‘I see I’m not the only one who needed to escape,’ drawled a husky male voice.
Callie turned almost guiltily, her eyes widening as she looked at the man who had interrupted her solitude—tall, with dark, almost black hair, a rivetingly handsome face, the dark dinner suit perfectly tailored, as was the white hand-made silk shirt. She looked up into darkly grey eyes, and wondered why she hadn’t noticed him at the party earlier—he was hardly the type to be overlooked.
He closed the door behind him, instantly shutting out the noise of the party, and walked across the room with long, relaxed strides, looking at the book in her hand. ‘Jane Eyre,’ he mused. ‘You like the story?’
His voice was deep and well modulated. ‘Yes,’ she blushed her confusion. ‘Have you read it?’
He smiled, instantly looking younger than the mid-thirties she had guessed him to be, his teeth very white against his tanned skin, looking ruggedly attractive this close to rather than handsome. ‘I think everyone should read Jane Eyre at least once,’ he drawled.
Callie held the book in front of her almost defensively, something about this man warning her he was dangerous. ‘Which means you have?’ she persisted.
‘Twice, actually.’
‘So you liked it.’
‘I think Rochester could have been a little kinder to Jane.’ He shrugged. ‘But if he had been perhaps she wouldn’t have fallen for him. You women are reputed to fall for the bastards of life.’
Callie flushed her resentment of such a generalisation. ‘We can’t pick and choose whom we love—neither men nor women. And Mr Rochester wasn’t kind to Jane because he was conscious of his mad wife.’
The man sat down in one of the armchairs, looking very relaxed. ‘If he had been that conscious of her he would have sent her away as soon as he realised he was becoming attracted to her.’
Her mouth twisted. ‘Unfortunately most humans aren’t that self-sacrificing.’
He eyed her curiously for several seconds, obviously liking what he saw. ‘Before we come to blows perhaps I should introduce myself. I’m Logan Carrington,’ he introduced softly.
‘Callie Day,’ she returned stiffly.
‘I’ve upset you,’ he said ruefully. ‘I didn’t mean to. Jane Eyre is a favourite of yours, hmm?’
‘Yes.’ She sighed, beginning to smile at her intensity. ‘Sorry,’ she shrugged, ‘they say you should never get into a discussion about religion or politics, but with me it’s books. Everyone gets something different out of them.’
‘Truce?’
‘Truce.’ She smiled openly now, very attractive in a dress the brown of her eyes, her hair made to look even blonder against its dark colour.
He sat forward to put his hand out to her. ‘Friends?’
She hesitated for only a fraction of a second before placing her hand in his. ‘Friends,’ she agreed huskily.
The touch of his hand against hers was only fleeting, and yet her ringers seemed to tingle from the contact before she hastily thrust her hand behind her back and placed the book back on the shelf. She turned to find him still watching her.
‘Do I have a smut on my nose or something?’ she challenged, not being used to being stared at in this way.
Logan Carrington smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘Nothing like that,’ he shook his head. ‘I was just wondering why a beautiful girl like you would shut herself away in here when the party is out there.’
‘Maybe for the same reason you’ve come in here,’ she returned, a glow coming to her cheeks at being called beautiful.
‘I doubt it,’ he grimaced. ?
??Unless you have secretary trouble?’
‘No,’ she laughed. ‘I am a secretary.’
Much to Marilyn’s disgust she had kept on with her job, sure that the bubble of her sudden wealth would burst and leave her penniless. She could do without being jobless too. She had been brought up with a sense of values, of having to work for what she had, and it was going to take months, not weeks, to accept that she no longer had to work. Besides, the question of Jeff’s will hadn’t been settled yet, and she didn’t intend spending money she didn’t even have.
‘You are?’ Logan Carrington looked interested.
‘And very happily employed, thank you,’ she told him hastily.