That Devil Love Page 6

  After a moment she looked up and through a mist of hopeless anger and despair focused on his dark, autocratic face. ‘You helped Richard, planned all of it, just to get a hold over me one way or another.’

  Lips drawing back a little over white teeth, Zan made no attempt to deny the charge.

  ‘How can you be so vile, so unscrupulous?’

  He lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug. ‘I had hoped it would prove unnecessary to use strong-arm tactics, but as it is… I intend to have you in my bed even if I’m compelled to do it the hard way.’

  Seeing her almond eyes widen in panic, he said curtly, ‘No, I don’t mean rape, or brutality of any kind. I won’t try to force you, or hurry you. I’ll wait until you’re willing—’

  ‘I won’t ever be willing,’ she broke in raggedly.

  In no way disconcerted, he said quietly, ‘You seem very sure, but we’ll see, shall we…?’

  For one mad moment she was tempted to floor him by telling him why she was so sure. Then common sense prevailed. He had a knife at Richard’s throat and, once he knew he would never achieve his ends, he might easily use it.

  ‘In the meantime your brother will be safe so long as you do what I want you to do.’

  Taking a deep breath she asked, ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘I want you to marry me. Be my wife.’

  Feeling as though a giant fist was clenched round her heart, she choked, ‘I’d rather be dead!’

  He smiled bleakly. ‘I doubt it. In any case, your being dead would hardly help Richard.’

  It was the truth.

  Her face half averted, her mouth desert dry, she swallowed convulsively, ‘If I agreed, you wouldn’t expect me to sleep with you?’

  ‘I’m not asking for a full commitment at this stage, Annis, just a proper chance to get to know one another. I won’t exert any undue pressure so long as you fulfil certain conditions.’

  ‘What are the “conditions”?’

  Calmly, he said, ‘That there will be no other man in your life, and that apart from actually sleeping with me this marriage will, to all intents and purposes, be a real one.’

  The first stipulation would be easy, the second wouldn’t bear thinking about. ‘For how long?’

  He looked at her pure profile, the clean jawline, the small, neat nose, the thick fan of lashes, and appeared to consider. ‘Shall we say a year?’

  ‘A year!’ Her head snapped round. ‘You want to keep me a prisoner for a year!’

  ‘There’s really no call to be so melodramatic.’ His voice was caustic.

  Distraught, catching at straws, she cried, ‘What about my business?’

  ‘Miss Collingford appears to be running Help quite satisfactorily.’

  ‘But I must have something to do…’

  ‘If you want to go on working, you can work for me.’

  ‘And there’s my flat…’

  After a moment, he said, ‘Keep it on if you wish.’

  Then with a glance at his watch, he rose to his feet, graceful as any big cat. ‘Now I’ve some business to attend to that will take the rest of the afternoon. While I’m gone I suggest you think things over. If you decide to accept my terms, I’ll expect to find you’ve moved your belongings in here and are waiting for me when I get back.’ Casually, he added, ‘Don’t forget to bring your passport.’

  Despite the if, he was quite obviously sure of her, confident she’d do as he wanted.

  Slipping on his jacket, he fished in the pocket and dropped a black ornate key into her lap. ‘I should be home about seven.’

  He left without kissing her.

  She told herself how pleased and relieved she was. Yet somehow the deliberate omission unsettled her and added to her consternation.

  Think things over, he’d said, but what would thinking achieve? She could thrash about until she was exhausted but, like a cat tied in a sack, there was no escape, as well he knew.

  If she refused to marry him, Zan was ruthless enough to bring all Linda’s and Richard’s new-found security tumbling around their ears, and she couldn’t, wouldn’t let that happen.

  Yet his conditions were unacceptable.

  To be in close proximity for a year to a man she loathed… To live in his house, be under constant threat and pressure…

  But he could have demanded her immediate surrender.

  It was a sobering thought.

  As it was he’d been astute enough to offer terms which, though repugnant, seemed to hold out a fighting chance of her emerging relatively unharmed.

  A sophisticated, experienced man, he must have been aware of the reluctant fascination she’d felt from the start. Clearly he was banking on that fascination growing and eventually luring her into his arms.

  What he didn’t know, so couldn’t possibly have taken into account, was that she had such cause to hate him.

  If she agreed to his conditions…

  If? Her thoughts having come full circle, she admitted there was no if about it. They both knew she had no option and that was why, instead of crowding her, Zan had walked away, ostensibly leaving her free to make her own decision.

  Becoming aware that the sharp metal edges of the key she’d automatically picked up were cutting painfully into her palm, she reached for her bag and dropped it in, before jumping to her feet with sudden determination.

  At the same instant she heard a horn tooting insistently outside.

  At the top of the drive a taxi was waiting.

  She should have been expecting it. Zan thought of everything.

  Rolling down his window, the driver asked, ‘Where to, lady?’

  Annis gave him her address and climbed in.

  When they drew to a halt outside Fairfield Court, displaying a recklessness quite foreign to her nature, she asked the driver to wait.

  She had relatively few clothes and personal possessions. Within twenty minutes everything she needed to take was packed, the bed had been stripped, the fridge cleared, and the few remaining provisions popped into a carton to give to her neighbour along with the laundry bag.

  Pulling on her mac, she closed the door behind her with a strange feeling of finality.

  When Mrs Neilson answered her knock, deciding to make her explanation as brief and unrevealing as possible, Annis said, ‘I’m forced to be away for a while… It’s very short notice, I know, but will you have a key and keep an eye on the place for me? Oh, and if any mail comes can you send it on to my office?’

  ‘Of course I will, my dear. I’ll be happy to pop round and do whatever’s necessary.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Annis said gratefully. ‘I’ll stay in touch.’

  ‘Don’t be gone too long,’ Mrs Neilson called. ‘I’ll miss you.’

  Annis felt her eyes fill with tears. She hadn’t thought anyone would like her enough to miss her.

  After tragedy had struck, feeling to blame for having been unable to avert it, and sickened by all the avid curiosity and what she’d seen as spurious sympathy, she’d withdrawn into her shell.

  Deliberately isolating herself, she’d avoided friends and acquaintances and eschewed contact with anyone, except on a superficial level.

  Having tossed her suitcases into the boot, a look of speculation on his seamy face, the taxi driver asked, ‘Back to Park Lane?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ she said coolly, and settled into her seat.

  When they arrived at their destination and she reached for her bag to pay him, he shook his grizzled head. ‘Mr Power’s already taken care of it.’

  And with his usual generosity, no doubt, Annis reflected wryly, as she thanked the man for carrying in her cases, and closed the door behind him.

  Having hung her mac on the hall-stand, she left her luggage where it was and braced herself to look around.

  One quick glance was enough to tell her that the housekeeper’s quarters, which she didn’t venture into, ran along the foot of the L.

  Bearing in mind that the house belonged to a wealt
hy bachelor, she half expected to find it displayed the impersonal expertise of some expensive interior designer. But its panelled sitting-room, dining-room and study were simply furnished with what she guessed were individually chosen pieces. A miscellany which somehow came together to form a charming and harmonious whole.

  Ascending the handsome staircase, she found there were five bedrooms, each with an en-suite bathroom.

  The one which ran along the front of the house was obviously Zan’s. Standing just inside the door, feeling like an intruder, she looked around her.

  If she had subconsciously anticipated silken sheets and mirrored ceilings, the retreat of a sensualist, she couldn’t have been more wrong.

  The furniture was dark oak, and with plain white walls and ivory paintwork, an indigo carpet and matching curtains, the room was almost austere in its cool, elegant simplicity.

  It struck her that it was a strange choice for a boy from the heat and confusion, the colourful earthiness of the slums of Piraeus.

  Then she saw the picture opposite the bed. It was a portrait in oils of a Spanish dancer, vivid and sensuous, wearing a dress like flame.

  The contrast was startling. Fire and ice.

  Still feeling the after-effects of her bout of flu, she lugged her cases up the stairs one at a time and put them in the guest room furthest away from the master bedroom.

  When she’d finished unpacking she made her way down to the cosy kitchen and, her nerves already starting to tighten at the thought of Zan’s return, began to prepare an evening meal. By the time it was done a misty dusk had crept up to press against the window panes like damp grey fur, and the room was growing shadowy.

  In a little over an hour he would be home.

  She touched the main light switch and just for a split-second the kitchen was lit up. Then there was a sharp crack as the bulb blew and plunged it back into gloom.

  Strip-lighting had been fitted above the various work-surfaces, and there were several lamps scattered about, but, finding the dim light oddly soothing, she refrained from putting any of them on.

  Curled up in one of the deep armchairs, she watched the leaping flames, and waited for him to come home like someone awaiting the hangman.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A SLIGHT sound disturbed Annis, and she opened heavy eyes to find in the semi-darkness a tall figure looking down at her.

  Zan was standing absolutely still, as though transfixed.

  One of the logs settled and flared, sending up a shower of bright sparks. As the red glow briefly illuminated his face she saw that he was staring at her with a passionate intensity.

  He looked like a man who, on the steps of the guillotine, had suddenly, miraculously been reprieved.

  His expression, and the realisation of what it meant, made her catch her breath.

  Coming home to a dark and apparently empty house had shaken him badly, made him think she’d refused his terms—until he’d walked into the kitchen and discovered her there.

  A shiver ran through her. One thing was frighteningly clear. Having her here was not just a passionate whim. It mattered to him.

  That knowledge—the thought came sharp and clear as a laser beam—might give her a weapon to turn against him, a means of revenge.

  But until she’d had a chance to think how best to use her accidental discovery of how strong his feelings were, she ought to play it cool. Make no reference to coercion, simply act as though she was a guest in his house.

  If a reluctant one.

  ‘Quite a good trick to play.’ His voice was the slightest fraction uneven. ‘You did it with malice aforethought, I presume?’

  ‘Did what?’

  ‘You know perfectly well what I mean.’

  After a moment, she admitted, ‘Yes, I do… And no, I didn’t.’

  ‘Then why were you sitting so quietly in the dark?’

  ‘The bulb blew when I put the light on… I sat down to watch the fire, and I must have fallen asleep… What time is it?’

  ‘Nearly seven o’clock.’

  As he reached to switch on the nearest lamp, she struggled to her feet. ‘I hope the casserole hasn’t dried up.’

  Discarding his jacket, he said curtly, ‘I don’t expect you to do the housekeeper’s work.’

  ‘I wasn’t planning to,’ she said mildly.

  While he replaced the bulb, she warmed plates and took the food out of the oven.

  For a while they ate in silence, then suddenly, surprising her, he said, ‘I’m sorry. I’m not usually bad-tempered.’

  What surprised her even more was that she believed him. Hard, relentless, tyrannical, ruthless…the adjectives she could apply to him were many, but ill-tempered wasn’t one of them.

  After a moment, when she said nothing, he admitted wryly, ‘I hardly expected you to believe me.’

  ‘But I do. You haven’t the look of a bad-tempered man.’

  His firm mouth twisted into a mocking smile. ‘Do you know that’s the first time you’ve ever said anything nice to me?’

  ‘It may well be the last.’

  ‘Pity. I was hoping we could live together in amity if not perfect harmony.’

  ‘It seems unlikely, given the circumstances.’ Remembering her earlier decision to play it cool, she regretted the pointed words as soon as they were spoken, and was pleased when he elected to ignore them.

  The meal over, Zan waited courteously until Annis rose, then followed her to the fireside. Before she knew what he was about, he had lifted her left hand and slipped a magnificent diamond solitaire on to her third finger.

  It was an excellent fit.

  When she would have taken it off, he stopped her by the simple expedient of holding both her hands. ‘You might as well keep it on.’

  Trying to pull free, she cried, ‘No, I don’t want a ring. I won’t wear it.’

  Softly, adamantly, he overruled her. ‘You’ll wear it to please me, and to add veracity to our engagement.’

  Taking her face between his palms, he studied the helpless rage in her eyes with a gleam in his own. ‘I think a kiss to seal our bargain?’ The dark, decisive voice was gently mocking.

  When his mouth covered hers it was anything but gentle. His kiss, made up of fire and honey, of passion and dangerous excitement, left her shaking in his arms.

  Opening dazed eyes, she stared up at him. He was smiling a little. Everything about him was hard and handsome, the strong nose and slanting cheekbones, the chiselled mouth and white teeth, the cleft in his firm chin. It was the face of a hunter, watchful and predatory.

  ‘I hate you!’ she whispered.

  ‘Because I kissed you?’

  ‘I didn’t want you to.’

  ‘Didn’t you?’ He looked vital and taunting. ‘Are you quite sure?’

  She had to be sure. It would be a tragedy to want him. Yet his magnetism was so powerful that it drew her in spite of all her hatred.

  Bending his head, he kissed her again with a pagan sensuality, making the blood race frantically through her veins.

  His tongue, balked by the barrier of her pearly teeth, stroked across the softness of her inner lip, bringing an anguished protest. ‘Don’t.’ She was desperate to move away from him, but her limbs had lost their power.

  He stared down at her with gleaming eyes, his breathing a shade quick and erratic.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ she managed hoarsely, and from somewhere found sufficient strength to struggle. ‘I don’t want you to touch me.’

  After a moment he sighed and, letting her go, said wryly, ‘Then this might be a good time to visit Helen and Matt.’

  Feeling drained, shattered, she was in no mood for visiting, but anything was better than being here alone with him, Annis thought shakily as she preceded him across the hall.

  In a relatively short time they were drawing up outside the porticoed entrance of number fifteen Elwood Place.

  Helen herself answered the door, and exclaimed, ‘How nice to see you both. Come on in.’r />
  As they followed her into a pleasant living-room, a man with smooth dark hair looked up and, seeing Annis, rose courteously to his feet.

  He was tall and slimly built, a strikingly good-looking man, with fine, almost delicate features, and deep-set hazel eyes. If there was a touch of carnality to his mouth, a hint of self-indulgence in that handsome face, it only seemed to add to his attraction.

  She recalled Stephen denying that Zan had a reputation as a Don Juan and adding, ‘Matt Gilvary does, or rather did, before he became Mr Power’s brother-in-law’… Yes, she could believe it, she thought now.

  ‘Annis, this is my husband, Matt,’ Helen said proudly.

  ‘How do you do?’ Annis smiled politely, and, meeting Matt Gilvary’s eyes, found a warm, masculine appreciation in his glance.

  ‘Do sit down,’ Helen invited.

  Zan shook his head. ‘This is only a flying visit. We just came to tell you our news.’ Putting a proprietorial arm round Annis’s waist, he lifted her left hand and displayed the ring. ‘Annis has agreed to marry me.’

  A moment later Helen was hugging and kissing them both, crying, ‘How marvellous! I’m so pleased.’

  ‘Congratulations!’ Matt clapped Zan on the shoulder.

  The same general description of tall, dark, and handsome would have fitted them both, but as they stood together, Annis saw that the difference between them was striking. Zan, though equally lean, was better muscled and tougher-looking, with a more mature width of shoulder, and on power and attraction and pure animal magnetism he won hands down.

  Matt, despite being as tall, and easily the better-looking of the two, seemed to fade into relative insignificance beside the other man.

  When the pair had shaken hands, Matt asked, ‘May I kiss my future sister-in-law?’

  ‘So long as you don’t turn her head,’ Zan answered.

  Grinning, Matt observed, ‘She doesn’t look like a woman whose head is easily turned. And in any case my wife is watching.’

  Approaching Annis, who was standing like someone in a dream, he kissed her lightly on both cheeks. ‘Welcome to the family. I hope you’ll be able to keep him in order and—’