War of Love Page 13

  One brow rose sceptically at her explanation, but he didn't question her further on the subject. 'Sit up,' he instructed abruptly. 'You can't drink your tea flat on your back like that.'

  She had deliberately lain 'flat on her back' so that she could have the bedclothes up to her chin, but of course he was right, she couldn't drink tea like this, not with any degree of success anyway!

  His mouth twitched with humour as she sat up to reveal the print on her cotton nightshirt; the pig pattern was hardly sexy, she ruefully acknowledged. But she was very fond of the busy pig pattern—and she certainly didn't want to look sexy!

  'Trying to tell me something?' he drawled, sitting on the side of her bed to drink his own tea.

  Silke wished he hadn't done that; the last thing she needed was to have him close to her like this. But as he continued to sip his tea he showed every sign of being comfortable exactly where he was. Comfortable was the last thing she felt herself; she was unnerved by this intimacy, her hand shaking slightly as she lifted her own cup to her lips.

  'Hardly,' she answered him dismissively. 'I wouldn't presume to tell you anything!'

  His eyes warmed with humour. 'I don't think sarcasm becomes you!'

  'I wasn't-----' Her cheeks were slightly flushed.

  'Perhaps I was,' she admitted ruefully.

  He took her empty cup out of her hand, putting it back on the tray with his own, before making himself more comfortable on the bed. 'You look about ten years old with your hair brushed back like that, no make-up, and wearing that nightshirt!'

  Her inner turmoil at his closeness wasn't that of a ten-year-old! She only wished it were. He looked so attractive in the black dinner-suit and white shirt, was so close she could smell that elusively tangy after­shave he wore. As for his hands, she refused to look at them!

  'Your daughter would be beautiful, Silke,' he said huskily.

  Her eyes widened. Daughter? Oh, no, he wasn't back on that subject! She couldn't-----

  'You're beautiful, Silke,' he added softly.

  He was too close now, his head bending towards her, his lips only inches from her own. Silke's gaze was fixed on the beauty of that mouth, remembering all too well the emotions his kisses had evoked in her last time. Last time? God, she couldn't seriously be contemplating letting him kiss her again, not after what had happened between them last week! Letting him kiss her—she knew all too well that if Lyon de­cided to kiss her then it wouldn't be a case of 'letting' him do anything; Lyon was a law unto himself.

  'Cameron was a fool.' His warm breath stirred her silky fringe. 'How could he have been engaged to you and not made love to you?' He shook his head disgustedly.

  His mention of James was enough to free her of the sensually mesmerising spell he had been casting, and Silke drew back abruptly—she hadn't realised until that moment that she had half moved up from the pillow to meet his kiss!

  But talking about James was enough to put a dampener on anything, reminding her all too force­fully of the meeting she had had with him in her mother's office last week. He had 'made a mistake' marrying Cheryl, he claimed, explaining that the marriage was now over, that he now realised he still loved Silke. And then he had asked her if they couldn't try again, if the two of them couldn't marry, as they had once planned, once his divorce from Cheryl was through!

  Silke had been astounded at his cheek, that he had thought he could just walk back into her life, with the declaration of still loving her, and expect her to welcome him back. With open arms, apparently!

  Needless to say she had told him exactly what he could do with his suggestion, had advised him to go back to his wife and try to make his marriage work. He had been furious at her lack of understanding, that Cameron temper quickly showing itself once he realised she wasn't about to fall back into his arms. Silke had been speechless at his nerve in even thinking he could come back to her after the way he had walked out on her a year ago—but she had quickly regained her voice when she ordered him to leave. And not to come back! His silence since that day seemed to confirm that he had taken her at her word. Thank goodness! It was up to him whether or not he took any notice of her advice about his marriage; as long as he stayed away from her she didn't care what else he did.

  And she certainly didn't want to talk to Lyon about him now, in any context. 'I would like to go to sleep now, Lyon, if you don't mind,' she told him distantly, not really caring whether he minded or not; she just wanted him to leave.

  His gaze narrowed on her thoughtfully—and what he read in her glittering green eyes must have warned him not to push her any further at the moment, be­cause he straightened before standing up in prep­aration of leaving.

  Silke moved uncomfortably under the intensity of that steely gaze, but her own gaze didn't drop, meeting his steadily as she willed him to just go.

  'I'll take the tray back out to the kitchen,' he gave an abrupt nod—as if he had just come to an inner decision. 'Can I get you anything else before I leave...?'

  'No,' she answered forcefully. Why didn't he just go and leave her in peace!

  'OK,' he accepted smoothly. 'I'll see you in my office at nine-thirty on Monday morning, then-----'

  ‘What?' Silke sat up abruptly in the bed as she frowned at him.

  'Our appointment is for nine-thirty on Monday-----'

  'What appointment?' Her frown deepened. What on earth was he talking about now?

  Lyon studied her closely, obviously seeing her com­plete puzzlement at his statement. 'Did you get a chance to talk to Henry this evening?' he said slowly.

  'Not privately, no.' She shook her head, her ex­pression wary now. What had Henry been up to now?

  'Ah.' Lyon nodded understanding. 'In that case I suggest you call him in the morning and-----'

  'I'm asking you now, Lyon,' Silke cut in agitatedly. 'What appointment? What possible reason could I have for coming to see you on Monday morning?'

  His mouth twisted. "To discuss your jewellery de­signs, of course.'

  'My-----?' She gasped. 'But I told Henry-----'

  'Get some sleep, Silke,' Lyon advised firmly. 'Everything will look better by Monday morning.'

  Silke watched open-mouthed as he left without of­fering any further explanation. Not that one was necessary. Despite all her protests it was obvious Henry had gone ahead with his proposal for her jewellery designs to be introduced to Buchanan's— and it looked as if, in spite of the objections she knew must have come from Lyon, Henry might have got his own way!

  Great. Just great!

  Did no one ever listen to her?

  Well, maybe they hadn't up until now. But they were certainly going to on Monday morning!

  CHAPTER NINE

  'Enjoying your swim?'

  That was exactly what she had been doing! Had been. Lyon's arrival was sure to spoil that.

  Her mother had decided to go into the agency today, insisting Silke take the day off, that she needed a little rest and relaxation after being ill on Saturday evening. Henry had offered her the use of his indoor pool in the grounds of their home, an offer Silke had been only too happy to accept. Until a few seconds ago, that was!

  She had been floating aimlessly on her back in the water for the last twenty minutes or so, was enjoying the almost tropical warmth of the beautiful indoor pool, plants and loungers around the spacious pool adding to that effect. But at the first sound of Lyon's voice she had rolled self-consciously on to her front, swimming to the side now as he stood there watching her.

  He looked slightly overdressed in his dark three-piece business suit and pale blue shirt, and con­sidering the heat in here he must be feeling slightly uncomfortable. Not that he looked it, just as arro­gantly self-assured as usual as he stood looking down at her.

  'It's a beautiful pool,' she answered him warily, conscious of her slicked back hair and make-up-less face. She hadn't envisaged feeling at quite such a disadvantage the next time she saw him, hadn't for one moment imagined he would interrupt her leisurely
swim. But then, when had Lyon ever done anything she expected him to do! Even so...

  'Henry told me you were here,' he drily answered the question that had been forming on her lips.

  Damn Henry. Didn't her stepfather realise that Lyon was the main stress and strain she was trying to escape from by taking up her mother's suggestion that she take the day off? Probably. One thing she was ab­solutely sure of since coming to know him better: that 'irresponsible old devil' pose Henry adopted was just that—a pose. He invariably knew exactly what he was doing. Just as he did this time. He wanted his own way just as much as he protested Lyon always did.

  'We had an appointment at nine-thirty,' Lyon re­minded her when she made no response.

  'I cancelled it,' she told him dismissively as she climbed the marble steps out of the pool, all the time trying not to hurry her movements and show how un­comfortable she felt dressed in only her brief black bikini, her body lightly golden against the dark ma­terial. As quickly as she could without appearing too obvious she pulled on the white towelling robe Henry had provided, wrapping a towel about her wet hair before turning to face Lyon again.

  And as she looked at the light mockery in his ex­pression she knew that her efforts had all been wasted; he knew exactly how uncomfortable she had felt emerging from the pool in his presence. Damn him as well as Henry!

  'I'm well aware of the fact that you cancelled the appointment,' Lyon drawled softly. 'So I thought I would come and see you instead,' he added challengingly.

  'The "mountain coming to Mohammed"?' she derided, settling herself down on a white lounger, re­lieved to do so, as unnerved as she usually was to be in this man's company.

  His mouth twisted. 'Something like that. Is the water warm?'

  Silke looked up at him frowningly; what did the temperature of the water have to do with their con­versation about her broken appointment?

  'Is it?' he persisted.

  'Very,' she answered distractedly.

  'In that case-----' he took off his tie, undoing the top button of his shirt '—I think I'll go in for a swim too.'

  Silke blinked up at him. 'You don't have a costume,' she stated the obvious.

  Dark brows rose over mocking grey eyes as he looked down at her. 'I always have one here for my use,' he told her tauntingly. 'Don't worry, Silke; I wasn't about to go skinny-dipping!'

  Colour darkened her cheeks at his mockery; it was just like him to realise that had been her immediate worry!

  'We can talk once I've had my swim,' he added arrogantly.

  'I was thinking of leaving,' Silke told him stiffly, still smarting from his derision. But there was no way she could have sat here calmly while he swam naked— and she knew he was arrogantly sure enough of himself to have done exactly that if he felt like it!

  He turned slowly back to look at her. 'Henry told me you intended spending the day here... ?' He arched questioning brows.

  Damn Henry; exactly what was he up to? He knew how much she wanted to avoid Lyon's company, and yet he had told the other man where she was, and how long she intended staying here.

  She shrugged. 'I have things to do.'

  ‘They can wait,' Lyon told her arrogantly.' At least until after I've had my swim and we've talked,' he added drily as she would have protested at his auto­cratic manner.

  Silke glared after him as he went to get changed. Arrogant, arrogant...God, he was so infuriating; she was starting to repeat herself now!

  What could he want to talk to her about? Not her jewellery designs, surely? He had made his feelings clear right from the beginning concerning her mother's motives for marrying Henry, had classed her in the same category. But he had seemed more than a little interested in the jewellery she had been wearing on Saturday...

  'Why so pensive, Silke?'

  She had been so deep in thought that she hadn't been aware of his return, her eyes widening as she looked up at him standing next to her lounger, swallowing hard as she took in the male beauty of him. Brief black swimming trunks covered the lower part of his body, a body that was tautly muscled, covered in a fine dark hair, the skin lightly tanned. He was breathtaking!

  'Silke?' he prompted softly as she continued to stare at him.

  She blinked, shaking her head slightly to break the spell of his mesmerising virility. But it wasn't easy to do. She had made love with this man, her body pressed against his, his arms like steel bands about her as he claimed her. And as she looked at him she wanted him again. Oh, God...!

  He reached out to remove the towel from about her hair, loosening the silky blonde strands down on to her shoulders, his fingers gently caressing, his gaze intent on her flushed face.

  Oh, God, could he see the desire in her face? Was her need of him there in her eyes?

  'Are you coming in for another swim?'

  It had been the last thing she'd expected him to say, and her breath left her lungs in a sigh—her first in­dication that she had been holding her breath in the first place! She swallowed hard. 'No, I—I think I'll just sit here for a while,' she refused awkwardly, not sure if her legs would support her if she should at­tempt to stand up!

  Lyon looked down at her searchingly. 'Are you still feeling ill?'

  She shook her head, the damp tendrils of hair cold about her flushed face. 'I had been swimming for almost an hour when you arrived,' she dismissed the suggestion—although she did feel slightly weak-kneed in this man's presence!

  He nodded, straightening, at last removing his hand from her hair—and allowing Silke to breathe once again! 'I won't be long,' he assured her—before diving neatly into the clear water and swimming towards the opposite end of the pool with evenly strong strokes.

  He could stay in the water for the rest of the day as far as Silke was concerned; that way she might be able to relax her jangled nerves, and force herself to breathe easily! He really was the most infuriating-----! No, he wasn't infuriating, she ad­mitted heavily; she was just in love with the man— which had to be worse!

  What was she going to do about her feelings towards this man? What could she do? He was Henry's nephew, had been brought up as the son the older man had never had, and with Silke's mother's marriage to his uncle Lyon was going to be in her own life for a long time to come. Which was going to be like hell on earth!

  She had, in fact, spent much of the weekend and this morning thinking what she was going to do about the situation. And she hadn't come up with any sol­utions, other than actually moving away from the area completely, possibly even going abroad somewhere. Maybe if she went to America she might be able to get somewhere with her designs. It was the only really feasible idea she had come up with so far, but it seemed a little drastic even so.

  'You are pensive, aren't you?' Lyon frowned as he sat down on the lounger next to hers, towelling the darkness of his hair dry as he did so.

  Silke forced a lightness to her expression. 'Deep in thought,' she corrected dismissively.

  'Concerning what?' Lyon still watched her intently.

  She gave a light laugh. 'Really, Lyon, you're being extremely rude; aren't a person's thoughts supposed to be the one thing that is completely private?'

  He gave a rueful smile. 'I thought we had both agreed that I am' 'extremely rude''; so what were you thinking about?'

  She couldn't very well say, 'You!' 'The future,' she shrugged. 'I have a few decisions to make.'

  'About Cameron?' he bit out, his eyes narrowed, the white towel about his neck now as he sat forward on the lounger.

  Silke gave an impatient sigh. 'I thought I told you James means nothing to me; he certainly doesn't come into any of my plans for the future!'

  Lyon nodded dismissively. 'Good!' he said with satisfaction. 'Then what are these plans? No,' he added firmly. 'Before you tell me what you're thinking of doing, let me tell you of the offer Buchanan's wants to make to you.'

  'No!' She sat up abruptly, dark green eyes flashing a warning. 'I don't want Buchanan's to "make me an offer"-----'
/>   'Buchanan's—or me?' he grated harshly.

  'Aren't they one and the same?' she challenged.

  'Possibly,' he conceded softly.

  'Definitely,' she said with feeling. 'And less than two weeks ago you believed I was nothing but a little gold-digger who intended marrying your uncle for what I could get! The fact that it was my mother who married Henry instead doesn't change that fact, and I have no intention of accepting anything from you or Buchanan's!'

  'It's not a question of accepting anything-----'

  'Yes, it is,' she interrupted with feeling. 'What hap­pened between us last week hasn't helped the situation either.' Colour darkened her cheeks even as she mentioned the subject.

  His mouth tightened. 'This offer has nothing to do with that!'

  'Doesn't it?' she scorned. 'I doubt very much that's true. You had absolutely no interest in my designs until then.'

  'I hadn't seen any of them then!' Lyon rasped, eyes lightly grey.

  'You haven't seen any of them now!' Silke returned heatedly. 'The set I was wearing on Saturday is not enough for you to base a serious decision like this-----'

  'I'm a businessman, Silke,' he cut in harshly. 'I never make business decisions lightly. Of course I've seen other of your designs, as have the rest of the board. And we all agreed that-----'

  'Just a minute,' she interrupted softly, holding up a silencing hand. 'When did you see any other of my designs?' She looked at him searchingly.

  He returned that gaze just as searchingly, the anger and suspicion in her face unmistakable. 'Hmm,' he finally murmured. 'I have a feeling we have a serious problem here.'

  Silke's gaze didn't waver. 'When did you see other of my designs, Lyon?' she repeated evenly, the flashing of her eyes belying that calmness.

  He shrugged. 'Last week. At the board meeting. All the board saw them.'

  'And just how did my designs get into your board meeting, Lyon?' she asked steadily. But she knew. Of course she knew!

  How dared they? And she knew it had to be 'they'; Henry might have the arrogance to present her de­signs to Buchanan's board without her permission, but she didn't for one moment believe he had been the one to acquire them from her flat in the first place. Her mother had to have been involved in this too. And Silke was furious at their interference in her life in this underhand way.