The Threat of Love

'This is all it means to you and your father, isn't it?' lie suddenly bit out, his eyes smouldering. 'Just accounts like these—figures in a ledger, profit and loss, the chance to make even more money than you have already. You make me so furious! It's time you realised that an old family business like mine means a damn sight

more than that.'

'I know,' Caro said wearily. 'Your family built the

business up from nothing, and you don't want it going

out of your hands---- '

'I wasn't going to say that,' Gil snapped. 'I'm talking about people, people who've often worked here for a whole lifetime; maybe they are the second or third generation in a family to work here—grandfather, father and son, mother and daughter, making a commitment to the store, like myself, like my father and grandfather before me.'

'Hardly the same, is it?' Caro drily asked him. 'After all, your family own the place, naturally you feel strongly about it, but your employees may not feel quite the same way. I'm sure they want to keep their jobs, but I doubt if they care much who runs the store, so long as they are still getting paid.'

'You think that's all they care about?' he retorted, his brows black above those angry eyes. 'Their pay-packet at the end of the month? You underestimate them. It isn't a question of loyalty to me, or my family. They have strong views about the way the store is managed because they really care about the store itself, they feel part of it, especially, of course, those who have been here for a number of years and hope to stay with us.'

'And, of course, you always ask their opinion before you take any decision?' Caro said with a sarcastic little smile.

'They're fully involved in policy-making,' he snapped. 'We have a management committee on which all departments are represented and they're very forthright with their comments and suggestions. Very helpful, too; they often come up with an idea we haven't even considered, and if it works they get a bonus. Our bonus scheme has been very popular. I instituted it when I took over. It was part of my attempt to turn the business around from loss to profit, involving the staff as much as possible.' He broke off, frowning, then said flatly, 'Some of the staff actually own shares they took instead of a cash bonus. We gave them that choice. The younger ones preferred cash, I found; it was those who had been with us for years who took shares. But if you want to know what they think, instead of feeding mathematics into your computer you should be coming round the store with me to meet some of them. Then maybe you would realise what a store like Westbrooks means in human terms.'

'I don't need to be told that!' Caro said, rather stunned by his outburst, but still resentful of the accusation of being strictly mercenary. 'I grew up in this business, just as much as you did. I know how vital the workforce is;

I ltd still gets Christmas cards from people who worked for him in our original family store up North, people lie's known most of his life and thinks of as friends, not employees. Whenever he's up there he calls in to have a chat with them. Dad taught me that you can't run a Business successfully unless your staff trust and like you.'

'You quote your father as if he were God,' Gil Martell mocked and she flushed, but at that moment, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow on the frosted glass of the office door, and stiffened, staring.

'There's somebody out there, listening to us!' she whispered and Gil looked quickly in that direction, frowning. A second later there was a knock on the door.

'Come in!' Gil called.

A uniformed security guard appeared in the doorway, nodding to them. 'Evening, Mr Martell. Miss.' His eyes were curious. 'Sorry to interrupt you, but the automatic system comes on in ten minutes, I'm afraid. If you're working late, I shall have to escort you out of the building when you go, remember.'

'We're going now, don't worry.' Gil glanced at Caro. 'Sign off your computer, will you, Miss Ramsgate?' he politely requested, leaving her no option but to do as he asked.

She obeyed in silence, carefully closed down her computer, and locked away all the material on the desk— documents, computer discs, ledgers—while the two men watched her. The guard then escorted them to the lift, along the silent corridor. Caro only then realised how empty the great building was, and how eerie it seemed at night with most of the lights dimmed and every little sound echoing along the maze of corridors.

She shivered as she stepped into the lift, and Gil gave her a narrow-eyed look. 'Cold? I'm not surprised, in that!' He let his gaze drift down over the charcoal-grey jersey dress and jacket she wore, making the back of her neck prickle with awareness. 'You look very good in it,' Gil drawled, his stare lingering on the way the jersey clung to her breasts, and she angrily felt heat stir inside her body. 'But it can't be very warm.'

It wasn't. She had wanted to look smart and efficient, and hadn't cared that the outfit was thin and lightweight. She certainly hadn't wanted to invite him to notice her figure, but of course she couldn't tell him that because to do so would be to admit that she was intensely conscious of having him stare at her. 'It was quite warm this morning!' she defended herself.

He shrugged. 'I know it's April but the weather is still treacherous. Well, once you're in your car you can put on the heating.'

That reminded her that she had intended to ring for a taxi before leaving the office tonight, and she made an irritated face. 'What now?' asked Gil, still watching her. 'I don't drive in, unless I come with my father,' she explained. 'I usually take the Underground, or go by bus. It simply isn't worth the hassle of taking a car, and our house is only ten minutes away from the office. Tonight I meant to call a cab, as I was working so late, but I forgot. Never mind, there are usually taxis cruising past.'

'I'll give you a lift home,' he offered at once, as she should have anticipated, but his tone was dry. Did he suspect she had been dropping hints? That idea made her furious.

'That's very kind,' she said coldly. 'But I'm certain to get a taxi at once.'

'Don't be stupid. Your house is on my route home,' he insisted. As they left the lift, he took her by the elbow and guided her firmly through the store to a private exit guarded by another of the security staff. Gil Martell nodded to him, smiled and said, 'Goodnight,' and then they walked through the open door, hearing the door being locked behind them before they had taken two steps across the pavement.

The gleaming black Rolls-Royce was parked right outside, waiting for him. Caro gave it a look, then stared anxiously up and down the street in search of a taxi. Typically, there wasn't one in sight, and she found herself a moment later being put into the front pass

enger seat.

They drove away northwards through London's brilliantly lit streets towards the quieter district of Regents Park, with its Georgian terraces and elegant gardens.

'Do up your seatbelt!' Gil ordered, drawing up at the traffic-lights in Baker Street a moment later. Caro had forgotten to do so in her state of nerves; she pulled the belt across her middle and tried to slot it into position, but her fingers were all thumbs and after watching her briefly Gil leant over to do it for her, his fingers brushing against hers. She stiffened as that lean, muscled body came so close that she picked up the male scent of his skin and felt his thigh touch her own. A wave of sexual awareness rose inside her and she shifted away from the contact with him. What was the matter with her?

He deftly clicked home the seatbelt, straightened, eyeing her with narrow observation and then appalled her by asking, 'Are you always this scared of men?' Hot colour rolled up her face. 'I'm not scared of you!' 'Then why do you jump about ten feet in the air every time I come too close?' 'I don't!'