entrance to the restaurant and then, unbelievingly, inexorably, to the tall figure of the man who had just come in.

She recognised him immediately. There was no mistaking that jet-black gleaming hair, the straight, firm shoulders, the arrogant, upright carriage that had impressed her even when he was sitting down. Seen on his feet like this, that dark, sleek head towering inches above the head waiter—who, recognising intuitively the innate self-assurance and air of power that only a great deal of money could buy, was buzzing around him like a bee around an open honey-pot—he was even more imposing, a forceful, vital figure of a man who would always be noticed the moment he walked into a room. Even through the haze of shock that clouded her brain she was well aware of the fact that hers weren’t the only pair of female eyes that had noted his arrival—noted it and lingered in frank appreciation.

‘Forrester!’

Dimly, with a sense of terrible inevitability, she heard Owen’s exclamation confirm her earlier fears, depriving her of any possible weakly lingering hope that she might have been mistaken about the identity of the man in the managing director’s office.

‘But I thought he’d gone back to London.’ Her voice was an uncomfortable croak as she struggled to believe that this was actually happening, that he could be here—now. If he saw them—saw her——

‘So did I. Something must have kept him. Hey, Forrester! Niall!’

To Saffron’s horror, Owen was out of his seat, waving a hand to attract the other man’s attention.

‘I’ll ask him to join us—you should meet him. Forrester—over here!’

‘Owen!’ Saffron whispered through clenched teeth, but it was too late. Owen’s actions had drawn Niall Forrester’s gaze, those unforgettable light grey eyes narrowing slightly as they focused on his face from across the room.

He was not at all pleased at being accosted in this way, Saffron realised, seeing with a twist of apprehension the way that his dark brows drew together sharply, indicating an annoyed response that had her shrinking down in her chair, fearful of that cold-eyed scrutiny being turned on her too. Perhaps he would ignore Owen, take a table at the far side of the room.

‘Over here!’ Owen tried again, beckoning ostentatiously, in the same moment that Saffron realised just how ridiculous she was being, hiding away like this, as if she was some small, hunted animal.

With an angry reproof to herself, she straightened up again, and then immediately wished she hadn’t as the slight movement caught Niall Forrester’s attention, and with a sinking heart she saw his expression change swiftly. Even from this distance she could see the fierce, almost predatory gleam of triumph that lit up those pale eyes, turning them to silver and making all the nerves in the pit of her stomach twist into tight, painful knots of panic. It was all that she could do to remain in her seat, only suppressing the urge to push back her chair and run with a supreme effort.

But he was coming towards them now, his stride as determined and purposeful as his expression, and with a bitter sense of despair she knew that there was no way she could avoid the confrontation that was approaching as swiftly and inexorably as the darkness that was gathering outside. If she did run, she had no doubt that he would come after her, would catch up with her without any difficulty. And that that would result in a scene even worse than the one she now anticipated with such dread, she acknowledged miserably, wiping suddenly damp palms nervously on her napkin, convinced that the diners at the next table must hear how heavily her heart was pounding.

‘Richards. Good evening——’

The sound of that smooth, attractive voice was like a blow to Saffron’s head, the single phrase reverberating over and over in her disturbed thoughts. She had only heard perhaps ninety-five or a hundred words in those deep, slightly husky tones, and yet she felt as if every note of it, every shaded inflexion was etched into her brain in red-hot strokes.

‘Would you like to join us?’ Owen was totally oblivious to Saffron’s discomfiture. ‘It’s no fun dining alone.’

‘Thank you—I’d appreciate that.’

The smoothness of Niall Forrester’s tone made Saffron blink hard in shock. Had she been seeing things a moment earlier? Or had her own nervousness made her misinterpret his expression? Certainly, there was no sign of the cold-eyed look she had seen on his face; now he was all affable approachability, oozing social ease from every pore.

‘I’d anticipated a solitary meal, so some company would be welcome.’

The words were directed at Owen, but Saffron had caught the swift flicker of a glance in her direction, a look that left her in no doubt that he was only too well aware of her presence.

He was even more impressive standing up. She had tried to convince herself that the image she had created of him in her mind had been exaggerated, blown up out of all proportion by her own feelings about their meeting, but now she had to admit that, if anything, she had erred on the side of moderation. He had changed his clothes, but the dark suit he now wore was every bit as sleek and expensive as the first one, its superbly tailored lines clinging to a lean but strongly muscled frame, and under the fine material his waist and hips had the slimness of an athlete, showing that he kept himsef very fit. Standing beside Owen like this, he made the other man, who was a good six feet in his socks, look slight and underweight. And those eyes! Saffron kept her own gaze firmly fixed on her plate for fear of meeting the silver intensity of Niali Forrester’s scrutiny.

‘Won’t you introduce me to your charming companion?’

Hastily Saffron tried to impose some control over her expression as Owen, belatedly recalling her presence at the table, turned in her direction.

‘Of course—this is Saffron Ruane. Saffy, this is Niall Forrester. I told you about his interest in Dad’s factory.’

‘I remember.’

She managed a small, tight smile, feeling as if her face might actually crack if she tried any more, and, because courtesy demanded it, she held out her hand in greeting. It was taken in a warm, firm grasp that folded around her fingers, enclosing them in a way that in any other person would have inspired confidence and trust. To her consternation, this time it had exactly the opposite effect. She felt as if a live electric wire had coiled around her fingers, sending burning shockwaves pulsing across her palm and along every nerve in her arm so that it was all she could do not to snatch her hand away again with a cry of distress.

And in the moment that his broad, strong hand closed over hers she found herself looking into those clear, steel-grey eyes, her gaze held transfixed, held with such magnetic force that for a second or two she felt physically dizzy and actually swayed slightly in her seat, knowing that if she had been standing her legs would have given way beneath her and she would have fallen to the floor.

‘Miss Ruane——’ A slight inclination of his dark head acknowledged her, nothing about his expression or demeanour giving any indication that he recognised her. ‘I hope you don’t think that I’m intruding?’

The act of polite concern, nothing more, was nearperfect, almost too much so, and if she hadn’t been so excruciatingly aware of the circumstances of their previous meeting, Saffron knew that she wouldn’t have been able to fault it.

‘Not at all——’ What else could she say? ‘Won’t you sit down?’

Saffron took the opportunity to remove her hand from his with a rush of relief, turning the movement into a gesture towards the empty chair opposite in order to cover the rather abrupt way in which she snatched her fingers away, unable to bear his touch any longer.

Or was she worrying unnecessarily? she couldn’t help but wonder, as Niall seated himself. After all, he had only seen her for a very few minutes in the office—and she very much doubted that, for the most of them, his attention had been concentrated on her face! The memory of just what had held his interest had her reaching for her glass and taking a hasty gulp of her wine, hoping that its cool sharpness would halt the rush of colour to her cheeks, and she was grateful for the appearance of the waiter at Niall’s side, providing a welcome distraction from her betraying response.

She might have known that Niall Forrester would attract such prompt and almost obsequious service, she reflected wryly, seeing the waiter’s overly polite concern. He was the sort of man who emananted an aura of power and control—and he looked as if he would tip generously, she added with a touch of cynicism, recalling just how long she and Owen had had to wait before anyone came to take their order.

‘I’ll pass on the starter, then we’ll all be at the same stage.’ Clearly, Niall had noted their almost empty plates. ‘And bring another bottle of wine.’

‘Oh, but——’

Saffron had been about to protest that Owen was driving, and that she had no head for anything other than a couple of glasses, but even as she spoke Niall forestalled her, lifting their original bottle of wine from its ice-bucket and refilling their half-empty glasses.

‘Thank you,’ she was obliged to murmur, struggling against an impulse to lift her glass and fling its expensive contents in his face.

‘Not at all,’ he responded smoothly. ‘In fact, I’d like you to consider yourselves my guests tonight—my thanks for a most interesting day at the factory.’

Was she being unduly sensitive? Saffron couldn’t help wondering. Or had there been a worrying emphasis on that ‘interesting’, turning it into something that made her shift uncomfortably in her seat?

‘It was my pleasure.’

Owen tried to match the other man’s easy assurance but only managed to sound oily and insincere, and the way he had to lean forward as he spoke in order to make his presence felt made Saffron aware of the way that, while his remarks had seemed to have been aimed at them both, Niall had concentrated that silvery gaze on her face alone, making her feel like the selected victim, deliberately singled out by a ruthless predator.

‘I must admit that I’m surprised to see you here tonight.’ She forced the words out, determined not to let him see how much he worried her. ‘I thought you’d be over halfway back to London by now.’

‘That was my original intention, but I changed my mind and decided to stay overnight—do some sightseeing.’

‘Sightseeing? In Kirkham?’ Saffron didn’t bother to hide her scepticism.

‘Oh, you’d be surprised,’ Niall returned, with a smile that made every nerve in her body tense uneasily. It wasn’t humour that lit those pale eyes from within, but a hint of taunting triumph, that made her think worryingly of a hunting cat sitting patiently outside a mousehole, waiting for the unwary rodent to venture out. ‘For a sleepy little Northern town, this place has some unexpected attractions…’

That silvery gaze slid deliberately to her face, and Saffron’s breath caught in her throat as she saw that the mocking glint had brightened but not warmed those light eyes, so that they glittered with the brilliance of ice in the sun.

‘Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Ruane?’

As he spoke he looked straight into her eyes, that smile making a mockery of her earlier foolish hope that perhaps he hadn’t recognised her. He was playing with her, well aware of her discomfort; he was enjoying watching her squirm.

‘Oh, Saffy isn’t a local girl,’ Owen put in cheerfully. ‘She only came to live in Kirkham a couple of years ago.’

‘That’s a pity.’ The cool grey eyes never left Saffron’s troubled brown ones. ‘I had rather hoped that you might be able to show me around.’

His tone was dangerously soft, worryingly gentle, making Saffron think uncomfortably of the cat she had compared him to earlier—the soft fur of its paws concealing the powerful, tearing claws.

‘I was sure that you were the sort of girl who knows the best places to go for a special night out.’

A special night out. This time there was no mistaking the subtle deepening of his drawling tones on those words, forcing her to recall how she had used them herself only a few hours before. And the implication behind what he had said was painfully clear too, to anyone who had seen the insultingly knowing smile on his face when he had spoken of customers and terms. She could have little doubt as to what sort of nights out were in his disgusting mind.

‘On the contrary,’ she returned sharply. ‘I’m very much a stay-at-home, Mr Forrester. Not at all a clubsand-pubs sort of woman.’

‘That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,’ he disconcerted her by saying.

‘Well, if it’s night-life you want——’ Owen put in, anxious, Saffron knew, to give a plug to the night-club he hoped to buy a half-share in.

‘Not really.’ Niall barely spared him a glance. ‘Look, Richards, is that a friend of yours?’ A nod of his dark head indicated a table on the other side of the room, where a man Saffron vaguely recognised was waving to gain Owen’s attention. ‘Hadn’t you better see what he wants?’

He didn’t even watch Owen leave, instead concentrating all his attention on Saffron, continuing the conversation as if the interruption had never happened.

‘I can assure you that I wouldn’t think of hiding you away in some smoky, dimly lit club. A beauty such as yours should be seen in the full light of day.’

Saffron’s soft mouth parted on a gasp of astonishment, both at the arrogance of his dismissal of Owen and at the outrageous compliment.

‘Are you trying to flirt with me, Mr Forrester?’

His smile was a challenge, the intent gaze of those steely eyes seeming to draw her to him like some irresistible magnet, holding her transfixed, unable to look away.

‘On the contrary—flirting is a frivolous occupation, meant only light-heartedly. I am deadly serious——’

That voice would charm the birds out of the trees, Saffron thought hazily. Low and huskily sensual, it was pitched so as to make her feel as if she was the only woman in the room—in the world—and his words were for her alone. And it was working!

In spite of her determination to resist, fired by the knowledge of the low opinion he really had of her, it seemed as if her surroundings, the buzz of conversation from the other diners, had all faded from her awareness, blending into a multi-coloured blur, so that all she was aware of was a pair of hypnotic grey eyes and a silkily seductive voice.

‘You must know that you are an exceptionally lovely woman—such dark hair and eyes, and a face like a Madonna.’

‘Oh, really!’ With an effort Saffron struggled to break free of the hypnotic hold he had on her. ‘Now you’re exaggerating!’

She felt desperately out of her depth. It was as if she had been floating lazily on a sunlit sea and had suddenly realised that the shore was much further away than she had thought, with the current growing ominously rougher. The concentration of his gaze, the intensity of that huskily seductive voice, were more suited to the intimacy of a bedroom than this public place. As her mind made the connection between the man before her and the thought of the sensual surroundings of a bedroom her thoughts reeled, the image working on them like some powerfully intoxicating cocktail.

‘I never exaggerate.’

Niall Forrester dismissed her protest with the same casual indifference he might have used to flick away a fly that had come too near his face, and the gleam that lit deep in his eyes told her that he was well aware of her struggle to break away from the hold he seemed to have on her. That hold was as delicate as a spider’s web and yet as powerful as if she were actually confined by steel cables. The rational part of her mind was screaming at her that all she had to do was look away, look at someone else, but she found it impossible to move.

‘And in your case I have no need to. Though I have to admit…’

A tiny flicker of his eyes, downwards over the simple navy dress she wore, and a slight deepening of that smile, curling his mouth up at the corners, acted as a danger signal, warning Saffron that she wouldn’t Hke what was to come.

‘That that particular shade of blue you’re wearing is not perhaps the most flattering to someone of your dramatic colouring. I would have thought that something warmer—perhaps red…’

He caught the flare of apprehension in her eyes and the smile grew, becoming tauntingly triumphant as Saffron’s start of shock betrayed her awareness of the direction in which he was heading.

‘Scarlet, possibly.’ He drew the first word out so that it was a softly sensual sound on his tongue, almost a caress in itself. ‘Yes, I can see you in scarlet—something in silk——’

‘Oh, please!’ Saffron put in hastily, loading her tone with sarcasm. She’d had enough of this cat-and-mouse act; it was time to fight back. ‘You have to be joking! I only ever wore scarlet silk once—never again!’

She gave a carefully delicate shudder of distaste, dark brown eyes meeting silver, hers burning with defiance, her chin lifting challengingly.

‘It was a dreadful mistake—one I have no intention of repeating—ever.’

The deliberate emphasis on the final word was like a verbal throwing down of a gauntlet in front of Niall, an attempt to throw him off-balance, but to Saffron’s annoyance he didn’t react in the way she had anticipated. If anything, her challenge seemed to have amused rather than disconcerted him, and that smile grew in a way that she found positively hateful.

‘I can’t believe that. I can picture you in scarlet——’

The gleam in those pale eyes told her just how he was picturing her, and it took all Saffron’s self-control not to react to the almost lascivious pleasure that was so clearly stamped on the hard-boned features before her. Her fingers itched to lash out and wipe it from his face and she had to clamp them together tightly in her lap in order not to give in to the impulse.

‘And, in my opinion, it wouldn’t be any sort of a mistake at all.’

‘Really?’ Using every ounce of acting ability she possessed, Saffron injected the word with an icy hauteur. ‘Well, I’m afraid that you’re never likely to see me in any such thing.’

After this, she wouldn’t be able to bear to wear the scarlet silk underwear ever again. She would sooner die! Even just to see it would remind her unbearably of the look in his eyes, that hateful smile, his voice…

‘So, we’ll just have to agree to differ on this.’

She knew that by defying him like this she was risking his anger, possibly even the fact that he might call her bluff and tell Owen everything, but she couldn’t stop herself. She had to stand up to him, give as good as she got.

For a carefully timed moment he kept her hanging, waiting for his response, then, just at the point where she thought that she would scream if he didn’t say something, he lifted his broad shoulders in a nonchalant shrug.

‘So we will,’ he said easily, adding in a tone so soft that only she could hear, ‘For now.’

At that moment the waiter appeared with their meal, Owen returning to the table at the same time, and Saffron welcomed the interruption thankfully as a chance to gather her thoughts and try to cling on to the shattered remains of her composure. She knew exactly what Niall Forrester was up to. He had made it only too plain that he appreciated—and enjoyed—the possibilities of some rather nasty emotional blackmail, was well aware of how uncomfortable she would be at the prospect of Owen finding out about the fact that they had already met—and in what circumstances!

The problem was that he couldn’t be more wrong. In the same second that she had considered the possibility of Niall telling Owen everything, she had realised just how little it worried her. All through the evening—in fact, ever since Owen had stood her up—she had had second, and third—even fourth thoughts about their relationship, and now she knew that there no longer was a relationship to worry about. She didn’t care if Owen found out—and yet she still felt threatened. And that was what really worried her.

Earlier she had thought of Niall Forrester as a cat sitting outside a mousehole, and now she could be in no doubt as to just who was his prey. This particular sleek, dark-coated feline clearly had all the patience in the world when it came to hunting, and he wanted her to know that he was prepared to play a waiting game, showing no sign of pouncing until she put herself in a position of weakness by venturing too far outside the safety of her hiding place.

The problem was that she didn’t know quite what she was hiding from. It wasn’t any threat of exposure to Owen, however embarrassing that might be, instead it was something much more specific to Niall himself. Simply by existing, by awakening this unwilling, unwelcome response in her, he seemed to threaten her security, her peace of mind. It was as if she were one of the fireworks produced in Owen’s factory, and someone had placed a lighted match to her own personal fuse. That fuse was burning worryingly swiftly, and she had the frightening feeling that in a very short space of time something was going to blow up right in her face.

CHAPTER THREE

‘SAFFRON is an unusual name—though I suspect that you’re more than tired of people commenting on it.’

‘Oh, well, it was my aunt who suggested it. It came from a favourite song of hers.’ Saffron was determined not to let him see how exactly he had bit upon the truth. ‘And by the time they’d named five other daughters my parents had run out of names that they liked.’

To his credit, Niall didn’t even blink, which was surprising. Many people were so accustomed to the idea of small families that the thought of six children—and all of the same sex—had them reeling back in astonishment. Owen had almost had to pick himself up off the floor when she had told him.

‘Saffy’s the youngest of this ridiculously huge family.’ Owen had grown tired of being kept out of the conversation. ‘Seven women! It’s no wonder her father buried himself in his books.’ Reaching for the wine-bottle, he refilled his glass.

‘Don’t you think you’d better go easy?’ Saffron put in hastily, and was subjected to a look of such withering scorn that the protest died on her lips.

‘Lighten up, Saff! No one likes a killjoy.’

Owen’s retort was accompanied by a swift, expressive glance in Niall Forrester’s direction. It was a look of pure conspiracy, man to man, of banding together in the face of female constraint in a way that made her prickle with irritation.

‘But you’re driving me home.’

‘I’ll be fine——’

And her concern was dismissed, so that unless she persisted, creating a nasty little scene in front of the interestedly watchful Niall, she had no option but to remain uncomfortably silent.

Perhaps in the past she might have shrugged off Owen’s behaviour, possibly even telling herself that she might have over-reacted. But tonight she found that his rudeness had her boiling inside, anger searing through her like a red-hot tide so that she had to bite her lip hard in order not to tell him exactly what she thought of him. In fact, looking at his smiling self-absorbed face as he returned once more to his favourite subject of the proposed takeover, she was forced to wonder what she had ever seen in him.

Could she really have ever considered sleeping with this man? But hadn’t that been exactly what she had planned on doing—last night, at least? Barely twenty-four hours ago, she realised, surreptitiously consulting the slim gold watch on her wrist, she had been so sure about everything. Now, she no longer knew what she felt. It all seemed to have happened since Niall Forrester had come into her life.

‘I’m sorry——’ Niall’s sharp eyes had caught the tiny movement as she checked the time. ‘We’re boring you.’

‘Not at all.’ She hoped that her cool tones would communicate that nothing he could do would trouble her in the least. ‘I appreciate that you have plenty to talk to Owen about. After all, it’s his company that you’re going to buy.’

‘Possibly.’ The single word held a suggestion of doubt, a reminder that all was not yet certain. ‘If I decide I want it…’

Because she was already on edge, that, ‘If…I want it’ seemed to catch of Saffron’s raw nerves.

‘Is that really what life’s about—getting what you want?’

‘Isn’t it?’ He questioned coolly. ‘I think if you asked the majority of people they’d say that most of their days are spent dreaming of something they want—trying to obtain it. I’m not unusual in that—only in that perhaps I know more clearly than most what I do want, and that when I see what I want, I go for it. I make sure nothing stands in the way of my getting it.’

The way he looked straight into her eyes as he spoke, a curl at the corner of his mouth, made Saffron think uncomfortably of his words that morning. ‘You’re exactly what I’ve been looking for——’

‘And what if, when you’ve got your hands on whatever it is, it turns out not to be so desirable after all?’

His smile mocked her indignation, almost as if he knew the thoughts that were in her mind. ‘Oh, then I’d just turn and walk away.’

‘No backward glances?’

‘Looking back is just a waste of time. If you want to make any progress, the only way is forward.’

She wished he would look away from her, turn the silvery force of those pale eyes on someone else. They might have started out talking about Owen’s company and, ostensibly, to anyone not in the know, it might appear that they were still discussing just that, but Saffron was hypersensitive to the dangerous undercurrents in the atmosphere around her, uncomfortably aware of the other possible interpretation of Niall’s words.

‘And does that apply to emotional matters as well as business deals?’

She felt she didn’t need to ask the question, already anticipating what the answer would be.

‘So far I’ve never encountered anything that I couldn’t resist or leave behind with no regrets.’

‘Anything or anyone?’

Niall’s only response was a slight inclination of his dark head, but a worrying gleam in those silvery eyes made her decide that it would be much safer to move the talk back on to the original topic.

‘And do you think you’ll want Richards’ Rockets?’

As she had hoped, the question brought Owen back into the conversation and she was able to withdraw, sit back and watch as once more the two men became absorbed in their discussion.

The problem was that she didn’t experience the relief she had hoped for. Only moments before she had wanted Niall Forrester to turn his attention elsewhere and leave her in peace, but now that he had, perversely, she felt irritated by the ease with which he seemed able to dismiss her from his thoughts. The chocolate torte which the waiter had brought her, together with another bottle of wine, now seemed much too rich for her taste, and she laid her spoon down, painfully aware of the fact that there was really nothing wrong with the sweet, only with her mood.

She couldn’t stop her gaze from lingering on the man opposite, on the sculpted planes of his face, shadowed softly in the flickering candlelight, on the jet darkness of his hair, the unexpected softness of his mouth. Her eyes followed every gesture of his hands as he ate, talked, poured the wine. Those pale grey eyes of his were turned away from her now, but in her mind she could see them in all the changeable moods that, even after such a short acquaintance, she could recognise—the cold, steely glitter that could turn so swiftly to the warm glow of polished silver, or darken with something she couldn’t—or didn’t dare—put a name to.

‘Is there something wrong with your food?’

‘What?’

Niall’s voice had been soft and low, but even so the sound of it jolted Saffron from the sensual trance that had held her. It was as if the gentle warmth of the candleflames had spread throughout the room, growing in intensity, heating the blood in her veins so that she felt as if she was adrift on a golden, glowing tide, the sight and sounds of the other diners fading to a blur on the edges of her consciousness, every nerve, every sense centring on Niall Forrester, like a compass needle drawn irresistibly to the North.

‘I’ll send it back if it’s not right——’

Oh, no—no, it’s fine.’

I’ll send it back, she noted resentfully. Niall Forrester had well and truly taken over the evening.

‘It’s just—that I haven’t as much appetite as I thought.’

For food only, a rogue part of her mind commented. Other appetites were not so easily appeased. In fact, with those silvery eyes on her once more, the way he was leaning towards her bringing him so close that she caught the scent of some musky cologne he wore, she felt as if every inch of her skin was newly sensitised, and a previously unknown sensation was uncoiling in the pit of her stomach, as if some sensuous snake-like creature had been sleeping heavily but was now starting to awake…

‘Eyes too big for my stomach!’ she managed on a shaky laugh.

‘Then perhaps we should think about leaving.’

Was she being unduly sensitive? Saffron wondered. Or was it just his physical position, the concentration of his attention on her, that seemed to make that ‘we’ exclude Owen, who, having tackled a large portion of his favourite Black Forest gateau, was now draining the last of his wine?

‘Yes,’ he said on a sigh of satisfaction. ‘Better be going. Waiter!’

‘Let me——’ Once more Niall took charge, catching

the waiter’s eye with an ease that made the other man’s waving hand look gauche and unsophisticated. In fact, it was rather over the top, even for Owen, Saffron reflected, her attention caught suddenly.

‘Most gracious of you——’

It was the first couple of words, with the hint of slurring, that alerted her, making her turn a concerned frown on him, to see his flushed face and overbright eyes. Her fears were confirmed as Owen got to his feet unsteadily, swaying and clutching at the table for support.

‘Owen—you’re drunk!’

‘Not at all!’ He gave a foolish grin. ‘Just a bit mellow.’

‘But you’re not fit to drive!’ She thought despairingly of the long journey home, the lack of buses, the prohibitive cost of a taxi.

‘Perhaps I could help?’

Did this man have ears like a bat? Her conversation with Owen had been conducted in a furious whisper, while he was occupied with the waiter and his credit card, but he was still very much aware of what was happening.

‘I have my car here—I could take you both home.’

‘But—didn’t you——?’

Anticipating her question, Niall shook his dark head. ‘I’m well under the limit—you’ll be perfectly safe.’

And, looking into those clear grey eyes Saffron knew that he spoke the absolute truth. He had been decidedly abstemious, she recalled. If only Owen had been equally restrained!

‘I can drive!’ Owen protested.

‘I don’t think so!’ Niall’s voice was warm with humour, and he moved swiftly to support the other man as he lurched clumsily away from the table. ‘Come on, mate—this way——’

Owen was more intoxicated than Saffron had first realised, and in the first flurry of activity involved in getting him out of the restaurant, across the courtyard and into Niall’s car—the same sleek, grey vehicle that she had seen in the factory car park—she had little time to think of anything beyond a strong sense of gratitude for Niall’s calm, helpful presence.

She doubted that she would have been able to cope without him, without his physical strength to support Owen’s unsteady progress, the amused but firm tact with which he distracted the other man from his determination to drive home, and the final intuitive sensitivity he showed in personally supervising Owen’s delivery into the care of his disapproving mother, enabling Saffron to remain in the car and out of sight. She was well aware of just what Mrs Richards would think if she knew of her presence.

‘At last!‘ Niall exclaimed, sliding back into the driving-seat and pushing both hands through his hair with a sigh of relief. ‘I thought we’d never get rid of him.’

‘Thanks for seeing him to the door for me. If Ma Richards had realised I was with him she’d have blamed me for the state he’s in.’

‘She wouldn’t believe him capable of getting that way by himself?’ Niall slanted a quizzical glance in her direction as he turned the key in the ignition, bringing the powerful engine to swift, purring life.

‘Her precious Owen?’ Saffron assumed an expression of exaggerated horror. ‘Not on your life! He can do no wrong—except for the fact that he’s seeing me. Mrs Richards has never really liked me—she doesn’t think I’m quite good enough for her only child. As a matter of fact,’ she added, impelled by scrupulous honesty, ‘he’s never really been quite so silly before.’

‘No?’ Niall sounded unconvinced and dismissively uninterested. ‘Where to now? Where do you liveSaffron?’

But Saffron’s sudden silence was not because she hadn’t heard his question. Instead she had been struck by something in his tone, something distinctly cagey and with a dark note that made her nerves twist in sudden apprehension. As the sleek car pulled away from the kerb she heard again in her thoughts that expressive, ‘At last!’ and found herself looking back at the evening with fresh eyes, seeing belatedly how Niall had kept Owen’s attention, picturing him chatting easily, summoning the waiter, ordering wine—refilling the other man’s glass…

Suddenly she was sitting upright in her seat, her body taut with indignation, rejection, and something very close to fear.

‘It was you!’

Niall didn’t try to deny the accusation. He didn’t even bother to ask exactly what she meant, but simply turned and gave her a swift, unrevealing smile before apparently concentrating his attention on the road ahead.

‘It was you! You got Owen drunk quite deliberately! You poured him all that wine——’

‘No one forced him to drink it,’ Niall put in, his carefully reasonable tone only incensing her further. ‘I didn’t exactly pour the damn stuff down his throat.’

‘You might just as well have done! Owen doesn’t get presented with that sort of vintage every day of his life—certainly not in such quantities! And you know perfectly well that he wouldn’t have wanted to offend you by refusing.’

‘I’d have thought better of him if he had,’ Niall commented drily, but Saffron wasn’t listening. Her mind had gone into overdrive, whirling frantically as she tried to see just what this meant to her—because she was suddenly uncomfortably certain that Niall Forrester hadn’t got Owen drunk just for his own twisted amusement.

‘You knew that I was concerned! I said that I needed Owen to drive me home, and yet you continued to ply him with wine——’

But he had accepted her own refusal to drink any more with perfect equanimity.

‘Why——?’ she began, her strangled tone revealing that she already suspected what his answer was going to be, and didn’t like it at all. ‘Why?’

Niall turned another of those mocking, knowing smiles on her, his face half-shadowed and eerie in the light of the streetlamps.

‘Oh, come on, Saffron,’ he reproved gently. ‘You don’t need to ask that. You know exactly what I had planned. I had to get Owen out of the way because I wanted to be alone with you. But of course you knew that, because, after all, it was just what you wanted too.’

‘I wanted——’ Saffron choked on the words in her haste to get out an indignant refutal. ‘I wanted no such thing!’

‘Oh, but you did, sweetheart. I’m not blind. I could see it—read it in your face. It was there in the way you couldn’t take your eyes off me, the way you tried to play it oh, so cool and failed miserably—the way you snapped when I spoke to you but sulked when I turned my attention away.’

‘You arrogant pig!’

The knowledge that she was using her anger as a defence against his accusations made her tone even more aggressive than she had intended. The problem was that she couldn’t deny the facts—but it was the interpretation he had put on them that was so infuriating.

Or was it? When her own mind played traitor, flinging at her a series of sensual images, reminding her of the effect Niall had had on her, that sensation of something awakening deep inside, she was forced to doubt her own conviction. Was that what he had seen in her face? She was grateful for the shadows that hid the rush of hot colour into her face at the thought.

‘It wasn’t like that,’ she muttered, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

‘No? Seemed that way to me. Enough to make me want to test out the theory, anyway. And as young Mr Richards was something of an obstacle to that I—provided him with an excuse to leave us alone at the earliest possible opportunity. I think he enjoyed the experience, and there won’t be too much embarrassment on his part.’

‘On his part!’ Saffron exploded. ‘Owen wasn’t the only one who was manipulated! How the hell do you think I feel? What about my embarrassment? Or don’t my feelings count for anything in all this?’

For a long, intent second Niall took his eyes off the road and subjected her furious face to a sharply assessing scrutiny that made her skin crawl in response.

‘On the contrary, it was your feelings I was considering.’

‘My feelings! You decide that you know what I want, without so much as consulting me, deliberately get my boyfriend drunk so that I end up alone with you, whether I like it or not, and then you have the nerve to say you were considering my feelings! Consideration doesn’t come into it! Pure, arrogant selfishness is more like it!’

‘Oh, come on, honey!’ Niall wasn’t in the least bit rattled by her outburst. ‘You know I made things easier for you. It would have been embarrassing, to say the least——’ with silky deliberation he emphasised the word she had flung at him so angrily ‘—to have had to say to your boyfriend, “Look, I know I came with you, but I’m leaving with someone else.” Don’t you think?’

As Saffron’s mouth actually gaped in shock, the knowledge of the fact that she no longer wanted to continue seeing Owen depriving her of the ability to form any angry retort, he continued smoothly, ‘Especially if he’d paid for your dinner—so I took care of that too.’

‘And you think that for the price of one meal you’ve bought me! That isn’t so much Old Man as positively barbaric! What are you? Some sort of primitive Neanderthal?’

‘At the moment, what I am is hopelessly lost,’ Niall stunned her by replying. ‘How about getting down off your high-horse and giving me directions?’

‘Directions?’ Thoroughly confused by the change of subject, and bewildered by the teasing note that had suddenly appeared in his voice, Saffron could only stare blankly. ‘To where?’

‘To your home, of course.’ The patient resignation that shaded his tone riled her further. ‘I did say I would drive you back, so if you’ll just tell me which road——’

No! The word screamed inside Saffron’s head, cutting through the whirl of confusion and anger like a cold metal blade, so that suddenly she could think again, her short-circuited brain-cells beginning to make connections—and the link she could see between her own comment about buying her for the cost of a dinner and his insulting, ‘If you’ll just tell me your terms…’ of earlier that day, made her blood boil.

‘I’m not going anywhere with you! Stop the car! Damn you—I said stop!’

CHAPTER FOUR

FOR a terrifying moment she thought he wasn’t going to do as she said, and just as she was nerving herself for desperate action—though quite what, she had no idea—Niall shrugged indifferently, and, with a swift glance in the mirror, steered the powerful car to a safe position at the kerb.

It had barely come to a halt when Saffron wrenched at the door, only to find that, to her intense frustration, the handle remained stubbornly immovable, resisting all her efforts.

‘Open this!’ she flung at Niall, brown eyes flashing fire.

‘Calm down. Can’t we talk about this like rational human beings?’ His tone was one that a vet might use to soothe a highly-strung horse, but it had exactly the opposite effect on her.

‘There’s nothing to talk about! I’m not going anywhere with you, so open this door!’

‘It’s locked, and it’s going to stay locked until you’re prepared to discuss things like a reasonable——’

‘There is nothing to discuss! And how you dare use the word reasonable in the context of what you’ve done——’

‘What have I done?’ Niall’s immovable calm was infuriating. ‘No—tell me,’ he went on at her angrily wordless exclamation. ‘Just what is it that has so offended you? I’ve made it obvious that I find you attractive—so much so that I wanted to spend some time alone with you—is there anything wrong with that?’

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