were kind enough to assure me that I’d be in the way. They suggested I might to go along later—with her shopping.’ He held up a couple of their trademark dark red glossy carrier bags, the store’s name printed in elegant copperplate gold lettering. She had a momentary flash of her vision of the way it would be—Claibourne’s, all in lower-case modern type—once she’d seen him off. ‘They didn’t seem to think she’d have much use for it in the next hour or so.’
‘What? Oh, no, I imagine not.’ She looked around. ‘Excuse me.’ The assistants were busy returning the department to normal, and she crossed to thank them for the way they’d handled a difficult situation.
‘You will let us know what happens, won’t you, Miss Claibourne?’
‘Of course. Maybe you’d like to choose a card and sign it from everyone in the department? I’ll phone the hospital later, and when we know that everything has gone smoothly I’ll take it to the hospital with some flowers. And her shopping. Maybe one of you would be kind enough to take it up to my office?’ She turned to JD Farraday. ‘Or maybe you’d prefer to go on behalf of the store?’ she offered. ‘See the job through?’
‘Since I’m spending the next month observing you at work, Miss Claibourne, I think you should give her the flowers,’ he said, surrendering the bags to a blushing assistant. ‘While I watch.’
Before she could quite make up her mind whether he was being serious or sarcastic, he smiled, which short-circuited any but the most positive thoughts, making it difficult to remember that it was her intention to spend as little time as possible in his company.
‘If you’ve nothing more pressing this evening, of course you’re most welcome to join me. But it’s not compulsory. Even a “shadow” has statutory rights regarding working hours,’ she said, making an effort to keep things cool and businesslike. Then she spoiled it all by smiling right back. ‘Excuse me, I’d better just go and let everyone know they can resume shopping.’
For a moment, the space of a heartbeat, as he’d looked up and seen India Claibourne standing in the doorway watching him, Jordan had known he’d made a mistake. That his secretary had been right and that he was playing with fire. That he should run, not walk away from this woman.
He already knew she was lovely. Every single photograph of her, since her first photo-call at the age of four, sitting on Santa’s knee in the C&F Christmas grotto, had been filed away with the newspaper articles on the store supplied by a cuttings agency.
With her little cap of dark hair cut into a neat fringe, her eyes huge with the excitement of it all, there had been the promise of beauty even then.
As she’d grown into a lively teenager, a dashing young woman, her face had changed from that of a round-cheeked child into the fine-boned elegance of genuine beauty. One with style, class and the indefinable something extra which made a woman special: the something extra that reminded a man there was more to life than making money.
Only her eyes had never changed. They were still huge, eager, burning with life, and for a moment the heat they generated had seared him in a vivid affirmation of Christine’s warning on the dangers of playing with fire.
Then she’d turned away to speak to her department manager and common sense had kicked in.
He was that rarest of commodities, a wealthy bachelor. His world had never been short of lovely women. But he hadn’t lost his head over one of them yet, and there was absolutely no chance of him losing it over India Claibourne.
That wasn’t his plan at all. In this relationship there would be only one loser.
For a moment he watched her walk across the sales floor towards the coffee shop. Tall, willowy, her long legs emphasised by high, high heels, her elegant figure merely sketched at by the suit she was wearing. Burgundy-red, rich and dark and expensive, with discreet gold buttons. Claibourne & Farraday’s livery colours.
That she’d chosen to wear it today in order to make some kind of statement he never doubted for a second.
She’d fight him for possession of her domain with her last breath. The knowledge sent a ripple of excitement through him that was far more pleasing than all his cold, calculating plans.
Before the month was up she would surrender everything to him. More than surrender. She was the one playing with fire and she was going to get burned.
And with that pleasing thought he went after her.
‘Ladies, gentlemen…’ She didn’t raise her voice, or rap on a table, yet there was an immediate hush in the coffee shop, a tribute to a presence that was rare in a woman. Confidence, self-belief, a power that came from within. She was a worthy adversary. ‘I just wanted to thank you all for your patience. You can continue with your shopping whenever you’re ready.’ For a moment she was deluged with questions about the young mother-to-be. ‘I’ll be calling the hospital later for news of our newest customer,’ she continued, ‘and if the parents give their permission we’ll post news of the birth on our website.’ Then, checking her watch, she turned to him and said, ‘I have to go. I’ve got an author arriving for a book-signing in a few minutes.’
‘I saw the posters when I arrived. Is it simply a meet-and-greet? Or will you have to stand by and hand her an endless supply of pens?’
‘She can manage her own pens, but she does merit the full red carpet treatment. Fortunately she doesn’t have time for lunch today.’ Then, ‘Or maybe I make a less attractive lunchtime companion than my father. He always took her to the Ritz and plied her with champagne,’ she added, with a sideways glance from beneath dark glossy lashes that appeared to suggest that if he took over he’d have that pleasure to look forward to.
‘You could do that.’
‘I don’t think either the Ritz or the champagne would make up for my father not being there to flirt with her.’
‘He’s certainly had plenty of practice,’ he agreed blandly. Then, as her cheekbones flushed pink with anger, ‘I’d have doubted a book department was a cost-effective use of space these days,’ he said as they both reached out to press the button to summon the lift. He beat her to it by a fraction of a second, and their fingers tangled momentarily before she snatched them back, as if stung. Her nails were polished the same deep burgundy-red as her suit. As her smooth, soft lips. ‘Can you compete with the big book chains?’ he enquired, making an effort to concentrate on business.
‘The decision to close the book department was made several weeks ago,’ she replied. Again that little sideways flicker of eyelashes. This time they said, You see? I’m one step ahead of you. ‘It’s part of the rationalisation of floor space that’s in progress at the moment. We’ve started on the top floor, as you must have noticed.’
‘Impossible to miss,’ he agreed. ‘It must make concentration difficult.’
‘I never have any difficulty in concentrating on the important stuff.’ The lift arrived and they got in. ‘Ground floor, please,’ she said, abandoning competition in favour of making it appear that he was at her beck and call. He pressed the button that would take them to the ground floor without comment. She was, he had to admit, a fast learner. ‘We’re reducing the office area by half. My father has retired…’ she glanced at him ‘…but then you know that.’ She paused momentarily, as if expecting him to enquire after the man’s health. When he didn’t, she went on, ‘And Flora rarely uses her office, so they are both being ripped out. Romana’s office
