Revenge Read online

  Bluff, Alexia dismissed as the porter picked up her bag and took her to her car, a job she. thought Harry Masters should have done. But he wasn't a gentleman and he didn't think her a lady so she only had herself to blame.

  He really was getting to her, needling her till she felt like a well-used pin-cushion, and now here she was following a beaten-up ex-army jeep, circa 1940, down a country lane at twenty-eight miles an hour with her own Mercedes engine throbbing restlessly under the bonnet in frustration.

  It wasn't a lot better on the motorway. The jeep had obviously been war-wounded out of the fields of battle with a dishonourable discharge to boot. It crawled along on the inside lane hoping for a purple heart for its efforts.

  Alexia drew up alongside and shouted out of the window. 'You'll get arrested for loitering with intent.'

  He gave her the thumbs up and she knew he hadn't heard over the throb of the engine. She dropped back, way back. The exhaust from the jeep was foul.

  He's doing this on purpose, she decided as he pulled up on the hard shoulder of the motorway, his jeep shuddering to a halt. Alexia pulled up behind him, determined to take it all.

  'Carburettor trouble,' he told her as she joined him. 'You wouldn't have a pin on you by any chance?'

  Alexia held her temper. 'Don't be absurd. Of course not. Can't you call a garage?'

  'Defeatist,' he mumbled, burying his head under the bonnet. 'Are you sure you haven't anything thin and pointed? Apart from your wit, of course.'

  Alexia stuck her tongue out at the back of his neck and went back to her car for her bag. She rummaged and came up with a badge from one of those trendy joke shops, a gift from April and her secretary's sense of humour not her own. It read sensational sex 25p.

  Harry Masters roared with laughter when she handed it to him.

  'Don't even think about it,' she got in before he made a comment.

  The pin worked and they were soon on their way, only marginally faster than before but as Harry had explained he'd only just rescued the jeep from a Welsh motor graveyard and was going to restore it. With loving care, he had indicated, and though Alexia wasn't a car enthusiast she somehow understood.

  Don't go soft, she warned herself. Wealthy, successful financiers would have their idiosyncrasies but restoring clapped-out old military vehicles wasn't going to weaken her. So he had a human streak to him but a million that weren't.

  An hour later she was tired and bored with trundling down steep, twisting lanes and byways. Only the jazz network on the radio was keeping her sane. She deeply regretted not diving into that cream tea back at the hotel. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of that delicious jam and thick whipped cream and those three-inch-high scones... Stop it!

  It started to rain and obviously had been raining here for quite a while. The village they were passing through was well distributed with puddles. It was a pretty village with stone-clad houses and colourful walled gardens and as she gazed round in awe she nearly missed the jeep turning into a narrow lane.

  The Mercedes came to a slithering halt in two feet of mud on the dirt track he'd led her up. Alexia cursed out loud and slammed the gear into reverse, hoping to back out of the mire. It was dusk now, she couldn't see properly and she backed into something soft and yielding and prayed it wasn't a sheep. The engine stalled and no amount of ignition work would fire it.

  'You've backed into the bank and your exhaust is blocked with mud. You'll never start it,' Harry Masters told her with a grin. 'You'll have to come the rest of the way in the jeep.'

  'Don't be ridiculous!' she snorted. Well, at least he hadn't said 'I told you so', though there was time yet. She tried the ignition one more time.

  'Alexia, you're wasting your time. I'll get someone to tow it out in the morning.'

  'I can't just leave it here,' Alexia wailed. 'It's blocking the lane!'

  'My lane,' he told her, and she might have known. 'Now get out and hop in the jeep while I get your stuff from the boot.'

  She had no choice, absolutely none whatsoever. 'Oh, my God!' she cried as she went up to her ankles in mud or was it something worse? 'Oh, no! My shoes, they're ruined... Oh, no, they've gone!'

  'Steady on, everything is under control,' he told her, sounding like a Scoutmaster.

  Well, Alexia Townsend was no cub, though— brownie was more like it. She slumped back down into the driving seat with her mud-clad legs protruding out of the car door.

  'This is all your fault!'

  'I'm sorry, Alexia,' he said softly, leaning down to examine her feet. 'You're just not a country girl, are you?'

  To her horror Alexia found she was biting back tears.

  'There's country and country, this place is nothing better than a bog!'

  'No, sweetheart, this is Wales, not Ireland,' Harry Masters tried to joke.

  'I hate Wales!' Alexia cried, shaking her feet to try and distribute some of the mud over him.

  'I promise you you'll love it by the end of this weekend.'

  'Don't count on that!'

  He lifted her drooping chin and looked at her. 'Sony, sweetheart, this is all a bit of a culture shock to you, isn't it?'

  His warm fingers on her chin were a shock and culture had little to do with it. She moved her head out of his reach, annoyed he could have that electrifying effect on her.

  'Can I get your wellies from the boot for you?' he asked with laughter in his voice.

  'What are wellies?' she cut back tightly. Not to be outdone, she lowered her feet into the mud and stood up. She'd show him.

  She'd never walked barefoot, ankle-deep in mud with a designer skirt wrapped tightly round her thighs before. It wasn't a novelty she wanted to repeat. Her feet hurt, her ankles hurt and her pride twisted agonisingly and the jeep ahead of her seemed to be getting further away rather than nearer.

  'I admire your guts, Alexia, but can I make a suggestion?'

  'So long as it's not indecent.'

  'Depends which way you take it. Why don't you take your skirt off or at least slide it further up --?'

  She went to lunge at him with her envelope bag but lost her balance. He caught her before she went down, swung her up into his arms.

  'That's better,' he breathed into her ear as she clung to him for dear life.

  It was better, she admitted—let him take the strain for his trouble. Bringing her to his Welsh home was a ridiculous idea and this feeling inside her was ridiculous too. A rush of warmth she didn't understand. His jacket was rough on her skin where it made contact, rough but surprisingly reassuring. And what was his cologne? Something French, something interesting. His breathing was laboured and she wasn't surprised; she might be slim but her height added weight.

  Suddenly he wasn't carrying her any more, had set her down on hard ground. His breathing was no longer laboured and yet it was.

  His mouth on hers was unexpected and she did nothing to stop the pressure that developed into a very serious kiss. Her head spun with the depth and power of it and then suddenly it was over as swiftly as it had started, leaving her feeling weak and breathless and surprisingly unsatisfied.

  'Can you manage to get in?' he asked her softly.

  'Of course,' she murmured, her hands shaking as she climbed into the passenger-seat of the jeep. Was it the shock of having to abandon her car, the shock of landing in mud and losing her shoes, the shock of that kiss that had deflated the anger inside her? She didn't know. All she knew was that she felt different. She sat and waited while he went back for her hold-all and briefcase and gripped her fingers tightly in her lap.

  They shuddered to the end of the lane and the lights from the jeep lit up the most beautiful Welsh stone farmhouse Alexia had ever seen. Azure wistaria and pink roses climbed the grey stone walls and soft golden light from the porch melted out into the drizzle. Alexia bit her lip. She wasn't sure what she had expected, but not this surely? This place was stunning, a huge rambling farmhouse set in rolling hills, tucked far away from civilisation. Warm and inviting and..
.and incredibly romantic.

  'My little place overlooking the Brecons,' he told her as he switched off the engine.

  '"Little" must be the understatement of the year,' she muttered under her breath.

  'What was that?'

  'Nothing,' she told him, peering out of the windscreen. 'Are those farm buildings over there?' She could just see them through the gathering dusk.

  'Yes,' he told her, reaching into the back seat for his jacket. 'I don't believe in buying up these places just for a weekend retreat. This is a working sheep farm, though I don't work it myself; I have a manager to work it for me.'

  'A bit hypocritical, that,' she said, wondering at her own brittleness.

  'I'm not omniscient, Alexia. I know my limitations,' he said quietly, delving into his jacket pocket for keys.

  Something deep inside Alexia pulsed slowly. 'I'm sorry,' she uttered softly. 'I didn't mean to sound so caustic.'

  He stopped scrabbling for his keys and though her head was turned away from him she knew his eyes were on her.

  'An apology? That's a pleasant surprise.'

  Alexia turned her head then and she couldn't help but smile. His hand came up to tilt her chin as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. 'More surprises, a smile, a warm one, too, not laced with cynicism and sarcasm.'

  She tried not to jerk her face away from his touch, that would show even greater weakness, that his touch affected her.

  'Don't get too excited,' she told him coolly. 'I wouldn't want you to get the false impression that anything has changed between us. I'm just tired, that's all.'

  He lightly pinched her chin before letting it go. 'That's my girl. I feel safer with your prickly nature—a softer Alexia could be more dangerous than even I can cope with.'

  He jumped out of the jeep, leaving Alexia with her heart beating out a warning. She didn't like this, not one iota. She didn't want to be here at his lovely farmhouse, miles from anywhere, alone with him. She bit her lip and resolutely shifted her skirt up to get out of this infernal contraption! She was tired and after a good night's rest she hoped that prickly barbarism she had cultivated towards him would return with a vengeance, for, as he rightly said, anything softer from her could be very dangerous, and she couldn't cope with that either.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  'Oh, it's perfectly lovely,' Alexia told Harry, standing on a small rug just inside the sitting-room. The porchway opened directly into the main room of the farmhouse and she didn't go any further as her feet and legs were caked with mud.

  'You sound surprised,' he said, moving past her to put her hold-all and briefcase down on the deep red carpet.

  Alexia didn't say anything. His Surrey mansion was impressive but this place was more of a home, with its wealth of beams, natural stone walls and warm mellow woodwork. It was a vast open-plan room with a huge fireplace and beautifully upholstered Laura Ashley sofas in red and blue Paisley. Polished wooden stairs rose up to the next floor. The kitchen was at the opposite end, divided from the main living area by a beamed square archway and a breakfast bar with a polished wood top. Copper pans hung from the ceiling beams and the cupboards were of seasoned oak. The deep red carpet throughout softened and warmed the stonework.

  No, she hadn't expected this lovely farmhouse. Alexia bent down and unzipped her bag to get out a pair of shoes. She couldn't walk on his carpet in this state.

  'Let me help you; your hands are muddy too.' He squatted down beside her and his hand glanced off hers. Alexia pulled away as if stung.

  'My... my shoes, in the bottom.'

  He proceeded to pull her carefully rolled clothes out of the bag and let out a low whistle. 'Silk and satin, eh? What sort of a weekend were you anticipating?'

  Alexia had no defences for the rush of colour that darkened her olive skin. 'You can't break a habit of a lifetime,' she told him shortly, 'so don't get any ideas that I packed with you in mind. I have my business head on this weekend, Harry Masters.'

  He laughed and pulled a pair of black velvet flatties from the bag. He stood up and handed them to her. 'And your seduction body to go with it,' he teased.

  Alexia snatched the shoes from him and jammed her feet into them. 'I can't help what the good lord has endowed me with.'

  'You can help what you do with it, though,' he mocked, and Alexia took that for what it was—a wind-up!

  Harry stuffed her clothes back into the hold-all and picked it up. 'I'll show you to your room. If you give me your clothes I'll have the housekeeper take them to the cleaners. You must be more careful, Alexia; you're costing me a fortune in cleaning bills!' He walked across the room to the polished wooden stairs and Alexia followed, relieved that a housekeeper was around.

  Upstairs, the bedroom he ushered her into had a stunning antique four-poster bed in it and Alexia saw nothing else. It dominated the room and she stared at it in awe. It didn't seem real. A fantasy bed. She'd never slept in a four-poster before and had never thought she ever would.

  'What's wrong?' Harry asked from the doorway.

  Alexia turned quickly. 'N...nothing,' she said jerkily, a little too jerkily.

  Harry smiled, knowingly. 'It's French. It's been in the family for generations. My forefathers spent their wedding nights --'

  'I'm really not interested in your family history,' she snapped. 'Where's the bathroom?' She felt hot inside and distinctly uncomfortable. 'I just want to get into a hot bath and get rid of this awful Welsh mud.'

  Harry nodded to a door across the room. 'You'll find everything you need in there. Come down when you're ready.'

  He closed the door after him and Alexia closed her eyes. This weekend was a rotten idea of his. Why, oh, why couldn't they have conducted their business in that hotel? She opened her eyes and stared at the beautiful bed, she actually reached out and smoothed her fingers down one of the carved rosewood posts. A wedding bed and he wanted her to occupy it! He could have given her any number of rooms but this one! Alexia shivered and turned her back on it to unpack. She didn't even want to contemplate the reasons for that.

  She soaked for a long while in a deep fragrant bath and then got out and wrapped herself in a fluffy white towel. That damned bed almost filled the room and hesitantly Alexia approached it as if it might snatch at her and draw her into its secret depths. Dense cream lace hung from the top framework, the pillows were frilled with matching lace and the cover dipped lusciously to the floor. It was only a bed, any old bed, she told herself. She crawled on to it and lay down and laid her head on the sweet-smelling pillow. There was nothing special about this bed at all.

  Warm lips on hers slowly roused her from sleep. She moaned softly and stretched languidly. What a beautiful dream. She parted her moist lips and the kiss deepened and her entire body smouldered.

  'Alexia.'

  'Hmm.' She tried to open her eyes but they were so heavy and the mouth on hers again was so warm and tempting that she wanted to linger where she was and never get up.

  'Alexia, wake up.'

  Her eyes widened and fire engulfed her, choking her senses. Harry Masters was standing by the bed looking down at her. Alexia shot up, her lashes blinking rapidly, her mind clearing and willing her hands to the towel wrapped round her. It was still intact, mercifully still covering her body.

  'Supper's nearly ready,' he told her softly.

  Her hand shot to her mouth. Had he? Dear God, she didn't know! Had it been a dream? He certainly didn't look as if he had just kissed her.

  'How long have you been here?' she husked, her voice still dazed with sleep.

  He said quietly, 'Long enough.'

  Alexia could read nothing in the dark depths of his eyes and annoyance rose inside her. 'Long enough for what?' She was off the bed in a trice and stood glaring at him, clutching the towel to her.

  He raised a brow, as if he was quite puzzled at her heated reaction. 'Long enough to see that you are exhausted and perhaps our discussions can wait till tomorrow.'

  Of course! The discussions
, that was why they were here! 'I'm all right,' she told him. 'It's been a hectic week and... and the long journey here was unexpected. I... I must have dropped off. I'll get dressed.'

  'Are you sure?'

  Her dark eyes widened even more at that and he smiled and his danced with mischief as he added, 'I meant are you sure you're up to some lengthy business talk?'

  She was wide awake now and fully in control. 'I want to get this resolved as soon as possible, and with any luck we can come to a conclusion tonight and then I can go home in the morning.'

  'I doubt we'll come to any sort of a decision so soon,' he said with such double meaning loading his tone that it made Alexia more determined than ever to get it all sorted out quickly.

  'We'll see,' was all she could offer in spite of her determination. 'Now will you get out while I dress?'

  He turned away from her and stopped at the door. 'Something soft and silky,' he suggested, a teasing grin on his face.

  'Oh, yes? And what is that supposed to mean?' she seethed.

  'It means that I've lit a fire downstairs and it's pretty warm and I wouldn't like you to be uncomfortable.'

  'How very thoughtful of you,' she cut back sarcastically.

  'I do aim to please, in every way possible,' he returned, and added drily, 'and I say that sincerely, not sarcastically.'

  More like suggestively, Alexia could have added, but he was gone before she could summon the retort to her lips.

  She glanced down at the bed and glared at the indentation her coiled body had made on the lacy cover. If he had kissed her he would have left a mark too, because he would have had to kneel on the bed to reach her. Furiously she reached out and straightened the bedspread. She would never know!

  'Damn you!' she breathed at the bed. 'You spook me!'

  Alexia tucked a scarlet silk shirt into the tight waistband of baggy black silk pants and bent her head down to brush out her thick mane of hair then flung her head back to let it fall naturally into place. She debated about make-up. Normally she didn't bother at weekends—no one to bother for—but if she bothered for Harry Masters it would leave her open to all manner of suggestions. It had been bad enough that he'd seen all her expensive clothes and taken it the wrong way. She settled for mascara and lipstick and let him make what he liked of that.