with the cynicism.
Image, she reminded herself, was everything, and Duardo Alvarez could afford whatever image he chose to project on planet Earth.
‘Kayla Smythe.’ She’d left off the preceding hyphenated Enright some time ago. ‘I have an appointment with—’ she hesitated fractionally. This was business, not personal—‘Mr Alvarez.’
The answering smile held polite warmth…practised, and tuned up or down according to client importance. In this instance, down a notch.
‘Mr Alvarez is unavoidably detained in conference.’ She indicated the bay of comfortable chairs. ‘If you’d care to take a seat?’
Kayla felt her stomach tighten with nervous tension. Now that she was here, she wanted it over and done with.
Each passing minute seemed like ten, and she had to make a conscious effort not to constantly check her watch. She idly flipped the pages of a complimentary magazine, with no recollection of absorbing script or pictures.
How long would she have to wait?
Was Duardo Alvarez stretching out the time to deliberately unnerve her?
If she could walk out of here, she thought darkly…Yet doing so would achieve nothing. And this wasn’t about her, she reminded herself.
‘Kayla.’
She glanced up at the sound of her name and saw the receptionist move out from the console.
‘Mr Alvarez will see you now.’
Stand tall and project a semblance of aloof confidence. The latter was almost impossible, given the state of her nerves.
She’d seen his image on the television screen, in newspapers and photographs in glossy magazines. But it was years since she had come face-to-face with him.
Would he look the same?
The silent query arose in a moment of sheer hysteria, and she beat it down as she followed the receptionist along a wide passageway to a set of imposing double doors.
Calm. She had to remain calm and in control.
Who was she kidding? She was as nervous as a kitten about to walk on hot coals, and at that moment she hated him, herself…most of all she hated the situation which had brought her here.
The receptionist placed a discreet knock on one of the doors, turned the knob and pushed the door open, announced Kayla’s presence with smooth efficiency, then retreated.
She stood frozen, limbless, as she focused on the dark-suited figure standing silhouetted against the wide floor-to-ceiling plate glass.
From this distance, with the late-afternoon light behind him, it was difficult to define his expression.
Then he turned towards her, and the breath caught in her throat.
Tall, with an admirable breadth of shoulder, he projected an enviable aura of power most men coveted, but few possessed.
Well-defined facial bone structure, harshly chiselled, portrayed an elemental ruthlessness that visibly warned he was a force to be reckoned with in any arena.
‘Come in and shut the door.’ His drawl held a hint of cynicism, his appraisal ruthlessly unequivocal as he took in her petite stature, the blonde hair swept high and damp from the rain.
What happened to hello? But what did she expect…polite civility?
‘You must know I don’t want to be here.’
‘Point taken.’ He indicated a button-backed leather chair. ‘Sit down.’
And have him tower over her? ‘I’d prefer to stand.’
His expression didn’t change, yet she gained the fleeting impression something deep within him uncoiled in readiness to strike.
‘I don’t have much time.’ Oh, hell, she didn’t want to sound defensive. Yet everything about him screamed out for her to turn and run as far and as fast as she could.
He crossed the room to stand within touching distance, and this close she saw the tiny lines fanning from each corner of those dark, almost black eyes. The grooves slashing each cheek seemed to etch a little deeper than she remembered, and that mouth…
Dear heaven, don’t even go there.
One dark eyebrow rose in silent query, and she found herself almost stumbling in speech. ‘Jacob is in hospital.’ Pride kept her chin high. ‘I’m sure you have no difficulty imagining why?’
Each passing second seemed to stretch until the silence became a palpable entity. ‘Your brother isn’t going anywhere in a hurry.’ He waited a beat. ‘Neither are you.’
Sapphire eyes flashed with brilliant blue fire. ‘I beg your pardon?’
Down, but not cowed, Duardo perceived. She didn’t disappoint.
‘Let’s dispense with the pretense, shall we?’ When it came to game-playing, he was a lifetime ahead of her. ‘You have a mountain of debt you can’t hope to clear in a lifetime. Thugs have served the first of a few painful lessons for late payment. And you have no one else but me to turn to.’
Her eyes hardened. ‘Does it give you pleasure to know that?’
‘You can choose to walk out that door now,’ he intoned with deceptive quiet.
‘And if I do?’
‘You’ll never walk through it again.’
His words held a frightening finality, leaving her in no doubt he meant every one of them.
She had a mental picture of Jacob lying in an open coffin, instead of a hospital bed, and she was unable to control the shiver of fear slithering down her spine.
‘Perhaps we can start over?’
Benjamin had done a number on her. His own daughter. At the time Duardo had wanted to haul her over his shoulder and take her away. Vilify her father, and sue for defamation of character. Instead, he’d worked behind the scenes, and achieved what Benjamin had falsely accused him of at the time.
Because he could.
Now he moved to lean one hip against the edge of his desk, and watched her struggle for composure.
‘Jacob told me you’re aware of our…situation.’
He wasn’t going to make it easy. But then, why should he?
What they’d shared…what once had been…was now long gone. Destroyed by complex circumstances.
‘You want my help,’ Duardo prompted with silky smoothness, and caught the glitter of helpless anger in those brilliant blue eyes. It gave him no pleasure to see it there.
‘Yes.’
Would
