And that was ridiculous. The incident had occurred almost a month ago, and she hadn’t seen him since.
Why, then, was she remembering it? Without warning, there’d be the image of him, standing close to her. She’d see the tall, leanly muscled body, the eyes that had danced with sexual appraisal when he’d tried to pick her up and had later damned her with sexual contempt. Edward Archer had given her a look that had clearly said, If I wanted you, I could have you, I could subdue you and make you cry your need for me into the darkness...
Her body flooded with the heat of humiliation, and Olivia leaned her forehead against the cool window-pane.
Years ago, she’d stepped off a kerb on a rainy night into the path of a sports car just as the light went green. She’d heard the angry roar of the engine as it revved—and then, almost too late, the driver had seen her and hadn’t released the clutch pedal. But that frightening sense of something powerful, something held under taut control just waiting to be unleashed, had left a lasting impact.
Confronting Edward Archer had been like that. Despite the elegant cut of his suit and the scent of expensive cologne, there’d been an animal edge to him. Instinct warned her he’d been holding himself in tight control. It was as if she’d glimpsed the expert assassin that lurked just beneath the civilised exterior of any well-groomed house cat. It had been in the feel of his hand clamping down on her arm, in the hint of dark stubble barely visible on skin tautly drawn over the hard bones in his face.
She caught her breath. What would it feel like, that shadowy stubble, moving lightly against a woman’s tender flesh? Rough, slightly abrasive, as his mouth traced a path down her throat, across her shoulders, across her breasts...
‘Olivia?’ The sketch-pad fell from her hands as she spun around. Dulcie stood in the open doorway, her fair hair a bright nimbus around her freckled face. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’
Olivia swallowed. ‘That’s OK. I was—I—I was trying to come up with a design for those draperies we’ve been...’ Her voice faded as she bent and picked up the pad. ‘And getting nowhere,’ she said briskly. ‘Is it my turn to be salesgirl?’
‘No, I’m still the lucky one.’ Dulcie’s brows rose. ‘Actually, someone’s asking for you.’
‘A customer?’ Olivia said. All thoughts of Edward Archer faded away at the prospect. Each new order was still something of an event.
‘No. I don’t think so.’
‘Ah, well.’ Olivia sighed dramatically. ‘I wonder what permit I’m missing this time, although heaven only knows what could possibly be left. Department of Health, Department of Taxation, Department of Labour...what more could any man want of me?’
‘A great deal—unless he were a damned fool.’
Olivia’s heartbeat stuttered. ‘Olivia?’ Dulcie said, but Olivia was already twisting towards the sound of that softly insinuating voice.
Edward Archer stood lounging in the studio’s open doorway, his navy suit jacket open over a cream shirt and dark silk tie, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his trousers so that the fabric drew tautly across his thighs. He smiled when he saw Olivia’s eyes widen in shock, his mouth tilting up at one corner to give an even more suggestive twist to his words.
Olivia didn’t hesitate. ‘How dare you come here?’
His smile became a lazy grin. ‘That’s a hell of a way to greet a client.’ His gaze swept over her with slow insolence, moving down the beige linen suit she’d designed herself to the Charles Jourdan pumps picked up on sale last spring, returning at last to her face. ‘Or has old Charlie supplied you with all the “clients” a girl could possibly handle?’
Olivia’s face coloured. He was doing it again, here on her own territory.
‘I wouldn’t count on old Charlie for very much, Olivia.’ He stepped away from the door-frame, moved into the room, and strolled the length of it, pausing every few feet to glance at the sketches tacked on the walls. ‘Actually,’ he said after a moment, his voice very soft, almost silken, ‘I wouldn’t count on old Charlie at all, if I were you.’
Damn the man! Olivia gave herself a mental shake, then drew herself up. ‘You’re not welcome here, Mr Archer,’ she said in a cold voice.
It was as if she hadn’t spoken. He didn’t even glance at her. Instead, he paused at the windows that looked down on the town house’s tiny garden.
‘Nice. Very nice.’ He swung towards her and gave her a smile that was all even white teeth. ‘Who’d have thought such a transparent ploy would work, Olivia? Telling old Charlie you couldn’t accept whatever he was offering that day, convincing him you didn’t want his money—’
‘Get out!’ She took a step forward. ‘Do you hear me, Mr Archer? You get out of my office this minute!’
‘I guess he upped the ante, hmm?’ Archer leaned back against the window ledge and folded his arms across his chest. ‘Hell, Charlie always was an old fool for...’ His eyes moved over her again, very slowly and very deliberately, and she had to fight against the terrible desire to cover herself with her hands. ‘Although this time I can almost understand why.’
Dulcie cleared her throat. ‘Olivia? Shall I—shall I do something?’ She looked from Edward Archer to her employer. ‘I mean, do you want me to—to call somebody, or—or...?’
‘You can show this—this “gentleman” out, Dulcie.’
Archer’s smile faded. ‘I’m not leaving.’
Dulcie shifted closer to Olivia. ‘What do you want me to do?’ she whispered.
Edward Archer answered before Olivia could speak. ‘She wants you to go out and close the door after you,’ he said softly. His eyes locked with Olivia’s. ‘Isn’t that right, Miss Harris?’
‘No,’ Olivia said quickly, almost breathlessly. ‘Don’t—don’t go, Dulcie.’
Hearing the pathetic tremor in her own voice made her flinch. How dared he do this to her? She belonged here, not he. It was he who was the outsider.
The realisation gave her strength.
‘If you have something to say to me, Mr Archer,’ she said coolly, ‘you’d better get to it.’
‘Tell her to go.’ He jerked his head towards Dulcie, who was still gaping. He was all business now; something about the look in his eyes and the set to his mouth sent a chill up Olivia’s spine. ‘You and I have things to discuss, Miss Harris. I suggest we deal with them in private.’
‘Olivia? Should I—should I call the cops?’
Edward Archer, in the hands of the police! Oh, but the thought was tempting! But calling them would be a foolish indulgence, and Olivia knew it. Olivia’s Dream was on a quiet street; she’d spent a small fortune on discreet advertisements in The Times and a handful of pricey magazines, but one visit from a police car with its lights flashing and its siren wailing would bring down the kind of publicity her business might never live down.
Besides, every instinct warned
