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  My God, and not just any Buchanan, from the way he had behaved towards her from the first and the deference with which the staff had treated him, but Buchanan himself, the owner of the store! Unless he was the son; she had thought the owner of the Buchanan group was someone called Charles Buchanan. Although this man's uncle had said he had effectively been Lyon Buchanan's guardian since he was a baby, so... None of this really made any dif­ference to the fact that this man was a Buchanan. And the man she had verbally rebuked earlier was his uncle!

  She didn't need any further telling to sit down; she almost fell into the waiting chair. What a mess! And her mother...! Oh, God, what her mother was going to say about this she just didn't like to think.

  Silke turned dazedly as the office door opened behind them to admit Doug Moore.

  'Ah, Doug, so glad you could join us at last,' he told the other man silkily now, getting slowly to his feet, instantly putting his personnel manager at a dis­advantage with his superior height—if he needed any added advantage. His position as owner of the store already more than gave him that!

  The younger man looked puzzled by his employer's obvious displeasure—obvious, despite the pleas­antness of his tone; there was an air of menace about Lyon Buchanan that was unmistakable. 'I was down in Ladies' Fashions when I got your mess­age-----'

  'A pity you didn't pay Confectionery a visit some time this morning,' Lyon Buchanan told him icily. 'Would you like to tell me what that is?'

  'That' was Silke!

  She had recovered enough from the shock of re­alising exactly who this man was to look up to see what Lyon Buchanan was talking about, only to dis­cover he was looking directly at her. She was 'that'. Her shock was replaced by indignation as she realised he was once again talking about her as if she weren't a person, with feelings, but an object to be discussed. And she didn't care who he was, he still had no right-----

  'Good God!' Doug Moore, the man who had been perfectly charming to her earlier this morning when they met—probably because of his penchant for 'pretty, youthful nubiles'—was now looking at her with something approaching horror. 'I—my God...!' he said again, weakly this time, looking in need of a chair himself now. Except that there wasn't another one available!

  'A bunny girl, Doug,' Lyon Buchanan rasped with feeling. 'You employed a damned bunny girl in a costume so revealing that every lecher within a hundred miles made a beeline for her.' He looked pointedly at his uncle. 'A bunny girl,' he repeated again, as if he could still hardly believe it, 'to give away our line of chocolate Easter bunnies. When it should have been a cute fluffy rabbit children would find appealing!'

  At last Silke was being given an insight into exactly why she had been dragged off the shop floor and up here to the office of Lyon Buchanan himself—and it had nothing to do with what she had said to his uncle Henry! She had wondered at his puzzlement earlier concerning her accusations towards his uncle; now she knew it was because he had had no idea of the verbal encounter between his Uncle Henry and herself; the way his uncle had informed him she was dressed ap­peared to be the problem!

  'Forgive me if I'm wrong, Doug,' Lyon Buchanan continued smoothly—his tone saying he knew damn well he wasn't the one in the wrong, that he rarely, if ever, was! 'But I thought we had agreed, during the meeting concerning this particular promotion, that we would contact an agency and take on someone who would-----'

  'Wear a cute, fluffy bunny costume while giving away the chocolates,' Doug Moore finished weakly, staring at Silke in the revealing costume as if he still couldn't quite believe his eyes. 'I don't understand how the mistake could have happened-----'

  'Oh, you admit there's been a mistake?' his em­ployer prompted with raised brows, still supremely confident in the mistake's not being of his making.

  Just as Silke was. But she wasn't sure it was com­pletely Doug Moore's either; the instructions her mother had received had been ambiguous to say the least—a simple request for a girl in a bunny costume to promote a line at the store. And when Silke had reported to Doug Moore this morning she hadn't been in costume, had changed in the staff-room later, so neither of them had realised then that the mistake had been made. And that appeared to be what this was: a genuine mistake, brought about through lack of in­formation on both sides.

  Although from the look of increasing anger on Lyon Buchanan's face he wasn't going to be satisfied with that explanation! But it was the truth, so what more could any of them say?

  'Buchanan's has a reputation to uphold,' he told his personnel manager icily. 'And I don't believe having a barely clothed bunny girl in fishnet tights parading around the store is quite the image-----'

  'I'm not wearing fishnet tights!' Silke cut in indig­nantly as she stood up; she had drawn the line at that part of the costume that had been supplied to her, preferring to wear her own sheer black tights. Not much of an improvement, she knew, when the entire length of her legs was visible, but it was better than those awful things that had arrived with the rented costume.

  Lyon Buchanan looked down the long length of his autocratic nose at her. 'In that case, you have a series of holes in the tights you are wearing, which is just as bad-----'

  'What can you expect?' Silke demanded indig­nantly, her cheeks burning hotly from where she had looked down and realised he was right about the holes in her tights; there were at least half a dozen in the right leg, and another two on the left. And she hated ladders or holes in her tights, usually carried a spare pair around with her when she was out; but there was nowhere in the briefness of this costume that she could have put a spare pair of tights. 'After the way you manhandled me earlier-----'

  'Really, Lyon,' his uncle drawled drily, eyes twinkling merrily once again. 'It's good to realise you have more than the stuffy Buchanan blood running through your veins after all; that you found the young lady's charms equally-----'

  'Don't be more ridiculous than you normally are, Henry,' Lyon Buchanan cut in impatiently.

  'Exactly,' Silke snapped, equally unimpressed with the idea of this man's making any overt moves where she was concerned; she thought he was the most in­sufferable man she had ever met! 'I realise—now— that there has been some sort of mix-up concerning the sort of bunny costume you wanted-----'

  'Oh, you realise it too, do you?' Lyon Buchanan turned to her harshly. 'Well, I'm—for God's sake take that ridiculous head off; I refuse to carry on a con­versation with a girl wearing a bunny girl costume and a rabbit's head with buck teeth!'

  He didn't have to point out how stupid the white fluffy rabbit head looked, with its long floppy ears, a nose that twitched when she talked, and the un-realistically long front teeth. He didn't have to, but it was just like this man—she had quickly come to realise!—to do so!

  Her face flushed with embarrassment as much as with anger, Silke reached up to release the Velcro at the back of the mask, bending her head down to peel the fluffy mask away, shaking her hair back over her shoulders as she finally looked at the three men com­pletely as herself, Silke Jordan, her silver-blonde hair long and straight to her shoulderblades, green eyes surrounded by thick dark lashes, her nose small and straight, her mouth full and pink, her chin pointed.

  The admiration she had seen on Doug Moore's face this morning returned to his eyes, and even Lyon Buchanan was looking at her with a certain amount of male assessment now. But it was the reaction of Uncle Henry—Silke didn't know what else to call him; there certainly hadn't been any opportunity for in­troductions!—that took them all by surprise. He took one look at Silke—and instantly collapsed back in his chair, clutching the left side of his chest, dropping the stub of his cigar on the carpeted floor as he did so!

  CHAPTER TWO

  Silke had had some reactions in the past to the way she looked, the largeness of emerald-green eyes and her full pouting mouth having caused emotions from mild interest to outright lechery, depending on the man's taste in women. But she had never before known a man collapse just at the sight of her face!
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  The three people in the room still standing took several seconds to realise exactly what had happened, and then—predictably—Lyon Buchanan was the first to move.

  'What the hell-----?' He quickly reached his uncle's

  side, his earlier disparagement of the older man com­pletely belied by the concern now etched into his face, grim lines beside his nose and mouth as he moved to loosen his uncle's tie and release the top button of his shirt. 'Henry!' he prompted determinedly. 'Uncle Henry!' he urged again when he received no re­sponse, reaching for his uncle's jacket now.

  'I don't think you should move him.' Silke put out the cigar before going down on her haunches beside the two men.

  Grey eyes were turned on her like rapiers. 'I wasn't going to!' Lyon Buchanan rasped harshly. 'I was looking for these.' He held up a bottle of pills he had taken from the inside pocket of his uncle's jacket. 'Put one of these under your tongue, Henry,' he instructed the elderly man firmly, and his uncle roused himself enough to take the pill into his mouth, the room be-coming deathly still as they waited for the pill to take effect.

  Pained grey eyes finally blinked open, the older man focusing on Lyon with effort. 'I—what happened?' his uncle said groggily as he began to straighten in the chair, his recovery rapid now.

  Lyon Buchanan moved back slightly, the concern that had etched his face minutes before replaced by his usual cynicism. 'One bunny girl too many, I be­lieve,' he drawled derisively, giving Silke a scathing look, his worry about his uncle's health—and Silke wasn't sure now whether or not she had imagined it!— completely gone.

  And, in fact, his uncle did look completely re­covered, the colour back in his cheeks, only the mer­riment in his eyes slightly dulled. His expression was apologetic as he once again looked at Silke. 'Sorry about that, my dear. I—I was just—surprised, when I saw you.' He gave a rueful grimace at what he now seemed to feel was an embarrassing incident.

  'You don't usually react that way to a beautiful woman,' Lyon Buchanan drawled mockingly, moving to sit back behind his imposing desk. 'Perhaps age is finally catching up with you after all!'

  'Don't you believe it, boy,' his uncle rallied with some of his earlier spirit. 'And don't be too hard on this young lady either.' He turned to give Silke a con­spiratorial smile. 'There has obviously been a genuine mistake made. And if I had realised my coming up here to congratulate you on finally moving out of the stuffy Buchanan mould by introducing a lovely bunny girl into the store would result in this young lady's being hauled over the coals in the way that she has been, I would have kept my mouth shut.' He reached out and clasped Silke's hand. 'I'm sorry, my dear, but I don't know your name... ?'

  Silke ignored Lyon Buchanan's scathing snort at his uncle's familiarity in holding her hand in this way, although she was ridiculous standing here in her bunny girl costume, big holes in her tights, holding the hand of a man she had considered a lecherous old devil until a short time ago.

  In fact he probably still was, she decided, removing her hand to place it behind her back together with the other one. 'Silke,' she supplied huskily. 'Silke Jordan.'

  'Is that for real, or a stage name?'

  Her eyes flashed as she looked across at Lyon Buchanan, her pointed chin raised defensively. 'It's for real,' she snapped, stung by his derisive tone. 'I don't have a "stage name".'

  He shrugged unconcernedly. 'I thought most of the people who worked for agencies like yours were out-of-work actors or actresses?'

  And it was obvious what opinion he held of people in that profession! Really, 'stuffy' didn't even begin to describe this man. He looked conservative through and through, from his short-styled hair and tailored dark suit to his plain black leather shoes. The only thing that saved him from being a complete pompous ass, in Silke's eyes, was that he was so damned good-looking—arrogantly so, of course, but even that would hold a certain attraction for some women. Not Silke; she wasn't interested in any man at the moment, and hadn't been for some time. And it was obvious that Lyon Buchanan was completely unimpressed with her too, still looking at her as if she were some sort of oddity that had wandered into his ordered— stuffy!—existence. As no doubt she was. Not that she had ever thought of herself as an oddity; but to Lyon Buchanan she probably was!

  And he was right about the people who worked for her mother's agency; most of them were actors and actresses momentarily 'resting'. Nadine had managed to get an audition this morning, which was the reason she had cried off this assignment at the last minute. The very last minute, calling in at the agency on her way to the audition to tell Silke's mother she couldn't be at Buchanan's today.

  And as Silke had been there talking to her mother... And as Buchanan's was an important new account... Besides, the bunny girl outfit was Silke's size! As far as her mother had been concerned, no further ar­gument was necessary!

  'Most of them are,' she confirmed Lyon Buchanan's statement distantly.

  Grey eyes narrowed on her in cold assessment. 'But not you?' Lyon Buchanan finally said softly.

  'No, not me,' she told him dismissively—unwilling to tell him exactly what sort of an 'out-of-work' she actually was.

  Besides, she wasn't out of work, she was a self-employed jewellery designer, who just hadn't managed to sell any of her designs lately!

  His mouth twisted derisively. 'You do this sort of thing because you like it?'

  Her cheeks became flushed at his insulting tone. 'As your uncle has so rightly pointed out, there has been a genuine mistake concerning the sort of bunny costume you wanted.' She deliberately didn't answer his challenging remark. 'If you will give me an hour to get back to the agency, I will make sure you are supplied with the cuddly fluffy kind.' And she had no intention of being inside the costume herself; had no intention of coming anywhere near Buchanan's— or Lyon Buchanan himself!—ever again! She couldn't afford the prices in a store like this anyway, had only ever window-shopped in the past when she had come in. She could easily forgo that particular pleasure for the certainty of never having to see Lyon Buchanan again!

  'I don't believe we have yet ascertained just exactly whose "genuine mistake" it was,' Lyon Buchanan said hardly, shooting his personnel manager a hard, ques­tioning look.

  'Oh, for goodness' sake, Lyon.' His uncle stood up impatiently, a short, dapper man who bore little re­semblance to his nephew in build—or manner. 'That really isn't important now. Allow me to drive you wherever you need to go, my dear,' he offered Silke smoothly.

  She deliberately avoided looking at Lyon Buchanan as she sensed the scorn emanating from him across the room at her. 'It's very kind of you-----'

  'My uncle is rarely kind—unless he has an ulterior motive,' Lyon Buchanan cut in derisively now.

  'Thank you, I would appreciate that,' Silke firmly accepted the offer she had had every intention of re­fusing until Lyon Buchanan's scathing intervention.

  Did the man never stop? Of course, he probably knew his uncle better than she did, but even so she was quite capable of deciding for herself whether or not she was prepared to accept a lift from him; she didn't need the younger man's derisive interference. The fact that she now agreed to Uncle Henry's offer of a lift—she really must find out his full name!—didn't really matter; she could easily get out of that once they had left this office.

  Lyon Buchanan was now looking at her speculat-ively, as if he now suspected her motives in accepting the older man's offer. He would! He was a suspicious individual. Arrogant in the extreme. But he was also the owner of Buchanan's. And when she got back to the agency she would have to explain exactly how they had upset this powerful man. Silke didn't doubt for one moment that her mother's agency would never be used again by this man. Unless...

  Swallowing her pride, she turned to the owner of Buchanan's with a bright, meaningless smile. 'Someone will return from the agency this afternoon when an—appropriate costume has been acquired.' Her pride wasn't dampened enough for her not to resist reminding him of the description he had given ear
lier for her present costume!

  But considering she had actually been hired to hand out free chocolate Easter bunnies to bright-eyed, ex­pectant children, it was probably the only description that fitted!

  God, she was going to start giggling over the ridicu­lousness of the situation in a minute, the humour of the whole thing finally getting to her. And Lyon Buchanan didn't look as if he would be impressed by that at all!

  He was looking down at her with those cold grey eyes again now. 'I'll have your agency called and let them know my decision. When I've made one,' he added pointedly.

  And for the moment she would have to be satisfied with that, his tone clearly stated. Oh, well, she had tried; she certainly wasn't going to grovel to this man—not even for the sake of her mother's agency.

  'And you ought to go and see your doctor.' Lyon Buchanan was talking to his uncle now as the older man turned to leave.

  Henry looked irritated by the instruction. 'Don't fuss, Lyon,' he dismissed impatiently. 'As you so rightly said, it was just a question of "one bunny girl too many"!' his humour returned, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he looked at Silke.

  'Nevertheless, I intend calling Peter Carruthers and making an appointment for you,' his nephew told him determinedly.

  Silke could see that Henry didn't like the younger man's arrogance one little bit—did any of them?— but he didn't attempt to argue with him any further. She couldn't help wondering if many people ever had during this man's thirty-five or thirty-six years, or if that could be the reason he seemed to be a law unto himself?

  'Not you, Doug,' Lyon Buchanan rasped now as his personnel manager would have followed them from the room. 'I don't believe we have finished our conversation.'

  Silke felt sorry for Doug Moore—but that didn't stop her hurrying from the room as Henry held the door open for her; she didn't want again to become the focus of Lyon Buchanan's displeasure.