Taken By The Maverick Millionaire. Anna Cleary
‘Now, how could he possibly get an idea like that?’
Olivia must have felt the sudden scary escalation in the tension, because she attempted to lighten it with a husky laugh. ‘Well, it’s not so outrageous, is it? We’re both attractive people, both high achievers, our backgrounds are similar, we have things in common… Everyone knows how perfect you and Sandra were together. But you’ve been without a wife a long time, Tom. Sooner or later…’ The unmistakable purr in her voice made Cate squirm with discomfort. Was Olivia testing the water in hopes of seducing Tom Russell? Marrying him?
‘My wife is dead.’ The rebuke hung on the air, as stinging as a face slap.
Cate caught her breath in the charged little silence that followed. Tom Russell’s feelings for his wife must still be very raw. Still, she felt a wave of sympathy for Olivia. If he’d spoken like that to her she’d have cringed.
But the glamorous redhead was made of tougher stuff, because she managed a careless laugh. What a remarkable woman, Cate marvelled. To possess such self-control. How fabulous to be able to maintain her poise after such a forbidding rejection.
‘Well, there’s no need to look so stern, Thomas. I’m only reporting what Malcolm has dreamed up in his fevered brain. And because he believes it, he’s looking for ways to hurt us by holding up the divorce.’ She added, her voice as soft, distinct, and every bit as steely as Tom Russell’s, ‘And until my divorce goes through, darling, there will be no merger. And you and I will both lose a lot of money.’
‘Then you must advise him of the truth very quickly, Livvie.’ The icy chill permeated the store-room door with bluetooth penetration.
‘He’s not likely to believe what I tell him, is he? Look, the answer’s simple enough. All you need to do is to show him you have another woman.’
Tom Russell gave an incredulous laugh. ‘What other woman?’
‘Now, now, Tom.’ Sly amusement stole into the low voice. ‘Don’t try to tell me you can’t come up with a woman—like that.’
Tom Russell surveyed her grimly. ‘I think you’ve been reading your own tabloids, Olivia. Forget it.’
‘For goodness’ sake, can’t you follow in your old dad’s footsteps for a week or two and find some nubile little actress to flash around the town? It’s only for a few weeks.’
‘I’m not my old dad,’ Tom Russell said, his voice ominously soft.
There was a small, tense silence, then Olivia West snapped,
‘Think about it.’ She crossed into Cate’s view, stepping up to Tom and boldly placing her hands on his shoulders. In her chic black dress, her curvaceous figure looked formidably seductive. ‘We both have a lot to lose, don’t we, darling? How much do you want your merger?’
With implacable calm Tom Russell detached her and pushed her away. ‘Not enough to deceive some woman. For God’s sake, I’m a businessman, not some tabloid Don Juan.’
‘That’s not what I mean,’ Olivia exploded hoarsely, swinging away from him. ‘Hire a woman. You only need to let Malcolm see you with her a couple of times. Once I get my divorce, you’ll have your merger. And I’m not deceiving Malcolm. For your information it was he who—’ Her voice grew strident with emotion. ‘Look, in a few minutes time this church will be packed with people, and a good number of them will be actresses who work for your television network. Some of them, I’m willing to bet, have already been employed in more ways than one by your old dad. Pick one of them. Offer her money.’
Cate nearly gasped out loud at the audacity of the woman. How would Tom Russell take such a crack about his father? She strained to hear, but the abrupt click of a door closing suggested that Olivia had delivered her parting shot, and stalked off.
Cate sagged with relief. Thank heavens. Now Tom would follow, and she could creep from her hiding place and hightail it back to Mike.
There was the sound of a chair scraping, and the room fell quiet. She moved to the opening in the door to check that the coast was clear, and came up short. To her intense annoyance Tom Russell was still there at the table, frowning over some papers.
Damn the man. She fretted with impatience. People would have started to arrive by now and she’d be missing her chances. She exhaled a frustrated breath, then took a harder look at him. In his unconsciousness of being under scrutiny, the lines in the tanned skin around his eyes and mouth suddenly seemed more deeply etched, as though from tiredness or strain. She felt a stir of sympathy. Perhaps even a Tom Russell could spend sleepless nights grieving. The loss of a parent was no small thing, as she could testify.
She sighed, and, bracing for a wait, closed her eyes and leaned back against the sink.
A shrill jangling broke out at her feet and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
It was her mobile phone.
She stood paralysed for helpless seconds while the ghastly tune went on. Then adrenaline rushed to her rescue and she was overcome by a false, fatalistic calm. She plunged her nerveless hand into her bag, brought the phone up and held it to her ear.
‘All right, Mike,’ she said. Her soft voice crashed into the charged silence. ‘I won’t be long.’
She did the only thing possible. She put the phone away, and, her limbs stiff with embarrassment, jerked the door open and walked out of the ladies’ room, straight into the big, iron-hard frame of Tom Russell.
CHAPTER TWO
TOM’S first impression was of softness. Soft breasts pressed against his chest, soft, firm thighs, a delicious feminine fragrance rising from a tender white neck.
He felt the woman gasp and try to recoil, but his hands swiftly gripped her upper arms. She trembled in his grasp, her white satin flesh alive with a sensual vibrance that instantly communicated itself to him.
His gaze clashed with large sea-green eyes, sparkling up into his in alarmed calculation. Her rosy mouth was full, ripe and passionate. Some crazed part of his brain actually considered the possibility of sinking his teeth into her plump lower lip.
Common sense told him this was no mere blonde. Ridiculous words like ‘spy’and ‘industrial espionage’jostled in his brain. Her parted lips made a tiny, anxious tremor and he felt a grim, cynical triumph.
Well might she be anxious. Stirred against his will, he demanded harshly, ‘What the bloody hell are you doing in here?’
Cate’s brain blurred into sensory overload. Steel-grey eyes, glittering with suspicion, scoured her face. She had a dizzy awareness of the faint, clean scents of soap and sandalwood, of fine, expensive fabrics brushing her skin. But underneath those outer trappings of masculine sophistication her feminine sensors picked up the heady, high-voltage buzz of pure essence of man.
For whole seconds her lungs forgot to work, until she forced some action. ‘I was just—I was—’ She took a deep breath and said in a more assertive voice, though it might have skipped into a slightly higher register, ‘Would you let me go, please?’
He tightened his grip for an instant, as if to demonstrate how completely he had her in his power, then abruptly released her. While she made an emphatic point of rubbing her arms, he whipped a wafer-thin phone from inside the jacket of his superbly tailored charcoal suit.
‘Explain yourself while I call Security,’ he commanded, flicking it open. He perused the dial, no mercy in the set of his chiselled mouth and jaw. She grappled with a million excuses, but one clash with the icy blaze of his grey eyes through their black lashes told her all of them would fail.
The vision of herself being escorted from the cathedral between beefy security men, in the glare of a thousand cameras, was unthinkable. How would she explain to Harry? She’d be the laughing stock of the newsroom.
She lifted her chin, and prepared to surrender the