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www.millsandboon.co.uk
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER ONE
OLIVIA was running late. There was nothing unusual about that, but with summer gone and autumn on the way it seemed that everyone who’d ever given a passing thought to redecorating a living-room or a flat had suddenly decided now was the time and had come racing into Interiors by Pierre, bearing swatches of fabric or chips of paint that just had to be matched, and would it be too much to have the job done yesterday?
It made for awfully good business, Pierre said in his high-pitched voice. But it had played havoc with Olivia’s schedule. Now she was late for her lunch with Ria.
And it wasn’t just any lunch, she thought ruefully as she hurried along Fifth Avenue. It was their annual birthday lunch, and Olivia had sworn on everything that was holy that she wouldn’t be late.
Well, she had done her best. It was just that it hadn’t been quite good enough. Not that Ria would be surprised.
‘We both know you’re going to be late, Livvie,’ she’d said, tossing her thick mane of dark hair. ‘That old goat works you like a slave, even though he knows you’re the only reason he has so many customers. Honestly, Livvie, it’s time you went into business for yourself.’
Olivia smiled a little as she remembered those words. She did work hard at Interiors by Pierre, but then that, along with the talent Monsieur Pierre was so loath to admit she possessed, was why she’d gone from shop girl to design assistant in three years. As for opening her own shop—you couldn’t borrow enough money to do it right without assets to pledge as collateral.
‘But if you had collateral you wouldn’t need a loan,’ Ria had said, and they’d both laughed.
It was ridiculous, but it was reality. Olivia hadn’t really expected her friend to understand. Ria had been born into a world of privilege and wealth; her idea of hard work was her noon-to-six, three-day-a-week stretch at a trendy avant-garde art gallery—which was why it was always easy for her to be on time for lunch.
‘You won’t want to be late this time,’ she’d said with a giggle, almost as if she were still ten instead of about to turn twenty-six. ‘Just wait until you see your birthday present!’
Olivia’s senses had gone on alert as she thought of the silk scarf she’d bought for Ria.
‘Remember what we agreed?’ she’d said warningly. ‘No more expensive gifts. That watch you gave me last time was gorgeous, but—’
‘You’re so silly, Livvie. What’s the point of having money if I can’t spend it on the people I love?’
It had been a sticking point between them for years, Olivia trying to make Ria see that she couldn’t possibly match her oldest friend’s extravagance and Ria explaining that her gifts were meant to bring pleasure, and each encounter ended the same way.
‘You don’t like it?’ Ria would say, her eyes clouded, and by the time Olivia had finished assuring her that it wasn’t that at all it was always too late. ‘Good,’ Ria would declare happily. ‘Then enjoy, darling!’
Olivia sighed as she hurried towards the restaurant. Ria had teased her about this year’s gift.
‘It’s right up your alley,’ she’d said. ‘It’s practical. Pragmatic. Why, it’s downright sensible. You just get to Luigi’s on time and see if you don’t agree.’
Now, as Olivia glanced down at the expensive diamond and gold watch encircling her slender wrist—Ria’s gift of last year and one she rarely wore—she made a face. She wasn’t going to get there on time, that was certain. She was already a quarter of an hour late. Of course, she thought hopefully, the watch might not be keeping time properly. She hadn’t worn it in months, it was far too expensive to wear every day, and besides it was just a little flashy for her tastes...
Who was she kidding? A watch like this would rather die than be inaccurate. She was definitely late, and who knew how much further it was to Luigi’s?
‘It’s this darling little place just off Fifty at Fifth-sixth,’ Ria had said, but Ria’s ability to judge distances hadn’t noticeably improved any in the fifteen years they’d known each other. ‘Just off Fifth’ could mean anything from around the corner to Sutton Place—although, Olivia thought, suppressing a grin, Ria wouldn’t very likely pick a bit of real estate as far removed as that. Luigi’s would be located somewhere along this golden stretch of New York pavement, tucked between the bustle of Fifth Avenue and the quiet grandeur of Park. Its décor would be handsome, the food luscious, the wine list intimidating—and perhaps this time, Olivia thought with a twinge of guilt, she and Ria would have more to say to each other than the last. They’d known each other forever. Surely they still had things in common, now that they’d put away their toys.
Ah! Olivia’s pace quickened, her high heels tapping lightly against the pavement. There it was! A discreet black sign, just in the middle of the block, with the restaurant’s name inscribed in gold script. She’d arrived, and only twenty minutes past the appointed hour.
A uniformed doorman appeared from out of nowhere; he held open the brass-studded door, bowing grandly as if she were royalty.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, fighting back the urge to put a nervous hand to her glossy, dark brown hair. It was probably wind-tossed, the shoulder-length, almost untameable curls even wilder-looking than usual, she thought irritably, annoyed not at her hair nor the unctuously smiling doorman but at herself for still feeling such a sudden twinge of nerves at the thought of stepping inside a place that was so obviously a haven for those born to the good life.
What on earth had brought that on? It was a long time since anyone had teased her about not belonging, longer still since she’d given a damn. Her chin lifted. Besides, in the emerald-green silk suit she’d designed and made she’d look as good as any woman in this posh little café.
And it was posh, she thought as she stepped inside. The tiny entry foyer was done in black and white marble, with the scheme repeated in the dining-room that opened beyond, all of it heightened by accents of burgundy and pink. The room was dim and intimate, with a mirrored bar to the right and deep banquettes beyond. Music played softly in the background, and the air bore just the faintest hint of good wine and perfume.
She glanced at her watch again as she waited for the head waiter. Perhaps Ria was already seated. Olivia stepped forward a bit, just into the bar, and peered into the main room. Was that a dark head at a table off to the side? She stood on tiptoe, then took another step forward...
The man stepped back from the bar at just that instant. Olivia had time only to register the grey wool jacket, the flash of a highball glass in a masculine hand, and then a sudden rush of cold liquid splashed across her silk dress and down her skirt.
She cried out, almost in unison with a deep voice that muttered something far more explicit, and when she looked up she was staring first at a splattered dark silk tie, then at a face as cold and aggressively masculine as any she’d ever seen.
‘Dammit, woman, why don’t you look where you’re going?’
Olivia’s mouth dropped open. ‘Me? You’re the one who—’
‘Just look at this mess.’ He pulled a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and rubbed at the spots on his tie. ‘You’ve ruined my tie.’
She stared at him while she brushed at the fine silk of her jacket. It was wrecked, she thought unhappily, absolutely wrecked. What was a tie when compared to a suit?
‘And I’m going to smell like a bottle of Scotch for the rest of the afternoon.’
Olivia’s mouth narrowed. ‘Next time,’ she snapped, ‘stick to club soda. If nothing else, it might improve your disposition.’
His head came up. ‘Really?’ he said, and for the first time he looked straight at her.
‘Really,’ she started to say in a frigid tone, but the word stuck in her throat. The anger was draining from his face, leaving in its place a slow, easy smile. Olivia caught her breath. My God, she thought foolishly, what a handsome man.
‘Hell,’ he said pleasantly, ‘accidents happen.’
She swallowed. ‘Yes. I—I guess they do.’
Not just handsome. Wealthy. She knew the type too well. She could see it in the expensively tailored suit, hear it in the way he spoke.
She flushed as she realised how he was looking at her, his gaze moving slowly, lingering on the quick rise and fall of her breasts. His smile tilted.
‘Here.’ The hand that held the handkerchief lifted towards her bosom. ‘Let me—’
‘No.’ Olivia stepped back quickly. ‘I’ll take care of it,’ she said coldly.
‘Madame? Sir? Is there a problem?’
She spun around. The head waiter was standing beside them, a worried frown on his face.
The man smiled. ‘No problem at all.’
The head waiter’s glance went from Olivia’s jacket to the man’s tie. ‘May I get either of you something? A clean cloth, perhaps, or—?’
‘A table,’ the man said.
He took Olivia’s elbow, his fingers curling around it very lightly, far too lightly for her to feel as if his touch had scorched her skin, but that was exactly how she felt. She pulled away sharply.
‘I’m meeting someone,’ she said to the head waiter.
He laughed softly. ‘So was I. But it’s not too late to change our plans, is it?’
‘In fact,’ she said, ignoring him, ‘she might be here already. Her name is—’
‘It’s your name I’m interested in,’ the man murmured. ‘If you won’t have lunch with me, at least give me your name and phone number.’
The head waiter cleared his throat. ‘Perhaps I should return in a few minutes.’
‘No.’ Olivia shook her head. ‘No, please. I’d like to be shown to my table, whether my friend is here or not.’
‘Certainly, madame.’
‘Say goodbye, at least,’ the amused masculine voice beside her whispered as she marched off after the head waiter, but she didn’t answer. She didn’t take an easy breath, either, not until they’d safely left the bar behind.
‘The reservation is in the name of Ria Bascomb,’ she said.
The head waiter bowed his head. ‘Of course. Just follow me, please.’
Olivia sighed. Ria was here already, then. Well, that figured. The day was rapidly going downhill. Just look at how badly she’d dealt with what had been, after all, nothing but an innocent flirtation. But the stranger had dredged up memories with his easy assumption that she’d find him irresistible.
‘Here you are, madame.’
‘Thank you. I...’ Olivia blinked. There was someone in the booth waiting for her, all right, but it wasn’t Ria. It was, instead, a white-haired man with a handsome, ruddy face who was already smiling and rising to his feet.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, turning to the head waiter. ‘I’m afraid there’s been a mistake.’
The white-haired man smiled and waved his hand in dismissal. ‘That’s all right, Geoffrey. Miss Harris is at the right table.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said slowly, ‘but I don’t...’ Her voice trailed away. She’d been going to say she didn’t know this man, but she did. His face was familiar, as was his voice. Where had she seen him before?
‘Charles Wright,’ he said, as if he’d read her thoughts. ‘We met several months ago. I came into the shop where you work to enquire about draperies for my apartment.’
‘And you ended up having us redecorate the entire flat.’ Olivia smiled and took the hand he held out to her. ‘Of course, Mr Wright. Forgive me for not recognising you.’
‘That’s quite all right, Miss Harris.’ Wright’s smile grew warmer. ‘I wouldn’t expect such a beautiful young woman to remember the name and face of an old fogey like me.’
‘Oh, but you’re not an old fogey,’ Olivia said automatically. ‘I just—well, it’s the lighting in here. And then...’ She frowned as she withdrew her hand from his. ‘I’m afraid there’s been an error, Mr Wright. I’m meeting a friend for lunch—’
‘Ria Bascomb.’
Her eyebrows rose. ‘Yes. Yes, that’s right. But how did you know?’
‘Ria didn’t tell you that she’d asked me to join you?’ Wright sighed. ‘Ah, well, she said she was going to keep it a secret till the last, and I see that she did.’
Olivia’s frown deepened. ‘Do you and Ria know each other?’
She had, apparently, made a marvellous joke. Wright laughed with delight.
‘You might say that. In fact, we met at the shop where you work. I was in to approve the final sketches for my pied à terre, and Ria dropped by to say hello. You introduced us.’
‘Did I?’ Olivia smiled tentatively. ‘Yes, now that you mention it, I think I do remember. But that still doesn’t explain—’
‘Please, Miss Harris, won’t you sit down and have something to drink? Ria will be here soon, I assure you.’
Olivia hesitated for a few seconds, and then she shrugged her shoulders and slipped on to the cushioned seat opposite Wright while her brain whirred and tried to make sense out of what was happening. Alice at the Tea Party, she thought, and she cleared her throat.
‘I must admit,’ she said lightly, ‘I’m not sorry she’s not here yet. I’m always the one who’s late, and I promised her I’d be on time today.’ There was a silence, and she cleared her throat again. ‘Well. I hope you’re enjoying your flat, Mr Wright.’
‘Charles.’ His mouth curled up in a smile. ‘Surely the woman who decorated my flat so beautifully knows me well enough to call me by my given name.’
Olivia gave him a little smile. ‘Has it all worked out, then? As I recall, you were concerned that the colour we used in your living-room might become boring.’
Wright laughed. ‘Actually, I wasn’t in it often enough to notice. No, I’m just teasing you.’ He smiled as he signalled the waiter. ‘Everyone complimented me on the décor. We told them all it was done by the charming Miss Olivia Harris.’
Olivia flushed. ‘Thank you, but I suspect my boss would rather you gave credit to Interiors by Pierre.’
‘Nonsense.’ Wright shrugged his elegantly clad shoulders. ‘We both know that you’re the creative one in that shop.’
‘That’s very kind, but—’
‘What will you have to drink? White wine? Red? Perhaps something more substantial?’
Olivia hesitated. ‘Perrier would be just fine, thank you.’
Wright made a face. ‘On your birthday? Whatever are you thinking of?’
She stared at him. ‘You know that it’s my birthday?’
‘A bottle of Perrier-Jouet brut,’ he said to the waiter, and then he leaned forward towards Olivia. ‘Yours, and Ria’s. Of course I know. That’s the reason I’m here.’
‘To celebrate Ria’s birthday?’
Wright chuckled softly. ‘Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say I’m here to celebrate yours.’
Olivia’s head came up. ‘Mr Wright—’
‘Charles.’
‘Look, I don’t mean to seem rude, but I was expecting to meet my friend for lunch. Instead, I find you waiting for me, and, while you seem to know a great deal about me, I don’t know anything at all about you.’
‘But you do, my dear. You know that I’m a friend of Ria’s, that I’m one of your most satisfied clients...’ He sighed. ‘I told Ria she was the one to explain this, but she insisted it should be me.’
‘Explain what?’ Olivia said, her expression cautious.
He sighed again. ‘Ria and I were talking one day. About investment opportunities. She knows I’m always looking for—’ He broke off as the sommelier appeared with a bottle of chilled champagne. Once it was opened and poured, Wright leaned across the table. ‘Ria understands my fascination with investing in small businesses, so when she explained how profitable a small interior decorating studio could be...’
Olivia’s breath caught with excitement. Was this what Ria had been hinting at? Had she found someone with the money to open a shop but not the knowledge? Was Wright asking her to manage such a place for him?
It was almost too good to be true. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue.
‘Mr Wright—Charles—let me be sure I understand. Are you asking me to manage a shop for you?’
And it was too good to be true, she thought as he shook his head.
‘No.’
Olivia nodded. ‘Sorry.’ She gave him a shaky smile. ‘I thought I must have misunderstood, but for a minute there I could have sworn you said you were going into the interior decorating business.’
‘You’re going into the decorating business.’ Wright lifted his glass and smiled at her over its rim. ‘I’m just supplying the capital.’
She really was losing her mind, Olivia thought as the man opposite her laughed at the befuddled look that spread across her face.
‘It’s really very simple,’ he said. ‘I told you, I got lots of compliments on my flat, enough so it was very easy to sell.’
‘You sold it? But we just finished re-doing it.’
He nodded. ‘Yes. But my needs changed, Olivia. I needed something a bit quieter, with greater privacy.’ He leaned forward. ‘I didn’t ask you to decorate the new place because—because it had just been done.’
‘That’s all right,’ Olivia said, puzzled. ‘You don’t have to explain.’
‘The point is, each time someone said how handsome the flat was, Ria would think of all the clients you were losing by not having a studio of your own.’ Wright chuckled. ‘So I wasn’t all that surprised when she came up with this idea.’
Olivia put down her glass of wine very carefully. ‘What idea?’
‘She told me you’d tried to get a loan from the bank but they’d turned you down. That’s right, isn’t it?’
‘I tried to get loans from several banks,’ Olivia said. Her voice was thready; she cleared her throat and tried again. ‘I don’t see—’
‘Ria suggested I finance your endeavour.’
Olivia stared at him. ‘What?’
‘I told you, I’m always looking for small investments. Well, why not invest in an interior design studio? Ria said, and I thought, Why not?’
A small investment, Olivia thought giddily. Yes, the money she needed would be that, to someone like Charles Wright. A practical gift, Ria had said. A pragmatic one. A downright sensible one...
‘So I asked my attorneys to check things out, and they came up with some figures. Just preliminary ones, naturally, until they’ve had some input from you.’
The man was serious! Olivia stared at him across the table. A studio of her very own, one where she would make the decisions, not Pierre; one where she would take the credit, not Pierre; one where the decisions and the designs would all be hers.
But it was crazy. Insane. Heaven only knew how Ria had convinced Charles Wright to make such a generous offer. She couldn’t accept it, of course; she...
‘...And if you’re thinking this is an act of lunacy that Ria talked me into...’
She gave a nervous laugh. ‘I was thinking something like that,’ she admitted.
‘Well, I assure you, it isn’t. Over the years, I’ve put money into a dry-cleaning shop, a video chain, even a haircutting establishment.’ He smiled. ‘Why not a decorating shop? My accountants tell me that the changing economy has altered people’s habits. They’re spending money on re-doing, rather than on starting afresh.’
‘Yes, but—but you barely know me...’
‘I know your work, and Ria vouches for you. That’s good enough. And it is a loan, Olivia, understand that, with interest payments and a monthly due date and all the rest.’ He smiled. ‘My accountants, and the tax people, wouldn’t have it any other way.’
Olivia blew out her breath. ‘I—I don’t know what to say,’ she whispered.
Wright laughed. ‘An astute businesswoman would simply say yes.’
She stared at him. ‘How did you get started?’ she’d asked Pierre once, and he’d shrugged his elegantly clad shoulders and answered with more honesty than she’d expected. ‘A loan from a wealthy friend,’ he’d said. ‘Without her, I’d probably still be painting peonies on silk scarves.’
Wright drew a cheque from his breast pocket and pushed it across the table. ‘Have a look at this. My people said it would get you started, but if it’s not right, say so. I’d want to see you capitalised properly. If we want the right clientele to find you, we have to set you up in the right location and with the right sort of ambience.’
The cheque was for an amount that made Olivia’s head spin. She stared at it, then at Wright.
‘I—I don’t know,’ she said slowly. ‘What if I fail?’ She pushed the cheque back towards him, the light glinting off her diamond and gold watch. He stopped the cheque’s progress by covering her hand with his.
‘Ria and I have every confidence in you.’
She stared at him blankly. ‘Mr Wright...’
‘Charles.’ He grinned engagingly. ‘Surely we’re on a first-name basis now.’
‘Charles,’ she said slowly, and then she fell silent. Ria, she thought, I’m going to break your neck. I’m going to hug you to death. I’m going to—I’m going to get up any minute and dance and shout and throw my arms around that stuffy head waiter...
‘Are the funds sufficient, then?’
She nodded. ‘Oh, yes, Charles. It’s more than enough. It’s just that I—I don’t know if I can accept it. I’d feel funny, letting you give me such an enormous amount of money.’
‘What a lovely sentiment. She almost sounds as if she means it.’
The voice was male, the tone soft. But there was no mistaking the coldness of it, nor the undisguised contempt. And there was certainly no mistaking its familiarity.
It was the man who’d bumped into her only moments ago. Olivia drew herself up and gave him a cold stare.
‘You’re not welcome here,’ she began, but then she stopped. The stranger wasn’t looking at her at all, he was looking at Charles—and Charles was looking back at him, his ruddy face gone pale as a sheet.
‘How nice to see you again, Charles,’ he said, but she knew that wasn’t what he meant at all. Charles knew it, too; his hand, still clutching hers over the cheque, tightened until his grip was almost painful.
Olivia cleared her throat. ‘Do you—do you know this man, Charles?’
The man laughed. ‘Do you know me, Charles?’ he said, his voice cruelly mimicking hers.
‘Edward.’ Charles’s voice was a little breathless. ‘This is a surprise.’
Edward gave a sharp laugh. ‘Yes. I can imagine.’
Olivia frowned. Something was going on here, something unpleasant, but what? The stranger was staring at her luncheon companion. She couldn’t see his eyes clearly—they were blue or black, it was hard to be certain which—but it was obvious that they were icy with what could only be described as unbridled hatred.
A little shudder rocketed through her. Clearing her throat, she began rising to her feet.
‘I’ll just go to the ladies’ room so you gentlemen can—’
‘No.’ Charles’s fingers clasped hers more tightly, and Olivia winced as she fell back into her seat. ‘No,’ he repeated. ‘Edward’s not—he’s not staying. Are you, Edward?’
The other man smiled, although Olivia wasn’t quite sure that was the correct word to describe the way his lips drew back over his teeth.
‘I’ve a lunch with some business associates,’ he said softly. His gaze swept across the table, where Olivia’s hand, still clutching the cheque, lay trapped by Charles’s. The terrible smile came again, swift and chill, and his eyes lifted to Olivia’s. ‘You had an appointment, you said. But I’d no idea who the lucky man was.’