Adair said acidly, ‘There’s no need to panic, Miss Trevor. Our brief encounter just now didn’t drive me so mad with desire that I’ve rushed out here to ravish you.’
‘Then why precisely did you—rush out here, Mr Adair? To insult me again?’
The pale eyes held a wry gleam as he looked at her. He said, ‘My God, that has the authentic Trevor stamp on it! As a matter of fact, I think I had some vague idea of making amends, but I’m sure your father’s daughter would regard that as a sign of weakness, so I think I’ll return to the more congenial atmosphere at the bar.’
He was already turning away as she said, ‘I’m sorry if I overreacted. You—startled me, that’s all.’
‘And not for the first time this evening.’ He shook his head slightly. ‘I always understood that sweet sixteen was the limit for never having been kissed. You’re two years out of date.’
‘How do you know how old I am?’ she demanded.
‘Elementary, my sweet. The Courier too has its gossip column, and your eighteenth birthday was featured with photographs—remember? “The lovely Briony Trevor comes of age” it said, rather predictably. Claridges, wasn’t it? My invitation must have been mislaid somewhere.’
She tried to match his own light tone. ‘You mean you would have accepted one?’
‘Probably not,’ he said drily. ‘But I think I’d make a point of being around the day you really come of age.’
There was a sudden stillness between them, a tension that was almost tangible. He hadn’t really retreated at all, Briony realised. He was still firmly entrenched between her and the door that led back to the party and safety. She felt herself becoming flustered and knew it was important to conceal the fact.
She said rather hurriedly, ‘Why did you do it? Kiss me, I mean?’
‘Call it an irresistible urge.’
‘Do you often have them?’
‘Not as often as I seem to be having them this evening,’ he said mockingly, and grinned at her. ‘I must admit the original urge was more to test the depth of that immaculate boarding school poise rather than to arouse wanton desires in your undoubtedly virginal breast. I also wanted to annoy your father.’
‘Well, you’ve succeeded in that,’ she said coldly, oddly disappointed that he apparently had seen her as a schoolgirl to be teased.
‘So I noticed. I think poor old Mac is being ordered to carpet me first thing on Monday morning—or fire me at the earliest opportunity. Probably both. And if your father realised I was alone with you now, he wouldn’t even wait for Monday morning.’
‘I think you’re exaggerating,’ she said. ‘You don’t fire the Journalist of the Year simply because he annoys you at a party.’
‘You might do,’ he said. ‘If you were Sir Charles Trevor, and if the journalist in question had been a thorn in your flesh for some considerable time.’ His lips curled slightly. ‘And as it looks as if I’m going to be hanged anyway, it may as well be for a sheep as a lamb …’
He took an unhurried step forward and his arms reached for her, drawing her effortlessly against him. ‘You should have been kissed before, Briony,’ he said huskily, and then his mouth came down on hers.
His lips were warm and seeking and very enticing. Her arms slid up around his neck, almost of their own volition, holding him closer still as the kiss deepened from the gently exploratory to the frankly demanding. In the end, it was Logan who pulled away, his breathing a little ragged, his eyes narrowing speculatively as he looked down at her.
‘I don’t know what you have in mind for the remainder of the evening,’ he said with a touch of grimness. ‘But I sure as hell know it won’t be what I’m thinking of right now, so I think you’d better return to the safety of your father’s side, Miss Trevor. Believe me, it will be better for both of us.’
‘Scared, Mr Adair?’ Briony’s heart was pounding suffocatingly as she looked up at him through her lashes. She was being deliberately provocative and she knew it, enjoying the first heady taste of a woman’s power over the man who finds her desirable.
‘Hardly, Miss Trevor,’ he drawled. ‘But I guarantee you would be, if I decided to continue this romantic moment to its obvious conclusion. Don’t play with fire, darling, because it’s a very good way of ending up scorched, and I imagine Daddy would prefer to hand you over to the bridegroom of his choice not even slightly singed.’
She felt destroyed by his cynicism. She said angrily, ‘You’re not irresistible, you know. And I’ll choose my own husband!’
‘Brave words.’ He smiled faintly. ‘But you’ll need more than that to stand up against your father. Believe me, I know.’
She was just going to ask him how he knew—to demand the information if necessary, when a woman’s voice said impatiently, ‘Logan, so this is where you’ve got to!’
Briony recognised her instantly. It was Karen Wellesley, the Courier’s women’s editor, a slim shapely blonde in her late twenties, with one broken marriage already behind her. Karen moved forward to Logan’s side, sliding an openly possessive hand through his arm.
‘Good God,’ she remarked rather blankly as her exotic-ally made-up eyes fell on Briony. ‘I do hope I’m not interrupting anything.’
‘Nothing at all,’ Logan assured her coolly. ‘Miss Trevor and I were just having an interesting discussion on the nature of choice, but we’d reached stalemate.’
‘That’s all right, then.’ Karen smiled blindingly up at him. ‘The party’s beginning to break up, and I thought you might like to take me somewhere to celebrate your award.’
He said lightly, ‘I’d be more than delighted, my love, if Miss Trevor will excuse us.’
Briony said, ‘Of course.’ She gave them both a taut little smile. ‘If the party’s breaking up, then my father will be ready to leave.’
She walked past them, her chin in the air, and made for the lighted doorway. She was thankful to see her father absorbed in conversation with some of the members of the Board, his bad humour apparently forgotten for the moment.
‘Hello, sweetheart.’ His glance smilingly embraced her as she joined him. ‘Where have you been?’
‘I—I went out to get some air,’ she said. ‘I think I have a headache starting. Do you think we could leave soon?’
He was all concern, immediately getting someone to ring down and have his car brought round to the main entrance of the building, fussing protectively as one of the maids hired for the evening went to fetch Briony’s wrap. They were standing waiting for the lift to come up, surrounded by a small group of her father’s colleagues from the upper echelons of management, when Logan came out of the penthouse suite into the corridor, with Karen moulded so closely to his side that a casual spectator might have assumed she was welded there. And Briony discovered to her acute vexation that she was far from being a casual observer.
She transferred her attention almost painfully to the row of lights which indicated the
