No Holding Back. Kate Walker

works. I even bought new underwear.’ The shake in her voice grew more pronounced.

      ‘Oh, Saffy——’

      ‘It was pure silk!’

      Her anger was growing again, fighting against the tenuous grip she had on it. She had felt such a fool, sitting there, dressed up, made-up—keyed up—waiting for a man who didn’t come.

      Kate’s whistle was long and low. ‘The sacrificial lamb! It’s a pity Owen doesn’t know just what he missed! You’ll have to find some way of getting that home to him.’

      That was when the idea came to her, Saffron reflected as the lift by-passed the second floor. Her anger wouldn’t be appeased unless she did something about the way Owen had treated her, and Kate’s remark had given her the perfect way to show him how she felt.

      ‘Well, here we are.’

      The voice of her companion broke into her thoughts, bringing her back to the present with an abruptness that, combined with the jerky movement of the lift as it came to a halt, almost knocked her off-balance, so that she fell back against the wall.

      ‘Are you OK?’

      ‘Fine——’

      It was impossible to concentrate on what she was saying, all her attention directed towards the lift doors as they started to open. Was that man still upstairs in the office, or had he followed her? And if so, having missed the lift, had he come down the staircase after her?

      She could just imagine those long legs—for such an impressive torso had to be matched by an equally powerful lower half—taking the stairs two or more at a time, matching or possibly even outstripping the speed of the lift in which she had travelled. So, was he, even now, prowling around the hall, waiting for her? The thought sent a shiver of apprehension sliding down her spine.

      A hasty, cautious inspection of the reception area reassured her on that point—temporarily, at least. He wasn’t anywhere in sight, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t on his way down. He might appear at any moment, so she had better not take any risks. The sooner she was out of here the better.

      ‘How will you get home?’

      ‘I’ve got my car——’

      Saffron was hurrying across the well-worn floor as she spoke, pulling open the door in a rush. A cold wind, touched with a hint of rain, sneaked around her as she stepped outside, making her shiver uncomfortably, painfully aware of how little she had on under the protective layer of the coat. That thought brought a rush of burning colour to her cheeks, something that clearly worried the other woman.

      ‘Are you sure you’re fit to drive? Perhaps I should ring upstairs for someone——’

      ‘No!’ If he thought she was still in the building, heaven alone knew how he might react. She couldn’t face him again; couldn’t look him in the eye. ‘I’ll be all righthonest—it’s not very far——’

      ‘Well, if you’re positive…’

      She still sounded unconvinced, and Saffron had to fight hard not to scream at her in panic as, through the large plate glass doors, she saw the other lift open and a tall, masculine figure appear in the hall, looking round him a way that made her think unnervingly of a hunting tiger. She could almost imagine him scenting the air, breathing in the trace of her perfume…

      ‘I have to go——’

      Reacting purely instinctively, she kicked off the crippling shoes—she would buy Kate another pair—and turned to run towards the spot where her car was parked. The wind seemed to have found every opening in her coat, sliding in at the neck, whipping around her hem, revealing far more than was comfortable to her already precarious peace of mind, but she was oblivious to the cold and discomfort of her bare feet on the tarmac, reaching her small Fiat with a sigh of relief.

      It was as she slid into the driving-seat and pushed her wild, wind-blown dark hair back from her face that she saw the other car, the one that, blinded by her anger, she hadn’t noticed on her arrival at the factory. Sleek and powerful, and gleamingly expensive, its paintwork was a shining light grey, almost silver, reminding her disturbingly of the eyes of the man in the managing director’s office—eyes that had looked at her with such contempt at first. But then that expression had swiftly changed to something much more worrying.

      The car was in the MD’s private space too, she now realised, struggling with the shake in her hand that made it difficult to insert her key in the ignition. It was parked in the spot that had previously been reserved solely for the use of Owen’s late father—a space which must now, by rights, belong to Owen himself. Which, logic told her, bringing with it a wave of nausea, meant that there was only one person it could belong to—and that made matters all the worse.

      Perhaps if she had been more aware of her surroundings on her arrival, if she’d been thinking straighter, she would have noticed it then, and its elegantly alien presence might have made her pause to reconsider her plan of action. But the truth was that she had been blind to everything but that plan. In fact, she had actively encouraged her anger on the journey here, feeding the flames, so that she hadn’t even noticed that Owen’s car wasn’t even in the car park at all.

      She hadn’t even paused to look around her, Saffron reflected, sighing with relief as the slightly untrustworthy engine caught, and she let the brake out with nervous haste, not even glancing behind to see if her pursuer had come out of the building. She only wanted to get out of here without any further confrontation with the owner of that sleek, powerful vehicle, she told herself. Her stomach twisted into tight, painful knots of apprehension as every sense became tensely alert, ears straining for the shout she expected as she headed for the exit; unwillingly she contrasted her speedy departure, like a dog with its tail between its legs, with her confident, even cocky arrival such a short time earlier.

      Then, fired up with determination and anger, she had barely allowed herself time to park the car before she was out of it and striding towards the main entrance, her brisk, forceful movements mirroring the state of her thoughts.

      ‘Hey!’

      The shout cut into her thoughts, sounding clearly even above the noise of the engine, and the car swerved dangerously as her hands clenched on the wheel. A swift, nervous glance in the rearview mirror confirmed her instinctive fear, her stomach twisting painfully as she saw the way that letting her mind wander had slowed her responses, stilling her foot on the accelerator. Alerted by the sound of the engine, her pursuer had come out of the building and was heading purposefully across the car park towards her.

      ‘Wait! I want to——’

      The rest of his words were drowned in the roar of the car as, heedless of safety or concern for her elderly vehicle, she rammed her right foot down to the floor. She knew very well what he wanted—he had made that only too plain—and she had no intention of waiting around to endure any more of his blatantly lecherous remarks.

      It was just as she swung out of the car park and on to the main road that she glanced back one last time and saw the way he had halted, bending to pick up something from the ground.

      Kate’s shoes, she reflected ruefully, wondering if, as in the Cinderella story, he thought he might use them as evidence to track her down. The problem was, though, that he was no sort of Prince Charming—quite the opposite—and if he did turn out to be who she suspected then she would need more than just a fairy godmother to get her out of a very sticky situation.

       CHAPTER TWO

      ‘FOR God’s sake, Saffron—how many times do I have to apologise?’

      Owen pushed impatient hands through his hair—hair that was not quite as dark as that of the man in the MD’s office, Saffron noted inconsequentially. His had been black as a raven’s wing where Owen’s was just a deep brown. That should have warned