Chapter 12

IT WAS JUST a few minutes after eight when Ellen arrived at the Canteen restaurant in Chelsea Harbour. Though she was nervous about this meeting there was nothing in her appearance to show it as she stepped out of the taxi and handed the driver a ten-pound note. It was a cold, clear night and there was almost no one around. At the end of the road she could see a pool of moonlight rippling across the harbour waters where yacht masts clanked in the wind and the tide lapped against polished hulls and moss-covered walls. All around her, apartment and office blocks soared silently into the night sky with occasional lights signalling a world behind the façade. She gazed up at them and wondered which were the McCann Walsh offices.

Hooking her bag on her shoulder, she walked into the brightly lit foyer of Harbour Yard and headed towards the Canteen. The maître d’ saw her coming, and was waiting with the door open to greet her with a warmth that startled her, until he showed her to ‘Mr McCann’s table’ and conveyed ‘Mr McCann’s apologies’ that he was running late. Apparently she had become Mr McCann’s guest, rather than the other way around, but though this irked her, she said nothing to the waiter as she was seated and served a complimentary glass of house champagne with a small plate of mouthwatering amuses-bouches to get her ‘tastebuds in the mood’.

When the waiter had gone she took out a book and opened it. It was simply a prop, for she was too anxious to concentrate on anything more than the task ahead. Three days had passed since coincidence had outclassed contrivance and brought her and McCann together here, at this restaurant, and most of that time had been spent going over the fine detail of Forgon’s offer and her own strategy on how she was going to present it. The fact that McCann was now no longer an imaginary target drawn from the pages of Forgon’s research, but a real flesh-and-blood man with all the disturbing elements that entailed, was a distraction she had already striven to confront and eliminate. Yes, he was exceptionally attractive, but that was no surprise, for she’d seen enough photographs of him to know that already. What the photographs hadn’t prepared her for, though, was how annoyingly composed he seemed and apparently indifferent to her pursuit of him. In fact, he was so god-damned condescending that it had been a real struggle to stop herself getting mad just thinking about him. But she had that under control now and the desire she had to slap his face was one she would save for a time she was in a position to do so.

She turned a page and ran her eyes over the lines. Just no way was she going to allow him to rattle her by showing up late. She had all the time in the world and if he thought that she couldn’t see through this tired old tactic of putting her at a disadvantage by keeping her waiting then he was in for a surprise. Too many men had underrated her in the past and it seemed McCann was about to make the same mistake. Well, he’d learn soon enough and she was going to have a good time showing him that she was no more fazed by his tardiness than she was moved by his charm.

‘Hi, am I interrupting?’ Michael said, pulling out a chair to sit down.

Starting, Ellen looked up from her book. ‘Not at all,’ she replied, covering the jolt to her heart with a smile. ‘Is this what the English call fashionably late?’

Michael’s eyes narrowed with humour. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s what we call unavoidably delayed. Please excuse me. Were you given a drink?’

She nodded and raised her still full champagne glass. His blue eyes were even more compelling than she remembered and as they focused somewhat curiously on hers, to her dismay she felt the indifference she had carefully nurtured these past few days starting to desert her.

‘Good book?’ he asked, raising a hand to summon a waiter while seeming to give her some kind of appraisal.

‘Very,’ she replied, hoping he didn’t think she had made a special effort for him tonight, when she most certainly hadn’t. In fact, she had resolutely not even thought about what she was going to wear until it had been time to dress after her shower.

‘Your hair suits you like that,’ he told her, referring to the way she had clasped it with artful carelessness on to the top of her head and left a few curls dangling around her neck.

Ellen’s eyes showed her disapproval. If he thought he was going to win her over with compliments as bland as that he could think again. She’d already taken a breath to tell him so when she suddenly remembered that it was she who was supposed to be winning him over. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

His amusement at such a simple statement coming from such a large breath was reflected in his eyes as he turned to the waiter and ordered another glass of champagne. ‘So how are you enjoying London?’ he asked, when the waiter had gone.

‘Very much,’ she answered. ‘It’s a fascinating city.’

‘Is it your first time?’

She nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Then I hope you’re being taken good care of.’

‘I think so,’ she said, sounding more defensive than she intended. ‘Are you from London?’

He laughed. ‘Forgon’s got a file on me as thick as his new hair, so don’t tell me you don’t know the answer to that.’

Ellen’s eyes moved to one side as she struggled to hide her smile at the remark about Forgon. ‘OK, you’re from Ireland,’ she told him.

‘And Liverpool,’ he added. ‘And you?’

She looked baffled.

‘I’ve yet to meet an American who doesn’t know their roots,’ he explained. ‘So from whence does your family hail?’

Ellen’s eyes narrowed, showing her uncertain understanding of the question. ‘Ireland?’ she said hesitantly.

He laughed again. ‘Well done, you’ve obviously picked up some old English while you’ve been here. Where in Ireland?’

‘I think Galway,’ she answered. ‘We’re going back several generations so I’d have to ask my father to be sure. Are you Catholic? Why are you laughing?’

‘Sure I’m Catholic,’ he answered. ‘And I’m laughing because I’m enjoying myself.’

Ellen’s smile fled. ‘Please don’t flirt with me, Mr McCann,’ she told him sharply. ‘That’s not why I’m here and you know it.’

Michael’s champagne arrived at that moment, so his only response to the rebuke was to look highly amused. Ellen’s annoyance coloured her cheeks and she turned swiftly away.

‘So, do you want to get down to why you are here?’ he invited, saluting her with his drink as the waiter left.

‘Maybe we should order something to eat first?’ she suggested, still smarting at how ludicrous she had obviously sounded a moment ago.

He nodded and turned compliantly to his menu.

As Ellen scanned hers she was frantically searching her mind for a way to regain control of the situation. The trouble was, she couldn’t quite work out how she’d lost it, or in fact if she’d ever had it, and the careful strategy she had so painstakingly pieced together seemed to be falling apart by the second. She was sure he was using his looks to disarm her, which she had guessed he probably would, so it would no doubt surprise him to learn that in fact, she wasn’t the slightest bit impressed by them. But she could hardly tell him that when it was neither relevant nor polite. Besides, she seemed to keep forgetting he had no reason to come here and impress her; she was the one supposed to be impressing him and if it weren’t for recent experiences she would probably be handling that side of things very well. As it stood, she appeared totally hung up on the male-female element of their meeting, which appalled her, for it was something she had never allowed to get in the way before and the very thought that he might be considering her some kind of bonus in Ted Forgon’s package was too horrible for words.

‘Are you ready?’ he asked, closing his menu.

Ellen quickly selected the macaroni of lobster and closed hers too. She had to get past this personal business, for it had no place here and the last thing she wanted was for her hang-ups to start affecting her professional ability.

‘So where are you from in the States?’ he asked, after a waiter had taken their order.

‘Nebraska,’ she answered. ‘Tell me, is it your usual practice to ignore phone calls and faxes, or was it just mine you were having a problem with?’ The instant the words were out she regretted them, not only because they had sounded so petty, but because of the amusement that had returned to his eyes.

‘Believe me, Ellen,’ he said, taking the wine list that was being handed to him, ‘were I not sick and tired of Forgon’s efforts to ransack my life I’d have been more than happy to take your calls. And just in case you misinterpret that as more flirting,’ he added, ‘I’m afraid it’s a mere truth.’

Despite being disconcerted by the use of her first name, Ellen laughed. ‘You’re a hard man to stay mad at, Mr McCann,’ she told him.

‘Michael,’ he said, ‘and why would you want to stay mad at me?’

Ignoring the question she said, ‘I take it you read the faxes detailing ATI’s offer?’

He nodded and opened the wine list. ‘Do you have any preference?’ he asked. ‘There’s not much of a California selection, I’m afraid.’

Ellen narrowed her eyes. ‘Do I look so parochial?’ she challenged. ‘French will be fine. Do they have a Puligny-Montrachet?’

Michael didn’t need to check. ‘Yes, they do,’ he said, closing the list and handing it back to the wine waiter who had already registered the order. ‘So, when do you return to the States?’ he asked.

‘I’m scheduled for a flight next Monday,’ she answered. ‘If I don’t have an answer from you by then, I can always stay until you’re ready to sign.’

Michael grinned. ‘Do you feel so sure I will?’ he enquired.

‘I think you would be wise to,’ she responded. ‘The offer is exceptional and I don’t imagine you’ll ever get another like it, do you?’

He shook his head. ‘No,’ he answered, ‘I don’t imagine I will.’

He was looking at her so intently that she was suddenly finding it uncomfortable meeting his eyes. She was sure he wasn’t intending to be intrusive, but that was how it felt and she wished he would stop. Reaching for her champagne as an excuse to look elsewhere she said, ‘Is it just Ted Forgon you have a problem with, or is it Hollywood too?’

His eyebrows went up. ‘Both, for different reasons,’ he replied and she noticed the luxuriance of his lashes and darkening shadow around his jaw as he lowered his eyes to his drink.

To her amazement she felt a sudden impulse to touch the hand that was idling on the stem of his glass. She stared at it, dumbfounded by the feelings it was stirring inside her.

‘If you like,’ he said, nodding as the waiter showed him the wine label, ‘I can give you an answer for Forgon right now,’

Ellen’s mouth went dry. He was obviously going to turn down the offer and though it was no surprise she realized with a jolt just how disappointed she was going to be by his rejection. ‘I’m not sure I want to spoil a good meal,’ she said softly.

He smiled. ‘So you’re not so sure I’ll accept?’ he replied. She shook her head. ‘Frankly, no.’

He looked away for a moment as he tasted the wine, then signalled for the waiter to pour. ‘So why don’t we turn this around and talk about you coming to work for me?’ he suggested.

Ellen’s eyes flew open.

Michael watched her, looking very much as though he was about to laugh.

Then, realizing what was happening, Ellen’s lovely brown eyes started to shine.

‘That’s your answer?’ she asked. ‘That’s what you want me to tell Forgon? That instead of accepting our offer, you’re making one of your own?’

Michael nodded. ‘My only concern,’ he said, ‘is that losing one of his best agents to the other side might give him another coronary.’

Ellen’s expression was caught between suspicion and laughter as she tried to work out if he was serious. ‘It probably would if I accepted,’ she said. ‘Not because he’d be sorry to lose me, but because you’d outsmarted him again.’

Michael’s eyebrows rose. ‘He’s sure to have good medical cover,’ he said.

Ellen choked back a laugh. Then, deciding she was enjoying this line of patter, she pursued it by saying, ‘I guess it would mean me moving over here to London?’

‘I guess it would,’ he confirmed.

Her humour began to retreat as the possibility that he might mean it started to root. ‘Are you serious?’ she said after a while. ‘I mean I’m still having problems with British irony, so you’re going to have to help me out here …’

‘I’m serious,’ he told her.

Her heart was suddenly unsteady. ‘But why?’ she said.

‘Because I hear you’re good and I’d hate to think of you losing your job because I won’t play ball with Forgon.’

As his eyes remained on hers, Ellen was aware of a slow heat spreading through the more sensitive areas of her body, but was trying to ignore it. ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘there isn’t a danger of me losing my job. I got that sorted before I left. In fact, if you did accept I’d be twenty thousand dollars richer and minus a very big problem.’

Michael’s head went to one side and the smile on his lips reflected darkly in his eyes. ‘Well, at least I won’t have your employment on my conscience,’ he said. ‘But my offer still stands.’

She smiled deep into his eyes and felt a warmth pull through her heart as he smiled back. ‘I can’t accept, of course,’ she said, ‘but I’ll enjoy telling Ted Forgon you offered.’

Michael laughed. ‘I wish I could be there,’ he told her, leaning back as their food was set down on the table. When the waiter had gone he picked up his wine and touched his glass to hers. ‘Let’s drink to us agreeing on something before the evening’s over,’ he said.

Feeling herself respond to the possibilities that offered she said, ‘I haven’t given up hope of persuading you to come to LA.’

Michael put down his glass and picked up his knife and fork. ‘Is that good?’ he said as she took a mouthful of lobster.

‘Mmm, delicious,’ she replied. ‘How’s yours?’

‘Better than that,’ he answered. ‘Do you want to try?’

‘What is it?’

‘Monkfish.’

Ellen leaned over with her fork, but he had already selected her a portion, so opening her mouth she allowed him to feed her. ‘Mmm, you’re right,’ she told him, trying not to be so mindful of the intimacy, ‘it’s good.’

Seeing him watch her as she ate and feeling suddenly very self-conscious, she lowered her eyes to her plate. He was getting to her in a way she would rather not think about, especially after all the business with Clay. In fact, considering the horrors of the past few weeks and the terrible shame she felt whenever she thought about it, she was amazed at the way she was responding to this man when she hardly even knew him. But even if she wanted to, and she had to confess she did, there was simply no way she was going to fall into bed with him at the end of the evening, for it just wasn’t something she did, sleep with a man on the first night. She looked at him again and wondered if that was what he was expecting. It was impossible to tell, for despite the lingering scrutiny of his eyes the thoughts behind them were as unreachable as the answers to why she was feeling this way.

‘Would it be rude to ask what the problem is?’ he asked, watching her put down her wine.

Ellen looked at him in surprise.

‘You mentioned earlier that if I came to LA you’d be twenty thousand dollars richer and minus a very big problem,’ he reminded her.

‘Oh, yes,’ Ellen responded with a mirthless laugh. ‘Actually, it’s nothing worth talking about. Do you go to LA much?’

He nodded and took another mouthful of food. ‘From time to time,’ he answered. ‘The other agents go more frequently. Most of my business is here in Europe. What about you, do you travel?’

‘Back and forth to New York now and again,’ she said, aware of how she was barely connecting with what she was saying. This was crazy, for all she seemed able to think about now was what it would be like to make love with him. Perhaps the wisest thing to do would be to get away from him for a while, as she was in grave danger of forgetting why she was there. ‘Will you excuse me?’ she said, getting to her feet.

On reaching the ladies’ she walked to the mirror and stared at her reflection. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes too bright and her mouth was cherry red and moist. She couldn’t help wondering if she was having a similar effect on him, as without even looking she knew her nipples were hard and the attraction she was feeling was leading her thoughts in quite another direction from the one she should be pursuing. She wanted to laugh, but found she couldn’t. It was incredible to be this drawn to a man whose only act of intimacy was to look deep into her eyes and feed her a single morsel of fish. She wished Matty were there to help her to see the funny side, for that was the only way she was going to be able to deal with the rest of the evening, she was sure of it. Except that was nonsense. She was a grown woman and perfectly in control of her senses.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked, getting up as she returned to the table a few minutes later.

‘Yes, fine,’ she smiled. Her quick escape seemed to have helped as she felt much more in control now. ‘I’m sorry, what were we saying?’

‘What are you doing at the weekend?’ he asked.

Ellen’s heart immediately contracted and once again she was in turmoil. ‘Um, uh, I’m busy this weekend,’ she answered, totally forgetting he was the sole reason she was in London, thinking only that she didn’t want to appear too keen.

He seemed surprised, but said nothing.

‘Why?’ she ventured, sounding suitably casual.

‘Victor Warren has invited about twenty people to his place in Scotland for the weekend,’ he told her. ‘I thought you might like to come too.’

Ellen’s eyes were round. ‘You mean Victor Warren the American director?’ she said, actually more impressed by Scotland and the castle she knew Warren owned.

Michael nodded. ‘There’ll be hunting and shooting and fishing, all the normal things that go with a weekend in Scotland. I think he’s holding some kind of ball too, I can’t remember. But if you’re not free …’

Though Ellen looked crestfallen, she actually felt much closer to bereft. But there was no way she could go, not with him, for there was no doubt where it would end up and she just couldn’t let that happen. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It sounds like fun and I’d love to see Scotland.’ Forgon was going to hang her out to dry for this, but she couldn’t run the risk of Michael thinking she was one of the perks in the package.

He shrugged. ‘Another time maybe.’

They ate on in silence for a while, until Ellen finally managed to wrench herself from the disappointment of not going to Scotland and the fact that he hadn’t tried to persuade her either and returned to the real reason she was here. ‘When I was reading about you,’ she said, ‘I noticed that you once went into producing, but you didn’t follow it up.’

His easy humour and attentive blue eyes were suddenly masked by caution, telling her she was on very delicate ground now.

‘Have you ever considered resurrecting the movie?’ she said. ‘Or maybe producing something else?’

He looked at her closely, as though deciding whether or not he wanted to go any further. ‘I think about it from time to time,’ he said in the end, ‘but the right project’s never come along.’

‘If it did, would you?’

‘I might.’

Bracing herself and wishing desperately she didn’t have to bring his name back into the conversation she said, ‘Ted Forgon’s willing to back you, give you as many contacts as you need to get your own production company started after a five-year period at ATI.’

Michael’s eyebrows were in the air and his smile already growing before she’d even finished. ‘Does Forgon seriously think I couldn’t do that for myself?’ he said.

‘Here you probably could, in LA it might prove more difficult and Forgon holds a lot of sway with a lot of …’

‘Ellen,’ he interrupted gently, ‘the answer’s no.’

Ellen’s eyes remained on his as she felt the consequences of her failure begin to fill her heart, with so many emotions she could find no voice through the chaos. But once past the personal loss she felt at his refusal, all she could see was the harsh reality of what it was going to mean – stuffed racks of cheap, smutty journals cluttering every supermarket check-out from Washington State to Florida Keys, all of them glorying in the full frontal nudity of one of Hollywood’s shyest and most respectable agents. Everyone she knew, when they went to get their groceries, was going to see her exposed in a way that would shock them as much as it would excite them with its potential for new gossip. Just like Clay’s Baywatch Babe, a headline would be stamped over her nipples and pubic hair, but everyone would know she was naked and because the photographer had been Clay, other papers would pick up on it fast and some eager early bird would probably go straight to Nebraska to try talking to her folks. The TV would follow up with their own spin on the story and then, after the entire nation had been fed a full diet of titillating shots of Clay Ingall’s secret love, and all her friends and colleagues had finished sniggering behind their hands and seeing straight through her clothes whenever she walked into a room, the heavyweights like Playboy and Penthouse would probably publish the whole damned lot, which left nothing, no single part of her, to the imagination. She tried to console herself with Forgon’s assurance that she had the only set of polaroids, but it was no good, she knew Ted Forgon and there was just no way he would hand back ammunition like that when he might still make use of it.

Realizing Michael was watching her, she quickly forced a smile and, without really thinking about what she was saying, said, ‘It’s my ambition to become a producer. At least it was.’

‘Was?’ he said.

She shrugged. ‘Still is, I guess, but …’ She broke off, but before he could speak again she said, ‘I’ve been looking at some of your tabloid papers while I’ve been here, they’re much more explicit than anything we have in the States.’

Clay was so famous that there was simply no way the British press would pass up on the story, so Michael would get to see the whole god-damned carnival and for some reason knowing that seemed to make it all so much worse. The irony of it was that he was the only one who could rescue her, but she would never tell him that, because there was just no way he was going to sell up his life to save her reputation and her parents’ shame. And why should he? He barely even knew her, and probably to him the idea of a few nude shots in tens of millions of newspapers and magazines wasn’t a particularly big deal, at least certainly not big enough to persuade him to hand himself over to Forgon and Hollywood.

Wanting now only to get her mind off the horrors that lay ahead, she asked the question almost before it had chance to form in her mind. ‘Why did Michelle really leave?’

Michael blinked in surprise and though his good humour seemed still to be there she could tell that he didn’t want to answer.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, putting down her fork.

‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘You’re not the first to ask.’

She looked at him, wondering if he was going to enlarge, but he just let the silence lie between them.

‘I read about the charity work,’ she said, wishing she hadn’t got on to the subject, but seeming unable to get off it.

His eyebrows flickered. ‘Then you know the reason for her going,’ he said, finishing his meal too.

‘That was all?’ she said incredulously. ‘I mean, she walked out on you, the movie, her life here and everything to go and work with the women and children of Sarajevo?’

He smiled. ‘A worthy cause,’ he reminded her, ‘but I’m flattered you find it so hard to believe.’

‘Frankly I do,’ she told him.

‘Well, it’s why she went. It was something she felt she had to do and I wasn’t going to try standing in her way.’

‘But you loved her.’

‘Yes.’

‘Didn’t you at least try to talk her out of it?’

‘Of course. But she needed to go. It was a passion with her.’

As Ellen looked at him her disbelief was growing, for she simply couldn’t imagine leaving a man she loved so much so easily. Except it probably hadn’t been easy, it had probably been one of the most difficult and painful things Michelle Rowe had ever done in her life, but that kind of detail rarely found its way through to the press.

‘Do you still love her?’ she asked.

Michael smiled. ‘After all this time? No, I don’t think so,’ he answered.

Ellen remembered thinking, when she’d first read about their break-up, that there must surely be something more sinister behind Michelle’s reasons for going, but sitting here now with Michael she found that hard to believe, for he just didn’t seem the kind of man to cause such devastation in someone’s life that they would go to such extremes to get away. But then she had only to recall how wrong she had been about Clay to recognize what a poor judge she was of men.

Michael changed the subject and started asking her more about her life in LA, how she had come to be an agent, why she had chosen it as a profession and listened sympathetically when she told him about her father and how he couldn’t forgive her for leaving. They discussed movies and theatre, books and music, politics and history; then he told her about his family, making her laugh as he recounted tales of Clodagh’s eccentricities and efforts to marry him off. Their dessert arrived and the effortless move from one subject to another continued to surprise and intrigue Ellen until finally she began to wonder how she could ever have imagined she loved Clay when they had never known anything like this kind of rapport the entire time they were together.

Coffee came and though Ellen desperately didn’t want to leave she knew she had to, for she had drunk too much wine and the way he had made her laugh and had drawn her so deeply into the disconcerting aura of his charm was making her feel much more vulnerable than she could deal with.

She wondered now, as she sipped her coffee and watched him unwrap a chocolate for her to eat, if he had any idea how very much she wanted him to make love to her. It was as though her entire body was coming alive to the mere suggestion of his touch and she had only to think of the way his eyes would close when he kissed her and how he would become hard as her fingers found him, to know how very close she was to going home with him. In fact, if he asked she knew she would, for just the sensation of his fingers on her lips as he fed her the chocolate, and the look in his eyes as he watched her take it, pushed her desire to a point where she no longer had the will to resist.

His eyes held hers as their hands touched on the table and a shock of desire surged between them with a force so strong it edged her lust with pain. Her lips were parted, her chest rose and fell with each breath as she watched his eyes darken and almost felt his mouth on hers. The pressure of his fingers increased and her eyelids fluttered as her need intensified to a point she could barely endure.

‘Look at me,’ he whispered.

Obediently she returned her eyes to his.

‘There’s nothing I want more than to make love to you right now,’ he told her, ‘but I can’t …’

‘It’s OK,’ she cut in quickly, snatching her hand away, ‘you don’t have to make excuses. In fact, I really should be going. I mean, that wasn’t meant to be rude, but it’s getting late and … Thank you for a lovely evening. I hope …’ She was fumbling for her bag and finding it she got abruptly to her feet, having forgotten what she was saying.

‘Ellen, listen to me,’ he said.

‘I’m sorry,’ she responded, knowing she was behaving stupidly but unable to stop, ‘I really must be going. Thank you again,’ and before he could say any more she was almost running across the restaurant on her way to the door.

It was only when she reached the foyer that she remembered she had intended to pick up the check. She groaned out loud, as she’d already made a big enough fool of herself without having to go back for more. So she left it and rushed on out into the night.

She’d known even as she was doing it that she was overreacting, but she had been so mortified when he’d started making an excuse not to sleep with her that she hadn’t given herself time to think. Besides, he’d done her a favour, as she would have slept with him, there was no question about that, and she didn’t even want to think about how that would have made her feel in the morning.

A wave of despair washed over her as she looked around at the bleak, windy night. She had never known a desire so intense as the one she’d experienced this evening and it was scaring her. After what she had been through with Clay, surely she should be experiencing a curb on her sexual needs, not an uncontrollable surge. So maybe there was something wrong with her, maybe she got off on being exposed and humiliated, which is what it would have meant had she allowed herself to do what both Forgon and McCann, in their own different ways, no doubt wanted her to.

Seeing a cab come round the corner she waited for it to drop some people off, then ran across to get in. As she closed the door she looked back towards the restaurant and saw with a terrible disappointment that he hadn’t bothered to come after her.

After settling the bill, Michael left the restaurant and headed back to the office. As he rode up in the lift his expression was grim and his temper was becoming blacker by the minute. OK, he could have gone after her, maybe he should have, but what would it have proved? That he could get her into bed with a few well-placed smiles and a couple of looks calculated to provoke the kind of response they had? He’d done it a thousand times and had known almost from the moment he arrived how easy it was going to be. Not that he’d had any intention of going through with it, he’d just wanted to find out how far she was prepared to go to get him to accept the offer. The problem was, somewhere along the line it had stopped being about Forgon and had started being about them. More accurately, it had been about her and the fact that she’d turned out to be so much more than he’d expected.

The lift doors opened and flicking on the inner-circle lights he walked across to his office and poured himself another drink. The intensity of his anger wasn’t rational considering what had happened, but it was building to such a pitch that he slammed his fist hard into the wall in an effort to release some of the tension. Dear God, why had Forgon sent her, when she was so obviously a decent woman who probably had no idea she was being used as some kind of sexual offering in a sick man’s game? But damn the man’s eyes, he had chosen his weapon well, for Michael was still hard for her now and it was driving him crazy. He could see her mouth, so soft and full and red that he’d wanted to kiss her all night. He wanted to feel her skin next to his and watch her face as he entered her. He wanted to hear her moaning with the pent-up desire he had seen in her eyes and feel her hands and legs on his back as he carried them both to a place …

He stopped and closed his eyes. He was so damned hard now he hardly dared move. He had no idea why he should want her so badly, he just did. Or maybe it wasn’t her he wanted, maybe it was just the release. And as though his prayers had suddenly been answered he heard a knock on the door and looked up to see Sandy Paull standing there watching him.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked, looking confused and concerned.

‘Sandy,’ he said, his voice sounding strained even to him. ‘What are you doing here? It’s past ten o’clock.’

‘I had a lot to catch up on,’ she answered. ‘I just went to the ladies, then came back and saw the lights …’ She laughed awkwardly. ‘It frightened me, actually, so I’m glad it was you.’

Michael looked at her and though he started telling himself no, he knew already he was going to do it. He was vaguely aware of how different she had been lately, keeping herself more covered up and giving him much less of the come-on. The strange part of it was, now he came to think about it, it had made her seem more appealing.

‘Do you feel like a nightcap?’ he offered.

Sandy’s eyes moved to the fridge, then back to him.

‘Not here,’ he said.

The speed with which she read what he was saying was awesome, though for one terrible moment he thought she was going to turn him down.

‘Where would you like to go?’ she asked.

‘How about my place?’

Her eyes were locked on his and several seconds ticked by before she said, ‘I’ll get my coat.’

By the time they reached his car he knew he was making a big mistake, but he didn’t know how to back out now and even if he did he knew he wouldn’t. He was grateful to her for not speaking, though he was asking himself how the hell he had managed to resist Ellen when he was suddenly finding it so damned impossible with her?

They got into his car and suddenly they were kissing so urgently he could have screwed her right there and not cared who came by. Their breath was harsh, their tongues fast and demanding, their hands clawing at each other’s clothes. He wished she was wearing the stockings she had always worn before, if she were he’d already be in her knickers. As it was, he was pressing his thumb hard against her crotch, while she gave the same pressure to his cock.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said breathlessly.

She nodded and straightened her clothes as he started the car.

It took less than fifteen minutes to get to his apartment. She talked a little and he responded, but nothing was registering. He knew he was going to regret this in the morning, but right now he was past caring.

She walked on ahead as he closed the apartment door behind them and stopped to take off his coat. He watched her push open the sitting-room door, fumble for the lights, then saw the stunned expression on her face when she saw the size of the room and the view. He felt suddenly guilty and wanted to say something to make her feel welcome and let her know that he appreciated her being here. There were no words to say that, though, so he merely followed her into the room and instead of doing what he most wanted to do, which was fuck her right where she stood, he offered her a drink.

As he poured, she went to stand at the window and looked out.

‘Are you going to take off your coat?’ he asked.

She turned to him and smiled. Then unfastening the single button she removed her coat and laid it on the nearest chair. She was wearing a loose wool sweater and a pleated knee-length skirt.

‘I knew this would happen one day,’ she said, looking up into his face as he handed her a drink. ‘Did you?’

He nodded and watched the uncertainty in her eyes turn to relief as she smiled. He knew he was being a bastard, but there was no way he could stop himself and running a hand over the front of her sweater, he said, ‘God, you turn me on, do you know that?’

She smiled again and looked oddly bashful. ‘I hoped I did,’ she said, ‘but sometimes I wondered.’

‘Do you want me to fuck you?’ he murmured, pushing a hand between her legs.

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

‘Are you wet?’

She nodded and he heard her breath start to quicken.

‘Take off your clothes,’ he said.

She put down her glass and turning to look at him, she pulled her sweater over her head. Her breasts were crammed into her bra, bulging over the top, nipples squashed by the gossamer-thin gauze. Grabbing the front of it, he pulled her towards him, put his mouth over hers and tore the bra apart. His hands cupped her, squeezing her hard, pinching her, pulling her, licking her, sucking her, as she stripped off her skirt and panties, then ripped open his fly.

They pulled and tugged at his clothes until he was as naked as she was, then he was plunging into her and fucking her like a madman. There was a rage possessing him, driving his cock, twisting her body, violating her mouth, delving into every part of her, as she trapped him with her legs, pushed her breasts to his face and tore at his skin. Her frenzy was as great as his, as he screwed her on the floor, against the wall, on the sofa, over the table. Her tongue was all over his cock, on his balls, in his arse.

He lifted her up, sat her on him and fucked her through to the bedroom, his hands squeezing her breasts, his tongue probing her mouth. The violence was making him so hard it was as though his cock might explode. He threw her on the bed, rolled her over and rammed into her from behind. It was as though all the fury locked inside him was rushing out from the shadows, urging him to excesses even greater than he knew. He wanted to hurt her, hear her scream and beg for mercy. She was gasping his name, pushing his fingers between her legs and sticking her arse out for more. He gave it to her, harder and faster than ever. He pulled out, spun her over and sat her on him. She pumped up and down, breasts bouncing, hair flying, skin soaking. He pressed on her clitoris, rubbing it and crushing it, then grabbing her head he pulled her mouth to his and buried his tongue inside. He could feel her coming, clenching him with her muscles and fighting for breath.

He held on to her tightly, banging his hips up and down as the semen rushed along the stem of his penis and exploded into her in long, excruciating spasms of relief. He kept on coming, kept on holding her, as the ghouls in his mind taunted him with all that possessed him. He went to the threshold of pain and beyond. The torment was total, the shame, the guilt, the anger, the pain. He hated her for being the one to release it and wanted to smash her away, but he held her and touched her and let her think that he loved her. He embraced her and wondered if maybe he did love her, as it seemed like his orgasm was going on for ever as pulse after pulse quivered through him.

It left him so spent and exhausted that when it was over, all he could do was lie there and let his limbs go weak and wait for his heartbeat to steady. She lay over him, panting and sweating, and smelling sweetly of scent and crudely of sex. He thought of Ellen and felt a need go through him, so pure, it almost tore him in two.

Pushing Sandy gently off him, he lay with his eyes closed, feigning sleep. He didn’t want to think about her, he didn’t even want to acknowledge she was still there, for he knew he was going to hurt her now in a way he had sworn he would never hurt another woman. Except, what he was going to do to Sandy couldn’t even begin to compare with what he had done to Michelle.