I can assure you, Mr Vaughan,’ she told him abruptly.
‘Gabe,’ he put in smoothly. ‘And I very much doubt that, Jane,’ he added teasingly.
She didn’t care what he doubted. She worked, she went to bed, she ran, she shopped, she read, she worked, she went to bed Her life was structured, deliberately so. Routine, safe, uncomplicated. This man threatened complications she didn’t even want to think about!
‘Are you aware that Felicity Warner is in hospital, in danger of losing her baby?’ she attacked accusingly.
There was a slight pause on the other end of the telephone line. Very short, only a second or two, but Jane picked up on it anyway. To her surprise. Three years ago nothing had deterred this man. And she couldn’t really believe that had changed in any way.
‘I wasn’t aware that Felicity was pregnant,’ he finally rasped harshly.
‘Would it have made any difference if you had known?’ Jane scorned disgustedly, already knowing the answer to that question. Nothing distracted this man away from his purpose. And she couldn’t help feeling that he had been playing with the Warners by accepting their dinner invitation two evenings ago…!
‘Any difference to what?’ he returned in a silkily soft voice.
‘Let’s not play games, Mr Vaughan.’ She continued to be deliberately formal, despite his earlier invitation for her not to be. ‘You have business with Richard Warner, and that business appears to be affecting his wife’s health. And that of their unborn child,’ she added shakily. ‘Don’t you think—?’
‘I’m not sure you would like to hear what I think, Jane Smith,’ Gabriel Vaughan bit out coldly.
‘You’re right—I don’t,’ she snapped tersely. ‘But I think it’s way past time someone told you about your lack of thought for the people lives you walk into and instantly dismantle! Your method of dealing with people leaves a lot to be desired, and—’ She broke off abruptly, feeling the icy silence at the other end of the telephone line as it blasted its way in her direction. And at the same time she realised she had said too much…
‘And just what do you know about my “method of dealing with people”, Jane Smith?’ he prompted mildly—too mildly for comfort!
Too much. She had said too much! ‘You’re a public figure, Mr Vaughan.’ She attempted to cover up her lapse.
‘Not in England,’ he rasped. ‘Not for several years,’ he added harshly, all his previous lazy charm obliterated in cold anger.
‘Strange; I’m sure I saw your photograph in my daily newspaper yesterday morning…’ she came back pointedly; she had to try and salvage this conversation as best she could; she’d already been far too outspoken.
The last thing she wanted to do was increase this man’s interest in her! Ideally, she would like him to forget he had ever met someone called Jane Smith, but she would settle for disinterest—which wasn’t going to be achieved if she kept challenging him!
‘Of course, that was a social thing,’ she added lightly. ‘You were a guest at a party.’
‘I’m a sociable person, Jane,’ he drawled dryly. ‘Which was actually the reason for this call…’
He was going to ask her to cater a dinner party for him! There was no way she could work for or with this man. Absolutely no way!
‘I’m very heavily booked at this time of year, Mr Vaughan,’ she told him stiffly: Christmas was now only two weeks away. ‘My diary has been full for weeks, some of those bookings made months ago. However, I could recommend another catering firm who I’m sure would be only too pleased to—’
Gabriel Vaughan’s husky laugh cut in on her businesslike refusal. ‘You misunderstood me, Jane,’ he murmured, that laugh still evident in his voice. ‘I was asking you to have dinner with me, not trying to book your services as a cook—impressive as they might be!’
Now it was Jane’s turn to fall silent. Not because she was angry, as Gabriel Vaughan had been minutes ago—where had that anger gone…? No, she was stunned. Gabriel Vaughan was asking her for a date. Impossible. He just didn’t realise how impossible that was.
‘No,’ she said abruptly.
‘Just—no?’ he said slowly, musingly. ‘You don’t even want a little time to think about it?’
She doubted too many women had to do that where this man was concerned; he was handsome, single, undoubtedly rich, sophisticated, witty—what more could any woman want?
All Jane knew was that she did not want Gabriel Vaughan!
‘No,’ she repeated sharply.
‘Then I take it I was right earlier in assuming there’s someone else in your life,’ he dismissed hardly, a chill edging his tone.
Jane frowned. When earlier in this conversation had he assumed there was already someone else in her life? They hadn’t even touched on the subject.
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ she snapped.
‘It’s occurred to me, Jane, that you have an unhealthy interest—as far as Felicity goes—in Richard Warner’s affairs. And I don’t just mean his business ones!’ he added harshly.
‘You’re disgusting, Mr Vaughan,’ Jane told him angrily. ‘Other women’s husbands have never held any appeal for me, either!’ She deliberately threw his words to Felicity two evenings ago back in his face, then slammed down the receiver, immediately switching on the answer machine.
She didn’t think Gabriel Vaughan was the sort of man to ring a woman back when she had angrily terminated their telephone conversation, but on the off chance that he just might she had no intention of answering that call herself.
He had just implied she was having an affair with Richard Warner!
How dared he?
CHAPTER FOUR
‘WE MEET again, my dear Jane Smith.’
Jane froze in the act of placing the freshly baked meringues onto the cooling tray, closing her eyes briefly, hoping this was only a nightmare. One that she would wake up from at any second!
But closing her eyes achieved nothing, because she could smell his aftershave now, and knew that when she turned Gabriel Vaughan was going to be standing only feet behind her. Could it only be coincidence that this was the second dinner party in a week that she had catered for where Gabriel Vaughan was a guest…?
She opened her eyes, straightening her shoulders before turning sharply to face him, her heart missing a beat as the total masculinity of him suddenly dominated the kitchen in which she had worked so harmoniously for the last four hours.
She was realising that he was a man who wore a black evening suit and white shirt with a nonchalance that totally belied the exclusive cut of the expensive material. He was vibrantly attractive, in a way that stated he didn’t give a damn how he looked, that he was totally confident of his own masculinity, the challenging glitter of those aqua-blue eyes daring
