The Seduction Business

Bianca grimaced, wondering how true that was, but answering coolly, ‘The way you run your marriage is your business, but I am not the free and easy type. I don’t go in for adultery, it’s too messy.’

He laughed shortly. ‘You’re too old-fashioned to be true! But Matt Hearne is a widower, remember, and as free as the birds.’

‘This is a business lunch! You don’t expect me to use sex to get Matt Hearne to sign over his business, I hope!’

‘Use whatever works,’ said Don, sounding highly amused. ‘How many times have I told you that there’s no place for morals in business? The bottom line is money. Nothing else counts.’

‘Don’t be so cynical!’

‘I’m rational, not cynical. If we can get hold of Hearne’s new technology we’ll be coining money soon. It’s essential we get Hearne himself, though. He’s a genius. None of our researchers can touch him. We want him as well as his company.’

‘Then you talk him into signing!’

Don changed tack. ‘You know, the man must be pretty lonely. Since his wife died he hasn’t been seen with anyone else, I gather. That must mean he’s in need of some good sex, so I want you to be nice to him. Very, very nice, Bianca. If you know what I mean—and of course you do!’ He laughed uproariously.

She gave him an icy stare. ‘You may think that’s funny, Don, but I don’t! I’m not sleeping with him just to get him to sign that contract!’ Anger made the hair stir on the back of her neck. ‘Sex may be your answer to everything, but it isn’t mine. I have too much self-respect.’

They turned into the Savoy Hotel courtyard and the limousine slowed to a stop in front of the swing doors. The uniformed commissionaire moved forward to open the passenger door for Bianca to descend, so she leashed in her temper again as she got out of the car. She couldn’t have a row with her boss in front of a fascinated audience.

‘You’ve got no sense of humour,’ he murmured, following her through the hotel’s swing doors. ‘Lighten up, sweetheart! And keep smiling. We want to get Hearne’s signature on that contract, remember!’

Matt Hearne and a couple of his executives had already arrived, they were told, and were waiting in the River Room bar, sitting right in front of one of the famous art nouveau mirrors, with their coloured urns of flowers reflecting the light of the great chandeliers in the centre of the room.

‘There’s Hearne,’ Don said, striding forward, past the white piano occupying the centre of the long, wide room.

Bianca kept pace with him, aware of three pairs of eyes fixed on her but looking past them, into the mirror behind them. Her reflection moved to meet her in flowing graceful strides: the smooth blonde hair, the oval face, and then the pinstriped jacket, open to reveal the sexy way her waistcoat fitted her high breasts and slender waist. Across the front of it swung a gold watch-chain, moving with every step her long legs took.

She looked calmer than she felt. Don had made her angry and agitated, she was breathing too quickly, her colour high.

The waiting men rose to greet them. ‘Good to see you again, Matt,’ Don said, holding out his hand to one of them.

‘Hi, Don,’ the other man drawled lightly and derisively. Don was not one of his favourite people, Bianca instantly picked up, but then he wouldn’t be, would he? Matt Hearne had founded his own company which Don was now trying to acquire. They were hardly going to be friends.

Don introduced her a second later. Matt Hearne’s hand swallowed her own. His skin was cool, his grip firm but brief.

Bianca had seen photos of him but they had not prepared her for his physical presence, nor for the instant awareness of him she felt.

He had… She hesitated for the right description, then settled for magnetism. Yes, that was what he had. It glimmered in those bright, blue, mocking eyes. This was a man with charisma as well as sharp intelligence.

This was a moment she always felt deeply—the first seconds of a duel, facing the opponent over their drawn swords.

Sometimes you knew you would easily win. It was going to be a push-over.

But not this man. He was no push-over.

He introduced his colleagues, who shook hands, staring at her in a way that was familiar but still irritating. Why couldn’t men treat a woman as if she was a human being first and a female second? Why did they always look like that, as if they were imagining you naked?

A faint flush deepened on her cheeks. Would they look at each other like that? Of course they wouldn’t.

The formalities over, they all sat down again and a waiter appeared.

‘What will you have to drink, Bianca?’ Don asked, playing the attentive host. He was paying for this meal, the three other men were TTO’s guests, which Don felt gave him the advantage, and he always looked for a chance to get the advantage when he was making a deal. Don was a bridge player, a man with a sharp, quick, clever mind but very little heart.

When Bianca hesitated, Don said, ‘How about champagne? Shall we all have some?’ He glanced at the waiter and nodded. The waiter vanished.

‘How is your wife, Don? I met her a couple of years ago at a party,’ Matt Hearne said in a soft, deliberate voice.

Don looked blank. ‘Did you? I wasn’t there?’

‘No,’ agreed Matt Hearne, his blue eyes drifting over to scan Bianca’s face in a way she resented. ‘You weren’t. Too busy elsewhere, I suppose?’

Bianca stiffened. Was she imagining the pointed tone? What was he hinting at?

‘It was a charity function,’ Matt murmured. ‘Your wife was involved in raising funds for Czech orphans. A very nice lady with a lovely smile.’

Yes, Bianca was sure he was needling Don, quite deliberately, and from Don’s sudden frown he knew it.

Surely there hadn’t been anything between Matt Hearne and Don’s wife?

The waiter returned with an ice bucket and two bottles of champagne. They all watched him set out champagne glasses. He opened one bottle, and filled the glasses.

‘To our closer understanding,’ Don said to Matt Hearne, raising his glass, smiling again, all warmth and friendliness.

Nothing would ever interfere between Don and the making of money. Until he had achieved his deal he could put aside desire, rage, personal hatreds—any and every emotion. He had tunnel vision to an extraordinary degree.

She wondered if Matt Hearne was the same. He had been intensely successful; he and Don must have a lot in common.

‘Oh, I already understand you, Don, don’t worry,’ Matt said, raising his glass, too, in Don’s direction, and again she heard the hidden note of mockery.

Don’s smile was tight, his teeth white and pointed. ‘Good, I’m glad you do. I must say, your company is a little jewel, Matt, and I won’t hide the fact that I want it. And what I want I always get.’

His eyes wandered on to touch Bianca, and she felt the insistence throbbing inside him, and tensed, her hands clenched at her sides.

Sometimes he was positively scary.

It was a difficult occasion from that moment. Oh, the men smiled a great deal, but the hidden weapons each carried showed more and more as the lunch progressed.

How well did they know one another? wondered Bianca, watching them both. Were they older acquaintances than Don had ever told her?

She became very curious but could pick up no real clues to whatever lay in the past.

TTO had bought up over a third of the Hearne stock, which would mean that they inevitably had a considerable impact on future policy and planning in the company. But they had not yet managed to acquire control. Matt Hearne held too many shares and would not sell. His sister controlled a number of shares, too. Rumour had it that she and her brother weren’t speaking. If they had seriously quarrelled and TTO could persuade her to sell they would get control.

The problem was, Ann Hearne had moved to the States a year ago and nobody seemed to know her address. Bianca had tried to find her and failed.

At present, they had a very good private detective over there looking for her. If they could find her in time, and persuade her to sell her shares to them, it would make the take-over much easier.

Watching Matt Hearne as they ate lunch—a game consommé under a pastry case, then turbot stuffed with a pink prawn mousse, and served with a selection of young fresh vegetables—Bianca wondered if his sister looked like him. If she had his colouring and grace Anne Hearne would undoubtedly be lovely.

As if feeling her eyes on his profile Matt turned his head as the waiter whipped their plates away. His blue eyes narrowed, gleamed. Something in that look made her flush and look away, her pulses quickening, which surprised her.

Don was watching them, a secret, satisfied smile curling his full mouth. She gave him an icy look. If he thought she would fall in with his plans for her and Matt Hearne he could think again.

The tense discussions resumed, with stubborn resistance from the Hearne camp. They were going to fight TTO all the way, Bianca realised, but then what had Don expected?

Over coffee and liqueurs Don suddenly said, ‘Clearly we need to have some more meetings. I’m going to Australia in a couple of days, but Bianca will be…’ A deliberate pause, then he added, ‘Available.’

Matt Hearne glanced at her, raising a brow, cool assessment in his eyes.

Biting her lip, she looked down. She couldn’t blame him for reading what he clearly did from the way Don had said that. What else was he to think?

Just what Don had meant him to think, in fact.

‘Who else will I be talking to?’ Matt drawled.

‘Oh, just Bianca,’ said Don softly. ‘The two of you can come to terms more agreeably than a whole bunch of guys fighting it out, don’t you agree?’

Burning with indignation, her eyes lowered because she couldn’t trust herself not to burst out in white-hot fury, which would probably destroy any hope of a deal, Bianca listened to Matt Hearne saying, ‘Then why don’t we start with dinner tomorrow night? If you’re free, Bianca?’

‘She’ll be delighted, won’t you, Bianca?’ Don didn’t let her speak for herself in case she made up some excuse. ‘What time and where?’

‘How about my flat?’ Matt Hearne drawled. ‘We can’t talk seriously in a restaurant—too many ears and eyes. We don’t want the media picking up on our talks. Eight o’clock?’

Don quickly said, ‘Eight o’clock, your flat—that’s in Chelsea, isn’t it? We have the address. Bianca will be there.’

‘I shall look forward to it,’ Matt Hearne said, and Bianca looked up then, meeting his amusement, hating him for the contempt and mockery in that gaze, dying to tell him to get lost but knowing Don would be furious if she did.

Don called for the bill and paid it with his credit card, then got up hastily. ‘Sorry, we have to rush now. Pressure of work, you know how it is! It’s been a pleasure, Matt.’

He took Bianca’s arm in a tight grip and pulled her out of her chair, propelled her away from the table.

‘How could you do that?’ she snapped as they walked back up into the foyer. ‘You practically offered me on a plate! What do you imagine he’s thinking?’

Don chuckled. ‘All you have to do is lead him up the garden path until he signs. That was what you did with young Mistell. I’m not asking you to go to bed with Hearne. Just let him think you might.’

She turned to stare at him, her green eyes glittering like broken glass, her skin burning. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this angry. She had known for a long time that Don was a cynic—why did his latest attempt to manipulate her make her so furious?

She knew very well, of course. She had hated the way Matt Hearne looked at her just now. It hurt to imagine him despising her.

‘I don’t believe I heard that. No, Don, I will not do it. And I did not lead Harry on.’

‘Were you in love with him?’ Don pointedly asked, and she hesitated.

‘I liked him a lot.’

‘But you weren’t in love, were you? I’ve known you a long time, Bianca, I’ve watched you date guys for a while then end it. I’m curious—have you ever been in love?’

‘Mind your own business.’

‘You haven’t, have you?’ He smiled in satisfaction. ‘I don’t believe you’re totally ice-bound. Somewhere under the ice there’s fire, and I want to be the one to reach it.’

She gave him a scathing glance. ‘No chance, Don. No chance at all.’

He laughed. ‘We’ll see. As for Hearne, if you won’t even flirt with him at least be friendly. Courtesy costs nothing, does it? This is a business meeting. You can set the tone; you’re not stupid. And he doesn’t look the type to turn nasty, does he?’

No, she conceded silently. But men were often unpredictable and she was not comfortable with the prospect of having dinner alone with Matt Hearne in his flat. After what Don had said to him he might well think she was part of whatever deal they offered him.

She would ring him tomorrow and suggest they have dinner in a restaurant.

CHAPTER TWO

THE news that the two companies had had lunch together at the Savoy appeared in several morning newspapers, next day, and the press kept the phone lines busy all morning, but no statement was issued by either firm.

Bianca worked with Don for several hours, before he flew to Australia, to tie up loose ends of various projects they had in hand. He went off to lunch with some of the other executives, leaving her at her desk with a pile of paperwork to read through, so when the office lunch trolley came round she bought a yogurt, an apple and some cheese.

Patricia, however, said she had a lunch date with her fiancé, and went out, abandoning the letters she had to type, to Bianca’s irritation. She continued to work, eating her lunch at the same time, which was why when her phone rang she had her mouth full of cheese and apple.

As Patricia wasn’t around she picked it up, murmuring, ‘Mmm?’ between chews.

‘I would like to speak to Bianca Milne.’ She recognised the voice before he added, ‘My name is Matthew Hearne.’

Flushed, and hurriedly swallowing the food, she finally managed to say thickly, ‘This is Bianca Milne. Hello, Mr Hearne.’

‘Matt,’ he said, a smile sounding in his voice. ‘Are you having lunch at your desk?’

Startled and pink, she mumbled, ‘Er…yes, actually.’ Had it been that obvious?

‘Snap. So am I. What are you having?’

‘A Greek yogurt, a Cox’s apple and a piece of Cheddar,’ she said, hoping she didn’t sound as flustered as she felt.

‘That sounds much better than my ham and pickle sandwich. Is your boss there?’

‘I’m sorry, he’s out.’

‘No desk-bound lunch for him, eh? I suppose he’s having a rich lunch somewhere special, with lots of wine. How does he work after that?’

‘Don doesn’t drink much,’ she lied. Not much he didn’t. ‘Do you want him to ring you when he gets back, Mr Hearne?’

‘No, it was you I wanted to talk to. I picked up the impression that you weren’t too keen on the idea of eating at my flat tonight.’

She was silent—how did she answer that politely?

He laughed softly. ‘So why don’t I book dinner in a good restaurant? Any preferences?’

‘No,’ she said with relief. ‘I’ll leave the choice to you.’

‘Okay. I’ll pick you up at seven at your flat. See you then.’

‘My address is…’ she began, her words trailing into silence as she realised he had already hung up. That must mean he already knew her address. Well, she knew his, so why should she be surprised about that? No doubt his people had been very busy checking her and Don out ever since their hit began. It didn’t worry her because she had no secrets to hide; however deep they dug his investigators wouldn’t find out anything they could use against her. Don was another story. Who knew what secrets he had to hide?

He came into her room at five-thirty that day, as charged up as usual, and barked at her. ‘Still here? Go home now and make yourself beautiful for Hearne.’

She leaned back in her chair, her body giving a weary but graceful stretch in the clinging grey jersey dress she wore.

‘I will, soon. What time’s your flight for Sydney tomorrow?’

‘First thing, God help me. Now, keep me informed of how your talks with Hearne go, won’t you?’

‘Of course. Fax or phone?’

‘Phone. Faxes are too risky for this one—other people will read them before I do. I’ll ring you at home in the evening from my hotel, okay? That way we can be fairly sure we aren’t being overheard.’ He turned to go, said over his shoulder, ‘And, Bianca, you won’t wear anything as boring as that dress, will you? I want you to knock Hearne for six and have him putty in your hand by the time I get back.’

She glared after him. ‘I’ll be polite to the man, I don’t promise anything else!’

Bianca arrived home half an hour later having taken a taxi instead of her usual underground train. The office was close to a tube station and so was her home—a spacious flat on the top floor of a large Victorian house in Pimlico, just a street or two away from Pimlico underground station. From the high bay windows of her sitting room she had a view across gardens bright with spring flowers to the river. Her bedroom overlooked the back of the house; a large magnolia tree grew right outside, the delicate pale pink candle-like flowers just below her windowsill.

She opened the window to air the room and a wonderful scent of wallflowers and stocks floated in. Whenever she got home she felt peace descend on her. She had taken a good deal of trouble to give her flat a tranquil feeling—soft, soothing pale colours, landscapes hanging on the walls, a waist-high bookcase running halfway round the sitting room, a good stereo music centre where she played her favourite CDs when she was alone each evening, pretty lamps here and there shedding low light, a spacious, open feel to the rooms. This was where she unwound after the tensions and pressures of the day at work. This was where she could be alone, at ease, untroubled.

Don had never been invited, although he often dropped hints about wanting to see her home. She did not want the atmosphere ruined for her by memories of Don making a pass, or talking in his assertive, ruthless fashion about work.

First, she glanced through the mail waiting for her—a bill, a home shopping catalogue, a postcard. She knew who it was from as soon as she saw the picture on the front. Lake Como was where her father now lived. She read the few sentences in his large, black, sprawling handwriting. He was well and so was Maria, his second wife, and their son, Lorenzo, who had been eight yesterday and sent Bianca his love. The weather was wonderful; he hoped she was well, too. It could have been a card sent by a mere acquaintance.

That was what it was, she thought bitterly—a few words from a virtual stranger. What did she know about her father? From the day he walked out on her and her mother Bianca had only seen him half a dozen times.

Why had he got in touch now? Had something reminded him she existed? Made him feel a little guilty? Her mouth twisted icily. Well, he would soon forget her again. He always did. It would probably be years before she heard from him once more.

She dropped the card on the kitchen table and walked through to the bathroom to take a quick shower, then went to her bedroom, in her short black towelling robe, to put on a black bra and panties, then a matching, filmy black slip. Clicking through the clothes in her wardrobe, she finally picked out a simple black tunic dress, sleeveless, with a scoop neckline, and a hem just above the knee. If Matt Hearne should turn out to have expectations she had no intention of fulfilling it would help if she looked a trifle austere.

With her blonde hair swept up into a French pleat behind her head, tied there with a large black bow set with a diamanté clasp, her face smoothly made up, lips pale pink, lids brushed with green shadow which had a faint glitter to it, her reflection was elegant and cool.

Automatically she added a touch of her favourite French perfume on pulse points—at her wrists, behind her ears, in the hollow of her throat—then started violently as her front doorbell rang and spilled a little perfume on her dress and the carpet.

Groaning, she stoppered the bottle and put it back on the dressing table.

That’s all I need—to smell like a brothel! she thought, brushing her dress and waving her arms about to disperse the strong smell of perfume.

Why did he have to be early? She wasn’t ready to cope with him yet; she needed more time.

Why am I so nervous? she wondered, staring into the mirror and seeing a darkness, an anxiety in her eyes.

She had had so many business dinners and lunches with men, in the past, both alone and with Don. Why was it different this time? Pull yourself together! she told her reflection. He’s just another man. Nothing is different. You can deal with Matt Hearne.

He rang the doorbell again. Bianca dragged a cool mask over her face, took a deep breath, turned and picked up her purse and a warm cashmere wrap, because although it had been a warm spring day it was chillier now, and went to open the door.

She found him leaning casually against the wall outside, long and lean and elegant in tailor-made evening clothes, which made him look even taller, slimmer, his waist clipped by the smooth-fitting waistcoat, those very long legs smoothly encased in dark trousers, a white carnation in his buttonhole.

Bianca’s breath caught in her throat. Why did he have to be so attractive?

‘I was beginning to suspect you’d forgotten I was coming,’ he drawled, those cynical blue eyes flickering all over her, making a strange, hot pulse start to beat inside her body.

What is the matter with me? she angrily asked herself. She must stop behaving like a schoolgirl finding herself alone with a man for the first time in her life.

‘Sorry,’ she said tersely. ‘You’re early. I wasn’t quite ready.’

‘Are you ready now?’ he queried, one brow lifting in teasing query, and she thought, No! I need more time. Go away; come back later. Maybe then I’ll have got myself under control.

But she couldn’t say that because it would betray a weakness and in this fight between them she must never let him imagine he could win. She had to stay in command, give the impression she was invulnerable, he wouldn’t get anywhere with her.

It worried her that she was already having to struggle to keep her cool. Why did this man get under her skin, bother her so much? She had never felt this sort of reaction to anyone else. Oh, she had found men attractive, from time to time, but had always stayed calm, in control, had never felt this disturbing awareness before.

‘Do you want me to come in and wait while you finish getting ready?’ he offered.

‘No!’ she said, far too quickly, and saw amusement glint in his eyes. Crossly pulling the red cashmere wrap around her throat with hands that weren’t quite steady, she said, ‘I’m quite ready now, shall we go?’

She closed her front door; Matt Hearne stood back to allow her to go down the stairs first. In the communal hallway of the apartment block they met one of her neighbours, a young man in jeans and a vivid striped sweater, who gave her a smile, nodding.

‘Hi, Bee.’

‘Hello, Gary,’ she said coldly, stalking past. A medical student at a London teaching hospital, he was the only son of wealthy parents who had spoilt him.

One night soon after he’d arrived he had come back drunk and tried to push his way into her flat. They had had quite a tussle until she managed to thrust him out and lock her door. He had banged for ten minutes before giving up and going downstairs. He had a studio flat at the back of the ground floor where he played heavy metal rock, far too loud, infuriating the other tenants, who would have had him evicted if the whole house had not been owned by one of Gary’s doting aunts.

To do him credit, Gary had come up next day with a bunch of flowers and an apology, but Bianca had kept him at a distance ever since. She did not want a repeat performance of his attempt to get into her flat.