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‘You’re almost skin and bone,’ he told her flatly. ‘What the devil have you been doing to yourself? Don’t tell me you’ve discovered anorexia…’
The gibe hurt, all the more so because it could have been so pertinent. Had the slimmers’ disease received its present-level publicity when she was a teenager, she could all too easily have used it as a form of blackmail against her parents, she suspected. Trust Kyle to see that and turn it to his own advantage.
‘I’m an adult now, Kyle,’ she told him stiffly. ‘I don’t play stupid games like that.’
He studied her in a way that was very unnerving.
‘Yes, I forgot. You opted to undergo counselling after…’
‘After I stupidly pretended I wanted to commit suicide, and it nearly all went wrong? You can say the words, you know, Kyle. That’s part of the therapy. I don’t try to hide away from what I did, and yes, you’re quite right, I did opt to undergo counselling, and it did teach me a lot about myself and my motives, as well as those of others…’
If he realised she was trying to retaliate, and break through his own armour, he did not betray it.
‘You’re too thin,’ he repeated, ignoring her comment. ‘You’ll have to be careful, otherwise you’re going to end up looking haggard. How old are you now? Twenty-four…five?’
He knew damn well she was only twenty-three, Heather thought bitterly, and if he liked his women as lushly curved as the elegant doll in his outside office, then yes, she was too thin.
She said what she was thinking without monitoring her words, and was surprised by the attractiveness of the amused smile that slashed across his face. She had forgotten those creases either side of his mouth, had forgotten how maddeningly, physically compelling he could be when he wished. Possibly because he had never bothered to even try to charm her, she acknowledged wryly.
‘She’s quite something, isn’t she?’ he agreed appreciatively, and then asked blandly, ‘Is there anyone serious in your life at the moment, Heather, or are you still playing at pretending to have a career?’
The taunt hurt, particularly since she herself had always felt that her father had manufactured her job for her. It made no difference that she had flair and a definite artistic talent, she still worked for her father and was paid a salary the business could not really afford.
‘I came here to ask you to go and see my father, Kyle,’ she told him coolly. ‘Not to discuss my personal life. If you won’t…’
She made to walk towards the door and then faltered when he made no move to stop her.
‘Still the same old Heather,’ he drawled cynically. ‘Still trying to use emotional blackmail.’
Instantly, all her good intentions deserted her; her temper, always quick, flared to red-hot heat and she said fiercely, ‘That’s not true. I was not trying to blackmail you.’ She turned round quickly, too quickly, she realised dizzily, as she felt the room start to spin and fade ominously around her.
She was aware of Kyle grabbing hold of her, and then forcing her down into one of the fireside chairs. She even heard him cursing her and calling her a stupid little fool, but for once she felt too confused to protest at the sensation of his hands on her body, pushing away her coat, reaching behind her to release the zip of her dress as he yanked her forward, so that her head flopped down, and she could feel the coldness of the air against her naked back.
The whole affair could only have lasted seconds. No sooner had Kyle pushed her head down than she felt the dizziness start to clear and full awareness return. She sat up immediately, furious to discover that he had lowered her zip so much that she couldn’t reach it without contorting herself.
‘Stop struggling…I’ll do it for you.’
She tensed beneath the cool firmness of his hand on her back. She could feel his breath against her skin, and to her shock the warmth of it raised a betraying rash of small goose-bumps.
‘No holiday this year,’ he remarked casually as he closed the zip for her. ‘Or don’t you believe in exposing such pale skin to the sun’s rays?’
His comment, although impersonal, threw her; she wasn’t used to the intimacy of having a man’s hands on her body, and his comment seemed a further intrusion into her privacy.
‘My skin doesn’t tan. I should have thought you’d remember that,’ she snapped bitterly, remembering the one summer she had tried to outdo his almost permanent golden-brown skin, and had practically given herself third degree burns.
Her body had swelled up and her skin had flamed painful scarlet. And, as if that hadn’t been enough, she had been diabolically sick, and had had to stay indoors for almost a week with the curtains closed, and her mother constantly applying calamine lotion.
‘Your skin will be like leather by the time you’re forty,’ she added acidly.
‘While yours will still feel like the most expensive kind of silk velvet.’
It took several seconds for his comment to sink in, and when it did she turned and stared open-mouthed at him, her shock registering in the rounded darkness of her amber eyes.
‘What’s wrong, Heather? Surely you’re used to men commenting on the delicate quality of your skin. Your lovers…’
His voice was having a curio
us effect on her senses. She had never had him speak to her in that soft, caressing tone before, and apprehension flared to life inside her as she tried to reject its effect.
