Gift-Wrapped Read online

  GIFT-WRAPPED

  by

  VICTORIA GORDON

  © Victoria Gordon 1993

  This book is for my daughters: Chris and Kaarin, who should not take it too literally.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Snow had frosted his inky hair, giving Anne a preview of how Steele Murdoch might look when he got older.

  That was her first impression, and it was so completely irrelevant to the situation that she almost laughed out loud. But then he spoke, and there was so much she remembered in that deep, velvet voice that she shivered despite the warmth around her.

  ‘Hello, Wombat; you’re looking fit and well,’ he said, one dark eyebrow cocked as those sooty eyes roved up and down her body with a proprietary smugness.

  Wombat! Would she never be allowed to forget? That thought raced through her mind, but her body was reacting to his gaze, not to his words.

  His glance was at once a caress and an accusation. He was seeing her, Anne thought, not as she stood but as she had once lain, pleading with him to take her, to join their bodies, their minds, their lives, to make her truly his.

  Again she shivered, and this time he admitted noticing.

  ‘You could invite me inside,’ he said softly. ‘I can’t imagine this draught will be much good for your crop of rug-rats.’

  Anne met his eyes, then dropped her own almost in a gesture of submission. Invite him in? It was the last, absolutely the last thing she wanted. But had she any choice? Not really, she decided quickly.

  ‘All right, but I would remind you that I’m working,’ she replied, determined to assert her authority while knowing she might just as well try to fly. Steele Murdoch acknowledged no authority but his own, as she knew only too well.

  ‘They don’t give you time for lunch?’ he asked in a show of innocence she was far too experienced to accept. Anne thought quickly, desperately.

  ‘I’ve been,’ she told him then, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t notice the lie, or at least wouldn’t force the issue. Anne knew herself to be among the world’s worst liars.

  ‘OK,’ he answered, then paused, allowing the silence to work on his behalf, letting her stew, letting her wonder what on earth he was doing here. And why.

  Anne took it just as long as she could, and, while that seemed like hours, she knew her own hesitation to be only momentary. It wasn’t so much that she wanted to break the silence; it was that anything was better than just having Steele undress her with his eyes.

  He didn’t just look through her clothing to see the slender figure beneath; his black, black eyes seemed able to look deeper than that, able to penetrate her every veil of privacy, to see right into her soul.

  She turned silently away and stalked towards the very questionable privacy of her office, aware that he was watching her, equally aware that Karen, Linda and Helen, her assistants at the day-care centre, were watching him.

  She preceded him into the tiny cubicle, suddenly aware of just how small, how shabby it really was. Steele closed the door behind them without being asked, then took it upon himself also to shed the bulky sheepskin coat he wore.

  ‘You won’t be staying long enough for that,’ said Anne, then halted as she realised how totally rude her statement had been. ‘I’m sorry,’ she added lamely, but then found she had no other words to add.

  ‘This thing’s too hot outside, let alone in here,’ he said with a grimace. ‘I can’t understand how you lot manage with this central heating ... it just can’t be healthy.’

  Under the heavy coat he wore only a light woollen turtle-neck, and its ivory colour served to set off the darkness of his tan. Below the sweater he wore sharply creased trousers, and Anne knew without looking that his feet would be encased in custom-made boots.

  She had already settled herself gingerly behind her small desk, grateful for the modicum of security it afforded her. Steele slung his coat over the back of the office’s only other chair, then seated himself and looked towards her expectantly.

  Between them, silence hung like a tangible curtain until he finally grinned with apparent satisfaction and then spoke.

  ‘You seem ... somewhat taken aback,’ he offered. ‘Is it because I didn’t bounce in with a sack over my shoulder crying Merry Christmas or Joyeux Noel, or whatever?’

  Anne fought for control, fought to keep the sarcasm out of her reply. He’d be expecting it, she knew that. Steele Murdoch loved nothing better than to get her going; he said anybody could get her goat — it must be the slowest one around.

  ‘You must admit to being something of a surprise,’ she finally replied.

  ‘Hah! Not the Christmas present you most expected, eh?’ he chuckled.

  ‘Or wanted, as I’m sure you’re aware,’ she retorted quickly, all too aware now of the interest their conversation was creating from outside the office.

  How could he do this to her? The other three girls would get through the rest of the winter on this, Anne thought. She could just imagine the prying and probing and damnable speculation she was in for. Anger began to replace her initial confusion, and she had to struggle to maintain control.

  ‘All right, let’s get this over with,’ she said with a shake of her head. ‘You’re here ... I can see that. And I presume there’s some reason for it, although I can’t for the life of me imagine what it might be.’

  He remained unmoved by her attitude, seemed to be enjoying it, if anything.

  ‘I came to take you to lunch,’ he growled. ‘I told you that.’

  Anne had to grin at the mock-fierceness, at his habitual refusal to take anything seriously if he didn’t choose to.

  ‘Ten thousand miles, just to take me to lunch?’ she queried. ‘That’s a bit extravagant even for you, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Well, there is a bit more to it than that,’ he admitted without a hint of contrition, but then halted without adding any explanation.

  Anne waited. He was playing, she knew, toying with her, baiting her deliberately. And it was a game she’d decided she would not play.

  ‘Heard from the old fellow recently?’

  Steele asked the question with deceptive innocence. Anne cringed inside, knowing that he knew she hadn’t written to her father in nearly a year, knowing he knew she ought to feel guilty, knowing he’d make sure she would feel guilty even if she didn’t just now.

  ‘Not ... recently,’ she hedged. ‘But then the mails are never much chop at this time of year.’ Not a lie, exactly, but close enough to make her uncomfortable about it. She wouldn’t, Anne told herself, put herself in such a position with anybody else.

  Steele’s reply was a grunt. He didn’t even bother to take her up on the deliberate attempt to mislead. Twisting in his chair, he reached into an inner pocket of the jacket behind him, extracted a small packet, and pitched it expertly on to the desk before her.

  ‘Still haven’t grown up, I see,’ he muttered, and before Anne could reply he had lifted the coat, shrugged into it, and was turning towards the office door. ‘So I won’t waste any more of your time. Merry Christmas.’

  ‘No ... wait!’ Anne was on her feet now, rushing round the desk and reaching out to grasp at his sleeve. She couldn’t let him leave like this, with no explanation, even, of why he’d come all the way from Tasmania in Australia to Edmonton, in Canada, and at this time of year!

  Steele eyed her hand on his sleeve, looking at her slender fingers, she thought, with the same expression he’d use for one of the gigantic huntsman spiders so common in the Australian bush.

  She had never wanted to see him again, and told herself that really she still didn’t. But now that he was here she just had to know why, had to force from him the latest news of her father. If he hadn’t come, she realised suddenly, she could have
gone on without continued contact, but now that he was here it all seemed to have a vastly different emphasis.

  ‘Please,’ she said, adding her broadest smile to the plea, ‘you can’t go without ... well ... without at least telling me how things are, how ... how my father is, and—’

  ‘This is neither the time nor the place,’ he said. ‘And, since you’ve already had lunch, I guess it will just have to wait.’

  "Wait? Wait until when?’

  ‘Until I’m ready to tell you, I guess,’ Steele replied with a grin that matched his name. It was cold, formal, with not even a hint of the friendliness that had been there when he first arrived.

  ‘I ... but ... how will I know?’ Anne stammered. ‘I mean ... well ... where are you staying? You could at least tell me that.’

  ‘I could.’ He nodded, the gesture suggestive of a wise owl, but hardly that benign. He could tell her, but obviously he wasn’t going to.

  Anne didn’t know what to say, what to do. She couldn’t just let him walk out like this. What if he didn’t come back? And it would be just like Steele Murdoch, she thought, to do exactly that, to get her attention and then leave her hanging.

  ‘Or wouldn’t it be frustrating if I just went walkabout?’ he asked with a wolf’s grin, reading her mind with that uncanny skill he had. ‘I might, too. After all, I’ve done what I came to do, which was to deliver your Christmas present from the old fellow.’

  ‘God, you’re spiteful,’ she asserted hotly, angered at having been taken in yet again by this cunning, devious man. ‘I know you hate me, but that’s no reason to indulge in this ... this ... torture.’

  ‘Hate you? What a strange idea.’ Steele laughed, but there was little humour in his eyes as he gazed down at her. Anne felt suddenly as if she wasn’t even significant enough for such a strong emotion as hate. ‘And I’d hardly call it torture to bring you a Christmas present from halfway round the world — unless of course you just can’t bear to abide by the sticker that says not to open it until Christmas.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant and you know it,’ Anne snapped. She hadn’t even looked at the parcel, which lay where he’d pitched it. And she wouldn’t, not while he was there to watch her, to read her mind as easily as if she’d been writing her thoughts on a blackboard for anybody to read.

  ‘How can you expect me to know what you mean?’ he asked, his voice soft with professed innocence. ‘It’s been ... what ... nearly two years? That’s a long time to keep track of how anybody thinks, especially ... well...’

  He shrugged his shoulders, broader than usual with the bulk of the sheepskin jacket, but, instead of following through to elaborate on his teasing pause, once again he turned towards the door.

  ‘How about a drink after work, then?’ Anne heard herself asking. It wasn’t at all what she’d intended to say, and she found herself adding lamely, ‘I can find time, I guess,’ just to keep it from sounding too wishy-washy, too obliging.

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t want you to put yourself out,’ was the calm, icy reply. Steele’s eyes were as cold as his voice, and she felt herself almost cringing beneath their intensity.

  But, she decided, she’d made her gesture of conciliation and he’d have to take it or leave it. Anything further and he’d have her begging. She felt guilty, if justified, in letting communications lapse between her and her father — not that it was any of Steele Murdoch’s business anyway! But not so guilty that she would let this autocratic man dictate to her conscience.

  ‘If it were a matter of that, I wouldn’t have suggested it,’ she replied staunchly. And found herself wishing he’d just accept or refuse, and quickly, before she lost all control of both temper and composure.

  ‘You’re sure you’ve got time?’

  ‘I just said so,’ she said firmly, trying not to show the suspicion she felt. He was leading up to something. This man, she knew, could teach courses in being devious, and was at his worst when he sounded most plausible.

  ‘No boyfriend waiting to collect you after work? I’m a bit surprised at that,’ he continued, obviously leading her, trying for a reaction.

  Anne wasn’t going to bite. She told herself that, mentally, before making any reply. ‘I’ll have to spend most of this afternoon putting them all off,’ she said finally, ‘but since you’ve come all this way it’s only fair, I suppose...’

  ‘Spare me,’ he growled. Anne felt that tiny thrill of victory, of having finally got at least some of her own back. Until he continued!

  ‘Logically, then, you can just as easily make yourself free for dinner, rather than just a drink,’ he said, not making it a question, much less an invitation. No, not Steele Murdoch. He spoke as if it was a simple statement of fact, unarguable.

  ‘I ... well ... I ...’ Anne stammered, her mind racing, seething with a mixture of indignation and frustration at having been so easily trapped. Damn him!

  ‘Shall I collect you here, then, or would you rather go home and change first?’ he continued, nothing in his expression revealing any awareness of her confusion.

  Anne struggled for an excuse — any excuse! But it was futile and she knew it. If she begged off now, he’d be just mean enough to take her at her word and disappear as mysteriously as he’d come, leaving her wondering forever why he’d come at all.

  ‘Or is it one of those nights you just have to wash your hair?’ he asked with a wry grin, and reached out to touch her hair before she could retreat.

  His fingers were as gentle as she remembered — mustn’t remember! — and the gesture was too familiar even after all this time. She felt herself wanting to lean into his touch, to revel in it.

  ‘It doesn’t feel dirty to me,’ he said, and now his words were barely audible, his voice was so quiet. Anne shivered inwardly at the allure of that voice, and cursed herself for it.

  ‘I wasn’t trying to make excuses,’ she snapped, yanking herself back to reality and in the process pulling away from his touch. ‘It’s just that — well, it is rather unexpected, after all. I didn’t come to work this morning with any plans for going out, and you haven’t given me any indication of where you’d want to go, so I can hardly be blamed for wondering if I’m properly dressed, or — or — well, whatever!’

  She felt the first pang of a different guilt then. She had planned to go out after work, but of course that was with John. Dear, dear John, who didn’t care what she wore, who wouldn’t, in any event, take her anywhere that what she wore would make the slightest difference

  Who wouldn’t take her anywhere at all, if it weren’t for her ability to pay the tab, she thought suddenly, and winced at the betrayal involved in such thinking. It wasn’t John’s fault, after all. He couldn’t help being out of work. Times were tough, especially for somebody who had always had the system against him.

  She’d have to telephone him, she realised. And fairly quickly, too, or he’d be off somewhere with his friends and she’d never find him until it was too late.

  ‘I might leave the choice to you,’ Steele was saying. ‘I’ve only been exposed to what’s handy to where I’m staying, and you should have a better idea of what’s good; it’s your town, after all.’

  Her town? In the context of his comment, it was anything but, Anne thought, remembering his taste for quality. She and Steele had dined out fairly often during her Tasmanian experience, but she realised now that she’d not done anything even remotely similar since her return to Edmonton. Partly because of the cost, of course, but also because John always felt uncomfortable in really good restaurants, or so he said. He didn’t like snooty waiters, didn’t like having to dress up, didn’t, to her knowledge, even have the clothes to dress up in, and their evenings out usually involved groups of his choosing in places where she wouldn’t be caught dead with somebody like Steele Murdoch.

  Once again Anne felt a twinge of disloyalty, but she hadn’t time now to indulge in that. Her mind was awhirl with the task of resolving this situation quickly, and without losing face.


  ‘There are several excellent places in the West Edmonton Mall,’ she said quickly, grasping at the first answer that came to mind. ‘That’s something you ought to see anyway, while you’re here. It’s billed as the eighth wonder of the modern world — the biggest shopping centre under one roof anywhere.’ Once started, she used that as a springboard to solving the other part of the problem facing her.

  ‘How about I meet you there at, say, eight o’clock?’ she asked. ‘Much easier that way, since where I live would make it ridiculously inconvenient for you to collect me.’ She trailed off, realising with acute embarrassment that she was blathering, making very little sense, considering she didn’t know where he was staying or what transportation he might have. But the gigantic Mall was a perfect choice, she thought suddenly. At the very least, there would be people around, probably thousands upon thousands of them, this close to Christmas. They wouldn’t need a booking at that hour: it was late for Edmontonians she knew to be dining, and there was all the choice in the world.

  ‘OK, eight o’clock, then,’ he replied — too quickly? Anne had a flash of suspicion, but it was submerged by the sheer relief that she now didn’t have to worry about him showing up at her dingy, grotty little bedsitter flat. She’d never paid much attention, until just this minute, to how truly awful the tiny flat really was, and for an instant she felt, not guilt, but a whimsy of being able to use where she lived to demonstrate the success of her lifestyle, somewhere that made a statement about herl

  There was a rueful thought that the flat did just that, but it wasn’t a statement she liked very much. It was cheap, but nobody could say much of anything else favourable about the place.

  Anne shook her head, trying to bring every thought into some semblance of logic. ‘Eight o’clock, yes,’ she finally said. ‘I’ll meet you … uhm …’ her mind raced frantically as she searched for some logical meeting spot in the vastness of the hundred-acre-plus complex ‘How about at the entrance to the water park? You shouldn’t have any problem finding that ... any cabbie in the city will know where to take you, and…’