No Holding Back. Kate Walker
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Table of Contents
“Niall, what part of ‘no‘ did you not understand?”
The coolness of Saffron’s tone got through to him, and she saw a dark scowl cross his face.
“The word ‘no’ I understand perfectly,” he declared harshly. “What I can’t get my head around is why you’re using it when you don’t really mean it.”
Then, as she gasped in shock and fury at the arrogance of his words, he shrugged his broad shoulders dismissively and shook his dark head.
“But you did, and so I’ll just have to accept that you obviously don’t know your own mind as well as I do mine. All right, Saffron—I can wait.”
KATE WALKER
was born in Nottinghamshire, England, but because she grew up in Yorkshire she has always felt that her roots were there. She met her husband at university and she originally worked as a children’s librarian, but after the birth of her son she returned to her old childhood love of writing. When she’s not working, she divides her time between her family, their three cats and her interests of embroidery, antiques, film and theater, and, of course, reading.
No Holding Back
Kate Walker
SAFFRON pushed open the office door and sighed with relief when she saw that the room beyond was empty. Having come this far, she didn’t want to be put off by the sight of Owen’s elegant secretary, and she didn’t know what explanation she could have given that would have persuaded Stella not to buzz through to her employer to let him know that she was there. Everything would be spoiled if he had any warning of her presence.
And she didn’t want to risk the possibility that she might lose the impetus that had driven her so far, the wonderful, liberating rush of anger that had pushed away any thought of doubt or hesitation. She had nurtured that feeling ever since last night, since the moment it had become obvious that Owen was not going to turn up. Then, her mood had been so bad that simply recalling it now brought a red haze of fury up before her eyes, pushing her into action as, without bothering to knock, she flung open the door and marched into the office beyond.
‘You’ll know why I’m here!’
The man seated at the desk had his dark head bent, his attention directed at some notes that he was making on a pad in front of him, but Saffron barely spared him a glance. She wouldn’t have been able to see him too clearly anyway, that mist of anger blurring her vision so that he was just a dark, indecipherable shape. Her fingers shaking with the intensity of her feelings, she tugged at the buttons on her coat, vaguely aware of the fact that, surprised by her appearance, he had glanced up sharply.
‘You promised me a special night out——’
Her voice wasn’t pitched the way she had wanted it to be, pent up emotions making it too high and tight.
‘“Aspecial night for a special girl”, you said! I waited for you for over three hours——’
That was better. Now she sounded more confident, stronger altogether, the sort of woman people would take notice of.
‘But you couldn’t even be bothered to phone—to explain. Well, that’s your hard luck!’
She certainly had his attention now. His stillness, the way he sat upright, his hand still gripping the pen, told her that. But she couldn’t look him straight in the face or she would lose her nerve. The last button on her coat came undone and she drew a deep, gasping breath.
‘I just thought I’d let you know that this is what you turned down——’
As she spoke, she flung open the trenchcoat, revealing the skimpy scarlet silk basque, laced up the front in black, the matching provocatively small panties and the delicate, lacy web of a suspender belt that supported the sheerest of stockings on her long, slender legs which tapered down to bright scarlet leather sandals, their spiky heels giving her five feet eight a further impressive three inches.
In the stunned silence that followed her dramatic gesture, Saffron finally found that her eyes would focus at last, and she turned a half defiant, half teasing look on the man at the desk. Only to recoil in shocked horror as her eyes met the contemptuous, coolly assessing stare of a pair of light grey eyes—eyes that in their silvery paleness bore no resemblance to the bright blue gaze she had expected to see.
This wasn’t Owen! She had never even seen this man before in her life!
Frozen into panic-stricken immobility, Saffron could only watch, transfixed, her own brown eyes wide and shocked, as that narrow-eyed gaze slid slowly, deliberately downwards from her hotly burning cheeks. They lingered appreciatively on the amount of creamy flesh, the soft curves of her breasts exposed and enhanced by the ridiculous slivers of material, and on her dark hair, falling in wanton disarray around the pale skin of her shoulders.
‘Very nice,’ he said at last, his voice a smooth drawl, making Saffron think wildly of rich, dark honey oozing slowly over