Susan Napier – Vendetta (страница 3)
‘I think, therefore I am?’ he said softly. ‘Very profound, my dear, but I’m sure Descartes intended his philosophy to be applied to something more meaningful than social introductions. However, far be it from me to contradict a lady, particularly such a highly qualified one as yourself. So, we have an agreement that I’m Nicholas Rose of Nowhere and you are Miss Mitchell of Marvel-Mitchell Realties. Welcome to my world, Miss Mitchell.’
He kicked himself away from the door and walked swiftly towards her, hand outstretched. Without looking down, she was aware that he limped. She was also aware of the savage pride in the single, glittering eye which effortlessly dominated her attention. It seemed to flame with a strange inner light, until the almond-brown iris was shot with blazing spears of gold as he came to a stop in front of her, closer than was comfortable or courteous, towering over her by at least six inches as he insolently invaded her personal space.
She accepted his proffered hand with a wariness that proved wise when the strength of his grip turned out to be even greater than she had anticipated. His hand wrapped almost completely around hers, trapping it as he extended the moment of contact beyond politeness into the realm of pure intimidation.
The calluses on his palm as he eased the pressure created a friction against her softer skin which felt disturbingly familiar. It was like the faint warning buzz she had experienced when touching a faulty electrical socket. Indeed, the very air around him seemed to crackle and carry a whiff of burning. It was as if there was a huge energy source humming inside him, barely restrained by flesh and blood.
He released her slightly maimed fingers, the gold flecks in his eye blowing with a strange satisfaction as she stayed stubbornly where she was, lifting her firm chin, refusing to be daunted by his superior size and strength, or by the unsettling reciprocal hum in her own bones.
Surprisingly, he was first to disengage from the silent duel, turning away to sling himself down in the chair at the desk, stretching his long legs out in front of him. He didn’t offer her a seat, just leaned back and regarded her in a way that seemed indefinably possessive. Vivian’s blood tingled in her cheeks and she adjusted her spectacles again.
His thin mouth curved cruelly. ‘Shall we proceed to the business in hand, then, Miss Mitchell? I take it you followed all the instructions in the fax?’
She thought of the tense drive down, the nerve-racking hours alone in the motel, the wallowing boat…and his helicopter. She set her teeth and nodded.
‘Truly a Marvel—an obedient woman,’ he punned goadingly, and Vivian’s flush deepened with the effort of controlling her temper. ‘And, knowing that your company’s successful purchase of my land depends on your pandering to my every annoying little whim, of course you followed those instructions
This time she wasn’t going to chicken out. She squared her shoulders. ‘No. That is, not exactly—’
‘Not
Nerves slipped their leash. ‘Will you stop calling me that?’
‘Perhaps I should call you Miss Marmalade instead. That would be a more descriptive nickname—your hair being the colour it is… That wouldn’t offend you, would it? After all, what’s in a name? “That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet”…’
His frivolity was definitely a trap, the quotation from
‘As a matter of fact, there’s an awful
Instead of leaping to his feet in justifiable outrage, he rocked his chair on to its back legs with his booted heels, his expression one of veiled malice as he interrupted her confession. ‘Vivian. Mmm, yes, you’re right,’ he mused, in that low, gratingly attractive voice. ‘Vivian… It does have a certain aptness to your colouring, a kind of phonetic and visual rhythm to it…razor-sharp edges springing up around singing vowels. I do have your permission to call you Vivian, don’t I, Miss Mitchell?’
‘Yes, of course,’ she bit off, his feigned innocence making her feel like a mouse between the paws of a lion. ‘But you requested that
‘She couldn’t come?’ he asked mildly. ‘Why not?’
Having expected a savage explosion of that banked energy, Vivian was once more disconcerted by his apparent serenity.
She moistened her lower lip nervously, unconsciously emphasising its fullness. ‘She has flu.’
Janna was also sick with guilt and remorse, and the combination had made her pathetically easy to deceive. As far as her sister or anyone else knew, Vivian’s prime motive for taking her place on this trip was her desperate desire to get away from everyone for a while.
‘Convenient.’
She winced at the flick of the whip. Not so serene, after all.
‘Not for her. Janna hates being ill.’ Her younger sister was ambitious. As a newly qualified lawyer, working in Marvel-Mitchell Realties’ legal department, she had a rosy future ahead of her, one that Vivian intended to protect.
‘Messes up those gorgeous ice-blonde looks, I suppose,’ he said, casting a sardonic look at her wild ginger mane.
Vivian froze.
‘You knew,’ she whispered, feeling momentarily faint. Thank God the masquerade had only been intended to get her inside the door.
‘The moment I saw you.’
‘But you’ve never met Janna—or anyone from Marvel-Mitchell,’ she said hollowly. ‘Until now you’ve always insisted on dealing through an intermediary—’
‘So you decided to be honest, in spite of the fact I might be none the wiser for the deception. I’m impressed. Or was I supposed to be?’ he added cynically. ‘Are you always so honest, I wonder?’
‘I try to be.’ Her tartness reproved his cynicism.
‘A neat piece of sophistry. You try but you don’t necessarily always succeed, mmm?’ His voice hardened. ‘You can’t have been so naïve as to think I wouldn’t investigate the people I do business with? I’m not a fool.’
‘I never thought you were.’ But she had seriously underestimated his thoroughness.
‘I’m sure that Marvel, too, conducted its own investigations into my integrity…?’
It was a question rather than a comment, and Vivian answered it as such.
‘Other than maintaining a current credit check, Peter felt there was no need, since we’ve been buying and selling properties on your behalf for several years without any problems,’ she replied curtly. ‘In spite of never having met you, Peter considers you a trusted ally. So your personal integrity was naturally taken for granted, Mr Rose.’ Her green eyes were wide and innocent as she made the final, pointed statement.
‘Call me Nick, Vivian.’ His reaction was equal bland innocence. ‘Of course, one man’s integrity is another man’s poison. I don’t do business with cheats and liars.’
‘Very wise,’ she agreed distractedly, unnerved by his mention of poison. Was that supposed to be significant?
‘Are you patronising me, Miss Mitchell?’ he asked silkily, planting his feet back on the floor and leaning his torso threateningly towards her.
She was jolted out of her unsettling ruminations. ‘I prefer to think of it as pandering to your every annoying little whim,’ she said sweetly.
There was another small, dangerous silence. He seemed to specialise in them.
He rose, unfolding himself to his full height with sinister slowness.
‘Brave, aren’t you?’ he murmured.
The thin, menacing smile and the burning gold splinters in his eye told her it was not a compliment. ‘So… Instead of the lawyer I requested, Marvel-Mitchell Realties sends me a mere receptionist. A suspicious man might take that as an insult…’
‘But then, from your investigations you must know I’m not
Not that she ever had. Up until now she had been quite happy to be Peter’s sleeping partner—well, lightly dozing at any rate. She enjoyed her work and hadn’t looked on the investment of her unexpected inheritance in Peter’s firm as an excuse to throw her weight around the office, but rather as an investment in their shared future…
Brooding on that sadly faded dream, she didn’t notice him moving until a large hand was suddenly in front of her face. For an awful moment she thought his repressed hostility had finally erupted, but instead of the impact of his palm against her cheek, she felt him pull off her spectacles so that his image immediately dissolved into an indistinct blur.
‘Oh, please…’ She snatched vaguely, but he was too quick for her.
‘Salt build-up from all that sea-spray on the boat trip,’ he said blandly, retreating out of her reach. She squinted to see him produce a white square from his pocket and carefully rub the lenses with it. ‘They need a good clean.’