Kitabı oku: «Elusive Obsession», sayfa 2

She turned to him sharply, frowning. ‘The wedding gown…?’

‘Yes,’ Charles confirmed slowly, although he looked at the other man somewhat quizzically. ‘Although we hadn’t quite got around to discussing your interest in it…?’

‘I want it,’ Reece Falcon stated with simple fact, never doubting for a moment that the gown would be his.

Diana still watched him with puzzled green eyes, not in the least surprised by his self-assurance that he would get what he wanted; this man always got what he wanted. What she was surprised about was what he actually wanted this time. The wedding gown. Why on earth——?

‘Well, that’s marvellous!’ Charles told him with obvious pleasure, his arm falling away from Diana’s shoulders in his enthusiasm. ‘I had no idea!’ He reached out and shook the other man’s hand. ‘I would be delighted to design a wedding gown for you—well, not for you personally, of course.’ He gave a laugh at his own little joke.

Diana had no doubts as to the reason why Charles was so delighted at the prospect of designing a wedding gown exclusively for the Falcon family: the wedding gown would be photographed and shown all over the world, would earn its designer worldwide publicity and prestige.

But the fact that there was to be a wedding at all filled Diana with misgivings.

Silver clashed with green as she found her gaze meeting Reece Falcon’s head-on for the first time, something akin to an electric shock passing through her body at the force she encountered there, a barely leashed energy behind the outward calm. He returned her gaze coldly, challengingly—almost as if he knew what she was thinking, feeling. Impossible. He couldn’t possibly know!

The original Ice Maiden, Reece realised with mocking amusement. He had met many women in his life—too damned many, he acknowledged grimly—some of them, although not many, as coldly distant as this particular one. But none of them had been as young or possessed of such a removed air as this model Divine.

He was curious in spite of himself, and thought now that he should perhaps have taken the trouble to find out a little more about her before coming here, other than the fact that she was being disruptive to his plans for his son. Now that he had seen her for himself, and could see how beautiful but strangely elusive she was, he realised why Chris was so fascinated by the young woman that he had risked even Reece’s anger to continue seeing her.

This young woman could be trouble with a capital T. Good God, there was no could about it!

He broke their gaze with easy dismissal, turning back to Charles Oxley, knowing a momentary satisfaction as he did so that the other man was no longer touching this exquisitely lovely creature—although he knew that none of that pleasure would be obvious in his expression; years of schooling his features and learning to hide his innermost thoughts and emotions meant that he now did it automatically. Until a few minutes ago when Diana joined them he had wondered at Oxley’s sexual inclinations, but the way the other man looked at the model he was left in no doubt. Or was it just that this woman-child was so exotically lovely that no man could look at her without appreciating her understated sensuality…?

‘I don’t want a gown designed, Charles,’ he drawled dismissively. ‘I want the one I saw tonight.’

Charles frowned. ‘The one…? But—I think the bride should see it first before making any decision, don’t you?’ he attempted to cajole. ‘It may not be—what she wants for herself. I would be pleased to set a time when we can all get together to discuss what you would like,’ he added lightly, obviously not wanting to offend by refusing the wedding gown Divine had modelled earlier.

Reece knew exactly why the other man was prevaricating, could appreciate Charles Oxley’s reluctance to let a woman wear a gown, wedding or otherwise, that he wasn’t absolutely positive would look right on her and at the same time be a credit to his undoubted reputation as a designer. At the same time that he could appreciate the other man’s feelings, however, he also knew that he wanted the gown!

‘She’s seen it,’ he told the other man drily. ‘She likes it. It’s what she wants.’ And what that particular lady wanted, she got!

This time there was no mistaking a reaction in the model Divine as she stood at Charles Oxley’s side. She didn’t move, and her facial expression—strangely, for one so young—remained perfectly controlled. And yet Reece knew his words had disturbed her; he could feel the tension in her.

Tension was the very least of what this young woman should feel; she was responsible for trying to thwart his plans for Chris. A fact he intended rectifying at the first opportunity.

Although he had to admit, if Chris had to choose a woman to have a passionate fling with, he had better taste than Reece would have given him credit for. This young model Divine wasn’t at all what he had been expecting when he’d heard of the relationship. Although she must only be a year or so older than Chris’s twenty, at the same time she gave the impression that she was much older than that; there was also a vulnerability about her that he knew she tried to hide by her very elusiveness. A strange combination. Interesting. Intriguing…He already knew he meant to learn more about her.

He didn’t question the fact that he found attractive the young girl his own son had told him he wanted to marry. Chris would get over the infatuation, hopefully learn from it, and there was little in Reece’s own life that he denied himself once he had established in his own mind that he wanted it. And everyone, he had learnt with increasing cynicism, had their price. With Chris, this particular young lady’s price appeared to have been marriage. But then, it was standard practice, in any deal, to ask for more than you actually expected to get. It was time Chris, as much as this young girl, learnt that!

‘I’m flattered, Mr Falcon,’ Charles began tentatively, ‘that the bride should like that particular gown so much——’

‘Don’t be,’ Reece drawled. ‘This particular lady is used to getting what she wants.’ Every time. And she was a beautiful, maddening bundle of provocation. He pitied—and envied—any man who tried to tame her.

Oxley still looked dismayed at the way the conversation was going, obviously searching for that narrow line between being polite to what he appreciated was a prestigious customer, and yet at the same time standing by his own professional reputation. ‘But if we could just——’

‘Charles—I’m sorry to interrupt.’ A slightly breathless lady in her early forties bore determinedly down on them, looking at Reece briefly, chewing on her bottom lip as she recognised him instantly. ‘Edgar Poole is looking for you,’ she told Charles awkwardly.

Reece was well aware of who Edgar Poole was; he had done business with the successful entrepreneur several times in the past, and had actually gone into a couple of deals with him too. Successfully, of course. They both played to win. And Edgar’s young and lovely wife would be the reason the other man was here at all today. Reece could appreciate Oxley’s dilemma now in not knowing whether he should continue his conversation with him—one that he was finding it difficult to deal with—or go and see Edgar and the lovely Caryn, who might be more agreeable to deal with.

Reece decided, on this occasion, to take pity on him, inwardly admitting that he felt slightly distracted himself, but for quite a different reason. ‘I’ll give you a call within the next few days, Charles,’ he drawled mockingly. ‘But I won’t change my mind about the wedding gown,’ he warned him. ‘And believe me,’ he added derisively, ‘neither will the bride!’

The bride. Every time she was mentioned Diana felt her nerves jangle. She had had no idea… In all the weeks she had known Chris, not once had he mentioned that his father was contemplating marriage. In fact, for years now, Reece Falcon had been avoiding that very state. Not that there hadn’t been numerous women wanting to change his mind about that, but the man himself had just been determined he wasn’t going to make that sort of commitment to any woman ever again.

But now that Diana was aware of the impending marriage she didn’t doubt who the intended bride was to be; she had a vivid memory, as she walked down the catwalk in the wedding gown earlier, of a red-tipped hand resting proprietorially on Reece Falcon’s arm as the beautiful redhead sitting beside him engaged him in conversation while her gaze remained firmly fixed on Diana wearing the gown.

From what Diana remembered about the other woman—and she wished now she had taken more notice of her!—Charles was right to feel concerned about the advisability of Reece Falcon’s bride wearing that particular gown; the redhead had looked too short to be able to carry off the beautiful simplicity of the long flowing lines of the gown.

Diana found now, as she turned back to look at Reece Falcon as Charles hurried off with Joanna at his side, that her own gaze was on a level with the aquiline nose with that intriguing bump at its bridge. At the same time she also realised the two of them, for all that the room was crowded with people, were effectively alone. And now that she had learnt of his marriage she needed time to sit down and consider what effect that had on her own plans.

She gave him a politely dismissively smile. ‘If you’ll excuse me——’

‘No,’ he told her evenly, effortlessly.

Her lashes fluttered uncertainly as she looked at him, momentarily disconcerted. ‘I’m sorry,’ she finally shook her head. ‘I——’

‘Are you?’ he rasped, eyes narrowed to silver slits.

She frowned now, unsure of the change of mood. ‘I meant——’

‘I know what you meant, Divine.’ His mouth twisted with scorn for her professional name. ‘I happen to think, having now met you, that you’re probably enjoying yourself.’

Diana met his gaze unflinchingly. ‘If I didn’t enjoy my work, Mr Falcon, then I wouldn’t do it any more.’

Dark brows rose mockingly. ‘From what I hear of the fees top-class models—and I include you, obviously, in that category,’ he drawled, acknowledging the slight inclination of her head, at the compliment, with one of his own, ‘command nowadays, that would be a little foolish, don’t you think?’

Her mouth firmed, eyes flashing slightly at the taunt. ‘Some things are more important than money, Mr Falcon——’ She broke off in stunned defence as he began to laugh at the comment, not a soft chuckle, but loud mocking laughter that had people all around the room turning to look at them curiously, a soft buzz of conversation instantly following as the two of them were recognised.

How dared he laugh at her? Just because he made money, and the power that money could buy him—power and money being the gods in his life—that was no reason to judge everyone else by the same cynicism.

He was shaking his head ruefully as the laughter died away, somehow appearing younger with his face relaxed in humour. ‘Where on earth did Chris find you?’ he mused disbelievingly.

She drew in a sharp breath as understanding dawned. ‘Ah,’ she nodded.

‘Penny finally dropped, has it?’ Reece Falcon taunted, his gaze sweeping over her disparagingly. ‘You’ve been playing games with my son, Divine——’

‘Diana,’ she snapped irritably. ‘My name is Diana,’ she explained challengingly as he looked at her with raised brows.

‘I thought Divine was a bloody silly name for any parent to have saddled a child with!’ He shook his head self-derisively. ‘But I take it Chris insists on calling you by it,’ he added knowingly.

Chris thought her professional name was romantic. He also enjoyed being seen with someone as publically known as Divine was. She had only been out with Chris to public places half a dozen times, but on a couple of those occasions they had been spotted together by the Press, and several questioning comments had appeared in the gossip columns concerning the two of them following that. It wasn’t so surprising, then, that Reece Falcon had finally got to hear about their relationship—in fact, it was what she had been hoping for! She just wished she had had a little more warning…

‘Chris is different,’ she told his father huskily, meeting the narrowed silver gaze with steady challenge.

‘Oh, yes,’ Reece Falcon acknowledged sharply. ‘He’s very different. The main way in which he differs from other people is that he’s my son——’

‘We all have disadvantages in our lives, Mr Falcon,’ Diana told him with contempt. ‘It’s just a question of trying to overcome them as best we can!’

For a moment he looked stunned by the quick viciousness of her attack, as if he very rarely came across such obvious antagonism directed towards him, and never from a woman. But as his initial surprise turned to deepening curiosity, his gaze searching now on the beauty of her face with its two bright spots of colour in otherwise pale cheeks indicating the anger she still felt, she knew that he found her outspoken attitude towards him intriguing in spite of himself.

‘So it is,’ he finally drawled appreciatively. ‘But you must realise, Diana, that the two of us have to talk——’

‘Not at all,’ she dismissed firmly, half turning as if to leave, and almost gasping out loud as Reece Falcon’s fingers clasped about her wrist to stop her from moving away. As it was she couldn’t stop the way her eyes widened, or the way they shadowed to a deep emeraldgreen. ‘Let go of my arm, Mr Falcon,’ she instructed with careful control, her voice barely above a whisper now, although she knew by the way his gaze narrowed on her consideringly that he had heard every word she said. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to do what she asked!

He shook his head finally, his fingers still like steel bands about her flesh. ‘Not until you agree that we have to talk.’

Her breathing felt as if it were coming in short, painful gasps, she felt cold and shivery despite the heat of the room, and her skin seemed to burn where he touched her—and at that moment she knew she wanted to agree to anything to get him to release her. But ultimately she knew she wouldn’t—couldn’t do that; that she would never show any sign of weakness towards this man.

Instead she looked at him coldly. ‘If you don’t release my arm, Mr Falcon, I’m going to start screaming,’ she told him with calm indifference. Inside she was just so relieved that she was managing to sound as controlled as she normally did—when in reality she really did feel like screaming! ‘And when I scream it will be—— Thank you,’ she accepted coolly as he slowly released her wrist as he saw she meant every word she said. ‘The truth of the matter is, Mr Falcon,’ she continued pleasantly, as if she hadn’t just directly challenged the man—and won!—‘that I’m very tired just now, and I actually intend going back to my hotel for a bath and a long sleep——’

‘Which hotel?’ he demanded quickly, his voice an angry rasp, all his earlier amusement—at her expense—having faded.

‘George the Fifth,’ she supplied without hesitation, having no reason to feel threatened; she had no intention of talking to this man anywhere tonight—she really did feel very tired after the gruelling week she had just had. And talking to this man at all wasn’t helping her exhaustion; in fact her nerves felt stretched to breaking-point. ‘But——’

‘Diana, you forgot to take these with you!’ Cally called out, hurrying over with the bouquet of red roses Diana had left in the changing-room, and pausing to give Reece Falcon an encouraging smile once she had handed the flowers over to Diana, although she hastily made her excuses and left again when he just returned her gaze coldly.

Diana held on to the bouquet of roses. ‘That wasn’t very kind,’ she told Reece Falcon critically, knowing she wouldn’t really have expected anything else from him!

‘“Kind” isn’t a word that I’ve heard often to describe me,’ he acknowledged derisively. ‘From my son?’ He looked at the roses with narrowed eyes.

Her arms tightened about the flowers defensively. ‘Yes.’

He nodded, as if he had never doubted it. ‘Then I’ll call at your hotel tomorrow morning and we can have breakfast together. Unless——’ his mouth twisted mockingly ‘—you’re one of those models who live on lettuce leaves and black coffee?’ He arched dark brows questioningly.

She knew that some of her friends did have a problem keeping their weight down, although she thought a diet of lettuce leaves was probably a slight exaggeration; it didn’t surprise her at all that Reece Falcon should be totally familiar with the problem some models had—no doubt he had been involved with more than one of them in the past!

‘One of the things I’ve enjoyed most about being in Paris,’ she drawled, ‘has been my fresh croissants and creamy coffee for breakfast,’ smoothly answering his derision.

He gave an acknowledging inclination of his head. ‘In that case, I’ll be at your hotel for breakfast at eight-thirty. Too early for you?’ he challenged.

She shook her head coolly. ‘Perfect.’ Because by that time she would no longer be at the hotel but at the airport, waiting for her flight home!

‘Tomorrow morning, then.’ Reece Falcon nodded abruptly before striding confidently away.

Because he didn’t doubt, as he had decided it would be so, that the two of them would be sitting down to breakfast together in the morning at eight-thirty!

Arrogant.

Self-centred.

Autocratic.

No wonder Chris found him just too much to try to live up to.

Well, if Reece Falcon thought that she was impressed by his arrogance he was sadly mistaken! Now that she had met the man, actually spoken to him, she disliked him even more intensely than she had before.

And she had already hated with vehemence the man who had ruined her father, made his life so unbearable that he had been left with no alternative but to take his own life…!

CHAPTER TWO

SHE was Divine.

International model. Travelled extensively. Was in demand for her unique brand of beauty all over the world. Always, as one of the highest paid models in the world, travelling first class, with champagne and roses—red roses, of course, her favourite flowers!—all the way.

Her suite at the George the Fifth was no exception—beautifully furnished with understated elegance, her bedroom dominated by the huge canopied bed she now lay in. But for all this quiet richness of her surroundings, and her own physical exhaustion, Diana lay wide-eyed and unable to sleep beneath the coolness of the bedclothes.

She wasn’t even sure how she came to be back at the hotel at all; she vaguely remembered the comfort of the limousine Charles had arranged to be at her disposal during her stay in Paris, but nothing of her journey through the streets still crowded with people in the outdoor cafés and restaurants, and she certainly didn’t remember entering the hotel itself and coming up to her suite.

Because of Reece Falcon…

She had been preparing herself for weeks for their first meeting. But when she had thought about it—and she had thought about it, often!—the meeting had always been by her own design, not sprung on her out of the blue as it had been earlier tonight.

It had shaken her much more than she could ever have imagined!

It had nothing to do with the way Reece Falcon looked—although God knew that was ominous enough. No, it had been the first sound of his voice again after all these years. She could have been blindfolded and would still have known the sound of that voice anywhere, was never likely to forget how the man had sounded who had forced her father to take his own life.

Because she wasn’t just Divine. Wasn’t just Diana Lamb, either. Her real name was Divinia Lambeth. Daughter of Howard Lambeth, a man Reece Falcon had taken delight in ruining.

She got restlessly out of the bed, giving up all idea of even trying to sleep, her cream silk nightshirt flowing smoothly over her body to mid-thigh, her legs long and golden beneath its length as she padded over to the window, gazing out over the beauty that was Paris by moonlight.

Not that she actually saw any of that, her thoughts too deep inside her as she cursed herself for not handling the meeting earlier this evening with Reece Falcon more calmly than she had. She had thought she could cope with it, had encouraged her friendship with Reece Falcon’s son because she had believed that—and she had been reduced to a quivering wreck after only a single meeting with the man she had grown up hating with a vehemence she knew often bordered on obsession.

Not content with forcing her father into taking his own life rather than facing the public scandal her father knew would follow after revelations were made about his business affairs—although that had been more than enough reason for the young Divinia to hate him!—Reece Falcon was also responsible for destroying anything that might have been left after the loss of her father.

Everything they had had needed to be sold in an effort to pay off her father’s creditors, and once Reece Falcon had claimed the family home as his own there hadn’t been that much left to sell! But Divinia’s life had changed irrevocably after her father’s death, the indulgent childhood she had known wiped out in a single act. Her only consolation in all that had been that Janette had lost her extravagant lifestyle too. After what Divinia had heard during her father’s conversation with Reece Falcon concerning her stepmother, she had felt the woman didn’t deserve to have anything from her father anyway; she might have only been nine years old then, but she certainly hadn’t been too young to realise that her stepmother had betrayed her father in some way. And with the passing of the years, her own maturity, she had been able to guess in what way Janette had been persuaded to betray her husband. The young Divinia had despised her beautiful stepmother almost as much as she hated Reece Falcon!

Which had been unfortunate, considering Janette had been made her sole guardian. And at nine Divinia hadn’t been left with any choice but to do as Janette decided she should. But Janette had only been twenty-five herself at the death of her husband, and had certainly had no intention of being hampered with a nine-year-old stepdaughter now that she was on her own and there was no money for a nanny. Somehow Janette had managed to salvage enough money from the chaos to send Divinia back to her private school; it would have been kinder if she hadn’t.

Everyone at the school, including Divinia’s own friends, was aware of the way her father had died and the reason for it, and while a few of her really close friends had remained loyal a lot more chose to shun her; it had almost been as if her father’s failure might rub off on them and taint them too. The following eight years of her school life had been miserable ones for her, and there was little respite from its overpowering presence in her life, as most of her school holidays were spent there too. Was it any wonder when she finally managed to escape from the place that she changed her name to Diana Lamb and tried to stamp out the misery of those years by severing all the ties she had with the people involved with them?

Janette had remarried within six months of Diana’s father’s death, to an Italian businessman who didn’t give a damn about the scandal surrounding her first husband; he just wanted a beautiful woman—and there was no doubting Janette was still that, with her shoulder-length ash-blonde hair and deep blue eyes—that he could display socially on his arm when needed, and leave to her own devices when he found other diversions to amuse him. This arrangement suited Janette perfectly; her main loves in life were herself and the indulgences Marco’s money could now buy her.

Whatever had been between Janette and Reece Falcon at the time of Diana’s father’s death seemed to have ended with Howard Lambeth’s death, and Diana had been glad—glad: why should Janette find happiness with her father’s murderer?

After Janette felt secure in her second marriage she had relented slightly in her attitude towards Diana, and allowed her to join them in their Italian home for several weeks of her school holidays throughout the year. Diana still despised her beautiful stepmother, but any time she spent away from the school had to be a bonus, and Marco was nice. Like a lot of Italian men, he liked children.

Unfortunately, however, Diana hadn’t remained a child…

Her thoughts veered sharply away from that second distressing time in her young life. Reece Falcon. It was all his fault. All of it. If he hadn’t pushed her father to the desperation of taking his own life, none of those things would have happened to her.

Which was why, since meeting Chris, she now wanted Reece Falcon to suffer the same pain she had.

Having now met the man himself, she knew that was going to be far from easy.

But she had to do it. Had to!

‘All right, Puddle.’ She chuckled softly at the antics of her cat, climbing up one of the legs of the yellow and pink leggings she wore in an effort to reach the bowl of food she was preparing for him. ‘Lunch is served!’ She put him out of his mewling misery by putting the bowl down on the cool tiled floor of her kitchen, watching indulgently as he launched himself into the bowl as if he hadn’t been fed for a month.

Which was far from the truth. She had only been away for a week, and Roger, the man who lived in the flat across the hallway, and who looked after the cat while she was away, always told her Puddle ate enough for ten cats. Puddle, a pure black cat, with an elusively absent tail, always reacted the same to her going away: he seemed to sense when she was going and stopped eating for several days before she went, then gorged himself in her absence, and then ate everything in sight once she was back—including little nips out of her legs, just to let her know he didn’t approve of her having gone away in the first place!

It was uncanny how the cat always knew she was going, even if she deliberately delayed packing until the very last moment. But after two years of being subjected to Puddle’s unique form of protest Diana had decided it had to be the Celt in him that knew; he was one of those rare things nowadays—a truly Manx cat, totally bereft of a tail. He was also clever, intuitive, and didn’t suffer fools gladly. He was the only companion Diana wanted in the large flat she had bought and decorated in her own particular style.

All the floors in the two-bedroomed flat, one of which she had made into a studio for the painting she did as a hobby, were either tiled or wood-panelled, with brightly coloured scatter-rugs thrown at random over their surfaces; the furniture, what there was of it, was all white, as were the walls. As Diana walked through from the kitchen with a mug of coffee, leaving Puddle to finish his brunch, she was like a bright splash of colour in the otherwise austere surroundings, wearing a bright yellow T-shirt over the garish multi-coloured leggings.

She dropped down on to one of the white bean-bags that lay about the room, relaxing back in its body-shaping comfort, letting all the tension of the day drain out of her as she sipped the strong coffee.

It had been an uneventful flight back from Paris early that morning, with very few people recognising the tall woman with her hair pulled back into a tight bun at her nape, wearing the white business suit and white blouse beneath the jacket, as the glamorous model Divine. It was exactly the way she liked it to be.

She enjoyed her work; she had really meant it when she had told Reece Falcon that if she didn’t enjoy modelling any more then she wouldn’t be doing it. She was thrilled that so many people liked the way she looked, how clothes looked on her. But that was the professional side of her life, and as Divine she accepted that, but as Diana Lamb she liked to keep her life very private indeed.

But even if anyone had recognised her on the early flight this morning they had been too polite to bother her. No, her tension had reached a head-pounding pitch long before she even reached the airport. She hadn’t slept all night, had just been too tense, too haunted by memories, to be able even to think of relaxing enough to grab a few hours’ sleep. Reece Falcon’s presence in Paris had deeply disturbed her. As it was, she had packed and left the hotel long before she needed to, and had then sat around at the airport constantly looking over her shoulder in case Reece Falcon should already have realised she had gone and followed her there!

He hadn’t, of course, but by the time she boarded the aircraft bound for Heathrow her tension had been such that she had almost leapt out of her seat when the air hostess approached her quietly from behind and asked if she would like a drink!

Lying back in this bean-bag, her eyes closed, the coffee-mug now hanging limply from her fingers, she realised this was the first time she had relaxed in over twelve hours. Since that meeting with Reece Falcon. She could almost, almost…fall asleep…

The strident ringing of the doorbell did little more than elicit a heartfelt groan of protest; she was too exhausted at that moment to do more than that.

She knew who it was, of course. Christopher had wanted to be with her in Paris this last week, but his father had sent him off on business for him—deliberately, Diana now realised—to America. Diana had told him how busy she was going to be with the show—too busy to spend much time with him really, and so he had finally gone to America, protesting all the way, hence the arrival of those red roses from him every day they were apart. But Chris should have arrived back in England this morning too, and had no doubt come to see her now with the intention of repeating his marriage proposal.