An Irresistible Flirtation Read online

  And then, as suddenly, it was over, and Saunders felt strangely disappointed as he left her to return to his own seat, where he sat observing with a slightly raised eyebrow as she struggled to regain her poise.

  ‘No,’ he said musingly, almost as if speaking more to himself than to Saunders. ‘No, you’re not a child.’ Then the focus changed as his eyes darted from the messy tablecloth to Saunders herself. ‘But, as I seem to recall saying earlier, my dear, you’re very definitely a grot!’

  ‘It’s your fault,’ she replied. ‘I was doing just fine until you ... you…’

  Her objection sputtered into laughter then, spurred by his own infectious grin.

  ‘Just as well,’ he said, when both had subsided into a sort of cautious watching brief. ‘You’ll enjoy your meal much more now that you can quit worrying about being neat and tidy. Relax, Saunders; that’s the point of the exercise, after all.’

  Relax? How can I relax when you’ve only got to touch me and I go all strange inside? Those and similar thoughts scurried through Saunders’ mind, but if Fordon Landell was able to read them, he kept it well- concealed and busied himself with the meal.

  Saunders did likewise, and found, ridiculous as it seemed, that her meal did become more pleasurable now that she could cease trying to be tidy and just enjoy. And, as the meal progressed, she found herself enjoying more, relaxing even further.

  By the time for coffee, they were both comfortable, she decided. On a first-name basis finally, although ‘Ford’ rolled precariously off her lips and she privately wondered if he was having the same trouble with her name.

  He had explained how he’d been named for a Tasmanian property where his adoptive father had once worked; she had told him how her mother, upon finding that she would only ever have the one child, and that a girl, had insisted upon the use of her own family surname as a first name for the infant.

  ‘I like it,’ he had said. it’s different, and I don’t mean “different” in the way the word is so often used. But Saunders suits you, somehow. Although I suppose it ought to after … how many years?’

  ‘Thirty-three, if you absolutely insist upon knowing,’ she had replied. ‘And I’m only telling you that to be fair, since I have your file to inform me of. . . Well. . .’

  ‘Anything else you want to know, just ask me and I’ll tell you,’ he’d said with a grin, ‘I don’t have any secrets, except the one you know about and about which I now remind you. I know this sounds strange as hell, but please, just follow my lead, would you?’

  His eyes had flickered away from Saunders for a moment, towards the entryway, she thought. Now they clearly indicated that someone was approaching, and Saunders had only time to nod her understanding — she hoped! — of his strange request, as he rose to greet a woman whose stunning, sultry beauty was almost enough to disguise the cloud of icy anger that surrounded her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Cold. That was Saunders’ first and overriding impression of the woman. Cold, and almost brittle in that coldness.

  But beautiful with it. Tall, almost as tall as Ford himself — and this woman’s slenderness could never be criticised; her fine bone-structure carried an elegant voluptuousness, vibrated with a studied, sensuous sexuality.

  A mane of rich, dark mahogany hair, perfectly coiffed, classically beautiful features, a long, slender neck… And eyes that now did their best to rip Saunders into digestible pieces as her low, throaty voice concentrated on Ford Landell.

  ‘Darling, you promised to meet me at the Mahoneys’ little do,’ she said, voice registering a calm that her entire attitude denied. She moved in against Ford, clearly expecting to be kissed, and Saunders was inordinately pleased to see her escort comply without any particularly obvious enthusiasm.

  ‘If I hadn’t decided to come this way and noticed your car…’ The woman paused dramatically, perhaps, Saunders thought, realising how revealing her statement had actually been, then shrugged and continued, ‘Well, I wouldn’t have known where you’d got to, would I?’

  ‘I promised I’d get to the Mahoneys’ if I could, and, although it may not look that way, I did,’ Ford replied, not specifically contradicting her, but Saunders detected a certain bite to his voice, and was certain the other woman had also caught it.

  Then he was introducing her to Nadine Fitzmaurice, who hardly acknowledged the introduction except to throw Saunders a ‘who the hell are you?’ look before continuing her interrogation.

  ‘But if you were there, and you knew I was coming…’ she said, icicles dripping from every word, then had to let it go; to continue the question would only serve to provide answers she obviously didn’t want to hear, didn’t want to know about.

  Saunders remained silent. This, she thought, was definitely not her business. But it was, unquestionably, entertaining in its own peculiar way. Obviously Ford had started this evening with one date and ended it — no, had got this far — with another. What other surprises, she wondered?

  ‘But you know Peter’s bashes,’ he was saying now. ‘Noisy, overcrowded with boring medical types, not enough room to change your mind, much less discuss anything remotely like business…’

  ‘Business?’ Nadine Fitzmaurice’s voice echoed the question in Saunders’ mind. Her attitude indicated that she didn’t believe the explanation, and the dark-haired woman fixed Saunders with a frigid stare that dared Saunders to explain.

  Not on your life, Saunders thought, returning the stare with her most professional smile and then turning that on Ford Landell. This is your story, little mate; I’m going to let you carry the can, she thought, but said nothing, and knew from his expression, somehow, that he didn’t expect her to.

  During the long silence that followed she wondered if he was just going to drop it there and hope the exquisite Nadine would accept that. Which she would not, Saunders surmised. But, after silently pulling over an extra chair and seating both women, then signalling for fresh coffee, Ford leapt back into the fray with what could only be called elan.

  ‘Sugar,’ he said without preamble. ‘I’ve taken an interest in sugar recently, and Saunders has a good deal of expertise in the subject, mostly on the management side.’

  Whereupon said expert only just managed to avoid biting her tongue as she choked back a hysterical giggle. The absolute cheek! She found herself looking from Ford Landell to his elegant … girlfriend? … not daring to speak, hardly daring even to meet their eyes. Especially those black, black eyes that now danced with a sort of unholy glee.

  The rotter! He was enjoying this, actually revelling in it!

  Nadine Fitzmaurice was not. She, too, was glancing from Ford to the other woman in the party, and it didn’t take any of Saunders’ professional empathy to figure out what the woman was thinking.

  But on the surface… Ice, Saunders thought. The woman is as chilly and brittle as the inside of a deepfreeze.

  ‘Nadine’s interests are more in the mining area,’ Ford was saying, and if he noticed that woman’s chilly response to the entire conversation, he was careful not to show it. ‘Her father is one of my—’

  ‘Employers,’ said Nadine, and shot Saunders a look that might have been described as triumphant.

  ‘Clients,’ said Ford, continuing as if Nadine hadn’t spoken at all. ‘He has interests in all sorts of minerals all round the country, but he isn’t into sugar, or, at least, I don’t think so.’

  The glance he directed towards Nadine Fitzmaurice urged her to pick up that bait, but she was too busy glaring at Saunders to notice.

  ‘Actually, sugar is only one of my ... interests: I’m a nurse by profession.’ said Saunders, throwing the comment out to whomever might bite, smiling to herself as she caught just that glimmer of reaction from Fordon Landell, who apparently had thought for at least an instant that she was about to blow his performance right out of the water.

  But on the periphery of her thoughts was the intriguing contradiction of terminology — employer or client? — and the pro
prietary tone so evident in Nadine Fitzmaurice’s voice.

  Ford’s comment that her father had no interest in sugar had not seemed, on the surface, to hold any particular further warning to Saunders about not revealing his diabetes. It might only have been meant to indicate on his own behalf that he had concerns in which the woman’s father was neither employer nor client.

  Whichever, she determined then and there to let him carry this verbal time-bomb all by himself. She would not reveal his diabetes — could not, with any professional ethics — but she was damned if she was going to let him lead her into ... whatever!

  The arrival of their coffee, somewhat to her delight, merely served to complicate the situation. She already knew he liked his coffee sweet and white — he’d had to borrow her sugar substitute tablets for the round of coffee they’d had before Nadine’s entrance.

  Let’s see you get out of this one, she thought.

  leaning back, in her chair and pointedly directing her gaze at the sugar bowl that seemed, suddenly, to dominate the centre of the table. Ford could, of course, simply use sugar; it wouldn’t hurt him at all that much. But somehow Saunders knew he would not; it would be, she thought, a loss of face he would not accept without a fight.

  Nor did he, but his approach caught her quite by surprise.

  He simply waited until Nadine reached into her designer handbag — as he obviously had known she would — and brought out her sugar substitute pills, then, with a brief but clearly triumphant glance at Saunders, borrowed them. Nadine’s reaction — or, more correctly, lack of reaction — made it only too obvious that it wasn’t the first time he’d done so either.

  His point made, Ford then went on to dominate the limited conversation with deliberate small talk, keeping to ‘safe’ subjects, drawing upon his considerable skills as a raconteur to keep the conversation moving, until he could truthfully announce, ‘We honestly must go, Nadine. It’s getting on for pumpkin-time, and I must return Saunders to her vehicle. Probably silly to have left it at the Mahoneys’ in the first place, but there you go. Do you want to follow me out, and we’ll see if the party’s settled down to something civilised, or…?’

  No fool this girl, Saunders thought, as the Fitzmaurice woman countered that offer with one of her own, an offer that didn’t surprise Saunders and didn’t surprise Ford Landell all that much either, judging from his response.

  ‘It’s too late to party,’ Nadine replied with a warm smile that did not include Saunders. ‘Perhaps I’ll just go home and prepare the nightcap I promised you, so that when your “business” is over, it will be ready.’

  ‘Why don’t I just grab a cab back?’ Saunders asked, both relishing and hating the slightly trapped expression Ford couldn’t quite hide. It isn’t a problem for me, really, and I don’t want to be the cause of upsetting your plans in any way.’

  ‘Nonsense. I wouldn’t hear of it,’ was the stern reply, and his eyes flashed an even stronger message as he quickly rose from the chair.

  ‘Really,’ she insisted, ‘it’s no trouble. I’ve taken quite enough of your time this evening. In fact,’ and the words were out almost faster than she thought of them, ‘if it’s all the same to you, I might just walk back; it isn’t far, after all.’

  ‘Too damned far to walk in this weather and at this time of night,’ he replied, Nadine almost ignored now in the deliberate matching of wills.

  Careful, my lad, this one isn’t going to appreciate being ignored, and 1 doubt she’ll put up with it either, Saunders thought, but couldn’t help herself continuing to stir.

  ‘You’re absolutely sure?’ she asked, hiding the inner grin as his jaw firmed in ill-disguised frustration.

  ‘I am quite sure,’ he replied, and before she had another chance to speak his fingers were digging into her elbow as he took her arm and practically dragged her from the restaurant. Indeed, they were two doors down the street, Nadine Fitzmaurice trailing behind, before the startled waiter could catch up, the account for the evening’s meal held out with obvious trepidation.

  Ford Landell’s muttered ‘Damn!’ was followed by a quick apology, but there was no apology in the glare he fired at Saunders as he followed the waiter back inside, reaching for his wallet in the process.

  Right, she thought with strange satisfaction, and turned quickly to the other woman, who seemed either confused, amused or both by this element of the situation.

  ‘I really feel like a walk,’ Saunders said, with a shrug and a nod of her head towards the restaurant. ‘I’m sure Mr Landell won’t mind, not really; he’s just trying to be courteous.’

  And without waiting for a reply, not sure if she could expect one and not caring either, she turned on her heel and strode off.

  It was, she admitted as she walked along, a decision open to charges of petulance. ‘To which I would happily admit guilt, because I am being petulant, but I’m also damned if I’m going to put up with any more of this nonsense,’ she said aloud.

  And some minutes later, in a much louder, much firmer voice, she replied, ‘No, I am not out of my mind,’ when Ford’s vehicle pulled up beside her and she was asked the question in a voice that boomed like thunder.

  ‘You could have fooled me,’ he said. ‘Now, stop this nonsense and get in, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘But I do mind,’ she replied, looking him in the eye and then turning her head away as she continued her march.

  He tried humour, then.

  ‘You’re making my blood sugar go all frothy; I hope you realise that.’ This through an open window as he drove along beside her.

  ‘You’re too cold-brooded for it to be a problem,’ she snapped, stepping up her pace and looking for the right opportunity to cross to the other side of the street.

  ‘And you are being deliberately frustrating," he snapped, expertly manoeuvring the big station wagon to thwart her intention. ‘Now, please, Saunders, be sensible.’

  ‘Diet and exercise,’ she reminded him. ‘That’s sensible, and that’s the principle I’m following. I ate far, far too much of that delightful dinner, and now I’m having to compensate for it. You ought to try something similar — preferably in that direction!’ And she pointed behind her, shaking her finger like an outraged schoolmistress, aware of the comparison, and too frothy herself even to care.

  ‘I’d get even better exercise taking you over my knee… Hey, stop that, dammit!’ he said, as she turned quickly and darted across the empty street behind his vehicle before he could stop her.

  Should have done this in the first place, she thought. Now it was clear that he couldn’t follow along beside her, but must stay on the other side of the road or find himself going in the wrong direction.

  Her satisfaction lasted only moments; a block ahead, Ford had parked the four-wheel-drive and was stalking across to wait for her on her chosen side of the street, moving with a deceptively casual smoothness, almost arrogance.

  Saunders paused, half inclined now to turn and flee, to retrace her steps, anything to avoid the confrontation she had set herself up for but no longer really wanted.

  Ford made no move to approach her; they stood there, eyes locked in a contest of wills, but too far apart to speak or be heard.

  ‘Go away,’ Saunders whispered, not really knowing why she bothered. ‘Just go back to the party, or to your nightcap, or to hell, for all I care, but go … and leave me alone.’

  Wasted effort; he couldn’t hear her, probably wouldn’t comply if he could. His only move had been to lean up against a lamp-post, arms folded across his chest as he waited, comfortable, confident.

  ‘No!’ She spoke aloud, but knowingly to herself this time. ‘No!’

  She turned abruptly, walked away with long, deliberate strides. A few metres behind her was the entrance to a small neighbourhood park that cut across to the next street in a dark, tree-lined tunnel.

  No sane place for a woman at this time of night, she thought, and an instant later was there, her high heels stabbing into the
turf, making her clumsy, increasing her feeling of vulnerability. Behind her, the sound of her name was an invisible shadow, easy to ignore.

  The residential street ahead was dimly, poorly lit, compared to the thoroughfare she had just left. And the small park was even worse; distant streetlights used the larger trees to draw faint, wispy shadow figures, but the ground along the high fences at each side loomed black and menacing.

  From the pool of darkness ahead and to one side came a faint rustle of noise, then a more distinct one — a clink of glass against glass that seemed to cry its own warning. Saunders paused, common sense starting to assert itself as she began to realise the stupidity of her situation, the potential dangers.

  She halted, eyes searching the darkness, while her mind churned with serious misgivings. One thing, she thought, to score points off Fordon Landell. But this, this was…

  ‘Madness!’ she whispered, unaware she had even spoken until the reply came from just behind her.

  ‘Madness, for sure. Now, don’t panic, Saunders; it’s only me.’

  The voice was calm, steadying; the fingers which reached out to take her hand, to turn her into the welcome protection of his arm, seemed strangely gentle and reassuring.

  As he turned her, Saunders was astonished to realise she had only moved a half-dozen steps into the park, which from the relative safety of his grasp seemed no longer so threatening, but no longer a haven either.

  ‘Are you right out of your tree?’

  The gentleness was still there, but it was different now, the edges ragged like the edges of his voice as he steered her back to the footpath.

  ‘My God, woman, surely you’re not that angry with me?’ he said, then continued speaking as he marched her straight across the street and turned towards his parked vehicle. ‘Damn it, Saunders. What have I done to get you this fired up?’