as the gold they resembled.
And they became harder still as he seemed to sense her gaze on him and looked across at her, an instant flare of recognition in his expression, his mouth thinning even more as his jaw tightened, his eyes narrowed to steely slits as he straightened challengingly. Whereas in the past he had seemed possessed of a timeless quality, a natural enthusiasm that made it difficult to pinpoint his age, today he looked every one of his thirty-five years.
Cyn swallowed hard. She had never felt more like fleeing in her life before—fleeing for her life! There had been a time in her life when she feared Wolf might actually kill her.
‘Gerald—?’ Wolf’s control never wavered as he turned pointedly to the other man, still obviously waiting for that introduction.
As if he didn’t know exactly who she was! She refused to believe he had forgotten her. He might have wished he could, but she knew from his reaction a moment ago, when he first looked at her, that he certainly hadn’t.
‘Sorry, Wolf,’ the older man smiled easily, completely unaware of any tension in the room. ‘This is Lucynda Smith, of Perfect Bliss,’ he explained lightly. ‘Although it’s Cyn to her friends, she assures me,’ he added teasingly.
Wolf didn’t look as if he found anything in the least amusing about her name, or her! And the speculative look he gave the other man seemed to question just how much of a ‘friend’ of hers Gerald considered himself to be.
It was an interesting question; as well as asking Cyn to call here when they had spoken on Saturday, Gerald had also invited her out to dinner. The first she had been only too happy to organise, the latter she had said they would talk about further when they met again. She hadn’t envisaged Wolf Thornton also being present when that happened. In fact, she had always pushed firmly from her mind any thoughts that she and Wolf would ever meet again!
‘And this is my assistant, Janie Harrison,’ she put in firmly.
Janie looked grateful for the recognition, although for all the notice Wolf took of her Cyn might as well have saved her breath—although Gerald, charmingly polite as ever, acknowledged the girl with a welcoming smile. Janie blushed furiously. Her hair was not the rich auburn of Rebecca Harcourt but that ginger-blond that usually accompanied excessively pale skin. Poor Janie looked much younger than her eighteen years in her girlish pleasure at being in the company of two such presentable men.
Wolf Thornton wasn’t presentable, Cyn thought slightly resentfully; his ignoring of Janie, in order to continue looking at her with that chilling intensity, bordered on rudeness. Not that Janie looked too concerned; she was obviously as much in awe of this man, who looked so much like his name implied—fierce and untameable!—as she was attracted to him!
‘Miss Smith?’ Wolf said softly in answer to Gerald’s introduction.
Colour warmed her cheeks at his unspoken implication. She knew to what he was referring, of course; the last time they had met it had looked as if she was about to marry Roger Collins.
‘A case of “always the bridesmaid, never the bride,” I’m afraid,’ she returned lightly, meeting his gaze with an effort now.
Why was he continuing to behave as if the two of them had never met before? Why didn’t he just tell Gerald Harcourt that he knew exactly what her friends called her—her enemies too?
If he was surprised at her never having been married after all, then he didn’t show it. ‘Then forgive me for asking,’ he rasped in a completely unapologetic voice. ‘But if that’s the case, by what experience do you claim to be able to organise other brides’ weddings for them, especially one like Rebecca’s?’
He was meaning to be insulting—and he succeeded! He knew very well about her own working-class background, the distaste she had for so-called ‘society’, and he was taunting her with that knowledge.
‘Oh, come on, Wolf,’ Gerald dismissed lightly, still unaware of the undercurrents to the conversation taking place between Cyn and Wolf. ‘You don’t have to have been knocked over by a bus to know what the consequences will be. In my mind there isn’t much difference between getting married and being run over,’ he explained with a rueful grimace as everyone turned to look at him because of the simile he had used. ‘Both knock you off your feet and leave you completely disorientated!’
‘I hope none of my brides ever gets to talk to you on the subject.’ Cyn shook her head, unable to hold back a smile. ‘Otherwise I’d be out of a job!’
‘Talking of that job...’ Gerald frowned now. ‘I’ll go and have another look for Rebecca,’ he told them absently before leaving the room.
Cyn had never been so grateful for Janie’s pleading to come with her that morning than she was at this moment. Otherwise she would have been left alone in the room with Wolf. And by the time Gerald returned the room could have been reduced to bloody carnage. No, that was an exaggeration. Wolf didn’t look as if he had ever needed to be physically violent; he could probably fatally wound with the rapier-sharpness of his tongue when crossed, reduce an adversary to a quaking mass with the coldness of his gaze.
The silence that descended on the room after Gerald’s departure was oppressive—or was it only Cyn who saw it that way? She chanced a glance at Wolf and saw he was still watching her with those coldly narrowed eyes, and quickly looked away again. Janie, sweet, kind Janie, who could calm the mother of the bride with so little fuss it was hardly noticeable that there had ever been anything to calm, was gazing at Wolf with an infatuated glow in her pale green eyes.
Cyn felt angry on her behalf for the way in which Wolf didn’t even acknowledge that adoration, even though he must be aware of it: Janie was a little too obvious for him not to be! No doubt he was used to having girls finding him attractive, but that was no reason for him to be so damned blasé about it!
She wasn’t used to seeing him quite so formally dressed as he was today. His dark three-piece suit and snowy white shirt were austere in their impeccable tailoring; a grey silk tie was knotted severely at his throat. He wore no jewellery; he had always deplored the use of it by men, and his only adornment was a plain gold watch strapped to his left wrist above one long sensitive hand. His hands, Cyn saw with a fascination of her own, were just the same, long and artistic, nevertheless as strong as a vice when they needed to be, the nails kept deliberately short.
Wolfram James Thornton. She had expected to hear more of the name over the last seven years, but the only thing she had heard it used in connection with was Thornton Industries. The business section of the newspapers often carried articles about the rapidly expanding company; it seemed the family business had prospered under his guidance. Strange, she had never thought of Wolf as a businessman. But then seven years ago he hadn’t been...
‘So—Cyn, wasn’t it?’ he drawled hardly, challengingly, ‘you’re going to wave your magic wand and make this wedding perfect for Rebecca?’
Her cheeks felt warm at the insult behind his taunt. ‘I hope so, yes,’ she confirmed tautly.
He strode further into the room, at once dominating the intimacy of his surroundings. ‘A flowing white gown, a cake with little cupids decorating it, a horse and carriage to drive the bride and groom from the church to the wedding reception?’
Cyn paled as he used his words like sharp barbs to wound her; he hadn’t forgotten a thing! She drew in a shaky breath. ‘The latter might be a little difficult to organise in the middle of London,’ she dismissed
