Fire Beneath the Ice

"I'm talking about sleeping with your wife's best friend and then giving her husband a job to keep her available," she said scathingly.

"What? The word was a pistol-shot in the close confines of the car but his face had frozen, the lines round his mouth and eyes standing out in startling contrast to the rest of his tanned skin. And as she looked into his face, into the icy blue eyes, she knew she had made a terrible mistake.

"Sue said--' “I don't care what the hell Sue said," he snarled softly. "

Surely it didn't take you above one minute to see the sort of woman she is?

She's rotten, Lydia, right through. Life has soured her to the point where she is no good to herself or anyone else. She makes Doug's life hell. “He took a deep breath and then spoke more softly, but still with a cold, deadly intensity that frightened her half to death.

"I knew her long before I met Miranda, when she was just seventeen and I was nineteen, and for a time we had some fun together. Then she got on to the model circuit and everything changed. She changed. But we still moved in the same set and when Miranda came along. “He shrugged tightly.

"I guess they had the work in common. She married Doug three years ago when the modelling contracts began to dry up, and when he lost his job eighteen months ago she suggested I give him an interview. Suggested. That all.

Doug got the job on his excellent capabilities. He knows that and I know it and, for the record, Sue knows it too," he added grimly.

"Wolf--' " Doug is not just an employee, he's a friend," he _growled softly.

She shrank back against the cushioned seat and he gave a small, mirthless smile.

"I've never raised a hand in anger to a woman before but you, Lydia, you push me to the limit. Have I cross-questioned you about Mike Wilson? Have I?

And I had every right, believe me, but I tried to believe--' He stopped abruptly.

"Oh, to hell with it."

Mike Wilson? she thought helplessly. What had he got to do anything?

What was he thinking about her? "Wolf, I don't understand--' " What do you see when you look at me? “He cut into her voice savagely, his face ruthless.

"Some creature from the pit with horns and a forked tail? Do you seriously think I would employ a man, a good, honest man, for the sole purpose of sleeping with his wife when I felt the need? I haven't touched Sue in eighteen years, although for the whole of that time she's made it very clear she was ready and willing, even before Miranda died." He gave her a last scathing glance of biting disgust and turned the ignition key, his face white.

They drove back to the hotel in absolute silence, and mercifully Lydia was numb with shock. She realised she had played right into Sue's hands.

Somehow the tall brunette had sensed the attraction between Wolf and his secretary and had been determined to destroy what she didn't quite understand. And Lydia had believed her, or tried to believe her. The thought pierced the numbness as they reached the hotel grounds. She had wanted to believe the worst of Wolf, needed to; it had been protection against this deadly, overwhelming attraction that made her putty in his hands. If she could despise him, work up some disdain and scorn for the man she thought he was, it would have been a defence against her own feelings for him. Because, although she knew he didn't _want any lasting commitment with a woman, although she knew his heart, if he had one, was as cold as ice, everything in her wanted to throw herself at his feet. And that had been what she was fighting, not him.

"Goodnight, Lydia." He left her immediately they entered the suite, without giving her a chance to say anything, walking into his bedroom and shutting the door with a dismissive controlled click. She would have preferred he slam it hard. At least that way it would have shown he had some feeling about her left. She stood in the lounge for a few seconds more, her head whirling, and then went to her own room on leaden feet.

Well, she had what she wanted now. She stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror, misty through her tears. He would leave her alone. She had killed even that strange animal passion he had felt for her. She hugged herself tightly round the waist, the image in the mirror blurring still more.

So why didn't she feel relieved, comforted, reassured? Why did she feel as though the world, her world, had just shattered into a million tiny, sharp, piercing little pieces?

CHAPTER EIGHT

Surprisingly, when she surfaced from a thick, deep, heavy sleep the next morning, she realised she had slept the night away. A combination of mental and physical exhaustion along with practically no rest the night before had worked like a powerful sleeping-draught in spite of her overwhelming misery.

She glanced at the clock and then looked again more sharply. Ten o'clock?

It couldn't be saying ten o'clock? She leant closer and heard the steady rhythmic tick. She must have slept through the alarm at half-past six. She turned the small clock upside- down and saw to her dismay she hadn't set it the night before. Damn! She leapt out of bed with her heart pounding.

What would Wolf think? Why hadn't he called her, knocked on the door?

Where was he?

She hastily pulled her silk dressing-gown over the matching pale blue nightie and felt for her fluffy mules under the bed, catching sight of her ruffled reflection in the mirror as she did so. She looked a mess but she hadn't got time to worry about that now. Was Wolf at the office? She'd have to ring this was awful.

She wrenched open her door and had taken two or three steps into the lounge before she realised Wolf was sitting at the table in a replay of the previous morning, newspaper open, table full, and a steaming cup of black coffee in front of him.

"Good morning." The newspaper lowered, and just for an instant she saw surprise at her. attire flash across the hard, handsome face before the