Subtle Revenge. Carole Mortimer

on the both of them.

      ‘Of course you do,’ Nikki giggled.

      ‘Then I accept.’ He stepped forward, his movements fluid and forceful.

      ‘Lucky Lori,’ Sally murmured goodnaturedly. ‘Where have you been hiding him, Nikki?’

      Wherever it was, Lori wished he had stayed there. He had taken Jonathan’s place now, his arm encircling her waist just as Jonathan’s had, his body hard and unyielding, his arm implacable.

      He smiled down at her as he felt her stiffen, a roguish smile, the coldness gone from his eyes, the cynicism from his mouth.

      Lori pointedly ignored him, looking over at the photographer as he organised the bride and groom, the two bridesmaids, best man, and Luke in the photograph. A disgruntled Jonathan stood at Sally’s side, and he grimaced as he caught Lori’s gaze.

      As the photographs continued to be taken Luke remained at her side, his hand never moving from the slender curve of her waist, accepting her haughtiness, but unaffected by it.

      ‘Bride and groom only now,’ the photographer requested briskly, having done this so many times now it was rather boring for him.

      His words were all the encouragement Lori needed, and she evaded that confining arm to slip away into the crowd, noting with satisfaction as the man called Luke was waylaid by Claude Hammond. He had obviously intended talking to her, and as she didn’t like anything about him she had no wish to talk to him.

      Nevertheless, his silent admiration continued at the reception, his fixed gaze starting to become embarrassing. He had no right to look at her like that, to mentally strip her with his eyes. And they were such all-seeing eyes, slightly narrowed, their expression enigmatic.

      ‘Damned cheek!’ Jonathan muttered at her side.

      Lori continue to smile at him, taking the glass of champagne he held out to her. She didn’t need any explanation as to the reason for his anger, the resentful glances he was still shooting at the dark-haired man across the room spoke for him.

      ‘Who the hell is he?’ he snapped, standing in front of her and effectively blocking her view of the room behind him.

      She shrugged. ‘I have no idea. A friend of the Hammonds’, I suppose,’ she infused uninterest into her voice, although her own curiosity about the man was quite strong.

      ‘Mm,’ Jonathan nodded. ‘Nikki seems to know him too,’ he added questioningly.

      ‘She’s never mentioned him.’

      ‘Hm,’ Jonathan said again, turning to look at Luke, who was now deep in conversation with Paul. ‘Interesting-looking chap.’

      Dangerous, she would have said. Ominous and dangerous? Considering she had never even spoken to the man he had made a deep impression on her!

      She might not have spoken to him, but he had said enough with those eyes, was still saying it!

      ‘Like to dance?’ Jonathan offered.

      ‘Thank you,’ she nodded, smiling up at him.

      Jonathan was a dear, she knew he was, and yet something held her back from going out with him. He reminded her too much of Nigel, the same blond hair, the same good looks. The same determination to succeed! She knew that, like Nigel, he would never think of taking Lorraine Chisholm for his wife.

      They moved well together, both tall, the red cloud of Lori’s hair drawing attention to the beauty of her face, a beauty Jonathan seemed fascinated by, for he gazed down at her with admiring eyes.

      Lori chuckled as they continued to dance together as each successive melody was played. ‘I think we’re supposed to change partners, or at least take a break occasionally,’ she teased.

      ‘I know,’ he muttered. ‘But if we stop that man called Luke is going to ask you to dance, and I don’t intend giving him the chance.’

      She frowned, glancing round. Yes, there were those steady grey eyes on her still, more searching now, as if something about her puzzled the man. Heavens, he couldn’t have recognised her, could he! She felt her panic rising, and then dismissed it. It wasn’t possible that after all this time someone should recognise her. Charles Phillips had only discovered the truth because he had had someone delve into her past; she bore little resemblance to the bewildered young girl she had been all those years ago.

      No, it couldn’t be because he recognised her, her years of disguise had been too effective. Maybe he was just trying to unnerve her. Sad to say, he had succeeded!

      ‘Let’s sit this one out,’ she requested stiffly of Jonathan.

      ‘Oh, but——’

      ‘If he asks, Jonathan, I shall simply refuse,’ she told him haughtily.

      ‘You will?’ he still looked uncertain.

      ‘Yes, I will.’ She moved out of his arms, turning to walk into the hard wall of a masculine chest.

      Strong hands came up to steady her, grasping her upper arms, the fingers long and tapered, a hidden strength within them. ‘Lori,’ drawled a deeply familiar voice.

      She had known it was him the second before impact with his chest, had detected the slight smell of his aftershave, had vaguely seen the strong line of his square jaw.

      ‘Thank you—Luke,’ she nodded coolly, making to move out of his grasp. His hands remained, not hurting, but not gentle either.

      ‘Dance with me,’ he requested huskily.

      ‘I——’

      ‘We were just about to go through to the buffet,’ Jonathan cut in purposefully, taking one of Lori’s hands and putting it in the crook of his arm. ‘If you’ll excuse us,’ he gave the other man a smug smile before moving away. ‘Saved by the bell—or in this case, food,’ he muttered as they followed the stream of people into the room that contained the buffet dinner.

      ‘You aren’t very subtle, Jonathan,’ she smiled at his undoubted jealousy of the other man.

      ‘With that type subtlety doesn’t work,’ he scowled. ‘I can be subtle if I have to be.’

      Lori knew that; she had once gone to court with him when his own secretary had been on holiday. She had been amazed at the change that had come over him, amazed and dismayed. He had been totally remorseless in his attack on the defendant, reminding Lori of another courtroom, another lawyer. Jacob P. Randell. Just the name made her shiver!

      She saw the man called Luke several times during the evening, mostly with the Hammonds, once or twice with Sally on the dance floor, the latter blushing prettily as he spoke to her, a fact Dave viewed with a scowl on his petulantly handsome face. Not that Lori thought a little jealousy would do that young man any harm—he was altogether too sure of Sally for her liking, and she feared for her friend’s deeply committed love.

      But Luke didn’t approach her again, pointedly so, seeming to move away if she should happen to approach the group he was talking to, his gaze always fixed firmly in the opposite direction if she should unavoidably look at him.

      She knew what he was doing, of course, and her anger towards him grew. He surely didn’t think she was idiot enough to become interested in him merely because he was suddenly ignoring her? She had stopped playing those sort of games years ago, if she had ever played them, and she certainly wasn’t going to be drawn into that sort of trap.

      ‘Dance, my dear?’ The elderly Mr Hammond, her own personal boss, stood in front of her, his hair still as dark as his son’s, his step still as youthful, although he perhaps looked a little tired lately. The excitement of the wedding, she supposed. Lori had been his personal secretary for the last two years, and although she might have been a little young for the promotion she had made sure he never regretted giving her that chance.

      ‘I’d love to.’ She moved gracefully into his arms, finding he moved