Subtle Revenge
Carole Mortimer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

LORI fought against the darkness, knowing what it would bring, knowing she couldn’t face the nightmare again tonight. But it came anyway, bringing with it the desolation and loss she had never been able to accept.

The blackness cleared, giving way to a hazy greyness, as she saw her father’s anguished face, her mother’s grief, and finally Nigel’s contempt.

‘You should have told me,’ he accused, his handsome face flushed.

Then came her own voice, crying out to him, pleading with him not to condemn her for the past.

He looked at her with cold blue eyes, his suit superbly tailored, his blond hair neatly styled. ‘You know I can’t marry you now.’

‘No!’ This time she cried out in earnest, thrashing about in the bed as she tried to reach the man in her dream, the man she loved. ‘Nigel, I love you,’ she begged. ‘Don’t leave me. Everyone has left me, my father, my mother—you can’t leave me too!’

‘Watch me,’ he said in a chilling voice. ‘Watch me walk out of the door and never look back. And next time you aim for respectability make sure you tell the man involved the truth about yourself. Because if you don’t, I will.’

‘No! Nigel, please,’ she clutched on to his arm, feeling him flinch with the disgust with which he now held her, shaking her off. ‘Nigel, you love me!’

‘I loved Lori Parker, not Lorraine Chisholm. I could never love Lorraine Chisholm. Never!’ he added vehemently.

She fell at his feet, sobbing, clutching at his legs as he tried to walk away. ‘Nigel, don’t go!’ she sobbed.

‘I have to.’ He shook her off as if she were no more than a wearisome dog. ‘No decent man in his right mind would want to have you as his wife.’

No decent man, no decent man … As his wife, as his wife …

‘Lori, wake up!’ Someone was shaking her shoulder. ‘Lori, open your eyes. You’re having a bad dream. Lori!’ Again the shake on the shoulder, harder this time.

She forced herself through the realms of sleep, opening her eyes with effort, the greyness fading to give way to bright sunshine, the concerned face of her flatmate, Sally, gazing down at her worriedly.

‘Are you all right?’ Sally frowned. ‘You were screaming so loud I thought someone was attacking you!’

Lori raised herself up on her elbows, pushing the red-gold hair back from her face, blinking long lashes over shadowed brown eyes. ‘I should be so lucky,’ she said ruefully. ‘Just a nightmare.’

Sally moved back with a shrug, sitting on the single bed across from Lori’s. ‘It sounded real enough to me.’

‘Nightmares always do,’ Lori threw back the covers and swung her long legs to the floor. ‘They always seem very real too, that’s why they’re so frightening.’

Sally stood up, a small, slightly plump girl with straight blonde hair down to her shoulders. ‘This one sounded a real horror story,’ she grimaced.

‘It was.’ Lori stretched with feigned nonchalance. ‘But I’ve forgotten what it was about now,’ she lied, knowing that particular horror would never leave her.

‘You have?’ Sally seemed doubtful too.

‘Mm.’ Lori stood up, padding over to the dressing-table to take her clean underwear from the top drawer. She was a tall girl, five feet eight inches in her bare feet, and the masculine pyjamas made her look slimmer than ever, and if it weren’t for the rich cloud of red-gold hair that framed her beautiful face she could almost have looked boyish. Without her make-up she looked younger than her twenty-four years, her lashes naturally long and dark, her eyes a deep rich brown, her nose small and straight, her mouth a perfect bow, although she smiled little. She was aware of the fact that men were attracted to her combination of fiery appearance and icy manner, although very few of them ever got further than the first date.

‘Then you won’t remember who Nigel is?’ Sally queried softly.

‘Nigel?’ She froze, then quickly regained her composure, concentrating deeply on finding the green bikini briefs that matched the bra she had already found. ‘Nigel who?’ she mumbled.

‘I was hoping you could tell me that.’ Her friend and flatmate eyed her curiously. ‘You kept calling out his name in your sleep.’

‘But I don’t know anyone called Nigel.’ She had found the bikini briefs now, but her bent head afforded her a certain amount of protection against Sally’s curiosity.

‘Maybe you do, maybe you just think——’

‘Sally!’ she slammed the drawer shut with force. ‘I’m sure I would know whether or not I know anyone called Nigel—and I don’t!’

‘Sorry.’ The other girl looked abashed.

‘No,’ Lori sighed deeply, ‘I’m the one who’s sorry. I think—I think the nightmare must have upset me more than I realised.’ She looked at the other girl pleadingly.

‘They do take it out of you, don’t they,’ Sally agreed eagerly, as anxious as Lori to forget the subject now that she had seen how much it was upsetting her to talk about it. ‘It was probably thinking about Nikki’s wedding that made you sleep restlessly.’

‘Yes,’ she said dully. ‘I-I’ll use the bathroom first, shall I?’

‘Go ahead,’ the other girl invited goodnaturedly.

Sally couldn’t know just how right she was, it was Nikki’s wedding that had brought on the nightmare. The three girls worked together in a law firm, not actually together, but they spent most of their breaks together. Today was the day of Nikki’s wedding to Paul Hammond, the junior partner of the firm, and also Nikki’s boss, and what no one else could possibly realise was that five years ago next week should have been Lori’s own wedding day. If Nigel hadn’t walked out on her!

Nigel Phillips, heir to the Phillips fortune, junior partner in his father’s law firm where Lori had been employed five years ago. His father had bitterly disapproved of Lori from the start, and it had been he who supplied the information that had driven Nigel and herself apart. She had believed that after all that time her past couldn’t catch up with her, but as soon as Nigel learnt the truth about her he had broken their engagement, had cancelled the wedding. She had never fully recovered from the way he had let her down, and even though five years had passed August was still a traumatic month for her.

When Nikki had told her the date of her wedding and asked her to be a bridesmaid, her first instinct had been to refuse, and then her pride had made her say yes. Nigel might have made her wary of men, of becoming involved, but she couldn’t let him influence her life in any other way. Nikki would have been deeply hurt if she had refused, but she had paid for her determination to go to the wedding with a series of the recurring nightmares that had plagued her the last five years. Last night had been the worst, though, refusing to be shaken off as she sometimes managed to do. Poor Sally must have wondered what on earth was happening!

‘It’s all yours.’ She came out of the bathroom ten minutes later, a towel wrapped around her wet hair. Nikki had offered to take her to the hairdressers’ with Sally and herself, but as her hair always reverted to the fluffy red-gold cloud she had known it was a waste of time and effort, preferring to wash and style it herself.

‘I’m off now,’ Sally called out a few minutes later, dressed in casual denims and a blouse, the pale green dresses they were to wear at Nikki’s parents’ house. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

‘Okay.’ Lori went through to the lounge, similarly dressed, her hair partly dry. ‘And don’t let Nikki get nervous and change her mind,’ she teased, still looking a little strained.

‘Are you joking?’ Sally grinned. ‘It took her months to catch the poor unsuspecting man.’

It was true. Nikki had mooned about over Paul for almost six months before he had plucked up the courage to ask her out. His proposal had been a little quicker in coming, only four months, and Nikki had arranged the wedding at top speed before he changed his mind.

‘That poor, unsuspecting man happens to worship the ground Nikki walks on,’ Lori said dryly. ‘It seems incredible to me that the two of them had been in love with each other for months but neither thought the other one was interested,’ she shook her head.

‘That’s the English for you!’ Sally laughed before leaving.

Lori didn’t remember guarding her own feelings when she was younger, had never pretended to be anything but completely in love with Nigel. It was different now, now she was wary about caring for anyone, and only Sally and Nikki had become good friends over the last four years, since she had begun working for Ackroyd, Hammond, and Hammond. Ackroyd had been long dead, the senior Mr Hammond was retiring in the near future, and the younger Mr Hammond was Paul. Several other lawyers worked for the firm too, but they weren’t partners.

The elder Mr Hammond was Lori’s boss, a big bluff man who couldn’t have been happier about his son marrying Nikki. If only Charles Phillips could have felt the same way about his son marrying his secretary! Then there would have been no delving into the past, no opening of old wounds, and now she might have been Nigel’s wife, might even have his children. That had been Charles Phillips’ worry, of course, not so much her being Nigel’s wife, but the fact that his grandchildren would have Chisholm blood in their veins.

She leant her head weakly against the dressing-table mirror, letting its coolness soothe her. Normally she didn’t think of Nigel for days at a time, but today he wouldn’t be put from her mind. He had been ten years her senior, had seemed experienced and sophisticated to her awestruck gaze. When he had shown an interest in her too she had been ecstatic, little realising that her fragile beauty and obvious fascination made her an easy victim to such a man. But Nigel had seemed to surprise himself by falling in love with her, and had asked her to marry him only a few weeks after their first evening together.

All Nigel’s family had been horrified by his choice of bride—his snobby mother, his outraged father, and last his bitchy young sister Margot. But at least Margot had called her a gold-digger to her face. Charles Phillips had been much more underhand, producing his trump card only a week before the wedding.

Lori had stood and watched Nigel as the love drained from his eyes, while his face tightened with contempt, and in that moment her own hate had begun, mainly for Charles Phillips, but also for Jacob Randell, the man who had vindictively ruined her life in the first place, the reason for her father’s early death, her mother’s unhappy years before she too died prematurely.

She looked at herself in the mirror, seeing the thin face, the high cheekbones, but noticing none of the arresting beauty, the brown eyes seeming to have a golden ring around the iris, giving them a curiously catlike appearance. She was as slender as a model, had the sort of figure that showed clothes well, although she considered herself too thin when undressed, her hips and waist were very narrow, her legs long and slender, her breasts small and uptilting.

Still, she wouldn’t be the one being looked at today. Nikki would be the cynosure of all eyes. And so she should be, every girl deserved to be the belle of the ball on her wedding day!

Lori finished drying her hair and applying her make-up, determinedly not giving Nigel another thought. She had to be at Nikki’s in an hour, and she didn’t have the time to think of anything but getting ready for that.

All was chaos at the bride’s house, Mrs Dean sure that the flowers weren’t going to arrive on time, Mr Dean having locked himself in his study out of the way, much to his wife’s annoyance. Lori telephoned the florist, something no one else seemed to have thought of, apparently, ringing off to assure the bride’s mother that the flowers were on their way right now.

‘Thank goodness you’ve arrived!’ Nikki grabbed her, pulling her into her bedroom. ‘Do something with my hair!’ she wailed.

Lori frowned. ‘What’s wrong with it?’ It looked perfectly all right to her.

‘Nothing now, but look!’ Nikki picked up the veil and put it on her head, instantly flattening the feathered style of her black hair. ‘I forgot to take the headdress to the hairdressers so that they could work around it, and now I look a mess!’ Tears filled her deep blue eyes.

‘You don’t look a mess at all,’ Lori soothed her friend. ‘It only needs a little restyling, this bit brought forward more and this bit smoothed out,’ she suited her actions to her words, not making any drastic changes, just bringing the feathered fringe forward so that it was visible when the veil was put in place.

Nikki’s eyes shone with happiness now instead of tears. ‘I knew I could rely on you!’

Lori smiled. ‘That’s what chief bridemaids are for. And talking of bridesmaids, where’s Sally?’ she frowned.

‘Still at the hairdressers,’ Nikki grimaced.

‘What are they doing to her, giving her a transplant?’ Lori derided.

‘I hope not,’ Nikki groaned. ‘Her hair is already so thick it’s taking twice as long as mine to dry! I came back to help Mum, but I wish I hadn’t bothered!’ she sighed.

‘It’s a bit chaotic, isn’t it?’ Lori laughed.

‘Don’t underestimate, Lori, it’s bedlam! I wish now that we’d eloped!’

Lori laughed lightly. ‘I’m sure every bride wishes the same thing before the wedding. But just wait until you see the photographs. It will be something to remember the rest of your life.’

‘Mum keeps saying the same thing,’ Nikki grimaced. ‘I just wish it were all over.’

‘Enjoy it,’ Lori encouraged gently. ‘It’s a special day in your life, Nikki. Savour every minute of it.’

Her friend gave her a strange look, shrugging as some of the tension left her. ‘You’re right,’ she nodded. ‘This is my wedding day to Paul, why worry about the fact that Mum is having hysterics in the kitchen, Dad is locked in his study causing the hysterics, and the flowers haven’t arrived!’

‘Ah, now, the latter I can help you with,’ Lori smiled. ‘I’ve just seen the van from the florists pull up outside.’

Nikki rushed to join her at the window. ‘Thank heavens for that!’ she sighed her relief. ‘That’s one crisis over. Do you think Paul’s buttonhole arrived safely?’ she added worriedly.

‘It was coming from the same florist, wasn’t it?’ Lori waited for her friend’s nod of confirmation. ‘Then I’ll just go down and ask the lady if she went to Paul’s first.’

‘Why didn’t I think of that?’ Nikki said ruefully.

Lori gave a happy laugh at her friend’s almost dazed expression. ‘Because you’re too excited to think of anything but being Paul’s wife.’

‘Yes,’ Nikki gave a dreamy smile. ‘I can’t tell you how much I love him, how I’m longing to be married to him.’ She blushed prettily. ‘We’ve waited, you know, Lori.’

‘I do know.’ Lori squeezed her friend’s hand. ‘And that’s also what makes today so special. The permissive society and equal rights in bed for women are okay, but there’s nothing quite like a virginal bride.’

‘Will you be——’ Nikki broke off in embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that.’

‘That’s all right,’ Lori dismissed huskily. ‘I am, and I will be—if I ever find the right man.’

‘Oh, you will,’ her friend said with certainty. ‘You’re too beautiful for the male population to ignore. I’m just glad Paul goes for black hair instead of redheads!’

Lori gave a throaty laugh. ‘I’d better go and check with the florist before she leaves.’

She found the middle-aged lady in the kitchen helping Mrs Dean drown her sorrows in a glass of sherry. Lori got confirmation about Paul’s buttonhole before leaving them to it.

‘I think your mother has decided to get drunk and let everyone take their chances,’ she told Nikki laughingly when she got back upstairs.

‘That’s all I need!’ her friend groaned. ‘And I thought she would be the calm one.’

‘Mothers aren’t supposed to be calm on their daughter’s wedding day, they’re supposed to cry a lot,’ Lori teased. ‘Now isn’t it time you changed into your dress? You don’t want to be cruel and keep Paul waiting at the church.’

‘It’s getting awfully late,’ Nikki frowned. ‘I wonder where Sally is?’

‘Now don’t start panicking about Sally,’ Lori instructed firmly. ‘She’ll be here, even if she has to leave with her hair still wet.’

‘That’s what I’m afraid of!’

‘Well, don’t. You’ll see, it will all work out.’

And it did. Mr Dean finally decided to come out of the study and change into his suit, Mrs Dean put on the pretty flowered suit she was to wear, and Sally arrived in good time to help Nikki change.

‘You look beautiful!’ Lori kissed the glowing bride warmly on the cheek, before they went downstairs to the cars waiting to take them to the church.

‘We’ll see you in a few minutes,’ Sally squeezed Nikki’s hand as Mr Dean came into the room.

The two bridesmaids were wearing identical pale green dresses, with small puff sleeves, a fitted bodice, gathered waist and flowing skirt to the floor, the tiny white roses in their hair matching the small posies they carried.

‘I love weddings,’ Sally grinned as they drove to the nearby church in the white Rolls-Royce.

‘This one is certainly very beautiful,’ Lori nodded, her hair looking a deeper red against the pale green gown.

‘Maybe it will prompt Dave to propose,’ the other girl said wistfully of the man she had been seeing the last two months.

Lori gave her a sharp look. ‘Do you think he might?’

‘No,’ Sally laughed. ‘But I live in hope.’

It was a beautifully warm day, the sun shining brightly, birds singing in the nearby trees. Lori felt herself get caught up in the occasion despite herself, and when Nikki arrived at the church on her father’s arm she could have cried at the other girl’s obvious happiness.

As was usual in churches it felt cold once they were inside, and Lori repressed a shiver as she and Sally followed Nikki and her father down the aisle, although the church looked completely different from when they had come here for the rehearsal earlier in the week. White flowers decorated the altar and sides of the church, and the whole place had a lighter, happier appearance.

Lori took Nikki’s bouquet as the service began, listening to the beauty of the words of the service. And yet something else penetrated the subconscious of her mind, a prickling sensation down her spine, something that made her feel uncomfortable. She began to slowly look about her, sensing that someone was watching her. Everyone she looked at seemed intent on the bride and groom, or the service book in front of them. And yet she still sensed that there were eyes on her, still felt that uncomfortable sensation down her spine.

And then she saw him!

She looked hastily away again, and yet the man’s face stayed imprinted in her brain. He was seated next to Mrs Hammond, a tall dark man with piercing grey eyes, an arrogant slash of a nose, lean cheekbones, a thinned mouth, his powerful physique looking magnificient in the grey morning suit, the shirt snowy white, a man of possibly thirty-eight, thirty-nine years of age.

She glanced back at him, finding those curiously light grey eyes still on her—and making no pretence of doing anything else. At twenty-four she was confident enough of her own attraction not to blush, meeting that arrogant gaze squarely for several seconds before slowly turning away. Those few seconds had given her chance to notice several other things about the man, like the sprinkling of grey in the darkness of his hair at his temples, the hardness of the grey eyes, the cynical twist to that almost sensual mouth.

His mouth quirked mockingly as she began to turn away, and for a moment her eyes widened. How dared he look at her so insolently! There were high wings of colour in her cheeks as she turned back to face the altar, but it was because of anger, not embarrassment, that her eyes sparkled like a cat’s. Rude, arrogant man!

And what was he doing sitting next to Ruth Hammond? Paul didn’t have a brother, she knew that, and his cousins had acted as ushers. But there he sat, with Ruth and Claude Hammond, almost like visiting royalty!

And he was still watching her, damn him! She didn’t need to turn to know those grey eyes were still watching her, could feel the man’s presence with ominous clarity. Ominous …? Now why should she have chosen a word like that? She had become adept, over the years, at putting down the wolves—even the apparently lethal kind, as this man appeared to be. He didn’t frighten her, and if he chose to follow up this single-minded interest he seemed to have in her he would find out that he didn’t attract her in least.

He was there again while the photographs were being taken, standing on the very edge of the crowd watching them, those light eyes still fixed on Lori. He seemed very tall out here in the sunlight, his hair pure black now, no grey distinguishable, his legs long and straight in the grey trousers, the jacket to the suit fitting snugly across his wide shoulders.

Lori’s head was back proudly, her hair a red-gold cloud in the light breeze, her eyes the colour of honey in the sunlight.

‘Luke!’ Paul called out. ‘Luke, come and join us.’

‘Not me,’ the man with the grey eyes spoke out lazily, his voice deep and controlled, the sort of voice that commanded attention.

‘Oh, come on, Luke,’ Paul cajoled.

‘Yes, come on, Luke,’ Nikki joined in the pleading, holding out her hand.

‘Do I get to stand next to the chief bridesmaid?’ he drawled, his gaze mocking as he saw Lori’s mouth tighten.

All the guests laughed—with the exception of Lori. And Jonathan Anderson, the best man. Jonathan was one of the junior lawyers in the firm of Ackroyd, Hammond and Hammond, and he had been trying, unsuccessfully, to date Lori for the last six months. His arm tightened possessively about her waist as they stood in the group for the photograph, moving closer to her.

‘Well, do I?’ Luke mocked.

Lori was breathing heavily, hating the way this man was humiliating her in front of all these people. She didn’t like attention drawn to her, a relic from the past, and she would never forgive this man for causing all the eyes to be on the both of them.

‘Of course you do,’ Nikki giggled.

‘Then I accept.’ He stepped forward, his movements fluid and forceful.

‘Lucky Lori,’ Sally murmured goodnaturedly. ‘Where have you been hiding him, Nikki?’

Wherever it was, Lori wished he had stayed there. He had taken Jonathan’s place now, his arm encircling her waist just as Jonathan’s had, his body hard and unyielding, his arm implacable.

He smiled down at her as he felt her stiffen, a roguish smile, the coldness gone from his eyes, the cynicism from his mouth.

Lori pointedly ignored him, looking over at the photographer as he organised the bride and groom, the two bridesmaids, best man, and Luke in the photograph. A disgruntled Jonathan stood at Sally’s side, and he grimaced as he caught Lori’s gaze.

As the photographs continued to be taken Luke remained at her side, his hand never moving from the slender curve of her waist, accepting her haughtiness, but unaffected by it.

‘Bride and groom only now,’ the photographer requested briskly, having done this so many times now it was rather boring for him.

His words were all the encouragement Lori needed, and she evaded that confining arm to slip away into the crowd, noting with satisfaction as the man called Luke was waylaid by Claude Hammond. He had obviously intended talking to her, and as she didn’t like anything about him she had no wish to talk to him.

Nevertheless, his silent admiration continued at the reception, his fixed gaze starting to become embarrassing. He had no right to look at her like that, to mentally strip her with his eyes. And they were such all-seeing eyes, slightly narrowed, their expression enigmatic.

‘Damned cheek!’ Jonathan muttered at her side.

Lori continue to smile at him, taking the glass of champagne he held out to her. She didn’t need any explanation as to the reason for his anger, the resentful glances he was still shooting at the dark-haired man across the room spoke for him.

‘Who the hell is he?’ he snapped, standing in front of her and effectively blocking her view of the room behind him.

She shrugged. ‘I have no idea. A friend of the Hammonds’, I suppose,’ she infused uninterest into her voice, although her own curiosity about the man was quite strong.

‘Mm,’ Jonathan nodded. ‘Nikki seems to know him too,’ he added questioningly.

‘She’s never mentioned him.’

‘Hm,’ Jonathan said again, turning to look at Luke, who was now deep in conversation with Paul. ‘Interesting-looking chap.’

Dangerous, she would have said. Ominous and dangerous? Considering she had never even spoken to the man he had made a deep impression on her!

She might not have spoken to him, but he had said enough with those eyes, was still saying it!

‘Like to dance?’ Jonathan offered.

‘Thank you,’ she nodded, smiling up at him.

Jonathan was a dear, she knew he was, and yet something held her back from going out with him. He reminded her too much of Nigel, the same blond hair, the same good looks. The same determination to succeed! She knew that, like Nigel, he would never think of taking Lorraine Chisholm for his wife.

They moved well together, both tall, the red cloud of Lori’s hair drawing attention to the beauty of her face, a beauty Jonathan seemed fascinated by, for he gazed down at her with admiring eyes.

Lori chuckled as they continued to dance together as each successive melody was played. ‘I think we’re supposed to change partners, or at least take a break occasionally,’ she teased.

‘I know,’ he muttered. ‘But if we stop that man called Luke is going to ask you to dance, and I don’t intend giving him the chance.’

She frowned, glancing round. Yes, there were those steady grey eyes on her still, more searching now, as if something about her puzzled the man. Heavens, he couldn’t have recognised her, could he! She felt her panic rising, and then dismissed it. It wasn’t possible that after all this time someone should recognise her. Charles Phillips had only discovered the truth because he had had someone delve into her past; she bore little resemblance to the bewildered young girl she had been all those years ago.

No, it couldn’t be because he recognised her, her years of disguise had been too effective. Maybe he was just trying to unnerve her. Sad to say, he had succeeded!

‘Let’s sit this one out,’ she requested stiffly of Jonathan.

‘Oh, but——’

‘If he asks, Jonathan, I shall simply refuse,’ she told him haughtily.

‘You will?’ he still looked uncertain.

‘Yes, I will.’ She moved out of his arms, turning to walk into the hard wall of a masculine chest.

Strong hands came up to steady her, grasping her upper arms, the fingers long and tapered, a hidden strength within them. ‘Lori,’ drawled a deeply familiar voice.

She had known it was him the second before impact with his chest, had detected the slight smell of his aftershave, had vaguely seen the strong line of his square jaw.

‘Thank you—Luke,’ she nodded coolly, making to move out of his grasp. His hands remained, not hurting, but not gentle either.

‘Dance with me,’ he requested huskily.

‘I——’

‘We were just about to go through to the buffet,’ Jonathan cut in purposefully, taking one of Lori’s hands and putting it in the crook of his arm. ‘If you’ll excuse us,’ he gave the other man a smug smile before moving away. ‘Saved by the bell—or in this case, food,’ he muttered as they followed the stream of people into the room that contained the buffet dinner.

‘You aren’t very subtle, Jonathan,’ she smiled at his undoubted jealousy of the other man.

‘With that type subtlety doesn’t work,’ he scowled. ‘I can be subtle if I have to be.’

Lori knew that; she had once gone to court with him when his own secretary had been on holiday. She had been amazed at the change that had come over him, amazed and dismayed. He had been totally remorseless in his attack on the defendant, reminding Lori of another courtroom, another lawyer. Jacob P. Randell. Just the name made her shiver!

She saw the man called Luke several times during the evening, mostly with the Hammonds, once or twice with Sally on the dance floor, the latter blushing prettily as he spoke to her, a fact Dave viewed with a scowl on his petulantly handsome face. Not that Lori thought a little jealousy would do that young man any harm—he was altogether too sure of Sally for her liking, and she feared for her friend’s deeply committed love.

But Luke didn’t approach her again, pointedly so, seeming to move away if she should happen to approach the group he was talking to, his gaze always fixed firmly in the opposite direction if she should unavoidably look at him.

She knew what he was doing, of course, and her anger towards him grew. He surely didn’t think she was idiot enough to become interested in him merely because he was suddenly ignoring her? She had stopped playing those sort of games years ago, if she had ever played them, and she certainly wasn’t going to be drawn into that sort of trap.

‘Dance, my dear?’ The elderly Mr Hammond, her own personal boss, stood in front of her, his hair still as dark as his son’s, his step still as youthful, although he perhaps looked a little tired lately. The excitement of the wedding, she supposed. Lori had been his personal secretary for the last two years, and although she might have been a little young for the promotion she had made sure he never regretted giving her that chance.

‘I’d love to.’ She moved gracefully into his arms, finding he moved easily across the dance floor despite his portly figure. ‘The wedding went beautifully, Mr Hammond.’

He looked pleased. ‘I thought so.’

Lori knew that the Deans and the Hammonds had paid jointly for their children’s wedding arrangements, the Rolls-Royces and this costly reception, that Ruth Hammond had insisted her only son should be married in style. Poor Nikki and Paul would much rather have had a much quieter wedding, but to please the two mothers they had agreed to this extravagant affair.

‘Nikki looked beautiful,’ the elder Mr Hammond said with pride. ‘I couldn’t have chosen better myself.’

Nikki had been floating on cloud nine all through the wedding, and Paul wasn’t far behind her. The happy couple had eyes only for each other, which, after all, was the way it should be.

‘And now, with your permission, I’ll pass you on to my young friend.’ Mr Hammond had stopped dancing while Lori was so deep in thought, releasing her. ‘I know he’s been longing to meet you all day. Luke …?’ he prompted with a fatherly smile.

Lori viewed her tormenter of the day with angry eyes, the gold around the irises seeming to make them glow. Mr Hammond viewed the two of them with an indulgent smile, obviously very pleased with himself.

‘Lori?’ Luke mocked her.

She swallowed her anger. He was a friend of the Hammonds’, how much of a friend she didn’t know, but she could hardly be impolite to him in front of her employer.

‘Very wise,’ he taunted as she moved stiffly in his arms to the music, the elder man having rejoined his wife at their table.

‘I beg your pardon?’ She bent her head back to look at him, at once wishing she hadn’t, finding he was much too close. He was so close she could see the exact smoky grey colour of his eyes, the thickness of his dark brows and lashes, the fullness of his mouth, the lower lip sensually so as he gazed back at her.

‘I could be an important friend of Claude’s,’ he drawled in answer to her question.

Lori turned away, angry that he could read her thoughts so easily. And did he have to hold her so tightly?

‘Yes, I have to,’ he told her softly.

She blinked up at him dazedly. Could he read her every thought, for goodness’ sake!

‘More or less,’ he derided, smiling as she gasped. ‘It’s those eyes of yours,’ he continued softly. ‘At first they just look brown, then you notice that the gold circles make them change colour with your mood. Like right now. You’re angry, your eyes have gone the colour of honey. You have the eyes of a cat, Lori,’ he laughed throatily. ‘Like the sleek ginger tabby I had as a child. I loved making that cat purr, Lori.’

‘How fascinating,’ she said with saccharine sweetness.

His thumb-tip moved rhythmically over her wrist. ‘You aren’t as calm as you sound,’ he mocked, his thumb stopping pointedly on her fast pulse. ‘Enigmatic like a cat too,’ he murmured. ‘Do you scratch like a cat too when cornered, little kitten?’

She looked at him with cold eyes. She knew his bold manner and rugged good looks would appeal to a lot of women, but for her he held no attraction. ‘I never put myself in a position where I can be cornered, Mr—Luke. Although I’ve always admired the cat as a species.’

‘So have I. Even more so now,’ he drawled. ‘But I think I would enjoy having you purr more than I would have you scratch me.’

Lori pulled away from him, taking exception to the innuendo this time. ‘I never purr. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think Nikki and Paul are about to leave.’ She walked away, a tall graceful woman. It would have irked her immensely to know that several of the people watching her thought she had the sensuous grace of a cat!

‘Thank you for everything you did to help, Lori.’ Nikki came over to hug her, ecstatically happy, looking very beautiful in the stunning lemon dress she had chosen to wear for the flight to Barbados. ‘Hasn’t it all been wonderful?’ she glowed.

‘Wonderful,’ Lori nodded, kissing her friend warmly on the cheek. ‘Now off you go and join your impatient bridegroom.’

‘What are you going to do about poor Luke?’ Nikki giggled, needing no champagne to make her intoxicated, although she had probably had some of the bubbly wine too. ‘He’s quite smitten, you know.’

Now was her chance to find out more about him. ‘But, Nikki, wh——’

‘Come along, darling.’ Paul’s arm came about his new wife’s waist. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Lori,’ he kissed her on the cheek, ‘but the car is waiting to take us to the airport.’

‘Sorry, Lori,’ Nikki looked regretful, ‘but we’ll talk when I get back,’ she promised before she was pulled away by her husband.

Lori sighed her dismay. The new husband and wife were to be away for a month, so Nikki was going to be no help at all where the man called Luke was concerned.

‘She’s quite right, you know,’ he spoke softly behind her, startling her. Although she didn’t know why—he was starting to be her nemesis! ‘I am smitten,’ he looked down at her with serious grey eyes. ‘So what are you going to do with me?’

‘Nothing!’ she snapped, turning away. ‘Except ignore you.’

‘I’m afraid I’m not very ignorable,’ he derided softly.

Lori maintained a stony silence, watching as Nikki tearfully gave her bouquet of roses to her mother, and the two of them hugged each other tightly before Nikki got into the car with Paul.

‘If she had thrown that bouquet,’ Luke’s voice was strangely close to her ear. ‘I’d catch it for you. Because you’re going to be the next bride, Lori. My bride.’

She couldn’t keep her silence after red-flagwaving like that! ‘Are you mad?’ she rasped, turning to him fully as the bridal car drove away and the crowd began to wander back into the ballroom of this fashionable London hotel now that the bride and groom had left.

‘I’m beginning to think I must be,’ but he didn’t sound too worried about it. ‘But you are going to marry me, Lori.’

‘I—Never!’ she almost shouted, running to catch up with the other guests, sure that he was a madman.

She was going to marry him, indeed! She had hardly spoken to the man, let alone—He was mad!

‘Lori, my dear,’ Claude Hammond approached her, ‘I’m glad to see you and Luke are getting on so well together.’

‘Oh, but——’

‘Brilliant man. Brilliant!’

That was high praise indeed, coming from this north-country man. Lori listened with more interest. If Claude Hammond said the man was brilliant then he must indeed be so. At what she had no idea.

‘With a father like that he was bound to be outstanding,’ Claude Hammond continued. ‘I’m proud to know him.’

‘A father like that?’ Lori prompted.

‘Mm, Jacob was the best.’

‘J-Jacob …?’ she echoed with a sickening jolt in her stomach. It couldn’t be——

‘Jacob Randell,’ Claude explained jovially. ‘Of course he made that one mistake with the Chisholm case, underestimated the man. But that was before your time.’

No, not before her time at all, she remembered it very well, both the case and Jacob Randell. He was a man with the ruthlessness of a viper, a cruelty that inflicted scars in his victims. And she remembered Michael Chisholm too. Her father …

CHAPTER TWO

THE court case had gone on for months—months and months, when both Lori and her mother had been as much in the public limelight as her father had. They had been hounded by photographers wherever they went. Even on the day her father had been buried …

‘Of course it was a shame the case couldn’t reach its proper conclusion,’ Claude Hammond continued with a shake of his head. ‘I’m sure Jacob would have got his conviction. Still, I mustn’t bore you with history, my dear,’ Claude smiled. ‘Especially on a day like today. Old fogeys like Jacob and myself can’t be of much interest to you.’ He patted her hand. ‘You go ahead and enjoy yourself. It’s early yet.’

Lori gazed after him with widely shocked eyes. Luke Randell was the son of the man she hated most in the world, the man who had caused her father to take his own life, who had been responsible for her mother’s subsequent failing health and prematurely young death, who had been the cause of all the misery in her life, including losing Nigel, the man she loved.

No one looking at her could have guessed quite the shock she had just received, the trauma. Her expression remained calm, her movements unhurried as she entered the door marked ‘Ladies’, but the memories suddenly crowded in on her.

Twelve years, twelve long miserable years, when her own and her mother’s name was changed to Parker. But the change of a name couldn’t eradicate the shame her mother felt, the fact that her husband had been accused of being a criminal, and that his suicide before he could be sentenced had seemed to confirm this.

For the next five years Lori had watched her mother shrivel up and die, had watched the life slowly fade from within her, her once happy carefree face no longer beautiful but ravaged with age, the pride she had taken in her youthful figure no longer there; she often did not even bother to dress at all towards the end. A heart attack, the doctor had diagnosed at her death at only thirty-eight, but Lori had known the real cause of death, and at seventeen she had sworn vengeance on Jacob P. Randell.

All her excellent capabilities as a secretary had been attained for the sole reason of eventually getting to work for Jacob P. Randell, of somehow being able to discredit him, of ruining him. She wasn’t even sure how she had thought she could do that, she had just felt that if he had been so wrong about her’ father—and he had been wrong—that there had to be other cases he had been wrong about, cases where he had got a conviction merely to further his career.

Before she had even qualified she had learned that Jacob P. Randell had retired, and her plans for revenge were foiled before they had even begun.

But he had a son, a son she hadn’t even known existed, a man who minutes ago had told her he intended marrying her! She hadn’t liked him from the beginning, even when she had had no idea who he was, of the devastating effect his father had had on her life. Luke Randell—she could hardly believe it, not after all this time.

She had left the idea of vengeance far behind her, had buried the bitterness she had for the past, knowing it could never be undone, that it was much too late to help her mother and father. But Nigel and herself——? It was too late for them too!

‘Lori, my dear,’ Ruth Hammond entered the powder-room to join her on another of the velvet stools in front of the ornate mirrors. ‘I thought for a moment you’d left without saying goodbye,’ she smiled.

Lori gathered herself together with effort. ‘I wouldn’t do that, Mrs Hammond,’ she returned the smile, only the strain in her eyes telling of her disturbed emotions.

She liked her employer’s wife, found the other woman had a cryptic wit and a quite surprising sense of fun, despite her sometimes uncomfortableness with her husband’s north-country bluntness. Being a southerner Ruth was a little more reserved, but her forthright husband believed in calling a spade a spade, sometimes with embarrassing repercussions. Lori found them an enchanting couple, and knew that they had a genuine affection for each other.

‘Claude and I would like you to come to lunch tomorrow. Could you manage that?’ Ruth raised finely shaped brows, still an attractive and energetic woman despite being sixty years of age. ‘There’ll just be the four of us,’ she added encouragingly.

‘Four of us?’ Lori echoed softly.

‘You, Claude and I—and of course, Luke,’ Ruth added coyly.

If the last was supposed to be an incentive it had the opposite effect. ‘I’m sorry,’ Lori shook her head, ‘I have to visit my aunt.’

A look of irritation crossed Ruth’s perfectly made up face. ‘Couldn’t you do that some other time?’

‘No, I’m afraid not.’ Her Aunt Jessie, Great-Aunt Jessie, would never forgive her if she missed one of her visits. The old lady had put herself into a nursing home two years ago, treating the place more like a hotel than anything else. In fact, Lori often thought her aunt ran the old people’s home instead of the Matron!

‘Damn!’ Ruth frowned. ‘Luke is only with us for the weekend, then he’s moving into his flat. Couldn’t you come for tea instead?’ she asked hopefully.

Once again Lori shook her head, glad she had a real excuse for refusing—if she hadn’t Ruth would soon have worn her down. And she never, ever, wanted to see Luke Randell again; she hated him for the bitter memories he had evoked.

‘I always spend the whole day with my aunt,’ she said truthfully.

‘Oh well, I don’t suppose it can be helped,’ Ruth murmured disappointedly. ‘I did so want you to meet Luke.’

‘I’ve already met him,’ Lori said coldly.

‘I meant away from the rush and bustle of the wedding. He’s been in America for several years, and he seems to have lost contact with a lot of his friends. Of course, we’ve been friends of the family since Luke was a child. But I thought perhaps you—well, if you can’t make it, you can’t.’ She stood up resignedly. ‘Do come back and join the party, Lori.’

‘In a moment,’ she nodded. ‘I just want to repair my make-up.’

Ruth smiled. ‘You don’t have much to worry about, you always look lovely. When you get to my age it becomes more than a repair job, it’s a total remake!’

Lori joined in the laughter, but her own humour faded as soon as the door closed behind the other woman. She had a suspicion, more than a suspicion, that Luke Randell had made the request for her to be invited to the Hammonds’. She was friendly with the other couple, enjoyed talking to Ruth when she came to the office to visit her husband, but she had never been invited to their home before.

So Luke Randell had been in America the last few years. Probably reflecting in his father’s undoubted glory, she thought bitterly.

Bitterness. It was something that she had tried to forget, especially after she had fallen in love with Nigel. After he had walked out of her life she had pulled herself together enough to move from the flat she had been renting, to get herself a new job as soon as possible. And she had tried not to let bitterness rule her life for a second time.

And now Luke Randell had suddenly appeared in her life, bringing back all the destructive memories, destroying the self-confidence she had built up over the years.

Well, she wouldn’t let him destroy her! She was Lori Parker, not Lorraine Chisholm, was a very competent and trusted personal secretary to an important London lawyer, and no human reminder from the past was going to ruin that for her.

She would make her excuses to leave the wedding reception as soon as possible, and after that she would never have to see Luke Randell again.

‘I thought you were going to hide in there all night, little kitten!’

She spun round to confront Luke Randell, finding him leaning against the wall, a suitable distance away, although obviously waiting for her. He pushed easily away from his lounging position, and Lori viewed him with new eyes as he walked confidently towards her.

On the surface he bore little resemblance to the man she remembered his father to be. His hair was black where his father’s had been silver; he was taller than his father too, his body not tending towards flabbiness as the other man’s had, his features vaguely similar, although much more strongly defined in the son, the ruthlessness not hidden behind a smooth charm in the younger man as it had been by his father’s benign, often sympathetic, expression. That hidden ruthlessness had been turned on her father with vicious cruelty once Jacob P. Randell had him off his guard, twisting his words until even he didn’t know what he was saying. It had been like watching a snake strike at an unsuspecting mouse, and her father’s final agony had been the taking of his own life. His imminent conviction had been obvious, thanks to Jacob P. Randell.

The day after her father’s death, away from prying eyes, Lori and her mother had read the letter her father had left for them. He had still claimed his innocence, although having already spent several months in a prison cell, he knew he couldn’t stand the years that stretched ahead of him in the same way. He preferred to die rather than live in that degradation.

‘Kitten?’ Luke prompted, standing in front of her now, his eyes narrowed on her pale face.

Lori looked up at him, pulling herself back from the past, and Luke Randell’s face swam back into focus. ‘I wasn’t hiding, Mr Randell,’ ice dripped from her voice. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me …’

‘No.’

She blinked up at him. ‘No?’

‘No.’ His hand was firm on her arm, and he frowned deeply as she snatched away from him. He folded his arms across his chest. ‘You’ve been running away from me all day,’ he drawled, ‘and up until now I’ve been letting you. I’ve finally caught up with you—and I’m not letting you get away. Why did you turn down Ruth’s invitation for lunch tomorrow?’

Her mouth tightened, and she looked round for Jonathan so that she could take advantage of his earlier offer of a lift home. ‘I already have an engagement for tomorrow,’ she told Luke Randall absently, unable to see Jonathan anywhere.

‘Break it,’ Luke instructed.

She looked at him scornfully. ‘I don’t do things like that, Mr Randall. My word is my bond. It’s a family trait,’ she added vehemently.

‘Very commendable,’ he drawled. ‘But I would like to see my future bride tomorrow. Maybe we could discuss the wedding?’

She gave him a pitying glance. ‘I think you’ve had too much champagne, Mr Randell.’

‘Luke,’ he encouraged softly. ‘And when I decided to marry you I hadn’t had any champagne.’

‘When you decided, Mr Randell?’ she deliberately used the formality. ‘I thought it was supposed to be a joint decision?’

‘It is,’ he shrugged, his shoulders broad, the muscles ripping across his chest. ‘You’re just a little longer making your mind up than I am.’

‘We only met today,’ she scorned disbelievingly, wondering that even Jacob P. Randell’s son should have so much arrogance.

‘That’s all it takes,’ he dismissed.

Lori sighed, knowing she had to get away, and soon. Her search for Jonathan was becoming almost frantic. If she really lost her temper with this man there was no telling what she would say!

Luke noticed her preoccupation, and his mouth quirked into a smile. ‘Kitten, I——’

‘Don’t call me that!’ she shuddered, hating the intimacy of a pet name from this man. ‘I don’t like it. Ah, Jonathan!’ she called to the other man as she finally spotted him. ‘Goodbye, Mr Randell.’ Just saying his name reminded her of exactly who he was—and the contempt and hatred she had for all his family.

No doubt a lot of women found him devastatingly attractive, would like his almost roguish behaviour, the promise of intimacy in his devilish grey eyes, but knowing what she did about him gave him no chance with her—even if his approach was the most original she had ever known! No doubt she was supposed to believe he really meant the marriage proposal, and would only find out if had all been a ‘joke’ once she had slept with him.

His narrow-eyed gaze levelled on Jonathan as the other man came towards them. ‘Your young friend again,’ he growled his displeasure. ‘A boy-friend?’

‘I—Yes.’ She was sure Jonathan would forgive her that exaggeration. After all, he was just waiting for the day she said yes to one of his invitations.

‘Your previous engagement for tomorrow?’ Luke quirked one dark brow.

She was tempted to say yes, but Ruth might already have told him about the visit to her aunt. ‘No.’

He nodded. ‘I thought not. I’m not giving up on you, kitten,’ he drawled confidently. ‘The Jonathans of this world don’t mean a thing to me. I doubt they mean anything to you either.’

Jonathan had almost reached them now, and Lori felt indignant on his behalf. He was a very good-looking man, not as dark as the devil like this man, but neither did he have his cold ruthlessness.

‘Lori!’ He had reached her side now, taking her hand in his, his pleasure at being with her evident. ‘Mr Randell,’ he greeted respectfully, obviously having learnt who the older man was, whose son he was. For the same reason Jonathan admired him Lori hated him.

‘I’m ready to leave now, Jonathan,’ she told him pointedly.

‘Hm? Oh—oh yes,’ he gave a light laugh. ‘Nice to have met you, sir,’ he shook Luke’s hand strongly.

Lori felt a sense of satisfaction at the sudden tightness of Luke Randell’s mocking mouth. Jonathan’s ‘sir’ had been meant as a show of respect, nevertheless the other man didn’t like it, obviously feeling his at least ten years’ seniority over the other man, being somewhere in his late thirties.

‘Likewise,’ Luke drawled, the very faintest trace of a transatlantic accent discernible in his irony. He turned to Lori. ‘We’ll meet again,’ was all he said to her, and yet she knew he meant it.

She met his gaze steadily for several seconds, seeing the determination in his jaw, the challenge in the light-coloured eyes as he waited for her reply. It sent a shiver of apprehension down her spine. She had been wrong about there being little similarity between father and son. The eyes, those grey steely eyes, were the same, containing a strange mixture of warmth and cruelty.

‘I doubt it,’ she snapped, nearing the end of her control, and looking to Jonathan to help her now. ‘Ready?’ she prompted him, her chin high, studiously avoiding looking at Luke Randell again.

‘Of course,’ Jonathan agreed readily.

Lori moved smoothly across the room at his side, unaware of the striking figure she made in the pale green dress, her movements graceful and fluid, her hair moving silkily as she walked.

She might have looked relaxed as she made her laughing goodbyes to the Hammonds, might have appeared calm as she followed Jonathan outside to his low sports car. But once she had sunk into the bucket-seat her breath left her in a hiss, her lower limbs felt trembly, her hands shook as she clenched them in her lap.

Jonathan noticed none of this as he climbed in beside her, his lean length fitting into the car from habit, his long legs only slightly cramped. ‘Do you realise who that was?’ he said excitedly, backing the car out of its parking space and accelerating into the busy traffic.

She might have known Jonathan would suffer from a case of hero-worship! Jacob P. Randell was set up as a prime example to all young lawyers, that one single blemish on his career when he had pushed the accused too far being forgotten at such times. Luke, as his son, came in for the same admiration.

‘Yes, I realise,’ she sighed, leaning her elbow against the window to put her hand up to her aching temple.

‘Luke Randell!’ he shook his head in disbelief. ‘Fancy having the great Jacob to live up to!’

‘I’m sure Mr Randell—Mr Luke Randell,’ she defined with distaste, ‘has more than lived up to his father’s hopes for him.’

‘He’s a lawyer too, you know,’ Jonathan was awestruck, not seeming to notice Lori’s aversion to the subject.

She hadn’t known, but it didn’t come as any surprise to her. What else could the son of such a famous man do? And he would be good at it too, would have the same presence in court that his father had, would take to the stage as if born to it.

Jonathan glanced at her. ‘I never knew there was a son, did you?’

‘I never gave it a thought.’ Which was true. The way Jacob P. Randell had broken her family apart, destroyed it, it had never occurred to her that he could possibly have a family of his own, that there were actually people who loved such a man.

‘Mr Hammond has nothing but praise for him,’ Jonathan continued.

‘Yes,’ she acknowledged, wondering how such an astute man could be so deceived.

‘I wonder if——’

‘Jonathan!’ she cut sharply across his words. ‘Do you think we could talk about something other than Luke Randell?’

A ruddy hue coloured his cheeks. ‘Sorry. I was just—You’re right, what am I doing talking about him when I have you alone at last?’

‘I have no idea,’ she mocked.

‘Neither do I,’ he grinned. ‘Do I get invited in for coffee?’

‘Sally——’

‘Went off with her boy-friend hours ago. I think the air of romance got to them,’ Jonathan added with a twinkle in his laughing blue eyes.

Lori laughed softly, beginning to relax once again. ‘In that case, you do get invited in—for coffee.’

‘What else?’ he quipped with pretended hurt.

She smiled at him, wondering why she had never allowed him this close to her before. As a friend, she was sure, he could be a lot of fun. And she needed fun in her life at the moment, needed to erase a pair of piercing grey eyes from her memory. Along with all the other painful memories meeting Luke Randell had raked up!

‘The wedding didn’t introduce an air of romance in me,’ she added teasingly.

‘Just my luck!’ Jonathan grimaced.

Sally and Dave weren’t at the flat when they got in, so Lori knew they must have gone to Dave’s flat instead. Dave was a local electrician, and Sally had met him at a party a couple of months ago. Unfortunately Sally had fallen in love with him—unfortunately, because Dave’s affections seemed to be less engaged. Much to Lori’s embarrassment he had even made a couple of passes at her behind Sally’s back, although not for anything would she hurt her friend by telling her so. She only hoped Sally wasn’t going to get too hurt, had a feeling the relationship meant one thing to Sally and something else completely to Dave.

‘Nice place,’ Jonathan looked about the flat appreciatively. ‘But then I knew you would have good taste.’

Lori looked over at him as he lounged in one of the armchairs. ‘Did you indeed?’ she said dryly, having changed from the long bridesmaid’s dress into a silky dress, looking tall and slender.

He shrugged. ‘Everything about you is—perfection.’

Her mouth quirked teasingly. ‘How much champagne did you have today?’

‘Not much,’ he dismissed seriously. ‘I don’t need champagne to know how beautiful you are. Luke Randell thought so too,’ he scowled. ‘I should watch him, Lori, his sort play by their own set of rules.’

‘I have a few rules of my own,’ she told him stiffly.

‘Oh?’

‘Yes,’ she bit out. ‘I never go out with a man I detest.’ Her eyes glittered her hatred.

‘Hey, steady on——!’

‘I think you should go now,’ she cut across his embarrassed words. ‘It’s been a long day.’

‘Yes, but—Okay,’ he sighed as she saw her determined look. ‘I don’t suppose it would do any good for me to ask you out?’

She looked at his hopeful expression and her anger instantly faded, the hectic rise and fall of her breasts steadying. Jonathan could have no idea of her inner turmoil, of the deep shock she had received today. It had probably surprised him at the amount of vehemence the usually cool Lori Parker could display at a complete stranger.

If only Luke Randell had been a stranger, then she would merely have rebuffed his outrageous approach, would probably have forgotten about him by now. But she couldn’t put him from her mind—and heaven knows she was trying to!

‘Try me again on Monday,’ she told Jonathan vaguely, wanting more than anything to be on her own for a while. And there was a good chance of her being alone all night. The single bed across from her own was often empty now.

He grimaced. ‘I’ve heard that before. You’ve been putting me off for six months like that. I thought today I was finally making some impression.’

She was instantly contrite, smiling at him warmly. ‘How about dinner on Monday?’

‘You mean it?’ He suddenly looked younger than his thirty years in his eagerness.

‘I mean it,’ she nodded.

‘Really? I mean—well, I——’

‘If you don’t want to …’

‘Don’t you dare change your mind!’ Jonathan stood up to grasp her arms. ‘Don’t you dare!’ He kissed her hard on the mouth. ‘Monday, eight o’clock. I’ll call for you here. And no excuses!’ He was whistling happily, if tunelessly, as he left.

Lori kept her mind a blank, refusing to question her sudden acquiescence to Jonathan, refusing to think of Luke Randell. Years of training, of having to bury her private pain, enabled her to succeed in doing exactly that, and her last worrying thoughts were of Sally and the number of nights she was spending with Dave.

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