No Longer a Dream Read online

  What was she doing lying here assuring herself she was too young for him? She had just spent the night with him, had been lost in his arms again seconds ago when his son burst in.

  She felt the bed ease beside her as he stood up, the gentle caress of the silk sheet as it was placed over her. But still her eyes remained squeezed shut.

  'It's all right, Cat.' That silky rough voice spoke softly. 'He's gone now.'

  She moistened her lips, lying rigidly still, feeling his presence as he stood beside the bed looking down at her, even though she couldn't see him!

  'But I haven't, hmm?' Caleb read her mind. 'Isn't it a little late to feel embarrassment in front of me?' he derided.

  It was that amusement in his voice that made her lids fly open, and she turned to glare at him. 'I'm sure that you're used to waking up in bed next to a different woman every day of the week,' she snapped. 'But I'm not used to this at all!'

  He wasn't in the least moved by her show of temper. 'Every day of the week sounds a little excessive,' he drawled mockingly. 'Even I like to rest on Sundays.'

  God, why was she even bothering to talk to this man when all she wanted to do was to get dressed and get out of here—or did she mean crawl out of here? She had arrived with such plans the night before, had hoped to get the information she needed; now she knew she would have to start all over again. She doubted Caleb Steele would appreciate her request when she had literally fallen into bed with him, it smacked too much like payment for the night! She might write what most people would consider 'lightweight' stuff but she took her job seriously, and trying in any way to influence a person to give her information was not the way she worked. She realised that after last night she would have to work doubly hard to convince Caleb Steele of that.

  She sat up, holding the sheet to her. 'Then as this is a Sunday I'm sure you would like to begin doing that,' she encouraged firmly.

  Black brows arched. 'Would you be ordering me out of my own bedroom?'

  'I would be—asking you to think about it,' she grimaced.

  The stern mouth actually quirked this time, although he didn't show his teeth in a smile. Perhaps he never did actually smile or laugh; any photographs she had seen of him had always shown him grim-faced. She had assumed that to be because he considered the photographer to be infringing on his privacy. Now she wasn't so sure.

  'I've thought about it,' he derided. 'I'm quite happy where I am for the moment.'

  'I—your breakfast,' she reminded a little desperately, not at all happy with 'where he was'.

  He gave an inclination of his head. 'I've changed my mind about that. I think I'll order us something in here while you take a shower.'

  Cat swallowed hard, judging the distance between the bed and the bathroom door. It was too far! Wide green eyes turned back to him, and she was sure they were panic-stricken.

  He looked a little impatient with this display of modesty. 'Take the sheet with you,' he advised wearily.

  'Take the—oh. Yes.' Her expression cleared.

  But wrapping a sheet around herself that was both way too big and extremely slippery proved much more difficult than she had anticipated. It always seemed to be so elegantly done in films and on television, but after several minutes she still hadn't managed to get the sheet about her with any degree of safety.

  'Here.' Caleb Steele finally took pity on her struggles, draping the loose sheet over her free arm while securing the end of it between her breasts. 'Relax,' he instructed drily without looking up from his task as she flinched at the intimacy. 'Don't you know that this sort of modesty is a thing of the past? It's very well done, though,' he drawled, stepping back to look at her with dispassionate eyes. 'Maybe I could find a part for you. Did you have anything in mind?'

  'In mind?' She was standing now, aware that she barely reached this man's shoulder in her bare feet, also aware that the two-inch heels on her shoes wouldn't make that much difference either.

  He pulled a face. 'The casting-couch may be long dead, but the bed isn't.' He gave the latter a derisive look, its tumbled look showing evidence of their presence there together.

  Cat swallowed hard. 'You think—that is— you believe—'

  He once again crossed his arms in front of his powerful chest. 'Did the director prove difficult?' he mocked. 'If it was Maurice Goodson I'm not surprised.' His mouth twisted. 'He's a happily married man and never touches other women.'

  'I'm glad to hear it,' she bit out tautly. 'Maybe some of his scruples will rub off on you—'

  'I'm not married,' he told her coldly. 'And not intending to be.' He studied her between narrowed lids. 'So if that's the role you're after, kid, forget it.'

  She didn't know whether she was more angry at being called 'kid' or at the way he assumed she had gone to bed with him because she had in mind being the next Mrs Caleb Steele. She decided the latter more urgently needed rebuttal. 'You flatter yourself if you think I would even consider marrying someone as cold and arrogant as you,' she dismissed hardly. 'And contrary to what you think there's more to life, my life, than using people for gain. The real world isn't like that!'

  'The real world is exactly like that,' he derided pityingly.

  'Not my world,' she insisted. 'I don't want anything from you, Mr Steele. Whatever happened between us last night was not planned. I don't want payment, in any way, shape, or form for it. You—'

  'You know,' he remarked softly, almost conversationally, 'it's as well we didn't get to do too much talking last night; I can't stand women that nag.'

  'You—you—'

  'Go take your shower, Cat,' he dismissed in a bored voice. 'And take this with you.'

  'This' was the shimmering green dress she had worn the evening before and which he had just picked up from the bedroom floor, reminding her more forcefully than anything else could have done that she had casually spent the night with this man. She felt as if she didn't know herself any more, so why should Caleb Steele!

  She snatched the dress from his hand, looking around for the lace panties that were all she had worn beneath the clinging material, her cheeks colouring anew as she saw Caleb Steele was holding those out to her, too. They were really just the minutest scrap of pale green lace, and she crushed it within her hand.

  'We'll talk as soon as you've had your shower,' he told her confidently, picking up the telephone at the end of the statement, talking crisply into the receiver as he ordered a full breakfast for both of them.

  Cat hastily shut the bathroom door before his talk of grilled food made her physically ill. How could this have happened to her? She had come to the party last night in all innocence. Admittedly it was a little wilder than she had anticipated, the majority of the guests appearing to be around the nineteen or twenty mark as their young host was. She hadn't particularly liked that cynical young man from the beginning, and she had a fair idea that he had been the one who had doctored her drinks, seeming to dislike her as much as she disliked him. When his father had appeared on the scene she didn't know, but he obviously had, and with the alcohol in her system she had gone to bed with him. Which was very strange, because usually she just passed out!

  She didn't believe she had made love with Caleb Steele, no matter what he said to the contrary!

  She turned straight round and marched back into the bedroom, no longer caring that she wore only the draped sheet. 'You're a lying, rotten, lousy—' She broke off as she realised Caleb Steele was no longer alone, that an older man had joined him, a well-dressed pleasant-faced man who appeared to be taking instructions when she entered the room. And from the cursory glance he gave in her direction, the blue eyes completely devoid of emotion, he found nothing unusual in seeing a sheet-wrapped woman walking about his employer's bedroom suite!

  Black eyes met her stormy green ones with icy disdain. And then Caleb Steele turned away and resumed his business discussion with the man at his side.

  Cat couldn't believe it, had never beam dismissed in such a way before! It was just as i
f she were of no importance at all. She drew in an angry breath. 'I said—'

  'I heard you.' His head snapped up. 'It may have escaped your notice,' he drawled with heavy sarcasm, 'but I'm busy right now.'

  Busy! He was busy. She was trying to regain her self-respect and he was busy! It may be clichéd, but who the hell did he think he was! The answer to that was all too obvious, but who he was and the amount of money he was worth, didn't much matter to her at this moment. Who she was, and the amount of money she wasn't worth didn't mean Caleb Steele could dismiss her like an old shirt! If he treated all of his women in this way it was no wonder his affairs didn't last.

  'You may be busy, Mr Steele—' her chin rose challengingly when his associate at last showed surprise—at her formality with the man who's bedroom she stood almost naked in. It was the erroneous impression her appearance gave that made her carry on in spite of the cold anger emitting from Caleb Steele. 'But I want to talk to you. Now,' she added firmly as she guessed he was about to dismiss her a second time. 'Unless you would care to discuss what happened in that bed last night in front of an audience?'

  The man at his side gave a choked sound, somewhere between a cough and a laugh, beginning to cough in earnest as that coal-black gaze was suddenly riveted on him.

  'You sound bad, Norm,' his employer grated with icy insincerity. 'Why don't you go and get yourself a cup of coffee and we'll continue with this later. When you're feeling better.' The last was added threateningly, 'Sure.' The other man spoke for the first time, American like his employer. 'I—er—nice to have met you, Miss—er—'

  'Cat,' Caleb Steele put in icily before she could make any reply. 'And believe me,' he drawled suggestively, 'she more than lives up to her name!' He flexed his shoulders as if something there pained him.

  Like claw marks, from a cat! And she knew damn well that except for that fine covering of dark hair his back was smooth and unmarked.

  A speculative light entered the man Norm's eyes. 'Perhaps we'll meet again. Cat,' he murmured in a somewhat puzzled voice, as if for once he were surprised at his employer's choice of a bed-partner.

  'I doubt that,' she answered him but looked at Caleb Steele. 'I wound to kill!'

  'Yes. Well,' the older man looked flustered now, 'I'll talk to you later, Caleb.' He made a hasty exit before he was caught in the verbal war that seemed to be taking place in the bedroom.

  Caleb Steele looked at her with expressionless black eyes. 'And just how do you intend to wound me, Catherine Howard?' he challenged in a softly threatening voice.

  Her eyes flashed. 'If I had any sense I'd stab you in the back the way my namesake should have done Henry the Eighth! You're as lying and deceitful as he ever was!' She tossed back her mane of golden hair.

  'I am?'

  Steel encased in velvet. There was no other way to describe that softly spoken threat. But she wasn't about to be intimidated by him; he had lied to her and he was going to admit it. 'I didn't make love with you in that bed,' she pointed to it angrily. 'Or anywhere else last night!'

  Dark brows rose. 'You didn't?' he drawled.

  'You know I didn't.' Her eyes flashed. 'I always pass out. I don't—don't—'

  'Leap into bed with men you don't know,' he finished coldly. 'Then how did you wake up in my bed this morning?'

  Delicate colour darkened her cheeks. 'I don't believe you slept in it. I also don't remember you being at the party last night. I can't remember seeing you there, and—'

  'I arrived late,' he bit out, as if he were tired of the whole conversation. 'And I did sleep in that bed last night. Next to you.'

  She swallowed hard, knowing by the flat uninterested tone of his voice that he didn't lie. But she always passed out!

  Her distress must have shown in her face, because something like compassion flickered in his eyes. 'Cat—'

  'I'm sorry,' she bit out jerkily, swinging away, needing to escape back to the sanctuary of the bathroom. 'I was rude to you just now in front of an employee.' She couldn't think straight, needed to be alone away from the tumbled intimacy of this bedroom so that she could try to piece together the events of last night, try to make some sense of it in her own mind. 'I—I'll apologise later if you would like me to. I—I'll go and take my shower now—'

  'Cat!'

  Again she ignored the steely command in his voice, running into the bathroom, locking the door behind her this time before collapsing back against it.

  If only she could remember, if only she knew what had happened last night to make her want to make love to Caleb Steele. She couldn't believe she had wanted to make love with him; she didn't even like the man.

  What had Vikki said to her before she left for the party last night, 'Be good'? And then they had both come back with the rejoinder about 'being careful' before Cat had laughingly taken her leave. She had no idea whether she had been 'good', but careful she certainly hadn't been.

  How could she have taken Caleb Steele as her lover when she belonged heart and soul to Harry?

  CHAPTER TWO

  She had been so buoyed up the evening before as she got ready for the party, overjoyed at the prospect of finally meeting Caleb Steele after weeks of writing for an interview to his London office and home when her publisher had told her he was the only way she would ever be able to speak to his father, the reclusive author Lucien Steele.

  The series of articles she had done the year before on Hollywood marriages had proved to be a tremendous success, a publishing company approaching her about doing a book on the subject, with the condition that she covered four marriages of their choice, the rest being left to her discretion. Unfortunately, one of the marriages the publishing company had chosen had been that of Lucien Steele and the late Sonia Harrison. Of course. Cat could have gone ahead and written the chapter on this golden couple of the Hollywood of the forties without talking to Lucien Steele, but she hadn't wanted to do that. But to actually arrange an interview with him had proved more difficult than she had imagined, the now elderly man having disappeared from the Hollywood scene thirty years ago after the tragic death of his wife in a fire that had destroyed their mansion house, and absenting himself from London society a few years ago, too, to all intents and purposes disappearing off the face of the earth. Except that his son and grandson had to know of his whereabouts.

  She had been warned of Caleb Steele's aversion to meeting the press whenever possible but she hadn't realised he could be so elusive, almost as bad as his father. Polite letters to his office had been ignored; telephone requests to have a meeting with Caleb Steele had been politely evaded by his secretary; a visit to his London home two days ago had introduced her to Luke Steele, his notorious son. Where the grandfather and father seemed to avoid publicity the grandson seemed to court it! He was always in trouble of one kind or another, always being asked to leave hotels and restaurants because of his outrageous behaviour, and had been thrown out of two universities at the last count.

  But he had been very friendly towards her yesterday afternoon, and if she had been a little wary of his over-bright eyes and unkempt appearance she forgave him the minute he invited her to his party, assuring her that his father was going to be there.

  She had even ignored the over-familiarity and the provocative remarks he kept making when she got to the party, and the way it seemed impossible to escape his company—or not to notice the amount of alcohol he was consuming.

  She could remember all that, the noise, the loud laughter of too many people having drunk too much, could remember deciding shortly before eleven that Caleb Steele wasn't going to come to his son's party after all, remembered telling Luke Steele she was leaving, and then— nothing. The next thing she had been aware of was that slap to her bottom!

  Promiscuity hadn't been something she consciously avoided, but something she ignored. That sort of relationship was for other people, not her. She had her friends, a lot of them, male and female alike, admittedly more of the latter than the former, but that was probably becau
se a lot of men didn't believe there could be just friendship between a man and a woman. She believed the opposite, that friendship should come before the love. She and Harry had been friends from the moment they walked through the gate on their first day at school, when Harry had given a painful tug on the single braid that lay down her spine, and she had turned around and punched him straight on the nose! They had both been too proud to cry and so they had laughed instead. After that they had be come inseparable, their friendship surprising them both—if not other people—by turning to love when they were both fifteen.

  And she had betrayed that love last night with a man like Caleb Steele!

  She didn't even need to guess what Harry would think of the other man; she knew the two men would have disliked each other intensely, Harry so open and boyishly handsome, Caleb Steele hiding any emotions he might have behind that harsh face and cold black eyes. They were as different as night and day, one devil, one angel, and she—she had lain with the devil!

  A brisk knock on the bathroom door made her jump nervously. 'Breakfast is here, Cat,' Caleb Steele informed her abruptly. 'Either run the water and have a shower or come out and eat,' he advised irritably. 'You can't stay in there all day.'

  She wished she could! Maybe other women could handle this situation confidently, but she couldn't. And she certainly couldn't sit down to breakfast in an evening dress!

  'Cat?' his voice had sharpened. 'Have you fallen asleep in there?'

  Asleep? She didn't think she was ever going to fall asleep again—too afraid of what she would find when she woke up!

  'Answer me, Cat,' he advised in a steely voice. 'Or would you rather suffer the embarrassment of my having someone break the door down?'

  She swallowed hard, barely breathing, trembling like a leaf about to fall from a tree. 'I don't want any breakfast,' she told him a quivery voice, on the verge of tears.

  'Cat?'

  That velvet rasp sounded directly through the wood behind her head, and she moved hastily away, turning to stare at the door with wide eyes.