Flirting With Danger

If he hadn’t touched her then perhaps she might have been able to rein in her temper, get a grip on her self-control, but with the pressure of those strong fingers on her skin, sending electrical impulses shooting through every nerve, it seemed as if something had exploded inside her head, threatening to blow off the top of her skull.

Her vision hazed and she didn’t see Evan Lindsay as a man but as the personification of the male force—big and dark and ominously threatening.

‘No need! You creep in here—’

‘I said, calm down!’

He actually shook her—not hard, but firmly enough to drive the message home, sweeping the panic from her mind and replacing it with a calmer, more logical way of thinking.

‘You were a long time getting the coffee, and your father seemed concerned so I came to see if you needed any help. I wasn’t creeping around anywhere!’ he added more emphatically. ‘It isn’t my fault if you were so lost in a dream world that you didn’t hear me come into the room.’

If she needed bringing back down to reality, then the look in those cold, sea-coloured eyes was enough to do just that. It was like having a bucketful of icy water thrown straight into her face, and it shocked her out of her panic without a second’s hesitation, leaving her gasping in reaction.

‘I—I’m sorry,’ she said stiffly. ‘I was—thinking of something else.’

‘Obviously,’ was the sardonic response. ‘And something none too pleasant from the looks of things. Just what—?’

But Catherine had remembered exactly what she had been thinking in the moment that he had come up behind her, and with that half-formed fear of him still shadowing her mind she wasn’t prepared to reveal any of her innermost feelings to him.

‘My thoughts are my own, Mr Lindsay,’ she returned tartly. ‘I’ll thank you not to poke your nose in where it’s not wanted.’

‘Fine.’ The single syllable was cold and curt, like the smile that he switched on and off as briefly as a flashing neon sign.

It was only when he let go of her hands that she realised he had still held them, the jarring abruptness of the movement as her arms fell to her sides aggravating her already disturbed state of mind. But she was totally unprepared for the devastating and bewildering sense of loss that ripped through her as cold air reached the spot where the warm strength of his hands had been only seconds before, so that it was all she could do to keep herself from crying out in distress.

‘Would you like some help with the tray, or would that be an invasion of your precious privacy too?’

‘What? Oh, no-’

Catherine struggled to regain some composure, feeling as if the tattered shreds of her self-control were fluttering wildly round her like the remains of some torn and ragged garment.

‘Thanks—that would be kind…’

Her voice faded as Evan moved forward, coming into the full glare of the fluorescent light for the first time, his features being thrown into harsh relief as if someone had directed a spotlight full on to his face.

He was definitely not a pretty man, or even a handsome one, she reflected privately. That strongly carved bone-structure was too harsh, too forceful to be described in any such way. He was a very tough-looking man—a man whose face seemed to be carved out of hard, unpolished wood, all knots and angles and…

‘What happened to your nose?’ The question escaped before she had time to consider whether it was wise to show an interest in such a personal matter.

‘My nose?’ He looked as startled as she felt to hear the words on her lips. ‘Oh—that?

Strong brown fingers touched the definite bump that marred the straightness in the centre of his face.

‘I broke it.’

‘Obviously.’ She echoed his own sardonic tone of moments before. ‘Any fool can see that—but how did it happen?’

A grin curled the corners of his mouth, mocking her indignation.

‘In the army—on a training exercise.’

The smile grew, became devastating in its megawatt brilliance.

‘I had to climb a rope that I believed had been fastened securely—it hadn’t, and I fell—hard. Result—one broken nose and a badly bruised ego. Needless to say, I never trust myself to anything without double-checking now.’

‘You were in the army? When? For how long?’

‘A couple of years. I went in straight from school. My father felt I needed the discipline, and at the time I would have done anything to get away from home. It didn’t last long, though,’ he added drily. ‘Let’s say that the army and I didn’t exactly—suit one another.’

Catherine could well believe it. Even from the little she had seen of Evan she had gained an impression of someone who was too much his own man to submit willingly to the sort of unquestioning routine that was part of army life.

‘And I suppose that’s where you learned about security techniques—I understand that a lot of ex-army men go into that sort of job.’

‘The ones who don’t become night-watchmen or bodyguards.’

He was deliberately probing now; she knew that from the laser-like intensity with which those changeable eyes were fixed on her face. He was echoing her own comment earlier, wanting to push her into explaining.

‘We’d better get this coffee through to the lounge before it gets cold,’ she said, carefully ignoring his pushing. ‘Dad will be sending out a search-party for me.’

‘Is he always this over-protective?’

The question came deceptively casually, with Evan’s head turned away as he picked up the tray, but it was enough to stop her dead in her tracks, halfway towards the door.

‘What do you mean, “over-protective”?’ Her voice was pitched too high and she struggled to lower it a degree or two. ‘He’s just a normal, caring parent—’

‘Sure…’ Evan’s tone poured scorn on her indignation. ‘Look, honey, I don’t normally jump to conclusions about people, but you two don’t exactly have a run of the mill sort of relationship.’

‘I don’t know what you mean—’

‘No? Then let me tell you about this afternoon. I’ve been working with your father for days, and for some time it’s been obvious that his mind isn’t exactly on his job. Then today I called in at his office to discuss some things I needed to talk over with him. He made it plain that I’d have to make it quick—that he couldn’t be late home—and it wasn’t long before I realised that he wasn’t paying me any attention at all. In fact, his thoughts were miles away. In the end he just gave up pretending to listen and suggested that we continued our discussion at his home.’

‘So what’s wrong with that? Dad often brings work home if it’s late.’

‘It was barely five o’clock. His secretary hadn’t even finished work for the day, but Lloyd Davies, the boss of the whole outfit, says he has to go home—he’s worried about his daughter.’

The disturbing note in Evan’s voice scraped over Catherine’s exposed nerves, worsening their already raw sensitivity, and she found it impossible to meet that probing, searching gaze, concentrating instead on smoothing and folding a crumpled teatowel that lay on the draining-board, arranging it with over-meticulous care.

‘Naturally, I assumed from his concern that his daughter was a young girl—school-age at most, maybe even younger—so you can imagine my surprise when I find she’s not a child but a fully grown woman of twenty-six, someone well old enough—’

‘My father and I are very close,’ Catherine broke in on him, unable to face the prospect of the inevitable questions that she knew were coming. ‘It’s probably because the age-gap between us is so small.’

‘It’s more than that.’

‘Are you implying—?’

‘I’m implying nothing—just curious.’

‘Look, my mother left when I was barely five, and Dad and I have been together ever since. Naturally, we’re very close—very dependent—though I don’t suppose you’d understand that.’