Bedded by Blackmail

He felt that anger lick at him like black flame and he doused it. He did not need to feel angry with Portia Lanchester for despising him for what he was. He need only desire her—and enjoy her.

He shifted his weight minutely from one leg to the other. At another time he might have enjoyed playing with her a little long

er, as a cat with its prey. But, abruptly, he wanted now only to go in for the kill. He would break her arrogance, her aristocratic disdain, with a single blow, as a cat would break the neck of the prey caught in its claws.

He spoke briefly and brusquely, not bothering to soften the blow he aimed at her.

‘Your brother has got himself up to his neck in debt—he’s put Salton up as security.’

The words fell with killing force.

She heard them, but she didn’t hear them. They seemed to come from very far away, and then right up close. For a long, timeless moment she just went on sitting there, ice all the way through her, wondering what it was she had just heard Diego Saez tell her.

Only three words registered—debt, Salton, security.

Then behind the words came a kind of sickness, like some huge, overwhelming tidal wave, engulfing her.

‘No—’

Her voice was so faint it was scarcely audible. But he heard it. His face remained expressionless. When he spoke he was merciless.

‘Loring Lanchester has become a byword for bad investments. It’s sinking faster than a stone in water. Your brother hasn’t a hope in hell of dragging it clear. He’s put Salton up as security because no one will bail him out. But it won’t be enough. It will go. Along with the rest of the bank.’

She stared at him. The obsidian eyes were looking down at her. There was no expression in them—nothing. They might have been the eyes of some Aztec statue—indifferent, blank.

She tried to gather her thoughts, picking them up like bits of paper gusting in the wind. She realised she had got to her feet, but had no conscious memory of doing so. And she still had to look up into those eyes, those dark, shuttered eyes set in that dark, sublime face.

He had just said something so absurd, so ridiculous, that she could not find the words to refute him. As if explaining something to a child, she spoke.

‘Mr Saez, I appreciate that you are used to the extreme volatility of the economy of South America, where banks crash and currencies become worthless overnight, but I’m afraid you must appreciate that here in England things are very different. Loring Lanchester is one hundred and fifty years old. It is one of the most highly regarded merchant banks in the City. There can be no question, no question whatsoever, of it being in trouble. Loring Lanchester is one of the soundest, most financially secure—’

‘Loring Lanchester is broke.’ Diego Saez’s voice cut across her clipped tones with harsh brutality.

Something stabbed at Portia. It was fear—a slicing, shearing stab of fear. She thrust it aside.

‘Mr Saez, I simply don’t think you understand how business is done in this country!’ Her voice had risen slightly in pitch. Her hands tightened on the edges of her cardigan.

His face was still blank. For some reason that made the fear slice at her again.

His voice was a dark drawl. ‘I understand that when a bank makes loans that are massively defaulted on then it is broke. Loring Lanchester has done just that. Your brother has made a series of disastrous decisions, resulting in a loan portfolio that hasn’t a chance in hell of paying out! He’s loaned the bank’s money to every no-hope venture going—from Eastern Europe to Africa to the most tin-pot banana republic you can name! He’ll have to write off just about all of it! And he doesn’t even have any income to begin to cover him—the last two years of recession have seen merger and acquisition activity plummet, and bankers’ fees with it! M&As may be picking up now, but it’s not going to be enough to bail out Loring Lanchester. Nothing can. Your brother has been trawling the City for cash—but no one’s about to bail him out. No one! He’s going to lose it all. And Salton.’

She was reeling. Reeling as if a hurricane had caught her in its pitiless teeth.

‘Salton belongs to Tom outright! It’s not part of the bank!’

His eyes flashed derisively.

‘You weren’t listening, were you? He’s already put Salton up as security. It will go with the rest of the bank. The house and estate are just about the only solid assets he’s got!’

She shook her head. There was a muzziness in her brain. This wasn’t true. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be…

She had to get away. Had to. Had to find Tom. Get him to tell her it wasn’t true. That this awful, awful man was simply telling lies—vile, ugly lies. It wasn’t true. Wasn’t true!

She stumbled away. A hand whipped out, securing her arm.

‘I’ve already told you. There’s no point running, Portia.’

His voice was too close. His body was too close. She could smell, with an overpowering sense of nausea, the scent of his aftershave, could feel the crushing presence of his body, too close to hers. She tried to tug away, but she was powerless.