Pagan Enchantment. Carole Mortimer

      He gave an impatient sigh, his face darkening to a scowl. ‘Could we talk about this inside?’ he snapped.

      She opened the door to him warily, taking her time about closing it again, allowing herself time to collect her thoughts together. Why couldn’t he have just telephoned her? It would have been so much easier talking to him on the telephone, to have agreed to meet Anthea Steele if she hadn’t had to speak to him face to face. She wouldn’t put it past this arrogant devil of a man to know that, after all, he must know the reason she had called him. There could only be one reason!

      He was waiting for her in the lounge, his impatience barely concealed as he tapped his fingers on the old stone fireplace that now housed an electric fire, drawing attention to the artistic sensitivity of his hands.

      ‘I’m to take it you’ve changed your mind about meeting Anthea?’ He finally spoke, impatient with her silence.

      Dull colour flooded her cheeks at his directness. ‘Yes,’ she bit out.

      He nodded, as if she could make no other answer. ‘You’ve spoken with your father?’

      ‘Yes.’

      His scowl deepened. ‘Aren’t you going to say anything else but “yes”?’ he snapped tersely.

      Merry shrugged. ‘There isn’t anything else to say, you seem to know all the answers.’

      He raised his eyes heavenwards. ‘Does that mean you can’t at least make a token show at conversation?’

      She flushed at his rebuke. ‘It’s all been said. I’ve spoken to my father, we’ve agreed that it isn’t disloyal to him and my mother if I meet my—your stepmother.’ She bit her lip at the angry flare in his eyes as she corrected herself. Anthea Steele wasn’t her mother, and never could be.

      ‘Very well,’ Gideon Steele rasped tautly. ‘When do you want to meet her?’ His eyes were narrowed.

      ‘I—I haven’t really thought about it.’ The decision to see her at all had been hard enough. ‘When do you think …?’

      ‘There’s no time like the present—–’

      ‘Not now!’ Merry gasped her protest. ‘Not tonight. It’s ten-thirty!’

      ‘So late!’ he taunted mockingly. ‘You’ve just admitted that you were on your way out, so it isn’t that late after all. But as it happens, I didn’t have right now in mind. I think tomorrow would be a good time.’

      It was all happening too fast, was like a snowball rolling down a hillside, getting bigger and bigger as it went—and it threatened to knock her off her feet when it came to an end!

      ‘Too soon?’

      It was the taunting softness of his voice that brought the spark of rebellion into her glittering green eyes. ‘Of course not,’ she answered lightly. ‘Tomorrow will be fine.’

      ‘Good,’ he nodded his satisfaction, his expression grim. ‘Do you have a valid passport?’

      Merry blinked dazedly. ‘Passport?’ she repeated incredulously, not able to keep up with his lightning change of subjects.

      ‘Yes. Do you?’ his impatience was barely contained.

      She frowned. ‘As it happens, yes. I went to Austria with some friends last year. Why do I need a passport?’

      ‘Anthea and my father are in the middle of a Mediterranean cruise at this moment. Tomorrow morning I’m on my way to join them for the last two weeks. You may as well come with me and meet Anthea then.’

      ‘Oh, but—I can’t—That’s ridiculous!’ she protested. ‘I can’t just up and leave tomorrow morning for two weeks!’

      ‘Why not?’ he queried softly. ‘You aren’t back in work yet, I already checked that out. Your father wouldn’t mind, and you’ve already agreed to meet Anthea. So what’s your problem?’ he raised dark brows over eyes the colour of a storm-tossed sea, supremely confident, not understanding that although he might live the jet-set life that she didn’t. She couldn’t possibly just go off with him tomorrow to heaven alone knew where!

      ‘You’re the problem,’ she told him heatedly.

      ‘Expecting me to just up and leave at a moment’s notice for—for—–’

      ‘Athens,’ he supplied calmly.

      ‘Athens,’ she repeated pointedly. ‘I can’t just—–’

      ‘Why not?’ he interrupted.

      ‘Well, because—I just can’t! I don’t have a seat booked on the plane—–’

      ‘It’s a private jet.’

      ‘I’m not booked on the ship—–’

      ‘It’s family owned, there’s always room for the family—and friends,’ he added with a drawl.

      So Vanda had got it wrong, it was shipping the Steele family were involved in—or was it shipping and airlines? He said it was a private jet. Probably both, she thought ruefully.

      ‘Settled?’ he taunted.

      She could think of no further objections to make, and her mouth set in a thin disapproving line.

      ‘The ship will be an easier place for you and Anthea to become acquainted,’ he continued at her silence. ‘It will be more relaxing for you both.’

      ‘You think so?’ she said stiffly, knowing that at any other time she would have been thrilled at the idea of a Mediterranean cruise. But not in these circumstances.

      His icy blue gaze raked over her. ‘I’m hoping so,’ he said pointedly. ‘On the way over here I also gave the problem of upsetting Anthea some thought.’

      ‘Yes?’ For some reason she suddenly felt wary.

      ‘You were right about it being a shock for her to have you suddenly produced before her. That wouldn’t be a good idea. My proposal is that you become my girl-friend for two weeks so that you can get to know each other naturally.’

       CHAPTER THREE

      ‘IT will never work,’ Merry was still protesting at such an idea as they drove to the airport the next morning. Although the very fact that she was seated next to Gideon Steele in the sleek Ferrari proved that her protests were only token ones. She knew it, and so did Gideon Steele.

      He quirked one dark brow at her. Today he was dressed casually in tight black denims and a black sweat-shirt. He looked ruggedly self-assured, and acted it too. ‘I’ll admit you’re nothing like the women I usually have in my life,’ he drawled. ‘With one rather obvious disadvantage. Although there are plenty of others I can think of,’ he added dryly.

      Merry bristled angrily. ‘Such as?’ she prompted softly.

      He stared grimly at the road in front of him, driving with the minimum of effort, relaxed to the point of laziness. ‘You have a fiery temper,’ he told her, just as if he were discussing something as innocuous as the weather. ‘You’re stubborn. And you’re full of resentment towards me still.’

      ‘And that’s just the minor disadvantages!’ she snapped. ‘What’s the main one?’

      He gave a fleeting glance in her direction, seeming to take in everything about her, the long gleaming ebony hair, the light make-up that emphasised her high cheekbones and luminous green eyes, the light green tee-shirt that clung to the bareness of her breasts, the fashionably skin-tight denims, her feet thrust into rope sandals. She looked exactly what she was supposed to look, a girl going on holiday. So why was Gideon Steele looking at her like that?

      ‘Your