That Devil Love
She wished she hadn’t said that when his eyes travelled assessingly over her fine Victorian-style cotton nightdress with its long sleeves and high neck, the smooth hair tumbling down her back like pale silk, the bare feet.
His inspection completed, he smiled mockingly. ‘Don’t worry, you’re quite decent.’ Then, briskly, ‘I want to talk to you.’
Zan Power’s voice, clear and low-pitched, with that very faint accent which lent it such devilish charm, sent shivers running up and down her spine.
Pressing slim fingers to her throbbing temples, she waited.
He indicated a chair. ‘Won’t you sit down?’ It was an order in spite of the polite phrasing.
Clearly he intended the tête-à-tête…confrontation…whatever, to be on his terms.
Recognising the futility of trying to oppose him, she sat down, deliberately choosing a different chair.
Amusement flickered briefly in the tawny eyes, before he queried, ‘Where do you keep your aspirin?’
She was surprised into answering, ‘In the bathroom cabinet.’
‘You haven’t taken any?’
‘No.’
Without a word he disappeared through the partly open door to return a few moments later with half a tumbler of water and two round white tablets, which he transferred from his palm to hers.
‘I can tell by the tension in your neck and shoulders that you’ve got a headache.’ Handing her the tumbler, he continued with wry humour, ‘I could get rid of it with a few minutes’ massage, but after your earlier reaction I hesitate to lay a finger on you, even for therapeutic purposes.’
Thank God for that, she thought fervently, swallowing the tablets. She couldn’t bear the thought of him touching her.
For more than one reason.
Despite her hatred of him, like some beautiful but deadly snake he fascinated and attracted her. If he touched her…kissed her…she might be caught body and soul in his coils, unable to free herself ever again from that dark enchantment.
She shuddered.
Taking a grip on sanity, she pushed the fanciful notion away and told herself scathingly not to be an idiot.
‘Do you mind if I sit down?’ Without waiting for an answer, he took a seat opposite.
Unnerved afresh by his calm deliberation, the way his gaze never left her face, she said, ‘You wanted to talk to me?’ Then, with a sudden jolt, ‘How did you know where I lived?’
Coolly he admitted, ‘I followed Leighton’s car.’
In her mind’s eye she saw the sleek silver BMW glide out of the traffic stream and draw up opposite.
‘So far as I’m aware it’s not a criminal offence,’ he added sarcastically.
Biting her lip, knowing she had to keep her composure, she said levelly, ‘Perhaps you’ll tell me why you went to so much trouble?’
‘For several reasons.’ He slipped a hand into his pocket.
As she gazed at him he reached over and clasped her right wrist, making her jump convulsively. ‘I wanted to return this.’
Looking down at the gold bracelet he’d snapped on like a handcuff, she stammered, ‘Th-thank you. I hadn’t realised I’d lost it.’
‘You didn’t lose it,’ he admitted coolly. ‘I took it from your wrist.’
‘Did you learn how to do that in the back streets of Piraeus?’ The question was out before she could prevent it.
Just for a moment he looked nettled, then the anger was swiftly masked. ‘I did, as a matter of fact. But though I and my brothers and sisters often went barefoot, our parents managed to feed us and keep a roof over our heads without the necessity for stealing.’
Staring at him with eyes that had turned darker and cloudy, she asked, ‘Why did you take my bracelet?’ In spite of all her efforts her voice shook a little. ‘You must have had a reason?’
‘Oh, I had. Depending on the situation, I decided I might need an entrée, some legitimate excuse for knocking at your door.
‘You see, I couldn’t rest until I knew how things stood between you and Leighton. If he’d driven straight off, I would have let things ride until tomorrow, but when he came in with you I began to wonder if I’d been wrong in my assumption that you were no more than friends.
‘Just as I was about to come over and break up whatever was going on, the door opened…’ His voice soft but lethal, Zan added, ‘When I saw him kiss you, I could have cheerfully broken his neck.’
Fear once again stifling her, she jumped up.
With one cat-supple movement he was on his feet and standing over her, his dark face only inches away from her own. ‘I meant what I said, Annis. From now on I intend to be the only man in your life.’
‘If you think after all you’ve…’ Abruptly she halted the rush of bitter words, biting her inner lip until the lesser pain made the larger more bearable.
The past was best left alone. Nothing she, or Zan Power, for that matter, could do or say would alter a thing.
When she had herself under control, she carried on with icy composure, ‘You don’t seem to understand. There’s no way I’d ever get to even like you.’
‘I don’t want you to like me. Liking is such an insipid, bloodless emotion. I want you to want me. To be as crazy for me as I am for you.’
Her heart racing with suffocating speed, she protested, ‘You’re quite mad.’
‘I might be at that,’ he admitted. ‘But it’s such a wonderful, exhilarating madness that I never want it to end.’
His voice roughened by passion, he went on, ‘I can’t wait to have you in my arms, in my bed, in my life…’
Then more quietly, ‘But I won’t try to rush you. I’ll give you time to get used to the idea. All I want at the moment is a promise that from now on you won’t see any other man.’
Meeting him again out of the blue was a strange enough coincidence, but that he should feel so strongly about her was incredible, almost unbelievable.
Yet she had to believe it. By some cruel twist of fate this man who had torn her whole world apart was back in her life and, apparently obsessed by her, intending to stay.
Somehow she had to find a way of getting rid of him now. Tonight. Before this madness had time to grow and flourish.
‘I can’t give you any such promise.’ She tried to speak calmly, decisively. ‘Apart from any other consideration, you were wrong in your assumption that Stephen and I are just friends. We’ve been lovers for some time now.’
Zan’s olive-skinned face seemed to pale, the skin tightening over the strong bone-structure, as though her declaration was a knife she’d stabbed him with.
With a short, sharp sigh he echoed her earlier thought. ‘Well, I can’t alter what’s happened in the past… But from now on you’re mine. Don’t ever forget that, Annis.’
Running his fingers into her silken hair, he took her face between his palms, and bent his dark head. His lips were firm and sure on her mouth, light, yet completely possessive.
She was still standing rooted to the spot when the latch clicked behind him.
Faintly she heard a door slam, an engine start, and his car draw away. But it was a long time before, moving like some zombie, she went to lock up and reset the safety-chain.
That fleeting kiss had shocked her to the core. Rocked her world. Nothing would ever be quite the same again.
Totally exhausted, she crept straight off to bed and fell asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow. But, though she slept, it was a shallow, restless sleep, haunted by a darkly arrogant face that both repelled and attracted her.
She awoke heavy-eyed and unrefreshed, that same face still effortlessly dominating her mind. Making all her hatred and anger surface. Bringing all the previous night’s fear flooding back in a tide.
But she must try to keep a sense of proportion, she reminded herself sharply. Zan Power couldn’t make her do anything she didn’t want to do.
And perhaps he was already having second thoughts? After flaring up, his sudden passion might have flickered out, like a fire lit in the wrong place.
The best thing, maybe the only thing she could do was carry on as if nothing untoward had occurred, as if he hadn’t turned her whole world upside down yet again, and see what happened.
Dressed in a smart charcoal suit and crisp white blouse, lightly made-up, her hair in its usual smooth chignon, she was almost ready to leave for work when the doorbell chimed.
Expecting the postman, she went to answer.
A young sandy-haired man wearing a green coat with ‘Jay’s, Florist’ embroidered in red on the lapel said a cheerful, ‘Good morning,’ and, handing her a huge bouquet, went off whistling, despite the cold, grey day.
The long-stemmed, dark red roses, scented and velvety, were exquisite. Hot-house blooms like those must have cost a king’s ransom, Annis thought dazedly. Stephen, bless him, had got carried away.
Nestling among the glossy leaves was a small envelope. Opening it, she took out the slip of pasteboard. Written in a strong black scrawl on the gilt-edged card was one word. Zan.
Shock held her rigid for a moment, then, tearing the card in two, she dropped the pieces in the waste-paper basket as if they were stinging nettles.
Unable to bring herself to destroy the roses, after a moment’s thought she picked up the bouquet and headed for the door once more.
Mrs Neilson, her middle-aged neighbour, was just getting about again after an operation, and Annis knocked most days to enquire if any shopping was needed.
None was this morning, but at the sight of the flowers Mrs Neilson’s drawn face lit up. ‘My dear, they’re beautiful!’ she exclaimed. ‘How very kind of you.’
Wishing she could dispose of Zan Power as easily, Annis walked to the Tube station, girding her loins to face what a strange premonition warned her was going to be a fraught day.
CHAPTER TWO
JOINING the Friday morning rush, Annis caught a train to Oxford Circus then hurried the few blocks to her Regent Street office, a cramped first-floor room from which she ran Help, her own small temp business.
She employed ten women of diverse ages from varied walks of life, each with the willingness and ability to do several different jobs.
Requests for secretarial, nursing, housekeeping, cooking and catering help were the most common. But she and her staff could, and did, fill a variety of other roles.
Having unlocked the narrow, slightly shabby street door squeezed between a boutique and a video shop, she climbed the uncarpeted stairs and let herself into her office. Two wooden chairs and a desk were its only furnishings.
As she switched off the answering machine and hung her stone-coloured mac on a hook behind the door, the phone started to chirp.
A woman’s businesslike voice identified herself as being from, ‘Blair Electronics. Mr Blair’s personal assistant…’ and requested immediate help in the form of a competent secretary for the managing director.
Adding, ‘I was advised to ask for a Miss Warrener, if she’s available.’
‘I’m Miss Warrener,’ Annis said, and, a frown tugging at her well-marked brows, queried, ‘But surely I haven’t worked for you before?’
‘No, but I understand you were highly recommended by the sales manager of one of our subsidiaries.’
‘How long will you need my help for?’
‘Miss Winton will be away for a month.’
All the details having been settled, Annis jotted down the address and promised, ‘I’ll be with you inside an hour.’
In a little over forty-five minutes, she was climbing the steps to the Marylebone office block which housed the electronics firm.
At the desk in the foyer she stopped to give her name and state her business.
‘Turn right, then left,’ the frizzy-haired receptionist told her, ‘and you’ll find the MD’s office at the end of the main corridor. Go straight in, Miss Warrener. You’re expected.’
Her heels sinking into the luxurious carpet, Annis made her way down the wide corridor. When she reached the unmarked door at the end, she knocked and walked in, as instructed.
Just inside the threshold she stopped short, feeling as though she’d received a punch in the solar plexus, as she saw the powerfully attractive face of the man sitting behind the leather-topped desk.
The shorn black curls, the green-gold eyes and bony, slightly crooked nose, the wide, thin-lipped mouth and cleft chin, were indelibly printed on her mind. If she never saw him again she would carry his hated image to her grave.
‘Good morning, Annis.’ A smile in those tawny eyes, he added, ‘Close the the door and come and sit down.’
When she made no move to do either, he queried, ‘Did you like the flowers?’
Somehow she found her voice. ‘My next-door neighbour did.’
‘So you gave them away?’
‘What did you expect?’ Without waiting for an answer, she rushed on, ‘And I don’t know what you hope to gain by dragging me here… I can’t afford to play silly games. I’ve a business to run.’
‘So have I. That’s why I need a secretary.’
Trying to ignore the unnerving gaze fixed on her face, she demanded, ‘How did you know where to find me?’
‘Leighton was only too willing to provide any information I wanted. It was really quite amusing… But please do sit down.’
She shook her head. ‘You’ve had your fun. Now I’m going.’
Softly, he said, ‘I think not. We have a verbal contract. You agreed to work for me for a month.’
‘The agreement was that I should work for the managing director of Blair Electronics.’
‘Exactly.’
So this was yet another firm controlled by AP Worldwide.
Feeing the trap closing, she protested, ‘Surely making me come here was just to prove how well you can manipulate people? You don’t really want me to work for you…’
‘Oh, but I do. Since having bronchitis just after Christmas, Miss Winton hasn’t been at all well. I gave her a month’s sick leave, so I require someone to fill her place.’
Annis’s long-lashed almond eyes, beautiful eyes which slanted up a little at the outer corners, were blazing with anger and indignation. ‘You mean you got rid of her on purpose!’
He moved his shoulders in a slight shrug. ‘She needed a holiday. A few weeks’ complete rest will do her a world of good.’
Reading Annis’s mind with frightening accuracy, he went on, ‘Of course I can’t force you to stay. But you seem to be building up a nice little business, and if you value it you’d be wise to think carefully before doing anything rash.’
‘That sounds remarkably like a threat.’ Her voice shook a little as it was borne on her what power a man like him could wield.
‘Merely good advice,’ he said smoothly. ‘After all, what’s a month?’
As he spoke he got to his feet and strode over. A moment later he had closed the door, relieved her of her scarf and mac, and was ushering her to a chair.
It was done with such cool assurance that she was sitting down before she had time to weigh up what possible damage he could do Help if she ignored his ‘good advice’.
Resuming his own seat, he observed, ‘You won’t find the work here too onerous. Apart from letters, all I need is someone to accompany me to meetings and take notes, and to act as my hostess if I do any entertaining.’ Casually, he added, ‘It will give you a chance to get to know me.’
‘I don’t want to get to know you,’ she informed him icily.
‘Then I’ll have to see what I can do to change your mind… Now to business. I don’t always tape record—’ he pushed a pad and pencil towards her ‘—so how’s your shorthand?’
‘Slow and inaccurate,’ she informed him sweetly.
He laughed, as if genuinely amused, then, eyes gleaming devilishly, suggested, ‘Well if you prefer, I’ll settle for making use of your other talents.’
Biting her lip, she snatched up the pad and pencil.
They worked without a pause until twelve o’clock. His dictation was fast and decisive, giving no quarter, and she needed every ounce of her concentration to keep up.
All the same she was constantly and acutely aware of the man sitting opposite, of how much she loathed and detested him. Reluctantly aware also of his dark attraction, of the strong pull his magnetism had on her senses.
With a kind of horror she realised that if she hadn’t had such cause to hate him, she might easily have fallen victim to his fascination. Might have found herself hopelessly infatuated with him.
As Maya had been. Maya—the one person Annis had really loved. Her life been a source of wonder to her, her death the greatest of pains. And she had died because of one man—Zan Power.
‘Use my cloakroom if you want to wash and brush up before lunch.’ His voice broke into her thoughts.
Looking up to meet those brilliant eyes, she said blankly, ‘Lunch?’
‘Yes. I want you with me.’ She was about to refuse curtly, when he added, ‘I have a luncheon appointment with Cyrus Oates, the American tycoon. As it’s at his hotel, his wife will be with him.’
‘I’m not dressed for lunching out,’ she objected.
‘You’re dressed like the perfect secretary,’ he assured her mockingly. ‘Which is just as well, because after lunch I’ve a meeting at the bank, and I’d like you to take notes.’
She emerged from the cloakroom some five minutes later, hair and make-up checked, and they took the lift down to the underground car park where his silver BMW was waiting for him.
‘What do you usually do for lunch?’ he queried, when they were settled in the car.
‘Buy a sandwich,’ she told him, omitting to add that with high rents to pay both for her furnished flat and the Regent Street office it was all her tight budget would stand.
As they climbed the ramp to street level and joined the flow of traffic, he ordered, ‘Tell me about your business.’
‘I thought Stephen had given you all the information you wanted.’
Ignoring her prickly response, he asked, ‘Do you usually work alongside your staff as well as coping with the administration?’
‘Yes,’ she answered shortly.
‘But, being the boss, you can take your pick of the assignments?’
Oh, well, if he was determined to talk… And perhaps it was better than sitting beside him in strained silence.
‘It doesn’t usually work like that,’ she answered a shade ruefully. ‘I often get landed with the jobs no one else wants to do.’
Zan gave her a swift sideways glance and raised a black brow. ‘Such as?’
‘Well, there was taking care of George while the family went on holiday…’
‘George?’
‘A twelve-foot python. He turned out to be quite docile, not to say friendly. But feeding him proved a bit of a problem. The worst thing about pet snakes is they prefer their food on the hoof, so to speak. Have you ever tried making a very dead rat look alive?’
He was still laughing when they drew up outside the Farndale Hotel.
They were crossing the foyer when a large, balding man with rimless glasses and a paunch advanced on them. He held out a ham-like fist. ‘Hello, Power. Glad you could make it. This is my wife, Dorothy.’
An equally large lady with eyes as pale as ripe goose-berries in a fleshy face, came forward with an outstretched hand. Having greeted the pair courteously, Zan said, ‘May I introduce Miss Warrener, my secretary.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Miss Warrener,’ Cyrus Oates boomed, while his shrewd grey eyes assessed her slim figure, her cool, patrician beauty.
During lunch, while the men discussed business, Annis asked, ‘Is this your first visit to England, Mrs Oates?’
The polite query was all that was needed to induce a flood of talk with the battering force of Niagara. A look of interest and an occasional word kept it flowing.
They were at the coffee stage, when with a suddenness that took Annis by surprise Mrs Oates finished an account of her visit to Harrods and said in strident tones, ‘Gee, but your boss sure is good-looking. Don’t you think he’s handsome, honey?’
‘I wouldn’t describe him as handsome myself,’ Annis said. Adding with a tight smile, ‘Any more than I’d describe the north face of the Eiger as pretty.’
Her comparison went over the American’s head.
‘But don’t you just love working for him?’
Annis caught a gleam of amusement in Zan’s heavy-lidded eyes which made her aware he was following both conversations.
Evading the issue, she answered, ‘I don’t actually work for Mr Power. I’m only a temp.’
Overhearing the last few words, Cyrus Oates exclaimed, ‘A temp?’ Then to Zan, ‘You don’t get many secretaries look that good. Guess you won’t want to part with her, huh?’
Catching Annis’s eye, Zan said with smooth meaning, ‘I shall certainly be taking steps to keep her with me on a more permanent basis.’
The subtle threat made a shiver crawl over her skin and her palms grow clammy with cold perspiration.
Lunch over, business matters apparently settled to everyone’s satisfaction, they made their farewells and set off for the bank. It was nearly half-past four by the time the meeting was finished, and Annis, who had attracted quite a few curious and interested glances, was feeling stiff and tired. Though she was not normally prone to headaches, her head throbbed dully and the back of her throat was rough and dry.
Outside it was a bleak, prematurely dark afternoon, with more than a hint of snow in the air.
Turning the BMW into the traffic stream, Zan remarked, ‘It’s too late to go back to the office. I’ll take you straight home.’
‘Really, there’s no need to go to all that trouble,’ she said stiltedly. ‘If you drop me at the next corner I can easily get the Tube.’
‘It’s no trouble.’ His tone was quietly adamant.
After a pause, when the expected opposition failed to materialise, he asked, ‘Have you lived at Fairfield Court long?’
‘About three years.’ She tried to hold at bay the hurt, the bitter memories crowding in on her.
‘Do you like being there?’
‘Not particularly.’ The modern, characterless flat, with its small, square rooms, was functional rather than pleasing.
‘Where does your brother live?’
Annis stiffened at the mention of Richard. Then, her voice as casual as she could make it, said, ‘He and Linda have a house in Notting Hill.’
‘Have you any more family?’
Like flicking a lighted match into a keg of gunpowder, that innocent question seemed to explode inside her head. She wanted to strike at him, to claw her nails down his handsome face, to watch him bleed.
Badly shaken by that flare of raw, primitive passion, the violence of her feelings, hands clenched into fists, she shook her head mutely.
Glancing at the frozen blankness of her face, Zan knew he’d hit a nerve. Though he didn’t know how or why. There was so much about this woman that he didn’t know. But he intended to.
When they reached Fairfield Court, Zan accompanied her to the door and waited while she unlocked it, but to her very great relief he made no move to follow her inside.
As she said a coldly formal, ‘Thank you,’ he stooped and touched his lips to hers in another of those light but proprietorial kisses that left her feeling as if she’d been caught in some terrifying whirlpool.
‘Au revoir, Annis.’
A hand to her mouth, she watched him slide behind the wheel and drive away. She was still standing like a statue in the doorway when his car disappeared from sight.
Once inside she made herself a strong cup of tea, took a couple of aspirins and reviewed the catastrophic events of the day.
He’d managed so easily, so effortlessly to trick her into accepting the assignment at Blair’s. But, hating him as she did, and frightened by the way each meeting added more fuel to her desire for revenge, she knew she couldn’t go on working for him.
Anne and Sheila were both first-class secretaries, and on Monday, no matter what kind of upheaval it involved, she would send one of them in her place, and let him do his worst!
If he tried to ring her she would put the phone down, and if he came to her door she would refuse to open it. So long as she was careful, she would never have to see him again.