Sweet Vixen

'Now . ...' Eyes that held a brilliant glitter were turned back on Sarah. She drew on the remains of her Dutch courage.

'I work for him.'

'Work for whom?' said Max blankly. Obviously never in his worst dreams had it occurred to him . . .

'Sir Richard,' she whispered. 'I'm his personal assis­tant.'

He looked incredulous, furious. 'When? How?' he shot at her.

He offered me the job when he came out to New Zealand,' said Sarah, endeavouring to conquer a sudden queasiness. 'I've been working for him virtually ever since.'

'You're living here?'

"A—at Rawlings.'

A red flush covered Max's cheekbones and he gave her a look of baffled anger. 'My father doesn't need another personal assistant, and you damned well know it!'

Sarah's chin lifted proudly. 'He says he does.'

'I'll bet he does, and I bet you weren't hard to con­vince.' Max drew his lips back from his teeth, but it was more a snarl then a smile. 'You must have been glad you lost your chance with me. My father is much richer and not likely to be as demanding as a younger man.'

It was clear what he meant and the insult rendered Sarah icily sober. 'You're insane—can you hear yourself?' she said in a cold little voice. 'If you have no respect for me, you should at least have some for your father. He—'

'Oh, for God's sake shut up!' Max ground out rudely and went over to the bar. ‘I don't need your lectures.' He didn't come back with his drink but prowled about beyond the square of the couches. Sarah found her shoes and put them on, feeli

ng shattered. This was it. The end of the journey. And nothing had changed. She watched his restless pacing helplessly. He moved fluidly, like the big cats at the zoo, back and forth, a resentful captive. Eventually he stopped and glared at her sullenly.

'And you can stop looking at me like that, damn you. You know I didn't mean it.' He thrust an impatient hand through thick black hair. He sounded for all the world like a sulky boy who knows he has done wrong but doesn't want to admit it. In spite of the sheer awfulness of the situation Sarah felt a dull flicker of amusement.

''I'm glad I amuse you!' The growl wiped the smile off her face and she snapped back:

'Well, it's laughable. He's old enough to be my grand­father and most of the time he treats me like a recalcitrant child. We're only going out tonight because he's finally decided he can trust me not to eat peas off my knife.' For an instant she thought Max was going to smile but he was still simmering.

'All right, I get the message. I've already apologised. Should I go down on my knees?'

A glorious surge of righteous indignation freed Sarah from the last bonds of nervousness. To hell with the surly brute! Had she actually imagined that she loved the moody devil?

'Only if it'll improve your temper! You were right about you and your father being alike in some ways. You both sulk if you don't get things exactly your own way. I should be used to it by now.'

Max hunched his shoulders' and stared at her with thinly veiled dislike. Some of the drink slopped out of his glass as he moved. He swore softly and rubbed at the mark with a careless shoe then refilled his glass before coming over to sprawl opposite her again, asking with a restrained belligerence:

'Why do you work for him then? I seem to recall you once shuddered at the very idea.'

'I didn't say I don't like working for him. Actually he's been very kind.' Since Max made no move to reply, unpleasantly or otherwise, Sarah plugged on, making polite conversation to a stranger. When she mentioned, in passing, that this was her first expedition on her own Max roused himself to interruption.

'That doesn't sound like you. I thought you didn't like to be caged, in any sense.'

Sarah shrugged. She was not about to confess to the slightest tinge of frustration. 'Sir Richard said my rough edges needed polishing. And they did. I feel much more confident now, quite equal to anything he might throw at me.'

'Knowing my father, that could be termed literally. I take it then, that he requested you work for him and not vice versa.'

'I couldn't believe it at first.' She explained briefly about Kevin Matlock's illness and the circumstances surrounding Sir Richard's surprising offer, warily eyeing the now expressionless face opposite. Max seemed to have calmed down but his stillness could conceal anything.

'So here you are—polished and perfumed to perfec­tion,' he murmured at last. 'Tell me, why did you think I was still in New York?'

'Your father said you were,' Sarah replied, thankful that they were at last communicating normally. 'And Brandon—' Black eyebrows flew up as Sarah en­deavoured to remember just what his butler had said. 'Well, he didn't actually say you were still there, but he. . .'

'Implied it. How well I know Brandon's implications,' drily and then, almost under his breath. 'Damn him for his interference! My father can resist everything but the temptation to organise the world to his own dramatic satisfaction.'