The Tempestuous Flame. Carole Mortimer

      André Gregory let her go immediately, pushing her casually away from him. ‘I think I’m beginning to believe you when you say you aren’t Mart’s girl-griend—and I say girl-friend with the full meaning of the word. You can’t bear for a man to touch you, can you? Or is it only me you have this aversion to?’

      She held herself stiffly, her blonde hair falling untidily about her shoulders. ‘I would like to say it’s only you, Mr Gregory, but I’m afraid it isn’t. I have yet to find the man who can raise me to the heights of passion or put me in the depths of despair—if such feelings exist, which I doubt.’

      André Gregory’s attention seemed to be fixed on the ornaments on the dressing-table, as he picked up first one object and then another. ‘I think you could be right,’ he agreed, not bothering to look at her. ‘Oh, the heights of passion exist all right, but the depths of despair have so far eluded me. Possibly because so far, like you, I have no wish to give one single person the power to make my life either happy or sad for me.’

      ‘But then even in that we differ. You see, you don’t have one person in your life, but several, whereas I don’t have any.’

      ‘Don’t you believe in the old saying “safety in numbers"?’

      She shook her head. ‘Not for me. Now I really do have to go and dress.’

      ‘As I recall, you haven’t apologised yet,’ he reminded her softly.

      ‘No, and I’m not going to.’

      ‘Oh, but you are.’ Steely fingers gripped her arm once again. ‘And right now. Go on, say you’re sorry like a good girl.’

      Caroline’s eyes glittered resentfully. How dared he! Just who did he think he was! The impulse to tell him who she was was strong, but she resisted. He hadn’t been insulting enough yet to be intimidated by the knowledge that she was Matt Rayner’s daughter, and not his—not his girl-friend. Her temper kindled anew at this slight on her father’s conduct. Just because this man didn’t care who he made love to it didn’t mean her father was the same. ‘I have nothing to apologise for, you were obstructing my exit and I asked you to move.’

      His teeth gleamed whitely as he grinned at her. ‘You didn’t ask me to do anything, young lady, you gave me an order. And I don’t like orders, especially from women. I’m still waiting,’ he said patiently.

      ‘Well, you can go on waiting,’ she fumed at him. ‘Because I’m never going to apologise to you—I repeat, never!’

      André Gregory continued to look down at her, his expression just as unyielding as her own. ‘There was no need to repeat it, Caroline, I heard you the first time. But you will apologise,’ he looked about them pointedly, finally resting his steely gaze back on her flushed face. ‘You’re hardly in a position to argue. Must I remind you of your surroundings, and your dress—or in this case, undress? I could so easily take advantage of this situation—but I’m sure you wouldn’t like me to do that.’

      ‘You wouldn’t dare!’ she challenged.

      ‘Wouldn’t I? Well, perhaps you’re right. Matt’s a friend of mine, and you’re—–’

      ‘His preserve,’ Caroline cut in tautly. ‘But I’m not, Mr Gregory. Oh, all right,’ she sighed. ‘If it inflates your male ego to force a defenceless girl to apologise—I apologise. Satisfied?’

      He released her arm. ‘For a moment there I thought you were going to admit your relationship with Matt, but perhaps you’re not the sort of girl to go around boasting of your conquests.’

      ‘Conquests!’ she scoffed, rubbing her bruised wrist where he had held her so tightly. ‘You call being the mistress of a middle-aged tycoon a conquest? I wouldn’t! I’d call it—–’

      ‘I think I can guess what you would call it, Little Miss Puritan. Where’s the harm in bringing a little happiness into someone’s life? Or do you also object to that? God, what a little prude you are! And what a curious combination, prudishness and promiscuity.’

      ‘Promiscuity? But I’m not—–’

      ‘Not you, Caroline, Cynthia or whatever her name is. Do you lecture her too?’

      Caroline turned away. ‘She happens to be a friend of mine, and I speak with full authority when I say she is not promiscuous. Far from it, in fact.’

      ‘So the stories I’ve heard are unfounded, are they?’

      She resented his taunting tone, shaking her long hair back haughtily. ‘As I have no idea what these stories are I can’t really say, but I would advise you not to listen to idle gossip, Mr Gregory. I would have thought you of all people would have known that what people don’t know they think they know, or simply make it up.’

      ‘Me of all people? Oh, I see—you mean someone of my tendencies, my friends’ wives and so forth? Mmm, well, in some cases perhaps what you say is true, but I happen to have received my information on good authority.

      ‘And what authority is that?’ she asked sharply.

      ‘Now that would be telling,’ he replied, infuriatingly calm, appraising her appearance once again. ‘And if you don’t go and dress in a moment I may take your reluctance to leave my bedroom as an invitation—and I may just accept.’

      ‘Don’t excite yourself, Mr Gregory, I wouldn’t invite you anywhere, let alone into my bed!’ and she made her escape before he decided to make her apologise for that remark too, locking herself safely in the bathroom. She leaned heavily on the door, listening for his movements. To her chagrin he was merrily whistling to himself as he went down the stairs. Did nothing ruffle that smooth surface charm he chose to emit? Well, she would do her hardest to find out. Mr André Gregory needed taking down a peg or two, and she was just the person to do it.

      She could smell bacon cooking as she walked gracefully down the stairs—her bacon, no doubt. Really, that man had a nerve! ‘Hi,’ she smiled happily at him as she sat down at the kitchen table, showing none of the seething emotions that existed underneath. ‘Are you cooking enough for me?’

      If he was surprised by her change of attitude he didn’t show it, but gave her a cursory glance before carrying on with his frying. ‘If you want some,’ he said noncommittally.

      ‘Thanks.’ Caroline leant her chin on her hands, her blue eyes full of mischief if he bothered to look at her, which he didn’t. ‘Country air always makes me ravenous, doesn’t it you?’

      ‘I suppose so,’ he agreed quietly. ‘I’m not usually in the country long enough to find out one way or the other.’ He turned to face her. ‘So—when are you leaving?’

      Caroline’s pleasant manner almost deserted her at his audacity, but she managed to remain cool. ‘Leaving?’ she repeated. ‘Oh, I’m not leaving,’ she told him sweetly. ‘As you so rightly said last night, there are two bedrooms and I won’t bother you if you don’t bother me.’

      He studied her for a moment, the expression in his green eyes unreadable. ‘Are you quite serious?’

      ‘Quite,’ she mocked. ‘Why not? It could work out very well if we let it.’

      ‘Caroline, I came here for peace and quiet. I’m hardly likely to get that with you walking about half undressed most of the time and in very revealing tight jumpers and denims at other times. Hardly conducive to a peaceful existence, hmm?’

      ‘Are you saying you find me attractive, Mr Gregory?’

      ‘No, I didn’t say that, not you especially. It would be impossible for any man not to be slightly disturbed by your appearance.’ He placed a laden breakfast plate before her. ‘So I repeat—when are you leaving?’

      She tucked enthusiastically into the crisp bacon and perfectly fried egg. ‘And I repeat—I’m not. Look, Mr Gregory—André,’