Fire Beneath The Ice. HELEN BROOKS

strong cup of coffee, and then maybe I’ll grab a couple of hours’ sleep on the couch before the meeting at eleven?’

      ‘Weak tea would be better if you’re going to sleep,’ she answered automatically as her gaze flicked to the large studio couch in a shadowed corner of the huge room. She didn’t want to be here when he lay down on that thing. She didn’t even try to analyse why.

      ‘I said coffee.’ The cold authority was back in his voice but she didn’t mind; that other Wolf was too dangerous to contemplate. ‘And strong,’ he added warningly.

      ‘Coming up.’

      Thankfully he was still sitting in the chair when she returned with the coffee a few minutes later, and she hurried out of the room after depositing the cup in front of him without speaking, her cheeks flushed.

      At a quarter to eleven she was just contemplating gathering every scrap of courage she possessed and venturing into his office to wake him, when the connecting door opened and he stood framed in the doorway, blinking a little in the harsh artificial light overhead. ‘If anyone arrives early, sit them down out here until I buzz,’ he said abruptly, his eyes red-rimmed. ‘I’m just going for a wash and brush-up.’

      ‘Where?’ she squeaked nervously, having visions of her room filled to overflowing with irate managers as they waited and waited.

      ‘The washroom next door.’ He glanced at her in surprise. ‘Didn’t you know it was there for your use too? I keep a change of clothes in there for emergencies— you can do the same if you wish.’

      ‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ she said stiffly, ‘and how could I know it was there if you didn’t see fit to tell me?’

      ‘By using your initiative?’he suggested coolly.

      ‘My initiative?’ All thoughts of Hannah’s bedroom faded into insignificance. ‘In the three days since I’ve worked for you I haven’t had time to breathe, let alone go exploring this block of concrete.’ She glared at him angrily. ‘It’s got nothing at all to do with initiative, Mr Strade.’

      ‘I thought blondes were supposed to be cool and unemotional,’ he said drily, studying her angry face with a superior frown. ‘Are you like this with your husband?’

      ‘Mr Strade, I——’ She stopped abruptly as hot colour flooded her pale, creamy skin in a hectic flush. She couldn’t ever remember having a cross word with Matthew. Life had been a flat, tranquil sea with him, with the days stretching out before them, calm and untroubled. In fact, until she had met Wolf Strade, she could have sworn on oath that she had the mildest of tempers.

      ‘And the name’s Wolf.’ His voice disappeared as he stepped through the doorway, and as she sank back in her seat she was aware of feeling slightly disloyal to Matthew’s memory without understanding why. She stared at her wedding-ring for a long painful moment and then turned resolutely to the word processor and began to work. These fluttery feelings of excitement and agitation were a direct result of her nerves coping with the unusual sensations of anger and irritation, that was all. That was all. And in view of the self-opinionated, downright arbitrary despot she had been thrust into contact with, it wasn’t surprising either. She had never met anyone, male or female, who could make her so mad so quickly by doing so little. He was so cold, so self-contained. Didn’t anything touch him?

      At five to eleven he reappeared in the doorway restored to his usual immaculate self, black hair slicked back, face shaven and a fresh grey silk shirt replacing the blue of the day before. He looked gorgeous. She held his glance with a cold composure that was the best piece of acting she had ever done, and listened as he gave her a list of tiles he needed for the meeting. As she deposited them on his desk two minutes later she caught a whiff of his aftershave and despised herself for the way her stomach clenched in an involuntary response, but she was honest enough to admit there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. For some strange reason her body was determined to be aroused by a man she both disliked and disapproved of. Did he know? She glanced at his bent head as he checked through the files, and her heart thudded against her chest. She would die if he did. Just die.

      ‘Right.’ As he raised his head she saw his face was preoccupied and distant, the ice-blue eyes cold and hooded as they met hers. ‘I’d like you to sit in on this one, Lydia, and take notes, OK?’ She nodded quietly as a rush of relief made her light-headed. He didn’t know, and she would have to make darn sure he never suspected even for a second if she wanted to keep her job. Thank goodness she had said she was married; it would probably never even cross his mind that she was attracted to him in a physical sense. ‘Record anything Mike Wilson says, incidentally.’ He paused, and the handsome, cruel face hardened into stone. ‘No matter how obtuse. OK?’ He was watching her very closely and she felt a little shiver flicker down her spine.

      ‘Why?’ she asked carefully.

      He shrugged slowly. ‘You’ll know soon enough, if my suspicions are right.’ He lowered his head in dismissal.

      At exactly eleven o’clock her office filled as though by magic, and as she ushered the group of men through she reflected, with wry uncomfortable humour, that Wolf had certainly got them well-trained. As the meeting progressed she didn’t understand half of what she took down, but dutifully recorded everything in case she missed something vital.

      It was a long day and an arduous one and, as she put the minutes of the meeting on Wolf’s desk at just after six, she was conscious of an illogical, and quite unreasonable, sense of injustice that he should still appear cool and razor-sharp whereas she was visibly wilting.

      ‘Your friend has been on the take.’ It took a second for the words to register, spoken as they were in such a casual tone.

      ‘Mike? No.’ She raised shocked eyes to his. ‘What are you going to do?’ She somehow knew instantly it was true.

      ‘It has already been done.’ She looked away, her mouth unconsciously tightening at the flinty hardness in his face. ‘You refuse any requests for references and refer any queries concerning him directly to me.’

      ‘You’ve sacked him?’ she asked with a horrified gasp.

      ‘Too damn true.’ He was flicking through the work she had just given him as he spoke, his head lowered. ‘He’ll be lucky if he gets a job sweeping the roads after I’ve finished with him.’

      ‘But surely——?’ She stopped abruptly as the ice-blue gaze switched to her face. This was awful, awful—poor Anna.

      ‘Yes?’ His tone was not encouraging.

      ‘If it wasn’t actually illegal…?’ Her voice trailed away at the darkness in his face. ‘I mean——’

      ‘I know what you mean.’ He shook his head tightly as he settled back in his chair, the razor-sharp eyes hard on her face. ‘And, no, it wasn’t “actually” illegal, not at this stage, but it would have been.’ He eyed her grimly. ‘You think I ought to have let the thing progress until I could throw a court case at him?’

      ‘Of course not.’ She flushed slightly at the hard scrutiny. ‘But have you asked him why he did it?’

      ‘I’m not interested in why,’ he said coldly. ‘He lied to me, that was his first big mistake, and then he thought an abject apology and a great deal of grovelling could extricate him from his foolishness. That was his second error of judgement.’ He moved forward in the chair and lowered his gaze to the papers again. ‘I won’t tolerate being lied to, Lydia. I never have.’

      ‘Oh.’ She was glad he was looking downwards and missed the sudden surge of hot, guilty colour into her cheeks. ‘Well, if there’s nothing else, I’ll say goodnight.’

      ‘Wait a moment and I’ll give you a lift home,’ he said casually, still with his eyes on the papers in front of him. ‘I’m dog-tired and enough is enough. The rest of this will wait’

      ‘There’s no need.’ She spoke so hastily that the words came out in a breathless