That Devil Love. Lee Wilkinson

suffocated by the loathing that filled her, and an equally powerful feeling she was at a loss to identify, she moved into Zan Power’s arms.

      She was long-legged, tall for a woman at five feet, eight inches, yet still her eyes were only on a level with the cleft in his firm chin. Tense and awkward, she concentrated on keeping her body away from any contact with his.

      He held her lightly, permitting the space between them, moving with a lithe grace that seemed strange in so big a man. The kind of grace one might expect to find in a gigolo, she thought with deliberate contempt.

      Not a man willing to deal in polite platitudes, he asked, ‘When you’re not with Leighton do you always dance so stiffly, and in silence?’

      ‘It depends who my partner is; how much I’m enjoying the occasion.’ Her voice was cool, composed, belying the red-hot hatred that seethed inside.

      They completed the circuit before he attacked from a different angle. ‘Do you enjoy parties as a rule?’

      ‘Yes,’ she lied.

      ‘But you’ve disliked every minute of this one.’

      ‘What makes you say that?’

      ‘I’ve been watching you.’

      When, repressing a shiver, she made no reply, merely continued to move her feet and stare at his black bowtie, he asked with a kind of wry curiosity, ‘Why did you come tonight?’

      ‘Because Stephen wanted me to.’ She was aware, without even glancing at the man who held her so lightly yet so inescapably, that he was annoyed by her answer.

      ‘And do you always do what Leighton wants?’

      Goading the man who reminded her of a sleek black panther, she said, ‘Whenever possible.’

      ‘What is he to you? Friend? Lover?’

      ‘So long as our relationship, whether it’s merely platonic or more than that, doesn’t disturb his work, I really don’t consider that it’s any of your business.’

      Tawny green eyes caught and held aquamarine, his very look a threat. ‘I intend to make it my business.’

      ‘You surely can’t want to control the lives of all your employees?’ she protested incredulously.

      ‘I don’t.’

      ‘Then what makes Stephen special?’

      ‘You do.’

      A sudden shiver of something closely akin to fear ran through her.

      Softly, he went on, ‘I won’t tolerate anything other than friendship between you.’

      ‘Won’t tolerate…!’ Anger mingled with alarm.

      ‘So if by any chance it is more than that—’ his face was steely, his mouth a hard line ‘—for everyone’s sake I advise you to put an end to it at once.’

      ‘You must be out of your mind!’

      Ignoring her choked words, he added, ‘However, I don’t think it is. You have the look about you of a Snow Queen, as if no man has been able to melt the ice and turn you into a real woman.’

      ‘I don’t suppose it’s occurred to you that a man might have caused that ice to form, made me—as you so fancifully put it—like a Snow Queen?’

      ‘It hadn’t,’ he admitted seriously. ‘But then I don’t know you yet—in either the everyday or the old Biblical sense of the word.’

      As her aquamarine eyes widened, he added with cool certainty, ‘Though I fully intend to.’

      Heart thudding against her ribs, she somehow dragged her gaze away. As well as angry, she felt scared, threatened. Which was ridiculous.

      ‘I don’t go in for casual affairs,’ she said haughtily.

      ‘A casual affair was the last thing I had in mind. I mean to have and to own you completely.’

      The calm statement stopped her breath, as though a noose made of fear and fury had tightened around her slender throat.

      But however much she abhorred and resented his brand of cool sexual arrogance, it could well hold a fatal fascination for some women.

      Was that how he’d managed to bewitch Maya?

      ‘No comment?’ he queried, with a lift of one black, mobile brow.

      Trying to hide how rattled she was, she said dismissively, ‘I’ve already stated that I think you’re insane, Mr Power.’

      ‘Zan.’

      ‘An unusual name.’

      ‘My young sister couldn’t say Alexander and, probably because it was less of a mouthful, her version stuck.’

      ‘I presumed you’d chosen it specially to go with the image.’ Before he could react to the taunt, she drew back and, lifting her chin, said disdainfully, ‘If you’ll excuse me now? I’m feeling rather tired.’

      Turning away, she was about to leave him standing when his hand shot out and closed round her wrist like a steel fetter.

      She froze into immobility.

      Silkily, he said, ‘I’ll see you back to your table, Miss Warrener.’ Releasing her wrist, he put a hand at her waist, his light, cool touch burning through the thin fabric of her dress like a brand.

      Stephen rose to his feet as they approached, his brown eyes a little apprehensive, as if he half expected a ticking off for his guest’s unsociability.

      Instead, Alexander Power said pleasantly, ‘I’ll be in your managing director’s office tomorrow morning at half-past eight. Come and see me there. You can give me a better idea of what exactly your team are doing. Goodnight, Leighton,’ then, with a slight inclination of his black, imperious head, ‘Au revoir, Miss Warrener.’

      Why that deliberate au revoir? she wondered apprehensively, as Stephen gazed with a kind of pleased awe after the tall, striking man making his unhurried way back to the top table.

      Concealing her disturbed state as best she could, she asked, ‘Would you mind very much if we left now?’

      Stephen, who had been waiting for her to resume her seat, said with his usual good-natured compliance, ‘Not if you want to go.’ All the same, he looked disappointed.

      Feeling guilty because she knew he was human enough to want to bask in the coveted glory of being singled out by the big boss, she explained, ‘I’ve got a nasty headache.’

      He peered at her. ‘You do look rather pale.’ Putting an arm around her waist—his clumsy concern in direct contrast to that other light but sure touch—he shepherded her towards the door. ‘I’ll fetch the car round while you get your coat.’

      Though she refused to look in his direction, Annis felt Zan Power’s predatory green-gold eyes fixed on her and an uncontrollable shudder ran through her slender frame.

      As they left the sumptuous Piccadilly hotel and drove towards Belgravia, still on a high, Stephen marvelled, ‘Fancy Mr Power remembering me! He’s only seen me a couple of times, quite briefly. Of course he has a reputation for being a remarkable man…

      ‘You’d never think it, to meet him now and hear him speak, but he came originally from the back streets of Piraeus, with a Greek mother and an English father.’

      So he was half Greek… That accounted not only for Zan Power’s looks but also for the almost imperceptible foreignness that lent such dark sorcery to his low-pitched voice.

      But Stephen was going on, ‘His mother died when he was about eleven and his father returned to England with the five children of the marriage. When he was barely eighteen his father was killed in an accident. The Social Services were going to split the family up, but he fought like a demon