Takeover Engagement. Elizabeth Duke
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Never mind…I’m sure he’ll forgive you once he hears what held you up. If he doesn’t, I’d say he’s not worth it.’
His unconcern—and the realisation that she was going to be stuck here in this lift with him for heaven knew how long—brought her emotions, anger uppermost, boiling to the surface.
‘I’d thank you not to presume my friend’s worth or lack of it,’ she flared. ‘You know nothing about him!’
He didn’t even blink. ‘I presume he must be worth something…to you,’ he said silkily, ‘or you wouldn’t be planning to meet him at Kowalsky’s…Melbourne’s most exclusive and expensive antique jewellers.’
She caught her breath as the deadly innuendo sank in. Her enraged silence gave him a chance to slip in a further barb, edged with a cynical dryness.
‘You must be mighty keen to get those pretty little hands on whatever glittering bauble your friend has promised you…or you wouldn’t be in such a lather about him walking out on you.’
She opened her mouth and then snapped it shut, too incensed to speak for a second. Of all the insufferable, arrogant, presumptuous—
He laughed. A sharp, unexpected sound in the confines of the antiquated lift. Her eyes leapt to his, catching the amused glint in his black depths. Amusement…but no real softness. More a lethally dangerous gleam, she thought, caught off balance by it.
‘You have extremely expressive eyes,’ he remarked, the laughter still in his voice, licking through it, lightening its rich, deep resonance. ‘You’d like to hit me. Go ahead, if it will make you feel better. I plead guilty. I am all those things you’re thinking. But it doesn’t mean I’m wrong.’
She nearly did hit him. She was sorely tempted to. But lashing out at him like a virago would only lower her further in his eyes. He didn’t think much of women, that was obvious. There was a wealth of cynicism in his voice and in his face. A world-weariness…disillusionment too, if she wasn’t mistaken. Why cement his low opinion of women by acting in the way he expected her to?
She summoned a soft laugh instead, deliberately turning his laughter back on him. ‘I suggest you never take up psychiatry,’ she advised him lightly, with the faintest hint of derision. ‘You’d be bound to fail.’ She widened her gaze in mock dismay. ‘You’re not a psychiatrist, I hope?’ she asked, injecting a note of pity into her voice.
Something flickered in the black eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched. His voice, when he answered, held an edge of dry humour. ‘I’m relieved to be able to say no, I’m not.’
‘Relieved?’ she echoed. Secretly, she was relieved too. Relieved that he seemed to have a sense of humour!
‘Very much so. And I shall bow to your expert advice,’ he promised, ‘and decline to take that particular career path in the future.’ He paused a moment, then added softly, ‘Being a man who doesn’t like to fail.’
She could well believe that. He wouldn’t have had too many failures in his life, she hazarded. Except maybe.. .with women? Or a woman? The one who had made him so jaded and cynical?
‘Very wise,’ she applauded facetiously. And turned away, biting her lip. Did anyone else in this building realise that one of the lifts was stuck between floors, with people trapped inside?
There was no sound of any activity from above or below. Would the emergency lift people take much longer to arrive? And when they did turn up, how much longer would it take them to fix the problem? What if it was difficult to fix? Dangerous, even? She’d seen movies where trapped people had had to climb out through a lift roof, or where the lift had suddenly dropped dramatically. She shuddered at the thought, her hands trembling on the handbag she was still unconsciously clutching to her chest.
She heard a slight movement and tensed, thinking that her companion, sensing her anxiety, was about to close in on her, offering physical comfort. All her nerve-ends sprang to sharp alert. How would she react if he did.. .if he should put his arm round her and pull her close? She began to tremble anew…but not with fear this time…with something quite different, a strange, heady excitement.
But he didn’t move closer, didn’t attempt to touch her. Perhaps at the last minute he’d thought better of it, fearing that if he offered a comforting shoulder she might break down completely and he’d have a hysterical female on his hands. Or maybe he’d remembered, just in time, that they were strangers, and he didn’t want her leaping to any wrong conclusions.
Instead, he heaved a deep sigh and muttered through clenched teeth, ‘I can’t stand confined spaces.’ He began to pace restlessly back and forth like a caged tiger, his hands clasped behind him.
She looked at him in surprise, her nervousness forgotten. ‘You suffer from claustrophobia?’ she asked, her heart stirring in sympathy. She wouldn’t have thought he’d be the type of man who would suffer from fears of any kind.
He paused, letting his broad shoulders lift and fall in another heavy sigh. ‘Even big, tough guys can have phobias,’ he said, his mouth twisting in self-mockery.
She nodded slowly. That was true. Even Indiana Jones, the intrepid hero of Raiders of the Lost Ark, had his Achilles’ heel—in his case a fear of snakes that turned him to quivering jelly.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked tentatively. As far as she could tell, he didn’t appear to be shaking. Or sweating. Or turning deathly pale. But people showed fear in different ways, she guessed, and this man, with his smooth self-confidence and air of worldly experience, had no doubt learned how to cover up his feelings and any fears he might be suffering underneath.
‘Having someone with me helps…’ The corner of his mouth curved in a self-deprecating smile. ‘Someone calm, who doesn’t suffer from the same stupid phobia. ‘You don’t, do you?’ he asked quickly, his eyes spearing hers.
‘No, I don’t.’ She shook her head, her pulses whirling under the force of his dark gaze. ‘Um…maybe if you loosened your tie?’ she suggested helpfully.
‘Ah. Good idea.’ He raised a well-shaped hand and began to wrestle with the knot of his red-patterned silk tie. ‘Damn! I feel all thumbs. This wretched knot! I can’t seem to—’
‘I’ll do it,’ she said hastily, not wanting him to start panicking. She reached up, her hand brushing his as he drew it back, the brief touch bringing a tingling awareness of rough warmth, of fine hairs on firm skin.
‘Thank you.’ His lean, strong-jawed face was very close to hers now. She could actually feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek. Her heart began to hammer in a ridiculously wayward fashion. She hadn’t been this aware of a man for
She stepped back abruptly, almost tripping over her own feet, forgetting for a moment that she was wearing high heels. She was so used to wearing sensible flatties during the day.
His hand shot out to steady her.
‘You’re sure you’re all right?’ he asked, with a quick, amused smile. A smile uptilted at one corner, with more good-humoured charm this time than cynicism.
‘I—I’m fine.’ She found herself flushing. ‘I—I didn’t want to crowd you, that’s why I…’ She trailed off with a shrug. ‘I’m sure we won’t have to wait much longer,’ she assured him brightly, darting another quick look at her watch. Twelve-twenty!
She drew in her lips, her heart sinking. Would David already have given up, already be making his way down in the other lift? Or would he decide to wait a bit longer? From memory, his plane wasn’t due to leave Tullamarine until around two. But he would have to find a taxi and battle the city traffic to the airport, and then queue up for his seat allocation. David hated being late, feeling rushed. He would want to leave early, to give himself plenty of time.
‘It strikes me,’ the stranger observed softly, ‘that we both need to take our minds off our predicament. I find that talking often helps