War of Love

Silke's answer to that had been a definite no. And no amount of arguing on Henry's part had managed to persuade her otherwise. Much to Henry's chagrin. He had accused her of being 'as stubborn as her mother had been at eighteen!'.

But Silke had no intention of being accused of nepotism by Lyon. Besides, she was being kept busy enough at the moment anyway. With her mother now married to Henry she had little interest in running the agency, wanted to spend time with her new husband, making sure he didn't overdo things, and so Silke could run the agency for her. Until such time as she decided to sell it or close it down. And then Silke would rethink her future. As far away from Buchanan's as possible!

Silke had known that Henry was far from happy with her refusal, but in the circumstances there was really little he could do about it. She wanted to stay as far away from Lyon in future as her mother's marriage to his uncle would allow.

'So we're finally having dinner together.'

Silke drew in a deeply controlling breath. She hadn't wanted to come to dinner with her mother and Henry this evening at all, had guessed Lyon would be a guest too, but had known she couldn't refuse when her mother pointed out that it was their first dinner party they had given together as husband and wife, and that it would look very odd if her only child weren't present. And so Silke had gritted her teeth and come to the dinner party. Only to find Lyon had arrived ahead of her, looking handsomely remote in a black dinner-suit and snowy white shirt.

It had been easy to avoid talking to him as they sipped their drinks before the meal, Henry eager to introduce his new family to his friends. And Silke had been only too happy to fall in with this arrangement. Although she had been very much aware of Lyon's brooding presence in the room as she laughed and chatted with the other guests.

But as they all took their seats at the beautifully set dinner-table in her mother's new home, it became obvious she wasn't going to be able to ignore Lyon any longer; he was seated right next to her! It should have occurred to her that this might be the case, she now realised. After all, the other eight people here were all married couples; it was only natural, given the circumstances, that Lyon would be her dinner partner for the evening. She cursed the fact now that she hadn't asked if she could bring someone with her. Anyone!

She forced herself to look directly at him now, after having avoided doing so for the last half-hour. Although she had always known exactly where he was in the room, she acknowledged self-derisively. She had needed to know where he was so that she could avoid him!

But his mention now of 'having dinner together' only succeeded in bringing so vividly to mind the evening when they hadn't got as far as having dinner. Because they had ended up in her bed together instead!

She only hoped none of her inner turmoil at that memory showed as she coolly met his gaze. 'So we are,' she returned mildly, sitting back slightly as the avocado accompanied by prawns was placed in front of her.

Lyon waited until he had his own food before speaking to her again. 'Is that jewellery some of your own design?'

It had been the last thing Silke had expected him to say, and she almost choked on a prawn as she turned to look at him. Of all the things he could have said...! What did it matter whether the chunky gold bracelet, earrings and necklace were her design; the two of them had made love a week ago!

But he didn't seem to be troubled by the same memories, was looking at the chunky bracelet on her wrist with cool interest. Well, maybe he just wasn't troubled by those memories; after all, it had hardly been the first time for him, had it? And any concern he might have had that it had been that for her seemed to have gone.

'Yes,' she finally confirmed tautly, swallowing hard, the prawn feeling as if it were stuck in her throat now. And she had the rest of the meal to get through yet-somehow!

She was hardly prepared for him to reach out to clasp her wrist with one of those beautifully tapered hands, lifting her hand towards him. Just the touch of his hand on her flesh was enough to make her want to wrench out of his grasp. It was an impulse she only succeeded in resisting with effort, forcing herself not to show any outward sign of her distress. Although she wasn't sure she had managed to hide the slight trembling of the hand he held...

'It's beautiful,' he murmured huskily, looking up suddenly, velvet-grey eyes holding her gaze.

Silke's breath caught—and held. What was he doing? She glanced about them self-consciously, but none of the other guests appeared to have noticed their exchange, either talking or already eating their food. Silke turned back to Lyon, swallowing hard.

'The bracelet,' he continued softly. 'It's beautiful.'

She had known he meant the bracelet! Of course she had! What else could he have meant? Certainly not her hand? She only hoped the warmth in her cheeks didn't give away the fact that briefly—very briefly!—she had thought that was exactly what he meant.

'Thank you,' she accepted distantly, firmly releasing her wrist before pointedly turning to the man who sat to her left, engaging him in lightly trivial conversation about the food. She couldn't have said anything more to Lyon at that moment if she had tried! And she didn't want to try, wanted a few minutes to collect her scattered wits.

Had Lyon done that deliberately? Did he know exactly how uncomfortable she felt about what had happened between them last week? She couldn't believe he didn't know, not in the circumstances. Was he playing with her? If he-----

'How's James?'

Silke had been deeply lost in thought, her brief conversation over with the man seated to her left, but she looked up sharply at Lyon now, frowning.

'James,' he repeated lightly. 'How is he?'

She eyed him warily. 'James Cameron?'

Dark brows rose over mocking grey eyes. 'Is there another one?'

She wanted to say yes—she knew lots of men named James, but that would have been childish in the extreme. But what possible interest could he have in James... ? 'I believe he is very well,' she answered cautiously.

Lyon continued to look at her with that intently steady gaze. 'Don't you know?'

Silke managed a casually dismissive shrug. 'Why should I?'

He sat back in his high-backed dining chair. 'He's your friend; I thought you would know.'

'James isn't-----' She broke off her angry rebuttal, drawing in a deeply controlling breath. The last thing James was was her friend. Or anything else. As Lyon should know only too well! 'That evening at my flat was the first time I had seen James for a year,' she told him defensively.

'You don't have to explain yourself to me, Silke,' Lyon said mockingly.

No, of course she didn't! Then why was she? Because he had engineered the conversation that way, that was why. Damn him!

She took several deep breaths, glad of the respite of the empty plates being cleared away to give her even more time to rebuild her defences against this man. Although if he continued to wrong-foot her in this way she didn't know how long that would last! She should never have come to this dinner party, should have found an acceptable excuse, no matter how disappointed her mother would have been. She simply wasn't ready to face Lyon yet. She didn't know if she ever would be!

'Except when it comes to who fathers my child,' he added grimly once they were alone again. 'And it won't be Cameron,' he bit out tautly, his relaxed demeanour gone now.

Silke gasped, looking about them self-consciously. But once again no one seemed to be paying any undue attention to them. Thank God.

She turned back indignantly to Lyon, undaunted by the grimness of his expression. So much for his earlier mildness; he had simply lulled her into a false sense of security!

'I'm not pregnant, Lyon,' she hissed firmly.

His eyes narrowed. 'You know that for certain, do you?'

No, of course she didn't. It was too soon. But she wasn't going to be. She couldn't be!

'I won't be,' she told him with certainty.

Lyon gave her a pitying look. 'If you are, you'll marry me.'

Silke stared at him, feeling the colour drain from her cheeks as she did so. He couldn't be serious! But one look at his determinedly set face and she knew he was. Very much so.

She shook her head. 'I wouldn't marry you-----'

'I'm not the last man on earth, Silke,' he cut in mockingly. 'And it wouldn't matter if I were,' he added grimly. 'If you're having my child, I intend being its father. And not from a distance either.'

'This is ridiculous-----'

'The whole situation is ridiculous,' he acknowledged harshly. 'Nevertheless, it exists.'

Silke felt ill, could see by the determined look on his face that he meant exactly what he said. And she already knew him well enough to know that there would be little escaping him if she did—by some terrible mischance!—happen to be pregnant. Oh, God! She might have fallen in love with Lyon, but she knew he certainly didn't love her, and any marriage made on those conditions had to be doomed to failure. Would be hell on earth, in fact.

She could feel the nausea rising up within her, knew she was seriously in danger of being sick as her next course of food was placed in front of her. One look at the beef—even beautifully presented as it was— and she knew it was no longer just a possibility, getting up hurriedly from the table to rush from the room, only just making it to the bathroom in time before losing the contents of her stomach.

'It's OK, Silke,' soothed an all too familiar voice as she stood with her burning forehead resting against the coolness of the mirror that covered the whole of the back wall of the bathroom. 'Here.' Lyon turned her gently round, placing a coldly damp facecloth against her forehead.