War of Love Read online

  At which Lyon instantly reached out and pressed the internal button. 'No more calls,' he barked to Jackie when she answered the call, looking across challengingly at Silke as she watched him with raised brows.

  She glared at him. 'Make yourself at home, why don't you?' she said sarcastically.

  'Our conversation is more important than your mother's clients,' he snapped icily.

  'In your opinion,' Silke drawled, sitting back in her chair. At least she had heard from her mother, no longer had to wonder about that particular situation. And she would talk to her again later in the day. Lyon didn't have that reassurance.

  His eyes flashed. 'Aren't you in the least concerned that your mother has just disappeared with my uncle? Stupid question,' he dismissed disgustedly, his mouth twisted contemptuously. 'Once the two of them are married-----'

  'Don't say it, Lyon,' she warned sharply, no longer quite as relaxed, green eyes flashing warningly.

  His mouth twisted scathingly. 'The benefits of be­coming Henry's stepdaughter can't have escaped you!'

  She looked across at him with narrowed eyes. 'At the moment the only thing I can think of in con­nection with that marriage is that it somehow makes the two of us related—and I can't see that as any sort of benefit at all!' In fact, quite the opposite. Es­pecially with the physical effect this man, unwillingly, had on her! Coming into contact with him on a regular basis was—well, it was unthinkable.

  'No?' Lyon arched dark brows. 'Is that why Henry has been extolling the genius of your jewellery designs?'

  Silke looked at him sharply, frowning deeply. 'As far as I'm aware, Henry hasn't seen any of my de­signs ...' What on earth was Lyon talking about?

  'Exactly,' Lyon drawled.

  Her frown deepened. 'What do you mean?'

  He shook his head derisively. 'Henry wouldn't need to have seen your designs to have decided you're a genius—as far as he's concerned at the moment, anyone connected with his wonderful Satin can do no wrong!' And it was obvious he didn't share his uncle's opinion—in fact, the opposite!

  Silke's mind was racing; why on earth had Henry been praising her jewellery designs—designs she was positive he hadn't even seen! Surely he couldn't—he wouldn't----- She looked up at Lyon with wide,

  startled eyes as she realised that Henry would!

  Lyon raised mocking brows, grey eyes scathing. 'Don't tell me you aren't aware of the fact that Henry believes Buchanan's should branch out with its own jewellery designs?' he scorned.

  Her stomach lurched, her face paling; Henry had! Oh, God! Of course she had had no idea. She wouldn't have let Henry... Let him? It wasn't a question of letting Henry do anything, he was turning out to be as arrogantly determined to have his own way as his nephew was, albeit in a more charmingly persuasive way. She was sure it hadn't been her mother's idea to go off and get married in the way they were; her mother had been quite prepared to fight Lyon herself on his own terms. Henry's determinedly persuasive hand had to have been behind that move too, Silke was sure of it. Henry's only saving grace at the moment, as far as Silke was concerned, was that she didn't doubt his love for her mother, or that he would do everything in his power to ensure her hap­piness. Including setting her daughter up in business...!

  Lyon's gaze raked over her appraisingly, finally set­tling on the now pale beauty of her face. 'I don't recall ever seeing you wear jewellery yourself...?' he finally said pointedly.

  Her designs were more of the chunky costume jewellery kind, not the sort of thing she could wear in the day with jeans and T-shirts, her usual daytime wear. Besides, the state of her personal finances, she couldn't even afford to produce samples of her de­signs in the gold and silver needed. But Buchanan's could... No! She had no intention of encouraging Henry in this mad scheme. Of opposing Lyon...

  'I-----' She broke off her protest as the telephone on her desk began to ring for the second time during this meeting.

  Lyon scowled his displeasure at the interruption. 'I thought I told your secretary no more calls?' And he wasn't used to having his instructions disobeyed, his tone clearly implied.

  And normally Jackie wouldn't have dreamt of dis obeying them either, which told Silke there had to be a good reason for her having done so now. Her mother calling again... ? Didn't she know Lyon well enough to realise Silke wouldn't have managed to get rid of him yet?

  She almost panicked completely as Lyon, tiring of waiting for her to answer the call, reached out for the receiver, and she snatched it up herself first, avoiding his gaze as she turned away. 'Yes, Jackie?' she re­sponded huskily.

  'Silke,' Jackie sounded breathless herself. 'James is on the line.'

  James? James...! Her James? No, not her James, not if it was the same James who had walked out of her life a year ago and married someone else on the eve of their own wedding. It couldn't be that James!

  'James Cameron, Silke,' Jackie instantly con­firmed that indeed it could be! 'And he says it's urgent that he talk to you,' she added by way of explanation for this interruption when she had been given clear instructions, albeit by Lyon Buchanan, not to put any more calls through.

  Urgent? After almost a year of complete silence James had found something urgent to talk to her about? He had to be joking! Besides, whatever his problem was, she certainly had no intention of taking his call now, not with Lyon Buchanan sitting across the desk from her so watchfully.

  'Get his telephone number and tell him I'll call him back, Jackie,' she instructed—God, was that shaky voice really hers?

  But maybe she could be excused that; this was cer-tainly turning out to be a traumatic day, with first Lyon on the warpath, and now James on the tele­phone—for goodness' knew what reason. Perhaps he wanted them to get together to celebrate what should have been the first anniversary of their wedding-day? God, she was becoming hysterical now, she realised; but how else could she feel in the circumstances? Today was turning into a nightmare!

  'I would have reprimanded her for her inef­ficiency,' Lyon rasped once Silke had put down the receiver.

  'Well, that's where we differ,' Silke replied without her usual fight where this man was concerned—she was still shaken by James's call. A year, a whole year of silence; why was he calling her now? He had been away on his honeymoon with someone else when she had cancelled their wedding, their honeymoon, sent back the unwanted wedding gifts; he hadn't wanted to know, hadn't cared about her pain, her humili­ation, her-----

  'Him?' Lyon prompted, grey eyes narrowed ques-tioningly on the paleness of her face when Silke looked up at him almost dazedly.

  She frowned, swallowing hard. What had the two of them been talking about before her telephone call from James? She had no intention of telling Lyon who 'him' was! She could all too easily imagine his de­rision if she told him about James, her ex-fiance' who had married someone else on the eve of their wedding!

  She forced her expression to become coolly dis­missive. 'I believe we were discussing Henry's interest in my jewellery designs,' she prompted pointedly.

  'No,' Lyon said slowly. 'We were discussing the fact that you never wear jewellery yourself.' His narrowed gaze moved to the bareness of her hands as they rested on the desktop.

  Was it her imagination, or did that all-seeing gaze rest more intently on the bareness of her left hand, where until a year ago an emerald and diamond en­gagement ring had nestled on the third finger? A ring that had been returned to James along with every­thing else once the wedding had been cancelled; she hadn't wanted anything left in her flat to remind her of James and their engagement. She could still re­member the feeling of desolation as she parcelled up the box that had contained all her memories of the years she had spent with James; it had seemed so little to show for three years of her life. And now, with one simple telephone call, the memories were back... At a time when she could least deal with it; Lyon Buchanan was seated opposite her, obviously on the warpath!

  And even though she was sure there could be no evidence that she had o
nce worn an engagement ring on her left hand, the indentation that had once been there having long gone, she found herself putting that hand beneath the desk, where Lyon could no longer see it.

  'You're quite wrong,' she told Lyon coolly now. 'I often wear jewellery; you've just never met me in the right setting to see me wearing it.' Even as she said it, Silke winced, remembering all too vividly—as she was sure Lyon did!—the circumstances in which they had first met; she had been wearing very little on that occasion, and certainly no jewellery.

  Lyon looked at her thoughtfully, grey eyes nar­rowed. 'Then perhaps I should rectify that,' he finally said slowly.

  Silke gave him a startled look. 'What do you mean?'

  He shrugged those broad shoulders. 'It seems I can do little to stop this wedding between my uncle and your mother—so perhaps the two of us should have dinner together this evening to celebrate their marriage.'

  Silke looked at him suspiciously; why had he sud­denly changed from opposing the marriage to suggesting they go out and celebrate it? He was sud­denly being altogether too pleasant—and Silke dis­trusted this mood even more than she did his outright objectionable one.

  She shook her head. 'I don't think so-----'

  'Frightened, Silke?' he taunted softly.

  She frowned at the suggestion. 'Of what?'

  'Me,' he derided, brows raised mockingly.

  And suddenly she was—of the fact that he realised how physically vulnerable she was towards him. And why shouldn't he? She had hardly beaten him off with a stick on the occasions he had taken her into his arms and kissed her!

  Both her hands were beneath the desktop now—to hide the fact that they were shaking. First James, and now this man; it was too much in one day!

  She forced herself to meet his gaze unflinchingly. 'I'm not frightened of you, Lyon.' Her voice was steady too, determinedly so.

  He gave an acknowledging nod of his head, his mouth quirked mockingly. 'In that case-----' he stood up in one fluid movement '—I take it you have no objection to joining me for dinner this evening? I'll pick you up-----'

  'Now just a minute,' Silke cut in hastily. 'I'm not frightened of you, Lyon—why on earth should I be?' she added with impatient dismissal. 'But neither do I want to have dinner with you, tonight or at any other time,' she said exasperatedly.

  He towered over her, looking down at her, those dark brows still mockingly raised. 'Careful, Silke,' he taunted. 'You're starting to sound like a woman who protests too much! Now I suggest-----'

  ‘That must be a novelty for you!' she snapped impatiently.

  '—that I call for you at your flat at seven-thirty,' he continued as if she hadn't made the interruption. 'That way we'll have time for a drink before dinner. Unless you intend being at your mother's apartment? You seem to spend as much time there as you do at your own home,' he added drily.

  'How do you-----?' Silke broke off abruptly, glaring at him. 'Of course, your report on my mother. Or was it just on my mother?' she suddenly realised warily. My God, he wouldn't have had her investi­gated too, would he? What a stupid question; of course he would—this man was arrogant enough to do anything he wanted to do! Maybe she hadn't been so wrong about his lingering gaze on her left hand earlier, after all...

  Lyon calmly met her gaze. 'Seven-thirty, Silke,' he repeated smoothly. 'At your own or your mother's apartment?'

  'I told you,' she snapped, completely flustered by her racing thoughts as to what his report had told him about her. 'Neither!' She glared up at him.

  He bent forward, his face only inches from hers now as he leant over the desk. 'I may—regrettably— have lost one battle today, Silke.' His breath softly stirred her wispy blonde fringe. 'I have no intention of losing this one too,' he added grimly.

  As she doubted he actually intended losing the war; she had no doubts whatsoever that Henry's and her mother's battle with him was far from over. Lyon was just retreating slightly in order to rally his troops. And Silke didn't want to be caught in the firing line!

  'I'm busy tonight, Lyon,' she told him firmly—and every other night as far as this man was concerned. He was far too dangerous for her peace of mind!

  'Cancel it,' he instructed arrogantly.

  She gasped. 'I-----'

  'I'll be at your mother's apartment at seven-thirty, Silke.' He walked over to the door. 'We can discuss your jewellery designs over dinner.'

  As carrots went it was far from subtle; but then Lyon Buchanan had never been subtle where she was concerned. She doubted he was ever subtle with anyone; he didn't need to be, was far too powerful ever to need to be. But Silke wasn't interested in any­thing he had to say about her jewellery designs—if indeed that was what he actually wanted to talk about, which she doubted; no doubt he still believed she knew where his uncle and her mother were!—because she could never work for this man. Never!

  And she didn't want him coming to her mother's apartment at seven-thirty, either; what if her mother hadn't rung by then and happened to ring once Lyon had arrived to pick her up? God, no, she didn't want that!

  'My designs are all at my flat-----'

  ‘Then I'll call for you there,' he nodded, opening the door. 'Seven-thirty,' he repeated as if to a backward child, before striding arrogantly from the office.

  Silke was left sitting behind her mother's desk opening and closing her mouth like a floundering fish. She had been about to tell him that her designs were all at her flat but that she had no intention of having dinner with him anyway. But he hadn't let her finish. Had railroaded over her objections. As he seemed to do with everyone, she realised, as she saw Jackie sitting behind her desk with a similarly dazed ex­pression on her face as she watched Lyon's departure.

  Jackie turned her head slowly, and the two women looked at each other for several long seconds, both looking totally bewildered.

  Finally Jackie shook her head. 'I don't know what it is about that man, but he—well, he-----'

  'It's all right, Jackie,' Silke sympathised, running an exasperated hand through the length of her hair. 'He has the same effect on everyone.' And she ap­peared to be stuck with going out to dinner with the man; how was she going to get through the evening?

  'Here's that telephone number you asked for, Silke.' Jackie stood in front of her desk, holding out a piece of paper towards her.

  Silke blinked up at her, completely puzzled for a few seconds—and then she remembered. James! How could she have forgotten that he had telephoned? Lyon Buchanan, that was how! He was enough to drive every other thought from anyone's mind—even that of an ex-fiance who had contacted her after a year of silence—and almost a year of his being married to someone else!

  My God, James had a nerve after all this time. What on earth could they have to say to each other now? The truth was, she had nothing to say to him. She had wanted to say it all a year ago and hadn't been given the chance; now it was all totally irrelevant, even her pain and anger towards him having faded to a mild contempt for the way he had behaved.

  She stared down at the piece of paper with his tele­phone number on long after Jackie had returned to her own outer office, vaguely registering the fact that James still worked for the same firm of accountants. Some things didn't change, she acknowledged with wry self-derision. But she had, and James contacting her now was nothing more than an irritation. An ir­ritation she could well have done without with Lyon Buchanan present!

  Finally she opened her handbag and put the piece of paper with the telephone number inside her purse. Whatever James wanted to talk to her about, it could wait; it had already waited a year, so it couldn't be that urgent.

  The urgent thing on her mind at the moment was the thought of dinner with Lyon Buchanan. What was he up to? Because she didn't for one minute believe the two of them were about to celebrate his uncle's and her mother's marriage. Or that he was seriously interested in her jewellery designs...

  There was absolutely nothing Silke could do about her mother's expected telephone cal
l at her apartment. The only complication Silke could see was that once her mother received no reply at her own apartment she would then try Silke's flat. As Silke luxuriated in a much-needed relaxing bath once she got in from the office, she could only hope her mother called before Lyon arrived. Although the way her luck was going at the moment, she very much doubted that would be the case!

  She had firmly put the subject of James to the back of her mind—at least for the evening. He had waited this long; he could certainly wait another day!

  The first thing Silke had done when she got in from work had been to look through her wardrobe for something to wear to go out with Lyon, something smart and elegant, but nothing that gave him the im­pression she had wanted to look beautiful for him; he would be sure to comment on something so ob­vious. But the truth of the matter was she did want him to find her attractive; the few occasions they had met he had hardly seen her in a good light, and she needed all the ammunition she had to withstand an evening spent in that particular man's company.

  The dress she had finally settled on was just a plain black, with a high neckline, and long sleeves. But the material was of a type that moulded to her body rather than clung, and the short length, just above her knee, allowed for a long expanse of her shapely legs. Yes, it was just the right sort of dress to wear to go out with Lyon Buchanan, provocative without being suggestive.

  And because of the plainness of the dress she would be able to complement it with some of the jewellery he had commented he had never seen her wear, the dress being perfect for the chunky style of her designs.

  Lyon Buchanan would see a completely different Silke Jordan tonight, one who was as sophisticated and self-assured as the women he usually associated with! It was ridiculous that she had to go to these lengths at all, she knew, but she had been forced into going out for the dinner in the first place, and she needed every weapon available to her to get through it. God, there she went with the warlike vocabulary again. But that was exactly what it had felt like since she first met Lyon!