Heading For Trouble!. Linda Miles

sharing with Elaine. I just wanted to get a few things before you came up.’

      ‘I see.’ His face was unreadable. ‘Sorry. I hadn’t realised you’d been put in with Elaine to give me a room for myself.’

      Morgan detected a criticism of the sleeping arrangements in this remark, and sprang automatically to Elaine’s defence.

      ‘I hope you don’t mind being put in my room,’ she said apologetically. ‘Leah is rather conservative, and she doesn’t—er—’

      ‘Like people doing the dirty deed under her roof?’ he completed helpfully.

      ‘No! That is-’

      ‘Never mind, I get the picture. Raving sex maniac that I am, I’ll naturally have to endure agonies of frustration—’

      Morgan was surprised to detect a note of annoyance in his voice. ‘I never said that,’ she protested. Why on earth was he being so prudish all of a sudden? He was supposed to be the sophisticated one. He was the one who’d just been kissing Elaine outside the door.

      ‘You implied something very like it.’ He thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘To tell the truth, it never occurred to me that we might share a room,’ he added offhandedly. ‘Do you think Elaine expected it?’

      ‘No, but-’

      ‘You thought it up all by yourself. How kind.’

      Morgan reminded herself that she had promised Elaine to behave like a civilised adult. Civilised! She’d like to black his eye. Her right hand automatically curled into a serviceable fist; she forced it open again. No.

      ‘I’m sorry to have barged in,’ she said in a carefully controlled voice. ‘I’ll clear out now.’

      There was a short pause, and when he spoke again she had the impression that he too had been reminding himself of the demands of civilised behaviour.

      ‘No, don’t go,’ he said, and he began to move towards her, the spark of devilry very bright in his eyes. ‘We’ve some unfinished business.’

      He’d remembered. Morgan stared at him in horror. ‘H-have we?’ she stammered.

      ‘Of course.’ He paused automatically, with his familiar and maddening instinct for timing, then added, ‘I wanted to apologise for this afternoon, remember?’

      With the rush of relief came anger. How dared he torment her and then turn around and pretend to be polite? ‘But you already have,’ said Morgan guilelessly.

      ‘What? When?’ he asked, startled.

      ‘This afternoon,’ she replied instantly. ‘You said, “All right, damn you,” when you saw the children. I distinctly heard you.’

      His eyes met hers for an electric moment, and then, to her astonishment, he laughed out loud—not the short, cynical laugh which was his stock-in-trade, but an unpremeditated shout of laughter which seemed to involve the whole of that long, lean body. The grey eyes, meeting hers, seemed to sparkle with delight.

      ‘Where have you been all my life?’ he asked, grinning. ‘I did very handsomely admit to being in the wrong, now you come to mention it—but let’s say I feel I owe you a more conventional apology. Do you forgive me?’

      ‘Yes,’ said Morgan.

      He did not seem entirely satisfied by this. ‘I know I overreacted—there’s something about persecution by fans that brings out the worst in one. I don’t know how the real superstars stand it year in year out; as far as I’m concerned, the past couple of years have been absolute hell, never knowing when some fool of a woman is going to do something perfectly idiotic—’

      He broke off, and gave her a rerun of the charming smile. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean that the way it sounds. The worst of it is it makes every other woman think you must have a swollen head—that you must go round expecting every woman you meet to fall flat on her back the moment you say hello.’

      Morgan found that she was literally grinding her teeth at this self-congratulating excuse for an apology. What a charlatan the man was! Was she really supposed to fall for this? Answer—yes, like a ton of bricks.

      ‘Oh, I’m sure you’d buy a girl a drink,’ she said, suppressing several pithy replies.

      ‘Or even two,’ he agreed imperturbably. ‘I must say you’re taking it very well.’

      ‘Well, I didn’t take it very seriously,’ she said. ‘After all, it’s just what you do on your programme all the time. If I’d been a fan I’m sure it would have given me a terrific thrill to see the real thing.’ Her amused, husky voice endorsed his dismissal of the idiocy of fans. ‘Let’s forget all about it,’ she added magnanimously.

      ‘It’s not quite what I do on my programme...’ he began, with a slight edge to his voice.

      ‘I know,’ Morgan said sympathetically. ‘Censorship is such a nuisance.’ She closed her lips tightly on the little bubble of laughter that came on the heels of the words.

      Again he surprised her by laughing. ‘You don’t know how much,’ he agreed. ‘You little devil, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you? And, come to think of it, you’ve already had your pound of flesh. If you could have seen your face in the kitchen! Mouth as prim as pie, and those great, wicked eyes laughing at me. “It’s terribly nice of you,” ’ he mimicked in a saccharine falsetto.

      ‘But Richard,’ protested Morgan, smiling in spite of herself, ‘you insisted.’ And at his roar of laughter she found herself helplessly joining in.

      ‘More fool me,’ he said at last, when he had stopped laughing. ‘Morgan, why don’t you come out with me tomorrow? I’ve got some digging around to do—come along and hold a spade and I’ll buy you lunch.’

      She sobered abruptly as she realised how completely she had lowered her guard. How did he do it? In the space of something like five minutes he’d turned the situation on its head. The fact was that he’d neatly cut the ground from under her feet, making it almost impossible for her to keep him at a distance—but she hadn’t even noticed. The laughter in those brilliant eyes had gone to her head like champagne—and for one insane moment, she realised in disgust, she’d actually been tempted to accept.

      Well, she’d always wondered how he kept up the supply of victims on Firing Line, and now she knew: however often people had seen the kind of treatment they could expect, they probably thought it would be different for them. But the fact was that this was just part of the game. The jokes were neither here nor there; if he thought you had something to hide you could expect no mercy.

      ‘I’m afraid I’ve already made plans for tomorrow,’ she said. For a moment she thought that he was about to ask what plans but, if he was, he managed to keep his interviewing instincts under control.

      ‘Well, how about a goodnight kiss to show there are no hard feelings?’ Two strides brought him to her; one hand rested on her shoulder, the other cupped her chin.

      Morgan glared up at him. ‘I’m not quite ready to fall on my back yet,’ she said sarcastically. ‘And I don’t come when you snap your fingers, either. In words of one syllable, I am not one of your fans.’

      He looked taken aback, one bold black eyebrow shooting up in surprise. She would have liked to think it was just another example of his arrogance—assuming that she would want to be kissed by him—but it was probably sheer astonishment at her unsophisticated reaction to something he took so casually.

      ‘Congratulations,’ he said. ‘People hardly ever do use words of one syllable when they say “in words of one syllable”. Have you noticed?’ He bent his head; his lips brushed her cheek. A faint scent—an oddly potent mixture of freshly washed cotton, male skin and the citrus of washing-up liquid—tantalised her nostrils, and then it was over.

      ‘Just to show there are no hard feelings,’ he repeated, straightening