The Threat of Love

'Any joy?' her father asked, putting his head round her door on the third morning.

'None,' she grimly told him, grabbing up her handbag and walking purposefully towards him.

'Where are you going?' asked Fred, backing to let her through the door.

'Where I should have gone in the first place. Westbrooks.'

'Good luck!' Fred called after her as she made for the lift. He was relieved that it wasn't he who had to deal with Gil Martell. Dealing with Lady Westbrook would be ordeal enough for Fred when the time came. He was saving his energy.

Caro didn't attempt to go straight up to the managing director's office when she reached Westbrooks. She began on the ground floor and made a deliberately slow progress from counter to counter, from floor to floor, making notes, watching a demonstration in the makeup department, checking out a new perfume on special offer, tasting a French cheese in the food hall, studying a display of new German kitchen equipment on the home and garden floor, fingering towels and sheets, checking chinaware and glass, radio sets and the latest electronic robot in the toy department.

She was cruising slowly around the fashion floor when she spotted a black dress of elegant cut and style by her favourite designer. Caro loved it on sight, and just had to try it on.

She took it into a fitting-room and was standing in the cubicle in her slip, bra and panties when somebody pulled back the curtain. Caro jumped, staring into the mirror in startled surprise, and saw Gil Martell's angry face reflected behind her own.

'OK, what are you up to?' he bit out. Behind him, Caro saw faces—the assistant who was in charge of the fitting-rooms, a middle-aged customer with a dress over her arm. Turning pink, Caro crossly said, 'Pull that curtain back! There are people staring!'

Gil glanced into the mirror, frowningly saw their audience, but instead of drawing the curtain and leaving her alone he stepped into the cubicle and joined her, pulling the curtain to isolate them both. Outside they heard the others hurriedly walking away.

Caro backed, suddenly breathless. The tiny space seemed much tinier with Gil in it. He dominated it and made her even more conscious of being half naked.

'Go away,' she said shakily, turning her back on him, but that didn't help because Gil watched her in the mirror, standing right behind her. He was wearing a formal dark suit, pin-striped, expensively tailored, with a tight-fitting waistcoat beneath the open jacket; but the formality couldn't hide that assertive masculinity.

'Oh, no, not until you tell me what you're doing, hanging around here again!' he said, staring at the reflection of her body, the smooth, creamy skin, the pale shoulders, full, round breasts in their lacy cups, the silky expanse of waist and hip beneath the transparent white slip. His eyes moved downward to the outline of her tiny briefs, the long, slim thighs, and Caro began to tremble, and was angry with herself. Why did he make her feel this way? If this was a beach she wouldn't be embarrassed by lying about in far less than she was wearing now. Why did it make her go hot and cold to have Gil Martell staring at her?

She grabbed up her dress and held it in front of herself. 'You wouldn't answer my phone calls. This was the only way I could think of to make you take some notice of me!'

His dark eyes glittered. 'You want me to take notice of you? Well, I wouldn't want to disappoint you when you're so desperate for my attention.'

Caro turned scarlet. 'I didn't mean that, and you know

I didn't--- ' She broke off with a cry of shock as his arms came round her.

'Don't!'

With one hand he snatched her dress away and dropped it on a chair, while the other hand stroked softly, lingeringly, down her body, from breast to thigh. She couldn't stop or conceal the shaking of her limbs, the heated blood filling her face.

Outside the cubicle a new customer had arrived; they heard the clip of her footsteps, the swish of the curtain rings.

'Let go of me! Go away and let me get dressed!' Caro whispered, afraid of making a scene in public. She couldn't get over the shock and embarrassment of being dragged through the store by his detective the other day. She had thought that, when Gil knew she was in Westbrooks again, he would have come rushing down to find her and order her to come to his office. She certainly hadn't expected him to act like this. 'How dare you touch me? Let go,' she muttered.

Gil didn't answer, he didn't let go of her; he smiled at her in the mirror, a taunting, derisive smile, as he moved in closer, his body pressing against her back, his head lowered to her bare shoulder, his mouth cool and tantalising on her skin.

'You have a lovely body,' he said softly. 'Very sexy.' His fingers slid inside the silk and lace to caress her warm breasts and Caro caught her breath, shuddering with helpless pleasure.

Gil was watching her in the mirror; he could read the betraying signals, the parted lips, the quickened breathing, the colour coming and going, the faint but visible trembling, and mockery gleamed in his dark eyes.

'But tempting though you are, I'm busy today, so I'll have to get back to work, I'm afraid,' he drawled, letting go of her.

Humiliation and relief fought in Caro's mind; she stumbled away from him, tremblingly picked up her dress again and began struggling into it, avoiding his watching amusement.

'The first time I saw you, I disliked you, Mr Martell,' she said thickly. 'The second time I met you, I disliked you even more, and now I realise you are not going to improve on closer acquaintance. On the contrary—I'm fast deciding that I hate the sight of you.'

He laughed. 'Odd, that wasn't the impression you gave just now.'

Her colour darkened, and she bit her lip.

'And I don't hate the sight of you,' he went on in that mocking voice. 'Especially the way you looked before you put that dress back on! Do you have to? I prefer you without it. I wouldn't call you pretty, but you have a terrific figure; all those lovely, rich curves in the right places.'