A Yuletide Seduction. Carole Mortimer

of his head, the overhead light making his dark hair almost appear black, although there were touches of grey now visible amongst that darkness. ‘Your husband is a very lucky man,’ he drawled softly.

      Questioningly, it seemed to Jane. She resisted the impulse to glance down at her now bare left hand, knowing that not even an indentation now remained to show she had once worn a gold band there. ‘I’m not married, Mr Vaughan,’ she returned distantly.

      He looked at her steadily for long, timeless seconds, taking in everything about her as he did so. And Jane was aware of everything he would see: nondescript brown hair restrained from her face with a black velvet band at her nape, pale, make-upless features dominated by huge brown eyes, her figure obviously slender, but her businesslike cream blouse and black skirt doing nothing to emphasise her shapeliness.

      What Jane didn’t see when she looked at her own reflection in the mirror—and would have been horrified if she had!—were the red highlights in the abundance of the shoulder-length hair she was at such pains to keep confined, or the stark contrast between that dark curling hair and the pale magnolia of her face, those huge brown eyes often taking on the same deep sherry colour of her hair. Her nose was small, her mouth having a sensual fullness she could do little to hide—despite not wearing lipgloss. In fact, she deliberately wore no make-up, but her face was peaches and cream anyway, adding to the hugeness of her captivating brown eyes. And, for all she believed her clothes to be businesslike, the cream blouse was a perfect foil for her colouring, and the knee-length of her skirt could do little to hide the curvaceousness of her long, silky legs.

      ‘May I say,’ Gabriel Vaughan murmured huskily, his bright blue gaze easily holding hers, ‘that fact is to one poor man’s detriment—and every other man’s delight?’

      ‘My dear Gabe,’ Felicity teased, ‘I do believe you’re flirting with Jane.’ She was obviously deeply amused by the fact.

      He gave the other woman a mocking glance. ‘My dear Felicity,’ he drawled dryly, ‘I do believe I am!’ He turned back challengingly to Jane.

      Flirting? With her? Impossible. If only he knew—

      But he didn’t know. He didn’t recognise her. There was no way he would be looking at her with such warm admiration if he did!

      Was she so changed? Facially, more mature, yes. But the main change, she readily accepted, was in her hair. Deliberately so. Once her hair had reached down to her waist, a straight curtain the golden colour of ripe corn—a stark contrast to the shoulder-length chestnut-brown it now was. She had been amazed herself at the difference the change of colour and style made to her whole appearance, seeming to change even the shape of her face. And eyes she had always believed were just brown had taken on the rich colour of her hair, the pale skin that was natural to her blonde hair becoming magnolia against the rich chestnut.

      Yes, she had changed, and deliberately so, but until this moment, with Gabriel Vaughan looking at her with a complete lack of recognition, she hadn’t realised just how successful she had been in effecting that change!

      ‘Mr Vaughan…’ She finally found her voice to answer him, her shocked surprise under control, if not eliminated. She was Jane Smith, personal chef to the beautiful and affluent, and this man was just another guest at one of those dinner parties she catered for. He shouldn’t even be out here in the kitchen! ‘I do believe—’ she spoke slowly but firmly ‘—that you’re wasting your time!’

      His smile didn’t waver for a second, but that brilliant blue gaze sharpened with interest. ‘My dear Jane—’ he lingered over the deliberate use of her first name, well aware of her own formality ‘—I make a point of never doing that.’

      Outwardly she again remained calm, but inwardly she felt a shiver of apprehension down her spine. And it was a feeling she hadn’t known for three years…

      ‘Now, Gabe,’ Felicity cut in laughingly, linking her arm through his, ‘I can’t have you upsetting Jane,’ she scolded lightly. ‘Let’s go back to the dining-room and have a liqueur, and let’s leave poor Jane in peace.’ She slanted an apologetic smile towards Jane. ‘I’m sure she would like to get home some time before morning. Come on, Gabe,’ she encouraged firmly as he still made no effort to move. ‘Or Richard will think we’ve run away together!’

      Gabriel Vaughan didn’t join in her throaty laughter. ‘Richard need have no worries like that on my account. You’re a beautiful woman, Felicity,’ he added to take the sting out of his initial remark, ‘but other men’s wives have never held any appeal for me.’

      Jane drew in a sharp breath, swallowing hard. Because she knew the reason ‘other men’s wives never held any appeal’ for Gabriel Vaughan. Oh, yes, she knew only too well.

      ‘I’m sure Richard will be pleased to hear that,’ Jane dismissed with a calmness that had now become second nature to her. ‘But Felicity is quite right; I do still have a lot to do. And your coffee will be going cold.’ She turned to smile at Paula and Rosemary as they returned from serving coffee and liqueurs. Their timing couldn’t have been more perfect!

      She willed Gabriel Vaughan to leave the kitchen now, before her calm shattered and her legs collapsed beneath her.

      She had believed she had succeeded in pushing the past to the back of her mind, but at this moment she had a vivid image of three years ago when her own photograph had appeared side by side with this man’s for days on end in all the national newspapers.

      She had wanted to run away and hide then, and to all intents and purposes she had done so. And although he wasn’t aware of it—and she hoped he never would be—the man who had once haunted her every nightmare, waking as well as asleep, had finally caught up with her!

      He was still watching her, that intent blue gaze unwavering, despite the urgings of his hostess to return to the dining-room. His behaviour, Jane knew, was bordering on rudeness, but, as she was also aware, he was very conscious of the fact that he had the upper hand here this evening. In the process of buying out Richard Warner’s ailing company, backed up by the millions of pounds that was his own personal fortune, he had no reason to do any other than what he pleased. And at this particular moment he wanted to look at Jane…!

      Finally—when Jane was on the point of wondering just how much longer she could withstand that stare!—he visibly relaxed, smiling that lazily charming smile, his eyes once more that brilliant shining aqua. ‘It was a pleasure meeting you, Jane Smith,’ he murmured huskily, holding out his hand to her in parting.

      Paula and Rosemary, after one wide-eyed glance in her direction at finding their hostess and one of her guests in the kitchen chatting away to Jane, had busied themselves washing up the dessert dishes Jane hadn’t been able to deal with because of the interruption. And Felicity was smiling happily, still filled with what she considered the success of the evening. Only Jane, it seemed, was aware that she viewed that hand being held out to her—a long, ringless hand, filled with strength—as if it were a viper about to strike!

      ‘Thank you,’ she returned coolly, not about to return the pleasantry. If there were any ‘pleasure’ attached to this meeting then it was definitely all on his side!

      But she knew she had no choice but to shake the hand held out to her. Not to do so would be inexplicable. At least, to everyone else in the room. She knew exactly why she didn’t want to touch this man—his hand or any other part of him. And if he knew, if he realised, he wouldn’t be holding out that hand of friendship either!

      His hand was cool and dry, his grip firm. Not that Jane gave him much chance to do the latter, her hand against his only fleetingly.

      Those startling blue eyes narrowed once again, his hand falling lightly to his side. ‘Perhaps we’ll meet again,’ he said huskily.

      ‘Perhaps,’ she nodded noncommittally.

      And perhaps they wouldn’t! She had managed to get through three years without bumping into this man, and if she had her way it would be another three years—or longer!—before it happened again. And as Gabriel Vaughan spent most