A Yuletide Seduction. Кэрол МортимерЧитать онлайн книгу.
described her condition to me this morning,’ Richard Warner told Jane in answer to her early morning telephone query about Felicity. ‘Whatever that means,’ he added disgustedly.
‘What happened, Richard?’ Jane prompted abruptly.
This call was against her better judgement; it came completely from the softness of emotions that she must never allow to rule her a second time. But she couldn’t, she had decided in the clear light of day, simply ignore Felicity’s and Richard’s telephone calls.
‘What do you think? Gabriel Vaughan is what happened!’ Richard told her bitterly—and predictably!
Gabriel Vaughan seemed to just sail through life, sweeping away anything and anyone who should happen to stand in his way. And at the moment Richard Warner was in his way. Tomorrow, next week, next month, it would be someone else completely, any consequences that might follow Gabe’s actions either ignored or simply unknown to him.
‘I would really rather not talk about it, Jane,’ Richard added agitatedly. ‘At the moment my company is in chaos, my wife is in hospital—and just talking about Gabriel Vaughan makes my blood-pressure rise! I’ll tell Felicity you rang,’ he added wearily. ‘And once again, thank you for all your help.’ He rang off.
And a lot of good her help had done them, Jane sighed as she replaced her own receiver. Gabriel Vaughan had happened—who else…? What else? He was a man totally without—
Jane almost fell off her chair as the telephone beside her began to ring. Eight-fifteen. It was only eight-fifteen in the morning; she had deliberately telephoned Richard Warner this early so that she could speak to him before he either left for the office or the hospital. But she wasn’t even dressed yet herself, let alone taken her run; who on earth—?
Suddenly she knew exactly who. And, after her recent calls from the Warners, and her conversation with Richard just now, she was in exactly the right frame of mind to talk to him!
She snatched up the receiver. ‘Yes?’ she snapped, all of her impatience evident in that single word.
‘I didn’t get you out of bed, did I, Jane Smith?’ Gabriel Vaughan returned in his mocking drawl.
Her hand tightened about the receiver. She had known it was him—it couldn’t have been anyone else, in the circumstances!—but even so she couldn’t help her instant recoil just at the sound of his voice.
She drew in a steadying breath. ‘No, Mr Vaughan,’ she answered calmly, ‘you didn’t get me out of bed.’ And, remembering what she had once been told about this man, she knew that he had probably already been up for hours, that he only needed three or four hours’ sleep a night.
‘I didn’t—interrupt anything, did I?’ he continued derisively.
‘Only my first coffee of the morning,’ she bit out tersely.
‘How do you take it?’
‘My coffee?’ she returned, frowning.
‘Your coffee,’ he confirmed, laughter evident in his voice now.
‘Black, no sugar,’ she came back tautly—and then wished she hadn’t. In retrospect, she could think of only one reason why he would be interested in how she liked her first cup of coffee of the morning!
‘I’ll make sure I remember that,’ Gabriel Vaughan assured her huskily.
‘I’m sure you didn’t call me to find out how I take my coffee,’ Jane snapped, sure that he remembered most things.
Except that other her, it seemed But how long would that last? Three years on, and not only did she look different, she was different, but Gabriel Vaughan had a very good reason for remembering everything that had happened three years ago, leading her to believe that his memory lapse where she was concerned would not continue. She had no doubt there would be no flirtatious early morning telephone calls then!
‘You’re wrong there, Jane Smith,’ he murmured throatily now. ‘You see, I want to know everything about you that there is to know—including how you take your coffee!’
Jane’s breath left her in a shaky sigh, her hand tightening painfully about the receiver. ‘I’m an extremely boring individual, I can assure you, Mr Vaughan,’ she told him abruptly.
‘Gabe,’ he put in smoothly. ‘And I very much doubt that, Jane,’ he added teasingly.
She didn’t care what he doubted. She worked, she went to bed, she ran, she shopped, she read, she worked, she went to bed Her life was structured, deliberately so. Routine, safe, uncomplicated. This man threatened complications she didn’t even want to think about!
‘Are you aware that Felicity Warner is in hospital, in danger of losing her baby?’ she attacked accusingly.
There was a slight pause on the other end of the telephone line. Very short, only a second or two, but Jane picked up on it anyway. To her surprise. Three years ago nothing had deterred this man. And she couldn’t really believe that had changed in any way.
‘I wasn’t aware that Felicity was pregnant,’ he finally rasped harshly.
‘Would it have made any difference if you had known?’ Jane scorned disgustedly, already knowing the answer to that question. Nothing distracted this man away from his purpose. And she couldn’t help feeling that he had been playing with the Warners by accepting their dinner invitation two evenings ago…!
‘Any difference to what?’ he returned in a silkily soft voice.
‘Let’s not play games, Mr Vaughan.’ She continued to be deliberately formal, despite his earlier invitation for her not to be. ‘You have business with Richard Warner, and that business appears to be affecting his wife’s health. And that of their unborn child,’ she added shakily. ‘Don’t you think—?’
‘I’m not sure you would like to hear what I think, Jane Smith,’ Gabriel Vaughan bit out coldly.
‘You’re right—I don’t,’ she snapped tersely. ‘But I think it’s way past time someone told you about your lack of thought for the people lives you walk into and instantly dismantle! Your method of dealing with people leaves a lot to be desired, and—’ She broke off abruptly, feeling the icy silence at the other end of the telephone line as it blasted its way in her direction. And at the same time she realised she had said too much…
‘And just what do you know about my “method of dealing with people”, Jane Smith?’ he prompted mildly—too mildly for comfort!
Too much. She had said too much! ‘You’re a public figure, Mr Vaughan.’ She attempted to cover up her lapse.
‘Not in England,’ he rasped. ‘Not for several years,’ he added harshly, all his previous lazy charm obliterated in cold anger.
‘Strange; I’m sure I saw your photograph in my daily newspaper yesterday morning…’ she came back pointedly; she had to try and salvage this conversation as best she could; she’d already been far too outspoken.
The last thing she wanted to do was increase this man’s interest in her! Ideally, she would like him to forget he had ever met someone called Jane Smith, but she would settle for disinterest—which wasn’t going to be achieved if she kept challenging him!
‘Of course, that was a social thing,’ she added lightly. ‘You were a guest at a party.’
‘I’m a sociable person, Jane,’ he drawled dryly. ‘Which was actually the reason for this call…’
He was going to ask her to cater a dinner party for him! There was no way she could work for or with this man. Absolutely no way!
‘I’m very heavily booked at this time of year, Mr Vaughan,’ she told him stiffly: Christmas was now only two weeks away. ‘My diary has been full for weeks, some of those bookings made months ago. However, I could recommend another catering firm who I’m sure would be only too pleased