“Where’s your bedroom?” he demanded hoarsely of the girl in his arms About the Author Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE Copyright

“Where’s your bedroom?” he demanded hoarsely of the girl in his arms

He continued. “If I have to waste time kicking in all the doors, I’ll be forced to make love to you here....”

“I thought you could find any woman’s bed-room... just like a homing pigeon coming to roost!” Alex giggled, waving him toward a room at the end of the corridor.

“Cheek! It’s high time I taught you some manners,” Leo growled in rough, unlover- like tones as he strode swiftly down the passage and into her room.

“Oh, yeah?” She laughed. “You’ll be lucky!”

“You’re right....” he agreed quietly, swiftly stripping off his clothes as he gazed down at the glinting blue eyes and soft trembling lips, the thick mane of fair, sun-bleached hair and the high, firm breasts of her slim figure. “I’m definitely a very lucky man!”

MARY LYONS

was born in Toronto, Canada, moving to live permanently in England when she was six, although she still proudly maintains her Canadian citizenship. Having married and raised four children, her life nowadays is relatively peaceful—unlike her earlier years when she worked as a radio announcer, reviewed books and, for a time, lived in a turbulent area of the Middle East. She still enjoys a bit of excitement, combining romance with action, humor and suspense in her books whenever possible.

The Valentine Affair!

Mary Lyons

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

The London Chronicle Monday 4th February

JAMES BOSWELL’S SOCIAL DIARY

MARRIED BLISS...?

FOLLOWERS of the social scene will be interested to hear that glamorous, wickedly attractive Leo Hamilton (pictured right at a polo match) has finally met his fate...and is set to many Fiona Bliss, 26, heiress of the ‘Bliss Margarine’ fortune.

Mega-rich banker Leo, 31—who gained a silver medal for fencing in the last Olympics, and is the son of society hostess Lady Lucas by her first marriage to the late Hon. Jack Hamilton—has up to now successfully avoided the clutches of matrimony, despite being linked in the past with so many beautiful women.

However, I am reliably informed that the happy couple will announce their engagement at next week’s St Valentine’s Ball—organised by Lady Lucas in aid of the National Society for Orphaned Children.

Leo and Fiona were unavailable for comment, but Fiona’s mother, Ethel Bliss, is said to be ‘delighted and very happy’.

The silver-grey Porsche made its way carefully through the crowded streets of the City of London, before coming to a halt outside a large, old Victorian building, currently the headquarters of the Hamilton banking empire.

‘She’s all yours, Benson,’ the tall, dark-haired man drawled, unfolding his long limbs from the low-slung vehicle and tossing the car keys to the commissionaire, before visibly wincing at the sound as he slammed the door shut.

‘Had a hard night, Mr Hamilton...?’

‘A real blinder!’ Leo agreed with a tired grin, before striding quickly up the steps and into the building.

‘Ah, there you are, Mr Hamilton,’ his personal assistant called out, hurrying to meet him as he exited the lift on the first floor. ‘Your uncle would like to see you at ten o’clock.’

‘Did he say why?’

His assistant shook her head. ‘Lord Hamilton’s sacretary merely passed on the message. Although it may have something to do with the press conference, which is now scheduled for eleven-thirty,’ she said, almost running to keep up with his long stride as she consulted the notepad in her hand. ‘Your mother has phoned, and is most anxious to contact you. And...and I’d like to offer my own warmest congratulations. I’m sure you’ll both be very happy.’

‘Mmm...?’ Leo shot her a brief, puzzled glance as he entered the blessed sanctuary of his office. Throwing his briefcase onto a black leather sofa, he sank down into the large, comfortable chair behind his desk.

‘OK, Dora—hold all phone calls until I’ve had at least two cups of black coffee. On second thoughts,’ he added with a tired smile, ‘maybe you’d better just keep the black coffee flowing until further notice. And if you can find my dark sunglasses I’ll promise to love you for ever!’ he groaned, leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes.

‘It looks as though it was some celebration party last night,’ Dora said some minutes later, placing a cup and saucer on the desk in front of him.

‘You’re so right,’ Leo agreed with a heavy sigh, and wondering—not for the first time—why on earth he’d agreed to attend Alan Morton’s stag night which, starting on Friday night, had continued for most of the weekend. It was beginning to look as if his mother had been right when she’d accused him of getting too old for all-night rave-ups chiefly composed of wine, women and song. Maybe it really was time that he settled down to a life of quiet domesticity...?

‘Are these what you’re looking for?’ his assistant asked, handing him a pair of dark glasses.

‘Dora-you’re an angel! What would I do without you?’

Gazing down at the tall, handsome, lounging figure with a fond smile, Dora reflected that even now, when clearly suffering from a massive hangover, Leo Hamilton was far and away the most good-looking man she’d ever worked for.

Well over six feet tall, his lean, broad-shouldered figure was only part of his dark attraction. Recently returned from a skiing holiday, his tanned features were emphasised by the thick black wavy hair sweeping down over his well-shaped head to curl over the edge of his collar.

Although he was only aged thirty-one, there were several strands of silver amongst the dark hair at his temples. While the green eyes beneath their heavy lids, set above an aquiline nose, only hinted at the sensuality which was clearly evident in the curved line of his wide mouth, she had no doubt that he was just about every red-blooded woman’s dream hero.

And definitely not boring, Dora reminded herself with an inward grin. The apparent ease with which he managed to charm the socks off so many beautiful women was truly astounding. As was the amount of money he spent at the local florist!

It was strange, she reflected, how the past three years seemed to have sped by in a flash. In fact, ever since Mr Hamilton had joined the bank—originally founded by a distant ancestor and now headed by his uncle, Lord Hamilton—it seemed as if the old building had been hit by a typhoon. Because while the outside world might regard her boss as a mere social dilettante and fun-loving playboy, those long-serving members of staff, such as herself, definitely knew better.

As she’d told her husband, after reading about Mr Hamilton’s engagement in the paper at breakfast that morning. ‘Well, all I can say is—he might play hard, but he works even harder.’

‘Tell me about it!’ her long-suffering partner had muttered. ‘Maybe, now the bloke’s getting married, you won’t have to stay so late at the office.’

However, as she returned now to the mountain of paperwork in her own room, Dora had severe doubts on that score. She definitely knew a workaholic when she saw one. And, despite the recent addition of more secretarial staff to cope with the ever-increasing workload, Mr Hamilton continued to carve his way through a formidable amount of business.

‘Maybe you can tell me what the hell’s going on!’ Leo ground out in exasperation, after summoning her back to his office a few minutes later. ‘I’ve just had a weird phone conversation with my mother. Quite honestly, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that the old girl had been suddenly struck down with senile dementia!’

He brushed long, tanned fingers roughly through his dark hair. ‘From what I could make out—and it wasn’t easy—she seemed very excited about some engagement of mine. But, after looking through my diary, I can’t find anything out of the ordinary. Can you throw any light on the subject?’

Dora gazed at him in astonishment for a moment, before giving a short gurgle of laughter.

‘Oh, come on, Mr Hamilton! I know you like a good joke. But, since the news was in the paper this morning, I don’t think there’s much point in trying to keep it a secret, do you?’

‘Keep what a secret...?’

‘Why, your engagement, of course.’ She beamed down at him. ‘In fact, I’m sure that I speak for everyone here in the bank when I say that I wish you and the young lady every happiness in your forthcoming marriage, and...’

Her voice died away as her employer slowly removed his dark glasses to reveal glittering emerald-green eyes, now regarding her with a cold, stern expression from beneath their heavy lids.

‘My “forthcoming marriage”...? Well, I must say that sounds very interesting,’ he drawled in a dangerously soft voice. ‘However, since we both know that I’m suffering from a monumental hangover, I wonder if you would be kind enough to tell me just who I’m apparently supposed to be marrying.’

‘Well, I thought...the report in the paper clearly stated that... I mean, I wouldn’t normally have dreamed of saying anything, but there it was in black and white, and...’

‘Hold it!’ He gave a heavy sigh. ‘Why don’t you sit down, and let’s take it from the top, hmm?

‘Thank you, Dora,’ Leo said a few minutes later. ‘I think that I’ve now got the picture.’ With a stony expression on his face, he waited for his assistant to leave the room before picking up the telephone on his desk.

‘Ah, Fiona...?’ he drawled as his call was answered. ‘I’ve just heard some interesting news about our “forthcoming marriage”. I don’t suppose you’d happen to know how such an item found its way into the newspapers...?’ he enquired with hard irony, leaning back in his chair and gazing up at the ornate plaster ceiling.

‘Oh, yes...you’re absolutely right,’ Leo murmured some moments later. ‘I definitely think we should have a meeting to discuss our engagement—and as soon as possible!’

Feeling like death warmed up, Alex Pemberton gazed around the large room, relieved to note that she wasn’t the only one present at this Monday morning editorial conference who was looking somewhat the worse for wear. Thanks to the flu epidemic—which had swept through the newspaper office like one of the plagues of Egypt—she’d done virtually no work for the past ten days, and wasn’t looking forward to being cross-examined by her editor, Mike Tanner.

While she waited for Mike to bring the meeting to order, Alex was still wondering why she’d been asked to join the editorial conference. Such meetings were normally only attended by the Chronicle’s most senior journalists—not small-fry, junior members of the staff, such as herself.

However, Mike Tanner was clearly a law unto himself. His appointment as editor of the London Chronicle just over six months ago had brought about a completely new, dynamic wind of change in the newsroom.

Head-hunted by the paper’s owners, Mike had obviously been appointed to rescue the falling circulation of what had once been a quality newspaper but which, over the years, had become both old-fashioned and outmoded. So far Mike seemed to have been achieving brilliant results, and was clearly determined to give the other tabloids a run for their money.

Having only joined the paper a few months before the new editor, Alex knew that she was incredibly lucky to have survived the brutally ruthless purge which had swiftly followed Mike Tanner’s arrival. Since her only previous experience had been working for local, suburban weekly newspapers, she’d been quite certain that she was going to be sacked—just another minor casualty amongst so many of the older, well-known journalists.

But, when called to his office, she’d been surprised to find that she still had a job. And even more amazed to discover that Mike had found time, amidst the hectic schedule of his first week in charge of the paper, to check up on her work to date.

‘I liked the angle you took on the trials and tribulations of being a pop star’s wife. And that piece on the reclusive millionaire wasn’t at all bad, either,’ he’d told her, before adding with a grim smile, ‘A pity you missed the fact that he was getting married for the fifth time only two days after the article was printed.’

‘I know,’ she’d admitted with a sigh. ‘I felt such a fool!’

However, Mike had merely barked, ‘We’ve all slipped up once or twice at the start of our careers. Just make sure it doesn’t happen again.’

‘I will,’ she’d promised fervently, not only overjoyed at finding herself still in gainful employment, but thrilled to be appointed as a regular feature writer for the paper’s magazine supplement. In fact, the only fly in the ointment was having to work with ghastly Imogen Hall-Knightly. If only...

‘Right. Let’s get this show on the road.’ Mike’s harsh, grating voice brought her abruptly back to the present.

Removing a large, fat cigar from between his lips, he blew a thick cloud of grey, evil-smelling smoke down the long table. ‘I’ve called you all here today because I’m not happy with our circulation figures. Yes, they’re rising,’ he added over a muttered protest, ‘but not as fast as I’d like. And, as I’ve already told Miz Imogen “all-nightly”, here, I’m definitely not at all happy with our Saturday magazine.’

Alex struggled to keep her face straight as the older woman’s lips tightened into an angry line.

Recently appointed as a deputy editor in charge of the weekend magazine—a glossy supplement entitled, The Chronicle on Saturday—Imogen was already a highly unpopular member of staff. Despite having gained a reputation as a first-class journalist, she’d managed to rub just about everyone up the wrong way. And Mike Tanner—fiercely proud of his poor, working-class back-ground—seemed to take a delight in mispronouncing the surname of a woman he considered a raving snob.

‘And just what, in your opinion, is wrong with the magazine?’ Imogen demanded angrily.

‘Just about everything,’ Mike snapped. ‘But mostly it’s become loo damn boring! It needs some zing and pizzazz...plus a lot more human interest articles. It certainly doesn’t need reviews of a book on some obscure philosophy about which our readers know little and care less.’

‘There’s no harm in trying to educate our readers, surely?’

‘Education?’ Mike exploded, chomping violently on his cigar. ‘What our readers want is entertainment—and don’t you forget it!

‘But, leaving aside the magazine for a moment, just look at what we’ve got in today’s edition of the Chronicle,’ he continued, jabbing an angry figure down at the newspaper open on the table in front of him. ‘I’m ashamed to be the editor of such rubbish!’

There was a deathly silence as Mike glared around the table before pointing a stubby nicotine-yellowed finger at the girl sitting next to Alex. ‘I want a radical overhaul of the fashion page, Tessa. And as quickly as possible!’

‘Er...right,’ Tessa muttered nervously. ‘What exactly did you have in mind?’

‘Well, for starters, like every other red-blooded man, I’m sick and tired of those ultra-thin models—who look more like stick insects than living human beings. I’ll give you double the spread if you can find some women with a decent bust.’

Tessa grinned. ‘Your word is my command, Mike. Nothing under a 36C—right?’

‘I’m glad that at least someone around here has got the message!’ He threw a malicious grin at Imogen, before turning to the City editor. ‘OK, Ben—I want less of those boring share tips, and a lot more about financial scams in high places. Now, I hear on the grapevine...’

Alex, who had little interest in City gossip, took the opportunity to beg some aspirins from Tessa. ‘I was feeling a lot better earlier this morning. But I can’t seem to get rid of this thumping headache.’

‘No problem,’ the other girl murmured, opening her handbag and producing a small bottle of white pills. ‘Hang on to them—I’ve got plenty more in my desk. I hope you feel better soon.’

‘So do L’ Alex smiled ruefully as she poured some water into a glass from the carafe on the table and swallowed the aspirins. ‘Especially since I haven’t even managed to read a newspaper for the past week.’

‘Well, you’d better catch up as fast as possible,’ Tessa cautioned softly. ‘Because, while it looks as though I’ve got off fairly lightly, I hear Mike is out for blood. And woe betide anyone who can’t come up with at least one brilliant, sparkling idea for a new feature.’

‘Thanks for the gypsy’s warning,’ Alex muttered, brushing a hand through her thick mane of dark blonde hair and desperately trying to pummel her brain into thinking of something as their editor’s voice rose several decibels.

‘You’ll have to do better than this—or you’ll be out on your ear!’ Mike was roaring at James Boswell, the editor of the social diary.

‘Research shows that our readers like nothing better than a really juicy divorce, political sex scandals—or reading about high jinks in royal circles,’ he continued grimly. ‘So why give them this feeble piece about some idle-rich banker who’s decided to get married to a margarine heiress?’

‘Well, I had a hot tip...’

The editor gave a loud exclamation of disgust. ‘As far as I can see it’s totally uninteresting. There’s nothing exciting about margarine, for heaven’s sake. Why should our readers give a toss about this guy? I’m sorry, James—but you’re going to have to do a whole lot “butter” than this!’

James swallowed hard. ‘Actually, it is an interesting piece of news,’ he maintained stubbornly, over the rumble of laughter which had greeted his editor’s pun.

‘Mainly because the man in question is a regular Casanova,’ James continued, a distinct note of envy in his voice. ‘I’m told he’s got more luscious, stunning-looking girls queuing up to jump into his bed than I’ve had hot dinners! So, the news that he’s finally decided to take the plunge into matrimony is going to make a lot of glamorous, well-known women very unhappy.’

‘OK, OK, maybe there is a story there,’ Mike grudgingly agreed. ‘But, if the guy has really been such a stud, why didn’t you say so in words of one syllable? Why bother with all this “avoided the clutches of matrimony” nonsense, when what this piece clearly needs is some quotes from angry, disgruntled ex-girlfriends?’

As the other man muttered some excuse about the laws of libel and the difficulty in getting anything past the Chronicle’s lawyers, Tessa gave Alex a quick nudge.

‘James is right. That’s definitely what I call a nice piece of male crumpet,’ she whispered, grinning as she passed Alex her copy of the paper, open at the social page.

Pointing to the picture of a handsome, dark-haired man standing beside his horse at a polo match, Tessa added with a giggle, ‘I always go for men dressed in sexy, skintight breeches. In fact, he can leave those long leather riding boots outside my bedroom door any night he pleases!’

But, strangely, Alex didn’t seem to be listening to her friend’s comments, her face growing pale as she stared fixedly down at the newsprint in front of her.

‘My dear boy.’ Lord Hamilton beamed at his nephew. ‘I don’t suppose I’m the first person to congratulate you on the news of your engagement. However, I’m very pleased to hear that you’ve decided to settle down, at last.’

‘Well, the truth is...’

‘The truth is that I was becoming a little worried about you,’ the older man told him sternly. ‘Quite frankly, it hasn’t done this bank any good to have the gossip columns carrying reports of your idle, loose behaviour.’

‘Oh, come on, Uncle!’ Leo gave a snort of wry laughter. ‘I hardly see myself as some sort of Lothario. In fact, most of the stuff printed in the newspapers was complete moonshine!’

‘Of course, I’ve nothing against young men sowing their wild oats.’

‘I should think not,’ Leo grinned. ‘Especially when, according to my mother, you painted the town red in your younger days.’

‘Yes, well...that was a long time ago.’ The older man gave his nephew a slightly sheepish smile. ‘As you know, I’ve been happily married to your aunt Emily for the past thirty years. Which is why,’ he added firmly, ‘I’m relieved to know that you’ve clearly decided to settle down and put that sort of life well behind you.’

Wishing that he didn’t feel quite so mentally sluggish, and wondering how to explain that his future wasn’t quite as clear-cut as his uncle seemed to think, Leo was forestalled as Lord Hamilton rose to his feet.

‘The thing is, dear boy, for some time I’ve been wanting to make you a full partner and director of this bank. So, following the good news this morning, I’ve already had a few words with most of the other members of the board, and they’ve all agreed to your appointment.’

‘Hang on!’ Leo interjected swiftly. ‘I’d like to discuss this matter a lot more thoroughly before you take any action. The thing is, I’m not exactly... Well, the fact is...’

‘My doctors have been telling me that I should slow down and think about retirement,’ the older man continued, ignoring the younger man’s words as he walked over to the large window in his office and stared down at the traffic below. ‘And, having no children of my own, it’s a great relief to know that my own nephew will eventually be succeeding me as managing director.’

‘I’m really very flattered that you think I could do the job,’ Leo assured him. ‘And I do understand that you’d like a member of the family to continue as head of this bank. However, your colleagues may well feel—with a certain amount of justice—that I’m far too young for the job. Not to mention the fact that it could well appear to be a bad case of nepotism.’

‘Nonsense!’ His uncle turned around to face him. ‘You’ve worked very hard over the past few years, and fully earned your spurs.’

‘Surely there’s no need to make a decision straight away?’ Leo protested, desperately wishing that his head didn’t feel as if it was full of cotton wool. ‘I mean I’d like to have some time to think about it, and...’

“There’s nothing to think about,’ his uncle stated firmly, walking back to his desk and gathering papers together as his secretary came into the room, followed by two assistants. ’Now, I mustn’t keep the board waiting. Maybe we can have a word later this afternoon?’

‘But, I really do need to talk to you...’

‘Later, dear boy. Later...’ Lord Hamilton muttered, hurrying out of the room.

Swearing under his breath with baffled frustration, Leo wandered slowly back to his own office, quite unable to see how he was going to extricate himself from what was rapidly becoming a very complicated situation.

Alex glanced cautiously down the table, relieved to see that Mike Tanner was now leaning back in his chair, happily puffing on his second cigar of the morning, and regarding with satisfaction the pale faces and cowed figures around the table.

Her editor obviously believed that putting the fear of God into his staff helped to keep them on their toes in what was an ever-increasingly tough and competitive market. And, to be fair, he wasn’t far short of the mark. Threatened with the risk of losing their jobs, it was amazing how many new, creative and exciting ideas had been put forward during the past hour.

Unfortunately, Alex’s brain had obstinately refused to come up with anything that Mike would regard as creative, let alone interesting. The fact that she’d escaped unscathed so far didn’t mean a damn thing, since Alex knew that she would soon be in the firing line. Why else would Mike have demanded her attendance at this morning’s editorial meeting, when such conferences were only normally attended by the paper’s leading journalists?

Desperately sipping the dregs of her by now cold coffee, Alex waited for Armageddon to strike. And, sure enough, it wasn’t long in coming.

‘Now, Miss Pemberton,’ the editor growled from his position at the head of the table. ‘I don’t think we’ve heard from you this morning. Have you, by any chance, got some new articles in the pipeline?’

‘Well, er...no, not really,’ she confessed. ‘I’m still working on the St Valentine’s Day feature, of course, but...’

‘Ah, yes...I’ve had some thoughts on that subject.’ Mike drew deeply on his cigar. ‘Since the fourteenth of February falls on a Thursday this year, I’ve decided that the whole of that Saturday’s magazine will be devoted to the subject of love and romance. You know the sort of thing...’ He waved expansively in the air. ‘Why women expect men to propose to them on that day, some sexy fashion articles, how to cook a wonderful dinner for the man of your dreams, et cetera, et cetera.’

There was a general chorus of approval around the table, with the more sycophantic journalists crying, ‘Great,’ ‘Brilliant,’ ‘A real winner.’ The only dissenting voice was that of Imogen Hall-Knightly, clearly furious at the way Mike was hijacking her editorial control of the magazine supplement.

‘It sounds just the sort of rubbish you’d find in those awful women’s magazines—or in the worst of the down-market tabloids,’ she rasped. ‘And, I find it very offensive that you should wish to promote such a stereotyped view of women—reinforcing their role as mere playthings of the male species!’

There was a startled hush following her words, during which everyone held their breath, fully expecting their editor to verbally rip the deeply disliked Imogen into small, tiny pieces.

However, they were startled when Mike merely leaned back in his seat and, quite astonishingly, gave the rigidly angry woman a bland smile.

‘Well, you may be right. We certainly don’t want to be accused of being politically incorrect, or of discrimination against men—do we?’

‘Er...yes...no...I mean...’ Imogen gasped, frantically waving away the thick cloud of evil-smelling cigar smoke which the editor had just puffed in her direction.

‘Which is why,’ Mike continued imperturbably, ‘I’ve decided to include a feature, written by Alex Pemberton, which will be solely devoted to the male point of view. I rather fancy the title, “Sex and the single man.” How does that grab you?’

‘By the throat!’ Imogen ground out angrily, amidst the sound of general laughter.

‘That can be arranged,’ her editor drawled menacingly, pausing for a moment before turning to look down the table. ‘OK, Alex, what have you got so far?’

Stunned by the abrupt turn of events, Alex struggled to pull herself together. Was this the chance of a lifetime, or what? There was a small problem, of course, because her outline wasn’t nearly complete. But maybe she could skim over the gaps? It was definitely worth a try, she decided quickly, taking a deep breath and hoping for the best.

‘I love the title,’ she told Mike with a grin. ‘And everything I’ve done so far will fit in very well with what you want. As you know, before being struck down by flu I was working on a St Valentine’s Day feature...’

‘We’ve gathered that much,’ Mike snapped irritably. ‘Get on with it!’

‘OK...OK.’ Alex muttered nervously. ‘Well, I decided to write about three couples—working-class, middle-class, and upper-class, rich socialites—pointing out the differences in their romantic lifestyles. I’ve already got a plumber and his girlfriend, plus a tax inspector and his fiancée who are all quite happy to cooperate on the feature. The idea is to examine, in depth, what Imogen might well refer to as their “mating rituals”.’

Ignoring the general laughter, Imogen scowled down the table at Alex—a fact which didn’t disturb the younger girl in the slightest. She was fed up to the back teeth with Imogen’s continual sniping comments—mainly concerned with what she regarded as Alex’s rich, privileged background—and deeply resented the older woman’s inability to judge her work on its merits.

‘I’m planning to interview them all separately, as well as together,’ Alex continued blithely, before being struck by a sudden idea. ‘By the way, it’s just occurred to me that I might be able to take them all to a posh, up-market St Valentine’s Day Ball—which is usually held in one of the grand London hotels. What do you think?’ she asked Mike with a hopeful smile.

‘The organisers always hold these balls on the actual day itself, which means it would be perfect for the following Saturday’s supplement. So, I could write a second piece, mainly about what a good time they had in celebrating their romance.’

‘Yeah...that’s not a bad idea. Not a bad idea at all.’ Her editor nodded. ‘In fact, I reckon your idea for two bites at the cherry sounds very promising. I particularly like the idea of a plumber rubbing shoulders on an equal footing with some toffee-nosed Hooray Henry,’ he added with a chuckle, gathering up his papers and announcing the close of the meeting.

As the other members of staff began leaving the room, Imogen—who, as an experienced journalist, never missed a trick—quickly seized an opportunity to cut the younger girl down to size.

‘I’m quite sure that Miss Pemberton has done her homework,’ she said with a cold, malicious smile. ‘But I don’t recall her mentioning any details about the third, upper-class couple...’

Alex, who’d been happily basking in the warmth of Mike’s rare praise, felt a cold, hard lump of apprehension filling her stomach. Trust Imogen to wield the poisoned dagger!

‘No, well...I hadn’t quite sorted out the final details before being struck down by the flu,’ she told him briskly, doing her best to sound businesslike and confident. ‘It’s just a matter of tying up a few loose ends, and—’

‘We’ll have to insist on knowing exactly who you’ve lined up,’ Imogen interjected sharply, before turning to the editor. ‘For this feature to work she’s going to need a wealthy, well-known and socially prominent couple. It’s really no good dear Alex relying, as she does so often, on the last-minute help of some of her idle, rich layabout friends...is it?’

‘That woman’s an absolute bitch!’ Tessa muttered sympathetically as she rose from the table. ‘Go for it, kid. Smash her in the eyes with some really glamorous names.’

Unfortunately Alex—only too well aware that she hadn’t yet come up with any ideas for the upper-class pair of lovers—could only desperately pray for divine guidance, frantically cudgelling her brain in an effort to provide a satisfactory answer.

‘Well?’ her editor barked impatiently. ‘Hurry up! We can’t sit around here all morning, you know.’

Thinking about the episode later, Alex could only imagine that she’d been blindly trapped within the coils of some evil, malign influence. What else could have led her to commit an act of such folly? However, with her mind completely blank and just about to admit defeat, she found herself staring down at the newspaper open on the table in front of her.

Even as she raised her hand—pointing with a trembling finger to the picture of the man about whom Tessa had made such a crude joke—she could hear loud warning bells echoing in her head. But, as she ruefully acknowledged to herself later, both the sin of pride and an overwhelming, urgent need to escape from such a sticky situation proved to be irresistible.

‘It’s this man,’ she said defiantly. ‘I’m going to be featuring Leo Hamilton and his fiancée, Fiona Bliss.’

‘Do me a favour!’ James Boswell laughed scornfully, gathering up his papers and walking towards the door. ‘You’ll never get him to go along with it. Not in a month of Sundays!’

‘That stupid girl has just plucked a name out of thin air!’ Imogen agreed furiously. ‘The Leo Hamiltons of this world would never agree to cooperate with us. He might just respond to an approach from The Times, for instance, but definitely not a down-market rag like the London Chronicle.’

‘Thank you for those few kind words, Imogen!’ Mike grated angrily, prevented from saying any more as James, about to leave the room, turned to underline the older woman’s words.

‘I hate to say it—but, unfortunately, Imogen’s quite right,’ he shrugged. ‘I don’t normally reveal my sources. However, it seems only fair to say that it was the girl’s mother who tipped me off about the engagement. Believe me, Leo Hamilton would prefer to slit his own throat rather than court any publicity. And, as far as cooperation with this newspaper is concerned...?’ He shrugged again. ‘You’re likely to get more information out of an oyster!’

‘Hmm... Well, it looks as if I’ll have to cancel the feature. Especially since there’s not enough time to line up anyone else.’ Mike nodded slowly in agreement. ‘I’m very disappointed in you, Alex,’ he added sternly. ‘Why promise something you can’t deliver?’

‘I can deliver Leo Hamilton,’ she told him firmly.

James Boswell smiled and shook his head. ‘Come on, Alex! What’s the point in flogging a dead horse? Everyone knows that both the guy and his family have always avoided any publicity like the plague. So, there’s no way he’s going to agree to participate in an article about his engagement. Right?’

‘No, you’re wrong,’ she protested, before turning to her editor. ‘I’ll admit that James has a point—Leo Hamilton wouldn’t normally be too happy about the idea. Well, not at first, anyway. But, please give me a break, Mike,’ she begged earnestly: ‘Because, in this particular case, I can virtually guarantee to bring home the bacon.’

‘This is all a complete waste of time,’ Imogen snapped. ‘I don’t know about you, Mike, but I’ve got better things to do than to listen to such nonsense.’

‘Calm down, everyone,’ the editor said firmly, before regarding the younger girl intently for a moment. ‘You seem very certain that you won’t have any problems with this article, right?’

‘Right.’

‘Now, you’re certainly not stupid, Alex,’ he continued slowly. ‘You must know that if you want my backing I’m going to need some hard facts. What makes you so certain that you can gain the cooperation of this guy? Are you one of his ex-girlfriends, for instance?’

‘Certainly not!’ she snapped curtly.

‘Well...?’

Alex hesitated for a moment, and then gave a heavy sigh. ‘OK, Mike. I normally try to keep family and business matters entirely separate. However, if you’re insisting on some “hard facts”...’ She shrugged. ‘Well, it just so happens that Leo Hamilton is my stepbrother.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘GO AWAY—you great big bully!’ Alex muttered angrily, impatiently tooting her horn at the driver of a large delivery truck who was clearly trying to force her small car out of the way as she drove through the narrow, crowded streets of the city.

Ever since the meeting in Mike Tanner’s office only two hours ago it felt as though she’d been frantically spinning like a top. Which had, at least, the virtue of keeping her mind fully occupied, and unable to think too much about the forthcoming confrontation with Leo Hamilton.

But now as she pulled on the handbrake, staring blindly out through her windscreen at the lines of cars and trucks all firmly stalled in the heavy traffic, there seemed little she could do to combat the wild, nervous fluttering in her stomach.

Relax! Keep calm...there’s no need to panic. Quite apart from anything else, there’s a good chance that Leo probably won’t even recognise you, she told herself firmly. ‘And let’s hope he doesn’t!’ she added out loud, with an attempt at grim humour, almost shuddering as she recalled the deeply unhappy young girl who had suddenly found herself dumped in a strange household in Italy all those years ago.

Most teenage girls looked a mess at one time or another—but she’d really gone to town, with that ‘heavy Gothic’ style!

It was difficult to remember now exactly what had prompted her to dye her hair jet-black. Or why she’d ever thought that smothering her face in chalky-white foundation and applying both sooty-black mascara and dark crimson lipstick with a heavy hand could be a good idea. Could it have been some sort of protest? An infantile act of rebellion against an unkind world? If so, it had, most unfortunately, proved to be a fatal mistake.

After one appalled glance at the strange-looking sixteen-year-old girl who’d suddenly arrived at her holiday home in Tuscany, Leo’s mother, Eleanor Lucas, had swiftly taken matters in hand. However, by the time she’d forcefully bullied Alex into looking more like the girl’s normal self, it had proved to be far, far too late. Because, barely moments after setting eyes on him, Alex had fallen desperately in love with her tall, dark and handsome twenty-three-year-old stepbrother. While he, for his part, had clearly only thought of her as some ghastly teenaged version of one of the Munsters.

Over the years, Alex had done her level best to forget that long, baking-hot and totally dreadful summer holiday, where one disaster had been swiftly followed by another, like a Greek tragedy. But now, with the prospect of meeting once more the man who had so blighted her young life, she could feel her skin almost crawling with embarrassment and humiliation.

Cool it! she told herself firmly as the stalled traffic began slowly moving, at last. Just about everyone makes a complete idiot of themselves at least once in their lives. So, why should you be the exception? Besides, what happened in the past doesn’t matter. It’s the here and now that’s important. And, if you don’t want to find yourself out of a job, you’ve got to get this story—come hell or high water!

Unfortunately, trying to psych herself up for the forthcoming confrontation with Leo wasn’t proving too successful. Mainly because it didn’t need a very high IQ to realise that, after the horrendous scene in Mike’s office, her job was now squarely on the line. A fact which her editor had made crystal clear.

‘I’m going out on a limb for you, Alex. So you’d better deliver the goods,’ he’d warned.

Ignoring Imogen’s furious anger at being overruled, Mike had continued grimly, ‘These articles of yours had better be damn good. If I find that you’ve been spinning a yarn—or trying to pull the wool over my eyes in any way—I can guarantee that you’ll never work for me again. Or any other newspaper, for that matter. Got the message?’

Alex had nodded nervously, the noise of Imogen’s rage and fury ringing in her ears as she’d hurried away from his office.

Well, at least she hadn’t been lying about her relationship with Leo Hamilton, Alex had comforted herself, trying to ignore her guilty conscience as she’d reached the sanctuary of her desk.

Oh, yeah? Just who do you think you’re kidding? The ghostly voice in her head had demanded with a scornful laugh. You may not have told a one hundred per cent lie. But you were definitely being economical with the truth—right? Because Leo is only a sort of stepbrother—or should it be stepbrother by marriage? And you haven’t set eyes on the rotten man, or the rest of his horrid family, for almost eight years.

‘OK...OK,’ she’d muttered under her breath, resolutely banishing her conscience to the far, dark recesses of her mind as she’d tried to concentrate on the Herculean task before her.

First and foremost Alex had realised that she needed a lot of background information—almost as important to a journalist as water in the Sahara Desert. After all, she knew absolutely nothing about Fiona Bliss, and had virtually no knowledge of what her stepbrother had been up to during the past eight years.

However, just over an hour later, she’d been feeling quite pleased with herself. The Chronicle’s library had produced a pile of news cuttings on Leo and his family, while a quick phone call to her old school friend Sophie would hopefully provide a whole host of material about his new fiancée, Fiona Bliss.

Unfortunately, Sophie—who rented the basement flat of Alex’s house, and worked on a glamorous monthly magazine mostly devoted to fashion and the lives of those prominent in society—had proved an unexpectedly hard nut to crack. It was only after promising to lend the other girl her best long gown for a deathly smart St Valentine’s Ball—and her favourite pair of high-heeled gold sandals and matching bag—that Sophie had reluctantly agreed to raid the files in her office.

‘Great!’ Alex had grinned down the phone. ‘So, how about meeting me for a late lunch in the pub around the corner from your office, and you can give me the details then. OK?’

‘No, it’s not OK,’ her friend had protested. ‘I’ll need a lot more time than just a few hours. Who do you think I am? Mata Hari?’

Alex had gritted her teeth in frustration. ‘Look...do you want to be the belle of the ball, and make that ex-boyfriend of yours as jealous as hell, or what?’ she demanded. ‘Of course, if you’re happy to wear your tatty old black dress, and don’t mind looking like something the cat dragged in...’

‘Oh, all right!’ Sophie had ground out, before slamming down her phone.

So far, so good. But with so little time in which to both complete her interviews and write the article, Alex knew that time was of the essence. Which was why, striving to keep calm and banish her rising panic, she’d swallowed her pride and begged James Boswell for his help.

Clearly aggrieved that he hadn’t known of her relationship to Leo Hamilton, the paper’s social editor still didn’t think she had much of a chance of gaining the glamorous banker’s cooperation.

‘Especially now that the guy has the modern equivalent of a shotgun wedding in front of him,’ James had added with a sour grin.

‘You don’t mean...?’

‘No, of course I don’t think his girlfriend is pregnant,’ he’d retorted curtly. ‘But your stepbrother is going to find it almost impossible to extricate himself from the clutches of Fiona’s mother, Ethel Bliss. Believe me, that’s one really tough, hard woman—who’s ruthlessly ambitious for her only child. Don’t forget, it was Ethel who tipped me off about the “engagement”. So, even if Leo wanted to extricate himself from the situation—and I’ve no reason to think that he does—I’ll lay any money that he’s going to find himself standing at the altar, firmly anchored to a heavy ball and chain!’

James had also let fall the information that her stepbrother lived in a large, glamorous penthouse apartment in Knightsbridge, overlooking Hyde Park.

‘With a tough doorman, and more intruder alarms than the Bank of England, none of my contacts has been able to put a foot over the threshold. I still don’t think Leo will agree to help with your article,’ he’d added, with a bad-tempered shrug. ‘But, since you’re a member of the family, at least getting in to see the guy will be a piece of cake, right?’

‘Er...right,’ she’d murmured, hoping she’d sounded more confident than she felt, and quickly realising that her only hope was to try and catch Leo off guard, in his office at the bank.

‘Nothing ventured—nothing gained!’ Alex now told herself firmly. But, as she drove slowly past the Mansion House, keeping a sharp lookout for a space in which to park her car, she couldn’t help worrying about the forthcoming interview.

After a frantic dash home to change out of the jeans which she normally wore in the newspaper office, Alex still wasn’t at all sure whether she’d picked the right sort of ‘stuffy’ outfit. Maybe the black wool suit, with its tightly fitted jacket over sheer black stockings and high-heeled black court shoes, was a bit too funereal for a bank?

Still...what the heck? she told herself defiantly as she finally managed to find a free parking meter. Because, quite frankly, the chances of her actually managing to get as far as Leo’s office were so slim as to be practically anorexic!

In fact, even getting through the bank’s front door was likely to be almost impossible, she realised, walking slowly up the street towards the large Victorian building, and noting the figure of a burly, uniformed commissionaire filling the doorway. Desperately trying to suppress the sudden urge to turn tail and buy a one-way ticket to South America, Alex gradually noticed that a steady stream of people seemed to be approaching the bank.

Surely that wasn’t...? Oh, wow! It really was turning out to be her lucky day, she told herself with a slightly hysterical giggle, before running swiftly across the road.

‘Hi, Ben,’ she smiled breathlessly at the Chronicle’s financial editor.

‘Good heavens! What on earth are you doing in this neck of the woods, Alex? I didn’t know you were interested in City finance.’

‘Of course I’m interested,’ she assured him earnestly, firmly clutching hold of his arm. ‘In fact, I find the whole concept of world trade simply fascinating!’

‘That’s great!’ he exclaimed, his cheeks flushing slightly as he gallantly led her up the steps. ‘Today’s meeting is only a public relations exercise. But it will be interesting to hear more details of Hamilton’s partial merger with a German bank.’

‘Absolutely!’ she agreed, almost unable to believe her luck. If she could swan in with Ben, she was almost home and dry!

‘So, after we’ve heard what they’ve got to say, maybe you’d let me take you out to lunch? I’m writing a feature on some recent corporate takeovers, which I think you’ll find quite thought provoking.’

‘Oh, dear—I don’t think I can make lunch,’ Alex murmured, softening the blow with a beaming smile as they walked up the steps. ‘But I’m looking forward to reading your article. It sounds absolutely riveting!’ she added, both amazed and slightly ashamed at her sudden, unexpected ability to lie her head off.

‘Here we are,’ he announced as they approached the open door of the bank. ‘Got your press card?’

‘Of course.’ She flashed the small plastic folder at the commissionaire, who happily waved them onwards into the large building.

Hoping to remain as inconspicuous as possible, Alex led Ben to the far side of the room, where rows of gilt chairs were set well back, facing a large table at the other end.

Staring up at the amount of gold leaf on the ornately decorated ceiling, she let her gaze move on to take in the enormous glass chandelier, clearly lit to banish the grey February morning beyond the windows, around which were draped thick crimson brocade curtains. In fact—with its dark crimson plush covered walls heavily encrusted with large gloomy oil paintings—it looked more like a gentlemen’s club or a grand drawing room than a modern working environment.

Well, well! It certainly looked as if these merchant bankers believed in making themselves very comfortable. Nice work if you can get it! Alex mused caustically, wondering how soon she could slip out of the room and continue her search for Leo Hamilton.

While she had been taking stock of her luxurious surroundings, the room had been gradually filling up with journalists from most of the daily newspapers and those magazines concerned with finance. Busy chatting to one another, it wasn’t until two men walked through a door at the far end of the room that the general conversation ceased and the audience began taking out their notebooks.

Seated behind a large, stout figure in a gabardine raincoat, Alex had difficulty in seeing what was going on. However, as soon as she moved her chair slightly, giving herself a better view of the table at the end of the room, she realised with a jolt that—thanks to Ben—there was no need for her to seek out Leo Hamilton.

That he hadn’t changed at all was the first coherent thought to emerge from the swirling chaos in her mind. But then, as her vision cleared, Alex realised that she was mistaken.

It was now nearly eight years since she’d last seen Leo, and, while his outward, extraordinarily handsome appearance might seem little altered, he now clearly saw no reason to hide his obvious command of the situation, or the overpowering strength of his forceful personality. He had, in fact, matured into a tough, resourceful man, and it didn’t look as if nowadays that firm, hard mouth laughed very much, if at all.

The bright light from the chandelier cast a sheen on his dark hair, highlighting a few threads of silver at the temples. His skin was very tanned, as if he spent most of his time in the open air—not the usual environment for a banker. Or that of a man who, if James Boswell was to be believed, apparently spent a great deal of his time in the bedrooms of beautiful women!

But clearly that aspect of his life had been left aside as he calmly welcomed members of the press. In fact, Leo’s tall figure appeared perfectly relaxed—the wide, powerful shoulders and lean hips accentuated by the immaculate formality of his well-cut, dark grey lounge suit—as he smoothly explained the reasons behind his bank’s new merger with a German financial institution. Watching the cool, unruffled way in which he dealt with a host of questions from the assembled journalists, Alex had no problem in understanding why he’d been chosen to present this exercise in public relations.

But, while Leo appeared to be exuding an air of relaxed charm, he didn’t succeed in fooling her...not for one minute! Because, as she knew only too well, beneath the suave and charming exterior Leo Hamilton had always been as hard as tungsten steel.

The perfect example of an iron fist clothed in a soft velvet glove, Alex reminded herself grimly, unable to prevent an icy shiver of apprehension from feathering down her spine.

Buried in unhappy memories, it was some moments before she realised that the meeting was breaking up. Noting that, while one or two journalists were busy checking some final points with Leo, the majority of those present were slowly leaving the room, she muttered a brief goodbye to Ben before mingling with the crowd as they made their way out through the door.

One swift, rapid glance around the large foyer was enough for Alex to see that she’d have to move sharply if she wished to avoid attracting the attention of either the receptionists or the commissionaire, who was now carefully shepherding the press corps out of the building. Using a group of journalists as a shield, she edged towards the bank of lifts, slipping inside and quickly punching a button at random.

‘Hello, Dora,’ she called out some minutes later, having charmed a passing office boy into giving her not only the exact location of Leo’s office but also the name of his personal assistant. ‘I’ve just popped in to see Leo. Is it all right if I wait in his office?’

Glancing up from her desk, Dora stared at the slim figure standing in the open doorway.

Quite certain that she’d never seen this person before, Dora was also well aware of Mr Hamilton’s inflexible rule that girlfriends were never allowed anywhere near his office. And, since no respectable office would dream of employing anyone with that untamed cloud of fair, sun-bleached hair tumbling down around her shoulders—not to mention one wearing such a disgracefully short black skirt over long slim legs encased in sheer black stockings—she clearly didn’t work here, at the bank.

However, just as Dora was about to pick up the phone and call Security, she took another, hard look at the girl leaning casually against the door. You didn’t have to be a serious follower of fashion to realise that suit must have cost a fortune. And those Gucci shoes and matching handbag on its gold chain wouldn’t have been exactly cheap, either. So...

Oh, heavens! It looked as though she’d nearly made a dreadful mistake. Because, of course, this extraordinarily attractive-looking girl must be Mr Hamilton’s new fiancée.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise...’ Dora muttered, rising quickly from behind her desk. ‘It’s Miss Fiona Bliss, isn’t it?’

‘How did you guess?’ Alex smiled happily at the older woman. ‘Er...darling Leo is just finishing a meeting downstairs. So, is it all right if I wait for him in his office?’

‘Of course.’ Dora beamed at the girl and led her into the palatial mom. ‘Can I get you anything?’

‘I’d sell my soul for a cup of coffee,’ Alex admitted with a grin, waiting until Leo’s secretary had left the room before sinking down into a leather chair.

‘Phew!’ she muttered with relief a little while later, gratefully sipping her hot coffee—and thankful that she didn’t have to go through such an exhausting charade every day of the week. What a piece of luck, his secretary mistaking her for Leo’s fiancée! Although exactly what she was going to say or do when he returned to his office, she had absolutely no idea.

However, while she had the chance, maybe she ought to have a good look around his office? If her articles were going to be a success, it was important to try to pick up some clues about both his present lifestyle and his new fiancée.

Unfortunately, there was virtually nothing in Leo’s opulent suite of rooms which couldn’t just as well have been found in the office of any highly successful man—a huge leather-covered mahogany desk with its back to the large window, a grey and white marble mantelpiece over a fake log fire, comfortable black leather chairs and sofa... It all looked depressingly bare of clues. Apart from the fact that there were no photographs, of course. That was definitely odd. Surely he ought to have a picture of his beloved fiancée placed prominently on his desk?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of firm footsteps approaching down the marble-floored corridor. Bracing herself for the forthcoming confrontation, Alex heard his secretary informing Leo that his fiancée was waiting for him in his office.

‘Oh, really...?’ a deep voice queried sardonically, before the door was thrown open and Leo Hamilton walked into the room.

He paused on the threshold, his hard green eyes flicking quickly over the figure of the girl by the fireplace, and Alex held her breath as she stared at the tall, broad-shouldered figure in the doorway.

It was one thing to have viewed this man across the length of the large room downstairs a few minutes ago. But quite another to find herself now standing only a few feet away from Leo’s tall, dominant figure—and almost reeling from the forceful impact of his dark, physical attraction.

How could she have forgotten...? Why hadn’t she remembered the devastating aura of sheer, raw sex appeal projected by this man, who was now studying her with such calm detachment on his handsome, tanned face?

Desperately trying to control a hot flush rising over her cheeks, and the quivers of awareness scorching through her body, she put out a hand to clutch hold of the mantelpiece for support. Fearful memories of their last encounter were now welling up inside her like a sudden sickness, and Alex could feel herself trembling as if in the grip of a fierce tropical fever.

She should never have come here! What on earth had possessed her to even contemplate such folly?

But Leo’s gaze of cool, calm uninterest helped to steady her nerves. She held her breath, watching as he gave a slight, dismissive shrug of his shoulders and began moving across the thick carpet towards his large desk by the window. It was some moments before she realised that, despite her own strong, almost overwhelming response to his presence, he apparently had no recognition of the girl staring at him so intently.

‘It would seem to be my lucky day for collecting “fiancées”!’ Leo drawled, sitting down and pulling out various drawers. ‘However, if you can provide me with some aspirins, I’ll seriously consider bestowing on you both my hand and my heart!’

Thrown completely off balance by this calm reaction to her unexpected presence in his office, Alex found herself giving a startled, involuntary gurgle of nervous laughter.

Obviously surprised by her response, he shot her a quick, penetrating glance, and continued to search through the drawers of his desk.

‘I must say that I’ve had better offers in my time,’ she told him with a grim smile, making a determined effort to pull herself together. ‘But that definitely sounds an interesting proposal!’ she added, opening her handbag and walking over to place Tessa’s small bottle of white pills on his desk.

‘Bless you,’ he murmured, filling a glass from the carafe of water in front of him, and sighing deeply as he leaned back in his chair.

‘Well, now...yes. I can imagine that you will have. had several possibly better offers,’ he drawled a few moments later, his gaze moving slowly over the tall, slim figure of the girl standing in front of him.

The intense, insulting thoroughness with which he scrutinised the cloud of sun-bleached hair, the high, firm breasts, and the length of her legs beneath the short skirt brought a flush to her cheeks and an angry sparkle to her wide blue eyes.

‘It’s no good glaring at me like that, my girl!’ he grinned with sardonic amusement, clearly enjoying her discomfiture. ‘Especially as we both know that you must have spun a complete yarn to poor Dora. And, since you most definitely are not Fiona Bliss, maybe you’d be good enough to tell me your name?’

She regarded him warily in silence, and then shrugged. ‘I did wonder if you’d recognise me, after all this time. But clearly it would seem that you haven’t.’ She paused for a moment. ‘I’m Alex Pemberton.’ .

He frowned, staring at her intently, before giving a shake of his dark head. ‘No, sony—I simply don’t recall that name. And I’m very sure that I wouldn’t have forgotten meeting you,’ he added, once more allowing the green eyes beneath their heavy lids to slowly and carefully scrutinise her figure. ‘Quite certain, in fact!’

‘Ah. well—that just goes to show how even the cleverest of men can be mistaken!’

Alex smiled blandly at him, suddenly feeling lightheaded, and totally amazed to find that she wasn’t frightened of this man after all.

So, OK...she had been startled and confused a few moments ago by the sudden, shocking reminder of his overwhelming sexual attraction. But she was now recovering fast, and couldn’t think why, over the past eight years, she’d stupidly allowed Leo’s dark image to become magnified in her mind until it had assumed the proportions of a nightmare.

She had, of course, been pathetically young and innocent at the time. But now, standing here in his office, everything seemed very different. For the first time in her life—certainly as far as this man was concerned—she was feeling quite extraordinarily confident, with no doubts about her ability to cope with the situation.

‘I hear that you are about to become engaged. I imagine that must make your parents very happy,’ Alex said, casually sitting down on a Chippendale chair set in front of his desk.

‘I really don’t see that the private life of myself, or my family, is any business of yours,’ he drawled coolly.

‘Oh, dear—it looks as if I might be guilty of bad manners, doesn’t it?’ She gave him a false, penitent smile. ‘I should have enquired after your mother. Tell me—how is dear Eleanor these days? Still busy raising funds for charity?’

There was a long silence as Leo stared intently at the calm, self-assured figure smiling so confidently at him from the other side of his desk. He was damned certain that he’d never seen this extraordinarily good-looking girl before. But, if so, how come she seemed to know his mother?

‘And how is your stepfather?’ Alex asked brightly.

‘I really don’t think—’

‘It’s a long time ago, of course, but I have very fond memories of Sir Geoffrey—far and away the nicest member of your family.’

She smiled artlessly at the man whose face had suddenly become a blank mask. Only the piercingly sharp green eyes gazing at her with hard, intense speculation gave any hint of the furious mental activity going on behind that deadpan expression.

‘I do hope that he’s enjoying his retirement in Gloucestershire? It must be such a contrast to all those years he spent as an ambassador in South America!’ she continued, suddenly recalling one of the snippets of information from the newspaper library commenting on the successful diplomatic career of Sir Geoffrey Lucas which she’d briefly had time to look at before driving to the bank.

This girl is definitely trouble—with a capital T! Leo told himself grimly. Although, quite why he was suddenly so certain of that fact, he had no idea. But he still had no clue as to why she was here. Or what she’d hoped to gain by pretending to be Fiona Bliss...

And leaving aside any speculation about her visit to his office, he had a very strong, uneasy feeling that his life was about to be seriously disturbed. Maybe it was that slight trace of irony in her voice? Or, possibly, the sight of those wide, clear blue eyes regarding him with such a guileless, innocent gaze? Whatever the reason, his instincts were telling him that the sooner he got rid of this Miss Pemberton the better it would be for his peace of mind.

‘Well, it’s been very interesting meeting you, but I’m afraid that I’m going to have to ask you to leave,’ he murmured smoothly. ‘Unfortunately, I’m very busy today, and...’

‘Yes. I listened to your speech downstairs just now. Very impressive!’

‘Thank you,’ he murmured through gritted teeth, making a mental note to have a few harsh, sharp words with the bank’s chief security officer.

The fact that this girl had managed to gain entrance to the building—let alone being able to wander casually around the offices—was absolutely disgraceful! In fact, now he came to think about it, such a total breach of security could have had dire consequences. He was probably lucky that she wasn’t some mad gunman, waving a kalashnikov rifle and demanding the keys to the bank’s safe!

With a slight, irritated shake of his dark head, Leo made a determined effort to clear his mind.

Oh, boy—it really wasn’t his day! First all that business about his ‘engagement’ to Fiona—and now, seemingly bemused by this unknown girl’s bewitching smile, he’d actually found himself thinking that some crazy idiot might appear in his office brandishing a gun!

Pull yourself together—get a grip on life! he told himself roughly. So...OK, he was prepared to admit that he found Miss Pemberton very sexually attractive. But so what? He had, after all, known plenty of women who were far more beautiful. And yet... well, most unfortunately, there was no escaping the fact that, while she’d only been in his office for a few minutes, this girl appeared to be having a disastrous effect on his normally levelheaded, logical mind!

‘I have several calls to make, and then an early luncheon appointment,’ he informed her curtly, pulling one of the telephones on his desk towards him. ‘So, if you don’t mind letting yourself out...?’

‘Well, yes, I do—mind, that is. Because I was really hoping that we could have a lovely long talk,’ Alex told him with another completely false, beaming smile. ‘I mean, we’ve so much news to catch up on, haven’t we?’ she added, leaning back in her chair. ‘For instance, I can’t wait to hear all about your romance with Fiona Bliss!’

Leo gave a heavy sigh, before slowly rising to his feet. ‘I’m sorry, but I really am very busy. So, unless you leave this office immediately, I shall be forced to call the security guards—and have you thrown out.’

‘I don’t think I’d like that.’

He gave a short bark of exasperated laughter. ‘No, I’m quite sure that you wouldn’t,’ he agreed grimly, determinedly averting his eyes from her long, slim legs in those sexy black stockings. ‘So, why not be a sensible girl and leave quietly while you have the chance to do so?’

‘Because we’ve got some talking to do—that’s why,’ she retorted, opening her handbag and extracting a white business card, which she placed firmly on the desk in front of him.

‘I’m simply not interested...’ he snapped, irritably flicking the card away as he lifted the receiver of his phone, angrily punching some numbers on the dial.

‘Oh, I think you will be interested,’ she countered swiftly, leaning forward and firmly cutting off his call. ‘Because, while I use the name of Alex Pemberton for professional reasons, I was actually christened Alexandra Rothstein.

‘Not that it really matters,’ she continued bleakly as he slowly put down the phone. ‘Because, as far as you are concerned, Leo, my real name is Nemesis!’

CHAPTER THREE

GAZING up at Leo’s tall frame, which had suddenly stiffened, his dark brows drawn together in a frown as he stared down at her, Alex found herself wondering why the name of Nemesis—the mythical Greek goddess of retribution and revenge—should have so suddenly come into her mind.

As he replaced the phone and slowly sank back down into his seat, Alex realised that deep down, within the dark recesses of her subconscious, she must have been waiting for an opportunity to finally confront Leo face to face. Not ever really knowing exactly how, when or where, of course. But now the strong feelings of anger and injustice, which she’d so firmly suppressed for the past eight years, were swiftly rising to the surface and demanding to be heard.

Alexandra Rothstein...? ‘Well, well...’ Leo murmured, leaning back in his chair, regarding her intently from beneath his heavy lids.

‘Surprise, surprise!’ Alex murmured, taking the opportunity to steady her nerves as she bent down to retrieve her business card, which he’d so arrogantly flicked down onto the floor by her feet.

‘It certainly is a surprise to see you again after such a long time,’ he agreed slowly. ‘Especially since you seemed to have completely dropped out of sight for the past eight years. In fact, I can hardly believe...’ He paused, staring at her silently for a moment. ‘I take it that you really are “The Bolter”’s daughter?’

Alex gave him a cool smile. ‘I’m afraid so.’

‘So, what’s your mother up to these days?’ he enquired sardonically. “The last I heard of Gina, she’d run away from a rich Italian prince—was he her fifth or sixth husband?—and “bolted” off with a young Argentinian polo player. However, I imagine that she must have married and discarded several more husbands by now.’

‘She might well have done so,’ Alex agreed stonily. ‘Unfortunately, my mother and her husband died in an aeroplane crash some years ago.’

‘Oh, Lord—I’m sorry!’ Leo exclaimed, grimacing in self-disgust and clearly wishing that he’d kept his mouth shut as he brushed a hand roughly through his dark hair.

Alex shrugged. ‘Apparently, it seems the young Argentinian was far more skilled at handling his polo ponies than he was at managing the controls of his private plane.’

‘I really am very sorry,’ Leo assured her earnestly. ‘What I said about your mother was completely uncalled for and desperately unkind. Believe me, I had no intention of...’

‘Yes, well, it all happened a long time ago,’ she said quickly, determined to avoid a discussion on Gina’s obvious defects as a wife and mother.

Besides, it had been a generous and handsome apology from Leo, who certainly had no reason to think well of her mother.

His stepfather, Sir Geoffrey Lucas, had only been Gina’s second husband for a very short time. Barely a year after their wedding she’d run off with a French pop star, leaving Sir Geoffrey to subsequently marry Leo’s mother, Eleanor Hamilton, then a widow with a young ten-year-old son.

Leo glanced down at his watch. ‘I really do have a lunch appointment with some bankers. However, I think our “family reunion” calls for a quick gin and tonic—don’t you?’ he murmured, rising from behind his desk to move lithely across the room. He opened a large bookcase to reveal a well-stocked drinks cabinet, and Alex noted that, while busy mixing her an alcoholic drink, he was pouring himself a large glass of plain water.

Suddenly feeling strangely nervous, Alex quickly reviewed her basic strategy for the forthcoming interview. There had been no reason why it shouldn’t work. Back at the newspaper office, she’d been quite certain—provided she could get access to the rotten man—that gaining his cooperation would be a fairly straightforward matter. But now, rising to her feet as he strode back across the thick carpet, she was beginning to have severe doubts about her ability to carry out her plans.

Not only did he appear to be taking her unexpected reappearance in his life far too calmly, but it was also proving difficult to ignore the almost overpowering aura of forceful, aggressive masculinity surrounding the man now standing so close to her. As he placed the heavy crystal glass in her hand she almost jumped at the light touch of his fingers, which seemed to send a quick electric shock tingling through her body.

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