No Holding Back. Kate Walker

listening? I said I’m sorry.’

      He didn’t sound penitent, Saffron reflected privately. If anything, he was quite the opposite—almost aggressive, in fact.

      ‘We had a date, Owen. I bought a new dress——’

      The words dried in her throat as the thought of just what else she’d bought slid into her mind, bringing with it an all too vivid picture of the scarlet wisps of silk that she had pushed firmly to the bottom of the washingbasket. She doubted that she could ever wear them again when just the thought of putting them on awoke uncomfortable memories of the scene in the office, the sensual amusement in that appalling man’s voice. In fact, she didn’t know what had possessed her to buy them in the first place. They were a million miles away from the sort of thing she normally chose.

      ‘I waited for hours.’

      ‘I know.’ Owen sounded positively snappish now. ‘But I promised you dinner at Le Figaro and——’ an airy wave of his hand indicated their elegant surroundings ‘—I’m keeping my promise.’

      ‘Twenty-four hours late!’

      Saffron couldn’t bite back the retort. Owen was the one who had stood her up, and yet he was behaving as if she was the offender. If he’d kept the date as arranged, she would never have gone to his office in a temper and made such a spectacle of herself.

      ‘Saff, you know how important this takeover is to me! I couldn’t keep our date yesterday because the big man turned up without warning.’

      ‘The big man?’

      Saffron fought hard to keep her voice under control, but the rising tide of colour in her cheeks was a different matter. Try as she might, she couldn’t avoid the logical connection that her mind was making between Owen’s words and the hateful character she had encountered in the MD’s office. She had suspected this, had known that there wasn’t really a hope that she could be wrong, but to hear it confirmed by Owen was almost more than she could cope with right now.

      ‘Niall Forrester himself. Oh, come on, Saff! Where have you been for the past month? Niall Forrester owns Forrester Leisure, and Forrester Leisure——’

      ‘Is considering buying Richards’ Rockets—I know that.’

      She knew only too well that Owen, whose interests lay in a very different direction, had been delighted when the huge international corporation had shown an interest in the small, rather rundown family business that he had inherited from his father six months before.

      ‘After all, you’ve talked about nothing else all month.’

      She found it impossible to erase the tartness from her voice, but, well-launched on his major preoccupation, Owen seemed oblivious to the sharpness of her tone.

      ‘So, you’ll understand that when Niall Forrester himself rang to say he was coming up to Kirkham to look at the factory I just had to be there to meet him—and take him out to dinner in the evening. He kept me busy, I can tell you. He wanted to know everything there was to know—I didn’t have time to think——’

      Or to ring and explain, Saffron reflected with a touch of asperity. But at the forefront of her mind was a more pressing worry.

      ‘And this Niall Forrester—the “big man”——’

      The description fitted. Even sitting down, he had looked decidedly impressive, and the width of the straight, powerful shoulders under the immaculately fitted navy suit had been evidence of a formidable physique that, if she had had her wits about her, she should have known could not possibly have belonged to Owen.

      ‘Where is he now?’

      ‘Back in London, I expect. He said he’d seen all he wanted to see at the factory.’

      Hastily Saffron tried to convert the choking sensation that had assailed her into an innocuous cough. Niall Forrester had seen everything he wanted and more! But at least it seemed that she could relax about one thing. Obviously, whatever his feelings about her appearance in the MD’s office, Forrester had said nothing about it to Owen. Of course, he wouldn’t know her name, but he could have asked the receptionist. If he’d described her, Beth would have known who he meant. The colour flooding her cheeks deepened hotly at the thought of just how he might have described her.

      ‘You’re not exactly chatty, Saff!’ Owen sounded decidedly peeved. ‘Is this because you haven’t forgiven me for last night? You’re not going to sulk all evening, are you?’

      ‘I’m not sulking!’

      Saffron was indignant. Clearly Owen thought that he had apologised, but to her mind it seemed that what he’d really done was bring home to her the way that she came in second place in his life, after his business interests. From being angry about the way he had stood her up, she was now forced to wonder whether in fact his non-appearance last night had been a lucky escape in some ways. After the decision about their relationship that she had come to, only so recently, it was disturbing, to say the least, to find that her attitude towards him had shifted ground.

      In fact, ever since Owen had appeared at her flat, she had been seeing him in a very different light. It was more than just annoyance at the way he had stood her up, though obviously that had a lot to do with it. Suddenly almost everything he said seemed to irritate her.

      ‘I’ve—just got something on my mind. I’d planned on working on the accounts this evening. Things are really getting a bit tight, and——’

      ‘Oh, they’ll keep until tomorrow. After all, a tiny business like yours can’t have many real problemsnothing compared to the white elephant of a factory my father left me lumbered with. I mean—who wants to buy fireworks nowadays?’

      Once more he was launched on his own concerns. Listening to him, Saffron had to bite down hard on her lower lip in order to keep back an angry response. Owen had always had a tendency to be like this, but somehow tonight it seemed much more infuriating than usual. Was she just feeling unsettled after the disturbing meeting at the factory that morning, or did it go deeper than that?

      At that moment her thought processes stopped dead, because in the second that she had looked away, needing to distract herself from Owen’s soliloquy and the urge to tell him to shut up, her attention had been drawn to a flurry of activity at the entrance to the restaurant and then, unbelievingly, inexorably, to the tall figure of the man who had just come in.

      She recognised him immediately. There was no mistaking that jet-black gleaming hair, the straight, firm shoulders, the arrogant, upright carriage that had impressed her even when he was sitting down. Seen on his feet like this, that dark, sleek head towering inches above the head waiter—who, recognising intuitively the innate self-assurance and air of power that only a great deal of money could buy, was buzzing around him like a bee around an open honey-pot—he was even more imposing, a forceful, vital figure of a man who would always be noticed the moment he walked into a room. Even through the haze of shock that clouded her brain she was well aware of the fact that hers weren’t the only pair of female eyes that had noted his arrival—noted it and lingered in frank appreciation.

      ‘Forrester!’

      Dimly, with a sense of terrible inevitability, she heard Owen’s exclamation confirm her earlier fears, depriving her of any possible weakly lingering hope that she might have been mistaken about the identity of the man in the managing director’s office.

      ‘But I thought he’d gone back to London.’ Her voice was an uncomfortable croak as she struggled to believe that this was actually happening, that he could be here—now. If he saw them—saw her——

      ‘So did I. Something must have kept him. Hey, Forrester! Niall!’

      To Saffron’s horror, Owen was out of his seat, waving a hand to attract the other man’s attention.

      ‘I’ll ask him to join us—you should meet him. Forrester—over here!’

      ‘Owen!’ Saffron