War of Love

'A pity you didn't pay Confectionery a visit some time this morning,' Lyon Buchanan told him icily. 'Would you like to tell me what that is?'

'That' was Silke!

She had recovered enough from the shock of realising exactly who this man was to look up to see what Lyon Buchanan was talking about, only to discover he was looking directly at her. She was 'that'. Her shock was replaced by indignation as she realised he was once again talking about her as if she weren't a person, with feelings, but an object to be discussed. And she didn't care who he was, he still had no right-----

'Good God!' Doug Moore, the man who had been perfectly charming to her earlier this morning when they met—probably because of his penchant for 'pretty, youthful nubiles'—was now looking at her with something approaching horror. 'I—my God...!' he said again, weakly this time, looking in need of a chair himself now. Except that there wasn't another one available!

'A bunny girl, Doug,' Lyon Buchanan rasped with feeling. 'You employed a damned bunny girl in a costume so revealing that every lecher within a hundred miles made a beeline for her.' He looked pointedly at his uncle. 'A bunny girl,' he repeated again, as if he could still hardly believe it, 'to give away our line of chocolate Easter bunnies. When it should have been a cute fluffy rabbit children would find appealing!'

At last Silke was being given an insight into exactly why she had been dragged off the shop floor and up here to the office of Lyon Buchanan himself—and it had nothing to do with what she had said to his uncle Henry! She had wondered at his puzzlement earlier concerning her accusations towards his uncle; now she knew it was because he had had no idea of the verbal encounter between his Uncle Henry and herself; the way his uncle had informed him she was dressed appeared to be the problem!

'Forgive me if I'm wrong, Doug,' Lyon Buchanan continued smoothly—his tone saying he knew damn well he wasn't the one in the wrong, that he rarely, if ever, was! 'But I thought we had agreed, during the meeting concerning this particular promotion, that we would contact an agency and take on someone who would-----'

'Wear a cute, fluffy bunny costume while giving away the chocolates,' Doug Moore finished weakly, staring at Silke in the revealing costume as if he still couldn't quite believe his eyes. 'I don't understand how the mistake could have happened-----'

'Oh, you admit there's been a mistake?' his employer prompted with raised brows, still supremely confident in the mistake's not being of his making.

Just as Silke was. But she wasn't sure it was completely Doug Moore's either; the instructions her mother had received had been ambiguous to say the least—a simple request for a girl in a bunny costume to promote a line at the store. And when Silke had reported to Doug Moore this morning she hadn't been in costume, had changed in the staff-room later, so neither of them had realised then that the mistake had been made. And that appeared to be what this was: a genuine mistake, brought about through lack of information on both sides.

Although from the look of increasing anger on Lyon Buchanan's face he wasn't going to be satisfied with that explanation! But it was the truth, so what more could any of them say?

'Buchanan's has a reputation to uphold,' he told his personnel manager icily. 'And I don't believe having a barely clothed bunny girl in fishnet tights parading around the store is quite the image-----'

'I'm not wearing fishnet tights!' Silke cut in indignantly as she stood up; she had drawn the line at that part of the costume that had been supplied to her, preferring to wear her own sheer black tights. Not much of an improvement, she knew, when the entire length of her legs was visible, but it was better than those awful things that had arrived with the rented costume.

Lyon Buchanan looked down the long length of his autocratic nose at her. 'In that case, you have a series of holes in the tights you are wearing, which is just as bad-----'

'What can you expect?' Silke demanded indignantly, her cheeks burning hotly from where she had looked down and realised he was right about the holes in her tights; there were at least half a dozen in the right leg, and another two on the left. And she hated ladders or holes in her tights, usually carried a spare pair around with her when she was out; but there was nowhere in the briefness of this costume that she could have put a spare pair of tights. 'After the way you manhandled me earlier-----'

'Really, Lyon,' his uncle drawled drily, eyes twinkling merrily once again. 'It's good to realise you have more than the stuffy Buchanan blood running through your veins after all; that you found the young lady's charms equally-----'

'Don't be more ridiculous than you normally are, Henry,' Lyon Buchanan cut in impatiently.

'Exactly,' Silke snapped, equally unimpressed with the idea of this man's making any overt moves where she was concerned; she thought he was the most insufferable man she had ever met! 'I realise—now— that there has been some sort of mix-up concerning the sort of bunny costume you wanted-----'

'Oh, you realise it too, do you?' Lyon Buchanan turned to her harshly. 'Well, I'm—for God's sake take that ridiculous head off; I refuse to carry on a conversation with a girl wearing a bunny girl costume and a rabbit's head with buck teeth!'

He didn't have to point out how stupid the white fluffy rabbit head looked, with its long floppy ears, a nose that twitched when she talked, and the un-realistically long front teeth. He didn't have to, but it was just like this man—she had quickly come to realise!—to do so!

Her face flushed with embarrassment as much as with anger, Silke reached up to release the Velcro at the back of the mask, bending her head down to peel the fluffy mask away, shaking her hair back over her shoulders as she finally looked at the three men completely as herself, Silke Jordan, her silver-blonde hair long and straight to her shoulderblades, green eyes surrounded by thick dark lashes, her nose small and straight, her mouth full and pink, her chin pointed.

The admiration she had seen on Doug Moore's face this morning returned to his eyes, and even Lyon Buchanan was looking at her with a certain amount of male assessment now. But it was the reaction of Uncle Henry—Silke didn't know what else to call him; there certainly hadn't been any opportunity for introductions!—that took them all by surprise. He took one look at Silke—and instantly collapsed back in his chair, clutching the left side of his chest, dropping the stub of his cigar on the carpeted floor as he did so!

CHAPTER TWO

Silke had had some reactions in the past to the way she looked, the largeness of emerald-green eyes and her full pouting mouth having caused emotions from mild interest to outright lechery, depending on the man's taste in women. But she had never before known a man collapse just at the sight of her face!

The three people in the room still standing took several seconds to realise exactly what had happened, and then—predictably—Lyon Buchanan was the first to move.

'What the hell-----?' He quickly reached his uncle's

side, his earlier disparagement of the older man completely belied by the concern now etched into his face, grim lines beside his nose and mouth as he moved to loosen his uncle's tie and release the top button of his shirt. 'Henry!' he prompted determinedly. 'Uncle Henry!' he urged again when he received no response, reaching for his uncle's jacket now.

'I don't think you should move him.' Silke put out the cigar before going down on her haunches beside the two men.

Grey eyes were turned on her like rapiers. 'I wasn't going to!' Lyon Buchanan rasped harshly. 'I was looking for these.' He held up a bottle of pills he had taken from the inside pocket of his uncle's jacket. 'Put one of these under your tongue, Henry,' he instructed the elderly man firmly, and his uncle roused himself enough to take the pill into his mouth, the room be-coming deathly still as they waited for the pill to take effect.

Pained grey eyes finally blinked open, the older man focusing on Lyon with effort. 'I—what happened?' his uncle said groggily as he began to straighten in the chair, his recovery rapid now.

Lyon Buchanan moved back slightly, the concern that had etched his face minutes before replaced by his usual cynicism. 'One bunny girl too many, I believe,' he drawled derisively, giving Silke a scathing look, his worry about his uncle's health—and Silke wasn't sure now whether or not she had imagined it!— completely gone.

And, in fact, his uncle did look completely recovered, the colour back in his cheeks, only the merriment in his eyes slightly dulled. His expression was apologetic as he once again looked at Silke. 'Sorry about that, my dear. I—I was just—surprised, when I saw you.' He gave a rueful grimace at what he now seemed to feel was an embarrassing incident.

'You don't usually react that way to a beautiful woman,' Lyon Buchanan drawled mockingly, moving to sit back behind his imposing desk. 'Perhaps age is finally catching up with you after all!'

'Don't you believe it, boy,' his uncle rallied with some of his earlier spirit. 'And don't be too hard on this young lady either.' He turned to give Silke a conspiratorial smile. 'There has obviously been a genuine mistake made. And if I had realised my coming up here to congratulate you on finally moving out of the stuffy Buchanan mould by introducing a lovely bunny girl into the store would result in this young lady's being hauled over the coals in the way that she has been, I would have kept my mouth shut.' He reached out and clasped Silke's hand. 'I'm sorry, my dear, but I don't know your name... ?'