Subtle Revenge

‘She’s never mentioned him.’

‘Hm,’ Jonathan said again, turning to look at Luke, who was now deep in conversation with Paul. ‘Interesting-looking chap.’

Dangerous, she would have said. Ominous and dangerous? Considering she had never even spoken to the man he had made a deep impression on her!

She might not have spoken to him, but he had said enough with those eyes, was still saying it!

‘Like to dance?’ Jonathan offered.

‘Thank you,’ she nodded, smiling up at him.

Jonathan was a dear, she knew he was, and yet something held her back from going out with him. He reminded her too much of Nigel, the same blond hair, the same good looks. The same determination to succeed! She knew that, like Nigel, he would never think of taking Lorraine Chisholm for his wife.

They moved well together, both tall, the red cloud of Lori’s hair drawing attention to the beauty of her face, a beauty Jonathan seemed fascinated by, for he gazed down at her with admiring eyes.

Lori chuckled as they continued to dance together as each successive melody was played. ‘I think we’re supposed to change partners, or at least take a break occasionally,’ she teased.

‘I know,’ he muttered. ‘But if we stop that man called Luke is going to ask you to dance, and I don’t intend giving him the chance.’

She frowned, glancing round. Yes, there were those steady grey eyes on her still, more searching now, as if something about her puzzled the man. Heavens, he couldn’t have recognised her, could he! She felt her panic rising, and then dismissed it. It wasn’t possible that after all this time someone should recognise her. Charles Phillips had only discovered the truth because he had had someone delve into her past; she bore little resemblance to the bewildered young girl she had been all those years ago.

No, it couldn’t be because he recognised her, her years of disguise had been too effective. Maybe he was just trying to unnerve her. Sad to say, he had succeeded!

‘Let’s sit this one out,’ she requested stiffly of Jonathan.

‘Oh, but——’

‘If he asks, Jonathan, I shall simply refuse,’ she told him haughtily.

‘You will?’ he still looked uncertain.

‘Yes, I will.’ She moved out of his arms, turning to walk into the hard wall of a masculine chest.

Strong hands came up to steady her, grasping her upper arms, the fingers long and tapered, a hidden strength within them. ‘Lori,’ drawled a deeply familiar voice.

She had known it was him the second before impact with his chest, had detected the slight smell of his aftershave, had vaguely seen the strong line of his square jaw.

‘Thank you—Luke,’ she nodded coolly, making to move out of his grasp. His hands remained, not hurting, but not gentle either.

‘Dance with me,’ he requested huskily.

‘I——’

‘We were just about to go through to the buffet,’ Jonathan cut in purposefully, taking one of Lori’s hands and putting it in the crook of his arm. ‘If you’ll excuse us,’ he gave the other man a smug smile before moving away. ‘Saved by the bell—or in this case, food,’ he muttered as they followed the stream of people into the room that contained the buffet dinner.

‘You aren’t very subtle, Jonathan,’ she smiled at his undoubted jealousy of the other man.

‘With that type subtlety doesn’t work,’ he scowled. ‘I can be subtle if I have to be.’

Lori knew that; she had once gone to court with him when his own secretary had been on holiday. She had been amazed at the change that had come over him, amazed and dismayed. He had been totally remorseless in his attack on the defendant, reminding Lori of another courtroom, another lawyer. Jacob P. Randell. Just the name made her shiver!

She saw the man called Luke several times during the evening, mostly with the Hammonds, once or twice with Sally on the dance floor, the latter blushing prettily as he spoke to her, a fact Dave viewed with a scowl on his petulantly handsome face. Not that Lori thought a little jealousy would do that young man any harm—he was altogether too sure of Sally for her liking, and she feared for her friend’s deeply committed love.

But Luke didn’t approach her again, pointedly so, seeming to move away if she should happen to approach the group he was talking to, his gaze always fixed firmly in the opposite direction if she should unavoidably look at him.

She knew what he was doing, of course, and her anger towards him grew. He surely didn’t think she was idiot enough to become interested in him merely because he was suddenly ignoring her? She had stopped playing those sort of games years ago, if she had ever played them, and she certainly wasn’t going to be drawn into that sort of trap.

‘Dance, my dear?’ The elderly Mr Hammond, her own personal boss, stood in front of her, his hair still as dark as his son’s, his step still as youthful, although he perhaps looked a little tired lately. The excitement of the wedding, she supposed. Lori had been his personal secretary for the last two years, and although she might have been a little young for the promotion she had made sure he never regretted giving her that chance.

‘I’d love to.’ She moved gracefully into his arms, finding he moved easily across the dance floor despite his portly figure. ‘The wedding went beautifully, Mr Hammond.’

He looked pleased. ‘I thought so.’

Lori knew that the Deans and the Hammonds had paid jointly for their children’s wedding arrangements, the Rolls-Royces and this costly reception, that Ruth Hammond had insisted her only son should be married in style. Poor Nikki and Paul would much rather have had a much quieter wedding, but to please the two mothers they had agreed to this extravagant affair.

‘Nikki looked beautiful,’ the elder Mr Hammond said with pride. ‘I couldn’t have chosen better myself.’

Nikki had been floating on cloud nine all through the wedding, and Paul wasn’t far behind her. The happy couple had eyes only for each other, which, after all, was the way it should be.

‘And now, with your permission, I’ll pass you on to my young friend.’ Mr Hammond had stopped dancing while Lori was so deep in thought, releasing her. ‘I know he’s been longing to meet you all day. Luke …?’ he prompted with a fatherly smile.

Lori viewed her tormenter of the day with angry eyes, the gold around the irises seeming to make them glow. Mr Hammond viewed the two of them with an indulgent smile, obviously very pleased with himself.

‘Lori?’ Luke mocked her.

She swallowed her anger. He was a friend of the Hammonds’, how much of a friend she didn’t know, but she could hardly be impolite to him in front of her employer.

‘Very wise,’ he taunted as she moved stiffly in his arms to the music, the elder man having rejoined his wife at their table.

‘I beg your pardon?’ She bent her head back to look at him, at once wishing she hadn’t, finding he was much too close. He was so close she could see the exact smoky grey colour of his eyes, the thickness of his dark brows and lashes, the fullness of his mouth, the lower lip sensually so as he gazed back at her.

‘I could be an important friend of Claude’s,’ he drawled in answer to her question.

Lori turned away, angry that he could read her thoughts so easily. And did he have to hold her so tightly?

‘Yes, I have to,’ he told her softly.

She blinked up at him dazedly. Could he read her every thought, for goodness’ sake!

‘More or less,’ he derided, smiling as she gasped. ‘It’s those eyes of yours,’ he continued softly. ‘At first they just look brown, then you notice that the gold circles make them change colour with your mood. Like right now. You’re angry, your eyes have gone the colour of honey. You have the eyes of a cat, Lori,’ he laughed throatily. ‘Like the sleek ginger tabby I had as a child. I loved making that cat purr, Lori.’

‘How fascinating,’ she said with saccharine sweetness.

His thumb-tip moved rhythmically over her wrist. ‘You aren’t as calm as you sound,’ he mocked, his thumb stopping pointedly on her fast pulse. ‘Enigmatic like a cat too,’ he murmured. ‘Do you scratch like a cat too when cornered, little kitten?’

She looked at him with cold eyes. She knew his bold manner and rugged good looks would appeal to a lot of women, but for her he held no attraction. ‘I never put myself in a position where I can be cornered, Mr—Luke. Although I’ve always admired the cat as a species.’

‘So have I. Even more so now,’ he drawled. ‘But I think I would enjoy having you purr more than I would have you scratch me.’