Sleeping Partners

Bit like Clay Lincoln, then.

For an awful moment Robyn thought she had said the words out loud but when Cassie’s sunny face didn’t change, she knew the sarcasm had been in her mind only. ‘How often have you and Guy seen Clay over the last years?’ she asked carefully as she tipped the box of peppermint creams onto a silver plate and placed them on the serving trolley. ‘Isn’t a present like this a bit…extreme?’ she suggested expressionlessly.

‘According to Guy, Clay’s like that, unpredictable. And Guy’s seen him now and again; they go out to lunch mostly although Clay has been to dinner once or twice. He’s got a mansion-type place in Windsor apparently although we’ve never been there. He is always jet-setting here, there and everywhere—he’s never in one place for more than a few days, Guy says. Course, with all his business interests, you’d expect that.’

Robyn nodded. ‘What does he do exactly?’ she asked quietly as Cassie loaded the trolley with another plate of dark chocolates, slices of shortbread and jugs of steaming coffee, sugar, milk and whipped cream. Her sister always made sure everyone ate to excess.

‘Well, I understand his father was in shipping,’ Cassie said in a low voice, ‘but Clay’s diversified into property and one or two other things as well. Fingers in plenty of pies.’

‘A real entrepreneur,’ Robyn said lightly, keeping all trace of expression out of her voice with some effort. Filthy rich and with an ego to match. Just what she had thought in fact. She had been blind to everything but his overwhelming attraction and dark charisma at sixteen; it was different now. She was different.

When she and Cassie re-entered the room Robyn was aware of Clay’s eyes on her but she didn’t look his way, keeping her gaze on Guy at the head of the table. ‘Coffee for the birthday boy?’ she called brightly. ‘Black or white, Guy?’

‘Black, by the look of him,’ Cassie commented a trifle wryly at her side as she glanced at her husband’s flushed face and vacant grin. ‘I don’t fancy having to carry him up the stairs.’

Everyone lingered over coffee and brandy, the atmosphere mellow and comfortable as witticisms flashed back and forth and laughter reverberated in increasing waves of hilarity. Cassie was sitting basking in the glow of a supremely successful dinner party and Guy was surveying his guests with the air of a man who was truly satisfied with life. Robyn envied them. They had found each other as well as their niche in life and that was a double blessing. And then, as her gaze left Guy’s smiling, flushed, contented face it was drawn to the ice-blue eyes across the table and she found her breath catch in her throat at the mocking, mordacious quality to Clay’s hooded regard.

He was surveying them all in much the same way as a dispassionate scientist with a load of bugs under a microscope, she reflected angrily. How dared he? How dared he consider himself so far above the rest of them? Who did he think he was anyway?

‘I think Guy’s enjoyed his thirty-fifth, don’t you?’ The low drawl was just for her ears and although Robyn longed to tell him not to be so darn supercilious she knew she couldn’t. It was unthinkable to put a spanner in the works of Cassie and Guy’s evening. So instead she was forced to grit her teeth and give him a frosty little smile.

His eyes narrowed briefly but in the next moment she broke the hold and turned to John, and she made sure she didn’t glance Clay’s way again as she finished her coffee.

How was it, she asked herself silently, that all her previous good intentions of being distantly charming and amusing could be shattered with one glance from the man? In all the last twelve years she hadn’t met anyone who could set her teeth on edge like Clay Lincoln. Everything, but everything about him grated on her. She couldn’t imagine why he and Guy were friends.

She wasn’t going to wait for someone else to make the first move to leave. As soon as it was decently possible she would make her goodbyes and be out of here; she didn’t need this. She really, really didn’t need this. She would rather die than let Clay see it but she was acutely aware of every little movement he made and it was mortifying. Suddenly she just didn’t know herself any more and she was aghast at the way she felt.

Music was drifting in from the lounge, courtesy of Frank Sinatra who was doing it ‘his way’, and as Cassie began ushering them all out of their seats Robyn seized the opportunity to take her sister’s arm and say quietly, ‘I really need to be making tracks, Cass, I’m sorry. It’s been a lovely evening but—’

‘You can’t go yet.’ Cassie was horrified. ‘It’s only half past ten for goodness’ sake! Here, grab one of the bottles of brandy and port and bring them through, would you?’ And with that she sailed off across the hall, where she could be heard urging everyone to replenish their glasses.

Robyn stared after her, biting her lower lip and wondering how she could love someone and want to strangle them at the same time. It was a feeling she’d had before but never so strongly.

She had just turned to reach for the bottles when she saw Clay, still seated, surveying her with contemplative eyes. ‘Somewhere else to go?’ he asked mildly.

At some point in the evening he had discarded his suit jacket over the back of his chair and had undone the first couple of buttons of his shirt, pulling his tie loose, and although she was absolutely furious with herself the sheer physical magnetism of him registered in her solar plexus like a fist. She could feel the blood pulsing through her veins, a frantic flood that made her feel breathless and giddy, and she had to swallow hard before she could say, ‘Not—not exactly. Only home. But I’ve a heap of work waiting for me.’

‘At half past ten at night?’ he queried softly.

She flushed hotly, her voice something of a snap as she said, ‘I meant tomorrow, of course. It will mean an early start and so I didn’t want to be too late tonight.’ He needn’t try and be clever!

‘Do you always work such long hours?’ He stood up as he spoke, his silver eyes running over her face and the cloud of silky red-gold curls falling to below her slender shoulders. ‘I thought everyone was due one day of rest a week.’

She shrugged carefully. At five feet nine she had never considered herself petite but Clay must be at least another six inches taller and it was disconcerting to find she was having to look up at him. ‘It varies,’ she said stiffly.

‘Are you always so communicative?’ he drawled silkily.

They were the only two people left in the dining room now and Robyn had the ridiculous urge to turn and bolt into the lounge, but the knowledge that he would love that, just love it, restrained her. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said tightly, reaching for the bottle of brandy and another of port as she added, ‘Cass wants these, I’d better take them through.’

‘Running away…again?’ The pause was just long enough to bring the colour which had begun to recede from her cheeks surging back with renewed vigour.

‘I beg your pardon?’ she said with icy dignity, her voice at direct variance with her fiery skin. Horrible, horrible man!

‘If you had known I would be here tonight you wouldn’t have come.’ It was a statement, not a question.

You’ve never said a truer word, she thought. ‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ she returned scathingly. ‘How could your whereabouts be of any possible interest to me one way or the other?’

He hadn’t liked that. Robyn was immensely gratified to see his mouth tighten, but the black scowl was a little unnerving and grasping the bottles she made for the door. Enough was enough.

‘You’re an angel.’ As she entered the lounge where the others were draped about talking and laughing, a couple of the women dancing languidly to the music, Cassie took the bottles from her, glancing interestedly over her shoulder. ‘Where’s Clay?’

‘How would I know?’ Robyn said offhandedly. ‘Bathroom perhaps?’ Her tone made it quite clear she couldn’t care less.

‘Robyn, make an effort please,’ Cassie hissed quietly. ‘That’s not too much to ask, is it? He’s—’

What he was Robyn never found out as the next moment Clay walked in the room and Cassie fluttered over to him, insisting on replenishing his glass and then—to Robyn’s horror—drawing him over to Robyn as she said loudly, ‘You know you two have so much in common when you think about it, both with your own businesses and so on. You’re both workaholics, you know,’ and she giggled in a most un-Cassie-like way.

‘Clay and I have nothing in common, Cass.’ It was out before she could stop it, his narrowed eyes and cold face hitting a multitude of nerves, and she hastily qualified the retort with, ‘Clay is a millionaire with a network of businesses that stretch from here to Timbuktu, and I’m a one-man-band in Kensington. You really can’t compare the two.’

‘Timbuktu is a town in central Mali on the River Niger, and to my knowledge I have no business connections there,’ Clay said pleasantly, his voice conversational and his eyes deadly, ‘and I am sure your company is every bit as important to you as mine are to me. I think that is what your sister was getting at.’

She knew what Cassie was getting at but she couldn’t very well say so, Robyn thought helplessly, knowing she had been put in her place by an expert. She glared at him, hating him for making her feel such an ungracious, churlish boor, and then as Cassie shifted uncomfortably at the side of them Robyn tried to straighten her face into a more acceptable expression.

‘Robyn works too hard, Clay.’ Cassie was clearly in ‘in for a penny, in for a pound’ mode. ‘I know she’s trying to build the business up but nothing is worth killing yourself for. Of course it doesn’t help that her bank manager is less than far-sighted,’ she finished with all the delicacy of a charging bull-elephant.

Dinner party or no dinner party, this was finale time. ‘Excuse me.’ Robyn’s voice was throbbing with outrage as she nodded at Clay, taking Cassie’s arm in a vise-like grip as she did so and hauling her sister out of the room before anyone could say another word.

She didn’t let go until the pair of them were safely in the kitchen with the door shut behind them, and then she pushed her sister onto one of the breakfast stools with the command of, ‘Sit,’ her face flushed and her brown eyes sparking.

‘Robyn, please, just let me explain—’

‘Not another word, Cass.’ She was angry, so angry her voice choked before she took a deep breath and continued. ‘You’ve gone too far and you know it, don’t you? If I had wanted my private business broadcast to all and sundry I would have said so. Everything I tell you is in confidence, and you knew—you knew—Clay was the last person I’d want to confide in. I couldn’t have made it plainer the other day,’ she finished vehemently.

‘I’m sorry.’ Cassie didn’t look at her and her voice was meek.

‘Sorry isn’t enough, Cass. You tricked me into coming tonight too. You didn’t even give me the chance of refusing when you knew Guy’s brother wasn’t going to make it. Well, I’m going now and I tell you it’ll be a long time before I forgive you for this. I mean it!’ Robyn’s voice was high with outrage.

Cassie had always been unsquashable and pregnancy had only served to make her more serene. She raised her eyes now, her voice placid and her face composed as she said, ‘He would be perfect for what you need, Robyn. His own businesses are so vast he wouldn’t meddle or get involved with yours, but with just a fraction of what he’s worth backing you you’d never look back. And he’s a friend of the family. It’s ideal.’

‘He’s a friend of yours and Guys, Cass, let’s get that straight. I don’t know him; I don’t want to know him and if I ever see him again in all my life it’ll be too soon!’

They both heard the knock on the kitchen door and spun round to face it, and it dawned on Robyn—Cassie too, by the look on her face—that the person outside must have heard every word of that last statement because Robyn’s voice had not been moderate.

Robyn knew who it would be before the door opened and Clay’s dark cool voice spoke. It went with the whole miserable evening somehow. She prepared herself for the explosion.

‘Do I take it this is a bad moment?’ He was speaking directly to Cassie; Robyn might not have existed. ‘Guy asked me to tell you that May and her husband are leaving; babysitter deadlines.’

‘Oh, yes, yes, of course. I must… Yes.’ If Clay hadn’t had a grain of intelligence Cassie’s flustered voice and scarlet face would have alerted him to the fact that he just might have heard something personally detrimental.

But Clay was intelligent, formidably so, Robyn thought miserably as she watched her sister skuttle out of the room as though the devil himself was at her heels. But the devil wasn’t following Cass, he was here with her, she acknowledged silently, as icy eyes drilled into her. ‘So…’ It was grim. ‘I see the spoilt brat is still a spoilt brat?’

‘What?’ She couldn’t believe her ears. ‘What did you say?’

‘I should imagine you will rise to the top of the tree with very little effort,’ the devastatingly cold voice continued gratingly. ‘Ignoring anything you don’t want to acknowledge, bulldozing your way through without a thought of anyone else or any higher concepts—the business world will just love you, Robyn. Do you use that delectable body as well as your brain to get what you want? You started early, I should know that, so—’

Nothing in the world could have stopped her lashing out at him and it caught him completely off guard. His head snapped back with the force of her hand across his face and for a moment there was complete stillness in the kitchen, the sound of voices and music from outside unbearably normal in what was suddenly a terribly abnormal world.

Robyn was shaking now, her dark brown eyes enormous in her chalk-white face. She could see her hand print forming on one tanned cheek, the red lines a reproach in themselves, and she stared at him, shocked beyond measure at what she had done. She had never, in all her life, struck anyone, and for it to be Clay Lincoln! And at Guy’s birthday party!

And then she backed away as Clay came forwards without saying a word, his face frightening. ‘Don’t…don’t you dare hit me. I’ll call for someone—’

‘Hit you?’ It stopped him in his tracks. He swore, softly but vehemently and with enough force to scare her further. ‘Is that the sort of man you think I am? The sort who strikes women?’

‘I don’t know what sort of man you are.’

‘Really?’ It was deadly. ‘And yet you’ve been insufferable all evening. Care to tell me why?’ he asked cuttingly.

She had backed as far as she could go, the edge of the sink pressing into her lower back, but she still drew herself up as she said, ‘Me, insufferable? Me?’

‘Oh, don’t tell me!’ He folded muscled arms over his broad chest. ‘I’m the one who’s been aching to pick a fight. Right?’

‘I—I haven’t wanted to pick a fight, merely…’ Her voice trailed away. How could you explain the unexplainable?

‘Yes?’ He was eyeing her with complete and utter disdain.

She set her jaw, the old defiance which had been severely shaken coming to her aid. ‘I don’t have to explain anything to you,’ she stated tightly. ‘Not a thing!’

‘Wrong.’ He was watching her with unrelenting eyes, and then something in his expression changed as he added, thoughtfully now, ‘You don’t add up, Miss Brett, and I don’t like that. I remember a somewhat precocious teenager, bright, undeniably lovely, but fresh, eager, alive. There wasn’t a trace of sourness or scepticism there, so what happened?’

You. You happened. You blew my word apart and you don’t have the faintest inkling, do you? From his comment labelling her precocious and a spoilt brat as a teenager, he’d obviously put his own interpretation on that night years ago. He’d imagined she’d been trying out her new-found womanhood on any available man, was that it? That he had been the luck of the draw on which to cut her puppy teeth? Whereas in reality…

And that crack about using her body to get what she wanted! He had made it quite plain how he viewed her now as well. He was hateful, loathsome. How ever could she have imagined herself in love with him? She must have been stark staring mad!

‘Cass will be concerned if I don’t get back to the others,’ she said stiffly, ‘so if you’ve quite finished?’

‘I haven’t even started,’ he said softly, but he stood aside for her to pass him, his dark face unfathomable.

If she had been thinking straight she might have known he wouldn’t just let her leave, not after all that had transpired, but her head was a whirl and hot emotion sat in the place where common sense normally dwelt.

She swept past him, only to find herself swung round by hard male fingers on her wrist and then she was in his arms before she realised what was happening.

‘Let go of—’ The rest of her words were smothered by his mouth on hers and for a heart-stopping second she was too surprised and bewildered to react. And then she struggled fiercely, fighting him with all her strength. It had about as much impact as a moth fluttering against a brick wall.

It was a challenging kiss, severe almost, a kiss that dared her to relax and enjoy it, and it was a kiss by an expert. That much registered on Robyn’s spinning senses. He felt hard and sure against her softness and the smell of him spun intoxicatingly in her head, bringing her skin alive from the tips of her toes to the crown of her head.

His name was whispering deep inside her and that frightened her as much as the sensations he was drawing forth so effortlessly. Clay was the last person in the world she should want to make love to her and shockingly—humiliatingly—that was exactly what she did want. Which made her…what? The answer to that gave her the strength to jerk away with a suddenness that took him by surprise.

‘I hate you.’ It was raw and low and she was trembling.

‘Do you?’ He looked back at her, his silver eyes glittering slightly. ‘Why such a strong emotion, Robyn?’ he asked tauntingly.

She blinked a little. He was tying her up in knots and she was letting him; this was completely the wrong way to handle a man like Clay Lincoln. She knew that; she dealt with all types in her work including hard-bitten journalists who would sell their own mother for a story, so why had her normal cool, distant façade got blown to smithereens? What was it about this man?

‘I don’t appreciate being mauled about for a start,’ she bit out tightly, praying the trembling in the pit of her stomach wouldn’t communicate itself through her voice.

‘Mauled?’ He gave a soft, mocking laugh as he stepped back a pace, the crystal eyes pinning her to the spot. ‘I don’t think so, Robyn.’

His impossibly light eyes reflected his contempt of the statement and his aggressive handsomeness, his utter surety in himself, was galling. For a moment Robyn had the insane impulse to throw a paddy and shout and scream, anything, to get under that tanned skin, but the knowledge that she would be acting like the spoilt brat he’d accused her of being was restraint enough.

‘You may not think so but that is what I call it when a man forces himself on a woman,’ she said icily. ‘I neither asked for or wanted you to kiss me.’

‘True.’ And he had the absolute affront to smile. ‘But you enjoyed it when I did. I’ve kissed enough women in my time to know that. I had wondered all night what you’d taste like and now I know.’

She didn’t believe this man! She glared at him, bristling with fury, her fingers itching to hit him again. What an incredibly colossal ego. But she was not going to give him the satisfaction of losing her temper again. She drew herself up to her full five feet nine inches and stared straight into the silver-blue orbs, her voice dripping with scorn as she said, ‘You need to think I enjoyed it; that’s quite a different thing. If it makes you happy, dream on, Mr Lincoln.’

Her tone of voice did not amuse him, that much was obvious, but before he could respond the door to the kitchen opened again and Cassie breezed in, her voice bright as she said, ‘You two still in here? I told you you’d have plenty in common, didn’t I? You wouldn’t carry the ice bucket through for me, would you, Clay?’ she added as she opened the freezer door and extracted a bag of ice cubes to refill the huge silver ice bucket she had brought in with her from the lounge.

‘Sure thing.’ It was cool and relaxed, insultingly so.

Sure thing. Robyn stood for a moment more after the other two had walked through to the lounge. And did he think she was a sure thing too? Like all the women who flocked to his dark aura? Thought he only had to click his fingers, no doubt.

Think again, Clay Lincoln. She drew her lips together, her brown eyes narrowing. This was one man she wouldn’t touch with a barge pole. And she was out of here, right now.

CHAPTER THREE

‘SO HOW was the dinner party last night? Cassie serve up salmonella along with the main course, or is there another reason why you look like you ought to be in bed this morning?’ Drew’s voice was light but her baby-blue eyes were anxious as she surveyed Robin’s white face.

‘I’m fine, Drew.’ Robyn had just opened the door to her assistant and now she stood aside, waving Drew in as she said, ‘The coffee pot’s on.’

‘Robyn, you look awful.’ Never one to beat about the bush Drew turned to face her after Robyn had shut the door. ‘Go back to bed, I can manage here.’

That was ridiculous and they both knew it. They had a product launch for a cosmetic company the next day and Robyn had fought off some powerful competition to acquire it. Everything had to be faultless and flawless; she had promised a polished launch with maximum flair and that meant working until late evening as it was, and then a six o’clock start on Monday morning.

‘I’m all right, really.’ Robyn managed a fairly normal smile in spite of the fact she hadn’t slept a wink all night and had been downstairs at her desk by five. ‘I just didn’t sleep well, that’s all,’ she added with a fair attempt at nonchalance.

‘Have you eaten breakfast?’ And at Robyn’s shake of the head Drew scolded, ‘And I bet you were up at the crack of dawn too! Honestly, Robyn, sometimes I think you haven’t got the sense you were born with. You can’t work like you do and skip meals. I’ll make some toast and you’ll sit and eat it before you do anything else.’

‘Thanks, Mum.’ But Robyn was laughing now. This was the other side of Drew that few people saw—the fussy, motherly side—and it was a complete antithesis to the dizzy, frivolous image the attractive blonde normally projected. But then, who knew what anyone else was really like? Robyn thought soberly as Drew bustled off upstairs. Certainly Clay didn’t have the faintest idea what or who she was.

And then she caught herself angrily. No more thinking about Clay Lincoln! She’d wasted all the night hours fretting and walking the floor, and who cared what he thought about her anyway. He’d labelled her an empty-headed, amorous little flirt at sixteen who’d been ready and willing to jump into bed with any male, and now she’d risen to a sour, ruthless-minded business woman who wasn’t averse to using her body to get what she wanted.

She ground her teeth, furious with herself because it still rankled. Because it shouldn’t matter. He was nothing. Nothing.

She had left Cass’s immediately after the episode in the kitchen, pleading a headache, and she hadn’t looked at Clay once, not even when she had said goodbye. Even then she had kept her gaze somewhere behind his left ear.

But somehow—and this was the worst thing of all—she couldn’t get the memory of what that kiss had done to her out of her head and her senses. She touched her lips unconsciously, her eyes wide and unseeing. How could she have responded like that to a man she loathed and detested? He was dangerous. He was so, so dangerous. And unprincipled. And base. And—

She was saved from further reflection by Drew calling down to say she was fixing scrambled eggs on toast and Robyn must come now, not a minute, not a second later.