the ridiculous Marilyn Monroe wig that Lionel had proudly chosen and insisted she wore.
‘Hold on!’ rapped the harsh voice.
‘I—am!’ she grated irritably. Darn him! Why was he here? He was ten days early! The dart-riddled face in the photograph flashed before her eyes. The glacial stare. The menacing expression…‘Ohhh! Help!’ she cried, teetering precariously as her uneven weight tilted one of the ladders.
She heard his luggage hit the floor and the sound of his quick strides heading towards her. But her centre of gravity had given up the unequal struggle and, with both hands jammed on the wig, she toppled helplessly towards Vigadó Gabó’s waiting arms.
He caught her with effortless ease, as though he practised twice a night—which he probably did, she decided angrily, since he’d turned her around deftly and slid her to the ground to face him with the skill of a man accustomed to arranging scantily clad women where and how he pleased. She blushed at the carnal images she’d conjured up.
‘Stupid female!’ he growled, pushing her away. She almost crumpled to the floor on infuriatingly boneless legs so he caught her again, reluctantly folding her limp and shaking body to his rock-like chest, his open coat snuggling around her of its own accord. ‘Why the hell did you grab your hair?’ he added, with irritatingly masculine exasperation.
She grinned. Because it would have fallen off otherwise! With her face pressed hard into his vicunacoated shoulder, she searched her frantically spinning mind for an explanation.
‘I paid a fortune having’ it done,’ she gasped breathily, saying the first thing that came into her head.
‘God! Women!’ he grunted contemptuously and she sensed that he’d raised his eyes to her flapjack ceiling.
But he did pat her back soothingly so she obliged him and his prejudices with a trembly, ultra-feminine sniff. Lionel had told her on the phone to seem innocent, ignorant, a tart with a heart. Initially she’d protested, intending to play it straight—and only slightly over the top. Then she’d listened to Vigadó’s staff talking and her qualms about deceiving them had vanished. They were so proud of their boss’s ruthless, piratical tactics that she’d decided they were equally guilty of unfair business practices.
And now, unexpectedly faced with the dangerous viper himself, dumb stupidity might be a wise move!
‘My heart’s goin’ nineteen to the dozen!’ she breathed, waiting to see how he was going to react. Like a healthy male, she hoped, diverted by a pretty face.
‘So it is. Kind of you to draw my attention to the throb in your breast,’ he said mockingly, his Hungarian accent enhanced by the deep and husky timbre.
Mariann blushed at his directness. ‘I meant—’
‘Your acrobatics were dangerous. You could have broken your neck. How very foolish.’
She suppressed a smile of triumph. It was obvious he thought she was a dense, fluffy-headed female, and she wasn’t going to disillusion him! Fluffiness suited her in the circumstances; he’d never suspect her of any greater crime. And…it would be amusing to pull the wool over the eyes of such a womaniser, for Lionel’s sake…
‘Oh, my! I never thought of that!’ she cried in simulated horror, her voice muffled by his shoulder. ‘You’ve got to admit, though, if I’d ended up as dead as frozen chicken in a freezer, my hair would have looked nice,’ she reasoned idiotically, dying to laugh out loud and share the joke with someone.
His chest heaved up and down at her logic and Mariann realised to her amazement that he was trying not to laugh too. A monster with a sense of humour? she marvelled.
‘Can’t argue with that,’ he said evenly. ‘Now who…?’
He paused and went quite still for several seconds while the hairs on Mariann’s neck lifted in sheer apprehension. He was facing the other office. Could he see the open cabinet from there? She began to shake.
‘Somethin’ wrong?’ she croaked, feeling the quick rise and fall of his broad chest. And she also sensed an increased alertness; he was suddenly on guard. Surreptitiously she tried to check the wig.
‘Yes,’ he answered softly and Mariann tensed. ‘There’s paint on your hair.’ She breathed again. Paint! And she’d been afraid that he’d been putting two and two together, had looked right inside her head and read the words ‘Commercial Spy’ written there! ‘Looks like a repeat visit to the hairdresser,’ he mused, trying to lift one of her hands which was still locked rigid on her scalp.
‘Don’t!’ she said hastily, afraid he’d pull the wig askew. ‘I don’t like it being mussed up. The paint’ll wash out,’ she added, lifting her face from the shelter of his expensively soft coat and pushing herself back a little. Thinking she’d been a bit abrupt, she gave him a ‘my hero’ smile. ‘Thanks for catching me,’ she said politely, and met his gaze properly for the first time.
Wow! she thought in stunned admiration. What ruinously liquid eyes! Melting chocolate, she missed, and then recoiled in alarm because the chocolate seemed to be darkening and thickening as though he found her attractive. He shouldn’t have eyes you could dream in! she thought crossly. He should be cold and vicious with an icicle gaze, jagged teeth and foul breath!
Lionel had shown her articles and told her tales about this man to make her stomach turn. Staff meetings in rooms without chairs so no one waffled. High pay, long hours, ruthless sackings. Phone-tapping and bugging of his competitors’ offices and a no-hands-barred policy of seducing any woman who might aid his head-hunting expeditions. Secretaries in hysterics. Desperate husbands, suicidal wives whom Vigadó had loved and left.
A man with no morals. Furthermore, a man with only one aim: a driving need that amounted to an obsession to dominate everyone he came across, reducing strong men to quivering wrecks, tough editors to tear, boardrooms into submission.
He was certainly intent, she noticed angrily, on making the most of having a blonde fall like manna from the skies I En panic, she fought down a rush of sinful sensation as his mouth almost nuzzled her cheek. Her hands pushed the broad shoulders but she was locked in place by his immovable arms and all that happened was that her spine arched back and she was staring at his mocking lips.
‘I had no choice but to catch you,’ said his lover-close mouth, letting the lover-husky voice wash warm breath over her dizzily sensitised skin. ‘I walked in, saw a pair of provocative bare legs waving around at eye-level, and then a beautiful blonde fell into my arms. And she began to tremble appealingly, virtually asking for…I wonder what?’
Mariann stiffened. He’d changed from showing anger at the intrusion to acting like a hunter who’d found his dinner wandering provocatively around his lair. That was a deliberate opening gambit—but how to handle it? she wondered. Should it be the usual joky, gentle let-down, or a quick nipping in the bud? Infuriatingly, she couldn’t risk annoying him!
‘I had a shock,’ she confided. ‘Me past life zipped past me eyes.’
‘Oh! That must have been a dreadful experience to go through. I sympathise,’ he murmured insincerely.
‘Ta. I’m okey-dokey now,’ she assured him. ‘Give a girl a bit of breathin’ space, there’s a duck!’
‘No,’ he said succinctly.
Mariann
