Page 3 of The Price of a Wife

'Rubbish.' It was said so matter-of-factly that for a moment the import of the word didn't register. 'Your able assistant—Penny, isn't it?—told me she had had orders to keep this evening free in case of any disasters here that needed sorting out. Now, I don't think you are the type of boss to tell the minions something like that and not do the same yourself. There are no disasters; you were about to leave… Need I go on?'

Disasters? If ever a disaster had been facing her this six feet plus of cold steel fitted the bill. 'I really don't think Penny had any right—'

'You are going to be difficult.' It was a statement, not a question. 'I don't like difficult women, Miss Owens; I don't like them at all,' he drawled slowly, his cool eyes assessing her so thoroughly that she could feel the heat from her skin like a brazier burning from the inside.

'Don't you, indeed?' Suddenly all the gloss and carefully nurtured aplomb of the last thirteen years took a nosedive. Who on earth did this man think he was anyway? She had never met anyone like him in her life before; he took the word 'arrogance' into another dimension! 'Well, perhaps what you like and don't like are not my problem, Mr Hawkton.' She smiled icily.' And I was being quite genuine when I said I was busy. I have an important meeting tomorrow that I have to prepare for.'

'And you won't eat tonight?' he asked sardonically.

'I—' She bit back the hot words that were hovering on her tongue as she noticed one or two interested glances in their direction. Oh, this was ridiculous, crazy. She couldn't remember being put in a position like this since she was in her teens. 'Yes, I'll eat,' she said, with a calm that was purely surface level. 'Probably a sandwich, or something, while I work.'

'I see.' The silver eyes narrowed still more, and as he crossed his arms, his big chest formidable, she forced her eyes not to waver before his. 'What a daunting female you are,' he drawled thoughtfully. 'Do you frighten away the male population in general, or is it me in particular you have an aversion to?'

'Don't tell me I've frightened you, Mr Hawkton?' She managed a mocking smile.

'Oh, I wouldn't,' he assured her with wry amusement. 'In fact just the opposite, my fiery-haired little sprite. You see, I am a stubborn man, perhaps even inflexible and tenacious at times—' he smiled grimly '—and I have a reputation for always getting what I want. That might be a little exaggerated…' the narrowed eyes glinted ominously '…but only a little. And I have never been frightened by anyone, male or female, in my entire life.'

She could believe it. Oh, she could certainly believe it, she thought silently. Quite why he had caught her on the raw from the very first moment she had seen him she wasn't sure, but she was sure of one thing at least. Everything about him—his demeanour, the big, hard, aggressive male body, the aura of command and contemptuous authority— grated on her like a nail scratching down a metal surface and brought out the worst in her. It was unreasonable and certainly unfriendly but she couldn't help it. She didn't like him. She didn't like this Luke Hawkton at all, and she knew he knew it.

'Well, perhaps if you would like to tell me what you wanted to talk about?' she asked with studied politeness now, as the silence became so charged it crackled. 'I really do have to get home…'

'And I wouldn't dream of delaying you, Miss Owens.' He was annoyed. He was trying to hide it behind this mask of cool cynicism, but he was annoyed, she thought, with a moment of satisfaction she was immediately ashamed of. She imagined he didn't have too many women refusing an invitation to dine with him; it was probably a new experience for him and one he clearly didn't relish. 'Another time will do.'

'It will?' Suddenly, and quite irrationally, she wanted to know what he had been going to say. He wasn't the sort of man who would stage a casual pick-up; she was sure of that—besides which, he had already intimated that he had come to the opening of the gallery knowing she would be here. But how had he known? 'Who are you with?' she asked, with an abruptness she realised bordered on rudeness. 'Here—now?'

'Here—now?' He repeated her words with an insolent smile that had no warmth in its mocking depths. 'I am alone, as it happens. Does that matter?'

'But—' She gazed up at him, her creamy skin and dark red hair a wonderful foil for the wide honey-gold eyes with their emerald flecks. 'I sent out the invitations and—and your name wasn't there,' she continued bravely as the silver eyes iced over still more.

'True…' He clearly had no intention of embroidering on the one word of agreement, and she didn't know quite how to continue without turning it into an accusation. He must have had a special invitation, or been with someone who had, to get past the security set-up, she thought flatly. He must have…mustn't he?

'Would you like to see my credentials, Miss Owens?' With a little shock of anger she realised he was laughing at her, albeit silently; the gleam in the silver-grey eyes and the slight twist to the hard, firm mouth spoke of definite amusement.

'I don't think that will be necessary.' She tried for a coolness that didn't quite come off when matched with the fire in her cheeks. 'I'm sure you're bona fide—'

'How? How are you sure?' His tone was harder now, sharp. 'How do you know I'm not a terrorist, or some other undesirable who has tricked his way into this place? There's a hell of a lot of money on these walls today, after all-several paintings have been borrowed from private collections and are worth a great deal. How do you know I haven't been planning some sort of heist for weeks?'

'I—' Oh, help—he hadn't, had he? she thought, momentarily panic-stricken, before both the recollection of the security arrangements she had made and her natural common sense reasserted themselves. 'By several things,' she answered calmly as their glances locked and held. 'One, you are wearing one of the little metal tags we had made which are specially coded and numbered against the invitations.' She indicated a small narrow clip-badge on the lapel of his jacket. 'Two, there is only one way in through the front door today; the other door at the back of the gallery is bolted and alarmed and I checked it some time ago. And there are several other security precautions which it wouldn't be advisable for me to reveal that also make it impossible for anyone to gatecrash,' she added primly.

'Also, I have heard one or two people speak to you by name, so you are clearly known to them.' She hadn't meant to add that bit; it had just sort of slipped out. Now he would think she had been watching him, listening, and that was the last thing she wanted this mass of inflated ego to think, she th

ought irritably.

'I'm impressed.' The dark head nodded reflectively. 'Yes, I have to say I am quite impressed, Miss Owens. You are all they said and more.'

'All who said?' she asked quickly as her stomach tensed.

'Ah, now, that's another story, and you've already indicated your time is precious,' he said lazily. 'I mustn't keep you.'

The supercilious swine was certainly getting his own back, she thought tightly, but it didn't look as if his interest in her was on a personal level, as she'd thought at first. She waited for a feeling of relief that didn't materialise and put it down to the fact that she still didn't know why he had approached her.

'Goodbye, Miss Owens. I'm sure we'll meet again soon.'

He was leaving? And then, before she could do anything about it, he had reached forward and taken her small hand in his, raising her fingers to his lips in a brief salute that nevertheless reacted on her taut nerves like liquid fire as his flesh made contact with hers.

She was aware that she had snatched her hand away with more vigour than tact at the same time as he straightened, his face expressionless as he looked down into her hot eyes.

'Daunting…' The murmur was faint, but quivered with a dark amusement that made her want to kick him, hard, although she found herself frozen in front of him as the silver gaze held hers, merely staring up at him with large, expressive eyes. Then he bowed slightly before turning abruptly and leaving the gallery without a backward glance.

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