Raw Silk

Now what was she supposed to make of that? Fliss’s tongue moved rather nervously over her upper lip. She wasn’t sure how to answer him, and she wished Robert’s mother would stop scowling at her and come to her rescue.

‘Er—let me get you some more tea, Mr Lynch,’ she ventured, relieved at the inspiration. ‘It really is a hot afternoon, and I’m sure you must be thirsty.’

‘I am,’ he agreed, his pupils resuming their normal size, and a humorous grin lifting the corners of his mouth. ‘But——’ he laid a hand on her bare arm as she would have got to her feet ‘—not for tea! If there’s a beer lying around here, I’ll take it. But not more of the lukewarm—stuff—I was offered earlier.’

Fliss jerked her arm back as if he’d burned her. And indeed, the sensation his hand had induced on her flesh was not unlike that description. His fingers, lean and hard and cool, had left an indelible imprint. So much so that, for a moment, she had hardly been aware of what he was saying.

Instead, she found herself wondering how it would feel to have his hands on her body; and not just her limbs, which were already melting at the thought. But on her waist; her hips; her breasts. She caught her breath. The idea that he might also touch her intimately was a fascinating prospect, and it took Robert’s voice to arouse her from the dangerous spiral of her thoughts.

‘I see you’ve introduced yourself to my fiancée, Lynch. What have you been saying to make her look so guilty?’

The American rose in one lithe easy movement, in no way daunted by the faint edge of animosity in the Englishman’s tone. ‘Oh—we were discussing the relative merits of tea, among other things,’ he replied, not altogether untruthfully. ‘As a stranger in your country, I’m not accustomed to the—customs.’

Robert seemed to realise there was something rather ambiguous about this statement, but short of asking what he meant outright there was little he could say. ‘Well, I hope Fliss has satisfied your curiosity,’ he remarked tightly. ‘Naturally, we’ll all do what we can to make your stay as pleasant as possible.’

Oliver Lynch’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, but there was genuine warmth in his voice as he replied, ‘Your fiancée has been most charming. I hope you appreciate her.’

‘Oh, I do.’ Even if Fliss had not been thinking of getting to her feet at that moment, she felt sure the possessive hand Robert placed about her arm would have achieved it. There was anger now, as well as proprietorial ownership, in the way he drew her up beside him, sliding his arm about her waist, as if to underline his claim. ‘Fliss is my one weakness,’ he said, though there was little leniency in his voice. ‘She can wrap me round her finger any time she likes.’ And, bending his head towards her, he bestowed a prolonged kiss on her startled mouth.

If Fliss hadn’t been embarrassed before, she was now, with Oliver Lynch’s pale eyes observing their every move. If it weren’t so fanciful she’d have said he knew what she was thinking. Though not what she’d thought before, please God, she prayed with some conviction.

‘You’re a very lucky man,’ Lynch remarked now, into the vacuum that Fliss felt was as visible as it was heard. If Robert had intended to disconcert the other man, he was going to be sadly disappointed. Oliver Lynch was only amused by her fiancé’s behaviour. Amused at, and slightly contemptuous of, his attempt to display possession.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_674712e9-fad6-58c7-8be0-5e88439a86a9)

‘BUT why do we have to have separate rooms?’ asked Rose Chen impatiently. ‘It’s not as if we have to keep our relationship a secret or anything. I know you’ve always insisted on keeping your own apartment in Hong Kong, but surely this is different? We are travelling together.’

‘I’ve told you: I need my own space,’ said Oliver shortly, growing tired of the argument they had been having since they booked into the hotel.

They were staying at the Moathouse in Market Risborough, which was the nearest town to Sutton Magna. The night before, Rose had stayed with her father’s agent in Fulham, and Oliver had occupied a room in a small hotel off Piccadilly.

Rose heaved a deep breath now. ‘Have I done something wrong?’ she demanded. ‘I thought our first meeting with the Hastingses went off rather well. At least they aren’t openly hostile. It was a brilliant idea of yours to make the first move so informal. They could hardly throw us out without creating quite a fuss.’ She paused. ‘Though I did detect some undercurrents, didn’t you?’

‘Maybe.’

Oliver was non-committal. In truth, he hadn’t devoted as much attention to the reasons why they had gone to Sutton Grange as he should. From the moment he’d laid eyes on Felicity Hayton he’d been hard pressed to keep his mind on anything else. Her cool, honey-blonde beauty had done forgotten things to his nervous system. Just thinking about how her skin felt-smooth and soft beneath his fingers—still caused a definite tightening in his groin.

Which was fairly pathetic, and he knew it. Ever since the youthful marriage he had contracted in college had ended with a ‘Dear John’ letter while he was in Vietnam, he had had no use for emotional relationships. There had been women, of course—plenty of them, he acknowledged without conceit—but they had served their purpose and been forgotten. He supposed his association with Rose Chen was the closest thing to a permanent relationship he had had since his teenage years.

But it was just a job, and one which he sometimes despised himself for. He liked Rose, he admired her spirit, and sometimes he’d even felt some affection towards her. But he didn’t love her. He doubted he had ever really loved anyone.

‘Something is wrong, isn’t it?’ Rose was nothing if not persistent. ‘What did Robert say to you? He wasn’t awkward or anything, was he? I know his mother was a real pain, but I thought he kept his cool.’

Except where his fiancée was concerned, thought Oliver drily, remembering the way the other man had dragged Felicity—Fliss—up from her chair and practically savaged her. Oliver could still feel the fury he had felt when Hastings had put his hands upon her. He hadn’t cared at that moment whether the younger man had known of his father’s dealings or not. All he’d wanted to do was put his hands about the other man’s thick neck and squeeze, and squeeze, and squeeze …

‘He’s a runt,’ declared Oliver succinctly, his own feelings briefly getting the better of him. He knew it wouldn’t do to alert Rose Chen to the dislike he felt for her half-brother, but it felt good to voice his contempt just the same.

‘You think so?’

Naturally, Rose Chen was interested in his opinion, and Oliver had to quickly fabricate a reason for his remark. ‘I gathered from his mother that he doesn’t like work,’ he said dismissively. ‘If even half what she says is true, he seems to spend most of his time either at the race-track or on the golfcourse.’

‘I see.’ Rose Chen caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘That could be useful, couldn’t it? If Robert isn’t too familiar with running the business, he may not be so opposed to my taking charge.’

‘In a pig’s eye,’ said Oliver, wondering if Rose could really be as gullible as she liked to appear. Personally he didn’t believe it for a moment. She was James Hastings’ daughter; she must know what there was at stake.

Rose Chen lifted her slim shoulders now. She’d worn a cream silk suit to go to Sutton Magna, but she’d shed the jacket since she got back, and her arms were bare. Her hair was short, moulding her shapely head like a black cap. Her small breasts were taut against her silk vest, and the short skirt of the suit showed her legs to advantage. She was small and exotic and sexy, but Oliver felt no attraction as she preened before his gaze.

The trouble was, he was comparing her dainty appearance to the long-legged Englishwoman he had met on the Hastingses’ terrace. And, although Fliss didn’t possess Rose Chen’s sophistication, she was infinitely more feminine. Tall, easily five feet eight, he guessed, and not thin in the way most women these days were thin, but supple, and shapely, with breasts a man could die for. She was elegant and classy, with legs that went on forever. Not at all like the women he was used to, with her golden skin and hair …

‘Whatever,’ Rose Chen murmured carelessly, lifting her arms and cupping the back of her neck. Her oval eyes sought Oliver’s as he lounged against the writing table. ‘I think I’ll take a shower. D’you want to join me?’

Oliver straightened. ‘No, thanks,’ he said swiftly, and then tempered his refusal with a brief smile. ‘I’ve got some unpacking to do, and I thought I might call home.’ He grimaced. ‘It’s cheaper ringing from London than it is from the Far East.’

Rose Chen hid her impatience badly. ‘We will dine together, I assume? You won’t be too tired? Or suffering from jet-lag?’

Oliver strolled towards the door. ‘I’ll try to keep awake,’ he responded over his shoulder. ‘Shall we say seven-thirty? We’d better not make it too late. Hastings is picking you up at eight o’clock tomorrow morning, isn’t he?’

‘He’s picking us up,’ amended Rose Chen tersely. ‘I want you to come with me, Lee. You’re so much better at reading people’s faces than I am.’

Oliver acknowledged her remark with lazy indulgence, but as soon as the door had closed behind him he frowned. He knew that as far as the colonel was concerned things could not be going better. The old man had actually asked Oliver to try and get inside the Hastings offices and find out as much as he could about distribution and so on. And, while accompanying Rose Chen was not quite what he had had in mind, it might be possible to use the visit to his own advantage.

He called Hong Kong while he was waiting for room service to deliver the bottle of Scotch he’d ordered. It was already the early hours of the following morning there, but he guessed Colonel Lightfoot would be waiting for his call. Rose Chen had no idea that ‘calling home’ were his own code words for keeping in touch with the agency. So far as she was concerned, he was keeping in touch with his family. And, doubtless he’d do that, too, if only to cover himself. Besides, his mother would appreciate it.

Colonel Lightfoot’s voice was barely drowsy. If he had been asleep, he was one of those people who was instantly awake. Oliver guessed he’d half expected him to call the previous evening. But until he’d encountered Robert Hastings he’d really had nothing to report.

‘The family,’ said the colonel, after Oliver’s initial impressions had been aired. ‘Do you think his wife is aware of what’s been going on?’

‘Difficult to say.’ Oliver wasn’t sure what he thought about Amanda Hastings. The woman had come on to him, but that might have been her way of sounding him out. She had certainly been curious about his relationship with Rose Chen, but once again she might have had her own reasons for asking so many questions.

‘You say you’re going to the company’s offices tomorrow?’ The colonel didn’t waste time on speculation. ‘I don’t think anyone will make any mistakes while you’re around, but you may be able to assess whether Rose Chen has any authority.’

Oliver absorbed this without comment. Unless the upheaval of learning she was Robert Hastings’ daughter had made Rose Chen more vulnerable, he doubted he would learn anything from her behaviour. As far as business was concerned, Rose Chen had been the ideal employee: she had respected her employer’s confidence, and never betrayed any of his secrets, even in the heat of passion.

‘Of course, it’s her reaction to Robert Hastings we’re interested in,’ the colonel went on doggedly. ‘The apparent animosity between them may be just a front. We can’t be absolutely sure that neither of them knew of the other’s existence before Hastings cashed his chips.’

Oliver didn’t argue, but personally he was fairly sure they hadn’t. Even without Rose Chen’s response he had sensed that, for all his apparent affability towards his half-sister, Robert Hastings was inwardly seething.

There had been that moment with his fiancée, for example. He hadn’t just been reacting to the fact that another man was showing her some attention—though if he’d known Oliver’s thoughts he might have been; there had been anger and barely suppressed violence in his actions. And it hadn’t been just because he was a man. It was who he was that mattered. As far as Hastings was concerned, he—Oliver—was irrevocably linked with Rose Chen.

‘You’re not saying a lot,’ Colonel Lightfoot commented at last, and Oliver gathered his drifting thoughts.

‘There’s not a lot to say,’ he responded evenly. ‘I’ll be in touch again when I’ve got something to report.’

‘Right.’ The colonel hesitated. ‘You wouldn’t go soft on me, would you, Lynch? I’d hate to see that solid gold reputation sullied because you’ve let your—sexual urges—rule your head. I know you care about the woman. But don’t think that warning her will do her any good.’

The short laugh Oliver uttered then was ironic. If only Archie knew, he thought wryly. It wasn’t his Chinese nemesis the colonel had to worry about. It was a cool, innocent Englishwoman, Oliver was remembering. With skin as sweet as honey, and hair as fine as silk …

‘And you say Robert isn’t coming to terms with the situation?’ Matthew Hayton remarked thoughtfully, looking at his daughter over the rims of his spectacles. ‘Well, I don’t really see what choice he’s got.’