Desire For Revenge. PENNY JORDAN

       CHAPTER ONE

      ‘LOOK David, I think this has gone far enough I…’

      ‘I want you Sarah, and I always get what I want, especially when what I want happens to be a green-eyed witch with red hair and a body just made for love, even though something tells me that that body has never actually experienced the total reality of a man’s love.’

      She felt trapped; half mesmerised by the deliberately soft monotone of his voice, and not even the fact that they were in her office, within easy screaming distance of her fellow employees, had the power to make her feel fully safe. And besides, what sort of executive would she be if she let one mere man sexually intimidate her to the extent where she was panicked into reacting like a naïve teenager?

      Gathering herself together, Sarah took a deep breath and then said as calmly as she could, ‘David we’ve been through all this before. You might be a valuable asset to the company, but I am not prepared to go to bed with you just so that you will continue to use Leichner & Holland as your publishers. And I’m sure that Steven would back me up in this.’

      Steven Holland was the owner of Leichner & Holland and it was he who had been responsible for promoting Sarah a year ago from being assistant editor to the status of fiction editor, with a special responsibility for the new avenue of fiction aimed at women, which they were pursuing. Sarah did not delude herself as to her abilities; she had been promoted as a result of something which had really been little more than a lucky fluke. She had been idly reading through a manuscript which James Richards, the chief fiction editor, had thrown on one side and had immediately been struck by the emotive way in which the story had been written. The name of the writer had been unknown to her, but she still found the novel powerfully compelling. She had been reading it one lunch hour over her coffee and sandwich when Steven had passed her on the way to his office. He had questioned her about what she was reading, and after being amused by her enthusiasm had said that since she was so enthusiastic about the work he might as well read it for himself.

      Slightly to Sarah’s surprise he had been as enthusiastic as she was herself, and the result was that she was now officially Fiction Editor (Female) for Leichner & Holland.

      Of course her promotion had not been without problems. For one thing James Richards had objected strenuously to it, and Sarah had heard only the other day that he had actually now given in his notice. There had been a lot of talk about who might replace him, but as yet nothing official.

      ‘I mean it Sarah…I want you and I mean to have you…’

      ‘But not here I trust, David…’ she managed to quip acidly. His remark about her virginity rankled and worse, made her feel acutely vulnerable. Sarah was no fool. She recognised very strongly in David Randal a very basic masculine drive to possess and subjugate the female sex. The fact that, as he had so correctly guessed, she was still a virgin made him all the more keen in his pursuit of her.

      She watched him get up and leave her office, gnawing anxiously on her bottom lip. How he felt about the female sex came across very clearly to her in his books. Sarah did not like them at all. He wrote under a female pseudonym, and that in her opinion, was the only reason he managed to get away with some passages that were in effect little more than a lascivious description of female degradation. She had already expressed her doubts to Steven about David’s latest manuscript, but it was an undeniable fact that the long historical novels he wrote, sold well. At the last group meeting of the editors responsible for the various types of books the firm published, James Richards had bitterly opposed her suggestion that they ceased publishing David’s work. He had even accused her of wanting to cut David from their lists because she disliked him personally as a man, which had been a very difficult accusation to refute without revealing the truth.

      Sarah had few illusions about either her own ability or the security of her position. If she once admitted that she could not handle sexual harassment from an author she could well soon find herself demoted. It was ridiculous that at the grand old age of twenty-five she should find herself in this position, but trying to make it plain to David Randal that she did not find him in the least attractive was like trying to build a snowman in the Sahara desert—a complete waste of time and effort.

      She even suspected that he found her dislike of him a challenge. It was her virginity that attracted him the most, Sarah thought wryly, as she sat back in her chair. Without that she would simply be another passably attractive woman. How had he guessed? Perhaps it had something to do with the way she always recoiled from him whenever he came anywhere near her… She had disliked him even when she had had little to do with him, but now… She had heard it said that an experienced man could always tell when a woman was unawakened. Until now she had never really believed it.

      She picked up her pen and toyed absently with it. The simplest answer would be for her to leave and find another job…but where would she find one as congenial as this? And one that paid as much. With her promotion had come a very useful pay rise… And very timely it had been, too, with Gran suddenly too feeble to look after herself, and Jane worrying herself sick about how she was going to cope with triplets under five, a husband, a rambling, half-modernised country vicarage, an assortment of pets, and Gran as well. Especially when the doctor had told them that because of the delusions she sometimes experienced, Gran needed to be watched for most of the time.

      The extra money she was earning, plus the sale of Gran’s small house, plus what Jane’s husband, Ralph, could provide had meant that they were able to pay for Gran to stay in a really good residential home close enough to the Gloucestershire village where Jane and her family lived, for Jane to be able to visit once a week, and for Gran to join in all the family events. If she had to go back to working merely as a secretary—even in a really good job—she would not be able to make her contribution any more.

      Tears blurred her eyes for a moment and she brushed them away impatiently. She so desperately wanted to do all she could to