No Holding Back

‘I’ve—just got something on my mind. I’d planned on working on the accounts this evening. Things are really getting a bit tight, and——’

‘Oh, they’ll keep until tomorrow. After all, a tiny business like yours can’t have many real problemsnothing compared to the white elephant of a factory my father left me lumbered with. I mean—who wants to buy fireworks nowadays?’

Once more he was launched on his own concerns. Listening to him, Saffron had to bite down hard on her lower lip in order to keep back an angry response. Owen had always had a tendency to be like this, but somehow tonight it seemed much more infuriating than usual. Was she just feeling unsettled after the disturbing meeting at the factory that morning, or did it go deeper than that?

At that moment her thought processes stopped dead, because in the second that she had looked away, needing to distract herself from Owen’s soliloquy and the urge to tell him to shut up, her attention had been drawn to a flurry of activity at the entrance to the restaurant and then, unbelievingly, inexorably, to the tall figure of the man who had just come in.

She recognised him immediately. There was no mistaking that jet-black gleaming hair, the straight, firm shoulders, the arrogant, upright carriage that had impressed her even when he was sitting down. Seen on his feet like this, that dark, sleek head towering inches above the head waiter—who, recognising intuitively the innate self-assurance and air of power that only a great deal of money could buy, was buzzing around him like a bee around an open honey-pot—he was even more imposing, a forceful, vital figure of a man who would always be noticed the moment he walked into a room. Even through the haze of shock that clouded her brain she was well aware of the fact that hers weren’t the only pair of female eyes that had noted his arrival—noted it and lingered in frank appreciation.

‘Forrester!’

Dimly, with a sense of terrible inevitability, she heard Owen’s exclamation confirm her earlier fears, depriving her of any possible weakly lingering hope that she might have been mistaken about the identity of the man in the managing director’s office.

‘But I thought he’d gone back to London.’ Her voice was an uncomfortable croak as she struggled to believe that this was actually happening, that he could be here—now. If he saw them—saw her——

‘So did I. Something must have kept him. Hey, Forrester! Niall!’

To Saffron’s horror, Owen was out of his seat, waving a hand to attract the other man’s attention.

‘I’ll ask him to join us—you should meet him. Forrester—over here!’

‘Owen!’ Saffron whispered through clenched teeth, but it was too late. Owen’s actions had drawn Niall Forrester’s gaze, those unforgettable light grey eyes narrowing slightly as they focused on his face from across the room.

He was not at all pleased at being accosted in this way, Saffron realised, seeing with a twist of apprehension the way that his dark brows drew together sharply, indicating an annoyed response that had her shrinking down in her chair, fearful of that cold-eyed scrutiny being turned on her too. Perhaps he would ignore Owen, take a table at the far side of the room.

‘Over here!’ Owen tried again, beckoning ostentatiously, in the same moment that Saffron realised just how ridiculous she was being, hiding away like this, as if she was some small, hunted animal.

With an angry reproof to herself, she straightened up again, and then immediately wished she hadn’t as the slight movement caught Niall Forrester’s attention, and with a sinking heart she saw his expression change swiftly. Even from this distance she could see the fierce, almost predatory gleam of triumph that lit up those pale eyes, turning them to silver and making all the nerves in the pit of her stomach twist into tight, painful knots of panic. It was all that she could do to remain in her seat, only suppressing the urge to push back her chair and run with a supreme effort.

But he was coming towards them now, his stride as determined and purposeful as his expression, and with a bitter sense of despair she knew that there was no way she could avoid the confrontation that was approaching as swiftly and inexorably as the darkness that was gathering outside. If she did run, she had no doubt that he would come after her, would catch up with her without any difficulty. And that that would result in a scene even worse than the one she now anticipated with such dread, she acknowledged miserably, wiping suddenly damp palms nervously on her napkin, convinced that the diners at the next table must hear how heavily her heart was pounding.

‘Richards. Good evening——’

The sound of that smooth, attractive voice was like a blow to Saffron’s head, the single phrase reverberating over and over in her disturbed thoughts. She had only heard perhaps ninety-five or a hundred words in those deep, slightly husky tones, and yet she felt as if every note of it, every shaded inflexion was etched into her brain in red-hot strokes.

‘Would you like to join us?’ Owen was totally oblivious to Saffron’s discomfiture. ‘It’s no fun dining alone.’

‘Thank you—I’d appreciate that.’

The smoothness of Niall Forrester’s tone made Saffron blink hard in shock. Had she been seeing things a moment earlier? Or had her own nervousness made her misinterpret his expression? Certainly, there was no sign of the cold-eyed look she had seen on his face; now he was all affable approachability, oozing social ease from every pore.

‘I’d anticipated a solitary meal, so some company would be welcome.’

The words were directed at Owen, but Saffron had caught the swift flicker of a glance in her direction, a look that left her in no doubt that he was only too well aware of her presence.

He was even more impressive standing up. She had tried to convince herself that the image she had created of him in her mind had been exaggerated, blown up out of all proportion by her own feelings about their meeting, but now she had to admit that, if anything, she had erred on the side of moderation. He had changed his clothes, but the dark suit he now wore was every bit as sleek and expensive as the first one, its superbly tailored lines clinging to a lean but strongly muscled frame, and under the fine material his waist and hips had the slimness of an athlete, showing that he kept himsef very fit. Standing beside Owen like this, he made the other man, who was a good six feet in his socks, look slight and underweight. And those eyes! Saffron kept her own gaze firmly fixed on her plate for fear of meeting the silver intensity of Niali Forrester’s scrutiny.

‘Won’t you introduce me to your charming companion?’

Hastily Saffron tried to impose some control over her expression as Owen, belatedly recalling her presence at the table, turned in her direction.

‘Of course—this is Saffron Ruane. Saffy, this is Niall Forrester. I told you about his interest in Dad’s factory.’

‘I remember.’

She managed a small, tight smile, feeling as if her face might actually crack if she tried any more, and, because courtesy demanded it, she held out her hand in greeting. It was taken in a warm, firm grasp that folded around her fingers, enclosing them in a way that in any other person would have inspired confidence and trust. To her consternation, this time it had exactly the opposite effect. She felt as if a live electric wire had coiled around her fingers, sending burning shockwaves pulsing across her palm and along every nerve in her arm so that it was all she could do not to snatch her hand away again with a cry of distress.

And in the moment that his broad, strong hand closed over hers she found herself looking into those clear, steel-grey eyes, her gaze held transfixed, held with such magnetic force that for a second or two she felt physically dizzy and actually swayed slightly in her seat, knowing that if she had been standing her legs would have given way beneath her and she would have fallen to the floor.

‘Miss Ruane——’ A slight inclination of his dark head acknowledged her, nothing about his expression or demeanour giving any indication that he recognised her. ‘I hope you don’t think that I’m intruding?’

The act of polite concern, nothing more, was nearperfect, almost too much so, and if she hadn’t been so excruciatingly aware of the circumstances of their previous meeting, Saffron knew that she wouldn’t have been able to fault it.

‘Not at all——’ What else could she say? ‘Won’t you sit down?’

Saffron took the opportunity to remove her hand from his with a rush of relief, turning the movement into a gesture towards the empty chair opposite in order to cover the rather abrupt way in which she snatched her fingers away, unable to bear his touch any longer.

Or was she worrying unnecessarily? she couldn’t help but wonder, as Niall seated himself. After all, he had only seen her for a very few minutes in the office—and she very much doubted that, for the most of them, his attention had been concentrated on her face! The memory of just what had held his interest had her reaching for her glass and taking a hasty gulp of her wine, hoping that its cool sharpness would halt the rush of colour to her cheeks, and she was grateful for the appearance of the waiter at Niall’s side, providing a welcome distraction from her betraying response.

She might have known that Niall Forrester would attract such prompt and almost obsequious service, she reflected wryly, seeing the waiter’s overly polite concern. He was the sort of man who emananted an aura of power and control—and he looked as if he would tip generously, she added with a touch of cynicism, recalling just how long she and Owen had had to wait before anyone came to take their order.

‘I’ll pass on the starter, then we’ll all be at the same stage.’ Clearly, Niall had noted their almost empty plates. ‘And bring another bottle of wine.’

‘Oh, but——’

Saffron had been about to protest that Owen was driving, and that she had no head for anything other than a couple of glasses, but even as she spoke Niall forestalled her, lifting their original bottle of wine from its ice-bucket and refilling their half-empty glasses.

‘Thank you,’ she was obliged to murmur, struggling against an impulse to lift her glass and fling its expensive contents in his face.

‘Not at all,’ he responded smoothly. ‘In fact, I’d like you to consider yourselves my guests tonight—my thanks for a most interesting day at the factory.’

Was she being unduly sensitive? Saffron couldn’t help wondering. Or had there been a worrying emphasis on that ‘interesting’, turning it into something that made her shift uncomfortably in her seat?

‘It was my pleasure.’

Owen tried to match the other man’s easy assurance but only managed to sound oily and insincere, and the way he had to lean forward as he spoke in order to make his presence felt made Saffron aware of the way that, while his remarks had seemed to have been aimed at them both, Niall had concentrated that silvery gaze on her face alone, making her feel like the selected victim, deliberately singled out by a ruthless predator.

‘I must admit that I’m surprised to see you here tonight.’ She forced the words out, determined not to let him see how much he worried her. ‘I thought you’d be over halfway back to London by now.’

‘That was my original intention, but I changed my mind and decided to stay overnight—do some sightseeing.’

‘Sightseeing? In Kirkham?’ Saffron didn’t bother to hide her scepticism.

‘Oh, you’d be surprised,’ Niall returned, with a smile that made every nerve in her body tense uneasily. It wasn’t humour that lit those pale eyes from within, but a hint of taunting triumph, that made her think worryingly of a hunting cat sitting patiently outside a mousehole, waiting for the unwary rodent to venture out. ‘For a sleepy little Northern town, this place has some unexpected attractions…’

That silvery gaze slid deliberately to her face, and Saffron’s breath caught in her throat as she saw that the mocking glint had brightened but not warmed those light eyes, so that they glittered with the brilliance of ice in the sun.

‘Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Ruane?’