her as some sort of Amazon in bed, and initially she was careful not to disillusion them.
‘You’ll need your fur jacket,’ Jennifer told her, ‘the temperature was starting to drop when I came in. I hate January and February,’ she added, shuddering, ‘and we’re only just into January—brrr!’
Laughing, Heather reached inside her wardrobe for her jacket. Both girls had been presented with them as Christmas presents that year. Jennifer’s was a soft silky blue fox which suited her fair colouring, and Heather’s a richly dark silver fox, in which her uncle had told her fondly that she looked magnificent. Dear Uncle Bob; he and the twins were the only men she actually liked and felt at ease with. The twins were as close to her as brothers and her aunt and uncle had taken the place of her deceased parents, but still there was this sense of loss, of not truly belonging, of always, somehow, being on the outside. Which was why she had responded so passionately to Brad’s attentions; needing the commitment of sharing her feeling with someone else; needing to feel ‘special’ to another person. She sighed, pushing away all thoughts of the past, following Jennifer outside.
The television studio was several miles from their flat and they arrived to find it well lit, the car-park full of expensive, prestige pieces of metal. Male toys needed to boost fragile male egos.
The commissionaire recognised Jennifer and welcomed her with a grin, but it was on Heather that his eyes lingered admiringly.
‘Another conquest,’ Jennifer murmured as they got in the lift. ‘Oh, don’t look like that—I’m not a fool, Heather,’ she told her cousin. ‘I know you don’t give a damn for any of those men you go out with. I also know that when you’re supposed to be having mad flings with them, you’re tucked up safely in your own virginal bed.’ She saw Heather’s expression and said quietly, ‘It’s true, isn’t it?’ Without waiting for an answer she went on, ‘I’m not going to pry, but Heather, you’re heading for trouble, honey. One day a man’s going to come along who you can’t play with, and he’s going to think it’s all for real. By the time he finds out the truth, it’s going to be too late. You know what I’m trying to say, don’t you?’
‘Yes, and you needn’t worry. I’m immune to sexual come-ons, Jen; frigid, if you prefer me to use that term.’
‘Frigid? Or frightened?’ Jennifer asked acutely as they stepped out of the lift. ‘I’m two years older than you, cos, and I can remember quite vividly how shy and sensitive you were in your teens. That girl hasn’t completely disappeared. I know you, you’re already plotting the downfall of the next poor victim, but take care the roles aren’t reversed—if you’re thinking in terms of Race Williams, remember he eats women for breakfast!’
‘And changes them as frequently as he changes his pure silk shirts—yes, I know, but I never make the running, Jen. If Race Williams wants me he’s going to have to let me know it.’
‘And once he does you’re going to put him down, humiliate him like you’ve done the others. Heather, I’ve watched you. Oh, you’ve got away with it because none of them want to admit the truth, but Race Williams isn’t like that. He’s tough, and he’s got a temper. He doesn’t play the game by the rules, and with him civilisation is just a veneer.’
‘You seem to know a lot about him,’ commented Heather.
‘I’ve heard the rumours, Terry knows him quite well. They were at Oxford together, apparently.’
‘Bully for Terry,’ Heather muttered in a voice that made her cousin raise her eyebrows, although she refrained from saying anything because the lift doors had opened and half a dozen people were already milling around in the small space outside.
‘We’ll leave our jackets in my office,’ Jennifer told her. ‘The cloakroom’s only small and it will be crowded.’ Jennifer’s office was a bare room at the end of a long corridor, and Heather was familiar with it from previous visits. She took off her jacket, hanging it in the small cupboard, waiting patiently while Jennifer checked her make-up without even looking at her own.
‘Okay, that’s it,’ Jennifer announced when she had finished applying her lipstick. ‘I warned Terry to save us a table and I told him what time we were arriving, so with a bit of luck he should have got us drinks.’
Heather knew Terry Brady quite well. Jennifer had flitted from man to man like a bee in search of honey until she met Terry, with whom she swore she had fallen in love at first sight. At the moment she wasn’t sure whether he returned her feelings, but she was determined to give him every opportunity to find out.
The moment they entered the crowded studio which was being used for the party Heather spotted Terry. He was sitting at a table with another man, his fair head turned towards him. As though he knew they were there his companion lifted his head and looked towards them, his eyes riveted on Heather’s face. For some reason she was consumed by a wave of heat, burning slowly up her body, leaving her feeling as though she had been completely robbed of energy. Although he was too far away for her to study properly, Heather had a vivid impression of darkly male features; a face stamped with arrogance and masculinity, dark hair growing low over a white shirt collar, lean brown hands and the shocking and inescapable feeling that he had just slowly and thoroughly removed her clothes arid then caressed every inch of the skin he had revealed.
‘Can you see Terry?’ Jennifer asked her, standing on tiptoe.
‘No, but I have seen someone I want to talk to, an old friend,’ she fibbed. ‘Look, why don’t you go and look for Terry, and then I’ll come and find you later.’
Jennifer squirmed uncomfortably. ‘I wish you’d come with me,’ she protested, adding hurriedly, ‘Well, Race asked Terry if you were coming, and he suggested we make up a foursome. They’ll be waiting for us, and….’
‘I thought you’d just warned me against him?’ Heather reminded her cousin wryly.
‘Against trying to make a fool of him,’ Jennifer shot back. ‘Look, he only wants to meet you….’
‘To meet me, presumably as a prelude to bedding me,’ Heather agreed bluntly. ‘Look, I’m sorry if it embarrasses you, but I’m not going to be manipulated. I’ll join you later when I’ve spoken to Donna.’
So Race Williams wanted to meet her, did he? Her heart contracted on a fierce wave of anger as she remembered the look Terry’s companion had given her. He had to be Race Williams, she was sure of it, and equally sure that there was no way she was going to be manoeuvred into spending the evening with him. If he wanted her, then let him find out the hard way, as others had done before him, that he was going to have to work hard at trying to get her. And he did want her—she had seen it in the look he gave her. It had been ferrociously sexual, and not simply sexual, there had been a hint of possession which sent fear coiling along her spine, even while she shrugged it aside. Heavens, there was nothing to be afraid of, he represented nothing she couldn’t handle, just as she had handled men like him before.
Eventually Jennifer left, plainly none too happy about doing so, and Heather was free to walk in the direction of the bar. She was stopped half a dozen times by people who recognised her, all of them male, and she parried their questions and compliments with her cool, languorous smile, never realising that the languor beneath the ice was what fired their blood, and excited their masculinity.
From the vantage point of her height she was able to see Terry’s table relatively clearly, although she took good care to study it discreetly. Race Williams had his back to her. She watched him stand up as Jennifer approached, Terry frowning slightly and then glancing
