War Of Love. Carole Mortimer
Buchanan looked down the long length of his autocratic nose at her. ‘In that case, you have a series of holes in the tights you are wearing, which is just as bad—’
‘What can you expect?’ Silke demanded indignantly, her cheeks burning hotly from where she had looked down and realised he was right about the holes in her tights; there were at least half a dozen in the right leg, and another two on the left. And she hated ladders or holes in her tights, usually carried a spare pair around with her when she was out; but there was nowhere in the briefness of this costume that she could have put a spare pair of tights. ‘After the way you manhandled me earlier—’
‘Really, Lyon,’ his uncle drawled drily, eyes twinkling merrily once again. ‘It’s good to realise you have more than the stuffy Buchanan blood running through your veins after all; that you found the young lady’s charms equally—’
‘Don’t be more ridiculous than you normally are, Henry,’ Lyon Buchanan cut in impatiently.
‘Exactly,’ Silke snapped, equally unimpressed with the idea of this man’s making any overt moves where she was concerned; she thought he was the most insufferable man she had ever met! ‘I realise—now—that there has been some sort of mix-up concerning the sort of bunny costume you wanted—’
‘Oh, you realise it too, do you?’ Lyon Buchanan turned to her harshly. ‘Well, I’m—for God’s sake take that ridiculous head off; I refuse to carry on a conversation with a girl wearing a bunny girl costume and a rabbit’s head with buck teeth!’
He didn’t have to point out how stupid the white fluffy rabbit head looked, with its long floppy ears, a nose that twitched when she talked, and the unrealistically long front teeth. He didn’t have to, but it was just like this man—she had quickly come to realise!—to do so!
Her face flushed with embarrassment as much as with anger, Silke reached up to release the Velcro at the back of the mask, bending her head down to peel the fluffy mask away, shaking her hair back over her shoulders as she finally looked at the three men completely as herself, Silke Jordan, her silver-blonde hair long and straight to her shoulderblades, green eyes surrounded by thick dark lashes, her nose small and straight, her mouth full and pink, her chin pointed.
The admiration she had seen on Doug Moore’s face this morning returned to his eyes, and even Lyon Buchanan was looking at her with a certain amount of male assessment now. But it was the reaction of Uncle Henry—Silke didn’t know what else to call him; there certainly hadn’t been any opportunity for introductions!—that took them all by surprise. He took one look at Silke—and instantly collapsed back in his chair, clutching the left side of his chest, dropping the stub of his cigar on the carpeted floor as he did so!
CHAPTER TWO
SILKE had had some reactions in the past to the way she looked, the largeness of emerald-green eyes and her full pouting mouth having caused emotions from mild interest to outright lechery, depending on the man’s taste in women. But she had never before known a man collapse just at the sight of her face!
The three people in the room still standing took several seconds to realise exactly what had happened, and then—predictably—Lyon Buchanan was the first to move.
‘What the hell—?’ He quickly reached his uncle’s side, his earlier disparagement of the older man completely belied by the concern now etched into his face, grim lines beside his nose and mouth as he moved to loosen his uncle’s tie and release the top button of his shirt. ‘Henry!’ he prompted determinedly. ‘Uncle Henry!’ he urged again when he received no response, reaching for his uncle’s jacket now.
‘I don’t think you should move him.’ Silke put out the cigar before going down on her haunches beside the two men.
Grey eyes were turned on her like rapiers. ‘I wasn’t going to!’ Lyon Buchanan rasped harshly. ‘I was looking for these.’ He held up a bottle of pills he had taken from the inside pocket of his uncle’s jacket. ‘Put one of these under your tongue, Henry,’ he instructed the elderly man firmly, and his uncle roused himself enough to take the pill into his mouth, the room becoming deathly still as they waited for the pill to take effect.
Pained grey eyes finally blinked open, the older man focusing on Lyon with effort. ‘I—what happened?’ his uncle said groggily as he began to straighten in the chair, his recovery rapid now.
Lyon Buchanan moved back slightly, the concern that had etched his face minutes before replaced by his usual cynicism. ‘One bunny girl too many, I believe,’ he drawled derisively, giving Silke a scathing look, his worry about his uncle’s health—and Silke wasn’t sure now whether or not she had imagined it!—completely gone.
And, in fact, his uncle did look completely recovered, the colour back in his cheeks, only the merriment in his eyes slightly dulled. His expression was apologetic as he once again looked at Silke. ‘Sorry about that, my dear. I—I was just—surprised, when I saw you.’ He gave a rueful grimace at what he now seemed to feel was an embarrassing incident.
‘You don’t usually react that way to a beautiful woman,’ Lyon Buchanan drawled mockingly, moving to sit back behind his imposing desk. ‘Perhaps age is finally catching up with you after all!’
‘Don’t you believe it, boy,’ his uncle rallied with some of his earlier spirit. ‘And don’t be too hard on this young lady either.’ He turned to give Silke a conspiratorial smile. ‘There has obviously been a genuine mistake made. And if I had realised my coming up here to congratulate you on finally moving out of the stuffy Buchanan mould by introducing a lovely bunny girl into the store would result in this young lady’s being hauled over the coals in the way that she has been, I would have kept my mouth shut.’ He reached out and clasped Silke’s hand. ‘I’m sorry, my dear, but I don’t know your name...?’
Silke ignored Lyon Buchanan’s scathing snort at his uncle’s familiarity in holding her hand in this way, although she was ridiculous standing here in her bunny girl costume, big holes in her tights, holding the hand of a man she had considered a lecherous old devil until a short time ago.
In fact he probably still was, she decided, removing her hand to place it behind her back together with the other one. ‘Silke,’ she supplied huskily. ‘Silke Jordan.’
‘Is that for real, or a stage name?’
Her eyes flashed as she looked across at Lyon Buchanan, her pointed chin raised defensively. ‘It’s for real,’ she snapped, stung by his derisive tone. ‘I don’t have a “stage name”.’
He shrugged unconcernedly. ‘I thought most of the people who worked for agencies like yours were out-of-work actors or actresses?’
And it was obvious what opinion he held of people in that profession! Really, ‘stuffy’ didn’t even begin to describe this man. He looked conservative through and through, from his short-styled hair and tailored dark suit to his plain black leather shoes. The only thing that saved him from being a complete pompous ass, in Silke’s eyes, was that he was so damned good-looking—arrogantly so, of course, but even that would hold a certain attraction for some women. Not Silke; she wasn’t interested in any man at the moment, and hadn’t been for some time. And it was obvious that Lyon Buchanan was completely unimpressed with her too, still looking at her as if she were some sort of oddity that had wandered into his ordered—stuffy!—existence. As no doubt she was. Not that she had ever thought of herself as an oddity; but to Lyon Buchanan she probably was!
And he was right about the people who worked for her mother’s agency; most of them were actors and actresses momentarily ‘resting’. Nadine had managed to get an audition this morning, which was the reason she had cried off this assignment at the last minute. The very last minute, calling in at the agency on her way to the audition to tell Silke’s mother she couldn’t be at Buchanan’s today.
And as Silke had been there talking to her mother... And as Buchanan’s was an important new account... Besides, the bunny girl outfit