Power Games. Penny Jordan
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to protest, to object, she was bound to arouse his suspicions and make herself look a complete idiot into the bargain. That comment he had made to her earlier when she had complained about him sending a car for her still rankled slightly.
It would be much easier—much safer—to fight down her instinctive reaction to his suggestion and accept.
Common sense, logic, told her that there was no way she would be in danger. He was quite obviously not a sexual predator, and most certainly not one who was so desperate for a woman…for sex, that he needed to waste his time attempting to seduce her, when no doubt there were countless women more than willing to fall into bed with him.
‘We’ll have to walk, though, I’m afraid,’ he added teasingly, when she thanked him and accepted. ‘Richard will have gone home by now.’
Despite her mounting colour Taylor still managed to look him in the eye.
He was just about to open the office door for her when it was thrust inwards, narrowly missing banging into Taylor. A whirlwind of a girl erupted into the room, apparently oblivious to Taylor’s presence as she flung herself headlong into Bram’s arms and demanded breathlessly, ‘Oh, you are still here…good…Bram, be a darling, will you, and take me out to dinner tonight. I haven’t seen you in simply ages, and it would be yummy going out with you. Even more yummy if we forgot about dinner altogether and went to bed instead…’ she added suggestively, her voice dropping to a throaty purr that made the fine hairs on Taylor’s nape rise in sharp reaction.
Bram, Taylor could see, instead of wrapping his arms around the girl as she so plainly wanted and Taylor had plainly expected—after all, she was everything a man could possibly want, startlingly pretty, young, coaxing and extremely sexy—Bram was, in fact, holding her firmly at arm’s length, his face registering not pleasure but rather an almost paternal sternness.
‘Plum, I’m sorry but I can’t. I’m already going out to dinner—’
‘What?’ For the first time Plum seemed to become aware of Taylor’s presence, her mouth drooping slightly as she studied her with keen competitiveness—and then dismissed her, Taylor observed wryly.
‘Oh, but—’ she started to protest as she turned back to Bram.
He stopped her calmly. ‘No buts.’
‘But, Bram, I need to talk to you.’
‘Not now, Plum, I’m afraid. As you can see, I’m busy.’
‘But you’ll ring me? Take me out to lunch?’
‘I’ll try.’
‘Well, if you’re really too busy…’
The hostility in the girl’s eyes as she turned to look at her made Taylor acutely uncomfortable, but before she could speak, Bram was ushering Plum out into the corridor and Taylor had to wait for him to return before she could say quickly, ‘Look, you don’t have to give me dinner. I don’t want to cause you any problems with your… your friend.’
Try as she might Taylor couldn’t help stumbling betrayingly over the last word of her hastily rehearsed little speech.
It had surprised her how much the other woman’s obvious sexual possessiveness about Bram had affected her. But then it had been a long time since she had last been in close contact with such intense sexuality. The girl, whoever she was, seemed to wear it like a weapon, Taylor decided as she groped mentally for the right description. A gauntlet, a challenge which she threw down aggressively in front of Taylor, warning her off.
Not that she had had any need to do so. The last thing…
‘Plum isn’t my friend, and she certainly isn’t my lover, if that’s what you’re thinking.’ She heard Bram interrupting her turbulent thoughts. ‘She’s my goddaughter.’
‘Your goddaughter.’
Taylor couldn’t keep the shock out of her voice, and she knew her expression must have given her away when Bram continued quietly, ‘She’s going through a bit of a difficult time, and what she really needs more than anything is someone she can lean on, someone she can trust, someone who loves her as a person. It’s a pity that she and Jay don’t get on better, because…’
‘Jay?’ Taylor questioned, her curiosity aroused as Bram opened the office door for her and ushered her out. It wasn’t like her to allow herself to exhibit interest in other people; it involved too much risk, too much danger, and she was irritated with herself for having done so now. But it was too late. Bram was already starting to answer her question as he guided her towards the lift.
‘Jay is my son. He and Plum have known each other all their lives, well, at least all Plum’s life. Jay’s twenty-seven now and she’s only just coming up for eighteen.’
‘Twenty-seven.’ Despite what Sir Anthony had already told her, she felt slightly shocked. A brief glance in Bram’s direction as the lift started to descend confirmed what she already knew. Even under the starkly revealing light of the lift, he looked far, far too young to be the father of a twenty-seven-year-old. Not because he had deliberately tried to cultivate a younger image—on the contrary, his suit was sober and traditionally cut, his shirt white and his tie plain.
Just visible when one was standing as close to him as Taylor was now forced to do, were one or two slightly silvered strands of hair lightening the rich darkness of the rest. The fine lines fanning out around his eyes added to rather than detracted from his sexuality, and to judge from the way he moved his body beneath the covering of his suit…
Taylor swallowed uncomfortably, her own body suddenly far too hot.
It was years since she had experienced that kind of physical reaction to a man—years since she had allowed herself to experience it.
You were made for this—for love, for sex.
The words escaped from the barriers she had put up against such memories, and like the memory of the man who had spoken them they made her shudder in sick panic.
Bram frowned as he saw the tremor galvanising her body, and the way her face suddenly paled.
Just for a brief moment she had seemed to relax, the unguarded interest in her face when she queried Jay’s age such a contrast to her previous wary tension that Bram had surprised himself by wanting to go on talking to her so that he could prolong that interest. It was like watching someone suddenly come to life; seeing them as a whole three-dimensional figure for the first time.
The lift had stopped, and as they walked through the foyer and out into the street Bram paused to watch a young couple on the other side of the road. They had obviously had a quarrel, and the girl was refusing to get into their car. The young man, growing tired of her refusal, suddenly let go of the door he had been holding open and lunged forward, picking the girl up bodily. As he turned to deposit her in the car she tried to escape, wriggling protestingly in his arms.
Taylor, too, had stopped to watch, but when Bram laughed in amusement at their antics, Taylor turned on him, her face bone-white, her eyes so dark with anger and pain that Bram caught his breath at the intensity of emotion in them.
‘Of course, you would think it’s funny. You’re a man,’ Taylor told him bitterly. ‘And because you’re a man you think that it’s perfectly acceptable for another man to manhandle a woman, to physically force her to do something she doesn’t want to do, to use his physical strength to compel her into obeying him, forcing her….’
Taylor was literally shaking now, and Bram was caught between an instinctive desire to defend himself and his compassionate awareness of her distress.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the young man deposit the girl back on the ground with gentle care, her angry protests dying away as she reached up towards him.
‘Look,’ Bram commanded Taylor quietly, taking hold of her and firmly turning her round to face the previously warring couple.
The girl’s arms were wrapped