Bittersweet Yesterdays. Kate Proctor
In her hurt confusion she had been unable to utter a single word. The fury that had erupted in him as he had taken her silence as total confirmation of her guilt had spawned a brainstorm of furious indignation in her which had eventually resulted in her screaming at him that she would make sure the place burned to a cinder if she had to remain there. Her immediate expulsion had removed any likelihood of her actually carrying out that mindless threat—but what had hurt her even more deeply was that her own mother, loving and concerned though she had been, had never once appeared to question her guilt either.
‘My father should have put his foot down then and made sure you stayed with them in the States until you were fit to be let loose on the world,’ continued Mark ruthlessly. ‘But no—once you turned sixteen you got your own way and returned to England to—’
‘Only because the American education system is so different,’ interrupted Lucy with hot indignation. ‘There was no way I could suddenly fit in there.’
‘Yet you didn’t have much success fitting in here either,’ he pointed out unkindly. ‘How many different courses was it you started on, only to drop out of?’
‘And I’m sure you don’t consider you played any part in that, do you?’ she lashed out at him with all the passionate resentment of her teenage years. ‘I was doing well and really enjoying the art foundation course at Kingston—’
‘Yes—so much that you dropped out of it after barely a year,’ he jeered.
‘And you know perfectly well why!’ she accused hotly. ‘Because of those two harpies you farmed me out with! They made my life an absolute misery. If I wasn’t back at their place by eight, they used to call the police. I must have been the only art student in the entire country who had to be home by eight—weekends included!’
‘Lucy, I simply haven’t the time to sit here being subjected to a blow-by-blow account of your delinquent youth,’ he drawled in tones of bored disdain, sliding back the cuff of his shirt to display a slim gold watch at his darkly haired wrist.
He was a gloriously hairy man, she suddenly found herself thinking. Not in any way abnormally so—there were some men who looked positively ape-like, whereas Mark was... She pulled herself up abruptly, experiencing an uncomfortable churning sensation in the pit of her stomach as she remembered the precise moment she had made the discovery as to his hirsuteness or otherwise. It was one morning during the two weeks when he had had no option but to put her up at his flat and during which he had made it starkly clear she was the most unwelcome of guests. Having believed him to be out, she had gone racing into his bedroom to investigate the alarming sounds emanating from it...on reflection, she realised the girl sharing his bed had probably felt every bit as disconcerted as she had. She glared across the desk at Mark, his unconcerned laughter as he had ordered her from the room all those years ago once again ringing in her ears.
‘You were the one who brought up the subject,’ she informed him, her tone suddenly switching to ominous sweetness. ‘And while we’re on it—perhaps you’d care to cast your mind back to those two ghastly weeks I was forced to spend at your flat.’
‘You were forced?’ he queried with supercilious indignation. ‘My God, that’s rich! I reckon I deserved a medal simply for having let my father talk me into allowing you to stay there!’
‘No, if you deserved a medal for anything, it was your stamina as a stud—as far as I can remember, you had a different woman every night, and that was hardly an example to be setting for an impressionable teenager, now was it, Mark?’
‘Lucy, darling, your terminology is, to put it mildly, unfortunate,’ he murmured through clenched teeth. ‘I might have seen different women every night, but...’ He broke off with an eloquent shrug that brought the colour racing to her cheeks. ‘But I have to admit that one woman did spend the night there during your stay,’ he conceded off-handedly. ‘And I also admit that it was wrong of me to allow her to do so—just as it was wrong of me to credit you with enough intelligence not to come barging in on us. And as for your picture of yourself as an impressionable teenager—I’d be more inclined to describe as delinquent a sixteen-year-old who decides to take a joy-ride in an extremely expensive car—especially one who wrecks it before she’s even managed to get it out of the garage.’
Lucy leapt to her feet, beside herself with fury. Yes, she had almost wrecked his precious car—but that was only half the story. And, as always, he hadn’t even attempted to find out the other half!
‘I take it you’re now off to get your things and move them into your new office,’ he murmured tauntingly, having beaten her to the door, which he now nonchalantly barred.
There was consternation as well as defiance in Lucy’s wide-spaced blue eyes as they rose to those of the man towering over her. As always, when she stood this close to him, she felt as though her five and a half feet of height had shrunk to four. And that wasn’t the only effect he had on her. The amount of male attention she received was more than enough to confirm that she was an attractive woman; all too often the slender curvaceousness of her lithe young body and the wholesome loveliness of her features brought her attention she could well do without, yet at this very moment she felt like a frumpy fifteen-year-old.
Rattled by these confidence-sapping sensations flooding her, she made to flick her cornsilk, shoulder-length hair behind her ears—a gesture she resorted to without even being aware of it whenever she felt nervous or threatened—only to find that today was one of those days she had decided to tie it back.
‘Yes—I’ll move my things into that office, but only because I haven’t any choice!’ she flung at him, furious with herself for the way she was feeling. ‘But I warn you, I’m sure there’s a law against what you’re doing to me—and when I find out what it is, I’ll...I’ll sue you through every court there is!’
‘You plan to sue me for plucking you from what amounts to a typing pool and making you my secretary?’ he murmured in wonderment, the laughter colouring his words incensing her.
‘You know perfectly well what I mean!’ she raged. ‘Every time I’ve tried applying for other jobs, you’ve made sure I didn’t get them—I don’t know how, probably through some business mafia you belong to, but I know you have!’
‘I suppose it would never occur to you that other potential employers found you lacking in some way?’ he taunted.
‘If that’s the case, why do you want me as your secretary?’ she demanded triumphantly.
‘I have my reasons,’ he murmured enigmatically. ‘Now, would you mind—?’
‘Silly me—of course you have!’ exclaimed Lucy, her eyes widening in indignation as a thought suddenly struck her. ‘You’ve been here how long—four months? And you’ve been through secretaries like a dose of salts! Dear me, now I really am getting the picture! Let’s see, two Waterford offices in the States, four on the Continent—and possibly sundry others dotted around the world I’ve never even heard of—and you’ve alley-catted your way through all of them!’ She could tell by the thunderous expression on his face that she should stop, but the words kept coming. ‘And now you’ve hit London—and at last it’s dawned on you that business and the sort of pleasure you revel in simply don’t mix. No wonder you’re prepared to put up with me as a secretary—it probably wouldn’t even bother you if I couldn’t type.’
It astounded her how quickly he had moved. One minute they were facing one another in combat, the next she was locked in his arms, the muscled hardness of his body imprinting itself down the length of hers as though the clothing had been stripped from her.
‘But what if you’ve got it all wrong, Lucy?’ he murmured with threatening softness. ‘What if I’ve decided to move in on you...and really finish off your education?’
She had never been this close to him; never experienced the mind-sapping chaos of excitement of being in his arms.
‘I...you...I’ve already been thoroughly educated in