Max's Proposal. Jane Donnelly
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‘Second frame along.’ He pointed to the window wall. ‘That, my little newshound, is a mirror.’
In a heavy gilt frame was a large lacquered painting of red goldfish among dark weeds. It looked Oriental, and you could easily imagine that the fish were swimming, the weeds swaying. Among several pictures, Sara hadn’t even glanced at it before, but the background was a mirror and she could see how it would reflect anyone sitting in the wing-backed chair.
‘When did you see me?’ The words jerked through her dry lips.
‘About a minute into the conversation I looked across and there was this sharp little face peering between the weeds.’ He sounded amused, and she choked.
‘You recognised me?’
‘I’ve got very good eyesight. Yes, I recognised the redhead from the Chronicle.’
He must have eyes like a hawk, but Sara’s hair was bright. Looking into the mirror background now, she saw her own worried face, her hair the colour of the lacquered goldfish, and the tall, dark figure of the man beside her. She couldn’t turn and face him but she couldn’t take her eyes off his reflection.
‘You’d no business being in here,’ he went on. ‘And what you heard doesn’t amount to a row of beans. I’m interested in some real estate, but if I make an offer in my name the price goes up. I’m using a middleman, and so what? But, going by your beady eyes and the way your nose was twitching, you thought you’d got yourself a nice little scoop.’
He had been making a fool of her, and he was laughing at her now. ‘Did you both see me?’ she asked.
‘He’s short-sighted. He didn’t see you and he wasn’t in the room towards the end, but I wondered how you’d react if you thought you’d hit the lottery. You couldn’t believe your ears at first, could you? I saw you shaking your head. Then you decided it was for real. You actually believed I was knocking off the competition.’
She said sharply, ‘Of course I didn’t.’
‘Of course you did. You were scared silly.’
She was relieved of course that he had been playacting, but it had made her feel ill, and she snapped, ‘Of course I was shocked; I was appalled.’
‘It’s appalling that you were stupid enough to credit it.’
She jumped out of the chair to round on him, resentment bubbling up in her. ‘Why shouldn’t I believe it? For all I know you could be ordering accidents like hot dinners, and it was a stupid thing to do. I nearly had a heart attack.’
‘Serves you right,’ he said. ‘Skulking in corners, snooping.’ He tutted at her as if she were a pushy child.
When she said coldly, ‘I am a journalist,’ he grinned.
‘Not much of a one if you’re gullible enough to believe somebody would brief a hit man without making damn sure no one else was listening.’
But the room had been in darkness and must have seemed empty, and she was not as sharp as usual. Last night almost without sleep had dulled her wits, and belatedly she tried for a little dignity. ‘I was asleep in here. I woke up when you came in so I didn’t have that much time to clear my head.’
The top of her head reached halfway up his chest. Tall and powerfully built, he towered over her, and she needed the extra inches her high heels would give her. One shoe was right there and she shoved her foot into it, looking round for its mate.
‘I hope I can walk in these,’ she babbled. ‘It’s a mistake to take your shoes off if your feet get hot. I did it in a cinema once.’ Sara tended to jabber when she was nervous but not usually as badly as this.
The second shoe was under the footstool and as she kicked it out she swayed slightly. He need not have supported her and when he put a hand under her elbow it did more harm than good, startling her off-balance almost into his arms. And that was when the door opened and a couple took a couple of steps into the room. They both stared, gasped and backed out fast, pulling the door to behind them. Still holding Sara, Max Vella burst out laughing.
‘The question is,’ he said, ‘whether they think I’m assaulting you or we’re both enjoying this.’
She must have looked dishevelled to the pair who had just walked in, but it was such a mad idea that she and Max Vella were up to anything. And even crazier that he would be forcing himself on her. Sara couldn’t hold back a giggle.
She knew Vella, of course. She had met him at local functions where he was always a focus of attention. As he was anywhere. He was well over average height with a hard man’s good looks and the potent charisma of someone who had fought his way through rough times to come out right at the top.
She had also been in his arms before. Once. At a Lord Mayor’s ball when someone had bet her she wouldn’t dare ask him to dance, and Sara had taken the three paces that divided them and asked before she had given herself time to think. Then she had been in the middle of the dance floor with Vella as her partner, and he had said, ‘No comment, to whatever you’re going to ask next.’
He never gave interviews. He had thought that had been what she was after, and she’d said, ‘Would I ask you to dance for an interview?’
‘You would,’ he’d said. That near to him, she had been able to see how the sensual mouth curved when he smiled. There had been butterflies in her stomach and she’d quipped back, ‘I’ve just been dared to ask you. I have a very small bet riding on this.’
‘Not too small, I hope.’ He had been amused but she had begun to feel stupid. He was a stunningly sexy man but he was too rich and too strong for Sara.
Usually she was a good dancer but she had been dancing awkwardly then, wanting the music to stop. When it had he’d let her go at once and she’d backed off fast.
Now she was in his arms again, and this time she noticed the little lines that radiated from the corners of his eyes. He had hooded eyes, but she could see they were gun-metal grey, glinting with laughter, and the strength of him was overpowering enough to weaken her bones.
She croaked, ‘Shouldn’t we follow that couple and explain?’
‘Explain what?’
That they were going off with completely the wrong idea. But Sara wouldn’t know how to begin to explain so that had been a silly suggestion. If they gossiped it couldn’t matter to her. Almost certainly Max Vella wouldn’t care less what gossips said about him. He was no longer holding her, and she sat down on the footstool to ease her foot into the second shoe.
Vella had taken a chair too. ‘Thank you,’ he said, and that brought her head up with a jerk.
‘What for?’
‘For livening up the evening.’ She supposed she had given him a couple of laughs, what with this and the hit man.
‘Don’t tell me you were getting bored?’ she said sweetly.
‘I was not the one who fell asleep. You must have been bored to death.’
She was not expected to doze off when she was sent out to cover one of the top social occasions of the year. ‘I was tired,’ she said defensively.
‘You look healthy enough.’ He gave her a slow head-to-toe scrutiny and she found herself crossing her arms over her breasts as if she were covering nakedness, although her dress was perfectly adequate.
Of course she looked healthy. She was healthy. She had a slim, strong body and a clear complexion that looked even healthier than usual because she was flushing slightly under his stare. ‘How come the sudden lack of stamina?’ he enquired.
She snapped, ‘Lack of sleep last night.’
As she said it she realised how that could sound, and when he drawled, ‘Congratulations, is he here tonight?’ the blood burned even hotter on her cheekbones.