Marriage Without Love
Penny Jordan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

IT was quite a long way from the canteen to the office of the Editor of the Daily Globe, especially when one was carrying a tray holding two tea cups, a pot of tea, milk and sugar, but Briony Winters was used to it. Her small, slight frame belied her strength just as her soft, feminine features belied her nature.

She pushed open the door of the outer office, which was hers, noticing with a frown the heavy masculine topcoat flung carelessly over the spare chair. Doug Simons, her boss, often had visitors, but very few of them wore coats like that. It was wool, and expensive, meticulously tailored and lined in silk. Briony put down the tray, wondering about whether to give up her own cup for the visitor, when she realised that the inner door was not quite closed.

‘Well, you’ll have no problems with the job, of course,’ Doug was saying. ‘Not after working on the Telegraph.’

‘Which, I take it, means I could have in other areas.’

Although the man’s voice was faintly muffled, there was no mistaking its hard inflexibility, and Briony frowned, her lips drawing together in a cold line.

‘Well, it’s just Briony…’

The very mention of her own name should have been sufficient to send her out of earshot, but despite allegations among the male staff of the paper to the contrary, Briony was only human.

‘Briony?’

Again that note of sharp query.

‘Briony Winters, my secretary,’ Doug supplied. ‘Well, your secretary now. She might give you a hard time at first… until she gets used to you.’

‘She might…? My God, no wonder your sales are slipping if you allow your secretary to dictate to you, Doug!’

The coolly insolent words made Briony’s fingers curl angrily into her palms. For two pins she’d march right into Doug’s office and demand to know exactly why he thought it necessary to explain to his replacement that he might have ‘problems’. Didn’t she fulfil her secretarial duties with a good deal more efficiency and effectiveness than any of the other secretaries?

She had been away on a fortnight’s holiday when the news of Doug’s promotion broke and had come back to find the paper in an uproar, with Doug due to leave for New York only three days after his replacement arrived. Since the Globe had been taken over by an American newspaper group, such transatlantic moves had become commonplace, and Briony hadn’t been unduly surprised to hear that Doug’s replacement was from the States. She herself didn’t particularly like American men. They were inclined to be brash and noisy. And worse, they didn’t know when to take ‘no’ for an answer. She stared angrily at the door. Doug had no right… no right at all to discuss her like this.

‘What is she?’ she heard the other man say sardonically. ‘Some sort of female dragon? A Women’s Libber with her hair in a bun and thick ankles?’

‘No way,’ Doug said dryly. ‘As it happens, she’s got one of the sexiest bodies I’ve ever seen.’

Outside the door Briony writhed in furious resentment. Doug had never given the slightest inkling that he had even noticed her body, and if he had she wouldn’t have continued to work for him.

‘Woe betide you if you try to touch it, though,’ Doug was warning his companion. ‘Briony has a hang-up where men are concerned. She can’t stand them, and it isn’t a sham. Something to do with something that happened in her teens.’

‘A teenage romance goes wrong and turns her into a man-hater? Come on, Doug. These are the nineteen-eighties!’

‘Well, some people take things harder than others. I’m just warning you to take things easy. She’s the best secretary I’ve ever had—works hard and is meticulously efficient.’

‘Maybe so,’ the hard voice said curtly. ‘But if she wants the kid glove treatment she shouldn’t be working on a paper. Secretaries are expendable, Doug,’ the man added in a bored voice, ‘even the best of them.’

Briony gripped her desk, her voice white with fear and shock. There had been redundancies on the paper the summer before and she had been terrified, then, that she might lose her job. It was something she daren’t even contemplate. She depended on it too heavily. It paid well, and Doug had always been flexible about hours, which had been an added bonus. But now Doug was leaving and she would be working for a man she had already decided she hated, without even meeting him. He was still talking to Doug, and she moved away from the door on legs suddenly weak and trembling. Whoever he was, he was no American. His accent was English. She could tell that even though his voice was muffled by the door.

The intercom buzzed and she flicked it down, her voice coolly remote as she answered Doug.

‘Come into my office for a moment, would you, Briony?’ he requested. ‘There’s someone here I’d like you to meet.’

There was a small mirror on the wall behind her, but she didn’t bother to look in it. She stood up picking up her notebook and pencil through sheer force of habit, a small girl, with a mane of dark red hair that curled thickly round a perfectly oval face. Her skin was pale and creamy; almost translucent. She had delicate features and large green eyes which looked as though they might once have been vulnerable but which now reflected only the image of whoever looked into them. Looking into Briony’s eyes was like looking at a one-way mirror, from the wrong side, one of her infuriated male colleagues had once said. The only time anyone saw any expression in them was if some man tried to sexually belittle her. Then they filled with bitterness and contempt. Slender to the point of fragility, there was a steel-like quality about her, a coldness which allowed no one to trespass close enough to discover the woman she might be beneath the layers of ice in which she was encased. She was twenty-three and as composed as a woman ten years older. ‘Frigid’ and ‘incapable of feeling were just two of the many insults frustrated males had hurled at her, but they pleased rather than offended. Where men were concerned her emotions were completely burnt out, leaving nothing but bitter hatred.

Despite that, Doug was envied his secretary. She was cool, and calm, and could be relied on completely in an emergency. Her job was no sinecure. She was on the go from nine until six every day, working late quite often, and always ready to work through a lunch-hour or give up free time if it was necessary. The other girls joked that she didn’t have a private life, and that the paper was her family; and although they were reluctant to admit it, most of them felt slightly in awe of her.

As she pushed open the door Doug smiled at her. Doug Simons was in his mid-fifties, a power-house of human energy, who had worked in newspapers since he left school. He and Briony got on very well—or at least she had thought they had until she heard him discussing her so freely. Happily married with a grown up family and a wife on whom he doted, he represented no threat to her defence systems. Neither did he constantly annoy her with unwanted sexually based conversation or false flattery of a type insulting to both her intelligence and her taste. Men thought they only had to smile and wheedle and girls would gladly jump into bed with them. Well, not her!

Doug smiled warmly at her, his expression faintly ingratiating as though he was half afraid of what she might do or how she would react.

She smiled back—a slight widening of warmly curved lips to show even white teeth, the smile not reaching her eyes, which remained as clear and cold as glass.

Doug’s companion had his back to her. He didn’t turn to look up at her, nor did he betray any other awareness of her presence, and she prickled with animosity. His hair was dark and thick, brushing the collar of the expensive suit he was wearing, and she stiffened as warily and antagonistically as a cat faced with a large, threatening dog.

‘Kieron, meet your new secretary, Briony. Briony—Kieron Blake.’

She at least had had the advantage of hearing his name, and thus the precious gift of a few seconds to prepare herself. He had had nothing, and she observed the shocked incredulity of his expression with grim satisfaction. Navy-blue eyes swept slowly and disbelievingly over her; looking for the scars? she asked herself bitterly. He wouldn’t find any. She had concealed them all too well.

‘Briony?’ His eyebrows rose in contemptuous accusation, and although inwardly terrified, Briony refused to be drawn. Let him think what he liked. He hadn’t changed. The long-boned Celtic face was still as physically compelling; the high cheekbones and harsh male features still as disturbing. His skin was tanned, the thick dark hair worn slightly longer than she remembered, and the suit more formal. He had himself under control now, the shock carefully masked, only the faint clenching of his jawbone revealing the control he was having to exert.

‘Kieron’s going to need all the help you can give him until he settles in, Briony,’ Doug told her, sublimely unaware of the undercurrents eddying fiercely around him. ‘I’m going to take him round and introduce him to the other editors and then we’re going out to lunch. Anything urgent, get Phil to deal with it, will you?’

Phil Masters was Doug’s assistant, a tall gangly Scot with a shock of red hair and a temper to match.

Doug and Kieron were standing up, Kieron extending his hand to her, his expression a mingling of contempt and indifference, which changed to anger as she withdrew automatically from him.

With Doug looking on she could hardly make a scene, but the touch of those cool brown fingers against her own skin made her shake with a sickness and fear that left her drained and trembling. And this was only the beginning.

As she walked back into her own office, Kieron murmured something to Doug, and the connecting door was closed. Alarm prickled over her, fears she had thought long submerged suddenly filling her mind and obliterating everything else.

‘How long has Briony worked for you?’ Kieron asked Doug casually as the latter picked up his coat.

‘Umm, about eighteen months. Best secretary I’ve ever had.’ He hadn’t been as unaware of Kieron’s reaction to Briony as he had pretended, and naturally he was curious as to its cause. ‘Am I right in thinking you know her?’

‘I once thought I knew someone who looked like her, but it turned out that I didn’t know her at all.’

His tone of voice warned Doug not to probe.

‘I’m not surprised to hear she’s a man-hater,’ he added sardonically. ‘She’s one of those women who seem to get a thrill out of leading men on and then kicking them in the teeth. Quite a hang-up!’

Doug didn’t argue the point. Whatever relationship had once existed between Briony and Kieron was their business and theirs alone, but he could foresee fireworks between them in the not too far distant future, if they were going to work together.

The two men emerged from the office, and Briony darted a quick look at Kieron’s shuttered face. It told her nothing. When they had gone she stared unseeingly at her typewriter, ignoring the over-flowing ‘in’ tray, her mind racing frantically in circles as she tried to think of a way of ensuring that she need never set eyes on Kieron Blake again.

There wasn’t one, of course. Not unless she gave up her job, and that was impossible. In a more buoyant economic climate she might have done so, even if it meant taking a drop in salary, but to take the risk in the middle of a depression would be extremely foolhardy. She needed her salary. Every penny of it. She closed her eyes, shivering suddenly with cold. The office door opened and she jerked upright, her face paper-white, but it was only Matt Dyson, one of the sub-editors. It was the joke of the Globe that while Briony gave every other male the cold shoulder, Matt Dyson, the original worm who never turned, was her only male escort.

‘Is something wrong?’ he asked, eyeing her with mingled uncertainty and embarrassment.

Doug referred unkindly to Matt as her ‘lame dog’, and it was true that his long face often wore an expression of anguished apology. He was nervous and introspective and the other men often made fun of him behind his back. He had once confided to Briony that he had wanted to become a painter, but that his parents had disapproved. He was in his late twenties, with fair, thinning hair, and mild hazel eyes. His wife had left him two weeks after Christmas, and now in April he still hoped every day that she would miraculously return to him. He worshipped the ground she trod, although Briony could not see why. Mary Dyson was a dumpy brunette, narrow-minded and everything that Briony disliked in her own sex. She had often contemplated telling Matt that his wife might treat him a little better if he treated her a little worse, but she had no intention of getting involved in other people’s personal problems.

‘Lunch with me?’ Matt asked hesitantly. ‘Or have you another date?’

She hadn’t, and she didn’t particularly feel like eating, but she knew that she could not remain in her office thinking about Kieron Blake.

To her surprise Matt took her to a fashionable new restaurant which had recently opened, and had become a favourite haunt of Globe staff. It was inclined to be rather pricey, and since she knew that Matt was having problems making ends meet, Briony frowned, wishing he had taken her somewhere more modest. Now she would have to insist on paying for her own meal and he would be hurt and offended.

The restaurant was full apart from one table set for six and one vacant one for two next to it. The waiter removed Briony’s coat with a flourish and a look in his eyes which immediately made her own harden as she directed a freezing stare at him.

Matt dithered over the menu. He always did, and Briony had grown used to it. In contrast she had decided what she was going to eat immediately, and she gave her order coolly, while Matt cast anguished glances, first at the menu and then at the hovering waiter. It took all of five minutes and they still had to endure the fiasco of choosing the wine. Matt hadn’t a clue about wine and normally ended up hot and bothered and very obviously patronised by the wine waiter. Briony sat through it all with detached uninterest, throwing a cool smile at Matt when he eventually managed to make up his mind, which he accepted with the gratitude of a dog being thrown a bone.

They had just started on their main course when the table adjacent to them filled up. Briony was conscious of being scrutinised but refused to look up. Matt turned to say something to her, and upset his wine glass, an expression of abject apology on his face as the contents cascaded over the table and dripped on to her cream wool skirt. She stood up, shaking off the moisture and assuring him that no harm had been done. As she sat down again she realised that the occupants of the other table were Doug and Kieron, and four other deputy editors from the paper.

Doug grinned at her, but it was Kieron Blake of whom she was most aware, her hands shaking beneath the narrowed blue stare he turned upon her.

‘Come and join us,’ Doug invited, calling over a waiter to move the tables together. ‘We’ll soon catch up with you.’

Briony willed Matt to refuse, but of course he didn’t, and somehow she found herself sandwiched beween Doug and Kieron while Matt sat opposite her next to the Features Editor, Gail Wyndham.

Gail and Briony had never been particularly friendly. Gail was a tall blonde, a career woman first and foremost but one who made no secret of her enjoyment of the opposite sex. It was rumoured that she knew every attractive male on the Globe intimately, and watching her openly flirting with Kieron Blake Briony suspected that it would not be too long before he joined that list. He was letting Gail make all the running, his manner lazily amused, just enough awareness in it to encourage her, and Briony felt faintly sick as she watched them together. One of the other men tried to engage her in conversation, but she cut him off abruptly, shocked to discover that Kieron had switched his attention from Gail to her, his eyes alert and watchful, a cynical twist to his lips.

‘I’ve been dying to meet you for ages,’ Gail murmured softly, stretching out a plum-tipped hand to touch his arm. ‘You were quite a celebrity on the Street even before you went to the States.’

‘Oh?’

Under the table Briony gripped her hands together until her knuckles showed white. From the moment she had seen Kieron Blake in Doug’s office she had known this moment would come. It seemed ironic that after so many years of nightmares about it, the confrontation should arrive just when she had at last hoped she was over them. Inwardly she was shaking with mingled sickness and fear, but years of hiding her feelings and repressing them behind a blank wall helped her to concentrate on her food, although if anyone had asked her what she was eating she would not have had the faintest idea.

‘The Myers case,’ Gail continued in a husky voice. ‘It made newspaper history—the sort of scoop we all dream about. While the rest of the press were speculating about what part of the world James Myers might have disappeared to, you managed to discover that he was right here in this country all the time, posing as his sister’s boy-friend.’

‘The Myers case?’ Doug frowned. ‘Wasn’t he the crooked financier? The one who was reputed to have salted millions away?’

‘Yes. It wasn’t a very pleasant business,’ Kieron said coolly. ‘The man had been indulging in a form of legal robbery for years, but then he made a fatal slip and got found out. Everyone knew what was going on but no one could prove it, and before the police could build up a case against him it was rumoured that he’d skipped the country.’

‘Only you knew differently,’ Gail admired. ‘How on earth did you find out the truth? By all accounts he was quite a master of disguise, and had been coming and going quite freely for weeks, posing as his sister’s boy-friend.’

‘Yes. He was hoping to leave the country when things had cooled down a bit. I had a few lucky breaks.’

‘And a guillible informant, if all one hears is true,’ Gail laughed. ‘Didn’t you get most of the detail for the story from Myers’ sister’s flatmate?’

‘I never disclose my sources,’ Kieron told her, smiling to soften the words. Briony could tell that Doug was impressed by this apparent show of loyalty and she could feel Kieron’s eyes upon her across the width of the table, but she refused to look up. No matter what he might pretend to others, she knew the truth!

‘In that case you didn’t need to,’ Gail said frankly. ‘I wonder what on earth happened to that girl? There was some talk of her being tried as an accomplice at one stage.’

‘Tried? but.…’ Kieron caught himself up, but not before Briony had observed his momentary shock with bitter satisfaction.

‘Surely you knew?’ Gail queried.

‘As a newspaper editor you should know better than merely to assume the obvious,’ Kieron parried.

Because he had no other defence against the question, Briony thought angrily.

‘It was a very clever piece of reporting,’ Doug observed, joining the conversation, his words jarring a nerve Briony had thought long dead.

‘Clever?’ she burst out before she could stop herself, her eyes burning with resentment, a loathing in her voice she did nothing to hide. ‘Is that what you all think? That it’s “clever” to destroy someone’s life, just to get a front-page story? Well, I don’t. I think it’s despicable. Hateful!’ She broke off, realising that the others were exchanging puzzled and amused glances.

‘Come on, love, aren’t you taking it a bit personally?’ one of the other men commented. Briony knew Kieron was waiting for her to speak, but she couldn’t. How could these cynical, worldly people understand the effect of their sophisticated moral code on others less worldly? And Kieron’s attempts to pretend that he hadn’t known.… That he had actually cared.… God, how she hated him!

‘Something wrong, Briony?’ Kieron asked her smoothly, giving her name faint emphasis. ‘You don’t seem to be enjoying your lunch.’

‘The lunch is fine,’ she retorted bleakly, ‘but if you’ll all excuse me, I’ve got work to do.’ She glanced at Matt, not wanting to embarrass him in front of the others by offering to pay for her own lunch, and then shrugged the concern away. She could settle up with him later.

She had just walked past the table when she heard Gail say triumphantly, ‘Beth Walker—that was the girl’s name!’

Briony froze, her eyes dilating with fear, her hands cold and clammy.

‘Beth Walker,’ Kieron repeated softly, and Briony knew without looking at him that he was watching her.

She walked back to the office on legs which almost refused to support her, each breath a conscious effort. Her instinctive response was to grab her coat and leave before Doug and Kieron got back. But she could not.

On impulse she reached for a phone book, dialling the number of a well-known employment agency. The girl on the other end was helpful but regretful. In normal circumstances, she told Briony, they wouldn’t have the slightest difficulty in placing her, but the way things were at the moment it might be months before they could find her a job which came anywhere near approaching her present highly paid one.

She slumped in her chair, not entirely surprised, wondering what on earth she was going to do. She felt as though her life had suddenly turned into a horrendous nightmare. Beth Walker. When she had discarded that name she had discarded the past, or so she tried to persuade herself, but it hadn’t been easy. There were too many intrusive memories, too much that could not simply be forgotten. She had changed her name by deed poll after the attentions of the Press became too much to bear. It was ironic really that she should end up working for a newspaper. It had been from necessity rather than inclination. She had needed a job that paid well, and employers who were prepared to take her on without digging too deeply into her past. Doug had taken her completely on trust, and for that alone she felt she owed him a debt which could never be entirely repaid. One had to experience the contempt and loss in faith of others before one could appreciate fully the value of trust.

She had once trusted Kieron Blake. And not just trusted him. Even now it made her feel sick to think how gullible she had once been.

The first time she had seen him had been at the flat she shared with Susan Myers. He had come, so he told her, to interview Susan for a gossip column article, and she had not been surprised, because although she and Susan lived together, their life styles were entirely different.

They had been brought up in the same small village. Susan was the spoiled and petted daughter of the local ‘lord of the manor’, Sir Arthur Myers, and his wife, and Briony had got to know her through her father who was their doctor. They had gone to school together, although never particularly intimate—Susan moved in a different, faster crowd, and it was only the death of Briony’s parents within six months of one another—her father from a heart attack and her mother from a broken heart—that brought them together.

Briony’s father was not a wealthy man. There were some investments and the house, which on her solicitor’s recommendation Briony had sold. She had been contemplating going on to university after school, but fearing to use up her slender financial resources had decided instead to invest in a good secretarial course. It was then that Susan Myers, chaffing under the parental yoke, suggested that they ‘flat’ together. Not that Susan was contemplating a secretarial career. Her ambitions were nowhere near as modest. Her long-suffering parents paid for her to undergo an expensive modelling course from which she emerged sleek and soignée; the occasional modelling job and her father’s allowance giving her a far different life style from Briony’s steady nine-to-five routine. In fact long before her secretarial course was over Briony was regretting her decision to share with Susan. All-night parties; casual sexual morals; these had no place in her life, but she was unable to afford the expense of the flat without Susan and had perforce to endure her presence.

Susan’s brother she knew only by hearsay. Ten years separated them, Susan being the child of Sir Arthur’s second marriage, and although Susan was fond of boasting about her successful half-brother, Briony had never met him. Nor had she wanted to, disliking what she read about him in the Press, but when the story had broken, no one had believed her innocence, and the one person who could have substantiated it was missing.

Her mouth twisted bitterly. Kieron must have thanked his lucky stars that Susan was so conveniently missing that evening. She had told him when the other girl would be in, but he had shown a flattering disinclination to leave. They had talked—she couldn’t remember what about—only that for the first time since her parents had died she didn’t feel completely alone. When he asked her out, she hadn’t even hesitated, and had never once suspected that his questions were based on anything other than an interest in her own background. Later, of course, when the truth came out, she had realised that it was James Myers’ background he had been seeking, not hers.

He had taken her out to dinner the evening they came back and found Susan and her new ‘boy-friend’ in the flat. Briony had put Susan’s awkwardness down to the fact that she was merely playing one of her silly secretive games. Susan had a vivid imagination and liked to pretend her life was full of drama and suspense, but with hindsight she suspected that Kieron had known the truth right from the start.

It had said in the papers that James Myers was a master of disguise, and certainly it had never crossed Briony’s mind that he was Susan’s brother. He visited the flat quite often, and the two of them would retire to Susan’s room, talking together in muted whispers. Whenever Kieron had asked about Susan and her ‘boy-friend’ Briony had innocently supplied the answers. She had even been the one to tell him that Susan was due to go abroad on a modelling trip, never dreaming that it was just a cover to smuggle James Myers out of the country on the false passport and documents he had had prepared.

Kieron had been particularly passionate that night. They had driven out of town and stopped at a small Thamesside pub for a drink. It had been a long hot summer and she remembered she had been wearing a thin camisole top and a pretty cotton skirt. Kieron had traced the neckline of her top with one lazy finger, the casual caress sending her pulses racing with frightened excitement. How could anyone so attractive be interested in her? When he announced abruptly that they were leaving she had gone willingly. In the car he had pulled her to him, moulding her body against his own with a new intimacy that thrilled her. There had never been a second when she doubted his feelings. When he parted her lips in a passionate kiss she had responded without check, trusting him completely.

They had driven back to the flat in a silence which on her part was filled with tense excitement. Tonight was to be the climax to which their relationship had been slowly building. Her body felt curiously weightless, open adoration in her eyes as she turned them to her companion. She had remembered later how Kieron had stopped the car then, even though they hadn’t reached the flat, his voice rough as he said unsteadily, ‘Don’t look at me like that.…’

And she, little fool that she was, had thought he meant that if she did he wouldn’t be able to control himself! If only she had known! There hadn’t been a single occasion during their association when he hadn’t known exactly what he was doing, hadn’t been completely and absolutely in control of everything, including her. Manipulating her like a jointed doll, and she had let him.

It was dark when they got back, and the flat was empty. Susan had gone home for the weekend. Her father hadn’t been feeling well, and she had been furious when her mother phoned to beg her to return. She hated the country and seemed to have no feelings for her parents whatsoever.

The flat had been unpleasantly cool after the warmth of the car, and Briony had shivered slightly. Kieron had removed his jacket, draping it round her slender shoulders, and laughing gently because it drowned her. Then the laughter had died and he had taken her in his arms, kissing her with a new demanding force that overwhelmed her. She remembered that she had protested slightly and said something about making them some coffee, but Kieron had laughed, and said no, he had other things in mind.

Somehow his hand had slipped beneath the flimsy camisole and was caressing her breast, the sudden passionate surge of her own flesh taking her off guard. She had gasped slightly, her eyes wide and wondering, wonder giving way to a totally different emotion when Kieron slid the thin strap down from her shoulder, placing his lips to the burgeoning flesh his hand had just vacated.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he had told her slowly, his hands removing her clothes and his eyes doing incredible things to her emotions. She told herself that what she was doing was wrong, only her arguments were somehow less than convincing. How could the way she felt about Kieron ever be wrong? It was deliciously and passionately right.

She couldn’t remember how they got into the bedroom, but she could remember, with vivid clarity, the hard warmth of Kieron’s body against hers; the strangeness of his male flesh, and the aching sensation of intense need that seemed to start somewhere in the pit of her stomach and spread languorously all through her body.

Once, as his lips roved possessively over her skin, she protested, the small sound silenced as he cupped her face and kissed her lingeringly until there was no thought in her head but him.

He was beautiful, she had thought achingly, staring wonderingly at his body. He was like a Greek statue come to life, and she wanted to touch him and go on touching him for ever. As though he sensed what she was feeling he had guided her hands to his skin, murmuring soft encouragements whenever shyness made her hesitate.

The thought of his possession brought her no fear. His slow, expert lovemaking had expunged that, but what she had not expected was her own sudden passionate need, kindled by his touch and expertise, and pushing aside the barriers of innocence and inexperience.

When she arched against him, her fingers tensing into his back, he soothed her softly, driving her almost into a mindless frenzy of intolerable aching need, before finally parting her thighs with his full weight.

In confirmation of his greater experience he was ready for her sudden tremulous fear and clenching muscles, his hands steadying her and soothing her tension, as he kissed her softly, murmuring to her to relax. The pain was sharp and intense, and she cried out to him to stop, but her cry had been ignored and for a moment hurt and pain combined with outraged resentment to make her fight against his domination. But as though he had expected it, the rebellion was quelled, his body taking her through pain to pleasure—a pleasure such as she had never dreamed of, her cries of pain turning to soft moans of desire and those to hoarse, throbbing pleas for fulfilment.

She fell asleep in his arms, convinced that life could hold no greater happiness, her limbs tangled sleepily and trustingly with his. She felt no shame for what had happened. It had been natural and beautiful and she was filled with gratitude for his patience and skill. Her last conscious thought was that she could not imagine what she had ever done in her life to deserve him.

In the morning she felt exactly the same thing, but in a totally different context. While she slept, wrapped in pleasurable dreams, Kieron had searched the flat, and found, as he expected, the evidence of James Myers’ duplicity. He had managed to get the paper to hold the front page for him, but Briony did not see it until she got to work.

The article caught her eye while she was taking off her coat, and recognising the Myers name she had started to read it, work forgotten as numb, appalled realisation swept over her. The article bore Kieron’s name—as though he was proud of what he had done, she had thought bitterly. She had looked so ill that her boss had sent her straight home. When she reached the flat it was to find it besieged with reporters and police, and none of them had been gentle with her. ‘Kieron Blake’s informant,’ was how one paper described her. Others were less kind. Susan had returned from the country with her parents. Sir Arthur had been deliberately cruel and remorseless, and at the end of the week her boss suggested that because of the notoriety, it might be as well if she found another job. She worked in a solicitors’ office, and as he explained in great embarrassment, clients might not feel they could trust a firm which employed a girl known to have betrayed a friend’s trust.

She had wanted to scream that it hadn’t been like that, but pride held her silent. Her only crime was that she had believed herself loved; stupidly, criminally, foolish of her perhaps, but she had not and never would have breathed a word of anything that might have deliberately been construed as breaking a trust.

The police had questioned her for hours, and when Sir Arthur died from a heart attack just before the case came to court she had received an avalanche of poison pen letters. That was when she had decided to change her name.

For three months she had endured absolute hell, and not once in all that time had she heard a word from Kieron—neither of compassion, nor regret, not even of acknowledgement of what he had done. She had not tried to contact him. Pride alone had sustained her through the horror of it all, but her trust, her faith, and her innocence were smashed beyond repair.

The office door swung open, banishing the past. She looked up quickly, her eyes freezingly disdainful. Kieron had always been tall, but now he was broader than she remembered, filling the small space, his eyes deeply and darkly contemptuous as they looked at the open telephone directory. One lean finger ran smoothly down the page, stopping unerringly against the number of the employment agency.

‘No luck?’ he drawled sardonically. ‘Too bad.’

Briony forced herself not to respond, her eyes carefully blank as she removed the directory and put a piece of paper in her typewriter.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Blake.’

‘Mr Blake?’ he sneered coldly. ‘Oh, come on, surely we needn’t be so formal—Beth!’

The last word was said softly, almost a taunt, and Briony swung round, her eyes blazing with anger and contempt.

‘Don’t call me that!’ she snapped.

‘Why not? It’s your name.’

‘Not any longer,’ Briony told him crisply. How dared he deliberately remind her of the past! ‘I left it behind me.’

‘How convenient.’ Kieron had his back to her, his dark head bent over some papers, ‘Tell me, Briony, did you bring anything of Beth with you, when you decided to trade personalities?’

‘Not a thing,’ Briony assured him shortly. Why was he plaguing her with these questions, resurrecting memories she would rather had remained forgotten?

‘That’s a pity. At least she was a warm, living, breathing woman.’

‘Who you destroyed!’

The words were out before she could stop them, and Kieron’s eyes narrowed sharply as he swung round and stared at her.

‘What makes you say that?’

Sheer disbelief held her rigidly silent. How could he stand there and ask her that? Hadn’t he deliberately and coldbloodedly used her, and then when he had got his story, simply dropped her? He knew how she had felt about him—she had never made the slightest attempt to hide it. He was an intelligent man; he must have known how she would react, how shocked and distressed she would be. She had learned from a photographer who had worked with him, and whom she had bumped into by accident three months after he had left, that his career was flourishing. He had been posted abroad somewhere, although where the photographer had not said.

‘So, nothing of the Beth I knew remains?’ Kieron persisted.

He was watching her intently and Briony felt like a helpless little fly being pursued by a particularly relentless spider. What did he want? An admission of how close he had come to completely destroying her, to gloat over?

‘Nothing,’ she told him emotionlessly.

His anger seemed to explode over her.

‘Don’t lie to me, Briony!’ he gritted furiously, ‘I saw your face when you walked into that office and saw me sitting there. You hate my guts, don’t you. Don’t you?’ he demanded when she refused to answer.

‘Haven’t I the right?’ Her hands were curled into two small fists. ‘After what you did.…’

For a long moment he said nothing, merely watching her in a way that made Briony shiver with apprehension. Why should he examine her with such contempt? He was the one at fault. He was the one who….

‘You’re quite right,’ he said softly, cutting across her bitter thoughts. ‘The Beth I knew has gone completely. You’re quite a woman, aren’t you, Briony? A woman of iron and steel, according to the office grapevine. The Beth I knew would never have held on to a grudge so tightly, nor become so bitter. But then the Beth I thought I knew never.…’ He broke off and without warning leaned over her, watching her eyes spit defiance. It was only when he kept on coming, and Briony eventually shrank back, that she thought she saw some emotion flicker deep in the narrowed eyes, but it was gone almost instantly, his expression withdrawn as he said curtly, ‘You’re perfectly safe. You’ve made your point, but I don’t intend working with a secretary who looks at me as though I’ve crawled out from under a particularly slimy stone. So if I were you I’d have another look at this.’ He dropped the directory he had removed from the shelf behind her on to her desk with a derisive smile, and started to walk towards the door.

‘One thing at least hasn’t changed,’ he said unkindly, pausing to watch the wary expression creep into her eyes. ‘At least not if all the gossip one hears is correct. It seems you still enjoy turning men on and then freezing them off. With one notable exception.’

Briony gasped at the unfairness of the accusation, and the cynical, twisted smile which had accompanied his last words, and was just about to demand an explanation when Kieron added acidly:

‘You’ve made how you feel about me quite plain, Briony. You hate and loathe me, right?’

When she didn’t comment, he breathed out sharply, anger etched deep in his face.

‘God, you must want to keep this job very badly!’

‘Very badly,’ Briony agreed coolly, hoping that her voice wouldn’t betray anything that she was feeling. How on earth she was going to work for Kieron and keep her sanity she did not know, but work for him she must.

‘So that you can be with Matt?’

Before Briony could get over the shock of the accusation, Kieron was saying with bitter contempt, ‘Is that what your taste runs to these days? He’s not a man, he’s a babe in arms!’

Briony went white, but Kieron had already turned away. She fumbled for a piece of paper and put it in her typewriter, her fingers rattling over the keys in an even staccato rhythm, but the typewritten words were blurred by a mist of tears she was powerless to control.

CHAPTER TWO

IT was after seven when Briony stepped wearily off the bus at the end of her road. There had been a last-minute panic necessitating recall of an article and she had worked late to help Doug get the crisis sorted out. The adrenalin flow which had helped her through the day had abated, leaving her feeling drained and exhausted. Her feet dragged as she walked up the tree-lined avenue. It had been a perfect spring day, and now as long golden shadows fell across the pavement the last liquid notes of birdsong filtered sweetly through the air.

She had a long way to commute, but she had particularly wanted a house with at least some pretensions towards being rural. She knew North London wasn’t fashionable and people raised their eyebrows when they discovered how far out of town she was, but the house had a long back garden, which was enclosed with hedges and boasted half a dozen wizened apple trees, and in the spring when they were in blossom and the cherry trees flowered along the surburban pavements she could almost convince herself it was as good as the country.

She had bought the house three years ago, a necessity rather than a luxury, and as well as realising her modest investments she had had to take on a seemingly huge mortgage. House prices had soared since the sale of her parents’ old home, especially in London, and she had been desperate when she found this house. Split into two self-contained flats, it was ideal for what she needed and she occupied the lower flat, the upper being let to an Italian couple who were living in England on a temporary basis. They had a baby girl and Briony got on very well with them, especially Gina, who was her own age and very much on her wavelength.

Gina was waiting for her when she opened the front door, and her heart instantly started to pound with fear, her mouth dry with dread.

‘Has.…’

‘Everything is fine,’ Gina soothed her fondly. ‘Never have I known such an anxious mamma! It is because you cannot be with your child as you would wish. This I understand. I came down merely to get his night things, he is tired from playing in the garden.…’

Relief swept over her in a wave and she sagged against the door, her face white with strain. This was the penalty she must pay for being a working mother. Gina watched over Nicky as though he were her own child, she knew that, and yet always at the back of her mind was the consuming fear that something might happen to him through her inability to be with him; that he would need her and she would not be there. She was lucky to have Gina, she knew. The Italian couple had been desperate when they came to her, and she had let them have the flat at a very modest rent, but she had never regretted it, and in return Gina, who did not work, had looked after Nicky. When her own baby had arrived ten months after Nicky’s birth he had been fascinated by the child, and Briony bitterly regretted that he, like her, would never know the pleasure of having brothers and sisters.

They went upstairs together, Gina pushing open the door to her flat and standing aside as a small dark-haired tornado flung himself into Briony’s open arms. As she cradled the soft and infinitely precious body of her son in her arms Briony gave a tiny sigh of relief. He smelled of baby powder and clean skin, his dark, thick hair still damp from his bath, his eyes huge and reproachful as he asked where she had been.

‘I’ve been at work, earning lots of pennies,’ she told him softly.

Nicky knew that his mummy had to earn pennies, but Briony still felt an unbearable pang every time she had to tell him. She had already missed so much of his young life and he was growing up so quickly. Gina was more of a mother to him than she was.

‘He’s had his tea,’ Gina told her with a smile. Briony thanked her without taking her eyes off her son, her expression illuminated with love and pride. The people who worked with her would never have recognised Doug’s cold, withdrawn secretary in this adoring young woman. Tonight as she went over each belovedly familiar feature she found herself scrutinising them more than normal, her heart thumping betrayingly.

‘Have you been good for Gina?’ she asked him.

He nodded solemnly, eyes twinkling, and Briony’s heart contracted on a wave of love. He had wound his way so tenaciously into her heart and life, this child whom she had borne in such pain and despair, without realising that her love for him would far outweigh the circumstances of his birth.

‘Go and get your toys for Mummy,’ Gina instructed him, closing the living room door behind him as he toddled off obediently. Italian parents adored their children and spoiled them lavishly, and yet they were also wise in teaching them good manners and obedience. Briony too was firm about not giving in to the impulse to over-compensate for her absences by too much indulgence, and already Nicky knew what was and was not permissible.

He was an attractive child, with soft dimples and a roguish smile, his dark curly hair making him easily mistakable for Gina’s own child. Briony never made any attempt to hide her unmarried state. She was proud of her son and loved him dearly, but she also wanted him to grow up in truth.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked Gina anxiously as she closed the door.

‘Nothing really. It was just that while we were in the Park today Nicky started asking about his father. He’s very intelligent, you know, Briony. He sees that Caterina has a mummy and daddy and constantly he asks me what has happened to his daddy.’ She saw the look of anguish in Briony’s eyes and mistaking its cause said gently, ‘Can it really be that his father does not want him? Surely.…’

‘His father doesn’t even know he exists,’ Briony told her harshly, taking a deep breath. ‘Oh, Gina, please don’t ask me about him. Not tonight of all nights. I just couldn’t bear it.…’

‘For Nicky’s sake you must,’ Gina said gently. ‘You cannot fob him off for ever. Soon he will be old enough for play school, and children can be so unkind.…’

‘One-parent families are nothing unusual these days,’ Briony defended, ‘and surely Nicky is better off with me than with two parents who fight continuously, or worse—–’

Watching her compassionately, Gina said softly, ‘He is a sensitive child, and when he asks about his daddy there is such a puzzled, hurt look in his eyes that my heart fails me. Today he asked me if his daddy didn’t want him.’ She spread her hands wide in a gesture of dismay. ‘What could I say? Fortunately I managed to distract his attention, but he is growing all the time. He is two; soon he will be three.… What are you going to tell him?’

‘What can I tell him?’ Briony asked bitterly. ‘He was conceived entirely by accident, and my… affair with his father was long over by the time I discovered I was expecting a child.’ Her lips twisted bitterly. ‘How do you tell a child that his father doesn’t care a row of beans for his existence, which is the truth?’ They heard the door opening and Nicky ran towards them clutching a huge teddy bear and a bag of plastic bricks.

‘Say goodnight to Gina,’ Briony instructed him.

Later, when she was tucking him up in bed, she inspected his features carefully. He showed his fathering, this child born out of what she had thought a night of perfect love and which instead had been an act of ruthless and deliberate expediency. He had nothing of her in him, unless it was his temperament. In looks he was all Kieron; his father in exact miniature from his dark blue eyes to his thick glossy hair.

When she first discovered she was pregnant she had been out of work and depressed. She had fainted twice in one week and put it down to nervous strain until, despite the fact that she had barely been eating, she discovered that her skirt wouldn’t fasten round her waist. She had known the truth then, but refused to accept it, confirmation finally coming in the shabby, impersonal interview room of a pregnancy advice bureau. They had been kind and helpful, offering to arrange for a termination of her pregnancy, despite its advanced state. They had probably considered that she wasn’t capable of bringing up a child, she thought wryly. She had been practically hysterical with all that she had endured from the Press and police, and the information that she was expecting Kieron’s child could have been the final straw which tipped her into insanity.

When it came to the point, though, she could not go through with it. As though bearing her child was some means of punishing herself for being so easily taken in by Kieron, she forced herself to accept it.

When he had been born, after a night of pain and anguish, she had not even wanted to look at him, but the midwife, experienced in the ways and mysteries of birth, had placed him in her arms, and from that moment she had been lost.

God had seen fit to grant her the gift of life, the midwife had said softly, and Briony had held to that thought in the long lonely months which followed.

Since then it had afforded her some slight satisfaction to know that Kieron had been deprived of this child, who must surely be the most perfect being ever created. It hadn’t been easy trying to bring him up single-handed, continually torn by the desire to be with him, gloating over every tiny step forward, and the need to earn sufficient money to safeguard their future.

Until recently he had accepted quite readily the fact that he only had a ‘mummy’, but as Gina had said, he was quick and intelligent, and it would not be long before he was questioning why he did not have a father.

It would not make any difference, she assured herself firmly; she would give him everything that two parents could, and never, never would he be allowed to know how callous had been his conception.

She watched him while he slept, wondering what little-boy dreams he dreamed, her forehead puckered in a faint frown as she contemplated the future.

Briony glanced at her watch and grimaced. Nicky was being unusually fractious this morning, and she wondered if he had caught her own tense mood. He had played naughtily with his breakfast, something he never normally did, his mouth sulky and pouting when she scolded him.

‘Don’t go to work, Mummy,’ he pleaded tearfully. ‘Stay with me!’

‘You know I have to go, Nicky,’ she reminded him gently, ‘but tomorrow’s Friday, and then after that Mummy will be at home with you for two whole days. Perhaps we’ll go somewhere nice, if you’re a good boy for Gina.’

‘Where nice?’ he breathed, tears forgotten. ‘To the Zoo to see the bears?’

‘Maybe. Finish your egg, there’s a good boy.’

His recalcitrance had made her late, and although she ran all the way down the bottom of the avenue, she was just in time to see her bus go sailing past. Groaning, she pressed a hand to her side to stifle the aching stitch. She was going to be late, and there was nothing she could do about it, so she might as well make up her mind to accept the fact. Although she frequently worked late, she hated being late in the morning, but Doug would understand. Not that he knew about Nicky. No one at the office had the slightest inkling that she had a child, and that was the way she wanted it to stay. Employers were wary of young women without husbands and with babies to bring up, and she had always needed her job too much to risk it. Besides, she didn’t want people talking about her behind her back, speculating about the identity of Nicky’s father, and now with Kieron Blake working on the paper she was glad she had kept silent. He hadn’t even asked her why she had changed her name, she thought bitterly—although she had not changed it entirely. Her name had been Elisabeth Briony and all she had done had been to drop her first name and change her surname for her mother’s maiden name. But then no doubt he had no need to ask. He must have followed the details in the papers—and there had been plenty. He must have known the ordéal she had endured; the shock she had sustained on learning that the man she had thought of as her tender, caring lover, ready to protect her from everything, was in fact a hardbitten journalist in search of a story, and ready to do anything to get it.

It was ten past nine when she walked into her office. She removed her jacket with a sigh.

‘So. You’ve arrived, have you?’

She swung round, eyes widening at the silky drawl, her heart jerking as though it were on strings.

‘You’re damn near ten minutes late,’ Kieron rapped out. ‘Is this morning an exception, or am I to prepare myself for your tardy arrival every day?’

He was just trying to goad her, she told herself. After Doug’s praise and recommendation he could hardly just fire her, and so he would have to find some other means of ridding himself of her. She almost laughed aloud at the irony of it. He couldn’t have been very pleased to discover that the one person in the world who knew exactly what kind of man he was would be his new secretary.

‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ she apologised coldly, picking up the post from her desk. ‘I’ll just go through this and then I’ll be right with you.’

He let her get to her chair before he spoke, his voice like a whip as he drawled sarcastically,

‘Hey, lady, just where the hell do you think you’re going with that stuff? Nobody puts me down like that. And I’m perfectly capable of going through my own mail. No doubt Doug relied heavily on you for such assistance, but I don’t need it. Get it?’

She handed him the mail with a cool, composed smile and an expressionless,

‘Yes, Mr Blake. Where is Doug, by the way?’ she enquired. It wasn’t like her boss not to be in the office early.

‘Making his goodbyes, I believe,’ Kieron told her laconically. ‘Today’s his last day.…’

‘Oh, but I thought.…’ The words rose unchecked to her lips, silenced as he perched on the end of her desk and swivelled round to study her.

‘You thought what? That I’d need him to nursemaid me for longer?’ He shook his head decisively. ‘This kitchen only needs one cook—me. Much as I like and respect Doug I don’t need him standing at my elbow overseeing everything I do. And I’m sure he would feel the same in my shoes.’

Briony knew that he would, but it didn’t stop her saying acidly, ‘It didn’t take you very long, did it? First you try to get rid of his secretary and then you want to get rid of him.’

‘Doug said to remind you that he expects you to be with the others at the pub tonight for the celebrations,’ Kieron told her casually. ‘I believe your boy-friend will be there.’

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she didn’t have any boy-friends, and then she realised that he meant Matt.

‘I shan’t be going,’ she said shortly. She hadn’t come dressed for partying, although her slim cream skirt and pretty floral blouse were perfectly suitable for a comradely drink, and neither had she warned Gina that she would be late. She had assumed that Doug would postpone any celebrations until Friday, but she was totally unprepared for the icy disdain in Kieron’s eyes as he said coldly:

‘You take pleasure in spoiling other people’s fun, don’t you, Briony? Briony—what made you chose that name? I can see why you had to get rid of the “Beth”. Far too sweet and simple for such an Amazon as you’ve become. What thoughts run through that cold little brain, I wonder? Can’t you even permit yourself to become human for just as long as it takes to speed Doug cheerfully on his way?’

‘You have no right to talk to me like this!’ She was trembling with mingled fear and anger. It was as though the scales had dropped from her eyes and she was seeing him properly for the first time, not as her childish adoration had painted him. How could she ever have thought of this man as a tender lover, or a gentle protector? He was a predator; a hunter who killed and maimed, an outlaw from society’s rules.

The door opened and Doug walked in, his sharp eyes going from Kieron to herself.

‘How about a cup of coffee, love?’ he suggested to Briony, adding to Kieron, ‘Briony’s a marvel. Until she came I had to make do with the canteen rubbish, but now we have properly made, freshly brewed coffee every morning. Better treatment than you got in the States, I’ll bet.’

‘Over there they have machines—less time-wasting. What happens if Briony is ever off? Do you use the pool, or.…’

Briony stiffened instinctively forcing herself not to look at him. He was trying to discover if there was any other secretary he could replace her with. Doug raised his eyebrows.

‘Well, when Briony’s on holiday I use one of the girls from the pool. It’s not an ideal situation, but we get by. You are coming down for a drink tonight, aren’t you, Briony?’

‘I don’t know… I’m not dressed.…’

‘I wish that was true,’ Doug grinned appreciatively. ‘Of course you’re coming. I’ll go and let you two get better acquainted. Keep the coffee hot,’ he added as he strode out of the room.

‘Got them all going, haven’t you?’ Kieron commented. ‘I never thought you’d turn out to be a seductress.’

She swallowed the insult, glad that she had her back to him.

‘Leave that,’ he instructed sharply, when she went to pick up the coffee percolator. ‘We’ve got work to do.’

She accompanied him into his office, sitting down opposite him and angling her chair deliberately so that her legs were hidden by the desk. She didn’t imagine for a moment that he would want to ogle her, but she wasn’t going to give him the opportunity of suggesting that she might have wanted him to. His eyes were hard as he noted the manoeuvre, and as though in punishment he dictated at a speed far in excess of Doug’s more leisurely style. Briony wasn’t worried. She enjoyed taking shorthand and in other circumstances would have found his speed something of an enjoyable challenge. However, because it was him she concentrated grimly on making the neat outlines, her pencil poised for the next spate, as the ring of the phone interrupted them.

He listened in silence, and then drawled,

‘Offended, my dear Gail? I’m highly flattered. It isn’t every day a beautiful woman invites me out to lunch. One suit you?’

Flushing angrily at being forced to eavesdrop on his personal conversation, Briony gritted her teeth and stared coldly into space, caught off guard when he said evenly:

‘Right, read that last letter back to me, will you? I’ve forgotton where I was.’

Briony was reasonably sure that he was lying. The letter was long and complicated, but she read through it without haste or check, her diction smooth and even. When she had finished she raised her eyes to find Kieron watching her with an exceedingly sardonic expression.

‘It’s almost like having my own personal computer,’ he mocked cruelly. ‘Don’t you ever feel like coming down off your mountain and joining the rest of the human race?’

‘Not as long as it includes you,’ Briony retorted bitterly, paling too late as she saw his expression.

‘So that’s it,’ he said softly, getting up from behind his desk and coming towards her. He was wearing an expensively tailored lightweight suit in dove grey, the narrow trousers moulding his thighs, and her eyes fastened helplessly on his lean hips as he came slowly towards her.

‘Don’t blame it all on me, Briony. You.…’

‘I was a stupid fool,’ she stormed bitterly. ‘And you took full advantage of that fact, didn’t you, Kieron? God, I hate you! If you burned in hell for ever more it wouldn’t be enough to satisfy me!’

‘Is that why you’re insisting on staying here?’ he grated at her. ‘Are you looking for revenge? Is that how your warped little mind works?’

‘I’m staying here because I need a job,’ she told him coldly. ‘And I don’t think the Board would be very impressed with their new editor if I told them why he was so anxious to get rid of me. Rival papers would love it, though, I’m sure. Selling sensation life stories seems to be all the rage these days. I wonder how much my exposé would be worth?’

‘It works both ways,’ he retorted softly. ‘By working for me, you’re putting yourself within my power, and after what you’ve just admitted, doesn’t that thought frighten you?’

‘Not in the least,’ Briony lied bravely. ‘You’ve already done your worst. Anything else could only be an anticlimax.’

He gave her so much work that it was lunchtime before she could ring Gina to warn her that she might be late.

The Italian girl was delighted to hear that she was going out. ‘You took my warning about Nicky to heart, eh?’ she teased. ‘I wish you luck in your search for a papa for him.’

Briony had worked through her lunch-hour and expecting that Kieron would be detained by Gail had not thought to close her office door when she made her call. The result was that he walked in when she was right in the middle of it, and Gina was describing Nicky’s newest trick.

‘Personal call?’ Kieron said sardonically when she had finished. ‘First time I’ve seen a spark of life in you since I got here. Does Matt know about him?’

‘My private affairs are my own,’ Briony retorted, colour scorching her skin as she realised the inference he had drawn from her words. Of course he would think she meant love affairs. She turned her back on him, searching through the files for an article she needed. When she straightened up Kieron was standing right behind her. She could smell the faint tang of his aftershave. His skin was firm and tanned, the blue eyes framed with ridiculously thick dark lashes. Just like Nicky’s. Her heart pounded, and she bent down to close the cupboard drawer, trying to conceal her reaction. Kieron frowned suddenly.

‘You still use the same perfume.’

Anger flooded her at his cruelty.

‘I’m surprised you remembered,’ she said bitterly. ‘But then reporters are trained to remember every small detail, however minor, aren’t they? That’s how you managed to piece together your scoop, wasn’t it? How boring it must have been for you to have to search through all the dross of my confidences for those precious nuggets! But well worth it in the end. As Gail said, the story made you famous overnight. As it did me, although in my case the word was “infamous”. I’m surprised you didn’t tell them all yesterday exactly who I was. Or can it be that you actually felt ashamed of admitting exactly how you got your story?’

‘You weren’t exactly unwilling,’ he reminded her harshly.

‘I wasn’t unwilling to let you make love to me, but I wasn’t given the opportunity to state my views on how you intended to use my confidences, was I? I wish I could think that having me working for you would put you through hell, Kieron, but we both know that you don’t have that much compunction, don’t we?’

He reached for her, but she was ready for him, sliding behind her desk and sitting down. Anger blazed in his eyes, his skin stretched tautly across the bones of his face. He had removed his jacket and his thin silk shirt showed the smoothly muscled wall of his chest with its covering of dark hair. With a sense of shock she realised that he was intensely male; something she had never fully appreciated before. Because he had hidden that side of himself from her? Of course he had never been attracted to her. He was the sort of man who had women coming out of his ears. How he must have laughed at her naïveté!

By five o’clock her desk was clear, but her head was pounding and all she wanted to do was to go home and go to bed. The heat in the city was oppressive, beating up off the pavements and clogging the air to mingle chokingly with the petrol fumes.

When she went down to the cloakroom to freshen up several of the other girls were already there.

‘What a waste!’ a giggly blonde from Fashion moaned to her friend. They were bent over one of the basins and neither of them had seen Briony come in. ‘That gorgeous hunk of male and Ice-Cold Winters! I bet she wouldn’t know what to do with a real man. Look at that wet Matt she goes about with!’

Someone kicked her on the ankle and she turned round complaining, her mouth dropping open when she saw Briony. For a moment Briony had a savage longing to tell her that she knew exactly what to do with a man like Kieron Blake, but she suppressed it, pretending she had heard nothing, which was stupid because the girl had a particularly shrill voice.

‘Ice-Cold Winters.’ Was that what they called her? She grimaced and then shrugged dismissively. What did it matter after all?

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