Carole Mortimer Romance Collection. Carole Mortimer
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Lyon’s side—what a name! And yet somehow it fitted the man’s fierceness exactly. ‘I know I said she was an appealing little thing, plenty of fire, but you didn’t have to bring her up here to meet—’
‘Shut up, Uncle Henry,’ the man who still held Silke rasped wearily. ‘Sit,’ he instructed her curtly, nodding in the direction of the second chair that faced the opulence of the brown leather-topped mahogany desk, around which he now moved to sit in yet another leather chair, a swivel one this time, leaning forward once he had done so, resting his arms on the leather top, his narrowed, steely gaze fixed on her steadily.
Uncle Henry! So she had made the mistake of actually snapping indignantly at this man’s uncle. That explained a lot. Perhaps she should have realised before now that the two of them were related; they both had those unusual grey eyes, and they were both arrogant enough in their own way! ‘Uncle Henry’ had touched her earlier as if he had a perfect right to do so, and his nephew had dragged her up here without explanation just as if he had as much right. God, what a family!
‘No need to take that tone with me, Lyon,’ Uncle Henry told him without rancour. ‘I’ve told you before, it has little effect when I’ve looked after you since you were a baby; bounced you on my knee, held you when you cried, wiped your nose for you, changed your—’
‘That last claim is definitely a figment of your imagination, Uncle Henry,’ the younger man cut in harshly. ‘You employed a nanny for that particular task. In fact—’ his mouth twisted scornfully—did it ever do anything else? Silke wondered, looking at him ‘—I don’t remember too much of the “knee-bouncing” either; you were always too busy following your own interests!’
His uncle looked unconcerned. ‘Businesses don’t run themselves.’ He shrugged.
‘I wasn’t referring to those sorts of interests,’ Lyon told him drily.
The older man grinned, grey eyes—eyes the same colour as his nephew’s, but oh, so different in expression!—twinkling merrily. ‘So many beautiful women in the world, and so few years to enjoy them! You should try it some time, Lyon; it might make all the difference—’
‘That’s enough, Henry!’ the younger man snapped tautly, eyes glacial now as he turned his attention back to Silke.
Which she instantly wished he hadn’t. She had been finding the two men’s confrontation enlightening to say the least, but it certainly hadn’t improved Lyon’s temper—and it was now directed back at her!
Well, if he had brought her up here, as she suspected he had, to reprimand her for her behaviour towards his uncle earlier, then he could go ahead and do it—and after he had, she would tell him exactly what a dirty old man she thought his uncle to be. And from the brief conversation between the two men just now, that shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise to him! In fact, attack was her best defence, and she would get in her opinion of his uncle before he could even start on her.
‘I don’t know what your uncle has told you happened downstairs earlier, but—’
‘I thought I told you to sit,’ Lyon observed softly—too softly, dangerously so—completely ignoring her words. Again.
Which Silke was becoming more than a little tired of! ‘I may be wearing this ridiculous bunny outfit—’ her eyes flashed deeply green behind the mask ‘—but underneath this I’m a person, not an animal to be ordered about!’ She was breathing deeply in her agitation.
‘I’m glad you agree that what you’re wearing is—inappropriate,’ he rasped drily, again ignoring what she had really said. ‘If you would care to remove—’
‘I don’t care to remove anything!’ she cut in frustratedly. ‘And if you can’t control the way your uncle behaves towards women, no matter what they are wearing, then I suggest you keep him away from them. Preferably far away!’ she snapped, looking from him to his mildly surprised uncle, before once again turning back to the younger man. ‘The few sharp words I said to him earlier were well deserved, and I would do it again given the same circumstances.’ She glared pointedly at the older man.
Lyon was now looking at his uncle too. ‘Circumstances?’ he prompted softly, dark brows raised questioningly.
The older man looked a little uncomfortable now. ‘Well, as I said, Lyon, she’s an appealing little thing.’ He moved his hands dismissively, once again billowing smoke around the room from the half-smoked cigar he still held.
‘And, being the old rogue that you are, you couldn’t resist the appeal!’ his nephew realised, shaking his head disgustedly. ‘God, Henry, you really are—’ He broke off abruptly as the intercom buzzed on his desk. ‘Yes?’ he rasped impatiently into the innocent machine.
‘Mr Moore to see you, Mr Buchanan,’ came the disembodied voice of his secretary.
Silke missed the rest of the conversation, staring at the man who sat so confidently across the desk from her, at last beginning to realise exactly why he was so confident. Mr Buchanan! This man, the man who had forcibly dragged her into the lift and up to the executive floor of the department store, was a Buchanan.
My God, and not just any Buchanan, from the way he had behaved towards her from the first and the deference with which the staff had treated him, but Buchanan himself, the owner of the store! Unless he was the son; she had thought the owner of the Buchanan group was someone called Charles Buchanan. Although this man’s uncle had said he had effectively been Lyon Buchanan’s guardian since he was a baby, so... None of this really made any difference to the fact that this man was a Buchanan. And the man she had verbally rebuked earlier was his uncle!
She didn’t need any further telling to sit down; she almost fell into the waiting chair. What a mess! And her mother...! Oh, God, what her mother was going to say about this she just didn’t like to think.
Silke turned dazedly as the office door opened behind them to admit Doug Moore.
‘Ah, Doug, so glad you could join us at last,’ he told the other man silkily now, getting slowly to his feet, instantly putting his personnel manager at a disadvantage with his superior height—if he needed any added advantage. His position as owner of the store already more than gave him that!
The younger man looked puzzled by his employer’s obvious displeasure—obvious, despite the pleasantness of his tone; there was an air of menace about Lyon Buchanan that was unmistakable. ‘I was down in Ladies’ Fashions when I got your message—’
‘A pity you didn’t pay Confectionery a visit some time this morning,’ Lyon Buchanan told him icily. ‘Would you like to tell me what that is?’
‘That’ was Silke!
She had recovered enough from the shock of realising exactly who this man was to look up to see what Lyon Buchanan was talking about, only to discover he was looking directly at her. She was ‘that’. Her shock was replaced by indignation as she realised he was once again talking about her as if she weren’t a person, with feelings, but an object to be discussed. And she didn’t care who he was, he still had no right—
‘Good God!’ Doug Moore, the man who had been perfectly charming to her earlier this morning when they met—probably because of his penchant for ‘pretty, youthful nubiles’—was now looking at her with something approaching horror. ‘I—my God...!’ he said again, weakly this time, looking in need of a chair himself now. Except that there wasn’t another one available!
‘A bunny girl, Doug,’ Lyon Buchanan rasped with feeling. ‘You employed a damned bunny girl in a costume so revealing that every lecher within a hundred miles made a beeline for her.’ He looked pointedly at his uncle. ‘A bunny girl,’ he repeated again, as if he could still hardly believe it, ‘to give away our line of chocolate Easter bunnies. When it should have been a cute fluffy rabbit children would find appealing!’
At last Silke was being given an insight into exactly why she had been dragged off the shop floor and up here to the office of Lyon