Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

Copyright

He had it all worked out!

Was this how he was used to operating? Making spur-of-the-moment decisions affecting other people, confident that they’d fall in with his plans…

“I—I don’t have anything suitable to wear,” she argued, and realized, in horror, that she was teetering on the edge of giving in.

“I can’t believe that. You might like to pack an evening dress, though…There’s a dinner dance the night we arrive.”

“If I do fly to the resort with you, I’ll expect you to keep a dance for me,” she heard herself demanding recklessly.

“That’s a promise.” He leaned back, a satisfied smile on his lips. He was quite ruthless, she realized. Ruthless at getting what he wanted.

Elizabeth Duke

was born in Adelaide, South Australia, but has lived in Melbourne all her married life. She trained as a librarian and has worked in many different types of libraries, but she was always secretly writing. Her first published book was a children’s novel, after which she successfully tried her hand at romance writing. She has since given up her work as a librarian to write romance full-time. When she isn’t writing or reading, she loves to travel with her husband, John, either within Australia or overseas, gathering inspiration and background material for future romances. She and John have a married son and daughter, who now have children of their own.

Takeover Engagement
Elizabeth Duke

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

LUCY glanced at her watch as she hurried across the tiled lobby to the lifts. Two minutes to twelve. She was cutting things a bit too fine.

It was an old building, one of the oldest in Melbourne. The two lifts looked as if they were from the same era, judging by the heavy doors and the ancient iron numbers on the panel above. An amber light showed that one lift was stationary on the top floor—the sixth. The other was slowly, ever so slowly descending.

Time was ticking away. She began to tap her foot. Would that darned lift never come? David would think she was doing this deliberately.. .making him wait until the last possible moment…teasing him by showing up just in the nick of time. David, I wouldn’t do that to you, she told him silently. I meant to be early.. .truly.

She felt a twinge of guilt. Then why hadn’t she left the clinic earlier and made allowances for any possible delays, like traffic jams?

Approaching footsteps diverted her. As she turned her head a beam of sunlight from the front entrance of the old building caught her face in its harsh autumn glow.

She would have sworn she heard a sharp intake of breath from the man who had paused a few paces away from her, a tall, dark-haired man in a charcoal-grey suit.

For the briefest second their eyes met, vibrant turquoise clashing with heart-stopping, depthless black. With the daylight behind him, the man’s face was shadowed, yet even so she could sense his interest in her, his almost startled reaction, his lips parting as if he were about to speak. Then he clamped his mouth shut and flicked his gaze away, as if realising he’d mistaken her for someone else.

She felt an involuntary tremor run through her as she turned back to the lifts. There was something about the man…some potent force about him that she found…disturbing. Even that single brief glance had been enough to tell her that here was a successful, supremely self-confident, possibly powerful man. A man who would despise weakness and failure—in himself as much as in others. He didn’t strike her as the kind of man who would easily make a mistake.

A ding from above signalled the arrival of the lift. At last! She looked at her watch and swore under her breath. Five past twelve! She was five minutes late already. Damn!

The heavy doors rattled open and she stepped inside, the fine hairs at her nape prickling as the dark-eyed stranger followed her in.

Without looking at him, she extended a finger and pressed the button marked ‘6’ before melting back against the wall to allow him access to the panel. He merely inclined his head and moved back a step, to stand with his back against the opposite wall. Facing her, she noted, rather than the door.

She willed herself not to react, or look directly at him. But as the doors clanged shut and the lift began its slow grinding ascent she found herself watching him out of the corner of her eye. Feeling his eyes on her again.

For the first time she felt a twinge of unease. Had he really been heading for the sixth floor, or had he only decided to do so after seeing that she was going there herself? With the rate this lift was moving it could take an age to get there. Was he aware of that?

Suddenly she felt glaringly vulnerable and alone. It was unlikely that the lift would stop on its way up to collect any other passengers. Anyone waiting on the upper floors of the building would be more likely to be waiting to come down.

She swallowed hard. It wouldn’t be the first time a lone woman had been attacked in a lift. And this man looked extremely strong, extremely powerful. If he lunged at her she wouldn’t have a chance.

On the other hand, he looked far too smooth and self-possessed, far too well-dressed and respectable to be a potential rapist. But there was no point in taking any chances.

She stiffened her jaw and turned her body slightly away from his, facing the lift door—hoping that her body language would send out off-putting signals.

Glancing at the panel in front of her, she noted that they were slowly approaching the third floor. Barely halfway!

If she hadn’t been feeling so edgy, with David’s ultimatum at the back of her mind and this disturbing stranger adding to her nervous tension, she might have seen the amusing side of this interminable lift ride and shared a wry smile with her fellow passenger.

But she didn’t dare. Even though she wasn’t directly facing him now, she knew—she just knew—that he was still looking at her.

It wasn’t that she’d never had a man stare at her before. Her eyes, being such an intense blue, tended to attract attention—from men in particular—though in her own opinion they were spaced too widely apart. And her hair, which was long and straight, except for a slight curl where it swirled round her shoulders, was an unusual colour too, she guessed. People had described it at various times as rich chestnut, deep honey, even as burnt gold…it seemed to change with the light.

Her figure wasn’t too bad either, thanks to all the bike-riding, swimming and running she did. On the other hand her nose was too long, her mouth far too large and her lips too full. ‘Kissable lips’, David had called them once, but then, he was biased. As for her neck…well, swans weren’t in it!

Still, whatever she looked like, she didn’t deserve to be eyed in the way this stranger was eyeing her. Never before had she been so pricklingly aware of a man’s scrutiny, so…confused by it. She didn’t know whether to find it flattering, irritating, tiresome…or alarming.

From her own fleeting appraisal of him, he didn’t look the type of man who would stand and stare at a woman, even surreptitiously. He looked more the type who would be used to being stared at.

Which she was tempted to do…and she just might have risked a quick glance if she hadn’t felt so alone and exposed, stuck in this confined space with him. Instead, she darted another anxious peek at her watch. And at the same moment the lift gave a ghastly jolt.

Her darkly fringed eyes sprang wide, her gaze colliding with the narrowed black eyes of the stranger opposite. She gave a weak smile, holding her breath as the lift gave another frightening jolt before coming to a shuddering halt.

Her eyes leapt to the numbered panel. ‘Oh, no,’ she groaned aloud. They were stuck between the fifth and sixth floors! So near and yet so far.

‘About time they installed some new lifts,’ her companion commented drily, and, despite her alarm, she noted how deep and softly vibrant his voice was. It seemed to coil right down into the pit of her stomach.

She caught her breath as he lunged forward suddenly, his hand shooting out to press button ‘6’ on the panel. She almost had to catch her breath all over again as a waft of his aftershave drifted past her nostrils. Not that it was strong—it was extremely subtle, extremely…well, male. Disturbingly male. As he was, she realised, headily aware of his close proximity…his tall, athletic physique…his strong, chiselled face…those eyes.

‘Damn!’ he swore when nothing happened. He pressed another button, then another, stabbing at each one with an increasingly vicious finger. ‘Come on, damn it.. .move!’

‘What are we going to do?’ she burst out, alarm mingling with dismay. David wasn’t going to wait for her. Well, not for much longer. He’d warned her. If she didn’t turn up by twelve-fifteen at the very latest he was leaving. And he would too. He had an afternoon plane to catch.

‘This is the last time I’m going to ask you, Lu,’ he’d pronounced only yesterday. ‘I’ve waited long enough. If you don’t turn up tomorrow, I’ll know your answer. That’ll be it. It’ll be over.’

He’d meant it too. She’d never seen him more decisive. And she couldn’t blame him. She’d kept him dangling for far too long. Even elastic could only stretch so far.

Why did I leave it so late to drive into town? she berated herself. And why didn’t I run up the stairs when I saw the lift was taking so long to come? What’s six flights of stairs when your future’s at stake?

She felt a wave of mingled mortification and panic. She’d taken David too much for granted. Expecting him always to be there, patiently waiting…waiting until she was ready to make up her mind, to make a commitment. She had been so unfair to him!

For the first time she paused to think about what she might be losing if she missed today’s appointment with him. She’d be losing one of the gentlest, most decent, most dependable men a girl could ever hope to find. Was she crazy?

‘Can’t you do something?’ she cried. ‘I’m supposed to be meeting someone at twelve!’

The man turned his head, his mouth quirking into a crooked smile which, despite its mockery, was startlingly sensual. ‘He’ll wait, won’t he?’ The black eyes raked over her.

A surge of heat scorched up her slender neck. She clutched her handbag to her chest in an instinctively protective gesture, feeling suddenly stripped bare.

Despite the predicament they were in, and despite her fevered wariness, she found herself covertly examining his face from under her fringe of thick lashes, trying to work out just what it was about him that she found so disturbing.

His face was lean and hard, slashed with cynical lines on either side of his square jaw. His sensual mouth had a sardonic twist. His hair was very dark, almost black, its wiry thickness tamed by a stylish cut. But there was nothing tame about him. She only had to look into the glittering black eyes to sense that. He exuded a dangerously potent masculinity that made her intensely aware that she was a woman.

She dismissed the treacherous thought with a firm thrust of her dimpled chin.

‘My friend can only wait fifteen minutes.’ She tried to sound tart and crisp, but the words came out husky and defensive.

‘Any man who will wait only fifteen minutes for you needs his head read,’ the man drawled.

Hot prickles broke out all over her skin. It wasn’t the words so much—flirtatious comments of that nature normally left her cold, or brought a derisive curl to her lips—it was the fact that the words had come from the mouth of this suave, self-assured stranger, this stunningly attractive businessman, who had success and privilege written all over him.

What is it with this guy? she pondered in confusion. He just didn’t add up. First the way he’d stared so intently at her, when he didn’t look the type who would stand and gawp at a woman—any woman, let alone a stranger in a lift. And now here he was making silvertongued personal remarks, when he didn’t strike her as the type who would sink to oily flattery either.

‘My friend has a plane to catch,’ she informed him curtly. ‘He can only wait until twelve-fifteen.’ She looked pointedly at her watch, her heart sinking when she saw that it was ten past already.

‘Then we’d better try to do something,’ the stranger responded easily. He thrust out a hand and she tensed, until she realised that he was reaching past her for the emergency phone mounted on the wall. It was an old-fashioned telephone, its ancient dial lacking numbers.

But there was no need to dial. The moment he snatched it from its hook, a voice answered, ‘Emergency lift service.’

He explained their predicament, and after an exchange of words he grimaced and hung up. ‘They’ll send someone straight away. There are no engineers in this building, apparently. We’ll just have to wait until help arrives.’

‘Did they say how…how long they’d be?’ She felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. David would be pacing the floor by now. He was probably already losing patience, thinking she’d stood him up. She had only a few minutes left before he gave up and walked out. For good.

‘Let’s just say I don’t like your chances of making your appointment,’ came the ironic reply. ‘And I’m afraid you won’t be able to call your…friend. This phone’s directly connected to the lift service downtown, not to this building. Never mind…I’m sure he’ll forgive you once he hears what held you up. If he doesn’t, I’d say he’s not worth it.’

His unconcern—and the realisation that she was going to be stuck here in this lift with him for heaven knew how long—brought her emotions, anger uppermost, boiling to the surface.

‘I’d thank you not to presume my friend’s worth or lack of it,’ she flared. ‘You know nothing about him!’

He didn’t even blink. ‘I presume he must be worth something…to you,’ he said silkily, ‘or you wouldn’t be planning to meet him at Kowalsky’s…Melbourne’s most exclusive and expensive antique jewellers.’

She caught her breath as the deadly innuendo sank in. Her enraged silence gave him a chance to slip in a further barb, edged with a cynical dryness.

‘You must be mighty keen to get those pretty little hands on whatever glittering bauble your friend has promised you…or you wouldn’t be in such a lather about him walking out on you.’

She opened her mouth and then snapped it shut, too incensed to speak for a second. Of all the insufferable, arrogant, presumptuous—

He laughed. A sharp, unexpected sound in the confines of the antiquated lift. Her eyes leapt to his, catching the amused glint in his black depths. Amusement…but no real softness. More a lethally dangerous gleam, she thought, caught off balance by it.

‘You have extremely expressive eyes,’ he remarked, the laughter still in his voice, licking through it, lightening its rich, deep resonance. ‘You’d like to hit me. Go ahead, if it will make you feel better. I plead guilty. I am all those things you’re thinking. But it doesn’t mean I’m wrong.’

She nearly did hit him. She was sorely tempted to. But lashing out at him like a virago would only lower her further in his eyes. He didn’t think much of women, that was obvious. There was a wealth of cynicism in his voice and in his face. A world-weariness…disillusionment too, if she wasn’t mistaken. Why cement his low opinion of women by acting in the way he expected her to?

She summoned a soft laugh instead, deliberately turning his laughter back on him. ‘I suggest you never take up psychiatry,’ she advised him lightly, with the faintest hint of derision. ‘You’d be bound to fail.’ She widened her gaze in mock dismay. ‘You’re not a psychiatrist, I hope?’ she asked, injecting a note of pity into her voice.

Something flickered in the black eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched. His voice, when he answered, held an edge of dry humour. ‘I’m relieved to be able to say no, I’m not.’

‘Relieved?’ she echoed. Secretly, she was relieved too. Relieved that he seemed to have a sense of humour!

‘Very much so. And I shall bow to your expert advice,’ he promised, ‘and decline to take that particular career path in the future.’ He paused a moment, then added softly, ‘Being a man who doesn’t like to fail.’

She could well believe that. He wouldn’t have had too many failures in his life, she hazarded. Except maybe.. .with women? Or a woman? The one who had made him so jaded and cynical?

‘Very wise,’ she applauded facetiously. And turned away, biting her lip. Did anyone else in this building realise that one of the lifts was stuck between floors, with people trapped inside?

There was no sound of any activity from above or below. Would the emergency lift people take much longer to arrive? And when they did turn up, how much longer would it take them to fix the problem? What if it was difficult to fix? Dangerous, even? She’d seen movies where trapped people had had to climb out through a lift roof, or where the lift had suddenly dropped dramatically. She shuddered at the thought, her hands trembling on the handbag she was still unconsciously clutching to her chest.

She heard a slight movement and tensed, thinking that her companion, sensing her anxiety, was about to close in on her, offering physical comfort. All her nerve-ends sprang to sharp alert. How would she react if he did.. .if he should put his arm round her and pull her close? She began to tremble anew…but not with fear this time…with something quite different, a strange, heady excitement.

But he didn’t move closer, didn’t attempt to touch her. Perhaps at the last minute he’d thought better of it, fearing that if he offered a comforting shoulder she might break down completely and he’d have a hysterical female on his hands. Or maybe he’d remembered, just in time, that they were strangers, and he didn’t want her leaping to any wrong conclusions.

Instead, he heaved a deep sigh and muttered through clenched teeth, ‘I can’t stand confined spaces.’ He began to pace restlessly back and forth like a caged tiger, his hands clasped behind him.

She looked at him in surprise, her nervousness forgotten. ‘You suffer from claustrophobia?’ she asked, her heart stirring in sympathy. She wouldn’t have thought he’d be the type of man who would suffer from fears of any kind.

He paused, letting his broad shoulders lift and fall in another heavy sigh. ‘Even big, tough guys can have phobias,’ he said, his mouth twisting in self-mockery.

She nodded slowly. That was true. Even Indiana Jones, the intrepid hero of Raiders of the Lost Ark, had his Achilles’ heel—in his case a fear of snakes that turned him to quivering jelly.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked tentatively. As far as she could tell, he didn’t appear to be shaking. Or sweating. Or turning deathly pale. But people showed fear in different ways, she guessed, and this man, with his smooth self-confidence and air of worldly experience, had no doubt learned how to cover up his feelings and any fears he might be suffering underneath.

‘Having someone with me helps…’ The corner of his mouth curved in a self-deprecating smile. ‘Someone calm, who doesn’t suffer from the same stupid phobia. ‘You don’t, do you?’ he asked quickly, his eyes spearing hers.

‘No, I don’t.’ She shook her head, her pulses whirling under the force of his dark gaze. ‘Um…maybe if you loosened your tie?’ she suggested helpfully.

‘Ah. Good idea.’ He raised a well-shaped hand and began to wrestle with the knot of his red-patterned silk tie. ‘Damn! I feel all thumbs. This wretched knot! I can’t seem to—’

‘I’ll do it,’ she said hastily, not wanting him to start panicking. She reached up, her hand brushing his as he drew it back, the brief touch bringing a tingling awareness of rough warmth, of fine hairs on firm skin.

‘Thank you.’ His lean, strong-jawed face was very close to hers now. She could actually feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek. Her heart began to hammer in a ridiculously wayward fashion. She hadn’t been this aware of a man for

She stepped back abruptly, almost tripping over her own feet, forgetting for a moment that she was wearing high heels. She was so used to wearing sensible flatties during the day.

His hand shot out to steady her.

‘You’re sure you’re all right?’ he asked, with a quick, amused smile. A smile uptilted at one corner, with more good-humoured charm this time than cynicism.

‘I—I’m fine.’ She found herself flushing. ‘I—I didn’t want to crowd you, that’s why I…’ She trailed off with a shrug. ‘I’m sure we won’t have to wait much longer,’ she assured him brightly, darting another quick look at her watch. Twelve-twenty!

She drew in her lips, her heart sinking. Would David already have given up, already be making his way down in the other lift? Or would he decide to wait a bit longer? From memory, his plane wasn’t due to leave Tullamarine until around two. But he would have to find a taxi and battle the city traffic to the airport, and then queue up for his seat allocation. David hated being late, feeling rushed. He would want to leave early, to give himself plenty of time.

‘It strikes me,’ the stranger observed softly, ‘that we both need to take our minds off our predicament. I find that talking often helps in situations like this. So…why don’t you tell me something about yourself? You work here in the city, I take it?’

His dark eyes swept over her stylish cherry-red jacket and matching slim-line skirt, and for a foolish, prickling moment, she was glad she’d dressed up a bit today, knowing she was coming into town, instead of wearing her usual working gear: practical skirt with a shirt or sweater, or tailored trousers as she sometimes did.

‘No. I just came into town to meet…my friend. I live and work in the suburbs.’ Now he’ll lose interest, she thought with a tightening of her lips. High-powered city businessmen—and this man looked the epitome of just that—didn’t waste their time on people who didn’t belong to their fast, slick, self-important world, on insignificant nobodies who spent their lives outside the power-hungry city rat-race.

‘Now let me guess,’ he said slowly when she didn’t enlighten him further. ‘You’re in…public relations?’ he hazarded. ‘Finance? Marketing?’ He paused. ‘Am I warm?’

He’s judging me by what I’m wearing now, she thought, her lips curving in a derisive smile.

‘Stone-cold,’ she said. If he wanted to make a game of it, at least it would pass the time. And take his mind off his claustrophobia.

‘Well…let me see.’ He pursed his lips. She found her eyes riveted to his mouth and looked quickly away. ‘Legal work, then? Interior design? Banking?’

She shook her head. ‘These aren’t my usual working clothes,’ she admitted. ‘I normally wear something a bit more practical and comfortable for the kind of work I do.’ Now it should be interesting, she thought, and waited, eyebrows delicately raised.

‘Ah.’ He fingered his jaw with long fingers, at the same time letting his dark gaze roam down her body, seeming to pause at the swell of her breast, and again at her exposed knees, before continuing down her long legs to her slim, well-shaped ankles. She had the sudden hot, uncomfortable feeling that he was mentally undressing her, divesting her of her clothes, imagining what lay underneath.

‘Oh, hell.’ He seemed abruptly to tire of his game. ‘If we go on like this, I’m going to end up insulting you; I can see that. If I say a model or an actress, you’ll turn out to be a brain surgeon or something. You’re not, are you?’

‘Close. But wrong end of the body,’ she quipped. ‘I treat feet, not brains. I’m a podiatrist.’

His dark eyebrows shot up. ‘Well. I never would have picked it in a month of Sundays. I’ve never met a podiatrist before, never been to one. So…you know all about feet and what’s wrong with them, eh? What kind of people come to you mostly? Little old ladies with bunions?’

She gave an ironic half-smile. It was a common misconception. ‘We do get a few, but mostly—in our clinic anyway—we see people with sports injuries. Or problems caused by…flat feet.’ She looked pointedly down at his well-polished shoes. ‘I take it you don’t suffer from that problem?’

‘Not that I’m aware of.’ Amusement flickered in his eyes, revealing that he did have a sense of humour. ‘You work at a hospital?’

‘I used to, when I first started out. But now I’m in private practice. Not on my own. I’m at a foot clinic in Surrey Hills with two other podiatrists—a married guy with a young family, who owns the clinic, and a good friend of mine, Gaby, who went through uni with me.’

‘You like the work?’ he pursued. ‘Get many people coming in with—um—smelly feet?’ His eyes gently mocked her.

She tilted her head at him. ‘You clean your teeth before you go to the dentist, don’t you? Well, most people wash their feet before coming to see me!’

‘Hmm. Good point. You live near the clinic?’

Did he really want to know, she wondered, or was he simply passing the time? ‘Just around the corner, virtually. I share a flat—it’s a house, actually—with Gaby, the other podiatrist.’

‘Ah.’ It wasn’t clear just what he meant by that ‘ah’. Did he think she might have been living with David? ‘And your family? Your parents?’

His eyes were on her face as he asked the question. She flushed faintly under his scrutiny. She had the weirdest feeling that he was waiting intently for her answer. She couldn’t imagine why. He couldn’t seriously be interested in her or her family, surely?

‘My parents are divorced.’

After what she could only describe as a pregnant pause, he said impassively, ‘I’m sorry. You still see both of them?’

A fleeting shadow crossed her face. ‘When I can. My father still lives here in Melbourne. But he…married again a few years ago, so I don’t see him as much as I did before.’

‘You don’t get on with his new wife?’

‘I didn’t at first,’ she admitted. It wasn’t that she’d had anything against Beth personally. It was just that another woman had taken her mother’s place in her father’s life. After all those years! ‘My parents were married for twenty-three years,’ she heard herself telling him. ‘I was twenty when they separated, my brother twenty-two. Neither of us were living at home by then…I think our parents were only waiting until we were off their hands.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘Since then my brother’s been married and divorced as well. Fortunately no children were involved.’

The break-up of her parents’ marriage and then her brother’s, more recently, had made her wary of marriage, cautious of commitment, of rushing into anything permanent before she was completely sure. If her parents’ marriage, which she’d always believed to be happy enough, could fail after twenty-three years…

‘And your mother?’

Again she felt his eyes on her face, and felt the fine hairs at her nape rising in involuntary response. For a stranger, he was showing an unusual interest in her…and in what she had to say. She shook off the thought. She had to remember that he was only making conversation to take his mind off being stuck in this lift. The sensation of being trapped could be a real trauma to someone who was claustrophobic. She had to hand it to him…he was managing to control his fear admirably. The least she could do was encourage him to keep on talking.

‘You live near her?’ he prompted before she could speak, as if he really wanted to know.

She frowned faintly. Why would he want to know? Why would he care? She took a deep breath. Humour him, she thought. Why not? You’ll never see him again, once you’re out of this damned lift.

‘My mother’s moved to Queensland to live. She’s sharing a house in Brisbane with a widowed friend.’ She felt a faint pang as she said it. Her mother had left Melbourne so suddenly and unexpectedly, not long after she’d started going out with David. Charlotte had insisted that it had nothing to do with Lucy’s father and his second wife, who had been married for some time by then. She had sworn that she wished them well, that it was the plight of her old friend that had decided her. Poor Avril had been very lonely since her husband’s death, and needed companionship and support, with her only daughter living overseas.

‘A male widowed friend?’ her companion asked with the ghost of a smile. But there seemed to be more cynicism in the smile than humour.

Faintly puzzled—not that it could be anything personal; he didn’t even know her mother so it had to be women in general—Lucy lifted her gaze to his and met the probing, magnetic force of his dark eyes. At once a veil seemed to come down over them.

Trembling slightly, from confusion more than anything else, she forced an answer. ‘A woman friend. An old friend of my mother’s. They were at school together, and met up again after they were married.’ This man was obviously cynical about all women…that was all it was. What on earth could have happened to him to make him like this?

But the stranger didn’t seem interested in her mother’s friend. ‘And do you get your good looks from your mother…or your father?’ he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

She felt an odd little jolt inside. So he thought she was good-looking, did he? An unexpected ripple of pleasure ran through her, though she had a feeling she should have been hearing warning bells instead.

‘People say I’m the image of my mother as she used to be when she was my age.’ She knew it was true, having seen the likeness in family photograph albums.

‘Ah.’ He absorbed that for a moment. ‘And what else have you inherited from your mother?’ he asked, his lip quirking. ‘Perhaps you were named after her as well?’

Lucy hid a smile, a quiver flittering through her. So…he was trying to find out her name now, was he? ‘My mother’s name is Charlotte,’ she answered with a shake of her head. ‘Mine’s Lucy.’

‘Ah…Lucy. Pretty name.’ Instead of seizing the opportunity to introduce himself, he added musingly, ‘I knew a Charlotte once. Only to her family she was always known as Lottie.’

‘My mother doesn’t like being called Lottie. She prefers Charlotte.’ Lucy stole a look up at him. Was he asking all these questions—questions that couldn’t possibly be of any real interest to him—to avoid her asking questions of him?

‘Mmm…well, I can’t say I blame her.’ The crooked smile flashed briefly. ‘So tell me, Lucy…what have you inherited from your father? His temperament, perhaps?’

She drew in her lips, puzzled by some odd inflection in his voice. Or was it the way he was watching her, his narrowed eyes piercingly intent on her face? He could hardly be bowled over by her beauty…she wasn’t that good-looking!

‘I’m not sure I’ve inherited anything noticeable from my father at all,’ she said a trifle shakily. Her brother Mike, she mused, was more like her father. In looks and in temperament. Their father was a decent, amiable, good-natured man. Steady—some might say stolid—dependable, like a rock. A gentleman even during the difficult time of his separation from his wife after twenty-three years of marriage.

Maybe that was why she’d been initially attracted to David, Lucy reflected, because she’d wanted a steady, reliable man like her father. Only she was beginning to realise that wasn’t what she really wanted after all. Something—she wasn’t sure what—was missing.

A silence had fallen between them. The stranger seemed as lost in his own thoughts as she was in hers. But eventually he asked, ‘Was your mother a podiatrist too? Is that why you took it up?’

‘Heavens, no. My mother’s expertise lay in another direction entirely.’ Did he grill all the women he met, even strangers in lifts, about their family backgrounds? she found herself wondering idly. Was background-upbringing—pedigree—so important to him? Her lip curled. Judging by the fine cloth of his suit, his soft, cultured voice and his polished, imperious, almost arrogantly self-assured manner, his own background was impeccable. No doubt he’d been brought up to believe that background—privilege, wealth, success-meant everything.

Her voice cooled slightly. ‘I took on podiatry because my friend Gaby was studying it. She got me interested, and I thought…why not?’

‘Why not, indeed?’ If he’d noted any coolness in her tone he gave no sign of it. His mouth even curved into a quite devastating smile as he asked, ‘And your mother? Where did her expertise lie?’

Her eyes wavered. Though his tone was casual and the impact of his smile would have charmed a snake, there was something…Something that warned her not to be fooled. There’s more to all this probing, she thought with a frown, than a snobbish desire to check out a stranger’s pedigree…more to all these questions than a claustrophobic’s anxiety to keep the conversation rolling, I’ll swear it.

And then the answer struck her. ‘You are a psychiatrist!’ she burst out, a flash of turquoise brightening the blue of her eyes. It seemed the only logical explanation. ‘You’ve been secretly laughing at me all along, haven’t you? Well, you’ve finally given yourself away!’ she cried in triumph. ‘You’ve been asking too many questions. Shrinks simply can’t help themselves. They have to ask questions!’

He laughed…a short, sharp sound. To Lucy, it had a slightly hollow ring. ‘Oh, you know shrinks well, do you?’ His tone, his body language, everything about him—on the surface, at least—was relaxed enough, but she would have sworn that underneath he was irritated for some reason or tense about something. But what? Because she’d steered the conversation in a direction he didn’t want?

‘I’ve met a few shrinks in my time,’ she informed him, her chin jutting. ‘We had a psychiatric unit at the hospital where I used to work. Well, are you?’ It was about time she turned the tables and started firing a few questions at him for a change. ‘If not a psychiatrist…a psychologist?’

‘Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m neither…as I told you before. I’m just a boring run-of-the-mill businessman.’

A businessman, she could believe. A wealthy, successful one, she had no doubt. But boring? Run-of-themill? Hah!

‘What line of business?’ she asked, curious despite herself.

Before he had a chance to answer—assuming he’d been going to—the lift jolted and began to move.

‘They’ve fixed it!’ she cried unnecessarily. And added, with quick compassion, ‘Now you can breathe a bit easier.’

Instead of agreeing with her he responded in a lazy drawl, with a sardonic twist of his lip, ‘On the contrary…I was just beginning to enjoy myself.’

She shot him a quick look, and glimpsed again the dangerous gleam in his eye that had disturbed her earlier. Heat whipped into her cheeks. ‘I’m glad you managed to get your phobia under control,’ she said, her tone deliberately dry. She was beginning to wonder if it had ever existed in the first place.

‘Mmm…with your help.’ Was that a twinkle in his eye now? ‘You must admit it took your mind off your own…anxieties,’ he said smoothly as the lift came to a crunching halt at the sixth floor.

She gaped at him. Was he admitting he’d faked his phobia? She felt a stab of pique at being made a fool of, then stifled it, realising he had only done it to calm her, to give her something else to think about. Good psychology!

‘I take it all back,’ she said with a quick, contrite smile. ‘I think you might have made a good psychologist after all.’

‘You have a delightful smile.’ His eyes were on her mouth. ‘I thought you would.’

She looked away quickly, and immediately regretted it, feeling like kicking herself for reacting like a bashful schoolgirl. Why hadn’t she simply accepted the compliment, been gracious about it, and then dismissed it from her mind as she would have done with anyone else? What was it about this man that made her feel so…?What was it she felt? Vulnerable? Confused? Off-balance? All of those!

And then she remembered David. She hadn’t given him a thought, she realised contritely, for some time. Would he still be up here waiting for her?

She sighed. Highly unlikely! Not after all this time. He’d warned her…And this time, she knew, he’d meant it. By now he was probably already at the airport, or even boarding his plane right this minute, thinking she’d stood him up deliberately.

She swore under her breath as the heavy lift doors jerked open.

CHAPTER TWO

THEY had to announce themselves and wait to be inspected through a small glass aperture before the door to Kowalsky’s opened. Lucy was bristlingly aware of the dark stranger close behind her as she stepped inside.

It was more like a cluttered workroom than a display room, though there were glass display cases in evidence. Two men, one young, the other middle-aged, were bent over work benches, doing repair work or creating new pieces in the antique style for which Kowalsky was famous. A third man, an elderly, greyhaired man wearing thick bifocals, emerged from behind a large desk. There was no sign of David.

‘Mr Travers!’ The old man looked straight past her, his rather myopic gaze lighting up at the sight of the man behind her. ‘Good to see you again. Please…come in.’ Obviously Mr Travers was a good customer here. Seeking valuable baubles for his wife? Or his mistress? Or, if he wasn’t married, for one of his women? He didn’t look the kind of man who would be without a woman in his life. More likely a succession of women, judging by the cynical lines round his mouth.

‘I’m Joe Kowalsky.’ The old man finally turned to her, obviously thinking that she was with Mr Travers. Thinking she was one of his women, no doubt. A valuable customer-to-be. I guess I ought to feel flattered, Lucy mused with a wry twitch of her lip.

‘We’re not together,’ she said quickly. ‘My name is Lucy Farrell. I was to meet a friend of mine here. David Mortimer. But the lift got stuck and—’ She let her hand flutter in the air. ‘Has he gone, do you know?’

‘Oh, dear, I’m afraid so. He waited as long as he could, then said he had to go. He seemed convinced that you weren’t coming.’ The jeweller smiled sympathetically. ‘You must have taken the lift we’ve been having trouble with lately. I think it needs a complete overhaul. I’d avoid that one going down, if I were you.’

He squinted past her at the man standing silently behind. ‘Do have a look around, Mr Travers,’ he invited. ‘We have quite a few new pieces on display.’ It was plain he wasn’t about to let a valuable client like Mr Travers slip through his fingers. Plain too that he’d already dismissed Lucy as a potential client. Her man had gone.

But politeness forced him to turn back to her to ask, ‘Is there anything I can help you with, Miss Farrell?’

‘No…thank you, Mr Kowalsky.’ She backed away. ‘I’ll be on my way. I’ll take the other lift down…as you suggest.’ She swung round, intending to slip past her companion of the past half-hour with no more than a brief nod.

‘Hey…wait. I’ll come with you.’ Mr Travers paused only long enough to throw a last word in Joe Kowalsky’s direction, ‘I’ll come back later, Joe,’ before extending an arm and sweeping Lucy out through the door.

As it shut behind them she turned to face him, aware of a wild fluttering in her chest, a rosy warmth in her cheeks.

‘There’s no need to see me down. I’ll be all right.’ She heard the faint breathlessness in her voice and tried to steady it. ‘I’ll just make sure I take the other lift this time.’

‘Maybe I want you to see me down,’ he said, his mouth curving into a grin that on any other man would have been sheepish, but on this man seemed more droll than self-effacing.

She eyed him uncertainly. Maybe his phobia about lifts really did exist after all and he was trying to hide how bad it was. But was it really so bad that he wouldn’t step into a lift by himself? She had come across people like that, who avoided travelling alone in a lift. But this man…he appeared so coolly self-possessed, so strong-minded. Not the type to give in to a phobia…or to any kind of fear for that matter. No, he’d simply dreamed up his phobia to put her at ease…to prevent her dissolving into hysterics. She’d be crazy to fall for it again.

Unless…her stomach rolled over…unless it had just been an excuse to chat her up?

Dream on, Lucy, she told herself. Suave, high-flying city business types like this man—obviously well-known and successful too, judging by the way Joe Kowalsky had deferred to him—chose smooth, sophisticated women to match. They didn’t go around chasing after sports-mad suburban working girls. And he was probably married. ‘Never get involved with a married man.’ Charlotte had drummed that into her for as long as Lucy could remember. ‘They’ll use you…make all the promises in the world…and then dump you without turning a hair.’

As they waited for the lift her companion asked curiously, ‘Did you say David Mortimer?’

Startled, she glanced up at him. Surely he couldn’t know David? ‘That’s right.’

‘The David Mortimer who works for Maxi Board?’ There was a whimsical glint in his eye.

‘Yes!’ Her surprise was evident in her voice. ‘You know him?’ She wasn’t sure why she should be so surprised. David worked for a large, well-known company. It wasn’t so impossible that the two could have met somewhere. It was just that they seemed so…different. Worlds apart, she would have thought. David, the stolid, modest-living engineer who liked tinkering with old cars. And this man, so polished and urbane, the epitome of the jet-setting, super-successful city businessman.

The corner of his mouth slanted upwards. ‘He works for me.’

Now she did gape. ‘Works for you?’ she echoed stupidly.

‘Well, not directly under me. He’s an engineer at one of my plants—Maxi Board’s corrugated box plant at Oakleigh. It’s part of the Travers group of companies.’

Her jaw sagged. Travers! Oh, hell. Why on earth hadn’t she connected the name? ‘You’re Case Travers?’ David’s big boss!

‘Correct.’

She flicked her tongue over her lips, her mind casting back. Case Travers…the golden boy, as David had once referred to him. The lucky only son, who had recently taken over control of Maxi Board and the entire Travers group of packaging and paperboard companies following the tragic death of his father, Nicholas Travers, Maxi Board’s founder. David had told her all about it, and she’d read about the tragedy in the papers. Nicholas Travers and his wife Sophie had both been killed instantly when their Lear jet had come down in a violent storm over the Warrumbungle Ranges.

‘I’m sorry…I—I had no idea who you were,’ she faltered. ‘I…It must have been shocking for you…losing both your parents like that.’

Nicholas and Sophie Travers had been happily married, she recalled David telling her, for more than forty years. Which, for a workaholic like Nicholas Travers, who’d been away from home so much, building up his business empire, had struck her as pretty amazing. To be happily married for so long…It had almost brought tears to her eyes, tears of regret that her own parents’ marriage hadn’t been happier, hadn’t lasted the distance. She had never dreamed, right up until the day her mother and father had agreed to separate, that their marriage would ever fall apart.

‘Thank you…that’s kind of you.’ Case Travers nodded briefly. ‘After you,’ he said as their lift arrived. ‘Let’s keep our fingers.crossed, shall we?’ He tossed her a wink as they stepped in.

She gave a quick smile, still slightly stunned by the revelation that he was David’s el supremo—Maxi Board’s big boss. Despite David’s snide comments about sons with silver spoons in their mouths, he’d conceded that Case Travers had a brilliant mind, and impressive qualifications for the massive empire he’d inherited. He’d starred at university, then later amassed further qualifications and business experience overseas, before working his way up from the lowliest position in the family business until he was familiar with all aspects of the various Travers companies.

But—she eyed him critically—it was still inherited wealth. An inherited multinational business empire. He’d hardly started from nothing, or built up the business from scratch by his own endeavours. He’d probably been spoilt rotten all his life, had had everything he’d ever wanted. And he was probably insufferably selfish and conceited as a result—under that sexy, charismatic, ravishingly charming facade.

‘So it was David you were to meet here today,’ Case remarked on the way down. ‘What was the occasion? It’s not your birthday, is it?’

‘No…nothing like that. He…’ She hesitated, wary about opening up to this man, of all men. David’s big boss!

‘Go on, I won’t bite. He…what?’

She took a deep breath. ‘He wanted to buy me an engagement ring,’ she admitted in a rush.

‘Ah…’ Case Travers nodded slowly. ‘No wonder you were so anxious to get to your appointment on time.’ He eyed her for a long, speculative moment, his black eyes boring into her guarded blue ones, as if they were seeing more than she wanted to reveal. ‘Or…were you?’

‘What do you mean?’ she breathed, her palms feeling suddenly moist.

‘You were running late, if I recall. It was already past twelve before you stepped into the lift, and you told me you were supposed to be meeting him at midday and that he was only going to wait until twelve-fifteen at the very latest. It strikes me that maybe you were dragging your feet because you wanted something to delay you. Now, why would that be, I wonder? Because…’ he stroked his strongly carved jaw ‘…you aren’t altogether sure how you feel about him?’

‘Oh, that’s ridiculous!’ she cried. But was it? She forced up her chin. ‘If that lift hadn’t got stuck I would have got there before David left.’

‘Maybe,’ he conceded drily, but the dark glitter in his eyes showed he didn’t believe it. ‘Well, don’t worry, Lucy…I may call you Lucy, I trust? And, please, David calls me Case—all my engineers do. You must too.’ He pursed his well-shaped lips. ‘He’ll ask you again, won’t he?’

His tone was sardonic now, the cynical lines round his mouth appearing more marked. As if he was used to female games, and thought she had been playing one with David, deliberately playing hard to get. Did he think she was holding out for a bigger and better diamond ring? Was that it?

She buried her indignation, and said with a sigh, ‘That’s just it. He won’t.’ She hesitated, then admitted, ‘That’s why I had to meet him on time. He said if I didn’t arrive by twelve-fifteen at the very latest he’d know my answer was no. And he wouldn’t be asking me again.’

Case raised a dark eyebrow. ‘So…he’d given you an ultimatum, had he?’ He spoke in a lazy drawl, his eyes narrowing. ‘And yet you were cutting it so fine that even if that lift hadn’t broken down you would have been lucky to have made it.’ He searched her face for a long moment, then asked curiously, ‘Was it his ultimatum you were rebelling against, Lucy? Or was it that you really are unsure…about whether to say yes at all?’

She flushed scarlet. ‘Neither!’ she cried, and wondered at the same time, with a stab of unease, if she was protesting too much, if that was the real reason she’d been running late.

But she was hardly going to admit it to David’s boss! ‘I wasn’t fighting against anything…I was just running late,’ she asserted. ‘People do run late, you know. When they lead busy lives,’ she added pointedly.

He obviously had all the spare time in the world. Time to visit antique jewellers in the middle of the day. Time to change his mind glibly and declare he’d be back later. Time to chat up strange women. But then, he was the big boss. He could do as he liked. It was the people who worked for him who were on the tight schedule, who worked hard for a living. People like David.

‘Not so busy that they have to miss lunch though…surely?’ came the smooth response.

She glanced up at him quickly. Uncertainly. Surely he couldn’t mean—?

‘I’ll buy a sandwich on my way back to work,’ she decided hastily.

‘You’re working this afternoon?’ he asked, waving her out of the lift as it reached ground level.

‘Of course. Why? Aren’t you?’ she asked mockingly as she stepped out into the tiled lobby.

He ignored the question. ‘What time do your afternoon appointments start?’ She felt his hand at her elbow, felt his presence close behind her as they crossed the lobby to the open doorway leading onto Collins Street.

‘Three o’clock,’ she admitted after a slight pause. Normally she had appointments from two o’clock, but today she’d put them back in case David had wanted her to drive him to the airport.

Her lip curled ruefully at the thought. For once he’d meant what he’d said. He hadn’t waited a moment longer than he’d vowed he would. Did he think that tactic would make her come to heel the next time he asked her to marry him? Or had he meant it when he’d vowed it would be over, finished, if she didn’t turn up?

‘Good. Then I’ll take you to lunch. The Regent’s closest. They’re bound to have a spare table.’

She felt a bristle of resentment at the high-handed way he was assuming she would simply fall in with his plans. For Case Travers, she mused sourly, any top restaurant in Melbourne, no doubt, would have a table ready and waiting, any time he asked.

She tossed her head, her silky hair swinging, softly caressing her long neck. ‘There’s no need—’

‘I think there is. It’s the least I can do to make up for your…disappointment today.’ She caught the slight hesitation before the word ‘disappointment’, and the faint mockery in his voice as he said it.

Damn, she cursed silently. I’ve said too much. David won’t relish his big boss knowing his personal problems. I should have shut up…or at least covered up better.

‘Why should you have to make anything up to me?’ she demanded tartly. ‘You weren’t the one who made the lift break down.’

‘True. But your…friend David works for me. And I may be in a position to put things right for you and give you another chance with him.’ He raised a taunting eyebrow. ‘If you want another chance?’

Her chin came up. ‘I can manage my own personal affairs, thank you. But…I appreciate your concern,’ she added, realising how rude the retort must have sounded.

He gave a brief chuckle. Obviously he was thickskinned enough to take it. He was probably used to dealing with abuse—and shrugging it off—in his high-powered, cut-throat business dealings. ‘Nevertheless,’ he said coolly, ‘let’s have a bite of lunch together. I think we deserve a bit of relaxation after our shared trauma, don’t you?’

She was about to refuse when she thought, Why not? It wasn’t every day she had an invitation to the Regent for lunch. And he was David’s boss. ‘I guess so.’ She gave in with a smile. She didn’t feel so sure, though, that she was going to find it relaxing. There was something about this man that made her feel anything but relaxed.

As it happened, there were plenty of tables available at the restaurant he took her to, the luxurious Le Resturant, high up in the Regent Hotel. When they had been shown to a window table, with stunning views over the city and parklands, Case said, ‘Take a look at the view for a moment, Lucy, while I slip out and make a couple of phone calls. Be right back.’

‘Fine,’ she said, thankful that he hadn’t produced a mobile phone and proceeded to use it at the table as she’d seen some businessmen do. ‘In fact…’ she edged away from the table herself ‘…I’ll just pop into the powder room and freshen up a bit while you’re making your calls.’

As they headed off, she in one direction, he in the other, she wondered idly who he was calling. His secretary? His wife? Was he the type of man who would be open and honest with his wife about taking another woman out to lunch, or would he keep quiet about it?Did he have a wife, for that matter? Or was he a free agent, on the look-out, perhaps, for a new woman in his life? She vaguely recalled David mentioning that his new chief was rarely seen out of business hours without a beautiful woman on his arm, but whether he’d meant a wife or a succession of women…Why hadn’t she taken more notice?

Her heart fluttered at the thought of this man—this sexy, attractive hunk—being on the look-out for a woman. Fool! she instantly berated herself. Men like Case Travers didn’t have to go looking for a woman. Women undoubtedly came swarming from all sides. He could take his pick—his pick of the cream of

Melbourne society, if that was his taste. Which, with his staggeringly wealthy, powerful background, was more than likely.

Before returning to her table, she paused at the mirror in the glamorous powder room to gaze for a bemused moment at her reflection…at the face that seemed to have caught his eye for some reason. Nothing too remarkable about it, really. He must know far more beautiful and elegant women he could have invited to lunch. Why was he going out of his way to spend his time with her when he didn’t have to? She’d be a fool to kid herself that it was because he was in any way attracted to her. If they hadn’t got stuck in that lift together, he wouldn’t have looked at her twice.

And yet…he had looked at her twice. She’d caught him looking at her before they’d even stepped into the lift.

Maybe she’d just imagined it, turned a glance of normal curiosity into something more. It wasn’t as if there’d been anyone else for him to look at.

Since then, of course, events had rather thrown them together. But, still, he hadn’t had to invite her to lunch…

Was it because of David? Because David was a valued Maxi Board employee? Was Case Travers the kind of employer who would feel an obligation towards his employees, particularly one of his senior engineers?

She shrugged, and swung away. Maybe, over lunch, she would find out.

Case was already back at the table, consulting the wine list. ‘French chablis suit you?’ he asked, half rising as she joined him.

‘Fine.’ She was surprised he’d even bothered to ask.

Over their Caesar salads and delicately cooked Atlantic salmon they talked of various things. Inconsequential things to begin with, like the sculpture exhibition at the Arts Centre, the beautifully restored Regent Theatre, and the thriving Southbank development along the Yarra River, which at night, they both agreed, with the reflections in the river and the old buildings enhanced by amber lighting, could be Paris or anywhere in Europe. Then more personal matters crept in.

‘Your mother lives in Brisbane, you said?’ His eyes met hers fleetingly. ‘North or south of the river?’

Her eyes flickered under his gaze. Why would he want to know that? Why would he care? ‘North. Towards the airport,’ she told him diffidently. ‘Why?’ she blurted.

He quirked a lip, brushing the question aside. ‘I guess you miss her.. Jiving so far away?’

‘Well, yes…I do miss her,’ she admitted, and paused. His eyes encouraged her to go on, so she did, though she was sure she’d see his eyes glaze over with boredom at any second. ‘And I think she misses both of us too-my brother and I. But she says we don’t need her as much as Avril does right now. And my mother’s entitled to live her own life.’

She shrugged, surprised to see that his eyes were still as sharp and intent as ever. She heard herself babbling on. ‘My brother and I are always pretty busy, what with one thing and another. Mike—my brother—is a company secretary. And a mad-keen golfer. He loves his footy too…’

‘And what else do you like to do, when you’re not treating people’s feet?’ Case asked as she trailed off. He was giving her his full attention still, as if he really wanted to know.

She would have given much to know what thoughts lay behind the fathomless black eyes…what circumstances in his life had etched the hard, cynical lines in his face. Was it everything having come too easily to him making him jaded with life and people? Then why did he seem so riveted by her mundane ramblings?

‘I compete in triathlons,’ she told him, and saw his brow shoot up. ‘I train a fair bit, especially during the season—which has finished for now until after winter. Even in winter I try to go for a swim every morning, at a public pool. And I go bike-riding. I run. I go to the gym. And, since you ask—’ for whatever reason, she thought. ‘—I like movies and plays, and when I have the chance,’ she added, her eyes twinkling defiance, ‘I like to go to the footy too.’ Case Travers would be used to his lunch companions having more sophisticated, feminine interests, no doubt. ‘I’m a one-eyed Demon fan,’ she told him, ‘like my father and brother.’

‘Well, what do you know? A Demon fan. Melbourne’s my team too.’

‘Really?’ she said politely. But I bet you don’t sit in the open stands in the wet and the cold like we do, Lucy thought. I bet it’s a corporate box or the members’ stand for you.

‘Triathlons, eh?’ He rolled the word round on his tongue. Feigning interest? ‘That entails…swimming, cycling and running, doesn’t it? Sounds strenuous.’

‘I do it for fun,’ she asserted. Believe it or not, Case Travers, she added silently. ‘I enjoy it.’ She was about to ask what he did for relaxation, but he slipped in another question first.

‘And David? He shares your sporting interests?’

She shrugged, her lashes sweeping down. ‘Not really.’ She wished he hadn’t reminded her of David. It made her feel guilty. As well as confused and unsure about her future. Would David be relieved when he found out that she hadn’t deliberately stood him up? Would he welcome her back into his life with open arms? Did she really want him to?

She blinked in shock, and felt a stab of self-reproach that the question had even surfaced. Of course she did! She’d be mad not to. David was a good man. He’d make a wonderful husband and a wonderful father and he would always be there, steady as a rock, to rely on. If she’d been getting cold feet lately, it was nothing he’d done…it was…it was her mother’s fault. The way Charlotte kept urging her to be sure…to be sure…to be sure…Until she wanted to throw up her hands and forget the whole thing.

‘He doesn’t?’ Case prompted, and she blinked again, realising he was waiting for elaboration.

‘Well…’ She might as well be frank. ‘Sport’s not really his thing. Except for going to the footie with me sometimes, when I manage to get there myself. Not that he’s madly keen. He only comes along for my sake. He’d rather be working on his cars. Restoring old cars is his hobby. He and his father are restoring a vintage Delage at present.’

‘Doesn’t sound as if you see too much of him.’

‘Well, we don’t live in each other’s pockets,’ she conceded. ‘But there’s usually some spare time at the weekends to get together. Or odd nights during the week.’

‘But not this week,’ he drawled. ‘He’s gone away, you say. On business?’

‘He’s gone to a conference. There’s a big pulp and paper conference in Surfers Paradise this week.’

‘Ah…that. Yes, of course. I recall seeing his name on the list of delegates.’ At her surprised look, he added with a sardonic smile, ‘David doesn’t need my permission. He reports to his plant manager or to my general manager, John Castle—my brother-in-law.’ He raised his glass languidly and took a long sip of his wine. ‘I happen to be going to the conference myself the day after tomorrow…just for the last day.’

Lucy’s eyelashes flickered as she glanced up at him quickly. Did that mean he would see David? He’d be bound to!’

‘Do you suppose—’ she swallowed ‘—you’ll have a chance to speak to David while you’re there?’ David was, after all, one of Maxi Board’s senior engineers. He was even giving a paper at the conference.

‘I’ll be making sure I speak to all my Maxi Board people.’

She moistened her lips with a quick sip of wine. ‘Will you…will you mention to him that I got stuck in that lift with you on my way up to meet him?’ Would he bother? No doubt he had better things to do on his only day at the conference than arrange a private conversation with one of his engineers on an errant girlfriend’s behalf.

‘I have a better idea,’ Case murmured. ‘I think he’d rather you tell him yourself.’

She flushed. Just as she’d thought. He had more important things to bother about in his limited time there. ‘I—I will. Naturally. When he gets back—’

‘That’s not what I meant,’ he slid in smoothly.

‘What—what do you mean? That I should try to ring him? At the conference?’

‘I was thinking of a more personal approach. Face to face.’ He eyed her coolly. ‘Why don’t you fly up with me on Friday and stay at Surfers for a couple of days? I have a spare plane ticket. You could patch things up with David and then visit your mother in Brisbane at the weekend. It’s only a short drive from Surfers.’

She gaped at him. He had it all worked out! Was this how he was used to operating? Making spur-of-themoment decisions affecting other people, even people he barely knew, confident that they’d fall in with his plans…as she’d fallen in with his plans for lunch?

‘That—that’s crazy!’ she spluttered. ‘I can’t just—’

‘Why not?’ He sat back indolently, his expression gently mocking. ‘Can’t you postpone your appointments for one day? Hand over any urgent cases to one of your colleagues?’

‘No!’ she cried, even as her mind leapt at the prospect.

‘You’re saying no before you’ve even thought it over. Look, you’ll have one and a bit days to organise things before we go. One weekday off isn’t so difficult to arrange, is it? And with the weekend to follow you could have virtually three days in Queensland. You’ll have time to see David and patch things up with him, time to visit your mother, even time to enjoy some tropical sunshine. There won’t be any expense. Maxi Board will cover all that. We’ve a block booking at the conference hotel. I’ll handle all that.’

He was making her head reel. ‘I couldn’t let you—’

‘But I insist. I find it’s in my own interests to keep my employees and their…loved ones happy. Why are you hesitating?’ His eyes impaled hers. ‘You do want to be reunited with David, don’t you? Or…do you?’

‘Yes, of course I—’ She broke off, then cried, ‘But not like this! I—I feel I’m being—’ She was about to say ‘manipulated’, but recalled, just in time, that he was David’s boss.

‘Steamrollered?’ Case suggested, amused irony in his voice.

She felt a rush of heat to her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry to sound ungrateful, but…’ She trailed off with a flutter of her hands.

‘But you don’t like feeling steamrollered.’ There was a grudging respect in his voice. And maybe a trace of surprise. ‘You felt your friend David was steamrollering you too, by giving you that ultimatum, didn’t you? Well, I certainly don’t wish you to feel steamrollered, Lucy…or manipulated,’ he added with the ghost of a smile, as if he’d known all along that that was what she’d been thinking. ‘But I would like you to think about it.’

The black eyes were steady on hers…compelling in their intensity. She found it impossible to look away.

‘I—I don’t have anything suitable to wear,’ she argued, and realised, with horror, that she was weakening…teetering on the edge of giving in.

A sceptical eyebrow shot up. ‘I can’t believe that. A sporty, outdoor girl like you. Not that I’d bother too much, if I were you. There are boutiques full of glamorous resort-wear at Surfers. Buy what you need when you get there. You might like to pack an evening dress, though…there’s a dinner dance the night we arrive. I’m sure David will want you to be there.’

Lucy’s mind whirled, temptation warring with a flash of resentment at his high-handed assumption that everyone had the time and the money to buy whatever their heart desired.

It was obvious that he was a man used to giving orders and making snap decisions—with money no object—and having people fall in with whatever he decided. As head of a giant enterprise like the one he now controlled, she guessed he’d have to be decisive. But that didn’t give him the right…

‘And will your…wife be flying up with us?’ she asked, eyeing him ingenuously. ‘To be with you at the dinner dance?’

There was an electric pause. She saw his mouth twist into a smile that was more derisive than amused.

‘You obviously don’t know too much about me,’ he said curtly. ‘I happen to be divorced.’

Divorced! For some odd reason that surprised her. And…disappointed her? Why was it that nobody could stay married any more? Not her parents, not her brother, not even this stunningly successful, dynamic man. Did nobody these days take marriage seriously? There were odd exceptions, of course, like Case Travers’ own parents, who’d stayed happily married, by all reports, for forty-odd years. But they were a rarity, sadly.

‘You disapprove,’ he said, his tone sardonic.

‘Don’t be silly,’ she denied quickly. ‘My own brother’s divorced. And my parents. I know it…happens. It happens all the time. Were you married for long?’ she couldn’t resist asking.

‘Two years.’ He sounded terse now, his eyes on his wine glass, not on her. It was obvious he didn’t want to talk about it.

But some perverse imp of curiosity drove her on. ‘Do you have any children?’

‘No children.’ His eyes lifted, chilly now as they met hers. He seemed annoyed that she wasn’t taking the hint. ‘Mercifully, we didn’t have that complication,’ he said tonelessly.

She steeled herself not to blink under his cold gaze, or look away. ‘You asked me some rather personal questions,’ she reminded him. ‘Yet you won’t allow me the same right?’

He heaved a sigh, his eyes losing some of their cold glitter, his expression resigned now. But his tone, when he spoke, was still cool, tinged now with irony. ‘What do you want to know? Why my wife left me?’

His wife had left him? It hadn’t been a mutual decision, then? She found it hard to believe that any woman would willingly walk out of a marriage to this man…this ravishingly attractive, magnetic dynamo. But she didn’t know him, of course. Maybe, in private, he was a monster. Or maybe he’d played around. That was more like it. Her lip twisted. He had the looks, the money, the power, the charisma to chase after any woman he wanted or lusted after. The realisation brought with it a swift qualm. And here she was, agreeing to fly up north with him…

‘I take it, by that curl of your lip, that you’re imagining all kinds of lurid things about me,’ he taunted softly, his glittering eyes causing a wave of heat to rise up her throat. ‘Let me put your mind at ease. My wife, far from seeing me as a philandering Lothario or a physical threat, accused me of being dull and boring.’

Dull and boring? This man? She stared at him, her heart inexplicably lightening all of a sudden. She let her tight lips relax, ignoring the quiver deep down inside her which was warning her that nothing about this man was safe, let alone dull and boring.

‘And are you?’ she heard herself asking him.

He flashed a smile…a self-deprecating but breathtakingly attractive smile. ‘I’m not a wildly social animal. She is.’

He wasn’t? She found that hard to believe too. A man of his background and exalted position in life? She cast a look up at him from under her lashes, imagining him in a social context, at ease, in command of himself and those around him, the focus of all eyes. Female eyes in particular. If he wasn’t a social animal it couldn’t be due to any lack of social skills, or any lack of charm or appeal.

‘She’s happy now, by all accounts.’ He traced the rim of his glass with an idle finger. ‘She’s remarried. Someone more to her taste. A diplomat based in Paris. Endless parties. The chance to dress up and socialise every night. She’s in her element.’

The cynical undertone was back in his voice. And now she knew what lay behind it. His wife—undoubtedly a raving beauty, with the charm and social graces to bewitch any man she chose, Case included—had turned out to be a shallow, spoilt, grasping, discontented bitch, by the sound of it. Presumably unfaithful as well. The experience, understandably, had scarred him, soured him. She felt swift compassion, and made an attempt to lighten the conversation.

‘Well, I’m glad to hear you’re going to be socialminded enough to go to this dinner dance at Surfers on Friday night.’ She injected a gently teasing note into her voice. ‘If I do fly up with you, and David wants me to go to the dinner with him, I’ll expect you to keep a dance for me,’ she heard herself declaring recklessly.

‘That’s a promise.’ A glint of humour lightened the inky black depths of his eyes. ‘I’ll try not to step on your toes. Mustn’t have our trusty podiatrist suffering from sore feet.’

‘I’ll bet you’re a superb dancer,’ she said with a shaky laugh, glad to see that his sense of humour hadn’t deserted him along with his wife. And then a sickening thought struck her. ‘You’re not flying up in a small plane, are you?’ If she had any phobia, it was small planes. If he was, it would make her decision easy.

‘No.’ The trace of humour vanished in an instant, an icy film coming down over his eyes. ‘I decided not to replace our company jet after it…crashed. All our company executives take commercial flights these days. A private jet is an unnecessary extravagance anyway, in my book.’

Her face flamed in mortification as she recalled the plane crash which had killed his parents. ‘Case, I’m sorry…I didn’t think.’

‘It was a perfectly reasonable question,’ he said dismissively, the harsh lines round his mouth easing a trifle. ‘So…you’ll try to arrange things so that you can fly up with me on Friday morning?’

He was covering his grief well, but it was there…She could sense it, feel it. She felt another quick surge of compassion for him. And it was that, more than anything else, that decided her. In that moment she didn’t want to disappoint him by throwing his offer back in his face.

‘I’ll…see if I can arrange it.’

‘Good.’ He leaned back, a satisfied smile on his lips. Seeing it, she felt a belated qualm. She had been so intent on feeling sorry for him that she had forgotten that this was a jaded, cynical, hardened man of the world. A diabolically clever man. And quite ruthless, she realised in the same moment. Ruthless in getting what he wanted…in manipulating people…imposing his will. Why was she letting him get away with it?

Because he was David’s big boss? Or because, deep down, she wanted to go? She did want to go, she realised with a trembling sigh. But she preferred not to delve too deeply into her reasons.

‘Look…why don’t you surprise David?’ Case suggested, raising his glass to his lips and taking a leisurely sip of the fine wine he’d chosen. ‘And surprise your mother as well? No need to let either of them know you’re coming, is there? Why not give them both a delightful surprise?’

She tilted her head at him. The idea of playing Cupid amused him, did it? And the thought of being there to witness her springing this surprise visit on David? She felt a prickle of defiance. This was just an amusing, diverting little game to him. Or was it a demonstration of his power—a power game—to show her what a man in his position was capable of?

Why should she humour him?

On the other hand, it probably was the sensible thing to do…to arrive unannounced. If she tried to ring David in advance he might hang up on her before she had a chance to explain.

‘Well…I’ll see,’ she said non-committally. David probably would be delighted if she surprised him. But not her mother. Charlotte hated surprises. She always liked to know what was happening in advance. And, since she lived with someone else, it would only be right to let them know she was coming. But she could wait until she was up in Queensland and ring from Surfers. The phone call to Brisbane would be cheaper from there, and she could chat for longer.

‘I really ought to be getting back to work,’ she said, checking her watch. The time had flown. It occurred to her that she still knew very little about him. She didn’t even know if he was currently involved with anyone.

She brushed the thought aside, annoyed with herself for even toying with the question. It was pretty irrelevant anyway. The man was trying to reunite her with David…not pursuing her for any clandestine purpose of his own!

CHAPTER THREE

SHE couldn’t believe she was actually on her way, sitting beside Case Travers in the first class section of a Boeing 737, heading for Coolangatta. Her mother wouldn’t believe it either. Charlotte’s quiet, sensible daughter wasn’t known for wild, spur-of-the-moment escapades. Even Gaby, good friend that she was, had been stunned but supportive, promising to cover for her in her absence.

‘You haven’t heard from David?’ Case asked over a delectable lunch that Lucy wouldn’t have believed possible on a commercial inter-state aircraft.

Her stomach swooped. ‘Not a word.’ David had obviously meant what he’d said. As far as he was concerned, it was over.

Was he feeling heartbroken about it? Or just a tiny bit relieved? It must have been frustrating for him, she reflected uncomfortably, the way she’d kept putting off making that final commitment. Maybe he was even happy to be free. Because now he could get on with his life and maybe in time meet someone else, someone who would love him the way he’d always wanted to be loved…unreservedly. Someone who wouldn’t blow hot and cold.

And here she was, about to burst back into his life. About to surprise him, expecting him to welcome her back with open arms. And he probably would! Only…

She stifled a groan. Had anything really changed? Was she any surer now that she knew she’d come so close to losing him?

‘I think I’m making a big mistake!’ she blurted out.

Case turned indolently in his plush seat. ‘You’re saying you don’t want to see David? Don’t want to make up with him?’ The black eyes, dark glinting slits under his lowered lids, were impossible to read. Was he angry that he’d wasted his time and money on her? Or gratified that he had proved to her, finally, that she didn’t really care for David…or not enough? Or was that contempt in his eyes, a cynical belief that yet another woman had disappointed him in some way? She simply couldn’t tell. He hid his feelings too well.

‘I—I think it’s a mistake to surprise him,’ she said lamely, not wanting to admit to her real doubts. Anyway, what was the point? It was too late to turn back now.

Case surprised her by reaching for her hand, closing his fingers over it so that she could feel their warm strength, their grainy texture—surprisingly work-hardened hands for a man who’d supposedly had everything handed to him on a platter. She found herself trembling, and desperately hoped that he couldn’t feel it.

‘I disagree,’ he murmured. ‘Trust me, Lucy. You’re doing the right thing by flying up and clearing the air face to face, rather than over the phone or through a third party. And surprising him will be the icing on the cake.’

‘I guess so,’ she said, trying to feel convinced. ‘Trust me,’ he’d said. Could she trust him? Why did she have the prickly feeling there was more to his apparent generosity than he was telling her?

‘You haven’t let your mother know you’re coming either?’ he asked, and she wondered if the change of subject was to take her mind off David.

‘No…I haven’t,’ she said, adding silently, Not yet. She would, though, as soon as she’d checked in.

She wondered with a flutter if Case would assume that she’d want to share David’s hotel room. No…surely not. Not with all those other paper industry people there. She wasn’t engaged to David. They weren’t even living together. She’d never even spent a whole night at his flat, although he’d once or twice stayed at hers, when Gaby had been away for the night—for her protection and comfort, as David had put it at the time. David always had sound reasons for doing the things he did. He never acted on impulse, was never swept into anything by emotion alone. The way she was being swept now…by agreeing to this mad idea.

The thought brought more flutters. Was she, by flying halfway across Australia to see David, also telling him that she was saying yes, she would marry him?

‘Why the groan?’ Case asked, and she realised in dismay that she must have groaned aloud.

‘I…’ She heaved a sigh, not knowing what to say.

‘You’ve got cold feet, haven’t you?’

Startled, she snatched back her hand. Case Travers was far too perceptive. ‘C-cold feet?’ she echoed.

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