Tempestuous Affair. Кэрол Мортимер

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       CHAPTER ONE

      ‘LINDSAY? Lindsay, open this door, damn you!’

      She wasn’t distressed or shocked by the cold anger in Joel’s voice as he shouted through the thickness of her closed flat door; she had been expecting him, and this reaction. She hadn’t known at what time, or even precisely what day, but she had known he would come here as soon as he returned from his business trip. Maybury would have told him, of course. And he was far from pleased—as she had known he would be.

      ‘Lindsay,’ his voice had lowered now, becoming cajoling. ‘Let me in and we can talk.’

      Talk. It had never got them anywhere in the past, and she doubted very much that it would get them anywhere now.

      ‘Lindsay, please!’

      His pleading was her undoing. Joel Sutherland never pleaded for anything, least of all for a woman to talk to him; there were so many others who were only too willing to do a lot more than that! The fact that he was pleading with her now only enhanced how desperate he was that they should at least talk.

      She moved forward with naturally graceful movements, the golden hair level with her jaw framing the beauty of her face, a face that until minutes ago had been ravaged with indecision. But none of that showed now, in her green almond-shaped eyes surrounded by light brown lashes, her nose small and pert, her perfectly formed bow of a mouth made to look even more provocative by the deep rose-coloured lipgloss she wore. She had the face and body of a model, but more intelligence than to involve herself in such a precarious and shortlived profession. The laughter lines beside her eyes seemed to indicate that she enjoyed what she did with her life, and that life liked her too.

      But she wasn’t enjoying her life right now, as she opened the door apprehensively to Joel, knowing from experience that the next half an hour or so wasn’t going to be pleasant. She hadn’t been his secretary for the past year without realising that, and she knew that when things were going well for him no one could be more charming, but when things were going badly …! Objects had been known to fly across the room at such times. And she had a feeling this was going to be one of those times!

      Joel didn’t wait for her to do more than unlock the door, pushing it open forcefully as he strode angrily into the room, looking about him with narrowed eyes, as if he hadn’t expected her to be alone. He turned back to look at her as she slowly closed the door. ‘Where is he?’ he bit out.

      Her frown of puzzlement was completely genuine; she had no idea what he was talking about. ‘Who?’

      ‘Roger Hillier,’ he dismissed with impatient anger. ‘Or am I too early?’ He glanced at the gold watch on his wrist. ‘Yes, I suppose I am, he doesn’t usually crawl out of bed until dusk,’ he derided with contempt.

      Lindsay took a few minutes to drink in her fill of the man who held her heart in the palm of his hand. He still affected her as deeply as he had the first moment she had seen him, still made her heart flutter in her chest, her palms suddenly feel damp. At thirty-four, twelve years her senior, his dark hair showed not even a sprinkling of grey, growing thick and black in unruly disarray, in a habitual state of having those lean sensitive hands run through it. His eyes were his most dominant feature, golden when he was elated or pleased, tawny when he was angry. There was no doubt about what colour they were now! A long thin nose jutted out above the full sensuality of his mouth, his jaw was square and firm. It wasn’t a handsome face by any stretch of the imagination; what it was was strong, telling of the power he wielded day after day with the expertise of his camera. Unlike many of his contemporaries he chose to shun the use of casual denims and shirts for the main part, claiming that his clients could have more confidence in a man who didn’t look like a reject from the sixties! The success of his photographic agency seemed to indicate he was right. The fact that he looked his best in the three-piece suits he favoured, the jackets fitting over the broadness of his shoulders, the waistcoat buttoned tautly over his flat stomach, the trousers fitting snugly to his narrow hips and long muscular legs, helped, of course.

      He was wearing one of those suits now, a brown one with contrasting cream shirt, СКАЧАТЬ