if she was ill.
‘Miss Jane Sherwood?’
She frowned, the thick black eyebrows that gave her a perpetually serious look rumpling in puzzlement. ‘Yes.’
He consulted the piece of paper he was holding. ‘Jane Sherwood of Flat 5, 8 Parkhouse Lane? Formerly proprietor of Sherwood Properties?’
She experienced the sinking feeling that was becoming all too familiar these days. ‘Yes, but—’
She was cut off as he thrust the paper through the half-open window at her and at the same time deftly whipped her keys out of the ignition.
‘John Forster of Stanton Security. This vehicle is under a repossession order. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to vacate the car, Ma’am, so that it can be returned to its rightful owner.’
While she was squinting at the small-print, which told her that all vehicles registered to or leased by Sherwood Properties were now the legal property of the mortgagee, he opened the door and invited her to step out onto the pavement.
‘But how do I get home? I live on the other side of town and I haven’t got enough money with me for a taxi or a bus—’ Jane began to protest.
‘What’s going on here?’
To her horror she saw Ryan Blair step into view behind the stocky repossession agent. That appalling kiss hadn’t been enough; he obviously wanted everyone to think that they had gone off somewhere together.
‘Nothing—’
‘I’m repossessing the car. The lady claims she hasn’t got any way of getting home.’
Jane blushed vividly as her denial mingled with the horrible man’s blunt announcement. She raised her chin and glared.
‘I’ll drive you home.’
Her eyes widened before her thick black lashes fell defensively. ‘Go to hell!’ she snarled.
‘Look, lady, you got a lift home—take it!’ the stocky man advised. “Cos you’re sure not going anywhere in this car. See my mate over there? He’s going to hitch it up to his tow-truck if you won’t let me drive it away.’
As Jane turned her head to look at the shadowy figure leaning against the cab of his tow-truck on the other side of the road she heard a rustle, and suddenly Ryan Blair was plucking her out of the car and setting her down on the pavement.
‘Get your hands off me!’ she hissed, struggling belatedly.
‘You really don’t know when to give up, do you?’ he said grimly, stepping out of range of her flailing arms. ‘What did you think you were going to do, sit there and argue all night? Let the man do his job.’
‘Let him do your dirty work, you mean!’ she snapped, remembering how, barely more than a month ago, she had been escorted off the premises of her own company by a security guard to ensure that she took nothing from the office, not even her personal effects. Sherwood’s was not a limited liability company, so literally everything she owned was forfeit.
Ryan Blair folded his arms across his broad chest. ‘It’s standard practice for a mortgagee to request that all assets be sequestered when a company goes out of business.’
‘What about my evening bag? I suppose you’re going to demand that be sequestered as well?’ Jane said sarcastically, pointing to the small black beaded drawstring bag which lay on the passenger seat.
He picked it up and handed it to her. ‘Come on, there’s my car.’
A black limousine was creeping across the entrance to the long cul-de-sac. The driver must have orders to follow his boss wherever he went, thought Jane contemptuously.
‘I’m not going anywhere with you,’ she said.
‘Are you asking me to give you cab fare?’
‘I’d rather beg in the streets!’
Her defiant statement was punctuated by the roar of her car engine as it was driven smartly away.
‘It might come to that,’ he pointed out softly. ‘A woman dressed like you...expensive, displaying a lot of flesh, obviously alone....you’re bound to attract plenty of attention from the kerb-crawlers. Only they’ll expect you to earn your taxi fare.’
Her throbbing hand tightened on her bag. ‘Why, you—’
‘Temper, temper, Miss Sherwood,’ he said, stepping back and lifting his hands in mock fright. ‘You’re not going to hit me again, are you? I always thought you were as cold as ice, but you have quite a volcano seething under that chilly exterior, don’t you?’ He dropped his hands and his voice acquired a bored impatience that suggested he didn’t care one way or the other. ‘Now, do you want a free ride home or not...?’
Pride warred with expediency and pride won.
‘Not!’
Head high, she skirted the limousine and began to walk up the hill in the opposite direction to the hotel, away from the centre of the city. All she wanted to do was get away from Ryan Blair as quickly as possible, then she would decide what was best to do. She was well past the theatre centre, and even though the night wasn’t very far advanced there were few people on this section of the street and no stores open, but she knew she had to come across a phone box soon.
Her sense of isolation rapidly intensified as she hurried on her way. Her heels sounded very loud against the concrete pavement and she shied at a shadowy couple in a shop doorway. Deciding that it might be more prudent to walk nearer the streetlights, she had barely got a few hundred metres when a car-load of young toughs cruised noisily past and then backed up, the scruffy youths leaning out of the window and crooning invitations and suggestions that burned her ears.
Her lack of reaction finally caused them to tire of their sport and the car roared away, spewing howls of raucous laughter, but almost immediately another one slowed to a crawl beside her. This time the suggestions from the lone driver were a great deal more sophisticated, but no less persistent and stomach-churningly graphic. At the end of her tether, Jane bent and rested her good hand on the open car window and delivered a blistering tirade to the sweaty, middle-aged man behind the wheel.
An obscene smile split his rubbery lips and he reached over and clamped his fat hand around her wrist. ‘Yes, I know. I’ve been very bad and I must be punished. I knew when I saw you striding haughtily along that you were a woman capable of the most delicious cruelty. I look forward to your discipline—’
‘Sorry, the lady’s already booked up for the night!’
For the second time in half an hour Jane found herself the object of an unwelcome rescue. Ryan Blair’s limousine was riding the bumper of the kerb-crawler as the man himself put his arm through the driver’s window and hauled the culprit up by the shirt-collar to utter a few sibilant phrases in his ear. As soon as he was released the unfortunate man rammed his car into gear and took off, burning rubber in the process.
Ryan Blair, still standing on the road, hands on his broad hips, said through his teeth, ‘Get into the limo, Jane.’
Jane opened her
