No Longer A Dream. Carole Mortimer

you get a lot of women throwing themselves at you?’ she frowned.

      Black eyes narrowed to steely slits. ‘I've never actually had a woman I don't know waiting for me in my own bed before,’ he bit out.

      ‘I—–'

      ‘Come in, Luke,’ he called out to his son as a knock sounded on the door.

      Physically father and son were very alike, although Luke's eyes were a deep blue. They both possessed that rugged attraction rather than handsomeness, but maturity had given Caleb that cynical light in his eyes where Luke displayed only recklessness. And in contrast to Caleb's tailored shirt and trousers Luke looked the height of casualness in faded denims and a loose sweater. The bravado in his stance was directed at both his father and Cat.

      He nodded in recognition of her, his insolence barely contained. ‘Miss Howard,’ he drawled. ‘So nice of you to have stayed the night.’ In contrast to his father's American drawl his English accent sounded very precise—and insulting.

      Cat knew that after the break-up of his father's marriage the boy had gone to live with his grandfather before being sent to school in England. The fact that the two even spoke with a different accent made them even less like father and son.

      ‘Did I have any choice?’ she returned tartly.

      He gave a careless shrug. ‘You didn't look as if you wanted one earlier.'

      Colour heightened her cheeks. ‘You—–'

      ‘Luke, what the hell is going on?’ His father's voice cracked between them like a whip. ‘Do you know anything about Cat being in my bed?'

      Luke shrugged again. ‘Only what I saw this morning—–'

      ‘You know a lot more than—–'

      ‘Cat, I'm trying to find out what happened,’ Caleb cut in coldly.

      ‘Well you won't do that from your son,’ she snapped, glaring at the younger man.

      ‘Luke will tell me the truth.’ His voice brooked no argument—or deception.

      ‘I wish I had your faith,’ she muttered. ‘So far, in our very short acquaintance, your son has shown himself to be anything but truthful!’ she challenged.

      Luke Steele didn't even blink an eyelid. ‘I would doubt you have been completely honest with my father either,’ he sounded confident. ‘Otherwise there would be no need for this conversation.'

      Cat shot him a resentful glare. ‘I have told your father everything I know about last night. Unfortunately, he doesn't believe me,’ she added disgustedly.

      ‘Maybe you would like to tell me what you know, Luke.’ It was phrased as an invitation, but there was no doubt in anyone's mind that it was an order.

      ‘I think there's only one thing about Miss Howard that you will really be interested in.’ Luke spoke again in that confident voice, as if, despite everything, he was sure he had the upper hand.

      Cat tensed warily, sensing danger.

      ‘Oh?’ his father prompted guardedly.

      ‘Cat is a reporter,’ Luke announced in a bored voice. ‘The one that's been asking to be introduced to Grandpop the last three months.'

      If Cat had thought Caleb Steele's eyes were chilly before then she learnt a new meaning to the word at that moment, the black orbs as hard as pebbles and cold as ice! Luke was right, knowing she was a reporter did seem to be the only thing his father was interested in now.

      ‘You're that C. Howard?’ he bit out with icy accusation.

      He made her sound—and feel—like some sort of low life that had accidentally wandered into his pampered world, as if just being in the same room with her contaminated him!

      He turned furious eyes on his son. ‘If you knew who she was, what was she doing at your party?'

      Luke looked taken aback by the attack, as if he had expected that little fact to be overlooked by his father's anger at finding her here at all. ‘I—well—she's been making a pest of herself, and so I thought—–'

      ‘I haven't been making a pest of myself,’ she disclaimed indignantly. ‘All of my letters to this family have been polite, the telephone calls, too.'

      ‘All twenty-one of them,’ Caleb Steele acknowledged in a hard voice. ‘Oh yes,’ he confirmed softly at her startled look. ‘I'm well aware of the amount of times you've called, and the reason for them.'

      ‘Then—–'

      ‘And you must be aware that they could be called harassment,’ he added coldly.

      ‘Nothing of the sort,’ she dismissed impatiently. ‘I always took no for an answer, and it was the only way I could contact you when you refused to even acknowledge my letters.'

      ‘The mere fact that I didn't acknowledge them should have been answer enough!'

      She had known that, of course; she would have had to have been patently insensitive not to have done! But she wasn't the type of reporter that liked to write because of someone else's unhappiness or misfortune. She had discovered that long ago, and she never sent anything to print without first talking to the people involved, and also getting their OK on what she had written before sending it in. There was already too much misery in the world without having it constantly emblazoned across the front page of newspapers. Faint-hearted, some of her colleagues had called her in the early days, but she had felt comforted by the fact that she did at least have a heart of some sort! And that was the reason she couldn't in all conscience do the chapter in her book on Lucien Steele and his wife without talking to him first.

      ‘I only wanted to meet your father, talk to him for a while,’ she pleaded her case. ‘I told you, I'm writing a book—–'

      ‘My mother has been dead nearly thirty years,’ Caleb Steele scorned. ‘Most people today haven't even heard of her, let alone that she was married to Lucien Steele!'

      ‘You know that isn't true,’ she protested at that blatant lie about Sonia Harrison, one of the screen-goddesses of the forties and fifties. ‘They had a season of her films on only last summer!'

      He sighed, his gaze steely. ‘She's still old news,’ he dismissed.

      ‘My publisher doesn't happen to think so.’ She shook her head.

      ‘So write your book,’ he invited harshly. ‘You don't need my permission to do that. But make sure you only write the facts, because as soon as the book is published I intend to have my lawyers go over what you've written about my parents with a fine toothcomb!'

      She had already guessed that. If only she could make him understand that she had no intention of writing anything defamatory about either of his parents. ‘Look, I know that because of the fact that your father is into his seventies now there was a rumour a couple of years ago that he no longer writes his own books, but—–'

      A harsh laugh interrupted her. ‘My father is more lucid at seventy-four than a lot of men are at half his age!’ Caleb Steele scorned. ‘The whole idea was ridiculous from the first.'

      She was sure it was. But even if it weren't it was none of her business; she was only interested in the time the now elderly man had been married to Sonia Harrison. ‘I wish you would see—'

      ‘Oh, I do, Miss Howard,’ he assured her coldly, turning that icy gaze on his son once more. ‘I have yet to hear a reasonable explanation from you,’ he prompted hardly.

      A flush darkened the young boy's cheeks, the expression in his eyes more reckless than ever. ‘I thought you should meet Cat,’ he shrugged. ‘Talk to her. And then maybe she would get lost.'

      ‘She was waiting in my bed for me!’ his father snapped disgustedly.

      Cat paled. ‘I wasn't waiting for you!’ She turned glittering