No Escaping Love
Her grey eyes were cold. ‘Certainly not. I hope you complained to the agency?’
He shrugged broad shoulders. ‘I just shan’t use them again. Let’s hope I don’t have to.’ He stared at her consideringly. ‘You seem very interested in this staffing agency, Miss Wilde—perhaps you have an affinity for that kind of work?’
‘But I’m being interviewed for this job, Mr Ryder,’ she answered sweetly. She knew that ploy of old. People in power wanted nothing less than one hundred per cent commitment—give them any indication that some other job might suit you more, and you’d be out on your ear. And besides, this job offered her a roof over her head. ‘Would you like to tell me a little about it?’
A spark of humour glimmered in the green eyes. ‘How about “Tyrant requires PA. Hours long, pay lousy”?’ He began to chuckle quietly.
‘And is that the truth?’ Shauna asked.
A tanned hand moved forward to tap a pencil on the surface of the black ash desk. ‘No, I lied about the pay—that’s good! The tyrant bit you’d have to make up your own mind about—but I don’t suffer fools gladly. I’ve been called some rather unflattering names in my time,’ he said softly. He leaned over to push the bonsai tree a fraction to the right, and then, as if satisfied, settled back in his chair again.
‘I buy and sell,’ he explained. ‘And I deal mainly in property. Since the market has flattened out in this country I’ve diversified a little, and I’m doing several deals in Europe. At the moment I’m in the process of buying a plot of land in the Algarve which I intend turning into a golf and holiday complex. The project is estimated to take two years minimum, hence the need for an assistant who can speak Portuguese.’
‘But you speak it yourself!’ she protested.
He shook his head. ‘Enough to get by—and I’m very good at ordering in restaurants—but the subtle nuances of the language all go over my head, and I need to understand what is being said. I certainly can’t get to grips with legal jargon. Which reminds me—just how good is your Portuguese?’
She needed no second bidding. This bit was easy. She wanted to make it clear to him that she, at least, was not here on false pretences. That unlike the others she was—as she had stated in her application—perfectly fluent in Portuguese. She spoke rapidly, deliberately making her speech both formal and colloquial—impossible for anyone but the seasoned linguist to understand. When she had finished, she saw that another wry smile had appeared. ‘How much did you understand?’ she queried.
‘Very little,’ he admitted. ‘You speak very quickly, and your pronunciation is superb.’
She inclined her head, relishing what she accurately assessed was a rare compliment. ‘Thank you.’
The eyes were curious. ‘How come?’
‘How come what?’
‘That you’re so fluent?’
She hesitated just a little. ‘Well,’ she said lightly. ‘I have just spent two years working as a PA in Portugal.’
He waved his hand in the air dismissively. ‘I know that. But you must have been pretty good before that? You wouldn’t speak it as well as that after just two years.’
He was probing, and she resented it. She didn’t want to have to give him a potted history of her life, see pity cloud those enigmatic eyes. She indicated the papers which lay on the desk before him. ‘As you’ll see from my résumé—I studied languages.’ Her grey eyes instinctively flashed a warning.
There was an answering flash in the dark emerald depths. ‘To which the same argument applies.’
He was not, she decided, the kind of man to be put off. He was the kind of man who would take a prize for getting blood from a stone. She made up her mind to give him the barest facts possible. ‘My mother—was Portuguese,’ she stated baldly.
‘And your father?’
‘Irish.’ A flat statement, which dared him to pursue the subject further.
‘Unusual combination,’ he remarked.
‘So I’ve been told.’ She cleared her throat. ‘So what you need primarily, Mr Ryder—is an interpreter?’
If he’d noticed that she’d neatly steered the subject away from her parents, he didn’t show it. ‘Mainly,’ he replied. ‘But as well as shorthand and typing, I need someone to be my right-hand man, so to speak.’ He smiled briefly. ‘Or woman, I should say. Someone who will know exactly what I know, and will therefore know how to deal with any urgent business should I not be available. I employ a great many staff not only in this country, but all over the world. Every time some trifling little problem arises, I don’t personally want to have to deal with it.’ The green eyes held her directly in their full, magnificent gaze.
‘I need cables sent,’ he continued. ‘Documents translated, airline tickets booked, business associates met at the airport. I may need you to travel abroad with me.’
‘That sounds like very long hours,’ she observed.
‘Absolutely. But in return you will be paid handsomely. You’ll have first-class accommodation in London, if you want it, and extremely generous holidays. So what do you think?’
‘And how much is the salary?’
The sum he mentioned almost made her fall out of her chair.
‘Will you be needing accommodation?’ He looked at her quizzically.
‘Yes, I will,’ she nodded. ‘Could you tell me what that consists of?’
There was a moment’s hesitation. ‘There’s a large penthouse flat at the top of this building—part of that will be yours.’
It took her precisely ten seconds to mull it over. He would have to be the worst tyrant ever created to justify her turning a deal like this down. Yes, he seemed a big-head of the worst order, and he himself had admitted that he’d been called some ‘unflattering names’ in his time. She could think of a few herself! She stared into those unusual green eyes. Surely he couldn’t be that bad?
And the job—the job was everything she wanted. A secure base, with money to save until she decided what she really wanted to do with her life. But then again, he hadn’t offered it to her, had he? No doubt it would be the old, old story of ‘I’ve several other people to see’.
‘It sounds very—adequate,’ she said cautiously.
This last remark inspired a throaty laugh. ‘Adequate? What a ghastly word! Miss Wilde, if you’re going to work for me you must promise me faithfully that you will never use the word “adequate” ever again.’
She let the flippancy go. ‘You mean—you’re—you’re offering…?’
His face was quite serious again. He gestured to the sheaf of papers on his desk. ‘I’ve seen your references, which are excellent—though you, Miss Wilde, would probably have said “adequate”. You satisfy all my other criteria—your Portuguese is fluent, you seem bright enough—oh, and you don’t fall into the man-eating tigress mould.’
Meaning, thought Shauna acidly, that I’m a plain Jane.
‘And one other thing,’ his voice was lower now. ‘You need this job, don’t you?’
Yes, she needed the job, but she wasn’t desperate. She knew that nothing was a bigger turn-off than desperation. ‘There are other jobs,’ she said coolly.
He smiled. ‘The job’s yours if you want it.’
She had actually been reaching for her holdall, when she stared at him, not believing her ears. ‘Pardon?’
‘The job’s yours,’ he repeated. ‘If you want it.’
She still didn’t believe it. ‘Just like that?’ she asked cautiously.
‘Just like that.’
She pretended to hesitate, but she got the impression that he wasn’t fooled for a minute.
‘In that case,’ she said, resisting the temptation to leap up into the air, ‘I’d be happy to accept.’
‘Good.’
‘When would you like me to start?’
He frowned. ‘Is tomorrow too soon?’
She wanted to make amends for her earlier flights of fancy. ‘Tomorrow’s fine.’
A piercing look came into his eyes. ‘Today, you were late,’ he accused.
‘There was a…’ she began, but he held his hand up.
‘I’m not interested. I’m prepared to overlook it once—it won’t happen again.’
‘No,’ she said quietly—she wouldn’t dare!
He closed his eyes briefly for a moment, and yawned. She noticed how intensely weary he looked, and wondered whether that was work, or play. When he opened them again, he found Shauna staring at him intently.
He blinked. ‘What is it?’
‘Your last assistant,’ she ventured. ‘Why did she leave?’
He stiffened, and the green eyes became cold again. Shrugging his shoulders, he said, ‘For—personal reasons.’
Repressing hysterical thoughts, she forced her voice to sound casual. ‘Oh? And what were they?’
He paused for a second. ‘I’m afraid it was the old story—she fell in love with her boss. That by itself isn’t a sackable offence, but I’m afraid she let it affect her work.’
There was no mistaking the warning in his voice. Don’t make the same mistake, it seemed to say.
Resisting an urge to comment on the girl’s mental state at the time, for surely she must have been loopy to fall for such an insufferably arrogant man, Shauna gave a prim smile. ‘Well, don’t worry, Mr Ryder—I can assure you that I will not fall into the same trap.’
‘Good,’ he said abruptly. ‘I’m very glad to hear it.’
But Shauna thought he didn’t sound one little bit convinced.
CHAPTER TWO
MAX RYDER’S next words were, however, brisk and businesslike. ‘I assume that you’ve clothes and stuff to collect?’ He looked down at Shauna’s rather battered suitcase. ‘Or do I take it that’s the sum total of your worldly goods?’ he asked sarcastically.
‘No, you do not!’ she retorted indignantly, pushing away a dark curl which was tickling the corner of her mouth. ‘Don’t forget—I have just come off the boat. As a matter of fact—I’ve got two more suitcases.’
‘So where have you left them?’
‘They’ve been in store at some friends’ flat.’
The green eyes beneath the dark brows were looking at her questioningly. ‘Local?’
‘Yes,’ she nodded. ‘In London.’
He gave a heavy sigh. ‘Are you being deliberately obtuse, Miss Wilde?’ He glanced at the pale gold watch. ‘I’m expecting a call from Paris at eight—I can give you a lift to collect your belongings, then when we get back I’ll show you over the flat.’
She shook her head, so that two more curls wiggled out. For some reason, she was reluctant to be driven there by this man. He was her boss, and—she had to admit—dangerously attractive. She didn’t want contact with him spilling over into her private life. ‘That’s very kind of you, but I can manage on my own, honestly.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ he exclaimed impatiently. ‘I’m not trying to unlock the secrets of your soul—I’m simply offering you a lift. Why struggle on the Tube when you can do it in comfort? And if you’re worried about some boyfriend—ex or otherwise—rushing out to hit me on the jaw, then don’t. Like the proverbial wise man—I’ll hear, see nor speak evil!’
The very idea was laughable. She simply couldn’t imagine anyone having the temerity to hit this man on the jaw! Quite apart from anything else it looked as though it were fashioned from granite.
‘I happened to share with two lawyers, not cavemen,’ she retorted. ‘And they live in Hampstead.’
To her surprise, the questioning ceased. ‘Hampstead’s miles away,’ he said briefly. ‘It would take you all night to get there. Come on—we’ll take the car.’
She followed him in silence out of the office and into the lift. At the ground floor he introduced her to Charlie, the commissionaire. Then he ushered her through heavy revolving glass doors and outside, where the light was fading rapidly from the sky. The typically October temperature had plummeted rapidly now that the sun had disappeared and Shauna shivered involuntarily, her linen jacket seeming totally inadequate. She hadn’t thought he’d been looking, but he noticed immediately.
‘I hope there’s a thicker coat among your things?’ he commented.
‘Yes, I’ve got an overcoat.’ She didn’t like to say that all her things would probably look to him as if they’d come out of the Ark! Two years was a long time in fashion, and department stores had only recently begun to realise that not all women were of medium height and build. Shauna, being tall and very slim, had always found it notoriously difficult to find clothes to fit her.
Their steps led them to the back of the building, where he unlocked a cunningly concealed car-port to reveal the low, sleek lines of a Mercedes. He was a good driver—confident, but not over-confident. He drove the powerful machine well within the limits of the city’s speed restrictions. She thought it rather a waste to have such a powerful car if he lived in town. They headed north.
‘So tell me,’ he said, ‘how on earth you managed to survive two years working in a foreign country on your own.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she declared indignantly.
He shrugged, the glimmer of a smile playing on his lips. ‘If you thought I was running a massage parlour and escort agency, then your imagination must have been working overtime when you were abroad.’
She flushed. Her daydreaming had got her into trouble on more than one occasion. ‘I’m surprised you gave me the job.’
A brown hand expertly and swiftly changed down into second gear as a taxi shot out of a side-street and into their path. ‘I had a strong gut feeling about you, and I tend to rely on my instincts—where business is concerned, at any rate,’ he finished.
She began to wonder how he might respond where his emotions were concerned. If indeed he had any! She remembered his conceited remark about women displaying the ‘ripe-plum syndrome’—meaning, presumably, that they all fell eagerly into his arms, she thought acidly. But he’d been nothing but disparaging about her fellow job applicants, so he obviously wasn’t desperate for scalps to notch up. She sneaked a surreptitious side-glance at him in the darkness of the car. How old would he be? Early thirties? Involved? Someone as eligible as Max Ryder would be bound to be involved. Except that she couldn’t recall seeing any photographs in that vast office of his. Come to think of it, it had been one of the most impersonal rooms that she had ever been in. Stark and dramatic. Even the bonsai tree on the plain black desk had given nothing away. Stunning, but impersonal. A bit like him, really.
‘So you managed to spend two years on the Continent without getting yourself into any scrapes?’ he probed.
The way he said it made her feel about ten years old. ‘I’d been used to working in Portugal,’ she defended. ‘After two years I knew the job inside out and back to front. I got back to England and suddenly I felt like a stranger in my own country. When I walked into your building I felt totally out of place—it was so outside my experience that I imagined the worst possible scenario.’ She tucked one of the errant curls behind her ear and looked at him slightly nervously. ‘Do you understand what I mean?’
Unexpectedly he said, ‘I believe I do.’
The curl sprang back. ‘Can we forget it, and put it down to travel fatigue? By the way—it’s left here.’
The car swung up the tree-lined road. The trees were beginning to lose their leaves now. It seemed such a long time since she had lived here—a lifetime ago, really. Nick and Harry had been great flat-mates to have—kind and protective, just like the brothers she’d never had.
‘Nice area,’ he commented.
‘Yes, it is. Could you pull up here? It’s the second house, behind the van.’
The powerful car pulled smoothly to a halt. He turned to face her in the semi-darkness. ‘I’ll wait here,’ he said. ‘Let me know if you need a hand with anything.’
‘Thanks.’ She climbed out of the low car, walked to the front door and pressed the bell.
She had to wait several minutes, and was contemplating leaving a note, when the door was opened and a tall, tousled-haired young man stood stock-still, and then a grin split his face in two.
‘Shauna!’ he said in surprise, and then, ‘Shauna!’ again in a tone of delight. ‘You dark horse, you! Why didn’t you say?’
‘Because I didn’t know until recently,’ she laughed. ‘And you know the advert you sent me? I got the job!’
‘You got the job!’ he echoed in delight, and before she could stop him he had caught her up in his arms and whirled her round and round.
‘Put me down, Harry,’ she giggled. ‘You’ll give yourself a hernia!’ But as he carefully lowered her back on to the step she saw over his shoulder that Max Ryder was no longer sitting in his car, but lounging against the bonnet—his expression in the darkness unreadable, but, even in that outwardly relaxed stance, there was no mistaking the coiled tension in the long limbs. Obviously, he must have seen Harry embrace her, and she wondered why she should mind that he had.
Harry looked at her closely. ‘You look fabulous, Shauna,’ he said quietly. ‘But pensive. Come in. Have a drink?’
She shook her head regretfully, eyeing the familiarly shabby hall with affection. ‘I can’t. I’ve got someone waiting. He’s offered me a job and accommodation. I’m here to collect my stuff.’
‘So? Invite him in, too.’
Shauna took in the overflowing books, the half-empty wine bottle, last Sunday’s—and the Sunday’s before that!—newspapers littering the floor. She could just imagine the minimalist, bonsai-loving Max Ryder fitting in here!
‘I don’t think so, Harry,’ she smiled at him fondly. ‘He hasn’t even shown me the flat, yet—and he’s expecting a phone call from Paris. But I’ll come round another night—you can cook me one of your famous Bolognese sauces, and we’ll catch up on all the gossip.’
Harry frowned. ‘If only we hadn’t let your old room out.’
‘I would hardly have expected you to hold on to it for two years!’ exclaimed Shauna. ‘That would be stretching friendship a little too far!’
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘It was good of you to keep my stuff for me.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Listen, I’d better not keep—’
‘No, of course not. I’ll get your stuff.’ He retreated into the larger bedroom. ‘Nick will be sorry to have missed you,’ he called out. ‘Did you know he’s in love?’
‘He wrote and told me! What’s she like?’
He reappeared, carrying two large suitcases. ‘Great—when she’s not sitting gazing at him like a lovesick puppy!’
‘You next, then,’ teased Shauna.
‘Is that an offer?’ he smiled.
They heard a loud toot from outside before she had a chance to reply. Shauna knew immediately who it would be.
‘That’ll be my new boss,’ she explained. ‘I’d better go.’
Harry pushed the curtain open a crack. ‘Flash car,’ he observed. ‘What’s he like?’
Shauna peeped out—he was still standing there. ‘The kind of man your mother told you never to go out with—well, most mothers,’ amended Shauna.
‘Lucky devil,’ said Harry gloomily. ‘I have the opposite trouble—instant parental approval—very boring!’
There was a momentary pause. ‘Thanks for my free holiday,’ he smiled. ‘I had a great time.’
He’d travelled out to Portugal in the summer, and her boss had put him up for the fortnight.
She grinned her agreement. ‘Me too. And thanks again for finding me the ad.’
They stood for a moment, hands clasped like the old friends they were—their brief and youthful romance long forgotten. ‘I’ll carry your cases to the car for you,’ he said.
A dark figure loomed up out of the shadows. ‘There’s no need for that,’ contradicted a deep voice, and Shauna started to see Max Ryder standing there, automatically moving away to break the contact, wondering what had caused the faint upward curl of his lip.
She performed the necessary introductions, but she thought that her new boss was decidedly lukewarm in his greeting, and Harry was uncharacteristically taciturn. In fact, for some reason neither man seemed to like the other very much.
Amid promises to call soon, Shauna and Max roared off down the street. There was silence for a moment. Then he spoke.
‘I thought I asked you not to be long,’ he said tetchily as he put his foot down on the accelerator. ‘I hope I’m not going to miss my call.’
‘Sorry,’ she said automatically.
Max gave her a sideways glance. ‘After such a fond reunion, I’m surprised your lover doesn’t want you to stay with him.’
So he had seen them embrace. ‘He is not my lover,’ she said, in an angry voice. Not any more, she thought. An attempt at young love years ago which had fizzled out almost as soon as it had started. Not that she was going to explain that to him. He was her boss, and he had absolutely no right whatsoever to comment on her private life. ‘And even if he were, it’s none of your business.’ Which didn’t come out at all the way she had intended it to.
She saw his hands tighten on the steering-wheel, as if he was not used to being spoken to in such a way, and she might have tried to amend her snapped response, but a glance at the cold, hard profile told her that she would be wise to say nothing, so she stared out into the night as Hyde Park swept by them.
He didn’t speak again until they had arrived back in Mayfair. He was not, Shauna decided, the type of man to engage in meaningless pleasantries.
‘I’ll show you the apartment now.’ He frowned as he glanced again at the pale gold wristwatch. ‘You must be hungry.’
So he was back to being civil. ‘Starving,’ she admitted.
This time, the lift went right past the third floor where he’d interviewed her, and the doors opened straight into an enormous sitting-room. The carpet was white, and littered with Persian rugs. The walls were also white, with several large modern canvases which fitted in perfectly with the simple leather furniture.
Shauna suppressed a gasp. Surely he couldn’t mean that this was her flat? Compared to the dark cubby-hole she’d had in Lisbon, this place was like a palace.
‘The kitchen’s through here,’ he was saying. ‘There’s a bathroom off that passage over there, but of course your room has its own, en suite. This is your room here.’ He pushed open a door to reveal a sumptuously appointed bedroom, decorated in palest eau-de-Nil. ‘You’ll find that—apart from work—we’ll hardly see one another.’
Shauna’s mouth fell open. ‘We? What do you mean “we”?’
He sounded impatient. ‘The flat has three bedrooms, and a great deal of living space. We’ll hardly be on top of one another.’
Suddenly the tall, dark figure of Max Ryder appeared very slightly menacing, and involuntarily she took a step back. ‘But I didn’t know I was going to be sharing with you!’
‘Oh, for God’s sake! We are living in the twentieth century, you know!’ he retorted. ‘Men and women do share flats these days—as you’ve obviously done yourself before. Or perhaps you consider yourself such a little sexpot that you think I won’t be able to keep my hands off you?’
‘No, I don’t!’ she parried, a blush creeping into her cheeks as her mind became alight with vivid images that his words had conjured up.
‘Well, that’s something,’ he said, with a kind of grim satisfaction. ‘Because, believe me, the last type of woman to attract me is some tall, skinny kid who doesn’t look old enough to be out of gym-slips!’
Shauna glared at him. It was one thing to decide that the man before her was the last person she’d ever fall for—it was quite another to discover that he felt exactly the same way—and his disparaging remarks made her bristle with indignation. Share a flat with him? Why, she’d rather share with a gang of escaped convicts!
‘And what about—privacy?’ she asked primly.
He gave a hollow laugh. ‘Privacy? Will you stop acting like the original vestal virgin? Slightly redundant anyway, since we’ve just collected your stuff from your ex-lover.’
He managed to make a young love-affair sound so sordid, she thought, her grey eyes sending out sparks of indignation.
‘You’ll have all the privacy you could possibly want,’ he continued. ‘For a start, I’m away in the country most weekends. Secondly, your room is on the opposite side of a very large flat, and it has its own bathroom. So does mine. So the chances of your coming across me in the raw are pretty remote.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘The good news for both of us is that I’ll shortly be having the flat divided into two completely separate apartments. It would have been done already if I had been here to sort the damned builders out. Unfortunately, I’ve been out of the country.’