Liam's Secret Son. Carole Mortimer

darling of the literary world, a huge feather in the cap of any society hostess. Then the book was made into a film that carried off most of the Oscars for that year. The man was the star to outshine all stars!’

      ‘Yes?’ So far this explanation had done little other than tell her things she already knew.

      ‘I’ve started with an astronomical explanation so I may as well continue.’ Perry grimaced. ‘You see, he wasn’t a star, Laura, he was a comet. He came into our orbit, shone brightly for what was, after all, a very brief period in a single lifetime, and then disappeared again. Without trace, apparently.’

      ‘But—’

      ‘I have a feeling he wants to do things differently the second time around,’ Perry said quietly.

      ‘But as soon as it becomes public knowledge exactly who Reilly O’Shea is—’

      ‘It may not come to that,’ her senior editor interrupted firmly. ‘Despite the fact I accept I was actually talking to Liam O’Reilly today, I had to carry out the meeting as if I were talking to Reilly O’Shea. We obviously discussed the possibility of a contract to publish the manuscript…’ Perry hesitated. ‘He had some quite interesting clauses of his own that he would like in any such agreement.’

      Laura raised dark brows at the arrogance of the man. ‘Such as?’

      ‘No personal publicity. No public appearances. In fact his privacy completely guaranteed, or it was no deal.’ Perry shrugged at her incredulous expression. ‘Strange requests from a first-time author, I agree,’ he commented dryly. ‘But not so strange coming from a man who has already had a taste of all those things—and hated every moment of it!’

      As an interested bystander in that blaze of publicity, of those personal appearances, Laura couldn’t agree with Perry’s conclusion; eight years ago Liam had given the appearance of enjoying every moment of his success!

      She sighed. ‘As you say, we obviously have a long way to go yet. How did you leave the meeting?’ she prompted interestedly.

      ‘He’s staying in London another couple of days, I said I would call him before he left. To be honest, it was one of the most difficult meetings I’ve ever had to attend. I loved Time Bomb eight years ago, but I have to say that I think Josie’s World is even better—and all the time I was talking to Reilly—Liam—I just wanted to tell him that!’ He shook his head.

      ‘I’m glad that you didn’t give in to the temptation,’ Laura remarked dryly, looking at the slender gold watch on her wrist before shuffling some papers together on her desk. ‘I have to go now, Perry, but we’ll talk about this again first thing in the morning.’ She paused. ‘Although, I have to admit, I’m not sure exactly how we proceed from here.’

      What troubled her the most, she had to admit, was keeping her own identity out of any future negotiations with the author. For reasons of her own, she did not want Liam to know that she was Shipley Publishing…!

      The dark blue telephone that stood on her bedside table seemed to be glowering at her, even when she didn’t actually look at it, silently reproaching her for not picking up the receiver and punching out the number of Liam’s hotel.

      As was her custom for the last two years, she had retired to her bedroom once dinner was over, taking a pile of work with her. She was sitting up in bed now, her narrow silk-clad shoulders surrounded by sumptuous satin cream-coloured pillows, glasses perched on the end of her nose, as she read through the latest manuscript of Shipley’s most successful author.

      So far, came that disquieting little voice in her head. Because she had no doubt, if they really could secure Liam’s novel, that he would instantly eclipse Elizabeth Starling as Shipley’s top author!

      Elizabeth’s latest manuscript was good, in fact it was more than good, but it didn’t stand a chance of holding Laura’s attention tonight.

      She lay back with a sigh, removing her gold-framed glasses. She really didn’t wear contact lenses, coloured or otherwise, but she did wear glasses for reading nowadays. Possibly because she did so much of it.

      Not that she was complaining about her lot in life. Her marriage to Robert had been as fulfilling as it had been successful. It was because of him that she was now head of Shipley Publishing. If that position of power could also make things a little lonely at times, then it was by far outweighed by its compensations: financial security, this beautiful house in London, her villa in Majorca, the servants that ran both those homes so efficiently.

      No, the reason for her restlessness tonight had nothing to do with any lack of material comfort in her own life.

      Liam was expecting her to call him at his hotel. Part of her said, Forget what he expected; after the way he had treated her eight years ago he had no right to expect anything from her! But another part of her remembered his threat that if she didn’t call him then he would do everything in his power to find her. And that she most certainly did not want.

      Besides, she had information that Liam certainly didn’t have—knew exactly the reason he was in London at the moment. Whereas he knew absolutely nothing about her life now. She wished it to remain that way.

      ‘Mr O’Reilly’s room, please,’ she requested briskly, once her call was answered at the hotel.

      ‘The line in Mr O’Reilly’s suite is ringing for you now,’ came back the competent reply.

      A suite… Expensive in a prestigious hotel like that one. So Liam did still possess some of the wealth that had come to him years ago. She had wondered. It had never been easy to tell what his financial position might be from Liam’s outward appearance; he very rarely wore anything other than denims, casual shirt and a jacket. Exactly as he had today. He—

      ‘Yes?’ came the terse reply as the receiver was picked up the other end.

      ‘Liam,’ Laura returned, forcing her tone to sound casually light. ‘You asked me to call you,’ she reminded him. Unnecessarily, she was sure. There had been a determination about Liam earlier today that had brooked no argument against his request.

      ‘So I did, Laura,’ he returned in that lilting voice, his initial terseness having disappeared on recognition of her voice. ‘I wanted to ask you to have dinner with me.’

      ‘I’ve already eaten,’ she answered with inward satisfaction.

      ‘It’s only nine o’clock,’ Liam protested.

      ‘When I’m at home I always dine at seven-thirty,’ she said firmly.

      ‘And where’s home, Laura?’ he enquired huskily.

      ‘Nice try, Liam.’ She gave a softly confident laugh. Although her hand tightly gripping the receiver was slightly damp with tension…

      ‘I thought so,’ he came back mockingly. ‘You were a little less than enthusiastic about my calling you when I mentioned it at the hotel earlier today, too,’ he continued thoughtfully. ‘Why the secrecy, Laura? Could it be that you don’t live alone?’ There was a sharp edge to his voice now.

      ‘How clever of you to guess, Liam,’ she teased. ‘Although it couldn’t have been that difficult. After all, it’s been eight years.’ And this man had been married and divorced in that time—wasn’t it logical that she might have done at least one of those things too?

      ‘You aren’t wearing a wedding ring,’ he bit out.

      She hadn’t been mistaken earlier about the reason for that glance at her left hand! ‘Not all women do nowadays,’ Laura rejoined.

      ‘You would if you were my wife,’ Liam rasped.

      ‘If I were your wife I would also carry a certificate of insanity!’ she snapped.

      Then wished she hadn’t. The silence that followed her outburst was icy cold, the only sound their joint breathing down the respective receivers.

      Why had