Man-Hater. Penny Jordan

was nothing to be lost in simply making enquiries.

      She dug out a telephone directory and searched through it. The agency had a surprisingly good address, a fairly new office block that Kelly knew quite well. She had contemplated taking a suite in it herself until she had received the offer from the insurance company for her present offices. Chewing her lip, she contemplated her alternatives. She could either go alone to Sue’s and risk being proved right about Jeremy’s attentions, or she could try and avert any unpleasantness by making enquiries at the agency and, if everything went well, employing one of their staff to accompany her.

      Simple! So why should she be so wary and full of doubt? Was it because the idea of actually paying someone to accompany her smacked of a lack of femininity and—even worse—an admission that she could only attract male attention by paying for it? What did it matter? No one other than herself and the agency need know. Her motives were quite legitimate, and surely it was worth sinking her pride if it meant saving Sue pain and herself possible embarrassment. She had nothing to lose by simply calling at the agency and enquiring, had she?

      As luck would have it, she had an appointment that took her in the vicinity of the agency’s offices. She emerged on to the pavement from the impressively externally-mirrored building that housed the latest addition to their client list, sufficiently buoyed up with the success of obtaining a new and prestigious client to pluck up the courage to cross the busy street and walk purposefully into the marble foyer of the building opposite. There was no commissionaire in evidence, but a quick glance at the nameplates by the lift confirmed that the agency was on the third floor. Feeling considerably more nervous than she had done at her previous interview, Kelly waited for the lift, smoothing the skirt of her new Jaeger suit anxiously. The suit wasn’t something she would normally have chosen. Maisie, her assistant, had persuaded her into it for the meeting this morning. In a rich amethyst velvet, the skirt fell in soft gathers from a neat waistband. The jacket was faintly mediaeval, with a cropped close-fitting collarless bodice and slim slightly puffed sleeves, quilted with gold thread.

      She was wearing a new blouse with it, cream silk with a large collar worn outside the jacket, and an amethyst velvet ribbon tied in a bow at her throat.

      Somehow the outfit made her look faintly vulnerable rather than efficient; it even seemed to rob her chignon of something of its normal formality. Wisps of hair had escaped to curl round her temples, and Kelly toyed nervously with her pearl earrings as she sent the lift to the third floor.

      She saw the entrance to the agency the moment she stepped out of the lift. The door to the foyer was open and there was a man with his back to her bending over a desk.

      He straightened up as she knocked and walked in, turning to study her with lazy appreciation. Much to her chagrin, Kelly felt herself flushing with anger as his glance slid potently over the length of her legs in the sheer amethyst stockings that matched her outfit, pausing almost thoughtfully before moving upwards, assessing the slenderness of her waist encased in a broad suede belt, the full curves of her breasts beneath the velvet jacket, coming to rest with amused comprehension on her taut and angrily flushed face.

      ‘My apologies,’ he drawled in a voice that, Kelly told herself unpleasantly, sounded like all the very worst television commercials, and was very obviously less than sincere.

      ‘Don’t apologise if you don’t mean it,’ she snapped. ‘Insulting me once was enough!’

      ‘Oh? And how did I do that?’ The husky voice hadn’t changed, but Kelly had the disconcerting feeling that somehow she had angered him.

      ‘By looking at me as though I were a piece of merchandise you were considering buying. That was your first insult,’ Kelly told him scathingly. ‘Your second was expecting me to be deceived by your less-than-sincere apology.’

      ‘Oh, I wasn’t apologising for looking,’ she was told softly. ‘What I was apologising for was embarrassing you.’

      ‘Embarrassing me!’ Kelly stared at him in fury. Did he actually think she had been embarrassed by his insulting scrutiny? ‘You didn’t embarrass me in the slightest,’ she told him coldly, ‘you merely annoyed me. How would men like it if women stared at them as though…’

      ‘As though they were pieces of merchandise they were considering buying?’ he quoted mockingly. ‘I don’t know what brings you here, Miss…’

      ‘Mrs Langdon,’ Kelly supplied for him coldly, watching his eyes narrow as he glanced at her left hand as though seeking confirmation of her statement. ‘I’m here for the very simple reason that I wish to avail myself of the services of this agency,’ she went on tautly. Now that she was here, confronting this arrogant specimen of manhood, she was beginning to have grave doubts about her intentions.

      ‘The agency?’ He glanced at the door, frowned, tapping thoughtfully on the desk, while he subjected her to a provokingly intense study. ‘You mean the escort agency, I take it?’

      ‘Is there any other?’ Kelly snapped, her patience worn thin by his manner and his scrutiny. He was completely unlike the species of male she had grown accustomed to over the years; they, well primed as to her reputation and her wealth, were normally either obsequious or respectful; sometimes flirtatious, but never, never did they regard her with the cool disdain of this man, whose grey eyes seemed to take her apart muscle by muscle, assessing each and every part of her as he did so. His hair was dark and brushed the collar of his jacket—too long, she thought scornfully, but doubtless there were some women who found him attractive. As far as she was concerned, he was far too chocolate-boxy to appeal; he looked like one of the actors one saw on television, driving lorries and eating bars of chocolate, or performing death-defying acts on skis to deliver them. Some of her contempt showed in the withering glance she gave him, determined not to let his manner overset her.

      ‘Umm…you’re attractive enough, I suppose,’ he ventured calmly, ‘but I scarcely think your manner is likely to win you friends or influence people. If you really want a job I would suggest that…’

      ‘I want a job?’ Kelly broke in furiously, two hectic spots of colour burning in her preciously pale face. ‘I haven’t come here for a job, I’ve come here for an escort!’

      ‘An escort?’ If he was as stunned as he had sounded, he covered it up very quickly. ‘I see, and just what sort of escort do you require, Mrs Langdon?’ he asked smoothly, sitting down in the leather chair behind the desk, and pulling open a drawer. ‘You must understand that this is a highly reputable agency, we don’t…’

      Kelly’s furious gasp reached him as he straightened up, staring coldly at her. ‘You’re a married woman,’ he pointed out.

      ‘I’m a widow,’ Kelly contradicted him, ‘and I want to see the manager.’ She threw the last comment at him through gritted teeth.

      ‘By all means,’ he agreed suavely, ‘but you’ll have to come back next week. He’s on holiday at the moment.’

      Next week! That would be far too late!

      ‘Look, suppose you tell me your requirements… Do you need an escort for some official function?’

      ‘Not exactly,’ Kelly replied hesitantly, strangely reluctant to admit to this infuriating man exactly what she did want.

      ‘I see. Well, perhaps if you were to tell me exactly what you do want…’ He removed what looked like an application form from the desk and bent his head over it. His hair was thick and dark and possessed a glossy, healthy sheen, Kelly noticed absently. Why on earth had she come here? She longed to turn tail and run out, but simply didn’t dare. His face was perfectly composed and polite, and yet Kelly had the suspicion that inwardly he was laughing at her. Well, let him laugh, she thought angrily, she didn’t care what he thought.

      Quickly she told him an edited version of her story.

      ‘I see,’ he said slowly, when she had finished. ‘You wish to hire an escort to accompany you to a friend’s home for the weekend. Your friend is married and you feel that a threesome might be awkward?’

      That