War of Love

Lyon nodded dismissively. 'Good!' he said with satisfaction. 'Then what are these plans? No,' he added firmly. 'Before you tell me what you're thinking of doing, let me tell you of the offer Buchanan's wants to make to you.'

'No!' She sat up abruptly, dark green eyes flashing a warning. 'I don't want Buchanan's to "make me an offer"-----'

'Buchanan's—or me?' he grated harshly.

'Aren't they one and the same?' she challenged.

'Possibly,' he conceded softly.

'Definitely,' she said with feeling. 'And less than two weeks ago you believed I was nothing but a little gold-digger who intended marrying your uncle for what I could get! The fact that it was my mother who married Henry instead doesn't change that fact, and I have no intention of accepting anything from you or Buchanan's!'

'It's not a question of accepting anything-----'

'Yes, it is,' she interrupted with feeling. 'What happened between us last week hasn't helped the situation either.' Colour darkened her cheeks even as she mentioned the subject.

His mouth tightened. 'This offer has nothing to do with that!'

'Doesn't it?' she scorned. 'I doubt very much that's true. You had absolutely no interest in my designs until then.'

'I hadn't seen any of them then!' Lyon rasped, eyes lightly grey.

'You haven't seen any of them now!' Silke returned heatedly. 'The set I was wearing on Saturday is not enough for you to base a serious decision like this-----'

'I'm a businessman, Silke,' he cut in harshly. 'I never make business decisions lightly. Of course I've seen other of your designs, as have the rest of the board. And we all agreed that-----'

'Just a minute,' she interrupted softly, holding up a silencing hand. 'When did you see any other of my designs?' She looked at him searchingly.

He returned that gaze just as searchingly, the anger and suspicion in her face unmistakable. 'Hmm,' he finally murmured. 'I have a feeling we have a serious problem here.'

Silke's gaze didn't waver. 'When did you see other of my designs, Lyon?' she repeated evenly, the flashing of her eyes belying that calmness.

He shrugged. 'Last week. At the board meeting. All the board saw them.'

'And just how did my designs get into your board meeting, Lyon?' she asked steadily. But she knew. Of course she knew!

How dared they? And she knew it had to be 'they'; Henry might have the arrogance to present her designs to Buchanan's board without her permission, but she didn't for one moment believe he had been the one to acquire them from her flat in the first place. Her mother had to have been involved in this too. And Silke was furious at their interference in her life in this underhand way.

Lyon drew in a deeply controlling breath. 'Henry didn't have your permission to show them, did he?' he said slowly, eyes narrowed thoughtfully on her flushed face.

'Of course he didn't,' she snapped. 'I told him exactly what I thought of the idea of my designs being introduced at Buchanan's!'

Lyon nodded. 'Because you genuinely don't believe your designs are good enough—or because of me?'

The colour deepened in her cheeks. 'Of course my designs are good enough-----' She broke off abruptly, her gaze challenging as she saw the derision in his face at her admission of its being him that was the problem.

Well, she would be lying if she claimed otherwise; no one in their right mind, in normal circumstances, would pass up the opportunity to market their jewellery designs in a prestigious store like Buchanan's. And she might not be a lot of things, but she was definitely in her right mind. But these were not normal circumstances, and she had no intention of using her new family connection to achieve that end.

'So it's me,' Lyon said softly.

'Not for the reason you think!' she denied heatedly.

Dark brows rose over silver-grey eyes. 'And what reason do I think?' he challenged evenly.

'Look, Lyon-----' she stood up, moving away from him, needlessly tightening the belt on her towelling robe '—I don't feel like playing games-----'

'I'm not playing games, Silke.' He had stood up too, was now standing dangerously close behind her. Dangerously. Because when he was this close to her Silke couldn't even think straight, let alone try and match him in a verbal way. 'Why am I such a problem to you?'

'You aren't a—problem—to—me...' She had spun round to vehemently deny the claim—only to then realise just how close Lyon was, standing only inches away from her now, Silke staring up at him with widely apprehensive eyes.

He reached out to touch the heat of one of her cheeks with cool fingertips. 'I don't think that's exactly true, Silke,' he murmured huskily. 'And you're certainly a problem for me,' he added gruffly.

She swallowed hard, mesmerised by his darkly powerful face. 'I am?' she said breathlessly, completely unable to move away from the caress of his hand.

'You are,' he nodded, his gaze locked with hers.

She moistened suddenly dry lips—instantly stopping the action when she saw how his gaze darkened at the movement. 'Why?'

He gave a half-smile, slightly self-derisive. 'You've been a problem for me since the moment I first saw you at the store in that ridiculous bunny girl costume!' He shook his head at the memory.

Silke still cringed at the thought of that day. 'I can't go on apologising for that mistake for the rest of my life-----'

'I wasn't asking you to apologise,' Lyon dismissed lightly. 'I don't think you-----'

'Am I interrupting something?'

Silke spun round self-consciously at the sound of Henry's voice, realising as she saw the speculation in curious grey eyes how damning the situation must look with Lyon and herself standing close together like this, Lyon's hand still resting against her cheek, a cheek now grown even warmer in her feeling of awkwardness.

'I thought I might join the two of you for a swim,' Henry continued drily, holding up his towel as proof of his claim. 'But I can see I'll just be in the way,' he added with some amusement.

It was totally the wrong thing for him to say as far as Silke was concerned. After what he had done last week, how dared he come in here talking in that indulgently patronising tone, implying—well, just implying! The last thing she wanted was for Henry to get the wrong impression about Lyon and herself; she would never hear the end of it, from either Henry or her mother.

She moved pointedly away from Lyon, deliberately not looking at him now either, although she could sense his gaze on her. She glared at Henry. 'You aren't in the way at all, Henry,' she bit out tautly. 'In fact, you're just the person I wanted to see!'

'Oh, dear,' he grimaced, frowning. 'I recognise that light of battle in your eyes, Silke; you look just the way your mother did at eighteen.'

'I probably feel the same way my mother did at eighteen!' she snapped impatiently. 'You undoubtedly walked all over her feelings too!'

Henry's frown deepened. 'What have I done now?'

'I should take care if I were you, Henry,' Lyon drawled, stepping back—as if he were about to stand back and enjoy watching the show. 'You're standing on very shaky ground. And, actually, in this case, I happen to agree with Silke,' he added seriously.

She looked at him in surprise. 'You do?'

His mouth quirked with humour. 'I do,' he confirmed drily.

She gave him a frustrated glare before turning away to look at Henry again, the anger still in her face. 'You and Mummy had no right to take my designs out of my flat-----'

'Ah,' Henry gave a guilty grimace. 'But Silke, we were only thinking of you,' he added in a cajoling tone. 'Your designs are brilliant; I don't know why someone hasn't snapped them up years ago. And-----'

'Stop the flattery, Henry,' she cut in forcefully. 'You had no right doing what you did without my permission!' Her eyes flashed deeply green.

'It's probably a criminal offence,' Lyon put in softly.

It was his uncle's turn to glare now. 'You stay out of this, Lyon,' Henry snapped.

'Just pointing out a relevant fact,' Lyon shrugged, the amusement still in his eyes.

'Just enjoying yourself, you mean,' his uncle accused in a disgruntled voice.

Lyon gave another dismissive shrug, moving to sit on one of the loungers. 'Don't mind me,' he invited lightly, looking up at the two of them as Silke and Henry faced each other across the pool like adversaries.

Which, as far as Silke was concerned, at this moment, they were. But, nevertheless, she had no intention of putting on a show for Lyon. No matter how angry she was with Henry!

'I have no intention of even discussing this further,' she bit out tautly, that angry flush still in her cheeks. 'I think what you and Mummy did was despicable,' she told Henry with feeling.

'I agree,' Lyon put in softly.

'And as for you-----' Silke turned on him furiously

'—I don't even want to hear the offer you were going to make me! We both know it actually has nothing to do with my designs, and neither of us owes the other anything just because of what happened between us last week.' She was breathing hard in her deep agitation.

What Lyon was doing was tantamount to 'payment for services rendered'—an obligation he felt because of her innocence before that night!

'What happened between the two of you last week?' Henry put in curiously.

Silke looked at him with stricken eyes, realising exactly what she had done; Henry was nothing if not determined, and she doubted he would let this go now that he sensed there was more to Silke's relationship to Lyon than either he or her mother could have possibly guessed. But that was Lyon's problem. She was getting out of here, as far away from these two men as possible!

But before she could make a move, Lyon spoke. 'Mind your own business,' he told the older man coldly.

'But-----'

'Stay out of this, Henry.' Lyon stood up, turning to Silke now, the coldness leaving his expression. 'Silke, we-----'